PREPARATIONS FOR THE CAMPAIGN
One thing was perfectly clear; we were pretty well in a cleft stick.
So heartily had we espoused the cause of a much-injured man, that to
withhold practical assistance, now it was needed so sorely, was hardly
possible. Yet there could be no doubt that discomfiture and perplexity
were beginning to play the deuce with the Chief Constable's official
placidity. I also, "a married man, a father of a family, and a county
member," began to have qualms.
"Three other stout fellows," said Fitz, "who are not afraid of a tight
place and who can be trusted with a revolver, are almost a necessity.
The trouble is to find them."
On many occasions since, I have had cause to review my conduct in this
crisis. Whether it was that of a sane, judicial-minded, law-abiding
unit of society I have never been able to determine. Doubtless I erred
egregiously. All the same I shall always protest that Nevil Fitzwaren
was a much-injured man. Moreover, now that the call to arms had come
to him, nature had thought fit to invest him with that occult power
that makes a man a leader of others. I could not have believed such a
transfiguration to be possible. He seemed suddenly to emerge as the
possessor of a steadfastness of purpose and a strength of will which
commanded sympathy in almost the same measure that his pathetic
helplessness had in the first place aroused it.
"Can you suggest three stout fellows, Arbuthnot? Gentlemen, if
possible, and chaps to be trusted. Of course they will have to know
the why and wherefore of it all."
Under the spell that Fitz was wielding over me I became the victim of
an inspiration. In a flash there came into my mind the three gamesters
necessary to complete the _partie_. They were Jodey, his friend in
Jermyn Street, "who had had lessons from Burns," and that much-enduring
but thoroughly sound-hearted fellow, the Master of the Crackanthorpe.
For an instant I reflected with the Napoleonic gaze of Fitz upon me.
And then through sheer human weakness I committed the most signal
indiscretion of which a tolerably blameless existence had ever been
guilty. I permitted the names of these three champions to cross my
lips.
Coverdale turned his sombre eyes upon me. They were devoid of anger,
but extremely full of sorrow.
"You old fool!" he said under his breath. "You look like landing us
fairly."
"Well," whispered the egregious I, "we can't leave the poor chap in the
lurch at this stage of the proceedings, can we?"
"I suppose not; but this business looks like costing me my billet. Let
us pray God he don't intend to shoot the ambassador."
"Not he," said I, assuming a cheerfulness I did not feel, in the hope
of minimising my lapse from the strait way of prudence. "He is a very
sensible fellow and a devilish plucky one."
The immediate result of my indiscretion was that I was urged to summon
my relation by marriage, in order that his valuable services might be
enlisted. With that end in view, Parkins was sent in search of him.
He returned all too soon with the information that he was over at the
Hall playing billiards with Lord Brasset.
"Two birds with one stone!" said Fitz, exultantly. "The best thing we
can do is to go over and see them."
The Hall is not more than a hundred yards or so from our modest
demesne; and at Fitz's behest we set forth in quest of recruits.
"Nice state o' things!" growled Coverdale _en route_.
In due course we were ushered into Brasset's billiard-room. The owner
thereof and my relation by marriage were engaged in a friendly but
one-sided game of shilling snooker. The latter, in accordance with his
invariable practice of "putting his best leg first" to atone for the
lifelong handicap of having been born a younger son, was potting three
times the number of balls of his charmingly amiable and courteous
opponent.
"Hullo, you fellows," said Brasset. "Take a cue and join us."
The presence in that place of the husband of Mrs. Fitz was wholly
unlooked-for, but neither of the players betrayed their surprise. Any
surprise they had to display was duly forthcoming later.
Most people who have mixed at all with their fellows are more or less
finished dissemblers. But Brasset and Jodey were by no means proof
against the extraordinary tale that Fitz had come to unfold.
"Heiress to oldest reigning family in Europe!" exclaimed Brasset, whose
perturbation and bewilderment were comic in the extreme. "In that case
she had an absolute _right_ to hit me over the head with her crop, even
if she did go rather far in overriding Challenger."
As for Joseph Jocelyn De Vere Vane-Anstruther, his countenance was a
study.
"Well, I always said she was _it_," he murmured rapturously.
"Stand by you--ra-_ther_!" said Brasset. "Only too proud. I've got a
beautiful Colt revolver in my bureau. Shot a lion with it in Africa."
"Then you ought to be able to manage an ambassador in Portland Place,"
said I.
"Ra-_ther_!"
"It's a go, then?" said Fitz. "I can count on you fellows to give me a
hand. We may have to put it across that swine von Arlenberg, although
of course he is merely obeying the orders of Ferdinand."
"Yes, of course."
The two recruits to the cause of the Crown Princess beamed joyfully.
They took the oath of fealty, which merely assumed the form of
promising to dine at Ward's before the event, and promising to sup at
the Savoy after it.
The sixth person essential to the success of Fitz's scheme was the
unknown sportsman of Jermyn Street, who had had lessons from Burns.
Jodey was emphatic in his declaration that his friend, whom he
proclaimed as "the amateur middle-weight champion of the United
Kingdom," would be only too eager to seize one of the great
opportunities of his life. A telegram was immediately concocted for
this paladin, who was urged to turn up at Ward's on the morrow at the
appointed hour. "Bring a revolver with you. There will be a bit of
fun going after dinner," was a clause that the author of the telegram
was keenly desirous to insert.
Opinion was divided as to the wisdom of inserting the clause in
question. To the shrewd and cautious official mind, as represented by
Coverdale, it would be sufficient to urge a sensible and law-abiding
citizen to give the proposed dinner party a wide berth. Personally, I
was of Coverdale's opinion; Fitz and Brasset "saw nothing out of the
way in it," while its author was convinced that so little would the
clause in question be likely to deter his friend O'Mulligan, that it
would invest a commonplace invitation to dine at Ward's and sup at the
Savoy with a sufficient spice of romance to preclude "the best
sportsman that ever came out of Ireland" from having a previous
engagement.
Youth will be served. Jodey's lucid argument carried weight enough for
the telegram to be sent to Jermyn Street in all its pristine integrity.
Coverdale looked rueful all the same, and I felt his gaze of grave
reproach upon me. The leader of the enterprise, however, was far from
sharing the misgivings of the Chief Constable. On the contrary, he
felt that the cause of the Princess Sonia had gained three valuable
recruits.
Certainly, the demeanour of Brasset and of my relation by marriage left
nothing to be desired from the point of view of whole-heartedness.
They were only too eager to embrace the opportunity of redressing a
notorious wrong. Coverdale and I could by no means rise to their
enthusiasm. We were both over forty, and at that time of life the
average man cannot evoke that quality, unless it is in the pursuit of a
peerage, but in our innermost hearts we were fain to feel that it did
them honour.
To Brasset's suggestion that we should dine with him that evening, in
order that we might evolve, as far as in us lay, a plan of campaign, we
yielded a ready response. Incidentally, it may be well to state that
Brasset is unmarried, and that his mother was spending the winter at
San Remo.
It was in sore travail of the spirit that I walked back to Dympsfield
House, and proceeded to hunt for the weapon which was kept in my
dressing-room as a precaution against burglars. Ruefully it was taken
from its sanctuary and examined. Then I went in search of the ruler of
the household. Having found her pottering about the greenhouse, I
broke the news that I was dining out that evening, and that on the
morrow duty called me to the metropolis, because I feared that my aged
grandmother's chronic bronchitis had taken a turn for the worse.
Both these announcements were accepted with more serenity than the
inward monitor had led me to anticipate.
"By all means dine with Reggie Brasset, although I think it is very
wrong of him not to ask me. And by all means go to London to-morrow to
see poor dear Gran, and"--here it was that the first small fly was
disclosed in the ointment--"take me. Now that the weather has gone all
to pieces, it is a good time to see the new plays; and I must have at
least two new frocks and one of those chinchilla coats that everybody
is wearing."
There are occasions when the most reciprocal nature may regard marriage
as an overrated institution.
"But, my dear child," I gasped, "did you not promise upon your sacred
word of honour that if you had that mare at the beginning of November,
you would not want to exceed your dress allowance before the summer?"
"Did I?" said a voice of bland inquiry.
"Did you, _mon enfant_!"
"But then you see the poor thing has been lame for quite a fortnight."
It was man's work to convince Mrs. Arbuthnot, delicately, tenderly, but
quite firmly, that not for a moment could her demands be entertained.
How in the end it was contrived I shall not attempt to explain. Who
among us is competent to render these hearthrug diplomacies in a just
notation? But by some occult means I was able to effect a compromise
upon terms which only a sanguine temperament could have hoped for. I
was to be permitted to dine with Brasset and play a quiet rubber of
bridge, and on the morrow I was to go to town to spend the week-end
with my grandmother; in consideration of which benefits, the second
party to the contract was to spend the week-end with her admirable
parents at Doughty Bridge, Yorks, and become the recipient of a sable
stole and an oxidised silver muff chain.
I could not help feeling that such a compact was extremely honourable
to the political side of my nature. I had been prepared for pearl
earrings or a new opera cloak at the least. There can be little doubt
that tolerably regular attendance at the House of Commons during the
course of three sessions does not a little to equip a man for the more
complex phases of civilised life.
Brasset's impromptu dinner party that evening was a decided success.
For this happy result he was not a little indebted to the foresight of
his amiable and ever-lamented father. The wine was excellent. Even
the Chief Constable, who looked as sombre as a cardinal and as rueful
as Don Quixote, swallowed the brown sherry with approbation, toyed with
the lighter vintages, sipped the port wine with sage approval, admired
the old brandy, and told one of the best stories I have ever heard in
my life.
At the conclusion of this masterpiece of refined ribaldry, Brasset gave
a peremptory little tap on the table and rose to his feet.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I ask you to drink the health of the Crown
Princess of Illyria. May God defend the right! With the toast, I beg
to be allowed to couple the name of our friend and neighbour, Mr. Nevil
Fitzwaren."
The toast was honoured in due form.
"Thank you, gentlemen." Fitz's reply was made with touching
simplicity. "God _will_ defend the right. He always does. But I
thank you all from the bottom of my heart for standing by me to see
that I get fair play. It's good to be born an Englishman."
"Hear, hear; quite so," said the Chief Constable.
Out of the corner of one rueful eye, however, the head of our
constabulary favoured me with a glance that was at once whimsical and
lugubrious. The thought was ever present in that official breast that
the slightest hitch in a decidedly precarious adventure would be
fraught for all concerned in it with consequences which he did not care
to contemplate.