PROVIDES AN ILLUSTRATION OF THE THEORY THAT THINGS ARE NOT ALWAYS WHAT
THEY SEEM
When the old man returned with this sustenance for the material state,
I was moved to inquire how it was that such an intellectual rawhead and
bloodybones as this too-assiduous diver into the sunless sea of the
occult should subscribe to a journal of such a texture and complexion.
"Is it, Peacock, do you suppose, that, like Francis the first Lord
Verulam, he would take all knowledge for his province?"
"He goes racing, sir," said Peacock, not without a suggestion of pride.
"And, what is more, sir, he wins so much money that none of the
bookmakers will have anything to do with him these days if they can
help it. Why, do you know, sir, he has given me the name of the winner
of the Derby three years running a whole fortnight before the race."
"Did you reconcile it with your conscience, Peacock, to back the horse?"
"Not the first time, sir, because, you see, I was hardly convinced it
would win. It was a new fad with him then. But when I found it did
win, and he gave me the tip the next year, it seemed to be flying in
the face of providence, as it were, to throw away the chance, so I had
on a sovereign and won nine pounds ten."
"And the third time, Peacock?"
"The third time, sir, I made it five and I won forty. And if I can
stand his goings on, sir, until next Epsom week, and he gives me the
tip again, I intend to put on all my savings."
I had scarcely the heart to ask the old fellow what his conscience had
to say in the matter. Doubtless it was one of those organisms that
only responded to the call of the higher metaphysics. It was a
patrician conscience, no doubt, which only concerned itself with the
ultimate.
Anyhow, before I could gratify my curiosity on this point, the
re-emergence of my Uncle Theodore saved his retainer from an inquiry.
A glance at my watch convinced me that we had not a moment to lose if
we were to catch the 5.28 from the Grand Central station.
Uncle Theodore took an almost paternal leave of his visitor. He
conducted her to the taxicab which awaited us; and in a voice of
gentleness, of winning deference, he bade her God-speed. When she
offered him her hand, as it seemed almost timidly, he pressed it to his
lips.
"Fear nothing," I heard him say under his breath softly, and I thought
the unhappy lady smiled wanly with her great gaunt eyes.
As I was about to enter the cab, Theodore placed his hand on my
shoulder.
"Look after her, my dear boy." His voice had the fervour of a
benediction.
My companion appeared to have shed much of her distraction in the
course of her interview with the weird inhabitant of Bryanston Square.
The sovereignty of the soul seemed once more in her keeping. No longer
did she convey the impression of one passing through an insupportable
mental crisis. Whatever fate had in store for her, it was as though
she had strength to endure it.
It was in the nature of a race against time to the Grand Central
station. I had promised the driver of our taxi a substantial guerdon
if he caught the train. Undoubtedly he did his best, but fate decreed
that he was not to earn it. An anxious study of my watch revealed the
issue to be still in the balance; but just as it began to seem that we
were gaining a little on the clock, there came a sharp report, followed
by an almost simultaneous crash of glass, and then a confused
succession of happenings.
Our vehicle stopped abruptly; a brief interval of nothingness seemed to
intervene; and the next thing of which I was cognisant was that the
lights had gone out and that a man with a pale face and a
straw-coloured moustache was looking in at us through the window.
"Hope you are not hurt, sir." The voice sounded remote, but I could
detect its note of anxiety. "Is the lady all right?"
Somewhat dazed, almost as if I were passing through a dream, I heard
the voice of my companion speaking with calmness and reassurance. Then
I heard the voice of the man again:
"I am afraid your Royal Highness will have to go on in another taxi."
And then the door opened, and I got out unsteadily and found myself in
the midst of much traffic and a press of people. I then grew conscious
that some of these had a way with them, and that they were directing
things with a sort of calm officiousness.
My dazed senses welcomed the helmet of a policeman.
"Call a taxi, please," said I, addressing him in a voice that somehow
did not seem to belong to me. "Must catch the 5.28 Grand Central,
whatever happens. Will give you my card."
As I spoke I turned to help my companion out of the vehicle, and in the
act nearly measured my length on the kerb. Strong and sympathetic
hands seemed to come about me, and again the voice of the man with the
straw-coloured moustache sounded in my ear, decisive but kindly and
respectful.
"There is a doctor across the road, sir. Can you walk, sir? Lean your
weight on me."
"5.28 Grand Central," was my incoherent, almost involuntary rejoinder.
"The Princess."
"Yes, yes, sir," said the voice of my friend in need breaking in again
on my senses. "The Princess will be all right with us."
Almost as if by magic a passage was made for us through the whirlpool
of traffic. We seemed to be in the middle of a street that appeared
quite familiar, and policemen and extremely efficient persons in dark
overcoats seemed to abound.
"The Princess," I continued to mutter vaguely at intervals.
"I am with you," said a low and calm voice at my side.
She was helping my unknown friend to support me across the road. By
some subtle means her nearness seemed to brace and stimulate my
faculties.
"I fear we shall not catch the 5.28, ma'am," I said.
"What _does_ it matter?" The tone of her voice seemed to give me
strength and capacity.
A few yards away, down a side street, was the house of a doctor. It
seemed but a very little while before I was in a cosy, well-lighted
room, with a fire burning cheerfully, and a tall, genial individual
with a red head and a Scotch accent was talking to me and holding me by
the arm.
"Pray sit down, madam," I heard him say in his pleasant brogue. "I
hope you are none the worse for your accident?"
"Not at all, t'ank you," replied my companion in a cordial tone; and
then the man who had taken charge of me was heard to say to a colleague
who had followed us into the house, "Perhaps the Doctor will allow you
to use his telephone, Mr. Johnson. Ring up the Superintendent and then
go and see what Inspector Mottrom is doing."
The Doctor gave me a bottle to sniff, and then for the first time I
realised that I had an intolerable stinging in the arm. I glanced at
it and saw that the sleeve of my coat was soaked with blood.
"If you will come into the surgery," said the Doctor, following the
direction of my glance, "we will have a look at it. A breakage of
glass, apparently."
"Yes," said my friend in need, who was evidently a Scotland Yard
inspector, answering for me promptly, "the cab was pretty well smashed
up." Then he added in an undertone for my private ear, "Don't mention
the shots, sir. I am going to telephone to the railway people to
arrange for a special train as soon as you are ready to go on. I think
it will be safer, and two of our inspectors will accompany the train."
"Thank you very much indeed," I said, gratefully.
Never until that moment had I fully realised the organised efficiency
of the Metropolitan Police.
As soon as I entered the surgery I came perilously near to a fall on
the carpet, somewhat to my disgust, for I appeared to have sustained no
injury beyond the damage to my arm. Further recourse, however, to the
smelling-bottle defeated this temporary weakness.
After traversing the injured member with light and deft fingers, the
Doctor procured a bowl of warm water, a sponge and a pair of scissors.
He cut away the sleeve of the overcoat, then of the coat and the shirt,
revealing a state of things at which I had no wish to look. After the
application of an antiseptic in warm water he was able to give an
opinion.
"I am afraid," he said, "this is not the work of glass." He worked
over the quivering flesh with a finger. "A bullet has been at work
here. It has glanced along the lower arm apparently, but it does not
appear to have lodged in it. An incised wound. There may be a
fracture. Can you move your arm in this way?"
With this request I was able somewhat painfully to comply.
"That is good," said the Doctor. "No fracture."
It was surprising how soon and how readily the injured member yielded
to the deft skill of this good Samaritan. Twenty minutes of assiduous
treatment, which, however, was fraught with some pain, as it included
the operation of stitching, did much not only for the damaged limb but
also for its owner. By that time I seemed to have quite overcome the
shock of these events; and with my arm encased in bandages and resting
in a black silk handkerchief, and the good Doctor having lent me an
overcoat to replace my own mutilated one, I was given a pretty stiff
brandy-and-soda and pronounced fit to travel.
"It is undoubtedly the work of a bullet," said the Doctor at the end of
his labours. "But I suppose it is no business of mine. If I am not
mistaken, the men who brought you here are Scotland Yard detectives."
I smiled at the Doctor's perspicacity and asked him to be good enough
to take a card out of my cigar-case.
"Some day, perhaps, I shall be able to explain to you what the accident
really was and how it came to happen. In the meantime I cannot do more
than thank you most sincerely for all that you have done for me."
There and then I took leave of this true friend, and with a sense of
devout thankfulness that I was no worse off than I was, continued the
journey to the Grand Central station. When at last we came to that
well-known terminus the great clock over the entrance was pointing to
five minutes past six.
Our arrival there seemed an event of some importance, to judge by the
demeanour of a number of people who appeared to take an interest in it.
Indeed, so much respectful attention did it excite that it seemed to be
rather in the nature of an anti-climax to have to pay our Jehu.
As soon as we had entered the booking-hall no less a personage than the
station-master, frock-coated and gold-laced, came up to us and took off
his hat.
"Train ready to start, sir, as soon as her Royal Highness desires.
Platform No. 5. This way, sir, if you will kindly follow me."
We passed along to Platform No. 5, engaging as we did so the
good-humoured interest of the British Public. Here a special saloon
was awaiting us, also a carriage for the accommodation of our friends
from Scotland Yard. By a quarter past six we had started on our
journey.
My companion had borne all our vicissitudes _en route_ from Bryanston
Square with the greatest fortitude and composure. It was no new
experience for her chequered life to be exposed to the bullets of the
assassin. This latest effort of the King's enemies she appeared to
regard with stoical indifference. Even in the shock of the calamity
itself she did not lose her self-possession. And through all our
tribulations her attitude of maternal solicitude was charmingly sincere.
As I came to regard her from the opposite corner in our special saloon,
it was clear that a great change had been wrought in her by the visit
to the magician of Bryanston Square. It was a change wholly for the
better. In lieu of the overwrought intensity which had been so painful
for her friends to notice, was that calm and assured outlook upon the
world of men and things which had ever been her predominant
characteristic in so far as we had known her.
"Irene will scold me dreadfully," she said, "for bringing you home like
this."
"Surely it is the reverse of the case, ma'am. Instead of me looking
after you, I really don't know what I should have done without your
help."
"My poor Odo, you won't be able to hunt for a month at least."
"Perhaps it is for the best. I shall have more time to think about the
dragon of socialism which is threatening to devour us all."
"Even here you have that disease"--there was a half-humorous lift of
the royal eyebrow--"even in this quaint place. Why, it is a disease
that is spreading all over the world. If only the dear people would
understand that it was never intended that they should think for
themselves; that it is so much wiser, so much less expensive, so much
more profitable in every way that they should have those who are used
to policy to think for them! How can Jacques Bonhomme, dear, good,
ignorant, stupid fellow, know what is good for him, what is good for
his country, what is good for Europe, what is good for the whole world!"
"The trouble, ma'am, as far as this island is concerned, is that our
Jacques is becoming such a shrewd, sensible personage, who is learning
to go about with his eyes uncommonly wide open."
"Ants and bees and dogs and horses, my good Odo, are shrewd and
sensible enough, but Jacques must learn to keep his place. Everything
is good in its degree, but I cannot believe that a watchmaker is fitted
to wind up the clock of state any more than a common soldier is fitted
to win the day of Rodova."
"Ah, the day of Rodova! I wonder if we shall find the Victor waiting
for us when we get back to Dympsfield House."
I thought a faint cloud passed over the brows of my companion.
"_Mais, oui,_" she said in a soft, low tone. "I wonder. And old
Schalk. He is such a character. You will die when you see Schalk."
"A very able minister, is he not, ma'am?"
"Like all things, my good Odo," said her Royal Highness, "Schalk is
good in his degree. He has his virtue. He is learned in the law, for
instance, but there are times when, like poor Jacques Bonhomme, Schalk
would aspire to take more on his shoulders than nature intended they
should bear. But there, do not let us complain about Schalk. He is
the faithful servant of an august master; do not let us blame him if he
grows old and difficult. I once had a hound that grew like Schalk. In
the end I had to destroy the honest creature, but of course that is not
to say my father will destroy Schalk."
"Quite so, ma'am," said I, with a grave appreciation of the fine
distinction that it might please his Majesty to draw in the case of
Baron von Schalk.
I relapsed into reverie. What kind of a man was this celebrated
sovereign? How would he harmonise with the humble middle-class English
setting to which he was on the point of confiding himself? At this
stage it was vain to repine, but as I reclined on the cushions of our
royal saloon, with my arm throbbing intolerably and my temples too,
what would I not have given to be through with the onerous duty of
entertaining such a guest!
As thus I sat with our train proceeding full steam ahead to Middleham,
my nerves began to rise up in mutiny. Why, oh, why! had I not been
firmer? What could a comparative child, without the slightest
experience of any walk of life save her own extremely circumscribed
one, know of the exigencies of such a situation? How could she
appreciate all that was involved in it? A kind of mental nausea came
upon me when I realised that I had allowed myself to become responsible
for the personal safety and the general well-being of the King of
Illyria during his sojourn in England.
The anxieties in which his daughter had involved us were severe enough,
but in the case of her father they seemed a hundred times more complex.
Certainly they were far too much to ask of any private individual in
the middle station of life. It was in vain that I invoked an incipient
sense of humour. Sitting alone with a Crown Princess in a special
train, with a bullet wound in your arm, is not apparently an ideal
situation in which to exercise it. I might laugh as much as I liked at
poor George Dandin himself. His embarrassments in the pass to which
his wife's infatuation for realms beyond their own had brought him
might be truly comic, but the married man, the father of the family,
and the county member was quite unable, in his present shattered
condition, to accept them with the detachment due to the true Olympian
laughter.
Not to put too fine a point upon the matter, the married man, the
father of the family, and the county member was in an enfeebled mental,
physical and moral state when our special made its first stop. With a
startled abruptness I emerged from my unpleasant speculations. Could
we be at Middleham already? Hardly, for according to my watch it was
only ten minutes past seven. I let down the window and found that it
was Risborough.
In about a minute the guard of the train, the local station-master, and
the two detectives who were accompanying us as far as Middleham, came
to the door of the carriage.
"Extremely sorry, sir," said the station-master, "but you won't be able
to go beyond Blakiston. There's been a terrible accident to the 5.28."
My heart gave a kind of dull thump at this announcement.
"The driver ran right through Blankhampton with all the signals against
him. The train has been smashed up to matchwood."
"My God!"
The station-master dropped his voice.
"The full number of casualties has not yet been ascertained, sir, but
at least half the passengers are killed or injured."
"How ghastly!"
"Awful, sir, awful. It is the worst accident we have ever had on the
Grand Central system."
"Poor souls, poor souls!" said my companion. "God rest them!"
"We haven't had a really bad accident for twenty-two years. But this
breaks our record with a vengeance. I can't think what the poor chap
was doing. As good a driver as we've got, to go and do a thing like
that----"
The station-master, a venerable and grizzled man with a stern, heavily
lined face, suddenly lost his voice.
"Fate," said my companion with a sombre smile. "Who shall explain the
workings of destiny?"
Who, indeed! Had it not been for the bullets of the would-be assassin
we should, in all probability, at that moment have been both among the
dead. What, after all, does our human foresight matter in the sum of
things? All the same, I could not help recalling with a sense of
wonder my Uncle Theodore's anxiety that we should not travel by the
ill-fated 5.28.
"You will be able to go on as far as Blakiston," said the
station-master, "and the Company has arranged for motor cars to meet
the train to take you on to Middleham."
"What is the distance from Blakiston to Middleham?"
"About eighteen miles."
When the train went forward the current of my thoughts was altered
completely. My former speculations seemed mean beyond comparison with
such an event as this. Who shall read the ways of providence? A flesh
wound in the arm and a late dinner were a small price to pay after all.
Upon arriving at Blakiston we found two motor cars awaiting us: one for
the Princess, the other for our escort. A consultation with the
chauffeurs disclosed the fact that by proceeding direct home _via_
Parlow and Little Basing instead of by way of Middleham, a matter of
seven miles would be saved. Therefore, after a wire had been sent to
Middleham to inform our people of this change of route, we entered upon
the final stage of our adventurous journey.
In spite of the fact that we exposed ourselves to the charge of driving
recklessly, even if not to the actual danger of the public, our
destination was reached without further mishap. By twenty-five minutes
to nine we had turned in at the lodge gates of Dympsfield House. All
the windows of that abode were a blaze of light. Doubtless the royal
guest had arrived and, let us hope, was enjoying his dinner.
However, no sooner had we entered the house than we were met by Mrs.
Arbuthnot. She was dressed for a gala night, very _décolletée_ in her
best gown, carrying a great quantity of sail in the way of
jewels--jewels were being worn that year--and with a coiffure that
absolutely baffles the pen of the conscientious historian. But, alas!
Mrs. Arbuthnot was on the verge of tears.