fact, both men were feeling the strain of that tangled and squalid
crime, the Pimlico murder. They had at last contrived to hang (you
remember it) the reluctant borough councillor; but only Reggie
Fortune could take a holiday. As he was going, he said that he
thought of motoring in Devonshire.
“You’d better call on my sister and investigate her case.” Lomas
smiled sourly. “If it is a case. Sometimes I think it’s a dream.”
“Ragging in Girls’ Schools. By our Special Commission. ’Orrible
Revelations.”
Lomas shook his head. “I’m afraid my sister won’t take to you. She’s
not flippant.”
“Lomas, don’t be improper. A flippant headmistress. I blush.”
A few days later Reggie Fortune drove into Tormouth, liked it, liked
its hotel, and called on the Hon. Evelyn Lomas. Miss Lomas was her
brother’s sister in face and shape, correctly handsome, slight,
dapper, not the least like her brother in manner. She was frankly
middle-aged, brisk and direct.
“So glad you could spare time, Mr. Fortune.” She sat down to her
writing-table. “My brother tells me I can have every confidence in
your discretion.”
“So good of him,” Reggie murmured. He was annoyed with Lomas. He had
meant only to make friends with the good lady. It appeared that he
was to be an official investigator of the silly girls’ school
mystery. An embarrassing position. And Miss Lomas was visibly without
humour.
“You will understand that discretion is essential in this case, Mr.
Fortune. Anything in the nature of publicity would be unpardonable.
You look very young.”
“I try to be,” Reggie said modestly.
Miss Lomas coughed. “These are the facts, Mr. Fortune.”
With minute and tiresome detail Reggie heard it all over again and
learnt nothing new. One mistress’s room turned upside down in the
night, nothing spoilt or taken--an interval--another mistress’s room
turned upside down and a number of photographs of girls taken. Only
that and nothing more. Reggie was bored, and let his eyes wander from
the intensity of Miss Lomas. When at last she stopped, frowning at
his lack of attention, and waited in angry majesty for him to say
something--
“Are you interested in archaeology?” was what he said.
“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Lomas, in an awful voice.
“I was wonderin’ about this,” Reggie murmured, and took up from her
table a little yellowish thing modelled into something like the shape
of a woman. “Fascinatin’, isn’t she?”
“It seems to me childish or disgusting, Mr. Fortune,” Miss Lomas
snapped at him. “It has nothing to do with the case. But I am afraid
my affairs merely amuse you, Mr. Fortune.”
“Oh, please, please,” Reggie protested. “You see, you’re so lucid,
Miss Lomas. These odd affairs are hardly ever lucid. Anything may
have to do with anything. Just consider. You tell me that in your
school there has been happening something unusual.”
“Extraordinary, unprecedented, and disturbing,” Miss Lomas cried.
“And then I find this lyin’ about--a Hottentot Venus in a girls’
school--that’s very highly unusual.”
“The thing is just a little ivory idol,” said Miss Lomas and took it
from him and looked at it with disgust. It was crudely and oddly
shaped, like a child’s modelling.
“It’s not ivory, and probably it wasn’t an idol,” Reggie snapped. His
excellent temper found Miss Lomas trying. “It’s a horse’s tooth, and
was no doubt carved as a doll or a work of art. But how did it come
into a girls’ school?”
“I quite agree that it is most unsuitable. I should myself call it
indecent. That is why I keep it on my desk.” (Reggie mastered a
smile.) “It was found recently in the library. No doubt one of the
girls having relations in India or Africa was given the thing as an
odd savage trinket. She lost it and, recognizing that it was an
undesirable thing, is afraid to claim it. As a matter of school
discipline I am disturbed and annoyed. I cannot conceive that it
concerns you, Mr. Fortune.”
“It’s the only thing that interests me,” said Reggie. He was tired of
the lady. “You don’t understand the question, madame. This isn’t the
kind of trinket any one can pick up. It’s a jewel. This little
lady”--he handled her affectionately--“she’s fifteen thousand years
old. She’s palæolithic. There’s only a few of her in the world. Some
Frenchman called her type the Hottentot Venus, because she’s a little
like the women of that tribe. But the woman she was modelled on may
have been an ancestor of yours or mine.”
“I think not, Mr. Fortune.” Miss Lomas was horrified.
“We have had time to improve on her, madame,” Reggie bowed. “This is
the point. Outside national museums, there are only half a dozen
collections which own one of these ladies. Who’s the quaint savant
that gives them to a schoolgirl to play with? May I see the names of
your girls?”
“I only accept pupils with the highest references, sir,” said Miss
Lomas, overawed but fuming.
So Reggie was allowed to inspect her register. He studied it in vain.
No name suggested connection with any of the few archaeologists
likely to own a Hottentot Venus. He gave it up.
“Well, sir?” Miss Lomas was triumphant and disdainful. “I am very
much obliged to you for your courtesy. I regret exceedingly that I
have troubled you with my affairs. I need not ask you to waste any
more of your valuable time on the case that I foolishly submitted to
you.”
“But, my dear Miss Lomas, I’m just gettin’ interested,” said Reggie,
with an engaging smile. “You know, my first thoughts were that your
children had been ragging.”
“Really, Mr. Fortune! Your way of putting things! Please understand
that the girls in my school do not ‘rag’--as you call it. I think my
sex leaves that to young men, Mr. Fortune.”
“Women are so revoltin’ nowadays,” Reggie murmured. “I wonder--you
have no new woman in the flock? No bold, bad rebel?” The face of Miss
Lomas answered him. “I thought so. We must have the second solution.
Somebody wanted somebody’s photograph.”
“But why? Why should one girl want to steal photographs of the other
girls? It’s nonsensical.”
“Oh, it’s all nonsense,” Reggie agreed cheerfully. “It’s gibberish
till we find the key. But here’s one odd thing for certain, the
Hottentot Venus. I expect to find a lot more before we’ve done.”
“Do you wish to alarm me, Mr. Fortune?”
“I’m only tryin’ to keep you interested. Now all these things have
happened recently. Has any one new come to the school recently? Any
new servant? Any new teacher? Well, any new girl?”
“It’s very unusual to have any new girls this term. But we have had
one--Alice Warenne. She came with the highest introductions, Mr.
Fortune. The Countess of Spilsborough asked me to take her.”
“And who are Alice Warenne’s people?”
“Her father is English but lives abroad. A distinguished-looking man,
obviously well off. He has friends, as you see, in the best society.
Her mother, I believe, has been long dead. She was brought up in
France, and speaks French better than English. But this is all waste
of time, Mr. Fortune. Alice Warenne is a delightful girl--a sweet
nature. I can’t imagine anything against her. Pray don’t form idle
prejudices.”
“And has anybody called to see Alice Warenne since the affair of the
photographs?”
Miss Lomas showed some surprise. “Dear me, Mr. Fortune--now you
mention it, yes. Her father was over in England and came down to see
her a few days ago. He had another man with him, I remember.”
“Another? Do fond fathers often bring a faithful friend down to see
how their daughters are growing?”
“Now you mention it, I suppose it is unusual.” Miss Lomas looked at
Reggie with apprehension. “Still, it’s quite reasonable, Mr. Fortune.”
“Well--if he were a brother--or a selected fiancé.”
“Really, Mr. Fortune! Alice is a child. Not more than sixteen. This
other man was older than her father. I wish I could remember his
name.”
“So do I,” Reggie agreed.
“It was nothing uncommon, I think. He was rather an uncommon-looking
man--big and handsome, but artistic or Bohemian in his clothes.”
“And after the fond father and the faithful friend saw Alice you
found this little lady”--he held up the Hottentot Venus--“in the
library?”
“It was--the day after,” Miss Lomas cried. “Good gracious!”
“We are getting on, aren’t we?” Reggie smiled. “But I wonder where we
are getting to?”
“They saw her in the library. I shall certainly ask Alice for an
explanation,” Miss Lomas said.
Reggie put the Hottentot Venus in his pocket and smiled at her. “I’m
sure you’re much too wise. Let’s say nothing till we can say
something sensible. I should like to see Alice. Just ‘for to admire’,
you know.”
“The girls will be in the playing-field now.”
“Delightful. Suppose you walk me through. Treat me as if I was
intendin’ to be a parent.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Miss Lomas, with emphasis.
“Oh, I mean a fond father comin’ to see if it was all nice enough for
my darlin’ daughter. Don’t let Alice think I’m interested in her.”
“Very well, Mr. Fortune.” Miss Lomas went off for her hat.
The playing-field was a pleasant place set about with old oaks, in
the freshest of their leaves then, through which there were glimpses
of the sunlit Devon sea. Comely girls in white, clustered, arms in
the air, at basket ball, or ran and smote across the tennis-courts.
Reggie paused and sank down on a seat. “This is very soothin’ and
pretty,” he murmured. “Here are our young barbarians all at play. Why
will they grow up, Miss Lomas? They’re so much more satisfying now.”
Miss Lomas stared at him. “Naturally they grow up,” she explained.
“They can’t be children all their lives.”
“Some of us never were,” Reggie sighed. “Charming, charming. Like the
young things in Homer, what? The maidens and the princess of the
white arms they fell to playing at ball. Charming--especially that
one. Yes. Which did you say was Alice?”
“That is Miss Warenne.” Miss Lomas pointed with her sunshade to two
girls arm in arm. One was a tall creature, a woman already in body
and stately, with a fine, bold face, and red-brown hair that glowed.
“Why, she’s a goddess!” Reggie said.
“Oh, dear, no,” said Miss Lomas. “That’s Hilda Crowland. Alice is the
little one.”
“Let’s go and look at the basket ball,” Reggie suggested, and to do
that walked across the field on a line which brought them for a
moment face to face with little Alice Warenne. She was a tiny
creature, and had appropriately a round baby face. She was dark and
plump and dimpled. But although her hair was not yet up, she need not
have been younger than her magnificent companion.
Reggie Fortune’s interest in basket ball was soon exhausted. They
went back across the field at an angle which brought them again face
to face with Alice Warenne and her imposing friend, and while they
passed, Reggie (rather loudly) was asking Miss Lomas questions about
the school games and the school time-table. As soon as they were out
of hearing of the two girls he broke this off with a sharp, “Great
friends are they, those two?”
“They are always together,” Miss Lomas admitted.
“And who is the magnificent creature?”
“Hilda Crowland? Why, she’s been with me for years.”
“And she’s the bosom friend of this girl, who’s only been here a
couple of months!”
“Now you mention it, that is odd, Mr. Fortune.”
“Oh, Lord, everything’s odd!” Reggie said irritably. “Who is Hilda
Crowland?”
“Well, her mother is a widow and very well off, I believe. She lives
in Cornwall. Hilda came to me through Lady de Burgh. Of course you
understand, Mr. Fortune, that that implies irreproachable family
connections.”
“I dare say. I dare say. Well, Miss Lomas, it’s a queer case. I will
take it up and go into it further. Something is being planned rather
elaborately in which your school, probably a girl in your school, is
concerned. It may be a matter outside your responsibilities. It may
be something unpleasant.”
“Good gracious, Mr. Fortune, what do you suggest?” Miss Lomas was
rather excited than alarmed.
“I don’t suggest anything. I have no information. The trouble is,
Miss Lomas, you know nothing about your girls.”
“Really, Mr. Fortune! As I have told you, I insist upon----”
“Good references. Anybody can find good references. Did your brother
never tell you about the Prime Minister’s butler? He came from an
Archbishop.”
“Is there anything you advise me to do?”
“Be ordinary. Absolutely ordinary. I shall stay in Tormouth at
present. I’m at the ‘Bristol.’”
So he left Miss Lomas rather ruffled, but under that deeply
gratified, because her case really was a serious case, her acumen was
vindicated, her brother put to shame. Her school found her more
masterful than ever.
Reggie’s room at the “Bristol” had a balcony which looked on the sea.
There he sat before an empty plate which had held muffins, and lit
one of his largest cigars. “Now where the devil have I seen that
little minx before?” said he.
Upon that question he concentrated his mind, and (omitting the
adventures into blind alleys) his thoughts were like this:
“Typewriting . . . why does sweet Alice suggest typewriting? . . .
_mes petites manches de satinette_ . . . my little satinette sleeves
. . . now what in wonder is that? . . . Oh, my aunt! She was the
demure little typist in that play at the Variétés last year. What was
her name? Alice Ducher! . . . Oh, Peter! A soubrette from the
Variétés in a blameless English girls’ school! Ye stately homes of
England! Give me air!”
He took from his pocket the Hottentot Venus and contemplated her
severely. “I don’t know which of you is worse, darling,” he said.
“You or Mlle Ducher. What are you at, anyway? Lord, I wouldn’t have
thought she had anything to do with palæolithic dolls! What’s the
connection, darling?” The Hottentot Venus was naturally silent.
Reggie sighed and put her away, and began to contemplate the beauties
of nature. Tormouth, you know, is placed upon an agreeable bay, its
sands are white, and its headlands of a dark rock which in a flood of
sunshine discover gleams of crystal amid a reddish glow. So Reggie
saw them as the western sky grew crimson and the flood-tide sparkled
in a thousand golden jewels. A delectable scene. It was laborious to
go on thinking. Tormouth is an anchorage favoured by yachts, and
though it was early summer two or three white craft lay out in the
bay. Reggie went into his room and came out again to the balcony with
a binocular. The influence of the evening was upon him and he felt a
need of futile diversion. He focused the glasses upon the yachts.
There was a big schooner and two steam-boats--one a small packet with
the white ensign of the R.Y.S., the other a big craft under the
Italian flag. He could not make out the names.
A waiter came to take his tea away. “I want the local paper. And do
you keep Shearn’s Yacht List?”
Both were brought. The yachts in Tormouth Bay were reported as
_Sheila_, _Lorna_, and _Giulia_. He turned them up in the list and
whistled. The owner of the _Giulia_ was the Prince of Ragusa.
“This is getting relevant,” said he.
The Prince of Ragusa, hereditary ruler of some ten square miles and
fabulously wealthy, was known to the learned as a zealous
archæologist. He was one of the half-dozen men in the world whose
collection might contain a Hottentot Venus. But, unless his
reputation belied him, he was very unlikely to know or care anything
about a soubrette from Paris. And why should he send his Hottentot
Venus to a girls’ school?
“Still several unknown quantities,” Reggie reflected. And yet there
was the Hottentot Venus in the Tormouth school and there off Tormouth
lay the Prince of Ragusa. “I think we’ll make Brer Lomas sit up and
take notice,” said Reggie, and devoted himself to the composition of
Latin prose. Thus:
“De academia sororis nonnihil timeo nec quid timean certe scio. Sunt
qui conjurarint et fortasse in flagitium. Si quid improvisum vel mihi
vel academiae eveniret principem de Ragusa et navem eius capere
oporteret.”
This he wrote on telegraph forms, and with his own hand presented to
the lady at the post office, who was justly horrified.
“But what language is it?” she protested.
“There you have me,” Reggie confessed. “It would like to be Latin,
but I left school when I was young.”
The lady sniffed but, looking at it again, saw that it was addressed
to Scotland Yard, and said, “Ah, I understand.”
“I wish I did,” Reggie murmured. For the sense of that mysterious
telegram is: “I am anxious about your sister’s school, and don’t
quite know what I am afraid of. There is a conspiracy on foot which
may be criminal. If anything unforeseen happens to me or the school,
catch the Prince of Ragusa and his yacht.” “Yes. Nuts to crack for
Lomas,” said Reggie. And he went to dinner.
It is now necessary to employ the narrative of Miss Somers, B.Sc. On
the next day there was a lecture given in the Tormouth assembly rooms
by Mr. Horatio Bean, the photographer of a recent expedition to the
Arctic regions. To such edifying entertainments Miss Lomas was
accustomed to send her girls. Miss Somers, B.Sc., was in charge of
the detachment which marched to the assembly rooms on this occasion.
Her narrative, purged of emotion unfit for a female bachelor of
science, goes like this: She noticed nothing till the pictures
began--that is, till the room was darkened. Then two girls got up in
a hurry. One of them, who was Alice Warenne, whispered to her as she
passed that Hilda Crowland didn’t feel very well. Alice was going out
with her and would look after her. They went. At the close of the
lecture, one of the attendants approached Miss Somers and said he had
been asked to tell her that the two young ladies had gone back to the
school.
Upon this naturally follows the report of Constable Stewer of the
Tormouth borough police. To this effect: Was on duty 3.30 p.m. on the
quay; motor-launch from Italian yacht came in and lay by number one
steps; two young ladies came in a hurry and entered launch; gentleman
who had been smoking cigar in vicinity thrust paper and half-crown
into my hands, saying “Constable, wire that immediate”; gentleman
then took flying leap into launch, which was already shoved off, and
engine started; launch steered for Italian yacht; returned to station
to make report.
The paper when examined by inspector on duty was found to bear these
words: “Lomas, Scotland Yard. Two girls on _Giulia_. Me too.--F.” A
telegram was sent. About tea-time Scotland Yard telephoned to know
whether the yacht _Giulia_ was still at Tormouth. A serjeant hurrying
to the harbour found P. C. Stewer back at his post watching a smudge
of smoke on the horizon. About that time Miss Lomas called at the
police station to ask if anything had been heard or seen of two of
her girls. So we leave the inspector almost exploding with a sense of
the importance of his office.
“Mille pardons, mademoiselle,” said Reggie, as he arrived in the
launch and grabbed at his hat and, involuntarily, sat down upon Miss
Crowland. With a firm and friendly hand she assisted him to recover
his balance. She was in all respects made to sustain shocks. Her grey
eyes smiled at him.
A man--an oldish, solemn man who was horrified--confronted Reggie.
“You cannot come here, monsieur,” he cried in French.
“I dare to assure you of the contrary,” says Reggie in the same
language.
“This is a private launch.”
“Perfectly. Of the Prince of Ragusa. It is why I have arrived. I have
news for the Prince of Ragusa--news which will surprise him
marvellously.”
The solemn man was embarrassed. “Nevertheless I protest, sir.”
“I make a note of your protest,” said Reggie, and bowed.
The solemn man bowed--and seemed satisfied.
Reggie sat down beside the little Alice Warenne, who had been
watching all this very demurely, a contrast to Miss Crowland, who was
frankly amused. “Permit a lover of art to address you, mademoiselle,”
said he. “I desire infinitely to thank you for the great pleasure
which you have given me.”
“How, sir? I do not understand.” She looked more a baby than ever.
“Your little sleeves of satinette,” Reggie murmured. “Your adorable
little sleeves of satinette.”
And then she laughed, and Reggie knew that he had made no mistake.
She was the soubrette of the Variétés. The laugh of Mlle Ducher was
unforgettable. “I am a great artist, sir, am I not?”
Hilda Crowland smiled at her. “Monsieur is a friend of yours, Alice?”
she said in English.
“All in good time. Only an admirer at present, darling.” She gave
Reggie a glance which was not the least childish.
“I dare to hope,” Reggie said, and again she laughed.
They were alongside the yacht. The ladies were handed to the gangway,
and Reggie went up it close on their heels. There seemed to be a
deputation waiting for them on deck, a middle-aged deputation which,
on the coming of the girls, bared its grey and bald heads. Two men
stood out from it who lifted their caps, but put them on again, one a
young fellow of a sprightly air, the other grey and grave, with a
certain assured stateliness. At him Alice made a saucy curtsy. He
came forward and took Hilda Crowland’s hand. “My dear child,” he said
in English, “be very welcome,” and he kissed her on both cheeks.
She flushed faintly. “I do not understand you, sir.” She withdrew
herself.
“I present to you your cousin, the Comte de Spoleto.” The young man
smiled at her and kissed her hand. The elder man turned to the
others. “Gentlemen--I receive to-day my daughter, the Duchesse de
Zara.” One by one they came forward and were presented and kissed the
wondering girl’s hand. And at the end of them marched Reggie and
stood before His Highness the Prince of Ragusa, who became
immediately the most amazed of men. “I do not know you, sir,” he
said, with intense disgust. “Who is this, Audagna?” He turned to the
man who had been on the launch.
“I represent her mother,” said Reggie.
A wave of emotion shook the deputation. Hilda flushed and looked at
Alice, who laughed. His Highness stood very stiff.
“I have not desired that her mother should be represented,” he
announced.
“I cannot defend the conduct of your Highness,” said Reggie blandly.
“I do not admit your right to be here, sir,” the Prince cried.
“That makes your conduct still more suspicious,” said Reggie.
“Suspicious!” The Prince gasped and turned upon the others. “He says
suspicious!” Horror overwhelmed them all. The Prince was the first to
recover his self-control. “Be pleased to follow me, sir,” he said,
with awful courtesy. “Hilda, my dear child.” He gave her his arm.
“Spoleto!”
The family party and Reggie went down to His Highness’s cabin. Only
Hilda was asked to sit, and in perfect calm she sat. Nothing but a
shade more colour in her cheeks, a brighter gleam in her eye,
confessed that her stately head deigned to take any interest in her
strange situation.
The Prince of Ragusa turned to Reggie. “I do not yet know your name,
sir.” So Reggie gave him a card. “Mr. Reginald Fortune--a lawyer,
sir?”
“I am a surgeon. But let’s hope we shan’t need my professional
qualifications.”
“It is very well. You are here to represent my wife. I do not allow
that my wife has any right to share my plans for my daughter. But
since you have intruded, sir, I do not choose to conceal my
intentions. I have resumed my control of my daughter because she is
now of an age to take her proper place at my side, to perform her
duty to her family, and to carry out the plans which I have formed
for her.”
“Admirable. And shall we hear Miss Crowland’s intentions in the
matter?” Reggie looked at the girl.
“Be pleased to speak of my daughter as the Duchesse de Zara.”
A throb passed through the yacht. Reggie looked out of the port-hole
and saw the water sliding by. “So we’re off,” he smiled.
“The yacht sails immediately for Ragusa. I shall not be able to put
you ashore, sir. For any discomfort you undergo be pleased to blame
yourself and your employer. I see a rashness in your actions which I
should have expected from my wife.”
Reggie chuckled. “Well, well. And, of course, you don’t like being
rash!”
“On our arrival at Ragusa you may, if you choose, remain and be
present at my daughter’s marriage.”
“Oh. Shall I be present, sir?” said Hilda, with a dangerous meekness.
“My dear child!” His Highness said affectionately. “Mr. Fortune--you
have the happiness to be present at the betrothal of my daughter, the
Duchesse de Zara, to my nephew, the Comte de Spoleto.”
It was Reggie who preserved an appropriate calm. He only gave one
chuckle.
“How? But--but it is incredible!” Spoleto cried in French, and
recoiled, gesticulating.
The Prince flushed and glared at him.
Hilda stood up. “This is ridiculous, sir,” she said, and was pale.
“Ridiculous, that is the word,” Spoleto cried.