An Appeal for Aid
One can easily guess with what delicious precipitation the Misses
Rushford, having read the note sent to them by Lord Vernon and having
recovered somewhat from the paralysis of amazement into which it had
thrown them, hurried up the stair and sought the privacy of their own
apartment. Here, evidently, was a full-fledged mystery enacting under
their very noses, no trumpery neighbourhood mystery, either, but one of
national--aye, even international--importance! It made them gasp to
think of it; they were even a little frightened. By the touch of a
finger the stage-door had been opened; they had been admitted behind the
scenes--to the inside, as they had longed to be. And the experience was
even more interesting and exciting than they had dared to hope! They
were playing a part, however humble, in the great drama of European
politics!
"But what can it mean?" Nell demanded, as she read the note for perhaps
the twentieth time. "What can it possibly mean? Why should Lord Vernon
wish to appear ill when he isn't?"
"I don't suppose he's doing it for fun," observed Susie, sagely.
"No, of course not," agreed Nell. "There isn't any fun in it that I can
see. But it seems a very remarkable course of action. Some great affair
of state must depend upon it," she added in a tone slightly awe-struck,
for her imagination was beginning to be affected. "He seems awfully
young to hold such an important place," she added.
"These English statesmen always look younger than they are," said Sue.
"From his pictures, I always imagined that Chamberlain was a
comparatively young man, and here I read somewhere the other day that
he's nearly seventy!"
"At any rate," concluded Nell, "since it was for our sake Lord Vernon
threw off the mask, so to speak, it is only fair, on our part, to keep
quiet about it. Why do you think he ran away so quickly? It was almost
rude."
"I thought it quite entirely rude," asserted Sue. "But maybe he saw
somebody coming whom he wished to avoid."
And then both gasped simultaneously:
"The owner of the dog!"
"Of course!"
"How dense we were!"
"But who is the owner of the dog? Not an Englishman!"
"No--a German, I should say."
"Yes--did you notice his accent? And then he is tall and blond."
"Distinguished looking; and with an air about him--an autocratic
manner--which makes me think he's a Somebody. He's evidently not used to
being snubbed."
"It's perfectly maddening!" exclaimed Nell, with brows most becomingly
wrinkled. "If we only knew something of English politics, we might be
able to guess what it is all about."
"Dad could see through it in a minute," sighed Susie, "but that poor
dear will never have the chance, because, of course, we can't tell even
him. And he likes this sort of thing, too; it would give him just the
excitement he's been sighing for!"
And yet fate willed that he was to have the chance, for half an hour
later, after a short conference with Monsieur Pelletan, a gentleman whom
we have met before in the apartment of Lord Vernon approached him where
he sat in the smoking-room, drew up a chair, and sat down beside him.
"This is Mr. Rushford, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yes; that's my name," and the American looked him over in some
surprise.
"My name is Collins," went on the other. "I am secretary to Lord
Vernon."
"Glad to know you, Mr. Collins," and the American held out his hand. "I
hope Lord Vernon's getting along all right."
"As well as could be expected, thank you; but there has been a little
unforeseen--er--complication--"
"Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Well, yes; to be quite frank, Mr. Rushford, I think it decidedly
serious."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Rushford, with genuine feeling. "We
Americans have always taken a special pride in Lord Vernon's career--his
mother was an American girl, you know--and his death would be almost a
personal loss to us."
"His death?" echoed Collins, staring.
"There's no immediate danger, then? I'm glad of that. Still, if the
complication is as serious as you think--"
"My dear sir," broke in the Englishman, "you have misunderstood me. Lord
Vernon's health is--er--quite satisfactory, all things considered. The
complication is in--er--a rather delicate affair of state,
which--which--"
"Anything I can do?" asked Rushford, encouragingly, as the other
stammered and broke down.
"Yes, there is, Mr. Rushford," answered Collins, quickly, taking his
courage in both hands. "Or, rather, there's something your daughters can
do."
"My daughters?" Rushford looked at him again, a growing suspicion in his
eyes. "I don't quite understand. You'll have to be more explicit, Mr.
Collins. I don't see how my daughters can have anything to do with your
affairs of state."
"I am going to be as explicit as I can," Collins assured him, "but it's
such an infernally delicate matter that one hardly knows where to begin.
Of course, what I have to tell you must be told in confidence."
"All right," said the American, with a little pucker of the brow which
told that he did not wholly like Mr. Collins. 'Fire ahead."
"First, if you don't mind," said the Englishman, looking about him, "I
think we'd better get out of this crowd."
"Suppose we go up to my rooms," suggested Rushford, rising. "We'll be
free from interruption there, and can thresh the whole thing out."
"Thank you," assented Collins. "Of course, I understand," he continued,
in a louder voice, as they started toward the door, "that the question
of stocks is always a very complicated one, and very difficult for a
layman to understand, but a man of your experience--"
The door of the elevator-car closed behind them, and he stopped.
"Whose benefit was that for?" asked Rushford.
"For the benefit of a French police spy, who was trying his best to
overhear our conversation."
"A police spy? Did you know him?"
"I know his class; it's impossible to mistake it. They all look
alike--it's a type which even the comic opera has been unable to
burlesque. You probably noticed him--all moustache, imperial, and
lavender gloves."
"Oh, him? Yes, I've seen him. And I've been rather itching to apply my
boot to his coat-tails. I thought he was a cheap actor--a ten, twenty,
thirty, as we say in America. Do you suppose Pelletan knows him?"
"Oh, undoubtedly! He's probably boarding him for nothing. These French
police have a way with them."
Rushford bit his moustache savagely and resolved to have an explanation
with Monsieur Pelletan.
The car stopped.
"Here we are," he said, stepping out into the corridor. "You see our
apartment is just over Lord Vernon's. I don't believe even a French
detective can disturb us here," and he locked the door after them as
they entered. "Besides, my daughters will be handy if we decide to call
them in."
Yet, in spite of the plural pronoun, it was quite evident that he was
the one who proposed to do the deciding.
"Thank you," said Collins, again. "I hope to show you the necessity of
calling them in. In fact, the principal favour I want to ask of you is
an introduction to them. They can, if they will, save Lord Vernon, and
incidentally the government, a lot of trouble."
Rushford looked at him with a little stare.
"In what way?" he asked, motioning him to a chair.
"It happens," answered Collins, "that, by chance, they hold in their
hands the key to a very important affair of state--nothing less than the
succession to Schloshold-Markheim. They could, if they wished, involve
the government in difficulties of the most serious nature."
Rushford stared at him yet a moment. Then he settled back in his chair.
"Have a cigar?" he asked. "No? You won't mind my smoking? I can think
better when I smoke. Now let's have the story; I'm anxious to hear what
those girls have been up to. I'm afraid they need a chaperon, after
all!"