AN ACCIDENT
The Prince accepted my most comfortable easy chair with an air of
graceful condescension. Lady Angela had already seated herself. It was
late in the afternoon, and Grooton was busy in the room behind,
preparing my tea.
"The Prince did not care to shoot to-day," Lady Angela explained, "and I
have been showing him the neighbourhood. Incidentally, I am dying for
some tea, and the Prince has smoked all his cigarettes."
The Prince raised his hand in polite expostulation, but he accepted a
cigarette with a little sigh of relief.
"You have found a very lonely spot for your dwelling-house, Mr.
Ducaine," he said. "You English are so fond of solitude."
"It suits me very well," I answered, "for just now I have a great deal
of work to do. I am safely away from all distractions here."
Lady Angela smiled at me.
"Not quite so safe perhaps, Mr. Ducaine, as you fondly imagined," she
remarked. "I am afraid that we disturbed you. You look awfully busy."
She glanced towards my writing-table. It was covered with papers, and a
map of the southern counties leaned up against the wall. The Prince
also was glancing curiously in the same direction.
"I have finished my work for the day," I said, rising. "If you will
permit me, I will put it away."
Grooton brought in tea. The Prince was politely curious as to the
subject matter of those closely written sheets of paper.
"You are perhaps interested in literature, Mr. Ducaine," he remarked.
"Immensely," I answered, waving my hand towards my bookshelves.
"But you yourself--you no doubt write?"
"Oh, one tries," I answered, pouring out the tea.
"It may be permitted then to wish you success," he remarked dryly.
"You are very good," I answered.
Lady Angela calmly interposed. The Prince ate buttered toast and drank
tea with a bland affectation of enjoyment. They rose almost immediately
afterwards.
"You are coming up to the house this evening, Mr. Ducaine?" Lady Angela
asked.
"I am due there now," I answered. "If you will allow me, I will walk
back with you."
The Prince touched my arm as Lady Angela passed out before us.
"I am anxious, Mr. Ducaine," he said, looking me in the face, "for a
few minutes' private conversation with you. I shall perhaps be
fortunate enough to find you at home to-morrow."
He did not wait for my answer, for Lady Angela looked back, and he
hastened to her side. He seemed in no hurry, however, to leave the
place. The evening was cloudy and unusually dark. A north wind was
tearing through the grove of stunted firs, and the roar of the incoming
sea filled the air with muffled thunder. The Prince looked about him
with a little grimace.
"It is indeed a lonely spot," he remarked. "One can imagine anything
happening here. Did I not hear of a tragedy only the other day--a man
found dead?"
"If you have a taste for horrors, Prince," I remarked, "you can see the
spot from the edge of the cliff here."
The Prince moved eagerly forward.
"I disclaim all such weakness," he said, "but the little account which I
read, or did some one tell me of it?--ah, I forget; but it interested
me."
I pointed downwards to where the creek-riven marshes merged into the
sands.
"It was there--a little to the left of the white palings," I said. "The
man was supposed to have been cast up from the sea."
He measured the distance with his eye. I anticipated his remark.
"The tide is only halfway up now," I said, "and on that particular night
there was a terrible gale."
"Nevertheless," he murmured, half to himself, "it is a long way. Was
the man what you call identified, Mr. Ducaine?"
"No!"
"There were no letters or papers found upon him?"
"None."
The Prince looked at me sharply.
"That," he said softly, "was strange. Does it not suggest to you that
he may have been robbed?"
"I had not thought of it," I answered. "The verdict, I believe, was
simply Found drowned."
"Found drowned," the Prince repeated. "Ah! Found drowned.
By-the-bye," he added suddenly, "who did find him?"
"I did," I said coolly.
"You?" The Prince peered at me closely through the dim light. "That,"
he said reflectively, "is interesting."
"You find it so interesting," I remarked, "that perhaps you could help
to solve the question of the man's identity."
He seemed startled.
"I?" he exclaimed. "But, no. Why should you think that?"
I turned to join Lady Angela. He did not immediately follow.
"Why did you bring him?" I asked her softly. "You had some reason."
"He was making inquiries about you," she answered, "secretly and openly.
I thought you ought to know, and I could think of no other way of
putting you on your guard."
"The Prince of Malors!" I murmured. "He surely would not stoop to play
the spy."
She was silent, and moved a step or two farther away from the spot where
he still stood as though absorbed. His angular figure was clearly
defined through the twilight against the empty background of space. He
was on the very edge of the cliff, almost looking over.
"I know very little about him myself," she said hurriedly, "but I have
heard the others talk, Lord Chelsford especially. He is a man, they
say, with a twofold reputation. He has played a great part in the world
of pleasure, almost a theatrical part; but, you know, the French people
like that."
"It is true," I murmured. "They love their heroes decked in tinsel."
She nodded.
"They say that it is part of a pose, and that he has serious political
ambitions. He contemplates always some great scheme which shall make
him the idol, if only for a day, of the French mob. A day would be
sufficient, for he would strike while--Prince, be careful," she called
out. "Ah!"
We heard a shrill cry, and we saw the Prince sway on the verge of the
cliff. He threw up his arms and clutched wildly at the air, but he was
too late to save himself. We saw the ground crumble beneath his feet,
and with a second cry of despair he disappeared.
Grooton, Lady Angela, and I reached the edge of the cliff at about the
same moment. We peered over in breathless anxiety. Lady Angela
clutched my arm, and for a moment I did not in the least care what had
happened to the Prince.
"Don't be frightened," I whispered. "The descent is not by any means
sheer. He can't possibly have got to the bottom. I will clamber down
and look for him,"
She shuddered.
"Oh, you mustn't," she exclaimed. "It is not safe. How terrible it
looks down there!"
I raised my voice and shouted. Almost immediately there came an answer.
"I am here, my friends, in the middle of a bush. I dare not move. It
is so dark I cannot see where to put my foot. Can you lower me a
lantern, and I will see if I can climb up?"
Grooton hastened back to the cottage.
"I think you will be all right," I cried out. "It is not half as steep
as it looks."
"I believe," he answered, "that I can see a path up. But I will wait
until the lantern comes."
The lantern arrived almost immediately. We lowered it to him by a rope,
and he examined the face of the cliff.
"I think that I can get up," he cried out, "but I should like to help
myself with the rope. Can you both hold it tightly?"
"All right," I answered. "We've got it."
He clambered up with surprising agility. But as he reached the edge of
the cliff he groaned heavily.
"Are you hurt?" Lady Angela asked.
"It is my foot," he muttered, "my left foot. I twisted it in falling."
Grooton and I helped him to the cottage. He hobbled painfully along
with tightly clenched lips.
"I shall have to ask for a pony cart to get up to the house, I am
afraid," he said. "I am very sorry to give you so much trouble, Mr.
Ducaine."
"The trouble is nothing,". I answered, "but I am wondering how on earth
you managed to fall over the cliff."
"I myself, I scarcely know," he answered, as he sipped the brandy which
Grooton had produced. "I am subject to fits of giddiness, and one came
over me as I stood there looking down. I felt the ground sway, and
remember no more. I am very sorry to give you tall this trouble, but
indeed I fear that I cannot walk."
"We will send you down a cart," I declared. "You will have rather a
rough drive across the grass, but there is no other way."
"You are very kind," he declared. "I am in despair at my clumsiness."
I gave him my box of cigarettes. Lady Angela hesitated.
"I think," she said, "that I ought to stay with you, Prince, while Mr.
Ducaine goes up for the cart."
"Indeed, Lady Angela, you are very kind," he answered, "but I could not
permit it. I regret to say that I am in some pain, and I have a
weakness for being alone when I suffer. If I desire anything Mr.
Ducaine's servant will be at hand."
So we left him there. At any other time the prospect of that walk with
Lady Angela would have filled me with joy. But from the first moment of
leaving the cottage I was uneasy.
"What do you think of that man?" I asked her abruptly. "I mean
personally?"
"I hate him," she answered coolly. "He is one of those creatures whose
eyes and mouth, and something underneath his most respectful words, seem
always to suggest offensive things. I find it very hard indeed to be
civil to him."
"Do you happen to know what Colonel Ray thinks of him?" I asked her.
"I have no special knowledge of Colonel Ray's likes or dislikes," she
answered.
"Forgive me," I said. "I thought that you and he were very intimate,
and that you might know. I wonder whether he takes the Prince
seriously."
"Colonel Ray is one of my best friends," she said, "but I am not in his
confidence."
A slight reserve had crept into her tone. I stole a glance at her face;
paler and more delicate than ever it seemed in the gathering darkness.
Her lips were firmly set, but her eyes were kind. A sudden desire for
her sympathy weakened me.
"Lady Angela," I said, "I must talk to some one. I do not know whom to
trust. I do not know who is honest. You are the only person whom I
dare speak to at all."
She looked round cautiously. We were out of the plantation now, in the
open park, where eavesdropping was impossible.
"You have a difficult post, Mr. Ducaine," she said, "and you will
remember--"
"Oh, I remember," I interrupted. "You warned me not to take' it. But
think in what a position I was. I had no career, I was penniless. How
could I throw away such a chance?"
"Something has happened--this morning, has it not?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Yes."
She waited for me to go on. She was deeply interested. I could hear
her breath coming fast, though we were walking at a snail's pace. I
longed to confide in her absolutely, but I dared not.
"Do not ask me to tell you what it was," I said. "The knowledge would
only perplex and be a burden to you. It is all the time like poison in
my brain."
We were walking very close together. I felt her fingers suddenly upon
my arm and her soft breath upon my cheek.
"But if you do not tell me everything--how can you expect my sympathy,
perhaps my help?"
"I may not ask you for either," I answered sadly. "The knowledge of
some things must remain between your father and myself."
"Between my father--and yourself!" she repeated.
I was silent, and then we both started apart. Behind us we could hear
the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, soft quick footsteps,
muffled and almost noiseless upon the spongy turf. We stood still.