There are limitations even to the powers of dukes.
For instance, even a Duke starting forth at 2.30 to catch the 2.20 from
Charing Cross is hardly likely to succeed, unless he performs one of
those miracles of which one hears in the course of destructive and
pessimistic parliamentary debate, to wit: put back the hands of time.
There was time to shop and time to reflect. Time also to wire to the
sedate Cole and give instructions for the management of the house during
the Duke's absence. It gave Mr. Bill Slewer time also to discover the
Duke's plans--the Duke's instructions to Cole had included a counsel of
frankness as to his whereabouts.
The party left London by the nine o'clock train--that same
"Continental," that Hank had "flagged"--and the crossing from Dover to
Calais was a pleasant one to Tuppy's infinite relief. They arrived in
Paris before daybreak, and idled away that day and the next. The
Tanneurs were in Paris, if report was true. The work of investigation
was to be divided.
"You do the magazins, Tuppy," said the Duke, "if you hang round the
shopping centre you are pretty sure to spot 'em."
The Duke haunted the Louvre, Hank systematically went through the hotel
lists. Tuppy, after spending ten minutes examining the contents of a
jeweller's shop window in the Rue de la Paix, came back to the hotel
thoroughly exhausted.
By accident they learnt that the Tanneurs had gone on to Madrid, and
there was a wild rush to catch the Sud Express. They caught it by the
narrowest of margins. At Bordeaux, Tuppy got out to buy some French
papers: by the merest chance met a man he knew; exchanged greetings and
inquiries, spoke rudely of the dowager ... the Sud Express was half-way
to the border before Tuppy realized that he ought to have been on it....
Accordingly there was a day lost at Biarritz where the chafing Duke
waited for Tuppy to catch up.
In Madrid, they had no difficulty in finding out that the Tanneurs had
arrested their progress at Avila.
Back to the walled city dashed the adventurers. As their train came
clanging into the station, the south bound express drew out and the Duke
caught a glimpse of Alicia's slim figure standing at the window of a
saloon--and swore. They returned to Madrid the same night, by a train
that stopped at every station, and sometimes between stations. It
discharged them, weary, bedraggled and extremely cross, at the Medina in
the middle of the night.
Hank alone of the trio was imperturbable. Nothing shook the nerves or
disturbed the serenity of the American. His inevitable cigar between
his teeth, he surveyed the chill desolation of the dreary terminus with
bland benevolence.
It was Tuppy's fault that they missed the Sevilla Express. Tuppy,
acquiring a sudden and passionate love for art, strayed through the
Prado, lingered in the Valesquez Room, melted into a condition of
ecstatic incoherence, before the wonders of Titian, the glories of
Rubens, and the beauty of Paul Veronese, and finally contrived to get
himself locked in at closing time.
He was discovered by a watchman, pounced upon as an international
burglar, arrested, and finally released, after considerable trouble, in
which the British ambassador, the Minister of Marine and the Duke were
involved.
"It is no use your being angry, my dear old ferocious friend," said the
penitent Tuppy. "Unfortunate as my intrusion into the realms of art may
be, I merely illustrate the sayin' of that remarkable German feller who
wrote a play about the devil, that Art is long an' time's doocid short,
and dear old Titian an' cheery old Velasquez wait for no man."
"My dear man, you had a time table."
"Assure you, old feller, I hadn't."
"But I gave you one; a little red book."
"So you did," said Tuppy thoughtfully, "a little red book with egg
marks. Now d'ye know," he said in a burst of confidence, "I didn't know
that dashed thing was a time table."
"What the dickens did you think it was?" asked the Duke in tones of
annoyance, "a set of sleeve links?" Thenceforward Tuppy behaved like a
perfect gentleman. The Duke went further and said that Tuppy behaved
like a perfect nuisance.
For if a train was due to leave at seven, and breakfast was ordered at
six o'clock, you might be sure that somewhere in the neighbourhood of 4
a.m. Tuppy would thrust his head into the Duke's apartment with an
anxious inquiry.
"Time's a bouncin', old feller, what?" he would ask. "I hear people
movin' downstairs--are you quite sure about that train?"
"For goodness' sake, Tuppy, go to sleep," said the Duke on one occasion,
and Tuppy withdrew--but not to slumber. Tuppy would begin packing. You
could hear Tuppy's boots falling on the bare floor of the Spanish
hotel--you could hear Tuppy's apologetic "damn!" Then he whistled
softly and with heart-breaking flatness the "Soldiers' Chorus"; then he
took a stealthy bath--blowing like a grampus and with a sibilant hissing
that suggested an ostler at his toilet. Then there came from his room a
squeaking and a grunting as Tuppy manipulated his physical developer.
Then a thunderous crash! as the dumbells fell to the floor--at this
point the Duke would rise and address feeling remarks to his friend.
Such a programme as I have outlined is faithfully typical of what
happened in Cordova, in Seville, in Ronda, in Algeciras and in
Gibraltar. It was at Ronda that the Duke came up with his quarry.
Alicia, breakfasting alone in the airy little "comidor" of the Station
Hotel saw a shadow fall across the doorway but did not look up from the
book she was reading.
When she did, she met the smiling eyes of the Duke and half rose with
outstretched hands. Of course it was only an unconscious impulse, but
it was unnecessary to go half way with the Duke. He greeted her as
though they had parted but yesterday, the best of friends.
He had the valuable gift of taking up, where he had left off--you never
saw the joint in the Duke's friendship.
Alicia thought rapidly.
After all one cannot offer one's hand and snatch it instantly back
again. It had been foolish of her, unmaidenly perhaps, indiscreet no
doubt, but here she was chatting gaily with the Duke.
"We left mother in Paris, my aunt is with us, we've had most perfect
weather...."
She noticed that she was "Miss Terrill" to him--there was a negative
satisfaction in that. So, apparently he had not picked up the threads,
as they had dropped. Also he made no reference to their parting
interview, offered no explanations, was neither tragic nor mournful,
displayed, in fact, none of those interesting symptoms which usually
distinguish the young man of blighted hopes. He was the most
unconventional man Alicia had ever met.
The interview had its embarrassing side as Alicia suddenly remembered.
"My uncle will be down very soon," she said suddenly, "I don't think
that you and he are quite----?" she left the Duke to finish the
sentence.
He rose.
"We aren't--quite," he said.
"I shall probably see you again," she smiled. She was perfectly
self-controlled, serenely mistress of herself and the situation. "Sir
Harry has read your Open Letters--I think he was touched by your
abasement," she said maliciously, and, I cannot help thinking,
incautiously.
"Naturally," said the Duke calmly, "even an uncle has his feelings: to
know that his niece has inspired----"
"Good-bye," she said hurriedly, "perhaps it would be better if you
didn't see me again." She added inconsistently, "We are going on to
Tangier to-morrow."
"By Algeciras or by Cadiz?" queried the Duke.
"By Algeciras and Gibraltar," said Alicia. "Good-bye."
She held out her hand nervously.
The Duke took it, and kissed her.
"Oh!" cried Alicia.
The Duke looked surprised.
"What is the matter?" he asked and stroked his cheek. "I'm shaven?"
"How--how dare you?" she said hotly.
"Dare?" The Duke was puzzled. "Why, aren't you engaged to me?"
"You know I'm not! You know I've returned your hateful ring--you
know----"
The Duke stopped her with an imperious gesture. "As to that matter," he
said graciously, "will you accept my assurance that I have entirely
overlooked it? Please never mention it again."
He left her with a confused feeling that somehow and in some manner she
was under an obligation to him.