IMPENDING EVENTS
"There's a letter for you," said Guy, "from Livadia."
Tony walked to his place at the breakfast table and picked up the
missive in question which was propped against the Times beside his
plate.
"It's from Jimmy," he observed tranquilly. "How exciting!"
He opened the envelope and took out the contents--a large sheet of
thin paper covered on both sides with a small neat handwriting.
Sitting down in his chair he spread it out in front of him.
GARAGE ANGLAIS,
PRAÇA D. PORTO.
Portriga.
MY DEAR TONY:
It was very nice and unexpected of you to answer my
letter--especially within three months of your having received it.
You must be getting quite energetic in your old age, or is it only
due to the influence of "the young and beautiful friend who takes a
morbid interest in Livadian politics?" Anyhow, it's comforting to
know that you're still alive, and that you still have young and
beautiful friends. I was half afraid that I was the last of them.
Now with regard to your questions. The only thing that seems pretty
certain about the future here is that there's going to be a Hell of a
dust up before long. It's an open secret that the Royalists are
plotting all over the place, and that they've got a good part of the
officers in the army with them. Down in the south, however, there
seems to be a strong party that's in favour of the other branch--the
descendants of that drunken scoundrel Don Francisco--whoever they
happen to be. Personally I can't say I take much interest in any of
them. Apart from my garage, I think the best thing for Europe would
be if the whole damn lot cut each other's throats. I except the old
President, who is not half a bad sort--and has a very pretty taste in
cigars and champagne. He is all right, however, because I know he
has a good parcel tucked away somewhere, and means to do a bunk
directly things get too hot. If I were you I should tell your young
and beautiful friend to give up taking an interest in Livadian
politics and start keeping rattlesnakes. It's a much more healthy
and profitable hobby.
I have had one stroke of luck. I have managed to palm off my
business here on a local syndicate for a couple of thou., and am now
employed as Managing Director at £500 a year and commission.
"Commission" in Portriga means whatever you can cheat out of the
customers or steal from your employers. So far I am doing nicely at
both, thank you, but I don't expect it will last long. Another
revolution of course would bust us up altogether, because the first
thing that would happen would be that both sides would come down and
snaffle our cars. So I am just making an honest living while the sun
shines, and leaving the rest to Prov.
You are three sorts of a brick to think out that job in Piccadilly,
but as it stands it's rather too one-sided an arrangement. I
couldn't take it unless I was in a position to shove in a little of
my own money too. Practically all I've got at present would have to
go to my dear creditors, who have been so patient and
long-suffering--I don't think!--God bless 'em. If you will keep it
open for say, another year--by which time I ought to have swindled
the Garage Anglais out of quite a decent sum--I shall be only too
delighted to come back and wipe the floor with you at billiards as
often as you like. Your notion that you can beat me is one of the
most pathetic instances of monomania I ever came across.
Remember me to Guy, who I suppose is as frivolous as ever, and give
my love to any of the old crowd who are still knocking around.
Yours ever,
JIMMY.
Given from our place of hiding this third day of the fifth month in
the second year of our exile.
Tony read this letter through and then tossed it across to Guy, who
perused it in turn between mouthfuls of egg and bacon.
"His troubles don't seem to have sobered him down at all," he
observed rather disapprovingly.
"I hope not," said Tony. "A sobered down Jimmy would be a lamentable
object--something like an archangel with his wings clipped."
"What he says is true enough, I suppose," pursued Guy. "At least it
only confirms what Congosta told us."
Tony nodded. "Things are on the move all right," he remarked
complacently. "I am pretty sure Da Freitas meant to press the button
just as soon as the wedding was over. He must be tearing his back
hair over this hitch in the programme."
"I am glad we have got Isabel away from the Spaldings," observed Guy,
handing back the letter, "I shan't feel really easy in my mind
though, until she is on board the _Betty_."
"Well, it won't be long now," said Tony, "and anyway she is pretty
safe at Chester Square. Aunt Fanny is keeping her tight to the
house, and so far they haven't seen a sign of any one hanging about.
I really think we handed 'em the dummy all right, though it doesn't
do to be too sure about things with a gentleman like Da Freitas."
"I wish we had some idea what he was up to," said Guy. "There is
something very trying about this uncertainty."
"I have hopes of Molly," replied Tony, pouring himself out a second
cup of tea in an absent-minded fashion. "She rang me up yesterday
while I was out, and left a message that I was to come and see her
this morning without fail." He took a meditative sip, and then set
down the cup. "It's about time we heard something from Congosta
too," he added.
Guy shrugged his shoulders. "I shouldn't put any faith in him. He
is probably playing his own game just as much as Da Freitas is."
Tony looked at him sadly. "You get more cynical every day, Guy. I
believe in Congosta. No man could have such a beautiful faith in the
British Aristocracy unless there was some good in him." He pushed
back his chair and rose from the table. "I'm off to see Molly
anyway," he added. "I've a feeling that she has something exciting
to tell us, and a certain amount of excitement has become necessary
to my system. I can't get my afternoon sleep without it."
"I wish you would try to be a little more serious," answered Guy in a
fretful voice.
Tony paused at the door. "I do try," he said apologetically, "but
it's very difficult for a beginner."
It was just a quarter past ten when Tony arrived outside Basil
Mansions, the big block of flats where Molly lived. He caught sight
of a clock as he pulled up the car, and it suddenly struck him that
in spite of the urgency of Molly's message, it was still rather early
to disturb her slumbers. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided
to fill in a little time by motoring on to the R.A.C. and calling for
his letters.
Amongst the several clubs to which he belonged the latter was the one
at which he was accustomed to receive the largest number of
communications. The majority of them were trade circulars from motor
firms, and it was his custom to drop in at least twice a week and
commit them to the hall porter's waste-paper basket.
Putting in his clutch he continued his journey, and was just rounding
the corner of Pall Mall, when he suddenly became aware of the
immaculately dressed figure of his cousin Henry striding briskly
along the pavement towards him in the direction of Whitehall. The
encounter was too sudden to admit of any strategy, so with a graceful
resignation to fate he brought the car to a halt.
Henry came up with a look of surprise upon his face.
"One doesn't often see you about as early as this," he observed.
"You will in future," said Tony. "I have turned over a new leaf. I
find that all our successful statesmen have been early risers."
"I am pleased to hear it," said Henry heartily. "I always thought
that if you ever took up politics it would make all the difference to
you."
"It has," said Tony.
There was a short pause.
"Did you get that White Book about the Patagonia boundary dispute?"
inquired his cousin.
Tony nodded. "I did," he said. "I haven't had time to read it all
yet, but it seems most interesting. Such good print too."
"They get them up very well," said Henry. "I will send you round
some more as soon as you have gone through that. There is nothing
like a thorough grounding before you start work."
"I wish you would," replied Tony. "I was half thinking of running
across to South America in the _Betty_ with Guy, and looking into
things myself for a few weeks. I should like to have some nice
interesting reading for the voyage."
Henry looked at him in surprised approval. "I think that's a very
good idea," he said. "Laura will be extremely pleased when I tell
her, because it shows that you are taking the matter seriously." He
pulled out a little tablet from his waistcoat pocket and made a note
in pencil. "I will see if I can get you a few letters of
introduction to some of our people over there. I shall say of course
that you are just taking a voyage for your health."
"That's about right," said Tony. "Thanks so much. I must be
trotting now, or I shall be late for an appointment."
He waved a good-bye and started off the car again, while Henry,
putting back his memorandum tablet, continued his way to the Home
Office.
Half an hour later, having disposed of the motor circulars and having
restored his energies with a brandy and soda, Tony set out again for
Basil Mansions. It was still only eleven o'clock, but Claudine, who
answered the bell, informed him that Molly was already up and
awaiting his arrival in the drawing-room.
He found her as usual sitting at the piano, practising over a song.
She spun round on the stool at his entrance, and then jumped up with
both her hands outstretched.
"Oh, Tony," she exclaimed, "I am so glad you have come."
He waited until Claudine had closed the door, and then kissed her
carefully on the curve of her cheek.
"I should have been here long before, Molly," he said, "but I was
afraid of waking you up. A good night's rest is so essential to
brain-workers."
"I have been up ages," she replied. "I can never sleep when I am
excited or worried--at least not after nine o'clock."
"What's worrying you?" he asked, settling himself on the sofa.
She sat down beside him. "It's Peter," she said. "He was here
yesterday--yesterday afternoon. I rang you up directly he had gone."
"Well?" inquired Tony.
Molly took a deep breath. "He had come to say good-bye."
Tony sat up. "What?" he demanded.
Molly nodded her head. "He didn't admit it in so many words, but
that's what it came to."
There was a short pause.
"He must have more nerve than I gave him credit for," said Tony
slowly.
"Oh, I don't mean good-bye altogether," said Molly with a little
laugh. "That isn't Peter's idea at all." She jumped up from the
sofa, and crossing to the writing-table in the corner opened the
drawer and took out something from inside. "Look at this," she said.
"This," was a half sheet of stiff note-paper stamped in gold with the
Royal Livadian arms, and bearing two or three straggling lines of
writing, at the bottom of which sprawled a large irregular signature.
[Illustration: Signature--Pedro R.]
Tony examined it with interest. "It looks very impressive," he said.
"What's it all about?"
"It's a sort of pass," said Molly calmly, "like one gets for a
theatre, you know. It means 'do whatever the bearer wishes without
asking any questions.'" She took it back from him and slipped it
into the envelope which she was holding in her hand. "That would
take me anywhere I pleased in Livadia if Peter was king."
"But what's the good of it now?" asked Tony. "Why has he given it
you?"
Molly crossed to the writing-table, and putting the envelope back,
shut the door and locked it.
"I will tell you exactly what happened," she said, coming back and
re-seating herself on the sofa. "Peter rolled up here about five
o'clock yesterday in a taxi--not in his car--just in an ordinary
taxi. I guessed there was trouble because when he does that it
always means that he doesn't want Da Freitas to find out where he's
been. Well, I gave him a drink, and he sat and talked for a bit in
his ordinary way, but all the time I could see that there was
something at the back of his mind--something he didn't quite know how
to say. At last he managed to get it out. He wanted to know if I
would trust him. If he had to go away suddenly, or if anything
happened which made it impossible for him to see me for a little
while, would I still believe that I was the only person in the world
he really cared about? I pretended to be very surprised and asked
what he expected to happen, but he wouldn't admit that there was
anything definite or certain. He talked vaguely about a king not
being his own master, and that he never knew from day to day when a
revolution mightn't break out in Livadia and that if it did his place
would be at the head of his people. Of course coming from Peter it
was all the silliest sort of poppycock, and any one who wasn't a born
idiot could have seen that he was keeping something back. However, I
let him think that I swallowed it all, and after a bit he lugged out
this paper and explained what it was. He said that if by any chance
he was called away to Livadia quite suddenly, the first thing he
should do, as soon as it was possible, would be to send for me. He
wanted me to promise that no matter what had happened I would come
out right away. I saw that he was in dead earnest and frightfully
excited about it, so of course I said I would, and that seemed to
quiet him down. Anyhow, he didn't talk any more about it, but I'm as
certain as I am that I'm sitting here that something's going to
happen, Tony, and damn soon too. You see I know Peter so jolly well."
"It looks precious like it," agreed Tony thoughtfully. "I shouldn't
wonder if Da Preitas had changed his plans. Perhaps the battle of
Latimer Lane has shaken his nerve, and he means to cut out the Isabel
part of the programme and go straight ahead."
"The battle of what?" demanded Molly.
"Oh, I forgot you didn't know about it," said Tony. "We have been
having all sorts of quiet fun of our own up at Hampstead." He paused
for a moment to light himself a cigarette. "There's Jimmy's letter
too," he added; "only I think I had better begin by telling you about
the battle. There's nothing like doing things in their proper order:
it's the secret of all real success in life."
"Drive ahead," said Molly encouragingly.
Tony, who by this time was becoming quite an adept in the narrative,
again described the spirited little scuffle outside Mrs. Spalding's
house, and the subsequent transference of Isabel to the more peaceful
atmosphere of Chester Square. He wound up with a brief account of
how Lady Jocelyn had been fully taken into their confidence, and of
how they had decided on an immediate trip to South America as the
most promising solution to the problem.
"I suppose you're right," observed Molly after a meditative pause.
"If she stops in London that pig Da Freitas will get hold of her
sooner or later, but I'm awfully sorry you're going, Tony. There is
no one else that I can even talk to about things."
"I shan't be away so very long," said Tony comfortingly; "and it's
much the best thing for you as well as for us. Even if they go ahead
with the revolution, Peter isn't likely to marry any one else at
present. There would be all sorts of international ructions if he
tried to get a wife from another country, and anyway I shouldn't
think the throne of Livadia was a very dazzling prospect for a
foreign princess. At least, not according to what Jimmy says."
"What _does_ he say?" asked Molly. "Can I see the letter?"
Tony gave it her and, spreading it out on her knee she bent forward
and read it through carefully, her nicely pencilled eyebrows drawn
together in a thoughtful frown.
"It's some letter," she observed, when she had finished, "but I don't
think it gets us much further, does it? I know the Livadians must be
a set of prize chumps or they wouldn't want Peter to be their king."
She folded up the sheet of paper and handed it back to him. "I
should like to meet Jimmy some day. He sounds all right."
"He's a dear fellow," said Tony, putting back the letter in his
pocket. "In a way I like him better than any one except myself." He
got up from the sofa. "I shall come and see you again before we go,
Molly," he added. "I don't think there is any chance of our sailing
before next Tuesday. Aunt Fanny has got to invent a lie that will
satisfy the Dean of Ballingford, and that can't be done in a hurry."
"Righto," replied Molly; "and let me know at once if anything
happens, or if there's anything I can do to help you. You know I
don't care a rap about the theatre: I would chuck it like a shot if
it was really necessary."
Tony took her hands. "You're the best sportsman in London, Molly,"
he said, "and it's a thousand pities you can't be Queen of Livadia.
You'd make a Hell of a good job of it."
Molly laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "You bet I should," she
said crisply. "One can't be six years in musical comedy without
learning how to treat rotters."