AN ARTISTIC FORGERY
Spalding drew back the curtains with that slightly sacerdotal gravity
that distinguished all his professional actions, and then turned
towards Tony.
"Mr. Oliver asked me to inform you, sir, that he will not be having
breakfast with you. He has to leave the house early on business."
Tony arranged himself more comfortably amongst the pillows. "In that
case, Spalding," he said, "I think I shall break my good resolutions,
and have a cup of tea up here. I can't face the _Times_ and a
poached egg single-handed."
"Very good, sir," observed Spalding, and retiring deftly to the lower
regions, he returned in a few minutes with a tray containing the
desired refreshment, a couple of letters, and a copy of the
_Sportsman_.
Tony took a sip of the tea, lighted himself a cigarette from the big
silver box beside his bed, and then proceeded to investigate his
correspondence.
The first letter was of a philanthropic character. It was from a
gentleman named Douglas Gordon, apparently of Scottish extraction,
offering to lend him any sum from £1,000 to £50,000 on his note of
hand alone. Laying it one side he picked up the other, which was
addressed in a solid, straightforward handwriting that he recognized
immediately as that of his skipper--Captain Simmons of the _Betty_.
Having as yet had no communication from the yacht, except for a wire
in reply to his, Tony opened it with some interest.
It ran as follows:
May 7th,
S. Y. _Betty_,
SOUTHAMPTON.
DEAR SIR ANTONY CONWAY:
On receipt of your telegram I sent off a reply informing you that we
could be ready for sea any day after Thursday next. I trust this
duly came to hand, and that it will not be inconvenient to you to
wait until the date in question. Not expecting that you would be
needing the _Betty_ for some weeks I had given instructions for one
or two small jobs to be done in the engine-room, and the same were in
hand at the time of writing.
In connection with this something rather curious has happened, which
I feel it my duty to bring to your notice. Two days ago a gentleman
came on board and asked to see me. He informed me that his name was
Hemmingway, and that he was a friend of yours. He presented one of
your cards with instructions written across it, apparently in your
handwriting, that he was to be allowed to look over the yacht.
I showed him round, but in the middle of this I was called away to
speak with the harbour-master with reference to our moorings. While
I was engaged he continued his inspection of the vessel, visiting the
engine-room, which at that time was unoccupied. One of the crew saw
him go in, but knowing that I had been showing him over the ship,
didn't attach any importance to the matter.
Later on, after he had gone ashore, Mr. McEwen discovered, almost by
chance, that an attempt had apparently been made to tamper with the
engines. Without going into details I may say that if they had been
started as they were, the damage would probably have been bad enough
to keep us in port for at least an extra week.
I have gone fully into the matter, and it seems impossible that any
one else could have been responsible except this gentleman. I
thought therefore you ought to hear about it.
I can only suppose that knowing nothing of marine engines he was
under the impression that he was performing some sort of a practical
joke. If so, and you will excuse my saying so, it seems to me to
have been an uncommon stupid and dangerous one. I don't suppose he
realizes what would have happened to him if Mr. McEwen or the second
engineer had happened to catch him in the act. I fancy he wouldn't
have wanted to be funny with any more engines--not this side of the
grave.
Everything is now ready for sea, or will be by the date I gave you.
The necessary stores are coming on board, and some extra cases have
arrived from Harrod's and Fortnum and Mason's, which I suppose you
have ordered yourself in London.
Hoping that you are keeping well, and with my respectful regards to
yourself and Mr. Oliver,
I have the honour to remain,
Yours truly,
JOHN SIMMONS.
Tony laid down the letter on the bed, took a thoughtful pull or two
at his cigarette, and then, reaching up, pressed the electric bell,
which was answered almost immediately by Spalding.
"Has Mr. Oliver gone out yet?" he inquired.
"He left the house a minute or two ago, Sir Antony. I could perhaps
overtake him if you wished it."
Tony shook his head. "You had better not try, Spalding," he said.
"You might drop dead from heart disease, and that would be very
inconvenient."
"Quite so, sir," assented Spalding gravely.
"You can turn on my bath instead," observed Tony. "I have to go to
Southampton." He threw back the bed-clothes and prepared to get out.
"You might tell Bugg and Jennings that I shall want to see them as
soon as I am dressed," he added.
Gathering up the tray, Spalding departed on his errand, and in a
surprisingly short time for him Tony had completed his toilet, and
was descending the staircase. As he reached the hall the door at the
back opened, and Bugg appeared on the threshold. He came forward in
that noiseless fashion which had won him his famous soubriquet.
"Mornin', Sir Ant'ny. Mr. Spalding says as you wanted to see me."
"That's right, Bugg," said Tony. "Are you a good sailor?"
"I dunno, sir," observed "Tiger" simply. "I ain't never tried--'cept
once at the Welsh 'Arp."
"I am told that it can be very rough there at times," said Tony. He
paused, and looked thoughtfully at his devoted henchman. "How would
you like to come to South America on the _Betty_?" he inquired.
Bugg's blue eyes lit up. "Not 'arf, sir."
"Do you know where it is?"
Bugg nodded. "Yes, sir. Where they gets the cocoanuts."
"That's right," said Tony. "Well, we are going next week, at least I
hope so. Just four of us. Lady Jocelyn, Miss Francis, Mr. Oliver
and myself. There's plenty of room on board for you. Bring a set of
gloves, and we can have some sparring on the way over. It's just
possible we might be able to fix up a match in Buenos Ayres and pay
the expenses of the trip. I believe there are some very rash people
there, and they seem to have plenty of money."
Bugg went off, beaming with satisfaction, and leaving the house, Tony
made his way up to the garage, where he found Jennings surrounded by
various portions of the Hispano's interior. It was an exceptional
morning when Jennings did not partially dismantle one or other of his
charges.
"It had better be the Rolls, sir," he observed gloomily, on learning
that Tony desired to go to Southampton. "Both the others are pulling
something sickening. D'you want me to come too, sir?"
"I think it would cheer me up," said Tony. "Besides, wouldn't you
like to see the yacht?"
"Just as you please, sir," observed Jennings indifferently. "I don't
take much stock in boats meself. The dry land's good enough for me."
Tony seated himself on the running-board of the Peugot, which was
also outside in the yard. "You have a happy and contented
temperament, Jennings," he observed. "I often envy you."
Not receiving any reply to this compliment, he leaned back against
the door of the car, and lighting another cigarette watched Jennings
gathering up the fragments of the Hispano with that cold stoicism of
one unjustly afflicted by the Fates. He had been enjoying this
pleasant spectacle for several minutes, when a sudden sound of
footsteps attracted his attention. A moment later Spalding emerged
into sight round the corner of the bushes and advanced to where he
was sitting.
"A gentleman has called, Sir Antony, and wishes to see you
immediately. I told him that I would ascertain whether you were at
home."
"That was very tactful of you, Spalding," said Tony. "Who is it?"
"Another foreign gentleman, sir. A Mr. Congosta."
Tony got up at once. "Oh, yes," he said, "I will see him certainly.
Where is he?"
"Not knowing the gentleman, Sir Antony, I thought it best to leave
him in the hall."
Tony nodded his approval. "We'll be off as soon as you are ready,
Jennings," he said. "I may stay the night, so you had better bring
your things with you."
Then, accompanied by Spalding, he made his way back down the drive,
and re-entered the front door outside which an empty taxi was ticking
away with remorseless energy.
Señor Congosta, who was seated in one of the big leather chairs
scattered about the hall, rose up at their entrance. He bowed to
Tony, who at once came forward and greeted him with a hearty
handshake, while Spalding withdrew discreetly through the door at the
back.
"I have been expecting to see or hear from you," said Tony in his
friendliest manner. "I have all sorts of interesting things to talk
to you about."
Congosta cast a rapid glance round the hall, as if to make certain
that they were alone.
"Her Royal Highness?" he demanded quickly. "She is safe?"
"Safe as a church," replied Tony. "At least she was when I rang her
up last night."
"But she is not with you. She has gone from where she was living?"
"That's right," said Tony reassuringly. "Da Freitas found out the
address, so I thought a change of air would be beneficial. She is
staying with some friends of mine in Chester Square. They are taking
excellent care of her."
A look of relief flashed into the Livadian's face.
"It is well," he said, nodding his head. "I knew that we might trust
you."
Tony pulled up a chair. "Sit down," he said, "and let's hear your
side of the story. I have been dying to know what's going on behind
the scenes."
Congosta glanced swiftly at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Many
things have happened," he replied, "but there is not much time for
telling them. In a few minutes I must leave you again."
"Well, one can tell quite a lot in a few minutes if one talks
quickly," remarked Tony hopefully.
Congosta lowered his voice to a whisper. "The hour has struck," he
said. "Even now, while we stand here, the streets of Portriga may be
running in blood."
"By Jove!" said Tony with interest. "Whose blood?"
Congosta raised his hands in an expressive gesture. "There will be
much fighting. All over Livadia men will die for one cause or the
other. It will be the greatest civil war in the history of my
unhappy country."
"That's saying something too, isn't it?" observed Tony. He paused to
offer his guest a cigar. "How do you know all this?" he asked.
"Have you heard from Colonel Saltero?"
"Every day I have news," replied Congosta a little proudly. "We have
friends in many places--in the post-office, among the frontier
guards, everywhere! It is easy to send a cable of which the
government knows nothing."
"Well, what has happened--exactly?" demanded Tony.
Congosta took a long breath. "Da Freitas has given the signal. For
three days his followers have been making ready. All through the
North they have been arming themselves and collecting together in the
principal towns. It is the same with our people in the South."
"But how about the Republican government?" inquired Tony. "Haven't
they anything to say to these happy gatherings?"
"They have said what they could," replied Congosta grimly. "Half a
dozen of Da Freitas' agents have been seized and shot in Portriga,
and yesterday they arrested General Carmel da Silva, our chief
supporter and the richest man in Livadia. It was with his money that
we were making our preparations."
"That's a nasty knock," said Tony sympathetically. "What are you
going to do about it?"
"There is nothing to do," admitted Congosta with a fatalistic shrug.
"Fortunately we have a fair supply of arms and ammunition--for the
rest we must manage as best we can. In a few days there will be many
rifles without owners in Livadia."
"And how about Pedro and Da Freitas?" demanded Tony. "Are they
joining in the fun or are they going to sit tight at Richmond and see
what happens?"
Again Congosta glanced at the clock. "It is because I want the
answer to that question that I must leave you. Two days ago Da
Freitas bought or hired Lord Northfield's steam yacht, the _Vivid_.
She is lying off the Tower Bridge now, and so far as I know she is
ready to sail at any moment. One of my men is watching her, but I
dare not trust wholly anybody but myself. It is necessary that our
people should be informed the very moment that Da Freitas leaves
England."
"Then you think he is going?" said Tony. "You think he has given up
the idea of getting back the Princess?"
Congosta indulged in another shrug of the shoulders. "I cannot tell.
It may be that the revolution has come against his will--that he is
unable to control it longer. Even in that case I do not think he
will easily give up his idea of the marriage. It is one thing to
overthrow a government: it is another to take its place. It's only
as the husband of Don Francisco's daughter that Southern Livadia
could ever be persuaded to acknowledge Pedro." He paused. "You are
quite sure that you were not followed when you took the Princess
away?"
"I am never quite sure of anything," said Tony, "especially with
people who purr and smile like Da Freitas does. All the same I think
we managed to dodge them. I took her a twenty-mile run in the car
first, and she has not been outside the house since she got to
Chester Square."
"You have done well," observed Congosta with a kind of stately
approval. "Should our hopes be fulfilled your name will be honoured
for ever in Livadian history."
"That will be jolly," said Tony; and then, as Congosta gathered up
his hat from the table, he added casually: "You will let me know at
once, I suppose, if there should be any news. I may possibly be out
of town to-night, but I shall be back in good time to-morrow. My
cousin, Guy Oliver, will be here in any case. You can speak to him
as freely as you would to me."
Congosta nodded; and after shaking hands again warmly in the doorway,
entered the taxi, which disappeared rapidly down the drive.
For a moment or two after his visitor had departed Tony remained
wrapped in meditation. Then crossing the hall he pressed the
electric bell for Spalding.
"I am going to Southampton as soon as Jennings is agreeable," he
said. "You might put some pyjamas in a bag for me and shove them in
the car."
Spalding departed on his errand, and walking thoughtfully to the
telephone, Tony asked the girl at the Exchange for Lady Jocelyn's
number. After waiting for several minutes, he was informed by a
contemptuous voice that it was engaged, and hanging up the receiver
he sat down at an old oak writing-table which filled up one of the
bay windows. Then, selecting a piece of paper and a pencil, he wrote
the following note to Guy.
MY DEAR GUY:
I wish you wouldn't get up at such ridiculous hours. It's a very
unhealthy habit, and apart from that you brush all the dew off the
lawn, and leave me without any one to ask advice from. I wanted your
advice this morning badly.
In the first place when I woke up, I got the enclosed letter from
Captain Simmons. I don't know how it strikes you, but it looks fishy
to me--very fishy. I have never heard of any one called Hemmingway,
and I have no recollection of writing such instructions on one of my
cards. Of course I might have done it when I was slightly
intoxicated, but then I haven't been even slightly intoxicated for
quite a long time. There are one or two pleasant fools among my
friends, but no one I can think of who would be quite such an idiot
as to try and break up the engines of the _Betty_.
The alternative is what you might call an ugly one--Da Freitas! It
hardly seems possible, especially in view of my other news which I am
going to tell you in a moment, and yet who the devil else could it
be? If he has really dropped on to our notion of taking Isabel away,
it's a serious business--so serious that I am going to motor down to
Southampton straight away and find out all I can. Of course it isn't
the least likely that Da Freitas would have shown up in the business
himself, but I might get some useful information out of Simmons, and
anyway I can at least make certain that everything will be all right
for us on Thursday.
My other news comes from Congosta. In spite of all the bitter and
unkind things you have said about him, he turned up here faithfully
this morning to report progress. It was some report too. According
to him the whole of Livadia by this time ought to be up to its ankles
in gore. Things began to move two days ago, and although there has
been nothing in the English papers yet, the odds are that the entire
crowd of them--Royalists, Franciscans, and Republicans--are now
pleasantly and usefully occupied in slitting each other's throats.
Of course I asked him at once about Pedro and Da Freitas. They
haven't left England yet, but it seems that they have bought Lord
Northfield's steam yacht, the _Vivid_--and a beauty she is too--and
that she is lying in the Thames ready to push off at a moment's
notice.
I admit that this doesn't look as if they could have had anything to
do with the _Betty_ affair, and yet it would a devilish odd
coincidence if anyone had tried such a trick. Besides, who on earth
would try it? Everybody loves me--apart from Da Freitas and Jennings.
I have told Congosta as much as I thought was good for him. He knows
that Isabel is now in Chester Square with some friends of mine,
though I haven't given him the actual number. He seemed so pleased
and contented I thought it was a pity to drag in anything about our
South American idea in case he didn't approve of it. Also of course
I haven't said a word to him about Molly. I mention this because if
anything exciting happens while I am away, I have told him to roll up
and inform you.
Jennings has just appeared outside with the car, and is scowling at
me so horribly through the window that I can't write any more. You
might, however, ring up Aunt Fanny and Isabel as soon as you come in
and give them my love, and let them know what's happened. I tried to
get on to them just now, but the girl at the telephone laughed me to
scorn.
Your neglected and overworked cousin,
TONY.
Having fastened this up, with Captain Simmons' letter enclosed, Tony
handed it to Spalding with instructions that he was to give it to Guy
as soon as the latter came in. Then getting into his coat, he
sauntered out through the porch and took his place at the wheel of
the car, Jennings settling himself sombrely in the seat alongside.
The exact length of the journey from London to Southampton is stated
by the _Motor Guide_ to be seventy-four and a half miles. This,
however, must be due to an error of measurement on the part of the
editor, since with an hour for lunch at Basingstoke, Tony covered the
distance in three hours and fifty-two minutes, a feat which is
clearly impossible in view of the present speed limit of twenty miles
an hour.
He pulled up at that excellent hotel, the Victoria, where he engaged
a couple of rooms for the night, and with the aid of a hot bath and a
large whisky and soda, removed such portions of the roadway as had
accumulated outside and inside his person. Then, leaving Jennings to
perform a similar service to the car, he lighted a cigar and started
off through the town in the direction of the Docks.
The _Betty_ was lying out in the Roads, some little distance from the
shore. With her graceful lines, her snowy white paint, and her
gleaming brass-work, she presented as charming a picture as the eye
of an owner could desire to gaze upon. Tony contemplated her with
pride for a moment or two, and then availing himself of the services
of one of the small cluster of ancient mariners, who had been
hovering interrogatively round him, he set off in a dinghy, across
the intervening stretch of water.
His advent was soon observed on board the yacht, and by the time he
arrived alongside, Captain Simmons was standing at the head of the
accommodation ladder waiting to receive him. The skipper, a short,
square-shouldered, grey-bearded man with honest blue eyes, greeted
his employer with a blend of pleasure and concern.
"Well, I _am_ glad to see you, Sir Antony, but why ever didn't you
let me know you were coming? I'd have had the gig ashore ready for
you."
Tony shook hands warmly with him, and then turned to greet Mr.
McEwen, the chief engineer, who came shambling up from below with a
gleam of welcome showing through a forest of red whiskers.
"I don't like having the gig waiting for me," explained Tony. "It
always makes me feel as if I was Sir Thomas Lipton."
They remained chatting for a moment or two, and then moved off across
the deck, Tony stopping to exchange a word or two with various
members of the crew, who all saluted him with the friendly grin of
old acquaintance. It was not often that there was a new hand on
board the _Betty_.
Captain Simmons led the way to his own cabin, where the time honoured
ceremony of drinking a toast to the ensuing season having been duly
discharged, he proceeded to add some further details to the brief
report of his preparations that he had already sent along by post.
"I think you'll find everything nice and shipshape by Thursday, Sir
Antony," he finished with a touch of self-pride. "Not knowing
exactly where we were bound for I may have allowed a bit too much
margin on the stores, but then I wasn't expecting those packages you
sent from London."
"It's an error in the right dimension," observed Tony contentedly.
"We are thinking of going to Buenos Ayres to start with, and I always
find the Atlantic very stimulating to one's appetite."
"Buenos Ayres!" repeated the skipper with interest. "And a very nice
run too, sir." He turned to the chief engineer. "Just about twenty
days out--eh, Mr. McEwen?"
The latter shifted his cigar to the corner of his mouth, and nodded
gravely.
"Aye," he remarked; "though it might have been another tale if we
hadna' found out the fule's work that veesitor friend o' yours was up
to in the engine-room, Sir Antony.'
"Ah!" said Tony: "that's one of the things I wanted to ask about.
What sort of a person was he?"
There was a moment's pause.
"What sort of a person!" repeated the skipper. "Do you mean that you
don't know him--that you didn't give him that card?"
"I have never heard of him in my life," said Tony tranquilly.
With a strange noise, such as a tiger would probably make if somebody
trod upon his toe, Mr. McEwen turned to the skipper.
"Did I no tell ye that the mon was an impostor?" he demanded
excitedly.
Fumbling in his waistcoat pocket, Captain Simmons produced a dirty
and crumpled visiting card, which he held out to Tony.
"It's only a chance that I didn't tear it up," he observed rather
grimly.
Tony took the card which, despite its dilapidated appearance, had
every appearance of being one of his own. He was just able to make
out the following half obliterated message scribbled across it in
pencil.
Mr. Hemmingway is a friend of mine.
Please allow him to look over the _Betty_.
A.C.
"I don't wonder it took you in," he said, with a tinge of admiration.
"It's a most artistic forgery."
Mr. McEwen drew a deep breath. "My God!" he said softly; "I'm
wishing I'd found him in the engine-room. I'd have broken him in
twa."
"It's a pity you didn't," said Tony. "I should probably have been
able to recognize one or other of the bits." He turned to Captain
Simmons. "What was he like, and what did he do--exactly?"
The skipper, who was a man of slow speech, pondered for a moment
before replying.
"He was right enough to look at in a way--well dressed and all that
sort of thing. A youngish, darkish sort of fellow--might have had a
touch of the Dago about him, but he spoke English as well as you or
me. As for what he did--well, Mr. McEwen can tell you that best."
"I'd had the head off one o' the cylinders," burst out the Scotchman,
"an' there she was put back in her place, but no screwed down. What
did the black-hearted Jezebel do, but drop in a spanner, a nine-inch
steel spanner that would ha' jarred the head o' the cylinder to
Gehenna if so be we'd screwed her doon wi'oot takin' a look inside."
"Have you any idea who he was, Sir Antony?" inquired the skipper
anxiously.
"I think I know where he came from," replied Tony. He got up from
his seat, and for a moment or two stared thoughtfully out of the
skipper's port-hole.
It seemed evident beyond doubt that the mysterious "Mr. Hemmingway"
could have been none other than an agent of Da Freitas, and for the
first time since he had light-heartedly entered upon his adventure
Tony felt a sudden slight sense of misgiving. There was a touch
about this latest effort of the Marquis that suggested unpleasant
depths of knowledge and resource on that gentleman's part. It seemed
hardly probable that he would have instigated an attempt upon the
_Betty's_ engines, unless he had a very shrewd idea of the use to
which that vessel was shortly to be put. If this were so, the
situation was some way from being as simple and safe as it had
previously appeared, and with a sudden determination Tony resolved to
take his companions into his confidence.
"I think you ought to know the facts of the case--both of you," he
said. "It's quite on the cards I might be running you into trouble
or even danger, and I don't think we included that in our agreements,
did we?"
The skipper stroked his beard. "One can't include everything," he
remarked; "eh, Mr. McEwen?"
"I'm no sayin' I've any great objection to eether," observed the
latter cautiously; "not in good company."
"Well, you shall hear," said Tony; "and then you can judge for
yourselves."
In as few words as possible he gave them a brief outline of the
situation, starting from his original meeting with Isabel in Long
Acre, and bringing the story down to Congosta's visit to Hampstead
that morning. As a convincing narrative it gained rather than lost
by this compression, for the mere facts, however crudely stated, had
a dramatic grip about them that needed no embellishment or
elaboration.
Both the skipper and Mr. McEwen listened to him with silent
attention. It was a story which any one might have been pardoned for
receiving with a certain amount of surprise or even incredulity, but
neither of their faces showed any trace of their natural emotions.
On the contrary they appeared to accept the entire narrative as
though it were the sort of thing that might reasonably be expected to
happen to any yacht owner of average experience.
It was Mr. McEwen who was the first to break the ensuing silence.
"I'm thinkin' that ye've done a guid act," he said gravely. "'Tis no
business for a young lassie to be stuck up on a throne over a parcel
o' murderin' Dagoes."
Captain Simmons nodded his assent. "You can rest your mind easy
about the yacht, Sir Antony. There'll be no one else come on
board--not till you arrive yourself."
"How about the crew?" suggested Tony. "Ought they to be told
anything?"
"I'm inclined to think it would be injudeecious," put in Mr. McEwen.
"Not that they would be makin' any deeficulties--they would gae to
Hell to oblige you, Sir Antony--but mebbe 'twould gie 'em a sense o'
their own importance that's no desirable in a crew. What do you say,
Captain Simmons?"
Again the skipper nodded.
"Well, that all seems satisfactory enough," observed Tony cheerfully.
"I am sure I am very much obliged to you both." He poured himself
out another drink and lifted the glass. "Here's to the voyage," he
said, "and may every owner have as sporting a lot of officers as I've
got."
"Here's to the voyage, sir," said Captain Simmons, following his
example, "and proud and glad to be of any assistance to you."
Very gravely Mr. McEwen reached for the whisky bottle. "Here's to
the voyage, gentlemen," he repeated, "and God send that we meet the
mon who put that spanner in my cylinder."
* * * * * * *
It was close on eight o'clock by the time Tony returned to the hotel.
He had some dinner in the big, sparsely populated restaurant, and
then sending out a message by the waiter to Jennings, invited that
sunny-souled mechanic to come up and play him a game of snooker in
the billiard-room.
With the exception of backing losers, snooker was Jennings' only
human weakness, and on occasions when he and Tony were away together
at a hotel he would so far relax his dignity as to oblige his
employer in this unprofessional fashion. They played two games, both
of which Jennings won--a circumstance which caused him so much
satisfaction that he received Tony's instructions to have the car
ready at eleven the next morning with what only just escaped being an
amiable bow.
Despite the somewhat disquieting manner in which his suspicions about
the attempt on the _Betty_ had been confirmed, Tony managed to pass a
very comfortable night. He dressed himself leisurely in the morning
and strolled down to the dining-room about ten o'clock, where he
instructed the waiter to bring him some China tea and a grilled sole.
A copy of the _Daily Mail_ was lying on the table beside his plate,
and in the casual fashion of one who is waiting for breakfast he
opened it out in front of him at the centre page. As he did so a
series of bold, heavily-leaded headlines leaped into view that
brought an involuntary exclamation from his lips.
REVOLUTION IN LIVADIA
FIERCE FIGHTING AT PORTRIGA
REPORTED FLIGHT OF PRESIDENT
In a second the grilled sole and everything else had vanished out of
his mind and he was eagerly scanning the following announcement.
By a cable from Paris received shortly before going to press, we
learn that yesterday evening a revolution broke out in Livadia, which
appears already to have attained wide-spread proportions. So far,
information is scanty, for the telegraph wires over the frontier have
been cut, and the cable station at Portriga is in the hands of one or
other of the belligerents.
It appears, however, that the revolt started simultaneously in the
neighbourhood of Vanessa and also in the Capital. At both places the
Royal Standard was raised by a strong party of King Pedro's
adherents, and in both instances the Republican government seem to
have been taken more or less by surprise. Vanessa is said to be
entirely in the hands of the Royalists, who have also succeeded in
occupying the greater part of Portriga.
The situation is complicated by another revolt in the South, where
the partisans of the late Don Francisco, the Pretender, have also
seized the opportunity to assert their claims. A strong force, under
the leadership of General Almaida, is reported to be marching on the
Capital, where the Republicans and the Royalists are still engaged in
bitter and sanguinary street fighting. It is rumoured that the
President has already left the country.
From inquiries at Richmond we learn that King Pedro and the Marquis
da Freitas are still in England, but in response to numerous
invitations they have so far declined to issue any statement to the
Press.
All further details available will be found in the first edition of
_The Evening News_.
Having read this interesting announcement through slowly and
carefully, Tony laid down the paper and sat back in his chair.
So Congosta had been right! Underneath all the rather penny coloured
plotting and cheap melodrama that had surrounded Isabel's story, a
savagely real piece of European history had been silently coming to
fruition. He had never doubted the fact himself, but somehow or
other those flaming head-lines in the _Mail_ suddenly brought it home
to him with a vivid reality that had hitherto been wanting. It was
as if the buttons had come off the foils, and what had hitherto been
an entertaining fencing match had turned abruptly into a thrilling
and dangerous duel.
With a pleasing sense of elation he drew up his chair, and prepared
to face the grilled sole that the waiter was just bringing in.
"You might tell my chauffeur," he said, "that we will start back at
half-past ten instead of eleven."
The waiter went out with the message, but a couple of minutes had
hardly elapsed before he came back into the room bearing a telegram
upon a small tray.
"If you please, sir," he said, "one of the sailors from your yacht
has called with this. He is waiting in the hall in case you want
him."
With a certain feeling of surprise Tony laid down his knife and fork,
and slitting open the buff-coloured envelope, pulled out its contents.
They were brief and distinctly to the point.
Isabel has disappeared; fear the worst; come back immediately. GUY.