THE ROYAL PASS
Guy read it through and then looked up with a sort of incredulous
bewilderment.
"When did this come?" he asked.
Tony shrugged his shoulders. "My dear Guy--I don't know any more
about it than you do. I suppose someone must have put it in the
letter-box while we were having our pleasant little chat with
Congosta."
"But--but--" He stared at it again in frowning uncertainty--"Good
Heavens, Tony!" he exclaimed, "do you mean to say that Da Freitas
took the trouble and the risk of sending you this while he was
actually--?" He broke off as if unable to complete the sentence.
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" said Tony cheerfully. "My respect for
the Marquis increases every hour--in fact I'm beginning to feel quite
fond of him."
Guy's lips tightened into an expression of restrained exasperation.
"Look here, Tony," he began with forced calmness. "For goodness'
sake let's get this thing quite clear. Did you really mean what you
said to Congosta?"
Tony took back Da Freitas' note, and put it carefully in his pocket.
"I meant most of it," he replied. "I am going down to Southampton
to-night, and I shall start for Livadia the moment the _Betty_ is
ready to sail."
Guy knew him well enough to understand that for once he was speaking
in absolute sincerity.
"You mean to fight then? You are going to join this man--what's his
name--General Almaida?"
There was a short pause.
"Somehow or other," said Tony, "I am going to get Isabel back. It's
no good asking me exactly how I shall do it, because at the present
moment I don't know. The only thing I have quite made up my mind
about is that I shall either come back with her, or else I shan't
come back at all." He looked up smilingly at Guy. "Now you
understand what I meant when I said I didn't want to drag you into
it."
A faint flush mounted into Guy's naturally pale face.
"Do you think I am a coward, Tony?" he inquired very deliberately.
"Of course not," returned Tony. "Any man who has a cold bath as you
do every morning must be brave. Still that's no reason why you
should run a quite unnecessary risk of getting shot--especially as
you have disapproved of the whole business ever since the start."
"Who could help disapproving of it?" burst out Guy feelingly. "It's
the maddest and most impossible affair in which any sane person was
ever mixed up." He paused as if to recover himself. "All the same,"
he added quickly, "I should like to come with you, Tony, if you think
I could be of any use."
Tony patted him approvingly on the shoulder. "Any use!" he repeated.
"Why, my dear old Guy, I would rather have you with me than the Seven
Champions of Christendom. I am sure you would be a lot more reliable
in a really tight corner."
"Have you got any sort of a plan at all?" inquired Guy a little
hopelessly.
"Well, I've an idea," said Tony. "It's hardly a plan yet, but it may
be by the time I get back."
"You're going out?"
Tony nodded. "I shan't be long, and meanwhile you can fix up the
arrangements here. In the first place I want you to get on to
Simmons on the telephone. You had better ring up the Grand Hotel,
Southampton, and say you're me, and ask them very prettily and nicely
if they'll send round someone to fetch him from the yacht. Tell him
that we are coming down to-night or early to-morrow morning--you and
I and Bugg--and that he must be ready to start directly we arrive.
Say that we have changed our minds about South America and that we
are going to Braxa instead."
Guy stepped to the table and made a note of these instructions.
"Anything else?" he inquired.
"Nothing more," replied Tony. "Just see that Spalding packs our
things, and that Jennings has the car ready--the Rolls of course.
Any spare time you have after that I should devote to making your
will."
He picked up his coat off the chair on which it was lying.
"Where are you going to?" asked Guy.
There was a short pause while Tony lighted himself a cigarette.
"I am going to a matinée," he said, "at the Gaiety Theatre."
For a moment Guy stared at him in amazement.
"A matinée!" he repeated. "What on--" Then suddenly light seemed to
dawn on him. "Why, of course, that girl--Molly Monk--I had forgotten
her." He paused. "Do you think she can be of any help?"
Tony walked to the door. "She might lend us a sheet of note-paper,"
he said. "Anyhow I mean to ask her."
If there is one profession in this world more likely than the rest to
induce a certain slight cynicism with regard to human motives, it is
probably that of being stage door-keeper at the Gaiety Theatre. When
therefore a quarter of an hour later, Tony presented his card at the
open pigeon-hole with a request that he might see Miss Monk
immediately on a matter of urgent importance, the uniformed gentleman
inside contented himself with a weary smile.
"I'll send it up, sir," he remarked, "but between ourselves it ain't
no good. The Guv'nor don't allow visitors in the dressin' rooms--not
while the show's on."
Tony, who had been fingering a sovereign, laid it down beside the
card.
"What a pity!" he replied thoughtfully.
At the sight of the gold piece the janitor's world hardened face lit
up with an expression that was almost beautiful.
"I'll take it up meself, sir," he observed hastily, climbing down
from his stool. "Of course if it's a matter o' urgent importance--"
He emerged from his rabbit hutch, card in hand, and pushing open a
swing-door disappeared from view up a winding flight of stairs.
After a decent interval he returned with the air of one who has
triumphed over great odds.
"S'orl right," he remarked in a confidential whisper. "She's orf
now, sir. You foller me, sir."
He conducted Tony up the stairs, to the first landing, where he
tapped cautiously on the second door he came to. It was opened at
once by a secretive looking lady, who appeared to be lunching on
pins, and at the same moment Molly's voice remarked with its usual
pleasant distinctness: "If that's you, Tony, come along in."
Complying with the request Tony found himself in a small, brightly
lit apartment, the principal furniture of which appeared to be a vast
mirror, a long narrow dressing-table, a comfortable easy-chair, and
an inspiriting collection of foamy undergarments, suspended from a
row of pegs.
In the chair sat Molly. She was dressed in the simple and practical
costume of a milkmaid, as visualized by producers of musical comedy.
It consisted of a charmingly décolletté creation of white muslin and
blue ribbon, completed by a large "baby" hat, a skirt that just
reached her knees, white silk stockings and high-heeled shoes.
"Oh, Tony!" she exclaimed; "thank goodness you've come." Then
turning to the dresser she added kindly: "You can shove off, Jane. I
want to talk to him alone."
Acting on the hint the lady of the pins withdrew from the room, and
hardly waiting until the door had closed behind her, Molly jumped up
from the chair.
"Have you anything to tell me, Tony?" she asked in a voice that shook
a little with excitement. "I know nothing yet except what I've seen
in the paper. I have tried to ring you up twice, but----"
"How long have you got now?" inquired Tony.
She glanced at the little silver clock on the dressing-table.
"About ten minutes. Then I have to go on and sing a song, and after
that there's the interval."
"I can tell you everything I know in ten minutes," said Tony, "if
there are no interruptions."
Molly moved quickly to the door and turned the key in the lock.
"Fire ahead," she observed.
A week earlier Tony would have found it quite impossible to crowd the
somewhat eventful history of the last twenty-four hours into the
short time at his disposal. Practice, however, had been improving
his powers as a story-teller, and without omitting any really
important detail, he actually accomplished the feat with something
like a minute and a half to spare.
Molly was certainly an excellent audience. Standing motionless at
the door, her lower lip caught tight between her white teeth, she
listened to him with rapt attention that never wavered or varied.
Even when he had finished she still remained silent for a moment;
then with a sudden movement she came towards him, her blue eyes
shining with excitement.
"Tony," she said, speaking with a sort of forced calmness, "are you
absolutely serious about following them? Do you really mean to sail
for Braxa to-night?"
"I do," replied Tony with quite unusual sobriety. "You see I have
just found out that I am really fond of Isabel, and I don't see any
other possible chance of getting her back."
"Do you think this is a possible chance?" She put the question with
an earnestness that robbed it of any suggestion of sarcasm.
"Well, it's a bit thin," admitted Tony frankly, "but after all one
never knows." He paused. "To a certain extent, Molly," he added,
"it depends upon you."
She drew in her breath sharply. "Me?"
Tony nodded. "You're my trump card," he said encouragingly. "You
know that signed pass our friend Peter was obliging enough to give
you--the one which he said would take you anywhere if he ever got
back to Livadia as king?"
"Yes," said Molly slowly.
"Well, if you're not using it for the moment," continued Tony, "I'd
be awful obliged if you'd lend it to me. If it will really do half
of what he said it would it might come in devilish handy."
There was a moment's pause, and then a clatter of footsteps came
hurrying down the passage outside, and someone rapped loudly on the
door.
"Miss Monk, please," shouted a shrill and penetrating voice.
Molly looked round in the direction of the summons.
"All right, Charles," she called out tranquilly: then turning back
she took a momentary glance at herself in the long mirror that hung
against the wall.
"I shall be up again in a minute or two, Tony," she said, skilfully
smoothing out a disordered ribbon. "Have a cigarette, and don't
worry yourself about the pass. That will be quite all right."
"You'll lend it to me?" exclaimed Tony gratefully.
Molly paused on the threshold and looked back at him with a sort of
mischievous elation.
"No," she said. "I won't lend it to you; but I'll bring it with me."
And with this somewhat staggering announcement she opened the door
and disappeared from view.
Whatever effect her remark may have had upon Tony, he appeared to
have recovered from it fairly successfully by the time that she
returned. At all events she found him reclining in the easy-chair,
enveloped in cigarette smoke, and looking precisely as comfortable
and unruffled as when she had left him.
"Was your parting shot serious, Molly?" he asked in that pleasantly
serene voice of his.
As he spoke he got up from the chair, and Molly, who was a little out
of breath, dropped into the vacant seat.
"It was," she said; "dead, absolute serious. If you want Peter's
letter you'll have to take me with you to Livadia." She paused and
looked up at him. "Say yes, Tony," she added almost fiercely.
"Don't you see that I mean it."
Tony who was gazing down at her with a sort of dispassionate
admiration, nodded his head.
"I see you mean it all right, Molly," he said quietly; "but it's a
bit of a bomb-shell you know. This won't be exactly a healthy trip
if we happen to mess things up."
Molly leaned across to the dressing-table and helped herself to a
cigarette.
"Tony dear," she observed. "I know I'm a musical comedy actress, but
it doesn't necessarily follow that I'm a complete idiot. I
understand perfectly that we're taking on about as risky and hopeless
a job as any one could possibly tackle. If Da Freitas finds out I
should think the odds are about twenty to one that neither of us will
ever come back." She struck a match and lighted her cigarette. "Now
are you satisfied?" she inquired.
"Well, you seem to have a fairly sound grip of the situation,"
admitted Tony. "Still that doesn't make it any the less of a large
order." He paused. "Good Lord, Molly, why it's madness--stark
staring madness!"
"I don't see it," returned Molly obstinately. "A wife's place is by
her husband's side--especially when he has run away with another
woman."
In spite of himself Tony laughed. "But supposing we reach
Livadia--suppose we actually get into Portriga--what can you do even
then?"
"What's the good of asking me that?" demanded Molly. "I don't know
any more than you do--not till the time comes. The only thing is--"
She broke off, as though not quite sure how to continue.
"Well?" said Tony encouragingly.
"It's just an idea--nothing else at present, but--but you have told
me several times that this girl and I are almost exactly alike."
Tony nodded. He was staring at her with a sudden expression of
freshly aroused interest.
"Well, don't you see?" Molly threw away her cigarette and rose to
her feet. "Surely it's just possible that somehow--by some sort of a
chance--we might be able to make use of this to help us." She
laughed almost hysterically. "Oh, I know it sounds wild and mad, but
what notion have you got that's any better?"
Tony took a couple of paces to the door, and back to where she was
standing.
"By Jove, it's an idea, Molly!" he said slowly. "If we could get you
there without being found out----"
"I have thought of that," she interrupted. "I was thinking of it all
the time I was on the stage." She paused. "Tony--you remember that
song I was singing a couple of years ago--the one in which I used to
dress up as a curate?"
He nodded.
"Well, I've still got the things I wore--the clothes and the wig and
the spectacles--in fact the whole get-up. It was so good that once,
just for a joke, I went out into the street in it. I walked the
whole way down the Strand, and not a soul spotted that there was
anything wrong."
The old gleam of mischievous amusement leaped into Tony's eyes.
"Good Lord, Molly!" he said. "And you propose to take the trip--in
those?"
"Why not?" she demanded. "I can carry it through all right--really
and truly I can. After all there's no reason you couldn't have a
curate on board, is there?"
"None at all," said Tony. "Oh, none at all." He leaned against the
wall and began to laugh, gently and joyously.
Molly faced him with shining eyes. "Then you'll take me?" she
exclaimed.
Again Tony nodded his head. "I'll take you, Molly," he answered, "if
it's only for the sake of seeing Guy's face."
There was another clatter and shuffle of footsteps outside, and the
voice of the call-boy came echoing down the passage.
"Beginners, Act two, please!"
Tony stopped laughing. "How about your work? How about your part
here at the theatre?" he asked.
"Oh, damn the theatre," said Molly simply. "I've got a very good
understudy, and they'll have to put up with her." She glanced again
rapidly at the clock. "Listen, Tony--we've got exactly two minutes,
and then I must start changing. I shall have to have the dresser in,
and we can't talk in front of her. Tell me now--right away--just
what you want me to do."
For a moment Tony reflected rapidly.
"I think the best plan will be for you to motor down with me," he
said. "I can send Guy and Bugg in one car with Jennings, and call
for you at your place with the other. I shan't tell Guy anything
about it until you're safe on board."
"Why?" asked Molly. "Do you think he'll mind?"
"I am sure he will," said Tony cheerfully. "But it will be too late
for him to do anything then unless he tries to throw you into the
sea." He paused. "Can you be ready by nine-thirty sharp?"
Molly nodded. "I won't keep you waiting," she said.
There was a knock at the door, and having been granted permission to
enter, the secretive looking dresser reappeared on the scene.
"Beg pardon for hinterrupting, Miss," she observed apologetically,
"but it's time you was startin' to change."
"Quite right, Jane," said Molly. She turned to Tony and held out her
hand. "Well, thanks for coming and looking me up, Tony," she added.
"See you again quite soon, I hope."
Tony raised her hand and kissed the tip of her fingers. "Why, yes,"
he said; "we'll probably run across each other before long."
* * * * * * *
It was just twenty minutes later when Lady Jocelyn's pretty
parlourmaid opened the door of the drawing-room at Chester Square,
and in a slightly agitated voice, for such a well trained retainer,
announced the arrival of Sir Antony Conway.
Tony, who had followed hard upon her heels, came straight up to the
sofa, where, as usual, his aunt was sitting. She looked older and
very frail, and her thin hands trembled a little as she stretched
them to greet him.
"Tony!" she exclaimed, "my dear boy!"
He sat down beside her, holding her hands in his.
"Aunt Fanny," he said severely; "you have been breaking my rules.
You know that you're never allowed to look unhappy or worried."
"It wasn't altogether my fault it happened, Tony," she said. "I
would have given my stupid useless old life twice over to have
stopped it."
In a tender, half jesting fashion he slipped his arm round her. "You
mustn't talk like that, Aunt Fanny dear," he said. "In fact you
mustn't talk at all. You must just sit still and listen to me.
There is no time for anything else."
Lady Jocelyn clasped her hands in her lap. "Go on," she said quietly.
All the way from the Gaiety to the house, Tony had been pondering in
his mind just how much of the truth it would be advisable to tell.
Knowing his aunt, he was not afraid that she would try to dissuade
him from his purpose, however dangerous it might appear; he was
merely anxious to present it in as favourable a light as possible, so
as to spare her any avoidable anxiety.
With this idea he omitted all reference to the attempt upon the
_Betty_, confining himself entirely to a description of Congosta's
visit. He repeated the latter's story of what had happened to
Isabel, and went on to relate how the plan for a possible rescue had
been promptly and happily conceived. By means of a little judicious
colouring he was able to make it appear a far more feasible
proposition than when it had originally presented itself in the hall
of Goodman's Rest.
Of his subsequent visit to the Gaiety he said nothing at all.
Molly's presence on board the _Betty_ in the guise of a curate might
or might not be of assistance, but from the point of view of
inspiring confidence in the enterprise, it seemed to be one of those
features which were better suppressed.
Lady Jocelyn listened to him without interruption. Her face betrayed
nothing of what she was feeling, and for a moment after he had
finished speaking, Tony was under the impression that his well meant
efforts had been entirely successful. Then, with her faint kindly
smile, she laid her hand upon his sleeve.
"Thank you, Tony dear," she said. "It was good of you to come and
tell me all this, and it was nicer still of you to have told it in
the way you have. Of course I don't really believe you. I am quite
sure it's a much more dangerous business than you make out, but as
long as there is the shadow of a chance of helping Isabel I should be
the last to try and dissuade you. Go, Tony, and do what you can for
her; and God bless you and help you."
There was a short pause, and then Tony bent forward and kissed her.
"I am glad you love Isabel," he said simply.
"She is the sweetest and bravest girl I have ever known," answered
Lady Jocelyn. "If you can't save her from this marriage, Tony, I
think it will break my heart."
Tony got up from the sofa, and buttoned his coat.
"Don't you worry about that, Aunt Fanny," he said. "Peter won't get
her--not if I have to shoot him at the altar rails."