by W. W. Jacobs
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH PEACE IS PROPOSED AND WAR DECLARED.
Marchmont stood on the lawn before the palace, on the morning after hisarrival, critically inspecting that structure; his feet stretched wideapart, his hands in his pockets, and his hat on the back of his head.
Cecil, emerging from breakfast, sighted his enemy and made haste to joinhim.
"Jolly old rookery you've got," remarked the reporter.
"Yes," said Banborough. "It was a monastery originally. They turned itinto a bishop's palace about the reign of Henry VIII."
"I know that style," said the American. "Nice rambling ark, two storieshigh, and no two rooms on the same level. Architect built right out intothe country till he got tired, and then turned round and came back.Obliged to have a valet to show you to your room whether you're sober ornot."
"I didn't know," said Cecil drily, "that you possessed an extensiveacquaintance in ecclesiastical circles in this country."
"Oh, yes," said Marchmont, "I served as valet for six months to a bishopwhile I was gathering materials for my articles on 'English Sees Seenfrom the Inside.'"
"Was it a financial success?" queried Banborough.
"No," admitted the reporter regretfully, "it sold the paper splendidly,but was stopped at the second article at the request of the Americanambassador."
"Did you favour us with a visit?"
"I hadn't that honour."
"If you had done so you would probably have slept in the rooms we giveto our American guests in the new part of the house."
"How old is that?" queried the journalist.
"About eight hundred years," replied Cecil, "and the walls are four feetthick."
"I know," said the reporter, "It's appalling. That sort of thing alwaysupsets me. It seems so out of keeping with the _Daily Leader_."
"Look here, Marchmont, why have you come to Blanford?" demandedBanborough, abruptly changing the conversation.
"To have the joy of your society," returned the journalist.
"If that were really the case I'd be delighted to see you," said theEnglishman. "But you're on the track of these unfortunate people who aremy guests; and if you make things disagreeable for them I shan't havethe slightest compunction in forbidding you the house."
The American, apparently ignoring the other's frankness, remarked:
"So you admit they're conspirators?"
"I admit nothing of the kind. They're perfectly innocent of the chargeyou bring against them, and you've been making an awful ass of yourself,if you only knew it."
"Ah, thank you. But if this is the case why didn't you mention the factto me in Montreal?"
"I had my reasons."
"And why are all these people received as honoured guests in yourfather's palace?"
"That, if you'll permit me to say so, Marchmont, is a matter thatdoesn't concern you."
"Everything concerns me. Not that I expect you to see that point ofview. But to put it another way. Considering all I've done to increasethe sale of your book, won't you do me a good turn and tell me what youknow about this affair?"
"I wish the confounded book had never sold a copy!" burst outBanborough. "And I'll not say one word to the detriment of my friends!"
"Then it _is_ to be war?" queried the journalist, rolling a cigarette.
"Not so far as I'm concerned," replied his host. "Why don't you letbygones be bygones? A truce between the United States and Spain may bedeclared any day, and then--"
"Then my great scoop will be lost for ever. What would the public careabout conspirators if there were no war?"
"Exactly what I say," said Cecil. "So let's drop the whole matter."
"Not much!" cried the journalist. "It's my last chance. And if you won'thelp me--why, I must help myself."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Turn 'em out of Blanford."
"Impossible!"
"But your father?"
"How dare you mention my father's name in this connection? I won't havehim dragged into publicity to sell your dirty rag of a newspaper!" Cecilexploded, thoroughly beside himself at the thought of such a dreadfulpossibility.
The journalist nodded his head gravely. Banborough's fierce defence ofthe Bishop he attributed to far other grounds than those on which it wasreally based. It justified him to the tramp's suspicions that hisLordship was actually connected with the plot.
"Well," he said, with a fair pretence of backing down, "there's no needof getting so hot about it. Of course I don't want to make myselfdisagreeable."
"Neither do I," replied his host. "Only we may as well understand eachother. You're quite welcome to come to the palace as long as youremember to be a gentleman before you are a journalist. But if youforget it, I'll be forced to treat you as you deserve," and turning onhis heel, he left Marchmont chewing the ends of his sandy moustache witha grim avidity that boded ill for the peace of the Bishop and hishousehold.
The American told himself that he must work carefully. Banborough wouldwatch him and probably put the others on their guard. And moreover, hewould not hesitate to dismiss him from the palace, which, apart from theunpleasantness of the operation, would be well-nigh fatal to the successof the scheme the journalist was maturing. Decidedly the highest cautionwas essential, but he must work quickly, for there was no time to belost. Marchmont therefore proceeded to pump the first member of thecompany he came across. This happened to be Spotts, who was in rather abad humour, the result of a morning spent with the Bishop in thecobwebby heights of a neighbouring church-tower.
"You're the very person I wanted to see," cried the reporter.
"I'm afraid I've hardly time to be interviewed just now," replied theactor shortly.
"Oh, this isn't professional. I'm off duty sometimes. I'm only human."
"Oh, are you? I supposed newspaper men were neither the one nor theother."
"Well, I wanted to talk to you for your own good."
"Is it as bad as all that?"
"Of course I know who you really are," pursued the journalist, ignoringthe interruption. "And I may say confidentially that you and MissArminster are not the people of this party I'm after."
"Ah, that's very thoughtful of you."
"So, if I could help you two to slip off quietly--"
"Why include Miss Arminster?" queried Spotts with well-affectedsurprise.
"Why? My dear fellow, you don't suppose I'm quite blind. Any one whofollows that lady about with his eyes as you do is naturally-- Well--youunderstand--"
"I'm afraid your professional acumen is at fault this time," said theactor, and added: "I hope I may never come any nearer being married thanI am now."
"Oh, I say," returned Marchmont; "don't you aspire to be her--sixteenth,is it?"
"You're alluding to Miss Arminster's husbands?" asked Spotts drily.
"Oh, I'd a little bet up with a friend," said Marchmont, "that she'dbeen married at least a baker's dozen times. Ought I to hedge?"
"I think you're well inside the number," replied the actor.
"Gad! she must be pretty well acquainted with the divorce courts!"exclaimed the reporter.
"I'm quite sure she's never been divorced in her life," returned Spotts."So long. I'm after a drink." And he left him, thus terminating theconversation.
"Ah," said the journalist to himself, "I bet you're the next in line,just the same."
Baffled in his first attempt, Marchmont sought other means ofinformation, for there is always a weak spot in every defence, and a manof far less keen perception than the reporter would have had littledifficulty in finding the most favourable point of attack. So it is notsurprising that after a little cogitation he went in search of MissMatilda, whom he had met the day before when he had returned with theparty from the abbey. He found that lady on the lawn knitting socks forthe heathen, and deserted for the nonce by the faithful Smith.
"Dear Miss Banborough," began the journalist, sitting down beside her,"what a reproach it is to idle men like myse
lf to see such industry!"
"It's very kind of you, I'm sure, to notice my humble labours," repliedthe old lady, expanding at once under the first word of flattery. "Mybrother tells me you're connected with a great newspaper. How ennoblingthat must be! It gives you such a wide scope for doing good."
Marchmont, who had hardly adopted journalism for this purpose, and wasconscious of having done his fair share of mischief in the world, made adesperate effort to look the part assigned to him, and murmuringsomething about the inspiration, to toilers like himself, of suchself-sacrificing lives as hers, abruptly turned the conversation byalluding to the pleasure which she must have felt at her nephew'sreturn.
"Of course we're very glad to have him back," acceded Miss Matilda. "Butthen we see little or nothing of him."
"Naturally," said the journalist, "his days must be given up to hisfriends. How you must be looking forward to the time when you can havehim quite to yourself!"
The gleam that came into the old lady's eye at this remark told himthat he had not been mistaken in fancying her hostile to the strangers,and he hastened to continue such a fruitful theme, saying:
"I suppose that, as they've been here a month now, you'll be losing themsoon."
"I can't say," she snapped. "They seem to be staying for an indefiniteperiod."
"Really?" he replied. "I shouldn't have fancied that your nephew wouldhave found them very congenial. Indeed, if you'll pardon my frankness, Iwas rather surprised to meet them here."
Miss Matilda at once gave him her undivided attention.
"You knew them in America?" she asked.
"Of course I knew about them. I was hardly acquainted personally."
It was his tone rather than his words that lent an unfavourable colourto the remark, but the implication was not lost on the Bishop's sister.Here at last was a man who could give her the information she was mostanxious to obtain.
"I should have supposed," she ventured, "that you'd have known such veryintimate friends of Cecil's as these appear to be."
"Oh, no," he returned. "New York's a big place. I dare say you know muchmore about them than I do."
"I know nothing!" she burst out. "Strange as it may appear to you, mynephew has never told me one word concerning his guests, though I'mexpected to receive them under my--his father's roof and introduce themto my friends."
"I see," replied Marchmont cautiously. "Cecil should have trusted toyour excellent discrimination and judgment, unless--" and here hepaused.
The position required consideration. It was easy enough to tell herabout these people. Merely to say that they were an itinerant company ofactors and actresses would be sufficient to ensure them a speedy _conge_from Blanford. But was it wise to do this? Did he want them to go? Ahasty action is often like a boomerang. It returns on the toes of theperson who thoughtlessly launches it in flight. No, on the whole theyhad better remain, he told himself. The palace would form an excellentbackground for the sensational exposure he hoped to make. If he couldonly get the Bishop into a corner, he would be quite satisfied.
"Well, what?" she demanded sharply, impatient at his unfinishedsentence.
"Unless," he continued, hedging carefully--"unless your nephew felt thatit was quite sufficient to have explained things to his father.Doubtless the Bishop knows all about his son's friends."
"The Bishop knows a great deal too much for a man in his position,"snapped his sister.
"Quite so," thought the journalist, "and doesn't confide it to you."Aloud he remarked:
"Of course there's nothing particular to be said against them, exceptthat they're hardly in Cecil's set."
"I didn't need you to tell me that. But what about the ladies?"
"Ah, yes, the ladies. Well, really, you've put me in an awkwardposition, Miss Banborough. One can't be uncomplimentary to the fair sex,you know."
"Humph! Well, Josephus sees more of both of them than is good for him.But of course Mrs. Mackintosh has neither the youth nor the good looksto cause me any anxiety."
"Mrs. Mackintosh is eminently respectable," said Marchmont, who alwaysspoke the truth when it did not conflict with business.
"But Miss Arminster?"
The journalist did not answer.
"Well," she cried, "why don't you speak?"
"Madam," he replied, "you place me in a most embarrassing situation. Myduty to you and the natural gallantry of my nature draw me in differentdirections."
"I insist."
"I put myself in your hands. In saying what I do I'm laying myself opento serious misconstruction."
"You may rely upon my silence."
"Any indiscretion on your part would be most unfortunate."
"I shall not forget the confidence you've reposed in me."
"I shall hold you to that," he said. "If I tell you what I have in mind,will you promise not to use the information without my permission?"
"That I cannot say."
"Then I say nothing."
"But you've already implied--"
"But implications, my dear Miss Banborough, are not evidence."
"You leave me no other course but to accede to your request," she said.
"Ah, then you promise?"
"I promise."
"The word of a woman in your position and of your high moral standard Iknow is sacred."
She nodded.
"Well, then," he continued, "please answer me this question. Where wasyour brother the first week in May?"
"In Scotland."
"Why did he go?"
"For absolute rest. He was worried and run down."
"You heard from him frequently?"
"No, not once during the whole time. Sir Joseph Westmoreland, the greatLondon nerve specialist, who advised the change, even prohibitedcorrespondence."
"You're sure he was in Scotland?"
"Really, Mr. Marchmont, why do you ask?"
"Because I saw the Bishop of Blanford in the United States in the firstweek of May on his way to Montreal, Canada."
"Impossible!"
"I'm certain of it."
"I cannot credit what you tell me!"
"What I tell you is quite true. You say he was absent for a month. Mighthe not have gone to the States and returned in that time?"
His sister nodded. Then, as a sudden thought occurred to her, sheflushed red with anger, exclaiming:
"And this girl, this Miss Arminster! Was she in Montreal also?"
"She was," replied Marchmont. "I saw her."
"The hussy!" cried Miss Matilda, rising. "She shan't remain in my houseanother hour!"
"Hold on!" he exclaimed. "You forget your promise!"
"But after what you've said!"
"I haven't said anything. Miss Arminster's being in Montreal might havebeen merely a coincidence."
"But do you know something about her?"
"I've investigated her career," he replied, "and have found nothingobjectionable in it, beyond the fact that she's rather fond of gettingmarried."
"Getting married! But surely she calls herself _Miss_ Arminster?"
"Ah, yes; but that's very common on the--I mean, not unusual in suchcases."
"She has been married, then, more than once?"
"I know of a dozen different occasions on which she has had the serviceperformed."
"Infamous!"
"Oh, no. There's no evidence of her ever having been through the divorcecourt. Indeed, she may never have been married to more than one man atthe same time."
"But how to account--"
"For the mortality in husbands? Well, fortunately, we're not required todo that."
"I will not have my dear brother stricken down in his prime!" gaspedMiss Matilda.
"Oh, I don't suppose she's necessarily fatal. Still, as mistress ofBlanford--"
The Bishop's sister arose in her wrath. For the first time in herexistence she wanted to swear, but contented herself by remarking:
"That young woman leaves the palace to-day!"
"You
forget your promise to me," he said.
"But is it possible, in the face of what you've told me, that you canhold me to it?"
"Quite possible. In fact I mean to do so, and as soon as your righteousindignation cools down a bit you'll realise that we've nothingwhatsoever to go on. What I've said could only be substantiated byevidence requiring some time to obtain. If you accused her now, she'dmerely deny my statement, and her word's as good as mine, and probablybetter, in his Lordship's estimation."
"But is there no proof near at hand?"
"Yes. She was married several years ago at a little church close by theruined abbey where I first met your party, and the fact is recorded inthe register."
"Then surely--"
"There's no crime in being married once," he objected.
"But what _can_ we do?" she asked.
"Keep quiet for a little while longer. Miss Arminster's certain to makesome slip, and then--"
"It seems very difficult to wait."
"Believe me," he replied, "it's the only way, and I shall rely on yourpromise."
Saying which, he left her, partly because he had obtained all theinformation he wished, and partly because he was certain that he espiedthe well-known figure of the tramp hovering behind the bushes on theopposite side of the lawn.
A few moments later he had his hand on that individual's collar, and wasdemanding sternly what he meant by coming to Blanford against hisorders.
"'Cause I've somethin' of importance to tell yer," retorted that worthy.
"Well, out with it, quick!" said the journalist. "It's got to be prettyimportant to excuse your disobedience."
"It is. The boss is going to bolt."
"Who? The Bishop?"
"That's it! Him and the lady."
"What lady?"
"The young 'un, I guess."
"What's all this stuff about?" demanded Marchmont.
"It ain't stuff, as you'll soon see," replied the tramp in an aggrievedtone. "There was a yacht come into Dullhampton last night, anasty-lookin' boat and a quick steamer. The second mate and me, we gotto know each other up to the inn--he's a furriner, he is--a Don, more'nlikely. But he let on, havin' had some drink, as how he'd been sentthere with the yacht to wait for the Bishop o' Blanford and a lady aswas comin' down next day, and the Bishop was to give the sailin'orders."
"Humph! What more?"
"This mornin' I seed 'em lookin' over a lot of flags on the deck of theyacht, and one of 'em was Spanish."
"So you came all the way up here to tell me this cock-and-bull story!"
"Not till I'd squared the crew."
"Squared the crew?"
"I let on to 'em as how they'd been shipped under false orders to carrytwo Spanish spies out of the country, an' how we was on to the fact, andif they'd stay by us they'd not be held responsible; and I promised 'emten shillin's apiece and give 'em all the drink they wanted, and they'reours to a man."
"And that's where you've wasted good money and good liquor. I tell youwhat you say is impossible. If the Bishop had had any idea of a movelike that, I'd have got wind of it. Besides, his old cat of a sisterwould never let him leave Blanford again without her."
"Hist!" said the tramp, pointing across the lawn. "Look there, what didI say? My eyesight ain't what it was, from breakin' stones up to SingSing, and I can't see no faces at this distance, but there's somethin'sneakin' along there, in bishop's togs."
Marchmont followed the direction he indicated, and saw two figuresstealing round the corner of the palace, carrying hand-bags and showingevery sign of watchfulness and suspicion. Having ascertained that thelawn was clear, they slipped rapidly across it, and, putting themselvesin the protecting shade of a clump of bushes, turned into the high-roadand disappeared. It had needed no second glance to identify them as hisLordship and Miss Arminster.
"By Jove!" gasped the journalist. "It is true, then! This will be ascoop of scoops! Come, we've got to run for it. We must take the sametrain, and they mustn't see us."
Some one else had witnessed the departure, in spite of all theprecautions of the fugitives, and that person was Miss Matilda, who,from the vantage of an upper window, caught a glimpse of them just asthey disappeared through the gate. Unwilling at first to believe hersenses, she rushed to her brother's room and then to Miss Arminster's.Alas! in each apartment the traces of hasty packing and missinghand-luggage gave damning evidence of the fact. She rushed downstairs,bursting with her dreadful intelligence. In the hall she met Cecil,delightedly waving a telegram in his hand.
"Hurrah! Aunt Matilda!" he shouted. "Such news! 'The Purple Kangaroo'has reached its twentieth edition, and a truce is declared between theUnited States and Spain! Where are the others? I must tell them that thewar is over."
"Bother your war!" exclaimed his aunt. "Do you know that your father andthat shameless minx, Miss Arminster, have just eloped?"
