The Illustrious Prince
Page 18
CHAPTER XVIII. MR. COULSON IS INDISCREET
On the following morning Mr. Coulson received what he termed his mailfrom America. Locked in his room on the fifth floor of the hotel, hecarefully perused the contents of several letters. A little later herang and ordered his bill. At four o'clock he left the Gare du Nord forLondon.
Like many other great men, Mr. Coulson was not without his weakness. Hewas brave, shrewd, and far-seeing. He enjoyed excellent health, and hescarcely knew the meaning of the word nerves. Nevertheless he sufferedfrom seasickness. The first thing he did, therefore, when aboard theboat at Boulogne, was to bespeak a private cabin. The steward to whom hemade his application shook his head with regret. The last two had justbeen engaged. Mr. Coulson tried a tip, and then a larger tip, with equallack of success. He was about to abandon the effort and retire gloomilyto the saloon, when a man who had been standing by, wrapped in a heavyfur overcoat, intervened.
"I am afraid, sir," he said, "that it is I who have just securedthe last cabin. If you care to share it with me, however, I shall bedelighted. As a matter of fact, I use it very little myself. The nighthas turned out so fine that I shall probably promenade all the time."
"If you will allow me to divide the expense," Mr. Coulson replied, "Ishall be exceedingly obliged to you, and will accept your offer. I am,unfortunately, a bad sailor."
"That is as you will, sir," the gentleman answered. "The amount is onlytrifling."
The night was a bright one, but there was a heavy sea running, and evenin the harbor the boat was rocking. Mr. Coulson groaned as he made hisway across the threshold of the cabin.
"I am going to have a horrible time," he said frankly. "I am afraidyou'll repent your offer before you've done with me."
His new friend smiled.
"I have never been seasick in my life," he said, "and I only engagea cabin for fear of wet weather. A fine night like this I shall nottrouble you, so pray be as ill as you like."
"It's nothing to laugh at," Mr. Coulson remarked gloomily.
"Let me give you a little advice," his friend said, "and I can assureyou that I know something of these matters, for I have been on the seaa great deal. Let me mix you a stiff brandy and soda. Drink it down andeat only a dry biscuit. I have some brandy of my own here."
"Nothing does me any good," Mr. Coulson groaned.
"This," the stranger remarked, producing a flask from his case anddividing the liquor into equal parts, "may send you to sleep. If so,you'll be across before you wake up. Here's luck!"
Mr. Coulson drained his glass. His companion was in the act of raisinghis to his lips when the ship gave a roll, his elbow caught the back ofa chair, and the tumbler slipped from his fingers.
"It's of no consequence," he declared, ringing for the steward. "I'll gointo the smoking room and get a drink. I was only going to have some tokeep you company. As a matter of fact, I prefer whiskey."
Mr. Coulson sat down upon the berth. He seemed indisposed for speech.
"I'll leave you now, then," his friend said, buttoning his coat aroundhim. "You lie flat down on your back, and I think you'll find yourselfall right."
"That brandy," Mr. Coulson muttered, "was infernally--- strong."
His companion smiled and went out. In a quarter of an hour he returnedand locked the door. They were out in the Channel now, and the boat waspitching heavily. Mr. James B. Coulson, however, knew nothing of it. Hewas sleeping like one who wakes only for the Judgment Day. Over his coatand waistcoat the other man's fingers travelled with curious dexterity.The oilskin case in which Mr. Coulson was in the habit of keeping hisprivate correspondence was reached in a very few minutes. The strangerturned out the letters and read them, one by one, until he came to theone he sought. He held it for a short time in his hand, looked at theaddress with a faint smile, and slipped his fingers lightly along thegummed edge of the envelope.
"No seal," he said softly to himself. "My friend Mr. Coulson plays thegame of travelling agent to perfection."
He glided out of the cabin with the letter in his hand. In about tenminutes he returned. Mr. Coulson was still sleeping. He replaced theletter, pressing down the envelope carefully.
"My friend," he whispered, looking down upon Mr. Coulson's uneasyfigure, "on the whole, I have been perhaps a little premature. I thinkyou had better deliver this document to its proper destination. If onlythere was to have been a written answer, we might have met again! Itwould have been most interesting."
He slipped the oilskin case back into the exact position in which he hadfound it, and watched his companion for several minutes in silence. Thenhe went to his dressing bag and from a phial mixed a little draught.Lifting the sleeping man's head, he forced it down his throat.
"I think," he said, "I think, Mr. Coulson, that you had better wake up."
He unlocked the door and resumed his promenade of the deck. In the bowshe stood for some time, leaning with folded arms against a pillar, hiseyes fixed upon the line of lights ahead. The great waves now leapedinto the moonlight, the wind sang in the rigging and came booming acrossthe waters, the salt spray stung his cheeks. High above his head, theslender mast, with its Marconi attachment, swang and dived, reached outfor the stars, and fell away with a shudder. The man who watched, stoodand dreamed until the voyage was almost over. Then he turned on his heeland went back to see how his cabin companion was faring.
Mr. Coulson was sitting on the edge of his bunk. He had awakened with aterrible headache and a sense of some hideous indiscretion. It was notuntil he had examined every paper in his pocket and all his moneythat he had begun to feel more comfortable. And in the meantime he hadforgotten altogether to be seasick.
"Well, how has the remedy worked?" the stranger inquired.
Mr. Coulson looked him in the face. Then he drew a short breathof relief. He had been indiscreet, but he had alarmed himselfunnecessarily. There was nothing about the appearance of the quiet, darklittle man, with the amiable eyes and slightly foreign manner, in theleast suspicious.
"It's given me a brute of a headache," he declared, "but I certainlyhaven't been seasick up till now, and I must say I've never crossedbefore without being ill."
The stranger laughed soothingly.
"That brandy and soda would keep you right." He said. "When we get toFolkestone, you'll be wanting a supper basket. Make yourself at home.I don't need the cabin. It's a glorious night outside. I shouldn't havecome in at all except to see how you were getting on."
"How long before we are in?" Mr. Coulson asked.
"About a quarter of an hour," was the answer. "I'll come for you, if youlike. Have a few minute's nap if you feel sleepy."
Mr. Coulson got up.
"Not I!" he said. "I am going to douse my head in some cold water. Thatmust have been the strongest brandy and soda that was ever brewed, tosend me off like that."
His friend laughed as he helped him out on to the deck.
"I shouldn't grumble at it, if I were you," he said carelessly. "Itsaved you from a bad crossing."
Mr. Coulson washed his face and hands in the smoking room lavatory,and was so far recovered, even, as to be able to drink a cup of coffeebefore they reached the harbor. At Folkestone he looked everywhere forhis friend, but in vain. At Charing Cross he searched once more. Thelittle dark gentleman, with the distinguished air and the easy, correctspeech, who had mixed his brandy and soda, had disappeared.
"And I owe the little beggar for half that cabin," Mr. Coulson thoughtwith a sensation of annoyance. "I wonder where he's hidden himself!"