His Lordship's Leopard: A Truthful Narration of Some Impossible Facts

by W. W. Jacobs

  CHAPTER IV.

  IN WHICH THE BISHOP IS ABDUCTED.

  All the way from Blanford to Dullhampton the Bishop was in the best ofspirits, much on the principle of a naughty boy who, having playedtruant, means to enjoy his holiday to the full, well knowing that hewill be caned when it is over. Indeed his Lordship became positivelyskittish, and Miss Arminster was obliged to squelch him a little, asthat young lady, for excellent reasons of her own, had no more intentionof becoming the mistress of Blanford than she had of wedding the authorof "The Purple Kangaroo." On the other hand, she realised that it wasone of the old gentleman's very rare treats, and she wanted him to haveas good a time as possible; besides which, she had always longed to takea cruise on a steam-yacht, and now her ambition was about to begratified.

  The shock of disappointment was therefore all the greater when, on theirarrival at Dullhampton, they were met by the captain, who informed themthat Lord Downton had had a bad fall the day before and seriouslysprained his ankle, so that the party had been given up. He had sent theyacht on, however, with the request that the Bishop would consider it athis disposal for the remainder of the week.

  "Now that's exceedingly awkward," said his Lordship. "I fear we canhardly go yachting without a chaperon."

  "Most certainly not," agreed Miss Arminster. "But let's take a littlesail this afternoon, and return to Blanford in time for dinner."

  "That's very well thought of," said the Bishop, "and to-morrow we canbring down some more of our party. It seems a pity we shouldn't use theyacht, now we're here. Does that arrangement meet with your approval,captain?"

  "Well, your Lordship," replied the captain, "to be honest with you, Ihadn't expected as how you'd be able to get away to-day, so I'darranged to see my sister, who lives here, this afternoon, and the firstmate's gone up to town to order some stores. But if you are only to beout for a few hours, as you say, my second mate's quite capable oftaking the boat for you. I wouldn't like to trust him on a long cruise,for he's only joined a few weeks, and I know nothing about hischaracter. He is a first-class navigator, however, and for an afternoonin the Solent he'll do you very well."

  "I'm sure we would not want to interfere with your plans, captain," saidhis Lordship, "so if Miss Arminster agrees--"

  "Oh my, yes," acquiesced Violet. "I don't care who takes the yacht out,so long as we go."

  "Right you are," said the captain. "Steam's up, and I've ordered lunchon board, as I thought you'd want that anyway. I'll tell Funk, thesecond mate, to run out into the Solent, and then you can give your ownorders. What time will you be back?"

  "Oh, not later than six," replied the Bishop, as they stepped on boardLord Downton's beautiful craft, the "Homing Pigeon."

  She was a large boat and thoroughly seaworthy. Indeed her owner had madea voyage in her to the Mediterranean, but she was built for speed also,and decidedly rakish in cut.

  They were at once introduced to the second mate, and Miss Arminsterthought she had seldom seen a more unprepossessing individual. He wassurly and shifty-eyed, and she confided to the Bishop, when they werealone, that she was glad they were not going far from land under thatman's charge, for he looked like a pirate.

  After glancing round the deck, which seemed charmingly arranged, they atonce descended to the cabin for lunch, for their little journey had madethem hungry. Here the captain left them with a few courteous words ofexcuse. A moment later, as he was leaving the ship, he met two strangerscoming on board, laden with hand-baggage. They were, though unknown tohim, the journalist and the tramp. On asking them sharply what theirbusiness was, Marchmont replied very glibly that he was his Lordship'svalet, and that he had hired this man to bring down the luggage from thestation.

  "I don't think your master'll need his traps, as he's only going out forthe afternoon," said the captain. "But you'd better take them down tothe cabin, and see the porter gets off before they start. I don't allowstrangers aboard."

  The valet touched his hat respectfully, and went up the gangway,followed by the obsequious porter. A moment later they reached the deck,and no sooner had the captain disappeared round a corner than both menapproached the second mate, with whom they had a hurried and earnestconversation, followed by an interchange of something which that officertransferred to his trousers-pocket and jingled appreciatively.

  The ropes were now cast off, and they got under way, while Marchmontstole very quietly to the door of the hatchway which led down to thesaloon where the Bishop and the actress were unsuspectingly lunching,and softly turned the key.

  "Mayn't I cut you a slice of this cold ham, my dear?" asked the Bishopin his most fatherly tones.

  "Not while the pigeon-pie lasts," said his fair companion. "But you maygive me a glass of champagne, if you will. I see some going to waste inan ice-cooler over there in the corner."

  "I was hoping the steward would come," ventured his Lordship.

  "Well, I hope he won't. Being tete-a-tete is much more fun, don't youthink? Give the bottle to me, and I'll show you how to open it and notspill a drop. In some respects your education's been neglected."

  "I'm afraid it has," admitted the Bishop, assisting her with hispen-knife.

  His Lordship felt recklessly jovial. To lunch alone with a young ladywho opened champagne with a dexterity that bespoke considerablepractice must be very wicked, he felt certain, and he was shocked torealise that he didn't care if it was. His years of repression werebeginning to find their outlet in a natural reaction.

  "Here, have a glass of champagne, and don't think about yourshortcomings," she said.

  "That's very nice," he replied, just tasting it.

  "Nonsense!" she cried. "No heel-taps. I'm no end thirsty."

  "So am I," replied his Lordship, draining his glass contentedly, andwatching her fill it up again.

  "What are you so pensive about?" she demanded. "There's another bottle."

  He had been thinking that his sister always confined him to two glasses,but he didn't say so, and under her skilful lead he was soon describingto her a Cowes regatta he had once seen, in which she professed to beamazingly interested.

  "I tell you what it is," she remarked a little later on. "If I had agorgeous palace like yours I'd have no end of a good time."

  "Ah," said the Bishop, who was helping her to unfasten the second bottleof champagne, "I never thought of it in that light."

  "No," returned his fair companion, "I suppose not. But you're losinglots of fun in life, and it does seem a shame, when you would so enjoyit."

  "It does," said the Bishop, sampling the fresh bottle. "But then, yousee, there's my sister, Miss Matilda--"

  "Rats!"

  "Excuse me, I didn't catch your meaning."

  "Never mind my meaning. We're talking about your sister. She's a mostestimable woman, my dear Bish-- Oh, pshaw! I can't always call you byyour title."

  "Call me Josephus," he said.

  "No, I couldn't call you that, either. It's too dreadful. I'll call youJoe."

  The Bishop beamed with joy.

  "And I," he faltered, "may I call you Violet?"

  "No," she said, "I don't think it's proper in a man of your position."

  "But if you call me--Joe--"

  "Well!" she cried, laughing, "we'll make a compromise. Suppose you callme 'the Leopard'?"

  "To be sure," he said. "Mrs. Mackintosh spoke of you asthat--er--quadruped. But what does it mean?"

  "You want to know a great deal too much for a man of your age. It's ananimal that is more than once mentioned in Scripture, and that ought tobe sufficient for your purposes. So we'll have it understood that hisLordship's Leopard is quite at his Lordship's service, if his Lordshipdoesn't mind."

  "Mind!" he cried ecstatically, eyeing the other side of the table. ButMiss Violet intended to have the board between them.

  "Take another glass of champagne, and keep quiet," she said sternly."We're talking about your estimable but impossible sister. My dear Joe,you'll never have any sport till you've got rid o
f her."

  "But how shall I get rid of her?" he asked despondently. Even champagnewas not proof against the depression induced by such an appallingthought.

  "Oh, send her to a course of mud-baths or a water-cure!"

  "I might try it--if--if you'd help me--if you'd take her place at thepalace. I mean--"

  "Josephus!" she called, in such an exact imitation of his sister's tonethat it made him sit right up. "Josephus! don't say another word! I knowwhat you mean--and you're an old dear--and I'm not going to let you makea fool of yourself. You're aged enough to be my father, and if your sonhad had his way you would have been my father-in-law. I want to have agood time, and I want you to have a good time; but that isn't the propermanner in which to set about it. No, you send the old lady packing, forthe good of her health, and Mrs. Mackintosh and I'll help you and Cecilentertain, and we'll have a dance, and a marquee, and lots of punch. Idare say you've never been to a dance in your life," she rattled on,not giving him a chance to blunder out excuses.

  "I'm not such an old fogey as you think me," he began. "But I want tosay--er--Miss--Leopard--"

  "Oh, no, you don't," she interrupted. "You want to forget what you'vesaid, and so do I. We must talk about something else. What were yousaying about a dance?"

  "No, no, not a dance," he replied, resigning himself to his fate. "Butonce," lowering his voice, "not long ago either, when I was in town,I--I'm sure you won't believe it-- I went to a theatre." This lasttriumphantly.

  "Oh, you sad dog!" she cried. "You didn't!"

  He nodded his head affirmatively.

  "And what was the piece?"

  "'The Sign of the Cross.'"

  "What, that gruesome show, where every one's slaughtered or chewed up bylions! You ought to have gone to the Empire."

  "It wasn't far from Leicester Square," he said deprecatingly.

  "Not near enough to be very wicked," she retorted. "But, say, I'll tellyou something if you'll promise never, never to reveal it."

  "The word of a bishop--" he began.

  "Oh, nonsense! You're not a bishop at present, you're just Joe. Well,here it is: I'm an actress!"

  "You--are--an--actress!"

  "Fact! I'm quite harmless. If you keep six feet from me there's not theslightest danger of contamination."

  Then, seeing his look of astonished bewilderment, she burst into a pealof ringing laughter, crying:

  "Why, to look at you, one would think I'd told you that I was a Gorgon!"

  "No, no," he said, stammering. "I--I'm delighted. I always really wantedto meet an actress--but--er--I hardly know what to say--"

  "Don't say anything. Just be your dear unsophisticated self, or you'llbe a bore. Cecil didn't dare tell you who I was, for fear you'd beshocked. Come on, let's go up on deck. It's close down here."

  "It is," admitted his Lordship, whose temperature had risen with hisconsumption of champagne, and added:

  "We should be well out by this time, for we seem to have been going atgreat speed."

  "Isn't it glorious!" she cried. "I wonder what they're doing atBlanford. I guess your telegram was an eye-opener."

  "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the Bishop, fishing a form out of his pocket."I forgot to send it."

  "What, do you mean to say they don't know what's become of us?"

  "I never said a word."

  "My hat!" she cried. "Won't you get a wigging to-night?"

  Then, seeing his evident discomfiture, she added:

  "Never mind, I'll take it with you; and if she turns nasty we'll put aflea in her ear about those mud-baths. Come, let's have our fun,anyway." And she put her hand on the cabin door.

  "Why, it's stuck!" she exclaimed. "I can't open it."

  The Bishop grasped the handle.

  "It isn't stuck!" he cried, shaking it. "It's locked!"

  * * * * *

  While events had been progressing in the cabin, others of no lessimportance were taking place on deck. Once they were well off the land,Funk lost no time in calling a meeting of the crew of the yacht, whoformed a circle around him.

  "Now, my hearties," he said, introducing Marchmont, "this gentleman'sgot a word to say to you which it's worth your while to hear." And heput him in the centre of the ring.

  "Mates," began the journalist, fitting his speech to the audience he wasaddressing, "I'm a plain man of few words, and I've come to you about aplain matter. Mr. Funk will tell you I'm speaking the truth; and youknow this gentleman," indicating the tramp.

  The crowd growled gutturally. They appreciated the tramp's generousoffers of liquor, but not his society.

  "Well," continued Marchmont, ignoring the unfavourable tone, "I supposeyou'd all like to see the Yankees lick the Dons."

  "Ay, ay, you're right there," muttered a burly tar.

  "Good for you! We're all of the same family, and blood's thicker thanwater. Of course you want the boys in blue to win; and that being thecase, I rely on you to help me, like true British tars, the nation'sbulwarks--!"

  "Hear, hear!" growled the crowd appreciatively.

  "Now do you know whom you've aboard to-day?" demanded the American.

  "The Bishop o' Blanford, and a laidy," came the tones of a voice whoseowner evidently hailed from London.

  "No, you haven't," cried the journalist excitedly. "No, you haven't!You've got two low-down Spanish spies!"

  "What d'ye say, mate?" demanded the first speaker among the crew.

  "I'm telling you the truth," vociferated Marchmont, lying boldly; for hefeared that the Bishop's conspiracies would go for nothing if theysuspected he was really a churchman.

  "I'm telling you the truth," he repeated. "And these two gentlemen,"referring to the mate and the tramp, "will back me up. That man's nomore the Bishop of Blanford than you are! And the _lady_--well, she's onthe stage when she isn't in the pay of the Spanish Government. I'vetracked them from the States to Canada, where I saw them both a monthago, and then to England. I don't say how they got hold of this yacht,but I ask you, where's the captain and the first mate?"

  A growl of suspicion rewarded his efforts.

  "They took pretty good care to get out of the way, and leave Mr. Funkand you to bear the brunt of any breach of neutrality that theseconspirators might let you in for."

  The sailors began to whisper to one another, and were evidently uneasy.

  "Then look at the captain's parting words!" cried the journalist. "'Goout into the Solent,' says he, 'and the _Bishop_ will give you yoursailing orders,' Sailing orders, indeed! What would a parson know aboutsailing a vessel of this sort?"

  One of the men nudged another at this, and he of the gruff voice gave itas his opinion that "there was summat in it."

  "I'll tell you what the sailing orders will be," shouted Marchmont."They'll take you round the Needles, and alongside of a Spanish cruiser.And when you get ashore, you'll all be clapped into prison for helpingthe Dons."

  "Let's take 'em back now," came a chorus of voices.

  "And let 'em go scot-free?" demanded Marchmont.

  "Well, what would _you_ do?" asked the spokesman.

  "I?" said the journalist. "I'd hand 'em over to the first American shipwe sight, and send 'em to New York. That takes the burden off _your_shoulders. My man has promised you ten shillings apiece. Put 'em onboard a Yankee ship, and I'll make it a pound." And he brought up ahandful of gold from his pocket, and jingled it in their faces.

  It has been said that money talks, and it undoubtedly did so in thiscase. Marchmont's specious arguments sounded plausible enough, and themate, who was a thoroughly bad lot and had plenty of the journalist'smoney in his pocket, backed him up in every particular. So the crew,after a little discussion, accepted the proposition to a man, and thefact that the Bishop chose this unfortunate time to make an attack onthe cabin door probably helped to decide them.

  "You see," cried the journalist, as it rattled on its hinges, "they'retrying to break out now, and are probably armed to the teeth."


  "We're with you, mates. The Yankees shall have 'em!" shouted the crowd.

  "Good!" he replied. "I'll see if I can induce them to surrenderquietly." And going to the cabin door, he unlocked it and entered,closing it behind him.

  "Who has dared to lock us in in this unwarrantable manner?" splutteredthe Bishop, as the door opened. Then, seeing who it was, he fell back astep, exclaiming:

  "Why, Mr. Marchmont, how did you come on board?"

  "Never mind about that," said the journalist shortly. "I'm here, and Ilocked you in; and when I tell you that I'm thoroughly on to the wholeshow, you'll understand that this high-and-mighty business doesn't godown. Got any champagne left? I'm as dry as a bone."

  The Bishop was rapidly turning purple with suppressed indignation, butMiss Arminster scornfully indicated the location of the wine-cooler.

  "Ah, thanks," said the intruder, tossing off a glass. "That's better."And he threw himself comfortably down on a divan, saying, as he did so:

  "If you two have any weapons, you might as well put them on the table.Resistance is quite useless. I've plenty of men awaiting my signal ondeck."

  Violet, who in the light of this last remark suddenly understood theposition, burst into peals of laughter.

  "You'll find it's no laughing matter," cried the journalist angrily.

  "I insist upon your instantly explaining your outrageous conduct," saidthe Bishop.

  "I can do that in a very few words," replied Marchmont. "As an Americanrepresentative, and authorised agent of the _Daily Leader_, the people'sbulwark of defence, I arrest you both as Spanish spies."

  "He must be mad!" ejaculated his Lordship.

  "Oh, no, he isn't. He actually believes it!" cried Violet between herparoxysms of merriment. But her companion would not be convinced.

  "My dear man," he said blandly, "you must be suffering under somegrievous delusion. I am, as you should know, having been my guest, theBishop of Blanford, and it is quite impossible that either I or thislady should have any connection with a political crime. I must insistthat you release us at once, and go away quietly, or I shall be forcedto use harsher measures."

  "You do it very well, very well indeed," commented the journalist. "Butyou can't fool me, and so you'd better give up trying."

  "I say," remarked Miss Arminster to Marchmont, "you're making an awfulfool of yourself."

  The representative of the _Daily Leader_ shrugged his shoulders.

  "Won't you consent to let us go, without threshing the whole thing out?"she asked.

  "What do you take me for?"

  "Well, as you please," she said resignedly. "Put your questions; we'llanswer them."

  "Is it best to humour him?" enquired his Lordship in a low voice.

  "It's the only way," she replied. "Give him string enough, and see thecat's-cradle he'll weave out of it."

  "Now," said the journalist cheerfully to the Bishop, "perhaps you'lldeny that you spent a month or six weeks in the United States thisspring?"

  "A month," acquiesced his Lordship.

  "Just so. And during that time you were supposed to be in Scotlandtaking a rest-cure?"

  "I admit that such is the case. But how you obtained your information--"

  "I got it from your sister--about the rest-cure, I mean."

  "Did you tell her--er--that I was--er--in the United States?"

  "Yes," replied the journalist.

  His Lordship heaved a deep sigh. The future, he thought, held worsethings for him than arrest and deportation.

  "How did you know that I was in the United States and Canada?" hedemanded.

  "I saw you."

  "Where?"

  "At a little station on the borders of the two countries. You spent thenight wrapped up in a blanket, and slept under the bar."

  "You never--!" broke in Miss Arminster.

  The Bishop nodded mournfully. So far the facts were against him, and hisinterlocutor's face shone with a gleam of triumph.

  "But in that case--" exclaimed Violet.

  "Excuse me, I'll tell the story," said Marchmont, and continued thenarration.

  "You were roused about five in the morning by a man breaking into theroom."

  "So I was," admitted the Bishop. "How did you know?"

  "I was asleep in the room overhead, and gave the alarm."

  "That's perfectly correct," acquiesced his Lordship. "I remember thetones of your voice. It's most astounding."

  "And the man who broke into the bar," continued Violet, "was your son."

  It was now Marchmont's turn to be astonished.

  "What!" he cried, while the Bishop ejaculated:

  "Impossible!"

  "But it was," she insisted. "He went to get the coffee for me."

  "Were you in the station, too?" demanded his Lordship.

  "No, I was out in a potato-patch."

  "You a member of that party of political criminals who jumped off thetrain!" cried the Bishop. "I heard all about it the next morning, but Ican't believe--"

  "It's quite true," she assured him.

  "But it's too remarkable," he went on. "I'd gone to America on purposeto find my son, of whom I'd heard nothing for a year. And you say he wasthere, and--er--touched me?"

  "Why, didn't you see him in Montreal?" asked Marchmont.

  "I sailed next day for England. I was on my way to the steamer when theaccident occurred which detained me overnight."

  "Why then did you conceal the purpose of your trip?" demanded histormentor.

  "My sister was much opposed to my seeking my son," said his Lordship,colouring furiously. "And--I--in short, I had reasons."

  The journalist laughed.

  "The story's clever," he said. "But I can tell a more interesting tale."And he proceeded to relate the adventures of Cecil in the person of "theBishop," to which his Lordship listened with open-mouthed astonishment.

  "There!" concluded his captor triumphantly. "Have you anything to say tothat?"

  "I have," chimed in Miss Arminster, and she gave the true version of theaffair from the time Banborough had first engaged them at the GrandCentral Station.

  "It's a very plausible story," said Marchmont, when she had finished,"and does credit to your invention. But fortunately I'm in a conditionto completely disprove it."

  "Really?" she asked. "How so?"

  "I can produce a witness of the whole transaction."

  "Who?"

  "Friend Othniel."

  "What! here, on board the yacht?"

  "Yes," said Marchmont, "on board this yacht. And he can prove that whatI say is true."

  "What? About the Bishop?" she cried, her voice quivering with suppressedmerriment.

  "Certainly," replied the journalist. "After his release from the BlackMaria he tells substantially your story, but gives the Bishop the partyou have carefully assigned to his innocent son."

  At this she once more broke into peals of laughter, but at last,recovering her speech, managed to gasp out:

  "Bring him here, and see what he says."

  "I will," said Marchmont, hurriedly leaving the cabin, for hermarvellous self-possession was beginning to arouse unpleasant suspicionseven in his mind.

  "But what does it all mean?" queried the Bishop helplessly, after thejournalist's departure. "How dare he say such things about me! I drive aprison-van, indeed!"

  "I'll tell you," she replied, striving to control her voice. "It's thegreatest practical joke that ever was. We called your son 'the Bishop,'just as a nickname, you see, and of course the tramp heard us, and,after we dropped him in Montreal, must have blown the whole thing toMarchmont out of spite, and, not knowing any better, he thought your sonreally _was_ the Bishop."

  Here his Lordship became speechless, as the truth dawned upon him; andat that moment Marchmont entered the cabin, with Friend Othniel in tow.

  "There!" he said, pointing to the ecclesiastic. "Is that the Bishop ofBlanford?"

  "Naw," replied the tramp. "He's old enough to be his father, he is. TheBis
hop I means is a young 'un."

  "Like this!" cried Violet, opening the locket which Cecil had given herin Montreal, and handing it to the tramp.

  "That's him to a T," said Friend Othniel. "I'd know him among athousand."

  For a moment Marchmont said nothing as he encountered the full force ofthe cruel disillusion, and then with painstaking precision he turned andkicked the tramp up the entire flight of cabin stairs.

  "Now," remarked the Bishop, "perhaps you'll allow us to go free."

  "No!" cried the journalist, slamming the door. "I've wasted heaps ofcash and no end of time over this wild-goose-chase, but the _DailyLeader_ shall have its scoop yet! If you aren't conspirators, I'll makeyou so, in spite of yourselves! You _shall_ be Spanish spies!"