A strange thing seemed to have happened to Mr Hymat. He stared at Ben harder than ever. But the boy laughed, and drew himself up.
‘That’s right, I’m a King!’ he cried, ‘and the Enemy’s outside! But we’ll beat them!’
‘Corse we will—even if we ’ave ter retreat fust ter do it.’
‘Kings don’t retreat!’
‘Sometimes they do. Kings retreat, it’s the others wot run away.’
‘But why should we retreat?’
‘Well, you’ve gotter go on with yer questions ter find out that. I’m yer prisoner, but I ain’t a deserter, so ’oo the funny bizziness am I?’
‘Yes! Who are you!’
‘One o’ yer spies, yer Majesty!’
‘Ah! A Royal spy!’
‘Yus, yer Majesty.’
The boy saluted. Ben saluted back.
‘What have you found out?’
‘Well, see, I worked it like this. Now, listen careful, yer Majesty, ’cos it’s a bit comperlicated. I ses, “I’ll go among the Enemy,” I ses, “and pertend I’m a deserter from the King’s Army.” See, by doin’ that, I mide ’em think I was on their side, and so ’eard their plans.’
‘Was that fair?’ asked the boy doubtfully.
‘Well, now yer arsk me, I ain’t sure,’ replied Ben, ‘and if yer decide it wasn’t, then yer must put me in prison arter I got yer sife, not afore, on’y don’t fergit the ’ot-water-bottle, please, ’cos I git cold so easy. Any’ow, if it was fair or not, I’m jest tellin’ yer. I found out—are we orl listenin’?—’
He turned for a moment towards Mr Hymat. Mr Hymat was listening as hard as anybody.
‘I found out as they wanted ter send some’un in with—wotcher think—poisoned sweets!’
‘What’s that?’ gasped Mr Hymat.
‘There they are,’ answered Ben, solemnly pointing to the box. It was on the small table with the soldiers. The packet of notes was beside it. ‘So don’t touch ’em, yer Majesty. As a matter of fack, I filled ’em with mustard,’ he added confidentially, ‘ter mike ’em more real like, so don’t touch ’em any’ow. We’ll chuck ’em away.’ The boy looked disappointed. ‘And git some new ’uns, eh?’
‘What is in—the other?’ asked the old man, lowering his voice and pointing to the packet.
‘Ah, I’m jest comin’ ter that,’ replied Ben. ‘The Enemy ses ter me, “Look ’ere, you do it,” they ses, “’cos the King ’d never suspeck you.” “Wot abart the old General?” I ses, “’e might suspeck?” “Well, if ’e does, bribe ’im,” they ses, “and ’ere’s ten thousand pounds in notes ter do it with. When you’ve give them to ’im, they’ll keep ’im quiet!”’
‘What, make him a deserter?’ said the boy scornfully. ‘They were very stupid!’
‘Corse they was,’ nodded Ben. ‘But ’e wouldn’t be so stoopid. Why, even if ’e could be bribed, wot’s the bettin’ the notes wouldn’t be good ’uns, any more’n the sweets are?’
He squinted at Mr Hymat. The old man’s forehead was damp.
‘Not—good ones?’ he muttered.
‘Well—wot do you think?’ inquired Ben.
Mr Hymat passed through a difficult moment. He became very red. Then he suddenly burst out:
‘And what do you think? You know why I wanted the money—and that I wouldn’t—’
He stopped abruptly, gasping. His voice had cracked. He darted a swift glance towards the boy.
‘Corse I know,’ answered Ben quietly. ‘We’re King’s men, ain’t we?’
Then he glanced towards the boy. But the boy was not attending to them. His eyes were on the window-curtain.
22
The Plan
‘Do yer see anythink, yer Majesty?’ asked Ben.
The boy put his finger to his lips and took a step towards the window, but Mr Hymat intervened.
‘Stay where you are, Konrad!’ he muttered. ‘Don’t come this side of the room!’
Konrad looked surprised at the reality of the command, then turned his head as Ben tapped him on the shoulder. Ben smiled into the large, wondering eyes while the old man, temporarily relieved of their embarrassing scrutiny, quickly mopped his forehead.
‘We’re playin’ this gime proper,’ explained Ben. ‘See, like it was a play.’
‘Yes,’ answered Konrad slowly. His eyes were assuming a new solemnity. ‘We’re not the only ones who are playing it, are we?’
‘Well, wouldn’t that mike it more fun?’
‘And there really are people in the garden, aren’t there?’
‘Didn’t I say so?’
‘I heard them just now.’
‘Corse yer did! That’s them walkin’ up and dahn, like we told ’em to. See, we sed if we played the gime proper, they was ter do the sime.’
The boy nodded, and kept his solemn eyes on Ben’s.
‘Did the game begin before I came down?’ he asked.
‘Shouldn’t wunner,’ answered Ben. ‘But ’ow did yer know that?’
‘I was looking out of the window and I thought I saw a man in the mist, but I wasn’t sure so I went in another room where I thought I could see better—’
‘So that’s where you were!’ interposed Mr Hymat. ‘I searched the house for you!’
‘And did yer see ’im better from the other winder?’ inquired Ben.
‘No. He’d gone.’
‘Wot was ’e like?’
‘Very tall.’ The boy raised his hand as high as he could. ‘Taller than that.’
‘Go on! And wot was ’e doin’?’
‘Just standing.’
‘That’s right. ’E was s’posed ter be watchin’. I’m glad you saw ’im—the tall ’un—’cos I thort ’e wasn’t goin’ ter play. And arter you’d seen ’im from the fust winder, and then not seen ’im from the second, I expeck yer came dahn and caught me, eh?’
‘Yes,’ replied Konrad. ‘At first, you know, I thought you were him, but that was silly, because you couldn’t be.’
‘No, I ain’t a big ’un! Corse, yer reckernised it was a gime when yer saw me, didn’t yer? When yer said, “Yer me prisoner”?’
‘No.’
‘Wot, yer really thort I was some ’un wot didn’t orter be ’ere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’m blowed! Then yer was plucky speakin’ ter me like yer did. Arter orl, that’s on’y a toy gun yer’ve got there, and though I ain’t very big, I’m bigger’n you!’
Konrad smiled.
‘I’m a King,’ he said.
‘Lumme, I was fergettin’!’ apologised Ben. ‘So yer are. And kings ’ave gotter ’ave pluck, ain’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘But when yer saw me funny fice yer knew it was a gime, didn’t yer?’
‘It was when you said that about the hot-water-bottle. I mean, I knew then—I mean, yes, it was a game.’
He flushed slightly. It was the first time he had floundered. Even in these first moments of their acquaintance, Ben noticed that, when he was in doubt, he always thought first and spoke after his thinking.
‘That’s why I sed it,’ winked Ben. ‘So yer’d know. When a gime gits too excitin’, I likes ter give meself a pinch now and agine ter mike sure it ain’t real. Yus, and torkin’ o’ that,’ he went on, ‘don’t fergit that wotever ’appens in this gime, it’s bin orl worked out so that we win in the end, see?’
‘I see,’ replied the boy. ‘Kings aren’t frightened.’
He was standing very straight, but Ben wondered.
Ben himself was struggling with a fear that almost stifled him. This game had to be won, there was no argument about that, but the odds were heavily in favour of the Enemy; for outside were three keen and ruthless brains—possibly more—while inside were merely Ben’s brain, a small boy’s courage, and an old man’s impotence. True, in addition to a toy gun, they had a real revolver, but the weapons of the invaders were bound to be superior. Likewise, their ability to use them.
‘Well,�
� said Ben, after a pause, ‘now we’ll git on with it and study the posishun.’
This produced another pause. No one seemed very clear about the position. It was the old man who offered the next contribution.
‘Do you think they will try to get in?’ he asked tremulously.
Mr Hymat was playing the game with a definite sense of realism.
‘That’s wot we gotter think abart,’ replied Ben. ‘But there’s one thing we knows—they won’t try ter git in not till they find out I ain’t carried out their instructions and given ’is Majesty the chocklits wot we’re pertendin’ are poisoned.’
‘When you are playing a game,’ said Konrad, ‘you mustn’t use the word “pretend.” You must do it.’
‘That’s right,’ answered Ben. ‘I fergot.’
‘How long will it be before they know you haven’t given me the chocolates?’
‘Well, I should say, abart a hour,’ replied Ben.
‘Then we’ve got an hour.’
‘Yus.’
‘That will give us time to fortify the house. I know a lot of ways. I’ve got a tool-box.’
‘’E’s a King, arl right!’ exclaimed Ben approvingly. ‘’E’s got ideas! But we must ’ear if the General’s got any ideas, too.’ He glanced towards Mr Hymat, who looked less a general than the boy looked a king. ‘And then I might ’ave ideas. Wot we gotter do is ter orl say ’em, and decide which is the best. That’s wot yer calls a Milerty Conf’ence.’
‘But who are you?’ inquired the boy suddenly. ‘You haven’t told us?’
‘Yes, I did! I’m the Royal spy, ain’t I?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘King, General, Royal spy. I s’pose that is the lot?’
‘There is no one else in the house,’ said Mr Hymat.
‘No servants, eh? Nobody wot could git a messidge through the Enemy lines?’
‘There are only ourselves.’
‘Well, that’s less ter think abart, any’ow,’ said Ben, ‘and the smaller the numbers, the bigger the vict’ry!’ He pointed to the six dead toy soldiers. ‘But, torkin’ o’ messidges, wot abart a telerphone? Do yer git ’em in the mountains?’
‘There is no telephone here,’ replied Mr Hymat.
‘Good! We’re findin’ out. Nobody ter send a messidge, and no telerphone. So we carn’t—commernicate with the main army like. O.K.’
‘Then it will have to be my idea,’ said Konrad.
‘I ain’t so sure,’ answered Ben. ‘We ain’t ’eard the General yet?’
Mr Hymat tried to drive his wavering wits into military channels.
‘Yes, yes—barricade, by all means,’ he muttered. ‘Yes, certainly. But, if it really comes to that—if we are right in believing that the Enemy will actually attack—well, I suppose we are sure of that?’
‘Wot you mean,’ replied Ben, ‘is that we orter look further a’ead? Am I right? Well, I’m with yer, General—if ’is Majesty don’t mind me sayin’ so. See, as we carn’t git a messidge through ter the main army, p’r’aps we orter see if we could ’oodwink the enemy, and git through ter the main army ourselves? Git what I mean?’
‘Not quite,’ admitted Mr Hymat.
‘We’ll work it out, then, and see if my idea’s any good. Mind yer, it mightn’t be, but we’re thinkin’ of hevery-think, ain’t we—and I’ve got an idea that would mike this the best gime that was ever played. There I go agine—I carn’t fergit it’s a gime, can I?’
He looked at Konrad apologetically, but this time he received no reprimand.
‘Now, this is my idea,’ he went on, ‘but we gotter think abart it very careful, bit by bit like, sime as they did at Waterloo. “Doncher do nothink in a ’urry,” Nelson ses ter me, “and then yer won’t mike no mistake.”’
‘Wellington,’ corrected the boy.
‘So it was!’ answered Ben. ‘Nelson was Trefalger, wasn’t ’e? I git ’em mixed up, bein’ in both. Well, ’ere we are. Fust, I s’pose there’s a back way out of this ’ouse?’
‘There is,’ replied Mr Hymat. ‘But if we try that—’
‘’Old ’ard, ’old ’ard! I ain’t finished yet! We couldn’t git out o’ the back door now, becos’ it’s watched, sime as the front door, but if we play a trick on ’em, then we could slip away, and the mist ’d ’elp us.’
‘What trick?’
‘’Arf a mo’. I’m thinkin’.’ He closed his eyes and thought. Suddenly he opened them. ‘Lumme—I b’lieve I’ve got it. Yer carn’t leave now becos’ they’re outside, but yer could if they was inside! So wot abart gettin’ ’em inside?’
‘Are you quite mad?’ inquired Mr Hymat.
‘I’ll arsk you to tell me that when I’ve finished,’ retorted Ben. ‘Nah, listen! This is ’ow it goes. I’m s’posed to poison the King, ain’t I?’
‘So we understand.’
‘That’s right. And arter I’ve done it, I’ve gotter let the Enemy know. “We’ve got to ’ave proof,” they ses, “and don’t you fergit it.” Well, ’ow are they goin’ ter ’ave proof if they don’t come inside? So in they come. ’Oo let’s ’em in? I do! And I shows ’em the box o’ chocklets with ’arf a dozen gorn. Like this, see?’
He went to the box, took six out gingerly, and tied them up in his handkerchief.
‘Corse, I gotter be careful now not ter blow me nose,’ he smiled. ‘Orl right. That’s done. “Look there!” I ses. “That ain’t no proof,” they ses. “No, the proof’s upstairs,” I ses. “Where upstairs?” they ses. “In the Royal bedroom,” I ses. And I tell ’em that there’s where the King was, well, took ill, and that the General’s took ill, too, becos’ ’e ’ad a couple. Then up they goes, but they don’t find nobody, becos’ the King and the General ’ave slipped out at the back and are leggin’ it fer orl they’re worth. I mean, retreatin’.’
There was a silence, during which the plan was considered. Then Mr Hymat asked:
‘Where do we retreat to?’
‘Muirgissie, o’ course! Once yer there yer can tell the pleece—that is, the main army.’
‘They would follow us.’
‘Well, yes, you’d ’ave ter race ’em, if I didn’t find some way ted keep ’em back, but p’r’aps I would.’
The old man nodded. But the boy was frowning.
‘What about you?’ he asked.
‘’Oo? Me?’ answered Ben. ‘Oh, me.’
Yes, what about him? He closed his eyes again. All he saw this time was a rather unpleasant blank.
‘Well, I ain’t goin’ ter tell yer abart me,’ he said at the end of the profitless period. ‘See, yer Majesty—that’s goin’ to be the surprise!’
23
Meanwhile, Outside—
‘We manage these little matters better in my country,’ said the tall man. He had a small pointed beard, but Konrad had not noticed that.
‘There was a little matter you failed to manage ten years ago,’ answered the woman beside him. ‘A little matter on the other side of that door you’re looking at! If you had, we shouldn’t be standing here now, getting pneumonia in a Scotch mist!’
‘That is true,’ admitted the tall man. ‘Except, I hope, the pneumonia. That was Rudolf’s first failure.’
‘And his last, Paul?’
He did not answer, merely giving a little shrug.
‘We’ve plenty of fools in England—fortunately for the rest—but we haven’t got a Rudolf! I hope the dear man is enjoying his reign!’
‘Until recently—yes.’
‘And since recently—no?’
‘It has not been—your word is?—passive.’
‘God, I should think not, from the sound of it!’ murmured the woman. ‘Be careful, we mustn’t talk too loudly. I suppose your Rudolf couldn’t be satisfied with the normal fruits of office and tried killing the golden goose. And now the golden goose has turned.’
‘And we are hoping to turn the goose back again,’ murmured Paul softly, ‘which we shall not do if it can find a new master.’<
br />
‘You mean its rightful master!’
Paul removed his eyes from the door for an instant, and regarded his companion with surprise.
‘You are not serving the rightful master, Helen—if our term is discreet?’
‘I know that, I know that,’ she muttered, under her breath. ‘My goal’s the earth, not heaven! But I object to fools, on principle!’
‘Then why serve this one?’
‘You ask that?’
They regarded each other. As he turned his eyes back to the door, he answered:
‘It was a foolish question.’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she replied, rather wearily. ‘Actually, I don’t care a damn whether Rudolf’s throne totters or not, but I’ve never been squeamish, and I took this on with my eyes open.’ She gave a little harsh, ironic laugh. ‘Wonderful what a month on the Riviera can do to a pure woman, isn’t it?’
‘Had I remarked the purity, the month would have been less wonderful,’ he responded with equal irony.
‘You do say the sweetest things! You must teach them to my tame lamb.’ A fierce light shot suddenly into his eyes. She quelled it quickly. ‘Don’t be a child, Paul! You’ve had my promise—which I’ll stick to if you stick to yours! The simple truth is, my dear man, I’ve developed nerves up here for the first time in my life. I believe I shall have to retire to a convent.’ She touched his sleeve. ‘Isn’t mist foolish to be wet?’
His eyes softened at her touch. She had intended them to.
‘It has not been easy,’ he conceded.
‘Hardly child’s play,’ she answered. ‘When accidents happen, I usually make a point of merely hearing about them.’
He nodded.
‘It wasn’t my own idea to come out on this trip!’ she added.
‘Or mine, to trust to strangers,’ he said. ‘You do not always pick so wisely.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Monsieur Fred, to begin—’
‘Prenez garde! Monsieur Fred is not far off!’
‘He is at the back.’
‘He should be at the back. But he’s not always where he should be! If he were five yards off at this moment we wouldn’t see him, and he’s a jealous brute—and hot-headed.’
Detective Ben Page 15