“Obviously.”
“If you had taken the trouble to look, you would have found an equally resplendent G on the opposite end of each and every trunk, Mr. Schmidt,” she said quietly.
“I did not examine your luggage, Miss Guile,” said he stiffly. She hadn’t left much for him to stand upon. “Rather unique way to put one’s initials on a trunk, isn’t it?”
“It possesses the virtue of originality,” she admitted, “and it never fails to excite curiosity. I am sorry you were misled. Nothing could be more distressing than to be mistaken for the heroine of a story and then turn out to be a mere nobody in the end. I’ve no doubt that if the amiable Miss Blithers were to hear of it, she’d rush into print and belabour me with the largest type that money could buy.”
“Oh, come now, Miss Guile,” he protested, “it really isn’t fair to Miss Blithers. She was justified in following an illustrious example. You forget that the Prince of Graustark was the first to rush into print with a flat denial. What else could the poor girl do?”
“Oh, I am not defending the Prince of Graustark. He behaved abominably, rushing into print as you say. Extremely bad taste, I should call it.”
Robin’s ears burned. He could not defend himself. There was nothing left for him to do but to say that it “served him jolly well right, the way Miss Blithers came back at him.”
“Still,” she said, “I would be willing to make a small wager that the well-advertised match comes off in spite of all the denials. Given a determined father, an ambitious mother, a purse-filled daughter and an empty-pursed nobleman, and I don’t see how the inevitable can be avoided.”
His face was flaming. It was with difficulty that he restrained the impulse to put her right in the matter without further ado.
“Are you sure that the Prince is so empty of purse as all that?” he managed to say, without betraying himself irretrievably.
“There doesn’t seem to be any doubt that he borrowed extensively of Mr. Blithers,” she said scornfully. “He is under some obligations to his would-be-father-in-law, I submit, now isn’t he?”
“I suppose so, Miss Guile,” he admitted uncomfortably.
“And therefore owes him something more than a card in the newspapers, don’t you think?”
“Really, Miss Guile, I—I—”
“I beg your pardon. The Prince’s affairs are of no importance to you, so why should I expect you to stand up for him?”
“I confess that I am a great deal more interested in Miss Blithers than I am in the Prince. By the way, what would you have done had you been placed in her position?”
“I think I should have acted quite as independently as she.”
“If your father were to pick out a husband for you, whether or no, you would refuse to obey the paternal command?”
“Most assuredly. As a matter of fact, Mr. Schmidt, my father has expressed a wish that I should marry a man who doesn’t appeal to me at all.”
“And you refuse?”
“Absolutely.”
“More or less as Miss Blithers has done,” he said pointedly.
“Miss Blithers, I understand, has the advantage of me in one respect. I am told that she wants to marry another man and is very much in love with him.”
“A chap named Scoville,” said Robin, unguardedly.
“You know him, Mr. Schmidt?”
“No. I’ve merely heard of him. I take it from your remark that you don’t want to marry anybody—at present.”
“Quite right. Not at present. Now let us talk of something else. A bas Blithers! Down with the plutocrats! Stamp out the vulgarians! Is there anything else you can suggest?” she cried gaily.
“Long live the Princess Maud!” said he, and doffed his hat. The satirical note in his voice was not lost on her. She started perceptibly, and caught her breath. Then she sank back into the corner with a nervous, strained little laugh.
“You think she will marry him?”
“I think as you do about it, Miss Guile,” said he, and she was silenced.
CHAPTER XV
THE MICE IN A TRAP
They had a table in a cool, shady corner of the broad porch overlooking the Place d’Armes and the Seine and its vociferous ferries. To the right runs the gleaming roadway that leads to the hills and glades through which pomp and pride once strode with such fatal arrogance. Blue coated servitors attended them on their arrival, and watched over them during their stay. It was as if Miss Guile were the fairy princess who had but to wish and her slightest desire was gratified. Her guest, a real prince, marvelled not a little at the complete sway she exercised over this somewhat autocratic army of menials. They bowed and scraped, and fetched, and carried, and were not Swiss but slaves in Bagdad during the reign of its most illustrious Caliph, Al-haroun Raschid the great. The magic of Araby could have been no more potent than the spell this beautiful girl cast over the house of Mammon. She laid her finger upon a purse of gold and wished, and lo! the wonders of the magic carpet were repeated.
Robin remembered that Maud Applegate Blithers had spent the greater part of her life in Paris, and it was therefore not unreasonable to suppose that she had spent something else as well. At any rate, the Pavilion Bleu was a place where it had to be spent if one wanted the attention accorded the few.
She had removed her veil, but he was not slow to perceive that she sat with her back to the long stretch of porch.
“Do you prefer this place to Armenonville or the Paillard at Pre Catelan, Miss Guile?” he inquired, quite casually, but with a secret purpose.
“No, it is stupid here, as a rule, and common. Still every one goes to the other places in the afternoon and I particularly wanted to be as naughty as possible, so I came here today.”
“It doesn’t strike me as especially naughty,” he remarked.
“But it was very, very naughty before you and I were born, Mr. Schmidt. The atmosphere still remains, if one possesses a comprehensive imagination.”
“I daresay,” said he, “but the imagination doesn’t thrive on tea. Those were the days of burgundy and a lot of other red things.”
“One doesn’t need to be in shackles, to expatiate on the terrors of the Bridge of Sighs,” she said.
“Are you going to take me up to the park?”
“Yes. Into the Shadows.”
“Oh, that’s good! I’m sure my imagination will work beautifully when it isn’t subdued by all these blue devils. I—Que voulez vous?” The question was directed rather sharply to a particularly deferential “blue devil” who stood at his elbow.
“Monsieur Schmidt?”
“Yes. What’s this? A letter! ’Pon my soul, how the deuce could any one—” He got no farther, for Miss Guile’s action in pulling down her veil and the subsequent spasmodic glance over her shoulder betrayed such an agitated state of mind on her part that his own sensations were checked at the outset.
“There must be some one here who knows you, Mr. Schmidt,” she said nervously. “See what it says, please,—at once. I—perhaps we should be starting home immediately.”
Robin tore open the envelope. A glance showed him that the brief note was from Gourou. A characteristic G served as a signature. As he read, a hard line appeared between his eyes and his expression grew serious.
“It is really nothing, Miss Guile,” he said and prepared to tear the sheet into many pieces. “A stupid, alleged joke of a fellow who happens to know me, that’s all.”
“Don’t tear it up!” she cried sharply. “What does it say? I have a right to know, Mr. Schmidt, even though it is only a joke. What has this friend of yours to say about me? What coarse, uncalled-for comment has he to make about—”
“Let me think for a moment, Miss Guile,” he interrupted, suddenly realising that it was time for reflection. After a moment he said soberly: “I think it would be wise if we were to leave instantly. There is nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you, but—well, we’d better go.”
“Will you allow me to se
e that letter?” she asked, extending her hand.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
“But I insist, sir! I’ll not go a step from this place until I know what all this is about.”
“As it happens to concern you even more than it does me, I suppose you’d better see what it says.” He passed the letter over to her and watched her narrowly as she read. Again the veil served as a competent mask.
“Who wrote this letter, Mr. Schmidt?” she demanded. Even through the veil he could see that her eyes were wide with—was it alarm or anger?
“A man named Gourou. He is a detective engaged on a piece of work for Mr. Totten.”
“Is it a part of his duty to watch your movements?” she asked, leaning forward.
“No. He is my friend, however,” said Robin steadily. “According to this epistle, it would appear that it is a part of his duty to keep track of you, not me. May I ask why you should be shadowed by two of his kind?”
She did not answer at once. When she spoke, it was with a determined effort to maintain her composure.
“I am sorry to have subjected you to all this, Mr. Schmidt. We will depart at once. I find that the cat is never away, so we can’t be mice. What a fool I’ve been.” There was something suspiciously suggestive of tears in her soft voice.
He laid a hand upon the small fingers that clutched the crumpled sheet of paper. To have saved his life, he could not keep the choked, husky tremor out of his voice.
“The day is spoiled for you. That is my only regret. As for me, Miss Guile, I am not without sin, so I may cast no stones. Pray regard me as a fellow culprit, and rest assured that I have no bone to pick with you. I too am watched and yet I am no more of a criminal than you. Will you allow me to say that I am a friend whose devotion cannot be shaken by all the tempests in the world?”
“Thank you,” she said, and turned her hand under his to give it a quick, convulsive clasp. Her spirits seemed to revive under the responsive grip. “You might have said all the tempests in a tea pot, for that is really what it amounts to. My father is a very foolish man. Will you send for the car?”
He called an attendant and ordered him to find Miss Guile’s footman at once. When he returned to the table, she was reading the note once more.
“It is really quite thrilling, isn’t it?” she said, and there was still a quaver of indignation in her voice. “Are you not mystified?”
“Not in the least,” said he promptly, and drew a chair up close beside hers. “It’s as plain as day. Your father has found you out, that’s all. Let’s read it again,” and they read it together.
“A word to the wise,” it began. “Two men from a private detective concern have been employed since yesterday in watching the movements of your companion, for the purpose of safe-guarding her against good-looking young men, I suspect. I have it from the most reliable of sources that her father engaged the services of these men almost simultaneously with the date of our sailing from New York. It may interest you to know that they followed you to St. Cloud in a high-power car and no doubt are watching you as you read this message from your faithful friend, who likewise is not far away.”
“I should have anticipated this, Mr. Schmidt,” she said ruefully. “It is just the sort of thing my father would do.”
“You seem to take it calmly enough.”
“I am quite used to it. I would be worth a great deal to any enterprising person who made it his business to steal me. There is no limit to the ransom he could demand.”
“You alarm me,” he declared. “No doubt these worthy guardians look upon me as a kidnapper. I am inclined to shiver.”
“‘All’s well that ends well,’” quoth she, pulling on her gloves, “I shall restore you safely to the bosom of the Ritz and that will be the end of it.”
“I almost wish that some one would kidnap you, Miss Guile. It would afford me the greatest pleasure in the world to snatch you from their clutches. Your father would be saved paying the ransom but I should have to be adequately rewarded. I fancy, however, that he wouldn’t mind paying the reward I should hold out for.”
“I am quite sure he would give you anything you were to ask for, Mr. Schmidt,” said she gaily. “You would be reasonable, of course.”
“I might ask for the most precious of his possessions,” said he, leaning forward to look directly into eyes that wavered and refused to meet his.
“Curiosity almost makes me wish that I might be kidnapped. I should then find out what you consider to be his most precious possession,” she said, and her voice was perilously low.
“I think I could tell you in advance,” said he, his eyes shining.
“I—I prefer to find out in my own way, Mr. Schmidt,” she stammered hurriedly. Her confusion was immensely gratifying to him. There is no telling what might have happened to the Prince of Graustark at that moment if an obsequious attendant had not intervened with the earthly information that the car was waiting.
“Good Lord,” Robin was saying to himself as he followed her to the steps, “was I about to go directly against the sage advice of old Gourou? Was I so near to it as that? In another minute—Gee, but it was a close shave. She is adorable, she is the most adorable creature in the world, even though she is the daughter of old man Blithers, and I—’gad I wonder what will come of it in the end? Keep a tight grip on yourself, Bobby, or you’re a goner, sure as fate.”
They were painfully aware of the fact that their progress down the long verandah was made under the surveillance of two, perhaps three pairs of unwavering eyes, and because of it they looked neither to right nor left but as those who walk tight-ropes over dangerous places. There was something positively uncanny in the feeling that their every movement was being watched by secret observers. Once inside the car, Miss Guile sank back with a long sigh of relief.
“Did you feel it, too?” she asked, with a nervous little catch in her voice.
“I did,” said he, passing his hand over his brow. “It was like being alone in the dark with eyes staring at one from all sides of the room.”
The car shot across the bridge and was speeding on its way toward the Bois when Robin ventured a glance behind. Through the little window in the back of the car he saw a big, swift-moving automobile not more than a quarter of a mile in their rear.
“Would you like to verify the report of my friend Gourou?” he asked, his voice quick with exhilaration. She knelt with one knee upon the seat and peered back along the road.
“There they are!” she cried. She threw the veil back over her hat as she resumed her seat in the corner. Her eyes were fairly dancing with excitement. The warm red lips were parted and she was breathing quickly. Suddenly she laid her hand over her heart as if to check its lively thumping. “Isn’t it splendid? We are being pursued—actually chased by the man-hunters of Paris! Oh, I was never so happy in my life. Isn’t it great?”
“It is glorious!” he cried exultantly. “Shall I tell the chauffeur to hit it up a bit? Let’s make it a real chase.”
“Yes, do! We’ll see if we can foil them, as they say in the books. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were to—to—what do you call it? Give them the slip, isn’t that it?”
“I’m game,” said he, with enthusiasm. For a second or two they looked straight into each other’s eyes and a message was exchanged that never could have been put into words. No doubt it was the flush of eager excitement that darkened their cheeks. In any case, it came swiftly and went as quickly, leaving them paler than before and vastly self-conscious. And after that brief, searching look they knew that they could never be as they were before the exchange. They were no longer strangers to each other, but shy comrades and filled with a delicious sense of wonder.
Robin gave hurried directions through the speaking tube to the attentive footman, and so explicit were these directions that the greatest excitement prevailed upon the decorous front seat of the car—first the footman looked back along the road, then the chauffeur, after
which a thrill of excitement seemed to fairly race up and down their liveried backs. The car itself took a notion to quiver with the promise of joy unrestrained. In less than a minute they were going more than a mile a minute over a short stretch of the Avenue de Longchamp. At the Porte de Hippodrome they slowed down and ran into the Bois, taking the first road to the left. In a few minutes they were scudding past Longchamp at a “fair clip” to quote R. Schmidt. Instead of diverging into the Allee de Longchamp, the car took a sharp turn into the Avenue de l’Hippodrome and, at the intersection, doubled back over the Allee de la Heine Marguerite, going almost to the Boulogne gate, where again it was sent Parisward over the Avenue de St. Cloud.
Miss Guile was in command of the flight. She called out the instructions to the driver and her knowledge of the intricate routes through the park stood them well in hand. Purposely she evaded the Cascades, circling the little pools by narrow, unfrequented roads, coming out at last to the Porte de la Muette, where they left the park and took to the Avenue Henri Martin. It was her design to avoid the customary routes to the heart of the city, and all would have gone well with them had not fate in the shape of two burly sergents de ville intervened at a time when success seemed most certain. It was quite clear to the pursued that the car containing their followers had been successfully eluded and was no doubt in the Champs Elysees by this time. For some time there had been a worried look in the Prince’s eyes. Once he undertook to remonstrate with his fair companion.
“My dear Miss Guile, we’ll land in jail if we keep up this hair-raising speed. There wouldn’t be any fun in that, you know.”
She gave him a scornful look. “Are you afraid, Mr. Schmidt?”
“Not on my own account,” said he, “but yours. I’ve heard that the new regulations are extremely rigid.”
“Pooh! I’m not afraid of the police. They—why, what’s the matter? Oh, goodness!”
The car had come to a somewhat abrupt stop. Two policemen, dismounted from their bicycles, formed an insurmountable obstruction. They were almost in the shade of the Trocadero.
“Do not be alarmed,” whispered Robin to the fast paling girl, into whose eyes the most abject misery had leaped at the sight of the two officers. “Leave it to me. I can fix them all right. There’s nothing to be worried about—well, sergent, what is it?”
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 122