Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition. E. Phillips Oppenheim
seem right to have a Squire Dominey at this corner,” he observed, watching a high cock pheasant come crashing down over their heads. “I mind when the Squire, your father, sir, gave up this corner one day to Lord Wendermere, whom folks called one of the finest pheasant shots in England, and though they streamed over his head like starlings, he’d nowt but a few cripples to show for his morning’s work.”
“Come out with a bit of a twist from the left, don’t they?” Dominey remarked, repeating his late exploit.
“They do that, sir,” the old man assented, “and no one but a Dominey seems to have learnt the knack of dealing with them proper. That foreign Prince, so they say, is well on to his birds, but I wouldn’t trust him at this corner.”
The old man moved off a few paces to some higher ground, to watch the progress of the beaters through the wood. Seaman turned to his companion, and there was a note of genuine admiration in his tone.
“My friend,” he declared, “You are a miracle. You seem to have developed the Dominey touch even in killing pheasants.”
“You must remember that I have shot higher ones in Hungary,” was the easy reply.
“I am not a sportsman,” Seaman admitted. “I do not understand sport. But I do know this: there is an old man who has lived on this land since the day of his birth, who has watched you shoot, reverently, and finds even the way you hold your gun familiar.”
“That twist of the birds,” Dominey explained, “is simply a local superstition. The wood ends on the slant, and they seem to be flying more to the left than they really are.”
Seaman gazed steadfastly for a moment along the side of the wood.
“Her Grace is coming,” he said. “She seems to share the Duke’s dislike of me, and she is too great a lady to conceal her feelings. Just one word before I go. The Princess Eiderstrom arrives this afternoon.”
Dominey frowned, then, warned by the keeper’s shout, turned around and killed a hare.
“My friend,” he said, with a certain note of challenge in his tone, “I am not certain that you have told me all that you know concerning the Princess’s visit.”
Seaman was thoughtful for a brief space of time.
“You are right,” he admitted, “I have not. It is a fault which I will repair presently.”
He strolled away to the next stand, where Mr. Mangan was displaying an altogether different standard of proficiency. The Duchess came up to Dominey a few minutes later.
“I told Henry I shouldn’t stop with him another moment,” she declared. “He has fired off about forty cartridges and wounded one hare.”
“Henry is not keen,” Dominey remarked, “although I think you are a little hard on him, are you not? I saw him bring down a nice cock just now. So far as regards the birds, it really does not matter. They are all going home.”
The Duchess was very smartly tailored in clothes of brown leather mixture. She wore thick shoes and gaiters and a small hat. She was looking very well but a little annoyed.
“I hear,” she said, “that Stephanie is coming to-day.”
Dominey nodded, and seemed for a moment intent on watching the flight of a pigeon which kept tantalisingly out of range.
“She is coming down for a few days,” he assented. “I am afraid that she will be bored to death.”
“Where did you become so friendly with her?” his cousin asked curiously.
“The first time we ever met,” Dominey replied, “was in the Carlton grill room, a few days after I landed in England. She mistook me for some one else, and we parted with the usual apologies. I met her the same night at Carlton House Terrace—she is related to the Terniloffs—and we came across one another pretty often after that, during the short time I was in town.”
“Yes,” the Duchess murmured meditatively. “That is another of the little surprises you seem to have all ready dished up for us. How on earth did you become so friendly with the German Ambassador?”
Dominey smiled tolerantly.
“Really,” he replied, “there is not anything so very extraordinary about it, is there? Mr. Seaman, my partner in one or two mining enterprises, took me to call upon him. He is very interested in East Africa, politically and as a sportsman. Our conversations seemed to interest him and led to a certain intimacy—of which I may say that I am proud. I have the greatest respect and liking for the Prince.”
“So have I,” Caroline agreed. “I think he’s charming. Henry declares that he must be either a fool or a knave.”
“Henry is blinded by prejudice,” Dominey declared a little impatiently. “He cannot imagine a German who feasts with any one else but the devil.”
“Don’t get annoyed, dear,” she begged, resting her fingers for a moment upon his coat sleeve. “I admire the Prince immensely. He is absolutely the only German I ever met whom one felt instinctively to be a gentleman.—Now what are you smiling at?”
Dominey turned a perfectly serious face towards her. “Not guilty,” he pleaded.
“I saw you smile.”
“It was just a quaint thought. You are rather sweeping, are you not, Caroline?”
“I’m generally right,” she declared.—“To return to the subject of Stephanie.”
“Well?”
“Do you know whom she mistook you for in the Carlton grill room?”
“Tell me?” he answered evasively.
“She mistook you for a Baron Leopold Von Ragastein,” Caroline continued drily. “Von Ragastein was her lover in Hungary. He fought a duel with her husband and killed him. The Kaiser was furious and banished him to East Africa.”
Dominey picked up his shooting-stick and handed his gun to Middleton. The beaters were through the wood.
“Yes, I remember now,” he said. “She addressed me as Leopold.”
“I still don’t see why it was necessary to invite her here,” his companion observed a little petulantly. “She may—call you Leopold again!”
“If she does, I shall be deaf,” Dominey promised. “But seriously, she is a cousin of the Princess Terniloff, and the two women are devoted to one another. The Princess hates shooting parties, so I thought they could entertain one another.”
“Bosh! Stephanie will monopolise you all the time! That’s what’s she’s coming for.”
“You are not suggesting that she intends seriously to put me in the place of my double?” Dominey asked, with mock alarm.
“Oh, I shouldn’t wonder! And she’s an extraordinarily attractive woman. I’m full of complaints, Everard. There’s that other horrible little man, Seaman. You know that the very sight of him makes Henry furious. I am quite sure that he never expected to sit down at the same table with him.”
“I am really sorry about that,” Dominey assured her, “but you see His Excellency takes a great interest in him on account of this Friendship League, of which Seaman is secretary, and he particularly asked to have him here.”
“Well, you must admit that the situation is a little awkward for Henry,” she complained. “Next to Lord Roberts, Henry is practically the leader of the National Service movement here; he hates Germany and distrusts every German he ever met, and in a small house party like this we meet the German Ambassador and a man who is working hard to lull to sleep the very sentiments which Henry is endeavouring to arouse.”
“It sounds very pathetic,” Dominey admitted, with a smile, “but even Henry likes Terniloff, and after all it is stimulating to meet one’s opponents sometimes.”
“Of