Mrs. Fitz. Snaith John Collis
felt Mary Catesby's glance flash past me like the lightning of heaven.
"Dirty work, Joseph? I demand an explanation."
"I call it dirty," said that gladiator. "I like things straightforrard myself. If you think a cove is askin' for trouble hand it out to him personally. Don't set on others."
Before the woman of impregnable virtue to whom this gem of morality was addressed, could visit the Bayard at the breakfast table according to his merit, we found ourselves suddenly precipitated into the realms of drama.
For this was the moment in which I became aware that Parkins was hovering about my chair and that a sensational announcement was on his lips.
"Mr. Fitzwaren desires to see you, sir, on most urgent business."
The effect was electrical. Mary Catesby suspended her indictment with a gesture like Boadicea's, queenly but ferocious. Brasset's pink perplexity approximated to a shade of green; the eyes of the Madam were like moons – in the circumstances a little poetic license is surely to be pardoned – while as for the demeanour of the narrator of this ower-true tale, I can answer for it that it was one of total discomfiture.
"Mr. Fitzwaren here?" were my first incredulous words.
"I have shown him into the library, sir," said Parkins, solemnly.
"You cannot see him, Odo," said the despot of our household. "He must not come here."
"Important business, Parkins?" said I.
"Most urgent business, sir."
"Highly mysterious!" Mrs. Catesby was pleased to affirm.
Highly mysterious the coming of Nevil Fitzwaren certainly was. A moment's reflection convinced me of the need of appeasing the general curiosity. I took my way to the library with many speculations rising in my mind. Nothing was further from my expectation than to be consulted by Nevil Fitzwaren on urgent business.
CHAPTER V
ABOUNDS IN SENSATION
Astonished as I was by the coming of such a visitor, the appearance and the manner of that much-discussed personage did nothing to lessen my interest.
I found him pacing the room in a state of agitation. His face was haggard, his eyes were bloodshot, he was unkempt and almost piteous to look upon. And yet more strangely his open overcoat, which his distress could not suffer to keep buttoned, disclosed a rumpled shirt front, a tie askew and a dinner jacket which evidently had been donned the evening before.
"Hallo, Fitz," said I, as unconcernedly as I could.
He did not answer me, but immediately closed the door of the room. Somehow, the action gave me a thrill.
"There is no possibility of our being overheard?" he said in a hoarse whisper.
"None whatever. Let me help you off with your coat. Then sit down in that chair next the fire and have a drink."
Fitz submitted, doubtless under a sense of compulsion. My four years' seniority at school had generally enabled me to get my way with him. It was rather painful to witness the effort the unfortunate fellow put forth to pull himself together; and when I measured out a pretty stiff brandy-and-soda his refusal of it was distinctly poignant.
"I oughtn't to have it, old chap," he said, with his wild eyes looking into mine like those of a dumb animal. "It doesn't do, you know."
"Drink it straight off at once," said I, "and do as you are told."
Fitz did so with reluctance. The effect upon him was what I had not foreseen. His haggard wildness yielded quite suddenly to an outburst of tears. He covered his face with his hands and wept in a painfully overwrought manner.
I waited in silence for this outburst to pass.
"I've been scouring the country since nine o'clock last night," he said, "and I feel like going out of my mind."
"What's the trouble, old son?" said I, taking a chair beside him.
"They've got my wife."
"Whom do you mean by 'they'?"
"I can't, I mustn't tell you," said Fitz, excitedly, "but they have got her, and – and I expect she is dead by now."
Words as wild as these to the accompaniment of that overwrought demeanour suggested an acute form of mental disturbance only too clearly.
"You had better tell me everything," said I, persuasively. "Perhaps I might be able to help a little. Two heads are better than one, you know."
I must confess that I had no great hope of being able to help the unlucky fellow very materially, but somewhat to my surprise he answered in a perfectly rational manner.
"I have come here with the intention of telling you everything. I must have help, and you are the only friend I've got."
"One of many," said I, lying cordially.
"It's true," said Fitz. "The only one. Like that chap in the Bible, the hand of every man is against me. I deserve it; I know I've not played the game; but now I must have somebody to stand by me, and I've come to you."
"Well," said I, "that is no more than you would do by me in similar circumstances."
"You don't mean that," said Fitz, with an expression of keen misery. "But you are a genuine chap, all the same."
"Let's hear the trouble."
"The trouble is this," said Fitz, and as he spoke the look of wildness returned to his eyes. "My wife went in the car to do some shopping at Middleham at three o'clock yesterday afternoon expecting to be back at five, and neither she nor the car has returned.
"And nothing has been heard of her?"
"Not a word."
"Had she a chauffeur?"
"Yes, a Frenchman of the name of Moins whom we picked up in Paris."
"I suppose you have communicated with the police?"
"No; you see, the whole affair must be kept as dark as possible."
"They are certainly the people to help you, particularly if you have reason to suspect foul play."
"There is every reason to suspect it. I am afraid she is already beyond the help of the police."
"Why should you think that?"
Fitz hesitated. His distraught air was very painful.
"Arbuthnot," said he, slowly and reluctantly, "before I tell you everything I must pledge you to absolute secrecy. Other lives, other interests, more important than yours and mine, are involved in this."
I gave the pledge, and in so doing was impressed by a depth of responsibility in the manner of my visitor, of which I should hardly have expected it to be capable.
"Did you see in the papers last evening that there had been an attempt on the life of the King of Illyria?"
"I read it in this morning's paper."
"It will surprise you to learn," said Fitz, striving for a calmness he could not achieve, "that my wife is the only child of Ferdinand XII, King of Illyria. She is, therefore, Crown Princess and Heiress Apparent to the oldest monarchy in Europe."
"It certainly does surprise me," was the only rejoinder that for the moment I could make.
"I want help and I want advice; I feel that I hardly dare do anything on my own initiative. You see, it is most important that the world at large should know nothing of this."
"Why, may I ask?"
"There are two parties at war in Illyria. There is the King's party, the supporters of the monarchy, and there is the Republican party, which has made three attempts on the life of Ferdinand XII and two on that of his daughter."
"But I assume, my dear fellow, that the whereabouts in England of the Crown Princess are known to her father the King?"
"No; and it is essential that he should remain in ignorance. Our elopement from Illyria was touch and go. Ferdinand has moved heaven and earth to find out where