Mrs. Fitz. Snaith John Collis
is, because she has been formally betrothed to a Russian Grand Duke, and if she does not return to Blaenau he will not be able to secure the succession."
"Depend upon it," said I, "the Crown Princess is on the way to Blaenau. Not of her own free will, of course. But his Majesty's agents have managed to play the trick."
"You may be right, Arbuthnot. But one thing is certain; my poor brave Sonia will never return to Blaenau alive."
Fitz buried his face in his hands tragically.
"She promised that, you know, in case anything of this kind happened, and I consented to it." The simplicity of his utterance had in it a certain grandeur which few would have expected to find in a man with the reputation of Nevil Fitzwaren. "Everybody doesn't believe in this sort of thing, Arbuthnot, but I and my princess do. She will never lie in the arms of another. God help her, brave and noble and unluckly soul!"
This was not the Fitz the world had always known. I suddenly recalled the flaxen-haired, odd, intense, somewhat twisted, wholly unhappy creature who had rendered me willing service in our boyhood. I had always enjoyed the reputation in our house at school that I alone, and none other, could manage Fitz. I recalled his passion for the "Morte d'Arthur," his angular vehemence, his sombre docility. In those distant days I had felt there was something in him; and now in what seemed curiously poignant circumstances there came the fulfilment of the prophecy.
"Let us assume, my dear fellow," said I, making an attempt to be of practical use in a situation of almost ludicrous difficulty, "that it is not her father who has abducted the Princess Sonia. Let us take it to be the other side, the Republican party.
"It would still mean death; not by her own hand, but by theirs. They twice attempted her life in Blaenau."
"In any case, it is reasonably clear that not a moment is to be lost if we are to help her."
"I don't know what to do," said Fitz, "and that's the truth."
I confessed that I too had no very clear idea of the course of action. It occurred to me that the wisest thing to be done was to take a third person into our counsels.
"You ask my advice," said I; "it seems to me that the best thing to do is to see if Coverdale will help us."
"That will mean publicity. At all costs I feel that that must be avoided."
"Coverdale is a shrewd fellow. He will know what to do; he is a man you can trust; and he will be able to Bet the proper machinery in motion."
My insistence on the point, and Fitz's unwilling recognition of the need for a desperate remedy, goaded him into a half-hearted consent. In my own mind I was persuaded of the value of Coverdale's advice, in whatever it might consist. He was the head of the police in our shire, and apart from a little external pomposity, without which one is given to understand it is hardly possible for a Chief Constable to play the part, he was a shrewd and kind-hearted fellow, who knew a good deal about things in general.
Poor Fitz would listen to no suggestion of food. Therefore I ordered the car round at once, and incidentally informed the ruler of the household, and the expectant assembly by whom she was surrounded, that Fitz and I had some private business to transact which required our immediate presence in the city of Middleham.
"Odo," said she whose word is law, with a mien of dark suspicion, "if Nevil Fitzwaren is persuading you to lend him money, I forbid you to entertain the idea. You are really so weak in such matters. You have really no idea of the value of money."
"It will do you no good with your constituents either," said Mary Catesby, "to be seen in Middleham with Nevil Fitzwaren."
To these warning voices I turned deaf ears, and fled from the room in a fashion so precipitate that it suggested guilt.
No time was lost in setting forth. As we glided past the front of the house, I at least was uncomfortably conscious of a battery of hostile eyes in ambush behind the window panes. There could be no doubt that every detail of our going was duly marked. Heaven knew what theories were being propounded! Yet whatever shape they assumed I was sure that all the ingenuity in the world would not hit the truth. No feat of pure imagination was likely to disclose what the business really was that had caused me to be identified in this open and flagrant manner with the husband of the luckless circus rider from Vienna.
CHAPTER VI
EXPERT OPINION
Every mile of the eight to Middleham, Fitz was as gloomy as the grave. In spite of the confidence he had been led to repose in my judgment, he seemed wholly unable to extend it to that of Coverdale. He had a morbid dread of the police and of the publicity that would invest any dealings with them. The preservation of his wife's incognito was undoubtedly a matter of paramount importance.
It was half-past twelve when we reached Middleham. We were lucky enough to find Coverdale at his office at the sessions hall.
"Well, what can I do for you?" said the Chief Constable, heartily.
"You can do a great deal for us, Coverdale," said I. "But the first thing we shall ask you to do is to forget that you are an official. We come to you in your capacity of a personal friend. In that capacity we seek any advice you may feel able or disposed to give us. But before we give you any information, we should like to have your assurance that you will treat the whole matter as being told to you in the strictest secrecy."
Coverdale has as active a sense of humour as his exalted station allows him to sustain. There was something in my mode of address that seemed to appeal to it.
"I will promise that on one condition, Arbuthnot," said he; "which is that you do not seek to involve me in the compounding of a felony."
"Oh no, no, no, no!" Fitz burst out.
Fitz's exclamation and his tragic face banished the smile that lurked at the corners of Coverdale's lips.
I deemed it best that Fitz should re-tell the story of his tragedy, and this he did. In the course of his narrative the sweat ran down his face, his hands twitched painfully, and his bloodshot eyes grew so wild that neither Coverdale nor I cared to look at them.
Coverdale sat mute and grave at the conclusion of Fitz's remarkable story. He had swung round in his revolving chair to face us. His legs were crossed and the tips of his fingers were placed together, after the fashion that another celebrity in a branch of his calling is said to affect.
"It's a queer story of yours, Fitzwaren," he said at last. "But the world is full of 'em – what?"
"Help me," said Fitz, piteously. His voice was that of a drowning man.
"I think we shall be able to do that," said Coverdale. He spoke in the soothing tones of a skilful surgeon.
"The first thing to know," said the Chief Constable, "is the number of the car."
"G.Y. 70942 is the number."
Coverdale jotted it down pensively upon his blotting-pad.
"Have you a portrait of Mrs. Fitzwaren?" he asked.
"I have this," said Fitz.
In the most natural manner he flung open his overcoat, pulled away his evening tie, tore open his collar, and produced from under the rumpled shirt front a locket suspended by a fine gold chain round his neck. It contained a miniature of the Princess, executed in Paris. Both Coverdale and I examined it curiously, but as we did so I fear our minds had a single thought. It was that Fitz was a little mad.
"Will you entrust it to me?" said Coverdale.
Fitz's indecision was pathetic.
"It's the only one I've got," he mumbled. "I don't suppose I shall ever be able to get another. I ought to have had a replica while I had the chance."
"I undertake to return it within three days," said Coverdale, with a simple kindliness for which I honoured him.
Fitz handed the locket to him impulsively.
"Of course take it, by all means," he said, hurriedly. "I know you will take care of it. Fact is, you know, I'm a bit knocked over."
"Naturally, my dear fellow," said Coverdale. "So should we all be. But I