"There's a letter for you," said Guy, "from Livadia."
Tony walked to his place at the breakfast table and picked up the missive in question which was propped against the Times beside his plate.
"It's from Jimmy," he observed tranquilly. "How exciting!"
He opened the envelope and took out the contents—a large sheet of thin paper covered on both sides with a small neat handwriting. Sitting down in his chair he spread it out in front of him.
GARAGE ANGLAIS,
PRAÇA D. PORTO.
Portriga.
MY DEAR TONY:
It was very nice and unexpected of you to answer my letter—especially within three months of your having received it. You must be getting quite energetic in your old age, or is it only due to the influence of "the young and beautiful friend who takes a morbid interest in Livadian politics?" Anyhow, it's comforting to know that you're still alive, and that you still have young and beautiful friends. I was half afraid that I was the last of them.
Now with regard to your questions. The only thing that seems pretty certain about the future here is that there's going to be a Hell of a dust up before long. It's an open secret that the Royalists are plotting all over the place, and that they've got a good part of the officers in the army with them. Down in the south, however, there seems to be a strong party that's in favour of the other branch—the descendants of that drunken scoundrel Don Francisco—whoever they happen to be. Personally I can't say I take much interest in any of them. Apart from my garage, I think the best thing for Europe would be if the whole damn lot cut each other's throats. I except the old President, who is not half a bad sort—and has a very pretty taste in cigars and champagne. He is all right, however, because I know he has a good parcel tucked away somewhere, and means to do a bunk directly things get too hot. If I were you I should tell your young and beautiful friend to give up taking an interest in Livadian politics and start keeping rattlesnakes. It's a much more healthy and profitable hobby.
I have had one stroke of luck. I have managed to palm off my business here on a local syndicate for a couple of thou., and am now employed as Managing Director at £500 a year and commission. "Commission" in Portriga means whatever you can cheat out of the customers or steal from your employers. So far I am doing nicely at both, thank you, but I don't expect it will last long. Another revolution of course would bust us up altogether, because the first thing that would happen would be that both sides would come down and snaffle our cars. So I am just making an honest living while the sun shines, and leaving the rest to Prov.
You are three sorts of a brick to think out that job in Piccadilly, but as it stands it's rather too one-sided an arrangement. I couldn't take it unless I was in a position to shove in a little of my own money too. Practically all I've got at present would have to go to my dear creditors, who have been so patient and long-suffering—I don't think!—God bless 'em. If you will keep it open for say, another year—by which time I ought to have swindled the Garage Anglais out of quite a decent sum—I shall be only too delighted to come back and wipe the floor with you at billiards as often as you like. Your notion that you can beat me is one of the most pathetic instances of monomania I ever came across.
Remember me to Guy, who I suppose is as frivolous as ever, and give my love to any of the old crowd who are still knocking around.
Yours ever,
JIMMY.
Given from our place of hiding this third day of the fifth month in the second year of our exile.
Tony read this letter through and then tossed it across to Guy, who perused it in turn between mouthfuls of egg and bacon.
"His troubles don't seem to have sobered him down at all," he observed rather disapprovingly.
"I hope not," said Tony. "A sobered down Jimmy would be a lamentable object—something like an archangel with his wings clipped."
"What he says is true enough, I suppose," pursued Guy. "At least it only confirms what Congosta told us."
Tony nodded. "Things are on the move all right," he remarked complacently. "I am pretty sure Da Freitas meant to press the button just as soon as the wedding was over. He must be tearing his back hair over this hitch in the programme."
"I am glad we have got Isabel away from the Spaldings," observed Guy, handing back the letter, "I shan't feel really easy in my mind though, until she is on board the Betty."
"Well, it won't be long now," said Tony, "and anyway she is pretty safe at Chester Square. Aunt Fanny is keeping her tight to the house, and so far they haven't seen a sign of any one hanging about. I really think we handed 'em the dummy all right, though it doesn't do to be too sure about things with a gentleman like Da Freitas."
"I wish we had some idea what he was up to," said Guy. "There is something very trying about this uncertainty."
"I have hopes of Molly," replied Tony, pouring himself out a second cup of tea in an absent-minded fashion. "She rang me up yesterday while I was out, and left a message that I was to come and see her this morning without fail." He took a meditative sip, and then set down the cup. "It's about time we heard something from Congosta too," he added.
Guy shrugged his shoulders. "I shouldn't put any faith in him. He is probably playing his own game just as much as Da Freitas is."
Tony looked at him sadly. "You get more cynical every day, Guy. I believe in Congosta. No man could have such a beautiful faith in the British Aristocracy unless there was some good in him." He pushed back his chair and rose from the table. "I'm off to see Molly anyway," he added. "I've a feeling that she has something exciting to tell us, and a certain amount of excitement has become necessary to my system. I can't get my afternoon sleep without it."
"I wish you would try to be a little more serious," answered Guy in a fretful voice.
Tony paused at the door. "I do try," he said apologetically, "but it's very difficult for a beginner."
It was just a quarter past ten when Tony arrived outside Basil Mansions, the big block of flats where Molly lived. He caught sight of a clock as he pulled up the car, and it suddenly struck him that in spite of the urgency of Molly's message, it was still rather early to disturb her slumbers. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to fill in a little time by motoring on to the R.A.C. and calling for his letters.
Amongst the several clubs to which he belonged the latter was the one at which he was accustomed to receive the largest number of communications. The majority of them were trade circulars from motor firms, and it was his custom to drop in at least twice a week and commit them to the hall porter's waste-paper basket.
Putting in his clutch he continued his journey, and was just rounding the corner of Pall Mall, when he suddenly became aware of the immaculately dressed figure of his cousin Henry striding briskly along the pavement towards him in the direction of Whitehall. The encounter was too sudden to admit of any strategy, so with a graceful resignation to fate he brought the car to a halt.
Henry came up with a look of surprise upon his face.
"One doesn't often see you about as early as this," he observed.
"You will in future," said Tony. "I have turned over a new leaf. I find that all our successful statesmen have been early risers."
"I am pleased to hear it," said Henry heartily. "I always thought that if you ever took up politics it would make all the difference to you."
"It has," said Tony.
There was a short pause.
"Did you get that White Book about the Patagonia boundary dispute?" inquired his cousin.
Tony nodded. "I did," he said. "I haven't had time to read it all yet, but it seems most interesting. Such good print too."
"They get them up very well," said Henry. "I will send you round some more as soon as you have gone through that. There is nothing like a thorough grounding before you start work."
"I wish you would," replied Tony. "I was half thinking of running across to South America in the Betty with Guy, and looking into things myself for a few weeks. I should like to have some nice interesting reading for the voyage."
Henry looked at him in surprised approval. "I think that's a very good idea," he said. "Laura will be extremely pleased when I tell her, because it shows that you are taking the matter seriously." He pulled out a little tablet from his waistcoat pocket and made a note in pencil. "I will see if I can get you a few letters of introduction to some of our people over there. I shall say of course that you are just taking a voyage for your health."
"That's about right," said Tony. "Thanks so much. I must be trotting now, or I shall be late for an appointment."
He waved a good-bye and started off the car again, while Henry, putting back his memorandum tablet, continued his way to the Home Office.
Half an hour later, having disposed of the motor circulars and having restored his energies with a brandy and soda, Tony set out again for Basil Mansions. It was still only eleven o'clock, but Claudine, who answered the bell, informed him that Molly was already up and awaiting his arrival in the drawing-room.
He found her as usual sitting at the piano, practising over a song. She spun round on the stool at his entrance, and then jumped up with both her hands outstretched.
"Oh, Tony," she exclaimed, "I am so glad you have come."
He waited until Claudine had closed the door, and then kissed her carefully on the curve of her cheek.
"I should have been here long before, Molly," he said, "but I was afraid of waking you up. A good night's rest is so essential to brain-workers."
"I have been up ages," she replied. "I can never sleep when I am excited or worried—at least not after nine o'clock."
"What's worrying you?" he asked, settling himself on the sofa.
She sat down beside him. "It's Peter," she said. "He was here yesterday—yesterday afternoon. I rang you up directly he had gone."
"Well?" inquired Tony.
Molly took a deep breath. "He had come to say good-bye."
Tony sat up. "What?" he demanded.
Molly nodded her head. "He didn't admit it in so many words, but that's what it came to."
There was a short pause.
"He must have more nerve than I gave him credit for," said Tony slowly.
"Oh, I don't mean good-bye altogether," said Molly with a little laugh. "That isn't Peter's idea at all." She jumped up from the sofa, and crossing to the writing-table in the corner opened the drawer and took out something from inside. "Look at this," she said.
"This," was a half sheet of stiff note-paper stamped in gold with the Royal Livadian arms, and bearing two or three straggling lines of writing, at the bottom of which sprawled a large irregular signature.
Tony examined it with interest. "It looks very impressive," he said. "What's it all about?"
"It's a sort of pass," said Molly calmly, "like one gets for a theatre, you know. It means 'do whatever the bearer wishes without asking any questions.'" She took it back from him and slipped it into the envelope which she was holding in her hand. "That would take me anywhere I pleased in Livadia if Peter was king."
"But what's the good of it now?" asked Tony. "Why has he given it you?"
Molly crossed to the writing-table, and putting the envelope back, shut the door and locked it.
"I will tell you exactly what happened," she said, coming back and re-seating herself on the sofa. "Peter rolled up here about five o'clock yesterday in a taxi—not in his car—just in an ordinary taxi. I guessed there was trouble because when he does that it always means that he doesn't want Da Freitas to find out where he's been. Well, I gave him a drink, and he sat and talked for a bit in his ordinary way, but all the time I could see that there was something at the back of his mind—something he didn't quite know how to say. At last he managed to get it out. He wanted to know if I would trust him. If he had to go away suddenly, or if anything happened which made it impossible for him to see me for a little while, would I still believe that I was the only person in the world he really cared about? I pretended to be very surprised and asked what he expected to happen, but he wouldn't admit that there was anything definite or certain. He talked vaguely about a king not being his own master, and that he never knew from day to day when a revolution mightn't break out in Livadia and that if it did his place would be at the head of his people. Of course coming from Peter it was all the silliest sort of poppycock, and any one who wasn't a born idiot could have seen that he was keeping something back. However, I let him think that I swallowed it all, and after a bit he lugged out this paper and explained what it was. He said that if by any chance he was called away to Livadia quite suddenly, the first thing he should do, as soon as it was possible, would be to send for me. He wanted me to promise that no matter what had happened I would come out right away. I saw that he was in dead earnest and frightfully excited about it, so of course I said I would, and that seemed to quiet him down. Anyhow, he didn't talk any more about it, but I'm as certain as I am that I'm sitting here that something's going to happen, Tony, and damn soon too. You see I know Peter so jolly well."
"It looks precious like it," agreed Tony thoughtfully. "I shouldn't wonder if Da Preitas had changed his plans. Perhaps the battle of Latimer Lane has shaken his nerve, and he means to cut out the Isabel part of the programme and go straight ahead."
"The battle of what?" demanded Molly.
"Oh, I forgot you didn't know about it," said Tony. "We have been having all sorts of quiet fun of our own up at Hampstead." He paused for a moment to light himself a cigarette. "There's Jimmy's letter too," he added; "only I think I had better begin by telling you about the battle. There's nothing like doing things in their proper order: it's the secret of all real success in life."
"Drive ahead," said Molly encouragingly.
Tony, who by this time was becoming quite an adept in the narrative, again described the spirited little scuffle outside Mrs. Spalding's house, and the subsequent transference of Isabel to the more peaceful atmosphere of Chester Square. He wound up with a brief account of how Lady Jocelyn had been fully taken into their confidence, and of how they had decided on an immediate trip to South America as the most promising solution to the problem.
"I suppose you're right," observed Molly after a meditative pause. "If she stops in London that pig Da Freitas will get hold of her sooner or later, but I'm awfully sorry you're going, Tony. There is no one else that I can even talk to about things."
"I shan't be away so very long," said Tony comfortingly; "and it's much the best thing for you as well as for us. Even if they go ahead with the revolution, Peter isn't likely to marry any one else at present. There would be all sorts of international ructions if he tried to get a wife from another country, and anyway I shouldn't think the throne of Livadia was a very dazzling prospect for a foreign princess. At least, not according to what Jimmy says."
"What does he say?" asked Molly. "Can I see the letter?"
Tony gave it her and, spreading it out on her knee she bent forward and read it through carefully, her nicely pencilled eyebrows drawn together in a thoughtful frown.
"It's some letter," she observed, when she had finished, "but I don't think it gets us much further, does it? I know the Livadians must be a set of prize chumps or they wouldn't want Peter to be their king." She folded up the sheet of paper and handed it back to him. "I should like to meet Jimmy some day. He sounds all right."
"He's a dear fellow," said Tony, putting back the letter in his pocket. "In a way I like him better than any one except myself." He got up from the sofa. "I shall come and see you again before we go, Molly," he added. "I don't think there is any chance of our sailing before next Tuesday. Aunt Fanny has got to invent a lie that will satisfy the Dean of Ballingford, and that can't be done in a hurry."
"Righto," replied Molly; "and let me know at once if anything happens, or if there's anything I can do to help you. You know I don't care a rap about the theatre: I would chuck it like a shot if it was really necessary."
Tony took her hands. "You're the best sportsman in London, Molly," he said, "and it's a thousand pities you can't be Queen of Livadia. You'd make a Hell of a good job of it."
Molly laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "You bet I should," she said crisply. "One can't be six years in musical comedy without learning how to treat rotters."
