CHAPTER XXIII
KIDNAPPING THE BRIDE
In a few minutes they were mounting the steep street which appeared to be the only approach to the Château. The route was plentifully sprinkled with soldiers, and from the cottage doorways on either side women and children watched the visitors go past with open-eyed interest. The sight of Major Paqueta on the front seat seemed still to be a sufficient guarantee to everyone for their respectability; and on they went through an avenue of salutes from the soldiers, which Tony acknowledged by occasionally raising his hand with an aristocratic languor that was extremely impressive.
It was not until they reached the main entrance to the Château—a big stone archway spanned by a couple of iron gates—that any attempt was made to arrest their progress. At this point two armed sentries on guard stepped forward with raised bayonets, and not wishing to run any unnecessary risk of puncture, Jimmy at once brought the car to a standstill. Almost at the same moment a small door at the side was opened and an officer in full uniform strode out into the roadway.
He saluted Major Paqueta, and for several moments the two of them remained engaged in an animated conversation, the results of which appeared to be distinctly satisfactory. At all events, on an order from the newcomer, the two big iron gates were pushed slowly open, and with commendable care Jimmy steered his way in under the archway.
They found themselves in a large courtyard, surrounded on three sides by various portions of the Château, and decorated in the centre by the equestrian statue of a stout gentleman, brandishing a menacing sword in the direction of Heaven. Circling gracefully round this atrocity, Jimmy drew up outside the entrance to the house—a couple of big iron-studded doors, from which a flight of stone steps led down to the gravel.
With the dignity becoming to his position, Major Paqueta descended from the car. Their arrival had evidently been observed, for as he did so, one of the doors was opened from inside, and an elderly-looking steward or butler, supported by two assistants, appeared upon the threshold.
The Major stopped to make a remark or two in Livadian to Jimmy; then with another formal and apparently apologetic bow to Tony, he mounted the steps and was ushered into the house.
"He's gone to see who's at home," explained Jimmy, leaning his elbow on the back of the seat. "He says he won't keep us waiting long."
Tony nodded. "We have done our bit," he observed philosophically. "It's all up to Providence now."
Molly, who had closed her prayer-book, and was sitting beside him with downcast eyes, squeezed his hand gently under the rug.
"Good luck, Tony," she said in a low voice; "just in case we don't see each other again."
Before Tony could make any response the officer who had admitted them through the gate appeared suddenly along the courtyard behind them, and took up his position on the steps within earshot of where they were sitting. Tony, of course, did not know if he understood English, but considering the somewhat delicate nature of their position it seemed advisable to avoid any unnecessary risk. He therefore contented himself by returning Molly's squeeze, and in tactful silence the three of them waited for the next development.
It was not long in arriving. Once more the big portal swung back, and Major Paqueta, with the pompous-looking steward in attendance, came down the steps and addressed a few words to Jimmy.
The latter climbed down from his seat, and without waiting for the assistance of the steward, opened the back door of the car.
"We are to go in," he announced with superb coolness. "The Count of Saint Anna is prepared to receive us."
Throwing back the rug, Tony and Molly followed him out, the latter still keeping her eyes down, and holding the prayer-book before her in a conspicuous position.
Preceded by the steward and Major Paqueta they ascended the steps, and entered a lofty hall lit by a glass dome and set around with marble pillars. Behind these were a number of tall mahogany doors leading into the various apartments. On either side of one of them, which was open, stood the two footmen in rigid immobility, and between this expressionless pair of statues their guide conducted them into a large, handsomely furnished room, where an elderly gentleman in a frock-coat was standing by a writing-table, waiting to receive them.
The Count of Saint Anna, for it was evidently their host who faced them, bowed courteously at their entrance. He was an amiable-looking old boy with gold spectacles and a long white moustache carefully waxed at the ends. From this demeanour at all events there was no hint of any hostility or suspicion towards his visitors, and Tony felt a momentary wave of relief that since her arrival in Livadia Isabel should have been in such apparently good-natured hands.
As soon as the door was closed the Count cleared his throat and commenced to speak.
"Gentlemen," he observed in very painstaking English: "I have the pleasure to make your knowledge. Major Paqueta says that you carry a letter from His Majesty the King, and that you wish to speak with me privately on a matter of much importance."
Tony bowed, and stepping forward, again produced the invaluable scrap of paper which had been returned to him by the Major. The old gentleman accepted it, and having adjusted his spectacles read it through with extreme care. The perusal could not really have occupied him more than a minute, but to three of those present it seemed to be the most prolonged and poignant minute ever extracted from the womb of time. At last, however, he looked up again, and with infinite relief they saw that the charm had worked.
"I will speak with these gentlemen in private," he said, addressing himself to Major Paqueta. "This is undoubtedly the writing of His Majesty."
It seemed from the Major's face as if he were slightly disappointed by this abrupt dismissal, but like a true disciplinarian he accepted the situation without remonstrance. Bowing again stiffly, he wheeled round and marched to the door and the next moment the four of them were alone.
The Count motioned his guests to be seated.
"I understand," he said, "that there is one of you gentlemen who is able to speak our language. It would be best perhaps if he should explain. I have a small knowledge of English, but it is not good to listen with."
Tony turned to Jimmy. "Go ahead, James," he said encouragingly. "Tell the Count of Saint Anna exactly what the King has asked us to do."
With that easy assurance that had won him his chequered way through the world, Jimmy set about his task. He had one of those happily constituted natures (so frequent amongst prominent statesmen and successful men of business) which enables its possessor to become automatically more convincing the further he departs from the truth. Unintelligible as his actual words were to Tony, there was a ring of sincerity about them which filled the latter with intense admiration, and made him feel that much as he had always appreciated Jimmy, he had up till that moment failed to do him complete justice.
The Count on his part appeared to be deeply impressed. He followed Jimmy's trail of lies with the closest attention, occasionally interjecting a question, and nodding his head with grave satisfaction over the answers that were immediately forthcoming. It was an entertaining spectacle, and but for the stake at issue, and an uncomfortable sensation that every minute added to their danger, Tony would have felt quite sorry when it came to an end.
Throughout the recital Molly remained very unobtrusively in the background. She had seated herself in the darkest corner of the room, and with her eyes fixed steadily on the carpet, she appeared to be wholly absorbed in some form of inward meditation.
There was a moment's pause when Jimmy had finished, and then, with a final and decisive nod, the Count rose to his feet.
"My friends," he said in English, "you have indeed done a great service to His Majesty. You have also my own gratitude. I do not hide from you that it has been of much distress to me that the Princess Isabella is not more happy. If to speak with this good gentleman will be of comfort to her, that is indeed all that we should wish. I will myself take him to her presence."
It was an exhilarating moment, but all three of them managed to preserve their self-control. With extreme gravity Molly got up from her seat and moved quietly in the direction of the door, Tony and Jimmy also rising and acknowledging the Count's speech with a couple of polite bows.
"In a minute I shall rejoin you," added the latter. "In the meanwhile I trust that you will regard this poor apartment as your own."
He crossed the room and opened the door politely for Molly who, still clasping her prayer-book in front of her, passed solemnly through into the hall. The Count paused for an instant on the threshold to return the salutations of his guests, and then following her out, closed the doors behind them.
Jimmy pulled out a handkerchief and softly pressed it to his forehead.
"Holy Moses!" he whispered. "If Ananias hasn't turned in his grave he's the most unjealous blighter who ever lived."
"You were wonderful, James," said Tony, with a genuine reverence in his voice. "I think we shall have to change the idea of running our garage on honest lines. It would be a sheer waste of genius."
"We needn't worry about that yet," retorted Jimmy. "We have got to get out of this hole first. I don't know what you think, but it seems to me that our part of the business was child's play compared with that those two girls have got to tackle."
"They'll do it," replied Tony confidently. "I've the most perfect faith in Molly."
Jimmy took a deep breath. "She's great—magnificent," he said. "There isn't a woman in the world to touch her. She'll do her part all right, but it's the other one I'm thinking about. How can one expect a young girl who's no experience of acting to bring off a job like this?"
"Ah!" said Tony. "You don't know Isabel."
He walked to the writing-desk, and stood for an instant looking down at the open blotting-book.
"I wonder if the Count would mind my using his paper and envelopes," he added meditatively. "I think this would be rather a good opportunity of answering Da Freitas' letter."
"Oh, go on," said Jimmy with a chuckle. "That will be all right. He told us to look on the place as our own."
Tony seated himself at the desk, and taking out his fountain pen pulled a sheet of paper towards him. He paused to reflect for a few moments, and then dating the letter with the exact hour, began to write, slowly and deliberately.
He had not covered more than half a page, when the door opened and the Count of Saint Anna came back into the room.
"I have taken your friend in to the Princess," he said. "She was surprised, as you would expect, but I think it will make her happy to speak with him. I return to bring him back in a little while. You gentlemen will do me the honour of lunching with me, as soon as their talk is finished?"
Tony, who had got up from his chair, shook his head.
"Thank you very much, Count," he said, "but I'm afraid we shall have to start back as quick as we can. The fact is I have got an appointment with the English Ambassador. He is coming to lunch with me on my yacht."
He brought out this impromptu falsehood with such perfect readiness that even Jimmy was momentarily staggered.
"Ah!" said the Count. "I am sorry. If you could have waited it is possible that you would have had the pleasure to meet the Count de Sé. We are expecting him at any time now. He is, as you know, to take the Princess to Portriga."
"What a pity!" replied Tony regretfully. "I should love to have had a chat with him if we could have managed it." He paused. "By the way," he added, "I hope you don't mind my making free with your property like this. I was just writing a line to my friend the Marquis da Freitas. I daresay the Count de Sé would take it with him when he goes in."
The old gentleman spread out his hands in a reassuring gesture.
"Señor," he said, "please to continue. All that I have in this poor house is at your disposal."
Taking him at his word, Tony resumed his seat at the desk, while Jimmy, with some opportune remark in Livadian, promptly withdrew their host to the further side of the room.
Continuing to write with extreme deliberation, Tony finished his letter, which occupied exactly two sides of the note-paper. Then he blotted it, and sitting back in his chair, read it through carefully before folding it up.
Tuesday, THE CHATEAU OF SAINT ANNA,
11.53 A.M. Somewhere in Livadia.
MY DEAR MARQUIS:
It was very kind of you to write and say good-bye, as I don't suppose you had much time to spare your last day in England.
I am more than sorry that I haven't been able to look you up and thank you personally during this flying visit of ours to your beautiful and exciting country. You, I feel certain, will share this regret, but your admirable philosophy will doubtless enable you to make the best of it. Making the best of unfortunate situations is the real secret of a happy and successful life.
May I add that you can always rely on us for the most perfect discretion with regard to any secrets that we happen to share in common. I shall consider it a great kindness if you will convey to His Majesty my truest congratulations on his marriage, of which, under the circumstances, I feel quite sure you will thoroughly approve.
Wishing you the best of success in your patriotic efforts on behalf of Livadia,
I am, my dear Marquis,
Your sincere admirer,
ANTONY CONWAY.
P.S. You were quite right about the proverb. Ha! Ha!
Having enclosed this in an envelope and addressed it, Tony got up from his chair and handed it to the Count.
"I shall be much obliged if you will give that to De Sé," he said. "I want the Marquis to get it as soon as possible and I expect your postal arrangements are a bit disorganized."
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
"All is confusion for the moment," he admitted, "but I trust that by Monday we may hope for better things. So soon as the King is married there will be no more fighting."
He put the letter away carefully in his inside pocket, and for a few minutes continued to discourse on the revolution and its possible developments. It was quite evident that he shared Colonel Saltero's opinion as to the immediate effect of the coming ceremony, and that he looked forward to the future with a complete and touching confidence.
At last, again adjusting his spectacles, which had a habit of slipping down his nose, he glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece.
"I think," he said "that I might now return to the Princess. It was, I understand, for twenty minutes that your good friend wished to speak with her."
"Perhaps it would be as well," said Tony reluctantly. "I hate to rush away like this, but we really ought to get back as soon as possible. I don't want to keep the Ambassador waiting."
They moved together towards the door, and as Tony opened it he added: "I should like to take the chance of having a look at your hall pillars if I may. I never saw finer marble in my life."
A gratified smile lit up the Count's features. "It is considered a not unfavourable example of our architecture," he said. "I am honoured that it should meet with your approval."
He conducted them outside, and after again apologizing for leaving them, mounted the broad staircase and disappeared from view along the gallery above.
For a moment Tony and Jimmy remained standing where they were, apparently lost in admiration. One glance round, however, had shown both of them all that they really wished to see. Through the partly open front door they had caught a glimpse of Major Paqueta and the other officer engaged in conversation on the steps, while a faint but clearly audible ticking below told them that the faithful car was still in the same position where they had left it.
"We might be able to manage it," whispered Jimmy; "even if there's a hitch at the last moment."
"There'll be no hitch," replied Tony gently. "Put your trust in Providence, Jimmy, and admire the hall."
He strolled placidly round from pillar to pillar, examining the carving at the base of each, and occasionally patting one with his hand, as if to express his approbation. Jimmy accompanied him, sauntering along with equal nonchalance, and puffing at a cigarette which he had lighted while talking to the Count.
They were just completing the circuit and were within a few feet of the door, when a sudden sound above brought them to a halt. They both looked up, and as they did so two people appeared at the head of the staircase.
One was the Count, coming down with his hand on the banisters, and talking away affably in his indifferent English.
The other——
Standing where he was, Tony stared up at the slim black-coated figure, that with prayer-book in hand and lowered eyes was descending the staircase alongside of their host. The likeness to Molly as he had last seen her was so amazing that for just one numbing instant a horrible fear that she had failed gripped him by the heart.
Then—somehow or other—he knew—knew beyond any shadow of doubt that it was Isabel herself. All his coolness returned to him instantly, and drawing in a deep, delicious breath he stepped forward to meet them.
"His Majesty will be very grateful to you," said the Count in a low voice. "I am happy to say that the kindness and sympathy of this good gentleman have been of much comfort to the Princess. She is like a different person.'
"I have no doubt she is," replied Tony heartily. "I know from experience that a talk with Mr. Monk always makes one feel better and happier." He held out his hand. "Good-bye, Count," he added, "and thank you again so much for your kindness."
The Count shook hands warmly with all three of them.
"It has been a privilege to make your friendship," he replied. "But I will not say 'good-bye.' It is possible, I hope, that you will be returning here before long."
"It is," admitted Tony, "distinctly."
"And when you come," continued their host, shaking his finger playfully, "I shall not permit you to leave us a second time in so great a hurry."
Tony smiled, and again wrung his hand. "I am sure of that, Count," he said; "quite sure of it."
They walked to the doors, which had been thrown back by the steward, who had suddenly reappeared upon the scene, and passed out once more into the sunshine and freedom of the open air.
Isabel did not waste any time. Without looking to the right or left, she stepped up quietly into the tonneau, and getting in after her Tony settled himself between her and the steps. With almost equal promptness Jimmy and the Major took their places in front. There was a farewell wave from the Count and the other officer, a sputtering of gravel as the wheels commenced to revolve, and the next moment the car was circling again round the stout gentleman with the sword, and heading gaily towards the archway.
Tony's sensations, as he found himself once more slipping past the open cottage doors, were so radiantly exhilarating that it was all he could do to keep them under control. Indeed, but for the fact that his right hand was clasping Isabel's left under the rug, and that the other was temporarily occupied in returning the salutes of the soldiers by the roadside, he felt that the temptation to throw his arms round Major Paqueta's neck would have been utterly irresistible.
The necessity for silence—always a difficult virtue in his case—did not tend to make the struggle any easier. A dozen questions were trembling on his tongue, but apart from the fact that Jimmy was driving at a pace which would have rendered anything but shouting absolutely useless, he knew it would be stark madness for Isabel to begin talking until they had succeeded in ridding themselves of their passenger. So with splendid if painful self-control he sat mutely beside her, while steadily gathering speed, the car swept up the opposite hillside and plunged joyously out of sight of the Château into the narrow gorge above.
With the exception of slowing down occasionally as he passed the various patrols, Jimmy pushed along in such an animated fashion that in what seemed to be an amazingly short time they had again descended from the high ground, and were racing back along the winding valley which led into the main road. As they came in sight of the thicket where they had first had the privilege of making Major Paqueta's acquaintance, two or three of the latter's soldiers, who were evidently on the watch, came hurrying out from amongst the trees. Seeing that it was their leader returning they formed up promptly into some kind of order, and putting on his brakes, Jimmy brought the car to a halt a dozen paces or so from where they were standing.
With a few words, apparently expressive of his thanks, the Major climbed down into the roadway. Then, drawing himself up, he bowed twice—once to Tony and once to Isabel: a polite attention which they both returned as gracefully as their somewhat cramped circumstances would allow. At the same moment Jimmy thrust in his clutch, and lurching forward again, the car swung rapidly round the corner on to the main Braxa road.
A few hundred yards from the wood Tony's self-control was unable to hold out any longer. Throwing back the rug he lifted up Isabel's hand, and regardless as to whether any one could see him or not, pressed it recklessly and joyously to his lips.
With a little gasp she laid her other hand upon his sleeve.
"Oh, say it's true, Tony. Tell me it's really true!"
Her words were almost carried away by the wind, for sublimely indifferent to the ruts Jimmy had let the car out to its fullest extent, and they were racing and bounding along in a fashion which would have done credit to a high-spirited chamois.
With a glad laugh Tony put his arm round her and drew her close up against him.
"It's the truest thing that's ever happened," he answered. "You are mine now, Isabel—mine, mine, mine; and all the fat-headed Kings in Europe will never get you away from me again."
Satisfied apparently with what she could hear of his statement, Isabel made no attempt to reply. With her eyes half-closed she leaned against his shoulder, swaying with the movement of the car and holding tight to his hand like a tired but contented child.
"Were you going to marry him?" demanded Tony abruptly, as a worse bit of road than usual caused a momentary slackening in the pace.
She opened her eyes and nodded. "Uncle Philip told me that they had got hold of you too, and that if I didn't do it they would punish you horribly, somehow or other. I meant to kill myself directly I knew you were safe."
The arm with which Tony was holding her tightened a little in its grip.
"If ever I meet Uncle Phil again," he remarked slowly, "he'll run up against something considerably harder than Richmond Park."
A fresh plunge forward on the part of the car rendered any further conversation temporarily impossible, and for the next quarter of an hour they spun along in the same buoyant fashion, while the red roofs of Braxa, which were now visible in the distance, grew plainer and plainer every minute.
Some way short of the straggling outskirts Jimmy again checked his speed, and pulling into the side of the road came to a sudden and unexpected halt.
"How d'you do, Isabel," he observed, looking round over his shoulder. "Glad to meet you." Then addressing himself to her companion, he added: "What's your notion about things, Tony? I think myself we'd better make a dash for it. Run slap through the town and straight down on to the landing stage. I suppose the boat will be there all right."
Tony nodded. "One can always depend upon Guy," he said. "But how about the car? What are you going to do with that?"
"Scrap it," replied Jimmy. "Leave it on the quay. It doesn't belong to me you know, it belongs to the garage. I've got all my earthly possessions in my pocket."
"Right away then," said Tony, "and don't stop for anything." He turned to Isabel. "You won't be frightened if we have to run over a few policemen," he said. "It's just possible they may be on the lookout for us."
Isabel shook her head. "I don't mind," she said firmly. "Not in the least."
"Well, look out for squalls," remarked Jimmy cheerfully. "It's neck or nothing now."
He pulled his Homburg hat on tighter and started off again down the road, which stretched out ahead of them bare and dusty in the blazing midday sunshine.
Peaceful as Braxa had seemed when they had passed through it earlier in the morning, it was at this hour even more deserted than before. The heat of the sun seemed to have driven such people as were about into the shelter of the wine shops, and except for a few unhappy-looking dogs, rummaging amongst the garbage, a deep, languorous tranquillity brooded over everything.
They raced up the main street at a pace which sent the dust flying in clouds on either side of them; and without sounding their horn or otherwise announcing their approach, they swept round the corner into the big open space where they had had their previous encounter with the policeman. They were half-way across, and were heading straight for the track that led down on to the beach, when the drowsy silence of the square was suddenly disturbed by a hoarse shout on the left. Tony glanced round in the direction of the sound, and was rewarded by the sight of two uniformed figures hurrying out from the shadow of the trees, and running and stumbling towards them with loud and peremptory cries.
"You're too late," he observed placidly. "Go on, Jimmy."
As he spoke the car shot up the slight incline which hitherto shut out the beach from view and at the same moment a half stifled exclamation broke simultaneously from all three of its occupants. Right across the track, in such a position as to shut out any possibility of passing it, stood a big clumsy ox-cart, half full of sand. Some yards further on they could see the driver chatting affably to a couple of fishermen, but even if he had wished to help them, he was too far away to be of any use.
Under the circumstances Jimmy did the only thing that could possibly have saved them. Thrusting out his clutch, he flung the wheel hard over to the right, and with a wild swirl the car left the track, and plunging forward into the soft sand at the side, came to a staggeringly abrupt standstill.
Despite the shock, Tony had opened the door and was out on the beach almost before the wheels had ceased to revolve.
"Come along," he said coolly; "plenty of time."
But for one fact, it is probable that his statement would have proved true. This fact unfortunately just made all the difference. The sudden stoppage had flung Jimmy forward with such force against the steering-wheel that all the breath had been knocked clean out of his body, and for the moment he was as completely helpless as any human being could possibly be.
Seeing what had happened, Tony darted round to the other side of the car, and catching him in his arms, lifted him bodily out of the seat. Even while he was doing so, the first paralysing effects of the blow began to wear off; but the delay—brief as it had been—was quite long enough to bring about disaster.
Already the pursuing policemen had come racing up over the rise behind, and were bawling out frantic instructions to the driver of the cart and the two fishermen who were with him. Thunderstruck as the latter seemed to be, they yet retained sufficient intelligence to grasp the fact that they were being called upon to assist the law. For a second only they hesitated; then with a simultaneous movement, they lumbered forward up the beach, and true to the voice of duty, rushed in upon their quarry.
The next minute was probably the busiest in Tony's life. Letting go of Jimmy, he sprang forward to meet the first of their assailants—a big black-bearded fellow, who had slightly out-distanced the others. The man dived for his body, but swinging up his left with a terrific jolt Tony caught him full in the face, and sent him sprawling over on the sand. Then, just in the nick of time, he turned to meet the driver of the cart. There was no chance of repeating his former tactics, for the sheer weight of the latter's rush had brought him into close quarters, and the next instant they were swaying up and down, clutched in each other's arms.
At any ordinary time they would have been a very well matched pair, but the desperation of the moment had filled Tony with a kind of wild madness that seemed almost to have doubled his strength. Wrenching his right arm free he drove his fist deep into his opponent's midriff with the force of a piston-rod. The man's legs shut up under him like a clasp-knife—down he went in a gurgling heap, dragging Tony with him in his fall.
The latter was up again almost immediately, but his first glance round showed him the hopelessness of the situation. Racing down the slope with all possible speed, the two policemen had already reached the scene of action. One of them was rushing towards him with a drawn sword, and yelling to him to surrender, while the other was dodging round the car in pursuit of Isabel.
At that moment, just when everything seemed to be lost, a violent "bang" from behind burst suddenly on Tony's ear. He spun round instinctively—and there, fifteen yards away, was the Heaven-sent figure of "Tiger" Bugg, leaping up the beach with the speed and fury of an avenging angel. A few paces in the rear stood Guy Oliver, hatless, perspiring, and with a smoking revolver levelled in his hand.
Even as Tony turned there came a second spurt of flame. He felt the bullet whistle past him, and almost simultaneously an agonized yelp of pain showed that it had found its mark. He swung round again instantly, just in time to see the onrushing policeman drop his sword, and stagger back a couple of paces with his left hand clasped to his shoulder.
Disregarding everything else Tony flung himself to the rescue of Isabel. At the sound of the second shot, the man who was chasing her had pulled up abruptly in his tracks, apparently debating whether, u