CHAPTER XI
THE ORDERS FOR THE DAY
"The orders for the day don't need much explanation," said Fitz."Merely see that there are six cartridges in your revolver; keep it inyour trouser pocket with your hand on it, and then follow the man fromCook's."
"Like all schemes of the first magnitude," said I, "it appears to besimplicity itself."
"It is this confounded revolver business," said Coverdale, "that Ishould like to see dispensed with. It might so easily land us inserious trouble."
"It is far more likely to land us out of serious trouble," said Fitz."But this I can promise: they will not be produced except in the lastresort."
It was clear that the question of the revolvers had made Coverdale asuneasy as it had made me; but the only thing to be done now was to pinimplicit faith upon the saneness of Fitz's judgment. Certainly he hadaroused respect. His method of communicating to Alexander O'Mulliganthe nature of the cause, and the need for absolute obedience to theword of command, appeared to kindle awe and admiration in equal partsin the breast of the middle-weight champion of the United Kingdom.
"Do exactly as you are told, O'Mulligan, and do nothing without orders,unless they begin to shoot, and then you begin to shoot too. By theway, Arbuthnot, did I understand you to say you had forgotten to bringa revolver?"
I admitted the impeachment.
"I have several spare ones in my overcoat"--the tone of reproof wasdelicate. "Is there any one else who has forgotten to provide himselfwith one?"
"There is also a spare one at my rooms round the corner," saidAlexander O'Mulligan, with an air of modest pride.
Fitz honoured the new recruit with a nod of curt approval. In anyassembly of law-breakers the Bayard from Jermyn Street would be sure ofa hearty welcome. His face had expanded to the most moonlikeproportions, which the freckles and the prominent ears set offfantastically; and in the green eyes was a look of genuine ecstasy,beside which the emotion in those of Brasset and Jodey was mere hopefulexpectation.
Fitz took out his watch and studied it with the air of the Man ofDestiny.
"Fourteen minutes to nine," said he. "At nine o'clock I shall drivealone to No. 300 Portland Place, in a taxi. At four minutes past nineCoverdale and Arbuthnot will follow. They will ask for the Ambassador,Coverdale giving the name of General Drago, and Arbuthnot the name ofCount Alexis Zbynska. You will be shown into a waiting-room while yournames are taken in to his Excellency. If he is in, he will receiveyou; if he is not, Grindberg, or one of the other secretaries, or oneof the Attaches will have a word with you. Keep your mufflers up toyour ears and have the collars of your overcoats turned up. If vonArlenberg is not in, say you will wait for him. You can use Illyrian,or French, or broken English. Of course your object, in any case, willbe to gain time and keep in the house until you receive furtherinstructions. Am I clear?"
"Reasonably clear," said Coverdale. "If we gain access to the house weare not to leave it until we hear from you?"
"That is so."
"And what about Alec and Brasset and me?" The earnestness of myrelation by marriage was wistful.
"O'Mulligan will leave four minutes after Coverdale and Arbuthnot. Hewill merely give his name as Captain Forbes, who desires to fix anappointment with von Arlenberg upon a private matter of importance. Hewon't be able to fix it; but they will send a chap to talk to you,O'Mulligan. You must be very long-winded and you must use your bestEnglish, and you must waste as much time as you can. Understand?"
O'Mulligan beamed like a seraph.
"And Brasset and me?" said the pleading voice.
"Brasset will leave four minutes after O'Mulligan. He will be Mr.Bonser, a messenger from the Foreign Office, with a letter for vonArlenberg. Here you are, Brasset, here is the letter for vonArlenberg."
With a matter-of-factness which was really inimitable, Fitz tossedacross the tablecloth the missive in question, copiously daubed withred sealing-wax.
"Brasset," said Fitz, "you will be careful not to give this mostimportant letter into the keeping of anybody save and except hisExcellency, Baron von Arlenberg, Ambassador and PlenipotentiaryExtraordinary to his Majesty the King of Illyria, at the Court of SaintJames."
"I hope the superscription is correct," said I, misguidedly.
Fitz looked me down with the eye of a Frederick. The sympathy of thetable was with him entirely.
"Somebody will want to take it to the Ambassador," said Fitz. "ButBrasset, your instructions are that you deliver this document to hisExcellency in person."
With an air of reverence, Brasset inserted the letter with itsportentous red seal in his cigar-case. The most exacting of ministerscould not have desired a more trustworthy or a more eminently discreetcustodian for an epoch-making document than the Master of theCrackanthorpe.
"How shall I know old von Thingamy when I see him?" inquired themessenger from the Foreign Office.
"You won't see him," said Fitz. "But you must make it appear that youwant to see him particularly."
"But if I should happen to see him?"
The Master of the Crackanthorpe was awed into silence by a Napoleonicgesture.
"Where do I come in?" said the pleading voice from the wilderness.
"You come in, Vane-Anstruther," said Fitz to my relation by marriage,"four minutes after Brasset. You are Lieutenant von Wildengarth-Merglefrom Blaenau, with a letter of introduction to the Illyrian Ambassador.Here is your card, and you can give it to anybody you like."
The recipient was immensely gratified by the card of Lieutenant vonWildengarth-Mergle of the Ninth Regiment of Hussars when it wasbestowed upon him. His manner of disposing of it was precisely similarto that adopted by Brasset in the case of the letter from the ForeignOffice. His bearing also was modelled obviously upon that of thatornament of high diplomacy.
"I assume," said I, "that we are all to bluff our way into the IllyrianEmbassy; and once we are there we are to take care to stay until we areadvised further?"
"That is so."
"But let us assume for a moment that we get no advice?"
"If I do not come to you by ten minutes to ten, or you are not sent forby then, you are all to leave any ante-room you may be in, and you areto walk straight up the central staircase, taking notice of nobody. Ifthey try to stop you, merely say you wish to see the Ambassador."
"And if they use force?"
"Make use of it yourself, with as much noise as you can. And if youstill fail to hear from me, then will be the time to think aboutretirement. Does everybody understand?"
Everybody did apparently.
"It is seven minutes to nine. Time we began to collect our taxis."
Fitz rose from the table, and in a body we went in search of our coatsand hats. For my fellow conspirators I cannot speak, but my heart wasbeating in the absurdest manner, and my veins were tingling. There wasthat sense of exaltation in them which is generally reserved for aquick twenty minutes over the grass.
"Give me that revolver," said I.
As Fitz smuggled the weapon into my hand, I could feel my pulsesleaping immorally. This sensation may have been due to my having dinedat Ward's; although doubtless it is more scientific to ascribe it tosome primeval instinct which has resisted civilisation's ravages uponhuman nature.
As I stealthily inserted the weapon into the pocket of my trousers, Istole a covert glance at the solemn visage of the Chief Constable. Thegreat man was smiling benignly at his thoughts, and smoking a big cigarwith an air of Homeric enjoyment.
As Fitz, tall-hatted and fur-coated, picked his way delicately down theslush-covered steps to where his taxi awaited him, he turned to offer aword of final instruction to his followers.
"Coverdale and Arbuthnot 9.4; O'Mulligan 9.8; Brasset 9.12;Vane-Anstruther 9.16. If you hear nothing in the meantime, at 9.50 yougo upstairs."
"Righto," we chorussed, as Fitz boarded his chariot with aself-possession that was even touched with languor.
We watched him t
urn into Piccadilly, and then proceeded solemnly toinvest ourselves in coats and mufflers. Four minutes is not a longspace of time, yet it is quite possible for it to seem an age. Beforethe hall clock pointed to 9.4, one might have had a double molar drawn,or one's head cut off by the guillotine.
"300 Portland Place," said the Chief Constable in tones which somehowseemed astonishingly loud, while I squeezed as far as possible into thefar corner of the vehicle for the better accommodation of my stalwartcompanion.
"Dirty night," said the Chief Constable. "Not fit for a dog to be out.Have the glass down?"
It may have been an overwrought fancy, but I thought I perceived aslight, but unmistakable tremor in the voice of the head of theMiddleshire Constabulary.
"Not for me, thanks," said I. "These things are so stuffy."
The head of the Middleshire Constabulary agreed with me. Theimpression may have been due to a disordered fancy, but I thought Idetected a note of embarrassment in the Chief Constable's laugh.
From Saint James's Street to Portland Place is not far, and thisevening we seemed to accomplish the journey in a very short time.Having dismissed our taxi at the door of the Ambassador's imposingresidence, we each looked to the other to ring his Excellency'sdoor-bell.
"General," said I, "you are my senior, and I feel that your Illyrian,or your French, or your broken English or any other language in whichyou may be moved to indulge, will carry more weight than mine."
"Oh, do you! By the way; I have forgotten my name."
"General Drago."
"And yours?"
"Count Alexis Zbynska."
"Well, here goes."
The gallant warrior gave a mighty tug at the bell. This met with noattention; but at the second assault on the ambassadorial door-bell,the massive portal was swung back, slowly and solemnly, by a gorgeousmenial. In the immediate background there were others.
"I am General Drago, and I wish to see the Ambassador." The ChiefConstable's precision of phrase was really majestic.
The stalwart Illyrian, who seemed to be quite seven feet high from thecrown of his wig to the soles of his silk stockings, bowed and led theway within.
When we had crossed his Excellency's threshold, and just as a gorgeousinterior had unfolded itself to our respectful gaze, a veryurbane-looking personage in evening clothes and a pair of white kidgloves took charge of us. He led us through a spacious hall containingpillars of white marble, whence we passed into a waiting-room,immediately to the right of a distinctly imposing alabaster staircase.In this apartment the light was dim and religious, and the atmospherehad a chill solemnity. Our friend of the white kid gloves presented uswith a slip of paper apiece, and indicated an inkstand on the table.
"Write our names in Illyrian," I whispered to my fellow conspirator."They will carry more weight."
The Chief Constable inscribed his own name on the slip of paper verylaboriously, in the Illyrian character. When he had accomplished thisfeat, I proceeded as well as in me lay, and with a deliberation quiteequal to his own, to commit to paper the name of the Herr Graf Alexisvon Zbynska. I was beset with much misgiving as to the correct mannerof spelling it, and therefore had recourse to a number of superfluousflourishes in order to conceal my ignorance as far as possible.
When the gentleman of the white kid gloves had solemnly borne away theslips of paper, the Chief Constable proceeded to remove a bead ofhonest perspiration from his manly forehead.
"Of all the cursed crackbrained schemes!" he muttered. "What does themadman expect us to do now!"
"Say as little and waste as much time as we can," said I, "and at tenminutes to ten, if we are still alive, we are to make our way up thatstaircase."
The head of the Middleshire Constabulary subsided into incoherencemingled with profanity.
The gentleman of the white kid gloves had closed the door upon us. Thegloom and the silence of the room was terribly oppressive. Withticking nerves, I made a survey of its contents. The furnitureappeared to consist of a large table with massive legs, half a dozenchairs covered in red leather, a full-length portrait in oils, byBruffenhauser, of his Illyrian Majesty, Ferdinand the Twelfth, in whichthe victor of Rodova appeared in full regalia in a gilt frame, a reallymagnificent-looking old gentleman; while on a separate table at the farend of the room was the Almanach de Gotha.
It began to seem that our suspense was going to last for ever. Not asound penetrated to us from beyond the closed door. At last Coverdaletook out his watch.
"Is it ten minutes to ten yet?" I inquired anxiously.
"No; it still wants a couple of minutes to half-past nine."
To be condemned to support such tension for a whole twenty minuteslonger was to place a term upon eternity.
"Hadn't we better open the door," said I, "so that we can hear ifanything happens?"
My fellow conspirator concurred.
I opened the door accordingly and looked out in the direction, of thealabaster staircase. A man was descending it in a rather languidmanner. There was something curiously familiar about his appearance.As soon as he saw me standing at the foot of the stairs he quickenedhis pace. It was clear that he wished to speak to me.
"Keep cool," he said, and to my half-joyful bewilderment I recognisedthe voice of Fitz. "You and Coverdale had better leave your overcoatsin that room and go up. Go into the first room on the left on thefirst floor!"
With a coolness that was almost incredible, Fitz sauntered away acrossthe wide vestibule with his hands in his pockets, while I returned toCoverdale with this latest command.
We obeyed it with a sense of relief. Anything was better than to sitcounting the seconds in that funereal waiting-room. Divested of ourovercoats, we went forth up the staircase, doing our best to appearquite at ease, as though there was nothing in the least unusual in thesituation.
Half-way up we were confronted with two men coming down. They lookedat us with quiet intentness and seemed inclined to speak. Coverdalepassed on with set gaze and rigid facial muscles, an art in which, likeso many of his countrymen, he is greatly accomplished. His"Speak-to-me-if-you-dare" expression stood us in excellent stead. Thetwo men passed down the stairs without venturing to address us, and wewent up.
The first room on the left, on the first floor, was a larger and morecheerful apartment than the one from which we had come. It was betterlit; there was a bright fire, and it was furnished with taste, afterthe fashion of a drawing-room. There were books, photographs, and apiano.
The room was empty, but we had been in it scarcely a minute when aservant entered to offer us coffee. We did not disdain theambassadorial bounty. Excellent coffee it was.
We were toying with this refreshment when a stealthy rustle apprised usthat we were also about to receive the indulgence of feminine society.A young woman, tall and graceful, fair to the eye and charminglygowned, came into the room with a sheet of music in her hand. Thepresence of a pair of total strangers did not embarrass her.
"Do you like Schubert?" said she, with a delightful foreign intonation.
"I think Schubert is charming," said I, with heartiness and promptitude.
The lady flashed her teeth in a rare smile and sat down at the piano.I arranged her music with a care that was rather elaborate.
It was not Schubert, however, that she began to play, but a hauntinglittle "Impromptu" of Schumann's. Her playing was good to listen to,for her touch was highly educated; also it was fascinating to watch hermovements, since she was an extremely graceful and vivid work of nature.
Very assiduously I turned over her music. The occupation in itself waspleasant; also it seemed to give some sort of sanction to our unlawfulpresence. Coverdale, with his hands tucked deep in his pockets,appeared to listen most critically to the lady's playing; although, asI have heard him declare himself, the only form of music that appealsto him is "a really good brass band."
In the course of the performance of Schumann's "Impromptu" the audienceof the fair pianist gained
in number and authority. Like the famousPied Piper of Hamelin, the thrilling delicacy of her touch began toentice quaint beasts from their lair. Alexander O'Mulligan saunteredinto the drawing-room at about the fourth bar. He wore his mostseraphic grin, and his ears were spread to catch the most illusivechords of melody. He gave Coverdale a jovial nod and winked at me. Itwas clear that the amateur middle-weight champion of Great Britain wasenjoying himself immensely.
Hardly had Alexander O'Mulligan advised us of his genial presence, whenBrasset and my relation by marriage came in upon tiptoe. The sight ofus all with an unknown lady discoursing Schumann for our benefit wasdoubtless as reassuring as it was unexpected. In the emotion of themoment Jodey gave the amateur middle-weight champion a fraternal dig inthe ribs.
However, our party could not be considered complete without thepresence of the chief gamester. The "Impromptu" had run its course andthe gracious lady at the piano had been prevailed upon to playsomething of Brahms', when the master mind, whose arrival we werenervously awaiting, appeared once more upon the scene. Fitz came intothe room looking every inch the Man of Destiny.