CHAPTER XV. PENELOPE EXPLAINS
Once more Penelope found herself in the library of the great house inPark Lane, where Mr. Blaine-Harvey presided over the interests of hiscountry. This time she came as an uninvited, even an unexpected guest.The Ambassador, indeed, had been fetched away by her urgent messagefrom the reception rooms, where his wife was entertaining a stream ofcallers. Penelope refused to sit down.
"I have not much to say to you, Mr. Harvey," she said. "There is justsomething which I have discovered and which you ought to know. I want totell it you as quickly as possible and get away."
"A propos of our last conversation?" he asked eagerly.
She bowed her head.
"It concerns Prince Maiyo," she admitted.
"You are sure that you will not sit down?" he persisted. "You know howinteresting this is to me."
She smiled faintly.
"To me," she said, "it is terrible. My only desire is to tell you andhave finished with it. You remember, when I was here last, you toldme that it was your firm belief that somewhere behind the hand whichmurdered Hamilton Fynes and poor Dicky stood the shadow of PrinceMaiyo."
"I remember it perfectly," he answered.
"You were right," Penelope said.
The Ambassador drew a little breath. It was staggering, this, even ifexpected.
"I have talked with the Prince several times since our conversation,"Penelope continued. "So far as any information which he gave me orseemed likely to give me, I might as well have talked in a foreignlanguage. But in his house, the day before yesterday, in his ownlibrary, hidden in a casket which opened only with a secret lock, Ifound two things."
"What were they?" the Ambassador asked quickly.
"A roll of silken cord," Penelope said, "such as was used to stranglepoor Dicky, and a strangely shaped dagger exactly like the picture ofthe one with which Hamilton Fynes was stabbed."
"Did he know that you found them?" Mr. Blaine-Harvey asked.
"He was with me," Penelope answered. "He even, at my request, opened thecasket. He must have forgotten that they were there."
"Perhaps," the Ambassador said thoughtfully, "he never knew."
"One cannot tell," Penelope answered.
"Did he say anything when you discovered them?" the Ambassador asked.
"Nothing," Penelope declared. "It was not necessary. I saw his face. Heknows that I understand. It may have been some one else connected withthe house, of course, but the main fact is beyond all doubt. Thosemurders were instigated, if they were not committed, by the Prince."
The Ambassador walked to the window and back again.
"Penelope," he said, "you have only confirmed what I felt must be so,but even then the certainty of it is rather a shock."
She gave him her hand.
"I have told you the truth," she said. "Make what use of it you will.There is one other thing, perhaps, which I ought to tell you. The Princeis going back to his own country very shortly."
Mr. Harvey nodded.
"I have just been given to understand as much," he said. "At present heis to be met with every day. I believe that he is even now in my drawingrooms."
"Where I ought to be," Penelope said, turning toward the door, "only Ifelt that I must see you first."
"I will not come with you," Mr. Harvey said. "There is no need for ourlittle conference to become the subject of comment. By the bye," headded, "let me take this opportunity of wishing you every happiness. Ihaven't seen Somerfield yet, but he is a lucky fellow. As an American,however, I cannot help grudging another of our most popular daughters toeven the best of Englishmen."
Penelope's smile was a little forced.
"Thank you very much," she said. "It is all rather in the air, atpresent, you know. We are not going to be married for some time."
"When it comes off," the Ambassador said, "I am going to talk to theDuchess and Miss Morse. I think that I ought to give you away."
Penelope made her way into Mrs. Blaine-Harvey's reception rooms, crowdedwith a stream of guests, who were sitting about, drinking tea andlistening to the music, passing in and out all the time. Curiouslyenough, almost the first person whom she saw was the Prince. He detachedhimself from a little group and came at once towards her. He took herhand in his and for a moment said nothing. Notwithstanding the hours ofstrenuous consideration, the hours which she had devoted to anticipatingand preparing for this meeting, she felt her courage suddenly leavingher, a sinking at the knees, a wild desire to escape, at any cost. Thecolor which had been so long denied her streamed into her cheeks. Therewas something baffling, yet curiously disturbing, in the manner of hisgreeting.
"Is it true?" he asked.
She did not pretend to misunderstand him. It was amazing that he shouldignore that other tragical incident, that he should think of nothing butthis! Yet, in a way, she accepted it as a natural thing.
"It is true that I am engaged to Sir Charles Somerfield," she answered.
"I must wish you every happiness," he said slowly. "Indeed, that wishcomes from my heart, and I think that you know it. As for Sir CharlesSomerfield, I cannot imagine that he has anything left in the world towish for."
"You are a born courtier, Prince," she murmured. "Please remember thatin my democratic country one has never had a chance of getting used tosuch speeches."
"Your country," he remarked, "prides itself upon being the countrywhere truth prevails. If so, you should have become accustomed by nowto hearing pleasant things about yourself. So you are going to marry SirCharles Somerfield!"
"Why do you say that over to yourself so doubtfully?" she asked. "Youknow who he is, do you not? He is rich, of old family, popular witheverybody, a great sportsman, a mighty hunter. These are the thingswhich go to the making of a man, are they not?"
"Beyond a doubt," the Prince answered gravely. "They go to the making ofa man. It is as you say."
"You like him personally, don't you?" she asked.
"Sir Charles Somerfield and I are almost strangers," the Prince replied."I have not seen much of him, and he has so many tastes which I cannotshare that it is hard for us to come very near together. But if you havechosen him, it is sufficient. I am quite sure that he is all that a manshould be."
"Tell me in what respect your tastes are so far apart?" she asked. "Yousay that as though there were something in the manner of his life ofwhich you disapproved."
"We are sons of different countries, Miss Penelope," the Prince said."We look out upon life differently, and the things which seem goodto him may well seem idle to me. Before I go," he added a littlehesitatingly, "we may speak of this again. But not now."
"I shall remind you of that promise, Prince," she declared.
"I will not fail to keep it," he replied. "You have, at least," he addedafter a moment's pause, "one great claim upon happiness. You are the sonand the daughter of kindred races."
She looked at him as though not quite understanding.
"I was thinking," he continued simply, "of my own father and mother. Myfather was a Japanese nobleman, with the home call of all the centuriesstrong in his blood. He was an enlightened man, but he saw nothing inthe manner of living or the ideals of other countries to compare withthose of the country of his own birth. I sometimes think that my motherand father might have been happier had one of them been a little moredisposed to yield to the other I think, perhaps, that their union wouldhave been a more successful one. They were married, and they livedtogether, but they lived apart."
"It was not well for you, this," she remarked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Do not mistake me," he begged. "So far as I am concerned, I am content.I am Japanese. The English blood that is in my veins is but as a dropof water compared to the call of my own country. And yet there are somethings which have come to me from my mother--things which come most tothe surface when I am in this, her own country--which make life at timesa little sad. Forgive me if I have been led on to speak too muchof myself. Today one
should think of nothing but of you and of yourhappiness."
He turned to accept the greeting of an older woman who had lingeredfor a moment, in passing, evidently anxious to speak to him. Penelopewatched his kindly air, listened to the courteous words which flowedfrom his lips, the interest in his manner, which his whole bearingdenoted, notwithstanding the fact that the woman was elderly andplain, and had outlived the friends of her day and received but scantyconsideration from the present generation. It was typical of him, too,she realized. It was never to the great women of the world that heunbent most thoroughly. Gray hairs seemed to inspire his respect, tocommand his attentions in a way that youth and beauty utterly failed todo. These things seemed suddenly clear to Penelope as she stood therewatching him. A hundred little acts of graceful kindness, which she hadnoticed and admired, returned to her memory. It was this man whom shehad lifted her hand to betray! It was this man who was to be accountedguilty, even of crime! There came a sudden revulsion of feeling. Thewhole mechanical outlook upon life, as she had known it, seemed, even inthose few seconds, to become a false and meretricious thing. Whateverhe had done or countenanced was right. She had betrayed his hospitality.She had committed an infamous breach of trust. An overwhelming desirecame over her to tell him everything. She took a quick step forward andfound herself face to face with Somerfield. The Prince was buttonholedby some friends and led away. The moment had passed.
"Come and talk to the Duchess," Somerfield said. "She has somethingdelightful to propose."