CHAPTER VI
AT THE UNION HOTEL, PENZANCE
There was a quietude about the little front dining-room in BelithaVillas that was very soothing to the somewhat strained nervous systemsof Mr. and Mrs. Povey. Each in their accustomed positions and chairsthey gazed into the small fire that was burning brightly in the grate.Upon the table were the remains of lunch. Charlotte's expression wasone of repose, but her husband's brows were contracted as he puffed athis pipe, which was not to be wondered at considering he was turningover in his mind how he was to acquaint Mrs. Povey with his intendeddeparture.
"I am expecting, Charlotte," he began at last, his eyes fixedmeditatively upon a hissing jet of gas that was escaping from the coal,"to be leaving the country shortly on business."
Mrs. Povey, who during the last three days had ceased to show or evenfeel surprise at anything her husband said, merely remarked, "Oh!"dully.
"Yes, my dear, and I want you to shut up the house--I have myreasons--and take rooms at Abbot's Hotel during my absence."
At this the lady became rather sarcastic.
"Or the Ritz, Edward, it seems to me that----"
Mr. Povey held up a silencing hand.
"I don't want to hear what it seems to you, my dear, I want you to goup to Abbot's and take a suite this afternoon. I intend to allowyou--er--five pounds a week, Charlotte; I think that should besufficient."
The surprise that the good lady would not allow herself to show had atleast the effect of keeping her silent. Her husband rose and went outinto the hall, returning immediately with his hat in his hand.
"I am going out, my dear, and will call back in an hour with a cab.You needn't unpack the things, we'll take them with us."
For fully ten minutes after Edward's departure Charlotte sat in thoughtbefore the fire, and then rose to take a look round the house beforeleaving it. It was strange for this woman to be thus doing the biddingof a man for whom she had hitherto had such scant respect. The changethat opportunity had worked in her husband would not have been welcometo her but for the promise of better times that his words and actionssuggested. She could not but look forward to the suite at Abbot's, thehotel in Bloomsbury at which they had dined two or three times duringtheir married life.
As she walked slowly from room to room she found herself picturing theglories that were to be hers, the lofty dining-room with its pillars ofmarble and the windows with the long red curtains. Then her thoughtsran to the five weekly pounds that were to be hers also, and shewondered if Edward meant her to pay for the suite out of them.
She dressed herself in the best that her wardrobe afforded and gatheredtogether a few personal belongings into a small hand-bag, which,together with the trunk and portmanteau they had that morning broughtfrom Bushey, she placed in the hall to await her husband's return. Itwas four o'clock when Edward softly closed the front door of No. 8,Belitha Villas, and with Charlotte and the luggage clattered away inthe decrepit old four-wheeler which he had fetched from the rank.
As they turned the corner, Edward, who had been idly gazing from thewindow, drew back sharply into the shadows of the vehicle. Hesignalled the driver to stop, and getting out, walked carefully back tothe corner, where, with his eyes, he followed the movements of two menwho were looking up at the numbers of the houses. They paused at No.8, and pushing open the gate marched up to the door. Edward saw one ofthem knock, then he hurried back to the cab.
"Just in time--I thought so," he muttered.
He then told the cabman to drive to King's Cross station. Arrivingthere he dismissed him, and taking another cab deposited his silent butwondering wife at the door of Abbot's Hotel.
Then, after booking the suite of rooms, he left her, and entering apassing taxi was driven to St. Mary Axe.
* * * * *
A few days following the hurried and undignified evacuation of No. 8,Belitha Villas, a smart and exceedingly well-groomed little man wascontentedly sitting in a front private room of the Union Hotel atPenzance.
The intervening days had been very busy ones indeed for Mr. EdwardPovey, and ever since the Cornish Riviera train had set him down on theshores of Mount's Bay he had considered that a complete rest was due tohim. Besides, he told himself that it wanted two days yet till the15th of November, and until that date he had no need to pay his visitto the heiress to the throne of San Pietro.
He had seen her once driving a smart little governess cart through thequaint and steep streets of the Cornish town, and he had found out heridentity from the unsolicited testimony of the aged waiter who hadnoticed him looking at her.
"There she goes, bless her, the best little woman and the best heart inthe Duchy," he had said, crossing the room to the window and lettinghis eyes follow the dainty little lady as she leant out of her trap togive an order to the grocer who had left his shop and stood rubbing hishands together on the curb. Edward had asked who she was.
"That's Miss Baxendale, sir, her who lives out to Tremoor Churchtown;not a man in West Cornwall who doesn't worship the ground she drivesover--no, nor a woman either, which is saying a goodish deal. When mywife was down with sciatic, sir, she didn't want for naught, she----"
But Edward was not listening, he was gazing spell-bound at the objectof the old man's talk. And a picture she made well worth the regard.
Miss Baxendale had now descended from the "jingle" and was standingchatting to the grocer in his doorway. Edward Povey looked inadmiration at the trim little figure clad in its well-made whitemackintosh that reached almost to the heels of the tiny brown walkingboots. Her face was turned three-quarters towards him, and for thefirst time he began to doubt his wisdom in entering upon the adventure.
Curiously enough the personality of the Princess had not entered intohis calculations, he had looked upon her merely as a unit in the schemeas a whole, a spoke in the wheel of the undertaking.
Now he asked himself what he was to do with this perfect creature, avery queen among girls, a being whose every look and gesture spoke ofthe highest breeding and culture, a girl in whose presence he could notbut feel awkward and ill at ease. He had half an idea then and thereof abandoning the whole affair, and going back to London, but secondthoughts brought back memories of two deserted houses and pointed outto him that he had gone too far to retreat. It was a momentary returnof the Edward Povey of a few weeks ago, of the personality he hadstriven to put behind him.
He alone of all people knew the history of this lovely girl, and in hispossession were the papers and trinkets given him in his finalinterview with Mr. Nixon, all the evidence which proved the highdescent of the Princess. In his hands alone was her future. Heremembered, too, the generous balance now standing to the credit ofhimself, Mr. Sydney, in the Royal Bank of Spain. To this, as he waspleased to read Mr. Baxendale's letter, he felt himself quite entitled,as the one who had undertaken the mission. Before leaving London hehad burnt his boats beyond redemption, and to give in now would notonly mean a return to the old hated life, but he feared he had laidhimself open to criminal proceedings.
Charlotte he had provided for and had left that estimable lady in astate of delighted bewilderment at Abbot's Hotel, and the thought ofreturning to her, for both their sakes, was distasteful to him in theextreme.
After all, why should he not go on with the matter to which he had puthis hand? Although a clerk, Edward Povey was one of thosequiet-mannered men who can pass muster anywhere and in any society canhold their own by reason of their ability to efface themselves whennecessary. He had been well educated and was possessed of a soft andcareful diction. Also he was endowed with the most valuable knack ofadapting himself to circumstances.
As he turned from the window he caught the reflection of himself in thelarge gilt-framed mirror that hung over the mantelpiece, and althoughhe had seen the same reflection but a few minutes previously it nowtook on a new significance. If anything had been needed to endorse hisdecision to go on with what he had begun he found it i
n the picture,for he was confronted with a vastly different aspect of himself to thathe had been used to as shown by the little cracked looking-glass in thecounting-house of Messrs. Kyser, Schultz & Company in Eastcheap.
He saw a trim, dapper little person, looking not a day older thanthirty-eight, with a keen, clean-shaven face that bordered onintellectuality. The gold-rimmed spectacles which framed his mild blueeyes together with his thinning hair gave him even a scholarly aspect.Edward had made good use of his newly acquired cheque-book, and henoted with satisfaction that the dark grey suit he had bought in JermynStreet fitted him to a nicety. His linen was spotless, and a smallblack pearl showed with a dull richness in his dark blue tie. A thingold chain across his waistcoat and a signet ring with a deepclaret-coloured stone gave a touch of well-being to his appearance.His glance left the mirror and travelled down to his well-cut trousers,thence to his brown brogued shoes. Yes, he was eminently presentable,and as he turned again to his easy chair and his paper, he laughed atthe recent doubts that had assailed him and which now were falling fromhim like water from the proverbial duck.
It was a local journal of little interest and he read on for somemoments listlessly, then with a smothered cry of astonishment he turnedthe paper more to the light and his listlessness gave place toconcentration. There under the heading of London Topics was somethingwhich set the blood racing through his veins.
THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH IN PARIS REMARKABLE SEQUEL TO THE MURDER OF MR. KYSER THE MYSTERY OF THE BUSHEY COTTAGE
(_Special to the "Evening Post"_)
"It will be remembered that the _Post_ was the first to report, a fewdays ago, the mysterious death in Paris of Mr. Sydney Kyser, a partnerin the great firm of Spanish Bankers and Merchants of Eastcheap. Ourreporter in an interview with Mr. Schultz has discovered that thereseems to be far more beneath the mystery than was at first supposed.
"It appears that the deceased gentleman's departure from London wasunknown to any one, not excepting Mr. Schultz himself, and as a meetingbetween the partners, to go through the scrip of certain Spanish bondsin the possession of the firm, had been fixed for the following day,Mr. Schultz was naturally astonished at the non-appearance of hispartner. This astonishment gave place to consternation when it wasdiscovered that the safe containing the bonds, of which only himselfand Mr. Kyser knew the lock combination, had been rifled.
"Enquiries at Mr. Kyser's house in Grosvenor Square elicited the factthat the housekeeper in charge was also unaware of her master's absencefrom England, taking for granted that he was at his cottage at BusheyHeath, a little property at which Mr. Kyser was fond of spending a fewdays from time to time.
"Mr. Schultz thereupon dispatched two of his trusted clerks to makeenquiries. Their report is disquieting in the extreme. AdderburyCottage had certainly been in occupation since Mr. Kyser's death. Thisfact was evident from a fire still burning in the grate in thedining-room and from the remains of breakfast upon the table. The onlypeople near were the representatives of Mr. Kyser's solicitors, who hadevidently read in the _Post_ of their client's death. These gentlemen,together with Mr. Schultz's two clerks, made a thorough search of thecottage. On all hands was evidence that the occupants, whoever theywere, had made a very hasty departure.
"A clue, however, was obtained by one of the solicitor's men who made atour of the near-by cab yards. He elicited the fact that a vehicle hadbeen hastily ordered from one of them on the previous evening, and thatthe cabman had driven an elderly lady and gentleman to Bushey station.His fares seemed to him to be in a very disturbed state of mind, thegentleman especially so. The cabman thought that they were man andwife because he swore so.
"This couple leaving so hurriedly on the evening on which Mr. Kyser'sdeath was reported in the _Post_ is, to say the least of it,suspicious, and they have been traced to some extent. They tookfirst-class tickets for Euston, travelling by the 9.49 train. InLondon all trace was lost of them, but a porter states that they wereseen again early the next morning entering the 7.10 for Birmingham.Here the scent is lost for the present, though from the minutedescriptions furnished by the different railway officials and thecabman of Bushey, the suspected man bears a great resemblance to awell-known manufacturer in the Midlands. It seems, however, absurd toidentify this prosperous and much-respected man with Mr. Kyser and hisaffairs.
"Another matter which causes some speculation is the fact that thecaretaker of Messrs. Kyser, Schultz & Company's offices asserts that hesaw his master in company with a clerk who had that day been dismissed,enter a grill-room in Gracechurch Street. The two representatives ofthe firm after leaving Bushey called at this clerk's address inClapham, only to find that this house, too, had evidently been hastilyvacated in much the same manner as Adderbury Cottage.
"There, for the present, the mystery rests. The police, who have beencommunicated with, are, in the mean time, doing their utmost to tracethe elderly gentleman and lady who took the train to Birmingham."
Mr. Povey put down the paper and whistled softly to himself. Then ashe thought of poor Uncle Jasper and Aunt Eliza, the mirthful side ofthe affair took him and he laughed for ten minutes.
He rang the bell and told the waiter that he thought he would take aScotch whisky and a small Apollinaris.