Part 3
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“When Lady Monica and her mother leave.”
“You intend to persecute these ladies!”
“Not at all. But when they go to visit the Duchess of Carmona, that will be—the time I shall choose for leaving Biarritz.”
“Who has spoken of such a visit?”
“A person I trust.”
He was silent for a moment, whether in surprise or anger I could not tell. But at last he said, “I’m less well-informed than your friend as to the plans of Lady Vale-Avon and her daughter. They may return to England; they may go to friends in Paris, they may visit my mother. But this doesn’t concern strangers like yourself; and my advice to the Marqués de Casa Triana is, _whatever happens, keep out of Spain_.”
“Do you threaten me?” I asked.
“I don’t threaten—I warn.”
“Thanks for your kind intentions. They give me food for thought.”
“All the better. You’ll be less likely to forget.”
“I shan’t forget,” I answered. “Indeed, I shall profit by your advice.” And with that I walked away, putting on my mask.
As Romeo had not known at what hour he might wish to leave the house of Capulet, he had ordered neither his own motor-car nor a carriage; but luckily a cab was lingering in the neighbourhood on the chance of a fare. I was glad not to walk to my hotel in the guise of Romeo; and I gained my quarters without meeting curious eyes in the corridors.
As I expected, Dick was in our private sitting-room, smoking and reading a novel.
“Well, what luck, friend Romeo?” he asked.
“Luck, and ill luck,” said I. Then I told the story of the evening.
“Humph! you’ve gone and got yourself into a pretty scrape,” was his comment at the end.
“You call it a ‘scrape’ when by a miracle the sweetest girl alive has fallen in love with you?”
“Just that, if the girl isn’t old enough to know her own mind, and has a mother who wouldn’t let her know it if she could. You’ve gone so far now, you’ll have to go further—”
“As far as the end of the world, if necessary.”
“Oh! you _Latin_ men, with your eyes of fire, your boiling passions, and your exaggerated expressions! What do we Yankees and other sensible persons see in you?”
“Heaven knows,” said I, shrugging my shoulders.
“I doubt it. Why, in the name of common sense, as you’d got to the age of twenty-seven without bothering about love, couldn’t you wait till the age of twenty-seven and a quarter, go quietly over to my country with me, a long sight better than the ‘end of the world,’ and propose to a charming American girl of rational age and plenty of dollars?”
“A rational age?”
“Over eighteen, anyhow. I believe you Latins have a fancy for these little white _ingénues_, who don’t know which side their bread’s buttered, or how to say anything but ‘Yes, please,’ and ‘No, thank you.’ When my time comes, the girl must be twenty-two and a good, patriotic American.”
“American girls are fascinating, but I happen to be in love with an English one, and it’s her misfortune and mine, not our fault, that she’s eighteen instead of twenty-two.”
“A big misfortune. You mustn’t kidnap an infant. That’s what makes it awkward. As I said, you can’t back out now.”
“Not while I live.”
“Don’t be so Spanish. But come to think of it, I suppose you can’t help that. What do you mean to do next?”
“Watch. And get word to Monica.”
“Angèle de la Mole will do what she can for you.”
“I hope so. Then everything else must depend on the girl.”
Dick’s lean, tanned face was half quizzical, half sad.
“Everything else must depend on the girl,” he repeated. “I wonder what would happen if anybody tried to prop up a hundred pound weight against a lilybud?”
V
A MYSTERY CONCERNING A CHAUFFEUR
For many days after this the young King of Spain motored back and forth between San Sebastian and Biarritz to visit the lady of his love; but at last the two Princesses bade good-bye to the Villa Mouriscot, and went to Paris. Lady Vale-Avon and Monica remained; but for the moment the girl was safe from Carmona, for the Duke followed the King to Madrid.
Lovely as Monica was, is, and always will be, and genuinely in love with her as I had no doubt Carmona was, still I began to believe that Dick Waring was right, and that the Duke’s desire to win Princess Ena’s friend was as much for Court favour as for the girl herself. Several weeks passed, and Monica and her mother continued to be tenants of the Villa Esmeralda. They went out little, except to visit the old Duchess of Carmona, who evidently did all she could to advance her son’s interests with invitations to luncheons and dinners; but try as I might I was never able to obtain an interview.
Fortunately for me, Lady Vale-Avon had seen me only in fancy dress; the costume of Romeo, with a ridiculous yellow-brown, wavy wig, upon which the _costumier_ had insisted against my arguments. Now, I blessed him for his obstinacy; for I was able to pass Lady Vale-Avon in the street without being recognized, and once got near enough to slip into Monica’s hand a note I had hastily scribbled on the leaf of a note-book.
“Are you willing that I should try my luck again with your mother?” I had written. “If not, will you consent to a runaway marriage with a man who loves you better than his life?”
Next day came an answer through Mademoiselle de la Mole.
Monica begged that I would not speak to her mother. “She fancies that you have gone away,” the girl wrote. “If you came forward I think she would wire the Duke of Carmona, for she writes to him nearly every day as it is; and she would do everything she could to make me marry him at once. Don’t hate me for being a coward. I’m not, except with mother. I can’t help it with her. She’s different from everyone else. I heard the Duchess saying to her yesterday, that if I were to marry a grandee of Spain, I would be made a lady-in-waiting to the Queen instead of maid of honour; so I know what they’re thinking of always. But while mother hopes you have given me up, and that I’m quite good, they will perhaps let me alone.
“I wish I dared write to the Princess about you; only, you see, on account of your father and that horrid accident which happened, in Barcelona, she might misunderstand you, and things would be worse than before. But if I find that mother means actually to try and force me, then I _will_ go away with you. Otherwise, I would rather wait, for both our sakes.
“When I go back to England, there are some dear cousins of mine who might help us, but it’s no use writing. I would have to see and talk to them myself. Anyway, if I were there they’d manage not to let me be married to a foreigner I hate; and you and I could go on being true to each other for a little while, until everything could be arranged.
“The worst is, mother doesn’t mean to go back to England yet. That’s what I’m afraid of, and that she has some plan about which she doesn’t mean to talk till the last minute. But she hasn’t said anything lately about visiting the Duchess of Carmona in Spain, and I hope she’s giving it up. As soon as I hear anything definite I’ll somehow let you know. I think I can promise that, though it may be difficult, as mother will never let Angèle and me be alone together for a minute if she can help it. The day after the ball we are having a talk in my room when my mother came, and perhaps guessed I had been telling Angèle things. Since then I haven’t been allowed to go to Angèle’s; and though Angèle comes to see me, mother always makes some excuse for being with us.”
After this letter of Monica’s I had at least some idea of how matters stood; and in the circumstances there seemed nothing to do but to be near her, and to wait.
It was not until the latter part of March that the Duke of Carmona came back to his mother’s villa at Biarritz.
His arrival was not announced in the local paper, nevertheless I heard of it; and the day after, Mademoiselle de la Mole sent me another letter from Monica, only a few lines, evidently written in great haste.
They were to pay the visit to the Duchess of Carmona in Seville, and were to arrive there in time for the famous ceremonies of Holy Week; that was all she knew. The time of starting was either not decided, or else it was not considered best that she should know too long beforehand.
“I’m miserable about going,” wrote the girl; “but what can I do? I used to think it would be glorious to see Spain, but now I’m frightened. I have a horrible feeling that I shall never come back. I know it’s too much to ask, and I don’t see how you can do it if I do ask, since I can tell you nothing of our plans; but if only, _only_, you could keep near me, within call, I should be safe. I suppose it’s useless to hope for that? Anyway, whatever happens, I shall always love you.”
To this I wrote an answer, but Angèle feared she might fail in getting it to her friend. The lease of Lady Vale-Avon’s Biarritz villa had just expired, and the mother and daughter were moving to the Duchess of Carmona’s for a few days. For some reason, the Duchess had not once invited Angèle to come to her house since the ball. She might not be able to see Monica; and it would be very unsafe to trust to the post.
It was on the evening of the day on which I had this news that my chauffeur knocked at the door of our sitting-room at the hotel.
“I thought,” said he, “I’d better tell your lordship something which has just happened. It may be of importance; it may be of none.”
Now I may as well explain that Peter Ropes is no common chauffeur. He is the son of the old coachman who served my father for many years in England; was groom to my first pony; went abroad with me as handy man; was with me through most of my adventures; when I took up motoring, volunteered to go into a factory and thoroughly learn the gentle art of chauffeuring; and at this time understood an automobile, and loved it, as he understood and loved a horse; he is of my age almost to the day; and I suppose will be with me in some capacity or other till one of us dies. He has a brown face, which might have been carved from a piece of oak; the eyes of a soldier; and never utters a word more than he must.
“You said I could go to the _pelota_ this afternoon,” he continued. “When I came back I went to the garage, and found a strange chauffeur examining your Gloria. I stood at a distance, behind the King of England’s car, and watched what he would do. M. Levavasseur, the proprietor of the garage, came in just then, and I inquired in a low voice who the fellow was. He didn’t know; but the man had asked for Mr. Trevenna’s chauffeur, saying, when he heard I was out, that he was a friend of mine. I gave Levavasseur the hint to keep quiet, and got out of the way myself. Presently the chauffeur walked over to Levavasseur, and said, in French, that he wouldn’t wait any longer.”
“Well, what then, Ropes?” I asked.
“He went away, and I went after him. He didn’t see me, and I don’t believe he would have known me from Adam if he had. He stopped at another garage, and I thought best not to go in there. But I waited, and after a while a very dark, tall gentleman, who looked Spanish, walked into the garage. Five minutes later he and the chauffeur came out together. They parted at the entrance, and it was the gentleman I followed this time. He went to a large, handsome villa; and a person I met told me it was the Duchess of Carmona’s house. That is the reason I thought the thing important.”
“But why, exactly?” I persisted, guessing what Ropes would say.
“Because I think the gentleman was the Duke of Carmona.”
“And if he were?”
“I’ve heard gossip that he’s anxious to stand well with the King of Spain. It occurred to me he might have some political interest in trying to learn the real name of Mr. Trevenna, if you pardon my having such a thought. He might have sent his chauffeur to look at your car, and make a report; and if he did, whatever the reason was, it would mean no good to your lordship. I thought you ought to know, and be upon your guard, in case of anything happening.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You’re right to speak, and it may be you’ve done me an invaluable service.”
Ropes beamed; but having said all he had to say, another word would have been a waste of good material, which he was not the man to squander.
VI
PUZZLE: FIND THE CAR
“What do you think it means?” asked Dick, when the chauffeur had gone.
“It’s just struck me, it may mean that Carmona intends to slip away with his guests in his new automobile, and that he wanted to find out something about my car, what it was like, and so on, in case I got wind of the idea, and followed.”
“The identical thing struck me. He wouldn’t go spying himself, but sent his chauffeur, a new importation, probably, to have a look at the Gloria and describe it. I wonder how he heard you had one.”
“Easy enough to do that. Of course he’s found out somehow, perhaps through employing a detective, that Chris Trevenna and Casa Triana are one man. He can’t make much use of the knowledge to bother me on this side the frontier, but—”
“Yes; a big but.”
“It seems pretty certain that his own car must have come, or be coming here, and that he means to use it going into Spain, or he wouldn’t have developed this sudden interest in mine.”
“It looks like it. Now he knows, if a dark blue Gloria crosses his path, it’s the car of the pursuing lover, and—”
“I was just thinking that a dark blue Gloria will not cross his path.”
“You don’t mean—”
“I mean that it won’t be prudent for either Casa Triana’s or Chris Trevenna’s car to follow his, wherever he means to go.”
“What, you’ll give up—”
“Is it likely?”
“You’re getting beyond me.”
“What I want is to stay with you, in your car.”
“Wish I had one!” said Dick.
“You’re going to have the loan of one. Would a grey or a red car suit you best?”
“I see. Red, please. They say red paint dries quickest.”
We both laughed.
“Your red car must have new lamps,” I went on, “and a new number, and any other little things that can be put on in a hurry. And you’d better get a passport if you haven’t one. Gentlemen touring in foreign lands are sometimes subjected to cross-questionings which might be inconvenient unless they’ve plenty of red tape up their sleeves.”
“I’ll lay in a stock. How would you like me to be the accredited correspondent, for the Spanish wedding festivities, of a newspaper or two?”
“Rattling good idea. Could you work it?”
“Easy as falling off a log, or puncturing a tyre. I’ll arrange by telegraph, London and New York.”
“Grand old chap.”
“Thanks. Better wait till I’ve done something. What about your part in the show?”
“A humble friend, accompanying the important newspaper correspondent in his travels.”
“That’s all right. But the Trevenna business is played out.”
“A new travelling name’s as easy to fit as a travelling-coat.”
“Not quite, unless you can match it with a new travelling face.”
“Luckily Carmona knows Romeo’s face better than mine. And, anyhow, a motoring get-up can be next door to a disguise.”
“That’s true. Behind goggles Apollo hasn’t much advantage over Apollyon, and you can develop a moustache. Yes. I think we can work it as far as that goes. But one’s always heard that Spanish roads are impossible.”
“They’ll be no worse for us than for Carmona,” I argued. “Besides, most of the best known books about Spain are out of date. The King has made motoring fashionable lately, and there must have been some attempts to get the roads into passable condition.”
“I happened to hear an American who’s here with a sixty horse-power Panhard, wanting to go to Seville, say to another fellow that he’d been warned he couldn’t get beyond Madrid.”
“I’ve never bothered much about warnings in my life. I’ve generally gone ahead, and found out things for myself.”
“We’ll continue on the same lines. And, anyhow, wherever we go, we’re sure of a leader; our friend the enemy.”
It was next in order to find out whether the Duke really had brought an automobile to Biarritz; but try as we might, we could learn nothing. Inquiries were made at the railway stations, both at Bayonne and Biarritz, as to whether an automobile had lately been shipped through; but as it happened, no car of any description had arrived by rail in either direction during the last fortnight.
All the principal garages of Bayonne and Biarritz were visited also, in the hope of finding a mysterious car which might be the Duke of Carmona’s; but there was not one of which we could not trace the ownership. We then sent to Bordeaux, and even to St. Jean de Luz; but in both cases our errand was vain. If Carmona had an automobile in the South of France, it was well hidden.
As for the chauffeur who had inspected my car, and afterwards met Carmona at another garage, he had disappeared, apparently, into thin air.
Nevertheless, Dick and I formed a theory that the new automobile, of which we had heard so many rumours, was actually in Biarritz; that it had been driven into the town after dark, and was now being kept by some friend of Carmona’s in a private garage. And if we were right in our conjectures, we felt we might take it as a sure sign that the Duke was not only planning an important tour, but was not forgetting a detail of precaution which could prevent my learning his intentions.
As we could not set a watch upon the chauffeur, we set a watch upon the Duke; and it was Ropes who, with considerable relish, undertook the task. I did not wish to bring a stranger into the affair; and Ropes I could trust as I trusted myself. Therefore Ropes it was who unobtrusively dogged Carmona’s footsteps from the time the Duke went out in the morning, up to the time he went in again at night.
Meanwhile, Dick took steps to become correspondent for _The Daily Despatch_ of London, and _The New York Recorder_, the editors of which papers he knew personally. He spent a great deal of money in wiring long messages, but his reward was success, and, as he said, he was “proud of his job,” which he intended to carry out as faithfully as if writing impressions for newspapers were the business of his life.
Also, we got the car repainted; bought lamps of a different sort; ordered side baskets to be attached, of a red to match the new colour; had Dick Waring’s monogram, in execrable taste, put on the doors; while last and most important change of all, from being number A12,901, the automobile became, illegally but convincingly, M14,317. Cunningest device of all, Ropes changed the wheel-caps of my Gloria for those of a Frenzel, as like a Gloria as a Fiat is like a Mercédès; so that only an expert of much experience would know that the car was not a Frenzel.
A quick dryer was used, and in two days we were ready for anything. I still hoped for a letter from Monica, with some hints as to her mother’s plans, but nothing came; and when we had had a blank day, with no news of
## activity in the enemy’s camp, it was a relief to have Ropes arrive at the
hotel in the morning just as I was dressed.
I knew the moment I saw his face that something exciting had happened.
“The Duke’s gone, my lord,” he reported; “gone in a dark grey, covered car; I couldn’t get near enough to make sure what it was, but it looks like a Lecomte. He’s this moment got off.”
“Not alone?”
“No, my lord. I’ll tell you exactly what took place. I was at the window in the little room I hired over a shop three days ago, in sight of the entrance gates of the Villa Isabella. It was just seven o’clock this morning when a smart, big grey car drove in, might be a forty horse, and of the Lecomte type. The chauffeur wore goggles, but his figure was like the fellow’s who came the other day to our garage. About half an hour later, out slipped the car again, the Duke driving, a lady sitting beside him, two other ladies in the tonneau, the chauffeur at the Duke’s feet, and a good deal of luggage on the roof. At the gate they turned as if to go to San Sebastian; and I came to let you know.”
“That’s right. Get ready at once for a start, and have the car here as soon as you can.”
“Car’s ready now, my lord, and so am I.”
“Good. But don’t ‘my lord’ me. Now that I’m Mr. George Smith that’s even more important to remember than in Trevenna days. And don’t forget that the car’s Mr. Waring’s car.”
“I won’t forget, sir.”
He was off to the garage, and I was knocking at Dick’s door.
Dick was tying his necktie. “Ready to start in five minutes,” said he.
“How did you guess what was up?”
“Your face, d’Artagnan.”
“Why d’Artagnan? Haven’t I a large enough variety of names already?”
“I’ve selected one suitable for the situation. D’Artagnan took upon himself a mission. So have you; and you’ll have as many difficulties to overcome before you fulfil it, if you do, as he had.”
“Nonsense. We’re starting out to keep in touch with another party of motorists.”
“In a country forbidden to one of us.”
“That one can look out for himself. If a lady in another motor should need someone to stand by her, we’re to be on the spot to stand by, that’s all.”
“Yes; that’s all,” said Dick, laughing. “And all that d’Artagnan had to do was to get hold of a few diamond studs which a lady wanted to wear at a ball. Sounds simple, eh? But d’Artagnan had some fun on the way, and I’d bet the last dollar in my pile we will. Hang this necktie! There; I’m ready. Have we time for coffee and a crust?”
VII
THE IMPUDENCE OF SHOWING A HANDKERCHIEF
Fifteen minutes later we were off.