The Weight of the Crown

CHAPTER X
A FRIEND AT COURT

Jessie's prevailing feeling was not one of fear; rather was she moved by an intense, overpowering curiosity. She lingered behind the palm wondering what was going to happen next. She could see between the graceful hanging leaves the puzzled expression on Lady Merehaven's face.

"But, my dear doctor, what you say is absurd," she was saying. "I saw Vera pass not five minutes ago. And if she had met with an accident and been conveyed to Charing Cross Hospital, why – But the thing is out of the question."

"And yet I feel perfectly certain of my facts," Dr. Varney persisted. "It is true that I was in a hurry, and that the young lady I allude to was fast asleep – at any rate, nearly asleep. My dear lady, seeing that I was present at Vera's birth, and that all these years I have known her so intimately – "

Jessie came leisurely into sight. It was impossible to let this matter go any further. By chance the doctor had learnt something, and his mouth must be closed if possible. She came along with a smile and a hand outstretched.

"You are very late, doctor," she said. "I have been looking forward to a chat with you."

For once in his life Dr. Varney was genuinely astonished. He looked at Jessie in a vague, dreamy kind of way, though fortunately Lady Merehaven did not glance up and notice his face.

"There, you unbelieving man!" she cried. "Vera does not look as if she had met with anything serious in the way of an accident."

Dr. Varney pulled himself together promptly and took Jessie's outstretched hand. There was a twinkle in his shrewd eyes as he held the girl's fingers.

"Extraordinary mistake of mine, wasn't it?" he said. "Could have sworn that I saw you lying half asleep in one of the wards of Charing Cross Hospital. Case of shock and injured ankle. People said the patient called herself Harcourt, but could not recollect her address. Young girls have such queer escapades nowadays that – "

"But surely you know me better than that?" Jessie forced herself to say.

"I'm not quite so sure that I do," Varney chuckled. "However, the girl was very like you. Come and give me a sandwich and a glass of claret, and we'll talk of old times."

Jessie expressed herself as delighted, but inwardly she was praying for some diversion. She was quite convinced that the doctor was by no means satisfied; she could see that he was a shrewd, clever man of the world, and that he meant to question her adroitly. If once the conversation drifted to old times, she felt that she must be discovered.

But Varney ate his sandwich and sipped his claret and water with no reference to the past. He looked at Jessie once or twice in an abstracted kind of way. She felt that she must talk, that she must say something to start a safe conversation.

"What are you thinking about, doctor?" she asked.

"I am thinking," was the startling reply, "that you are one of the finest actresses I have ever seen. The stage is the poorer for your absence."

Jessie's heart sank within her; there was no mistaking the dry significance of the speech. This man was sure of his ground; he had found her out. And yet there was a kindly look on his face, not as if he were dealing with an impostor at all.

"What do you mean?" Jessie asked. "I do not in the least understand you."

"Oh yes, you do; you understand me perfectly well. I don't know who you are, but I most assuredly know who you are not, and that is Vera Galloway. Mind, I am not accusing you of being a type of the mere vulgar impostor. I would trust you against the world."

"It is very good of you to say so," Jessie gasped. "You are not going to assume that – that – "

"That you are here for any evil purpose? With a face like yours the idea is impossible. As I was passing through the wards of the hospital just now, to my surprise I saw Vera Galloway there. I knew her not only by her face and figure, but by the dimples round her wrists. Now your wrists are very long and slender, and you have no dimples at all. Many men would have let out the whole thing, but not so me. I find that the patient has given the name of Harcourt, and that she has forgotten her address. Forgive me if I scented a scandal. That is why I led up so carefully to Lady Merehaven. But when you came on the scene I guessed exactly what had happened. You were engaged to play Vera's part when she was up to something elsewhere. I confess I am not altogether without sorrow that so charming a girl – "

"Indeed, I am quite sure that there was nothing really wrong," Jessie cried. "From what I have seen of Miss Galloway I am quite sure that she is not that class of girl. But for this unfortunate accident… Dr. Varney, you will not betray me?"

"Well, I won't," Varney cried, "though I am no doubt an old fool for my pains. It's very lucky that a clear head like mine has been imported into the business. Now, in the first place, tell me who you are and what you are doing here. I know you will be candid."

"I will tell you everything," Jessie said. She was utterly thankful that the case was no worse. "My name is Jessie Harcourt, and up to a few hours ago I was a shop-girl in Bond Street."

"That sounds quite romantic. A shop-girl in Bond Street and a lady by birth and breeding, too. Which branch of the family do you belong to?"

"The Kent Harcourts. My father was Colonel Harcourt, of the Royal Galways."

"Really now!" Varney exclaimed. "I knew your father quite well years ago. I was an army doctor myself for a long time. Your father was an extravagant man, my dear – always was. And he left you poor?"

"He left my sister and myself penniless. We were fit for nothing either. And that is why I found my way into a Bond Street shop. I was discharged because I was supposed to have flirted with the son of a customer. My indignant protest that the cowardly cad tried to kiss me counted for nothing. As the complaining customer was the Princess Mazaroff – "

"And her son the culprit," Varney said, with a queer gleam in his eyes. "My dear child, you have done well to confide in me. But go on, tell me everything."

Jessie proceeded to relate her story at length, from the time that she met Vera Galloway down to the existing moment. And the romantic side of the royal story was not suppressed. Nor could Jessie feel that she had not an interested listener.

"This is one of the most remarkable stories that I have ever heard," Varney said. "And as a doctor in a large way of practice, I have heard some singular ones. I fancy that I can see my way clear now. And I know what you don't know – that Vera is taking a desperate step for the sake of a man she loves. It is quite plain to me why you are here. Well, well! I am doing quite wrong, but I am going to keep your secret."

"That is indeed good of you," Jessie said gratefully. "But there is more to be done. My dear doctor, I can see my way to important information without which it is impossible for me to sustain my present rôle until Miss Galloway comes home again. It is imperative that I should have a few words with her. You can give me a permit for the hospital authorities. After that the rest is easy."

"I quite see your point," Varney said thoughtfully. "You are as clever as you are courageous. But how are you going to manage this without being missed?"

"I am going to make use of another," Jessie laughed. All her courage had come back to her now. "I am going to make use of a gentleman known as Pongo. He is supposed to be very fond of me as Vera Galloway. He does not seem to be a very harmful individual."

"Honourable George Lascelles," Varney muttered. "There is a good deal of good in Pongo, though he assumes the rôle of an ass in society. Once he marries and settles down he will be quite different. But how do you propose to enlist him in the service?"

Jessie proceeded to explain the silly business of the motor-car in the lane behind the house.

"I shall get him to take me to Charing Cross Hospital," she said. "You may be quite certain that Vera Galloway is not asleep. A few minutes with her will be quite enough for my purpose. And I shall be back again before I am missed. Do you approve?"

"I have to whether I like it or not," Varney grumbled, "though this is a nice predicament for a man in my position and my time of life. I'll go as far as the library and scribble out that permit, though what the College of Physicians would say if they only knew – "

And Varney strode off muttering as he went. But the twinkle was in his eyes still.

CHAPTER XI
IN THE GARDEN

Jessie slipped out into the garden and along to the back of the terrace. The absurd nonsense of the motor-car was still going on in the lane. It was late now, and no chance of a crowd gathering there. The Honourable George clamoured for Jessie's company, and asked where she had been. But she smilingly shook her head, and declared that she was not ready; and, besides, there were many before her.

"I shall be back again practically in a quarter of an hour," she said. "I can't stir till then."

So far everything promised well. Jessie hurried back to the place where she had left Varney. He was waiting there with half a sheet of note paper in his hand.

"There is the permit," he said. "You have only to show it to anybody in authority and there will be no more difficulty. Hullo! what is all this about?"

There was a disturbance in the hall – the figure of a French maid talking volubly in two languages at once; behind her a footman, accompanied by a man who was unmistakably a plain-clothes detective, and behind him the figure of a policeman, his helmet towering above the heads of the guests.

"Somebody asking for the Countess Saens," a guest replied to a question of Varney's. "As far as I can gather, there has been a burglary at the house of the countess, and her maid seems to know something about it. But we shall know presently. Here comes the countess."

The Countess Saens came smilingly into the hall, a strikingly handsome figure in yellow satin. Jessie did not fail to notice her dark, piercing eyes.

"Who is she?" she asked Varney in a whisper. "Did you ever see such black eyes?"

"Don't know," the doctor replied. "Sort of comet of a season. Mysterious antecedents, and all that, but possesses plenty of money, gives the most splendid entertainments, and goes everywhere. I understand that she is the morganatic wife of one of the Russian grand dukes."

At any rate, the woman looked a lady to her finger tips, as Jessie was bound to admit. She came with an easy smile into the little group, and immediately her magnetic presence seemed to rivet all attention. The frightened maid ceased to scold in her polyglot way and grew coherent.

"Now let us get to the bottom of this business," the countess said gaily. "There has been a burglary at my house. Where did it take place, and what has been removed from the premises?"

"It was in your room, madame," the maid said – "in your dressing-room. I was going up to put everything right for the night and I saw the thief there."

"Would you recognize him again, Annette?" the countess asked.

"Pardon me, but it was not a man; it was a woman. And she had opened the drawers of your dressing table – she had papers in her hands. I came upon her suddenly, and she heard me. Then she caught me by the throat and half strangled me. Before I could recover my senses she had fled down the stairs and out of the house. The hall porter took her for a friend of yours, and did not stop her. Then I suppose that my feelings overcame me, and – "

"And you went off in hysterics," the countess said with a contemptuous smile. "So long as you did not lose the papers – "

"But, madame, the papers are gone! The second drawer on the left-hand side is empty."

Jessie saw the dark eyes blaze and the stern face of the countess stiffen with fury. It was only for a moment, and then the face smiled once more. But that flashing insight was a revelation to Jessie.

"I hope you will be able to recognize the woman again," the countess said. "Shall you? Speak, you idiot!"

For the maid's gaze had suddenly become riveted on Jessie. The sight of her face seemed to fascinate the little Frenchwoman. It was some minutes before she found words to express her thoughts.

"But behind," she said, pointing a forefinger at Jessie as if she had been some striking picture. "Behind, she is there. Not dressed like that, but in plain black; but she stole those papers. I can feel the touch of her fingers on my throat at this moment. There is the culprit, voilà!"

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" the countess cried. "How long since this has happened?"

"It is but twenty minutes ago," Annette said. "Not more than half an hour, and behold the thief – "

"Behold the congenital idiot," the countess laughed. "Miss Galloway has not been out of my sight save for a few minutes for the last hour. Let the police find out what they can, and take that poor creature home and put ice on her head… Perhaps I had better go along. It is a perfect nuisance, but those papers were important. Will one of you call my carriage?"

The countess departed presently, smiling gaily. But Jessie had not forgotten that flashing eye and the expression on her features. She turned eagerly to Varney.

"Very strange, is it not?" she asked. "Can you see what it all means?"

"I can see perfectly well," Varney said coldly. "And I more or less hold the key to the situation. Let us assume for the moment that the countess is a spy and an intriguer. She has certain documents that somebody else badly wants. Somebody else succeeds in getting those papers by force."

"But why did the maid, Annette, pitch upon me?" Jessie asked.

"Because you were the image of the thief," Varney whispered. "Only she was dressed in black. The maid was not dreaming; she had more wits about her than we imagine. Unless I am greatly mistaken, the thief who stole those papers was no one else than Vera Galloway."

The logic was so forcible and striking that Jessie could only stand silent before it. The French maid had given Varney an important clue, though the others had been blind to it. And Vera had not disguised at the beginning of the adventure that she was engaged upon a desperate errand for the sake of the man she loved, or, at any rate, for one who was very dear to her. It had been a bold and daring thing to do, and Jessie's admiration was moved. She hoped from the bottom of her heart that Vera had the papers.

"You will know before very long," Varney said, as if reading her thoughts, "whether Vera Galloway has been successful or not. There is no question whatever in my mind that Vera was the culprit. I will give you a hint as to why she has acted in this way presently. Get a thick black wrap of some kind and conceal it as closely as possible. When you are going through the streets of London you must have something over your head."

"If I only knew where to put my hand on a wrap of that description!" Jessie said helplessly.

"Time is short, and bold measures are necessary," Varney said coolly. "There are heaps of wraps in the vestibule, and I should take the first that came to hand. If the owner wants it in the meantime it will be assumed that it has been taken by mistake."

Jessie hesitated no longer. She chose a thick black cloak and hood arrangement that folded into very little space, and then she squeezed it under her arm. Then she strolled out into the garden. It was very still and warm. London was growing quiet, so that the shrieks of the late newsboys with the evening scare could be distinctly heard there. Varney laid his hand on Jessie's arm. He had grown very grave and impressive. The yelling newsboys were growing gradually nearer.

"Listen, and tell me what they are saying," Varney whispered.

Impressed by the sudden gravity of her companion's manner, Jessie gave all her ears to the call.

"Late Special! Startling case at the War Office! Suicide of Captain Lancing, and flight of Mr. Charles Maxwell! Disappearance of official documents! Special!"

"I hear," Jessie said; "but I am afraid that I don't understand quite."

"Well, there has been a scandal at the War Office. One or two officials there have been accused of selling information to foreign Governments. I heard rumours especially with regard to Asturian affairs. Late to-night Captain Lancing shot himself in the smoking-room of his club. They took him to Charing Cross, and as I happened to look into the club a little later I followed on to the hospital to see what I could do. But I was too late, for the poor fellow was dead. Now do you see how it was that I came to see Vera Galloway?"

Jessie nodded; she did not quite understand the problem yet. What had this War Office business to do with Vera Galloway and her dangerous and desperate enterprise? She looked inquiringly at her companion.

"We had better get along," he said. "I see Pongo is waiting for you. Tuck that wrap a little closer under your arm so that it may not be seen. And as soon as you get back come to me and let me know exactly what has happened. I ought to be ashamed of myself. I ought to lay all the facts of this case before my charming hostess; but there are events here beyond the usual society tenets. My dear child, don't you know who the Charles Maxwell is whose name those boys are yelling? Does not the name seem familiar to you? Come, you are quick as a rule."

"Oh, yes," Jessie gasped. "That was the name that Prince Mazaroff mentioned. Dr. Varney, it is the man to whom Vera Galloway is engaged, or practically engaged. What a dreadful business altogether."

"Yes," Varney said curtly, "the plot is thickening. Now for the motor-car."

CHAPTER XII
A PRODIGAL SON

Loth as he might have been inclined to admit it, Dr. Varney was by no means ill-pleased with his share of the adventure. He felt that a man like himself, who knew everything, would be decidedly useful. And how much he really did know Jessie would have been startled to know. For here was a man who had a great practice amongst politicians, and statesmen especially. He walked quietly back to the house now and entered the salon as if looking for somebody. His shrewd face was grave and thoughtful. He found his man at last – a tall, grizzled man, who bore some kind of likeness to a greyhound. He was in a measure a greyhound, for he had been a queen's messenger for many years.

"I thought I should find you about somewhere," the doctor said. "I want a few words with you, Lechmere. Let us go into the garden and smoke a cigarette."

"Always delighted to chat with you, Varney," Lechmere said. "Come along. Now, what is it?"

"Re the Countess Saens," Varney said. "You know the woman I mean?"

"Certainly I do. Lives in a big house in Connaught Crescent. Not her own house, by the way. Dresses magnificently, gives wonderful parties, and always has the last new thing. Handsome woman, too, and goes everywhere. But nobody knows anything about her."

"I came to you for a little information on the point, Lechmere."

"Well, as a matter of fact I can give it to you, Varney. There are very few of the foreign colony in London whose history I haven't ready for docketing. Many a useful hint have I given the Foreign Office and Scotland Yard. Ever hear of Saul Marx, the famous cosmopolitan spy – I mean the man who saved that war between France and Germany?"

"Of course I have heard of Marx. Who hasn't? But what has that to do with the business?"

"Well, he told me all about the charming countess. She began life in Warsaw in a company of strolling players. Afterwards she married one of the most noted scamps in Paris, who wanted a pretty wife as a pawn in some game of his. The fellow ill-treated her horribly, but he taught her everything in the way of the predatory life that was to be learnt. Finally, the husband died under very strange circumstances, and between ourselves, Marx says that the woman murdered him. After that she narrowly escaped a long term of imprisonment over the Malcolm-Sin diamond business, and then for a long time nothing was heard of her till she turned up as Vera Olpheut, the famous anarchist speaker. She was expelled from Russia, which was all a blind, seeing that she is one of the cleverest spies that the Russian police ever employed. Her ladyship is after a very big game now, or she would not be spending all that money. An adventuress like that never pays her tradesmen as a rule, but I know for a fact that the household bills are discharged regularly every week."

"You are quite sure of those facts?" Varney asked.

"My dear fellow, you can take them as gospel. Marx never makes a mistake. Why do you ask?"

"I am merely a seeker after information. I may be in the way of putting a spoke in the lady's wheel a little later on, perhaps. Have you heard of that business at the Foreign Office?"

"I heard of it just now; in fact, I looked in here to see if Merehaven could tell me anything about it. How those newspapers get hold of these things puzzles me. But I don't suppose it is true that poor old Dick Lancing committed suicide at his club, and – "

"It's perfectly true, Lechmere. I was in the club directly after, and I followed on to Charing Cross Hospital, only to find that I was too late. What you say about the newspapers is absolutely correct. But, unless I am greatly mistaken, the newspaper containing the startling report in question will help me over this matter. I am going to make a proposal to Lord Merehaven."

"I've been trying to get at him. But the Austrian Ambassador has held him fast for the last hour."

"Well, there is plenty of time," Varney went on. "From what I can understand papers of the utmost importance have been stolen from the Foreign Office, or they have been sold by some official to the foe. On the face of it, the charge points to poor Lancing; but one never can tell. Those papers relate to a kind of understanding with Asturia, and if Russia gets to know all about it then we are done. Now, let me tell you a little thing that happened to-night. There was a burglary at Countess Saens' house, and the thief took nothing but papers. The thief was a woman, who obviously went to the countess' for the very purpose of obtaining possession of those papers. Now, it is only a theory of mine, but I feel pretty sure that the papers have to do with the Foreign Office scandal. If we get to the bottom of it, we shall find that the countess inspired the paragraph that the Evening Mercury had to-night. Do you happen to know anything about the editor of that sheet?"

"Fellow named Hunt, an American," Lechmere replied. "As a matter of fact, the Mercury is an American paper, the first start of an attempt to capture the English Press. You know how those fellows boast. I've met Hunt several times in society."

"Did you ever happen to meet him at Countess Saens' house?" Varney asked.

Lechmere turned over the question before he replied. On consideration he had seen Hunt twice at the house in question. Not that that was very material, because all sorts and conditions of men flocked to the countess' evening parties. But Varney thought otherwise.

"At any rate, the fact fits in well with my theory," he said. "I shall be greatly surprised if we fail to find a connection between the countess and that sensational story in to-night's Mercury. I shall make it my business to meet this man Hunt. Well, what is the matter?" A breathless footman stood before Varney, and stammered out something to the effect that Lord Merehaven had sent him here hot-foot in search of the doctor. A gentleman had been taken suddenly ill. The rest of the guests did not know anything about it, and the gentleman in question lay in a state of collapse in his lordship's study. Would Dr. Varney come at once. Varney was on his way to the house before the footman had finished his halting explanation.

The study door was locked, but it was opened immediately on Varney whispering his name. In a big armchair a white-haired man in evening dress was lying back in a state of collapse. By his side stood Lord Merehaven, looking anxious and bewildered, whilst Ronald Hope was trying to force a little brandy between the lips of the unconscious figure in the chair.

"Thank goodness you have come, Varney!" Lord Merehaven said shakily. "It's poor old Reggie Lancing. He simply walked into here dragging on Hope's arm, and collapsed. He said something to the effect that his boy had committed suicide, and some rubbish about missing papers. What does it mean?"

Varney was too busy to answer the question. He removed Sir Reginald's collar and turned down the neckband. Meanwhile the patient was breathing heavily.

"Put him flat on the floor," Varney said. "It's not quite so bad as it looks. A seizure from over-excitement, or something of that kind. Give me a pen and ink and paper."

Varney hastily scribbled some formula on a sheet of note paper, and directed that it should be taken to a chemist and be made up at once. Till he could administer the drug he could do nothing. There was a wait of half an hour before the footman returned. Then the drug was coaxed between the stricken man's teeth, and presently he opened his eyes once more. He was terribly white and shaky, and he seemed to have some difficulty in getting out his words.

"It's the disgrace, Merehaven," he said – "the dreadful disgrace. To think that a son of mine could have been guilty of such a thing! I would not have believed it; it came to me quite as a shock – that paragraph in the late Mercury. I went to look for my son at once, but he had paid the penalty already. He had shot himself, Merehaven – shot himself – shot himself."

The old man repeated the last words again and again in a feeble kind of way. Lord Merehaven was sympathetic enough, but utterly puzzled. He looked at the other and shrugged his shoulders.

"Is this a mere delusion?" he asked. "You don't mean to say that Asturia business – "

The speaker paused, conscious that he was perhaps saying too much. Varney hastened to explain, to Merehaven's horror and astonishment. Positively, this was the first that he had heard of it. And if Captain Lancing had shot himself that was proof positive.

"Good heavens! what a terrible business altogether!" Lord Merehaven cried. "And the mischief that may have been done here! I must see the King of Asturia at once, late as it is, though goodness knows where I am to look, seeing that the king is – "

The speaker paused, and Ronald Hope took up the thread of the conversation.

"It may be possible, my lord," he said, "that his majesty is nearer at hand than you suppose."