The Prisoner in the Mask Page 35

  ‘When can I see you alone?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She gave him an uneasy glance. ‘To arrange that would be difficult.’

  ‘But it was for that I came to England. Can we not make our excuses to your grandmother and go off together for a cup of tea in one of those little places we passed in Carisbrooke village?’

  ‘No, no! That is impossible. A picnic tea will have been brought. Anyway, people like ourselves could not eat a meal at a table in a garden full of trippers.’

  ‘My dear, what snobs you English are! But no matter. If I can engage a private room in one of the hotels in Cowes, will you come and dine with me?’

  ‘No, Armand, no! What possible excuse could I give for going out at night on my own. That is quite out of the question.’

  ‘Why should you have to give an excuse? Although you don’t look it, you are twenty-nine years of age, and married.’

  ‘Armand, things are different here from what they are in France. In England women of my class, single or married, never go out alone. I believe there are restaurants that have private rooms, and that men take chorus girls to them; but when a society woman has an affaire she has to conduct it in her own home or while staying with friends.’

  ‘Can you not arrange, then, for Lady Chudleigh to invite me to stay for a few nights at Herne Court?’

  ‘I could have at any other time of the year, but for the regatta week the house is always packed to the attics. Whether I would have dared to, though, I hardly know. You see, Grandmama has no idea that you are more to me than just an old friend, and she is frightfully strait-laced.’

  ‘Very well, then. I noticed an inn when we drove through Brading. I will take a room there and meet you clandestinely in the woods, or at night in the garden.’

  ‘Please, Armand! Please do no such thing,’ she pleaded in a low, urgent voice. ‘There would be tittle-tattle in the village. It would reach my grandmother’s ears. Remember, you are a foreigner, so would be remarked by everyone in the vicinity. If she learned that you were living nearby and that we were meeting in secret she would be horrified. To her mind I should have put myself on a level with a servant girl with a follower who hangs about the area steps. She would never forgive me.’

  ‘Then it seems the only thing is for you to come to lunch with me in the yacht; although that is anything but an ideal spot for private conversation.’

  ‘Even there I could not go alone.’

  ‘I appreciate that; but the table in the cabin will not accommodate more than six, so we cannot invite Lady Chudleigh and her whole party.’

  ‘Provided I may bring another woman and you will meet us on the quay, that would be all right.’

  The matter was satisfactorily settled a few minutes later, owing to Van Ryn’s wish to see more of a charming Miss Fiona Mackintosh, with whom he had spent most of the afternoon. Fiona’s mother gave her consent, providing Angela would go as chaperone; so Fiona accepted his invitation to lunch in the Juliette the following day.

  De Quesnoy had been hoping that he and Van Ryn would be carried back to Herne Court to tea, and that after it another chance would arise for him to talk to Angela; but that hope was quashed by a picnic tea having been provided.

  Lady Chudleigh directed that a pleasant spot on the Cowes road should be selected, so that the two visitors should have a minimum distance to travel afterwards; a pretty vale some half-mile from the Castle was chosen, the two footmen who had accompanied the party beside the coachmen on the boxes of the carriages spread the contents of the hampers on the grass; a carefree hour was passed in eating and light conversation, then the two guests made their adieux and drove back to Cowes in their hired victoria.

  To de Quesnoy’s fury he proved no luckier on the following day. Angela and the highly decorative Miss Mackintosh were duly met and taken off to the yacht, but, most unfortunately, a small sea was running and neither of them was a very good sailor. They only pecked at the excellent lunch provided and were both so obviously uncomfortable that there was no alternative but to take them ashore immediately afterwards.

  Consoled a little by the thought that he would at least be able to take Angela for a walk through the town, the Count helped her up out of the dinghy, but a moment later they ran into some friends of hers who were just landing with Lord Dunraven from his yacht for the same reason as themselves.

  After introductions had been made, Lord Dunraven declared that he could not possibly allow them to watch the races wedged in among the crowd, and that they must come with his party to the Squadron lawn; so, much against his wish, de Quesnoy had to submit to being signed in for the afternoon as a guest at the Royal Yacht Club.

  In any other circumstances it would have been a delightful experience, for during Regatta Week this, perhaps the most exclusive club in the world, was the scene of the last great event of the Season. The broad greensward along the sea wall, opposite which the races finished, was crowded with the nobility and beauty of Britain. Fat, jolly King Edward was there, and gracious Queen Alexandra; Admirals Prince Louis of Battenberg and Lord Charles Beresford; famous hostesses such as Mrs. Ronnie Greville, Lady Cooper and Mrs. George Keppel; the Royal children and the young millionaire Duke of Westminster with his beautiful wife. The men were nearly all wearing white, with yachting caps, panamas or straw boaters; the women were in bright-hued wide-flounced dresses with feather boas, and screening their complexions under pretty parasols; so in the summer sunshine the brilliant colours of the constantly moving throng gave it the appearance of a human kaleidoscope.

  After they had watched several races, Lord Dunraven offered to show de Quesnoy and Van Ryn the trophies, so they left the girls with the rest of Dunraven’s party and went with him to the Club house. For a few minutes they admired the great silver cups and challenge shields, and were just turning away when King Edward came in, followed by half a dozen gentlemen. He gave a friendly nod and said:

  ‘Not racing today, Dunraven?’

  ‘No, Sir,’ replied the famous yachtsman. ‘We broke our spinnaker boom in yesterday’s race, and couldn’t get another fitted in time today; so we had to scratch.’

  ‘Hard luck,’ said the King. Then his glance took in Dunraven’s companions and he asked. ‘Are your friends sailing men?’ which was tantamount to permission to present them.

  Dunraven stepped aside so that they could come forward. ‘Yes, Sir. This is Mr. Channock Van Ryn of New York, who has brought the Juliette over from Dieppe; and this, Colonel the Count de Quesnoy.’

  In turn they bent over the royal hand. The King said to Van Ryn that he was always happy to welcome American yachtsmen, as it was they who provided the British with the best rivals in the great sport. Then, stroking his pointed beard with a thoughtful gesture, he said to de Quesnoy:

  ‘Your name seems very familiar to me, Count; but I cannot recall in what connection. Wait! I have it. Surely it was you who played a leading rôle in the de Vendôme conspiracy last winter?’

  De Quesnoy bowed. ‘That is so, Your Majesty. I hope, though, that you will not believe the lies printed about me in the papers. I had no hand in shooting policemen, as was said, much as I would like to see a King upon the Throne of France again.’

  ‘I would be a poor King if I did not incline to take the word of a royalist,’ smiled the monarch. Then, his smile broadening, he glanced over his shoulder and added with a touch of wickedness, ‘Although I can hardly expect some of these gentlemen to agree with me about that.’

  With a pleasant nod, he dismissed Dunraven and his friends, turned to the others and said in French, ‘And now, Messieurs, I will show you our trophies.’

  As they left the Club house, Dunraven remarked to de Quesnoy: ‘Those were some official visitors from France, invited here at the King’s instigation. He has played a greater part than anyone in promoting this Entente Cordiale, and he is doing everything he can to cement it.’

  The Count nodded. ‘To have brought about the burying of the hatchet after six hund
red years of enmity between our two countries was a remarkable achievement; and, personally, I am delighted by it.’

  He was, however, far from delighted at having run into several French officials; and as soon as he could, in a low voice, he asked Van Ryn, ‘Did you know any of those people? I thought I saw you nod to one of them.’

  ‘You’re right,’ replied the American. ‘The little dark man was Camille Pelletan, the Minister of Marine. I sat near him at dinner about three weeks back, at a party given by Finance Minister Rouvier.’

  No more was said upon the matter until the early evening, after the girls had been seen off in the carriage that had brought them over. Van Ryn was in great form, for his afternoon on the Squadron lawn and having been presented to King Edward had more than made up to him for the ill-success of his lunch party. He was, too, making excellent going with Fiona, and it was only after he had been singing her praises for some minutes that he noticed his friend’s unresponsive silence, so asked:

  ‘What’s wrong, Armand? Why are you looking so glum?’

  ‘I’m greatly worried about our encounter with the King,’ de Quesnoy replied. ‘Having those French officials with him at the time could not have been more unfortunate. They must have heard my name when I was presented, and His Majesty’s remarks about the de Vendôme conspiracy. As you told Colonel Roux that I jumped overboard, I have been hoping that my enemies believed me to be dead; but now they’ll know that I am still very much alive. What is more, if Pelletan, or one of the others, sends a telegram reporting my presence here to the Minister of Justice, it is quite on the cards that he will apply for a warrant for my extradition.’

  ‘They might try it; but I doubt if it would get them anywhere. The British make a great thing of refusing to surrender foreigners accused of political crimes who have taken refuge here. They even give sanctuary to Italian anarchists and Russian nihilists.’

  ‘True, but not when those gentry have knifed someone or blown them to bits with a bomb; and unfortunately I fall into that category. The French Government will charge me, not with any political crime, but with murder. And under International Law, if the English police catch me they would have to give me up.’

  ‘That’s bad, Armand; that’s bad. Fiona’s not going back to her home in Scotland till the grouse shooting starts on the 12th; so I’ve been thinking of staying in these parts for a week longer than we planned. But it looks now as if we’ll have to be moving on before the boys who are after you can get to work.’

  ‘My dear Channock,’ de Quesnoy smiled, ‘after all your kindness to me, I would not dream of dragging you away. But they might send an Inspector from the Sûreté over specially to get me, and if they act at once he could be here with his warrant within forty-eight hours; so to be on the safe side I ought to be out of England by Thursday night.’

  ‘Where’ll you go?’

  ‘Why, back to France. That is the last place they will look for me, and I have no intention of abandoning my vendetta against André.’

  ‘Good for you. It’s pretty hard, though, when you were hoping to see a lot more of that lovely Madame Syveton.’

  Van Ryn had voiced the thing which was making de Quesnoy seethe with inward fury. So far, all his attempts to get Angela on his own long enough for a serious conversation had been frustrated and the next day, Wednesday, she was going with a party from Herne Court across to the mainland to lunch with the Stuart Wortleys at Highcliffe Castle. That left him only Thursday, and Lord Dunraven had asked them all again to the Royal Yacht Club on that day; so his chances of securing a tête-à-tête with her before he had to leave England now seemed extremely slender.

  On Wednesday there was a race for yachts of Juliette’s class and she came in third out of nine. As Van Ryn had had, as yet, so little time to practise handling her, he was delighted, and encouraged to hope that he might do even better in another race for which she was entered on Friday.

  The Count did his best to show interest in the race and enthusiasm about its result, but for most of the day his mind was on Angela. By exercising his imagination he thought of a dozen tricks by which he could have lured her away from her friends for an hour or two, but all of them involved either the use of high-handed methods or of her having to disclose afterwards that she had kept a secret rendez-vous with him. Had they been in France he would have had no scruples about adopting some bold design, but here he dared not do so. Her insistence that, should he disclose himself as anything more than an old friend, this would involve her in a most unpleasant scandal and be her ruin with her grandmother, tied his hands.

  Thursday proved fine and again, both within and without the shadow thrown by Cowes Castle, the Squadron lawn was crowded. Once more for several hours de Quesnoy was compelled to play the tantalising game of seeing but not touching. He could delight in the sight of Angela and smile at her, but he could not even press her hand, and could speak privately with her only between long intervals of airy general conversation and the distraction of fresh people constantly emerging from the social whirl to exchange pleasantries with herself and her friends.

  To his further annoyance, he learnt that she was not, as he had supposed, returning to France soon after Cowes Week. She was staying with her grandmother until mid-September, and only going home then because her step-son, Henri Syveton, was to be married.

  De Quesnoy had almost forgotten the boy’s existence, as until the previous March he had been out of Paris for three years doing his military service. Angela said that his father had arranged a very satisfactory match for him with a Mademoiselle Clothilde de Vauclose who was quite a beauty, if one liked full-blooded southern types, and came of an old family that was still well endowed with this world’s goods.

  With a quick smile de Quesnoy said in a whisper, ‘I wish them well; but it’s about your own marriage that I have been so anxious to talk to you. It is a great disappointment to me that I must leave here without any idea what your feelings are about the future.’

  Her big brown eyes intent and serious, she replied in a low voice, ‘Please forgive me for having avoided an explanation, but had you insisted on seeing me alone it would have caused me great embarrassment. Besides, certain complications have arisen which prevent me from taking any decision at the moment. But by the time I get back to Paris I hope things will have straightened out. Anyhow, there will be nothing to stop us meeting in secret there and talking freely.’

  With that the Count had to be content. The same evening he took affectionate leave of Van Ryn and crossed the Solent to Southampton in the pinnace of one of their recently made English acquaintances. Using the name of Jules Dupont, he crossed in the boat that left at midnight for Le Havre. No formalities were required for landing, and on July 27th he was again in Paris.

  For a fortnight he resumed the activities that he had temporarily dropped to go to England. Most of his time he spent as Vasili Petrovitch with the Forains, Héquet, Daguenet, Lazare and a new acquaintance named Jean Bidegain, who always seemed to be at the headquarters of the Grand Orient whenever he went there. Both week-ends he slept at the Pension Smirnoff but during midweek he continued to enjoy the far greater comfort of the apartment in the Avenue Victor Hugo, with Harry Plimsol as his companion.

  It was on August 9th that Plimsol received a telegram from his master, which read: ‘Sailing today expect to arrive Paris on eleventh.’

  At about nine o’clock on the morning of the 11th de Quesnoy was lying in his bath. A gentle tapping on the door surprised him into sitting up and calling out, ‘What is it?’

  Plimsol’s voice came in a whisper. ‘It’s me—Harry. The police are here. They say they are expecting the Boss to turn up at any time, and mean to wait here so they can ask him some questions immediately on his arrival. But I’ve a hunch it’s you they are after.’

  22

  THE LOYAL (?) WIFE

  In a second de Quesnoy was out of the bath. Flinging a towel round him he crossed to the door, unlocked it, beckoned Plimsol insi
de and asked in a whisper:

  ‘How many of them are there? Where are they?’

  ‘Two,’ Plimsol whispered back, ‘both plain-clothes ’tecs. Antoine let them in and came along to me. I took them into the salon. They said they meant to wait here till the Boss turned up and that they had a warrant to search the apartment in the meantime. I said they’d best have a café-cognac before they started in on the job. They fell for that, and I was able to slip away on the pretext that we keep the brandy locked up.’

  ‘Well done! But what makes you think they are after me?’

  ‘I figure they may be expecting you to turn up with the Boss. It’s a dollar to a dime against his being wanted by the Sûreté; but you are, and—’

  ‘You’re right, Harry. Thank God they don’t know that I’m back here already. I must get out at once.’

  ‘I’ll get your clothes, so you can dress here. Antoine will be taking them their coffee any moment now. I calculate you’ll be safe for about ten minutes while they drink it.’

  As the innocent-eyed, pink-cheeked young man gently closed the door, the Count hastily began to dry himself and think of possible ways of escape. The inner hall of the apartment was divided from the salon only by a pair of heavy red velvet curtains; so that the two rooms could be thrown into one for entertaining. The curtains were drawn in the evenings but at this hour were open, which made it impossible for him to pass through the hall without being seen. The fire escape for the whole block ran down its far end; so could be reached only by crossing the hall and the main landing and entering the apartment on its opposite side. The bathroom in which de Quesnoy, still naked, stood was three floors up and any attempt to climb down into the back yard was quite out of the question. It looked as if he was trapped and would have to fight his way out. Then, as he quickly brushed his hair, he remembered the tradesmen’s lift that served the kitchen—but wondered whether it would bear him.

  The door opened and Plimsol dumped a bundle of clothes on the towel-covered bathroom chair. De Quesnoy grabbed up his pants and said: