Kate plus 10
“I daresay you wonder why I have called,” he said.
“As long as it isn’t to take me out to lunch, I don’t care,” said
Michael with a laugh. “Sit down, Ralph, and tell me all your troubles.
By the way,” he said as the thought occurred to him, “I suppose you
are not in any kind of trouble, are you?”
“That’s just it, Michael,” said the other depositing his silk hat
carefully on the ground; “I am really worried over two matters and
knowing what a good chap you are and how very nice you have been to
me--”
“Don’t be silly,” said Michael kindly, “I have not been nice to you
and I am not a good chap. Have you lost something?”
“I want to see you on two matters,” said Sir Ralph, who was given to
preambles; “they are altogether different and one, of course, is not a
police matter at all--I merely want your advice as a friend. Do you
know the Princess Bacheffski?”
“I don’t know Her Royal Highness, Her Serene Highness, or Her Nibs as
the case may be.”
“She is neither,” said the other, “she is the wife of Prince Dimitri
Bacheffski, who is a large land-owner in Poland.”
Michael shook his head.
“The world is filled with the wives of princes who are large
land-owners in Poland,” he said.
“I met her in Paris,” explained Sir Ralph.
“When I said the world,” said Michael, “I meant Paris. What has she
done, stolen your watch?”
“Please don’t be an ass,” said the other testily; “I tell you she is a
princess and enormously wealthy. She had a row with her husband and
came to London and I have seen a great deal of her. Yesterday, when I
called to take her driving, I found that she had gone away, left
without a word, paid her bill at the furnished flat she had taken and
vanished--”
“Gone back to her husband, I suppose,” said Michael; “I have heard of
such things happening. You will not hear from her until a suit is
filed for divorce and then the newspapers will be filled with grisly
details, about your directorships, your early life and your hobbies;
also the Sunday papers will publish your portrait.”
Sir Ralph wagged his head in despair.
“If I thought you would have taken this kind of view I would not have
come,” he said severely; “there is nothing of that kind in this
business. She is just a lady whom I had helped very slightly and who
had been kind enough to give me her confidence.”
“Do you want me to find her?” said the other in surprise.
“No, that isn’t it,” said Sir Ralph. “The story has a curious sequel.
This morning I was in the city and I met a friend who asked me to
lunch with him. I had a lot of business to get through and it was not
until ten to one that I was able to get away. My car was not in the
city but I thought I should have no difficulty in getting a taxi. When
I got into the street, however, it was pouring with rain and not a
taxi could be had for love or money. It was only a few steps to the
Bank station and I decided to go by tube.”
“Sensation!” said the admiring Michael.
“Well, to cut a long story short,” said Sir Ralph, “I travelled to
Oxford Circus and changed into a train which took me to the Thames
Embankment. Here comes the extraordinary part of the story,” he said
impressively; “as I came up the escalator on the one side, the
Princess passed down on the other.”
“Yes?” said Michael unimpressed.
“She was plainly, even poorly dressed,” said Ralph. “I raised my hat
to her but she stared at me as though she had never seen me before in
her life.”
“You made a mistake probably,” said the other.
“I will swear it was she,” said Sir Ralph emphatically. “There was no
mistaking her. She has a very tiny mole just below the right ear,
which I had seen--”
“Eh?”
Michael was all attention now.
“A tiny mole beneath the right ear,” he repeated, and went on, “dark
grey eyes, large, well marked eye-brows, very delicate mouth and
rounded chin?”
“That is she. Good Lord!” cried Sir Ralph in amazement. “Do you know
her?”
“Oh, yes, I know her,” said Michael grimly; “now let me hear the story
of this Princess all over again. How did you come to meet her?”
“I met her in Paris. She was introduced to me after the opera,” said
Sir Ralph patiently; “as a matter of fact, I forgot all about it until
she reminded me of the fact.”
“Ah, this is where the story begins,” said Michael; “when did she
remind you of the fact?”
Sir Ralph detailed briefly the unconventional character of the
meeting.
“I see,” said Michael, “her car had broken down providentially just
outside your house. Beautiful and most gorgeously arrayed, how could
you resist her pathetic appeal? And so that is how you met her, is it?
Oh, Kate, Kate!” he shook his head.
“Kate!” asked the bewildered magnate. “What on earth are you talking
about?”
Michael took no notice of the question.
“I must ask you to give me a more detailed account of your meetings.
Of course, you met her afterwards.”
“Yes, I met her. And she was very charming,” said Sir Ralph.
“And particularly interested in business?” asked Michael.
“No, she did not know much about business. There you are wrong. You
are trying to prove that she is an adventuress. She knew nothing
whatever about business,” said Sir Ralph triumphantly; “in fact, I had
to explain things over and over again.”
Michael leant over and patted his arm as he might have done to a
distraught child.
“What things did you explain, little man?” he asked.
Here, however, he lost the trail for, either because he could not or
would not remember, Sir Ralph was very vague at this point. Michael
sat at his desk, his head between his hands thinking rapidly.
First Flanborough, then Boltover, and now Ralph Sapson,--what was the
association?
“Have you any business dealings with Flanborough?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” asked Ralph cautiously.
“Is there any connection between your companies?”
“My dear chap, what a question to ask,” said Sir Ralph. “You know, as
well as I, that all business people, who operate on a big scale, are
associated in some way or other. I run railways and quarries and
things, and Flanborough runs ships and gold mines. I am interested in
his things and he has shares in mine.”
Being a business man he did not tell Michael of the arrangement which
he had entered into for the benefit of the unthriving port of
Seahampton, because it is the way of business men to be mysterious and
uninforming about the commonplaces of commercial intercourse.
“Well, that’s that,” said Ralph after waiting in vain for some
illuminating observation from his friend.
“And what is the other matter?”
Here Sir Ralph found it more difficult to make a beginning.
“It is rather a delicate subject, Michael,” he said, “for it touches
my personal honour.”
“Dear, dear,” said Michael sympathetically, and, if the truth be told,
a little mechanically, because his mind was occupied elsewhere with a
greater and more important problem, than with the personal honour of
the Sapsons.
“And not only that, but the honour of somebody we both admire,” said
Sir Ralph awkwardly. “The fact is, Michael, I am engaged to Moya. It
isn’t generally known, but it is so and naturally I haven’t seen as
much of her as I could have wished in this past week. Also I have been
a very busy man.”
“Naturally,” said Michael sympathetically. “You have already told me
about the Princess, you remember.”
“Well, you are a man of the world,” said Sir Ralph, going very red,
“and you will understand. Anyway, I haven’t seen as much of Moya as I
could have wished. The fact is,” he blurted out, “Moya is carrying
on!”
“Carrying on,” said the puzzled Michael, “carrying on what, or whom?”
“She meets him every day in the park and they go sketching together in
the country,” said Sir Ralph rapidly. “I haven’t spoken to Flanborough
about it, but it is all rather rotten.”
“If by ‘carrying on’ you mean that Moya is indulging in a flirtation,
it is not only very rotten, but it must have been very awkward for
you,” said Michael, “unless you could be perfectly certain of your
fiancée’s movements, you and your Princess were liable at any moment
to run against her. It was very inconsiderate of Moya. Who is her
friend?”
“A beastly artist,” said Ralph savagely, “a man who had an exhibition
of simply rotten pictures. I don’t think he has a bob in the world,
and he’s a most untidy looking person. I have seen them together with
my own eyes and he treats Moya outrageously. And Moya seems to like
it.”
“Does he beat her or anything?” asked Michael wearily.
He was growing tired of the interview and wanted to be alone to work
out the new combination which had been presented to him.
“He compromises her,” said Ralph with vehemence; “holds her hand and
calls her ‘child’ in public. It is simply disgraceful!”
“You can trust Moya,” said Michael, “she will do nothing which
jeopardises her prospects.”
“She has plenty of money of her own,” interrupted Ralph.
“It is curious how your mind runs to money. I wasn’t thinking of that.
I was thinking of her social prospects. She is a very shrewd girl. A
little romance will do her no harm, Ralph.”
“But, hang it, she’s got me!” said Ralph wrathfully.
“I said ‘romance,’” said Michael with offensive emphasis; “you’re not
‘romance,’ you’re ‘business.’”
But Sir Ralph was not satisfied.
“Perhaps if you saw her and had a few words with her,” he suggested,
“she might take a little notice.”
“I should leave her presence a mental and physical wreck,” said
Michael decidedly. “No, Ralph, you must manage your own love making
without calling in the--er, police.” (Sir Ralph winced.) “I don’t know
Moya well enough to give her advice on so delicate a matter--I only
proposed to her once and that has given me no right to urge your suit.
One question I should like to ask you before you go,” he said as Sir
Ralph gathered up his hat and gloves. “Did the Princess question you
about any bank with which you are associated?”
“I can answer you definitely, that she did not,” replied Sir Ralph.
“You have an altogether wrong impression of that lady--in my
judgment.”
“_Your_ judgment!” said Michael scornfully, as he ushered him out of
the room.
CHAPTER XI.
LADY MOYA WAS CURIOUSLY UNLIKE
HERSELF
There was a greater reason for Sir Ralph’s perturbation than either
he knew or Michael guessed. Both might have been enlightened, had they
stood on Cannon Street Station one Sunday morning and seen the
distress of Mr. Alphonso Blaxton as the big minute hand of the station
clock grew nearer to nine. The guard was closing the doors of the
carriages and the collector was preparing to shut the gate, when Moya
came flying breathlessly through the barrier.
“Oh, I _am_ so sorry!” she gasped; “my watch stopped.”
Mr. Alphonso Blaxton bundled her into an empty first-class carriage
and jumped in himself as the train moved.
“There’s not another train for three hours,” he said severely.
“We could have gone to church.”
“What a mind!” said the young man in admiration. “I never thought of
church!”
“Anyway, I didn’t lose the train,” she said tartly. “Have you brought
everything?”
She looked round for the collapsible easel, the paint boxes and the
paraphernalia which usually accompanied their sketching tours.
“I have brought nothing,” he said frankly.
“But how can you sketch?”
“I am not going to sketch,” he said. “I decided that it was too nice a
day to waste.”
She looked up at him and laughed.
“You will never be an artist,” she said, suddenly severe. “To what
part of the country are we going?”
“I thought we would go to Maidstone. There are some lovely drives from
there. I’ve hired a motor car to meet us at the station and I thought
we would go through Sussex and lunch at Seahampton.”
“Not Seahampton,” she said quickly; “my father is at Seahampton