My Friend the Chauffeur
automobile disappeared. Did you ever know anything so horrid? I'm
furious, and I don't know what the Prince must be thinking of me."
I was aghast at this unexpected point of view, but her next words
enlightened me. "It's Maida's fault, I know that, though I don't see how
she managed the thing. She was wild with me because I stood up for the
Prince carrying us off like this, and I suppose she just thought she'd
punish me by somehow cheating me out of the pleasure I'd been looking
forward to. I can't think of anything else, and neither can the County.
He says Maida probably told the Prince that at the last minute I'd
refused to go with him; otherwise he never would have driven off with
her and left me like that."
I saw that it would be a simple waste of time to argue with her, and
didn't attempt it. "I'm going to look for them," I said.
"Oh, _do_ take me with you."
I thought for a second or two. The Countess isn't exactly a
featherweight, and speed was an object; but protection for Miss Destrey
was a still greater consideration, and it might be well for her to have
even this foolish little woman's companionship. "Certainly," I replied.
"I shall be very glad."
Wraps of some sort for her head and body were borrowed on board the
yacht, Corramini showing himself kind and helpful, and with but a few
minutes' delay for the lady's preparations, and lighting the lamps, we
were ready to start.
My mind was on the rack of doubt and distraction, but though I trusted
Corramini not at all, I couldn't see why the most likely way to choose
for the chase might not be the road to Hrvoya. Dalmar-Kalm must be more
or less familiar with the neighbourhood, and might have acquaintances
along the route who would help him. Corramini was watching the start, so
I took the direction which, from some previous poring over local maps, I
knew must lead towards Dalmar-Kalm's ruinous inheritance. This I did,
lest he might have some means of communicating with his friend; but once
out of his sight, I slowed down, and addressed every one I met, in
Italian. Had a motor-car been seen driving this way during the
afternoon? Several persons stared blankly, and did not brighten to
intelligence when Italian was exchanged for faulty German; but we had
not gone far when we caught up with a ricketty cab, whose driver was
evidently dawdling homeward to shelter for the night. His pitch was,
perhaps, near the quay, and if so he might be the very man I wanted.
I hailed him, and fortunately he had a little Italian, and more French,
of which he was innocently vain.
"I have seen an automobile," said he, "but it was not coming this way.
There cannot have been another, for till to-day we have seen no such
thing since Prince Jaime de Bourbon drove here and up to Montenegro,
which made a great excitement for every one some years ago. And this one
to-day has also gone to Montenegro."
I asked him to describe the vehicle, and not only did he give it all the
characteristics of the Prince's car, but said that he had seen it slung
on shore from a white yacht, which ended all doubt upon the motor's
identity, unless by any chance he had been bribed by Dalmar-Kalm to
mislead inquirers. This seemed a far-fetched supposition; but why should
Montenegro be chosen as a destination? I asked this question aloud, half
to myself, half to the Countess, and after a fashion she answered it
from the tonneau.
"Dear me, I can't think why on earth they should go there; but I believe
I _do_ remember the Prince once saying, ever so long ago when we first
talked of driving down into Dalmatia, that he had a friend in
Montenegro--an Austrian Consul, though I don't know in what city
there."
"There's only one--the capital, Cettinje," I said mechanically, and my
thoughts leaped ahead to the place I named.
"The scoundrel!" I muttered under my breath.
"Who, the Austrian Consul?"
"No. For all I know, he may be a splendid fellow and probably is; he
would never do the thing. But that beast might hope it."
"What beast--what thing--hope what?"
"I beg your pardon, Countess. I was talking to myself. Nothing that you
would care to hear repeated."
XXVI
A CHAPTER OF HIGH DIPLOMACY
I had heard travellers speak, and had read in books, of that mighty feat
of engineering the road to Montenegro; but even so I was not prepared
for the thrilling grandeur of that night drive in the mountains.
With a carriage and two horses, counting halts for rests we must have
been seven good hours on the way to Cettinje; but my little twelve
horse-power car worked with me heart and soul (I shall always believe
now that she's got something of the sort, packed away in her engine),
and we reached the lonely Montenegrin frontier, near the mountain-top,
in not much over an hour after our start. I caught the glimmer of the
white stones that mark the dividing line between Austrian ground and the
brave little Principality, and knew what they must mean. Twenty minutes
more saw us at the highest point of the stupendous road; and dipping for
a flight downward, we arrived not long after in the cup-like plain where
the first Montenegrin village showed a few lights. I stopped at a small
inn, ordered brandy for the Countess (who was half dead with cold or
terror of our wild race beside precipices) and inquired of the
German-speaking landlord about the Prince's car.
Yes, a big red automobile had rushed by, much to the surprise of
everyone, about an hour ago. No doubt it was bound for Cettinje; but
there had been no news of it since.
We flashed on without waiting for further parley. It was a long way yet,
but the car devoured the road as if she were starving. At last we saw a
single light to the left, and then a bunch of lights huddled together
in a mountain-ringed plain, half a mile or so beyond. To my annoyance I
had to slacken speed for a flock of belated and bewildered sheep, just
as we were nearing the first light, but in a moment we would have shot
ahead again, had not my attention been caught by the sharp yelping of a
little dog.
It was not the defiant yap of an enemy to motors, but rather a glad
welcome; and the thin shred of sound was curiously familiar. Instead of
putting on speed, I stopped dead in the middle of the road.
"Whist! Airole, is that you?" I called.
In an instant a tiny black form was making wild springs at the car,
trying to get in. It was Airole and no other.
"This is where they are," I said. "In that house, yonder. If it hadn't
been for the dog, we'd have gone on, and--" It wasn't worth while to
finish.
I drove to the side and stopped the engine. The Countess would go with
me, of course, and it was better that she should; for she was the girl's
aunt, and this was the pass her foolishness had brought her to.
Airole pattered before us, leaping at the shut door of a rough,
two-story house of dark stone. I knocked; no one came, and I pounded
again. If there had been no answer that time, I meant to try and break
the door in with my shoulder, which has had some experience as a
battering ram and perhaps those inside guessed at my intentions, for
there followed a scrambling sound. A bolt was slipped back, and then a
tall Montenegrin, belted and armed with knife and big revolver, blocked
up the doorway.
I tried him in Italian. No use; he jabbered protests in Slavic, with a
wife peeping curiously over his shoulder, as the Countess peeped over
mine. Finally, to save time and somebody's blood, perhaps, I offered an
Austrian note and it proved a passport. They let us go in; and entering,
I heard Miss Destrey's voice raised in fear or anger, behind another
closed door.
Then most of the blood in my body seemed to spring to my head, and I
have no very distinct recollection of anything more, till I found that
I had done to that second door what I'd meant to do to the first, and
that Maida had run straight into my arms.
"My darling!" I heard myself exclaiming. I know that I held her tight
against my heart for an instant, saying, "Thank Heaven!" that she seemed
to have been mine for all the past and must belong to me for all the
future. I know that she was sobbing a little, that she clung to me; and
that then, remembering the man and what was owing him, I put her away to
begin his punishment.
"You unspeakable ruffian!" I threw the words at him, and threw myself at
the same time. I think we struggled for a few moments, but I am younger
than he, as well as bigger, so it was not much credit to my prowess that
I soon had my hand twisted in his collar and was shaking him as if he'd
been a rat.
It was the Countess who stopped the fun, by hurling herself between us,
quite like the heroine of old-fashioned melodrama. "Oh, for my sake, for
_my_ sake!" she was wailing. "It wasn't his fault. Wait and let him have
the chance to explain."
One more shake I gave, and threw him off, so that he staggered back
against the wall.
"He threatened to shoot me at last," cried Maida.
"Shall I kill him?" I asked.
"No," she said trembling. "Let him go. You are here. I am safe."
The man stood and glared at us like an animal at bay. I saw his eyes
dart from Maida to me, from me to the Countess, and rest on her as if
begging something. And his hunted instinct was right. If there were hope
left for him anywhere, it was with her.
"Don't believe anything they say of me," he panted, dry-lipped.
"Corramini tricked me by sending his wife's servant in your place,
dressed in your things, wearing your motor-mask. She wouldn't speak. I
didn't know the truth till I got here. I thought it was you I had run
away with to Montenegro, hoping I might persuade you to marry me, when
you were out of the way of your daughter, who hates me, and would ruin
me with you if she could. I would have left Miss Destrey behind, if I
could have hoped you'd come without her. Imagine my feelings when I
found out I'd lost you! If I have frightened her it was in my blind rage
against her and every one concerned in the trick. As for your chauffeur,
he is not worth fighting, and as I am a gentleman, I do not even return
the blows of one who is not--especially before ladies."
"Aunt Kathryn, you must not believe his falsehoods," cried Maida. "If
you do--if you let yourself care for him--he will spoil your life."
The Countess petulantly stopped her ears. "I won't listen to you," was
her answer. "I knew there had been trickery of some sort, and you may as
well save your breath, for whatever you say I will believe nothing
against the man I love."
With that she took her fingers from her ears, and held out both hands to
Dalmar-Kalm. He ran to take them, and pressed his lips ardently first
upon one, then the other plump cushion of dimpled satin.
Disgusted with this exhibition of a woman's folly, while I pitied it, I
could look no more, but turned to Maida.
"Will you let me take you away?" was all that my lips said, but my eyes
said more, in memory of that first moment of our meeting, which was,
please God, to influence our whole future--hers and mine.
"Yes," she answered. "But--I can't leave here without Aunt Kathryn."
"You must go with Miss Destrey, Countess," I insisted. "Whatever you may
decide later in regard to Prince Dalmar-Kalm, in any case you must go
with your niece and me to stop at an hotel in Cettinje, for the night."
The man would not let go her hand. "Promise me you will not leave
Montenegro till you are my wife," he begged. "If you do, I feel I shall
lose you for ever."
"I'll do my best," faltered the lady, as a lady should, I suppose, who
feels herself a heroine of romance. I could almost have respected that
scoundrel for his diplomacy. His motto was, "Get what you want, or if
you can't, take what you can;" and he was living up to it, playing up to