The Secret of Chimneys
“Everything but one thing,” said Mr. Isaacstein.
“What is that?”
The great financier looked steadily at Anthony.
“What did you get me down here for? Just to assist at a dramatic scene
as an interested onlooker.”
Anthony shook his head.
“No, Mr. Isaacstein. You are a busy man whose time is money. Why did
you come down here originally?”
“To negotiate a loan.”
“With whom?”
“Prince Michael of Herzoslovakia.”
“Exactly. Prince Michael is dead. Are you prepared to offer the same
loan on the same terms to his cousin Nicholas?”
“Can you produce him? I thought he was killed in the Congo?”
“He was killed all right. I killed him. Oh, no, I’m not a murderer.
When I say I killed him, I mean that I spread the report of his death.
I promised you a Prince, Mr. Isaacstein. Will _I_ do?”
“You?”
“Yes, I’m the man. Nicholas Sergius Alexander Ferdinand Obolovitch.
Rather long for the kind of life I proposed to live, so I emerged from
the Congo as plain Anthony Cade.”
Little Captain Andrassy sprang up.
“But this is incredible—incredible,” he spluttered. “Have a care, sir,
what you say.”
“I can give you plenty of proofs,” said Anthony quietly. “I think I
shall be able to convince the Baron here.”
The Baron lifted his hand.
“Your proofs I will examine, yes. But of them for me there is no need.
Your word alone sufficient for me is. Besides, your English mother you
much resemble. All along have I said: ‘This young man on one side or
the other most highly born is’.”
“You have always trusted my word, Baron,” said Anthony. “I can assure
you that in the days to come I shall not forget.”
Then he looked over at Superintendent Battle whose face had remained
perfectly expressionless.
“You can understand,” said Anthony with a smile, “that my position
has been extremely precarious. Of all those in the house I might
be supposed to have the best reason for wishing Michael Obolovitch
out of the way, since I was the next heir to the Throne. I’ve been
extraordinarily afraid of Battle all along. I always felt that he
suspected me, but that he was held up by lack of motive.”
“I never believed for a minute that you’d shot him, sir,” said
Superintendent Battle. “We’ve got a feeling in such matters. But I
knew that you were afraid of something, and you puzzled me. If I’d
known sooner who you really were, I dare say I’d have yielded to the
evidence, and arrested you.”
“I’m glad I managed to keep one guilty secret from you. You wormed
everything else out of me all right. You’re a damned good man at your
job, Battle. I shall always think of Scotland Yard with respect.”
“Most amazing,” muttered George. “Most amazing story I ever heard. I—I
can really hardly believe it. You are quite sure, Baron, that——”
“My dear Mr. Lomax,” said Anthony, with a slight hardness in his tone,
“I have no intention of asking the British Foreign Office to support
my claim without bringing forward the most convincing documentary
evidence. I suggest that we adjourn now, and that you, the Baron, Mr.
Isaacstein and myself discuss the terms of the proposed loan.”
The Baron rose to his feet, and clicked his heels together.
“It will be the proudest moment of my life, sir,” he said solemnly,
“when I see you King of Herzoslovakia.”
“Oh, by the way, Baron,” said Anthony carelessly, slipping his hand
through the other’s arm, “I forgot to tell you. There’s a string tied
to this. I’m married, you know.”
The Baron retreated a step or two. Dismay overspread his countenance.
“Something wrong I knew there would be,” he boomed. “Merciful God in
Heaven! He has married a black woman in Africa!”
“Come, come, it’s not so bad as all that,” said Anthony, laughing.
“She’s white enough—white all through, bless her.”
“Good. A respectable morganatic affair it can be, then.”
“Not a bit of it. She’s to play Queen to my King. It’s no use shaking
your head. She’s fully qualified for the post. She’s the daughter of
an English peer who dates back to the time of the Conqueror. It’s very
fashionable just now for Royalties to marry into the aristocracy—and
she knows something of Herzoslovakia.”
“My God!” cried George Lomax, startled out of his usual careful speech.
“Not—not—Virginia Revel?”
“Yes,” said Anthony. “Virginia Revel.”
“My dear fellow,” cried Lord Caterham, “I mean—sir, I congratulate
you, I do indeed. A delightful creature.”
“Thank you, Lord Caterham,” said Anthony. “She’s all you say and more.”
But Mr. Isaacstein was regarding him curiously.
“You’ll excuse my asking your Highness, but when did this marriage take
place?”
Anthony smiled back at him.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I married her this morning.”
30
Anthony Signs on for a New Job
“If you will go on, gentlemen, I will follow you in a minute,” said
Anthony.
He waited whilst the others filed out, and then turned to where
Superintendent Battle was standing apparently absorbed in examining the
panelling.
“Well, Battle? Want to ask me something, don’t you?”
“Well, I do, sir, though I don’t know how you knew I did. But I always
marked you out as being specially quick in the uptake. I take it that
the lady who is dead was the late Queen Varaga?”
“Quite right, Battle. It’ll be hushed up, I hope. You can understand
what I feel about family skeletons.”
“Trust Mr. Lomax for that, sir. No one will ever know. That is, a lot
of people will know, but it won’t get about.”
“Was that what you wanted to ask me about?”
“No, sir—that was only in passing. I was curious to know just what
made you drop your own name—if I’m not taking too much of a liberty?”
“Not a bit. I’ll tell you. I killed myself from the purest motives,
Battle. My mother was English, I’d been educated in England, and I
was far more interested in England than in Herzoslovakia. And I felt
an absolute fool knocking about the world with a comic opera title
tacked on to me. You see, when I was very young, I had democratic
ideas. Believed in the purity of ideals, and the equality of all men. I
especially disbelieved in Kings and Princes.”
“And since then?” asked Battle shrewdly.
“Oh, since then, I’ve travelled and seen the world. There’s damned
little equality going about. Mind you, I still believe in democracy.
But you’ve got to force it on people with a strong hand—ram it down
their throats. Men don’t want to be brothers—they may some day, but
they don’t now. My final belief in the Brotherhood of Man died the day
I arrived in London last week, when I observed the people standing
in a Tube train resolutely refuse to move up and make room for those
who entered. You won’t turn people into angels by appealing to their
better natures just yet awhile—but by judicious force you can coerce
them into behaving more or less decently to one another to go on
with. I still believe in the Brotherhood of Man, but it’s not coming
yet awhile. Say another ten thousand years or so. It’s no good being
impatient. Evolution is a slow process.”
“I’m very interested in these views of yours, sir,” said Battle with a
twinkle. “And if you’ll allow me to say so, I’m sure you’ll make a very
fine King out there.”
“Thank you, Battle,” said Anthony with a sigh.
“You don’t seem very happy about it, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I dare say it will be rather fun. But it’s tying
oneself down to regular work. I’ve always avoided that before.”
“But you consider it your duty, I suppose, sir?”
“Good Lord, no! What an idea. It’s a woman—it’s always a woman,
Battle. I’d do more than be a King for her sake.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“I’ve arranged it so that the Baron and Isaacstein can’t kick. The one
wants a King and the other wants oil. They’ll both get what they want,
and I’ve got—Oh, Lord, Battle, have you ever been in love?”
“I am much attached to Mrs. Battle, sir.”
“Much attached to Mrs.—Oh, you don’t know what I’m talking about! It’s
entirely different!”
“Excuse me, sir, that man of yours is waiting outside the window.”
“Boris? So he is. He’s a wonderful fellow. It’s a mercy that pistol
went off in the struggle and killed the lady. Otherwise Boris would
have wrung her neck as sure as Fate, and then you would have wanted to
hang him. His attachment to the Obolovitch dynasty is remarkable. The
queer thing was that as soon as Michael was dead he attached himself to
me—and yet he couldn’t possibly have known who I really was.”
“Instinct,” said Battle. “Like a dog.”
“Very awkward instinct I thought it at the time. I was afraid it might
give the show away to you. I suppose I’d better see what he wants.”
He went out through the window. Superintendent Battle, left alone,
looked after him for a minute, then apparently addressed the panelling.
“He’ll do,” said Superintendent Battle.
Outside, Boris explained himself.
“Master,” said he, and led the way along the terrace.
Anthony followed him, wondering what was forward.
Presently Boris stopped and pointed with his forefinger. It was
moonlight, and in front of them was a stone seat on which sat two
figures.
“He _is_ a dog,” said Anthony to himself. “And what’s more, a pointer!”
He strode forward. Boris melted into the shadows.
The two figures rose to meet him. One of them was Virginia—the
other——
“Hullo, Joe,” said a well remembered voice. “This is a great girl of
yours.”
“Jimmy McGrath, by all that’s wonderful,” cried Anthony. “How in the
name of fortune did you get here?”
“That trip of mine into the interior went phut. Then some Dagos came
monkeying round. Wanted to buy that manuscript off me. Next thing I as
near as nothing got a knife in the back one night. That made me think
that I’d handed you out a bigger job than I knew. I thought you might
need help, and I came along after you by the very next boat.”
“Wasn’t it splendid of him?” said Virginia. She squeezed Jimmy’s arm.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me how frightfully nice he was? You are,
Jimmy, you’re a perfect dear.”
“You two seem to be getting along all right,” said Anthony.
“Sure thing,” said Jimmy. “I was snooping round for news of you, when
I connected with this dame. She wasn’t at all what I thought she’d
be—some swell haughty Society lady that’d scare the life out of me.”
“He told me all about the letters,” said Virginia. “And I feel almost
ashamed not to have been in real trouble over them when he was such a
knight-errant.”
“If I’d known what you were like,” said Jimmy gallantly, “I’d not have
given him the letters. I’d have brought them to you myself. Say, young
man, is the fun really over? Is there nothing for me to do?”
“By Jove,” said Anthony, “there is! Wait a minute.”
He disappeared into the house. In a minute or two he returned with a
paper package which he cast into Jimmy’s arms.
“Go round to the garage and help yourself to a likely looking car. Beat
it to London and deliver that parcel at 17, Everdean Square. That’s
Mr. Balderson’s private address. In exchange he’ll hand you a thousand
pounds.”
“What? It’s not the Memoirs? I understood that they’d been burnt.”
“What do you take me for?” demanded Anthony. “You don’t think I’d fall
for a story like that, do you? I rang up the publishers at once, found
out that the other was a fake call, and arranged accordingly. I made up
a dummy package as I’d been directed to do. But I put the real package
in the Manager’s safe and handed over the dummy. The Memoirs have never
been out of my possession.”
“Bully for you, my son,” said Jimmy.
“Oh, Anthony,” cried Virginia. “You’re not going to let them be
published?”
“I can’t help myself. I can’t let a pal like Jimmy down. But you
needn’t worry. I’ve had time to wade through them, and I see now why
people always hint that bigwigs don’t write their own reminiscences