The Secret of Chimneys
but hire some one to do it for them. As a writer, Stylptitch is an
insufferable bore. He proses on about statecraft, and doesn’t go in for
any racy and indiscreet anecdotes. His ruling passion of secrecy held
strong to the end. There’s not a word in the Memoirs from beginning to
end to flutter the susceptibilities of the most difficult politician.
I rang up Balderson to-day, and arranged with him that I’d deliver the
manuscript to-night before midnight. But Jimmy can do his own dirty
work now that’s he’s here.”
“I’m off,” said Jimmy. “I like the idea of that thousand
pounds—especially when I’d made up my mind I was down and out.”
“Half a second,” said Anthony. “I’ve got a confession to make to you,
Virginia. Something that every one else knows, but that I haven’t yet
told you.”
“I don’t mind how many strange women you’ve loved so long as you don’t
tell me about them.”
“Women!” said Anthony, with a virtuous air. “Women indeed? You ask
James here what kind of women I was going about with last time he saw
me.”
“Frumps,” said Jimmy solemnly. “Utter frumps. Not one a day under
forty-five.”
“Thank you, Jimmy,” said Anthony, “you’re a true friend. No, it’s much
worse than that. I’ve deceived you as to my real name.”
“Is it very dreadful?” said Virginia, with interest. “It isn’t
something silly like Pobbles, is it? Fancy being called Mrs. Pobbles.”
“You are always thinking the worst of me.”
“I admit that I did once think you were King Victor, but only for about
a minute and a half.”
“By the way, Jimmy, I’ve got a job for you—gold prospecting in the
rocky fastnesses of Herzoslovakia.”
“Is there gold there?” asked Jimmy eagerly.
“Sure to be,” said Anthony. “It’s a wonderful country.”
“So you’re taking my advice and going there?”
“Yes,” said Anthony. “Your advice was worth more than you knew. Now
for the confession. I wasn’t changed at nurse, or anything romantic
like that, but nevertheless I am really Prince Nicholas Obolovitch of
Herzoslovakia.”
“Oh, Anthony,” cried Virginia. “How perfectly screaming! And I have
married you! What are we going to do about it?”
“We’ll go to Herzoslovakia and pretend to be Kings and Queens. Jimmy
McGrath once said that the average life of a King or Queen out there is
under four years. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” cried Virginia. “I shall love it!”
“Isn’t she great?” murmured Jimmy.
Then, discreetly, he faded into the night. A few minutes later the
sound of a car was heard.
“Nothing like letting a man do his own dirty work,” said Anthony, with
satisfaction. “Besides, I didn’t know how else to get rid of him. Since
we were married I’ve not had one minute alone with you.”
“We’ll have a lot of fun,” said Virginia. “Teaching the brigands not
to be brigands, and the assassins not to assassinate, and generally
improving the moral tone of the country.”
“I like to hear these pure ideals,” said Anthony. “It makes me feel my
sacrifice has not been in vain.”
“Rot,” said Virginia calmly, “you’ll enjoy being a King. It’s in your
blood, you know. You were brought up to the trade of Royalty, and
you’ve got a natural aptitude for it, just like plumbers have a natural
bent for plumbing.”
“I never think they have,” said Anthony. “But damn it all, don’t let’s
waste time talking about plumbers. Do you know that at this very
minute I’m supposed to be deep in conference with Isaacstein and old
Lollipop? They want to talk about oil. Oil, my God! They can just
await my kingly pleasure. Virginia, do you remember my telling you once
that I’d have a damned good try to make you care for me.”
“I remember,” said Virginia softly. “But Superintendent Battle was
looking out of the window.”
“Well, he isn’t now,” said Anthony.
He caught her suddenly to him, kissing her eyelids, her lips, the green
gold of her hair....
“I do love you so, Virginia,” he whispered. “I do love you so. Do you
love me?”
He looked down at her—sure of the answer.
Her head rested against his shoulder, and very low, in a sweet shaken
voice, she answered:
“Not a bit!”
“You little devil,” cried Anthony, kissing her again. “Now I know for
certain that I shall love you until I die....”
31
Sundry Details
Scene—Chimneys, 11 A.M. Thursday morning.
Johnson, the police constable, with his coat off, digging.
Something in the nature of a funeral feeling seems to be in the air.
The friends and relations stand round the grave that Johnson is digging.
George Lomax has the air of the principal beneficiary under the will
of the deceased. Superintendent Battle, with his immovable face, seems
pleased that the funeral arrangements have gone so nicely. As the
undertaker, it reflects credit upon him. Lord Caterham has that solemn
and shocked look which Englishmen assume when a religious ceremony is
in progress.
Mr. Fish does not fit into the picture so well. He is not sufficiently
grave.
Johnson bends to his task. Suddenly he straightens up. A little stir of
excitement passes round.
“That’ll do, sonny,” says Mr. Fish. “We shall do nicely now.”
One perceives at once that he is really the family physician.
Johnson retires. Mr. Fish, with due solemnity, stoops over the
excavation. The surgeon is about to operate.
He brings out a small canvas package. With much ceremony he hands it
to Superintendent Battle. The latter, in his turn, hands it to George
Lomax. The etiquette of the situation has now been fully complied with.
George Lomax unwraps the package, slits up the oil-silk inside it,
burrows into further wrapping. For a moment he holds something on the
palm of his hand—then quickly shrouds it once more in cotton wool.
He clears his throat.
“At this auspicious minute,” he begins, with the clear delivery of the
practised speaker.
Lord Caterham beats a precipitate retreat. On the terrace he finds his
daughter.
“Bundle, is that car of yours in order?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Then take me up to town in it immediately. I’m going abroad at
once—to-day.”
“But, father——”
“Don’t argue with me, Bundle. George Lomax told me when he arrived this
morning that he was anxious to have a few words with me privately on a
matter of the utmost delicacy. He added that the King of Timbuctoo was
arriving in London shortly. I won’t go through it again, Bundle, do you
hear? Not for fifty George Lomaxes! If Chimneys is so valuable to the
nation, let the nation buy it. Otherwise I shall sell it to a syndicate
and they can turn it into an hotel.”
“Where is Codders now?”
Bundle is rising to the situation.
“At the present minute,” replied Lord Caterham, looking at his watch,
“he is good for at least fifteen minutes about the Empire.”
Another picture.
Mr. Bill Eversleigh, not invited to be present at the graveside
ceremony, at the telephone.
“No, really, I mean it.... I say, don’t be huffy.... Well, you will
have supper to-night anyway?... No, I haven’t. I’ve been kept to it
with my nose at the grindstone. You’ve no idea what Codders is like....
I say, Dolly, you know jolly well what I think about you.... You know
I’ve never cared for anyone but you.... Yes, I’ll come to the show
first. How does the old wheeze go? ‘And the little girl tries, Hooks
and Eyes’....”
Unearthly sounds. Mr. Eversleigh trying to hum the refrain in question.
And now George’s peroration draws to a close.
... “the lasting peace and prosperity of the British Empire!”
“I guess,” said Mr. Hiram Fish _sotto voce_ to himself and the world at
large, “that this has been a great little old week.”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.