CHAPTER X
A Duty Call
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General Sadgrove was not the man to embark on an undertaking without clearing the ground of doubtful points, and he drove home by way of New Scotland Yard, where, firmly refusing his reasons for wanting to know, he extracted the information that there was no such officer as “Inspector Chantrey” on the police roster. On arrival at Grosvenor Gardens he first sought and obtained a private interview with his wife, and astonished her by imparting the projected visit to Prior’s Tarrant.
“You are at the old work, Jem; I can see it in your eye,” she said after one glance at her husband’s stern, introspective face. “Is there danger?”
“To me possibly; to another certainly,” the General responded. “In fact, Madge, it is touch and go whether I can save a man’s life. I do not know yet if he is a good man, but his life is an important one.”
“Then of course I will go with you,” said Mrs. Sadgrove, guessing whose that life was from Alec Forsyth’s early call. “The Shermans, dear people, will be delighted to stay in a duke’s historic mansion, even if the invitation is a little irregular, for are they not Americans? I will go to the morning-room and break it to them.”
“Without a hint of what is brewing, mind,” said the General, and vanished into his own den. He sat for a while in thought, and presently rang the bell. It was answered by a tall Oriental in native costume and turban, who made low obeisance, but listlessly, as though bored to death. As he straightened himself, however, his coal-black eyes, raised deferentially to his master’s, blazed into sudden fire.
“Allah be praised! The black tribe walks again!” he cried in his vernacular, reading the sign as easily as Mrs. Sadgrove had done.
“Yes, Azimoolah, the black tribe walks. We go to pit cunning against cunning and right against wrong, you and I, as in the days when we rode the jungle-paths under the Indian moon,” the General replied in the same tongue. “Art glib of speech and handy with those iron arms of thine, as in the old times when we earned our pensions beyond the black water?”
“Try me, sahib—only try me,” came the quick answer. “I have feared that I was growing fat and soft in this city of laziness, where the tame polis use not the ways known to you and me, O leader of midnight pursuits. But that look in your eye brings back the old heart-hunger. I want a quarry, sahib, fleet of foot and strong of arm and wily of tongue, to match with all those of thine and mine. Show me such an one, sahib.”
“So will I, Azimoolah—not one, but twenty quarries, maybe, whom it will tax all our ancient skill to defeat,” said the General, with a frosty smile for his follower’s eagerness. “Take heed while I give orders.”
The conclave that ensued lasted until luncheon, at which it was noticed, though not remarked upon, by Mrs. Sadgrove that Azimoolah Khan did not as usual station himself behind his master’s chair. The General, too, made no reference to his retainer’s absence, but plunged at once into a totally unfounded explanation of the wholesale invitation to Prior’s Tarrant. The Duke of Beaumanoir, he averred, wished to be kind to his young kinswoman, Sybil Hanbury, by asking her down while Alec Forsyth was there, and as that was impossible without a chaperon, he, the General, had suggested a small houseparty with Mrs. Sadgrove and Mrs. Sherman to play propriety.
Mrs. Sherman evinced unfeigned delight at the prospect, her only anxiety being as to the length of the visit. Her husband, the Senator, with his precious charge of Treasury Bonds, was due in a week, and she would wish to be in London to receive him on arrival. Leonie, too, who did not seem to share her mother’s enthusiasm for accepting the ducal hospitality, pressed the point with some pertinacity. The General, however, was equal to the occasion.
“No dates were mentioned,” he said, looking his guests guilelessly in the face. “But as his Grace alluded to the pleasure with which he anticipated making the Senator’s acquaintance, I presume he takes it for granted that your husband will go straight to Prior’s Tarrant from Liverpool.”
Mrs. Sherman and Leonie exchanged glances, as though to say that that settled the matter, as indeed, from their point of view, it did. Senator Leonidas Sherman was the kindest of husbands and the most indulgent of fathers; but if he had landed in England and found that he had been deprived of the chance of staying with a duke, he would have made things hum for all concerned.
“Beaumanoir, having lived in your country, has a warm corner in his heart for all Americans,” said the General. “And talking of Americans, my dear,” he proceeded, addressing his wife, “I shouldn’t like to be uncivil to Mrs. Talmage Eglinton. As we are all going out of town, what do you say to returning her call this afternoon? If you are not otherwise engaged, I will order the carriage for four o’clock.”
When the General—who never in his life had paid a duty call without grumbling—spoke like that Mrs. Sadgrove knew what was expected of her, and did it. She had not the faintest inkling of his reasons for sudden politeness to a pushing woman whom they all disliked. In the old days, when she had gone out into camp with her husband, and had sat silent in the tent amid the coming and going of troopers and mysterious. spies, she had always divined when a great coup, resulting in the death or capture of some notorious malefactor, was vexing his brain. She had watched the spreading of the net without troubling him with questions about the meshes. So now, though inwardly disquieted by this recrudescence of the professional instinct, she abstained from worrying him, confident that the veteran would achieve his purpose as ruthlessly as the zealous young captain of thirty years ago.
Without demur the ordering of the carriage was agreed to, and when it came round at the appointed hour the Sadgroves were reinforced by Mrs. Sherman and Leonie, who, at a hint from the General, had been induced to accompany them. During the drive the General fidgeted a good deal about the pace at which his fine pair of bays was being driven, and once or twice checked the coachman; but his wife, who had learned to notice trifles, observed also that he frequently consulted his watch, and concluded that his anxiety was not entirely on the score of his cattle. Of this she was assured when, as the equipage turned into the courtyard of the hotel, he replaced his watch with a scarcely audible sigh of relief. What was it for which they were neither too late nor too early, she wondered.
At the bureau they were informed that Mrs. Talmage Eglinton was at home, and the party, having been handed over to a bell-boy, passed on—with the exception of the General, who lagged behind for a moment.
“You have a gentleman staying in the hotel of the name of Ziegler, have you not—Clinton Ziegler?” he inquired of the clerk. “Ah, thank you—I was not mistaken then. Do you happen to know if he is in his rooms at present?”
The answer was that Mr. Ziegler was certain to be in, as he was an invalid and never went out. Oh yes; he saw people—a good many, but always in his own apartments, and he never frequented the public rooms. His suite was in the same corridor as that of Mrs. Talmage Eglinton—next to it, in fact. No; the gentleman and lady were not friends, or even acquainted, the clerk believed. At any rate, they had arrived at different times, and he had never heard of any connection between them.
Thanking his informant, the General hurried after the others and caught them up in time to be ushered with them into Mrs. Talmage Eglinton’s luxurious reception-room. The handsome widow, beautifully gowned, and already apprised by speaking-tube that visitors were coming up, received them with effusion, and made no effort to conceal her surprise when the General appeared in the wake of the ladies. She rallied him on his new-found politeness, and openly avowed that he must have some secret object in seeking her good-will.
The General, disclaiming anything unusual in his conduct, bore the flow of badinage meekly, but under his gray mustache he muttered:
“Confound the woman! She is clever, or else Jem Sadgrove has blundered.”’
The conversation drifted into the usual channels of small talk, and by the time the General joined in he had assimilated one important fact in connection with his surroundings. The suite of apartments in which he was doing the penance of a duty call was a split suite. There was a door at the end of the room, across which a fairly heavy writing-table was placed, denoting that the door was not in use, as naturally it would have been if the room beyond had been one of those rented by Mrs. Talmage Eglinton. The discovery and his own deduction caused an odd little crease at the corner of the General’s mouth, and he seized the earliest opportunity to put in his word.
“I’ve got some news for you, Mrs. Talmage Eglinton. You are about to be the recipient of a very high honor.”
“Really! But this is extremely interesting,” was the reply, accompanied by a flash of scrutiny, quickly changed to a charming smile. “Pray don’t keep me in suspense, General. Am I to go for a cruise in the royal yacht, or dine with the Lord Mayor?”
“The Duke of Beaumanoir is going to ask you down to his country-place at Prior’s Tarrant,” said the General, imperturbably ignoring her persiflage. “I was with him this morning, and I gathered that you’ll have your invitation in the course of the day. We’re all going down. The Duke is Alec’s new boss, don’t you know, and he has taken a liking to the lot of us.”
He carefully avoided his wife’s eyes and those of his guests as he burst this amazing bombshell, thereby depriving himself of the sight of a toss of Leonie’s pretty head and of the raising of two pairs of elderly eyebrows. His hostess had his sole attention, and she repaid it fully. For the first time in his experience of her Mrs. Talmage Eglinton changed color and seemed at a loss for words. He helped her out, and himself too, with the same old lie, and his manner was perfect—just that of the simple old soldier:
“The Duke dotes on Americans, don’t you know. Says he was introduced to you by my nephew outside Beaumanoir House the day he landed, and when it came out in conversation that we knew you, he insisted on your being asked. Thought it would please Alec, don’t you know.”
The last sentence was spoken carelessly, as though it was an afterthought, but it had an effect that all the skill at Mrs. Talmage Eglinton’s disposal could not hide—an effect transient only, but so marked that the three other women in the room, coldly hostile as they were, did not fail to note it. The flush which had tinged her cheek on hearing of the invitation deepened, and a softer light gleamed for a moment in her fine eyes.
But whether the General’s explanation was deemed adequate, or whether she intended to accept the invitation, there was no present means of knowing. For the sedate calm of the afternoon call was suddenly interrupted by a tremendous uproar beyond the closed door that was blocked by the writing-table—a babel of confused voices and the shuffling of feet. The ladies looked at one another in alarm, Mrs. Talmage Eglinton fully sharing the agitation of her visitors. Indeed, she rose and glided swiftly towards the closed door, and then, as though recollecting that it was not available, made for the principal entrance of her suite.
The General rose and followed her into the corridor, the commotion being so great as to excuse his doing so. In fact, the sounds from the next room were so appalling as to suggest that his protection might be necessary against some broken-out lunatic, and out in the corridor it was evident that some such idea prevailed among the hotel attendants. A cluster of them had already collected at the door of the adjoining apartments, and more were arriving.
“What is all this disturbance?” Mrs. Talmage Eglinton inquired of one of them, and the General, close behind, discerned a tremulous note in her indignation.
The man she accosted did not know, but another, who had been inside the suite, at that moment pushed his way out and overheard the question.
“It’s nothing really serious, madam,” he said. “An Indian Prince who had applied for rooms was being shown round, when he took a fancy to enter that suite—occupied by Mr. Clinton Ziegler. The Prince is in there now, and nothing will induce him to leave peaceably, as he can’t be made to understand that the rooms are engaged. He doesn’t appear to know much English, but I am going for one of the curry cooks, who will doubtless be able to interpret for us.”
“No need to waste time in fetching the cook,” interposed the General. “I speak most of the Indian dialects, and I dare say I can get him to quit.”
“You’d better be careful, then, sir,” said the attendant. “He pretty nearly strangled Mr. Ziegler’s secretary when he tried to put him out.”
Disdaining the warning and accepting the implied permission, the General elbowed his way into the invaded territory, from which, after a couple of minutes, he emerged with a tall Asiatic who was wreathed in apologetic smiles, and talking volubly in an unknown tongue. The intruder was dressed in a gor-geously embroidered purple vestment, and in his snowy turban blazed a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. From the doorway of the invaded suite a couple of pale, fierce faces glared for an instant, and then the door was shut.
“It’s all right,” the General announced to the assembled spectators, who by this time included Mrs. Sadgrove and the Shermans. “This is his Highness the Thakore of Bhurtnagur, and he didn’t mean to be rude. Just a little misunderstanding of his legal rights outside his own jurisdiction. He says he’ll look for rooms at some other hotel, as he can’t have those he wants here.”
A murmur of relief went up from the embarrassed attendants, who with great deference proceeded to escort the swarthy potentate to the carriage which it was understood was waiting for him. At the same time Mrs. Sadgrove held out her hand to Mrs. Talmage Eglinton, and, declining that lady’s not too pressing offer of tea, sailed away to the stairhead, accompanied by Leonie and her mother. The General was the last to make his adieus, and he made them, oddly enough, much more cordially than the women-folk.
“Pleasant thing, a short parting,” he ejaculated, as he bent over the fair American’s jeweled hand. “We shall meet in a day or two at Prior’s Tarrant, eh?”
Mrs. Talmage Eglinton smiled sweetly up at the rugged face of the veteran man-hunter.
“Come, General, you can’t expect me to give myself away like that,” she said. “I shan’t make up my mind until I get the invitation. You might be a bad, bold dissembler, you know, just taking a rise out of me; and then what a fool I should look if I had said that I was going to stay with the Duke.”
“I might be a dissembler, but you couldn’t look a fool—under any circumstances,” replied the General gallantly, as he turned away.
Mrs. Talmage Eglinton stood watching the erect figure march down the corridor, and suddenly called after him:
“When does the Duke himself go into the country, General?”
The erect figure wheeled as on a pivot, and the answer came back without a second’s pause.
“To-night, by the 8.45 from St. Pancras. Alec Forsyth goes down with him.”