Sport Royal, and Other Stories

“You are expected, Milord.”

I did not know his voice, and it was dark in the passage.

“I am wet,” I said. “Take me to a fire.”

“There is one in the pantry,” he answered, leading the way.

We reached the pantry, and he turned to light the gas.

Looking at me in the full blaze, he started back, then scrutinized me closely, then exclaimed:

“What? You are not – ”

“Oh, yes, I am! I am Lord Daynesborough.”

“It’s a lie. You are a robber – a – ”

“I am Lord Daynesborough – Lord Daynesborough – Lord Daynesborough.”

At each repetition I advanced a step nearer; at the last I produced my trusty pistol, at the same time holding out a bank-note in the other hand.

He took the note.

“You will stay here,” I said, “for the next two hours. You will not come out, whatever happens. Is there anyone else in the house?”

“One maid, Milord, and a man in the stables.”

“Where is the maid?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Is the man within hearing?”

“No.”

“Good! Is the princess upstairs?”

“She is, Milord.”

I made him direct me to the room, and left him. I thought I would neglect the maid, and go straight to work. I went up to the door to which I had been directed, and knocked.

“Come in!” said the gentle, childlike voice.

I went in. The princess was lying on a sofa by the fire, reading a paper-covered book. She turned her head with a careless glance.

“Ah, you have come! Well, I almost hoped you would be afraid. I really don’t want you.”

This reception would probably have annoyed Lord Daynesborough.

“Why should I be afraid?” I asked, mimicking Daynesborough’s voice as well as I could.

Meanwhile I quietly locked the door.

“Why, because of your wife. I know you tremble before her.”

I advanced to the sofa.

“I have no wife,” I said; “and, seeing what I do, I thank God for it.”

She leaped up with a scream, loud and shrill.

A door opposite me opened, and a girl rushing in, crying:

“Madame!”

“Go back!” I said. “Go back!”

She paused, looking bewildered. I walked quickly up to her.

“Go back and keep quiet;” and, taking her by the shoulders, I pushed her back into the next room.

The princess rushed to the other door, and, on finding it locked, screamed again.

“Nobody,” I remarked, “should embark on these things who has not good nerves.”

She recognized me now. Her fright had been purely physical – I suppose she thought I was a burglar. When she knew me, she came forward in a dignified way, sat down on the sofa, and said:

“Explain your conduct, sir, if you are in a condition to do so.”

“I am sober, madame,” said I; “and I have two messages for you.”

“You present yourself in a strange way. Pray be brief,” and she glanced anxiously at the clock.

“Time does not press, madame,” said I. “Nobody will come.”

“Nobody will – What do you mean? I expect nobody.”

“Precisely, madame – and nobody will come.”

Her ivory fan broke between her fingers with a sharp click.

“What do you want?” she said.

“To deliver my messages.”

“Well?”

“First, Lord Daynesborough offers his apologies for being compelled to leave for Paris without tendering his farewell.”