A Coin of Edward VII: A Detective Story

"Only to keep hold of the money left by Mr. Powell," explained the Princess. "He is really Alfred Denham, who caused all the misery of my married life with George."

"Anne's father."

"No. I tell you he is not Anne's father. George was the father of Anne. He is dead. He died shortly after divorcing me."

Giles felt his heart swell with gratitude to learn that Anne was not connected with – Here he paused, more bewildered than ever. "I don't quite understand, Princess," he said, trying to arrive in his own mind at some solution of this complicated mystery. "Had not your husband a brother called Walter?"

"No. George was an only son."

"Then did Alfred Denham have a brother of that name?"

"No. Don't you understand, Mr. Ware. You have been deceived. Denham, who calls himself by my husband's name pretends to be Anne's father, was the man who went down to Rickwell."

"The man whom Anne helped to escape."

"Yes. Under the belief that he is her father, poor child."

"Then there is no Walter Franklin. He is a myth?" The Princess nodded.

"Invented to throw you off the scent."

"And Denham, who calls himself George Franklin, really killed Daisy?"

"I believe he did," declared the Princess fiercely. "That man is one of the most wicked creatures born. He is capable of any crime."

Ware said nothing. His brain refused to take in the explanation. That he should have been so deceived seemed incredible, yet deceived he had been. All this time he had been following a phantom, while the real person was tricking him with masterly ingenuity. "But Anne told me herself that she had an uncle called Walter," said he suddenly.

"Of course! To save the man she believed to be her father."

"Wait! Wait! I can't grasp it yet." Giles buried his face in his hands and tried to think the matter out.

The Princess went to the window and drew aside the curtain. "I see nothing of Anne and Olga," she murmured. "Where can they have got to. Oh, am I to lose her after all?" She paused and came back to the couch. "Mr. Ware," she said, "I will tell you all my sad story, and then you can judge what is best to be done."

"That is best," said Giles, lifting up his worn face. "I am quite in the dark so far. The thing seems to be incredible."

"Truth is stranger than fiction," said the Princess quietly. "That is a truism, but no other saying can apply to what I am about to tell you."

"One moment, Princess. Who found out that Denham was masquerading as your late husband?"

"Olga found it out. I don't know how. She refuses to tell me."

"And she asked you to come over to identify the man?"

"Yes. That was why I went with her to Rickwell. I called on Denham, and saw that he was not my husband."

"I see!" murmured Giles, remembering what the gardener had told Mrs. Parry about the pallor of the so-called Franklin when he came to the door with his visitor. "I am beginning to gather some information out of all this. But if you will tell me the whole story – "

"At once, Mr. Ware. I want your advice and assistance. First you must have some whiskey."

"Not in the morning, thank you."

"You must have it!" she replied, ringing the bell. "What I have said already has upset you, and you will require all your courage to hear the rest."

"Anne," said Giles anxiously.

"My poor child. I fear for her greatly. No! Don't ask me more. So long as Olga is with her I hope that all will be well. Otherwise – " She made a quick gesture to silence him, for the servant entered to receive orders.

So Giles was provided with some whiskey and water, which the Princess made him drink at once. She had thrown off her languor, and was as quick in her movements as he usually was himself. The discovery of Denham's masquerade, the doubts about Anne's safety had roused her from her indolence, and she had braced herself to act. A more wonderful transformation Giles could scarcely have imagined. Shortly he was ordered to smoke. The Princess lighted a cigarette herself, and began abruptly to tell her tale. It was quite worthy of a melodramatic novelist.

"I was born in Jamaica," she said, speaking slowly and distinctly, so that Giles should fully understand. "My father, Colonel Shaw, had retired from the army. Having been stationed at Kingstown, he had contracted a love for the island, and so stopped there. He went into the interior and bought an estate. Shortly afterwards he married my mother. She was a quadroon."

Giles uttered an ejaculation. He remembered that Anne had stated she had negro blood in her veins, and now saw why Princess Karacsay and her daughter had such a love for barbaric coloring. Also he guessed that Olga's fierce temperament was the outcome of her African blood.

The Princess nodded. She quite understood his interruption.

"You can see the negro in me," she said quietly. "In Jamaica that was considered disgraceful, but in Vienna no one knows about the taint."

"It is not a taint in England, Princess – or in the Old World."

"No! Perhaps not. But then" – she waved her delicate hand impatiently – "there is no need to discuss that, Mr. Ware. Let me proceed with what I have to tell you. When I was eighteen I married George Franklin. He was a young planter of good birth, and very handsome in looks."

"Anything like Denham?" asked Ware quickly.

The Princess blew a contemptuous cloud of smoke. "Not in the least, Mr. Ware. George was good-looking. What Denham is, you can see for yourself. Denham was George's foster-brother," she explained.

"And his evil genius," added Giles. "I am beginning to understand."

The Princess flushed crimson, and her whole body trembled with passion. "He ruined my life," she cried, trying to restrain her emotion. "If I could see him hanged, I should be pleased. But such a death would fall far short of the punishment he deserves."

"Has Denham negro blood in him?"

"Yes. He is a degree nearer the negro than I am. George was a native of Jamaica, and very rich. When his mother died he was quite a baby, and Denham's mother nursed him. Thus he became Denham's foster-brother, and the two boys grew up together. Powell tried all he could to neutralize the bad influence of Denham, but it was useless. George was quite under Denham's thumb."

"Powell! The man who left the money to Daisy? Was he in Jamaica?"

The Princess nodded. "For a time," she said, "George was at an English public school – Rugby, I fancy. He met Powell there, and the two became much attached. There was also another boy called Kent."

"Daisy's father?"

"Yes. George, Powell, and Kent were inseparable. They were called the Three Musketeers at school. Afterwards George lost sight of Kent, but Powell came out to Jamaica to stop with George. That was before and after my marriage. Denham was ruining my husband body and soul, and in pocket. Powell tried to remonstrate with George, but it was no use. Denham was the overseer, and George would not dismiss him. Then Powell returned to England. Afterwards when he heard from me that George was completely ruined, he wrote about the money."

"Did he say he would leave the money to George?"

"Not exactly that. He said that Kent was ruined also, and explained that if he could make a fortune he would leave it equally divided between George and Kent, as he did not intend to marry himself."

"But he did not leave his money equally divided," said Giles.

"No. But at that time Kent was not married, and Powell had not gone to Australia to make his money. Whether he liked Kent better than George I don't know, but, as you are aware, he left the money first to Daisy – knowing that Kent was dead – and afterwards, should she die, to George and his descendants."