The Lady in the Car

“Then does not that confirm our suspicions? Is he not a dangerous person to have in a house so full of valuable objects as Milnthorpe?”

“I certainly agree. After the dinner-party on Wednesday, I’ll give him notice.”

“Rather pay the fellow his month’s money, and send him away,” her companion suggested. Then in the same breath he added: “Of course it is not for me to interfere with your household arrangements. I know this is great presumption. But my eyes are open, and I have noted that the man is not all he pretends to be. Therefore I thought it only my duty to broach the subject.”

“My interests are yours,” cooed the widow at his side. “Most decidedly Ferrini shall go. Or else one morning we may wake up and find that thieves have paid us a second visit.”

Then, the chauffeur having put on a “move,” their conversation became interrupted, and the subject was not resumed, for very soon they found themselves swinging through the lodge-gates of Milnthorpe.

Wednesday night came. Milnthorpe Hall was aglow with light, the rooms beautifully decorated by a well-known florist, the dinner cooked by a chef from London, the music played by a well-known orchestra stationed on the lawn outside the long, oak-panelled dining-room; and as one guest after another arrived in carriages and cars they declared that the widow had certainly eclipsed herself by this entertainment in honour of his Highness Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein.

Not a word of their approaching marriage was allowed to leak out. For the present, it was their own secret. Any premature announcement might, he had told her, bring upon him the Kaiser’s displeasure.

Four

In the long drawing-room, receiving her guests, stood the widow, handsome in black and silver, wearing her splendid tiara and necklet of diamonds, as well as a rope of fine, well-matched pearls, all of which both the Parson and his Highness duly noted. She certainly looked a brilliant figure, while, beside her, stood the Prince himself, with the miniature crosses of half a dozen of his decorations strung upon a tiny gold chain across the lappel of his dress-coat.

Several guests had arrived earlier in the day to dine and sleep, while the remainder, from the immediate neighbourhood, included several persons of title and social distinction who had accepted the invitation out of mere curiosity. Half the guests went because they were to meet a real live prince, and the other half in order to afterwards poke fun at the obese tuft-hunter.

The dinner, however, was an unqualified success, the thanks being in a great measure due to his Highness, who was full of vivacity and brilliant conversation. Everybody was charmed with him, while of course later on, in the corner of the drawing-room, the Bayswater parson sang his friend’s praises in unmeasured terms.

The several unmarried women set their caps pointedly at the hero of the evening, and at last, when the guests had left and the visitors had retired, he, with the Parson and two other male visitors, Sir Henry Hutton, and a certain Lionel Meyer, went to the billiard-room.

It was two o’clock when they went upstairs. The Bayswater vicar had to pass the Prince’s room, in order to get to his own, but he did not enter further than the threshold. Both men looked eagerly across at the dressing-table, upon which Charles had left two candles burning.

That was a secret sign. Both men recognised it, and the Prince instantly raised his finger with a gesture indicative of silence. Then he exclaimed aloud: “Well, good-night, Clayton. We’ll go for a run in the morning,” and closed his door noisily, while the Parson went along to his own room.

The Prince, always an early riser, was up at eight o’clock, and was already dressed when Charles entered his room.

“Well?” he inquired, as was his habit.

“There’s a rare to-do below,” exclaimed the valet. “The whole house has been ransacked in the night, and a clean sweep made of all the jewellery. The old woman is asking to see you at once.”

Without ado, his Highness descended, sending Charles along to alarm the Parson.

In the morning-room he found the widow, with the two male guests and two ladies, assembled in excited conclave. As he entered, his hostess rushed towards him, saying:

“Oh, Prince! A most terrible thing has happened! Every scrap of jewellery, including my tiara and necklet, has been stolen!”

“Stolen!” he gasped, pretending not to have heard the news.

“Yes. I placed them myself in the safe in the butler’s pantry, together with several cases the maids brought me from my guests. I locked them up just after one o’clock and took the key. Here it is. It has never left my possession. I – ”

She was at that moment interrupted by the entrance of the Parson, who, having heard of the robbery from the servants, began:

“My de-ah Mrs Edmondson. This is really a most untoward circumstance – most – ”

“Listen,” the widow went on excitedly. “Hear me, and then advise me what to do. I took this key,” – and she held it up for their inspection – “and hid it beneath the corner of the carpet in my room. This morning, to my amazement, my maid came to say that the safe-door had been found ajar, and that though the plate had been left, all the jewellery had disappeared. Only the empty cases remain!”

“How has the safe been opened?” asked the Prince, standing amazed.

Was it possible that some ingenious adventurer had got ahead of him? It certainly seemed so.

“It’s been opened by another key, that’s evident,” replied the widow.

“And where’s Ferrini?” inquired his Highness quickly.

“He’s missing. Nobody has seen him this morning,” answered the distressed woman. “Ah, Prince, you were right – quite right in your surmise. I believed in him, but you summed him up very quickly. I intended to discharge him to-morrow, but I never dreamed he possessed a second key.”

“He has the jewels, evidently,” remarked Sir Henry Hutton, himself a county magistrate. “I’ll run into Whitby, and inform the police, Mrs Edmondson. We have no idea which direction the fellow has taken.”

At that moment the door opened, and Garrett, cap in hand, stood on the threshold.

“Well, what’s the matter?” asked his master.

“Please, your Highness, our car’s gone. It’s been stolen from the garage in the night!”

The announcement caused an electrical effect upon the assembly.

“Then this man could also drive a car, as well as wait at table!” exclaimed Sir Henry. “Myself, I always distrust foreign servants.”

“Ferrini had one or two lessons in driving from my chauffeur, I believe,” remarked the widow, now in a state of utter collapse.

“Never mind, Mrs Edmondson,” said his Highness cheerily. “Allow Sir Henry and myself to do our best. The fellow is bound to be caught. I’ll give the police the number of my car, and its description. And what’s more, we have something very valuable here.” And he drew out his pocket-book. “You recollect the suspicions of Ferrini which I entertained, and which I explained in confidence to you? Well, my valet has a pocket camera, and with it three days ago I took a snap-shot of your exemplary servant. Here it is!”

“By Jove. Excellent!” cried Sir Henry. “This will be of the greatest assistance to the police.”

And so it was arranged that the police of Whitby should be at once informed.

At breakfast – a hurried, scrappy meal that morning – every one condoled with the Prince upon the loss of his car. Surely the whole affair had been most cleverly contrived by Ferrini, who had got clear away.

Just as the meal had concluded and the Parson had promised to accompany Sir Henry over to Whitby to see the police, he received a telegram calling him to his brother, who had just landed in Liverpool from America, and who wished to see him at the Adelphi Hotel that evening.

To his hostess he explained that he was bound to keep the appointment, for his brother had come from San Francisco on some important family affairs, and was returning to New York by the next boat.

Therefore he bade adieu to Mrs Edmondson – “de-ah Mrs Edmondson,” he always called her – and was driven in the dog-cart to Grosmont station, while a few minutes later, the Prince and Sir Henry set out in the widow’s Mercédès for Whitby.

The pair returned about one o’clock, and at luncheon explained what they had done.

In the afternoon, the widow met his Highness out in the tent upon the lawn, and they sat together for some time, he enjoying his eternal “Petroff.” Indeed, he induced her to smoke one, in order to soothe her nerves.

“Don’t upset yourself too much, my dear Gertrude,” he urged, placing his hand upon hers. “We shall catch the fellow, never fear. Do you know, I’ve been wondering whether, if I went up to town and saw them at Scotland Yard, it would not be the wisest course. I know one of the superintendents. I met him when my life was threatened by anarchists, and the police put me under their protection. The Whitby police seem very slow. Besides, by this time Ferrini is far afield.”

“I really think, Albert, that it would be quite a good plan,” exclaimed the widow enthusiastically. “If you went to Scotland Yard they would, no doubt, move heaven and earth to find the thief.”

“That’s just what I think,” declared his Highness. “I’ll go by the six-twenty.”

“But you’ll return here to-morrow, won’t you?” urged the widow. “The people I have here will be so disappointed if you don’t – and – and as for myself,” she added, her fat face flushing slightly – “well, you know that I am only happy when you are near me.”