Her Ladyship's Elephant Part 14

"Now," said Faro Charlie, "I want to hear all about what you've been doing, first and last. Tending copper-mines, I heered, out to Michigan."

This, the Englishman felt, was going too far. It was bad enough to have to impersonate such a fellow as "Slippery d.i.c.k," but to endow him with a fict.i.tious history that was at all comparable with Faro Charlie's account of his earlier years required too great an effort of imagination. And the fact that a quiet little man, who was sitting near by, edged up his chair and seemed deeply interested in the conversation, did not tend to put him more at his ease. No wonder, he thought, the Consul did not talk much about his brother. He therefore hastened to change the subject.

"Have you seen much of the Indians lately?" he ventured; it seemed such a safe topic.

"Thinking of that little squaw you was so chummy with down to Injun Reservation?" queried his friend, punching him jovially in the ribs.

"You knew, didn't you, that they'd had her up for horse-stealing to Fort Smith? Reckon as they'd a hung her if she hadn't been a woman. She was a limb! Guess you had your hands full when you tackled her."

Scarsdale decided his choice of a subject had not been fortunate, and begged Faro Charlie to have some more whisky.

"Sure," replied that individual. "Drink with you all night."

"I'm afraid you can't do that," replied Scarsdale, hastening to rid himself of his unwelcome friend. "I have some important business to attend to this evening."

"I wish you weren't in such a rush. Come back and we'll paint the town, eh?"

Scarsdale thought it extremely unlikely, and shaking hands fled to the street with a sigh of relief; for he had had a very bad quarter of an hour. What cursed luck that he should have run across this American horror! He must avoid him at all costs to-morrow morning.

In his hurry he had not noticed that the quiet little man had left the winter garden with him. His one thought was to get away. He determined to send that telegram to Basingstoke at once, and go to bed before any one else recognised him: one of Slippery d.i.c.k's friends was enough.

But unkind fate had not yet done with him, and a new and more terrible surprise was in store for the unfortunate bridegroom. He had scarcely gone a dozen yards from the hotel entrance, when a voice said just beside him:

"Excuse me, Mr. Richard Allingford, but may I have a few words with you?"

Scarsdale turned, and finding himself face to face with the quiet little man, who had seemed so interested in his conversation of a few moments ago, said:

"I seem to be in great demand to-night. Why do you wish to see me? I don't know you."

"No," said the man who stood beside him. "No, you do not know me, Mr.

Richard Allingford; but you will."

He was a quiet, unpretending little man; but there was something about his dress and bearing, and the snap with which he shut his jaw at the end of a sentence, an air of decision, in short, which caused the Englishman to feel that he would do well to conciliate this stranger, whoever he might be, so he said shortly:

"What do you want with me? Speak quickly; I'm in a hurry."

"I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation just now at the hotel, and so I took the liberty of following you to ask you a question."

"Yes?" said Scarsdale interrogatively.

"If I mistake not you are the brother of the United States Consul at Christchurch, and came over to his wedding."

"Yes," he admitted; for he did not see how he could well deny to one man what he had just confessed to another.

"You have been in England about ten days, I think?"

"As long as that, certainly."

"May I ask what ship you came on?"

"By what right do you ask me these questions?"

"You will see presently."

"But suppose I refuse to answer them?"

The unknown shrugged his shoulders, and said quietly:

"Now wasn't it the _Paris_?"

"Yes," said Scarsdale, who remembered with joy having seen that fact chronicled in a London paper.

"I suppose you have never been in Winchester before?"

"Never in my life."

"Not last week?"

"Look here!" said Scarsdale angrily, "what the devil are you driving at?"

"It is a pity you should have such a good memory for past and not for recent events," said the quiet little man, "a great pity."

"I tell you I have never been here!"

"Didn't dine at the Lion's Head last Wednesday, for instance?"

"No, I did not, and I've had enough of this insolence!"

"So have I," said the little man, blowing a little whistle. "So have I, and therefore I arrest you, Richard Allingford, in the Queen's name."

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH MR. SCARSDALE REAPS ANOTHER'S WHIRLWIND

Scarsdale was absolutely staggered by the word "arrest." Arrest! What nonsense! Who was this man who talked of arresting _him_, Harold Scarsdale, peaceably engaged in trying to find his wife and proceed on his honeymoon? The first sensations of surprise and incredulity were quickly followed, however, by a realisation of the horrible situation in which his own stupidity had placed him. In the eyes of the law he was not Harold Scarsdale, but Richard Allingford, and he shuddered to think with what crime he might be charged; for, from what he had learned in the last half-hour, he could not doubt that he was posing as one of the most abandoned characters that had ever visited the town of Winchester.

A person who consorted with horse-thieves, cheated at cards, and thought nothing of shooting friends who were not thirsty, would surely be satisfied with no ordinary crime. Of what was he accused? He hardly dared to ask. And how was he to get out of this dreadful dilemma? His reflections, however, were cut short by the arrival of a burly policeman, in answer to his captor's whistle. The little man at once addressed the newcomer, quite ignoring Scarsdale.

"Here's your man Allingford; not a doubt of it," he said.

"Got your warrant?" inquired the policeman, laying a detaining hand on the prisoner's shoulder.

"Here it is," replied the first speaker, producing a paper, which the officer glanced at and returned, saying at the same time to Scarsdale:

"Now, then, come along o' me, and don't make no resistance if you knows what's good for you."