His Lordship's Leopard Part 23

"Did you favour us with a visit?"

"I hadn't that honour."

"If you had done so you would probably have slept in the rooms we give to our American guests in the new part of the house."

"How old is that?" queried the journalist.

"About eight hundred years," replied Cecil, "and the walls are four feet thick."

"I know," said the reporter, "It's appalling. That sort of thing always upsets me. It seems so out of keeping with the _Daily Leader_."

"Look here, Marchmont, why have you come to Blanford?" demanded Banborough, abruptly changing the conversation.

"To have the joy of your society," returned the journalist.

"If that were really the case I'd be delighted to see you," said the Englishman. "But you're on the track of these unfortunate people who are my guests; and if you make things disagreeable for them I shan't have the slightest compunction in forbidding you the house."

The American, apparently ignoring the other's frankness, remarked:

"So you admit they're conspirators?"

"I admit nothing of the kind. They're perfectly innocent of the charge you bring against them, and you've been making an awful a.s.s of yourself, if you only knew it."

"Ah, thank you. But if this is the case why didn't you mention the fact to me in Montreal?"

"I had my reasons."

"And why are all these people received as honoured guests in your father's palace?"

"That, if you'll permit me to say so, Marchmont, is a matter that doesn't concern you."

"Everything concerns me. Not that I expect you to see that point of view. But to put it another way. Considering all I've done to increase the sale of your book, won't you do me a good turn and tell me what you know about this affair?"

"I wish the confounded book had never sold a copy!" burst out Banborough. "And I'll not say one word to the detriment of my friends!"

"Then it _is_ to be war?" queried the journalist, rolling a cigarette.

"Not so far as I'm concerned," replied his host. "Why don't you let bygones be bygones? A truce between the United States and Spain may be declared any day, and then--"

"Then my great scoop will be lost for ever. What would the public care about conspirators if there were no war?"

"Exactly what I say," said Cecil. "So let's drop the whole matter."

"Not much!" cried the journalist. "It's my last chance. And if you won't help me--why, I must help myself."

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Turn 'em out of Blanford."

"Impossible!"

"But your father?"

"How dare you mention my father's name in this connection? I won't have him dragged into publicity to sell your dirty rag of a newspaper!" Cecil exploded, thoroughly beside himself at the thought of such a dreadful possibility.

The journalist nodded his head gravely. Banborough's fierce defence of the Bishop he attributed to far other grounds than those on which it was really based. It justified him to the tramp's suspicions that his Lordship was actually connected with the plot.

"Well," he said, with a fair pretence of backing down, "there's no need of getting so hot about it. Of course I don't want to make myself disagreeable."

"Neither do I," replied his host. "Only we may as well understand each other. You're quite welcome to come to the palace as long as you remember to be a gentleman before you are a journalist. But if you forget it, I'll be forced to treat you as you deserve," and turning on his heel, he left Marchmont chewing the ends of his sandy moustache with a grim avidity that boded ill for the peace of the Bishop and his household.

The American told himself that he must work carefully. Banborough would watch him and probably put the others on their guard. And moreover, he would not hesitate to dismiss him from the palace, which, apart from the unpleasantness of the operation, would be well-nigh fatal to the success of the scheme the journalist was maturing. Decidedly the highest caution was essential, but he must work quickly, for there was no time to be lost. Marchmont therefore proceeded to pump the first member of the company he came across. This happened to be Spotts, who was in rather a bad humour, the result of a morning spent with the Bishop in the cobwebby heights of a neighbouring church-tower.

"You're the very person I wanted to see," cried the reporter.

"I'm afraid I've hardly time to be interviewed just now," replied the actor shortly.

"Oh, this isn't professional. I'm off duty sometimes. I'm only human."

"Oh, are you? I supposed newspaper men were neither the one nor the other."

"Well, I wanted to talk to you for your own good."

"Is it as bad as all that?"

"Of course I know who you really are," pursued the journalist, ignoring the interruption. "And I may say confidentially that you and Miss Arminster are not the people of this party I'm after."

"Ah, that's very thoughtful of you."

"So, if I could help you two to slip off quietly--"

"Why include Miss Arminster?" queried Spotts with well-affected surprise.

"Why? My dear fellow, you don't suppose I'm quite blind. Any one who follows that lady about with his eyes as you do is naturally-- Well--you understand--"

"I'm afraid your professional ac.u.men is at fault this time," said the actor, and added: "I hope I may never come any nearer being married than I am now."

"Oh, I say," returned Marchmont; "don't you aspire to be her--sixteenth, is it?"

"You're alluding to Miss Arminster's husbands?" asked Spotts drily.

"Oh, I'd a little bet up with a friend," said Marchmont, "that she'd been married at least a baker's dozen times. Ought I to hedge?"

"I think you're well inside the number," replied the actor.

"Gad! she must be pretty well acquainted with the divorce courts!"

exclaimed the reporter.

"I'm quite sure she's never been divorced in her life," returned Spotts.