His Lordship's Leopard Part 30

"Really?" she asked. "How so?"

"I can produce a witness of the whole transaction."

"Who?"

"Friend Othniel."

"What! here, on board the yacht?"

"Yes," said Marchmont, "on board this yacht. And he can prove that what I say is true."

"What? About the Bishop?" she cried, her voice quivering with suppressed merriment.

"Certainly," replied the journalist. "After his release from the Black Maria he tells substantially your story, but gives the Bishop the part you have carefully a.s.signed to his innocent son."

At this she once more broke into peals of laughter, but at last, recovering her speech, managed to gasp out:

"Bring him here, and see what he says."

"I will," said Marchmont, hurriedly leaving the cabin, for her marvellous self-possession was beginning to arouse unpleasant suspicions even in his mind.

"But what does it all mean?" queried the Bishop helplessly, after the journalist's departure. "How dare he say such things about me! I drive a prison-van, indeed!"

"I'll tell you," she replied, striving to control her voice. "It's the greatest practical joke that ever was. We called your son 'the Bishop,'

just as a nickname, you see, and of course the tramp heard us, and, after we dropped him in Montreal, must have blown the whole thing to Marchmont out of spite, and, not knowing any better, he thought your son really _was_ the Bishop."

Here his Lordship became speechless, as the truth dawned upon him; and at that moment Marchmont entered the cabin, with Friend Othniel in tow.

"There!" he said, pointing to the ecclesiastic. "Is that the Bishop of Blanford?"

"Naw," replied the tramp. "He's old enough to be his father, he is. The Bishop I means is a young 'un."

"Like this!" cried Violet, opening the locket which Cecil had given her in Montreal, and handing it to the tramp.

"That's him to a T," said Friend Othniel. "I'd know him among a thousand."

For a moment Marchmont said nothing as he encountered the full force of the cruel disillusion, and then with painstaking precision he turned and kicked the tramp up the entire flight of cabin stairs.

"Now," remarked the Bishop, "perhaps you'll allow us to go free."

"No!" cried the journalist, slamming the door. "I've wasted heaps of cash and no end of time over this wild-goose-chase, but the _Daily Leader_ shall have its scoop yet! If you aren't conspirators, I'll make you so, in spite of yourselves! You _shall_ be Spanish spies!"

CHAPTER V.

IN WHICH THE BISHOP EATS JAM TART, AND MISS MATILDA HUMBLE-PIE.

"Now," remarked the Bishop to Miss Arminster, as Marchmont quitted the cabin after this last astounding remark, "Now I'm certain he's mad."

"Oh, no," replied the lady, "it's merely journalistic enterprise. I don't blame him for being disappointed. It must be hard to find that we're not conspirators, after all."

"But why should he wish to make us so?"

"You dear stupid old Joe!" she exclaimed. "You haven't the remotest inkling of what American journalism means. It's sensation first, last, and altogether. Think of a bishop, and an English bishop at that, posing as an agent of the Spanish secret service, and eloping with an actress on somebody else's yacht. Why, I can shut my eyes and see the headlines. They're almost certain to print them in red ink. There's fame for you!"

"But why should he wish to print it if it's not the truth?"

"Truth! My dear Bishop, who said anything about truth? We were speaking of news, and--journalistic enterprise."

At this moment the door again burst open, and Marchmont flung into the cabin.

"There!" he said, with a tone of triumph, "we've sighted an American steamer down channel, and have hoisted the Spanish flag. We're pursuing her, and very presently we shall be captured, and you'll be surrendered."

"I suppose," began the Bishop, "that, to a man so devoid of moral consciousness as you appear to be, no arguments of mine--"

"Don't waste your breath," broke in Miss Arminster. "They wouldn't."

"Why, I'm sorry to cause you any inconvenience," said the journalist amiably, "but you see, my paper's simply panting for sensation, and when they hear about this little racket they'll sell extras till they can't see straight."

"And what, may I ask, will happen when the truth comes out?" demanded his Lordship severely.

"Oh, the war'll probably be over by the time you reach New York, and you'll cease to be interesting," replied Marchmont. "Besides, we'll have had our scoop, and most likely, when the _Daily Leader_ finds there's no case against you they'll give you a return ticket. The management's generally pretty liberal."

"Well, I must say," spluttered the Bishop, "that of all the brazen--unconscionable--!"

"Why did you raise the Spanish flag?" interrupted Miss Arminster.

"That was my idea," said the journalist, "and I'm rather proud of it.

You see, we could hardly reverse the Union Jack as a sign of distress, and then go full speed ahead, but I don't think an American ship would resist taking a Spanish prize; and as soon as they get within firing range we'll run up a flag of truce. By the way," he continued, becoming quite courteous, now that he felt he had them in his power, "why do you remain in this stuffy cabin? I shall be very glad to have you up on deck, provided you'll give me your parole."

"What, not to escape?" asked Violet. "Did you think we were going to jump overboard and swim ash.o.r.e?"

"No. I mean that you should give your parole not to be anything but Spaniards."

"I am afraid we couldn't manage that," she replied. "The Bishop doesn't look nearly ferocious enough."

"I absolutely refuse to become a party to this deception!" said his Lordship.

"Oh, I don't ask you to do that," returned Marchmont, "only to promise that you'll not try and enlist the sympathies of the crew in your behalf."

"I shall not promise anything," said the Bishop, "nor shall I allow this lady to do so. I'm a man of peace, but if ever I get hold of you on dry land I'll horsewhip you, if it costs me my see; and if you don't leave this cabin at once I'll treat you as you treated your friend. You are a thorough blackguard, and not fit to a.s.sociate with gentlemen!"

The journalist started to say something, but, remembering that his accuser was muscular, thought better of it, shrugged his shoulders, and went out silently, locking the door behind him.

"There!" said his Lordship, "I can breathe more freely now."