Mrs. Fitz Part 37

When the old man returned with this sustenance for the material state, I was moved to inquire how it was that such an intellectual rawhead and b.l.o.o.d.ybones as this too-a.s.siduous diver into the sunless sea of the occult should subscribe to a journal of such a texture and complexion.

"Is it, Peac.o.c.k, do you suppose, that, like Francis the first Lord Verulam, he would take all knowledge for his province?"

"He goes racing, sir," said Peac.o.c.k, not without a suggestion of pride.

"And, what is more, sir, he wins so much money that none of the bookmakers will have anything to do with him these days if they can help it. Why, do you know, sir, he has given me the name of the winner of the Derby three years running a whole fortnight before the race."

"Did you reconcile it with your conscience, Peac.o.c.k, to back the horse?"

"Not the first time, sir, because, you see, I was hardly convinced it would win. It was a new fad with him then. But when I found it did win, and he gave me the tip the next year, it seemed to be flying in the face of providence, as it were, to throw away the chance, so I had on a sovereign and won nine pounds ten."

"And the third time, Peac.o.c.k?"

"The third time, sir, I made it five and I won forty. And if I can stand his goings on, sir, until next Epsom week, and he gives me the tip again, I intend to put on all my savings."

I had scarcely the heart to ask the old fellow what his conscience had to say in the matter. Doubtless it was one of those organisms that only responded to the call of the higher metaphysics. It was a patrician conscience, no doubt, which only concerned itself with the ultimate.

Anyhow, before I could gratify my curiosity on this point, the re-emergence of my Uncle Theodore saved his retainer from an inquiry.

A glance at my watch convinced me that we had not a moment to lose if we were to catch the 5.28 from the Grand Central station.

Uncle Theodore took an almost paternal leave of his visitor. He conducted her to the taxicab which awaited us; and in a voice of gentleness, of winning deference, he bade her G.o.d-speed. When she offered him her hand, as it seemed almost timidly, he pressed it to his lips.

"Fear nothing," I heard him say under his breath softly, and I thought the unhappy lady smiled wanly with her great gaunt eyes.

As I was about to enter the cab, Theodore placed his hand on my shoulder.

"Look after her, my dear boy." His voice had the fervour of a benediction.

My companion appeared to have shed much of her distraction in the course of her interview with the weird inhabitant of Bryanston Square.

The sovereignty of the soul seemed once more in her keeping. No longer did she convey the impression of one pa.s.sing through an insupportable mental crisis. Whatever fate had in store for her, it was as though she had strength to endure it.

It was in the nature of a race against time to the Grand Central station. I had promised the driver of our taxi a substantial guerdon if he caught the train. Undoubtedly he did his best, but fate decreed that he was not to earn it. An anxious study of my watch revealed the issue to be still in the balance; but just as it began to seem that we were gaining a little on the clock, there came a sharp report, followed by an almost simultaneous crash of gla.s.s, and then a confused succession of happenings.

Our vehicle stopped abruptly; a brief interval of nothingness seemed to intervene; and the next thing of which I was cognisant was that the lights had gone out and that a man with a pale face and a straw-coloured moustache was looking in at us through the window.

"Hope you are not hurt, sir." The voice sounded remote, but I could detect its note of anxiety. "Is the lady all right?"

Somewhat dazed, almost as if I were pa.s.sing through a dream, I heard the voice of my companion speaking with calmness and rea.s.surance. Then I heard the voice of the man again:

"I am afraid your Royal Highness will have to go on in another taxi."

And then the door opened, and I got out unsteadily and found myself in the midst of much traffic and a press of people. I then grew conscious that some of these had a way with them, and that they were directing things with a sort of calm officiousness.

My dazed senses welcomed the helmet of a policeman.

"Call a taxi, please," said I, addressing him in a voice that somehow did not seem to belong to me. "Must catch the 5.28 Grand Central, whatever happens. Will give you my card."

As I spoke I turned to help my companion out of the vehicle, and in the act nearly measured my length on the kerb. Strong and sympathetic hands seemed to come about me, and again the voice of the man with the straw-coloured moustache sounded in my ear, decisive but kindly and respectful.

"There is a doctor across the road, sir. Can you walk, sir? Lean your weight on me."

"5.28 Grand Central," was my incoherent, almost involuntary rejoinder.

"The Princess."

"Yes, yes, sir," said the voice of my friend in need breaking in again on my senses. "The Princess will be all right with us."

Almost as if by magic a pa.s.sage was made for us through the whirlpool of traffic. We seemed to be in the middle of a street that appeared quite familiar, and policemen and extremely efficient persons in dark overcoats seemed to abound.

"The Princess," I continued to mutter vaguely at intervals.

"I am with you," said a low and calm voice at my side.

She was helping my unknown friend to support me across the road. By some subtle means her nearness seemed to brace and stimulate my faculties.

"I fear we shall not catch the 5.28, ma'am," I said.

"What _does_ it matter?" The tone of her voice seemed to give me strength and capacity.

A few yards away, down a side street, was the house of a doctor. It seemed but a very little while before I was in a cosy, well-lighted room, with a fire burning cheerfully, and a tall, genial individual with a red head and a Scotch accent was talking to me and holding me by the arm.

"Pray sit down, madam," I heard him say in his pleasant brogue. "I hope you are none the worse for your accident?"

"Not at all, t'ank you," replied my companion in a cordial tone; and then the man who had taken charge of me was heard to say to a colleague who had followed us into the house, "Perhaps the Doctor will allow you to use his telephone, Mr. Johnson. Ring up the Superintendent and then go and see what Inspector Mottrom is doing."

The Doctor gave me a bottle to sniff, and then for the first time I realised that I had an intolerable stinging in the arm. I glanced at it and saw that the sleeve of my coat was soaked with blood.

"If you will come into the surgery," said the Doctor, following the direction of my glance, "we will have a look at it. A breakage of gla.s.s, apparently."

"Yes," said my friend in need, who was evidently a Scotland Yard inspector, answering for me promptly, "the cab was pretty well smashed up." Then he added in an undertone for my private ear, "Don't mention the shots, sir. I am going to telephone to the railway people to arrange for a special train as soon as you are ready to go on. I think it will be safer, and two of our inspectors will accompany the train."

"Thank you very much indeed," I said, gratefully.

Never until that moment had I fully realised the organised efficiency of the Metropolitan Police.

As soon as I entered the surgery I came perilously near to a fall on the carpet, somewhat to my disgust, for I appeared to have sustained no injury beyond the damage to my arm. Further recourse, however, to the smelling-bottle defeated this temporary weakness.

After traversing the injured member with light and deft fingers, the Doctor procured a bowl of warm water, a sponge and a pair of scissors.

He cut away the sleeve of the overcoat, then of the coat and the shirt, revealing a state of things at which I had no wish to look. After the application of an antiseptic in warm water he was able to give an opinion.

"I am afraid," he said, "this is not the work of gla.s.s." He worked over the quivering flesh with a finger. "A bullet has been at work here. It has glanced along the lower arm apparently, but it does not appear to have lodged in it. An incised wound. There may be a fracture. Can you move your arm in this way?"

With this request I was able somewhat painfully to comply.

"That is good," said the Doctor. "No fracture."

It was surprising how soon and how readily the injured member yielded to the deft skill of this good Samaritan. Twenty minutes of a.s.siduous treatment, which, however, was fraught with some pain, as it included the operation of st.i.tching, did much not only for the damaged limb but also for its owner. By that time I seemed to have quite overcome the shock of these events; and with my arm encased in bandages and resting in a black silk handkerchief, and the good Doctor having lent me an overcoat to replace my own mutilated one, I was given a pretty stiff brandy-and-soda and p.r.o.nounced fit to travel.

"It is undoubtedly the work of a bullet," said the Doctor at the end of his labours. "But I suppose it is no business of mine. If I am not mistaken, the men who brought you here are Scotland Yard detectives."

I smiled at the Doctor's perspicacity and asked him to be good enough to take a card out of my cigar-case.