The Island Mystery Part 30

"Nonsense," said Gorman. "That's Miss Donovan's boat. She's coming home for dinner. Sit down and don't get excited."

"I am sorry," said the King, "but I cannot. It is impossible for me to keep on my hair when Corinne is coming."

"Corinne isn't coming," said Gorman. "How could she?"

"I see her. I see her. The d.i.c.kens, and Great Jupiter, my eyes see her."

"You can't tell one woman from another at that distance. What you see is either Miss Donovan or Kalliope."

The boat drew rapidly nearer. Gorman stared at her.

"There _are_ three women," he said. "I wonder who the other is."

"Corinne. Corinne," said the King.

To Gorman's amazement the King was right. The boat reached the landing steps. In her were the Queen, Kalliope and a very dishevelled Madame Ypsilante. That lady was never, at any time of her life, an outdoor woman. When she travelled it was in the wagons-lits of trains-de-luxes, and in specially reserved cabins of steamers. Her journey to Salissa had been performed in far less luxurious ways and her appearance had suffered. Her complexion was streaky. Her hair straggled about a good deal, and several damp-looking locks hung like thick bootlaces around her face. Her dress was crumpled and had two large patches of dirt on it. But all this made no difference to the King. He folded her in his arms and kissed her directly she got out of the boat.

"Corinne," he said, "now I shall be no longer sad."

Madame returned his kisses with vigour.

"My Konrad," she said, "and you are not married after all."

It was that remark, her greeting to the King, which made Gorman feel sure that he had been right about her feeling, that she really did not like the idea of the marriage.

Konrad Karl took her by the hand and led her into the palace.

The Queen was still sitting in the stern of the boat. Since Madame Ypsilante fell into Konrad Karl's arms the Queen had turned her back on the landing slip and gazed steadily out to sea. Only when the sound of their footsteps made her sure that her guests were going into the palace did she venture to look round cautiously.

"It's all right," said Gorman. "You can come on sh.o.r.e."

He held out his hand to her.

"And do tell me," he said, "where you found her. She looked to me rather as if she had been washed up some time yesterday and had spent last night in a cave."

"Who is she?" said the Queen.

"Her name," said Gorman, "is Ypsilante, Madame Corinne Ypsilante."

"She told me that much. But I want to know what is she?"

The question was an awkward one to answer. Gorman did the best he could.

"A friend of the King's," he said.

"Well," said the Queen. "He'll be able to marry her now. The poor thing was in dreadful distress. She thought he was going to marry me.

And she's engaged to him. She told me so herself."

I am sure that Gorman did not smile; but there must have been a twinkle in his eyes which betrayed him. The Queen is extremely quick at reading such signs. She turned on him sharply.

"Aren't they engaged to be married?" she asked.

"Kings," said Gorman, "are in a peculiar position with regard to these matters. Their matrimonial arrangements are not made in what we regard as the normal way. To speak of a king as being 'engaged' is----"

"I'm a queen."

"Of course. Of course."

"And I'm engaged to be married; so why can't he be? Anyhow he is, for she told me so. I asked her and she said yes!"

Gorman did not feel equal to arguing about the precise nature of Madame Ypsilante's claims on the King.

"You haven't told me yet where you found her," he said.

"Kalliope and I," said the Queen, "were picnicking in a little bay a long way from this, quite the other side of the island. There was a fishing boat standing in towards the sh.o.r.e. It came to our beach and she got out. That's all."

"Quite simple after all," said Gorman. "I suppose you were scarcely even surprised."

"Well, I was rather," said the Queen, "just at first until she told me."

"Told you what?" said Gorman. "You're skipping all the interesting part."

"Don't be stupid," said the Queen. "She told me about being engaged to the King and thinking that he was going to marry me. Of course, when she thought that she came here as quick as ever she could to see him.

Any one would. Not that I'd ever think such a thing about Maurice. But then he wouldn't. Still, I quite understand her coming here in a boat.

But I do wonder what made her think he was going to marry me. He never even tried. Who could have told her such a thing?"

"Probably the Emperor," said Gorman.

The Queen burst out laughing.

"I believe," she said, "that if the house fell down and Kalliope eloped with Smith and father took to rowing races with old Stephanos you'd put it all down to the Emperor."

"I would," said Gorman.

"Anyhow, I'm going to dress now. Come along, Kalliope."

Madame Ypsilante, very much to Gorman's relief, did not appear at dinner. She went straight to bed, intending, so the King said, to stay there for twenty-four hours at least.

Later in the evening, after the Queen had left them, Konrad Karl, Donovan and Gorman sat together smoking. For a while no one spoke. At last Konrad Karl, who had no gift of silence, began:

"My poor Corinne! She was desolate. I told you, Gorman, that she would be desolate, but you would not believe. Yet it was so. Steinwitz said, 'No. You cannot go with the King.' But she was more than too much, she was the equal of Steinwitz. She told him all she thought of him. It was much."

"I don't like Steinwitz," said Gorman, "but what I know of Madame's conduct in moments of strong emotion I'm inclined to pity the man."

"Then," said the King, "she was like a bee, making lines for Salissa."

"She did pretty well," said Gorman, "considering that she could only get a fishing boat for the last part of the journey. I wonder she got here so soon. But look here, you know--it seems a beastly thing to say, but----"

Here Donovan roused himself.