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20 This etext was prepared by Theresa Armao of Albany, NY.
THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE
By
E. Phillips Oppenheim
CONTENTS
I Mr. Hamilton Fynes, Urgent
II The End of the Journey
III An Incident and an Accident
IV Miss Penelope Morse
V An Affair of State
VI Mr. Coulson Interviewed
VII A Fatal Despatch
VIII An Interrupted Theatre Party
IX Inspector Jacks Scores
X Mr. Coulson Outmatched
XI A Commission
XII Penelope Intervenes
XIII East and West
XIV An Engagement
XV Penelope Explains
XVI Concerning Prince Maiyo
XVII A Gay Night in Paris
XVIII Mr. Coulson is Indiscreet
XIX A Momentous Question
XX The Answer
XXI A Clue
XXII A Breath From the East
XXIII On the Trail
XXIV Prince Maiyo Bids High
XXV Hobson's Choice
XXVI Some Farewells
XXVII A Prisoner
XXVIII Patriotism
XXIX A Race
XXX Inspector Jacks Importunate
XXXI Good-Bye!
XXXII Prince Maiyo Speaks
XXXIII Unafraid
XXXIV Banzai
CHAPTER I. MR. HAMILTON FYNES, URGENT
There was a little murmur of regret amongst the five hundred and
eighty-seven saloon passengers on board the steamship Lusitania,
mingled, perhaps, with a few expressions of a more violent
character. After several hours of doubt, the final verdict had at
last been pronounced. They had missed the tide, and no attempt
was to be made to land passengers that night. Already the engines
had ceased to throb, the period of unnatural quietness had
commenced. Slowly, and without noticeable motion, the great liner
swung round a little in the river.
A small tug, which had been hovering about for some time, came
screaming alongside. There was a hiss from its wave-splashed
deck, and a rocket with a blue light flashed up into the sky. A
man who had formed one of the long line of passengers, leaning
over the rail, watching the tug since it had come into sight, now
turned away and walked briskly to the steps leading to the
bridge. As it happened, the captain himself was in the act of
descending. The passenger accosted him, and held out what seemed
to be a letter.
"Captain Goodfellow," he said, "I should be glad if you would
glance at the contents of that note."
The captain, who had just finished a long discussion with the
pilot and was not in the best of humor, looked a little
surprised.
"What, now?" he asked.
"If you please," was the quiet answer. "The matter is urgent."
"Who are you?" the captain asked.
"My name is Hamilton Fynes," the other answered. "I am a saloon
passenger on board your ship, although my name does not appear in
the list. That note has been in my pocket since we left New York,
to deliver to you in the event of a certain contingency
happening."
"The contingency being?" the captain asked, tearing open the
envelope and moving a little nearer the electric light which
shone out from the smoking room.
"That the Lusitania did not land her passengers this evening."
The captain read the note, examined the signature carefully, and
whistled softly to himself.
"You know what is inside this?" he asked, looking into his
companion's face with some curiosity.
"Certainly," was the brief reply.
"Your name is Mr. Hamilton Fynes, the Mr. Hamilton Fynes
mentioned in this letter?"
"That is so," the passenger admitted.
The captain nodded.
"Well," he said, "you had better get down on the lower deck, port
side. By the bye, have you any friends with you?"
"I am quite alone," he answered.
"So much the better," the captain declared. "Don't tell any one
that you are going ashore if you can help it."
"I certainly will not, sir," the other answered. "Thank you very
much."
"Of course, you know that you can't take your luggage with you?"
the captain remarked.
"That is of no consequence at all, sir," Mr. Hamilton Fynes
answered. "I will leave instructions for my trunk to be sent on
after me. I have all that I require, for the moment, in this
suitcase."
The captain blew his whistle. Mr. Hamilton Fynes made his way
quietly to the lower deck, which was almost deserted. In a very
few minutes he was joined by half a dozen sailors, dragging a
rope ladder. The little tug came screaming around, and before any
of the passengers on the deck above had any idea of what was
happening, Mr. Hamilton Fynes was on board the Anna Maria, and on
his way down the river, seated in a small, uncomfortable cabin,
lit by a single oil lamp.
No one spoke more than a casual word to him from the moment he
stepped to the deck until the short journey was at an end. He was
shown at once into the cabin, the door of which he closed without
a moment's delay. A very brief examination of the interior
convinced him that he was indeed alone. Thereupon he seated
himself with his back to the wall and his face to the door, and
finding an English newspaper on the table, read it until they
reached the docks. Arrived there, he exchanged a civil good-night
with the captain, and handed a sovereign to the seaman who held
his bag while he disembarked.
For several minutes after he had stepped on to the wooden
platform, Mr. Hamilton Fynes showed no particular impatience to
continue his journey. He stood in the shadow of one of the sheds,
looking about him with quick furtive glances, as though anxious
to assure himself that there was no one around who was taking a
noticeable interest in his movements. Having satisfied himself at
length upon this point, he made his way to the London and North
Western Railway Station, and knocked at the door of the
station-master's office. The station-master was busy, and
although Mr. Hamilton Fynes had the appearance of a perfectly
respectable transatlantic man of business, there was nothing
about his personality remarkably striking,--nothing, at any rate,
to inspire an unusual amount of respect.
"You wished to see me, sir?" the official asked, merely glancing
up from the desk at which he was sitting with a pile of papers
before him.
Mr. Hamilton Fynes leaned over the wooden counter which separated
him from the interior of the office. Before he spoke, he glanced
around as though to make sure that he had not forgotten to close
the door.
"I require a special train to London as quickly as possible," he
announced. "I should be glad if you could let me have one within
half an hour, at any rate."
The station-master rose to his feet.
"Quite impossible, sir," he declared a little brusquely.
"Absolutely out of the question!"
"May I ask why it is out of the question?" Mr. Hamilton Fynes
inquired.
"In the first place," the station-master answered, "a special
train to London would cost you a hundred and eighty pounds, and
in the second place, even if you were willing to pay that sum, it
would be at least two hours before I could start you off. We
could not possibly disorganize the whole of our fast traffic. The
ordinary mail train leaves here at midnight with sleeping-cars."
Mr. Hamilton Fynes held out a letter which he had produced from
his breast pocket, and which was, in appearance, very similar to
the one which he had presented, a short time ago, to the captain
of the Lusitania.
"Perhaps you will kindly read this," he said. "I am perfectly
willing to pay the hundred and eighty pounds."
The station-master tore open the envelope and read the few lines
contained therein. His manner underwent at once a complete
change, very much as the manner of the captain of the Lusitania
had done. He took the letter over to his green-shaded writing
lamp, and examined the signature carefully. When he returned, he
looked at Mr. Hamilton Fynes curiously. There was, however,
something more than curiosity in his glance. There was also
respect.
"I will give this matter my personal attention at once, Mr.
Fynes," he said, lifting the flap of the counter and coming out.
"Do you care to come inside and wait in my private office?"
"Thank you," Mr. Hamilton Fynes answered; "I will walk up and
down the platform."
"There is a refreshment room just on the left," the
station-master remarked, ringing violently at a telephone. "I
dare say we shall get you off in less than half an hour. We will
do our best, at any rate. It's an awkward time just now to
command an absolutely clear line, but if we can once get you past
Crewe you'll be all right. Shall we fetch you from the
refreshment room when we are ready?"
"If you please," the intending passenger answered.
Mr. Hamilton Fynes discovered that place of entertainment without
difficulty, ordered for himself a cup of coffee and a sandwich,
and drew a chair close up to the small open fire, taking care,
however, to sit almost facing the only entrance to the room. He
laid his hat upon the counter, close to which he had taken up his
position, and smoothed back with his left hand his somewhat thick
black hair. He was a man, apparently of middle age, of middle
height, clean-shaven, with good but undistinguished features,
dark eyes, very clear and very bright, which showed, indeed, but
little need of the pince-nez which hung by a thin black cord from
his neck. His hat, low in the crown and of soft gray felt, would
alone have betrayed his nationality. His clothes, however, were
also American in cut. His boots were narrow and of unmistakable
shape. He ate his sandwich with suspicion, and after his first
sip of coffee ordered a whiskey and soda. Afterwards he sat
leaning back in his chair, glancing every now and then at the
clock, but otherwise manifesting no signs of impatience. In less
than half an hour an inspector, cap in hand, entered the room and
announced that everything was ready. Mr. Hamilton Fynes put on
his hat, picked up his suitcase, and followed him on to the
platform. A long saloon carriage, with a guard's brake behind and
an engine in front, was waiting there.
"We've done our best, sir," the station-master remarked with a
note of self-congratulation in his tone. "It's exactly twenty-two
minutes since you came into the office, and there she is. Finest
engine we've got on the line, and the best driver. You've a clear
road ahead too. Wish you a pleasant journey, sir."
"You are very good, sir," Mr. Hamilton Fynes declared. "I am sure
that my friends on the other side will appreciate your attention.
By what time do you suppose that we shall reach London?"
The station-master glanced at the clock.
"It is now eight o'clock, sir," he announced. "If my orders down
the line are properly attended to, you should be there by twenty
minutes to twelve."
Mr. Hamilton Fynes nodded gravely and took his seat in the car.
He had previously walked its entire length and back again.
"The train consists only of this carriage?" he asked. "There is
no other passenger, for instance, travelling in the guard's
brake?"
"Certainly not, sir," the station-master declared. "Such a thing
would be entirely against the regulations. There are five of you,
all told, on board,--driver, stoker, guard, saloon attendant, and
yourself."
Mr. Hamilton Fynes nodded, and appeared satisfied.
"No more luggage, sir?" the guard asked.
"I was obliged to leave what I had, excepting this suitcase, upon
the steamer," Mr. Hamilton Fynes explained. "I could not very
well expect them to get my trunk up from the hold. It will follow
me to the hotel tomorrow."
"You will find that the attendant has light refreshments on
board, sir, if you should be wanting anything," the
station-master announced. "We'll start you off now, then.
Good-night, sir!"
Mr. Fynes nodded genially.
"Good-night, Station-master!" he said. "Many thanks to you."
CHAPTER II. THE END OF THE JOURNEY
Southward, with low funnel belching forth fire and smoke into the
blackness of the night, the huge engine, with its solitary saloon
carriage and guard's brake, thundered its way through the night
towards the great metropolis. Across the desolate plain, stripped
bare of all vegetation, and made hideous forever by the growth of
a mighty industry, where the furnace fires reddened the sky, and
only the unbroken line of ceaseless lights showed where town
dwindled into village and suburbs led back again into town. An
ugly, thickly populated neighborhood, whose area of twinkling
lights seemed to reach almost to the murky skies; hideous, indeed
by day, not altogether devoid now of a certain weird
attractiveness by reason of low-hung stars. On, through many
tunnels into the black country itself, where the furnace fires
burned oftener, but the signs of habitation were fewer. Down the
great iron way the huge locomotive rushed onward, leaping and
bounding across the maze of metals, tearing past the dazzling
signal lights, through crowded stations where its passing was
like the roar of some earth-shaking monster. The station-master
at Crewe unhooked his telephone receiver and rang up Liverpool.
"What about this special?" he demanded.
"Passenger brought off from the Lusitania in a private tug.
Orders are to let her through all the way to London."
"I know all about that," the station-master grumbled. "I have
three locals on my hands already,--been held up for half an hour.
Old Glynn, the director's, in one of them too. Might be General
Manager to hear him swear."
"Is she signalled yet?" Liverpool asked.
"Just gone through at sixty miles an hour," was the reply. "She
made our old wooden sheds shake, I can tell you. Who's driving
her?"
"Jim Poynton," Liverpool answered. "The guvnor took him off the
mail specially."
"What's the fellow's name on board, anyhow?" Crewe asked. "Is it
a millionaire from the other side, trying to make records, or a
member of our bloated aristocracy?"
"The name's Fynes, or something like it," was the reply. "He
didn't look much like a millionaire. Came into the office
carrying a small handbag and asked for a special to London.
Guvnor told him it would take two hours and cost a hundred and
eighty pounds. Told him he'd better wait for the mail. He
produced a note from some one or other, and you should have seen
the old man bustle round. We started him off in twenty minutes."
The station-master at Crewe was interested. He knew very well
that it is not the easiest thing in the world to bring influence
to bear upon a great railway company.
"Seems as though he was some one out of the common, anyway," he
remarked. "The guvnor didn't let on who the note was from, I
suppose?"
"Not he," Liverpool answered. "The first thing he did when he
came back into the office was to tear it into small pieces and
throw them on the fire. Young Jenkins did ask him a question, and
he shut him up pretty quick."
"Well, I suppose we shall read all about it in the papers
tomorrow," Crewe remarked. "There isn't much that these reporters
don't get hold of. He must be some one out of the common--some
one with a pull, I mean,--or the captain of the Lusitania would
never have let him off before the other passengers. When are the
rest of them coming through?"
"Three specials leave here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning," was
the reply. "Good night."
The station-master at Crewe hung up his receiver and went about
his duties. Twenty miles southward by now, the special was still
tearing its way into the darkness. Its solitary passenger had
suddenly developed a fit of restlessness. He left his seat and
walked once or twice up and down the saloon. Then he opened the
rear door, crossed the little open space between, and looked into
the guard's brake. The guard was sitting upon a stool, reading a
newspaper. He was quite alone, and so absorbed that he did not
notice the intruder. Mr. Hamilton Fynes quietly retreated,
closing the door behind him. He made his way once more through
the saloon, passed the attendant, who was fast asleep in his
pantry, and was met by a locked door. He let down the window and
looked out. He was within a few feet of the engine, which was
obviously attached direct to the saloon. Mr. Hamilton Fynes
resumed his seat, having disturbed nobody. He produced some
papers from his breast pocket, and spread them out on the table
before him. One, a sealed envelope, he immediately returned,
slipping it down into a carefully prepared place between the
lining and the material of his coat. Of the others he commenced
to make a close and minute investigation. It was a curious fact,
however, that notwithstanding his recent searching examination,
he looked once more nervously around the saloon before he settled
down to his task. For some reason or other, there was not the
slightest doubt that for the present, at any rate, Mr. Hamilton
Fynes was exceedingly anxious to keep his own company. As he drew
nearer to his journey's end, indeed, his manner seemed to lose
something of that composure of which, during the earlier part of
the evening, he had certainly been possessed. Scarcely a minute
passed that he did not lean sideways from his seat and look up
and down the saloon. He sat like a man who is perpetually on the
qui vive. A furtive light shone in his eyes, he was manifestly
uncomfortable. Yet how could a man be safer from espionage than
he!
Rugby telephoned to Liverpool, and received very much the same
answer as Crewe. Euston followed suit.
"Who's this you're sending up tonight?" the station-master asked.
"Special's at Willington now, come through without a stop. Is
some one trying to make a record round the world?"
Liverpool was a little tired of answering questions, and more
than a little tired of this mysterious client. The station-master
at Euston, however, was a person to be treated with respect.
"His name is Mr. Hamilton Fynes, sir," was the reply. "That is
all we know about him. They have been ringing us up all down the
line, ever since the special left."
"Hamilton Fynes," Euston repeated. "Don't know the name. Where
did he come from?"
"Off the Lusitania, sir."
"But we had a message three hours ago that the Lusitania was not
landing her passengers until tomorrow morning," Euston protested.
"They let our man off in a tug, sir," was the reply.
"It went down the river to fetch him. The guvnor didn't want to
give him a special at this time of night, but he just handed him
a note, and we made things hum up here. He was on his way in half
an hour. We have had to upset the whole of the night traffic to
let him through without a stop."
Such a client was, at any rate, worth meeting. The station-master
brushed his coat, put on his silk hat, and stepped out on to the
platform.
CHAPTER III. AN INCIDENT AND AN ACCIDENT
Smoothly the huge engine came gliding into the station--a dumb,
silent creature now, drawing slowly to a standstill as though
exhausted after its great effort. Through the windows of the
saloon the station-master could see the train attendant bending
over this mysterious passenger, who did not seem, as yet, to have
made any preparations for leaving his place. Mr. Hamilton Fynes
was seated at a table covered with papers, but he was leaning
back as though he had been or was still asleep. The
station-master stepped forward, and as he did so the attendant
came hurrying out to the platform, and, pushing back the porters,
called to him by name.
"Mr. Rice," he said, "If you please, sir, will you come this
way?"
The station-master acceded at once to the man's request and
entered the saloon. The attendant clutched at his arm nervously.
He was a pale, anaemic-looking little person at any time, but his
face just now was positively ghastly.
"What on earth is the matter with you?" the station-master asked
brusquely.
"There's something wrong with my passenger, sir," the man
declared in a shaking voice. "I can't make him answer me. He
won't look up, and I don't--I don't think he's asleep. An hour
ago I took him some whiskey. He told me not to disturb him
again--he had some papers to go through."
The station-master leaned over the table. The eyes of the man who
sat there were perfectly wide-open, but there was something
unnatural in their fixed stare,--something unnatural, too, in the
drawn grayness of his face.
"This is Euston, sir," the station-master began,--"the
terminus--"
Then he broke off in the middle of his sentence. A cold shiver
was creeping through his veins. He, too, began to stare; he felt
the color leaving his own cheeks. With an effort he turned to the
attendant.
"Pull down the blinds," he ordered, in a voice which he should
never have recognized as his own. "Quick! Now turn out those
porters, and tell the inspector to stop anyone from coming into
the car."
The attendant, who was shaking like a leaf, obeyed. The
station-master turned away and drew a long breath. He himself was
conscious of a sense of nausea, a giddiness which was almost
overmastering. This was a terrible thing to face without a
second's warning. He had not the slightest doubt but that the man
who was seated at the table was dead!
At such an hour there were only a few people upon the platform,
and two stalwart station policemen easily kept back the loiterers
whose curiosity had been excited by the arrival of the special. A
third took up his position with his back to the entrance of the
saloon, and allowed no one to enter it till the return of the
station-master, who had gone for a doctor. The little crowd was
completely mystified. No one had the slightest idea of what had
happened. The attendant was besieged by questions, but he was
sitting on the step of the car, in the shadow of a policeman,
with his head buried in his hands, and he did not once look up.
Some of the more adventurous tried to peer through the windows at
the lower end of the saloon. Others rushed off to interview the
guard. In a very few minutes, however, the station-master
reappeared upon the scene, accompanied by the doctor. The little
crowd stood on one side and the two men stepped into the car.
The doctor proceeded at once with his examination. Mr. Hamilton
Fynes, this mysterious person who had succeeded, indeed, in
making a record journey, was leaning back in the corner of his
seat, his arms folded, his head drooping a little, but his eyes
still fixed in that unseeing stare. His body yielded itself
unnaturally to the touch. For the main truth the doctor needed
scarcely a glance at him.
"Is he dead?" the station-master asked.
"Stone-dead!" was the brief answer.
"Good God!" the station-master muttered. "Good God!"
The doctor had thrown his handkerchief over the dead man's face.
He was standing now looking at him thoughtfully.
"Did he die in his sleep, I wonder?" the station-master asked.
"It must have been horribly sudden! Was it heart disease?"
The doctor did not reply for a moment. He seemed to be thinking
out some problem.
"The body had better be removed to the station mortuary," he said
at last. "Then, if I were you, I should have the saloon shunted
on to a siding and left absolutely untouched. You had better
place two of your station police in charge while you telephone to
Scotland Yard."
"To Scotland Yard?" the station-master exclaimed.
The doctor nodded. He looked around as though to be sure that
none of that anxious crowd outside could overhear.
"There's no question of heart disease here," he explained. "The
man has been murdered!"
The station-master was horrified,--horrified and blankly
incredulous.
"Murdered!" he repeated. "Why, it's impossible! There was no one
else on the train except the attendant--not a single other
person. All my advices said one passenger only."
The doctor touched the man's coat with his finger, and the
station-master saw what he had not seen before,--saw what made
him turn away, a little sick. He was a strong man, but he was not
used to this sort of thing, and he had barely recovered yet from
the first shock of finding himself face to face with a dead man.
Outside, the crowd upon the platform was growing larger. White
faces were being pressed against the windows at the lower end of
the saloon.
"There is no question about the man having been murdered," the
doctor said, and even his voice shook a little. "His own hand
could never have driven that knife home. I can tell you, even,
how it was done. The man who stabbed him was in the compartment
behind there, leaned over, and drove this thing down, just
missing the shoulder. There was no struggle or fight of any sort.
It was a diabolical deed!"
"Diabolical indeed!" the station-master echoed hoarsely.
"You had better give orders for us to be shunted down on to a
siding just as we are," the doctor continued, "and send one of
your men to telephone to Scotland Yard. Perhaps it would be as
well, too, not to touch those papers until some one comes. See
that the attendant does not go home, or the guard. They will
probably be wanted to answer questions."
The station-master stepped out to the platform, summoned an
inspector, and gave a few brief orders. Slowly the saloon was
backed out of the station again on to a neglected siding, a sort
of backwater for spare carriages and empty trucks,--an
ignominious resting place, indeed, after its splendid journey
through the night. The doors at both ends were closed and two
policemen placed on duty to guard them. The doctor and the
station-master seated themselves out of sight of their gruesome
companion, and the station-master told all that he knew about the
despatch of the special and the man who had ordered it. The
attendant, who still moved about like a man in a dream, brought
them some brandy and soda and served them with shaking hand. They
all three talked together in whispers, the attendant telling them
the few incidents of the journey down, which, except for the dead
man's nervous desire for solitude, seemed to possess very little
significance. Then at last there was a sharp tap at the window. A
tall, quietly dressed man, with reddish skin and clear gray eyes,
was helped up into the car. He saluted the doctor mechanically.
His eyes were already travelling around the saloon.
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