The Man from Brodney's

MR. SAUNDERS HAS A PLAN

Miss Pelham's affair with Thomas Saunders by this time had reached the stage where observers feel a hesitancy about twitting the parties most concerned. Even Britt, the bravest jester of them all, succumbed to the prevailing wind when he saw how it blew. He got in the lee of popular opinion and reefed the sails of the good ship Tantalus.

"Let true love take its course," he remarked to Bobby Browne one day, after they had hearkened to Deppingham's furious complaint that he couldn't find Saunders when he wanted him if he happened to be wanted simultaneously by Miss Pelham. "Miss Pelham is a fine girl. Your wife likes her and looks after her. She's a clever girl, much cleverer than Saunders would be if he were a girl. She's found out that he earns a thousand a year and that his mother is a very old woman. That shows foresight. She says she's just crazy about London, although she doesn't know where Hammersmith is. That shows discretion. She's anxious to see the boats at Putney and talks like an encyclopaedia about Kew Gardens. That shows diplomacy. You see, Saunders lives in Hammersmith, not far from the bridge, all alone with his mother, who owns the house and garden. It's all very appealing to Miss Pelham, who has got devilish tired of seeing the universe from a nineteenth story in Broadway. I heard her tell Saunders that she keeps a couple of geranium pots on the window sill near which she sits all day. She says she's keen about garden flowers. Looks serious to me."

"She's a very nice girl," agreed Bobby Browne.

"A very saucy one," added Deppingham, who had come a severe cropper in his single attempt to interest her in a mild flirtation.

"She's off with Saunders now," went on Britt. "That's why you can't find him, my lord. If you really want him, however, I think you can reach him by strolling through the lower end of the park and shouting. For heaven's sake, don't fail to shout."

"I do want him, confound him. I want to ask him how many days there are left before our time is up on the island. Demmed annoying, that I can't have legal advice when I—"

"How many days have you been here?"

"How the devil should I know? That's what we've got Saunders here for. He's supposed to tell us when to go home, and all that sort of thing, you know."

"It isn't going to be so bad, now that the Princess has come to cheer us up a bit," put in Bobby Browne. "Life has a new aspect."

"I say, Browne," burst out Deppingham, irrelevantly, his eyeglass clenched in the tight grasp of a perplexed frown, "would you mind telling me that story about the bishop and the door bell again?"

Britt laughed hoarsely, his chubby figure shivering with emotion. "You've heard that story ten times, to my certain knowledge, Deppingham."

His lordship glared at him. "See here, Britt, you'll oblige me by—"

"Very well," interrupted Britt readily. "I forget once in a while."

"The trouble with you Americans is this," growled Deppingham, turning to Browne and speaking as if Britt was not in existence: "you have no dividing line. 'Gad, you wouldn't catch Saunders sticking his nose in where he wasn't wanted. He's—"

"I was under the impression that you wanted him," interrupted Britt, most good-naturedly, his stubby legs far apart, his hands in his pockets.

"I say, Browne, would you mind coming into my room? I want to hear that story, but I'm hanged if I'll listen to it out here."

The oft-told story of the bishop and the bell, of course, has no bearing upon the affairs of Miss Pelham and Thomas Saunders. And, for that matter, the small affairs of that worthy couple have little or no bearing upon the chief issue involved in this tale. Nobody cares a rap whether Saunders, middle-aged and unheroic bachelor, with his precise little "burnsides," won the heart of the pert Miss Pelham, precise in character if not always so in type. It is of no serious consequence that she kept him from calling her Minnie until the psychological moment, and it really doesn't matter that Thomas was days in advancing to the moment. It is only necessary to break in upon them occasionally for the purpose of securing legal advice, or the equally unromantic desire to have a bit of typewriting done. We are not alone in this heartless and uncharitable obtrusion. Deppingham, phlegmatic soul, was forever disturbing Saunders with calls to duty, although Saunders was brutish enough, in his British way, to maintain (in confidence, of course) that he was in the employ of Lady Deppingham, or no one at all. Nevertheless, he always lived under the shadow of duty. At any moment, his lordship was liable to send for him to ask the time of day—or some equally important question. And this brings us to the hour when Saunders unfolded his startling solution to the problem that confronted them all.

First, he confided in Britt, soberly, sagely and in perfect good faith. Britt was bowled over. He stared at Saunders and gasped. Nearly two minutes elapsed before he could find words to reply; which proves conclusively that it must have been something of a shock to him. When at last he did express himself, however, there was nothing that could have been left unsaid—absolutely nothing. He went so far as to call Saunders a doddering fool and a great many other things that Saunders had not in the least expected.

The Englishman was stubborn. They had it back and forth, from legal and other points of view, and finally Britt gave in to his colleague, reserving the right to laugh when it was all over. Saunders, with a determination that surprised even himself, called for a conference of all parties in Wyckholme's study, at four o'clock.

It was nearly six before Lady Deppingham arrived, although she had but forty steps to traverse. Mr. and Mrs. Browne were there fully half an hour earlier. Deppingham appeared at four and then went away. He was discovered asleep in the hanging garden, however, and at once joined the others. Miss Pelham was present with her note book. The Princess was invited by Lady Deppingham, who held no secrets from her, but the royal young lady preferred to go out walking with her dogs. Pong, the red cocker, attended the session and twice snarled at Mr. Saunders, for no other reason than that it is a dog's prerogative to snarl when and at whom he chooses.

"Now, what's it all about, Saunders?" demanded Deppingham, with a wide yawn. Saunders looked hurt.

"It is high time we were discussing some way out of our difficulties," he said. "Under ordinary circumstances, my lady, I should not have called into joint consultation those whom I may be pardoned for designating as our hereditary foes. Especially Mr. Browne. But, as my plan to overcome the obstacle which has always stood in our way requires the co-operation of Mr. Browne, I felt safe in asking him to be present. Mrs. Browne's conjugal interest is also worthy of consideration." Mrs. Browne sniffed perceptibly and stared at the speaker. "But five weeks remain before our stay is over. We all know, by this time, that there is little or no likelihood of the estate being closed on schedule time. I think it is clear, from the advices we have, that the estate will be tied up in the courts for some time to come, possibly a year or two. From authoritative sources, we learn that the will is to be broken. The apparent impossibility of marriage between Lady Deppingham and Mr. Browne naturally throws our joint cause into jeopardy. There would be no controversy, of course, if the terms of the will could be carried out in that respect. The islanders understand our position and seem secure in their rights. They imagine that they have us beaten on the face of things. Consequently they are jolly well upset by the news that we are to contest the will in the home courts. They are, from what I hear and observe, pretty thoroughly angered. Now, the thing for us to do is to get married."

He came to this conclusion with startling abruptness. Four of his hearers stared at him in blank amazement.

"Get married?" murmured first one, then another.

"Are you crazy?" demanded Browne. Britt was grinning broadly.

"Certainly not!" snapped Saunders.

"Oh, by Jove!" exclaimed Deppingham, relieved. "I see. You mean you contemplate getting married. I congratulate you. You gave me quite a shock, Saund—"

"I don't mean anything of the sort, my lord," said Saunders getting very red in the face. Miss Pelham looked up from her note book quickly. He winked at her, and her ladyship saw him do it. "I mean that it is high time that Lady Deppingham and Mr. Browne were getting married. We haven't much time to spare. It—"

"Good Lord!" gasped Bobby Browne. "You are crazy, after all."

"Open the window and give some air," said Britt coolly.

"See here, Saunders, what the devil is the matter with you?" roared Deppingham.

"My lord, I am here to act as your legal adviser," said Saunders with dignity. "May I be permitted to proceed?"

"Rather queer legal advice, 'pon my word."

"Please let him explain," put in Mrs. Browne, whose sense of humour was strongly attracted by this time. "If there is anything more to be learned concerning matrimony, I'd like to know it."

"Yes, Mr. Saunders, you may proceed," said Lady Agnes, passing a hand over her bewildered eyes.

"Thank you, my lady. Well, here it is in a nutshell: I have not spoken of it before, but you and Mr. Browne can very easily comply with the provisions of the will. You can be married at any time. Now, I—"

"And where do I come in?" demanded Deppingham, sarcastically.

"Yes, and I?" added Mrs. Browne. "You forget us, Mr. Saunders."

"I include Mrs. Browne," amended Deppingham. "Are we to be assassinated? By Jove, clever idea of yours, Saunders. Simplifies matters tremendously."

"I hear no objection from the heirs," remarked Saunders, meaningly. Whereupon Lady Agnes and Bobby came out of their stupor and protested vigorously.

"Miss Pelham," said Britt, breaking in sharply, "I trust you are getting all of this down. I wish to warn you, ladies and gentlemen, that I expect to overthrow the will on the ground that there is insanity on both sides. You'll oblige me by uttering just what you feel."

"Why, this is perfectly ridiculous," cried Lady Agnes. "Our souls are not our own."

"Your minds are the only things I am interested in," said Britt calmly.

"My plan is very simple—" began Saunders helplessly.

"Demmed simple," growled Deppingham.

"We are living on an island where polygamy is practised and tolerated. Why can't we take advantage of the custom and beat the natives at their own game? That's the ticket!"

Of course, this proposition, simple as it sounded, brought forth a storm of laughter and expostulation, but Saunders held his ground. He listened to a dozen jeering remarks in patient dignity, and then got the floor once more.

"You have only to embrace Mohammedanism or Paganism, or whatever it is, temporarily. Just long enough to get married and comply with the terms. Then, I daresay, you could resume your Christian doctrine once more, after a few weeks, I'd say, and the case is won."

"I pay Lady Deppingham the compliment by saying that it would be most difficult for me to become a Christian again," said Browne smoothly, bowing to the flushed Englishwoman.

"How very sweet of you," she said, with a grimace which made Drusilla shiver with annoyance.

"You don't need to live together, of course," floundered Saunders, getting rather beyond his depth.

"Well, that's a concession on your part," said Mrs. Browne, a flash in her eye.

"I never heard of such an asinine proposition," sputtered Deppingham. Saunders went completely under at that.

"On the other hand," he hastened to remark, "I'm sure it would be quite legal if you did live to----"

"Stop him, for heaven's sake," screamed Lady Agnes, bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

"Stop him? Why?" demanded her husband, suddenly seeing what he regarded as a rare joke. "Let's hear him out. By Jove, there's more to it than I thought. Go on, Saunders."

"Of course, if you are going to be nasty about it—" began Saunders in a huff.

"I can't see anything nasty about it," said Browne. "I'll admit that our wife and our husband may decide to be stubborn and unreasonable, but it sounds rather attractive to me."

"Robert!" from his wife.

"He's only joking, Mrs. Browne," explained Deppingham magnanimously. "Now, let me understand you, Saunders. You say they can be married according to the customs—which, I take it, are the laws—of the islanders. Wouldn't they be remanded for bigamy sooner or later?"

"They don't bother the Mormons, do they, Mr. Browne?" asked Saunders triumphantly. "Well, who is going to object among us?"

"I am!" exclaimed Deppingham. "Your plan provides Browne with two charming wives and gives me but one. There's nothing to compel Mrs. Browne to marry me."

"But, my lord," said Saunders, "doesn't the plan give Lady Deppingham two husbands? It's quite a fair division."

"It would make Lord Deppingham my husband-in-law, I imagine," said Drusilla quaintly. "I've always had a horror of husbands-in-law."

"And you would be my wife-in-law," supplemented Lady Agnes. "How interesting!"

"Saunders," said Deppingham soberly, "I must oppose your plan. It's quite unfair to two innocent and uninvolved parties. What have we done that we should be exempt from polygamy?"

"You are not exempt," exclaimed the harassed solicitor. "You are merely not obliged to, that's all. You can do as you choose about it, I'm sure. I'm sorry my plan causes so much levity. It is meant for the good of our cause. The will doesn't say how many wives Mr. Browne shall have. It simply says that Agnes Ruthven shall be his wife. He isn't restricted, you know. He can be a polygamist if he likes. I ask Mr. Britt if there is anything in the document which specifically says he shall not have more than one wife. Polygamy is quite legal in the United States, and he is an American citizen. I read about a Mormon chap marrying a whole Sunday-school class not long ago."

"You're right," said Britt. "The will doesn't specify. But, my dear Saunders, you are overlooking your own client in this plan."

"I don't quite understand, Mr. Britt."

"As I understand the laws on this island—the church laws at least—a man can have as many wives as he likes. Well, that's all very well for Mr. Browne. But isn't it also a fact that a woman can have no more than one husband? Lady Deppingham has one husband. She can't take another without first getting rid of this one."

"And, I say, Saunders," added Deppingham, "the native way of disposing of husbands is rather trying, I've heard. Six or seven jabs with a long knife is the most approved way, isn't it, Britt?"

"Imagine Lady Deppingham going to the altar all covered with gore!" said Britt.

"Saunders," said Deppingham, arising and lighting a fresh cigarette, "you have gone clean daft. You're loony with love. You've got marriage on the brain. I'd advise you to take some one for it,"

"Do you mean that for me. Lord Deppingham?" demanded Miss Pelham sharply. She glared at him and then slammed her note book on the table. "You can josh Mr. Saunders, but you can't josh me. I'm sick of this job. Get somebody else to do your work after this. I'm through."

"Oh!" exclaimed every one in a panic. It took nearly ten minutes to pacify the ruffled stenographer. She finally resumed her place at the table, but her chin was in the air and she turned the pages with a vehemence that left nothing to the imagination.

"I can arrange everything, my lady, so that the ceremony will be regular," pleaded the unhappy Saunders. "You have only to go through the form—"

"But what kind of a form does she follow in stabbing me to mincemeat? That's the main law point," said Deppingham. "You seem to forget that I am still alive."

"Perhaps we could arrange for a divorce all round," cried Saunders, suddenly inspired.

"On what grounds?" laughed Browne.

"Give me time," said the lawyer.

"It's barely possible that there is no divorce law in Japat," remarked Britt, keenly enjoying his confrère's misery.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Reasonably. If there was such a law, I'll bet my head two-thirds of the men in Aratat would be getting rid of wives before night."

Britt, after this remark, sat very still and thoughtful. He was turning over the divorce idea in his mind. He had ridiculed the polygamy scheme, but the divorce proposition might be managed.

"I'm tired," said Lady Deppingham suddenly. She yawned and stretched her arms. "It's been very entertaining, Saunders, but, really, I think we'd better dress for dinner. Come, Mr. Browne, shall we look for the Princess?"

"With pleasure, if you'll promise to spare Deppingham's life."

"On condition that you will spare Deppingham's wife," very prettily and airily. Mrs. Browne laughed with amazing good grace, but there was a new expression in her eyes.

"Your ladyship," called Saunders desperately, "do you approve of my plan? It's only a subterfuge—"

"Heartily!" she exclaimed, with one of her rarest laughs. "The only objection that I can see to it is that it leaves out my husband and Mrs. Browne. They are very nice people, Saunders, and you should be more considerate of them. Come, Mr. Browne." She took the American's arm and gaily danced from the room. Lord Deppingham's eyes glowed with pride in his charming wife as he followed with the heartsick Drusilla. Britt sauntered slowly out and down the stairway, glancing back but once at the undone Saunders.

"I would have won them over if Britt had not interfered," almost wailed little Mr. Saunders, his eyes glazed with mortification.

"I'm getting to hate that man," said Miss Pelham loyally. "And the others! They give me a pain! Don't mind them, Tommy, dear."

Lady Deppingham and Browne came upon the Princess quite unexpectedly. She was in the upper gallery, leaning against the stone rail and gazing steadily through the field glasses in the direction of the bungalow. They held back and watched her, unseen. The soft light of early evening fell upon her figure as she stood erect, lithe and sinuous in the open space between the ivy-clad posts; her face and hands were soft tinted by the glow from the reflecting east, her hair was like a bronze relief against the dark green of the mountain. She was dressed in white—a modish gown of rich Irish lace. One instantly likened this rare young creature to a rare old painting.

Genevra smiled securely in her supposed aloofness from the world. Then, suddenly moved by a strange impulse, she gently waved her handkerchief, as if in greeting to some one far off in the gloaming. The action was a mischievous one, no doubt, and it had its consequences—rather sudden and startling, if the observers were to judge by her subsequent movements. She lowered the glass instantly; there was a quick catch in her breath—as if a laugh had been checked; confusion swept over her, and she drew back into the shadows as a guilty child might have done. They distinctly heard her murmur as she crossed the flags and disappeared through the French window, without seeing them:

"Oh, dear, what a crazy thing to do!"

Genevra, peering through the glasses, had discovered the figure of Chase on the bungalow porch. She was amused to find that he, from his distant post, was also regarding the château through a pair of glasses. A spirit of adventure, risk, mischief, as uncontrolled as breath itself, impelled her to flaunt her handkerchief. That treacherous spirit deserted her most shamelessly when her startled eyes saw that he was waving a response. She laid awake for a long time that night wondering what he would think of her for that wretched bit of frivolity. Then at last a new thought came to her relief, but it did not give her the peace of mind that she desired.

He may have mistaken her for Lady Deppingham.

TWO CALLS FROM THE ENEMY

Deppingham was up and about quite early the next morning—that is, quite early for him. He had his rolls and coffee and strolled out in the shady park for a smoke. The Princess, whose sense of humiliation had not been lessened by the fitful sleep of the night before, was walking in the shade of the trees on the lower terrace, beyond the fountains and the artificial lake. A great straw hat, borrowed from Lady Agnes, shaded her face from the glare of the mid-morning sun. Farther up the slope, one of the maids was playing with the dogs. She waved her hand gaily and paused to wait for him.

"I was thinking of you," she said in greeting, as he came up.

"How nice you are," he said. "But, my dear, is it wise in you to be thinking of us handsome devils? It's a most dangerous habit—thinking of other men."

"But, Deppy, dear, the Prince isn't here," she said, falling into his humour. "That makes quite a difference, doesn't it?"

"Your logic is splendid. Pray resume your thoughts of me—if they were pleasant and agreeable. I'll not blow on you to Karl."

"I was just thinking what a lucky fellow you are to have such a darling as Agnes for a wife."

"You might as well say that Agnes ought to feel set up because Pong has a nice coat. By the way, I have a compliment for you—no, not one of their beastly trade-lasts! Browne says your hair is more beautiful than Pong's. That's quite a compliment, Titian never even dreamed of hair like Pong's."

"You know, Deppy," she said with a pout, "I am very unhappy about my hair. It is quite red. I don't see why I should have hair like that of a red cocker. It seems so animalish."

"Rubbish! Why should you complain? Look at my hair. It's been likened more than once to that of a jersey cow."

"Oh, how I adore jersey cows! Now, I wouldn't mind that a bit."

They were looking toward the lower gates while carrying on this frivolous conversation. A man had just entered and was coming toward them. Both recognised the tall figure in grey flannels. Deppingham's emotion was that of undisguised amazement; Genevra's that of confusion and embarrassment. She barely had recovered her lost composure when the newcomer was close upon them.

There was nothing in the manner of Chase, however, to cause the slightest feeling of uneasiness. He was frankness itself. His smile was one of apology, almost of entreaty; his broad grass helmet was in his hand and his bow was one of utmost deference.

"I trust I am not intruding," he said as he came up. His gaze was as much for Deppingham as for the Princess, his remark quite impersonal.

"Not at all, not at all," said Deppingham quickly, his heart leaping to the conclusion that the way to the American bar was likely to be opened at last. "Charmed to have you here, Mr. Chase. You've been most unneighbourly. Have you been presented to her Highness, the—Oh, to be sure. Of course you have. Stupid of me."

"We met ages ago," she said with an ingenuous smile, which would have disarmed Chase if he had been prepared for anything else. As a matter of fact, he had approached her in the light of an adventurer who expects nothing and grasps at straws.

"In the dark ages," said he so ruefully that her smile grew. He had come, in truth, to ascertain why her husband had not come with her.

"But not the forgotten variety, I fancy," said Deppingham shrewdly.

"It would be impossible for the Princess to forget the greatest of all fools," said Chase.

"He was no worse than other mortals," said she.

"Thank you," said Chase. Then he turned to Lord Deppingham. "My visit requires some explanation, Lord Deppingham. You have said that I am unneighbourly. No doubt you appreciate my reasons. One has to respect appearances," with a dry smile. "When one is in doubt he must do as the Moslems do, especially if the Moslems don't want him to do as he wants to do."

"No doubt you're right, but it sounds a bit involved," murmured Deppingham. "Now that you are here you must do as the Moslems don't. That's our Golden Rule. We'll consider the visit explained, but not curtailed. Lady Deppingham will be delighted to see you. Are you ready to come in, Princess?"

They started toward the château, keeping well in the shade of the boxed trees, the Princess between the two men.

"I say, Chase, do you mind relieving my fears a bit? With all due respect to your estimable clients, it occurs to me that they are likely to break over the traces at any moment, and raise the very old Harry at somebody else's expense. I'd like to know if my head is really safe. Since your experience the other night, I'm a bit apprehensive."

"I came to see you in regard to that very thing, Lord Deppingham. I don't want to alarm you, but I do not like the appearance of things. They don't trust me and they hate you—quite naturally. I'm rather sorry that our British man-of-war is out of reach. Pray, don't be alarmed, Princess. It is most improbable that anything evil will happen. And, in any event, we can hold out against them until relief comes."

"We?" demanded Deppingham.

"Certainly. If it comes to an assault of any kind upon the château, I trust that I may be considered as one of you. I won't serve assassins and bandits—at least, not after they've got beyond my control. Besides, if the worst should come, they won't discriminate in my favour."

"Why do you stay here, Mr. Chase?" asked the Princess. "You admit that they do not like you or trust you. Why do you stay?"

"I came out here to escape certain consequences," said he candidly. "I'll stay to enjoy the uncertain ones. I am not in the least alarmed on my own account. The object of my visit, Lord Deppingham, is to ask you to be on your guard up here. After the next steamer arrives, and they learn that Sir John will not withdraw me in submission to Rasula's demand, with the additional news that your solicitors have filed injunctions and have begun a bitter contest that may tie up the estate for years—then, I say, we may have trouble. It is best that you should know what to expect. I am not a traitor to my cause, in telling you this; it is no more than I would expect from you were the conditions reversed. Moreover, I do not forget that you gave me the man-of-war opportunity. That was rather good fun."

"It's mighty decent in you, Chase, to put us on our guard. Would you mind talking it over with Browne and me after luncheon? You'll stay to luncheon, of course?"

"Thank you. It may be my death sentence, but I'll stay."

In the wide east gallery they saw Lady Deppingham and Bobby Browne, deeply engrossed in conversation. They were seated in the shade of the wisteria, and the two were close upon them before they heard their voices. Deppingham started and involuntarily allowed his hand to go to his temple, as if to check the thought that flitted through his brain.

"Good Lord," he said to himself, "is it possible that they are considering that demmed Saunders's proposition? Surely they can't be thinking of that!"

As he led the way across the green, Browne's voice came to them distinctly. He was saying earnestly:

"The mere fact that we have come out to this blessed isle is a point in favour of the islanders. Chase won't overlook it and you may be sure Sir John Brodney is making the most of it. Our coming is a guarantee that we consider the will valid. It is an admission that we regard it as sound. If not, why should we recognise its provisions, even in the slightest detail? Britt is looking for hallucinations and all—"

"Sh!" came in a loud hiss from somewhere near at hand, and the two in the gallery looked down with startled eyes upon the distressed face of Lord Deppingham. They started to their feet at once, astonishment and wonder in their faces. They could scarcely believe their eyes. The Enemy!

He was smiling broadly as he lifted his helmet, smiling in spite of the discomfort that showed so plainly in Deppingham's manner.

Chase was warmly welcomed by the two heirs. Lady Agnes was especially cordial. Her eyes gleamed joyously as she lifted them to meet his admiring gaze. She was amazingly pretty. The conviction that Chase had mistaken her for Lady Agnes, the evening before, took a fresh grasp upon the mind of the Princess Genevra. A shameless wave of relief surged through her heart.

Chase was presented to Drusilla Browne, who appeared suddenly upon the scene, coming from no one knew where. There was a certain strained look in the Boston woman's face and a suspicious redness near the bridge of her little nose. As she had not yet acquired the Boston habit of wearing glasses, whether she needed them or not, the irritation could hardly be attributed to tight pince nez. Genevra made up her mind on the instant that Drusilla was making herself unhappy over her good-looking husband's attentions to his co-legatee.

"It's very good of you," said the Enemy, after all of them had joined in the invitation. There was a peculiar twinkle in his eye as he asked this rather confounding question: "Why is it that I am more fortunate than your own attorneys? I am but a humble lawyer, after all, no better than they. Would you mind telling me why I am honoured by an invitation to sit at the table with you?" The touch of easy sarcasm was softened by the frank smile that went with it. Deppingham, having been the first to offend, after a look of dismay at his wife, felt it his duty to explain.

"It's—it's—er—oh, yes, it's because you're a diplomat," he finally remarked in triumph. It was a grand recovery, thought he. "Saunders is an ass and Britt would be one if Browne could only admit it, as I do. Rubbish! Don't let that trouble you. Eh, Browne?"

"Besides," said Bobby Browne breezily, "I haven't heard of your clients inviting you to lunch, Mr. Chase. The cases are parallel."

"I'm not so sure about his clients' wives," said Deppingham, with a vast haw-haw! Chase looked extremely uncomfortable.

"I am told that some of them are very beautiful," said Genevra sedately.

"Other men's wives always are, I've discovered," said Chase gallantly.

The party had moved over to the great stone steps which led down into the gardens. Chase was standing beside Lady Deppingham and both of them were looking toward his distant bungalow. He turned to the Princess with the remark:

"That is my home. Princess. It is the first time I have seen it from your point of view, Lady Deppingham. I must say that it doesn't seem as far from the château to the bungalow as it does from the bungalow to the château. There have been times when the château seemed to be thousands of miles away."

"When in reality it was at your very feet," she said with a bright look into his eyes. For some unaccountable reason, Genevra resented that look and speech. Perhaps it was because she felt the rift of an undercurrent.

"Is that really where you live?" she asked, so innocently that Chase had difficulty in controlling his expression.

At that instant something struck sharply against the stone column above Chase's head. At least three persons saw the little puff of smoke in the hills far to the right. Every one heard the distant crack of a rifle. The bullet had dropped at Chase's feet before the sound of the report came floating to their ears. No one spoke as he stooped and picked up the warm, deadly missile. Turning it over in his fingers, an ugly thing to look at, he said coolly, although his cheek had gone white:

"With Von Blitz's compliments, ladies and gentlemen. He is calling on me, by proxy."

"Good God, Chase," cried Browne, "they're trying to murder us. Get back, every one! Inside the doors!"

The women, white-faced and silent for the moment, turned to follow the speaker.

"I'm sorry to bring my troubles to your door," said Chase. "It was meant for me, not for any of you. The man who fired that did not intend to kill me. He was merely giving voice to his pain and regret at seeing me in such bad company." He was smiling calmly and did not take a single step to follow them to safety.

"Come in, Chase! Don't stand out there to be shot at."

"I'll stay here for a few minutes, Mr. Browne, if you don't mind, just to convince you all that the shot was not intended to kill. They're not ready to kill me yet. I'm sure Lord Deppingham will understand. He has been shot at often enough since he came to the island."

"By Jove, I should rather say I have," blurted out Deppingham. "'Pon my word, they had a shot at me every time I tried to pluck a flower at the roadside. I've got so used to it that I resent it when they don't have a try at me."

"Think it was Von Blitz?" asked Browne.

"No. He couldn't hit the château at two hundred yards. It is a native. They shoot like fury." He lighted a cigarette and coolly leaned against the column, his gaze bent on the spot where the smoke had been seen. The others were grouped inside the doors, where they could see without being seen. A certain sense of horror possessed all of the watchers. It was as if they were waiting to see him fall with a bullet in his breast—executed before their eyes. Several minutes passed.

"For heaven's sake, why does he stand there?" cried the Princess at last. "I can endure it no longer. It may be as he says it is, but it is foolhardy to stand there and taunt the pride of that marksman. I can't stay here and wait for it to come. How can—"

"He's been there for ten minutes, Princess," said Browne. "Plenty of time for another try."

"I am not afraid to stand beside him," said Lady Agnes suddenly. She had conquered her dread and saw the chance for something theatrical. Her husband grasped her arm as she started toward the Enemy.

"None of that, Aggie," he said sharply.

Before they were aware of her intention, the Princess left the shelter and boldly walked across the open space to the side of the man. He started and opened his lips to give vent to a sharp command.

"It is so easy to be a hero, Mr. Chase, when one is quite sure there is no real danger," she said, with distinct irony in her tones. "One can afford to be melodramatic if he knows his part so well as you know yours."

Chase felt his face burn. It was a direct declaration that he had planned the whole affair in advance. He flicked the ashes from his cigarette and then tossed it away, hesitating long before replying.

"Nevertheless, I have the greatest respect for the courage which brings you to my side. I daresay you are quite justified in your opinion of me. It all must seem very theatrical to you. I had not thought of it in that light. I shall now retire from the centre of the stage. It will be perfectly safe for you to remain here—just as it was for me." He was leaving her without another word or look. She repented.

"I am sorry for what I said," she said eagerly. "And—" she looked up at the hills with a sudden widening of her eyes—"I think I shall not remain."

He waited for her and they crossed to the entrance together.

Luncheon was quite well over before the spirits of the party reacted from the depression due to the shooting. Chase made light of the occurrence, but sought to impress upon the others the fact that it was prophetic of more serious events in the future. In a perfectly cold-blooded manner he told them that the islanders might rise against them at any time, overstepping the bounds of England's law in a return to the primeval law of might. He advised the occupants of the château to exercise extreme caution at all times.

"The people are angry and they will become desperate. Their interests are mine, of course. I am perfectly sincere in saying to you, Lady Deppingham, and to you, Mr. Browne, that in time they will win out against you in the courts. But they are impatient; they are not the kind who can wait and be content. It is impossible for you to carry out the provisions of the will, and they know it. That is why they resent the delays that are impending."

Deppingham told him of the scheme proposed by Saunders, treating it as a vast joke. Chase showed a momentary sign of uneasiness, but covered it instantly by laughing with the others. Strange to say, he had been instructed from London to look out for just such a coup on the part of the heirs. Not that the marriage could be legally established, but that it might create a complication worth avoiding.

He could not help looking from Lady Deppingham to Bobby Browne, a calculating gleam in his grey eyes. How very dangerous she could be! He was quite ready to feel very sorry for pretty Mrs. Browne. Browne, of course, revealed no present symptom of surrender to the charms of his co-legatee. Later on, he was to recall this bit of calculation and to enlarge upon it from divers points of view.

Just now he was enjoying himself for the first time since his arrival in Japat. He sat opposite to the Princess; his eyes were refreshing themselves after months of fatigue; his blood was coursing through new veins. And yet, his head was calling his heart a fool.

THE PRINCESS GOES GALLOPING

A week passed—an interesting week in which few things happened openly, but in which the entire situation underwent a subtle but complete change. The mail steamer had come and gone. It brought disconcerting news from London. Chase was obliged to tell the islanders that notice of a contest had been filed. The lineal heirs had pooled their issues and were now fighting side by side. The matter would be in chancery for months, even years. He could almost feel the gust of rage and disappointment that swept over the island—although not a word came from the lips of the sullen population. The very silence was foreboding.

He did not visit the château during that perplexing week. It was hard, but he resolutely kept to the path of duty, disdaining the pleasures that beckoned to him. Every day he saw and talked with Britt and Saunders. They, as well as the brisk Miss Pelham, gave him the "family news" from the château. Saunders, when he was not moping with the ague of love, indulged in rare exhibitions of joy over the turn affairs were taking with his client and Bobby Browne. It did not require extraordinary keenness on Chase's part to gather that her ladyship and Browne had suddenly decided to engage in what he would call a mild flirtation, but what Saunders looked upon as a real attack of love.

"If I had the nerve, I'd call Browne good and hard," said Britt, over his julep. "It isn't right. It isn't decent. No telling what it will come to. The worst of it is that his wife doesn't blame him. She blames her. They disappear for hours at a time and they've always got their heads together. I've noticed it for a month, but it's got worse in the last week. Poor little Drusilla. She's from Boston, Chase, and can't retaliate. Besides, Deppingham wouldn't take notice if she tried."

"There's one safeguard," said Chase. "They can't elope on this island."

"They can't, eh? Why, man, they could elope in the château and nobody could overtake 'em. You've no idea how big it is. The worst of it is, Deppingham has got an idea that they may try to put him out of the way—him and Drusilla. Awful, isn't it?"

"Perfect rot, Britt. You'll find that it turns out all right in the end. I'd bank on Lady Deppingham's cool little head. Browne may be mad, but she isn't."

"It won't help me any unless both of 'em are mad," said Britt, with a wry face. "And, say, by the way, Saunders is getting to dislike you intensely."

"I can't help it if he loves the only stenographer on the island," said Chase easily. "You seem to be the only one who isn't in hot water all the time, Britt."

"Me and the Princess," said Britt laconically. Chase looked up quickly, but the other's face was as straight as could be. "If you were a real gentleman you would come around once in a while and give her something to talk to, instead of about."

"Does she talk about me?" quite steadily.

"They all do. I've even heard the white handmaidens discussing you in glowing terms. You're a regular matinee hero up there, my—"

"Selim!" broke in Chase. The Arab came to the table immediately. "Don't put so much liquor in Mr. Britt's drinks after this. Mostly water." Britt grinned amiably.

They sipped through their straws in silence for quite a while. Both were thinking of the turn affairs were taking at the château.

"I say, Britt, you're not responsible for this affair between Browne and Lady Deppingham, are you?" demanded Chase abruptly.

"I? What do you mean?"

"I was just wondering if you could have put Browne up to the game in the hope that a divorce or two might solve a very difficult problem."

"Now that you mention it, I'm going to look up the church and colonial divorce laws," said Britt non-committally, after a moment.

"I advise you to hurry," said Chase coolly. "If you can divorce and marry 'em inside of four weeks, with no court qualified to try the case nearer than India, you are a wonder."

Chase was in the habit of visiting the mines two or three times a week during work hours. The next morning after his conversation with Britt, he rode out to the mines. When he reached the brow of the last hill, overlooking the wide expanse in which the men toiled, he drew rein sharply and stared aghast at what lay before him.

Instead of the usual activity, there was not a man in sight. It was some time before his bewildered brain could grasp the meaning of the puzzle. Selim, who rode behind, came up and without a word directed his master's attention to the long ridge of trees that bordered the broken hillsides. Then he saw the miners. Five hundred half-naked brown men were congregated in the shade of the trees, far to the right. By the aid of his glasses he could see that one of their number was addressing them in an earnest, violent harangue. It was not difficult, even at that distance, to recognise the speaker as Von Blitz. From time to time, the silent watchers saw the throng exhibit violent signs of emotion. There were frequent gesticulations, occasional dances; the faint sound of shouts came across the valley.

Chase shuddered. He knew what it meant. He turned to Selim, who sat beside him like a bronze statue, staring hard at the spectacle.

"How about Allah now, Selim?" he asked sententiously.

"Allah is great, Allah is good," mumbled the Moslem youth, but without heart.

"Do you think He can save me from those dogs?" asked the master, with a kindly smile.

"Sahib, do not go among them to-day," implored Selim impulsively.

"They are expecting me, Selim. If I don't come, they will know that I have funked. They'll know I am afraid of them."

"Do not go to-day," persisted Selim doggedly. Suddenly he started, looking intently to the left along the line of the hill. Chase followed the direction of his gaze and uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise.

Several hundred yards away, outlined against the blue sky beyond the knob, stood the motionless figure of a horse and its rider—a woman in a green habit. Chase could hardly believe his eyes. It did not require a second glance to tell him who the rider was; he could not be mistaken in that slim, proud figure. Without a moment's hesitation he turned his horse's head and rode rapidly toward her. She had left the road to ride out upon the crest of the green knob. Chase was in the mood to curse her temerity.

As he came up over the slope, she turned in the saddle to watch his approach. He had time to see that two grooms from the stables were in the road below her. There was a momentary flash of surprise and confusion in her eyes, succeeded at once by a warm glow of excitement. She smiled as he drew up beside her, not noticing his unconscious frown.

"So those are the fabulous mines of Japat," she said gaily, without other greeting. "Where is the red glow from the rubies?"

His horse had come to a standstill beside hers. Scarcely a foot separated his boot from her animal's side. If she detected the serious look in his face, she chose to ignore it.

"Who gave you permission to ride so far from the château?" he demanded, almost harshly. She looked at him in amazement.

"Am I a trespasser?" she asked coldly.

"I beg your pardon," he said quickly. "I did not mean to offend. Don't you know that it is not safe for you to—"

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "I am not afraid of your shadows. Why should they disturb me?"

"Look!" He pointed to the distant assemblage. "Those are not shadows. They are men and they are making ready to transform themselves into beasts. Before long they will strike. Von Blitz and Rasula have sunk my warships. You must understand that it is dangerous to leave the château on such rides as this. Come! We will start back together—at once."

"I protest, Mr. Chase, that you have no right to say what I shall do or—"

"It isn't a question of right. You are nearly ten miles from the château, in the most unfrequented part of the island. Some day you will not return to your friends. It will be too late to hunt for you then."

"How very thrilling!" she said with a laugh.

"I beg of you, do not treat it so lightly," he said, so sharply that she flushed. He was looking intently in the direction of the men. She was not slow to see that their position had been discovered by the miners. "They have seen us," he said briefly. "It is quite possible that they do not mean to do anything desperate at this time, but you can readily see that they will resent this proof of spying on our part. They mistake me for one of the men from the château. Will you come with me now?"

"It seems so absurd—but I will come, of course. I have no desire to cause you any uneasiness."

As they rode swiftly back to the tree-lined road, a faint chorus of yells came to them across the valley. For some distance they rode without speaking a word to each other. They had traversed two miles of the soft dirt road before Chase discovered that Selim was the only man following them. The two men who had come out with the Princess were not in sight. He mentioned the fact to her, with a peculiar smile on his lips. They slackened the pace and Chase called Selim up from behind. The little Arab's face was a study in its display of unwonted emotion.

"Excellency," he replied, in answer to Chase's question, his voice trembling with excitement, "they left me at the bend, a mile back. They will not return to the château."

"The dogs! So, you see, Princess, your escort was not to be trusted," said Chase grimly.

"But they have stolen the horses," she murmured irrelevantly. "They belong to the château stables."

"Which direction did they take, Selim?"

"They rode off by the Carter's highway, Excellency, toward Aratat."

"It may not appeal to your vanity, your Highness, but it is my duty to inform you that they have gone to report our clandestine meeting."

"Clandestine! What do you mean, sir?"

"The islanders are watching me like hawks. Every time I am seen with any one from the château, they add a fresh nail to the coffin they are preparing for me. It's really more serious than you imagine. I must, therefore, forbid you to ride outside of the park."

They rode swiftly for another mile, silence being unbroken between them. She was trying to reconcile her pride to the justice of his command.

"I daresay you are right, Mr. Chase," she said at last, quite frankly. "I thank you."

"I am glad that you understand," he said simply. His gaze was set straight before him, keen, alert, anxious. They were riding through a dark stretch of forest; the foliage came down almost to their faces; there was an almost impenetrable green wall on either side of them. He knew, and she was beginning to suspect, that danger lurked in the peaceful, sweet-smelling shades.

"I begin to fear, Mr. Chase," she said, with a faint smile, "that Lady Deppingham deceived me in suggesting Japat as a rest cure. It may interest you to know that the court at Rapp-Thorberg has been very gay this winter. Much has happened in the past few months."

"I know," he said briefly, almost bitterly.

"My brother, Christobal, has been with us after two years' absence. He came with his wife from the ends of the earth, and my father forgave him in good earnest. Christobal was very disobedient in the old days. He refused to marry the girl my father chose for him. Was it not foolish of him?"

"Not if it has turned out well in the end."

"I daresay it has—or will. She is delightful. My father loves her. And my father—the Grand Duke, I should say—does not love those who cross him. One is very fortunate to have been born a prince." He thought he detected a note of bitterness in this raillery.

"I can conceive of no greater fortune than to have been born Prince Karl of Brabetz," he said lightly. She flashed a quick glance at his face, her eyes narrowing in the effort to divine his humour. He saw the cloud which fell over her face and was suddenly silent, contrite for some unaccountable reason.

"As I was saying," she resumed, after a moment, "Lady Deppingham has lured me from sunshowers into the tempest. Mr. Chase," and her face was suddenly full of real concern, "is there truly great danger?"

"I fear so," he answered. "It is only a question of time. I have tried to check this uprising, but I've failed. They don't trust me. Last night Von Blitz, Rasula and three others came to the bungalow and coolly informed me that my services were no longer required. I told them to—to go to—"

"I understand," she said quickly. "It required courage to tell them that." He smiled.

"They protested friendship, but I can read very well as I run. But can't we find something more agreeable to talk about? May I say that I have not seen a newspaper in three months? The world has forgotten me. There must be news that you can give me. I am hungry for it."

"You poor man! No newspapers! Then you don't know what has happened in all these months?"

"Nothing since before Christmas. Would you like to see a bit of news that I clipped from the last Paris paper that came into my hands?"

"Yes," she said, vaguely disturbed. He drew forth his pocketbook and took from its interior a small bit of paper, which he handed to her, a shamed smile in his eyes. She read it at a glance and handed it back. A faint touch of red came into her cheeks.

"How very odd! Why should you have kept that bit of paper all these months?"

"I will admit that the announcement of the approaching nuptials of two persons whom I had met so casually may seem a strange thing to cherish, but I am a strange person. You have been married nearly three months," he said reflectively. "Three months and two days, to be precise."

She laughed outright, a bewitching, merry laugh that startled him.

"How accurate you would be," she exclaimed. "It would be a highly interesting achievement, Mr. Chase, if it were only borne out by facts. You see, I have not been married so much as three minutes."

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

She went on: "Do you consider it bad luck to postpone a wedding?"

Involuntarily he drew his horse closer to hers. There was a new gleam in his eyes; her blood leaped at the challenge they carried.

"Very bad luck," he said quite steadily; "for the bridegroom."

In an instant they seemed to understand something that had not even been considered before. She looked away, but he kept his eyes fast upon her half-turned face, finding delight in the warm tint that surged so shamelessly to her brow. He wondered if she could hear the pounding of his heart above the thud of the horses' feet.

"We are to be married in June," she said somewhat defiantly. Some of the light died in his eyes. "Prince Karl was very ill. They thought he might die. His—his studies—his music, I mean, proved more than he could carry. It—it is not serious. A nervous break-down," she explained haltingly.

"You mean that he—" he paused before finishing the sentence—"collapsed?"

"Yes. It was necessary to postpone the marriage. He will be quite well again, they say—by June."

Chase thought of the small, nervous, excitable prince and in his mind there arose a great doubt. They might pronounce him cured, but would it be true? "I hope he may be fully recovered, for your sake," he managed to say.

"Thank you." After a long pause, she turned to him again and said: "We are to live in Paris for a year or two at least."

Then Chase understood. Prince Karl would not be entirely recovered in June. He did not ask, but he knew in some strange way that his physicians were there and that it would be necessary for him to be near them.

"He is in Paris now?"

"No," she answered, and that was all. He waited, but she did not expand her confidence.

"So it is to be in June?" he mused.

"In June," she said quietly. He sighed.

"I am more than sorry that you are a princess," he said boldly.

"I am quite sure of that," she said, so pointedly that he almost gasped. She was laughing comfortably, a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. His laugh was as awkward as hers was charming.

"You do like to be flattered," he exclaimed at random. "And I shall take it upon myself to add to to-day's measure." He again drew forth his pocketbook. She looked on curiously. "Permit me to restore the lace handkerchief which you dropped some time ago. I've been keeping it for myself, but----"

"My handkerchief?" she gasped, her thoughts going at once to that ridiculous incident of the balcony. "It must belong to Lady Deppingham."

"Oh, it isn't the one you used on the balcony," he protested coolly. "It antedates that adventure."

"Balcony? I don't understand you," she contested.

"Then you are exceedingly obtuse."

"I never dreamed that you could see," she confessed pathetically.

"It was extremely nice in you and very presumptuous in me. But, your highness, this is the handkerchief you dropped in the Castle garden six months ago. Do you recognise the perfume?"

She took it from his fingers gingerly, a soft flush of interest suffusing her cheek. Before she replied, she held the dainty bit of lace to her straight little nose.

"You are very sentimental," she said at last. "Would you care to keep it? It is of no value to me."

"Thanks, I will keep it."

"I've changed my mind," she said inconsequently, stuffing the fabric in her gauntlet. "You have something else in that pocketbook that I should very much like to possess."

"It can't be that Bank of England—"

"No, no! You wrapped it in a bit of paper last week and placed it there for safe keeping."

"You mean the bullet?"

"Yes. I should like it. To show to my friends, you know, when I tell them how near you were to being shot." Without a word he gave her the bullet that had dropped at his feet on that first day at the château. "Thank you. Oh, isn't it a horrid thing! Just to think, it might have struck you!" She shuddered.

He was about to answer in his delirium when a sharp turn in the road brought them in view of the château. Not a hundred yards ahead of them two persons were riding slowly, unattended, very much occupied in themselves. Their backs were toward Chase and the Princess, but it was an easy matter to recognise them. The glance which shot from the Princess to Chase found a peculiar smile disappearing from his lips.

"I know what you are thinking," she cried impulsively "You are wrong—very wrong, Mr. Chase. Lady Deppingham is a born coquette—a born trifler. It is ridiculous to think that she can be seriously engaged in a—"

"It isn't that, Princess," he interrupted, a dark loo in his eyes. "I was merely wondering whether dear little Mrs. Browne is as happy as she might be."

Genevra was silent for a moment.

"I had not thought of that," she said soberly.