CHAPTER XV — THE MICE IN A TRAP
They had a table in a cool, shady corner of the broad porch overlooking the Place d'Armes and the Seine and its vociferous ferries. To the right runs the gleaming roadway that leads to the hills and glades through which pomp and pride once strode with such fatal arrogance. Blue coated servitors attended them on their arrival, and watched over them during their stay. It was as if Miss Guile were the fairy princess who had but to wish and her slightest desire was gratified. Her guest, a real prince, marvelled not a little at the complete sway she exercised over this somewhat autocratic army of menials. They bowed and scraped, and fetched, and carried, and were not Swiss but slaves in Bagdad during the reign of its most illustrious Caliph, Al-haroun Raschid the great. The magic of Araby could have been no more potent than the spell this beautiful girl cast over the house of Mammon. She laid her finger upon a purse of gold and wished, and lo! the wonders of the magic carpet were repeated.
Robin remembered that Maud Applegate Blithers had spent the greater part of her life in Paris, and it was therefore not unreasonable to suppose that she had spent something else as well. At any rate, the Pavilion Bleu was a place where it had to be spent if one wanted the attention accorded the few.
She had removed her veil, but he was not slow to perceive that she sat with her back to the long stretch of porch.
"Do you prefer this place to Armenonville or the Paillard at Pre Catelan, Miss Guile?" he inquired, quite casually, but with a secret purpose.
"No, it is stupid here, as a rule, and common. Still every one goes to the other places in the afternoon and I particularly wanted to be as naughty as possible, so I came here to-day."
"It doesn't strike me as especially naughty," he remarked.
"But it was very, very naughty before you and I were born, Mr. Schmidt. The atmosphere still remains, if one possesses a comprehensive imagination."
"I daresay," said he, "but the imagination doesn't thrive on tea. Those were the days of burgundy and a lot of other red things."
"One doesn't need to be in shackles, to expatiate on the terrors of the Bridge of Sighs," she said.
"Are you going to take me up to the park?"
"Yes. Into the Shadows."
"Oh, that's good! I'm sure my imagination will work beautifully when it isn't subdued by all these blue devils. I—Que voulez vous?" The question was directed rather sharply to a particularly deferential "blue devil" who stood at his elbow.
"Monsieur Schmidt?"
"Yes. What's this? A letter! 'Pon my soul, how the deuce could any one—" He got no farther, for Miss Guile's action in pulling down her veil and the subsequent spasmodic glance over her shoulder betrayed such an agitated state of mind on her part that his own sensations were checked at the outset.
"There must be some one here who knows you, Mr. Schmidt," she said nervously. "See what it says, please,—at once. I—perhaps we should be starting home immediately."
Robin tore open the envelope. A glance showed him that the brief note was from Gourou. A characteristic G served as a signature. As he read, a hard line appeared between his eyes and his expression grew serious.
"It is really nothing, Miss Guile," he said and prepared to tear the sheet into many pieces. "A stupid, alleged joke of a fellow who happens to know me, that's all."
"Don't tear it up!" she cried sharply. "What does it say? I have a right to know, Mr. Schmidt, even though it is only a joke. What has this friend of yours to say about me? What coarse, uncalled-for comment has he to make about—"
"Let me think for a moment, Miss Guile," he interrupted, suddenly realising that it was time for reflection. After a moment he said soberly: "I think it would be wise if we were to leave instantly. There is nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you, but—well, we'd better go."
"Will you allow me to see that letter?" she asked, extending her hand.
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."
"But I insist, sir! I'll not go a step from this place until I know what all this is about."
"As it happens to concern you even more than it does me, I suppose you'd better see what it says." He passed the letter over to her and watched her narrowly as she read. Again the veil served as a competent mask.
"Who wrote this letter, Mr. Schmidt?" she demanded. Even through the veil he could see that her eyes were wide with—was it alarm or anger?
"A man named Gourou. He is a detective engaged on a piece of work for Mr. Totten."
"Is it a part of his duty to watch your movements?" she asked, leaning forward.
"No. He is my friend, however," said Robin steadily. "According to this epistle, it would appear that it is a part of his duty to keep track of you, not me. May I ask why you should be shadowed by two of his kind?"
She did not answer at once. When she spoke, it was with a determined effort to maintain her composure.
"I am sorry to have subjected you to all this, Mr. Schmidt. We will depart at once. I find that the cat is never away, so we can't be mice. What a fool I've been." There was something suspiciously suggestive of tears in her soft voice.
He laid a hand upon the small fingers that clutched the crumpled sheet of paper. To have saved his life, he could not keep the choked, husky tremor out of his voice.
"The day is spoiled for you. That is my only regret. As for me, Miss Guile, I am not without sin, so I may cast no stones. Pray regard me as a fellow culprit, and rest assured that I have no bone to pick with you. I too am watched and yet I am no more of a criminal than you. Will you allow me to say that I am a friend whose devotion cannot be shaken by all the tempests in the world?"
"Thank you," she said, and turned her hand under his to give it a quick, convulsive clasp. Her spirits seemed to revive under the responsive grip. "You might have said all the tempests in a tea pot, for that is really what it amounts to. My father is a very foolish man. Will you send for the car?"
He called an attendant and ordered him to find Miss Guile's footman at once. When he returned to the table, she was reading the note once more.
"It is really quite thrilling, isn't it?" she said, and there was still a quaver of indignation in her voice. "Are you not mystified?"
"Not in the least," said he promptly, and drew a chair up close beside hers. "It's as plain as day. Your father has found you out, that's all. Let's read it again," and they read it together.
"A word to the wise," it began. "Two men from a private detective concern have been employed since yesterday in watching the movements of your companion, for the purpose of safe-guarding her against good-looking young men, I suspect. I have it from the most reliable of sources that her father engaged the services of these men almost simultaneously with the date of our sailing from New York. It may interest you to know that they followed you to St. Cloud in a high-power car and no doubt are watching you as you read this message from your faithful friend, who likewise is not far away."
"I should have anticipated this, Mr. Schmidt," she said ruefully. "It is just the sort of thing my father would do."
"You seem to take it calmly enough."
"I am quite used to it. I would be worth a great deal to any enterprising person who made it his business to steal me. There is no limit to the ransom he could demand."
"You alarm me," he declared. "No doubt these worthy guardians look upon me as a kidnapper. I am inclined to shiver."
"'All's well that ends well,'" quoth she, pulling on her gloves, "I shall restore you safely to the bosom of the Ritz and that will be the end of it."
"I almost wish that some one would kidnap you, Miss Guile. It would afford me the greatest pleasure in the world to snatch you from their clutches. Your father would be saved paying the ransom but I should have to be adequately rewarded. I fancy, however, that he wouldn't mind paying the reward I should hold out for."
"I am quite sure he would give you anything you were to ask for, Mr. Schmidt," said she gaily. "You would be reasonable, of course."
"I might ask for the most precious of his possessions," said he, leaning forward to look directly into eyes that wavered and refused to meet his.
"Curiosity almost makes me wish that I might be kidnapped. I should then find out what you consider to be his most precious possession," she said, and her voice was perilously low.
"I think I could tell you in advance," said he, his eyes shining.
"I—I prefer to find out in my own way, Mr. Schmidt," she stammered hurriedly. Her confusion was immensely gratifying to him. There is no telling what might have happened to the Prince of Graustark at that moment if an obsequious attendant had not intervened with the earthly information that the car was waiting.
"Good Lord," Robin was saying to himself as he followed her to the steps, "was I about to go directly against the sage advice of old Gourou? Was I so near to it as that? In another minute—Gee, but it was a close shave. She is adorable, she is the most adorable creature in the world, even though she is the daughter of old man Blithers, and I—'gad I wonder what will come of it in the end? Keep a tight grip on yourself, Bobby, or you're a goner, sure as fate."
They were painfully aware of the fact that their progress down the long verandah was made under the surveillance of two, perhaps three pairs of unwavering eyes, and because of it they looked neither to right nor left but as those who walk tight-ropes over dangerous places. There was something positively uncanny in the feeling that their every movement was being watched by secret observers. Once inside the car, Miss Guile sank back with a long sigh of relief.
"Did you feel it, too?" she asked, with a nervous little catch in her voice.
"I did," said he, passing his hand over his brow. "It was like being alone in the dark with eyes staring at one from all sides of the room."
The car shot across the bridge and was speeding on its way toward the Bois when Robin ventured a glance behind. Through the little window in the back of the car he saw a big, swift-moving automobile not more than a quarter of a mile in their rear.
"Would you like to verify the report of my friend Gourou?" he asked, his voice quick with exhilaration. She knelt with one knee upon the seat and peered back along the road.
"There they are!" she cried. She threw the veil back over her hat as she resumed her seat in the corner. Her eyes were fairly dancing with excitement. The warm red lips were parted and she was breathing quickly. Suddenly she laid her hand over her heart as if to check its lively thumping. "Isn't it splendid? We are being pursued—actually chased by the man-hunters of Paris! Oh, I was never so happy in my life. Isn't it great?"
"It is glorious!" he cried exultantly. "Shall I tell the chauffeur to hit it up a bit? Let's make it a real chase."
"Yes, do! We'll see if we can foil them, as they say in the books. Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful if we were to—to—what do you call it? Give them the slip, isn't that it?"
"I'm game," said he, with enthusiasm. For a second or two they looked straight into each other's eyes and a message was exchanged that never could have been put into words. No doubt it was the flush of eager excitement that darkened their cheeks. In any case, it came swiftly and went as quickly, leaving them paler than before and vastly self-conscious. And after that brief, searching look they knew that they could never be as they were before the exchange. They were no longer strangers to each other, but shy comrades and filled with a delicious sense of wonder.
Robin gave hurried directions through the speaking tube to the attentive footman, and so explicit were these directions that the greatest excitement prevailed upon the decorous front seat of the car—first the footman looked back along the road, then the chauffeur, after which a thrill of excitement seemed to fairly race up and down their liveried backs. The car itself took a notion to quiver with the promise of joy unrestrained. In less than a minute they were going more than a mile a minute over a short stretch of the Avenue de Longchamp. At the Porte de Hippodrome they slowed down and ran into the Bois, taking the first road to the left. In a few minutes they were scudding past Longchamp at a "fair clip" to quote R. Schmidt. Instead of diverging into the Allee de Longchamp, the car took a sharp turn into the Avenue de l'Hippodrome and, at the intersection, doubled back over the Allee de la Heine Marguerite, going almost to the Boulogne gate, where again it was sent Parisward over the Avenue de St. Cloud.
Miss Guile was in command of the flight. She called out the instructions to the driver and her knowledge of the intricate routes through the park stood them well in hand. Purposely she evaded the Cascades, circling the little pools by narrow, unfrequented roads, coming out at last to the Porte de la Muette, where they left the park and took to the Avenue Henri Martin. It was her design to avoid the customary routes to the heart of the city, and all would have gone well with them had not fate in the shape of two burly sergents de ville intervened at a time when success seemed most certain. It was quite clear to the pursued that the car containing their followers had been successfully eluded and was no doubt in the Champs Elysees by this time. For some time there had been a worried look in the Prince's eyes. Once he undertook to remonstrate with his fair companion.
"My dear Miss Guile, we'll land in jail if we keep up this hair-raising speed. There wouldn't be any fun in that, you know."
She gave him a scornful look. "Are you afraid, Mr. Schmidt?"
"Not on my own account," said he, "but yours. I've heard that the new regulations are extremely rigid."
"Pooh! I'm not afraid of the police. They—why, what's the matter? Oh, goodness!"
The car had come to a somewhat abrupt stop. Two policemen, dismounted from their bicycles, formed an insurmountable obstruction. They were almost in the shade of the Trocadero.
"Do not be alarmed," whispered Robin to the fast paling girl, into whose eyes the most abject misery had leaped at the sight of the two officers. "Leave it to me. I can fix them all right. There's nothing to be worried about—well, sergent, what is it?"
The polite officers came up to the window with their little note-books.
"I regret, m'sieur, that we shall be obliged to conduct yourself and mademoiselle to the office of a magistrate. Under the new regulations set forth in the order of last May, motorists may be given a hearing at once. I regret to add that m'sieur has been exceeding the speed limit. A complaint came in but a few minutes ago from the Porte de la Muette and we have been ordered to intercept the car. You may follow us to the office of the magistrate, m'sieur. It will soon be over, mademoiselle."
"But we can explain—" she began nervously.
The sergent held up his hand. "It is not necessary to explain, mademoiselle. Too many motorists have explained in the past but that does not restore to life the people they have killed in the pursuit of pleasure. Paris is enforcing her laws."
"But, sergent, I alone am to blame for any violation of the law," said Robin suavely. "Surely it is only necessary that I should accompany you to the magistrate. The young lady is in no way responsible—"
"Alas, m'sieur," said the man firmly but as if he were quite broken-hearted, "it is not for me to disobey the law, even though you may do so. It is necessary for the lady to appear before the Judge, and it is our duty to convey her there. The new law explicitly says that all occupants of said car shall be subject to penalty under the law without reprieve or pardon!"
"Where are your witnesses?" demanded Robin.
The two men produced their watches and their notebooks, tapping them significantly.
"M'sieur will not think of denying that he has been running more rapidly than the law allows," said the second officer. "It will go harder with him if he should do so."
"I shall insist upon having an advocate to represent me before—"
"As you like, m'sieur," said the first officer curtly. "Proceed!" he uttered as a command to the chauffeur, and forthwith mounted his wheel. A score of people had gathered round them by this time, and Miss Guile was crouching back in her corner. Her veil was down. In single file, so to speak, they started off for the office of the nearest magistrate appointed under the new law governing automobiles. A policeman pedaled ahead of the car and another followed.
"Isn't it dreadful?" whispered Miss Guile. "What do you think they will do to us? Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Schmidt, to have dragged you into this horrid—"
"I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world," said he so earnestly that she sat up a little straighter and caught her breath. "After all, they will do no more than assess a fine against us. A hundred francs, perhaps. That is nothing."
"I am not so sure of that," said she gloomily. "My friends were saying only yesterday that the new law provides for imprisonment as well. Paris has constructed special prisons for motorists, and people are compelled to remain in them for days and weeks at a time. Oh, I hope—"
"I'll inquire of the footman," said Robin. "He will know." The footman, whose face was very long and serious, replied through the tube that very few violators escaped confinement in the "little prisons." He also said "Mon dieu" a half dozen times, and there was a movement of the driver's pallid lips that seemed to indicate a fervent echo.
"I shall telephone at once—to my friends," said Miss Guile, a note of anger in her voice. "They are very powerful in Paris. We shall put those miserable wretches in their proper places. They—"
"We must not forget. Miss Guile, that we were breaking the law," said Robin, who was beginning to enjoy the discomfiture of this spoiled beauty, this girl whose word was a sort of law unto itself.
"It is perfect nonsense," she declared. "We did no harm. Goodness! What is this?"
Four or five policemen on wheels passed by the car, each with a forbidding glance through the windows.
"They are the boys we left behind us," paraphrased Robin soberly. "The park policemen. They've just caught us up, and, believe me, they look serious, too. I dare say we are in for it."
In a very few minutes the procession arrived at a low, formidable looking building on a narrow side street. The cavalcade of policemen dismounted and stood at attention while Mademoiselle and Monsieur got down from the car and followed a polite person in uniform through the doors. Whereupon the group of sergents de ville trooped in behind, bringing with them the neatly liveried servants with the golden letter L on their cuffs.
"I believe there is a jail back there," whispered the slim culprit, a quaver in her voice. She pointed down the long, narrow corridor at the end of which loomed a rather sinister looking door with thick bolt-heads studding its surface.
An instant later they were ushered into a fair-sized room on the left of the hall, where they were commanded to sit down. A lot of chairs stood about the room, filling it to the farthest corners, while at the extreme end was the Judge's bench.
"I insist on being permitted to telephone to friends—to my legal advisors,—" began Miss Guile, with praiseworthy firmness, only to be silenced by the attendant, who whispered shrilly that a trial was in progress, couldn't she see?
Two dejected young men were standing before the Judge, flanked by three sergents de ville. Robin and Miss Guile stared wide-eyed at their fellow criminals and tried to catch the low words spoken by the fat Magistrate. Once more they were ordered to sit down, this time not quite so politely, and they took seats in the darkest corner of the room, as far removed from justice as possible under the circumstances.
Presently a young man approached them. He was very nice looking and astonishingly cheerful. The hopes of the twain went up with a bound. His expression was so benign, so bland that they at once jumped to the conclusion that he was coming to tell them that they were free to go, that it had all been a stupid mistake. But they were wrong. He smilingly introduced himself as an advocate connected with the court by appointment and that he would be eternally grateful to them if they would tell him what he could do for them.
"I'd like to have a word in private with the Magistrate," said the Prince of Graustark eagerly.
"Impossible!" said the advocate, lifting his eyebrows and his smart little mustachios in an expression of extreme amazement. "It is imposs—" A sharp rapping on the Judge's desk reduced the remainder of the sentence to a delicate whisper—"ible. M'sieur."
"Will you conduct me to a telephone booth?" whispered Miss Guile, tearfully.
"Pray do not weep, Mademoiselle," implored the advocate, profoundly moved, but at the same time casting a calculating eye over the luckless pair.
"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Robin. "We insist on having our own legal advisors here."
"The court will not delay the hearing, M'sieur," explained the young man. "Besides, the best legal advisor in Paris could do no more than to advise you to plead guilty. I at least can do that quite as ably as the best of them. No one ever pretends to defend a case in the automobile courts, M'sieur. It is a waste of time, and the court does not approve of wasting time. Perhaps you will feel more content if I introduce the assistant public prosecutor, who will explain the law. That is his only duty. He does not prosecute. There is no need. The sergents testify and that is all there is to the case."
"May I inquire what service you can be to us if the whole business is cut and dried like that?" asked Robin.
"Not so loud, M'sieur. As I said before, I can advise you in respect to your plea, and I can tell you how to present your statement to the court. I can caution you in many ways. Sometimes a prisoner, who is well-rehearsed, succeeds in affecting the honourable Magistrate nicely, and the punishment is not so severe."
"So you advise us to plead guilty as delicately as possible?"
"I shall not advise you, M'sieur, unless it pleases you to retain me as your counsellor. The fee is small. Ten francs. Inasmuch as the amount is charged against you in the supplemental costs, it seems foolish not to take advantage of what you are obliged to pay for in any event. You will have to pay my fee, so you may as well permit me to be of service to you."
"My only concern is over Mademoiselle," said the Prince. "You may send me to jail if you like, if you'll only—"
"Mon dieu! I am not the one who enjoys the distinguished honour of being permitted to send people to jail, but the Judge, M'sieur."
"It is ridiculous to submit this innocent young lady to the humiliation of—"
"It is not only ridiculous but criminal," said the advocate, with a magnificent bow. "But what is one to do when it is the law? Of late, the law is peculiarly sexless. And now here is where I come in. It is I who shall instruct you—both of you, Mademoiselle—how to conduct yourselves before the Magistrate. Above all things, do not attempt to contradict a single statement of the police. Admit that all they say is true, even though they say that you have run over a child or an old woman with mortal results. It will go much easier with you. Exercise the gravest politeness and deference toward the honourable Magistrate and to every officer of the court. You are Americans, no doubt. The courts are prone to be severe with the Americans because they sometimes undertake to tell them how easy it is to get the right kind of justice in your wonderfully progressive United States. Be humble, contrite, submissive, for that is only justice to the court. If you have killed some one in your diversions, pray do not try to tell the magistrate that the idiot ought to have kept his eyes open. Another thing: do not inform the court that you require a lawyer. That is evidence of extreme culpability and he will consider you to be inexcusably guilty. Are you attending? Pray do not feel sorry for the two young men who are now being led away. See! They are weeping. It is as I thought. They are going to prison for—But that is their affair, not ours. I advised them as I am advising you, but they insisted on making a statement of their case. That was fatal, for it failed in many respects to corroborate the information supplied by the police. It-"
"What was the charge against them?" whispered Miss Guile, quaking. She had watched the exit of the tearful young men, one of whom was sobbing bitterly, and a great fear possessed her.
"Of that, Mademoiselle, I am entirely ignorant, but they were unmistakably guilty of denying it, whatever it was."
"Are they going to prison?" she gasped.
"It is not that which causes them to weep so bitterly, but the knowledge that their names are to be posted on the bulletin boards in the Place de l'Opera, the Place de l'Concorde, the—"
"Good Lord!" gasped Robin. "Is that being done?"
"It is M'sieur, and the effect is marvellous. Three months ago the boards were filled with illustrious names; to-day there are but few to be found upon them. The people have discovered that the courts are in earnest. The law is obeyed as it never was before. The prisons were crowded to suffocation at one time; now they are almost empty. It is a good law. To-day a mother can wheel her baby carriage in the thickest of the traffic and run no risk of—Ah, but here is the assistant prosecutor coming. Permit me to further warn you that you will be placed under oath to tell the absolute truth. The prosecutor will ask but three questions of you: your age, your name and your place of residence. All of them you must answer truthfully, especially as to your names. If it is discovered that you have falsely given a name not your own, the lowest penalty is sixty days in prison, imposed afterwards in addition to the sentence you will receive for violating the traffic laws. I have performed my duty as required by the commissioner. My fee is a fixed one, so you need not put your hand into your pocket, M'sieur. Good day. Mademoiselle—good day, M'sieur." He bowed profoundly and gave way to the impatient prosecutor, who had considerately held himself aloof while the final words were being uttered, albeit he glanced at his watch a couple of times.
"Come," he said, and he did not whisper; "let us be as expeditious as possible. Approach the court. It is—"
"See here," said Robin savagely, "this is too damned high-handed. Are we to have no chance to defend ourselves? We—"
"Just as you please, M'sieur," interrupted the prosecutor patiently. "It is nothing to me. I receive my fee in any event. If you care to defy the law in addition to what you have already done, it is not for me to object."
"Well, I insist on having—"
A thunderous pounding on the bench interrupted his hot-headed speech.
"Attend!" came in a sharp, uncompromising voice from the bench. "What is the delay? This is no time to think. All that should have been done before. Step forward! Sergent, see that the prisoners step forward."
Robin slipped his arm through Miss Guile's, expecting her to droop heavily upon it for support. To his surprise she drew herself up, dis-engaged herself, and walked straight up to the bench, without fear or hesitation. It was Robin who needed an example of courage and fortitude, not she. The chauffeur and footman, shivering in their elegance, already stood before the bench.
"Will you be so kind as to raise your veil, Madam?" spake the court.
She promptly obeyed. He leaned forward with sudden interest. The prosecutor blinked and abruptly overcame the habitual inclination to appear bored. Such ravishing beauty had never before found its way into that little court-room. Adjacent moustaches were fingered somewhat convulsively by several sergents de ville.
"Ahem!" said the court, managing with some difficulty to regain his judicial form. "I am compelled by law, Mademoiselle, to warn you before you are placed under oath that the lowest penalty for giving a false name in answer to the charge to be brought against you is imprisonment for not less than sixty days. I repeat this warning to you, young man. Be sworn, if you please."
Robin experienced a queer sense of exultation, not at all lessened by the knowledge that he would be forced to reveal his own identity. "Would she call herself Bedelia Guile or would she—"
"State your name, Mademoiselle," said the prosecutor.
CHAPTER XVI — THREE MESSAGES
Miss Guile lowered her head for an instant. Robin could see that her lip was quivering. A vast pity for her took possession of him and he was ashamed of what he now regarded as unexampled meanness of spirit on his own part. She lifted her shamed, pleading eyes to search his, as if expecting to find succour in their fearless depths. She found them gleaming with indignation, suddenly aroused, and was instantly apprehensive. There was a look in those eyes of his that seemed prophetic of dire results unless she checked the words that were rising to his lips. She shook her head quickly and, laying a hand upon his arm, turned to the waiting magistrate.
"My name is—Oh, is there no way to avoid the publicity—" she sighed miserably—"the publicity that—"
"I regret, Mademoiselle, that there is no alternative—" began the Judge, to be interrupted by the banging of the court-room door. He looked up, glaring at the offender with ominous eyes. The polite attendant from the outer corridor was advancing in great haste. He was not only in haste but vastly perturbed.
Despite the profound whack of the magistrate's paper weight on the hollow top of the desk and the withering scowl that went with it, the attendant rushed forward, forgetting his manners, his habits and his power of speech in one complete surrender to nature. He thrust into the hand of the Judge a slip of paper, at the same time gasping something that might have been mistaken for an appeal for pardon but which more than likely was nothing of the sort.
"What is this?" demanded the Judge ferociously.
"Mon dieu!" replied the attendant, rolling his eyes heavenward.
The magistrate was impressed. He took up the slip of paper and read what was written thereon. Then he was guilty of a start. The next instant he had the prosecutor up beside him and then the advocate. Together they read the message from the outside and together they lifted three pairs of incredulous eyes to stare at the culprits below. There was a hurried consultation in excited whisperings, intermittent stares and far from magisterial blinkings.
Robin bent close to Bedelia's ear and whispered: "We must have killed some one, the way they are acting."
Her face was glowing with triumph. "No. Luck is with us, Mr. Schmidt. You'll see!"
The magistrate cleared his throat and beamed upon them in a most friendly fashion.
Robin grasped the situation in a flash. His own identity had been revealed to the Judge. It was not likely that the daughter of William Blithers could create such lively interest in a French court of justice, so it must be that Gourou or Quinnox had come to the rescue. The court would not think of fining a prince of the royal blood, law or no law!
"M'sieur, Mademoiselle, will you be so good as to resume your seats? An extraordinary condition has arisen. I shall be obliged to investigate. The trial must be interrupted for a few minutes. Pardon the delay. I shall return as quickly as possible. Sergent! See that Mademoiselle and M'sieur are made comfortable."
He descended from the bench and hurried into the corridor, followed closely by the prosecutor and the advocate, both of whom almost trod on his heels. This may have been due to the fact that they were slighter men and more sprightly, but more than likely it was because they were unable to see where they were going for the excellent reason that they were not looking in that direction at all.
Policemen and attendants, mystified but impressed, set about to make the culprits comfortable. They hustled at least a half dozen roomy chairs out of an adjoining chamber; they procured palm-leaf fans and even proffered the improbable—ice-water!—after which they betook themselves to a remote corner and whispered excitedly at each other, all the while regarding the two prisoners with intense interest. Even the despairing footman and chauffeur exhibited unmistakable signs of life.
"I fancy my friends have heard of our plight, Mr. Schmidt," she said, quite composedly. "We will be released in a very few minutes."
He smiled complacently. He could afford to let her believe that her friends and not his were performing a miracle.
"Your friends must be very powerful," he said.
"They are," said she, with considerable directness.
"Still, we are not out of the scrape yet, Miss Guile," he remarked, shaking his head. "It may be a flash in the pan."
"Oh, please don't say that," she cried in quick alarm. "I—I should die if—if we were to be sent to—"
"Listen to me," he broke in eagerly, for an inspiration had come to him. "There's no reason why you should suffer, in any event. Apparently I am a suspected person. I may just as well be a kidnapper as not. You must allow me to inform the Judge that I was abducting you, so that he—"
"How absurd!"
"I don't in the least mind. Besides, I too have powerful friends who will see that I am released in a day or two. You—"
"You cannot hope to convince the Judge that you were abducting me in my own automobile—or at least in one belonging to my friends, who are irreproachable. I am very much obliged to you for thinking of it, Mr. Schmidt, but it is out of the question. I couldn't allow you to do it in the first place, and in the second I'm sure the court wouldn't believe you."
"It was I who suggested running away from those detectives," he protested.
"But I jumped at the chance, didn't I?" she whispered triumphantly. "I am even guiltier than thou. Can you ever forgive me for—"
"Hush!" he said, in a very low voice. His hand fell upon hers as it rested on the arm of the chair. They were in the shadows. She looked up quickly and their eyes met. After a moment hers fell, and she gently withdrew her hand from its place of bondage. "We are pals, Bedelia," he went on softly. "Pals never go back on each other. They sink or swim together, and they never stop to inquire the reason why. When it comes to a pinch, one or the other will sacrifice himself that his pal may be saved. I—"
"Please do not say anything more," she said, her eyes strangely serious and her voice vibrant with emotion. "Please!"
"I have a confession to make to you," he began, leaning still closer. "You have taken me on faith. You do not know who or what I am. I—"
She held up her hand, an engaging frown in her eyes. "Stop! This is no place for confessions. I will not listen to you. Save your confessions for the magistrate. Tell him the truth, Mr. Schmidt. I am content to wait."
He stared for an instant, perplexed. "See here, Miss Guile,—Bedelia,—I've just got to tell you something that—"
"You may tell me at Interlaken," she interrupted, and she was now quite visibly agitated.
"At Interlaken? Then you mean to carry out your plan to spend—"
"Sh! Here they come. Now we shall see."
The magistrate and his companions re-entered the room at that instant, more noticeably excited than when they left it. The former, rubbing his hands together and smiling as he had never smiled before, approached the pair. It did not occur to him to resent the fact that they remained seated in his august presence.
"A lamentable mistake has been made," he said. "I regret that M'sieur and Mademoiselle have been subjected to so grave an indignity. Permit me to apologise for the misguided energy of our excellent sergents. They—"
"But we were exceeding the speed limit," said Robin comfortably, now that the danger was past. "The officers were acting within their rights."
"I know, I know," exclaimed the magistrate. "They are splendid fellows, all of them, and I beg of you to overlook their unfortunate—er—zealousness. Permit me to add that you are not guilty—I should say, that you are honourably discharged by this humble court. But wait! The sergents shall also apologise. Here! Attend. It devolves upon you—"
"Oh, I beg of you—" began Robin, but already the policemen, who had been listening open-mouthed to the agitated prosecutor, were bowing and scraping and muttering their apologies for enforcing a cruel and unjust law.
"And we are not obliged to give our names, M'sieur le judge?" cried Miss Guile gladly.
"Mademoiselle," said he, with a profound bow, "it is not necessary to acquaint me with something I already know. Permit me to again express the most unbounded regret that—"
"Oh, thank you," she cried. "We have had a really delightful experience. You owe us no apology, M'sieur. And now, may we depart?"
"Instantly! LaChance, conduct M'sieur and Mademoiselle into the fresh, sweet, open air and discover their car for them without delay. Sergents, remain behind. Let there be nothing to indicate that there has been detention. Mademoiselle, you have been merely making a philanthropic visit to our prison. There has been no arrest."
Robin and Miss Guile emerged from the low, forbidding door and stood side by side on the pavement looking up and down the street in search of the car. It was nowhere in sight. The chauffeur gasped with amazement—and alarm. He had left it standing directly in front of the door, and now it was gone.
"It is suggested, M'sieur," said the polite LaChance, "that you walk to the corner beyond, turn to the left and there you will find the car in plain view. It was removed by two gentlemen soon after you condescended to honour us with a visit of inspection, and thereby you have escaped much unnecessary attention from the curious who always infest the vicinity of police offices." He saluted them gravely and returned at once to the corridor.
Following leisurely in the wake of the hurrying servants, Robin and Bedelia proceeded down the narrow street to the corner indicated. They were silent and preoccupied. After all, who was to be thanked for the timely escape, his god or hers?
And here it may be said that neither of them was ever to know who sent that brief effective message to the magistrate, nor were they ever to know the nature of its contents.
The men were examining the car when they came up. No one was near. There was no one to tell how it came to be there nor whither its unknown driver had gone. It stood close to the curb and the engine was throbbing, proof in itself that some one had but recently deserted his post as guardian.
"The obliging man-hunters," suggested Robin in reply to a low-voiced question.
"Or your guardian angel, the great Gourou!" she said, frowning slightly. "By the way, Mr. Schmidt, do you expect to be under surveillance during your stay at Interlaken?"
There was irony in her voice. "Not if I can help it," he said. "And you, Miss Guile? Is it possible that two of the best detectives in Paris are to continue treading on your heels all the time you are in Europe? Must we go about with the uncomfortable feeling that some one is staring at us from behind, no matter where we are? Are we to be perpetually attended by the invisible? If so, I am afraid we will find it very embarrassing."
They were in the car now and proceeding at a snail's pace toward the Arc de Triomphe. Her eyes narrowed. He was sure that she clutched her slim fingers tightly although, for an excellent reason, he was not by way of knowing. He was rapturously watching those expressive eyes.
"I shall put a stop to this ridiculous espionage at once, Mr. Schmidt. These men shall be sent kiting—I mean, about their business before this day is over. I do not intend to be spied upon an instant longer."
"Still they may have been instruments of providence to-day," he reminded her. "Without them, we might now be languishing in jail and our spotless names posted in the Place de l'Opera. Bedelia Guile and Rex Schmidt, malefactors. What would your father say to that?"
She smiled—a ravishing smile, it was. His heart gave a stupendous jump. "He would say that it served me right," said she, and then: "But what difference can it possibly make to you, Mr. Schmidt, if the detectives continue to watch over me?"
"None," said he promptly. "I suppose they are used to almost anything in the way of human nature, so if they don't mind, I'm sure I sha'n't. I haven't the slightest objection to being watched by detectives, if we can only keep other people from seeing us."
"Don't be silly," she cried. "And let me remind you while I think of it: You are not to call me Bedelia."
"Bedelia," he said deliberately.
She sighed. "I am afraid I have been mistaken in you," she said. He recalled Gourou's advice. Had he failed in the test? "But don't do it again."
"Now that I think of it," he said soberly, "you are not to call me Mr. Schmidt. Please bear that in mind, Bedelia."
"Thank you. I don't like the name. I'll call you—"
Just then the footman turned on the seat and excitedly pointed to a car that had swung into the boulevard from a side street.
"The man-hunters!" exclaimed Robin. "By jove, we didn't lose them after all."
"To the Ritz, Pierre," she cried out sharply. Once more she seemed perturbed and anxious.
"What are you going to call me?" he demanded, insistently.
"I haven't quite decided," she replied, and lapsed into moody silence.
Her nervousness increased as they sped down the Champs Elysees and across the Place de la Concorde. He thought that he understood the cause and presently sought to relieve her anxiety by suggesting that she set him down somewhere along the Rue de Rivoli. She flushed painfully.
"Thank you, Mr. Schmidt, I—are you sure you will not mind?"
"May I ask what it is that you are afraid of, Miss Guile?" he inquired seriously.
She was lowering her veil. "I am not afraid, Mr. Schmidt," she said. "I am a very, very guilty person, that's all. I've done something I ought not to have done, and I'm—I'm ashamed. You don't consider me a bold, silly—"
"Good Lord, no!" he cried fervently.
"Then why do you call me Bedelia?" she asked, shaking her head.
"If you feel that way about it, I—I humbly implore you to overlook my freshness," he cried in despair.
"Will you get out here, Mr. Schmidt?" She pressed a button and the car swung alongside the curb.
"When am I to see you again?" he asked, holding out his hand. She gave it a firm, friendly grip and said:
"I am going to Switzerland the day after tomorrow. Good-bye."
In a sort of daze, he walked up the Rue Castiliogne to the Place Vendome. His heart was light and his eyes were shining with a flame that could have but one origin. He was no longer in doubt. He was in love. He had found the Golden Girl almost at the end of his journey, and what cared he if she did turn out to be the daughter of old man Blithers? What cared he for anything but Bedelia? There would be a pretty howdy-do when he announced to his people that their Princess had been selected for them, whether or no, and there might be such a thing as banishment for himself. Even at that, he would be content, for Bedelia was proof against titles. If she loved him, it would be for himself. She would scorn the crown and mock the throne, and they would go away together and live happily ever afterward, as provided by the most exacting form of romance. And Blithers? What a joke it would be on Blithers if he gave up the throne!
As he approached the Ritz, a tall young man emerged from the entrance, stared at him for an instant, and then swung off at a rapid pace in the direction of the Rue de la Paix. The look he gave Robin was one of combined amazement and concern, and the tail end of it betrayed unmistakable annoyance,—or it might have been hatred. He looked over his shoulder once and found Robin staring after him. This time there could be no mistake. He was furious, but whether with Robin or himself there was no means of deciding from the standpoint of an observer. At any rate, he quickened his pace and soon disappeared.
He was the good-looking young fellow who had met her at the steamship landing, and it was quite obvious that he had been making investigations on his own account.
Robin permitted himself a sly grin as he sauntered into the hotel. He had given that fellow something to worry about, if he had accomplished nothing else. Then he found himself wondering if, by any chance, it could be the Scoville fellow. That would be a facer!
He found Quinnox and Dank awaiting him in the lobby. They were visibly excited.
"Did you observe the fellow who just went out?" inquired Robin, assuming a most casual manner.
"Yes," said both men in unison.
"I think we've got some interesting news concerning that very chap," added the Count, glancing around uneasily.
"Perhaps I may be able to anticipate it, Count," ventured Robin. "I've an idea he is young Scoville, the chap who is supposed to be in love with Miss Blithers—and vice versa," he concluded, with a chuckle.
"What have you heard?" demanded the Count in astonishment.
"Let's sit down," said Robin, at once convinced that he had stumbled upon an unwelcome truth.
They repaired to the garden and were lucky enough to find a table somewhat removed from the crowd of tea-drinkers. Robin began fanning himself with his broad straw-hat. He felt uncomfortably warm. Quinnox gravely extracted two or three bits of paper from his pocket, and spread them out in order before his sovereign.
"Read this one first," said he grimly.
It was a cablegram from their financial agents in New York City, and it said: "Mr. B. making a hurried trip to Paris. Just learned Scoville preceded Miss B. to Europe by fast steamer and has been seen with her in Paris. B. fears an elopement. Make sure papers are signed at once as such contingency might cause B. to change mind and withdraw if possible."
Robin looked up. "I think this may account for the two man-hunters," said he. His companions stared. "You will hear all about them from Gourou. We were followed this afternoon."
"Followed?" gasped Quinnox.
"Beautifully," said the Prince, with his brightest smile. "Detectives, you know. It was ripping."
"My God!" groaned the Count.
"I fancy you'll now agree with me that she is Miss Blithers," said Dank forlornly.
"Cheer up, Boske," cried Robin, slapping him on the shoulder. "You'll meet another fate before you're a month older. The world is absolutely crowded with girls."
"You can't crowd the world with one girl," said Dank, and it was quite evident from his expression that he believed the world contained no more than one.
"I had the feeling that evil would be the result of this foolish trip to-day," groaned Quinnox. "I should not have permitted you to—"
"The result is still in doubt," said Robin enigmatically. "And now, what comes next?"
"Read this one. It is from Mr. Blithers. I'll guarantee that you do not take this one so complacently."
He was right in his surmise. Robin ran his eye swiftly over the cablegram and then started up from his chair with a muttered imprecation.
"Sh!" cautioned the Count,—and just in time, for the young man was on the point of enlarging upon his original effort. "Calm yourself, Bobby, my lad. Try taking six or seven full, deep inhalations, and you'll find that it helps wonderfully as a preventive. It saves many a harsh word. I've—"
"You needn't caution me," murmured the Prince. "If I had the tongue of a pirate I couldn't begin to do justice to this," and he slapped his hand resoundingly upon the crumpled message from William W. Blithers.
The message had been sent by Mr. Blithers that morning, evidently just before the sailing of the fast French steamer on which he and his wife were crossing to Havre. It was directed to August Totten and read as follows:
"Tell our young friend to qualify statement to press at once. Announce reconsideration of hasty denial and admit engagement. This is imperative. I am not in mood for trifling. Have wired Paris papers that engagement is settled. Have also wired daughter. The sooner we get together on this the better. Wait for my arrival in Paris." It was signed "W. B."
"There's Blitherskite methods for you," said Dank. "Speaking of pirates, he's the king of them all. Did you ever hear of such confounded insolence? The damned—"
"Wait a second, Dank," interrupted the Count. "There is still another delectable communication for you, Robin. It was directed to R. Schmidt and I took the liberty of opening it, as authorised. Read it."
This was one of the ordinary "petits bleu," dropped into the pneumatic tube letter-box at half-past two that afternoon, shortly before Robin ventured forth on his interesting expedition in quest of tea, and its contents were very crisp and to the point:
"Pay no attention to any word you may have received from my father. He cables a ridiculous command to me which I shall ignore. If you have received a similar message I implore you to disregard it altogether. Let's give each other a fighting chance."
It was signed "Maud Blithers."