A Fool and His Money Part 53

"Isn't it getting to be a habit?"

"Breakfast or--you?"

"Breakfast _and_ me."

"I confess, my dear Countess, that I like you for breakfast," I said gallantly.

"That is a real tribute," she said demurely, and took her place beside me. Together we crossed the courtyard.

On the steps Colingraft t.i.tus was standing. I uttered an audible groan and winced as if in dire pain.

"What is it?" she cried quickly.

"Rheumatism," I announced, carefully raising my right arm and affecting an expression of torture. I am not a physical coward, kind reader. The fact that young Mr. t.i.tus carried in his hands a set of formidable looking boxing-gloves did not frighten me. Heaven knows, if it would give him any pleasure to slam me about with a pair of gloves, I am not without manliness and pluck enough to endure physical pain and mental humiliation. It was diplomacy, cunning, astuteness,--whatever you may choose to call it,--that stood between me and a friendly encounter with him. Two minutes' time would serve to convince him that he was my master, and then where would I be? Where would be the prestige I had gained? Where my record as a conqueror? "I must have caught cold in my arms and shoulders," I went on, making worse faces than before as I moved the afflicted parts experimentally.

"There!" she exclaimed ruefully. "I _knew_ you would catch cold. Men always do. I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing," I made haste to explain:--"that is, nothing serious.

I'll get rid of it in no time at all." I calculated for a minute. "A week or ten days at the most. Good morning, Colingraft."

"Morning. h.e.l.lo, sis. Well?" He dangled the gloves before my eyes.

My disappointment was quite pathetic. "Tell him," I said to the Countess.

"He's all crippled up with rheumatism, Colly," she said. "Put those ugly things away. We're going in to breakfast."

He tossed the gloves into a corner of the vestibule. I felt a little ashamed of my subterfuge in the face of his earnest expression of concern.

"Tell you what I'll do," he said warmly. "I know how to rub a fellow's muscles--"

"Oh, I have a treasure in Britten," said I, hastily. "Thanks, old man.

He will work it out of me. Sorry we can't have a go this morning."

The worst of it all was that he insisted, as a matter of personal education, on coming to my room after breakfast to watch the expert manoeuvres of Britton in kneading the stiffness out of my muscles. He was looking for new ideas, he explained. I first consulted Britton and then resignedly consented to the demonstration.

To my surprise, Britton was something of an expert. I confess that he almost killed me with those strong, iron-like hands of his; if I was not sore when he began with me, I certainly was when he finished.

Colingraft was most enthusiastic. He said he'd never seen any one manipulate the muscles so scientifically as Britton, and ventured the opinion that he would not have to repeat the operation often. To myself I said that he wouldn't have to repeat it at all.

We began laying our plans for the fourteenth. Communications arrived from Italy, addressed to me but intended for either the Countess or the rather remote Mr. Bangs, who seemed better qualified to efface himself than any human being I've ever seen. These letters informed us that a yacht--one of three now cruising in the-Mediterranean--would call at an appointed port on such and such a day to take her out to sea. Everything was being arranged on the outside for her escape from the continent, and precision seamed to be the watchword.

Of course I couldn't do a stroke of work on my novel. How could I be expected to devote myself to fiction when fact was staring me in the face so engagingly? We led an idle, _dolce far niente_ life in these days, with an underlying touch of anxiety and excitement that increased as the day for her departure drew near. I confess to a sickening sense of depression that could not be shaken off.

Half of my time was spent in playing with Rosemary. She became dearer to me with each succeeding day. I knew I should miss her tremendously.

I should even miss Jinko, who didn't like me but who no longer growled at me. The castle would be a very gloomy, drear place after they were out of it. I found myself wondering how long I would be able to endure the loneliness. Secretly I cherished the idea of selling the place if I could find a lunatic in the market.

An unexpected diversion came one day when, without warning and figuratively out of a clear sky, the Hazzards and the Billy Smiths swooped down upon me. They had come up the river in the power boat for a final September run, and planned to stop over night with me!

They were the last people in the world whom I could turn away from my door. There might have been a chance to put them up for the night and still avoid disclosures, had not circ.u.mstance ordered that the Countess and I should be working in the garden at the very moment that brought them pounding at the postern gates. Old Conrad opened the gate in complete ignorance of our presence in the garden. (We happened to be in a somewhat obscure nook and seated upon a stone bench--so he must be held blameless.) The quartette brushed past the old man and I, hearing their chatter, foolishly exposed myself.

I shall not attempt to describe the scene that followed their discovery of the Countess Tarnowsy. Be it said, however, to the credit of Elsie and Betty Billy, the startled refugee was fairly smothered in kisses and tears and almost deafened by the shrill, delighted exclamations that fell from their eager lips. I doubt if there ever was such a sensation before!

They brought rather interesting news concerning the Count. It appears that he and the baron had quarrelled and at the time of my friends'

departure from Vienna it was pretty generally understood that there would be a duel.

"I never liked the baron," I said, with a grim smile that could not have been misinterpreted, "but I hope to heavens _he_ isn't killed."

Mrs. t.i.tus sighed. "Tarnowsy is regarded as a wonderful marksman."

"Worse luck!" growled Colingraft, gloomily twiddling his thumbs.

"What kind of a shot is the baron?" asked Jasper Jr., hopefully.

No one was able to enlighten him, but Billy Smith shook his head dolefully.

"Maris Tarnowsy is a dead shot. He'll pot the baron sure."

"Hang it all," said I, and then lapsed into a horrified silence.

When the Hazzards and Smiths departed the next morning they were in full possession of all of our plans, hopes and secrets, but they were bound by promises that would have haunted them throughout all eternity if they allowed them to be violated. I do not recall having seen two more intensely excited, radiant women in my life than Elsie and Betty Billy. They were in an ecstatic state of mind. Their husbands, but little less excited, offered to help us in every way possible, and, to prove their earnest, turned the prow of the motor-boat down-stream, abandoning the trip up the river in order to be in Vienna in case I should need them for any purpose whatsoever.

"You may rest easy so far as I am concerned, Mrs. t.i.tus," said the young diplomat. "As a representative of the United States government I can't become publicly involved in this international muddle. I've just _got_ to keep my lips sealed. If it were discovered that I knew of all this, my head would be under the snickersnee in no time at all.

Swis.h.!.+ Officially suicided!"

At ten o'clock the next morning I was called to the telephone. Smith had startling news to impart. Count Tarnowsy and Baron Umovitch had engaged in a duel with pistols at sunrise and the latter had gone down with a bullet through his lungs! He died an hour later. Tarnowsy, according to the rumours flying about official Vienna, was already on his way to Berlin, where he would probably remain in seclusion until the affair blew over or imperial forgiveness was extended to him.

There was cause for satisfaction among us, even though the baron had fallen instead of the count. The sensational affair would serve to keep Tarnowsy under cover for some weeks at least and minimise the dangers attending the Countess's flight from the castle. Still, I could not help feeling disappointed over the outcome of the meeting. Why couldn't Count Tarnowsy have been the one to fall?

The Countess, very pale and distrait, gave utterance to her feelings in a most remarkable speech. She said: "This is one of the few fine things that Maris has ever done. I am glad that he killed that man.

He should have done so long ago,--the beast! He was--ugh!--the most despicable creature I've ever known."

She said no more than this, but one could readily grasp all that she left unuttered.

Colingraft rather sententiously remarked to little Rosemary, who could not have comprehended the words, of course: "Well, little Rosebud, your papa may be a spendthrift but he never wastes bullets."

Which was entirely uncalled for, I contend. I was struck by the swift look of dread that leaped into Aline's eyes and her pallor.

On top of all this came the astonis.h.i.+ng news, by cipher despatch from old Jasper t.i.tus's princ.i.p.al adviser in London, that his offer of one million dollars had been declined by Tarnowsy two days before, the Count having replied through his lawyers that nothing short of two millions would induce him to relinquish all claims to his child.

I had been ignorant of this move in the case, and expressed my surprise.

"I asked father to do it, Mr. Smart," said the Countess dejectedly.

"It seemed the easiest way out of our difficulties--and the cheapest.

He will never give in to this new demand, though. We must make the best of it."

"But why did you suggest such a thing to him?" I demanded with heat.

She looked hurt. "Because _you_ seemed to think it was the right and honourable thing to do," she said patiently. "I do not forget what you said to me, days and days ago, even though it may have slipped your mind. You said that a bargain is a bargain and--well, I had Mr. Bangs write father just what you thought about it."