The City of Masks Part 44

"Before we go any farther," said Trotter seriously, "I should like to know just what the charge is against me."

"Beg pardon?"

"The charge. What are you going to chuck me into prison for?"

"Prison? My G.o.d, sir! Who said anything about prison?" gasped Mr.

Chambers, staring wide-eyed at the young man.

Trotter leaned forward, his face a study in emotions. Lady Jane uttered a soft little cry.

"Then,--then they haven't trumped up some rotten charge against me?"

"They? Charge? I say!" He bellowed the last to the supporters below.

"Hold this bally thing steady, will you? Do you want me to break my neck?"

"Well, don't jiggle it like that," came the voice of Mr. Bramble from below. "We can't hold it steady if you're going to _dance_ on it."

Mr. Chambers once more directed his remarks to Mr. Trotter.

"So far as I am aware, Lord Temple, there is no--er--charge against you.

The only complaint I know of is that you haven't kept your grandfather informed as to your whereabouts. Naturally he is a bit annoyed about it.

You see, if you had dropped him a line occasionally--"

"Get on, man,--get on," urged Trotter excitedly.

"He wouldn't have been put to the expense of having a man detached from Scotland Yard to look the world over for you. Personal influence did it, of course. He went direct to the chief and asked for the best man in the service. I happened to be on another case at the time," explained Mr.

Chambers modestly, "but they took me off at once and started me out.

I--"

"In a nutsh.e.l.l, you represent my grandfather and not the King of England," interrupted Trotter.

"On detached duty," said Mr. Chambers.

"And you do not intend to arrest him?" cried Lady Jane.

"Bless me, no!" exclaimed Mr. Chambers.

"Then, what the deuce do you mean by frightening Miss Emsdale and my friends downstairs?" demanded Lord Fenlew's grandson. "Couldn't you have said in the beginning that there was no criminal charge against me?"

"I hadn't the remotest idea, your lords.h.i.+p, that any one suspected you of crime," said Mr. Chambers, with dignity.

"But, confound you, why didn't you explain the situation to Bramble?

That was the sensible,--yes, the intelligent thing to do, Mr. Chambers."

"That is precisely what I did, your lords.h.i.+p, while we were at dinner,--we had a bottle of the wine Mr. Bramble says you are especially partial to,--but it wasn't until your heel came through the ceiling that they believed _anything_ at all. Subsequently I discovered that her ladys.h.i.+p had prepared them for all sorts of trickery on my part. She had made them promise to die rather than give you up. Now that I see things as they are in a clear light, it occurs to me that your ladys.h.i.+p must have pretty thoroughly convinced the old gentlemen that Lord Temple is a fit subject for the gallows,--or at the very least, Newgate Prison. I fancy--"

Lady Jane laughed aloud, gaily, unrestrainedly.

"Oh, dear! What a mess I've made of things!" she cried. "Can you ever forgive me, Eric?"

"Never!" he cried, and Mr. Chambers took that very instant to stoop over for a word with the men at the foot of the ladder. He went farther and had several words with them. Indeed, it is not unlikely that he, in his eagerness to please, would have stretched it into a real chat if the object of his consideration had not cried out:

"And now let us get down from this stuffy place, Eric. I am sure there must be rats and all sorts of things up here. And it was such a jolly place before the lantern came."

"Can you manage it, sir?" inquired Mr. Chambers anxiously, as Eric prepared to lower her through the trap-door.

"Perfectly, thank you," said the young man. "If you will be good enough to stand aside and make room at the top of the ladder," he added, with a grin.

Mr. Chambers also grinned. "There's a difference between walking on air and standing on it," said he, and hurriedly went down the steps.

Presently they were all grouped at the foot of the ladder. Mr. Bramble was busily engaged in brus.h.i.+ng the dust and cobwebs from the excited young lady's gown.

M. Mirabeau rattled on at a prodigious rate. He clapped Trotter on the back at least half-a-dozen times, and, forgetting most of his excellent English, waxed eloquent over the amazing turn of affairs. The literal, matter-of-fact Mr. Bramble after a time succeeded in stemming the flow of exuberance.

"If you don't mind, Mirabeau, I have a word I'd like to get in edgewise," he put in loudly, seizing an opportunity when the old Frenchman was momentarily out of breath.

M. Mirabeau threw up his hands.

"At a time like this?" he gasped incredulously.

"And why not?" said Mr. Bramble stoutly. "It's time we opened that last bottle of Chianti and drank to the health of Lord Eric Temple,--and the beautiful Lady Jane."

"The most sensible thing that has been uttered this evening," cried M.

Mirabeau, with enthusiasm.

Lord Temple took this occasion to remind them,--and himself as well,--that he was still Thomas Trotter and that the deuce would be to pay with Mrs. Millidew.

"By George, she'll skin me alive if I've been the cause of her missing a good dinner," he said ruefully.

"That reminds me,--" began Mr. Bramble, M. Mirabeau and Mr. Chambers in unison. Then they all laughed uproariously and trooped into the dining-room, where the visible signs of destruction were not confined to the floor three feet back of the chair lately occupied by the man from Scotland Yard. A very good dinner had been completely wrecked.

Mrs. O'Leary, most competent of cooks, was already busily engaged in preparing another!

"Now, Mr. Chambers," cried Jane, as she set her wine gla.s.s down on the table and touched her handkerchief to her lips, "tell us everything, you dear good man."

Mr. Chambers, finding himself suddenly out of employment and with an unlimited amount of spare time on his hands, spent the better part of the first care-free hour he had known in months in the telling of his story.

In a ruthlessly condensed and deleted form it was as follows: Lord Fenlew, quietly, almost surrept.i.tiously, had set about to ascertain just how much of truth and how much of fiction there was in the unpublished charges that had caused his favourite grandson to abandon the Army and to seek obscurity that inevitably follows real or implied disgrace for one too proud to fight. His efforts were rewarded in a most distressing yet most satisfactory manner. One frightened and half-decent member of the little clique responsible for the ugly stories, confessed that the "whole bally business" was a put-up job.

Lord Fenlew lost no time in putting his grandsons on the grill. He grilled them properly; when they left his presence they were scorched to a crisp, unsavoury mess. Indeed, his lords.h.i.+p went so far as to complain of the stench, and had the windows of Fenlew Hall opened to give the place a thorough airing after they had gone forth forevermore. With characteristic energy and promptness, he went to the head of the War Office, and laid bare the situation. With equal forethought and ac.u.men he objected to the slightest publicity being given the vindication of Eric Temple. He insisted that nothing be said about the matter until the maligned officer returned to England and to the corps from which he had resigned. He refused to have his grandson's innocence publicly advertised! That, he maintained, would be to start more tongues to wagging, and unless the young man himself were on the ground to make the wagging useless, speculation would have a chance to thrive on winks and head-shakings, and the "bally business" would be in a worse shape than before. Moreover, he argued, it wasn't Eric's place to humiliate himself by _admitting_ his innocence. He wouldn't have that at all.

Instead of beginning his search for the young man through the "lost,"

"wanted" or "personal" columns of an international press, he went to Scotland Yard. He abhorred the idea of such printed insults as these: "If Lord Eric Temple will communicate with his grandfather he will learn something to his advantage" or "Will the young English n.o.bleman who left London under a cloud in 1911 please address So-and-So"; or "Eric: All is well. Return at once and be forgiving"; or "5,000 reward will be paid for information concerning the present whereabouts of one Eric Temple, grandson of Lord Fenlew, of Fenlew Hall"; etc., etc.

"And now, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, after a minute and unsparing account of his own travels and adventures, "your grandfather is a very old man. I trust that you can start for England at once. I am authorized to draw upon him for all the money necessary to--"

Lord Temple held up his hand. His eyes were glistening, his breast was heaving mightily, and his voice shook with suppressed emotion as he said, scarcely above a whisper: