The Island Mystery Part 29

But I'm obliged to him. Smith is the best servant I've struck since I first took to employing a hired help."

"It will be sad," said the King, "when you kill him. A great loss."

"I don't know," said Donovan, "that I mean to kill him. He's a valuable man."

"The proper thing to do," said Gorman, "is to put him on board the Megalian navy and leave him to the admiral."

"Seems a pity," said Donovan. "I don't see how I could make my way along the rugged path of life without Smith. He hasn't done me any kind of harm so far. I think I'll wait a bit. It would worry me to have to step down and take hold now. My heart----"

"What I can't get at even yet," said Gorman, "is the idea in the Emperor's mind. He piles up sc.r.a.p iron and ridiculous-looking cisterns in a cave. He deluges the place with petrol. He sets a spy on Donovan.

Now what the devil does he do it for?"

The King shrugged his shoulders.

"_Real Politik_, perhaps," he said. "But how do I know? I am a king, certainly. But I am not a whale on the sea of _Real Politik_. Your whale is a fish that bores, always. Perhaps if you ask Fritz he will know."

"By the way," said Donovan, "what's the man's real name?"

"Once," said the King, "he was Calmet, M. de Calmet. At that time he was French. Later he was Heyduk, a Captain in the army of Megalia.

Also he was Freidwig, and he came from Stockholm. He was for some time the Count Pozzaro. I have also heard----"

"That's enough for me," said Donovan. "I'll stick to Smith as long as he'll answer to it. Seems simpler."

Gorman rose from his chair and crossed the balcony. He stood for a minute or two looking out at the bay. Smith's boat, rowed steadily, reached the side of the steamer. Smith climbed on board.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Gorman, "if we've seen the last of our friend Smith."

"I hope not," said Donovan. "Why do you think so?"

"Well," said Gorman, "if I were in his shoes I think I should stay in the Megalian navy. It'll be rather awkward for him now we've found him out."

"He will return," said the King.

"I shouldn't," said Gorman. "Of course that admiral, being the kind of man he is, it's risky to stay with him; but then Smith has got to take risks whatever he does. And he may have some sort of safe conduct from the Emperor which will make the admiral nervous about cutting his throat."

"He will return," said the King. "It is plain that the Emperor has said to him: 'Follow the smell of the American.' He will not leave it."

"Oh, of course," said Gorman. "I'm always forgetting the Emperor. If he has given definite orders of that kind they'll be obeyed. I daresay Smith is telegraphing for definite instructions at this moment. They have a wireless installation, so I suppose he can."

"Behold," said the King. "My luggage descends to the boat. Smith will follow. Did I not tell you?"

Two sailors were lowering various suit-cases and bags into the boat. A few minutes later Smith dropped from the steamer's side and took the oars.

"Donovan," said Gorman, "the Emperor is evidently really anxious about your smell."

CHAPTER XXI

I do not think that the Emperor's plan for restoring Salissa to the Crown of Megalia by means of a marriage would have worked, even if there had been no such person as Maurice Phillips. The Queen did not like Konrad Karl. She was not, of course, openly disagreeable or uncivil to him. She was too sweet-tempered and good-hearted to be disagreeable to any one, and she had a strong sense of what was due to a guest in her house. But it was plain enough not only to Gorman, but to the King himself, that she did not like him. This does not appear to have been the King's fault. Konrad Karl had many of the instincts of a gentleman. It is an odd fact, but I think undeniable, that a man may be a blackguard and remain a gentleman. There was, for instance, no fault to be found with Konrad Karl's behaviour towards the Queen, though he had come to the island intending to insult her by marrying her. He did his best to talk pleasantly to her, and he could be very pleasant when he chose. He never attempted to flirt with her. His manner was always respectful and he tried to help her in various ways, even going to her school in the mornings and giving the children drawing lessons. She could not herself have told why she disliked him. She certainly had no idea that there was any question of his marrying her. But she slipped into the habit of spending most of her time in the boat with Kalliope. Konrad Karl used to go down to the palace steps and see her off. He never ventured into a boat himself.

He had an uneasy feeling that the Megalian admiral was watching him and would kidnap him at once if he left the security of the land.

The Queen's unfriendliness did not trouble him much.

"The American girl," he said to Gorman, "would not have done for me, or do I say she would have done for me? Which is it?"

"Well," said Gorman, "either expresses your meaning and I quite agree with you. She would not have done for you, and in the long run if you didn't do for her she would certainly have done for you."

"The English language is wonderful," said the King. "She would not, and she would. It is the same in English. But my meaning is true. It is well I did not marry her. I must give many thanks to Phillips. If Phillips had not done for her I should have been done for."

"As it is," said Gorman, "it's the Emperor who's done."

"Ah," said the King. "I give in. I give up. I give out. That word 'done'--it is too much for me."

It was not like the King to give in to an English idiom. As a rule he rushed at one the minute he heard it with reckless confidence. But he was depressed and lonely on Salissa. He chatted cheerily enough to Donovan. He was always bright and talkative at meals. But he confessed to Gorman several times that he missed Madame Ypsilante very much.

It was Gorman's curious fortune at this time to receive the love confidences of three different people. Phillips had poured raptures into his ear during the voyage to the island. The Queen, having no one else to treat as a confidant, often talked to him about Phillips. The King was expansive about Madame Ypsilante. One evening he became very sentimental, almost lachrymose. He and Gorman were sitting together near the flagstaff, smoking and looking out towards the harbour where the Megalian navy still lay at anchor.

"Ah," said the King, "my poor Corinne! She will languish. I think of Corinne and I see that her eyes are full of mourning, like the eyes of a wood dove. Gorman, I cannot bear the weight. It will be better that I take the risk, that I go on the navy. The admiral will make me walk a plank. That is certain. But it might be that I should survive. And then I should rejoin Corinne, poor Corinne who mourns."

"I don't expect she's mourning as much as all that," said Gorman.

"She's got those pearls, you know."

"I," said the King, "I alone am her pearl. But, alas, I cannot even write to her. She will think that I am dead and her heart will fall to pieces."

"She's much more likely to think that you've married Miss Donovan,"

said Gorman.

"Of course she will think that. It was what I came to do. That she will not mind. But if she thinks that I am dead, that the admiral has cooked a goose for me; then she will indeed be sad. Gorman, my friend, what shall I do to rea.s.sure her?"

"I can't possibly advise you," said Gorman. "I don't understand women.

I should have thought she'd much rather you were dead than married to Miss Donovan."

"Ah no," said the King. "Believe me, my friend, you know much; but you do not know the heart of Corinne."

The King's faith was very touching. But Gorman still maintains that he was not far wrong about Madame Ypsilante's feelings. She might not actually have preferred the King's death; but she certainly did not want to see him married to Miss Donovan.

The King drew a last mouthful of smoke from his cigar and then flung the end of it into the sea.

"Gorman," he said, "what is it that your great English poet had so beautifully said? 'If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy.' That is Corinne and me. 'A garden of Eden just made for two.' That is Paris. I have always admired the English poets. It is so true, what they say."

He gazed out across the bay as he spoke. The sun was setting. The water was exquisitely calm. It was a moment for the most luscious sentiment. Even Gorman, to whom sentiment is an abhorrent kind of indecency, felt uncomfortable.

A small boat slipped round the southern headland of the bay. She was rowing fast. The King jumped to his feet suddenly. He pointed to the boat. He waved his arms wildly.

"Buck up," he shouted, "it is--I will eat my hat--it is Corinne! She comes to me!"