Mrs. Fitz Part 15

"There is a minute yet," said Fitz, with an insouciance which, to use a much-abused expression, was Napoleonic.

A porter who suffered from rickets put in his head.

"All London, gentlemen?"

"Yes," said Fitz, introducing a s.h.i.+lling to a grimy but willing palm.

"And just see that the station-master keeps the train a few minutes for Colonel Coverdale."

"Agen the regulations, you know, sir," said the porter, with polite misgiving.

"Against what regulations?" said the undefeated Fitz.

"The Company's."

"Against the Company's regulations! Who the devil are the Company that _they_ should have regulations?"

This was a poser for the porter, who made a rather ineffectual apology for such a piece of a.s.sumption on the part of the Company. But the station-master's bell was ringing, and I, peering wildly through the window, in the vain hope that my mentor, my hope, my stand-by might after all appear, could see never a sign of Lieutenant-Colonel John Chalmers Coverdale, C.M.G., late of His Majesty's Carabineers.

CHAPTER X

ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS

But what is that? A commotion away up the platform, under the clock.

Yes, it is he, the faithful and the valiant! At least it is not he, but one Baguley, a superannuated police-sergeant, bereft of an eye in the service of the public peace. He staggers along under the oppressive burden of a kit bag of portentous dimensions, and twenty paces behind, sauntering along the platform with the most leisurely nonchalance in the world, blandly indifferent to the fact that the London express is due out, is the impressive and slightly pompous bulk of the fifth conspirator, the great Chief Constable.

There is a tremendous touching of hats along the platform. Even that true Olympian, the guard of the London express, contrives to dissemble his legitimate impatience, while Coverdale and his kit bag come aboard the reserved compartment.

"Cutting it rather fine, weren't you?" said I, with a tremor of relief in my voice.

"Time enough," said the Chief Constable, subsiding with a growl and a glower into the left-hand corner.

A shrill blast from the guard, a whistle and a snort from the engine, and we were irrevocably committed to the untender hands of destiny.

We were an ill-a.s.sorted party enough. Fitz the embodiment of masterful determination, with his black eyes glowing with their inward fire; Bra.s.set and Jodey as cheerful and almost as _blase_ as two undergraduates on their way to attend a point-to-point race meeting; Coverdale and the humble individual responsible for this narrative, silent, saturnine and profoundly uncomfortable.

It is true that I was favoured with one fragment of the Chief Constable's discourse. It was communicated with pregnant brevity ten miles from Bedford.

"You old fool!" was its context.

"It was Fitz who kept the train for you," I countered weakly.

Whoever was to blame we were fairly in for it now; and to repine was vain.

"I am glad about your friend O'What's-his-name," said Fitz to Jodey.

"A man of his hands, hey? By the way, I believe you did mention a revolver."

My relation by marriage grinned an almost disgustingly effusive affirmative.

"I suppose you fellows have all remembered to bring one?"

Somehow my looks betrayed me.

"You've brought one, Arbuthnot?"

I began to perspire.

"The fact is," said I, "I had a capital .38 Webley, but it appears to be mislaid."

"That can be easily remedied. I have brought three in case of emergency."

"How lucky," said I, with insincerity.

We were converging upon the metropolis all too soon.

"I have engaged six bedrooms at Long's Hotel," said Fitz.

"Only five will be necessary," said I, "as O'Mulligan lives in Jermyn Street."

"You have forgotten Sonia."

It is true that for the moment I had forgotten the cause of all our woes. Fitz had not, however; indeed, he had forgotten nothing. Not only did he appear to have everything arranged, but he seemed to have taken cognisance of the smallest detail.

"I have ordered quite a decent little dinner at Ward's," said he. "You can always depend upon good plain, solid, old-fas.h.i.+oned English cooking. They give you the best mulligatawny in London. I must say myself, that if I have to do a man's work, I like to have a man's meal.

And I think we can depend on some very decent madeira."

"It is very satisfactory to know that," said Coverdale, with his deepest growl.

"There is nothing like madeira in my opinion," said Fitz, "if you are going to be busy and you want to keep cool."

"That is something to know," said the Chief Constable, without enthusiasm.

"I should think it was," said Fitz. "Do you know who gave me the tip?"

The Chief Constable gave a growl in the negative.

"Ferdinand himself. And what that old swine don't know of most things is not much in the way of knowledge. He once told me he practically lived on madeira throughout the Austrian campaign; and the night before Rodova he drank six bottles. He says nothing keeps you so cool and sharp as madeira."

"Umph," the Chief Constable grunted.

Bra.s.set and Jodey, however, two extremely zealous subalterns in the Middles.h.i.+re Yeomanry, were much impressed.

In three taxis we converged upon Long's Hotel; Bra.s.set and Jodey in the first; the Chief Constable and his kit bag in the second; Fitz and myself in the third. A very respectable blizzard was raging; the streets of the metropolis were in a truly horrid condition, wholly unfit for man or beast; and the atmosphere had the peculiar raw chill of a thoroughly disagreeable winter's night in London. But at every yard we slopped precariously through the half-melted slush of the streets, Fitz seemed to wax more Napoleonic. He was not in any sense aggressive; there was not a trace of undue mental or moral elevation, yet he was the possessor of a subtle quality that seemed to render him equal to any occasion.

"There is just one thing may undo us," he confessed to me.

"Fate?"