Boothby Guy
Long Live the King!

CHAPTER IX

From the moment that Mr. Brockford took Max to live with him the latter's lot in life seemed to change. Hitherto, apparently, no one had been aware of his existence; now scarcely a day passed in which he did not receive some sort of invitation from people who, as a rule, prided themselves upon their exclusiveness. Their favour may possibly have been due to the fact that he was of a different type to that to which they were accustomed. At any rate, his handsome face, charming manners, tall graceful figure, and insouciant cavalry swagger, possessed a fascination for them which they seemed incapable of resisting. It was not long before he had made himself extremely popular, not only with the English portion of the population, but also with the Spanish.

"Be careful, Mortimer, my boy," Brockford would say to him, when he greeted him on his return from a ball or similar social function. "When you have seen as much of this little corner of the world as I have, you will know how dangerous women can be, and how they have it in their power to mar a man's career at its commencement. Many an excellent young fellow have I seen out here, only too anxious and ready to make his way in the world; then he has fallen in love, been egged into matrimony, only to find himself shelved and done for by all save his wife's relations, as soon as the knot was tied. I don't want that to happen to you."

"You needn't have any fear on my account," answered Max with a laugh. "I'm not very likely to fall in love. I have been inoculated, and I fancy I am proof against the infection."

"No man is proof against it," replied Brockford solemnly. He was well acquainted with the traps and pitfalls of Rio society, and he did not want the man, to whom he had taken such a liking, to make a fiasco of his life, just when there seemed a good chance of his succeeding in it. He need not have bothered himself about it just then, however, for another factor had been imported into the problem, and, before the week was over, Max was down with fever. For some time he lay at death's door, but, thanks to his wonderful constitution, he managed in the end to pull through. It was a near enough chance, however, to cause his friends a considerable amount of anxiety.

Indeed, from what I have since learned, there was one period in the course of the fever when the gravest apprehensions were entertained for his safety. All things considered, it was perhaps as well for him that Brockford was with him during his delirium. Although even then, he did not altogether reveal his secret, he said enough to show his friend that, in his old life, he had been something more than the mere cavalry officer he pretended.

"From the very first I felt sure there was some mystery about him," said the latter to himself one evening, when he had left the sick-room for a well-earned rest. "I don't fancy, however, that I have quite got to the bottom of it yet. But there, it's his secret and not mine, and, if he doesn't care to tell me, why should I bother myself?"

So saying, the kindly old fellow returned once more to the sick-room to minister as patiently to the wants of his restless patient as if he had been a nurse all his life. Strangely enough, as Brockford has since told me, it was of myself that Max talked most. "His constant cry," said the latter, "was something to this effect: 'As I cannot win her for myself, I will not spoil Paul's life. No! Paul shall have his chance with her!' and so he would continue for hours at a time. Sometimes he would vary it by informing the world that 'Paul should have her, for he could make her happier than I could ever do.' Then he would suddenly sit up in bed and call wildly for a horse, adding that he had made an appointment to meet the Princess in the Park, and must not, on any account, keep her waiting."

At last consciousness returned, and little by little he grew stronger, until, in due course, he was pronounced to be out of danger. Some time, however, elapsed before he was in a position to return to his duties. He had now been in Brazil upwards of eighteen months, and was beginning to regard himself as an old inhabitant.

On the day that he was sufficiently recovered to be able to return to the office he was invited to dine in the evening at the house of his employer.

It was a jovial party that sat down to dinner. The old merchant kept a liberal table, and he and the Señora, between them, did the honours with regal dignity. The two pretty daughters of the house laid themselves out to be charming, the younger, Estrella, taking care that Max wanted nothing. After dinner they adjourned to the verandah, where a lovely view of the city, stretched out on the plain below, and of the harbour was obtainable. Max was in the best possible spirits, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the society of the pretty Estrella, who was seated beside him, fanning herself, as only a Spanish girl can, with a coquettish lace fan, and airing her scanty knowledge of the English language. The elder sister, Maraquinha, who was an accomplished musician, was playing a variety of dreamy melodies in the room behind them. The Señora had gone to sleep, according to custom, and Brockford and the merchant were smoking like volcanoes, and talking politics, at the further end of the verandah.

When a young man, whose heart has once been shattered, is willing to admit that he has admired another young woman, ever since he set eyes on her, it is only natural to suppose that his heart is still capable of feeling some emotion. Though Max was not in the least in love with the pretty Señorita, he could not but confess that he entertained a sincere regard for her. A great love, such as he had felt for the Princess Ottilie, for instance, could never come to him again; but he asked himself why, if it were true that he had decided never to return to his old life, he should not choose a wife from the people with whom he had thrown in his lot, and settle down to a quiet married life in his new home? Moreover, he was quite aware that Montezma was anxious that his daughters should marry, and he felt confident enough of the old man's liking for himself to be sure that, in spite of the difference in nationality, the union would be far from distasteful to him. On the contrary, it was just possible that – but there he came to a sudden stop. He had got on to dangerous ground, where it behoved him to walk warily.

At last it became time for Brockford and himself, if they wished to get back to the island before midnight, to bid the family good-bye. They accordingly entered the house to take a stirrup cup, and it was then that an event occurred which was destined to cause Max more uneasiness than anything that had happened since his arrival in Brazil, the fever excepted. They were standing beside the table in the dining-room, when Maraquinha, who, as I have already explained, had hitherto been occupied at the piano in the drawing-room, made her appearance, carrying in her hand an illustrated newspaper.

"Señor Mortimer," she cried, with a smile upon her face, "are you aware that we are fortunate enough to possess a portrait of yourself?"

At first Max did not realise the importance of her words. She was of a jocular disposition, and his first thought was that, following her favourite pastime, she had made a caricature of himself.

"I am honoured indeed, Señorita," he said. "I trust the likeness is a flattering one."

"You shall judge for yourself," she answered. "Here it is."

So saying, she opened the paper she had brought with her, and placed it on the table before him. One glance was sufficient to show him that it was a reproduction of an old photograph of himself, taken by a London firm of photographers shortly after he had joined his regiment. Underneath was printed "The Missing Crown Prince of Pannonia."

As Max looked at it, he felt himself grow deadly pale. A great fear lest it should be noticed swept over him, and for a moment, do what he would, he could not recover his self-control. At last, almost by a superhuman effort, he managed to get himself in hand, and, while pretending to look more closely at the picture, said:

"All things considered, it is not a bad likeness, is it? I wonder if I were to go to England, and pretend to be the original, whether they would let me take his place in society. He does not look so tall as I am, but the likeness is certainly remarkable."

"So like that, without a very great stretch of imagination, we might even take it to be the same person," said Maraquinha suspiciously.

"Permit me to see it?" said Brockford, stretching his arm across the table.

The paper was accordingly handed to him, and he studied it attentively.

"What do you think of it?" asked Max, who felt as if a cold hand were being placed upon his heart.

"I'm afraid the likeness doesn't strike me as being such a good one," he answered, more to shield Max, I fancy, than for any other reason. "Judging from this picture, I should say the eyes of the Crown Prince must have been of a different colour to yours, and his hair would certainly not be so dark. However, dark or fair, it is time we were thinking of making a start for the island. Good-night, Señor Montezma; Señora and Señoritas, I have the honour to bid you good-night; your hospitality has charmed us."

Max followed his example, and five minutes later they were on their way back to the beach.

The journey back to the island that evening was a silent one. Max, for one, had more than sufficient wherewith to occupy his mind. The existence of the portrait had come to him as a decided shock. It had roused suspicions in other people's minds that years might not be able to allay. He had begun to think himself free of the old life and to feel convinced that it would never influence him again. And now, here it was, rising like a ghost of the past, to confront him at the very moment when a life of peaceful happiness seemed within his grasp.

When they reached the island they left the launch and walked up to the house, still in silence. For the first time since they had known each other, a dark shadow lay between them. As soon as they reached the verandah, however, Brockford placed his hand upon Max's shoulder.

"You and I have got to have a talk together before we go to bed to-night," he said. "There are things that must be settled once and for all."

"I am at your disposal, of course," Max replied, but not with too much grace. "What is it you want to say to me?"

"There is nothing I want to say to you," Brockford answered, with an accent on the want. "It's what I feel I must say, both in your interests and my own. Don't think I am going to pry into your private affairs. My sole desire is to help you, if I possibly can. It's a delicate position for a man to be placed in; for, you see, I have only my suspicions to go upon, and I may give you pain without intending it. I think, however, that those suspicions are strong enough to bear the weight of what I'm going to say to you. The picture you saw to-night came to you as a painful surprise, did it not? And yet it did not astonish me, for I had seen it before. That you were not best pleased to be confronted with it, I gathered from your face, and, as I looked at it, I remembered certain things you had let slip in your delirium. No!" he cried, seeing that Max was about to speak, "let me finish before you begin. I have a young friend, I might even go so far as to say, a dear young friend, who came to me eighteen months ago, in rather an extraordinary fashion. He had been in an English cavalry regiment, he informed me; so, I reflected, had the Crown Prince of whom we have been speaking. He informed me in my own dining-room, by accident I will admit, that he had been a guest at Osborne; I believe the Crown Prince enjoyed a similar honour; the latter, so report says, has black hair and dark eyes, his height is about six feet one, and he is slimly built. If I wanted to carry the coincidence further, I might add that, when my friend, Max Mortimer, was ill, he spoke continually of a certain beautiful princess. 'Paul loves her and I will not stand in his way,' he cried. Now, strangely enough, the Crown Prince has an only brother whose name is Paul. I happen to know this, because the very next morning, while you were still lying at death's door, the newspapers announced the fact that Prince Paul of Pannonia had been betrothed to the Princess Ottilie, daughter of Prince Ferdinand of Lilienhöhe."

Whether Brockford intended his information to come as a surprise to Max I cannot say, but there is no doubt that the news of my engagement took the latter wholly aback. He clutched at the verandah rail, and for a moment seemed stunned by the intelligence. The only explanation I can furnish for his not having heard it before is, that while it was impossible for him to see any newspapers during his illness, he had not bothered to look up the back files afterwards, to see what had been going on in Europe during the time he was cut off from the world.

"That settles it," said Brockford to himself, as he watched him. "He is the Crown Prince, as I thought, and he left England in order that his brother might be in a position to marry the woman he loved. I thought such chivalry had vanished from the world."

A few moments later, when Max had recovered somewhat from the shock he had received, he turned to Brockford and held out his hand, which the other took.

"Forgive me," he said. "I was not quite myself a few moments ago. I am all right now, however. As you say, it is best that we should come to an understanding with each other. What is it you wish me to say or do?"

"Nothing," answered Brockford. "I have been reproaching myself for having said so much already. I am a meddlesome old fool, but I had not the least intention of hurting or offending you. I hope you will believe that. My only desire is to let you see plainly that you possess a friend in me, upon whom you can rely, happen what may."

"I am quite aware of that," returned Max. "You don't surely think I doubted it for a moment. You have proved yourself one of the best friends a man could possibly have, and I should be the meanest hound on earth if I did not remember that, and be grateful to you for it all the days of my life."

"Tut, tut! you must not talk like that," said Brockford. "I did no more for you than I should have done for anyone else. I helped you because I liked your face. But we are wandering away from the point. What I want to say to you is that, come what may, the Crown Prince's secret, if he has one, poor fellow, is quite safe with me. Not a hint concerning it shall pass my lips."

With that the kind-hearted old fellow shook Max heartily by the hand once more, and then, bidding him a hurried good-night, hastened into the house, and was seen no more.

Next morning when he and Mr. Brockford met at breakfast, they conducted themselves towards each other as if no such conversation as that I have described had taken place between them on the previous night. At the allotted hour they crossed the bay to the city and made their way to their respective places of business, parting at the same street corner, and with the usual commonplace farewell.

That week, on the other side of the globe, I received information that Max was alive, and that Rio de Janeiro was the name of his hiding-place.

CHAPTER X

A few days later Max was walking along the Rua d'Ouvidor, when he heard his name called. Turning round, he found himself, much to his surprise, confronted by Moreas, the man who had accompanied him from England.

"This is well met, indeed," cried the latter, holding out his hand with great cordiality. "You are just the man, of all others, I wanted to see. I was only wondering this morning whether you were still in Brazil, and, if so, where I could find you. Your residence south of the Equator does not seem to have done much harm to your appearance."

Max replied that he thought, on the contrary, it had done him a large amount of good, and, having offered the country this justice, he was prepared to utter a few commonplaces, and then to pass on his way along the street. This, however, was not at all what Moreas desired or intended should happen. He explained at some length that he had only arrived in Rio that morning, and that he was going on to Buenos Ayres in the afternoon.

"In the interval you and I must have a chat," he said. "There is something I want to talk to you about. But that I have had a proper look at you, I had perhaps better not mention it. You seem to be prosperous. Had you been hard up, I was going to propose that you should join me in a little piece of business, which may prove to be worth nothing at all, or, on the other hand, may mean a gigantic fortune for both of us."

"You allow a good margin," said Max. "If I were allowed a preference, I should declare for the million. And pray what is this business?"

"Diamonds," answered Moreas quietly, as leaning across the table and clasping his hands together. "Diamonds such as you have never dreamed of. With the information I have received I tell you I am able to put my hand on the biggest diamond mine on the face of the habitable globe. How I obtained the information doesn't matter just now. I'll tell you about it another day. It is sufficient for the present that I am fully posted. Unfortunately, however, there are others, besides myself, who are acquainted with it. It is of those others that I am afraid. If the truth must be told, and you don't mind a simple pun, I might say it is a case of diamond cut diamond with us. I don't trust them, and I am not at all certain that they trust me. Now, situated as I am, what I want to do is to import another man into the concern, a man whose interests, though they must not be aware of it, will be identical with my own. Two of us would be a match for the whole pack of them. Particularly if I can get hold of a man who can use a pistol as you can. Taken all round, Mortimer, you're just the sort of fellow I want. You'd enjoy a piece of adventure of this kind. We should be away about four months, and I don't think you would be able to complain, when you returned, of having had a dull time of it. Now what have you to say?"

"It is impossible," said Max, though in his own mind he felt that he would have given anything to have been able to take a hand in it. "There was a time when I should have liked nothing better, but I have settled down to a staid business life now, and an affair such as you propose is quite out of the question."

"I am sorry for that," answered Moreas, his spirits visibly sinking as he heard the other's decision. "I had quite made up my mind that, when I told you about it, you would throw everything else to the dogs and go in for it with me. However, there is one good point about it. I have to go south to-day. I shall be back in Rio in about six weeks' time. Nobody knows how you may be situated then. If anything has happened, and it is possible for you to change your mind, all you have to do will be to send a letter to the old address, the same that I gave you eighteen months ago, and it will find me. We shall start as soon after I return as possible. Will you promise to bear this in mind?"

"I will remember it with pleasure," Max replied; "but you may rest assured it will be of no use. I am clinging to respectability like a limpet to his rock, and, so far as I can see now, nothing will shake me from it."

"You don't know how I had set my heart upon having you with me," answered Moreas. "It is at times like this that one wants a good man at one's elbow. I am not going alone with those other fellows; of that you may be very sure. If I did, I'd never come back alive. With you at my side, however, I wouldn't mind if there were a hundred of them."

"You pay me a very high compliment," said Max; "but I am afraid that, unless you can find somebody else to take my place, you will have to do as you fear, that is to say, go on alone."

"Well, I will put my trust in faith," said the other. "Stranger things than that have turned up trumps before now. I've got a very solid belief in my luck, and somehow I've got a fancy that it won't desert me."

"We shall see," replied Max, "and now, if you have no more to say to me, I think I must be going on."

"You're quite sure I can't tempt you?" said Moreas.

"Quite," Max answered. "If I had nothing else to do, I'd go with you to-morrow; but, situated as I am, wild horses would not shift me."

"Well, bear the fact in mind that I shall be back in a month," said Moreas. "And also that the address I have already given you will find me. Farewell, Señor."

"Farewell, and bon voyage to you," replied Max.

Then, with a wave of their hands, they parted, and Max continued his way towards the office for which he had been making when he had met Moreas.

He had been spending the greater portion of the day superintending the removal of some cargo on board a ship in the harbour, and, towards evening, made his way ashore again to meet Brockford. Leaving the landing-stage, he proceeded up the street till he reached the Rua Direita. As he crossed the road he came within an ace of being knocked down by a cab, which was coming at a swift pace towards him. He looked up, as if to expostulate with the driver, and then, as suddenly, turned and fled. Had anyone been near enough to see, he would have told you that his face was deathly pale, and that, when he reached the pavement, he trembled like a man with the palsy. For the person in the cab was myself, his brother Paul!

And yet, by some unhappy chance, I did not see him.

"Good heavens!" he muttered, when he had partially recovered. "Paul is searching for me. What am I to do now?"