Boothby Guy
Long Live the King!
CHAPTER XI
In order to make my narrative more clear to you, it is necessary that I should hark back for a short distance and give you an account of my own doings, from the time Max left us up to that never-to-be-forgotten day, when I received the information that he was in Brazil.
Then some eighteen months had gone by, during which period we neither saw nor heard anything of, or from, him. He might have been dead for all we knew to the contrary. In the meantime my engagement to the Princess Ottilie of Lilienhöhe was publicly announced. Of our happiness, and mine in particular, it is not necessary that I should speak. Let me sum it up by saying that if poor Max could have been found, there would not have been a cloud upon our horizon. If the truth must be told, however, I fear the match was not altogether what the Prince of Lilienhöhe himself desired. Max was the Crown Prince, and he would rather have had him for his son-in-law; as, however, for reasons already stated, that was not possible, he was fain to content himself with the next best person, hoping, I suppose, that Max would never appear again, and that, in due course, I should take his place upon the throne. And now let me describe the day on which the information came to us that Max was in Brazil.
It was Christmas Day on which the first really reliable news of Max reached us. I remember that Ottilie and I had been to church alone together, my father and mother not feeling equal to accompanying us. Leaving the churchyard afterwards, we let ourselves into the park by means of a side gate.
"I wonder what Max is doing to-day?" I said to my companion, as we walked along.
"Poor Max!" she answered, and there was a world of sadness in her voice.
"Do you know, Ottilie," I said, "I have a sort of conviction that we shall hear something of him very soon. I don't know why I should think so, but the notion has been in my head for the last few days. Let us hope it may be true."
"God grant it may," she replied. "It would make a different woman of your mother. She is wearing her heart out thinking and grieving about him."
Ottilie and I let ourselves into the house by a side door, and, when we had removed our wraps, proceeded to the Queen's boudoir, where our Christmas mail awaited us. My mother, who had not left her room when we departed for church, received us very graciously. Poor lady, the trials and troubles with which her life had been afflicted were beginning to tell upon her. She seemed to be ageing faster than was consistent with her years. While we were talking, my father entered the room. Time had also laid his finger heavily upon him; his hair was almost snow-white; he walked with a stick, and, as we have been made aware, his heart had not been equal to the work demanded of it for some time past.
When we had saluted him, we sat down to the perusal of our mails. I had opened the greater portion of my correspondence, when I came upon a letter, the handwriting of which was quite unknown to me. Before reading it, I glanced at the signature, but "James Whittadge," or the fact that he was the house surgeon at the famous Samaritan Hospital, told me nothing. I accordingly turned the page and began to read the letter. This is what I found:
"The Samaritan Hospital, London,
"24th December, 18 —
"To H.R.H. Prince Paul of Pannonia.
"Sir, —
"The fact that I have been requested by a patient named Thomas Gulliver, now an inmate of this hospital, to communicate with you with as little delay as possible, must serve as my excuse for my presumption in addressing you direct. In common with all the world, I have heard of your Royal Highness' attempt to discover the whereabouts of your brother, the Crown Prince of Pannonia. I am not aware, however, whether you have since learnt his address; if not, it may be of service to you to know that the man Gulliver, to whom I referred just now, declares that he is in a position to give you important information upon that point. He is extremely reticent upon the subject, and avers that he will say nothing about it to anyone, until he has seen you. Should you deem his story worthy of your consideration, I would take the liberty of suggesting an immediate interview, as I fear the man, who is in an extremely dangerous condition, is scarcely likely to be alive for any length of time.
"I have the honour to be,
"Your Royal Highness' obedient servant,
"James Whittadge,
"House Surgeon, Samaritan Hospital."
When I had finished the letter, I read it aloud to the others. Then there was a silence, which lasted while a man might have counted twenty. My mother was the first to speak.
"Can it be true, Paul, do you think? or is it only another attempt to extort money from us?" she asked, in a choking voice.
"It is impossible to answer that question until we have seen the man himself," I replied. "As far as the writer of the letter is concerned, it seems genuine enough. What do you think I had better do?"
"Would it not be advisable for you to go up to town and see the man at once?" said Ottilie, who, noticing that my mother was trembling, had crossed the room and taken her hand.
"Go to London at once, and see this Gulliver, Paul," said my father. "It is just possible he may have something to tell you. If you delay it may be too late."
"In that case I will go," I replied.
With that, I had a hurried lunch, and was driven to the station.
As good luck had it, a mail boat had arrived in Southampton that morning, and, in consequence, I was able to travel to town by the special train conveying the passengers and mails. It stopped only at Basingstoke; in consequence, Big Ben was striking four o'clock when my cab pulled up before the big doors of the Samaritan Hospital.
Having discharged my cabman, I ascended the steps, and rang the bell. A moment later the door was opened by a porter. He inquired my business in an off-hand manner, and, when I informed him that I wished to see a patient named Gulliver, told me to step inside, and sit down in the hall while he made the necessary inquiries.
"What name shall I say?" he asked, giving me very plainly to understand by his look that he reserved the right to say whether he would believe my statement or not.
"You might tell Dr. Whittadge that Prince Paul of Pannonia is here, in response to a letter he received from him this morning," I said.
The man's eyes opened, and his mouth followed suit. In a moment his manner had entirely changed.
"I beg your Royal Highness' pardon," he said apologetically, and then, with delightful ingenuousness, added, "I didn't know it was you. If your Royal Highness will be kind enough to step this way to the secretary's office, I will go in search of Dr. Whittadge at once."
I accordingly followed him down the stone corridor to a comfortably furnished apartment, where I waited while he went off on his errand. By this time I was as nervous as any schoolgirl. So much depended upon the next half-hour, that I could scarcely contain my impatience or my anxiety. I paced up and down the little room, examined the photos of various benefactors that decorated the walls, and then rejoiced, as my ears caught the sound of a business-like step on the stones outside. A moment later the door opened, and a tall, gentlemanly man, who I rightly guessed was none other than Doctor Whittadge, entered the room.
"Have I the honour of addressing Prince Paul of Pannonia?" he inquired, closing the door behind him.
"That is my name," I answered. "I received a letter from you this morning, informing me that a patient named Gulliver under your charge, declares that he knows the whereabouts of my brother."
"That is so," the doctor replied. "The man states that he has not only seen your brother, but has spoken to him. He will not, however, reveal the name of the place, or say anything more concerning it, to anyone save yourself. If you would care to see him, I will conduct you to the ward. I must ask, however, that you will make the interview as short as possible, for the man is in a highly dangerous condition.
"He is a sailor, and was badly injured two days ago by a fall from the rigging of a ship. If your Highness is ready, shall we proceed upstairs?"
"By all means," I answered.
Then without delay he led me upstairs to one of the principal wards.
"Gulliver is in here," he said in a whisper. Beckoning one of the nurses to him, he said something to her in a low voice, after which, inviting me to follow him, he led the way towards a bed at the further end of the room. A screen had been placed before it, and, when we approached, a nurse was feeding the sick man from an invalid cup. He proved to be a rough-looking fellow, between thirty and forty years of age.
The doctor felt his pulse, and then, placing a chair beside the bed, invited me to seat myself.
"Gulliver," he said, bending over him and speaking in a low voice, "this is Prince Paul of Pannonia, whose brother's whereabouts you profess to be able to reveal."
"So I can, sir," said the sick man feebly, turning his head and staring at me. "I know where 'e is, or ought to be, at this 'ere moment. But afore I gives it away, I want to know what I'm a-goin' to git for my information. That's only business, I reckon."
He paused for a moment to recover his breath.
"It isn't for meself I cares," he continued, "but the doctor 'ere tells me I'm a-goin' to slip me cable before long, and that bein' so, who's a-goin' to pervide for the missus and the kids?"
He gazed fixedly at me, as if he were waiting for an answer to his question.
"If your information is really valuable," I replied, "I shall be very happy to pay you a substantial price for it. But you must be able to convince me first that it is genuine. Have you any definite sum in your mind?"
"Well, sir," the man returned, "if I puts you on his track, I reckon it's worth a 'undred quid to yer, isn't it?"
"I will pay you a hundred pounds with pleasure," I answered.
"But you must let me see the brass first," he returned. "I can't afford to take no risks."
"Come, come, my man," said the doctor, shocked at his discourtesy, "if his Royal Highness is good enough to promise you the money, surely that should be sufficient. Remember with whom you are dealing."
"I shall be past rememberin' anything, d'rectly," the other replied. "I don't mean to offend, but wot I wants is to make sure of the blunt. Prince, or no Prince, I don't part with no information till I have seen that for myself. You wouldn't either if you was me."
Fortunately, I had brought my cheque-book with me, thinking circumstances might arise in which I might stand in need of it.
"Never mind," I said to the surgeon, "we won't dispute the matter. If you can let me have a pen and ink, I will draw a cheque in favour of his wife for the amount in question. Should his information prove to be worth it, she can keep the money; if not, well, in that case, the cheque can be destroyed."
The draft was soon completed, and we returned with it to the bedside. The dying man took the cheque in his hand and examined it carefully.
"I 'ate these 'ere bits of paper," he said. "But I reckon it's all right. Anyways, I'm willing to chance it. Now, sir, leastways, your Royal Highness, if you're ready, I'll tell yer all I knows. You mustn't mind if I'm a bit slow. Talking ain't as easy as it used to be."
He paused once more while the doctor glanced anxiously at him. Then he nodded his head, and the man commenced.
"It was this way, yer see, twelve months ago, come March, I shipped from Cardiff A.B. aboard the Brazilian Monarch steamer, owned by Guthrie, Blake & Williamson, bound for Rio, and consigned to Montezma & Co., merchants, of that city. As soon as we got in we anchored in the harbour, and the Spaniard's managin' clerk came aboard as usual to see the skipper. Now I make bold to say that the managin' clerk I saw that day was your Royal 'Ighness's own brother."
My heart sank. It did not look as if the information he was able to give me were likely to have any greater value than that we had received from other people.
"What reason have you for supposing that the individual in question was my brother?" I inquired. "Had you ever seen the Crown Prince?"
"Never, not as I knows on," the man replied. "But if you don't flummux me by asking questions, I'll do my best to tell yer all about it, and yer'll see as I'm not very far out in my reckonin'. Maybe it will be the last yarn I shall spin, so I must make the most of it. How do I know it was the Crown Prince? Well, I'll tell ye. You see, it was this way. Among the passengers there was a gent a-goin' out to Buenos Ayres as took photographs. And precious well 'e did 'em too, when yer come to think on it. Well, after they'd had a bit o' dinner, the day we got into port, the captain, who was mighty friendly with this 'ere Mr. Mortimer, the agent's clerk, suggested that the passenger gent should take their likenesses, them sittin' together on the ladder to the poop. 'It will be somethin' to remember this day by, and also this 'ere werry nice company,' says he, and so the gent he dives down below to his cabin and fetches up his box of tricks. There they sat, as happy as yer please, smokin' of their segars while their photos was a-bein' took. Next morning we sailed for the Argentine, and about three bells the chief sings out for me to lend a hand to rig up the second officer's cabin for a dark room, so that the gent could fix up the photografts all right. The werry next day he 'ad 'em on deck to show the skipper, and everybody was askin' for one, 'cause they was done so natural. 'E was a free 'anded young gent, and one way an' the other I'd done a good deal for him while 'e was aboard. At last he ups alongside 'o me and says, 'Gulliver,' says he, 'I've got one of them picters left; would yer like to have it?' 'Thank yer kindly, sir,' says I, and with that 'e gives it to me."
The man paused, and whispered something to the nurse, who left him and went to the other side of the room. When she returned she handed him an envelope.
"Well, sir, when we got back to Liverpool again I left the Brazilian Monarch and shipped aboard one of the liners for the Cape. One day, on the homeward voyage, I was a-doin' something on the promenade deck – I forget what – while the passengers was below at their lunch. On one of the chairs was a lot of newspapers, and the one a-lyin' on the top had a big picter of a gent in milingtary uniform. 'Bill,' says I, turning to Bill Collings, who was a-coilin' of a rope alongside o' me, 'you're a scholard, what's the readin' under this 'ere picter?' Mind you I recognised it at once. 'The missing Crown Prince of Pannonia,' says Bill, as slick as the doctor there or you might do yourself. 'That's the cove,' said he – beggin' your 'Ighness's pardon – ' 'as cleared out some time back. His family has been a searchin' for 'im 'igh and low, and can't lay their 'ands on him nohow.' 'Have they so?' says I to myself. 'Well, then, when I go home I reckon I can put 'em on his track! For you see I know'd that that photograft was at home if the missis hadn't throwed it away. Well, as soon as we was paid off, I went to the old place and rummaged a bit. There it was sure enough. Next day I took a job on down at the docks, went alof, and bein' a bit shaky, I suppose, after the drink I'd had the night afore, I missed me footin' and tumbled head over heels from the yard-arm to the deck below. And that's wot brought me 'ere. Now you know why I says I could tell where your 'Ighness's brother is."
"Is that the photograph to which you refer?" I inquired, pointing to the envelope he held in his hand.
"Yes, sir," he replied, "and just you see if you can pick out your brother from among the party."
The doctor took the envelope from the man's hand and passed it on to me. The photograph represented five men, all of whom were dressed in white. Three were seated on the ladder leading to the after part of a steamship, the poop, I suppose, while the other two had placed themselves on either side of it. With an eagerness that will be readily understood I scanned the various faces. Then my heart gave a leap, for the man standing on the left of the rails was without a doubt my brother Max. Quite overcome by my emotion, I continued to stare at it until my eyes ached. Then in a voice I scarcely recognised, I asked the man the name of the merchant's agent.
"Mortimer, sir," he replied. "The names of the party are written on the back. The gent had put 'em there afore he gave 'em to me."
I turned the card over, and there saw, corresponding with their respective positions in the photograph, the names of the sitters. The three seated on the steps were Messrs. Thompson, Elford, and Gallagher, respectively. He on the right, wearing the uniform cap, was Captain Ganesford, Commander of the Brazilian Monarch, while the other, the man whose identity I was so anxious to decide, was a Mr. Max Mortimer.
"Thank God!" I said earnestly to myself. "I really believe it is Max." Then turning to the man in the bed, I said, "You have rendered me a service for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. There can be no doubt that the individual you speak of is my brother."
"I am indeed glad to hear it," said the doctor. "I fancied, from the beginning, that there must be something in his tale. Your Christmas Day has not been wasted after all."
"Wasted!" I answered. "If this only leads to our finding him, it is likely to be the happiest day of my life. I never paid a hundred pounds away more willingly. May I keep this photograph?"
"Keep it, sir, by all means," said the man. "You're mighty welcome to it. Lord, it's the first time in my life I've ever given a present to a Prince or been worth a 'undred quid."
"I think we had better leave him now," said the doctor. "The excitement can only have a prejudicial effect upon his condition."
I accordingly rose to say farewell to the man.
"Good-bye, your Royal 'Ighness," he said, as I touched his hand, "and good luck to ye. When yer find your brother yer might tell him that it was old Tom Gulliver, of Shadwell, as laid yer on the scent of 'im."
I promised him that I would, though I did not fancy Max would appreciate the circumstance as much as he appeared to do.
Then, having wished him good-bye, I thanked the nurse, and left the ward, the doctor accompanying me as far as the main entrance. There I thanked him for his kindness, and for the trouble he had taken.
I must leave you to imagine how eager I was to reach home.
CHAPTER XII
Late as it was when I reached Rendlehurst, I found my father, mother, and Ottilie sitting up for me, consumed with anxiety, as you may suppose, to hear the news I had brought. When I entered the drawing-room there was complete silence, that spoke for the strain upon their nerves. Each seemed for the moment to be too anxious to venture a question. They had hoped so many times for news, and on each occasion had been so grievously disappointed, that they scarcely dared to place too much reliance in any fresh clue. I crossed the room and took my mother's hand.
"Mother," I said, "thank God I have good news for you at last!"
She uttered a little hysterical sob, and sank back into her chair, pale to the lips.
"Tell us what you have discovered, Paul," said my father, and even his voice trembled as he said it.
Thereupon I sat down and gave them a complete summary of all that had happened that afternoon. In conclusion I produced the photograph the dying man had given me, and handed it to my mother for her inspection.
"Yes, it is undoubtedly he," she began at last, when she had been gazing at it with tearful eyes for upwards of a minute. "It is my poor Max! God be thanked for His mercy!"
My father next examined it, after which he handed it to Ottilie, whose opinion coincided with ours. Indeed there could be no possible doubt about the matter. Anyone who had ever seen Max would have been sure to recognise him in the picture.
It was indeed a happy party that retired to rest that night. At last it looked as if the lost one would be found, and the wandering sheep brought back to the fold.
Early next day, after bidding those at home a fond good-bye, I travelled to Southampton, and by nightfall was on board ship and in mid-Channel. Fortunately, there were no passengers travelling by the boat with whom I was acquainted, or who even knew me by sight. This at least was something to be thankful for. To make assurance doubly sure, however, I had adopted another plan. Feeling certain that, if it became known that Prince Paul of Pannonia were visiting Brazil, telegrams would be dispatched to the newspapers of that country, and thus Max would be given sufficient warning to enable him to get out of my way; I had followed his example, and booked my passage in the name of Mortimer. As plain Mr. Mortimer, therefore, I was known on board.
Of the voyage out nothing need be said. We touched at Lisbon and St. Vincent in due course, and, when that island lay behind us, settled ourselves down to while away the voyage across the Atlantic as pleasantly as we knew how.
At last we reached Rio. It would be impossible for me to describe the varied emotions that filled my breast as we steamed through those wonderful straits into the harbour behind. Save for short excursions to Paris, I had not been out of England since we had taken up our abode in it, and, in consequence, this South American port was like a new world to me. The brightness, the variety of colour, the picturesque placing of the city, and the giant mountain Corcovado, rising behind it, made up a picture that I shall never forget as long as I live. As soon as it was possible for me to do so, I made my way ashore, and, chartering a cab, set off in search of Señor Montezma's office. The cab drivers in Brazil are like their brothers all the world over. They are excellent drivers, but their workmanship is occasionally leavened with a recklessness that is sufficient to bring your heart into your mouth half a dozen times in a hundred yards. It was so in my case. We had not proceeded more than that distance before we as nearly as possible knocked down a pedestrian. Had I only known that that man was Max, what a very different tale I should have to tell! But I did not recognise him, and, in consequence, I drove on to Montezma's office, quite unconscious that I had warned him, and for all the good I could do now I might just as well be back in England. At last I reached the office. In response to my inquiries I was informed that Señor Mortimer was out at the moment, but that doubtless it would not be very long before he would return. While I was making my inquiries Montezma himself emerged from his private office.
"Do I understand that you are inquiring for Señor Mortimer?" he asked, rubbing his hands together as he spoke, and bowing like an automaton. "In that case, if you will honour me by stepping into my office, and taking a seat till he returns, you will place me under an obligation. Señor Mortimer's friends are mine."
With that he bowed once more, and spread his hands apart, presenting such a comical appearance that I could scarcely repress a smile. I accepted his invitation in the spirit in which it was offered, and when I had seated myself, lit the cigar he pressed upon me. Señor Montezma, I discovered, was a small, podgy man, with a round bullet head, and a most happy and humorous cast of countenance. He had evidently settled it in his own mind that I was a new arrival in Rio, and I could also see that, for the same reason, his curiosity was excited as to what my relationship with Mr. Mortimer could be.
"I'm afraid I'm inconveniencing you, Señor," I said, observing that he did not proceed with his work. "Perhaps my brother may be absent for some time. In that case it will be better for me to call later on."
"Your brother?" he cried, springing to his feet and running towards me. "Señor, why did you not say before that you were Señor Mortimer's brother? You overwhelm me! I wish you ten thousand welcomes to our city. No, no, you must not move; I could not let you stir. All I have is at your disposal."
He shook me effusively by the hand, while his face beamed all over.
"Your brother will be pleased beyond measure to see you," he went on, still in the same impulsive fashion. "That he knows nothing of your arrival, I pledge you my honour. It will come upon him as a surprise. He will be overcome with delight. He will be the happiest man in Brazil!"
I was not quite so sure of this. Nevertheless, I wished Max would return, in order that we might get the meeting over. However, time slipped by, and he did not put in an appearance. When our patience was well-nigh exhausted, a clerk was despatched to the office at which it was known that he had intended calling. Ten minutes later the lad returned with the information that Max had visited the office and had left it nearly an hour before. Once more we sat down, and possessed our souls in such patience as we could command. Still the time went by and there was no sign of Max.
"It is really very strange," said Montezma at last. "I cannot understand it at all. As a rule he is punctuality itself. It is just possible he might have gone round to see his friend Brockford, with whom he lives. If, Señor, you will honour me by accompanying me, I will conduct you there."
Needless to say I accepted his offer only too willingly, and we accordingly set off together. At any other time I should have enjoyed the bustle and variety of the streets, but this afternoon I was too nervous, too full of anxiety concerning Max, to have much attention to spare for anything else. When we reached Mr. Brockford's office, we went in, to find the gentleman himself at home.
"No," he said, in answer to our inquiries, "I have not seen him since this morning. Unless he has business to transact with me, he seldom calls here until it is time for us to return to Paquetá. I trust nothing serious is the matter?"
As he asked the question he looked at me with searching eyes.
"This gentleman is Señor Mortimer's brother," Montezma observed with great importance. "He has arrived from England this afternoon."
"His brother?" cried Brockford, with what was plainly an expression of alarm upon his face. "You don't mean to say that you are Prince Paul?"
"I am Prince Paul," I answered. "How do you come to be aware that my brother is the Crown Prince?"
"It is sufficient that I am aware of it," he replied gravely, "I have known it for some time."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," cried Montezma in alarm, "what does this mean? What is this I hear about Crown Princes?"
"It means, Señor Montezma," I answered earnestly, "that your clerk is no less a person than the missing Crown Prince of Pannonia, whose absence has caused such unending sorrow to his family. It is to persuade him to return to his friends that I am now in Rio."
The news seemed to stagger the old man. He could not take it in.
"A Crown Prince! a Crown Prince," he repeated, as if he were trying to convince himself of the truth of my announcement.
"If you will forgive me for saying so, I am afraid your brother will not be best pleased to see you," said Brockford, paying no attention to the other's state of bewilderment.
"It was necessary for me to come," I returned. "We have searched for him all the world over, but without success. His absence is breaking my mother's heart."
"Poor Max," said Brockford with a sigh, more to himself than to me.
Realising that it would be of little use our remaining where we were, we returned to Montezma's office, Mr. Brockford accompanying us. We had been absent something like half an hour, and were hoping that we should find Max awaiting us. To our dismay, however, this did not prove to be the case. The clerks had seen nothing of him. Once more we sat down to wait. The suspense, for me at least, was growing unbearable.
"What can have become of him?" I cried at last. "Do you think he has heard of my arrival, and is purposely keeping out of my way?"
Brockford shook his head.
"I should consider it very improbable," he answered. "He certainly had no idea of such a thing this morning, and, as I take it, you did not travel under your own name he would scarcely have penetrated the mystery of your alias."
In the interval, clerks had been sent out in all directions, in the hope that one of them might find him. They invariably returned, however, with the same reply: he was not at the place where they had searched. It was nearly six o'clock before we were confirmed in our belief that there was something more in his absence than met the eye. Our minds, mine especially, were filled with the gloomiest forebodings. At last, just as Brockford was beginning to wonder whether Max could have been taken ill, and have chartered a boat and returned to the Island before his time, a small nigger made his appearance in the outer office. He carried in his hand a letter, which was addressed to Señor de Montezma.
"It is from Señor Mortimer himself!" he cried. "Now we shall know the reason of his strange behaviour."
With that he opened the envelope, and, spreading the letter out upon the table, began to read it. It was not a very long one; but, such as it was, it was sufficient to cause him not only great astonishment, but also a considerable amount of pain. Tears trickled down his cheeks before he had finished, and when he laid it down it was with an audible sob.
"My Generous Friend and Benefactor (it began),
"How will you feel towards me, when I tell you that it is necessary I should leave Rio at once, perhaps never to return to it, I dare not think. A circumstance, so unexpected that I can scarcely realise it yet, renders it imperative that I should seek a hiding-place elsewhere and without a moment's delay. I can only ask you to believe, if you do not know it already, that the secret which forces me to take this step is not one of which I need be in any way ashamed. Were it so I should never have been your friend. That I should have treated you like this, after all you have done for me, cuts me to the heart. Forgive me, if you can, and believe that while I live, I shall remain,
"Yours in all gratitude and respect,
"Maximilian Mortimer."
When he had finished reading a long silence fell upon us all.
