“Is it not sufficient that I am here?” he said.
“It is sufficient, yes,” she replied, “but I want to know.”
With a long, easy stroke he was pulling the dinghy shorewards. She sat in the stern-sheets.
“There is no rudder,” he remarked, “so you must direct me. Keep the boat’s head on the lighthouse. The tide seems to be running in strongly; that will help us. The people on shore will think that we have only been for a little early morning excursion.”
“Will you kindly tell me how it came about that you were able to save my life, Prince?” she said.
“Save your life, Miss Racksole? I didn’t save your life; I merely knocked a man down.”
“You saved my life,” she repeated. “That villain would have stopped at nothing. I saw it in his eye.”
“Then you were a brave woman, for you showed no fear of death.” His admiring gaze rested full on her. For a moment the oars ceased to move.
She gave a gesture of impatience.
“It happened that I saw you last night in your carriage,” he said. “The fact is, I had not had the audacity to go to Berlin with my story. I stopped in Ostend to see whether I could do a little detective work on my own account. It was a piece of good luck that I saw you. I followed the carriage as quickly as I could, and I just caught a glimpse of you as you entered that awful house. I knew that Jules had something to do with that house. I guessed what you were doing. I was afraid for you. Fortunately I had surveyed the house pretty thoroughly. There is an entrance to it at the back, from a narrow lane. I made my way there. I got into the yard at the back, and I stood under the window of the room where you had the interview with Miss Spencer. I heard everything that was said. It was a courageous enterprise on your part to follow Miss Spencer from the Grand Babylon to Ostend. Well, I dared not force an entrance, lest I might precipitate matters too suddenly, and involve both of us in a difficulty. I merely kept watch. Ah, Miss Racksole! you were magnificent with Miss Spencer; as I say, I could hear every word, for the window was slightly open. I felt that you needed no assistance from me. And then she cheated you with a trick, and the revolver came flying through the window. I picked it up, I thought it would probably be useful. There was a silence. I did not guess at first that you had fainted. I thought that you had escaped. When I found out the truth it was too late for me to intervene. There were two men, both desperate, besides Miss Spencer—”
“Who was the other man?” asked Nella.
“I do not know. It was dark. They drove away with you to the harbour. Again I followed. I saw them carry you on board. Before the yacht weighed anchor I managed to climb unobserved into the dinghy. I lay down full length in it, and no one suspected that I was there. I think you know the rest.”
“Was the yacht all ready for sea?”
“The yacht was all ready for sea. The captain fellow was on the bridge, and steam was up.”
“Then they expected me! How could that be?”
“They expected someone. I do not think they expected you.”
“Did the second man go on board?”
“He helped to carry you along the gangway, but he came back again to the carriage. He was the driver.”
“And no one else saw the business?”
“The quay was deserted. You see, the last steamer had arrived for the night.”
There was a brief silence, and then Nella ejaculated, under her breath.
“Truly, it is a wonderful world!”
And it was a wonderful world for them, though scarcely perhaps, in the sense which Nella Racksole had intended. They had just emerged from a highly disconcerting experience. Among other minor inconveniences, they had had no breakfast. They were out in the sea in a tiny boat. Neither of them knew what the day might bring forth. The man, at least, had the most serious anxieties for the safety of his Royal nephew. And yet—and yet—neither of them wished that that voyage of the little boat on the summer tide should come to an end. Each, perhaps unconsciously, had a vague desire that it might last forever, he lazily pulling, she directing his course at intervals by a movement of her distractingly pretty head. How was this condition of affairs to be explained? Well, they were both young; they both had superb health, and all the ardour of youth; and—they were together.
The boat was very small indeed; her face was scarcely a yard from his. She, in his eyes, surrounded by the glamour of beauty and vast wealth; he, in her eyes, surrounded by the glamour of masculine intrepidity and the brilliance of a throne.
But all voyages come to an end, either at the shore or at the bottom of the sea, and at length the dinghy passed between the stone jetties of the harbour. The Prince rowed to the nearest steps, tied up the boat, and they landed. It was six o’clock in the morning, and a day of gorgeous sunlight had opened. Few people were about at that early hour.
“And now, what next?” said the Prince. “I must take you to an hotel.”
“I am in your hands,” she acquiesced, with a smile which sent the blood racing through his veins. He perceived now that she was tired and overcome, suffering from a sudden and natural reaction.
At the Hôtel Wellington the Prince told the sleepy doorkeeper that they had come by the early train from Bruges, and wanted breakfast at once. It was absurdly early, but a common English sovereign will work wonders in any Belgian hotel, and in a very brief time Nella and the Prince were
