“Who is your friend?”
Sir Ralph turned with a smirk.
“That, Princess,” he said, “is Lady Moya Felton.”
“Oh, your fiancée,” said the girl, “isn’t it a bore being in London incognito; I should so much like to have met her.”
“Perhaps some day,” said Ralph.
“I should dearly love to,” murmured the girl; “but please go on, you interest me so much. I am beginning to realise why you English are so successful. You seem to know every detail of your business.”
“Oh, dear no,” protested Sir Ralph good-humoredly. “I am rather a dunce if the truth be told, but one must know something of the details.”
“Something!” said the girl, raising her eyebrows. “I think you are very modest. Why, you seem to know the workings of your railway system from beginning to end.”
Sir Ralph stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
“One has to go into things,” he said vaguely, “and of course one takes a lot of credit for things which one is not entitled to take credit for. But the gold train was my idea altogether.”
“I never thought there was so much romance in business,” said the Princess, then suddenly, “do you mind telling the driver to turn about, I am tired of the park now.”
He leaned forward and instructed the chauffeur and the big car circled round.
“I am glad you suggested that,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“Did you notice a man in a grey felt hat talking to a lady in a victoria?”
She shook her head.
“He’s a weird bird,” said Sir Ralph; “he is a policeman, Michael Pretherston, Lord Pretherston’s brother. I don’t want to meet him, apart from the fact that he might recognize you, even through that veil of yours which would deny him so much happiness,” he added gallantly.
“Tell me some more about the gold train,” she said.
Nothing loath Sir Ralph explained. He told the story of the Seahampton Docks and the big liners which would be coming in and the new services he had inaugurated to meet the increased traffic.
“We shall carry practically the whole of the gold which comes from the Rand mines,” he said impressively. “Naturally we have to be very careful although there is not much danger in England. The gold train is really two big safes on wheels. To outward appearance, they are just like ordinary closed railway trucks. In reality they are steel boxes, burglar proof and fire proof. Of course, nothing can go wrong and even if we had a smash the cars would be uninjured. But I have the best men on the system to run the train.”
“How very fascinating,” she said intensely interested. “I suppose you have a most elaborate timetable?”
“I have worked out every detail myself,” he said.
He took a notebook from his pocket.
“I will show you, Princess,” he said impressively.
He turned the gilt-edged leaves until he came to two pages covered with his fine writing.
“You will get some idea of the work involved in the running of a special train,” he said; “here are the times. There is the driver’s name, the fireman’s name, the assistant fireman’s name, the names of the two guards.”
She looked at the book.
“I cannot read your writing very well,” she laughed; “you must not forget that my family was very old fashioned and my dear father never allowed us to learn the Roman alphabet until we were quite grown up. But I can see what a very difficult business it is.”
She handed the book back to him with a little sigh.
“I am afraid I am very stupid,” she said; “figures always bother me and I can see that you revel in them. I hate writing, but by the way your book is filled, it seems that you revel in it! I cannot understand people who like to write. It is always an agony for me to compose an ordinary letter. My thoughts come so much faster than my poor hand can move.”
She took a pad and pencil from the silver mounted stationery case in front of her.
“I will show you something,” she said.
She wrote rapidly, resting the pad on her knee and he watched her in astonishment as she proceeded to fill the sheet.
“There,” she said triumphantly, “that is what I can do best.”
“It looks like shorthand,” he said.
“It is something like Russian shorthand,” said the girl, “and I am such a lazy person that I always use it whenever I want to write a note. My secretary, who is the only person in the world who understands it, transcribes it. I do it because I hate writing.”
“So you are clever, after all, Princess.”
She reached out her little hand and patted his arm.
“You don’t know how clever I am,” she said and they both laughed together.
IX
The Shareholders and an Interruption
Colonel Westhanger looked at his watch.
“She’s twenty minutes late already,” he said.
Gregori rolled another cigarette and looked enquiringly at Dr. Philip Garon who was fingering his trim beard and talking with some animation to the middle-aged pallid man, who was known to the world as Mr. Cunningham and to the police as an expert safe breaker.
All Crime Street, with the exception of the admirable Mr. Millet, was present. The Bishop with his large placid face was playing bezique with Francis Stockmar. Colling Jacques, who had the appearance of a prosperous butler who had settled down to the management of his own private hotel, was reading the newspaper. Mr. Mulberry, that respectable man with his grey side-whiskers and his sad doglike eyes, was discussing Renaissance architecture with the other Stockmar and the Colonel, pacing the room impatiently, stopped now and again to fling a word to one or the other.
Presently there was a slight sound in the hall below and the Colonel went to the door of the room.
“She is here,” he said and passed out to the landing to meet
