The meek Mr. Mulberry stood by the piano, his plump fingers ranged across the keys producing a melancholy symphony.
“We will now sing Hymn 847,” he said, in his melancholy oily voice and it was in the burst of laughter that this sally provoked, that Michael Pretherston took his leave, followed at a respectful distance down the stairs by Colonel Westhanger, who did not breathe freely until the front door had clanged behind his unwelcome visitor and until the oiled bolts shot home in their sockets.
“Where’s Kate?” he asked on his return.
“Such nonsense,” growled the elder Stockmar, “she has to the high-room gone to make scare mit Predderston.”
Michael, at the far end of Crime Street, was taking leave of his assistants when there cut into the quiet night a sound almost terrifying in its unexpectedness.
It could only be described as a hollow shriek which rose and fell from a wailing scream to a throaty sob. It lasted no more than ten seconds and stopped as unexpectedly as it began.
“What’s that?” asked the startled sergeant.
Michael scratched his chin.
“The Colonel in hysterics,” he suggested callously. Nevertheless, the noise puzzled him.
X
Sir Ralph Lost a Princess and Found a Policeman
Michael took the card from the uniformed constable and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Sir Ralph Sapson,” he said, “what the dickens does he want?”
The constable made no reply, for he was neither thought-reader nor inquisitive.
“Show him in,” said Michael.
Sir Ralph Sapson had never before called at Scotland House or showed the slightest desire to improve his acquaintance with Michael and the visit was therefore a little puzzling. Ralph bustled in, less important than usual and probably somewhat overawed by the difficulty he had experienced in reaching his objective.
“I daresay you wonder why I have called,” he said.
“As long as it isn’t to take me out to lunch, I don’t care,” said Michael with a laugh. “Sit down, Ralph, and tell me all your troubles. By the way,” he said as the thought occurred to him, “I suppose you are not in any kind of trouble, are you?”
“That’s just it, Michael,” said the other depositing his silk hat carefully on the ground; “I am really worried over two matters and knowing what a good chap you are and how very nice you have been to me—”
“Don’t be silly,” said Michael kindly, “I have not been nice to you and I am not a good chap. Have you lost something?”
“I want to see you on two matters,” said Sir Ralph, who was given to preambles; “they are altogether different and one, of course, is not a police matter at all—I merely want your advice as a friend. Do you know the Princess Bacheffski?”
“I don’t know Her Royal Highness, Her Serene Highness, or Her Nibs as the case may be.”
“She is neither,” said the other, “she is the wife of Prince Dimitri Bacheffski, who is a large landowner in Poland.”
Michael shook his head.
“The world is filled with the wives of princes who are large landowners in Poland,” he said.
“I met her in Paris,” explained Sir Ralph.
“When I said the world,” said Michael, “I meant Paris. What has she done, stolen your watch?”
“Please don’t be an ass,” said the other testily; “I tell you she is a princess and enormously wealthy. She had a row with her husband and came to London and I have seen a great deal of her. Yesterday, when I called to take her driving, I found that she had gone away, left without a word, paid her bill at the furnished flat she had taken and vanished—”
“Gone back to her husband, I suppose,” said Michael; “I have heard of such things happening. You will not hear from her until a suit is filed for divorce and then the newspapers will be filled with grisly details, about your directorships, your early life and your hobbies; also the Sunday papers will publish your portrait.”
Sir Ralph wagged his head in despair.
“If I thought you would have taken this kind of view I would not have come,” he said severely; “there is nothing of that kind in this business. She is just a lady whom I had helped very slightly and who had been kind enough to give me her confidence.”
“Do you want me to find her?” said the other in surprise.
“No, that isn’t it,” said Sir Ralph. “The story has a curious sequel. This morning I was in the city and I met a friend who asked me to lunch with him. I had a lot of business to get through and it was not until ten to one that I was able to get away. My car was not in the city but I thought I should have no difficulty in getting a taxi. When I got into the street, however, it was pouring with rain and not a taxi could be had for love or money. It was only a few steps to the Bank station and I decided to go by tube.”
“Sensation!” said the admiring Michael.
“Well, to cut a long story short,” said Sir Ralph, “I travelled to Oxford Circus and changed into a train which took me to the Thames Embankment. Here comes the extraordinary part of the story,” he said impressively; “as I came up the escalator on the one side, the Princess passed down on the other.”
“Yes?” said Michael unimpressed.
“She was plainly, even poorly dressed,” said Ralph. “I raised my hat to her but she stared at me as though she had never seen me before in her life.”
“You made a mistake probably,” said the other.
“I will swear it was she,” said Sir Ralph emphatically. “There was no mistaking her. She has a very tiny mole just below the right ear, which I had seen—”
“Eh?”
Michael was all attention now.
“A tiny mole beneath the right ear,” he repeated, and went on, “dark grey eyes,
