“I admit that I did once think you were King Victor, but only for about a minute and a half.”
“By the way, Jimmy, I’ve got a job for you—gold prospecting in the rocky fastnesses of Herzoslovakia?”
“Is there gold there?” asked Jimmy eagerly.
“Sure to be,” said Anthony. “It’s a wonderful country.”
“So you’re taking my advice and going there?”
“Yes,” said Anthony. “Your advice was worth more than you knew. Now for the confession. I wasn’t changed at nurse, or anything romantic like that, but nevertheless I am really Prince Nicholas Obolovitch of Herzoslovakia.”
“Oh, Anthony,” cried Virginia. “How perfectly screaming! And I have married you! What are we going to do about it?”
“We’ll go to Herzoslovakia and pretend to be kings and queens. Jimmy McGrath once said that the average life of a king or queen out there is under four years. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” cried Virginia. “I shall love it!”
“Isn’t she great?” murmured Jimmy.
Then, discreetly, he faded into the night. A few minutes later the sound of a car was heard.
“Nothing like letting a man do his own dirty work,” said Anthony with satisfaction. “Besides, I didn’t know how else to get rid of him. Since we were married I’ve not had one minute alone with you.”
“We’ll have a lot of fun,” said Virginia. “Teaching the brigands not to be brigands, and the assassins not to assassinate, and generally improving the moral tone of the country.”
“I like to hear these pure ideals,” said Anthony. “It makes me feel my sacrifice has not been in vain.”
“Rot,” said Virginia calmly, “you’ll enjoy being a king. It’s in your blood, you know. You were brought up to the trade of royalty, and you’ve got a natural aptitude for it, just like plumbers have a natural bent for plumbing.”
“I never think they have,” said Anthony. “But, damn it all, don’t let’s waste time talking about plumbers. Do you know that at this very minute I’m supposed to be deep in conference with Isaacstein and old Lollipop? They want to talk about oil. Oil, my God! They can just await my kingly pleasure. Virginia, do you remember my telling you once that I’d have a damned good try to make you care for me?”
“I remember,” said Virginia softly. “But Superintendent Battle was looking out of the window.”
“Well, he isn’t now,” said Anthony.
He caught her suddenly to him, kissing her eyelids, her lips, the green gold of her hair. . . .
“I do love you so, Virginia,” he whispered. “I do love you so. Do you love me?”
He looked down at her—sure of the answer.
Her head rested against his shoulder, and very low, in a sweet shaken voice, she answered:
“Not a bit!”
“You little devil,” cried Anthony, kissing her again. “Now I know for certain that I shall love you until I die. . . .”
Thirty-one
SUNDRY DETAILS
Scene—Chimneys, 11 a.m. Thursday morning.
Johnson, the police constable, with his coat off, digging.
Something in the nature of a funeral feeling seems to be in the air. The friends and relations stand round the grave that Johnson is digging.
George Lomax has the air of the principal beneficiary under the will of the deceased. Superintendent Battle, with his immovable face, seems pleased that the funeral arrangements have gone so nicely. As the undertaker, it reflects credit upon him. Lord Caterham has that solemn and shocked look which Englishmen assume when a religious ceremony is in progress.
Mr. Fish does not fit into the picture so well. He is not sufficiently grave.
Johnson bends to his task. Suddenly he straightens up. A little stir of excitement passes round.
“That’ll do, sonny,” said Mr. Fish. “We shall do nicely now.”
One perceives at once that he is really the family physician.
Johnson retires. Mr. Fish, with due solemnity, stoops over the excavation. The surgeon is about to operate.
He brings out a small canvas package. With much ceremony he hands it to Superintendent Battle. The latter, in his turn, hands it to George Lomax. The etiquette of the situation has now been carefully complied with.
George Lomax unwraps the package, slits up the oilsilk inside it, burrows into further wrapping. For a moment he holds something on the palm of his hand—then quickly shrounds it once more in cottonwool.
He clears his throat.
“At this auspicious moment,” he begins, with the clear delivery of the practised speaker.
Lord Caterham beats a precipitate retreat. On the terrace he finds his daughter.
“Bundle, is that car of yours in order?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Then take me up to town in it immediately. I’m going abroad at once—today.”
“But, Father—”
“Don’t argue with me, Bundle. George Lomax told me when he arrived this morning that he was anxious to have a few words with me privately on a matter of the utmost delicacy. He added that the King of Timbuctoo was arriving in London shortly. I won’t go through it again, Bundle, do you hear? Not for fifty George Lomaxes! If Chimneys is so valuable to the nation, let the nation buy it. Otherwise I shall sell it to a syndicate and they can turn it into an hotel.”
“Where is Codders now?”
Bundle is rising to the situation.
“At the present minute,” replied Lord Caterham, looking at his watch, “he is good for at least fifteen minutes about the Empire.”
Another picture.
Mr. Bill Eversleigh, not invited to be present at the graveside ceremony, at the telephone.
“No, really, I mean it . . . I say, don’t be huffy . . . Well, you will have supper tonight, anyway? . . . No, I haven’t. I’ve been kept to it with my nose at the grindstone. You’ve no idea what Codders is like . . . I say, Dolly, you know jolly well what I think about you . . . You know I’ve never cared for anyone but you . . . Yes, I’ll come to the show first. How does the old wheeze go? ‘And the little girl tries, Hooks and Eyes’. . . .”
Unearthly sounds. Mr. Eversleigh trying to hum the refrain in question.
And now George’s peroration draws to a close.
“. . . the lasting peace and prosperity of the British Empire!”
“I guess,” said Mr. Hiram Fish sotto voce to himself and the world at large, “that this has been a great little old week.”