The Path Grows Crooked

In the sitting-room of apartment A, in the south wing of the Grand HÔtel Royal, Lord Vernon was tramping nervously up and down while his companions regarded him with evident anxiety.

"I tell you fellows," he was saying, "it can't be kept up—I thought so from the first, but all the rest of you seemed to think it would be so infernally easy that I was ashamed to say anything. I knew something was sure to happen to give us away, and something has happened. What was I to do? Sit there like a mummy and allow that dog to frighten those girls to death? What the deuce are you laughing at, Collins?"

"I'm laughing at your tragic tone. No, you couldn't have sat still—though I don't suppose the young ladies were in any serious danger. They were pretty, no doubt?"

"Ah!" said Vernon, with a mental smacking of the lips at the entrancing picture the words called up.

"That, of course, made it doubly impossible to sit still. Did they know you?"

"Oh, no; never saw me before; hadn't the slightest suspicion that they were talking to such a famous personage. They said they were Americans."

"Then I don't see that any harm has been done."

"Unfortunately, when I was coming back, all bundled up in my chair, we ran right into them down here at the door, and they recognised me instantly—I could tell that by their gasp of amazement as they shrank back against the wall."

"Still, if you preserved a cold and haughty demeanour, they may have concluded they were mistaken."

"Cold and haughty nothing!" broke in the third man. "I was there and
I'll swear he winked."

"No, I didn't wink," laughed Vernon. "Though perhaps I should if I'd dared—they're mighty taking girls!"

"Well, what did you do?" demanded Collins, with just a trace of impatience.

Again Vernon laughed.

"I sent 'em back a note asking 'em not to tell," he said.

Collins threw up his hands in horror and the third man grinned sardonically. Vernon looked at them and kept on laughing.

"You two fellows take it too seriously," he added. "I don't believe they'll tell."

"I thought you knew women better than that," said Collins, reproachfully.

"I do know them—better than any dried-up diplomat, at least,—and I believe we can trust these two—for a few days, anyway. How much time do we need?"

"A week, at the very least. Fancy asking a woman to keep a secret for a week! And as for taking it too seriously, you know how much depends on it."

"Yes," observed Vernon, sarcastically, "you fellows seem to think the peace of Europe depends on it."

"I should say that would not be overstating it in the least," said
Collins, with a solemnity almost religious.

"Oh, nonsense; you diplomatic fellows make mountains out of molehills; you see a storm in every cloud; you imagine the lightning's going to strike you every time it flashes! You're all nerves!"

"Anyway, you agreed—"

"Yes, I know I agreed," interrupted Vernon, irritably, "and I was a fool to do it."

"Besides," added Blake, "we've got to play very close, since it happens that Markeld is in this very hotel. We supposed, of course, that he would go on to London. I must say that I think he showed exceedingly poor taste in following us here."

"Oh, I don't know," said Vernon. "I think it was rather enterprising. I only wish we could treat the poor devil fairly."

"Well, since he is here," continued Blake, "there's only one thing for you to do, and that is to stay under cover."

"But, confound it!" protested Vernon, "I can't stay cooped up here in these rooms all the time!"

"That's the only safe way," observed Collins. "Suppose Markeld should find out how the land lies! The fat would be in the fire for sure; and we'd be in a mighty awkward position! Suppose the jingoes got hold of it!" and he turned pale at the thought.

"Well, I won't stay shut up, that's certain," said Vernon, doggedly.
"As for the jingoes, let them rave!"

"That's easy to say," retorted Collins, with irony, "when some one else has to bear the brunt of it."

Vernon snorted impatiently.

"You may frighten yourself whenever you please," he said, "but you can't frighten me. I've heard the cry of 'Wolf! Wolf!' entirely too often."

"But the wolf came at last," Blake pointed out.

"Well, it isn't coming this time; and I don't care if it is. I repeat, categorically and imperatively, I won't stay shut up!"

"You agreed to obey our instructions, you know."

"Every one has the right to rebel against a tyrant!"

"At least," said Collins, yielding the ground grudgingly, "you must remember always to keep on your sick-togs when you do go out, and to try to look a little less scandalously healthy than you are. Now, if you'd kept on your wraps when you jumped out of the chair—"

"How was I to kick a dog with a rug around my legs? You fellows don't give me credit for what I did do. I'd just got into a most interesting conversation with those girls, when up came a fellow whom I knew instinctively to be Markeld."

He stopped as he caught the others' astounded gaze.

"Yes, Markeld!" he repeated, defiantly. "I've an idea that he is the owner of the dog. I suppose I should have sent James to inquire who the dog belonged to before I ventured forth!"

"No matter," said Collins, impatiently. "What did you do?"

"I was guilty of unpardonable rudeness," answered Vernon. "I broke away from those girls as though they had the plague, jumped into my chair, and buried myself behind my newspaper. They must have thought I'd escaped from somewhere."

"So Markeld didn't see you, it doesn't matter what they thought," remarked Collins.

"Oh, doesn't it?"

"Surely you're not going to run any further risks for the sake of a girl more or less!"

"My dear Collins!" said Vernon, with chill politeness; "I have always suspected that a course in diplomacy sucked the blood out of a man and substituted ice-water in its stead. Now I know it. Permit me to add that you have not seen the girl—either girl—though I don't suppose that would make the slightest difference."

"May I inquire what you propose to do?" asked Collins, flushing a little.

"I propose to cultivate the acquaintance of the beautiful Americans in every way I can. After all, what does it matter to me who rules over a little twopenny duchy called Schloshold-Markheim?"

"I suppose your promise is of equal indifference to you!"

"Damn my promise! See here, Collins; don't push me too far; the worm will turn. Of course, I'll keep my promise; but don't irritate me. I'm all on edge over this thing now—a little more, and I'll be capable of doing something—"

A tap at the door interrupted him, and he disappeared between two curtains into the inner room, where an invalid chair, buried in wraps, stood by the window. Near it was a little table covered with medicine bottles, glasses, spoons—in a word, all the paraphernalia of prolonged and serious illness.

Blake opened the door and took the card that was presented to him.

"The Prince of Markeld," he said, looking at it. "Ah, yes; you will tell His Highness that there has been no change in the condition of Lord Vernon, who thanks him for his kind inquiries."

He closed the door and turned back into the room.

"Now, what do you think that means?" he asked, of Collins. "That's the second time today. He's getting importunate."

Collins stared out of the window gloomily.

"Perhaps he suspects already," he said. "I've been told he's a clever fellow—in fact, he's proved it once or twice."

"Suppose he does suspect—what shall we do?"

"Convince him to the contrary. Where's Scaddam?"

"In his room, I suppose."

"Better send for him."

"May I come out?" inquired a voice from the inner room.

"Yes, come ahead," called Collins, and Vernon reappeared. "Now, my friend," he continued rapidly, "you'd better go in and put on your war-togs." Vernon groaned. "Put 'em on thick. I believe Markeld suspects the trick we're playing, and we've got to fool him—we've got to show him what a sick man you are."

"How could he suspect?" demanded Vernon, incredulously. "Even if he saw me, he couldn't recognise me—he doesn't know me."

"Perhaps those girls have already given you away."

"Nonsense! You fellows are afraid of your own shadows. He can't suspect!"

"Just the same, we've got to be prepared for emergencies. Have you got plenty of pepper?"

Vernon groaned again.

"Plenty! I tell you fellows I'll ruin my health if I keep this up much longer. I might easily burst a blood-vessel. People often do when they sneeze."

"Well, we'll have to take the risk," said Blake, with grim complacency.

"Much risk you take! In fact, I saw you sprinkling pepper on my handkerchief this morning, when there wasn't the slightest need of it."

"Now, see here," protested Collins, sharply, "what's the use of all this argument? We've got to see this thing through, whether we like it or not. I've sent for Scaddam, so he'll be on the scene in case of emergencies—"

"You mean, if I break a blood-vessel?" inquired Vernon, politely.

"Oh, break your grandmother! I tell you—"

There was a second tap on the door and Vernon again made a dive for the inner room. This time, a note was handed in. Collins closed the door, tore open the envelope nervously, and ran his eyes quickly over the contents.

"Come out here, you beggar," he called, and Vernon reappeared on the threshold. "Take a look at this," he added, and held out the note. "Maybe you won't be so cocksure hereafter that diplomats are always making mountains out of mole-hills."

Vernon took the paper and read it slowly, his face growing blanker and more blank as he proceeded. Then he went back to the beginning and read it aloud:

"The Prince of Markeld admired greatly Lord Vernon's recent prompt and chivalrous action, which he had the privilege of witnessing. He is sure, however, that His Lordship's illness cannot be so serious as represented, and hopes that His Lordship will not persist in refusing him an audience. Such a course would be neither ingenuous nor fair."

For a moment, no one spoke, then Blake gave vent to a low whistle.

"Well," he said, dazedly; "so the cat's out of the bag! What's to be done?"

"There's only one thing that can be done," Collins said sharply. "I've already pointed out what that is," and he sat down at the table and wrote a rapid message. "How will this do? 'Lord Vernon will be pleased to see the Prince of Markeld at five o'clock this afternoon. He has no recollection of having recently performed any prompt or chivalrous action. The Prince has doubtless been misinformed.' That gives us half an hour—neither too much time, nor too little."

"But that's folly!" protested Blake; "how can you carry it through?"

"Leave that to me. I've got out of tighter places than this one. And," he added, turning to Vernon, "if you ever looked ill in your life, prepare to do it now."

Vernon was looking dreamily over Markeld's note.

"He uses adjectives well, doesn't he?" he asked. "'Such a course would be neither ingenuous nor fair.' 'Pon my word, I quite agree with him!"

"Remember, you're under orders," said Collins, sternly.

"Under reasonable orders, perhaps," admitted Vernon, quietly, with a little tightening of the muscles of the face. "I don't admit that either you or Blake is infallible. What is it you propose to do?"

"We propose, in the first place, to send Markeld this note."

Vernon took it and read it at a glance.

"A note which is, of course, a lie," he observed, dispassionately, as he handed it back.

"It is not a lie!" retorted Collins, flushing hotly. "It is, on the contrary, the absolute truth."

"There are many ways of lying," remarked Vernon, still more coolly. "It isn't so much the letter as the spirit which constitutes a lie."

"This is scarcely the time," put in Blake, "for a lecture upon ethics."

"And it would, in any event," added Vernon, "be entirely wasted upon the present audience. Well, what next?"

"I think you understand your part," answered Collins, curtly. "The only question is, are you prepared to play it?"

Vernon hesitated for an instant, his hands trembling slightly.

"I feel the veriest scoundrel," he said, bitterly. "It sickens me—but you've got me fast."

"Yes," agreed Collins, with a malicious grin, "we've got you fast."

"Though not quite as fast as you think, perhaps," added Vernon, quietly. "I warn you that I will break the bonds if they become too galling. I see that I'm going to owe Prince Frederick a hearty apology before this thing is over."

"Oh, I shan't interfere with your apology when the time conies," retorted Collins.

"I should hope not," said Vernon, still more quietly; then he turned and entered the inner room.

"You mustn't push him too hard, Arthur," said Blake, in a low tone, "or he'll kick over the traces. Remember, he is devilish high-spirited. And he won't lie."

"It takes a firm hand to keep him under control; but I'll be careful. And he won't have to lie. It's confoundedly unfortunate Markeld couldn't have left his dog at home! Just see how small a thing may affect the fate of nations!"

"Don't get philosophical," advised Blake. "There isn't time. Are you going to send that note?"

Collins sealed the missive.

"It's our only chance," he said, decidedly. "Don't you see; we've got to brazen this thing through. We're in a corner, and there's only one way out." He went to the door and opened it. "For the Prince of Markeld," he said, as he handed the note to the man who stood outside.