Part 27 (1/2)

That same afternoon, before four o'clock, he had received a draft for twenty thousand pounds, with which he had opened an account in Charles's name at a branch bank in Tottenham Court Road.

At nine o'clock that same evening he left for Paris, putting up at a small obscure hotel near the Gare du Nord where he waited in patience for nearly a week.

Once or twice he telegraphed, and received replies.

Late one night the Parson arrived unexpectedly and entered the shabby bedroom where his Lords.h.i.+p was lounging in an armchair reading a French novel.

He sprung up at the entrance of the round-faced cleric, saying:

”Well, Tommy? How has it gone? Tell me quick.”

”You were quite right,” exclaimed the clergyman. ”The crowd in London were going behind your back. They sent two clever men to Rome, and those fellows tried to deal with Boncini direct. They arrived the day after I did, and they offered him an extra twenty thousand if he would rescind your concession, and grant them a new one. Boncini was too avaricious and refused, so they then treated with you.”

”I got twenty thousand,” remarked his Lords.h.i.+p, ”got it in cash safe in the bank.”

”Yes. I got your wire.”

”And what did you do?” asked his friend.

”I acted just as you ordered. As soon as I was convinced that the people in London were working behind our backs, I laid my plans. Then when your wire came that you'd netted the twenty thousand, I acted.”

”How?”

”I took all the signed proof you gave me of old Boncini's acceptance of the bribe, and of Madame's banking account at the Credit Lyonnais, to that scoundrel Ricci, the red-hot Socialist deputy in the Chamber.”

”And what did he say?” asked his Lords.h.i.+p breathlessly.

”Say!” echoed the other. ”He was delighted. I spent the whole evening with him. Next day, he and his colleagues held a meeting, and that afternoon he asked in the Chamber whether his Excellency, the Minister of the Interior, had not been bribed by an English syndicate and put a number of similarly awkward questions. The Government had a difficulty in evading the truth, but imagine the sensation when he waved proofs of the corruptness of the Cabinet in the face of the House. A terrible scene of disorder ensued, and the greatest sensation has been caused.

Look here,”--and he handed his friend a copy of _Le Soir_.

At the head of a column on the front page were the words in French, ”Cabinet Crisis in Italy,” and beneath, a telegram from Rome announcing that in consequence of the exposure of grave scandals by the Socialists, the Italian Cabinet had placed their resignations in the hands of his Majesty.

”Serve that old thief Boncini right,” declared his Lords.h.i.+p. ”He was ready to sell me for an extra few thousands, but I fortunately got in before him. I wonder if the pretty Velia has still any aspirations to enter the British peerage?”

And both men laughed merrily at thought of the nice little nest-egg they had managed to filch so cleverly from the hands of five of the smartest financiers in the City of London.

CHAPTER TEN.

LOVE AND THE OUTLAW.

”By Jove!” I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, ”Who's the girl, Prince?”

”That's Zorka. Pretty, isn't she, Diprose?”

”Pretty!” I echoed. ”Why, she's the most beautiful woman I've seen in the whole of Servia!”

We were driving slowly together in the big ”sixty” up the main street of the city of Belgrade, and were at that moment pa.s.sing the iron railings of the palace of his Majesty King Peter. It was a bright dry afternoon, and the boulevard was thronged by a smart crowd, ladies in Paris-made gowns, and officers in brilliant uniforms and white crosses with red and white ribbons on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Belgrade, though constantly in a ferment of political storm and stress, and where rumours of plots against the throne are whispered nightly in the corners of drawing-rooms, is, nevertheless, a quiet and pleasant place. Its picturesque situation, high up upon its rocks at the confluence of the Save with the Danube, its pretty Kalemegdan gardens, its wide boulevard and its pleasant suburbs, combine to offer considerable attraction to the foreigner. It is the gateway to eastern Europe. At quiet old Semlin--or Zimony--on the opposite bank of the Danube is Hungary, the fringe of western Europe: in Belgrade the Orient commences.

I happened to be at the Grand at Belgrade, and had there found the Prince, or Reggie Martin, as he always called himself in the Balkans.