Part 28 (1/2)
”Prince Shan has never been here!” Maggie explained brokenly. ”He has never left his house in Curzon Street! He is there now!”
Nigel shook his head.
”What is the matter with you, Maggie?” he demanded. ”Every one has seen Prince Shan here. You spoke of him yourself. He was in the box exactly opposite.”
She shook her head.
”That was one of his suite,” she cried. ”I know! I tell you I know!” she went on, her voice rising a little. ”Prince Shan is safe in his house in Curzon Street.”
”How can you possibly know this, Maggie?” Naida intervened eagerly.
”Because I left him there half an hour ago,” was the tremulous reply.
CHAPTER XXII
There is in the Anglo-Saxon temperament an almost feverish desire to break away from any condition of strain, a sort of shamefaced impulse to discard emotionalism. The strange hush which had lent a queer sensation of unreality to all that was pa.s.sing in the great building was without any warning brought to an end. Whispers swelled into speech, and speech into almost a roar of voices. Then the music struck up, although at first there were few who cared to dance. There were many who, like Maggie and her companions, silently left their places and hurried homewards.
In the limousine scarcely a word was spoken. Maggie leaned back in her seat, her face dazed and expressionless. Opposite to her, Nigel sat with set, grim face, looking with fixed stare out of the window at the deserted streets. Of the three, Naida seemed more on the point of giving way to emotion. They had pa.s.sed Hyde Park Corner, however, before a word was spoken. Then it was she who broke the silence.
”Where do we go to first?” she demanded.
”To the Milan Court,” Nigel replied.
”You are taking me home first, then?”
”Yes!”
She was silent for a moment. Then she leaned forward and touched the window.
”Pull that down, please,” she directed. ”I am stifling.”
He obeyed, and the rush of cold, wet air had a curiously quietening effect upon the nerves of all of them. Raindrops hung from the leaves of the lime trees and still glittered upon the windowpane. On the way towards the river, the ma.s.ses of cloud were tinged with purple, and faintly burning stars shone out of unexpectedly clear patches of sky.
The night of storm was over, but the wind, dying away before the dawn, seemed to bring with it all the sweetness of the cleansed places, to be redolent even of the budding trees and shrubs,--the lilac bushes, drooping with their weight of moisture, and the pink and white chestnut blossoms, dashed to pieces by the rain but yielding up their lives with sweetness. The streets, in that single hour between the hurrying homewards of the belated reveller and the stolid tramp of the early worker, were curiously empty and seemed to gain in their loneliness a new dignity. Trafalgar Square, with the National Gallery in the background, became almost cla.s.sical; Whitehall the pa.s.sageway for heroes.
”What does it all mean?” Naida asked, almost pathetically.
It was Maggie who answered. Her tone was lifeless, but her manner almost composed.
”It means that the attempt to a.s.sa.s.sinate Prince Shan has failed,” she said. ”Prince Shan told me himself that he had no intention of going to the ball. He kept his word. The man who was murdered was one of his suite.”
”But how do you know this?” Naida persisted.
”You heard what I told you in the box,” was the quiet reply. ”I shall explain--as much as I can explain--to Nigel when we get home. He can tell you everything later on to-day at lunch-time, if you like.”
”It has been one of the strangest nights I ever remember,” Naida declared, after a brief pause. ”Oscar Immelan, who was dining with us, arrived half an hour late. I have never seen him in such a condition before. He had the air of a broken man.”
”Have you any idea of what had happened?” Nigel asked.
”Only this,” Naida replied. ”We saw Prince Shan last night. He spent several hours with us. I may be wrong, but I came to the conclusion then that he had at any rate modified his views about the whole situation since his arrival in England.”