The unfortunate part of the whole affair, so far as Mr. Felix Main was concerned, was that the struggle had been almost noiseless. Mabel was peacefully typing when Charles paused in her office on his way out, to light a cigarette.
“Well?” she asked pertly. “Finished with the guv’nor?”
“Pretty well,” he answered. “Listen.”
“I’m engaged for dinner, thanks,” she replied— “but if it’s at the Ritz, I’ll put my boy off.”
“I’m not asking you to dinner,” he said, bending still closer over her. “I want one kiss.”
She laughed and gave it to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Here’s a little memento, as that’s the last kiss I shall ever have.”
He drew off his signet ring and laid it by her side.
The girl stared after him as the swing door closed. Then the silence from the other room somehow frightened her. She went in, and her screams rang through the building.
CHAPTER XXIX
Andrew and Félice, as they lingered over dinner that night at Glenlitten House, could not conceal their astonishment at the way in which the latter’s new-found relative seemed to have kept in touch with all modern changes and happenings. He smiled at one of his daughter’s questions.
“You see,” he explained, “I had a piece of great good fortune. I was imprisoned in a fortress within a mile or two of the castle on my own Karnoff estate. You would not remember it, Félice. How indeed would you remember anything,” he added, with a whimsical smile, “when you left Russia at four years old? As a matter of fact, you never came to Karnoff. The district did not please your mother, but it was nevertheless a very wonderful estate, and one for which I had a great affection. I was always a very lenient overlord, and I believe that for many miles round the people had a genuine affection for me. When I came home wounded after winning those two great battles, and very nearly succeeding in smashing the Austrians before the Germans could arrive, they went crazy with delight. They used to come and sing outside my windows at night. I was fond of them too,” he reflected, with a sudden touch of melancholy in his tone. “It is not a pleasant thing for an old man to remember that the Russia of those days exists no longer.”
“I hope we will be able to show you that England isn’t such a bad place, sir,” Andrew said, with hospitable emphasis.
The Grand Duke smiled.
“I never expected to feel my heart so much at ease again as it is this evening,” he declared. “To see Félice just like her mother when I first met her in Paris, looking so happy, and you, my dear Andrew, the son-in-law so much after my heart, in this short time—when I think of what might have happened, owing to those scandalous servants of mine—well, it makes me believe once more in God.”
He finished his wine and lit a cigarette.
“But I was beginning to tell you,” he continued, “of my life at the prison. I had English, French and Russian newspapers every day, and all the magazines and many novels. I had my own food specially prepared, a garden for exercise, and the most exceptional privileges. Then after a time there came messages from the north that something had better happen to me, and, do you know, I believe I was the one man in Russia who was kept alive through the love of his people. There was a complete understanding between the warders, the outside workers at the fortress, and the people who used to be my labourers and who were living miserably as the labourers of some Bolshevist community—a complete understanding between them as to what should take place if anything were to happen to me. There was a beacon to be fired from the fortress, a flag to be hoisted at the castle, and I honestly believe I am not exaggerating when I tell you that every warder concerned in my murder, and every soldier there, the Governor himself, and every single official, would have been put to death. They dared not touch me. And yet with all that,” he concluded, “the chances of escape seemed to be growing fewer and fewer.”
“How did you manage it finally?” Andrew enquired.
“Please tell us,” Félice pleaded.
“Until a certain great man is dead,” her father answered, “I can never open my lips. I can only give you a hint. A great bird dropped one day in the gardens of the fortress—a bird that came across the Black Sea.”
They obeyed his will and asked no more questions. Presently he rose to his feet.
“May I go?” he begged. “I am a little weary, and you two must have need of conversation together. To-morrow I shall come down and see this wonderful home of yours which Félice loves so much, son-in-law.”
“Indeed I hope that you will, sir,” Andrew assured him. “Félice will tell you, I think, that she has been very happy there.”
The two men shook hands warmly.
“Believe me, I am very conscious of my good fortune,” Félice’s father acknowledged. “You have given happiness to my daughter. No man could earn a greater claim to my gratitude.”
Félice and Andrew, arm in arm, made their way to the latter’s den—a small comfortable apartment at the back of the house. Félice established herself by her husband’s side on a huge divan and watched him light his pipe.
“I wonder whether you can imagine, dear, dear Andrew,” she confided, “how happy I feel. It is as though a great weight had been rolled away from my heart. I have felt so wretched, so ashamed, every time I thought of those terrible people, and now to know that they do not exist, that they mean nothing to me —Andrew, that is so wonderful!”
“I should jolly well think so!” he exclaimed, his tone full of sympathy. “Of course, one had to do the best one could for them so long as one believed their rotten story, but they were a loathsome crew.” She shivered reminiscently.
“They are passing away from my memory like an evil dream,” she sighed.
“Shouldn’t waste another thought upon them,” Andrew enjoined. “You have something much more wonderful to think about, little sweetheart—your father. What a fine fellow!”
There were tears of happiness in her eyes.
“Isn’t he wonderful? And, dearest, I knew—I knew the moment he looked at me!”
“I am almost as proud of him as I am of his daughter,” Andrew declared, holding her a little more tightly. “We will have to do our best to give him a good time. Fancy ten years in prison, under any conditions, for a man who was almost the ruler of his country!”
“He will be happy with us,” Félice murmured. There was a brief period of eloquent silence. Then Félice raised her head from her husband’s shoulder. Once more the shadow of fear had crept into her eyes.
“The time has come now, Andrew,” she whispered, “when I must make a confession to you. It has hurt me very much to keep silent, but indeed I could not see what else there was for me to do. Listen to me, dear,” she went on, clutching at his arm. “Not at the inquest, not to you, never to any one, have I been quite honest about that awful night.”
“I have always known that, my dear,” he assured her, with a calm which bordered almost upon indifference.
“I am not very good at deceiving,” she went on. “I have never tried it before, and it hurt. Remember, I had promised to keep their secret, and I believed Charles to be my brother. That night when he came to Glenlitten, I nearly fainted. I made myself brave, though. I listened. He was in great need, he said. There was something which must be done. He must see me alone. Very well. I retired. He came to me in my boudoir. We were talking. He had begun to explain about a great money difficulty