"I have, old fellow," said I, immensely relieved by his perspicuity.

"I ought to get off five or six very important letters to--"

He interrupted me with a genial wave of his hand. "Run along and get 'em off," he said. "Don't mind me. I'll look over the magazines."

Ten minutes later I was sneaking up the interminable stairways in the sepulchral east wing, lighting and relighting a tallow candle with grim patience at every other landing and luridly berating the drafts that swept the pa.s.sages. Mr. p.o.o.pend.y.k.e stood guard below at the padlocked doors, holding the keys. He was to await my signal to reopen them, but he was not to release me under any circ.u.mstance if snoopers were abroad.

My secretary was vastly disturbed by the news I imparted. He was so startled that he forgot to tell me that he wouldn't spend another night on a pile of rugs with Britton as a bed-fellow, an omission which gave Britton the opportunity to antic.i.p.ate him by _almost_ giving notice that very night. (The upshot of it was the hasty acquisition of two brand new iron beds the next day, and the restoration of peace in my domestic realm.)

Somewhat timorously I knocked at the Countess's door. I realised that it was a most unseemly hour for calling on a young, beautiful and unprotected lady, but the exigencies of the moment lent moral support to my invasion.

After waiting five minutes and then knocking again so loudly that the sound reverberated through the empty halls with a sickening clatter, I heard some one fumbling with the bolts. The door opened an inch OF two.

The Countess's French maid peered out at me.

"Tell your mistress that I must see her at once."

"Madame is not at home, m'sieur," said the young woman.

"Not at home?" I gasped. "Where is she?"

"Madame has gone to bed."

"Oh," I said, blinking. "Then she _is_ at home. Present my compliments and ask her to get up. Something very exasperating has hap--"

"Madame has request me to inform m'sieur that she knows the Count is here, and will you be so good as to call to-morrow morning."

"What! She knows he's here? Who brought the information?"

"The bountiful Max, m'sieur. He bring it with _dejeuner_, again with _diner_, and but now with the hot water, m'sieur."

"Oh, I see," said I profoundly. "In that case, I--I sha'n't disturb her. How--er--how did she take it?"

She gave me a severely reproachful look.

"She took it as usual, m'sieur. In that dreadful little tin tub old Conrad--"

"Good heavens, girl! I mean the news--the news about the Count."

"Mon dieu! I thought m'sieur refer to--But yes! She take it beautifully.

I too mean the news. Madame is not afraid. Has she not the good, brave m'sieur to--what you call it--to shoulder all the worry, no? She is not alarm. She reads m'sieur's latest book in bed, smoke the cigarette, and she say what the divil do she care."

"What!"

"Non, non! I, Helene Marie Louise Antoinette, say it for Madame. Pardon!

Pardon, m'sieur! It is I who am wicked."

Very stiffly and ceremoniously I advised caution for the next twelve hours, and saying good night to Helene Marie Louise Antoinette in an unintentionally complimentary whisper, took myself off down the stairs, pursued by an equally subdued _bon soir_ which made me feel like a soft-stepping Lothario.

Now it may occur to you that any self-respecting gentleman in possession of a castle and a grain of common sense would have set about to find out the true names of the guests beneath his roof. The task would have been a simple one, there is no doubt of that. A peremptory command with a rigid alternative would have brought out the truth in a jiffy.

But it so happens that I rather enjoyed the mystery. The situation was unique, the comedy most exhilarating. Of course, there was a tragic side to the whole matter, but now that I was in for it, why minimise the novelty by adopting arbitrary measures? Three minutes of stern conversation with Elsie Hazzard would enlighten me on all the essential points; perhaps half an hour would bring p.o.o.pend.y.k.e to terms; a half a day might be required in the brow-beating of the frail Countess.

With the Schmicks, there was no hope. But why not allow myself the pleasure of enjoying the romantic feast that had been set before me by the G.o.ds of chance? Chance ordered the tangle; let chance unravel it.

Somewhat gleefully I decided that it would be good fun to keep myself in the dark as long as possible!

"Mr. p.o.o.pend.y.k.e," said I, after that nervous factotum had let me into my side of the castle with gratifying stealthiness, "you will oblige me by not mentioning that fair lady's name in my presence."

"You did not stay very long, sir," said he in a sad whisper, and for the life of me I couldn't determine what construction to put upon the singularly unresponsive remark.

When I reached the room where my guests were a.s.sembled, I found Mr.

Pless and the Baron Umovitch engaged in an acrimonious dispute over a question of bridge etiquette. The former had resented a sharp criticism coming from the latter, and they were waging a verbal battle in what I took to be five or six different tongues, none of which appeared to bear the slightest relationship to the English language.

Suddenly Mr. Pless threw his cards down and left the table, without a word of apology to the two ladies, who looked more hurt than appalled.

He said he was going to bed, but I noticed that he took himself off in the direction of the moonlit loggia. We were still discussing his defection in subdued tones--with the exception of the irate baron--when he re-entered the room. The expression on his face was mocking, even accusing. Directing his words to me, he uttered a lazy indictment.

"Are there real spirits in your castle, Mr. Smart, or have you flesh and blood mediums here who roam about in white night dresses to study the moods of the moon from the dizziest ramparts?"

I started. What indiscretion had the Countess been up to?

"I don't quite understand you, Mr. Pless," I said, with a politely blank stare.

Confound his insolence! He winked at me!

CHAPTER VIII

I RESORT TO DIPLOMACY

"My dear Countess," said I, the next morning, "while I am willing to admit that all you say is true, there still remains the unhappy fact that you were very near to upsetting everything last night. Mr. Pless saw you quite plainly. The moon was very full, you'll remember.

Fortunately he was too far away from your window to recognise you. Think how easy it might--"

"But I've told you twice that I held my hand over Pinko's nose and he just couldn't bark, Mr. Smart. You are really most unreasonable about it. The dog had to have a breath of fresh air."

"Why not send him up to the top of the tower and let him run around on the--"

"Oh, there's no use talking about it any longer," she said wearily.

"It is all over and no real harm was done. I am awfully sorry if they made it uncomfortable for you. It is just like him to suggest something--well, scandalous. And the rest of them are dreadful teases, especially Mrs. Smith. They love anything risque. But you haven't told me what they said that kept you awake all night."

My dignity was worth beholding.

"It was not what they said to me, Countess, but what they left unsaid.

I sha'n't tell you what they said."

"I think I can make a pretty good guess--"

"Well, you needn't!" I cried hastily, but too late. She would out with it.

"They accuse you of being a sad, sad dog, a foxy; bachelor, and a devil of a fellow. They all profess to be very much shocked, but they a.s.sure you that it's all right,--not to mind them. They didn't think you had it in you, and they're glad to see you behaving like a scamp. Oh, I know them!"