Long Live the King, Guy Boothby [red queen ebook TXT] 📗

suddenly, turned and fled. Had anyone been near enough to see, he would have told you that his face was deathly pale, and that, when he reached the pavement, he trembled like a man with the palsy. _For the person in the cab was myself, his brother Paul!_

And yet, by some unhappy chance, I did not see him.

"Good heavens!" he muttered, when he had partially recovered. "Paul is searching for me. What am I to do now?"


CHAPTER XI.


In order to make my narrative more clear to you, it is necessary that I should hark back for a short distance and give you an account of my own doings, from the time Max left us up to that never-to-be-forgotten day, when I received the information that he was in Brazil.

Then some eighteen months had gone by, during which period we neither saw nor heard anything of, or from, him. He might have been dead for all we knew to the contrary. In the meantime my engagement to the Princess Ottilie of Lilienhoehe was publicly announced. Of our happiness, and mine in particular, it is not necessary that I should speak. Let me sum it up by saying that if poor Max could have been found, there would not have been a cloud upon our horizon. If the truth must be told, however, I fear the match was not altogether what the Prince of Lilienhoehe himself desired. Max was the Crown Prince, and he would rather have had him for his son-in-law; as, however, for reasons already stated, that was not possible, he was fain to content himself with the next best person, hoping, I suppose, that Max would never appear again, and that, in due course, I should take his place upon the throne. And now let me describe the day on which the information came to us that Max was in Brazil.

It was Christmas Day on which the first really reliable news of Max reached us. I remember that Ottilie and I had been to church alone together, my father and mother not feeling equal to accompanying us. Leaving the churchyard afterwards, we let ourselves into the park by means of a side gate.

"I wonder what Max is doing to-day?" I said to my companion, as we walked along.

"Poor Max!" she answered, and there was a world of sadness in her voice.

"Do you know, Ottilie," I said, "I have a sort of conviction that we shall hear something of him very soon. I don't know why I should think so, but the notion has been in my head for the last few days. Let us hope it may be true."

"God grant it may," she replied. "It would make a different woman of your mother. She is wearing her heart out thinking and grieving about him."

Ottilie and I let ourselves into the house by a side door, and, when we had removed our wraps, proceeded to the Queen's boudoir, where our Christmas mail awaited us. My mother, who had not left her room when we departed for church, received us very graciously. Poor lady, the trials and troubles with which her life had been afflicted were beginning to tell upon her. She seemed to be ageing faster than was consistent with her years. While we were talking, my father entered the room. Time had also laid his finger heavily upon him; his hair was almost snow-white; he walked with a stick, and, as we have been made aware, his heart had not been equal to the work demanded of it for some time past.

When we had saluted him, we sat down to the perusal of our mails. I had opened the greater portion of my correspondence, when I came upon a letter, the handwriting of which was quite unknown to me. Before reading it, I glanced at the signature, but "James Whittadge," or the fact that he was the house surgeon at the famous Samaritan Hospital, told me nothing. I accordingly turned the page and began to read the letter. This is what I found:

"THE SAMARITAN HOSPITAL, LONDON,

"_24th December_, 18----

"TO H.R.H. PRINCE PAUL OF PANNONIA.

"Sir,--

"The fact that I have been requested by a patient named Thomas
Gulliver, now an inmate of this hospital, to communicate with you
with as little delay as possible, must serve as my excuse for my
presumption in addressing you direct. In common with all the world,
I have heard of your Royal Highness' attempt to discover the
whereabouts of your brother, the Crown Prince of Pannonia. I am not
aware, however, whether you have since learnt his address; if not,
it may be of service to you to know that the man Gulliver, to whom
I referred just now, declares that he is in a position to give you
important information upon that point. He is extremely reticent
upon the subject, and avers that he will say nothing about it to
anyone, until he has seen you. Should you deem his story worthy of
your consideration, I would take the liberty of suggesting an
immediate interview, as I fear the man, who is in an extremely
dangerous condition, is scarcely likely to be alive for any length
of time.

"I have the honour to be,

"Your Royal Highness' obedient servant,

"JAMES WHITTADGE,

"House Surgeon, Samaritan Hospital."

When I had finished the letter, I read it aloud to the others. Then there was a silence, which lasted while a man might have counted twenty. My mother was the first to speak.

"Can it be true, Paul, do you think? or is it only another attempt to extort money from us?" she asked, in a choking voice.

"It is impossible to answer that question until we have seen the man himself," I replied. "As far as the writer of the letter is concerned, it seems genuine enough. What do you think I had better do?"

"Would it not be advisable for you to go up to town and see the man at once?" said Ottilie, who, noticing that my mother was trembling, had crossed the room and taken her hand.

"Go to London at once, and see this Gulliver, Paul," said my father. "It is just possible he may have something to tell you. If you delay it may be too late."

"In that case I will go," I replied.

With that, I had a hurried lunch, and was driven to the station.

As good luck had it, a mail boat had arrived in Southampton that morning, and, in consequence, I was able to travel to town by the special train conveying the passengers and mails. It stopped only at Basingstoke; in consequence, Big Ben was striking four o'clock when my cab pulled up before the big doors of the Samaritan Hospital.

Having discharged my cabman, I ascended the steps, and rang the bell. A moment later the door was opened by a porter. He inquired my business in an off-hand manner, and, when I informed him that I wished to see a patient named Gulliver, told me to step inside, and sit down in the hall while he made the necessary inquiries.

"What name shall I say?" he asked, giving me very plainly to understand by his look that he reserved the right to say whether he would believe my statement or not.

"You might tell Dr. Whittadge that Prince Paul of Pannonia is here, in response to a letter he received from him this morning," I said.

The man's eyes opened, and his mouth followed suit. In a moment his manner had entirely changed.

"I beg your Royal Highness' pardon," he said apologetically, and then, with delightful ingenuousness, added, "I didn't know it was you. If your Royal Highness will be kind enough to step this way to the secretary's office, I will go in search of Dr. Whittadge at once."

I accordingly followed him down the stone corridor to a comfortably furnished apartment, where I waited while he went off on his errand. By this time I was as nervous as any schoolgirl. So much depended upon the next half-hour, that I could scarcely contain my impatience or my anxiety. I paced up and down the little room, examined the photos of various benefactors that decorated the walls, and then rejoiced, as my ears caught the sound of a business-like step on the stones outside. A moment later the door opened, and a tall, gentlemanly man, who I rightly guessed was none other than Doctor Whittadge, entered the room.

"Have I the honour of addressing Prince Paul of Pannonia?" he inquired, closing the door behind him.

"That is my name," I answered. "I received a letter from you this morning, informing me that a patient named Gulliver under your charge, declares that he knows the whereabouts of my brother."

"That is so," the doctor replied. "The man states that he has not only seen your brother, but has spoken to him. He will not, however, reveal the name of the place, or say anything more concerning it, to anyone save yourself. If you would care to see him, I will conduct you to the ward. I must ask, however, that you will make the interview as short as possible, for the man is in a highly dangerous condition.

"He is a sailor, and was badly injured two days ago by a fall from the rigging of a ship. If your Highness is ready, shall we proceed upstairs?"

"By all means," I answered.

Then without delay he led me upstairs to one of the principal wards.

"Gulliver is in here," he said in a whisper. Beckoning one of the nurses to him, he said something to her in a low voice, after which, inviting me to follow him, he led the way towards a bed at the further end of the room. A screen had been placed before it, and, when we approached, a nurse was feeding the sick man from an invalid cup. He proved to be a rough-looking fellow, between thirty and forty years of age.

The doctor felt his pulse, and then, placing a chair beside the bed, invited me to seat myself.

"Gulliver," he said, bending over him and speaking in a low voice, "this is Prince Paul of Pannonia, whose brother's whereabouts you profess to be able to reveal."

"So I can, sir," said the sick man feebly, turning his head and staring at me. "I know where 'e is, or ought to be, at this 'ere moment. But afore I gives it away, I want to know what I'm a-goin' to git for my information. That's only business, I reckon."

He paused for a moment to recover his breath.

"It isn't for meself I cares," he continued, "but the doctor 'ere tells me I'm a-goin' to slip me cable before long, and that bein' so, who's a-goin' to pervide for the missus and the kids?"

He gazed fixedly at me, as if he were waiting for an answer to his question.

"If your information is really valuable," I replied, "I shall be very happy to pay you a substantial price for it. But you must be able to convince me first that it is genuine. Have you any definite sum in your mind?"

"Well, sir," the man returned, "if I puts you on his track, I reckon it's