“Never,” cried His Royal Highness Alexis of Clorania, “never.” He brought down one of his palms upon the other in the same manner that he had employed before. The suggestion assailed his vanity. “I am quite certain of what I am saying. Miss Carruthers left me, as I informed you, to return to London. She had no assignation in Seabourne beyond her assignation at the ‘Cassandra’ with me.”
This time it was Anthony’s turn to shrug his shoulders. “With all deference—I don’t know how you can be so certain on the point. May I remind you in your own words, ‘Can a man ever believe a woman with whom he has been in love?’ ”
The Crown Prince winced slightly at the aptness of Mr. Bathurst’s reply. Then the wince gave place to a frown which in its turn was superseded by a distinct tendency to sullenness. “I know Miss Carruthers left me to go back to London. This tooth-ache or neuralgia or whatever it was must have come on suddenly and perhaps caused her to alter her plans very quickly. That is the only explanation I can offer at the moment.”
“We shall have to wait,” supplemented Anthony, “until we get more reliable information—that is all we can do. But the two facts certainly do not tally—they contradict each other rather—you must see that.”
“The ‘Morning Message’ has its facts wrong—that is the explanation,” said the Crown Prince pettishly, “it’s the only explanation that there can possibly be—their reporter has confused the two hotels.” He was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the telephone on the table in the corner. He walked to it—obviously angered at what he considered an interruption that need not have happened. “Yes—yes,” he said irritably as he picked up the receiver. “Yes, it’s Mr. Lucius speaking. Who is it . . . a trunk call . . . all right . . . yes . . . yes . . . Lucius speaking . . . I can’t hear properly . . . you’re very indistinct . . . speak up . . . what . . . you . . .”
Anthony watched him curiously as he listened, his face white as death. Suddenly he gave a quick gasp, took the receiver from his ear and covered the mouthpiece with his disengaged hand. . . . “Mr. Bathurst,” he said tremulously, turning to Anthony. . . . “What on earth is the real meaning of all this ghastly business? . . . I’m speaking to Daphne Carruthers.”
CHAPTER VII.
Gentlemen and Players
“I suppose there can be no doubt about it,” ventured Anthony; “you recognise the lady’s voice?”
“Of course,” retorted the Crown Prince, somewhat testily—still showing signs of the shock to which he had been subjected so suddenly.
“Better see what the lady has to say then,” suggested Anthony decisively. “She at least will be able to clear up some of the parts that have been puzzling us. That’s very apparent!”