As a crafty device to throw the enemy off the scent, O’Shea conceived what he viewed as a master-stroke. George Huntley was called into consultation and promptly sent for a superannuated clerk of his office staff who had been pensioned after many years of faithful service. He proved to be a slender, white-haired man who carried himself with a great deal of dignity, and at the first glimpse of him O’Shea exclaimed delightedly:
“You couldn’t have done better, George, if you had raked London with a comb. Put a snowy mustache and chin whisker on him and he will pass for King Osmond of Trinadaro with no trouble at all.”
“I think we can turn him into a pretty fair counterfeit,” grinned Huntley. “And when he walks aboard the Tyneshire Glen at dusk and all those bogus subjects at ten shillings each raise a loyal cheer, the hoax will be complete. This is the artistic touch to make the job perfect.”
“And what am I to do after that, Mr. Huntley, if you please?” timidly inquired the elderly clerk. “If it’s only a practical joke, I don’t mind——”
“Play the part, Thompson. Acknowledge the homage of the ship’s company and go below at once. Dodge into a state-room. The ship will probably be watched by persons keenly interested in your movements. If they poke a mess of legal documents at you, accept them without argument. The meddlesome gents will leave you alone after that. They will merely keep close watch of the ship to make sure that you don’t run away with her. When you come back to London in the morning, pluck off the false whiskers, and be handsomely rewarded for your exertions. I’ll see that you get in no trouble.”
“It is a bit queer, Mr. Huntley, but you were always a great hand for a lark,” said the clerk. “Thank you, I will do as you say.”
The genuine colonists of King Osmond stole on board the Tarlington, singly, and by twos and threes, some before she pulled out of the docks, others by boat after she swung into the stream. At the same time the imitation voyagers from the employment agency were making as much noise and bustle as possible as they trooped on board the Tyneshire Glen.
Captain O’Shea intended to convey the king from the hotel to the Tarlington, but at the last moment he was detained to quell a ruction in the forecastle. George Huntley had been unexpectedly summoned to the Hotel Cecil to see an American millionaire who was in a great hurry to charter a yacht. O’Shea therefore sent a message to His Majesty directing him to have his carriage driven to a certain landing on the river-front of the East India Docks, where he would be met by the chief officer of the Tarlington and escorted aboard the ship.
Within the same hour, the dignified, elderly clerk by the name of Thompson might have been seen to enter a carriage close by the Hotel Carleton, and those standing near heard him tell the driver to go to the steamer Tyneshire Glen.
The chief officer of the Tarlington, waiting near an electric light at the landing-pier, abreast of which the steamer was anchored in the stream, felt a weight of responsibility for the safe delivery of King Osmond, and was easier in mind when he saw a carriage halt within a few yards of him. The window framed the kindly features, the white mustache and imperial, which the chief officer instantly identified. Hastening to assist His Majesty from the carriage, he announced apologetically: