Already in the reading-room below, the “Almanach de Gotha” had been handled a dozen times by inquisitive half-pay colonels, and mothers with marriageable daughters. And what had been found printed there had caused a flutter in many hearts.
The Prince’s audacity was superb. The suspicion of any little coup he made as prince he always managed to wriggle out of. Even though some evil-disposed persons had made ugly allegations against him at times, yet they were not believed. He was a prince and wealthy, therefore what motive had he to descend to the level of a thief? The Parson, too, always managed to evade suspicion. His voice, his manner, and his general get-up were perfect.
Those who had visited his house in Bayswater, not far from Queen’s Road station, had found it to be the ideal and complete clergyman’s home, with study and half-written sermons on the writing-table.
Their victims, indeed, were as puzzled as were the police. The Prince’s magnificent impertinence and amazing boldness carried him through it all. He was a fatalist. If he and his friends Clayton, Garrett, and Mason were ever caught—well it would be just Fate. Till they actually fell into the hands of the police they would have a good time, and act fearlessly.
As he stood at the window, with the eternal Russian cigarette between his lips, gazing thoughtfully out upon the garden below, the door opened and the Parson entered.
“Well, Tommy, old chap!” exclaimed his Highness, when in a few moments the two men were lounging in easy-chairs opposite each other. “Now, tell me all about the old girl,” he said laughing. “She walks like a pea-hen.”
“There’s not much more to tell than what you already know,” responded the Parson, “except that she’s all in a flutter at meeting you, and wants to chat with you again.”
“Have you made any inquiries concerning her?”
“Of course. A week ago I ran over in secret to Milnthorpe Hall. Fine place, big park, large staff of servants, butler an Italian. Husband was partner in a firm of shipbuilders at Barrow, and left nearly a million to his wife. One son recently passed into the Army, and just now stationed in Cawnpore. Rather rackety, his mother says. The old woman dotes on parsons.”
“And quite gone on you—eh?” Clayton laughed.