“It’s all up! We must get away on the car as soon as possible. Every moment’s delay means increased peril. How have you got on with Elfrida?”
The chauffeur stared at him without uttering a word.
“Elfrida!” he echoed at last. “Well, she’s told me a most remarkable story, and made me her confidante.” Then, as briefly as possible, he told him everything. How her husband was staying in Glenblair village as Mr James; and how he had promised to convey the little packet to him.
When he had finished the Prince fell back in his chair utterly dumbfounded. Then, taking the little packet, he turned it over in his hand.
“Great Heavens!” he cried. “You don’t know what you’ve done, Garrett. There’s something very funny about all this!” he added quickly. “Wait here, and I’ll run along to Clayton,” and he left the young man instantly, carrying the packet in his hand.
An hour later Garrett was driving the Prince and the Rev. Thomas Clayton in the car due south, and they were travelling for all they were worth over the hard frozen snow. Of the reason of that sudden flight, Garrett was in complete ignorance. All he knew was that he had orders to creep out to the garage, get the car, and await his companions who, in a few moments, came up out of the shadows. Their big overcoats were in the car, therefore their evening clothes did not trouble them. Then, with as little noise as possible, they ran down a back drive which his Highness, having reconnoitred, knew joined the main Perth road. An idling constable saw them, and wished them good evening. They were guests from the Castle, therefore he allowed them to pass unmolested.
The constable would scarcely have done this, however, had he known what they were carrying away with them.
They took the road by Dunblane and Stirling, and then straight south into Glasgow, where at two o’clock in the morning, Garrett’s two companions alighted in a deserted snow-covered street in the suburbs of the city, and bidding him farewell, gave him orders to get back to London with all haste.
The run was a most dismal one. All through the snowstorm next day he kept on, making but poor progress.