“Enough! I understand,” he said quietly. “Get me to my rooms and send at once for the Prince of Wales. Beauclerc, may I trouble you to call on Cumberland and get from him an order to bring young Montagu to my place from the prison? And will you send my man Watkins for a lawyer? Oh, and one more commission—a messenger to beg of Miss Macleod her attendance. In case she demurs, make it plain to her that I am a dying man. Faith, Topham, you’ll be glad I do not die often. I fear I am an unconscionable nuisance at it.”
Topham Beauclerc drove straight to the residence of the Duke of Cumberland. He found the Duke at home, explained the situation in a few words, and presently the pair of them called on the Duke of Newcastle and secured his counter-signature for taking me temporarily from the New Prison. Dusk was falling when Beauclerc and the prison guards led me to Volney’s bedroom. At the first glance I saw plainly that he was not long for this world. He lay propped on an attendant’s arm, the beautiful eyes serene, an inscrutable smile on the colourless lips. Beside him sat Aileen, her hand in his, and on the other side of the bed the Duke of Cumberland and Malcolm. When he saw me his eyes brightened.
“On time, Kenneth. Thanks for coming.”
Beauclerc had told me the story, and I went forward with misty eyes. He looked at me smiling.
“On my soul I believe you are sorry, Montagu. Yes, I have my quietus. The fellow struck foul. My own fault! I always knew him for a scoundrel. I had him beaten; but ’tis better so perhaps. After all I shall cross the river before you, Kenneth.” Then abruptly to an attendant who entered the room, “Has the Prince come yet?”
“But this moment, sir.”
The Prince of Wales entered the room, and Volney gave him his old winsome smile.
“Hard hit, your Highness!”
“I trust it is not so bad as they say, Robert.”
“Bad or good, as one looks at it, but this night I go wandering into the great unknown. Enough of this. I sent for you, Fritz, to ask my last favour.”