Call Mr. Fortune · Case V (3/3)

“There is everything for her. Maids, clothes. Oh, he has thought of everything, my uncle. He calls it her trousseau. What a man!”

“Better mutiny. Seize the yacht. Can you navigate? I can’t. That was always the trouble in the pirate stories.”

“Mutiny? They would all die for him. Oh, you are laughing at me. Mon Dieu! my friend, this is very serious. I beg of you, confide in me. You must have some plan. I promise you, I desire nothing better than to restore mademoiselle to her mother. I⁠—”

“Spoleto!”

They turned. The Prince of Ragusa stood at the head of the companion. “My dear uncle⁠—”

“Spoleto! You are a traitor. You⁠—”

“That is not true!”

“You plot against me with this fellow. It is incredible. It is villainous. It is treachery.”

“Sir, I will take that from no man.”

“Yes, you will take it. You will⁠—” It seemed to Reggie that His Highness was about to box his nephew’s ears. Reggie let himself go as the yacht pitched. They all jostled together. His Highness vanished down the companion with a crash.

“Now you’ve done it,” said Reggie.

Spoleto exclaimed, peered at the body lying below, showed Reggie a white face, and hurried down. Reggie followed slowly.

His Highness was already surrounded by servants and his suite.

“When you have all finished, I’ll tell you where he’s hurt,” said Reggie incisively.

“Ah, yes, you are a surgeon,” Spoleto cried. “Stand aside, stand aside. The gentleman is a surgeon. Tell me, is he dead?” His Highness had begun to groan.

“Don’t be futile,” said Reggie, and knelt and began to straighten out the heap. The process caused His Highness anguish. “Yes. He can’t walk. We must get him to bed to examine him.”

It was an elaborate process and punctuated with lamentations⁠ ⁠… when at last His Highness lay stripped in bed and groaning faintly, “My aunt, what a patient!” Reggie grimaced to himself.

“I think I am everywhere a bruise, Mr. Fortune,” the Prince groaned. “That scoundrel Spoleto!”

“That won’t do, sir. I’m sure he meant nothing,” said Reggie, with admirable magnanimity. “The⁠—the yacht pitched. Now about the elbow.” He began handling it skilfully.

“Ah! Yes. Yes, it is certainly the elbow that is most painful. But my knee also gives me great pain. And my head aches violently.”

“The knee. Yes. The knee is badly bruised. There may be⁠—Ah, well, I can make you more comfortable for the time, sir. But it is my duty to tell you frankly I am anxious about the arm. I must have that elbow X-rayed at once. I am afraid there’s a fracture. A small operation may be necessary. Just a screw in, you know.”

“A screw in my elbow!” the Prince screamed.

“I suppose you don’t wish to lose your arm,” Reggie said sternly.

“Lose my right arm! Good God, Mr. Fortune! You don’t mean⁠—”

“I mean that I must have an X-ray of your elbow immediately and surgical resources at my disposal or I won’t answer for the consequences. The yacht must make for harbour at once.”

“Am I in danger, Mr. Fortune?”

“I hope to save your arm if you give me the chance.”

“I am in your hands, Mr. Fortune,” said the Prince feebly. “Oh! If you could do something to stop this neuralgic pain in my arm⁠—”

In fact, Reggie had a difficult time with him, which you may think was only fair. It was very late before His Highness (who took a morbid interest in his limbs) could be got to sleep; very late⁠—or early⁠—before Reggie went to bed, but all the while the Giulia was steaming back to Tormouth, and when Reggie came on deck again “pink and beautiful,” as he remarked to his mirror, thanks to a razor and linen of Spoleto’s, the brown Tormouth headlands loomed through the morning haze.

Already upon deck were Spoleto and Hilda, walking together, negotiating, as it appeared, a defensive alliance.

“This is very gratifyin’,” said Reggie.

“How is my uncle, Mr. Fortune?” said Spoleto.

“Still asleep, thank Heaven.”

“He is not in any danger?” said Hilda.

“Well, you know, he’s so anxious about himself.”

“I should never forgive myself if anything happened!” Spoleto cried.

“Oh, I should, you know, I should,” Reggie murmured thoughtfully. They did not attend to him.

“But you are not to blame.” Hilda was interested in Spoleto. “You are not to blame for anything.”

“You say that!” Spoleto cried. “Thank you, my cousin,” and he kissed her hand.

“Oh, but you are absurd,” said Hilda, and flushed faintly and turned away.

Spoleto made a gesture of despair. “Quite, quite,” Reggie said. “So we’d better have breakfast.” During that meal he might have heard, if he had listened, the full history of the emotions of the Comte de Spoleto. He escaped from them to visit his patient.

The Prince was much cheered by a night of sleep, still excessively interested in his injuries, but now hopeful about them. He gave great honour to Reggie’s treatment of the case. “My dear sir, I must consider it providential that you were on board. Oh, but certainly providential.”

“Well, sir, the affair might have taken a different turn without me,” Reggie admitted modestly.

“Indeed, yes,” said His Highness. “Good God, Mr. Fortune, and how I resented your appearance yesterday!” He became thoughtful. “I think what annoyed me most was that anyone should have discovered my plans.” He gazed at Reggie. “Are you free to tell me, Mr. Fortune? I am much interested to know what brought you here. Did Hilda say anything to her mother? Or is there a traitor in my camp? Spoleto⁠—that little actress?”

“Here’s the traitor, sir.” Reggie took out of his pocket the Hottentot Venus.

“Good heavens!” The Prince took her affectionately. “My new palaeolithic Venus.”

“You left her in the library at the Tormouth school. There are not many men in the world who have a Hottentot Venus to lose. So she suggested to me that the Prince of Ragusa was taking action with regard to Hilda Crowland.”

“You have a great deal of acumen, Mr. Fortune,” said the Prince, and the sound of the cable broke off the conversation.

There is a hospital at Tormouth. The Comte de Spoleto went on shore to bring off its X-ray man. Reggie stretched himself in a deck chair to wait events.

They were not long in arriving. A shore boat brought off the Hon. Stanley Lomas, dapper as ever, and a woman whom Reggie identified by her hair and her magnificent figure as the mother of Hilda⁠—Mrs. Crowland⁠—the Princess of Ragusa. Reggie went down the gangway to meet them.

Lomas sprang out of the boat. The Princess was handed out and went up the gangway. “Good God, Fortune!” Lomas shook hands. “You’re a wonder! How did you bring them back?”

“Genius⁠—just genius.”

The Princess had met her daughter who was not abashed. “Hilda! Why do you do this extraordinary thing?”

And Hilda said quietly, “I wanted to know my father.”

“You make us all ridiculous,” the Princess cried.

“I don’t feel that.” Hilda put up her chin.

“May I present Mr. Fortune, ma’am?” Lomas put in.

Reggie bowed. “I am sorry to tell you, madame, that the Prince has had an accident. A fall down the companion. He is in bed. I am waiting for an X-ray to be taken of his arm. But I assure you there is no cause for alarm.”

“I am not alarmed,” said the Princess. “I wish to see him.”

“Certainly. You will not forget that I have told him I represent you.”

“It was an impertinence, Mr. Fortune,” said the Princess, and swept to the companion. The door of the Prince’s cabin was shut on her.

“Jam for the Prince.” Reggie made a grimace at Lomas.

“Strictly speaking, what’s my locus standi?” said the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department.

“Don’t funk, Lomas. I dare say she’ll murder him. That’s where you come in.”

So they were depressed till the return of the anxious Spoleto with his X-ray man. Reggie descended upon the Prince and Princess. She was sitting upon his bed. She was smiling. She kissed her hand to His Highness as she went out.

All which Reggie observed with a face of stone.

“I am infinitely your debtor, Mr. Fortune,” His Highness beamed. “You are not married, no?”

“It becomes every day less probable,” said Reggie grimly.

“One never knows the beauty of a woman’s nature till one is suffering,” said His Highness.

The X-rays were put to work on the arm, and the operator and Reggie went off to the yacht’s dark room. As the plate came out, “I see no injury, Mr. Fortune,” the operator complained.

“Fancy that,” said Reggie.

Outside the dark room the Princess was impatiently waiting. “Well, Mr. Fortune?”

“Well, madame, there will be no need of an operation.”

The Princess frowned at him. “I suppose I am much obliged to you, Mr. Fortune. I wish to hear more of your part in the affair.”

Reggie, he has confessed, trembled. The Princess swept on. She opened the door of the music-room. She revealed Hilda and Spoleto. Hilda was being vehemently kissed.

Reggie fled. Professional instinct, he explains, took him back to his patient. “I am very pleased to tell you, sir, that there is no serious injury to the arm. Rest and good nursing are all that is now needed.”

His Highness laughed like a boy and began to chatter⁠—all about himself.

Reggie broke in at the first chance. “It is a satisfaction to me that I leave you in such good spirits, sir.”

His Highness overflowed with gratitude. He did not know how to thank Mr. Fortune⁠—what to offer him.

“If I might have this little lady, sir.” Reggie took up the Hottentot Venus. “It would be a pleasant memento of an interesting adventure.” And so he went off with the Hottentot Venus in his pocket. He hurried on deck to the uneasy Lomas. “You were right, Lomas. You are always right. We have no locus standi. And where’s that shore boat?” They embarked hurriedly and rowed away from the royal house of Ragusa. “In heaven,” said Reggie, “there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage. That’s why I’m going there. Look at her”⁠—he produced the Hottentot Venus⁠—“she’s the only sensible woman I ever knew. Lomas, my dear old man, do you know you will have to explain all this to your sister?”

The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department groaned aloud.