The Dark Star
Page 180Marotte, the butler, in dry clothes, had served luncheon--a silent,
respectable, self-respecting man, calm in his fury at the incredible
outrage perpetrated upon his person.
And now luncheon was over; the Princess at the telephone in her
boudoir; Rue in the music-room with Neeland, still excited, anxious,
confused.
Astonishment, mortification, anger, had left Neeland silent; and the
convention known as luncheon had not appealed to him.
But very little was said during that formality; and in the silence the
serious nature of the episode which so suddenly had deprived the
Princess of the olive-wood box and the papers it contained impressed
Neeland more and more deeply.
The utter unexpectedness of the outrage--the helpless figure he had
he realised that all he had gone through meant nothing now--that every
effort had been sterile, every hour wasted, every step he had taken
from Brookhollow to Paris--to the very doorstep where his duty
ended--had been taken in vain.
It seemed to him in his anger and humiliation that never had any man
been so derided, so heartlessly mocked by the gods.
And now, as he sat there behind lowered blinds in the cool half-light
of the music-room, he could feel the hot blood of resentment and
chagrin in his cheeks.
"Nobody could have foreseen it," repeated Rue Carew in a pretty,
bewildered voice. "And if the Princess Naïa had no suspicions, how
could I harbour any--or how could you?"
guard. But it seems not. I ought never to have been caught in such a
disgusting trap--such a simple, silly, idiotic cage! But--good Lord!
How on earth was a man to suspect anything so--so naturally planned
and executed--so simply done. It was an infernal masterpiece, Rue.
But--that is no consolation to a man who has been made to appear like
a monkey!"
The Princess, entering, overheard; and she seated herself and looked
tranquilly at Neeland as he resumed his place on the sofa.
"You were not to blame, Jim," she said. "It was my fault. I had
warning enough at the railroad terminal when an accident to my car was
reported to me by the control through you." She added, calmly: "There
was no accident."
"None at all. My new footman, who followed us to the waiting salon for
incoming trains, returned to my chauffeur, Caron, saying that he was
to go back to the garage and await orders. I have just called the
garage and I had Caron on the wire. There was no accident; he has not
been injured; and--the new footman has disappeared!"
"It was a clear case of treachery?" exclaimed Neeland.
"Absolutely a plot. The pretended official at the terminal control
was an accomplice of my footman, of the taxicab driver, of the
pretended street-cleaners--and of whom else I can, perhaps, imagine."