she never even attempted to make eyes at you!”
The Major made his appearance. Charles went forward to meet him.
“Major,” he said, “I hope you’re not in a hurry. You’ll stay and have lunch with us?”
“That’s very kind of you. Are you sure it won’t be inconvenient?”
“Not in the least,” Charles assured him. “This prize criminal you’ve laid by the heels seems to have kept most of my staff. My housekeeper tells me that luncheon for as many people as we like will be ready in three-quarters of an hour. That should give us almost time enough to drink as many cocktails as the occasion demands.”
The Major smiled.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “that delightful American and English custom! The cocktails—yes. Delightful.”
Needham and the chauffeur appeared with a tray and the cellar boy with the bottles. One of the maids brought glasses and the ice.
“I’ll make the cocktails,” Patricia decided, jumping down. “Forgive my skirt—I’ll mend it afterwards.”
“One moment,” Charles said. “Major, I must present you to my fiancee—Mademoiselle Grey. If you were an Englishman and played cricket you would know what I mean when I say that she has just made the most wonderful throw-in I ever saw.”
“You were pretty nippy with the catch,” Blute observed.
“We were in a hole here,” Charles admitted. “We walked in expecting nothing of this sort and I suppose we were a little foolish, but anyhow the Count got our revolvers. He brought us over to the window to see a massacre. He was holding his weapon all the time and I think he’d made up his mind to shoot me. He saw the lorry full of soldiers turning in at the gate and for a moment he relaxed. Miss Grey gave one jump, snatched his revolver from his fingers while he was staring out of the window and threw it over to me. We haven’t had time to say a word about it yet and however long we live I don’t suppose we shall ever forget it. I’ve been in a few tight corners in my time but I shall never forget this one.”
“If you are Major Mildenhall of the British Intelligence, sir,” the Major declared, “you certainly have. We knew all about your having this chateau unofficially, but of course we couldn’t approach you in any way.”
“Yes, I’m Mildenhall, but I should have been a dead Mildenhall instead of a live one if it hadn’t been for this girl,” Charles confided as he escorted her to the table. “I’ll hand you the bottles, Patricia, and you do the mixing. Heavens, what a gorgeous shaker! I don’t think that belongs to the house.”
These Three G’s men understood the niceties of life, anyhow.”
“What marvellous lemons!” Patricia exclaimed. “Charles, I think it will have to be White Ladies, the lemons look so good.”
It was a very cheerful little cocktail party. Afterwards the Major drew Charles on one side.
“I know so little of what has occurred yet,” he confessed, “that you must forgive me if I make a faux pas, but I speak for a moment, with your permission, of the Baroness von Balhnstrode, that poor woman who was deceived into marrying Paul Schrafft—”
“I was on my way out to talk to her when you entered,” Charles interrupted, feeling a sudden qualm. “I feel rather ashamed that she would have left without a single word.”
“My dear fellow,” the Major said earnestly, “she wished it. She was perfectly honest but her one idea was to get away. She was in a highly emotional state, she had braced herself for a great effort. I thought she played her part magnificently. She wishes to drop right out of everything. I have given her a card to the Chef de la Gare at Zürich and also a note on the back of one of my cards to the passport authorities. She will be perfectly all right now. There was not a thing she wanted but to get away. She had everything necessary for the voyage, plenty of money, Letter of Credit, everything. She will probably catch the last train that runs into Monte Carlo and there she assures me that she will find one of her oldest friends. If I say one thing you will not think it an impertinence?”
“How could I?” Charles protested.
“She did not want to see you again. There, I do not mind telling you that. Major Mildenhall, because you know which way to take it. I felt a lump in my throat when she found the words to tell me not to let you come out. You see, I am a man of sentiment. I understood.”
He held out his hand. Mildenhall gripped it warmly. They all clamoured for another cocktail. The Major raised his glass.
“To a brave woman!” he said softly.
They drank the toast in rapt silence. They put down their glasses empty. The door was opened. They seemed suddenly transported into another country. Needham, the typical grey-haired English butler, stood upon the threshold.
“Luncheon is served, sir,” he announced.
Charles put his arm round Patricia’s waist and led her towards the dining-room.
“Had a pretty rough time, I’m afraid, Needham,” he remarked, pausing for a moment to shake hands with his servant.
“An exceedingly uncomfortable period of great anxiety, sir,” the man admitted. “Will you drink white wine or red, sir, with your luncheon?”
“The white wine to start with and then champagne.”
“It is indeed a festival day,” the Major, who loved champagne, declared as he unfolded his napkin.
Fortunately for the plans of the host the Major was obliged to be back in barracks at three o’clock. Immediately after his departure Blute drew his two young companions back into the reception room.
“My young friends,” he said, “I have a proposition to make to you. Thanks to our host’s marvellous telephone service I have already received the best of news. Mr. Benjamin is at Meurice’s hotel in Paris. He is in the best of health, his wife is with him and also one daughter. I shall never forget his amazement at hearing my voice. The situation is exactly as I feared with regard to our correspondence. Not one line has he received from me. One hundred communications of various sorts has his secretary addressed to me. The main line is still open to Paris. I with my guards and baggage propose to leave at five o’clock. With regard to Miss Grey, Mr. Benjamin desired me to say that no one in the world would be more welcome if she chose to accompany me. He wished me to add that her post awaits her and that her salary has accumulated. I told him that I believed she had found a more suitable engagement.”
“Excellent!” Charles declared. “There really is nothing more that either I or Miss Grey could do for you?”
“Not a thing,” Blute assured them. “I have a message from Mr. Benjamin for you, Mr. Mildenhall, and also for you. Miss Grey. It is a message, he says, too precious to be sent over the telephone. War or no war he demands that with the utmost expedition possible you spend the last few days of your honeymoon with him at Meurice’s.”
“Nothing would suit us better,” Charles acquiesced. “Your plan is admirable, Blute. What I want to do, and I hope Patricia will agree, is to fly to England to-day.”
“To England to-day?” she gasped.
He nodded.
“You only want your dressing-bag. I have loads of sisters and cousins who will cart you round to do trousseau-buying but I warn you, you won’t have much time for that sort of thing. It’s a special licence for us to-morrow. A week in England—half of it at the Foreign Office, I’m afraid—and all being well, Mr. Blute, you can tell Mr. Benjamin that we’ll be at Meurice’s in ten days. Then we shall have a week’s more honeymoon and I must settle down into whatever war job they give me. Is that all right, Patricia?”
She clung to his arm.
“It sounds like heaven, dear. But there’s just one thing—shall I have time to mend my frock