"I am alluding," said Sir Bartholomew, "to a report that has reached us of an escapade of Miss Donovan's. That young lady—very charming I'm sure—and her father's immensely rich, but—well, you know what young girls are."

"Got engaged to a Royal Duke?" said Gorman, "or run away with the chauffeur?"

"Oh no, nothing of that sort. Not at all. The statement with which I'm concerned is that her father has bought an island and some kind of title for her from that unfortunate young King of Megalia."

"So long as he paid for it," said Gorman, "I don't see that it's anybody else's business."

"You don't understand," said Sir Bartholomew. "I haven't made myself clear. The fact is——" He sank his voice to an awed whisper. "The young lady is understood to claim sovereign rights over the Island of Salissa. She calls herself—it's almost incredible, but she calls herself a queen."

"Well," said Gorman, "why shouldn't she?"

"But, my dear sir! To set up a new independent kingdom! In the existing state of Balkan affairs, when the Great Powers——But of course it can be nothing but a girlish joke, a piece of light-hearted playfulness. She can't mean——"

"Then why worry?" said Gorman. "Why should you and that attache of the Embassy of a Friendly Power, the fellow you've been talking about—why should you and he start fussing?"

"My dear sir! my dear sir! Nothing, I assure you, is further from our wishes than fuss of any kind. But unfortunately, the Emperor—the Emperor—I respect and admire him, of course. We all do. But if the Emperor has a fault it is that he's slightly deficient in humour. He does not easily see a joke. He's a little—well——"

"Elephantine?" said Gorman.

Sir Bartholomew looked round hurriedly. The Division bell had just rung. The smoking-room was almost empty. This was fortunate. It would have been very awkward for a man in Sir Bartholomew's position to be caught in the act of hearing an Emperor called elephantine.

"The Emperor," said Sir Bartholomew, "has approached the United States Ambassador on the subject, indirectly, I need scarcely say. He requests, indeed insists that Salissa shall at once be restored to the Crown of Megalia. Now our idea is—and I think I know the views of the Foreign Office on the subject—our idea is that this little matter ought to be settled unofficially. A word to Mr. Donovan from a friend. A hint about the present critical condition of European politics. He might——"

"I don't suppose," said Gorman, "that Donovan cares a damn about European politics."

Sir Bartholomew's eyebrows went up in shocked surprise.

"It is of the first importance," he said, "of absolutely vital importance that at the present moment, standing as we do, as all Europe stands to-day, on the verge of the smouldering crater of a volcano——"

"This is the House of Commons, of course," said Gorman, "so I suppose you can talk that kind of language if you like. But we don't usually do it in the smoking-room."

Sir Bartholomew had not attained to the eminent position he occupied without learning a few lessons in tact. He changed his tone at once.

"The fact is," he said, "that just at present we all want to avoid friction with the Emperor."

"Ah," said Gorman, "and your idea is——?"

"Mr. Donovan must be persuaded to give up that island. Pressure could be put on him, of course, by his own Government and by ours. His position is preposterous. He can't set his daughter up as a European sovereign simply by writing a cheque. But we don't want—nobody wants any publicity or scandal. If Mr. Donovan would agree, privately, to resign all claim on Salissa——"

"Why not ask him?"

Sir Bartholomew's manner became most ingratiating.

"We feel that the good offices of a mutual friend, some one who occupies no official position, some one unconnected with the Foreign Office——In short, Mr. Gorman, would you undertake this rather delicate mission?"

"Why the devil do you hit on me for the job?"

"Ah," said Sir Bartholomew, smiling, "you see we all know something about you, Mr. Gorman. Your business ability, your unfailing tact, your——"

"Taken as read," said Gorman.

Sir Bartholomew cannot possibly have liked Gorman's manner. No public men discuss serious and confidential matters with this kind of flippancy. But he had been obliged to meet even more disconcerting people in the Balkans. He prided himself on being able to negotiate with men of any manners or none.

"Knowing the work you have done for your party in America," he went on, "knowing your friendship with the Donovans and your acquaintance with the King of Megalia, it seemed to us—not to me, you know. I don't really matter. It seemed to us that you were the best possible person."

"I see. Well, supposing I undertake the job, what am I to say to Donovan? He's paid a big price for that island. Is he to get his money back?"

"Of course, of course. No one expects Mr. Donovan to make any financial sacrifice."

"Who's going to pay?"

"The King. King Konrad Karl."

"That King," said Gorman, "isn't very good at paying."

"In this case he will have no choice. The Emperor will insist on his paying."

"The Emperor is a powerful man," said Gorman, "but even he would hardly be able to make King Konrad Karl fork out what he hasn't got. You may safely bet your last shilling that most of what Donovan paid for that island is spent, chucked away, gone scat."

"The Emperor," said Sir Bartholomew, "will be responsible for the return in full of the purchase price."

"Very well," said Gorman, "and now suppose Donovan won't sell. Suppose he simply says 'No.'"

"There is an alternative policy," said Sir Bartholomew. "It has occurred to some of us who are interested in the matter—I am not now speaking with the authority of any ambassador, certainly not with the formal approval of our Foreign Office. It has occurred to me—I will put it that way. It has occurred to me that the matter might be settled quite satisfactorily to all parties, to the Emperor certainly if——The King of Megalia is, I think, unmarried."

"There's Madame Ypsilante," said Gorman, "a lady——"

"A lady! Pooh! In these cases there is always a lady. But the King is unmarried. Miss Donovan, so we understand, wishes to be a queen. You catch my meaning?"

"Perfectly. You want me to arrange a marriage between——"

"My dear Mr. Gorman! I want nothing of the sort. I do not ask you to arrange anything. I merely say that if such a marriage were to take place the Emperor would probably be satisfied. I am aware that the personal character of King Konrad Karl is not such——But he is a young man. There are possibilities of improvement."

"There's certainly room for it."

"Exactly. And the influence of a good woman is just what is needed. A young, sweet, innocent girl has a marvellous influence. She appeals to that best which is present even in the worst of us." Sir Bartholomew liked this phrase. He repeated it. "That best, that astonishing best, which is always present even in the worst of us. She might call it out. She might make a new man of King Konrad Karl."

Gorman looked at Sir Bartholomew with an expression of grave and interested inquiry.

"You think that if Miss Donovan married the King she would save him from the clutches of Madame Ypsilante."

"Not a doubt of it. And what a splendid thing that would be! It's just the sort of an idea which would make a strong appeal to a girl. Women like the idea of reforming their husbands. Besides, the prospect for her is in other respects most brilliant. She would be recognized by the Emperor. She would be received in the most exclusive Courts of Europe. But I need not expatiate. You understand the position."

"I don't remember any case of an American heiress marrying a king," said Gorman.

"Just so. This would be unique, splendid. And I need not say, Mr. Gorman, that if you see your way to oblige us in this matter your services will not go unrecognized. If there is any particular way in which you would like us to show our appreciation you have only to mention it. The next Honours List——"

"All right," said Gorman, "I'll go. Where is Salissa?"

"In the Cyrenian Sea. It's an island. Quite charming, I believe. I am sure you will enjoy the trip. Your best plan will be to see Steinwitz about the matter. Steinwitz is managing director——"

"Quite so. I know him. Cyrenian Sea Steam Navigation Company."

"His ships go there," said Sir Bartholomew. "I have no doubt that he will arrange for you to make the voyage comfortably. I may mention, between ourselves, that Steinwitz is interested in the success of the negotiations."

"Acting for the Emperor?"

"Well, yes. Unofficially. He is in a certain sense the agent of the Emperor."

"All right," said Gorman. "I'll see him. And if I pull the thing off I may count on——?"

"You may ask for what you like," said Sir Bartholomew. "You've only got to drop me a hint. Anything in reason. A knighthood? Or a baronetcy? I think we could manage a baronetcy. A post in the Government? A Civil List pension? Your services to literature fully entitle you——"

"On the whole," said Gorman, "I think I'll ask for Home Rule for Ireland."

"Ah," said Sir Bartholomew, "you Irish! Always witty! Always sparkling, paradoxical, brilliant! I shall tell the Prime Minister what you say. He'll enjoy it. What should we do without you Irish? Life would be dull indeed. What is it the poet says? Wordsworth, I think. 'Turning to mirth, All things of earth, As only boyhood can.' You are all boys. That is why we love you. Your freshness. Your delightful capacity for the absurd. I feel that in choosing you for this delicate mission we have chosen the right man. Only an Irishman could hope to succeed in an affair of this kind. Good-bye, Mr. Gorman, and be sure to let me know in good time what we are to do for you. I'll charge myself with seeing that your claim is not overlooked."



CHAPTER XIV

"I'm going, of course," said Gorman. "The whole thing is interesting, quite exciting."

He had just given me a detailed account of his interview with Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton, and a rather picturesque version of the way King Konrad Karl presented his case.

"Do you expect," I said, "to be able to persuade Donovan to sell?"

"Of course not," said Gorman. "I don't even mean to try."

"Gorman," I said, "I'm accustomed more or less to political morality, I mean the morality of politicians. I recognize—everybody must recognize—that you can't be expected to tie yourselves down to the ordinary standards. But——"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing much. Only you've accepted a Pink Vulture from Megalia and a baronetcy from England as a reward for services you don't mean to render. Now is that quite—quite——?"

Gorman looked at me for a minute without speaking. There was a peculiar twinkle in his eyes.

"If I were you," he said at last, "I'd go back to Ireland for a while. Try Dublin. You have been too long over here. You wouldn't say things like that if you weren't becoming English."

I accepted the rebuke. Gorman was perfectly right. In English public life it is necessary to profess a respect for decency, to make aprons of fig leaves. In Ireland we do without these coverings.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Gorman, "if I got some sort of decoration out of the Emperor too before I'm through with this business. Once these ribbons and stars begin to drop on a man, they come thick and fast, kind of attract each other, I suppose. I wonder," he added with sudden irrelevancy, "what the Emperor's game is. That's what I've been trying to make out all along. Why is he in it?"

"He wants the Island of Salissa restored to the Crown of Megalia," I said. "You've been told that often enough."

"Yes, but why? Why? The island isn't worth having. As well as I can make out it's simply a rock with a little clay sprinkled on top of it. What can it matter to the Emperor who owns the place? It isn't as if it were his originally or as if it would become his. It belongs to Megalia. With all the fuss that's being made you'd think there was a gold mine there."

The puzzle became more complicated and Gorman's curiosity was further whetted before he started for Salissa. After leaving my rooms he went to Cockspur Street and called at the office of the Cyrenian Sea Steam Navigation Company. Steinwitz was expecting him and received him in the most friendly manner.

"Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton," said Steinwitz, "rang me up this morning, and told me that you'd undertaken our little negotiation. I need scarcely say that we're quite satisfied. We feel——"

"By we," said Gorman, "you mean yourself and the Emperor, I suppose. Now what I want to know is this: Why is the Emperor so keen on——?"

Steinwitz waved that question away with a motion of his hand.

"I do not discuss the policy of the Emperor," he said.

"You must be the only man in Europe who doesn't," said Gorman. "However, I don't mind. I suppose the Emperor must have some pretty strong reasons for wanting to get Donovan out of Salissa, or he wouldn't offer to pay a fancy price—it was a fancy price, you know."

"King Konrad Karl will pay," said Steinwitz.

"No, he won't. He can't. He hasn't got it. There's a cool ten thousand gone on a pearl necklace, as well as——"

"Goldsturmer is prepared to buy back the necklace," said Steinwitz. "I have arranged that."

"Well," said Gorman, "it's your affair, of course. But I wouldn't be too sure. I don't think Madame Ypsilante will sell at any price."

"Madame Ypsilante will do what she must," said Steinwitz. "The Emperor——"

"I don't envy the Emperor the job of tackling her," said Gorman. "He won't find it a bit pleasant. I daresay he doesn't know Madame Ypsilante. He wouldn't be so cocksure of himself if he did. She's the kind of woman who throws things about if she's the least irritated. If the Emperor suggests her selling those jewels there'll be a riot. But it's no business of mine. If that Emperor of yours really enjoys a rag with a woman like Madame Ypsilante—I should have thought a man in his position wouldn't care to be mixed up in the sort of scene there will certainly be."

Steinwitz stiffened visibly. His hair always stands upright on his head. It actually bristled while Gorman was speaking.

"I do not," he said, "discuss the Emperor in that way. It is enough for you to know this. Madame Ypsilante will sell. Goldsturmer will buy. I myself will settle these matters."

Gorman was enjoying himself greatly. Nothing in the world gives him more pleasure than intercourse with a man who takes himself seriously. Steinwitz was a real delight. He was solemnly and ponderously serious about himself. He was pontifical about the Emperor.

"Goldsturmer," said Gorman, "is a Jew, and the Jews are a cautious race. However, if you go to him and say 'The Emperor' in an Open Sesame tone of voice he'll no doubt give in at once."

"Exactly," said Steinwitz gravely.

Gorman collapsed then. Steinwitz' portentous solemnity was too much for him. Sticking pins into a man or an ape is a pleasant sport. They have skins of reasonable density. It is dull work pricking a rhinoceros, even with a rapier.

"About going to Salissa," he said meekly. "Can you manage to send me there?"

"Certainly," said Steinwitz. "How soon can you start?"

"At once," said Gorman. "I'll buy a tooth-brush on my way to the steamer. I realize that I must waste no time when conducting business for the Emperor."

"That is so," said Steinwitz, "but you cannot start before to-morrow. To-morrow at 9 a.m. the Ida leaves Tilbury. She is the steamer which Mr. Donovan chartered from us. She returns to the island according to his orders. If you care to sail on her——"

Steinwitz took up the receiver of the telephone which stood on his desk.

"Is Captain Wilson in the office?" he called. "Captain Wilson of the Ida. Oh, he's not, but Mr. Phillips is. Very well. Ask Mr. Phillips to come up and speak to me here. Mr. Phillips," he explained to Gorman, "is first officer on the Ida. I shall give him orders to be ready for you to-morrow."

There was a brisk tap at the door. Phillips walked in.

"Mr. Phillips," said Steinwitz, "Mr. Gorman will sail with you to-morrow on the Ida. You will see that a cabin is prepared for him, and tell Captain Wilson, with my compliments, that Mr. Gorman is to be made as comfortable as possible. If there are any particular directions you'd like to give, Mr. Gorman——"

"I prefer Irish to Scotch," said Gorman, "but I don't insist on it."

"Irish? Scotch?" said Steinwitz. "Ah, yes, whisky, of course. Make a note of that, if you please, Mr. Phillips."

"And I detest tinned salmon," said Gorman.

"You need not be uneasy," said Steinwitz. "On our ships no passenger is ever asked to eat tinned salmon. As the guest of the company——"

"Of the Emperor," said Gorman.

He deliberately winked at Phillips when he mentioned the Emperor. Phillips has a nice, round, sun-burned face, clear eyes and curly hair. Gorman felt that it would be easy to make friends with him. Phillips laughed and then checked himself abruptly. He saw no joke in a reference to the Emperor, but Gorman's wink appealed to him strongly. Steinwitz frowned.

"That will do, Mr. Phillips," he said.

He turned to Gorman when the young man left the room.

"You will let me hear from you," he said. "I shall expect a letter. The Ida will, no doubt, return after she is unloaded. You can give your letters to Captain Wilson."

"I suppose there's no other way of sending letters?"

"A coasting steamer, perhaps," said Steinwitz, "or a fishing boat might put in at the island; but the Ida will be your best means of communicating with me."

"All right," said Gorman. "I'll let you know how things go on. But don't be too sanguine. Donovan may refuse to sell."

He rose to go as he spoke. Steinwitz made one more remark before the interview closed.

"One way or other," he said, "I hear very often from the island."

The words were spoken in a colourless tone; but Gorman felt vaguely that they were a kind of threat. Steinwitz said that he heard frequently from the island. Gorman thought the statement over. Evidently Steinwitz had a correspondent there, some one who made use of the Ida, of any coasting steamer which turned up, of the fishing boats which put in. Steinwitz would not be entirely dependent on Gorman's account of his mission. He would hear about it from some one else, would know whether the sale had been pressed on Donovan.

Gorman left the office a little puzzled. The threat suggested by Steinwitz' last words was veiled but hardly to be mistaken. It certainly seemed to Gorman that he was to be watched by some one on the island, his life spied on, his actions reported to this perfectly absurd German shipowner; by him, no doubt, again reported to the Emperor. The thing seemed almost too good to be true. Gorman, himself a clever man, found it difficult to believe that another clever man—Steinwitz certainly had brains of a sort—could possibly be such an idiot as to practise melodrama, spies, secret reports and all the rest of it, quite seriously.

Gorman found himself wondering what on earth Steinwitz expected to learn from his correspondent in Salissa and what use the information would be to him when he got it. Would Donovan be threatened with the implacable wrath of the Emperor? Would he himself, Michael Gorman, M.P. for Upper Offaly, incur some awful penalty if he did not persuade Donovan to sell, if he did his best—he certainly meant to do his best—to prevent a marriage between Miss Donovan and King Konrad Karl? He chuckled with delight at the prospect and was more than ever glad that he had promised to go to Salissa.

The voyage turned out to be a very agreeable one. Captain Wilson was not, indeed, a cheerful companion. He maintained the attitude of stiff disapproval with which he had all along regarded Salissa and everything connected with that island. He gave Gorman to understand that he meant to do his duty to his employers, to obey orders faithfully, to carry ridiculous things and foolish people to and fro between Salissa and England; but that he in no way approved of the waste of a good ship, quantities of coal and the energies of officers like himself over the silly fad of a wealthy young woman.

Phillips, on the other hand, was friendly from the start. He and Gorman spent many hours together on the bridge or in the cabin. The weather was fine and warm. The Ida slipped quietly across the Bay, found calm days and velvety nights off the coast of Portugal, carried her good luck with her through the Straits of Gibraltar.

A much duller man than Gorman would not have failed to discover that Phillips was deeply in love with the young Queen of Salissa. All talk worked back to her sooner or later. And Phillips became eloquent about her. With naive enthusiasm he praised her beauty. He raved about the sweetness of her disposition. He struggled hard for words which would describe her incomparable charm.

Gorman says he liked listening to the boy. He himself has never married, so far as I know has never been in love. I suppose there was a certain freshness about Phillips' raptures. He must have been an attentive listener and he must have shown some sort of sympathy, for in the end Phillips became very confidential. I daresay, too, that Gorman found the whole thing highly amusing when he recollected the Emperor's plan of marrying Miss Donovan to King Konrad Karl. Phillips was just the sort of obstacle which would wreck the plan, and the Emperor would never condescend to consider that a subordinate officer in the British Merchant Service could be of any importance. There was a flavour about the situation which delighted Gorman.

"When do you mean to marry her?" he asked, one evening.

"Marry her!" said Phillips. "I never thought—I mean I never dared to hope——It would be such beastly cheek, wouldn't it? to expect——"

He looked at Gorman, pathetically anxious for some crumb of encouragement.

"She's a queen, you know," said Phillips, "and an heiress, and all that. I'm only——I haven't a penny in the world except what I earn."

The boy sighed.

"I don't see why that should stop you," said Gorman.

"Do you really think—I mean wouldn't it be frightful cheek? It's not only her being a queen and all that; but other things. She's far too good for me in every way. I'm not clever or anything of that kind. And then there's her father."

"I shouldn't worry about him, if I were you," said Gorman. "What you've got to consider is not the father but the girl. If she's as much in love with you as you are with her——"

"She couldn't possibly be," said Phillips.

"I don't suppose she could," said Gorman. "Let's say half. If she's half as much in love as you are she'll manage the old man."

"I think——" said Phillips, "I really think she does like me a little."

Then he told Gorman something, not very much, about the scene in the cave. He spoke in broken sentences. He never quite completed any confidence, but Gorman got at something like the facts.

"If you've gone as far as that," he said. "If, as I understand, you've kissed her, then——I don't profess to give an expert opinion in matters of this kind, but I think you ought to ask her to marry you. In fact, it will be rather insulting if you don't."

"And you really think I have a chance? But you don't know. She might marry any one in the world. She's the most beautiful girl that any one has ever seen. Her eyes——"

Gorman knew that Miss Daisy Donovan was a nice, fresh-looking, plump young woman with no particular claim to be called beautiful. He stopped listening. His mind had suddenly fixed on a curious point in Phillips' story of the scene in the cave. He waited until the boy, like Rosalind's "very good lover," was "gravelled for lack of matter." Then he said:

"Where did you say that you were when that happened—the kissing, I mean?"

"In a cave," said Phillips. "In a huge cave. I had helped her to climb up on to the cisterns, and——"

"Cisterns!" said Gorman. "What the devil did you put cisterns into a cave for?"

"We didn't put them. They were there. Galvanized iron cisterns. Huge things. Oh, I promised I wouldn't tell any one about those cisterns. They're part of the secret of the island. The Queen made me promise. I wish I hadn't told you."

"You've broken your promise now," said Gorman. "You may just as well go on."

It took some time to persuade Phillips to go on; and all Gorman's sophistries would not induce the boy to say another word about the cisterns in the cave. They were the Queen's part of the mystery of the island and he would not speak of them. But he did at last confide in Gorman to some extent.

"I think," he said, "I may tell you about this. I found this out myself."

He took a letter-case from his pocket and produced from it a corner torn off an envelope.

"Look at that," he said. "Look at it carefully."

Gorman stared at the scrap of paper.

"Bit of an envelope," he said. "Penny stamp, London postmark."

"Now look at this," said Phillips.

He handed Gorman part of another envelope, torn in exactly the same way. Gorman looked at it.

"Same sort of envelope," he said. "Same postmark, different dates."

"That last one," said Phillips, "is a corner of an envelope which I got through the post ten days ago. It came from the office, Mr. Steinwitz' office. The first one I found in the hall of the Queen's palace the day we landed on Salissa."

"Well," said Gorman, "that's not much to go on. Lots of firms use envelopes like that, and I suppose there are thousands of letters every day with that postmark. Still it's possible that Steinwitz wrote a letter to some one who was on the island last September. Were there any other bits of paper on that floor?"

"There were," said Phillips, "but I didn't pick them up. I intended to next day. But they were gone. The floor had been swept."

"Oh! Who swept the floor?"

"Smith. I saw him doing it."

"Now who," said Gorman, "is Smith?"

"Smith! He was steward on the Ida. Mr. Steinwitz sent him on board just before we sailed. He stayed on the island as servant to the Donovans. Oh, by the way, talking of Smith, perhaps I ought to tell you——"

He told Gorman the story of Smith's early morning visit to the cave in company with Stephanos the Elder.

"Does Smith ever write letters?" asked Gorman.

"I don't know. Oh, yes. I remember. The day we docked at Tilbury, after our return voyage, Captain Wilson sent me up to the office with some letters of Mr. Donovan's. Just as I was starting he called me back and said I might as well take Smith's letters too. There were three of them, all addressed to Mr. Steinwitz."

"I think," said Gorman, "that when I get to the island I'll have a look at those cisterns of yours."

"I'll ask the Queen if I may take you," said Phillips.

"You and the Queen," said Gorman, "seem to have formed yourselves into a kind of detective brotherhood for the discovery of the mystery of the island."

"We thought it would be rather fun."

"You don't appear to have found out very much. Suppose you take me into partnership. We could all three work together, except when it is necessary to climb cisterns. Then I'd stay round the nearest corner. What do you think?"

"I'd like to; but I must ask the Queen first."

"I might be some help."

"You would," said Phillips. "I'm not clever, you know. I wish I was. And, of course, the Queen is very young."

"I'm quite old," said Gorman, "and amazingly clever."

"I can see that. I saw it directly I met you."

"Then you'd better let me help. We'll see if we can't catch Smith at some little game."



CHAPTER XV

There is no doubt that the Donovans owed their comfort on Salissa very largely to Smith, the ship's steward, who had entered their service at the last moment, and, as it seemed, accidentally.

Donovan would never have achieved the rest and quiet he desired without Smith. Advocates of the simple life may say what they like; but a man like Donovan would have lived in a condition of perpetual worry and annoyance if he had been obliged to go foraging for such things as milk and eggs; if it had been his business to chop up wood and light the kitchen fire. He would not have liked cleaning his own boots or sweeping up the cigar ends and tobacco ash with which he strewed the floors of the palace. He would not have slept well at night in a bed that he made himself. He would have gone without shaving most days—thereby becoming uncomfortable and most unsightly—if he had been dependent on his own exertions for a supply of hot water and a properly stropped razor.

His daughter would have made a poor queen if it had fallen to her lot to cook meals for herself and her father, if she had spent a morning every week at a wash-tub and another morning with an iron in her hand. There were no labour-saving devices in the palace. King Otto had a remarkable taste for fantastic architecture; but it had not occurred to him to run hot and cold water through his house or to have a lift between the kitchen and the upper storeys. There was not even in the whole palace a single sink in which a plate could conveniently be washed. It is impossible to be a queen in any real and proper sense if you have to spend hours every day doing the work of a kitchen-maid. Queens, and indeed all members of aristocracies, ought to be occupied with thoughts of great and splendid things, wide schemes of philanthropy, sage counsels for the elevating of the masses. But the human mind will not work at social and political philosophy if it is continually worried with problems of scouring pans and emptying slops. That is why there must be a class of menials, perhaps slaves, in society, if any advance is to be made towards the finer civilization.

It was Smith who saved the Queen from becoming a drudge and Donovan from unfamiliar kinds of toil which would probably have still further injured his heart, would certainly have broken his temper.

Salissa was not by any means a desert island. It was inhabited by intelligent, kindly people, who kept milk-giving cows and hens which laid eggs. It was well cultivated. Grapes and wheat grew there. There were fish in the surrounding sea, and the islanders possessed boats and nets. Nor were the Donovans castaways of the ordinary kind. They had a large house, luxuriously furnished. They had ample stores of every kind. Nevertheless they could scarcely have lived on Salissa—they would certainly not have tried to live there long—if they had not had Smith with them. Picnicking is delightful for a short time. A picnic unduly prolonged degenerates rapidly through all the stages of discomfort, and ends in actual hardship.

Smith organized the life of the palace. Every morning an island boat crossed the harbour bringing eggs, milk and fish. Every evening just at sunset it came again with more milk and if necessary more eggs. Four island girls were brought from the village by Stephanos the Elder, and—this was the impression left on the Queen's mind—solemnly dedicated to domestic service. Smith taught them the elements of housework. Two boys were taken from the fields and handed over to Smith. He taught them to polish boots, clean knives, and make all kinds of metal—silver, brass and copper—shine splendidly. Smith's work was made easier for him by Stephanos the Elder. That old man spent two hours every day in the palace. He did not bring osier rods with him, but the girls knew, and the boys knew still better, that his arm was strong and that pliant rods hurt horribly. There were no corners left unswept in the rooms of the palace, no plates unwashed, no failure in the supply of cans of hot water for Donovan's bedroom or the Queen's. At first Smith did all the cooking himself. Later, when one of the girls showed some intelligence, he attended only to the more difficult and complex dishes. He never allowed any one else to wait on Donovan. The organization was not accomplished at once. For a few days life in the palace was exciting, full of surprises and occasions for laughter. For a few days more it was a very well-arranged picnic, rather less exciting than it had been, with meals which could be confidently reckoned on and many minor comforts. At the end of a fortnight it had settled down into something like the smooth routine of a well-managed English country house.

But the Queen, even when things in the palace were well ordered, did not find the island dull. She explored it all. With Kalliope as guide she climbed rocks, descended into lonely coves, walked through fields and vineyards, wandered over the pasture land of the upper plateau. She rowed, taking turns at the oars with Kalliope, into many caves and found fascinating landing-places among the rocks. One fine day she sailed all round her kingdom in the largest of the island boats, manned and steered by Kalliope's lover.

She did not forget that she was a queen. She learnt the names of all her subjects. She made plans for many improvements. Roads should be built, houses rebuilt, water should run about in pipes and women turn taps instead of carrying great pitchers on their heads. Motor tractors, instead of small bullocks, should drag the island ploughs. Motor engines should drive the fishing boats. Every evening, Kalliope sitting by her, the Queen drew maps, designed cottages, and made long lists of things which the Ida should, in due time, fetch from England.

She started a school in the great hall of the palace. Smith explained to Stephanos the Elder what was wanted and he undertook the duties of attendance officer. The Queen's idea was to encourage the children with gifts of chocolates. Stephanos, who must have had the mind of a Progressive, established a system of compulsory education. The Queen spoke very few words of the children's language, and Kalliope, who acted as assistant mistress, did not know much English. But the laws of arithmetic, so the Queen felt, must be of universal application, two and two making four, by whatever names you called them. And the Alphabet must be a useful thing to learn whatever words you spell with it afterwards. So the Queen drew Arabic numerals on large sheets of paper and tried to impress on a giggling group of children that the figures corresponded in some way to little piles of pebbles which she arranged on the floor. She succeeded in teaching them that K, written very large, and held up for inspection, was in some way connected with Kalliope. She failed to persuade them that S could have anything to do with Stephanos the Elder. S, perhaps because it is so curly, always made the children laugh uproariously. The mention of the name of Stephanos made them suddenly grave again. He was no subject for merriment, and it seemed impossible that a sign so plainly comic as S could possibly be associated with him.

The mystery of the island was the Queen's only disappointment. It remained obstinately undeveloped. No more suspicious scraps of paper were to be found anywhere. Smith hardly ever stirred outside the palace. The cisterns were, indeed, still in the cavern, but no change took place in them. They stood there, great, foolish, empty tanks of galvanized iron, entirely meaningless things. The Queen came to regard them without wonder. They were just there, that was all. Little by little the mystery ceased to interest her, ceased even to be a disappointment.

Then one day, just as she was beginning to forget it, the mystery suddenly became exciting again.

It was still Kalliope's habit to sleep, wrapped in a rug, on the floor at the foot of the Queen's bed. Smith commanded and the Queen entreated, but the girl refused to occupy a room of her own or to sleep on a bed. Every morning about seven she woke, unrolled herself from her rug, tiptoed across the room and pulled back the curtains. The flood of sunlight wakened the Queen and the two girls went together to bathe from the steps below the Queen's balcony.

One morning Kalliope gave a sudden shout of excitement when she pulled back the curtains.

"Mucky ship!" she cried.

She ran from the window. The Queen, blinking and no more than half awake, was seized by the arms and pulled out of bed. Kalliope was the least conventional of lady's-maids. She loved, even worshipped and adored, her mistress, but she had no idea whatever of propriety of behaviour. Bedclothes were scattered on the floor. The Queen, staggering to her feet, was dragged across the room to the window. Kalliope pointed to the harbour with a finger which trembled with excitement.

"Mucky ship," she said.

Kalliope's English was improving in quality. The Queen had forbidden her to say "damn" or "bloody" but about "mucky" she had received no instructions. It still seemed to her a proper epithet for any ship. In this case it was unsuitable. The ship, a small steamer, which lay at anchor in the harbour, looked more like a yacht than a cargo boat. Her paint was fresh. Her hull had fine lines. Her two masts and high yellow funnel raked sharply aft. The brasswork on her bridge glittered in the sunlight. But Kalliope stuck to her epithet.

"Mucky ship," she said, "once more."

"Once more" was a recent addition to her English. She had picked the phrase up in the Queen's school, where indeed it was in constant use. She knew what it meant; but it was not clear why she used it about the steamer.

The Queen was excited, almost as much excited as Kalliope. Even to dwellers in seaport towns there must, I think, always come a certain thrill when a ship arrives from the sea. In Salissa, where ships rarely come, where no steamer had been seen since the Ida sailed, the sudden coming of a strange craft was a moving event. And the manner of her coming stirred the imagination. A ship which sails in by day is sighted far off. Her shape is seen, her flag is read, perhaps, long before she reaches the harbour. Half the interest of her coming disappears as she slips slowly in, gazed at by all eyes, speculated on, discussed by every tongue. But a ship which arrives by night is full of wonder. At sunset she is not there. In the darkness she steals in. No one sees her approach. She is there, rich in possibilities of romance, to greet eyes opening on a new day.

The Queen and Kalliope had no morning swim that day. They were eager to dress, to go out, to row across to the strange ship. They had no time to waste in bathing. As they dressed they ran to and fro about the room, never willing to take their eyes off the steamer for very long. It was interesting to watch her. Men were busy about her decks and a tall officer could be seen on her bridge. A boat was swung out and lowered from the davits. She was manned by four rowers. The anchor cable of the steamer was hove short. A warp was passed down to the boat and made fast in her stern. Then the anchor was weighed and hung dripping just clear of the water. The rowers pulled at their oars. The boat shot ahead of the steamer. The warp was paid out for awhile and then made fast on board the steamer. The work of towing began. The boat, moving slowly in short jerks, headed for the shore. The officer on the steamer's bridge directed the rowers, shouting. They made for the entrance of the great cave. Close under the cliffs the steamer's anchor was dropped again. Another anchor was run out by the attendant boat, then another, and a fourth. At last the steamer lay, moored bow and stern, broadside on to the cliff, a few yards from the mouth of the cave.

The Queen, fully dressed at last, ran to her father's room. Kalliope was at her heels. Donovan was in bed and still asleep. At that hour Smith had not even brought him his cup of coffee or his shaving water. The Queen was less ruthless than Kalliope had been. She did not pull her father out of bed; but she wakened him without pity.

"Father," she said, "a steamer has arrived. She came during the night. She looks like a yacht. Do you think she can be a yacht? I wonder who's on board of her."

Donovan sat up and yawned.

"Is she going off again right now?" he asked.

"Oh no," said the Queen, "she has gone in quite close to the shore. She has put out four anchors. She looks as if she meant to stay for weeks."

"Then there's no darned hurry," said Donovan, "and no need for me to strain my heart by getting out of bed at this hour. Just you run away, Daisy, and take that girl of yours with you."

"But, father, don't you want to see the yacht? Don't you want to know who's in her?"

"We'll send Smith after breakfast," said Donovan, "and ask the proprietor to dine."

Mr. Donovan lay down again and put his head on the pillow.

"But I can't possibly wait till dinner-time," said the Queen.

"Well, luncheon," said Donovan.

His voice was a little muffled. After lying down he had taken a pull at the bedclothes and had arranged the corner of the sheet over his mouth and ear.

The Queen gave him up; but she was not willing to wait even till luncheon-time or to trust Smith to deliver the invitation. Kalliope shared her impatience.

"Go row," she said, "quick—quick—slick."

"Slick" was a word which she had recently learned from Smith. He often used it in urging on his staff of housemaids. He was forced to use an English word now and then when he could not express his meaning in the Megalian language. There is no equivalent to "slick" in Megalian.

What the Queen wanted most at the moment was to be quick and slick in getting off. She and Kalliope ran down to the steps where their boat lay moored. Smith was there, looking at the strange steamer.

"Oh, Smith," said the Queen, "is it a yacht?"

"Don't know, your Majesty," said Smith. "Never saw her before. She looks to me like a foreigner, your Majesty, not an English boat."

"Well, I'll soon find out," said the Queen. "We're going off to her."

Kalliope had already cast off the boat's mooring rope and sat ready at the oars.

"Beg pardon, your Majesty," said Smith, "but it might be as well for me to go off first. Foreign sailors are not always as polite as they might be. Not knowing that your Majesty is Queen of the island they might say things which were disrespectful."

The Queen would not listen to this suggestion.

"Come along with us if you like," she said, "but I'm not going to wait till you come back."

Smith stepped into the boat and took his seat in the bow. Kalliope had the oars. The Queen sat in the stern.

The men on the deck of the steamer were very busy. They were overhauling and coiling down what looked like a long rubber hose. An officer, a young man in a smart uniform, was directing the work. When the boat was near the steamer, the officer hailed and asked in German what boat it was. Kalliope was rowing vigorously. Before any answer could be made to the hail the boat ran alongside the steamer.

The Queen had learned German at school, carefully and laboriously, paying much attention to the vagaries of irregular verbs. She began to think out a sentence in which to describe her boat, herself and her servants. But Smith took it for granted that she knew no German. Before her sentence had taken shape he answered the officer. The young man leaned over the bulwark of the steamer and stared at the Queen while Smith spoke. Then he went away. Smith explained to the Queen what had happened.

"I asked him to call the captain, your Majesty. I told him that you are the Queen of the island. I was speaking to him in German, your Majesty."

The Queen knew that. She might be slow in framing a German sentence when an unexpected demand for such a thing was made on her, but thanks to the patience and diligence of a certain fat German governess, she could understand the language fairly well. She had understood every word that Smith said. He had not told the young officer that she was Queen of the island. He had described her as the daughter of the rich American who had bought Salissa from King Konrad Karl. She made no attempt at the moment to understand why Smith said one thing in German and offered her something slightly different as a translation; and she did not question him on the point. She was content to leave him to suppose that she knew no German at all.

The boat, which had run quickly alongside of the steamer near her bow, now lay beside the accommodation ladder which hung amidships. A tall officer stood on the platform outside the bulwarks and looked down at the Queen. He was a heavily built blonde man with neatly trimmed beard and moustache. He wore a naval uniform and stood stiffly erect, his heels together, while he raised his hand to the formal salute. The Queen spoke to Smith.

"Ask him," she said, "if he will come ashore and breakfast with us."

Before Smith could translate, the officer replied to her.

"I speak English," he said, "it is not necessary that he translate. I have the honour to present myself—Captain von Moll."

"Very pleased to meet you, Captain von Moll. Won't you come ashore and breakfast with us?"

"I regret that is impossible," said von Moll. "I am much occupied."

He spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. He looked steadily at the Queen, not taking his eyes from her face for a moment. His words were civil. His attitude was strictly correct. But there was something in his stare which the Queen did not like, a suggestion of insolence. She felt that this man regarded her as an inferior, a member of an inferior sex perhaps, or one of an inferior race. American women, especially American girls, are not accustomed to think of themselves as men's inferiors. American citizens find it impossible to believe that any one in the world can look down on them. The Queen was not annoyed. She was piqued and interested.

"Perhaps," she said, "you will come for luncheon or dinner. We dine at half-past seven."

Von Moll saluted again with formal politeness.

"I will dine with you," he said, "at half-past seven. Meanwhile I am sorry that I cannot ask you to come on board and see my ship. My men are much occupied."

The Queen signed to Kalliope and the boat left the steamer's side.



CHAPTER XVI

Donovan was no more than moderately interested in what his daughter told him about the strange steamer. She mentioned the fact that the Captain spoke English with precise correctness.

"They're an educated people, the Germans," said Donovan. "I reckon there's ten of them know English for one American knows German. Couldn't do business with us if they didn't learn to talk so as we can understand them. That's the reason. It isn't fancy trimmings they're out for, but business; and they're getting it. I wouldn't call them a smart people. They haven't got the punch of our business men; but they're darned persevering."

"It can't be business that brings him here," said the Queen.

"No," said Donovan. "Salissa is not a business centre. It's my opinion that steamer is having trouble with her engines and has come in here to tinker a bit; or maybe she's short of water; or the captain's taken a notion that he'd like some fresh fish and a few dozen eggs. It doesn't seem to me that we need fret any about what brings him here."

The Queen was not satisfied. She sat for some time on her balcony looking at the steamer. With the help of a pair of glasses she could watch what was going on. The long hose which she had seen in the morning was got on deck and coiled in three great heaps. Then the men knocked off work for breakfast. After that they became active again. One end of the hose was lowered into a boat. It seemed to the Queen to be a rubber hose like those used by firemen. The boat rowed towards the cave. Another boat lay close to the steamer's bow and received a loop of the hose, taking some of the strain and drag off the first boat. She too rowed towards the cave. A third boat followed in the same way. The Queen saw that the hose was being carried into the depths of the cave, drooping into the water between the boats, but sufficiently supported to be dragged on. The work was very slow, but it was carried on steadily, methodically.

The Queen was much interested in what she saw. After awhile she became very curious. The proceedings of the men on the steamer were difficult to understand. There seemed no reason why they should tug a large quantity of rubber hose into the cave. It was a senseless thing to do. Then it occurred to her that the cave was hers, part of an island of which she was Queen, which her father had bought for her from its legal owner. Any householder would feel himself entitled to investigate the doings of a party of strangers who appeared suddenly and pushed a rubber hose through his drawing-room window. They might be the servants of the gas company or officials sent by the water board, or sanitary inspectors, but the owner of the house would want to satisfy himself about them. The Queen felt that she had every right to find out what von Moll's men were doing.

She called Kalliope and they went off together in their boat, rowing across the bay towards the steamer.

Kalliope was excited. She talked rapidly in her own language, turning round now and then and pointing towards the steamer. It was plain that she had something which she very much wanted to say, something about the strange steamer. The Queen's curiosity increased. She thought for a moment of turning back to the palace. There she would find Smith and he would interpret for her. Then she remembered Smith's odd mistake in translating his own German in the morning. She determined not to ask his help. Kalliope, hopeless of explaining herself in Megalian, fell back on her small store of English words. She kept on saying "Mucky ship," which conveyed nothing at all to the Queen, except the obvious fact that the steamer was there. She also repeated the words "Once more."

At last, when the boat was getting near the steamer, Kalliope made a great effort.

"It—is—once more," she said.

The Queen jumped to a possible meaning of her words. The steamer, that steamer had been in the harbour of Salissa before, had been perhaps about some business similar to that which occupied her now. Kalliope, her eyes on the Queen's face, saw that she was making herself understood. She nodded delightedly, turned round on her seat and pointed to the steamer.

"It—is—once more."

Then she began to sing, softly at first, louder as she became sure of herself, until her voice rang clear across the water. Her song had no words, but the tune was that which she had sung to the Queen in the cave on the day when she first saw the cisterns. It was the tune of the hymn "Glorious things of thee are spoken."

Three or four men were leaning over the ship's bulwarks, looking at the Queen's boat. They heard Kalliope's voice, and they joined in the hymn. A boat lay in the mouth of the cave, supporting part of the long hose. There were four men in her. They also joined in the hymn. They sang words, German words. The Queen listened intently, trying to hear what the words were.

Captain von Moll, standing on the bridge of the steamer, shouted an order. The men stopped singing abruptly. Kalliope finished the tune by herself and then laughed.

"It—is—once more," she said.

The Queen understood. The ship had been in the harbour before. The crew had gone about some work, like that which she saw them doing. While they worked they had sung that hymn tune. The Queen frowned with perplexity. Then suddenly she recollected. She had been in the choir at school. She had sung hymns every morning at prayers. The fat German governess, an exile from the Fatherland and deeply sentimental, used to play the piano and teach the choir. There were always tears in her eyes when she played that particular tune. The girls understood that in some way it meant a great deal to her, was perhaps the tune of some national song, captured by an English musician and set to the words of a popular hymn. The Queen had never thought much about the matter. Now it occurred to her that the sailors were singing the song which the German governess had in mind, a song so popular that they often sang it at their work. Kalliope had learned it from them when they first visited the island. They recognized it and joined in it when they heard her singing it.

Kalliope rowed slowly round the steamer. An engine on deck began to work. The Queen could hear it snorting and clanking. The boat crossed the ship's bows, passing under the length of hose which drooped in a long curve into the water. Suddenly the hose swelled, writhed, twisted. It seemed to be alive. It looked like some huge sea snake, wriggling from the ship into the water, swimming through the water towards the gloomy mouth of the cave. Kalliope stopped rowing and stared open-mouthed. The Queen realized almost at once what was happening. The engine on the steamer's deck was pumping some liquid through the hose.

Kalliope held her dripping oars above the water and stared at the writhing hose. The boat lay still. The Queen remembered what her father had said at breakfast. The steamer might have come to the island for water. It was possible that the engine was sucking water in through the hose, not driving some other liquid out through it. But the Queen could not remember any spring or well of fresh water in the cave. She signed to Kalliope. The girl dipped her oars again. The boat moved towards the entrance of the cave.

One of the ship's boats, with four men in her, lay right under the high archway of the entrance. A man stood up and signed to the Queen, shaking his head.

"Es ist verboten," he said.

Then, with gestures which could not be mistaken he repeated gruffly, "Verboten."

To the Queen it seemed absurd that a strange sailor should try to prevent her from rowing into a cave in her own island whenever she chose. She took no notice of the man. Kalliope rowed on. Two of the men in the ship's boat leaned over her side and caught Kalliope's oars.

Kalliope was a young woman of imperturbably good temper. She smiled amiably at the men and then turned to the Queen.

"Blighters," she said. "Bloody blighters."

She was also a young woman of spirit and ready presence of mind. With a swift jerk she dragged the slippery blade from the man's hands. She pulled it towards her beyond the man's reach. Then with a sudden vigorous thrust she drove the blade into the face of the nearest sailor. It took him full in the mouth and knocked him backwards. He picked himself up and spat out the broken fragments of some teeth. Kalliope laughed joyously.

"Bloody blighters," she said, and for once the epithet was appropriate enough.

The Queen felt that the situation was neither agreeable nor dignified. It is very well, no doubt, for wild, half-barbarous girls like Kalliope to engage in fights with German sailors; but for a civilized American, a graduate of a university, such things are impossible. And for a Queen! Can a queen brawl without hopeless loss of dignity? Her immediate impulse was to appeal to the captain of the steamer, to assert her right to enter the cave, to demand the immediate punishment of the men who had stopped her.

She looked around. The captain was not on the bridge. He had been there a few moments before. He had been there when the engine began to work. He had disappeared. The Queen rowed back to the steamer. She asked for the captain. The young officer whom she had seen in the morning came to the side of the ship and told her that no one was allowed to enter the cave. She asked to see the captain, refusing to argue about her rights with a subordinate officer. She was told that the captain was very much occupied and could not be disturbed. The Queen, puzzled and angry, rowed back to the palace.

It was nearly luncheon-time when she landed. Smith met her with the news that Mr. Donovan had been suffering severely with his heart all the morning, that he would not join the Queen at luncheon, that, further, he felt the need of absolute quiet and rest during the afternoon, but hoped to be able to meet the German captain at dinner.

Donovan's balcony commanded a full view of the harbour. He had seen Kalliope's struggle with the German sailor. He felt sure that his daughter would tell him the whole story. He feared that she would want him to take some vigorous action. Donovan made a point of encouraging his heart in disordered action whenever demands of that kind were likely to be made upon him. He argued that the trouble of the morning would in all probability have died away before dinner. If it showed signs of reviving or increasing in intensity he intended to dine in his room and go to bed early.

The Queen felt it her duty to lecture Kalliope severely. No well-conducted lady's-maid ought to attack strange sailors with oars and knock out their front teeth. Kalliope must be made to understand that such conduct was not only undesirable in a maid but was actually unwomanly. The lecture was, necessarily, delivered for the most part in pantomime, by means of frowns, nods, and shakings of the head. Up to a certain point the Queen succeeded very well. Kalliope easily understood that her assault on the sailor was the subject of discussion. After that the Queen's sign language began to fail her. Kalliope continued to be greatly pleased with herself and proud of her performance. After a long struggle the Queen made her understand that she had behaved not well, but very badly. Kalliope grovelled in abject apology. The impression finally left on her mind was that she was to blame for anticipating her mistress' action. The Queen, so she thought, would have liked to fell the German sailor herself, would indeed have brained the man instead of merely breaking his front teeth.

The Queen, aware that she was failing badly, gave the business up and sent Kalliope away to make tea. It was easy enough to communicate with Kalliope about tea, clothes, and such ordinary subjects. The girl had picked up the English names for most things which her mistress commonly used.

The Queen took advantage of this. After tea she made an inspection of her evening frocks. She wished to appear to the very best advantage before Captain von Moll when he came to dinner. The man had stared insolently at her in the morning; but then she had been wearing a simple cotton frock and a boating hat crammed hastily on the back of her head. In the evening she meant to be splendid, regal. Captain von Moll should look at her with respect. She determined that her manner should correspond with her attire. She would be gracious indeed, as a good hostess should be, but very dignified, a little remote, with more than a hint of condescending patronage in her tone when she spoke.

Kalliope, greatly delighted, brought out frock after frock. She spread the garments on the backs of sofas and chairs, handling delicate lace and fine fabrics with tender affection. Sometimes, at the bidding of the Queen, she put on one of the frocks and paraded up and down the room in it, her brown face and strong, sunburnt arms making an odd contrast with pale-blue silk and fluffy chiffon. The occupation was fascinating. There were some frocks which the Queen had scarcely seen. She had, she supposed, chosen the material and the shape, had, it was likely, tried them on during the hurried days before sailing for Salissa. But she had forgotten what they were like, forgotten that she possessed them. It was a joy to see them spread out before her eyes or actually draped on Kalliope's slender figure.

Neither girl noticed that shortly after six o'clock the Ida slipped round the corner of the reef and dropped anchor in the harbour. Phillips, standing with Captain Wilson and Gorman on the bridge, scanned the palace steps, the balconies, the windows, and then, with eager eyes, the shores of the bay, for a sight of the Queen. Captain Wilson and Gorman stared with surprise and curiosity at the German steamer. Gorman had no special knowledge of ships, but he recognized that the vessel before his eyes was not an ordinary tramp. He was startled and interested to see any such vessel in the harbour of Salissa. Captain Wilson, a puzzled frown on his face, wondered at the odd way the steamer was moored and her nearness to the cliffs. Phillips, who had no eyes at all for the strange steamer, seized the line attached to the Ida's whistle, and blew three long blasts. He hoped to announce his arrival to the Queen, wherever she might be.

Captain Wilson, perplexed by the look and position of the German steamer, was irritable. He ordered Phillips off the bridge. But the whistle had done its work. The Queen and Kalliope ran to the balcony. They waved joyful greetings to the Ida, Kalliope an odd figure in a pale-grey evening dress. Phillips, standing on the deck below the bridge, waved back. It was a joyful moment. A few minutes later his joy was turned to sorrow of an almost unbearable kind. Captain Wilson forbade him to go ashore. A boat was lowered and Gorman was rowed off to the palace—to the gates of paradise. Phillips bitterly regretted that he had blown his blasts of greeting on the syren. But, in fact, it was not for that he was punished. Captain Wilson was simply in a very bad temper. The sight of Salissa always annoyed him. The position of the German steamer irritated him vehemently. She lay dangerously near the cliffs in a position in which no seaman would willingly put his ship. She was absurdly moored with four anchors. She was occupied in a perfectly incomprehensible manner. No man likes to be puzzled by things which it is his business to understand. Doctors have been known to deny the existence of symptoms which do not accord with those proper to the patient's taste. Politicians are baffled and infuriated by men who, indifferent to the sacred etiquette of the profession, speak the truth in public. Engineers are angry when water persists in oozing out of the top of a hill—as it sometimes does to the confusion of all known laws—instead of trickling into the drains dug for it in the valley underneath. So Captain Wilson's temper gave way because the German steamer lay as no steamer in the charge of sane men ought to lie; and Phillips was punished. Kings fly into a rage, said an ancient poet, and the common people suffer for it.

Perhaps Phillips would have been consoled, he would have certainly been less sulky during the evening, if he had seen what happened in the palace. The Queen stood on the balcony all eagerness, her lips parted, her eyes sparkling, a flush coming and going on her cheeks. She watched the boat lowered, saw the men take their places, saw Gorman climb cautiously down and seat himself in the stern. She waited. Phillips was on deck. She could see him. The boat pushed off. Phillips was not in her. He still stood on the steamer's lower deck leaning over the bulwarks. The Queen turned and went into her room. She flung herself down on a chair. She had much ado to hold back most unqueenly tears of disappointment. Kalliope slipped off the grey and silver dress she wore. Very silently she folded and put away the clothes which lay scattered about the room. Then she sat down at the Queen's feet and cried softly. She had a sympathetic soul. She understood the Queen's feelings.

Gorman was received by Smith. After a few minutes he was led up to the balcony where Donovan lay stretched on a deck chair with a box of cigars at his elbow.

"I am very, very pleased to see you, Gorman," he said.

"I'm afraid," said Gorman, "that I've come to bother you. There's been a lot of fuss in London about your purchase of this island. The Emperor——"

Donovan waved his hand feebly and lay back in his chair with every appearance of extreme exhaustion.

"Ill?" said Gorman.

"Two years ago," said Donovan, "after I had realized my little pile, before I came over to Europe I sent for a doctor—leading man in his own line in America—heart specialist. 'Doc,' I said to him, 'here's 200 dollars. You take a good look at my heart.' Well, he tapped me some and fooled around in the usual way. 'Sir,' he said, 'your heart is as sound as a bell.' 'Doc,' I said, 'you're mistaken, and the fee I offered was unworthy of your acceptance. I'll write out a cheque for 500 dollars, and you take another look at my heart. I've a feeling,' I said, 'that what I want is rest and quiet now that my pile's made.' Well, he tapped me again and kind of listened to the throbbing of the darned machine. 'Sir,' he said, 'you're suffering from disordered action of your heart, and I recommend rest and quiet. No excitement and no worry.' 'Doc,' I said, 'I'm a business man—or I was before you passed that sentence on me. I'd be obliged if you'd put that on paper with your signature underneath.' Well, he did that, and I paid him another 200 dollars. But I reckon the money was well spent. That paper is a protection to me."

"I see," said Gorman, "I'll let the Emperor know——"

"The Emperor be damned," said Donovan, "and, say, Gorman, there's a kind of German naval officer wandering around this island. I gather that some trouble arose this morning between his men and my daughter's maid. Seems to me that there may be explanations, especially as that German captain is to dine here to-night. Now my idea is to stay where I am—on account of the condition of my heart. Smith will bring me up a bit of chicken and a half-bottle of Heidsieck. That's all I feel inclined for. But I don't care to leave Daisy alone with that man. I'm not scared of anything happening to the girl. She's pretty well able to look after herself. But there might be more trouble for the officer."

"There will be," said Gorman, "if he's come here with any kind of message from the Emperor."

"Daisy," said Donovan, "is liable to speak out at times. And that girl of hers is handy in the use of weapons. I don't want to have to officiate at the funeral of a German naval officer."

"It might very well come to that," said Gorman.

He was thinking at the moment of the Emperor's suggestion that Miss Donovan should be married out of hand to King Konrad Karl. It seemed to him likely that there would be very serious trouble if the German officer made that proposal, especially if he made it with the manner of a man who is conferring a favour.

"You see," he went on, "that Emperor—silly old fool he is—has got it into his head——"

Donovan lay back and closed his eyes.

"My heart isn't up to the strain," he said. "I'd rather leave the affair in your hands."

"All right," said Gorman. "I'll see it through."

"Thank you. It's asking a good deal, I know."

"Not at all," said Gorman cheerfully. "I shall probably enjoy it."



CHAPTER XVII

Captain von Moll thought that a certain assertion of dignity was due to his position as a naval officer. He was to dine with two Americans, no doubt vulgar representatives of a nation which did not understand class distinctions and the value of a von before a surname. He had no idea of being friendly. The dinner was an official affair. He was for the moment the representative of the Emperor. He dressed himself with great care in a uniform resplendent with gold braid. He combed and brushed his beard into a state of glossiness. He twisted the ends of his moustache into fine points. He reflected that if the American girl were really enormously wealthy and if, which he doubted, her manners were tolerable, it might be worth while to marry her. He would, no doubt, lose caste to some extent if he did so; but her money would be very useful to him and it would be unnecessary afterwards to see much of the girl herself. He rubbed on his head a strongly scented preparation guaranteed to give a shine to the dullest hair. He went ashore in a boat rowed by six men. A flag drooped from the staff at the stern, just touching the water with its lowest corner.

Gorman received him in the large hall of the palace.

"Mr. Donovan, I presume," said Captain von Moll. "It gives me pleasure to meet you."

Gorman explained who he was and said that Donovan was unable to be present at dinner owing to the condition of his heart. Von Moll said that he derived equal pleasure from meeting Mr. Gorman. Then the Queen swept into the hall, followed by Kalliope. She was dressed in a pale-blue gown which glittered with sequins. She wore a diamond star in her hair. She walked slowly and held herself very erect. Kalliope, walking behind her, added to the dignity of her entrance.

Von Moll stepped forward, stood in the middle of the floor, clicked his heels together and bowed low. The Queen, ignoring him for the moment, shook hands warmly with Gorman and welcomed him to Salissa. Then she held out her hand to von Moll. He bent over it and touched it with his lips.

"I have to tender an apology," he said. "This morning, much to my regret, some of my men stopped your boat. They have been placed under arrest."

Gorman is of opinion that von Moll was genuinely anxious to make himself agreeable to the Queen. He probably could not help looking her over from head to foot as a man might look over a horse he thought of buying. That was simply his nature. He regarded women as useful and desirable cattle. It would not have occurred to him that any woman would think of herself as his equal.

The Queen flushed a little under his gaze; but she accepted the apology at its face value.

"Oh, it's all right," she said. "But I hope you have not punished the men. I wouldn't like to think of their getting into trouble through me."

"You are kind," said von Moll, "but it is necessary to maintain discipline. The men exceeded their orders."

Then Smith announced that dinner was served. The Queen led the way into the dining-room. She took her place at the head of the table. Gorman and von Moll sat one on each side of her. Von Moll's eyes wandered over the appointments of the meal, the tall silver candlesticks, the exquisite linen, the fine glass. They rested with particular pleasure on the menu card which stood in front of him. It promised a luxurious dinner. He tucked his napkin under his chin with an air of satisfaction.

Kalliope stood behind the Queen's chair and waited on her. Smith served the two men. At the vacant end of the table stood the three island girls whom Smith had in training. They were no particular use, but they were pretty girls and they added something to the dignity of the scene. They were elaborately dressed in a glorified form of the bright costume of the island women. Gorman noticed that von Moll eyed them with appreciation.

"I do wish you'd tell me," said the Queen, "why you didn't want me to go to the cave this morning."

"My orders," said von Moll, "were not meant to apply to you. I merely wished to prevent the islanders from interfering with my men at their work. That is all."

"It sounds very interesting," said Gorman, "but I don't know what happened. Do tell me."

"It was rather exciting," said the Queen. "Two of Captain von Moll's men stopped our boat and Kalliope hit one of them with an oar. Did he lose many teeth?"

Von Moll drew himself up stiffly. He would have been better pleased if the Queen had tendered some apology to him and promised that the over-daring Kalliope should be punished. It is a serious thing to strike a seaman of the Imperial navy, a man wearing the Emperor's uniform. In von Moll's opinion such conduct could not, without grave impropriety, be described as "rather fun." He was not at all sure that the German navy would not suffer in prestige among the islanders.

"The man," he said stiffly, "had three teeth broken."

"Oh," said the Queen, "I'm so sorry, and I'm afraid there's no dentist on the island. Still it was his own fault, wasn't it?"

"I am sure," said von Moll, "that you will punish the girl suitably."

The Queen looked at him with astonishment. She had not the slightest intention of punishing Kalliope. It seemed to her extraordinary that von Moll should suggest such a thing. She was a little inclined to be angry. Then she thought that von Moll must be making a joke. He looked rather grim and solemn; but perhaps that was the way all Germans looked when they made jokes. She laughed in polite appreciation of von Moll's attempt at humour.

Gorman, watching with twinkling eyes, was greatly pleased. Von Moll was evidently another Steinwitz in seriousness and pompous dignity. It was a delightfully amusing trait in the German character.

"I'm still rather in the dark," he said. "Who's Kalliope?"

"My maid," said the Queen. "There she is."

Gorman glanced at Kalliope who was at the moment placing a plate before her mistress. The girl grinned at him in a friendly way. She was quite aware that she was the subject of conversation.

"It strikes me, von Moll," said Gorman, "that your navy hasn't come very well out of its first regular sea battle."

Von Moll's face hardened disagreeably. It was an outrageous thing that an Irishman, a mere civilian, who apparently had no right to wear a uniform of any kind, should poke fun at the Imperial navy. He wished very much to make some reply which would crush Gorman and leave him writhing like a worm. Unfortunately it is very difficult to make that kind of reply to a man who insists on laughing when serious subjects are under discussion. Gorman, still watching von Moll closely, felt pleased.

"I hope the Press won't get hold of the story," he said. "Just imagine the headlines. 'Grave International Crisis.' 'Naval Encounter in the Cyrenian Sea.' 'Imperial Gunboat'—they'd be sure to say gunboat, you know—'attacked by a girl.' If it had been a man! But a girl! However, I won't mention the matter. If you fix that fellow up with a set of false teeth I daresay nobody will ever hear about the business."

Von Moll was angry; but he was no more ready than he had been at first with a suitable answer for Gorman. He was dimly aware that if he gave way to his feelings, if he even allowed his anger to appear, this grey-haired, bantering Irishman would be gratified. He had just sense enough to realize that he must make some pretence at laughing. It was, of course, impossible for him to regard disrespectful remarks about the German navy as a joke, but he succeeded in giving a kind of hoarse cackle.

Smith was conscious of a want of harmony in the party. He became most vigilantly attentive to the two men on whom he waited. Von Moll drank sherry with his soup and two glasses of hock while he ate his fish. Smith poured him out a glass of champagne. For Gorman he opened a bottle of Irish whisky. Then he handed round an entree, a fine example of his powers as a cook.

The Queen, too, was aware that von Moll's temper had been ruffled. She turned to him with a smile and made a banal, but quite harmless remark.

"I think Salissa is a perfectly sweet island," she said, "don't you?"

Von Moll thought it an exceedingly dull hole and wished to say so plainly. Perhaps it was the sight of the champagne foaming pleasantly in his glass which made him restrain himself.

"No doubt it is pleasant as a holiday resort," he said. "For a few weeks one might find life agreeable enough; but after that——"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh," said the Queen, "I've been here for more than two months already and I like it better every day."

"Really?" said von Moll. "What a pity that you are leaving so soon."

"But I'm not leaving. What makes you think I am?"

"I understand," said von Moll, "that Mr. Donovan has resold the island to King Konrad Karl."

"Whatever put that into your head?" said the Queen.

"I am perhaps mistaken," said von Moll, "in saying that the island has already been resold; but very soon it will be."

"Oh no, it won't," said the Queen. "It's my island, you know, my very own, and I wouldn't part with it for anything you could offer me."

"I understand," said von Moll, "that it is the Emperor's wish that the island should revert to the Crown of Megalia."

He spoke with a certain ponderous assurance. There was evidently no doubt whatever in his mind that the Emperor's wish settled the matter. The Queen's next remark must have startled him.

"What on earth has the Emperor got to do with it?" she said. "Who is the Emperor, anyway?"

"Now that," said Gorman, "is what I'm always asking. Where does the Emperor come in? I asked Steinwitz. I asked King Konrad Karl. I asked that footling ass Bland-Potterton. They don't any of them seem to be able to do more than just gasp and say 'The Emperor' over and over again."

"The Emperor's wish——" said von Moll.

"There you go," said Gorman. "That's exactly what I'm complaining about. I ask what the Emperor has got to do with it and all the answer I get is 'The Emperor.'"

"Anyway," said the Queen decisively, "the Emperor has nothing to do with me and I'm not going to sell Salissa to him or any one else."

Von Moll was master of himself this time. No doubt it appeared to him that this defiance of the Emperor's wish was childish, unworthy of the attention of a serious man. The silly girl who sat at the end of the table playing at being a queen would pack up her boxes and leave the island on the day fixed by the Emperor. Meanwhile she looked quite pretty, prettier than he thought she could look, with her heightened colour, sparkling eyes, and slightly parted lips. He began to think that it might be worth his while to marry her in spite of her bourgeoise blood. He looked at her with cool, appraising eyes. The slight smile on his lips was the only evidence of the contempt he felt for a girl who thought she could resist the Emperor.

After that, conversation at the dinner table became rather difficult. Smith did the best he could with the champagne bottle, but the wine seemed only to increase von Moll's conviction of his own superior wisdom. The Queen drank nothing but water, so her temper preserved its raw edge. It fell to Gorman to keep things going. He told a series of stories about Ireland, all of them good stories, some of them partly true. No one laughed, except Kalliope, who did not understand the stories but liked the twinkle in Gorman's eyes. At the end of each story he asked von Moll how he thought the Emperor would deal with a country like Ireland. Von Moll twisted his moustaches fiercely and told Gorman that if Ireland had been a German dependency she would have ceased to trouble the world early in the eighteenth century. Gorman listened with every appearance of deference and docility, while von Moll explained the Prussian way of dealing with people like the Irish.

The Queen could not cut the dinner short. Smith had provided many courses and it was impossible to skip any of them. But at the earliest possible moment she got up and left the room. Gorman closed the door behind her and then drew his chair close to that on which von Moll was sitting. Smith brought in coffee and liqueurs. Gorman took the brandy bottle off the tray and set it on the table at von Moll's elbow. Smith made an effort to recover the bottle and carry it away. He seemed to think that von Moll had had enough to drink. Gorman was of the same opinion, but he did not allow Smith to carry off the brandy bottle. He thought that von Moll might be very interesting if he took rather more than enough to drink. When Smith, after hovering about for some time, left the room, Gorman refilled von Moll's glass.

"Silly little thing, Miss Donovan," he said, in a confidential tone.

"That is so," said von Moll.

"In Germany," said Gorman, "you put that sort of young person into her place at once, I suppose."

"In Germany," said von Moll, "she would not exist."

He spoke with ponderous gravity. Gorman was pleased to see that he was becoming more ponderous as he drank glass after glass of brandy.

"That cave incident, for instance," said Gorman. "I call it cheek her trying to get into the cave when you had sentries posted outside to stop her. By the way, what had you in the cave that you didn't want her to see? A girl?"

Von Moll leered in a most disgusting manner. Gorman poured him out another glass of brandy.

"You naval men," he said, "you're always the same. No girl can resist you. But, I say, you'd really better keep it dark about that man of yours getting his teeth knocked out. If there were any kind of inquiry and it came out about your being in the cave with one of the island girls——"

"There was no girl in the cave," said von Moll.

"Come now! I won't give you away. Between ourselves. We are both men of the world."

"I have said. There was no girl."

"Oh well," said Gorman, "I suppose you were writing poetry and didn't want to be disturbed. What was it? An ode to the Fatherland, 'Oh, Deutschland, Deutschland!'—that kind of thing."

Von Moll strongly suspected that Gorman was laughing at him again. It seemed almost incredible that any one would dare to do such a thing, but Gorman was plainly an irresponsible person.

"I was," said von Moll, "carrying out the orders of the Emperor."

"The Emperor again," said Gorman. "But this time it won't do. It really won't. You can't expect me to believe that the Emperor sent you all the way to Salissa to write poetry in a cave."

"There was no poetry. The Emperor's orders were not about poetry. They were about——"

Von Moll stopped abruptly and winked at Gorman with drunken solemnity.

"I don't give your Emperor credit for much intelligence," said Gorman, "but he must surely have more sense than to give orders of any kind about a cave in an out-of-the-way potty little island like this. Why can't you tell the truth, von Moll?"

Von Moll straightened himself in his chair and glared at Gorman. His eyes were wide open, so wide that a rim of white showed all round the pupils. His forehead was deeply wrinkled. His nostrils were distended.

"Gott in Himmel!" he said, "you doubt my word."

Gorman chuckled. Von Moll was decidedly amusing when partially drunk. His glare—he continued to glare in the most ferocious manner—was a most exciting thing to see.

"There is no use looking at me like that," said Gorman. "I shan't fight. I never do. I'm not that kind of man. The fact is I don't like fighting."

"I believe it," said von Moll.

He spoke with a sneer, a heavily accentuated sneer. It was more like the sneer of the villain of old-fashioned melodrama than anything Gorman had ever seen.

"If you want a scrap," said Gorman, "really want it, you know, you ought to knock up Phillips on your way back to your boat. He's the first officer of the Ida. He'll take you on. He's six foot one and weighs about fourteen stone. He'll simply wipe the floor with you; so unless you're really keen on fighting some one you'd perhaps better leave him alone."

"I stay here no longer," said von Moll.

He rose and crossed the room quite steadily, but putting his feet down with extreme care. He reached the door and bowed to Gorman.

Gorman leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. He had enjoyed the evening. He had also found out something that he wanted to know. The Emperor really did intend to make use of the island of Salissa in some way. He wondered whether the cave which the Queen had been forbidden to enter was the same cave which contained the iron cisterns.

The Queen, sitting at her window, heard von Moll leave the house and go down the steps towards the landing place. Smith was with him, seeing him safely to the boat which waited for him.

"So," said von Moll, "I telegraph to Berlin and I forward your letters."

He spoke in German, but he spoke very deliberately, pronouncing each word carefully. The Queen had no difficulty in understanding what he said. Smith replied in a much lower tone. She could not hear him.

"Ach," said von Moll, "the old man is a fool, good. And the girl—do you know, Fritz, I think I shall marry the girl!"

The Queen shut her window. She had no wish to hear more of von Moll's plans. She was insulted and very angry. It was not until she thought the matter over coolly next day that it occurred to her as strange that von Moll should have addressed Smith as Fritz. The man's Christian name was Edward.



CHAPTER XVIII

I am uncomfortably aware that this history of recent events in Salissa is sadly deficient in the matter of dates. I am not to blame. If I could I should date each chapter accurately. Unfortunately, not one of the people chiefly concerned kept a diary. They all remember events very well and are most willing to describe them for me, but they cannot remember exactly when things happened. I am therefore particularly pleased to be able at this point to give two definite dates. The Ida arrived at Salissa with Gorman on board on July 8. She left again on July 11. I dragged this information out of Captain Wilson. He no longer has access to the Ida's log-books. They passed into Steinwitz' hands and disappeared when his office was closed at the outbreak of war. But Captain Wilson kept a private notebook. He referred to it, with considerable reluctance, when I pressed him.

Taking these two dates as fixed, we are able to say for certain that von Moll reached the island during the night of July 7 and 8, ten days after the Serajevo assassinations. He was occupied with his business in the cave all day of July 8. He left Salissa early on July 9. He might easily have made any one of three or four ports on the mainland before evening that day. A telegram sent to Berlin might have been in the hands of some responsible person that night. Smith's letters would follow at once by a special messenger. We may take it that the Emperor's secret service agents, perhaps the Emperor himself, knew on July 10 that the island would not be resold to King Konrad Karl.

The sailing of the Ida so soon as three days after her arrival puzzled me at first. Captain Wilson would say nothing except that he obeyed orders. As a matter of fact he seems to have worried everybody until he got the order he wanted. The Ida carried very little cargo to the island on her second voyage and was unloaded in a few hours. Captain Wilson received from the Queen the lists she had prepared of tools, engines and material for carrying out her schemes of improvement. He was given a few letters by Donovan and by Smith. Then there was no reason why he should not start.

Nor was there any reason why Gorman should not have gone with him. It was, indeed, plainly Gorman's duty to get back to England as quickly as possible. His mission had completely failed. The Queen would not sell the island. She would certainly not marry Konrad Karl. Ireland was at the moment passing through a crisis, and Gorman, as one of her statesmen, ought to have been at hand with advice. But Gorman—he owes a good deal of his attractiveness to this—never allows himself to be hampered by words like "ought" and "duty."

An Irish crisis is an interesting thing; but it is by no means uncommon, and the details are always more or less the same. The affairs of Salissa had certain novel features which were exceedingly attractive and Gorman had never before had an opportunity of mixing himself up in foreign politics. English statesmen, especially Liberals, who regard Ireland with serious intensity of feeling, offer great opportunities to men of Gorman's temperament. But he thought that still more amusement might be obtained by playing politics with people like Steinwitz, von Moll, and the immensely pompous Emperor.

Donovan was anxious that Gorman should stay on the island. He listened, reluctantly, to all the Queen had to tell him. He heard about the cisterns in the cave. He was told of von Moll's mysterious activities, of Smith's suspicious conduct, of the Emperor's fixed determination to get the island back for Konrad Karl. He professed to regard the whole business as a bore.