Polly the Pagan Part 22

We reach New York the 28th. Plan dinner for wedding party the night of the 30th. Invite ushers. Much love.

POLLY.

PRINCE BORIS TO POLLY

_New York, May._

The last days on the trip you speak little to me.

Yes I have played tricks and upset canoe but my love for you, that is excuse. Why do you refuse to see me? I can to you easily explain the pictures and the name Kosloff. If you intended to--what you call it?--throw me down, why have you and your Aunt so encourage me? I ask you that. Again I shall come to your door and you will grant me yet one conversation. Bah! I am not a fool!

A. D. TO POLLY

_Was.h.i.+ngton, May._

Your journal notes and letters, my beloved, are before me, and I have alternately boiled with rage at that Russian imposter, and grinned at the thought of your baffled relative. You did exactly right, your judgment was good and my faith in you complete. I am so glad you told me fully about all the suspicious circ.u.mstances regarding the Prince, _if_ he is a prince. How abominable of him to lay even a finger on you. I should like to throttle him!

I called at the Russian Emba.s.sy and asked a few questions regarding the creature, of course saying nothing that could possibly drag you into the affair. The Amba.s.sador was rather guarded, and said he knew very little about him. The Prince had been in Was.h.i.+ngton, he had not called at the Emba.s.sy, but it was known that he had dined more than once at the German Emba.s.sy. The Amba.s.sador's att.i.tude was curious and left me wondering if Boris might not be in the pay of some country other than Russia. But we shall see.

Something kept me from speaking about the counterfeit old Masters. And it was well, for on returning to the hotel, I found a letter from Peppi, anxiety in every line of it. Boris had taken some work to America to sell for him on commission--as copies, honestly, he a.s.sured Peppi, who believed him. But it was to be a secret, lest the Prince be known to have disgraced his n.o.ble blood by descending to trade. Now our artist is plainly worried and wants to be a.s.sured there is nothing underhanded being done. Mona Lisa has evidently revealed something, for she was intimate enough with Boris and clever enough to see he was up to some rascality. I wrote our poor friend to have no further dealings with the Russian; that was all I felt I could do. Nice friends we have had!

Now you have told me your troubles, you have relieved your mind and heart of all their anxieties, I hope. You can tell me anything in the world, and find me absolutely true, for I love you with every drop of blood in my body, and I would stake my soul on you.

Postscript: Have received your telegram. I will leave for New York tomorrow, the thirtieth. Have sent invitations to ushers. We shall meet at your house for dinner, and then at noon the next day your life will be in my own safe keeping.

POLLY MAKES A LAST ENTRY IN HER JOURNAL

_Early morning, May 31st._

There are only a few hours left before A. D. and I shall be married but I won't try to write a word about how wonderfully happy I am, for there is so much to put down! Something most extraordinary happened.

The Prince has been bothering me since we reached New York, by calling at the door and sending in the most imperative messages. But I refused flatly to see him, though Aunt maintained that he would explain everything to all of us in a perfectly satisfactory manner.

Poor Aunt, she's a dear, silly, old thing. I believe she's actually been in love with him all the time herself.

But yesterday, the thirtieth, Boris got the better of me. The butler announced that Sister Beatrice, a nun whom I had known in Rome, wished to see me. So naturally I told him to admit her, and in walked a black-robed figure. Imagine my surprise and anger when under the veil I saw the blue eyes of the Prince. He looked so like a naughty boy that before I knew it, I laughed.

All of a sudden he became intensely serious and said that he had really come to take me away, that he wors.h.i.+ped me, that he knew deep down I loved him, too, that we must take the steamer that evening--the Carpathia--he had reservations engaged--and that we could be married on the boat, and he had everything arranged.

I showed him at once that he had made a mistake and ordered him to go. An ugly vindictive look came over his face and then I realized how desperate he was. He asked me if I thought he was such a fool as to leave me in possession of certain information about himself; moreover he declared he had to have money, that he was at the end of his rope.

I replied that I was sorry but could not help him again, that I might have given him over to the officials on the train. Then he said sneeringly I had better go with him, if I put a value on--life, for instance, that he, a Russian, would stop at nothing. I rang the bell and when the butler appeared, Boris saw that he had failed, and said, "You will regret this hour," and went out. Aunt met him in the hall and after some whispered conversation, he departed. Later she left the house. Nor did she come back the entire evening. My exasperating relative! She had not planned to be at our dinner party, so I wasn't alarmed, though anything but jolly. Boris's uncanny threat was echoing in my ear amid all the joyousness and excitement and flowers, ringing of bells and arrival of telegrams of congratulation. When everybody had gone except A. D. and it was very late--we were sitting together in the parlor near the front door,--I heard footsteps, and thinking it must be Aunt returning, I peered out. There was a dark figure that darted hastily up the front steps, apparently left a package and ran swiftly down the street and out of sight. A premonition told me something was wrong and that we were in danger. A. D. dashed out to investigate.

"What's this?" he said, picking up a box in the vestibule. Inside was a ticking noise like an alarm clock.

"Maybe something the Prince sent," I gasped. "He threatened to do something desperate."

"Run!" A. D. shouted and began to strip off the wrappings. Quick as a flash he rushed into the house, out into the pantry, and dropped the package into a pail of water. "A bomb--I've fixed it," he told me, "and it's as harmless now as a plain box of gunpowder. But it was a close call, the thing was set for one o'clock." Just as we looked at each other, the hall clock chimed once. A. D. caught me in his arms. I laughed hysterically, and he asked, "Is it to be shown with the other wedding gifts?"

We both went rather shakily into the parlor, but at that very moment, Checkers came in, his face quite pale and sober. "Look what I found in my room!" he said. It was a note from Aunt, saying that Boris and she were going to elope, that she had always loved him and knew they would be happy. "Scandalous!" he declared, "and what are we going to do about it?"

"He's a worse scoundrel even than I thought," said A. D.

"Checkers, it's up to you to stop her. Take a taxicab to the steams.h.i.+p dock as quick as you can get there. Carpathia!" I shouted.

Checkers hurried out of the house while A. D. stayed on to comfort me and talk over the next step we could take in case Checkers was too late, and what people would say about the whole thing. At two o'clock there was no word, and calling up the dock by telephone, we found that the Carpathia had sailed at exactly one-thirty. Then I made A. D. go, and went sorrowfully up to bed, but not to sleep, hoping that nothing had happened to my twin.

Nor did he come back for hours. Finally, when it was almost daylight, there was a tap at my door and Checkers tiptoed in and began, "I found Aunt but she wouldn't listen to me when I got to the dock. No go! She wouldn't budge and Boris was pouring out a torrent of Russian that sounded to me like a bunch of fire crackers. The steamer sailed and I stayed on board, still arguing. Finally I told Boris I'd hand him over to the captain on any one of half a dozen charges that would put him behind the bars till he was ninety. He gave me an ugly look and slunk off,--I don't know where for we didn't see him again. Fortunately they had not succeeded in getting a clergyman to marry them. At last Aunt consented to return with me on the pilot boat on condition that neither of us would ever mention Boris's name to her again."

"Where is she now?" I asked.

"Gone into her room and shut the door. Poor defiant old dame. Polly, she's ashamed of herself!" And Checkers went off to bed to make up his lost sleep.

I shall try to forget the Prince too if I can, but he's a strange, fascinating and wicked person. Somehow I feel our paths will touch again some day, and I have deep down in my heart a pagan yearning to show him up in his real colors.

But that's the end of it for now. A. D. will be with me soon. We'll forget our troubles and be happy. Let the Prince go hang, for we love each other.

A. D. TO POLLY

_An hour before the wedding._

Polly my darling, just a line of love. What a terrible night! Have heard from Checkers. Thank heaven your Aunt returned. I shall not see you now until you come up the aisle towards me, and I shall never go away from you again. I am all excitement at the thought of the great happiness that is to be mine today. Oh, my dearest, you have become such a part of my life that I feel like rus.h.i.+ng to your house for just one more glimpse of you. From now on, I shall cherish you and protect you. Until noon and then....

CONCLUSION

The journal and letters end abruptly here. Were they married? In all probability, Checkers gave Polly away, with the lovely blackhaired Sybil as maid of honor, while Aunt, subdued and chagrined, watched them submissively from her front pew. But yet I should like to hear about it from the little lady of the air raid of that Good Friday night, and I should like to be able to give her love letters back to her.

If the Red Cross badge found in the bag points a correct surmise A. D.

must have left the diplomatic service as he intended, and finally entered the Red Cross during the war. The following clipping allows another a.s.sumption which is, that lively Polly followed the bent that allowed her to discover the author of the anonymous letter in Rome, Carlo's gardener's daughter, as well as to detect the Prince in his forgeries and thefts, and to develop during the war, into a very clever secret service agent.

This was the clipping from an American paper also found in the bag.

"It has been said that in our land we do not use women spies as much as they do in some other countries, but we cannot stop them if they wish to work along this dangerous line, and we can only admire them for what they accomplish. A case has just come to our attention of a beautiful American woman trapping in Paris a clever and long-sought-for spy.

"He was a Russian Prince, well-known in diplomatic circles, though after his father's death, his German mother returned to her native land to bring up her boy and instil German sympathies in him. For a number of years he was obscurely connected with the Turkish Government.

"During the War this popular bachelor Prince had an apartment in Paris. He was supposed to be just over the age limit for the army, so he interested himself and worked for the betterment of the Russian prisoners, being privileged therefore to send material across the border into Germany. No one suspected him, and in the evenings he gave gay little suppers in his quarters, which were well attended and much enjoyed.