The Lady in the Car Part 6

"Right! Go over there, Max, and help yourself to a drink. You're at the `George,' I suppose?"

"No. I've got a room here--so as to be near you--in case of necessity, you know," he added meaningly.

The two men exchanged glances.

It was evident at once that Mr Mason was no stranger, for he helped himself to a cigarette uninvited, and, mixing a small drink, drained it off at a single gulp.

Then, after chatting for a quarter of an hour or so, he went out "just to get a wash," as he put it.

The Prince, when he had gone, turned over the small packet in his hand without opening it.

Then he rose, walked to the window, and in silence looked out upon the old church opposite, deep in thought.

The Parson, watching him without a word, knit his brows, and pursed his lips.

Next morning the Prince sent Garrett with the car to London, as he wanted some alteration to the hood, and that afternoon, as he crossed the marketplace, he again met Max. Neither spoke. A glance of recognition was all that pa.s.sed between them. Meanwhile, the detective from London had been making a good many inquiries in Stamford, concerning the a.s.sociates and friends of the discharged valet Charles.

The latter was, the detective declared, an old hand, and his Highness had been very fortunate in getting rid of him when he did.

That evening Mr and Mrs Ashdown invited the Prince and the clergyman to dinner, at which they were joined by the sweet-faced Nellie and her father and mother. With true provincial habit, the party broke up at ten-thirty, and while the Parson walked home with the Northovers, his Highness lit a cigar and strolled back to the hotel alone.

Until nearly two o'clock he sat smoking, reading, and thinking--thinking always of pretty Nellie--and now and then glancing at the clock. After the church-bell had struck two he had a final "peg," and then turned in.

Next morning, when the waiter brought his coffee, the man blurted forth breathlessly:

"There's been a great robbery, your Highness, last night. The London and North Western Bank has been entered, and they say that four thousand pounds in gold has been stolen."

"What!" gasped the Prince, springing up. "Mr Northover's bank?"

"Yes, sir. The whole town is in an uproar! I've told Mr Mason, and he's gone down to see. They say that a week ago a youngish man from London took the empty shop next door to the bank, and it's believed the thieves were secreted in there. There doesn't seem any evidence of any of the locks being tampered with, for the front door was opened with a key, and they had keys of both the doors of the strong-room. The police are utterly mystified, for Mr Northover has one key, and Mr Ashdown the other, and the doors can't be opened unless they are both there together. Both gentlemen say their keys have never left them, and none of the burglar-alarms rang."

"Then it's an absolute mystery--eh," remarked the Prince, utterly astonished. "Perhaps that scoundrel Charles has had something to do with it! He went to the bank for me on several occasions!"

"That's what Mr Mason and the other police officers think, sir," the waiter said. "And it seems that the men must have got out the coin, brought it into the empty shop, carried it through the back of the premises and packed it into a dark-green motor-car. A policeman out on the Worthorpe Road, saw the car pa.s.s just before two o'clock this morning. There were two men in it, besides the driver."

The Prince dressed hastily, and was about to rush down to the bank to condole with Northover when the latter burst into his room in a great state of mind.

"It's an absolute mystery, and so daring!" he declared. "The thieves must have had duplicate keys of the whole bank! They left all the notes, but cleared out every bit of gold coin. We had some unusually heavy deposits lately, and they've taken three thousand four hundred and thirty-two pounds!"

"What about that man who took the shop next door?"

"He's perfectly respectable, the police a.s.sure me. He knows nothing about it. He's hardly finished stocking the place with groceries, and opens the day after to-morrow. His name is Newman."

"Then how did they get their booty away?"

"That's the mystery. Unless through the back of the shop next door. No motor-car came along the street in the night, for Ashdown's child was ill, and Mrs Ashdown was up all night and heard nothing. The means by which they got such a heavy lot of coin away so neatly is as mysterious as how they obtained the keys."

"Depend upon it that my scoundrelly valet has had a finger in this!" the Prince declared. "I'll a.s.sist you to try and find him. I happen to know some of his friends in London."

Northover was delighted, and at the police-station the superintendent thanked his Highness for his kind promise of a.s.sistance. Mr Mason was ubiquitous, and the parson full of astonishment at the daring coup of the unknown thieves. Two bank directors came down from town in the afternoon, and after a discussion, a full report was telegraphed to New Scotland Yard.

That same evening the Prince went up to London, accompanied by the keen-eyed Mr Mason, leaving the Parson still the guest of Mr Northover.

The latter, however, would scarcely have continued to entertain him, had he known that, on arrival at King's Cross, his Highness and Mr Mason took a cab to a certain house in Hereford Road, Bayswater, where Charles and Garrett were eagerly awaiting him. In the room were two other men whom the Prince shook by the hand and warmly congratulated.

Charles opened the door of the adjoining room, a poorly furnished bedroom, where stood a chest of drawers. One drawer after the other he opened.

They were full of bags of golden sovereigns!

"Those impressions you sent us, Prince, gave us a lot of trouble,"

declared the elder of the two men, with a p.r.o.nounced American accent.

"The keys were very difficult to make, and when you sent us word that the parson had tried them and they wouldn't act, we began to fear that it was no go. But we did the trick all right, after all, didn't we?

Guess we spent a pretty miserable week in Stamford, but you seemed to be having quite a good time. Where's the Sky-pilot?"

"He's remaining--convalescent, you know. And as for Bob Newman, he'll be compelled to carry on that confounded grocery business next door for at least a couple of months--before he fails, and shuts up."

"Well," exclaimed the man Mason, whom everybody in Stamford--even the police themselves--believed to be a detective. "It was a close shave!

You know, Prince, when you came out of the bank after dinner and I slipped in past you, I only just got into the shadow before that slip of a girl of Northover's ran down the stairs after you. I saw you give her a kiss in the darkness."

"She deserved a kiss, the little dear," replied his Highness, "for without her we could never have brought off so complete a thing."

"Ah! you always come in for the good things," Charles remarked.

"Because I'm a prince," was his Highness's reply.

The police are still looking for the Prince's valet, and his Highness has, of course, a.s.sisted them. Charles, however, got away to Copenhagen to a place of complete safety, and he being the only person suspected, it is very unlikely that the bank will ever see their money again-- neither is Nellie Northover ever likely to see her prince.

CHAPTER THREE.

THE MYSTERIOUS SIXTY.

When the smart chauffeur, Garrett, entered the cosy chambers of his Highness Prince Albert of Hesse-Holstein, alias Charles Fotheringham, alias Henry Tremlett, in Dover Street, Piccadilly, he found him stretched lazily on the couch before the fire. He had exchanged his dinner jacket for an easy coat of brown velvet; between his lips was a Russian cigarette of his pet brand, and at his elbow a brandy and soda.

"Ah! Garrett," he exclaimed as the chauffeur entered. "Come here, and sit down. Shut the door first. I want to talk to you."

As chauffeur to the Prince and his ingenious companions, Garrett had met with many queer adventures and been in many a tight corner. To this day he wonders he was not "pinched" by the police a dozen times, and certainly would have been if it were not that the gay, good-looking, devil-may-care Prince Albert never left anything to chance. When a _coup_ was to be made he thought out every minute detail, and took precaution against every risk of detection. To his marvellous ingenuity and wonderful foresight Garrett, with his friends, owed his liberty.

During the three years through which he had thrown in his lot with that select little circle of "crooks," he had really had a very interesting time, and had driven them thousands of miles, mostly on the Continent, in the big "Mercedes" or the "sixty" six-cylinder "Minerva."

His Highness's share in the plunder had been very considerable. At his bankers he possessed quite a respectable balance, and he lived in easy affluence the life of a prince. In the drawing-rooms of London and Paris he was known as essentially a ladies' man; while in Italy he was usually Henry Tremlett, of London, and in France he was Charles Fotheringham, an Anglo-Frenchman and Chevalier of the Legion d'Honneur.

"Look here, Garrett," he said, raising himself on his elbow and looking the man in the face as he tossed his cigarette in the grate. "To-day, let's see, is December 16. You must start in the car to-morrow for San Remo. We shall spend a week or two there."

"To-morrow!" the chauffeur echoed. "The roads from Paris down to the Riviera are pretty bad just now. I saw in the paper yesterday that there's heavy snow around Valence."

"Snow, or no snow, we must go," the Prince said decisively. "We have a little matter in hand down there--you understand?" he remarked, his dark eyes still fixed upon the chauffeur.

The man wondered what was the nature of the _coup_ intended.