The Duke in the Suburbs

"Tuppy," said the Duke quickly, "you can stay out of this business if you like: if you come in there'll be no risk and a lot of amusement. Will you come?"

"Like a shot," said Tuppy.

"No, you'd never guess…" Olejoe was saying.

"We've time to pack and catch the two-twenty from Cannon Street. Just take a few things – we can buy what we want in Paris."

They made a rush from the room.

"You'd never guess," Olejoe rambled on with closed eyes and swaying slightly, "who the old feller was, and who the young lady was … now," with a heavy jocularity, "I'll give you three guesses…"

He was still talking when the door slammed behind the adventurers.

III

There are limitations even to the powers of dukes.

For instance, even a Duke starting forth at 2.30 to catch the 2.20 from Charing Cross is hardly likely to succeed, unless he performs one of those miracles of which one hears in the course of destructive and pessimistic parliamentary debate, to wit: put back the hands of time.

There was time to shop and time to reflect. Time also to wire to the sedate Cole and give instructions for the management of the house during the Duke's absence. It gave Mr. Bill Slewer time also to discover the Duke's plans – the Duke's instructions to Cole had included a counsel of frankness as to his whereabouts.

The party left London by the nine o'clock train – that same "Continental," that Hank had "flagged" – and the crossing from Dover to Calais was a pleasant one to Tuppy's infinite relief. They arrived in Paris before daybreak, and idled away that day and the next. The Tanneurs were in Paris, if report was true. The work of investigation was to be divided.

"You do the magazins, Tuppy," said the Duke, "if you hang round the shopping centre you are pretty sure to spot 'em."

The Duke haunted the Louvre, Hank systematically went through the hotel lists. Tuppy, after spending ten minutes examining the contents of a jeweller's shop window in the Rue de la Paix, came back to the hotel thoroughly exhausted.

By accident they learnt that the Tanneurs had gone on to Madrid, and there was a wild rush to catch the Sud Express. They caught it by the narrowest of margins. At Bordeaux, Tuppy got out to buy some French papers: by the merest chance met a man he knew; exchanged greetings and inquiries, spoke rudely of the dowager … the Sud Express was half-way to the border before Tuppy realized that he ought to have been on it…

Accordingly there was a day lost at Biarritz where the chafing Duke waited for Tuppy to catch up.

In Madrid, they had no difficulty in finding out that the Tanneurs had arrested their progress at Avila.

Back to the walled city dashed the adventurers. As their train came clanging into the station, the south bound express drew out and the Duke caught a glimpse of Alicia's slim figure standing at the window of a saloon – and swore. They returned to Madrid the same night, by a train that stopped at every station, and sometimes between stations. It discharged them, weary, bedraggled and extremely cross, at the Medina in the middle of the night.

Hank alone of the trio was imperturbable. Nothing shook the nerves or disturbed the serenity of the American. His inevitable cigar between his teeth, he surveyed the chill desolation of the dreary terminus with bland benevolence.

It was Tuppy's fault that they missed the Sevilla Express. Tuppy, acquiring a sudden and passionate love for art, strayed through the Prado, lingered in the Valesquez Room, melted into a condition of ecstatic incoherence, before the wonders of Titian, the glories of Rubens, and the beauty of Paul Veronese, and finally contrived to get himself locked in at closing time.

He was discovered by a watchman, pounced upon as an international burglar, arrested, and finally released, after considerable trouble, in which the British ambassador, the Minister of Marine and the Duke were involved.

"It is no use your being angry, my dear old ferocious friend," said the penitent Tuppy. "Unfortunate as my intrusion into the realms of art may be, I merely illustrate the sayin' of that remarkable German feller who wrote a play about the devil, that Art is long an' time's doocid short, and dear old Titian an' cheery old Velasquez wait for no man."

"My dear man, you had a time table."

"Assure you, old feller, I hadn't."

"But I gave you one; a little red book."

"So you did," said Tuppy thoughtfully, "a little red book with egg marks. Now d'ye know," he said in a burst of confidence, "I didn't know that dashed thing was a time table."

"What the dickens did you think it was?" asked the Duke in tones of annoyance, "a set of sleeve links?" Thenceforward Tuppy behaved like a perfect gentleman. The Duke went further and said that Tuppy behaved like a perfect nuisance.

For if a train was due to leave at seven, and breakfast was ordered at six o'clock, you might be sure that somewhere in the neighbourhood of 4 a.m. Tuppy would thrust his head into the Duke's apartment with an anxious inquiry.

"Time's a bouncin', old feller, what?" he would ask. "I hear people movin' downstairs – are you quite sure about that train?"

"For goodness' sake, Tuppy, go to sleep," said the Duke on one occasion, and Tuppy withdrew – but not to slumber. Tuppy would begin packing. You could hear Tuppy's boots falling on the bare floor of the Spanish hotel – you could hear Tuppy's apologetic "damn!" Then he whistled softly and with heart-breaking flatness the "Soldiers' Chorus"; then he took a stealthy bath – blowing like a grampus and with a sibilant hissing that suggested an ostler at his toilet. Then there came from his room a squeaking and a grunting as Tuppy manipulated his physical developer. Then a thunderous crash! as the dumbells fell to the floor – at this point the Duke would rise and address feeling remarks to his friend.

Such a programme as I have outlined is faithfully typical of what happened in Cordova, in Seville, in Ronda, in Algeciras and in Gibraltar. It was at Ronda that the Duke came up with his quarry.

Alicia, breakfasting alone in the airy little "comidor" of the Station Hotel saw a shadow fall across the doorway but did not look up from the book she was reading.

When she did, she met the smiling eyes of the Duke and half rose with outstretched hands. Of course it was only an unconscious impulse, but it was unnecessary to go half way with the Duke. He greeted her as though they had parted but yesterday, the best of friends.

He had the valuable gift of taking up, where he had left off – you never saw the joint in the Duke's friendship.

Alicia thought rapidly.

After all one cannot offer one's hand and snatch it instantly back again. It had been foolish of her, unmaidenly perhaps, indiscreet no doubt, but here she was chatting gaily with the Duke.

"We left mother in Paris, my aunt is with us, we've had most perfect weather…"

She noticed that she was "Miss Terrill" to him – there was a negative satisfaction in that. So, apparently he had not picked up the threads, as they had dropped. Also he made no reference to their parting interview, offered no explanations, was neither tragic nor mournful, displayed, in fact, none of those interesting symptoms which usually distinguish the young man of blighted hopes. He was the most unconventional man Alicia had ever met.

The interview had its embarrassing side as Alicia suddenly remembered.

"My uncle will be down very soon," she said suddenly, "I don't think that you and he are quite – ?" she left the Duke to finish the sentence.

He rose.

"We aren't – quite," he said.

"I shall probably see you again," she smiled. She was perfectly self-controlled, serenely mistress of herself and the situation. "Sir Harry has read your Open Letters – I think he was touched by your abasement," she said maliciously, and, I cannot help thinking, incautiously.

"Naturally," said the Duke calmly, "even an uncle has his feelings: to know that his niece has inspired – "

"Good-bye," she said hurriedly, "perhaps it would be better if you didn't see me again." She added inconsistently, "We are going on to Tangier to-morrow."

"By Algeciras or by Cadiz?" queried the Duke.

"By Algeciras and Gibraltar," said Alicia. "Good-bye."

She held out her hand nervously.

The Duke took it, and kissed her.

"Oh!" cried Alicia.

The Duke looked surprised.

"What is the matter?" he asked and stroked his cheek. "I'm shaven?"

"How – how dare you?" she said hotly.

"Dare?" The Duke was puzzled. "Why, aren't you engaged to me?"

"You know I'm not! You know I've returned your hateful ring – you know – "

The Duke stopped her with an imperious gesture. "As to that matter," he said graciously, "will you accept my assurance that I have entirely overlooked it? Please never mention it again."

He left her with a confused feeling that somehow and in some manner she was under an obligation to him.

IV

El Mogreb Alaska, that enterprising sheet, duly announced the arrival of the Duke's party. "Unfortunately," said the journal, "one member of the Duke's entourage, the Rt. Hon. the Lord Tupping, was left behind at Gibraltar through some mistake as to the hour of the sailing of the Gibel Musa."

From which it may be gathered that Tuppy had fallen from grace. He came on by the next boat – two days later, with a tentative grievance. That is to say, it was a grievance that he was prepared, to withdraw in the absence of any reproach on the part of the Duke.

Tuppy had been spending a day with a friend who was Deputy-Adjutant Something or other to the forces.

"I didn't mistake the hour, Monty, old feller," he explained eagerly, "I was down on the dashed pier, with all my traps, gazin' pensively at the lappin' waves an' the sea-gulls circlin' on rigid pinions an' all that, waitin' for you, when it occurred to me that you were a doosid long time comin'. So I drove to your hotel an' found you'd left the day before."

They sat in the big hall of the Continental Hotel. From the narrow street without, came the sing-song intonation of young Islam at its lessons, and the pattering of laden donkeys. Tuppy talked to the Duke but was looking elsewhere.

Hank had found some countrywomen of his, and surrounded by all that was best and beautiful in Ohio, was solemnly narrating for their especial benefit a purely fanciful description of a Moorish harem. One face in that circle attracted Tuppy strangely.

"Then there's the laundry wife who does the washin', an' the cook wife who does the cooking, an' the washin'-up wife, an' the sock wife who darns the socks – "

"Oh, Mr. Hankey, you're jollying us?"

"No, sir," said Hank firmly, "when I was American Minister at Fez in '82…"

Tuppy's explanations, having been satisfactorily exploited, the Duke listened with amusement to the procession of unfounded statements Hank was leading forth for the benefit of the fair Americans.

"Do you know, Mr. Hankey," said one suddenly, "we really don't believe a word you're saying. For one thing I'm sure you was never the favourite of the Sultan or we should have read about it in the New York Sunday papers. And I'm certain you never married the Sultan's daughter, Fatima, because you'd just be ashamed to confess it to a lot of nice American girls. You're just a new-comer like the American we met on the Fez Road who asked our guide where the nearest Beer Hall was."

A shriek of laughter greeted this innocent jest. Hank sat up, his lazy voice became immediately incisive.

"On the Fez Road – an American?"

"He was a man with white eyes," said a voice.

"Oh, Mamie, how unkind! still his eyes did look white."

Hank shot a swift glance at the Duke, and the latter nodded.

"I suppose," drawled Hank, "it would be a mighty improper question to ask where this freeborn citizen of God's country is stayin' in Tangier."

But nobody knew. They had met the man by accident, they had seen him once in the Great Sok, more than this they could not say.

Hank had picked up a servant, none other than Rabbit.

Rabbit is a well-known figure in Tangier society. A waif of the streets, a bravo, an adventurer, a most amusing child of nature was this Rabbit – so-called because of a certain facial resemblance to bunny. It may be said of Rabbit that he disobeyed most commands of the Prophet. He drank, gambled, and was on friendly terms with the giaour. None the less he rose at inconvenient hours of the night, tucked a praying carpet under his arm and hied him to his orisons. Rabbit had curious likes and dislikes; he was not everybody's man.

His world had two names. The world that treated him well, and to whom he attached himself, was "Mr. Goodman"; the world repugnant had a name which has no exact equivalent in the English language, but which in German would be "Mr. Shameless-dog-burnt-in-pitch-and-consigned-to-the underworld." Hank was the time being his "Mr. Goodman," and to Rabbit Hank delegated the task of discovering Bill.

Rabbit discharged his task in three minutes. His procedure was simple.

He strolled into the market place and found a small boy in tattered jelab and very industriously kicking another small boy. Having impartially smacked the heads of both, he sent them on their errand of discovery. Then he went off to sleep. In an hour's time Rabbit presented himself before Hank in a picturesque condition of exhaustion and reported that Mr. Bill Slewer was staying at a little hotel near the Kasbah. It was not exactly an hotel, said Rabbit frankly, but a House of Experience, where strangers threw a Main with Fate.

"The difficulty with Bill will be his unexpectedness," said the Duke, "there is no place in the world more suitably situated for the springing of a surprise than Tangier."

"Where's Tuppy?" he asked.

"Tuppy has found an ideal," said Hank, "something worshipful. Did I introduce you to that pretty little girl from Drayton, Ohio?"

"You introduced me to several pretty little girls from Drayton, Ohio," said the Duke.

"I mean the one that talks."

The Duke drew a long breath.

"The description is inadequate," he said, "do you mean the one that sometimes doesn't talk?"

Hank ignored the slight to his kindred.

"The curious thing about it is that she hasn't a dollar an' Tuppy knows it. Her father is just a plain American gentleman with a contempt for millionaires: I doubt if his capital value runs into six figures – dollars I mean."

"Have you been matchmaking?" asked the Duke severely, and Hank blushed.

"I've no use for lords an' suchlike foolishness," he confessed, "but Tuppy has possibilities." His declaration in Tuppy's favour coincided with one made by that worthy on his own behalf.

He had at little trouble secured an introduction to the laughing girl who had acted as Hank's interlocutor.

Now, on the back of a gaily caparisoned mule, he was returning from an excursion to the suburbs, and the girl who rode the donkey at his side was listening demurely whilst Tuppy spoke upon his favourite subject – which was Tuppy.

"You must understand, Miss Boardman," he said, "that mine is a blighted life: I'm a piece of humanity's flotsam, a pathetic chunk of wreckage on the sea of human existence."

"Oh, no, Lord Tupping," murmured the girl.

"It's true," said Tuppy gloomily, "saddled by rank an' bridled by circumstance" (this was his pet figure), "I've been outdistanced an' outfaced in the Marathon of Life. My whole nature, naturally pure an' confidin', has been warped an' distorted by a variety of conditions, an' even the early grave to which I would extend a fervent welcome – steady, you beast." He jerked back the reins of his prancing mule, readjusted his hat and eye-glass and proceeded – "The merciful dissolution for which I yearned was denied me, an' doomed to tread the thorny path that leads to oblivion – I'll knock your head off if you don't keep quiet – doomed to stalk, if I may use the expression – a sad shadow amidst the laughin' throng, I've become a wretched, embittered creature."

"Oh, no, Lord Tupping!" dissented the girl.

"Sometimes," Tuppy proceeded recklessly, "I'm in such a dashed horridly low state that I don't care what happens – when I would gladly change places with fellers goin' out to war, an' all that sort of thing. I didvolunteer for the Boer war, but my stupid man forgot to post the letter."

"How splendid!" said the girl with her eyes sparkling, "have you ever been to war, Lord Tupping?"

"Not exactly to war," said Tuppy carefully, "in the wars, yes; but not to war."

Earlier in the afternoon he had gently broken to her the story of his mésalliance.

"I was a boy at the time an' she was a prima donna." He could not bring himself to own up to a strong woman. "We parted practically at the church door," he went on with melancholy relish, "information came to me that she was already married. I dropped her – or rather I gave her the opportunity of droppin' me."

"How chivalrous! it must have been a painful experience."

"It was," said Tuppy emphatically, "more painful for me than for her."

They threaded a way through the crowd in the Great Sok.

"Now, Miss Boardman," said Tuppy, "you know all that is to be known about me. I've told you," he said moodily, "more than I've ever told any feller."

Tuppy believed, when he said this, he was speaking the truth. It was the surest sign of his confidence and friendship, that he added to the history of his life – a history filed in most newspaper offices, and which appeared at regular intervals in the New York journals, indeed, every time that the strong lady changed her husband – the assurance that he had told his hearer "more than he had ever told anybody else." In this Tuppy was not singular.

But to the girl at his side, it was all very new, and all very, very tragic, and there were tears in her eyes as her cavalier led the way down the hill to the town.

In spite of his confidence she was ill-prepared for the proposal that followed.

It was after dinner, when the cool breezes from the Atlantic made life bearable; when the sea was bathed in moonlight and the shadowy Spanish hills bulked mistily on the ocean's rim, that Tuppy declared himself.

"Miss Boardman," he said suddenly – they were watching the sea from the terrace of the Cecil – "d'ye know I'm nearly a beggar, broke to the wide, unsympathetic world, up to my neck in debt." The attack was sudden and the girl was alarmed.

"Lord Tuppy – I'm – I'm sorry," she stammered.

"That's all right," said Tuppy easily, "don't let that worry you. But I wanted to tell you. An' there's another startlin' statement I want to make, I've been talkin' with your father."

"Have you?" faltered the girl.

"I have," said Tuppy firmly, "I asked him straight out if he was one of those millionaires that grow as thick as huckleberries in America."

For a moment only the girl suspected his motive.

"I was frank with him," said Tuppy, "so doosid frank that he nearly chucked me out of the window, but wiser councils prevailed, as dear old Milton says, an' he listened – Miss Boardman, you're not rich."

She made no reply.

"So that's why I'm goin' to ask you to come an' share a ninety pounds a year baronial castle in the suburbs of London. I've got a little income, enough to pay the rent an' buy a library subscription – will you take me?"

All this Tuppy said with an assumption of firmness that he was far from feeling.

"There's nothin' in me – I'm a reed an' a rotter."

"Indeed you mustn't say that!" she pleaded.

"I am," said Tuppy resolutely, "I'm a long worm that has no turnin', but I offer you the homage of my declinin' years – is it a bet?"

His voice shook. Tuppy was ever ready to be stirred by his own emotions.

"The title ain't much good to you, an' it ain't much good to me," he said huskily, "it's a barren possession. An unpawnable asset that has come unsullied through the ages – I offer it to you," his voice broke, "for what it is worth."

She accepted him, whereupon, I believe, Tuppy broke down and they wept together.

V

Sir Harry Tanneur had one admirable British quality. He had a supreme contempt for the foreigner. If the foreigner happened to be, moreover, of dusky hue, Sir Harry's scorn was rendered more poignant by a seasoning of pity. He was totally fearless of all danger. He had never been in danger except once, when he slipped up on a banana skin outside the Mansion House and had all but fallen under an omnibus. Thereafter Sir Harry was the avowed enemy of the banana industry and had carried his prejudice to the extent of refusing to underwrite a Jamaica loan. Danger with bullets in it, danger garnished with schrapnel; danger indeed of the cut and thrust order; he knew nothing about, and was accordingly genuinely amused when the British Vice-Consul advised him not to venture too far from the city.

"There's Valentini amongst the Riffi's, and El Ahmet playing round with the Angera people, and a thousand and one cutthroats wandering about, robbing each other," said the official, "altogether it is fairly unsafe to move out of Tangier without an escort."

Sir Harry smiled tolerantly.

"Thanks," he said airily, "it's very proper of you, of course, to warn me, you've got to protect your department, but I'm quite able to look after myself, and if it comes to fighting," he chuckled, nodding at Hal, "we've a fellow here who can teach these rascals a thing or two."

Lieutenant Hal Tanneur of the 9th West Kent, remarked modestly that there were one or two dodges, he could show them.

So in spite of all warning, Sir Harry rode out on the Fez Road, with Alicia on his left and the military gentleman on his right, and two mules, bearing respectively a cold collation and Mahmud Ali, that magnificent courier, guide, interpreter and bodyguard behind them.

It was not as pleasant a ride as Alicia had anticipated. Sir Harry was not in his very best mood, and Hal was sulky. That morning in the market Sir Harry and his son had come face to face with the Duke. An unexpected meeting for Sir Harry, who had not dreamt that the Duke would so completely fulfil his prophecy. With some vague misgivings Sir Harry remembered certain conversation with Bill Slewer.

He had been vexed at the time, and had perhaps spoken hastily and foolishly. He recalled dimly an historical parallel. A king had once said in his anger "Will nobody rid me of the turbulent priest," and straightway four rollicking spirits had driven over to Canonbury – or was it Canterbury? and sliced off the head of a worthy bishop, Cardinal Wolsey or somebody of the sort. These thoughts filled his mind as his Arab barb trotted through the sand.

In his annoyance he had accused Alicia of encouraging the Duke to follow her, and she had indignantly denied it. Hal, rashly coming to the support of his father, had been entirely and conclusively squashed.

So three people rode forth on a picnic harbouring uncharitable thoughts toward the Duc de Montvillier.

Sir Harry's wrath was tinctured with fear because of Big Bill Slewer of Four Ways, Texas.

Hal's anger was inflamed by jealousy, for he was in love with his cousin.

Alicia's annoyance was directed against the Duke because he had been the cause of her embarrassment.

Was Bill Slewer in Tangier? Sir Harry had sent the imposing Mahmud Ali to inquire, but Mahmud Ali had no familiars, as Rabbit had, and the answer he brought to his employer was unsatisfactory.

They rode in silence for an hour, with no sign of the enemy the vice-consul had foreshadowed. Alicia was in ignorance of that interview. Sir Harry had not deemed the conversation sufficiently interesting to repeat.

When they had reached the little hill whereon lunch was to be taken, he unbent. Possibly a pint of excellent champagne was responsible for his garrulity.

"Danger?" said Alicia, looking nervously about. "Oh, uncle, what a ridiculous thing to say."

"So I said, my dear," said Sir Harry; "with Gibraltar a stone's throw away, and a British fleet to be had for the asking – it is all bosh to talk about danger."

"That is what I said, governor," corrected Hal. "I pointed out that Morocco is in too dicky a position to fool about with British subjects – now who the devil is this?"

His last words were addressed to nobody in particular and Alicia followed the direction of his gaze.