RALLYING ROUND OLD GEORGE
I think one of the I was mixed up with, in the of a lifetime to into other people’s business, was that of George Lattaker at Monte Carlo. I wouldn’t you, don’t you know, for the world, but I think you ought to about it.
We had come to Monte Carlo on the Circe, to an old sportsman of the name of Marshall. Among those present were myself, my man Voules, a Mrs. Vanderley, her Stella, Mrs. Vanderley’s Pilbeam and George.
George was a dear old of mine. In fact, it was I who had him into the party. You see, George was to meet his Uncle Augustus, who was scheduled, George having just his twenty-fifth birthday, to hand over to him a left by one of George’s aunts, for which he had been trustee. The aunt had died when George was a kid. It was a date that George had been looking to; for, though he had a of income—an income, after-all, is only an income, a of o’ is a pile. George’s uncle was in Monte Carlo, and had George that he would come to London and unbelt; but it me that a plan was for George to go to his uncle at Monte Carlo instead. Kill two with one stone, don’t you know. Fix up his and have a simultaneously. So George had along, and at the time when the trouble started we were in Monaco Harbour, and Uncle Augustus was next day.
Looking back, I may say that, so as I was mixed up in it, the thing at seven o’clock in the morning, when I was from a sleep by the of a in progress my state-room door. The were a female voice that and said: “Oh, Harold!” and a male voice “raised in anger,” as they say, which after difficulty, I as Voules’s. I it. In his official Voules talks like you’d a to talk, if it could. In private, however, he to some extent, and to have that of thing going on in my at that hour was too much for me.
“Voules!” I yelled.
Spion Kop with a jerk. There was silence, then in the distance, and a at the door. Voules entered with that impressive, my-lord-the-carriage-waits look which is what I pay him for. You wouldn’t have he had a of any of in him.
“Voules,” I said, “are you under the that I’m going to be Queen of the May? You’ve called me early all right. It’s only just seven.”
“I you to me, sir.”
“I you to out why you were making that noise outside.”
“I you an apology, sir. I am that in the of the moment I my voice.”
“It’s a wonder you didn’t the roof. Who was that with you?”
“Miss Pilbeam, sir; Mrs. Vanderley’s maid.”
“What was all the trouble about?”
“I was our engagement, sir.”
I couldn’t help gaping. Somehow one didn’t Voules with engagements. Then it me that I’d no right to in on his sorrows, so I the conversation.
“I think I’ll up,” I said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I can’t wait to with the rest. Can you me some right away?”
“Yes, sir.”
So I had a and up on to smoke. It was a morning. Blue sea, Casino, sky, and all the of the hippodrome. Presently the others to up. Stella Vanderley was one of the first. I she looked a and tired. She said she hadn’t slept well. That for it. Unless you your eight hours, where are you?
“Seen George?” I asked.
I couldn’t help the name to freeze her a bit. Which was queer, all the she and George had been particularly close pals. In fact, at any moment I George to come to me and his little hand in mine, and whisper: “I’ve done it, old scout; she loves muh!”
“I have not Mr. Lattaker,” she said.
I didn’t the subject. George’s stock was low that a.m.
The next item in the day’s programme a minutes later when the papers arrived.
Mrs. Vanderley opened hers and gave a scream.
“The poor, dear Prince!” she said.
“What a thing!” said old Marshall.
“I him in Vienna,” said Mrs. Vanderley. “He divinely.”
Then I got at mine and saw what they were talking about. The paper was full of it. It that late the night His Serene Highness the Prince of Saxburg-Leignitz (I always wonder why they call these “Serene”) had been in a dark on his way from the Casino to his yacht. Apparently he had the of going about without an escort, and some rough-neck, taking of this, had for him and him with vim. The Prince had been well up and in the by a pedestrian, and had been taken to his yacht, where he still unconscious.
“This is going to do somebody no good,” I said. “What do you for a Serene Highness? I wonder if they’ll catch the fellow?”
“‘Later,’” read old Marshall, “‘the who His Serene Highness proves to have been Mr. Denman Sturgis, the private investigator. Mr. Sturgis has offered his services to the police, and is to be in of a most clue.’ That’s the who had of that case in Chicago. If anyone can catch the man, he can.”
About five minutes later, just as the of them were going to move off to breakfast, a us and came alongside. A tall, thin man came up the gangway. He looked the group, and on old Marshall as the owner of the yacht.
“Good morning,” he said. “I you have a Mr. Lattaker on board—Mr. George Lattaker?”
“Yes,” said Marshall. “He’s below. Want to see him? Whom shall I say?”
“He would not know my name. I should like to see him for a moment on urgent business.”
“Take a seat. He’ll be up in a moment. Reggie, my boy, go and him up.”
I to George’s state-room.
“George, old man!” I shouted.
No answer. I opened the door and in. The room was empty. What’s more, the hadn’t been slept in. I don’t know when I’ve been more surprised. I on deck.
“He isn’t there,” I said.
“Not there!” said old Marshall. “Where is he, then? Perhaps he’s gone for a ashore. But he’ll be soon for breakfast. You’d wait for him. Have you breakfasted? No? Then will you join us?”
The man said he would, and just then the and they down, me alone on deck.
I sat and thinking, and then a more, when I I somebody call my name in a of whisper. I looked over my shoulder, and, by Jove, there at the top of the in dress, to the and without a hat, was dear old George.
“Great Scot!” I cried.
“‘Sh!” he whispered. “Anyone about?”
“They’re all at breakfast.”
He gave a of relief, into my chair, and closed his eyes. I him with pity. The old boy looked a wreck.
“I say!” I said, him on the shoulder.
He out of the chair with a yell.
“Did you do that? What did you do it for? What’s the of it? How do you you can make popular if you go about people on the shoulder? My nerves are a out of my this morning, Reggie!”
“Yes, old boy?”
“I did a last night.”
“What?”
“It’s the of thing that might to anybody. Directly Stella Vanderley off our I——”
“Broke off your engagement? How long were you engaged?”
“About two minutes. It may have been less. I hadn’t a stop-watch. I to her at ten last night in the saloon. She me. I was just going to her when we someone coming. I out. Coming along the was that what’s-her-name—Mrs. Vanderley’s maid—Pilbeam. Have you been by the girl you love, Reggie?”
“Never. I’ve been dozens——”
“Then you won’t how I felt. I was off my with joy. I what I was doing. I just I had to the nearest thing handy. I couldn’t wait. It might have been the ship’s cat. It wasn’t. It was Pilbeam.”
“You her?”
“I her. And just at that moment the door of the opened and out came Stella.”
“Great Scott!”
“Exactly what I said. It across me that to Stella, dear girl, not the circumstances, the thing might a little odd. It did. She off the engagement, and I got out the and off. I was mad. I didn’t what of me. I wanted to forget. I ashore. I—It’s just on the cards that I may have my a bit. Anyhow, I don’t a thing, that I can having the of a with somebody in a dark and somebody falling, and myself falling, and myself it for all I was worth. I up this in the Casino gardens. I’ve my hat.”
I for the paper.
“Read,” I said. “It’s all there.”
He read.
“Good heavens!” he said.
“You didn’t do a thing to His Serene Nibs, did you?”
“Reggie, this is awful.”
“Cheer up. They say he’ll recover.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It to him.”
He read the paper again.
“It says they’ve a clue.”
“They always say that.”
“But—My hat!”
“Eh?”
“My hat. I must have it the scrap. This man, Denman Sturgis, must have it. It had my name in it!”
“George,” I said, “you mustn’t waste time. Oh!”
He jumped a in the air.
“Don’t do it!” he said, irritably. “Don’t like that. What’s the matter?”
“The man!”
“What man?”
“A tall, thin man with an like a gimlet. He just you did. He’s in the now, having breakfast. He said he wanted to see you on business, and wouldn’t give his name. I didn’t like the look of him from the first. It’s this Sturgis. It must be.”
“No!”
“I it. I’m sure of it.”
“Had he a hat?”
“Of he had a hat.”
“Fool! I mine. Was he a hat?”
“By Jove, he was a parcel. George, old scout, you must a move on. You must light out if you want to the of your life out of prison. Slugging a Serene Highness is lèse-majesté. It’s than a policeman. You haven’t got a moment to waste.”
“But I haven’t any money. Reggie, old man, me a or something. I must over the into Italy at once. I’ll wire my uncle to meet me in——”
“Look out,” I cried; “there’s someone coming!”
He out of just as Voules came up the companion-way, a on a tray.
“What’s the matter!” I said. “What do you want?”
“I your pardon, sir. I I Mr. Lattaker’s voice. A has for him.”
“He isn’t here.”
“No, sir. Shall I remove the letter?”
“No; give it to me. I’ll give it to him when he comes.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Oh, Voules! Are they all still at breakfast? The who came to see Mr. Lattaker? Still hard at it?”
“He is at present with a herring, sir.”
“Ah! That’s all, Voules.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He retired. I called to George, and he came out.
“Who was it?”
“Only Voules. He a for you. They’re all at still. The sleuth’s kippers.”
“That’ll him for a bit. Full of bones.” He to read his letter. He gave a of of at the paragraph.
“Well, I’m hanged!” he said, as he finished.
“Reggie, this is a thing.”
“What’s that?”
He me the letter, and directly I started in on it I saw why he had grunted. This is how it ran:
“My dear George—I shall be you to-morrow, I hope; but I think it is better, we meet, to prepare you for a that has in with the which your father from your Aunt Emily, and which you are me, as trustee, to hand over to you, now that you have your twenty-fifth birthday. You have your father speak of your twin-brother Alfred, who was or kidnapped—which, was ascertained—when you were babies. When no news was of him for so many years, it was that he was dead. Yesterday, however, I a that he had been all this time in Buenos Ayres as the son of a South American, and has only his identity. He that he is on his way to meet me, and will arrive any day now. Of course, like other claimants, he may prove to be an impostor, but meanwhile his will, I fear, a I can hand over your money to you. It will be necessary to go into a of credentials, etc., and this will take some time. But I will go into the with you when we meet.—Your uncle,
“AUGUSTUS ARBUTT.”
I read it through twice, and the second time I had one of those ideas I do sometimes get, though a of the class. I have had such a brain-wave.
“Why, old top,” I said, “this lets you out.”
“Lets me out of the money, if that’s what you mean. If this chap’s not an imposter—and there’s no to he is, though I’ve my father say a word about him—we shall have to the money. Aunt Emily’s will left the money to my father, or, him, his ‘offspring.’ I that meant me, but there are a of us. I call it work, on a at the hour like this.”
“Why, you chump,” I said, “it’s going to save you. This lets you out of your across the frontier. All you’ve got to do is to here and be your Alfred. It came to me in a flash.”
He looked at me in a of way.
“You ought to be in some of a home, Reggie.”
“Ass!” I cried. “Don’t you understand? Have you of twin-brothers who weren’t alike? Who’s to say you aren’t Alfred if you you are? Your uncle will be there to you up that you have a Alfred.”
“And Alfred will be there to call me a liar.”
“He won’t. It’s not as if you had to keep it up for the of your life. It’s only for an hour or two, till we can this off the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning.”
At last the thing to into him. His brightened.
“Why, I do it would work,” he said.
“Of it would work. If they want proof, them your mole. I’ll George hadn’t one.”
“And as Alfred I should a of talking to Stella and making all right for George. Reggie, old top, you’re a genius.”
“No, no.”
“You are.”
“Well, it’s only sometimes. I can’t keep it up.”
And just then there was a us. We round.
“What the are you doing here, Voules,” I said.
“I your pardon, sir. I have all.”
I looked at George. George looked at me.
“Voules is all right,” I said. “Decent Voules! Voules wouldn’t give us away, would you, Voules?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You would?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But, Voules, old man,” I said, “be sensible. What would you by it?”
“Financially, sir, nothing.”
“Whereas, by quiet”—I him on the chest—“by your tongue, Voules, by saying nothing about it to anybody, Voules, old fellow, you might a sum.”
“Am I to understand, sir, that, you are rich and I am poor, you think that you can my self-respect?”
“Oh, come!” I said.
“How much?” said Voules.
So we to terms. You wouldn’t the way the man haggled. You’d have a decent, would have been to one in a little like that for a fiver. But not Voules. By no means. It was a hundred down, and the promise of another hundred when we had got safely away, he was satisfied. But we it up at last, and old George got to his state-room and his clothes.
He’d gone when the breakfast-party came on deck.
“Did you meet him?” I asked.
“Meet whom?” said old Marshall.
“George’s twin-brother Alfred.”
“I didn’t know George had a brother.”
“Nor did he till yesterday. It’s a long story. He was in infancy, and he was dead. George had a from his uncle about him yesterday. I shouldn’t wonder if that’s where George has gone, to see his uncle and out about it. In the meantime, Alfred has arrived. He’s in George’s state-room now, having a brush-up. It’ll you, the them. You’ll think it is George at first. Look! Here he comes.”
And up came George, and clean, in an ordinary suit.
They were rattled. There was no about that. They looking at him, as if they there was a catch somewhere, but weren’t where it was. I him, and still they looked doubtful.
“Mr. Pepper tells me my is not on board,” said George.
“It’s an likeness,” said old Marshall.
“Is my like me?” asked George amiably.
“No one tell you apart,” I said.
“I always are alike,” said George. “But if it came to a question of identification, there would be one way of us. Do you know George well, Mr. Pepper?”
“He’s a dear old of mine.”
“You’ve been with him perhaps?”
“Every day last August.”
“Well, then, you would have noticed it if he had had a like this on the of his neck, wouldn’t you?” He his and and the mole. His it at ordinary times. I had it often when we were together.
“Has George a like that?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Oh, no.”
“You would have noticed it if he had?”
“Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes.”
“I’m of that,” said George. “It would be a not to be able to prove one’s own identity.”
That to satisfy them all. They couldn’t away from it. It to me that from now on the thing was a walk-over. And I think George the same, for, when old Marshall asked him if he had had breakfast, he said he had not, below, and in as if he hadn’t a in the world.
Everything right till lunch-time. George sat in the on the talking to Stella most of the time. When the and the had started to go below, he me back. He was beaming.
“It’s all right,” he said. “What did I tell you?”
“What did you tell me?”
“Why, about Stella. Didn’t I say that Alfred would for George? I told her she looked worried, and got her to tell me what the trouble was. And then——”
“You must have a of speed if you got her to in you after you for about two hours.”
“Perhaps I did,” said George modestly, “I had no notion, till I him, what a of my Alfred was. Anyway, she told me all about it, and I started in to her that George was a good of on the whole, who oughtn’t to be for what was temporary insanity. She saw my point.”
“And it’s all right?”
“Absolutely, if only we can produce George. How much longer that to here? He to have taken root.”
“I he thinks that you’re to come sooner or later, and is waiting for you.”
“He’s an nuisance,” said George.
We were moving the way, to go for lunch, when a us. We to the and looked over.
“It’s my uncle,” said George.
A man came up the gangway.
“Halloa, George!” he said. “Get my letter?”
“I think you are me for my brother,” said George. “My name is Alfred Lattaker.”
“What’s that?”
“I am George’s Alfred. Are you my Uncle Augustus?”
The man at him.
“You’re very like George,” he said.
“So tells me.”
“And you’re Alfred?”
“I am.”
“I’d like to talk with you for a moment.”
He his at me. I off and below.
At the of the companion-steps I met Voules.
“I your pardon, sir,” said Voules. “If it would be I should be to have the off.”
I’m to say I liked his manner. Absolutely normal. Not a of the fellow-conspirator about it. I gave him the off.
I had lunch—George didn’t up—and as I was going out I was by the girl Pilbeam. She had been crying.
“I your pardon, sir, but did Mr. Voules ask you for the afternoon?”
I didn’t see what if was of hers, but she all up about it, so I told her.
“Yes, I have him the off.”
She down—absolutely collapsed. Devilish it was. I’m in a like this. After I’d said, “There, there!” which didn’t to help much, I hadn’t any to make.
“He s-said he was going to the tables to away all his savings and then shoot himself, he had nothing left to live for.”
I the in the small hours my state-room door. I mysteries. I meant to to the of this. I couldn’t have a first-class like Voules going about the place himself up. Evidently the girl Pilbeam was at the of the thing. I questioned her. She sobbed.
I questioned her more. I was firm. And she up the facts. Voules had George her the night before; that was the trouble.
Things to piece themselves together. I up to George. There was going to be another job for Alfred. Voules’s mind had got to be as Stella’s had been. I couldn’t to a with his for a trouser-crease.
I George on the foredeck. What is it Shakespeare or somebody says about some fellow’s being o’er with the of care? George’s was like that. He looked green.
“Finished with your uncle?” I said.
He a grin.
“There isn’t any uncle,” he said. “There isn’t any Alfred. And there isn’t any money.”
“Explain yourself, old top,” I said.
“It won’t take long. The old has every of the trust money. He’s been at it for years, since I was a kid. When the time came to up, and I was to see that he did it, he to the tables in the of a of luck, and the last of the stuff. He had to a way of me for a while and the of while he got away, and he this twin-brother business. He I should out sooner or later, but meanwhile he would be able to off to South America, which he has done. He’s on his way now.”
“You let him go?”
“What I do? I can’t to make a with that man Sturgis around. I can’t prove there’s no Alfred when my only of prison is to be Alfred.”
“Well, you’ve right for with Stella Vanderley, anyway,” I said, to him up.
“What’s the good of that now? I’ve any money and no prospects. How can I her?”
I pondered.
“It looks to me, old top,” I said at last, “as if were in a of a mess.”
“You’ve it,” said old George.
I the on Life. If you come to think of it, what a thing Life is! So anything else, don’t you know, if you see what I mean. At any moment you may be peacefully along, and all the time Life’s waiting around the to you one. You can’t tell when you may be going to it. It’s all puzzling. Here was old George, as well-meaning a as stepped, all over the ring by the hand of Fate. Why? That’s what I asked myself. Just Life, don’t you know. That’s all there was about it.
It was close on six o’clock when our third visitor of the day arrived. We were on the in the of the evening—old Marshall, Denman Sturgis, Mrs. Vanderley, Stella, George, and I—when he came up. We had been talking of George, and old Marshall was the of sending out search-parties. He was worried. So was Stella Vanderley. So, for that matter, were George and I, only not for the same reason.
We were just the thing out when the visitor appeared. He was a well-built, of fellow. He spoke with a German accent.
“Mr. Marshall?” he said. “I am Count Fritz Cöslin, to His Serene Highness”—he his together and saluted—“the Prince of Saxburg-Leignitz.”
Mrs. Vanderley jumped up.
“Why, Count,” she said, “what since we met in Vienna! You remember?”
“Could I forget? And the Miss Stella, she is well, I not?”
“Stella, you Count Fritz?”
Stella hands with him.
“And how is the poor, dear Prince?” asked Mrs. Vanderley. “What a terrible thing to have happened!”
“I to say that my high-born master is better. He has and is up and taking nourishment.”
“That’s good,” said old Marshall.
“In a spoon only,” the Count. “Mr. Marshall, with your permission I should like a word with Mr. Sturgis.”
“Mr. Who?”
The gimlet-eyed sportsman came forward.
“I am Denman Sturgis, at your service.”
“The you are! What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Sturgis,” the Count, “graciously his services——”
“I know. But what’s he doing here?”
“I am waiting for Mr. George Lattaker, Mr. Marshall.”
“Eh?”
“You have not him?” asked the Count anxiously.
“Not yet, Count; but I to do so shortly. I know what he looks like now. This is his twin-brother. They are doubles.”
“You are sure this is not Mr. George Lattaker?”
George put his on the suggestion.
“Don’t go mixing me up with my brother,” he said. “I am Alfred. You can tell me by my mole.”
He the mole. He was taking no risks.
The Count his regretfully.
“I am sorry,” he said.
George didn’t offer to him,
“Don’t worry,” said Sturgis. “He won’t me. I shall him.”
“Do, Mr. Sturgis, do. And quickly. Find that man.”
“What?” George.
“That man, George Lattaker, who, at the of his life, saved my high-born master from the assassin.”
George sat suddenly.
“I don’t understand,” he said feebly.
“We were wrong, Mr. Sturgis,” on the Count. “We to the conclusion—was it not so?—that the owner of the you was also the of my high-born master. We were wrong. I have the from His Serene Highness’s own lips. He was a dark when a in a out upon him. Doubtless he had been from the Casino, where he had been heavily. My high-born master was taken by surprise. He was felled. But he he a man in dress, the you found, him. The hero the in combat, and my high-born master no more. His Serene Highness repeatedly, ‘Where is my preserver?’ His is princely. He for this man to him. Ah, you should be proud of your brother, sir!”
“Thanks,” said George limply.
“And you, Mr. Sturgis, you must your efforts. You must search the land; you must the sea to George Lattaker.”
“He needn’t take all that trouble,” said a voice from the gangway.
It was Voules. His was flushed, his was on the of his head, and he was a cigar.
“I’ll tell you where to George Lattaker!” he shouted.
He at George, who was at him.
“Yes, look at me,” he yelled. “Look at me. You won’t be the this who’s at the who for two hours without a break. I’ll be with you now, Mr. Blooming Lattaker. I’ll learn you to a man’s heart. Mr. Marshall and gents, this I was on deck, and I over’eard ’im to put up a game on you. They’d that there as a detective, and they that Lattaker was to pass himself off as his own twin-brother. And if you wanted proof, Pepper tells him to them his and he’d George hadn’t one. Those were his very words. That man there is George Lattaker, Hesquire, and let him it if he can.”
George got up.
“I haven’t the least to it, Voules.”
“Mr. Voules, if you please.”
“It’s true,” said George, to the Count. “The is, I had a of what last night. I only some one down, and, like you, I jumped to the that I must have His Serene Highness.”
“Then you are George Lattaker?” asked the Count.
“I am.”
“’Ere, what all this mean?” Voules.
“Merely that I saved the life of His Serene Highness the Prince of Saxburg-Leignitz, Mr. Voules.”
“It’s a swindle!” Voules, when there was a and the girl Pilbeam into the crowd, sending me into old Marshall’s chair, and herself into the arms of Voules.
“Oh, Harold!” she cried. “I you were dead. I you’d yourself.”
He of himself together to her off, and then he to think of it and into the clinch.
It was all romantic, don’t you know, but there are limits.
“Voules, you’re sacked,” I said.
“Who cares?” he said. “Think I was going to stop on now I’m a of property? Come along, Emma, my dear. Give a month’s notice and your ’at, and I’ll take you to dinner at Ciro’s.”
“And you, Mr. Lattaker,” said the Count, “may I you to the presence of my high-born master? He to his to his preserver.”
“You may,” said George. “May I have my hat, Mr. Sturgis?”
There’s just one more. After dinner that night I came up for a smoke, and, on to the foredeck, almost into George and Stella. They to be having an argument.
“I’m not sure,” she was saying, “that I that a man can be so happy that he wants to the nearest thing in sight, as you put it.”
“Don’t you?” said George. “Well, as it happens, I’m just that way now.”
I and he round.
“Halloa, Reggie!” he said.
“Halloa, George!” I said. “Lovely night.”
“Beautiful,” said Stella.
“The moon,” I said.
“Ripping,” said George.
“Lovely,” said Stella.
“And look at the of the on the——”
George my eye. “Pop off,” he said.
I popped.
