“Why so thoughtful?” he asked, grinning widely. “Did Charles Stringham bring you here? Such a friend of our hostess is Charles, isn’t he? I heard that you and Charles had not been seeing so much of each other as you used in the old days when you were both undergraduates.”
He was obviously well aware that Stringham’s life had changed greatly from the period of which he spoke, and he probably knew, too, as his words implied, that Stringham and I had not met for years. On such stray pieces of information, the cumulative effect not to be despised, Sillery’s intelligence system was built up. As to the effectiveness of this system, opinion, as I have said before, differed greatly. At any rate, Sillery himself believed implicitly in his own powers, ceaselessly collecting, sorting, and collating small items in connection with the personal relationships of the people he knew; or, at least, knew about. No doubt a few of these units of information turned out to be of value in prosecuting schemes in which, for one reason or another, he might himself become suddenly interested.
I admitted that I had not seen Stringham for some little time before that evening, but I did not feel it necessary to reveal in detail to Sillery the circumstances that had brought me to the house of Mrs. Andriadis.
“You stayed too long in the company of that gentleman with the equivocal reputation,” said Sillery, giving my arm a pinch. “People have to be careful about such things. They do, indeed. Can’t think how he got to this very respectable party — but don’t let’s talk about such matters. I have just been having a most enlightening chat with Prince Theodoric.”
“The Levantine young man?”
“A dark young prince with curly hair,” said Sillery, chuckling. “That’s quite a Tennysonian line, isn’t it? Handsome, if it were not for that rather too obtrusive nose. One would never guess him descended from Queen Victoria. Perhaps he isn’t. But we mustn’t be scandalous. A very clever family, his Royal House — and well connected, too.”
I remembered that there had been some talk of Prince Theodoric at the Walpole-Wilsons’. Although aware that his visit was in progress, I could not recall much about the Prince himself, nor the problems that he was called upon to discuss. Remarks made by Widmerpool and Tompsitt on the subject earlier that evening had become somewhat confused in my mind with the substance of an article in one of the “weeklies,” skimmed through recently in a club, in which the writer associated “the question of industrial development of base metals”—the phrase that had caught Archie Gilbert’s ear at dinner — with “a final settlement in Macedonia.” The same periodical, in its editorial notes, had spoken, rather slightingly, of “the part Prince Theodoric might be hoped to play on the Balkan chess-board,” adding that “informed circles in Belgrade, Bucharest, and Athens are watching this young man’s movements closely; while scarcely less interest has been evoked in Sofia and Tirana, in spite of a certain parade of aloofness in the latter capital. Only in Ankara is scepticism freely expressed as to the likelihood of the links of an acceptable solution being welded upon the, by now happily obsolescent, anvil of throne-room diplomacy,” Sillery’s description of the Prince as “well connected” made me think again, involuntarily, of Uncle Giles, who would no doubt, within the same reference, also have commented on Prince Theodoric’s employment of “influence” in the advancement of his own or his country’s interests.
“Mrs. Andriadis must be at least a tiny bit flattered to find H.R.H. here to-night,” said Sillery. “Although, of course, our hostess, as you are probably aware, is no stranger to Royalty in its lighter moments. I expect it is the first time, too, that the good Theodoric has been at the same party as one of our coloured cousins. However, he is broad-minded. It is that touch of Coburgh blood.”
“Is he over here for long?”
“Perhaps a month or two. Is it aluminium? Something like that. Hope we are paying a fair price. Some of us try and organise public opinion, but there are always people who think we should have our own way, no matter what, aren’t there? However, I expect all that is safe in the hands of such a great and good man as Sir Magnus Donners — with two such great and good assistants as Charles Stringham and Bill Truscott.”
He chuckled again heartily at his last comment.
“Was Prince Theodoric educated over here?”
Sillery shook his head and sighed.
“Tried to get him,” he said. “But it couldn’t be did. All the same, I think we may be going to have something almost as good.”
“Another brother?”
“Better than that. Theodoric is interested in the proposed Donners-Brebner Fellowships. Picked students to come to the university at the Donners-Brebner Company’s expense. After all, we have to do something for them, if we take away their metal, don’t we?”
“Will you organise the Fellowships, Sillers?”
“The Prince was good enough to ask my advice on certain academical points.”
“And you told him how it should be done?”
“Said I would help him as much as he liked, if he promised not to give me one of those great gawdy decorations that I hate so much, because I never know how to put them on right when I have to go out all dressed up to grand parties.”
“Did he agree to that?”
“Also said a few words ‘bout de political sitchivashun,’ remarked Sillery, ignoring the question and grinning more broadly than ever. “Dull things for de poor Prince, I’m ’fraid. ’Spect he’s ’joying hisself more now.”
He gave no explanation of this sudden metamorphosis into confused memories of Uncle Remus and the diction of the old plantations, aroused perhaps at that moment by sight of the Negro, who passed by, now in friendly conversation with Pilgrim. Possibly the impersonation was merely some Dickensian old fogey. It was impossible to say with certainty. Probably the act had, in truth, no meaning at all. These sudden character parts were a recognised element in Sillery’s technique of attacking life. There could be no doubt that he was delighted with the result of his recent conversation, whatever the ground covered; though he was probably correct in his suggestion that the Prince was more happily occupied at that moment with the girls than in earlier discussion of economic or diplomatic problems.
However, apart from the fact that he had presumably initiated the counter-move that had finally displaced Sillery, Prince Theodoric, as it happened, was showing little, if any, outward sign of this presumed partiality. He was gravely watching the two young women between whom he stood, as if attempting to make up his mind which of this couple had more to offer. I could not help feeling some envy at his monopoly of the companionship of such an attractive pair, each in her contrasted looks seeming to personify a style of beauty both exquisite and notably fashionable at that moment: the latter perhaps a minor, even irrelevant, consideration, but one hard to resist. I inquired the names of these friends of Prince Theodoric.
“Well-known nymphs,” said Sillery, sniggering. “The smaller one is Mrs. Wentworth — quite a famous person in her way — sister of Jack Vowchurch. Mixed up in the divorce of Charles’s sister. I seem to remember her name was also mentioned in the Derwentwater case, though not culpably. The tall and statuesque is Lady Ardglass. She was, I believe, a mannequin before her marriage.”
He began to move off, nodding, and rubbing his hands together, deriving too much pleasure from the party to waste any more valuable time from the necessarily limited period of its prolongation. I should have liked to make the acquaintance of one or both ladies, or at least to hear more of them, but I could tell from Sillery’s manner that he knew neither personally, or was, at best, far from being at ease with them, so that to apply for an introduction — should they ever leave Prince Theodoric’s side — would, therefore, be quite useless. Mrs. Wentworth was, outwardly, the more remarkable of the pair, on account of the conspicuous force of her personality: a characteristic accentuated by the simplicity of her dress, short curly hair, and look of infinite slyness. Lady Ardglass was more like a caryatid, or ship’s figurehead, though for that reason no less superb. Seeing no immediate prospect of achieving a meeting with either, I found my way to another room, where I suddenly came upon Gypsy Jones, who appeared to have taken a good deal to drink since her arrival.