Roger arrived there at eight o'clock in the morning, on the fourth day after he had landed on the Belgian coast In seventy-six hours he had traversed some four hundred and fifty miles of roads which, as the time included all waits while changing horses, gave the highly satisfactory average of just under six miles an hour. But he had even more reason to be pleased that after his quarry's flight from Baden he had had the good luck to get safely through the battle zone and locate him again with so little delay.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he climbed stiffly out of the coach, walked past a sentry up to the main entrance to the Schloss and asked the servant who was on duty in its porch to ask his master to receive a messenger who had arrived with urgent despatches for him from England. The footman gave his dirty, travel-stained figure one supercilious glance, and replied haughtily:
''His Royal Highness does not receive couriers. At the east door you will find someone who will accept delivery of your despatch, and doubtless it will be placed before His Royal Highness by the proper person when His Royal Highness returns from the hunt"
Roger's blue eyes suddenly blazed with anger. It was bad enough that at this crisis in the war the Commander of the Royalist Army should have gone out hunting, but to be subjected to insolence from his servants was intolerable. Lifting his jack-booted right foot, Roger brought its heel down with all his force on the footman's toes, and snarled:
"Go, fellow, this instant; and find someone of rank to attend me!"
The man let out a howl of pain, staggered back and, whimpering loudly, limped swiftly towards the doorway of die castle.
He was met in it by another footman and a senior servant in black clothes, who had come running at his shout. As he sobbed out the cause of his woe the others cast angry, frightened glances at Roger, then they helped their weeping companion through into the hall, slamming the door behind them.
Some three minutes later a very fat priest, with the voluminous skirts of his cassock swirling about his short legs, came puffing out into the porch. Roger made him a polite bow, and, now taking pains to use indifferent French, in keeping with his new role, introduced himself as Mr. Robert MacElfic, adding that he was the personal emissary of His Britannic Majesty's Prime Minister.
At that the priest's chubby face instantly lost its look of apprehension. Raising his plump hands, he exclaimed: "Then you come from our second Father on Earth! I will have that oaf caned for his lack of respect to you. I am the Abbé Chenier, His Royal Highness's secretary. Welcome; thrice welcome. Be pleased to come in."
This was much more the style in which Roger had expected to be greeted, and he was by no means surprised to hear Mr. Pitt referred to as the second Father on Earth of the emigris, as that gentleman had furnished him with particulars of their misfortunes. During the early years of the Revolution numerous German Princes had in turn received them most hospitably, but as their own resources had dwindled and their numbers had increased to several thousand they had proved too great a burden on their not very wealthy hosts. The Austrians had then accepted responsibility for them, but only to the extent of furnishing twelve cents and one loaf of munition bread per man per day, which was what they gave their own troops.
In consequence, by the previous winter they had been reduced to positive destitution. Even the Prince's household had had to live on coarse soldier's fare, and to keep them from freezing his mistress, the Princess of Monaco, had sold her last jewels to buy firewood. From this desperate situation they had been rescued by Mr. Pitt, who at the instigation of Montgalliard had arranged for them a British loan of three and a half million francs. How much of the money had stuck to the villainous Count's fingers could only be guessed, but it was no wonder that, after the Pope, they regarded Mr. Pitt as their 'Father on Earth'.
Murmuring that the footman had already been punished enough for his stupidity, Roger followed the Abbé across a lofty banqueting hall and through some corridors in the new wing of the castle to a small room that had a pleasant view across distant forest-covered slopes. After fussily seating Roger in an easy chair, the Abbé sat down behind a table covered with papers and enquired about his journey.
Roger confined himself to saying that it had been tiring but uneventful until he had entered the battle zone the previous night, and that he had been lucky enough to get through without serious trouble. Then he asked when the Prince could be expected back.
"Soon after midday, Monsieur," replied the Abbé. "We have been through terrible times—terrible times; and it was too bad that; having established ourselves in reasonably comfortable quarters, we should again have been driven from them by the advance of these Godless revolutionaries. But we have been fortunate in the Graf von Hildersheim's, who owns this Schloss, placing it at His Royal Highness's disposal. The Herr Grafs forests are well stocked with game and he keeps a pack of boar-hounds; so His Royal Highness can hardly be expected to deny himself the pleasures of the chase while he is here. But he will be back in good time for dinner. By the by, pray forgive the enquiry, but are you of gentle birth?"
4 My mother was titled and the daughter of an earl," Roger told him, suppressing a cynical little smile at the question.
"Good! Good! That is most fortunate; as otherwise we should not be able to have you with us at dinner in His Royal Highness's salon. The preservation of a proper etiquette has become all the more important since the world began to tumble about our ears. Now, perhaps you will be good enough to inform me of the business that as brought you here."
"It is a matter for His Royal Highness's personal consideration; so I fear that I must defer speaking of it until his return."
"Your discretion is admirable, Monsieur," wheezed the Abbé. "But I give you my word that I am privy to all His Royal Highness's secrets."
"Then," replied Roger smoothly, "no doubt he will invite you to be present when I submit Mr. Pitt's proposals to him. However, there is another matter of some urgency which I should like to deal with. I bear a letter for M. le Comte de Montgalliard."
The Abbé nodded. "The Count is not addicted to the chase; so he should be in the castle somewhere. I will have him sought-for."
When, in response to the ringing of a handbell, a footman had appeared and been given the order. Roger asked that his two coachmen should be looked after and his coach and horses stabled. He had not intended it as a hint, but apparently the Abbé took it as such; for he quickly added that a meal and a room were to be prepared for the Chevalier MacElfic.
As soon as the man had gone Roger slit open the lining of his coat and took from their hiding-place the papers with which Lord Grenville had furnished him. Having put his credentials and the letters of credit in his pocket, he retained the missive for Montgalliard in his hand. A few minutes later the Count entered the room.
With his heavy black eyebrows, thick nose and sallow skin, he looked like a Portuguese Jew; but his manner was brisk and on being introduced his face lit up with a deceptively frank smile that anyone would have thought charming.
When Roger handed him the letter he asked permission to open it, skimmed quickly through its single paragraph, and said: "I see Mr. Pitt desires me to pay another visit to England, and at once. Have you any idea about what it is that he wishes to see me?"
"I gathered the impression," lied Roger glibly, "that he is anxious lest His Royal Highness should become embarrassed for funds with which to maintain his army throughout the winter; so has it in mind to arrange well in advance another loan through you."