Serial Story. [All Rights Reserved.] The Bishop's Amazement

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVI, Issue XXIV, 15 June 1901, Page 1139

Serial Story. [All Rights Reserved.] The Bishop's Amazement

By

DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY.

Author of “ Aunt Rachel," “ A Wasted Crime,” Etc.

SYNOPSIS OF INSTALMENTS I. to VII. — Torn Finch and the Bishop of Stokestithe’s daughter were engaged to be married. Then the uncle who was to have left Tom a fortune and a title, married and had an heir, whereat the Bishop burnished Lucy to the Continent for a twelvemonth, and forbade Tom the bouse. The lovers, however, meet again, lunch together, and then happen to collide with the Bishop. He tackles Tom and reiterates his absolute objection to the match, to which the hero replies that no out save Lucy shall release him. Tom witnesses a meeting between a broken down tramp and a swell military gentleman, whom he recognises as an acquaintance of the Bishop’s. Moreover, he hears the tramp’s question: "How did you get out of Portland?” The two men meet in the evening at Darcy’s Hotel, with a Mr Ross, to plan how to change some ten thousand Bank of England notes, which they have forged. The Bishop of Stokestithe next attempts to win from his daughter a promise of not seeing Tom Finch any more; but the only result of his action is Lucy’s emphatic order to the servant that she is always at home to Mr Finch. At this the Bishop’s sister, Mrs Raimond, comes to the rescue, and proposes that Lucy should go with her to Paris. Finally the three of them set out for the French capital, but not before Tom Finch has received a note from Lucy, saying that she would like to see the expression on her aunt’s face if he should by any chance join them at Dover. The Bishop is late for his train, and is tumbled into a carriage in which sits Mr Mortimer, likewise on his way to Paris, and prepared to make something out of any and every man he comes across. When Tom recognises in Mortimer the tramp who fiad begged of him in the park, the latter explains that be is in the secret service of the French Republic. Arrived at Paris. Mortimer disposes of all his notes, save five which are left by chance in his waistcoat pocket. Then Colonel Varndike turns up, disguised. to announce that the fraud is discovered and that they must get away immediately, which they do, Mortimer in the Bishop of Stokestithe’s clothes which had been put outside the next door to brush. The light grey suit left in exchange horrifies the Bishop the following morning, for he has no second suit of his own with him. However, by the time the ladies have to leave Paris, the Bishop has got so used to his new garments as to decide upon postponing his return to England, and going to Monte Carlo in search of an experience of real life. There he strolls into the gaming saloon, where Tom Finch and his friend, Draker, are at p ay, and changes one of the ten pound notes he has discovered in his waistcoat pocket. This is found to be forged, and the Bishop, despite his protestations, i s lodged in prison. Meanwhile Mortimer, passing himself off as the real Bishop of Stokestithe, is masquerading in the district with Col. Varndike. CHAPTER VIII. It was indeed the unworthy Mortimer whom his lordship had encountered, as he was being taken off to prison by the big Suisse, and it was Colonel Varndike who had warned James of the identity of the distressed gentleman who had called to him. "Come away, you blundering idiot!” the Colonel had whispered. “It’s the Bishop.” And James had melted into the shadows of the night, as we have seen. He had been having what, in moments of social confidence with Yarndike, he had suffered himself to describe as a high old time. He had introduced himself to the ecclesiastics of *the neighbourhood, and had charmed them all by his courtly affabilities, his elegant familiarity with their mother tongue, his interest in local ecclesiastical antiquities, and the like blandishments. He had skilfully saved himself from holding a discussion in Latin with a learned father by pointing out that the pronunciation employed by the isolated and barbarous scholars of England made it sound like another tongue in the ears of Continental people. He had been entertained by some of the local gentry, and had left behind him .a far more satisfying impression than the real Bishop would have done. He

was courtly, lie was polished, lie was eloquent; he was full of a curious wise knowledge of the world, astonishing in a person of his cloth. He lied gloriously, and he showered invitations to the palace of Stokestithe. One of these has since been accepted to the great trouble both of the real Bishop and his unknown guest. More acceptances are looked for, and are dreaded, as any reminder of that awful time will always be dreaded by Dr. Durgan to his dying day. When the confederates had seen the Bishop carried away, Mr Mortimer approached one of the Suisses and asked the cause of the disturbance. The man did not know, butWthe courtly gentleman in the queer dress induced him to accept a five-franc piece and inquire. The Suisse went away and came back with the story. James thanked him, said it was a mournful circumstance, adding that the arrested person had really looked like a respectable member of society. Then he went back, bursting with laughter, to Varndike. and gave him the history. “The old buffer had my togs on,” said James, who was almost in hysterics in his mirth at the situation. "You remember that .£ 50 I couldn’t account for? I must have left the notes in one of the pockets, and the vicious ecclesiastic has come down to Monty to have a spree on the strength of the windfall. Oh. the depravity of man! I think upon the whole,” he went on more soberly, “that since the real Simon Pure is here. I had best get. rid of these, and seek fresh fields. I’ll go to the hotel and change, and we’ll nip across to Nice by carriage.” So James went off alone to the hotel de Paris, and jostled Tom Finch at the door. “Hallo!” said Tom, with instant recognition. “Sh!” said Mr Mortimer, and went by him with a raised forefinger and an air of busy mystery. “Say then,” Tom asked a passing waiter. “Do you know who that is?” “Mais oui, Monsieur,” said the waiter. “Un ecclesiastique Anglais. D’Eveque de—de —de—Stokestithe.” “I’ll be hanged if it is,” said Tom, and he went upstairs after Mortimer three steps at a time. , James, the watchful and the slippery. heard the bounding step behind him. and pricked up his ears. He guessed his impetuous young- acquaintance was following him, and in his heart he cursed his luck. “I say,” said Tom laying a hand on his shoulder. “1 want a word with you. and I'll trouble you to come to my bedroom, if you please.” “My dear young sir.” James responded. “You are a nuisance—forgive me if I say a ghastly nuisance. I am particularly occupied at this moment, and 1 have no time to place at your disposal.” “My very good sir.” Tom insisted, “I want a word with you, and I mean to have it, if you please.” He was much bigger than James—he was much younger and stronger, and it seemed sensible to accede to a request so very pointed. James obeyed, but he protested. , “It does not suit my purpose to be engaged in any kind of brawl or disturbance just at present,” said Mr Mortimer: “but I think it fitting to advise you that if you interfere with me in the performance of my duty, it lies in my power to make your residence in this little principality both unpleasant and brief.”

Possibly.” Tom answered drily; “but for the moment just oblige me by walking in here.”

Mortimer obeyed, but he obeyed only

because flight and struggle were alike hopeless. He was cast wholly upon his powers of diplomacy and invention, and he was both frightened and astonished. Tom turned up the electric light, and locked the door of his bedroom. James liked things less and less, and wondered what sort of blow he had to parry.

“Now.” said Tom. “it’s no affair of mine if you adopt any kind of masquerade you please. That seems to be your business, and whether your trade is that of an honest man or a rogue I neither know nor care. But you seem to be posing just now in the person of a very intimate and respected friend of mine; and my business with you sir, is to tell you that 1 won’t have his name misused for any purposes of yours, and to ask why you are so misusing it?” “May I inquire your name, young sir?” said James, who wanted to gain time —to spar for wind, as the sporting gentry say. "You may,” Tom answered. “My name is Finch—Thomas Finch, and I am a barrister.” “You are very young,” said James, reflectively. “You are curiously young-.” “That may be quite true,” Tom retorted. “But it isn't what I asked you for.” “You are. in all probability,” said Mr Mortimer, “at this very moment in connivance—an innocent connivance. I admit—with as dangerous a scoundrel as ever troubled my department. If he slips through my hands in consequence of my detention here I shall hold you responsible.” “That may or may not be true.” said Tom, “but at present you look to my mind suspiciously like a person of criminal intent. You are masquerading in the name and in the aspect of a gentleman who is very- well known to me, a gentleman on whose behalf I have a complete authority to interfere, and until I am satisfied as to your motives it is my intention not to lose sight of you.” “You are young, Mr Finch. You are even ridiculously young.” said James, who liked his own outlook even less than ever. “I am in pursuit, as I have told you already, of one of tile ablest and most dangerous of tlie criminal class in Europe. A disguise was necessary for my purpose. and 1 adopted this because it happened to be ready to my hand. I adopted with it a real name—the name of a gentleman to whom I. like yourself. Happened to 1? known—because it might easily have wrecked my purpose to have taken a name of my own manufacture.”

“Very well.” said Tom. “being what you say you are you have your credentials. no doubt, and will be able to prove your bona tides at the police office.”

“Upon my word, sir,” cried James, “you take a very extraordinary tone towards a nerson of whom you have no knowledge.” “I have knowledge enough of you to serve my turn, sir.” Tom replied stoutly. You bear a name and wear an attire to which yon have no right. I happen to regard it as my duty to protect that name, and if you cannot show me, or will not show me. good proof that you are making use of it for a lawful purpose T shall find it my duty to denounce you to the police as an imposter.” “My dear Mr Finch.” said .Tames, “you will, of course, do as yon choose. I have no power nt this instant to prevent you from following any course von please, however destructive it may' be to the most important interests. Yon are young. Mr Finch, as I have already twice or thrice remarked, but yon are surely not so ignorant of the world as to be unaware that the police of this petty little principality are not lightly to be

entrusted with-the professional secrets of a person of my standing. It is perfectly true that I have only to make myself known to secure immunity to myself from any annoyance you may wish to cause me, but it does not enter into the scope of my plans to reveal my identity here. 1 have to be frank with you very much against my will. I am on foreign soil here, and unless I can decoy my man across the border I have no authority to arrest him. It is open to you. sir, to destroy the plans of half a year. 1 am at your mercy, unfortunately. but 1 have explained my position as far as is consistent with my duty to my Government and have no more to say.” It was all very plausible and possible, and it was in keeping with Mortimer's earlier story. an<l Tom wished no harm to any man. He had his doubts, to be sure, but a doubt does not equal a certainty, and lie felt that without a certainty he had scarcely the right to act. "i beg your pardon. Mr I haven't the advantage of your name," he said. "Staunton,” James replied. "Mr Arthur Staunton.” “I beg your pardon. Mr Staunton,” said Tom. gravely returning James’ bow, "but I confess that I am not wholly satisfied. At any rate I shall make so bold as to request that you will be good enough to drop the mime you have assumed and to travel henceforth in some other.” "It happens. Mr Finch." returned James, “that I was going to my room for no other purpose than to change this dress. The attire and the name have served their turn. I surrender them both. Within half an hour I leave Monte Carlo. I have the honour to wish you good night. Mr Finch.” This, under the circumstances, left Tom no course but to open the door and let Mr Staunton out. He did it under strong misgiving, but he released his, prisoner and watched him along the corridor. "I'm not quite sure." he said to himself. “I'm not quite sure.” James breathed freely when he reached his own room, but he felt it necessary to open his dressing-case and apply to the silver tlask before he began to disrobe. “Nothing very serious could have happened." he told himself, “but I don’t like these things. They are eminently disagreeable.” He rang- for his bill, ami paid it in good, honest, gold napoleons, and he ehanged his dress and packed and commanded a carriage for Nice. Varndike was ready for him. and they drove away together, but they had travelled three or four miles before James found the heart to tell his companion what had happened. Tom went back to the gaming room, where he had left his partner. The inventor of the infallible system had

been doing very badly —so badly, that he had lost heart, and had decided to tempt fortune that evening no longer. He met Toni at the door. "Well,” said Tom. "how have you got on?” “Like a crab,” responded Mr Draker. “Backwards. We're ten thousand francs out on the day’s play.” “Phew!” Tom whistled. “Why, that leaves barely the original capital.” “Barely the original capital,” returned Draker. "If we'd dropped the game three days ago. eh?” “Ah!” said Tom. “I wish we had.” They paced along the terrace in silence. “Oh. I say. Finch,” said Draker, suddenly, "there's a very rummy thing happened. You saw that old boy they ran out of the rooms an hour ago? They've got him locked up for passing a forged note, and who in the name of wonder do you suppose he pretends to be ?” “Why, how should I know?" Tom asked. “He says,” said Draker, and then he began to laugh. He was so hearty in his laughter that Tom had to join him even before he knew the joke. “He says he's the Bishop of Stokestithe.” "What?” Tom almost shrieked. “Another of ’em? - ’ He had to tell Draker of his adventure. and Draker agreed that it was the most astonishing thing he had ever heard of—the most amazing thing. “Two of 'em. begad, personating the same highly respectable old Johnny at the same hour, in the village. I say. Finchie. if 1 were you I should just squander myself in the direction of the gendarmerie and look up Number Two. Yon can sit on his pretensions, anyway. and I should salt the tail of Number One as well. I fancy.” "Well, you see.” said Tom. “in a sort of a way. don't you know. I've given mv parole to Number One. But I really think I'll go down and have a look’at Number Two. Will you come with me?” “Why. no." returned Draker. “I think I’ll go back and give the system another chance. My coming away may have broken the luck, you know.” “All right,” said Tom: “but go light if the luck’s against you. I’ll find you there.” So Draker went back to the tables, and Tom inquired his way to the gendarmerie. Arrived there, he presented his card and stated his business. “You have a person here in charge for having passed a forged note. I understand that he is an Englishman, and that he professes to be the Bishop of Stokestithe.” I forget whether it is a fourth or an eighth part of the landed forces of the Principality who is on duty at one time. Whichever it is, he replied that this was so. “Very good.” said Tom. “I happen to know the Bishop of Stokestithe verywell. anil, if you will allow me to look at him only for a moment. I have no doubt that I can put an end to that ridiculous pretension. I have very good reason to believe that the Bishop of Stokestithe is in Paris at this time.” The representative of the landed forces was not quite sure whether it lay within the sphere of his duty to accede to this request: but the sight of a five-franc piece dissipated prejudice. and Tom was permitted to look at Number Two. Number Two sat with his face buried in his hands, and the officer poked him gently with his scabbard. ~ “Holla! Il y'a un m’sieur, ici—” He got no further, for the prisoner looked up. and sighting Tom. sprang to his feet, and Tom fell back with a gesture of amazement as he had never been impelled to use in all his life before. "Good heavens, sir!” Tom cried, take arise?” “How on earth did this absurd mis“Mr Finch,” said the Bishop, “let it be enough for you. sir. that I resent this intrusion. I resent it. sir.” “But." cried Tom. turning on the officer, “this gentleman is really the Bishop of Stokestithe. This is a gentleman of the very highest status, a member of the first Legislative Chamber. Do you know what an English bishop is—you turtle? Do you guess what you are doing in detaining here a gentleman of his character and standing? It is the most absurd, ridiculous, idiotic—Who is in authority here? Is the Prince de Monaco at home? Who is there

whom I can see to put an eud to this astonishing farce?”

Tom’s French served him excellently. He really spoke the language fairly well, but he was shy about it, as a rule, and distrustful about verbs and genders. Now. his excitement put these petty obstacles out of mind, and he felt that he was eloquent. But the Bishop’s guardian was very doubtful about this recognition, which, to his mind, smelt of the theatre. He turned gruff and sulky, and he bore Tom out of the chamber and locked his prisoner in, and knew nothing about anything and would answer no questions.

When Tom got into the streets again, he felt quite feather-headed. “I’m mad.” he said: “stark, staring mad! That’s all that’s the matter. I haven’t seen the Bishop. I haven’t been to the gendarmerie. Staunton’s a figment of the brain. It’s all gammon and spinach—all of it—all! They’ll stick a plaster on my head by-and-by, and I shall be all right again. I felt sane enough five minutes ago.”

All this was a mere exuberance of words, for he knew well enough that the adventure was real: but. for the time being, the pretence served. It kept his amazement at arm’s length - —it prevented it from overwhelming him.

In a very little while his wits got to work, and he began to see that however the Bishop of Stokestithe had brought himself into this amazing mess, it might be in his power to get his lordship out of it, and it does no harm to add that he thought he might find his own advantage in it. He welcomed the chance the fates had given him to be of service to the Bishop. To be quick, to be discreet, to prevent this most ridiculous accident from getting abroad—these things were at once his duty and likely to be serviceable. How to act! He called to mind an ancient crony of his who was now an attache to the British Embassy at Paris. It might be worth while to send him a full account of the affair by wire, insisting upon his secrecy and getting him to set the ambassador in motion. The telegram would reach Paris in an hour, and if it found his man at once it was possible that the Bishop might be freed that night. Surely that was safer and speedier than fooling about amongst a crowd of silly functionaries in Monte Carlo. He began to concoct the telegram, ami would have taken measures for its immediate dispatch. but that he was for the moment without money. He had given his last hundred-franc note to Draker to make a level sum at the tables, and had forgotten to ask it back again. He raced to the Casino, and met his chum on the terrace. He opened up the terrible story at once, and somehow Draker seemed less surprised and interested than he should have been. “What has come over you. man?” Tom asked. “But never mind that now. I’m going to wire to our embassy at Paris, and straighten this -mad business out. You must let me have that hundred francs, old chap.” Young Draker stood stock still on the terrace walk, and bis chin Was on his breast. “Come on.” said Tom. “Don’t keep me waiting. This affair must be seen to.” And still young Draker made no move and spoke no word. "Draker.” said Tom. in vague alarm, “what’s the matter?” “I am very much afraid, Tom,” said Draker. “that so far as any aid of mine goes poor old Durgan is likely to stop in chokey.” “You don’t mean—?” said Tom, and paused. “Yes. I do,” said Draker. “But there hasn’t been time,” Tom objected, with a chill creeping at his heart. “Oh. lor’, yes,” said Draker. “Dots! I knocked up against the maximum, Thomas, and I am a shipwrecked crew. Come and stand me a drink before I die. for I haven’t the price of a shoe-tie between here and London town.” “Nor I,” said Tom. “I haven’t a cent, about me.” Draker broke into wild laughter and Tom took him by the arm and led him into the hotel. They sat down and ordered cigars, and brandy and seltzer water and the waiter obeyed the order

and stood by for payment. "Oh, chalk it up,' said Draker, with a groan. "Put it in the bill,” Trom translated, and the waiter went away. He was back in two or three minutes with their account, which he handed on a salver. They looked at the total with their heads together and then they looked at each other and laughed desolately. Then Draker emptied his glass and rose.

“This is my fault,” he said, “and I’ll go and face the music.” “It’s nobody’s fault,” said Tom, “and I’ll go with you.” So they went together to the manager who had known what the matter was ti» e minutes before. "Look here,” said Draker. “We two British citizens are stony. If you’ll be good enough to send a wire to London for me, I can get enough to-morrow to pay up. and phen that’s done I’ll clear out.”

"11l fortune at the tables, gentlemen?” said the manager. They nodded gloomily and the manager smiled. These Monte Carlo people have a most wonderful knack of knowing with whom they deal. They never bully a gentleman. and they very, very rarely trust an outsider too far. It must be a quaint education in worldly wisdom to keep hotel in that haunt of the wealthy and the poor —that place where broken hopes are mended or ground to powder in an hour; where defaulting clerks who have run away with fifty pounds make an income for a day which passes Vanderbilt's or Rothschild’s, and careless, solid millionaires are sometimes stranded as high and dry as if they had not a farthing in the world. “It will be quite right, gentlemen.” said tlie manager, when they had named their respective bankers and the amount for which they desired to draw. “And in the meantime, gentlemen, please order anything of which you may stand in need.”

They felt that they stood in need of more brandy and another syphon. They called for these comforts and sat and sipped in sadness. “I say. Finchie,” said Draker, after a long spell of silence, “I don’t think so much of the rotten old svstem as I did.”

Tom gave no answer. He had been respectably brought up. and he felt it

impossible to express an opinion of the system without doing injustice to his training. "But what the deuce,” Draker .asked, "did it always work out all right for until we got the money on it?” “I don’t know,” said Tom. “I don’t care a red cent, about the system. So far as I'm concerned the system’s drowned and dead and done for. I’m thinking about old Durgan.” "Ah!” said Draker, willing to find consolation anywhere. “We’ve made a mess of it. but we ain’t in quod. That’s some comfort.” "Oh. this shoddy age” cried Tom. “This beastly age of cheap things for the million!” "What’s the matter with the age?” asked Draker. “What have cheap things for the million got to do with us?” “Why,” Tom responded, “if we had lived in a solid, self-respecting age we could never have been cleaned out like this. You’ve got a three-dollar bit of A ankee machine-made rubbish ticking at the end of a black ribbon, and I have another. Only a dozen years ago a gentleman’s watch was worth something, and now I ean't raise the cost of a wire to Paris, and Lucy’s father is in chok-

(To be continued.)