The Secret of the Silver Car by Wyndham Martyn (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

A Fast destroyer is a wet and uncomfortable craft but Anthony Trent had never enjoyed a voyage so much. Life in Castle Radna had been a greater strain than he knew. He felt the need for relaxation. The trout stream called him, the golf links tempted him. He felt very much as he had done years before at Dartmouth when the rigors of the training period were finished with. He was safe. He was free; and he was speeding northward ho with the paper in his pocket which had seemed impossible of attainment.

“I dare not run into Portsmouth,” Maitland confided in him, “as I’d have to report to the Admiral commanding and this news of yours is not for his ears yet.”

“Can’t you get nearer London than Portsmouth?” Trent asked.

“We’re headed for Sheerness at the mouth of the Thames. I can lie quietly off Canvey Island and then train it to town. Later on when my irregular proceedings are dilated upon I can get the First Lord of the Admiralty to back me up. By the way,” he said later, “Do you know the Grenvils well?”

“Very well,” Anthony Trent answered, “Why?”

“Then you probably know Rudolph Castoon. One of my sisters who knows Lady Daphne says an engagement is rumoured between them.”

“Nothing to it,” Anthony Trent said confidently. “She doesn’t even like him as a friend. Does your sister know her well?”

“Next door neighbours in Cornwall,” Maitland answered. “She married Lord Polruan.”

So it was Maitland’s sister who had dubbed him an American adventurer and indirectly warned the earl against the danger of having him on such intimate terms! And this unassuming young naval officer was of course a son of an earl, and would rightly be described as the Honourable Willoughby Maitland. Anthony Trent smiled. He could not help thinking how gratified his old housekeeper in Kennebago would be to think he moved in such company.

The two men reached Liverpool Street station at, ten o’clock at night and taxied westward to Lord Rosecarrel’s town house in Grosvenor Place.

The butler, that stern functionary who disapproved of democracy and the ambitions of the new rich, beamed a welcome when he beheld Anthony Trent. In a sense he felt the young American was one of the family. His greeting to Trent’s friend as the son of an earl was respectful, but to Anthony he vouchsafed especial courtesy. It was very grateful to the wanderer. It was like coming home to a man who has no abiding place.

“His Lordship is attending a cabinet meeting,” he said. “Her Ladyship is at an Albert Hall concert and Mr. Arthur is out of town.”

It was plain from his manner that he expected Anthony Trent to make his quarters in the Rosecarrel town house.

“I must see his lordship instantly,” Trent said. “Tell one of your men to whistle for a taxi.”

“You seem to be very popular with old Barlow,” Maitland said.

“I have spent the happiest hours of my life at Rosecarrel Castle,” Anthony Trent said, Maitland thought with some little reserve.

At Downing Street the prime minister’s butler could not conceive of such a thing as an interrupted cabinet meeting.

“It is business of state,” Anthony Trent said loftily. “If you feel you have a right to dictate terms very well. But,” he continued impressively, “I will promise you one thing. From tomorrow on, you will buttle for someone else.”

It happened that the cabinet meeting, which had to do with domestic finance, was already ended.

The prime minister glanced at the card sent in, and turned to the private secretary of the Earl of Rosecarrel who had just entered the room.

“That splendid young man Willoughby Maitland who did so well at Zeebrugge is demanding an audience. I am rather tired. Do you mind seeing if it is of importance?”

“Certainly not, sir,” said Colonel Langley.

He stopped short when he saw who accompanied

the naval officer, and learned that it was Anthony Trent who had business with the premier.

“The last time I saw you,” he said stiffly, “was under circumstances which give you no right to expect me to plead your cause.”

“That may be,” Trent said equably, “but I am here not to converse with you but your superiors. By the way who is prime minister now?”

“Llewellyn Morgan,” Maitland said. “His third term.”

It was Llewellyn Morgan Trent had met in Cornwall. Things looked brighter. “The premier knows me,” he said to Colonel Langley, “and you are no doubt aware I am privileged to call Lord Rosecarrel my friend.”

When the two reached the simply furnished room Lord Rosecarrel looked at the American with wide open eyes.

“My dear boy,” he said affectionately, gripping both his hands. “I do not think you can believe how glad I am to see you.”

“Isn’t this the young man who had the presumption to outdrive me forty yards every time we stepped to a tee?”

The Right Honourable Llewellyn Morgan greeted him in so friendly a fashion that Colonel Langley was astounded. But there was another man, of cabinet rank, who scowled when he beheld it. Rudolph Castoon had attained his desire. He was now Chancellor of the Exchequer. And Castoon knew in his heart that it was because of Anthony Trent Lady Daphne Grenvil had refused him.

“Do I understand,” he said, with a show of friendliness, “that you have news of such importance that it justifies, shall I say breaking in upon us here?”

“It is for the premier to decide,” Trent said. Then he looked at Colonel Langley and took his revenge. Trent addressed the pleasant and amiable personage who sat at the head of the table. “Have I your word for it that this gentleman is entirely to be trusted?”

“He is my private secretary,” Lord Rosecarrel said quickly.

“By all means let him remain,” the premier decided.

Lord Rosecarrel was vaguely disturbed. So far as he knew there was nothing Trent could have learned at Castle Radna which justified this. To tell the assembled members of the cabinet of his errand and its success would spell disaster to the one who had sent him.

“Briefly it is this,” Trent began, “Prince William, of Misselbach, was not drowned although a real corpse was buried. He is at the present time hiding and Count Michael Temesvar is planning to put him upon the throne of Hungary. I have seen him with my own eyes a dozen times although he was not aware of it. I had the luck to get a list of names of the prime movers in it. I could not keep the paper so I memorized them and wrote them down while on the destroyer which brought me from Fiume.”

Trent passed it across the table to the prime minister.

“This is exceedingly important,” he declared after reading it quickly. “Mr. Trent you have performed a service to this government and your own which entitles you to a reward of no mean character. Now have the goodness to answer these questions.”

They were fired at him quickly and embraced a variety of subjects. It was only because of his retentive memory and trained powers of observation that he was able to satisfy the premier.

“It is unfortunate,” said Rudolph Castoon, “that Mr. Trent was not able to bring us the original document. One’s memory, even when one’s intentions are of the best, can play off tricks.”

He said it so obviously to discredit the American that Trent flushed and disclosed something that he had not meant publicly to announce.

“Do you know Baron Adolf Castoon?” he asked.

“Naturally,” Castoon answered, “One does not easily forget to know one’s eldest brother.”

“Then I have news of your eldest brother which will cause you infinite concern,” Trent said, with sympathy in his voice. “Baron Adolf is financing this revolutionary movement. I brought him up from Fiume one day and being assured I did not understand a word of German he was indiscreet enough to talk about it.”

“It is a lie,” Rudolph Castoon cried. “Adolf is loyal to the interests of the Allies. His public speeches are evidence of it.”

“But I am speaking of private speeches,” Trent said smiling.

“What were you doing that you came to drive him?”

“Acting as chauffeur,” Trent replied. “I stored many interesting facts in my brain during that four hour ride.”

“Of course,” Castoon said turning to his chief, “you do not believe this sir?”

“I can only say that Baron Adolf’s printed speeches, a copy of which you sent me, did not interest me greatly. I am much more eager to hear what he said in private.”

“First of all,” Castoon said, “may I ask why it was this young man went to the trouble of acting as chauffeur. It may be, of course, that it is his profession.”

“That’s interesting,” Colonel Langley commented, “Why did he go there at all?”

“I went,” said Anthony Trent, “because Lord Rosecarrel, who knows Count Michael and mistrusts him, asked me to go. He had an idea that I might be useful. I went and I think I can assure him I have succeeded in what he desired me to do.”

Lord Rosecarrel breathed a sigh of relief. So, after all, this mysterious American had freed him from bondage.

Mr. Llewellyn Morgan looked at his friend reproachfully.

“And to have kept it from me,” he said.

“The credit belongs to Mr. Trent and not to me,” said Lord Rosecarrel. “To give merely a hint and have it followed to successful conclusion by another is not the lot of many. For my part I can never cease to feel under obligation to him.”

“What we have heard,” said the premier, “is under the