Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 100: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

890 “T cannot, signorina, until he recovers consciousness. It was an accident, [ un- derstand.” I. explained. I explained everything I could. I even hinted that the gentleman was somebody of great importance. I was obliged to. What was I going to do next? I might have to take somebody into my confidence in an hour or two. Who better than this doctor? I cast about wildly in my mind for a plan. The doctor was called away. <A sister of mercy had arrived from a neighboring convent. I was left alone with what seemed an insoluble problem. Here were we—King Peter lying unconscious, when he ought to be dining with his godfather, the King of Maronia; and I at my wits’ end with anxiety, when I ought to be entertaining Prince George of Hillenland at the Villa de QOeceuillets. No possible way of letting them know. Bunch probably distracted with suspense, although I knew I could trust her to play her part. Two alternatives—a horrid scandal, or an ex- posure that I would not face. And every- thing depending upon me! When the doctor came back T had made up my mind. He told me he did not think there was any grave danger. It was a serious con- cussion. Perfect rest and careful treatment were required. I asked him if I could safely leave the patient in his hands while I went and in- formed his people. He said of course I could. I asked if I could hire a car. Al- though I could have driven King Peter’s, it was the last thing I wanted to do. He said there was a car for hire in the town, or, if I preferred it. a motor omnibus left early in the morning for Nice. I said I would have the hired car and go at once, and the gentleman’s people would be out to-morrow. “T should -iike to know the patient’s name,” he suggested. ‘Count Dorando,” i told him. He looked at me very hard. I had a ter- rible feeling that he must know I wore a wig. A doctor—and that unnatural com- plexion of mine, and those cunningly ap- plied lines at the corners of my eyes! ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, ‘I take it, stgnorina,” he said, “ that you will not return.” I felt myself flushing crimson at the in- ference. So obvious—the important gen- tleman and a little girl of no importance whatever out on a “ joy ride” with him. An accident—the absolute necessity of hushing it up. Just the thing that was always happening in books. “T am going to inform the count’s friends of his condition,” I said, speaking as quietly as I could. ‘‘ I can do nothing by remaining here, or returning.” ‘ Exactly, signorina,” the doctor agreed. I thought him a perfectly odious little man. It was about half past eight o’clock when I got away in the hired car. The doctor struck me as being a little nervous. The patient had not yet recovered consciousness, in spite of all his attention. I was racked with fear and anguish. Supposing the king’s condition was serious—supposing he were not to live! But what could I do? I must get back to the coast. Already there might be a hue and cry. I alone could save the situation. The moon was rising over the mountains as we started out, and the beauty of the night mocked me at every turn of that wonderful road. About midnight I reached my villa. No driver could have got me there more quick- ly and with greater comfort and skill. In the car I had taken off my wig, rubbed my face clean of the dark powder, and pulled my hat down deep over my eyes. I had always plenty of money with me as a precaution, and paid the driver handsomely. I let myself in. The butler was in the vestibule. I explained that I had had an accident which delayed me, and asked where Miss Turke was. Bunch had heard me and came down the stairs. I told her what I had just told the butler. I saw‘her look of acute relief at finding I had returned as more or less myself. ‘P’suppose I looked a pretty ‘wreck. The butler, a very old servant, suggested sending me a little meal to my sitting room. I told him to. I suppose it was excite- COMG DOO! ©