English country-house bedrooms the guest finds himself fobbed off with something hard and upright constructed to the order of some remote ancestor by the upholsterer of the Spanish Inquisition, but this one invited repose.
He was reclining in it with his feet on the table, thinking long, lingering thoughts of Terry, when his reverie was interrupted. The door had opened, to reveal a handsome stranger, from his dress and deportment apparently the castle butler. He eyed him with interest. This, then, was the Spink whose rivalry had caused Lord Shortlands so much concern, the cork-drawing Adonis who had threatened at one time to play the Serpent in his lordship's Garden of Eden. He could understand how any earl might have feared such a man.
"Good evening, sir."
"Good evening."
On Spink's mobile lips, in spite of his heaviness of heart, there had appeared a faint, respectful smile; the smile of a butler who sees that an amusing blunder has been made by those higher up. G.H.Q. had told him that he would find Stanwood Cobbold in the Blue Room. This was unquestionably the Blue Room, but the man before him was not his old buddy.
"Excuse me, sir, I must have misunderstood her ladyship. I supposed her to say that Mr. Cobbold was occupying this apartment."
"I'm Mr. Cobbold."
Butlers do not start. Spink merely rippled a little.
"Mr. Stanwood Cobbold?"
"That's right."
There was a short pause. Then Spink said, "Indeed, sir?"
It is a very unintelligent butler who, expecting to see in a Blue Room a Stanwood Cobbold with a face like a hippopotamus and finding himself confronted by one with a face like a Greek god, does not suspect that there is funny business afoot. To Spink, who was highly intelligent, the very air seemed thick with funny business, and his eye grew stern and bleak.
And simultaneously there came to him, for his was a mind that worked like a steel spring where his financial interests were concerned, the thought that here was where he might be able to do something towards repairing the ruin of his fortunes. Young men who come to castles calling themselves Stanwood Cobbold when they are not Stanwood Cobbold not do so without an important reason, and a butler who knows their secret may reasonably expect to exact the price of his silence. It seemed to Mervyn Spink that things were looking up.
"I wonder if I might make an observation, sir?"
"Go ahead."
"I would merely wish to remark that I know Mr. Stanwood Cobbold extremely well."
Mike saw that he had made a mistake about that easy chair. He had supposed it comfortable, and in reality it was red hot. He left it quickly.
"You do?"
"Yes, sir. I was for nearly a year in the employment of Mr. Cobbold senior at his home in Great Neck, Long Island, and saw Mr. Stanwood daily."
Mike ran a finger around the inside of his collar. It had seemed, when he put it on, a well-fitting collar, but now it felt unpleasantly tight.
"This opens a new line of thought," he said.
"I fancied it might, sir."
"A new and very interesting line of thought."
"Yes, sir."
The fact that he was still calling him "sir" suggested to Mike that the other had not, as a lesser butler would have done, leaped immediately to the conclusion that he was visiting Beevor Castle in the hope of making away with the spoons. No doubt some subtle something in his appearance, some touch of natural dignity in his bearing, had caused the man to reject what on the face of it would have been the obvious explanation of his presence.
This encouraged him. He would have been the last person to dispute that the situation still presented certain embarrassing features, but the thought came to him, remembering that all men have their price, that it might be possible by exploring every avenue to find some formula that would be acceptable to both parties. There were, in short, in the Blue Room at that moment two minds with but a single thought.
He proceeded to try to pave the way to an understanding.
"Your name is Spink, I believe?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then sit down at this table, Spink. It is, you will notice, a round table, always essential on these occasions. Now, first and foremost, Spink, we must keep quite cool."
"Yes, sir."
"We must not lose our heads. We must get together over the round table and thresh this thing out quietly and calmly in a spirit of mutual co-operation."
"Yes, sir."
"I will begin by conceding a point. I am not Stanwood Cobbold."
"No, sir."
"Very good. We make progress. The question now arises, Who am I? Any suggestions?"
"I am not aware of your surname, sir, but I would hazard the conjecture that your first name is Michael."
"This is uncanny."
"I would also hazard the conjecture that you are a friend of Mr. Stanwood, and that you obtained his permission to impersonate him here because you desired to be in the society of Lady Teresa."
"How do you do it? With mirrors?"
Mervyn Spink smiled gently.
"A letter recently arrived for Lady Teresa, couched in impassioned terms and signed 'Mike.'"
"Good God! She didn't show it around?"
"No, sir. A member of the domestic staff came upon it while accidentally glancing through the contents of her ladyship's dressing table and, having perused it, reported its substance to the Servants Hall."
A pretty blush suffused Mike's cheeks. He ground his teeth a little.
"He did, did he?"
"She, sir. It was one of the maids. I rebuked her."
"You didn't wring her neck?"
"That did not occur to me, sir."
"You missed a bet. Did she enjoy it?"
"No, sir. I chided her severely."
"I mean the letter. It entertained her?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fine. One likes to feel that one's letters have given pleasure. Augustus Robb thought it good, too. He looked it over before it left."
"Sir?"
"A London critic. You haven't met him. If you ever do, introduce him to the maid. They will want to swap views on my literary style. Well, seeing that you are so well informed, I will admit that I did come here for the reason you suggest. So where do we go from here? My name, by the way, is Cardinal."
"I have often heard Mr. Stanwood speak of you, sir."
"Very likely. We're old friends. And you're right in supposing that I have his full sympathy and approval in the venture which I have undertaken. He was all for it."
"It is the attitude which one would have expected in Mr. Stanwood. He has a big heart and would, of course, do all that lay in his power to further a friend's romance. But you were saying, sir—"
"Yes, let's get back to it. Where do we go from here?"
"Sir?"
"Come, come, Spink, use the bean. The first essential, as you must see for yourself, is the ensuring of your silence. One word from you to the lady up top, and I am undone."
"Yes, sir."
"How is this silence to be contrived?"
"Well, sir, if I might make the suggestion—"
"You have the floor."
"—I would propose that we came to some amicable arrangement."
"Of a financial nature?"
"Precisely, sir."
Mike drew a breath of relief. It was as he had hoped. They had explored every avenue, and here came the formula, hot from the griddle. He beamed upon Mervyn Spink, as the inhabitants of Ghent no doubt beamed upon the men who brought the good news to that city from Aix.
"Now you're tooting. Now the fog of misunderstanding is dissipated and we can talk turkey. How do you react to the idea of a tenner?"
"Unenthusiastically, sir."
"Ten pounds is nice sugar, Spink."
"Inferior to two hundred, sir."
There was a pause. Mike laughed.
"Funny how one's ears play one tricks. It sounded to me for a moment as though you had said two hundred. Something to do with the acoustics, no doubt."