The Prince and Betty | Page 3

him again. He
was a friend of Alice Beecher's brother, who was at Harvard. Alice
took me over to meet her brother, and Mr. Maude was there. That's all."
Elsa was plainly disappointed.
"But how do you know, then--? What makes you think that he--?"
"Instinct, again, I suppose. I do know."
"And you've never met him since?"
Betty shook her head. Elsa relapsed into silence. She had a sense of
pathos.
At the further end of the terrace Marvin Rossiter appeared, carrying a
large volume.
"Here we are," he said. "Scared it up at the first attempt. Now then."

He sat down, and opened the book.
"You don't want to hear all about how Jason went there in search of the
Golden Fleece, and how Ulysses is supposed to have taken it in on his
round-trip? You want something more modern. Well, it's an island in
the Mediterranean, as I said, and I'm surprised that you've never heard
of it, Elsa, because it's celebrated in its way. It's the smallest
independent state in the world. Smaller than Monaco, even. Here are
some facts. Its population when this encyclopaedia was printed--there
may be more now--was eleven thousand and sixteen. It was ruled over
up to 1886 by a prince. But in that year the populace appear to have
said to themselves, 'When in the course of human events....' Anyway,
they fired the prince, and the place is now a republic. So that's where
you're going, Miss Silver. I don't know if it's any consolation to you,
but the island, according to this gentleman, is celebrated for the
unspoilt beauty of its scenery. He also gives a list of the fish that can be
caught there. It takes up about three lines."
"But what can my stepfather be doing there? I last heard of him in
London. Well, I suppose I shall have to go."
"I suppose you will," said Elsa mournfully. "But, oh, Betty, what a
shame!"

CHAPTER II
MERVO AND ITS OWNER
"By heck!" cried Mr. Benjamin Scobell.
He wheeled round from the window, and transferred his gaze from the
view to his sister Marion; losing by the action, for the view was a joy to
the eye, which his sister Marion was not.
Mervo was looking its best under the hot morning sun. Mr. Scobell's
villa stood near the summit of the only hill the island possessed, and

from the window of the morning-room, where he had just finished
breakfast, he had an uninterrupted view of valley, town, and harbor--a
two-mile riot of green, gold and white, and beyond the white the blue
satin of the Mediterranean. Mr. Scobell did not read poetry except that
which advertised certain breakfast foods in which he was interested, or
he might have been reminded of the Island of Flowers in Tennyson's
"Voyage of Maeldive." Violets, pinks, crocuses, yellow and purple
mesembryanthemum, lavender, myrtle, and rosemary ... his two-mile
view contained them all. The hillside below him was all aglow with the
yellow fire of the mimosa. But his was not one of those emotional
natures to which the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that
do often lie too deep for tears. A primrose by the river's brim a simple
primrose was to him--or not so much a simple primrose, perhaps, as a
basis for a possible Primrosina, the Soap that Really Cleans You.
He was a nasty little man to hold despotic sway over such a Paradise: a
goblin in Fairyland. Somewhat below the middle height, he was lean of
body and vulturine of face. He had a greedy mouth, a hooked nose,
liquid green eyes and a sallow complexion. He was rarely seen without
a half-smoked cigar between his lips. This at intervals he would relight,
only to allow it to go out again; and when, after numerous fresh starts,
it had dwindled beyond the limits of convenience, he would substitute
another from the reserve supply that protruded from his vest-pocket.
* * * * *
How Benjamin Scobell had discovered the existence of Mervo is not
known. It lay well outside the sphere of the ordinary financier. But Mr.
Scobell took a pride in the versatility of his finance. It distinguished
him from the uninspired who were content to concentrate themselves
on steel, wheat and such-like things. It was Mr. Scobell's way to
consider nothing as lying outside his sphere. In a financial sense he
might have taken Terence's Nihil humanum alienum as his motto. He
was interested in innumerable enterprises, great and small. He was the
power behind a company which was endeavoring, without much
success, to extract gold from the mountains of North Wales, and
another which was trying, without any success at all, to do the same by

sea water. He owned a model farm in