capital and the other winds over the hills in the direction of Blentz.
The fork occurs within the boundaries of the Old Forest. Great trees
overhang the winding road, casting a twilight shade even at high noon.
It is a lonely spot, far from any habitation.
As the Princess Emma approached the fork she reined in her mount, for
across the road to Lustadt a dozen horsemen barred her way. At first
she thought nothing of it, turning her horse’s head to the righthand
side of the road to pass the party, all of whom were in uniform; but as
she did so one of the men reined directly in her path. The act was
obviously intentional.
The girl looked quickly up into the man’s face, and her own went white.
He who stopped her way was Captain Ernst Maenck. She had not seen the
man for two years, but she had good cause to remember him as the
governor of the castle of Blentz and the man who had attempted to take
advantage of her helplessness when she had been a prisoner in Prince
Peter’s fortress. Now she looked straight into the fellow’s eyes.
“Let me pass, please,” she said coldly.
“I am sorry,” replied Maenck with an evil smile; “but the king’s orders
are that you accompany me to Blentz—the king is there.”
For answer the girl drove her spur into her mount’s side. The animal
leaped forward, striking Maenck’s horse on the shoulder and half
turning him aside, but the man clutched at the girl’s bridle-rein, and,
seizing it, brought her to a stop.
“You may as well come voluntarily, for come you must,” he said. “It
will be easier for you.”
“I shall not come voluntarily,” she replied. “If you take me to Blentz
you will have to take me by force, and if my king is not sufficiently a
gentleman to demand an accounting of you, I am at least more fortunate
in the possession of a father who will.”
“Your father will scarce wish to question the acts of his king,” said
Maenck—“his king and the husband of his daughter.”
“What do you mean?” she cried.
“That before you are many hours older, your highness, you will be queen
of Lutha.”
The Princess Emma turned toward her tardy escort that had just arrived
upon the scene.
“This person has stopped me,” she said, “and will not permit me to
continue toward Lustadt. Make a way for me; you are armed!”
Maenck smiled. “Both of them are my men,” he explained.
The girl saw it all now—the whole scheme to lure her to Blentz. Even
then, though, she could not believe the king had been one of the
conspirators of the plot.
Weak as he was he was still a Rubinroth, and it was difficult for a Von
der Tann to believe in the duplicity of a member of the house they had
served so loyally for centuries. With bowed head the princess turned
her horse into the road that led toward Blentz. Half the troopers
preceded her, the balance following behind.
Maenck wondered at the promptness of her surrender.
“To be a queen—ah! that was the great temptation,” he thought but he
did not know what was passing in the girl’s mind. She had seen that
escape for the moment was impossible, and so had decided to bide her
time until a more propitious chance should come. In silence she rode
among her captors. The thought of being brought to Blentz alive was
unbearable.
Somewhere along the road there would be an opportunity to escape. Her
horse was fleet; with a short start he could easily outdistance these
heavier cavalry animals and as a last resort she could—she must—find
some way to end her life, rather than to be dragged to the altar beside
Leopold of Lutha.
Since childhood Emma von der Tann had ridden these hilly roads. She
knew every lane and bypath for miles around. She knew the short cuts,
the gullies and ravines. She knew where one might, with a good jumper,
save a wide detour, and as she rode toward Blentz she passed in review
through her mind each of the many spots where a sudden break for
liberty might have the best chance to succeed.
And at last she hit upon the place where a quick turn would take her
from the main road into the roughest sort of going for one not familiar
with the trail. Maenck and his soldiers had already partially relaxed
their vigilance. The officer had come to the conclusion that his
prisoner was resigned to her fate and that, after all, the fate of
being forced to be queen did not appear so dark to her.
They had wound up a wooded hill and were half way up to the summit. The
princess was riding close to the right-hand side of the road. Quite
suddenly, and before a hand could be raised to stay her, she wheeled
her mount between two trees, struck home her spur, and was gone into
the wood upon the steep hillside.
With an oath, Maenck cried to his men to be after her. He himself
spurred into the forest at the point where the girl had disappeared. So
sudden had been her break for liberty and so quickly had the foliage
swallowed her that there was something almost uncanny in it.
A hundred yards from the road the trees were further apart, and through
them the pursuers caught a glimpse of their quarry. The girl was riding
like mad along the rough, uneven hillside. Her mount, surefooted as a
chamois, seemed in his element. But two of the horses of her pursuers
were as swift, and under the cruel spurs of their riders were closing
up on their fugitive. The girl urged her horse to greater speed, yet
still the two behind closed in.
A hundred yards ahead lay a deep and narrow gully, hid by bushes that
grew rankly along its verge. Straight toward this the Princess Emma von
der Tann rode. Behind her came her pursuers—two quite close and the
others trailing farther in the rear. The girl reined in a trifle,
letting the troopers that were closest to her gain until they were but
a few strides behind, then she put spur to her horse and drove him at
topmost speed straight toward the gully. At the bushes she spoke a low
word in his backlaid ears, raised him quickly with the bit, leaning
forward as he rose in air. Like a bird that animal took the bushes and
the gully beyond, while close behind him crashed the two luckless
troopers.
Emma von der Tann cast a single backward glance over her shoulder, as
her horse regained his stride upon the opposite side of the gully, to
see her two foremost pursuers plunging headlong into it. Then she shook
free her reins and gave her mount his head along a narrow trail that
both had followed many times before.
Behind her, Maenck and the balance of his men came to a sudden stop at
the edge of the gully. Below them one of the troopers was struggling to
his feet. The other lay very still beneath his motionless horse. With
an angry oath Maenck directed one of his men to remain and help the two
who had plunged over the brink, then with the others he rode along the
gully searching for a crossing.
Before they found one their captive was a mile ahead of them, and,
barring accident, quite beyond recapture. She was making for a highway
that would lead her to Lustadt. Ordinarily she had been wont to bear a
little to the north-east at this point and strike back into the road
that she had just left; but today she feared to do so lest she be cut
off before she gained the north and south highroad which the other road
crossed a little farther on.
To her right was a small farm across which she had never ridden, for
she always had made it a point never to trespass upon fenced grounds.
On the opposite side of the farm was a wood, and somewhere beyond that
a small stream which the highroad crossed upon a little bridge. It was
all new country to her, but it must be ventured.
She took the fence at the edge of the clearing and then reined in a
moment to look behind her. A mile away she saw the head and shoulders
of a horseman above some low bushes—the pursuers had found a way
through the gully.
Turning once more to her flight the girl rode rapidly across the fields
toward the wood. Here she found a high wire fence so close to thickly
growing trees upon the opposite side that she dared not attempt to jump
it—there was no point at which she would not have been raked from the
saddle by overhanging boughs. Slipping to the ground she attacked the
barrier with her bare hands, attempting to tear away the staples that
held the wire in place. For several minutes she surged and tugged upon
the unyielding metal strand. An occasional backward glance revealed to
her horrified eyes the rapid approach of her enemies. One of them was
far in advance of the others—in another moment he would be upon her.
With redoubled fury she turned again to the fence. A superhuman effort
brought away a staple. One wire was down and an instant later two more.
Standing with one foot upon the wires to keep them from tangling about
her horse’s legs, she pulled her mount across into the wood. The
foremost horseman was close upon her as she finally succeeded in urging
the animal across the fallen wires.
The girl sprang to her horse’s side just as the man reached the fence.
The wires, released from her weight, sprang up breast high against his
horse. He leaped from the saddle the instant that the girl was swinging
into her own. Then the fellow jumped the fence and caught her bridle.
She struck at him with her whip, lashing him across the head and face,
but he clung tightly, dragged hither and thither by the frightened
horse, until at last he managed to reach the girl’s arm and drag her to
the ground.
Almost at the same instant a man, unkempt and disheveled, sprang from
behind a tree and with a single blow stretched the trooper unconscious
upon the ground.
VII.
BARNEY TO THE RESCUE
As Barney Custer raced along the Austrian highroad toward the frontier
and Lutha, his spirits rose to a pitch of buoyancy to which they had
been strangers for the past several days. For the first time in many
hours it seemed possible to Barney to entertain reasonable hopes of
escape from the extremely dangerous predicament into which he had
gotten himself.
He was even humming a gay little tune as he drove into a tiny hamlet
through which the road wound. No sign of military appeared to fill him
with apprehension. He was very hungry and the odor of cooking fell
gratefully upon his nostrils. He drew up before the single inn, and
presently, washed and brushed, was sitting before the first meal he had
seen for two days. In the enjoyment of the food he almost forgot the
dangers he had passed through, or that other dangers might be lying in
wait for him at his elbow.
From the landlord he learned that the frontier lay but three miles to
the south of the hamlet. Three miles! Three miles to Lutha! What if
there was a price upon his head in that kingdom? It was HER home. It
had been his mother’s birthplace. He loved it.
Further, he must enter there and reach the ear of old Prince von der
Tann. Once more he must save the king who had shown such scant
gratitude upon another occasion.
For Leopold, Barney Custer did not give the snap of his fingers; but
what Leopold, the king, stood for in the lives and sentiments of the
Luthanians—of the Von der Tanns—was very dear to the American because
it was dear to a trim, young girl and to a rugged, leonine, old man, of
both of whom Barney was inordinately fond. And possibly, too, it was
dear to him because of the royal blood his mother had bequeathed him.
His meal disposed of to the last morsel, and paid for, Barney entered
the stolen car and resumed his journey toward Lutha. That he could
remain there he knew to be impossible, but in delivering his news to
Prince Ludwig he might have an opportunity to see the Princess Emma
once again—it would be worth risking his life for, of that he was
perfectly satisfied. And then he could go across into Serbia with the
new credentials that he had no doubt Prince von der Tann would furnish
him for the asking to replace those the Austrians had confiscated.
At the frontier Barney was halted by an Austrian customs officer; but
when the latter recognized the military car and the Austrian uniform of
the driver he waved him through without comment. Upon the other side
the American expected possible difficulty with the Luthanian customs
officer, but to his surprise he found the little building deserted, and
none to bar his way. At last he was in Lutha—by noon on the following
day he should be at Tann.
To reach the Old Forest by the best roads it was necessary to bear a
little to the southeast, passing through Tafelberg and striking the
north and south highway between that point and Lustadt, to which he
could hold until reaching the east and west road that runs through both
Tann and Blentz on its way across the kingdom.
The temptation to stop for a few minutes in Tafelberg for a visit with
his old friend Herr Kramer was strong, but fear that he might be
recognized by others, who would not guard his secret so well as the
shopkeeper of Tafelberg would, decided him to keep on his way. So he
flew through the familiar main street of the quaint old village at a
speed that was little, if any less, than fifty miles an hour.
On he raced toward the south, his speed often necessarily diminished
upon the winding mountain roads, but for the most part clinging to a
reckless mileage that caused the few natives he encountered to flee to
the safety of the bordering fields, there to stand in open-mouthed awe.
Halfway between Tafelberg and the crossroad into which he purposed
turning to the west toward Tann there is an S-curve where the bases of
two small hills meet. The road here is narrow and treacherous—fifteen
miles an hour is almost a reckless speed at which to travel around the
curves of the S. Beyond are open fields upon either side of the road.
Barney took the turns carefully and had just emerged into the last leg
of the S when he saw, to his consternation, a half-dozen Austrian
infantrymen lolling beside the road. An officer stood near them talking
with a sergeant. To turn back in that narrow road was impossible. He
could only go ahead and trust to his uniform and the military car to
carry him safely through. Before he reached the group of soldiers the
fields upon either hand came into view. They were dotted with tents,
wagons, motor-vans and artillery. What did it mean? What was this
Austrian army doing in Lutha?
Already the officer had seen him. This was doubtless an outpost,
however clumsily placed it might be for strategic purposes. To pass it
was Barney’s only hope. He had passed through one Austrian army—why not
another? He approached the outpost at a moderate rate of speed—to tear
toward it at the rate his heart desired would be to awaken not
suspicion only but positive conviction that his purposes and motives
were ulterior.
The officer stepped toward the road as though to halt him. Barney
pretended to be fussing with some refractory piece of controlling
mechanism beneath the cowl—apparently he did not see the officer. He
was just opposite him when the latter shouted to him. Barney
straightened up quickly and saluted, but did not stop.
“Halt!” cried the officer.
Barney pointed down the road in the direction in which he was headed.
“Halt!” repeated the officer, running to the car.
Barney glanced ahead. Two hundred yards farther on was another
post—beyond that he saw no soldiers. He turned and shouted a volley of
intentionally unintelligible jargon at the officer, continuing to point
ahead of him.
He hoped to confuse the man for the few seconds necessary for him to
reach the last post. If the soldiers there saw that he had been
permitted to pass through the first they doubtless would not hinder his
further passage. That they were watching him Barney could see.
He had passed the officer now. There was no necessity for dalliance. He
pressed the accelerator down a trifle. The car moved forward at
increased speed. A final angry shout broke from the officer behind him,
followed by a quick command. Barney did not have to wait long to learn
the tenor of the order, for almost immediately a shot sounded from
behind and a bullet whirred above his head. Another shot and another
followed.
Barney was pressing the accelerator downward to the limit. The car
responded nobly—there was no sputtering, no choking. Just a rapid rush
of increasing momentum as the machine gained headway by leaps and
bounds.
The bullets were ripping the air all about him. Just ahead the second
outpost stood directly in the center of the road. There were three
soldiers and they were taking deliberate aim, as carefully as though
upon the rifle range. It seemed to Barney that they couldn’t miss him.
He swerved the car suddenly from one side of the road to the other. At
the rate that it was going the move was fraught with but little less
danger than the supine facing of the leveled guns ahead.
The three rifles spoke almost simultaneously. The glass of the
windshield shattered in Barney’s face. There was a hole in the
left-hand front fender that had not been there before.
“Rotten shooting,” commented Barney Custer, of Beatrice.
The soldiers still stood in the center of the road firing at the
swaying car as, lurching from side to side, it bore down upon them.
Barney sounded the raucous military horn; but the soldiers seemed
unconscious of their danger—they still stood there pumping lead toward
the onrushing Juggernaut. At the last instant they attempted to rush
from its path; but they were too late.
At over sixty miles an hour the huge, gray monster bore down upon them.
One of them fell beneath the wheels—the two others were thrown high in
air as the bumper struck them. The body of the man who had fallen
beneath the wheels threw the car half way across the road—only iron
nerve and strong arms held it from the ditch upon the opposite side.
Barney Custer had never been nearer death than at that moment—not even
when he faced the firing squad before the factory wall in Burgova. He
had done that without a tremor—he had heard the bullets of the outpost
whistling about his head a moment before, with a smile upon his lips—he
had faced the leveled rifles of the three he had ridden down and he had
not quailed. But now, his machine in the center of the road again, he
shook like a leaf, still in the grip of the sickening nausea of that
awful moment when the mighty, insensate monster beneath him had reeled
drunkenly in its mad flight, swerving toward the ditch and destruction.
For a few minutes he held to his rapid pace before he looked around,
and then it was to see two cars climbing into the road from the
encampment in the field and heading toward him in pursuit. Barney
grinned. Once more he was master of his nerves. They’d have a merry
chase, he thought, and again he accelerated the speed of the car. Once
before he had had it up to seventy-five miles, and for a moment, when
he had had no opportunity to even glance at the speedometer, much
higher. Now he was to find the maximum limit of the possibilities of
the brave car he had come to look upon with real affection.
The road ahead was comparatively straight and level. Behind him came
the enemy. Barney watched the road rushing rapidly out of sight beneath
the gray fenders. He glanced occasionally at the speedometer.
Seventy-five miles an hour. Seventy-seven! “Going some,” murmured
Barney as he saw the needle vibrate up to eighty. Gradually he nursed
her up and up to greater speed.
Eighty-five! The trees were racing by him in an indistinct blur of
green. The fences were thin, wavering lines—the road a white-gray
ribbon, ironed by the terrific speed to smooth unwrinkledness. He could
not take his eyes from the business of steering to glance behind; but
presently there broke faintly through the whir of the wind beating
against his ears the faint report of a gun. He was being fired upon
again. He pressed down still further upon the accelerator. The car
answered to the pressure. The needle rose steadily until it reached
ninety miles an hour—and topped it.
Then from somewhere in the radiator hose a hissing and a spurt of
steam. Barney was dumbfounded. He had filled the cooling system at the
inn where he had eaten. It had been working perfectly before and since.
What could have happened? There could be but a single explanation. A
bullet from the gun of one of the three men who had attempted to stop
him at the second outpost had penetrated the radiator, and had slowly
drained it.
Barney knew that the end was near, since the usefulness of the car in
furthering his escape was over. At the speed he was going it would be
but a short time before the superheated pistons expanding in their
cylinders would tear the motor to pieces. Barney felt that he would be
lucky if he himself were not killed when it happened.
He reduced his speed and glanced behind. His pursuers had not gained
upon him, but they still were coming. A bend in the road shut them from
his view. A little way ahead the road crossed over a river upon a
wooden bridge. On the opposite side and to the right of the road was a
wood. It seemed to offer the most likely possibilities of concealment
in the vicinity. If he could but throw his pursuers off the trail for a
while he might succeed in escaping through the wood, eventually
reaching Tann on foot. He had a rather hazy idea of the exact direction
of the town and castle, but that he could find them eventually he was
sure.
The sight of the river and the bridge he was nearing suggested a plan,
and the ominous grating of the overheated motor warned him that
whatever he was to do he must do at once. As he neared the bridge he
reduced the speed of the car to fifteen miles an hour, and set the hand
throttle to hold it there. Still gripping the steering wheel with one
hand, he climbed over the left-hand door to the running board. As the
front wheels of the car ran up onto the bridge Barney gave the steering
wheel a sudden turn to the right, and jumped.
The car veered toward the wooden handrail, there was a splintering of
stanchions, as, with a crash, the big machine plunged through them
headforemost into the river. Without waiting to give even a glance at
his handiwork Barney Custer ran across the bridge, leaped the fence
upon the right-hand side and plunged into the shelter of the wood.
Then he turned to look back up the road in the direction from which his
pursuers were coming. They were not in sight—they had not seen his
ruse. The water in the river was of sufficient depth to completely
cover the car—no sign of it appeared above the surface.
Barney turned into the wood smiling. His scheme had worked well. The
occupants of the two cars following him might not note the broken
handrail, or, if they did, might not connect it with Barney in any way.
In this event they would continue in the direction of Lustadt,
wondering what in the world had become of their quarry. Or, if they
guessed that his car had gone over into the river, they would doubtless
believe that its driver had gone with it. In either event Barney would
be given ample time to find his way to Tann.
He wished that he might find other clothes, since if he were dressed
otherwise there would be no reason to imagine that his pursuers would
recognize him should they come upon him. None of them could possibly
have gained a sufficiently good look at his features to recognize them
again.
The Austrian uniform, however, would convict him, or at least lay him
under suspicion, and in Barney’s present case, suspicion was as good as
conviction were he to fall into the hands of the Austrians. The garb
had served its purpose well in aiding in his escape from Austria, but
now it was more of a menace than an asset.
For a week Barney Custer wandered through the woods and mountains of
Lutha. He did not dare approach or question any human being. Several
times he had seen Austrian cavalry that seemed to be scouring the
country for some purpose that the American could easily believe was
closely connected with himself. At least he did not feel disposed to
stop them, as they cantered past his hiding place, to inquire the
nature of their business.
Such farmhouses as he came upon he gave a wide berth except at night,
and then he only approached them stealthily for such provender as he
might filch. Before the week was up he had become an expert chicken
thief, being able to rob a roost as quietly as the most finished
carpetbagger on the sunny side of Mason and Dixon’s line.
A careless housewife, leaving her lord and master’s rough shirt and
trousers hanging upon the line overnight, had made possible for Barney
the coveted change in raiment. Now he was barged as a Luthanian
peasant. He was hatless, since the lady had failed to hang out her
mate’s woolen cap, and Barney had not dared retain a single vestige of
the damning Austrian uniform.
What the peasant woman thought when she discovered the empty line the
following morning Barney could only guess, but he was morally certain
that her grief was more than tempered by the gold piece he had wrapped
in a bit of cloth torn from the soldier’s coat he had worn, which he
pinned on the line where the shirt and pants had been.
It was somewhere near noon upon the seventh day that Barney skirting a
little stream, followed through the concealing shade of a forest toward
the west. In his peasant dress he now felt safer to approach a
farmhouse and inquire his way to Tann, for he had come a sufficient
distance from the spot where he had stolen his new clothes to hope that
they would not be recognized or that the news of their theft had not
preceded him.
As he walked he heard the sound of the feet of a horse galloping over a
dry field—muffled, rapid thud approaching closer upon his right hand.
Barney remained motionless. He was sure that the rider would not enter
the wood which, with its low-hanging boughs and thick underbrush, was
ill adapted to equestrianism.
Closer and closer came the sound until it ceased suddenly scarce a
hundred yards from where the American hid. He waited in silence to
discover what would happen next. Would the rider enter the wood on
foot? What was his purpose? Was it another Austrian who had by some
miracle discovered the whereabouts of the fugitive? Barney could scarce
believe it possible.
Presently he heard another horse approaching at the same mad gallop. He
heard the sound of rapid, almost frantic efforts of some nature where
the first horse had come to a stop. He heard a voice urging the animal
forward—pleading, threatening. A woman’s voice. Barney’s excitement
became intense in sympathy with the subdued excitement of the woman
whom he could not as yet see.
A moment later the second rider came to a stop at the same point at
which the first had reined in. A man’s voice rose roughly. “Halt!” it
cried. “In the name of the king, halt!” The American could no longer
resist the temptation to see what was going on so close to him “in the
name of the king.”
He advanced from behind his tree until he saw the two figures—a man’s
and a woman’s. Some bushes intervened—he could not get a clear view of
them, yet there was something about the figure of the woman, whose back
was toward him as she struggled to mount her frightened horse, that
caused him to leap rapidly toward her. He rounded a tree a few paces
from her just as the man—a trooper in the uniform of the house of
Blentz—caught her arm and dragged her from the saddle. At the same
instant Barney recognized the girl—it was Princess Emma.
Before either the trooper or the princess were aware of his presence he
had leaped to the man’s side and dealt him a blow that stretched him at
full length upon the ground—stunned.
VIII.
AN ADVENTUROUS DAY
For an instant the two stood looking at one another. The girl’s eyes
were wide with incredulity, with hope, with fear. She was the first to
break the silence.
“Who are you?” she breathed in a half whisper.
“I don’t wonder that you ask,” returned the man. “I must look like a
scarecrow. I’m Barney Custer. Don’t you remember me now? Who did you
think I was?”
The girl took a step toward him. Her eyes lighted with relief.
“Captain Maenck told me that you were dead,” she said, “that you had
been shot as a spy in Austria, and then there is that uncanny
resemblance to the king—since he has shaved his beard it is infinitely
more remarkable. I thought you might be he. He has been at Blentz and I
knew that it was quite possible that he had discovered treachery upon
the part of Prince Peter. In which case he might have escaped in
disguise. I really wasn’t sure that you were not he until you spoke.”
Barney stooped and removed the bandoleer of cartridges from the fallen
trooper, as well as his revolver and carbine. Then he took the girl’s
hand and together they turned into the wood. Behind them came the sound
of pursuit. They heard the loud words of Maenck as he ordered his three
remaining men into the wood on foot. As he advanced, Barney looked to
the magazine of his carbine and the cylinder of his revolver.
“Why were they pursuing you?” he asked.
“They were taking me to Blentz to force me to wed Leopold,” she
replied. “They told me that my father’s life depended upon my
consenting; but I should not have done so. The honor of my house is
more precious than the life of any of its members. I escaped them a few
miles back, and they were following to overtake me.”
A noise behind them caused Barney to turn. One of the troopers had come
into view. He carried his carbine in his hands and at sight of the man
with the fugitive girl he raised it to his shoulder; but as the
American turned toward him his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.
Instantly Barney knew that the fellow had noted his resemblance to the
king. Barney’s body was concealed from the view of the other by a bush
which grew between them, so the man saw only the face of the American.
The fellow turned and shouted to Maenck: “The king is with her.”
“Nonsense,” came the reply from farther back in the wood. “If there is
a man with her and he will not surrender, shoot him.” At the words
Barney and the girl turned once more to their flight. From behind came
the command to halt—“Halt! or I fire.” Just ahead Barney saw the river.
They were sure to be taken there if he was unable to gain the time
necessary to make good a crossing. Upon the opposite side was a
continuation of the wood. Behind them the leading trooper was crashing
through the underbrush in renewed pursuit. He came in sight of them
again, just as they reached the river bank. Once more his carbine was
leveled. Barney pushed the girl to her knees behind a bush. Then he
wheeled and fired, so quickly that the man with the already leveled gun
had no time to anticipate his act.
With a cry the fellow threw his hands above his head, staggered forward
and plunged full length upon his face. Barney gathered the princess in
his arms and plunged into the shallow stream. The girl held his carbine
as he stumbled over the rocky bottom. The water deepened rapidly—the
opposite shore seemed a long way off and behind there were three more
enemies in hot pursuit.
Under ordinary circumstances Barney could have found it in his heart to
wish the little Luthanian river as broad as the Mississippi, for only
under such circumstances as these could he ever hope to hold the
Princess Emma in his arms. Two years before she had told him that she
loved him; but at the same time she had given him to understand that
their love was hopeless. She might refuse to wed the king; but that she
should ever wed another while the king lived was impossible, unless
Leopold saw fit to release her from her betrothal to him and sanction
her marriage to another. That he ever would do this was to those who
knew him not even remotely possible.
He loved Emma von der Tann and he hated Barney Custer—hated him with a
jealous hatred that was almost fanatic in its intensity. And even that
the Princess Emma von der Tann would wed him were she free to wed was a
question that was not at all clear in the mind of Barney Custer. He
knew something of the traditions of this noble family—of the pride of
caste, of the fetish of blood that inexorably dictated the ordering of
their lives.
The girl had just said that the honor of her house was more precious
than the life of any of its members. How much more precious would it be
to her than her own material happiness! Barney Custer sighed and
struggled through the swirling waters that were now above his hips. If
he pressed the lithe form closer to him than necessity demanded, who
may blame him?
The girl, whose face was toward the bank they had just quitted, gave no
evidence of displeasure if she noted the fierce pressure of his
muscles. Her eyes were riveted upon the wood behind. Presently a man
emerged. He called to them in a loud and threatening tone.
Barney redoubled his Herculean efforts to gain the opposite bank. He
was in midstream now and the water had risen to his waist. The girl saw
Maenck and the other trooper emerge from the underbrush beside the
first. Maenck was crazed with anger. He shook his fist and screamed
aloud his threatening commands to halt, and then, of a sudden, gave an
order to one of the men at his side. Immediately the fellow raised his
carbine and fired at the escaping couple.
The bullet struck the water behind them. At the sound of the report the
girl raised the gun she held and leveled it at the group behind her.
She pulled the trigger. There was a sharp report, and one of the
troopers fell. Then she fired again, quickly, and again and again. She
did not score another hit, but she had the satisfaction of seeing
Maenck and the last of his troopers dodge back to the safety of
protecting trees.
“The cowards!” muttered Barney as the enemy’s shot announced his
sinister intention; “they might have hit your highness.”
The girl did not reply until she had ceased firing.
“Captain Maenck is notoriously a coward,” she said. “He is hiding
behind a tree now with one of his men—I hit the other.”
“You hit one of them!” exclaimed Barney enthusiastically.
“Yes,” said the girl. “I have shot a man. I often wondered what the
sensation must be to have done such a thing. I should feel terribly,
but I don’t. They were firing at you, trying to shoot you in the back
while you were defenseless. I am not sorry—I cannot be; but I only wish
that it had been Captain Maenck.”
In a short time Barney reached the bank and, helping the girl up,
climbed to her side. A couple of shots followed them as they left the
river, but did not fall dangerously near. Barney took the carbine and
replied, then both of them disappeared into the wood.
For the balance of the day they tramped on in the direction of Lustadt,
making but little progress owing to the fear of apprehension. They did
not dare utilize the high road, for they were still too close to
Blentz. Their only hope lay in reaching the protection of Prince von
der Tann before they should be recaptured by the king’s emissaries. At
dusk they came to the outskirts of a town. Here they hid until darkness
settled, for Barney had determined to enter the place after dark and
hire horses.
The American marveled at the bravery and endurance of the girl. He had
always supposed that a princess was so carefully guarded from fatigue
and privation all her life that the least exertion would prove her
undoing; but no hardy peasant girl could have endured more bravely the
hardships and dangers through which the Princess Emma had passed since
the sun rose that morning.
At last darkness came, and with it they approached and entered the
village. They kept to unlighted side streets until they met a villager,
of whom they inquired their way to some private house where they might
obtain refreshments. The fellow scrutinized them with evident
suspicion.
“There is an inn yonder,” he said, pointing toward the main street.
“You can obtain food there. Why should respectable folk want to go
elsewhere than to the public inn? And if you are afraid to go there you
must have very good reasons for not wanting to be seen, and—” he
stopped short as though assailed by an idea. “Wait,” he cried,
excitedly, “I will go and see if I can find a place for you. Wait right
here,” and off he ran toward the inn.
“I don’t like the looks of that,” said Barney, after the man had left
them. “He’s gone to report us to someone. Come, we’d better get out of
here before he comes back.”
The two turned up a side street away from the inn. They had gone but a
short distance when they heard the sound of voices and the thud of
horses’ feet behind them. The horses were coming at a walk and with
them were several men on foot. Barney took the princess’ hand and drew
her up a hedge bordered driveway that led into private grounds. In the
shadows of the hedge they waited for the party behind them to pass. It
might be no one searching for them, but it was just as well to be on
the safe side—they were still near Blentz. Before the men reached their
hiding place a motor car followed and caught up with them, and as the
party came opposite the driveway Barney and the princess overheard a
portion of their conversation.
“Some of you go back and search the street behind the inn—they may not
have come this way.” The speaker was in the motor car. “We will follow
along this road for a bit and then turn into the Lustadt highway. If
you don’t find them go back along the road toward Tann.”
In her excitement the Princess Emma had not noticed that Barney Custer
still held her hand in his. Now he pressed it. “It is Maenck’s voice,”
he whispered. “Every road will be guarded.”
For a moment he was silent, thinking. The searching party had passed
on. They could still hear the purring of the motor as Maenck’s car
moved slowly up the street.
“This is a driveway,” murmured Barney. “People who build driveways into
their grounds usually have something to drive. Whatever it is it should
be at the other end of the driveway. Let’s see if it will carry two.”
Still in the shadow of the hedge they moved cautiously toward the upper
end of the private road until presently they saw a building looming in
their path.
“A garage?” whispered Barney.
“Or a barn,” suggested the princess.
“In either event it should contain something that can go,” returned the
American. “Let us hope that it can go like—like—ah—the wind.”
“And carry two,” supplemented the princess.
“Wait here,” said Barney. “If I get caught, run. Whatever happens you
mustn’t be caught.”
Princess Emma dropped back close to the hedge and Barney approached the
building, which proved to be a private garage. The doors were locked,
as also were the three windows. Barney passed entirely around the
structure halting at last upon the darkest side. Here was a window.
Barney tried to loosen the catch with the blade of his pocket knife,
but it wouldn’t unfasten. His endeavors resulted only in snapping short
the blade of his knife. For a moment he stood contemplating the
baffling window. He dared not break the glass for fear of arousing the
inmates of the house which, though he could not see it, might be close
at hand.
Presently he recalled a scene he had witnessed on State Street in
Chicago several years before—a crowd standing before the window of a
jeweler’s shop inspecting a neat little hole that a thief had cut in
the glass with a diamond and through which he had inserted his hand and
brought forth several hundred dollars worth of loot. But Barney Custer
wore no diamond—he would as soon have worn a celluloid collar. But
women wore diamonds. Doubtless the Princess Emma had one. He ran
quickly to her side.
“Have you a diamond ring?” he whispered.
“Gracious!” she exclaimed, “you are progressing rapidly,” and slipped a
solitaire from her finger to his hand.
“Thanks,” said Barney. “I need the practice; but wait and you’ll see
that a diamond may be infinitely more valuable than even the broker
claims,” and he was gone again into the shadows of the garage. Here
upon the window pane he scratched a rough deep circle, close to the
catch. A quick blow sent the glass clattering to the floor within. For
a minute Barney stood listening for any sign that the noise had
attracted attention, but hearing nothing he ran his hand through the
hole that he had made and unlatched the frame. A moment later he had
crawled within.
Before him, in the darkness, stood a roadster. He ran his hand over the
pedals and levers, breathing a sigh of relief as his touch revealed the
familiar control of a standard make. Then he went to the double doors.
They opened easily and silently.
Once outside he hastened to the side of the waiting girl.
“It’s a machine,” he whispered. “We must both be in it when it leaves
the garage—it’s the through express for Lustadt and makes no stops for
passengers or freight.”
He led her back to the garage and helped her into the seat beside him.
As silently as possible he ran the machine into the driveway. A hundred
yards to the left, half hidden by intervening trees and shrubbery, rose
the dark bulk of a house. A subdued light shone through the drawn
blinds of several windows—the only sign of life about the premises
until the car had cleared the garage and was moving slowly down the
driveway. Then a door opened in the house letting out a flood of light
in which the figure of a man was silhouetted. A voice broke the
silence.
“Who are you? What are you doing there? Come back!”
The man in the doorway called excitedly, “Friedrich! Come! Come
quickly! Someone is stealing the automobile,” and the speaker came
running toward the driveway at top speed. Behind him came Friedrich.
Both were shouting, waving their arms and threatening. Their combined
din might have aroused the dead.
Barney sought speed—silence now was useless. He turned to the left into
the street away from the center of the town. In this direction had gone
the automobile with Maenck, but by taking the first righthand turn
Barney hoped to elude the captain. In a moment Friedrich and the other
were hopelessly distanced. It was with a sigh of relief that the
American turned the car into the dark shadows beneath the overarching
trees of the first cross street.
He was running without lights along an unknown way; and beside him was
the most precious burden that Barney Custer might ever expect to carry.
Under these circumstances his speed was greatly reduced from what he
would have wished, but at that he was forced to accept grave risks. The
road might end abruptly at the brink of a ravine—it might swerve
perilously close to a stone quarry—or plunge headlong into a pond or
river. Barney shuddered at the possibilities; but nothing of the sort
happened. The street ran straight out of the town into a country road,
rather heavy with sand. In the open the possibilities of speed were
increased, for the night, though moonless, was clear, and the road
visible for some distance ahead.
The fugitives were congratulating themselves upon the excellent chance
they now had to reach Lustadt. There was only Maenck and his companion
ahead of them in the other car, and as there were several roads by
which one might reach the main highway the chances were fair that
Prince Peter’s aide would miss them completely.
Already escape seemed assured when the pounding of horses’ hoofs upon
the roadway behind them arose to blast their new found hope. Barney
increased the speed of the car. It leaped ahead in response to his
foot; but the road was heavy, and the sides of the ruts gripping the
tires retarded the speed. For a mile they held the lead of the
galloping horsemen. The shouts of their pursuers fell clearly upon
their ears, and the Princess Emma, turning in her seat, could easily
see the four who followed. At last the car began to draw away—the
distance between it and the riders grew gradually greater.
“I believe we are going to make it,” whispered the girl, her voice
tense with excitement. “If you could only go a little faster, Mr.
Custer, I’m sure that we will.”
“She’s reached her limit in this sand,” replied the man, “and there’s a
grade just ahead—we may find better going beyond, but they’re bound to
gain on us before we reach the top.”
The girl strained her eyes into the night before them. On the right of
the road stood an ancient ruin—grim and forbidding. As her eyes rested
upon it she gave a little exclamation of relief.
“I know where we are now,” she cried. “The hill ahead is sandy, and
there is a quarter of a mile of sand beyond, but then we strike the
Lustadt highway, and if we can reach it ahead of them their horses will
have to go ninety miles an hour to catch us—provided this car possesses
any such speed possibilities.”
“If it can go forty we are safe enough,” replied Barney; “but we’ll
give it a chance to go as fast as it can—the farther we are from the
vicinity of Blentz the safer I shall feel for the welfare of your
highness.”
A shot rang behind them, and a bullet whistled high above their heads.
The princess seized the carbine that rested on the seat between them.
“Shall I?” she asked, turning its muzzle back over the lowered top.
“Better not,” answered the man. “They are only trying to frighten us
into surrendering—that shot was much too high to have been aimed at
us—they are shooting over our heads purposely. If they deliberately
attempt to pot us later, then go for them, but to do it now would only
draw their fire upon us. I doubt if they wish to harm your highness,
but they certainly would fire to hit in self-defense.”
The girl lowered the firearm. “I am becoming perfectly bloodthirsty,”
she said, “but it makes me furious to be hunted like a wild animal in
my native land, and by the command of my king, at that. And to think
that you who placed him upon his throne, you who have risked your life
many times for him, will find no protection at his hands should you be
captured is maddening. Ach, Gott, if I were a man!”
“I thank God that you are not, your highness,” returned Barney
fervently.
Gently she laid her hand upon his where it gripped the steering wheel.
“No,” she said, “I was wrong—I do not need to be a man while there
still be such men as you, my friend; but I would that I were not the
unhappy woman whom Fate had bound to an ingrate king—to a miserable
coward!”
They had reached the grade at last, and the motor was straining to the
Herculean task imposed upon it.
Grinding and grating in second speed the car toiled upward through the
clinging sand. The pace was snail-like. Behind, the horsemen were
gaining rapidly. The labored breathing of their mounts was audible even
above the noise of the motor, so close were they. The top of the ascent
lay but a few yards ahead, and the pursuers were but a few yards
behind.
“Halt!” came from behind, and then a shot. The ping of the bullet and
the scream of the ricochet warned the man and the girl that those
behind them were becoming desperate—the bullet had struck one of the
rear fenders. Without again asking assent the princess turned and,
kneeling upon the cushion of the seat, fired at the nearest horseman.
The horse stumbled and plunged to his knees. Another, just behind, ran
upon him, and the two rolled over together with their riders. Two more
shots were fired by the remaining horsemen and answered by the girl in
the automobile, and then the car topped the hill, shot into high, and
with renewed speed forged into the last quarter-mile of heavy going
toward the good road ahead; but now the grade was slightly downward and
all the advantage was upon the side of the fugitives.
However, their margin would be but scant when they reached the highway,
for behind them the remaining troopers were spurring their jaded horses
to a final spurt of speed. At last the white ribbon of the main road
became visible. To the right they saw the headlights of a machine. It
was Maenck probably, doubtless attracted their way by the shooting.
But the machine was a mile away and could not possibly reach the
intersection of the two roads before they had turned to the left toward
Lustadt. Then the incident would resolve itself into a simple test of
speed between the two cars—and the ability and nerve of the drivers.
Barney hadn’t the slightest doubt now as to the outcome. His borrowed
car was a good one, in good condition. And in the matter of driving he
rather prided himself that he needn’t take his hat off to anyone when
it came to ability and nerve.
They were only about fifty feet from the highway. The girl touched his
hand again. “We’re safe,” she cried, her voice vibrant with excitement,
“we’re safe at last.” From beneath the bonnet, as though in answer to
her statement, came a sickly, sucking sputter. The momentum of the car
diminished. The throbbing of the engine ceased. They sat in silence as
the machine coasted toward the highway and came to a dead stop, with
its front wheels upon the road to safety. The girl turned toward Barney
with an exclamation of surprise and interrogation.
“The jig’s up,” he groaned; “we’re out of gasoline!”
IX.
THE CAPTURE
The capture of Princess Emma von der Tann and Barney Custer was a
relatively simple matter. Open fields spread in all directions about
the crossroads at which their car had come to its humiliating stop.
There was no cover. To have sought escape by flight, thus in the open,
would have been to expose the princess to the fire of the troopers.
Barney could not do this. He preferred to surrender and trust to chance
to open the way to escape later.
When Captain Ernst Maenck drove up he found the prisoners disarmed,
standing beside the now-useless car. He alighted from his own machine
and with a low bow saluted the princess, an ironical smile upon his
thin lips. Then he turned his attention toward her companion.
“Who are you?” he demanded gruffly. In the darkness he failed to
recognize the American whom he thought dead in Austria.
“A servant of the house of Von der Tann,” replied Barney.
“You deserve shooting,” growled the officer, “but we’ll leave that to
Prince Peter and the king. When I tell them the trouble you have caused
us—well, God help you.”
The journey to Blentz was a short one. They had been much nearer that
grim fortress than either had guessed. At the outskirts of the town
they were challenged by Austrian sentries, through which Maenck passed
with ease after the sentinel had summoned an officer. From this man
Maenck received the password that would carry them through the line of
outposts between the town and the castle—“Slankamen.” Barney, who
overheard the word, made a mental note of it.
At last they reached the dreary castle of Peter of Blentz. In the
courtyard Austrian soldiers mingled with the men of the bodyguard of
the king of Lutha. Within, the king’s officers fraternized with the
officers of the emperor. Maenck led his prisoners to the great hall
which was filled with officers and officials of both Austria and Lutha.
The king was not there. Maenck learned that he had retired to his
apartments a few minutes earlier in company with Prince Peter of Blentz
and Von Coblich. He sent a servant to announce his return with the
Princess von der Tann and a man who had attempted to prevent her being
brought to Blentz.
Barney had, as far as possible, kept his face averted from Maenck since
they had entered the lighted castle. He hoped to escape recognition,
for he knew that if his identity were guessed it might go hard with the
princess. As for himself, it might go even harder, but of that he gave
scarcely a thought—the safety of the princess was paramount.
After a few minutes of waiting the servant returned with the king’s
command to fetch the prisoners to his apartments. The face of the
Princess Emma was haggard. For the first time Barney saw signs of fear
upon her countenance. With leaden steps they accompanied their guard up
the winding stairway to the tower rooms that had been furnished for the
king. They were the same in which Emma von der Tann had been imprisoned
two years before.
On either side of the doorway stood a soldier of the king’s bodyguard.
As Captain Maenck approached they saluted. A servant opened the door
and they passed into the room. Before them were Peter of Blentz and Von
Coblich standing beside a table at which Leopold of Lutha was sitting.
The eyes of the three men were upon the doorway as the little party
entered. The king’s face was flushed with wine. He rose as his eyes
rested upon the face of the princess.
“Greetings, your highness,” he cried with an attempt at cordiality.
The girl looked straight into his eyes, coldly, and then bent her knee
in formal curtsy. The king was about to speak again when his eyes
wandered to the face of the American. Instantly his own went white and
then scarlet. The eyes of Peter of Blentz followed those of the king,
widening in astonishment as they rested upon the features of Barney
Custer.
“You told me he was dead,” shouted the king. “What is the meaning of
this, Captain Maenck?”
Maenck looked at his male prisoner and staggered back as though struck
between the eyes.
“Mein Gott,” he exclaimed, “the impostor!”
“You told me he was dead,” repeated the king accusingly.
“As God is my judge, your majesty,” cried Peter of Blentz, “this man
was shot by an Austrian firing squad in Burgova over a week ago.”
“Sire,” exclaimed Maenck, “this is the first sight I have had of the
prisoners except in the darkness of the night; until this instant I had
not the remotest suspicion of his identity. He told me that he was a
servant of the house of Von der Tann.”
“I told you the truth, then,” interjected Barney.
“Silence, you ingrate!” cried the king.
“Ingrate?” repeated Barney. “You have the effrontery to call me an
ingrate? You miserable puppy.”
A silence, menacing in its intensity, fell upon the little assemblage.
The king trembled. His rage choked him. The others looked as though
they scarce could believe the testimony of their own ears. All there,
with the possible exception of the king, knew that he deserved even
more degrading appellations; but they were Europeans, and to Europeans
a king is a king—that they can never forget. It had been the inherent
suggestion of kingship that had bent the knee of the Princess Emma
before the man she despised.
But to the American a king was only what he made himself. In this
instance he was not even a man in the estimation of Barney Custer.
Maenck took a step toward the prisoner—a menacing step, for his hand
had gone to his sword. Barney met him with a level look from between
narrowed lids. Maenck hesitated, for he was a great coward. Peter of
Blentz spoke:
“Sire,” he said, “the fellow knows that he is already as good as dead,
and so in his bravado he dares affront you. He has been convicted of
spying by the Austrians. He is still a spy. It is unnecessary to repeat
the formality of a trial.”
Leopold at last found his voice, though it trembled and broke as he
spoke.
“Carry out the sentence of the Austrian court in the morning,” he said.
“A volley now might arouse the garrison in the town and be
misconstrued.”
Maenck ordered Barney escorted from the apartment, then he turned
toward the king.
“And the other prisoner, sire?” he inquired.
“There is no other prisoner,” he said. “Her highness, the Princess von
der Tann, is a guest of Prince Peter. She will be escorted to her
apartment at once.”
“Her highness, the Princess von der Tann, is not a guest of Prince
Peter.” The girl’s voice was low and cold. “If Mr. Custer is a
prisoner, her highness, too, is a prisoner. If he is to be shot, she
demands a like fate. To die by the side of a MAN would be infinitely
preferable to living by the side of your majesty.”
Once again Leopold of Lutha reddened. For a moment he paced the room
angrily to hide his emotion. Then he turned once to Maenck.
“Escort the prisoner to the north tower,” he commanded, “and this
insolent girl to the chambers next to ours. Tomorrow we shall talk with
her again.”
Outside the room Barney turned for a last look at the princess as he
was being led in one direction and she in another. A smile of
encouragement was on his lips and cold hopelessness in his heart. She
answered the smile and her lips formed a silent “good-bye.” They formed
something else, too—three words which he was sure he could not have
mistaken, and then they parted, he for the death chamber and she for
what fate she could but guess.
As his guard halted before a door at the far end of a long corridor
Barney Custer sensed a sudden familiarity in his surroundings. He was
conscious of that sensation which is common to all of us—of having
lived through a scene at some former time, to each minutest detail.
As the door opened and he was pushed into the room he realized that
there was excellent foundation for the impression—he immediately
recognized the apartment as the same in which he had once before been
imprisoned. At that time he had been mistaken for the mad king who had
escaped from the clutches of Peter of Blentz. The same king was now
visiting as a guest the fortress in which he had spent ten bitter years
as a prisoner.
“Say your prayers, my friend,” admonished Maenck, as he was about to
leave him alone, “for at dawn you die—and this time the firing squad
will make a better job of it.”
Barney did not answer him, and the captain departed, locking the door
after him and leaving two men on guard in the corridor. Alone, Barney
looked about the room. It was in no wise changed since his former visit
to it. He recalled the incidents of the hour of his imprisonment here,
thought of old Joseph who had aided his escape, looked at the paneled
fireplace, whose secret, it was evident, not even the master of Blentz
was familiar with—and grinned.
“‘For at dawn you die!’” he repeated to himself, still smiling broadly.
Then he crossed quickly to the fireplace, running his fingers along the
edge of one of the large tiled panels that hid the entrance to the
well-like shaft that rose from the cellars beneath to the towers above
and which opened through similar concealed exits upon each floor. If
the floor above should be untenanted he might be able to reach it as he
and Joseph had done two years ago when they opened the secret panel in
the fireplace and climbed a hidden ladder to the room overhead; and
then by vacant corridors reached the far end of the castle above the
suite in which the princess had been confined and near which Barney had
every reason to believe she was now imprisoned.
Carefully Barney’s fingers traversed the edges of the panel. No hidden
latch rewarded his search. Again and again he examined the perfectly
fitted joints until he was convinced either that there was no latch
there or that it was hid beyond possibility of discovery. With each
succeeding minute the American’s heart and hopes sank lower and lower.
Two years had elapsed since he had seen the secret portal swing to the
touch of Joseph’s fingers. One may forget much in two years; but that
he was at work upon the right panel Barney was positive. However, it
would do no harm to examine its mate which resembled it in minutest
detail.
Almost indifferently Barney turned his attention to the other panel. He
ran his fingers over it, his eyes following them. What was that? A
finger-print? Upon the left side half way up a tiny smudge was visible.
Barney examined it more carefully. A round, white figure of the
conventional design that was burned into the tile bore the telltale
smudge.
Otherwise it differed apparently in no way from the numerous other
round, white figures that were repeated many times in the scheme of
decoration. Barney placed his thumb exactly over the mark that another
thumb had left there and pushed. The figure sank into the panel beneath
the pressure. Barney pushed harder, breathless with suspense. The panel
swung in at his effort. The American could have whooped with delight.
A moment more and he stood upon the opposite side of the secret door in
utter darkness, for he had quickly closed it after him. To strike a
match was but the matter of a moment. The wavering light revealed the
top of the ladder that led downward and the foot of another leading
aloft. He struck still more matches in search of the rope. It was not
there, but his quest revealed the fact that the well at this point was
much larger than he had imagined—it broadened into a small chamber.
The light of many matches finally led him to the discovery of a
passageway directly behind the fireplace. It was narrow, and after
spanning the chimney descended by a few rough steps to a slightly lower
level. It led toward the opposite end of the castle. Could it be
possible that it connected directly with the apartments in the farther
tower—in the tower where the king was and the Princess Emma? Barney
could scarce hope for any such good luck, but at least it was worth
investigating—it must lead somewhere.
He followed it warily, feeling his way with hands and feet and
occasionally striking a match. It was evident that the corridor lay in
the thick wall of the castle, midway between the bottoms of the windows
of the second floor and the tops of those upon the first—this would
account for the slightly lower level of the passage from the floor of
the second story.
Barney had traversed some distance in the darkness along the forgotten
corridor when the sound of voices came to him from beyond the wall at
his right. He stopped, motionless, pressing his ear against the side
wall. As he did so he became aware of the fact that at this point the
wall was of wood—a large panel of hardwood. Now he could hear even the
words of the speaker upon the opposite side.
“Fetch her here, captain, and I will talk with her alone.” The voice
was the king’s. “And, captain, you might remove the guard from before
the door temporarily. I shall not require them, nor do I wish them to
overhear my conversation with the princess.”
Barney could hear the officer acknowledge the commands of the king, and
then he heard a door close. The man had gone to fetch the princess. The
American struck a match and examined the panel before him. It reached
to the top of the passageway and was some three feet in width.
At one side were three hinges, and at the other an ancient spring lock.
For an instant Barney stood in indecision. What should he do? His entry
into the apartments of the king would result in alarming the entire
fortress. Were he sure the king was alone it might be accomplished.
Should he enter now or wait until the Princess Emma had been brought to
the king?
With the question came the answer—a bold and daring scheme. His fingers
sought the lock. Very gently, he unlatched it and pushed outward upon
the panel. Suddenly the great doorway gave beneath his touch. It opened
a crack letting a flood of light into his dark cell that almost blinded
him.
For a moment he could see nothing, and then out of the glaring blur
grew the figure of a man sitting at a table—with his back toward the
panel.
It was the king, and he was alone. Noiselessly Barney Custer entered
the apartment, closing the panel after him. At his back now was the
great oil painting of the Blentz princess that had hid the secret
entrance to the room. He crossed the thick rugs until he stood behind
the king. Then he clapped one hand over the mouth of the monarch of
Lutha and threw the other arm about his neck.
“Make the slightest outcry and I shall kill you,” he whispered in the
ear of the terrified man.
Across the room Barney saw a revolver lying upon a small table. He
raised the king to his feet and, turning his back toward the weapon
dragged him across the apartment until the table was within easy reach.
Then he snatched up the revolver and swung the king around into a chair
facing him, the muzzle of the gun pressed against his face.
“Silence,” he whispered.
The king, white and trembling, gasped as his eyes fell upon the face of
the American.
“You?” His voice was barely audible.
“Take off your clothes—every stitch of them—and if any one asks for
admittance, deny them. Quick, now,” as the king hesitated. “My life is
forfeited unless I can escape. If I am apprehended I shall see that you
pay for my recapture with your life—if any one enters this room without
my sanction they will enter it to find a dead king upon the floor; do
you understand?”
The king made no reply other than to commence divesting himself of his
clothing. Barney followed his example, but not before he had crossed to
the door that opened into the main corridor and shot the bolt upon the
inside. When both men had removed their clothing Barney pointed to the
little pile of soiled peasant garb that he had worn.
“Put those on,” he commanded.
The king hesitated, drawing back in disgust. Barney paused, half-way
into the royal union suit, and leveled the revolver at Leopold. The
king picked up one of the garments gingerly between the tips of his
thumb and finger.
“Hurry!” admonished the American, drawing the silk half-hose of the
ruler of Lutha over his foot. “If you don’t hurry,” he added, “someone
may interrupt us, and you know what the result would be—to you.”
Scowling, Leopold donned the rough garments. Barney, fully clothed in
the uniform the king had been wearing, stepped across the apartment to
where the king’s sword and helmet lay upon the side table that had also
borne the revolver. He placed the helmet upon his head and buckled the
sword-belt about his waist, then he faced the king, behind whom was a
cheval glass. In it Barney saw his image. The king was looking at the
American, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. Barney did not wonder at
his consternation. He himself was dumbfounded by the likeness which he
bore to the king. It was positively uncanny. He approached Leopold.
“Remove your rings,” he said, holding out his hand. The king did as he
was bid, and Barney slipped the two baubles upon his fingers. One of
them was the royal ring of the kings of Lutha.
The American now blindfolded the king and led him toward the panel
which had given him ingress to the room. Through it the two men passed,
Barney closing the panel after them. Then he conducted the king back
along the dark passageway to the room which the American had but
recently quitted. At the back of the panel which led into his former
prison Barney halted and listened. No sound came from beyond the
partition. Gently Barney opened the secret door a trifle—just enough to
permit him a quick survey of the interior of the apartment. It was
empty. A smile crossed his face as he thought of the difficulty Leopold
might encounter the following morning in convincing his jailers that he
was not the American.
Then he recalled his reflection in the cheval glass and frowned. Could
Leopold convince them? He doubted it—and what then? The American was
sentenced to be shot at dawn. They would shoot the king instead. Then
there would be none to whom to return the kingship. What would he do
with it? The temptation was great. Again a throne lay within his
grasp—a throne and the woman he loved. None might ever know unless he
chose to tell—his resemblance to Leopold was too perfect. It defied
detection.
With an exclamation of impatience he wheeled about and dragged the
frightened monarch back to the room from which he had stolen him. As he
entered he heard a knock at the door.
“Do not disturb me now,” he called. “Come again in half an hour.”
“But it is Her Highness, Princess Emma, sire,” came a voice from beyond
the door. “You summoned her.”
“She may return to her apartments,” replied Barney.
All the time he kept his revolver leveled at the king, from his eyes he
had removed the blind after they had entered the apartment. He crossed
to the table where the king had been sitting when he surprised him,
motioning the ragged ruler to follow and be seated.
“Take that pen,” he said, “and write a full pardon for Mr. Bernard
Custer, and an order requiring that he be furnished with money and set
at liberty at dawn.”
The king did as he was bid. For a moment the American stood looking at
him before he spoke again.
“You do not deserve what I am going to do for you,” he said. “And Lutha
deserves a better king than the one my act will give her; but I am
neither a thief nor a murderer, and so I must forbear leaving you to
your just deserts and return your throne to you. I shall do so after I
have insured my own safety and done what I can for Lutha—what you are
too little a man and king to do yourself.
“So soon as they liberate you in the morning, make the best of your way
to Brosnov, on the Serbian frontier. Await me there. When I can, I
shall come. Again we may exchange clothing and you can return to
Lustadt. I shall cross over into Siberia out of your reach, for I know
you too well to believe that any sense of honor or gratitude would
prevent you signing my death-warrant at the first opportunity. Now,
come!”
Once again Barney led the blindfolded king through the dark corridor to
the room in the opposite tower—to the prison of the American. At the
open panel he shoved him into the apartment. Then he drew the door
quietly to, leaving the king upon the inside, and retraced his steps to
the royal apartments. Crossing to the center table, he touched an
electric button. A moment later an officer knocked at the door, which,
in the meantime, Barney had unbolted.
“Enter!” said the American. He stood with his back toward the door
until he heard it close behind the officer. When he turned he was
apparently examining his revolver. If the officer suspected his
identity, it was just as well to be prepared. Slowly he raised his eyes
to the newcomer, who stood stiffly at salute. The officer looked him
full in the face.
“I answered your majesty’s summons,” said the man.
“Oh, yes!” returned the American. “You may fetch the Princess Emma.”
The officer saluted once more and backed out of the apartment. Barney
walked to the table and sat down. A tin box of cigarettes lay beside
the lamp. Barney lighted one of them. The king had good taste in the
selection of tobacco, he thought. Well, a man must need have some
redeeming characteristics.
Outside, in the corridor, he heard voices, and again the knock at the
door. He bade them enter. As the door opened Emma von der Tann, her
head thrown back and a flush of anger on her face, entered the room.
Behind her was the officer who had been despatched to bring her. Barney
nodded to the latter.
“You may go,” he said. He drew a chair from the table and asked the
princess to be seated. She ignored his request.
“What do you wish of me?” she asked. She was looking straight into his
eyes. The officer had withdrawn and closed the door after him. They
were alone, with nothing to fear; yet she did not recognize him.
“You are the king,” she continued in cold, level tones, “but if you are
also a gentleman, you will at once order me returned to my father at
Lustadt, and with me the man to whom you owe so much. I do not expect
it of you, but I wish to give you the chance.
“I shall not go without him. I am betrothed to you; but until tonight I
should rather have died than wed you. Now I am ready to compromise. If
you will set Mr. Custer at liberty in Serbia and return me unharmed to
my father, I will fulfill my part of our betrothal.”
Barney Custer looked straight into the girl’s face for a long moment. A
half smile played upon his lips at the thought of her surprise when she
learned the truth, when suddenly it dawned upon him that she and he
were both much safer if no one, not even her loyal self, guessed that
he was other than the king. It is not difficult to live a part, but
often it is difficult to act one. Some little word or look, were she to
know that he was Barney Custer, might betray them; no, it was better to
leave her in ignorance, though his conscience pricked him for the
disloyalty that his act implied.
It seemed a poor return for her courage and loyalty to him that her
statement to the man she thought king had revealed. He marveled that a
Von der Tann could have spoken those words—a Von der Tann who but the
day before had refused to save her father’s life at the loss of the
family honor. It seemed incredible to the American that he had won such
love from such a woman. Again came the mighty temptation to keep the
crown and the girl both; but with a straightening of his broad
shoulders he threw it from him.
She was promised to the king, and while he masqueraded in the king’s
clothes, he at least would act the part that a king should. He drew a
folded paper from his inside pocket and handed it to the girl.
“Here is the American’s pardon,” he said, “drawn up and signed by the
king’s own hand.”
She opened it and, glancing through it hurriedly, looked up at the man
before her with a questioning expression in her eyes.
“You came, then,” she said, “to a realization of the enormity of your
ingratitude?”
The man shrugged.
“He will never die at my command,” he said.
“I thank your majesty,” she said simply. “As a Von der Tann, I have
tried to believe that a Rubinroth could not be guilty of such baseness.
And now, tell me what your answer is to my proposition.”
“We shall return to Lustadt tonight,” he replied. “I fear the purpose
of Prince Peter. In fact, it may be difficult—even impossible—for us to
leave Blentz; but we can at least make the attempt.”
“Can we not take Mr. Custer with us?” she asked. “Prince Peter may
disregard your majesty’s commands and, after you are gone, have him
shot. Do not forget that he kept the crown from Peter of Blentz—it is
certain that Prince Peter will never forget it.”
“I give you my word, your highness, that I know positively that if I
leave Blentz tonight Prince Peter will not have Mr. Custer shot in the
morning, and it will so greatly jeopardize his own plans if we attempt
to release the prisoner that in all probability we ourselves will be
unable to escape.”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.
“You give me your word that he will be safe?” she asked.
“My royal word,” he replied.
“Very well, let us leave at once.”
Barney touched the bell once more, and presently an officer of the
Blentz faction answered the summons. As the man closed the door and
approached, saluting, Barney stepped close to him.
“We are leaving for Tann tonight,” he said, “at once. You will conduct
us from the castle and procure horses for us. All the time I shall walk
at your elbow, and in my hand I shall carry this,” and he displayed the
king’s revolver. “At the first indication of defection upon your part I
shall kill you. Do you perfectly understand me?”
“But, your majesty,” exclaimed the officer, “why is it necessary that
you leave thus surreptitiously? May not the king go and come in his own
kingdom as he desires? Let me announce your wishes to Prince Peter that
he may furnish you with a proper escort. Doubtless he will wish to
accompany you himself, sire.”
“You will do precisely what I say without further comment,” snapped
Barney. “Now get a—” He had been about to say: “Now get a move on you,”
when it occurred to him that this was not precisely the sort of
language that kings were supposed to use to their inferiors. So he
changed it. “Now get a couple of horses for her highness and myself, as
well as your own, for you will accompany us to Tann.”
The officer looked at the weapon in the king’s hand. He measured the
distance between himself and the king. He well knew the reputed
cowardice of Leopold. Could he make the leap and strike up the king’s
hand before the timorous monarch found even the courage of the cornered
rat to fire at him? Then his eyes sought the face of the king,
searching for the signs of nervous terror that would make his conquest
an easy one; but what he saw in the eyes that bored straight into his
brought his own to the floor at the king’s feet.
What new force animated Leopold of Lutha? Those were not the eyes of a
coward. No fear was reflected in their steely glitter. The officer
mumbled an apology, saluted, and turned toward the door. At his elbow
walked the impostor; a cavalry cape that had belonged to the king now
covered his shoulders and hid the weapon that pressed its hard warning
now and again into the short-ribs of the Blentz officer. Just behind
the American came the Princess Emma von der Tann.
The three passed through the deserted corridors of the sleeping castle,
taking a route at Barney’s suggestion that led them to the stable
courtyard without necessitating traversing the main corridors or the
great hall or the guardroom, in all of which there still were Austrian
and Blentz soldiers, whose duties or pleasures had kept them from their
blankets.
At the stables a sleepy groom answered the summons of the officer, whom
Barney had warned not to divulge the identity of himself or the
princess. He left the princess in the shadows outside the building.
After what seemed an eternity to the American, three horses were led
into the courtyard, saddled, and bridled. The party mounted and
approached the gates. Here, Barney knew, might be encountered the most
serious obstacle in their path. He rode close to the side of their
unwilling conductor. Leaning forward in his saddle, he whispered in the
man’s ear.
“Failure to pass us through the gates,” he said, “will be the signal
for your death.”
The man reined in his mount and turned toward the American.
“I doubt if they will pass even me without a written order from Prince
Peter,” he said. “If they refuse, you must reveal your identity. The
guard is composed of Luthanians—I doubt if they will dare refuse your
majesty.”
Then they rode on up to the gates. A soldier stepped from the sentry
box and challenged them.
“Lower the drawbridge,” ordered the officer. “It is Captain Krantzwort
on a mission for the king.”
The soldier approached, raising a lantern, which he had brought from
the sentry box, and inspected the captain’s face. He seemed ill at
ease. In the light of the lantern, the American saw that he was scarce
more than a boy—doubtless a recruit. He saw the expression of fear and
awe with which he regarded the officer, and it occurred to him that the
effect of the king’s presence upon him would be absolutely
overpowering. Still the soldier hesitated.
“My orders are very strict, sir,” he said. “I am to let no one leave
without a written order from Prince Peter. If the sergeant or the
lieutenant were here they would know what to do; but they are both at
the castle—only two other soldiers are at the gates with me. Wait, and
I will send one of them for the lieutenant.”
“No,” interposed the American. “You will send for no one, my man. Come
closer—look at my face.”
The soldier approached, holding his lantern above his head. As its
feeble rays fell upon the face and uniform of the man on horseback, the
sentry gave a little gasp of astonishment.
“Now, lower the drawbridge,” said Barney Custer, “it is your king’s
command.”
Quickly the fellow hastened to obey the order. The chains creaked and
the windlass groaned as the heavy planking sank to place across the
moat.
As Barney passed the soldier he handed him the pardon Leopold had
written for the American.
“Give this to your lieutenant,” he said, “and tell him to hand it to
Prince Peter before dawn tomorrow. Do not fail.”
A moment later the three were riding down the winding road toward
Blentz. Barney had no further need of the officer who rode with them.
He would be glad to be rid of him, for he anticipated that the fellow
might find ample opportunity to betray them as they passed through the
Austrian lines, which they must do to reach Lustadt.
He had told the captain that they were going to Tann in order that,
should the man find opportunity to institute pursuit, he might be
thrown off the track. The Austrian sentries were no great distance
ahead when Barney ordered a halt.
“Dismount,” he directed the captain, leaping to the ground himself at
the same time. “Put your hands behind your back.”
The officer did as he was bid, and Barney bound his wrists securely
with a strap and buckle that he had removed from the cantle of his
saddle as he rode. Then he led him off the road among some weeds and
compelled him to lie down, after which he bound his ankles together and
stuffed a gag in his mouth, securing it in place with a bit of stick
and the chinstrap from the man’s helmet. The threat of the revolver
kept Captain Krantzwort silent and obedient throughout the hasty
operations.
“Good-bye, captain,” whispered Barney, “and let me suggest that you
devote the time until your discovery and release in pondering the value
of winning your king’s confidence in the future. Had you chosen your
associates more carefully in the past, this need not have occurred.”
Barney unsaddled the captain’s horse and turned him loose, then he
remounted and, with the princess at his side, rode down toward Blentz.
X.
A NEW KING IN LUTHA
As the two riders approached the edge of the village of Blentz a sentry
barred their way. To his challenge the American replied that they were
“friends from the castle.”
“Advance,” directed the sentry, “and give the countersign.”
Barney rode to the fellow’s side, and leaning from the saddle whispered
in his ear the word “Slankamen.”
Would it pass them out as it had passed Maenck in? Barney scarcely
breathed as he awaited the result of his experiment. The soldier
brought his rifle to present and directed them to pass. With a sigh of
relief that was almost audible the two rode into the village and the
Austrian lines.
Once within they met with no further obstacle until they reached the
last line of sentries upon the far side of the town. It was with more
confidence that Barney gave the countersign here, nor was he surprised
that the soldier passed them readily; and now they were upon the
highroad to Lustadt, with nothing more to bar their way.
For hours they rode on in silence. Barney wanted to talk with his
companion, but as king he found nothing to say to her. The girl’s mind
was filled with morbid reflections of the past few hours and dumb
terror for the future. She would keep her promise to the king; but
after—life would not be worth the living; why should she live? She
glanced at the man beside her in the light of the coming dawn. Ah, why
was he so like her American in outward appearances only? Their own
mothers could scarce have distinguished them, and yet in character no
two men could have differed more widely. The man turned to her.
“We are almost there,” he said. “You must be very tired.”
The words reflected a consideration that had never been a
characteristic of Leopold. The girl began to wonder if there might not
possibly be a vein of nobility in the man, after all, that she had
never discovered. Since she had entered his apartments at Blentz he had
been in every way a different man from the Leopold she had known of
old. The boldness of his escape from Blentz supposed a courage that the
king had never given the slightest indication of in the past. Could it
be that he was making a genuine effort to become a man—to win her
respect?
They were approaching Lustadt as the sun rose. A troop of horse was
just emerging from the north gate. As it neared them they saw that the
cavalrymen wore the uniforms of the Royal Horse Guard. At their head
rode a lieutenant. As his eyes fell upon the face of the princess and
her companion, he brought his troopers to a halt, and, with incredulity
plain upon his countenance, advanced to meet them, his hand raised in
salute to the king. It was Butzow.
Now Barney was sure that he would be recognized. For two years he and
the Luthanian officer had been inseparable. Surely Butzow would
penetrate his disguise. He returned his friend’s salute, looked him
full in the eyes, and asked where he was riding.
“To Blentz, your majesty,” replied Butzow, “to demand an audience. I
bear important word from Prince von der Tann. He has learned the
Austrians are moving an entire army corps into Lutha, together with
siege howitzers. Serbia has demanded that all Austrian troops be
withdrawn from Luthanian territory at once, and has offered to assist
your majesty in maintaining your neutrality by force, if necessary.”
As Butzow spoke his eyes were often upon the Princess Emma, and it was
quite evident that he was much puzzled to account for her presence with
the king. She was supposed to be at Tann, and Butzow knew well enough
her estimate of Leopold to know that she would not be in his company of
her own volition. His expression as he addressed the man he supposed to
be his king was far from deferential. Barney could scarce repress a
smile.
“We will ride at once to the palace,” he said. “At the gate you may
instruct one of your sergeants to telephone to Prince von der Tann that
the king is returning and will grant him audience immediately. You and
your detachment will act as our escort.”
Butzow saluted and turned to his troopers, giving the necessary
commands that brought them about in the wake of the pseudo-king. Once
again Barney Custer, of Beatrice, rode into Lustadt as king of Lutha.
The few people upon the streets turned to look at him as he passed, but
there was little demonstration of love or enthusiasm.
Leopold had awakened no emotions of this sort in the hearts of his
subjects. Some there were who still remembered the gallant actions of
their ruler on the field of battle when his forces had defeated those
of the regent, upon that other occasion when this same American had sat
upon the throne of Lutha for two days and had led the little army to
victory; but since then the true king had been with them daily in his
true colors. Arrogance, haughtiness, and petty tyranny had marked his
reign. Taxes had gone even higher than under the corrupt influence of
the Blentz regime. The king’s days were spent in bed; his nights in
dissipation. Old Ludwig von der Tann seemed Lutha’s only friend at
court. Him the people loved and trusted.
It was the old chancellor who met them as they entered the palace—the
Princess Emma, Lieutenant Butzow, and the false king. As the old man’s
eyes fell upon his daughter, he gave an exclamation of surprise and of
incredulity. He looked from her to the American.
“What is the meaning of this, your majesty?” he cried in a voice hoarse
with emotion. “What does her highness in your company?”
There was neither fear nor respect in Prince Ludwig’s tone—only anger.
He was demanding an accounting from Leopold, the man; not from Leopold,
the king. Barney raised his hand.
“Wait,” he said, “before you judge. The princess was brought to Blentz
by Prince Peter. She will tell you that I have aided her to escape and
that I have accorded her only such treatment as a woman has a right to
expect from a king.”
The girl inclined her head.
“His majesty has been most kind,” she said. “He has treated me with
every consideration and respect, and I am convinced that he was not a
willing party to my arrest and forcible detention at Blentz; or,” she
added, “if he was, he regretted his action later and has made full
reparation by bringing me to Lustadt.”
Prince von der Tann found difficulty in hiding his surprise at this
evidence of chivalry in the cowardly king. But for his daughter’s
testimony he could not have believed it possible that it lay within the
nature of Leopold of Lutha to have done what he had done within the
past few hours.
He bowed low before the man who wore the king’s uniform. The American
extended his hand, and Von der Tann, taking it in his own, raised it to
his lips.
“And now,” said Barney briskly, “let us go to my apartments and get to
work. Your highness”—and he turned toward the Princess Emma—“must be
greatly fatigued. Lieutenant Butzow, you will see that a suite is
prepared for her highness. Afterward you may call upon Count
Zellerndorf, whom I understand returned to Lustadt yesterday, and
notify him that I will receive him in an hour. Inform the Serbian
minister that I desire his presence at the palace immediately. Lose no
time, lieutenant, and be sure to impress upon the Serbian minister that
immediately means immediately.”
Butzow saluted and the Princess Emma curtsied, as the king turned and,
slipping his arm through that of Prince Ludwig, walked away in the
direction of the royal apartments. Once at the king’s desk Barney
turned toward the chancellor. In his mind was the determination to save
Lutha if Lutha could be saved. He had been forced to place the king in
a position where he would be helpless, though that he would have been
equally as helpless upon his throne the American did not doubt for an
instant. However, the course of events had placed within his hands the
power to serve not only Lutha but the house of Von der Tann as well. He
would do in the king’s place what the king should have done if the king
had been a man.
“Now, Prince Ludwig,” he said, “tell me just what conditions we must
face. Remember that I have been at Blentz and that there the King of
Lutha is not apt to learn all that transpires in Lustadt.”
“Sire,” replied the chancellor, “we face a grave crisis. Not only is
there within Lutha the small force of Austrian troops that surround
Blentz, but now an entire army corps has crossed the border.
Unquestionably they are marching on Lustadt. The emperor is going to
take no chances. He sent the first force into Lutha to compel Serbian
intervention and draw Serbian troops from the Austro-Serbian battle
line. Serbia has withheld her forces at my request, but she will not
withhold them for long. We must make a declaration at once. If we
declare against Austria we are faced by the menace of the Austrian
troops already within our boundaries, but we shall have Serbia to help
us.
“A Serbian army corps is on the frontier at this moment awaiting word
from Lutha. If it is adverse to Austria that army corps will cross the
border and march to our assistance. If it is favorable to Austria it
will none the less cross into Lutha, but as enemies instead of allies.
Serbia has acted honorably toward Lutha. She has not violated our
neutrality. She has no desire to increase her possessions in this
direction.
“On the other hand, Austria has violated her treaty with us. She has
marched troops into our country and occupied the town of Blentz.
Constantly in the past she has incited internal discord. She is openly
championing the Blentz cause, which at last I trust your majesty has
discovered is inimical to your interests.
“If Austria is victorious in her war with Serbia, she will find some
pretext to hold Lutha whether Lutha takes her stand either for or
against her. And most certainly is this true if it occurs that Austrian
troops are still within the boundaries of Lutha when peace is
negotiated. Not only our honor but our very existence demands that
there be no Austrian troops in Lutha at the close of this war. If we
cannot force them across the border we can at least make such an effort
as will win us the respect of the world and a voice in the peace
negotiations.
“If we must bow to the surrender of our national integrity, let us do
so only after we have exhausted every resource of the country in our
country’s defense. In the past your majesty has not appeared to realize
the menace of your most powerful neighbor. I beg of you, sire, to trust
me. Believe that I have only the interests of Lutha at heart, and let
us work together for the salvation of our country and your majesty’s
throne.”
Barney laid his hand upon the old man’s shoulder. It seemed a shame to
carry the deception further, but the American well knew that only so
could he accomplish aught for Lutha or the Von der Tanns. Once the old
chancellor suspected the truth as to his identity he would be the first
to denounce him.
“I think that you and I can work together, Prince Ludwig,” he said. “I
have sent for the Serbian and Austrian ministers. The former should be
here immediately.”
Nor did they have long to wait before the tall Slav was announced.
Barney lost no time in getting down to business. He asked no questions.
What Von der Tann had told him, what he had seen with his own eyes
since he had entered Lutha, and what he had overheard in the inn at
Burgova was sufficient evidence that the fate of Lutha hung upon the
prompt and energetic decisions of the man who sat upon Lutha’s throne
for the next few days.
Had Leopold been the present incumbent Lutha would have been lost, for
that he would play directly into the hands of Austria was not to be
questioned. Were Von der Tann to seize the reins of government a state
of revolution would exist that would divide the state into two bitter
factions, weaken its defense, and give Austria what she most desired—a
plausible pretext for intervention.
Lutha’s only hope lay in united defense of her liberties under the
leadership of the one man whom all acknowledged king—Leopold. Very
well, Barney Custer, of Beatrice, would be Leopold for a few days,
since the real Leopold had proven himself incompetent to meet the
emergency.
General Petko, the Serbian minister to Lutha, brought to the audience
the memory of a series of unpleasant encounters with the king. Leopold
had never exerted himself to hide his pro-Austrian sentiments. Austria
was a powerful country—Serbia, a relatively weak neighbor. Leopold,
being a royal snob, had courted the favor of the emperor and turned up
his nose at Serbia. The general was prepared for a repetition of the
veiled affronts that Leopold delighted in according him; but this time
he brought with him a reply that for two years he had been living in
the hope of some day being able to deliver to the young monarch he so
cordially despised.
It was an ultimatum from his government—an ultimatum couched in terms
from which all diplomatic suavity had been stripped. If Barney Custer,
of Beatrice, could have read it he would have smiled, for in plain
American it might have been described as announcing to Leopold
precisely “where he got off.” But Barney did not have the opportunity
to read it, since that ultimatum was never delivered.
Barney took the wind all out of it by his first words. “Your excellency
may wonder why it is that we have summoned you at such an early hour,”
he said.
General Petko inclined his head in deferential acknowledgment of the
truth of the inference.
“It is because we have learned from our chancellor,” continued the
American, “that Serbia has mobilized an entire army corps upon the
Luthanian frontier. Am I correctly informed?”
General Petko squared his shoulders and bowed in assent. At the same
time he reached into his breast-pocket for the ultimatum.
“Good!” exclaimed Barney, and then he leaned close to the ear of the
Serbian. “How long will it take to move that army corps to Lustadt?”