After an eternity I got to my feet from the doubled-up position I had
fallen in. My ears were singing, and I should have felt dizzy if there
had been any light. Strange how many sensations depend on light for
their realisation. I stumbled against things in my path. Yet there was
no sound of any sort, and I suddenly realised that I was following
nothing. The figure that had struck me was gone. Only two things I was
certain of—there was a secret passage, and two figures had passed me,
not one.
I stopped for a moment at the marble bench to recover my equilibrium.
What a fool I was making of myself, to be sure, prowling around in the
night like a school-boy, looking for impossible adventures.
A step, quite near me, interrupted—I rose, and waited in the shadow of a
tree. Stealthily the step came closer, a slinking, soft-footed step. I
saw the fellow dimly outlined before me. He was a big man, bigger than
I. The rose scratches stung on my face and hands. I was very quiet, and
so was he. It was so dark, I could see him only indistinctly. I got
ready to jump on him if he came any closer. I saw him stop, and knew he
had seen me. Suddenly he had me by the shoulders, and I spun around and
landed in the path. I struck back, took a blow on the face, stumbled and
fell, caught at his legs, got him fairly around the knees, and with a
quick jerk heaved him sideways into a dim mass of bushes on the other
side of the path. I hoped they were rose bushes.
I was well winded, and I knew he must be, too. I counted five slowly
before I got to my feet. He was just struggling up when I reached him
again. I got his neck in the crook of my elbow, and dragged him toward
the castle. He was choking too much to make any outcry, and I had caught
him too suddenly for him to do much else. His hands tore at my arm
frantically. It was not far. As I reached the steps he got me by the
ankle, and we went down in a heap, but I never let go my hold of his
throat. I knew that if I lost that he would have me, since he was
heavier than I. He must be got up those steps and into the light. We
struggled desperately, yet, somehow, though we were both wrenching at
each other, step by step we were getting up to the balcony. The man had
become impossible to handle, and I should never have managed it if at
the last he had not almost pushed me before him. Apparently he wanted to
go into the castle as much as I. We rolled along the balustrade a few
steps, and then he picked me off my feet, and ran, half dragging me with
him. I kicked at him, and we fell again. In the scuffle I got away from
him a step or two. The everlasting darkness was on my nerves. I wanted
to see. He caught me again, before we reached the French window, hurled
me through it, into the room, and against the leg of a table.
I was up again almost as soon as I was down, and at him, but I did not
strike. Instead, I sank back breathless on the nearest chair.
The man was John.
For a few moments we grunted and gurgled at each other in unison. I
ached all over. My face was scratched. My knees were bleeding, my chest
was constricted from the violence of my efforts John was almost as badly
off. He sat opposite me, staring dazedly.
“You’re a tough old nut to crack,” he said, finally, “I thought you were
another of them.”
“Sorry,” my words jerked out with difficulty, “one of them came out of
that secret passage. I was leaning against the door, and he fell over
me, and then chucked me into some rose bushes. All scratched up. I
thought he was coming back. Wanted a look at him in the light.”
“Same here,” he said, “what did the paper say?”
“Oh, paper.” I had almost forgotten the paper. “In Alarian. Can’t read
it.”
“Oh, well, I was standing looking over the garden wall. I heard a noise
below it, and there was a car at the foot of the cliffs. While I was
standing there a man came up behind me, and hit me on the head, then he
chucked me aside, and they went right past. Two of them. One had on a
heavy cloak. I saw them quite definitely, though it was so dark. I’m
sure of it. They went down over the wall. Must be a path. I considered
trying to follow them, but decided it was too risky for any use unless I
had a torch or at least some matches. They had a car down there. I heard
the motor start.”
I considered. “I hope Helena knows what she is about,” I said. “I feel
as though I should do something, and yet—she gave me quite plainly to
understand she wanted to be let alone. John! There were two men who got
into that car? I’m sure there was only one who attacked me, and only one
who went into the castle. Only—was the second figure a man, John?”
“You mean, was the second figure a woman?”
“Exactly.”
“I think—perhaps—it may have been.”
“Was she going willingly, John?”
“Apparently. But there may have been mental compulsion as easily as
physical.”
“I hate to butt in,” I said, “but I think we’d better go back to
Helena’s rooms, and see what we can find, don’t you?”
“I do.” John was quite decided. He began dressing hurriedly. I followed
suit. My joints could ache later, flapping a dressing gown around dim
cold halls is undignified.
“Still,” I suggested, “I’ve been turned out of Helena’s rooms once this
evening. She shut the door purposefully, which was her privilege, of
course. But it makes me hesitant to go back again at this hour. After
all, she’s our hostess.”
“She’s a woman, and alone,” John said, “and there was someone in that
room. You know that. That someone may have been threatening her while
she was talking to you.”
“Yes.”
“And she denied that anyone was there.”
“She said she was not in need of protection.”
“But suppose she’s been kidnapped while you hesitate to bother her?”
“The man who came may very easily have been a messenger from Queen
Yolanda. She was expecting news.”
“Or from Conrad. She’s afraid of Conrad.”
“Yes, and rightly. I shouldn’t like her if I were Conrad. After all, she
has conspired to keep him off the throne.”
“Exactly. He has a case against her, and he looks like the sort of
person who sees things through.”
“Efficiently, I should say. Yes. What do you suggest, then?”
“Go back and see if she is there still, and all right. We know the man
is gone, now. If she is there she will be free to explain, and I can’t
see what harm we can do.”
“Come with me, then,” I said, “you’re right, of course.”
I knocked at the door as I had knocked the first time. There was no
answer. Undoubtedly Helena had more rooms than one behind her door, as
John and I had. She might be in the farthest of her suite, and could not
hear our knock, but I did not believe that for a moment. For better or
worse, I was sure she had gone. Nevertheless, I pounded with my fist,
and added another bruise to my growing collection. Silence. At last I
turned around and kicked with the heel of my shoe. If she were there she
must hear that, but there was no answer.
Then another problem presented itself. Helena was gone. What should we
do next? Follow her in our car? Or break down the door? Or do nothing?
The door was too heavy to be broken open with less than an axe.
John said casually, as though he broke into ladies’ apartments every
morning of his life, “perhaps her maid has a key.” He walked off down
the passage. I waited quietly until he came back. I was too sore to
move. He had two men with him and the maid who had worn woollen
stockings under her nightgown. She seemed to be dressed in the same way
still, so I decided that it was quite probably merely her usual nightly
attire. One of the men carried an iron crowbar, the maid a bunch of
keys. They were all talking excitedly, and when they saw me they broke
out afresh. They assured me that Madame would kill them all if they
opened her door. The maid was crying. No one dared disturb madame, ever.
“The fact remains,” I said, “we distinctly saw a man enter and two
people leave this house tonight. And there was someone in madame’s room.
Now she does not answer. It must be she either is not there, or she
cannot answer. It is our duty to find out.”
“The gnädige Gräfin,” the maid said, in her dismal voice, “knows many
things of enormous importance, of which we know nothing. She has friends
in high places.”
“And,” John said, impressively, “she has also enemies in high places. We
wish her only good. Come, open the door at once.” His tone had its
effect. He held out his hand, and the maid gave him the keys, indicating
a large brass one, with an ornamental handle. John turned it in the
lock, and in silence flung open the door.
Behind it were three rooms opening into each other. All three were quite
empty. A long desk was piled neatly with papers in the study, a shawl
lay where it had been dropped on the back of a chair. Bookcases lined
the walls, the books soberly in their places. An American magazine lay
on an easy chair by the window. We passed on to a dressing room. There,
too, everything was in order, though one or two bureau drawers were
open. Beyond the dressing room was the bedroom. It was like the others.
A pair of satin slippers lay where they had been kicked, in the middle
of the floor, otherwise nothing was disturbed.
“Madame is gone!” the maid cried in wonder.
“Not here!” echoed the two men.
John went to the desk in the study and stood drumming his fingers on the
cover of an account book. The servants waited respectfully for us to
speak. The maid looked much more cheerful in the face of possible
tragedy.
“It may be all right,” I said, “we know that. But it also may not be.” I
turned to the servants, “Have you extra petrol for our car?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, gnädiger Herr,” they answered in chorus. We had achieved a
good deal of prestige in the last few minutes.
“Yes,” John said, “you’re right, Carvin. It would take them ten minutes
to get down that hill and into the car. Whatever path there is isn’t
visible at night, and it can’t be very good. They went not twenty
minutes ago, I’m sure. They won’t have so much of a start—not more than
fifteen minutes. They won’t think we are following, and I can show a bit
of speed, too. Come along, hurry up. I’ll see the gas put in and get the
car into the yard while you get our things. Be sure you bring me a cap
and some cigarettes, and a coat—it’s cold on that Pass.”
It was a quarter to five by the clock on the dash as the big gates
opened for us for the second time. It had been a quarter past eight as
we drove in through them. Our carefully planned visit to Helena had
lasted barely nine hours.
Before us our lamps cast a long white trail on the still muddy road.
John stepped on the accelerator and we leaped ahead down the hill. In a
moment we were going so fast that in his effort to hold the car on the
winding road, he sat still and tense, moving only at the curves, and
then so studiedly that he seemed almost automatic. The speedometer
climbed up and up, then dropped somewhat for a sharp curve, then climbed
again. We were making an almost impossible pace for so winding a road. I
reflected that if another car should appear ahead of us we were unlikely
ever to know it. The wreck would be so complete that it was not
necessary to worry about it. It is only half wrecks that are terrifying.
A neat, quick smashing is a more or less jolly end to a life that is
only interesting at intervals. This happened to be very much one of the
intervals, however. Certainly I didn’t want to be wrecked before we had
sifted the mystery, and found Helena.
As we neared the bottom of the hill, the whole valley proved to be
bathed in mist thick enough to cloud the windshield, so that John was
forced to lean out of the car to see the road, which was wet and a
little slippery. I busied myself pushing up the glass. It was hard to
manage at that pace, but I got it up just in time, for a moment after
John righted himself we passed a car facing in the opposite direction,
mending a tire. They seemed, in the quick glance I spared them, to have
finished. A man was throwing the blown shoe into the tonneau. The whole
thing flashed by so suddenly that I scarcely gave it a thought, except
that as we skinned past I heard a shout that flashed by as quickly as
the car from which it came.
“Lucky miss, that,” John grunted.
“Fools to stay so far on the road.”
“It’s a lonely road. Not many cars here at any time, almost none at this
time of night. I wonder if they were going to Waldek? Perhaps we should
have stopped to find out. I’ve just thought of something. They aren’t
going to let us through the Rheatian customs house.”
“Why not? They let us through the other way.”
“That was reasonable. This isn’t, and we haven’t any possible
explanation that will make it sound so.”
“We must overtake Helena, then,” I said, doubtfully, “before they reach
the customs house.”
“That’s our only chance, and we are almost there, too. It wasn’t far,
you remember.”
We were heading due south again, rising steadily toward the Pass. On the
smooth surface of the road the kilometers were going past us two to the
minute and more. I decided that the speedometer must be out of order. We
couldn’t really be doing eighty, almost without fluctuation, yet as I
looked out at the side, the landscape slipped by so fast I couldn’t
count it.
Then, as we began to climb, the indicator fell back slowly from eighty
to seventy-five, to seventy, a sudden drop to sixty, stayed there for a
moment, then when we climbed sharply again it went down to thirty and
below.
Even at thirty we had some reserve. John suddenly stepped on the gas as
we rounded a curve and saw before us the low stone building that served
the Rheatians for a customs house. Between it and us was no iron gate
barring the way, and not more than a hundred feet to go. We zoomed
forward with a fierce roar, and before I had time to realise what had
happened, we were through the barrier, heading for the Alarian side of
the Pass, with no chance that anyone could catch up with us before we
caught up with Helena.
“Great work,” I said, trying to sound casual, “but perhaps the Rheatians
may not think it so funny that we did that. We’re caught neatly enough
now between the two customs houses, in the bleakest bit of country I’ve
ever been in. In the name of mercy why didn’t you stop?”
John laughed, “She’s your cousin,” he said, “you said you wanted to
follow her and I am following. If you don’t like it you should. I’ve
been doing a bit of fancy driving tonight, setting a record, I’ll bet,
for this stretch of road. What’s a Rheatian government to us? It was
their own fault anyway, for leaving the gate open. We can just say we
didn’t see it.”
We seemed to be crawling, then, by contrast to our former speed. We
wound around mountains, zig-zagging on the edges of precipices, coming
out miles beyond on some horse shoe curve a few hundred feet away as the
crow flies. The first grey light of the dawn was just showing it to us.
When we had gone through the other way it had been too dark to see. Once
behind us, and twice ahead of us, I saw the flash of lights, whether
they were car lights or not I could not tell. They might be the signal
lights of some frontier guard announcing our approach—or Helena’s.
We had been driving so fast that it seemed we should have overtaken any
other car if there was one. I began to doubt that they had taken the
Herrovosca road at all, unless they were equalling our speed on some
matter of life and death while we were left outlawed between two customs
houses, chasing butterflies over deserted and eerie mountain passes.
We came abruptly to a stop. Just between two high rock walls, where the
road had been graded steeply, a white barricade had been placed. Our
lights picked it up in time to come to a neat stop a foot or two too
soon to crash. The brakes shrieked like a dog in torture. I reached for
our passports. As well to put up a bluff, anyway. We might get by.
We didn’t.
“Damned frontier guards,” John started, and stopped. Two men in black
with black masks over their unshaven faces covered us with hard-boiled
modern shotguns, while two others climbed into the car. Then the two
with the guns stepped on the running boards on either side, others
pulled the barricade off the road far enough for our car to squeeze by,
and one of the men poked his gun insinuatingly into John’s face.
“They’re the funniest looking lot of frontier guards I ever saw,” I
whispered, uncomfortably.
“They’re bandits, dressed up like this, and a smelly crew, too,” John
said, happily, “unless we’re still asleep and dreaming at Castle
Waldek.”
I did not resist. There were too many of them to make it feasible. When
the gun came away from his face for a moment, John knocked its owner
down with his fist, but all they did was tie him up tight with a rope
end. I was surprised that they were so gentle. They tied our hands
behind us, and bandaged our eyes with our own handkerchiefs. I wondered
why men so much in need of baths themselves should have the finesse to
use a gentleman’s own handkerchief to tie across his eyes. Obviously
someone had told them to do it. I felt happier after I had thought that
out.
They pulled us out of the car, felt us over carefully for weapons, and
then shoved us into the tonneau on top of all the painting stuff. It was
uncomfortable, especially since we could neither see what was in our
way, nor move it with our hands tied behind us. John cursed in a low but
definite tone. I considered silence a little better policy, and finally
wriggled myself into a position where I was almost lying down, and had
slipped the handkerchief half off my eyes. I could see out on one side
of the car. The stars were still visible, though the sky was beginning
to lighten. We were heading south, roughly, I decided, by trying to
average up our twistings. South, by south-west. That meant that we were
crossing the mountain ridge as we had come, but not by the road, for we
were bumping over dirt, and uneven, sloping rock, alternately.
Herrovosca would have lain about due south-west, if I remembered my map
correctly. Not that a map would be of any appreciable value to us in our
present plight. In fact, I judged that it might easily be some little
time before we should have any further use for a map. The only
consolation to me was the beautiful excuse our capture made for our
irregular position between the two customs houses, without benefit of
stamp on our passports. That was small enough consolation, however, for
the discomfort of a sharp and heavy box end that kept jouncing into my
shin. I tried again and again to kick it out of the way, but without
budging it.
After a long time of slow and bumpy running, with the sun just beginning
to show pinkly on some of the highest peaks, we came, at last, to a
stop. Our guards led us out of the car and we went, since the
alternative seemed to be a dozen or so holes from the business ends of
their shot guns. They still were not rough with us, but they discovered
my loose bandage, and tightened it firmly. Then they started us
marching.
We were led slowly along a rough path, a man on either side. John I
could hear still cussing occasionally. He had been interrupted in what,
to him, was the marathon of the century, and he was displeased. All
about us rose the lovely smells of high altitude in late summer. As we
climbed up—and it was always up—I began almost to hear the light, as the
blind say they can hear color. I had never been able to understand that
before. I had always thought they were merely trying to express some
esoteric yearning after the things that were denied to them, rather than
that they really felt and heard things that by us are seen only. But,
blindfolded as I was, I found that they are literally right, and that
our sense of seeing is so much stronger that it blinds us to the less
acute sensitiveness of the other organs. Partly by hearing, partly by
that sixth sense of the blind, I knew that we passed through a thriving
hamlet of people, not men alone, but women and children. When at last we
were stopped, I knew that we were in a large room. I was somewhat
prepared when the bandages were removed, and we could look around. But I
was not entirely prepared for what I saw.
The room was hung with tapestries that must have been worth a fortune.
The light came from a window of finely leaded glass. Before us was a
work table on which were spread maps and papers, and closely typed
sheets that might have been a report. It looked for all the world like
the work desk of some busy army officer during the war. A few books were
neatly piled at one side. A servant was placing two chairs before the
desk, and a voice said in German, “Sit down, gentlemen.” But, though I
saw all that, and obeyed the order to sit, and though it was all far
from what I had expected to see then, I was not really interested in it.
What did interest me was the man who sat behind the desk. I first saw
his long white hands, thin and blue-veined. He wore a ring with an
enormous ruby—the most enormous I had ever seen actually worn—a ring for
a king in a play.
From the slim, restless hands, that might have been the hands of a great
musician, my eye followed up his figure. Black. Dull, black sleeves,
with no relieving white at the wrists. He wore a sort of soutane, and
across the breast was sewn a white Templar’s cross. Not only was there
no white collar showing at the neck, there was no neck, either. His
whole head was masked by a black silk hood, that covered his throat and
face down to the shoulders, with slits for the mouth and for the eyes,
which showed as black as his dress. The man might have the hands of a
musician and the ring of a king, but he must be a bandit, else why the
obvious disguise as the Black Ghost of the Pass?
“My men have unfortunately made a mistake, gentlemen,” the man in the
mask spoke suavely, in German, “I hope you understand me.”
“Yes,” I answered, and then explained, hoping our nationality would
prove some sort of protection, “we are Americans.”
“We will talk in English, then,” he replied, which was the only effect
the mention of the United States had on him. His voice reminded me
vividly of the Countess Visichich’s, and I wondered if he could be a
relative of hers until I decided that it was only a similar accent.
“I am very sorry for this mistake,” he went on, “but I shall be obliged
to keep you ’ere for a few days, probably. Otherwise you will not be
inconvenienced—that is, if all is as I ’ope it is. I shall be very ’appy
if you will be so kind as to answer a few questions I shall like to ask
you.”
“By all means,” John put in glibly.
“In the first place, I should like to know where you ’ave bought your
car?”
Memories of those Paris driving cards flashed through my mind. “In
Havre,” John said. “Here is the bill of sale, if you wish to see it.” I
was glad John had decided to be pleasant to him. It was our only hope,
of course. He might really intend to let us go. Quite probably they had
made a mistake. I could hope they had, but in the meantime we were most
certainly his prisoners, and no man wears a mask unless he does not wish
to be recognised, and he does not wish to go unrecognised unless he is
doing something at least outside, if not definitely opposed to the law.
“’ow long ago?”
“About two months.”
“In ’avre, two months ago, ’m. And just where do you expect to be two
months from now? I mean by that, what were your plans, for the next two
months?”
“I am a painter,” John said quickly. “You’ll find a lot of my kit in the
car. That’s almost all there is in the tonneau. I wanted to find new
things to paint. My friend here is a writer with a taste for scenery, so
he came, too. He has a typewriter in with my painting stuff.”
“May I see your passports?”
We gave them to him. He examined them in detail, and finally nodded and
laid them down on the desk.
“Most orderly,” he said, bowing, “except for one thing. Your last stamp
was on the Rheatian frontier yesterday, and there is also an Alarian
stamp of the same day, which means that you drove yesterday across the
pass into Rheatia, yet, strangely, there is no return stamp, and I do
not understand ’ow that can be.”
“Oh, simple enough,” John announced airily. “We had got as far as the
Rheatian customs house, and had the stamp put on our passports, when we
changed our minds about going into Rheatia, and started back again.”
“Which, no doubt, is also supposed to account for the fact that your
engine was most unusually ’ot. You passed through the Alarian customs, I
’ave been informed, at sundown yesterday, and I understand from your
story that you have been driving backward and forward on the Pass ever
since. A most enormous passion for scenery that leads you to feast your
eyes upon it in the dark.”
He was having a bit of fun with us, but John went on blandly, “Oh, yes,
that motor always heats up.”
The Black Mask laughed aloud, and John grinned and shrugged his
shoulders. “As a matter of fact,” he acknowledged a little sheepishly,
“I was driving fast. I like to drive fast. That’s why we drive at night.
It’s the only time to be sure of having a clear road.”
The Black Mask laughed again. “That is such a good answer,” he said,
gently, “that I shall ’ave to remember it for some time when I may be
asked such a question. ’owever, I am in great need of information at the
moment, so that even my appreciation of your ingenuity must not
interfere with it. Either you were running away from something, or
seeking something. Now, gentlemen, which was it?”
We were both silent, each hoping the other would think of something to
say. Neither of us did.
“Really not such a difficult question,” the Black Ghost went on,
smoothly. “You might ’ave been following something, but there was
nothing on the road a’ead of you. Ah, I see, you thought you were
following something.” He had been looking directly at John, and even I
saw John’s surprise, though he tried to hide it. “So. But if anyone was
following you we shall soon know it. The barricade was replaced ten
minutes after you were—shall we say—deflected?”
It had been down ten minutes, though. If Helena had been travelling at
nearly our pace she had got through. Thanks to us, then, for she had not
been ahead of us—if she had been going to Herrovosca at all, and I
believed she had. I began thinking how lucky we had been for her, when
the telephone on the Black Ghost’s desk rang sharply. He made us a
slight bow of apology as he picked up the instrument. It seemed a
strangely out of place thing for a bandit in a fancy dress costume to
answer a telephone like a New York business man, yet he did it quite as
naturally. The government customs office had no telephone, but a
mountain bandit did. A bandit, of course, would find it necessary to be
more efficient than Bela’s government would bother to be. Not for more
than half a minute did the Black Ghost listen. Then he said something
hard and sharp into the mouthpiece, hung it back on its stand, and sat
silent for a moment. When he turned back to us his manner had changed.
“So,” he said, “you were leading the way. Clever. But it did not prove a
good plan because the other car lagged just a little too far be’ind. I
was quite deceived in you. I cannot imagine where her Majesty finds so
many ad’erents. She is a remarkably resourceful woman. You will per’aps
answer a few questions truthfully, because I shall find the answers
anyway. Are your passports real or are they falsified? I ask because it
seems so remarkable that two men of your apparent standing should be
willing to interfere in a matter that may so easily become very
unpleasant for you.”
“Our passports are quite in order,” I answered, “except for the slight
discrepancy of the Rheatian border stamp.”
“Most remarkable,” was his comment. “May I enquire why you were willing
to do such a risky thing?”
“The gate was open,” John answered, “and I was in a hurry. I really
drove through without thinking.”
“May I enquire again why you were in such a ’urry?”
I decided that we had better tell at least a part of the truth. What
could be the harm now in telling that we were following Helena? “What
you say about leading the way,” I began, “I do not altogether
understand. We were following someone, but she did not know it. You say
there was no one ahead of us on that road. We passed a car mending a
tire, but facing the other way. That must have been the leading car. The
road was wet and slippery, and when the tire went they may very easily
have skidded so that they turned around. We were so intent on hurrying
to catch them that we went by without thinking of that. Very stupid
indeed.”
“Ah. Surely you will not object to tell me who this leader was?”
“My cousin,” I said.
“So. Another artist, this unnamed cousin?”
“No. Does it matter?”
“To me, yes, gentlemen. I quite understand your ’esitancy. A lady’s name
should not be mentioned before a bandit. ’owever, I am becoming ’ungry.
Breakfast is waiting for all of us when we ’ave finished our little
talk. I will tell you a few things that will ’elp you to talk, I think.
Countess Waldek was an American lady. She came from Boston, I ’ave
’eard. It is not impossible that she is the cousin. It becomes more
possible when I tell you that she ’as been captured by my men, and is on
’er way ’ere. I think I will not let ’er see you. It may be better so. I
’eard already that she would ’ave a cousin to visit her sometime soon. I
believe now that you arrived last evening. That is so, is it not?”
“We did arrive.”
“You made a very short visit, gentlemen, after so long a trip.”
“Yes.”
“You passed through Herrovosca yesterday.” He pronounced the _H_ hard,
almost like a _K_. “Did you, by any chance, learn of the events that
were passing in the Cathedral Square?”
“We were there,” I said.
“Ah. And you recognised the new Queen?”
“No,” I said.
“No?” he crowded a good deal of disbelief into that word. “Ah,” he
continued, “but per’aps you do not see this one-time American lady
often?”
“No,” I said again.
“So. And per’aps she does not confide in you by letter?”
“I haven’t had a letter from her in a year,” I said.
“No? Then ’ow did you come so exactly to Herrovosca when you could be
useful?”
“We started on a casual, friendly trip, and wrote to her that we were
coming,” I said. “We had no idea that anything was about to happen, and
unless you are accusing Countess von Waldek of participating in the
assassination of King Bela I don’t see how you can imagine she knew.”
“I am not accusing the lady of that,” he answered, “but of conspiring to
keep the rightful king from the throne. And I will relieve your natural
anxiety. I have not detained ’er to ’arm her, but for ’er own safety.
She is an intimate friend of Queen Yolanda. She brought up as ’er
daughter the very pretty young girl who ’as been presented to a doubting
people as the Princess Maria Lalena. It is a somewhat girlish prank to
play on grown people, whether she is the true Princess or not. Even in
the Balkans it is what the English call a bit thick to ’ide the heir to
a throne for eight years. But it ’as been played at such a moment that
if it is not ’andled very carefully it may lead to a very serious
situation. To civil war, per’aps, that ’as been threatening for a long
time, but might ’ave been averted. You follow me?”
“Perfectly,” I said. “You mean that Prince Conrad would have been strong
enough to hold the throne, but that he may not be able to hold it for
this girl.” I wasn’t sure at all that that was what he meant, but I
thought I could find out by putting it that way.
The Black Ghost laughed, “Now I know,” he said, “that you know much
about this situation. And I will tell you more. Not secrets, but things
that I wish known, though you will not ’ave the chance to tell them for
some time, I regret. Now, first, I ’ave the greatest personal regard for
this cousin of yours. She is a very lovely lady, but she is not a
politician. If she were not a very loyal friend of the Queen she would
not trouble ’erself about such things, and that would be right. She
makes trouble for ’erself, talking, and she will make trouble also for
Prince Conrad. It is because I wish to stop ’er talking that when the
Queen’s car went through the Pass tonight, I put up the barricade, and
waited for ’er to come back. I guessed she would be in it. My men made a
most annoying mistake when they caught you instead, for I do not like to
disturb citizens of large countries. Also, you ’ave learned too much of
my retreat ’ere. It is awkward, but you must stay now, for a little, as
my most honored guests.” He bowed deeply.
“We are flattered,” I said, and laughed at him. I decided that even if
he were a bandit I liked him.
“We appreciate your hospitality,” John grinned at him. “I assure you I
never stayed anywhere that offered to be more diverting.”
“I am glad,” the Black Ghost said, simply. “I will explain some more
things to you that you may not understand. I do not wish to boast, but
for the moment I rule Alaria, since I command the only troops of whose
loyalty anyone can be sure. That is true. There were to ’ave been three
factions in the country. Now there are four. The Dowager Queen still
leads one. With Bela’s—removal—we thought that Prince Conrad would
succeed to that place, and I would support ’im with my troops and my
loyal followers. They are many. Prince Conrad ’as always kept ’is
personal influence dormant in the interest of peace. For the same reason
’e ’as been forced to support the new Queen. She is to be dressed in
white in contrast to my black garb, and the Reds’ arm bands. They are
the third party ’ere. The Republicans are the fourth. They ’ave various
’eads. It is always so with Republicans. Bela was a libertine and a
fool. Three times ’e attempted to kill Prince Conrad. Twice by ’iring
men to shoot at ’im, and once ’e put poison in some wine with ’is own
’and. Fortunately ’e looked too eager, and Prince Conrad did not drink
the wine. ’e was so ’ated that ’is removal was a necessity if civil war
was to be averted. Probably even ’is mother was relieved if she would
acknowledge it. ’e was to ’er a bridge to power. While she did not ’ave
a ’and in ’is removal, I am sure, when it came it gave ’er a chance she
’ad most carefully prepared, to bring forward this little girl in white.
A sweet and pretty little girl. I am very sorry for ’er. The Countess
Waldek ’as been a most loyal friend. There is something magic in a
personal friend who is also a queen, especially for a very democratic
American.”
“Americans are apt to be loyal friends,” I defended Helena almost
automatically. I was beginning to feel she needed defense, which was a
disloyal thought.
“It does not matter very seriously to me,” he went on, “if later you
should reach Herrovosca. When Prince Conrad is in power ’e can show the
American Minister very quickly that you were concerning yourselves in
affairs that are outside the proper province of American citizens. I
shall detain you ’ere only until after the coronation, as a precaution.
Queen Yolanda ’as indulged in one trick, and this is not a time for
tricks. We must consolidate the interests of the Royal Family, and to do
that we must be opportunists. And now we may all go in to breakfast.
Pray go first, gentlemen. Since I was stabbed in the back I allow no one
to walk be’ind me.”
We preceded him across the hall, and into the dining room, where we ate
alone with the Black Ghost.
The meal was excellent, and we talked of Paris, and the races, and our
trip across Europe, and the weather. The Black Ghost had been
everywhere, and seemed inclined to make himself agreeable. After we had
finished he spoke to the man who had served us, and four more bandits
entered the room.
“I am sorry, gentlemen,” he said suavely, “believe me, as my English
governess used to say, this ’urts me worse than it does you. It is
necessary for me to occupy myself with other things than your
entertainment. ’owever, you will be lodged, I think, not uncomfortably,
and no doubt you will wish to sleep. You ’ave driven most of the night.
I ’ave given orders that you are to receive your luggage, but as it will
not contain any weapons or papers when it is delivered to you, it might
be as well that you give me your keys, though we ’ave a man who is quite
expert with locks. And since I already ’ave your passports, both the
Alarian and Rheatian governments, while not altogether friendly to me,
will still act as my lieutenants in guarding you, in case you should
effect the impossible and escape this place. You could not very well
leave this no-man’s-land without passports. I tell you this that you may
more easily compose yourselves to rest, gentlemen.” He waved his hand in
a wide and graceful gesture so that the ruby flashed handsomely. We both
bowed, and followed our jailors. As a matter of fact I was quite content
to stay. Helena was there, we might be of some service to her, and when
we were released we would probably be relieved of the necessity of
explaining the discrepancy in our passports. My only sorrow was that the
luggage in the car consisted mainly of John’s painting kit. All the rest
was safely, but inconveniently, at Castle Waldek.
We were led down a long dark stone-paved hallway, with several doors
leading from it. Most of the doors were open, for light and air, since
there was no other means of ventilating the passage. I glanced through
them as we passed, noting the rooms. One was a handsome bedchamber, hung
in crimson damask. The Black Ghost had luxurious tastes. Another had
three beds in it, and little else—for his more important lieutenants, I
judged. No doubt they gave him only part time service. A third, also a
bedroom, was less cluttered with furniture than the others. A great
bunch of wild flowers stood in the window, and a row of bottles on a
dressing table proclaimed it a woman’s room. Surprised, I looked more
carefully. On a chair at the foot of the bed lay a green velvet gown
embroidered in gold thread. I had seen the gown before, in the customs
house at the Alarian entrance to the Pass.
_CHAPTER IV_
I said nothing to John about the velvet gown. I knew that if I did he
would keep me awake talking about all its possible ramifications.
Besides, it wasn’t any business of mine. We were led down a damp flight
of stone steps, and along another corridor into a part of the building
where the floors were wood. I was glad of that because stone floors are
cold. We were shown into a room with a heavily barred window, the door
of iron bound oak. Its dull thud as it closed told the story of its
solidity. I went to the window and found that it overlooked a deep cañon
whose opposite wall was sheer and rocky. We could see nothing else
except, below us, about two stories down on that side, where the
building conformed to the shape of the mountain, a ledge path, with a
stone wall along it. I guessed that it might be the path by which we had
climbed to this eyrie.
I was very sleepy, and so was John, so we lay down on the only bed,
fully dressed, and the next thing I knew the sun was pouring in the
window. We were facing west. I looked at my watch. It had stopped, but
from the position of the sun, I guessed it to be, roughly, around five
o’clock. It would begin to be dark inside a couple of hours. I lay still
for a minute, wondering what had awakened me. Then a heavy door shut
with a dull thud. It was in the next room, I decided, and noticed at the
same time that the walls must be much thinner than the doors or I could
not have heard the sound so plainly.
Then I heard voices. They were too dim to distinguish words, but there
was a man’s voice and a woman’s. I tiptoed to the wall, and placed my
ear against it but could not distinguish words. In a moment the door to
the other room closed again, and I walked away from the wall just in
time. The lock rattled, and then our door swung inward on its hinges,
creaking rustily. Not used much, I noted, which mattered to us in that
it suggested that the Black Ghost was not in the habit of harboring many
prisoners. A man entered, carrying a tray of food.
“We had orders not to bring lunch because it was thought you would be
sleeping,” he said in German, “the Herr Fakat Zol trusts that you have
not been inconvenienced.”
“And who,” I asked, “may the Herr Fakat Zol be?”
“The Black Ghost,” he answered, “his name is Fakat Zol.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, we were sleeping. I only just wakened. My watch has
stopped. Would you mind telling me the time?”
“I have not a watch, gnädiger Herr, I cannot tell you exactly,” he
answered, “but it should be half past four. It is the afternoon coffee
on the tray and the paper from Herrovosca.”
John got off the bed sleepily, and the man left us.
More from lack of occupation than for any other reason, I opened the
paper. Of course I could not read it. In the exact center of the front
page was the portrait of a woman. John came over and stared at the paper
over my shoulder. I pointed to the name under the portrait. It read:
“Maria Lalena, Rhenia Alariavni.” Which, of course it took no great
knowledge of the language to know meant “Maria Lalena, Queen of Alaria.”
There was another picture on each side of Maria Lalena’s. One was
Conrad’s—we read that, too, and felt like sleuths doing it—and the other
was a drawing of the Black Ghost, white Templar’s cross and all. Under
it was the legend, “Fakat Zol” and more that we could not understand.
And glancing through the rest of the paper, each column seemed peppered
with the three names. There was a fourth I feared to find, and did not.
It was Helena, Countess Waldek. If Prince Conrad had attacked the
validity of Maria Lalena’s claim the name Waldek would have appeared. It
did not.
“What do you make of it?” John asked.
“Oh, Conrad is waiting for something to start, that’s all. You remember
what the Black Ghost said yesterday about being an opportunist?”
“He’s right, too,” John said, “whatever happens can only be to Conrad’s
advantage. This business of raking that girl up was only a mad idea that
couldn’t possibly succeed, even in a crazy-quilt country like this. She
isn’t the Princess, she’s your cousin’s daughter.”
“You don’t know that,” I said, “and even if it is true Conrad isn’t
going to start anything himself, he’s too afraid of a civil war.”
“Why do you think that? Because the Black Ghost said so? Do you suppose
he really knows much?”
“I do think he knows much,” I said, “which is merely guess work, of
course. I was very much impressed with him. But I have another reason
for thinking Conrad wants peace. He wouldn’t have made that speech on
the Cathedral steps if he hadn’t.”
“Yes, that’s true,” John admitted. “I wish we could read this paper.”
“Nonsense,” I laughed, “a lot of reporters have got themselves a few
interviews, and filled the paper with them. I don’t believe a thing has
happened since yesterday. Everyone is waiting to see what his neighbor
is going to do about it.”
“I bow to your superior knowledge,” John laughed, “let’s drink the
coffee.”
“I have discovered something,” I said, as we poured it out. “There is a
woman in the next room.”
“The Countess Waldek?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “the wall is too thick to tell, but it is very
probable.”
“We ought to be able to communicate with her if it is,” John began to be
interested.
“We might dig a hole in the wall,” I suggested.
“Monte Cristo!” he laughed. “That takes too long. I know an easier way.
Got a long piece of string?”
“No,” I said. “Why should I have? I don’t save string.”
“Must have a long cord,” he said, fussing in one of his bags. I felt in
my pockets hopelessly. I knew quite well I had no string.
“Are you any good,” he asked suddenly, “at puzzles?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
“Nor, I suppose,” he went on, “do you know anything about knitting?”
“It’s a pity,” I said, “that they didn’t shut your grandmother up here
with you instead of me.”
“Yes,” he said. “She is a nice, helpful old lady. However, if, between
us, we can manage to unravel that nice handmade sock which cost me half
a guinea in London, we will have a long piece of yarn which will
immediately put us in communication with the lady next door.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, “nothing easier. During the war they used to
send me the most horrible socks from home, and I found an old
Frenchwoman who knitted them all up again into good ones. I unravelled
them for her, to be sure she would finish before we moved on.” I laid
the sock flat on the edge of a wooden chair, took out my slender little
gold pen knife which I reflected would have been much more useful to two
Monte Cristos if it had been four times as large, with a rough bone
handle, though for slicing off the top of the sock it was admirable.
After that all I did was pull at it until it began to unravel, and then
I went on pulling until in a few minutes we had a very long piece of
wool yarn, lying curled at our feet. It took us an hour, then, to
untangle it again. I remembered too late that I had learned to wind as I
unravelled, to avoid that untangling process. We had to light a candle
before we were through. When we had it all wound single, John decided he
wanted it wound double, so we started all over again.
“It would have been less trouble,” I said, “to have dug a hole in the
wall.”
“You would say that, now that we are all ready to start operations,” he
answered. He then wrote a short note, tucked it into the ball, tied one
end of the yarn to the window bar, thrust his arm outside and began
throwing the ball toward the next room, and then pulling it back again.
I was afraid that before he managed to throw it into the other window
the ball of yarn would be frayed beyond use, but I was wrong. John often
takes the long way around, but he usually gets there. To my surprise the
ball was caught and the line pulled taut. Then we waited, a long time it
seemed to me, until at last the yarn slackened, and then John untied it,
and pulling very gently on the double loop, finally reached a place on
its length where a note had been tied. We opened it eagerly. “Yes,” it
began, “I am Helena Waldek. How did you get here? I presume you must
have been in that car that passed us last night on the road. We are
uncomfortable here, but I think in no personal danger. If you get out
before I do _please_ go to Herrovosca to Marie. She may need your help
to get away. The Queen is so helpless, she has only her wits now against
almost everybody. She sent for me because even Marie has grown hard to
manage. I have no hope of getting out in time to be of any help, but
they may release you because you are Americans. If they do you must take
a message to the Queen. It is most important. Tell her that the Black
Ghost wears a ruby ring. I will not tell you what that implies because
it will be safer for you not to know. But it is of the utmost importance
that the Queen should know it. I cannot tell you how important. It makes
their danger far greater than before. Burn this note. H. W.”
It was a desperate note, and Helena, of course, must be desperate.
Whoever Maria Lalena might really be, she had been Helena’s daughter for
eight years, anyway. And if she were Marie Waldek, she was in very great
personal danger. This Black Ghost would not even consider her, and I
couldn’t blame him very much. She had committed a serious offense. And
she could not count on popular help. Mobs are never respecters of
persons.
“‘Tell the Queen that the Black Ghost wears a ruby ring,’” John quoted.
“That means,” I said, “that she has recognised the ring, and that the
Queen does not know who he is.”
“Yes,” John said, slowly, “Yes. We ought to get out of this. And we
ought to hurry. This is a particularly nasty mess for those two women.”
“Helena and Marie?” I asked.
“No. Marie and the Queen. Helena is safer right here, I believe, than
she would be anywhere. They aren’t afraid of her while she’s here, and
they are afraid of the other two. It’s not normal to hurt people unless
you are afraid of them. I think we ought to try to take that message to
Yolanda, and try to get it there before anything breaks that the Black
Ghost may consider an opportunity, and turn to his own advantage at
their cost.”
“I agree,” I said, “but I hope we don’t get caught. It’s been a nice
world so far.”
“Don’t worry,” John said, “I think we have a friend among our jailors.”
“The Black Ghost?” I asked, “don’t fool yourself. He is merely showing
off his gentlemanly manners.”
John laughed, “I know that,” he said, “but as we came down the hall I
saw a green velvet gown in one of those rooms, and unless it’s a
uniform, it belongs to the Countess Visichich.”
“I saw that,” I said. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”
He laughed. “Afraid to spoil my faith in the lady’s morals?” he asked.
“Nonsense, Carvin. I don’t know anything about her, but she’s politician
first, and I’d be willing to put a big wager on her—well, on her being
mostly just politician, at least so far. She had an unattached look
about the eyes.”
“And you think she’ll help us to escape?”
“Oh, no, not at all. But I don’t think she’d let us face a firing squad
if we were caught trying to escape.”
“That may be,” I acknowledged, “but I’m not going to count on it too
heavily. It would be so easy to shoot first and tell her afterward.”
John went to the Window and twisted his arms through the bars, to shake
them. I remembered reading somewhere that it was a trick prisoners
developed. The bars were solid.
“The walls are fairly thin,” I suggested.
“Only on the side toward the Countess’ room. It would do us no good to
get in there. The other side is stone—look.”
It was true. Stone, roughly cemented over. A month’s job at the least,
to dig through that without proper tools, and we had no idea where we’d
be if we did get through. “The wall into the hall is thinner than that,”
John went on, “but it wouldn’t be much good to us. They’d find any hole
we dug in it before it was big enough to get through. This may have been
a cellar or a barracks before they made it into—guest rooms. There’s
probably a guard in the hall, anyway.”
“Yes.”
“That leaves the ceiling or the floor, or the bars. The ceiling is too
high to reach, so let’s try the floor. We want to go down, anyway, so
let’s start. Besides, the boards are wide and old.”
“And fastened together with nice little wooden pegs instead of nails.”
“Dowels, you call them,” John said. “If we select a shortish board and
dig out said dowels, we might get through to something interesting.”
John had a pen knife, too, a little larger than mine, but no bowie
knife. We selected a suitable board after a little search. Fifteen
minutes loosened the board. The wood had shrunk a little in the years
since it had been laid, and we dug the dowels out almost easily. Then,
by sticking our little fingers into the holes and pulling upward gently
and together, we raised the board from the floor. I looked into the hole
before we had it up more than a few inches. There was only darkness
below. John blew out our candle, and we took the board away, and peered
down. There was a room much like ours below; though it was dark, we
could see its outlines. It was quite empty. Looking farther we saw that
the door was closed, and it smelled damp and musty, but not poisonously
so. It was also bare of any sort of furniture, which indicated that it
was never used.
“I’ll jump down,” John said, “and have a go at those bars. I may be able
to get them out. Better make a lump under the bedclothes, so if that man
comes back he’ll think I’m asleep; and drop the board back in place
after I’m through. If I have to get up again you can tie the sheets
together for a rope.” Then he dropped through the hole, and I wrapped my
overcoat around most of the blankets, which made a passable body except
for the head. I finally decided on an old brown angora sweater from the
painting stuff where it had been used as packing, with John’s cap tipped
at an angle over it, as though to keep the light out of his eyes. Then I
carried the candle to the other side of the room, and decided that it
was a good enough mummy to deceive a casual eye in that light. There was
one rug in the room. Instead of replacing the board I decided to throw
it over the hole, and pulled the table over that. Then I turned to
Helena’s side of the room.
In order to get her out we must break down the wall that separated us. I
couldn’t quite see leaving her without trying to do something about it.
I pulled a package of four canvasses strapped together over to the wall,
and behind it I dug a small hole in the cement with my gold knife. I
knew that Helena heard me because I presently heard her moving some
things about in her room, and then she began digging, too. I wanted to
warn her about hiding the dust from the hole, but decided that a woman
would think of that.
I had not dug more than a few minutes before my knife snapped off at the
handle. The jeweller who made it had not reinforced it for cement
digging. I had no other sharp instrument, so I had to stop. I could hear
Helena still at it on the other side, though. Then John called to me,
and I pulled the carpet away from the hole in the floor.
“In my painting stuff,” he said, “you will find a large wooden box
marked ‘etching’ on the cover. In that is some paraffin and a bottle of
acid in a wooden barrel with a screw top. You might dig out a couple of
small brushes, too, from the other stuff, and give them to me.”
“What’s all that for?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m going to try etching through the bars,” he explained, “it’s so
damp here that they are pretty well rusted through anyway. I can do it
easily if there’s enough of the acid.”
“You’d better work quietly down there,” I said, “they’ll be bringing our
dinner any moment now.”
I felt quite sure as I went to look for the things that I should not
find the acid, as undoubtedly the Black Ghost would consider it a very
dangerous weapon. I was mistaken, however, or else they did not know
what it was. Probably they considered all painting materials harmless.
There was about five ounces of the stuff—enough to rout a small army if
anyone had the indecency to throw it in a man’s eyes. I made sure the
top of the container was safely screwed on again before I handed it down
to John. I knelt and lifted the edge of the rug and was reaching
downward as far as possible to meet John’s hand, when a key was turned
in the door. John’s fingers had just closed over the wooden barrel of
acid. I dropped the other things perforce, trusting to the creaking of
the opening door to mask the sound of their fall. I was trying to look
as though I were tying my shoe as the man entered with our dinner. I
continued to tie it serenely after the door opened, merely glancing up
and saying “guten Abend” in what I hoped would pass for a casual tone of
voice.
This time there were two men instead of one. One carried the heavy tray
of food, and I was hungry enough to be glad it was heavy, the other held
a lantern, and stayed near the door. By the time the first man had put
the tray on the table I had straightened up, and was moving toward him
quite calmly.
“The Herr Fakat Zol,” he said, rather elaborately, “presents his
compliments to the gnädigen Herrn, and regrets that he cannot entertain
them at dinner.”
I have always read about heroes who remained calm in all emergencies,
and now I had found that when one of them happened to me, I was not calm
and therefore not a hero. I felt nervous and jumpy even after the men
had gone and locked the door again, which was a little hard on my self
esteem since it had been such a small emergency.
When I dared to look down again John was standing just where he had been
when I handed him the acid. He had not moved even to pick up the things
I had dropped.
“We missed by an eyelash having to dine with the Black Ghost,” I told
him. “Come on up and eat.”
“Not on your life.” He shook his head, excitedly, “it would take half an
hour to get me up there and down again. Have to rig up the sheets to
climb by. Can’t spare the time. Give me some food through the hole, and
I think we may make it before midnight. The moon will come up soon
after, so we can’t risk it later.”
I gave him soup in a coffee cup, and two huge sandwiches with
thick-sauced meat in them, and an apple. Then I smeared his plate with
gravy, and a few edges of meat, to look as though he had eaten, and ate
my own dinner. Later when John had finished the soup I rinsed the cup
and gave him coffee in it. Then I put even the apple core back on the
tray, and finally stuck the knife and fork he should have eaten with in
some of the gravy. Altogether it was an artistic job, that tray. I took
off one knife with a prayer that its absence would not be noticed.
I did not dare start work on the wall again until the tray should be
taken away, and while I sat waiting idly I thought over Helena’s
position, and decided that John was right about not wanting to get her
out. She had been meddling very seriously in the affairs of a country
that was as foreign to her as it was to us. The Rheatian government
would probably not help her under the circumstances, the Alarians would
hate her, and if she got out she would rush straight to Herrovosca. The
Black Ghost, I felt sure, would release her when—and if—there was no
further end to be served by keeping her quiet. That would be when
Yolanda and Maria Lalena had been driven out of the country. And Conrad
was right, of course, from every standpoint, especially that of
expediency. An unpopular dowager and an unknown and inexperienced girl
could not hope to keep peace and a throne in a tumultuous country like
Alaria.
However, in spite of my feeling that she should be left behind, as soon
as the tray had been removed I started back at the wall again with my
stolen table knife. Reasoning that a woman should be left to the mercy
of a masked bandit was one thing, and not trying to get her out was
another.
It must have been two hours before our knives met through the wall. Then
we examined the sides of the hole, and found that we had been playing
the fool. The wall was of concrete laid on a modern steel lath, and not
a single layer of lath, but a double one, with about four inches between
where the joists ran up. All we had accomplished was a more direct
method of communication than our yarn telegraph.