THE TRUMP CARD
The sun crept behind a distant mountain peak. In this country of
little twilight the transition from day into night was speedy, and
almost as Olga watched from her window the last rays seemed to vanish;
symbol to her of the vanishing of hope and the encroachment of she knew
not what.
She reflected, as she sat there by the window, on the events of the
night before. Following her capture by a band of brigands, she had
been convoyed through the hill country by a trail almost as difficult
as that which Fenton and Crane had followed. They had arrived in the
dense darkness of night at an old building perched on the crest of one
of the highest peaks--apparently a disused hunting lodge. The fears of
the princess, which had increased with each hour spent on the trail,
were somewhat allayed when she found there were a couple of maids in
the lodge. But while that was comforting in one respect, the fact that
they evidently knew and respected her rank proved to her that it was no
band of mountain marauders who had carried her off. The girls were not
gipsies. Her first thought that she would be held for a ransom was
replaced by a feeling of vague uncertainty.
The lodge had not been used for some time, although several of the
rooms had been hastily furnished; furnished too with a certain degree
of elegance. This was an added circumstance which provided the
princess with scope for uneasy speculation as to her present position
and the likely developments of the future. In a vague way she began to
realise the motive behind her abduction.
Any doubts that may have lingered had vanished at noon that day with
the arrival of a young woman who rode up a wide path around the
mountain side from the opposite direction to that along which the
princess had been brought. The new-comer was received with every
evidence of respect by the two dusky brigands who guarded the lodge.
Watching from the window of a room on the ground floor, which had been
appropriated to her as a bedroom, Olga had felt a sudden stirring of
resentment when she recognised in the fair stranger the woman to whom
Fenton had been so attentive--the woman, moreover, who had involved him
in a restaurant brawl and for whose sake he had been prepared to fight
a duel. If Olga were still ignorant of the real nature and the depth
of her interest in the Canadian, she must surely have been astonished
at the jealous promptings which took possession of her as she
surreptitiously regarded the dancer through the broken shutter which
rattled in the wind outside her window. The new-comer undeniably was
attractive.
The interview which followed between them had left the princess in a
state of mental puzzlement and doubt. Mademoiselle Petrowa had told
her a most surprising story, speaking in French for the benefit of
possible eavesdroppers; a story of plots and counter-plots in which the
narrator herself appeared in a double role, ostensibly an agent of
Miridoff, actually a member of the Russian Secret Service. The story
seemed highly improbable, and yet there was much to substantiate
it--the presence of the dancer in Varden's library and her claim to
having been on hand when the attempt was made to assassinate Prince
Peter. And in addition there had been something about the little
dancer, an air of sincerity, that had done much to impress the princess
with the truth of her story.
* * * * *
As Olga sat in the gathering gloom her thoughts were occupied largely
by this surprising development. If the other woman's story were true,
then her relations with Fenton might easily be understood. The
princess was anxious to believe it, but doubts persisted, doubts which
originated in jealous consciousness of the undoubted charms of the
dancer. By this time Olga frankly admitted to herself that she had
been, and still was, jealous. Her jealousy was a revelation to her.
The door opened and with firm, heavy step a man entered the room. Olga
turned and saw that her visitor was Miridoff himself. His presence
explained much that she had hitherto been unable to fathom.
There was an unmistakable change in the demeanour of the Grand Duke.
He carried himself with the conscious air of a conqueror. He emanated
triumph. He came, quite apparently, to dictate terms; but it was in
tones of courtesy that he first addressed her.
"Your highness," he said, bringing his heels together with a stiff
military bow, "I trust that I do not intrude. There is a matter which
I must discuss with you immediately, however, and I must beg your
attention for a few minutes."
Beneath the man's outward show of courtesy and his arrogant air, there
was something sinister and threatening. Miridoff believed in pushing
any advantage mercilessly. Against an unarmed adversary he would not
hesitate to use his sword. Success bred in him no magnanimity for his
opponent, but rather increased his presumption. Olga dimly realised
something of the mental attitude of her adversary, and for the first
time the real danger of her position appealed to her certainly and
clearly. She faced him, however, with no evidence of fear.
"Am I indebted to your grace for the way in which I have been treated,
for my detention as a prisoner in this house?" she demanded.
"No," answered Miridoff. "The motive for this was purely political.
There is no reason why I should not explain it to you, though I did not
come to discuss the ethics of your position here. By the time you are
free to return to Serajoz certain events will have happened which will
make it necessary for you to subscribe to the explanation of your
disappearance now generally accepted--that you were carried off by a
wandering tribe of mountain gipsies. No harm can come, therefore, of
perfect candour at the present moment."
With an air of complete assurance, Miridoff drew a chair up close and
sat down.
"I can see that your abduction was a mistake," he went on. "At least,
it has been found unnecessary from a purely political standpoint. The
advantage we thought to gain by getting you into our power was, of
course, to hold you as a hostage against the continued activity of your
august father. Two days ago, when all Serajoz was clamouring for war
on Austria, our only hope seemed to be to force the prince to abandon
the allied cause. Since then, however, the militant wing of our party
has prevailed, and a plan has been put into operation that cannot
fail"--he paused and regarded her with an air of intense
satisfaction--"to bring Ironia into the war against Russia by this time
to-morrow! The active opposition of your royal father is no longer to
be feared. I have a reason for explaining this which you will perhaps
divine later."
"Then you have come to tell me that I am free?"
"Not at all," replied Miridoff, his complacency quite unruffled by the
obvious scorn in her tone. "It is no longer necessary to detain you
for political reasons--the comings and goings of a hundred princesses
could now have no effect on the course of events. But there is still a
personal matter to be settled between us!"
He leaned forward in his chair and regarded her with an insolently
possessive smile. As his gaze rested on her slender girlish figure and
appraised the rich beauty of her face, complacency gradually gave way
to passion and determination.
"You refused to marry me," he said abruptly, sharply. "I have come to
give you certain reasons for changing your mind."
The princess replied with quiet contempt and a determination equal to
his own.
"I refuse to discuss the subject with you. My decision was final. You
may keep me here for ever. You may kill me. You cannot force me to
marry you!"
Miridoff stood up and regarded her sombrely.
"Since our first talk on this subject I have not flattered myself that
I could win you in any other way than by force," he said.
"Consequently, force it must be. This is what I have decided."
Me took a stride up and down the room before halting again in front of
her. His tone, when he began to speak, was much the same as he would
have employed in outlining a military manoeuvre. He could see but one
side of the situation--his own determination to conquer the girl and
the plan he had formed to accomplish that purpose. That she would
suffer in the carrying out of that plan had not been taken into
consideration. If this side of it had occurred to him, he would have
dismissed it as an inevitable factor in any conflict of wills, and a
quite negligible factor.
"Last evening his highness Prince Peter found it necessary to take the
train for a point near the Mulkovinian border. We know the mission on
which he was bound, and we are also well informed with reference to his
future movements. This morning he left Bradosk on horseback and rode
over to Ronda. He left Ronda three hours ago and expects to visit two
other points during the night.
"As I said before, the influence and the activities of Prince Peter are
now of no real consequence. In the face of the magnificent train of
events which come to a culminating point to-night, your royal father is
impotent, his efforts futile. But still, we do not believe in taking
any risks. Sometimes the impossible happens. The success of our
campaign will be just so much more certain if Peter is put out of the
way.
"The road that he travels to-night runs through thick woods. At a spot
well suited to the purpose will be stationed a member of the Society of
Crossed Swords, one who has the reputation of being the best marksman
in the north provinces. His highness is now beyond reach of any
message. Even if his own party at Serajoz knew of his danger, they
could not get a message of warning to him; for at Ronda he altered his
previous plans and struck out in a new direction. There are no
telegraph wires in the section where Prince Peter rides to-night."
He paused in front of her.
"The inference," and his voice was cunningly modulated to deepen the
effect of his words, "is that your august father will not reach
Serajoz."
Olga listened to the recital of this monstrous plan in silence, her
mind literally numbed by its unexpectedness and brutality. The one
terrible fact obsessed her mind: her father rode that night to his
death and no power on earth could save him. She was powerless to
exercise her quick woman's wit. She did not attempt to reason. It did
not even occur to her to question the truth of what he had told her.
The diabolical nature of the plot caused her all the more readily to
accept as true his matter-of-fact explanation of it.
Miridoff had paused, but, as the girl did not speak, he went on in the
same deliberate, even tone:
"The plan was not of my making. In fact in view of the relations
between us, I was opposed to it--at first. I gave my consent knowing
that I still had the power to stop the carrying out of that plan. The
man selected for the work has gone. It was a wise selection; he is the
most determined man we have. There is only one thing that will prevent
him from carrying out the mission on which he has been sent. If this
ring," he drew a gold band from his finger and held it up before her,
"were carried to him, he would put his pistols back in his belt and
return forthwith to Kirkalisse. A messenger who knows the mountain
roads could leave here within the next three hours and arrive in time
to save your father's life."
All the time he had been talking, Olga had sat with head bowed in
statue-like rigidity. At last she lifted her head wearily, as if the
physical movement were an effort. There was no longer defiance or
determination in her glance. A dull fear was there and unwilling
acquiescence. She had no other choice.
"What is your price?" she asked.
Miridoff slipped the ring back on his finger. "It will be sent when
you are my wife," he said.
There was another pause. When Olga spoke again her voice was quiet,
but had an oddly strained tone. "Tell me all," she said. "You have a
plan----"
"Yes, I have arranged everything," replied Miridoff. "I have kept
before me this consideration, that no hint of what occurs this night
must ever be known to others. When the Grand Duke Miridoff weds the
Princess Olga it must be in the cathedral at Serajoz with the full
sanction and in the presence of His Majesty the King. But in the
meantime, if the life of your highness's father is to be saved, the
link must be forged that will bind you to me. To-night a band of
wandering gipsies are camped in the Hawk's Rest, a short distance from
here. I have arranged with the chief of the gipsies that to-night he
will marry over the tongs a man and woman who will come to him. The
contracting parties will be masked, so that not even the chief himself
will know who it is he has joined together. When the ceremony has been
performed, this ring is to be handed to him to be carried by one of the
young men of the tribe to a certain rendezvous where waits the best
marksman in the north country.
"I have arranged it in this way," went on Miridoff, "to convince you of
the sincerity of my intentions. See, I give the ring to you as an
earnest of my good faith. After the ceremony you shall hand it
yourself to the gipsy chief, and see it passed to the messenger."
He looked at her steadily a moment, then went on: "There is one thing
else. Let me warn you. The gipsy chief is the only one who shares
with me the knowledge of where the messenger must go, and he is too
completely in my power to divulge the secret--to be amenable to
pressure from any source. So you see it is only by obeying me in every
particular that you can save your father's life."
Olga had subsided on the couch, her head resting on her arms. Deep
fear and a sense of the hopelessness of further struggle against this
clever spider who had caught her in his web took possession of her.
She knew there was no way out.
"The plan I propose is too irregular to please me," pursued Miridoff,
"but it is the only possible solution. In three hours I must start out
on a work of great importance. There is not a priest who could be
brought here within the time, and in any case this is the only way that
can bind you to me without advertising the method of our union to a
gossiping world. Marry me to-night and to-morrow you return to Kail
Baleski. It shall be given out that you have been rescued from the
brigands who carried you off, and at once our marriage shall be
properly solemnised before the Patriarch of Ironia. Is it not a most
romantic marriage I am offering you?"
Olga stood up and faced him. Something of all that she was giving up,
things known and things hoped for, seemed to present itself to her then
in that fleeting moment. She covered her face in her hands.
"I will marry you," she whispered.
"Good!" cried Miridoff. "I knew you would see the matter in its right
light, my pretty one." Then his voice suddenly changed. "But come, no
more of this pettishness. You have taken the step now. Can you not
trust me that you will not regret it?"
She remained quite motionless.
"I must go now," he went on. "In three hours' time you must be at
Hawk's Rest. You must go alone. My men here will direct you. You
will be given a mask."
He turned and strode towards the door. Arriving there, he paused and
turned back. There was a moment's silence. Confused and distressed in
mind as she was, Olga was conscious of a subtle change in his attitude.
"Olga," he cried, his arrogant composure giving away before a deeper
emotion, "although to-night I have it in my power to make and unmake
empires, I would rather fail in my mission than lose you. I told you
that I would force you to marry me, and now I almost believe I am
better satisfied to get you in this way. It has come down from the
days of the cave man that an unwilling bride sometimes makes the best
wife. Measure the depth of my love by the extremes I have adopted to
get you!"
Her words followed hot upon his. "Listen, your grace," she cried,
suddenly and passionately, "I am prepared to marry you to save my
father's life. I do not know if he is really in your power as you say.
It may be that you have lied. You are capable of gross trickery. But
I can't withhold my consent on such a chance. The possibility of
danger to my father is the only consideration. I will marry you, and
if I find that you have tricked me--or if any harm befall my father now
or at any future time--I swear I will kill you!"