Mlle. d’Essoldé and kissed her, despite her struggles.
“I warned you, my lady,” he was saying, “you would tempt me too far some
day ... will you forgive me now, or shall I do it all over again?”
The Princess laughed. Moore’s arms dropped and he sprang back, while
Mlle. d’Essoldé, flaming with embarrassment and anger, buried her face in
her hands.
“Forgive him until after dinner, Elise,” said Dehra; “you can retract
then, and resume the situation, if you wish.”
“O wise and beneficent ruler!” said Moore, bowing to the ground, “I agree
to the compromise.”
Mlle. d’Essoldé looked at him in contemptuous scorn—though, in truth, she
was more inclined to laugh; she never could be angry with her Irishman,
for long.
“You savage,” she said, “you brutal savage; don’t ever speak to me
again.”
He stepped forward and offered his arm, with all the suavity he knew so
well.
“Never again after dinner, mademoiselle,” he said sadly; “meanwhile, the
pleasure is mine.”
And to his surprise she took his arm; and when the others’ backs were
turned, she looked up and smiled, the impudently provoking smile he had
suffered under so long, and had at last punished.
“My compliments, Monsieur Ralph, on your adroit proficiency,”—and the
tone and manner were as provoking as the smile—“it is quite unnecessary
to refer to what it proves.”
“As much so, as to refer to what enables one to recognize proficiency,”
he agreed.
“And if all the men I know are like you, sir—”
He bent down.
“Now that is an inference I’m curious to hear.”
“Do you want them to be like you?” she asked, eyes half closed and
glances sidelong—“because, if you do, it would be rather easy to oblige
you—and may be not unpleasant—and I can begin with His Highness of
Lotzen—truly it’s a pity, now, I ruined my frock so needlessly this
morning, in the japonica walk;” and giving him no time for reply, she
dropped his arm and glided quickly into the chair the bewigged and
powdered footman was holding for her.
No mention of the Twisted Pines was made until the coffee was being
served; then the Princess motioned for the liqueur also to be put on the
table, and dismissed the servants.
Drawing out her case, and lighting a Nestor, she smiled at the Archduke,
and at his nod passed the cigarette across;—and when Colonel Moore looked
inquiringly at Mlle. d’Essoldé, she shrugged her pretty shoulders and
gave him hers.
“You know what it implies, Elise,” Dehra remarked.—“No?—then ask Colonel
Moore to tell you sometime—now, we’re to hear the explanation that
explains—the Tale of the Veiled Lady of the Inn,” and she looked at
Armand....
When he had finished, the Princess offered no comment, but frowned and
played with her cigarette; and the Archduke, ever glad for any excuse to
look at her, and very ready to be silent the better to look, watched her
in undisguised devotion.
“What’s the plot behind it?” she demanded, suddenly; “I can’t make it
out—it’s absurd to fancy that woman honest, though I’m perfectly sure
Lotzen has the Book. But why—why should he want to show it to us? Not out
of love nor friendship, surely; nor bravado, either; our dear cousin
isn’t given to any such weakness. So it must be simply a rather clumsy
attempt to lure you to the Ferida for slaughter—and that, again, seems
unlikely; for Ferdinand isn’t clumsy, nor would he want you murdered in
his Palace; and as to the provision that you need not go—or that you may
take a dozen with you if you wish—and if you don’t go, that she preferred
Colonel Moore, or some one with brains and a sword—all that, I say, is
too amazingly inconsistent with anything except entire honesty for my
poor brain to solve.”
“Don’t try, my dear,” the Archduke laughed. “We will give you the
solution to-morrow.”
She laid aside her cigarette, and, folding her arms on the table,
surveyed him in displeased surprise.
“Surely, Armand, you don’t mean that you are going?” she asked.
He nodded, smilingly.
“Why not?” he asked—“the Colonel and I, with a few good blades, and the
Veiled Lady’s promise to protect us.”
“But it’s absurd, perfectly absurd, for you to take such risk. At the
best, you are obligated only to look, to make no attempt to-night to
recover the Book; and at the worst you can only fight your way out of the
trap. In the one case, Colonel Moore can do the looking as well as you—in
the other, their plot to kill you will have failed and your substitutes
will be given some excuse by Spencer and let go in peace—oh, it’s worse
than absurd for you to go, Armand,”—she saw from his expression that her
argument was futile—“and you know it, too; and you’re going only because
you like the excitement, and to show Lotzen, like a big boy, you’re not
to be dared.”
The Archduke laughed at her indulgently.
“May be I am, little girl,” he said; “but I’ve made up my mind to fight
this business out myself, and that sends me to the Ferida to-night. I’ll
take every precaution——”
“Except the proper one of staying away,” she interrupted. “You’re
struggling for a Crown, man, and mad rashness has no place in the game.
Play it like Lotzen, in the modern way, not like the Middle Ages—he uses
its methods, true enough, but lets others execute his plans and face the
perils.”—She put out her hand to him.—“Come, dear, be reasonable,” she
begged; “be kind; even the wildest idea of leadership does not obligate
you to go.”
He took her hand and held it, with the firm, soft pressure of abiding
affection, looking the while into her fair face, flushed now with the
impetuous earnestness of her fear for him.
“I think it does, Dehra,” he said gravely. “It is our duty to the country
to find the Laws and settle the Succession at the quickest possible
moment——”
“Yes, it is, but——”
“And there are but three in the Kingdom who have ever seen the Book, you
and Lotzen and myself; and there must be no question as to its absolute
identification, before you as Regent resort to force to recover it—force
that may necessitate the taking of the Ferida by assault. Therefore,
dear, I must go, for I must see the Book. Assume, just for illustration,
that Colonel Moore brings a description that seems to correspond to the
Laws; you, as Regent, formally accuse the Duke of Lotzen of having the
Book and demand its instant surrender; and upon his indignant denial that
he has it, and his offered readiness to have his Palace searched, you
order me, as Governor of Dornlitz, to have my rival’s residence invaded
and subjected to the ignominy of a mandat de perquisition; or, again, he
may deny the Book without demanding a search, and submit to it only under
protest; or he may refuse to permit the search and oppose it by force.
And whichever the case may be, the Book will not be found—he will take
very careful precaution, as to that, you may be sure. And what will my
position be then, with the House of Nobles?—when our only explanation,
for such fruitless insult, is that some one saw a book, which he
described to us, and which we thought was the Laws. Indeed, though it
hadn’t occurred to me before, it may be just such a condition that he is
playing for——”
“But, my dear Armand,” the Princess interrupted, “would it be any
advantage even if we could say that you saw it?”
“An incalculable advantage, Dehra; I know the Book—there could not be any
chance for mistake; and it would then be my word against Lotzen’s, an
even break, as it were; whereas, otherwise, it will be his word against
our guess. Yet, indeed, in this aspect, it’s very doubtful if we ought to
resort to open measures against him, even if I saw the Book. It would be
a question for careful consideration and counsel with all our friends—and
it is but right that I should be able to assure them that I, myself, saw
it, and recognized it beyond a doubt. It’s worth all the danger it may
involve; though I don’t anticipate any—the more I think, the more I
believe we have solved the riddle. Lotzen wants some one to see the
Book—he much prefers it shouldn’t be I; he fancies I will gladly send a
substitute; and he takes me for a hot-headed fool, who then will promptly
play out for him the rest of his game, landing him on the Throne and
myself beyond the border.”
The Princess had listened with growing conviction that he was right; now
she turned to Moore.
“And what is your best judgment?” she asked.
“That His Highness has the argument,” was the prompt reply; “and I
confess I was hitherto of your mind, and urged him, all I might, to let
me go in his stead. Now, I am convinced not only that we should verify
Mrs. Spencer’s story, but that the Archduke must do it.”
“And because he has seen the Book, and can identify it beyond doubt?”
“Exactly that, Your Highness; such identification is vital.”
Dehra nodded and sipped her cordial meditatively; while Armand watched
her in sudden disquiet; he had seen that look on her face a few times
only, and it always presaged some amazing decision that was immutable—and
not always to his approval. When she raised her eyes, it was with the
conquering smile that he had never yet stood out against for long.
“Armand,” said she, “you and Colonel Moore have persuaded me; it is right
for you to go, and I’ll go with you——”
“What! You!” the Archduke cried—“are you crazy, child?”
“Not in the least, dear; only very sensible to your cogent logic—who can
identify the Book so well as I, who have known it all my life; you have
seen it but once, you know.”
“But the danger!”
“There isn’t any danger, you said—and if there were, the Regent of
Valeria will be the best sort of protector for you.”
“But you will have to—go into Madeline Spencer’s apartments—may be remain
there half the night,” he protested.
“And much more seemly for me than for you, my dear, and much
less—tempting.”
He joined in her laugh, but shook his head and turned to Moore.
“Colonel, will you oblige me by telephoning Mrs. Spencer we shall not be
there to-night; word it any way you wish.”
“Colonel Moore,” said the Princess sharply, “you will do nothing of the
sort. The Regent of Valeria requires the attendance of the Governor of
Dornlitz and yourself to the Ferida Palace this night—and in the
interval, you both will hold yourselves here in readiness.”
Armand would have protested again, but she cut him short with a
peremptory gesture.
“It is settled,” she said; then added, almost vehemently: “surely, you
can’t think I want to see that awful woman!—but it’s the only sure way to
block Lotzen’s game. The Nobles will take my word as to the Book—and so
will the Army, and the people, too. No, I must go.”
XVII
INTO THE TIGER’S CAGE
They had gone into the library for a rubber of bridge, until it was time
to start for the Ferida. Now there came a chime from the mantel, and
Dehra glanced at the old French clock that her Bourbon ancestress had
brought with her—among wagon loads of clothes and furniture—when she came
to be wife to Henry the Third.
“Well, Armand,” she said, “if we are to be at our dear cousin’s rear gate
at eleven, I suppose it’s the last moment for me to change my gown, this
one isn’t especially appropriate—have you anything in particular to
suggest?”
“Nothing,” he smiled, “nothing; except that you don’t make yourself any
more attractive than is absolutely unavoidable.”
“And that I conceal my identity as much as possible, I suppose?”
“Undoubtedly—and the more effective the concealment, the better.”
She laid aside the cards she was shuffling and arose.
“Will you come with me, Elise?” she asked. “You can help me with the
disguise.”
Moore closed the door behind them, and going over to a side-table poured
out a very stiff drink.
“I don’t like it!” he said, turning around, the glass half emptied, and
tossing off the remainder; “I don’t like it, a little bit!”
“Then it’s appalling to think what you would take if you did like it,”
the Archduke commented.
The Colonel laughed and poured out a trifle more.
“The liquor is all right,” he laughed; “it’s this notion of Her Highness
I don’t like.”
Armand had begun to deal solitaire, but he stopped and tossed the cards
together.
“I wonder if Mademoiselle d’Essoldé could persuade her to give it up?” he
said.
“She wouldn’t try—she, too, wanted to go. I blocked that, however; I told
her that one foolish virgin was as much as we could look after in this
mess, and that she would best stay home and trim the lamps. It wasn’t a
happy remark, I fear, but it did the business—you will have to give me
another message for her to-morrow. Meanwhile, I must go over and do a bit
of dress changing myself—shall I need a mask?”
“I don’t know; better take one.”
The Archduke was in the uniform of a general officer, dark green evening
coat and trousers, with buff waistcoat; and unadorned save for the narrow
gold cord on the shoulder, the insignia on the sleeves, and the braid on
the leg seam. Because Dehra liked him best in the Red Huzzar dress, he
always wore it when he dined with her; for to-night, however, it was
entirely too showy and hampering, and he had chosen the one quietest in
tone and best suited for quick action.
Left alone, he tried the solitaire again; but it got on his nerves, and
after a minute of listless playing, he sprang up, with an exclamation of
disgust, and began to pace the floor. Presently Moore returned, in the
fatigue uniform of the General Staff, with its easy-fitting jacket, and
was immediately sent back to telephone the Secret Police to spread a
loose cordon around the Ferida, with a dozen men loitering in close
vicinity to every gate. There was no anticipating what they were about to
encounter, so it was well to provide for the worst. It was his duty to
protect the Regent whether she wished it or not; and though he might not
take them inside with her, yet if the occasion arose, a pistol shot would
bring them very quickly.
“It’s growing late,” he remarked, as the Adjutant came back; “if we are
to be there on time we must start.”
He was going toward the bell when voices in the next room told him the
Princess was coming; and she entered—a slender officer in a long military
coat, and a soft felt service hat.
The two men mechanically raised their hands in salute, and she
acknowledged it with formal motion and a merry laugh.
“Will I pass?” she asked.—“See, the hat covers my hair, and its wide brim
shadows my face; the coat reaches almost to my feet, and its big collar
quite hides the back of my head; and, as for what’s under the coat, see
again”—and loosing the frogs, she swung it back, disclosing the tunic of
her Blue Guards, and, below it, the close-fitting knee skirts, and high
spiral puttees of a shooting suit.
“And is that as unattractive as you could make yourself?” the Archduke
asked, with affected seriousness, as he fastened her coat and adjusted
her sword.
“It’s as unobtrusive as I could make myself—some day, if you wish, sir,
I’ll show you just how unattractive I can be.”
But he only laughed, and, taking her hand, hurried her to the carriage.
On the drive, he told her briefly how they were to reach Mrs. Spencer’s
apartments, and cautioned her, as tactfully as he could, against doing
anything which might serve to disclose her identity.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she said, “I’m going simply to see the Book; I shall
not even speak without permission—you are in command, not I;” and she
found his hand, and held it; rather sorry now that she had ordered her
Adjutant inside with them, when he was about to mount his horse to
follow.
“Will there be others with us?” she asked, presently.
“Yes, Captain De Coursey and Lieutenant Marsov, of the Cuirassiers; both
guaranteed by Colonel Moore to be skillful swordsmen, and friendly to me
as against Lotzen.”
“And besides,” the Adjutant added, “devoted to an adventure, and in
discretion unsurpassed.”
“Will you tell them who I am?” she asked.
The Archduke hesitated.... “No, not unless it becomes necessary; it would
only make them unduly nervous; but if trouble come, they must know.”
“I can protect myself, a little while,” said she, slapping her sword in
laughing bravado; though indeed she was very clever with the foils.
To her quick eye and natural talent had been added years of careful
training under expert maîtres; for, to Frederick, she was both son and
daughter, and he had encouraged her in everything that went to strengthen
body or mind. Yet she was so very modest about it, that only very lately
had even Armand known of her proficiency; and now, he regularly put on
the mask and plastron with her, and had her present when Moore and he
were practicing.
“And for more than a little while,” the Archduke replied; “and if you do
have to draw, try to forget you’re fencing with pointed weapons, and bear
in mind only that you must not be touched.”
She leaned closer to him.
“Goodness Armand, you make me afraid,” she said, with a little shiver; “I
don’t want to fight any one.”
“Please God you won’t have to, dear, but if you do, remember that the
surest way to save your life is to take the other fellow’s.”
She shivered again. “I shouldn’t want to be a man.”
He slipped his arm around her and bent down.
“Let me send you back to the Palace, sweetheart,” he whispered—“for my
sake go back.”
“It is for your sake I’m going on,” she answered, “and—I’ll kill the
other fellow if I have to—but I don’t want to.”
The carriage drew in to the curb and stopped. It was on a side street
near the rear gate of the Ferida, and as the Archduke got out, two
officers in quiet uniforms and capes, who were walking slowly along,
halted, and, after a glance, came up and saluted. They were De Coursey
and Marsov.
“I thank you for your attendance,” said the Archduke; and leaving it for
Moore to acquaint them with as much of the business in hand as was
necessary, he linked arms with the Regent and they went leisurely on;
there was ample time, and they reached the entrance as the Cathedral bell
rang the hour.
The great gate was closed and locked, but in it was a small one, so
cleverly hidden among the frets and ornaments that the Archduke had
trouble in locating it, and still more in finding the catch, which Mrs.
Spencer had engaged would not be fastened.
Across the street a number of men were loitering, and two came hastily
over; but recognizing Colonel Moore, who had stepped out to meet them,
they made a quick salute and were returning, when he called them back.
“It will be for you to see that we are not locked in,” he said, and
following the others, who had already entered, he closed the gate behind
him.
The drive ran between great oaks straight toward the house, but, a little
way in, a narrow walk branched from it on either side and wound through
trees and between hedges to the side gates, and thence on to the front.
Mrs. Spencer’s apartments were in the wing on the right, and her
instructions were to proceed by the path on that side until opposite the
rear of her suite; then by another path that bisected the first, and
which, crossing the driveway between the rear and side gates, led to the
house and close under her windows; there, at the first small door, they
were to knock.
Eleven o’clock was a very early hour at Ferida Palace, and the Archduke
looked dubiously at the lighted windows and the flitting figures inside,
with the music of the orchestra, in the main hall, throbbing out
irregularly in bursts of rhythmic melody. It seemed rather absurd for
five people to attempt a surreptitious entrance into such a place; and
again he urged the Princess to return at least to the carriage, and await
him there; but without success; and in deep misgiving he went on.
They gained the small door unseen, and, with a quiet word of warning, he
knocked.
From within came an answering knock, to which he responded with two quick
taps, twice repeated; the door opened a little way and Mrs. Spencer’s
maid peered out; then, assured, she swung it back and curtsied them
inside.
“Suivez de près, messieurs,” she whispered, finger on lips, and hurried
down a narrow but rather brightly lighted passage, and up a stairway, and
into a room on the second floor, where she prayed that they wait until
she could announce them to Madame.
“And say to your mistress,” the Archduke ordered, “that it is our
pleasure not to intrude upon her until everything is arranged as
intended.”
“If Spencer will respect the request, it will be much easier for you,
dear,” he said to Dehra; “when we are watching Lotzen, the boudoir will
have to be in darkness, and I’ll take care that we leave the moment you
have seen the Book.”
“Do you think she will recognize me?” the Princess asked.
“I don’t know; it’s hard even to think what she can do or will do.”
“At least, it has been easy thus far,” she laughed; “almost so easy as to
indicate a trap.”
The same thought had naturally been in his mind, and he had hoped it
would not occur to her.
“Everything has worked so smoothly it rather suggests the reverse,” he
said confidently; “but whatever happen, you must keep with me or
Moore.—Gentlemen, I neglected to say that you will retain your caps until
I remove mine.—Lieutenant Marsov, will you oblige me by turning off all
the side lights?”
Presently, from somewhere down the corridor, came the ripple of Madeline
Spencer’s laugh, and the ring of her clear voice.
“Good-night, Monsieur le Comte! I thank you for the dance, and all the
rest;”—then in quieter tones: “no, you may not come in; you have annoyed
the Duke quite too much to-night, as it is—to-morrow? well, may be—tout à
l’heure!” and the laugh again, and the closing of a door.
The Princess looked at Armand and gave a faint shudder, but made no
comment.
In a moment the maid returned. “It is as you wish, Monsieur le—Monsieur,”
as the Archduke’s gesture stopped the title. “Madame awaits you at once.”
In the room adjoining the boudoir, the Archduke left the others and went
in alone.
Mrs. Spencer curtsied.
“Your Highness honors me,” she said.
“Pray, madame,” said he, returning her greeting with the curtest of
military salutes, “let us eliminate unnecessary ceremony—this is an
official visit, made at your particular request; if we are ready to
begin, I will call my witnesses.”
She watched him smilingly, pressing down the roses that lay across her
breast—red roses, on a black gown that ended far below the dead-white
neck and shoulders.
“What a cold-blooded brute you are, Armand,” she mocked. “Can it be, that
the pretty, innocent, little doll, out yonder in the Palace, has found a
drop that is warm even when fresh from the heart?”
He looked at her in steady threat.
“Madame, I have told you I am here for but one purpose; beyond that, even
in conversation, I decline to go. I tried to make it clear to you at the
Inn, how I would come, and why. I do not remember your record, nor even
know your name; if I did, it would be my duty to send you immediately out
of Valeria, and under escort. If, however, you presume to use this
occasion to become offensive, I shall be obliged to remember, and to
know.”
She laughed scoffingly, and taking a cigarette lighted it.
“As a token of peace,” she said softly, and proffered it to him....
“No?—I thought Ferdinand said he had learned it from you and—but, of
course, it does make a difference whose are the lips that kissed it.”
The Archduke turned abruptly and went toward the door; another such word
and he might forget she was a woman. She might be able to show him the
Book, but, even could she give it to him, he would not have it, if its
price were the Princess on her tongue.
She saw she had gone too far.
“Armand!” she cried, “Armand! stay—I’ll be good—I’ll be good.”—She sprang
forward and caught his arm—“Don’t go—think of what I can show you.”
“Then show it, madame,” he answered, facing her and so displacing her
hand; “show it; and leave off personalities.”
Without replying, she went to a window, and drew the shade aside a little
way.
“Yes, he is there,” she said, “but Bigler is with him ... ah! he is
going—now, we shan’t have long to wait.”—She motioned the Archduke to
her. “See—there shouldn’t be any doubt of the identification, if he give
you a chance to see it.”
He went over and looked. She was right; nor would they need the field
glass to recognize it. Fifty yards away, in the opposite wing, were
Lotzen’s apartments—his library windows raised, the shades high up, the
curtains drawn back; and he, himself, at the big table under the
chandelier, a twin drop-light focused on the writing pad.
And even while the Archduke looked, Lotzen arose and from the safe behind
him took out a package wrapped in black.