He lingered for another glance, before summoning the others—and Mrs.
Spencer forestalled him.
She ran to the door and flung it wide.
“Come,” she said, “come——His Highness needs you.”
The Princess had been talking to Colonel Moore, her back to the door; as
it opened, she threw up her head, and turned with an eager smile,
thinking it was Armand—and so gave Mrs. Spencer a full view of her face.
Then Moore stepped quickly between them and suavely bowed Mrs. Spencer
into her boudoir; the next moment the Archduke was there.
“With your permission, madame, we will extinguish the lights,” he said,
“and raise the shades.”
She smiled maliciously, deliberately moving near enough to see the
Princess over Moore’s shoulder.
“Extinguish the lights?” she laughed, “certainly; darkness will be better
for the business, and will conceal—everyone,” and herself went over to
the main switch at the corridor door and pushed it open.
The Princess caught Armand’s hand.
“She recognized me,” she whispered.
“Oh, no, dear; you’re only nervous,” he answered—though he was satisfied
she was right. “Keep your hat well down, and don’t look at her; the
moment you have identified the Book, we will leave; you go with Moore;
I’ll engage the vixen until you’re out of range.”
He had led her to a window and raised the shade. The lights from the
Duke’s library leaped across the garden court at them, but he, himself,
was not visible, though on the table lay the package, still wrapped in
black as when taken from the safe. Some one came behind them, and Armand
glanced over his shoulder—it was Mrs. Spencer, and she was looking at the
Princess; nor did she cease, though she knew his eyes were on her;
instead, she smiled and shot him a quick glance, and resumed the looking.
He felt Dehra begin to tremble—whether with anger or nerves, he could not
tell—and Mrs. Spencer spoke.
“Your Highness’ companion is evidently unused to adventures, despite his
uniform; he is actually twitching with excitement.”
“Or with the temptation of your proximity,” Armand replied giving her his
back. And Dehra laughed softly.
Colonel Moore had been at another window; now he came over, and, in the
most casual way, found Mrs. Spencer’s hand and gave it a familiar
squeeze.
“You’re pretty enough to-night to give even an old-stager like me a
flutter,” he whispered in his most caressing tones, and, in the darkness,
slipped his arm around her waist.
She pushed it away, though not very vigorously it seemed to him.
“You are impertinent, sir,” she said.
“I meant to be; it’s the only way to get on with you,” and he
deliberately put his arm around her again, and rather more tightly. “Come
along to my window,” he urged.
She knew very well that his purpose was to divert her from the Princess,
but she went—nor appeared to bother that his arm remained. Here, was a
new sort of man, with a new sort of method, and she was, if the truth be
told, very willing for them both. Besides, her time would come presently.
“Moore is a wonder,” Armand commented—and broke off, as the Duke came
into view and sat down at his table.
But Lotzen was in no haste to unwrap the package; he drew it over and
slowly loosed the cords, then suddenly laid it aside, and coming over to
the window, seemed on the point of drawing the shade; but he changed his
mind, and after staring into the garden and toward Mrs. Spencer’s
apartments, he returned to the table.
Without more ado he removed the black cloth, but pushed it in a heap, so
that it hid the book—that it was a book, they could distinguish, but
nothing else—and went to examining some papers he took from it.
The Princess stirred restlessly; her nerves were not attuned to such
tension; and the Archduke reassured her by a touch and a word. Over at
their window, Mrs. Spencer and Colonel Moore were whispering, and
laughing softly, the latter, however, with a wary eye across the
courtyard. The swinging cadence of a Strauss waltz came, brokenly, from
the orchestra still playing in the great hall, with, now and then, a
burst of men’s voices in noisy hilarity from the card rooms or the main
guard.
Presently the Duke put down the papers, and, pushing aside the black
cloth, disclosed the back of the book—black, with heavy brass hinge-bands
across it.
“Look,” the Princess exclaimed, “look! it’s very like it—why doesn’t he
lift the cover ... there!—see, the pages, too!—it must be!—it is!—it——”
“Run away, girl!” came Count Bigler’s voice from the corridor, “run away,
I say—you’re pretty enough, but I want your mistress now.” There was a
moment’s scuffle, and the door swung back——“Dark! well, ‘let there be
light!’” and he snapped the switch.
It all was done so quickly and unexpectedly that Mrs. Spencer was caught
half way to the door, as she sprang to lock it; Armand had time only to
push the Princess away from the window and step in front of her; while
Colonel Moore, with De Coursey and Marsov, tried to get across to cover
the Archduke.
But they failed. Bigler saw him instantly.
“The American!” he shouted, “the American!” and wrenching back the door,
he disappeared down the corridor.
“The fool!” Madeline Spencer exclaimed; “he has spoiled everything—quick,
you must get away; I don’t want another De Saure house here,” with a look
at Armand—“the way you came will still be open.”—She hurried ahead of
them through the rooms to the stairway.... “I’ve been honest and I want
to prove it, but,” she laughed sneeringly after them, “the next time Her
Highness plays the man, let her wear a mask and a larger shoe.” The noise
of men running came from below. “Hurry!” she cried, “they are trying to
cut you off.”
With the Regent between them, and De Coursey and Marsov behind, the
Archduke and Moore dashed down the lower passage to the small door and
out into the garden.
“Come along!” said Armand; “we don’t want a fight; make straight for the
gate.”
Holding Dehra’s arm, he ran across the drive and, avoiding the winding
path, cut over the grass—to bring up, in a moment, at a fountain in a
labyrinth of thick hedges and walks, none of which seemed to lead
gateward.
With a muttered imprecation, the Archduke chose the one that pointed
toward the winding path by which they had entered, only to discover that
it curved back toward the house.
“Take the hedge!” he ordered; and he and Moore tossed the Princess over
the seven foot obstruction, and were swung up, themselves, by De Coursey
and Marsov, whom they then pulled across.
But this took time; and now Bigler’s voice rang from the garden.
“Make for the side gates—I’ll look to the rear one!” he cried; and almost
immediately they heard him and his men between them and their exit.
The Archduke stopped.
“There is no need to tire ourselves by running,” he said; “we shall have
to fight for it, so we may as well save our wind.—Gentlemen,”—turning to
De Coursey and Marsov—“to-night you are honored above most men—you will
draw swords for the Regent under her very eye—behold!”
He lifted the hat from the Princess’ head, and the light of a near-by
street lamp, that shone above the walls, fell full on the coils of high
piled hair, and the fair face below it.
Both men cried out in astonishment, and, kneeling, kissed her hand.
Then they pressed on, finding almost immediately the path by which they
had entered.
Meanwhile, the commotion in the garden near the palace had increased, and
now the Duke of Lotzen’s stern voice cut sharply into the night, from one
of his windows.
“What the devil is all this noise?” he demanded.
“Thieves, Your Highness,” some one answered from below—“five of them in
madame’s apartments—they escaped into the garden.”
The Duke made no reply, at least which they could hear; and the Princess
laughed.
“He’s off for madame,” she said; “and we are thieves—rather clever of
Bigler to have us killed first and recognized later.”
“He didn’t see you,” said Armand; “he recognized me, and thinks this is
the chance he missed at the De Saure house.”
A moment later they came into the wide drive-way, and face to face with
the Count and a bunch of a dozen men.
He gave a shout that rang through the garden.
“Seize them!” he cried; “kill any that resist!” knowing very well that it
would require the killing of them all. He, himself, drew his revolver and
stepped to one side—a safer place than in the fighting line, and one
where he could get a surer shot at the Archduke, if it were necessary.
But even twelve men hesitate to close with five, whose swords are ready;
and in the instant’s pause, Dehra, flinging off her hat, sprang between
Bigler and the Archduke, and covered the former with her pistol.
“God in Heaven! the Princess!” he cried, and stared at her.
“Will you play with treason, my lord Count?” she asked. “Drop that
revolver!—drop it, I say!—and you men, stand aside!—into line, so!—return
swords!—now, by the left flank, march!—fall in behind, Count, if you
please—march!”
With a laugh and a shrug he obeyed.
“The Regent commands,” he said.—“Attention! salute!” and with hands to
visors the column went by; while Dehra, fingers at forehead in
acknowledgment, watched it pass and go down the drive toward the Palace.
Then she turned, and put out her hand to the Archduke.
“I’m tired, dear,” she said, “very tired——Captain De Coursey, will you
bring the carriage to the gate?”
XVIII
ON TO LOTZENIA
“It is a most amazing situation,” said the Ambassador—as he and the
Archduke sat in the latter’s headquarters, the following morning—“and one
guess is about as likely to be right as another. It’s difficult to
believe Spencer honest, and yet she seemed to play straight last night.
She is of the sort who fiercely resent a blow and go to any length to
repay it. And you think Bigler’s interruption was not prearranged?”
“It impressed me that way,” said Armand. “In fact, I’d say I am sure of
it, if I had any but Lotzen or Spencer to deal with.”
“And you saw enough of the book to be satisfied it is the Laws?”
“To satisfy myself, yes—if that fool, Bigler, had waited a little longer,
I would have known beyond a doubt.”
“And, as it is, you can’t be absolutely certain?”
“No; at least, not certain enough to make an open issue of it with
Lotzen.”
Courtney shook his head decisively.
“It is a great misfortune you were not able to make sure,” he said; “for
I’m persuaded it was not the Book. As I told Her Highness that day at
luncheon, if the Duke ever did have it, he has destroyed it to get rid of
Frederick’s decree; and if there were no decree, then he would have
produced it instantly as establishing his right to the Crown.”
“If that be true—and I grant the logic is not easy to avoid—what was it I
saw? I would have sworn it was the Book; it resembled it in every
particular.”
Courtney’s fingers went up to his gray imperial, and for a long while he
smoked his cigarette and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.
“It is a fine mess,” he said, at length; “Spencer mixes it so abominably.
What really brought her to Dornlitz?—how long has she been here?—did the
Duke strike her—if there is a plot back of it, why should she have been
selected to do the open work with you, of all people?—why, if Lotzen have
the Book, doesn’t he destroy it?—why does he want you to see it in his
very hands?—why, if he haven’t the Book, does he want to convince you
that he has?—... If it’s a plot, then its object was either the one you
suggest: to tempt you to violent measures against him to recover the
Book, and so to discredit you with the Nobles when it’s not found; or—and
this may be the more likely—to inveigle you into a death trap by using
the Book as a lure.”
“Either of which,” observed the Archduke, “would explain his preservation
of the Book.”
“Or sentiment,” Courtney laughed. “Her Highness thinks the Duke would
never destroy the Laws of his House.”
“I fancy she wouldn’t be quite so strong on that now,” Armand observed.
“I wish you had seen her last night; she was magnificent, simply
magnificent.—Richard, she is the Dalberg of us all!—it’s she, not I, nor
Lotzen, who ought to wear the Sapphire Crown.”
Courtney nodded in hearty acquiescence.
“And as she may not, it is for you,” he said, gravely, “to make her a
Queen by wearing it yourself—and, as I believe I’ve admonished once or
twice heretofore, to do that you must keep alive—dead Archdukes are good
only to bury.”
“I’m very much alive,” the other laughed, “more alive than I’ve been
since I shed cadet gray.”
“The Lord knows it is not from lack of effort on your part to get killed;
you’ve tempted death in every dare-deviltry you could find—and this De
Saure house affair is the limit—though last night was about as idiotic.
The Princess has more discretion in an eye-lash than you have in your
whole head—but for her, you would be surrounded now by tapers and
incense—what fresh atrocity against common prudence will you perpetrate
next, I wonder!”
The Archduke pushed the decanter across.
“Take another drink, old man,” he grinned, “you must be dry, with such a
warm bunch of ideas jostling one another for exit—I’ll promise to be as
discreet hereafter as a debutante. I admit the De Saure business appears
foolish now, but then, at that hour of night, in darkness, rain and
storm, would you, or any other man, have denied a woman’s call for help?
I couldn’t.”
“Nor anything else that promises adventure,” said Courtney. “If Lotzen
doesn’t make an end of you——” he shrugged his shoulders and lit another
cigarette.... “I’ve sworn a dozen resolves to quit advising you; and
then, every time I see you, you’ve gone and done some other foolish
thing, and I blow off—if you will forgive me this time, and may be a few
more times, I’ll not do it again.”
“My dear Dick,” said the Archduke, “the one thing I’ll not forgive is for
you not to do it again. You’re the only man in all this land who would
speak out his mind to me; and do you think it isn’t welcome—to have
something of the old life occasionally?”
For a while both men smoked in silence, the Marshall thoughtfully, the
Ambassador waitingly; and in the midst of it Colonel Bernheim entered
with a letter for the Archduke, which, he explained, he had just
received, enclosed in another envelope addressed to himself and marked
“Immediate.”
Armand glanced at Courtney for permission, got it, and read the letter:
“A——
“We are leaving Dornlitz before daybreak by special train, ostensibly
for Paris, really for Lotzen Castle. The Duke guessed instantly why you
were in my apartments, and what you saw. We had a fearful scene, and he
struck me again—the cur! It is the B.; he admitted it, in his rage—and
he has it with him. I am a prisoner now, and compelled to accompany him
because I know too much, he says. I’m not asking you for rescue, I can
manage him in a few days; but if you want the B. you will know now
where to get it. I owe you this, for the fiasco last night, due to that
fool, B——, though I don’t advise you to follow; Lotzen Castle isn’t
Ferida Palace, and I can’t aid you there; and besides, now, he is bent
on your death, and intends to kill you at the first opportunity. I will
find some way to have this mailed, sending it to Col. Bernheim so it
will reach you promptly and not be delayed by official routine.
“M. S.”
“3 A. M.”
Without a word, the Archduke passed the letter over to Courtney; and
without a word Courtney took it, read it twice, and passed it back; and
fell to blowing smoke rings through each other.
“Well,” said Armand presently, “when you’re satisfied with the rings, and
it seems to me they couldn’t be bettered, I shall be glad to have your
opinion of the letter.”
The other shook his head, and went on with the rings.
“What is the use?” he answered. “You are going to Lotzenia.”
“I’m sorely tempted, I admit—but I don’t know——”
Courtney flung his cigarette at the fireplace, and got up.
“Then, if you don’t know, I’ll tell you what I think,—throw that damn
letter into the fire and stay right here in Dornlitz; if you let it lure
you to Lotzenia, you are an unmitigated fool.”
“But the Book!—and Spencer only confirms what my own eyes told me.”
“Lies, lies, rotten lies!” said Courtney. “He hasn’t the Book—it’s all a
plant—you escaped last night because Bigler blundered in, and because the
Regent was with you—but in that wild land of the North, you will last
about a day, or less. Why don’t you forget the miserable Book, for a
while, and get to work on your vote in the House of Nobles?—there is
where you will likely have to fight it out any way, even if Frederick did
make your decree. Play politics a bit, and you will have Lotzen back in
Dornlitz on the jump—and the Book with him, too, if he has it.”
The Archduke went over and put his hand on Courtney’s shoulder.
“Dick,” he said, “it’s something worth living for to have known a man
like you, and to have had him for a friend and companion; and if I don’t
follow your advice you will understand it is because I can’t. You have
called me headstrong; I grant it, it’s bred in the bone I think; and I’m
not of those who can sit, and wait, and play politics. I shall find the
Laws of the Dalbergs, somewhere, somehow, long before the year is over;
and if necessary I’m going to kill Lotzen in the finding—or be killed—”
he broke off with a laugh and a shrug. “Positively, old man, I’m ashamed
of myself; I seem to have become a braggart and a swash-buckler.”
“Who is the braggart and swash-buckler, my dear Marshal?” asked the
Princess, entering suddenly, with Lady Helen Radnor, Mlle. d’Essoldé and
Colonel Moore, “not Mr. Courtney I hope.”
“Unfortunately, no; Your Highness,” said Armand. “Candor compels me to
admit that I was characterizing myself.”
She pointed her crop at the decanter, and nodded questioningly to the
Ambassador.
“No,” said he, “no; it’s only a sudden rush of remorse for deeds past and
to come.”
“To come?” said she, and looked at the Archduke inquiringly.
For answer he handed her Madeline Spencer’s letter.
She glanced at the signature, smiled, and with a word of excuse, she
carried it over to a window; and Armand, chatting with Lady Helen,
watched her curiously as she read and re-read it; and then she looked up
quickly, and gave him the glance of summons.
“Have you shown it to Mr. Courtney?” she asked. “Did he say what he
thought of it?”
“He did—and at some length, and also what he thought of me.—Briefly, it
was to the effect that the letter is a snare, and that I’m several kinds
of a fool if I let it lure me to Lotzenia.”
The Princess tapped her crop softly against her boot, and considered.
“Of course,” said she, in momentary interruption of her thought, “I know
what you think—you think you’re going,—but I don’t know——” and the
tapping of the crop began afresh.... Presently a soft light came into her
eyes, and she flashed him the adorable smile. “Are you willing to wait
the year for our wedding, dear?” she asked.
He bent down over her, as though looking at something in the letter.
“You know I’m not, sweetheart,” he said, “that’s why I want to find the
Laws—to make you Queen the sooner.”
“Your Queen?”
“Mine—yes, either here in Valeria, or over the seas in old Hugo’s land—as
the Book decides for Lotzen or for me.”
“And do you honestly think, Armand, that he has the Book?”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Women don’t think—they have only intuition, and mine says that he has.”
“Then I shall go this night——”
“And I with you.”
“Then I won’t go.”
“Nonsense, dear—why not? Dalberg Castle is always ready, and I shall take
the Household, or part of it. I most assuredly would not let you go
alone, to be butchered by our dear and loving cousin.”
He knew it was useless to protest.
“Well, come along, little woman,” he said; “and may be, together, we can
devise a way for me to get the Book out of Lotzen Castle.”
She turned upon him, full faced and emphatic.
“But I’ll not go, nor shall you,” she declared, “unless you promise you
won’t do anything without consulting me. I’m going because you need some
one to curb your recklessness; and I have no mind to see you throw your
life away just because you won’t take a dare.”
The Archduke gave her cheek a surreptitious pinch.
“I promise,” he laughed; “you’re something of a Dalberg dare-devil
yourself when the fever is on—and you’re the finest little comrade and
commander God ever made.”
Again she gave him the smile—and they went back to the others.
“Mr. Courtney,” said she, at once, “we are about to spend a short while
at Dalberg Castle, going to-night by special train, with a few members of
the Household; it will be a great pleasure to Armand and me to have you
with us.”
“I am honored,” said the Ambassador, with a grave bow; “I shall be glad
to go.”
“Even if you do disapprove,” said she lightly—“but, what would you,
monsieur! I don’t want to imprison Armand, so the best thing I can do is
to go along and try to take care of him; and that’s where you can help
me.”
“And that, Your Highness, is precisely the reason I’m going,” he
answered;—“Warwick will stick to his work to the end.”
“The end!” she exclaimed, with sharp seriousness.
“In the great Cathedral yonder,” he answered.—And the Princess, thinking
only of the coronation, smiled and glanced with proud faith at the
Archduke.
But to the latter the real inference went home, and sharply.
“The crypt, you mean?” he muttered aside.
And Courtney nodded curtly.
“The crypt I mean,” he said. “Even Warwick and Margaret of Anjou together
could not save the silly Henry.”
But the old, lean-faced Prime Minister did not deal in inferences
when—having come at the Regent’s summons, from his office in the
Administration wing of the same building—he was advised of the matter,
and that he was to assume charge of the government during her absence.
“Has Your Royal Highness forgot the Chambers meet this day week, and that
the Regent must open them in person?” he asked.
“I had forgot,” said she, “but I shall return for it.”
The Count shrugged his shoulders.
“It is not for me to question the Regent’s movements,” he said; “but if
you will accept the advice of one who was your father’s friend and
trusted servant, and who ventures to think he can, at least in this
instance, speak with his dear, dead master’s voice, you will abandon this
astonishing intention, that can profit nothing to His Highness’ cause,
and will lead him only into dire and awful danger.”
“Will there be no profit in recovering the Book?” she demanded.
“You will not recover it in Lotzenia.”
“The Duke has it; I saw it last night.”
The Count shook his head. “I feel sure that Lotzen hasn’t the Book; but
if you are positive, beyond a doubt, then formally demand it as Regent;
if he refuse, take half the Army, if need be, and batter down his Castle
and get it.”
The Princess laughed. “Now, Count, you know very well that would be the
one sure way not to get it—he would destroy it.”
“And himself with it,” said Epping; “for then your testimony would be
enough to convict him, and lose him his last chance for election by the
Nobles. It would be as effective as to find the Book itself.”
“Your plan does not please me for two reasons,” she answered, promptly
and decisively. “It contemplates the destruction of the Laws of the
Dalbergs, which I would rather die than be the cause of; and it would
permit the House of Nobles to determine the succession to the Throne, a
thing hitherto unknown, and to my poor mind subversive of the rights of
my House. What we want is the Book, and the way to get it is to take it
quietly and by stealth. Hence, I was willing that His Highness should go
to Lotzenia, and I with him, to see what might be done.”
“In other words,” said the Count incisively, “you deliberately stake the
Archduke Armand’s life for the preservation of the Book.”
The Princess gasped, and her face went white.
“Don’t say it, my child!” the old man exclaimed, “don’t say it!—think a
moment first—and then forgive me for having let my affection for you
drive my tongue too far.”
And instantly her anger passed; and she went to him and laid her hand on
his, where it rested on his sword hilt—while the Archduke spoke quickly.