eyes, and at the adorable smile; and the eyes and the smile conquered, as
eyes and smile always will when the one woman uses them, as the one woman
always can, if she try.
“I ought not to let you persuade me,” he said, with a half serious shake
of his hand, “but—you’re pretty hard to resist. At least, you won’t
prohibit my riding over toward the Castle, and having a look at it now,
in broad day, if I promise not to venture inside nor very near.”
“On the contrary, I should like to go with you; come, we will all go—you
tell the Ambassador, and I’ll get Helen and Elise,” with a nod and a
smile at Moore.
“A reconnaissance in force!” the Archduke laughed, when the Regent had
gone; then he ordered the horses, and he and Moore went off to get into
riding uniform.
A wide, macadamized avenue wound sharply down from the castle to the
valley, where the roads were of the soil, soft and sandy. Once there, the
six loosed bridle and sped away across the level country; nor drew rein
but thrice until they came to the forks, where the road to Lotzen took
off for its mile of tortuous ascent.
Here they halted, and Armand and Moore scanned through their glasses the
Castle and its approach; and by riding a very little way up toward it,
they were able to see the postern gate, which was on the edge of the hill
about a third of the distance around from the bridge, and was approached
by a narrow, rain-washed, boulder-strewn path, leading almost straight up
the side of the acclivity. The moat ran only across the front, the almost
sheer descent on the other sides of the wall having been deemed, even in
the old days, quite sufficient protection against assault.
“Well,” said the Archduke, as he shoved the glasses back into their case,
“thank God, we have old Jessac to tell us how to find that postern
path—and, Colonel, before we start, it might be wise for each of us to
make his will, and to say good-bye to his lady, for, of a truth, it is
going to be a rather serious business.”
They rode back by way of Porgia, the garrison town, five miles down the
valley. It was also the railway station for both Castles, though some
years before, King Frederick had run a track over as close as possible to
Dalberg, so his own train could always be at hand to hurry him away. And
there it had brought the Regent that morning, and was now waiting, ready
for instant use.
A regiment of Uhlans were at drill on the edge of the town, and the
Princess waved her cocked hat to them as she cantered by. The Colonel in
command answered with his saber, while from two thousand lusty throats
went up a wild cheer of passionate devotion.
Armand reached over and patted her on the arm.
“Surely, dear, the soldiers love you,” he said.
“They seem to,”—then out flashed the smile again; “but there is only one
I’m sure of,” leaning over close.
“You little temptress!” he said, “I’ve a great mind to prove it now.”
She laughed merrily. “You may—but catch me first;” and as her horse had
the heels of his, she never let him get quite on even terms, no matter
what the pace.
“Come, dear,” he said, “I’ll promise to wait until we are at the Castle.”
“As you wish—but the bend in the road yonder would have hid the others,
and there I was—but until the Castle, then.”
And when Armand promised double punishment later, she tossed her head,
and told him she was always ready to pay for her crimes—and sometimes
rather willing.
As they turned from the valley road into the avenue, they came face to
face with the Duke of Lotzen and Count Bigler, both in full uniform.
The Princess was passing on, with a curt return of their salutes, when
the Duke drew around in front of her.
“Your Royal Highness and myself seem to be unfortunate in our visits to
each other,” he said; “I missed yours the other evening, and now you have
missed mine.”
“You have been to Dalberg Castle?” she asked. He bowed. “For my call of
ceremony upon the Regent.”
She reined aside. “You are not on the Regent’s list, sir,” she said; “if
you wish to save your dignity, you would best not present yourself until
summoned.”
“I assumed it was restored by your own informal visit,” he smiled.—“Will
you not honor Lotzen Castle, also?—and you, too, cousin Armand!”
But neither answered him by so much as a look, and with a mocking laugh
he went on, saluting the American Ambassador with easy formality, and
bestowing upon Mlle. d’Essoldé a leeringly suggestive smile, that made
Moore frantic to strike him in the face.
The Princess’ toilet was finished very early that evening, and then she
sent for her Adjutant.
“Colonel Moore,” said she, motioning him to be seated, “I am resolved
that the Archduke shall not venture into Lotzen Castle to-morrow night,
and therefore, I am going myself to-night; will you go with me?”
Moore’s amazement deprived him of an immediate answer.
“But, Your Highness!—” he stammered.
“It is quite useless to protest; I’m going; if you do not care to escort
me, I shall get Bernheim.”
“Let me go alone,” he urged.
“No.”
“And the Archduke, what of him?” he asked.
“The Archduke stays here, serenely ignorant of it all.”
“He will never forgive me——”
She cut him short. “Very well, monsieur, you are excused—be so good as to
send Colonel Bernheim to me at once—and I trust to your honor not to
mention the affair to any one.”
He had done all he dared; more, indeed, than he had fancied she would
tolerate. A subordinate may not argue for long with the Regent of a
Kingdom, however sweet-tempered she may be.
“Your Highness misunderstands,” he said; “if you are determined to go,
there is an end of the matter; naturally, your Adjutant goes also.”
She smiled. “Now, that is better—and I’m glad—and we will take De Coursey
and Marsov, and slip away at midnight, with old Jessac for guide. The
secret passage opens into the Duke’s library, we get the Book and
retire.”
“Vault and all?” Moore asked.
“You don’t remember the draft, Colonel, there isn’t a vault.”
“Doubtless, however, there is a safe.”
She waved her hand impatiently. “It will be time enough for that when we
get there.”
“And if we can’t find the Book in the library?” he persisted.
“Then we will seek it elsewhere—it’s just that contingency which sends
me. If I were sure it is in the library, I might let the Archduke go.”
“Yet will you not take some precaution for your own safety, in event of
Lotzen overcoming us?” Moore asked.
“I can’t bring myself to believe that he would venture to harm the
Regent, but, if he should, these,” pushing two papers across to him,
“ought to be sufficient.”
“Your Highness is a strategist,” said the Colonel, when he had read them.
“I have nothing to suggest; and I’m ready now to go with a more willing
spirit and a lighter heart.”
She held out her hand, and flashed him the smile, usually reserved for
Armand, alone.
“And we will save the king, Ralph—you and I; and give him the Book, and
speed him to his crowning. I leave the details to you, to see the others,
and instruct and caution them; remember, for the Archduke to get the
slightest suspicion would ruin everything. It will be for me to see that
he retires early to-night. Now, do you, yourself, seek out Bernheim and
send him to me quickly.”
“My good friend,” said she, acknowledging Bernheim’s stiff military
salute with one equally formal, “I need your aid in a matter of peculiar
importance and delicacy—and which must not, under any circumstance, be
known to any one in the Castle, and above all not to His Highness the
Archduke—not a whisper of it, Colonel Bernheim.”
Bernheim’s answer was another salute, but he could say as much with it,
in an instant, as some men in an hour of talk.
“Here are two sealed orders,” she continued; “immediately after dinner
you will ride down to Porgia; there, not before, you will open the one
addressed to yourself, and deliver the other to the Commanding Officer of
the garrison. For the rest, the orders will speak for themselves.”
Once more, the martinet’s hand went up.
“Yes, Your Highness,” he said; “but how am I to go without getting leave
from the Archduke?”
“I will get it for you—you need not say anything to him—just go——Ah!
there he is now—Armand,” said she, when he had greeted her, “I want to
borrow Colonel Bernheim for a little while after dinner, may I have him?”
“Take him,” said the Archduke, with a smile at his Aide; and when
Bernheim had gone: “but why don’t you borrow me instead?”
“Because, sweetheart, one doesn’t need to borrow what one has,” she
answered, and gave him both her hands.
XXI
IN THE DUKE’S LIBRARY
The Princess managed so well that by a little after eleven o’clock the
card games were over, and she, laughingly, had escorted Armand to his own
door and received his promise to retire at once.
Then she went to her apartment and dismissed all the attendants except
her maid. To-night she must ride as a man, so she donned a close-fitting
divided skirt, high boots, and her Blue Guard’s jacket, and topped it
with a long military overcoat that came almost to her spurs.
Colonel Moore met her at a side entrance, and they hurried across the
courtyard and over the bridge to where, a little way down the avenue,
were waiting De Coursey and Marsov, with Jessac and the horses. They had
thought to send the old man in a carriage, but he would have none of it;
so they let him have his way, when he assured them he could ride twice
the distance without fatigue—and he proved it that night.
In calm persistence of purpose Dehra was a typical Dalberg; she had
determined that the Archduke should not expose his life in Lotzen’s
castle, and so she was assuming the risk, without the least hesitation;
just as the same Dalberg spirit sent the Archduke to recover the Book,
heedless of the peril entailed. And so now, after a word of inquiry as to
the general arrangements and the time required to reach the postern gate,
she made no further reference to the business in hand. Instead, she
chatted with Moore as unconcernedly as though she rode for her pleasure,
and not upon a desperate mission where death was likely waiting for them
all.
There was no moon, but the stars burned with double brilliancy in the
wonderful mountain heavens; the road lay fair before them; and far off to
the front the lights of Lotzen Castle beckoned. And as they crossed the
valley, the lights gradually grew fewer, until presently there was but
one remaining, which Jessac said was the big lamp on the bridge in front
of the gate-arch, and which always burnt until sunrise.
A little way from the Lotzen road they met Colonel Bernheim, alone. He
bent forward in sharp scrutiny.
“Thank God, Moore, you persuaded her not to come!” he exclaimed, as they
drew up.
The Princess’ light laugh answered him, and he actually cried out in
distressed disappointment, and forgot the eternal salute.
“I wasn’t to be persuaded, Colonel,” said she. “Is everything arranged?”
This time the salute came.
“The dispositions are made as Your Highness ordered,” he answered.
She thanked him, and he rode beside her to the cross-roads.
“I must leave you here.—Heaven keep you safe this night,” he ended, with
broken voice.
She reined over close to him and held out her hand.
“My good Bernheim, nothing is going to happen to me,” she said; “but if
there should, it will be for you and Epping to seat the Archduke where he
belongs, and to confound Lotzen and his satellites—promise me.”
The Colonel’s face twitched, and his eyes glistened, and for a moment he
bowed his head on his breast; then he leaned over and kissed her
gauntlet.
“As God reigns, it shall be done, my mistress,” he said; “and though I
have to kill Lotzen with my own hand.”
Instead of taking the road to the Castle they continued up the valley a
little way, to where a narrow brook tumbled noisily across the track,
eager to reach the foaming Dreer. Here Jessac dismounted, and, leading
his horse, turned upstream. There was no path, and the starlight availed
nothing in the heavy timber, yet the old man never hesitated, winding his
way among the trees and around the rocks as readily as though it were
day. After half a mile, the ground began to ascend sharply; almost
immediately he halted, and at his direction they turned the horses over
to the orderlies, and followed him on foot.
“The postern path, such as it is, is yonder,” he said, and a few steps
brought them to it, just where it ended its plunge down the bald side of
the hill from the Castle that now towered almost straight above them, a
mass of black forbiddingness respousséd against the sky-line by the
reflection of the gate-way lamp.
Colonel Moore made a last appeal to the Princess to abandon her purpose
to accompany them, and was good-naturedly overruled, and peremptorily
ordered to lead on.
“Would you have a Dalberg retire with the enemy in sight?” she ended.
The postern path was now no path—only a narrow, water-washed gully; yet,
even so, it was the only means of access to the summit from that side,—or
indeed, from any side save in front—elsewhere the tangle of brambles and
the rocks, with the almost perpendicular elevation, made ascent
practically impossible by daylight, and absolutely impossible by night.
In fact, this way had long been abandoned, and the present course lay
close under the wall, and over the moat by a narrow foot bridge, and then
along it to the road just below the main gate. Jessac had not ventured to
use it, however, because it was exposed to the light of the lamp, and so
was in full view of the porter on duty in the tower.
It was rough climbing, and half way up Moore called a halt, to give the
Princess a short rest; then they went on, stumbling, slipping,
scrambling, trying to go quietly, and yet, it seemed, making noise
sufficient to wake every one in Lotzen Castle.
But at last they reached the top, and the Princess leaned against the
wall, breathless and trembling from the unaccustomed exertion.
Moore raised his hand for silence. In the intense calm of the night, the
lightest noise would have echoed trebly loud, yet the only sound they
heard was the splashing of the Dreer among its rocks, in the fog strewn
valley far below. He drew out his watch, and after much looking made out
the time.
“It’s after one o’clock,” he whispered; “when Your Highness is ready——”
“I’m ready now,” said she, and turned at once to the gate.
“Quiet, man, quiet!” Moore cautioned, as Jessac’s key scraped into the
lock, and suddenly turned it with a loud snap. The old man pushed the
door back slowly; the arch was twenty feet through, and the darkness
impenetrable; but he entered unhesitatingly, and the others with him,
Moore’s hand on the Regent’s arm.
“Can you find the stone without a light?” he asked.
“Easily, sir! ... here it is—stand back, my lord, or it may hit you ...
there!”
There was a slight creak, and Moore was sensible of something swinging up
by his face.
“It’s open, sir,” said Jessac; “but best not show a light until we are
inside, it might be seen in the courtyard—I’ll go in first—bend low or
you’ll strike your head.”
The Adjutant took Dehra’s hand and having located the stone and the
opening, he guided her through. Jessac closed the stone into place and
then, by the light of Moore’s electric torch, he showed them how it was
so balanced that by pressure at the top (from without) or at the bottom
(from within) it would swing around parallel with the floor.
The passage was large enough for two of them to walk abreast and without
stooping, and extended through the heart of the wall, about a hundred
feet, until opposite the keep, as Jessac informed them; here it narrowed
to half, and by a dozen stone steps descended below the level of the
bailey, and thence under it to another set of steps leading up inside the
wall of the keep.
Thus far they had come rapidly and without incident. Suddenly a drove of
rats, blinded by the light and squeaking in terror, ran among their feet,
and the Princess instinctively caught up the skirts of her long coat,
and, with a little shriek of fright, tried to climb up the side of the
passage.
The cry, slight as it was, let loose all the echoes of the vault with
appalling resonance; instantly Moore extinguished the torch and laid his
hand on her arm.
“What a fool I am!” she exclaimed in a whisper; “now, I’ve spoiled
everything.”
“Not likely,” he assured her; “the castle is asleep and the walls are
thick, but we best wait a bit.”
Presently the rats commenced to squeak again, and to scurry about, and
the Princess beginning to tremble, he switched on the torch and motioned
Jessac to proceed.
Treading as lightly as one of his own mountain cats, the old fellow went
swiftly up the stairs, and when the others reached the top he was not to
be seen. Moore shot the light down the passage; thirty feet away, if the
draft were correct, were the stairs that ended at the library; when they
reached them, Jessac was on the landing signaling to come on.
He drew the Colonel over to the big stone.
“There used to be a crack along the edge here,” he said, very low, “where
I could listen, and also see a very little, but it seems to have been
closed. Shall I swing the stone, sir?”
Moore hesitated. What lay behind the stone? His last look at the library
windows, from far down the hillside, had shown no light within; yet was
it really so, or was it only that the curtains were drawn? If the
Princess would but consent to remain here, at least until he had gone in
and inspected. He glanced at her uncertainly, and she read his mind, and
shook her head.
“I follow you,” she said.
With a sigh, he adjusted his mask; she and De Coursey and Marsov did the
same.
“Does the stone move easily?” he asked.
“It did when I used it, sir,” said Jessac.
“Can you open it only a trifle at first?”
“No, my lord, once started it must make its swing.”
“And if there be something in the way?”
“There never used to be, sir; it was always kept clear.”
“Then pray Heaven it is so still.” He loosed his sword and shut off the
torch. “Open!” he ordered.
“It seems to hold, sir,” said Jessac presently; “I can’t move it—may I
have the light a moment?... Now, I’ll try again.”
They heard him pushing; gently, then harder, finally with all his
strength.
“I can’t do it, my lord,” he said; “it’s either out of balance or has
been closed on the inside.”
The Princess gave an exclamation of alarm.
“What!” said she impatiently, “it can’t be opened?—we have failed?
impossible, it must be opened—try again, Jessac.”
“May be it’s only jammed,” said Moore; “come, I’ll help you.”
But still the stone refused to stir—suddenly it moved a very
little—caught—moved a little more—caught again—then wrenched itself free,
with a grinding scrape, and swung slowly around.
They heard it collide with something; the next moment came a terrific
crash of shattering glass, and the resounding clatter of a metal tray.
Moore ground back an oath.
“Close the stone!” said he instantly, “quick, man, quick!”
But though it seemed to take an eternity to shut down, there was not the
slightest sound, or other indication that any one had been aroused.
“What shall we do?” he asked the Princess; “that din must have been
heard; shall we wait and risk another try, or escape now by the postern
before we could be cut off?”
“We will risk another try,” said she, at once. “Give the word whenever
you wish.”
For himself he was well content; his fighting blood was up, and here
might be his opportunity to have it out with Lotzen, so he settled back
to wait, harkening for the sound of any one coming by the passage; the
location of the broken glass would tell the Duke instantly the cause, and
his first act, naturally, would be to send a party around to intercept
them; though, being a stranger in his own castle, he might not know of
the secret way, in which case the accident would have no materially
adverse result save, possibly, to startle those within hearing from a
sound sleep.
And while they delayed, Moore gossiped in whispers with the Regent,
hoping to divert her, if only a very little, from the heavy strain she
must be under—the blackness was enough, in itself, for a woman to endure,
without the danger. And he marvelled at her calmness and ease, and the
light laugh which came at times.
“It’s good of you, Colonel,” said she finally, “but I think I’m past
fearing now. I was horribly afraid at first, and the rats almost made me
faint with terror, but now I’m sort of dazed, dreaming, automatic,
whatever it is—when the reaction comes, there likely will be
hysterics—but that shan’t be until all this is ended—it’s this inaction
that is the most trying.”
Moore touched Jessac.
“How long have we been waiting?” he asked.
“Well on to half an hour, sir.”
“Then swing the stone.”
This time it moved instantly and noiselessly. Moore put his head through
the opening and listened;... save for the ticking of a clock, somewhere
across the room, there was perfect quiet.... Suddenly it chimed twice;
when the last reverberation had died, he stepped carefully inside; the
Princess and the others followed.
The library was as dark as the passage; with a touch of warning to the
Regent, Moore pressed the torch and flashed the stream of white light
around the walls—fortune favored them; the room was unoccupied, and every
door was closed. Then the light struck the iron safe, and the Princess,
with the faintest exclamation of apprehension, grasped her Adjutant’s arm
and pointed at it. If the Book were in it, their visit would be barren;
there was neither opportunity nor means to break inside. For the first
time, the idea of failure touched her—she had been so full of assurance,
so confident that once in the Duke’s library and success was certain.
Even when Moore suggested a safe she had waved it aside heedlessly. Her
mind had been centered on the desk—that the Book must surely be in it.
The light reached the big, flat-topped one in the middle of the room;
with a quick spring she was at it, and Moore beside her.
Swiftly they went through the drawers—nothing ... nothing ... nothing ...
ah! a bundle in black cloth—she tossed it out and fairly tore loose the
strings—a glance was enough—leather—metal hinges—the Book! the Book! at
last!
In an agony of delight she flung the cloth around it.
“Come!—come!——”
A shrill whistle—the doors were thrown open wide; in bounded three men, a
lighted candelabra in each hand, and behind them a dozen more with rifles
leveled. At the same moment, the Duke himself stepped from behind a
curtain, and closed the stone into place.
At the whistle, De Coursey, Marsov and old Jessac had sprung to Dehra’s
side and, with Moore, ranged themselves around her—and now they stood
there, five masked figures, swords drawn, the center of a circle of
impending death, every man ready to fling himself upon the guns and
chance it, but restrained because of her they were sworn to guard.
The Duke gave a chuckling laugh.
“Altogether a very striking picture,” he remarked, with a wave of his
hand around the room; “the candles—the masks—the swords—the guns—the
attitudes;—it is a pity, Cousin Armand, you cannot see it as I do.”
“He thinks I am the Archduke,” Moore whispered to the Regent; “let him
think it.”
“Your coming to-night was a surprise,” the Duke was saying, “I admit it—I
had not expected you before to-morrow at the earliest—my compliments on
your expeditiousness.” He drew out a cigarette and lighted it at one of
the candles—then flung the box over on the desk; “help yourselves,
messieurs, la dernière cigarette,” he laughed with sneering malevolence.
“Keep perfectly still,” Moore cautioned, very low. “If it come to the
worst, I’ll try to kill him first.”