keep your hand outside your coat; the first of you who tries for his
revolver will precipitate a massacre—even poor marksmen can’t well miss
at such a distance, and on the whole, these fellows are rather skilful.”
He smoked a bit in silence, tapping the splintered glass on the floor
with the point of his sword. “Behold, cousin, my preservers—a decanter
and some slender Venetian goblets; queer things, surely, to decide the
fate of a Kingdom. But for their fall, you would have won. Now——” he
glanced significantly toward the ready rifles. “Yet, on the whole, I wish
you had waited until another night—it could have been done elsewhere so
much more neatly—before you got here—or saw that, the package in the
black cloth. You came upon me so suddenly, I had time only to take
you—and now that I have you, frankly, cousin, I’m at a loss how to
dispose of you—and your good friends.... Come, I’ll be generous; choose
your own way, make it as easy as you like—only, make it.”
A slight stir caused him to turn. Madeline Spencer, in a shimmering white
negligée, was standing in the doorway.
“Ah, my dear, come here,” he said; “this is altogether the best point of
view for the picture: ‘The End of the Game’ is its title—is it not,
cousin?”
In this woman’s life there had been many scenes, strange, bizarre,
fantastic, yet never one so fiercely fateful as was this. And for once
she was frightened—the flickering candelabra held aloft—the leveled
guns—the masked group around the desk—the lone man leaning nonchalantly
on a chair, smiling, idly indifferent, as much the master of it all as a
painter, brush poised before his canvas, able to smear it out at a single
stroke.
He held out his hand to her. She shook her head, meaning to go away; yet
lingering, fascinated and intense. Armand Dalberg was yonder—on the brink
of the grave, she knew. Once she had loved him—still loved him, may
be—but assuredly not as she loved herself, and the power of wealth and
place. Nor could she save him even if she try; so much she knew beyond a
question, so, why try.
The Duke faced his prisoners.
“Come, cousin mine, what shall it be: swords, bullets, poison? Time
passes. You have disturbed me at an unseemly hour, and I must to sleep
again.... No answer, cousin? Truly, you have changed; once your tongue
was free enough; and it’s not from fright, I’m sure; that, I will
grant—you’re no more afraid than am I myself. However, if you won’t
choose, I’ll have to do it for you.... You came by the secret passage,
and by it shall you return—part way—bound, but not gagged, it won’t be
necessary; please appreciate my leniency. Then, while you are lying
quietly there, the revolving stones shall be sealed so tight that mortal
man can never find them. Is it not a fine plan, cousin, to have been
devised so quickly; and are you not proud of the mausoleum that you, a
poor, unknown American, will have: the titular castle of Valeria’s new
King?”
At first, the Princess had been cold with terror—the muzzles of loaded
rifles at ten paces, are not for women’s nerves; but as the Duke talked
she grew calmer, and the fear subsided, and anger came instead. And even
as he seemed to take a devilish pleasure in grilling his victims with
rage-provoking words, so she let him run along, to dig his own grave the
deeper.
Now she stepped out from the group, and dropped her mask.
“Which cousin do you think you have been addressing, my lord of Lotzen?”
she asked, taking off her hat.
The commotion in the room was instant; but the Duke stayed it with an
angry gesture. His men were foreigners, and free of any sentiment beyond
the sheen of gold.
“So, you little fool,” he laughed, “you have dared to come here, too! Do
you fancy that even you can save your upstart lover?”
“If you mean His Royal Highness the Archduke Armand,” said she, very
quietly, “he needs no saving—he is not here.”
There was but one person in all the world whose word Ferdinand of Lotzen
would accept as truth: he knew the Princess Dehra never lied. And now he
sprang up.
“Not here!” he cried, “not here!”
She turned to her companions.
“Messieurs, will you do me the courtesy to unmask?”
The Duke ran his eyes over the four, and shrugged his shoulders.
“I thank you, messieurs,” said he, “I shall not forget you, believe me I
shall not.—But where, cousin, is His Royal Highness the Archduke Armand?”
(sneering out every word of the title). “Did you lose him on the way?—or
is he skulking in the passage.”
Dehra laughed scornfully. “You change front quickly; a moment since you
doubted his courage no more than your own. This is my own adventure;
neither the Archduke, nor any one else in Dalberg Castle, is aware of
it.”
Lotzen bowed. “My thanks, cousin, for that last bit of news—I know the
better, now, how to dispose of you and your friends.”
The Princess walked over and sat on the corner of the desk.
“Am I to understand, my lord, that you would attempt to restrain me and
my escort from leaving this castle?”
“Those who enter a residence with criminal intent, and are apprehended in
the act, can hardly expect to escape unscathed. You have overlooked the
fact, doubtless, that the privilege of high justice still attaches to
this domain, though long since unexerted. Just what that justice will be
I have not decided—enough, at present, that you are prisoners awaiting
sentence, and since none will ever seek you here, I can let events
determine when and where it will be pronounced.”
And Dehra understood just what was in his mind.
“Which is another way of saying, cousin, that when you have killed the
Archduke or made him prisoner, it will be time enough to pass judgment on
us.”
The Duke gave his chuckling laugh.
“Your Highness has the wisdom of a sage,” he said; “and I advise you to
employ it during your sojourn here, in ascertaining just what attitude is
likely to be the best for yourself, after the American has
been—eliminated.”
And now the anger, which had been burning hotter and hotter, burst into
flame.
“Do you fancy, Ferdinand of Lotzen,” she exclaimed, striking a chair with
the flat of her sword, “that I would venture into this den without first
having made ample provision for our safe return? Around this place, at
this moment, stretches a cordon of three thousand soldiers with orders to
let no one pass the lines, and if by sunrise I have not returned, to take
this Castle by assault and show no quarter. Colonel Bernheim is in
command. I fancy you will admit that he will execute the orders.”
“I will,” said Lotzen.
“And if you doubt as to the troops, you can send and——”
“I will admit the troops also, cousin.”
The Princess put the cloth-wrapped book under her arm and stood up.
“Then, if you will clear the doorway, we will depart.”
“Not so fast, my dear,” he smiled; “you seem to have missed the fact that
a written command is quite as effective as an oral one; therefore, you
will oblige me by taking of the paper and ink on the desk beside you, and
inditing to Colonel Bernheim an order to withdraw instantly all the
troops to Porgia, and himself to join you here—but first, you will favor
me by returning that bundle to the drawer where you got it.”
The Princess glanced uncertainly at Moore, hesitated, then handed the
bundle to him, and turning to the desk wrote rapidly for a few
minutes—read over the sheet, and held it out to the Duke.
He took it with a bow, and went back to his place.... The order was clear
and unequivocal, almost in his own words, indeed. Her ready acquiescence
had amazed him—now doubt came, and then suspicion—was he being outwitted?
Had she provided for just such a contingency? He read the order
again—then put it in its envelope and went toward the corridor door. He
would have to chance it.
“One moment, cousin,” said the Princess; “you may as well know that the
only effect of that order, or any other, save from my own lips, will be
to bring the assault forthwith, instead of at sunrise. It’s for you to
choose which it shall be.”
He turned and regarded her contemplatively; and she spoke again.
“What is the profit now in restraining us? You have been playing for a
Crown—you have lost;” (pointing to the book) “but why lose your life,
too—though, frankly, as to that, save for the nasty scandal, I have no
concern.”
His face hardened. “There could be a few lives lost here before sunrise,”
he answered.
She smiled indifferently, though her heart beat faster at the threat; she
had risked everything on her firm conviction that his cool, calculating
brain would never be run away with by anger nor revenge—and the test was
now.
“Assuredly, my dear Ferdinand,” said she, “you can have us killed—and
then the sunrise.”
But he stared at her unrelentingly, and fear began to crowd upon her
fast.
“Have we lost?” she said very low to Moore. “Have I brought you all to
death?”
“It depends on the next minute,” he replied; “if we live through it we’re
safe. He will have quit seeing red then.”
And Madeline Spencer saw that he was hesitating; swiftly she went to him,
and taking his hand, spoke to him softly and with insistent earnestness.
Gradually the frown faded; the fell look passed; at last, he smiled at
her and nodded.
“We win,” said Moore.
The Duke turned toward the corridor door and gave an order; the men drew
aside into line, rifles at the present. Then he bowed low to the
Princess.
“Since I know I may not do the honor myself,” he said, “I pray you will
accept my Constable as my substitute.—Captain Durant, escort Her Royal
Highness the Regent to the main gate.”
Durant stepped forward and his blade flashed in salute. Dehra
acknowledged it with her own, then snapped it back into its sheath.
“Lead on, sir!” she said very graciously, and gave him her hand.
Without so much as a glance at the Duke, she passed from the room; and on
the other side of her went Colonel Moore, sword in one hand, the
cloth-wrapped book in the other.
When they had gone, Lotzen dismissed every one with a nod, and sitting
down drew Madeline Spencer on his knee.
“You’re my good angel,” he said; “you came at the psychological moment;
another instant and I would have sent them all to the devil.”
She slipped her arm around his neck, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“And then the sunrise,” she whispered, with a shudder.
He caught her to him.
“And even Paris is better than that, my duchess!” he cried; “Paris or
anywhere, with you.”... Presently he laughed. “I should like to see
Dehra’s face when she opens that book,” he said.
Madeline Spencer sprang up, pointing to the clock.
“We are wasting time,” she exclaimed. “Don’t you see that we must go to
Dornlitz this very night—that, now, to-morrow will be too late.”
“You’re right!” he said; and, with wrinkled brow and half-closed eyes,
sat, thinking—then: “We may not use a special train, for we must go
disguised; but the express for the South passes Porgia at four o’clock;
we will take it; if it’s on time we shall be in Dornlitz at seven in the
evening, which will allow us an hour to get to the Summer Palace—after
eight o’clock not even I would be admitted, in the absence of the Regent.
Should we be delayed, as is very likely, we can go out early the
following morning. The American won’t know we left here, and will not be
in any state to return—and even if he is, it’s not probable he will leave
before late to-morrow night, which will bring him to the Capital about
noon—long after we have been in the library and got the Book.” He strode
to the door and shouted into the corridor for Durant.... “Captain,” said
he, “have the fastest pair and strongest carriage before the door at
once. Madame and I are off instantly for the Capital; but see that no one
in the Castle knows it; close the gates, and let none depart. In half an
hour, send four of your trustiest men to cut the telephone line, in
various places, between Porgia and Dalberg Castle; keep it cut all day,
and prevent, in every way possible, any messages reaching the Castle. If
the Regent, or the American Archduke, leave by train before to-morrow
night, wire me immediately. Do you understand?—then away.... Come along,
Duchess, only ten minutes to dress!”
With a laugh he swung her up in his arms and bore her to the doorway,
snatched a kiss, and left her.
XXII
THE BOOK IN THE CLOTH
As is usually the case when a man retires before his accustomed hour, the
Archduke’s slumber was capricious and broken, finally ending in complete
wakefulness and an intense mental activity that defied sleep. At length
he switched on the reading lamp beside his bed and looked at his watch.
It was only three o’clock. With an exclamation of disgust he got up and
dressed, and went down to the library. The draft of Lotzen Castle was not
as distinct in his mind as it should be; he would have another careful
look at it and then, alone on the ramparts, with plenty of room to walk
and think, he would work out the plan of campaign for the morrow.
He had put the plan and Jessac’s keys together in the desk, the top
drawer on the right.—They were not there—nor in the next one—nor the
next—nor the next—they were not in any of them. He searched again, and
carefully ... they were gone. He went to the far corner where Major Meux
had got the portfolio; its place was empty. He frowned in puzzled
irritation; who would have presumed to meddle with them? Moore, possibly,
to study the draft, but he would not have taken the keys; they would be
wanted only when——
“God! might it be!” he cried aloud, “might it be!”
His mind flashed back through the day: Dehra’s solicitude that he should
not go to-night—borrow Bernheim—early to bed—a dozen other trifles now
most indicative. With a curse at his stupidity, he ran to Moore’s
quarters—empty—the bed untouched; then to Bernheim’s—the same there; to
De Coursey’s—to Marsov’s—both the same. He burst unannounced into the
ante-chamber of the Princess’ apartments, bringing a shriek from each of
the sleepy maids.
“Your mistress—is she here?” he demanded.
“Her Highness retired hours ago, sir,” one of them replied tremblingly,
fright still upon her.
“But is she there now?—Send Marie here instantly.”
The French girl came, wrapped in a long chamber robe.
“Is your mistress asleep?” he asked.
“Yes, Monsieur le Prince, hours ago.”
He reached over and flung back her robe.
“Then why are you still dressed and waiting up for her? Don’t lie to me,
girl; where is Her Highness?”
“Monsieur doubts me?”
The Archduke made an angry gesture.
“Go to her—say I must speak with her at once.”
“Wake the Regent! I dare not, sir.”
He pushed her aside and went on into the next room. She sprang after, and
caught his hand.
“Your Highness!” she cried, “you would not!—you would not!”
He seized her by the arm. “You little fool! the truth—the truth—if your
mistress isn’t here, she is in awful peril—may be dead.” He shook her
almost fiercely. “The truth, I say, the truth!”
With a cry the girl sank to the floor.
“Peril!—death!” she echoed. “She but went for a ride, sir; I do not
understand——”
The Archduke was gone; he required no further information.
A quarter of an hour later, with thirty of the garrison at his back—all
that could be provided with horses—he set out for Lotzen Castle; leaving
it for Courtney, whose official position denied him the privilege of
going along, to telephone the Commandant at Porgia for troops.
“She went to save me, Dick,” he said; “now I will save her or——good-bye,”
and the two men had gripped hands hard, then the Archduke rode away.
At first, his anger had been hot against Moore and Bernheim, but now that
sober second thought was come, he knew that they were not to blame, that
the Regent herself had ordered them to the service and to silence. And
presently his hope rose at the thought of the one’s skilful sword and
sure revolver, and the other’s steady head and calm discretion; together,
with De Coursey and Marsov, there might be a chance that the Princess
would come out alive. But the hope grew suddenly very slender, as he
reached the valley road and saw the great light of Lotzen Castle shining
far away, and remembered his own sensations as he had stood under it that
afternoon, and who its master was and what.
They had been obliged to go slowly down the steep and winding avenue, now
he swung into a gallop and the six score hoofs went thundering through
the valley, leaving the startled inhabitants staring, and wondering at
the strange doings of all who came from the South. But them the Archduke
never saw—nor anything, indeed, save the track before him and the light
ahead, riding with hands low on the saddle, face set and stern;
implacable and relentless as the first Dalberg himself, the day he
rescued his lady from that same Castle of Lotzen and hung its Baron in
quarters from the gate tower.
Only once did the Archduke pause; at the Dreer, a moment to breathe the
horses and let them wet their throats. In the darkness he did not see a
bunch of horsemen round the turn in front and trot slowly toward him, nor
could he hear them for the thrashing of his own horses in the water. The
first he knew of them was Colonel Moore’s peremptory hail:
“What force is that yonder?”
With a shout that rang far into the night, Armand sent his mare bounding
through the stream.
“The Princess? the Princess?” he cried, “is she safe?”
And her own voice answered, joyful and triumphant.
“I’m here, Armand, I’m here.”
What need to tell what he said, as reining in close he drew her over to
him! The words were a bit incoherent, may be, but Dehra understood; and
presently she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Come, Sire,” she said, “let us go on—and when we get to the Castle, Your
Majesty shall have again the Book of Laws.”
“The Book! you cannot mean you’ve been in Lotzen Castle?”
She laughed her merry little laugh. “And out again—and the Book with us,
from under our dear cousin’s very eyes.”
“You brave girl!—you foolish child!—you wonder among women!” he
marvelled.
She put out her hand, and took his; and so they rode, back through the
valley and up the avenue to the Castle, and as they went she told him the
story of the night.
“But better than the Book, sweetheart,” she ended, as they drew up before
the entrance, “it saves you for Valeria and for me; had you been there,
helpless under his guns, not all the troops in the Kingdom would have
held Lotzen’s hand.”
“And better than all else,” he said, as he swung her down, “is your own
dear self.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, “I’m but a woman—you are the Dalberg and a
King.... Colonel Moore, bring your package to the library, and summon all
our friends.”
When they had come, the Princess took the bundle, still wrapped in its
black cloth, and handed it to Armand.
“Sire,” said she, “the Laws of the Dalbergs—found this night in Lotzen
Castle.”
Without a word he bent and kissed her hand,—then, laying the package on
the desk, he cut the strings and removed the cloth, exposing the big,
leather-covered, brass-bound volume.
“Read the decree, Sire!” she exclaimed.
He opened the book—stopped—turned a page—then slowly closed it.
“Suppose we wait, Your Highness, until the Royal Council is present,” he
said.
But something in his voice alarmed her—she sprang forward, pushed aside
his restraining arm, and seized the book. One glance inside—an
exclamation of bewildered incredulity; another glance—and the book
dropped to the floor.
“False!” she cried, “false!” and flung herself across the desk in an
hysteria of tears.
Instantly Courtney turned and quitted the room, and the rest after him,
leaving her and the Archduke alone together.
It was evening when the Princess appeared again. She came just as the
clock was striking nine, and taking the American Ambassador’s arm, led
the way in to dinner, which here was en famille, and without any ceremony
of the Court.
“Tell me, Mr. Courtney, that I don’t look quite so foolish as I feel,”
she laughed.
He let his eyes linger on her—this lovely woman who was a nation’s
toast—the imperially poised head, with the glorious, gleaming hair, and
the haughty, high-bred face that, when she willed, could be so sweet and
tender; the slender, rounded figure in its soft white gown of clinging
silk—he shook his gray head.
“If you feel as you look,” he answered, “you are not of this world, but
of Paradise.”
“O——h, monsieur! and Lady Helen just across the table.”
He fingered his imperial a moment, then leaned close.
“Helen is an angel, too,” he said.
“You mean—?” she exclaimed.
He smiled. “Yes, I mean—on our ride this afternoon—but don’t tell it,
now.”
She took his hand low under the board.
“I’m so glad,” she said; “Helen’s a dear—and so are you.” Then she gave a
little laugh. “This seems to have been a rather busy afternoon for
Cupid.”
“Another?—Mlle. d’Essoldé and Moore?”
She nodded. “Yes, but not a word of it, either—not even to Helen,”
quizzically.
“No, not even to Helen,” he said with well affected gravity, his lips
twitching the while.
A footman entered and passed a note to Colonel Bernheim, but the
Princess’ eyes had caught the pink of the envelope and she knew it was a
wire, and of exceeding importance to be brought there now—and it was for
the Archduke; if it were for her, Moore would have got it. Chatting gayly
with Courtney, she yet watched Bernheim, as he read the message, holding
it down, out of sight.
It seemed to be very brief, for almost instantly he glanced at the
Archduke—hesitated—then sent it to him.
“What is it, Armand?” she said, as he took it. “What has Lotzen done
now?”
“Why Lotzen?” he laughed, spreading the sheet on the cloth before them.
It was dated Dornlitz:—
“The Duke arrived here at eight-thirty this evening on the express from
the North. He was in disguise.
“Epping.”
“I don’t understand,” said she.
“Neither do I,” he answered; “that’s the trouble with our cousin, he is
always doing queer things.”
“But he was at Lotzen Castle this morning.”
“And is in Dornlitz now;—” he shoved the wire across to Courtney.—“Dick,
what do you make of this—what’s doing now?”
Courtney read it, then stared thoughtfully into his wine glass, twirling
it slowly the while, the amber bubbles streaming upward.
“I make enough of it,” he said, “to urge that you hurry back to the
Capital. The false Book was intended primarily to lure you here, where
you could be killed more easily, but its purpose also was to get you away
from Dornlitz. The first failed, because Her Highness forced Lotzen’s
hand so quickly he was unprepared; the second, however, has won,—he has
eluded you. I have always insisted that he hasn’t the Book, but now I am
persuaded that he knows where it is, and has gone for it.”
“Let us go, Armand!” the Princess exclaimed—“let us go instantly.”
He put his hand on her arm.
“We will go, dear,” he said—“see—” and turning over the sheet, he wrote:—
“Epping,
“Dornlitz.
“Keep him under surveillance. We leave to-night; reach Dornlitz by ten
A. M.
“Armand.”
“Yes,” said the Princess, “and add that he is to call the Royal Council
for half after ten at the Summer Palace.—I’m going to give Lotzen a
chance to explain a few things.”
XXIII
THE CANOPY OF SWORDS
When the train had crossed the Lorg and the towers of Dornlitz shone far
off to the front, the following morning, the Princess sent for the
Archduke.
“Armand,” said she, “I have been thinking—much of the night, indeed—and I
am persuaded that this day will see the end of our quest; don’t smile;
wait, wait until the day has passed. Lotzen knows where the Book is—he
hasn’t it—he never has had it—he would not have needed a counterfeit if
he had; besides, do you fancy he would have left it behind when he went
to Lotzenia—or that he would have come back here if he had it with him?
If he knows now where the Book is, he has known all along—then why hasn’t
he got it? Because it’s been impracticable, no adequate opportunity.
Where is the opportunity now that he hasn’t had before?—the Summer
Palace—with the Household gone, he can spend a day in it without
explanation or interruption—and the King’s suite is vacant. There Adolph
hid the Laws—and Lotzen knows where—and they are what he has gone for;
that is why he left his Castle night before last, within an hour after
me; he realized the false book would send us back to Dornlitz and that he
must go instantly if he would be there first. Oh, it’s all plain now—to
me at least.”
The Archduke went over and stood beside her, stroking her fair hair
softly with his finger tips.
“Sweetheart,” said he, “there is much force in what you say, and you will
also remember that Elise d’Essoldé saw Lotzen come from the library the
day you charged him with killing Adolph and stealing the Book. Yet the
answer to it all is, that the entire Palace has been searched and
vainly—and the King’s suite torn almost into bits. Hence, under the
facts, your theory seems unavailing.”
She looked up at him with a half disappointed smile, but with an
insistent shake of the head.
“You go too far with your facts, dear,” she said; “I, too, thought that
every inch of the King’s suite had been searched, but I’ve changed my
mind; it hasn’t been—if it had, we would have found the Laws.”—She gave a
cry and sprang up. “The box, Armand! the box! the Book’s in it.”
He looked at her in amazement.