A COURT PHYSICIAN
Schönvalhof was an old grey stone house, standing not far from the
foot of pine-covered hills. A substantial dwelling, its interior more
comfortable and homelike than my first view of its somewhat rugged
exterior led me to expect. It was, they told me, built on a part of
the site of an old Baronial castle, some ruins of which still stood
adjacent to the modern house. A couple of old family servants made us
comfortable at the short notice, and we had decided that, for a time
at least, Lindheim should continue his rôle of the sick man; Szalay
that of his personal attendant. We felt it would be madness for either
of them to venture out of doors just then, so the pretence of illness
could be kept up without much deprivation.
For we were certain that we should be followed, and that attempts would
be made to get quietly rid of the witnesses of that fatal marriage.
How the next blow would be aimed, from what quarter it would come, we
could not even conjecture. But that it was to be looked for we all
were certain. If there was one quality which in Chancellor Rallenstein
was distinguished above another, it was tenacity of purpose. To him
a temporary baffling was but a provocative; the slightest hint of
opposition at once banished all hesitation. So we had every reason to
feel sure that he would draw the net round us. Still, life was strong
in the two marked victims, and the longer we could put off the stroke
the more chance there might be of fate coming to our rescue. Nothing
but that, they felt. Help from outside it was vain to look for. For
in that small independent State the supreme power, that is, of the
Chancellor, was a law unto itself. His authority was boundless and
answerable to no one, and if the deaths of two or three of the King's
subjects were necessary for motives of State policy, why, short of a
revolution, Rallenstein had no reckoning to fear. My case, as a British
subject, I felt was different; not that I could consider myself by any
means outside the danger line. I was in the _galère_, or--what was more
to the point--in the secret, and had little doubt that a "regrettable
accident" was being prepared for me. Our one satisfaction was in the
thought that the Jaguar would have to crawl warily and strike silently,
knowing that a bungle would probably mean the publishing of the secret
he was taking so much trouble to keep. And this was where I, vaguely
enough, saw a ray of hope.
For two or three days we lived quietly without the smallest sign of
molestation; no stranger, nothing abnormal was noticed about the
place--and I kept a sharp look-out--till we almost began to fancy that
we were to be let alone. A formal letter had been sent informing the
authorities of Von Lindheim's illness as an excuse for his absenting
himself from his duties, and of this a mere acknowledgment had been
received. That was all. Of Szalay we said nothing, and we hoped
Rallenstein's spies had no scent of his whereabouts. Certainly, it
would not have been so easy to give a valid excuse for his absence.
So, as the days passed, we seemed to gain more confidence and hope from
detecting no sign of danger; at least, we got to look at the bright
side of the business, till suddenly a rude awakening came.
But first of all, to take the history of those anxious days in order.
Von Lindheim received one morning an official letter, inquiring as to
his health, and saying, further, that the King had heard with concern
of the serious and regretted illness of such an esteemed member of his
royal service, and had graciously commanded that the Herr Hof-Artzt
Beckmeister should pay the patient a visit on behalf of his Majesty,
who trusted to receive a more favourable report of Herr von Lindheim's
condition. This letter filled my friends with dismay. But the move
was so obvious and natural that the only wonder was it had not been
foreseen. I asked what manner of man the Court Physician was.
"He is a dandified old scoundrel; a humbug as a doctor, but no fool.
And he has skill enough, acting upon a hint, to diagnose that I have
nothing the matter with me. Of course it is obvious what he is sent
down for. He is a creature of Rallenstein's, who, however, does not
employ him when he himself is ill."
"We must do the best we can with him," I said, turning over in my
mind various tricks to that end. "We can't keep him from seeing and
examining you, and of course that means discovery that you are in more
or less robust health."
"But they must think I drank the poison."
"Yes; that's in our favour. And that is the idea we must work. The dose
was too small, and consequently only partly operative. The physical
effects have now passed off, but they have left brain trouble, and your
nerves are shattered. Herr Hof-Artzt Beckmeister is presumably no brain
specialist nor an authority on the after-effects of certain, or rather
uncertain, poisons. His stethoscope and thermometer will tell him
nothing to refute our story; he may have suspicions, but that is all."
So we planned the conduct of the interview, and I, at any rate, awaited
with a certain amused curiosity the arrival of Herr Beckmeister.
He came next morning in a hired carriage from the station. A
dressed-up, brushed-up villain, with diamond rings, studs and pin,
a heavy gold watch chain, gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and gold-knobbed
malacca stick. A crafty, sensual face, and a sharp eye that meant
business. "Ah," thought I, "you've had your instructions, that's
plain." But I received him with all the respect which would have
been his due had he been the man he pretended, and possibly believed
himself, to be.
His Majesty had graciously honoured him with a command to visit my
friend. Herr von Lindheim was better to-day, he ventured to hope.
I thereupon described the illness, somewhat differently, perhaps,
from the visitor's expectation. My friend and I had supped on such
an evening at the house of a charming lady in Buyda--possibly well
known to the Herr Hof-Artzt, the Baroness Fornbach. The Herr Hof-Artzt
conveyed by a bow and a smirk that he was one of that lady's circle.
"On the way home," I continued, "my friend was taken alarmingly ill. I
got him with difficulty to his house; he was put to bed." I described
his symptoms. "But he grew so much worse that we feared he would not
live through the night, which was likewise the opinion of the doctor we
called in."
"Who was that?"
"Doctor Rothmer."
The Herr Hof-Artzt groaned and gave a shrug.
"In the morning, however, my friend felt easier, but in oppressive fear
of death. His one idea was to reach his home and die here. The desire
seemed so strong that I hastily procured a carriage and brought him
hither in the hope that the change would restore him."
"And it has?" he asked expectantly.
"In a great, great measure. The alarming bodily symptoms have subsided,
but, Herr Doctor, it seems as though a worse calamity had befallen us."
"Indeed?" He looked at me curiously, but I think could make nothing of
my anxious, innocent manner.
"Yes. I fear his brain is affected. He is painfully nervous, and is
under the impression that he has been maliciously poisoned. He rambles
about enemies who are seeking his life, and all my reasoning cannot
persuade him of his fallacy."
Again Herr Beckmeister looked sharply at me, so sharply that I wondered
how much of the business he knew. Then he rose, and, pulling out just
the watch I should have imagined him to carry, a showy monstrosity,
with a gaudily enamelled device on each side of the case, suggested, as
he wished to catch a certain train back, he should see the patient. As
this was inevitable, I led the way with a great show of alacrity, even
thankfulness, and showing him Von Lindheim's room, left them together.
We had planned that Von Lindheim should very vaguely, yet with a mad
insistence, take the Doctor into his confidence, and by a long recital
of supposed danger keep him from a too searching examination. Whether
it succeeded or not we never knew. When, after a twenty minutes'
interview, Beckmeister came out of the room, he would give nothing away.
"Your friend," he said to me, "seems in surprisingly good bodily health
after what we have heard of his attack. You will understand, however,
that my report is for His Majesty's ear, and that etiquette forbids me
to forecast it even to you."
So with another flourish of his abominable watch, and some vague
expressions of sympathy, he bowed himself into the carriage and drove
off.