THE DISH OF SWEETMEATS
As we drew near the Monastery my worthy host gave me a short sketch of
its history. How it had fallen from the high position it occupied in
mediæval times to be a Hostel of Mercy for the sick and dying (which,
indeed, thought I, in one sense it is still); then how the property
fell, by the changes and chances of time, into the hands of the State,
from which, for sporting purposes and a love of the picturesque, he was
induced to rent it. I had my doubts about a good deal of this plausible
story, but accepted the statements for what they were worth.
"Two or three survivors of the Order of St. Tranquillin," he continued,
"still live on the premises. I had not the heart to turn them adrift,
and as they confine themselves to a distant wing of the building we see
little or nothing of them."
I thought of the grave-diggers and their cassocks and cowls. Pretty
monks! A veritable house of mercy!
On our arrival at the pier, the drawbridge was let down. I saw that
it would have been impossible to gain a secret entrance that way. We
crossed the great courtyard, the door was thrown open, and at last I
was under the roof of Asta von Winterstein's prison. If the exterior
of the building was gloomy, it seemed positively gay compared with the
interior, which was dark, cold, gaunt, and depressing enough to make a
sexton shiver. The great entrance hall, in spite of the faded tapestry
with which it was hung, was inexpressibly bare and gloomy. What, I
thought, must that poor girl's feelings have been when she was brought
in? My own were such that it called for a strong effort of will to keep
my nerves steady. The Count led the way to a passage leading from the
hall, he opened a door and ushered me into a room which was furnished
in a style of luxurious snugness, in cheerful contrast to its approach.
As we entered, a lady rose, whom the Count made known as his sister.
There was not much likeness, however, between them; still, it was
hardly worth while to doubt the statement.
A handsome woman she must have been once, indeed was so still, but
the lines of the face were hard, and about the eyes was a suggestion
of a sad history. She looked at me curiously, the expression was but
momentary; then she seemed to resume a mask which for that instant
she had inadvertently let fall, and chatted pleasantly enough until
the Count suggested our getting ready for dinner. He conducted me
himself across the gloomy hall, thence upstairs to a well-appointed
dressing-room, like the rest of the house charged with a chilling
atmosphere of dreariness. Left alone, the sense of my great danger came
strong upon me. Knowing what I did of the Count, it was, I told myself,
sheer madness to touch food in his company. On the other hand I argued
that he, or rather Rallenstein, his master, would think twice before
attempting foul play with me. I might regard my host's polite attention
more as a means of keeping observation on me and my movements than as
a death-trap. It was hardly conceivable that they could have even an
inkling of my being aware that Fräulein von Winterstein was alive and
under that very roof. Anyhow, I was committed to the adventure; I had
an object to gain in going through with it; and must now trust to fate
and to my own alertness to bring me safely out.
It was my purpose to note as much of the interior of the Monastery as
I could. A glance out of the window explained the total darkness and
silence of the house as seen from without. It was built in the form
of a hollow parallelogram, round an open space on which, presumably,
the windows of the principal inhabited rooms looked out. By keeping,
then, the outer line of rooms dark and empty, no watcher from outside
could have any idea of what was going on within, nor tell whether the
place was deserted or occupied by a large household. The outlook upon
this middle space was no less dismal than the rest of the building.
The masonry was green from age and neglect, the lower windows were
crossed and recrossed by rusty bars, and the more than usually hideous
gargoyles did not detract from the cheerlessness of the aspect. I
wondered if any one of these barred windows was that of Asta von
Winterstein's prison. If so, a further scrutiny told me an attempt to
rescue her by anything short of force was practically hopeless. Still,
I resolved to keep my eyes on the alert for anything chance might have
to show me; it had so favoured me hitherto that I was inclined to
hope more from it. My reflections were interrupted by the knock of a
footman, who came to conduct me downstairs, an attention which, in my
spying mood, I did not appreciate so much as I did its probable reason.
In what I suppose would be called the drawing-room the Count and his
sister were waiting for me, he dressed in a dining-suit of dark blue
velvet which rather accentuated his peculiar characteristics. As dinner
was announced I discovered that we were not three, but four, as a man,
whom, if he had been in the room on my entrance, I had not noticed,
came forward from behind me.
"Ah, let me present Herr Bleisst, my good friend and secretary," the
Count said with a flourish. The good friend and secretary bowed low,
and as he straightened himself his face suggested to me that whatever
his merits as a secretary might be, those as a good friend to any one
were at least problematical. Then I offered my arm to the hostess and
we went in followed by the two men.
If I had any doubts as to a sinister motive behind the Count's
hospitality they were now dispelled in startling fashion.
As we entered the dining-room the Count and Bleisst, walking behind
us, separated, and for a moment turned their backs on us as each went
towards his place at the table. My hostess let her handkerchief fall
and we both by, as it were, a common impulse, stooped to pick it up. At
this instant, our heads being close together, she whispered hurriedly,
"Only pretend to eat the sweetmeats--for your life." As we rose she
was thanking me, and apologizing for her carelessness, and we took our
seats at the table.
I was inwardly not a little excited by her secret warning, but
flattered myself I showed nothing of it to the Count's restless,
vigilant eye. Before each of us was a gilt dish of sweetmeats,
specimens of the most perfect dainties of the confectioner's art. At
least, I should be able to eat the other dishes without fear--or was
this a trick within a trick? I thought not, but resolved all the same
to let my companions serve as tasters and to touch nothing they refused.
The dinner passed off with less dreariness than might have been
expected, considering all things. It was not exactly a lively meal, but
the Count had a fund of talk; he was, for such a scoundrel, a man of
considerable culture, and I even wondered how, amid the less innocent
pursuits to which he was addicted, he had found time to become as well
read, both in classical literature and the topics of the day, as he
showed himself to be. He was certainly an amusing talker, and although
some of his arguments were supported by reasoning shallow to the verge
of flippancy, yet they were none the less entertaining, and that just
then was everything. My appetite after a day in the keen air of the
hills was so good that not even the sight of what I might call the
second murderer of the establishment, that is, the man who had fetched
the priest from Carlzig, could quite spoil it. This fellow glided in
and out of the room occasionally, and seemed to combine the duties of
major-domo with those of the functionary I have just mentioned. The two
men who waited upon us I had never seen before, and from their faces I
set them down as being comparatively virtuous, which is not saying much.
Another curious circumstance gave me food for thought in the midst
of my host's showy apothegms. It was the somewhat remarkable silence
of his good friend and secretary. Herr Bleisst sometimes nodded,
occasionally shrugged, and often smiled, but it was not until dinner
was more than half over that he contributed anything audible to the
conversation. And even then he seemed to speak by mistake. The Count
was favouring me with his opinion on the respective advantages of an
autocratic and a democratic government, and supporting his preference
for the former by his usual method of highly coloured argument. He even
went so far as to assert that the autocratic rule gave greater freedom
to the people than they could get by governing themselves.
"Now, in England," he said, "you think yourselves absolutely free,
is it not so?" I bowed assent. "And yet," he proceeded, "a moment's
reflection should convince you that so far from this being the case,
there is, if I may speak without offence, more slavery in England than
in any other country. Take one section. What do you call a snob: is not
that merely another name for a slave?"
"It is voluntary servitude," I suggested.
"Granted," he replied. "But none the less real and constraining. Then
a stronger case is the liberty which your boasted freedom gives to one
class of men to make slaves of another; to the strong to coerce the
weak, the rich the poor. You smile! Surely you will not dispute that?"
My smile had been called up by the thought of a power used by the
strong against the weak under a certain despotic government, which put
the worst crimes of plutocracy into the shade. But it did not seem
expedient just then to cite instances.
"At least the weak and the poor are at liberty to refuse to be
enslaved," I answered by way of saying something. "In an autocratically
governed country it is slavery or death, with not always the option of
slavery."
The Count returned my smile with interest. "A very apt description of
your sweating dens in London."
Then it was that Bleisst spoke, giving an extra clinch to his patron's
argument.
"Where," said he, "does this liberty to refuse slavery lead? To the
workhouse, which is undisguised servitude, with the prospect of a
slave's only ransomer, death."
The surprise with which I looked at the secretary was not occasioned
altogether by the novelty of the remark from his lips, but from the
impression that I had heard his voice before. Yes, it was beyond doubt
familiar, and so preoccupied was I by the coincidence, that I fear I
let my ingenious host carry off the honours of the argument against my
country. I was still puzzling over the identity of Herr Bleisst, and
scrutinizing him as attentively as good manners allowed, when I was
recalled to the exigency of the situation by the Count's inviting me to
try some of the dish of sweetmeats before me.
"I have them sent weekly from Buyda," he said persuasively; "you know
our metropolis prides itself on these fascinating trifles, and will not
allow the superiority of even Vienna or Paris itself."
My hostess added a word of recommendation and pushed the dish towards
me. Understanding her feint of pressing them upon me, I took several of
the bon-bons on to my plate, and from time to time made a pretence of
eating one, at the same time being loud in praise of their excellent
flavour. A trick acquired in my school days of palming coins and cork
pellets stood me now in good stead, and in a short time the sweets had
left my plate and were safely stowed in my pocket.
The secretary, Bleisst, now began to join freely in the conversation,
and every fresh remark he made confirmed my conviction that I had
talked with him on some previous occasion, but certainly not under his
present identity.
As his sister rose and left us, the Count came to me, and, laying
his hand familiarly on my shoulder, told me he could not think of
permitting me to turn out that night and go all the way to the inn.
"You must sleep here," he insisted. "I need not apologize to a man of
your nerve for the gloom of our rooms. We have doubtless both had worse
hunting quarters, and I can furnish you with everything you need to
make you comfortable. So you must not say no."
I had all along expected this invitation, and had made up my mind to
go through with the adventure at all hazards, leaving to chance the
details of a vague plan I had formed for discovering Fräulein von
Winterstein's prison. Accordingly I thanked him and accepted.
"That is friendly of you," he said. "Bleisst, will you see that all
arrangements are made for Mr. Tyrrell's comfort. I think the Prior's
room will be most pleasant."
The secretary had come up to us, and now turned with a slight bow to
go off on his errand. As he did so, some expression in his face, which
I had not noticed before, gave me in a flash the clue to his identity.
Then I knew who he was. The face was curiously, unaccountably changed;
it was fifteen or twenty years younger; the man's expression and mode
of speaking were different. Nevertheless, a tell-tale slip had betrayed
him, and now, perfect as his disguise had been, I recognized in the
smug, clean-shaven Herr Bleisst none other than the _soi-disant_
Professor Seemarsh.