A MYSTERY OF THE PALACE
The antechamber of the King, in the great Summer Palace on the hill,
was crowded with officers of the Army and Navy, financiers and
statesmen, diplomats and courtiers. The officers and the diplomats wore
the uniforms of their respective services. The rest were clad in court
costume, consisting of knee-breeches and tunic, strongly suggesting
the court dress of the times of Louis XVI. It is said that fashions,
like history, repeat themselves and here was a reversion to the models
of the gay French court in the days of the Bourbons. With the splendor
of color and the glittering crosses and orders upon the breasts of the
men, the scene was a brilliant one.
A gorgeously attired attendant stood at the door leading into the
inner audience chamber. At intervals someone who had been received in
audience would pass out and the attendant, in a loud voice, would call
a name and the favored one would pass to the audience chamber.
“General Mainwarren!” called the attendant, presently, and the General,
leaving the side of Colonel Cuming, advanced and passed in.
The audience accorded the General was not prolonged. In a short time he
returned to the antechamber. There was a slight flush upon his face and
his mouth was set in a determined line.
“How did matters pass off?” inquired the Colonel anxiously.
“Nothing decisive,” replied General Mainwarren. “I am commanded to
remain at Court pending further discussion. I had, though, a rather
sharp passage of arms with Milord Ashley.”
“Colonel Sir Maynard Cuming and party!” the attendant at that moment
announced; and the Colonel, followed by the Professor and Kearns,
entered the audience chamber.
The King was seated in a massive chair of magnificently carved oak,
beside a portentous-looking table, littered with documents of state and
other papers tied together with pink or blue silk ribbon. As he sat
there, he presented the appearance of a man slightly above the middle
height, slight of figure and thin of face, with keen, bright blue
eyes, a long and luxuriant brown moustache and short, closely clipped,
lighter-brown beard. The face, deeply marked with lines of thought and
care, showed keen perception and sharp intuition. His movements were
quick and nervous. There was one noticeable mannerism. The face had
a peculiar aptitude for breaking into a smile which at its moment of
origin was bright and cheery and, so lasting for a moment, suddenly
died away into a fixed, cold stare. It was as a gleam of sunshine,
followed by frost. He was garbed in the dress of the Court and upon his
breast glittered a single order.
Beside and slightly behind him stood Lord Cyril Ashley, Vice-Chancellor
of the Empire and Master of the Imperial Household. Lord Ashley was
a well-preserved man of middle age; tall, handsome, and of soldierly
bearing. The face, with its dark eyes, strongly marked brows and
sweeping black moustache, was that of a man of stern will and strong
determination. He was dressed in the dashing uniform of a Captain of
the Guards.
Colonel Cuming advanced, bowing low before the King, followed by his
two companions. The Colonel was received by His Majesty with marked
cordiality and at the royal invitation he presented the Professor and
Kearns. As the latter was presented, the King turned upon him a sharp,
scrutinizing glance.
His Majesty listened to the story of the resurrection of the two
wayfarers from the past with an air of marked interest and after asking
a number of questions signified that the interview was at an end. But
it was the royal wish that Mr. Thomas Kearns should remain in special
audience.
Colonel Cuming and the Professor accordingly backed out of the royal
presence, leaving Kearns somewhat astonished and perplexed amid his
novel surroundings.
“History records, Mr. Kearns,” said the King, “that you were the most
skilful and the most successful Chief of Secret Service this country
has ever known. Is not that correct, Milord?” he asked, turning to Lord
Ashley.
“It is so recorded, Sire,” answered the Vice-Chancellor. “Our
historians and our writers of fiction have alike presented to us Mr.
Kearns as the great Chief of Secret Service of the Western world--the
equal of Vidocq, or of Fouché, if not their superior.”
“Just so,” said the King; “and it is precisely a Fouché that we need
at our court at the present time. Your old-time cunning is, doubtless,
still with you?”
Kearns bowed somewhat awkwardly.
“I do not know, Sire,” he answered simply.
He had heard both Colonel Cuming and Lord Ashley address the King as
“Sire,” and he thought it best to follow this form.
“How so--you do not know?” inquired the King.
“Well, Sire,” replied Kearns, “as such talents as I once had have not
had a chance of being exercised during seventy-five years, they may
have become somewhat rusty. Besides, your writers have, perhaps, taken
liberties and have exaggerated somewhat.”
“Ah,” exclaimed the King, his face breaking into a pleasant smile; “the
modesty of genius!” The smile faded suddenly into that peculiar frosty
stare, and he continued: “We have, however, less need for modesty than
for action. Do you feel your abilities impaired?”
“Not in the least, Sire,” came the quick answer. “I feel as well as
ever I did in my life.”
“Why, then,” retorted the King, “should you question your ability? Is
it not true that upon one occasion you detected the writer of certain
letters from among a whole cityful of people?”
“I had so many cases in my time, Sire,” answered Kearns, with some
hesitancy, “that I scarcely recollect the particular case you seem to
have in mind. My memory has grown a little faint after this lapse of
time. If you could give me a few details as to the circumstances----”
“The circumstances,” exclaimed the King, “were, as we remember them, as
follows: An ancestor of one of our most distinguished subjects--Baron
Gold--had been the recipient of a number of letters, written by some
unknown writer, threatening him with assassination. He sent to you for
aid in his peril and, it is recorded, within forty-eight hours, by a
most ingenious plan, you had detected and apprehended the malefactor.
Is this true?”
Kearns with difficulty restrained himself from laughing outright. Well
he remembered the case now and the shrewd face of the ancestor of the
distinguished Baron Gold rose with startling vividness before his
mental vision.
“Quite true, Sire,” he answered gravely; “but the case was a rather
simple one.”
“A rather simple one! We would have you tell us how you accomplished
these things.”
“In this way, Sire,” replied Kearns. “As you have said, our
friend--that is, I should say, the--ah--distinguished ancestor of the
distinguished Baron Gold had been in receipt of letters threatening him
with death, unless he paid a certain money tribute. He was a man of
wealth--of very great wealth--but he had a constitutional aversion to
parting with it. Almost equally he disliked the possibility of sudden
death.”
Again the King smiled his peculiar smile of mingled sunshine and frost.
“How the characteristics of the ancestor are carried down through the
generations!” he remarked to Lord Ashley.
The latter smiled and bowed a respectful acquiescence.
“Proceed!” said the King.
“Brought face to face with these two almost equally disagreeable
alternatives,” continued Kearns, “he sent for me. Investigation quickly
showed me that all the letters had been mailed within a certain radius
in the city. I caused such action to be taken by the ancestor of Baron
Gold as was likely to lead to an early reply from the unknown letter
writer. Then I proceeded to throw out my net. I caused every drop box
in the post offices and every pillar box in the streets within the
suspected district to be watched by two persons--the one an employe
of the Post Office, the other one of my men. The moment a letter was
dropped, the Post Office employe would proceed to examine the address
on such letter. If it was not addressed to the threatened person, a
rubber band was twisted over the envelope to distinguish it from
anything dropped later. In this way the Post Office man was readily
enabled to distinguish all the examined letters from the latest one
dropped.
“This method,” pursued Kearns, “was continued systematically for a day
and a night without yielding any result. On the afternoon of the second
day, however, a man approached a letter box in one of the side streets,
deposited a letter and hastily walked away. The Post Office employe
stepped to the box, opened it as usual and--up went his hand above his
head. This was the agreed signal. In an instant my man was after the
depositor of the letter and had him in custody. He was brought before
me and the letter, opened in his presence by--ah--the ancestor of Baron
Gold, contained conclusive proof of his guilt. The man turned out to be
a monomaniac, hence his peculiar cunning and the difficulty experienced
in catching him in any of the ordinary traps usually laid in such
cases. But, you see, after all, the case was simple enough.”
“It was highly ingenious,” decided the King. “It is recorded also that
out of a band of men you picked a murderer by an examination of the
hands of these men. Is this so?”
“Yes, Sire,” answered Kearns; “that’s quite correct. The case was a
more difficult one. The circumstances were somewhat repellant.”
“Nevertheless, we would learn them,” said the King.
“A woman had been murdered by one of that species of fiends, half
criminal, half madman, who spring up from time to time. The murderer
in this case, after killing his victim, had torn away certain portions
of the body. In the course of his devilish work, he had cut into and
mutilated a portion of the intestines. My investigations discovered
that a short time before the murder the woman had eaten a certain kind
of food. From other circumstances learned by me I was convinced that
one of a certain number of men had slain her. I had these men brought
before me and caused the lodgments under their finger-nails to be
carefully scraped and preserved in separate packages. A scientific
examination of the contents of one package disclosed the presence of
human blood corpuscles, together with certain minute particles, the
chemical resultants of that particular food of which the woman had
partaken shortly before her death. In a word, I had the murderer.”
“Skilful, decidedly skilful,” commented the King. “It is precisely for
such skill that we have urgent need at the present time.”
“In what direction, Sire?”
“Here--at our Court. We have decided to retain you in our service and
we count upon your fidelity and the exercise of your uttermost skill.”
Kearns bowed. The ancestor of the distinguished Baron Gold and the
numerous other great men who had been wont to invoke his services
in the olden time had adopted a tone of supplication rather than of
patronage. However, he accepted the change as part and parcel of the
new order of things and Mr. Thomas Kearns was a man to adapt himself to
any and all existing circumstances.
“Listen, then,” said the King. “For some time past our peace has been
disturbed--nay, the safety of our very person threatened--from some
unknown source which all the energy of our Secret Service has been
unable to discover. We look to you to discover that source--to run to
earth these arch-enemies of our peace and safety.”
“Will you furnish me with further details, Sire?”
“It was some months ago,” continued the King, “when we awoke one
morning to find a paper on the table beside our bed. It is needless
to recount what this paper contained. Suffice that it held demands
and threats. You will realize the importance of this happening, for
he who had the power to deposit that paper had also the power to have
inflicted more material injury.”
Kearns bowed his assent.
“Our sleeping apartment,” resumed the King, “is some fifty feet from
the ground. There are sentinels on the roof of the palace and in the
grounds below. The sentinels were trebled and other precautions taken
and yet again this occurrence came to pass.”
“Another document,” questioned Kearns, “of the same character,
deposited under the same circumstances?”
“Precisely,” said the King, and a perceptible shiver passed over him;
“but yet stranger things were to happen. Extraordinary precautions were
now taken. The surroundings of the room were filled with sentinels,
men were posted in the corridors, an officer of the guard stationed
in the antechamber. At our side slept our faithful mastiff, Victor--a
noble brute, of great sagacity and strength. The doors leading into
our apartment were sealed from the inside by our own hand, so that no
movement of these doors could be made without disturbing these seals.
Were these not precautions enough?”
“The value of a precaution is best tested by its efficacy, Sire,”
replied Kearns cautiously.
“Then,” exclaimed the King, “these precautions were without value, for
one night, some four weeks ago, there was another visitation.”
“Indeed, Sire?”
“Our repose had lasted some two hours when we were sharply awakened
by the furious barking of the dog, followed by his savage growls. His
head was bent to the ground and he savagely clutched something between
his teeth. Nothing in the apartment was disturbed; nothing beyond the
actions of the animal was to be noted; the seals on the doors were
undisturbed. And yet--between the teeth of the dog was a document,
folded and tied together. It contained the same demands, repeated the
same threats. With an apartment fifty feet above the ground, armed
sentinels filling every avenue, the doors fastened by seals, how did it
get there--how did it get there!” cried the King with agitation.
“The possibility of a trap door in floor or ceiling, or of a secret
entrance of any kind to the chamber is not to be entertained, of
course?” asked Kearns.
“Not for a moment!” exclaimed the King. “You may pass that by as not
needing further consideration. Eh, Milord Ashley?”
“Oh, undoubtedly!” answered the Master of the Household. “The apartment
has been thoroughly examined from every side. Any secret means of
ingress through floor, walls or ceiling is absolutely impossible.”
“But there are chimneys--windows?”
“Chimneys, no,” replied Lord Ashley. “We warm to-day by electricity and
there isn’t a chimney in the whole palace. As to windows, yes; there
are four.”
“Were they shuttered, or screened?”
“Screened?” exclaimed Lord Ashley with bewilderment. “How do you
mean--screened?”
“Why,” answered Kearns, equally astonished at this observation, “I
mean, of course, screened against flies--mosquitoes.”
“Flies--mosquitoes!” exclaimed the King and Lord Ashley in the same
breath. Both gave a hearty guffaw.
Kearns was visibly nettled. This was, indeed, different from the old
days. He was certainly not accustomed to being laughed at. The last
time this had occurred was when he had been outwitted upon one occasion
by Converse, the so-called King of Counterfeiters--an experienced,
clever and wily old wrongdoer. Kearns never forgave that laugh, and
it was not long until Converse, in spite of his great ability, fell
into an especially clever net set by Kearns. Incidentally, he paid
the penalty of that laugh with a twenty years’ sentence. It was not a
healthy occupation to laugh at Mr. Kearns in those days.
Lord Ashley noticed Kearns’ very evident chagrin.
“No, no,” he hastened to explain; “thanks to our modern scientists we
have no flies or--ah--mosquitoes in these days. They are unknown to-day
except as curiosities in the collection of some scientist, or under
the glass cases in our museums. It is quite natural,” he added, with a
conciliatory wave of the hand, “that you should have--ah--overlooked
this fact.”
But Mr. Kearns’ chagrin was not to be so easily dissipated.
“Conditions have doubtless changed,” he said somewhat testily, “and I
see nothing to be gained by any desultory examination of the facts.
It will be necessary for me to make a personal investigation of the
surroundings themselves.”
“Every facility shall be accorded you,” said the King. “Quarters shall
be assigned you in the palace. Do you think,” he inquired anxiously,
“that you will succeed?”
“I’m not accustomed to failure, Sire,” answered Kearns almost curtly.
“Succeed, then,” exclaimed the King, “and the reward which shall
be yours shall be such as to emphasize the distinction between the
liberality of a Court and the proverbial ingratitude of Republics.”
Kearns bowed.
“I can undertake to prosecute this investigation successfully,” he
said, “under one condition only.”
“It is?” asked the King.
“I’ve been accustomed, Sire,” said Kearns with dignity, “to pursue
certain methods peculiarly my own. Those methods I must continue if I
am to be successful. You’ve doubtless had people at work on this case.
They must be called off. In a word, I must not be interfered with. I
must have sole and entire charge.”
“But suppose you should need assistance?”
“Then I’ll ask for it. Also, I reserve the right to select my
assistants.”
Both the King and Lord Ashley seemed to hesitate. At last the King
spoke.
“Those so far employed have failed,” he said. “It shall be as you ask.”
“Then, Sire,” said Kearns, “I’ve but one other request to make.”
“Name it,” said the King.
“That my companion, Professor Dean, be permitted to remain.”
“A most natural desire,” exclaimed the King. “Our Master of the
Household will issue such orders as will insure every facility to you
and every comfort to you both. You will attend the Court ball to-night;
it will afford you opportunities of observation.”
His Majesty signified that the audience was at an end and Mr. Kearns
withdrew.
“Professor,” said Kearns, after they had been conducted to the quarters
assigned them in the palace, “didn’t I predict that there were special
reasons why we should be welcomed here? With our services in demand and
with the freedom of the Imperial Palace, we don’t seem to be doing so
badly for wayfarers in a strange land.”
“That’s true,” said the Professor. “There is some danger, then,
threatening the King?”
“Yes.”
“Serious?”
“From what I can judge of the case thus far,” said Mr. Kearns
thoughtfully, “I should say yes! Serious--_quite serious_!”