A NIGHT ADVENTURE
I felt completely satisfied with the result of my conversation with
Madame d'Artelle. I had had some qualms about the manner in which I
had entered her house; feeling, it must be confessed, something like a
spy. But our relations would now be changed. It would be at most an
alliance of hostility. I should only remain because she would deem it
more dangerous for me to leave; she would trust me no further than she
dared; and as I had openly acknowledged that I had an object of my own
in view, I need no longer have any scruples about staying.
I had made excellent use of my opportunities, moreover; and if my last
shaft had really hit the bull's-eye--that the influence behind her was
that of Karl's brother--the discovery would be of the utmost value.
Could it be Count Gustav? Instead of packing my trunks I sat trying to
answer that question and the others which flowed from it. I had always
heard him spoken of not only as a man of high capacity and integrity
but as a staunch friend to his brother Karl. Yet he was a man; and he
might be as false as any other. I would take no man's good faith for
granted.
There was the crucial fact, too, that Karl's ruin meant Gustav's
advantage. Every one expressed regret that Karl and not Gustav was to
be the future Duke; and if others felt this, was Gustav himself likely
to hold a different opinion? From such an opinion it was no doubt a
far cry to form a deliberate plot to secure the dukedom; but Gustav was
no more than a man; and men had done such things before.
I hoped they would send for me, that I might judge for myself. I could
understand how my interference with such a scheme, if he had formed it,
would rouse his resentment; and the difficulty it would present. To
send me out of the house would in his view be tantamount to giving away
the whole scheme at once to General von Erlanger; and I settled it with
myself therefore that, if he was really at the back of the plot, he
would be as eager to see me as I was to see him.
An hour passed and I was beginning to think I was wrong, when Madame's
French maid came to my room, saying that her mistress would very much
like to speak to me.
"Where is she, Ernestine?"
"In the salon, mademoiselle."
"Alone?"
"M. le Comte Gustav is with her."
"I will go to her," I said; and as she closed the door I laughed. I
was not wrong, it seemed, but very much right; and I went down to meet
them with the confidence borne of the feeling that I knew their object
while they were in ignorance of mine.
People did the Count no less than justice in describing him as a
handsome man. He had one of the handsomest faces I had ever looked
upon; eyes of the frankest blue, a most engaging air, and a smile that
was almost irresistibly winning.
He held out his hand when Madame presented him, and spoke in that
ingratiating tone which is sometimes termed caressing.
[Illustration: "He held out his hand when Madame presented him."]
"I have desired so much to know Madame d'Artelle's new friend, Miss
Gilmore. I trust you will count me also among your friends."
"You are very kind, Count. You know we Americans have a weakness for
titles. You flatter me." I was intensely American for the moment, and
almost put a touch of the Western twang in my accent.
"You are really American, then?"
"You bet. From Missouri, Jefferson City: as fine a town in as fine a
State as anywhere in the world. Not that I run down these old-world
places in Europe. Have you been in the States?"
"To my regret, no."
"Ah, then you haven't seen what a city should be. Fine broad straight
streets, plenty of air space, and handsome buildings."
"I know that American women are handsome," he replied, with a look
intended to put the compliment on me. But I was not taking any.
"I guess we reckon looks by the dollar measure, Count. You should see
our girls at home."
"You must regret living away from your country."
"Every man must whittle his own stick, you know, and every woman too.
Which means, I have to make my own way."
"You are more than capable, I am sure."
"I can try to plough my own furrow, sure."
"You have come to Pesth for that purpose?"
"Yes--out of the crowd."
"What furrow do you think of ploughing here?"
"Well, just at present I'm in Madame's hands, you see. And I think
we're getting to understand one another, some. Though whether we're
going to continue to pull in the same team much longer seems
considerably doubtful."
"I am very anxious to help you, Christabel, dear," put in Madame
d'Artelle; and I knew from that "dear," pretty much what was coming.
"It would give me much pleasure to place what influence I have at your
disposal, Miss Gilmore."
"I must say I find everybody's real kind," I answered, demurely.
"There is General von Erlanger saying very much the same thing."
"You speak German with an excellent idiom," said the Count, with a
pretty sharp look. "One is tempted to think you have been in Europe
often before."
I laughed. "I was putting a little American into the accent, Count, as
a matter of fact. I have a knack for languages. I know Magyar just as
well. And French, and Italian, and a bit of Russian. I'm a student of
comparative folk lore, you know; and I'm getting up Turkish and Servian
and Greek."
"But surely you have been much in Europe?"
"I was in Paris three years ago;" and at that Madame d'Artelle looked
away.
"So Madame told me," he said, suggestively. "It was there you met, of
course. It was there you made your mistake about her, I think."
"What mistake was that?"
"That Madame's husband was still alive."
So he was a scoundrel after all, and this was to be the line of tactics.
"Oh, that is to be taken as a mistake, is it?" I said this just as
though I were ready to fall in with the suggestion.
"Not taken as a mistake, Miss Gilmore. It is a mistake. We have the
proofs of his death."
"'We'?" I rapped back so sharply that he winced.
"Madame has confided in me," he replied.
"Well, from all accounts she has not lost much; and must be glad to be
free to marry again."
His eyes smiled. "You are very quick, Miss Gilmore."
"I am not so quick as Madame," I retorted; "because she has got these
proofs within the last hour. It is nothing to me, of course; but I
don't think we are getting on so quickly to an understanding as we
might."
"You know that I am my brother's friend as well as Madame's in this?"
"What does that mean?"
"In regard to the marriage on which my brother's heart is so deeply
set. You are willing to help it also?"
"How can it concern me? What for instance would happen to me if I were
not?" I paused and then added, significantly: "And what also if I
were?"
"I think we shall arrive at a satisfactory understanding," he answered,
with obvious relief. "Those who help my family--a very powerful and
influential one, I may remind you--are sure to secure a great measure
of our favour."
"I desire nothing more than that," said I, with the earnestness of
truth--although the favour which I needed was not perhaps in his
thoughts.
"Madame would of course like to know a good deal about all who
co-operate with her," he declared, very smoothly and suggestively.
"What do you wish to know about me; and what do you wish me to do?"
"Americans are very direct," he replied, bowing. "She would leave you
to tell us what you please, of course, and afford such means as you
think best for her to make inquiries."
"Every one in Jefferson City knew my uncle, John P. Gilmore, knows that
he educated me, and that what little money he left came to me. My
father was a failure in life, and my mother died when I was a little
child. I'm afraid I haven't made much history so far. And that's
about all there is to it. What matters to me is not the past but the
present and, perhaps, the future."
"You have no friends in Pesth?"
"None, unless you count General von Erlanger; I was his children's
governess and used to play chess with him."
"And your motive in coming here?" There was a glint in his eyes I did
not understand.
"I thought I had told you. I am a student in the University."
"That is all?"
I laughed. "Oh no, indeed it isn't. I am just looking around to shake
hands with any opportunity that chances to come my way. I am a
soldieress of fortune. That's why I came to Madame d'Artelle. Not to
study folk lore."
"In Paris you were not a student?"
"Oh, you mean I was better off then? My uncle Gilmore was alive; and
we all thought he was rich."
"Pardon my inquisitiveness yet further. You know New York well?" This
was the scent, then.
"I know Fifth Avenue, have walked about Broadway, and once stood in a
whirl of amazement on Brooklyn Bridge. But I haven't a friend in the
whole city."
"Were you there five years ago?"
I affected to search my memory. "That would be in ninety-five. I was
eighteen. I have been about so much in the States that my flying
visits to New York are difficult to fix. Was that the year I went to
California? If so, I did not go East as well, and yet I fancy I did.
No, that was to Chicago and down home through St. Louis."
"I mean for a considerable stay in New York?"
"Oh, I shouldn't forget that. That was three years ago before I
started for Paris," I said, laughing lightly. "I had the time of my
life then."
"Did you ever meet a Miss Christabel von Dreschler?"
Where was he leading me now? What did he know? I shook my head
meditatively. "I have met hundreds of girls but I don't remember her
among them."
"She must resemble you closely, Miss Gilmore, just as she has the same
Christian name. My brother knew her and declares that you remind him
of her."
I laughed lightly and naturally. "I should scarcely have believed he
had eyes or thoughts for any woman except Madame d'Artelle."
"Pardon me if I put a very plain question. You have acknowledged to be
seeking your fortune here. You are doing so in your own name? You are
not Miss von Dreschler?"
I took umbrage at once and showed it. I rose and answered with all the
offended dignity I could assume. "When I have cause to hide myself
under an alias, Count, it will be time to insult me with the suggestion
that I am ashamed of my own name of Gilmore."
He was profuse in his apologies. "Please do not think I intended the
slightest insult. Nothing was farther from my thoughts. I was merely
speaking out of my hope that that might be the case. I am exceedingly
sorry. Pray resume your seat."
I had scored that game, so I consented to be pacified and sat down
again. I was curious to see what card he would play next.
He pulled at his fair moustache in some perplexity.
"You expressed a desire just now to have the advantage of my family's
influence, Miss Gilmore."
"Am I to remain with Madame, then?" I asked, blandly.
"Of course you are, dear," she answered for herself.
"You are willing to help her and my brother in this important matter?"
said the Count.
"How can I help? I am only a stranger. And I should not call it
helping any one to connive at a marriage when one of the parties is
already married. I would not do that."
The handsome face darkened; and in his impatience of a check he made a
bad slip.
"Our influence is powerful to help our friends, Miss Gilmore, and not
less powerful to harm our antagonists."
I laughed, disagreeably. "I see. A bribe if I agree, a threat if I do
not. And how do you think you could harm an insignificant person like
me? I am not in the least afraid of you, Count."
"I did not mean to threaten," he said, rather sullenly, as he saw his
mistake. "You can do us neither harm nor good for that matter. You
are labouring under a mistake as to Madame d'Artelle's husband--her
late husband; and by speaking of the matter might cause some temporary
inconvenience and slander. We do not wish you to do so. That is all.
"I have not yet been shown that it is a mistake."
"The proofs shall be given to you." He spoke quite angrily. "In the
meantime if you speak of the matter, you will offend and alienate us
all."
"It seems a very lame conclusion for all this preamble," I answered,
lightly, as I got up. "Produce the proofs and I of course have no more
to say. But until they are produced I give no pledge to hold my
tongue;" and without troubling myself to wait for a reply, I left the
room.
I had obtained the information I needed as to the power behind Madame
d'Artelle, and I had something to do. They intended to produce proofs
of M. Constan's death, and I resolved to get the proof that he was
still living.
Leaving a message for Madame that I had to go to the university for an
evening lecture, I drove to the house which I had taken on coming to
Pesth.
In passing through Paris I had seen the friend who had formerly given
me the information about Madame, and I now telegraphed to him that I
must know the whereabouts of M. Constans at once, and that no expense
was to be spared in getting the information.
I had brought three servants with me from home, John Perry and his wife
and their son, James. The last was a sharp, clever young fellow, and
he was now in Paris where I had sent him to get information about
Madame d'Artelle. I wired to him also, telling him what further
information I needed; and I instructed him to help in the matter and
wire me the instant M. Constans had been traced.
That done I set out to return to Madame's. I was not nervous at being
out alone at such a time, night prowling having long been a habit with
me. I was perfectly able to take care of myself, too; for at home I
had been accustomed to carry a revolver, and was an excellent shot. If
any one interfered with me, it was not I who was likely to come worse
off.
I think it is just nonsense that girls must always be "seen home" in
the dark. It is a good excuse for flirtation, possibly; but an
extremely undignified admission of inferiority. A humiliation I have
never countenanced and never will.
The night was fine and clear, and a bright moon was nearly at the full;
so I turned out of my way a little to a very favourite spot of
mine--the great Suspension Bridge which constitutes the hyphen between
Buda and Pesth. My house was close to the bridge in that part of Pesth
known as the "Inner Town;" and I strolled across to a point on the Buda
side from which a glorious view can be had of the stately Danube.
I stood there in the deep shadow of the high Suspension Arches, gazing
at the dotted lights along the quays, across the flat country on the
Pesth side, up the river toward the witching Margaret Island, and away
to the old hilly Buda on my left, with the Blocksberg and its citadel
keeping its frowning watch and ward over all.
There is not much poetry in my nature; but the most prosaic and
commonplace soul must feel a quickening of thought and sentiment at the
appeal of that majestic waterway and its romance-filled setting.
I did that night; and stood there, thinking dreamily, until I was
roused abruptly by the sound of laughter. I recognized the voice of
Count Gustav; and glancing round saw him on the other side of the
bridge with a companion. He stooped a second and pointed down the
river; and as they walked on, I heard her laugh sweetly in response.
I was considering what to do, when I caught the sound of footsteps, and
shrank into the shadow of the deep buttress as two men came slouching
past me stealthily; and I heard enough to tell me they were following
Count Gustav. I let them pass and then followed in my turn.
The Count and his companion left the bridge, turned to the right, and
presently entered the old garden of Buda--a deserted spot enough at
such an hour. Presently, as the two reached an open place, I saw the
Count hesitate, glance about him, stand a moment, and take off his hat.
Then they continued their walk.
I was struck by the action. It looked as though it might have been a
signal; for the next moment the two men quickened their pace and closed
up to the pair. A momentary scuffle followed; the girl gave a
half-smothered cry for help; and then the Count came running past me,
making for the bridge at the top of his speed. He had left his
companion in the hands of the two men.
Convinced now that mischief was on foot, I resolved to see the matter
through. I hid myself as the men came hurrying back with the girl,
half-leading, half-carrying her; and I noticed that her face was
closely muffled.
Near the entrance to the place they halted, and drew back under the
shadow of the trees. They stood there some moments, when one of them
went out into the road and stood listening. I heard in the distance
the sound of wheels, and guessed it was a carriage for which the two
were waiting.
Clearly, if I was to make an attempt to save the girl, I must act at
once; and to save her and learn her story, I was now determined.
I took a deep breath, as one will when about to plunge into a cold
stream, and keeping my hand on my revolver I darted across to where the
girl and her one captor stood. It was a point in my favour that the
two men were just then separated.
He did not hear my footsteps until I was close to him, and gave a great
start of surprise when I spoke.
"Let my friend go at once," I said, in a loud, firm tone.
The man's start was the girl's opportunity. Snatching her arm out of
his grasp, she rushed to me, tearing at the wrapper which covered her
face.
The man swore and called his companion, who ran swiftly back. A couple
of words were exchanged hurriedly between them, and then they came at
me, one of them brandishing a heavy stick and threatening me.
The girl uttered a sharp cry of fear.
I whipped out my revolver, and the two scoundrels pulled up at the
sight of it.
[Illustration: "The two scoundrels pulled up at the sight of it."]
"If you make me fire I shall not only shoot you," I called, "but bring
the police up, and you'll have to explain this to them."
And as we stood thus, the carriage drove up.