COLONEL KATONA SPEAKS
I wrote a short note to Colonel Katona saying that circumstances
prevented my going to his house that day; but that I had something
important to say to him, and wished him to come to me to General von
Erlanger's at once.
Next, an equally brief one to Karl:
"DEAR FRIEND,
"I cannot keep my word to see you to-day. I have been compelled to
come here, to General von Erlanger's house, and must remain until
to-morrow. But to-morrow I shall see you. Please me by staying where
you are until then. Colonel Katona is coming here, and will bring you
a message from me saying where we can meet to-morrow. I am sure you
will do this as you have done so much 'for her sake.'
CHRISTABEL VON DRESCHLER."
Then a letter to Gareth followed:
"I am now confident that I shall have great news for you to-morrow. I
have been working hard for you all the time, and success is in sight.
But we cannot gain it unless you will now do your part and help me in
all my plans for to-morrow. I wish you to remain in your room
to-morrow morning, and not to leave it under any pretext whatever,
until I myself come to you. You will of course be very curious to know
the reason for this: we women can't help that. And I will explain it
all to-morrow. You have trusted me so far. Trust me in this also--for
I tell you frankly that if you do not, everything even at the last
moment may be ruined. Keep a brave heart, for I am very hopeful
happiness is in sight for you.
"Ever your friend,
"CHRISTABEL."
Lastly I drew up a concise statement of the whole facts of the case,
giving as full details as were necessary to enable any one to
understand it clearly, as well as my position in regard to it. This
was for James Perry to take to the American Consul if any danger
threatened me. I took this step, not because I doubted my friend the
General, but lest he should find his wish to help me thwarted by those
above him.
I had my papers ready by the time James Perry arrived. I explained
first what he was to do with the paper for the Consulate, and added:
"Your father will know where to take the letters for Colonel Katona and
Count Karl, James, because he drove them home last night. Send him off
with them the moment you get back. Give this letter to the Countess
von Ostelen; and this list of clothes to your mother. You are to bring
them back here to me."
"Yes, miss," he said, as he pocketed them.
"And now I am going to set you a difficult task. You have done me
splendid service so far--but you are now going to play me a treacherous
shabby, cowardly trick."
"I hope not," he said, noticing my smile.
"You will need all your wits; because a great deal hangs upon how you
act--all my plans in fact. You took a letter from me this morning to
Count Gustav. Did you see him?"
"Yes, for a moment. He took the letter, laughed and seemed rather
pleased, and then gave me the message--that he would go to the house at
once."
"You think he would know you again?"
"Oh, yes, I am sure of that."
"Good. Now, you are going to betray me to him. He is desperately
anxious to know the whereabouts of the Countess von Ostelen, and you
are going to be scoundrel enough to take advantage of my absence from
home to tell him where to find her. It will be hard for your mother's
son to be a scoundrel, James, I know."
"I hope so, miss, with all my heart."
"But as scoundrels can play at honesty, there's no reason why honest
men shouldn't sometimes get a bit of their own back by playing at
villainy. You are deeply interested in the troubles of the Countess
von Ostelen; you have been shocked by my rather cruel treatment of her;
you have heard her ask me again and again to let her leave the house;
and your chivalry is roused because I keep her locked in her room.
Realize that part of your feelings, and think it over, because that is
the sly hypocrisy on the surface of your conduct."
"I am afraid I am a bigger rascal than I thought," he said.
"I am sure you will be to-morrow when you see him. Of course you have
another motive--which you understand will be dragged out of you when
the Count, who will be suspicious, begins to question you. You want
money and a place in the household of the Duke, his father. The
dollars will be the main thing. Half the sum down before you open your
lips: the rest when you complete the work. That is, the Count is to
give it to you when you let him into the house to fetch the lady away."
"What sum should I name?" he asked with a grin.
"I don't think a thousand dollars would be too much for such
information; but this is a poor country, so we'll put it at about half
that--fifteen hundred gulden. Your honour is worth more than that,
James; but, as good Americans, we must gauge the conditions of the
market. Take those letters now, and when you come back I will have
ready for you a letter in bad German, which you will copy--telling the
Count you are my servant and have something pressing on your
conscience--hypocrites always have bulging consciences, James--that it
concerns a lady who is a prisoner in my house, and that you will pay
him a visit to-morrow at half-past eleven. He has a serious
appointment here at twelve; but when you tell him that you can get him
into my house just after that hour, he will prefer to keep the
appointment with you instead of coming here."
"I think I can do it all easily. But what am I to do when he comes?"
"I shall be there to welcome him, James. You must contrive so that you
do not reach the house until half-past twelve. You can be a quarter of
an hour late in going to him; the interview will last quite half an
hour--you will be agitated over your villainy, you know, and will have
to drive your bargain; and the ride with him to the house will take
another quarter of an hour or twenty minutes. Put him into the small
drawing-room which looks on to the garden behind and come to me."
I sent him away then, telling him to think it all over and to ask me
any questions necessary when he returned with my clothes.
I drafted a carefully mysterious letter, such as I deemed a scoundrel
would write, making much of my conscience, but hinting unmistakably at
a money reward; and when he came back we discussed the whole plan in
considerable detail.
We were still occupied in this way when Colonel Katona's card was
brought to me. I found him looking very haggard and worn with the
emotions and incidents of the preceding night; but he held my hand and
pressed it very warmly, and the hard eyes as he gazed at me were more
like Gareth's than I would have deemed it possible for them to be.
"You have news for me, Miss von Dreschler? It is of my child?" he
asked eagerly.
"Yes, it all concerns Gareth, Colonel."
"You are going to take me to her?"
"I hope so--but it will depend upon you."
"Then it is settled--there is nothing I will not do for that;" and he
sighed deeply. "Tell me what you wish."
"You find me in a different mood from that of last night. Then I was
thinking mainly of Gareth and a little only for myself. Now I am
thinking only of myself."
"You saved me from a terrible mistake last night."
"To which you had been tempted by the man who has wronged your child.
I sent Count Karl away with you that you might see how deeply you had
wronged him in your suspicions."
"I saw that--afterwards; and saw, too, why you knew he was innocent.
He speaks of little else but you."
"Count Karl knows the road which duty compels him to take, and he will
follow it to the end. He is a changed man."
The Colonel looked at me earnestly for a moment, his expression
inscrutable. Then he nodded.
"Yes, he is a changed man; thanks to your influence--only that."
"The cause is of no consequence; it is only the fact that matters."
"You are very strong--for such a child."
"I have a strong purpose, Colonel Katona. I am going to be true to
that purpose now with you."
"I am afraid I know what you are going to say."
"To ask plainly whether you will do justice to my father and tell me
the whole story of that cruel wrong."
"The whole story?" he asked, anxiety in both look and tone.
"The whole story--nothing less will satisfy me."
He paused in evident distress, and pressed his hand tightly on his
forehead. "It cannot be. It is impossible. Count Karl urged me--he
of all men--but I told him what I tell you--it is impossible."
"Then you will never see Gareth again." I made my voice as hard and
cold as I could.
"I have feared this," he murmured.
"And I, Colonel Katona, have worked for it."
"I cannot, I cannot," he murmured again, love and fear doing desperate
battle in his mind. "You are not so cruel."
"I can be as hard as steel in this cause. Hear what I have done. I
know, of course, where she is. I know the man who has done her this
wrong. I have to-day so planned matters that to-morrow he shall know
where to find her. If you do not speak now to help me, I declare to
you that to-morrow Gareth shall be again in his arms."
A groan escaped his lips at this, and he bowed his white head as if in
an agony of shame.
"Have you no mercy?" he whispered, at length.
"I am thinking of my father and his shame and ruin. You helped to kill
his honour and blight his life. You were his friend. Had you mercy
then, that you would ask it now of his child?"
"They told me he was dead. I swear that. I did not know the truth
until years afterwards--when he had escaped. It was then too late, too
late. My God, you know not what this is that you ask me to do."
"I ask for the truth. He trusted you. He has left it on record. You
betrayed that trust--for your employers. You set their favour then
before your friend's honour, just as now you set it before even the
honour of your child."
Every one of my biting violent words went right home. He winced under
the pain of them; and when I paused and he glanced up, his face could
not have been more stricken had I been his judge sentencing him to
death. Nay, I think he would have faced death with far less agitation.
"From you, his child, this is terrible," he murmured. "I have been
very guilty; but not as you think. I was not false to your father like
that. I will tell you all so far as it touches me. I know now that it
was resolved that the young Count Stephen should die; and a quarrel was
purposefully caused between him and your father. I was used at first
only as a tool in the work. I had reason to know that the Duke
Alexinatz was so incensed against your father, that it would go hard
with him if he remained in Pesth."
"I know that it was at your persuasion that he made ready to fly from
the city."
"It was true what I told him--Duke Ladislas wished him to leave, as
otherwise the Duke himself might have been involved in the quarrel. He
sent me direct to your father. Up to that point I was true to my
friend. I would have given my life for him cheerfully--then."
"And after?"
"Count Stephen did go to your father's rooms in search of him, his
blood heated with wine and the lies told by others; and it was there he
was shot."
"You knew of this?"
"Nothing, until the next day; and then the story was told me that the
two had met and quarrelled fiercely; that my friend had been killed;
that the matter must be hushed up in the interests of Duke Ladislas;
that he had in reality instigated it, and that loyalty to him made it
impossible to speak the truth. Your father had been secretly buried, I
was assured."
"I am waiting, Colonel Katona," I said, presently.
"From that point on I was guilty. My silence then was the first act of
treachery; and others soon followed. I could not bring the dead to
life, I was told, but I could help the living; and in helping them
could save from ruin the cause to which I was pledged. The confession
by your father was found and used--and I stood by and suffered his name
to be dishonoured. For that I can plead no excuse."
"And when you knew that my father had not died but had been imprisoned
all those years, and had escaped--what did you do then?"
"I know. I know," he exclaimed, wretchedly. "I did nothing. They
came to me----"
"Who came to you?"
"Those who had done it all; and with them Count Gustav to whom all had
then been told. They appealed to my loyalty to the cause, to Duke
Ladislas, and to my country--and I yielded."
"Count Karl, too?"
"No. He knows nothing of it. Nothing."
"If he had known of all this and you had found the news which you
thought had come from me to be true--that the man for whose family you
had sinned in this way was the same who had wronged Gareth, what then?"
There was such a glitter in his eyes as they met mine that I almost
feared he had read the thought and intent behind my words.
"I would have had his life first and"--he checked himself with sudden
effort.
"And what?" I asked.
"I would have killed him," he murmured, doggedly.
"The rest is your secret?" I hazarded. He made no other answer than to
glance at me quickly.
"If I tell you to-morrow where to find Gareth, will you make public
what you have told me to-day and denounce the men who were concerned in
my father's ruin?"
At the direct question he was profoundly agitated again. "Is there no
other way?"
"No. None. I am pleading for my father's honour."
"I will do it," he said, with a bitter sigh.
"On your word of honour, Colonel Katona?"
"Yes. On my word of honour. God help me."
I drew a deep breath of relief. I needed no further assurance. I had
seen enough to know that what I still had to tell him--that Gustav was
the man he sought--would suffice to change any lingering remnant of
indecision into grim set purpose.
I told him I would send him word on the following morning where he and
Count Karl were to come to me at about noon.
"You will give me your hand, Christabel?" he asked, hesitating, as we
were parting.
"Yes. I trust you now to undo the past."
He held my hand a moment and seemed much affected.
"I had meant to speak to you about Count Karl. He----"
"Please!" I broke in.
"If I could help your happiness it would be some recompense for my
wrong to your father."
"You cannot do that."
"You care for him?"
"Please," I said again.
"I know. He has told me what stands between you. I am glad now that
you made me speak--although your words stabbed me to the heart. But I
am glad now--and perhaps I can help you. It should not be all tragedy
for you two. But heaven knows it is tragedy whatever happens."
I was glad to be alone. The interview had tried me. I endeavoured to
analyze my feelings; and I am afraid I realized that while I was
jubilant at the prospect of success, the knowledge that it brought
nearer the parting from Karl made me almost wish for failure.
That was rank treachery to my purpose and my dear father's memory, I
know. But then, I was only a girl; and after all, even in the
strongest of us, the heart will have its way at times. Mine took it
then for a desolate half-hour, until I was roused by the two chattering
girls who came romping in to take me away to dress for dinner.