IN QUEST OF THE WHEREWITHAL.
On reaching his own house, Cyril’s first act was to summon Paschics,
who was now his secretary, and explain the situation to him very
thoroughly, adding directions which were to be followed in case of the
occurrence of various contingencies. When Paschics was primed as to
his duties, Cyril unfolded his own plans.
“No doubt you have guessed by this time, Paschics, that I intend to be
absent from Bellaviste while I am supposed to be ill in bed. Only
yourself, the doctor, and Dietrich will be in the secret, and you must
see that no one else discovers it. Take care that the blinds in my
bedroom are kept down, for the Premier is very likely to try to spy on
me from the window of one of the houses opposite. The Queen has
expressed her intention of sending the Court doctor to attend me, and
we shall be able to work the trick with him, for he and I are old
friends. You will give out, of course, and the doctor will support it
by bulletins, that the injury is far more serious than was at first
supposed, and that I am in a very nervous and feverish state. I can
see no one, and discuss no business; but if Prince Mirkovics and his
friends are very persistent, you may allow yourself to be induced to
consult me, and after a suitable interval bring them an answer from
the notes I told you to take of what I have been saying since I came
in. You understand?”
“Perfectly, your Excellency.”
“As to my purpose in leaving in this way, I will tell it you, in order
that if anything happens, you may know in what direction to make a
search for me. I am going to Vienna, to the Chevalier Goldberg.”
“That old Jew?” murmured Paschics in dismay.
“Precisely. He is the only man who can help us at this pinch, and I
rather think he will. He has a way of flinging his money about without
expecting any return that is quite picturesque. Five or six years ago
he paid King Otto Georg’s debts, and so enabled him to marry. That was
a free gift, but I don’t propose to ask him to repeat it. A loan
without interest for three months will meet our present difficulty.”
“But to put yourself in the power of a Jew, Excellency!”
“My good Paschics, who is not in their power? I own that I should have
been glad if any other expedient had offered itself, but this crisis
calls for desperate remedies. If the Chevalier listens to me at all,
he will keep the secret a good deal more honourably than many
Christians would; and if he refuses to make or meddle in the matter,
at least I shall have done all I can. But in either case no one must
know.”
“But how does your Excellency intend to leave Bellaviste? You are
aware that a guard of police is now stationed outside the house for
the purpose of ensuring your safety?”
“I am. The noise they make would alone keep me from being unconscious
of their presence. Well, if the worst comes to the worst, they must be
squared; but they are quite capable of being squared by both sides, so
that we must do our best to find a more hopeful way of getting out. By
the way, Sir Egerton Stratford has not yet called to inquire for me,
has he?”
“No, your Excellency. Baron Natarin is the only one of the foreign
representatives who has come as yet, and he happened to be riding past
when he heard of the attack made on you. He proffered his most cordial
felicitations on your escape.”
“Yes; trust Natarin to do the right thing promptly, however bitter the
pill may be to swallow,” said Cyril, more to himself than to the
secretary. “Well, Paschics, if the British Minister calls, ask him to
come in and see me. If he should happen to send one of the gentlemen
belonging to the Legation instead of coming himself, you may intimate
that I should be much obliged if Sir Egerton would pay me a visit, as
I wish to confide an important document to his keeping. Be careful not
to let the message be overheard. We don’t want the British Legation
burnt down in the night, that M. Drakovics may lay hands on the
document. You may let it be understood that there is considerable
anxiety felt as to my condition, and that I am inclined to take a
despondent view of it myself. One more thing--when you bring Sir
Egerton in, step very softly.”
“At your Excellency’s orders,” said Paschics, as he departed,
considerably exercised in mind by the directions he had received. When
he was gone, Cyril sat down at his writing-table and wrote a long
letter to Caerleon, after finishing which he took a fresh sheet of
paper, and began to draw up a document of more formal appearance.
Before he had come to the end of this, footsteps on the stairs
announced the arrival of some visitor; but it seemed that Cyril did
not hear them, for when Paschics gave an almost inaudible knock at the
door, and entered the room noiselessly, he sprang up with a violent
start.
“I beg your Excellency’s pardon,” said Paschics, much perturbed by the
effect of his prudence; “but I thought you might be resting, and I
ventured to come in before announcing his Excellency the British
Minister.”
“Ask Sir Egerton to come in,” said Cyril, passing a hand over his
brow, “and remain outside, Paschics. I shall want your signature to a
paper in a minute or two. Come in, Stratford, and don’t mind my being
a little shaky. My nerves are a bit upset, I fear.”
“You have no business to be sitting up writing,” said Sir Egerton
bluntly. “Why are you not in bed?”
“Because I could not rest until I had got through some business. I
want your help in connection with a legal document.”
“Nonsense! you want a doctor, not a lawyer. What is Danilovics
thinking of to let you go on like this? You are almost in a fever
already.”
“That is all the more reason for settling my affairs while my mind is
clear. I want you to witness my will.”
Sir Egerton jumped. “Your _will_? My dear Mortimer, pull yourself
together. You don’t think you are going to die of a cut in the wrist?”
“Next time the aim may be truer,” was the gloomy reply.
“Next time? Who wants to attack you again, now that the fellow who
stabbed you is dead? You mustn’t let yourself get nervous.”
“My dear Stratford, if you felt persuaded that you were not intended
to leave this house again alive, perhaps you would be slightly
nervous.”
“What in the world have you got into your head now? Why, you have a
police patrol at your very door to protect you.”
“To protect me?” Cyril laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, they would prove
efficient protectors, no doubt---- What’s that?” he sprang to his
feet.
“Nothing,” said Sir Egerton, with a cruel lack of sympathy in his
tone. “Man alive, you don’t think any one will attempt to assassinate
you while I am in the room with you? For pity’s sake, don’t show the
white feather in this way.”
“It is not like you to hit a man when he is down, Stratford.”
“Good gracious! have I lost my head or have you? Here, I’ll witness
this precious will of yours, if you will only sit down instead of
walking about the place like a troubled spirit. Richard III. was
nothing to you. How many murders have you got on your conscience?”
“I wish you would not use that word.” Cyril shuddered. “You seem to
forget that to a mere murderer it would not signify; but I am the man
to be murdered--that makes all the difference. Murder--ugh! Here,
Paschics,” he opened the door a very little way, “come and witness my
signature with his Excellency.”
“Now look here, my friend,” said Sir Egerton, when the will had been
signed and witnessed, and Paschics had departed again; “you call your
doctor in, and take a peg, or a sleeping-draught, or anything that
will settle your mind a little. You have made your will, so just put
these ideas out of your head, for you are on the high road either to
fever or madness the way you are going now.”
“There is one thing I must do. You observe, I put the will and this
letter into an envelope directed to my brother. Now I wish you to take
the envelope, and send it home under cover with your next despatches,
so that it may not be interfered with in the post. I can die happy if
I know that you will see to its reaching Caerleon safely. You would
not refuse the entreaty of a dying man?”
“A dying fiddlestick!” cried Sir Egerton angrily. “Mortimer, you must
be mad already. These delusions are altogether too absurd. Look here,
I don’t like leaving you like this. You know perfectly well that I
can’t offer you hospitality at the Legation in the present state of
affairs; but if you like to sign your resignation of all your offices,
and order your servants to pack up for a return to England--for
good--and claim my protection as a British subject--why, I’ll take you
back with me now.”
“And expose Lady Stratford to the dangers my presence at the Legation
would entail? No; I may be in a funk, but I am not quite such a cad as
to allow that.”
“I don’t believe you are in a funk, that’s the worst of it, for if you
were you wouldn’t say that,” said Sir Egerton irritably. “You have got
some maggot into your head, and I don’t believe you are responsible
for your words. Try to be reasonable for a moment. Would
Drakovics--even if he hates you to the extent you imagine--be likely
to invite annihilation from Europe by attacking the Legation?”
“No; but before this he has made use of the mob to execute his plans,
and left them to take the consequences. Stratford, what was that?” and
Cyril seized his friend’s arm, and pointed to the window-curtain.
“Only the cat,” was the answer, given with deep disgust, when Sir
Egerton had shaken the curtain vigorously, thereby dislodging the
animal, which was ensconced in the folds. “Stop this sort of thing,
Mortimer. You will make me quite creepy presently. Would you like to
know what I am going to do? I am going straight off to fetch Dr
Simcox, to make him certify you a lunatic; then I shall remove you to
the Legation. No one could object to my receiving you there in your
present state, and when you are a little better, I shall pack you off
home, with one of the staff to look after you.”
“You would let yourself in for all kinds of complications. No,
Stratford; I see one way in which you could help me, if you really are
ready to do so, but I could not dare to ask it.”
“Oh, go on. I can see that it has made you more cheerful even to think
of it.”
“I want you to get me out of the city.”
“But good gracious, man, who is keeping you in it? I am sure Drakovics
would be only too delighted if you went. Go this moment.”
“And be attacked and murdered in the streets, even supposing that I
could succeed in crossing my own threshold safely?”
“What in the world are you driving at?”
“Do you mean to say that you do not see why the police are placed at
my door? They are to prevent my leaving the house; or if I should
succeed in doing so, to follow me out and stir up the people, who
don’t need much stirring up just now, to finish me off.”
“I suppose this means that you want me to provide you with a
disguise?”
“No, Paschics and I can manage that; but I want you to take me out of
the city disguised as your footman, on the box of your carriage.”
“What, as Layard did the Spanish chap? But he got hauled over the
coals terrifically for doing it. Still----”
“Still, you would do it, if only for the sake of getting rid of me
from Thracia? After all, there is no reason why it should ever become
known. I shall not tell, nor will you, and your coachman and footman
can be paid to hold their tongues.”
“I don’t quite see how you propose to work it out.”
“Your footman is about my size, and fair. To-morrow you come in state
to inquire for me, and send him on some errand while you come into the
house. He is instructed to go back to the Legation at once, instead of
returning to the carriage, and I come out of the house after you, and
take his place. The police will only think that they did not notice
him going in. Then you take me past the gate and some little way into
the country--say to Mikhailoslav--where Paschics will be waiting for
me with another disguise, and thus exit Count Mortimer from the
Thracian stage.”
“You really intend to chuck things here, then?”
“That depends on circumstances--and my nerves.”
“By the bye, do you imagine you will be cool enough to go through this
elaborate performance to-morrow? A slip might have disagreeable
consequences.”
“My dear Stratford, when you offer a condemned man a chance of life,
do you think he is going to waste it by playing the fool?”
“Oh, all right. I will turn up about three to-morrow. And take my
advice; get a good night’s rest and some cooling medicine.”
Sir Egerton could not quite succeed in hiding the contempt in his
tone, and when Cyril held out his hand, he pretended not to see it,
and took his leave with merely a stiff bow; but his lack of courtesy
did not seem to discompose his host. When the door had closed behind
the British Minister, Cyril leaned back in his chair, and laughed long
and silently.
“My dear Stratford,” he said, “I wonder whether you dislike me more at
this moment than you will do when you see me back again, and know that
you have been sold.”
“Vera,” said Sir Egerton, entering his wife’s boudoir on his return to
the Legation, “do you want the carriage to-morrow?”
“The large carriage? No, but you promised to take me a drive in the
dogcart.”
“So I did. I’m afraid I had forgotten. The fact is, Vera, I have
promised to get Mortimer out of the city. The fellow has lost all his
nerve--he is in a regular blue funk, thinks every one is going to
murder him, a most ghastly state of mind--and I am to get him past the
gates disguised as Wallis. One couldn’t help feeling a little sorry
for the poor beggar, though it made me pretty sick to see an
Englishman carrying on in the way he did. I can tell you I let him
have it once or twice, I was so disgusted.”
“You mustn’t be hard upon him, Egerton. Every one has not such nerve
as you. And you had plenty of practice in bravery, too, at
Kubbet-ul-Haj.”
“You funny little woman! that is quite one of your ideas. Do you know
that I sometimes wish I was back at Kubbet-ul-Haj now, with all the
danger, instead of making mountains of talk out of molehills of fact
in these wretched miniature states?”
“Oh, but you will be Ambassador at Czarigrad or Minister at Estevan
one day, and then there will be great things to do again. I should be
miserable if I thought you would be kept here always, Egerton.”
“Do you know that you are a very heartless person, Lady Stratford, and
that to gratify your ambition you would like to send your husband into
danger? But I shall have the consolation of insisting upon your
accompanying me.”
“As if I would ever let you go alone! But that reminds me, Egerton,
that it will be much better if I come with you to-morrow when you are
smuggling Count Mortimer out of the city. It would look far more
natural, for you scarcely ever use the large carriage without me.”
“I can’t have you mixed up in this sort of thing, Vera.”
“But surely no one will know anything about it; and if my coming helps
to avert suspicion, it will make it much safer. How far are you going
to take Count Mortimer?”
“To Mikhailoslav, he suggested.”
“Then I must go, of course. Don’t you know that is the village where
they make that pretty pottery, and I promised to send mamma a crate of
it for her garden sale of work? I was going to propose that we should
go there to-morrow in the dogcart.”
“You are not suggesting that we should take Mortimer in the dogcart? I
think the carriage would be safer.”
“Yes; the people stare at the dogcart so much more, and he would be
such a conspicuous figure on the back-seat. We will have the large
carriage, Egerton, and I am coming.”
“‘’Tis yours to speak, and mine to hear!’ Can you be ready at a
quarter to three? We must not prolong poor Mortimer’s agony
unnecessarily.”
“Oh yes, I will be ready. But what do they say now about the crisis?”
“I hear to-night that the Queen will strain every nerve to prevent the
disruption of the Cabinet. And well she may, for the nobility are all
with Mirkovics, and his secession is likely enough to lead to a war of
classes. How Mortimer can bring himself to desert his party at such a
moment I cannot imagine. We must hope that after a night’s rest he may
take a more cheerful view of things--or even be so much worse as to be
unable to be moved.”
The next morning’s bulletins appeared to promise the fulfilment of Sir
Egerton’s slightly uncharitable wish. It was made known that Count
Mortimer was in a high fever, and that his state caused his physicians
the greatest anxiety. Dr Danilovics shook his head with awful
solemnity when questioned, and hinted gravely at the overworked and
nervous condition of the patient, and the possibility that the knife
used by the assassin had been poisoned, until Cyril’s death was hourly
expected in the city, and Paschics was almost driven out of his mind
by the necessity of reassuring the Queen and Prince Mirkovics, in
answer to their anxious inquiries, without telling too much.
“It scarcely seems worth while to go, Vera,” said Sir Egerton to his
wife, as they descended the steps of the Legation and entered the
carriage; “but I promised the poor fellow, and I shouldn’t like him to
think I had played him false. Besides, it’s just possible that this is
only a blind.”
Arrived at Cyril’s house, Sir Egerton went indoors to write his name
in the visitors’ book and interview Paschics, while Lady Stratford
waited in the carriage. As the minutes passed, and her husband did not
return, she became noticeably impatient, and called the footman to
her.
“Your master seems likely to be some time, Wallis, so take this note
for me now to the Maison Parisienne, and wait for a parcel, that we
may not lose time when Sir Egerton comes out.”
The footman, who had received his instructions beforehand, and knew
that he was to leave the shop by a different entrance, and return
immediately to the Legation, departed with the note, an object of
interest to the people who were gathered before the house. It was a
saint’s day, and the truly orthodox had closed their shops or left
their work and betaken themselves to pleasure, which at the present
moment meant politics. A considerable number had found entertainment
all day in standing and watching the different foreign and official
personages who came to inquire after Cyril’s health, and they had
remained to converse with the police who were guarding the house, so
that there was a considerable crowd to criticise the British
Minister’s carriage, and the pale little lady inside it. Happily for
her peace of mind, Lady Stratford knew too little Thracian to
understand their comments on her personal appearance; but presently a
boy in the crowd, finding the entertainment a little monotonous,
created a diversion by throwing a cracker--a species of ammunition
with which he and his fellows were well provided in honour of the
saint of the day--under the horses’ feet. The stately coachman had
much ado to keep his seat as the animals began to kick and plunge,
while the police displayed remarkable assiduity in chasing the boy,
instead of trying to restrain them. But the noise had been heard
indoors, and Sir Egerton ran hastily down the steps, followed by his
footman, who sprang at once to the horses’ heads, and succeeded in
calming them, although he was only able to use one hand. The police,
having given up the pursuit of the boy in despair, returned panting to
greet Sir Egerton, with profuse apologies for their failure and
assurances of future zeal in tracking and punishing the culprit, but
he cut them short somewhat curtly.
“That will do,” he said to the commissary. “Vera, were you frightened?
Shall we give up the drive?”
“Oh no,” said Lady Stratford bravely, although her pale face was a
shade paler than usual. “I shall not be frightened when you are
here--and besides, I don’t want to disappoint mamma.”
“Mikhailoslav,” said Sir Egerton to the footman, who touched his hat
and climbed to his place, and the carriage drove off. The streets were
full of people, gathered in groups in front of the newspaper offices,
the Legislative Chamber, and the houses of the Ministers, all
discussing the political situation. An interesting episode was the
apparition of M. Stefanovics in one of the Court carriages,
proceeding, with a face of solemnity that would have befitted a
European crisis, to the house of one of the seceding Ministers on an
errand from the Queen. Every one turned to stare at him, and the
British representative passed without much notice, although he himself
did not fail to observe that public opinion, judging from the scraps
of conversation he overheard, was extremely hostile to Cyril and his
colleagues, and that there were crowds in the churches, in which
special services were being held to pray for the triumph of M.
Drakovics and Bishop Philaret, and the humiliation of the foreigners
who sought to trample on the Orthodox Church.
The gate was passed without difficulty, and after a long country drive
the carriage reached the village of Mikhailoslav. Here Sir Egerton and
his wife descended to visit the pottery works, sending the footman
back along the way they had come with some message. It had been
noticed by the crowd outside Cyril’s house that shortly after the
departure of the British Minister a horse was brought round to the
door, and M. Paschics came out and rode away for a constitutional,
while during the next two hours anxious inquirers were received by the
doctor, who explained that he had insisted on the secretary’s
obtaining some fresh air and exercise, lest his health should break
down under the strain of his devoted attendance upon his Excellency.
About an hour later, the train which left Bellaviste every day for
Vienna was boarded at a country station by a handsome Polish
gentleman, with blue eyes and black hair and a beautifully waxed dark
moustache. It was evident that he had lately been engaged in a duel,
for his left arm was in a sling, and he was escorted to the train by
an elderly man, apparently his second, who did not leave him until he
had adjured him to see a good surgeon as soon as he reached his
destination, and also entreated the rest of the passengers not to
allow him to do anything imprudent. During the long journey the Pole
made himself a universal favourite. He seemed able to speak all the
languages represented on the train, with the single exception of
Magyar, and he was full of good stories. The slight reticence which he
showed respecting his late adventure was only natural under the
circumstances, and was resented by no one, and when he was left with
his bag on the platform of a small station not far from Vienna, on his
way to visit an Austrian friend, it was with lively regret that his
fellow-passengers looked back at him as the train moved on, and saw
him standing bare-headed and bowing to them with inimitable grace.
It could only have been about an hour and a half later that a
rubicund, wiry-looking Englishman, whose hair and whiskers were of a
reddish sandy tint, and who wore a loud check tourist suit of original
and surpassing hideousness, appeared at the inn of another village not
far from the station at which the Polish gentleman had got out, but
not connected with the railway. His arm was in an extemporised sling,
and he was carrying a knapsack with some difficulty. It seemed that he
had been on a walking tour, and had received an injury to his arm when
trying to separate two men who had drawn their knives in a drunken
brawl at his inn the night before, which had led him to determine to
drive the remainder of the way to Vienna. A carriage was soon
forthcoming, and after a meal at the inn, he proceeded on his journey
to the capital, where he took up his quarters at one of the leading
hotels, produced a passport, in perfect order, made out in the name of
Ivory White, Esq., of Lowburn, Homeshire, England, and allowed it to
become evident that he had plenty of money, although he did not care
to lavish any of it on Vienna tailors. As soon as the formalities
requisite before he could be considered a _bonâ fide_ traveller in
the Austrian understanding of the term were completed, he asked the
porter for the address of the Chevalier Goldberg, whom he mentioned
that he had met in England, and without seeing whom he refused even to
pass through Vienna. The porter smiled incredulously as he marched off
in the direction indicated, observing the manners and customs of the
natives with the dispassionate criticism of an intelligent Briton in
foreign parts, and quite unconscious of the amused or shocked glances
levelled at his knickerbockers, his Norfolk jacket, his cap, and his
gaiters.
“They are all mad, these English!” said the hotel autocrat
meditatively; “but a madman’s money is as good as any one else’s,
_nicht wahr_?”
Arrived at the _appartement_ of the Chevalier Goldberg, which was
situated on the second floor of a palatial building largely inhabited
by co-religionists of the owner, Mr White found that it was by no
means such an easy matter as he had considered it to obtain an
interview with the millionaire. It was evident that the plea of
friendship was too common to admit an unaccredited stranger to the
presence of the great financier, and it was only by dint of a stolid
refusal to leave without seeing him that the Englishman succeeded in
meeting even the Chevalier’s secretary, an accomplished Hebrew, who
lavished all the resources of eloquence and mendacity on the task of
getting him to go away, but in vain.
“Take him my card, and see what he says. If he prefers not to see me,
of course I shall not force myself upon him; but I am convinced he
would never forgive me if he knew that I had been in Vienna and not
paid him a visit,” was Mr White’s ultimatum.
“But the honourable gentleman has given me a blank card!”
“Of course I have. That’s my little joke--my name is _White_, don’t
you see? The Chevalier will know it at once. Sir Raphael Meldola and
he have had many a laugh over it with me in the smoking-room.”
With a sour smile at the Englishman’s childishness, the secretary
carried off the card, and informed his employer that there was a
madman in the anteroom who insisted on sending in a blank card. Would
it not be advisable to send for the police, without irritating the
lunatic or allowing him to suspect anything? But the Chevalier
Goldberg astonished him by taking the card from his hand and
scrutinising it carefully, even lighting a match and holding it close
to it. Then, apparently satisfied, he allowed the card to catch fire,
and held it in his fingers until it was almost consumed.
“Bring Mr White in,” he said. “He is my very good friend.”
Deeply disgusted, the secretary obeyed, hearing the visitor’s hearty
English accents as he closed the door of the great man’s sanctum upon
him.
“Well, Chevalier, and how are you? I couldn’t bring myself to pass
through Vienna without looking you up. All right, eh?”
“Leafe my secretary out off account for de moment, and pity my
curiosity,” said the financier, lowering his voice. “How iss it det
you turn up at Vienna in goot health when we hear from de papers you
are in a dyink state at Bellaviste? Are we to imachine it a miracle,
or iss it only a _ruse de guerre_?”
“The latter, I fear.”
“Den you are enxious for secrecy, off course? Come into my cabinet
here. Now it iss impossible for us to be oferheart. It iss a metter
off money, neturally?”
“It is, like most of the matters that are brought to your notice, no
doubt. You have not forgotten the last time I paid you a visit?”
“I hef not, my frient. It cost me too much,” and the Chevalier laughed
encouragingly. “But you are always welcome, ess I told you at det
time.”
“My errand then was connected with the marriage of my sovereign. You
had been good enough to intimate that you were willing to pay the
debts which King Otto Georg had contracted before being called to the
throne, and which, while he could not well ask the country to
discharge them, hampered him in his negotiations with the Court of
Weldart. It fell to me to bring you the schedule of the various
amounts, and otherwise to arrange the matter with you, and you were so
kind as to express approval of my methods.”
“So!” observed the Chevalier assentingly. “I said det if you hed
defoted yourself to de high finence instead off politics, you would be
wordy to belonk to de Nation.”
“I know. I have never forgotten the compliment, for it struck me as
overpoweringly flattering, coming from you. Now I want to ask a rather
impertinent question. Do you mind telling me your reason for paying
Otto Georg’s debts?”
“My reasson?” the Chevalier raised his eyebrows and looked at his
visitor with a whimsical smile. “Perheps I wished to preserfe de
belance of power in de Balkans--Thracia wass anti-Scythian den, you
know--or perheps to place de house off Schwarzwald-Molzau under an
obligation to me. Or perheps I wass concerned only in throwink away my
money--in makink sure det so many hundret thousand florins at least
should not return to me doubled. But why do you ask?”
“Because I am interested in knowing whether your kindness for Otto
Georg extends to his widow and child.”
“Aha! and it iss a metter off money? Dere are oder debts newly come to
light, and de persons concerned threaten an exposure, and I am to pay
down my goot florins in order det de wife and child may nefer know how
naughty de fader and husbant wass? But dis iss to atteck morelity,
dear Count.”
“No, Chevalier, you are a good deal out. It is a much bigger thing
this time--more in my line of business, you will say, than yours.”
“It iss political, den? My frient, I hef always said det Thracia wass
too small to hold you. Gif me an outline off your plot. You are aimink
to seize Czarigrad, and drife de Roumis out off Europe, det you may
set your younk master on de throne off de Cæsars?”
“Wrong again, Chevalier. My plot is not quite so large as that. This
is the situation at present,” and Cyril went on to describe the state
of affairs in Thracia in much the same terms as he had used to the
Queen three days or so before, his host listening intently, and
putting in a shrewd inquiry now and then.
“I see,” he said at last; “you wish me to finence dis mofement? I am
to profide de millions det must be forthcomink if de refolution iss to
succeed?”
“No,” said Cyril, “I don’t want you to throw away your money this
time. What I need is a loan, not a gift.”
“A loan? But a loan iss a metter off business, not off friendship. Wid
loans one must hef security, formelities off all kinds. What security
do you offer?”
“My word.”
“Ah, but det iss not sufficient. You are not an Enklishman now, my
dear Count, you are too clefer. By de way, you did not arranche
beforehent for your attempted assessination, did you, when you thought
it adfisable to take dis little trip to Vienna widout attrectink
attention?”
“No, I didn’t. I am really sorry, Chevalier, for it would have rounded
off the whole thing beautifully. The affair was a pure coincidence,
for the idea had not occurred to me.”
“And you would hef left such a plen dependent on coincidence?” said
the Chevalier reproachfully. “Det shows a leck of experience such ess
I should not hef expected in you, my dear frient. But you see det your
wort iss not sufficient security for a loan, dough de money iss at
your serfice ess a gift.”
“Well, let us call it a gift to be returned without interest in three
months,” said Cyril. “I can’t consent to anything else, Chevalier.
Thracia would be demoralised if such a river of gold was set flowing
without the need of repayment. At any rate, I am not proposing to
double your money for you in this case. You will sacrifice the three
months’ interest on the sum.”
“Det iss true. But why do you offer me no prifileches, no concessions,
in return for dis secrifice?”
“Because you are the only man in Europe who is not on the look-out for
such things. Whatever you were when your money was in making,
Chevalier, you are now a pure philanthropist--a universal provider for
needy royal families--and in order to fall in with this taste of
yours, I have forborne until this moment, when your mind is made up,
to remind you that my colleagues and I are all strongly opposed to the
anti-Semitic movement, and that the Queen is most anxious to improve
the condition of your co-religionists.”
“And you take it for granted det I will gif you dese millions in
return for a few fafours shown to de Thracian Chews!” cried the
Chevalier, with hands uplifted in admiration. “Well, tell me, my
frient, how shell de money be paid?”
“Have you an agent within reach who is thoroughly to be trusted, and
yet is not known to be in your employment? If you have, he had better
return to Thracia with me. He might travel as a Vienna surgeon called
in for consultation, and I as his assistant, and he would naturally
take up his quarters at my house, remaining there until I have seen
Mirkovics and the rest, and ascertained whether they will agree to my
terms. If we succeed, I intend you to get your money back, Chevalier,
whatever happens to me; if we fail, I fear you will have the
satisfaction of knowing that you have really chucked your florins into
the mud.”
“You will not fail; but do not think I want de money beck. Det iss de
worst off it for me. Well, I will send Stockbaum wid you; he iss de
men you need. You will introduce him to your frients?”
“As the agent of a syndicate from whom I am obtaining the money, I
think. One must explain things a little, and yet not outrage your
modesty by letting the whole truth come out, Chevalier. I can arrange
with him the details as to the payment of the money into my account as
well, for we must not arouse suspicion by making any undue display of
bullion.”
“You are right. See here. Stockbaum telegrephs me one wort, and
immediately I esteblish in Frankfort de office off dis syndicate. I
arranche wid my achents to do business wid dem, and so your drafts are
honoured in Bellaviste. Do not fear; de syndicate shell hef an
abundant credit.”
“You are a born plotter, Chevalier. That idea of the Frankfort office
is a master-stroke. But I fear you will have the other Balkan states
trying to do business with you--or even Drakovics, if he gets an
inkling as to the source of our wealth. He will want to turn us out,
of course.”
“When you are once esteblished in power his prospects will not be goot
enough to raise money upon,” was the dry answer. “And so you are to be
Premier, Count? You are not afraid off what de worlt will say?”
“Scarcely, I think. What will be said?”
“Dey will say you are de Queen’s lofer.”
“I have no doubt that they would say I was secretly married to her if
they thought that would damage either of us more; but it would not be
true.”
“Ah, you will not let yourself be drawn efen by your frient! You are
de right men, Count. When we go beck to Pelestine--you know det I am
to be de paymaster off de migration, because I do not mind throwink my
money away--you shell come wid me and be my _vakil_, ess dey call it
dere. You and I, we will bemboozle de worlt. We will buy de Land”--the
Chevalier pronounced it “Lent”--“from de Roumis, and cheat dem out off
de purchase-money!”
“If I am not otherwise employed at the time, I shall be happy to take
a hand in your nefarious schemes, Chevalier,” said Cyril, laughing, as
he rose to depart.
“Now see,” said his host, “to-night you take a goot night’s sleep, and
in de mornink--no, det iss too early; in de afternoon--I come for you.
In de kerrich you chanche yourself from Mr White into de doctor’s
assistant, and I drop you at de railway station, where you find
Stockbaum. Den you go beck to Thracia.”
In pursuance of this plan, two men of medicine left Vienna by the
Bellaviste train on the following day. The elder belonged indubitably
to the Hebrew persuasion; the younger wore his hair somewhat long, and
displayed spectacles and a short brown beard. They reached Bellaviste
when the dusk had fallen, exactly three days after Sir Egerton and
Lady Stratford had driven out to Mikhailoslav, were welcomed at the
station by Paschics, and accommodated for the night at Cyril’s house.
The next morning it was announced that the Vienna doctor gave such a
cheering account of the invalid’s condition that he might be allowed
to see his friends, and within an hour of the publication of the
bulletin, the other dissentient Ministers had assembled at the house,
and an informal council was held. Cyril, propped up with cushions in
an arm-chair, with the injured arm in a sling, looked quite
sufficiently ill to justify the alarmist rumours of the last few days,
although it was the fatigue of his journeys, rather than the pain of
his wound, which he had scarcely felt after the first moment of its
infliction owing to his mental excitement, that ailed him at present.
Paschics was placed on guard outside the door, and after the room had
been carefully searched for concealed spies, Prince Mirkovics opened
the proceedings by informing Cyril that the Queen’s attempts at
mediation had failed. Nothing less than the abject submission of his
recalcitrant colleagues would satisfy M. Drakovics, and negotiations
had therefore been broken off.
“Very well,” said Cyril, “then I suppose we shall go to the Palace to
present our resignations to-morrow. My doctor will not allow me out
to-day. Have you any idea, Prince, what is to happen next?”
“I presume that Drakovics will reconstruct the Cabinet, and request
her Majesty’s assent to Philaret’s nomination. She will refuse, and he
will resign.”
“I wish we could be sure he would. It will be his aim to make her
dismiss him, so that he may have a cry with which to go to the
country. We must contrive to force his hand in some way, so that the
onus of his resignation may fall on him and not on her. But we can
talk of this later. Let us imagine Drakovics out of the way, and the
stage clear. You will take the responsibility of forming a Cabinet, I
suppose, Prince?”
“I?” cried Prince Mirkovics, much perturbed. “I have never thought of
such a thing, Count. I am not a statesman. I can only govern my
district and vote with my leader. How should I face the diplomacy of
Europe, to say nothing of the opposition of Drakovics at home? You are
our leader. When we asked you to head our revolt, did you think that
we intended to rob you of the honour of victory? We are all prepared
to serve under you.”
“We should most certainly have declined to join in the revolt against
Drakovics under any other conditions,” said Georgeivics, the War
Minister, and the assertion was corroborated by the rest. Cyril bowed
to them collectively.
“I won’t express my sense of the honour you have done me just yet,” he
said, “for I also have a condition to make before I accept the
position.” The faces round the table lengthened perceptibly. “You are
all aware that our taking office without any money at our disposal
would be a mere farce?”
“It would be a protest,” said Prince Mirkovics; “and we may hope that
it will be the first step in breaking down the tyranny of Drakovics.”
“Yes; but it would simply mean our retirement from public life if it
failed--and it is bound to fail if we dissolve the Legislature and
proceed to fight an election without money. No, I have a proposal to
lay before you, gentlemen. A personal friend of my own--who was also a
friend of our late sovereign--has promised to advance me the funds
necessary to carry on the Government until we can vote our own
Estimates. He asks no interest--the transaction is a personal favour
to me--but I cannot accept his offer unless I have your promise that
in case anything happens to me--for life is uncertain here at election
time--you will see the sum that has been advanced duly paid into my
account, so that it can be restored to him. For that, of course, I
shall leave directions.”
The rest turned and consulted together for some little time, then
Prince Mirkovics said hesitatingly--
“Count, we are not in the least impugning your honour; but we feel
that we must in our own defence have a satisfactory answer to this
question. Does your friend expect no consideration--in the way of
concessions or of political power--in return for the inestimable
advantage he offers us?”
“None,” returned Cyril. “He is not a politician, nor is he a company
promoter. He is an amiable enthusiast, with a foolish belief in myself
and in the future of Thracia. By the way, the agent of the syndicate
through which he proposes to act--Outis, Niemand, & Other, of
Frankfort--is in the house, disguised as a Vienna doctor. If you like,
we will have him in.”
The suggestion was gladly accepted, and Herr Stockbaum was introduced
and duly catechised. His employers, he said, were a cosmopolitan firm
of bankers--Messrs Agathangelos Outis, Theodor Niemand, & A. N. Other,
for Cyril had been unable to resist employing the familiar cricketing
tag for the edification of his friends--and they had been authorised
to place the sum named at the disposal of Count Mortimer. Questioned
as to the person from whom they had received their instructions, he
professed himself unable to reply, observing cynically that it was
evidently some one who liked to fling away his money. As to the fear
that some return might be expected, he pointed out that this could be
obviated by Cyril’s holding with the Premiership the post of Foreign
Secretary, instead of that of Finance Minister, which M. Drakovics had
always kept in his own hands. The proposal commended itself to the
meeting as much as it did to Cyril, who had originated it in private,
and the Ministers dispersed in a very cheerful frame of mind.
“Stay and lunch with me, Prince,” said Cyril to Prince Mirkovics. “I
can’t invite every one, or my doctor will interfere; but there are a
few things to settle still. By the bye, Georgeivics, are the troops
ready for action? If Drakovics should take it into his head to spring
his resignation and a riot upon us simultaneously, we should be in a
tight place, especially since the police will be on his side.”
“They are ready,” responded the War Minister. “Constantinovics is in
charge of that portion of our programme. The excited state of the town
during the last few days has furnished a pretext for keeping the
Carlino Regiment to barracks, and they could be under arms in a few
minutes. They would patrol the streets until the arrival of
reinforcements from Feodoratz.”