scorning any other medium than the truth, Carter explained the motive
for his coming to Krovitch. "An American's love of adventure--a wish to
join your insurrection."
Even his inquisitor was startled by the boldness of the reply. The
Counselors leaped to their feet and laid suggestive hands upon their
swords. Trusia's face went white, while her hand clutched in terror at
her throat. Then, seeing that Carter was in danger, with an effort she
quickly recovered herself.
"Put up your swords, my lords," she commanded in distress. "Let him
explain."
"What insurrection?" thundered a bristling Sutphen, seating himself
stiffly erect, on the edge of his chair.
"I told you they were spies," Josef almost shouted in gratification.
"Why else would they say such a thing except as a play for your
confidence. Where would they learn our secret?"
Carter turned to Trusia.
"Pardon me, Your Grace, for my inept choice of words. I meant
restoration, not insurrection." He bowed low as to the sovereign of
Krovitch as he supposed her to be. Then raising his head he continued,
"As for your secret, the world has already heard the rumors of the
approaching war."
Then with effective repression he added, "My country's wars have always
been for Freedom and Righteousness, never for aggrandizement. A
nation's sentiments will animate her citizens. I heard rumors of a
sister country in distress and longed to help her. I heard rumors. I
find them confirmed. I am no spy. I am Adventure's cadet."
"How then did he hear or know of Count Zulka?" sneeringly suggested
Josef. Carter noticed that again the momentarily favorable impression
had been destroyed. Josef for some strange reason was aggressively
opposed to a vindication of the two strangers in Krovitch.
"Your Grace, there was a club in New York City," Carter explained to
Trusia, "of which Paul Zulka and myself were members. We were good
friends. One year ago he left hurriedly. Knowing from his ardently
expressed love for his birthplace and his outspoken hate for Russia that
he would be in the front rank of any fight of Krovitch's, I naturally
sought him for my voucher."
The chubby Purse Holder was anxious to question the accused. "What is
the name of this club?" he asked.
"It is the Racquet Club."
The Holder of the Purse leaned back. With a satisfied air, Sutphen
turned to him.
"That the club to which your nephew, Count Paul, belonged?" he asked.
"Yes," he said genially. "I am Paul Zulka's uncle," he explained to
Carter.
"Did he ever mention a Calvert Carter as among his associates there?"
queried a lenient Trusia.
The Holder of the Purse spread out two fat palms deprecatingly.
"How should I remember?" he said helplessly. "These English names are
hard to bear in mind. Such things, ach! as I have had to remember in the
last year." The burden was evidently appalling. "Yet," he added kindly,
that he might do no injustice, "it might be so that he did."
"If Count Zulka were here"--began Carter confidently. He was interrupted
by Her Grace of Schallberg who raised her hand for silence.
X
THE GLIMMER OF SUSPICION
It was Paul Zulka who bowed low over the Duchess's hand. He was totally
oblivious to all other claims upon his attention for the nonce.
"Do you know that gentleman, Paul?"
As Trusia questioned him, he turned about in mystification. Not
expecting to see Carter there or anywhere, it required time for his
mental processes to adjust themselves to the detached conditions,
unfavorable to a recognition.
That the Krovitzer had not instantly identified his former clubmate was
causing the latter some uneasiness. He knew it would be impossible for
Zulka to have forgotten his existence completely after two years of
almost daily social intercourse. A greater fear followed on the heels of
this first misgiving. Carter's mouth set firm and hard as he considered
the possibility of an intentional snub. If such were the case his fate
was undoubtedly sealed, for he had invoked this very test--this meeting
was to vouch for his sincerity. His mind went rapidly back over the
whole period of his acquaintance with the Krovitch nobleman, to recall
if there had been any indication of such a poltroon trait in Paul
Zulka's character. He was, in justice, forced to deny the existence of
any such.
In the flash of an eye it had all happened. Forgetting court etiquette
in his rush, Zulka grasped his friend's hand and shook it vigorously.
"You," he said half doubting his own senses. "Here? Will wonders never
cease? Carrick, too," and a friendly nod greeted the grinning and
relieved Cockney. The recognition was complete.
"Mea Culpa!" said Zulka, suddenly remembering his grievous breach of
decorum, turning now to bow deeply with a humility which seemed but half
sincere. Of course Trusia forgave him for she seemed vastly pleased with
the favorable outcome of the meeting.
"Carter a spy!" Paul exploded, when the status of affairs was duly
explained to him. "I would as soon suspect our loyal old Josef there."
The face of the latter, since Zulka's advent, had been a study, though
this allusion to him had been received with his accustomed smirk.
Sobieska, for the time being no further interested in the proceedings,
was openly watching the mask-like face. It was as though a suspicious
mind, aroused by the vigorous and unsustained charges, had, as a
reflex, determined to probe the motives to their devious sources. Too
subtle to display the uneasiness he felt at this surveillance, Josef
appeared the personification of innocence and candor.
Colonel Sutphen, willing to make amends, and aware that Carter and
Carrick had not yet been formally acquitted, arose and addressed Her
Grace.
"I think we may take it, Highness, that this gentleman and his--his
servant are vindicated." The word servant caused him some difficulty as
he was not prepared to relegate Carrick to such servile rank. It might
be of some significance to note that both Josef and Sobieska displayed a
covert interest in this hesitation in the usually downright Chancellor.
XI
YOU LOVE TRUSIA
"I am so glad," she said as she stepped from the dais to greet him.
There was a generous simplicity of movement somewhat at variance with
the haughty poise of her head. That Trusia, Duchess of Schallberg, was a
very lovely young woman Carter found himself mentally confessing with no
small degree of enthusiasm, while his heart warmed at her sweet
effusiveness.
"Do you really and truly mean it?" she continued as she placed a small,
firm palm in his, man-wise. "You have come all the way from that
wonderful country of yours to join us?"
She clasped her hands at her neck in a sweet girlish gesture as he
silently bowed his assent. He felt dazzled. Though accustomed to the
society of high-bred women, he was at a loss for the first time in his
experience; was unable to frame a simple affirmative. If, he thought,
she would only turn away those wonderful eyes of hers for an instant, he
felt confident of accomplishing a conversational commonplace at least.
The members of the Privy Council, following her lead, came forward to
greet him. Carter devoutly prayed that this diversion might loosen his
unruly member.
That no remark might escape his vigilant ears, Josef edged cautiously to
the outskirts of the group now gathered around the Americans. Trusia
espied him, and much against his desire haled him to the fore.
"You must make amends, sir," she prompted, though not unkindly, "for the
annoyance you have caused Captain Carter."
"Your Highness," he said with a deferential bow, but unbending mind,
"must accept my zeal in the cause as my justification." Trusia was much
hurt at this intentional and undisguised evasion of her behest, as much
on the strangers' as on her own account, so hastened to supplement such
an ambiguous apology.
"Josef is indulged by us," she began deprecatingly, "because to his
fidelity, loyalty and zeal, we are indebted for a royal leader for
Krovitch, a man descended from our one-time kings of the day when
Krovitch was great."
"But I thought," said the puzzled Carter, "that you were the only
descendant of Augustus."
"I am." The little head was raised in imperial pride. "But King Stovik,
though deposed, was the rightful sovereign, not my ancestor. The
fugitive monarch left a scion whom Josef as a faithful servitor has
attended from his infancy. Finding in recent events that the time was
ripe for his crownless prince, he came to tell us that we had a king, if
we dared to strike for him. He showed us proofs. We already had
organization, men and money, but we sadly lacked a man for the struggle.
My valorous people would have fought for me, poor as were my claims to
the crown, founded on the wrong done another. Imagine how high their
enthusiasm became on hearing that not only one of King Stovik's
glorified stock, but a man--a young king--was to lead the ancient flag
to victory. Russia, already dazed, can do nothing against the flame of
my people's ardor."
"But the Almanac de Gotha," insisted Carter to whom the reference to the
invisible king was a puzzling one.
"Knew nothing about King Stovik after his deposition and flight," she
interrupted with a charming smile.
"Tell me the story, Your Grace," he pleaded, for he could feel
instinctively that there was a story, an old world romance hidden here.
She held up a warning finger. "Be warned in time," she said, "it is a
vulnerable point with me, one on which I am likely to be extremely
prolix."
"You can but enhance the value of the legend," he replied with a bow. "I
promise, Highness," he laughed, once more at his ease, "not to take the
teeniest of naps."
Already deep in her recollections of her country's tribulations, her
responsive smile was of one who dreamed. Inspiring scenes of tragic
grandeur, the pageant of a nation's history wiped out in the groans of
conquest, lit the beauty of her eyes. So must the Maid of Orleans have
appeared to those who in awe listened to her. Softened by her
translation into the world of inspiration, she turned to him.
"How I envy those who can wield the pen," she sighed. "I wish I could
chronicle the story of the kings who have been safely hidden for
generations. Patiently, devotedly, for two centuries have they waited
for this day to dawn, the first opportunity that Krovitch has had to
take back her own from the despoiler of Europe. The narrative from where
general information ends," she continued, "briefly is as follows: King
Stovik with his queen and infant son escaped by the connivance of a
loyal nobleman on the midnight of the intended assassination of the
overthrown dynasty. With two servants, husband and wife, who insisted on
sharing the exile, he left Krovitch to find an asylum in a strange
country, where caution led him to change his name. Certain it is that
his subjects never learned the place of his retreat though they were
well assured that his line was maintained in exile. After some years of
silence, during which the heir apparent had reached a marriageable age,
King Stovik sent again to his native land, to that nobleman in fact who
had aided his escape, beseeching that from the maidens of noble birth a
bride should be selected and sent back under the care of the messenger,
who was none other than the faithful servant who had shared all the
tribulations of the royal family. Bribes, threats, and coaxing of still
loyal Krovitzers could not induce the faithful fellow to betray his
master's hiding place. In fact on that, as on all similar embassies, in
the generations that followed, her family bade farewell to their
daughter, knowing not the place of her future home, nor her name,
nothing but that she was to be the consort of their rightful king. So
careful was Stovik in his banishment, that it became a hereditary rule
not to permit the young bride to communicate with her family. Thus only
could the never-dying hatred of Russia be avoided.
"Until my father's time this system has been maintained, always through
the agency of the descendants of that pair of original servants, of whom
Josef is the last. As a little child, I remember him first, when he
came and claimed the hand of one of our most beautiful girls to share
his master's banishment. Then, until recently, we had supposed the Line
had become extinct, for no further missions came. Then he returned and
offered to put a king at the head of our national movement. Nothing
could have been a greater boon. Those who, for years, at all corners of
the earth, had been striving for Krovitch, came flocking to her
standards. Our joy was complete. Do you wonder, Captain Carter," she
said gently, "that we are very lenient to Josef?"
Appreciating the girl's nobility, Carter strove to do justice to the
Gray Man, but as he glanced into the mask-like face a greater repugnance
than aforetimes overcame all generous impulses. He strove to put down
the distrust that he was certain no one present shared with him, for on
every countenance, save that of Sobieska who was gazing idly out of a
window, he read a story of affection for the man who had done this thing
for Krovitch.
"And the new king," he questioned lightly, avoiding the issue raised,
"has he, too, married a maid of Krovitch?"
She crimsoned in manifest confusion. Averting her head for an instant,
she bravely met his glance.
"Not yet," she replied. The signals of her embarrassment told him on
whom the choice had nevertheless fallen.
She hurried on that this stranger might not the longer probe her
sentiments with his compelling eyes. "In a few days we go to bring him
who knows not he is king, and at the head of a valorous people seat him
on his throne. Now are the days when only a man must lead. My ancestors
threw this land into Russia's clutches, their descendant must return it
to Krovitch's rightful king. This is about all, Captain Carter, except
that when King Stovik fled he was supposed to have worn the medal found
on your chauffeur. Doubtless at some time a member of Carrick's family
received it as a mark of royal gratitude."
"I thank you for the story," said Carter. "Now that my identity is
established, may I ask for a place in your army? The cause of your
country shall be my own."
She smiled indulgently. "Perhaps," she said, "when you have fully
mastered our language, we might make you a lance corporal. You see we
have only one Field Marshal, Colonel Sutphen, although fully a score of
applicants for that rank."
"Don't tease, Tru," said Zulka with the intimacy of a lifelong
friendship, "I am a colonel. Cal Carter, here, is a better soldier. We
fought together at Santiago, so I should know."
"We'll see," was all she would reply, as she turned to go. Then
hesitatingly she held out her hand to Carter, who bent above it with
inspired gallantry and touched his lips to her fingers.
"Au revoir, Lady Paramount," he said.
"Au revoir, Sir Knight of the Auto-car," she replied; adding; "be sure
to come to the levee to-night. Already the maidens of Krovitch have
heard of you, sir. One at least, desires to make your acquaintance."
"We are going to the inn," Zulka announced as he took Carter by the arm,
so the latter made his adieux to the gentlemen of the Privy Council and
turned prepared to follow him.
"Castle's full," Paul explained to relieve the mystification apparent on
his friend's countenance. "Privy Counselors with their families and
households, Army Staff, Duchess's Attendants and Aides-de-Camp, and so
forth."
"But the inn's full, too, Paul. The landlord----"
"Thought you were a spy. That's why Josef recommended Schallberg.
Thought you would probably tumble to the fact that he was wise, as we
say in New York; to the fact that more than a hundred notices were
posted there offering a reward for the apprehension of humble me, whom
they flatteringly described. You see," he explained, "shortly after my
return last year, I hurt Russia's feelings. Made what they very
truthfully called a revolutionary address. I've been dodging Siberia
ever since. Get your medal, Carrick, and come along," he called over his
shoulder to the Cockney, who was reluctant to leave without his precious
heirloom.
Carter's second appearance in the courtyard was more gratifying than his
first, and he had no difficulty in procuring his touring car from the
sentry, who already seemed to have been apprised of the stalwart
stranger's status.
Whirled along in the auto, the inn was soon reached, where, arm in arm
with Count Zulka, Carter entered, much to the unenlightened bewilderment
of the landlord, who, nevertheless, at the Krovitzer's request, had no
difficulty in finding them a private room for their dinner.
After having enjoyed to the full the appetizing meal which had been set
before them, the two friends at first indulged themselves with
intermittent cigarettes and the thimblefuls of local liquor attendant at
their elbows. Digestion, for a while, stood in the way of discourse,
and the tally was naturally indolent, somnolent.
Presently, after having sufficiently watched the rings of smoke flatten
themselves against a black, studded rafter, Carter gave a slight rein to
his speculations.
"Why," he said, holding up his cigarette to gaze squintingly at the
ember at its head, "why is the Count Sobieska antagonistic to Josef?"
Zulka stretched himself further back in his heavy chair. Very much at
his ease, he could have dispensed with questions just then.
"Professional jealousy, I suppose," he replied. "When it comes to
knowledge of Russian movements," he went on to explain, "that's
Sobieska's department, mind you, but somehow Josef is always hours ahead
of him through some source of his own. Naturally Sobieska takes the
chance to rub a miscue in on the old chap."
"Why should he be interested in Carrick's antecedents, Paul?"
"Cal, you are like the youngster, who after exhausting all other
questions, asked his dazed parent, 'Father, why is why?' Tell me all
that happened," he said, seeing the slightly nettled expression on his
friend's face. "You see the circus was all over before I arrived."
Carter related the affair from the time of their first meeting with
Josef, at that very inn, to the time when Zulka's timely appearance put
an end to their trial. "The rest you know," he concluded.
Zulka opened his cigarette case, selected one and after knocking the end
of it two or three times against the metal lid without putting it in his
mouth, looked up at his friend. "Cal, I'm afraid I've given you the idea
that Sobieska is incompetent. That is not so. The fact is, he is
devilish deep and clever. He never lets up once he has struck a trail.
He's probably hit on something now that he thinks should be
investigated. By the way, how's Saunderson of the Racquet?" So the
conversation drifted.
Their mutual friends in New York had included many women of gentle birth
with whom Paul Zulka had always been more or less of a favorite.
Concerning these, individually and collectively, Carter's replies to his
friend's inquiries had been equally frank and responsive.
"So you left no sweetheart behind, Cal?"
"No, Paul. I'd not leave a sweetheart. I'd make her my wife."
"In the face of a conge?"
"You ought to know me better. I never take 'no' for an answer." Carter's
pride glowed in his face as he made this reply.
"The Duchess of Schallberg," announced Zulka, "will marry the King of
Krovitch to unite the two houses. She has pledged herself." This
seemingly irrelevant announcement was made through a swirling cloud of
smoke.
"So?" Carter strove to make his reply partake of easy nonchalance, but
his throat tightened so that he could feel his face go red and hot. It
was as if Paul had intimated that he, Calvert Carter, would seek and be
refused by the Duchess of Schallberg. He was thankful the Krovitzer was
not looking just then.
Had he been wise, Carter would have said no more. But failing to
emphasize his disinterestedness, he added to his monosyllabic
exclamation a query in a studied tone of unconcern.
"What's that got to do with us, old chap?"
Zulka leaned forward confidentially as he laid a friendly hand upon the
other's knee.
"She's for neither you nor me, Cal," he said regretfully. "She must
marry a man she has never seen for the sake of a country that she
adores. Without this submission on her part we could count on no united
Krovitch. Our country worships her and will follow no king who will not
seat her upon his throne. Get that angel face out of your heart. Deafen
your ears to her voice before, like me, you try too late. Oh, I know, I
saw," he hastened on as Carter would have stopped him, "love makes all
eyes keen. You love Trusia."
As the significance of the last remark went home, Carter sat as one
stunned. The perspiration gathered slowly in great beads on his
forehead. He hung his head gloomily; his face went pale. It seemed,
suddenly, that life, ever a pleasant vista to him, had built a wall
before his eyes, unscalable, opaque.
Then he understood. A pain gripped his heart as the great truth came
home to him.
"I do," he answered jerkily, for he was striving to keep a strong man's
grip on his soul. Slowly, however, the agony, defying him, triumphed.
"My God," he wailed in surrender, "it is true though I never realized it
till now." That was all he said, but with blind hands he groped for
fellowship and welcomed Zulka's responsive grip of steel.
Relaxing his handclasp, he arose and walked to the window, to gaze out
upon darkness until his own night passed from him sufficiently to enable
him to seize upon his soul in the elusive shadows and hold it firmly.
From where he stood, after an interval of pregnant silence, he turned a
high-held, stern, white face upon Zulka.
"Paul," he said quietly, "we'll have to stand by her now to the end. If
Krovitch wins and I'm alive, I'll go back to New York. If she loses,
our lives must purchase her safety, should that be the price. It will be
Trusia first, then."
"It will always be Trusia," said Zulka.
Carter nodded his understanding.
"Come, Carter!" Zulka said almost brusquely, "enough of sentiment. We
must dress for the levee. I can fit you out in clothes."
XII
CARTER FINDS AN ALLY
The haut nobility of Krovitch were present at the Ducal reception that
night. Glittering uniforms, with a plentiful supply of feminine silks
and sparkling jewels, made even the gray old halls of the castle take on
a warmer, gladder note. But to Carter, with an aching heart hidden
behind a smiling countenance, the gaiety seemed forced, the colors
glaring; while to his questing eyes all faces appeared blank surfaces,
save one.
She was talking to a wisp of a golden-haired girl, whom he afterward
learned was Zulka's cousin, the daughter of the plump Holder of the
Purse. Apparently Trusia had not yet noticed his entrance, but why
should she?
Had he been gifted with omnipresence, however, he would have heard her
say to her companion, "That is he. The one in dress suit. No, stupid,
not the short man in black and gold, but the strapping big fellow who
holds his head like some ancient paladin."
"Oh," her companion had answered impulsively, as she finally singled
Carter out from the throng about the entrance, "he is fine, Highness.
I'm going to fall in love with him. I'm sure I am. Do you mind, Tru?"
she teased, with the intuitive sex-given perception that her royal chum
felt at least a passing interest in the handsome stranger. The Duchess
made no immediate reply to her friend, but gazed resolutely in a
direction opposite to the one from which she knew Carter was
approaching. Even predestined queens are not averse to stately coquetry.
"No, Natalie," she finally condescended to reply, "why should I, dear?"
She smiled affectionately down on the sweet face before her. "I envy
you, child, that you may love where you please," she added gently.
"Oh," said Natalie. The little maid of honor changed front with ready
sympathy. "I might have known you could not faint in his arms, be
brought home by him, rescue him from jail, without feeling some interest
in him. He's coming this way, Highness," she added in a confidential
undertone as if Trusia had not already divined the fact through the back
of her regal little head. Nevertheless, the Duchess achieved a very
natural surprise as Calvert Carter presented himself before her.