IN THE MERCURY PAVILION
“I have found your man I think,” Udo said to his father.
“Ah? Who is he?”
“That I propose to find out. A stranger.”
The Chancellor looked serious. “Are you sure? How can the Princess have
become acquainted with a stranger?”
Udo gave a shrug. “At least he is known enough to be here. Come; I will
show him to you.”
They strolled observantly through the rooms. “There! The man in the
foreign uniform talking to General Rovigno.”
“So!” The hawk’s glance had marked down the victim. “You are certain,
Udo?”
“Hardly enough, perhaps, to send the fellow to the fate that awaits
him,” Udo answered casually. “But I will make certain. It is a mere
question of watching.”
“Better find out first who he is,” the Chancellor observed. He signed
to a resplendent Court official who immediately came up with a bow.
“I do not recognize that young officer, Herr Oberkammerer.”
“Possibly not, Excellency,” the functionary replied with another bow.
“He is a stranger visiting the country. He comes from Beroldstein. His
name is Lieutenant von Bertheim.”
“From Beroldstein? You are sure?”
“Quite, Excellency. He came furnished with a Court introduction through
the Drax-Beroldstein embassy. Is there any reason for objecting----”
“Oh, no,” Rollmar protested. “A very distinguished looking young man.
Thank you, Herr Oberkammerer.”
He turned away from the ceremonious official and drew Udo aside. “Make
certain,” he said; “and as soon as you have put the matter beyond a
doubt, let me know.”
He thought the identity quite feasible, still a blunder was a thing he
detested. Before striking he must make sure.
And Udo watched lynxlike for the confirmation of his guess; shrewdly
keeping observation on the Princess rather than on her suspected lover.
But for that untoward episode of a few minutes before, he might have
watched till the sharp green eyes grew tired without detecting what he
sought. Von Bertheim had been cunningly warned by Minna and was not
likely to betray the Princess or himself by the slightest sign. But
now discovery was threatened by Ruperta’s distress. A pretty greeting,
she told herself bitterly, she had given the lover who had a few hours
before risked his life for her, whom she might have been supposed to
believe dead, to be surprised in the act of allowing another man to
make love to her. Ludovic’s face had shown his mortification, he had
seen enough for that, too little to comprehend the real nature of the
scene. He would know she was not a woman to permit an admirer to go to
that length unchecked unless she were willing. She was pre-eminently
one who could fence herself round with a cold indifference which no
unacceptable ardour could melt. The unlucky moment had found her
in a hatefully false position, one of which the mere thought was
intolerable. She must at all hazards set it right, and, above all, warn
her lover against the Rollmars and their manifest designs. That she
would run a terrible risk was obvious, but, at least to Ludovic von
Bertheim, the danger was pressing in any event.
“Come,” she said to Minna, “I must speak to him, must warn him.”
“Your highness!” the girl remonstrated. “No, no. It is sheer madness. I
have already warned him. If it must be repeated, let me speak to him.”
But Ruperta was determined. “Come with me. Trust me to take care. I am
no fool.”
The throng was thinning now; some had left, many were at supper. The
Princess could go where she would without the irksomeness of finding a
lane opening for her, or the risk of being jostled.
“I last saw him in the Vandyke room,” Minna said. They strolled arm in
arm through the rooms, the Princess greeting many of the guests as they
passed. Ludovic was still where Minna had left him, still talking or
rather listening to the garrulous old General.
“Take care,” Minna said in a warning undertone, “Udo is watching us.”
Ruperta laughed. They passed through the room without noticing von
Bertheim by more than a return of the bow with which he and his
companion saluted them. “Oh, that noble Udo, that _preux chevalier_,”
was Ruperta’s mocking comment. “Let us turn. Now keep your eyes open
for the red fox. Ah, he is gone.”
“At least he is invisible,” Minna said, on her guard.
As they passed von Bertheim and the General the Princess’s handkerchief
fell. Ludovic saw and sprang forward to restore it. She stopped for an
instant and took it from him. Several people had come into the room
and saw the action; none of them could have noticed in it more than a
common incident of courtesy. They could not dream that the receiving
hand thrilled that which gave with a quick pressure, that the murmured
words were far more than those of thanks. Only one pair of sharp, avid,
ravening eyes, suddenly visible from their ambush, saw what they
desired, yet hated to see, saw proof of what had been conjecture, saw a
near and certain revenge. It was enough. The jealous, vindictive glance
just lingered for a moment on the pleasant sight of death in that face
which raised itself in happy confidence; then the gallant Udo von
Rollmar turned with a smile of satisfaction and hurried to his father.
“It is as well to be certain,” observed the Chancellor with his cynical
smile, as he nodded his acceptance of the information. “You may leave
the affair to me, Udo.”
“Can I be of any use?”
“You? No. My men are ready. It is butcher’s work.”
Ten minutes later a written message, signed R., was mysteriously put
into the Lieutenant’s hand bidding him wait in the little garden
pavilion which stood in the shrubbery a short distance from the place.
It was called the Pavilion of Mercury, from a figure by which it was
surmounted. He had freed himself from the General’s somewhat boring
prolixity and was debating with himself whether he should stay or go,
when the message was brought him by a little page of honour. In delight
that he had waited and so not missed it, he made his way out into the
palace grounds, taking heed that his movements were not too curiously
observed. The words which Ruperta had spoken when he restored her
handkerchief had been enough to allay the doubts with which the scene
he had witnessed with Udo Rollmar had filled his mind. Indeed it was
almost inconceivable that a girl of the Princess’s character could
be captivated by a man like the Chancellor’s son. And now the full
explanation of that equivocal situation would doubtless be given him.
Von Ompertz had received his orders, the most distasteful of his life,
and stood with his two satellites waiting grimly for his man. He had
on the first shock of Rollmar’s order, met it by a refusal. It was
indeed, as the Chancellor had designated it, butcher’s work, and he
was a soldier with the strain of his innate nobility ever ready to
assume, sometimes to his detriment, the function of a conscience. He
loved fighting for its own sake and was ready enough to slay his fellow
man in hot blood; but in cold? To become a midnight assassin? Pfui! It
went against that same make-shift conscience of his. But the astute
old reader of men’s characters and motives had made short work of his
objection, although he judged it prudent to condescend to a certain
amount of persuasive argument. It was a State service, this deed which
looked so black; far more important in its way than the killing of a
score of the Duke’s enemies in battle. The honour of an illustrious
house, of a royal name, was deeply concerned; only to a man like the
Captain, of absolute trustworthiness, of honourable principles above
the run of his class, could the secret vindication of the royal honour
be entrusted. And then there was the obvious ugly alternative should
the quixotic refusal be persisted in. The rope round Captain von
Ompertz’s neck was only loosened, it was still there, but this service
would make him quit of it altogether.
So the free-lance, seeing this was no situation for trifling, was fain
to buy his life by consenting to what he tried to persuade himself was
a bounden if disagreeable duty to the State whose hospitality he had
enjoyed and to its Minister whose pay he was taking, and who, after
all, was a better judge of the act’s justification than he himself
could be.
Accordingly he had taken his station, secure from notice, at a point
among the azalea bushes which commanded the path leading from below the
terrace to the Mercury Pavilion. He saw a man’s figure emerge from the
shadow of the high parapet and advance quickly along the alley which
ran a few yards in front of where they stood. He made a sign to the two
who waited behind him, and all three crouched down expectantly.
Von Bertheim came on steadily, unsuspectingly. They could hear his
footsteps, now passing close to their ambush, presently striking the
stone step of the pavilion and entering. Like feline beasts of prey
they crept toward their quarry; Ompertz with a campaigner’s expert
caution, the two Italians with the fell litheness of tracking leopards.
Noiselessly they gained the alley and now retreat was cut off, the trap
was complete.
“Wait here,” he whispered, motioning back the cutthroats at his side.
“If I need you I will call.”
But one pressed forward at his shoulder. “Better make sure this time,
Captain,” he urged.
However, Ompertz preferred to do the ill work his own way. In his idea
the victim, being, as the uniform had told him, a soldier, should meet
his death at the hands of a soldier, not at those of a professional spy
and assassin which he shrewdly suspected to be the vocation of his two
assistants.
“Stay here,” he repeated authoritatively. “I am no bungler--this is
one’s man’s work.”
He went forward alone and stood in the doorway of the pavilion.
Ludovic, who was sitting on a rustic chair at the farther side of the
little room, started up at the sound of his step and began to cross to
the door. Then he stopped, seeing it was a man’s figure that filled
the entrance. A stream of moonlight came through the window and lay
slantwise across the room, dividing the two men. Into this band of
light a glittering object was suddenly projected. It was the barrel of
a pistol pointing straight at Ludovic’s heart. He gave a quick cry.
“Hold your hand, fellow! I am----”
There was an answering, half smothered exclamation as the pistol was
lowered and Ompertz’s face peered forward, coming into the shaft of
light. “Lieutenant von Bertheim!” he said in a shocked whisper. “You?
And, God forgive me, I was about to----”
“To put me out of Chancellor Rollmar’s way,” his intended victim
supplied with a laugh. “If you have any scruples as to disobeying your
orders I think I can remove them.”
Ompertz held up his hand warningly. “There are two Italian scoundrels
outside to make sure the thing is done,” he said in a rapid whisper.
“You saved my life; I’ll pay that debt if it costs my own.”
“There is no need, my friend,” Ludovic began, but before he had time to
say more, Ompertz had raised his pistol and fired at the wall. “Now,”
he commanded hurriedly, “fall down, quick! down with you and I’ll swear
you are dead.”
He had caught Von Bertheim by the shoulders and urged him to the floor.
For a moment the other seemed inclined to refuse, then changed his mind
and, with a laugh at the situation, lay down as he might have fallen
had the shot taken its originally intended effect. Ompertz bent down
and covered his supposed victim’s face with his cloak just as the two
evil visages of his assistants looked in at the door.
He held up a restraining hand as they came forward. “No bungle this
time,” he announced grimly; “a bullet through the heart leaves no room
for doubt.”
He whipped aside the cloak from Ludovic’s face, which happily lay in
shadow, and then replaced it; pretended to feel the pulse, let the
hand fall with a thud, and turned to the door. “Now to report to his
Excellency,” he said motioning them out before him. “Come! I’ll have
the fellow respected now that he can do no more harm.” So he baulked
their curiosity, sturdily sent them out of the place and, following,
closed the door.
The Princess and Minna with arms linked had strolled out upon the
terrace. The atmosphere of the rooms had seemed charged with excitement
that evening, and the calm glory of the night with its soft, pure air
was infinitely refreshing. Here the Chancellor found them when he came
out in grim expectancy of the report that one more human obstacle had
been removed from his path. It was an untoward encounter; certainly
the Princess, glad as perhaps he might have been to teach her a lesson
and show his fell power, was otherwise the last witness he wanted for
his anticipated interview.
Still he greeted them suavely enough, and then remarked that the air
was chilly and that the Princess would do well to go indoors.
“I do not feel it,” she objected. “It seems to me quite warm and balmy.”
“Nevertheless it is chilly,” he insisted in the domineering tone which
came so easily to him. “Your Highness should be advised. The obligation
not to trifle with royal health extends far beyond a personal
consideration.”
“It seems that royal health is of far more account than royal
happiness,” she could not help retorting.
“Indeed, no,” he returned, ignoring, in his unruffled way, any
significance in the speech. “Your health, gracious Princess, means
happiness to all your father’s subjects and surely to yourself. And
it is your happiness for which with all my ability and experience I
unceasingly strive. Only be convinced of that, dear Highness, and let
me----”
The sound of a shot broke the stillness of the night-shrouded park.
Ruperta turned quickly in the direction whence it had come.
“What was that?” she exclaimed, in a voice which foreboding filled with
dread.
“It is nothing,” Rollmar answered with a shrug, “which need concern
your Highness.”
She was regarding him searchingly, her eyes full of a fearful
suspicion. “A pistol shot under the very palace walls. Surely----” She
stopped as though unable to control her voice. Her lips were trembling
and her face, in the light from the window, was white.
“May I beg you to go in, Highness?” the Baron repeated, extending his
arm to keep open the window.
In that moment the cold, statuesque beauty was transformed in a
fashion that startled even the imperturbable Chancellor. Her face
flushed and her eyes were alight with bitterness and anger.
“I know now,” she said hotly, “why you were anxious for me to go in,
what this chill air of yours meant. It was to get me out of the way of
your dastardly act, your fiendish work. I know. You have killed the man
whom you have been hunting down so atrociously; assassin, vile murderer
that you are. And you dare, hypocritical wretch, to talk of my health.
I will go and see your work, and if it be as I suspect, I swear before
Heaven you shall bitterly rue it!”
Rollmar stepped before her. “Princess, this is madness. You must not
go. You are wrong.”
“Liar!” she flashed out at him passionately, the flood of her anger
keeping back the waters of desolation that were ready to flow over her
soul. “Show me that I am wrong. Take me there. Prove it. Ah, you dare
not! But I will see----”
“Dear Highness----” Minna began to remonstrate apprehensively, but
Ruperta had pushed aside all opposition and was running towards the
steps that led down from the terrace.
As Rollmar followed her, his temper hardly soothed by the unfortunate
chance which had marred the complete success of the business, his sharp
eyes saw the expected three figures drawing out from the shadow of the
wooded alley. He quickened his pace, meanwhile sternly ordering Minna
to stop the Princess. “Come back, Highness!” he cried, “I order you.
Your father shall know of this.”
Minna, impelled more by fear of the horror which might be waiting them
than the Chancellor’s threat, ran quickly and caught her by the arm,
trying to draw her back.
“Dear Highness, I entreat you, do not go farther,” she panted.
But the three were by this time quite visible.
“Look! Those men!” Ruperta cried. “Ah, I will know!”
Rollmar caught her, angrily, it seemed, by the arm. “Your Highness is
exceeding all propriety,” he said.
“As your Excellency is exceeding all justice and all humanity,” she
retorted.
He made a gesture of impatience. “Have your own way, then. But I have
warned your Highness.”
Without staying for further words, Ruperta turned again and ran
distractedly down the alley leading to the pavilion. Recalling himself
from a moment’s critical thought, Rollmar looked round at his agents,
“Well?”
Ompertz bowed. “It is well, Excellency. I have hardly bungled this
time. These men have seen him dead. One shot was enough.”
The Chancellor glanced for corroboration at the Italians who bowed
with a word of confirmation. “Good,” he said. “I will see what further
orders are needful. Captain von Ompertz, you may report yourself at my
bureau at ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”
As the soldier bowed and turned away, Rollmar made a sign to one of the
Italians, and, as he came near, whispered a hurried word to him. The
man nodded, and then the two went off by the way Ompertz had taken,
leaving the Chancellor standing alone in keen thought.
Ruperta, followed fearfully by Minna, had reached the pavilion and it
was not until her foot was on the threshold that she stopped, sick and
faint at heart, not daring to look in. But her pause was in silence,
save for her quick breathing; the cry of her heart found no utterance.
Then a desperate longing to know the worst nerved her to look in, and
she saw the room was empty. Scarcely daring to trust her eyes, she
signed to Minna and went in. The thing she dreaded was not there; the
two women stood and looked into each other’s face in wonder. Then there
was the sound of a step at the door. If it were Rollmar----. Ruperta
went quickly to it, and gave a great gasp of joy as she was clasped in
her lover’s arms.
“Ah, my love, my dear love!” she murmured. Then, when their kisses
allowed speech, he told her in a few words what had happened.
“You are mad to stay here,” she said, holding him fast nevertheless.
“How can I go?” he protested. “Ah, if you only were content to marry
Prince----”
She shook her head impatiently. “That is now farther from me than
ever,” she declared. “That shall never be, I swear to you, my love.”
At last she made him go, saying she would let him run no more risks
for her sake, yet doubting how they should cease. And he assured her
that he feared nothing, that with a love like theirs all must be well.
And that made her sad, knowing well how experience was against that
comfortable hope and that love counts as a very minus quantity against
State policy.
Nevertheless, when she went back to the Palace, the Chancellor,
watching for her with grim expectation, was not a little puzzled at
what he saw in her face.