DEEPER STILL
Puzzled, vaguely alarmed, and nervous as she was, Jessie had been still
more deeply thrilled could she have seen into the room from whence the
signal came. She had escorted the Queen of Asturia there, and
subsequently the man known as General Maxgregor, but why they came and
why that secret meeting Jessie did not know.
In some vague way Jessie connected the mystery with the hapless creature
whom she knew now to be the King of Asturia. Nor was she far wrong. In
the dressing-room beyond the larger room where that strange interview
was to take place, the hapless man lay on a bed. He might have been
dead, so silent was he and so still his breathing. He lay there in his
evening dress, but there was nothing about him to speak of his exalted
rank. He wore no collar or star or any decoration; he might have been no
more than a drunken waiter tossed contemptuously out of the way to lie
in a sodden sleep till the effects of his potations passed.
The sleeper was small of size and mean of face, the weak lips hidden
with a ragged red moustache; a thin crop of the same flame-coloured hair
was on his head. In fine contrast stood the Queen of Asturia, regally
beautiful, perfectly dressed and flashing with diamonds. There was every
inch of a queen. But her face was bitter and hard, her dark eyes
flashed.
"And to think that I am passing my life in peril, ruining my health and
shattering my nerves for a creature like _that_!" she whispered
vehemently. "A cowardly, dishonest, drunken hog--a man who is prepared
to sacrifice his crown for money to spend on wine and cards. Nay, the
crown may be sold by this time for all I know."
The figure on the bed stirred just a little. With a look of intense
loathing the queen bent down and laid her head on the sleeper's breast.
It seemed to her that the heart was not moving.
"He must not die," she said passionately. "He must not die--yet. And
yet, God help me, I should be the happier for his release. The weary
struggle would be over, and I could sleep without the fear of his being
murdered before my eyes. Oh, why does not Paul come!"
The words came as if in protest against the speaker's helplessness.
Almost immediately there came a gentle tap at the door, and General
Maxgregor entered. A low, fierce cry of delight came from the queen; she
held out a pair of hands that trembled to the newcomer. There was a
flush on her beautiful face now, a look of pleasure in the splendid
eyes. She was more like a girl welcoming her lover than a queen awaiting
the arrival of a servant.
"I began to be afraid, Paul," she said. "You are so very late, that
I----"
Paul Maxgregor held the trembling hands in a strong grasp. There was
something in his glance that caused the queen to lower her eyes and her
face to flush hotly. It was not the first time that a soldier has
aspired to share a throne. There was more than one tradition in the
berserker Scotch family to bear out the truth of it. The Maxgregors of
Glen had helped to make European history before now, and Paul Maxgregor
was not the softest of his race.
Generally he passed for an Asturian, for he spoke the language
perfectly, having been in the service of that turbulent State for the
last twenty odd years. There was always fighting in the Balkans, and the
pay had attracted Paul Maxgregor in his earliest days. But though his
loyalty had never been called in question, he was still a Briton to the
backbone.
"I could not come before, Margaret," he said. "There were other matters.
But why did you bring him here? Surely Lord Merehaven does not know that
our beloved ruler----"
"He doesn't, Paul. But I had to be here and play my part. And there came
news that the king was in some gambling house with a troupe of that
archfiend's spies. The police helped me, and I dragged him out and I
brought him here by way of the garden. Vera Galloway did the rest. I
dared not leave that man behind me, I dared not trust a single servant I
possess. So I smuggled the king here and I sent for you. He is very near
to death to-night."
"Let him die!" Paul Maxgregor cried. "Let the carrion perish! Then you
can seat yourself on the throne of Asturia, and I will see that you
don't want for a following."
The queen looked up with a mournful smile on her face. There was one
friend here whom she could trust, and she knew it well. Her hands were
still held by those of Maxgregor.
"You are too impetuous, Paul," she said softly. "I know that you are
devoted to me, that yo--you love me----"
"I love you with my whole heart and soul, sweetheart," Maxgregor
whispered. "I have loved you since the day you came down from your
father's castle in the hills to wed the drunken rascal who lies there
heedless of his peril. The Maxgregors have ever been rash where their
affections were concerned. And even before you became Erno's bride, I
warned you what to expect. I would have taken you off then and there and
married you, even though I had lost my career and all Europe would have
talked of the scandal. But your mind was fixed upon saving Asturia from
Russia, and you refused. Not because you did not love me----"
The queen smiled faintly. This handsome, impetuous, headstrong soldier
spoke no more than the truth. And she was only a friendless, desperate
woman after all.
"I must go on, Paul," she said. "My duty lies plainly before me. Suppose
Erno ... dies? He may die to-night. And if he does, what will happen? As
sure as you and I stand at this moment here, Russia will produce some
document purporting to be signed by the king. The forgery will be a
clever one, but it will be a forgery all the same. It will be proved
that Erno has sold his country, the money will be traced to him, and
Russia will take possession of those Southern passes. This information
comes from a sure hand. And if Russia can make out a case like this,
Europe will not interfere. Spies everywhere will make out that I had a
hand in the business, and all my work will be in vain. Think of it,
Paul--put your own feelings aside for a moment. Erno must not die."
Maxgregor paced up and down the room with long, impatient strides. The
pleading voice of the queen had touched him. When he spoke again his
tone was calmer.
"You are right," he said. "Your sense of duty and honour make me
ashamed. Mind you, were the king to die I should be glad. I would take
you out of the turmoil of all this, and you would be happy for the first
time in your life. We are wasting valuable time. See here."
As Maxgregor spoke he took a white package from his pocket and tore off
the paper. Two small bottles were disclosed. The general drew the cork
from one of them.
"I got this from Dr. Salerno--I could not find Dr. Varney," he
explained--"and is for our distinguished drunkard--he takes one. The
other is to be administered drop by drop every ten minutes. Salerno told
me that the next orgie like this was pretty sure to be fatal. He said he
had made the remedy strong."
The smaller bottle was opened, and Maxgregor proceeded to raise the head
of the sleeping figure. He tilted up the phial and poured the contents
down the sleeper's throat. He coughed and gurgled, but he managed to
swallow it down. Then there was a faint pulsation of the rigid limbs,
the white, mean face took on a tinge as if the blood were flowing again.
Presently a pair of bloodshot eyes were opened and looked dully round
the room. The king sat up and shuddered.
"What have you given me?" he asked fretfully. "My mouth is on fire.
Fetch me champagne, brandy, anything that tastes of drink. What are you
staring at, fool? Don't you see him over there? He's got a knife in his
hand--he's all dressed in red. He's after me!"
With a yell the unhappy man sprang from the bed and flew to the window.
The spring blind shot up and the casement was forced back before
Maxgregor could interfere. Another moment and the madman would have been
smashed on the flagstones below. With something that sounded like an
oath Maxgregor dashed forward only just in time. His strong hands
reached the drink-soddened maniac back, the casement was shut down, but
in the heat and excitement of the moment the blind remained up, so that
it was just possible from the terrace at the end of the garden to see
into the room.
But this Maxgregor had not time to notice. He had the ruler of Asturia
back on the bed now, weak and helpless and almost collapsed after his
outburst of violence. The delusion of the red figure with the knife had
passed for a moment, and the king's eyes were closed. Yet his heart was
beating now, and he bore something like the semblance of a man.
"And to think that on a wretch like that the fate of a kingdom hangs,"
Maxgregor said sadly. "You can leave him to me, Margaret, for the time
being. Your absence will be noticed by Mazaroff and the rest. Give the
signal.... Why doesn't that girl come?"
But the signal was repeated twice with no sign of the sham Miss
Galloway.