Lorry's cell was as comfortable as a cell could be made through the
efforts of a kindly jailer and a sympathetic chief of police. It was not
located in the dungeon, but high in the tower, a little rock-bound room,
with a single barred window far above the floor. There was a bed of
iron upon which had been placed a clean mattress, and there was a little
chair. The next day after his arrest a comfortable arm chair replaced
the latter; a table, a lamp, some books, flowers, a bottle of wine and
some fruit found their way to his lonely apartment--whoever may have
sent them. Harry Anguish was admitted to the cell during the afternoon.
He promptly and truthfully denied all interest in the donations, but
smiled wisely.
He reported that most of the Axphain contingent was still in town;
a portion had hurried home, carrying the news to the old Prince,
instructed by the aggressive Mizrox to fetch him forthwith to Edelweiss,
where his august presence was necessary before the twenty-sixth.
Those who remained in the Graustark capital were quiet but still in a
threatening mood. The Princess, so Harry informed the prisoner, sent
sincere expressions of sympathy and the hope that all would end well
with him. Count Halfont, the Countess, Gaspon and many others had asked
to be remembered. The prisoner smiled wearily and promised that they
should not be forgotten in a week--which was as far as he expected his
memory to extend.
Late in the evening, as he was lying on his bed, staring at the shadowy
ceiling and puzzling his brain with most oppressive uncertainties, the
rattle of keys in the lock announced the approach of visitors. The door
swung open and through the grate he saw Dangloss and Quinnox. The latter
wore a long military rain coat and had just come in from a drenching
downpour. Lorry's reverie had been so deep that he had not heard the
thunder nor the howling of the winds. Springing to his feet he advanced
quickly to the grated door.
“Captain Quinnox brings a private message from the Princess,” said the
Chief, the words scarcely more than whispered. It was plain that the
message was important and of a secret nature. Quinnox looked up and down
the corridor and stairway before thrusting the tiny note through the
bars. It was grasped eagerly and trembling fingers broke the seal.
Bending near the light he read the lines, his vision blurred, his heart
throbbing so fiercely that the blood seemed to be drowning out other
sounds for all time to come. In the dim corridor stood the two men,
watching him with bated breath and guilty, quaking nerves.
“Oh!” gasped Lorry, kissing the missive insanely as his greedy eyes
careened through the last line. There was no signature, but in every
word he saw her face, felt the touch of her dear hand, heard her timid
heart beating for him-for him alone. Rapture thrilled him from head to
foot, the delirious rapture of love. He could not speak, so overpowering
was the joy, the surprise, the awakening.
“Obey!” whispered Quinnox, his face aglow with pleasure, his finger
quivering as he pointed commandingly toward the letter.
“Obey what!” asked Lorry, dully.
“The last line!”
He hastily reread the last line and then deliberately held the precious
missive over the lamp until it ignited. He would have given all he
possessed to have preserved it. But the last line commanded: “Burn this
at once and in the presence of the bearer.”
“There!” he said, regretfully, as he crumpled the charred remnants
between his fingers and turned to the silent watchers.
“Her crime goes up in smoke,” muttered Dangloss, sententiously.
“The Princess commits no crime,” retorted Quinnox, angrily, “when she
trusts four honest men.”
“Where is she?” whispered the prisoner, with thrumming ears.
“Where all good women should be at nine o'clock--in bed,” replied
Dangloss, shortly. “But will you obey her command?”
“So she commands me to escape!” said Lorry, smiling. “I dare not disobey
my sovereign, I suppose.”
“We obey her because we love her,” said the captain of the guard.
“And for that reason, I also obey. But can this thing be accomplished
without necessitating explanations and possible complications? I will
not obey if it is likely to place her in an embarrassing position.”
“She understands perfectly what she is doing, sir. In the first place,
she has had my advice,” said Dangloss, the good old betrayer of an
official trust.
“You advised her to command you to allow me to escape?”
“She commanded first, and then I advised her how to command you. Axphain
may declare war a thousand times over, but you will be safe. That's all
we--I mean, all she wants.”
“But I cannot desert my friend. How is he to know where I've gone? Will
not vengeance fall on him instead?”
“He shall know everything when the proper time comes. And now, will
you be ready at the hour mentioned. You have but to follow the
instructions--I should say, the commands of the writer.”
“And be free! Tell her that I worship her for this. Tell her that every
drop of blood in my body belongs to her. She offers me freedom, but
makes me her slave for life. Yes, I shall be ready. If I do not see you
again, good friends, remember that I love you because you love her and
because she loves you enough to entrust a most dangerous secret to your
keeping,--the commission of an act that may mean the downfall of your
nation.” He shook hands with them fervently.
“It cannot be that, sir. It may cost the lives of three of her subjects,
but no man save yourself can involve the Princess or the Crown. They may
kill us, but they cannot force us to betray her. I trust you will be
as loyal to the good girl who wears a crown, not upon her heart,” said
Dangloss, earnestly.
“I have said my life is hers, gentlemen,” said Lorry, simply. “God, if
I could but throw myself at her feet! I must see her before I go. I will
not go without telling her what is in my heart!” he added, passionately.
“You must obey the commands implicitly, on your word of honor, or the
transaction ends now,” said Quinnox, firmly.
“This escape means, then, that I am not to see her again,” he said, his
voice choking with emotion.
“Her instructions are that you are to go tonight, at once,” said
Dangloss, and the black-eyed soldier nodded confirmation.
The prisoner paced the floor of his cell, his mind a jumble of
conflicting emotions. His clenched hands, twitching lips and half-closed
eyes betrayed the battle that was inflicting him with its carnage.
Suddenly he darted to the door, crying:
“Then I refuse to obey! Tell her that if she permits me to leave this
hole I shall be at her feet before another night has passed. Say to her
that I refuse to go from Graustark until I have seen her and talked with
her. You, Quinnox, go to her now and tell her this, and say to her also
that there is something she must hear from my own lips. Then I
will leave Graustark and not till then, even though death be the
alternative.” The two men stared at him in amazement and consternation.
“You will not escape?” gasped Quinnox.
“I will not be dragged away without seeing her,” he answered,
resolutely, throwing himself on the bed.
“Damned young ass!” growled Dangloss. The soldier's teeth grated.
A moment later the slab door closed softly, a key rattled, and his
visitors were gone--messengers bearing to him the most positive proof of
devotion that man could exact. What had she offered to do for his
sake? She had planned his escape, had sanctioned the commission of an
unparalleled outrage against the laws of her land--she, of all women, a
Princess! But she also had sought to banish him from the shrine at which
his very soul worshiped, a fate more cruel and unendurable than the one
she would have saved him from.
He looked at his hands and saw the black stains from the charred letter,
last evidence of the crime against the state. A tender light came to
his eyes, a great lump struggled to his throat, and he kissed the sooty
spots, murmuring her name again and again. How lonely he was! how cold
and cheerless his cage! For the first time he began to appreciate the
real seriousness of his position. Up to this time he had regarded
it optimistically, confident of vindication and acquittal. His only
objection to imprisonment grew out of annoyance and the mere deprivation
of liberty. It had not entered his head that he was actually facing
death at close range. Of course, it had been plain to him that the
charges were serious, and that he was awkwardly situated, but the true
enormity of his peril did not dawn upon him until freedom was offered in
such a remarkable manner. He grew cold and shuddered instinctively as he
realized that his position was so critical that the princess had deemed
it necessary to resort to strategic measures in order to save him from
impending doom. Starting to his feet he paced the floor, nervousness
turning to dread, dread to terror. He pounded on the door and cried
aloud. Oh, if he could but bring back those kindly messengers!
Exhausted, torn by conflicting emotions, he at last dropped to the bed
and buried his face in his arms, nearly mad with the sudden solitude of
despair. He recalled her dear letter--the tender, helping hand that
had been stretched out to lift him from the depths into which he was
sinking. She had written--he could see the words plainly--that his
danger was great; she could not endure life until she knew him to be
safely outside the bounds of Graustark. His life was dear to her, and
she would preserve it by dishonoring her trust. Then she had unfolded
her plan of escape, disjointedly, guiltily, hopelessly. In one place
near the end, she wrote: “You have done much more for me than you know,
so I pray that God may be good enough to let me repay you so far as
it lies within my power to do so.” In another place she said: “You may
trust my accomplices, for they love me, too.” An admission unconsciously
made, that word “too.”
But she was offering him freedom only to send him away without granting
one moment of joy in her presence. After all, with death staring him
in the face, the practically convicted murderer of a prince, he knew he
could not have gone without seeing her. He had been ungrateful, perhaps,
but the message he had sent to her was from his heart, and something
told him that it would give her pleasure.
A key turned suddenly in the lock, and his heart bounded with the
hope that it might be some one with her surrender in response to his
ultimatum. He sat upright and rubbed his swollen eyes. The door
swung open, and a tall prison guard peered in upon him, a sharpeyed,
low-browed fellow in rain coat and helmet. His lantern's single unkind
eye was turned menacingly toward the bed.
“What do you want?” demanded the prisoner, irritably.
Instead of answering, the guard proceeded to unlock the second or
grated door, stepping inside the cell a moment later. Smothering an
exclamation, Lorry jerked out his watch and then sprang to his feet,
intensely excited. It was just twelve o'clock, and he remembered now
that she had said a guard would come to him at that hour. Was this the
man? Was the plan to be carried out?
The two men stood staring at each other for a moment or two, one in the
agony of doubt and suspense, the other quizzically. A smile flitted over
the face of the guard; he calmly advanced to the table, putting down
his lantern. Then he drew off his rain coat and helmet and placed in the
other's hand a gray envelope. Lorry reeled and would have fallen but for
the wall against which he staggered. A note from her was in his hand.
He tore open the envelope and drew forth the letter. As he read he grew
strangely calm and contented; a blissful repose rushed in to supplant
the racking unrest of a moment before; the shadows fled and life's light
was burning brightly once more. She had written:
“I entreat you to follow instructions and go to-night. You say you will
not leave Graustark until you have seen me. How rash you are to refuse
liberty and life for such a trifle. But why, I ask, am I offering you
this chance to escape? Is it because I do not hope to see you again?
Is it not enough that I am begging, imploring you to go? I can say no
more.”
He folded the brief note, written in agitation, and, after kissing it,
proceeded to place it in his pocket, determined to keep it to the
last hour of his life. Glancing up at a sound from the guard, he found
himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver. A deep scowl overspread
the face of the man as he pointed to the letter and then to the lamp.
There was no mistaking his meaning. Lorry reluctantly held the note over
the flame and saw it crumble away as had its predecessor. There was to
be no proof of her complicity left behind. He knew it would be folly to
offer a bribe to the loyal guard.
After this very significant act the guard's face cleared, and he
deposited his big revolver on the table. Stepping to the cell's entrance
he listened intently, then softly closed the heavy iron doors. Without
a word he began to strip off his uniform, Lorry watching him as if
fascinated. The fellow looked up impatiently and motioned for him to be
quick, taking it for granted that the prisoner understood his part of
the transaction. Awakened by this sharp reminder, Lorry nervously began
to remove his own clothes. In five minutes his garments were scattered
over the floor and he was attired in the uniform of a guard. Not a word
had been spoken. The prisoner was the guard, the guard a prisoner.
“Are you not afraid this will cost you your life?” asked Lorry, first
in English, then in German. The guard merely shook his head, indicating
that he could not understand.
He quickly turned to the bed, seized a sheet and tore it into strips,
impatiently thrusting them into the other's hands. The first letter had
foretold all this, and the prisoner knew what was expected of him. He
therefore securely bound the guard's legs and arms. With a grim smile
the captive nodded his head toward the revolver, the lantern and the
keys. His obliging prisoner secured them, as well as his own personal
effects, and was ready to depart. According to instructions he was to
go forth, locking the doors behind him, leaving the man to be discovered
the next morning by surprised keepers. It struck him that there was
something absurd in this part of the plan. How was this guard to explain
his position with absolutely no sign of a struggle to bear him out?
It was hardly plausible that a big, strong fellow could be so easily
overpowered single-handed; there was something wretchedly incongruous
about the--but there came a startling and effective end to all
criticism.
The guard, bound as he was, suddenly turned and lunged head-foremost
against the sharp bedpost. His head struck with a thud, and he rolled
to the floor as if dead. Uttering an exclamation of horror, Lorry ran to
his side. Blood was gushing from a long gash across his head, and he was
already unconscious. Sickened by the brave sacrifice, he picked the man
up and placed him on the bed.
A hasty examination proved that it was no more than a scalp wound, and
that death was too remote to be feared. The guard had done his part
nobly, and it was now the prisoner's turn to act as resolutely and as
unflinchingly. Sorry to leave the poor fellow in what seemed an inhuman
manner, he strode into the corridor, closed and locked the doors
clumsily, and began the descent of the stairs. He had been instructed to
act unhesitatingly, as the slightest show of nervousness would result in
discovery.
With the helmet well down over his face and the cape well up, he
steadily, even noisily made his way to the next floor below. There were
prisoners on this floor, while he had been the only occupant of the
floor above. Straight ahead he went, flashing his lantern here and
there, passing down another stairway and into the main corridor. Here he
met a guard who had just come in from the outside. The man addressed him
in the language of the country, and his heart almost stopped beating.
How was he to answer? Mumbling something almost inaudible, he hurried on
to the ground floor, trembling with fear lest the man should call to him
to halt. He was relieved to find, in the end, that his progress was not
to be impeded. In another moment he was boldly unlocking the door that
led to the visitors' hall. Then came the door to the warden's office.
Here he found three sleepy guards, none of whom paid any attention to
him as he passed through and entered Captain Dangloss' private room. The
gruff old Captain sat at a desk, writing. The escaping man half paused
as if to speak to him. A sharp cough from the Captain and a significant
jerk of the head told him that there must be no delay, no words.
Opening the door he stepped out into a storm so fierce and wild that he
shuddered apprehensively.
“A fitting night!” he muttered, as he plunged into the driving rain,
forcing his way across the court-yard toward the main gate. The little
light in the gate-keeper's window was his guide, so, blinded by the
torrents, blown by the winds, he soon found himself before the final
barrier. Peering through the window he saw the keeper dozing in his
chair. By the light from within he selected from the bunch of keys he
carried one that had a white string knotted in its ring. This was the
key that was to open the big gate in case no one challenged him. In any
other case he was to give the countersign, “Dangloss,” and trust fortune
to pass him through without question.
Luck was with him, and, finding the great lock, he softly inserted and
turned the key. The wind blew the heavy gate open violently, and it
required all of his strength to keep it from banging against the wall
beyond. The most difficult task that he had encountered grew from his
efforts to close the gate against the blast. He was about to give up in
despair when a hand was laid on his shoulder and some one hissed in his
startled ear:
“Sh! Not a word!”
His legs almost went from under his body, so great was the shock and
the fear. Two strong hands joined his own in the effort to pull the door
into position, and he knew at once that they belonged to the man who
was to meet him on the corner at the right of the prison wall. He
undoubtedly had tired of the delay, and, feeling secure in the darkness
of the storm, had come to meet his charge, the escaping prisoner. Their
united efforts brought about the desired result, and together they left
the prison behind, striking out against the storm in all its fury.
“You are late,” called the stranger in his ear.
“Not too late, am I?” he cried back, clutching the other's arm.
“No, but we must hasten.”
“Captain Quinnox, is it you?”
“Have a care! The storm has ears and can hear names,” cautioned the
other. As rapidly as possible they made their way along the black
street, almost a river with its sheet of water. Lorry had lost his
bearings, and knew not whither he went, trusting to the guidance of his
struggling companion. There seemed to be no end to their journey, and he
was growing weak beneath the exertion and the excitement.
“How far do we go?” he cried, at last.
“But a few rods. The carriage is at the next corner.”
“Where is the carriage to take me?” he demanded.
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“Am I to see her before I go?”
“That is something I cannot answer, sir. My instructions are to place
you in the carriage and ride beside the driver until our destination is
reached.”
“Is it the castle?” cried the other, joyously.
“It is not the castle,” was the disappointing answer.
At that moment they came upon a great dark hulk and heard the stamping
of horses' hoofs close at hand. It was so dark they could scarcely
discern the shape of the carriage, although they could touch its side
with their hands.
A soldier stood in the shelter of the vehicle and opened the door for
the American.
“Hurry! Get in!” exclaimed Quinnox.
“I wish to know if this is liable to get her into trouble,” demanded
Lorry, pausing with one foot on the steps.
“Get in!” commanded the soldier who was holding the door, pushing him
forward uneasily. He floundered into the carriage where all was dry and
clean. In his hand he still carried the keys and the lantern, the slide
of which he had closed before leaving the prison yard. He could not see,
but he knew that the trappings of the vehicle were superior. Outside he
heard the soldier, who was preparing to enter, say:
“This carriage travels on most urgent business for Her Royal Highness,
captain. It is not to be stopped.”
A moment later he was inside and the door slammed. The carriage rocked
as Quinnox swung up beside the driver.
“You may as well be comfortable,” said Lorry's companion, as he sat
rigid and restless. “We have a long and rough ride before us.”