“The American has escaped!” was the cry that spread through Edelweiss
the next morning.
It brought undisguised relief to the faces of thousands; there was not
one who upbraided Baron Dangloss for his astounding negligence. Never
before had a criminal escaped from the Tower. The only excuse, uttered
in woebegone tone, was that the prison had not been constructed or
manned for such clever scoundrels as Yankees--good name for audacity.
But as nobody criticised, his explanation was taken good-naturedly and
there was secret rejoicing in the city. Of course, everybody wondered
where the prisoner had gone; most of them feared that he could not
escape the officers, while others shrewdly smiled and expressed
themselves as confident that so clever a gentleman could not be caught.
They marveled at his boldness, his ingenuity, his assurance.
The full story of the daring break for liberty flashed from lip to lip
during the day, and it was known all over the water-swept city before
noon. Baron Dangloss, himself, had gone to the prisoner's cell early in
the morning, mystified by the continued absence of the guard. The door
was locked, but from within came groans and cries. Alarmed at once, the
Captain procured duplicate keys and entered the cell. There he found the
helpless, blood-covered Ogbot, bound hand and foot and almost dead from
loss of blood. The clothes of the American were on the floor, while his
own were missing, gone with the prisoner. Ogbot, as soon as he was able,
related his experience of the night before. It was while making his
rounds at midnight that he heard moans from the cell. Animated by a
feeling of pity he opened the slab door and asked if he were ill. The
wretched American was lying on the bed, apparently suffering. He said
something which the guard could not understand but which he took to be
a plea for assistance. Not suspecting a trick, the kindly guard unlocked
the second door and stepped to the bedside, only to have the sick man
rise suddenly and deal him a treacherous blow over the head with the
heavy stool he had secreted behind him. Ogbot knew nothing of what
followed, so effective was the blow. When he regained consciousness
he was lying on the bed, just as the Captain had found him. The poor
fellow, overwhelmed by the enormity of his mistake, begged Dangloss to
shoot him at once. But Dangloss had him conveyed to the hospital ward
and tenderly cared for.
Three guards in one of the offices saw a man whom they supposed to be
Ogbot pass from the prison shortly after twelve, and the mortified Chief
admitted that some one had gone through his private apartment. As the
prisoner had taken Ogbot's keys he experienced little difficulty in
getting outside the gates. But, vowed Dangloss stormily, he should be
recaptured if it required the efforts of all the policemen in Edelweiss.
With this very brave declaration in mind he despatched men to search
every street and every alley, every cellar and every attic in the city.
Messengers were sent to all towns in the district; armed posses scoured
the valley and the surrounding forests, explored the caves and brush
heaps for miles around. The chagrin of the grim old Captain, who had
never lost a prisoner, was pitiful to behold.
The forenoon was half over before Harry Anguish heard of his friend's
escape. To say that he was paralyzed would be putting it much
too mildly. There is no language that can adequately describe his
sensations. Forgetting his bodyguard, he tore down the street toward the
prison, wild with anxiety and doubt. He met Baron Dangloss, tired and
worn, near the gate, but the old officer could tell him nothing except
what he had learned from Ogbot. Of one thing there could be no doubt:
Lorry was gone. Not knowing where to turn nor what to do, Anguish raced
off to the castle, his bodyguard having located him in the meantime. He
was more in need of their protection than ever. At the castle gates he
encountered a party of raving Axphainians, crazed with anger over the
flight of the man whose life they had thirsted for so ravenously. Had
he been unprotected, Anguish would have fared badly at their hands, for
they were outspoken in their assertions that he had aided Lorry in the
escape. One fiery little fellow cast a glove in the American's face
and expected a challenge. Anguish snapped his fingers and sarcastically
invited the insulter to meet him next winter in a battle with snowballs,
upon which the aggressor blasphemed in three languages and three hundred
gestures. Anguish and his men passed inside the gates, which had been
barred to the others, and struck out rapidly for the castle doors.
The Princess Yetive was sleeping' soundly, peacefully, with a smile on
her lips, when her Prime Minister sent an excited attendant to inform
her of the prisoner's escape. She sat up in bed, and, with her hands
clasped about her knees, sleepily announced that she would receive him
after her coffee was served. Then she thought of the wild, sweet ride to
the monastery, the dangerous return, her entrance to the castle through
the secret subterranean passage and the safe arrival in her own room.
All had gone well and he was safe. She smiled quaintly as she glanced
at the bundle of clothes on the floor, blue and black and red. They had
been removed in the underground passage and a loose gown substituted,
but she had carried them to her chamber with the intention of placing
them for the time being in the old mahogany chest that held so many of
her childhood treasures. Springing out of bed, she opened the chest,
cast them into its depths, turned and removed the key which had always
remained in the lock. Then she summoned her maids.
Her uncle and aunt, the Countess Dagmar (whose merry brown eyes were
so full of pretended dismay that the Princess could scarcely restrain
a smile), and Gaspon, the minister of finance, were awaiting her
appearance. She heard the count's story of the escape, marveled at
the prisoner's audacity, and firmly announced that everything possible
should be done to apprehend him. With a perplexed frown on her brow and
a dubious twist to her lips, she said;
“I suppose I must offer a reward.”
“Certainly!” exclaimed her uncle.
“About fifty gavvos, uncle?”
“Fifty!” cried the two men, aghast.
“Isn't that enough?”
“For the murderer of a prince?” demanded Gaspon. “It would be absurd,
your Highness. He is a most important person.”
“Quite so; he is a most important person. I think I'll offer five
thousand gavvos.”
“More like it. He is worth that, at least,” agreed Uncle Caspar.
“Beyond a doubt,” sanctioned Gaspon.
“I am glad you do not consider me extravagant,” she said, demurely.
“You may have the placards printed at once,” she went on, addressing the
treasurer. “Say that a reward of five thousand gavvos will be paid to
the person who delivers Grenfall Lorry to me.”
“Would it not be better to say 'delivers Grenfall Lorry to the tower'?”
submitted Gaspon.
“You may say 'to the undersigned,' and sign my name,” she said,
reflectively.
“Very well, your highness. They shall be struck off this morning.”
“In large type, Gaspon. You must catch him if you can,” she added. “He
is a very dangerous man and royalty needs protection.” With this wise
bit of caution she dismissed the subject and began to talk of the storm.
As the two young plotters were hastening up the stairs later on,
an attendant approached and informed the Princess that Mr. Anguish
requested an audience.
“Conduct him to my boudoir,” she said, her eyes sparkling with triumph.
In the seclusion of the boudoir she and the Countess laughed like
children over the reward that had been so solemnly ordered.
“Five thousand gavvos!” cried Dagmar, leaning back in her chair, to
emphasize the delight she felt. “What a joke!”
Tap, tap! came a knock on the door, and in the same instant it flew
open, for Mr. Anguish was in a hurry. As he plunged into their presence
a pair of heels found the floor spasmodically.
“Oh, I beg pardon!” he gasped, as if about to fly. “May I come in?”
“Not unless you go outside. You are already in, it seems,” said the
Princess, advancing to meet him. The Countess was very still and sedate.
“I am so glad you have come.”
“Heard about Lorry? The fool is out and gone,” he cried, unable to
restrain himself. Without a word she dragged him to the divan, and,
between them, he soon had the whole story poured into his ears, the
Princess on one side, the Countess on the other.
“You are a wonder!” he exclaimed, when all the facts were known to him.
He executed a little dance of approval, entirely out of place in the
boudoir of a princess, but very much in touch with prevailing sentiment.
“But what's to become of me?” he asked, after cooling down. “I have no
excuse for remaining in Graustark and I don't like to leave him here,
either.”
“Oh, I have made plans for you,” said she. “You are to be held as
hostage.”
“What!”
“I thought of your predicament last night, and here is the solution.
This very day I shall issue an order forbidding you the right to leave
Edelweiss. You will not be in prison, but your every movement is to
be watched. A strong guard will have you under surveillance, and any
attempt to escape or to communicate with your friend will result in your
confinement and his detection. In this way you may stay here until the
time comes to fly. The Axphain people must be satisfied, you know. Your
freedom will not be disturbed; you may come and go as you like, but you
are ostensibly a prisoner. By detaining you forcibly we gain a point,
for you are needed here. There is no other way in which you can explain
a continued presence in Graustark. Is not my plan a good one?”
He gazed in admiration at her flushed cheeks and glowing eyes.
“It is beyond comparison,” he said, rising and bowing low. “So shrewd
is this plan that you make me a hostage forever; I shall not escape its
memory if I live to be a thousand.”
And so it was settled, in this pretty drama of deception, that Harry
Anguish was to be held in Edelweiss as hostage. At parting she said,
seriously:
“A great deal depends on your discretion. Mr. Anguish. My guards will
watch your every action, for they are not in the secret,--excepting
Quinnox,--and any attempt on your part to communicate with Grenfall
Lorry will be fatal.”
“Trust me, your Highness. I have had much instruction in wisdom to-day.”
“I hope we shall see you often,” she said.
“Daily--as a hostage,” he replied, glancing toward the Countess.
“That means until the other man is captured,” said that young lady,
saucily.
As he left the castle he gazed at the distant building in the sky and
wondered how it had ever been approached in a carriage. She had not
told him that Allode drove for miles over winding roads that led to the
monastery up a gentler slope from the rear.
The next afternoon Edelweiss thrilled with a new excitement. Prince
Bolaroz of Axphain, mad with grief and rage, came thundering into the
city with his Court at his heels. His wrath had been increased until it
resembled a tornado when he read the reward placard in the uplands. Not
until then did he know that the murderer had escaped and that vengeance
might be denied him.
After, viewing the body of Lorenz as it lay in the sarcophagus of the
royal palace, where it had been borne at the command of the Princess
Yetive, he demanded audience with his son's betrothed, and it was with
fear that she prepared for the trying ordeal, an interview with the
grief-crazed old man. The castle was in a furore; its halls soon
thronged with diplomatists and there was an ugly sense of trouble in the
air, suggestive of the explosion which follows the igniting of a powder
magazine.
The slim, pale-faced Princess met the burly old ruler in the grand
council chamber. He and his nobles had been kept waiting but a short
time. Within a very few minutes after they had been conducted to the
chamber by Count Halfont and other dignitaries, the fair ruler came into
the room and advanced between the bowing lines of courtiers to the spot
where sat the man who held Graustark in his grasp. A slender, graceful
figure in black, proud and serious, she walked unhesitatingly to the old
man's side. If she feared him, if she was impressed by his power, she
did not show it. The little drama had two stars of equal magnitude,
neither of whom acknowledged supremacy in the other.
Bolaroz arose as she drew near, his gaunt face black and unfriendly.
She extended her hand graciously, and he, a prince for all his wrath,
touched his trembling lips to its white, smooth back.
“I come in grief and sadness to your Court, most glorious Yetive. My
burden of sorrow is greater than I can bear,” he said, hoarsely.
“Would that I could give you consolation,” she said, sitting in the
chair reserved for her use at council gatherings. “Alas! it grieves me
that I can offer nothing more than words.”
“You are the one he would have made his wife,” said the old Prince,
sitting beside her. He looked into her deep blue eyes and tears sprung
to his own. His voice failed him, and long moments passed before he
could control his emotion. Truly she pitied him in his bereavement.
Then followed a formal discussion of the crime and the arrangement of
details in connection with the removal of the dead Prince from Graustark
to his own land. These matters settled, Bolaroz said that he had
heard of the murderer's escape and asked what effort was being made
to re-capture him. Yetive related all that had happened, expressing
humiliation over the fact that her officers had been unable to
accomplish anything, adding that she did not believe the fugitive could
get away from Graustark safely without her knowledge. The old Prince
was working himself back into the violent rage that had been temporarily
subdued; and at last broke out in a vicious denunciation of the
carelessness that had allowed the man to escape. He first insisted that
Dangloss and his incompetent assistants be thrown into prison for life
or executed for criminal negligence; then he demanded the life of Harry
Anguish as an aider and abettor in the flight of the murderer. In both
cases the Princess firmly refused to take the action demanded. She
warmly defended Dangloss and his men, and announced in no uncertain
tones that she would not order the arrest of the remaining American.
Then she acquainted him with her intention to detain Anguish as hostage
and to have his every action watched in the hope that a clue to the
whereabouts of the fugitive might be discovered, providing, of course,
that the friend knew anything at all about the matter. The Duke of
Mizrox and others loudly joined in the cry for Anguish's arrest, but she
bravely held out against them and in the end curtly informed them that
the American, whom she believed to be innocent of all complicity in the
escape, should be subjected to no indignity other than detention in the
city under guard, as she had ordered.
“I insist that this man be cast into prison at once,” snarled the
white-lipped Bolaroz.
Her eyes flashed and her bosom heaved with anger.
“You are not at liberty to command in Graustark, Prince Bolaroz,” she
said, slowly and distinctly. “I am ruler here.”
The heart of every Graustark nobleman leaped with pride at this daring
rebuff. Bolaroz gasped and was speechless for some seconds.
“You shall not be ruler long, madam,” he said, malevolently,
significantly.
“But I am ruler now, and, as such, I ask your Highness to withdraw from
my castle. I did not know that I was to submit to these threats and
insults, or I should not have been kind enough to grant you an audience,
Prince though you are. When I came to this room it was to give you my
deepest sympathy and to receive yours, not to be insulted. You have lost
a son, I my betrothed. It ill becomes you, Prince Bolaroz, to vent your
vindictiveness upon me. My men are doing all in their power to capture
the man who has so unfortunately escaped from our clutches, and I shall
not allow you or any one else to dictate the manner in which we are to
proceed.” She uttered these words cuttingly, and, at their conclusion,
arose to leave the room.
Bolaroz heard her through in surprise and with conflicting emotions.
There was no mistaking her indignation, so he deemed it policy to
bottle his wrath, overlook the most offensive rebuke his vanity had ever
received, and submit to what was evidently a just decision.
“Stay, your Highness. I submit to your proposition regarding the other
stranger, although I doubt its wisdom. There is but one in whom I
am really interested,--the one who killed my son. There is to be no
cessation in the effort to find him, I am to understand. I have a
proposition. With me are three hundred of my bravest soldiers. I offer
them to you in order that you may better prosecute the search. They will
remain here and you may use them in any way you see fit. The Duke of
Mizrox will linger in Edelweiss and with him you and yours may always
confer. He, also, is at your command. This man must be retaken. I swear,
by all that is above and below me, he shall be found, if I hunt the
world over to accomplish that end. He shall not escape my vengeance! And
hark you to this: On the twentieth of next month I shall demand payment
of the debt due Axphain. So deeply is my heart set on the death of this
Grenfall Lorry that I agree now, before all these friends of ours, that
if he be captured, and executed in my presence, before the twentieth of
November, Graustark shall be granted the extension of time that would
have obtained in the event of your espousal with the man he killed. You
hear this offer, all? It is bound by my sacred word of honor. His death
before the twentieth gives Graustark ten years of grace. If he is still
at large, I shall claim my own. This offer, I believe, most gracious
Yetive, will greatly encourage your people in the effort to capture the
man we seek.”
The Princess heard the remarkable proposition with face deathly pale,
heart scarcely beating. Again was the duty to Graustark thrust cruelly
upon her. She could save the one only by sacrificing the other.
“We will do all in our power to--to prove ourselves grateful for your
magnanimous offer,” she said. As she passed from the room, followed by
her uncle, she heard the increasing buzz of excitement on all sides, the
unrestrained expressions of amazement and relief from her own subjects,
the patronizing comments of the visitors, all conspiring to sound her
doom. Which way was she to turn in order to escape from herself?
“We must catch this man, Yetive,” said Halfont, on the stairway. “There
is no alternative.”
“Except our inability to do so,” she murmured. In that moment she
determined that Grenfall Lorry should never be taken if she could
prevent it. He was innocent and it was Graustark's penalty to pay.
The next day, amidst pomp and splendor, the Prince of Axphain started
on his journey to the land of his forefathers, to the tombs of his
ancestors, all Edelweiss witnessing the imposing procession that made
its way through the north gates of the town. Far up on the mountain
top a man, looking from his little window, saw the black, snakelike
procession wind away across the plain to the northward, losing itself in
the distant hills.