A SLEEPER
Fandor sat up in bed as the door of his room opened to admit the
cautious head of Wulf. "Your Majesty is awake?" he inquired.
"Yes, my Majesty is awake and ready to get up. Wulf, we are going out
to-day."
"As your Majesty wishes."
"The Queen has written to say that she is getting bored, and wants me
home again. That being the case we had better make the most of our few
remaining days, you understand?"
"Not very well."
"Why, this afternoon we must look up some pretty girls and, as my cousin
the King of England says, 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.' Evil to him who
evil thinks. And now, au revoir, my dear Wulf; by and by I'll invite you
to crack a bottle with me."
The punctilious Wulf made the three bows demanded by etiquette, turned
on his heel, and left the room.
Fandor sprang out of bed and began to dress.
"After all, it's not altogether a joke," he muttered. "I had to listen
to that idiot Wulf jawing away all yesterday evening ... and if I
remember right, he said something about being suspicious of that little
Marie Pascal. I'll have to stop him making more blunders. He's quite
capable of having her arrested. Anyway, Wulf is to do nothing till the
return of Juve, and that will give me time to take my precautions."
* * * * *
Fandor and Wulf had just finished a very excellent dinner, which Fandor
paid for out of his own pocket. He was careful not to take any of the
royal funds for his personal use. Wulf hovered on the borderland of
drunkenness, but his ideas still showed some coherence. For the
twentieth time he asked Fandor the same question:
"But, Sire, why the deuce are you wearing a false moustache and whiskers
to-day?"
"So that I may not be recognized, my friend. I don't like having to give
royal tips everywhere."
Fandor was not speaking the truth. His disguise was assumed for other
reasons. He did not wish to be recognized either as Frederick-Christian
or as Fandor. Since noon--and it was now ten o'clock at night--the two
men had been doing Paris together, and Wulf had received the very
gratifying appellations of "my excellent friend," "my subtle detective,"
and other flattering names, so he was now dreaming of decorations, new
decorations created especially for him.
Fandor interrupted his thoughts by patting him familiarly on the
shoulder:
"Now that we've had dinner, I'm going to tell you something. We've had
quite a day of it; we've visited the Bois, where you spat in the lake,
the action of a reflective mind; we've been to the top of the Arc de
Triomphe and to the Madeleine, so now there is only one joy remaining."
Wulf nodded: "To pay for the dinner."
"Not exactly," laughed Fandor, "that's more of a penance. No, I was
referring to a chance meeting, a charming feminine figure, a kiss, a
caress. Wulf, what would you say to two plump white arms around your
neck?"
Wulf became purple in the face.
"Oh, Sire, that would be great! But when I am with your Majesty, I don't
look at women."
"And why not, Wulf?"
"Because the women only look at you."
"That's so, Wulf, that's so; but there is a way of fixing that. You
order a drink which I will pay for, then sit here and count all the
carriages that pass in the street while I do an errand, it will only
take twenty-five minutes.... I'm going to see a girl I know you
understand?"
"Yes, Sire. Must I count all the carriages?"
"No, only those drawn by white horses. Au revoir, Wulf."
Fandor left the cafe and hailed a cab:
"Rue Bonaparte. I'll tell you where to stop." He settled back in his
seat, an anxious frown on his face.
"I'll just drop a hint to Juve," he thought. "One never knows what may
happen.... I suppose he'll be back soon ... to-morrow morning or evening
... and won't he be glad to hear the result of my search!"
Fandor tapped on the glass with his cane, got out, paid the driver and
made his way to the house where Juve lived. He still had his pass-key
and let himself in, calling:
"Hello! Juve, are you in?"
There was no answer, so Fandor sat at Juve's desk and wrote a long
letter, then tracing a diagram upon another sheet, he put them into an
envelope addressed to "Monsieur Juve--Urgent."
When he rejoined Wulf, he found the faithful detective on his job.
"I've counted up to 99, Sire, but I'm not quite sure that I'm exact. A
bay horse passed, and I wasn't sure whether to count him or not."
"That's all right, we'll take this up another time. I've spoken of you
to my little friend and she is crazy to meet you, Wulf."
"Oh, Sire! Sire!"
"Yes ... so come along."
"To her house?"
"Oh, no--this lady is poetic, she wants the first meeting to take place
in appropriate surroundings."
While Wulf was cudgeling his brains to think up a verse or two to fit
the occasion, Fandor guided him down the Rue Castiglione, the Rue de
Rivoli and at length reached the Place de la Concorde. He cast an
anxious glance as he passed at the mysterious repairs, repairs not
indexed by the administration, and then turned to the Singing Fountains.
"Sire, is this the place?"
"Yes, Wulf, but first there are a few formalities to be gone through."
The two men had reached the parapet overlooking the Seine.
"You are to stand here, Wulf, and look down at the water. You are not to
take your eyes off it."
"Why? What does your Majesty mean?"
"Because I have a surprise in store for you, and also I wish to bring
about the meeting in a natural manner--to spare the lady's feelings. Now
I shall go to meet her and take her to the Singing Fountains. When I
whistle you are to join us. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Your Majesty is most kind."
Fandor moved away and after glancing back to make sure Wulf was obeying
orders, he quickly drew his revolver and approached the works.
"I must remember Juve's precept," he muttered, "never fire first, and
then only when you're sure to hit."
The journalist now examined the palisade which surrounded a ditch of
some depth dug in the angle made by the Orangery walls.
"Can't see anything from the outside," he thought, "so I'll go in."
With a running jump he succeeded in catching hold of the palisade top
and in a moment was sitting astride of it.
Nobody was in sight. Fandor was a little surprised. He expected to be
confronted by some sinister individual.
"All right," he growled, "if you don't mind I'll come in."
Letting go of the top he slid down to the ground. There he found a
large hole in which was placed a ladder. This led to the bottom of the
ditch where a series of pipes protruded from the soil. Fandor lit his
pocket lamp and carefully examined the surroundings.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "it looks as though some perfectly natural repair
work was going on."
He then went down listening at each pipe mouth. One of them gave out a
peculiar sound, steady and cadenced, in fact, a snore, a real snore.
"Can he be asleep," he muttered.
Climbing quickly out of the ditch, Fandor reached the street again and
ran toward the Singing Fountains.
"Either the 'Curiosities of Paris' which I read yesterday in the library
is a collection of bad jokes, or the body of the third statue ..."
He did not complete his thought.
After once more making sure that nobody was about, and that the
excellent Wulf was still absorbed in contemplation of the Seine, he
climbed into the basin at the foot of one of the bronze naiads and waded
through mud and water to the base of the statue.
"Now, then, let's see, what must I do next? Seize the statue by the
neck, place the left hand in the middle of the body and sway it."
Suiting the action to the word, the journalist applied all his force and
in a moment the statue parted in two and swung toward him. The hollow
interior appeared like a black hole. Bending forward, Fandor cried:
"Sire, Sire, can you hear me?"
His voice came echoing back to him, but there was no reply from the
depths.
"Ah, I can't be mistaken!" he cried, desperately. "Wulf heard this
fountain singing the national anthem of Hesse-Weimar, the statue is
hollow, therefore the King should be hidden in it."
Again he stood, listening. After a pause an exclamation of surprise
escaped him.
"Why, it's the same noise I heard in the pipe ... it's a snore ... the
unfortunate man is somewhere asleep!"
To call louder would have been dangerous, and besides, quick action was
necessary.
"Nothing venture, nothing gain," he whispered, as, revolver in hand, he
stepped inside the statue. He slid rapidly down for a distance of six or
eight feet and then landed on earth. There he lay for a minute or two,
reasoning that if he should be met by a fusillade, he would be safer in
that position.
However, complete silence reigned about him, broken only by the steady
and distant snoring.
Then, lighting his electric lamp, Fandor began a survey of the premises
into which he had so daringly intruded.