THROUGH THE TELEPHONE
When Leopold arrived at Felgarde he went immediately to the hotel
which he had designated as a place of meeting. But no ladies answering
to the description he gave had been seen there. Either Miss Mowbray
had failed to receive his message, or, having received, had chosen to
ignore it.
The doubt, harrowing while it lasted, was solved on returning to the
railway station, though certainty proved scarcely less tantalizing
than uncertainty had been.
The telegram was still in the hands of the station-master, to whose
care it had been addressed. This diligent person professed to have
sent a man through the Orient Express, from end to end, calling for
Miss Helen Mowbray, but calling in vain. He had no theory more
plausible to offer than that the lady had not started from Kronburg;
or else that she had left the train at Felgarde before her name had
been cried. But certainly she would not have had time to go far, if
she were a through passenger, for the Orient Express stopped but ten
minutes at Felgarde.
It was evident throughout the short conversation that the excellent
official was on pins and needles. Struck by the Emperor's features,
which he had so often seen in painting and photograph, it still seemed
impossible that the greatest man in Rhaetia could be traveling thus
about the country, in ordinary morning dress, and unattended. Sure at
one instant that he must be talking with the Emperor, sure the next
that he had been deceived by a likeness, the poor fellow struggled
against his confusion in a way that would have amused Leopold, in a
different mood.
With a manner that essayed the difficult mean between reverence due to
Royalty, and common, every-day politeness, good enough for an ordinary
gentleman, the station-master volunteered to ascertain whether the
ladies described had gone out and given up their tickets. A few
minutes of suspense dragged on; then came the news that no such
persons had passed.
Here was a stumbling-block. Since Helen Mowbray and her mother had
apparently not traveled by the Orient Express, where had they gone on
leaving the hotel at Kronburg? Had they after all misled Baroness von
Lyndal as to their intentions, for the purpose of blinding the
Emperor; or had they simply changed their minds at the last minute, as
women may? Could it be possible that they had changed them so
completely as to return to Schloss Lyndalberg? Or had they chosen to
vanish mysteriously through some back door out of Rhaetia, leaving no
trace which even a lover could find?
Leopold could not help recalling the Chancellor's "revelations," but
dismissed them as soon as they had crept into his brain. No matter
where the clue to the tangle might lie, he told himself that it was
not in any act of which Helen Mowbray need be ashamed.
He could think of nothing more to do but to go dismally back to
Kronburg, and await developments--or rather, to stir them up by every
means in his power. This was the course he finally chose; and, just as
he was about to act upon his decision, he remembered his carelessly
given promise to Count von Breitstein.
There was a telephone in the railway station at Felgarde, and Leopold
himself called up the Chancellor at Kronburg.
"My friends are not here. I'm starting for Kronburg as soon as
possible, either by the next train, or by special," he announced,
after a far-away squeak had signified Count von Breitstein's presence
at the other end. "I don't see why you wish to know, but I would not
break my promise. That's all; good-by--Eh?--What was that you said?"
"I have a--curious--piece of--news for you," came over the wire in the
Chancellor's voice. "It's--about the--ladies."
"What is it?" asked Leopold.
"I hinted that I had more information which I could not give you then.
But I am in a different position now. You did not find your friends in
the Orient Express."
"No," said the Emperor.
"They gave out that they were leaving Rhaetia. But they haven't
crossed the frontier."
"Thanks. That's exactly what I wanted to know."
"You remember a certain person whose name can't be mentioned over the
telephone, buying a hunting lodge near the village of Inseleden, in
the Buchenwald, last year?"
"Yes. I remember very well. But what has that to do with my friends?"
"The younger lady has gone there without her mother, who remains in
Kronburg, with the companion. It seems that the present owner of the
hunting lodge has been acquainted with them for some time, though he
was ignorant of their masquerade. You see, he knows them only under
their real name. The young lady is a singer in comic operas, a Miss
Jenny Brett, whose _dossier_ can be given you on demand. The owner of
the hunting lodge arrived at his place this morning, motored into
Kronburg, where the young lady had waited, evidently informed of his
coming. She invited him to pay her a visit at her hotel; he accepted,
and returned the invitation, which she accepted."
"You are misinformed. The lady was never an opera singer. And I'm
certain she would neither receive the person you mention, nor go to
visit him."
"Will you drive out to the lodge to-night, when you reach Kronburg,
and honor the gentleman with an unexpected call?"
"I will, d--n you, but not for the reason you think," cried the
Emperor. It was the first time in his life that he had ever used
strong language to the Chancellor.
He dropped the receiver, flung down a gold coin with his own head upon
it (at the moment he could have wished that he had no other) and
waving away an offer of change, rushed out of the office.
Under his breath he swore again, the strongest oaths which the rich
language of his fatherland provided, anathematizing not the beloved
woman, maligned, but the man who maligned her.
There would be death in the thought that she could be false to
herself, and her confession of love for him; but then, it was
unthinkable. Let the whole world reek with foulness; his love must
still shine above it, white and remote as the young moon.
This old man--whose life would scarce have been safe if, in his
Emperor's present mood, the two had been together--this old man had a
grudge against the one perfect girl on earth. There was no black rag
of scandal he would not stoop to pick out of the mud and fly as a
flag of battle, soothing his conscience--if he had one--by saying it
was for "Rhaetia's good."
Telling himself that these things were truths, Leopold hurried away to
inquire for the next train back to Kronburg. There would not be
another for three hours, he found, and as nothing could have induced
him to wait three hours, or even two, he ordered a special. There was
a raging tiger in his breast, which would not cease to tear him until
he had seen Helen Mowbray, laid his Empire at her feet, received her
answer, and through it, punished the Chancellor.
The special, he was told, could be ready in less than an hour. The
journey to Kronburg would occupy nearly three more, and it would be
close upon nine before he could start with Count von Breitstein, for
the hunting lodge which he had promised to visit. But the Chancellor
would doubtless have his electric carriage ready for the desired
expedition, and they could reach their destination in twenty minutes.
This was not too long a time to give up to proving the old man wrong;
for to do this, not to find Helen Mowbray, was Leopold's motive in
consenting. She would not be there, and the Emperor was going because
she would not. He wanted to witness von Breitstein's confusion, for
humiliation was the bitterest punishment which could possibly be
inflicted on the proud and opinionated old man.