Nikky Larisch had been having an exciting time. First of all, he
exchanged garments with the chauffeur, and cursed his own long legs,
which proved difficult to cover adequately. But the chauffeur’s long fur
ulster helped considerably. The exchange was rather a ticklish matter,
and would have been more so had he not found a revolver in the fur coat
pocket. It is always hard to remove a coat from a man whose arms are
tied, and trousers are even more difficult. To remove trousers from a
refractory prisoner offers problems. They must be dragged off, and a
good thrust from a heavy boot, or two boots, has been known to change
the fate of nations.
However, Nikky’s luck stood. His prisoner kicked, but owing to Nikky’s
wise precaution of having straddled him, nothing untoward happened.
Behold, then, Nikky of the brave heart standing over his prostrate
prisoner, and rolling him, mummy fashion, in his own tunic and a rug
from the machine.
“It is cold, my friend,” he said briefly; “but I am a kindly soul, and
if you have told me the truth, you will not have so much as a snuffle to
remind you of this to-morrow.”
“I have told the truth.”
“As a soldier, of course,” Nikky went on, “I think you have made
a mistake. You should have chosen the precipice. But as a private
gentleman, I thank you.”
Having examined the knots in the rope, which were very well done,
indeed, and having gagged the chauffeur securely, Nikky prepared to go.
In his goggles, with the low-visored cap and fur coat, he looked not
unlike his late companion. But he had a jaunty step as he walked toward
the car, a bit of swagger that covered, perhaps, just a trifle of
uneasiness.
For Nikky now knew his destination, knew that he was bound on perilous
work, and that the chances of his returning were about fifty-fifty, or
rather less.
Nevertheless, he was apparently quite calm as he examined the car.
He would have chosen, perhaps, a less perilous place to attempt its
mysteries, but needs must. He climbed in, and released the brakes. Then,
with great caution, and considerable noise, he worked it away from the
brink of the chasm, and started off.
He did not know his way. Over the mountains it was plain enough, for
there was but one road. After he descended into the plain of Karnia,
however, it became difficult. Sign-posts were few and not explicit. But
at last he found the railroad, which he knew well--that railroad without
objective, save as it would serve to move troops toward the border.
After that Nikky found it easier.
But, with his course assured, other difficulties presented themselves.
To take the letter to those who would receive it was one thing. But
to deliver it, with all that it might contain, was another. He was not
brilliant, was Nikky. Only brave and simple of heart, and unversed in
the ways of darkness.
If, now, he could open the letter and remove it, substituting--well,
what could he substitute? There were cigarette papers in his pocket.
Trust Nikky for that. But how to make the exchange?
Nikky pondered. To cut the side of the envelope presented itself. But
it was not good enough. The best is none too good when one’s life is at
stake.
The engine was boiling hard, a dull roaring under the hood that
threatened trouble. He drew up beside the road and took off the
water-cap. Then he whistled. Why, of course! Had it not been done from
time immemorial, this steaming of letters? He examined it. It bore no
incriminating seal.
He held the envelope over the water-cap, and was boyishly pleased to
feel the flap loosen. After all, things were easy enough if one used
one’s brains. He rather regretted using almost all of his cigarette
papers, of course. He had, perhaps, never heard of the drop of nicotine
on the tongue of a dog.
As for the letter itself, he put it, without even glancing at it, into
his cap, under the lining. Then he sealed the envelope again and dried
it against one of the lamps. It looked, he reflected, as good as new.
He was extremely pleased with himself.
Before he returned to the machine he consulted his watch. It was three
o’clock. True, the long early spring night gave him four more hours of
darkness. But the messenger was due at three, at the hunting-lodge in,
the mountains which was his destination. He would be, at the best, late
by an hour.
He pushed the car to its limit. The fine hard road, with its border
of trees, stretched ahead. Nikky surveyed it with a soldier’s eye. A
military road, or he knew nothing--one along which motor-lorries could
make express time. A marvelous road, in that sparsely settled place.
Then he entered the forest, that kingly reserve in which Karl ran deer
for pastime.
He was nearing his destination.
On what the messenger had told him Nikky hung his hope of success. This
was, briefly, that he should go to the royal shooting-box at Wedeling,
and should go, not to the house itself, but to the gate-keeper’s lodge.
Here he was to leave his machine, and tap at the door. On its being
opened, he was to say nothing, but to give the letter to him who opened
the door. After that he was to take the machine away to the capital,
some sixty miles farther on.
The message, then, was to the King himself. For Nikky, as all the world,
knew that Karl, with some kindred spirits, was at Wedeling, shooting.
That is, if the messenger told the truth. Nikky intended to find out. He
was nothing if not thorough.
Nikky had lost much of his jaunty air by that time. On the surface
he was his usual debonair self; but his mouth was grim and rather
contemptuous. This was Karl’s way: to propose marriage with a Princess
of Livonia, and yet line the country with his spies! Let him but
return, God willing, with his report, and after that, let them continue
negotiations with Karl if they dared.
When at last the lights of the lodge at the gate of Wedeling gleamed
out through the trees, it was half-pass three, and a wet spring snow was
falling softly. In an open place Nikky looked up. The stars were gone.
The lodge now, and the gate-keeper’s house. Nikky’s heart hammered as he
left the car--hammered with nervousness, not terror. But he went boldly
to the door, and knocked.
So far all was well. There were footsteps within, and a man stepped out
into the darkness, closing the door behind him. Nikky, who had come so
far to see this very agent, and to take back a description of him,
felt thwarted. Things were not being done, he felt, according to
specification. And the man spoke, which was also unexpected.
“You have the letter?” he asked.
“It is here.” Luckily he did not speak the patois.
“I will take it.”
Nikky held it out. The man fumbled for it, took it.
“Orders have come,” said the voice, “that you remain here for the night.
In the morning you are to carry dispatches to the city.”
Poor Nikky! With his car facing toward the lodge, and under necessity,
in order to escape, to back it out into the highway! He thought quickly.
There was no chance of overpowering his man quickly and silently. And
the house was not empty. From beyond the door came the sounds of men’s
voices, and the thud of drinking-mugs on a bare table.
“You will take me up to the house, and then put the car away until
morning.”
Nikky breathed again. It was going to be easy, after all. If only the
road went straight to the shooting-box itself, the rest was simple. But
he prayed that he make no false turning, to betray his ignorance.
“Very well,”--he said.
His companion opened the door behind him. “Ready, now,” he called. “The
car is here.”
Two men rose from a table where they had been sitting, and put on
greatcoats of fur. The lamplight within quivered in the wind from
the open door. Nikky was quite calm now. His heart beat its regular
seventy-two, and he even reflected, with a sort of grim humor, that the
Chancellor would find the recital of this escapade much to his taste. In
a modest way Nikky felt that he was making history.
The man who had received the letter got into the machine beside him. The
other two climbed into the tonneau. And, as if to make the denouement
doubly ridiculous, the road led straight. Nikky, growing extremely
cheerful behind his goggles, wondered how much petrol remained in the
car.
The men behind talked in low tones. Of the shooting, mostly, and the
effect of the snow on it. They had been after pheasants that day, it
appeared.
“They are late to-night,” grumbled one of them, as the house appeared,
full lighted. “A tardy start to-morrow again!”
“The King must have his sleep,” commented the other, rather mockingly.
With a masterly sweep, Nikky drew up his machine before the entrance.
Let them once alight, let him but start his car down the road again, and
all the devils of the night might follow. He feared nothing.
But here again Nikky planned too fast. The servant who came out to open
the doors of the motor had brought a message. “His Majesty desires that
the messenger come in,” was the bomb-shell which exploded in Nikky’s
ears.
Nikky hesitated. And then some imp of recklessness in him prompted him
not to run away, but to see the thing through. It was, after all, a
chance either way. These men beside the car were doubtless armed--one at
least, nearest him, was certainly one of Karl’s own secret agents. And,
as Nikky paused, he was not certain, but it seemed to him that the man
took, a step toward him.
“Very well,” said Nikky, grumbling. “But I have had a long ride, and a
cold one. I need sleep.”
Even then he had a faint hope that the others would precede him, and
that it would be possible to leap back to the car, and escape. But,
whether by accident or design, the group closed about him. Flight was
out of the question.
A little high was Nikky’s head as he went in. He had done a stupid thing
now, and he knew it. He should have taken his letter and gone back with
it. But, fool or not, he was a soldier. Danger made him calm.
So he kept his eyes open. The shooting-box was a simple one, built,
after the fashion of the mountains, of logs, and wood-lined. The walls
of the hall were hung with skins and the mounted heads of animals, boar
and deer, and even an American mountain sheep, testifying to the range
of its royal owner’s activities as a hunter. Great pelts lay on the
floor, and the candelabra were horns cunningly arranged to hold candles.
The hall extended to the roof, and a gallery half-way up showed the
doors of the sleeping-apartments.
The lodge was noisy. Loud talking, the coming and going of servants with
trays, the crackle of wood fires in which whole logs were burning, and,
as Nikky and his escort entered, the roaring chorus of a hunting-song
filled the ears.
Two of the men flung off their heavy coats, and proceeded without
ceremony into the room whence the sounds issued. The third, however,
still holding the letter, ushered Nikky into a small side room, a
sort of study, since it contained a desk. For kings must pursue their
clerical occupations even on holiday. A plain little room it was,
containing an American typewriter, and beside the desk only a chair or
two upholstered in red morocco.
Nikky had reluctantly removed his cap. His goggles, however, he ventured
to retain. He was conscious that his guide was studying him intently.
But not with suspicion, he thought: Rather as one who would gauge the
caliber of the man before him. He seemed satisfied, too, for his voice,
which had been curt, grew more friendly.
“You had no trouble?” he asked.
“None, sir.”
“Did Niburg say anything?”
Niburg, then, was the spy of the cathedral. Nikky reflected. Suddenly he
saw a way out. It was, he afterward proclaimed, not his own thought.
It came to him like a message. He burned a candle to his patron saint,
sometime later, for it.
“The man Niburg had had an unfortunate experience, sir. He reported
that, during an evening stroll, before he met me, he was attacked by
three men, with the evident intention of securing the letter. He was
badly beaten up.”
His companion started. “Niburg,” he said. “Then--” He glanced at the
letter he held. “We must find some one else,” he muttered. “I never
trusted the fellow. A clerk, nothing else. For this work it takes wit.”
Nikky, sweating with strain; felt that it did, indeed. “He was badly
used up, sir,” he offered. “Could hardly walk, and was still trembling
with excitement when I met him.”
The man reflected. A serious matter, he felt. Not so serious as it might
have been, since he held the letter. But it showed many things, and
threatened others. He touched a bell. “Tell his, Majesty,” he said to
the servant who appeared, “that his messenger is here.”
The servant bowed and withdrew.
Nikky found the wait that followed trying. He thought of Hedwig, and of
the little Crown Prince. Suddenly he knew that he had had, no right
to attempt this thing. He had given his word, almost, his oath, to the
King, to protect and watch over the boy. And here he was, knowing now
that mischief was afoot, and powerless. He cursed himself for his folly.
Then Karl came in. He came alone, closing the door behind him. Nikky
and his companion bowed, and Nikky surveyed him through his goggles. The
same mocking face he remembered, from Karl’s visit to the summer palace,
the same easy, graceful carriage, the same small mustache. He was in
evening dress, and the bosom of his shirt was slightly rumpled. He had
been drinking, but he was not intoxicated. He was slightly flushed, his
eyes were abnormally bright. He looked, for the moment; rather amiable.
Nikky was to learn, later on, how easily his smile hardened to a
terrifying grin. The long, rather delicate nose of his family, fine hair
growing a trifle thin, and a thin, straight body this was Karl, King of
Karnia, and long-time enemy to Nikky’s own land.
He ignored Nikky’s companion. “You brought a letter?”
Nikky bowed, and the other man held it out. Karl took it.
“The trip was uneventful?”
“Yes, sire.”
“A bad night for it,” Karl observed, and glanced at the letter in his
hand. “Was there any difficulty at the frontier?”
“None, sire.”
Karl tore the end off the envelope. “You will remain here to-night,” he
said. “To-morrow morning I shall send dispatches to the city. I hope you
have petrol. These fellows here--” He did not complete the sentence.
He inserted two royal fingers into the envelope and drew out--Nikky’s
cigarette papers!
For a moment there was complete silence in the room. Karl turned the
papers over.
It was then that his face hardened into a horrible grin. He looked up,
raising his head slowly.
“What is this?” he demanded, very quietly.
“The letter, sire,” said Nikky.
“The letter! Do you call these a letter?”
Nikky drew himself up. “I have brought the envelope which was given me.”
Without a word Karl held out papers and envelope to the other man, who
took them. Then he turned to Nikky, and now he raised his voice. “Where
did you get this--hoax?” he demanded.
“At the cathedral, from the man Niburg.”
“You lie!” said Karl. Then, for a moment, he left Nikky and turned on
his companion in a fury. He let his royal rage beat on that unlucky
individual while the agent stood, white and still. Not until it was
over, and Karl, spent with passion, was pacing the floor, did Nikky
venture a word.
“If this is not what Your Majesty expected,” he said, “there is perhaps
an explanation.”
Karl wheeled on him. “Explanation!”
“The man Niburg was attacked, early last evening, by three men. They
beat him badly, and attempted to rob him. His story to me, sire. He
believed that they were after the letter, but that he had preserved
it. It is, of course, a possibility that, while he lay stunned, they
substituted another envelope for the one he carried.”
Karl tore the envelope from the agent’s hands and inspected it
carefully. Evidently, as with the agent, the story started a new train
of thought. Nikky drew a long breath. After all, there was still hope
that the early morning shooting would have another target than himself.
Karl sat down, and his face relaxed. It was stern, but no longer
horrible. “Tell me this Niburg’s story,” he commanded.
“He was walking through the old city,” Nikky commenced, “when three
men fell on him. One, a large one, knocked him insensible and then went
through his pockets. The others--”
“Strange!” said Karl. “If he was insensible, how does he know all this?”
“It was his story, sire,” Nikky explained. But he colored. “A companion,
who was with him, ran away.”
“This companion,” Karl queried. “A dark, heavy fellow, was it?”
“No. Rather a pale man, blond. A--” Nikky checked himself.
But Karl was all suavity. “So,” he said, “while Niburg was unconscious
the large man took the letter, which was sealed, magically opened it,
extracted its contents, replaced them with--this, and then sealed it
again!”
The King turned without haste to a drawer in his desk, and opened it.
He was smiling. When he faced about again, Nikky saw that he held a
revolver in =his hand. Save that the agent had taken a step forward,
nothing in the room had changed. And yet; for Nikky everything had
changed.
Nikky had been a reckless fool, but he was brave enough. He smiled, a
better smile than Karl’s twisted one.
“I have a fancy,” said King Karl, “to manage this matter for myself.
Keep back, Kaiser. Now, my friend, you will give me the packet of
cigarette papers you carry.”
Resistance would do no good. Nikky brought them out, and Karl’s twisted
smile grew broader as he compared them with the ones the envelope had
contained.
“You see,” he said, “you show the hand of the novice. You should have
thrown these away. But, of course, all your methods are wrong. Why, for
instance, have you come here at all? You have my man--but that I shall
take up later. We will first have the letter.”
But here Nikky stood firm. Let them find the letter. He would not
help them. But again he cursed himself. There had been a thousand
hiding-places along the road--but he must bring the incriminating thing
with him, and thus condemn himself!
Now commenced a curious scene, curious because one of the actors
was Karl of Karnia himself. He seemed curiously loath to bring in
assistance, did Karl. Or perhaps the novelty of the affair appealed to
him. And Nikky’s resistance to search, with that revolver so close, was
short-lived.
Even while he was struggling, Nikky was thinking. Let them get the
letter, if they must. Things would at least be no worse than before.
But he resolved that no violence would tear from him the place where the
messenger was hidden. Until they had got that, he had a chance for life.
They searched his cap last. Nikky, panting after that strange struggle,
saw Kaiser take it from the lining of his cap, and pass it to the King.
Karl took it. The smile was gone now, and something ugly and terrible
had taken its place. But that, too, faded as he looked at the letter.
It was a blank piece of note-paper.