THE USE OF FRIENDS.
There was a moment’s hush of expectation when the Cavaliere had
hurled his charges at his son-in-law. Prince Romanos met them
characteristically.
“Princess,” he said, turning to Zoe, “do you believe that I murdered
my wife?”
“No, I don’t,” said Zoe.
“Then I am content. If one so skilled in the knowledge of the human
heart--a woman, too--can acquit me, what more can I ask?”
“This is all very pretty and poetical,” said Wylie impatiently, “but
merely as a matter of curiosity, Prince, we should like to know what
defence you propose to offer if your father-in-law publishes
throughout Europe the accusation he has just made.”
“Ah, there I am helpless. I put myself wholly into the hands of my
friends. I did not murder my wife, but malicious circumstances have
forced me into such a position that I realise it must appear that I
did. The Cavaliere Pazzi has provided me with a motive, with
instruments, with a deep-laid plan. How can I prove that I am innocent
of this crime, which I abhor from my very soul?”
“You can hardly expect us to prove it for you, Prince,” said Maurice,
with unusual sharpness.
“Your Highness will pardon me.” It was Professor Panagiotis who spoke,
rising and coming forward impressively into the midst of the group. “I
am here, at my own request, to represent the interests of Emathia,
which would be gravely jeopardised if the Cavaliere Pazzi made his
accusation public. I beg that it may not be supposed I have been in
the Prince’s confidence all along. I could wish it had been the case,
but his Highness was otherwise advised.”
“In other words,” drawled Prince Romanos, “I was considerate enough to
keep my marriage concealed from the Professor as well as from the
public, knowing that it would disturb his tranquillity, and might lead
him to disturb mine.”
“From the Cavaliere’s words,” the Professor went on, “it would not be
guessed that the proposal of an alliance with the Grand Duchess
Feodora came, not from the Prince at all, but from the Scythian side.
I welcomed it, I own, for it promised to guarantee the continuance of
Emathian independence, and the establishment of a hereditary dynasty.
Unfortunately, my master and I were working against one another, since
he had the validation of the actual marriage in view, and I an
entirely new one.”
“But,” cried Zoe, “the Scythian Government must have known all about
the marriage. I know Donna Olimpia told me that the Dowager Princess
of Dardania was present at it.”
“That is undoubtedly the case, madame. The proposal of a more august
alliance was merely a bait to entrap my master and his servants into
complete subservience to Scythia. But it is only since the death of
the lady concerned that the Scythian negociator has mentioned certain
unpleasant rumours that had reached his ears, and asked for a definite
contradiction of them.”
“Aha, Mr Professor!” burst from the Cavaliere. “So you would transfer
the crime from your master’s shoulders to those of the Scythian
Government, would you? Well, they are broad enough; but you forget
that the murder was committed by members of the Prince’s own guard.”
“By men in the uniform of members of the Prince’s guard,” corrected
the Professor. “No, monsieur, I should not be so foolish as to
insinuate that the Scythians, any more than my master, were clearing
the way for him to a marriage with the Grand Duchess. You have not the
happiness of being Orthodox, but I appeal to those present who know
something of our tenets. They will support me in assuring you that
second marriages are looked upon with extreme disfavour by our Church,
and in no case would one be contemplated for a member of the Imperial
family.”
“That’s true. I had not thought of it,” cried Maurice, while the
Cavaliere sat stupefied.
“Then now you have merely to show who did commit the murder,
Professor,” said Wylie, in his driest tone.
Professor Panagiotis seemed unwontedly embarrassed. He wiped his brow,
as though his forensic effort was proving exhausting, and played with
a button of his coat. Then he spread forth his hands with a liberal
gesture implying that now he was making a clean breast of everything.
“Your Highnesses, I approach this point with hesitation, since it must
appear to you that you have been treated with insufficient confidence.
But I ask you to consider my master’s eagerness to see his marriage
acknowledged and his dynasty established. In view of this, you will
not be surprised to hear that the question of the construction of the
Emathian railways became involved with the other negociation.”
“Surprised? Not a bit!” said Wylie. “We all knew that there must be a
_quid pro quo_. But I imagine that the Prince was not satisfied with
only one bid. There is another Power interested in Emathian railways
as well as Scythia.”
“Exactly, Colonel,” said the Professor, in a tone of relief; “and the
present complications arise from my master’s anxiety to obtain the
best terms he could--the utmost in the way of recognition against the
smallest possible concession. In this endeavour I am proud to
acknowledge that I supported him--but unfortunately I was ignorant of
the fact of his marriage, which was known to the Pannonian agents. He
informs me that even before the unhappy event which we all deplore,
attempts had been made to bring pressure upon him by threatening the
safety of his wife.”
The Cavaliere raised his haggard face with supreme disdain. “Bah! you
are trying to lead us astray. Pannonia had no candidate in whose
favour my daughter’s removal was desirable.”
“No, the plot was more subtle than that. According to my information,
obtained by careful inquiry, the group of discreditable persons who
were managing the affair in the interests--though without the
ostensible support--of Pannonia plotted deliberately to murder the
lady concerned and her child, and to cast the blame upon her husband.
If he allowed himself to be intimidated, they would obtain all they
could desire in the way of concessions; if he refused, they would
denounce him publicly--not so much for the murder as for the heterodox
marriage, and stir up the populace to revolt. Pannonian property would
be damaged, Pannonian interests endangered, and Pannonia would demand
from Europe a mandate to restore peace. Once in Therma, you may guess
how soon she would quit it.”
“Then Prince Romanos accepted the first condition, and granted the
concessions?” said Maurice coldly. “You are surprised that I should
know this?” as the Professor’s eye wandered to his master’s. “Colonel
Wylie and I guessed that something of the kind was on foot when we
discovered a few days ago that a Pannonian geological expedition,
which had been giving us a good deal of trouble, was really surveying
for a railway.”
“The Prince temporised--nothing more,” replied the Professor
breathlessly. “With your Highness’s assistance, we hope so to arrange
matters that Pannonia gains only a very small portion of what she
expected. I am about to speak frankly, for you will understand that my
concern is for Emathia, and that if you, sir, had been elected High
Commissioner instead of Prince Romanos, my endeavours would have been
equally engaged on your behalf. It is quite open to you, I acknowledge
it freely, to take your stand on the charges brought by the Cavaliere
Pazzi, and claim that my master has shown himself unworthy of the
confidence of Europe. It is extremely probable that if another
election were held you would take his place. But I have received a
friendly warning from Czarigrad, from a Greek occupying a very high
official position there, that the present Liberal Roumi Government
regards the semi-independent status of Emathia with keen dislike. A
contested election, either now or at the end of my master’s five years
of office, would be the signal for a determined attempt to bring the
country again under Roumi rule. There would be representative
institutions, of course, such as they are, but Emathia, for which we
have fought and laboured, to see her emerge triumphantly as a
self-existent state, would once more be merged in the dominions of
Roum. All the work of the last twenty years--of my lifetime--would be
lost.”
“This is very serious,” said Maurice. “Do you think that if the
election is not contested at the end of the five years things will be
allowed to go on?”
“There would at least be no excuse for interrupting them, sir. If we
could point to five years of peace and advance, and a contented
people--but it demands sacrifices. And first of all, the Prince will
make every amends in his power to the memory of the lady whom he so
truly loved and so deeply mourns.” The Cavaliere, who had been sitting
sunk in his chair, looked up sharply. “The marriage, so unfortunately
concealed, will be made public, and insisted upon in every possible
way. The child whose life has been so wonderfully preserved will be
brought forward as heir of the Christodoridi and his father’s natural
successor on the throne, and the body of his mother, whom I may now
without offence style the Princess of Emathia, taken from its present
resting-place and deposited with all honour in the vaults of the
metropolitan church. Do you ask how we propose to face the public
opposition? There will be none. Once it is known that Prince Romanos
married the heiress of Maxim Psicha, and that their son unites in his
own person the princely crowns of Emathia and Illyria, the match will
be received with enthusiasm.”
“And the murderers of my daughter?” asked the Cavaliere in a hollow
voice.
Embarrassment returned upon Professor Panagiotis. “For the sake of
Emathia, it is suggested that we all consent to certain sacrifices,
monsieur,” he said, after some hesitation. “It will be impossible, I
fear, to extricate ourselves from the late negociations without
conceding to Scythia and Pannonia an influence in our domestic affairs
which we shall find very irksome. We look confidently to Prince
Theophanis and his family for pecuniary help in making that influence
as small as possible. My master resigns his natural desire for
vengeance, since you will see that to accuse Pannonia of plotting the
murder of his wife would precipitate instantly the crisis we hope to
avert. Is it too much to ask you to exercise a like self-restraint?”
“In order that Romanos Christodoridi may be left in peaceable
possession of the throne he has disgraced? I tell you, Mr Professor, I
will tear him from it!”
“Will you ruin your grandson’s future, monsieur?”
“Shall I buy a throne for my grandson at the price of his mother’s
blood? I would rather bring him up in a garret! No, I refuse your
bribe!” he turned upon Prince Romanos. “Your plan is clear to me now.
I will do you justice; you did not want to have to kill your wife. Her
acknowledgment that your marriage was invalid would have been
sufficient to clear the way to your Grand Duchess. But she refused to
become a party to the dishonour you wished to bring upon her----”
“Pardon me, monsieur. The lady’s honour is vindicated in the fullest
possible way by my proposal,” said the Professor.
“Yes, because she is the heiress of Maxim Psicha. But she was also my
daughter, and she was foully murdered by her own husband’s order. I
can see it all--that last interview, the demand for her acquiescence
in her own disgrace, her staunch refusal, the angry departure of the
dastardly husband, the arrival of his bloodthirsty instruments! I see
it, and as I see it Europe shall see it also.”
“Europe will ask for proof,” said Prince Romanos. “I may tell you that
my wife and I parted the best of friends.”
“Europe will ask for proof of that. Where is the letter that the nurse
says she was writing when the murderers came?”
“I do not know. I saw no letter.”
“No, and no letter will ever be seen. Shall I tell you what that
letter contained? It was an appeal to me, her father, to come to her
help, as I had offered to do, and take her away from Therma, where her
life was not safe unless she consented to your repudiation of her. If
that was not the letter, what was it?”
“Lady, what is the secretary man saying to the Lord Romanos?” Danaë
had sat inert and uninterested while the Professor talked, but her
instincts told her who was the man to be feared, and since the
Cavaliere burst again into the fray she had been kneeling with her
face pressed to the window watching his fiery gestures. Now, as his
eager hands approached the Prince’s throat, as though he would have
torn a confession from him, she opened the window and stepped in. Her
entrance broke the tension which held the listeners, and Prince
Romanos smiled, not very naturally.
“Here is an unbiassed witness, at any rate,” he said. “Why not ask her
about the terms my wife and I were on?”
Professor Panagiotis responded eagerly. “Girl, what can you tell us
about the Prince and his wife? Did he appear to be fond of her?”
“By no means, lord,” was the prompt reply.
The Cavaliere laughed harshly. The rest gasped, and Prince Romanos
sprang up and gripped Danaë roughly by the shoulder.
“Speak the truth, girl! Was I unkind to her?”
“Not unkind, lord, but you kept her in awe of you, as a wife should be
kept. She trembled at the sound of your step.”
He laughed as his father-in-law had done, and dropped back into his
chair. “Go on. Perhaps I beat her?”
An affirmative was trembling upon Danaë’s lips, but Zoe, out of pure
sympathy and nervousness, threw herself into the breach, remembering
the girl’s earlier exploits.
“Think, Kalliopé, and tell us exactly how it was. Not just when they
had a quarrel now and then, perhaps, but as it was generally. To us,”
with a gallant attempt to bring the matter home to her handmaid’s
mind, “what you have said is horrible, and makes us think the Lord
Romanos one of the worst of men.”
“Does it, lady?” in intense astonishment. “I said it for his glory. I
could not bear any one to know how he was in thrall to her. But she
bewitched him, one knows that.”
“This seems a new view of affairs,” observed Wylie. “He was not cruel
to her, then?”
“Cruel, lord? If you had seen them as I so often saw them, he so mild
and anxious to please her, and she frowning and ill-tempered! But that
is always the way with witches. Only the unfortunate who is bewitched
can see any beauty in them, but he pines away for love.”
Danaë had carried the inquiry into such new regions that Maurice
returned with difficulty to a previous question. “The Princess was
writing a letter on the morning she was murdered, you say, Kalliopé;
but it can’t be found. Have you any idea what became of it?”
“I have it in my room, lord--hidden in my mattress.” Again she had the
pleasing consciousness of having caused a sensation.
“Go and fetch it at once,” said Maurice, in a tone which sent her
flying. Once in her own room, the letter was easily found, but as she
pulled it out of its hiding-place, her fingers came in contact with
one of the golden plaques of the Girdle of Isidora. A moment’s pause,
and she took it out also, fastening it round her waist under her
apron, as she had done before. Things seemed so strange to-day that it
might possibly be needed. Then, parrying Linton’s questions, she went
sedately back to the Prince’s house, and handed the letter to Maurice.
“I kept it, lord, because I thought my little lord might grow up and
none know who he was, nor believe me when I told them. But if I said,
‘Here is writing in the hand of his mother,’ they could doubt no
more.”
The proof seemed less obvious to her hearers than to herself, but
Maurice took the paper gravely. “This is addressed to you, Cavaliere,”
he said, handing it to him. Seizing it eagerly, the Cavaliere read it
through, arriving at the abrupt ending with obvious disappointment.
“I was wrong in one point, I confess it. It is clear that there was no
open quarrel. My daughter was not offered the choice between death and
disgrace. She writes to me that she is convinced her husband will soon
acknowledge her openly. He had pledged himself afresh that very
morning, accompanying the pledge with a gift of so much significance
that she durst not describe it on paper, but hoped to show it me
before long at the Palace.”
“It was a piece of jewellery,” said Prince Romanos hastily. “You will
be at no loss to imagine what it was--since she received it as an
earnest of her hopes? The crown which she was never to wear--alas! I
had pleased myself with having it made for her to my own design.”
“Did Petros know of it?” asked Zoe. “Because if he did, it might
supply a motive for the murder.”
“I have no reason to think he did. But stay--the drawer in which she
placed it was broken open and the jewel stolen by the murderers. It
certainly looks----”
“Kalliopé,” interrupted Zoe, “do you think Petros can have murdered
your mistress for the sake of the jewellery the Prince had just given
her?”
“Oh no, my lady; he had no part in her death. And as for the
jewel----” she hesitated, and looked at Prince Romanos for guidance.
“Am I to tell all, lord?”
“Most certainly. Always tell the truth,” he said bluffly. To his utter
stupefaction, Danaë unclasped the Girdle of Isidora from her waist,
and laid it on the table.
“I would fain have spared you this shame, lord,” she said sadly.
“Lady,” she turned to Zoe, “my lord gave this holy thing to the
schismatic woman, and hailed her as Orthodox Empress. When she was
dead, I took it from where I had seen her put it, and hid it, that it
might be safe for my little lord’s wife when he grows up.”
“My girdle!” Danaë’s voice was drowned by Eirene’s shriek of joy as
she sprang forward and seized the jewel. “At last, at last! Now we may
hope for success!” she murmured, fondling the girdle and kissing it as
if it were a living thing. Danaë’s eyes blazed, and she threw herself
forward to tear it from her. Prince Romanos pushed her back, not too
gently.
“Be still, girl! That belongs to Princess Theophanis.” Then to the
rest, “There is some mistake. This girdle came to light in the course
of the destruction of the old Scythian Consulate, after the visit
which Prince Theophanis and Colonel Wylie and I paid to the
operations. You will remember,” he turned to Maurice, “that I was
about to join you when this terrible event occurred. The girdle was
handed to me just before I started, and I promised myself the pleasure
of restoring it to Princess Theophanis with my own hands. My wife
teased me to show it to her, and I allowed her to put it on, and left
it in her charge till the afternoon. I thought it had disappeared with
the crown, but now I see it was not so.”
There was a moment’s awkward silence, which Wylie broke abruptly.
“Kalliopé,” he said to the girl, who had stood looking with angry
eyes from one to another while Prince Romanos spoke hastily in French,
“why do you say now that Petros took no part in the murder? You told
us before that you were afraid he would kill the child as he had
killed the mother.”
These were not Danaë’s exact words, but she was too eager to answer
to resent them. “I misjudged him, lord,” she replied quickly, glad to
put herself right as far as possible with regard to Petros. “He laid
no hand upon the Lady. He has told me so himself since, and I ought to
have known that he would not overstep his orders.”
“His orders!” Everyone in the room seemed to echo the words, and
Danaë stood aghast at what she had done.
“The orders of Prince Romanos?” asked Maurice.
“No, lord,” very low.
“Whose orders, then?” There was silence.
“Kalliopé, you must tell us,” cried Zoe impulsively. “Who gave these
orders, and what were they? You can’t mean that you knew of a plot
against your mistress, and never warned her?”
“A plot, lady mine? There was no plot. My lord and----” she broke off
hurriedly. “My lord’s father heard of the schismatic woman who had
bewitched my lord and was holding him in her snares, and he commanded
Petros to bring her to Strio, where she would be kept safe, and do no
more harm.”
“And you knew of this?” cried Zoe.
“I came to Therma from Strio on purpose to help in the doing of it,
lady.”
“Kalliopé, you had a hand in this horrible murder!”
“No murder was intended, lady. The Despot desired only to put the
woman where the Lord Romanos would not find her. But there was some
mistake. Petros told me that among his helpers there were those who
would willingly see her slain, and I warned him to do no more than he
was commanded. He assured me all was well, and I helped to open the
gate, not knowing that the evil men of whom he had spoken would be
with him after all.”
“Kalliopé!” There was such disappointment and misery in Zoe’s cry
that Prince Romanos sprang forward.
“Don’t waste your pity on this wretched girl, Princess. She is trying
to take us all in. Can you conceive a person of my father’s standing
initiating such a plot? It is preposterous, and she shall confess her
falsehood on her knees.”
In his excitement he had spoken in Greek, and now he tried to seize
Danaë. She shook herself free from him with flashing eyes. “You know
little of your father, lord, if you refuse to believe me.”
“I know more of him than Eurynomé the nurse-maid. On your knees,
girl! and confess that you have lied.”
“But not more of him than his daughter. Yes, lord, I am your sister.
Not Eurynomé the nurse-girl, but Danaë, daughter of the Despot
Agesilaos Christodoridi and of the Lady Xantippe his wife.”