_PAULINE_
Anthony Trent met Pauline in rather a curious way. He had been a week at
Castle Radna and had not been commanded to drive the count. Then Hentzi
had informed him Count Michæl was sick of a bad cold. Sissek by virtue
of being senior in the Temesvar service tried to get the new man to help
him with his own cars but Trent absolutely declined.
He had assumed a certain post in order to carry out a design but his
duties lay with the Lion car and he left the Croatian grumbling and set
out for a tour of inspection. Naturally his steps led him to the little
golf course a mile distant. There were no long holes and the course was
hardly trapped at all. It was just the kind of place elderly men, who
played a weak game, would revel in.
By the first tee was a little rustic pavilion. Through the windows Trent
could see three or four golf bags. The temptation was too strong to
resist. He picked the locks with the blade of a pocket knife and found
himself in a comfortable room. The count's golf bag contained excellent
clubs and plenty of balls. He looked at the balls and knew the count's
game instantly. They were bitten into by the irons of a strong man.
Trent shuddered at the gashes and then, selecting a new ball and a
putter and driver went out on the nearby green. It was sheltered from
all observation and he putted for a few minutes.
In the distance he could see the first green. It looked to be a little
under three hundred yards distant; and it lay beneath, sweetly tempting
to a long driver.
Anthony Trent had for some years now lived a life in which he denied
himself nothing. He had reached out for such treasures as only a
millionaire may buy. The question of right or wrong in the matter of
using his employer's clubs bothered him little. He did not want to be
observed in case the privilege were denied him.
He teed up his ball, made a few preliminary swings and then struck the
white sphere with perfectly timed strength. He watched it rise, fall and
roll almost to the edge of the green. He would certainly make it in
three.
Then he turned round to look into the astonished face of a very
beautiful woman. There was something in the general effect, quickly
seen, which reminded him of Lady Daphne; but as he looked he saw this
girl was older. He doubted the genuineness of the golden hair and he saw
that art had aided nature in the facial make-up. But she was no more
than eight and twenty and her figure differed from Daphne's slim, almost
boyish slightness. She was dressed in a curious shade of green. It was a
tint he thought he had never seen before until he looked into her eyes
and saw it there reflected.
Pauline had known the count had engaged a chauffeur from London but she
assumed him to be of the usual type. She had no idea that the man who
had just made such a superb drive was he. Pauline had been used to much
social enjoyment of a sort and while Count Michæl had been away she had
to behave circumspectly. She was dull and she was bored; and now, as
though an answer to prayer, Fate had sent her a handsome young man who
stood like a bronze statue as he followed the flight of the ball.
Since the count had given permission for the families of the
neighbouring landowners to use his course she imagined it to be one of
these or perhaps a guest at some local mansion.
Anthony Trent was never one who made a habit of the pursuit of the fair.
His profession had taught him caution. Almost always the feminine
element had brought the great criminals to peril. There had been one or
two harmless flirtations but his love for Daphne was the great affair of
his life. He groaned when he looked into Pauline's bold eyes and saw
admiration looking from them. Other women had looked at him like that.
Pauline was absolute at Castle Radna. Her enmity might be very harmful.
Her friendship might be ruinous.
He assumed the bearing of Alfred Anthony which he had abandoned
unconsciously. He even touched his cap to the lady as a servant who
habitually wears livery should do. She frowned as he did so.
"Who are you?" she said in German.
"I'm the new chauffeur, miss," he returned in English.
"What are you doing here, then?"
"Having a bit of a game," he said with an air of timidity. "I hope you
won't tell the guv'nor."
"The guv'nor?" she repeated.
"The count," he said, "the old toff with the beard."
Trent produced a Woodbine and lighted it luxuriously. He had all the
quick nervous gestures of the cockney.
"Where did you learn to play golf like that?" she asked, looking at the
white speck almost three hundred yards distant.
"Anyone can make a fluky drive," he said, "one drive doesn't make a
golfer, Miss. I used to be a caddie at the Royal Surrey Club."
"Then you can carry my clubs," she said. She looked at him with a frown.
"How is it the door is open?"
"Someone must have forgot to shut it," Trent said simply. "I just walked
in."
All his excuses to get back to his garage were ineffectual.
"You will understand later," she said imperiously, "that if I order a
servant to obey me he must do so. I wish you to teach me to play better
golf. I shall pay you."
"I'll be glad to have a little extra money to send the mis'sus," said
Trent cheerfully.
"That means you are married, eh?" she said.
"You've 'it it," he smiled.
He misjudged Pauline if he thought this would have any effect upon her.
She was a specialist in husbands, an expert in emotional reactions.
Pauline played a very fair game. She had not been properly taught. But
she was strong and lithe and although she had begun the game in order to
keep her figure she played it now because she liked it. When she had
performed professionally in London and big provincial cities she had
seen that efficiency in some sport or another was _de rigueur_ among
women of importance and she hankered after the social recognition that
unusual skill at sports often brought with it.
"Make another such drive," she commanded after she had driven only a
hundred yards. "Not like mine, but like your first."
Trent having committed himself to a term of caddiedom at a great club
where caddies have risen to the heights as professionals, he was not
compelled to play a bad game. Pauline had never seen such golf and she
worshipped bodily skill at games or sports more than any mental
attainments. His short approaches amazed her. The skill with which at a
hundred yards he could drop on a green and remain there with the back
spin on the ball seemed miraculous.
"I shall play every day," she decided, "and you shall tell me how to
become a great player."
"What about me and my motor?" he objected, "I came to drive a car and
not a golf ball."
"I shall arrange it," she said, "Peter Sissek can drive."
"Not my car," he cried, "I'm not going to have no blooming mucker like
him drive my Lion."
Her green eyes were narrowed when she looked at him.
"There are a hundred men who would give all they had for such an
opportunity," she said slowly.
"Let 'em," he said quickly, "I'm a chauffeur and mechanic."
At the last hole she made a poor topped drive and the ball landed in a
bad lie. It was an awkward stroke and he corrected her stance and even
showed her how to grip the club when suddenly he was struck a tremendous
blow on the back of the head. He was thrown off his balance but was up
like a cat, dazed a little but anxious to see what had hit him. He
thought it was a golf ball. It was Count Michæl instead. He looked more
like Francis the First than ever. His eyes were blazing with anger. He
had stolen upon them unaware at a moment when Trent's hand was holding
the white hand of Pauline as he tried to explain the grip.
The count was too angry to understand the look that Trent threw at him
or to realize how nearly the pseudo-chauffeur lost control of himself.
But Trent pulled himself together, dissembled his wrath, remembered his
mission, and even presented a rueful but free from resentment
appearance.
"'Ere guv'nor," he cried, "steady on! I 'aven't done anythink."
"It is you I blame," the count said to Pauline. He spoke in German and
ignored Alfred Anthony. "Why is it unknown to me you bring my servant to
play with you?"
Certainly Pauline had no fear of the magnate.
"Because he has been a professional caddie and plays so well I can learn
the game. Since your game is contemptible with whom can I play here?"
"I beat Hentzi every time," stormed the Count.
"Hentzi," she laughed, "he is afraid of you. I am not. This man is
useful. I have told him he is to carry my clubs when I play. Do you
object to that?"
"By no means," the count said becoming more amiable. "I see no
objection; but as he has two arms he can carry mine also. He is a _beau
garçon_ Pauline and I do not permit his filthy fingers to touch the hand
I kiss." He turned to Trent. "How is it you are here and not at your
work?"
"I took a bit of a walk," Trent answered.
"And finding him near the pavilion I told him to carry my clubs,"
Pauline added in English. "What is strange in that?"
Sissek with a Fiat car was waiting by the pavilion. He had driven his
master down and took Pauline back as well. He did not understand why the
new man was carrying golf clubs. He brightened when the count spoke to
him in rapid Croatian.
"I am telling him," the count said, "that there is plenty of work for
you to do. He will find it if you cannot. And as Peter is very strong
and as short tempered as his lord I bid you be careful."
Trent's temper was not sufficiently under control to keep a sneer from
his face.
His grin was superbly insolent. He forgot his cockney accent and his
acquired vocabulary.
"I'm afraid," he said, "you are not as good a judge of men as you are of
women."
"What is this you say?" the count demanded frowning.
"I mean that if your fool-faced Peter there can make me do anything
against my will he shall have _my_ salary as well as his own. You came
behind me when I wasn't looking and hit me. I can't resent that--yet,
but warn him if he tries anything on me like that I'll--" He paused
conscious of having said too much and aware that Pauline was gazing at
him with vivid interest. "I'll make him sorry." Trent felt it was a weak
ending.
"He is funny, this new chauffeur from London is he not Pauline?"
But Pauline had a mischievous idea. She spoke to Peter Sissek, that
powerful and jealous servant, and he flashed a look of hatred at Trent.
He thoroughly believed that the new man had indeed made the insulting
remarks Pauline ascribed to him.
"Michæl," said Pauline caressingly, "let us see what this bold man would
do if Peter threatened him. We will not let Peter hurt him but it will
be a lesson." Pauline knew men and she saw in Trent one who could not
easily be forced to do anything.
Poor Peter Sissek urged by his master to avenge himself upon this hated
alien rushed to his fate. In a way Trent was sorry. He had no real
grievance against the man. But Peter was immensely strong and spurred on
by a lively hatred. It was his idea to get his long arms about the
slenderer man and throw him to the ground and there beat his sneering
face in. He was stopped in his rush by a stinging left jab which caught
him square on an eye. While he stood still in amazement another blow
fell, this time on his nose.
The big man paused in angry amazement that one built so much more
slenderly than he could hit with this terrific force. Pauline leaned
forward her lips parted and the red flush of excitement victor over
art's rouge. She was a woman of violent loves and hates and had urged
many a love sick swain into unequal contest for amusement's sake.
Although Trent had attracted her she was not sure that she did not want
to see Sissek punish him. He had paid as little attention to her charms
as though he thought she was old and ugly.
As she looked at the foreigner she noted that his face had changed. He
looked keen, hawklike, dangerous. It would have been wiser for Anthony
Trent had he allowed Peter Sissek to triumph.
Then, suddenly, Peter made a rush. He put down his bullet head and
jumped at his man. Anthony Trent saw the opportunity for as pretty an
upper-cut as one might need. For Peter Sissek it was the whole starry
firmament in its splendor that showed itself, and then the night came
down.
"He has killed Peter!" the count roared.
"That is not death," Pauline said clapping her hands.
For an uneasy moment the count remembered that not many minutes earlier
he had buffetted this quiet, grim fighter, this same man who hit his
opponent at will and evaded his enemy's blows with practised ease. These
English speaking peoples with their odd notions of independence and
their skill with their brutal fists were dangerous. It might well be
that even he, Michæl Temesvar had best remember his new chauffeur was
not docile like Peter Sissek and the others.
"This is murder!" the count said still angrily.
"He'll come to," Trent said carelessly. "Shall I drive you back?"
"No," said the count. He looked coldly at the man who had charge of the
Lion. But Trent knew very well that the anger in his face was not from
any sympathy with Peter Sissek. It was the thought that Pauline had
deceived him and that this young man was too skillful in too many ways
that annoyed the aristocrat.
"I will send a car back," Count Michæl asserted, "meanwhile stay with
the man you have so cruelly assaulted."
Peter Sissek awoke to consciousness a few seconds later and looked with
difficulty on the world. His nose was cut, an eye was closed and his car
was gone. He made strange outcries and became so excited that Trent with
a black look bade him be silent. Sissek knew what was meant and started
at a run along the road.
Trent was not so sure he had done well that morning. He had angered the
count. Well, such anger would probably pass under ordinary conditions.
He had interested that magnificent animal Pauline, reigning favorite,
and autocrat, and Pauline was not discreet. Sooner or later the count
would see the way she looked at his chauffeur and then the game would be
up. He would be sent back to London his mission a failure. To get
Pauline's enmity would be fatal, too. She would not hesitate to ruin a
man she hated and the count would always believe her word against that
of Alfred Anthony. The American sat on the edge of the first tee and
cursed all irregularly run establishments. He looked up presently to see
the car returning. It was driven by Hentzi.
"What is this I hear?" Hentzi said severely.
"I don't give a damn what you have heard," Trent said crossly.
"What? You talk like this to me?"
"To you or anyone else," Trent retorted. "Look here, my little man, I
came here to look after a high powered car and risk my neck on mountain
passes. All right. I'm agreeable. But if you or anyone else thinks I'm a
golf caddie or a footman or a servile beast like Sissek you're all
mistaken. I'm a good mechanic and I can drive a car against almost
anyone but I'm not going to stand for oppression. The count hit me."
Anthony Trent patted himself on the chest as the enormity of the offence
grew larger, "he hit _me_!"
"You talk as though you were a gentleman," Hentzi said coldly. "My
friend you are of the people and you have read too much. You probably
think you are my equal. It is an honor to serve a Temesvar but if you
are anxious to go to your own country I have no doubt your company can
send another man."
"There's no need for that," Trent said less irascibly, "but what makes
Pauline think I'm going to carry her clubs around when I've got my own
work to do?"
"So that was it," Hentzi commented. "That was why Count Michæl stormed
at me so. My good Alfred, you are young and life is sweet. I counsel you
to remember that always while you are at Radna. The Temesvars have
always been hot headed. You see that steep cliff yonder?"
Trent looked above him to where the side of a mountain was cut so
sharply that a drop of four hundred feet would be the lot of one
stepping from the edge.
"That has been the scene of many tragedies," Hentzi said, "many men have
stepped into space."
"Murdered?" Trent demanded.
"Accidents," Hentzi assured him, "unfortunate accidents. There was one
lamentable occurrence not many years ago and he was a fellow countryman
of yours by the way. A man of great personal distinction. But these are
not for you, these reminiscences of high life. What will interest you is
that the count says you can no longer live with the Sisseks. He does
not want two valuable servants to kill one another. Room will be made
for you at the Castle. That pleases you, eh?"
"Yes," Trent said, conscious that his look of triumph had puzzled
Hentzi. "I do not like Mrs. Sissek's cooking."
In reality he was delighted. Here he was to be taken into the Castle
without having to make an effort. It was the first step. It would be
strange if one as skilled and silent as he could not soon have every
detail of the house at his command. He knew the servants drank their
native spirits, brandies, made of cherries, apricots and plums. This
assured sound sleep and unlimited opportunities. The count was a great
drinker, too, and his guests feasted well.
As if in conspiracy against him the major domo, chief of the indoor
servants, put him in the least desirable of rooms, a rat-ridden chamber
away from the sleeping apartments of the rest of the help. In the heat
of summer it would be unbearable. There was fortunately a great bolt
which barred the door from intruders. The one long, deep window opened
inwards. An old square copper pipe used to drain the roof far above
passed his window. He took hold of it and found it immovable. It would
easily support his weight. The ground lay twenty feet below. It was the
windows that this copper pipe passed which most interested Trent. If
they had catches similar to his own he could open them with a hair pin.
He was eager for night to fall. And because he was now assured of action
he became much more docile. He allowed Hentzi to lecture him severely
on his brutal behaviour.
During the next week he was worked so hard that he had little
opportunity, apart from his long journeys to Fiume, to do aught else
than make a mental plan of the windows on his side of the castle. There
were four apertures similar to that which gave light and air to his
room. The heavy copper pipe passed by them all. To a gymnast with a
clear head they were all within reach. The climb was probably less
difficult than it would seem to an observer looking up from the ground.
There was risk, of course, but Anthony Trent was always ready to take
it.
In the daily life of the servants' hall he noticed that the place had an
enormous number of retainers, young and old, many more than seemed
necessary. They were with a few exceptions sons and daughters of the
Temesvar family, servants proud of their caste and the man they served.
The major domo spoke German and French. He was a pompous person who
ruled absolutely below stairs. He did not like the stranger but he had
been commanded not to allow any brawls and he saw to it the chauffeur
was let alone. There was much to eat and to drink. Count Michæl owned
herds of swine which grazed in the miles of oak and beech forests
surrounding Castle Radna and the heady drinks that abounded were made
from his own fruits by his own people.
As a rule the lower servants went early to bed. Those who remained up
later were the major domo and such of his men as waited upon the
count's table. There came a dark cloudy night when Anthony Trent
wearing black sneakers and a dark suit free from white collar or cuffs
crawled out of his dungeon-like window and up the twelve feet of piping
that intervened between his own and the next window above. He found
himself looking down into what he supposed was the great entrance hall
of the castle. Just below him was a great seat raised above the hall
level on a platform of stone at the base of the fine sweep of stairway.
It was the official seat of the major domo. He could see the portly
servant in a sort of antique evening dress, white gloves on podgy hands
and a gilt chain of office about his thick neck. Below were three or
four footmen in the maroon and canary of the Temesvars. They were
yawning as though weary of inactivity. Plainly Trent could not emerge a
few feet above the major domo's head and in full view of the footmen.
A climb to the next embrasure revealed what at first seemed a checkmate
to observation. He found on investigation that some great article of
furniture was backed against the window. It was immovable. Another climb
and he was able to step through the easily opened window to a dark
corridor. Anthony Trent in a great silent house where danger and
disgrace would attend his discovery was in his element. He moved
silently, surely, and seemed possessed of a seventh sense. He had never
before professionally worked in such a vast rambling place as Castle
Radna. It was not easy even for one trained as he to keep the plan of
the place in mind. He found himself on a floor of bedrooms few of which
were occupied.
He bent over one slumberer whose breath was strong with plum brandy and
found he had discovered Hentzi's bedroom. He, did not need to be very
quiet here. Underneath him was the floor where the main bedrooms would
be and he had an idea the count might keep his valuables there. It was
necessary that he should be able to enter from the outside since the
stairway leading down was brilliantly lighted from the main hall and
stone stairway where the men servants seemed permanently stationed.
Trent had the ability to snatch sleep when he desired it. It was now
only eleven o'clock. He crawled under Hentzi's bed and slumbered until
one. There was no danger of discovery. He did not snore and the man in
the upper berth would not wake till morning. Anthony Trent had made a
profound study of the value of snores in the determination of the
tenacity with which the snorer clung to sleep.
When he shut Hentzi's door and stepped out into the corridor he saw that
the lights had been extinguished below and he was free now to make his
way to the floor beneath. He tried no doors but went at once to the
aperture covered by the article of furniture. It was a huge ebony
_armoire_ inlaid with panels of tortoise-shell and ornamented by
intricate designs of brass and ormolu. It was probably put in this spot
for the purposes of decoration and he picked the lock to prove himself
right. It was empty and there was space enough to stand upright in.
He felt it vandalism to break the back panel and feared once the loud
cracking of wood might arouse the house. But there were few in Castle
Radna who went without a nightcap. It took him almost two hours to hack
an aperture that would admit him easily.
Then he slid down the pipe and went to bed. It was not easy to sleep. He
had done very well so far. He was free of the house. With luck he could
come and go at will during the still night hours. But the first step was
easy. Next to find where the count kept Lord Rosecarrel's treaty and
then to take it. And finally to get away with his treasure. He was not
so much inclined to belittle the abilities of those other two who had
planned and failed as he had been when he talked to the earl. He had
taken due notice of Hentzi's reference to the death of an Englishman a
few years ago who had met his fate at the base of the steep cliff-side.
He felt almost certain that this was one of the men the earl had spoken
of.
Lord Rosecarrel had said they set a trap for him into which none but a
clever man would fall. He wished now he had asked particulars of it. So
far Anthony Trent had escaped snares and the nets of hunters because he
had outguessed his opponents. Sometimes he told himself that in the end
the deadly law of averages would make him its victim. The pitcher would
go once too often to the well. These reflections while they made him
more than ever cautious did not lessen his zeal. Plainly it would be
easier to work a remote castle in Croatia than a New York mansion
protected by burglar alarms, night watchmen and detectives. Yet he had
always succeeded so far in the face of these obstacles. But the address
and nerve which had carried him through many a tight pinch in New York
would not avail him here.
More than once, clad in evening dress, he had joined excited groups of
guests and tried to capture himself. He had calmly taken his hat and
cane from a footman and been bowed out of a house he had pillaged and
once Inspector McWalsh had carried to the door some priceless antiques
he had taken from the very collection the Inspector and his men were
guarding.
Reflection showed him that Count Michæl Temesvar was far too shrewd to
trust the document that meant so much to him to insecure shelter.
Despite the fact that the castle seemed filled with idle, drinking,
overfed lackeys and he himself was unwatched, there must be some
precaution taken which would defeat him unless he trod warily.
It was his experience that rich men knew little of the vulnerability of
the safes to which they entrusted their valuables. Again and again he
had been able to open such with ludicrous ease. Count Michæl probably
had an antique which would send a "peteman" into ecstacies of mirth.
Trent's job was to locate it.
Next day he was commanded to accompany Pauline and the count to the golf
links. Pauline hardly looked at him but Count Michæl watched him
continually. He was relieved at the girl's attitude. She was beaten by
her opponent and angry at it. The count was not a sportsman. He putted
over the easy bunkers and more than once he lifted his ball to a better
lie. The victory made him good humoured. His heavy bearded face was
wreathed with smiles. Trent had the opportunity to observe him more
closely than ever before. It was a bad, crafty face but it was not
merely the face of a pleasure loving fool. If rumor spoke rightly he
was, more than any other man, the prime mover in activities aimed
against the English speaking peoples. From this same Castle of Radna had
issued many plots and subtle schemes all directed by this man who moved
a golf ball with his foot when he thought none was looking.
Hentzi had told him that every European and American newspaper of note
was to be found in the count's library. It was odd that such a man would
not make some great city his home. He mentioned this once to Hentzi who
made the astonishing answer that the count dreaded assassination by
political enemies. Fearing perhaps he had said too much the secretary
added that Count Michæl had long ago abandoned politics for the life of
a great landowner and that such a fear was without foundation.
"It wouldn't be easy for a stranger to get in here, would it?" Trent
demanded carelessly.
The question seemed a most provoking one.
"Let such a one try," he returned smiling, "and he will see how we
welcome him here in Radna. You who are of another world would not
understand."
"I suppose not," Trent said and talked of other things. But he was not
reassured. He set himself to master the roads that led to safety. There
might be the need to know them. He had not yet been down to Fiume alone.
He wanted to find several places in the big port. There might be a time
when he would have to send an order to the Lion works for spare parts.
His code was elaborate and framed to meet all contingencies.
When he asked Hentzi why so few people stayed at the castle the
secretary's reply amazed him. Hentzi rather liked to impress this
amiable cockney. He was not without a sense of the melodramatic.
"My friend," he said with condescension, "there are more who take their
dinner in the big dining hall than you know. If it were your lot to be
an indoor servant you would know what I mean. Castle Radna is at one
time a prison, a sanctuary and the abode of hospitality."
"I never understand what you're driving at Mr. Hentzi," Trent told him.
"I don't get your meaning half the time."
"I do not intend that you shall," Hentzi remarked. "And I do not advise
you to seem curious. As it is you have displeased your master."
"Sissek started it," Trent reminded him.
"Sissek is a clod, a peasant, a man of no importance. I am not thinking
of Peter Sissek. I am thinking of Madame Pauline."
"That blond woman," Trent said with assumed carelessness. "What about
her?"
"She has praised your face and figure before one who, when he is
jealous, kills."
"Me?" cried Trent with an air of astonishment, "why I only told her she
was a rotten golfer."
He groaned in spirit. His stay at Castle Radna was going to be very
difficult. Hentzi watching him closely only saw a face which expressed
little interest. He was used now to sudden questioning by this volatile
cockney.
"What do you mean by the castle being a prison?"
"I should have said that it has held many prisoners in bygone years, and
sheltered many of the great. This is not like your English castles where
the lord has no power. Look you, not a year ago we stayed, the count and
I, at such a place. The owner struck a careless servant and was obliged
to pay a fine before a judge. Think of it! An English lord haled into
court by his own footman and fined. There is nothing like that here so
when you are struck again do not think of an English policeman and a
fine. I wish you to stay. When Sissek drives down the mountain I am
always alarmed. You go twice as fast and I have no fear. Count Michæl
desires you to stay."
"I haven't said anything about going have I?" Trent retorted. He
supposed Hentzi was trying to warn him not to look covetously at the
handsome Pauline. The warning troubled him. He was of a physical type to
which blonds of the Pauline type were invariably attracted.
"Many have died for her," Hentzi went on, "the young officers who
flocked to see her skate. There were scandals. She was sent away from
Berlin. She was in America, in England and Petrograd. She is cruel. I am
afraid of her."
"I'm only a blooming chauffeur," Trent said carelessly, "and I wish I
had never carried clubs at the Royal Surrey."
"You are also good looking," Hentzi said, "and of a superior type.
Furthermore you are young and she has seen you play better than any man
she has met and she has seen you fight. I warn you."
"I've got a girl of my own in London," Trent said confidentially, "who
is a fair knock out. My girl has the real gold on her sweet little head
and the roses on her cheeks owe nothing to a bottle and her eyes are
sometimes violet and sometimes dark blue and she is slim and has those
long white hands one wants to kiss."
"Love has made you a poet," Hentzi said affably. It was well that he did
not notice that the cockney accent was for the moment abandoned. Hentzi
was not a very close observer. He had only two profound emotions. The
one a fear of his employer, the other admiration for himself. He
considered Trent to be much impressed by his superior knowledge and,
here a little and there a little, imparted much valuable information as
to the castle, its inhabitants and their method of life. He
considerately pointed out the count's library, the room into which no
strangers had ever been bidden.
Anthony Trent, therefore, at one-thirty A.M. the next morning was better
equipped for exploration than on his previous venture. Hentzi had told
him that so long as the count remained up a servant waited to attend on
him, old Ferencz by name. Trent remembered him at the servants' table as
a surly old man who was silent and reserved and unpopular even among his
fellows. He was liable to meet this man at any time. Trent was glad the
Temesvar men servants had not the same silent ways of the Rosecarrel
men. The men at Castle Radna walked heavily, lacking the thin shoes of
the earl's servants, and talked loudly. There was little of the perfect
discipline and service of the great English houses. It was due no doubt
to the fact that the men were almost feudal retainers and not highly
trained servants going from country estate to town house with the
seasons.
Almost the moment he stepped from his tall ebony _armoire_ Trent heard
steps coming toward him. He was at the moment passing a door. His pass
key opened it instantly and he stepped into darkness and shut the door
carefully. But he knew he was not alone. There was a heavy unrhythmic
snoring of a man far gone in sleep. As his eyes grew accustomed to the
darkness Trent saw the outlines of a big bed.
He passed the foot of it on hands and knees. The professional always
takes this precaution. A man waked from sleep by hearing a stranger at
the foot of his bed invariably aims at a man supposed to be standing up.
Although the sounds Trent detected were genuine sleep induced snores he
could not be sure that another watchful occupant of the bed was not
listening breathlessly and even now reaching for a weapon.
When he assured himself everything was quiet he looked about the room
with the light of his electric torch. The sleeping man was a stranger to
him. He was a red faced man of middle age and on a chair nearby was the
undress uniform of an officer of high rank, a light blue uniform with
silver facings. Accustomed as he was to khaki uniform alone Trent had no
idea to what European service the sleeper belonged. He remembered
Hentzi's remark that there were more people at the dinner table than one
might suppose. Trent was certain he had never seen this officer about
the castle grounds and had never driven him.
From the bedroom a door led evidently to a room _en suite_. This was
unlocked and Trent entered noiselessly. It was a room twice the size of
the adjoining apartment and furnished magnificently. So vast and
splendid was the chamber he thought it must be that of Count Michæl, the
room where perchance the treaty lay concealed for which he had risked so
much. But it was not Count Michæl who lay stertorously slumbering. It
was instead a prince of a great and lately reigning family who had
strangely disappeared from the world a few months earlier and had been,
so report ran, drowned in escaping from exile.
Anthony Trent was looking at one, worthless in character and devoid of
ability but nevertheless a man who might by reason of his name rally
about him an army which could start again the dreadful struggle whose
scars were yet fresh. A great ceremony had been made of the funeral and
a society of his former officers had been organized to perpetuate his
memory by embarrassing his opponents. Trent remembered, dimly, reading
an article in a London paper which spoke of the prince as being as
dangerous dead as when leading his dissolute life.
Anthony Trent looked at the weak, passion-lined face of the man who had
sought Count Michæl's shelter and smiled. He had long ago been intrigued
by the idea of mixing himself in high politics. Here, possibly, was an
excellent beginning. But the prince could wait a little while. The time
was not yet ripe for his resurrection.
Looking across the room Trent saw two long French windows lighting it.
One was open. Instead of the balcony upon which the intruder assumed
these windows opened, they led into a large courtyard some eighty feet
long and forty feet wide. He did not understand how it was this great
open space should have its being in the middle of the castle. There
seemed no reason why it existed in a building of this sort. He was to
find later that its origin was accidental. What was now a paved and
open courtyard had been the magazine of the castle during the Turkish
occupation of Croatia. The castle itself had never given in to the
Ottoman conqueror. It had been shelled in the Reformation uprising in
1607 and a ball shot had exploded the ammunition. The chamber had never
been rebuilt but a century later was turned into a pleasant garden.
Trent stepped through the open window and down three steps into the
courtyard. It was plainly much used. There were lounges and chairs and
tables. Pausing at one of them he saw London and New York papers which
he had brought up from Fiume earlier in the week. There were French
novels and bon-bons and a feather fan. Evidently the prince was not
without his feminine companionship. In one of these big chairs Trent sat
down and looked about him. The room from which he had come faced due
east. To the north and south were plain solid walls without windows.
Only to the West at the other end of the space could he see that the
walls were pierced with French windows. As he looked these were suddenly
illuminated. He made no motion. He felt reasonably certain that he was
in such a position as to be unobserved.
But he grew less calm when the count's unmistakable figure passed up and
down before the two windows and finally opening one stepped out into the
courtyard. Behind him came Hentzi who should have been in bed long ago.
The two passed so close he could have touched them. They were speaking
rapidly and in what he supposed must be the Croatian tongue. Twice he
heard his name mentioned. The count always called him by the assumed
name of Alfred pronouncing it "Arlfrit."
It was not pleasant hearing. They might be, for all he knew, discussing
his already discovered absence from his room. It was true he had bolted
the door but someone from the outside might have detected the dark-clad
climber making his unlawful ascent. Already a search might be in
progress which would eventually claim him as the third failure. Count
Michæl was often so excited about trivial things that the listener was
not able to guess whether his present mood was the outcome of some small
irritation or of something far more sinister. There recurred frequently
the name of Pauline and once or twice the count pointed to the windows
where slept the man whom his people had mourned as dead.
There was one moment of dreadful anticipation for the American. He
noticed that Hentzi was permitting himself to argue with his master.
Suddenly as the twain passed by Trent's refuge the count buffetted his
secretary on the head. It was Count Michæl's favorite expression of
annoyance. Trent himself had suffered thus on the golf links. Hentzi
ducked in time to receive merely a glancing blow but he gripped the arm
of Trent's chair to steady himself. If he had taken his eyes off the
count's still upraised hand he could not have failed to see the
intruder.
For a full half hour Anthony Trent sat quiet. Then the count and Hentzi
left him alone. Now that immediate risk of detection seemed past Trent
assured himself that his evening had been well spent. Undoubtedly Count
Michæl's rooms, the rooms he wanted to investigate--were those through
whose windows the two had come and gone. He memorized as well as he
could the position in the corridors the doors would occupy. The
discovery of this courtyard three floors in depth helped him to
understand what had baffled him in his explorations of the corridors
many of which came to abrupt meaningless ends. In other days they had
continued across the space that had once been arsenal, magazine and
strong room.
He made his way through the open window and past the sleeping men
without mishap. In the corner of a panel in the _armoire_ he bored two
small holes and blew away the dust that fell from them. He descended the
copper pipe prepared to find his room invaded by vengeful servants. But
it was as he had left it. It was not for his arrest that the count had
dragged Arlfrit into his conversation.