The apartment in the Flag Tower to which Carey Grey was conducted by
Chancellor von Ritter was at the top of two flights of winding stone
stairs, and the barred windows of its four rooms commanded a view of
varied and picturesque loveliness. In the foreground were the Palace
gardens, with their series of descending terraces, their fountains and
statuary, their parterres of gay flowers, their gracefully curving
driveways and gravelled walks, and their wonderful old trees of every
shade of green leafage. Beyond the gardens were the red and grey roofs,
the spires and steeples and domes and turrets of the city, divided by
the sparkling silver-white waters of the rushing river, and beyond
these stretched the fertile valley checkered with fields of ripening
grain--yellow and orange and russet--and olive patches of woodland, and
dotted with farm houses and cottages and barns and hayricks.
The rooms, themselves, were somewhat sombre. There was a small library,
panelled and finished in black oak; a _salon_, long and high, with
much tarnished gilt ornamentation and red upholstery; a tiny bare
dressing-room, and a bedchamber with a great canopied bedstead, beside
which stood a quaintly carved _prie-dieu_.
“Your Royal Highness will, I trust, be comfortable here,” said the
Chancellor, when he had walked with Grey from one room to another and
the two were standing together in the long _salon_.
The American hesitated a moment before replying. He was revolving
mentally several alternatives of action. It was his duty, he knew, not
to let this farce proceed further; and yet he had thus far learned
absolutely nothing.
“I shall,” he said, at length, “be quite comfortable.”
“If there is anything your Royal Highness desires,” continued the
Chancellor, “you have but to make it known.”
The invitation arrested the whirl of indecision and settled the course
of procedure.
“If you will be so good as to answer me a few questions, Count,” Grey
began, “I shall be indebted. Won’t you sit down?”
Count von Ritter found a place for his angular length upon a settee
beside a pedestalled bust of King Oswald the First, and Grey sank into
a chair near by.
“I am entirely at your Royal Highness’s disposal,” the Chancellor
avowed, amiably; and the American, not without some trepidation, it
must be confessed, began:
“You understand, of course, that events in my career have followed one
another in the most rapid succession during the past few months; and
regarding some of the most important details I am entirely uninformed.
You will be surprised, perhaps, to learn, for instance, that I do not
know with any degree of definiteness how my identity was established.
Herr Schlippenbach was my discoverer, of course, but with whom did he
consult here and by what means was it made clear that I am really the
abducted heir of the Budavian crown?”
Count von Ritter listened to the question with growing suspicion.
Here were, perhaps, the first indications of that insanity of which
Lindenwald had spoken.
“It does seem hardly possible, your Royal Highness,” he replied, “that
on such a vital matter you should have been left in ignorance. It was,
I think, nearly a year ago that the first communication from the Herr
Doctor Schlippenbach was brought to me by Herr Professor Trent.”
“And who is Herr Professor Trent?” Grey asked, quickly.
“The Herr Professor,” answered the Chancellor, “is the head of the
University of Kürschdorf.”
“And his reputation is, of course, beyond reproach, eh?”
“Quite beyond reproach, your Royal Highness.”
“And what steps followed?” Grey pursued, inquisitorially, crossing his
legs and leaning back in his chair.
“I took up the matter personally,” the Count responded, with frankness.
“I entered into correspondence with Schlippenbach at once, and after
some months of writing back and forth he placed before me a very
circumstantial story, which he afterward confirmed with documentary
evidence--old letters, photographs, affidavits.”
“And then?”
“When I had thoroughly assured myself of the authenticity of all he
claimed, I brought the subject to the attention of the Privy Council,
and eventually it was laid before His Majesty. In the meantime the
Budavian Minister at Washington had been investigating, and the
Budavian Consul at New York as well. But all that, of course, you know.”
Grey nodded, dissembling. He was studying Count von Ritter as he
spoke; noting every accent, every inflection, every expression, in an
endeavour to decide whether he were innocent or guilty. Thus far he
had been inclined to regard him as honest. It hardly seemed possible
that one occupying his position could stoop to such chicanery. And the
head of the university appeared likewise as too impregnably placed to
be open to suspicion. The Budavian Minister and the Budavian Consul,
however, he concluded could not be guiltless.
“And how did Captain Lindenwald chance to be chosen to meet me on my
arrival in England?” he asked.
“Captain Lindenwald,” answered the Chancellor, “is an officer of the
Royal household--he was the late King’s equerry--and he is, moreover,
the brother of our Minister to the United States.”
Grey smiled in spite of himself. Of Lindenwald’s complicity he had
had no doubt from the first. The fact that the Budavian Minister at
Washington was his brother made it all the more probable that that
dignitary was also criminally involved.
“Now, just one more matter, Count,” the American continued. “Can you
tell me anything of this Baron von Einhard?”
The Chancellor shrugged his square shoulders.
“The Baron is a supporter of Prince Hugo,” he answered.
“That much I know,” Grey returned. “And in his loyalty to his leader he
is apt to be unscrupulous to the Prince’s opponents?”
Count von Ritter smiled a trifle cynically.
“I have been led to understand so,” he answered.
“He would pay well, I suppose, to get Prince Max out of the way just at
this juncture? Is it not so?”
“The price asked would probably not deter him.”
“And Captain Lindenwald--But no, of course not. It is silly of me to
suggest such a possibility. You are satisfied of that officer’s fealty,
I am sure?”
The Chancellor straightened in his seat and leaned forward with an
exhibition of concern that had hitherto been lacking.
“You do not make yourself altogether clear, your Royal Highness,” he
ventured. “Am I to understand that you have reason to suspect that
Captain Lindenwald and the Baron von Einhard are----”
“Pardon me,” interrupted Grey, pleased nevertheless at the awakened
interest of the Chancellor, “I did not say so. I merely asked a
question. You are satisfied of Captain Lindenwald’s entire honesty and
loyalty, are you not?”
“The Captain,” von Ritter replied, guardedly, “has not been as eager as
I could have wished at times, but I have never regarded him as venal.”
“Then his explanation of why he left me in Paris, without so much as a
word as to his going, and why that night an attempt was made to abduct
me by persons in the employ of Baron von Einhard--I suppose he has made
such an explanation--was entirely satisfactory to you?”
Grey sprung the question suddenly and noted scrutinisingly the effect.
The Chancellor’s usually immobile features gave perceptible token of
his surprise. His bushy brows raised the merest trifle, and his keen
black eyes widened.
“His story was, I must confess, not altogether satisfactory, your Royal
Highness,” he answered, quietly; “it was, I may say, lacking in detail.”
“I would suggest,” continued Grey, in a tone equally repressed, “that
you question him in the line I have indicated.”
The Chancellor bowed.
“I have to thank you,” he said, gravely. “I shall do so. That is very
certain.”
Grey arose and Count von Ritter got to his feet instantly. The American
stood for a moment in indecision, very tall, very erect. There was no
denying that he looked every inch the Prince. Whether to declare that
he was not he hurriedly debated. Meanwhile the Chancellor was still
striving to detect the madness of which Lindenwald had spoken. To each
question he had given the most searching mental scrutiny; to each
gesture, to each intonation he had paid the closest heed, but he had
discovered practically no indication of the malady charged. With Grey’s
next utterance, however, all the fabric of his assurance fell crumbling.
“Count von Ritter,” he said--he had been for a moment gazing out
through the window at the varied landscape now dimming with the dusk,
but as he spoke he turned and faced the Chancellor--“Count von Ritter,
I can delay no longer in confiding to you a matter so grave that I
scarcely know how to frame it in words. May I ask you to again be
seated?” And he waved his hand towards the settee from which the Count
had risen.
The Chancellor seated himself without speaking, and Grey resumed his
place in the chair near him.
“The reason I have asked you what I have,” continued he, speaking
slowly and with more than his usual deliberation, “is that I have
been--I was about to say astounded, but that is too weak a word--I
have been stunned and dumfounded by the proved credulity of a nation
which has the reputation, next to Russia, of possessing the most astute
diplomats in all Europe. That a government so fortified could be
tricked into placing its sceptre in the hands of an American citizen,
whose ancestry shows no trace of Budavian blood and whose antecedents
are an open book, seems out of all reason; and yet it is precisely what
you and your confrères, Count, have, as is now conclusively evidenced,
been led into.”
Upon the Chancellor’s face was an expression which Grey could not
fathom. He was neither startled nor incensed. There was, indeed, just
the faintest suspicion of amusement in his keen black eyes, mingled
with a spirit of kindly indulgence.
“You mean,” he said, quietly, “that you are not the heir?”
“Most assuredly,” Grey answered, in amazement at his companion’s
inscrutable manner, “I am no more the Prince of Kronfeld than I am the
Prince of Wales. I am Carey Grey, of New York, an American born and
bred, who was drugged, hypnotised, mesmerised or what you please; made
unknowingly to commit a theft, made unknowingly to cross the Atlantic,
to travel under a false name, to attempt to usurp a title and a throne.”
Count von Ritter’s foot tapped the floor nervously. He laced his long,
knotted fingers and unlaced them again.
“This is a very grave matter,” he said, his voice low and steady, “and
I shall lose no time in looking into it. As you say, such a thing would
appear beyond the bounds of reason. Your Royal High--I beg your pardon!
Mr. Grey, did I understand?” And there was a humouring leniency, not
to say pity, in his tone--“you can imagine how much this statement of
yours at this late hour will involve in the way of complications.”
“That you were not enlightened earlier, Count,” Grey continued,
“was due to my desire to learn just how far the conspiracy had been
carried. As a matter of fact, until I reached Anslingen this afternoon
I had no positive assurance that the affair had gone further than Herr
Schlippenbach and Captain Lindenwald. Of their intentions I was well
satisfied, but concerning the chances for the ultimate success of their
plans I was in the dark.”
Again the two men stood up.
“And now,” said the Chancellor, “as to dinner. A state banquet has been
prepared at which your--pardon me!--at which _His_ Royal Highness was
to have presided. Under the circumstances, however, I presume you would
prefer not to attend. If I may be permitted,” he added, tactfully, “I
will explain that His Royal Highness is indisposed.”
“Thank you,” Grey acquiesced, cheerily; “that’s the better course--the
only course, in fact. Unless you can yourself join me--and I suppose
that is impossible--I’ll dine alone here. And afterward I should like a
conveyance to the Hotel Königin Anna. I have some friends there that I
must see this evening.”
The Chancellor bowed. The next moment he was gone, and Grey crossed to
the open window and stood for a long while lost in thought. Meanwhile
the gloom deepened over the valley and the room behind him grew dark.
He was awakened from his reverie by a rapping on the door, and in
response to his permission to enter Johann came in, followed by porters
with his luggage. Then the candles were lighted, and a little later his
dinner was served.
Afterward he got into his evening clothes, and when he was quite ready
he sent Johann to see if the carriage he had ordered was in waiting.
But the boy returned with dismay mantling his usually placid features.
“The carriage is not coming, your Royal Highness,” he said, with an
accent of apology, as though the fault was his.
“Not coming?” Grey repeated in astonishment. “Why is it not coming?”
“None has been ordered, your Royal Highness.”
“Then order one at once.”
“I tried to, your Royal Highness; but I was not permitted.”
Grey’s customary calmness gave way to palpable irritation.
“What the devil do you mean?” he asked. “Am I a prisoner here?”
Johann’s distress increased.
“It is not I, your Royal Highness, on whom the blame lies. Outside this
door is a guard. He will not let me pass. He will not let your Royal
Highness pass. He has orders.”
The American strode angrily towards the door.
“We will see,” he said, determinedly.
Outside a soldier was standing.
“What does this mean?” he asked, in as repressed a tone as he could
muster. “Why will you not let my man do as I bid him?”
The sentry saluted respectfully.
“I have been ordered by my commanding officer, your Royal Highness,” he
answered.
“Ordered to what?” cried Grey.
“Ordered, your Royal Highness, to permit no one to leave the Flag
Tower.”
And he saluted again.