They opened the package and at first sight saw only several pairs of
quite common woolen socks. As Marco took up the sock in the middle of
the parcel, he felt that there was something inside it--something laid
flat and carefully. He put his hand in and drew out a number of
five-franc notes--not new ones, because new ones would have betrayed
themselves by crackling. These were old enough to be soft. But there
were enough of them to amount to a substantial sum.
"It is in small notes because poor boys would have only small ones. No
one will be surprised when we change these," The Rat said.
Each of them believed the package had been sent by the great lady, but
it had been done so carefully that not the slightest clue was furnished.
To The Rat, part of the deep excitement of "the Game" was the working
out of the plans and methods of each person concerned. He could not have
slept without working out some scheme which might have been used in this
case. It thrilled him to contemplate the difficulties the great lady
might have found herself obliged to overcome.
"Perhaps," he said, after thinking it over for some time, "she went to a
big common shop dressed as if she were an ordinary woman and bought the
socks and pretended she was going to carry them home herself. She would
do that so that she could take them into some corner and slip the money
in. Then, as she wanted to have them sent from the shop, perhaps she
bought some other things and asked the people to deliver the packages to
different places. The socks were sent to us and the other things to some
one else. She would go to a shop where no one knew her and no one would
expect to see her and she would wear clothes which looked neither rich
nor too poor."
He created the whole episode with all its details and explained them to
Marco. It fascinated him for the entire evening and he felt relieved
after it and slept well.
Even before they had left London, certain newspapers had swept out of
existence the story of the descendant of the Lost Prince. This had been
done by derision and light handling--by treating it as a romantic
legend.
At first, The Rat had resented this bitterly, but one day at a meal,
when he had been producing arguments to prove that the story must be a
true one, Loristan somehow checked him by his own silence.
"If there is such a man," he said after a pause, "it is well for him
that his existence should not be believed in--for some time at least."
The Rat came to a dead stop. He felt hot for a moment and then felt
cold. He saw a new idea all at once. He had been making a mistake in
tactics.
No more was said but, when they were alone afterwards, he poured himself
forth to Marco.
"I was a fool!" he cried out. "Why couldn't I see it for myself! Shall
I tell you what I believe has been done? There is some one who has
influence in England and who is a friend to Samavia. They've got the
newspapers to make fun of the story so that it won't be believed. If it
was believed, both the Iarovitch and the Maranovitch would be on the
lookout, and the Secret Party would lose their chances. What a fool I
was not to think of it! There's some one watching and working here who
is a friend to Samavia."
"But there is some one in Samavia who has begun to suspect that it might
be true," Marco answered. "If there were not, I should not have been
shut in the cellar. Some one thought my father knew something. The spies
had orders to find out what it was."
"Yes. Yes. That's true, too!" The Rat answered anxiously. "We shall have
to be very careful."
In the lining of the sleeve of Marco's coat there was a slit into which
he could slip any small thing he wished to conceal and also wished to be
able to reach without trouble. In this he had carried the sketch of the
lady which he had torn up in Paris. When they walked in the streets of
Munich, the morning after their arrival, he carried still another
sketch. It was the one picturing the genial-looking old aristocrat with
the sly smile.
One of the things they had learned about this one was that his chief
characteristic was his passion for music. He was a patron of musicians
and he spent much time in Munich because he loved its musical atmosphere
and the earnestness of its opera-goers.
"The military band plays in the Feldherrn-halle at midday. When
something very good is being played, sometimes people stop their
carriages so that they can listen. We will go there," said Marco.
"It's a chance," said The Rat. "We mustn't lose anything like a chance."
The day was brilliant and sunny, the people passing through the streets
looked comfortable and homely, the mixture of old streets and modern
ones, of ancient corners and shops and houses of the day was picturesque
and cheerful. The Rat swinging through the crowd on his crutches was
full of interest and exhilaration. He had begun to grow, and the change
in his face and expression which had begun in London had become more
noticeable. He had been given his "place," and a work to do which
entitled him to hold it.
No one could have suspected them of carrying a strange and vital secret
with them as they strolled along together. They seemed only two ordinary
boys who looked in at shop windows and talked over their contents, and
who loitered with upturned faces in the Marien-Platz before the ornate
Gothic Rathaus to hear the eleven o'clock chimes play and see the
painted figures of the King and Queen watch from their balcony the
passing before them of the automatic tournament procession with its
trumpeters and tilting knights. When the show was over and the automatic
cock broke forth into his lusty farewell crow, they laughed just as any
other boys would have laughed. Sometimes it would have been easy for The
Rat to forget that there was anything graver in the world than the new
places and new wonders he was seeing, as if he were a wandering minstrel
in a story.
But in Samavia bloody battles were being fought, and bloody plans were
being wrought out, and in anguished anxiety the Secret Party and the
Forgers of the Sword waited breathlessly for the Sign for which they had
waited so long. And inside the lining of Marco's coat was hidden the
sketched face, as the two unnoticed lads made their way to the
Feldherrn-halle to hear the band play and see who might chance to be
among the audience.
Because the day was sunny, and also because the band was playing a
specially fine programme, the crowd in the square was larger than usual.
Several vehicles had stopped, and among them were one or two which were
not merely hired cabs but were the carriages of private persons.
One of them had evidently arrived early, as it was drawn up in a good
position when the boys reached the corner. It was a big open carriage
and a grand one, luxuriously upholstered in green. The footman and
coachman wore green and silver liveries and seemed to know that people
were looking at them and their master.
He was a stout, genial-looking old aristocrat with a sly smile, though,
as he listened to the music, it almost forgot to be sly. In the carriage
with him were a young officer and a little boy, and they also listened
attentively. Standing near the carriage door were several people who
were plainly friends or acquaintances, as they occasionally spoke to
him. Marco touched The Rat's coat sleeve as the two boys approached.
"It would not be easy to get near him," he said. "Let us go and stand as
close to the carriage as we can get without pushing. Perhaps we may hear
some one say something about where he is going after the music is over."
Yes, there was no mistaking him. He was the right man. Each of them knew
by heart the creases on his stout face and the sweep of his gray
moustache. But there was nothing noticeable in a boy looking for a
moment at a piece of paper, and Marco sauntered a few steps to a bit of
space left bare by the crowd and took a last glance at his sketch. His
rule was to make sure at the final moment. The music was very good and
the group about the carriage was evidently enthusiastic. There was talk
and praise and comment, and the old aristocrat nodded his head
repeatedly in applause.
"The Chancellor is music mad," a looker-on near the boys said to
another. "At the opera every night unless serious affairs keep him away!
There you may see him nodding his old head and bursting his gloves with
applauding when a good thing is done. He ought to have led an orchestra
or played a 'cello. He is too big for first violin."
There was a group about the carriage to the last, when the music came to
an end and it drove away. There had been no possible opportunity of
passing close to it even had the presence of the young officer and the
boy not presented an insurmountable obstacle.
Marco and The Rat went on their way and passed by the Hof-Theater and
read the bills. "Tristan and Isolde" was to be presented at night and a
great singer would sing _Isolde_.
"He will go to hear that," both boys said at once. "He will be sure to
go."
It was decided between them that Marco should go on his quest alone when
night came. One boy who hung around the entrance of the Opera would be
observed less than two.
"People notice crutches more than they notice legs," The Rat said. "I'd
better keep out of the way unless you need me. My time hasn't come yet.
Even if it doesn't come at all I've--I've been on duty. I've gone with
you and I've been ready--that's what an aide-de-camp does."
He stayed at home and read such English papers as he could lay hands on
and he drew plans and re-fought battles on paper.
Marco went to the opera. Even if he had not known his way to the square
near the place where the Hof-Theater stood, he could easily have found
it by following the groups of people in the streets who all seemed
walking in one direction. There were students in their odd caps walking
three or four abreast, there were young couples and older ones, and here
and there whole families; there were soldiers of all ages, officers and
privates; and, when talk was to be heard in passing, it was always talk
about music.
For some time Marco waited in the square and watched the carriages roll
up and pass under the huge pillared portico to deposit their contents at
the entrance and at once drive away in orderly sequence. He must make
sure that the grand carriage with the green and silver liveries rolled
up with the rest. If it came, he would buy a cheap ticket and go inside.
It was rather late when it arrived. People in Munich are not late for
the opera if it can be helped, and the coachman drove up hurriedly. The
green and silver footman leaped to the ground and opened the carriage
door almost before it stopped. The Chancellor got out looking less
genial than usual because he was afraid that he might lose some of the
overture. A rosy-cheeked girl in a white frock was with him and she was
evidently trying to soothe him.
"I do not think we are really late, Father," she said. "Don't feel
cross, dear. It will spoil the music for you."
This was not a time in which a man's attention could be attracted
quietly. Marco ran to get the ticket which would give him a place among
the rows of young soldiers, artists, male and female students, and
musicians who were willing to stand four or five deep throughout the
performance of even the longest opera. He knew that, unless they were in
one of the few boxes which belonged only to the court, the Chancellor
and his rosy-cheeked daughter would be in the best seats in the front
curve of the balcony which were the most desirable of the house. He soon
saw them. They had secured the central places directly below the large
royal box where two quiet princesses and their attendants were already
seated.
When he found he was not too late to hear the overture, the Chancellor's
face become more genial than ever. He settled himself down to an evening
of enjoyment and evidently forgot everything else in the world. Marco
did not lose sight of him. When the audience went out between acts to
promenade in the corridors, he might go also and there might be a chance
to pass near to him in the crowd. He watched him closely. Sometimes his
fine old face saddened at the beautiful woe of the music, sometimes it
looked enraptured, and it was always evident that every note reached his
soul.
The pretty daughter who sat beside him was attentive but not so
enthralled. After the first act two glittering young officers appeared
and made elegant and low bows, drawing their heels together as they
kissed her hand. They looked sorry when they were obliged to return to
their seats again.
After the second act the Chancellor sat for a few minutes as if he were
in a dream. The people in the seats near him began to rise from their
seats and file out into the corridors. The young officers were to be
seen rising also. The rosy daughter leaned forward and touched her
father's arm gently.
"She wants him to take her out," Marco thought. "He will take her
because he is good-natured."
He saw him recall himself from his dream with a smile and then he rose
and, after helping to arrange a silvery blue scarf round the girl's
shoulders, gave her his arm just as Marco skipped out of his fourth-row
standing-place.
It was a rather warm night and the corridors were full. By the time
Marco had reached the balcony floor, the pair had issued from the little
door and were temporarily lost in the moving numbers.
Marco quietly made his way among the crowd trying to look as if he
belonged to somebody. Once or twice his strong body and his dense black
eyes and lashes made people glance at him, but he was not the only boy
who had been brought to the opera so he felt safe enough to stop at the
foot of the stairs and watch those who went up and those who passed by.
Such a miscellaneous crowd as it was made up of--good unfashionable
music-lovers mixed here and there with grand people of the court and the
gay world.
Suddenly he heard a low laugh and a moment later a hand lightly touched
him.
"You _did_ get out, then?" a soft voice said.
When he turned he felt his muscles stiffen. He ceased to slouch and did
not smile as he looked at the speaker. What he felt was a wave of fierce
and haughty anger. It swept over him before he had time to control it.
A lovely person who seemed swathed in several shades of soft violet
drapery was smiling at him with long, lovely eyes.
It was the woman who had trapped him into No. 10 Brandon Terrace.