By a strong effort of will, the prince controlled his agitation, and,
eying the butler keenly, asked:
“Is the man who brought this note awaiting an answer?”
“No, monsieur. He went away at once.”
“Very good!” exclaimed the Rexanian. Then, as if coming suddenly to a
determination, he continued, “Will you kindly dismiss my carriage? I will
walk back to my hotel.”
After Mrs. Strong and Kate had left the men to their _liqueurs_ and
cigars, Count Szalaki, as we shall continue to call him, turned to his
host and asked:
“Are there many of my countrymen in New York, Mr. Strong?”
“I was telling my son about them before you arrived,” answered Mr.
Strong, whose curiosity was greatly excited by the episode that had just
occurred. “There are a few hundred Rexanians on the East Side. By the
way, I forgot to remind you, Ned, that our man Rudolph is from Rexopolis.
It slipped my mind at the moment. You see, count, I have dabbled a little
in politics. After an election a few years ago, a Rexanian who had
made some political speeches for us on the East Side applied to me for
work. It happened that I wanted a man to live in the lodge of our old
homestead up in Westchester, and I gave Rudolph the place.”
“He has served you well?” asked Count Szalaki, whose manner still gave
slight evidences of suppressed excitement.
“He has been very faithful. He drinks a little too much brandy now and
then, I believe, but he is well fitted for his not very onerous duties.
You see, our old homestead—I was born there, as my grandfather and father
were before me—has been allowed to fall into disuse. My family have
always preferred Newport to Westchester in summer, and I have never had
the heart to sell the place. Rudolph’s duty is to take care of the house
and grounds, and mine to resist all temptation to sell them.”
“I am glad,” remarked Count Szalaki, courteously, “that one of my people
has been of service to you. But tell me about these few hundred Rexanians
on the East Side. Are they quiet, reputable citizens? Do they give you
any trouble?”
“They are considered, I believe,” answered Mr. Strong, carefully weighing
his words, “very industrious and law-abiding men; rather clannish, but
great enthusiasts regarding our form of government.”
Count Szalaki sipped his Chartreuse meditatively. He had a decision to
make that seemed to him to be of great moment. He was placed in a very
awkward position. The fact that there were men in the city who knew his
name and his rank had come to him as a stunning blow. It had been a great
relief to him to get away from Rexopolis, a hotbed of intrigue and peril,
and to find himself in a great city in which, as he had fondly believed,
he could come and go without a thought of danger or the necessity of
using any especial precautions. And now in the twinkling of an eye he had
been confronted by a mystery and a menace. He felt a curious sensation
of utter helplessness, a desire for advice, and the certainty that there
was no one who could give it to him. Young though he was, he was a man
of great physical and moral courage, but he was also a youth of strong
imaginative powers, and the position in which he was now placed appeared
to his overwrought mind to be filled with lurking perils against which he
could think of no way to protect himself. Then his mind dwelt upon the
kind and loyal words of the note that he had just received, and he felt
impelled to put his trust in those who had sent it to him. The people of
Rexania had always been fond of the crown prince: when he had appeared to
the crowds in Rexopolis the cheers had ever been heartfelt and inspiring,
and the youth felt sure that the mass of his people loved him. But there
were schemers and rebels among them, as he well knew, and the feeling
had been upon him for years that at any moment he might meet with a
violent death. It was to get a few months’ relief from this oppressive
sensation that he had come to the New World. It was, therefore, a bitter
disappointment to find that even in the land of universal freedom the
heir to a throne may be shadowed by those who know his secret and who may
or may not desire his destruction.
If Count Szalaki had been a man of wider experience, if he had realized
that conditions prevailing in Rexopolis were impossible in New York,
he would have taken steps at this crisis that would have solved his
difficulties at little or no risk to himself. A frank statement of the
whole affair to Gerald Strong would have placed the Rexanian prince in
perfect touch with his novel environment. It would have enabled him to
remove the annoyances that threatened him as easily as the wind puts a
fog to flight. But he kept his secret to himself, and thus made his first
great blunder in a series of missteps that were followed by consequences
affecting a vast multitude in Europe and a good many people on this side
of the Atlantic.
As they rejoined Mrs. Strong and her daughter in the drawing-room,
the Rexanian made a great effort to throw off the depression that had
affected his spirits while he puffed his cigar.
“You look more cheerful, Count Szalaki,” remarked Kate, sympathetically.
“I hope you have received no bad news?”
“Not at all,” he answered, with forced gayety. “A friend is awaiting me
outside to walk to my hotel with me; and I fear that he is a bore.”
“How very sad!” commented Kate, while the feeling crept over her that
here was a man who had about him a great mystery. It was the one thing
lacking to make him irresistibly fascinating to a girl who was surfeited
with men about whom there was nothing new to learn.
“Perhaps,” went on the Rexanian, brushing the dark locks back from his
forehead with a white, tapering hand, “perhaps you will take pity on me,
Miss Strong, and give me courage for my walk to-night by the prospect of
a stroll with you to-morrow afternoon?”
He was not quite sure that, even in the land of liberty, this proposition
would be considered good form, but his mood had grown somewhat reckless
under the pressure of events.
“Thank you,” answered Kate, frankly. “It will give me great pleasure to
show you something of our city. I shall expect you about three o’clock.”
She held out her hand to him as he arose to make his adieux.
Ned Strong had succumbed, as had his parents and sister, to the magnetism
of their guest.
“I should be pleased to look you up to-morrow morning, Count Szalaki,” he
said cordially. “If you are fond of driving, I’ll stop at the hotel with
my cart before noon.”
“That is very charming,” cried the Rexanian. “You have all been so
kind to me. I cannot find terms in which to express my gratitude.” The
hand-clasp he gave his host and hostess proved the sincerity of his words.
He was gone, and Ned Strong stood looking at his sister.
“You promised me, Kate,” he said playfully, “that you would tell me what
you thought of him. Now is the appointed time.”
“I think,” answered Kate, slowly, “I think, Ned, that Count Szalaki is a
delightful man—who is in very great trouble.”
“Kate is right, Gerald,” commented Mrs. Strong, looking at her husband.
“What do you suppose that note said?”
“I can’t imagine,” answered Gerald Strong, musingly. “I shall cable our
agent at Vienna in the morning to go to Rexopolis and find out who Count
Szalaki is.”