On the second morning after the crown prince’s abduction, Gerald Strong
and his family formed themselves at breakfast into what Ned called “a
committee of the whole on the Szalaki matter.”
“I received a cable despatch late yesterday afternoon, dated at
Rexopolis, and signed by our Vienna agent,” remarked Strong the elder,
glancing rather shamefacedly at Kate. “It ran as follows: ‘Szalaki common
name. No nobility.’ I begin to fear that your mother and I were too
easily affected by pleasing manners and a handsome face.”
“The thing looks queer,” exclaimed Ned, emphatically. “When I drove up
to the hotel yesterday before noon a curious feeling came over me that I
would not find the count. When I asked for him at the desk, a peculiar
expression rested on the clerk’s face, and he looked at me suspiciously.
When I had given him my name, he seemed to feel more confidence in me,
for he told me that Count Szalaki had not returned to the hotel the night
before. About an hour before I reached there yesterday morning a man had
given the clerk a note from Count Szalaki, enclosing the amount of his
bill and directing the hotel people to put all his belongings in the
care of the bearer. The man looked like a foreigner. The clerk carefully
compared the count’s signature on the note with his name on the hotel
register, and became satisfied that they were penned by the same hand.
There was nothing for him to do, of course, but to obey the orders
contained in the note. I tell you, father, it looks queer.”
Kate Strong had said nothing after seating herself at the table, but her
face showed that she was intensely interested in the conversation going
on between her father and her brother. Her cheeks were paler than usual,
and dark shadows rested beneath her eyes. She ate nothing, and sipped her
coffee languidly. Ned’s emphatic insistence on the “queerness” of the
whole affair seemed to annoy her, for she exclaimed, a slight tinge of
red appearing in her face:
“I don’t believe, Ned, that Count Szalaki is a fraud. It’s strange,
of course, that he sent me no word of apology for not keeping his
engagement; but, somehow, I feel sure that there is an adequate
explanation for his silence.”
“But you forget your father’s cable despatch, Kate,” remarked Mrs.
Strong, coldly. She suffered intensely at the idea that her boasted
knowledge of human nature had been insufficient to protect the family
from an impostor.
“Well, well,” exclaimed Gerald Strong, rather testily, as he motioned to
the butler to hand him a morning newspaper, “no great harm is done even
if Count Szalaki is not what he appeared to be. If he is an adventurer,
we certainly got off very cheaply.”
Kate Strong did not wholly agree with her father in this conclusion.
She was dissatisfied with herself, and weary for the moment, of her
environment. Whatever Count Szalaki might be—confidence man, rolling
stone, conspirator, or what not—she felt that he had played a more
important _rôle_ in her eyes than either he or her family realized.
How could Count Szalaki or her people know that this self-contained,
worldly-wise, seemingly unimpressionable New York girl, who had been
flattered and petted and obeyed since her nursery days, had found in the
Rexanian the incarnation of her secret dreams of romance? How could they
realize that the very mystery that placed him beyond the pale of Gerald
Strong’s consideration had but added to the fascination that his memory
exerted over the girl? Kate was not by temperament a sickly sentimental
woman, but she was not yet too old or world-worn to dream wild, sweet
dreams, and to long for the day when out of the shadowland of commonplace
would come a royal youth who would lead her up to the sun-kissed palace
of love and mystery that crowns the distant mountain-top. She had seen
Count Szalaki but once, but in the beauty of his face and the soft,
almost caressing accent of his voice she had found reason for the hope
that her dreams might not be mockeries, that in the land of reality there
might be a prince who, kissing the lips of the sleeping maiden, would
awaken her to a life that should satisfy the longings of her weary soul.
All this she hardly dared to admit to herself, but she was honest enough
in her self-communion to acknowledge that Count Szalaki appealed to her
imagination as no man heretofore had touched it. It hurt her pride to
feel that her parents and brother had relegated this visitor from her
land of dreams to the limbo in which honest people placed impostors. As
she mused silently on the accusing fact that had been brought to her
notice regarding the youth who fulfilled in so many details her ideal, an
exclamation of surprise from her father aroused her from her revery.
“Here’s a long despatch in the _Trumpet_ from Rexopolis,” exclaimed
Gerald Strong, glancing at his son. “Listen. ‘There is much suppressed
excitement in this city. The guards at the palace have been doubled, and
rumor has it that King Sergius III. is dangerously ill. Premier Fejeravy
was seen by your correspondent to-day, but refused to admit or deny the
truth of the report. One of the astonishing features of the situation
lies in the fact that the Crown Prince Carlo has not appeared in public
for some time past. It has been his custom heretofore to show himself to
the people whenever his aged father was indisposed. This has been good
policy on his part, as he is very popular, and there is always talk of a
revolutionary outbreak here when the king is threatened with death. The
maintenance of the monarchy, if King Sergius should die, rests entirely
on the popularity of Prince Carlo, as the undercurrent of feeling in
favor of a republic is very strong. It is suspected that France and
Russia would not be opposed to the overthrow of the reigning house and
the formation of a Rexanian republic. There are many reasons why a buffer
republic at this point would be of advantage to the Franco-Russian
coalition. The Rexanian army has been greatly strengthened of late years,
but its loyalty to the crown is under suspicion. There is little doubt
that a large number of the rank and file, and a few of the officers,
are under the influence of republican ideas. Under these conditions,
every scrap of news from the palace is eagerly awaited by the crowd in
the streets. It is rumored at this writing that a famous specialist
from Paris has just reached the city and is being hurried to the king’s
bedside. Business is practically at a standstill, and any moment may give
birth to events in this city that will affect the whole of Europe.’”
There was silence for a moment. At length Ned remarked:
“I can’t make anything out of it, father. I am free to admit that
Count Szalaki impressed me as a thorough gentleman, too young and
unsophisticated to be a dangerous schemer. But he comes to us, and while
here receives a note that affects him strangely. Then he disappears,
leaving no word of apology or explanation behind him. And now we learn
that his country is on the eve of startling events. He told us that he
came here to study our institutions. By Jove, I have it, father! He is a
revolutionist, and the crisis at Rexopolis has called him back at once.
I’ll bet a penny that he sailed for Europe yesterday morning!”
Gerald Strong rose, and remarked, indifferently:
“Well, well, Ned, you may be right. I should prefer to learn that he was
a rebel and not a rascal. He was a charming boy. But I doubt if we ever
hear of him again. You don’t look well, Kate. You must get more exercise.”
“I’m going up to the Country Club to-morrow with Ned,” said Kate,
smiling at her father as she left the table. “We will take a spin on our
wheels and be back here for a late dinner. Isn’t that our plan, Ned?”
“I believe it is,” answered her brother. “And to-day I shall try to find
out what has become of Count Szalaki.”
The young man did not know that the expression on his sister’s face was
one of mingled gratitude and hope, born of the words he had just spoken.