THE FIGURE IN THE VALLEY
“Oh, I am so sorry! What fools we have been!” Philippa cried, as she
half carried Royda to a settee and tried to staunch the wound.
Royda said nothing, either through faintness or because she seemed
overwhelmed with mortification and disappointment. She turned her face
away and remained passive, as though utterly beaten and discomfited,
with teeth set hard and the hand of the unwounded arm clenched.
“What madness it has been,” Philippa continued, not heeding her
adversary’s sullen attitude. “Why would you not listen to my
explanation? We are utterly ruined now.”
“You are hurt too?” the wounded girl asked, in a tone more of
satisfaction than concern.
“It is not much,” Philippa answered, with a glance at the blood on her
arms and breast. “But you, Fräulein, must have a doctor. What shall I
do? How can we explain this?”
“I shall be all right,” replied Royda, raising herself with an effort
and making a gesture of pushing Philippa from her. “For Heaven’s sake,
get away from this and leave me. Fate is on your side; I cannot fight
against it, and the sooner I am dead the better.”
“Fräulein d’Ivady, if you knew----” Philippa began in her distress.
“I know enough, too much, of you, Philippa Harlberg. You bring me evil.
I never knew what failure was till you crossed my path. Go, in Heaven’s
name; I cannot bear the sight of you. There is a door behind that
trophy. It leads to a passage through the rock and so out upon the side
of the valley.”
“I cannot go and leave you like this,” Philippa protested. “Hateful as
I may be to you, I shall not desert you now.”
“Then I must go,” Royda said, rising by sheer power of will. “You stay
at your own peril. I have shown you the way of escape, if that is what
you seek. At least you shall not see Aubray Zarka.”
“It is the last thing I wish,” Philippa returned.
“Then go. If you try to follow me you will regret it.”
Seeing her determination Philippa took up the articles of attire she
had laid aside, and proceeded not without pain, to put them on. She
offered to assist Royda with her garments, but was coldly repulsed.
“You are wise to go,” Royda said significantly, as she pressed a
handkerchief to her wounded arm. “There is the door. You cannot miss
the way, and the outer door at the end of the passage opens by pulling
the handle. The secret lock is from the outside. Now turn that knob; I
cannot.”
Philippa did as directed, and the heavy door with its trophy of arms
swung slowly open. She lingered. “Fräulein,” she said earnestly, as
she pointed to the other’s wound, “that is the only harm I have ever
knowingly done you. Will you not forgive me?”
Her tone was so gentle, so pleading, that Royda looked at her sharply
and as though suspicious of hypocrisy. “Forgive you!” site repeated
bitterly, drearily. “How can you ask me that? No,” she went on, with
a swift change of tone as her resentment welled up again: “I cannot
forgive you; no, never! You have ruined my life; innocently or not is
nothing to me. But you shall not suffer for this night’s work if I can
help it. Now, go!”
A peremptory gesture cut short Philippa’s hesitation. She took up a
candle by Royda’s direction, and without another word went out through
the doorway which was then closed upon her. For a moment a horrible
fear of a trap came upon her. What if she were buried alive in the
depth of the rock? But she took courage, as by the light she made out
the passage stretching before her, and she began to make her way along
it as fast as she could, always descending, sometimes by a gentle slope
sometimes by a few shallow steps. Expecting every moment to arrive at
the outlet, the passage began to seem interminable; but at last she
reached the end and the small iron-clamped door. In a moment she had
unlatched it and passed through. She found herself in a shrubbery, so
thick as to be almost impassable, but by dint of feeling her way she
pushed along a concealed path which gradually grew less dense, and
after a while led her into comparatively open woodland.
The storm had passed away, the stars were shining between the masses of
light drifting cloud, and the air had never seemed to Philippa so fresh
as now after the tension of the scene in the great rock-chamber, and
the close atmosphere of the long passage. Making her way down the side
of the valley she soon reached the path running along it, which would
lead her home.
* * * * *
In that night of adventure Von Tressen little dream how near he and
Philippa were to one another. The Lieutenant and Galabin had resolved
to pay Rozsnyo another visit and, if they should find it possible,
make a bolder attempt to solve the mystery of the masked prisoner.
When they arrived outside the walk they saw that the window was closed
and hidden. Passing on, they reached their climbing place and were
quickly on the roof. As they cautiously went forward they were somewhat
exercised to notice that the ascending stream of light was not to be
seen, and on coming to the barred skylight they found that the room
below was in darkness. This in a moment frustrated their plans, for
obviously it would be unsafe, if not absolutely useless, to try to
attract the prisoner’s attention when they could not see him or know
whether he was alone. So after waiting some time in the hope that a
light might appear, they were reluctantly forced to the conclusion that
there was nothing for it but to abandon the attempt for that night.
They were accordingly making their way back when an unexpected thing
happened. As Von Tressen quietly slid down the wall he suddenly found
himself in contact with a moving body, and next instant was seized by
the throat. A desperate struggle thereupon ensued between him and his
unknown assailant; it was pitch dark, and the Lieutenant could make
out nothing of the man’s face; all he knew was that he must put forth
all his strength to hold his own. In the struggle they worked their
way to the edge of the slope and then went crashing down together. By
this time Galabin had descended, and, taking in the situation, rushed
to his friend’s assistance. Between them they quickly overpowered the
unknown assailant, who continued to struggle desperately, and were able
to hold him down.
“Keep a look-out for another attack,” Von Tressen said to Galabin.
“Lieutenant Von Tressen?” gasped the man they were holding down.
“Herr D’Alquen?” they both cried in surprise.
It was none other than their mysterious acquaintance. For some seconds
he lay back panting, then he said:
“May one ask what you two were doing on that wall?”
“You may guess?” Galabin answered. “I fancy we have as much right here
as you.”
Their prisoner laughed. “That can hardly be settled without
explanation. At least you may tell me one thing. Are you here as
friends of Count Zarka?”
“Hardly, perhaps,” Galabin replied.
“Nor I,” D’Alquen said. “It is singular that we should be both here
like thieves from a different motive.”
An idea had occurred to Galabin, a probable explanation of D’Alquen’s
movements. “Perhaps our motives may not have been so different,” he
said.
“I cannot talk on my back with two men throttling me,” D’Alquen
growled. “Let me sit up, will you?”
A little suspiciously they relaxed their hold so that he could assume a
more comfortable posture for conversation.
“Has your business,” he asked, in his characteristically fierce, eager
manner, “anything to do with a mysterious window in the wall yonder?”
Galabin reflected a moment and then answered; “Yes; it has.”
D’Alquen’s eyes seemed to glitter through the darkness. “Ah!” he cried
eagerly. “You know, then? There is----” He stopped abruptly. “But you
are friends of the Count?” he said distrustfully.
“No, we are not,” Galabin replied. “You can speak quite freely to us.”
For a few moments there was silence as the two waited for D’Alquen to
continue. At last he said: “You have heard, of course, of Prince Roel’s
death?”
“Of his disappearance, certainly, and his rumoured death.”
“Yes, yes! You believe it?”
“That the Prince is dead? Hardly.”
“Why not?” D’Alquen demanded quickly.
“We may have reasons.”
“Ah! Reasons, yes; to think that he is here--here?”
“He may be here--or anywhere else,” Galabin replied guardedly. “If he
is not dead----”
“Ah!” D’Alquen seemed to read the other’s thoughts although he could
not see his face. “You know more than you will tell. I have suspected
it, but it seemed impossible for two sportsmen----. Now you may tell
me what you know. I am Prince Roel’s cousin, and have sworn to clear
up the mystery of his disappearance, and if necessary to avenge him. I
regret that I was compelled to take the Herr Lieutenant by the throat;
I mistook him for a spy of that fellow Zarka’s.”
“And we were inclined to set you down as the same,” Von Tressen laughed.
“Do not let us stay here talking,” Galabin suggested. “We may be
overheard, with unpleasant results. We had better be moving back
towards our tent, unless you have a plan to carry through to-night.”
“At least let us first compare notes,” D’Alquen replied. “If we act
together the solution of the terrible mystery may be easy.”
Rising from the ground, the three men stole across to the wood, whence
they shaped their course to the valley.
“My idea is,” D’Alquen said presently, “that this fellow Zarka is
responsible for my kinsman’s disappearance, for it is suspected at home
that he is in league with the Russians. Whether poor Roel is alive or
dead by now I cannot tell; if alive, it is because that villain dare
not kill him, at least till he has made sure of the consequences.”
They told him of the masked man. He stopped and flung up his arms
excitedly. “Roel! Roel!” he cried. “Thank Heaven, at last I can make an
effort for your liberty, or at least give my life for it.”
“Is there any necessity for that?” Von Tressen observed. “If we are
sure the Prince is there a prisoner, why not inform the Chancellor and
let the authorities proceed against Zarka?”
“No, no; it would be too late,” D’Alquen exclaimed.
“Yes; our friend is right,” Galabin said. “We should run the risk of
defeating our own ends. For before the Government could come to the
rescue, the Prince would be dead and buried a hundred feet down in
the rock. No; we must not force Zarka’s hand, especially as he has
his friends over the mountains to look to. And, after all, we have no
certain proof as yet that the man in the mask is Prince Roel.”
“No; no proof,” D’Alquen said feverishly; “yet we may be certain of
it. All the actors in the wretched affair are here in the forest:
Count Zarka, the gaoler and prospective assassin, my kinsman, the poor
victim, and the lady of the farm, the decoy.”
Galabin glanced anxiously at Von Tressen, who started as though he had
been struck.
“Decoy?” he demanded hoarsely. “What do you mean?”
D’Alquen turned to him with a fierce excited vent of repressed
knowledge.
“I mean nothing less than I say. This woman--lady, if you will--who is
staying so unaccountably, so mysteriously at the old farm, is nothing
less, or nothing more, than a creature of Zarka’s, whom he has employed
to delude my poor cousin and betray him to his death.”
“It is impossible; it is a lie!” the Lieutenant cried hotly.
Galabin made a restraining gesture. “Let us hear what proof Herr
D’Alquen has of his assertion,” he said quietly.
“Proof!” D’Alquen returned. “Is any proof necessary to one who is
not blind? Why are these people living at the farm? Why is Zarka
there so constantly and on such a confidential footing, if there is
no understanding between them? Is it not known that a woman was the
instrument of Roel’s spiriting away? She has disappeared too, for a
good reason, and I say she is here.”
He spoke in a tone of fierce conviction, and Von Tressen, surprised and
recalling the scene he had witnessed that morning, for the moment could
not reply. Galabin spoke.
“We are hardly in a position to disprove or even contradict what you
assert----”
“But I do,” Von Tressen broke in warmly. “You have no proof, mein Herr,
only surmise and suspicion. It is unchivalrous, unmanly, to take away a
lady’s reputation on such grounds.”
“You are a fine champion, mein Lieutenant,” D’Alquen returned with a
sneer. “But I maintain that to any one not blinded by partiality the
evidence I have is conclusive. Let me--ah! Look,” he cried suddenly
breaking off and pointing excitedly towards the valley which lay before
them. “Yonder!--yonder! Who is that?”
The other two looked eagerly towards the spot he indicated. For a few
seconds the drifting clouds let a stream of moonlight fall aslant the
valley. And across this band of light a figure was moving quickly--a
woman. Then a thick bank of cloud swept over the moon and all was
darkness, as Von Tressen sprang forward with a cry almost of despair.
D’Alquen laughed.