A NEW PRISONER ARRIVES
It was far past midnight when King was roused from the doze into which
he had fallen, exhausted and disconsolate, an hour earlier. Sounds of
unusual commotion reached him from the outer room. Instantly he was wide
awake, breathing heavily in the sudden overpowering fear that he had
slept for many hours and that the time had come for the conspirators to
go forth. Was it the 26th?
Loud, quick commands came to his ears; the moving of eager footsteps;
the drawing of bolts.
"They are here at last," he heard some one say. "God, this suspense has
been horrible. But they are here."
"Stand ready, then, with the guns!" cried Peter Brutus. "It may be a
trick, after all. Don't open that door down there, Spantz, until you
know who is on the outside."
Then followed a long interval of dead silence.
"It's all right," came at last in the relieved, eager voice of Peter
Brutus. "Clear the way, comrades. Give them room! By our Holy Father,
this is a brave triumph. Ah!"
Heavy footsteps clogged into the room, accompanied by stertorous
breathing and no small amount of grunting from masculine throats. Doors
were closed, bolts shot, and then many voices let loose their flow of
eager exclamations. Not one, but three or four languages were spoken by
the excited, intense occupants of the outer room; King could, make
nothing of what they said. Finally the sharp, incisive voice of William
Spantz broke through the babble, commanding silence.
"Still unconscious," he said, when some measure of order was secured.
"Yes," grunted one of the men, evidently a newcomer. "Since we left the
house above the ramparts. No need for gags or bonds, but we used them,
just the same. Now that we are here, what is to be done?"
"We will have our instructions to-morrow. The Count is to inform us
before nightfall where she is to be removed to. Next week she is to go
to Schloss Marlanx." Brutus inserted a cruel, heartless laugh, and then
added: "There she is to remain until he is quite ready to take her to
new apartments--in town. Trust the master to dispose of her properly. He
knows how to handle women by this time."
A woman, thought Truxton. The Countess! They had brought her here from
Balak, after all. What a remorseless brute Marlanx must be to maltreat
his beautiful wife as--Truxton did not complete the angry reflection.
Words from the other side of the door checked the train of thought.
"To my mind, she is more beautiful than his own wife," observed Anna
Cromer. "She will be a fine morsel for the Count, who has even cast
longing eyes on so homely a mortal as I."
"All women are alike to him," said Spantz sententiously. "I hope she is
not to be left here for long. I don't like women about at a time like
this. No offence, Madame Drovnask."
"She'll go to-morrow night, I'm sure," said Peter. "I told the Count we
could not keep her here over the--over the 26th. You see, there is a
bare possibility that none of us may ever come back after the bomb is
hurled. See? We don't want a woman to die of starvation down here, in
that event. I don't care what happens to the man in there. But the Count
does not want this one to starve. Oh, no; not he."
"We must put her in the room with the American for the present. You are
sure he will take her away before Saturday? A woman's cries are most
distressing." It was Spantz who spoke.
"I'll stop her crying," volunteered Anna Cromer harshly.
"I fancy you could, my dear," agreed Spantz. They all laughed.
"She's regaining her senses," exclaimed one of the men. "Stand back,
every one. Give her air."
"Air?" cried Anna Cromer. "It's at a premium down here, Raoul."
Presently the door to King's room was thrown open. He had got to his
feet and was standing in the centre of the room, his eyes blinking in
the glare of light.
"Holloh!" cried Peter Brutus, "you up, eh? We've got a fair lady for
you, my friend. Get back there, you dog! Keep in your corner."
Truxton faced the ugly crowd beyond the door for a moment and then fell
back to the corner to watch the proceedings with wondering, pitying
eyes.
"You are a fine bunch of human beings," he blurted out, savage with
despair and rage. No one gave heed to the compliment.
A man with a lighted candle entered first, holding the light above his
head. He was followed by two others, who supported the drooping,
tottering figure of a woman.
"Let her sit there against the wall, Drago. Julius, fetch in more
candles. She must not be left in the dark. _He_ says she is not to be
frightened to death. Women are afraid of the dark--and strange dogs.
Let there be light," scoffed Peter Brutus, spitting toward King.
"I'll get you for that some day," grated the American, white with anger.
Peter hesitated, then spat again and laughed loudly.
"Enough!" commanded William Spantz. "We are not children." Turning to
King he went on, a touch of kindness in his voice: "Cheer her if you
can. She is one of your class. Do not let the lights go out."
Raising his hands, he fairly drove the others from the doorway. An
instant later, King and his miserable, half-conscious companion were
alone, locked in together, the fitful light from the candle on the floor
playing hide and seek in shadows he had not seen before during his age
of imprisonment.
For a long time he stood in his corner, watching the figure huddled
against the opposite wall. Her face was not plainly visible, her head
having dropped forward until the chin nestled in the lace jabot at her
throat. A mass of tangled hair fell across her eyes; her arms hung
limply at her sides; small, modish riding hoots showed beneath the hem
of her skin, forlorn in their irresoluteness. Her garments were sadly
bedraggled; a pathetic breast rose and fell in choking sobs and gasps.
Suddenly he started forward, his eyes wide and staring. He had seen that
grey riding habit before! He had seen the hair!
Two eager steps he took and then halted, half way. She had heard him and
was raising her eyes, bewildered and wavering between dreamland and
reality.
"Great Jehovah!" he gasped, unbelieving. "You? My God, is it you?"
He dropped to his knees before her, peering into her startled eyes. A
look of abject terror crossed the tired, tear-stained face. She shrank
away from him, shivering, whimpering like a cowed child.
"What is it? Where am I?" she moaned. "Oh, let me go! What have I done,
that you should bring me here? Let me go, Mr. King! You are not so
wicked as--"
"I? I bring you here?" he interrupted, aghast. Then he understood. Utter
dismay filled his eyes. "You think that I have done this thing to you?
God above us! Look! I, too, am a prisoner here. I've been here for days,
weeks, years. They are going to kill me after to-morrow. And you think
that I have done this to you!"
"I don't know what--Oh, Mr. King, what does it all mean? Forgive me! I
see now. You are bound--you are suffering--you are years older. I see
now. But why is it? What have you done? What have I done?"
She was growing hysterical with terror.
"Don't shrink from me," he urged. "Try to calm yourself. Try to look
upon me as a friend--as a possible saviour. Lie quiet, do, for a little
while. Think it all out for yourself."
He knelt there before her while she sobbed out the last agony of alarm.
There were no tears in her eyes; racking sobs shook her slender body;
every nerve was aquiver, he could see. Patiently he waited, never taking
his firm, encouraging gaze from her face. She grew calmer, more
rational. Then, with the utmost gentleness, he persuaded her to rise and
walk about the little room with him.
"It will give you strength and courage," he urged. "Poor little girl!
Poor little girl!"
She looked up into his face, a new light coming into her eyes.
"Don't talk now," he said softly. "Take your time. Hold to my arm,
please. There! In a little while you'll be able to tell me all about
it--and then we'll set about to find a way to escape these devils. We'll
laugh at 'em, after all."
For five or ten minutes he led her back and forth across the room, very
tenderly. At first she was faint and uncertain; then, as her strength
and wits came back to her, courage took the place of despair. She smiled
wanly and asked him to sit down with her.
"A way to escape, you said," she murmured, as he dropped to her side.
"Where are we? What is it all about?"
"Not so loud," he cautioned. "I'll be perfectly candid with you. You'll
have to be very, very brave. But wait. Perhaps it will be easier for you
to tell me what has happened to you, so far as you know. I can throw
light on the whole situation, I think. Tell me, please, in your own way
and time. We're in a sorry mess, and it looks black, but, this much I
can tell you: you are to be set free in a few days, unharmed. You may
rest easy. That much is assured."
"And you?" she whispered, clutching his arm tightly, the swift thrill of
relief dying almost as it was born. "What of you?"
"Oh, I'll get out all right," he affirmed with a confidence he did not
feel. "I'm going to get you out of this or die in the attempt. Sh! Don't
oppose me," he went on whimsically. "I've always wanted to be a hero,
and here's my chance. Now tell me what happened to you."
Her piquant, ever-sprightly face had lost the arrogance that had
troubled all his dreams of conquest. She was pale and shivering and so
sorely distressed that he had it in his heart to clasp her in his arms
as one might do in trying to soothe a frightened child. Her face grew
cloudy with the effort to concentrate her thoughts; a piteous frown
settled upon her brow.
"I'm not sure that I can recall everything. It is all so terrible--so
unaccountable. It's like a dream that you try to remember and cannot.
Finding you here in this place is really the strangest part of it. I
cannot believe that I am awake."
She looked long and anxiously into his face, her eyebrows drawn together
in an earnest squint of uncertainty. "Oh, Mr. King, I have had such a
dreadful--dreadful time. Am I awake?"
"That's what I've been asking of myself," he murmured. "I guess we're
both awake all right. Nightmares don't last forever."
Her story came haltingly; he was obliged to supply many of the details
by conjecture, she was so hazy and vague in her memory.
At the beginning of the narrative, however, Truxton was raised to
unusual heights; he felt such a thrill of exaltation that for the moment
he forgot his and her immediate peril. In a perfectly matter-of-fact
manner she was informing him that her search for him had not been
abandoned until Baron Dangloss received a telegram from Paris, stating
that King was in a hospital there, recovering from a wound in the head.
"You can imagine what I thought when I saw you here a little while,
ago," she said, again looking hard at his face as if to make sure. "We
had looked everywhere for you. You see, I was ashamed. That man from
Cook's told us that you were hurt by--by the way I treated you the day
before you disappeared, and--well, he said you talked very foolishly
about it."
He drew a long breath. Somehow he was happier than he had been before.
"Hobbs is a dreadful ass," he managed to say.
It seems that the ministry was curiously disturbed by the events
attending the disappearance of the Countess Ingomede. The deception
practised upon John Tullis, frustrated only by the receipt of a genuine
message from the Countess, was enough to convince the authorities that
something serious was afoot. It may have meant no more than the
assassination of Tullis at the hands of a jealous husband; or it may
have been a part of the vast conspiracy which Dangloss now believed to
be in progress of development.
"Development!" Truxton King had exclaimed at this point in her
narrative. "Good God, if Dangloss only knew what I know!"
There had been a second brief message from the Countess. She admitted
that she was with her husband at the Axphain capital. This message came
to Tullis and was to the effect that she and the Count were leaving
almost immediately for a stay at Biarritz in France. "Mr. King," said
the narrator, "the Countess lied. They did not go to Biarritz. I am
convinced now that she is in the plot with that vile old man. She may
even expect to reign in Graustark some day if his plans are carried out.
I saw Count Marlanx yesterday. He was in Graustark. I knew him by the
portrait that hangs in the Duke of Perse's house--the portrait that
Ingomede always frowns at when I mention it to her. So, they did not go
to France."
She was becoming excited. Her eyes flashed; she spoke rapidly. On the
morning of the 23d she had gone for her gallop in the famous Ganlook
road, attended by two faithful grooms from the Royal stables.
"I was in for a longer ride than usual," she said, with sudden
constraint. She looked away from her eager listener. "I was nervous and
had not slept the night before. A girl never does, I suppose."
He looked askance. "Yes?" he queried.
She was blushing, he was sure of it. "I mean a girl is always nervous
and distrait after--after she has promised, don't you see."
"No, I don't see."
"I had promised Count Vos Engo the night before that I--Oh, but it
really has nothing to do with the story. I--"
Truxton was actually glaring at her. "You mean that you had promised to
marry Count Vos Engo!" he stammered.
"We will not discuss--"
"But did you promise to be his wife? Is he the man you love?" he
insisted. She stared at him in surprise and no little resentment.
"I beg of you, Mr. King--" she began, but he interrupted her.
"Forgive me. I'm a fool. Don't mind me." He sank back against the wall,
the picture of dejection. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I've got to die in
a day or two, so what's the odds?"
"How very strangely you talk. Are you sure--I mean, do you think it is
fever? One suffers so--"
He sighed deeply. "Well, that's over! Whew! It was a dream, by Jove!"
"I don't understand."
"Please go on."
She waited a moment and then, looking down, said very gently: "I'm so
sorry for you." He laughed, for he thought she pitied him because he had
awakened from the dream.
Then she resumed her story, not to be interrupted again. He seemed to
have lost all interest.
She had gone six or eight miles down the Ganlook road when she came up
with five troopers of the Royal Guard. It was a lonely spot at the
junction of the King's Highway and the road to the mines. One of the
troopers came forward and respectfully requested her to turn off into
the mine road until a detachment passed, in charge of a gang of
desperadoes taken at the Inn of the Hawk and Raven the night before.
Unsuspecting, she rode off into the forest lane for several hundred
yards.
It was a trap. The men were not troopers, but brigands gotten up in the
uniform of the guard. Once away from the main highway, they made
prisoners of her and the two grooms. Then followed a long ride through
roads new to her. At noon they came to a halt while the rascals changed
their clothing, appearing in their true garb, that of the mountaineer.
Half dead with dread, she heard them discussing their plans; they spoke
quite freely in the presence of the well-beaten grooms, who were led to
expect death before many hours. It was the design of the bandits to make
their way to the almost impregnable fastnesses in the hills of
Dawsbergen, the wild principality to the south. There they could hold
her against all hope of rescue, until an immense sum of money was paid
over in ransom by her dispairing friends.
When night came they were high in the mountains back of the Monastery,
many hours ahead of any pursuit. They became stupidly careless, and the
two grooms made a dash for freedom. One of them was killed, but the
other escaped. She was afterward to recall that no effort was made to
recapture him; they deliberately allowed him to escape, their cunning
purpose becoming only too apparent later on.
Instead of hurrying on to Dawsbergen, they dropped swiftly down into the
valley above the city. No secret was made of the ruse they had employed
to mislead the prospective pursuers. The rescue party, they swore
joyously, would naturally be led by John Tullis; he would go with all
haste to the Dawsbergen hills. The word of the trusty groom would be
taken as positive proof that the captive was in that country. She
shuddered as she listened to their exultant chuckles. It had been a most
cunningly conceived plan and it promised to result profitably for them
in the end.
Some time during the slow, torturing ride through the forest she
swooned. When she came to her senses she was in a dimly lighted room,
surrounded by men. The gag had been removed from her mouth. She would
have shrieked out in her terror, had not her gaze rested upon the figure
of a man who sat opposite, his elbows on the back of the chair which he
straddled, his chin on his arms. He was staring at her steadily, his
black eyes catching her gaze and holding it as a snake holds the bird it
has charmed.
She recognised the hard, hawk-like face. There could be no mistake. She
was looking into the face that made the portrait of the Iron Count so
abhorrent to her: the leathery head of a cadaver with eyes that lived. A
portrait of Voltaire, the likeness of a satyr, a suggestion of
Satan--all rushed up from memory's storehouse to hold her attention rapt
in contemplation of this sinister figure.
He smiled. It was like the crumpling of soft leather. Then, with a word
to one of the men, he abruptly left the room. After that she broke down
and cried herself into the sleep of exhaustion.
All the next day she sat limp and helpless in the chair they had brought
to her. She could neither eat nor drink. Late in the afternoon Marlanx
came again. She knew not from whence he came: he stood before her
suddenly, as if produced by the magic of some fabled genie, smiling
blandly, his hands clasped behind his back, his attitude one of
lecherous calculation.
Truxton King ground his teeth with rage and despair while she was
breathlessly repeating the suave compliments that oozed from the lips of
the tormentor.
"He laughed when I demanded that he should restore me to my friends. He
chided me when I pleaded and begged for mercy. My questions were never
answered. He only said that no harm was to come to me; I was merely
touching purgatory that I might better appreciate paradise when I came
to it. Oh, it was horrible! I thought I would go mad. Finally I called
him a beast; I don't know what else I said. He merely smiled. Presently
he called one of the men into the room. He said something about a sewer
and a hole in the ground. Then the man went out and I heard the clicking
of a telegraph instrument. I heard certain instructions. I was to be
taken to a certain place in the city at nightfall and kept there until
to-morrow night, when I am again to be removed by way of the river. That
is all I know. Where am I, Mr. King? Oh, this dreadful place! Why are we
here--you and I?"
King's heart throbbed fiercely one more. He was looking straight into
the piteous, wondering eyes; his gaze fell to the parted, tremulous
lips. A vast hunger possessed his soul. In that moment he could have
laid down his life for her, with a smile of rejoicing.
Then he told her why she was there, why he was there--and of the 26th.
The dreadful 26th!
Her eyes grew wide with horror and understanding; her bosom rose and
fell rapidly with the sobs of suppressed terror. At last he had finished
his stupefying tale; they sat side by side staring into each other's
eyes, helpless, stricken.
"God in heaven!" she repeated over and over again, in a piteous whisper.
The candle flickered with feeble interest in the shadows that began to
grow in the farthest corner. The girl drew closer to the side of the
strong yet powerless man. Their gaze went to the sputtering candle. It
was going out and they would be in utter darkness. And yet neither
thought of the supply of fresh candles in the corner.
King brought himself out of the strange lethargy with a jerk. It was
high time, for the light was going.
"Quick!" he cried. "The candle! Light a fresh one. My hands are bound."
She crept to the candles and joined the wicks. A new light grew as the
old one died. Then she stood erect, looking down upon him.
"You are bound. I forgot."
She started forward, dropping to her knees beside him, an eager gleam in
her eyes. "If I can untie the rope--will that help? Can you do anything?
You are strong. There must be a way. There must be one little chance for
you--for us. Let me try."
"By Jove," he whispered admiringly, his spirits leaping to meet hers.
"You've got pluck. You put new life in me. I--I was almost a--a
quitter."
"You have been here so long," she explained quickly. "And tied all these
days." She was tugging at the knot.
"Only since I gave that pleasant punch to Peter Brutus."
"That shows what you can do," she whispered warmly. "Oh, I wonder! I
wonder if we have a chance! Anyway, your arms will be free. I shall feel
safer if your arms are free."
He sat with his back to her while she struggled with the stubborn knots.
A delicious thrill of pleasure swept over him. She had said she would
feel safer if his arms were free! She was struggling, with many a tense
straining of delicate fingers, to undo the bonds which held him
helpless. The touch of her eager fingers, the closeness of her body, the
warmth of her breathing--he was beginning to hope that the effort might
be prolonged interminably.
At last, after many despairing tugs, the knot relaxed. "There!" she
cried, sinking back exhausted. "Oh, how it must have hurt you! Your
wrists are raw!"
He suppressed the tactless impulse to say that he preferred a rope on
the wrists to one about his neck, realising that the jest could only
shock and not amuse her under the present conditions.
His arms were stiff and sore and hung like lead at his sides. She
watched him, with narrowed eyes, while he stood off and tried to work
blood and strength back into his muscles.
"Do you think you can--can do anything now, Mr. King?" she asked, after
a long interval.
He would not tell her how helpless he was, even with his hands free. So
he smiled bravely and sought to reassure her with the most imposing
boasts he could utter. She began to breathe easier; the light in her
eyes grew brighter, more hopeful.
"We must escape," she said, as if it were all settled.
"It cannot be to-night," he gently informed her, a sickness attacking
her heart. "Don't you think you'd better try to get some sleep?"
He prevailed upon her to lie down, with his coat for a pillow. In two
minutes she was asleep.
For an hour or more he sat there, looking sorrowfully at the tired,
sweet face, the utmost despair in his soul. At last he stretched himself
out on the floor, near the door, and as he went to sleep he prayed that
Providence might open a way for him to prove that she was not depending
on him in vain.