THE THROWING OF THE BOMB
The scene that followed beggars all powers of description.
A score of men and horses lay writhing in the street; others crept away
screaming with pain; human flesh and that of animals lay in the path of
the frenzied, panic-stricken holiday crowd; blood mingled with the soft
mud of Regengetz Circus, slimy, slippery, ugly!
Rent bodies of men in once gaudy uniforms, now flattened and bruised in
warm, oozy death, were piled in a mass where but a moment before the
wondering vanguard of troopers had clustered. For many rods in all
directions stunned creatures were struggling to their feet after the
stupendous shock that had felled them. The clattering of frightened
horses, the shouts and screams of men and women, the gruesome rush of
ten thousand people in stampede--all in twenty seconds after the engine
of death left the hand of Olga Platanova.
Olga Platanova! There was nothing left of her! She had failed to do the
deed expected of her, but she would not hear the execrations of those
who had depended upon her to kill the Prince. We draw a veil across the
picture of Olga Platanova after the bomb left her hand; no one may look
upon the quivering, shattered thing that once was a living, beautiful
woman. The glimpse she had of Truxton King's haggard face unnerved her.
She faltered, her strength of will collapsed; she hurled the bomb in a
panic of indecision. Massacre but not conquest!
Down in an alley below the Tower, a trembling, worn team of oxen stood
for a day and night, awaiting the return of a master who was never to
come back to them. God rest his simple soul!
Truxton King picked himself up from the street, dazed, bewildered but
unhurt. Everywhere about him mad people were rushing and screeching.
Scarcely knowing what he did, he fled with the crowd. From behind him
came the banging of guns, followed by new shouts of terror. He knew what
it meant! The revolutionists had begun the assault on the paralysed
minions of the government.
Scores of Royal Guardsmen swept past him, rushing to the support of the
coach of gold. The sharp, shrill scream of a single name rose above the
tumult. Some one had seen the Iron Count!
"Marlanx!"
He looked back toward the gory entrance to the Circus. There was
Marlanx, mounted and swinging a sabre on high. Ahead was the mass of
carriages, filled with the white-faced, palsied prey from the Court of
Graustark. Somewhere in that huddled, glittering crowd were two beings
he willingly would give his own life to save.
Foot soldiers, policemen and mounted guardsmen began firing into the
crowd at the square, without sense or discretion, falling back,
nevertheless, before the well-timed, deliberate advance of the
mercenaries. From somewhere near the spot where Olga Platanova fell came
a harsh, penetrating command:
"Cut them off! Cut them off from the Castle!"
It was his cue. He dashed into the street and ran toward the carriages,
shouting with all his strength:
"Turn back! It is Marlanx! To the Castle!"
Then it was that he saw the Prince. The boy was standing on a seat on
the royal coach of state, holding out his eager little hands to some
one in the thick of the crowd that surged about him. He was calling some
one's name, but no one could have heard him.
Truxton's straining eyes caught sight of the figure in grey that
struggled forward in response to the cries and the extended hands. He
pushed his way savagely through the crowd; he came up with her as she
reached the side of the coach, and with a shout of encouragement grasped
her in his arms.
"Aunt Loraine! Aunt Loraine!" He now heard the name the boy cried with
all his little heart.
Two officers struck at the uncouth, desperate American as he lifted the
girl from the ground and deliberately tossed her into the coach.
"Turn back!" he shouted. A horseman rode him down. He looked up as the
plunging animal's hoofs clattered about his head. Vos Engo, with drawn
sword, was crowding up to the carriage door, shouting words of rejoicing
at sight of the girl he loved.
Somehow he managed to crawl from under the hoofs and wheels, not without
thumps and bruises, and made his way to the sidewalk. The coach had
swung around and the horses were being lashed into a gallop for the
Castle gates.
He caught a glimpse of her, holding the Prince in her arms, her white,
agonised face turned toward the mob. Distinctly he heard her cry:
"Save him! Save Truxton King!"
From the sidewalks swarmed well-armed hordes of desperadoes, firing
wildly into the ranks of devoted guardsmen grouped in the avenue to
cover the flight of their royal charge. Truxton fled from the danger
zone as fast as his legs would carry him. Bullets were striking all
about him. Later on he was to remember his swollen, bitterly painful
ankle; but there was no thought of it now. He had played football with
this same ankle in worse condition than it was now--and he had played
for the fun of it, too.
He realised that his life was worth absolutely nothing if he fell into
the hands of the enemy. His only chance lay in falling in with some
sane, loyal citizen who could be prevailed upon to hide him until the
worst was over. There seemed no possibility of getting inside the Castle
grounds. He had done his duty and--he laughed bitterly as he thought of
it--he had been ridden down by the men he came to save.
Some one was shouting his name behind in the scurrying crowd. He turned
for a single glance backward. Little Mr. Hobbs, pale as a ghost, his cap
gone, his clothing torn, was panting at his elbow.
"God save us!" gasped Hobbs. "Are you alive or am I seeing all the
bloody ghosts in the world?"
"I'm alive all right," cried King. "Where can we go? Be quick, Hobbs!
Think! Don't sputter like that. I want to be personally conducted, and
damned quick at that."
"Before God, sir, I 'aven't the idea where to go," groaned Hobbs. "It's
dreadful! Did you see what the woman did back there--"
"Don't stop to tell me about it, Hobbs. Keep on running. Go ahead of me.
I'm used to following the man from Cook's."
"Right you are, sir. I say, by Jove, I'm glad to see you--I am. You came
right up out of the ground as if--"
"Is there no way to get off this beastly avenue?" panted King. "They're
shooting back there like a pack of wild men. I hate to think of what's
going on."
"Dangloss will 'ave them all in the jug inside of ten minutes, take my
word--"
"They'll have Dangloss hanging from a telephone; pole, Hobbs! Don't
talk! Run!"
Soldiers came riding up from behind, turning to fire from their saddles
into the throng of cutthroats, led by the grim old man with the bloody
sabre. In the centre of the troop there was a flying carriage. The Duke
of Perse was lying back in the seat, his face like that of a dead man.
Far ahead rattled the royal coach and the wildly flying carriages of
state.
"The Prince is safe!" shouted King joyously. "They'll make it! Thank
God!"
Colonel Quinnox turned in his saddle and searched out the owner of that
stirring voice.
"Come!" he called, drawing rein as soon as he caught sight of him.
Even as King rushed out into the roadway a horseman galloped up from the
direction of the Castle. He pulled his horse to his haunches almost as
he was riding over the dodging American.
"Here!" shouted the newcomer, scowling down upon the young man. "Swing
up here! Quick, you fool!"
It was Vos Engo, his face black with fury. Quinnox had seized the hand
of Mr. Hobbs on seeing help for King and was pulling him up before him.
There was nothing for Truxton to do but to accept the timely help of his
rival. An instant later he was up behind him and they were off after the
last of the dragoons.
"If you don't mind, Count, I'll try my luck," grated the American.
Holding on with one arm, he turned and fired repeatedly in the direction
of the howling crowd of rascals.
"Ride to the barracks gates, Vos Engo!" commanded Colonel Quinnox. "Be
prepared to admit none but the Royal Reserves, who are under standing
orders to report there in time of need."
"God grant that they may be able to come," responded the Count. Over his
shoulder he hissed to his companion. "It was not idle heroics, my
friend, nor philanthropy on my part. I was commanded to come and fetch
you. She would never have spoken to me again if I had refused."
"She? Ah, yes; I see. Good! She did not forget me!" cried Truxton, his
heart bounding.
"My own happiness depends on my luck in getting you to safety," rasped
the Count. "My life's happiness. Understand, damn you, it is not for you
that I risk my life."
"I understand," murmured Truxton, a wry smile on his pale lips. "You
mean, she is going to pay you in some way for picking me up, eh? Well,
I'll put an end to that. I'll drop off again. Then you can ride on and
tell her--I wouldn't be a party to the game. Do you catch my meaning?"
"You would, eh?" said the Count angrily. "I'd like to see you drop off
while we're going at this--"
"I've got my pistol in the middle of your back," grated Truxton. "Slow
up a bit or I'll scatter your vertebræ all over your system. Pull up!"
"As you like," cried Vos Engo. "I've done my part. Colonel Quinnox will
bear witness." He began pulling his horse down. "Now, you are quite free
to drop off."
Without a word the American swung his leg over and slid to the ground.
"Thanks for the lift you've given me," he called up to the astonished
officer.
"Don't thank me," sang out his would-be saviour as he put spur to his
horse.
It is a lamentable thing to say, but Truxton King's extraordinary
sacrifice was not altogether the outgrowth of heroism. We have not been
called upon at any time to question his courage; we have, on the other
hand, seen times when he displayed the most arrant foolhardiness. I defy
any one to prove, however, that he ever neglected an opportunity to
better himself by strategy at the expense of fortitude. Therefore, it is
not surprising that even at such a time as this we may be called upon to
record an example of his spectacular cunning.
Be sure of it, he did not decide to slide from Vos Engo's horse until he
saw a way clear to better his position, and at the same time to lessen
the glory of his unpleasant rescuer.
Less than a hundred yards behind loped a riderless horse; the dragoon
who had sat the saddle was lying far back in the avenue, a bullet in his
head. Hobbling to the middle of the road, the American threw up his
hands and shouted briskly to the bewildered animal. Throwing his ears
forward in considerable doubt, the horse came to a standstill close at
hand. Five seconds later King was in the saddle and tearing along in the
wake of the retreating guard, his hair blowing from his forehead, his
blood leaping with the joy of achievement.
Mr. Hobbs afterward informed him that Count Vos Engo's oaths were worth
going miles to avoid.
"We need such men as King!" cried Colonel Quinnox as he waited inside
the gates for the wild rider. A moment later King dashed through and the
massive bolts were shot.
As he pulled up in front of the steward's lodge to await the orders of
the Colonel, the exultant American completed the soliloquy that began
with the mad impulse to ride into port under his own sails.
"I'll have to tell her that he did a fine thing in coming back for me,
much as he hated to do it. What's more, I shan't say a word about his
beastly temper. We'll let it pass. He deserves a whole lot for the part
he played. I'll not forget it. Too bad he had to spoil it all by talking
as he did. But, hang me, if he shall exact anything from her because he
did a thing he didn't want to do. I took a darned sight bigger chance
than he did, after all. Good Lord, what a mess I would have been in if
the nag hadn't stopped! Whew! Well, old boy, you did stop, God bless
you. Colonel," he spoke, as Quinnox came up, "do you think I can buy
this horse? He's got more sense than I have."
Small bodies of foot soldiers and policemen fighting valiantly against
great odds were admitted to the grounds during the next half hour.
Scores had been killed by the fierce, irregular attack of the
revolutionists; others had become separated from their comrades and were
even now being hunted down and destroyed by the infuriated followers of
Marlanx. A hundred or more of the reserves reached the upper gates
before it occurred to the enemy to blockade the streets in that
neighbourhood. General Braze, with a few of his men, bloody and
heartsick, was the last of the little army to reach safety in the Castle
grounds, coming up by way of the lower gates from the fortress, which
they had tried to reach after the first outbreak, but had found
themselves forestalled.
The fortress, with all guns, stores and ammunition, was in the hands of
the Iron Count and his cohorts.
Baron Dangloss had been taken prisoner with a whole platoon of fighting
constables. This was the last appalling bit of news to reach the
horrified, disorganised forces in the Castle grounds.
Citizens had fled to their homes, unmolested. The streets were empty,
save for the armed minions of the Iron Count. They rushed hither and
thither in violent detachments, seeking out the men in uniform, yelling
and shooting like unmanageable savages.
Before two o'clock the city itself was in the hands of the hated enemy
of the Crown. He and his aliens, malefactors and all, were in complete
control of the fortress, the gates and approaches, the Tower and the
bloody streets. A thousand of them,--eager, yelling ruffians,--marched
to within firing distance of the Castle walls and held every approach
against reinforcements. Except for the failure to destroy the Prince and
his counsellors, the daring, unspeakable plans of Count Marlanx had been
attended by the most horrifying results. He was master. There was no
question as to that. The few hundred souls in the Castle grounds were
like rats in a trap.
A wise as well as a cruel man was Marlanx. He lost no time in issuing a
manifesto to the stunned, demoralised citizens of Edelweiss. Scores of
criers went through the streets during the long, wretched afternoon,
announcing to the populace that Count Marlanx had established himself as
dictator and military governor of the principality--pending the
abdication of the Prince and the beginning of a new and substantial
regime. All citizens were commanded to recognise the authority of the
dictator; none except those who disobeyed or resented this authority
would be molested. Traffic would be resumed on the following Monday.
Tradespeople and artisans were commanded to resume their occupations
under penalty of extreme punishment in case of refusal. These and many
other edicts were issued from Marlanx's temporary headquarters in the
Plaza--almost at the foot of the still veiled monument of the beloved
Princess Yetive.
Toward evening, after many consultations and countless reports, Marlanx
removed his headquarters to the Tower. He had fondly hoped to be in the
Castle long before this. His rage and disappointment over the stupid
miscarriage of plans left no room for conjecture as to the actual state
of his feelings. For hours he had raved like a madman. Every soldier who
fell into his hands was shot down like a dog.
The cells and dungeons in the great old tower were now occupied by
bruised, defeated officers of the law. Baron Jasto Dangloss, crushed in
spirit and broken of body, paced the blackest and narrowest cell of them
all. The gall and wormwood that filled his soul was not to be measured
by words. He blamed himself for the catastrophe; it was he who had
permitted this appalling thing to grow and burst with such sickening
results. In his mind there was no doubt that Marlanx had completely
overthrown the dynasty and was in full possession of the government. He
did not know that the Prince and his court had succeeded in reaching the
Castle, whose walls and gates were well-nigh impregnable to assault,
even by a great army. If he had known this he might have rejoiced!
Late in the evening he received a visit from Marlanx, the new master.
The Iron Count, lighted by a ghostly lantern in the hands of a man who,
ten hours before, had been a prisoner within these very walls, came up
to the narrow grating that served as a door and gazed complacently upon
the once great minister of police.
"Well," said Dangloss, his eyes snapping, "what is it, damn you?"
Marlanx stroked his chin and smiled. "I believe this is my old confrère,
Baron Dangloss," he remarked. "Dear me, I took you, sir, to be quite
impeccable. Here you are, behind the bars. Will wonders never cease?"
Dangloss merely glared at him.
The Iron Count went on suavely: "You heard me, Baron. Still, I do not
require an answer. How do you like your new quarters? It may please you
to know that I am occupying your office, and also that noble suite
overlooking the Plaza. I find myself most agreeably situated. By the
way, Baron, I seem to recall something to mind as I look at you. You
were the kindly disposed gentleman who escorted me to the city gates a
few years ago and there turned me over to a detachment of soldiers, who,
in turn, conveyed me to the border. If I recall the occasion rightly,
you virtually kicked me out of the city. Am I right?"
"You are!" was all that the bitter Dangloss said, without taking his
fierce gaze from the sallow face beyond the bars.
"I am happy to find that my memory is so good," said Marlanx.
"I expect to be able to repeat the operation," said Dangloss.
"How interesting! You forget that history never repeats itself."
"See here, Marlanx, what is your game? Speak up; I'm not afraid of you.
Do you intend to take me out and shoot me at sunrise?"
"Oh, dear me, no! That would be a silly proceeding. You own vast estates
in Graustark, if I mistake not, just as I did eight or nine years ago.
Well, I have come into my own again. The Crown relieved me of my
estates, my citizenship, my honour. I have waited long to regain them.
Understand me, Dangloss; I am in control now; my word is law. I do not
intend to kill you. It is my intention to escort you to the border and
kick you out of Graustark. See for yourself how it feels. Everything you
possess is to be taken away from you. You will be a wanderer on the face
of the earth--a pauper. All you have is here. Therein lies the
distinction: I had large possessions in other lands. I had friends and a
following, as you see. You will have none of these, Baron."
"A splendid triumph, you beast!"
"Of course, you'd much prefer being shot."
"Not at all. Banish me, if you please; strip me of all I possess. But
I'll come back another day, Count Marlanx."
"Ah, yes; that reminds me. I had quite forgotten to say that the first
ten years of your exile are to be spent in the dungeons at Schloss
Marlanx. How careless of me to have neglected to state that in the
beginning. In ten years you will be seventy-five, Baron. An excellent
time of life for one to begin his wanderings over the world which will
not care to remember him."
"Do you expect me to get down on my knees and plead for mercy, you
scoundrel?"
"I know you too well for that, my dear Baron."
"Get out of my sight!"
"Pray do not forget that I am governor of the Tower at present. I go and
come as I choose."
"God will punish you for what you have done. There's solace in that."
"As you like, Baron. If it makes it easier for you to feel that God will
take a hand in my humble affairs, all well and good. I grant you that
delectable privilege."
Baron Dangloss turned his back upon his smiling enemy, his body
quivering with passion.
"By the way, Baron, would you care to hear all the latest news from the
seat of war? It may interest you to know that the Castle is besieged in
most proper fashion. No one--"
"The Castle besieged? Then, by the Eternal, you did not take the
Prince!"
"Not at all! He is in the Castle for a few hours of imaginary safety.
To-night my men will be admitted to the grounds by friends who have
served two masters for a twelve-month or longer."
"Traitors in the Castle?" cried Dangloss in horror. He was now facing
the Count.
"Hardly that, my dear sir. Agents, I should call them. Isn't it
splendid?"
"You are a--"
"Don't say it, Baron. Save your breath. I know what you would call me,
and can save you the trouble of shouting it, as you seem inclined to
do."
"Thank God, your assassins not only failed to dynamite the boy, but your
dogs failed to capture him. By heaven, God _is_ with Prince Robin, after
all!"
"How exalted you seem, Baron! It is a treat to look at you. Oh, another
thing: the Platanova girl was not _my_ assassin."
"That's a lie!"
"You shall not chide me in that fashion, Baron. You are very rude. No;
the girl was operating for what I have since discovered to be the
Committee of Ten, leading the Party of Equals in Graustark. To-morrow
morning I shall have the Committee of Ten seized and shot in the public
square. We cannot harbour dynamiters and assassins of that type. There
are two-score or more of anarchist sympathisers here. We will cheerfully
shoot all of them--an act that you should have performed many days ago,
my astute friend. It might have saved trouble. They are a dangerous
element in any town. Those whom I do not kill I shall transport to the
United States in exchange for the Americans who have managed to lose
themselves over here. A fair exchange, you see. Moreover, I hear that
the United States Government welcomes the Reds if they are white instead
of yellow. Clever, but involved, eh? Well, good night, Baron. Sleep
well. I expect to see you again after the rush of business attending the
adjustment of my own particular affairs. In a day or two I shall move
into the Castle. You may be relieved to know that I do not expect to
find the time to kick you out of Graustark under a week or ten days."
"My men: what of them? The brave fellows who were taken with me? You
will not deprive--"
"In time they will be given the choice of serving me as policemen or
serving the world as examples of folly. Rest easy concerning them. Ah,
yes, again I have stupidly forgotten something. Your excellent friend,
Tullis, will not re-enter Edelweiss alive. That is quite assured, sir.
So you see, he will, after all, be better off than you. I don't blame
him for loving my wife. It was my desire to amicably trade my wife off
to him for his charming sister, but the deal hangs fire. What a scowl! I
dare say you contemplate saying something bitter, so I'll retire. A
little later on I shall be chatting with the Prince at the Castle. I'll
give him your gentlest felicitations."
But Marlanx was doomed to another disappointment before the night was
over. The Castle gates were not opened to his forces. Colonel Quinnox
apprehended the traitors in time to prevent the calamity. Ten hostlers
in the Royal stables were taken redhanded in the attempt to overpower
the small guard at the western gates. Their object was made plain by the
subsequent futile movement of a large force of men at that particular
point.
Prince Robin was safe for the night.