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Title: Truxton King: A Story of Graustark

Author: George Barr McCutcheon

Illustrator: Harrison Fisher

Release date: December 7, 2004 [eBook #14284]
                Most recently updated: December 18, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Rick Niles, Charlie Kirschner and the PG Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRUXTON KING: A STORY OF GRAUSTARK ***




Produced by Rick Niles, Charlie Kirschner and the PG Online
Distributed Proofreading Team






[Illustration: "'DON'T YOU KNOW ANY BETTER THAN TO COME IN HERE?'
DEMANDED THE PRINCE"]

TRUXTON KING
A STORY _of_ GRAUSTARK

BY
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON

Author of "Graustark"
"Beverly of Graustark"
etc.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BY HARRISON FISHER

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1909




CONTENTS

CHAPTER                           PAGE

    I TRUXTON KING                   1
   II A MEETING OF THE CABINET      23
  III MANY PERSONS IN REVIEW        40
   IV TRUXTON TRESPASSES            59
    V THE COMMITTEE OF TEN          80
   VI INGOMEDE THE BEAUTIFUL        94
  VII AT THE WITCH'S HUT           114
 VIII LOOKING FOR AN EYE           130
   IX STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES       147
    X THE IRON COUNT               161
   XI UNDER THE GROUND             177
  XII A NEW PRISONER ARRIVES       190
 XIII A DIVINITY SHAPES            205
  XIV ON THE RIVER                 219
   XV THE GIRL IN THE RED CLOAK    231
  XVI THE MERRY VAGABOND           245
 XVII THE THROWING OF THE BOMB     263
XVIII TRUXTON ON PARADE            278
  XIX TRUXTON EXACTS A PROMISE     295
   XX BY THE WATER-GATE            312
  XXI THE RETURN                   329
 XXII THE LAST STAND               345
XXIII "YOU WILL BE MRS. KING"      357




ILLUSTRATIONS

"'Don't you know any better than
   to come in here?' demanded the
   Prince" (page 67)                     _Frontispiece_

"'You are the only man to whom I
   feel sure that I can reveal myself
   and be quite understood'"          _Facing page_ 104

"'Bobby! Don't be foolish. How
   could I be in love with _him_?'"                 158

"'His Majesty appears to have--ahem--gone
   to sleep,' remarked
   the Grand Duke tartly"                           366




TRUXTON KING A STORY OF GRAUSTARK




CHAPTER I

TRUXTON KING


He was a tall, rawboned, rangy young fellow with a face so tanned by
wind and sun you had the impression that his skin would feel like
leather if you could affect the impertinence to test it by the sense of
touch. Not that you would like to encourage this bit of impudence after
a look into his devil-may-care eyes; but you might easily imagine
something much stronger than brown wrapping paper and not quite so
passive as burnt clay. His clothes fit him loosely and yet were
graciously devoid of the bagginess which characterises the appearance of
extremely young men whose frames are not fully set and whose joints are
still parading through the last stages of college development. This
fellow, you could tell by looking at him, had been out of college from
two to five years; you could also tell, beyond doubt or contradiction,
that he had been in college for his full allotted time and had not
escaped the usual number of "conditions" that dismay but do not
discourage the happy-go-lucky undergraduate who makes two or three teams
with comparative ease, but who has a great deal of difficulty with
physics or whatever else he actually is supposed to acquire between the
close of the football season and the opening of baseball practice.

This tall young man in the panama hat and grey flannels was Truxton
King, embryo globe-trotter and searcher after the treasures of Romance.
Somewhere up near Central Park, in one of the fashionable cross
streets, was the home of his father and his father's father before him:
a home which Truxton had not seen in two years or more. It is worthy of
passing notice, and that is all, that his father was a manufacturer;
more than that, he was something of a power in the financial world. His
mother was not strictly a social queen in the great metropolis, but she
was what we might safely call one of the first "ladies in waiting."
Which is quite good enough for the wife of a manufacturer; especially
when one records that her husband was a manufacturer of steel. It is
also a matter of no little consequence that Truxton's mother was more or
less averse to the steel business as a heritage for her son. Be it
understood, here and now, that she intended Truxton for the diplomatic
service: as far removed from sordid steel as the New York post office is
from the Court of St. James.

But neither Truxton's father, who wanted him to be a manufacturing
Croesus, or Truxton's mother, who expected him to become a social
Solomon, appears to have taken the young man's private inclinations into
consideration. Truxton preferred a life of adventure distinctly
separated from steel and velvet; nor was he slow to set his esteemed
parents straight in this respect. He had made up his mind to travel, to
see the world, to be a part of the big round globe on which we, as
ordinary individuals with no personality beyond the next block, are
content to sit and encourage the single ambition to go to Europe at
least once, so that we may not be left out of the general conversation.

Young Mr. King believed in Romance. He had believed in Santa Claus and
the fairies, and he grew up with an ever increasing bump of imagination,
contiguous to which, strange to relate, there was a properly developed
bump of industry and application. Hence, it is not surprising that he
was willing to go far afield in search of the things that seemed more or
less worth while to a young gentleman who had suffered the ill-fortune
to be born in the nineteenth century instead of the seventeenth. Romance
and adventure, politely amorous but vigorously attractive, came up to
him from the seventeenth century, perhaps through the blood of some
swash-buckling ancestor, and he was held enthralled by the possibilities
that lay hidden in some far off or even nearby corner of this hopelessly
unromantic world of the twentieth century.

To be sure there was war, but war isn't Romance. Besides, he was too
young to fight against Spain; and, later on, he happened to be more
interested in football than he was in the Japs or the Russians. The only
thing left for him to do was to set forth in quest of adventure;
adventure was not likely to apply to him in Fifth Avenue or at the
factory or--still, there was a certain kind of adventure analogous to
Broadway, after all. He thought it over and, after trying it for a year
or two, decided that Broadway and the Tenderloin did not produce the
sort of Romance he could cherish for long as a self-respecting hero, so
he put certain small temptations aside, chastened himself as well as he
could, and set out for less amiable but more productive by-ways in other
sections of the globe.

We come upon him at last--luckily for us we were not actually following
him--after two years of wonderful but rather disillusioning adventure in
mid-Asia and all Africa. He had seen the Congo and the Euphrates, the
Ganges and the Nile, the Yang-tse-kiang and the Yenisei; he had climbed
mountains in Abyssinia, in Siam, in Thibet and Afghanistan; he had shot
big game in more than one jungle, and had been shot at by small brown
men in more than one forest, to say nothing of the little encounters he
had had in most un-Occidental towns and cities. He had seen women in
Morocco and Egypt and Persia and--But it is a waste of time to
enumerate. Strange to say, he was now drifting back toward the
civilisation which we are pleased to call our own, with a sense of
genuine disappointment in his heart. He had found no sign of Romance.

Adventure in plenty, but Romance--ah, the fairy princesses were in the
story books, after all.

Here he was, twenty-six years old, strong and full of the fire of life,
convincing himself that there was nothing for him to do but to drift
back to dear old New York and talk to his father about going into the
offices; to let his mother tell him over and over again of the nice
girls she knew who did not have to be rescued from ogres and all that
sort of thing in order to settle down to domestic obsolescence; to tell
his sister and all of their mutual friends the whole truth and nothing
but the truth concerning his adventures in the wilds, and to feel that
the friends, at least, were predestined to look upon him as a fearless
liar, nothing more.

For twenty days he had travelled by caravan across the Persian uplands,
through Herat, and Meshed and Bokhara, striking off with his guide alone
toward the Sea of Aral and the eastern shores of the Caspian, thence
through the Ural foothills to the old Roman highway that led down into
the sweet green valleys of a land he had thought of as nothing more than
the creation of a hairbrained fictionist.

Somewhere out in the shimmering east he had learned, to his honest
amazement, that there was such a land as Graustark. At first he would
not believe. But the English bank in Meshed assured him that he would
come to it if he travelled long enough and far enough into the north and
west and if he were not afraid of the hardships that most men abhor. The
dying spirit of Romance flamed up in his heart; his blood grew quick
again and eager. He would not go home until he had sought out this land
of fair women and sweet tradition. And so he traversed the wild and
dangerous Tartar roads for days and days, like the knights of
Scheherazade in the times of old, and came at last to the gates of
Edelweiss.

Not until he sat down to a rare dinner in the historic Hotel Regengetz
was he able to realise that he was truly in that fabled, mythical land
of Graustark, quaint, grim little principality in the most secret pocket
of the earth's great mantle. This was the land of his dreams, the land
of his fancy; he had not even dared to hope that it actually existed.

And now, here he was, pinching himself to prove that he was awake,
stretching his world-worn bones under a dainty table to which real food
was being brought by--well, he was obliged to pinch himself again. From
the broad terrace after dinner he looked out into the streets of the
quaint, picture-book town with its mediæval simplicity and ruggedness
combined; his eyes tried to keep pace with the things that his fertile
brain was seeing beyond the glimmering lights and dancing window
panes--for the whole scene danced before him with a persistent unreality
that made him feel his own pulse in the fear that some sudden, insidious
fever had seized upon him.

If any one had told him, six months before, that there was such a land
as Graustark and that if he could but keep on travelling in a certain
direction he would come to it in time, he would have laughed that person
to scorn, no matter how precise a geographer he might have been.

Young Mr. King, notwithstanding his naturally reckless devotion to first
impressions, was a much wiser person than when he left his New York home
two years before. Roughing it in the wildest parts of the world had
taught him that eagerness is the enemy of common sense. Therefore he
curbed the thrilling impulse to fare forth in search of diversion on
this first night; he conquered himself and went to bed early--and to
sleep at once, if that may serve to assist you in getting an idea of
what time and circumstances had done for his character.

A certain hard-earned philosophy had convinced him long ago that
adventure is quite content to wait over from day to day, but that when a
man is tired and worn it isn't quite sensible to expect sleep to be put
off regardless. With a fine sense of sacrifice, therefore, he went to
bed, forsaking the desire to tread the dim streets of a city by night in
advance of a more cautious survey by daylight. He had come to know that
it is best to make sure of your ground, in a measure, at least, before
taking too much for granted--to look before you leap, so to speak. And
so, his mind tingling with visions of fair ladies and goodly
opportunities, he went to sleep--and did not get up to breakfast until
noon the next day.

And now it becomes my deplorable duty to divulge the fact that Truxton
King, after two full days and nights in the city of Edelweiss, was quite
ready to pass on to other fields, completely disillusionised in his own
mind, and not a little disgusted with himself for having gone to the
trouble to visit the place. To his intense chagrin, he had found the
quaint old city very tiresome. True, it was a wonderful old town, rich
in tradition, picturesque in character, hoary with age, bulging with
the secrets of an active past; but at present, according to the well
travelled Truxton, it was a poky old place about which historians either
had lied gloriously or had been taken in shamelessly. In either case,
Edelweiss was not what he had come to believe it would be. He had
travelled overland for nearly a month, out of the heart of Asia, to find
himself, after all, in a graveyard of great expectations!

He had explored Edelweiss, the capital. He had ridden about the
ramparts; he had taken snapshots of the fortress down the river and had
not been molested; he had gone mule-back up the mountain to the
snowcapped monastery of St. Valentine, overtopping and overlooking the
green valleys below; he had seen the tower in which illustrious
prisoners were reported to have been held; he had ridden over the King's
Road to Ganlook and had stood on American bridges at midnight--all the
while wondering why he was there. Moreover, he had traversed the narrow,
winding streets of the city by day and night; never, in all his travels,
had he encountered a more peaceful, less spirit-stirring place or
populace.

Everybody was busy, and thrifty, and law abiding. He might just as well
have gone to Prague or Nuremburg; either was as old and as quaint and as
stupid as this lukewarm city in the hills.

Where were the beautiful women he had read about and dreamed of ever
since he left Teheran? On his soul, he had not seen half a dozen women
in Edelweiss who were more than passably fair to look upon. True, he had
to admit, the people he had seen were of the lower and middle
classes--the shopkeepers and the shopgirls, the hucksters and the fruit
vendors. What he wanted to know was this: What had become of the royalty
and the nobility of Graustark? Where were the princes, the dukes and
the barons, to say nothing of the feminine concomitants to these
excellent gentlemen?

What irritated him most of all was the amazing discovery that there was
a Cook's tourist office in town and that no end of parties arrived and
departed under his very nose, all mildly exhilarated over the fact that
they had seen Graustark! The interpreter, with "Cook's" on his cap, was
quite the most important, if quite the least impressive personage in
town. It is no wonder that this experienced globe-trotter was disgusted!

There was a train to Vienna three times a week. He made up his mind that
he would not let the Saturday express go down without him. He had done
some emphatic sputtering because he had neglected to take the one on
Thursday.

Shunning the newly discovered American club in Castle Avenue as if it
were a pest house, he lugubriously wandered the streets alone, painfully
conscious that the citizens, instead of staring at him with admiring
eyes, were taking but little notice of him. Tall young Americans were
quite common in Edelweiss in these days.

One dingy little shop in the square interested him. It was directly
opposite the Royal Café (with American bar attached), and the contents
of its grimy little windows presented a peculiarly fascinating interest
to him. Time and again, he crossed over from the Café garden to look
into these windows. They were packed with weapons and firearms of such
ancient design that he wondered what they could have been used for, even
in the Middle Ages. Once he ventured inside the little shop. Finding no
attendant, he put aside his suddenly formed impulse to purchase a mighty
broadsword. From somewhere in the rear of the building came the clanging
of steel hammers, the ringing of highly tempered metals; but, although
he pounded vigorously with his cane, no one came forth to attend him.

On several occasions he had seen a grim, sharp-featured old man in the
doorway of the shop, but it was not until after he had missed the
Thursday train that he made up his mind to accost him and to have the
broadsword at any price. With this object in view, he quickly crossed
the square and inserted his tall frame into the narrow doorway, calling
out lustily for attention. So loudly did he shout that the multitude of
ancient swords and guns along the walls seemed to rattle in terror at
this sudden encroachment of the present.

"What is it?" demanded a sharp, angry voice at his elbow. He wheeled and
found himself looking into the wizened, parchment-like face of the
little old man, whose black eyes snapped viciously. "Do you think I am
deaf?"

"I didn't know you were here," gasped Truxton, forgetting to be
surprised by the other's English. "The place looked empty. Excuse me for
yelling."

"What do you want?"

"That broad--Say, you speak English, don't you?"

"Certainly," snapped the old man. "Why shouldn't I? I can't afford an
interpreter. You'll find plenty of English used here in Edelweiss since
the Americans and British came. They won't learn our language, so we
must learn theirs."

"You speak it quite as well as I do."

"Better, young man. You are an American." The sarcasm was not lost on
Truxton King, but he was not inclined to resent it. A twinkle had come
into the eyes of the ancient; the deep lines about his lips seemed
almost ready to crack into a smile.

"What's the price of that old sword you have in the window?"

"Do you wish to purchase it?"

"Certainly."

"Three hundred gavvos."

"What's that in dollars?"

"Four hundred and twenty."

"Whew!"

"It is genuine, sir, and three hundred years old. Old Prince Boris
carried it. It's most rare. Ten years ago you might have had it for
fifty gavvos. But," with a shrug of his thin shoulders, "the price of
antiquities has gone up materially since the Americans began to come.
They don't want a thing if it is cheap."

"I'll give you a hundred dollars for it, Mr.--er--" he looked at the
sign on the open door--"Mr. Spantz."

"Good day, sir." The old man was bowing him out of the shop. King was
amused.

"Let's talk it over. What's the least you'll take in real money?"

"I don't want your money. Good day."

Truxton King felt his chin in perplexity. In all his travels he had
found no other merchant whom he could not "beat down" two or three
hundred per cent. on an article.

"It's too much. I can't afford it," he said, disappointment in his eyes.

"I have modern blades of my own make, sir, much cheaper and quite as
good," ventured the excellent Mr. Spantz.

"You make 'em?" in surprise.

The old man straightened his bent figure with sudden pride. "I am
armourer to the crown, sir. My blades are used by the nobility--not by
the army, I am happy to say. Spantz repairs the swords and guns for the
army, but he welds only for the gentlemen at court."

"I see. Tradition, I suppose."

"My great-grandfather wrought blades for the princes a hundred years
ago. My son will make them after I am gone, and his son after him. I,
sir, have made the wonderful blade with the golden hilt and scabbard
which the little Prince carries on days of state. It was two years in
the making. There is no other blade so fine. It is so short that you
would laugh at it as a weapon, and yet you could bend it double. Ah,
there was a splendid piece of work, sir. You should see the little toy
to appreciate it. There are diamonds and rubies worth 50,000 gavvos set
in the handle. Ah, it is--"

Truxton's eyes were sparkling once more. Somehow he was amused by the
sudden garrulousness of the old armourer. He held up his hand to check
the flow of words.

"I say, Herr Spantz, or Monsieur, perhaps, you are the first man I've
met who has volunteered to go into rhapsodies for my benefit. I'd like
to have a good long chat with you. What do you say to a mug of that
excellent beer over in the Café garden? Business seems to be a little
dull. Can't you--er--lock up?"

Spantz looked at him keenly under his bushy brows, his little black eyes
fairly boring holes into King's brain, so to speak.

"May I ask what brings you to Edelweiss?" he asked abruptly.

"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Spantz, that I'm here because I'm
somewhat of a fool. False hopes led me astray. I thought Graustark was
the home, the genesis of Romance, and I'm more or less like that chap
we've read about, who was always in search of adventure. Somehow,
Graustark hasn't come up to expectations. Up to date, this is the
slowest burg I've ever seen. I'm leaving next Saturday for Vienna."

"I see," cackled Spantz, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "You thought you
could capture wild and beautiful princesses here just as you pleased,
eh? Let me tell you, young man, only one American--only one foreigner,
in fact--has accomplished that miracle. Mr. Lorry came here ten years
ago and won the fairest flower Graustark ever produced-the beautiful
Yetive--but he was the only one. I suppose you are surprised to find
Graustark a solid, prosperous, God-fearing little country, whose people
are wise and happy and loyal. You have learned, by this time, that we
have no princesses for you to protect. It isn't as it was when Mr. Lorry
came and found Her Serene Highness in mediæval difficulties. There is a
prince on the throne to-day--you've seen him?"

"No. I'm not looking for princes. I've seen hundreds of 'em in all parts
of the world."

"Well, you should see Prince Robin before you scoff. He's the most
wonderful little man in all the world."

"I've heard of nothing but him, my good Mr. Spantz. He's seven years old
and he looks like his mother and he's got a jewelled sword and all that
sort of thing. I daresay he's a nice little chap. Got American blood in
him, you see."

"Do not let any one hear you laugh about him, sir. The people worship
him. If you laugh too publicly, you may have your hands full of
adventures in a very few minutes--and your body full of fine steel
blades. We are very proud of our Prince."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Spantz. I didn't mean _lesé majesté_. I'm bored,
that's all. You wouldn't blame me for being sore if you'd come as far as
I have and got as little for your pains. Why, hang it all, this morning
that confounded man from Cook's had a party of twenty-two American
school-teachers and Bible students in the Castle grounds and I had to
stand on my toes outside the walls for two hours before I could get a
permit to enter. American engineers are building the new railroad;
American capital controls the telephone and electric light companies;
there are two American moving picture shows in Regengetz Circus and an
American rush hand laundry two blocks up. And you can get Bourbon whisky
anywhere. It's sickening."

"The Americans have done much for Edelweiss, sir. We don't resent their
progressiveness. They have given us modern improvements without
overthrowing ancient customs. My dear young sir, we are very old
here--and very honest. That reminds me that I should accept your kind
invitation to the Café garden. If you will bear with me for just one
moment, sir." With this polite request, the old man retired to the rear
of the shop and called out to some one upstairs. A woman's voice
answered. The brief conversation which followed was in a tongue unknown
to King.

"My niece will keep shop, sir, while I am out," Spantz explained, taking
his hat from a peg behind the door. Truxton could scarcely restrain a
smile as he glanced over his queer little old guest. He looked eighty
but was as sprightly as a man of forty. A fine companion for a youth of
twenty-six in search of adventure!

They paused near the door until the old man's niece appeared at the back
of the shop. King's first glance at the girl was merely a casual one.
His second was more or less in the nature of a stare of amazement.

A young woman of the most astounding beauty, attired in the black and
red of the Graustark middle classes, was slowly approaching from the
shadowy recesses at the end of the shop. She gave him but a cursory
glance, in which no interest was apparent, and glided quietly into the
little nook behind the counter, almost at his elbow. His heart enjoyed a
lively thump. Here was the first noticeably good-looking woman he had
seen in Edelweiss, and, by the powers, she was a sword-maker's niece!

The old man looked sharply at him for an instant, and a quick little
smile writhed in and out among the mass of wrinkles. Instead of passing
directly out of the shop, Spantz stopped a moment to give the girl some
suddenly recalled instruction. Truxton King, you may be sure, did not
precede the old man into the street. He deliberately removed his hat and
waited most politely for age to go before youth, in the meantime blandly
gazing upon the face of this amazing niece.

Across the square, at one of the tables, he awaited his chance and a
plausible excuse for questioning the old man without giving offence.
Somewhere back in his impressionable brain there was growing a distinct
hope that this beautiful young creature with the dreamy eyes was
something more than a mere shopgirl. It had occurred to him in that one
brief moment of contact that she had the air, the poise of a true
aristocrat.

The old man, over his huge mug of beer, was properly grateful. He was
willing to repay King for his little attention by giving him a careful
history of Graustark, past, present and future, from the time of Tartar
rule to the time of the so-called "American invasion." ills glowing
description of the little Prince might have interested Truxton in his
Lord Fauntleroy days, but just at present he was more happily engaged in
speculating on the true identify of the girl in the gun-shop. He
recalled the fact that a former royal princess of Graustark had gone
sight-seeing over the world, incognita, as a Miss Guggenslocker, and had
been romantically snatched up by a lucky American named Lorry. What if
this girl in the gun-shop should turn out to be a--well, he could hardly
hope for a princess; but she might be a countess.

The old mart was rambling on. "The young Prince has lived most of his
life in Washington and London and Paris, sir. He's only seven, sir. Of
course, you remember the dreadful accident that made him an orphan and
put him on the throne with the three 'wise men of the East' as regents
or governors. The train wreck near Brussels, sir? His mother, the
glorious Princess Yetive, was killed and his father, Mr. Lorry, died the
next day from his injuries. That, sir, was a most appalling blow to the
people of Graustark. We loved the Princess and we admired her fine
American husband. There never will be another pair like them, sir. And
to think of them being destroyed as they were--in the most dreadful way,
sir. Their coach was demolished, you remember. I--I will not go into the
details. You know them, of course. God alone preserved the little
Prince. He was travelling with them, on the way from London to
Edelweiss. By some strange intervention of Providence he had gone with
his governess and other members of the party to the luggage van in the
fore part of the train, which had stopped on a side track below the
station. The collision was from the rear, a broken rail throwing a
locomotive into the Princess's coach. This providential escape of the
young Prince preserved the unbroken line of the present royal family. If
he had been killed, the dynasty would have come to an end, and, I am
telling no secret, sir, when I say that a new form of government would
have followed."

"What sort of government?"

"A more modern system, sir. Perhaps socialistic. I can't say. At all
events, a new dynasty could not have been formed. The people would have
rejected it. But Prince Robin was spared and, if I do say it, sir, he is
the manliest little prince in all the world. You should see him ride and
fence and shoot--and he is but seven!"

"I say, Mr. Spantz, I don't believe I've told you that your niece is a
most remarkably beau--"

"As I was saying, sir," interrupted Spantz, so pointedly that Truxton
flushed, "the little Prince is the idol of all the people. Under the
present regency he is obliged to reside in the principality until his
fifteenth year, after which he may be permitted to travel abroad.
Graustark intends to preserve him to herself if it is in her power to do
so. Woe betide the man who thinks or does ill toward little Prince
Robin."

King was suddenly conscious of a strange intentness of gaze on the old
man's part. A peculiar, indescribable chill swept over him; he had a
distinct, vivid impression that some subtle power was exercising itself
upon him--a power that, for the briefest instant, held him in a grip of
iron. What it was, he could not have told; it passed almost immediately.
Something in the old man's eyes, perhaps--or was it something in the
queer smile that flickered about his lips?

"My dear Mr. Spantz," he hastened to say, as if a defence were
necessary, "please don't get it into your head that I'm thinking ill of
the Prince. I daresay he's a fine little chap and I'm sorry
he's--er--lost his parents."

Spantz laughed, a soft, mirthless gurgle that caused Truxton to wonder
why he had made the effort at all. "I imagine His Serene Highness has
little to fear from any American," he said quietly. "He has been taught
to love and respect the men of his father's land. He loves America quite
as dearly as he loves Graustark." Despite the seeming sincerity of the
remark, Truxton was vaguely conscious that a peculiar harshness had
crept into the other's voice. He glanced sharply at the old man's face.
For the first time he noticed something sinister--yes, evil--in the
leathery countenance; a stealthiness in the hard smile that seemed to
transform it at once into a pronounced leer. Like a flash there darted
into the American's active brain a conviction that there could be no
common relationship between this flinty old man and the delicate,
refined girl he had seen in the shop. Now he recalled the fact that her
dark eyes had a look of sadness and dejection in their depths, and that
her face was peculiarly white and unsmiling.

Spantz was eyeing him narrowly. "You do not appear interested in our
royal family," he ventured coldly.

Truxton hastened to assure him that he was keenly interested. Especially
so, now that I appreciate that the little Prince is the last of his
race."

"There are three regents, sir, in charge of the affairs of state--Count
Halfont, the Duke of Perse and Baron Jasto Dangloss, who is minister of
police. Count Halfont is a granduncle of the Prince, by marriage. The
Duke of Perse is the father of the unhappy Countess Ingomede, the young
and beautiful wife of the exiled "Iron Count" Marlanx. No doubt you've
heard of him."

"I've read something about him. Sort of a gay old bounder, wasn't he?
Seems to me I recall the stories that were printed about him a few years
ago. I remember that he was banished from the principality and his
estates seized by the Crown."

"Quite true, sir. He was banished in 1901 and now resides on his
estates in Austria. Three years ago, in Buda Pesth, he was married to
Ingomede, the daughter of the Duke. Count Marlanx has great influence at
the Austrian court. Despite the fact that he is a despised and
discredited man in his own country, he still is a power among people
high in the government of more than one empire. The Duke of Perse
realised this when he compelled his daughter to accept him as her
husband. The fair Ingomede is less than twenty-five years of age; the
Iron Count is fully sixty-five."

"She ought to be rescued," was King's only comment, but there was no
mistaking the gleam of interest in his steady grey eyes.

"Rescued?" repeated the old man, with a broad grin. "And why? She is
mistress of one of the finest old castles in Austria, Schloss Marlanx,
and she is quite beautiful enough to have lovers by the score when the
Count grows a little blinder and less jealous. She is in Edelweiss at
present, visiting her father. The Count never comes here."

"I'd like to see her if she's really beautiful. I've seen but one pretty
woman in this whole blamed town--your niece, Herr Spantz. I've looked
'em over pretty carefully, too. She is exceedingly attract--"

"Pardon me, sir, but it is not the custom in Graustark to discuss our
women in the public drinking places." King felt as if he had received a
slap in the face. He turned a fiery red under his tan and mumbled some
sort of an apology. "The Countess is a public personage, however, and we
may speak of her," went on the old man quickly, as the American, in his
confusion, called a waiter to replenish the tankards. The steely glitter
that leaped into the armourer's eyes at this second reference to his
niece disappeared as quickly as it came; somehow it left behind the
impression that he knew how to wield the deadly blades he wrought.

"I'd like to hear more about her," murmured Mr. King. "Anything to pass
the time away, Mr. Spantz. As I said before, I journeyed far to reach
this land of fair women and if there's one to be seen, I'm properly
eager to jump at the chance. I've been here two days and I've seen
nothing that could start up the faintest flutter around my heart. I'm
sorry to say, my good friend, that the women I've seen in the streets of
Edelweiss are not beauties. I won't say that they'd stop a clock, but
they'd cause it to lose two or three hours a day, all right enough."

"You will not find the beautiful women of Edelweiss in the streets,
sir."

"Don't they ever go out shopping?"

"Hardly. The merchants, if you will but notice, carry their wares to the
houses of the noble and the rich. Graustark ladies of quality would no
more think of setting foot in a shop or bazaar than they would think of
entering a third class carriage. Believe me, there are many beautiful
women in the homes along Castle Avenue. Noblemen come hundreds of miles
to pay court to them."

"Just the same, I'm disgusted with the place. It's not what it's cracked
up to be. Saturday will see me on my way."

"To-morrow the garrison at the fortress marches in review before the
Prince. If you should happen to be on the avenue near the Castle gate at
twelve o'clock, you will see the beauty and chivalry of Graustark. The
soldiers are not the only ones who are on parade." There was an
unmistakable sneer in his tone.

"You don't care much for society, I'd say," observed Truxton, with a
smile.

Spantz's eyes flamed for an instant and then subtly resumed their most
ingratiating twinkle. "We cannot all be peacocks," he said quietly. "You
will see the Prince, his court and all the distinguished men of the city
and the army. You will also see that the man who rides beside the
Prince's carriage wheel is an American, while Graustark nobles take less
exalted places."

"An American, eh?"

"Yes. Have you not heard of John Tullis, the Prince's friend?"

"Another seven-year-old?"

"Not at all. A grown man, sir. He, your countryman, is the real power
behind our throne. On his deathbed, the Prince's father placed his son
in this American's charge and begged him to stand by him through thick
and thin until the lad is able to take care of himself. As if there were
not loyal men in Graustark who might have done as much for their
Prince!"

King looked interested. "I see. The people, no doubt, resent this
espionage. Is that it?"

Spantz gave him a withering look, as much as to say that he was a fool
to ask such a question in a place so public. Without replying, he got to
his feet and made ready to leave the little garden.

"I must return. I have been away too long. Thank you, sir, for your
kindness to an old man. Good day, sir, and--"

"Hold on! I think I'll walk over with you and have another look at that
broadsword. I'm--"

"To-morrow, sir. It is past time to close the shop for to-day. Come
to-morrow. Good day."

He was crossing the sidewalk nimbly before King could offer a word of
remonstrance. With a disappointed sigh, the American sank back in his
chair, and watched his odd companion scurry across the square. Suddenly
he became conscious of a disquieting feeling that some one was looking
at him intently from behind. He turned in his chair and found himself
meeting the gaze of a ferocious looking, military appearing little man
at a table near by. To his surprise, the little man's fierce stare
maintained its peculiarly personal intentness until he, himself, was
compelled to withdraw his own gaze in some little confusion and
displeasure. His waiter appeared at his elbow with the change.

"Who the devil is that old man at the table there?" demanded young Mr.
King loudly.

The waiter assumed a look of extreme insolence. "That is Baron Dangloss,
Minister of Police. Anything more, sir?"

"Yes. What's he looking so hard at me for? Does he think I'm a
pickpocket?"

"You know as much as I, sir," was all that the waiter said in reply.
King pocketed the coin he had intended for the fellow, and deliberately
left the place. He could not put off the feeling, however, that the
intense stare of Baron Dangloss, the watch-dog of the land, followed him
until the corner of the wall intervened. The now incensed American
glanced involuntarily across the square in the direction of Spantz's
shop. He saw three mounted soldiers ride up to the curb and hail the
armourer as he started to close his doors. As he sauntered across the
little square his gaze suddenly shifted to a second-story window above
the gun-shop.

The interesting young woman had cautiously pushed open one of the
shutters and was peering down upon the trio of red-coated guardsmen.
Almost at the same instant her quick, eager gaze fell upon the tall
American, now quite close to the horsemen. He saw her dark eyes expand
as if with surprise. The next instant he caught his breath and almost
stopped in his tracks.

A shy, impulsive smile played about her red lips for a second, lighting
up the delicate face with a radiance that amazed him. Then the shutter
was closed gently, quickly. His first feeling of elation was followed
instantly by the disquieting impression that it was a mocking smile of
amusement and not one of inviting friendliness. He felt his ears burn as
he abruptly turned off to the right, for, somehow, he knew that she was
peeping at him through the blinds and that something about his tall,
rangy figure was appealing to her sense of the ridiculous.

You will see at once that Truxton King, imaginative chap that he was,
had pounced upon this slim, attractive young woman as the only plausible
heroine for his prospective romance, and, as such, she could not be
guilty of forwardness or lack or dignity. Besides, first impressions are
always good ones: she had struck him at the outset as being a girl of
rare delicacy and refinement.

In the meantime, Baron Dangloss was watching him covertly from the edge
of the Café garden across the square.




CHAPTER II

A MEETING OF THE CABINET


At this time, the principality of Graustark was in a most prosperous
condition. Its affairs were under the control of an able ministry,
headed by the venerable Count Halfont. The Duke of Perse, for years a
resident of St. Petersburg, and a financier of high standing, had
returned to Edelweiss soon after the distressing death of the late
Princess Yetive and her American husband, and to him was entrusted the
treasury portfolio. He at once proceeded to endear himself to the common
people by the advocacy of a lower rate of taxation; this meant the
reduction of the standing army. He secured new and advantageous treaties
with old and historic foes, putting Graustark's financial credit upon a
high footing in the European capitals. The people smugly regarded
themselves as safe in the hands of the miserly but honest old financier.
If he accomplished many things by way of office to enhance his own
particular fortune, no one looked askance, for he made no effort to
blind or deceive his people. Of his honesty there could be no question;
of his financial operations, it is enough to say that the people were
satisfied to have their affairs linked with his.

The financing of the great railroad project by which Edelweiss was to be
connected with the Siberian line in the north, fell to his lot at a time
when no one else could have saved the little government from heavy
losses or even bankruptcy. The new line traversed the country from
Serros, capital of Dawsbergen, through the mountains and canyons of
Graustark, across Axphain's broad steppes and lowlands, to a point at
which Russia stood ready to begin a connecting branch for junction with
her great line to the Pacific. All told, it was a stupendous undertaking
for a small government to finance; it is well known that Graustark owns
and controls her public utility institutions. The road, now about half
completed, was to be nearly two hundred miles in length, fully
two-thirds of which was on Graustark territory. The preponderance of
cost of construction fell upon that principality, Dawsbergen and Axphain
escaping with comparatively small obligations owing to the fact that
they had few mountains to contend with. As a matter of fact, the
Dawsbergen and Axphain ends of the railroad were now virtually built and
waiting for the completion of the extensive work in the Graustark
highlands.

The opening of this narrative finds the ministry preparing to float a
new five million gavvo issue of bonds for construction and equipment
purposes. Agents of the government were ready to depart for London and
Paris to take up the matter with the great banking houses. St.
Petersburg and Berlin were not to be given the opportunity to gobble up
these extremely fine securities. This seemingly extraordinary exclusion
of Russian and German bidders was the result of vigorous objections
raised by an utter outsider, the American, John Tullis, long time friend
and companion of Grenfall Lorry, consort to the late Princess.

Tullis was a strange man in many particulars. He was under forty years
of age, but even at that rather immature time of life he had come to be
recognised as a shrewd, successful financial power in his home city, New
York. At the very zenith of his power he suddenly and with Quixotic
disregard for consequences gave up his own business and came to
Graustark for residence, following a promise made to Grenfall Lorry
when the latter lay dying in a little inn near Brussels.

They had been lifelong friends. Tullis jestingly called himself the
little Prince's "morganatic godfather." For two years he had been a
constant resident of Graustark, living contentedly, even indolently, in
the picturesque old Castle, his rooms just across the corridor from
those occupied by the little Prince. To this small but important bit of
royalty he was "Uncle Jack"; in that capacity he was the most beloved
and at the same time the most abused gentleman in all Graustark. As many
as ten times a week he was signally banished from the domain by the
loving, headstrong little ruler, only to be recalled with grave dignity
and a few tears when he went so far as to talk of packing his "duds" in
obedience to the edict.

John Tullis, strong character though he was, found this lazy, _dolce far
niente_ life much to his liking. He was devoted to the boy; he was
interested in the life at this tiny court. The days of public and court
mourning for the lamented Princess and her husband wearing away after an
established period, he found himself eagerly delving into the gaieties
that followed. Life at the Castle and in the homes of the nobility
provided a new and sharp contrast to the busy, sordid existence he had
known at home. It was like a fine, wholesome, endless dream to him. He
drifted on the joyous, smiling tide of pleasure that swept Edelweiss
with its careless waves night and day. Clever, handsome, sincere in his
attitude of loyalty toward these people of the topmost east, he was not
long in becoming a popular idol.

His wide-awake, resourceful brain, attuned by nature to the difficulties
of administration, lent itself capably to the solving of many knotty
financial puzzles; the ministry was never loth to call on him for
advice and seldom disposed to disregard it. An outsider, he never
offered a suggestion or plan unasked; to this single qualification he
owed much of the popularity and esteem in which he was held by the
classes and the masses. Socially, he was a great favourite. He enjoyed
the freedom of the most exclusive homes in Edelweiss. He had enjoyed the
distinction of more than one informal visit to old Princess Volga of
Axphain, just across the border, to say nothing of shooting expeditions
with young Prince Dantan of Dawsbergen, whose American wife, formerly
Miss Calhoun of Washington, was a friend of long standing.

John Tullis was, beyond question, the most conspicuous and the most
admired man in Edelweiss in these serene days of mentorship to the
adored Prince Robin.

There was but one man connected with the government to whom his
popularity and his influence proved distasteful. That man was the Duke
of Perse. On more than one occasion the cabinet had chosen to be guided
by the sagacity of John Tullis in preference to following the lines laid
down by the astute minister of finance. The decision to offer the new
bond issue in London and Paris was due to the earnest, forceful argument
of John Tullis--outside the cabinet chamber, to be sure. This was but
one instance in which the plan of the treasurer was overridden. He
resented the plain though delicate influence of the former Wall Street
man. Tullis had made it plain to the ministry that Graustark could not
afford to place itself in debt to the Russians, into whose hands, sooner
or later, the destinies of the railroad might be expected to fall. The
wise men of Graustark saw his point without force of argument, and voted
down, in the parliament, the Duke's proposition to place the loan in St.
Petersburg and Berlin. For this particular act of trespass upon the
Duke's official preserves he won the hatred of the worthy treasurer and
his no inconsiderable following among the deputies.

But John Tullis was not in Edelweiss for the purpose of meddling with
state affairs. He was there because he elected to stand mentor to the
son of his life-long friend, even though that son was a prince of the
blood and controlled by the will of three regents chosen by his own
subjects. He was there to watch over the doughty little chap, who one
day would be ruler unrestrained, but who now was a boy to be loved and
coddled and reprimanded in the general process of man-making.

To say that the tiny Prince loved his big, adoring mentor would be
putting it too gently: he idolised him. Tullis was father, mother and
big brother to the little fellow in knickers.

The American was a big, broad shouldered man, reddish haired and ruddy
cheeked, with cool grey eyes; his sandy mustache was closely cropped and
turned up ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth. Despite his
colouring, his face was somewhat sombre--even stern--when in repose. It
was his fine, enveloping smile that made friends for him wherever he
listed, with men and with women. More frequently than otherwise it made
more than friends of the latter.

One woman in Graustark was the source of never-ending and constantly
increasing interest to this stalwart companion to the Prince. That woman
was, alas! the wife of another man. Moreover, she was the daughter of
the Duke of Perse.

The young and witty Countess of Marlanx came often to Edelweiss. She was
a favourite at the Castle, notwithstanding the unhealthy record of her
ancient and discredited husband, the Iron Count. Tullis had not seen
the Count, but he had heard such tales of him that he could not but
pity this glorious young creature who called him husband. There is an
old saying about the kinship of pity. Not that John Tullis was actually
in love with the charming Countess. He was, to be perfectly candid, very
much interested in her and very much distressed by the fact that she was
bound to a venerable reprobate who dared not put his foot on Graustark
soil because once he had defiled it atrociously.

But of the Countess and her visits to Edelweiss, more anon--with the
indulgence of the reader.

At present we are permitted to attend a meeting of the cabinet, which
sits occasionally in solemn collectiveness just off the throne room
within the tapestried walls of a dark little antechamber, known to the
outside world as the "Room of Wrangles." It is ten o'clock of the
morning on which the Prince is to review the troops from the fortress.
The question under discussion relates to the loan of 5,000,000 gavvos,
before mentioned. At the head of the long table, perched upon an
augmentary pile of law books surmounted by a little red cushion, sits
the Prince, almost lost in the hugh old walnut chair of his forefathers.
Down the table sit the ten ministers of the departments of state, all of
them loving the handsome little fellow on the necessary pile of
statutes, but all of them more or less indifferent to his significant
yawns and perplexed frowns.

The Prince was a sturdy, curly-haired lad, with big brown eyes and a
lamentably noticeable scratch on his nose--acquired in less stately but
more profitable pursuits. (It seems that he had peeled his nose while
sliding to second base in a certain American game that he was teaching
the juvenile aristocracy how to play.) His wavy hair was brown and
rebellious. No end of royal nursing could keep it looking sleek and
proper. He had the merit of being a very bad little boy at times; that
is why he was loved by every one. Although it was considered next to
high treason to strike a prince of the royal blood, I could, if I had
the space, recount the details of numerous fisticuffs behind the state
stables in which, sad to relate, the Prince just as often as not came
off with a battered dignity and a chastened opinion of certain small fry
who could not have been more than dukes or barons at best. But he took
his defeats manfully: he did not whimper _lesé majesté_. John Tullis,
his "Uncle Jack," had proclaimed his scorn for a boy who could not "take
his medicine." And so Prince Robin took it gracefully because he was
prince.

To-day he was--for him--rather oppressively dignified and imperial. He
may have blinked his weary eyes a time or two, but in the main he was
very attentive, very circumspect and very much puzzled. Custom required
that the ruling prince or princess should preside over the meetings of
the cabinet. It is needless to observe that the present ruler's duty
ended when he repeated (after Count Halfont): "My lords, we are now in
session." The school-room, he confessed, was a "picnic" compared to the
"Room of Wrangles": a fellow got a recess once in a while there, but
here--well, the only recess he got was when he fell asleep. To-day he
was determined to maintain a very dignified mien. It appears that at the
last meeting he had created considerable havoc by upsetting the ink well
while trying to fill his fountain pen without an injector. Moreover,
nearly half a pint of the fluid had splashed upon the Duke of Perse's
trousers--and they were grey, at that. Whereupon the Duke announced in
open conclave that His Highness needed a rattling good spanking--a
remark which distinctly hurt the young ruler's pride and made him wish
that there had been enough ink to drown the Duke instead of merely
wetting him.

About the table sat the three regents and the other men high in the
administration of affairs, among them General Braze of the Army, Baron
Pultz of the Mines, Roslon of Agriculture. The Duke of Perse was
discussing the great loan question. The Prince was watching his gaunt,
saturnine face with more than usual interest.

"Of course, it is not too late to rescind the order promulgated at our
last sitting. There are five bankers in St. Petersburg who will finance
the loan without delay. We need not delay the interminable length of
time necessary to secure the attention and co-operation of bankers in
France and England. It is all nonsense to say that Russia has sinister
motives in the matter. It is a business proposition--not an affair of
state. We need the money before the winter opens. The railroad is now
within fifteen miles of Edelweiss. The bridges and tunnels are well
along toward completion. Our funds are diminishing, simply because we
have delayed so long in preparing for this loan. There has been too much
bickering and too much inane politics. I still maintain that we have
made a mistake in refusing to take up the matter with St. Petersburg or
Berlin. Why should we prefer England? Why France?"

For some unaccountable reason he struck the table violently with his
fist and directed his glare upon the astonished Prince. The explosive
demand caught the ruler by surprise. He gasped and his lips fell apart.
Then it must have occurred to him that the question could be answered by
no one save the person to whom it was so plainly addressed. He lifted
his chin and piped up shrilly, and with a fervour that startled even
the intense Perse:

"Because Uncle Jack said we should, that's why."

We have no record of what immediately followed this abrupt declaration;
there are some things that never leak out, no matter how prying the
chronicler may be. When one stops to consider that this was the first
time a question had been put directly to the Prince--and one that he
could understand, at that--we may be inclined to overlook his reply, but
we cannot answer for certain members of the cabinet. Unconsciously, the
boy in knickers had uttered a truth that no one else had dared to
voice. John Tullis _was_ the joint stepping-stone and stumbling-block in
the deliberations of the cabinet.

It goes without saying that the innocent rejoinder opened the way to an
acrid discussion of John Tullis. If that gentleman's ears burned in
response to the sarcastic comments of the Duke of Perse and Baron Pultz,
they probably tingled pleasantly as the result of the stout defence put
up by Halfont, Dangloss and others. Moreover, his most devoted friend,
the Prince, whose lips were sullenly closed after his unlucky maiden
effort, was finding it exceedingly difficult to hold his tongue and his
tears at the same time. The lad's lip trembled but his brown eyes
glowered; he sat abashed and heard the no uncertain arraignment of his
dearest friend, feeling all the while that the manly thing for him to do
would be to go over and kick the Duke of Perse, miserably conscious that
such an act was impossible. His little body trembled with childish rage;
he never took his gaze from the face of the gaunt traducer. How he hated
the Duke of Perse!

The Duke's impassioned plea was of no avail. His _confrères_ saw the
wisdom of keeping Russia's greedy hand out of the country's affairs--at
least for the present--and reiterated their decision to seek the loans
in England and France. The question, therefore, would not be taken to
Parliament for reconsideration. The Duke sat down, pale in defeat; his
heart was more bitter than ever against the shrewd American who had
induced all these men to see through his eyes.

"I suppose there is no use in kicking against the pricks," he said
sourly as he resumed his seat. "I shall send our representatives to
London and Paris next month. I trust, my lords, that we may have no
trouble in placing the loans there." There was a deep significance the
dry tone which he assumed.

"I do not apprehend trouble," said Count Halfont. "Our credit is still
good, your Grace. Russia is not the only country that is ready to trust
us for a few millions. Have no fear, your Grace."

"It is the delay that I am apprehensive of, your Excellency."

At this juncture the Prince, gathering from the manner of his ministers
that the question was settled to his liking, leaned forward and
announced to his uncle, the premier:

"I'm tired, Uncle Caspar. How much longer is it?"

Count Halfont coughed. "Ahem! Just a few minutes, your Highness. Pray be
patient--er--my little man."

Prince Bobby flushed. He always knew that he was being patronised when
any one addressed him as "my little man."

"I have an engagement," he said, with a stiffening of his back.

"Indeed?" said the Duke dryly.

"Yes, your Grace--a very important one. Of course, I'll stay if I have
to, but--what time is it, Uncle Caspar?"

"It is half past eleven, your Highness."

"Goodness, I had a date for eleven. I mean a engagement--an engagement."
He glanced helplessly, appealingly from Count Halfont to Baron Dangloss,
his known allies.

The Duke of Perse smiled grimly. In his most polite manner he arose to
address the now harassed Princeling, who shifted uneasily on the pile of
law books.

"May your most humble subject presume to inquire into the nature of your
Highness's engagement?"

"You may, your Grace," said the Prince.

The Duke waited. A smile crept into the eyes of the others. "Well, what
is the engagement?"

"I had a date to ride with Uncle Jack at eleven."

"And you imagine that 'Uncle Jack' will be annoyed if he is kept waiting
by such a trivial matter as a cabinet meeting, unfortunately prolonged?"

"I don't know just what that means," murmured the Prince. Then his face
brightened. "But I don't think he'll be sore after I tell him how busy
we've been."

The Duke put his hand over his mouth. "I don't think he'll mind half an
hour's wait, do you?"

"He likes me to be very prompt."

Count Halfont interposed, good-humouredly. "There is nothing more to
come before us to-day, your Grace, so I fancy we may as well close the
meeting. To my mind, it is rather a silly custom which compels us to
keep the Prince with us--er--after the opening of the session. Of
course, your Highness, we don't mean to say that you are not interested
in our grave deliberations."

Prince Bobby broke in eagerly: "Uncle Jack says I've just _got_ to be
interested in 'em, whether I want to or not. He says it's the only way
to catch onto things and become a regular prince. You see, Uncle Caspar,
I've got a lot to learn."

"Yes, your Highness, you have," solemnly admitted the premier. "But I am
sure you _will_ learn."

"Under such an able instructor as Uncle Jack you may soon know more than
the wisest man in the realm," added the Duke of Perse.

"Thank you, your Grace," said the Prince, so politely that the Duke was
confounded; "I know Uncle Jack will be glad to hear that. He's--he's
afraid people may think he's butting in too much."

"Butting in?" gasped the premier.

At this the Duke of Perse came to his feet again, an angry gleam in his
eyes. "My lords," he began hastily, "it must certainly have occurred to
you before this that our beloved Prince's English, which seems after all
to be his mother tongue, is not what it should be. Butting in! Yesterday
I overheard him advising your son, Pultz, to 'go chase' himself. And
when your boy tried to chase himself--'pon my word, he did--what did our
Prince say? What _did_ you say, Prince Robin?"

"I--I forget," stammered Prince Bobby.

"You said 'Mice!' Or was it--er--"

"No, your Grace. Rats. I remember. That's what I said. That's what all
of us boys used to say in Washington."

"God deliver us! Has it come to this, that a Prince of Graustark should
grow up with such language on his lips? I fancy, my lords, you will all
agree that something should be done about it. It is too serious a
matter. We are all more or less responsible to the people he is to
govern. We cannot, in justice to them, allow him to continue under
the--er--influences that now seem to surround him. He'll--he'll grow up
to be a barbarian. For Heaven's sake, my lords, let us consider the
Prince's future--let us deal promptly with the situation."

"What's he saying, Uncle Caspar?" whispered the Prince fiercely.

"Sh!" cautioned Count Halfont.

"I won't sh! I am the Prince. And I'll say 'chase yourself' whenever I
please. It's good English. I'll pronounce it for you in our own
language, so's you can see how it works that way. It goes like--"

"You need not illustrate, your Highness," the Premier hastened to say.
Turning to the Duke, he said coldly: "I acknowledge the wisdom in your
remarks, your Grace, but--you will pardon me, I am sure--would it not be
better to discuss the conditions privately among ourselves before taking
them up officially?"

"That confounded American has every one hypnotised," exploded the Duke.
"His influence over this boy is a menace to our country. He is making on
oaf of him--a slangy, impudent little--"

"Your Grace!" interrupted Baron Dangloss sharply.

"Uncle Jack's all right," declared the Prince, vaguely realising that a
defence should be forthcoming.

"He is, eh?" rasped the exasperated Duke, mopping his brow.

"He sure is," pronounced the Prince with a finality that left no room
for doubt. They say that fierce little Baron Dangloss, in striving to
suppress a guffaw, choked so impressively that there was a momentary
doubt as to his ever getting over it alive.

"He is a mountebank--a meddler, that's what he is. The sooner we come to
realise it, the better," exclaimed the over-heated Duke. "He has greater
influence over our beloved Prince than any one else in the royal
household. He has no business here--none whatsoever. His presence and
his meddling is an affront to the intelligence of--"

But the Prince had slid down from his pile of books and planted himself
beside him so suddenly that the bitter words died away on the old man's
lips. Robin's face was white with rage, his little fists were clenched
in desperate anger, his voice was half choked with the tears of
indignation.

"You awful old man!" he cried, trembling all over, his eyes blazing.
"Don't you say anything against Uncle Jack. I'll--I'll banish you--yes,
sir--banish you like my mother fired Count Marlanx out of the country. I
won't let you come back here ever--never. And before you go I'll have
Uncle Jack give you a good licking. Oh, he can do it all right. I--I
hate you!"

The Duke looked down in amazement into the flushed, writhing face of his
little master. For a moment he was stunned by the vigorous outburst.
Then the hard lines in his face relaxed and a softer expression came
into his eyes--there was something like pride in them, too. The Duke, be
it said, was an honest fighter and a loyal Graustarkian; he loved his
Prince and, therefore, he gloried in his courage. His own smile of
amusement, which broke in spite of his inordinate vanity, was the sign
that brought relief to the hearts of his scandalised _confrères_.

"Your Highness does well in defending a friend and counsellor," he said
gently. "I am sorry to have forgotten myself in your presence. It shall
not occur again. Pray forgive me."

Prince Bobby was still unappeased. "I _could_ have you beheaded," he
said stubbornly. "Couldn't I, Uncle Caspar?"

Count Halfont gravely informed him that it was not customary to behead
gentlemen except for the most heinous offences against the Crown.

The Duke of Perse suddenly bent forward and placed his bony hand upon
the unshrinking shoulder of the Prince, his eyes gleaming kindly, his
voice strangely free from its usual harshness. "You are a splendid
little man, Prince Robin," he said. "I glory in you. I shall not forget
the lesson in loyalty that you have taught me."

Bobby's eyes filled with tears. The genuine humility of the hard old man
touched his tempestuous little heart.

"It's--it's all right, Du--your Grace. I'm sorry I spoke that way, too."

Baron Dangloss twisted his imperial vigorously. "My lords, I suggest
that we adjourn. The Prince must have his ride and return in time for
the review at one o'clock."

As the Prince strode soberly from the Room of Wrangles, every eye was
upon his sturdy little back and there was a kindly light in each of
them, bar none. The Duke, following close behind with Halfont, said
quietly:

"I love him, Caspar. But I have no love for the man he loves so much
better than he loves any of us. Tullis is a meddler--but, for Heaven's
sake, my friend, don't let; Bobby know that I have repeated myself."

Later on, the Prince in his khaki riding suit loped gaily down the broad
mountain road toward Ganlook, beside the black mare which carried John
Tullis. Behind them rode three picked troopers from the House Guard. He
had told Tullis of his vainglorious defence in the antechamber.

"And I told him, Uncle Jack, that you could lick him. You can, can't
you?"

The American's face was clouded for a second; then, to please the boy, a
warm smile succeeded the frown.

"Why, Bobby, you dear little beggar, he could thresh me with one hand."

"What?" almost shrieked Prince Bobby, utterly dismayed.

"He's a better swordsman than I, don't you see. Gentlemen over here
fight with swords. I know nothing about duelling. He'd get at me in two
thrusts."

"I--I think you'd better take some lessons from Colonel Quinnox. It
won't do to be caught napping."

"I daresay you're right."

"Say, Uncle Jack, when are you going to take me to the witch's hovel?"
The new thought abruptly banished all else from his eager little brain.

"Some day, soon," said Tullis. "You see, I'm not sure that she's
receiving visitors these days. A witch is a very arbitrary person. Even
princes have to send up their cards."

"Let's telegraph her," in an inspired tone.

"I'll arrange to go up with you very soon, Bobby. It's a hard ride
through the pass and--and there may be a lot of goblins up there where
the old woman keeps herself."

The witch's hovel was in the mountain across the most rugged of the
canyons, and was to be reached only after the most hazardous of rides.
The old woman of the hills was an ancient character about whom clung a
thousand spookish traditions, but who, in the opinion of John Tuilis,
was nothing more than a wise fortune-teller and necromancer who knew
every trick in the trade of hoodwinking the superstitious. He had seen
her and he had been properly impressed. Somehow, he did not like the
thought of taking the Prince to the cabin among the mists and crags.

"They say she eats boys, now and then," he added, as if suddenly
remembering it.

"Gee! Do you suppose we could get there some day when she's eating one?"

As they rode back to the Castle after an hour, coming down through
Castle Avenue from the monastery road, they passed a tall, bronzed young
man whom Tullis at once knew to be an American. He was seated on a big
boulder at the roadside, enjoying the shade, and was evidently on his
way by foot to the Castle gates to watch the _beau monde_ assembling for
the review. At his side was the fussy, well-known figure of Cook's
interpreter, eagerly pointing out certain important personages to bun as
they passed. Of course, the approach of the Prince was the excuse for
considerable agitation and fervour on the part of the man from Cook's.
He mounted the boulder and took off his cap to wave it frantically.

"It's the Prince!" he called out to Truxton King. "Stand up! Hurray!
Long live the Prince!"

Tullis had already lifted his hand in salute to his countryman, and both
had smiled the free, easy smile of men who know each other by instinct.

The man from Cook's came to grief. He slipped from his perch on the rock
and came floundering to the ground below, considerably crushed in
dignity, but quite intact in other respects.

The spirited pony that the Prince was riding shied and reared in quick
affright. The boy dropped his crop and clung valiantly to the reins. A
guardsman was at the pony's head in an instant, and there was no
possible chance for disaster.

Truxton King unbent his long frame, picked up the riding crop with a
deliberateness that astonished the man from Cook's, strode out into the
roadway and handed it up to the boy in the saddle.

"Thank you," said Prince Bobby.

"Don't mention it," said Truxton King with his most engaging smile. "No
trouble at all."




CHAPTER III

MANY PERSONS IN REVIEW


Truxton King witnessed the review of the garrison. That in itself was
rather a tame exhibition for a man who had seen the finest troops in all
the world. A thousand earnest looking soldiers, proud of the opportunity
to march before the little Prince--and that was all, so far as the
review was concerned.

But, alluringly provident to the welfare of this narrative, the red and
black uniformed soldiers were not the only persons on review that balmy
day in July. Truxton King had his first glimpse of the nobility of
Graustark. He changed his mind about going to Vienna on the Saturday
express. A goodly number of men before him had altered their humble
plans for the same reason, I am reliably informed.

Mr. King saw the court in all its glory, scattered along the shady
Castle Avenue--in carriages, in traps, in motors and in the saddle. His
brain whirled and his heart leaped under the pressure of a new-found
interest in life. The unexpected oasis loomed up before his eyes just as
he was abandoning all hope in the unprofitable desert of Romance. He saw
green trees and sparkling rivulets, and he sighed with a new, strange
content. No, on second thoughts, he would not go to Vienna. He would
stay in Edelweiss. He was a disciple of Micawber; and he was so much
younger and fresher than that distinguished gentleman, that perhaps he
was justified in believing that, in his case, something was bound to
"turn up."

If Truxton King had given up in disgust and fled to Vienna, this tale
would never have come to light. Instead of being the lively narrative of
a young gentleman's adventures in far-away Graustark, it might have
become a tale of the smart set in New York--for, as you know, we are
bound by tradition to follow the trail laid down by our hero, no matter
which way he elects to fare. Somewhat dismayed by his narrow escape, he
confided to his friend from Cook's that he could never have forgiven
himself if he had adhered to his resolution to leave on the following
day.

"I didn't know you'd changed your mind, sir," remarked Mr. Hobbs in
surprise.

"Of course you didn't know it," said Truxton. "How could you? I've just
changed it, this instant. I didn't know it myself two minutes ago. No,
sir, Hobbs--or is it Dobbs? Thanks--no, sir, I'm going to stop here for
a--well, a week or two. Where the dickens do these people keep
themselves? I haven't seen 'em before."

"Oh, they are the nobility--the swells. They don't hang around the
streets like tourists and rubbernecks, sir," in plain disgust.

"I thought you were an Englishman," observed King, with a quizzical
smile.

"I am, sir. I can't help saying rubbernecks, sir, though it's a shocking
word. It's the only name for them, sir. That's what the little Prince
calls them, too. You see, it's one form of amusement they provide for
him, and I am supposed to help it along as much as possible. Mr. Tullis
takes him out in the avenue whenever I've got a party in hand. I
telephone up to the Castle that I've got a crowd and then I drive 'em
out to the Park here. The Prince says he just loves to watch the
rubbernecks go by. It's great fun, sir, for the little lad. He never
misses a party, and you can believe it or not, he has told me so
himself. Yes, sir, the Prince has had more than one word with me--from
time to time." King looked at the little man's reddish face and saw
therein the signs of exaltation indigenous to a land imperial.

He hesitated for an instant and then remarked, with a mean impulse to
spoil Hobbs's glorification: "I have dined with the President of the
United States."

Hobbs was politely unimpressed. "I've no doubt, sir," he said. "I
daresay it was an excellent dinner."

King blinked his eyes and then turned them upon the passing show. He was
coming to understand the real difference between men.

"I say, who is that just passing--the lady in the victoria?" he asked
abruptly.

"That is the Countess Marlanx."

"Whew! I thought she was the queen!"

Hobbs went into details concerning the beautiful Countess. During the
hour and a half of display he pointed out to King all of the great
personages, giving a Baedeker-like account of their doings from
childhood up, quite satisfying that gentleman's curiosity and involving
his cupidity at the same time.

When, at last, the show was over, Truxton and the voluble little
interpreter, whom he had employed for the occasion, strolled leisurely
back to the heart of the town. Something had come over King, changing
the quaint old city from a prosaic collection of shops and thoroughfares
into a veritable playground for Cinderellas and Prince Charmings. The
women, to his startled imagination, had been suddenly transformed from
lackadaisical drudges into radiant personages at whose feet it would be
a pleasure to fall, in whose defence it would be divine to serve; the
men were the cavaliers that had called to him from the pages of
chivalrous tales, ever since the days of his childhood. Here were
knights and ladies such as he had dreamed of and despaired of ever
seeing outside his dreams.

Hobbs was telling him how every one struggled to provide amusement for
the little Prince at whose court these almost mythological beings bent
the knee. "Every few days they have a royal troupe of acrobats in the
Castle grounds. Next week Tantora's big circus is to give a private
performance for him. There are Marionettes and Punch and Judy shows, and
all the doings of the Grand Grignol are beautifully imitated. The royal
band plays every afternoon, and at night some one tells him stories of
the valorous men who occupied the throne before him. He rides, plays
baseball and cricket, swims, goes shooting--and, you may take it from
me, sir, he is already enjoying fencing lessons with Colonel Quinnox,
chief of the Castle guard. Mr. Tullis, the American, has charge of
his--you might say, his education and entertainment. They want to make
of him a very wonderful Prince. So they are starting at the bottom. He's
quite a wonderful little chap. What say, sir?"

"I was just going to ask if you know anything about a young woman who
occasionally tends shop for William Spantz, the armourer."

Hobbs looked interested. "She's quite a beauty, sir, I give you my
word."

"I know that, Hobbs. But who is she?"

"I really can't say, sir. She's his niece, I've heard. Been here a
little over a month. I think she's from Warsaw."

"Well, I'll say good-bye here. If you've nothing on for to-morrow we'll
visit the Castle grounds and--ahem!--take a look about the place. Come
to the hotel early. I'm going over to the gun-shop. So long!" As he
crossed the square, his mind full of the beautiful women he had seen,
he was saying to himself in a wild strain of exhilaration: "I'll bet my
head that girl isn't the nobody she's setting herself up to be. She
looks like these I've just seen. She's got the marks of a lady. You
can't fool me. I'm going to find out who she is and--well, maybe it
won't be so dull here, after all. It looks better every minute."

He was whistling gaily as he entered the little shop, ready to give a
cheery greeting to old Spantz and to make him a temporising offer for
the broadsword. But it was not Spantz who stood behind the little
counter. Truxton flushed hotly and jerked off his hat. The girl smiled.

"I beg pardon," he exclaimed. "I--I'm looking for Mr. Spantz--I--"

"He is out. Will you wait? He will return in a very few minutes." Her
voice was clear and low, her accent charming. The smile in her eyes
somehow struck him as sad, even fleeting in its attempt at mirth. As she
spoke, it disappeared altogether and an almost sombre expression came
into her face.

"Thanks. I'll--wait," he said, suddenly embarrassed. She turned to the
window, resuming the wistful, preoccupied gaze down the avenue. He made
pretence of inspecting the wares on the opposite wall, but covertly
watched her out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps, calculated he, if she
were attired in the gown of one of those fashionables she might rank
with the noblest of them in beauty and delicacy. Her dark little head
was carried with all the serene pride of a lady of quality; her features
were clear cut, mobile, and absolutely flawless. He was sure of that:
his sly analysis was not as casual as one might suppose under the
circumstances. As a matter of fact, he found himself having what he
afterward called "a very good look at her." She seemed to have forgotten
his presence. The longer he looked at the delicate profile, the more
fully was he convinced that she was not all that she pretended. He
experienced a thrill of hope. If she wasn't what she pretended to be,
then surely she must be what he wanted her to be--a lady of quality. In
that case there was a mystery. The thought restored his temerity.

"Beg pardon," he said, politely sauntering up to the little counter. He
noted that she was taller than he had thought, and slender. She started
and turned toward him with a quick, diffident smile, her dark eyes
filling with an unspoken apology. "I wanted to have another look at the
broadsword there. May I get it out of the window, or will you?"

Very quickly--he noticed that she went about it clumsily despite her
supple gracefulness--she withdrew the heavy weapon from the window and
laid it upon the counter. He was looking at her with a peculiar smile
upon his lips. She flushed painfully.

"I am not--not what you would call an expert," she said frankly.

"You mean in handling broadswords," he said in his most suave manner.
"It's a cunning little thing, isn't it?" He picked up the ponderous
blade. "I don't wonder you nearly dropped it on your toes."

"There must have been giants in those days," she said, a slight shudder
passing over her.

"Whoppers," he agreed eagerly. "I've thought somewhat of buying the old
thing. Not to use, of course. I'm not a giant."

"You're not a pigmy," she supplemented, her eyes sweeping his long
figure comprehensively.

"What's the price?" he asked, his courage faltering under the cool,
impersonal gaze.

"I do not know. My uncle has told you?"

"I--I think he did. But I've got a wretched memory when it comes to
broadswords."

She laughed. "This is such a very old broadsword, too," she said. "It
goes back beyond the memory of man."

"How does it come that you don't know the price?" he asked, watching her
narrowly. She met his inquiring look with perfect composure.

"I am quite new at the trade. I hope you will excuse my ignorance. My
uncle will be here in a moment." She was turning away with an air that
convinced King of one thing: she was a person who, in no sense, had ever
been called upon to serve others.

"So I've heard," he observed. The bait took effect. She looked up
quickly; he was confident that a startled expression flitted across her
face.

"You have heard? What have you heard of me?" she demanded.

"That you are new at the business," he replied coolly.

"You are a stranger in a strange land, so they say."

"You have been making inquiries?" she asked, disdain succeeding dismay.

"Tentatively, that's all. Ever since you peeked out of the window up
there and laughed at me. I'm curious, you see."

She stared at him in silent intensity for a moment. "That's why I
laughed at you. You were _very_ curious."

"Am I so bad as all that?" he lamented.

She ignored the question. "Why should you be interested in me, sir?"

Mr. King was inspired to fabricate in the interest of psychical
research. "Because I have heard that you are not the niece of old man
Spantz." He watched intently to catch the effect of the declaration.

She merely stared at him; there was not so much as the flutter of an
eyelid. "You have heard nothing of the kind," she said coldly.

"Well, I'll confess I haven't," he admitted cheerfully. "I was
experimenting. I'm an amateur Sherlock Holmes. It pleases me to deduce
that you are not related to the armourer. You don't look the part."

Now she smiled divinely. "And why not, pray? His sister was my mother."

"In order to establish a line on which to base my calculations, would
you mind telling me who your father is?" He asked the question with his
most appealing smile--a smile so frankly impudent that she could not
resent it.

"My mother's husband," she replied in the same spirit.

"Well, that is _quite_ a clue!" he exclaimed. "'Pon my soul, I believe
I'm on the right track. Excuse me for continuing, but is he a count or a
duke or just a--"

"My father is dead," she interrupted, without taking her now serious
gaze from his face.

"I beg your pardon," he said at once. "I'm sorry if I've hurt you."

"My mother is dead. Now can you understand why I am living here with my
uncle? Even an amateur may rise to that. Now, sir, do you expect to
purchase the sword? If not, I shall replace it in the window."

"That's what I came here for," said he, resenting her tone and the icy
look she gave him.

"I gathered that you came in the capacity of Sherlock Holmes--or
something else." She added the last three words with unmistakable
meaning.

"You mean as a--" he hesitated, flushing.

"You knew I was alone, sir."

"By Jove, you're wrong there. I give you my word, I didn't. If I'd known
it, I'd surely have come in sooner. There, forgive me. I'm particularly
light-headed and futile to-day, and I hope--Beg pardon?"

She was leaning toward him, her hands on the counter, a peculiar gleam
in her dark eyes--which now, for the first time, struck him as rather
more keen and penetrating than he had suspected before.

"I simply want to tell you, Mr. King, that unless you really expect to
buy this sword it is not wise in you to make it an excuse for coming
here."

"My dear young lady, I--"

"My uncle has a queer conception of the proprieties. He may think that
you come to see me." A radiant smile leaped into her face, transforming
its strange sombreness into absolutely impish mirth.

"Well, hang it all, he can't object to that, can he? Besides, I never
buy without haggling," he expostulated, suddenly exhilarated, he knew
not why.

"Don't come in here unless you expect to buy," she said, serious in an
instant. "It isn't the custom in Edelweiss. Young men may chat with
shopgirls all the world over--but in Edelweiss, no--unless they come to
pay most honourable court to them. My uncle would not understand."

"I take it, however, that you would understand," he said boldly.

"I have lived in Vienna, in Paris and in London. But now I am living in
Edelweiss. I have not been a shopgirl always."

"I can believe that. My deductions are justified."

"Pray forgive me for offering this bit of advice. A word to the wise.
My uncle would close the door in your face if--if he thought--"

"I see. Well, I'll buy the blooming sword. Anyhow, that's what I came in
for."

"No. You came in because I smiled at you from the window upstairs. It is
my sitting-room."

"Why did you smile? Tell me?" eagerly.

"It was nature asserting itself."

"You mean you just couldn't help it?"

"That's precisely what I mean."

"Not very complimentary, I'd say."

"A smile is ever a compliment, sir."

"I say, do you know you interest me?" he began warmly, but she put her
finger to her lips.

"My uncle is returning. I must not talk to you any longer." She glanced
uneasily out upon the square, and then hurriedly added, a certain
wistfulness in her voice and eyes. "I couldn't help it to-day. I forgot
my place. But you are the first gentleman I've spoken to since I came
here."

"I--I was afraid you might think I am not a gentleman. I've been rather
fresh."

"I happen to have known many gentlemen. Before I went into--service, of
course." She turned away abruptly, a sudden shadow crossing her face.
Truxton King exulted. At last he was touching the long-sought trail of
the Golden Girl! Here was Romance! Here was mystery!

Spantz was crossing the sidewalk. The American leaned forward and
half-whispered: "Just watch me buy that broadsword. I may, in time, buy
out the shop, piece by piece."

She smiled swiftly. "Let me warn you: don't pay his price."

"Thanks."

When Spantz entered the door, a moment later, the girl was gazing
listlessly from the window and Truxton King was leaning against the
counter with his back toward her, his arms folded and a most impatient
frown on his face.

"Hello!" he said gruffly. "I've been waiting ten minutes for you."

Spantz's black eyes shot from one to the other. "What do you want?" he
demanded sharply. As he dropped his hat upon a stool near, the door, his
glance again darted from the man to the girl and back again.

"The broadsword. And, say, Mr. Spantz, you might assume a different tone
in addressing me. I'm a customer, not a beggar."

The girl left the window and walked slowly to the rear of the shop,
passing through the narrow door, without so much as a glance at King or
the old man. Spantz was silent until she was gone.

"You want the broadsword, eh?" he asked, moderating his tone
considerably. "It's a rare old--"

"I'll give you a hundred dollars-not another cent," interrupted King,
riot yet over his resentment. There followed a long and irritating
argument, at the conclusion of which Mr. King became the possessor of
the weapon at his own price. Remembering himself in time, he fell to
admiring some old rings and bracelets in a cabinet near by, thus paving
the way for future visits.

"I'll come in again," he said indifferently.

"But you are leaving to-morrow, sir."

"I've changed my mind."

"You are not going?"

"Not for a few days."

"Then you have discovered something in Edelweiss to attract you?"
grinned the old armourer. "I thought you might."

"I've had a glimpse of the swells, my good friend."

"It's all the good you'll get of it," said Spantz gruffly.

"I daresay you're right. Clean that sword up a bit for me, and I'll drop
in to-morrow and get it. Here's sixty gavvos to bind the bargain. The
rest on delivery. Good day, Mr. Spantz."

"Good day, Mr. King."

"How do you happen to know my name?"

Spantz put his hand over his heart and delivered himself of a most
impressive bow. "When so distinguished a visitor comes to our little
city," he said, "we lose no time in discovering his name. It is a part
of our trade, sir, believe me."

"I'm not so sure that I do believe you," said Truxton King to himself as
he sauntered up the street toward the Hotel. "The girl knew me, too, now
that I come to think of it. Heigho! By Jove, I _do_ hope I can work up a
little something to interest--Hello!"

Mr. Hobbs, from Cook's, was at his elbow, his eyes glistening with
eagerness.

"I say, old Dangloss is waiting for you at the Regengetz, sir. Wot's up?
Wot you been up to, sir?"

"Up to? Up to, Hobbs?"

"My word, sir, you must have been or he wouldn't be there to see you."

"Who is Dangloss?"

"Minister of Police--haven't I told you? He's a keen one, too, take my
word for it. He's got Sherlock beat a mile."

"So have I, Hobbs. I'm not slow at Sherlocking, let me tell you that.
How do you know he's waiting to see me?"

"I heard him ask for you. And I was there just now when one of his men
came in and told him you were on your way up from the gunshop down
there."

"So they're watching me, eh? 'Gad, this is fine!"

He lost no time in getting to the hotel. A well-remembered,
fierce-looking little man in a white linen suit was waiting for him on
the great piazza.

Baron Jasto Dangloss was a polite man but not to the point of
procrastination. He advanced to meet the puzzled American, smiling
amiably and twirling his imposing mustachios with neatly gloved fingers.

"I have called, Mr. King, to have a little chat with you about your
father," he said abruptly. He enjoyed the look of surprise on the young
man's face.

"My father?" murmured Truxton, catching his breath. He was shaking hands
with the Baron, all the while staring blankly into his twinkling,
snapping eyes.

"Won't you join me at this table? A julep will not be bad, eh?" King sat
down opposite to him at one of the piazza tables, in the shade of the
great trailing vines.

"Fine," was his only comment.

A waiter took the order and departed. The Baron produced his cigarette
case. King carefully selected one and tapped its tip on the back of his
hand.

"Is--has anything happened to my father?" he asked quietly. "Bad news?"

"On the contrary, sir, he is quite well. I had a cablegram from him
to-day."

"A cablegram?"

"Yes. I cabled day before yesterday to ask if he could tell me the
whereabouts of his son."

"The deuce you say!"

"He replies that you are in Teheran."

"What is the meaning of this, Baron?"

"It is a habit I have. I make it a practice to keep in touch with the
movements of our guests."

"I see. You want to know all about me; why I'm here, where I came from,
and all that. Well, I'm ready for the 'sweat box.'"

"Pray do not take offence. It is my rule. It would not be altered if the
King of England came. Ah, here are the juleps. Quick service, eh?"

"Remarkably so, due to your powers of persuasion, I fancy."

"I really ordered them a few minutes before you arrived. You see, I was
quite certain you'd have one. You take one about this hour every day."

"By Jove, you have been watching me!" cried Truxton delightedly.

"What are you doing in Edelweiss, Mr. King?" asked the Baron abruptly
but not peremptorily.

"Sight-seeing and in search of adventure," was the prompt response.

"I fancied as much. You've seen quite a bit of the world since you left
home two years ago, on the twenty-seventh of September."

"By Jove!"

"Been to South Africa, Asia and--South America--to say nothing of
Europe. That must have been an exciting little episode in South
America."

"You don't mean to say--"

"Oh, I know all about your participation in the revolution down there.
You were a captain, I understand, during the three weeks of disturbance.
Splendid! For the fun of the thing, I suppose. Well, I like it in you. I
should have done it myself. And you got out of the country just in time,
if I remember rightly. There was a price placed on your head by the
distressed government. I imagine they would have shot you if they could
have caught you--as they did the others." The old man chuckled. "You
don't expect to return to South America, do you? The price is still
offered, you know."

King was glaring at him in sheer wonder. Here was an episode in his life
that he fondly hoped might never come to light; he knew how it would
disturb his mother. And this foxy old fellow away off here in Graustark
knew all about it.

"Well, you're a wonder!" in pure admiration.

"An appreciated compliment, I assure you. This is all in the way of
letting you know that we have found out something concerning your
movements. Now, to come down to the present. You expected to leave
to-morrow. Why are you staying over?"

"Baron, I leave that to your own distinguished powers of deduction,"
said Truxton gently. He took a long pull at the straw, watching the
other's face as he did so. The Baron smiled.

"You have found the young lady to be very attractive," observed the
Baron. "Where have you known her before?"

"I beg pardon?"

"It is not unusual for a young man in search of adventure to follow the
lady of his choice from place to place. She came but recently, I
recall."

"You think I knew her before and followed her to Edelweiss?"

"I am not quite sure whether you have been in Warsaw lately. There is a
gap in your movements that I can't account for."

King became serious at once. He saw that it was best to be frank with
this keen old man.

"Baron Dangloss, I don't know just what you are driving at, but I'll
set you straight so far as I'm concerned. I never saw that girl until
the day before yesterday. I never spoke to her until to-day."

"She smiled on you quite familiarly from her window casement
_yesterday_," said Dangloss coolly.

"She laughed at me, to be perfectly candid. But what's all this about?
Who is she? What's the game? I don't mind confessing that I have a
feeling she is not what she claims to be, but that's as far as I've
got."

Dangloss studied the young man's face for a moment and then came to a
sudden decision. He leaned forward and smiled sourly.

"Take my advice: do not play with fire," he said enigmatically.

"You--you mean she's a dangerous person? I can't believe that, Baron."

"She has dangerous friends out in the world. I don't mean to say she
will cause you any trouble here--but there is a hereafter. Mind you, I'm
not saying she isn't a good girl, or even an adventuress. On the
contrary, she comes of an excellent family--in fact, there were noblemen
among them a generation or two ago. You know her name?"

"No. I say, this is getting interesting!" He was beaming.

"She is Olga Platanova. Her mother was married in this city twenty-five
years ago to Professor Platanova of Warsaw. The Professor was executed
last year for conspiracy. He was one of the leaders of a great
revolutionary movement in Poland. They were virtually anarchists, as you
have come to place them in America. This girl, Olga, was his secretary.
His death almost killed her. But that is not all. She had a sweetheart
up to fifteen months ago. He was a prince of the royal blood. He would
have married her in spite of the difference in their stations had it not
been for the intervention of the Crown that she and her kind hate so
well. The young man's powerful relatives took a hand in the affair. He
was compelled to marry a scrawny little duchess, and Olga was warned
that if she attempted to entice him away from his wife she would be
punished. She did not attempt it, because she is a virtuous girl--of
that I am sure. But she hates them all--oh, how she hates them! Her
uncle, Spantz, offered her a home. She came here a month ago,
broken-spirited and sick. So far, she has been exceedingly respectful to
our laws. It is not that we fear anything from her; but that we are
obliged to watch her for the benefit of our big brothers across the
border. Now you know why I advised you to let the fire alone."

King was silent for a moment, turning something over in his head.

"Baron, are you sure that she is a Red?"

"Quite. She attended their councils."

"She doesn't look it, 'pon my word. I thought they were the scum of the
earth."

"The kind you have in America are. But over here--oh, well, we never can
tell."

"I don't mind saying she interests me. She's pretty--and I have an idea
she's clever. Baron, let me understand you. Do you mean that this is a
polite way of commanding me to have nothing to do with her?"

"You put it broadly. In the first place, I am quite sure she will have
nothing to do with you. She loved the husband of the scrawny duchess.
_You_, my good friend, handsome as you are, cannot interest her, believe
me."

"I daresay you're right," glumly.

"I am merely warning you. Young men of your age and temperament
sometimes let their fancies lead them into desperate predicaments. I've
no doubt you can take care of yourself, but--" he paused, as if very
much in doubt.

"I'm much obliged. And I'll keep my eyes well opened. I suppose there's
no harm in my going to the shop to look at a lot of rings and
knick-knacks he has for sale?"

"Not in the least. Confine yourself to knick-knacks, that's all."

"Isn't Spantz above suspicion?"

"No one is in my little world. By the way, I am very fond of your
father. He is a most excellent gentleman and a splendid shot."

Truxton stared harder than ever. "What's that?"

"I know him quite well. Hunted wild boars with him five years ago in
Germany. And your sister! She was a beautiful young girl. They were at
Carlsbad at the time. Was she quite well when you last heard?"

"She was," was all that the wondering brother could say.

"Well, come in and see me at the tower. I am there in the mornings. Come
as a caller, not as a prisoner, that's all." The Baron cackled at his
little jest. "_Au revoir!_ Till we meet again." They were shaking hands
in the friendliest manner. "Oh, by the way, you were good enough to
change your mind to-day about the personal attractiveness of our ladies.
Permit me to observe, in return, that not a few of our most
distinguished beauties were good enough to make inquiries as to your
identity."

He left the American standing at the head of the steps, gazing after his
retreating figure with a look of admiration in his eyes.

Truxton fared forth into the streets that night with a greater zest in
life than he had ever known before. Some thing whispered insistently to
his fancy that dreariness was a thing of the past; he did not have to
whistle to keep up his spirits. They were soaring of their own accord.

He did not know, however, that a person from the secret service was
watching his every movement. Nor, on the other hand, is it at all likely
that the secret service operative was aware that he was not the only
shadower of the blithe young stranger.

A man with a limp cigarette between his lips was never far from the side
of the American--a man who had stopped to pass the time of day with
William Spantz, and who, from that hour was not to let the young man out
of his sight until another relieved him of the task.




CHAPTER IV

TRUXTON TRESPASSES


He went to bed that night, tired and happy. To his revived spirits and
his new attitude toward life in its present state, the city had suddenly
turned gay and vivacious. Twice during the evening he passed Spantz's
shop. It was dark, upstairs and down. He wondered if the unhappy Olga
was looking at him from behind the darkened shutters. But even if she
were not--la, la! He was having a good time! He was gay! He was seeing
pretty women in the cafés and the gardens! Well, well, he would see her
to-morrow--after that he would give proper heed to the Baron's warning!
An anarchist's daughter!

He slept well, too, with never a thought of the Saturday express which
he had lain awake on other nights to lament and anathematise. Bright and
early in the morning he was astir. Somehow he felt he had been sleeping
too much of late.

There was a sparkle in his eyes as he struck out across town after
breakfast. He burst in upon Mr. Hobbs at Cook's.

"Say, Hobbs, how about the Castle to-day--in an hour, say? Can you take
a party of one rubbernecking this A.M.? I like you, Hobbs. You are the
best interpreter of English I've ever seen. I can't help understanding
you, no matter how hard I try not to. I want you to get me into the
Castle grounds to-day and show me where the duchesses dawdle and the
countesses cavort. I'm ashamed to say it, Hobbs, but since yesterday
I've quite lost interest in the middle classes and the component parts
thereof. I have suddenly acquired a thirst for champagne--in other
words, I have a hankering for the nobility. Catch the idea? Good! Then
you'll guide me into the land of the fairies? At ten?"

"I'll take you to the Castle grounds, Mr. King, all right enough, sir,
and I'll tell you all the things of interest, but I'll be 'anged, sir,
if I've got the blooming nerve to introduce you to the first ladies of
the land. That's more than I can ever 'ope to do, sir, and--"

"Lord bless you, Hobbs, don't look so depressed. I don't ask you to
present me at court. I just want to look at the lilacs and the
gargoyles. That's as far as I expect to carry my invasion of the dream
world."

"Of course, sir, you understand there are certain parts of the Park not
open to the public. The grotto and the playgrounds and the Basin of
Venus--"

"I'll not trespass, so don't fidget, Hobbs. I'll be here for you at
ten."

Mr. Hobbs looked after the vigorous, happy figure as it swung down the
street, and shook his head mournfully. Turning to the solitary clerk who
dawdled behind the cashier's desk he remarked with more feeling than was
his wont:

"He's just the kind of chap to get me into no end of trouble if I give
'im rope enough. Take it from me, Stokes, I'll have my hands full of 'im
up there this morning. He's charged like a soda bottle; and you never
know wot's going to happen unless you handle a soda bottle very
careful-like."

Truxton hurried to the square and across it to the shop of the armourer,
not forgetting, however, to look about in some anxiety for the excellent
Dangloss, who might, for all he knew, be snooping in the neighbourhood.
Spantz was at the rear of the shop, talking to a customer. The girl was
behind the counter, dressed for the street.

She came quickly out to him, a disturbed expression in her face. As he
doffed his hat, the smile left his lips; he saw that she had been
weeping.

"You must not come here, Mr. King," she said hurriedly, in low tones.
"Take your broadsword this morning and--please, for my sake, do not come
again. I--I may not explain why I am asking you to do this, but I mean
it for your good, more than for my own. My uncle will be out in a
moment. He knows you are here. He is listening now to catch what I am
saying to you. Smile, please, or he will suspect--"

"See here," demanded King, smiling, but very much in earnest, "what's
up? You've been crying. What's he been doing or saying to you? I'll give
him a--"

"No, no! Be sensible! It is nothing in which you could possibly take a
hand. I don't know you, Mr. King, but I am in earnest when I say that it
is not safe for you to come here, ostensibly to buy. It is too easily
seen through--it is--"

"Just a minute, please," he interrupted. "I've heard your story from
Baron Dangloss. It has appealed to me. You are not happy. Are you in
trouble? Do you need friends, Miss Platanova?"

"It is because you would be a friend that I ask you to stay away. You
cannot be my friend. Pray do not consider me bold for assuming so much.
But I know--I know _men_, Mr. King. The Baron has told you all about
me?" She smiled sadly. "Alas, he has only told you what he knows. But it
should be sufficient. There is no place in my life for you or any one
else. There never can be. So, you see, you may not develop your romance
with me as the foundation. Oh, I've heard of your quest of adventure. I
like you for it. I had an imagination myself, once on a time. I loved
the fairy books and the love tales. But not now-not now. There is no
romance for me. Nothing but grave reality. Do not question me! I can say
no more. Now I must be gone. I--I have warned you. Do not come again!"

"Thanks, for the warning," he said quietly. "But I expect to come in
occasionally, just the same. You've taken the wrong tack by trying to
frighten me off. You see, Miss Platanova, I'm actually looking for
something dangerous--if that's what you mean."

"That isn't all, believe me," she pleaded. "You can gain nothing by
coming. You know who I am. I cannot be a friend--not even an
acquaintance to you, Mr. King. Good-bye! Please do not come again!"

She slipped into the street and was gone. King stood in the doorway,
looking after her, a puzzled gleam in his eyes. Old Spantz was coming up
from the rear, followed by his customer.

"Queer," thought the American. "She's changed her tactics rather
suddenly. Smiled at me in the beginning and now cries a bit because I'm
trying to return the compliment. Well, by the Lord Harry, she shan't
scare me off like--Hello, Mr. Spantz! Good morning! I'm here for the
sword."

The old man glared at him in unmistakable displeasure. Truxton began
counting out his money. The customer, a swarthy fellow, passed out of
the door, turning to glance intently at the young man. A meaning look
and a sly nod passed between him and Spantz. The man halted at the
corner below and, later on, followed King to Cook's office, afterward to
the Castle gates, outside of which he waited until his quarry
reappeared. Until King went to bed late that night this swarthy fellow
was close at his heels, always keeping well out of sight himself.

"I'll come in soon to look at those rings," said King, placing the notes
on the counter. Spantz merely nodded, raked in the bills without
counting them, and passed the sword over to the purchaser.

"Very good, sir," he growled after a moment.

"I hate to carry this awful thing through the streets," said King,
looking at the huge weapon with despairing eye. Inwardly, he was cursing
himself for his extravagance and cupidity.

"It belongs to you, my friend. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," said Truxton, smiling indulgently. With that he picked
up the weapon and stalked away.

A few minutes later he was on his way to the Castle grounds, accompanied
by the short-legged Mr. Hobbs, who, from time to time, was forced to
remove his tight-fitting cap to mop a hot, exasperated brow, so swift
was the pace set by long-legs. The broadsword reposed calmly on a desk
under the nose of a properly impressed young person named Stokes,
cashier.

Hobbs led him through the great Park gates and up to the lodge of Jacob
Fraasch, the venerable high steward of the grounds. Here, to King's utter
disgust, he was booked as a plain Cook's tourist and mechanically
advised to pay strict attention to the rules which would be explained to
him by the guide.

"Cook's tourist, eh?" muttered King wrathfully as they ambled down the
shady path together. He looked with disparaging eye upon the plain
little chap beside him.

"It's no disgrace," growled Hobbs, redder than ever. "You're inside the
grounds and you've got to obey the rules, same as any tourist. Right
this way, sir; we'll take a turn just inside the wall. Now, on your
left, ladies and--ahem!--I should say--ahem!--sir, you may see the
first turret ever built on the wall. It is over four hundred years old.
On the right, we have--"

"See here, Hobbs," said King, stopping short, "I'm damned if I'll let
you lecture me as if I were a gang of hayseeds from Oklahoma."

"Very good, sir. No offence. I quite forgot, sir."

"Just _tell_ me--don't lecture."

For three-quarters of an hour they wandered through the spacious
grounds, never drawing closer to the Castle than permitted by the
restrictions; always coming up to the broad driveway which marked the
border line, never passing it. The gorgeous beauty of this historic old
park, so full of traditions and the lore of centuries, wrought strange
fancies and bold inclinations in the head of the audacious visitor. He
felt the bonds of restraint; he resented the irksome chains of
convention; he murmured against the laws that said he should not step
across the granite road into the cool forbidden world beyond--the world
of kings. Hobbs knew he was doomed to have rebellion on his hands before
long; he could see it coming.

"When we've seen the royal stables, we'll have seen everything of any
consequence," he hastened to say. "Then we'll leave by the upper gates
and--"

"Hobbs, this is all very beautiful and very grand and very slow," said
King, stopping to lean against the moss-covered wall that encircled the
park within a park: the grounds adjoining the grotto. "Can't I hop over
this wall and take a peep into the grotto?"

"By no means," cried Hobbs, horrified. "That, sir, is the most
proscribed spot, next to the Castle itself. You _can't_ go in there."

King looked over the low wall. The prospect was alluring. The pool, the
trickling rivulets, the mossy banks, the dense shadows: it was maddening
to think he could not enter!

"I wouldn't be in there a minute," he argued. "And I might catch a
glimpse of a dream-lady. Now, I say, Hobbs, here's a low place. I could
jump--"

"Mr. King, if you do that I am ruined forever. I am trusted by the
steward. He would cut off all my privileges--" Hobbs could go no
further. He was prematurely aghast. Something told him that Mr. King
would hop over the wall.

"Just this once, Hobbs," pleaded his charge. "No one will know."

"For the love of Moses, sir, I--" Hobbs began to wail. Then he groaned
in dismal horror. King had lightly vaulted the wall and was grinning
back at him from the sacred precincts--from the playground of
princesses.

"Go and report me, Hobbs, there's a good fellow. Tell the guards I
wouldn't obey. That will let you out, my boy, and I'll do the rest. For
Heaven's sake, Hobbs, don't burst! You'll explode sure if you hold in
like that much longer. I'll be back in a minute."

He strode off across the bright green turf toward the source of all this
enchantment, leaving poor Mr. Hobbs braced against the wall, weak-kneed
and helpless. If he heard the frantic, though subdued, whistles and the
agonized "hi!" of the man from Cook's a minute or two later, he gave no
heed to the warning. A glimpse behind might have shown him the error of
his ways, reflected in the disappearance of Hobbs's head below the top
of the wall. But he was looking ahead, drinking in the forbidden
beauties of this fascinating little nook of nature.

Never in all his wanderings had he looked upon a more inviting spot than
this. He came to the edge of the deep blue pool, above which could be
seen the entrance to the Grotto. Little rivulets danced down through the
crannies in the rocks and leaped joyously into the tree-shaded pool.
Below and to the right were the famed Basins of Venus, shimmering in the
sunlight, flanked by trees and banks of the softest green. On their
surface swam the great black swans he had heard so much about. Through a
wide rift in the trees he could see the great, grey Castle, half a mile
away, towering against the dense greens of the nearby mountain. The
picture took his breath away. He forgot Hobbs. He forgot that he was;
trespassing. Here, at last, was the Graustark he had seen in his dreams,
had come to feel in his imagination.

Regardless of surroundings or consequences, he sat down upon the nearest
stone bench, and removed his hat. He was hot and tired and the air was
cool. He would drink it in as if it were an ambrosial nectar in--and,
moreover, he would also enjoy a cigarette. Carefully he refrained from
throwing the burnt-out match into the pool below: even such as he could
feel that it might be desecration. As he leaned back with a sigh of
exquisite ease and a splendid exhalation of Turkish smoke, a small,
imperious voice from somewhere behind broke in upon his primary
reflections.

"What are you doing in here?" demanded the voice.

Truxton, conscious of guilt, whirled with as much consternation as if he
had been accosted by a voice of thunder. He beheld a very small boy
standing at the top of the knoll above him, not thirty feet away. His
face was quite as dirty as any small boy's should be at that time of
day, and his curly brown hair looked as if it had not been combed since
the day before. His firm little legs, in half hose and presumably white
knickers, were spread apart and his hands were in his pockets.

King recognised him at once, and looked about uneasily for the
attendants whom he knew should be near. It is safe to say that he came
to his feet and bowed deeply, even in humility.

"I am resting, your Highness," he said meekly.

"Don't you know any better than to come in here?" demanded the Prince.
Truxton turned very red.

"I am sorry. I'll go at once."

"Oh, I'm not going to put you out," hastily exclaimed the Prince, coming
down the slope. "But you are old enough to know better. The guards might
shoot you if they caught you here." He came quite close to the
trespasser. King saw the scratch on his nose. "Oh, I know you now. You
are the gentleman who picked up my crop yesterday. You are an American."
A friendly smile illumined his face.

"Yes, a lonely American," with an attempt at the pathetic.

"Where's your home at?"

"New York. Quite a distance from here."

"You ever been in Central Park?"

"A thousand times. It isn't as nice as this one."

"It's got amilies--no, I don't mean that," supplemented the Prince,
flushing painfully. "I mean--an-i-muls," very deliberately. "Our park
has no elephunts or taggers. When I get big I'm going to set out a few
in the park. They'll grow, all right."

"I've shot elephants and tigers in the jungle," said Truxton. "I tell
you they're no fun when they get after you, wild. If I were you I'd set
'em out in cages."

"P'raps I will." The Prince seemed very thoughtful.

"Won't you sit down, your Highness?"

The youngster looked cautiously about. "Say, do you ever go fishing?" he
demanded eagerly.

"Occasionally."

"You won't give me away, will you?" with a warning frown. "Don't you
tell Jacob Fraasch. He's the steward. I--I know a fine place to fish.
Would you mind coming along? Look out, please! You're awful big and
they'll see you. I don't know what they'd do to us if they ketched us.
It would be dreadful. Would you mind sneaking, mister? Make yourself
little. Right up this way."

The Prince led the way up the bank, followed by the amused American, who
stooped so admirably that the boy, looking back, whispered that it was
"just fine." At the top of the knoll, the Prince turned into a little
shrub-lined path leading down to the banks of the pool almost directly
below the rocky face of the grotto.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered to his new friend. "It ain't very deep,
if you should slip in. But you'd scare the fish away. Gee, it's a great
place to catch 'em. They're all red, too. D'you ever see red fish?"

Truxton started. This was no place for him! The Prince had a right to
poach on his own preserves, but a grown man to be caught in the act of
landing the royal goldfish was not to be thought of. He hung back.

"I'm afraid I won't have time, your Highness. A friend is waiting for me
back there. He--"

"It's right here," pleaded the Prince. "Please stop a moment. I--I don't
know how to put the bait on the pin. I just want to catch a couple. They
won't bite unless there's worms on the hook. I tried 'em. Look at 'em!
Goodness, there's lots of 'em. Nobody can see us here. Please, mister,
fix a worm for me."

The man sat down behind a bush and laughed joyously. The eager,
appealing look in the lad's eyes went to his heart. What was a goldfish
or two? A fish has no feeling--not even a goldfish. There was no
resisting the boyish eagerness.

"Why, you're a real boy, after all. I thought being a prince might have
spoiled you," he said.

"Uncle Jack says I can always be a prince, but I'll soon get over being
a boy," said Prince Bobby sagely. "You _will_ fix it, won't you?"

King nodded, conscienceless now. The Prince scurried behind a big rock
and reappeared at once with a willow branch from the end of which
dangled a piece of thread. A bent pin occupied the chief end in view. He
unceremoniously shoved the branch into the hands of his confederate, and
then produced from one of his pockets a silver cigarette box, which he
gingerly opened to reveal to the gaze a conglomerate mass of angle worms
and grubs.

"A fellow gets awful dirty digging for worms, doesn't he?" he
pronounced.

"I should say so," agreed the big boy. "Whose cigarette case is this?"

"Uncle Caspar's--I mean Count Halfont's. He's got another, so he won't
miss this one. I'm going to leave some worms in it when I put it back in
his desk. He'll think the fairies did it. Do you believe in fairies?"

"Certainly, Peter," said Truxton, engaged in impaling a stubborn worm.

"My name isn't Peter," said the Prince coldly.

"I was thinking of Peter Pan. Ever hear of him?"

"No. Say, you mustn't talk or you'll scare 'em away. Is it fixed?" He
took the branch and gingerly dropped the hook into the dancing pool. In
less time than it requires to tell it he had a nibble, a bite and a
catch. There never was a boy so excited as he when the scarlet nibbler
flew into the shrubbery above; he gasped with glee. Truxton recovered
the catch from the bushes and coolly detached the truculent pin.

"I'll have 'em for dinner," announced the Prince.

"Are you going to catch a mess?" queried the man, appalled.

"Sure," said Bobby, casting again with a resolute splash.

"Are you not afraid they'll get onto you if you take them to the
Castle?" asked the other diplomatically. "Goldfish are a dead
give-away."

"Nobody will scold 'cept Uncle Jack, and he won't know about it. He's
prob'ly gone away by this time." King noticed that his lip trembled
suddenly.

"Gone away?"

"Yes. He was banished this morning right after breakfast." The
announcement began with a tremor but ended with imperial firmness.

"Great Scott!" gasped the other, genuinely shocked.

"I banished him," said the Prince ruefully. "But," with a fine smile, "I
don't think he'll go. He never does. See my sign up there?" He pointed
to the rocks near the grotto. "I did it with Hugo's shoe blacking."

A placard containing the important announcement, "NO FISHING ALOUD"
stared down at the poachers from a tree trunk above. There was nothing
very peremptory in its appearance, but its designer was sufficiently
impressed by the craftiness it contained.

"I put it up so's people wouldn't think anybody--not even me--would dare
to fish here. Oh, look!" The second of his ruddy mess was flopping in
the grass. Again Truxton thought of Mr. Hobbs, this time with anxious
glances in all directions.

"Where do they think you are, your Highness?"

"Out walking with my aunt. Only she met Count Vos Engo, and while they
were talking I made a sneak--I mean, I stole away."

"Then they'll be searching for you in all parts of the--" began Truxton,
coming to his feet. "I really must be going. Please excuse me, your--"

"Oh, don't go! I'll not let 'em do anything to you," said the Prince
staunchly. "I like Americans better than anybody else," he went on with
deft persuasiveness. "They ain't--aren't afraid of anything. They're not
cowards."

Truxton sat down at once. He could not turn tail in the face of such an
exalted opinion.

"I'm not supposed to ever go out alone," went on the Prince
confidentially. "You see, they're going to blow me up if they get a
chance."

"Blow you up?"

"Haven't you heard about it? With dynamite bums--bombs. Yes, sir! That's
the way they do to all princes." He was quite unconcerned. Truxton's
look of horror diminished. No doubt it was a subterfuge employed to
secure princely obedience, very much as the common little boy is brought
to time by mention of the ubiquitous bogie man.

"That's too bad," commiserated Truxton, baiting the pin once more.

"It's old Count Marlanx. He's going to blow me up. He hated my mother
and my father, so I guess he hates me. He's turrible, Uncle Caspar
says."

King was very thoughtful for a moment. Something vivid yet fleeting had
shot through his brain--something that he tried to catch and analyse,
but it was gone before he could grasp its significance. He looked with
new interest upon this serene, lovable little chap, who was growing up,
like all princes, in the shadow of disaster.

Suddenly the fisherman's quick little ears caught a sound that caused
him to reveal a no-uncertain agitation. He dropped his rod incontinently
and crawled to the opening in the shrubbery, peering with alarmed eyes
down the path along the bank.

"What is it? A dynamiter?" demanded Truxton uneasily.

"Worse'n that," whispered his royal Highness. "It's Aunt Loraine. Gee!"
To King's utter dismay, the Prince scuttled for the underbrush.

"Here!" he called in consternation. The Prince stopped, shamefaced on
the instant. "I thought you were going to protect me."

"I shall," affirmed Bobby, manfully resuming his ground. "She's coming
up the path. Don't run," he exclaimed scornfully, as Truxton started for
the rocks. "She can't hurt you. She's only a girl."

"All right. I won't run," said the big culprit, who wished he had the
power to fly.

"And there's Saffo and Cors over there watching us, too. We're caught.
I'm sorry, mister."

On the opposite bank of the pool stood two rigid members of the Royal
Guard, intently watching the fishers. King was somewhat disturbed by the
fact that their rifles were in a position to be used at an instant's
notice. He felt himself turning pale as he thought of what might have
happened if he had taken to flight.

A young lady in a rajah silk gown, a flimsy panama hat tilted well over
her nose, with a red feather that stood erect as if always in a state of
surprise, turned the bushes and came to a stop almost at King's elbow.
He had time to note, in his confusion, that she was about shoulder-high
alongside him, and that she was staring up into his face with amazed
grey eyes. Afterward he was to realise that she was amazingly pretty,
that her teeth were very white and even, that her eyes were the most
beautiful and expressive he had ever seen, that she was slender and
imperious, and that there were dimples in her checks so fascinating that
he could not gather sufficient strength of purpose to withdraw his gaze
from them. Of course, he did not see them at the outset: she was not
smiling, so how could he?

The Prince came to the rescue. "This is my Aunt Loraine, Mr.--Mr.--" he
swallowed hard and looked helpless.

"King," supplied Truxton, "Truxton King, your Highness." Then with all
the courage he could produce, he said to the beautiful lady: "I'm as
guilty as he. See!" He pointed ruefully to the four goldfish, which he
had strung upon wire grass and dropped into the edge of the pool.

She did not smile. Indeed, she gave him a very severe look. "How cruel!"
she murmured. "Bobby, you deserve a sound spanking. You are a very
naughty little boy." She spoke rapidly in French.

"He put the bait on," said Bobby, also in French. Here was treachery!

Truxton delivered himself of some French. "Oh, I say, your Highness, you
said you'd pardon me if I were caught."

"I can't pardon you until you are found guilty," said the Prince in
English.

"Please put those poor little things back in the pool, Mr. King," said
the lady in perfect English.

"Gladly--with the Prince's permission," said King, also in English. The
Prince looked glum, but interposed no imperial objection. Instead he
suddenly shoved the cigarette box under the nose of his dainty relative,
who at that unpropitious instant stooped over to watch King's awkward
attempt to release the fishes.

"Look at the worms," said the Prince engagingly, opening the box with a
snap.

"Oh!" cried the young lady, starting back. "Throw them away! the horned
things!"

"Oh, they can't bite," scoffed the Prince. "See! I'm not afraid of 'em.
Look at this one." He held up a wriggler and she fled to the rock. She
happened to glance at Truxton's averted face and was conscious of a
broad grin; whereupon she laughed in the quick staccato of
embarrassment.

It must be confessed that King's composure was sorely disturbed. In the
first place, he had been caught in a most reprehensible act, and in the
second place, he was not quite sure that the Prince could save him from
ignominious expulsion under the very eyes--and perhaps direction--of
this trim and attractive member of the royal household. He found himself
blundering foolishly with the fishes and wondering whether she was a
duchess or just a plain countess. Even a regal personage might jump at
the sight of angle worms, he reflected.

He glanced up, to find her studying him, plainly perplexed.

"I just wondered in here," he began guiltily. "The Prince captured me
down there by the big tree."

"Did you say your name is Truxton King?" she asked somewhat sceptically.

"Yes, your--yes, ma'am," he replied. "Of New York."

"Your father is Mr. Emerson King? Are you the brother of Adele King?"

Truxton stared. "Have you been interviewing the police?" he asked before
he thought.

"The police? What have you been doing?" she cried, her eyes narrowing.

"Most everything. The police know all about me. I'm a spotted character.
I thought perhaps they had told you about me."

"I asked if you were Adele's brother."

"I am."

"I've heard her speak of her brother Truxton. She said you were in South
America."

He stared the harder. Could he believe his ears?

She was regarding him with cool, speculative interest. "I wonder if you
are he?"

"I think I am," he said, but doubtfully. "Please pardon my amazement.
Perhaps I'm dreaming. At any rate, I'm dazed."

"We were in the convent together for two years. Now that I observe you
closely, you _do_ resemble her. We were very good friends, she and I."

"Then you'll intercede for me?" he urged, with a fervent glance in the
direction of the wall.

She smiled joyously. He realised then and there that he had never seen
such beautiful teeth, nor any creature so radiantly beautiful, for that
matter.

"More than that," she said, "I shall assist you to escape. Come!"

He followed her through the shrubbery, his heart pounding violently. The
Prince, who trotted on ahead, had mentioned a Count. Was she married?
Was she of the royal blood? What extraordinary fate had made her the
friend of his sister? He looked back and saw the two guardsmen crossing
the bridge below, their eyes still upon him.

"It's very good of you," he said. She glanced back at him, a quaint
smile in her eyes.

"For Adele's sake, if you please. Trespassing is a very serious offence
here. How did you get in?"

"I hopped in, over the wall."

"I'd suggest that you do not hop out again. Hopping over the walls is
not looked upon with favour by the guards."

He recalled the distressed Mr. Hobbs. "The man from Cook's tried to
restrain me," he said in proper spirit. "He was very much upset."

"I dare say. You are a Cook's tourist, I see. How very interesting!
Bobby, Uncle Jack is waiting to take you to see the trained dogs at the
eastern gate."

The Prince gave a whoop of joy, but instantly regained his dignity.

"I can't go, auntie, until I've seen him safe outside the walls," he
said firmly. "I said I would."

They came to the little gate and passed through, into a winding path
that soon brought them to a wide, main-travelled avenue. A light broke
in upon Truxton's mind. He had it! This was the wonderful Countess
Marlanx! No sooner had he come to that decision than he was forced to
abandon it. The Countess's name was Ingomede and she already had been
pointed out to him.

"I suppose I shall have to recall Uncle Jack from exile," he heard the
Prince saying to the beautiful lady. Truxton decided that she was not
more than twenty-two. But they married very young in these queer old
countries--especially if they happened to be princes or princesses. He
wanted to talk, to ask questions, to proclaim his wonder, but discreetly
resolved that it was best to hold his tongue. He was by no means sure of
himself.

Be that as it may, he was filled with a strange rejoicing. Here was a
woman with whom he was as sure to fall in love as he was sure that the
sun shone. He liked the thought of it. Now he appreciated the
distinction between the Olga Platanova type and that which represented
the blood of kings. There _was_ a difference! Here was the true
Patrician!

The Castle suddenly loomed up before them--grey and frowning, not more
than three hundred yards away. He was possessed of a wild desire to walk
straight into the grim old place and proclaim himself the feudal owner,
seizing everything as his own--particularly the young woman in the rajah
silk. People were strolling in the shady grounds. He felt the instant
infection of happy indolence, the call to luxury. Men in gay uniforms
and men in cool flannels; women in the prettiest and daintiest of
frocks--all basking in the playtime of life, unmindful of the toil that
fell to the Sons of Martha out in the sordid world.

"Do you think you can find your man from Cook's?" she asked.

"Unless he has gone and jumped into the river, your--madam. In any
event, I think I may safely find my way out. I shall not trouble you to
go any farther. Thank you for overlooking my indiscretion. Thank you, my
dear little Prince, for the happiest experience of my life. I shall
never forget this hour." He looked boldly into her eyes, and not at the
Prince. "Have you ever been in New York?" he asked abruptly.

He was not at all sure whether the look she gave him was one of
astonishment or resentment. At any rate, it was a quick glance, followed
by the palpable suppression of words that first came to her lips, and
the substitution of a very polite:

"Yes, and I love it." He beamed. The smile that came into her eyes
escaped him. If he could have seen it, his bewilderment; would have been
sadly increased.

"Say!" whispered the Prince, dropping back as if to impart a grave
secret. "See that man over there by the fountain, Mr. King?"

"Bobby!" cried the lady sharply. "Good-bye, Mr. King. Remember me to
your sister when you write. She--"

"That's Aunt Loraine's beau," announced the Prince.

"That's Count Eric Vos Engo." Truxton's look turned to one of interest
at once. The man designated was a slight, swarthy fellow in the uniform
of a colonel. He did not appear to be particularly happy at the moment.

The American observed the lady's dainty ears. They had turned a delicate
pink.

"May I ask who--" began Truxton timidly.

"She will know if you merely call me Loraine."

"So long," said the Prince.

They parted company at once, the Prince and the lady in the rajah silk
going toward the Castle, King toward the gates, somewhat dazed and by no
means sure of his senses. He came down to earth after he had marched
along on air for some distance, so to speak, and found himself deciding
that she was a duchess here, but Loraine at school. What a wonderful
place a girl's school must be! And his sister knew her--knew a lady of
high degree!

"Hobbs!" he called, catching sight of a dejected figure in front of the
chief steward's door.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Mr. Hobbs sullenly.

"It is, Hobbs--very much me. I've been fishing with royalty and chatting
with the nobility. Where the devil have _you_ been?"

"I've been squaring it with old man Fraasch. I'm through with you, sir.
No more for me, not if I know--"

"Come along, Hobbs," said the other blithely, taking Hobbs by the arm.
"The Prince sent his love to you."

"Did he mention Cook's?" gasped Hobbs.

"He certainly did," lied Truxton. "He spoke of you most kindly. He
wondered if you could find time to come around to-morrow."




CHAPTER V

THE COMMITTEE OF TEN


It has been said before that Truxton King was the unsuspecting object of
interest to two sets of watchers. The fact that he was under the
surveillance of the government police, is not surprising when we
consider the evident thoroughness of that department; but that he should
be continually watched by persons of a more sinister cast suggests a
mystery which can be cleared up by visiting a certain underground room,
scarce two blocks from the Tower of Graustark. It goes without saying
that corporeal admittance to this room was not to be obtained easily. In
fact, one must belong to a certain band of individuals; and, in order to
belong to that band, one must have taken a very solemn pledge of eternal
secrecy and a primal oath to devote his life to certain purposes, good
or evil, according to his conscience. By means of the friendly Sesame
that has opened the way for us to the gentler secrets, we are permitted
to enter this forbidding apartment and listen in safety to the ugly
business of the Committee of Ten.

There were two ways of reaching this windowless room, with its low
ceilings and dank airs. If one had the secret in his possession, he
could go down through the mysterious trap door in the workshop of
William Spantz, armourer to the Crown; or he might come up through a
hidden aperture in the walls of the great government sewer, which ran
directly parallel with and far below the walls of the quaint old
building. One could take his choice of direction in approaching this
hole in the huge sewer: he could come up from the river, half a mile
away, or he could come down from the hills above if he had the courage
to drop through one of the intakes.

It is of special significance that the trap door in Spantz's workshop
was reserved for use by the armourer and his more fastidious
comrades--of whom three were women and one an established functionary in
the Royal Household. One should not expect ladies to traverse a sewer if
oilier ways are open to them. The manner of reaching the workshop was
not so simple, however, as you might suppose. The street door was out of
the quest ion, with Dangloss on the watch, day and night. As much as can
be said for the rear door. It was necessary, therefore, that the favored
few should approach the shop by extraordinary paths. For instance, two
of the women came through friendly but unknown doors in the basements of
adjoining houses, reaching the workshop by the narrow stairs leading up
from a cobwebby wine-cellar next door. Spantz and Olga Platanova, of
course, were at home in the place. All of which may go to prove that
while ten persons comprised the committee, at least as many more of the
shopkeepers in that particular neighbourhood were in sympathy with their
secret operations.

So cleverly were all these means of approach concealed and so stealthy
the movements of the Committee, that the existence of this underground
room, far below the street level, was as yet unsuspected by the police.
More than that, the existence of the Committee of Ten as an organisation
was unknown to the department, notwithstanding the fact that it had been
working quietly, seriously for more than a year.

The Committee of Ten represented the brains and the activity of a rabid
coterie in Edelweiss, among themselves styled the Party of Equals. In
plain language, they were "Reds." Less than fifty persons in Graustark
were affiliated with this particular community of anarchists. For more
than a year they had been preparing themselves against the all-important
hour for public declaration. Their ranks had been augmented by
occasional recruits from other lands; their literature was circulated
stealthily; their operations were as secret as the grave, so far as the
outside world was concerned. And so the poison sprung up and thrived
unhindered in the room below the street, growing in virulence and power
under the very noses of the vaunted police of Edelweiss, slowly
developing into a power that would some day assert itself with
diabolical fury.

There were men and women from Axphain and Dawsbergen in this seed circle
that made Edelweiss its spreading ground. They were Reds of the most
dangerous type--silent, voiceless, crafty men and women who built well
without noise, and who gave out nothing to the world from which they
expected to take so much.

The nominal leader was William Spantz, he who had a son in the Prince's
household, Julius Spantz, the Master-of-arms. Far off in the hills above
the Danube there lived the real leader of this deadly group--the Iron
Count Marlanx, exile from the land of his birth, hated and execrated by
every loyal Graustarkian, hating and execrating in return with a tenfold
greater venom. Marlanx, the man who had been driven from wealth and
power by the sharp edict of Prince Robin's mother, the lamented Yetive,
in the days of her most glorious reign,--this man, deep in his raging
heart, was in complete accord with the desperate band of Reds who
preached equality and planned disaster.

Olga Platanova was the latest acquisition to this select circle. A word
concerning her: she was the daughter of Professor Platanova, one time
oculist and sociologist in a large German University. He had been one of
the most brilliant men in Europe and a member of a noble family. There
was welcome for him in the homes of the nobility; he hobnobbed, so to
speak, with the leading men of time Empire. The Platanova home in Warsaw
was one of the most inviting and exclusive in that great, city. The
professor's enthusiasm finally carried him from the conservative paths
in which he had walked; after he had passed his fiftieth year he became
an avowed leader among the anarchists and revolutionists in Poland, his
native state. Less than a year before the opening of this tale he was
executed for treason and conspiracy against the Empire.

His daughter, Olga, was recognised as one of the most beautiful and
cultured young women in Warsaw. Her suitors seemed to be without number;
nor were they confined to the student and untitled classes with whom she
was naturally thrown by force of circumstance. More than one lordly
adventurer in the lists of love paid homage to her grace and beauty.
Finally there came one who conquered and was beloved. He was the son of
a mighty duke, a prince of the blood.

It was true love for both of them. The young prince pledged himself to
marry her, despite all opposition; he was ready to give up his noble
inheritance for the sake of love. But there were other forces greater
than a young man's love at work. The all-powerful ruler of an Empire
learned of this proposed mesalliance and was horrified. Two weeks
afterward the prince was called. The will of the Crown was made known to
him and--he obeyed. Olga Platanova was cast aside but not forgotten. He
became the husband of an unloved, scrawny lady of diadems. When the
situation became more than he could bear he blew out his brains.

When Olga heard the news of his death she was not stricken by grief. She
cried out her joy to a now cloudless sky, for he had justified the great
love that had been theirs and would be theirs to the end of time.

From a passive believer in the doctrines of her father and his circle
she became at once their most impassioned exponent. Over night she
changed from a gentle-hearted girl into a woman whose breast flamed with
a lust for vengeance against a class from which death alone could free
her lover. She threw herself, heart and soul, into the deliberations and
transactions of the great red circle: her father understood and yet was
amazed.

Then he was put to death by the class she had come to hate. One more
stone in the sepulchre of her tender, girlish ideals. When the time came
she travelled to Graustark in response to the call of the Committee of
Ten; she came prepared to kill the creature she would be asked to kill.
And yet down in her heart she was sore afraid.

She was there, not to kill a man grown old in wrongs to her people, but
to destroy the life of a gentle, innocent boy of seven!

There were times when her heart shrank from the unholy deed she had been
selected to perform; she even prayed that death might come to her before
the hour in which she was to do this execrable thing in behalf of the
humanity she served. But there was never a thought of receding from the
bloody task set down for her--a task so morbid, so horrid that even the
most vicious of men gloated in the satisfaction that they had not been
chosen in her place. Weeks before she came to Graustark Olga Platanova
had been chosen by lot to be the one to do this diabolical murder. She
did not flinch, but came resolute and ready. Even the men in the
Committee of Ten looked upon the slender, dark-eyed girl with an awe
that could not be conquered. She had not the manner of an assassin, and
yet they knew that she would not draw back; she was as soft and as sweet
as the Madonnas they secretly worshipped, and yet her heart was steeled
to a purpose that appalled the fiercest of them.

On a Saturday night, following the last visit of Truxton King to the
armourer, the Committee of Ten met in the underground room to hear the
latest word from one who could not be with them in person, but was
always there in spirit--if they were to believe his most zealous
utterances. The Iron Count Marlanx, professed hater of all that was rich
and noble, was the power behind the Committee of Ten. The assassination
of the little Prince and the overthrow of the royal family awaited his
pleasure: he was the man who would give the word.

Not until he was ready could anything be done, for Marlanx had promised
to put the Committee of Ten in control of this pioneer community when it
came under the dominion of anarchists.

Alas, for the Committee of Ten! The wiliest fox in the history of the
world was never so wily as the Iron Count. Some day they were to find
out that he was using them to pull his choicest chestnuts from the fire.

The Committee was seated around the long table in the stifling,
breathless room, the armourer at the head. Those who came by way of the
sewer had performed ablutions in the queer toilet room that once had
been a secret vault for the storing of feudal plunder. What air there
was came from the narrow ventilator that burrowed its ways up to the
shop of William Spantz, or through the chimney-hole in the ceiling.
Olga Platanova sat far down the side, a moody, inscrutable expression in
her dark eyes. She sat silent and oppressed through all the acrid,
bitter discussions which carried the conclave far past the midnight
hour. In her heart she knew that these men and women were already
thinking of her as a regicide. It was settled--it was ordained. At
Spantz's right lounged Peter Brutus, a lawyer--formerly secretary to the
Iron Count and now his sole representative among these people. He was a
dark-faced, snaky-eyed young man, with a mop of coarse black hair that
hung ominously low over his high, receding forehead. This man was the
chosen villain among all the henchmen who came at the beck and call of
the Iron Count.

Julius Spantz, the armourer's son, a placid young man of goodly physical
proportions, sat next to Brutus, while down the table ranged others deep
in the consideration of the world's gravest problems. One of the women
was Madame Drovnask, whose husband had been sent to Siberia for life;
and the other, Anna Cromer, a rabid Red lecturer, who had been driven
from the United States, together with her amiable husband: an assassin
of some distinction and many aliases, at present foreman in charge of
one of the bridge-building crews on the new railroad.

Every man in the party, and there were eight, for Olga was not a member
of the Ten, wore over the lower part of his face a false black beard of
huge dimensions. Not that they were averse to recognition among
themselves, but in the fear that by some hook or crook Dangloss or his
agents might be able to look in upon them--through stone walls, as it
were. They were not men to belittle the powers of the wonderful Baron.

As it sat in secret conclave, the Committee of Ten was a
sinister-looking group.

Brutus was speaking. "The man is a spy. He has been brought here from
America by Tullis. Sooner or later you will find that I am right."

"It is best to keep close watch on him," advised one of the men. "We
know that he is in communication with the police and we know that he
visits the Castle, despite his declaration that he knows no one there.
To-day's experience proves that. I submit that the strictest caution be
observed where he is concerned."

"We shall continue to watch his every movement," said William Spantz.
"Time will tell. When we are positive that he is a detective and that he
is dangerous, there is a way to stop his operations."

His son grinned amiably as he swept his finger across his throat. The
old man nodded.

"Dangloss suspects more than one of us" ventured Brutus, his gaze
travelling toward Olga. There was lewd admiration in that steady glance.
"But we'll fool the old fox. The time will soon be here for the blow
that frees Graustark from the yoke. She will be the pioneer among our
estates, we the first of the individuals in equality; here the home seat
of perfect rulership. There is nothing that can stop us. Have we not the
most powerful of friends? Who is greater and shrewder than Count
Marlanx? Who could have planned and perfected an organization so
splendid? Will any one dispute this?"

He had the floor, and having the floor means everything to a Red. For
half an hour he spoke with impassioned fervour, descanting furiously on
the amazing virtues of his wily master and the plans he had arranged. It
appeared in the course of his remarks that Marlanx had friends and
supporters in all parts of Graustark. Hundreds of men in the hills,
including honest shepherds and the dishonest brigands who thrived on
them, coal miners and wood stealers, hunters and outlaws were ready to
do his bidding when the time was ripe. Moreover, Marlanx had been
successful in his design to fill the railway construction crews with the
riff-raff of all Europe, all of whom were under the control of leaders
who could sway them in any movement, provided it was against law and
order. As a matter of fact, according to Brutus, nearly a thousand
aliens were at work on the road, all of them ready to revolt the instant
the command was given by their advisers.

Something that the Committee of Ten did not know was this: those alien
workmen were no less than so many hired mercenaries in the employ of the
Iron Count, brought together by that leader and his agents for the sole
purpose of overthrowing the Crown in one sudden, unexpected attack,
whereupon Count Marlanx would step in and assume control of the
government. They had been collected from all parts of the world to do
the bidding of this despised nobleman, no matter to what lengths he
might choose to lead them. Brutus, of course, knew all this: his
companions on the Committee were in complete ignorance of the true
motives that brought Marlanx into their operations.

With a cunning that commands admiration, the Iron Count deliberately
sanctioned the assassination of the little Prince by the Reds, knowing
that the condemnation of the world would fall upon them instead of upon
him, and that his own actions following the regicide would at once stamp
him as irrevocably opposed to anarchy and all of its practices!

In the course of his remarks, Peter Brutus touched hastily upon the
subject of the little Prince.

"He's not very big," said he, with a laugh, "and it won't require a very
big bomb to blow him to smithereens. He will--"

"Stop!" cried Olga Platanova, springing to her feet and glaring at him
with dilated eyes. "I cannot listen to you! You shall not speak of it in
that way! Peter Brutus, you are not to speak of--of what I am to do!
Never--never again!"

They looked at her in amazement and no little concern. Madame Drovnask
was the first to speak, her glittering eyes fastened upon the drawn,
white face of the girl across the table.

"Are you going to fail? Are you weakening?" she demanded.

"No! I am not going to fail! But I will not permit any one to jest about
the thing I am to do. It is a sacred duty with me. But, Madame
Drovnask--all of you, listen--it is a cruel, diabolical thing, just the
same. Were it not in behalf of our great humanity, I, myself, should
call it the blackest piece of cruelty the world has ever known. The
slaughter of a little boy! A dear, innocent little boy! I can see the
horror in all of your faces! You shudder as you sit there, thinking of
the thing I am to do. Yes, you are secretly despising me, your
instrument of death! I--I, a girl, I am to cast the bomb that blows this
dear little body to pieces. I! Do you know what that means? Even though
I am sure to be blown to pieces by the same agent, the last thing I
shall look upon is his dear, terrified little face as he watches me hurl
the bomb. Ah!"

She shuddered violently as she stood there before them, her eyes closed
as if to shut out the horrible picture her mind was painting. There
were other white faces and ice-cold veins about the table. The sneer on
Anna Cromer's face deepened.

"She will bungle it," came in an angry hiss from her lips.

Olga's lids were lifted. Her dark eyes looked straight into those of the
older woman.

"No," she said quietly, her body relaxing, "I shall not bungle it."

William Spantz had been watching her narrowly, even suspiciously. Now
his face cleared.

"She will not fail," he announced calmly. "Let there be no apprehension.
She is the daughter of a martyr. Her blood is his. It will flow in the
same cause. Sit down, Olga, my dear. We will not touch upon this subject
again--until--"

"I know, uncle," she said quietly, resuming her seat and her attitude of
indifference.

The discussion went back to Truxton King. "Isn't it possible that he is
merely attracted by the beauty of our charming young friend here?"
ventured Madame Drovnask, after many opinions had been advanced
respecting his interest in the shop and its contents. "It is a habit
with Americans, I am told."

"Miss Platanova is most worthy of the notice of any man," agreed Brutus,
with an amiable leer. Olga seemed to shrink within herself. It was plain
that she was not a kindred spirit to these vicious natures.

"It is part of his game," said Julius Spantz. "He knows Olga's past; he
is waiting for a chance to catch her off her guard. He may even go so
far as to make pretty love to you, cousin, in the hope that--no offence,
my dear, no offence!" Her look had silenced him.

"Mr. King is not a spy," she said steadily.

"Well," concluded William Spantz, "we are safe if we take no chances
with him. He must be watched all the time. If we discover that he is
what some of us think he is, there is a way to end his usefulness."

"Let him keep away from the shop downstairs," said Peter Brutus, with a
sidelong glance at the delicate profile of the girl down the table.

She smiled suddenly, to the amazement of her sinister companions.

"Have no fear, Brutus. When he hears that you object, he will be very
polite and give us a wide berth," she said. Peter flushed angrily.

"He doesn't mean any good by you," he snapped. "He'll fool you
and--poof! Away he goes, rejoicing."

She still smiled. "You have a very good opinion of me, Peter Brutus."

"Well," doggedly, "you know what men of his type think of shopgirls.
They consider them legitimate prey."

"And what, pray, do men of your type think of us?" she asked quietly.

"Enough of this," interposed William Spantz. "Now, Brutus, what does
Count Marlanx say to this day two weeks? Will he be ready? On that day
the Prince and the Court are to witness the unveiling of the Yetive
memorial statue in the Plaza. It is a full holiday in Graustark. No man
will be employed at his usual task and--"

Brutus interrupted him. "That is the very day that the Count has asked
me to submit to the Committee. He believes it to be the day of all days.
Nothing should go amiss. We conquer with a single blow. By noon of that
day, the 26th of July, the Committee of Ten will be in control of the
State; the new regime will be at hand. A new world will be begun, with
Edelweiss as the centre, about which all the rest shall revolve. We--the
Committee of Ten--will be its true founders. We shall be glorified
forever--"

"We've heard all this before, Brutus," said Julius Spantz unfeelingly,
"a hundred times. It's talk, talk, talk! What we need now is action. Are
we sure that the Count will be prepared to do all that he says he will
on the 26th of July? Will he have his plans perfected? Are his forces
ready for the stroke?"

"Positively. They await the word. That's all I can say," growled Peter.
"The death of the Prince is the signal for the overthrow of the present
government and the establishment of the new order of equal humanity."

"After all," mused Julius, Master-at-arms in the Castle, "it is more
humane to slay the Prince while he is young. It saves him from a long
life of trouble and fear and the constant dread of the very thing that
is to happen to him now. Yes, it is best that it should come soon." Down
in his heart, Julius loved the little Prince.

For an hour longer the Committee discussed plans for the eventful day.
Certain details were left for future deliberations; each person had his
part to play and each one was settled in his or her determination that
nothing should go amiss.

The man they feared was Dangloss. They did not fear God!

When they dispersed for the night, it was to meet again three days hence
for the final word from Marlanx, who, it seems, was not so far away that
communication with him was likely to be delayed. A sword hung over the
head of Truxton King, an innocent outsider, and there was a prospect
that it would fall in advance of the blow that was intended to startle
the world. Olga Platanova was the only one who did not look upon the
sprightly American as a spy in the employ of the government--a
dangerously clever spy at that.

Up in the distant hills slept the Iron Count, dreaming of the day when
he should rule over the new Graustark--for he would rule!--a smile on
his grizzled face in reflection of recent waking thoughts concerning the
punishment that should fall swiftly upon the assassins of the beloved
Prince Robin.

He would make short shrift of assassins!




CHAPTER VI

INGOMEDE THE BEAUTIFUL


A light, chilling drizzle had been falling all evening, pattering softly
upon the roof of leaves that covered the sidewalks along Castle Avenue,
glistening on the lamp-lit pavements and blowing ever so gently in the
faces of those who walked in the dripping shades. Far back from the
shimmering sidewalks, surrounded by the blackest of shadows, and
approached by hedge-bordered paths and driveways, stood the mansions
occupied by the nobility of this gay little kingdom. A score or more of
ancient palaces, in which the spirit, of modern aggression had wrought
interior changes but had left the exteriors untouched, formed this
aristocratic line of homes. Here were houses that had been built in the
fifteenth century,--great, square, solemn-looking structures, grown grey
and green with age.

There were lights in a thousand windows along this misty, royal
road--lights that reflected the pleasures of the rich and yet caused no
envy in time hearts of the loyal poor.

Almost in the centre of the imposing line stood the home of the Duke of
Perse, Minister of Finance, flanked on either side by structures as grim
and as gay as itself, yet far less significant in their generation. Here
dwelt the most important man in the principality, not excepting the
devoted prime minister himself. Not that Perse was so well beloved, but
that he held the destinies of the land in Midas-like fingers. More than
that, he was the father of the far-famed Countess Marlanx, the most
glorious beauty at the Austrian and Russian courts. She had gone forth
from Graustark as its most notable bride since the wedding day of the
Princess Yetive, late in the nineties. Ingomede, the beautiful, had
journeyed far to the hymeneal altar; the husband who claimed her was a
hated, dishonoured man in his own land. They were married in Buda Pesth.
All Europe pitied her at the time; there was but one form of prophecy as
to her future. There were those who went so far as to say that her
father had delivered her into the hands of a latter-day Bluebeard, who
whisked her off into the highlands many leagues from Vienna.

She was seen no more in the gay courts for a year. Then, of a sudden,
she appeared before them all, as dazzlingly beautiful as ever, but with
a haunting, wistful look in her dark eyes that could not be mistaken.
The old Count found an uneasy delight in exhibiting her to the world
once more, plainly as a bit of property that all men were expected to
look upon with envy in their hearts. She came up out of the sombre
hills, freed from what must have been nothing less than captivity in
that once feudal castle, to prove to his world that she thrived in spite
of prophetic babblers. They danced from court to court, grotesquely
mis-mated, deceiving no one as to the true relations that existed
between them. She despised him without concealment; he took pride in
showing that he could best resent her attitude by the most scrupulous
devotion, so marked that its intent could not be mistaken.

Then the Duke of Perse resumed his residence in Edelweiss, opening the
old palace once more to the world. His daughter, after the death of the
Princess, began her extended visits to the home of her girlhood. So long
as the Princess was alive she remained away from Edelweiss, reluctant to
meet the friend who had banished her husband long before the wedding
day in Buda Pesth. Now she came frequently and stayed for weeks at a
time, apparently happy during these escapes from life in the great
capitals. Here, at least, she was free from the grim old man whose
countess she was; here, all was sweet and warm and friendly, delicious
contrast to the cold, bitter life she knew on the Danube.

Without warning she came and without farewells she left Edelweiss on the
occasion of these periodical visits. No word was ever spoken concerning
her husband, except on the rare occasions when she opened her heart to
the father who had bartered her into slavery for the sake of certain
social franchises that the Iron Count had at his disposal. The outside
world, which loved her, never heard of these bitter passages between
father and child. Like Cinderella, she sometimes disappeared from joyous
things at midnight; the next heard of her, she was in Vienna, or at
Schloss Marlanx.

If the Duke of Perse repented of his bargain in giving his daughter to
the Iron Count, he was never known to intimate as much. He loved
Ingomede in his own, hard way. No doubt he was sorry for her. It is a
fact that she was sorry for him. She could read his bitter thoughts more
clearly than he suspected.

Of late she came more frequently to Edelweiss than before. She was seen
often at the Castle; no court function was complete without the presence
of this lovely noblewoman; no _salon_ worth while unless graced by her
wit and her beauty.

John Tullis was always to remember the moment when he looked upon this
exquisite creature for the first time. That was months ago. After that
he never ceased being a secret, silent worshipper at her transient
shrine.

Ten o'clock on this rainy night: A carriage has drawn up before the
lower gates to the Perse grounds, and a tall, shadowy figure leaves it
to hurry through the shrub lined walks to the massive doors. A watchman
in the garden salutes him. The tall figure dips his umbrella in
response, characteristically laconic. A footman lifts his hand to his
forelock at the top of the steps and throws open the doors without
question. This visitor is expected, it is plain to be seen; a
circumstance which may or may not explain the nervousness that attends
him as he crosses the broad hall toward the library.

Tullis had long since ceased to be a welcome visitor in the home of the
Duke of Perse. The men were openly unfriendly to each other. The Duke
resented the cool interference of the sandy-haired American; on the
other hand, Tullis made no effort to conceal his dislike, if not
distrust, of the older man. He argued--with unofficial and somewhat
personal authority,--that a man who could trade his only child for
selfish ends might also be impelled to sacrifice his country's interests
without cramping his conscience.

The Countess was alone in the long, warm-tinted library. She stood
before the dying embers in the huge old fireplace, her foot upon one of
the great iron dogs. Her smiling face was turned toward the door as he
entered.

"It is good of you to come," she said, as they shook hands warmly. "Do
you know it is almost a year since you last came to this house?"

"It would be a century, Countess, if I were not welcomed in other houses
where I am sure of a glimpse of you from time to time and a word now and
then. Still, a year's a year. The room hasn't changed so far as I can
see. The same old tiger-skin there, the rugs, the books, the
pictures--the leopard's skin here and the--yes, the lamp is just where
it used to be. 'Pon my soul, I believe you are standing just as you were
when I last saw you here. It's uncanny. One might think you had not
moved in all these months!"

"Or that it has been a minute instead of a year," she supplemented. His
quick, involuntary glance about him did not escape her understanding.
"The Duke has gone to Ganlook to play Bridge with friends," she said at
once. "He will not return till late. I have just telephoned--to make
sure." Her smile did more than to reassure him.

"Of course, you will understand how impossible it is for me to come
here, Countess. Your father, the Duke, doesn't mince matters, and I'm
not quite a fool." Tullis squinted at the fire.

"Do you think ill of me for asking you to come to-night?"

"Not at all," he said cheerfully, "so long as you are quite sure that
your father is in Ganlook. He would be perfectly justified in kicking me
out if he were to catch me here. And as I'm rather cumbersome and he's
somewhat venerable, I don't like to think of the jar it would be to his
system. But, so long as he isn't here, and I am, why shouldn't I draw up
a chair before the fire for you, and another for myself, with the
cigarettes and a world between us, to discuss conditions as they are,
not as they might be if we were discovered? Shall I? Good! I defy any
one's father to get me out of this chair until I am ready to relinquish
it voluntarily."

"I suppose you superintended the 'going-to-bed' of Prince Robin before
you left the Castle?" she said, lying back in the comfortable chair and
stretching her feet out to the fire. He handed her a match and watched
her light the long, ridiculously thin cigarette.

"Yes. I never miss it, Countess. The last thing he does, after saying
his prayers, is to recall me from exile. He wouldn't be happy if he
couldn't do that. He says amen and hops into bed. Then he grins in a far
from imperial way and announces that he's willing to give me another
chance, and please won't I tell him the latest news concerning
Jack-the-giant-killer. He asked me to-night if I thought you'd mind if
he banished your father. They've had a children's quarrel, I believe. If
you do mind, I am to let him know: he won't banish him. He's very fond
of you, Countess." She laughed gaily.

"He is a dear boy. I adore him. I think I quite understand why you are
giving up your life to him. At first I wasn't sure."

"You thought I expected to gain something by it, is not that so? Well,
there are a great many people who think so still--your father among
them. They'll never understand. I don't blame them, for, I declare to
you, I don't fully appreciate it myself. John Tullis playing nurse and
story-teller to a seven-year-old boy, to the exclusion of everything
else, is more than I can grasp. Somehow, I've come to feel that he's
mine. That must be the reason. But you've heard me prate on this subject
a hundred times. Don't let me start it again. There's something else you
want to talk to me about, so please don't encourage me to tell all the
wonderful things he has said and done to-day."

"It is of the Prince that I want to speak, Mr. Tullis," she said,
suddenly serious. "I don't care to hear whether he stubbed his toe
to-day or just how much he has grown since yesterday, but I do want to
talk very seriously with you concerning his future--I might say his
immediate future."

He looked at her narrowly.

"Are you quite serious?"

"Quite. I could not have asked you to come to this house for anything
trivial. We have become very good friends, you and I. Too good, perhaps,
for I've no doubt there are old tabbies in Edelweiss who are provoked to
criticism--you know what I mean. Their world is full of imaginary
affairs, else what would there be left for old age? But we are good
friends and we understand why we are good friends, so there's the end to
that. As I say, I could not have asked so true a friend into the house
of his enemy for the mere sake of having my vanity pleased by his
obedience."

"I am quite sure of that," he said. "Are you in trouble, Countess? Is
there anything I can do?"

"It has to do with the Prince, not with me," she said. "And yet I am in
trouble--or perhaps I should say, I am troubled."

"The Prince is a sturdy little beggar," he began, but she lifted her
hand in protest.

"And he has sturdy, loyal friends. That is agreed. And yet--" she
paused, a perplexed line coming between her expressive eyes.

John Tullis opened his own eyes very wide. "You don't mean to say that
he is--he is in peril of any sort?"

She looked at him a long time before speaking. He could feel that she
was turning something over in her mind before giving utterance to the
thought.

At last she leaned nearer to him, dropping the ash from her cigarette
into the receiver as she spoke slowly, intensely. "I think he is in
peril--in deadly peril."

He stared hard. "What do you mean?" he demanded, with an involuntary
glance over his shoulder. She interpreted that glance correctly.

"The peril is not here, Mr. Tullis. I know what you are thinking. My
father is a loyal subject. The peril I suggest never comes to
Graustark."

She said no more but leaned forward, her face whiter than its wont. He
frowned, but it was the effect of temporary perplexity. Gradually the
meaning of her simple, though significant remark filtered through his
brain.

"Never comes to Graustark?" he almost whispered. "You don't--you can't
mean your--your husband?"

"I mean Count Marlanx," she said steadily.

"He means evil to Prince Robin? Good Heavens, Countess, I--I can't
believe it. I know he is bitter, revengeful, and all that, but--"

"He is all that and more," she said. "First, you must let me impress you
that I am not a traitor to his cause. I could not be that, for the
sufficient reason that I only suspect its existence. I am not in any
sense a part of it. I do not _know_ anything. I only feel. I dare say
you realise that I do not love Count Marlanx--that there is absolutely
nothing in common between us except a name. We won't go into that. I--"

"I am overjoyed to hear you say this, Countess," he said very seriously.
"I have been so bold on occasion as to assert--for your private ear, of
course--that you could not, by any freak of nature, happen to care for
Count Marlanx, whom I know only by description. You have laughed at my
so-called American wit, and you have been most tolerant. Now, I feel
that I am justified. I'm immeasurably glad to hear you confess that you
do not love your husband."

"I cannot imagine any one so stupid as to think that I do love Count
Marlanx, for that matter, that he loves me. Still, I am relieved to hear
you say that you are glad. It simplifies the present for us, and that is
what we are to discuss."

"You are very, very beautiful, and young, and unhappy," he said
irrelevantly, a darker glow in his cheeks. She smiled serenely, without
a trace of diffidence or protest.

"I can almost believe it, you say it so convincingly," she said. For a
moment she relaxed luxuriantly into an attitude of physical enjoyment of
herself, surveying her toe-tips with a thoughtfulness that comprehended
more; and then as abruptly came back to the business of the moment. "You
must not spoil it all by saying it too fervently," she went on with a
smile of warning. He gave a short laugh of confusion and sank back in
the chair.

"You have never tried to make love to me," she went on. "That's what I
like about you. I think most men are silly, not because I am so very
young, but because my husband is so ridiculously old. Don't you think
so? But, never mind! I see you are quite eager to answer--that's enough.
Take another cigarette and--listen to what I am going to say." He
declined the cigarette with a shake of his head.

After a moment she went on resolutely: "As I said before, I do not know
that my suspicions are correct. I have not even breathed them to my
father. He would have laughed at me. My husband is a Graustarkian, even
as I am, but there is this distinction between us: he despises
Graustark, while I love her in every drop of my blood. I know that in
his heart he has never ceased to brew evil for the throne that disgraced
him. He openly expresses his hatred for the present dynasty, and has
more than once said in public gatherings that he could cheerfully assist
in its utter destruction. That, of course, is commonly known in
Graustark, where he is scorned and derided. But he is not a man to serve
his hatred with mere idle words and inaction." She stopped for a moment,
and then cried impulsively: "I must first know that you will not
consider me base and disloyal in saying these things to you. After all,
he is my husband."

He saw the faint curl of her lip. "Before that," he argued simply, "you
were a daughter of Graustark. You were not born to serve a cause that
means evil to the dear land. Graustark first made you noble; you can't
go back on that, you know. Don't let your husband degrade you. I think
you can see how I feel about it. Please believe that I know you can do
no wrong."

"Thank you," she said, returning the look in his earnest grey eyes with
one in which the utmost confidence shone. "You are the only man to whom
I feel sure that I can reveal myself and be quite understood. It isn't
as if I had positive facts to divulge, for I have not; they are
suspicions, fears, that's all, but they are no longer vague shapes to
me; they mean something."

"Tell me," he said quietly. He seemed to square his broad shoulders and
to set his jaw firmly, as if to resist physical attack. She knew she had
come with her fears to a man in whose face it was declared that he could
laugh at substance as well as shadow.

"I am seeing you here in this big room, openly, for the simple reason
that if I am being watched this manner of meeting may be above
suspicion. We may speak freely here, for we cannot be heard unless we
raise our voices. Don't betray surprise or consternation. The eyes of
the wall may be better than its ears."

"You don't mean to say you are being watched here in your father's
house?" he demanded.

"I don't know. This I do know: the Count has many spies in Edelweiss. He
is systematically apprised of everything that occurs at court, in the
city, or in the council chamber. So you see, he is being well served,
whether to an evil purpose or to satisfy his own innate curiosity, I do
not know. He has reports almost daily,--voluminous things, partly in
cipher, partly free, and he is forever sending men away on secret,
mysterious missions. Understand, I do not know that he is actually
planning disaster to Graustark. Day before yesterday I saw his secretary
in the streets--a man who has been in his employ for five years or more
and who now pretends to be a lawyer here. His name is Brutus. I spoke
with him. He said that he had left the Count six weeks ago in Vienna,
determined to set out for himself in his chosen profession. He knows, of
course, that I am not and never have been in the confidences of my
husband. I asked him if it was known in Edelweiss that he had served the
Count as secretary. He promptly handed me one of his business cards, on
which he refers to himself as the former trusted and confidential
secretary of Count Marlanx. Now, I happen to know that he is still in my
husband's service,--or was no longer ago than last week."

"My dear Countess, he may be serving him legitimately as an attorney.
There would be nothing strange in that."

"But he is still serving him as confidential secretary. He is here for a
purpose, as my husband's representative. I have not been asleep all
these months at Schloss Marlanx. I have seen and heard enough to
convince me that some great movement is on foot. My intelligence tells
me that it has to do with Graustark. As he wishes the Prince no good, it
must be for evil." "But there is nothing he can do. He has no following
here. The Prince is adored by the people. Count Marlanx would not be
such a fool as to--"

"He is no fool," she interrupted quickly. "That's why I am afraid. If he
is plotting against the Crown, you may depend upon it he is laying his
plans well. John Tullis, that man is a devil--a devil incarnate." She
turned her face away.

A spasm of utter repugnance crossed her face; she shuddered so violently
that his hand went forth to clutch the fingers that trembled on the arm
of the chair. He held them in his firm grasp for a moment. They looked
into each other's eyes and he saw the flicker of undisguised horror in
hers. An instant later she was herself again. Withdrawing her hand, she
added, with a short laugh of derision: "Still I did not expect heaven,
so why complain."

"But you are an angel," he blurted out.

"I don't believe the Count will agree to that," she said, with a
reflective twinkle in her dark eyes. "He has not found me especially
angelic. If you imagine that I cannot scratch back, my dear friend, you
are very much mistaken. I have had the pleasure of giving him more than
one bad half hour. You may be sure he has never called me an angel.
Quite the other thing, I assure you. But we are straying from the
point."

"Wait a moment, please," he commanded. "I want to say to you here and
now: you are the gentlest, loveliest woman I have ever known. I don't
say it idly. I mean it. If you gave him half as good as he sent, I
rejoice in your spirit. Now, I want to ask if you expect to go back to
live with the da--with him."

"That, Mr. Tullis, is hardly a matter I can discuss with you," she said
gently, and he was not offended.

"Perhaps not, Countess, but now is the time for you to decide the issue.
Why should you return to Castle Marlanx? Why keep up the farce--or I
might say, tragedy--any longer? You love Graustark. You love the Prince.
You betray them both by consorting with their harshest foe. Oh, I could
tell you a thousand reasons why--"

"We haven't time for them," she interrupted, with mock despair in her
face. "Besides, I said we cannot discuss it. It requires no learned
argument to move me, one way or the other. I can decide for myself."

"You should divorce him," he said harshly.

She laughed easily, softly. "My good friend, if I did that, I'd lose
your friendship." He opened his lips to remonstrate, but suddenly caught
the undercurrent of the naive remark.

"By Jove," he said, his eyes glowing, "you must not risk finding me too
obtuse."

"Bravo!" she cried. "You are improving."

"I could provide a splendid substitute for the friendship you speak of,"
he said coolly.

"Poof! What is that to me? I could have a hundred lovers--but, ach,
friends are the scarcest things in the world. I prefer friendship. It
lasts. There! I see disapproval in your face! You Americans are so
literal." She gazed into the fireplace for a moment, her lips parted in
a whimsical smile. He waited for her to go on; the words were on her
tongue's end, he could tell. "A divorce at twenty-five. I believe that
is the accepted age, isn't it? If one gets beyond that, she--but, enough
of this!" She sprang to her feet and stood before him, the flash dying
in her eyes even as it was born that he might see so briefly. "We
diverge! You must go soon. It is best not to be seen leaving here at a
very late hour--especially as my father is known to be away. I am afraid
of Peter Brutus. He is here to watch--_everybody_."

She was leaning against the great carved mantel post, a tall, slender,
lissome creature, exquisitely gowned in rarest Irish lace, her bare neck
and shoulders gleaming white against the dull timbers beyond, the faint
glow from the embers creeping up to her face with the insistence of a
maiden's flush. He gazed in rapt admiration, his heart thumping like
fury in his great breast. She was little more than a girl, this wife of
old Marlanx, and yet how wise, how clever, how brilliant she was!

A face of unusual pallor and extremely patrician in its modelling,
surmounted by a coiffure so black that it could be compared only to
ebony--black and almost gleaming with the life that was in it. It came
low on her forehead, shading the wondrous dark eyes--eyes that were a
deep yellowish green in their division between grey and black, eyes that
were soft and luminous and unwaveringly steadfast, impelling in their
power to fascinate, yet even more dangerously compassionate when put to
the test that tries woman's vanity.

There were diamonds on her long, tapering fingers, and a rope of pearls
in her hair. A single wide gold band encircled her arm above the elbow,
an arm-band as old as the principality itself, for it had been worn by
twenty fair ancestors before her. The noblewomen of Graustark never wore
bracelets on their wrists; always the wide chased gold band on the upper
arm. There was a day, not so far back in history, when they wore bands
on their ankles.

She was well named Ingomede, the Beautiful.

A soft, almost imperceptible perfume, languorous in its appeal to the
senses, exuded from this perfect creation; added to this, the subtle,
unfailing scent of young womanhood; the warm, alive feel of her presence
in the atmosphere; a suggestion of something sensuous, clean, pure,
delicious. The undescribable.

"Does Baron Dangloss know this man Brutus?" asked Tullis, arising to
stand beside her. A sub-conscious, triumphant thrill shot through him as
an instantaneous flash of his own physical superiority over this girl's
husband came over him. He was young and strong and vital. He could feel
the sensation of being strong; he tingled with the glory of it. He was
thirty-five, Marlanx seventy. He wondered if Marlanx had ever been as
strong as he.

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I have not spoken to him
concerning Brutus. Perhaps he knows. The Baron is very wise. Let me tell
you how I happen to know that Peter Brutus is still serving Count
Marlanx and why I think his presence signifies a crisis of some sort."
Tullis stood facing the great fireplace, his back to the hail. He
observed that she looked toward the doors quite as often as she looked
at him; it struck him that she was extremely cautious despite her
apparent ease.

Her voice, always low and even, second lower still. "In the first place,
I have a faithful friend in one of the oldest retainers at Schloss
Marlanx. His daughter is my maid. She is here with me now. The old man
came to see Josepha one day last week. He had accompanied Count Marlanx
to the town of Balak, which is in Axphain, a mile beyond the Graustark
line. Peter Brutus was with my husband in Balak for two days. They were
closeted together from morning till night in the house where Marlanx
was stopping. At the end of two days Brutus went away, but he carried
with him a vast sum of money provided by my husband. It was given out
that he was on his way to Serros in Dawsbergen, where he expected to
purchase a business block for his master. Marlanx waited another day in
Balak, permitting Josepha's father to come on to Edelweiss with a
message for me and to see his daughter. He--"

"And Josepha's father saw Brutus in Edelweiss?"

"No. But he did see him going into Balak as he left for Edelweiss that
morning. He wore a disguise, but Jacob says he could not be mistaken.
Moreover, he was accompanied by several men whom he recognised as
Graustark mountaineers and hunters of rather unsavoury reputation. They
left Brutus at the gates of Balak and went off into the hills. All this
happened before I knew that Peter was living in Edelweiss. When I saw
him here, I knew at once that his presence meant something sinister. I
can put many things together that once puzzled me--the comings and
goings of months, the secret reports and consultations, the queer
looking men who came to the Castle, the long absences of my husband and
my--my own virtual imprisonment--yes, imprisonment. I was not permitted
to leave the castle for days at a time during his absences."

"Surely you will not go back again"--he began hotly.

"Sh!" She put a finger to her lips. A man-servant was quietly crossing
the hall just off the library. "He is a new man. I do not like his
appearance."

"Do you think he heard us or observed anything? I can make short work of
him if--" He paused significantly. She smiled up into his face.

"He did not hear anything. We've frightened him off, if he intended to
play the eavesdropper." The servant had disappeared through a door at
the end of the hall.

"Then there were the great sums of money that my husband sent off from
time to time, and the strange boxes that came overland to the castle and
later went away again as secretly as they came. Mr. Tullis, I am
confident in my mind that those boxes contained firearms and ammunition.
I have thought it all out. Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that I
can almost see those firearms stored away in the caves and cabins
outside of Edelweiss, ready for instant use when the signal comes."

"God! An uprising? A plot so huge as that?" he gasped, amazed. It is
fortunate that he was not facing the door; the same servant, passing
once more, might have seen the tell-tale consternation in his eyes. "It
cannot be possible! Why, Dangloss and his men would have scented it long
ago."

"I have not said that I am sure of anything, remember that. I leave it
to you to analyse. You have the foundation on which to work. I'd advise
you to waste no time. Something tells me that the crisis is near at
hand."

"Why should Josepha's father tell these things to you?"

"Because, if you will pardon my frankness, I have protected his daughter
against Count Marlanx. He understands. And yet he would not betray a
trust imposed upon him even by the Count. He has only told me what any
one else might have seen with his own eyes. Wait! The new servant is in
the hall again." She clapped her hands sharply and called out "Franz!"

The new man appeared in the doorway almost on the instant. "You may
replenish the fire, Franz." The man, a sallow, precise fellow, crossed
deliberately and poked the half dead fire; with scrupulous care he
selected two great chunks of wood from the hopper near by and laid them
on the coals, the others watching his movements with curious interest.
There was nothing about the fellow to indicate that he was other than
what he pretended to be.

"Isn't it strange that we should have fires in July?" she asked
casually. "The mountain air and the night fogs make it absolutely
necessary in these big old houses."

"We had a jolly fire in the Prince's room when I left the Castle. Our
monarch is subject to croup, you see."

"That is all, Franz." The man bowed and left the room. "What do you
think of him?" she asked, after a moment.

"He has a very bad liver," was all Tullis deigned to offer in response.
The Countess stared for a moment and then laughed understandingly. "I
think he needs a change."

"I have a strange feeling that he is but one of a great many men who are
in Edelweiss for the purposes I mentioned before. Now I have a favour to
ask of you. Will you take this matter up with Baron Dangloss as if on
your own initiative? Do not mention me in any way. You can understand
why I ask this of you. Let them believe that the suspicions are yours. I
trust you to present them without involving me."

"Trust me, my dear Countess. I am a very diplomatic liar. You need have
no fear. I shall find a quick way of getting my friend Dangloss on the
right track. It may be a wild goose chase, but it is best to be on the
safe side. May I now tell you how greatly I appreciate your confidence
in--"

She stopped him with a glance. "No, you may not tell me. There is
nothing more to be said."

"I think I understand," he said gently.

"Let us change the subject. I have uttered my word to the wise. Eh bien!
It may not be so bad as I think. Let us hope so, at least."

"I have a vague notion that you'd rejoice if we should catch your ogre
and chop his head off," said he, coolly lighting a fresh cigarette. She
liked his assurance. He was not like other men.

Glancing up at his sandy thatch, she said, with a rueful droop at the
corners of her mouth, a contradictory smile in her eyes: "I shall
rejoice more if you do not lose your head afterwards."

"_Double entendre_?"

"Not at all."

"I thought, perhaps, you referred to an unhappy plight that already
casts its shadow before," he said boldly. "I may lose everything else,
my dear Countess, but _not_ my head."

"I believe you," she said, strangely serious. "I shall remember that."

She knew this man loved her.

"Sit down, now, and let us be comfy. We are quite alone," she added
instantly, a sudden confusion coming over her. "First, will you give me
that box of candy from the table? Thank you so much for sending it to
me. How in the world do you manage to get this wonderful New York candy
all the way to Graustark? It is quite fresh and perfectly delicious."

"Oh, Fifth Avenue isn't so far away as you think," he equivocated. "It's
just around the corner--of the world. What's eight or nine thousand
miles to a district messenger boy? I ring for one and he fetches the
candy, before you can wink your eye or say Jack Robinson. It's a
marvellous system."

He watched her white teeth set themselves daintily in the rich nougat;
then the red lips closed tranquilly only to open again in a smile of
rapture. For reasons best known to himself, he chose not to risk losing
the thing he had vowed not to lose. He turned his head--and carefully
inspected the end of his cigarette. A wholly unnecessary precaution, as
any one might have seen that it was behaving beautifully.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she studied his averted face in
that brief instant. When he turned to her again, she was resting her
head against the back of the chair, and her eyes were closed as if in
exquisite enjoyment of the morsel that lay behind her smiling lips.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asked.

"Tremendously," she replied, opening her eyes slowly.

"'Gad, I believe you are," he exclaimed. She sat up at once, and caught
her breath, although he did not know it. His smile distinctly upset her
tranquillity.

"By the way," he added, as if dismissing the matter, "have you forgotten
that on Tuesday we go to the Witch's hut in the hills? Bobby has
dingdonged it into me for days."

"It will be good fun," she said. Then, as a swift afterthought: "Be sure
that the bodyguard is strong--and true."




CHAPTER VII

AT THE WITCH'S HUT


The next morning, before setting forth to consult the minister of police
at the Tower, he called up the Perse palace on the telephone and asked
for the Countess, to tell her in so many words that he had been followed
from her door to the very gates of the Castle grounds. Not by one man
alone, for that would have excited suspicion, but by half a dozen at
least, each one taking up the surveillance in the most casual manner as
the watcher before him left off. Tullis was amazed by the cunning which
masked these proceedings; there was a wily brain behind it.

The Duke's secretary answered the call. Tullis was completely bowled
over by the curt information that the Countess Marlanx had left
Edelweiss before six that morning, to join her husband, who was shooting
wild boars with a party in Axphain.

"When does she return?" demanded the American, scarcely believing his
ears. She had said nothing of this the night before. What could it mean?

"I do not know, sir."

"In a day or two?"

"She took sixteen trunks, sir," was the laconic reply, as if that told
the story in full.

"Well, I'm damned!"

"I beg pardon, sir!"

"I beg _your_ pardon. Good morning."

       *       *       *       *       *

In the meantime, our excellent young friend, Truxton King, was having a
sorry time of it. It all began when he went to the Cathedral in the
hope of seeing the charming aunt of the little Prince once more. Not
only did he attend one service, but all of them, having been assured
that the royal family worshipped there quite as regularly and as
religiously as the lowliest communicant. She did not appear.

More than all this, he met with fresh disappointment when he ambled down
to the armourer's shop. The doors were locked and there was no sign of
life about the shuttered place. The cafés were closed on this day of
rest, so there was nothing left for him to do but to slink off to his
room in the Regengetz, there to read or to play solitaire and to curse
the progress of civilisation.

Monday was little better than Sunday. Hobbs positively refused to escort
him to the Castle grounds again. No amount of bribing or browbeating
could move the confounded Englishman from his stand. He was willing to
take him anywhere else, but never again would he risk a personally
conducted tour into hot waters royal. Mr. King resigned himself to a
purely business call at the shop of Mr. Spantz. He looked long, with a
somewhat shifty eye, at the cabinet of ancient rings and necklaces, and
then departed without having seen the interesting Miss Platanova. If the
old man observed a tendency to roam in the young man's eye, he did not
betray the fact--at least not so that any one could notice. Truxton
departed, but returned immediately after luncheon, vaguely inclined to
decide between two desirable rings. After a protracted period of
indecision, in which Olga remained stubbornly out of sight, he announced
that he could not make up his mind, and would return later for another
inspection.

At his room in the hotel, he found a note addressed to himself. It did
not have much to say, but it meant a great deal. There was no signature,
and the handwriting was that of a woman.

"_Please do not come again_." That was all.

He laughed with a fine tone of defiance and--went back to the shop at
five o'clock, just to prove that nothing so timid as a note could stop
him. This, however, was after he had taken a long walk down Castle
Avenue, with a supplementary stroll of little incident outside the grim,
high walls that enclosed the grounds. If any one had told him that he
was secretly hoping to find a crevasse through which he could invade
paradise, I make no doubt he would have resented the imputation soundly.
On the occasion of this last visit to the shop, he did not stay long,
but went away somewhat dazed to find himself the possessor of a ring he
did not want and out of pocket just thirty dollars, American. Having
come to the conclusion that knight-errantry of that kind was not only
profligate but distinctly irritating to his sense of humour, he looked
up Mr. Hobbs and arranged for a day's ride in the mountains.

"You'll oblige me, Mr. Hobbs, by removing that band from your cap. I
know you're an interpreter. It's an insult to my intelligence to have it
flaunted in my face all day long. I'll admit you're what you say you
are, so take it off before we start out to-morrow."

And so, minus the beguiling insignia of office, Mr. Hobbs led his
hypercritical patron into the mountain roads early the next morning,
both well mounted and provided with a luncheon large enough to restore
the amiability that was sure to flag at mid-day unless sustained by
unæsthetic sandwiches and beer.

The day was bright and clear, warm in the valley where the city lay,
cooler to cold as one mounted the winding roads that led past the lofty
Monastery of St. Valentine, sombre sentinel among the clouds.

A part of Edelweiss is built along the side of the mountain, its narrow
streets winding upward and past countless terraces to the very base of
the rocky, jagged eminence at whose top, a full mile above the last
sprinkling of houses, stands the isolated, bleak Monastery. The view
from these upper streets, before one enters the circuitous and hidden
Monastery road that winds afar in its climb, is never to be forgotten by
the spectator, no matter how often he traverses the lofty thoroughfares.
As far as the eye can reach, lies the green valley, through which winds
the silvery river with its evergreen banks and spotless white
houses-greens and whites that almost shame the vaunted tints of old
Ireland as one views them from the incoming steamers. Immediately below
one's feet lies the compact little city, with its red roofs and green
chimney pots, its narrow streets and vivid awnings, its wide avenues and
the ancient Castle to the north. To the south, the fortress and the
bridges; encircling the city a thick, high wall with here and there
enormous gates flanked by towers so grim and old that they seem ready to
topple over from the sheer fatigue of centuries. A soft, Indian summer
haze hangs over the lazy-lit valley; it is always so in the summer time.

Outside the city walls stretch the wheat-fields and the meadows, the
vineyards and orchards, all snug in the nest of forest-crowned hills,
whose lower slopes are spotted with broken herds of cattle and the more
mobile flocks of sheep. An air of tranquillity lies low over the entire
vista; one dozes if he looks long into this peaceful bowl of plenty.

From the distant passes in the mountains to the east and north come the
dull intonations of dynamite blasts, proving the presence of that
disturbing element of progress which is driving the railroad through the
unbroken heart of the land.

It is a good three hours' ride to the summit of Monastery Mountain. And,
after the height has been attained, one does not care to linger long
among the chilly, whistling crags, with their snow-crevasses and bitter
winds; the utter loneliness, the aloofness of this frost-crowned crest
appals, disheartens one who loves the fair, green things of life. In the
shelter of the crags, at the base of the Monastery walls, looking out
over the sunlit valley, one has his luncheon and his snack of spirits
quite undisturbed, for the monks pay no heed to him. They are not
hospitable, neither are they unfriendly. One seldom sees them.

Truxton King and Mr. Hobbs were not long in disposing of their lunch. It
was too cold for comfort in their draughty dining-room, and they were
not invited to enter the inhospitable gates. In half an hour they were
wending their way down the north side of the peak by gradually declining
roads, headed for the much-talked-of home of the Witch in Ganlook Gap,
some six miles from Edelweiss as the crow flies, but twice that distance
over the tortuous bridle paths and post roads.

It was three o'clock when they clattered down the stone road and up to
the forbidding vale in which lurked, like an evil, guilty thing, the
log-built home of that ancient female who made no secret of her
practices in witchcraft. The hut stood back from the mountain road a
hundred yards or more, at the head of a small, thicket-grown recess.

A low, thatched roof protruded from the hill against which the hut was
built. As a matter of fact, a thin chimney grew out of the earth
itself, for all the world like a smoking tree stump. The hovel was a
squalid, beggary thing that might have been built over night somewhere
back in the dark ages. Its single door was so low that one was obliged
to stoop to enter the little room where the dame had been holding forth
for three-score years, 'twas said. This was her throne-room, her
dining-room, her bed-chamber, her all, it would seem, unless one had
been there before and knew that her kitchen was beyond, in the side of
the hill. The one window, sans glass, looked narrowly out upon an odd
opening in the foliage below, giving the occupant of the hut an
unobstructed view of the winding road that led up from Edelweiss. The
door faced the Monastery road down which the two men had just ridden. As
for the door yard, it was no more than a pebbly, avalanche-swept opening
among the trees and rocks, down which in the glacial age perhaps a
thousand torrents had leaped, but which was now so dry and white and
lifeless that one could only think of bones bleached and polished by a
sun that had sickened of the work a thousand years ago.

This brief, inadequate description of the Witch's hut is given in
advance of the actual descent of the personally conducted gentleman for
the somewhat ambiguous reason that he was to find it not at all as
described.

The two horsemen rode into the glen and came plump upon a small
detachment of the royal guard, mounted and rather resolute in their lack
of amiability.

"Wot's this?" gasped Mr. Hobbs, drawing rein at the edge of the pebbly
dooryard.

"Soldiers, I'd say," remarked Mr. King, scowling quite glumly from
beneath the rim of his panama. "Hello!" His eyes brightened and his hat
came off with a switch. "There's the Prince!"

"My word," ejaculated Mr. Hobbs, and forthwith began to ransack his
pockets for the band which said he was from Cook's.

Farther up the glen, in fact at the very door of the Witch's hut, were
gathered a small but rather distinguished portion of the royal
household. It was not difficult to recognise the little Prince. He was
standing beside John Tullis; and it is not with a desire to speak ill of
his valour that we add: he was clutching the slackest part of that
gentleman's riding breeks with an earnestness that betrayed extreme
trepidation. Facing them, on the stone door-step, was the Witch herself,
a figure to try the courage of a time-tried hero, let alone the
susceptibilities of a small boy in knickers. Behind Tullis and the
Prince were several ladies and gentlemen, all in riding garments and all
more or less ill at ease.

Truxton King's heart swelled suddenly; all the world grew bright again
for him. Next to the tall figure of Colonel Quinnox, of the Royal Guard,
was the slim, entrancing lady of his most recent dreams--the Prince's
aunt! The lady of the grotto! The lady of the goldfish conspiracy!

The Countess Marlanx, tall and exquisite, was a little apart from the
others, with Baron Dangloss and young Count Vos Engo--whom Truxton was
ready to hate because he was a recognised suitor for the hand of the
slim, young person in grey. He thought he had liked her beyond increase
in the rajah silk, but now he confessed to himself that he was mistaken.
He liked her better in a grey riding habit. It struck him sharply, as he
sat there in the saddle, that she would be absolutely and adorably
faultless in point lace or calico, in silk or gingham, low-neck or high.
He was for riding boldly up to this little group, but a very
objectionable lieutenant barred the way, supported in no small measure
by the defection of Mr. Hobbs, who announced in a hoarse, agitated
whisper that he's "be 'anged if he'd let any man make a fool of him
twice over."

The way was made easy by the intervention of the alert young woman in
grey. She caught sight of the restricted adventurers--or one of them, to
be quite accurate--and, after speeding a swift smile of astonishment,
turned quickly to Prince Bobby.

A moment later, the tall stranger with the sun-browned face was the
centre of interest to the small group at the door. He bowed amiably to
the smiling young person in grey and received a quick nod in response.
As he was adventuring what he considered to be a proper salute for the
Prince, he observed that a few words passed between the lad's aunt and
John Tullis, who was now surveying him with some interest.

The Prince broke the ice.

"Hello!" he cried shrilly, his little face aglow.

"Hello!" responded the gentleman, readily.

John Tullis found himself being dragged away from the Witch's door
toward the newcomer at the bottom of the glen. Mr. Hobbs listened with
deepening awe to the friendly conversation which resulted in Truxton
King going forward to join the party in front of the hut. He came along
in the rear, after having tethered the tired horses, not quite sure that
he was awake. The Prince had called him Mr. Cook, had asked him how his
Sons were, all of which was highly gratifying when one pauses to
consider that he had got his cap band on upside down in his excitement.
He always was to wonder how the little monarch succeeded in reading the
title without standing on his head to do so.

Truxton was duly presented to the ladies and gentlemen of the party by
John Tullis, who gracefully announced that he knew King's parents in New
York. Baron Dangloss was quite an old friend, if one were to judge by
the manner in which he greeted the young man. The lady in grey smiled so
sweetly and nodded so blithely, that Tullis, instead of presenting King
to her as he had done to the Countess Marlanx and others, merely said:

"And you know one another, of course." Whereupon she flushed very
prettily and felt constrained to avoid Truxton's look of inquiry. He did
not lose his wits, but vowed acquiescence and assumed that he knew.

As a result of the combined supplications of the entire party, the old
woman grudgingly consented to take them into her hovel, where, in
exchange for small pieces of silver, she would undertake certain
manifestations in necromancy.

Truxton King, scarcely able to believe his good fortune, crowded into
the loathsome, squalid room with his aristocratic companions, managing,
with considerable skill, to keep close beside his charming friend. They
stood back while the others crowded up to the table where the hag
occupied herself with the crystal ball.

Never had Truxton looked upon a creature who so thoroughly vindicated
the life-long reliance he had put in the description of witches given by
the fairy-tale tellers of his earliest youth. She had the traditional
hook-nose and peaked chin, the glittering eyes, the thousand wrinkles
and the toothless gums. He looked about for the raven and the cat, but
if she had them, they were not in evidence. At a rough guess, he
calculated her age at one hundred years. A youth of extreme laziness,
who Baron Dangloss said was the old woman's grandson, appeared to be her
man-of-all-work. He fetched the old woman's crystal, placed stools for
the visitors, lighted the candles on the table, occupying no less than a
quarter of an hour in performing these simple acts, so awkward that at
least two of his observers giggled openly and whispered their opinions.

"Gruesome lady, isn't she?" whispered King.

"I shall dream of her for months," whispered the lady in grey,
shuddering.

"Are you willing to have her read your future in that ball?"

"Do you really think she can tell?"

"I once had a fortune-teller say that I would be married before I was
twenty-three," he informed her. She appeared interested.

"And were you?"

"No. But she did her part, you know--the fortune-teller, I mean."

"She warned you. I see. So it really wasn't her fault." She was watching
the preparations at the table with eager eyes, her lips parted and her
breath coming quick through excitement.

"Would you mind telling me how I am to address you?" whispered King.
They were leaning against the mud-plastered wall near the little window,
side by side. The whimsical smile that every one loved to see was on his
lips, in his eyes. "You see, I'm a stranger in a strange land. That
accounts for my ignorance."

"You must not speak while she is gazing into the crystal," she warned,
after a quick, searching glance at his face. He could have sworn that he
saw a gleam of concern in her eyes, followed instantly by a twinkle that
meant mischief.

"Please consider my plight," he implored. "I can't call you Aunt
Loraine, you know."

She laughed silently and turned her head to devote her entire attention
to the scene at the table. Truxton King was in a sudden state of
trepidation. Had he offended her? There was a hot rush of blood to his
ears. He missed the sly, wondering glance that she gave him out of the
corner of her eye a moment later.

Although it was broad daylight, the low, stuffy room would have been
pitch dark had it not been for the flickering candles on the table
beside the bent, grey head of the mumbling fortune-teller, whose bony
fingers twitched over and about the crystal globe like wiggling
serpents' tails. The window gave little or no light and the door was
closed, the grinning grandson leaning against it limply. The picture was
a weird, uncanny one, despite the gay, lightsome appearance of the
visitors. The old woman, in high, shrill tones, had commanded silence.
The men obeyed with a grim scepticism, while the women seemed really
awed by their surroundings.

The Witch began by reading the fortune of John Tullis, who had been
pushed forward by the wide-eyed Prince. In a cackling monotone she
rambled through a supposititious history of his past, for the chief part
so unintelligible that even he could not gainsay the statements. Later,
she bent her piercing eyes upon the Prince and refused to read his
future, shrilly asserting that she had not the courage to tell what
might befall the little ruler, all the while muttering something about
the two little princes who had died in a tower ages and ages ago. Seeing
that the boy was frightened, Tullis withdrew him to the background. The
Countess Marlanx, who had returned that morning to Edelweiss as
mysteriously as she had left, came next. She was smiling derisively.

"You have just returned from a visit to some one whom you hate," began
the Witch. "He is your husband. You will marry again. There is a
fair-haired man in love with you. You are in love with him. I can see
trouble--"

But the Countess deliberately turned away from the table, her cheeks
flaming with the consciousness that a smile had swept the circle behind
her graceful back.

"Ridiculous," she said, and avoided John Tullis's gaze. "I don't care to
hear any more. Come, Baron You are next."

Truxton King, subdued and troubled in his mind, found himself studying
his surroundings and the people who went so far to make them
interesting. He glanced from time to time at the delicate, eager profile
of the girl beside him; at the soft, warm cheek and the caressing brown
hair; at the little ear and the white slim neck of her--and realised
just what had happened to him. He had fallen in love; that was the plain
upshot of it. It had come to pass, just as he had hoped it would in his
dearest dreams. He was face to face with the girl of royal blood that
the story books had created for him long, long ago, and he was doing
just what he had always intended to do: falling heels over head and
hopelessly in love with her. Never had he seen hair grow so exquisitely
about the temples and neck as this one's hair--but, just to confound his
budding singleness of interest, his gaze at that instant wandered off
and fell upon something that caused him to stare hard at a certain spot
far removed from the coiffure of a fair and dainty lady.

His eye had fallen upon a crack in the door that led to the kitchen,
although he had no means of knowing that it was a kitchen. To his
amazement, a gleaming eye was looking out upon the room from beyond
this narrow crack. He looked long and found that he was not mistaken.
There was an eye, glued close to the opposite side of the rickety door,
and its gaze was directed to the Countess Marlanx.

The spirit of adventure, recklessness, bravado--whatever you may choose
to call it--flared high in the soul of this self-despised outsider. He
could feel a strange thrill of exaltation shooting through his veins; he
knew as well as he knew anything that he was destined to create
commotion in that stately crowd, even against his better judgment. The
desire to spring forward and throw open the door, thus exposing a
probable con-federate, was stronger than he had the power to resist.
Even as he sought vainly to hold himself in check, he became conscious
that the staring eye was meeting his own in a glare of realisation.

Without pausing to consider the result of his action, he sprang across
the room, shouting as he did so that there was a man behind the door.
Grasping the latch, he threw the door wide open, the others in the room
looking at him as if he were suddenly crazed.

He had expected to confront the owner of that basilisk eye. There was
not a sign of a human being in sight. Beyond was a black little room, at
the back of which stood an old cooking stove with a fire going and a
kettle singing. He leaped through, prepared to grasp the mysterious
watcher, but, to his utter amazement, the kitchen was absolutely empty,
save for inanimate things. His surprise was so genuine that it was not
to be mistaken by the men who leaped to his side. He had time to note
that two of them carried pistols in their hands, and that Tullis and
Quinnox had placed themselves between the Prince and possible danger.

There was instant commotion, with cries and exclamations from all. Quick
as the others were, the old woman was at his side before them, snarling
with rage. Her talon-like fingers sunk into his arm, and her gaze went
darting about the room in a most convincing way. Some minutes passed
before the old woman could be quieted. Then King explained his action.
He swore solemnly, if sheepishly, that he could not have been mistaken,
and yet the owner of that eye had vanished as if swallowed up by the
mountain.

Baron Dangloss was convinced that the young man had seen the eye.
Without compunction he began a search of the room, the old woman looking
on with a grin of glee.

"Search! Search!" she croaked. "It was the Spirit Eye! It is looking at
you now, my fine baron! It finds you, yet cannot be found. No, no! Oh,
you fools! Get out! Get out! All of you! Prince or no Prince, I fear you
not, nor all your armies. This is my home! My castle! Go! Go!"

"There was a man here, old woman," said the Baron coolly. "Where is he?
What is your game? I am not to be fooled by these damnable tricks of
yours. Where is the man?"

She laughed aloud, a horrid sound. The Prince clutched Tullis by the leg
in terror.

"Brace up, Bobby," whispered his big friend, leaning down to comfort
him. "Be a man!"

"It--it's mighty hard," chattered Bobby, but he squared his little
shoulders.

The ladies of the party had edged forward, peering into the kitchen,
alarm having passed, although the exclamation "boo!" would have played
havoc with their courage.

"I swear there was some one looking through that crack," protested King,
wiping his brow in confusion. "Miss--er--I should say--_you_ could have
seen it from where you stood," he pleaded, turning to the lady in grey.

"Dear me, I wish I had," she cried. "I've always wanted to see some one
snooping."

"There is no window, no trap door, no skylight," remarked the Baron,
puzzled. "Nothing but the stovepipe, six inches in diameter. A man
couldn't crawl out through that, I'm sure. Mr. King, we've come upon a
real mystery. The eye without a visible body."

"I'm sure I saw it," reiterated Truxton. The Prince's aunt was actually
laughing at him. But so was the Witch, for that matter. He didn't mind
the Witch.

Suddenly the old woman stepped into the middle of the room and began to
wave her hands in a mysterious manner over an empty pot that stood on
the floor in front of the stove. The others drew back, watching her with
the greatest curiosity.

A droning song oozed from the thin lips; the gesticulations grew in
weirdness and fervor. Then, before their startled eyes, a thin film of
smoke began to rise from the empty pot. It grew in volume until the room
was quite dense with it. Even more quickly than it began, it
disappeared, drawn apparently by some supernatural agency into the draft
of the stove and out through the rickety chimney pipe. Even Dangloss
blinked his eyes, and not because they were filled with smoke.

A deafening crash, as of many guns, came to their ears from the outside.
With one accord the entire party rushed to the outer door, a wild laugh
from the hag pursuing them.

"There!" she screamed. "There goes all there was of him! And so shall
we all go some day. Fire and smoke!"

Not one there but thought on the instant of the Arabian nights and the
genii who went up in smoke--those never-to-be-forgotten tales of wonder.

Just outside the door stood Lieutenant Saffo of the guard, his hand to
his cap. He was scarcely distinguishable, so dark had the day become.

"Good Lord!" shouted Tullis. "What's the matter? What has happened?"

"The storm, sir," said Saffo. "It is coming down the valley like the
wind." A great crash of thunder burst overhead and lightning darted
through the black, swirling skies.

"Very sudden, sir," added Mr. Hobbs from behind. "Like a puff of wind,
sir."

The Witch stood in the door behind them, smiling as amiably as it was
possible for her to smile.

"Come in," she said. "There's room for all of you. The spirits have
gone. Ha, ha! My merry man! Even the eye is gone. Come in, your
Highness. Accept the best I can offer--shelter from the hurricane. I've
seen many, but this looks to be the worst. So it came sudden, eh? Ha,
ha!"

The roar of wind and rain in the trees above seemed like a howl of
confirmation. Into the hovel crowded the dismayed pleasure-seekers,
followed by the soldiers, who had made the horses fast at the first sign
of the storm.

Down came the rain in torrents, whisked and driven, whirled and shot by
the howling winds, split by the lightning and urged to greater glee by
the deafening applause of the thunder. Apple carts in the skies!

Out in the dooryard the merry grandson of the Witch was dancing as if
possessed by revelling devils.




CHAPTER VIII

LOOKING FOR AN EYE


"Washing the dead men's bones," was the remark King made a few minutes
later. The storm was at its height; the sheets of rain that swept down
the pebbly glen elicited the gruesome sentence. He stood directly behind
the quaking Loraine, quite close to the open door; there is no doubt
that the observation was intended for her ears, maliciously or
otherwise.

She gave him an awed glance, but no verbal response. It was readily to
be seen that she was terrified by the violence of the mountain tornado.
As if to shame him for the frivolous remark, she suddenly changed her
position, putting herself behind him.

"I like that," he remonstrated, emboldened by the elements. "You leave
me in front to be struck by the first bolt of lightning that comes
along. And I a stranger, too."

"Isn't it awful?" she murmured, her fingers in her ears, her eyes
tightly closed. "Do you think we'll be struck?"

"Certainly not," he assured her. "This is a charmed spot. It's a frolic
of her particular devils. She waves her hand: all the goblins and
thunder-workers in this neck of the woods hustle up to see what's the
matter. Then there's an awful rumpus. In a minute or two she'll wave her
hand and--presto! It will stop raining. But," with a distressed look out
into the thick of it, "it would be a beastly joke if lightning should
happen to strike that nag of mine. I'd not only have to walk to town,
but I'd have to pay three prices for the brute."

"I think she's perfectly--ooh!--perfectly wonderful. Goodness, that was
a crash! Where do you think it struck?"

"If you'll stand over here a little closer I'll point out the tree. See?
Right down the ravine there? See the big limb swaying? That's the place.
The old lady is carrying her joke too far. That's pretty close home.
Stand right there, please. I won't let it rain in on you."

"You are very good, Mr. King. I--I've always thought I loved a storm.
Ooh! But this is too terrible! Aren't you really afraid you'll be
struck? Thanks, ever so much." He had squared himself between her and
the door, turning his back upon the storm: but not through cowardice, as
one might suppose.

"Don't mention it. I won't mind it so much, don't you know, if I get
struck in the back. How long ago did you say it was that you went to
school with my sister?"

All this time the Witch was haranguing her huddled audience, cursing the
soldiers, laughing gleefully in the faces of her stately, scornful
guests, greatly to the irritation of Baron Dangloss, toward whom she
showed an especial attention.

Tullis was holding the Prince in his arms. Colonel Quinnox stood before
them, keeping the babbling, leering beldame from thrusting her face
close to that of the terrified boy. Young Vos Engo glowered at Truxton
King from the opposite side of the room. Mr. Hobbs had safely ensconced
himself in the rear of the six guardsmen, who stood near the door, ready
to dash forth if by any chance the terrified horses should succeed in
breaking away.

The Countess Marlanx, pale and rigid, her wondrous eyes glowing with
excitement, stood behind John Tullis, straight and strong, like a storm
spirit glorying in the havoc that raged about her. Time and again she
leaned forward to utter words of encouragement in the ear of the little
Prince, never without receiving a look of gratitude and surprise from
his tall protector.

And all this time the goose-herd grandson of the Witch was dancing his
wild, uncanny solo in the thick of the brew, an exalted grin on his
face, strange cries of delight breaking from his lips: a horrid
spectacle that fascinated the observers.

With incredible swiftness the storm passed. Almost at its height, there
came a cessation of the roaring tempest; the downpour was checked, the
thunder died away and the lightning trickled off into faint flashes. The
sky cleared as if by magic. The exhibition, if you please, was over!

Even the most stoical, unimpressionable men in the party looked at each
other in bewilderment and--awe, there was no doubt of it. The glare that
Dangloss bent upon the hag proved that he had been rudely shaken from
his habitual complacency.

"It is the most amazing thing I've ever seen," he said, over and over
again.

The Countess Marlanx was trembling violently. Tullis, observing this,
tried to laugh away her nervousness.

"Mere coincidence, that's all," he said. "Surely you are not
superstitious. You can't believe she brought about this storm?"

"It isn't that," she said in a low voice. "I feel as if a grave personal
danger had just passed me by. Not danger for the rest of you, but for me
alone. That is the sensation I have: the feeling of one who has stepped
back from the brink of an abyss just in time to avoid being pushed over.
I can't make you understand. See! I am trembling. I have seen no more
than the rest of you, yet am more terrified, more upset than Robin,
poor child. Perhaps I am foolish. I _know_ that something dreadful
has--I might say, touched me. Something that no one else could have seen
or felt."

"Nerves, my dear Countess. Shadows! I used to see them and feel them
when I was a lad no bigger than Bobby if left alone in the dark. It is a
grown-up fear of goblins. You'll be over it as soon as we are outside."

Ten minutes later the cavalcade started down the rain-swept road toward
the city, dry blankets having been placed across the saddles occupied by
the ladies and the Prince. The Witch stood in her doorway, laughing
gleefully, inviting them to come often.

"Come again, your Highness," she croaked sarcastically.

"The next time I come, it will be with a torch to burn you alive!"
shouted back Dangloss. To Tullis he added: "'Gad, sir, they did well to
burn witches in your town of Salem. You cleared the country of them, the
pests."

Darkness was approaching fast among the sombre hills; the great pass was
enveloped in the mists and the gloaming of early night. In a compact
body the guardsmen rode close about Prince Robin and his friend.
Ingomede had urged this upon Tullis, still oppressed by the feeling of
disaster that had come over her in the hovel.

"It means something, my friend, it means something," she insisted. "I
feel it--I am sure of it." Riding quite close beside him, she added in
lower tones: "I was with my husband no longer ago than yesterday. Do you
know that I believe it is Count Marlanx that I feel everywhere about me
now? _He_--his presence--is in the air! Oh, I wish I could make you feel
as I do."

"You haven't told me why you ran away on Sunday," he said, abruptly,
dismissing her argument with small ceremony.

"He sent for me. I--I had to go." There was a new, strange expression in
her eyes that puzzled him for a long time. Suddenly the solution came:
she was completely captive to the will of this hated husband. The
realisation brought a distinct, sickening shock with it.

Down through the lowering shades rode the Prince's party, swiftly, even
gaily by virtue of relaxation from the strain of a weird half hour. No
one revealed the slightest sign of apprehension arising from the
mysterious demonstration in which nature had taken a hand.

Truxton King was holding forth, with cynical good humour, for the
benefit, if not the edification of Baron Dangloss, with whom he
rode--Mr. Hobbs galloping behind not unlike the faithful Sancho of
another Quixote's day.

"It's all tommy-rot, Baron," said Truxton. "We've got a dozen stage
wizards in New York who can do all she did and then some. That smoke
from the kettle is a corking good trick--but that's all it is, take my
word for it. The storm? Why, you know as well as I do, Baron, that she
can't bring rain like that. If she could, they'd have her over in the
United States right now, saving the crops, with or without water. That
was chance. Hobbs told me this morning it looked like rain. By the way,
I must apologise to him. I said he was a crazy kill-joy. The thing that
puzzles me is what became of the owner of that eye. I'll stake my life
on it, I saw an eye. 'Gad, it looked right into mine. Queerest feeling
it gave me."

"Ah, that's it, my young friend. What became of the eye? Poof! And it is
gone. We searched immediately. No sign. It is most extraordinary."

"I'll admit it's rather gruesome, but--I say, do you know I've a mind to
look into that matter if you don't object, Baron. It's a game of some
sort. She's a wily old dame, but I think if we go about it right we can
catch her napping and expose the whole game. I'm going back there in a
day or two and try to get at the bottom of it. That confounded eye
worries me. She's laughing up her sleeve at us, too, you know."

"I should advise you to keep away from her, my friend. Granted she has
tricked us: why not? It is her trade. She does no harm--except that
she's most offensively impudent. And I rather imagine she'll resent your
investigation, if you attempt it. I can't say that I'd blame her." The
Baron laughed.

"Baron, it struck me a bit shivery at the time, but I want to say to you
now that the eye that I saw at the crack was not that of an idle peeper,
nor was it a mere fakir's substitute. It was as malevolent as the devil
and it glared--do you understand? Glared! It didn't _peep!_"

Truxton King, for reasons best known to himself, soon relapsed into a
thoughtful, contemplative silence. Between us, he was sorely vexed and
disappointed. When the gallant start was made from the glen of "dead
men's bones," he found that he was to be cast utterly aside, quite
completely ignored by the fair Loraine. She rode off with young Count
Vos Engo without so much as a friendly wave of the hand to him. He said
it over to himself several times: "not even a friendly wave of her
hand." It was as if she had forgotten his existence, or--merciful
Powers! What was worse--as if she took this way of showing him his
place. Of course, that being her attitude, he glumly found his
place--which turned out rather ironically to be under the eye of a
police officer--and made up his mind that he would stay there.

Vos Engo, being an officer in the Royal Guard, rode ahead by order of
Colonel Quinnox. Truxton, therefore, had her back in view--at rather a
vexing distance, too--for mile after mile of the ride to the city. Not
so far ahead, however, that he could not observe every movement of her
light, graceful figure as she swept down the King's Highway. She was a
perfect horsewoman, firm, jaunty, free. Somehow he knew, without seeing,
that a stray brown wisp of hair caressed her face with insistent
adoration: he could see her hand go up from time to time to brush it
back--just as if it were not a happy place for a wisp of hair.
Perhaps--he shivered with the thought of it--perhaps it even caressed
her lips. Ah, who would not be a wisp of brown hair!

He galloped along beside the Baron, a prey to gloomy considerations.
What was the use? He had no chance to win her. That was for story-books
and plays. She belonged to another world--far above his. And even beyond
that, she was not likely to be attracted by such a rude, ungainly,
sunburned lout as he, with such chaps about as Vos Engo, or that
what's-his-name fellow, or a dozen others whom he had seen. Confound it
all, she was meant for a prince, or an archduke. What chance had he?

But she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen. Yes; she was the
golden girl of his dreams. Within his grasp, so to speak, and yet he
could not hope to seize her, after all. Was she meant for that popinjay
youth with the petulant eye and the sullen jaw? Was he to be the lucky
man, this Vos Engo?

The Baron's dry, insinuating voice broke in upon the young man's
thoughts. "I think it's pretty well understood that she's going to
marry him." The little old minister had been reading King's thoughts; he
had the satisfaction of seeing his victim start guiltily. It was on the
tip of Truxton's tongue to blurt out: "How the devil did you know what I
was thinking about?" But he managed to control himself, asking instead,
with bland interest:

"Indeed? Is it a good match, Baron?"

The Baron smiled. "I think so. He has been a trifle wild, but I believe
he has settled down. Splendid family. He is desperately in love, as you
may have noted."

"I hadn't thought much about it. Is she in love with him?"

"She sees a great deal of him," was the diplomatic answer.

Truxton considered well for a minute or two, and then bluntly asked:

"Would you mind telling me just who she is, Baron? What is her name?"

Dangloss was truly startled. He gave the young man a quick, penetrating
glance; then a set, hard expression came into his eyes.

"Do you mean, sir, that you don't know her?" he asked, almost harshly.

"I don't know her name."

"And you had the effrontery to--My excellent friend, you amaze me. I
can't believe it of you. Why, sir, how dare you say this to me? I know
that Americans are bold, but, by gad, sir, I've always looked upon them
as gentlemen. You--"

"Hold on, Baron Dangloss," interrupted Truxton, very red in the face.
"Don't say it, please. You'd better hear my side of the story first. She
went to school with my sister. She knows me, but, confound it, sir, she
refuses to tell me who she is. Do you think that is fair? Now, I'll
tell you how it came about." He related the story of the goldfish and
the pinhook. The Baron smiled comfortably to himself, a sphinx-like
expression coming into his beady eyes as he stared steadily on ahead;
her trim grey back seemed to encourage his admiring smile.

"Well, my boy, if she elects to keep you in the dark concerning her
name, it is not for me to betray her," he said at the end of the
recital. "Ladies in her position, I dare say, enjoy these little
mysteries. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you. Perhaps it would
be well for you to be properly, officially presented to her hi--to the
young lady. Your countryman, Mr. Tullis, will be glad to do so, I fancy.
But let me suggest: don't permit your ingenuousness to get the better of
you again. She's having sport with you on account of it. We all know her
propensities."

It was dusk when they entered the northern gates. Above the Castle, King
said good-bye to Tullis and the Countess, gravely saluted the sleepy
Prince, and followed Mr. Hobbs off to the heart of the city. He was hot
with resentment. Either she had forgotten to say good-bye to him or had
wilfully decided to ignore him altogether; at any rate, she entered the
gates to the Castle grounds without so much as an indifferent glance in
his direction.

Truxton knew in advance that he was to have a sleepless, unhappy night.

In his room at the hotel he found the second anonymous letter,
unquestionably from the same source, but this time printed in crude,
stilted letters. It had been stuck under the door, together with some
letters that had been forwarded from Teheran.

"_Leave the city at once. You are in great danger. Save yourself_!"

This time he did not laugh. That it was from Olga Platanova he made no
doubt. But why she should interest herself so persistently in his
welfare was quite beyond him, knowing as he did that in no sense had he
appealed to her susceptibility. And what, after all, could she mean by
"great danger"? "Save yourself!" He sat for a long time considering the
situation. At last he struck the window sill a resounding thwack with
his fist and announced his decision to the silent, disinterested wall
opposite.

"I'll take her advice. I'll get out. Not because I'm afraid to stay, but
because there's no use. She's got no eyes for me. I'm a plain
impossibility so far as she's concerned. It's Vos Engo--damn little rat!
Old Dangloss came within an ace of speaking of her as 'her Highness.'
That's enough for me. That means she's a princess. It's all very nice in
novels, but in real life men don't go about picking up any princess they
happen to like. No, sir! I might just as well get out while I can. She
treated me as if I were a yellow dog to-day--after I'd been damned
agreeable to her, too, standing between her and the lightning. I might
have been struck. I wonder if she would have been grateful. No; she
wouldn't. She'd have smiled her sweetest, and said: "wasn't it lucky?"

He picked up the note once more. "If I were a storybook hero, I'd stick
this thing in my pocket and set out by myself to unravel the mystery
behind it. But I've chucked the hero job for good and all. I'm going to
hand this over to Dangloss. It's the sensible thing to do, even if it
isn't what a would-be hero in search of a princess aught to do. What's
more, I'll hunt the Baron up this very hour. Hope it doesn't get Olga
into trouble."

He indulged in another long spell of thoughtfulness. "No, by George,
I'll not turn tail at the first sign of danger. I'll stay here and
assist Dangloss in unravelling this matter. And I'll go up to that
Witch's hole before I'm a day older to have it out with her. I'll find
out where the smoke came from and I'll know where that eye went to." He
sighed without knowing it. "By Jove, I'd like to do something to show
her I'm not the blooming duffer she thinks I am."

He could not find Baron Dangloss that night, nor early the next day.
Hobbs, after being stigmatised as the only British coward in the world,
changed his mind and made ready to accompany King to the hovel in
Ganlook Gap.

By noon the streets in the vicinity of the Plaza were filled with
strange, rough-looking men, undeniably labourers.

"Who are they?" demanded King, as they rode past a particularly sullen,
forbidding crowd at the corner below the city hail.

"There's a strike on among the men who are building the railroad," said
Hobbs. "Ugly looking crowd, eh?"

"A strike? 'Gad, it's positively homelike."

"I heard a bit ago that the matter has been adjusted. They go back to
work to-morrow, slight increase in pay and a big decrease in work. They
were to have had their answer to-day. Mr. Tullis, I hear, was
instrumental in having the business settled without a row."

"They'd better look out for these fellows," said King, very soberly. "I
don't like the appearance of 'em. They look like cut-throats."

"Take my word for it, sir, they are. They're the riff-raff of all
Europe. You should have seen them of a Sunday, sir, before the order
went out closing the drinking places on that day. My word, they took the
town. There was no living here for the decent people. Women couldn't go
out of their houses."

"I hope Baron Dangloss knows how to handle them?" in some anxiety. "By
the way, remind me to look up the Baron just as soon as we get back to
town this evening."

"If we ever get back!" muttered the unhappy Mr. Hobbs. Prophetic
lamentation!

In due time they rode into the sombre solitudes of Ganlook Gap and up to
the Witch's glen. Here Mr. Hobbs balked. He refused to adventure farther
than the mouth of the stony ravine. Truxton approached the hovel alone,
without the slightest trepidation. The goose-herd grandson was driving a
flock of geese across the green bowl below the cabin. The American
called out to him and a moment later the youth, considerably excited,
drove his geese up to the door. He could understand no English, nor
could Truxton make out what he was saying in the native tongue. While
they were vainly haranguing each other the old woman appeared at the
edge of the thicket above the hut. Uttering shrill exclamations, she
hurried down to confront King with blazing eyes. He fell back,
momentarily dismayed. Her horrid grin of derision brought a flush to his
cheek; he faced her quite coolly.

"I'll lay you a hundred gavvos that the kettle and smoke experiment is a
fake of the worst sort," he announced, after a somewhat lengthy appeal
to be allowed to enter the hut as a simple seeker after knowledge.

"Have it your own way! Have it your own way!" she cackled.

"Tell you what I'll do; if I can't expose that trick in ten minutes,
I'll make you a present of a hundred gavvos."

She took him up like a flash, a fact which startled and disconcerted him
not a little. Her very eagerness augured ill for his proposition. Still,
he was in for it; he was determined to get inside the hut and solve the
mystery, if it were possible. Exposure of the Witch would at least
attract the interest if not the approval of a certain young lady in
purple and fine linen. That was surely worth while.

With a low, mocking bow, the shrivelled hag stood aside and motioned for
him to precede her into the hovel. He looked back at Mr. Hobbs. That
gentleman's eyes seemed to be starting from his head.

"A hundred gavvos is a fortune not easily to be won," said the old dame.
"How can I be sure that you will pay me if you lose?"

"It is in my pocket, madam. If I don't pay, you may instruct your
excellent grandson to crack me over the head. He looks as though he'd do
it for a good deal less money, I'll say that for him."

"He is honest--as honest as his grandmother," cried the old woman. She
bestowed a toothless grin upon him. "Now what is it you want to do?"

They were standing in the centre of the wretched living-room. The
goose-boy was in the door, looking on with strangely alert, questioning
eyes, ever and anon peering over his shoulder toward the spot where
Hobbs stood with the horses. He seldom took his gaze from the face of
the old woman, a rat-like smile touching the corners of his fuzz-lined
lips.

"I want to go through that kitchen, just to satisfy myself of one or two
things." King was looking hard at the crack in the kitchen door.
Suddenly he started as if shot.

The staring, burning eye was again looking straight at him from the
jagged crack in the door!

"I'll get you this time," he shouted, crossing the room in two eager
leaps. The door responded instantly to his violent clutch, swung open
with a bang, and disclosed the interior of the queer little kitchen.

The owner of that mocking, phantom eye was gone!

Like a frantic dog, Truxton dashed about the little kitchen, looking in
every corner, every crack for signs of the thing he chased. At last he
paused, baffled, mystified. The old woman was standing in the middle of
the outer room, grinning at him with what was meant for complacency, but
which struck him at once as genuine malevolence.

"Ha, ha!" she croaked. "You fool! You fool! Search! Smell him out! All
the good it will do you! Ha, ha!"

"By gad, I _will_ get at the bottom of this!" shouted Truxton, stubborn
rage possessing him. "There's some one here, and I know it. I'm not such
a fool as to believe--Say! What's that? The ceiling! By the eternal,
that scraping noise explains it! There's where the secret trap-door
is--in the ceiling! Within arm's reach, at that! Watch me, old woman!
I'll have your spry friend out of his nest in the shake of a lamb's
tail."

The hag was standing in the kitchen door now, still grinning evilly. She
watched the eager young man pound upon the low ceiling with a
three-legged stool that he had seized from the floor.

"I don't see how he got up there so quickly, though. He must be like
greased lightning."

He was pounding vigorously on the roughly boarded ceiling when the
sharp voice of the old woman, raised in command, caused him to lower the
stool and turn upon her with gleaming, triumphant eyes. The look he saw
in her face was sufficient to check his enterprise for the moment. He
dropped the stool and started toward her, his arms extended to catch her
swaying form. The look of the dying was in her eyes; she seemed to be
crumpling before him.

He reached her in time, his strong arms grasping the frail, bent figure
as it sank to the floor. As he lifted her bodily from her feet, intent
upon carrying her to the open air, her bony fingers sank into his arm
with the grip of death, and--could he believe his ears!--a low, mocking
laugh came from her lips.

Down where the pebbly house-yard merged into the mossy banks, Mr. Hobbs
sat tight, still staring with gloomy eyes at the dark little hut up the
glen. His sturdy knees were pressing the skirts of the saddle with a
firmness that left no room for doubt as to the tension his nerves were
under. Now and then he murmured "My word!" but in what connection it is
doubtful if even he could tell. A quarter of an hour had passed since
King disappeared through the doorway: Mr. Hobbs was getting nervous.

The shiftless, lanky goose-herd came forth in time, and lazily drove his
scattered flock off into the lower glen.

The horses were becoming impatient. To his extreme discomfort, not to
say apprehension, they were constantly pricking their ears forward and
snorting in the direction of the hovel; a very puzzling circumstance,
thought Mr. Hobbs. At this point he began to say "dammit," and with some
sense of appreciation, too.

Presently his eye caught sight of a thin stream of smoke, rather black
than blue, arising from the little chimney at the rear of the cabin.
His eyes flew very wide open; his heart experienced a sudden throbless
moment; his mind leaped backward to the unexplained smoke mystery of the
day before. It was on the end of his tongue to cry out to his unseen
patron, to urge him to leave the Witch to her deviltry and come along
home, when the old woman herself appeared in the doorway--alone.

She sat down upon the doorstep, pulling away at a long pipe, her hooded
face almost invisible from the distance which he resolutely held. He
felt that she was eyeing him with grim interest. For a few minutes he
waited, a sickening doubt growing up in his soul. A single glance showed
him that the chimney was no longer emitting smoke. It seemed to him that
the old woman was losing all semblance of life. She was no more than a
black, inanimate heap of rags piled against the door-jamb.

Hobbs let out a shout. The horses plunged viciously. Slowly the bundle
of rags took shape. The old woman arose and hobbled toward him, leaning
upon a great cane.

"Whe--where's Mr. King?" called out Hobbs.

She stopped above him and he could see her face. Mr. Hobbs was chilled
to the bone. Her arm was raised, a bony finger pointing to the treetops
above her hovel.

"He's gone. Didn't you see him? He went off among the treetops. You
won't see him again." She waited a moment, and then went on, in most
ingratiating tones: "Would you care to come into my house? I can show
you the road he took. You--"

But Mr. Hobbs, his hair on end, had dropped the rein of King's horse and
was putting boot to his own beast, whirling frantically into the path
that led away from the hated, damned spot! Down the road he crashed,
pursued by witches whose persistence put to shame the efforts of those
famed ladies of Tam O'Shanter in the long ago; if he had looked over his
shoulder, he might have discovered that he was followed by a riderless
horse, nothing more.

But a riderless horse is a gruesome thing--sometimes.




CHAPTER IX

STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES


The further adventures of Mr. Hobbs on this memorable afternoon are
quickly chronicled, notwithstanding the fact that he lived an age while
they were transpiring, and experienced sensations that would still be
fresh in his memory if he lived to be a hundred.

He was scarcely well out of sight of the cabin when his conscience began
to smite him: after all, his patron might be in dire need of his
services, and here he was, fleeing from an old woman and a whiff of
smoke! Hobbs was not a physical coward, but it took more than a mile of
hard-ridden conscience to bring his horse to a standstill. Then, with
his heart in his mouth, he slowly began to retrace his steps, walking
where he had galloped a moment before. A turn in the road brought him in
view of something that caused him to draw rein sharply. A hundred yards
ahead, five or six men were struggling with a riderless bay horse.

"My Gawd!" ejaculated Hobbs. "It's _his_ horse! I might have known!"

He looked eagerly for his patron. There was no sign of him, so Hobbs
rode slowly forward, intent upon asking the woodmen--for such they
appeared to be--to accompany him to the glen, now but a short distance
ahead.

As he drew nearer, it struck him forcibly that the men were not what he
had thought them to be. They were an evil-looking lot, more like the
strikers he had seen in the town earlier in the day. Even as he was
turning the new thought over in his mind, one of them stepped out of
the little knot, and, without a word of warning, lifted his arm and
fired point blank at the little Englishman. A pistol ball whizzed close
by his head. His horse leaped to the side of the road in terror, almost
unseating him.

But Hobbs had fighting blood in his veins. What is more to the point, he
had a Mauser revolver in his pocket. He jerked it out, and, despite a
second shot from the picket, prepared to ride down upon the party. An
instant later half a dozen revolvers were blazing away at him. Hobbs
turned at once and rode in the opposite direction, whirling to fire
twice at the unfriendly group. Soon he was out of range and at leisure.
He saw the futility of any attempt to pass them. The only thing left for
him to do was to ride as quickly as possible to the city and give the
alarm: at the same time, to acquaint the police with the deliberate
assault of the desperadoes.

His mind was so full of the disaster to Truxton King--he did not doubt
for an instant that he had been destroyed by the sorceress--that he gave
little thought to his own encounter with the rascals in the roadway. He
had come to like the impetuous young man with the open purse and the
open heart. Despite his waywardness in matters conventional to the last
degree he could not but admire him for the smile he had and the courage
that never failed him, even when the smile met the frown of rebuke.

Riding swiftly through the narrow, sunless defile he was nearing the
point where the road connected with the open Highway; from there on the
way was easy and devoid of peril. Suddenly his horse swerved and leaped
furiously out of stride, stumbling, but recovering himself almost
instantaneously. In the same second he heard the sharp crack of a
firearm, far down the unbroken ravine to his left. A second shot came,
this time from the right and quite close at hand. His horse was
staggering, swaying--then down he crashed, Hobbs swinging clear barely
in time to escape being pinioned to the ground. A stream of blood was
pouring from the side of the poor beast. Aghast at this unheard of
wantonness, the little interpreter knew not which way to turn, but stood
there dazed until a third shot brought him to his senses. The bullet
kicked up the dust near his feet. He scrambled for the heavy underbrush
at the roadside and darted off into the forest, his revolver in his
hand, his heart palpitating like mad. Time and again as he fled through
the dark thickets, he heard the hoarse shouts of men in the distance. It
dawned upon him at last that there had been an uprising of some kind in
the city--that there was rioting and murder going on--that these men
were not ordinary bandits, but desperate strikers in quest of
satisfaction for grievances ignored.

Night came and he dropped to the soft, dank earth, utterly exhausted and
absolutely lost for the time being in the pathless hills.

At ten o'clock the next morning Colonel Quinnox and a company of
soldiers, riding from the city gates toward the north in response to a
call for help from honest herders who reported attacks and robberies of
an alarming nature, came upon the stiff, foot-sore, thorn-scratched Mr.
Hobbs, not far from the walls of the town. The Colonel was not long in
grasping the substance of Hobbs's revelations. He rode off at once for
the Witch's hovel, sending Hobbs with a small, instructed escort to the
Castle, where Baron Dangloss was in consultation with Mr. Tullis and
certain ministers.

The city was peaceful enough, much to the surprise of Hobbs. No
disturbance had been reported, said the guardsmen who rode beside him.
Up in the hills there had been some depredations, but that was all.

"All?" groaned Mr. Hobbs. "All? Hang it all, man, wot do you call all?
You haven't heard 'alf all of it yet. I tell you, there's been the devil
to pay. Wait till the Colonel comes back from Ganlook Gap. He'll have
news for you; take it from me, he will. That poor chap 'as gone up in
smoke, as sure as my name's Hobbs."

They met Baron Dangloss near the barracks, across the park from the
Castle. He was in close, earnest conversation with John Tullis and Count
Halfont, both of whom seemed to be labouring under intense excitement.
Over by the arsenal the little Prince, attended by his Aunt Loraine and
Count Vos Engo--with two mechanical guardsmen in the background--was
deep in conversation with Julius Spantz, the master-of-arms. If he had
been near enough to hear, he might have learned that Prince Robin's
air-gun was very much out of order and needed attention at once.

The arrival of Hobbs, a pitiful but heroic object, at once arrested the
attention of every one. His story was heard by a most distinguished
audience; in fact, Hobbs was near to exploding with his own suddenly
acquired importance. Not only were there dark, serious looks from the
men in the party, and distressed exclamations from the most beautiful
young lady in the world (he had always said that of her), but he had the
extreme unction of bringing tears to the eyes of a prince, and of
hearing manfully suppressed sobs from the throat of the same august
personage.

The looks that went round at the conclusion of his disjointed and
oft-interrupted story, expressed something more than consternation.

"There is nothing supernatural about King's disappearance," said Tullis
sharply. "That's all nonsense. He had money about him and it perhaps
turns out that there really was a man at the crack in the door--a clever
brigand who to-day has got the better of our vain-glorious friend. The
shooting in the hills is more disturbing than this, to my mind.
Gentlemen, you shouldn't lose any time in running these fellows down. It
will mean trouble if it gets under way. They're an ugly lot."

"This mystery coming on top of the other is all the more difficult to
understand. I mean the disappearance of the Countess Marlanx," said
Baron Dangloss, pulling at his imperial in plain perplexity. "But we
must not stop here talking. Will you come with me, Mr. Tullis, to the
Tower? I shall send out my best man to work on the case of the lady. It
is a most amazing thing. I still have hope that she will appear in
person to explain the affair."

"I think not," said Tullis gloomily. "This looks like abduction-foul
play, or whatever you choose to call it. She has never left her father's
house in just this manner before. I believe, Baron, that Marlanx has
taken her away by force. She told me yesterday that she would never go
back to him if she could help it. I have already given you my suspicions
regarding his designs upon the--ahem!" Catching the eager gaze of the
Prince, he changed the word "throne" to "treasury." The Baron nodded
thoughtfully. "The Countess attended the fête at Baron Pultz's last
night, leaving at twelve o'clock. I said good-night to her at the
fountain and watched her until she passed through the gate between the
Baron's grounds and those of her father adjoining. She would not permit
me to accompany her to the doors. Her maid had preceded her and was
waiting just beyond the gate--at least, so she says to-day. It is less
than two hundred feet from the gate to Perse's doorsteps. Well, she
never crossed that space. Her maid waited for an hour near the fernery
and then came to the Baron's. The Countess has not been seen since she
passed through the gate in the wall. I say that she has been carried
away."

"The maid will be at my office at eleven with the Duke of Perse and the
house servants. I have detailed a man to look up this fellow Brutus you
speak of, and to ascertain his whereabouts last night. Come, we will go
to the Tower. The Duke is greatly distressed. He suspects foul play, I
am confident, but he will not admit that Marlanx is responsible."

"But what about Mr. King?" piped up a small voice.

"Colonel Quinnox has gone to look for him, Bobby," began Tullis,
frowning slightly. He was interested in but one human being at that
moment.

"I want the old Witch beheaded," said the Prince. "Why don't you go,
Uncle Jack? He's an American. He'd help you, I bet, if you were in
danger."

Tullis flushed. Then he patted Prince Robin's shoulder and said, with no
little emotion in his voice:

"Perhaps I deserve the rebuke, Bobby, but you must not forget that there
is a lady in distress. Which would you have me do--desert the lady whom
we all love or the man whom we scarcely know?"

"The lady," said Bobby promptly. "Hasn't she got a husband to look after
her? Mr. King has no friends, no relations, nothing. Aunt Loraine likes
him and so do I."

"He's a fine chap," asserted Hobbs, and afterward marvelled at his own
temerity.

Loraine, her merry eyes now dark with anxiety, her cheeks white with
resolution, turned upon John Tullis. "You might leave the rescue of the
Countess to the proper authorities--the police," she said calmly. "I
think it is your duty as an American to head the search for Mr. King. If
Count Marlanx has spirited his wife away, pray, who has a better right?"

"But we are not sure that he--"

"We are sure that Mr. King is either dead or in dire need of help," she
interrupted hotly. He looked at her in surprise, swayed by two impulses.

"Colonel Quinnox is quite competent to conduct the search," he said
shortly.

"But Colonel Quinnox has gone forth on another mission. He may be unable
to give any of his time to the search for Mr. King. It is outrageous,
John Tullis, to refuse help--"

"I don't refuse help," he exclaimed. "They may take the whole army out
to look for him, so far as I am concerned. But, I'll tell you this--I
consider it my duty as a man to devote what strength I have to the
service of a _woman_ in trouble. That ends it! Come, Baron; we will go
to the Tower."

The amazed young woman looked at him with wide, comprehending eyes. Her
lip trembled under the rebuke. Count Halfont intervened, hastily
proposing that a second party be sent out at once with instructions to
raze the Witch's hut if necessary.

"I shall be happy to lead the expedition," said young Count Vos Engo,
bowing deeply to the young lady herself.

"You shall, Vos Engo," said Halfont. "Prepare at once. Take ten men. I
shall report to General Braze for you."

Tullis turned suddenly to the resentful girl. "Loraine," he said gently,
as the others drew away, "don't be hard with me. You don't understand."

"Yes, I do," she said stubbornly. "You are in love with her."

"Yes; that's quite true."

"A married woman!"

"I can't help it. I must do all I can for her."

She looked into his honest eyes for a moment.

"Forgive me," she murmured, hanging her head. "What is Mr. King to us,
after all?"

"He is simply paying for his foolhardiness. Americans do that the world
over."

"Be careful that you do not pay for something worse than foolhardiness."

"I think you may trust me."

She smiled brightly up into his face. "Have your way, then. Remember
that I am her friend, too." Then she hurried off after the Prince and
Vos Engo, who was already giving instructions to an attentive orderly.

"Poor Mr. King!" she said to the Prince, as they stood by watching the
preparations. "I am afraid, Bobby, he can't come to your circus this
week. I sent the invitation this morning, early. He may never receive
it. Isn't it dreadful, Count Vos Engo?"

Count Vos Engo was politely concerned, but it should not be expected
that, in his present state of mind regarding her, he could be seriously
grieved by anything that might have happened to the rash American.

The guard about the Prince was doubled: orders requiring the strictest
care of his person were issued by Count Halfont. By this time, it may be
suspected, the suspicions of John Tullis had been communicated to men
high in the government; no small amount of credence was attached to
them. Baron Dangloss began to see things in a different light; things
that had puzzled him before now seemed clear. His office was the busiest
place in Edelweiss.

"It is not unreasonable to suspect that Marlanx, or some of his agents,
having concluded that the Countess knew too much of their operations,
and might not be a safe repository, decided to remove her before it was
too late. Understand, gentlemen, I don't believe the Countess is in
sympathy with her husband's schemes--"

The Duke of Perse interrupted the doughty baron. "You assume a great
deal, Baron, in saying that he has schemes inimical to the best
interests of this country."

"I fancy that your Grace will admit that your venerable son-in-law--who,
if I mistake not, is some ten years your senior--has no great love for
the reigning power in Graustark. We will pass that, however," said the
Baron, pointedly. "We should be wise enough to guard against any move he
may make; it is imperative that we should not be caught napping."

"I don't believe he has taken my daughter away by force. Why should he
do so? She goes to him voluntarily at the end of each visit. There is no
coercion." He met John Tullis's stony gaze without flinching. "I insist
that she has been stolen by these brigands in the hills, to be held for
ransom."

The stories of the maid, the footmen, the groundmen were all to the
effect that the Countess had not returned to her father's home after
leaving the fête next door. There were no signs of a struggle in the
garden, nor had there been the slightest noise to attract the attention
of the waiting maid. It was not impossible, after all, that she had
slipped away of her own accord, possessed of a sudden whim or impulse.

The new man-servant, suspected by the Countess herself, passed through
the examination creditably. Tullis, of course, had not yet told Dangloss
of the Countess's own suspicions concerning this man. They were a part
of their joint secret. The American felt sure, however, that this man
knew more of the night's work than he had told. He conveyed this belief
to Dangloss, and a close watch was set upon the fellow. More than once
during the long afternoon John Tullis found himself wishing that he had
that dare-devil, thoroughbred young countryman of his, Truxton King,
beside him; something told him that the young man would prove a treasure
in resourcefulness and activity.

Late in the afternoon, a telegram was brought to Tullis which upset all
of their calculations and caused the minister of police to swear softly
in pure disgust. It was from the Countess Marlanx herself, sent from
Porvrak, a station far down the railway, in the direction of Vienna. It
was self-explanatory: "I am going to Schloss Marlanx, there to end my
days. There is no hope for me. I go voluntarily. Will you not understand
why I am leaving Edelweiss? You must know." It was signed "Ingomede."

Tullis was dumbfounded. He caught the penetrating glance of Dangloss and
flushed under the sudden knowledge that this shrewd old man also
understood why she was leaving Edelweiss. Because of _him!_ Because she
loved him and would not be near him. His heart swelled exultantly in the
next moment; a brave resolve was born within him.

"We don't need a key to that, my boy," said the Baron indulgently. "But
I will say that she has damned little consideration for you when she
steals away in the dead of night, without a word. In a ball dress, too.
Unfeeling, I'd say. Well, we can devote our attention to Mr. King, who
_is_ lost."

"See here, Baron," said Tullis after a moment, "I want you to give me a
couple of good men for a few days. I'm going to Schloss Marlanx. I'll
get her away from that place if I have to kill Marlanx and swing for
it."

At seven o'clock that night, accompanied by two clever secret service
men, Tullis boarded the train for the West. A man who stood in the
tobacconist's shop on the station platform smiled quietly to himself as
the train pulled out. Then he walked briskly away. It was Peter Brutus,
the lawyer.

A most alluring trap had been set for John Tullis!

The party that had gone to Ganlook Gap in charge of Count Vos Engo
returned at nightfall, no wiser than when it left the barracks at noon.
Riding bravely, but somewhat dejectedly beside the handsome young
officer in command was a girl in grey. It was her presence with the
troop that had created comment at the gates earlier in the day. No one
could understand why she was riding forth upon what looked to be a
dangerous mission. Least of all, Count Vos Engo, who had striven vainly
to dissuade her from the purpose to accompany the soldiers.

Now she was coming home with them, silent, subdued, dispirited--even
more so than she allowed the Count to see.

"I was hateful to him yesterday," she said penitently, as they rode into
the city. Vos Engo had been thinking of something else: the remark
disturbed him.

"He was very presumptuous-yesterday," he said crossly.

She transfixed him with a look meant to be reproachful.

"That's why I managed the ticket for Bobby's circus," she said, looking
ahead with a genuinely mournful droop of her lip. "I was sorry for him.
Oh, dear, oh, dear What will his poor mother say--and his sister?"

"We've done all we can, Loraine. Except to cable," he added sourly.

"Yes, I suppose so. Poor fellow!"

Colonel Quinnox and his men had been scouring the hills for bandits.
They arrived at the Witch's cabin a few minutes after Vos Engo and his
company. Disregarding the curses of the old woman, a thorough search of
the place was made. The forest, the ravine, the mountainside for a mile
or more in all directions were gone over by the searchers. There was
absolutely no sign of the missing man, nor was there the least
indication that there had been foul play.

The old woman's story, reflected by the grandson, was convincing so far
as it went. She said that the young man remained behind in the kitchen
to puzzle himself over the smoke mystery, while she went out to her
doorstep. The man with the horses became frightened when she went down
to explain the situation to him. He fled. A few minutes later the
gentleman emerged, to find his horse gone, himself deserted. Cursing, he
struck off down the glen in pursuit of his friend, and that was the last
she saw of him. Not long afterward she heard shooting in the Gap and
sent her grandson to see if anything could have happened to her late
visitor, who, it seems, owed her one hundred gavvos as a forfeit of some
sort.

The further prosecution of the search was left to Colonel Quinnox and
his men. Loraine, shuddering, but resolute, had witnessed the ransacking
of the hut, had urged the arrest of the hag, and had come away
disheartened but satisfied that the woman had told them the truth.
Quinnox's theory was accepted by all. He believed that King had fallen
into the hands of brigands and that a heavy ransom would be demanded
for his release.

In a warm-tinted room at the Castle, later on in the evening, the
Prince, in pajamas, was discoursing bravely on the idiosyncrasies of
Fate. His only auditor was the mournful Loraine, who sat beside the
royal bed in which he wriggled vaguely. The attendants were far down the
room.

"Never mind, Aunt Loraine, you can't help it. I'm just as sorry as you
are. Say, are you in love with him?"

"In love with whom?"

"Mr. King."

"Of course not, silly. What an absurd question. I do not know him at
all."

"That's all right, Aunt Loraine. I believe in love at first sight. He is
a--"

"Bobby! Don't be foolish. How could I be in love with _him_?"

"Well, you can't help it sometimes. Even princes fall in love without
knowing it."

"I suppose so," dreamily.

"It's mighty hard to make up your mind which one you love best, though.
Dr. Barrett's daughter in New York is awful nice, but I think she's--"

"She is twenty years older than you, Bobby, if you mean to say you are
in love with her."

"Well, but I'll grow up, auntie. Anyhow, Paula Vedrowski is not so old
as I. She is--"

"For heaven's sake, Bobby, do go to sleep!"

"Don't you care to hear about _my_ love affairs?"

"You are perfectly ridiculous!"

"All right for you, auntie. I shan't listen when you want to tell me
about yours. Gee, Uncle Jack listens, you bet. I wish he was here this
minute. Say, is he ever going to get married?" There was no answer. He
peered over the top of the pillow. There were tears in his Aunt
Loraine's eyes. "Oh, say, auntie, darling, don't cry! I'll--I'll go to
sleep, honest!"

She was not in love with Truxton King, but she was a fine,
tender-hearted girl, who suffered because of the thing that had happened
to him and because she loved his sister.

Over in the Hotel Regengetz, on a little table in the centre of the
room, lay a thick envelope with the royal arms emblazoned in the upper
corner. It contained an invitation to the private circus that had been
arranged for the little Prince, and it bore the name of Truxton King.

Across the foot of the bed hung his evening clothes, laid out by a
faithful and well-tipped house valet, snug and ready for instant use.

But where was Truxton King?




CHAPTER X

THE IRON COUNT


When King, in the kindness of his heart, grasped the old woman to keep
her from falling to the floor, he played directly into the hands of very
material agencies under her control. There was nothing ghostly or even
spiritual in the incidents that followed close upon the simulated
fainting spell of the fortune-teller. It has been said before that her
bony fingers closed upon his arms in a far from feeble manner. He had no
time for surprise at this sudden recovery; there was only time to see a
fiendish grin flash into her face. The next instant something struck him
in the face; then with a fierce jerk this same object tightened about
his neck. His attempt to yell out was checked before a sound could issue
from his lips.

It all came to him in a flash. A noose had been dropped over his head;
as he was pulled backward, his startled, bulging eyes swept the ceiling.
The mystery was explained, but in a manner that left him small room for
satisfaction. Above him a square opening had appeared in the ceiling;
two ugly, bearded faces were leaning over the edge and strong hands were
grasping a thick rope. In a frenzy of fear and desperation he cast the
old woman from him and tore violently at the rope.

They were drawing hard from above; his toes were barely touching the
floor; he was strangling. Frantically he grasped the rope, lifting
himself from the floor in the effort to loosen the noose with his free
hand. A hoarse laugh broke upon his dinning ears, the leering faces drew
nearer; and then, as everything went black, a heavy, yet merciful blow
fell upon his head. As consciousness left him, he felt himself rushing
dizzily upward, grasped by powerful hands and whisked through the
opening into air so hot and stiffling that his last thought was of the
fires of Hell.

Not many minutes passed before consciousness, which had been but
partially lost, returned to him. The ringing sensation remained in his
head, but he was no longer choking. The noose had been removed from his
neck; the rope itself was now serving as a bond for his hands and feet,
a fact that impressed itself upon him when he tried to rise. For some
time he lay perfectly still, urging his senses into play: wondering
where he was and what had happened to him.

It was pitch dark and the air was hot and close. Not a sound came to his
throbbing cars. With characteristic irrepressibility he began to swear
softly, but articulately. Proof that his profanity was mild--one might
say genteel--came in an instant. A gruff voice, startlingly near at
hand, interrupted him.

"Spit it out, young feller! Swear like a man, not like a damn canary
bird."

Truxton tried hard to pierce the darkness, a strange thrill passing
through his veins. The hidden speaker was unquestionably an American.

"What the devil does all this mean?" demanded the captive. "Where am I?"

"It means business, and you're here, that's where you are," was the
sarcastic answer.

"Are you an American?"

"No. I'm a Chinaman."

"Oh, come off! Answer square."

"Well, I was born in Newport." As an afterthought: "Kentucky."

"You're in a damned nice business, I'll say that for you," growled
Truxton. "Who is responsible for this outrage?"

He heard the man yawn prodigiously. "Depends on what you call an
outrage."

"This is the damnedest high-handed outrage I've ever--"

"Better save your breath, young feller. You won't have it very long, so
save what you can of it."

Truxton was silent for a moment, analysing this unique remark. "You mean
I am to stop breathing altogether?"

"Something like that."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Well, who does?"

"You'll find out when the boss gets good and ready."

"You are a fine American!"

"Look here, young feller, I've been polite to you, so don't get gay.
I'll come over there and kick your jaw in."

"Come ahead. Anything to break the monotony."

"Didn't you get enough of the hangman's knot and the sandbag? Want more,
eh? Well, if I wasn't so darned comfortable I'd come over there and give
it to you. Now don't rile me!"

"I deserve to be kicked for being such a blithering fool as to get into
this mess. Come on and kick me."

"You wanted to get a poke at the old man's eye, did ye? By thunder,
that's like an American. Never satisfied to let things alone. See what
it got you into?"

"The old man's eye? What old man?"

"That's for you to find out, if you can. You've made a hell of a poor
start at it."

"You're a good-natured scoundrel"

"Thanks for them kind words."

"Well, what are you going to do with me? I don't like the air in here.
It's awful. How long do I stay here?"

"Say, you're a gritty little man. I like your nerve. Too bad we ain't on
the same side. I'll tell you this: you won't be here long. How would the
old girl down there put it? You're going on a long voyage. That's it.
But first we'll get out of this rat hole, just as soon as them other
guys come back from the cave. You'll get fresh air purty soon. Now,
don't talk any more. I'm through gossipin'!"

"How do you, an American, happen to be mixed up in a deal like this?"

"It's healthier work than makin' barrels at--I was goin' to say Sing
Sing, but I hear they've changed the name. I prefer outdoor work."

"Fugitive, eh?"

"You might call it that. I'm wanted in seven States. The demand for me
is great."

Truxton saw that he could get nothing out of the satirical rascal, so
fell to speculating for himself. That he was still in the loft above the
hovel was more or less clear to him. His mind, now active, ran back to
the final scene in the kitchen. The trap-door in the ceiling, evidently
a sliding arrangement, explained the mysterious disappearance of the
owner of the eye; he had been whisked up through the aperture by
confederates and the trap-door closed before it could be discovered. The
smoking kettle no longer puzzled him, now that he knew of the secret
room above the kitchen; a skilfully concealed blow-pipe could have
produced the phenomenon. The space in which he was now lying, half
suffocated, was doubtless a part of the cleverly designed excavation at
the back of the hovel, the lower half being the kitchen, the upper an
actual gateway to the open air somewhere in the mountainside.

That he had fallen into the hands of a band of conspirators was also
quite clear to him. Whether they were brigands or more important
operators against the Crown, he was, of course, in no position to
decide. Time would tell.

It was enough that they expected to kill him, sooner or later. This, in
itself, was sufficient to convince him that he was not to be held for
ransom, but to be disposed of for reasons best known to his captors.

Like a shot the warning of Olga Platanova flashed into his brain. Here,
then, was the proof that she actually knew of the peril he was in. But
why should he be an object of concern to these men, whoever they were?
His guard had mentioned "the old man." Good heavens, could he mean
Spantz? The cold perspiration was standing on King's brow. Spantz! He
recalled the wickedness in the armourer's face. But why should Spantz
wish him evil? Again intuition, encouraged by memory, supplied him with
a possible, even plausible explanation.

The Anarchists! The Reds! Olga was an avowed Anarchist; she was almost a
prisoner in the house of her uncle. Truxton's guard sat up suddenly and
felt for his weapon when the captive let out a bitter oath of
understanding and rage.

"By gad, they think I am a detective!" he added, light coming to him
with a rush.

"What's that?" snapped the other. Truxton could almost feel the other's
body grow tense despite the space between them. "Are you a detective?
Are you? By God, if you are, I'll finish you up right here. You--"

"No! They're on the wrong scent. By Jove, the laugh's on old man
Spantz."

"Oho! So you _do_ know what's up, then? Spantz, eh? Well, what you've
guessed at or found out won't make much difference, my fine young
fellow. They've got you, and you'll be worse off than Danny Deever in
the mornin'! Hello! Here they come. Now we'll get out of this infernal
bake-oven. Say, do you know, you've been cuddlin' up against a j'int of
warm stove pipe for nearly an hour? Sh!"

The glimmer of a light came bobbing up from somewhere behind Truxton; he
could see the flickering shadows on the wall. Two men crept into the
room a moment later. One of them carried a lantern; the other turned
King's body over with his foot.

"You damned brute," grated the captive.

"Call him what you like, young feller," said his first acquaintance. "He
can't understand a word you say. Well, do we pull out?" This to the man
with the lantern.

The roof was so low that they were compelled to stoop in moving about.
Truxton saw that the three ruffians were great, brutal-faced fellows,
with bared arms that denoted toil as well as spoils.

"Immediate!" said the lantern bearer. "Come; we drag him to the cave."

"Drag? Nix; we c'n carry him, pard. I'm not for draggin' him down that
passage. Grab hold there,--you! Hey, get his feet, damn you!" The third
man was reluctant to understand, but at last grasped the prisoner by the
feet, swearing in a language of his own. The Yankee desperado took his
shoulders, and together, with earnest grunts, they followed the man
with the lantern, Truxton knew not whither except that it was away from
the wretched sweat-hole.

He could see that they were crowding through a low, narrow passage, the
earthen sides of which reeked with moisture. Twice they paused to rest,
resuming the journey after a season of cursing, finally depositing him
with scant courtesy upon the rocky floor of what proved to be a rather
commodious cave. The breath was almost jarred from his body. He had the
satisfaction of driving his two heels viciously against the person of
the man who had held them the last ten minutes, receiving a savage kick
in return.

Daylight streamed into this convenient "hole in the wall;" lying upon
his side, Truxton faced the opening that looked out upon the world. He
saw nothing but blue sky. Near the opening, looking down as if into the
valley below, stood the tall, gaunt figure of a man, thin-shouldered and
stooped. His back was to the captive, but King observed that the three
men, with two companions, who sat at the back of the cave, never removed
their gaze from the striking figure outlined against the sky.

Many minutes passed before the watcher turned slowly to take in the
altered conditions behind him. King saw that he was old; grey-haired and
cadaverous, with sharp, hawk-like features. This, then, was the "old
man," and he was not William Spantz. Unlike Spantz in every particular
was this man who eyed him so darkly, so coldly. Here was a highborn man,
a man whose very manners bespoke for him years at court, a life spent in
the upper world, not among the common people. Truxton found himself
returning the stare with an interest that brought results.

"Your name is King, I believe," came from the thin lips of the old man.
The tones were as metallic as the click of steel.

"Yes. May I inquire--"

"No, you may not inquire. Put a gag in his mouth. I don't care to hear
anything from him. Gag him and cut the rope from his feet. He may walk
from now on."

Three men sprang to do his bidding.

King felt in that instant that he was looking for the first time upon
the features of the Iron Count, Marlanx the dishonoured. He lay there
helpless, speechless for many minutes, glancing at this cruel tyrant.
Into his soul sank the conviction that no mercy would come from this
man, this hater of all men; justice would play no part in the final,
sickening tragedy. It was enough that Marlanx suspected him of being in
the way; to be suspected was to be condemned. The whole, hellish
conspiracy flashed through his brain. He closed his eyes with the horror
of it all.

Here was Marlanx on Graustark soil, conniving with cutthroats,
commanding them without opposition. What could it mean except a
swift-growing menace to the Crown--to the little Prince.

Marlanx was speaking. Truxton looked up, as at an executioner. The lean,
cruel face of that beautiful girl's husband was not far from his own;
the fiery eyes were burning into his. The Iron Count sat upon a boulder
near his feet.

"So you are the Quixote who would tilt at invisible windmills, eh? I
remember you quite well. We have met before. Perhaps you remember
meeting my eye in Dame Babba's cabin--twice, I think. You remember, I
see. Ha, ha! You were very slow not to have caught such an old man. You
were near to it the first time, but--you missed it, eh? I thought you
might have seen my heels as I disappeared. I dare say you are wondering
what I intend to do with you, now that I have you. Well, I am not the
man to mince words. Mr. King, you are quite young, but the good die
young. I am very old, you observe. I will not say that you are to die
to-night or to-morrow or any day, for I do not know. I am going to send
you to a court. Not an ordinary court, Mr. King, but one of extreme
perspicacity. I fancy you will die before long. We can spare you. I do
not approve of meddlers. It seems to be quite settled that you are a
police agent. Be that as it may, I imagine our little court of last
resort will take no chances, one way or the other. A man or two, more or
less, will not be counted a year from now."

The steady, cruel eyes fascinated King. He knew that he was in desperate
straits, that he had one chance in a million to escape, and yet he found
himself held by the spell of those eyes, drinking in certain metallic
monotones as if hypnotised.

"I am glad you called again at my temporary abode, Mr. King. Americans
are always welcome: the sooner they come, the sooner it's over. It may
interest you to know that I am very partial to Americans. Were I a
cannibal, I could eat them with relish. If I had my way, all Americans
should be in heaven. The earth surely is not good enough nor big enough
for them, and hell is already overcrowded. Yes," reflectively pressing
his nose with a bony forefinger, "I love the Americans dearly. I should
enjoy a similar visit from Mr. John Tullis. Although, I may say, he
seems to be choosing another way of testing my hospitality. I expect him
to visit me in my humble castle before many days. I should like to have
him remain there until his dying day." There was a deep significance in
his smile. King shuddered. His gaze followed the gaunt, spidery old man
as he returned to the opening for another long survey of the valley
below. Night was falling; the sky was growing darker, and the wind was
rising. Marlanx's sharp features were not so distinguishable when he
returned to the boulder. The men in the cave had not spoken except in
whispers. They appeared to be living in abject fear of this grim old
nobleman.

"Night is coming. I must say farewell, my bold young friend. My way lies
to the north. This is merely a land of promise to me. You go southward,
to the city of Edelweiss. But not through the gates; oh, no! There are
other ways, as you will find. If you should, by any chance, escape the
jurisdiction of the court I am sending you to, I sincerely trust you may
honour me with another visit here. I come often to the hovel in the
glen. It is the only friendly house I know of in all Graustark. Some day
I may be able to recompense its beauteous mistress. My good friends,
Dangloss, and Halfont, and Braze--and Tullis, whom I know only by
reputation--are, as yet, unaware of my glorious return to Graustark,
else they would honour me with their distinguished presence. Some day I
may invite them to dine with me. I shall enjoy seeing them eat of the
humble pie I can put before them. Good-bye, my brave Sir Galahad; I may
never see you again."

With a courtly bow he turned from the tense-muscled captive and directed
his final instructions to the men. "Take him at once to the city, but be
on your guard. A single false move now means utter ruin for all of us.
Our affairs go so well at present that we cannot afford to offend Dame
Fortune. She smiles on us, my men. Take this fool to the house on the
Monastery road. There you will turn him over to the others. It is for
them to drag the truth from his lips. I'd suggest, dear Mr. King, that
you tell them all you know before they begin the dragging process. It is
a very unpleasant way they have." With a curt nod to the men, he strode
out through the mouth of the cave and was gone. Dusk had settled down
upon mountain and valley; a thin fog swam high in the air above. One of
the men cut the rope that bound Truxton's feet.

"Get up," said the Newport man. "We've got to be movin'. How'd you like
the old man? Smart bug, ain't he? Say, he'll throw the hooks into them
guys down in Edelweiss so hard one of these days that they won't come
out till they rot out."

Still gagged and somewhat dizzy, King was hurried off into the narrow
mountain path, closely surrounded by the five men.

"They tell me your friend, the Cook guy, got plugged down in the Gap
when he tried to duck this afternoon," volunteered the Yankee
unconcernedly.

Hobbs shot? King's eyes suddenly filled with tears, a great wave of pity
and shame rushing to his heart. Poor Hobbs! He had led him into this; to
gratify a vain-glorious whim, he had done the little Englishman to
death.

The silent, cautious march down the valley, through the Gap and along
the ridge carried them far into the night. King knew that they were
skirting the main roads, keeping to the almost hidden trails of the
mountaineers. They carried no light, nor did they speak to each other,
except in hoarse whispers. In single file they made their way, the
prisoner between them, weary, footsore and now desperate in the full
realisation of his position. Being gagged, he could make no appeal to
the one man who might befriend him--his villainous countryman. It
occurred to him--grim thought--that the astute Marlanx had considered
that very probability, and had made it impossible for him to resort to
the cupidity of the hireling.

At last, when he could scarcely drag his feet after him, they came to a
halt. A consultation followed, but he could not understand a word. This
much he knew: they were in the hills directly above the northern gates.
Two of the men went forward, moving with extreme caution. In half an
hour they returned and the march was resumed.

Their next halt came sooner than he expected. The vague, black shadow of
a lightless house loomed up before them. In a twinkling he was hustled
across the road and into a door. Then down a flight of stairs, through
pitchy darkness, guided by two of the men, a whispered word of advice
now and then from the Yankee saving him from perilous stumbles. He was
jerked up sharply with a command to stand still. A light flashed
suddenly in his face, blinding him for the moment. Voices in eager,
quick conversation came to his ears long before his eyes could take in
the situation.

Soon he saw that they were in a broad, bare cellar; three men in heavy
black beards were in earnest conversation with several of his captors;
all were gesticulating fiercely.

His Newport companion enlightened him, between puffs of the pipe he was
struggling with. "Here's where we say good-bye, young fellow. We turn
you over to these gents, whoever they are. I'm sort of out of it when
they get to jabberin' among themselves. I can understand 'em when they
talk slow, but, say, did you ever hear a flock of Union Square sparrows
chirp faster than them fellers is talkin' now? Nix. You go into the
village gay with these Schwabs by the sewer line, I guess." Truxton
pricked up his ears. "The old man has had a hole chopped in the sewer
here, they tell me, and it's a snap to get into the city. Not very clean
or neat, but it gets you there. Well, so long! They're ready, I see.
They don't monkey long when they've got a thing to do. I'd advise you
not to be too stubborn when they get you to headquarters; it may go
easier with you. I'm not so damned bad, young feller. It's just the
business I'm in--and the company."

King felt a thrill of real regard for the rascal. He nodded his thanks
and tried to smile. The fellow grinned and slapped him on the shoulder,
unobserved by the others. In another moment his guardianship was
transferred; he was being hurried across the cellar toward an open
doorway. Down a few stone steps he was led by the bearded crew, and then
pushed through a hole in what appeared to be a heavy brick wall. He
realised at once where he was. The gurgle of running water, the odor of
foul airs came up to him. It was the great sewer that ran from the hills
through the heart of the city, flushed continuously by a diverted
mountain stream that swept down from above.

He was wading in cold water over a slippery bottom, tightly held by two
men, the third going ahead with the lantern. Always ahead loomed the
black, opaque circle which never came nearer, never grew smaller. It was
the ever receding wall of darkness.

He did not know how long they traversed the chill sewer in this fashion.
In time, however, the water got deeper; rats began to scurry along the
sides of the circle or to swim frantically on in front of the
disturbers. The smells were sickening, overpowering. Only excitement,
curiosity, youth--whatever you may care to term it-kept him up and
going. The everlasting glory of youth never ends until old age has
provided the surfeit of knowledge; the strife to see ahead, to find out
what is to be, to know,--that is youth. Youth dies when curiosity ends.
The emotion is even stronger than the dread of what may lie beyond in
the pallid sea of uncertainty.

His bones were chilled and creaking with fatigue. He was remorselessly
hungry. There was water, but he could not drink it.

At last the strange journey ended. They came to a niche in the slimy
wall. Up into this the men climbed, dragging him after them. The man
above was cautiously tapping on what appeared to be solid masonry. To
King's surprise a section of the wall suddenly opened before them. He
was seized from above by strong hands and literally jerked through the
hole, his companions following. Up narrow steps, through a sour-smelling
passage and--then, into a long, dimly lighted room, in the centre of
which stood a long table.

He was not permitted to linger here for long, but passed on into a small
room adjoining. Some one, speaking in English, told him to sit down. The
gag was removed from his stiff, inflamed mouth.

"Fetch him some water," said a voice that he was sure he recognised--a
high, querulous voice.

"Hello, Spantz," articulated Truxton, turning to the black-bearded, bent
figure.

There was an instance of silence. Then Spantz spoke, with a soft laugh:
"You will not know so much to-morrow, Herr King. Give him the water,
man. He has much to say to us, and he cannot talk with a dry throat."

"Nor an empty stomach," added King. He drank long of the pitcher that
was held to his lips.

"This is not the Regengetz," growled a surly voice.

"You mean, I don't eat?"

"Not at midnight, my friend."

"It seems to be an all-night joint."

"Enough," cried Spantz. "Bring him out here. The others have come."

King was pushed out into the larger room, where he was confronted by a
crowd of bewhiskered men and snaky-eyed women with most intellectual
nose-glasses. It required but a glance to convince him that the whiskers
were false.

For nearly an hour he was probed with questions concerning his business
in Edelweiss. Threats followed close upon his unsatisfactory answers,
though they were absolutely truthful. There was no attempt made to
disguise the fact that they were conspiring against the government; in
fact, they were rather more open than secretive. When he thought of it
afterward, a chill crept over him. They would not have spoken so openly
before him if they entertained the slightest fear that he would ever be
in a position to expose them.

"We'll find a way to make you talk to-morrow, my friend. Starving is not
pleasant."

"You would not starve me!" he cried.

"No. You will have the pleasure of starving yourself," said a thin-eyed
fellow whom he afterward knew as Peter Brutus.

He was thrown back into the little room. To his surprise and
gratification, the bonds on his wrists were removed. Afterward he was to
know that there was method in this action of his gaolers: his own utter
impotency was to be made more galling to him by the maddening knowledge
that he possessed hands and feet and lungs--and could not use them!

He found a match in his box and struck it. There was no article of
furniture. The floor was bare, the walls green with age. He had a
feeling that there would be rats; perhaps lizards. A search revealed the
fact that his purse, his watch and his pocket-knife were missing.
Another precious match showed him that there were no windows. A chimney
hole in the ceiling was, perhaps, the only means by which fresh air
could reach this dreary place.

"Well, I guess I'm here to stay," he said to himself. He sat down with
his back to the wall, despair in his soul. A pitiful, weak smile came to
him in the darkness, as he thought of the result of his endeavour to
"show off" for the benefit of the heartless girl in rajah silk. "What an
ass I am," he groaned. "Now she will never know."

Sleep was claiming his senses. He made a pillow of his coat, commended
himself to the charity of rats and other horrors, and stretched his
weary bones upon the relentless floor.

"No one will ever know," he murmured, his last waking thought being of a
dear one at home.




CHAPTER XI

UNDER THE GROUND


Day and night were the same to the occupant of the little room. They
passed with equal slowness and impartial darkness. Five days that he
could account for crawled by before anything unusual happened to break
the strain of his solitary, inexplicable confinement. He could tell when
it was morning by the visit of a bewhiskered chambermaid with a deep
bass voice, who carried a lighted candle and kicked him into
wakefulness. The second day after his incarceration began, he was given
food and drink. It was high time, for he was almost famished.
Thereafter, twice a day, he was led into the larger room and given a
surprisingly hearty meal. Moreover, he was allowed to bathe his face and
hands and indulge in half an hour's futile stretching of limbs. After
the second day few questions were asked by the men who had originally
set themselves up as inquisitors. At first they had treated him with a
harshness that promised something worse, but an incident occurred on the
evening of the second day that changed the whole course of their
intentions.

Peter Brutus had just voiced the pleasure of the majority by urging the
necessity for physical torture to wring the government's secrets from
the prisoner. King, half famished, half crazed by thirst, had been
listening to the fierce argument through the thin door that separated
the rooms. He heard the sudden, eager movement toward the door of his
cell, and squared himself against the opposite wall, ready to fight to
the death. Then there came a voice that he recognised.

A woman was addressing the rabid conspirators in tones of deadly
earnestness. His heart gave a bound. It was the first time since his
incarceration that he had heard the voice of Olga Platanova, she who had
warned him, she who still must be his friend. Once more he threw himself
to the floor and glued his ear to the crack; her voice had not the
strident qualities of the other women in this lovely company.

"You are not to do this thing," she was saying. King knew that she stood
between her companions and the door. "You are not to touch him! Do you
hear me, Peter Brutus? All of you?"

There followed the silence of stupefaction, broken at last by a voice
which he recognised as that of old man Spantz.

"Olga! Stand aside!"

"No! You shall not torture him. I have said he is no spy. I still say
it. He knows nothing of the police and their plans. He has not been
spying upon us. I am sure of it."

"How can you be sure of it?" cried a woman's voice, harsh and strident.

"He has played with you," sneered another.

"I will not discuss the point. I know he is not what you say he is. You
have no right to torture him. You have no right to hold him prisoner."

"God, girl, we cannot turn him loose now. He must never go free again.
He must die." This was from Spantz.

"We cannot release him, I grant you," she said, and Truxton's heart
sank. "Not now, but afterward, yes. When it is all over he can do no
harm. But, hear me now, all of you. If he is harmed in any way, if he is
maltreated, or if you pursue this design to starve him, I shall not
perform my part of the work on the 26th. This is final."

For a full minute, it seemed to King, no one spoke.

"You cannot withdraw," exclaimed Peter Brutus. "You are pledged. You are
sworn. It is ordained."

"Try me, and see if I will not do as I say. He is to be treated kindly
so long as we hold him here and he is to be released when the committee
is in power. Then he may tell all that he knows, for it will be of no
avail. He cannot escape, that you know. If he were a spy I would offer
no objection to your methods. He is an American gentleman, a traveller.
I, Olga Platanova, say this to you. It is not a plea, not a petition; it
is an ultimatum. Spare him, or the glorious cause must suffer by my
defection."

"Sh! Not so loud, girl! He can hear every word you say!"

"Why should it matter, madam? He is where he can do no harm to our
cause. Let him hear. Let him understand what it is that we are doing.
Are we ashamed of our duty to the world? If so, then we are criminals,
not deliverers. I am not ashamed of what God wills me to do. It is
horrible, but it is the edict of God. I will obey. But God does not
command us to torture an innocent man who happens to fall into our
hands. No! Let him hear. Let him know that I, Olga Platanova, am to hurl
the thing that is to destroy the life of Prince Robin. I am not afraid
to have him know to-day what the world will know next week. Let him hear
and revile me now, as the world will do after it is over and I am gone.
The glory will be mine when all the people of this great globe are
joined to our glorious realm. Then the world will say that Olga
Platanova was not a beast, but a deliverer, a creator! Let him hear!"

The listener's blood was running cold. The life of Prince Robin! An
assassination! "The thing that will destroy!" A bomb! God!

For half an hour they argued with her, seeking to turn her from the
stand she had taken; protesting to the last stage, cursing her for a
sentimental fool. Then they came to terms with her. Truxton King owed
his life to this strange girl who knew him not at all, but who believed
in him. He suffered intensely in the discovery that she was, in the end,
to lend herself to the commission of the most heartless and diabolical
of crimes--the destruction of that innocent, well-worshipped boy of
Graustark.

"You must be in love with this simple-minded American, who comes--"
Peter Brutus started to say at one stage of the discussion, when the
frail girl was battling almost physically with her tormentors.

"Stop! Peter Brutus, you shall not say that! You know where my love
lies! Don't say that to me again, you beast!" she had cried, and Brutus
was silenced.

Truxton was brought into the room a few minutes later. He was white with
emotion as he faced the Committee of Ten. Before a word could be
addressed to him he blurted out:

"You damned cowards! Weak as I am, I would have fought for you, Miss
Platanova, if I could have got through that door. Thank you for what you
have done to convince these dogs! I would to God I could save you from
this thing you are pledged to do. It is frightful! I cannot think it of
you! Give it up! All of you, give this thing up! I will promise
secrecy--I will never betray what I have heard. Only don't do this awful
thing! Think of that dear little boy--"

Olga Platanova cried out and covered her eyes with her hands, murmuring
the words "dear little boy" over and over again. She was led from the
room by William Spantz. Peter Brutus stood over King, whose arms were
held by two stalwart men.

"Enough!" he commanded. "We spare you, not for her sake, but for the
sake of the cause we serve. Hear me: you are to be held here a prisoner
until our plans are consummated. You will be properly fed and cared for.
You have heard Miss Platanova say that she will cook the food for you
herself, but you are not to see her. Do not seek to turn her from her
purpose. That you cannot do. She is pledged to it; it is irrevocable. We
have perhaps made a mistake in bringing you here: it would have been far
wiser to kill you in the beginning, but--"

King interrupted him. "I haven't the least doubt that you will kill me
in the end. She may not be here to protect me after--after the
assassination."

"She is prepared to die by the same bomb that slays the Prince," was all
that Brutus would say in response to this, but King observed the sly
look that went round amongst them. He knew then that they meant to kill
him in the end.

Afterward, in his little room, he writhed in the agony of helplessness.
The Prince, his court, the government--all were to be blasted to satisfy
the end of this sickening conspiracy. Loraine! She, too, was doomed! He
groaned aloud in his misery and awe.

Food and water came after that, but he ate and drank little, so
depressed had he become. He sought for every means of escape that
suggested itself to him. The walls, the floors, the doors, the stairway
to the armourer's shop--all were impassable, so carefully was he
guarded. From time to time he heard inklings of the plot which was to
culminate on the fatal 26th; he did not get the details in particular,
but he knew that the bomb was to be hurled at the Prince near the
entrance to the plaza and that Marlanx's men were to sweep over the
stricken city almost before the echo died away.

There was a telegraph instrument in the outer room. He could hear it
ticking off its messages day and night, and could hear the discussion of
reports as they came in or went out. It soon became clear to him that
the wire connected the room with Marlanx's headquarters near Balak in
Axphain, a branch instrument being stationed in the cave above the
Witch's hut. He marvelled at the completeness of the great conspiracy;
and marvelled more because it seemed to be absolutely unknown to the
omnipresent Dangloss.

On his third night he heard the Committee discussing the failure of one
of Marlanx's most cunning schemes. The news had come in over the wire
and it created no small amount of chagrin among the Red conspirators.
That one detail in their mighty plot should go contrary to expectations
seemed to disturb them immeasurably. King was just beginning to realise
the stupendous possibilities of the plot; he listened for every detail
with a mind so fascinated by horror that it seemed hardly able to grasp
the seriousness of his own position.

It seemed that Marlanx deemed it necessary--even imperative--to the
welfare of the movement, that John Tullis should be disposed of
summarily before the crucial chapter in their operations. Truxton heard
the Committee discussing the fiasco that attended his first attempt to
draw the brainy, influential American out of the arena. It was clear
that Marlanx suspected Tullis of a deep admiration for his wife, the
Countess Ingomede; he was prepared to play upon that admiration for the
success of his efforts. The Countess disappeared on a recent night,
leaving the court in extreme doubt as to her fate. Later a decoy
telegram was sent by a Marlanx agent, informing Tullis that she had gone
to Schloss Marlanx, never to return, but so shrewdly worded that he
would believe that it had been sent by coercion, and that she was
actually a prisoner in the hands of her own husband. Tullis was expected
to follow her to the Castle, bent on rescue. As a matter of fact, the
Countess was a prisoner in the hills near Balak, spirited away from her
own garden by audacious agents of the Iron Count. Tullis was swift to
fall into the trap, but, to the confusion of the arch-plotter, he was
just as swift to avoid the consequences.

He left Edelweiss with two secret service men, bound for Schloss
Marlanx. All unknown to him, a selected company of cutthroats were in
waiting for him on the hills near the castle. To the amazement of the
conspirators, he suddenly retraced his tracks and came back to Edelweiss
inside of twenty-four hours, a telegram stopping him at Gushna, a
hundred miles down the line. The message was from Dangloss and it was in
cipher. A trainman in the service of Marlanx could only say, in
explanation, that the American had smiled as he deciphered the dispatch
and at once left the carriage with his men to await the up-train at six
o'clock.

Peter Brutus repeated a message he had just received from Marlanx at
Balak. It was to the effect that he had reason to believe that his wife
had managed, through an unknown traitor, to send word to the Tower that
she was not at Schloss Marlanx, nor in any immediate danger. He felt
himself supported in this belief by the obvious fact that no further
efforts had been made by Tullis or the police since that day. The
authorities apparently were inactive and Tullis was serenely secure at
the Royal Castle. The guard about the Prince, however, had been largely
increased.

Tullis was known to be re-organising the Royal Guard, supported by the
ministry to a man, it was said; not even the Duke of Perse opposed him.

"The Count is more afraid of this man Tullis than of all the rest,"
averred Peter Brutus. "He has reasons to hate and fear the Americans.
That is why he desires the death of our prisoner. He has said, time and
again, over the wire that King will in some way escape and play the
deuce with our plans. It does not seem possible, however. We have him
absolutely secure, and Olga--well, you know how she feels about it."

"I don't see why he should be so disturbed by Tullis," growled one of
the men. "He has no real authority at court and he is but one man
against an unseen army that will not strike until everything is ready.
There can be no--"

"That is what I have said to my master, Julius, but he will not be
convinced. He says that he has had experience with one American, Lorry,
and he knows the breed. Tullis has more power at court than the people
think. He is shrewd and strong and not to be caught napping. As a matter
of fact, the Count says, Tullis has already scented danger in the air
and has induced the ministry to prepare for an uprising. Of course, he
cannot know of the dynamiting that is to open the way to success, but it
is true that if anybody can upset our plans, it is this meddling
American. He is a self-appointed guardian of the Prince and he is not to
be sneered at. The regents are puppets, nothing more."

Julius Spantz agreed with Brutus. "I know that the guard is being
strengthened and that certain precautions are being taken to prevent
the abduction of the Prince. It is common rumour among the soldiers that
Count Marlanx will some day seek to overthrow the government and take
the throne. The air is full of talk concerning this far-distant
possibility. Thank God, it is to be sooner than they think. If Tullis
and General Braze were given a month or two longer, I doubt if we could
succeed. The blow must catch them unprepared."

"This is the 22d, Saturday is the 26th. They can do nothing in four
days," said one of the women.

"Count Marlanx will be ready on the 26th. He has said so. A new strike
will be declared on the railroad on the 25th and the strikers will be in
the city with their grievances. Saturday's celebration will bring men
from the mountains and the mines to town. A single blow, and we have
won." So spoke Brutus.

"Then why all this fear of Tullis?" demanded Anna Cromer.

"It is not like the Iron Count," added Madame Drovnask with a sneer.

Olga Platanova had not spoken. She was not there to talk. She was only
to act on the 26th of July. She was the means to an end.

"Well, fear or no fear, the Count lies awake trying to think of a way to
entice him from the city before the 26th. It may be silly, madam, but
Count Marlanx is a wiser man than any of us here. He is not afraid of
Dangloss or Braze or Quinnox, but he is afraid of what he calls
'American luck!' He is even superstitious about it."

"We must not--we cannot fail," grated William Spantz, and the cry was
reiterated by half a dozen voices.

"The world demands success of us!" cried Anna Cromer. "We die for
success, we die for failure! It is all one!"

The next morning, after a sleepless night, Truxton King made his first
determined attempt to escape. All night long he had lain there thinking
of the horrid thing that was to happen on the black 26th. He counted the
days, the hours, the minutes. Morning brought the 23d. Only three days
more! Oh, if he could but get one word to John Tullis, the man Marlanx
feared; if he could only break away from these fiends long enough to
utter one cry of warning to the world, even with his dying gasp!

Marlanx feared the Americans! He even feared him, a helpless captive!
The thrill of exultation that ran through his veins was but the genesis
of an impulse that mastered him later on.

He knew that two armed men stood guard in the outer room day and night.
The door to the stairway leading into the armourer's shop was of iron
and heavily barred; the door opening into the sewer was even more
securely bolted; besides, there was a great stone door at the foot of
the passage. The keys to these two doors were never out of the
possession of William Spantz; one of his guards held the key to the
stairway door. His only chance lay in his ability to suddenly overpower
two men and make off by way of the armourer's shop.

When his little door was opened on the morning of the 23d, Truxton
King's long, powerful figure shot through as if sped by a catapult. The
man with the candle and the knife went down like a beef, floored by a
blow on the jaw.

The American, his eyes blazing with hope and desperation, kept
onward--to find himself face to face with Olga Platanova!

She was staring at him with frightened eyes, her lips apart, her hands
to her breast. The tableau was brief. He could not strike her down. With
a curse he was turning to the man on the floor, eager to snatch the keys
from his belt. A scream from her drawn lips held him; he whirled and
looked into the now haggard face of the girl he had considered
beautiful. The penalty for her crime was already written there. She was
to die in three days!

"He has not the key!" she cried. "Nor have I. You have no chance to
escape. Go back! Go back! They are coming!"

A key rattled in the door. When it swung open, two men stood in the
aperture, both with drawn pistols. The girl leaped between them and the
helpless, defeated American.

"Remember!" she cried. "You are not to kill him!"

Peter Brutus had risen from the floor, half dazed but furious. He made a
vicious leap at King, his knife ready for the lunge.

"I'm glad it's you," roared King, leaping aside. His fist shot out and
again Brutus went down. The men in the doorway actually laughed.

"A good blow, even if it avails you nothing," said one of them drily.
"He is not an especial favorite with us. Return to your room at once.
Miss Platanova, call your uncle. It is now necessary to bind the
fellow's hands. They are too dangerous to be allowed to roam at large in
this fashion."

All day long Truxton paced his little prison, bitterly lamenting his
ill-timed effort. Now he would be even more carefully guarded. His hands
were bound behind his back; he was powerless. If he had only waited!
Luck had been against him. How was he to know that the guard with the
keys had gone upstairs when Olga brought his breakfast down? It was
fate.

The 23d dragged itself into the past and the 24th was following in the
gloomy wake of its predecessors. Two days more! He began to feel the
approach of madness! His own death was not far away. It would follow
that of the Prince and of Olga Platanova, his friend. But he was not
thinking of his own death; he was thinking of the Prince's life!

The atmosphere of suppressed excitement that characterised the hushed
gatherings in the outer room did not fail to leave its impression upon
him; he knew there was murder in the hearts of these fanatics; he could
feel the strain that held their hitherto vehement lips to tense
whisperings and mutterings. He could distinguish the difference between
the footsteps of to-day and those of yesterday; the tread was growing
lighter, unconsciously more stealthy with each passing hour.

Forty-eight hours! That was all!

Truxton found himself crying bitterly from time to time; not because he
was in terror but because he knew of the thing that hourly drew nearer
despite the fact that he knew!

Olga Platanova's voice was heard no more before the Committee of Ten.
Something told him that she was being groomed and primed in an upstairs
room! Primed like a gun of war! He wondered if she could be praying for
courage to do the thing that had been set down for her to do. Food now
came irregularly to him. She was no longer preparing it.

She was making herself ready!

Early that night, as he lay with his ear to the crack of the door, he
heard them discussing his own death. It was to come as soon as Olga had
gone to her reward! She was not there to defend him. Spantz had said
that she was praying in her room, committing her soul to God! Truxton
King suddenly pricked up his ears, attracted by a sentence that fell
from the lips of one of the men.

"Tullis is on his way to the hills of Dawsbergen by this time. He will
be out of the way on the 26th safe enough."

"Count Marlanx was not to be satisfied until he had found the means to
draw him away from Edelweiss," said another. "This time it will work
like a charm. Late this afternoon Tullis was making ready to lead a
troop of cavalry into the hills to effect a rescue. Sancta Maria! That
was a clever stroke! Not only does he go himself, but with him goes a
captain with one hundred soldiers from the fort. Ha, ha! Marlanx is a
fox! A very exceptional fox!"

Tullis off to the hills? With soldiers, to effect a rescue! Truxton sat
up, his brain whirling.

"A wise fox!" agreed Peter Brutus, thickly. His lips were terribly
swollen from King's final blow. "Tullis goes off chasing a
jack-o'-lantern in the hills; Marlanx sits by and laughs at the joke
he's played. It is good! Almost too good to be true. I wonder what our
fine prisoner will say to it when the new prisoner comes to keep him
company over the 26th."




CHAPTER XII

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.




CHAPTER XIII

A DIVINITY SHAPES


It was pitch dark when he awoke.

"By heaven, it was a dream, after all," he murmured. "Well, thank God
for that. She isn't in this damnable hole. And," with a quickening of
the blood, "she hasn't said she was going to marry Vos Engo."

The sound of light breathing came to his ears. He sat up. His hands were
free. It had not been a dream. She _was_ lying over there asleep. The
candle had burnt itself out, that was all. He crept softly across the
floor; in the darkness he found her, and touched the garments she
wore--and drew back enthralled. A strange joy filled him; she was his
for the time being. They were equals in this direful, unlovely place;
royal prejudice stood for nothing here. The mad desire to pick her up in
his arms and hold her close came over him--only to perish as quickly as
it flamed. What was he thinking of?

She stirred restlessly as he crept back to the door. The sharp, quick
intake of her breath told him that she was awake. He stopped and utter
silence fell upon the room.

A little moan escaped her lips: "Who is it? Why is it so dark? What--"

"It is I," he whispered eagerly. "King. Don't be afraid. The candle
burnt out while we were asleep. I did not intend to sleep. I'm sorry. We
can't have a light now until some one comes in the morning. Don't be
afraid."

"I am afraid. Where are you?"

"Here!" He hastened to her side. As he came up she touched his face
with her hand timorously. He caught the wayward fingers in his own and
held them, drawing quite close to her. "It's all right," he said.

"Will they come soon?"

"I hope not--I mean, yes; it must be morning."

"I loathe the dark," she sighed. Presently her head dropped over against
his shoulder and she was asleep again.

"I don't give a damn if they never come," thought Truxton King,
intoxicated with bliss.

Afraid to move for fear of disturbing her, he sat there for an hour or
more his back twisted and uncomfortable, but never so resolute. He would
not have moved for all the world.

All this time his brain was working like mad in the new-found desire to
perform miracles for the sake of this lovely, unattainable creature. Was
there no way to foil these triumphant conspirators? He was forgetting
the Prince, the horrors of the 26th; he was thinking only of saving this
girl from the fate that Marlanx had in store for her. Vos Engo may have
had the promise, but what could it profit him if Marlanx had the girl?

"I've got about as much chance as a snowball," he reflected, courage and
decision growing stronger each moment. "I might just as well die one way
as another. If I could only catch 'em napping for a minute, I might turn
the trick. God, that would be--" he was lost in ecstatic contemplation
of the glory that such an event would bring.

Footsteps in the outer room recalled him to the bitter reality of their
position. He awoke her and whispered words of encouragement into her
bewildered ears. Then he put on his coat and threw himself on the floor,
first wrapping the rope about his wrists to deceive the guard.

A key turned in the padlock and the bolt was raised. Old man Spantz
stood in the doorway, peering in at them. In surly tones Truxton replied
to his sharp query, saying that the candle had gone out while he slept.

"It is noon," said the old man irascibly. Then he came in and lighted a
candle.

"Noon of the 25th," said Truxton bitterly. "In twenty-four hours it will
be all over, eh, Spantz?"

"At noon to-morrow," said Spantz grimly.

There were half a dozen men in the outer room, conversing in low,
excited tones; the fervent gesticulations which usually marked their
discussions were missing, proving the constraint that had descended upon
them. One of them--it was Julius Spantz--brought in the food for the
prisoners, setting it on the floor between them.

"It is usually the duty of our friend Julius to feed me," observed
Truxton to his fellow-prisoner. "I dare say he won't mind if you relieve
him of the task."

"She can feed you if she likes," growled Julius.

"Julius?" queried the girl from the Castle, peering at the man. "Not
Julius Spantz, of the armoury?"

"The same," said Truxton. Julius laughed awkwardly and withdrew. "Son of
our distinguished host here. Permit me to present Herr William--"

"Enough," snarled William Spantz, with a threatening movement toward
King. His manner changed completely, however, when he turned to address
the young lady. "I beg to inform you, madam, that your stay in this
unwholesome place is to be brief. Pray endure it for the remainder of
this day. To-night you will be removed to more pleasant quarters, that
a friend has prepared for you. I may say to you, however, that it will
he necessary to place a gag in your mouth before you depart. This is to
be a critical night in our affairs." He lifted an inspired gaze
heavenward. "Let me assure you, madam, that the two gentlemen who are to
conduct you to the Count's--to your new quarters, are considerate,
kindly men; you need feel no further alarm. I am requested to tell you
this, so that you may rest easy for the balance of the day. As for you,
my friend," turning to Truxton and smiling ironically, "I deeply deplore
the fact that you are to remain. You may be lonesome in the dead hours,
for, as you may imagine, we, your dearest friends, will be off about a
certain business that is known to you, if I mistake not in believing
that you have listened at the door these many nights. When we next
gather in the room beyond, a new dispensation will have begun. You may
be interested then to hear what we have to say--out there."

Truxton was silent for a moment, a sudden, swift thought flooding his
brain. Controlling the quiver of anticipation in his voice, he took
occasion to say:

"I only hope you'll not forget to come back. I should be lonesome,
Spantz."

"Oh, we'll not forget you."

"I suppose not. By the way, would you mind telling me what has become of
your niece?"

Spantz glared at him. "She does not meet with us now. My niece is
consecrating her every thought to the task that lies before her. You
will not see her again."

"It's an infernal shame, that's what it is," exclaimed King, "to put it
all upon that poor girl! God, I'd give ten years of my life to lead her
out of this devil's mess. She's too good for--for that. It's--"

"She will be out of it, as you say, to-morrow, my excellent Samaritan.
She knows." There could be no mistake as to the meaning of the prophetic
words.

With a profound bow to the lady and a leer for King, he departed,
bolting the door behind him. Instantly King was at her side.

"An idea has come to me," he whispered eagerly. "I think I see a way. By
George, if it should only happen as I hope it may!"

"Tell me!" she insisted.

"Not now. I must think it all out carefully. It won't do to get your
hopes up and then fail."

Whatever the thought was that had come to him, it certainly had put new
life and hope into him. She nibbled at the unwholesome food, never
removing her eyes from his tall, restless figure as he paced the floor,
his brows knit in thought. Finally he sat down beside her, calmly
helping himself to a huge slice of bread and a boiled carrot.

"I've never liked carrots before. I love 'em now. I'm taking them for my
complexion."

"Don't jest, Mr. King. What is it you intend to do? Please tell me. I
must know. You heard what he said about taking me to the Count's. He
meant Marlanx. I will die first."

"No. I will die first. By the way, I may as well tell you that I wasn't
thinking altogether of how we are to escape. There was something else on
my mind." He stopped and looked at her puzzled face. "Why should I save
you from Marlanx just to have you hurry off and get married to Vos Engo?
It's a mean thought, I know," hastily, "and unworthy of a typical hero,
but, just the same, I hate to think of you marrying some one--else."

"Some one else?" she questioned, a pucker on her forehead.

"Oh, I know I wouldn't have a ghost of a chance, even if there wasn't a
Vos Engo. It isn't that," he explained. "I recognise the--er--difference
in our stations and--"

"Are you crazy, Mr. King?"

"Not now. I was a bit touched, I think, but I'm over it now. I dare say
it was caused by excessive reading of improbable romances. Life rather
takes it out of a fellow, don't you know. It's all simple enough in
books, but in--"

"What has all this got to do with your plan to escape?"

"Nothing at all. It merely has to do with my ambition to become a true
hero. You see, I'm an amateur hero. Of course, this is good practice for
me; in time, I may become an expert and have no difficulty in winning a
duchess or even a princess. Don't misunderstand me. I intend to do all I
can toward rescuing you to-night. The point I'm trying to get at is
this: don't you think it's pretty rough on a hero to save the girl for
some other fellow to snap up and marry?"

"I think I begin to see," she said, a touch of pink coming into her
cheeks.

"That's encouraging," he said, staring gloomily at the food he had put
aside. "You are quite sure you promised Vos Engo that you'd marry him?"

"No. I did not promise him that I'd marry him," she said, leaning back
and surveying him between narrowed lids.

"I beg your pardon. You said you had promised--"

"You did not allow me time to finish. I meant to say that I had promised
to let him know in a day or two. That is all, Mr. King." There was a
suspicious tremor in her voice and her gaze wavered beneath his
unbelieving stare.

"What's that?" he demanded. "You--you don't mean to say that--Oh, Lord!
I wonder! I wonder if I have a chance--just a ghost of a chance?" He
leaned very close, incredulous, fascinated. "What is it that you are
going to let him know? Yes or no?"

"That was the question I was considering when the brigands caught me,"
she answered, meeting his gaze fairly. "I haven't thought of it since."

"Of course, he is in your own class," said Truxton glumly.

She hesitated an instant, her face growing very serious. "Mr. King, has
no one told you my name--who I am?" she asked.

"You are the Prince's aunt, that's all I know."

"No more his aunt in reality than Jack Tullis is his uncle. I thought
you understood."

"Who are you, then?"

"I am Jack Tullis's sister, a New Yorker bred and born, and I live not
more than two blocks from your--"

"For the love of--" he began blankly; then words failed him, which was
just as well. He gulped twice, joy or unbelief choking him. The smile
that crept into her face dazzled him; he stared at her in speechless
amazement. "Then--then, you are not a duchess or a--" he began again.

"Not at all. A very plain New Yorker," she said, laughing aloud in
sudden hysteria. For some reason she drew quickly away from him. "You
are not disappointed, are you? Does it spoil your romance to--"

"Spoil it? Disappointed? No! By George, I--I can't believe that any such
luck--no, no, I don't mean it just that way! Let me think it out. Let
me get it through my head." He leaned back against the wall and devoured
her with eager, disturbing eyes. "You are Tullis's sister? You live
near--Oh, I say, this is glorious!" He arose and took a turn about the
room. In some nervousness and uncertainty she also came to her feet,
watching him wonderingly. He hurried back to her, a new light in his
eyes. She was very desirable, this slender, uncertain person in the
crumpled grey.

"Miss Tullis," he said, a thrill in his voice, "you are a princess, just
the same. I never was so happy in my life as I am this minute. It isn't
so black as it was. I thought I couldn't win you because you--"

"Win me?" she gasped, her lips parted in wonder.

"Precisely. Now I'm looking at it differently. I don't mind telling you
that I'm in love with you--desperately in love. It's been so with me
ever since that day in the Park. I loved you as a duchess or a princess,
and without hope. Now, I--I--well, I'm going to hope. Perhaps Vos Engo
has the better of me just now, but I'm in the lists with him--with all
of them. If I get you out of this place--and myself as well--I want you
to understand that from this very minute I am trying to win you if it
lies in the power of any American to win a girl who has suitors among
the nobility. Will--will you give me a chance--just a ghost of a chance?
I'll try to do the rest."

"Are--are you really in earnest?" she murmured, composure flying to the
winds.

"Yes; terribly so," he said gently. "I mean every word of it. I do love
you."

"I--I cannot talk about it now, Mr. King," she fluttered, moving away
from him in a sudden panic. Presently he went over to her. She was
standing near the candle, staring down at the flame with a strangely
preoccupied expression in her eyes.

"Forgive me," he said. "I was hasty, inconsiderate. I--"

"You quite took my breath away," she panted, looking up at him with a
queer little smile.

"I know," he murmured.

Her troubled gaze resumed its sober contemplation of the flame.

"How was I to tell--" she began, but checked herself. "Please, Mr. King,
you won't say anything more to me about--about it,--just now, will you?
Shall we talk of our plans for to-night? Tell me about them."

He lowered his eyes, suddenly disheartened. "I only ask you to believe
that I am desperately in earnest."

"I cannot comprehend how--I mean, it is so very wonderful. You don't
think me unappreciative, or mean, do you?"

"Of course not. You are startled, that's all. I'm a blundering fool.
Still, you must agree that I was frightfully bowled over when I found
that you were not what I thought. I couldn't hold back, that's all. By
Jove, isn't it wonderful? Here I've been looking all over the world for
you, only to find that you've been living around the corner from me all
these years! It's positively staggering! Why," with a sudden burst of
his unquenchable buoyancy, "we might have been married two years ago and
saved all this trouble. Just think of it!"

She smiled. "I do like you," she said warmly, giving him her hand. He
kissed it gallantly and stepped back--resolutely.

"That's something," he said with his humblest, most conquering smile.

"You won't leave me to my fate because you think I'm going to
marry--some one else?"

He grew very sober. "Miss Tullis, you and I have one chance in a
thousand. You may as well know the truth."

"Oh, I can't bear the thought of that dreadful old man," she cried,
abject distress in her eyes.

He gritted his teeth and turned away. She went back to the corner, dully
rearranging the coat he had given her for comfort. She handled it with a
tenderness that would have astonished the garment had it been capable of
understanding. For a long time she watched him in silence as he paced to
and fro like a caged lion. Twice she heard him mutter: "An American
girl--good Lord," and she found herself smiling to herself--the strange,
vagrant smile that comes of wonder and self-gratification.

Late in the afternoon--long hours in which they had spoken to each other
with curious infrequency, each a prey to sombre thoughts--their door was
unlocked and Anna Cromer appeared before them, accompanied by two of the
men. Crisply she commanded the girl to come forth; she wanted to talk
with her.

She was in the outer room for the better part of an hour, listening to
Anna Cromer and Madame Drovnask, who dinned the praises of the great
Count Marlanx into her ears until she was ready to scream. They bathed
the girl's face and brushed her hair and freshened her garments. It
occurred to her that she was being prepared for a visit of the
redoubtable Marlanx himself, and put the question plainly.

"No," said Anna Cromer. "He's not coming here. You are going to him. He
will not be Count Marlanx after to-morrow, but Citizen Marlanx--one of
the people, one of us. Ah, he is a big man to do this."

Little did they know Marlanx!

"Julius and Peter will come for you to-night," said Madame Drovnask,
with an evil, suggestive smile. "We will not be here to say farewell,
but, my dear, you will be one of us before--well, before many days have
passed."

Truxton was beginning to tremble with the fear that she would not be
returned to their room, when the door was opened and she came in--most
gladly, he could see. The two women bade him a cool, unmistakable
_Good-bye_, and left him in charge of the men who had just come down
from the shop above.

For half an hour Peter Brutus taunted him. It was all he could do to
keep his hands wrapped in the rope behind his back; he was thankful when
they returned him to his cell. The time was not ripe for the dash he was
now determined to make.

"Get a little nap, if you can," he said to Loraine, when the door was
locked behind him. "It won't be long before something happens. I've got
a plan. You'll have your part to play. God grant that it may work out
well for us. You--you might pray if--if--"

"Yes, I _can_ pray," she said simply. "I'll do my part, Mr. King."

He waited a moment. "We've been neighbours in New York for years," he
said. "Would you mind calling me Truxton,--and for Adele's sake, too?"

"It isn't hard to do, Truxton."

"Good!" he exclaimed.

She rebelled at the mere thought of sleep, but, unfastening her collar
and removing the jabot, she made herself a comfortable cushion of his
coat and sat back in her corner, strangely confident that this strong,
eager American would deliver her from the Philistines--this fighting
American with the ten days' growth of beard on his erstwhile merry face.

Sometime in the tense, suffocating hours of the night they heard the
sounds of many footsteps shuffling about the outer room; there were
hoarse, guttural, subdued good-byes and well-wishes, the creaking of
heavy doors and the dropping of bolts. Eventually King, who had been
listening alertly, realised that but two of the men remained in the
room--Peter Brutus and Julius Spantz.

An hour crept by, and another, seemingly interminable King was fairly
groaning under the suspense. The time was slowly, too slowly approaching
when he was to attempt the most desperate act in all this sanguinary
tragedy--the last act for him, no doubt, but the one in which he was to
see himself glorified.

There remained the chance--the slim chance that only Providence
considers. He had prayed for strength and cunning; she had prayed for
divine intervention. But, after all, Luck was to be the referee.

He had told her of his plan; she knew the part she was to play. And if
all went well--ah, then! He took a strange lesson in the language of
Graustark: one sentence, that was all. She had whispered the translation
to him and he had grimly repeated it, over and over again. "She has
fainted, damn her!" It was to be their "Open Sesame"--if all went well!

Suddenly he started to his feet, his jaws set, his eyes gleaming. The
telegraph instrument was clicking in the outer room!

He had wrapped his handkerchief about his big right hand, producing a
sort of cushion to deaden the sound of a blow with the fist and to
protect his knuckles; for all his strength was to go into that one
mighty blow. If both men came into the room, his chance was smaller;
but, in either event, the first blow was to be a mighty one.

Taking his position near the girl, who was crouching in real dismay, he
leaned against the wall, his hands behind him, every muscle strained and
taut.

The door opened and Julius Spantz, bewhiskered and awkward, entered. He
wore a raincoat and storm hat, and carried a rope in one of his hands.
He stopped just inside the door to survey the picture.

"Time you were asleep," he said stupidly, addressing King.

"I'd put you to sleep, Julius, if Miss Tullis could have managed to
untie these infernal bonds," said Truxton, with pleasant daring.

"I don't tie lovers' knots," grinned Julius, pleased with his own wit.
"Come, madam, I must ask you to stand up. Will you put your own
handkerchief in your mouth, or must I use force--ah, that's good! I'm
sorry, but I must wrap this cloth about--"

He did not complete the sentence, for he had come within range. The
whole weight of Truxton King's body was behind the terrific blow that
landed on the man's jaw. Loraine suppressed the scream that rose to her
white lips. Julius Spantz's knees crumpled; he lunged against the wall
and was sliding down when King caught him in his arms. The man was
stunned beyond all power of immediate action. It was the work of an
instant to snatch the revolver from his coat pocket.

"Guard the door!" whispered King to the girl, pressing the revolver into
her hand. "And shoot if you have to!"

A handkerchief was stuffed into the unconscious man's mouth; the long
coat and boots were jerked from his limp body before his hands and feet
were bound with the rope he carried; the bushy whiskers and wig were
removed from his head and transferred in a flash to that of the
American. Then the boots, coat and hat found a new wearer.

Peter Brutus was standing in the stairway, leading to the sewer,
listening eagerly for sounds from either side.

"Hurry up, Julius," he called imperatively. "They are below with the
boat. They have given the signal."

The new Julius uttered a single sentence; that was all. If Peter heard
the noise attending the disposal of his comrade, he was justified in
believing that the girl had offered some resistance. When a tall,
grunting man emerged from the inner room, bearing the limp figure of a
girl in a frayed raincoat, he did not wait to ask questions, but rushed
over and locked the cell-door. Then he led the way down the narrow
stairway, lighting the passage with a candle. His only reply to King's
guttural remark in the Graustark language was:

"Don't speak, you fool! Not a word until we reach the river."

Down the steps they went to the opening in the wall of the sewer. There,
before the bolts were drawn by Brutus, a series of raps were exchanged
by men outside and the one who held the keys within.

A moment later, the girl was being lowered through the hole into rough,
eager arms. Brutus and his companion dropped through, the secret block
of masonry was closed, and off through the shallow waters of the sewer
glided the party riverward in the noiseless boat that had come up to
ferry them.

There were three men in the boat, not counting Truxton King.




CHAPTER XIV

ON THE RIVER


No word was spoken during this cautious, extraordinary voyage
underground. The boat drifted slowly through the narrow channel,
unlighted and practically unguided. Two of the men sat at the rowlocks,
but the oars rested idly in the boat. With their hands they kept the
craft from scraping against the walls.

The pseudo-Julius supported his charge in the stern of the boat; Peter
Brutus sat in the bow, a revolver in his hand, his gaze bent upon the
opaqueness ahead. A whispered word of encouragement now and then passed
from the lips of the hopeful American into the ear of the almost
pulseless girl, who lay up against his knee.

"We'll do it--sure!" he whispered once, ever so softly.

"Yes," she scarcely, breathed, but he heard and was thrilled. The rope
had dropped from her arms; she had taken the handkerchief from her mouth
at his whispered command.

At last the boat crept out into the rainy, starless night. He drew the
skirts of his own mackintosh over her shoulders and head. A subdued
command came from the man in the bow; the oars slipped into the deep,
black waters of the river; without a splash or a perceptible sound the
little craft scudded toward midstream. The night was so inky black that
one could not see his hand before his face.

At least two of the occupants opened up their throats and lungs and
gulped in the wet, fresh air. Never had anything been so glorious to
Truxton King as these first tremendous inhalations of pure, free air.
She felt his muscles expand; his whole body grew stronger and more
vital. Her heart was pounding violently against his leg; he could feel
its throbs, he could hear the quick, eager panting of her breath.

It was now that he began to wonder, to calculate against the plans of
their silent escort. Whither were they bound? When would his chance come
to strike the final, surprising blow? Only the greatest effort at
self-control kept him from ruining everything by premature action; his
exultation was getting the better of him. Coolness and patience were
greater assets now than strength and daring.

The boat turned in mid-stream and shot swiftly up the river, past the
black fortress with its scattered sentry lights, where slept a garrison
in sweet ignorance of the tragedy that was to come upon them when the
sun was high. The lights of the city itself soon peeped down into the
rain-swept waters; music from the distant cafés came faintly to the ears
of the midnight voyagers. A safe haven at their very elbows, and yet
unattainable.

The occasional creak of an oar, a whispered oath of dismay, the heavy
breathing of toilers, the soft blowing of the mist-that was all; no
other sound on the broad, still river. It was, indeed, a night fit for
the undertaking at hand.

Truxton began to chafe under the strain. His uneasiness was increased by
the certain conviction that before long they would be beyond the city,
the walls of which were gradually slipping past He could not even so
much as guess at their destination. There was also the likelihood of
encountering reinforcements, sent out to meet the boatmen, or for
protection at the time of landing. A hundred doubts and misgivings
assailed him. To suddenly open fire on the rascals went against the
grain. A dashing, running fight on shore was more to his liking. An
ill-timed move would foil them even as success was in their grasp.

He considered their chances if he were to overturn the frail boat and
strike out for shore in the darkness. This project he gave up at once:
he did not know the waters nor the banks between which they glided. They
were past the walls now and rowing less stealthily. Before long they
would be in a position to speak aloud; it would be awkward for him. The
situation was rapidly growing more and more desperate; the time was near
at hand when the final effort would have to be exerted. He slipped the
revolver from his pocket; somehow he was unable to keep his teeth from
chattering; but it was through excitement, not fear.

Suddenly the boat turned to the right and shot toward the unseen bank.
They were perhaps half a mile above the city wall. Truxton's mind was
working like a trip-hammer. He was recalling a certain nomad settlement
north of the city, the quarters of fishermen, poachers and
horse-traders: a squalid, unclean community that lay under the walls
between the northern gates and the river. These people, he was not slow
to surmise, were undoubtedly hand in glove with Marlanx, if not so
surely connected with the misguided Committee of Ten. This being the eve
of the great uprising, it was not unlikely that a secret host lay here
awake and ready for the foul observance of the coming holiday; here, at
least, chafed an eager, vicious, law-hating community of mendicants and
outcasts.

He had little time to speculate on the attitude of the denizens of this
unwholesome place. The prow of the boat grated on the pebbly bank, and
Peter Brutus leaped over the edge into the shallow water.

"Come on, Julius--hand her over to me!" he cried, making his way to the
stern.

As he leaned over the side to seize the girl in his arms, Truxton King
brought the butt of the heavy revolver down upon his skull. Brutus
dropped across the gunwale with a groan, dead to all that was to happen
in the next half hour or more.

King was anxious to avoid the hullaballoo that shooting was sure to
create on shore. Action had been forced upon him rather precipitously,
but he was ready. Leaning forward, he had the two amazed oarsmen covered
with the weapon.

"Hands up! Quick!" he cried. Two pairs of hands went up, together with
strange oaths. Truxton's eyes had grown used to the darkness; he could
see the men quite plainly. "What are you doing?" he demanded of Loraine,
who, behind him, was fumbling in the garments of the unconscious Brutus.

"Getting his revolver," she replied, with a quaver in her voice.

"Good!" he said exultantly. "Let's think a minute," he went on. "We
don't dare turn these fellows loose, even if we disarm them. They'll
have a crowd after us in two minutes." Still, keeping the men covered,
he cudgelled his brain for the means of disposing of them. "I have it.
We must disarm them, tie them up and set 'em adrift. Do you mind getting
out into the water? It's ankle deep, that's all. I'll keep them covered
while you take their guns."

"Nice way to treat a friend," growled one of the men.

"A friend? By George, it's my Newport acquaintance. Well, this is a
pleasure! I suppose you know that I'll shoot if you resist. Better take
it quietly."

"Oh, you'll shoot, all right," said the other. "I told them damn fools
that a Yankee'd get the better of 'em, even if they ran a steam roller
over him two or three times. Say, you're a pippin! I'd like to take off
my hat to you."

"Don't bother. I acknowledge the tribute."

Loraine Tullis was in the water by this time. With nervous haste she
obeyed King's instructions; the big revolvers were passed back to him.

"I've changed my mind," said Truxton' suddenly. "We'll keep the boat.
Get in, Miss Tullis. There! Now, push off, Newport."

"What the devil--" began Newport, but King silenced him. The boat slowly
drifted out into the current.

"Now, row!" he commanded. With his free hand he reached back and dragged
the limp Brutus into the boat. "'Gad, I believe he's dead," he muttered.

For five minutes the surly oarsmen pulled away, headed in the direction
from which they came.

"Can you swim?" demanded King.

"Not a stroke," gasped Newport. "Good Lord, pal, you're not going to
dump us overboard. It's ten feet deep along here."

"Pull on your left, hard. That's right. I'm going to land you on the
opposite shore-and then bid you a cheerful good-night."

Two minutes later they ran up under the western bank of the stream,
which at this point was fully three hundred yards wide. The nearest
bridge was a mile and a half away and habitations were scarce, as he
well knew. Under cover of the deadly revolver, the two men dropped into
the water, which was above their waists; the limp form of Peter Brutus
was pulled out and transferred to the shoulders of his companions.

"Good-night," called out Truxton King cheerily. He had grasped the
oars; the little boat leaped off into the night, leaving the cursing
desperadoes waist-deep in the chilly waters.

"See you later," sang out Newport, with sudden humour.

"We'll go south," said Truxton King to the girl who sat in the stern,
clutching the sides of the boat with tense fingers. "I don't know just
where we'll land, but it won't be up in Devil's Patch, you may rest
assured of that. Pardon me if I do not indulge in small talk and
bonmots; I'm going to be otherwise employed for some time, Miss Tullis.
Do you know the river very well?"

"Not at all," she replied. "I only know that the barge docks are below
here somewhere. I'm sure we can get into the city if we can find the
docks. Let me take the oars, too, Mr. King. I can row."

"No. Please sit where you are and keep your eyes ahead. Can you see
where we're going?"

"I can see the lights. We're in mid-stream, I think. It's so very dark
and the wind is coming up in a gale. It's--it's going to storm. Don't
you think we'd better try for a landing along the walls? They say the
river is very treacherous." She was trembling like a leaf.

"I'll row over to the east side, but I don't like to get too close to
the walls. Some one may have heard the shouts of our friends back
there."

Not another word passed between them for ten or twelve minutes. She
peered anxiously ahead, looking for signs of the barge dock, which lay
somewhere along this section of the city wall. In time, of course, the
marooned desperadoes might be expected to find a way to pursue them, or,
at least, to alarm watchful confederates on the city side of the river.
It was a tense, anxious quarter of an hour for the liberated pair. So
near to absolute safety, and yet so utterly in the dark as to what the
next moment, might develop--weal or woe.

At least the sound of rapidly working rowlocks came to the girl's ears.
They were slipping along in the dense blackness beneath the walls,
making as little noise as possible and constantly on the lookout for the
long, low dock.

"They're after us," grated Truxton, in desperation. "They've got word to
friends one way or another. By Jove! I'm nearly fagged, too. I can't
pull much farther. Hello! What's this?"

The side of the boat caromed off' a solid object in the water, almost
spilling them into the wind-blown river.

"The docks!" she whispered. "We struck a small scow, I think. Can you
find your way in among the coal barges?"

He paddled along slowly, feeling his way, scraping alongside the big
barges which delivered coal from the distant mines to the docks along
the river front. At last he found an opening and pushed through. A
moment later they were riding under the stern of a broad, cargoless
barge, plumb up against the water-lapped piles of the dock.

Standing in the bow of the boat he managed to pull himself up over the
slippery edge. It was the work of a second to draw her up after him.
With an oar which he had thought to remove beforehand, he gave the boat
a mighty shove, sending it out into the stream once more.

Then, hand in hand, they edged slowly, carefully along the gravel-strewn
dock, between vast piles of lumber and steep walls of coal. It was only
necessary to find the railway company's runways leading into the yards
above; in time of peace there was little likelihood that the entrances
to the dock would be closed, even at night.

Loud curses came up from the river, proclaiming the fact that the
pursuers had found the empty boat. Afterwards they were to learn that
"Newport's" shouts had brought a boatload of men from the opposite bank,
headed by the innkeeper, in whose place Loraine was to have encountered
Marlanx later on, if plans had not miscarried. She was to have remained
in this outside inn until after the sacking of the city on the following
day. The girl translated one remark that came up to them from the
boatload of pursuers:

"The old man is waiting back there. He'll kill the lot of us if we don't
bring the girl."

By this time King had located the open space which undoubtedly afforded
room for the transfer of cargoes from the dock to the company's yards
inside the walls. Without hesitation he drew her after him up this wide,
sinister roadway. They stumbled on over the rails of the "dummy track,"
collided with collier trucks, slipped on the soggy chutes, but all the
while forged ahead toward the gates that so surely lay above them.

The pursuers were trying for a landing, noisily, even boisterously. It
struck Truxton as queer that these men were not afraid of alarming the
watchmen on the docks or the man at the gate above. Suddenly it came to
him that there would be no one there to oppose the landing of the
miscreants. No doubt hundreds of men already had stolen through these
gates during the night, secreting themselves in the fastnesses of the
city, ready for the morrow's fray. It is no small wonder that he
shuddered at the thought of it.

There was no one on the wharf--at least, no one in sight. They rushed up
the narrow railway chutes and through one of the numerous gateways that
opened out upon the barge docks. No one opposed them; no one was
standing guard. From behind came the sound of rushing footsteps.
Lightning flashed in the sky and the rumble of thunder broke over the
desolate night.

"They'll see us by the lightning," gasped Truxton, almost ready to drop
from faintness and exhaustion. He was astounded, even alarmed, to find
that his strength had been so gravely depleted by confinement and lack
of nourishment.

They were inside the city walls. Ahead of them, in that labyrinth of
filthy streets lay the way to the distant square. His arm was now about
her waist, for she was half-fainting; he could hear her gasping and
moaning softly, inarticulate cries of despair. Switch-lights blinked in
the distance. Off to the right of them windows showed lights; the clang
of a locomotive bell came to them as from a great distance.

Their progress was abruptly halted by the appearance of a man ahead,
standing like a statue in the middle of the network of tracks. They
stumbled toward him, not knowing whether he was friend or foe. One look
into their faces, aided by the flare of a yardman's lantern, and the
fellow turned tail and fled, shouting as he did so.

Following a vivid flash of lightning, two shots were fired by the men
who were now plunging up through the gates, a hundred yards or more
away. The same flash of lightning showed to King the narrow, muddy
street that stretched ahead of them, lined with low, ugly houses of a
nondescript character. Instead of doing the obvious thing, he turned
sharply to the left, between the lines of freight cars. Their progress
was slow; both were ready to drop; the way was dark and unknown to
them.

At last they came to the end of their rope: they were literally up
against the great city wall! They had reached the limits of the railway
yards and were blocked on all sides by they knew not how many rows of
cars. Somewhere off to the right there were streets and houses and
people, but they did not have the strength to try to reach them.

A car door stood open in front of them. He waited for a second flash of
lightning to reveal to him the nature of its interior. It was quite
empty. Without hesitation he clambered in and pulled her up after him.
They fell over, completely fagged.

A few minutes later the storm broke. He managed to close the door
against the driving torrents.

She was sobbing plaintively, poor, wet, bedraggled sweetheart--he called
her that, although she did not hear him.

"We've fooled them," he managed to whisper, close to her ear. "They
won't look here. You're safe, Loraine. 'Gad, I'd like to see any one get
you away from me now."

She pressed his arm, that was all. He found himself wondering what
answer she would give to Vos Engo when he took her to him to-morrow.
To-morrow! This was the 26th! Would there be a to-morrow for any of
them--for Vos Engo, for Tullis, for the Prince? For _her_?

"There will be time to warn them in the morning," he thought, dulled by
fatigue. "We can't go on now."

"Truxton," he heard her saying, tremulously, "do you think we can do
anything for them--the Prince and those who are with him? How can we lie
here when there is so much to be done?"

"When the storm abates--when we are rested--we will try to get away
from here. Those devils know that I will give the alarm. They will have
hundreds of men watching to head us off. It means everything to them.
You see, I know their plans. But, Loraine, dear little girl, brave as
you are and willing as I am, we can't go on until we've pulled ourselves
together. We're safe here for awhile. Later on, we'll try to steal up to
the city. They will be watching every approach to the Castle and to the
Tower, hoping to stop me in time. We must out-fox them again. It will be
harder, too, little girl. But, if I don't do any more, I pledge you that
I'll save you from Marlanx."

"Oh, I know you will. You must, Truxton."

"I'd--I'd like to be sure that I am also saving you from Vos Engo. I
hate to think of you throwing yourself away on one of these blithering,
fortune-hunting noblemen." She pressed his arm again. "By Jove, it's
great fun being a hero, after all--and it isn't so difficult, if the
girl helps you as you helped me. It's too bad I couldn't do it all by
myself. I have always counted on rescuing you from an Ogre's castle or
something of that sort. It's rather commonplace as it is, don't you
think?"

"I don't--know what--you're talking about," she murmured. Then she was
fast asleep.

The storm raged; savage bursts of wind rocked the little freight car;
the rain hissed viciously against their frail hotel; thunder roared and
lightning rent sky and earth. The weary night-farers slept with
pandemonium dinning in their ears.

He sat with his back against the side of the car, a, pistol in one hand,
the other lying tenderly upon the drenched hair of the girl whose head
rested upon his leg. She had slipped down from his shoulder; he did not
have the desire or the energy to prevent it. At his side lay the
discarded whiskers. Manfully as he had fought against the impelling
desire to sleep, he could not beat it off. His last waking thought was
of the effort he must make to reach Dangloss with the warning.

Then the storm abated; the soft drip of rain from the eaves of the car
beat a monotonous tattoo in the pools below; the raw winds from the
mountains blew stealthily in the wake of the tornado, picking up the
waste that had been left behind only to cast it aside with a moan of
derision.

Something stirred in the far end of the car. A still, small noise as of
something alive that moved with the utmost wariness. A heavy, breathing
body crept stealthily across the intervening space; so quietly that a
mouse could have made but little less noise.

Then it stopped; there was not a sound inside the car except the deep,
regular breathing of Truxton King. The girl's respiration was so faint
that one might have thought she did not breathe at all. Again the sly,
cautious movement of a heavy body; the creaking of a joint or two, the
sound of a creature rising from a crouching position to the upright;
then the gentle rubbing of cloth, the fumbling of fingers in a stubborn
pocket.

An instant later the bluish flame of a sulphur match struggled for life,
growing stronger and brighter in the hand of a man who stood above the
sleepers.




CHAPTER XV

THE GIRL IN THE RED CLOAK


Inside of an hour after the return of the frightened, quivering groom
who had escaped from the brigands in the hills, Jack Tullis was granted
permission by the war department to take a hundred picked men with him
in the effort to overtake and capture the abductors of his sister. The
dazed groom's story hardly had been told to the horrified brother before
he was engaged in telephoning to General Braze and Baron Dangloss. A
hurried consultation followed. Other affairs that had been troubling the
authorities for days were forgotten in the face of this distressing
catastrophe; there was no time to be lost if the desperadoes were to be
headed before they succeeded in reaching the Dawsbergen passes with
their lovely captive. Once there, it would be like hunting a needle in a
haystack; they could elude pursuit for days among the wild crags of
upper Dawsbergen, where none but outlaws lived, and fierce beasts
thrived.

Unluckily for the dearest hopes of the rescuing party, the miserable
groom did not reach the city until almost noon of the day following the
abduction. He had lost his way and had wandered all night in the
forests. When Miss Tullis failed to return at nightfall, her brother,
having in mind the mysterious disappearance of Truxton King and the
flight of Countess Ingomede, was preparing to set forth in search of
her. A telephone message from Ganlook, fifteen miles north of the city,
came at seven o'clock, just as he was leaving the Castle. The speaker
purported to be the Countess Prandeville, a very estimable chatelaine
who ruled socially over the grim old village of Ganlook. She informed
Tullis that his sister was with her for the night, having arrived in the
afternoon with a "frightful headache." She would look after the dear
child, of whom she was very fond, and would send her down in the
morning, when she would surely be herself again. Greatly relieved,
Tullis gave up his plan to ride off in quest of her; he knew the amiable
Countess, and felt that his sister was in good hands.

It was not until the return of the groom that he recalled the fact that
the voice on the telephone was not quite like that of the Countess. He
had been cleverly hoodwinked. Baron Dangloss, obtaining connection with
the Prandeville household in Ganlook, at once discovered that Loraine
had not been in the chateau in many days.

The fierce, cock-robin baron was sadly upset. Three prominent persons
had been stolen from beneath his nose, so to speak. He was beside
himself with rage and dismay. This last outrage was the climax. The old
man adored the sister of Jack Tullis; he was heartbroken and crushed by
the news of the catastrophe. For a while he worked as if in a daze; only
the fierce spurring of Jack Tullis and Vos Engo, who believed himself to
be an accepted suitor, awoke him from an unusual state of lethargy. It
is even said that the baron shed tears without blowing his nose to
discredit the emotion.

The city was soon to know of the fresh outrage at the hands of the
bandits in the hills. Great excitement prevailed; there were many
sincere lamentations, for the beautiful American girl was a great
favourite--especially with those excellent persons who conducted bazaars
in the main avenues. Loraine, being an American, did not hesitate to
visit the shops in person: something that the native ladies never
thought of doing. Hundreds of honest citizens volunteered to join in a
search of the hills, but the distinction was denied them.

The war department issued official notice to all merchants that their
places of business must be decorated properly against the holiday that
would occur on the morrow. Shops were to be closed for two hours at
midday, during the ceremonies attending the unveiling of the Yetive
monument in the Plaza. The merchants might well give their time to
decorating their shops; the soldiers could do all the searching and all
the fighting that was necessary. Strict orders, backed by method, were
issued to the effect that no one was to pass through the gates during
the day, except by special permission from General Braze.

Count Vos Engo was eager to accompany the expedition to Dawsbergen in
search of his wayward lady-love. Tullis, who liked the gay young
nobleman despite the reputation he had managed to live down, was willing
that he should be the one to lead the troops, but Colonel Quinnox flatly
refused to consider it.

"To-morrow's celebration in the city will demand the attendance of every
noble officer in the guard," he said. "I cannot allow you to go, Count
Vos Engo. Your place is here, beside the Prince. Line officers may take
charge of this expedition to the hills; they will be amply able to
manage the chase. I am sorry that it happens so. The Royal Guard, to a
man, must ride with the Prince to-morrow."

Captain Haas, of the dragoons, was put in charge of the relief party,
much to the disgust of Vos Engo; and at two o'clock in the afternoon
they were ready to ride away. The party was armed and equipped for a
bitter chase. Word had been sent to Serros, the capital of Dawsbergen,
asking the assistance of Prince Dantan in the effort to overtake the
abductors. A detachment, it was announced in reply, was to start from
Serros during the afternoon, bound for the eastern passes.

Baron Dangloss rode to the southern gate with the white-faced, suffering
Tullis. "We will undoubtedly receive a communication from the rascals
this afternoon or to-morrow," he said gloomily. "They will not be slow
to make a formal demand for ransom, knowing that you and your sister are
possessed of unlimited wealth. When this communication arrives it may
give us a clue to their whereabouts; certainly as to their methods. If
it should be necessary, Tullis, to apprise you of the nature of this
demand, I, myself, will ride post haste to St. Michael's Pass, which you
are bound to reach to-morrow after your circuit of the upper gaps. It is
possible, you see, that an open attack on these fellows may result in
her--er--well, to be frank--her murder. Damn them, they'd do it, you
know. My place to-morrow is here in the city. There may be disturbances.
Nothing serious, of course, but I am uneasy. There are many strangers in
the city and more are coming for the holiday. The presence of the Prince
at the unveiling of the statue of his mother--God bless her soul!--is a
tremendous magnet. I would that you could be here to-morrow, John
Tullis; at Prince Robin's side, so to speak."

"Poor little chap! He was terribly cut up when I told him I was going.
He wanted to come. Had his little sword out, and all that. Said the
celebration could be postponed or go hang, either one. Look after him
closely to-morrow, Dangloss. I'd shoot myself if anything were to happen
to him. Marlanx is in the air; I feel him, I give you my word, I do!
I've been depressed for days. As sure as there's a sun up yonder, that
old scoundrel is planning something desperate. Don't forget that we've
already learned a few things regarding his designs." He waited a moment
before uttering his gravest fear. "Don't give him a chance to strike at
the Prince."

"He wouldn't dare to do that!"

"He'd dare anything, from what I've heard of him."

"You hate him because--"

"Go on! Yes, I hate him because he has made _her_ unhappy. Hello, who's
this?"

A man who had ridden up to the gates, his horse covered with foam, was
demanding admission. The warders halted him unceremoniously as Dangloss
rode forward. They found that he was one of the foremen in the employ of
the railway construction company. He brought the disquieting news that
another strike had been declared, that the men were ugly and determined
to tear up the track already laid unless their demands were considered,
and, furthermore, that there had been severe fighting between the two
factions engaged on the work. He urgently implored Dangloss to send
troops out to hold the rioters in check. Many of the men were demanding
their pay so that they might give up their jobs and return to their own
lands.

"What is your name?" demanded the harassed minister of police.

"Polson," replied the foreman. He lied, for he was no other than John
Cromer, the unsavoury husband of Anna Cromer, of the Committee of Ten.

"Come with me," said Dangloss. "We will go to General Braze. Good-bye
and good luck, Tullis."

The little baron rode back into the city, accompanied by the shifty-eyed
Cromer, while John Tullis sped off to the south, riding swiftly by the
side of the stern-faced Captain Haas, an eager company of dragoons
behind, a mountain guide in front.

At that very moment, Loraine Tullis was comparing notes with Truxton
King in the room beneath the armourer's shop; Count Marlanx was hiding
in the trader's inn outside the northern gates; the abductors themselves
were scattered about the city, laughing triumphantly over the success of
the ruse that had drawn the well-feared American away on a wild-goose
chase to the distant passes of Dawsbergen. More than that: at five
o'clock in the afternoon a second detachment of soldiers left the city
for the scene of the riots in the construction camps, twenty miles away.

Surely the well-laid plans of the Iron Count were being skilfully
carried out!

All afternoon and evening men straggled in from the hills and
surrounding country, apparently loth to miss the early excitement
attending the ceremonies on the following day. Sullen strikers from the
camps came down, cursing the company but drinking noisy toasts to the
railroad and its future. The city by night swarmed with revelling
thousands; the bands were playing, the crowds were singing, and mobs
were drinking and carousing in the lower end. The cold, drizzling rain
that began to blow across the city at ten o'clock did little toward
checking the hilarity of the revellers. Honest citizens went to bed
early, leaving the streets to the strangers from the hills and the
river-lands. Not one dreamed of the ugly tragedy that was drawing to a
climax as he slept the sleep of the just, the secure, the
conscience-free.

At three o'clock in the morning word flew from brothel to brothel, from
lodging house to lodging house, in all parts of the slumbering city; a
thousand men crept out into the streets after the storm, all animated
by one impulse, all obeying a single fierce injunction.

They were to find and kill a tall American! They were to keep him or his
companion from getting in touch with the police authorities, or with the
Royal Castle, no matter what the cost!

The streets were soon alive with these alert, skulking minions. Every
approach to the points of danger was guarded by desperate, heavily armed
scoundrels who would not have hesitated an instant if it came to their
hands to kill Truxton King, the man with all their dearest secrets in
his grasp. In dark doorways lounged these apparently couchless
strangers; in areaways and alleys, on doorsteps they found shelter; in
the main streets and the side streets they roamed. All the time they had
an eager, evil eye out for a tall American and a slender girl!

Dangloss's lynx-eyed constabulary kept close watch over these restless,
homeless strangers, constantly ordering them to disperse, or to "move
on," or to "find a bed, not a doorstep." The commands were always
obeyed; churlishly, perhaps, in many instances, but never with physical
resistance.

At five o'clock, a stealthy whisper went the rounds, reaching the ear of
every vagabond and cutthroat engaged in the untiring vigil. Like smoke
they faded away. The silent watch was over.

The word had sped to every corner of the town that it was no longer
necessary to maintain the watch for Truxton King. He was no longer in a
position to give them trouble or uneasiness!

The twenty-sixth dawned bright and cool after the savage storm from the
north. Brisk breezes floated down from the mountain peaks; an
unreluctant sun smiled his cheeriest from his seat behind the hills,
warmly awaiting the hour when he could peep above them for a look into
the gala nest of humanity on the western slope. Everywhere there was
activity, life, gladness and good humour.

Gaudy decorations which had been torn away by the storm were cheerfully
replaced; workmen refurbished the public stands and the Royal box in the
Plaza; bands paraded the avenues or gave concerts in Regengetz Circus;
troops of mounted soldiers and constabulary patroled the streets. There
was nothing to indicate to the municipality that the vilest conspiracy
of the age--of any age--was gripping its tentacles about the city of
Edelweiss, the smiling, happy city of mountain and valley. No one could
have suspected guile in the laughter and badinage that masked the manner
of the men who were there to spread disaster in the bunting-clad
thoroughfares.

"I don't like the looks of things," said Baron Dangloss, time and again.
His men were never so alert as to-day and never so deceived.

"There can't be trouble of any sort," mused Colonel Quinnox. "These
fellows are ugly, 'tis true, but they are not prepared for a
demonstration. They are unarmed. What could they do against the troops,
even though they are considerably depleted?"

"Colonel, we'll yet see the day when Graustark regrets the economy that
has cut our little army to almost nothing. What have we now, all told?
Three hundred men in the Royal Guard. Less than six hundred in the
fortress. I have a hundred policemen. There you are. To-day there are
nearly two hundred soldiers off in the mountains on nasty business of
one sort or another. 'Gad, if these ruffians from the railroad possessed
no more than pistols they could give us a merry fight. There must be a
thousand of them. I don't like it. We'll have trouble before the day's
over."

"General Braze says his regulars can put down any sort of an uprising in
the city," protested Quinnox. "In case of war, you know we have the
twenty thousand reserves, half of whom were regulars until two years
ago."

"Perfectly true. Quinnox, it's your duty to take care of the Prince.
You've done so in your family for fifteen generations. See to it that
Prince Robin is well looked after to-day, that's all."

"Trust me for that, Baron," said Quinnox with his truest smile. Even
Marlanx knew that he would have to kill a Quinnox before a Graustark
ruler could be reached.

By eleven o'clock the streets in the neighbourhood of the Plaza were
packed with people. All along Castle Avenue, up which the Prince was to
drive in the coach of State, hung the proud, adoring burghers and their
families: like geese to flock, like sheep to scatter. At twelve the
Castle gates were to be thrown open for the brilliant cavalcade that was
to pass between these cheering rows of people. In less than a quarter of
an hour afterward, the Prince and his court, the noble ladies and
gentlemen of Graustark, with the distinguished visitors from other
lands, would pass into the great square through Regengetz Circus.

At the corner below the crowded Castle Café, in the north side of the
square, which was now patroled by brilliant dragoons, two men met and
exchanged the compliments of the day. One of them had just come up on
horseback. He dismounted, leaving the animal in charge of an urchin who
saw a gavvo in sight. This man was young and rather dashing in
appearance. The other was older and plainly a citizen of some
consequence.

"Well?" said the latter impatiently, after they had passed the time of
day for the benefit of the nearest on-lookers. The younger man, slapping
his riding boot with his crop, led the way to the steps of a house
across the sidewalk. Both had shot a swift, wary glance at one of the
upper windows.

"Everything is ready. There will be no hitch," said the horseman in low
tones.

"You have seen Spantz?"

"Sh! No names. Yes. The girl is ready."

"And the fortress?"

"Fifty men are in the houses opposite and others will go there--later
on."

"We must keep the reserves out of the fortress. It would mean
destruction if they got to the gun-rooms and the ammunition houses."

"Is he here?" with a motion toward the upper window.

"Yes. He came disguised as an old market woman, just after daybreak."

"Well, here's his horse," said the other, "but he'll have to change his
dress. It isn't a side saddle." The young villain laughed silently.

"Go up now to the square, Peter. Your place is there."

If one had taken the time to observe, he might have seen that the young
man wore his hat well forward, and that his face was unnaturally white.
We, who suspect him of being Peter Brutus, have reason to believe that
there was an ugly cut on the top of his head and that it gave him
exceeding pain.

Shortly after half past eleven o'clock certain groups of men usurped
the positions in front of certain buildings on the south side of the
square. A score here, a half score there, others below them. They
favoured the shops operated by the friends of the Committee of Ten; they
were the men who were to take possession of the rifles that lay hidden
behind counters and walls. Here, there, everywhere, all about the city,
other instructed men were waiting for the signal that was to tell them
to hustle deadly firearms from the beds of green-laden market wagons. It
was all arranged with deadly precision. There could be no blunder. The
Iron Count and his deputies had seen to that.

Men were stationed in the proper places to cut all telephone and
telegraph wires leading out of the city. Others were designated to hold
the gates against fugitives who might seek to reach the troops in the
hills.

Marlanx's instructions were plain, unmistakable. Only soldiers and
policemen were to be shot; members of the royal household were already
doomed, including the ministry and the nobles who rode with the royal
carriage.

The Committee of Ten had said that there would not be another ministry,
never another Graustark nobility; only the Party of Equals. The Iron
Count had smiled to himself and let them believe all that they preached
in secret conclave. But he knew that there would be another ministry, a
new nobility and a new ruler, and that there would be _no Committee of
Ten!_

Two thousand crafty mercenaries, skilled rioters and fighters from all
parts of the world stood ready in the glad streets of Edelweiss to leap
as one man to the standard of the Iron Count the instant he appeared in
the square after the throwing of the bomb. A well-organised, carefully
instructed army of no mean dimensions, in the uniform of the lout and
vagabond, would rise like a flash of light before the dazzled,
panic-stricken populace, and Marlanx would be master. Without the call
of drum or bugle his sinister soldiers of fortune would leap into
positions assigned them; in orderly, determined company front, led by
chosen officers, they would sweep the square, the Circus and the
avenues, up-town to the Castle, down-town to the fortress and the
railway station, everywhere establishing the pennant of the man who had
been banished.

The present dynasty was to end at one o'clock! So said Marlanx! How
could Dangloss or Braze or Quinnox say him nay? They would be dead or in
irons before the first shock of disaster had ceased to thrill. The
others? Pah! They were as chaff to the Iron Count.

The calm that precedes the storm fell upon the waiting throng; an
ominous silence spread from one end of the avenue to the other. For a
second only it lasted. The hush of death could not have been quieter nor
more impressive. Even as people looked at each other in wonder, the
tumult came to its own again. Afterward a whole populace was to recall
this strange, depressing second of utter stillness; to the end of time
that sudden pall was spoken of with bated breath and in awe.

Then, from the distant Castle came the sound of shouts, crawling up the
long line of spectators for the full length of the avenue to the eager
throng in Regengetz Circus, swelling and growing louder as the news came
that the Prince had ridden forth from the gates. Necks were craned, rapt
eyes peered down the tree-topped boulevard, glad voices cried out
tidings to those in the background. The Prince was coming!

Bonny, adorable Prince Robin!

Down the broad avenue came the Royal Military Band, heading the
brilliant procession. Banners were flying; gold and silver standards
gleamed in the van of the noble cavalcade; brilliantly uniformed
cuirassiers and dragoons on gaily caparisoned horses formed a gilded
phalanx that filled the distant end of the street, slowly creeping down
upon the waiting thousands, drawing nearer and nearer to the spot of
doom.

A stately, noble, inspiring procession it was that swept toward the
Plaza. The love of the people for their little Prince welled up and
overflowed in great waves of acclamation. Pomp and display, gold and
fine raiment were but the creation of man; Prince Robin was, to them,
the choicest creation of God. He was their Prince!

On came the splendid phalanx of guardsmen, followed by rigid infantrymen
in measured tread; the clattering of horses' hoofs, the beat of drums,
the clanking of scabbards and the jangling of royal banners, rising even
above the hum of eager voices. The great coach of gold, with its half
score of horses, rolled sombrely beneath nature's canopy of green,
surrounded on all sides by proud members of the Royal Guard. Word came
down the line that the Prince sat alone in the rear seat of the great
coach, facing the Prime Minister and Countess Halfont. Two carriages
from the royal stables preceded the Prince's coach. In the first was the
Duke of Perse and three fellow-members of the Cabinet; the second
contained Baron Dangloss and General Braze. After the Prince came a
score or more of rich equipages filled with the beauty, the nobility,
the splendour of this rich little court.

The curtains in a house at the corner of the square parted gently. A
hawk-faced old man peered out upon the joyous crowd. His black eyes
swept the scene. A grim smile crept into his face. He dropped the
curtains and walked away from the window, tossing a cigarette into a
grate on the opposite side of the room. Then he looked at his watch.

All of the bands in the square had ceased playing when the Castle gates
were opened for the royal procession: only the distant, rythmic beat of
a lively march came up from the avenue to the ears of this baleful old
man in the second-story front room of the home of apothecary Boltz.

At the extreme outer side of Regengetz Circus a small group of men and
women stood, white-faced and immovable, steadfastly holding a position
in the front rank of spectators. Shrinking back among this determined
coterie was the slender, shuddering figure of Olga Platanova,
haggard-faced, but with the light of desperation in her eyes.

As the procession drew nearer, the companions of this wretched girl
slunk away from her side, losing themselves in the crowd, leaving her to
do her work while they sought distant spots of safety. Olga Platanova,
her arms folded beneath the long red cloak she wore, remained where they
had placed her and--waited!




CHAPTER XVI

THE MERRY VAGABOND


The man who stood in the middle of the freight-car, looking down in
wonder at the fugitives, was a tall vagabond of the most picturesque
type. No ragamuffin was ever so tattered and torn as this rakish
individual. His clothes barely hung together on his lank frame; he was
barefoot and hatless; a great mop of black hair topped his shrewd,
rugged face; coal-black eyes snapped and twinkled beneath shaggy brows
and a delighted, knowing grin spread slowly over his rather boyish
countenance. He was not a creature to strike terror to the heart of any
one; on the contrary, his mischievous, sprightly face produced an
impression of genuine good humour and absolute indifference to the harsh
things of life.

Long, thin lips curled into a smile of delicious regard; his sides shook
with the quiet chuckle of understanding. He did not lose his smile, even
when the match burned his finger tips and fell to the floor of the car.
Instead, the grin was broader when he struck the second match and
resumed his amused scrutiny of his fellow-lodgers. This time he
practised thrift: he lighted a cigarette with the match before tossing
it aside. Then he softly slid the car door back in its groove and looked
out into the moist, impenetrable night. A deep sigh left his smiling
lips; a retrospective langour took possession of his long frame; he
sighed again, and still he smiled.

Leaning against the side of the door this genial gypsy smoked in
blissful silence until the stub grew so short that it burned his already
singed fingers. He was thinking of other days and nights, and of many
maids in far-off lands, and of countless journeys in which he, too, had
had fair and gentle company--short journeys, yes, but not to be
forgotten. Ah, to be knight of the road and everlasting squire to the
Goddess of Love! He always had been that--ever since he could remember;
he had loved a hundred briefly; none over long. It was the only way.

Once more he turned to look upon the sleeping pair. This time he lighted
the stub of a tallow candle. The tender, winning smile in his dark eyes
grew to positive radiance. Ah, how he envied this great, sleeping
wayfarer! How beautiful his mistress! How fortunate the lover! And how
they slept--how tired they were! Whence had they come? From what distant
land had they travelled together to reach this holiday-garnished city in
the hills? Vagabonds, tramps! They were of his world, a part of his
family; he knew and had loved a hundred of her sisters, he was one of a
hundred-thousand brothers to this man.

Why should he stay here to spoil their waking hour? The thought came to
him suddenly. No; he would surrender his apartment to them. He was free
and foot-loose; he could go elsewhere. He _would_ go elsewhere.

Softly he tip-toed to his own corner of the car, looking over his
shoulder with anxious eyes to see that his movements did not disturb
them. He gathered up his belongings: an ancient violin case, a stout
walking stick, a goodly sized pack done up in gaudy cloth, a well-worn
pair of sandals with long, frayed lacings. As gently he stole back to
the door. Here he sat down, with his feet hanging outside the car. Then,
with many a sly, wary glance at his good comrades, he put on his
sandals and laced them up the leg. He tossed a kiss to the sleeping
girl, his dark gypsy face aglow with admiration and mischief, and was
about to blow out the light of his candle. Then he changed his mind. He
arose and stood over them again, looking long and solemnly at the face
of the sleeping girl. Ah, yes, she was the most beautiful he had ever
seen--the very fairest. He had known her sisters, but-no, they were not
like this one. With a sly grimace of envy he shook his fist at the tall
man whose leg served as a pillow for the tired head.

The girl looked wan and tired--and hungry. Poor thing! Never had he seen
one so sweet and lovely as she; never had he seen such a shockingly
muddy mackintosh, however, as the one she wore, never were hands so
dirty as the slender ones which lay limp before her. With a determined
shake of his head and a new flash of the eye he calmly seated himself
and began to open his ragged pack. Once he paused, a startled look in
his face. He caught sight of the revolver at Truxton's side for the
first time. The instant of alarm passed and a braver smile than ever
came. Ah, here was a knight who would fight for his lady love! Good
fellow! Bravo!

At last his small store of food lay exposed. Without hesitation he
divided the pieces of smoked venison, giving one part to himself, two to
the sleepers; then the miller's bread and the cheese, and the bag of
dates he had bought the day before. He tied up his own slender portion
and would have whistled for the joy of it all had he not bethought
himself in time.

From one of his pockets he drew out tobacco and cigarette papers. With
his back planted up against the wall of the car, his legs crossed and
his feet wiggling time to the inward tune he sang, he calmly rolled half
a dozen cigarettes and placed them, one by one, beside the feast. One
match from his thin supply he placed alongside the cigarettes. Then he
looked very doubtful. No; one might blow out. He must not be niggardly.
So he kept two for himself and gave three to the guest at his banquet.

Again he blew a kiss to the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Snuffing
his candle, he dropped to the ground and closed the door against all
spying, uncivil eyes.

The first grey of dawn was growing in the sombre east. He looked out
over the tops of cars and sniffed the air. The rain was over. He knew. A
tinge of red that none but the gypsy could have distinguished betrayed
the approach of a sunny day. Jauntily he swung off down the path between
the lines of cars, his fickle mind wavering between the joys of the
coming day and the memory of the loveliest Romany he had ever
encountered.

Daybreak found him at the wharf gates. It was gloomy here and silent;
the city above looked asleep and unfruitful. His heart was gay; he
longed for company. Whimsical, careless hearted, he always obeyed the
impulse that struck him first. As he stood there, surveying the wet,
deserted wharf, it came to him suddenly that if he went back and played
one soft love-song before the door of the car, they might invite him to
join them in the breakfast that the genie had brought.

His long legs were swift. In five minutes he was half way down the line
of cars, at the extreme end of which stood the happy lodging place of
his heart's desire. Then he paused, a dubious frown between his eyes.
No! he said, slapping his own cheek soundly; it would not be fair! He
would not disturb them, not he! How could he have thought of such a
thing. _Le bon Dieu!_ Never! He would breakfast alone!

Coming to an empty flat car, direct from the quarries, he resolutely
seated himself upon its edge, and, with amiable resignation, set about
devouring his early meal, all the while casting longing, almost
appealing glances toward the next car but one. Busy little switch
engines began chugging about the yards; the railroad, at least, was
exhibiting some signs of life. Here and there the crews were "snaking"
out sections and bumping them off to other parts of the gridiron; a car
here, a car there--all aflounder, but quite simple to this merry
wanderer. He knew all about switching, he did. It did not cause him the
least uneasiness when a sudden jar told him that an engine had been
attached to the distant end of the string in which he breakfasted. Nor
was he disturbed when the cars began to move. What cared he? He would
ride in his dining-car to the objective switch, wherever that was, and
no doubt would find himself nearer the main freight depot, with little
or no walking to do on his journey to the square.

But the "string" was not bound for another track in the yards; it was on
its way to the main line, thence off through the winding valley into
strange and distant lands.

Sir Vagabond, blissfully swinging his heels and munching his venison,
smiled amiably upon the yard men as he passed them by. So genial was the
smile, so frank the salutation, that not one scowled back at him or
hurled the chunk of coal that bespeaks a surly temper. Down through the
maze of sidetracks whisked the little train, out upon the main line with
a thin shriek of greeting, past the freight houses--it was then that Sir
Vagabond sat up very straight, a look of mild interest in his eyes.
Interest gave way to perplexity, perplexity to concern. What's this?
Leaving the city? He wasted no time. This would never do! Clutching his
belongings to his side, he vaulted from one hand, nimbly and with the
gracefulness of wide experience, landing safely on his feet at the
roadside.

There he stood with the wry, dazed look of a man who suddenly finds
himself guilty of arrant stupidity, watching the cars whiz past on their
way to the open country. Just ahead was the breach in the wall through
which all trains entered or left the city. Into that breach shot the
train, going faster and faster as it saw the straight, clear track
beyond. He waited until the tail end whisked itself out of sight in the
cut below the city walls, and then trudged slowly, dejectedly in the
opposite direction, his heart in his boots. He was thinking of the
luckless pair in the empty "box."

Suddenly he stopped, his chin up, his hands to his sides. A hearty peal
of laughter soared from his lips. He was regarding the funny side of the
situation. The joke was on them! It was rich! The more he thought of
their astonishment on awaking, the more he laughed. He leaned against a
car.

His immense levity attracted attention. Four or five men approached him
from the shadows of the freight houses, ugly, unsmiling fellows. They
demanded of him the cause of his unseemly mirth. With tears in his merry
black eyes he related the plight of the pretty slumberers, dwelling more
or less sentimentally on the tender beauty of the maiden fair. They
plied him with questions. He described the couple--even glowingly. Then
the sinister fellows smiled; more than that, they clapped each other on
the back and swore splendidly. He was amazed and his own good humour
gave way to fierce resentment. What right had these ruffians to laugh at
the misfortunes of that unhappy maid?

A switchman came up, and one of the men, a lank American whom we should
recognise by the sound of his voice (having heard it before), asked
whither the train was bound and when it would first stop in its flight.

"At the Poo quarries, seventeen kilometers down the line. They cut out a
few empties there. She goes on to the division point after that."

"Any trains up from that direction this morning?" demanded "Newport."

"Not till this afternoon. Most of the crews are in the city for the--"
But the switchman had no listeners beyond that statement.

And so it was that the news spread over town at five o'clock that
Truxton King was where he could do no harm. It was well known that the
train would make forty miles an hour down the steep grade into the lower
valley.

Up into the city strolled Sir Vagabond, his fiddle in his hand, his
heart again as light as a feather. Some day--ah, some day! he would see
her again on the road. It was always the way. Then he would tell her how
unhappy he had been--for a minute. She was so pretty, so very pretty! He
sighed profoundly. We see no more of him.

When Truxton King first awoke to the fact that they were no longer lying
motionless in the dreary yards, he leaped to his feet with a startled
shout of alarm. Loraine sat up, blinking her eyes in half-conscious
wonder. It was broad daylight, of course; the train was rattling through
the long cut just below the city walls. With frantic energy he pulled
open the door. For a minute he stared at the scudding walls of stone so
close at hand, uncomprehendingly. Then the truth burst upon him with
the force of a mighty blow. He staggered back, his jaw dropping, his
eyes glaring.

"What the dev--Great God, Loraine! We're going! We're moving!" he cried
hoarsely.

"I know it," she gasped, her body rocking violently with the swaying of
the wild, top-heavy little car.

"Great Scott! How we're pounding it! Fifty miles an hour. Where are we?"
he cried, aghast. He could scarcely keep his feet, so terrific was the
speed and so sickening the motion.

She got to her feet and lurched to his side. "Don't fall out!" she
almost shrieked. He drew back with her. Together they swayed like reeds
in a windstorm, staring dizzily at the wall before them.

Suddenly the train shot out into the open, farm-spattered valley.
Truxton fell back dumbfounded.

"The country!" he exclaimed. "We've been carried away. I--I can't
believe my senses. Could we have slept--what a fool, what an idiot! God
in heaven! The Prince! He is lost!" He was beside himself with anguish
and despair, raging like a madman, cursing himself for a fool, a dog, a
murderer!

Little less distressed than her companion, Loraine Tullis still had the
good sense to keep him from leaping from the car. He had shouted to her
that he must get back to the city; she could go on to the next town and
find a hiding place. He would come to her as soon as he had given the
alarm.

"You would be killed," she cried, clutching his arm fiercely. "You never
can jump, Truxton. See how we are running. If you jump, I shall follow.
I won't go on alone. I am as much to blame as you."

The big, strong fellow broke down and cried, utterly disheartened.

"Don't cry, Truxton, please don't cry!" she pleaded. "Something will
happen. We must stop sometime. Then we can get another train back, or
telegraph, or hire a wagon. It must be very early. The sun is scarcely
up. Do be brave! Don't give up!"

He squared his shoulders. "You put me to shame!" he cried abjectly.
"I'm--I'm unnerved, that's all. It was too much of a blow. After we'd
got away from those scoundrels so neatly, too. Oh, it's maddening! I'll
be all right in a minute. You plucky, plucky darling!"

The train whirled through a small hamlet without even slackening its
speed. Truxton endeavoured to shout a warning to two men who stood by
the gates; but they merely laughed, not comprehending. Then he undertook
to arrest the attention of the engineer. He leaned from the door and
shouted. The effort was futile, almost disastrous. A lurch came near to
hurling him to the rocky road bed. Now and then they passed farmers on
the high road far above, bound for the city. They called out to them,
but the cries were in vain. With every minute they were running farther
and farther away from the city of Edelweiss; every mile was adding to
the certainty of the doom which hung over the little Prince and his
people.

A second small station flew by. "Ronn: seven kilometers to Edelweiss."
He looked at her in despair.

"We're going faster and faster," he grated. "This is the fastest train
in the world, Loraine, bar none."

Just then his gaze alighted on the pathetic breakfast and the wandering
cigarettes. He stared as if hypnotised. Was he going mad? An instant
later he was on his hands and knees, examining the mysterious feast. She
joined him at once; no two faces ever before were so puzzled and
perplexed.

"By heaven!" he exclaimed, drawing her away from the spot in quick
alarm, comprehension flooding his brain. "I see it all! We've been
deliberately shanghaied! We've been bottled up here, drugged, perhaps,
and shipped out of town by fast freight--no destination. Don't touch
that stuff! It's probably full of poison. Great Scott! What a clever
gang they are! And what a blithering idiot they have in me to deal with.
Oh, how easy!"

Whereupon he proceeded to kick the unoffending breakfast, cigarettes and
all, out of the car door. To their dying day they were to believe that
the food had been put there by agents of the great conspirator. It
readily may be surmised that neither of them was given to sensible
deductions during their astounding flight. If they had thought twice,
they might have seen the folly of their quick conclusions. Marlanx's men
would not have sent Loraine off in a manner like this. But the
distracted pair were not in an analytical frame of mind just then; that
is why the gentle munificence of Sir Vagabond came to a barren waste.

Mile after mile flew by. The unwilling travellers, depressed beyond
description, had given up all hope of leaving the car until it reached
the point intended by the wily plotters. To their amazement, however,
the speed began to slacken perceptibly after they had left the city ten
or twelve miles behind. Truxton was leaning against the side of the
door, gloomily surveying the bright, green landscape. For some time
Loraine had been steadying herself by clinging to his arm. They had cast
off the unsightly rain coats and other clumsy articles. Once, through
sheer inability to control his impulses, he had placed his arm about her
slim waist, but she had gently freed herself. Her look of reproach was
sufficient to check all future impulses of a like nature.

"Hello!" said he, coming out of his bitter dream.

"We're slowing up." He looked out and ahead. "No station is in sight.
There's a bridge down the road a bit--yes, there's our same old river.
By George!" His face was a study.

"What is it?" she cried, struck by his sudden energy of speech.

"They're running slow for the bridge. Afraid of the floods. D'ye see? If
they creep up to it as they do in the United States when they're
cautious, we'll politely drop off and--'Pon my soul, she's coming down
to a snail's pace. We can swing off, Loraine. Now's our chance!"

The train was barely creeping up to the bridge. He clasped her in the
strong crook of his left arm, slid down to a sitting position, and
boldly pushed himself clear of the car, landing on his feet. Staggering
forward with the impetus he had received, he would have fallen except
for a mighty effort. A sharp groan escaped his lips as he lowered her to
the ground. She looked anxiously into his face and saw nothing there but
relief.

The cars rumbled across the bridge, picked up speed beyond, and
thundered off in the distance with never so much as a thought of the two
who stood beside the track and laughed hysterically.

"Come along," said the man briefly. "We must try to reach that station
back there. There I can telegraph in. Oh!" His first attempt to walk
brought out a groan of pain.

He had turned his ankle in the leap to the ground. She was deeply
concerned, but he sought to laugh it off. Gritting his teeth
determinedly, he led the way back along the track.

"Lean on me," she cried despairingly.

"Nonsense," he said with grim stubbornness. "I don't mind the pain. We
can't stop for a sprained ankle. It's an old one I got playing football.
We may have to go a little slow, but we'll not stop, my dear--not till
we get word to Dangloss!"

She found a long, heavy stick for him; thereafter he hobbled with
greater speed and less pain. At a wagon-road crossing they paused to
rest, having covered two miles. The strain was telling on him;
perspiration stood out in great drops upon his brow; he was beginning to
despair. Her little cry of joy caused him to look up from the swollen
ankle which he was regarding with dubious concern. An oxcart was
approaching from the west.

"A ride!" she cried joyously. She had been ready to drop with fatigue;
her knees were shaking. His first exclamation of joy died away in a
groan of dismay. He laughed bitterly.

"That thing couldn't get us anywhere in a week," he said.

"But it will help," she cried brightly, an optimist by force of
necessity.

They stopped the cart and bargained for a ride to Ronn. The man was a
farmer, slow and suspicious. He haggled.

"The country's full of evil men and women these days," he demurred.
"Besides I have a heavy enough load as it is for my poor beasts."

Miss Tullis conducted the negotiations, making the best of her year's
acquaintance with the language of the country.

"Don't tell him why we are in such a hurry," cautioned King. "He may be
a Marlanx sympathiser."

"You have nothing in your cart but melons," she said to the farmer,
peeping under the corner of the canvas covering.

"I am not going through Ronn, but by the high road to Edelweiss," he
protested. "A good ten kilometers."

"But carry us until we come up with some one who can give us horses."

"Horses!" he croaked. "Every horse in the valley is in Edelweiss by this
time. This is the great day there. The statue of--"

"Yes, yes, I know. We are bound for Edelweiss. Can you get us there in
two hours?"

"With these beasts, poor things? Never!"

"It will be worth your while. A hundred gavvos if you carry us to a
place where we can secure quicker transportation."

In time she won him over. He agreed to carry them along the way, at his
best speed, until they came up with better beasts or reached the city
gates. It was the best he could do. The country was practically deserted
on this day. At best there were but few horses in the valley; mostly
oxen. They climbed up to the seat and the tortuous journey began. The
farmer trotted beside the wheel nearly all of the way, descanting warmly
in painful English on the present condition of things in the hills.

"The rascals have made way with the beautiful Miss Tullis. She is the
American lady stopping at the Castle. You should see her, sir. Excepting
our dear Princess Yetive--God rest her soul--she is the most beautiful
creature Graustark has ever seen. I have seen her often. Not quite so
grand as the Countess Ingomede, but fairer, believe me. She is beloved
by everyone. Many a kind and generous word has she spoken to me. My
onion beds are well known to her. She has come to my farm time and
again, sir, with the noble personages, while riding, and she has in
secret bought my little slips of onions. She has said to me that she
adores them, but that she can only eat them in secret. Ah, sir, it is a
sad day for Graustark that evil has happened to her. Her brother, they
say, is off in the Dawsbergen hills searching for her. He is a grand
man."

His passengers were duly interested. She nudged the lugubrious Truxton
when the man spoke of the onions. "What a fibber! I hate onions."

"She is to be married to the Count Vos Engo; a fine lad, sir. Now she is
gone, I don't know what he will do. Suicide, mayhap. Many is the time I
have cautioned her not to ride in the hills without a strong guard.
These bandits are getting very bold."

"Do you know the great Count Marlanx?" demanded King, possessed of a
sudden thought. The man faced him at the mention of the name, a
suspicious gleam in his eyes.

"Count Marlanx!" he snorted. Without another word, he drew the beasts to
a standstill. There was no mistaking the angry scowl. "Are you friends
of that snake? If you are, get out of my cart."

"He's all right," cried Truxton. "Tell him who we are, Loraine, and why
we _must_ get to the city."

Five minutes later, the farmer, overcome by the stupendous news, was
lashing his oxen with might and main; the astonished beasts tore down
the road to Ronn so bravely that there seemed some prospect of getting a
telegram through in time. All the way the excited countryman groaned and
swore and sputtered his prayers. At Ronn they learned that the operator
had been unable to call Edelweiss since seven o'clock. The wires were
down or had been cut. Truxton left a message to be sent to Dangloss in
case he could get the wire, and off they started again for the city
gates, having lost considerable time by the diverted mile or two.

Not man, woman or child did they encounter as the miles crept by. The
country was barren of humanity. Ahead of them was the ascent to be
conquered by oxen so old and feeble that the prospect was more than
dubious.

"If it should be that my team gives out, I will run on myself to give
the alarm," cried the worthy, perspiring charioteer. "It shall not be!
God preserve us!"

Three times the oxen broke down, panting and stubborn; as many times he
thwacked them and kicked them and cursed them into action again. They
stumbled pitifully, but they _did_ manage to go forward.

In time the city gates came in sight--far up the straight, narrow road.
"Pray God we may not be too late," groaned the farmer. "Damn the swine
who took their horses to town before the sun was up. Curse them for
fools and imbeciles. Fools never get into heaven. Thank the good Lord
for that."

It seemed to the quivering Americans that the gates were mocking them by
drawing farther away instead of coming nearer.

"Are we going backward?" groaned Truxton, his hands gripping the side of
the bounding seat.

Near the gates, which were still open, it occurred to him in a single
flash of dismay that he and Loraine would be recognised and intercepted
by Marlanx watchers. Between the fierce jolts of the great cart he
managed to convey his fears to her.

It was she who had the solution. They might succeed in passing the gates
if they hid themselves in the bed of the cart, underneath the thick
canvas covering. The farmer lifted the cloth and they crawled down among
the melons. In this fashion they not only covered the remainder of the
distance, half stifled by the heat and half murdered by the
uncomfortable position, but passed through the gates and were taken
clattering down the streets toward the centre of town.

"To the Tower!" cried the anxious Truxton.

"Impossible!" shouted the farmer. "The streets are roped off and the
crowds are too great."

"Then let us out as near to the Tower as possible, cried the other.

"Here we are," cried the driver, a few minutes later, pulling up his
half dead oxen and leaping to the ground. He threw off the covering and
they lost no time in tumbling from their bed of melons to the
cobble-stone pavement of a narrow alley into which he had turned for
safety. "Through this passage!" he gasped, hoarse with excitement. "The
Tower is below. Follow me! My oxen will stand. I am going with you!" His
rugged face was aglow.

Off through the alley they hurried, King disdaining the pain his ankle
was giving him. They came to the crowded square a few minutes later. The
clock in the Cathedral pointed to twelve o'clock and after! The
catastrophe had not yet taken place; the people were laughing and
singing and shouting. They were in time. Everywhere they heard glad
voices crying out that the Prince was coming! It was the Royal band that
they heard through dinning ears!

"Great God!" cried Truxton, stopping suddenly and pointing with
trembling hand to a spot across the street and a little below where
they had pushed through the resentful, staring throng on the sidewalk.
"There she is! At the corner! Stop her!"

He had caught sight of Olga Platanova.

The first row of dragoons was already passing in front of her. Less than
two hundred feet away rolled the royal coach of gold! All this flashed
before the eyes of the distracted pair, who were now dashing frantically
into the open street, disregarding the shouts of the police and the
howls of the crowd.

"An anarchist!" shouted King hoarsely. He looked like one himself. "The
bomb! The bomb! Stop the Prince!"

Colonel Quinnox recognised this bearded, uncouth figure, and the flying,
terrified girl at his heels. King was dragging her along by the hand.
There was an instant of confusion on the part of the vanguard, a drawing
of sabres, a movement toward the coach in which the Prince rode.

Quinnox alone prevented the dragoons from cutting down the pallid madman
who stumbled blindly toward the coaches beyond. He whirled his steed
after an astonished glance in all directions, shouting eager commands
all the while. When he reached the side of the gasping American, that
person had stopped and was pointing toward the trembling Olga, who had
seen and recognised him.

"Stop the coach!" cried King. Loraine was running frantically through
the ranks of horsemen, screaming her words of alarm.

The Duke of Perse leaped from his carriage and ran forward, shouting to
the soldiers to seize the disturbers. Panic seized the crowd. There was
a mad rush for the corner above. Olga Platanova stood alone, her eyes
wide and glassy, staring as if petrified at the face of Truxton King.

He saw the object in her wavering hand. With a yell he dashed for safety
down the seething avenue. The Duke of Perse struck at him as he passed,
ignoring the frantic cry of warning that he uttered. A plain,
white-faced farmer in a smock of blue was crossing the street with
mighty bounds, his eyes glued upon the arm of the frail, terrified
anarchist. If he could only arrest that palsied, uncertain arm!

But she hurled the bomb, her hands going to her eyes as she fell upon
her knees.




CHAPTER XVII.

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.




CHAPTER XVIII

TRUXTON ON PARADE


Count Marlanx was a soldier. He knew how to take defeat and to bide his
time; he knew how to behave in the hour of victory and in the moment of
rout. The miscarriage of a detail here and there in this vast,
comprehensive plan of action did not in the least sense discourage him.
It was no light blow to his calculations, of course, when the designs of
an organisation separate and distinct from his own failed in their
purpose. It was part of his plan to hold the misguided Reds responsible
for the lamentable death of Prince Robin. The people were to be given
swift, uncontrovertible proof that he had no hand in the unforeseen
transactions of the anarchists, who, he would make it appear, had by
curious coincidence elected to kill the Prince almost at the very hour
when he planned to seize the city as a conqueror.

His own connection with the operations of the mysterious Committee of
Ten was never to be known to the world. He would see to that.

At nine o'clock on Sunday morning a small group of people gathered in
the square: a meeting was soon in progress. A goods-box stood over
against the very spot on which Olga Platanova died. An old man began
haranguing the constantly growing crowd, made up largely of those whose
curiosity surpassed discreetness. In the group might have been seen
every member of the Committee of Ten, besides a full representation of
those who up to now had secretly affiliated with the Party of Equals. A
red flag waved above the little, excited group of fanatics, close to
the goods-box rostrum. One member of the Committee was absent from this,
their first public espousal of the cause. Later on we are to discover
who this man was. Two women in bright red waists were crying
encouragement to the old man on the box, whose opening sentences were no
less than an unchanted requiem for the dead martyr, Olga Platanova.

In the midst of his harangue, the hand of William Spantz was arrested in
one of its most emphatic gestures. A look of wonder and uncertainty came
into his face as he gazed, transfixed, over the heads of his hearers in
the direction of the Tower.

Peter Brutus was approaching, at the head of a group of aliens, all
armed and marching in ominously good order. Something in the face of
Peter Brutus sent a chill of apprehension into the very soul of the old
armourer.

And well it may have done so.

"One moment!" called out Peter Brutus, lifting his hand imperatively.
The speaker ceased his mouthings. "Count Marlanx desires the immediate
presence of the following citizens at his office in the Tower. I shall
call off the names." He began with William Spantz. The name of each of
his associates in the Committee of Ten followed. After them came a score
of names, all of them known to be supporters of the anarchist cause.

"What is the business, Peter?" demanded William Spantz.

"Does it mean we are to begin so soon the establishing of the new
order--" began Anna Cromer, her face aglow. Peter smiled wanly.

"Do not ask me," he said, emphasising the pronoun. "I am only commanded
to bring the faithful few before him."

"But why the armed escort?" growled Julius Spantz, who had spent an
unhappy twenty-four hours in bondage.

"To separate the wheat from the chaff," said Peter. "Move on, good
people, all you whose names were not called." The order was to the few
timid strangers who were there because they had nowhere else to go. They
scattered like chaff.

Ten minutes later every member of the Committee of Ten, except Peter
Brutus, was behind lock and bar, together with their shivering
associates, all of them dumbly muttering to themselves the awful
sentence that Marlanx had passed upon them.

"You are to die at sunset. Graustark still knows how to punish
assassins. She will make an example of you to-day that all creatures of
your kind, the world over, will not be likely to forget in a century to
come. There is no room in Graustark for anarchy. I shall wipe it out
to-day."

"Sir, your promise!" gasped William Spantz. "We are your friends--the
true Party of--"

"Enough! Do not speak again! Captain Brutus, you will send criers abroad
to notify the citizens that I, Count Marlanx, have ordered the execution
of the ringleaders in the plot to dynamite the Prince. At sunset, in the
square. Away with the carrion!"

Then it was, and not till then, that the Committee of Ten found him out!
Then it was that they came to know Peter Brutus! What were their
thoughts, we dare not tell: their shrieks and curses were spent against
inpenetrable floors and walls. Baron Dangloss heard, and, in time,
understood. Even he shrank back and shuddered.

It has been said that Marlanx was a soldier. There is one duty that the
soldier in command never neglects: the duty to those who fell while
fighting bravely for or against him. Sunday afternoon a force of men was
set to work burying the dead and clearing the pavements. Those of his
own nondescript army who gave up their lives on the 26th were buried in
the public cemeteries. The soldiers of the Crown, as well as the
military police, were laid to rest in the national cemetery, with
honours befitting their rank. Each grave was carefully marked and a
record preserved. In this way Marlanx hoped to obtain his first footing
in the confidence and esteem of the citizens. The unrecognisable corpse
of Olga Platanova was buried in quicklime outside the city walls. There
was something distinctly gruesome in the fact that half a dozen deep
graves were dug alongside hers, hours before death came to the wretches
who were to occupy them.

At three o'clock the Iron Count coolly sent messengers to the homes of
the leading merchants and bankers of the city. They, with the priests,
the doctors, the municipal officers and the manufacturers were commanded
to appear before him at five o'clock for the purpose of discussing the
welfare of the city and its people. Hating, yet fearing him, they came;
not one but felt in his heart that the old man was undisputed ruler of
their destinies. Hours of horror and despair, a night and a day of
bitter reflection, had brought the trembling populace to the point of
seeing clearly the whole miserable situation. The reserves were
powerless; the Royal Guard was besieged and greatly outnumbered; the
fortress was lost. There was nothing for them to do but temporise. Time
alone could open the way to salvation.

Marlanx stated his position clearly. He left no room for doubt in their
minds. The strings were in his hands: he had but to pull them. The
desire of his life was about to be attained. Without hesitation he
informed the leading men of the city that he was to be the Prince of
Graustark.

"I have the city," he said calmly. "The farms and villages will fall in
line. I do not worry over them. In a very short time I shall have the
Castle. The question for you to decide for yourselves is this: will you
be content to remain here as thrifty, peaceable citizens, protecting
your fortunes and being protected by a man and not by a child. If not,
please say so. The alternative is in the hands of the Crown. I am the
Crown. The Crown may at any time confiscate property and banish
malcontents and disturbers. A word to the wise, gentlemen. Inside of a
week we will have a new government. You will not suffer under its
administration. I should be indeed a fool to destroy the credit or
injure the integrity of my own dominion. But, let me say this,
gentlemen," he went on after a pause, in which his suavity gave way to
harshness; "you may as well understand at the outset that I expect to
rule here. I will rule Graustark or destroy her."

The more courageous in his audience began to protest against the
high-handed manner in which he proposed to treat them. Not a few
declared that they would never recognise him as a prince of the realm.
He waited, as a spider waits, until he thought they had gone far enough.
Then he held up his hand and commanded silence.

"Those of you who do not expect or desire to live under my rule--which,
I promise you, shall be a wise one,--may leave the city for other lands
just as soon as my deputies have completed the formal transfer of all
your belongings to the Crown treasury--all, I say, even to the minutest
trifle. Permit me to add, in that connection, gentlemen: the transfer
will not be a prolonged affair."

They glared back at him and subsided into bitter silence.

"I am well aware that you love little Prince Robin. Ha! You may not
cheer here, gentlemen, under penalty of my displeasure. It is quite
right that you should, as loyal subjects, love your Prince, whoever he
may be. I shall certainly expect it. Now, respecting young master Robin:
I have no great desire to kill him."

He waited to see the effect of this brutal announcement. His hearers
stiffened and--yes, they held their breath.

"He has one alternative--he and his lords. I trust that you, as sensible
gentlemen, will find the means to convey to him your advice that he
seize the opportunity I shall offer him to escape with his life. No one
really wants to see the little chap die. Let me interrupt myself to call
to your attention the fact that I am punishing the anarchists at sunset.
This to convince you that assassination will not be tolerated in
Graustark. To resume: the boy may return to America, where he belongs.
He is more of an American than one of us. I will give him free and safe
escort to the United States. Certain of his friends may accompany him;
others whom I shall designate will be required to remain here until I
have disposed of their cases as I see fit. These conditions I shall set
forth in my manifesto to the present occupant of the Castle. If he
chooses to accept my kindly terms, all well and good. If not, gentlemen,
I shall starve him out or blow the Castle down about his smart little
ears. You shudder! Well, I can't blame you. I shudder myself sometimes
when I think of it. There will be a great deal of royal blood, you know.
Ah, that reminds me: It may interest you to hear that I expect to
establish a new nobility in Graustark. The present house of lords is
objectionable to me. I trust I may now be addressing at least a few of
the future noble lords of Graustark. Good day, gentlemen. That is all
for the present. Kindly inform me if any of my soldiers or followers
overstep the bounds of prudence. Rapine and ribaldry will not be
tolerated."

The dignitaries and great men of the city went away, dazed and
depressed, looking at each other from bloodshot eyes. Not one friend had
Marlanx in that group, and he knew it well. He did not expect them to
submit at once or even remotely. They might have smiled, whereas they
frowned, if they could have seen him pacing the floor of his office, the
moment the doors closed behind their backs, clenching his hands and
cursing furiously.

At the Castle the deepest gloom prevailed. It was like a nightmare to
the beleaguered household, a dream from which there seemed to be no
awakening. Colonel Quinnox's first act after posting his forces in
position to repel attacks from the now well-recognised enemy, was to
make sure of the safety of his royal master. Inside the walls of the
Castle grounds he, as commander of the Royal Guard, ruled supreme.
General Braze tore off his own epaulets and presented himself to Quinnox
as a soldier of the file; lords and dukes, pages and ministers, followed
the example of the head of the War Department. No one stood on the
dignity of his position; no one does, as a rule, with the executioner
staring him in the face. Every man took up arms for the defence of the
Castle, its Prince and its lovely women.

Prince Robin, quite recovered from his fright, donned the uniform of a
Colonel of the Royal Dragoons, buckled on his jewelled sword, and, with
boyish zeal, demanded Colonel Quinnox's reasons for not going forth to
slay the rioters.

"What is the army for, Colonel Quinnox?" he asked with impatient wonder.

It was late in the afternoon and the Prince was seated in the chair of
state, presiding over the hurriedly called Council meeting. Notably
absent were Baron Dangloss and the Duke of Perse. Chief officers of the
Guard and the commissioned men of the army were present--that is, all of
them who had not gone down under the treacherous fire.

"Your Highness," said the Colonel bitterly, "the real army is outside
the walls, not inside. We are a pitiful handful-less than three hundred
men, all told, counting the wounded. Count Marlanx heads an army of
several thousand. He--"

"He wants to get in here so's he can kill me? Is that so, Colonel
Quinnox?" The Prince was very pale, but quite calm.

"Oh, I wouldn't put it just that way, your--"

"Oh, I know. You can't fool me. I've always known that he wants to kill
me. But how can he? That's the question; how can he when I've got the
Royal Guard to keep him from doing it? He can't whip the Royal Guard.
Nobody can. He ought to know that. He must be awful stupid."

His perfect, unwavering faith in the Guard was the same that had grown
up with every prince of Graustark and would not be gainsaid. A score of
hearts swelled with righteous pride and as many scabbards rattled as
heels clicked and hands went up in salute.

"Your Highness," said Quinnox, with a glance at his fellow-officers,
"you may rely upon it, Count Marlanx will never reach you until he has
slain every man in the Royal Guard."

"And in the army--our poor little army," added General Braze.

"Thank you," said the Prince. "You needn't have told me. I knew it." He
leaned back in the big chair, almost slipping from the record books on
which he sat, a brave scowl on his face. "Gee, I wish he'd attack us
right now," he said, with ingenuous bravado.

The council of war was not a lengthy one. The storm that had arisen out
of a perfectly clear sky was briefly discussed in all its phases. No man
there but realised the seriousness of the situation. Count Halfont, who
seemed ten years older than when we last saw him, addressed the Cabinet.

"John Tullis is still outside the city walls. If he does not fall into a
trap through ignorance of the city's plight, I firmly believe he will be
able to organise an army of relief among the peasants and villagers.
They are loyal. The mountaineers and shepherds, wild fellows all, and
the ones who have fallen into the spider's net. Count Marlanx has an
army of aliens; they are not even revolutionists. John Tullis, if given
the opportunity, can sweep the city clear of them. My only fear is that
he may be tricked into ambush before we can reach him. No doubt Marlanx,
in devising a way to get him out of the city, also thought of the means
to keep him out."

"We must get word to Tullis," cried several in a breath. A dozen men
volunteered to risk their lives in the attempt to find the American in
the hills. Two men were chosen--by lot. They were to venture forth that
very night.

"My lords," said the Prince, as the Council was on the point of
dissolving, "is it all right for me to ask a question now?"

"Certainly, Robin," said the Prime Minister.

"Well, I'd like to know where Mr. King is."

"He's safe, your Highness," said Quinnox.

"Aunt Loraine is worried, that's all. She's sick, you see--awful sick.
Do you think Mr. King would be good enough to walk by her window, so's
she can see for herself? She's in the royal bedchamber."

"The royal bedchamber?" gasped the high chamberlain.

"I gave up my bed right off, but she won't stay in it. She sits in the
window most of the time. It's all right about the bed. I spoke to nurse
about it. Besides, I don't want to go to bed while there's any fighting
going on. So, you see, it's all right. Say, Uncle Caspar, may I take a
crack at old Marlanx with my new rifle if I get a chance? I've been
practising on the target range, and Uncle Jack says I'm a reg'lar
Buffalo Bill."

Count Halfont unceremoniously hugged his wriggling grand-nephew. A cheer
went up from the others.

"Long live Prince Robin!" shouted Count Vos Engo.

Prince Robin looked abashed. "I don't think I could hit him," he said
with becoming modesty. They laughed aloud. "But, say, don't forget about
Mr. King. Tell him I want him to parade most of the time in front of my
windows."

"He has a weak ankle," began Colonel Quinnox lamely.

"Very difficult for him to walk," said Vos Engo, biting his lips.

The Prince looked from face to face, suspicion in his eyes. It dawned on
him that they were evading the point. A stubborn line appeared between
his brows.

"Then I command you, Colonel Quinnox, to give him the best horse in the
stables. I want him to ride."

"It shall be as you command, your Highness."

A few minutes later, his grand-uncle, the Prime Minister, was carrying
him down the corridor; Prince Robin was perched upon the old man's
shoulder, and was a thoughtful mood.

"Say, Uncle Caspar, Mr. King's all right, isn't he?"

"He is a very brave and noble gentleman, Bobby. We owe to his valour the
life of the best boy in all the world."

"Yes, and Aunt Loraine owes him a lot, too. She says so. She's been
crying, Uncle Caspar. Say, has she just got to marry Count Vos Engo?"

"My boy, what put that question into your mind?"

"She says she has to. I thought only princes and princesses had to marry
people they don't want to."

"You should not believe all that you hear."

Bobby was silent for twenty steps. Then he said: "Well, I think she'll
make an awful mistake if she lets Mr. King get away."

"My boy, we have other affairs to trouble us at present without taking
up the affairs of Miss Tullis."

"Well, he saved her life, just like they do in story books," protested
the Prince.

"Well, you run in and tell her this minute that Mr. King sends his love
to her and begs her to rest easy. See if it doesn't cheer her up a bit."

"Maybe she's worried about Uncle Jack. I never thought about that," he
faltered.

"Uncle Jack will come out on top, never fear," cried the old man.

Half an hour later, Truxton King, shaven and shorn, outfitted and
polished, received orders to ride for twenty minutes back and forth
across the Plaza. He came down from Colonel Quinnox's rooms in the
officer's row, considerably mystified, and mounted the handsome bay
that he had brought through the gates. Haddan, of the Guard, rode with
him to the Plaza, but could offer no explanation for the curious
command.

Five times the now resentful American walked his horse across the Plaza,
directly in front of the terrace and the great balconies. About him
paced guardsmen, armed and alert; on the outer edge of the parade ground
a company of soldiers were hurrying through the act of changing the
Guard; in the lower balcony excited men and women were walking back and
forth, paying not the least attention to him. Above him frowned the
grey, lofty walls of the Castle. No one was in view on the upper
balcony, beyond which he had no doubt lay the royal chambers. He had the
mean, uncomfortable feeling that people were peering at him from remote
windows.

Suddenly a small figure in bright red and gold and waving a tiny sword
appeared at the rail of the broad upper gallery. Truxton blinked his
eyes once or, twice and then doffed his hat. The Prince was smiling
eagerly.

"Hello!" he called. Truxton drew rein directly below him.

"I trust your Highness has recovered from the shock of to-day," he
responded. "I have been terribly anxious. Are you quite well?"

"Quite well, thank you." He hesitated for a moment, as if in doubt.
Then: "Say, Mr. King, how's your leg?"

Truxton looked around in sudden embarrassment. A number of distressed,
white-faced ladies had paused in the lower gallery and were staring at
him in mingled curiosity and alarm. He instantly wondered if Colonel
Quinnox's riding clothes were as good a fit as he had been led to
believe through Hobbs and others.

"It's--it's fine, thank you," he called up, trying to subdue his voice
as much as possible.

Bobby looked a trifle uncertain. His glance wavered and a queer little
wrinkle appeared between his eyes. He lowered his voice when he next
spoke.

"Say, would you mind shouting that a little louder," he called down,
leaning well over the rail.

Truxton flushed. He was pretty sure that the Prince was not deaf. There
was no way out of it, however, so he repeated his communication.

"It's all right, your Highness."

Bobby gave a quick glance over his shoulder at one of the broad windows.
Truxton distinctly saw the blinds close with a convulsive jerk.

"Thanks! Much obliged! Good-bye!" sang out the Prince, gleefully. He
waved his hand and then hopped off the chair on which he was standing.
Truxton heard his little heels clatter across the stone balcony. For a
moment he was nonplused.

"Well, I'm--By Jove! I understand!" He rode off toward the barracks, his
head swimming with joy, his heart jumping like mad. At the edge of the
parade ground he turned in his saddle and audaciously lifted his hat to
the girl who, to his certain knowledge, was standing behind the
tell-tale blind.

"Cheer up, Hobbs!" he sang out in his new-found exuberance as he rode up
to the dismal Englishman, who moped in the shade of the stable walls.
"Don't be down-hearted. Look at me! Never say die, that's my motto."

"That's all very well, sir," said Hobbs, removing the unlighted pipe
from his lips, "but you 'aven't got a dog and a parrot locked up in your
rooms with no one to feed them. It makes me sick, 'pon my soul, sir, to
think of them dying of thirst and all that, and me here safe and sound,
so to speak."

That night Haddan and a fellow-subaltern attempted to leave the Castle
grounds by way of the private gate in the western wall, only to be
driven back by careful watchers on the outside. A second attempt was
made at two o'clock. This time they went through the crypt into the
secret underground passage. As they crawled forth into the blackest of
nights, clear of the walls, they were met by a perfect fusillade of
rifle shots. Haddan's companion was shot through the leg and arm and it
was with extreme difficulty that the pair succeeded in regaining the
passage and closing the door. No other attempt was made that night.
Sunday night a quick sortie was made, it being the hope of the besieged
that two selected men might elude Marlanx's watch-dogs during the melee
that followed. Curiously enough, the only men killed were the two who
had been chosen to run the gauntlet in the gallant, but ill-timed
attempt to reach John Tullis.

On Monday morning the first direct word from Count Marlanx came to the
Castle. Under a flag of truce, two of his men were admitted to the
grounds. They presented the infamous ultimatum of the Iron Count. In
brief, it announced the establishment of a dictatorship pending the
formal assumption of the crown by the conqueror. With scant courtesy the
Iron Count begged to inform Prince Robin that his rule was at an end.
Surrender would result in his safe conduct to America, the home of his
father; defiance would just so surely end in death for him and all of
his friends. The Prince was given twenty-four hours in which to
surrender his person to the new governor of the city. With the
expiration of the time limit mentioned, the Castle would be shelled from
the fortress, greatly as the dictator might regret the destruction of
the historic and well-beloved structure. No one would be spared if it
became necessary to bombard; the rejection of his offer of mercy would
be taken as a sign that the defenders were ready to die for a lost
cause. He would cheerfully see to it that they died as quickly as
possible, in order that the course of government might not be obstructed
any longer than necessary.

The defenders of the Castle tore his message in two and sent it back to
him without disfiguring it by a single word in reply. The scornful
laughter which greeted the reading of the document by Count Halfont did
not lose any of its force in the report that the truce-bearers carried,
with considerable uneasiness, to the Iron Count later on.

No one in the Castle was deceived by Marlanx's promise to provide safe
conduct for the Prince. They knew that the boy was doomed if he fell
into the hands of this iniquitous old schemer. More than that, there was
not a heart among them so faint that it was not confident of eventual
victory over the usurper. They could hold out for weeks against
starvation. Hope is an able provider.

A single, distant volley at sunset had puzzled the men on guard at the
Castle. They had no means of knowing that the Committee of Ten and its
wretched friends had been shot down like dogs in the Public Square.
Peter Brutus was in charge of the squad of executioners.

Soon after the return of Marlanx's messengers to the Tower, a number of
carriages were observed approaching in Castle Avenue. They were halted a
couple of hundred yards from the gates and once more a flag of truce was
presented. There was a single line from Marlanx:

     "I am sending indisputable witnesses to bear testimony to the
     thoroughness of my conquest.

                                  "MARLANX."

Investigation convinced the captain of the Guard that the motley caravan
in the avenue was made up of loyal, representative citizens from the
important villages of the realm. They were admitted to the grounds
without question.

The Countess Prandeville of Ganlook, terribly agitated, was one of the
first to enter the haven of safety, such as it was. After her came the
mayors and the magistrates of a dozen villages. Count Marlanx's reason
for delivering these people over to their friends in the Castle was at
once manifest.

By the words of their mouths his almost complete mastery of the
situation was conveyed to the Prince's defenders. In every instance the
representative from a village sorrowfully admitted that Marlanx's men
were in control. Ganlook, an ancient stronghold, had been taken without
a struggle by a handful of men. The Countess's husband was even now
confined in his own castle under guard.

The news was staggering. Count Halfont had based his strongest hopes on
the assistance that would naturally come from the villages. Moreover,
the strangely commissioned emissaries cast additional gloom over the
situation by the report that mountaineers, herdsmen and woodchoppers in
the north were flocking to the assistance of the Iron Count, followed by
hordes of outlaws from the Axphain hills. They were swarming into the
city. These men had always been thorns in the sides of the Crown's
peace-makers.

"It is worse than I thought," said Count Halfont, after listening to
the words of the excited magistrates. "Are there no loyal men outside
these walls?"

"Thousands, sir, but they are not organised. They have no leader, and
but little with which to fight against such a force."

"It is hard to realise that a force of three or four thousand
desperadoes has the power to defy an entire kingdom. A city of 75,000
people in the hands of hirelings! The shame of it!"

Truxton King was leaning against a column not far from the little group,
nervously pulling away at the pipe Quinnox had given him. As if impelled
by a common thought, a half dozen pairs of eyes were turned in his
direction. Their owners looked as quickly away, again moved by a common
thought.

The Minister of Mines gave utterance to a single sentence that might
well have been called the epitome of that shrewd, concentrated thought:

"There must be some one who can get to John Tullis before it is too
late."

They looked at one another and then once more at the American who had
come among them, avowedly in quest of adventure.




CHAPTER XIX

TRUXTON EXACTS A PROMISE


Truxton King had been in a resentful frame of mind for nearly
forty-eight hours. In the first place, he had not had so much as a
single glimpse of the girl he now worshipped with all his heart. In the
second place, he had learned, with unpleasant promptness, that Count Vos
Engo was the officer in command of the House Guard, a position as
gravely responsible as it was honourable. The cordon about the Castle
was so tightly drawn in these perilous hours that even members of the
household were subjected to examination on leaving or entering.

Truxton naturally did not expect to invade the Castle in search of the
crumb of comfort he so ardently desired; he did not, however, dream that
Vos Engo would deny him the privilege of staring at a certain window
from a rather prim retreat in a far corner of the Plaza.

He had, of course, proffered his services to Colonel Quinnox. The
Colonel, who admired the Americans, gravely informed him that there was
no regular duty to which he could be assigned, but that he would expect
him to hold himself ready for any emergency. In case of an assault, he
was to report to Count Vos Engo.

"We will need our bravest men at the Castle," he had said. Truxton
glowed under the compliment. "In the meantime, Mr. King, regain your
strength in the park. You show the effect of imprisonment. Your
adventures have been most interesting, but I fancy they invite rest for
the present."

It was natural that this new American should become an object of
tremendous interest to every one in and about the Castle. The story of
his mishaps and his prowess was on every lip; his timely appearance in
Regengetz Circus was regarded in the light of divine intervention,
although no one questioned the perfectly human pluck that brought it
about. Noble ladies smiled upon him in the park, to which they now
repaired with timorous hearts; counts and barons slapped him on the back
and doughty guardsmen actually saluted him with admiration in their
eyes.

But he was not satisfied. Loraine had not come forward with a word of
greeting or relief; in fact, she had not appeared outside the Castle
doors. Strangely enough, with the entire park at his disposal, he chose
to frequent those avenues nearest the great balconies. More than once he
visited the grotto where he had first seen her; but it was not the same.
The occasional crack of a rifle on the walls no longer fired him with
the interest he had felt in the beginning. Forty-eight hours had passed
and she still held aloof. What could it mean? Was she ill? Had she
collapsed after the frightful strain?

Worse than anything else: was she devoting all of her time to Count Vos
Engo?

Toward dusk on Monday, long after the arrival of the refugees, he sat in
gloomy contemplation of his own unhappiness, darkly glowering upon the
unfriendly portals from a distant stone bench.

A brisk guardsman separated himself from the knot of men at the Castle
doors and crossed the Plaza toward him.

"Aha," thought Truxton warmly, "at last she is sending a message to me.
Perhaps she's--no, she couldn't be sending for me to come to her."

Judge his dismay and anger when the soldier, a bit shamefaced himself,
briefly announced that Count Vos Engo had issued an order against
loitering in close proximity to the Castle. Mr. King was inside the
limit described in the order. Would he kindly retire to a more distant
spot, etc.

Truxton's cheek burned. He saw in an instant that the order was meant
for him and for no one else--he being the only outsider likely to come
under the head of "loiterer." A sharp glance revealed the fact that not
only were the officers watching the little scene, but others in the
balcony were looking on.

Resisting the impulse to argue the point, he hastily lifted his hat to
the spectators and turned into the avenue without a word.

"I am sorry, sir," mentioned the guardsman earnestly.

Truxton turned to him with a frank smile, meant for the group at the
steps. "Please tell Count Vos Engo that I am the last person in the
world to disregard discipline at a time like this."

His glance again swept the balcony, suddenly becoming fixed on a couple
near the third column. Count Vos Engo and Loraine Tullis were standing
there together, unmistakably watching his humiliating departure. To say
that Truxton swore softly as he hurried off through the trees would be
unnecessarily charitable.

The next morning he encountered Vos Engo near the grotto. Two
unsuccessful attempts to leave the Castle grounds had been made during
the night. Truxton had aired his opinion to Mr. Hobbs after breakfast.

"I'll bet my head I could get away with it," he had said, doubly
scornful because of a sleepless night. "They go about it like a lot of
chumps. No wonder they are chased back."

Catching sight of Vos Engo, he hastened across the avenue and caught up
to him. The Count was apparently deep in thought.

"Good morning," said Truxton from behind. The other whirled quickly. He
did not smile as he eyed the tall American. "I haven't had a chance to
thank you for coming back for me last Saturday. Allow me to say that it
was a very brave thing to do. If I appeared ungrateful at the time, I'm
sure you understood my motives."

"The whole matter is of no consequence, Mr. King," said the other
quietly.

"Nevertheless, I consider it my duty to thank you. I want to get it out
of my system. Having purged myself of all that, I now want to tell you
of a discovery that I made last evening."

"I am not at all interested."

"You will be when I have told you, however, because it concerns you."

"I do not like your words, Mr. King, nor the way in which you glare at
me."

"I'm making it easier to tell you the agreeable news, Count Vos Engo;
that's all. You'll be delighted to hear that I thought of you nearly all
night and still feel that I have not been able to do you full justice."

"Indeed?" with a distinct uplifting of the eyebrows.

"Take your hand off your sword, please. Some other time, perhaps, but
not in these days when we need men, not cripples. I'll tell you what I
have discovered and then we'll drop the matter until some other time. We
can afford a physical delay, but it would be heartless to keep you in
mental suspense. Frankly, Count, I have made the gratifying discovery
that you are a damned cur."

Count Vos Engo went very white. He drew his dapper figure up to its full
height, swelled his Robin Redbreast coat to the bursting point, and
allowed his right hand to fly to his sword. Then, as suddenly, he folded
his arms and glared at Truxton.

"As you say, there is another and a better time. We need dogs as well as
men in these days."

"I hope you won't forget that I thanked you for coming back last
Saturday."

The Count turned and walked rapidly away.

Truxton leaned against the low wall alongside the Allée. "I don't know
that I've helped matters any," he said to himself ruefully. "He'll not
let me get within half a mile of the Castle after this. If she doesn't
come out for a stroll in the park, I fancy I'll never see her--Heigho! I
wish something would happen! Why doesn't Marlanx begin bombarding? It's
getting devilish monotonous here."

He strolled off to the stables, picking up Mr. Hobbs on the way.

"Hobbs," he said, "we've got to find John Tullis, that's all there is to
it." He was scowling fiercely at a most inoffensive lawn-mower in the
grass at the left.

"I daresay, sir," said Mr. Hobbs with sprightly decisiveness. "He's very
much needed."

"I'm going to need him before long as my second."

"Your second, sir? Are you going to fight a duel?"

"I suppose so," lugubriously. "It's too much to expect him to meet me
with bare fists. Oh, Hobbs, I wish we could arrange it for bare knucks!"
He delivered a mighty swing at an invisible adversary. Hobbs's hat fell
off with the backward jerk of surprise.

"Oh, my word!" he exclaimed admiringly, "wot a punch you've got!"

Later on, much of his good humour was restored and his vanity pleased by
a polite request from Count Halfont to attend an important council in
the "Room of Wrangles" that evening at nine.

Very boldly he advanced upon the Castle a few minutes before the
appointed hour. He went alone, that he might show a certain contempt for
Count Vos Engo. Notwithstanding the fact that he started early enough
for the Chamber, he was distressingly late for the meeting.

He came upon Loraine Tullis at the edge of the Terrace. She was walking
slowly in the soft shadows beyond the row of lights on the lower
gallery. King would have passed her without recognition, so dim was the
light in this enchanted spot, had not his ear caught the sound of a
whispered exclamation. At the same time the girl stopped abruptly in the
darkest shadow. He knew her at a glance, this slim girl in spotless
white.

"Loraine!" he whispered, reaching her side in two bounds. She put out
her hands and he clasped them. A quick, hysterical little laugh came
from her lips. Plainly, she was confused. "I've been dying for a glimpse
of you. Do you think you've treated me--"

"Don't, Truxton," she pleaded, suddenly serious. She sent a swift glance
toward the balconies. "You must not come here. I saw--well, you know. I
was so ashamed. I was so sorry."

He still held her hands. His heart was throbbing furiously.

"Yes, they ordered me to move on, as if I were a common loafer," he
said, with a soft chuckle. "I'm used to it, however. They ran me out of
Meshed for taking snapshots; they banished me from Damascus, and they
all but kicked me out of Jerusalem--I won't say why. But where have you
kept yourself? Why have you avoided me? After getting the Prince to
parade me in front of your windows, too. It's dirt mean, Loraine."

"I have been ill, Truxton--truly, I have," she said quickly, uneasily.

"See here, what's wrong? You are in trouble. I can tell by your manner.
Tell me--trust me."

"I am worried so dreadfully about John," she faltered.

"That isn't all," he declared. "There's something else. What promise did
you make to Vos Engo last Saturday after--well, if you choose to recall
it--after I brought you back to him--what did you promise him?"

"Don't be cruel, Truxton," she pleaded. "I cannot forget all you have
done for me."

"You told Vos Engo to ride back and pick me up," he persisted. "He told
me in so many words. Now, I want a plain answer, Loraine. Did you
promise to reward him if he--well, if he saved me from the mob?"

She was breathlessly silent for a moment. "No," she said, in a low
voice.

"What was it, then? I must know, Loraine." He was bending over her,
imperiously.

"I am very--oh, so very unhappy, Truxton," she murmured. He was on the
point of clasping her in his arms and kissing her. But he thought better
of it.

"I came near spoiling everything just now," he whispered hoarsely.

"What?"

"I almost kissed you, Loraine,--I swear it was hard to keep from it.
That would have spoiled everything."

"Yes, it would," she agreed quickly.

"I'm not going to kiss you until you have told me you love Vos Engo."

"I--I don't understand," she cried, drawing back and looking up into his
face with bewildered eyes.

"Because then I'll be sure that you love me."

"Be sensible, Truxton."

"I'll know that you promised to love him if he'd save me. It's as clear
as day to me. You _did_ tell him you'd marry him if he got me to a place
of safety."

"No. I _refused_ to marry him if he did not save you. Oh, Truxton, I am
so miserable. What is to become of all of us? What is to become of John,
and Bobby--and you?"

"I--I think I'll kiss you now, Loraine," he whispered almost
tremulously. "God, how I love you, little darling!"

"Don't!" she whispered, resolutely pushing him away after a sweet second
of indecision. "I cannot--I cannot, Truxton dear. Don't ask me to--to do
that. Not now, please--not now!"

He stiffened; his hands dropped to his sides, but there was joy in his
voice.

"I can wait," he said gently. "It's only a matter of a few days; and
I--I won't make it any harder for you just now. I think I understand.
You've--you've sort of pledged yourself to that--to him, and you don't
think it fair to--well, to any of us. I'm including you, you see. I know
you don't love him, and I know that you're going to love me, even if you
don't at this very instant. I'm not a very stupid person, after all. I
can see through things. I saw through it all when he came back for me.
That's why I jumped from his horse and took my chances elsewhere. He did
a plucky thing, Loraine, but I--I couldn't let it go as he intended it
to be. Confound him, I would have died a thousand times over rather than
have you sacrifice yourself in that way. It was splendid of you,
darling, but--but very foolish. You've got yourself into a dreadful mess
over it. I've got to rescue you all over again. This time, thank the
Lord, from a Castle."

She could not help smiling. His joyousness would not be denied.

"How splendid you are!" she said, her voice thrilling with a tone that
could not be mistaken.

He put his hands upon her shoulders and looked down into the beautiful,
upturned face, a genuinely serious note creeping into his voice when he
spoke again.

"Don't misconstrue my light-heartedness, dearest. It's a habit with me,
not a fault. I see the serious side to your affair--as you view it. You
have promised to marry Vos Engo. You'll have to break that promise. He
didn't save me. Colonel Quinnox would have accomplished it, in any
event. He can't hold you to such a silly pledge. You--you haven't by any
chance told him that you love him?" He asked this in sudden anxiety.

"Really, Truxton, I cannot discuss--"

"No, I'm quite sure you haven't," he announced contentedly. "You
couldn't have done that, I know. Now, I want you to make me a promise
that you'll keep."

"Oh, Truxton--don't ask me to say that I'll be your--" She stopped,
painfully embarrassed.

"That will come later," he said consolingly. "I want you to promise, on
your sacred word of honour, that you'll kiss no man until you've kissed
me."

"Oh!" she murmured, utterly speechless.

"Promise!"

"I--I cannot promise that," she said in tones almost inaudible. "I am
not sure that I'll ever--ever kiss anybody. How silly you are!"

"I'll make exception in the case of your brother--and, yes, the Prince."

"I'll not make such a promise," she cried.

"Then, I'll be hanged if I'll save you from the ridiculous mess you've
gotten yourself into," he announced with finality. "Moreover, you're not
yet safe from old Marlanx. Think it over, my--"

"Oh, he cannot seize the Castle--it is impossible!" she cried in sudden
terror.

"I'm not so sure about that," he said laconically.

"What is it you really want me to say?" she asked, looking up with
sudden shyness in her starry eyes.

"That you love me--and me only, Loraine," he whispered.

"I will not say it," she cried, breaking away from him. "But," as she
ran to the steps, a delicious tremor in her voice--"I _will_ consider
the other thing you ask."

"Darling--don't go," he cried, in eager, subdued tones, but she already
was half way across the balcony. In a moment she was gone. "Poor,
harassed little sweetheart!" he murmured, with infinite tenderness. For
a long time he stood there, looking at the window through which she had
disappeared, his heart full of song.

Then, all at once, he remembered the meeting. "Great Scott!" in dismay.
"I'm late for the pow-wow." A twisted smile stole over his face. "I
wonder how they've managed to get along without me." Then he presented
himself, somewhat out of breath, to the attendants at the south doors,
where he had been directed to report. A moment later he was in the
Castle of Graustark, following a stiff-backed soldier through mediæval
halls of marble, past the historic staircase, down to the door of the
council chamber. He was filled with the most delicious sensation of awe
and reverence. Only in his dearest dreams had he fancied himself in
these cherished halls. And now he was there--actually treading the same
mosaic floors that had known the footsteps of countless princes and
princesses, his nostrils tingling with the rare incense of five
centuries, his blood leaping to the call of a thousand romances. The all
but mythical halls of Graustark--the sombre, vaulted, time-defying
corridors of his fancy. Somewhere in this vast pile of stone was the
girl he loved. Each shadowy nook, each velvety recess, seemed to glow
with the wizardry of love-lamps that had been lighted with the building
of the Castle. How many hearts had learned the wistful lesson in these
aged halls? How many loves had been sheltered here?

He walked on air. He pinched himself--and even then was not certain that
he was awake. It was too good to be true.

He was ushered into a large, sedately furnished room. A score of men
were there before him--sitting or standing in attitudes of attention,
listening to the words of General Braze. King's entrance was the signal
for an immediate transfer of interest. The General bowed most politely
and at once turned to Count Halfont with the remark that he had quite
finished his suggestions. The Prime Minister came forward to greet the
momentarily shy American. King had time to note that the only man who
denied him a smile of welcome was Count Vos Engo. He promptly included
his rival in his own sweeping, self-conscious smile.

"The Council has been extolling you, Mr. King," said the Prime Minister,
leading him to a seat near his own. Truxton sat down, bewildered. "We
may some day grow large enough to adequately appreciate the invaluable,
service you have performed in behalf of Graustark."

Truxton blushed. He could think of nothing to say, except: "I'm sorry to
have been so late. I was detained."

Involuntarily he glanced at Vos Engo. That gentleman started, a curious
light leaping into his eyes.

"Mr. King, we have asked you here for the purpose of hearing the full
story of your experiences during the past two weeks, if you will be so
good as to relate them. We have had them piecemeal. I need not tell you
that Graustark is in the deepest peril. If there is a single suggestion
that you can make that will help her to-night, I assure you that it will
be given the most grateful consideration. Graustark has come to know and
respect the resourcefulness and courage of the American gentleman. We
have seen him at his best."

"I have really done no more than to--er--save my own neck," said Truxton
simply. "Any one might be excused for doing the same. Graustark owes a
great deal more to Miss Tullis than it does to me, believe me, my lords.
She had the courage, I the strength."

"Be assured of our attitude toward Miss Tullis," said Halfont in reply.
"Graustark loves her. It can do no more than that. It is from Miss
Tullis that we have learned the extent of your valorous achievements.
Ah, my dear young friend, she has given you a fair name. She tells us of
a miracle and we are convinced."

Truxton stammered his remonstrances, but glowed with joy and pride.

"Here is the situation in a nutshell," went on the Prime Minister. "We
are doomed unless succor reaches us from the outside. We have discussed
a hundred projects. While we are inactive, Count Marlanx is gaining
more power and a greater hold over the people of the city. We have no
means of communication with Prince Dantan of Dawsbergen, who is our
friend. We seem unable to get warning to John Tullis, who, if given
time, might succeed in collecting a sufficient force of loyal countrymen
to harass and eventually overthrow the Dictator. Unless he is reached
before long, John Tullis and his combined force of soldiers will be
ambushed and destroyed. I am loth to speak of another alternative that
has been discussed at length by the ministers and their friends. The
Duke of Perse, from a bed of pain and anguish, has counselled us to take
steps in the direction I am about to speak of. You see, we are taking
you into our confidence, Mr. King.

"We can appeal to Russia in this hour of stress. Moreover, we may expect
that help will be forthcoming. But we will have to make an unpleasant
sacrifice. Russia is eager to take over our new issue of railway bonds.
Hitherto, we have voted against disposing of the bonds in that country,
the reason being obvious. St. Petersburg wants a new connecting line
with her possessions in Afghanistan. Our line will provide a most direct
route--a cut-off, I believe they call it. Last year the Grand Duke
Paulus volunteered to provide the money for the construction of the line
from Edelweiss north to Balak on condition that Russia be given the
right to use the line in connection with her own roads to the Orient.
You may see the advantage in this to Russia. Mr. King, if I send word to
the Grand Duke Paulus, agreeing to his terms, which still remain open to
us, signing away a most valuable right in what we had hoped would be our
own individual property, we have every reason to believe that he will
send armed forces to our relief, on the pretext that Russia is defending
properties of her own. That is one way in which we may oust Count
Marlanx. The other lies in the ability of John Tullis to give battle to
him with our own people carrying the guns. I am confident that Count
Marlanx will not bombard the Castle except as a last resort. He will
attempt to starve us into submission first; but he will not destroy
property if he can help it. I have been as brief as possible. Lieutenant
Haddan has told us quite lately of a remark you made which he happened
to overhear. If I quote him correctly, you said to the Englishman Hobbs
that you could get away with it, meaning, as I take it, that you could
succeed in reaching John Tullis. The remark interested me, coming as it
did from one so resourceful. May I not implore you to tell us how you
would go about it?"

Truxton had turned a brick red. Shame and mortification surged within
him. He was cruelly conscious of an undercurrent of irony in the
Premier's courteous request. For an instant he was sorely crushed. A low
laugh from the opposite side of the room sent a shaft to his soul. He
looked up. Vos Engo was still smiling. In an instant the American's
blood boiled; his manner changed like a flash; blind, unreasoning
bravado succeeded embarrassment.

He faced Count Halfont coolly, almost impudently.

"I think I was unfortunate enough to add that your men were going about
it--well, like amateurs," he said, with a frank smile. "I meant no
offense." Then he arose suddenly, adjusted his necktie with the utmost
_sang froid_, and announced:

"I did say I could get to John Tullis. If you like, I'll start
to-night."

His words created a profound impression, they came so abruptly. The men
stared at him, then at each other. It was as if he had read their
thoughts and had jumped at once to the conclusion that they were baiting
him. Every one began talking at once. Soon some one began to shake his
hand. Then there were cheers and a dozen handshakings. Truxton grimly
realised that he had done just what they had expected him to do. He
tried to look unconcerned.

"You will require a guide," said Colonel Quinnox, who had been studying
the _degage_ American in the most earnest manner.

"Send for Mr. Hobbs, please," said Truxton.

A messenger was sent post haste to the barracks. The news already was
spreading throughout the Castle. The chamber door was wide open and men
were coming and going. Eager women were peering through the doorway for
a glimpse of the American.

"There should be three of us," said King, addressing the men about him.
"One of us is sure to get away."

"There is not a man here--or in the service--who will not gladly
accompany you, Mr. King," cried General Braze quickly.

"Count Vos Engo is the man I would choose, if I may be permitted the
honour of naming my companion," said Truxton, grinning inwardly with a
malicious joy.

Vos Engo turned a yellowish green. His eyes bulged.

"I--I am in command of the person of his Royal Highness," he stammered,
suddenly going very red.

"I had forgotten your present occupation," said Truxton quietly. "Pray
pardon the embarrassment I may have caused you. After all, I think Hobbs
will do. He knows the country like a book. Besides, his business in the
city must be very dull just now. He'll be glad to have the chance to
personally conduct me for a few days. As an American tourist, I must
insist, gentlemen, on being personally conducted by a man from Cook's."

They did not know whether to laugh or to treat it as a serious
announcement.

Mr. Hobbs came. That is to say, he was produced. It is doubtful if Mr.
Hobbs ever fully recovered from the malady commonly known as stage
fright. He had never been called Mr. Hobbs by a Prime Minister before,
nor had he ever been asked in person by a Minister of War if he had a
family at home. Moreover, no assemblage of noblemen had ever
condescended to unite in three cheers for him. Afterward Truxton King
was obliged to tell him that he had unwaveringly volunteered to
accompany him on the perilous trip to the hills. Be sure of it, Mr.
Hobbs was not in a mental condition for many hours to even remotely
comprehend what had taken place. He only knew that he had been invited,
as an English _gentleman_, to participate in a council of war.

But Mr. Hobbs was not the kind to falter, once he had given his word;
however hazy he may have been at the moment, he knew that he had
volunteered to do something. Nor did it seem to surprise him when he
finally found out what it was.

"We'll be off at midnight, Hobbs," said Truxton, feeling in his pocket
for the missing watch.

"As you say, Mr. King, just as you say," said Hobbs with fine
indifference.

As Truxton was leaving the Castle ten minutes later, Hobbs having gone
before to see to the packing of food-bags and the filling of flasks, a
brisk, eager-faced young attendant hurried up to him.

"I bear a message from his Royal Highness," said the attendant,
detaining him.

"He should be sound asleep at this time," said Truxton, surprised.

"His Royal Highness insists on staying awake as long as possible, sir.
It is far past his bedtime, but these are troublesome times, he says.
Every man should do his part. Prince Robin has asked for you, sir."

"How's that?"

"He desires you to appear before him at once, sir."

"In--in the audience chamber?"

"In his bedchamber, sir. He is very sleepy, but says that you are to
come to him before starting away on your mission of danger."

"Plucky little beggar!" cried Truxton, his heart swelling with love for
the royal youngster.

"Sir!" exclaimed the attendant, his eyes wide with amazement and
reproof.

"I'll see him," said the other promptly, as if he were granting the
audience.

He followed the perplexed attendant up the grand staircase, across
thickly carpeted halls in which posed statuesque soldiers of the Royal
Guard, to the door of the Prince's bedchamber. Here he was confronted by
Count Vos Engo.

"Enter," said Vos Engo, with very poor grace, standing aside. The
sentinels grounded their arms and Truxton King passed into the royal
chamber, alone.




CHAPTER XX

BY THE WATER-GATE


It was a vast, lofty apartment, regal in its subdued lights. An
enormous, golden bed with gorgeous hangings stood far down the room. So
huge was this royal couch that Truxton at first overlooked the figure
sitting bolt upright in the middle of it. The tiny occupant called out
in a very sleepy voice:

"Here I am, Mr. King. Gee, I hate a bed as big as this. They just make
me sleep in it."

An old woman advanced from the head of the couch and motioned Truxton to
approach.

"I am deeply honoured, your Highness," said the visitor, bowing very
low. Through the windows he could see motionless soldiers standing guard
in the balcony.

"Come over here, Mr. King. Nurse won't let me get up. Excuse my nighty,
will you, please? I'm to have pajamas next winter."

Truxton advanced to the side of the bed. His eyes had swept the room in
search of the one person he wanted most to see of all in the world. An
old male servitor was drawing the curtains at the lower end of the room.
There was no one else there, except the nurse. They seemed as much a
part of the furnishings of this room as if they had been fixtures from
the beginning.

"I am sure you will like them," said Truxton, wondering whether she were
divinely secreted in one of the great, heavily draped window recesses.
She had been in this room but recently. A subtle, delicate, enchanting
perfume that he had noticed earlier in the evening--ah, he would never
forget it.

The Prince's legs were now hanging over the edge of the bed. His eyes
were dancing with excitement; sleep was momentarily routed.

"Say, Mr. King, I wish I was going with you to find Uncle Jack. You will
find him, won't you? I'm going to say it in my prayers to-night and
every night. They won't hardly let me leave this room. It's rotten luck.
I want to fight, too."

"We are all fighting for you, Prince Robin."

"I want you to find Uncle Jack, Mr. King," went on Bobby eagerly. "And
tell him I didn't mean it when I banished him the other day. I really
and truly didn't." He was having difficulty in keeping back the tears.

"I shall deliver the message, your Highness," said Truxton, his heart
going out to the unhappy youngster. "Rest assured of that, please. Go to
sleep and dream that I have found him and am bringing him back to you.
The dream will come true."

"Are you sure?" brightening perceptibly.

"Positively."

"Americans always do what they say they will," said the boy, his eyes
snapping. "Here's something for you to take with you, Mr. King. It's my
lucky stone. It always gives good luck. Of course, you must promise to
bring it back to me. It's an omen."

He unclasped his small fingers; in the damp palm lay one of those
peculiarly milky, half-transparent pebbles, common the world over and of
value only to small, impressionable boys. Truxton accepted it with
profound gravity.

"I found it last 4th of July, when we were celebrating out there in the
park. I'm always going to have a 4th of July here. Don't you lose it,
Mr. King, and you'll have good luck. Baron Dangloss says it's the
luckiest kind of a stone. And when you come back, Mr. King, I'm going to
knight you. I'd do it now, only Aunt Loraine says you'd be worrying
about your title all the time and might be 'stracted from your mission.
I'm going to make a baron of you. That's higher than a count in
Graustark. Vos Engo is only a count."

Truxton started. He looked narrowly into the frank, engaging eyes of the
boy in the nighty.

"I shall be overwhelmed," he said. Then his hand went to his mouth in
the vain effort to cover the smile that played there.

"My mother used to say that American girls liked titles," said the
Prince with ingenuous candor.

"Yes?" He hoped that she was eavesdropping.

"Nurse said that I was not to keep you long, Mr. King," said the Prince
ruefully. "I suppose you are very busy getting ready. I just wanted to
give you my lucky stone and tell you about being a baron. I won't have
any luck till you come back. Tell Mr. Hobbs I'm thinking of making him a
count. You're awful brave, Mr. King."

"Thank you, Prince Robin. May I--" he glanced uneasily at the distant
nurse--"may I ask how your Aunt Loraine is feeling?"

"She acted very funny when I sent for you. I'm worried about her."

"What did she do, your Highness?"

"She rushed off to her room. I think, Mr. King, she was getting ready to
cry or something. You see, she's in trouble."

"In trouble?"

"Yes. I can't tell you about it."

"She's worried about her brother, of course--and you."

"I just wish I could tell you--no, I won't. It wouldn't be fair," Bobby
said, checking himself resolutely. "She's awful proud of you. I'm sure
she likes you, Mr. King."

"I'm very, very glad to hear that."

Bobby had great difficulty in keeping his most secret impressions to
himself. In fact, he floundered painfully in an attack on diplomacy.

"You should have seen her when Uncle Caspar came in to say you were
going off to find her brother. She cried. Yes, sir, she did. She kissed
me and--but you don't like to hear silly things about girls, do you?
Great big men never do."

"I've heard enough to make me want to do something very silly myself,"
said Truxton, radiant. "I--I don't suppose I could--er--see your Aunt
Loraine for a few minutes?"

"I think not. She said she just--now, you mustn't mind her, Mr.
King--she just couldn't bear it, that's all. She told me to say she'd
pray for you and--Oh, Mr. King, I do hope she won't marry that other
man!"

Truxton bent his knee. "Your Highness, as it seems I am not to see her,
and as you seem to be the very best friend I have, I should very much
like to ask a great favour of you. Will you take this old ring of mine
and wish it on her finger just as soon as I have left your presence?"

"How did you know she was coming in again?" in wide-eyed wonder. "Excuse
me. I shouldn't ask questions. What shall I wish?" It was the old ring
that had come from Spantz's shop. The Prince promptly hid it beneath the
pillow.

"I'll leave that to you, my best of friends."

"I bet it'll be a good wish, all right. I know what to wish."

"I believe you do. Would you mind giving her something else from me?" He
hesitated before venturing the second request. Then, overswept by a
warm, sweet impulse, he stepped forward, took the boy's face between his
eager hands, and pressed a kiss upon his forehead. "Give her that for
me, will you, Prince Robin Goodfellow."

Bobby beamed. "But I never kiss her _there!_"

"I shall be ten thousand times obliged, your Highness, if you will
deliver it in the usual place."

"I'll do it!" almost shouted the Prince. Then he clapped his hand over
his mouth and looked, pop-eyed with apprehension, toward the nurse.

"Then, good-bye and God bless you," said Truxton. "I must be off. Your
Uncle Jack is waiting for me, up there in the hills."

Bobby's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Mr. King, please give him my love
and make him hurry back. I--I need him awful!"

Truxton found Mr. Hobbs in a state bordering on collapse.

"I say, Mr. King, it's all right to say we'll go, but how the deuce are
we to do it? My word, there's no more chance of getting out of the--"

"Listen, Hobbs: we're going to swim out," said Truxton. He was engaged
in stuffing food into a knapsack. Colonel Quinnox and Haddan had been
listening to Hobbs's lamentations for half an hour, in King's room.

"Swim? Oh, I say! By hokey, he's gone clean daffy!" Hobbs was eyeing him
with alarm. The others looked hard at the speaker, scenting a joke.

"Not yet, Hobbs. Later on, perhaps. I had occasion to make a short tour
of investigation this afternoon. Doubtless, gentlemen, you know where
the water-gate is, back of the Castle. Well, I've looked it over--and
under, I might say. Hobbs, you and I will sneak under those slippery old
gates like a couple of eels. I forgot to ask if you can swim."

"To be sure I can. _Under_ the gates? My word!"

"Simple as rolling off a log," said Truxton carelessly. "The Cascades
and Basin of Venus run out through the gate. There is a space of at
least a foot below the bottom of the gate, which hasn't been opened in
fifty years, I'm told. A good swimmer can wriggle through, d'ye see?
That lets him out into the little canal that connects with the river.
Then--"

"I see!" cried Quinnox. "It can be done! No one will be watching at that
point."

The sky was overcast, the night as black as ebony. The four men left the
officers' quarters at one o'clock, making their way to the historic old
gate in the glen below the Castle. Arriving at the wall, Truxton briefly
whispered his plans.

"You remember, Colonel Quinnox, that the stream is four or five feet
deep here at the gate. The current has washed a deeper channel under the
iron-bound timbers. The gates are perhaps two feet thick. For something
like seven or eight feet from the bottom they are so constructed that
the water runs through an open network of great iron bars. Now, Hobbs
and I will go under the gates in the old-clothes you have given us. When
we are on the opposite side we'll stick close by the gate, and you may
pass our dry clothes out between the bars above the surface of the
water. Our guns, the map and the food, as well. It's very simple. Then
we'll drop down the canal a short distance and change our clothes in the
underbrush. Hobbs knows where we can procure horses and he knows a
trusty guide on the other side of the city. So long, Colonel. I'll see
you later."

"God be with you," said Quinnox fervently. The four men shook hands and
King slipped into the water without a moment's hesitation.

"Right after me, Hobbs," he said, and then his head went under.

A minute later he and Hobbs were on the outside of the gate, gasping for
breath. Standing in water to their necks, Quinnox and Haddan passed the
equipment through the barred openings. There were whispered good-byes
and then two invisible heads bobbed off in the night, wading in the
swift-flowing canal, up to their chins. Swimming would have been
dangerous, on account of the noise.

Holding their belongings high above their heads, with their hearts in
their mouths, King and the Englishman felt their way carefully along the
bed of the stream. Not a sound was to be heard, except the barking of
dogs in the distance. The stillness of death hung over the land. So
still, that the almost imperceptible sounds they made in breathing and
moving seemed like great volumes of noise in their tense ears.

A hundred yards from the gate they crawled ashore and made their way up
over the steep bank into the thick, wild underbrush. Not a word had been
spoken up to this time.

"Quietly now, Hobbs. Let us get out of these duds. 'Gad, they're like
ice. From now on, Hobbs, you lead the way. I'll do my customary act of
following."

Hobbs was shivering from the cold. "I say, Mr. King, you're a wonder,
that's wot you are. Think of going under those bally gates!"

"That's right, Hobbs, think of it, but don't talk."

They stealthily stripped themselves of the wet garments, and, after no
end of trouble, succeeded in getting into the dry substitutes. Then they
lowered the wet bundles into the water and quietly stole off through the
brush, Hobbs in the lead, intent upon striking the King's Highway, a
mile or two above town. It was slow, arduous going, because of the
extreme caution required. A wide detour was made by the canny
Hobbs--wider, in fact, than the impatient American thought wholly
necessary. In time, however, they came to the Highway.

"Well, we've got a start, Hobbs. We'll win out, just as I said we would.
Easy as falling off a log."

"I'm not so blooming sure of that," said Hobbs. He was recalling a
recent flight along this very road. "We're a long way from being out of
the woods."

"Don't be a kill-joy, Hobbs. Look at the bright side of things."

"I'll do that in the morning, when the sun's up," said Hobbs, with a
sigh. "Come along, sir. We take this path here for the upper road. It's
a good two hours' walk up the mountain to Rabot's, where we get the
horses."

All the way up the black, narrow mountain path Hobbs kept the lead. King
followed, his thoughts divided between the blackness ahead and the
single, steady light in a certain window now far behind. He had seen the
lighted window in the upper balcony as he passed the Castle on the way
to the gate. Somehow he knew she was there saying good-bye and Godspeed
to him.

At four o'clock, as the sun reached up with his long, red fingers from
behind the Monastery mountain, Truxton King and Hobbs rode away from
Rabot's cottage high in the hills, refreshed and sound of heart. Rabot's
son rode with them, a sturdy, loyal lad, who had leaped joyously at the
chance to serve his Prince. Undisturbed, they rode straight for the
passes below St. Valentine's. Behind and below them lay the sleeping,
restless, unhappy city of Edelweiss, with closed gates and unfriendly,
sullen walls. There reigned the darkest fiend that Graustark, in all her
history, had ever come to know.

Truxton King had slipped through his fingers with almost ridiculous
ease. So simple had it been, that the two messengers, gloating in the
prospect ahead, now spoke of the experience as if it were the most
trivial thing in their lives. They mentioned it casually; that was all.

Now, let us turn to John Tullis and his quest in the hills. It goes
without saying that he found no trace of his sister or her abductors.
For five days he scoured the lonely, mysterious mountains, dragging the
tired but loyal hundred about at his heels, distracted by fear and
anguish over the possible fate of the adored one. On the fifth day, a
large force of Dawsbergen soldiers, led by Prince Dantan himself, found
the fagged, disspirited American and his half-starved men encamped in a
rocky defile in the heart of the wilderness.

That same night a Graustark mountaineer passed the sentinels and brought
news of the disturbance in Edelweiss. He could give no details. He only
knew that there had been serious rioting in the streets and that the
gates were closed against all comers. He could not tell whether the
rioters--most of whom he took to be strikers, had been subdued or
whether mob-law prevailed. He had been asked to cast his lot with the
strikers, but had refused. For this he was driven away from his home,
which was burned. His wife and child were now at the Monastery, where
many persons had taken refuge.

In a flash it occurred to John Tullis that Marlanx was at the bottom of
this deviltry. The abduction of Loraine was a part of his plan! Prince
Dantan advised a speedy return to the city. His men were at the command
of the American. Moreover, the Prince himself decided to accompany the
troops.

Before sunrise, the command, now five or six hundred strong, was picking
its way down the dangerous mountain roads toward the main highway.
Fifteen miles below Edelweiss they came upon the company of soldiers
sent out to preserve order in the railroad camps.

The officer in charge exhibited a document, given under the hand and
seal of Baron Dangloss, directing him to remain in command of the camps
until the strikers, who were unruly, could be induced to resume work
once more. This order, of course, was a forgery, designed to mislead the
little force until Marlanx saw fit to expose his hand to the world. It
had come by messenger on the very day of the rioting. The messenger
brought the casual word that the government was arresting and punishing
the lawless, and that complete order would hardly be established for
several days at the outside. He went so far as to admit that an attempt
on the life of the Prince had failed. Other reports had come to the
camps, and all had been to the effect that the rioting was over. The
strikers, it seemed, were coming to terms with their employers and would
soon take up the work of construction once more. All this sufficed to
keep the real situation from reaching the notice of the young captain;
he was obeying orders and awaiting the return of the workmen.

The relief that swept into the souls of the newly arrived company was
short-lived. They had gone into camp, tired, sore and hungry, and were
preparing to take a long needed rest before taking up the last stage of
their march toward the city. John Tullis was now in feverish haste to
reach the city, where at least he might find a communication from the
miscreants, demanding ransom. He had made up his mind to pay whatever
they asked. Down in his heart, however, there was a restless fear that
she had not fallen into the hands of ordinary bandits. He could not
banish the sickening dread that she was in the power of Marlanx, to whom
she alone could pay the ransom exacted.

Hardly had the men thrown themselves from their horses when the sound of
shooting in the distance struck their ears. Instantly the entire force
was alert. A dozen shots were fired in rapid succession; then single
reports far apart. The steady beat of horses' feet was now plain to the
attentive company. There was a quick, incisive call to arms; a squad
stood ready for action. The clatter of hoofs drew nearer; a small group
of horsemen came thundering down the defile. Three minutes after the
firing was first heard, sentries threw their rifles to their shoulders
and blocked the approach of the riders.

A wild, glad shout went up from the foremost horseman. He had pulled his
beast to its haunches almost at the muzzles of the guns.

"Tullis!" he shouted, waving his hat.

John Tullis ran toward the excited group in the road. He saw three men,
one of whom was shouting his name with all the power in his lungs.

"Thank God, we've found you!" cried the horseman, swinging to the ground
despite the proximity of strange rifles. "Put up your guns! We're
friends!"

"King!" exclaimed Tullis, suddenly recognising him. A moment later they
were clasping hands.

"This is luck! We find you almost as soon as we set out to do so. Glory
be! You've got a fair-sized army, too. We'll need 'em--and more."

"What has happened, King? Where have you been? We looked for you after
your disap--"

"That's ancient history," interrupted the other. "How soon can you get
these troops on the march? There's not a moment to be lost."

"Good God, man, tell me what it is--what has happened? The Prince? What
of him?" cried Tullis, grasping King's arm in the clutch of a vise.

"He sends his love and rescinds the order of exile," said King, smiling.
Then seriously: "Marlanx has taken the city. It was all a game, this
getting rid of you. He's superstitious about Americans. There was
bomb-throwing in the square and a massacre afterward. The Prince and all
the others are besieged in the Castle. I'll tell you all about it. Hobbs
and I are the only men who have got away from the Castle alive. We left
last night. Our object was to warn you in time to prevent an ambush.
You've got to save the throne for Prince Robin. I'll explain as we go
along. I may as well inform you right now that there's a big force of
men waiting for you in the ravine this side of the Monastery. We saw
them. Thank God, we got to you in time. You can now take 'em by surprise
and--whiff! They'll run like dogs. Back here a couple of miles we came
upon a small gang of real robbers. We had a bit of shooting and--I
regret to say--no one was bagged. I'd advise you to have this force
pushed along as rapidly as possible. I have a message from your sister,
sir."

"Loraine? Where is she, King?"

"Don't tremble like that, old man. She's safe enough--in the Castle.
Oh, it was a fine game Marlanx had in his mind."

While the troopers were making ready for the march, Truxton King and
Hobbs related their story to eager, horrified groups of officers. It may
be well to say that neither said more of his own exploits than was
absolutely necessary to connect the series of incidents. Prince Dantan
marvelled anew at this fresh demonstration of Yankee courage and
ingenuity. King graphically narrated the tale from beginning to end. The
full force of the amazing tragedy was brought home to the pale,
half-dazed listeners. There were groans and curses and bitter cries of
vengeance. John Tullis was crushed; despair was written in his face,
anguish in his eyes.

What was to become of the Prince?

"First of all, Tullis, we must destroy these scoundrels who are lying in
wait for you in the ravine," said Prince Dantan. "After that you can be
in a position to breathe easily while collecting the army of fighters
that Mr. King suggests. Surely, you will be able to raise a large and
determined force. My men are at Prince Robin's disposal. Captain Haas
may command them as his own. I deplore the fact that I may not call upon
the entire Dawsbergen army. Marlanx evidently knows our laws. Our army
cannot go to the aid of a neighbor. We have done so twice in half a
century and our people have been obliged to pay enormous indemnity. But
there are men here. I am here. We will not turn back, Mr. Tullis. My
people will not hold me at fault for taking a hand in this. I shall send
messengers to the Princess; she, of course, must know."

The battalion, augmented by the misguided company from the deserted
railroad camps, moved swiftly into the defile, led by young Rabot.
Truxton King rode beside the brother of the girl he loved, uttering
words of cheer and encouragement.

"King, you _do_ put new courage into me. You are surcharged with hope
and confidence. By heaven, I believe we can drive out that damned beast
and his dogs. We _will_ do it!"

"There's a chap named Brutus. I ask special permission to kill him.
That's the only request I have to make."

"I very strongly oppose the appeal to Grand Duke Paulus. We must act
decisively before that alternative is forced upon the unhappy Halfont.
It was Perse's scheme, months ago. Perse! Confound him, I believe he has
worked all along to aid--"

"Hold on, Tullis," interrupted King soberly. "I wouldn't say that if I
were you. The Duke was wounded by the dynamiters and I understand he
lies on his bed and curses Marlanx from morning till night. He prays
constantly that his daughter may be freed from the old scoundrel."

"The Countess Ingomede--has anything been heard from her?" asked Tullis.
He had been thinking of her for days--and nights.

"Well, nothing definite," said King evasively. He was reminded at this
moment of his own love affair. Seized by the boldest impulse that had
ever come to him, he suddenly blurted out: "Tullis, I love your sister.
I have loved her from the beginning. All that has happened in the last
week has strengthened my adoration. I think she cares for me,
but,--but--"

"My dear Mr. King, I'm sorry--" began Tullis, genuinely surprised.

"But it seems that she's promised to marry Vos Engo. I'll tell you how
it happened." Then he related the episode of the rout in Castle Avenue.
"It's all wrong for her to marry that chap. If she hasn't been bullied
into it before we get back to her, I'd like to know if you won't put a
stop to his damned impudence. What right has such a fellow as Vos Engo
to a good American girl like Loraine? None whatever. Besides, I'm going
to fight him when we're through fighting Marlanx. I want you as my
second. Can't say whether it will be swords, pistols or knuckles. I hope
you'll oblige me. As a matter of fact, I had two primary objects in
looking you up out here in the hills. First, to ask you for Loraine;
second, to engage you as my second."

Tullis was silent for a while. Then he said, quite seriously: "King, I
have looked with some favour upon Vos Engo. I thought she liked him. He
isn't a bad fellow, believe me. I want Loraine to be happy. As for this
promise to him, I'll talk that over with her--if God permits me to see
her again I shall allow her to choose, King. You or Vos Engo--the one
she loves, that's all. As for seconding you, I am at your service."

King beamed. "That means, I take it, that you want me to win at least
one of the contests. Well," with his whimsical, irresistible smile, "it
won't be necessary to try for the other if Vos Engo shoots me in this
one."

"You will never know the extent of my gratitude, King. You have saved
her from a hellish fate. I shall be disappointed in her if she does not
choose you. I owe you a debt of gratitude almost as great for saving
that dear little boy of--ours. I shall not forget what you have
done--never!"

Early in the afternoon the force under Captain Haas was divided into
three companies, for strategic purposes. The plan to surprise and defeat
the skulkers in the ravine had been carefully thought out. Two strong
companies struck off into the hills; the third and weakest of the trio
kept the road, apparently marching straight into the trap. Signals had
been arranged. At a given sign the three parties were to swoop down upon
the position held by the enemy.

Several hours passed. The troop in the highroad prepared to camp just
below the treacherous pass in which the ambush was known to be laid.
Scouts had located the confident rascals in the ravines above the
highway. With the news that their prey was approaching, they were being
rapidly rushed into position at the head of the pass.

Shortly before sunset the troop in the road began to advance, riding
resolutely into the ravine. Even as the gloating, excited desperadoes
prepared to open fire from their hidden position at the head of the
pass, their pickets came running in with the word that two large forces
were drawing in on them from the north and east.

The trappers were trapped. They realised that they had been
out-generalled, and they understood their deficiencies. Not a man among
them knew the finer points of warfare. They were thugs and roustabouts
and ill-omened fellows who could stab in the back; they were craven in
the face of an open peril.

There were few shots fired. The men in ambuscade tried to escape to the
fastnesses of the hills. Some of them stood ground and fought, only to
be mown down by the enemy; others were surrounded and made captive; but
few actually succeeded in evading the troopers. All were ready to sue
for mercy and to proclaim their willingness to divert allegiance from
dictator to Crown. Herded like so many cattle, guarded like wolves, they
were driven city-ward, few if any of them exhibiting the slightest
symptom of regret or discomfiture. In fact, they seemed more than
philosophic: they were most jovial. These were soldiers of fortune, in
the plainest sense. It mattered little with whom they were allied or
against whom they fought, so long as the pay was adequate and prompt.

Indeed, the leaders of the party--officers by grace of lucky
tosses--benignly proffered the services of themselves and men in the
movement to displace Count Marlanx!

"He cannot hold out," said the evil-faced captain in cool derision. "He
cannot keep his promises to us. So why should we cut our own throats?
All we ask is transportation to Austria after the job's over. That's
where most of us came from, your Excellencies. Count on us, if you need
us. Down with Marlanx!"

"Long live Prince--" Three-fourths of them stopped there because they
did not even know the name of the little ruler.




CHAPTER XXI

THE RETURN


From the highlands below the Monastery, Captain Haas and his men were
able to study the situation in the city. The impracticability of an
assault on any one of the stubborn, well-guarded gates was at once
recognised. A force of seven hundred men, no matter how well trained or
determined, could not be expected to surmount walls that had often
withstood the attack of as many thousands. The wisdom of delaying until
a few thousand loyal, though poorly armed countrymen could be brought
into play against the city appealed at once to Prince Dantan and John
Tullis.

Withdrawing to an unexposed cut in the hills, safe from the shells that
might be thrown up from the fortress, they established their camps,
strongly entrenched and practically invulnerable against any attack from
below. Squads of men were sent without delay into the hills and valleys
to call the panic-stricken, wavering farmers into the fold. John Tullis
headed the company that struck off into the well-populated Ganlook
district.

Marlanx, as if realising the nature of the movement in the hills, began
a furious assault on the gates leading to the Castle. The watchers in
the hills could see as well as hear the conflict that raged almost at
their feet, so to speak. They cheered like mad when the motley army of
the usurper was frustrated in the attempt to take the main gates. From
the walls about the park, Quinnox's men, few as they were, sent such
deadly volleys into the streets below that the hordes fell back and
found shelter behind the homes of the rich. With half an eye, one could
see that the rascals were looting the palaces, secure from any
opposition on the part of the government forces; through the glasses,
scattered crowds of men could be seen carrying articles from the houses;
more than one of the mansions went up in flames as the day grew old and
the lust of the pillagers increased.

The next morning, Captain Haas announced to his followers that Marlanx
had begun to shell the Castle. Big guns in the fortress were hurling
great shells over the city, dropping them in the park. On the other
hand, Colonel Quinnox during the night had swung three Gatling guns to
the top of the wall; they were stationed at intervals along the wall,
commanding every point from which an assault might be expected. It was a
well-known fact that there was no heavy ordnance at the Castle. All day
long, Marlanx's men, stationed in the upper stories of houses close to
the walls, kept up a constant rifle fire, their bullets being directed
against the distant windows of the Castle. That this desultory fusillade
met with scant response at the hands of Quinnox, was quite apparent to
the uneasy, champing watchers near the Monastery.

"Marlanx will not begin the actual bombardment until he knows that
Tullis is drawing together a formidable force," prophesied Prince
Dantan.

"But when he does begin the real shelling," mourned Truxton King,
chafing like a lion under the deadly inaction. "I can't bear the thought
of what it means to those inside the Castle. He can blow it to pieces
over their heads. Then, from the house tops, he can pick them off like
blackbirds. It's awful! Is there nothing that we can do, Prince? Damn it
all, I know we can force a gate. And if we once get in where those
cowardly dogs are lording it, you'll see 'em take the walls like
steeple-chasers."

"My dear Mr. King," said Prince Dantan calmly, "you don't know Colonel
Quinnox and the House Guard. The Quinnoxs have guarded Graustark's
rulers for I don't know how many generations. History does not go back
so far, I fear. You may depend on it, there will be no living guardsmen
inside those walls when Marlanx lays his hands on the Prince."

That night recruits from the farms and villages began to straggle into
the camp. They were armed with rifles, ordinary shotguns and antique
"blunderbusses;" swords, staves and aged lances. All were willing to die
in the service of the little Prince; all they needed was a determined,
capable leader to rally them from the state of utter panic. They
reported that the Crown foragers might expect cheerful and plenteous
tribute from the farmers and stock growers. Only the mountaineers were
hostile.

The army now grew with astonishing rapidity. The recruits were not
fighting men in a military sense, but their hearts were true and they
hungered for the chance to stamp out the evil that lay at their feet. By
the close of the second day nearly three thousand men were encamped
above the city. Late that night John Tullis rode into camp at the head
of a great company from the Ganlook province. He had retaken the town of
Ganlook, seized the fortress, and recruited the entire fighting strength
of the neighbourhood. More than that, he had unlimbered and conveyed to
the provisional camp two of the big guns that stood above the gates at
the fortress. There had been a dozen skirmishes between the regulars and
roving bands of desperadoes. A savage fight took place at Ganlook and
another in the gap below the witch's hut. In both of these sanguinary
affrays the government forces had come off victorious, splendid omens
that did not fail to put confidence into the hearts of the men.

Marlanx trained two of his big guns on the camp in the hills. From the
fortress he threw many futile shells toward their place of shelter. They
did no damage; instead of death, they brought only laughter to the
scornful camp. Under cover of night, the two Ganlook cannons were
planted in a position commanding the southeastern city gate. It was the
plan of the new besiegers to bombard this gate, tearing it to pieces
with shot. When their force was strong enough offensively, an assault
would be flung against this opening. Drill and discipline were
necessary, however, before the attempt could be made. In the present
chaotic, untrained condition of their forces, an assault would prove not
only ineffectual, but disastrous. Day after day the recruits were put
through hard drill under the direction of the regular officers. Every
day saw the force increased. This made hard work for the drill-masters.
The willingness of the recruits, however, lessened the task
considerably.

The knowledge that Marlanx had no big guns except those stationed in the
fortress was most consoling to Tullis and his friends. He could not
destroy the Castle gates with shells, except by purest chance. He could
drop shells into the Castle, but to hit a gate twenty feet wide? Never!
Field ordnance was unknown to this country of mountains.

The Iron Count's inability to destroy the Castle gates made it feasible
for the men in the hills to devote considerable more time to drill and
preparation than they might have sacrificed if the conditions were the
reverse. They were confident that Quinnox could hold the Castle for
many days. With all this in mind, Captain Haas and Prince Dantan beat
down the objections of the impatient Americans; the work of preparation
against ignominous failure went on as rapidly as possible. Haas would
not attack until he was ready, or it became absolutely certain that the
men at the Castle were in dire need.

Signalling between the Castle and the hills had been going on for days.
The absence of the "wigwag" system made it impossible to convey
intelligible messages.

Truxton King was growing haggard from worry and loss of sleep. He could
not understand the abominable, criminal procrastination. He was of a
race that did things with a dash and on the spur of the moment. His soul
sickened day by day. John Tullis, equally unhappy, but more
philosophical, often found him seated upon a rock at the top of the
ravine, an unlighted pipe in his fingers, his eyes intent upon the hazy
Castle.

"Cheer up, King. Our time will come," he was wont to say.

"I've just got to do something, Tullis. This standing around is killing
me." Again he would respond: "Don't forget that I love some one down
there, old man. Maybe she's worrying about me, as well as about you."
Once he gave poor Mr. Hobbs a frightful tongue-lashing and was afterward
most contrite and apologetic. Poor Hobbs had been guilty of asking if he
had a headache.

Truxton was assigned to several scouting expeditions, simply to provide
him with action and diverting excitement. One of these expeditions
determined the impossibility of entering the city through the railroad
yards because of the trestle-work and the barricade of freight cars at
the gap in the wall.

They had been in camp for a week. The stategists had practically decided
that the assault could be made within a day or two. All was in
readiness--or as near as it could be--and all was enthusiasm and
excitement.

"If Haas puts it off another day I'm going to start a round robin,
whatever that is," said Truxton. As he said it to a Dawsbergen officer
who could not understand English, it is doubtful if that gentleman's
polite nod of acquiescence meant unqualified approval of the project.

At first they had built no fires at night. Now the force was so
formidable that this precaution was unnecessary. The air was chill and
there were tents for but a few of the troopers. The fires in the ravine
always were surrounded by great circles of men, eagerly discussing the
coming battle. At the upper end of the ravine were the tents of the
officers, Prince Dantan and John Tullis. The latter shared his with King
and Mr. Hobbs. Up here, the circle about the kindly pile of burning logs
was small, select and less demonstrative. Here they smoked in silence
most of the time, each man's thoughts delivered to himself.

Above, on the jutting rock, sat the disconsolate, lovesick Truxton. It
was the night before the proposed assault on the gates. The guns were in
position and the cannonading was to begin at daybreak. He was full of
the bitterness of doubt and misgiving. Was she in love with Vos Engo?
Was the Count's suit progressing favourably under the fire of the enemy?
Was his undoubted bravery having its effect upon the wavering
susceptibilities of the distressed Loraine?

Here was he, Truxton King, idle and useless for more than a week, beyond
range of the guns of the foe, while down there was Vos Engo in the thick
of it, at the side of the girl he loved in those long hours of peril,
able to comfort her, to cheer her, to fight for her. It was maddening.
He was sick with uncertainty, consumed by jealousy. His pipe was not out
now: he was smoking furiously.

The sound of a voice in sharp command attracted his attention. One of
the sentries in the road below the elbow of the ridge had stopped some
one who was approaching the camp. There was a bright moon, and Truxton
could see other pickets hurrying to join the first. A few moments later
the trespassers were escorted through the lines and taken directly to
headquarters. A man and two women, King observed. Somewhat interested,
he sauntered down from his lonely boulder and joined the group of
officers.

John Tullis was staring hard at the group approaching from the roadway.
They were still outside the circle of light, but it was plain to all
that the newcomers were peasants. The women wore the short red skirts
and the pointed bonnets of the lower classes. Gaudy shawls covered their
shoulders. One was tall and slender, with a bearing that was not
peasant-like. It was she who held Tullis's intense, unbelieving gaze
until they were well inside the fire-light. She walked ahead of her
companions. Suddenly he sprang forward with a cry of amazement.

It was the Countess Ingomede.

Her arrival created a sensation. In a moment she was in the centre of an
amazed circle of men. Tullis, after his first low, eager greeting at the
edge of the fire circle, drew her near to the warmth-giving flames.
Prince Dantan and Captain Haas threw rugs and blankets in a great heap
for her to sit upon. Every one was talking at once. The Countess was
smiling through her tears.

"Make room for my maid and her father. They are colder and more
fatigued than I," she said, lifting her tired, glorious eyes to John
Tullis, who stood beside her. "We have come from Balak. They suffered
much, that I might enjoy the slender comforts I was so ready to share
with them."

"Thank God, you are here," he said in low, intense tones. She could not
mistake the fervour in his voice nor the glow in his eyes. Her wondrous,
yellowish orbs looked steadily into his, and he was satisfied. They paid
tribute to the emotion that moved him to the depths of his being. Love
leaped up to him from those sweet, tired eyes; leaped with the unerring
force of an electric current that finds its lodestone in spite of mortal
will.

"I knew you were here, John. I am not going back to Count Marlanx. It is
ended."

"I knew it would come, Ingomede. You will let me tell you how glad I
am--some day?"

"Some day, when I am truly, wholly free from him, John. I know what you
will say, and I think you know what I shall say in reply." Both
understood and were exalted. No other word passed between them touching
upon the thing that was uppermost in their minds.

Food was provided for the wayfarers, and Tullis's tent was made ready
for the Countess and her maid.

"Truxton," said he, "we will have to find other quarters for the night.
I've let my apartment--furnished."

"She's gloriously beautiful, John," was all that Truxton said, puffing
moodily at his pipe. He was thinking of one more beautiful, however. "I
suppose you'd think it a favour if I'd pot Marlanx for you to-morrow."

"It doesn't matter whether he's potted or not, my friend. She will not
go back to him. He will have to find another prisoner for his
household."

Truxton's thoughts went with a shudder to the underground room and the
fair prisoner who had shared it with him. The dread of what might have
been the fate of Loraine Tullis--or what might still be in store for
her--brought cold chills over him. He abruptly turned away and sat down
at the outer edge of the group.

The Countess's story was soon told. Sitting before the great fire,
surrounded by eager listeners, she related her experiences. Prince
Dantan was her most attentive listener.

She had been seized on the night of the ball as she started across her
father's garden. Before sunrise she was well on her way to Balak, in
charge of three of the Count's most faithful henchmen. As for the
messages that were sent to Edelweiss, she knew nothing of them, except
the last, which she had managed to get through with the assistance of
Josepha's father. She was kept a close prisoner in a house just outside
of Balak, and came to learn all of the infamous projects of her husband.
At the end of ten days her maid was sent to her from Edelweiss. She
brought the news of the calamity that had befallen the city. It was then
that she determined to break away from her captors and try to reach the
Monastery of St. Valentine, where protection would be afforded her for
the time being. After several days of ardent persuasion, she and Josepha
prevailed upon the latter's father to assist them in their flight. Not
only was he persuaded, but in the end he journeyed with them through the
wildest country north of Ganlook. They were four days in covering the
distance, partly on foot, partly by horse. Near the city they heard of
the presence of troops near the Monastery. Farmers' wives told them of
the newly formed army and of its leaders. She determined to make her
way to the camp of those who would destroy her husband, eager to give
them any assistance that her own knowledge of Marlanx's plans might
provide.

Many details are omitted in this brief recital of her story. Perhaps it
is well to leave something to the imagination.

One bit of information she gave created no end of consternation among
the would-be deliverers of the city. It had the effect of making them
all the more resolute; the absolute necessity for immediately regaining
control in the city was forced upon them. She told them that Count
Marlanx had lately received word that the Grand Duke Paulus was likely
to intervene before many days, acting on his own initiative, in the
belief that he could force the government of Graustark to grant the
railway privileges so much desired by his country. Marlanx realised that
he would have to forestall the wily Grand Duke. If he were in absolute
control of the Graustark government when the Russian appeared, he and he
alone would be in a position to deal with the situation. Unless the
Castle fell into his hands beforehand, insuring the fall of the royal
house and the ministry, the Grand Duke's natural inclination would be to
first befriend the hapless Prince and then to demand recompense in
whatsoever form he saw fit.

"The Grand Duke may send a large force of men across the border at any
time," said the Countess in conclusion. "Count Marlanx is sure to make a
decisive assault as soon as he hears that the movement has begun. He had
hopes of starving them out, thus saving the Castle from destruction, but
as that seems unlikely, his shells will soon begin to rain in earnest
upon the dear old pile."

Truxton King was listening with wide open ears. As she finished this
dreary prediction he silently arose to his feet and, without a word to
any one, stalked off in the darkness. Tullis looked after him and shook
his head sadly.

"I'll be happy on that fellow's account when daybreak comes and we are
really at it," he said to Prince Dantan, who knew something of King's
affliction.

But Truxton King was not there at daybreak. When he strode out of the
camp that night, he left it behind forever.

The unfortunate lack of means to communicate with the occupants of the
Castle had been the source of great distress to Captain Haas. If the
defenders could be informed as to the exact hour of the assault from the
outside, they could do much toward its speedy success by making a fierce
sortie from behind their own walls. A quick dash from the Castle grounds
would serve to draw Marlanx's attention in that direction, diminishing
the force that he would send to check the onslaught at the gates. But
there was no means of getting word to Colonel Quinnox. His two or three
hundred men would be practically useless at the most critical period of
the demonstration.

Truxton King had all this in mind as he swung off down the mountain
road, having stolen past the sentries with comparative ease. He was
smiling to himself. If all went well with him, Colonel Quinnox would be
able to rise to the occasion. If he failed in the daring mission he had
elected to perform, the only resulting harm would be to himself; the
plans of the besiegers would not suffer.

He knew his ground well by this time. He had studied it thoroughly from
the forlorn boulder at the top of the ravine. By skirting the upper
walls, on the mountain side, he might, in a reasonably short space of
time, reach the low woodlands north of the Castle walls. The danger
from Marlanx's scouts outside the city was not great; they had been
scattered and beaten by Haas's recruiting parties. He stood in more
danger from the men he would help, they who were the watchful defenders
of the Castle.

It must have been two o'clock when he crossed the King's Highway, a mile
or more above the northern gates, and struck down into the same thick
undergrowth that had protected him and Hobbs on a memorable night not
long before.

At three o'clock, a dripping figure threw up his hands obligingly and
laughed with exultation when confronted by a startled guardsman _inside_
the Castle walls and not more than fifty yards from the water gates!

He had timed his entrance by the sound of the guardsman's footstep on
the stone protecting wall that lined the little stream. When he came to
the surface inside the water gate, the sentry was at the extreme end of
his beat. He shouted a friendly cry as he advanced toward the man,
calling out his own name.

Ten minutes later he was standing in the presence of the haggard,
nerve-racked Quinnox, pouring into his astonished ears the news of the
coming attack. While he was discarding his wet clothing for others,
preparations for the sortie were getting under way. The Colonel lost no
time in routing out the sleeping guardsmen and reserves, and in sending
commands to those already on duty at the gates. The quick rattle of
arms, the rush of feet, the low cries of relief, the rousing of horses,
soon usurped the place of dreary, deadly calm.

When the sun peeped over the lofty hills, he saw inside the gates a
restless, waiting company of dragoons, ready for the command to ride
forth. Worn, haggard fellows, who had slept but little and who had eaten
scarcely anything for three days; men who would have starved to death.
Now they were forgetting their hunger and fatigue in the wild, exultant
joy of the prospect ahead.

Meantime, King had crossed the grounds with Colonel Quinnox, on the way
to the Castle. He was amazed, almost stupefied by the devastation that
already had been wrought. Trees were down; great, gaping holes in the
ground marked the spots where shells had fallen; the plaza was an almost
impassable heap of masonry and soil, torn and rent by huge projectiles.
But it was his first clear view of the Castle itself that appalled the
American.

A dozen or more balls had crashed into the façade. Yawning fissures,
gigantic holes, marked the path of the ugly messengers from Marlanx.
Nearly all of the windows had been wrecked by riflemen who shot from the
roofs of palaces in and about the avenue. Two of the smaller minarets
were in ruins; a huge pillar in the lower balcony was gone; the terrace
had been ploughed up by a single ricochetting shell.

"Great God!" gasped King. "It is frightful!"

"They began bombarding yesterday afternoon. We were asked to surrender
at three o'clock. Our reply brought the shells, Mr. King. It was
terrible."

"And the loss of life, Colonel?" demanded the other breathlessly.

"After the first two or three shells we found places of shelter for the
Prince and his friends. They are in the stone tower beyond the Castle,
overlooking what still remains of the ancient moat. Ah, there are no
faltering hearts here, Mr. King. The most glorious courage instead.
Count Vos Engo guards the Prince and the ladies of the household. Alas!
it was hunger that we feared the most. To-day we should have resorted to
horse's flesh. There was no other way. We knew that relief would come
some day. John Tullis was there. We had faith in him and in you. And now
it is to-day! This shall be our day, thank God! Nothing can stand before
us!"

"Tullis is very anxious about his sister," ventured Truxton. Quinnox
looked straight ahead, but smiled.

"She is the pluckiest of them all."

"Is she well?"

"Perhaps a trifle thin, sir, that is all. I dare say that is due to
scarcity of nourishment, although the Prince and his closest associates
were the last to feel deprivation."

"How does the Prince take all this, Colonel?"

"As any Prince of Graustark would, sir. There is no other way. It is in
the blood."

"Poor little chap!"

"He will rejoice to know that you have found his lucky stone so
effective. The Prince has never wavered in his loyalty to that pebble,
sir."

Together they entered the Castle. Inside there were horrid signs of
destruction, particularly off the balconies.

"No one occupies the upper part of the Castle now, sir."

Attendants sped to the tower, shouting the battle tidings. No
compunction was felt in arousing the sleeping household. As a matter of
fact, there was no protest from the eager ladies and gentlemen who
hurried forth to hear the news.

The Prince came tumbling down the narrow iron stairs from his room
above, shouting joyously to Truxton King. No man was ever so welcome. He
was besieged with questions, handshakings and praises. Even the Duke of
Perse, hobbling on crutches, had a kindly greeting for him. Tears
streamed down the old man's cheeks when King told him of his daughter's
safe arrival in the friendly camp.

Truxton picked the Prince up in his arms and held him close to his
breast, patting his back all the while, his heart so full that he could
not speak.

"I knowed you'd come back," Bobby kept crying in his ear. "Aunt Loraine
said you wouldn't, but I said you would. I knowed it--I knowed it! And
now you're going to be a baron, sure enough. Isn't he, Uncle Caspar?"

But Truxton was not listening to the eager prattle. He remembered
afterward that Bobby's hands and face were hot with fever. Just now he
was staring at the narrow staircase. Vos Engo and Loraine were
descending slowly. The former was white and evidently very weak. He
leaned on the girl for support.

Count Halfont offered the explanation. "Vos Engo was shot last week,
through the shoulder. He is too brave to give up, as you may see. It
happened on the terrace. There was an unexpected fusilade from the
housetops. Eric placed himself between the marksmen and Miss Tullis. A
bullet that might have killed her instantly, struck him in the shoulder.
They were fleeing to the balcony. He fell and she dragged him to a place
of safety. The wound is not so serious as it might have been, but he
should be in bed. He, like most of us, has not removed his clothing in
five days and nights."

King never forgot the look in Loraine's eyes as she came down the steps.
Joy and anguish seemed to combine themselves in that long, intense look.
He saw her hand go to her heart. Her lips were parted. He knew she was
breathing quickly, tremulously.

The Prince was whispering in his ear: "Keep the lucky stone, Mr. King.
Please keep it. It will surely help you. I gave her your kiss. She was
happy--awful happy for awhile. 'Nen the Count he saved her from the
bullet. But you just keep the lucky stone." King put him down and walked
directly across to meet her at the foot of the steps.

She gave him her hands. The look in her tired eyes went straight to his
heart. Vos Engo drew back, his face set in a frown of displeasure.

"My brother?" she asked, without taking her gaze from his eyes.

"He is well. He will see you to-day."

"And you, Truxton?" was her next question, low and quavering.

"Unharmed and unchanged, Loraine," he said softly. "Tell me, did Vos
Engo stand between you and the fire from the--"

"Yes, Truxton," she said, dropping her eyes as if in deep pain.

"And you have not--broken your promise to him?"

"No. Nor have I broken my promise to you."

"He is a brave man. I can't help saying it," said the American, deep
lines suddenly appearing in his face. Swiftly he turned to Vos Engo,
extending his hand. "My hand, sir, to a brave man!"

Vos Engo stared at him for a moment and then turned away, ignoring the
friendly hand. A hot flush mounted to Loraine's brow.

"This is a brave man, too, Eric," she said very quietly.

Vos Engo's response was a short, bitter laugh.




CHAPTER XXII

THE LAST STAND


Soon after five o'clock, a man in the topmost window of the tower called
down that the forces in the hills were moving in a compact body toward
the ridges below the southern gates.

"Give them half an hour to locate themselves," advised Truxton King.
"They will move rapidly and strike as soon as the shells have levelled
the gates. The proper time for your sortie, Colonel, would be some time
in advance of their final movement. You will in that way draw at least a
portion of Marlanx's men away from the heart of the city. They will come
to the assistance of the gang bivouacked beyond the Duke of Perse's
palace."

One hundred picked men were to be left inside the Castle gates with Vos
Engo, prepared to meet any flank movement that might be attempted. Three
hundred mounted men were selected to make the dash down Castle Avenue,
straight into the camp of the sharpshooters. It was the purpose of the
house guard to wage a fierce and noisy conflict off the Avenue and then
retire to the Castle as abruptly as they left it, to be ready for
Marlanx, should he decide to make a final desperate effort to seize
their stronghold.

King, fired by a rebellious zeal, elected to ride with the attacking
party. His heart was cold with the fear that he was to lose Loraine,
after all. The fairy princess of his dreams seemed farther away from him
than ever. "I'll do what I can for the Prince," he said to himself.
"He's a perfect little brick. Damn Vos Engo! I'll make him repent that
insult. Every one noticed it, too. She tried to smooth it over, but--oh,
well, what's the use!"

The dash of the three hundred through the gates and down the avenue was
the most spectacular experience in Truxton's life. He was up with
Quinnox and General Braze, galloping well in front of the yelling troop.
These mounted carbineers, riding as Bedouins, swept like thunder down
the street, whirled into the broad, open arena beyond the Duke's palace,
and were upon the surprised ruffians before they were fully awake to the
situation.

They came tumbling out of barns and sheds, clutching their rifles in
nerveless hands, aghast in the face of absolute destruction. It was all
over with the first dash of the dragoons. The enemy, craven at the
outset, threw down their guns and tried to escape through the alleys and
side streets at the end of the common. Firing all the time, the
attacking force rode them down as if they were so many dogs. The few who
stood their ground and fought valiantly were overpowered and made
captive by Quinnox. Less than a hundred men were found in the camp.
Instead of retreating immediately to the Castle, Quinnox, acting on the
suggestion of the exhilarated King, kept up a fierce, deceptive fire for
the benefit of the distant Marlanx.

After ten or fifteen minutes of this desultory carnage, it was reported
that a large force of men were entering the avenue from Regengetz
Circus. Quinnox sent his chargers toward this great horde of
foot-soldiers, but they did not falter as he had expected. On they
swept, two or three thousand of them. At their head rode five or six
officers. The foremost was Count Marlanx.

The cannons were booming now in the foothills. Marlanx, if he heard
them and realised what the bombardment meant, did not swerve from the
purpose at present in his mind.

Quinnox saw now that the Iron Count was determined to storm the gates,
and gave the command to retreat. Waving their rifles and shouting
defiance over their shoulders, the dragoons drew up, wheeled and
galloped toward the gates.

Truxton King afterward recalled to mind certain huge piles of fresh
earth in a corner of the common. He did not know what they meant at the
time of observation, but he was wiser inside of three minutes after the
whirlwind brigade dashed through the gates.

Scarcely were the massive portals closed and the great steel bars
dropped into place by the men who attended them, when a low, dull
explosion shook the earth as if by volcanic force. Then came the
crashing of timbers, the cracking of masonry, the whirring of a thousand
missiles through the air. Before the very eyes of the stunned,
bewildered defenders, dismounting near the parade ground, the huge gates
and pillars fell to the ground.

The gates have been dynamited!

Then it was that Truxton King remembered. Marlanx's sappers had been
quietly at work for days, drilling from the common to the gates. It was
a strange coincidence that Marlanx should have chosen this day for his
culminating assault on the Castle. The skirmish at daybreak had hurried
his arrangements, no doubt, but none the less were his plans complete.
The explosives had been laid during the night; the fuses reached to the
mouth of the tunnel, across the common. As he swept up the avenue at the
head of his command, hawk-faced and with glittering eyes, he snarled the
command that put fire to the fuses. He was still a quarter of a mile
away when the gates crumbled. With short, shrill cries, scarcely human
in their viciousness, he urged his men forward. He and Brutus were the
first to ride up to the great hole that yawned where the gates had
stood. Beyond they could see the distracted soldiers of the Prince
forming in line to resist attack.

A moment later his vanguard streamed through the aperture and faced the
deadly fire from the driveway.

Like a stone wall the men under Quinnox stood their ground; a solid,
defiant line that fired with telling accuracy into the struggling horde.
On the walls two Gatling guns began to cackle their laugh of death. And
still the mercenaries poured through the gap, forming in haphazard lines
under the direction of the maddened Iron Count.

At last they began to advance across the grassy meadow. When one man
fell under the fire of the Guardsmen, another rushed into his place.
Three times the indomitable Graustarkians drove them back, and as often
did Marlanx drag them up again, exalted by the example he set.

"'Gad, he _is_ a soldier," cried Truxton, who had wasted a half dozen
shots in the effort to bring him down. "Hello! There's my friend Brutus.
He's no coward, either. Here's a try for you, Brutus."

He dropped to his knee and took deliberate aim at the frenzied henchman.
The discovery that there were three bullets in Brutus's breast when he
was picked up long afterward did not affect the young man's contention
that his was the one that had found the heart.

The fall of Brutus urged the Iron Count to greater fury. His horse had
been shot from under him. He was on his feet, a gaunt demon, his back to
the enemy, calling to his men to follow him as he moved toward the
stubborn row of green and red. Bullets hissed about his ears, but he
gave no heed to them. More than one man in the opposing force watched
him as if fascinated. He seemed to be absolutely bullet-proof. There
were times when he stumbled and almost fell over the bodies of his own
men lying in the path.

By this time his entire force was inside the grounds. Colonel Quinnox
was quick to see the spreading movement on the extreme right and left.
Marlanx's captains were trained warriors. They were bent on flanking the
enemy. The commander of the Guard gave the command to fall back slowly
toward the Castle.

Firing at every step, they crossed the parade ground and then made a
quick dash for the shelter of the long balconies. They held this
position for nearly an hour, resisting each succeeding charge of the now
devilish foe. Time and again the foremost of the attacking party reached
the terrace, only to wither under the deadly fire from behind the
balustrades. Marlanx, down in the parade ground, was fairly pushing his
men into the jaws of death. There was no question as to the courage of
the men he commanded. These were not the ruffians from all over the
world. They were the reckless, devil-may-care mountaineers and robbers
from the hills of Graustark itself.

Truxton King's chance to pay his debt to Vos Engo came after one of the
fiercest, most determined charges. The young Count, who had transferred
his charges from the old tower to the strong north wing of the Castle,
had been fighting desperately in the front rank for some time. His
weakness seemed to have disappeared entirely. As the foe fell back in
the face of the desperate resistance, Vos Engo sprang down the steps
and rushed after them, calling others to join him in the attempt to
complete the rout. Near the edge of the terrace he stopped. His leg gave
way under him and he fell to the ground. Truxton saw him fall.

He leaped over the low balustrade, dropping his hot rifle, and dashed
across the terrace to his rival's assistance. A hundred men shot at him.
Vos Engo was trying to get to his feet, his hand upon his thigh; he was
groaning with pain.

"It's my turn," shouted the American. "I'll square it up if I can. Then
we're even!"

He seized the wounded man in his strong arms, threw him over his
shoulder and staggered toward the steps.

"Release me, damn you!" shrieked Vos Engo, striking his rescuer in the
face with his fist.

"I'm saving you for another day," said King as he dropped behind the
balustrade, with his burden safe. A wild cheer went up from the lips of
the defenders, scornful howls from the enemy.

"I pray God it may be deferred until I am capable of defending myself,"
groaned Vos Engo, glaring at the other with implacable hatred in his
eyes.

"You might pray for my preservation, too, while you're at it," said
Truxton, as he crept away to regain his rifle.

There were other witnesses to Truxton's rash act. In a lofty window of
the north wing crouched a white-faced girl and a grim old man. The
latter held a rifle in his tense though feeble hands. They had been
there for ten minutes or longer, watching the battle from their eerie
place of security. Now and then the old man would sight his rifle and
fire. A groan of anger and dismay escaped his lips after each attempt to
send his bullet to the spot intended. The girl who crouched beside him
was there to designate a certain figure in the ever-changing mass of
humanity on the bloody parade ground. Her clear eyes sought for and
found Marlanx; her unwavering finger pointed him out to the old
marksman.

She saw Vos Engo fall. Then a tall, well-known figure sprang into view,
dashing toward her wounded lover. Her heart stopped beating. The blood
rushed to her eyes. Everything before her turned red--a horrid, blurring
red. With her hands to her temples, she leaned far over the window ledge
and screamed--screamed words that would have filled Truxton King with an
endless joy could he have heard them above the rattle of the rifles.

"A brave act!" exclaimed the old man at her side. "Who is he?"

But she did not hear him. She had fallen back and was gasping
supplication, her eyes set upon the old man's face with a stare that
meant nothing.

The corner of the building had shut out the picture; it was impossible
for her to know that the man and his burden had reached the balcony in
safety. Even now, they might be lying on the terrace, riddled by
bullets. The concentrated aim of the enemy had not escaped her horrified
gaze. The cheering did not reach her ears.

The old man roused her from the stupor of dread. He called her name
several times in high, strident tones. Dully she responded. Standing
bolt upright in the window she sought out the figure of Marlanx, and
pointed rigidly.

"Ah," groaned the old man, "they will not be driven back this time! They
will not be denied. It is the last charge! God, how they come! Our men
will be annihilated in--Where is he? Now! Ah, I see! Yes, that is he!
He is near enough now. I cannot miss him!"

Marlanx was leading his men up to the terrace. A howling avalanche of
humanity, half obscured by smoke, streamed up the slope.

At the top of the terrace, the Iron Count suddenly stopped. His long
body stiffened and then crumpled like a reed. A score of heavy feet
trampled on the fallen leader, but he did not feel the impact.

A bullet from the north wing had crashed into his brain.

"At last!" shrieked the old man at the window. "Come, Miss Tullis; my
work is done."

"He is dead, your Grace?" in low, awed tones.

"Yes, my dear," said the Duke of Perse, a smile of relief on his face.
"Come, let me escort you to the Prince. You have been most courageous.
Graustark shall not forget it. Nor shall I ever cease thanking you for
the service you have rendered to me. I have succeeded in freeing my
unhappy daughter from the vile beast to whom I sold her youth and beauty
and purity. Come! You must not look upon that carnage!"

Together they left the little room. As they stepped into the narrow hall
beyond they realised that the defenders had been driven inside the walls
of the Castle. The crash of firearms filled the halls far below; a
deafening, steady roar came up to them.

"It is all over," said the Duke of Perse, hobbling across the hall and
throwing open the door to a room opposite.

A group of terrified women were huddled in the far corner of the
spacious room. In front of them was the little Prince, a look of terror
in his eyes, but with the tiny sword clutched in his hand--a pathetic
figure of courage and dread combined. The Duke of Perse held open the
door for Loraine Tullis, but she did not enter. When he turned to call,
she was half way down the top flight of stairs, racing through the
powder smoke toward the landing below.

At every step she was screaming in the very agony of gladness:

"Stand firm! Hold them! Help is coming! Help is coming!"

A last look through the window at the end of the hail had revealed to
her the most glorious of visions.

Red and green troops were pouring through the dismantled gateway, their
horses surging over the ugly ground-rifts and debris as if possessed of
the fabled wings.

She had seen the rear line in the storming forces hesitate and then turn
to meet the whirlwind charge of the cavalrymen. Her brother was out
there and all was well. She was crying the joyous news from the head of
the grand stairway when Truxton King caught sight of her.

Smoke writhed about her slim, inspiriting figure. Her face shone through
the drab fog like an undimmed star of purest light. He bounded up the
steps toward her, drawn as by magnet against which there was no such
thing as resistance.

He was powder-stained and grimy; there was blood on his face and shirt
front.

"You are shot," she cried, clutching the post at the bend in the stairs.
"Truxton! Truxton!"

"Not even scratched," he shouted, as he reached her side. "It's not
my--" He stopped short, even as he held out his arms to clasp her to his
breast. "It's some one else's blood," he finished resolutely. She swayed
toward him and he caught her in his arms.

"I love you--oh, I love you, Truxton!" she cried over and over again. He
was faint with joy. His kisses spoke the adoration he would have cried
out to her if emotion had not clogged his throat.

"Eric?" she whispered at last, drawing back in his arms and looking up
into his eyes with a great pity in her own. "Is he--is he dead,
Truxton?"

"No," he said gently. "Badly hurt, but--"

"He will not die? Thank God, Truxton. He is a brave--oh, a very brave
man." Then she remembered her mission into this whirlpool of danger.
"Go! Don't lose a moment, darling! Tell Colonel Quinnox that Jack has
come! The dragoons are--"

He did not hear the end of her cry. A quick, fierce kiss and he was
gone, bounding down the stairs with great shouts of encouragement.

Leaderless, between the deadly fires, the mercenaries gave up the fight
after a brief stand at the terrace. Six hundred horsemen ploughed
through them, driving them to the very walls of the Castle. Here they
broke and scattered, throwing down their arms and shouting for mercy. It
was all over inside of twenty minutes.

The Prince reigned again.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nightfall brought complete restoration of order, peace and security in
the city of Edelweiss. Hundreds of lives had been lost in the terrific
conflict of the early morning hours; hundreds of men lay on beds of
suffering, crushed and bleeding from the wounds they had courted and
received.

"I knowed we'd whip them," shouted the Prince, wriggling gleefully in
John Tullis's straining embrace half an hour after the latter had ridden
through the gate. Tears streamed down the big man's face. One arm held
the boy, the other encircled the sister he had all but lost. In the
Monastery of St. Valentine there was another woman, waiting for him to
come to her with the news of a glorious victory. Perhaps she was hoping
and praying for the other news that he would bring her, who knows? If he
came to her with kisses, she would know without being told in so many
words.

Truxton did not again see Loraine until late in the afternoon. He had
offered his services to Colonel Quinnox and had worked manfully in the
effort to provide comfort for the wounded of both sides. General Braze
was at work with his men in the open city, clearing away the ugly signs
of battle. The fortress and Tower were full of the prisoners of war.
Baron Dangloss, pale, emaciated, sick but resolute, was free once more
and, with indomitable zeal, had thrown himself and his liberated men at
once into the work of rehabilitation.

It was on the occasion of the Baron's first visit to the Prince, late in
the day, that Truxton saw the girl he worshipped.

Prince Robin had sent for him to appear in the devastated state chamber.
Publicly, in the presence of the Court and Ministry, the little ruler
proclaimed him a baron and presented to him a great seal ring from among
the ancient crown jewels.

"Say, Mr. King," said Bobby, after he had called the American quite
close to him by means of a stealthy crooking of his finger, "would you
mind giving me my lucky stone? I don't think you'll need it any longer.
I will, I'm sure. You see a prince has such a lot of things to trouble
him. Wars and murders and everything."

"Thank you, Prince Robin," said King, placing the stone in the little
hand. "I couldn't have got on without it. May it always serve you as
well."

"Noblesse oblige, Baron," said Prince Robin gravely.

"Hello!" in an excited whisper. "Here's Baron Dangloss. He's been in his
own gaol!"

Truxton withdrew. Near the door he met Loraine. She had just entered the
room. There was a bright look of relief in her eyes.

"Count Vos Engo has asked for you, Truxton," she said in a low voice. A
delicate flush crept into her cheeks; a sudden shyness leaped into her
eyes, and she looked away.

"Loraine, have you told him?"

"Yes. I am so sorry for him. He is one of the bravest men I have ever
known, Truxton dear. And, as it is with all men of his race, love knew
no reason, no compromise. But I have made him see that I--that I cannot
be his wife. He knows that I love you."

"Somehow, darling, I'm sorry for him."

"He will not pretend friendship for you, dear," she went on painfully.
"He only wants to thank you and to apologise, as you did, not so long
ago. And he wants to ask you to release him from a certain obligation."

"You mean our--our fight?"

"Yes. He is to lose his right arm, Truxton. You understand how it is
with him now."




CHAPTER XXIII

"YOU WILL BE MRS. KING"


Late that night it was reported at the Castle that a large force of men
were encamped on the opposite side of the river. A hundred camp-fires
were gleaming against the distant uplands.

"The Grand Duke Paulus!" exclaimed Count Halfont. "Thank God, he did not
come a day earlier. We owe him nothing to-day--but yesterday! Ah, he
could have demanded much of us. Send his messengers to me, Colonel
Quinnox, as soon as they arrive in the morning. I will arise early.
There is much to do in Graustark. Let there be no sluggards."

A mellow, smiling moon crept up over the hills, flooding the laud with a
serene radiance. Once more the windows in the Castle gleamed brightly;
low-voiced people strolled through the shattered balconies; others
wandered about the vast halls, possessed by uncertain emotions, torn by
the conflicting hands of joy and gloom. In a score of rooms wounded men
were lying; in others there were dead heroes. At the barracks, standing
dully against the distant shadows, there were many cots of suffering.
And yet there was rejoicing, even among those who writhed in pain or
bowed their heads in grief. Victory's wings were fanning the gloom away;
conquest was painting an ever-widening streak of brightness across the
dark, drear canvas of despair.

In one of the wrecked approaches to the terrace, surrounded by fragments
of stone and confronted by ugly destruction, sat a young man and a
slender girl. There were no lights near them; the shadows were black
and forbidding. This particular end of the terrace had suffered most in
the fierce rain of cannon-balls. So great was the devastation here that
one attained the position held by the couple only by means of no little
daring and at the risk of unkind falls. From where they sat they could
see the long vista of lighted windows and yet could not themselves be
seen.

His arm was about her; her head nestled securely against his shoulder
and her slim hands were willing prisoners in one of his.

She was saying "Truxton, dear, I did _not_ love Eric Vos Engo. I just
thought it was love. I never really knew what love is until you came
into my life. Then I knew the difference. That's what made it so hard. I
had let him believe that I might care for him some day. And I _did_ like
him. So I--"

"You are sure--terribly sure--that I am the only man you ever really
loved?" he interrupted.

She snuggled closer. "Haven't I just told you that I didn't know what it
was until--well, until now?"

"You will never, never know how happy I am, Loraine!" he breathed into
her ear.

"I hope I shall always bring happiness to you, Truxton," she murmured,
faint with the joy of loving.

"You will make me very unhappy if you don't marry me to-morrow."

"I couldn't think of it!"

"I don't ask you to think. If you do, you may change your mind
completely. Just marry me without thinking, dearest."

"I will marry you, Truxton, when we get to New York," she said, but not
very firmly. He saw his advantage.

"But, my dear, I'm tired of travelling."

It was rather enigmatic. "What has that to do with it?" she asked.

"Well, it's this way: if we get married in New York we'll have to
consider an extended and wholly obligatory wedding journey. If we get
married here, we can save all that bother by bridal-tripping to New
York, instead of away from it. And, what's more, we'll escape the
rice-throwing and the old shoes and the hand-painted trunk labels.
Greater still: we will avoid a long and lonely trip across the ocean on
separate steamers. That's something, you know."

"We _could_ go on the same steamer."

"Quite so, my dear. But don't you think it would be nicer if we went as
one instead of two?"

"I suppose it would be cheaper."

"They say a fellow saves money by getting married."

"I hate a man who is always trying to save money."

"Well, if you put it that way, I'll promise never to save a cent. I'm a
horrible spendthrift."

"Oh, you'll have to save, Truxton!"

"How silly we are!" he cried in utter joyousness. He held her close for
a long time, his face buried in her hair. "Listen, darling: won't you
say you'll be my wife before I leave Graustark? I want you so much. I
can't go away without you."

She hesitated. "When are you going, Truxton? You--you haven't told me."

It was what he wanted. "I am going next Monday," he said promptly. As a
matter of fact, he had forgotten the day of the week they were now
living in.

"Monday? Oh, dear!"

"Will you?"

"I--I must cable home first," she faltered.

"That's a mere detail, darling. Cable afterward. It will beat us home
by three weeks. They'll know we're coming."

"I must ask John, really I must, Truxton," she protested faintly.

"Hurray!" he shouted--in a whisper. "He is so desperately in love, he
won't think of refusing anything we ask. Shall we set it for Saturday?"

They set it for Saturday without consulting John Tullis, and then fell
to discussing him. "He is very much in love with her," she said
wistfully.

"And she loves him, Loraine. They will be very happy. She's wonderful."

"Well, so is John. He's the most wonderful man in all this world."

"I am sure of it," he agreed magnanimously. "I saw him talking with her
and the Duke of Perse as I came out awhile ago. They were going to the
Duke's rooms up there. The Duke will offer no objections. I think he'll
permit his daughter to select his next son-in-law."

"How could he have given her to that terrible, terrible old man?" she
cried, with a shudder.

"She won't be in mourning for him long, I fancy. Nobody will talk of
appearances, either. She could marry Jack to-morrow and no one would
criticise her."

"Oh, that would be disgusting, Truxton!"

"But, my dear, he isn't to have a funeral, so why not? They buried his
body in quicklime this afternoon. No mourners, no friends, no tears!
Hang it all, she's foolish if she puts on anything but red."

"They can't be married for--oh, ever so long," she said very primly.

"No, indeed," he said with alacrity. But he did not believe what he
said. If he knew anything about John Tullis, it would not be "ever so
long" before Prince Robin's friend turned Benedict and husband to the
most noted beauty in all Graustark.

"I shall be sorry to leave Graustark," she said dreamily, after a long
period of silent retrospection. "I've had the happiest year of my life
here."

"I've had the busiest month of my life here. I'll never again say that
the world is a dull place. And I'll never advise any man to go out of
his own home city in search of the most adorable woman in the world.
She's always there, bless her heart, if he'll only look around a bit for
her."

"But you wouldn't have found me if you hadn't come to Graustark."

"I shudder when I think of what might have happened to you, my Princess
Sweetheart, if I hadn't come to Edelweiss. No; I would not have found
you." Feeling her tremble in his arms, he went on with whimsical good
humour: "You would have been eaten up by the ogre long before this. Or,
perhaps, you would have succeeded in becoming a countess."

"As it is, I shall be a baroness."

"In Graustark, but not in New York. That reminds me. You'll be more than
a baroness--more than a princess. You will be a queen. Don't you catch
the point? You will be Mrs. King."

       *       *       *       *       *

The Grand Duke Paulus was distinctly annoyed. He had travelled many
miles, endured quite a number of hardships, and all to no purpose. When
dawn came, his emissaries returned from the city with the lamentable
information that the government had righted itself, that Marlanx's
sensational revolution was at an end, and that the regents would be
highly honoured if his Excellency could overlook the distressingly
chaotic conditions at court and condescend to pay the Castle a visit.
The regents, the Prince and the citizens of Graustark desired the
opportunity to express their gratitude for the manner in which he had
voluntarily (and unexpectedly) come to their assistance in time of
trouble. The fact that he had come too late to render the invaluable aid
he so nobly intended did not in the least minimise the volume of
gratefulness they felt.

The Grand Duke admitted that he was at sea, diplomatically. He was a
fifth wheel, so to speak, now that the revolution was over. Not so much
as the tip of his finger had he been able to get into the coveted pie.
There was nothing for him to do but to turn round with his five thousand
Cossacks and march disconsolately across the steppes to an Imperial
railroad, where he could embark for home. However, he would visit the
Castle in a very informal way, extend his congratulations, offer his
services--which he knew would be declined with thanks--and profess his
unbounded joy in the discovery that Graustark happily was so able to
take care of herself. Incidentally, he would mention the bond issue;
also, he would find the opportunity to suggest to the ministry that his
government still was willing to make large grants and stupendous
promises if any sort of an arrangement could be made by which the system
might be operated in conjunction with branch lines of the Imperial
roads.

And so it was that at noon he rode in pomp and splendour through the
city gates, attended by his staff and a rather overpowering body-guard.
His excuse for the early call was delicately worded. He said in his
reply to the message from the Count that it would give him great
pleasure to remain for some time at the Castle, were it not for the fact
that he had left his own province in a serious state of unrest; it was
imperative that he should return in advance of the ever-possible and
always popular uprising. Therefore he would pay his respects to his
serene Highness, renew his protestations of friendship, extend his
felicitations, and beg leave to depart for his own land without delay.

As he rode from Regengetz Circus into Castle Avenue, a small knot of
American tourists crowded to the curb and bent eager, attentive ears to
the words of a stubby little person whom we should recognise by his
accent; but, for fear that there may be some who have forgotten him in
the rush of events, we will point to his cap and read aloud: "Cook's
Interpreter."

Mr. Hobbs was saying: "The gentleman on the gray horse, ladies and
gentlemen, is his _Highness_, the Grand Duke Paulus. He has come to pay
his respects to his Serene Highness. Now, if you will kindly step this
way, I will show you the spot where the bomb was thrown. 'Aving been an
eye-witness to the shocking occurrence, I respectfully submit that I,"
etc. With a pride and dignity that surpassed all moderate sense of
appreciation, he delivered newly made history unto his charges, modestly
winding up his discourse with the casual remark that the Prince had but
recently appointed him twelfth assistant steward at the Castle, and that
he expected to assume the duties of this honorary position just as soon
as Cook & Sons could find a capable man to send up in his place.

The American tourists, it may be well to observe, arrived by the first
train that entered the city from the outside world.

The audience was at two o'clock. Prince Robin was in a state of
tremendous excitement. Never before had he been called upon to receive a
grand duke. He quite forgot yesterday's battle in the face of this most
imposing calamity. More than that, he was in no frame of mind to enjoy
the excitement attending the rehabilitation of the Castle; oppressed by
the approaching shadow of the great man, he lost all interest in what
was going on in the Castle, about the grounds and among his courtiers.

"What'll I do, Uncle Jack, if he asks any questions?" he mourned. They
were dressing him in the robes of state.

"Answer 'em," said his best friend.

"But supposin' I can't? Then what?"

"He won't ask questions, Bobby. People never do when a potentate is on
his throne. It's shockingly bad form."

"I hope he won't stay long," prayed Bobby, a grave pucker between his
brows. He was a very tired little boy. His eyes were heavy with sleep
and his lips were not very firm.

"Count Halfont will look after him, Bobby; so don't worry. Just sit up
there on the throne and look wise. The regents will do the rest. Watch
your Uncle Caspar. When he gives the signal, you arise. That ends the
audience. You walk out--"

"I know all about that, Uncle Jack. But I bet I do something wrong. This
thing of receiving grand dukes is no joke. 'Specially when we're so
terribly upset. Really, I ought to be looking after the men who are
wounded, attending to the funerals of--"

"Now, Bobby, don't flunk like that! Be a man!"

Bobby promptly squared his little shoulders and set his jaw. "Oh, I'm
not scared!" He was thoughtful for a moment. "But, I'll tell you, it's
awful lonesome up in that big chair, so far away from all your friends.
I wish Uncle Caspar would let me sit down with the crowd."

The Grand Duke, with all the arrogance of a real personage, was late. It
was not for him to consider the conditions that distressed the Court of
Graustark. Not at all. He was a grand duke and he would take his own
time in paying his respects. What cared he that every one in the Castle
was tired and unstrung and sad and--sleepy? Any one but a grand duke
would have waited a day or two before requiring a royal audience. When
he finally presented himself at the Castle doors, a sleepy group of
attendants actually yawned in his presence.

A somnolent atmosphere, still touched by the smell of gunpowder, greeted
him as he strode majestically down the halls. Somehow each person who
bowed to him seemed to do it with the melancholy precision of one who
has been up for six nights in succession and doesn't care who knows it.

No one had slept during the night just passed. Excitement and the
suffering of others had denied slumber to one and all--even to those who
had not slept for many days and nights. Now the reaction was upon them.
Relaxation had succeeded tenseness.

When the Grand Duke entered the great, sombre throne room, he was
confronted by a punctiliously polite assemblage, but every eyelid was as
heavy as lead and as prone to sink.

The Prince sat far back in the great chair of his ancestors, his sturdy
legs sticking straight out in front of him, utterly lost in the depths
of gold and royal velvet. Two-score or more of his courtiers and as many
noble ladies of the realm stood soberly in the places assigned them by
the laws of precedence. The Grand Duke advanced between the respectful
lines and knelt at the foot of the throne.

"Arise, your Highness," piped Bobby, with a quick glance at Count
Halfont. It was a very faint, faraway voice that uttered the gracious
command. "Graustark welcomes the Grand Duke Paulus. It is my pleasure
to--to--to--" a helpless look came into his eyes. He looked everywhere
for support. The Grand Duke saw that he had forgotten the rehearsed
speech, and smiled benignly as he stepped forward and kissed the hand
that had been extended somewhat uncertainly.

"My most respectful homage to your Majesty. The felicitations of my
emperor and the warmest protestations of friendship from his people."

With this as a prologue, he engaged himself in the ever-pleasurable task
of delivering a long, congratulatory address. If there was one thing
above another that the Grand Duke enjoyed, it was the making of a
speech. He prided himself on his prowess as an orator and as an
after-dinner speaker; but, more than either of these, he gloried in his
ability to soar extemporaneously.

For ten minutes he addressed himself to the throne, benignly,
comfortably. Then he condescended to devote a share of his precious
store to the courtiers behind him. If he caught more than one of them
yawning when he turned in their direction, he did not permit it to
disturb him in the least. His eyes may have narrowed a bit, but that was
all.

After five minutes of high-sounding platitudes, he again turned to the
Prince. It was then that he received his first shock.

Prince Robin was sound asleep. His head was slipping side-wise along the
satiny back of the big chair, and his chin was very low in the laces at
his neck. The Grand Duke coughed emphatically, cleared his throat, and
grew very red in the face.

The Court of Graustark was distinctly dismayed. Here was shocking state
of affairs. The prince going to sleep while a grand duke talked!

"His Majesty appears to have--ahem--gone to sleep," remarked the Grand
Duke tartly, interrupting himself to address the Prime Minister.

"He is very tired, your Excellency," said Count Halfont, very much
distressed. "Pray consider what he has been through during the--"

"Ah, my dear Count, do not apologise for him. I quite understand. Ahem!
Ahem!" Still he was very red in the face. Some one had laughed softly
behind his back.

"I will awaken him, your Excellency," said the Prime Minister, edging
toward the throne.

"Not at all, sir!" protested the visitor. "Permit him to have his sleep
out, sir. I will not have him disturbed. Who am I that I should defeat
the claims of nature? It is my pleasure to wait until his Majesty's nap
is over. Then he may dismiss us, but not until we have cried: 'Long live
the Prince!'"

For awhile they stood in awkward silence, this notable gathering of men
and women. Then the Prime Minister, in hushed tones, suggested that it
would be eminently proper, under the circumstances, for all present to
be seated. He was under the impression that His Serene Highness would
sleep long and soundly.

Stiff-backed and uncomfortable, the Court sat and waited. No one
pretended to conceal the blissful yawns that would not be denied. A
drowsy, ineffably languid feeling took possession of the entire
assemblage. Here and there a noble head nodded slightly; eyelids fell in
the silent war against the god of slumber, only to revive again with
painful energy and ever-weakening courage.

The Prime Minister sat at the foot of the throne and nodded in spite of
himself. The Minister of the Treasury was breathing so heavily that his
neighbor nudged him just in time to prevent something even more
humiliating. John Tullis, far back near the wall, had his head on his
hand, bravely fighting off the persistent demon. Prince Dantan of
Dawsbergen was sound asleep.

The Grand Duke was wide awake. He saw it all and was equal to the
occasion. After all, he was a kindly old gentleman, and, once his moment
of mortification was over, he was not above charity.

Bobby's poor little head had slipped over to a most uncomfortable
position against the arm of the chair. Putting his finger to his lips,
the Grand Duke tip-toed carefully up to the throne. With very gentle
hands he lifted Bobby's head, and, infinitely tender, stuffed a throne
cushion behind the curly head. Still with his finger to his lips, a
splendid smile in his eyes, he tip-toed back to his chair.

As he passed Count Halfont, who had risen, he whispered:

"Dear little man! I do not forget, my lord, that I was once a boy. God
bless him!"

Then he sat down, conscious of a fine feeling of goodness, folded his
arms across his expansive chest, and allowed his beaming eyes to rest
upon the sleeping boy far back in the chair of state. Incidentally, he
decided to delay a few days before taking up the bond question with the
ministry. The Grand Duke was not an ordinary diplomat.

In one of the curtained windows, far removed from the throne, sat
Truxton King and Loraine Tullis.

All about them people were watching the delicate little scene, smiling
drowsily at the Grand Duke's tender comedy. No one was looking at the
two in the curtained recess. Her hand was in his, her head sank slowly
toward his inviting shoulder; her heavy lids drooped lower and lower,
refusing to obey the slender will that argued against complete
surrender. At last her soft, regular breathing told him that she was
asleep. Awaiting his opportunity, he tenderly kissed the soft, brown
hair, murmured a gentle word of love, and settled his own head against
the thick cushions.

Everywhere they dozed and nodded. The Grand Duke smiled and blinked his
little eyes. He was very wide awake.

That is how he happened to see the Prince move restlessly and half open
his sleep-bound eyes. The Grand Duke leaned forward with his hand to his
ear, and listened. He had seen the boy's lips move. From dreamland came
Bobby's belated:

"Good-ni--ight."


THE END







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