  The Princess managed so well that by a little after eleven o’clock the card games were over, and she, laughingly, had escorted Armand to his own door and received his promise to retire at once. Then she went to her apartment and dismissed all the attendants except her maid. To-night she must ride as a man, so she donned a close-fitting divided skirt, high boots, and her Blue Guard’s jacket, and topped it with a long military overcoat that came almost to her spurs. Colonel Moore met her at a side entrance, and they hurried across the courtyard and over the bridge to where, a little way down the avenue, were waiting De Coursey and Marsov, with Jessac and the horses. They had thought to send the old man in a carriage, but he would have none of it; so they let him have his way, when he assured them he could ride twice the distance without fatigue—and he proved it that night. In calm persistence of purpose Dehra was a typical Dalberg; she had determined that the Archduke should not expose his life in Lotzen’s castle, and so she was assuming the risk, without the least hesitation; just as the same Dalberg spirit There was no moon, but the stars burned with double brilliancy in the wonderful mountain heavens; the road lay fair before them; and far off to the front the lights of Lotzen Castle beckoned. And as they crossed the valley, the lights gradually grew fewer, until presently there was but one remaining, which Jessac said was the big lamp on the bridge in front of the gate-arch, and which always burnt until sunrise. A little way from the Lotzen road they met Colonel Bernheim, alone. He bent forward in sharp scrutiny. “Thank God, Moore, you persuaded her not to come!” he exclaimed, as they drew up. The Princess’ light laugh answered him, and he actually cried out in distressed disappointment, and forgot the eternal salute. “I wasn’t to be persuaded, Colonel,” said she. “Is everything arranged?” This time the salute came. “The dispositions are made as Your Highness ordered,” he answered. She thanked him, and he rode beside her to the cross-roads. “I must leave you here.—Heaven keep you safe this night,” he ended, with broken voice. She reined over close to him and held out her hand. “My good Bernheim, nothing is going to happen to me,” she said; “but if there should, it will be for you and Epping to seat the Archduke where he belongs, and to confound Lotzen and his satellites—promise me.” The Colonel’s face twitched, and his eyes glistened, and for a moment he bowed his head on his breast; then he leaned over and kissed her gauntlet. “As God reigns, it shall be done, my mistress,” he said; “and though I have to kill Lotzen with my own hand.” Instead of taking the road to the Castle they continued up the valley a little way, to where a narrow brook tumbled noisily across the track, eager to reach the foaming Dreer. Here Jessac dismounted, and, leading his horse, turned upstream. There was no path, and the starlight availed nothing in the heavy timber, yet the old man never hesitated, winding his way among the trees and around the rocks as readily as though it were day. After half a mile, the ground began to ascend sharply; almost immediately he halted, and at his direction they turned the horses over to the orderlies, and followed him on foot. “The postern path, such as it is, is yonder,” he said, and a few steps brought them to it, just where it ended its plunge down the bald side of the hill from the Castle that now towered almost straight above them, a mass of black forbiddingness respoussÉd against the sky-line by the reflection of the gate-way lamp. Colonel Moore made a last appeal to the Princess to abandon her purpose to accompany them, and was good-naturedly overruled, and peremptorily ordered to lead on. “Would you have a Dalberg retire with the enemy in sight?” she ended. The postern path was now no path—only a narrow, water-washed gully; yet, even so, it was the only means of access to the summit from that side,—or indeed, from any side save in front—elsewhere the tangle of brambles and the rocks, with the almost perpendicular elevation, made ascent practically impossible by daylight, and absolutely impossible by night. In fact, this way had long been abandoned, and the present course lay close under the wall, and over the moat by a narrow foot bridge, and then along it to the road just below the main gate. Jessac had not ventured to use it, however, because it was exposed to the light of the lamp, and so was in full view of the porter on duty in the tower. It was rough climbing, and half way up Moore called a halt, to give the Princess a short rest; then they went on, stumbling, slipping, scrambling, trying to go quietly, and yet, it seemed, making noise sufficient to wake every one in Lotzen Castle. But at last they reached the top, and the Princess leaned against the wall, breathless and trembling from the unaccustomed exertion. Moore raised his hand for silence. In the intense calm of the night, the lightest noise would have echoed trebly loud, yet the only sound they heard was the splashing of the Dreer among its rocks, in the fog strewn valley far below. He drew out his watch, and after much looking made out the time. “It’s after one o’clock,” he whispered; “when Your Highness is ready——” “I’m ready now,” said she, and turned at once to the gate. “Quiet, man, quiet!” Moore cautioned, as Jessac’s key scraped into the lock, and suddenly turned it with a loud snap. The old man pushed the door back slowly; the arch was twenty feet through, and the darkness impenetrable; but he entered unhesitatingly, and the others with him, Moore’s hand on the Regent’s arm. “Can you find the stone without a light?” he asked. “Easily, sir! ... here it is—stand back, my lord, or it may hit you ... there!” There was a slight creak, and Moore was sensible of something swinging up by his face. “It’s open, sir,” said Jessac; “but best not show a light until we are inside, it might be seen in the courtyard—I’ll go in first—bend low or you’ll strike your head.” The Adjutant took Dehra’s hand and having located the stone and the opening, he guided her through. Jessac closed the stone into place and then, by the light of Moore’s electric torch, he showed them how it was so balanced that by pressure at the top (from without) or at the bottom (from within) it would swing around parallel with the floor. The passage was large enough for two of them to walk abreast and without stooping, and extended through the heart of the wall, about a hundred feet, until opposite the keep, as Jessac informed them; here it narrowed to half, and by a dozen stone steps descended below the level of the bailey, and thence under it to another set of steps leading up inside the wall of the keep. Thus far they had come rapidly and without incident. Suddenly a drove of rats, blinded by the light and squeaking in terror, ran among their feet, and the Princess instinctively caught up the skirts of her long coat, and, with a little shriek of fright, tried to climb up the side of the passage. The cry, slight as it was, let loose all the echoes of the vault with appalling resonance; instantly Moore extinguished the torch and laid his hand on her arm. “What a fool I am!” she exclaimed in a whisper; “now, I’ve spoiled everything.” “Not likely,” he assured her; “the castle is asleep and the walls are thick, but we best wait a bit.” Presently the rats commenced to squeak again, and to scurry about, and the Princess beginning to tremble, he switched on the torch and motioned Jessac to proceed. Treading as lightly as one of his own mountain cats, the old fellow went swiftly up the stairs, and when the others reached the top he was not to be seen. Moore shot the light down the passage; thirty feet away, if the draft were correct, were the stairs that ended at the library; when they reached them, Jessac was on the landing signaling to come on. He drew the Colonel over to the big stone. “There used to be a crack along the edge here,” he said, very low, “where I could listen, and also see a very little, but it seems to have been closed. Shall I swing the stone, sir?” Moore hesitated. What lay behind the stone? His last look at the library windows, from far down the hillside, had shown no light within; yet was it really so, or was it only that the curtains were drawn? If the Princess would but consent to remain here, at least until he had gone in and inspected. He glanced at her uncertainly, and she read his mind, and shook her head. “I follow you,” she said. With a sigh, he adjusted his mask; she and De Coursey and Marsov did the same. “Does the stone move easily?” he asked. “It did when I used it, sir,” said Jessac. “Can you open it only a trifle at first?” “No, my lord, once started it must make its swing.” “And if there be something in the way?” “There never used to be, sir; it was always kept clear.” “Then pray Heaven it is so still.” He loosed his sword and shut off the torch. “Open!” he ordered. “It seems to hold, sir,” said Jessac presently; “I can’t move it—may I have the light a moment?... Now, I’ll try again.” They heard him pushing; gently, then harder, finally with all his strength. “I can’t do it, my lord,” he said; “it’s either out of balance or has been closed on the inside.” The Princess gave an exclamation of alarm. “What!” said she impatiently, “it can’t be opened?—we have failed? impossible, it must be opened—try again, Jessac.” “May be it’s only jammed,” said Moore; “come, I’ll help you.” But still the stone refused to stir—suddenly it moved a very little—caught—moved a little more—caught again—then wrenched itself free, with a grinding scrape, and swung slowly around. They heard it collide with something; the next moment came a terrific crash of shattering glass, and the resounding clatter of a metal tray. Moore ground back an oath. “Close the stone!” said he instantly, “quick, man, quick!” But though it seemed to take an eternity to shut down, there was not the slightest sound, or other indication that any one had been aroused. “What shall we do?” he asked the Princess; “that din must have been heard; shall we wait and risk another try, or escape now by the postern before we could be cut off?” “We will risk another try,” said she, at once. “Give the word whenever you wish.” For himself he was well content; his fighting blood was up, and here might be his opportunity to have it out with Lotzen, so he settled back to wait, harkening for the sound of any one coming by the passage; the location of the broken glass would tell the Duke instantly the cause, and his first act, naturally, would be to send a party And while they delayed, Moore gossiped in whispers with the Regent, hoping to divert her, if only a very little, from the heavy strain she must be under—the blackness was enough, in itself, for a woman to endure, without the danger. And he marvelled at her calmness and ease, and the light laugh which came at times. “It’s good of you, Colonel,” said she finally, “but I think I’m past fearing now. I was horribly afraid at first, and the rats almost made me faint with terror, but now I’m sort of dazed, dreaming, automatic, whatever it is—when the reaction comes, there likely will be hysterics—but that shan’t be until all this is ended—it’s this inaction that is the most trying.” Moore touched Jessac. “How long have we been waiting?” he asked. “Well on to half an hour, sir.” “Then swing the stone.” This time it moved instantly and noiselessly. Moore put his head through the opening and listened;... save for the ticking of a clock, somewhere across the room, there was perfect quiet.... Suddenly it chimed twice; when the last reverberation had died, he stepped carefully inside; the Princess and the others followed. The library was as dark as the passage; with a touch of warning to the Regent, Moore pressed the torch and flashed the stream of white light around the walls—fortune favored them; the room was unoccupied, and every door was closed. Then the light struck the iron safe, and the Princess, with the faintest exclamation of apprehension, grasped her Adjutant’s arm and pointed at it. If the Book were in it, their visit would be barren; there was neither opportunity nor means to break inside. For the first time, the idea of failure touched her—she had been so full of assurance, so confident that once in the Duke’s library and success was certain. Even when Moore suggested a safe she had waved it aside heedlessly. Her mind had been centered on the desk—that the Book must surely be in it. The light reached the big, flat-topped one in the middle of the room; with a quick spring she was at it, and Moore beside her. Swiftly they went through the drawers—nothing ... nothing ... nothing ... ah! a bundle in black cloth—she tossed it out and fairly tore loose the strings—a glance was enough—leather—metal hinges—the Book! the Book! at last! In an agony of delight she flung the cloth around it. “Come!—come!——” A shrill whistle—the doors were thrown open wide; in bounded three men, a lighted candelabra in each hand, and behind them a dozen more with rifles leveled. At the same moment, the Duke himself stepped from behind a curtain, and closed the stone into place. At the whistle, De Coursey, Marsov and old Jessac had sprung to Dehra’s side and, with Moore, ranged themselves around her—and now they stood there, five masked figures, swords drawn, the center of a circle of impending death, every man ready to fling himself upon the guns and chance it, but restrained because of her they were sworn to guard. AT THE WHISTLE, DE COURSEY, MARSOV AND OLD JESSAC HAD SPRUNG TO DEHRA’S SIDE. The Duke gave a chuckling laugh. “Altogether a very striking picture,” he remarked, with a wave of his hand around the room; “the candles—the masks—the swords—the guns—the attitudes;—it is a pity, Cousin Armand, you cannot see it as I do.” “He thinks I am the Archduke,” Moore whispered to the Regent; “let him think it.” “Your coming to-night was a surprise,” the Duke was saying, “I admit it—I had not expected you before to-morrow at the earliest—my compliments on your expeditiousness.” He drew out a cigarette and lighted it at one of the candles—then flung the box over on the desk; “help yourselves, messieurs, la derniÈre cigarette,” he laughed with sneering malevolence. “Keep perfectly still,” Moore cautioned, very low. “If it come to the worst, I’ll try to kill him first.” “Did you address me, cousin?” Lotzen asked; “a little louder, please—and keep your hand outside your coat; the first of you who tries for his revolver will precipitate a massacre—even poor marksmen can’t well miss at such a distance, and on the whole, these fellows are rather skilful.” He smoked a bit in silence, tapping the splintered glass on the floor with the point of his sword. “Behold, cousin, my preservers—a decanter and some slender Venetian goblets; queer things, surely, to decide the fate of a Kingdom. But for their fall, you would have won. Now——” he glanced significantly toward the ready rifles. “Yet, on the whole, I wish you had waited until another night—it could have been done elsewhere so much more neatly—before you got here—or saw that, the package in the black cloth. You came upon me so suddenly, I had time only to take you—and now that I have you, frankly, cousin, I’m at a loss how to dispose of you—and your good friends.... Come, I’ll be generous; choose your own way, make it as easy as you like—only, make it.” A slight stir caused him to turn. Madeline Spencer, in a shimmering white negligÉe, was standing in the doorway. “Ah, my dear, come here,” he said; “this is altogether the best point of view for the picture: ‘The End of the Game’ is its title—is it not, cousin?” In this woman’s life there had been many scenes, strange, bizarre, fantastic, yet never one so fiercely fateful as was this. And for once she was frightened—the flickering candelabra held aloft—the leveled guns—the masked group around the desk—the lone man leaning nonchalantly on a chair, smiling, idly indifferent, as much the master of it all as a painter, brush poised before his canvas, able to smear it out at a single stroke. He held out his hand to her. She shook her head, meaning to go away; yet lingering, fascinated and intense. Armand Dalberg was yonder—on the brink of the grave, she knew. Once she had loved him—still loved him, may be—but assuredly not as she loved herself, and the power of wealth and place. Nor could she save him even if she try; so much she knew beyond a question, so, why try. The Duke faced his prisoners. “Come, cousin mine, what shall it be: swords, bullets, poison? Time passes. You have disturbed me at an unseemly hour, and I must to sleep again.... No answer, cousin? Truly, you have changed; once your tongue was free enough; and it’s not from fright, I’m sure; that, I will grant—you’re no more afraid than am I myself. However, if you won’t choose, I’ll have to do it for you.... You came by the At first, the Princess had been cold with terror—the muzzles of loaded rifles at ten paces, are not for women’s nerves; but as the Duke talked she grew calmer, and the fear subsided, and anger came instead. And even as he seemed to take a devilish pleasure in grilling his victims with rage-provoking words, so she let him run along, to dig his own grave the deeper. Now she stepped out from the group, and dropped her mask. “Which cousin do you think you have been addressing, my lord of Lotzen?” she asked, taking off her hat. The commotion in the room was instant; but the Duke stayed it with an angry gesture. His men were foreigners, and free of any sentiment beyond the sheen of gold. “So, you little fool,” he laughed, “you have dared to come here, too! Do you fancy that even you can save your upstart lover?” “If you mean His Royal Highness the Archduke Armand,” said she, very quietly, “he needs no saving—he is not here.” There was but one person in all the world whose word Ferdinand of Lotzen would accept as truth: he knew the Princess Dehra never lied. And now he sprang up. “Not here!” he cried, “not here!” She turned to her companions. “Messieurs, will you do me the courtesy to unmask?” The Duke ran his eyes over the four, and shrugged his shoulders. “I thank you, messieurs,” said he, “I shall not forget you, believe me I shall not.—But where, cousin, is His Royal Highness the Archduke Armand?” (sneering out every word of the title). “Did you lose him on the way?—or is he skulking in the passage.” Dehra laughed scornfully. “You change front quickly; a moment since you doubted his courage no more than your own. This is my own adventure; neither the Archduke, nor any one else in Dalberg Castle, is aware of it.” Lotzen bowed. “My thanks, cousin, for that last bit of news—I know the better, now, how to dispose of you and your friends.” The Princess walked over and sat on the corner of the desk. “Am I to understand, my lord, that you would attempt to restrain me and my escort from leaving this castle?” “Those who enter a residence with criminal intent, and are apprehended in the act, can hardly expect to escape unscathed. You have overlooked the fact, doubtless, that the privilege of high justice still attaches to this domain, though long since unexerted. Just what that justice will be I have not decided—enough, at present, that you are prisoners awaiting sentence, and since none will ever seek you here, I can let events determine when and where it will be pronounced.” And Dehra understood just what was in his mind. “Which is another way of saying, cousin, that when you have killed the Archduke or made him prisoner, it will be time enough to pass judgment on us.” The Duke gave his chuckling laugh. “Your Highness has the wisdom of a sage,” he said; “and I advise you to employ it during your sojourn here, in ascertaining just what attitude is likely to be the best for yourself, after the American has been—eliminated.” And now the anger, which had been burning hotter and hotter, burst into flame. “Do you fancy, Ferdinand of Lotzen,” she exclaimed, striking a chair with the flat of her sword, “that I would venture into this den without first having made ample provision for our safe return? “I will,” said Lotzen. “And if you doubt as to the troops, you can send and——” “I will admit the troops also, cousin.” The Princess put the cloth-wrapped book under her arm and stood up. “Then, if you will clear the doorway, we will depart.” “Not so fast, my dear,” he smiled; “you seem to have missed the fact that a written command is quite as effective as an oral one; therefore, you will oblige me by taking of the paper and ink on the desk beside you, and inditing to Colonel Bernheim an order to withdraw instantly all the troops to Porgia, and himself to join you here—but first, you will favor me by returning that bundle to the drawer where you got it.” The Princess glanced uncertainly at Moore, hesitated, then handed the bundle to him, and turning to the desk wrote rapidly for a few minutes—read over the sheet, and held it out to the Duke. He took it with a bow, and went back to his place.... The order was clear and unequivocal, almost in his own words, indeed. Her ready acquiescence had amazed him—now doubt came, and then suspicion—was he being outwitted? Had she provided for just such a contingency? He read the order again—then put it in its envelope and went toward the corridor door. He would have to chance it. “One moment, cousin,” said the Princess; “you may as well know that the only effect of that order, or any other, save from my own lips, will be to bring the assault forthwith, instead of at sunrise. It’s for you to choose which it shall be.” He turned and regarded her contemplatively; and she spoke again. “What is the profit now in restraining us? You have been playing for a Crown—you have lost;” (pointing to the book) “but why lose your life, too—though, frankly, as to that, save for the nasty scandal, I have no concern.” His face hardened. “There could be a few lives lost here before sunrise,” he answered. She smiled indifferently, though her heart beat faster at the threat; she had risked everything on her firm conviction that his cool, calculating brain would never be run away with by anger nor revenge—and the test was now. “Assuredly, my dear Ferdinand,” said she, “you can have us killed—and then the sunrise.” But he stared at her unrelentingly, and fear began to crowd upon her fast. “Have we lost?” she said very low to Moore. “Have I brought you all to death?” “It depends on the next minute,” he replied; “if we live through it we’re safe. He will have quit seeing red then.” And Madeline Spencer saw that he was hesitating; swiftly she went to him, and taking his hand, spoke to him softly and with insistent earnestness. Gradually the frown faded; the fell look passed; at last, he smiled at her and nodded. “We win,” said Moore. The Duke turned toward the corridor door and gave an order; the men drew aside into line, rifles at the present. Then he bowed low to the Princess. “Since I know I may not do the honor myself,” he said, “I pray you will accept my Constable as my substitute.—Captain Durant, escort Her Royal Highness the Regent to the main gate.” Durant stepped forward and his blade flashed in salute. Dehra acknowledged it with her own, then snapped it back into its sheath. “Lead on, sir!” she said very graciously, and gave him her hand. Without so much as a glance at the Duke, she passed from the room; and on the other side of her went Colonel Moore, sword in one hand, the cloth-wrapped book in the other. When they had gone, Lotzen dismissed every one with a nod, and sitting down drew Madeline Spencer on his knee. “You’re my good angel,” he said; “you came at the psychological moment; another instant and I would have sent them all to the devil.” She slipped her arm around his neck, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “And then the sunrise,” she whispered, with a shudder. He caught her to him. “And even Paris is better than that, my duchess!” he cried; “Paris or anywhere, with you.”... Presently he laughed. “I should like to see Dehra’s face when she opens that book,” he said. Madeline Spencer sprang up, pointing to the clock. “We are wasting time,” she exclaimed. “Don’t you see that we must go to Dornlitz this very night—that, now, to-morrow will be too late.” “You’re right!” he said; and, with wrinkled brow and half-closed eyes, sat, thinking—then: “We may not use a special train, for we must go disguised; but the express for the South passes Porgia at four o’clock; we will take it; if it’s on time we shall be in Dornlitz at seven in the evening, which will allow us an hour to get to the Summer Palace—after eight o’clock not even I would be admitted, in the absence of the Regent. Should we be delayed, as is very likely, we can go out early the With a laugh he swung her up in his arms and bore her to the doorway, snatched a kiss, and left her. |
|
