Books: The Puppet Crown
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Harold MacGrath >> The Puppet Crown
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Maurice saw a brace of revolvers on the mantel. The table stood
between.
"Well," he said, banteringly, "bring on your banquet; the hour
is late."
"That's the way; don't lose your temper, and no harm will come
to you."
"What do you wish of me?"
"Merely the pleasure of your company. Lieutenant, bring out the
treasure."
One of the soldiers entered the next room and soon returned
pushing Fitzgerald before him. The Englishman was bound and gagged.
"How will you have the pheasant served?" asked the leader.
"Like a gentleman!" cried Maurice, letting out a little of his
anger. "Take out the gag; he will not cry."
The leader nodded, and Fitzgerald's mouth was relieved. He spat
some blood on the carpet, then looked at his captors, the devil
in his eyes.
"Proceed to kill me and have done," he said.
"Kill you? No, no!"
"I advise you to, for if you do not kill me, some day I shall be
free again, and then God help some of you."
Maurice gazed at the candles on the table, and smiled.
"I'm sorry they dragged you into it, Maurice," said Fitzgerald.
"I'm glad they did. What you want is company." There was a
glance, swift as light. It went to the mantel, then passed to
the captive. "Well," said Maurice, "what is next on your damned
program?"
"The other side of the frontier."
"Maybe," said Maurice.
With an unexpected movement he sent the table over, the lights
went out; and he had judged the distance so accurately that he
felt his hands close over the revolvers.
"The door! the door!" a voice bawled. "Knock down any one who
attempts to pass."
This was precisely what Maurice desired. With the soldiers
massed about the door, he would be free to liberate Fitzgerald;
which he did. He had scarcely completed the task, when a flame
spurted up. The leader fearlessly lit a candle and righted the
table. He saw both his prisoners, one of them with extended arms,
at the ends of which glistened revolver barrels.
"The devil!" he said.
"Maybe it is," replied Maurice. "Now, my gay banqueteers, open
the door; and the first man who makes a suspicious movement will
find that I'm a tolerable shot."
"Seize him, your Excellency!" shouted one of the troopers.
"Those are my revolvers he has, and they are not loaded."
CHAPTER VIII
THE RED CHATEAU
Two o'clock in the morning, on the king's highway, and a small
body of horse making progress. The moon was beginning to roll
away toward the west, but the world was still frost-white, and
the broad road stretched out like a silver ribbon before the
horsemen, until it was lost in the blue mist of the forests.
The troop consisted of ten men, two of whom rode with their
hands tied behind their backs and their feet fastened under the
bellies of the horses. The troop was not conspicuous for this
alone. Three others had their heads done up in handkerchiefs,
and a fourth carried his arm in a sling.
Five miles to the rear lay the sleeping city of Bleiberg, twenty
miles beyond rose the formidable heights of the Thalians. At
times the horses went forward at a gallop, but more often they
walked; when they galloped the man with his arm in the sling
complained. Whenever the horses dropped into a walk, the leader
talked to one of the prisoners.
"You fight like the very devil, my friend," he said; "but we
were too many by six. Mind, I think none the less of you for
your attempt; freedom is always worth fighting for. As I said
before, no harm is meant to you, physically; as to the moral
side, that doesn't concern me. You have disabled four of my men,
and have scarcely a dozen scratches to show for it. I wanted to
take only four men with me; I was ordered to take eight. The
hand of providence is in it."
"You wouldn't be so polite, Colonel," spoke up the trooper whose
arm was in the sling, "if you had got this crack."
"Baron, who told you to call me Colonel?" the leader demanded.
"Why, we are out of the city; there's no harm now that I can see."
"Is it possible," said Maurice ironically, "that I have had the
honor of hitting a baron on the head and breaking his arm?"
The baron muttered a curse and fell back.
"And you," went on Maurice, addressing the leader, "are a
Colonel?"
"Yes."
"For the duchess?"
"For the duchess."
"A black business for you, Colonel; take my word for it."
"A black business it is; but orders are orders. Have you ever
been a soldier?"
"I have."
"Well, there's nothing more to be said."
"America--" Maurice began.
"Is several thousand miles away."
"Not if you reckon from Vienna."
"I'd rather not reckon, if it's all the same to you. Your friend--
I might say, your very valuable friend--takes the matter too
much to heart."
"He's not a talkative man."
Fitzgerald looked straight ahead, stern and impassive.
"But now that we are talking," said Maurice, "I should like to
know how the deuce you got hold of my name and dragged me into
this affair?"
"Simple enough. A card of yours was given to me; on it was your
name and address. The rest was easy."
Maurice grew limp in the saddle.
"By George! I had forgotten! The woman is at the bottom of it."
"Quite likely. I thought you'd come to that conclusion.
Sometimes when we play with foxes they lead us into bear traps.
Young man, witness these gray hairs; never speak to strange
women, especially when they wear veils."
Fitzgerald was now attending the conversation.
"And who is this woman?" asked Maurice.
"Mademoiselle of the Veil, according to your picturesque
imagination; to me she is the intimate friend and adviser of her
Highness Stephonia." He wheeled to the troopers with a laugh:
"Hoch, you beggars, hoch!"
Maurice indulged in some uncomplimentary remarks, among which
was: "I'm an ass!"
"Every man improves on making that discovery; the Darwinian
theory is wrong."
After a pause Maurice said: "How did you get on the ground so
quickly?"
"We arrived yesterday afternoon as the escort of your charmer. A
pretty woman finds it troublesome to travel alone in these parts.
When you slapped your friend on the back and bawled out his
name--a name known from one end of the kingdom to the other--the
plan of action was immediately formed. You were necessary, for
it was taken for granted that you knew too much. You had also
promised your sword," with a chuckle.
"I made no promise," said Maurice. "I only said that I should
easily be found when wanted."
"Well, so you were; there's no gainsaying that."
Maurice said some more uncomplimentary things.
"It was neatly done, you will admit. Life is a game of cards; he
wins who plays first."
"Or he doesn't. Colonel, a game is won only when it is played'."
"That's true enough."
"Kings are a tolerable bother on earth," Maurice declared,
trying to ease his wrists by holding them higher against his
back.
"What do you know about them?"
"When I was in the army I often fell in with three or four of a
night."
"Eh?--kings?"
"Yes; but usually I was up against aces or straight flushes."
"Cards! Well, well; when you get down to the truth of the matter,
real kings differ but little from the kings in pasteboard;
right side up, or wrong side up, they serve the purpose of those
who play them. There's a poor, harmless devil back there," with
a nod toward Bleiberg. "He never injured a soul. Perhaps that's
it; had he been cruel, avaricious, sly, all of them would be
cringing at his feet. Devil take me--but I'm a soldier," he
broke off abruptly; "it's none of my business."
"Have you any titles?" Maurice asked presently.
"Titles?" The Colonel jerked around on his horse. "Why?"
"O," said Maurice carelessly, "I thought it not unlikely that
you might have a few lying around loose."
The Colonel roared. "You Americans beat the very devil with your
questions. Well, I am politely known as Count Mollendorf, if
that will gratify you."
"What! brother of Mollendorf of the king's police?"
"God save the mark! No; I am an honest man --some of the time."
Maurice laughed; the old fellow was amusing, and besides, this
conversation helped to pass away the time.
"Wake up, Jack; here's entertainment," he said.
A scowl added itself to the stern expression on Fitzgerald's
face.
"I trust that none of your teeth are loose," ventured the
Colonel.
"If they are, they'll be tight enough ere many days have passed,"
was the threatening reply.
"Beware the dog!" cried the Colonel, and he resumed his place at
the head of the little troop.
Maurice took this opportunity to bend toward Fitzgerald. "Have
you anything of importance about you?" he whispered
significantly.
"Nothing. But God send that no chambermaid change the sheet in
my bed at the hotel."
"Are they--"
"Silence." Fitzgerald saw the trooper next with his hand to his ear.
After a time the Colonel sang out: "Fifteen miles more, with
three on the other side, men; we must put more life into us. A
trot for a few miles. The quicker the ride is done, baron, the
quicker the surgeon will look to your arm."
And silence fell upon the troop. Occasionally a stray horse in
the fields whinneyed, and was answered from the road; sometimes
the howl of a dog broke the monotony. On and on they rode; hour
and mile were left behind them. The moon fell lower and lower,
and the mountains rose higher and higher, and the wind which had
risen had a frosty sting to it. Maurice now began to show the
true state of his temper by cursing his horse whenever it rubbed
against one of its fellows. His back was lame, and there was a
dull pain in one of his shoulders. When he had made the rush for
the door, clubbing right and left with the empty revolvers, he
had finally been thrown on an overturned chair.
"Here, hang you!" he said to the trooper who held the bridle of
his horse, "I'm cold; you might at least turn up my collar about
my throat."
"You are welcome to my cloak," said the trooper, disengaging
that article from his shoulders.
"Thank you," said Maurice, somewhat abashed by the respectful tone.
The trooper offered his blanket to Fitzgerald.
"I wish no favors," said the Englishman, thanklessly.
The trooper shrugged, and caught up Maurice's bridle.
At length the troop arrived at the frontier. There was no sign
of life at the barrack. They passed unchallenged.
"What!" exclaimed Maurice, "do they sleep here at night, then? A
fine frontier barrack." He had lived in hopes of more
disturbance and a possible chance for liberty.
"They will wake up to-day," answered the Colonel; "that is, if
the wine we gave them was not too strong. Poor devils; they must
be good and cold by this time, since we have their clothes. What
do you think of a king whose soldiers drink with any strangers
who chance along?"
Maurice became resigned. To him the present dynasty was as
fragile as glass, and it needed but one strong blow to shatter
it into atoms. And the one hope rode at his side, sullen and
wrathful, but impotent; the one hope the king had to save his
throne. He had come to Bleiberg in search of excitement, but
this was altogether more than he had bargained for.
The horses began to lift and were soon winding in and out of the
narrow mountain pass. The chill of the overhanging snows fell
upon them.
"It wouldn't have hurt you to accept the blanket," said Maurice
to Fitzgerald.
"Curse it! I want nothing but two minutes freedom. It would be
warm enough then."
"No confidences, gentlemen," warned the Colonel; "I understand
English tolerably well."
"Go to the devil, then, if you do!" said Fitzgerald
discourteously.
"When the time comes," tranquilly. "Of the two I like your
friend the better. To be resigned to the inevitable is a sign of
good mental balance."
"I am not used to words," replied the Englishman.
"You are used to orders. I am simply obeying mine. If I took you
off your guard it was because I had to, and not because I liked
that method best. Look alive, men; it's down hill from now on."
A quarter of an hour later the troop arrived at the duchy's
frontier post. There was no sleep here. The Colonel flung
himself from his horse and exercised his legs.
"Sergeant," he said, "how far behind the others?"
"They passed two hours ago, Excellency. And all is well?"
deferentially.
"All is indeed well," with a gesture toward the prisoners.
"I've a flask of brandy in my hip pocket," said Maurice. "Will
you help me to a nip, Colonel?"
"Pardon me, gentlemen; I had forgotten that your hands were
still in cords. Corporal," to a trooper, "relieve their hands."
The prisoners rubbed their wrists and hands, which were numb and
cold. Maurice produced his flask.
"I was bringing it along for your sprained ankle," he said, as
he extended the flask to Fitzgerald, who drank a third of it.
"I'd offer you some, Colonel, only it would be like heaping
coals of fire on your head; and, besides, I want it all myself."
He returned the emptied flask to his pocket, feeling a moderate
warmth inside.
"Drink away, my son," said the Colonel, climbing into the saddle;
"there'll be plenty for me for this night's work. Forward!"
The troop took up the march again, through a splendid forest
kept clear of dead wood by the peasants. It abounded with game.
The shrill cry of the pheasants, the rustle of the partridges in
the underbrush, the bark of the fox, all rose to the ears of the
trespassers. The smell of warm earth permeated the air, and the
sky was merging from silver into gold.
When Napoleon humiliated Austria for the second time, one of his
mushroom nobles, who placed too much faith in the man of destiny,
selected this wooded paradise as a residence. He built him a
fine castle of red brick, full of wide halls and drawing rooms
and chambers of state, and filled it with fabulous paintings,
Gobelin tapestries, and black walnut wainscot. He kept a small
garrison of French soldiers by converting the huge stables
partly into a barrack. One night the peasantry rose. There was a
conflict, as the walls still show; and the prince by patent fled,
no one knew where. After its baptism in blood it became known
far and wide as the Red Chateau. Whenever children were unruly,
they were made docile by threats of the dark dungeons of the Red
Chateau, or the ghosts of the French and German peasants who
died there. As it now stood, it was one of the summer residences
of her Highness.
It was here that the long night's journey came to an end.
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, dismounting, "permit me, in the
name of her Highness, to offer you the hospitality of Red
Chateau. Consider; will you lighten my task by giving me your
word of honor to make no attempt to escape? Escape is possible,
but not probable. There are twenty fresh men and horses in the
stables. Come, be reasonable. It will be pleasanter on both
sides."
"So far as I'm concerned," said Maurice, who needed liberty not
half so much as sleep, "I pass my word."
"And you, sir?" to Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald gazed about him. "Very well," he said, as he saw the
futility of a struggle.
"Your humble servant, Messieurs," touching his cap. "Take the
ropes off their ankles, men."
When Maurice was lifted from his horse and placed on the ground,
his legs suddenly bent under him, and he went sprawling to the
grass. A trooper sprang to his assistance.
"My legs have gone to sleep!"
The Englishman was affected likewise, and it was some moments
before either could walk. They were conducted to a chamber high
up in the left wing, which overlooked the forest and the
mountains. It was a large airy room, but the windows were barred
and there were double locks on the doors. The Colonel followed
them into the room and pointed to the table.
"Breakfast, Messieurs, and a good sleep for you till this noon.
As for the rest, let that take care of itself." And he left them.
Maurice, after having tried all the bars and locks in answer to
his conscience, gave his attention to the breakfast. On lifting
the covers he found fish, eggs, toast and coffee.
"Here's luck!" he cried. "We were expected."
"Curse it, Maurice!" Fitzgerald began pacing the room.
"No, no," said Maurice; "let us eat it; that's what it's here
for," and he fell to with that vigor known only to healthy blood.
"But what's to be done?"
"Follow Solomon's advice, and wait."
"You're taking it cursed cool."
"Force of habit," breaking the toast. "What's the use of wasting
powder? Because I have shown only the exterior, our friend the
Colonel has already formed an opinion of me. I am brave if need
be, but young and careless. In a day or so--for I suppose we are
not to be liberated at once--he'll forget to use proper caution
in respect to me. And then, 'who can say?' as the Portuguese
says when he hasn't anything else to say. They'll keep a strict
watch over you, my friend, because you've played the lion too
much. Just before I left the States, as you call them, a new
slang phrase was going the rounds;--'it is better to play the
fox some of the time than to roar all of the time.' Ergo, be
foxy. Take it cool. So long as you haven't got that mint packed
about your person, the game breaks even."
"But the king!"
"Is as secure on his throne as he ever was. If you do not
present those consols, either for renewal or collection, on the
twentieth, he loses nothing. As you said, let us hope that the
chambermaid is a shifty, careless lass, who will not touch your
room till you return." Maurice broke an egg and dropped a lump
of sugar into his cup.
"Is this the way you fight Indians?"
"Indians? What the deuce has fighting Indians to do with this?
As to Indians, shoot them in the back if you can. Here,
everything depends not on fighting but the right use of words. A
man may be a diplomat and not render his country any large
benefit; still, it's a fine individual training. Thrones stand
on precipices and are pushed back to safety by the trick of a
few words. Have an egg; they're fresh."
Fitzgerald sat down and gulped his coffee. "They broke my
monocle in the struggle."
Maurice choked in his cup.
"I've worn it twelve years, too," went on Fitzgerald.
"Everything is for the best," said Maurice. "You will be able to
see out of both eyes."
"Confound you!" cried Fitzgerald, smiling in spite of himself;
"nothing will disturb you."
"You mean, nothing shall. Now, there's the bed and there's the
lounge. Since you are the principal, that is to say, the
constituent part of this affair, and also the principal actor in
this extravaganza, suppose you take the bed and leave me the
lounge? And the deuce take the duchess, who is probably a woman
with a high forehead and a pair of narrow eyes!" He threw down
his napkin and made for the lounge, without giving any
particular attention to the smile and frown which were
struggling in the Englishman's eyes. In less than a minute
Maurice was dozing.
Fitzgerald thought that the best thing he could do was to follow
the philosophical example of his friend. "These Americans," he
mused, as he arranged the pillow under his ear, "are `fifteen
puzzles'; you can move them, or you can't."
As for Maurice, he was already dreaming; he was too tired to
sleep. Presently he thought he was on a horse again, and was
galloping, galloping. He was heading his old company to the very
fringe of the alkali. The Apaches had robbed the pay train and
killed six men, and the very deuce was to pay all around. . . .
Again he was swimming, and a beautiful girl reached out a hand
and saved him. Ah! how beautiful she was, how soft and rich the
deep brown of her eyes! . . . The scene shifted. The president
of the South American republic had accepted his sword (unbeknown
to the United States authorities), and he was aiding to quell
the insurrection. And just then some one whispered to him that
gold would rise fifty points. And as he put out his hands to
gather in the glittering coins which were raining down, the face
of Colonel Beauvais loomed up, scowling and furious. . . . And
yet again came the beautiful girl. He was holding her hand and
the archbishop had his spread out in benediction over their
heads. . . . A hand, which was not of dreamland, shook him by
the arm. He opened his eyes. Fitzgerald was standing over him.
The light of the sun spangled the walls opposite the windows.
The clock marked the eleventh hour of day.
"Hang you!" he said, with blinking eyes; "why didn't you let me
be? I was just marrying the princess, and you've spoiled it all.
I--" He jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, and, forgetful
of all save his astonishment, pursed his lips into a low whistle.
CHAPTER IX
NOTHING MORE SERIOUS THAN A HOUSE PARTY
Standing just within the door, smiling and rubbing the gray
bristles on his lip, was the Colonel. In the center of the room
stood a woman dressed in gray. Maurice recognized the dress; it
belonged to Mademoiselle of the Veil, who was now sans veil,
sans hat. A marvelous face was revealed to Maurice, a face of
that peculiar beauty which poets and artists are often minded to
deny, but for the love of which men die, become great or
terrible, overturn empires and change the map of the world.
Her luxuriant hair, which lay in careless masses about the
shapely head and intelligent brow, was a mixture of red and
brown and gold, a variety which never ceases to charm; skin the
pallor of ancient marble, with the shadow of rose lying below
the eyes, the large, gray chatoyant eyes, which answered every
impulse of the brain which ruled them. The irregularity of her
features was never noticeable after a glance into those eyes. At
this moment both eyes and lips expressed a shade of amusement.
Maurice, who was astonished never more than a minute at a time,
immediately recovered. His toilet was somewhat disarranged, and
the back of his head a crow's nest, but, nevertheless, he placed
a hand over his heart and offered a low obeisance.
"Good morning, gentlemen," she said, in a voice which Maurice
would have known anywhere. "I hope the journey has caused you no
particular annoyance."
"The annoyance was not so particular, Madame," said Fitzgerald
stiffly, "as it was general."
"And four of my troopers will take oath to that!" interjected
the Colonel.
"Will Madame permit me to ask when will the opera begin?" asked
Maurice.
"I am glad," said she, "that you have lost none of your
freshness."
Maurice was struck for a moment, but soon saw that the remark
was innocent of any inelegance of speech. Fitzgerald was gnawing
his mustache and looking out of the corner of his eyes--into
hers.
"My task, I confess, is a most disagreeable one," she resumed,
lightly beating her gauntlets together; "but when one serves
high personages one is supposed not to have any sentiments." To
Fitzgerald she said: "You are the son of the late Lord
Fitzgerald."
"For your sake, I regret to say that I am."
"For my sake? Worry yourself none on that point. As the agent of
her Highness I am inconsiderable."
"Madame," said Maurice, "will you do us the honor to inform us
to whom we are indebted for this partiality to our distinguished
persons?"
"I am Sylvia Amerbach," quietly.
"Amerbach?" said Maurice, who was familiar with the great names
of the continent. "Pardon me, but that was once a famous name in
Prussia."
"I am distantly related to that house of princes," looking at
her gauntlets.
"Well, Madame, since your business doubtless concerns me, pray,
begin;" and Fitzgerald leaned against the mantelpiece and
fumbled with the rim of his monocle.
Maurice walked to one of the windows and perched himself on the
broad sill. He began to whistle softly:
Voici le sabre de mon pere! Tu vas le mettre a ton cote. . . .
Beyond the window, at the edge of the forest, he saw a sentinel
pacing backward and forward. Indeed, no matter which way he
looked, the autumnal scenery had this accessory. Again, he
inspected the bars. These were comparatively new. It was about
thirty feet to the court below. On the whole, the outlook was
discouraging.
"Count," said the distant relative of the house of Amerbach,
"how shall I begin?"
"I am not a diplomat, Madame," answered the Colonel. "If,
however, you wish the advice of a soldier, I should begin by
asking if my lord the Englishman has those consols about his
person."
"Fie, count!" she cried, laughing; "one would say that was a
prelude to robbery."
"So they would. As for myself, I prefer violence to words. If we
take these pretty papers by violence, we shall still have left
our friend the Englishman his self-respect. And as for words,
while my acquaintance with our friend is slight, I should say
that they would only be wasted here."
The whistle from the window still rose and fell.
"Monsieur, I have it in my power to make you rich."
"I am rich," replied Fitzgerald.
"In honors?"
"Madame, the title I have is already a burden to me." Fitzgerald
laughed, which announced that the cause of the duchess was not
getting on very well. Once or twice he raised the tortoiseshell
rim to his eye, but dropped it; force of habit was difficult to
overcome.
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