Part 18

He had put the plan and Jessac’s keys together in the desk, the top drawer on the right.—They were not there—nor in the next one—nor the next—nor the next—they were not in any of them. He searched again, and carefully ... they were gone. He went to the far corner where Major Meux had got the portfolio; its place was empty. He frowned in puzzled irritation; who would have presumed to meddle with them? Moore, possibly, to study the draft, but he would not have taken the keys; they would be wanted only when——

“God! might it be!” he cried aloud, “might it be!”

His mind flashed back through the day: Dehra’s solicitude that he should not go to-night—borrow Bernheim—early to bed—a dozen other trifles now most indicative. With a curse at his stupidity, he ran to Moore’s quarters—empty—the bed untouched; then to Bernheim’s—the same there; to De Coursey’s—to Marsov’s—both the same. He burst unannounced into the ante-chamber of the Princess’ apartments, bringing a shriek from each of the sleepy maids.

“Your mistress—is she here?” he demanded.

“Her Highness retired hours ago, sir,” one of them replied tremblingly, fright still upon her.

“But is she there now?—Send Marie here instantly.”

The French girl came, wrapped in a long chamber robe.

“Is your mistress asleep?” he asked.

“Yes, Monsieur le Prince, hours ago.”

He reached over and flung back her robe.

“Then why are you still dressed and waiting up for her? Don’t lie to me, girl; where is Her Highness?”

“Monsieur doubts me?”

The Archduke made an angry gesture.

“Go to her—say I must speak with her at once.”

“Wake the Regent! I dare not, sir.”

He pushed her aside and went on into the next room. She sprang after, and caught his hand.

“Your Highness!” she cried, “you would not!—you would not!”

He seized her by the arm. “You little fool! the truth—the truth—if your mistress isn’t here, she is in awful peril—may be dead.” He shook her almost fiercely. “The truth, I say, the truth!”

With a cry the girl sank to the floor.

“Peril!—death!” she echoed. “She but went for a ride, sir; I do not understand——”

The Archduke was gone; he required no further information.

A quarter of an hour later, with thirty of the garrison at his back—all that could be provided with horses—he set out for Lotzen Castle; leaving it for Courtney, whose official position denied him the privilege of going along, to telephone the Commandant at Porgia for troops.

“She went to save me, Dick,” he said; “now I will save her or——good-bye,” and the two men had gripped hands hard, then the Archduke rode away.

At first, his anger had been hot against Moore and Bernheim, but now that sober second thought was come, he knew that they were not to blame, that the Regent herself had ordered them to the service and to silence. And presently his hope rose at the thought of the one’s skilful sword and sure revolver, and the other’s steady head and calm discretion; together, with De Coursey and Marsov, there might be a chance that the Princess would come out alive. But the hope grew suddenly very slender, as he reached the valley road and saw the great light of Lotzen Castle shining far away, and remembered his own sensations as he had stood under it that afternoon, and who its master was and what.

They had been obliged to go slowly down the steep and winding avenue, now he swung into a gallop and the six score hoofs went thundering through the valley, leaving the startled inhabitants staring, and wondering at the strange doings of all who came from the South. But them the Archduke never saw—nor anything, indeed, save the track before him and the light ahead, riding with hands low on the saddle, face set and stern; implacable and relentless as the first Dalberg himself, the day he rescued his lady from that same Castle of Lotzen and hung its Baron in quarters from the gate tower.

Only once did the Archduke pause; at the Dreer, a moment to breathe the horses and let them wet their throats. In the darkness he did not see a bunch of horsemen round the turn in front and trot slowly toward him, nor could he hear them for the thrashing of his own horses in the water. The first he knew of them was Colonel Moore’s peremptory hail:

“What force is that yonder?”

With a shout that rang far into the night, Armand sent his mare bounding through the stream.

“The Princess? the Princess?” he cried, “is she safe?”

And her own voice answered, joyful and triumphant.

“I’m here, Armand, I’m here.”

What need to tell what he said, as reining in close he drew her over to him! The words were a bit incoherent, may be, but Dehra understood; and presently she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Come, Sire,” she said, “let us go on—and when we get to the Castle, Your Majesty shall have again the Book of Laws.”

“The Book! you cannot mean you’ve been in Lotzen Castle?”

She laughed her merry little laugh. “And out again—and the Book with us, from under our dear cousin’s very eyes.”

“You brave girl!—you foolish child!—you wonder among women!” he marvelled.

She put out her hand, and took his; and so they rode, back through the valley and up the avenue to the Castle, and as they went she told him the story of the night.

“But better than the Book, sweetheart,” she ended, as they drew up before the entrance, “it saves you for Valeria and for me; had you been there, helpless under his guns, not all the troops in the Kingdom would have held Lotzen’s hand.”

“And better than all else,” he said, as he swung her down, “is your own dear self.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, “I’m but a woman—you are the Dalberg and a King.... Colonel Moore, bring your package to the library, and summon all our friends.”

When they had come, the Princess took the bundle, still wrapped in its black cloth, and handed it to Armand.

“Sire,” said she, “the Laws of the Dalbergs—found this night in Lotzen Castle.”

Without a word he bent and kissed her hand,—then, laying the package on the desk, he cut the strings and removed the cloth, exposing the big, leather-covered, brass-bound volume.

“Read the decree, Sire!” she exclaimed.

He opened the book—stopped—turned a page—then slowly closed it.

“Suppose we wait, Your Highness, until the Royal Council is present,” he said.

But something in his voice alarmed her—she sprang forward, pushed aside his restraining arm, and seized the book. One glance inside—an exclamation of bewildered incredulity; another glance—and the book dropped to the floor.

“False!” she cried, “false!” and flung herself across the desk in an hysteria of tears.

Instantly Courtney turned and quitted the room, and the rest after him, leaving her and the Archduke alone together.

It was evening when the Princess appeared again. She came just as the clock was striking nine, and taking the American Ambassador’s arm, led the way in to dinner, which here was en famille, and without any ceremony of the Court.

“Tell me, Mr. Courtney, that I don’t look quite so foolish as I feel,” she laughed.

He let his eyes linger on her—this lovely woman who was a nation’s toast—the imperially poised head, with the glorious, gleaming hair, and the haughty, high-bred face that, when she willed, could be so sweet and tender; the slender, rounded figure in its soft white gown of clinging silk—he shook his gray head.

“If you feel as you look,” he answered, “you are not of this world, but of Paradise.”

“O——h, monsieur! and Lady Helen just across the table.”

He fingered his imperial a moment, then leaned close.

“Helen is an angel, too,” he said.

“You mean—?” she exclaimed.

He smiled. “Yes, I mean—on our ride this afternoon—but don’t tell it, now.”

She took his hand low under the board.

“I’m so glad,” she said; “Helen’s a dear—and so are you.” Then she gave a little laugh. “This seems to have been a rather busy afternoon for Cupid.”

“Another?—Mlle. d’Essoldé and Moore?”

She nodded. “Yes, but not a word of it, either—not even to Helen,” quizzically.

“No, not even to Helen,” he said with well affected gravity, his lips twitching the while.

A footman entered and passed a note to Colonel Bernheim, but the Princess’ eyes had caught the pink of the envelope and she knew it was a wire, and of exceeding importance to be brought there now—and it was for the Archduke; if it were for her, Moore would have got it. Chatting gayly with Courtney, she yet watched Bernheim, as he read the message, holding it down, out of sight.

It seemed to be very brief, for almost instantly he glanced at the Archduke—hesitated—then sent it to him.

“What is it, Armand?” she said, as he took it. “What has Lotzen done now?”

“Why Lotzen?” he laughed, spreading the sheet on the cloth before them.

It was dated Dornlitz:—

“The Duke arrived here at eight-thirty this evening on the express from the North. He was in disguise.

“Epping.”

“I don’t understand,” said she.

“Neither do I,” he answered; “that’s the trouble with our cousin, he is always doing queer things.”

“But he was at Lotzen Castle this morning.”

“And is in Dornlitz now;—” he shoved the wire across to Courtney.—“Dick, what do you make of this—what’s doing now?”

Courtney read it, then stared thoughtfully into his wine glass, twirling it slowly the while, the amber bubbles streaming upward.

“I make enough of it,” he said, “to urge that you hurry back to the Capital. The false Book was intended primarily to lure you here, where you could be killed more easily, but its purpose also was to get you away from Dornlitz. The first failed, because Her Highness forced Lotzen’s hand so quickly he was unprepared; the second, however, has won,—he has eluded you. I have always insisted that he hasn’t the Book, but now I am persuaded that he knows where it is, and has gone for it.”

“Let us go, Armand!” the Princess exclaimed—“let us go instantly.”

He put his hand on her arm.

“We will go, dear,” he said—“see—” and turning over the sheet, he wrote:—

“Epping, “Dornlitz.

“Keep him under surveillance. We leave to-night; reach Dornlitz by ten A. M.

“Armand.”

“Yes,” said the Princess, “and add that he is to call the Royal Council for half after ten at the Summer Palace.—I’m going to give Lotzen a chance to explain a few things.”

XXIII THE CANOPY OF SWORDS

When the train had crossed the Lorg and the towers of Dornlitz shone far off to the front, the following morning, the Princess sent for the Archduke.

“Armand,” said she, “I have been thinking—much of the night, indeed—and I am persuaded that this day will see the end of our quest; don’t smile; wait, wait until the day has passed. Lotzen knows where the Book is—he hasn’t it—he never has had it—he would not have needed a counterfeit if he had; besides, do you fancy he would have left it behind when he went to Lotzenia—or that he would have come back here if he had it with him? If he knows now where the Book is, he has known all along—then why hasn’t he got it? Because it’s been impracticable, no adequate opportunity. Where is the opportunity now that he hasn’t had before?—the Summer Palace—with the Household gone, he can spend a day in it without explanation or interruption—and the King’s suite is vacant. There Adolph hid the Laws—and Lotzen knows where—and they are what he has gone for; that is why he left his Castle night before last, within an hour after me; he realized the false book would send us back to Dornlitz and that he must go instantly if he would be there first. Oh, it’s all plain now—to me at least.”

The Archduke went over and stood beside her, stroking her fair hair softly with his finger tips.

“Sweetheart,” said he, “there is much force in what you say, and you will also remember that Elise d’Essoldé saw Lotzen come from the library the day you charged him with killing Adolph and stealing the Book. Yet the answer to it all is, that the entire Palace has been searched and vainly—and the King’s suite torn almost into bits. Hence, under the facts, your theory seems unavailing.”

She looked up at him with a half disappointed smile, but with an insistent shake of the head.

“You go too far with your facts, dear,” she said; “I, too, thought that every inch of the King’s suite had been searched, but I’ve changed my mind; it hasn’t been—if it had, we would have found the Laws.”—She gave a cry and sprang up. “The box, Armand! the box! the Book’s in it.”

He looked at her in amazement.

“The box was empty,” he said.

“Yes—was! was! but is not now! When did you look in it last?”

“At the Council.”

“Exactly—so did I—and Adolph brought it to us, lid down and ‘locked,’ she said. Oh, I see it all now:—it wasn’t locked, and he put the Book back in it, and told Lotzen, and Lotzen killed him—and then, when he came for the Book, he found the combination changed—you did it, you know—and as long as Moore was in the suite he could not break the vault; so he lures us all away: if he can kill you, he will be King and can get the Book at his leisure; if he fail, as he has done, then it’s the Laws before we return.” She flung her arms around his neck. “Don’t tell me I’m mistaken, Armand! don’t tell me I’m mistaken!”

He held her off, and looked at her in wondering admiration.

“Oh woman!” he said, “oh faith, and intuition, and loyalty beyond the stars! No, Dehra, I will not say you are mistaken; I do not know; we will test it. We will go straight to the Palace—you and I, without a word as to our purpose—and we will open the vault, and the box—and if the Laws are in it, yours be the glory.”

“And yours the Crown!” she cried, and kissed his hand.

Then the train ran into the station and stopped, and the Archduke stepped out and gave his hand to the Princess. The platform was empty save for Count Epping.

“Your Royal Highness will pardon the informality of your reception,” the Prime Minister said, when the greetings were over; “I assumed you did not want Lotzen to know of your coming; I even waited until nine o’clock to call the Council;—and I did not notify him, and so warn him that we had penetrated his disguise.”

“Where is he now?” the Princess asked.

“At Ferida Palace—he went there last night and has not left it since.”

“I think I want him at the Council,” she said; “Colonel Moore, will you and Colonel Bernheim please go and summon him; then follow us at once; and do you, my dear Count, come to me as soon as the Ministers have assembled.”

The brougham flashed away, and the Archduke drew down the blinds.

Dehra gave a satisfied little sigh and sank back in the corner.

“We seem to have beaten him,” she said; “we shall have the first look into the box.”

Armand put his arm around her, and drew the fair head to his shoulder.

“I have already beaten him,” he said—“we fought first, for you, little girl. A fig for the box, and the Book and the Crown!”

At the gate of the Park the Princess signaled to halt, and raised the blind.

“Who of the Royal Council have arrived?” she asked the officer on duty.

“His Royal Highness the Duke of Lotzen, General Du——” he got no further.

“To my private entrance! quick, quick!” she called, and the carriage shot away....

“What does it mean?” she demanded; “Epping said Lotzen had not left the Ferida.”

“It means that you have solved the riddle. Lotzen has not come to the Council, he does not even know of it; he has come for the Book.”

They drew up at the door, the Archduke opened it with Dehra’s key, and they dashed up stairs. She snatched a master-key from a drawer of her writing table, and they crossed the corridor and entered the King’s suite through the small reception room, between which and the library lay a cabinet and a bedroom.

As they entered the latter, treading cautiously, they heard the Duke of Lotzen’s voice in the library, the door of which stood ajar.

“It’s a pity to break it,” he was saying, “but——” and there was a snap and crack.

Under the Archduke’s hand the door opened noiselessly, and through the narrow rift, between the hangings, they could see within.

The Duke, no longer disguised but wearing the undress uniform of his rank, was standing at the large desk; beside him an officer in a long cape and a Cuirassier helmet; and before him the big, black box of the Laws. He had just forced the lock; now he laid back the lid, and took out the Book.

“We win, Duchess!” he said, “we win! thanks to your marvellous fingers and quick brain,” and lifting the helmet from Madeline Spencer’s high piled hair, he kissed her ardently.

“Not so, cousin!” said the Princess, flinging aside the curtain, “you lose—it is we who win.”

For a moment the Duke stood staring, too amazed to speak, and Mrs. Spencer, with a sharp cry, fled to his side; then, as he saw the end of his dream, the passing of his hopes, the fierce and fiery spirit, that was always burning deep in his soul, burst through the gyves of studied equanimity his stern will had imposed.

“Not yet!” he cried, “not yet!” and turning quickly he tossed the Book into the big chimney behind him where a wood fire burned.

“Come on!” he taunted, flashing out his sword, “come on, cousin Armand!—there’s your crown, come get it!”

“Look to the Book, Dehra!” the Archduke called, and sprang at Lotzen, with a joyful smile. “At last!” he said, and the fight began.

“Push the Book farther into the fire, Madeline!” the Duke ordered, the words timed to the beat of the steel.

Dropping her cape Mrs. Spencer, with the easy hand of a practiced fencer, whipped out the sword she was wearing, in her disguise as an officer, and was speeding to obey, when Dehra caught up one of Colonel Moore’s swords from the corner and rushed upon her.

“Guard yourself, Duchess!” Lotzen cried; and she swung around just in time to throw herself between the Princess and the fireplace. Instantly their blades rang together.

The Archduke heard, and out of the side of his eye he saw, and his brow wrinkled in anxiety. Spencer was no novice; she, too, he knew, had learned the gentle art of the foils in her youth, and under French maîtres, and she was not to be despised even by one so skilful as the Regent. He had little doubt that he could kill the Duke, but what profit in it if Dehra died. He hesitated to speak, it might disconcert her, and yet he must warn her.

“Watch her play in tierce,” he said, in the most casual tone; and almost shouted for joy, when he heard Dehra’s little laugh, and her voice calm and easy.

“Thank you, Armand!”

But it very nearly cost him his own life, for in trying to catch a glimpse of her he had loosed his eye-grip, and Lotzen’s point shot out viciously, and only a lucky swing aside sent it scraping along the skin instead of through the neck.

“Rather close, cousin!” he remarked.

“The next will be closer,” said the Duke softly. “Meanwhile, the Book burns.”

But the Archduke did not fall into the trap, and loose the eye-grip a second time.

“Let it burn!” he answered, “I’d rather kill you than save it—but I will do both.”

“If you can, cousin! if you can—” and the swords rang on.

And the Duke was right—the Book was burning, slowly, but burning none the less. His throw had been a trifle short, and instead of being in the heart of the fire it was on the outer edge, where the coals were not so glowing. There the leather and metal cover had protected it for a short while, but now the tiny flames were crawling along the edges, shooting up quick pencils of light that flared ever higher and more frequent.

And Dehra caught the gleam when it flashed the brightest, and in a fury of desire she drove at Madeline Spencer. Hitherto she had aimed only to disarm her, now it was the Book at any price.

But the American woman’s defense was still impenetrable; defence was her forte—trick, feint, attack, she knew every one, and always her sword blocked them or turned them aside. But there she had stopped; never once had she herself assumed the offensive. She would take no chance of killing the Regent; and she had soon discovered the Regent was not aiming to kill her. But now she felt the change, and she knew that it was a matter of only a little while until she would have to yield or be sped. She could hear Lotzen and the Archduke, at the other end of the room, still fighting as fiercely as at the beginning;—the taunting laugh; the quip given, and returned; the crash of a chair as one of them kicked it away; but all she saw was the flitting steel before her, and the Princess’ glowing eyes.

Of a sudden there came a burst of voices, the door toward the Council Chamber was dashed open, and Count Epping rushed in, and all the Ministers behind him.

Madeline Spencer drew back and lowered her sword; the Princess sprang to the fire-place and rescued the Book, smothering the flames with the hearth rug; but Lotzen ground out an oath and flung himself with fresh fierceness at the Archduke.

At first even the imperturbable Prime Minister had been too astonished to act; now he came slowly forward, his old, lean face aglow with the joy of the combat and the music of the steel. Then he stopped and stood, watching, head slightly forward, lips half parted, eyes shining, fingers playing lovingly over his own hilt. Ah! it was a good fight to look upon; a noble fight, indeed; such masterly sword play he had never seen, nor was ever like to see again; the swift attacks, the fierce rallies, the marvellous agility, the steady eye, the steel wrist. And then, the nerve of him who was losing, and must know it; for Lotzen was losing—surely losing. Twice the Archduke had driven him around the table; now he forced him slowly back ... back ... back ... to the wall ... against it ... tight against it.

“Yield, cousin!” he said; “it’s your last chance.”

But the Duke only smiled mockingly and fought on.

With an appealing cry Madeline Spencer darted toward them.

“Spare him, Armand!” she pleaded, “spare him!”

The Archduke stepped out of distance, but with point still advanced.

“Take him!” he said, “take him, and joy with him!”

Ferdinand of Lotzen slowly raised his sword in salute.

“My thanks, cousin!” he said, “I can accept from her what I could not from you. You have bested me—the game is over. I shall not be needed at the reading of the decree.—Your Royal Highness—Messieurs of the Council—I bid you fare-well.” He held out his hand to Madeline Spencer. “Come, my Duchess, we will to your Paris and the Rue Royale.—Monsieur le Comte, the door!”—and with all the stately grace and courteous deference of a minuet he led her down the room, and bowed her out, and himself after.

There was a moment of silence; then the Archduke spoke.

“My lords, the Book of Laws is found, or so much of it as the fire has spared. How we chanced to come upon it here will best be told another time; enough now that but for the daring and quick wit of Her Royal Highness, it would have been forever lost.” He glanced at the clock. “The hour for the Council has already passed. Your Excellency, the Laws are before you, will you do us the favor to read the decree?”

The Count stepped forward and lifted the Book from the rug; of the heavy cover little remained but the brass hinges; the first few pages were scorched and half consumed, and all the edges charred and split and eaten into by the flames; but otherwise it seemed to be without hurt.

Yet Dehra’s hand went to her heart, and her breath came sharply, as slowly and carefully Epping turned the leaves, holding them together the while, lest they break apart. Was the decree there! Might Lotzen have destroyed it—torn it from the Book, before they came upon him!

Then the Count stopped, and bending down read for a moment. When he looked up there was a strange expression on his face; he did not speak at once; and when he did his voice was repressed and almost trembling.

“It is here,” he said; “executed the day before King Frederick died. I read it: