Part 6

Well pleased with my theory I began to test it and found to my delight that it satisfactorily explained many things. If the girl and boy were one, the remarkable physical resemblance would be natural and the expression of pain on Solonika's face when I shook her hand would be explained. What would be more natural than the Duke's action in denying his castle to visitors? When Nick and I called that morning he could not let us in to see the Prince because Solonika was in the summer-house!

Then Doubt came knocking at my door. After all, the Red Fox might have been discourteous to us because we were the avowed friends of his enemy, General Palmora. Under the circumstances I could not blame him for what he did. And had he not explained everything when he declared the birth of twins? It is not unusual for twins to look alike.

"But," whispered Suspicion in my ear, "how about Solonika's half suppressed cry of pain?"

Here was I back to my starting point. It was too baffling a problem for one man to solve. I felt that I needed help; some one who might shed more light upon the subject, and I turned to Nick. He had never taken any stock in the General's talk, and always ridiculed the efforts I made to point out that which I believed lent colour to Palmora's suspicions. That he had some reason for his faith was evident, and I determined to risk his displeasure to learn it.

"Nick," I said, startling him out of his dreams by sitting beside him on the arm of his chair and putting my elbow under his head, "have you ever been able to learn what the General suspects about the Red Fox and the succession?"

"Did you ever talk with a brighter woman in your life, Dale?" he replied.

"Solonika?"

He nodded. Here was the same old susceptible boy, who indiscriminately decorated our rooms at college with pictures of chorus girls, or leading women, who temporarily queened it over his fickle fancy and who faded away into the forgetful mist of passing years. Was he never going to grow up, I wondered.

"She's pretty enough," I replied, "but I wish you would answer my question."

"Pretty enough," he echoed. "Oh, you stone man. When a woman like Solonika cannot make your heart beat faster, I begin to despair for you."

I did not tell him how much the Princess had interested me, and that it was the light of sadness deep down in her eyes, which had escaped him, that made me wish to clear up the mystery and help her if I could. If she were a masquerader what a terrible life she had before her. I pitied her.

"Surely," I said, "the good General had some serious reason for bringing you back."

"Serious he may think it," said Nick, "but I see no reason for coupling my return with the General's suspicions of Dhalmatia. I think, from what I saw this morning, that Duke Marbosa had more to do with it."

"I suppose you would not entertain the thought for a moment that the Prince and the Princess were the same person?"

Nick looked at me as if I were suddenly become a madman. Then he threw back his head and laughed so loud and long that I, feeling uncomfortably small, shook him to make him stop. His answer I thought most curious.

"Great heavens, Dale, this is Bharbazonia."

"All the more reason for believing it possible," I retorted.

He laughed again.

"Oh, no," he said, "you have reckoned without the Church."

"Come now, Nick, answer me straight. Cease talking in riddles. What has the Church got to do with it?"

Nick suddenly became sober. He saw that I was serious, and addressed himself to the task of enlightening me.

"Listen, Dale," he began, like one entering into a long argument, "I will tell you all about it and when I am through you must accept what I say as final and forget these romantic American notions of yours. The Greek church of Bharbazonia has everything to do with it. To begin with, for the sake of argument, we will admit that the General and you are right--the Prince and the Princess are one, and that one is a woman. I believe that is your theory?"

"Go on," I said, nodding.

"Now, do you know what that would entail?"

"The woman's life would be a hell on earth, I suppose."

"It would mean death if she were ever detected," said Nick, solemnly.

This was going farther than I expected. I looked at Nick, but his face was immovable. He was not joking.

"Yes, but how? Why?" I exclaimed.

"In the first place the clergy in this country, as in many other European lands, stand before the nobles in power. The king, the nobles and the peasantry are all subject to their will. Here, church and state are not divorced as they are in France and America."

"But how would Solonika come within the power of the Church? Why should it wish to harm her?"

"Every coronation service, like marriage, is a deeply religious ceremony," Nick continued steadily. "As you know, it takes place in the Cathedral at Nischon. It is conducted by the Patriarch, the front of the Greek Catholic Church of Bharbazonia. When this woman, who in your fancy is masquerading as the Prince, takes the oath of office, becoming at once the head of the Church and the ruler of the kingdom, she must ascend the altar and stand within the Holy of Holies, where it is a sacrilege for a woman to go!"

"Good heavens," I exclaimed, rising to my feet in consternation. Nick smiled at the effect of his words and continued:

"Granting that the Red Fox of Dhalmatia would go to great lengths to procure the throne, do you think that any father would take such risks? Do you think that a woman like Solonika would affront her religion for the sake of being king? You may trifle with the superstitious beliefs of the highly civilized, if they have any, but you cannot play tricks with the primitive. The populace of Bharbazonia, if they ever found her out, though she be king, would rend her limb from limb, urged on by the religious frenzy of the outraged priesthood. Are you answered?"

"I am answered," I replied.

But Nick was not satisfied that he had convinced me.

"I will tell you this, Dale," he added, earnestly. "If Solonika committed such a sacrilege against my Church and her people, I, a Bharbazonian, might forget my Occidental cultivation, and, though I might love her, would strangle her to death with these two hands."

He stretched his hands toward me and crushed his fingers together over an imaginary throat. I watched him fascinated; here was a new Nicholas and one that I did not like. I was not so sure that David knew the innermost secrets of Jonathan's heart.

"So, that is Bharbazonia," I said.

He detected the detraction in my voice, and came to the defence of his Fatherland.

"Yes, that is Bharbazonia," he replied. "And can you expect more of a people who have suffered as we have from the persecution of the merciless Turks? There is nothing gentle, nothing refining in the traditions behind us. Do you know what it means to come home and find the body of your wife, nude and desecrated, lying in its blood in the doorway of your once happy, happy home? Do you know what it means to the stunted mental growth of a community to have its little earnings taken for taxes for the support of luxurious Mohammedan harems, when its children are without schools? And can the religion of a country be more enlightened than its followers? Do not blame Bharbazonia for what she is. She is crushed, she is broken, she is bleeding; but she lives."

"With your education and training, Nick, why do you not take a leading part in helping your own country? You love your fellows, I know."

"Oh, if I had the power; if I were only king in Bharbazonia; what would I not do? I would ask nothing better for my life work, but, as it is, I am doing the next best thing, not alone for my country but also for the entire Balkans, in furthering the work of the Order of the Cross against the power of the Crescent."

The noise of the engine along the driveway announced the return of the General in the car. He came bounding into the room like a boy, full of his trip to the capital and the magnificent preparations for the coronation.

"I met a certain young woman who was much disappointed because you had not come, Nicholas," said he.

"Who was she?" asked Nick.

"The Princess Teskla."

"I trust you gave her my best regards."

"I did. And further, I promised not to return to the Palace until I brought you."

From the General's manner I judged that Nicholas and the king's daughter were very good friends, and that the General was more than pleased. He became so enthusiastic in recounting the charms of the young lady that I began to suspect him of being a matchmaker. Nick had spent much of his time at the palace after his father died four years ago, but had not seen the Princess since. He corresponded with her in his desultory fashion, and I smiled as I recalled how letter writing languished with him. The General, in his role of Cupid, let fly dart after dart from his quiver.

"Do you know, my son," he insinuated, "I think Teskla is in love with you?"

"Think so, Godfather?" said Nick, shrugging his shoulders.

"A splendid girl, sir; a splendid girl I believe."

But Nick abruptly changed the subject.

"You promised to tell me why Grand Duke Marbosa was so interested in my return," he said.

"You are referring to his messenger of this morning?" replied Palmora, becoming again the diplomat and statesman.

Nick nodded.

"The Duke is anxious to enroll you with the rest of the nobles under his leadership in opposition to the Red Fox's son. He is planning something desperate, I feel sure. He will not be frank with me. But I know that he will strike before the coronation."

"What have I to do with Marbosa and the nobles of Bharbazonia?" said Nick. "The Order is not interested, is it?"

"He has not gone as far as to make our Bharbazonian succession an international affair. He would not dare."

The talk drifted aimlessly, I thought, upon the poverty of the people and their lack of education; Marbosa's stern patriotism and his willingness to shed blood for the good of his country; the General's opposition to Marbosa in favor of peace. I ceased to follow their discussion until I heard the General say:

"Nicholas, I desire to tell you a story."

"But you cannot convince me, General," said Nick. "I think Marbosa is right. He has the good of Bharbazonia at heart."

"I believe he has," said the General. "But listen. There once was a high minded man who was a descendant of a long line of kings. His ancestors, for centuries, had not lived in their Fatherland since it fell into the hands of a conquering host from another country. Many of them, leading ineffectual armies of restoration, were killed; and private assassins in the pay of the conquerors murdered any member of the royal family they could find even in exile. To prevent his enemies from killing him, this king, as his father and grandfather before him had done, assumed a fictitious name and went into a far country. There, like any other man, he worked, dreaming of the time when he should come into his own, hoping against hope.

"So completely did he hide himself, that he rarely received news of his home. But one day he learned that the land was free and that his countrymen, deeming the last of their kings dead, had placed a noble upon the throne and thus established another royal family.

"He came back to his Fatherland intent upon proclaiming himself. Through all the years he had carefully preserved the proofs of his identity, and he had no difficulty in convincing a few of the nobles whom he took into his confidence that he was the king. They were intent upon a revolution; but the fame of the present ruler was great; he had been a wonderful soldier in the battles for freedom and the people loved him. The fight which would follow must disrupt the Fatherland, still suffering under the poverty and vice of the years of bondage. An internal quarrel would have destroyed it.

"The king was a great man, greater than the world knew. He restrained his friends in their efforts to win the throne for him. He refused to take it, holding that what his beloved country needed most of all was peace--peace to bind up its wounds and win prosperity and happiness. His friends urged him, but he remained firm. He went away and never pressed his claim. Love of country with him was greater than love for a throne.

"Later he married and a son was born to him. Then his heart misgave him. Had he done well to rob the boy of his birthright? The thought troubled him. Yet he remained true to his better impulses, and still held that his country needed peace. He sought out the oldest friend he had in the county, a man of considerable influence who was in sympathy with the great sacrifice his liege lord was making.

"'Although I have given up my throne,' he said, 'I want my boy some day to reign. The time may come after I am dead when you may see a way to give him his own again without injury to the Fatherland. When that time comes, old friend, will you do it?'

"'I will,' said the friend.

"'The youth is impetuous. He may not be able to see the right as I have seen it. He may not be able to control his selfish motives as I have done. Therefore do you keep my secret from him. But, if the boy wax strong and is able to follow the right course, you may tell him the truth. Until that time shall come keep the secret from him, for the love you bear me and our Fatherland.'"

In this world, where one sees so much of sordidness, it was refreshing to hear the General tell of an action so high-minded as to be almost beyond belief. I liked to feel that such things still existed.

"I have told this story often to Duke Marbosa. But he is not impressed," continued the General. "The Red Fox's leanings toward the Turk are, to Marbosa, like the red flag before the eyes of a bull. He does not like Prince Raoul's father and in that I cannot blame him. But I cannot make him see that Bharbazonia needs peace just now. What do you think, Nicholas?"

"I am rather in sympathy with Marbosa, Godfather," said Nick.

The General was watching Nick closely, his eyes half concealed beneath his bushy eyebrows. A look of disappointment passed over his face at the answer. He said something half to himself, which I did not clearly catch. It sounded like "The time is not yet," but I could not be sure.

"You are very young, my son," he said aloud, "and the Duke of Marbosa is old enough to know better."

Both of them relapsed into the Bharbazonian speech and I went off to bed alone. I do not know what time Nick came in, but I was aroused a little by hearing the General calling across the hallway from his own room:

"Now, remember, son, we meet at the Turk's Head Inn. It is important that you be there, for I believe we will make history to-morrow. So, do not oversleep."

*CHAPTER VIII*

*THE TWINS OF DHALMATIA*

The flying rumours father'd as they rolled, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told; And all who told it added something new, And all who heard it made enlargements too; In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew. --_Pope: Temple of Fame_.

When I awoke the next morning Nick's side of the bed was empty. In answer to my ring the butler served breakfast in my room. Mr. Nicholas and General Palmora he said had eaten before dawn and gone out in the wonderful machine, leaving word that they would return for dinner in the evening. He knew not where they had gone. For once in my life I was thankful I knew French, else I might have starved.

There was no reason why I should arise, so I lay in bed thinking of this curious country, trying to imagine what secret business would have caused Nick to leave me without explanation. The face of Solonika came repeatedly uppermost in my thoughts. Could one so beautiful, so gentle, so feminine, be a party to such a terrible deception as my fanciful suspicions made necessary for her? Those steadfast, honest eyes could not belong to one who carried within her breast a secret so grave.

Nicholas's talk of sacrilege opened a new line of conjecture. If the Red Fox were playing so huge a joke upon his countrymen, he was laughing in the face of a danger most appalling. I had seen him once and I knew that he was crafty. If his ambition were equal to it, he might not hesitate even at sacrilege. The very danger might add zest.

Always there recurred to me the memory of Solonika's pain when I took her hand. Here I was travelling in my endless circle. If I could go over to Dhalmatia and see the Prince and Princess together all doubts would be at rest. This vain pursuit of garbled rumour, garnished and re-garnished in the telling, was worse than useless.

Time hung heavily on my hands during the morning. Castle Framkor seemed deserted without Nicholas and the General. By lunch time my loneliness became unbearable and I went for a walk. Subconsciously my feet carried me toward Dhalmatia, and I came out of my musings on the steps of the summer-house.

No one answered my knock and I could see through the glass partitions that the cosy den was vacant. Should I go to the castle? I took to the driveway, but, when I emerged from the trees and came in sight of the turrets, my resolution failed me. I remembered the Red Fox's discourteous treatment and did not care to brave the animal in his lair. I retreated to the steps of the summer-house and sat down to think.

To be sure Solonika had invited us to renew our visit. She had promised to have an interview with her father, and from her assurance she led us to believe that she could not fail. Doubtless if I knocked at the castle door I would be admitted, but I could not forget my pride. On the other hand, if I did not go to Dhalmatia, how was I to solve the mystery which was baffling me? How was I to see the Prince and Princess together?

"Please, sir," said a woman's voice at my elbow, "the mistress desires to see you at the castle."

It was Therese, the maid. Solonika had seen me a moment before standing in full view of the castle; had watched my retreat, and guessed the cause. Opportunity lay ready to my hand.

"Thank you; I will go," I said.

"To the _porte-cochere_, and knock upon the door," she said, as she vanished behind the summer-house.

Evidently the persuasive Solonika had been at work and won her expected victory, for the grim, old butler smiled graciously and bade me enter.

"Would Monsieur the physician desire to see the Prince?" he asked.

Somewhere in the castle the Princess was waiting, expecting my coming. Why not first see the Prince and then call upon her? Thus might I satisfy my great desire without arousing suspicion.

"Yes, I would see the Prince," I answered.

The old man bent his back in a half bow and smilingly led me with all the dignity and speed of a turtle to the Prince's quarters, which fortunately were but a short distance from the reception hall. If the ways of those who love the darkness are evil, the Red Fox's ways must certainly be evil, for the interior of his castle was very dark. The windows were screened with heavy curtains, permitting little daylight to enter. My eyes, fresh from the sunlight, had to become accustomed to the lack of light before I could see my way about. I hung close upon the heels of my slow guide until he paused in a doorway and announced in a stately manner:

"Monsieur le doctaire for the Prince."

There was the sound of a chair being moved back as if some one arose. I bowed upon the threshold, looking swiftly about. The Duke and the Prince were before me, but Solonika was nowhere to be seen. The Duke was standing beside a table acknowledging my bow. He was dressed in the same quaint manner as when I had seen him two days before.

His son, the Prince, remained seated on the opposite side of the table. His back was toward me, and he did not turn. He was attired in a long, full-skirted coat of black, black knee breeches with buckles at the knee, black silk stockings and silver-buckled, low black shoes. Leaning against the arm of his high-backed carved chair was his sword. It had evidently been uncomfortable, and was laid aside belt and all. The Prince's right arm was in a sling.

The two had been interested in a game of cards when I interrupted them. Judging from the formation of the pasteboards upon the green cloth, they were playing "double solitaire," that paradoxical game for one which two or three can play. It is also one of the few games of cards which can be played with one hand.

The Duke placed a chair at the table beside him and waved me into it with a gracious smile. When I was seated, the Prince ceased scanning the cards on the table and looked at me as one would at a stranger. He was so like Solonika, and yet acted so unlike her, that I was uncomfortable.

"Raoul, permit me to present Dr. Wharton who took such good care of you when you were thrown," said the Duke in London English.

The young man and I nodded coldly. Above all things I desired to hear his voice.

"Do not permit me to interrupt the game," I said, lightly, but it was the Duke who replied.

"I am more than pleased to see you, Dr. Wharton, if only to extend my apologies for the affair of yesterday. Servants make sad mistakes sometimes."

Servants and Grand Dukes were somewhat alike in that respect, I thought, but I ventured no remark.

"When you were gone, I gave orders to Dajerak, the butler, never to permit General Palmora to enter this house again. He understood it to apply to the General's party. I did not know of his action until my daughter told me of it."

So Solonika had kept her promise to give the old gentleman a talking to. I was secretly amused at the hard work the Fox was making of it.

"I am pleased you overlooked my boorishness and returned," he concluded.

"It is nothing," I assured him.

"We have few visitors at Dhalmatia," he sighed, "and we would be most happy to entertain you and that other--American."

Was there just the shadow of a pause mere and a slight narrowing about the eyelids as he said this? Solonika's efforts were not confined alone to me. She desired to have the handsome Nicholas call upon her as well.

"Perhaps, in your professional capacity, you will look at the Prince's wounds," he said.

"If the Prince has no objections," I said.

He was idly toying with his cards, listening with a half smile to the conversation. When I pointedly addressed him he looked straight at me with Solonika's eyes. My heart thumped against my ribs, but, when he spoke in a voice like, yet unlike, his sister's, and in halting broken English where hers had run smoothly, the illusion was spoiled, and I was more than half convinced that my quest was a fool's errand.

"I have objections," he said, drawing away.

The Prince, I could see, still suffered considerable pain when he moved his right arm, which was to be expected. The slight contusions on the head were healing nicely; and the Duke said that no complications or internal injuries showed signs of developing.

"Your son will suffer no inconvenience at the coronation," I said in reply to the Duke's anxious question. "He will be entirely recovered by that time, I should think, if he remains perfectly quiet."

"You hear, Raoul, you must not run about so much," cried the father.

"I hear," said the boy, with one of Solonika's brightest smiles.

The Duke, seeing that the Prince replied only in monosyllables, became talkative. He could not do enough for me. He served his best wines and insisted that I accept several packages of his Turkish cigarettes, because I happened to praise them. The Prince so far unbent as to accept a light for his cigarette from my hand. As the blue rings ascended we became more sociable, and I ventured to ask why the Duke disliked the General, a character whom I thought all men should admire.