Chapter IX: Part II (4)

“Sire,” he said, “the fellow knows that he is already as good as dead, and so in his bravado he dares affront you. He has been convicted of spying by the Austrians. He is still a spy. It is unnecessary to repeat the formality of a trial.”

Leopold at last found his voice, though it trembled and broke as he spoke.

“Carry out the sentence of the Austrian court in the morning,” he said. “A volley now might arouse the garrison in the town and be misconstrued.”

Maenck ordered Barney escorted from the apartment, then he turned toward the king.

“And the other prisoner, sire?” he inquired.

“There is no other prisoner,” he said. “Her highness, the Princess von der Tann, is a guest of Prince Peter. She will be escorted to her apartment at once.”

“Her highness, the Princess von der Tann, is not a guest of Prince Peter.” The girl’s voice was low and cold. “If Mr. Custer is a prisoner, her highness, too, is a prisoner. If he is to be shot, she demands a like fate. To die by the side of a MAN would be infinitely preferable to living by the side of your majesty.”

Once again Leopold of Lutha reddened. For a moment he paced the room angrily to hide his emotion. Then he turned once to Maenck.

“Escort the prisoner to the north tower,” he commanded, “and this insolent girl to the chambers next to ours. Tomorrow we shall talk with her again.”

Outside the room Barney turned for a last look at the princess as he was being led in one direction and she in another. A smile of encouragement was on his lips and cold hopelessness in his heart. She answered the smile and her lips formed a silent “good-bye.” They formed something else, too—three words which he was sure he could not have mistaken, and then they parted, he for the death chamber and she for what fate she could but guess.

As his guard halted before a door at the far end of a long corridor Barney Custer sensed a sudden familiarity in his surroundings. He was conscious of that sensation which is common to all of us—of having lived through a scene at some former time, to each minutest detail.

As the door opened and he was pushed into the room he realized that there was excellent foundation for the impression—he immediately recognized the apartment as the same in which he had once before been imprisoned. At that time he had been mistaken for the mad king who had escaped from the clutches of Peter of Blentz. The same king was now visiting as a guest the fortress in which he had spent ten bitter years as a prisoner.

“Say your prayers, my friend,” admonished Maenck, as he was about to leave him alone, “for at dawn you die—and this time the firing squad will make a better job of it.”

Barney did not answer him, and the captain departed, locking the door after him and leaving two men on guard in the corridor. Alone, Barney looked about the room. It was in no wise changed since his former visit to it. He recalled the incidents of the hour of his imprisonment here, thought of old Joseph who had aided his escape, looked at the paneled fireplace, whose secret, it was evident, not even the master of Blentz was familiar with—and grinned.

“‘For at dawn you die!’” he repeated to himself, still smiling broadly. Then he crossed quickly to the fireplace, running his fingers along the edge of one of the large tiled panels that hid the entrance to the well-like shaft that rose from the cellars beneath to the towers above and which opened through similar concealed exits upon each floor. If the floor above should be untenanted he might be able to reach it as he and Joseph had done two years ago when they opened the secret panel in the fireplace and climbed a hidden ladder to the room overhead; and then by vacant corridors reached the far end of the castle above the suite in which the princess had been confined and near which Barney had every reason to believe she was now imprisoned.

Carefully Barney’s fingers traversed the edges of the panel. No hidden latch rewarded his search. Again and again he examined the perfectly fitted joints until he was convinced either that there was no latch there or that it was hid beyond possibility of discovery. With each succeeding minute the American’s heart and hopes sank lower and lower. Two years had elapsed since he had seen the secret portal swing to the touch of Joseph’s fingers. One may forget much in two years; but that he was at work upon the right panel Barney was positive. However, it would do no harm to examine its mate which resembled it in minutest detail.

Almost indifferently Barney turned his attention to the other panel. He ran his fingers over it, his eyes following them. What was that? A finger-print? Upon the left side half way up a tiny smudge was visible. Barney examined it more carefully. A round, white figure of the conventional design that was burned into the tile bore the telltale smudge.

Otherwise it differed apparently in no way from the numerous other round, white figures that were repeated many times in the scheme of decoration. Barney placed his thumb exactly over the mark that another thumb had left there and pushed. The figure sank into the panel beneath the pressure. Barney pushed harder, breathless with suspense. The panel swung in at his effort. The American could have whooped with delight.

A moment more and he stood upon the opposite side of the secret door in utter darkness, for he had quickly closed it after him. To strike a match was but the matter of a moment. The wavering light revealed the top of the ladder that led downward and the foot of another leading aloft. He struck still more matches in search of the rope. It was not there, but his quest revealed the fact that the well at this point was much larger than he had imagined—it broadened into a small chamber.

The light of many matches finally led him to the discovery of a passageway directly behind the fireplace. It was narrow, and after spanning the chimney descended by a few rough steps to a slightly lower level. It led toward the opposite end of the castle. Could it be possible that it connected directly with the apartments in the farther tower—in the tower where the king was and the Princess Emma? Barney could scarce hope for any such good luck, but at least it was worth investigating—it must lead somewhere.

He followed it warily, feeling his way with hands and feet and occasionally striking a match. It was evident that the corridor lay in the thick wall of the castle, midway between the bottoms of the windows of the second floor and the tops of those upon the first—this would account for the slightly lower level of the passage from the floor of the second story.

Barney had traversed some distance in the darkness along the forgotten corridor when the sound of voices came to him from beyond the wall at his right. He stopped, motionless, pressing his ear against the side wall. As he did so he became aware of the fact that at this point the wall was of wood—a large panel of hardwood. Now he could hear even the words of the speaker upon the opposite side.

“Fetch her here, captain, and I will talk with her alone.” The voice was the king’s. “And, captain, you might remove the guard from before the door temporarily. I shall not require them, nor do I wish them to overhear my conversation with the princess.”

Barney could hear the officer acknowledge the commands of the king, and then he heard a door close. The man had gone to fetch the princess. The American struck a match and examined the panel before him. It reached to the top of the passageway and was some three feet in width.

At one side were three hinges, and at the other an ancient spring lock. For an instant Barney stood in indecision. What should he do? His entry into the apartments of the king would result in alarming the entire fortress. Were he sure the king was alone it might be accomplished. Should he enter now or wait until the Princess Emma had been brought to the king?

With the question came the answer—a bold and daring scheme. His fingers sought the lock. Very gently, he unlatched it and pushed outward upon the panel. Suddenly the great doorway gave beneath his touch. It opened a crack letting a flood of light into his dark cell that almost blinded him.

For a moment he could see nothing, and then out of the glaring blur grew the figure of a man sitting at a table—with his back toward the panel.

It was the king, and he was alone. Noiselessly Barney Custer entered the apartment, closing the panel after him. At his back now was the great oil painting of the Blentz princess that had hid the secret entrance to the room. He crossed the thick rugs until he stood behind the king. Then he clapped one hand over the mouth of the monarch of Lutha and threw the other arm about his neck.

“Make the slightest outcry and I shall kill you,” he whispered in the ear of the terrified man.

Across the room Barney saw a revolver lying upon a small table. He raised the king to his feet and, turning his back toward the weapon dragged him across the apartment until the table was within easy reach. Then he snatched up the revolver and swung the king around into a chair facing him, the muzzle of the gun pressed against his face.

“Silence,” he whispered.

The king, white and trembling, gasped as his eyes fell upon the face of the American.

“You?” His voice was barely audible.

“Take off your clothes—every stitch of them—and if any one asks for admittance, deny them. Quick, now,” as the king hesitated. “My life is forfeited unless I can escape. If I am apprehended I shall see that you pay for my recapture with your life—if any one enters this room without my sanction they will enter it to find a dead king upon the floor; do you understand?”

The king made no reply other than to commence divesting himself of his clothing. Barney followed his example, but not before he had crossed to the door that opened into the main corridor and shot the bolt upon the inside. When both men had removed their clothing Barney pointed to the little pile of soiled peasant garb that he had worn.

“Put those on,” he commanded.

The king hesitated, drawing back in disgust. Barney paused, half-way into the royal union suit, and leveled the revolver at Leopold. The king picked up one of the garments gingerly between the tips of his thumb and finger.

“Hurry!” admonished the American, drawing the silk half-hose of the ruler of Lutha over his foot. “If you don’t hurry,” he added, “someone may interrupt us, and you know what the result would be—to you.”

Scowling, Leopold donned the rough garments. Barney, fully clothed in the uniform the king had been wearing, stepped across the apartment to where the king’s sword and helmet lay upon the side table that had also borne the revolver. He placed the helmet upon his head and buckled the sword-belt about his waist, then he faced the king, behind whom was a cheval glass. In it Barney saw his image. The king was looking at the American, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. Barney did not wonder at his consternation. He himself was dumbfounded by the likeness which he bore to the king. It was positively uncanny. He approached Leopold.

“Remove your rings,” he said, holding out his hand. The king did as he was bid, and Barney slipped the two baubles upon his fingers. One of them was the royal ring of the kings of Lutha.

The American now blindfolded the king and led him toward the panel which had given him ingress to the room. Through it the two men passed, Barney closing the panel after them. Then he conducted the king back along the dark passageway to the room which the American had but recently quitted. At the back of the panel which led into his former prison Barney halted and listened. No sound came from beyond the partition. Gently Barney opened the secret door a trifle—just enough to permit him a quick survey of the interior of the apartment. It was empty. A smile crossed his face as he thought of the difficulty Leopold might encounter the following morning in convincing his jailers that he was not the American.

Then he recalled his reflection in the cheval glass and frowned. Could Leopold convince them? He doubted it—and what then? The American was sentenced to be shot at dawn. They would shoot the king instead. Then there would be none to whom to return the kingship. What would he do with it? The temptation was great. Again a throne lay within his grasp—a throne and the woman he loved. None might ever know unless he chose to tell—his resemblance to Leopold was too perfect. It defied detection.

With an exclamation of impatience he wheeled about and dragged the frightened monarch back to the room from which he had stolen him. As he entered he heard a knock at the door.

“Do not disturb me now,” he called. “Come again in half an hour.”

“But it is Her Highness, Princess Emma, sire,” came a voice from beyond the door. “You summoned her.”

“She may return to her apartments,” replied Barney.

All the time he kept his revolver leveled at the king, from his eyes he had removed the blind after they had entered the apartment. He crossed to the table where the king had been sitting when he surprised him, motioning the ragged ruler to follow and be seated.

“Take that pen,” he said, “and write a full pardon for Mr. Bernard Custer, and an order requiring that he be furnished with money and set at liberty at dawn.”

The king did as he was bid. For a moment the American stood looking at him before he spoke again.

“You do not deserve what I am going to do for you,” he said. “And Lutha deserves a better king than the one my act will give her; but I am neither a thief nor a murderer, and so I must forbear leaving you to your just deserts and return your throne to you. I shall do so after I have insured my own safety and done what I can for Lutha—what you are too little a man and king to do yourself.

“So soon as they liberate you in the morning, make the best of your way to Brosnov, on the Serbian frontier. Await me there. When I can, I shall come. Again we may exchange clothing and you can return to Lustadt. I shall cross over into Siberia out of your reach, for I know you too well to believe that any sense of honor or gratitude would prevent you signing my death-warrant at the first opportunity. Now, come!”

Once again Barney led the blindfolded king through the dark corridor to the room in the opposite tower—to the prison of the American. At the open panel he shoved him into the apartment. Then he drew the door quietly to, leaving the king upon the inside, and retraced his steps to the royal apartments. Crossing to the center table, he touched an electric button. A moment later an officer knocked at the door, which, in the meantime, Barney had unbolted.

“Enter!” said the American. He stood with his back toward the door until he heard it close behind the officer. When he turned he was apparently examining his revolver. If the officer suspected his identity, it was just as well to be prepared. Slowly he raised his eyes to the newcomer, who stood stiffly at salute. The officer looked him full in the face.

“I answered your majesty’s summons,” said the man.

“Oh, yes!” returned the American. “You may fetch the Princess Emma.”

The officer saluted once more and backed out of the apartment. Barney walked to the table and sat down. A tin box of cigarettes lay beside the lamp. Barney lighted one of them. The king had good taste in the selection of tobacco, he thought. Well, a man must need have some redeeming characteristics.

Outside, in the corridor, he heard voices, and again the knock at the door. He bade them enter. As the door opened Emma von der Tann, her head thrown back and a flush of anger on her face, entered the room. Behind her was the officer who had been despatched to bring her. Barney nodded to the latter.

“You may go,” he said. He drew a chair from the table and asked the princess to be seated. She ignored his request.

“What do you wish of me?” she asked. She was looking straight into his eyes. The officer had withdrawn and closed the door after him. They were alone, with nothing to fear; yet she did not recognize him.

“You are the king,” she continued in cold, level tones, “but if you are also a gentleman, you will at once order me returned to my father at Lustadt, and with me the man to whom you owe so much. I do not expect it of you, but I wish to give you the chance.

“I shall not go without him. I am betrothed to you; but until tonight I should rather have died than wed you. Now I am ready to compromise. If you will set Mr. Custer at liberty in Serbia and return me unharmed to my father, I will fulfill my part of our betrothal.”

Barney Custer looked straight into the girl’s face for a long moment. A half smile played upon his lips at the thought of her surprise when she learned the truth, when suddenly it dawned upon him that she and he were both much safer if no one, not even her loyal self, guessed that he was other than the king. It is not difficult to live a part, but often it is difficult to act one. Some little word or look, were she to know that he was Barney Custer, might betray them; no, it was better to leave her in ignorance, though his conscience pricked him for the disloyalty that his act implied.

It seemed a poor return for her courage and loyalty to him that her statement to the man she thought king had revealed. He marveled that a Von der Tann could have spoken those words—a Von der Tann who but the day before had refused to save her father’s life at the loss of the family honor. It seemed incredible to the American that he had won such love from such a woman. Again came the mighty temptation to keep the crown and the girl both; but with a straightening of his broad shoulders he threw it from him.

She was promised to the king, and while he masqueraded in the king’s clothes, he at least would act the part that a king should. He drew a folded paper from his inside pocket and handed it to the girl.

“Here is the American’s pardon,” he said, “drawn up and signed by the king’s own hand.”

She opened it and, glancing through it hurriedly, looked up at the man before her with a questioning expression in her eyes.

“You came, then,” she said, “to a realization of the enormity of your ingratitude?”

The man shrugged.

“He will never die at my command,” he said.

“I thank your majesty,” she said simply. “As a Von der Tann, I have tried to believe that a Rubinroth could not be guilty of such baseness. And now, tell me what your answer is to my proposition.”

“We shall return to Lustadt tonight,” he replied. “I fear the purpose of Prince Peter. In fact, it may be difficult—even impossible—for us to leave Blentz; but we can at least make the attempt.”

“Can we not take Mr. Custer with us?” she asked. “Prince Peter may disregard your majesty’s commands and, after you are gone, have him shot. Do not forget that he kept the crown from Peter of Blentz—it is certain that Prince Peter will never forget it.”

“I give you my word, your highness, that I know positively that if I leave Blentz tonight Prince Peter will not have Mr. Custer shot in the morning, and it will so greatly jeopardize his own plans if we attempt to release the prisoner that in all probability we ourselves will be unable to escape.”

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

“You give me your word that he will be safe?” she asked.

“My royal word,” he replied.

“Very well, let us leave at once.”

Barney touched the bell once more, and presently an officer of the Blentz faction answered the summons. As the man closed the door and approached, saluting, Barney stepped close to him.

“We are leaving for Tann tonight,” he said, “at once. You will conduct us from the castle and procure horses for us. All the time I shall walk at your elbow, and in my hand I shall carry this,” and he displayed the king’s revolver. “At the first indication of defection upon your part I shall kill you. Do you perfectly understand me?”

“But, your majesty,” exclaimed the officer, “why is it necessary that you leave thus surreptitiously? May not the king go and come in his own kingdom as he desires? Let me announce your wishes to Prince Peter that he may furnish you with a proper escort. Doubtless he will wish to accompany you himself, sire.”

“You will do precisely what I say without further comment,” snapped Barney. “Now get a—” He had been about to say: “Now get a move on you,” when it occurred to him that this was not precisely the sort of language that kings were supposed to use to their inferiors. So he changed it. “Now get a couple of horses for her highness and myself, as well as your own, for you will accompany us to Tann.”

The officer looked at the weapon in the king’s hand. He measured the distance between himself and the king. He well knew the reputed cowardice of Leopold. Could he make the leap and strike up the king’s hand before the timorous monarch found even the courage of the cornered rat to fire at him? Then his eyes sought the face of the king, searching for the signs of nervous terror that would make his conquest an easy one; but what he saw in the eyes that bored straight into his brought his own to the floor at the king’s feet.

What new force animated Leopold of Lutha? Those were not the eyes of a coward. No fear was reflected in their steely glitter. The officer mumbled an apology, saluted, and turned toward the door. At his elbow walked the impostor; a cavalry cape that had belonged to the king now covered his shoulders and hid the weapon that pressed its hard warning now and again into the short-ribs of the Blentz officer. Just behind the American came the Princess Emma von der Tann.

The three passed through the deserted corridors of the sleeping castle, taking a route at Barney’s suggestion that led them to the stable courtyard without necessitating traversing the main corridors or the great hall or the guardroom, in all of which there still were Austrian and Blentz soldiers, whose duties or pleasures had kept them from their blankets.

At the stables a sleepy groom answered the summons of the officer, whom Barney had warned not to divulge the identity of himself or the princess. He left the princess in the shadows outside the building. After what seemed an eternity to the American, three horses were led into the courtyard, saddled, and bridled. The party mounted and approached the gates. Here, Barney knew, might be encountered the most serious obstacle in their path. He rode close to the side of their unwilling conductor. Leaning forward in his saddle, he whispered in the man’s ear.

“Failure to pass us through the gates,” he said, “will be the signal for your death.”

The man reined in his mount and turned toward the American.

“I doubt if they will pass even me without a written order from Prince Peter,” he said. “If they refuse, you must reveal your identity. The guard is composed of Luthanians—I doubt if they will dare refuse your majesty.”

Then they rode on up to the gates. A soldier stepped from the sentry box and challenged them.

“Lower the drawbridge,” ordered the officer. “It is Captain Krantzwort on a mission for the king.”

The soldier approached, raising a lantern, which he had brought from the sentry box, and inspected the captain’s face. He seemed ill at ease. In the light of the lantern, the American saw that he was scarce more than a boy—doubtless a recruit. He saw the expression of fear and awe with which he regarded the officer, and it occurred to him that the effect of the king’s presence upon him would be absolutely overpowering. Still the soldier hesitated.

“My orders are very strict, sir,” he said. “I am to let no one leave without a written order from Prince Peter. If the sergeant or the lieutenant were here they would know what to do; but they are both at the castle—only two other soldiers are at the gates with me. Wait, and I will send one of them for the lieutenant.”

“No,” interposed the American. “You will send for no one, my man. Come closer—look at my face.”

The soldier approached, holding his lantern above his head. As its feeble rays fell upon the face and uniform of the man on horseback, the sentry gave a little gasp of astonishment.

“Now, lower the drawbridge,” said Barney Custer, “it is your king’s command.”

Quickly the fellow hastened to obey the order. The chains creaked and the windlass groaned as the heavy planking sank to place across the moat.

As Barney passed the soldier he handed him the pardon Leopold had written for the American.

“Give this to your lieutenant,” he said, “and tell him to hand it to Prince Peter before dawn tomorrow. Do not fail.”

A moment later the three were riding down the winding road toward Blentz. Barney had no further need of the officer who rode with them. He would be glad to be rid of him, for he anticipated that the fellow might find ample opportunity to betray them as they passed through the Austrian lines, which they must do to reach Lustadt.

He had told the captain that they were going to Tann in order that, should the man find opportunity to institute pursuit, he might be thrown off the track. The Austrian sentries were no great distance ahead when Barney ordered a halt.

“Dismount,” he directed the captain, leaping to the ground himself at the same time. “Put your hands behind your back.”

The officer did as he was bid, and Barney bound his wrists securely with a strap and buckle that he had removed from the cantle of his saddle as he rode. Then he led him off the road among some weeds and compelled him to lie down, after which he bound his ankles together and stuffed a gag in his mouth, securing it in place with a bit of stick and the chinstrap from the man’s helmet. The threat of the revolver kept Captain Krantzwort silent and obedient throughout the hasty operations.

“Good-bye, captain,” whispered Barney, “and let me suggest that you devote the time until your discovery and release in pondering the value of winning your king’s confidence in the future. Had you chosen your associates more carefully in the past, this need not have occurred.”

Barney unsaddled the captain’s horse and turned him loose, then he remounted and, with the princess at his side, rode down toward Blentz.

X. A NEW KING IN LUTHA

As the two riders approached the edge of the village of Blentz a sentry barred their way. To his challenge the American replied that they were “friends from the castle.”

“Advance,” directed the sentry, “and give the countersign.”

Barney rode to the fellow’s side, and leaning from the saddle whispered in his ear the word “Slankamen.”

Would it pass them out as it had passed Maenck in? Barney scarcely breathed as he awaited the result of his experiment. The soldier brought his rifle to present and directed them to pass. With a sigh of relief that was almost audible the two rode into the village and the Austrian lines.

Once within they met with no further obstacle until they reached the last line of sentries upon the far side of the town. It was with more confidence that Barney gave the countersign here, nor was he surprised that the soldier passed them readily; and now they were upon the highroad to Lustadt, with nothing more to bar their way.

For hours they rode on in silence. Barney wanted to talk with his companion, but as king he found nothing to say to her. The girl’s mind was filled with morbid reflections of the past few hours and dumb terror for the future. She would keep her promise to the king; but after—life would not be worth the living; why should she live? She glanced at the man beside her in the light of the coming dawn. Ah, why was he so like her American in outward appearances only? Their own mothers could scarce have distinguished them, and yet in character no two men could have differed more widely. The man turned to her.

“We are almost there,” he said. “You must be very tired.”

The words reflected a consideration that had never been a characteristic of Leopold. The girl began to wonder if there might not possibly be a vein of nobility in the man, after all, that she had never discovered. Since she had entered his apartments at Blentz he had been in every way a different man from the Leopold she had known of old. The boldness of his escape from Blentz supposed a courage that the king had never given the slightest indication of in the past. Could it be that he was making a genuine effort to become a man—to win her respect?

They were approaching Lustadt as the sun rose. A troop of horse was just emerging from the north gate. As it neared them they saw that the cavalrymen wore the uniforms of the Royal Horse Guard. At their head rode a lieutenant. As his eyes fell upon the face of the princess and her companion, he brought his troopers to a halt, and, with incredulity plain upon his countenance, advanced to meet them, his hand raised in salute to the king. It was Butzow.

Now Barney was sure that he would be recognized. For two years he and the Luthanian officer had been inseparable. Surely Butzow would penetrate his disguise. He returned his friend’s salute, looked him full in the eyes, and asked where he was riding.

“To Blentz, your majesty,” replied Butzow, “to demand an audience. I bear important word from Prince von der Tann. He has learned the Austrians are moving an entire army corps into Lutha, together with siege howitzers. Serbia has demanded that all Austrian troops be withdrawn from Luthanian territory at once, and has offered to assist your majesty in maintaining your neutrality by force, if necessary.”

As Butzow spoke his eyes were often upon the Princess Emma, and it was quite evident that he was much puzzled to account for her presence with the king. She was supposed to be at Tann, and Butzow knew well enough her estimate of Leopold to know that she would not be in his company of her own volition. His expression as he addressed the man he supposed to be his king was far from deferential. Barney could scarce repress a smile.

“We will ride at once to the palace,” he said. “At the gate you may instruct one of your sergeants to telephone to Prince von der Tann that the king is returning and will grant him audience immediately. You and your detachment will act as our escort.”

Butzow saluted and turned to his troopers, giving the necessary commands that brought them about in the wake of the pseudo-king. Once again Barney Custer, of Beatrice, rode into Lustadt as king of Lutha. The few people upon the streets turned to look at him as he passed, but there was little demonstration of love or enthusiasm.

Leopold had awakened no emotions of this sort in the hearts of his subjects. Some there were who still remembered the gallant actions of their ruler on the field of battle when his forces had defeated those of the regent, upon that other occasion when this same American had sat upon the throne of Lutha for two days and had led the little army to victory; but since then the true king had been with them daily in his true colors. Arrogance, haughtiness, and petty tyranny had marked his reign. Taxes had gone even higher than under the corrupt influence of the Blentz regime. The king’s days were spent in bed; his nights in dissipation. Old Ludwig von der Tann seemed Lutha’s only friend at court. Him the people loved and trusted.

It was the old chancellor who met them as they entered the palace—the Princess Emma, Lieutenant Butzow, and the false king. As the old man’s eyes fell upon his daughter, he gave an exclamation of surprise and of incredulity. He looked from her to the American.

“What is the meaning of this, your majesty?” he cried in a voice hoarse with emotion. “What does her highness in your company?”

There was neither fear nor respect in Prince Ludwig’s tone—only anger. He was demanding an accounting from Leopold, the man; not from Leopold, the king. Barney raised his hand.

“Wait,” he said, “before you judge. The princess was brought to Blentz by Prince Peter. She will tell you that I have aided her to escape and that I have accorded her only such treatment as a woman has a right to expect from a king.”

The girl inclined her head.

“His majesty has been most kind,” she said. “He has treated me with every consideration and respect, and I am convinced that he was not a willing party to my arrest and forcible detention at Blentz; or,” she added, “if he was, he regretted his action later and has made full reparation by bringing me to Lustadt.”

Prince von der Tann found difficulty in hiding his surprise at this evidence of chivalry in the cowardly king. But for his daughter’s testimony he could not have believed it possible that it lay within the nature of Leopold of Lutha to have done what he had done within the past few hours.

He bowed low before the man who wore the king’s uniform. The American extended his hand, and Von der Tann, taking it in his own, raised it to his lips.

“And now,” said Barney briskly, “let us go to my apartments and get to work. Your highness”—and he turned toward the Princess Emma—“must be greatly fatigued. Lieutenant Butzow, you will see that a suite is prepared for her highness. Afterward you may call upon Count Zellerndorf, whom I understand returned to Lustadt yesterday, and notify him that I will receive him in an hour. Inform the Serbian minister that I desire his presence at the palace immediately. Lose no time, lieutenant, and be sure to impress upon the Serbian minister that immediately means immediately.”

Butzow saluted and the Princess Emma curtsied, as the king turned and, slipping his arm through that of Prince Ludwig, walked away in the direction of the royal apartments. Once at the king’s desk Barney turned toward the chancellor. In his mind was the determination to save Lutha if Lutha could be saved. He had been forced to place the king in a position where he would be helpless, though that he would have been equally as helpless upon his throne the American did not doubt for an instant. However, the course of events had placed within his hands the power to serve not only Lutha but the house of Von der Tann as well. He would do in the king’s place what the king should have done if the king had been a man.

“Now, Prince Ludwig,” he said, “tell me just what conditions we must face. Remember that I have been at Blentz and that there the King of Lutha is not apt to learn all that transpires in Lustadt.”

“Sire,” replied the chancellor, “we face a grave crisis. Not only is there within Lutha the small force of Austrian troops that surround Blentz, but now an entire army corps has crossed the border. Unquestionably they are marching on Lustadt. The emperor is going to take no chances. He sent the first force into Lutha to compel Serbian intervention and draw Serbian troops from the Austro-Serbian battle line. Serbia has withheld her forces at my request, but she will not withhold them for long. We must make a declaration at once. If we declare against Austria we are faced by the menace of the Austrian troops already within our boundaries, but we shall have Serbia to help us.

“A Serbian army corps is on the frontier at this moment awaiting word from Lutha. If it is adverse to Austria that army corps will cross the border and march to our assistance. If it is favorable to Austria it will none the less cross into Lutha, but as enemies instead of allies. Serbia has acted honorably toward Lutha. She has not violated our neutrality. She has no desire to increase her possessions in this direction.

“On the other hand, Austria has violated her treaty with us. She has marched troops into our country and occupied the town of Blentz. Constantly in the past she has incited internal discord. She is openly championing the Blentz cause, which at last I trust your majesty has discovered is inimical to your interests.

“If Austria is victorious in her war with Serbia, she will find some pretext to hold Lutha whether Lutha takes her stand either for or against her. And most certainly is this true if it occurs that Austrian troops are still within the boundaries of Lutha when peace is negotiated. Not only our honor but our very existence demands that there be no Austrian troops in Lutha at the close of this war. If we cannot force them across the border we can at least make such an effort as will win us the respect of the world and a voice in the peace negotiations.

“If we must bow to the surrender of our national integrity, let us do so only after we have exhausted every resource of the country in our country’s defense. In the past your majesty has not appeared to realize the menace of your most powerful neighbor. I beg of you, sire, to trust me. Believe that I have only the interests of Lutha at heart, and let us work together for the salvation of our country and your majesty’s throne.”

Barney laid his hand upon the old man’s shoulder. It seemed a shame to carry the deception further, but the American well knew that only so could he accomplish aught for Lutha or the Von der Tanns. Once the old chancellor suspected the truth as to his identity he would be the first to denounce him.

“I think that you and I can work together, Prince Ludwig,” he said. “I have sent for the Serbian and Austrian ministers. The former should be here immediately.”

Nor did they have long to wait before the tall Slav was announced. Barney lost no time in getting down to business. He asked no questions. What Von der Tann had told him, what he had seen with his own eyes since he had entered Lutha, and what he had overheard in the inn at Burgova was sufficient evidence that the fate of Lutha hung upon the prompt and energetic decisions of the man who sat upon Lutha’s throne for the next few days.

Had Leopold been the present incumbent Lutha would have been lost, for that he would play directly into the hands of Austria was not to be questioned. Were Von der Tann to seize the reins of government a state of revolution would exist that would divide the state into two bitter factions, weaken its defense, and give Austria what she most desired—a plausible pretext for intervention.

Lutha’s only hope lay in united defense of her liberties under the leadership of the one man whom all acknowledged king—Leopold. Very well, Barney Custer, of Beatrice, would be Leopold for a few days, since the real Leopold had proven himself incompetent to meet the emergency.

General Petko, the Serbian minister to Lutha, brought to the audience the memory of a series of unpleasant encounters with the king. Leopold had never exerted himself to hide his pro-Austrian sentiments. Austria was a powerful country—Serbia, a relatively weak neighbor. Leopold, being a royal snob, had courted the favor of the emperor and turned up his nose at Serbia. The general was prepared for a repetition of the veiled affronts that Leopold delighted in according him; but this time he brought with him a reply that for two years he had been living in the hope of some day being able to deliver to the young monarch he so cordially despised.

It was an ultimatum from his government—an ultimatum couched in terms from which all diplomatic suavity had been stripped. If Barney Custer, of Beatrice, could have read it he would have smiled, for in plain American it might have been described as announcing to Leopold precisely “where he got off.” But Barney did not have the opportunity to read it, since that ultimatum was never delivered.

Barney took the wind all out of it by his first words. “Your excellency may wonder why it is that we have summoned you at such an early hour,” he said.

General Petko inclined his head in deferential acknowledgment of the truth of the inference.

“It is because we have learned from our chancellor,” continued the American, “that Serbia has mobilized an entire army corps upon the Luthanian frontier. Am I correctly informed?”

General Petko squared his shoulders and bowed in assent. At the same time he reached into his breast-pocket for the ultimatum.

“Good!” exclaimed Barney, and then he leaned close to the ear of the Serbian. “How long will it take to move that army corps to Lustadt?”

General Petko gasped and returned the ultimatum to his pocket.

“Sire!” he cried, his face lighting with incredulity. “You mean—”

“I mean,” said the American, “that if Serbia will loan Lutha an army corps until the Austrians have evacuated Luthanian territory, Lutha will loan Serbia an army corps until such time as peace is declared between Serbia and Austria. Other than this neither government will incur any obligations to the other.

“We may not need your help, but it will do us no harm to have them well on the way toward Lustadt as quickly as possible. Count Zellerndorf will be here in a few minutes. We shall, through him, give Austria twenty-four hours to withdraw all her troops beyond our frontiers. The army of Lutha is mobilized before Lustadt. It is not a large army, but with the help of Serbia it should be able to drive the Austrians from the country, provided they do not leave of their own accord.”

General Petko smiled. So did the American and the chancellor. Each knew that Austria would not withdraw her army from Lutha.

“With your majesty’s permission I will withdraw,” said the Serbian, “and transmit Lutha’s proposition to my government; but I may say that your majesty need have no apprehension but that a Serbian army corps will be crossing into Lutha before noon today.”

“And now, Prince Ludwig,” said the American after the Serbian had bowed himself out of the apartment, “I suggest that you take immediate steps to entrench a strong force north of Lustadt along the road to Blentz.”

Von der Tann smiled as he replied. “It is already done, sire,” he said.

“But I passed in along the road this morning,” said Barney, “and saw nothing of such preparations.”

“The trenches and the soldiers were there, nevertheless, sire,” replied the old man, “only a little gap was left on either side of the highway that those who came and went might not suspect our plans and carry word of them to the Austrians. A few hours will complete the link across the road.”

“Good! Let it be completed at once. Here is Count Zellerndorf now,” as the minister was announced.

Von der Tann bowed himself out as the Austrian entered the king’s presence. For the first time in two years the chancellor felt that the destiny of Lutha was safe in the hands of her king. What had caused the metamorphosis in Leopold he could not guess. He did not seem to be the same man that had whined and growled at their last audience a week before.

The Austrian minister entered the king’s presence with an expression of ill-concealed surprise upon his face. Two days before he had left Leopold safely ensconced at Blentz, where he was to have remained indefinitely. He glanced hurriedly about the room in search of Prince Peter or another of the conspirators who should have been with the king. He saw no one. The king was speaking. The Austrian’s eyes went wider, not only at the words, but at the tone of voice.

“Count Zellerndorf,” said the American, “you were doubtless aware of the embarrassment under which the king of Lutha was compelled at Blentz to witness the entry of a foreign army within his domain. But we are not now at Blentz. We have summoned you that you may receive from us, and transmit to your emperor, the expression of our surprise and dismay at the unwarranted violation of Luthanian neutrality.”

“But, your majesty—” interrupted the Austrian.

“But nothing, your excellency,” snapped the American. “The moment for diplomacy is passed; the time for action has come. You will oblige us by transmitting to your government at once a request that every Austrian soldier now in Lutha be withdrawn by noon tomorrow.”

Zellerndorf looked his astonishment.

“Are you mad, sire?” he cried. “It will mean war!”

“It is what Austria has been looking for,” snapped the American, “and what people look for they usually get, especially if they chance to be looking for trouble. When can you expect a reply from Vienna?”

“By noon, your majesty,” replied the Austrian, “but are you irretrievably bound to your present policy? Remember the power of Austria, sire. Think of your throne. Think—”

“We have thought of everything,” interrupted Barney. “A throne means less to us than you may imagine, count; but the honor of Lutha means a great deal.”

XI. THE BATTLE

At five o’clock that afternoon the sidewalks bordering Margaretha Street were crowded with promenaders. The little tables before the cafes were filled. Nearly everyone spoke of the great war and of the peril which menaced Lutha. Upon many a lip was open disgust at the supine attitude of Leopold of Lutha in the face of an Austrian invasion of his country. Discontent was open. It was ripening to something worse for Leopold than an Austrian invasion.

Presently a sergeant of the Royal Horse Guards cantered down the street from the palace. He stopped here and there, and, dismounting, tacked placards in conspicuous places. At the notice, and in each instance cheers and shouting followed the sergeant as he rode on to the next stop.

Now, at each point men and women were gathered, eagerly awaiting an explanation of the jubilation farther up the street. Those whom the sergeant passed called to him for an explanation, and not receiving it, followed in a quickly growing mob that filled Margaretha Street from wall to wall. When he dismounted he had almost to fight his way to the post or door upon which he was to tack the next placard. The crowd surged about him in its anxiety to read what the placard bore, and then, between the cheering and yelling, those in the front passed back to the crowd the tidings that filled them with so great rejoicing.

“Leopold has declared war on Austria!” “The king calls for volunteers!” “Long live the king!”

The battle of Lustadt has passed into history. Outside of the little kingdom of Lutha it received but passing notice by the world at large, whose attention was riveted upon the great conflicts along the banks of the Meuse, the Marne, and the Aisne. But in Lutha! Ah, it will be told and retold, handed down from mouth to mouth and from generation to generation to the end of time.

How the cavalry that the king sent north toward Blentz met the advancing Austrian army. How, fighting, they fell back upon the infantry which lay, a thin line that stretched east and west across the north of Lustadt, in its first line of trenches. A pitifully weak line it was, numerically, in comparison with the forces of the invaders; but it stood its ground heroically, and from the heights to the north of the city the fire from the forts helped to hold the enemy in check for many hours.

And then the enemy succeeded in bringing up their heavy artillery to the ridge that lies three miles north of the forts. Shells were bursting in the trenches, the forts, and the city. To the south a stream of terror-stricken refugees was pouring out of Lustadt along the King’s Road. Rich and poor, animated by a common impulse, filled the narrow street that led to the city’s southern gate. Carts drawn by dogs, laden donkeys, French limousines, victorias, wheelbarrows—every conceivable wheeled vehicle and beast of burden—were jammed in a seemingly inextricable tangle in the mad rush for safety.

Rumor passed back and forth through the fleeing thousands. Now came word that Fort No. 2 had been silenced by the Austrian guns. Immediately followed news that the Luthanian line was falling back upon the city. Fear turned to panic. Men fought to outdistance their neighbors.

A shell burst upon a roof-top in an adjoining square.

Women fainted and were trampled. Hoarse shouts of anger mingled with screams of terror, and then into the midst of it from Margaretha Street rode a man on horseback. Behind him were a score of officers. A trumpeter raised his instrument to his lips, and above the din of the fleeing multitude rose the sharp, triple call that announces the coming of the king. The mob halted and turned.

Looking down upon them from his saddle was Leopold of Lutha. His palm was raised for silence and there was a smile upon his lips. Quite suddenly, and as by a miracle, fear left them. They made a line for him and his staff to ride through. One of the officers turned in his saddle to address a civilian friend in an automobile.

“His majesty is riding to the firing line,” he said and he raised his voice that many might hear. Quickly the word passed from mouth to mouth, and as Barney Custer, of Beatrice, passed along Margaretha Street he was followed by a mad din of cheering that drowned the booming of the distant cannon and the bursting of the shells above the city.

The balance of the day the pseudo-king rode back and forth along his lines. Three of his staff were killed and two horses were shot from beneath him, but from the moment that he appeared the Luthanian line ceased to waver or fall back. The advanced trenches that they had abandoned to the Austrians they took again at the point of the bayonet. Charge after charge they repulsed, and all the time there hovered above the enemy Lutha’s sole aeroplane, watching, watching, ever watching for the coming of the allies. Somewhere to the northeast the Serbians were advancing toward Lustadt. Would they come in time?

It was five o’clock in the morning of the second day, and though the Luthanian line still held, Barney Custer knew that it could not hold for long. The Austrian artillery fire, which had been rather wild the preceding day, had now become of deadly accuracy. Each bursting shell filled some part of the trenches with dead and wounded, and though their places were taken by fresh men from the reserve, there would soon be no reserve left to call upon.

At his left, in the rear, the American had massed the bulk of his reserves, and at the foot of the heights north of the city and just below the forts the major portion of the cavalry was drawn up in the shelter of a little ravine. Barney’s eyes were fixed upon the soaring aeroplane.