Chapter I: Am the Lady Trusia (1)

"I hope she's not dead," Carter said fervently as he bent over the unconscious girl. He beckoned to his chauffeur. "You can't catch her horse, Carrick. No use trying. Just hand me my flask."

As he forced the brandy through the pale lips he inwardly cursed his own lust for speed which had been the cause of the possibly fatal catastrophe.

Tempted by a bit of road, straight and smooth, full power had been put on in a feverish desire to interpose as much space as possible between the automobile and the Gray Man at the inn, repugnance for whom seethed in Carter's soul. As the touring car had neared a turn in the way, its two occupants had been horrified to see a spirited black horse, ridden by a beautiful girl, swing at a sharp gallop directly in their path. A rare presence of mind on Carrick's part had prompted an instant application of the brakes which had undoubtedly prevented a collision although it had very nearly hurled him and his companion from their seats. The steed for a fraction of a second had been petrified with fear. Then it had reared violently, thrown its rider, and panic-stricken, had turned and fled in the direction of its coming.

Carter, kneeling, gently placed the girl's head against his shoulder, while he passed an arm around her the better to support the relaxed body. He looked helplessly at the Cockney.

"Wasn't there some one with her?" he inquired, with the memory of a meteoric vision of another rider fleeing back along the road on a plunging, squealing steed.

"Yes, Mr. Carter, a young chap in uniform. 'Is 'oss bolted too, sir. 'E stuck on all right though. We've certainly 'ad a bad day for a start, don't you think, sir?"

Calvert did not answer; he was bending anxiously over the still face, praying for a sign of life. He was appalled by the girl's beauty and a twofold fear possessed him. He feared she was dead. Scarcely less than this, if fortunately she was alive, he dreaded the necessity that would require his laying desecrating masculine hands upon her for her better resuscitation.

"Is she dead, sir?" asked Carrick, bending above them as he noted Carter groping blindly for her pulse. "She looks like a queen," he added in a voice husky with the awe inspired by the marble stillness of her face.

Hesitatingly Carter's finger rested on her wrist. A lump leaped to his throat, he could have shouted with joy as he found that the pulse still stirred.

"She is not dead," he said in a voice vibrant with thanksgiving. His eyes sought the Cockney's for a responsive gleam of gratitude.

His trembling fingers awkwardly loosened the habit about the round white throat. The unavoidable contact with the satiny skin caused his head to whirl and his face to crimson. Finally controlling himself he began to watch patiently for the sign of returning consciousness. During the ages it appeared to take, he inventoried the beauty of the face, the perfect ensemble of which had impressed him as she rode into view.

A shapely little head of wavy black hair lay in the crook of his elbow. The loosened strands breeze-blown against his cheek seemed light as the sheen of a spider's craft. These waved to the rhythm of beauty above a low white forehead veined in an indefinite tint of blue. The eyebrows were fine and daintily arched. Black lashes long and up-curling swept the unexplainable curve of her cheek, at the present time apparently masking eyes too rare for the vision of man. The nose, thin and ever so slightly bridged, was an epitome of aristocracy.

The mouth, just beginning to quiver with reanimation, was curved in the curl of flowers in bud, and sweet and kind as the animate soul of a rose. A womanly chin turned, none could say where, into the matchless sweep and curve of the throat and breast, a glimpse of which he had had vouchsafed in such a breathless vision.

"Where's her hat, Carrick?" Carter asked, not because there was any immediate use for that article of apparel, but with the instinct of an orderly man to keep all things together. After a considerable search the chauffeur picked up something from the gutter by the side of the road and handed it to his master.

"This must be it, sir," he commented. It was a broad felt hat with one side of the brim looped up with a jewel _a la cavalier_ while a fine black plume curled about it. For the first time, attracted doubtless by the head covering, Calvert noticed that the girl's was not the conventional costume one sees on equestriennes either in the Park or along the Row. Nevertheless the habit itself was elegantly plain.

Across from the right shoulder passing to the waist at the left was stretched a broad ribbon as red as war. A great jeweled star moved sluggishly upon it above her faintly struggling breast. The centre of the medal bore a lion rampant in blue enamel. On the beast's head was a royal crown. There was something suggestive about it which awakened his mind to grope tentacle-like for that of which it was reminiscent.

A startled exclamation from Carrick caused him to look up quickly. Fumbling nervously at his shirt with one hand, with the other the wide-eyed Cockney was pointing at the star.

"The guvnor's shiner," he exclaimed excitedly as he drew forth from the folds of his blouse a battered duplicate of the medal she wore.

Barring its condition attributable to time and rough usage it was similar in every respect.

Growing surmise as to its origin and Carrick's connection thereto were interrupted by a tearful incoherence on the part of the reviving girl. Her bosom heaved convulsively, her eyes opened wide and startled into life. She arose to a sitting posture glancing around as a child might who has been suddenly awakened from slumber. Carter still knelt at her side with ready arm for her support should weakness overtake her.

Like the sweep of rose light across a sunset land, the blush of recollection passed over her face, as the full details of the catastrophe came back to her and she recalled that, inevitably, this stranger had held her in his arms while he had performed services strictly feminine. Her eyes retreated behind the satin sheen of their lids. She struggled to her feet.

"Pardon, monsieur," she addressed him in the French of St. Germain. "Where is my gentleman? And my horses, where are they? Horses, hereabouts, are strangers to the automobile."

"Both have bolted, mademoiselle, doubtless for that very reason. I feel very guilty, I assure you. I hope and pray that you are not seriously hurt. I assure you that I would have given anything to have spared you that fall. Can you ever forgive me? Will you let me make amends?"

As one born of high places, she raised her eyes straight and frankly to his. Reading sincere regret and pain in the face of this handsome stranger, she smiled as she generously held out her hand.

"You are forgiven," she said graciously. "I am only a trifle shaken. Will you kindly take me to my castle in your car, as I do not wish my people to worry?"

Nothing could have more tactfully displaced Carter's self-censure than this expressed wish of hers. Seeing that she was still weak he gravely offered his arm for her support.

Lightly she placed her gauntleted hand upon his elbow, but soft as that touch was, no other woman had so thrilled him.

"To whom am I indebted, monsieur?" she asked with native curiosity.

"Calvert Carter, of New York, mademoiselle, is indebted to you for overlooking the accident he has caused."

"Mr. Carter," she added in delicious English, "the Duchess of Schallberg is grateful for your kindness. The question of indebtedness we will not pursue. It is not a good basis of friendship."

This was the Duchess of Schallberg; the possible aspirant to its throne?

"You--you are Trusia?" he stammered.

"I am the Lady Trusia," she corrected gently.

VI

THE GRAY MAN AGAIN

"Which wye?" asked Carrick who, having started the auto, kept his eyes steadily on the road in front of him and shot the question over his shoulder.

"Straight ahead. The lady is unconscious again."

This was true, for as they entered the car Carter had been just in time to catch the Lady Trusia in his arms as she toppled forward in a sudden return of the fainting spell.

"Why not back to the inn, sir?"

Carrick's suggestion betrayed that he shared his companion's concern for Her Grace of Schallberg.

"I'd rather not. We are not popular there and I feel present conditions would hardly increase their friendship. We'll try the castle. I fancy that's her home, anyhow."

He glanced up to where, distinctly outlined, its towers in the clouds, they beheld the grim structure, recognizable from its significant location as the one they had espied from the thither side of the forest.

"Where's the wye to it?" The chauffeur was puzzled, for straight before them the cliff ran perpendicular to the side of the road, without an apparent break. "Must be on the other side, sir, for blyme it's not on this."

"More speed then, Carrick. This faint promises to last awhile."

Carter bent over the unconscious Trusia, and, as he noted the powerful effort of her strong soul to beat off the paralysis of the senses, a thrill of tenderness shot through him.

For a man with Calvert Carter's strength of character to hold a beautiful girl in his arms it would be inevitable that a certain sense of ownership should subconsciously mingle with his thoughts of her. The germ of love may be discovered in propinquity.

Be that as it may, as the lax slender form in his arms set his heart beating wildly, he was tempted to crush her to his breast and to press his lips savagely, yearningly, upon her tender mouth. Then, in reaction, her helplessness appealed to him and aroused all the chivalry of his nature. For less than the space of a sigh the primitive savage within him had struggled with the gentleman,--and the gentleman had won. This very conflict with himself, however, had increased though it had chastened his desire. The more personal concern he now felt for her recovery was but another expression of the primal instinct dignified by discipline.

Meanwhile the touring car had been lurching forward with increasing acceleration for more than a quarter of a mile, when, surprising them agreeably, the cliff apparently opened, showing a narrow way cut through its face, leading directly up to the castle. Before the distant portal a group of horsemen could be seen making preparations for departure.

"Evidently a relief party. That riderless horse of hers must have returned and started an alarm."

"They see us, sir," said Carrick, who had brought the machine to a stop. "They're pulling up. It's a good thing, as there's barely room for me to run the car up, without their crowding the road."

So saying he carefully swung into the narrow way and soon accomplished the ascent. Passing under a portcullis as mediaeval as that of any Rhenish castle, they stopped in an ancient, stone-flagged courtyard. On every side, thronging about them, they met the vengeful, scowling eyes of men in a frenzy of fear and hate, while a growling murmur of resentment greeted their ears as the mob recognized their liege lady apparently dead in the arms of a stranger. To their discipline as soldiers, for these men wore uniforms similar to those seen already at the inn, the two adventurers probably owed salvation from instant dismemberment. In their faces Calvert Carter read the unreasoning fury of their souls, experiencing his nearest approach to fear, yet he met them eye for eye.

Standing apart, his handsome boyish head hung in shame, as if ostracized for incompetency, stood a young fellow whom Carter recognized as the escort of the Lady Trusia. His face was pale and dejected. Apparently unaware of the presence of the strangers, he was fingering his revolver holster.

The heavy gate closed behind them with an ominous clang. A chill ran down Carter's spine. If bad came to worst he resolved to sell his life dearly, for murder electrified the air and was closing in around them from every side.

A wicket suddenly opened in the studded door of the castle before them. Two men stepped through it upon the broad flat stone of its only step.

Both were past middle age but vigorous looking. The first standing in front of and obscuring his companion was evidently a personage of exalted rank. His hair and long mustachios were silvery white, and the glance he shot from under his heavy brows was keen and comprehensive. He seemed a man accustomed to both camp and court. One glance at his carriage would have shown to the merest tyro that he was a soldier even had he not worn a black hussar uniform. He looked coldly around upon the impassioned throng which was quieted by the steely glitter in his disdainful eyes, and then, turning, said something to the abashed equerry. Without remonstrance, the young fellow drew out his revolver and handed it to a sergeant who immediately pocketed it.

Having quieted the disturbance, he for the first time became aware of its cause. A cry of mingled grief and rage burst from his lips. He started impulsively forward, fumbling at his sword hilt, but his companion laid a restraining hand upon his arm, coming into full view for the first time.

It was no other than the Gray Man of the inn, who now, with bent head and most deferential manner, addressed a few whispered words to the elderly noble. After a brief, inaudible conference the two descended from the step to advance through the menacing throng toward the automobile.

Mechanically, Carter, reaching back his free hand, opened the door at the back of the car. The veteran stopped within touching distance, not deigning to notice the action of invitation, and held out imperative arms for the young Duchess.

His voice rasped harshly on the hot courage of the American. "Canaille," he blurted apoplectically, "how dared you run down Her Grace with your cursed car? Your touch profanes her person. Surrender her instantly."

It was a blow in the face to Carter.

Though his blood was boiling, respect for the age of the man who addressed him restrained Calvert from voicing the hot retort which sprang to his lips or striking his adversary to the ground. His hands opened and closed tensely as he kept himself in check. Disregarding the curt command, Carter, still holding Trusia in his arms, leaped lightly from the car and would have carried her into the castle had not the elderly soldier barred his way. With face crimson every glistening hair seemed to flash the lightning of his unspeakable rage at such presumption.

"Monsieur," said Carter with level eyes, "let me pass. The lady is too ill for us to be bandying words. You are too old and too well supported for me to hope to obtain adequate satisfaction for your insult."

The other did not budge from the path, but reached out a peremptory hand which he laid on Trusia's shoulder.

"Give her to me, sir," he insisted, ignoring Carter's remarks entirely.

The Gray Man rubbed his hands together in open delight at the disfavor the two strangers were incurring and his cynical smile grew more evident every moment.

While an eye might wink the primitive man awoke in Calvert. He was prompted to fight for the woman he held as he stood measuring glances with his peremptory adversary. Then the folly of such resistance came to his mind, so with a sigh and a frown he permitted the other to take her from his arms. As he did so he felt not only that something intangible, delectable had been loosened from his clasp, but that its relinquishment had caused the life blood to move more sluggishly in his breast.

"We're up against it," whispered Carrick, who descending from the car had placed himself at his master's elbow for such eventualities as might arise.

Seemingly fearful of a conference between the two, the Gray Man gave a sudden order. Six men leaped from the hostile circle, and before there was an opportunity for resistance, Carter and Carrick were thrown to the ground and their arms were tightly bound to their sides.

The mocking face of the Gray Man regarded them as he bent over Carter's prostrate form.

"Get up," he said, touching the American ever so slightly with his toe.

"You shall pay for this," said the outraged Carter as he struggled to his feet.

"I am not indebted to you," was the sneering rejoinder, as, with the slightest of gestures, he intimated that the prisoners were to be conducted into the castle, through whose portal Her Grace of Schallberg was already being carried by the plethoric nobleman.

VII

A COOL RECEPTION

Before their eyes, accustomed to the brightness of early afternoon, in which all things were actively visible, could sufficiently adjust themselves to distinguish objects in the shadowy gloom, they were thrust into a room, the door of which was bolted after them, and they were left in utter darkness.

"You there, Carrick?" whispered Carter.

"'Ere, sir," came the reply from an invisible neighborhood. "I'm trussed up like a duck. These bloomin' cords are cuttin' my wrists. It seems to me, sir," he continued ruefully, "that if we 'ad wanted to be jugged, we could 'ave gotten the job done easier by styin' in New York. 'Don't like a man,--to jail with 'im,' seems to be these chaps' motto."

"We're evidently in the bad books of the Gray Man, at any rate, Carrick."

"I'm onto his gyme, sure's my name's Tod."

"What is it?"

"'E thinks we're spies."

Carter laughed incredulously. "He has put us in a good place, then. Can't gather much information in this tomb, that is certain. We're getting into their revolution by the back door, it seems."

"Talkin' about doors," Carrick's whisper radiated with excitement, "I'd take my oath that I saw one as we came in. It's in the wall to the left of the entrance and is slightly ajar."

"How close are you to me now?" The Cockney's shoulder touched his by way of reply. "It is this wall we are leaning against, then?"

"The syme, sir. If you move along to your right about six feet, you'll be right in front of it."

"We'll try our luck, anyhow," said Carter. "Next-door may not be so much infested with the darkness of the pit." Carefully groping in the indicated direction, they found the portal as Carrick had described it. Their hands being tightly tied, they had to shove it open with their shoulders. To their anxious ears it seemed impossible that the noise of its rusty hinges could not be heard on the topmost battlement. The room which they now entered was lighted by a single casement, high above their heads. Diagonally opposite, in the wall parallel to the one by which they stood, was another door, also open.

"Cinch," said Carrick, with a hopeful nod toward the possible avenue of escape.

"I don't know that," replied the other reflectively. "Suppose we do find our way out, how could we pass the sentries, videttes, and scouts who are scouring the country--or should be? We'd have to hide without the hope of assistance from strangers. What could we do with our hands tied? Mind you, I'm not discouraging escape if we can--I'm simply groping for a plan. Let's explore our quarters. It may help to know the lay of the place."

"Wyte a bit, sir," said Carrick, moving behind his master. "My teeth are strong. Mybe I can get your 'ands loose." Kneeling on the stone floor he applied himself vigorously to the task.

"Our friends," commented Carter, "evidently foresaw such an attempt and provided against it by shutting us up in the dark. How are you getting on?" He could feel the strenuous efforts of his chauffeur as the latter gnawed at the knot.

"Not at all, Mr. Carter. It's rawhide. The saliver from my mouth only mykes it swell. Of course that tightens the knot. It mykes it slimy, too, so's I carn't keep 'old of it." He scrambled to his feet with a hasty apology for his failure.

"Fortunately our feet are not hobbled and we're not blindfolded. Come on, we'll see what's beyond that door, my man," and Calvert proceeded cautiously toward the open entrance. With ears strained to bursting, they listened by it a breathless moment. No sound, no breath, no intuition of human proximity warned them that further progress was dangerous, so they passed the threshold into the third room. A sigh of relief came from Carter's lips as he noted that it, too, was vacant. The door to the cell beyond was likewise open. They advanced, therefore, through that and several successive cells, until they were confronted by a narrow, dark passageway, whose objective could not be discerned from where they stood.

Not knowing where the gloom would betray their feet, they stepped very cautiously as they explored the darkness before them. The better to guide himself, Carter kept his shoulder to the wall. He had not proceeded very far when his own weight, pushing against the masonry, swung him off into a narrow entrance at right angles to the main passage.

He drew back with a gasp. He found himself on the very brink of an uncurbed well. Gradually recovering himself from the involuntary start which had kept him from falling head-foremost into the opening, he leaned forward to investigate.

Far below he could see daylight, a patch of grass-grown earth, and the edge of a stable,--for a horse's head was thrust through an aperture. He turned to his companion.

"Careful, Carrick. I pretty nearly stepped into kingdom come. I think that door was purposely left open that we might commit involuntary suicide. There's a well here without a bottom. Goes down through the cliff to what is apparently the yard of the inn. It's like a shaft to the mines at home. Wonder what's it for?"

"Secret passage, sir; see that basket and rope," and Carrick indicated a huge car swinging in the gloom above their heads.

"That's how the Gray Man beat us to the castle without passing us on the road."

"Right," agreed Carrick.

"We can't profit by it now, worse luck, but it may come in useful in a pinch. Who knows? If we only had free use of our hands, now. Eh, Carrick?"

"Right," reiterated his fellow captive.

"Well," said Carter, arising from his knees, "suppose we investigate the rest of the main passage."

They turned again into the dark entry to be brought up this time by a door which they would have also attempted to force had not the sound of voices from the other side of the stout panels paralyzed their intention and filled them with apprehension.

It was clearly a position where eavesdropping was not dishonorable. They were prisoners, innocent of any moral offense, cast into jail without being apprised of the nature of the charges against them. Here might be an opportunity of gaining, at least, an insight into the character of some of those hostile to them. A knowledge of the traits of one's judge or jury is a material assistance to a sufficient defense, which no one should neglect where an opportunity for the acquisition of such information is honorably presented.

There were evidently two people in conversation in the region behind the locked door. The voices were those of women. One, crisp and girlish, was new to Carter. The other's made his heart bound hopefully. It was Trusia's.

"Let us speak in French, Natalie," she was saying to her companion in that language. "My maid need not understand all we talk about." Then she continued in evident answer to some previous question, "His name is Calvert Carter." There followed a delightful hesitancy, which sent a thrill through the invisible auditor, while in a tone intended to be judicious, Trusia completed her reply: "Yes, I think you would call him handsome. Anyway, he's a gentleman. Any person could see that."

"But what has become of him?" inquired her companion. "I have asked my father, and Tru, what sort of reply do you think he made? Mean thing."

"I don't know, dear. Probably teased."

"Exactly. He always does, no matter how serious the question may be. He laughed and pinched my cheek, and had the audacity to ask if I wanted to add the stranger to my list of victims. Then I asked the Chancellor. You know he doesn't like girls. He puffed out his cheeks--so, drew down his brows--like this, and glared. 'Umph, umph,' he blustered and stalked away. Josef was the only one who would tell anything."

"Well, he could tell you only, as he did me, that they had resumed their journey."

"O-o-oh," the exclamation was long drawn, indicating that some one had fibbed. "He told me that the strangers were dangerous. Russian spies, he said. Do you think they are, Tru? It's perfectly thrilling. And to think, one actually held you in his arms! Who knows----" she began mischievously. There was a gurgling sputter of sounds, as if a hand had been placed over the teasing mouth. Then it was withdrawn and the offender was permitted to prattle on.

"If they weren't spies, Tru, why should they be put in one of the old cells?"

"What makes you say that, Natalie? Josef certainly told me they had gone on with their journey."

"He told me that they were locked up. I saw the auto not five minutes before coming here. It's under sentry in the courtyard."

"Surely, Natalie, you are mistaken, dear? Josef would not tell me a deliberate untruth." Carter felt a strong desire to see and expose this Josef who held such an exalted place in the confidence of Her Grace of Schallberg. Symptoms threatening a tiff were evident in the Lady Natalie's voice.

"Really, Your Grace," she said with dignity, "am I to understand that you'd take his word before mine?"

"Your Grace?--what nonsense! Between you and me! Don't pout, dear. Just think what chance Krovitch would have for a man to rule her people, and lead them in their battles if it wasn't for this same loyal, disinterested Josef? Do you wonder I hold him in such high esteem?" There was a gentle reproof in the Duchess's tones.

"But why," persisted the somewhat mollified Natalie, "did your paragon fib so to me?"

"We'll go and see now, dear. Marie has finished my hair."

The listener, assured that they would get a fair trial, arose and, with Carrick following, made his way back in the direction from which they had adventured.

There is always a difference, telepathic it may be, in a room which, then empty, has been entered and vacated by some living thing. Carter appreciated this as soon as he set his foot in the first cell on their return journey. Some one had been there since he and Carrick had come through. He glanced at the Cockney to see if he, too, had the same impression. The fellow's head was craned forward, as one who strives to catch an elusive sound.

"I was sure I 'eard something in there, Mr. Carter," he whispered, responding to the visual question, as he nodded his head toward the doorway beyond them. Carter listened intently. It might have been an atom broken from silence; he was not positive that he had really heard anything, but he was convinced that the silence had not been unbroken. They moved cautiously to the door and peered guardedly around its frame.

There is also an actual physical--or, if you choose, psychical connection between what is seen, what has just missed being seen by an infinite fraction of time, and what one has imagined one has just seen, and between these all the scientists of all the ages have not been able to formulate a real distinction. One's senses, after all, remain the best guides.

"I just missed seeing something going through that door," whispered Carrick. It is noticeable, too, that he had said "something" and not "some one." The gloomy cells, centuries old, the damp memories of the dungeons still clinging to the walls, together with this weird presence which eluded their eyes before they could behold it, might well arouse the superstitions of firmer minds than the Cockney's.

They were approaching the cell in which they had been placed. At last there was a perfectly appreciable sound. It was a fumbling, as of some one in the darkness, making hasty efforts to get a key in a lock. Carter, now bent on discovery, made a rush into the abysmal darkness. He could see--nothing!

Still he felt that he and Carrick, who had joined him, were not the only occupants of the room.

Along the hall could be heard the unmistakable sound of approaching steps.

"Quite a select party, sir," remarked Carrick in comment, while Carter still tried to pierce the gloom to establish the identity of the invisible visitant.

"About three," replied Carter.

The sounds stopped directly opposite their door. There was a grating of a key against the lock and the door swung open.

VIII

THE SPECTRE OF THE STAR

The Gray Man stood in front of the narrow entrance. The sinister smile which flickered across his face was made diabolic by the cross rays from the lanterns carried by two peasant soldiers. As if his attendance was an enforced and unwelcome one, the equerry of Lady Trusia, who had followed in the wake of the others, advanced no further into the room, but stood with his back against the closed door.

One furtive glance cast in the direction of the cell from which Carter and Carrick had just returned convinced the former that the old fellow was at least aware of their explorations.

When the two privates had deposited their lanterns upon a table which seemed to emerge from the gloom under the partial illumination, Carter surveyed his prison with a curiosity previously denied him. One glance was sufficient. The Gray Man had come to conduct an inquisition. What more fitting place, therefore, could be found to strike terror to the hearts of the guilty or weakling than the torture chamber of the castle?

A man of keen perceptive nature is apprised of secret as well as professed antagonisms, through a primitive discrimination, unaided by either word or deed, of the one holding him in enmity. Carter felt sure that with the possible exception of the equerry this visit to the cell was not prompted by a friendly motive. They had, evidently, been imprisoned in darkness that a sudden revelation of the devilish machinery about them might shake their courage.

Carter's lip curled disdainfully at such cheap theatrical efforts. He turned to the smirking face before him, which from behind the table was watching for the signs of trepidation he had hoped to surprise. By an answering smile as mocking as his own, he was satisfied that his ruse had failed. He shrugged his thin shoulders.

Purringly in an incomprehensible jargon, he addressed Carter to receive no other response than a blank and puzzled stare.

He essayed French.

"So, Monsieur of the White Police prefers the more polite language of France? Well, so be it."

At the mention of that secret, ubiquitous organization of Russian espionage, Carter realized that Carrick's prognostications had been correct. The cool insinuation made his blood boil. His answer came with the force of a blow. "What do you mean?" he thundered.

Staggered for an instant, the Gray Man's equanimity was shaken, then, turning to speak to the two peasants, he waited until they had placed themselves at the sides of the enraged American. Assured that he had forestalled any possible violence to himself, he regarded the prisoners sneeringly.

"That you are Russian spies."

"We are Americans. I will prove it, too, as soon as I am out of this place; and that in a manner which will not be pleasant to those concerned in this outrage."

"Provided you get a chance. Spies are not given much shrift hereabouts." This was said with deliberate malevolence.

"Would you dare?" challenged Carter who realized to the full what the menace implied.

"It would be but an incident, monsieur," replied his jailer in a casual manner. "You would be numbered among the missing in the big events of to-morrow. Enough time has been wasted on you, Monsieur of the White Police," he said, as if dismissing discussion. "We must to business."

At a nod from him, the two peasant soldiers threw themselves upon the helpless prisoners, and ruthlessly rifled their persons of all belongings, which were placed upon the table before the Gray Man. Straining till the big veins in their arms stood out in ridges and the sweat poured from their brows, the captives were helpless against the indignities put upon them.

Carrick's shirt was torn open. The Krovitzer soldiers stood dumbfounded at the sight of the star which hung upon the Cockney's breast. As though its appearance had countermanded all previous orders, they turned puzzled faces to their superior, who also saw the emblem.

Into those sneering eyes crept a pallid fear, while his face grew ashen. Approaching the Cockney he laid a trembling finger on the star.

"Your name?" he asked hoarsely.

"Tod Carrick," was the sullen reply.

A slight start followed this, as though the answer had matched his anticipations.

Instantly, the training and duplicity of years reasserted themselves. The habitual mask once more settled upon his inscrutable countenance. He turned to Carter who had been an attentive though puzzled observer of this by-play.

"I was surprised," he explained, "but only for an instant, to see your companion wearing the badge of our most noble order. I should not have been as there is no moral distinction between a thief and a spy." Encouraged by his own words, he tore the medal from its resting place, while Carrick groaned impotently.

"I'll make you sweat for this," growled the Cockney.

"What authority have you for this?" asked Carter with forced calmness as the Gray Man commenced a leisurely perusal of his private papers. Without deigning a reply, their self-constituted judge completed his task; carefully folding the various documents he had been reading, he looked up complacently.

"Authority," he replied with a rising inflection, as though the idea were a new one. "Oh, I think I am justified in assuming it."

Carter breathed a prayer of silent thanksgiving that the Lady Trusia had been no party to the indignity.

As though in response to the thought, the Lady Trusia herself walked indignantly into the room. Going straight to the table she confronted the Gray Man with flashing eyes.

"Josef," she addressed him with stamping foot, "what does this mean? Who gave you permission to treat this gentleman so harshly? I am still mistress here."

"They are Russian spies, Highness."

"Fiddlesticks," she replied with the feminine faith in the man who had given her such tender care. "Anyhow," she temporized, "our Privy Council, not you, shall be their judges." With charming hesitation, she turned to make a suitable apology to Carter, when, as her eyes fell before his ardent gaze, they rested upon Carrick's heirloom lying on the table.

"Can it be?" she questioned as one in a dream. "Is it yours?" she asked breathlessly, her whole soul in her eyes and parted lips, as she turned to Carter.

"No, Your Grace," he answered, "it is my chauffeur's."

"Yours?" she skeptically inquired of Carrick. "Where did you get it?"

"He probably stole it. He had it hidden under his shirt," suggested Josef.

Her fine brows drew together in annoyance as she turned to look steadily into the crafty eyes of him she called Josef.

"You forget your place, sir. I gave you no leave to speak. Have you forgotten that I am the Duchess of Schallberg? Be silent until you are spoken to."

Josef shrugged his shoulders after he had bowed apologetically, for he saw that the lady was no longer looking in his direction. Minutely, closely, she was studying the face of the Cockney; first red, then pale, her own countenance betrayed some inward apprehension.

"It cannot be," she said huskily as if striving to dispel some doubt that would arise, "and yet there is no other jewel unlocated. Please tell me how you got this," she supplicated helplessly.

"Honestly, mem," was all the satisfaction she could elicit, for Carrick made no distinctions between her and the servant whom he thought was her agent.

"I've no doubt of that," she answered soothingly. "Will you tell me your name?" Her eager, expectant face held an expression of one who half fears the reply.

"Carrick," he answered with the monotony of iteration.

"Thank you," she said in relief. "Oh," she cried as she espied their bonds for the first time, "your hands are tied. This is intolerable. Casimir," she commanded the equerry, who had been keeping as much out of sight as possible, "undo those cords. They are cutting into the flesh. Messieurs, pardon my overzealous servants. Indeed, we have much to fear from strangers. Though you may mean no wrong to us, yet formality requires that you satisfy our Privy Council of your honesty in coming to our remote country at this particular time. Let us go at once, that you may the speedier be relieved of surveillance.

"Josef," she said, turning to the Gray Man, "if you so desire you may present your foolish charges there."

She lifted her glance graciously to Carter.

"I have no fear for you, monsieur. You have the marks of an honorable gentleman."

IX

IF ZULKA WERE HERE

"I've 'arf a notion to knock your block for a bloomin' sneak." Carrick halted suddenly in the doorway of the cell to face Josef. The Cockney's fists were clenched in a manner which promised that action would immediately follow declaration. Carter intervened peremptorily while Josef discreetly withdrew out of reach of the tough, bunched knuckles.

Led by the Duchess of Schallberg, they traversed a stone-flagged, arched passageway, which brought them to the main hall of the castle. A modern dwelling of average size could have been erected there without entirely exhausting the spaciousness of the hall.

Tattered banners, gray with antiquity, hung like memories on the walls. Below these, crumbling with age, were the antlers of ancestral deer, while arms and armor of heroic mold glimmered from the shadowy niches filled by them for generations.

Crossing the hall, the party led by Trusia approached a tapestried-hung archway, whose single sentry raised the heavy folds to admit her to whatever lay beyond.

Preceded by Her Grace, and followed closely by Josef, Carter and Carrick entered the Council Chamber of Schallberg.

At one end of its many-pillared room, a dais held a double throne, whose high, broad back was carved with many heraldic devices of past intelligence. Its intricate traceries were capped by a lion rampant, which had pawed the air for generations.

Directly from the steps of the throne ran a heavy table at which were seated three Privy Counselors. A fourth seat was vacant. For Her Grace of Schallberg? Evidently not, for she mounted the two broad steps and seated herself on the throne, bowing graciously to the trio of ministers who had risen at her entrance. With a gesture that indicated that Carter and Carrick should stand facing these, their judges, she settled herself back in the high chair, while the accused found themselves with their backs to the door. Josef, with mocking deference, placed himself at the end of the table as the prosecutor. He unburdened himself of the purloined articles which he now placed before him in a little pile.

Admitting the seriousness of the situation so far as himself and his man were concerned, Carter could not but confess that the scene was a picturesque one, and that the very element of danger gave it a touch of piquancy. Here were himself and Carrick, fresh from the greatest shrine of modernity, after having been cast into a mediaeval dungeon, now being hauled before a trinity of gold-laced judges on a charge of being spies.

He glanced admiringly toward Her Grace, whose tempting chin was cupped in her pink palm, while the deep lace of her half sleeve fell back from the round elbow propped by the broad arm of the throne. Her eyes dreamed of far-away things, until, telepathically, she became aware of Carter's ardent gaze.

Recalled to the duty before her, she blushed guiltily at her abstraction.

"Josef says these strangers are spies. You must judge," she said trenchantly to her Counselors.

Carter could have knelt before her as she spoke, for her voice proclaimed her disbelief.

"This," she said turning to Calvert as she indicated the stern-faced veteran nearest the throne, "this is Colonel Sutphen, the Hereditary Chancellor of Krovitch and member of our Privy Council."

Carter bowed gravely, but received no other acknowledgment than a frigid glare from the veteran. Josef had undoubtedly prejudiced Sutphen against the accused. This was more plausible than to suppose that the Colonel had become rancorous merely because the unconscious Trusia had not been more promptly surrendered to him, for it was he who had received her from the automobile. Proudly meeting the glaring eyes of Sutphen, Carter turned with relief to Her Grace of Schallberg. He caught the faint smile of amused comprehension which hovered about her lips; she had seen and enjoyed that duel of glances, as an ancient suzeraine might have delighted in a tourney in her honor. As her eyes met those of the American, he smiled.

"Seated beside Colonel Sutphen is Count Muhlen-Sarkey, the Holder of the Purse."

This Privy Counselor was a moon-faced and rotund individual, who, in his efforts to preserve a fitting severity of expression in keeping with the duty before him, had succeeded only in appearing monstrously depressed. He smiled eagerly, responsively, to Carter's bow, bobbing his head like a gleeful sparrow. As a matter of fact, the proceedings were to him a joke--something to relieve the monotony of his existence. Yet this modern Falstaff, as Carter afterward learned, was among the bravest of the brave, meeting death with this same cheery smile, and following the grim monarch with a jest.

The only remaining member of the Council present was Count Sobieska, Minister of Private Intelligence, who, from under half closed Oriental eyes, acknowledged the presentation with a dignified, but non-committal, inclination of the head. He seemed preoccupied in his own passivity, and was a man in the fullest triumph of life,--the years that enrich at forty. Lithe-looking as a panther--a somnolent animal now to all appearances--an occasional gleam of the half masked eyes suggested that this show of indifference concealed a mind of no inferior order. His nose was thin and arched like an Arab sheik's, and the close black hair was chafed from his temples in a seeming baldness. The iron firmness of his square jaw was not effaced beneath his well-trimmed beard. His hands, lightly folded over the hilt of a sword held between his knees, were long, slim, and muscular. Evidently a tireless friend or an implacable enemy, his was the strongest personality of the three Counselors present, despite his seeming air of ennui.

Bowing to Carter, he had turned an indifferent scrutiny upon Josef, who, though smiling, would have apparently foregone the inspection. All eyes were upon the accuser, however. Trusia's voice broke the silence as she addressed him.

"You may speak, Josef." There was a trace of regret in her voice. "I fear you have been over-zealous."

"Listen, Highness," he said. He was anxious to convince; over-anxious, it seemed. "These men, in their accursed machine, flew past the sentries at the frontier, disregarding all commands to halt, even the shots fired."

"That is true," replied Carter. "We could take no chances. We had no desire to meet Russians just then."

An inquiry half parted Trusia's lips as she turned to hear Carter's confirmation, but checking her curiosity, she signed for Josef to proceed.

"Then they came to Posner's Inn. You know, Highness, what preparations were going forward there. These the spies noted. They even tried to bribe Posner into telling where Count Zulka could be found. They knew there was a heavy price upon his head. The cursed Russians." Carter started in surprise at this information regarding his friend. Josef pointed a triumphant finger at him. "See," he said, "it is true as I have said." Turning to Her Grace he continued, "If you attribute your fall from your horse to an accident, there are others who do not. It was part of their plan. Had not the highways been so well guarded they would have carried you to the Russian salt mines, a prisoner." Josef's vehemence had cost him his breath. He paused to regain it.

To all appearances the Minister of Private Intelligence had been the least interested of the auditors. He now spoke quietly with reference to the belongings lying upon the table. Doubtless his keen eyes had already inventoried them.

"Have you found any proofs?" he asked, with a wave of his hand toward the group of miscellany.

At this question, Josef faced about with a conciliatory smile.

"No more than was to be expected, Excellency, upon the person of a spy of the undoubtedly superior intelligence that Russia would send on a mission to Krovitch just now. A fortune in bills--presumably for bribes, a road map of our country, and the name of 'Zulka' written across the capital, Schallberg."

At the reference to Zulka's name used in connection with the alleged plot, Trusia gave a slight start and a reproachful look clouded her eyes.

Frankly, fearlessly, he met her glance as well as the steel-like glint from Sobieska.

"He was my friend," the American said, as though no further explanation could be demanded.

"He was their quarry," retorted Josef vehemently. "Else why the questions to Posner and attempts to bribe, the fortune in bills, the name written significantly across the capital's, the city where to friends and foes he was best known. Had his friend been as careful," continued Josef, who already tasted triumph and liked the flavor, "we would have no more clues. His passion for acquisition, however, has given us additional material." He held up the star with evident dramatic intent.

As Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey recognized it they started in genuine surprise.

"King Stovik's star," cried Sutphen.

Sobieska held out an indolent hand into which the eager Josef dropped it for examination. First the obverse, then the reverse were inspected with apparently slight interest. To Carter's appreciation of character, however, it was evident that not the slightest scratch on its surface had escaped those drooping eyes, as it was passed on to the gaping Holder of the Purse, whose chubby hands received it as though it were the relic of a saint. The jovial face was for the first time honestly grave. Reverently he transferred it to the Hereditary Chancellor. It lay before that bristling veteran who turned a questioning glance to Her Grace of Schallberg.

"I have seen it," she said.

"Is it--is it the missing star?" he asked in a hesitating manner, as though an affirmative answer was more than he could hope for.

"It is," she replied with slightly inclining head.

"Then who is he?" asked the bewildered Sutphen, rising from his seat and pointing impulsively at Carrick.

"Only an English peasant, Excellency, who has stolen the missing star," Josef insinuated.

"Are you sure? Are you sure?" persisted the Colonel, who was struggling with a grave doubt, which was now inclining his judgment in favor of the captives.

Josef, comprehending the nature of the perplexity and fearing he might lose a partisan, advanced an argument whose significance did not then appeal to Carter.

"A medal, Excellency, even that medal may pass easily from one person to another without ownership having any special value. Papers, valuable papers, would be guarded faithfully from father to son because they alone would be incontestable proof. We know what we have already found. Look at this uncouth fellow," said Josef, indicating Carrick with a sneer. "Remember, he is a servant, and judge if there be any chance that his possession of the star should cause you any doubts? Was it with such as he the Line was maintained?"

That he had stilled any uneasiness in the minds of the Counselors caused by the display of the medal, Josef was now satisfied. He paused for a final effort.

Sobieska spoke quickly to Carrick in an unintelligible language to be met with a look of honest mystification.

Josef smiled ironically.

"Your Lordship surely did not expect to catch such clever rogues by so innocent a ruse? They hardly would confess to a familiarity with Russian. Such an admission would convict them. Indulge them in French. One of the pair has that much linguistic ability. Besides, we have so far conducted our investigations in that diplomatic language."

"You are presumptuous, sir," said Trusia sharply. "_You_ have no part in the conduct of this matter. You are simply a witness." Josef bowed low in meekness.

Without deigning a reply to the old fellow, Sobieska spoke next in fairly good English to the Cockney.

"What is your nation--birthplace?"

"England; Whitechapel, London," replied Carrick with natural taciturnity.

"Where did you get that?" continued the Minister, pointing to the medal.

"My guv'nor left it to me when he croaked."

His questioner's eyelids were raised the merest shade in non-comprehension of the vernacular.

"Your governor," he said slowly as if seeking a key to relationship. Josef smiled. The latter's exultation was that of one enjoying a possible misconstruction which might attend a literal interpretation of what he knew was idiomatic.

"Guvnor is the Whitechapel slang for father. My man many years ago told me he had received it in that way--the death of his parent," explained Carter coming to the rescue.

The stately Krovitzer bowed in acknowledgment of the explanation then continued his questioning.

"Where did he get it?" His sleepy eyes were probing deep.

"How the hell should I know," replied the irritated Cockney, who swiftly resented this prying into his affairs. Remembering himself instantly, he turned with a fine red in his face to the girl on the dais. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, for forgetting myself. It was none of 'is business," he said, defending his lapse.

"Was he English, also?" pursued Sobieska relentlessly.

"Sure."

"His name?"

"Mark Carrick," was the almost surly answer.

"His business?"

"Scrivener."

"Why did you come to Krovitch?" The question was advanced suddenly, unexpectedly, as if to catch the chauffeur off his guard.

"I'm Captain Carter's man; you'd better arsk him." Carrick was displaying renewed signs of impatience.

Sobieska paused. He gravely turned to his associates, and, for their information, translated fairly and without comment what the chauffeur had said into French, with which language Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey seemed conversant.

"That you might correct any misstatements," he explained calmly to Carter.

"There was no need," replied the American. "You have been most impartial."

Evidently not yet satisfied with the results obtained from his preliminary investigations, he turned again to the Englishman, who seemed not a little mystified to find his domestic history so interesting to these lordly foreigners.

"Where is your father buried?" inquired Sobieska courteously.

"Dunno, sir. I was awye when 'e died. Landlidey said as 'ow a strange gent came, buried 'im an' took 'is hinsurance pipers awye with 'im. Sed 'e was the guvnor's brother."

"Did you ever see this uncle?" he asked suavely.

"No, sir. Never knew I 'ad one. Guvnor sed 'e was the only child."

"Did you claim the insurance?"

Carrick paused long before replying. When he spoke again his tone was decidedly hostile.

"What's all this got to do with my bein' a spy? These things about my guvnor an' me are personal matters. I don't see as 'ow I'm bound to answer such questions." His face reddened slowly and then he added impressively, "This much I'll admit to my own discredit, though."

Sobieska bent forward even more closely in anticipation.

"The guvnor an' me," continued Carrick, "didn't allus 'it hit off together, so you see I didn't know much about 'is affairs. I said hinsurance pipers, because they looked like 'em to me. They might not 'ave been, but the guvnor set a great store by 'em. Captain Carter can tell as 'ow I told 'im all this at Santiago." He turned to his master for confirmation.

"It is true," said the latter.

Still the Minister was not satisfied to relax his intimate investigations. Her Grace of Schallberg appeared an interested listener and had lost not a syllable of what had been said. The remaining Counselors were patiently expectant of translation as English was a closed door to them. Josef on the other hand would have gladly welcomed a divertisement though clearly afraid to inaugurate one. For some subtle reason he was very uneasy. Since Carrick's assertion that a stranger had purloined valuable papers from his father, the Gray Man had seemed to fear an unexpected revelation of some sort. Sobieska seemed to scent this secret fear and was willing to play with Josef's susceptibility.