Chapter I: Am the Lady Trusia (2)

"When did your father die?" asked the Count after a pause which had threatened to become intense, during which Josef had shifted uneasily.

"Fifteen years ago come the seventh of August."

"Where?"

"Twelve Tottinam Plyce, Whitechapel."

"Is the landlady living?"

"Now 'ow the devil should I know? I beg your pardon, again, Your Grace, but this man is badgerin' me orful." Her smile asked him to be patient so he turned to his inquisitor patiently.

"I 'aven't seen 'er since," he replied.

Josef felt this line of investigation had gone far enough and determined to stop it at all hazards. He coughed. Sobieska turned to him inquiringly, an amused smile in his eyes.

"Is all this important, Excellency?" the Gray Man asked deprecatingly, intimating that the issue had been forgotten. With a quiet drawl, containing both a reproof and a demurrer, Sobieska corrected him.

"Interesting," he said as he shot a covert glance at Josef which also held a challenge. Then as though in tacit compliance with the suggestion he turned not discourteously to Carter.

"Where did you get the title of Captain your man gave you a while ago?"

"I have no real right to it, never claim it," replied the American, "though at one time I bore it as of right in the Spanish-American war. It is the American habit never to let a man forget a title he has once won through merit."

Sobieska bowed.

"What brought you to Krovitch? It is outside the usual route of tourists."

For the fraction of a second the men gazed steadily at each other--possible antagonists appraising the other's chances. The question had been as hitherto in French for the benefit of the other auditors.

Careful to keep any appearance of apology from what he might say, yet scorning any other medium than the truth, Carter explained the motive for his coming to Krovitch. "An American's love of adventure--a wish to join your insurrection."

Even his inquisitor was startled by the boldness of the reply. The Counselors leaped to their feet and laid suggestive hands upon their swords. Trusia's face went white, while her hand clutched in terror at her throat. Then, seeing that Carter was in danger, with an effort she quickly recovered herself.

"Put up your swords, my lords," she commanded in distress. "Let him explain."

"What insurrection?" thundered a bristling Sutphen, seating himself stiffly erect, on the edge of his chair.

"I told you they were spies," Josef almost shouted in gratification. "Why else would they say such a thing except as a play for your confidence. Where would they learn our secret?"

Carter turned to Trusia.

"Pardon me, Your Grace, for my inept choice of words. I meant restoration, not insurrection." He bowed low as to the sovereign of Krovitch as he supposed her to be. Then raising his head he continued, "As for your secret, the world has already heard the rumors of the approaching war."

Then with effective repression he added, "My country's wars have always been for Freedom and Righteousness, never for aggrandizement. A nation's sentiments will animate her citizens. I heard rumors of a sister country in distress and longed to help her. I heard rumors. I find them confirmed. I am no spy. I am Adventure's cadet."

"How then did he hear or know of Count Zulka?" sneeringly suggested Josef. Carter noticed that again the momentarily favorable impression had been destroyed. Josef for some strange reason was aggressively opposed to a vindication of the two strangers in Krovitch.

"Your Grace, there was a club in New York City," Carter explained to Trusia, "of which Paul Zulka and myself were members. We were good friends. One year ago he left hurriedly. Knowing from his ardently expressed love for his birthplace and his outspoken hate for Russia that he would be in the front rank of any fight of Krovitch's, I naturally sought him for my voucher."

The chubby Purse Holder was anxious to question the accused. "What is the name of this club?" he asked.

"It is the Racquet Club."

The Holder of the Purse leaned back. With a satisfied air, Sutphen turned to him.

"That the club to which your nephew, Count Paul, belonged?" he asked.

"Yes," he said genially. "I am Paul Zulka's uncle," he explained to Carter.

"Did he ever mention a Calvert Carter as among his associates there?" queried a lenient Trusia.

The Holder of the Purse spread out two fat palms deprecatingly.

"How should I remember?" he said helplessly. "These English names are hard to bear in mind. Such things, ach! as I have had to remember in the last year." The burden was evidently appalling. "Yet," he added kindly, that he might do no injustice, "it might be so that he did."

"If Count Zulka were here"--began Carter confidently. He was interrupted by Her Grace of Schallberg who raised her hand for silence.

X

THE GLIMMER OF SUSPICION

It was Paul Zulka who bowed low over the Duchess's hand. He was totally oblivious to all other claims upon his attention for the nonce.

"Do you know that gentleman, Paul?"

As Trusia questioned him, he turned about in mystification. Not expecting to see Carter there or anywhere, it required time for his mental processes to adjust themselves to the detached conditions, unfavorable to a recognition.

That the Krovitzer had not instantly identified his former clubmate was causing the latter some uneasiness. He knew it would be impossible for Zulka to have forgotten his existence completely after two years of almost daily social intercourse. A greater fear followed on the heels of this first misgiving. Carter's mouth set firm and hard as he considered the possibility of an intentional snub. If such were the case his fate was undoubtedly sealed, for he had invoked this very test--this meeting was to vouch for his sincerity. His mind went rapidly back over the whole period of his acquaintance with the Krovitch nobleman, to recall if there had been any indication of such a poltroon trait in Paul Zulka's character. He was, in justice, forced to deny the existence of any such.

In the flash of an eye it had all happened. Forgetting court etiquette in his rush, Zulka grasped his friend's hand and shook it vigorously.

"You," he said half doubting his own senses. "Here? Will wonders never cease? Carrick, too," and a friendly nod greeted the grinning and relieved Cockney. The recognition was complete.

"Mea Culpa!" said Zulka, suddenly remembering his grievous breach of decorum, turning now to bow deeply with a humility which seemed but half sincere. Of course Trusia forgave him for she seemed vastly pleased with the favorable outcome of the meeting.

"Carter a spy!" Paul exploded, when the status of affairs was duly explained to him. "I would as soon suspect our loyal old Josef there."

The face of the latter, since Zulka's advent, had been a study, though this allusion to him had been received with his accustomed smirk.

Sobieska, for the time being no further interested in the proceedings, was openly watching the mask-like face. It was as though a suspicious mind, aroused by the vigorous and unsustained charges, had, as a reflex, determined to probe the motives to their devious sources. Too subtle to display the uneasiness he felt at this surveillance, Josef appeared the personification of innocence and candor.

Colonel Sutphen, willing to make amends, and aware that Carter and Carrick had not yet been formally acquitted, arose and addressed Her Grace.

"I think we may take it, Highness, that this gentleman and his--his servant are vindicated." The word servant caused him some difficulty as he was not prepared to relegate Carrick to such servile rank. It might be of some significance to note that both Josef and Sobieska displayed a covert interest in this hesitation in the usually downright Chancellor.

XI

YOU LOVE TRUSIA

"I am so glad," she said as she stepped from the dais to greet him.

There was a generous simplicity of movement somewhat at variance with the haughty poise of her head. That Trusia, Duchess of Schallberg, was a very lovely young woman Carter found himself mentally confessing with no small degree of enthusiasm, while his heart warmed at her sweet effusiveness.

"Do you really and truly mean it?" she continued as she placed a small, firm palm in his, man-wise. "You have come all the way from that wonderful country of yours to join us?"

She clasped her hands at her neck in a sweet girlish gesture as he silently bowed his assent. He felt dazzled. Though accustomed to the society of high-bred women, he was at a loss for the first time in his experience; was unable to frame a simple affirmative. If, he thought, she would only turn away those wonderful eyes of hers for an instant, he felt confident of accomplishing a conversational commonplace at least.

The members of the Privy Council, following her lead, came forward to greet him. Carter devoutly prayed that this diversion might loosen his unruly member.

That no remark might escape his vigilant ears, Josef edged cautiously to the outskirts of the group now gathered around the Americans. Trusia espied him, and much against his desire haled him to the fore.

"You must make amends, sir," she prompted, though not unkindly, "for the annoyance you have caused Captain Carter."

"Your Highness," he said with a deferential bow, but unbending mind, "must accept my zeal in the cause as my justification." Trusia was much hurt at this intentional and undisguised evasion of her behest, as much on the strangers' as on her own account, so hastened to supplement such an ambiguous apology.

"Josef is indulged by us," she began deprecatingly, "because to his fidelity, loyalty and zeal, we are indebted for a royal leader for Krovitch, a man descended from our one-time kings of the day when Krovitch was great."

"But I thought," said the puzzled Carter, "that you were the only descendant of Augustus."

"I am." The little head was raised in imperial pride. "But King Stovik, though deposed, was the rightful sovereign, not my ancestor. The fugitive monarch left a scion whom Josef as a faithful servitor has attended from his infancy. Finding in recent events that the time was ripe for his crownless prince, he came to tell us that we had a king, if we dared to strike for him. He showed us proofs. We already had organization, men and money, but we sadly lacked a man for the struggle. My valorous people would have fought for me, poor as were my claims to the crown, founded on the wrong done another. Imagine how high their enthusiasm became on hearing that not only one of King Stovik's glorified stock, but a man--a young king--was to lead the ancient flag to victory. Russia, already dazed, can do nothing against the flame of my people's ardor."

"But the Almanac de Gotha," insisted Carter to whom the reference to the invisible king was a puzzling one.

"Knew nothing about King Stovik after his deposition and flight," she interrupted with a charming smile.

"Tell me the story, Your Grace," he pleaded, for he could feel instinctively that there was a story, an old world romance hidden here.

She held up a warning finger. "Be warned in time," she said, "it is a vulnerable point with me, one on which I am likely to be extremely prolix."

"You can but enhance the value of the legend," he replied with a bow. "I promise, Highness," he laughed, once more at his ease, "not to take the teeniest of naps."

Already deep in her recollections of her country's tribulations, her responsive smile was of one who dreamed. Inspiring scenes of tragic grandeur, the pageant of a nation's history wiped out in the groans of conquest, lit the beauty of her eyes. So must the Maid of Orleans have appeared to those who in awe listened to her. Softened by her translation into the world of inspiration, she turned to him.

"How I envy those who can wield the pen," she sighed. "I wish I could chronicle the story of the kings who have been safely hidden for generations. Patiently, devotedly, for two centuries have they waited for this day to dawn, the first opportunity that Krovitch has had to take back her own from the despoiler of Europe. The narrative from where general information ends," she continued, "briefly is as follows: King Stovik with his queen and infant son escaped by the connivance of a loyal nobleman on the midnight of the intended assassination of the overthrown dynasty. With two servants, husband and wife, who insisted on sharing the exile, he left Krovitch to find an asylum in a strange country, where caution led him to change his name. Certain it is that his subjects never learned the place of his retreat though they were well assured that his line was maintained in exile. After some years of silence, during which the heir apparent had reached a marriageable age, King Stovik sent again to his native land, to that nobleman in fact who had aided his escape, beseeching that from the maidens of noble birth a bride should be selected and sent back under the care of the messenger, who was none other than the faithful servant who had shared all the tribulations of the royal family. Bribes, threats, and coaxing of still loyal Krovitzers could not induce the faithful fellow to betray his master's hiding place. In fact on that, as on all similar embassies, in the generations that followed, her family bade farewell to their daughter, knowing not the place of her future home, nor her name, nothing but that she was to be the consort of their rightful king. So careful was Stovik in his banishment, that it became a hereditary rule not to permit the young bride to communicate with her family. Thus only could the never-dying hatred of Russia be avoided.

"Until my father's time this system has been maintained, always through the agency of the descendants of that pair of original servants, of whom Josef is the last. As a little child, I remember him first, when he came and claimed the hand of one of our most beautiful girls to share his master's banishment. Then, until recently, we had supposed the Line had become extinct, for no further missions came. Then he returned and offered to put a king at the head of our national movement. Nothing could have been a greater boon. Those who, for years, at all corners of the earth, had been striving for Krovitch, came flocking to her standards. Our joy was complete. Do you wonder, Captain Carter," she said gently, "that we are very lenient to Josef?"

Appreciating the girl's nobility, Carter strove to do justice to the Gray Man, but as he glanced into the mask-like face a greater repugnance than aforetimes overcame all generous impulses. He strove to put down the distrust that he was certain no one present shared with him, for on every countenance, save that of Sobieska who was gazing idly out of a window, he read a story of affection for the man who had done this thing for Krovitch.

"And the new king," he questioned lightly, avoiding the issue raised, "has he, too, married a maid of Krovitch?"

She crimsoned in manifest confusion. Averting her head for an instant, she bravely met his glance.

"Not yet," she replied. The signals of her embarrassment told him on whom the choice had nevertheless fallen.

She hurried on that this stranger might not the longer probe her sentiments with his compelling eyes. "In a few days we go to bring him who knows not he is king, and at the head of a valorous people seat him on his throne. Now are the days when only a man must lead. My ancestors threw this land into Russia's clutches, their descendant must return it to Krovitch's rightful king. This is about all, Captain Carter, except that when King Stovik fled he was supposed to have worn the medal found on your chauffeur. Doubtless at some time a member of Carrick's family received it as a mark of royal gratitude."

"I thank you for the story," said Carter. "Now that my identity is established, may I ask for a place in your army? The cause of your country shall be my own."

She smiled indulgently. "Perhaps," she said, "when you have fully mastered our language, we might make you a lance corporal. You see we have only one Field Marshal, Colonel Sutphen, although fully a score of applicants for that rank."

"Don't tease, Tru," said Zulka with the intimacy of a lifelong friendship, "I am a colonel. Cal Carter, here, is a better soldier. We fought together at Santiago, so I should know."

"We'll see," was all she would reply, as she turned to go. Then hesitatingly she held out her hand to Carter, who bent above it with inspired gallantry and touched his lips to her fingers.

"Au revoir, Lady Paramount," he said.

"Au revoir, Sir Knight of the Auto-car," she replied; adding; "be sure to come to the levee to-night. Already the maidens of Krovitch have heard of you, sir. One at least, desires to make your acquaintance."

"We are going to the inn," Zulka announced as he took Carter by the arm, so the latter made his adieux to the gentlemen of the Privy Council and turned prepared to follow him.

"Castle's full," Paul explained to relieve the mystification apparent on his friend's countenance. "Privy Counselors with their families and households, Army Staff, Duchess's Attendants and Aides-de-Camp, and so forth."

"But the inn's full, too, Paul. The landlord----"

"Thought you were a spy. That's why Josef recommended Schallberg. Thought you would probably tumble to the fact that he was wise, as we say in New York; to the fact that more than a hundred notices were posted there offering a reward for the apprehension of humble me, whom they flatteringly described. You see," he explained, "shortly after my return last year, I hurt Russia's feelings. Made what they very truthfully called a revolutionary address. I've been dodging Siberia ever since. Get your medal, Carrick, and come along," he called over his shoulder to the Cockney, who was reluctant to leave without his precious heirloom.

Carter's second appearance in the courtyard was more gratifying than his first, and he had no difficulty in procuring his touring car from the sentry, who already seemed to have been apprised of the stalwart stranger's status.

Whirled along in the auto, the inn was soon reached, where, arm in arm with Count Zulka, Carter entered, much to the unenlightened bewilderment of the landlord, who, nevertheless, at the Krovitzer's request, had no difficulty in finding them a private room for their dinner.

After having enjoyed to the full the appetizing meal which had been set before them, the two friends at first indulged themselves with intermittent cigarettes and the thimblefuls of local liquor attendant at their elbows. Digestion, for a while, stood in the way of discourse, and the tally was naturally indolent, somnolent.

Presently, after having sufficiently watched the rings of smoke flatten themselves against a black, studded rafter, Carter gave a slight rein to his speculations.

"Why," he said, holding up his cigarette to gaze squintingly at the ember at its head, "why is the Count Sobieska antagonistic to Josef?"

Zulka stretched himself further back in his heavy chair. Very much at his ease, he could have dispensed with questions just then.

"Professional jealousy, I suppose," he replied. "When it comes to knowledge of Russian movements," he went on to explain, "that's Sobieska's department, mind you, but somehow Josef is always hours ahead of him through some source of his own. Naturally Sobieska takes the chance to rub a miscue in on the old chap."

"Why should he be interested in Carrick's antecedents, Paul?"

"Cal, you are like the youngster, who after exhausting all other questions, asked his dazed parent, 'Father, why is why?' Tell me all that happened," he said, seeing the slightly nettled expression on his friend's face. "You see the circus was all over before I arrived."

Carter related the affair from the time of their first meeting with Josef, at that very inn, to the time when Zulka's timely appearance put an end to their trial. "The rest you know," he concluded.

Zulka opened his cigarette case, selected one and after knocking the end of it two or three times against the metal lid without putting it in his mouth, looked up at his friend. "Cal, I'm afraid I've given you the idea that Sobieska is incompetent. That is not so. The fact is, he is devilish deep and clever. He never lets up once he has struck a trail. He's probably hit on something now that he thinks should be investigated. By the way, how's Saunderson of the Racquet?" So the conversation drifted.

Their mutual friends in New York had included many women of gentle birth with whom Paul Zulka had always been more or less of a favorite. Concerning these, individually and collectively, Carter's replies to his friend's inquiries had been equally frank and responsive.

"So you left no sweetheart behind, Cal?"

"No, Paul. I'd not leave a sweetheart. I'd make her my wife."

"In the face of a conge?"

"You ought to know me better. I never take 'no' for an answer." Carter's pride glowed in his face as he made this reply.

"The Duchess of Schallberg," announced Zulka, "will marry the King of Krovitch to unite the two houses. She has pledged herself." This seemingly irrelevant announcement was made through a swirling cloud of smoke.

"So?" Carter strove to make his reply partake of easy nonchalance, but his throat tightened so that he could feel his face go red and hot. It was as if Paul had intimated that he, Calvert Carter, would seek and be refused by the Duchess of Schallberg. He was thankful the Krovitzer was not looking just then.

Had he been wise, Carter would have said no more. But failing to emphasize his disinterestedness, he added to his monosyllabic exclamation a query in a studied tone of unconcern.

"What's that got to do with us, old chap?"

Zulka leaned forward confidentially as he laid a friendly hand upon the other's knee.

"She's for neither you nor me, Cal," he said regretfully. "She must marry a man she has never seen for the sake of a country that she adores. Without this submission on her part we could count on no united Krovitch. Our country worships her and will follow no king who will not seat her upon his throne. Get that angel face out of your heart. Deafen your ears to her voice before, like me, you try too late. Oh, I know, I saw," he hastened on as Carter would have stopped him, "love makes all eyes keen. You love Trusia."

As the significance of the last remark went home, Carter sat as one stunned. The perspiration gathered slowly in great beads on his forehead. He hung his head gloomily; his face went pale. It seemed, suddenly, that life, ever a pleasant vista to him, had built a wall before his eyes, unscalable, opaque.

Then he understood. A pain gripped his heart as the great truth came home to him.

"I do," he answered jerkily, for he was striving to keep a strong man's grip on his soul. Slowly, however, the agony, defying him, triumphed. "My God," he wailed in surrender, "it is true though I never realized it till now." That was all he said, but with blind hands he groped for fellowship and welcomed Zulka's responsive grip of steel.

Relaxing his handclasp, he arose and walked to the window, to gaze out upon darkness until his own night passed from him sufficiently to enable him to seize upon his soul in the elusive shadows and hold it firmly. From where he stood, after an interval of pregnant silence, he turned a high-held, stern, white face upon Zulka.

"Paul," he said quietly, "we'll have to stand by her now to the end. If Krovitch wins and I'm alive, I'll go back to New York. If she loses, our lives must purchase her safety, should that be the price. It will be Trusia first, then."

"It will always be Trusia," said Zulka.

Carter nodded his understanding.

"Come, Carter!" Zulka said almost brusquely, "enough of sentiment. We must dress for the levee. I can fit you out in clothes."

XII

CARTER FINDS AN ALLY

The haut nobility of Krovitch were present at the Ducal reception that night. Glittering uniforms, with a plentiful supply of feminine silks and sparkling jewels, made even the gray old halls of the castle take on a warmer, gladder note. But to Carter, with an aching heart hidden behind a smiling countenance, the gaiety seemed forced, the colors glaring; while to his questing eyes all faces appeared blank surfaces, save one.

She was talking to a wisp of a golden-haired girl, whom he afterward learned was Zulka's cousin, the daughter of the plump Holder of the Purse. Apparently Trusia had not yet noticed his entrance, but why should she?

Had he been gifted with omnipresence, however, he would have heard her say to her companion, "That is he. The one in dress suit. No, stupid, not the short man in black and gold, but the strapping big fellow who holds his head like some ancient paladin."

"Oh," her companion had answered impulsively, as she finally singled Carter out from the throng about the entrance, "he is fine, Highness. I'm going to fall in love with him. I'm sure I am. Do you mind, Tru?" she teased, with the intuitive sex-given perception that her royal chum felt at least a passing interest in the handsome stranger. The Duchess made no immediate reply to her friend, but gazed resolutely in a direction opposite to the one from which she knew Carter was approaching. Even predestined queens are not averse to stately coquetry.

"No, Natalie," she finally condescended to reply, "why should I, dear?" She smiled affectionately down on the sweet face before her. "I envy you, child, that you may love where you please," she added gently.

"Oh," said Natalie. The little maid of honor changed front with ready sympathy. "I might have known you could not faint in his arms, be brought home by him, rescue him from jail, without feeling some interest in him. He's coming this way, Highness," she added in a confidential undertone as if Trusia had not already divined the fact through the back of her regal little head. Nevertheless, the Duchess achieved a very natural surprise as Calvert Carter presented himself before her.

He was duly presented to the golden-haired girl and apprised of her kinship to his friend Paul, who had already entered into conversation with Her Grace of Schallberg. Carter found a temporary distraction from his unearned wounds in listening to her cheery prattle and answering her light queries about the wilderness she imagined his country to be, just beyond the environs of the municipalities. Their group was constantly augmented by fresh arrivals, so the conversation grew general, and Carter had no opportunity except for a chance word now and then with the woman to whom he had silently yielded his heart. Enthusiastic young officers, cadets of ancient lineage, boasted hopefully of the efforts which they would make to restore the fatherland to its place among the great nations of the world. Even Natalie was soon claimed by an admiring young hussar glittering in black and gold, and Carter found himself alone for the nonce. He suddenly remembered a forgotten duty, and the possibility of its performance was now causing him some perplexity.

"You look troubled, Captain Carter," said Trusia, at his elbow. "Is there anything we can do?"

He smiled gratefully. "Yes, Highness," he responded eagerly. "I was just cudgeling my brains for a suitable form in which to present my request."

"It is----"

"Permission to cable my address in the morning to my New York agent."

"It is granted," she said. "A messenger will leave at seven to-morrow morning for Vienna. I will have Josef call with him in the morning. I need scarcely caution you not to refer to the state of affairs here."

"You have my word, Highness," he answered.

"I could ask for no better guaranty," she commented sweetly.

If Carter was distrustful of the emissary she had chosen, he was well aware that his vague misgivings would find no other reception than coldness did he even dare to hint at them. He turned to find Sobieska's look of pseudo-indolence upon him.

"Have I your permission, Highness, to make Captain Carter acquainted with some of his brother officers?" queried the Minister of Private Intelligence. She nodded her consent and Carter was led away, but not to meet any military men. Having found a place sufficiently out of earshot of the others, the Count motioned the American into a seat, placing himself opposite him.

"There is nothing like a common object of suspicion, Captain Carter, to make men friends," he began guardedly. Then probably recognizing that the man to whom he was speaking would hold his disclosures sacred, he threw away his diplomatic subterfuges and came frankly to the point.

"I wanted to tell you," he said gravely, "that I have already cabled my agents in London and Paris to investigate the history of your man Carrick." The American turned to regard him with a slight frown. Had the fellow brought him here to tell him they had not been believed at the afternoon's trial? Sobieska, understanding what was passing in the other's mind, smiled indulgently.

"Oh, I believed your story, don't fear," he said; "but, in the face of all things, I have always doubted the sincerity of Josef. I cannot convince myself that his motives are entirely as disinterested as he has convinced Her Grace they are. There was something, too, about Carrick's story of his father's death that awakened my suspicions. That medal for instance."

"You surely cannot mean----" began Carter, fairly rising from his seat in his wild surmise.

"Quietly, quietly," cautioned Sobieska, glancing warily back toward the throng of guests to assure himself that the American's perturbation had passed unnoted. Having satisfied himself that it had attracted no attention, he took up the thread where it had been dropped by him.

"I meant nothing more at present than that I want to know everything my agents can learn. Meanwhile not a word to any one, especially Josef. Don't trust him in any way, though."

With such an opportunity, Carter naturally told him about his dilemma concerning the despatches.

"Oh, if they refer to business, I suppose you may let him have them," he was assured. "He would hardly tamper with private papers. They will be perfectly safe, especially as he will know that you have already spoken to Her Grace concerning them. I may be doing him an injustice," he continued cogitatingly, "but I somehow feel that he is playing a deeper game in Krovitch than you or I have any idea of at present. Every one here from Her Highness down almost worships him. Can I count on your aid?"

"Certainly," replied Carter as they both arose. "I don't like the fellow either." They sauntered nonchalantly back to the others, baffling Josef's inquiring eyes.

XIII

A NEW MAJOR OF HUSSARS

Carter admitted that in his present state of mind dawn was no more to be welcomed than darkness. For hours on end now, he had been fighting grimly and silently to the end that he might cast out of his heart, for all time, the love for a woman which had crept in. Sleep had dared not come within range of that titanic struggle. Worn with the battle which had witnessed his defeat, he had just completed his cipher message, when, following a modest knock at the door, Josef entered complacently with the pent-browed peasant at his heels.

"If monsieur desires to send despatches," said the Hereditary Servitor, "he can make his arrangements with Johann here. Johann goes at once to Vienna, via Schallberg. He is trustworthy and discreet. Can I be of further service to monsieur? No? Then I shall go." Without waiting for any reply, he closed the door behind him as though upon a nervous patient.

After giving the messenger minute instructions and a liberal gratuity, Carter dismissed him and the despatches from his thoughts. Later in the day he was to be reminded not only of them but of the evil leer bestowed by Johann at the munificent tip dropped into his horny palm.

From the window of his room Carter watched the stir in the camp. In response to the first call from the bugles, the men were already bestirring themselves along the tent-marked company streets; some industriously polishing belt plates and buttons; some tightening the laces of their leggings, while still others, ruddy of visage, were plunging close-cropped heads into buckets of splashing cold water. At the far end of the street, opposite his window, the over prompt were already falling in. The sergeants picturesquely marked the points of rest. The first sergeant was glancing over the bundle of orders he had drawn from his belt, preparatory to roll call and the routine of the day.

The world beyond, the world of fields and woods and flowers, looked fair; the sun had not yet dried the dew, and jaded as he was, Carter thanked God for all things sweet and pure. Something choked in his throat. He welcomed the galloping approach of Zulka, who, shortly, drew up beneath his window. In a flash, the Count read the trouble in the New Yorker's face, but pretending not to, he touched his hat brim in precise military salute.

"I've rare tidings for thee, my lord," and he vigorously waved an oblong paper in a melodramatic manner. "Given under hand and seal, as your lawyer chaps would say."

"Just as soon as I can get this boot on," answered Carter in a tone he strove desperately to keep cheerful. Having accomplished his task without unreasonable delay, he picked up a hat and crop and descended to the courtyard of the inn where the other was impatiently waiting with some good tidings he found hard to contain.

"Read that, Cal," he said, as he thrust the papers into his friend's hands. Carter opened the document to be confronted with an incomprehensible jumble of letters in Latin,--a language he had promptly forgotten the day of his graduation,--a lordly seal and, dearest of all, in an angular feminine hand, in subscription:

"_Trusia, Dei Gratia, Vice Regina._"

He feasted his eyes on the one word that for him blurred all the rest, "Trusia."

"Trusia" of the marvelous eyes. "Trusia" of the ensnaring hair. "Trusia" the beloved, the desirable.

"So you haven't forgotten your Latin, after all," Zulka was saying, leisurely dismounting from his horse.

"But I have," answered Carter. "What does it all mean?"

"Your commission, man. Major of the Royal Hussars. For the present attached to Her Grace, as Aide. I congratulate you."

"Don't, Paul; not yet. It is going to be all the harder for me."

Zulka nodded his head gravely. "You'd better fight at close range. It is harder, but quicker."

He noted Calvert's riding costume at a glance and made a sudden resolve.

"Better take a ride, old chap. Get yourself in condition. I'm busy to-day. Borrow Casimir's horse--he's off for the morning. I think Natalie will be out on the road this way. She'd appreciate your escort, I'll wager. We creep a step nearer the city this morning, and as Division Adjutant I'll have my hands full.

"Here, Casimir," he called to the equerry who was lazily swinging his feet over the edge of the porch on which he had seated himself, "lend Major Carter your mount for this morning, can't you?"

"Gladly. Saral is the right sort and I guess bears him no ill will for yesterday's stampede."

Carter was about to mount when Carrick put in a solemn appearance from the stables.

"Some one has tackled the automobile with an axe, sir," he announced ruefully. "The wheels are left, and that's about all of the 'go' part." Carter turned wrathfully from the horse to follow Carrick back to the shed where the big car had been housed. With ready sympathy the two young Krovitzers followed.

"It is dastardly," Paul remarked as he bent over and discovered that not a particle of the motive mechanism had been left intact.

"Count on me, sir," Casimir volunteered, "to help you ferret out the rascals. Have you any idea who could have played such a shabby trick?"

While Carter had pretty definite suspicions he was not prepared just then to announce them.

"The car is done for, certainly," he said gloomily. "No," he said as he turned indifferently away, "I don't know who did it, and thank you, Casimir, I don't care to. I don't think I would be justified in killing a man for breaking up even six thousand dollars' worth of property, but if I was certain just now who did it I feel I would be strongly tempted to wring his neck. Au revoir, gentlemen, I am not going to permit this to spoil my ride." With this and a nod, he returned and, mounting the horse, cantered out of view along the road to the castle.

The handsome bay pounded steadily ahead. The air was soothing soft with a thousand scents of forest and hill, of field and farm; kind zephyrs of morning touched his brow and eased his sorrows, while the sun, from a bed of pearl-pink clouds, rose slowly before his eyes. Beyond and alongside of the already striking camp, on the right of the road, the woods began again, leaving the open fields like an alternate square on some mammoth checker board. More than one soldier gazed admiringly at his strong figure as he cantered past, while the sentries, doubtless under instructions, permitted him to pass unchallenged through the lines.

When he reached the spot where he had first seen Trusia--the place of the accident, he checked his horse to indulge in the sensations the scene awakened. He beheld again the marble beauty of the face; he felt the wondrous softness of the skin, and once more his heart was entangled in the meshes of the fragrant hair as the loosened strands blew against his hot cheek.

Round the bend in the road, as then, he heard approaching hoof beats. He marveled that his heart should beat so high merely for the advent of Lady Natalie. In the indulgence of his dream, the suggested thuds presaged the coming of Trusia. He sat immovably upon his horse in mid-road, waiting. Every sense was aquiver, every nerve on edge.

A black horse swept into view as it first had in his fancy. It was ridden by Trusia. Saladin had not forgotten. As his mistress reined him in, his wide eyes shifted about distrustfully. A quiver ran beneath the satiny flanks while his slender legs trembled. Carter made no effort to conceal his surprise, as he lifted his hat in salutation.

"Your Highness," he ejaculated.

"Yes," she laughed. "Why, aren't you disappointed? Lady Natalie is. Her mother found some unwelcome duty shirked which she insisted should be properly discharged. I am her apologetic substitute. Besides I wished to discipline Saladin to this place before he should acquire the habit of shying at it. There, Beauty," she said patting his arching neck as he snorted in pure ecstasy of terrified recollections. Calmed by her caressing voice and the touch of her hand he stretched forth his head to nozzle the other horse in neighborly fashion.

"Natalie is a sweet girl, Major Carter," she said tentatively, giving him his full title. "Am I forgiven for coming--in her stead?"

"On condition that Your Highness will do me the honor of riding with me--in her stead." He smiled his usual frank smile. "Besides," he pleaded, "it will take me some time to thank you for your kindness in giving me my brevet. I know it is an honor which many a man of Krovitch would die to win."

She flushed as she answered him. "It was but a small return for what you have suffered."

In silent assent to his invitation, she pointed her crop to a path among the trees, which might easily have escaped the observation of those not familiar with its existence.

"Right beyond the turn in the road is a bypath. Let us take that. It goes down into the heart of the wood, to the ancestor of forests. The trees stand there as if brooding over the lost centuries of their youth. The moss is as gray as Time himself. The only sounds, save the soughing sighs of the giant branches, are the chime of the waterfall and the chirping of birds. I love it," she said with sparkling eyes, "because those trees seem typical of the undying faith of the land, which for two centuries has never lost hope and has never ceased working for the day which will soon crown our efforts. See," she pointed down the aisle of overhanging branches they were entering, "is it not magnificent?"

Side by side, comrades under the spell of the woodlands, rode Trusia and Carter, inhaling the fresh morning sifted through the leaves. A vista of trees arose on either hand, each one seemingly more massive, more aged than its fellow; some bowed in retrospection, some erect with hope and looking skyward for the new star in their country's firmament.

A peace begotten of serenity settled on Carter's soul. He turned to look at the girl beside him. The magic of the place had brought a refreshing expression of content into her face. He noted the soft turn of her cheek, the inviting round chin and the steady splendor of the eyes. The spell of silence was broken then. The wood sprites were routed by a modern girl. Feeling his eyes upon her, she turned to him, her lips half parted in a smile.

"Is it not wonderful, all of this?" she said, caressing the leafy monarchs with a wide-spread gesture. "Do you have such forests in America, such trees? Oh, I have heard of your California forests, where roads are cut through the trunk of a single giant without destroying its life. But it is the spirit of the woodlands, I mean. Do they breathe traditions?"

"Not to us, Highness. We are not their children. Perhaps the Indian when he bade them farewell could understand their counsels."

"You were a soldier," she said, as a suggested possibility caught her, "did you ever fight Indians?" Her eager face was almost as a child's who begs a story.

"Sorry I can't oblige you," he laughed indulgently. "I engaged only the prosaic European from Spain."

"You fought in Cuba? Tell me about it."

So much as he modestly might tell, he related to her as they rode on. They were young, time was cheap and the tale was not uninteresting.

The labored heaving of the horses' shoulders brought them back to their surroundings. They were leaving the forest to mount a little hill upon whose side a small hovel stood, which Carter some time in his need was to bless.

"It's Hans's, the charcoal-burner's," Trusia said with surprise; "we've ridden ten miles, Major Carter, and scarcely faster than a walk. We must turn back at once; my household will be filled with alarm. Please come," she said earnestly.

Together they turned their horses about, and started the return journey at a good ground-eating gallop. Mile after mile they canceled, occupied in the thoughts the ride had awakened. She was silent, in the spell of a new obsession wrought by this man with his honest voice and stories of the new, strange land, from which he came. Carter, distressed that possibly he had caused trouble by his senseless prattle, was dutifully bent on getting her back to the castle with the least possible delay. Mentally he was attempting to frame a suitable and fitting apology to offer her. Several times he cleared his throat, but she seemed so preoccupied that he maintained silence.

Finally he achieved an explanation.

"I have been trying, Highness, to apologize, but really I can't. You understand, don't you? I would be a hypocrite to say that I am sorry. I am not. It must have been the magic of the place to which a year is as a second quickly passed, so old is the forest."

"Have you been worrying about that all this time, my friend?" she said with a quick laugh, awakening from her revery. "You remind me of my duty," she added gently. "I was wool-gathering." She turned to discover if he had in any measure divined her thoughts. Satisfied that he had not, she was content to talk of many things which would claim her time. Their conversation became gradually impersonal and general.

Once he had asked her why she had been so relieved at the answers concerning the medal the Cockney wore. She hung her head for a moment answering almost in a whisper, "It was Stovik's medal. I feared Carrick was the king to whom I am to be married." Carter pursued the matter no further. To his regret he saw that they were fast approaching the entrance to the wood.

Bending forward suddenly she looked athwart his horse into the shadows of bough and bush.

"Did you see him?" she inquired breathlessly.

"Whom? Where?" He pivoted about stupidly.

"Johann, the messenger," she answered, "who should have been in Schallberg two hours ago. There, he's skulking behind that white oak. Johann!" she commanded imperiously. Seeing that concealment was no longer practicable, the fellow sulkily came from his hiding-place and stood, with sullen countenance, in the path beside them. "Find out what he is doing here, Major Carter."

The messenger maintained a dogged silence to Carter's inquiries. Fearing that some treachery was at the root of the matter, the American finally asked whether the fellow had the despatches given him that morning. With an evil leer Johann looked up at this, breaking his silence.

"Ja, Herr Major," he replied, "I have them all right, and your hush money, too." He jingled the coins in his pocket with insolent significance.

"He's surely drunk, but what does he mean, Major?" asked Trusia in bewilderment.

"I do not know, Highness," he replied tensely, "but if, as I suspect, some treason's afoot, I would suggest he be at once taken to the castle for a formal investigation."

The man guffawed impudently. "You wouldn't dare," he said meaningly to Carter, "you wouldn't dare let Count Sobieska or Her Grace know what is in that letter."

Indignant at the suggestion that his message had been read Carter retorted: "We shall see, my man, for to Count Sobieska you go at once."

"All right," the peasant answered jauntily, with a satisfaction Carter thought was assumed, "if you are willing, I am. Come along," and with a leering wink he initiated the return castleward.

XIV

FOUND IN THE COURTYARD OF THE INN

Through the thronged courtyard Johann was led directly to the office of the Minister of Private Intelligence. Not, however, before Josef had attempted to communicate with him. This privilege Carter denied. Nevertheless he was unable to prevent a covert exchange of triumphant glances between the Hereditary Servitor and the closely watched messenger. This argued that the two were in league. Josef followed, unbidden.

As they entered his official sanctum, Sobieska looked up, and, as he arose, a genuine surprise passed, cloudlike, across his face. He appreciated at a glance that something unusual had occurred. He bowed Trusia to a seat, directing a well-defined look of inquiry toward Carter. The latter merely shrugged his shoulders, implying that it was not his affair.

Sobieska consulted his watch, which lay on the table beside him, while he turned sternly to Johann. "Why aren't you in Schallberg?" he demanded; "you had despatches, as well as a cable to send for Major Carter."

"I have that cable still, Excellency," he grunted.

"What, you didn't transmit it?"

"No," the man answered boldly. Seeing the volcanic wrath awakening behind the Minister's sleepy eyes, he hastened to explain.

"I went to his room," he said, pointing fiercely at Carter, "he gave me a sealed envelope. After I had taken it he handed me a large sum of money--a fortune to a peasant. He told me to let no one see it but the telegraph operator at Schallberg."

"That is true," said Carter. "It was a business transaction, a communication relating to my personal affairs."

"I am an ignorant man," whimpered the messenger, stimulated by a mental contemplation of his supposed injuries, "but I was made the tool of that traitor--that spy." His eyes, red from excessive potations, glared with hatred as he pointed to Carter.

"Be careful, sir," broke in indignant Trusia, "remember the gentleman is one of our Aides and bears a commission in the royal army. Would you taste the whip?"

"Better that than the noose he planned for me," sulkily retorted the peasant.

"You had better be precise," said Sobieska.

"Well, if you will have it, I'll tell you," the man answered. Emboldened by an encouraging murmur from Josef he continued.

Carter held up his hand. "Wait a moment," he exclaimed as he turned appealingly to Trusia. "Highness, this may be of greatest interest to some one not present when Johann, the messenger, was apprehended. It may also be of secret importance to Krovitch, to Your Highness. Is Josef necessary here? Surely he can offer neither testimony nor enlightenment."

Though cautioned to stay within call, Josef was dismissed to his unrevealed disappointment.

"Now, go ahead, Johann," commanded the Privy Counselor, when the sound of receding footsteps assured him that Josef was no longer in earshot.

"I never had so much money at one time," continued the messenger, manifestly ill at ease since the departure of Josef. "I began to wonder why the stranger had given it to me for so simple a service. When the dumb man ponders overlong he seeks counsel. That was my case. My friend and I sat and talked of it and as we talked we drank.

"My friend said that the reason for keeping it secret was the person to whom it was written. At first I laughed at him. It could mean nothing. He pushed the brandy toward me and laughed too. I supposed he thought the same. Then I began to turn it over in my head, and as it seemed possible it might mean something, I besought him how such a thing could be. He replied by asking to whom the letter was addressed. I said in a foreign language,--English I do not understand. He pondered and said it might be sent by a spy to the Russian police. He added that it might mean hanging for me; I was afraid it was so, then in my fright I drank more brandy. My head reeled, but I was less afraid. I laughed once more. I asked him what he would do. He requested to see the letter. I was angry. 'Fool,' he said, 'not to open it; just to see the address. That will tell. No one will know.' I gave it to him. He pushed the brandy to me as he puzzled over the odd letters. When I looked up from the bottle, he was staring at me, his eyes big and scared. 'It is as I thought,' he said, in a whisper one uses near the graveyard at night. I hardly knew what to do, Excellency, so I wandered in the forest. I fear I was drunk from the brandy. The rest Her Highness can tell you," and the man wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"We found him skulking in the forest; not twenty minutes ago," supplemented Trusia. "His actions were so mysterious and his speech so reprehensible that we brought him here."

Carter, regarding the whole affair as a delusion--a bubble soon broken, brought the matter to an issue.

"Don't you think," he suggested confidently, "that Johann should produce the incriminating document. I think it will turn out to be a certain message to one Henry Jarvis, Broker, William Street, New York." He came forward to stand beside Sobieska at the table, as Johann took out a bulky envelope from a dispatch box and placed it before the Minister. Trusia, too, had drawn near. The trio started involuntarily as they read the address of Russia's sub-minister of Secret Police in Warsaw staring them in the face. Trusia gasped and turned white. Sobieska walked to the door, closed it gently and returned to the table.

"Who was your friendly counselor?" he demanded of Johann.

"I dare not tell you," the fellow replied doggedly.

"If I have to ask Posner at the inn, it will go hard with you, Johann."

"He does not know; we did not drink at Posner's."

"That is certainly a clever imitation of my writing," said Carter, who had been carefully studying the characters on the envelope. Sobieska looked up. "You do not believe me capable of communicating with your enemies!" He appealed to the girl, whose white face was staring at the oblong packet lying on the table.

"I do not know what to believe," she said as she struggled to keep back the tears. "Open it, Sobieska." The latter complied and scanned the communication.