Chapter I: Am the Lady Trusia (4)

"This is a national movement of ours, sire. Some chance may have aroused Russian suspicion, but believe me, I'd stake my life on your people's loyalty. St. Petersburg may be apprehensive, but they know nothing of the real truth nor the imminence of our uprising. Here is Colonel Sutphen, doubtless wishing to talk more fully of our plans to you," she concluded as the grizzled veteran stood courteously awaiting their leisure to speak with the King.

Feeling free to do so now, she turned to her American aide. "Major Carter," she said, "I think His Majesty can spare me now. Won't you tell me of your adventures to-night?" Taking the arm he offered they strolled together into the hall. Being there out of the royal presence they were at liberty to seat themselves. An alcove held a tempting divan. Here they found a place.

"Your Grace," he said in a tone he strove valiantly to hold within the pitch of social usage, "let me rather tell you how beautiful I fancied you to-night."

As the handsome fellow bent his head toward her, she was possessed of a strange yearning. The plans, the plots, the wearying details of years had almost deprived her of the solace of sex; in the role of patriot she had well-nigh forgotten that she was a woman. A hunger for her due, so long deferred, spoke in her voice.

"Yes," she said honestly, "please do. Anything to make me forget for the few minutes I can call my own. Tell me a fairy-story," she commanded with almost childish eagerness. "Or have you Americans foresworn fairies for Edisons?"

"I know one who has not," he answered, falling soothingly into her mood. "He has seen the Queen, Titania."

"Well, tell me about her. Oh, I do hope that she was beautiful," and she dimpled bewitchingly.

"She was--fairy queens are always beautiful, and sometimes kind. Once upon a time--all fairy-stories have happened once upon a time--there was a man."

"Yes," she interrupted, bending expectantly toward him.

"He was poor," he continued quietly.

"Oh," she exclaimed in disappointment.

Carter shook his head understandingly. "He was an artist. He hoped one day to be called a genius. The fairy queen knew this was not to be so she made him a king and gave him--part of her kingdom." He paused to find her looking down, a shade of sadness on her face. Noticing his pause she looked up.

"Well?" she asked.

"There was another man," he continued. "This other man was not poor. He was not an artist, but to-night he saw the fairy queen in all her regal splendor. It made him think that all the flowers in all the worlds condensed into one small but perfect bloom were not so sweet as she. So the other man more than ever wished to rule in her fairyland--with her."

"No, no," she cried, detecting the prohibited note, "you must not speak so." Her hands crumpled the morsel of cobweb and lace she had for handkerchief. Carried away with her proximity, however, he would not now be denied.

"This is but a fairy-story, Duchess. Oh, Fairy Queen, could you not find a kingdom for the other man in fairyland--a kingdom with you as Queen?"

His naked soul was laying pleading hands upon her quivering heart. She turned away, unable to withstand the suppliance of his eyes.

"You do not know what you ask," she whispered hoarsely. Then vehemently spurring her resolve into a gallop, she added, "When the King is crowned in Schallberg, I become his wife."

"Suppose he isn't," he urged doggedly.

"Oh, no," she cried brokenly, "don't make me a traitor to my country's hopes. Don't make me wish for failure."

Unwittingly her words confessed her love for Carter. Grimly forcing her weakness back into her secret heart, she turned a calm front to him once again.

"Enough of fairy-stories, Major Carter," she said. "We live in a workaday world where the 'little people' have no place. All of us have our duties to perform. If some be less pleasant than others it is no excuse for not fulfilling them to the uttermost. We have a hard day before us. With His Majesty's permission, therefore, I will retire for the night." She arose as she said this, so Carter had no other alternative than to follow her into the royal presence.

From a balcony at the far end of the room, crept a faint note of music. The players were carefully concealed behind banked palms and gigantic ferns. To the surprised ears of those unaware of their presence it came first as a single note, then a chord, a stave, a vibrant meaning. It was like a distant bugle call across a midnight plain. It swelled into a challenge.

Then, echoing the hoof beats of horses, it swept into a glorious charge. All the invisible instruments crashed valorously into their fullest sounds. The arteries of the listeners throbbed a response to its inspiration. Trusia, her eyes gleaming like twin stars, laid her hand softly on the royal arm.

"Oh, sire," she cried, "it is our nation's battle song."

Carter sighed. He saw that her loyalty would hold her to an alliance against her heart.

Possessed by the ardor of the song, the nobles, drawing their swords, cried in ecstatic chorus, "For Krovitch! For Krovitch!" In their pandemonium of joy, Carter's distress was unnoted.

He could not longer endure the sight of the prophetic association; it seemed as if they were receiving nuptial felicitations as they stood there side by side, so with a heavy heart he crept up to his own apartment, where, at least, without stint, he could indulge his thoughts. After the brilliance of the salon, the single light in his room seemed puling and weak, so he crossed over and extinguished it. In doing so, he found himself near the window, which, opening to the floor, door wise, looked along the roof of the stone porch. A cooling sweep of moonlight fell on Carter's face and urged him to peace of soul. He never noticed the soft indulgence of Diana, for, as he glanced streetward, he recalled the incident of Josef and the stranger. Drawing an easy-chair into the zone of moonlight he lit a cigar and strove desperately to find a clue.

"Two fingers--that means two something, at first glance. Has it any further significance?" he pondered. "Of course it was prearranged, when and how--and does Sobieska know? If he doesn't, Josef has correspondents unknown to Krovitch--that alone looks dangerous. I'll look up Sobieska. It's now twenty minutes of two," he said as he consulted his watch. A swift inspiration caused him suddenly to raise his head. "I've got it. The house is all still now. Two--two--two o'clock, that's the solution. They're to meet at two o'clock. Where? I can't wait for Sobieska, there's no time."

He bent over and slipped off his military boots and put on a pair of moccasins he always wore about his room. Cautiously he opened the long window and stepped gingerly upon the roof. "Josef won't dare go out the front way; so to leave the grounds he'll have to pass beneath me, and I can follow if he does." Placing one hand on the bow window beside him, he leaned over to peer into the moonlit yard beneath.

After he had waited what seemed a double eternity he was rewarded by seeing a shape disengage itself from the shadows about the servant's quarters in the rear, and come and stand directly beneath his place of observation. Somewhere a clock struck two. There was a grating sound as of the moving of rusty hinges from the direction of the front of the house, and the first comer had a companion with whom he instantly began a whispered conversation, of which, strain his ears as he might, Carter could catch only four words,--"Your report--and lists." The man whom he supposed to be Josef drew a bulky sheaf of papers from his breast pocket and passed them to the mysterious stranger. It was time to interfere, Carter thought. Swinging by his arms until his legs encircled the stone pillar he slid to the porch and, leaping to the ground, confronted the conspirators. Instinctively his first act was to clutch the papers, and as he did so he was struck from behind and fell unconscious to the ground. As his senses passed from him, he was dimly conscious of a surprise that neither man was Josef. A sleepy determination possessed him to hold grimly to the papers. Then all was blank.

* * * * *

He wished they wouldn't annoy him, he remonstrated drowsily. When he was asleep he didn't have that awful pain in his head. As he opened his eyes he smiled vacuously into Trusia's face. That brought him to his senses with a jerk. A candle sputtered fitfully in a gilt stand beside him on the ground. Trusia's arm was about his shoulder. The King and, yes, Sobieska were there. And that other figure, that was Josef. He glanced at his own right hand. It was still tightly clenched, but held no papers.

"How did you know I was here?" he inquired, his voice a trifle husky and weak. He looked at the girl against whose breast he leaned; her reply alone could satisfy him.

"Josef, in going around to see if all things were locked tight, heard you groaning, and, not knowing who it was, gave the alarm."

Carter struggled to his feet and, though a trifle dizzy yet from the blow of his unseen foe, was able to stagger into the house. There Trusia, with a woman's tender solicitude for those for whom she cares, without the intervention of servants poured from a near-by decanter, and forced Carter to drain, a goblet of wine. Under the stimulant his strength returned.

"If Count Sobieska will lend me his arm I think I can retire now. How I came in the yard--I see you are all curious though too polite to inquire--I'll tell you in the morning when I feel more fit. At present I have either a strange head or a beehive on my shoulders, I don't know which."

When he reached his room and the Count entering also had closed the door, Carter threw off much of the assumed languor, and told the Counselor the whole of the tale. The Krovitzer shook his head dubiously. "Josef found you at quarter past three this morning--yet you say Josef was not one of the two men. Did you see the faces of both?"

"Only a glance. Both were bearded. The one who came from the back part of the house was dark, black eyebrows, heavy black beard, pallid face, or so it looked in the moonlight. The visitor was undoubtedly Russian."

"It may have been soot," said Sobieska musingly. "I remember now that, while the rest of his face looked remarkably like a freshly scrubbed one, there was a long dark smear along one of Josef's eyebrows as we brought you into the house; but that is not enough to convict him of the treason, however strong a suspicion it arouses. Well, things are looking a trifle as if Vladimar not only knows where we are, but why we are here. We'll have to strike quickly--as soon, in fact, as we set foot in Krovitch again."

XVIII