The Puppet Crown Part 38

"Where does her Royal Highness go each Thursday evening, accompanied by her eternal cuira.s.siers, von Mitter and Scharfenstein?"

"Where but to see her old nurse Elizabeth? But two men will not be enough. Von Mitter and Scharfenstein--"

"Will as usual remain at the carriage. But what's to prevent the men from gaining entrance by the rear?--carrying off her Highness that way, pa.s.sing through the alley and making off, to be a mile away before the cuira.s.siers even dream of the attempt?"

"After all, I'd rather the d.u.c.h.ess."

"We can not all be kings and queens." Johann got up and slapped Stuler familiarly on the shoulder. "Forget not the gold, the yellow gold; little heaps of it to finger, to count, and to spend."

Stuler's eyes gleamed phosph.o.r.escently. There was the strain of the ancient marauder in his veins; gold easily gotten. He opened the door, and Johann pa.s.sed out, swaying. The wine was taking hold of him. He turned into the hall, while Stuler busied himself with the spigots.

Some one discovered the spy, and called him by name; it was caught up by others, and there were numerous calls for a speech.

As a socialist Johann was well known about the lower town. Besides, five years gone, he himself had been a student and a brother of freedom. He had fought a dozen successful duels, and finally had been expelled from the university for beating a professor who had objected to his conduct in the presence of ladies. Other ill reports added to his popularity.

To be popular in this whimsical world of ours, one has either to be very good or very bad. Johann was not unwilling to speak. Stuler had given him the cue; the cuira.s.siers. His advice was secretly to arm and hold in readiness. As this was the substance of the other speeches, Johann received his meed of applause.

"And let us not forget the bulldog; let us kill him, too," cried one of the auditors; "the prodigal bulldog, who has lived on our fatted calves."

This was unanimously adopted. The bulldog was not understood; and he smacked of the English. Then, too, the bulldog roamed too freely in the royal enclosures; and, until late years, trespa.s.sers fared badly. The students considered that their privileges extended everywhere; the dog, not being conversant with these privileges, took that side which in law is called the benefit of a doubt.

After his speech Johann retired to the bar-room. What he desired most of all was a replenished purse. Popular he was; but the students knew his failings, among which stood prominently that of a forgetful borrower.

They would buy him drinks, clothes and food, if need be, but they would not lend him a stiver. And he could not borrow from Stuler, whose law was only to trust. Johann gambled, and wine always brought back the mad fever for play. The night before he had lost rather heavily, and he wanted to recover his losses. Rouge-et-noir had pinched him; he would be revenged on the roulette. All day long combinations and numbers danced before his eyes. He had devised several plans by which to raise money, but these had fallen through. Suddenly he smiled, and beckoned to Stuler.

"Stuler, how much will you advance me," he asked, "on a shotgun worth one hundred crowns?"

"A shotgun worth one hundred crowns? Ten."

Johann made a negative gesture. "Fifty or none. You can sell it for seventy-five in the morning. So could I, only I want the money to-night."

"If you want wine--" began Stuler.

"I want money."

Stuler scratched his nose. "Bring the gun to me. If it is worth what you say, I'll see what I can do."

"In an hour;" and Johann went out. A cold thin rain was falling, and a dash of it in the face had a cooling effect. Somehow, the exhilaration of the wine was gone, and his mood took a sullen turn. Money! he was ever in need of money. He cursed his ill luck. He cursed the cause of it--drink. But for drink he would not have been plain Johann Kopf, brawler, outcast, spy, disowned by his family and all save those who could use him. He remained standing in the doorway, brooding.

At last he drew his collar about his throat and struck off, a black shadow in a bank of gray. When he reached that part of the street opposite the Grand Hotel, he stopped and sought shelter under an awning.

The night patrol came clattering down the street. It pa.s.sed quickly, and soon all was still again. Johann stepped out and peered up and down. The street was deserted. All the hotel windows were in gloom, save a feeble light which beamed from the office windows.

Would it be robbery? He had not yet stooped to that. But he could hear the ivory ball clatter as it fell into the lucky numbers. He had a premonition that he would win if he stuck to a single combination. He would redeem the gun, replace it, and no one would be any the wiser.

If his numbers failed him..... No matter. He determined to cross the Rubicon. He traversed the street and disappeared into the cavernous alley, shortly to loom up in the deserted courtyard of the hotel. He counted the windows on the first floor and stopped at the fourth. That was the window he must enter. Noiselessly he crept along the walls, stopping now and then to listen. There was no sound except the monotonous dripping of the rain, which was growing thinner and colder.

Presently he came across the ladder he was seeking. He raised it to the required height, and once more placed his hand to his ear. Silence. He mounted the rounds to the window, which he found unfastened. In another moment he was in the room. Not an object could he see, so deep was the darkness. If he moved without light he was likely to stumble, and heydey to his fifty crowns, not to say his liberty for many days to come. He carefully drew the blinds and struck a match. The first object which met his gaze was a fallen candle. This he lit and when the glare of the flame softened, all the corners of the room stood out. Nowhere was there any sign of a gun. He gave vent to a half-muttered curse. Some one had pilfered the gun, or the proprietor was keeping it until the Englishman returned from the duchy. But he remembered that there were two guns, one of which the Englishman did not use in the hunting expeditions.

So he began a thorough search. It meant fifty crowns, green baize and the whims of fortune. Cautiously he moved between the fallen chairs. He looked behind the bed, under the dresser, but without success. His hand closed savagely around the candle, and he swore inaudibly. He threw back the bed coverings, not that he expected to find anything, but because he could vent his rage on these silent, noiseless things. When he lifted the mattress it was then he took a deep breath and smiled. What he saw was a gun case. He drew it from under. It was heavy; his fifty crowns were inside. Next he picked up a candlestick and stuffed the candle into it, and laid a quilt against the threshold of the door so that no light would pierce the corridor.

"This is the gun the Englishman did not use in the hunting expeditions,"

he thought. "If it is out of repair, as he said it was, my fifty crowns are not so many pfennige. The devil! it must be a valuable piece of gunsmithing, to hide it under the bedclothes. Let me see if my crowns are for the picking."

He investigated forthwith. The hammers and the triggers worked smoothly.

He unlocked the breech and held the nozzles toward the candle light--and again cursed. The barrels were clogged up. Notwithstanding, he plucked forth the cleaning-rod and forced it into one of the tubes. There was a slight resistance, and something fluttered to the floor and rolled about. The second tube was treated likewise, with the same result.

Johann laughed silently. The fifty crowns were tangible; he could hear them jingling in his pocket, and a pretty music they made. He returned the leather case to its original place and devoted his attention to the cylinder-shaped papers on the floor.

For a quarter of an hour Johann remained seated on the floor, in the wavering candle light, forgetful of all save the delicate tracings of steel engraving, the red and green inks, the great golden seal, the signatures, the immensity of the ciphers which trailed halfway across each crackling parchment. He counted sixteen of them in all. Four millions of crowns.... He was rich, rich beyond all his wildest dreams.

He rose, and restored the gun to its case. Fifty crowns? No, no! A hundred thousand, not a crown less; a hundred thousand! all thoughts of the green baize and the rattle of the roulette ball pa.s.sed away. There was no need to seek fortune; she had come to him of her own free will.

Wine, Gertrude of the opera, Paris and a life of ease; all these were his. A hundred thousand crowns, a hundred thousand florins, two hundred thousand francs, two hundred thousand marks! He computed in all monetary denominations; in all countries it was wealth.

Something rose and swelled in his throat, and he choked hysterically. A voice whispered "No, not a hundred thousand; four millions!" But reason, though it tottered, regained its balance, and he saw the utter futility of attempting to dispose of the orders on the government independently.

His hands trembled; he could scarcely hold this vast treasure. Twice, in his haste to pocket the certificates, they slipped from his grasp and scattered. How those six syllables frolicked in his mind! A hundred thousand crowns!

He extinguished the candle and laid it on the floor, put the quilt on the bed, then climbed through the window, which he closed without mishap. He descended the ladder. As he reached the bottom round his heart gave a great leap. From the alley came the sound of approaching steps. Nearer and nearer they came; a shadow entered the courtyard and made straight for the door, which was but a few feet from the reclining ladder. The kitchen door opened and the burst of light revealed a belated serving maid. A moment pa.s.sed, and all became dark again. But Johann felt a strange weakness in his knees, and a peculiar thrill at the roots of his hair. He dared not move for three or four minutes. But he waited in vain for other steps. He cursed the serving maid for the fright, disposed of the ladder, and sought the street. He directed his steps toward Stuler's.

"The pig of an Englishman was deeper than I thought. In the gun barrels, the gun barrels! If I had not wanted to play they would have been there yet! A hundred thousand crowns!"

It had ceased to rain, and a frost was congealing the moisture under foot. On the way back to Stuler's Johann slipped and fell several times; but he was impervious to pain, bruises were nothing. He was rich! He laughed; and from time to time thrust his hand into his vest to convince himself that he was not dreaming. To whom should he sell? To the Osians?

To the d.u.c.h.ess? To the king that was to be? Who would pay quickest the hundred thousand crowns? He knew. Aye, two hundred thousand would not be too much. The Englishman would send for the certificates, but his agent would not find them. The abduction? He would carry it through as he had promised. It was five thousand crowns in addition to his hundred thousand. He was rich! He shook his hand toward the inky sky, toward the palace, toward all that signified the past..... A hundred thousand crowns!

CHAPTER XVI. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE ARCHBISHOP'S PALACE AND AFTER

Maurice, as he labored before his mirror, wondered why in the world it took him so long to dress. An hour had pa.s.sed since he began his evening toilet; yet here he was, still tinkering, so to speak, over the last of a dozen cravats. The eleven others lay strewn about, hopelessly crumpled; mute witnesses of angry fingers and impa.s.sioned mutterings.

Usually he could slip into his evening clothes in less than thirty minutes. Something was wrong. But perhaps this occasion was not usual.

First, the hems of his trousers were insurgent; they persisted in hitching on the tops of his b.u.t.ton shoes. Laces were subst.i.tuted. Then came a desultory period, during which gold b.u.t.tons were exchanged for pearl and pearl for gold, and two-b.u.t.ton s.h.i.+rts for three-b.u.t.ton. For Maurice was something of a dandy. He could not imagine what was the matter with his neck, all the collars seemed so small. For once his mishaps did not appeal to his humor. The ascent from his shoes to his collar was as tortuous as that of the alpine Jungfrau.

Ah, Madam, you may smile as much as you please, but it is a terrible thing for a man to dress and at the same time think kindly of his fellow-beings. You set aside three hours for your toilet, and devote two hours to the little curl which droops over the tip of your dainty ear; but with a man who has no curl, who knows nothing of the practice of smiles and side glances, the studied carelessness of a pose, it is a dismal, serious business up to the last moment.

With a final glance into the mirror, and convinced that if he touched himself it would be only to disarrange the perfection which he had striven so hard to attain, Maurice went down stairs. He had still an hour to while away before presenting himself at the archbishop's palace.

So he roamed about the verandas, twirled his cane, and smoked like a captain who expects to see his men in active engagement the very next moment. This, together with the bad hour in his room, was an indication that his nerves were finely strung.

He was nervous, not because he was to see strange faces, not because his interest in the kingdom's affairs was both comic and tragic, nor because he was to present himself at the archbishop's in a peculiar capacity, that of a prisoner on parole. No, it was due to none of these. His pulse did not stir at the prospect of meeting the true king. Diplomatic functions were every-day events with him. He had pa.s.sed several years of his life in the vicinity of emperors, kings, viceroys, and presidents, and their greatness had long ago ceased to interest or even to amuse him. He was conscious only of an agitation which had already pa.s.sed through the process of a.n.a.lysis. He loved, he loved the impossible and the unattainable, and it was the exhilaration of this thought that agitated him. He never would be the same again--he would be better.

Neither did he regret this love.

Even now he could see himself back in his rooms in Vienna, smoking before the fire, and building castles that tumbled down. It was worth while, if only to have something to dream about. He did not regret the love, he regretted its futility. How could he serve her? What could he do against all these unseen forces which were crumbling her father's throne? So she remembered what he had said to her in the archbishop's garden? He looked at his watch. It was nine.

"Let us be off," he said. He started for the Platz. "How uncertain life is. It seems that I did not come to Bleiberg carelessly in the way of amus.e.m.e.nt, but to work out a part of my destiny." He arrested his steps at the fountain and listened to the low, musical plash of the water, each drop of which fell with the light of a dazzling jewel. The cold stars shone from above. They were not farther away than she. A princess, a lonely and forlorn princess, hemmed in by the fabric of royal laws; a princess yet possessing less liberty than the meanest of her peasants.

Nothing belonged to her, not even her heart, which was merchandise, a commodity of exchange, turned over to the highest bidder. "Royalty," he mused, "is a political slave-dealer; the slaves are those who wear the crowns."

Once inside the palace, he became a man of the world, polished, nonchalant, handsome, and mildly curious. Immediately after the usher announced his name, he crossed the chamber and presented his respects to the prelate, who, he reasoned not unwisely, expected him. The friendly greeting of the archbishop confirmed this reasoning.

"I am delighted to see you, Monsieur," he said, showing his remarkably well preserved teeth in the smile that followed his words. "A service to her Royal Highness is a service to me. Amuse yourself; you will find some fine paintings in the west gallery."

"I trust her Royal Highness is none the worse for the fright," Maurice replied. He also remarked (mentally) that he did not see her Highness anywhere. Several introductions followed, and he found himself chatting with the British minister.

"Carewe?" the Englishman repeated thoughtfully. "Are you not Maurice Carewe, of the American Legation in Vienna?"