"Good, very good!" she cried, her eyes flashing. "If I were to see him again, I could not restrain my hatred. I should tell him exactly how I feel toward him. It is loathsome even to be linked in name with such a man. But as that is settled, I will do whatever you wish. I knew you would be too much for them all, cousin Hans, if they did not kill you, as I sadly feared they would. I shall never be able to repay you," she added, looking to me and smiling. "If I were only a man, I could——"
"What?" I asked when she stopped.
"I could at least fight with you instead of being a clog and a drag."
"You are our inspiration," I said earnestly, and at that her cheeks flushed and she cast down her eyes.
"I wish all the trouble were over," she said presently.
"We must not be in too great a hurry. We have done very well so far. A little pluck and dash, and slice or two of luck, and we shall get through all right. But now tell me, can you think of any place in Munich, or near there, where you can go secretly and hide when the moment comes?"
"Why must I be put out of the way in this fashion? It seems like running away at the very moment of peril, and I am not afraid. Do you think I am a coward?"
"This is no question of bravery or cowardice. It is merely a matter of tactics. The very keystone of this inner plot of theirs is that you shall be missing when the cry is raised for you to ascend the throne. To secure that these people will stick at nothing—they would even take your life. Now, for the success of my counter-scheme, I must be able to have you at hand just when I want you. That is all-important. You will have to go to Munich in apparent compliance with their wishes for you to be ready for the final coup, and we shall show no sign of suspicion, but you will have trusty guards to protect you against attack. My scheme is to let them carry off some one in your place, and for that purpose I shall endeavor to get wind of their plan of abduction. What I wish to do is to shut out suspicion that we have fooled them until it is too late for them to change their plans. Is there any one among your maids whom you could trust to personate you, who is sufficiently like you in height and color and so on to be mistaken for you by a stranger, knowing you only by description or having only seen you once? She would of course be dressed to represent you, and she must be sufficiently devoted to you to take a risk and hold her tongue."
"Yes, my dressing-maid, Marie, might pass for me under such circumstances, and I would answer for her stanchness."
"Tell her nothing until the time is close at hand. Then let her know what has to be done. She will wear your dress and will be carried off; you will slip away; and I shall go in a fine rage to von Nauheim to frighten him from getting to see his captive, and thus discover the trick. Your present task, then, will be to get ready for that part of the scheme, and also to think of some safe place to which you can go."
"I will willingly do more, if it will help you," she said.
The completeness of her trust in me was apparent in every word she spoke.
"There will be plenty of exciting work to follow," I replied, with a smile, for I was pleased by her eagerness to help. "Your Majesty may depend upon it that a throne is not to be gained without a struggle."
"I should make a poor Queen," she answered.
"You will make a beautiful one; and if the Bavarians once get sight of you, they will not readily let you go."
She looked at me earnestly and, with half a sigh, said:
"You should not pay me empty compliments, cousin Hans. You should not say things you do not mean."
"Perhaps it would be truer that I must not say all I do mean," I returned, and for the moment my eyes spoke even more than my words; and I made haste to add, in as light a tone as I could: "Your Majesty will have at least one devoted subject, whatever may happen."
"I believe that with all my heart," she answered, in a tone and with a look of confidence and trust that thrilled me. Then she smiled very slightly, and added: "Even one subject may make a kingdom; though I'm sadly afraid I should not be the ruler of even such a realm."
I longed to turn her jest to earnest, and assure her that if she did not no one else ever should; but I pulled myself up on the verge, and remembered that, after all, I was an impostor, though loyal enough to her. And so I made no reply, and dared not even look at her.
After a pause she rose, and, with what sounded like a half-suppressed sigh, she went away.
I let her go, and it was not until she had left the room that the thought struck me that my silence might have seemed currish and curmudgeonly. Then I would have gone after her and told her, and I made a step toward the door; but the thought of what I should say and how to explain my meaning stopped me, and as I hesitated Captain von Krugen came in to resume the conference we had commenced during the drive from the station.
I took von Krugen into my confidence as to my discoveries and plans. I showed him the documents I had brought back from Munich; told him of my meeting with Praga; the secret history of the duel which had ended young Gustav's life; and, at the close, invited him to say plainly what he thought of the counter-scheme, and of our chances of carrying it through.
"It is about the only chance," he said, "and once on the throne there is no reason why the countess should not stay there."
"On the contrary, there are two overpowering reasons—her own disinclination, and the attitude of the Imperial authorities at Berlin."
"There may be a third," he growled into his beard, looking sharply at me.
"What is that?" I asked, though I could almost guess his meaning. But he turned the question adroitly.
"That her Majesty would have little wish for a royal marriage with an imperially selected consort chosen by Berlin. Her Majesty has a heart, unfortunately, and God bless her for it."
"That will be all as she pleases," said I quietly. "At any rate, our purpose is to give her the opportunity of declining the throne, and to save her from these villains who would hound her down."
His face grew as dark as night.
"God! if that villain ever dares to cross her path again, I'll run my sword through his carcass, if I die the next minute; and if he doesn't come near her, I'll seek him out the moment this business is through, and make him fight me. He has put not one but a thousand insults on me—and he a traitor all the time. And to think the Prince believed in him implicitly to the last. And so did I."
"Maybe the Prince had not the private knowledge of the man that I had, nor had you," I said unguardedly.
My companion started and looked at me in such surprise that I saw my blunder in a moment.
"You had known him previously?" he asked slowly.
"I had known of him," I answered in a tone of indifference. "It's a long story, and I may tell it you some day."
"It is not for me to question your Highness, of course, but I should never betray a confidence," he replied, piqued, as I thought, that I said no more; and for the moment I was hugely tempted to tell him the whole story.
It might be enormous value to have a stanch ally in my full confidence for the task I had to carry through; but, on the other hand, I could not tell how such a man would care to take his orders from an ex-play-actor, and I decided that I dared not run a risk at such a crisis. So I held my tongue, and sat as if my thoughts were busy with our plans.
"There is much to do, captain," I said at length, "and we must waste as little time as possible in consultation. In the first place, we have to keep open a means of communicating with Praga. Are you too well known in Munich to go backward and forward?"
"I fear so; but there is Steinitz. He is scarcely known at all there; but he has not yet returned from where you sent him."
I had forgotten altogether about him and his mission; and, now that the matter was recalled to me, the length of his absence gave me an uneasy twinge. There must be some very serious cause for so long a delay.
"He should have been back some days ago," I replied slowly. "Probably he will be here to-day or to-morrow, at latest, and that will be in time for our purpose. I myself shall return to Munich in a day or two; but I have purposely made no appointment as yet, and shall make none till the eve of my going, because, if my absence from here were to be known in advance, it might probably be the signal for some attempt against the Countess Minna."
"How shall you foil the attempt when it does come?" asked von Krugen.
"By vigilance mainly; but I mean also to appear to play into this Baron Heckscher's hands, while in reality forcing them. I shall see him and tell him that all here will be in Munich two days before the Court ball. That will give them time to make their plans to strike during those two days. Further, my present idea is that for the whole of those two days the character of the countess shall be doubled; this waiting-maid of hers will be dressed precisely as she herself is dressed the whole time, and, except when any one comes to the house who is in the house, and who knows the countess on sight, the girl will be the countess to every one. This means that the servants we take with us must be strangers, with the exception of one or two on whom we can rely implicitly. And I depend on you to make the selection."
"There are several here for whom I would answer as for myself; but isn't there a risk in so long a doubling of the parts?"
"Maybe; but we must be content to take it. My object is so to arrange matters that we ourselves shall virtually select the moment when they will try to get hold of my cousin. Thus I shall make it quite plain to them that during every moment of every hour she is in Munich she will be strictly watched and guarded by us; but I shall manage to let a weak link appear in the chain, and I have chosen this one. During the two days I shall give it out that my cousin is not well, and can only receive one or two persons. But there is to be a reception at the palace by the King on the afternoon of the day of the Court ball, and I shall let it appear that our vigilance must be relaxed on the return drive from the palace to the house. It will seem an excellent opportunity for them. But while the countess shall go herself to the reception, I shall arrange for the maid to take her place on the return drive with the Baroness Gratz, and my cousin will make a sufficient change of dress in the retiring-rooms to enable her to leave the palace unknown."
"But the Baroness Gratz?"
"You have no doubt of her loyalty?" I asked sharply. "Speak out plainly if you have."
"None in the least. I have no cause. I meant, what of the danger to her?"
"There will be little or none. They may indeed be glad to let her get away, while they will do her no harm even if they keep her prisoner. But the points in favor of such a scheme outweigh all against it. It will suit both them and us to have the abduction made as close to the time of the ball as possible—them, because we should then have no time to make a disturbance; us, because the shorter time we have to keep watch over von Nauheim to prevent his finding out the deception the better. A few hours later we shall be absolute masters of the situation."
"It's a scheme that stirs one's blood," cried von Krugen warmly. "But those few hours will be anxious ones."
"Meanwhile the Duke Marx will have been caught in the toils set for him, and will be in our power; the King will be taken at the ball, and thus our whole course will be clear. The mimic ceremony of abdication will take place, the cry will be raised for the Queen Minna, and just when they are chuckling that she cannot be found I shall lead her forward and put her in the place of honor, and make some sort of speech in her name—probably to the effect that she will take time to consider her course. They will be thus caught like rats in a hole they themselves have undermined; and there will be a pretty tableau."
"And then?"
"Well, our first step will be to look out for ourselves. The attack on me and you will commence at the moment they believe they have outwitted us; and the danger will spread to us all the instant they find we have outwitted them. But our holding of their duke as a hostage will disarm them."
"You are sure of Praga, and that he can get hold of the duke?"
"I am sure of no one but you," I returned; "and of nothing except of things as they occur from hour to hour. We can only lay our plans and do our best to carry them out; but in such a case any instant may see the unexpected happening, and the shipwreck of the best laid scheme. But I like Praga's lever—a woman is a most useful mechanism when you understand how to use her; and when I left Praga every vein of his was burning with a raging lust for revenge. And he is a Corsican. But if that part of the scheme fails, we must patch up another way, that's all. I mean to be stopped by nothing."
"By Heaven, but you're a man I love to follow!" cried my companion, his eyes kindling with enthusiasm.
Then I saw his expression change, and he peered curiously at me.
"And to think you've never been anything but a student. One might think you had lived in the atmosphere of intrigue all your life. The Prince little knew you. He believed you were a milksop. How he would have loved you for a man after his own heart. Some one must have been lying to him sorely about you."
"Dead slanders are of no import to us, captain, nor living flattery either," I said shortly. "We have to plan out our respective work and to set about doing it."
And with that I told him precisely that part of the plan which would fall to his share, and gave him suggestions as to the best way of carrying it out. When I had fully instructed him, I sent him away, and mapped out in my thoughts the further developments I had yet to plan.
The absence of Steinitz gave me much uneasiness. It seemed so grossly out of perspective that a big scheme such as was on hand should be endangered by a trumpery little matter like the selling of a couple of farms. Yet that was the fear I had. If Steinitz had been able to find von Fromberg and to give him my message, he ought to have been back long since; but if he had not found the man, I could not stop the sale of the property. Yet if it went on it was almost certain that the old lawyer would in some way get into communication with the men who were selling the place for von Fromberg, and my identity would at once be questioned.
I would have paid the money, of course, willingly enough; but obviously I could not buy an estate from myself. Again, I could not get over the difficulty in any such way as I had employed with Praga—that it was a freak.
The more I considered the thing the easier it appeared to me that I might be tripped up and exposed through it; and when the whole of that day passed without the return of Steinitz, my anxiety grew fast.
He arrived on the following afternoon, but he brought no relief with him. He had not found von Fromberg. He had gone to Charmes, and had arrived there after the wedding had taken place, and then he had set out to follow the bride and bridegroom on their tour. He had traced them from hotel to hotel, to Nancy, Bar-le-Duc, Rheims, Amiens, and thence to Paris; but in the French capital all sign of them was lost, and after making many useless inquiries there he had deemed it best to return to me and bring back the letter. I told him he had done right, but the incident added to my disquiet. It was such a contemptibly little thing, and yet, like a poisonous pin-prick, it threatened to gangrene the whole venture.
To add to my annoyance and perplexity, moreover, the old lawyer came to me again on the following day to tell me that further negotiations had taken place for the sale of the farms, and he pestered me to know whether I really meant to sell them out of the family, and whether the Count von Nauheim, as the Countess Minna's future husband, ought not to be told of the matter. His manner showed that he had a suspicion that something was being kept from him, and he resented it strongly.
It was obvious, of course, that if he went to von Nauheim the latter would jump at the chance of giving me trouble, and that if any suspicions were even hinted to him the results might be exceedingly awkward. Yet I could do nothing; and I was so irritated by the lawyer's persistence that I sent him away with a sharp reply that if he wished to retain my business he had better mind his own.
I could see he was vastly astonished at this and I more than half repented my words, but he had gone before I had quite recovered my temper. It was unbearable, however, that just when I had all the weight of a really important crisis on my shoulders I should be worried by a trumpery thing of this sort. I let him go, therefore, and tried to dismiss the matter from my thoughts, while I went on with the completion of my plans.
Everything else went as well as we could have wished. Minna herself entered heart and soul into the work, and in the many interviews we had during the next few days I could not have wished for a more loyal and trusty ally. Our little confidential conferences drew us very close together, moreover, and I saw with great delight that her spirits brightened.
The preparations for the critical work in Munich occupied her so fully that her thoughts were taken away from the grief caused by the death of her father, while the belief that success in our venture would open up a new life for her by freeing her from the marriage with von Nauheim and from the dreaded responsibilities of the throne raised hopes which brought with them happiness such as she had not known for months.
"I owe it all to you, cousin," she said once, for she grew to speak with absolute candor and unrestraint to me. "If only you had come to Gramberg earlier, I am sure you would have persuaded my father to abandon the scheme altogether; although I think sometimes that——"
"Well?" I asked when she paused.
"That it is a good thing you did not come earlier."
Her eyes were laughing, and the light in them was a pleasing thing to see.
"Perhaps it is. But why do you think so?"
"You have a way of making unpleasant things pleasant; and you might have persuaded me to do what he wished."
"There are not many women who would need much persuasion to be a Queen."
"Without conditions, perhaps."
"There is one condition I would never have advocated," said I, raising my eyes to hers. "But you will be a Queen after all, and we your humble servants, wishful only to obey your royal commands."
"I have settled one of the first uses I shall make of my power," she said, looking up and speaking as if seriously.
"And that will be?"
"You will be the object of it. I shall issue an order in council—Privy Council."
"Privy Council! You are getting learned in the jargon of State. I am afraid your Privy Council will be a very small one."
"Yes," she cried, nodding her head and smiling. "We two. And the order will be that my chief councillor shall tell me all the story of his life. If you won't tell it to your cousin, you must tell it to your Queen. And I know there are secrets in it. You think I don't take notice of you, I suppose; and never know when your thoughts are slipping away to the past and never see that you fence with my questions, and glide away so cleverly from the little traps I lay. You mustn't think because you would make me a Queen that I have ceased to be a woman—and, being a woman, to be curious."
"We have no time in these days——"
"There you go," she laughed. "I know what you'll say. You never think of the past because you are so busy thinking of all this business; that when a man is planning a big scheme like this, and has all the details to arrange, he has no time, etc., etc. But you have a secret, cousin Hans—a secret that is never out of your thoughts; that has nothing to do with all this fresh trouble and intrigue; that took you away from the castle for two days just after you arrived; and that has written its lines on your face. That may be because you can find no one to tell it to. Of course you think of me only as a girl—you self-contained strong men always do that—and that I should make no sort of a friend to be trusted with secrets. And yet——" she paused, and laying her hand gently on mine said softly and wistfully, "you have done so much for me I should like to be a little help to you. Can I, cousin? I'm not Queen yet, you know, and cannot command. I'm only a grateful girl, and can do no more than ask."
I was not a little disconcerted to find that she had been watching me so closely, and I could not remain untouched by the last little appeal. But I could not reply to it.
"You are a stanch little comrade," I answered. "But we must put off the story until the Queen commands," I answered, smiling.
"That is at least an open postponement, if not a frank refusal. But the Queen will command, cousin. I want to know why you would not come here at the first; what made you change your mind; how it was that all our ideas about you were wrong; why you are so different from what we all expected—oh, there are a thousand questions that sting the tip of my tongue with the desire to ask them."
"You think a student cannot also be a man of affairs?" I said, divided between pleasure at her interest in me and perplexity at her questions.
"But you are not even a student. You never open a book; you never quote things—ah, now you start because I have watched you. I can read your eyes, although you think you can drape them with the curtains of impassiveness. But your wit is not always on guard to draw the curtains close enough. Yes, that's better; now they are saying nothing."
All this time she had been looking straight into my eyes, and laughing in gleeful triumph. And I found it embarrassing enough. Then she changed suddenly, and said:
"Does my teasing worry you and weary you, cousin? I can school my curiosity if it does. But you will tell me all some day?"
"Is that schooling it?" I asked, and she laughed again. "Yes, I will tell you some day what there may be to tell. But it could do no good to do so yet."
"Is it a sad secret?" she began again after half a minute's silence, and would no doubt have gone on with her pretty cross-examination had we not, fortunately for me, been interrupted by a servant, who brought word that Steinitz, whom I had sent to Munich, had returned, and was asking to see me instantly.
"I hope there is no trouble?" said Minna, looking alarmed.
"I anticipate none; no more, that is, than that we must break off our conference."
"You have given me your promise," she said.
"I ought to have made a condition—that you do not read me quite so carefully," I answered lightly as I rose.
"Then I have read aright? To me your eyes are as books."
"Yet you must be careful how you read them," said I.
"Why?"
"You may chance on the chapter with your name at the head."
"I wish I could," and she laughed and her eyes brightened. "I would give the world to know whether it is headed Queen of Bavaria or cousin Minna. Which is it? Tell me, at least, so much."
"It may be neither," I answered ambiguously; but she seemed to understand something of my meaning, and to be pleased, for her cheeks were aglow with color as I hurried away.
Steinitz was awaiting me impatiently.
"There is ugly news, your Highness," he said shortly. "I saw Praga early this morning, and he bade me urge you to hurry at once to Munich. He has got wind of a move on the other side, which he prefers to tell to you alone. He will meet you to-morrow at noon where you met before, and he declares that the strictest vigilance must be used in regard to the countess, especially while you are away from the castle, and that your visit to the city should be made with the greatest secrecy."
"He told you nothing more of what he had discovered?"
"No more than I say. But I gathered his meaning to be that an attempt of some kind is imminent to get the countess out of our hands here."
This was likely enough, but I did not take so serious a view of the matter as Praga, because I felt that when I had explained our movements to Baron Heckscher he would be almost sure to select the moment when the thing could apparently be done with the least risk of discovery, and that would be at the last moment, when Minna returned from the palace after the reception.
At the same time I would go to Munich. I had already planned to go there on the following day in any event, and had announced my intention; but I settled to start at once. I sent for von Krugen and told him, charging him to keep the strictest watch over Minna; and after a very brief interview with her, in which she showed the liveliest concern for my safety, mingled, as it pleased me to think, with regret at our separation, I started with Steinitz on what I knew might be a critical expedition.
Matters were now hurrying fast to a crisis; and I hoped the result of my journey would be to complete all my preparations, and leave me nothing to do but return to escort Minna to Munich. So far all had gone well enough. I had no reason to think that either Heckscher or von Nauheim had the remotest idea that I knew of their treachery; and it was, of course, of the very essence of my plan that they should remain in ignorance. On this account I was unwilling to meet Praga again personally, and I resolved therefore to send Steinitz to him as soon as we reached Munich to tell him my intentions, and to get from him in return what he believed to be the Ostenburg move. I myself went straight to Baron Heckscher. He received me with apparent cordiality; but it was not difficult to see that as the day of the crisis drew near his anxiety was growing.
"All is going well, I hope," I said, after I had greeted him. "We have all our preparations made."
"All is going very well," he replied. "But you are a day earlier in Munich than we anticipated."
"I have not come to remain," I answered, "although I have some important business. My cousin is not well; and her nerves are giving way as the day approaches. I have difficulty in keeping her courage up. Like a woman, she has some foolish fear that at the last moment something will happen to her—some disaster to overthrow her. But I have nearly conquered that fear, I trust."
"How?"
"She associates the fear with her visit here, and I have assured her that night and day, every hour and every minute, she herself will be surrounded by absolutely stanch friends who would give their lives for her. The death of her brother just at the moment when success seemed to be within grasp is frightening her. Nor is that unnatural, especially when we reflect that her nerves have again been strained by her father's death."
My words had the effect I desired. It did not suit his plans that Minna should be guarded in this way.
"The Countess is not ill, I trust," he said after a pause.
"Oh, no, not positively ill. But she is very young, and so full of alarms that even I myself am inclined at times to question the wisdom of all this." Perceiving the value of the line I had taken, I went on to make the most of it. "Indeed, I want some very confidential talk with you. You understand that I am resolved to go on, and I have not breathed a word to suggest to her that there is even an alternative course; but there are two points on which I wish to consult you. In the first place, is it quite impracticable to abandon the thing? I am convinced my cousin would only too gladly renounce all claim to the throne."
He looked at me sharply and with manifest consternation.
"It is absolutely impossible, Prince, absolutely," he said emphatically. "But you are not in earnest. Why, it would be madness, sheer madness to think of such a thing. Since you were here we have sounded men in all directions, and there is not one who is not enthusiastic at the idea of getting rid once and for all of this madman."
"But my cousin can only make a weak Queen at the best."
"My dear Prince, her weakness will be the strength of the country. Our great object is not so much to change the person of the ruler as to break the traditions of the ruler's power—to put on the throne some one whose title will rest, not on any right divine, but on the people's power and will and choice. A woman will thus be far more dependent on the people than a man. Prince, the countess cannot draw back."
"But supposing she were willing to acquiesce in the election of the Ostenburg heir, and thus unite all sections of the people?"
"It is impossible, equally impossible!" he exclaimed readily. "It would be a betrayal of us all. It is not to be thought of."
I sat as if thinking this over, but in truth this prompt rejection of the means to do fairly what I knew he was plotting to do by foul had filled me with anger.
"And what would be the immediate consequences of a withdrawal?" I asked.
"Do you mean the personal consequences to the countess and yourself?" he asked, with a suggestion of contempt for such a consideration.
"I mean to all concerned."
"What could but be the consequences where three-fourths of a nation had been worked up to desire a revolution and found themselves cheated at the last moment by the—the timorousness of those in whose name and for whose sake the whole movement has been carried out? The badge of cowardice is a hard one to bear, Prince, and the anger of a disappointed people would not lighten the disgrace."
"We are no cowards, Baron Heckscher," I replied warmly, as if stung by his taunt.
"Then you must not so act that people may mistake you."
"We will not," I returned, with an air of angry decision.
"I was sure of it, and am only sorry you thought it necessary even to moot the suggestion. But now what is your second point? Not another objection, I hope."
"It is merely to discuss with you the last arrangements. Under the circumstances you will, I am sure, see the necessity for making them as simple as possible—indeed, my cousin's health will not permit anything else."
"Up to the moment of our great coup they cannot possibly be too simple. Anything else would be a great mistake. Up till somewhere about midnight of this day week, Wednesday next, the countess is of course no one but the very charming young lady that I am assured she is—I mean she is a private person. In that capacity she will attend the reception, and in order that there may be no suspicion attaching to her making a public appearance so soon after her father's death it has been arranged that a special desire for her attendance shall be expressed by the King. She will merely attend, kiss hands, and pass through the presence chamber, and leave the palace at once, should it be desired. She can return home and go to the ball, where she should be at about ten o'clock. She must be at hand of course when the great drama is played in which we are to take part. When the Act of Abdication has been read, you will lead her forward. That is all. We shall do the rest."
"And what will follow then?"
"I think she will stay at the palace. It is just in the few hours succeeding that scene that we shall have to be alert. The King will be missing, and a Council of State will be called on the following morning, when she will be proclaimed to the country. After that, events will settle themselves rapidly. We are prepared with a petition to the Imperial authorities, which will be signed by nearly every man of influence in the country, to recognize the succession and validate the abdication."
"But that Act of the King will surely be found to be a forgery?" I said.
My companion smiled and shook his head.
"On the contrary, it will be genuine. We should not use such clumsy means as forgery. We have it already written. For once his Majesty's lunacy has done his subjects a good service," he said bitterly. "He was minded recently to play a farce of abdication in favor of one of his hounds, declaring with his customary facetiousness that the Bavarians were dogs, and a fit King for them would be a hound. Accordingly he held what he was pleased to call a Privy Council—consisting of himself and his dogs. But those about him knew their business, and when he thought he had abdicated in favor of his dog they fooled him to the top of his bent, but drew the document in such a way that the insertion of the countess's name would be an easy matter. The addition of a date will make everything complete; and thus when the madman thought he was only insulting his people, he was in fact signing away his throne. He had this dog, a clever poodle, seated in the chair in the Council Chamber, garbed in State robes, and crowned with the crown of Bavaria. I tell you, Prince, that one act would stir the blood of even a nation of cravens—and we Bavarians are no cowards. My blood boils at the thought," he cried, clenching his fist, while his eyes flashed, and his face, usually immobile and cold, lighted up with the fires of passion.
I joined him in a hot outburst of indignation.
"But the time is past for mere anger," he said presently. "We are resolved to act; and that farce of his shall cost him dear. As to Berlin, so soon as we have driven home the conviction that we are in dead earnest, and that practically the whole country is with us, there will be no opposition. The usual official intimation will be published that the King's health has failed, and the rest follows naturally."
"But you are forgetting the Ostenburg interest."
"I forget nothing, Prince," he replied, somewhat curtly. "I know the public feeling. The very inaction they are showing will make the Duke Marx impossible in the eyes of the people. While the country has been writhing and suffering under the insults and iniquities of this madman, what have the Ostenburgs done? Has one of them raised a finger to help the people or protest against this royal mumming? Has any one of them said a word? And how do you suppose the nation is to interpret that silence and inaction, except as approval of what has been done? They had the better right of succession and a strong following on their side; they have forfeited the one by their apathy and have lost the other as a consequence;" and he went on to give many reasons for this conclusion.
"I admit," he said at the close, "there will be some anxious hours just after the Countess Minna is proclaimed; but, with all the will in the world, they can do nothing. I tell you there is nothing can stay our success nor shake your cousin's seat on the throne when she has once taken it."
I allowed myself to appear to share his convictions, even while I marvelled at the depth of his duplicity, and I then told him the plan of our movements. He listened closely, and made several suggestions which I said we would adopt; and he quite acquiesced in my view that during the time Minna was to be in Munich she should remain in the greatest seclusion, giving audience only to himself and two or three others.
When I left him my task in Munich was practically finished, so far as he was concerned; but he advised me to attend a reception at the palace on the following day but one, the Friday, and I agreed. I felt sure I had left the impression I had gone to create—that their best time for abducting Minna would be at the moment of her return from the palace; and I completed my arrangements on that basis.
Steinitz was waiting for me at the hotel with an important communication from Praga, giving me the particulars of an intended attempt to carry off Minna from Gramberg during the night; and though it seemed to me a mad scheme enough, and pretty certain to be abandoned after my interview with Baron Heckscher, I despatched Steinitz post-haste back to the castle to put von Krugen on his guard. Whether it were abandoned or not, the fact that we had knowledge of it would render it certain to fail, and I felt no great anxiety on that score.
But I soon had cause for anxiety in another direction. The two men whom I had asked to visit Gramberg had not been there, and we were, in fact, perilously short-handed for all the work that had to be done. I was the more anxious, too, to get extra help because of a weak spot in my plans, which I could not remedy without further assistance.
If the Ostenburg agents held the person of the King, and I checkmated them at the last moment by producing Minna and keeping their duke in confinement, there was a chance that they might counter my stroke by bringing the mad King back on the scene, and thus checkmate me in turn. The only means of preventing this would be to secure that those who held the King in custody should be loyal to Minna; and it was for this part of the scheme that I had hoped to make use of the two men, Kummell and Beilager. I set out to find them, therefore.
I chanced upon them together at the house of Kummell, and it did not take me a minute to perceive that there was a decided restraint in their manner toward me. I had meant to be perfectly frank with them, telling them, indeed, all I knew; but their attitude made this impossible, and for a moment I was at a loss what line to take. While gaining time to think, I talked at large upon the importance of the affair generally, and at length asked them point-blank why they had not been to Gramberg.
"We have been very busy," replied Kummell, who spoke for both; and the answer was rather curtly given.
"Scarcely a sufficient reason, gentlemen, in an affair of this sort," I replied in quite as curt a tone, "nor, I presume, the only one."
They hesitated, and glanced at one another.
"I think you must excuse us if we do not answer the question. In point of fact, I am not yet in a position to do so."
"I cannot understand you, and, under the circumstances, I must really press you very closely to be frank with me," I urged; and, although they still hesitated and equivocated, I was resolved not to leave without an answer, and I told them as much.
"You put us in a very awkward position, indeed, but the fact is we had intended to make the visit, and had fixed the day, when we were advised not to do so by Herr Bock."
"And who is Herr Bock, pray?"
So utterly unsuspicious was I of any possible mischief that I put a good deal of indignation into the question. Yet it was a blunder of the grossest kind, and the reply astounded me utterly.
"Herr Bock is your own lawyer, who has been negotiating the sale to me of your late mother's property."
That confounded property again!
My four years' training on the stage stood me in good stead now, and I masked my surprise with a laugh as I exclaimed:
"Oh, that Bock! I did not know it was you who were contemplating a purchase. But why should that keep you away from Gramberg? Were you afraid that a look at the property would put you out of conceit with the bargain, or that I should charge you more, thinking you were growing eager?"
But there was more in this than a laugh could carry off.
"No, but he has been in communication with your old family lawyer, and together they say or think they are on the track of some kind of strange complication which I believe in some way touches yourself; how I do not know, but Bock advised me to wait."
"This has a somewhat serious sound, sir," I said, sternly enough to cover my apprehension.
"I cannot help that. You asked me, pressed me, indeed, for an answer to your question. In times like these you will understand I feel great need to be cautious—overcautious perhaps you may deem it. But still here it is."
"And what is the nature of this supposed ridiculous complication?"
"You must excuse me if I say no more. You know Herr Bock's address here in Munich."
The scent was getting warm.
"I shall of course see him," I answered readily. "And I will find a short method of dealing with a couple of meddlesome attorneys as soon as this business of next week is through. And what then do you propose to do?"
"I think we had better not discuss any matters except in the presence of Baron Heckscher."
I rose to leave. I had met with my first serious check.
"I thought I could have relied implicitly upon your loyalty to the House of Gramberg," I said loftily.
"To the House of Gramberg, yes," was the answer, stolidly spoken, yet with a significance I could not mistake.
I went back to my hotel angry and apprehensive. I could have twisted von Fromberg's neck for his maladroitness in hurrying to sell his property, and then getting beyond my reach and keeping there.
Moreover, I could not see what to do. These two bungling old fools of lawyers had no doubt been comparing notes, and probably comparing the different handwritings of von Fromberg and myself; and had hatched a pretty cock-and-bull story about me. Probably they were already making all sorts of inquiries. Yet I dared not go and face the man Bock. I could not tell if he had ever seen von Fromberg. If he had, he would proclaim me an impostor straight away; and Heaven only knew what the consequences of such a step would be at such a time.
On the other hand the two men I had just left were obviously suspicious of me. Knowing nothing of the double plot, it was as likely as not that they viewed me as some kind of spy and traitor, either from the mad King's party or the Ostenburgs; and they would go blabbing their suspicions to every one else. And all through that greedy renegade von Fromberg.
I paced my room like a caged beast, searching every nook and cranny of my mind for some device to stop these fools of lawyers. Everything might be jeopardized. This pair of blundering meddlers might even now be in Charmes, and face to face with the real man; and the truth might come flashing over the wires at any moment.
But all my anger brought me no nearer a solution. There was just one chance—that von Fromberg might stay away on his honeymoon long enough to get us over the business of the next week, and to that fragile reed I must trust. Certainly I myself must not take the time necessary to go to Charmes, and as certainly there was no one I could trust with the secret. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to wait, and be resolved to fight when the time came.
I was in this state of excitement when a servant came and said a lady wished to see me.
"A lady?" I cried in astonishment. "What is her name? It must be a mistake. There can be no one——Stay; show her up," I broke off, for it occurred to me that after all there might be some one with information to give or sell; or, perhaps, a messenger from Praga. It would do no harm to see her.
She came in very closely veiled, and very beautifully, if very showily, dressed.
"You wish to see me, madam? What is your name?"
She stood silent until the servant had left the room; and I looked at her with considerable curiosity.
"So you are the Prince von Gramberg. I trust your Highness is in excellent health."
Despite the mocking accent, I could recognize the voice, though I could not recall the speaker. It was certainly no one whom I ought to have known as the Prince von Gramberg, and I accordingly made ready for another unpleasant surprise.
"I am sorry I cannot recall your name. I think I have heard your voice; it is too sweet to forget."
It is never wrong to flatter a woman.
My visitor stamped her foot angrily.
"Yes, you know my voice, and used to like to hear it."
The little impatient angry gesture told me who she was—Clara Weylin, the actress, who had pestered my life out at Frankfort and had vowed to be revenged on me for slighting her.
I wondered what particular strain of ill luck had brought her across my path at this juncture, and I wished her and her pretty face and sweet voice at the other end of the earth.
The coils were indeed drawing closer round me.
For another week at least I dared not make an enemy of my altogether unexpected and vastly unwelcome visitor, so I answered her with a smile, and went to greet her with outstretched hand, as though glad enough to renew our old acquaintance.
"I know you now," I said cordially. "Of course it is my old friend and comrade Clara Weylin. This is an unexpected pleasure," said I warmly.
But she stepped back, and did not take my hand.
"Unexpected, no doubt; but pleasure, scarcely. You were not much of an actor at any time; but that would not take in a fool. You are very much astonished to see me, and equally angry; so you may as well acknowledge it."
She tapped her foot again angrily. Next she removed an outer veil, which she had of course put on to mystify me on her entrance; and she stood staring me in the face with a look of defiant hostility.
I shrugged my shoulders, and said:
"You are always more beautiful in a passion, Clara; but I'm sorry to find you in one now with me. Won't you sit down and tell me all about yourself?"
And I recalled regretfully our last interview, and bitterly deplored my stupidity in not having answered her letter. An angry woman, knowing what she knew, could do no end of mischief at this juncture.
"The chief thing about myself, as you say," she exclaimed spitefully, "is that my feelings toward you have changed. I was your friend then, now I will be your enemy."
"Then I am very sorry to hear it"—and the tone was genuine enough. "But, under the circumstances, why take the trouble to come and tell me so?"
"Because I wished to see your Highness, to observe how your Highness bore your great honors, and to bask in the radiant light of your Highness's eyes—ugh! Your Highness, indeed!"
I began to hope. Her bitterness was so very bitter that I thought some of it at least might be assumed.
"How do you play at that game, Clara?" I laughed. "While you are 'basking,' what should I do?"
"Not flatter me with lies about being glad to see me," she burst out angrily, "when you would rather have seen the devil."
"I won't go so far as that," said I lightly. "I don't admire the devil, and I always did admire you, though, if you wish me to be candid, I would much rather have seen you at another time."
"Perhaps after you are married," she cried, with a vicious glance.
"I did not say I wished never to see you again," I returned.
"You used not to lie even by implication in the old days," she said, showing she understood me.
"Nor you to insult me without implication," I retorted. "But I wish you would sit down. It is just as easy to be an enemy sitting as standing."
She sat down, and I thought her expression was a little less wrathful.
"Now, then, just tell me plainly why you think it worth while to come here, why you are such an enemy, and what particular injury you think and wish to do me?"
"Much more than you seem to imagine," she exclaimed sharply, her eyes flashing again.
The answer pleased me, for it seemed to show that I was successfully concealing the alarm which her visit had caused. Certainly I must not let her have an inkling of the fact that she could really do any harm.
"You are a most incomprehensible creature, my dear Clara. During the years I knew you I paid you as high a compliment as a man can pay a woman—by holding you in the highest esteem and entertaining for you the most honorable admiration. And you repay it—by this."
"You flouted and laughed at me and scorned me," she cried vehemently.
"You mean I did not make love to you. Let us be frank with one another. Being what I was, I could not make love to you honorably; and because I held you in too high esteem to do so dishonorably will you say I scorned you?"
"Your Highness kept the fact of your noble birth very secret," she snapped, with an accent on the "highness" I did not like.
I began to fear how much she knew.
"I had the strongest reasons, but it was not done to make so clever a woman as yourself my enemy."
"Then you succeeded unwittingly. One of the prerogatives of your sudden and unexpected inheritance."
"Well, we are fighting the air—an unprofitable waste of effort. If you won't tell me, as a friend, anything about yourself, then, as an enemy, tell me in what way I can oblige you by letting you injure me?"
She laughed unpleasantly.
"So you are not altogether free from alarm that I can injure you? You are right; I can."
"All Munich is open to you," I answered, with a show of indifference.
"Why do you want my Duke Marx lured out of the way next Wednesday?"
She dealt the thrust so sharply and watched me so keenly that I marvelled at my own self-control in hiding all sign of my consternation.
"Who is your Duke Marx, and what on earth do you mean?" I asked, my wits busy with the thoughts which the question started.
If she was the decoy on whom Praga relied, she was in love with him, and her motive in coming to me was just sheer revenge and woman's rage. She held the very kernel of my scheme in her hands, and could blight it in a moment, revealing everything to the other side. Perhaps she had done so already. What a fool Praga had been to trust such a woman! And yet how was I to gauge the power and extent of her love for him, and say to what it might not drive her? All this rushed through my head to the accompaniment of the soft, musical, mocking laugh with which she greeted my question.
"I thought you did not lie by implication," she said.
"I thought so, too," I answered, speaking at random, and waiting for a cue from her.
"You are a clever man, Prince—if Prince you really are, and not merely a daring adventurer—but you have left out of your calculations what a woman's revenge may do."
"My dear Clara, we all expect the unexpected in a way, and never prepare for it." I rose from my chair as if to close the interview. "Whatever you wish to do, please go at once and do it."
"I will," she replied, rising also and going to the door.
If she left the room the plan would be at an end. I felt that, and I would have given all I had in the world to feel able to stop her. But I dared not show a sign of weakness. I should be in her power forever, and the scheme would be wrecked that way.
I held the door open for her, keeping my face set and expressionless.
At the door she turned and looked at me, right into my eyes, when our faces were within a few inches of one another.
"You will be sorry for this!" she cried, almost between her teeth.
"I never regret my decisions, except as they injure others," I replied coldly.
She started, and stamped her foot, and still stood staring hard at me. I thought I knew the struggle that was shaking her. It was a fight whether her old hate for me or her new love for Praga was the stronger. Her excitement and passion increased with every second that the contest endured.
"I hate you!" she cried vehemently. "I hate you, and I can ruin you!"
I made no sign of having even heard the words. I thought she was going, when suddenly her love gained a sweeping victory.
With impetuous force she wrenched the door from me, and slammed it to with great violence, and seemed almost as if she would strike me in the face.
"You are a coward and a bully!" she exclaimed hysterically. "You only act like this because you know I dare not do what is in my power."
Then she turned and rushed back to her seat, where she covered her face and burst into a storm of passionate tears.
I took a curious course. I left the room. I did not wish her to think I had been gloating over her defeat. I scribbled a hasty note that I had been called away, and should be glad to see her another time, and left this to be given to her.
This interview had the necessary effect of increasing my uneasiness materially. Each day seemed now to be revealing a fresh weak spot, and the chances of failure were growing fast. Now it was not only the failure of the plot that threatened us, but the disgrace of personal exposure.
I had had no dishonorable motives in the personation of the Prince von Gramberg; but the consequences threatened to be entirely embarrassing, and, had there been no one else to consider but myself, I should have thrown the thing up there and then. But there was Minna, and her helpless and precarious position made retreat, on my part, quite impossible. It would be dishonorable to think of myself at such a time, while every chivalrous instinct in my nature made me keenly anxious to secure her safety.
But I must see Praga, and hear from him precisely how matters stood in regard to Clara Weylin, and how far she was likely to betray us. With much difficulty, and in the face of considerable risk of my communications with the Corsican being discovered, I succeeded in getting the interview with him. He came to my hotel disguised, and after much trouble in shaking off the spies, who, he declared, were now always dogging his footsteps.
Matters were as I had surmised. The actress was in love with him, and they were to be married. They had played often in Munich, and the Duke Marx von Ostenburg had become infatuated with her. He was persecuting her with proposals, and was in that calf stage in which he would do anything, and risk anything, at her mere bidding. There was not the least doubt in the world, declared Praga, that the woman could lure him anywhere she pleased with such a bait as she would pretend to offer. The two had, indeed, concocted a pretty little scheme between them, in while she and the duke were to be together, Praga, as the injured lover, was to interrupt them. Then they calculated that the duke, to save his skin—for his courage was not of very high quality—would consent to do anything that might be demanded.
The actress had come to Munich to put the matter in course, and, hearing of me only incidentally as the Prince von Gramberg, she had no suspicion that I was in reality the Heinrich Fischer against whom she had always nurtured her revenge, until a chance meeting with me in the street had revealed this to her.
I told him, of course, all that had passed between us, and questioned him closely as to what she was now likely to do. He declared his readiness to answer for her as for himself; and I had no alternative but to be contented with that pledge. Then we discussed many other points of the plan, and so arranged that there need not be another interview, unless unforeseen mishaps arose.
Before he left my momentary hesitation had passed, and I resolved to go on, and to trust to my wits to get out of any awkward consequences that might come. But those few days in Munich were among the most trying of any in my life. I passed them in a fever of suspense, anticipating all sorts of trouble; constantly on my guard; suspecting every one with whom I came in contact; and in such a condition of strain and tension that, when I returned to Gramberg to fetch Minna, she could not but notice with deep concern how worn and anxious I looked.
"This is wearing you out, cousin Hans," she said very gently. "You look more like a student now, and one who has been burning far too much midnight oil."
"There are only two or three days now, and then the worst will be over," I replied cheerfully; but I would have given the world to have been able to tell her what was my chief anxiety. "Munich does not agree with me, I think."
She looked at me searchingly.
"Is it that secret of yours?" she asked quietly. "When will you share it with me?"
"Probably after Wednesday," I answered, smiling. "But you will believe me loyal to you whether you hear it or not?"
"Loyal? A quick way to make me an enemy would be for any one to hint the contrary."
"You may have your faith tested yet."
"Does the secret concern me, then?" she asked quickly, adding, with a smile, "I think I am glad if it does. I thought——"
And she stopped. I hoped I could guess the thought.
"It touches the whole question of my loyalty to you and my presence here."
"Then I do not want to hear it. I would trust you if the whole world turned against you, and sought to turn me also. I do not care now what it may be," she said earnestly, so earnestly that she brought the color in a great rush to my face, and while still flushed in this way she asked: "You do not think anything could shake me?"
"No, I do not," and my love was very near declaring itself as I spoke.
On the journey to Munich her manner to me was so gentle, and tender, and confiding that I scarcely ventured to look at her lest she should read in my eyes the later secret that I was now guarding even more jealously than the former; and in Munich I would not trust myself to be alone with her during the day and a half that preceded the ball.
We stayed in the large mansion in the middle of the town that now belonged to her and had been the residence of the late Prince; and while there we carried out to the letter the plans I had arranged.
Only a few persons came to see Minna—Baron Heckscher and one or two others. Von Nauheim called, but she refused to see him, pleading illness.
During the whole of that time we kept the strictest and closest guard over her, watching vigilantly day and night. The house might have been in a state of siege, indeed. But no attempt was made to approach her, and I gathered therefore that the other side had taken my bait and had chosen the moment for their attempt which I wished.
The maid who was to personate her on the return ride from the reception was coached and drilled in every particular of her part; and every detail even of dress was most carefully considered and decided.
I began to feel that after all my fears had been premature, for not a hint or suggestion was dropped anywhere to show that any further discovery about myself had been made. But none the less I was in a condition of much inward concern when we started for the reception at the palace, Minna, the Baroness Gratz, and myself being in the carriage.
Everything went without a hitch, however. I was in the presence chamber when Minna kissed hands, and it was with a feeling of genuine pleasure that I noticed almost immediately afterward Baron Heckscher making his way to me. He came up and engaged me in conversation, and I knew that his object was to keep me occupied so that Minna would leave the palace without my escort. I raised no difficulty; and entered into a vigorous argument with him on some point about which I knew little and cared less.
When he thought he had kept me long enough to serve his purpose he left me and I strolled slowly through the magnificent rooms, taking heed of the many quick glances directed at me; and I walked out to the entrance hall. I wasted a little more time there before I told the servants to call my carriage and inquire for my cousin.
More minutes passed, and presently they came and told me my carriage had already gone and the Countess Minna in it. I made a show of annoyance at this; and then some one came forward with the offer of his carriage. I declined it, of course. Now that they believed they had Minna, I might look for an attack on myself at any moment.
I had told von Krugen to be ready in the lobbies to watch for Minna in her changed dress and to see that she reached home safely and secretly; for we had determined that after all it would be best for her to return in her disguise to the Gramberg house rather than go to any other place. As I could see no trace of him anywhere, I concluded Minna had already gone, and I set out on foot.
I was very anxious, of course, to learn the result of the plan, and it was with infinite satisfaction that I met von Krugen and learned from him that Minna was safe in the house, and that the carriage with the Baroness Gratz and the servant had not returned.
The next thing was to simulate our agitation on account of Minna's supposed absence; and my task was to find von Nauheim and keep him under such observation as would prevent his getting to see the girl who had been carried off in Minna's place, and so find out the trick we had played.
After waiting half an hour I changed my Court dress, took my sword-stick, thrust my revolver into my pocket, for I did not know what I might have to face, and set out.