The following morning found me in a saner mood once more, and I lay for an hour thinking and planning.
I hold that there are narcotics for mental pain just as for physical; and if the mind is healthy and the will resolute, one can generally be found. I had to find one then.
I did not make the mistake of attempting to underrate my loss. I knew I had had to give up what I prized more than anything in life. I loved Karl with my whole heart; I knew indeed that I had never ceased to love him. The sweetest future which Fate could have offered me would have been to pass life by his side as his wife.
But the pain of knowing that this was impossible was now mingled with other emotions which tended to relieve it. There is always a pleasure in self-sacrifice, no matter how dear the thing renounced. I found a sort of subtle comfort now in the thought that I had been strong enough to do the right thing; to put away from me firmly the delights I would have given half my life to enjoy; to act from a higher motive than mere personal desire.
The sense of self-denial was thus my mental narcotic; and I sought with all my strength to dwell upon the intense gratification of the knowledge that I had been instrumental in helping Karl at the crucial crisis of his life. His country had need of him; and that he would now play his part manfully, would be in a degree my work. That was my consolation.
I could claim truthfully that no selfish motives had swayed me. The clearance of my father's good name had ceased now to be more than a solemn duty to him. The loss of Karl had rendered me indifferent to any considerations merely personal to myself.
In regard to Gareth, too, my chief desire was to see justice done her. Accident, or perhaps rather Fate, had put into my hands the weapons with which to fight the man who was menacing both her and me; and I could claim to have made no selfish use of them. The thought of her brought back with it the necessity to gather up the threads and carry my purpose to success. The end was not far off now.
I had first to anticipate what Count Gustav would do after the stroke he had meant to deal the previous night. I was convinced that he had plotted nothing less than that Colonel Katona should kill Karl under the belief that he had wronged Gareth.
I could follow the steps which had led to this. When, at Madame d'Artelle's, I had let Count Gustav see the Colonel alone, he had given a false message that I would send the information. Having thus prepared him to expect news, he had written him in my name that the man who had wronged Gareth was about to marry another woman, and had given such details of the elopement as would enable the Colonel to witness it and thus identify the man he sought.
This explained something that had puzzled me—why the pretence of the elopement had been persisted in when my apparent departure had destroyed the necessity for any such secrecy. The elopement had become a vital part of the subtle scheme to reveal Gareth's betrayer to her father.
Then to give countenance to it all, Count Gustav had sent as if from me the letter of Gareth's which the Colonel had brought with him and given to me. I read it now. It was to Count von Ostelen, of course; and in it Gareth poured out her tender heart to the husband she knew and addressed as Karl.
It was a cunningly planned scheme; and had Madame d'Artelle really come to the villa, it would almost certainly have succeeded. But the question now was—What would be Count Gustav's next move?
He would believe that Karl was dead—assassinated by the Colonel in his frenzy. That started another suggestion. If murder had been done, all in the house would have been implicated; and Count Gustav was quite capable of using the deed for a further purpose. He would have had the Colonel arrested for the murder and so prevented from causing further trouble; and he would also have got rid of Madame d'Artelle, the accomplice he had used for his brother's undoing, by charging her with complicity in the crime. His path would then have been free indeed.
He had frightened me away from the city, as he believed; and if I ever returned it would be only to find everything buried in that secrecy which those in power and high places know how to secure.
What would he do when he came to the house and found me there alone and helpless to resist him? I could not doubt for an instant. I should be arrested on some charge and shut up until I disclosed to him Gareth's whereabouts and everything I knew of the matter.
I would act on that presumption—except that I would force his hand in one direction and safeguard myself in another.
I rose and dressed myself hurriedly. I knew Madame d'Artelle's handwriting, and with great pains I imitated it as closely as I could in a brief, but to him very significant note.
"For Heaven's sake come here at once. A terrible thing has happened. I am beside myself with horror.
"HENRIETTE D'ARTELLE."
The writer's distracted state of mind would account for any discrepancies in the handwriting; and I succeeded at the third or fourth attempt in producing something like a resemblance to her signature.
This letter I sent by James Perry; and with it another to General von Erlanger.
I gave him the address, "Unter den Linden," and wrote:—
"I shall probably be in great danger here at about eleven o'clock this morning. Will you be near this house at that time so that at need the servant who brings this may find you and bring you to me. You will please know nothing except that you have been asked to come to your former governess who is in trouble.
"Your friend who trusts in you,"CHRISTABEL VON DRESCHLER."
I told James to get an answer from his Excellency; and despatched him upon his errand at an hour which I calculated would bring Count Gustav to the house by about ten o'clock. I allowed an hour for the interview to reach the crisis to which I intended to work.
In the meanwhile, I told the elder Perry to drive to my own house and ascertain that all was well with Gareth.
Then I went into the room in which Colonel Katona had been and pulled down the blinds, closed the shutters and drew the curtains so that it should be as dark as possible; and coming out locked the door behind me and put the key in my pocket.
Having thus set matters in train I sat down and made an excellent breakfast, anticipating considerable enjoyment from the little comedy I had designed.
I was going to fool Count Gustav and then anger and mystify him. He was, I knew, a dangerous person to play tricks with; but I had no cause to be afraid of him. I was quite prepared to be arrested, and I wished to lull his suspicions and foster his over-confidence.
Thinking things over, another point occurred to me. If the two Perrys remained in the house, they would be arrested with me. Therefore, when the father returned with the good news that all was well with Gareth, I sent him home at once and told him not to come back.
James Perry arrived just before ten o'clock. He brought me a very satisfactory assurance that the General would do just as I asked; and said that the Count Gustav had told him he would come to the house immediately.
"Now, James, things are going to happen here this morning," I said, explaining an idea which had occurred to me. "I shall probably be arrested, and you will share that arrest if you are in the house. You are a very shrewd, quick-witted fellow, and you must manage not to be seen, but to remain near enough to the front of the house to hear a window broken. I may not be able to show myself at the window and signal to you; but I am sure to be able to manage to throw something through the window; and the moment you hear the crash of the glass, you are to fetch General von Erlanger to me, and then hurry off to my house."
I calculated that it would be a very simple matter for me to pretend to fly into a passion at the moment of any crisis, and to so work myself up that it would seem a natural enough thing for me to hurl something solid at Gustav and, missing him, to break the window. I looked round for a suitable missile, and selected a very solid glass ink bottle.
Count Gustav kept his word and arrived a few minutes after I had sent James Perry away. I had left the front door partly open, so that he might not have to ask for Madame d'Artelle; and he walked right in, tried the door of the room I had locked, and then entered that where I was waiting for him.
His surprise at seeing me was complete. Had I been a ghost, he could not have stared at me in greater amazement.
"Good-morning, Count Gustav, I am glad you have come."
"Where is Madame d'Artelle?" he asked, very sharply.
"It is scant courtesy not to return my greeting. You are probably so surprised as to forget your manners. You had better find her for yourself," and affecting irritation, I turned away and picked up a book.
"Good-morning, Miss—what name shall I use now?" he replied with a sneer.
"You may use either Gilmore or von Dreschler as you please. Names are of small account after what has happened here."
"Where is Madame d'Artelle?"
"She has done that which might be expected of her in a crisis like this—run away. She is probably across the frontier now."
"But I have just had a letter from her begging me to come here at once; written evidently in great agitation."
"There are enough hours in a night to allow of many short letters being written. She was intensely agitated when she fled!"
"Youseem to be cool enough."
"My nerves are of a different order from hers. Besides,Ihave nothing to fear in all this."
"How is it that you are here at all?"
"I am not Madame d'Artelle, and therefore not accountable for my actions or movements to you."
"You left Pesth yesterday—when did you return?"
"If you consult a time table you can see at what hours the trains reach the city, and can judge for yourself which I was likely to be in."
"You can answer me or not, as you please," he said angrily; "but you will have to account for your presence here."
"Why?" and I looked at him meaningly. He passed the question off with a shrug of the shoulders.
"That is your first mistake, Count Gustav. You must keep your temper better than that, or it will betray you."
He affected to laugh; but there was no laughter in his eyes.
"Well, if Madame was only fooling me with her letter I suppose I may as well go again," he said lightly.
"You know that you have no thought of going. Why are you afraid to put the questions which are so close to your lips?"
I was getting my thrusts well home each time, and was goading him to anger, as well as starting his fears of me.
"Why was that letter written?"
"Because of what has happened here."
"What has happened?"
"Yes, that is one of the questions. I can tell you." I paused and added slowly: "The man you sent here came to do the work you planned."
He bit his lip hard, and his hands gripped the back of the chair behind which he stood. "You delight in mysteries, I know," he sneered.
"Your sneer does not hide the effect of my news, Count Gustav. You know there is no mystery in that for you—and there is none for me. Put your second question."
"What do you mean? I don't understand you."
"That is not true. You want to ask me where your brother is."
"I'll ask that or any other if you wish," he replied, attempting a jaunty, indifferent air. "Where is he?"
"God have more mercy on you than you had on him. You have already seen the answer to your question in the drawn blinds of the room where you last saw him alive."
Strive as he would he could not but shrink under my words and tone. His fingers strained on the chair back, his breath laboured, his colour fled, and his eyes—those hardy, laughing, dare-devil eyes—fell before my gaze. He had to pause and moisten his lips before he could reply.
"If you mean that any harm has come to him," he said, speaking at first with difficulty and hesitation, but gathering firmness as he proceeded; "there will be a heavy reckoning for some one. Who is in the house beside you?" He did not dare to look up yet.
"You coward!" I cried, with all the contempt I felt.
This stung him to fury. "If you have had a hand in this and seek to shield yourself by abusing me, it will not help you. I tell you that."
"Seek to shield myself! I should not stoop to seek so paltry a shield as you could be, whether you were white with fear or flushed with selfish purpose. I do not need a shield. I know the truth, Count Gustav. I know all your part in it, from your motive to the final consummation of your treacherous plan. And what I know to-day, all Austria, all the world, shall know to-morrow."
That was enough. He looked up then, his eyes full of hate of me. I saw his purpose take life and shape in his thoughts. If with safety to himself, he could have struck me down as I stood facing him, he would have done it; but he had what he believed a safer plan in his mind. To have me imprisoned and the secret buried with me.
His new purpose gave him clearer directness of thought at once, and he began to work toward it cunningly. "I can understand and let pass your wild sayings at such a moment, Miss Gilmore. Such a thing as this has, of course, unstrung you..."
"Oh, it is to be a madhouse, is it," I broke in, interpreting for him his secret thought. "I had expected only a prison. You cannot do it, Count Gustav. I am prepared."
But my jeer did not move him. The force of his first surprise was spent, and he was now close set upon the use he intended to make of my presence. He knew the peril which my threat held for him.
"It is singular under the circumstances that you regard yourself in danger of imprisonment, Miss Gilmore; I hope not significant. If you would like to offer any explanation, it is of course open to you to do so."
"I think it probable that there will be an explanation before you leave, Count Gustav; but what in particular should I explain now?"
"We shall require one of—what you say has happened here. Who is in the house?"
"Myself and the servants."
"The manservant was sent away and his place taken by another. By whose orders?"
"Mine."
"I shall need to see him."
"Like Madame d'Artelle, he has gone."
"He was here last night?"
"Certainly."
He shrugged his shoulders. The answer suited him admirably. "He was in your employ," he said, drily.
"I have nothing to conceal," I replied, putting as much doggedness into my manner as a guilty person might have used at the first glimpse of the net closing round him.
"It is a very grave case."
"I can see that—but I know who did what was done as well as who instigated it."
"You were a witness of it, you mean?"
"Of course I mean nothing of the kind. I did not see the blow struck; but I was not asleep at the time; and the instant the alarm was given I was on the spot, and I can identify all concerned."
"Who do you say struck the blow?"
"I did not say. But you know perfectly well the man you sent here to strike it. And so do I."
"You actually charge me with being concerned in having my own brother assassinated?" he cried with well assumed indignation. "It is infamous!"
"Infamous, of course—but true."
"I mean such a charge, madam," he declared, sternly. "I will speak no further with you. You will of course remain here until the agents of the police arrive."
"I have no wish to leave. I tell you I am innocent."
"You at least are found here alone; you admit having fled from the city yesterday and returned surreptitiously; you brought your own man here and sent my brother's away; you have a motive strong enough to account for all in your resentment of my brother's treatment of you; and you seek to put the foulness upon me with an elaborate story that you know the man who did this to have been brought here by me."
"It has a very ugly look, I admit—but there is a flaw in it, none the less."
"That is for others to investigate, madam. I will go to the room. It is locked. Where is the key?"
I took it from my pocket and handed it to him.
"Another significant fact," he said, as we went out of the room and crossed the hall. "I will go in alone."
"No, I have a right to be present."
"It is most unseemly; as unseemly as your smile. My poor Karl." He spoke as if he were genuinely dismayed at the blow, sighed deeply, paused to brace himself for the task, and then entered.
The room was gloomy enough to make it impossible to see anything clearly; but I had arranged the sofa pillow on the couch and covered it with the rug.
He was really affected; although not in the way he intended me to believe. He crossed slowly to the couch and stood by it, as if lacking courage to turn back the rug.
I went to the window and drawing the curtain let the blind up and the sunlight in.
He was now very pale, and his hands twitched restlessly.
"You do not dare to look on the brother whose murder you planned," I said, with cold distinctness.
"How dare you say that, at such a time, madam," he cried fiercely; and taking the rug he turned it back gently.
I laughed.
The laugh so enraged him that he tore off the rug and swore a deep, heavy oath.
"What does this mean?"
"That I think we may pull up the rest of the blinds and open the windows and let the fresh air in;" and with another laugh I did as I said.
I turned to find him overcome by the sudden reaction from the strain and the new problem I had set. He was sitting on the couch with his face buried in his hands.
I stepped out into the sunlight glad of the fresh air in contrast to the dismal closeness of the room. I was quite willing to give Count Gustav a few minutes in which to puzzle over the reasons for the trick I had played him.
He would be quite sure that I had some deep purpose in it all. You can always gamble on it that cunning people will credit you with cunning; and I had said enough to him to cause him profound uneasiness.
It took him longer than I had expected to decide upon his next step; for I had already anticipated what that step would be. He would go through with the plan of having me arrested. I was certain of that; because it was the only means, short of murdering me, by which he could ensure my silence.
But the pretext for the arrest was now so flimsy that in making it he would have many difficulties to face—especially when I brought General von Erlanger on to the scene of action. But before I did that, I had some very pointed things to say.
I was perfectly easy in mind now as to the result of the trouble. I was going to win. I felt it. I could afford to be confident; and I took great care that he should see this for himself.
I knew presently that he was watching me closely, so I began to sing light-heartedly. I flitted about from bush to bush and gathered a little bouquet of flowers; and spent some minutes in arranging them, holding them at a distance and viewing them critically with my head on one side—for all the world as though their arrangement were just the one thing that fully engrossed my thoughts.
Then I carried them into the room and touched the bell, telling the woman who answered it to bring me some water; and as I placed them in a vase I said, as if to myself, and with a nonchalant laugh: "They will brighten up my cell wonderfully."
The little prick of the words irritated him and he scowled.
"I am surprised people call you Gustav of the laughing eyes," I bantered. "You are very handsome, of course, but I have never heard you laugh really gaily."
He forgot sufficiently to swear; and I pretended to be greatly shocked. "I hope you are not going to be violent; but I thought it just as well you should know there is a woman in the house, and that she should see you. Have you got over your disappointment yet—or do you think the body is in the sofa pillow?"
It was aggravating of course; the truth, flippantly suggested, frequently is; and he was in that mood when small jibes galled.
"You are right in the suggestion—I am thinking what may have been done with my brother's body."
He thought this would scare and frighten me but I only laughed. "No you are not. You are thinking only how you can connect me with what didn't occur?"
"Where is my brother?"
"Didn't I tell you that Madame d'Artelle fled last night; and did I say she went alone?"
"I don't believe you," he growled, sullenly.
"'Of the laughing eyes,' indeed," I cried, with a shrug. "Your laughter seems to be dead, even if your brother is alive—perhaps it is because of that."
He very nearly swore again; but he was recovering his wits, if not his temper, and managed to sneer instead.
"The oath would have been more natural," I said, promptly. "But since you are shaking off some of your chagrin, you may be ready to listen to me. I have something to say—to propose."
"I ought not to listen to you."
"There is time—until the police come, at any rate. I will confess to one crime—forgery. I wrote that letter to you in Madame d'Artelle's name. I wished to bring you here at once; and I prepared, carefully, this little stage effect for your benefit. Shall I tell you why?"
He waved his hand to imply indifference.
"No, you are not indifferent, Count Gustav. I wished you to understand how really dangerous I am to you—as well as to witness your brotherly grief at seeing Count Karl's dead body"—and I touched the sofa pillow.
He was able to smile now with less effort, and his lip curled contemptuously.
"I am dangerous—although I can jest. Your brother is safe, quite safe, where you will not think to look for him. I knew what you purposed to do, and I alone prevented it. You don't believe me. I will give you proofs. Two days ago when we were at Madame's house you went to Colonel Katona to tell him I was too indisposed to see him, and you came and told me you had said that. You did not say that. On the contrary you told him I would send him the information he needed of the identity of the man who had wronged Gareth."
"It is an easy tale," he said, with a shrug.
"Yes, easier than you frequently find it to tell the truth. You yourself sent in my name the proofs which the Colonel needed—one of the letters which Gareth—little, trusting Gareth,—had written to you, believing you to be your brother—Karl, Count von Ostelen."
"It is false."
"I have the letter;" and I held it up before him.
I got right home with that blow, and all the malignant cruelty in him was expressed in his eyes as he made a quick but futile attempt to snatch it from me.
"It is only another of your forgeries," he said.
"Gareth will not deny it;" and at that he winced. "You did not name your brother—that was too open a course for you—but you told Colonel Katona that the man was going to run away with another woman; and you named the hour and the place where he might be seen—last night in the Radialstrasse at nine o'clock—and that they were coming to this house—'Unter den Linden.' Do you still say it is false?"
He made no reply, but sat with a scowl tugging at his long fair moustache.
"When you led your brother to the carriage last night, you looked about you to make sure that the Colonel was there; and as the carriage started, he spoke to you and asked if the man he had seen you put in the carriage was indeed your brother Karl."
He shrugged his shoulders again. "You may as well go on."
"I am going on. Fearing lest, even at the last moment, the plan should miscarry, you came here yourself; and yourself, finding your brother lying nearly unconscious on the couch, opened the window so that the watcher in the garden might see where his helpless victim lay; and then—you left the window open to make his entrance easy and certain."
"You tell a story well," he said, when I paused. "I told you once before you should write plays. You have admirable imagination." He was quite himself again now. He spoke lightly, lit a cigar, and took a couple of turns across the room.
"It appears to have interested you."
"Naturally. I suppose now I can pick up the rest from what you said before?"
"Yes. The sofa pillow has done duty before."
"A very likely tale, of course—and your witnesses?"
"No one knows all this except myself."
"Very fortunate—for them, if not perhaps for you."
"There is nothing fortunate or unfortunate in it. It is the result of my intention. I alone hold the secret, and can make terms with you for keeping it."
"I had scarcely dared to hope that. What are your terms?" He put the question in a bantering tone.
"Last time I mentioned three conditions. Two of them are pointless now, because Madame d'Artelle has fled and your brother is aware of your—shall I term it, policy?"
"I am not much concerned at your phrases," he snapped.
"These are no mere phrases. The third condition stands—you must make Gareth your wife, legally."
"Well?"
"And the fresh condition is that the mystery of my father's ruin is cleared at once, and justice done to his name."
"And if I refuse, I suppose you are going to bring all these trumped-up charges against me. It is almost laughable."
"I do not think many people will see much humour in it."
"Possibly not—but then they may never have an opportunity of hearing the story. You have been very clever—I pay you that compliment—but you have also been very foolish. You should have made sure that there was more than your word for all this."
I gave a little half-nervous start, as though I realized my mistake, and then said, quickly: "I have evidence—this letter of Gareth's."
"You will not have it long, Miss von Dreschler. I could almost be sorry for you; in fact I sympathize with you deeply. Your belief in the imaginary story of your father's wrongs has, I fear, preyed upon your nerves until they have broken down. He deserved his fate, as the murderer of the young Count Stephen; and now you come here to threaten first my brother and then myself. As the daughter of such a man, it was perhaps to be expected; but it is quite sad."
"Are you not forgetting what you said when we last spoke of the subject?"
"Oh, no, not in the least. I said then that I would do my utmost to help you—knowing of course that no help in such a matter could be given. The truth can only be the truth; but I hoped that time and thought and kindness would lead you to see your delusion. I fear I was wrong."
I would have laughed, had I not known that I had now to show signs of nervousness.
"And Gareth?"
"You appear to have hidden that poor girl; but she will of course be found and then she too must be convinced of your unfortunate delusions."
"And will no appeal to your chivalry avail to make you do justice to her? You said you cared for her."
"I was anxious, and I think, rightly anxious, to soothe what I saw was a cause of serious and therefore dangerous excitement in you. She also has misled you; no doubt inadvertently; and your prejudices against my family have warped your judgment until you are really incapable of seeing anything but what is black in me. I am truly distressed for you, believe me." His assumption of pity was almost too much for my sense of humour.
"If by black you mean dishonour and cowardly treachery, I agree. I think you are one of the vilest men that ever lived."
He smiled blandly and spread out his hands. "I am afraid you do; it is very painful. Happily, others know me better."
I heard a carriage drive up rapidly, and understood that the crisis had come with it. I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past eleven. I had timed matters aptly.
I rose, my hand on the inkstand which I had kept all the time in readiness.
"So far as we are concerned now and here, Count Gustav, there is no more to be said. I will take my story to those who will know how to investigate it."
"I am deeply sorry, but you cannot be allowed to leave the house. Those are the agents of the police."
Footsteps and men's voices were in the hall.
"They dare not keep me here!"
"While your delusions remain, I fear they will not let you go. But if you give me that letter, I will do what I can for you."
"If I could believe you," I cried with agitation; and I took another paper from my pocket.
"I should like to be your friend, and will," he said, hurriedly.
I gave him the false letter, and cried, "I can escape this way. Detain them here."
I ran towards the window, tripped intentionally, and half-falling flung the inkstand through the glass.
"Stop," cried Gustav, in a loud voice. "This is not what I want."
The crash of the glass brought the men into the room, and one of them ran and placed himself between the window and me.
Glancing out, I saw James Perry pass the house, running at full speed. My ruse had succeeded. The signal had been heard, although Gustav suspected nothing, and all I had now to do was to waste a little time while I waited for his Excellency.
I took advantage of my apparent fall to thrust Gareth's letter into my bosom. Brutal as the police might be, they still had women searched by women; and my one piece of tangible evidence was safe for the time.
I got up, holding my handkerchief to my hand, as though I had cut it in falling, and sitting down breathed hard, as one does in pain or agitation.
"This lady attempted to escape by the window, Lieutenant Varga, and has apparently hurt herself in consequence," said Count Gustav, to the man who was seemingly in charge of the party.
It was best for me of course to say nothing; so I just gripped my hand and swayed backwards and forwards in imaginary pain.
"It is a case for us then, Excellency?" asked the man.
"Let your men see that this lady does not leave the room, and I will explain the matter to you as we go over the house."
Nothing could have suited me better. The two left the room, and I threw myself on the couch. I did not care thirty cents what story he concocted.
They were absent a few minutes, and the official returned alone, bringing my hat and cloak.
"I shall have to ask you to accompany us, madam," he said, with some touch of pity in his tone. "I have no doubt all can be explained. But you have a letter I must ask you to give me."
"I shall not give it you. And I shall not go with you."
"You will only make my duty more painful by refusing."
"I can't help that."
He signed to his men, and as they came and stood by the couch I heard another carriage drive up to the door.
"On second thoughts, I will go with you," I said, and got up.
"I am obliged to you," was the reply, with a grave bow. He waited while I put on my hat. I was really listening for General von Erlanger's voice. I heard it at length.
"I am ready," I declared; and he opened the door, only to start back in surprise and to draw himself up stiffly as his Excellency entered.
"What is this?"
"Ah, I am glad your Excellency has arrived in time to see me being arrested as a lunatic," I said, sweetly, as I put my hand in his. "Good-bye."
The General gave me first a grim smile, and then glanced round at the police officials.
Count Gustav, not knowing who had arrived, came in then, and the General turned to him slowly, but with instant appreciation of the position.
It was indeed a very interesting situation; and Count Gustav looked exceedingly uncomfortable.
I have said somewhere that I did not take General von Erlanger's importance at his own estimate of it; but what occurred that morning might well have induced me to reconsider that opinion. Certainly none of those present in the room shared it. They all, including Count Gustav himself, stood in considerable awe of him.
A slight wave of the hand sent Lieutenant Varga and his men out of the room; and until they had gone and the door closed behind them, not another word was spoken.
I threw my cloak over the back of a chair, sat down, and began to study Count Gustav's face. He stood leaning against a cabinet, alternately frowning and smiling as he strove to think what line to take.
"Miss von Dreschler is of course my friend." This use of my name chased the smiles away. "I know her to be anything but a lunatic—she is saner than a good many of us, indeed—so that I am sure you would wish to explain this, Count."
"You know her by that name, then?"
"Oh, yes. I know her history."
"Do you know what has occurred in this house?"
"She will tell me in a moment if I ask her."
"Certainly, I will—if Count Gustav desires it," I chimed in.
"She has preferred a very odious accusation against me, General, and has shown such a strange prejudice, as the result of certain delusions she entertains, that I deem it necessary for the state of her mind to be inquired into."
"What is the accusation?"
"Nothing less than that I have endeavoured to compass the death of my brother."
"Yes, that is grave enough and odious enough. To whom has the accusation been made?"
"To me, so far; but she threatens to make it public."
"Surely you do not take such a thing seriously. What could you have to fear from such a charge?" Cleverly said; as though the whole thing were just a monstrous absurdity.
"Nothing, of course; but——" he finished with a gesture to imply that such conduct could not be tolerated by an honourable person like himself.
"Surely you would not wish to shut up a lady in a lunatic asylum for fear she might utter impossible charges against you."
"I believe her to be insane—on that point, of course; however reasonable and clever she may be in other respects."
"My dear Count Gustav, can't you see the extraordinary unwisdom of what you proposed to do? Why, the first effect would be to make every one who heard the charge believe there was some ground for it, and that she was shut away because you were afraid to face the thing. Your high position, your well-known probity, and your acknowledged and admired honour and love of justice render you able to laugh at such a thing. It would fly off from you like a pebble flung at an ironclad and leave no more injury."
Very astute and extremely diplomatic. I had certainly done his Excellency much less than justice. He was making it impossible for my adversary to go any further; and at the same time showing his own admiration of the Count's qualities and his regard for the ducal family.
Count Gustav found himself very awkwardly placed. "That is no doubt true, but I cannot take the same lenient view of the matter. Such things are apt to do much harm in the present disturbed state of public feeling."
"Well, my loyalty to your father, the Duke, and your family are too well-known to be questioned, I hope; and of course, if the matter is pressed, we must do what you wish—have the thing threshed out to the last straw, and the truth proved even to my very wilful young friend here. I have too much faith in her powers of sound judgment to believe for an instant that she would not accept the proofs of truth and appreciate them."
"I wish no more than a full investigation," I agreed; my admiration of his diplomacy mounting. "I may have spoken in haste and may be entirely wrong; and I hope I know how to retire from an impossible position and to withdraw any mistaken statements."
It was admirable comedy. But Count Gustav did not admire it. He saw himself drifting nearer the rapids.
"Do you think you could ask for more than that, Count?" asked the General, blandly.
But the Count stiffened his back. "I have chosen my course and, with all deference to your Excellency, I shall persevere in it. This lady is not to be trusted to be at large."
The General turned to me with an apologetic air. "I am afraid under these circumstances, Miss von Dreschler, I can do no more for you. You will understand that a member of the Duke's family speaks with great influence and power. Let me appeal to you to withdraw these charges now and let the matter end at once."
"No," broke in my adversary. "It has gone too far to end here and now." The General's words had given him confidence.
"Your Excellency sees that a withdrawal would be useless," I exclaimed, with a shrug. "It is not that which Count Gustav desires. It is to shut me up so that I may have no chance of repeating elsewhere what I have said to him. He shrinks from any real investigation."
"Oh." His Excellency was quite pained as he uttered the protest. "Please, please, be careful what you say. There is no such thought in Count Gustav's mind. Everything you wish to say, every charge you mistakenly bring, shall be disproved to your entire satisfaction. You are maligning the most honourable man in Pesth, a member of the most illustrious family. Of course there shall be investigation. Is it not so, Count?"
"I have stated the course I intend to pursue," was the dogged reply.
"Do you wish Varga to deal with the matter?"
"Yes. I have explained it to him."
His Excellency threw up his hands and shook his head. "Dear, dear, I could almost wish I had not answered your letter so promptly, Miss von Dreschler. It is a very distressing matter."
"Oh, she sent for you?" exclaimed the Count, angrily.
"Yes, indeed. Scarcely the act of a lunatic, of course. It was very clever indeed, for it forces the thing to my knowledge. You see, Count, there is another very serious obstacle in your path. Miss von Dreschler is an American citizen—and you know what the Americans are when you twitch only a feather of the big bird. The eagle has a very loud cry, monstrously sharp eyes, and talons that dig deep in unearthing things."
I vowed to myself I would never again doubt his Excellency's shrewdness or his importance. I could have kissed him for the way he played that beautiful check-mate.
The Count was entirely nonplussed for the moment. He could only frown and repeat; "I have chosen my course, and even you cannot stop me, General."
"My dear young Count, you are making things exceedingly awkward. You see the affair is known to me officially; and that is everything. You are too young to appreciate all that this means; but when you are my age and have had my experience, you will see such a thing as I see it."
"I shall of course appeal at once to the United States Consul," I said, quick to take the cue thus indicated.
"You hear that. I was sure of it. No, believe me, Count, this is a matter to be settled in a very different way. You must not act in a hurry. I tell you what we must do. We must all have time to think things over; and to afford the necessary opportunity I will take Miss von Dreschler to my house until to-morrow; and if you will come there, say at noon, we shall no doubt have found a way out."
But this would not suit Count Gustav, I knew; and he held on to his resolve to pursue the course he had chosen.
"My dear Count, I know how your father would act in such a case. We really cannot run the risk of making it a cause of international complication. If you will not accept my suggestion all I can do is to send word to the American Consul and let him have the custody of this young lady. The people at the Consulate will then of course go fully into the affair, everything will be made public, and heaven knows what trouble will come out of it. But it would simply ruin me at Vienna if I were to consent to your wish. It is only a matter of a few hours. Miss von Dreschler will no doubt consent to do nothing for that time; and meanwhile, if you wish it, you and I can go to the Duke."
"There is another way," said the Count, suddenly. "We will go at once to my father and lay the matter before him. He can decide what should be done, and take any responsibility off your shoulders, General."
It was a shrewd move, but the check was obvious. "I agree to that readily, with but one condition—the American Consul must be present to protect me."
His Excellency gave me a quick glance of appreciation. "Oh, yes, of course. The Count will not object to that."
"But I do object. We want no more in this than there are at present."
"Then as an American citizen I claim my rights and the protection of my flag."
"Will you remain here a few minutes?" asked the General; and he led the Count out of the room. They were absent nearly half an hour, and then his Excellency returned alone.
"I have prevailed upon the Count to take my view of what should be done; and if you will give me your word to say nothing of these matters until twelve o'clock to-morrow, you will come with me to my house and remain there until then."
"Then we shall have another game of chess much sooner than we anticipated, your Excellency," I said lightly.
"You play too much chess, young lady, and far too daring a game. I may give him your word?"
"Oh, yes. I have done all I wished here and am ready to go."
"You'll make no effort to escape?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "You are to be a prisoner, you know."
I nodded and laughed, and a few minutes later he handed me into his carriage to drive back to the city.
He was more disposed to think than to talk during the drive, and several times I caught a furtive smile flitting over his face and drawing down the corners of his mouth.
"I'm afraid I have a dangerous prisoner. You have already given me one awkward corner to turn this morning; and I see others ahead."
"I never knew what diplomacy meant until this morning," I replied; "and the cleverness of it quite fascinated me."
"Diplomacy often consists in helping a friend to do what he doesn't wish to do," he said sententiously.
"I suppose, by the way, I am only a prisoner on parole?"
"If you take my advice you will not stir out of my house until we have had the meeting to-morrow."
"Why not?"
"I cannot talk easily in a carriage," he answered, with a glance which I understood to mean that he had strong reasons he preferred not to explain.
I said no more until we reached his house and he took me into his library.
"I cannot give you more than one minute, and therefore cannot wait to hear your story. I have pressing matters that will keep me all the afternoon."
"I have no clothes, your Excellency," I cried, with a little affectation of dismay.
"Which means you wish to go out in order to carry on the scheme with which your busy little brains are full. You cannot go out, Christabel—I have said that you will remain here. Understand that, please." He spoke almost sternly; but the twinkle came into his eyes as he turned away and added: "As for your clothes, I had thought of that difficulty, and I told that American servant of yours to call here this afternoon on the chance that you might need him."
I laughed and was running out of the room, saying I would go and find the girls and tell them I had come to spend the rest of the day with them, when I stopped and went back to him. "I haven't thanked you," I said.
"It is not to me that any thanks are due—but the Stars and Stripes. They gave us the mate."
"But it was you who made the move; and it is you I thank."
"The game is not finished yet, Christabel. We'll wait for that."
"I see the combination that will win it."
He took my hand and pressed it. "You deserve to win; but the stakes are almost tragically high, child."
"In chess there is always a king without a throne."