“Then you will start immediately. Oh, one thing more. Your passenger may understand any language that you do. Kindly say nothing to each other during the trip. There will be no necessity for speech.” He waved his hand, and four of his black-masked followers went with us, out of the house, by the same back way we had entered. The alley was crowded now, but not too much so for passage back to the car, where another Black Mask was already filling the gas tank from two large tin cans. We would have got in the front seat, but our guards stopped us, and we stood waiting until two more Black Masks joined us, leading the Prophet between them. They put him in front next to me, standing close to him to prevent his jumping out. He was followed by a large crowd who eyed us all curiously.
Meanwhile John got into the tonneau, and I heard him say “damn!” in a surprised tone. “All right?” I asked. “Yes,” he answered, “quite. Get in.” I mounted beside the prophet. “Straight ahead on this road,” directed one of the masked men, “make no turning until you come back to the main road, then turn to your left. About a hundred kilometers farther.”
I started the car with a groan of relief. We were again on our much-interrupted way to Herrovosca. The road was too full of people to make quick time at first, but as soon as we were out of the congested area I stepped on the gas. At last there seemed to be nothing between us and our goal, though I could not help wondering what had happened to make the Black Ghost change his mind about letting us go. However, just driving again without feeling hunted was such fun that I relaxed presently, for the first time in days, and stepped on the accelerator, hard.
We came to the wide, metalled main road, and made splendid time. Farther on we topped a hill, and saw below us again the broad, fertile valley beyond which was Herrovosca. In the distance I could just see, a little mistily, the towers and roofs of the city. My watch had stopped the night before, but by the position of the sun I judged it to be about the same time of day we had passed this way three days before, fatuously running away from possible trouble. We made splendid time. I wanted to comment on it to John, but remembered in time not to speak. I glanced back at him. He was smoking quietly, and winked at me. He was having a fine Roman holiday.
In half an hour or so more we would be in the city again, and rid of our passenger and our responsibilities. The prophet sat straight and silent all the way, holding fast to his cross-handled staff, his eyes fixed on the city with a fanatic intensity. It was quite evident he was not expecting arrest there. It was a little cruel of us to deceive him, I felt.
We passed the little inn where we had bought bread and mutton and wine on our way to Helena’s. Gradually the small houses grew more frequent, they assumed the style of villas, their gardens became more ornamental, the traffic was heavier, and then we were suddenly in the city again, where we had so often despaired of being. The shadows were lengthening. I did not remember the way very well, but he had said straight to the church of St. Nicholas, then right—or left?—to the river. I could not remember which it was, so I tried to think of all the things the Black Ghost had said, but still I could not determine whether it was right or left. Then I came to the church of St. Nicholas, and slowed down while I motioned to John. He pointed to the right. I turned that way. I did not know the bridges by name, but I knew that Central Bridge must be a large one, so I drove on until we came to a large bridge. I drove beyond it, and then turned widely so as not to stop the car, and drove back, looking for gendarmes. There were none. I decided that that was the wrong bridge, and drove on farther the same way, until I came to another. There were no gendarmes there, either, so I went on still farther. And at the next there were also no gendarmes, so I continued, but came suddenly to the high city wall, with a great gate through it. There were no more bridges, so I turned around to go back. But there was not so much space to turn there, and I had to stop and back and stop and back again. The second time I stopped, the prophet suddenly opened the door at his side, and jumped out. He stood for a moment beside the car, holding up three fingers of his right hand in blessing. We had been told not to harm him or to speak to him, so I left him there, not knowing what else to do with him. As soon as we saw some gendarmes we could tell them where we had left him. John said “what the hell!”
I said, “what could I do?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “It was their fault not to meet us. You either drove faster than they expected or didn’t go to the right bridge. We ought to have grabbed him, but there is a reason back here why I couldn’t.”
“Oh, it’s their own fault,” I said. “Are you all in?”
“No,” he said. “Keep on moving and I’ll tell you. We have a second passenger. He’s hidden under the robe back here. I stepped on him as I got into the car in that town. I almost gave the show away saying ‘damn.’ It’s the chap who dropped the plaster on us. He was in the car before we left Visichich manor, and he seems to want to stay hidden.”
“So while they were looking for him outside the manor,” I said, “he was in the car?”
“They were not looking for me,” answered a muffled voice. “There was another riot. There will be many. I heard them talking about it when they took the other cars. I was afraid they would take this one, too, but they did not. They had not missed me. But now I must quickly be taken to the Palace. No one must see me.”
“Why should we take you to the Palace?” John asked. “For all we know you may be an assassin. We don’t even know any name to call you by, right or wrong.”
“I cannot tell you my name,” the man said, “but I did give you a pass to the Queen, did I not? If you will try to use that you will see that it will be honored.”
“You may have stolen it.”
“I will write you another, and you may see me write it. It also will be honored.”
“The Queen knows you, then?”
“Yes, yes, she knows me. But I am in great danger here if anyone should see me. I have enemies. Enemies to the King. Enemies to the Queen.”
“John,” I said, “if he’ll write another pass, and you see him do it, and they think it is all right at the Palace, I guess we’d better take him up there. But we won’t vouch for him.”
There was a half-choked expletive from under the blanket, which stopped abruptly, and then changed to saccharine sweetness. “Any way you like, gentlemen,” the voice said. “Stop the car while I write, but be sure there is no one to see me. I cannot write while the car moves.”
We went through the little ceremony without mishap. John compared the signatures on the two passes. “Whatever this is meant for,” he said, “it is quite illegible, but the two look exactly alike.”
“All right,” I agreed, “we’ll go, but I shall tell the guards that we do not know the man, and are not responsible for him, and that I shall feel safer if he is carefully watched.”
“I don’t care what you tell the guards,” came from under the robe. “Only I wish to be taken to the Royal Palace, and queeck. Perhaps you know what has been happening since I was in prison?”
I heard John say, “why, yes, a little, I guess. Though we don’t really know much of what has been going on the last two days. We’ve been about as much out of touch as you have. Of course you knew the King is dead?”
“Oh. The King is dead! No, I did not know that.”
“Yes, assassinated.”
“Ah. The poor King! And is Conrad already in power in the Palace, then?”
“No. The Queen sprung a surprise on everybody. She produced a princess everyone thought was dead. Maria Lalena is Queen of Alaria now.”
“Maria Lalena!” the voice whispered, and I could not tell whether the man was laughing or sobbing, but his voice was shaking. “You are sure the Queen did that, not Conrad?”
“Look here,” I said. “This doesn’t sound right to me. Who the devil are you, anyway?”
“That I must not tell you.”
“I am afraid to take you to the Palace unless you do.”
“I am a monk,” he said, “attached to the service of the Royal Family. I was King Bela’s confidant, and, in many things, the Queen’s also, but of this Princess Maria Lalena I knew nothing. Gentlemen, I beg of you, take me to the Royal Palace.”
And, still doubting the safety and wisdom of the course, I did.
A sentry stood motionless on either side of the gate. John leaned forward, and showed the pass the monk had written. “Do you know that signature?” He asked in German. The man saluted smartly. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “Certainly I know it, but we have orders to allow no one to enter here without a special pass signed within twenty-four hours. I am sorry.”
“Oh,” John said. “I did not notice that that had a date. Here, anyway, is one signed within twenty-four hours, for I saw it signed myself.” He offered the second of our passenger’s signed slips of paper.
For answer, the two sentries stared for an instant, and then thrust their bayonets at us, and called out. Two more men appeared from behind the gate.
“You are under arrest,” said the first man.
Of course we were accustomed to being arrested, but this was a different matter from the other times. This might be a criminal offense. Foreigners, without passports, and with only a mad story about how they had lost them, trying to obtain entrance to the Royal Palace with a strange man hidden under a robe in the back of the car. And Helena, the only person who could vouch for us, a prisoner of the Black Ghost.
“What for?” John asked truculently.
“Because you must repeat that story to a higher officer,” the man answered. “If you saw that paper signed within twenty-four hours it is a forgery. The city of Herrovosca is under martial law.”
“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand with all the authority I could muster. I was frightened, and it seemed ridiculous to have come through so many difficulties only to be arrested at the very end of our journey, almost within speaking distance of the Queen. A few passersby added themselves, gaping, to the group of soldiers.
“We really have a legitimate errand to the Queen,” I said. “We only showed you those passes to see whether you thought them real. We suspected them ourselves. Here.” I offered him the red card that the Black Ghost had given us. He stared at it in surprise, and said, indifferently, “Yes, of course. This will let you through any police lines. If you drive your car on the wrong side of the street, and show this, it will be forgiven, but it makes no mention of the Royal Palace, and though I do not say so, there are many of these cards, and you may have stolen this one. You must go before the Colonel tomorrow.”
Tomorrow! Even that was not so bad as the presence of that man in the back of the car. While they were about to discover him at any moment, and we were under arrest, we certainly did not want to proclaim his presence. I cursed myself for a fool not to have told the soldiers about him immediately. We had only agreed to take him to the Palace, and we had done that. Now quite a crowd was collecting around us.
“Wait a moment,” I said. “I realise that you must take every precaution. You are right to do that, of course.” I stooped, took off my shoe, and since they looked suspiciously at me, I held it up in plain sight, while I removed the paper Helena had given me. Then I laid the shoe on the seat beside me.
For the first time the guard looked impressed. “Countess von Waldek,” he said. “Ah, yes, Countess von Waldek we know, and have had orders for three days to admit her immediately when she comes, but she does not come. She has disappeared. You will have to show this as well to the Colonel tomorrow.” He opened the front door, and another man opened the back one.
“You are making a mistake,” I said. “Our business is urgent, we—”
John interrupted me. “I must tell you, then,” he began, “that—”
John was too impulsive. Besides, I saw that we must declare the presence of the man in back or perhaps suffer serious consequences if they found him first. I interrupted John.
“We have come,” I said, “from Visichich Manor. We were asked to bring to Herrovosca a—”
But I got no farther than that, for there appeared suddenly on the other side of the square a large open car, and in it sat the new Queen Maria Lalena in a long veil of white mourning crepe and looking as sweet and pretty as a Queen of the May. The car, like most Royal cars, was travelling at a swift pace, and was preceded and followed by soldiers on motor cycles, but it had to slow down as it neared the now large crowd that had collected around us, blocking the gate. In the sudden movement as it approached a voice shouted, “See! See! The impostor! She is dressed like the Holy Virgin! Blasphemer!”
A figure lunged forward from the edge of the group. It was all so quick and unexpected that I must have acted instinctively, as one does sometimes in a moment of impending accident. Mechanically. I can remember the act, but not any thought on my part that directed it. My hand closed over the shoe that I had laid on the seat beside me, and I flung it at the upraised arm of the man who had shouted. The only conscious thought I had was a sudden realisation of his identity.
It was the prophet.
I had come all the way from home, through three imprisonments, for the purpose of hitting a false prophet with an old shoe.
But I did hit him. The shoe struck him squarely in the face just as he threw something round and black, and the something round and black hurtled high above the white head of the Queen Maria Lalena, and fell far beyond her on the deserted pavement of the square, where it burst with such a roar as I had not heard since I left the trenches in 1918.
Everybody began shouting at once. The crowd pushed and surged until I thought our car would be turned over. John and I were jerked out roughly, and held against the Palace wall by the soldiers, while the crowd, which seemed to double with each passing second, yelled at us. All the doors of the car were open. The rug, under which the mysterious man of the plaster had hidden, was gone, and so was he. It was the only bright spot in our last disaster. We no longer had to explain him, at least. I felt I wanted to laugh about that, but didn’t dare. People might think I was laughing at them. Someone struck me in the face. I slipped sideways and cut my shoeless foot on a sharp stone. John cursed in English, and I could just hear him above the din. The soldiers were doing all they could for us, but they were hopelessly outnumbered by the mob. Step by step we were half dragged, half pushed, toward the Palace gate. It was only a short distance, but each inch was being fought for, hard. A woman in a red dress spat at us, a man kicked me deliberately on the shin. I couldn’t get my balance quick enough to kick back, and the soldiers were holding my arms. At last, our lungs almost bursting, we half fell through the gate, which was closed behind us amid furious shouts and threatening gestures from the crowd. I found myself on the calm side of the barrier, sitting in the middle of the roadway, too dazed for the moment to care. I closed my eyes in relief, but I wasn’t allowed to sit quietly. A soldier pulled at me, and made me go behind the wall, where I could not be seen from the street. There was a stone coping there and I sat on it. John, battered and grimy, and making a wry face over his arm, but with his eyes shining with excitement, grinned at me delightedly.
“I see now,” he announced to any who cared to listen, which was me, “why war was a noble career in the days when it was fought like that. There’s some point in being allowed by the rules to kick a man and know it was a good job.”
“You’re a disreputable looking savage,” I told him.
“And a bit of a wreck, yourself,” he chortled at me. “I hand it to these soldiers. They’re a swell bunch of guys.”
The swell bunch of guys began wrapping a stout rope around his good arm, tying it effectually to his body. I protested violently, but the only attention they paid to me was to tie my wrists. They were all talking so hard that no one would answer a question or speak to us at all. I stopped trying to do anything more, and just leaned back against the wall, too exhausted to worry even in the face of our latest capture.
“We should have stayed,” John said to me, “at Visichich Manor. That Countess is a damned nice girl. I wish she were here now, she’d get us out of this mess.”
“While we are wishing,” I said, “we might as well wish a little higher. I wish the Black Ghost were here.”
“Which one?” John asked, grinning.
“Oh,” I said. “Were there two, do you think?”
“I know it,” John said. “And what is more, I think I know who the second one is.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Not here,” he said. “I’ll tell you as soon as we are alone.”
“Well,” I said, “both men’s manners were charming, and his—or their—prison is well appointed. It would be rather acceptable after this last scrap. I’m tired.”
“Yes,” John agreed. “Especially as we have no guarantee that the Herrovosca jail won’t be ratty. Joke on you, though. Afraid to stay in a town where there might be a riot, and then get into mess after mess. And don’t forget we’re wrong all the way around now. There isn’t a faction here that hasn’t at least one count against us. We’re messengers to the Queen, but we brought a regicide to town. We promised to be friendly toward the Black Ghost, but didn’t deliver the prophet to the gendarmes. We are friends of Helena’s, but she has disappeared, and we were about the last people to see her so far as anyone can prove. The Visichiches were nice to us, but we stole their car and took off their prisoner. We’re Americans, but we haven’t any good excuse for not having our passports, and, anyway, I rather think they thought you threw that bomb. Probably I was the only person who saw what you did. And a lot of good my testimony will be.”
“What do we do next?” I asked.
“Whatever offers,” John said, confidently.
From outside came the sound of motor cars. Our captors opened the gate, and more soldiers came through. Two grasped my arms tightly, two more grasped John, more formed a lane, and they started leading us toward the square again.
We had been actually inside the Palace wall, and now we were going out again, without having seen the Queen. I groaned, but we could not start a war with the whole Alarian army.
They got us out to the sidewalk. The mob had not diminished in size, but it was subdued by the new soldiers. Our appearance was the signal for redoubled shoutings, and the line of guards was jostled so hard that we were delayed on our way to the large black car—a proper Black Maria—drawn up at the curb, its black yawning interior waiting for us.
“Guess I might as well resign,” John said. “Being a queen’s messenger doesn’t seem to be my metier. Hereafter I suppose I’ll have to stick to painting. I’m afraid I’m better at it.”
The noise grew confusing. There were shouts in front of us, and shouts to both sides, and even, I thought, shouts behind us. The line of soldiers suddenly closed altogether, and instead of forcing us into the Black Maria, we were led back again inside the Palace gate, nor, this time, were we stopped there, but led up the incline toward the Palace itself.
“Going to take us out by a back gate and save trouble,” John said. “We tried saving trouble, but we learned better, didn’t we?”
We did not go up the great state stairs that led to the huge arched doorway, but to a small door under the staircase, along an almost dark corridor with a cold stone floor. We were inside the Palace at last, but not in the way we had expected to get there. I was too discouraged to care much what they did to us. John might be cheerful. Being wounded, the soldiers had protected him better than they had me, and he had both his shoes. My only immediate interest was in stepping as lightly as possible on my unshod foot, but I retained a faith that the future would sometime permit me to leave Alaria. Nobody ever loved any country less than I did that fantastic, mediæval kingdom at that moment. I did not even care that we had failed in our errand.
We reached a room with a soft carpet, for which my foot was grateful. It was a blue carpet, without figures, and never made in Alaria. Indeed, the color was so unexpected, underfoot in a country of bare stone floors or bright Oriental rugs that I summoned interest enough to look around me. White enamelled French furniture, upholstered in pink and blue striped silk, and on a mantel bright French porcelain vases with a clock to match. I reflected that Palace dungeons were more daintily furnished than any we had hitherto been lodged in.
A door was opened, and we were ushered through it, into a less formal room, where, at last, and when we least expected to see her, sat Queen Yolanda.
She was draped, like a Ziegfeld Niobe, in heavy black, and sat before a large and elaborately carved desk. Beside her, flushed with excitement, her eyes bright, but frightened, stood Maria Lalena. She nodded when she saw us, and said something I did not hear to Queen Yolanda. The soldiers stood very close to us so that we should not be able to make any attack upon their royal persons.
I was beyond being surprised, but it was somewhat unexpected. It was also the first time I had ever been ushered into the presence of two Queens, and I was not sure just what might be the proper ritual. John smiled ecstatically, bowed deeply, and said, “your Majesties.”
Both ladies returned the bow, formally. Yolanda spoke then. It was the first time I had heard her. Her voice was throatily vibrant. “Why do you bring these gentlemen here like criminals?” she demanded. “Have you so little regard for your Queen’s life that you arrest her saviors?”
The officer with us protested. “Your Majesty, this is the man who threw the bomb.”
Maria Lalena said, excitedly, “No, no, it isn’t. He threw something that made the bomb go wild. I saw it. I was looking straight at him.”
Queen Yolanda spoke again resonantly. “You should know your business better than that. Untie those ropes.” She turned to us. “We are very grateful, and we apologise for our soldiers’ mistake. They have been stupidly rough with you. Forgive them, they thought you assassins. We sent for you to thank you, and also because her Majesty tells me that you were in a dangerous situation at the gate. We acted as quickly as we could.”
“Please sit down, do,” Maria Lalena spoke quickly. “I am afraid you are hurt.”
Yolanda turned to look at her annoyedly. I was glad enough of the opportunity. I sat down, and shoved my stockinged foot under the chair. John sat beside me.
“We should apologise,” he said, “for our appearance. We would not willingly have presented ourselves before your Majesties in such a dishevelled state, but we were, as you know, given no choice. We were under the impression, in fact, that we were being taken to prison.”
Yolanda said “Yes, yes, to be sure,” very stiffly, while she stared at us crossly for having sat down. She could set her stage magnificently, she could play her part with conviction and authority amid insuperable difficulties, but she could not make her audience love her. It was amazing to me that she had been right often enough, and clever enough, to keep her place in spite of all the hatred she stirred up. They were so different, those two women facing us. The person who would take Yolanda’s place must have brains and experience, and Maria Lalena was so young and untried, though she was pretty and appealing. Her eyes were amazing. She was looking at John now as she had looked at a counter of pastries in Paris eight years ago. There was the same hopeful, wistful, long-lashed glance. Quite irresistible. She turned the same look on me, and then dropped her eyes. That was what she used to do about the pastries. Drop her eyes after one lingering, devastating glance, and the family bought them for her.
Yolanda was sitting in silence. She knew how to use the old stage tricks. In a second, from the vantage point of her high backed, red damask chair, she would graciously give us permission to retire.
I spoke before she should have an opportunity. “Your Majesty, we have brought you a message from the Countess Waldek.”
Maria Lalena answered, and jumped from her chair to do it. Even Yolanda sat up a little straighter.
“Oh,” Maria Lalena cried, “oh, where is she? Is she safe?”
Yolanda admonished her in a low voice, sibilant with annoyance. She sat down again.
“Yes,” I answered, “she is quite safe.”
“Give it to me,” commanded Yolanda, holding out her hand.
“It is a verbal message,” I answered. “We were to tell you that the Black Ghost wears a ruby ring.”
Maria Lalena stared at us in blank surprise. The message meant nothing to her. If it meant anything to Yolanda she hid it effectively. She said merely, “oh, yes, a code we had arranged. Thank you very much.”
“That’s all very well,” John answered, “but he does wear a ruby ring.”
“Oh,” Maria Lalena cried in surprise, “how do you know?”
Yolanda glared. “Do you happen to know where the Countess is at present?”
“When we last saw her,” I said, “she was a prisoner at the Black Ghost’s stronghold in the mountains.”
Maria Lalena gave a loud gasp.
“You saw her there?” asked Yolanda, interested at last.
“We were imprisoned in the next room to hers. We escaped, but were unfortunately not able to release her.”
“I see,” she said, slowly, and her voice lost its fine resonances, and became almost sharp. “You gentlemen will wish to refresh yourselves. You should probably also see a doctor, for I fear my overzealous guards have not been as careful of your well-being as I could wish. Meanwhile I have one small favor to ask of you. You brought to Herrovosca a man hidden in the back of your car. He came up to the Palace during the trouble at the gate. I wish that you should say nothing of this man to anyone. You will give me your word?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“And who,” Maria Lalena asked, her eyes turned wide and frightened toward her mother, “was the man they brought here? Was that who was locked in here with you when I came to tell you about these gentlemen?”
“That,” said Yolanda, drily, “is just what I do not wish discussed.”
“But surely I may know?” the girl persisted. I saw that her hands were trembling. She had had a bad fright with the bomb.
“You? Certainly.” Yolanda’s voice was honeyed. “The man is a monk who has left his monastery to bring me consolation in my sorrow.” But her voice sounded triumphant. A monk, and with manicured finger nails? The sleeve was a monk’s sleeve, but he had a mustache and not more than three days’ beard.
“A monk?” asked Maria Lalena, uneasily. “Then why not speak of his coming?”
“That,” Yolanda answered, firmly, “we can easily discuss later. These gentlemen are exhausted, and we must not keep them any longer. Some other time, perhaps.”
“There is still the matter of Countess Waldek,” John protested. “I should like to know that you will send a rescue expedition to her.”
Queen Yolanda answered coldly, “You can surely leave that to us, Countess Waldek is our affair.”
John took a long breath. “Not altogether, your Majesty. She is Mr. Carvin’s cousin, and that makes her partly our affair.”
Maria Lalena jumped up from her chair. “Oh,” she cried, “then you are—now isn’t that splendid? I see now, you came straight from the Black Ghost’s den.”
“No,” I said, “not quite. We were forcibly detained at Visichich Manor last night—”
“Visichich Manor?” Yolanda spoke almost crossly. “I thought you said you were prisoners in the Black Ghost’s mountain stronghold. Surely you don’t think that they are the same?”
“Oh, no,” John was gently explanatory. “We were held in both places.”
“In two days?”
“A day and a half.”
Maria Lalena laughed as though she were pleased. “Americans are like that,” she approved. “And I’m so excited to see you. I know who you are now. I knew you were coming, you see. I—”
Queen Yolanda interrupted her with a quick sentence in Alarian. She flushed, sat down again, and went on more hesitantly. “Now I feel as though I had some real friends here.”
Yolanda sat staring at her stonily. “You have many friends,” she said severely. “These gentlemen—”
But Maria Lalena had started, and was not to be stopped. Yolanda had pulled all the strings, but the puppet was dancing to her own tune. “Go on,” she said, leaning forward, “tell me all about what happened next.”
John cleared his throat, and then spoke carefully. “There was a very minor little excitement at Visichich Manor while we were talking to the Countess Katerina, and we had a chance to get into the garage, and stole a car. Afterward we found this monk in the tonneau under a rug. Ridiculous, wasn’t it?”
Yolanda said stiffly, “not at all.”
Maria Lalena shook her head, sadly. “I always did think those Visichiches were a funny lot,” she murmured. “Do they know much about this monk?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” said John, smoothly. “He can probably tell you more than we can.”
“He is not to be questioned,” Yolanda announced.
“Well,” Maria Lalena said. “Colonel Count Visichich is in the Palace. I saw him. I think we should send for him, my mother. Confront him with these gentlemen. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so mysterious then.”
Yolanda flushed a little, but she answered gently, “No, my dear, by no means. Later we will attend to all that. Now these gentlemen must be allowed to refresh themselves.” She leaned forward to press a button on her desk.
“Oh, do you want to go?” Maria Lalena asked us. “Wouldn’t you rather find out all about this now?”
A servant appeared, and Maria Lalena spoke quickly to him in Alarian. Yolanda glared, and her hands clenched angrily. The servant went out. We all waited in uncomfortable silence, until, very quickly, the Count Visichich came in. He was very dapper, very punctilious, and very ready for anything until he saw us. Then he looked startled. I decided that he had not yet heard of our escape. That was quite possible if he had left the manor in one of the first two cars. His mouth opened for a second, before he recovered his composure. He made deep bows to the two Queens, and to us, and then stood stock still with conscious poise.
The ladies acknowledged his salutation solemnly, Yolanda sitting back in her crimson chair, while Maria Lalena shivered in excitement. A wise, wise, woman and an over-eager frightened child. There was just the shadow of satisfaction on Count Visichich’s face as the girl spoke. He was ready enough for anything she might have to say. I felt sorry for her. She was frightened, but she didn’t yet know what a bad corner she was in, or that we were in it, too. We had delivered our message at last, and were probably worse off than ever. There wasn’t a chance that we would be allowed to leave the Palace without being re-arrested under any one of a half dozen possible charges. And neither of the two women who were supposed to be the rulers of the country would be able to help us. I tried hard to plan something, but my brain was a blank.
“Count Visichich,” said Maria Lalena, “I want to know a lot of things, if you please. The first of them is, what, exactly is the nature of the relationship between your family and Prince Conrad?” Yolanda shivered perceptibly.
Count Visichich answered suavely, surely, with just a touch of irony in his pleasant voice, “Prince Conrad is a member of the Royal Family, a cousin of your Majesty’s, and as such he ’as always found me a loyal subject, a friend, if I may be allowed the term.”
“And what,” she pursued, relentlessly, “is your relation, then, to the Black Ghost of the Pass?”
“We are good Catholics,” the Count answered, with the trace of a smile, “and as such we pray daily to the Saints, but ’ave no traffic with the restless ghosts of dead men, even though they may ’ave been ’eroes and patriots in life.”
Yolanda looked up as though she were amused. Maria Lalena spoke quickly, “I did not mean the ghost of a dead hero or patriot,” she answered, “but the masked man who plays the part of the Black Ghost. Who is he? Do you serve him or us?”
Count Visichich looked surprised. He did it excellently. “Is someone masquerading as the Black Ghost?” he asked.
“The Black Ghost imprisoned these gentlemen,” Maria Lalena was growing more and more nervous, “and when they escaped from him you imprisoned them at Visichich Manor. Why—”
“Ah,” Count Visichich looked as though he understood everything at last. “I think these gentlemen will tell you quite willingly that my son and I discovered them walking on the road that leads to our ’ome. It was late at night, and they ’ad only a mysterious story to tell about a car that they ’ad abandoned somewhere be’ind us. There was no car be’ind us because we ’ad just come over that road, and must ’ave seen it. We took the very natural precaution of insisting that they accept our hospitality for the night. We gave them every comfort and treated them as guests. They will surely acknowledge this.”
“Oh, quite,” John said. “You were delightful. We did not deserve nearly such charming entertainment as we received, and we were almost as disreputable looking tramps as we are now.”
“Then why did you run away?” Maria Lalena asked.
“Because we wished to tell her Majesty, Queen Yolanda, what had happened to the Countess von Waldek,” John said, smoothly.
“You mean,” Marie Lalena said, “to tell her that the Black—”
“These gentlemen,” said Yolanda quickly, “should be allowed to—”
“Exactly,” I interrupted. “My friend—”
Count Visichich interrupted again. He was not going to let us leave before he had found out, if he could, what we had told Yolanda about the Black Ghost. And if he found out, something sudden would probably happen to us.
“These gentlemen,” he said, smiling, “would only seek out more adventures if they left here. I assure you they are most astoundingly avid for excitement. They cannot stay in one place for more than a few hours. That is the reason why they ran away from us, of course. Your Majesty cannot, surely, be in doubt as to the fidelity of our family. For ’undreds of years we ’ave been loyal to the Crown. We wish only the long and successful continuance of the dynasty, and peace to the country. Prince Conrad is of one mind with us. He, also, is bending every effort to avert any possible trouble. He telephoned to me personally this morning when there was a riot in Pranga, and I went there. I advised him to stay ’ere, as it is the most important city. My son and I went to Pranga, and quieted the disturbance there. We were brought word that there ’ad been the beginning of a riot in Vorgo also, but that it ’ad been stopped. I left my son in Pranga, and came on ’ere to be ready to help in case of any disturbance. I am ’ere to obey any orders your Majesties may care to give.”
Yolanda sat still silent in her high red chair. She had a fine poker face. Maria Lalena looked relieved. I had an idea at last. I whispered to John out of one side of my mouth, “If you would faint we could get out of here—best way.”
He did not turn his head to whisper back, “Faint yourself, if you want to. I’m staying.”
I knew we ought to get out, but I didn’t want to, either. My nose for news would have made going hard, if I may be allowed so high sounding a term for ordinary curiosity.
Count Visichich was speaking slowly again, watching Maria Lalena. “You said something about the Black Ghost a few moments ago—per’aps I can clear up something for you if you will tell me what it is?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Yolanda said, icily. “Her Majesty is very tired. She has had a great shock. She should rest. Come, my dear.”
“No,” Maria Lalena said, nervously, “I don’t want to rest.”
Count Visichich said thoughtfully, “I was talking to Prince Conrad when you so kindly sent for me. Perhaps Your Majesty would wish to allow ’im to explain any matter that may be troubling you?”
“Yes,” Maria Lalena agreed, a little doubtfully. Yolanda looked resigned. She touched the bell again. If she had been French or American she would have shrugged her shoulders. The same servant appeared to receive the order. Maria Lalena spoke to him first, and then Yolanda beckoned him to her, and gave him a further whispered instruction. He presently returned to usher in Prince Conrad, who bowed almost reverently to the two Queens, his tall figure quite graceful, his face serious but a little quizzical, his eyes very black under straight brows. We rose formally. I balanced uncomfortably on my one shoe. Yolanda bowed, and motioned him to another high-backed red damask chair, like that on which she throned herself. Then she nodded to Count Visichich and to us, and we all sat down again, neatly and a little absurdly, like a row of dolls in a toy shop. If we were going to have exposures that might shake dynasties we were to have them, at least, with the most polite formalities.
“This is a very important conference,” Maria Lalena said in words. The tone of her voice said, “I wish I were a long way out of all this, and had someone’s shoulder to cry on, but I’ve got to do something. Anything is better than just letting things drift.”
“So I judged,” said Prince Conrad, looking at us, pointedly.
“These gentlemen,” Maria Lalena continued, “are a cousin of—of Countess von Waldek’s and a friend of his. They know a great many things.”
“They are lucky to know,” he answered, gently. “There are so many things that I only suspect.”
She flushed, and looked quite miserable for a moment, but his smile was amused, candid, tolerant, absolutely without rancor; she took a little courage from it, and went on, “something should be done. The Black Ghost and his band imprisoned these gentlemen, and are now holding my very dear—my very dear Countess von Waldek up in the mountains in a castle, or whatever it is. I beg you, dear Prince, to organise a rescue expedition to put an end to his disgraceful banditry.”
Prince Conrad looked at her and then at us, and then slowly took from his pocket a jewelled gold cigarette case, and with a movement that asked permission of the ladies without words, he selected a cigarette with his left hand, then closed the case, and put it back in his pocket, holding the cigarette ready to light. On the hand that held it blazed a ruby ring. A ring fit for a king, large enough for a king in a play.
Yolanda did not move. She, of course, had known the identity of the Black Ghost since we had given her Helena’s message. Maria Lalena sat staring at the ring with eyes that seemed hypnotised. Her face was white, but she gathered all her courage, and lifted her chin to look squarely at him. Her voice trembled a little as she spoke, “Hail, Fakat Zol, Guardian Spirit of Alaria,” she cried.
Prince Conrad looked at her, and lifted his eyebrows. Then he continued deliberately lighting his cigarette, and turned to us. “So you are actually ’ere!” he said, cheerfully. “Men after my own ’eart. If I were the ruler of Alaria I should offer you posts that would tempt you to stay ’ere. This country needs men who can do the impossible.”
“Not impossible at all,” John apologised. “Luck was with us.”