"Which wye?" asked Carrick who, having started the auto, kept his eyes steadily on the road in front of him and shot the question over his shoulder.
"Straight ahead. The lady is unconscious again."
This was true, for as they entered the car Carter had been just in time to catch the Lady Trusia in his arms as she toppled forward in a sudden return of the fainting spell.
"Why not back to the inn, sir?"
Carrick's suggestion betrayed that he shared his companion's concern for Her Grace of Schallberg.
"I'd rather not. We are not popular there and I feel present conditions would hardly increase their friendship. We'll try the castle. I fancy that's her home, anyhow."
He glanced up to where, distinctly outlined, its towers in the clouds, they beheld the grim structure, recognizable from its significant location as the one they had espied from the thither side of the forest.
"Where's the wye to it?" The chauffeur was puzzled, for straight before them the cliff ran perpendicular to the side of the road, without an apparent break. "Must be on the other side, sir, for blyme it's not on this."
"More speed then, Carrick. This faint promises to last awhile."
Carter bent over the unconscious Trusia, and, as he noted the powerful effort of her strong soul to beat off the paralysis of the senses, a thrill of tenderness shot through him.
For a man with Calvert Carter's strength of character to hold a beautiful girl in his arms it would be inevitable that a certain sense of ownership should subconsciously mingle with his thoughts of her. The germ of love may be discovered in propinquity.
Be that as it may, as the lax slender form in his arms set his heart beating wildly, he was tempted to crush her to his breast and to press his lips savagely, yearningly, upon her tender mouth. Then, in reaction, her helplessness appealed to him and aroused all the chivalry of his nature. For less than the space of a sigh the primitive savage within him had struggled with the gentleman,—and the gentleman had won. This very conflict with himself, however, had increased though it had chastened his desire. The more personal concern he now felt for her recovery was but another expression of the primal instinct dignified by discipline.
Meanwhile the touring car had been lurching forward with increasing acceleration for more than a quarter of a mile, when, surprising them agreeably, the cliff apparently opened, showing a narrow way cut through its face, leading directly up to the castle. Before the distant portal a group of horsemen could be seen making preparations for departure.
"Evidently a relief party. That riderless horse of hers must have returned and started an alarm."
"They see us, sir," said Carrick, who had brought the machine to a stop. "They're pulling up. It's a good thing, as there's barely room for me to run the car up, without their crowding the road."
So saying he carefully swung into the narrow way and soon accomplished the ascent. Passing under a portcullis as mediæval as that of any Rhenish castle, they stopped in an ancient, stone-flagged courtyard. On every side, thronging about them, they met the vengeful, scowling eyes of men in a frenzy of fear and hate, while a growling murmur of resentment greeted their ears as the mob recognized their liege lady apparently dead in the arms of a stranger. To their discipline as soldiers, for these men wore uniforms similar to those seen already at the inn, the two adventurers probably owed salvation from instant dismemberment. In their faces Calvert Carter read the unreasoning fury of their souls, experiencing his nearest approach to fear, yet he met them eye for eye.
Standing apart, his handsome boyish head hung in shame, as if ostracized for incompetency, stood a young fellow whom Carter recognized as the escort of the Lady Trusia. His face was pale and dejected. Apparently unaware of the presence of the strangers, he was fingering his revolver holster.
The heavy gate closed behind them with an ominous clang. A chill ran down Carter's spine. If bad came to worst he resolved to sell his life dearly, for murder electrified the air and was closing in around them from every side.
A wicket suddenly opened in the studded door of the castle before them. Two men stepped through it upon the broad flat stone of its only step.
Both were past middle age but vigorous looking. The first standing in front of and obscuring his companion was evidently a personage of exalted rank. His hair and long mustachios were silvery white, and the glance he shot from under his heavy brows was keen and comprehensive. He seemed a man accustomed to both camp and court. One glance at his carriage would have shown to the merest tyro that he was a soldier even had he not worn a black hussar uniform. He looked coldly around upon the impassioned throng which was quieted by the steelyglitter in his disdainful eyes, and then, turning, said something to the abashed equerry. Without remonstrance, the young fellow drew out his revolver and handed it to a sergeant who immediately pocketed it.
Having quieted the disturbance, he for the first time became aware of its cause. A cry of mingled grief and rage burst from his lips. He started impulsively forward, fumbling at his sword hilt, but his companion laid a restraining hand upon his arm, coming into full view for the first time.
It was no other than the Gray Man of the inn, who now, with bent head and most deferential manner, addressed a few whispered words to the elderly noble. After a brief, inaudible conference the two descended from the step to advance through the menacing throng toward the automobile.
Mechanically, Carter, reaching back his free hand, opened the door at the back of the car. The veteran stopped within touching distance, not deigning to notice the action of invitation, and held out imperative arms for the young Duchess.
His voice rasped harshly on the hot courage of the American. "Canaille," he blurted apoplectically, "how dared you run down Her Grace with your cursed car? Your touch profanes her person. Surrender her instantly."
It was a blow in the face to Carter.
Though his blood was boiling, respect for the age of the man who addressed him restrained Calvert from voicing the hot retort which sprang to his lips or striking his adversary to the ground. His hands opened and closed tensely as he kept himself in check. Disregarding the curt command, Carter, still holding Trusia in his arms, leaped lightly from the car and would have carried her into the castle had not the elderly soldier barred his way. With face crimson every glistening hair seemed to flash the lightning of his unspeakable rage at such presumption.
"Monsieur," said Carter with level eyes, "let me pass. The lady is too ill for us to be bandying words. You are too old and too well supported for me to hope to obtain adequate satisfaction for your insult."
The other did not budge from the path, but reached out a peremptory hand which he laid on Trusia's shoulder.
"Give her to me, sir," he insisted, ignoring Carter's remarks entirely.
The Gray Man rubbed his hands together in open delight at the disfavor the two strangers were incurring and his cynical smile grew more evident every moment.
While an eye might wink the primitive man awoke in Calvert. He was prompted to fight for the woman he held as he stood measuring glances with his peremptory adversary. Then the folly of such resistance came to his mind, so with a sigh and a frown he permitted the other to take her from his arms. As he did so he felt not only that something intangible, delectable had been loosened from his clasp, but that its relinquishment had caused the life blood to move more sluggishly in his breast.
"We're up against it," whispered Carrick, who descending from the car had placed himself at his master's elbow for such eventualities as might arise.
Seemingly fearful of a conference between the two, the Gray Man gave a sudden order. Six men leaped from the hostile circle, and before there was an opportunity for resistance, Carter and Carrick were thrown to the ground and their arms were tightly bound to their sides.
The mocking face of the Gray Man regarded them as he bent over Carter's prostrate form.
"Get up," he said, touching the American ever so slightly with his toe.
"You shall pay for this," said the outraged Carter as he struggled to his feet.
"I am not indebted to you," was the sneering rejoinder, as, with the slightest of gestures, he intimated that the prisoners were to be conducted into the castle, through whose portal Her Grace of Schallberg was already being carried by the plethoric nobleman.
Before their eyes, accustomed to the brightness of early afternoon, in which all things were actively visible, could sufficiently adjust themselves to distinguish objects in the shadowy gloom, they were thrust into a room, the door of which was bolted after them, and they were left in utter darkness.
"You there, Carrick?" whispered Carter.
"'Ere, sir," came the reply from an invisible neighborhood. "I'm trussed up like a duck. These bloomin' cords are cuttin' my wrists. It seems to me, sir," he continued ruefully, "that if we 'ad wanted to be jugged, we could 'ave gotten the job done easier by styin' in New York. 'Don't like a man,—to jail with 'im,' seems to be these chaps' motto."
"We're evidently in the bad books of the Gray Man, at any rate, Carrick."
"I'm onto his gyme, sure's my name's Tod."
"What is it?"
"'E thinks we're spies."
Carter laughed incredulously. "He has put us ina good place, then. Can't gather much information in this tomb, that is certain. We're getting into their revolution by the back door, it seems."
"Talkin' about doors," Carrick's whisper radiated with excitement, "I'd take my oath that I saw one as we came in. It's in the wall to the left of the entrance and is slightly ajar."
"How close are you to me now?" The Cockney's shoulder touched his by way of reply. "It is this wall we are leaning against, then?"
"The syme, sir. If you move along to your right about six feet, you'll be right in front of it."
"We'll try our luck, anyhow," said Carter. "Next-door may not be so much infested with the darkness of the pit." Carefully groping in the indicated direction, they found the portal as Carrick had described it. Their hands being tightly tied, they had to shove it open with their shoulders. To their anxious ears it seemed impossible that the noise of its rusty hinges could not be heard on the topmost battlement. The room which they now entered was lighted by a single casement, high above their heads. Diagonally opposite, in the wall parallel to the one by which they stood, was another door, also open.
"Cinch," said Carrick, with a hopeful nod toward the possible avenue of escape.
"I don't know that," replied the other reflectively. "Suppose we do find our way out, how could we pass the sentries, videttes, and scouts who are scouring the country—or should be? We'd have to hide without the hope of assistance from strangers. What could we do with our hands tied? Mind you, I'm not discouraging escape if we can—I'm simply groping for a plan. Let's explore our quarters. It may help to know the lay of the place."
"Wyte a bit, sir," said Carrick, moving behind his master. "My teeth are strong. Mybe I can get your 'ands loose." Kneeling on the stone floor he applied himself vigorously to the task.
"Our friends," commented Carter, "evidently foresaw such an attempt and provided against it by shutting us up in the dark. How are you getting on?" He could feel the strenuous efforts of his chauffeur as the latter gnawed at the knot.
"Not at all, Mr. Carter. It's rawhide. The saliver from my mouth only mykes it swell. Of course that tightens the knot. It mykes it slimy, too, so's I carn't keep 'old of it." He scrambled to his feet with a hasty apology for his failure.
"Fortunately our feet are not hobbled and we're not blindfolded. Come on, we'll see what's beyond that door, my man," and Calvert proceeded cautiously toward the open entrance. With ears strained to bursting, they listened by it a breathless moment. No sound, no breath, no intuition of human proximity warned them that further progress was dangerous, so they passed the threshold into the third room. A sigh of relief came from Carter's lips as he noted that it, too, was vacant. The door to the cell beyond was likewise open. They advanced, therefore, through that and several successive cells, until they were confronted by a narrow, dark passageway, whose objective could not be discerned from where they stood.
Not knowing where the gloom would betray their feet, they stepped very cautiously as they explored the darkness before them. The better to guide himself, Carter kept his shoulder to the wall. He had not proceeded very far when his own weight, pushing against the masonry, swung him off into a narrow entrance at right angles to the main passage.
He drew back with a gasp. He found himself on the very brink of an uncurbed well. Gradually recovering himself from the involuntary start which had kept him from falling head-foremost into the opening, he leaned forward to investigate.
Far below he could see daylight, a patch of grass-grown earth, and the edge of a stable,—for a horse'shead was thrust through an aperture. He turned to his companion.
"Careful, Carrick. I pretty nearly stepped into kingdom come. I think that door was purposely left open that we might commit involuntary suicide. There's a well here without a bottom. Goes down through the cliff to what is apparently the yard of the inn. It's like a shaft to the mines at home. Wonder what's it for?"
"Secret passage, sir; see that basket and rope," and Carrick indicated a huge car swinging in the gloom above their heads.
"That's how the Gray Man beat us to the castle without passing us on the road."
"Right," agreed Carrick.
"We can't profit by it now, worse luck, but it may come in useful in a pinch. Who knows? If we only had free use of our hands, now. Eh, Carrick?"
"Right," reiterated his fellow captive.
"Well," said Carter, arising from his knees, "suppose we investigate the rest of the main passage."
They turned again into the dark entry to be brought up this time by a door which they would have also attempted to force had not the sound of voices from the other side of the stout panelsparalyzed their intention and filled them with apprehension.
It was clearly a position where eavesdropping was not dishonorable. They were prisoners, innocent of any moral offense, cast into jail without being apprised of the nature of the charges against them. Here might be an opportunity of gaining, at least, an insight into the character of some of those hostile to them. A knowledge of the traits of one's judge or jury is a material assistance to a sufficient defense, which no one should neglect where an opportunity for the acquisition of such information is honorably presented.
There were evidently two people in conversation in the region behind the locked door. The voices were those of women. One, crisp and girlish, was new to Carter. The other's made his heart bound hopefully. It was Trusia's.
"Let us speak in French, Natalie," she was saying to her companion in that language. "My maid need not understand all we talk about." Then she continued in evident answer to some previous question, "His name is Calvert Carter." There followed a delightful hesitancy, which sent a thrill through the invisible auditor, while in a tone intended to be judicious, Trusia completed her reply: "Yes, Ithink you would call him handsome. Anyway, he's a gentleman. Any person could see that."
"But what has become of him?" inquired her companion. "I have asked my father, and Tru, what sort of reply do you think he made? Mean thing."
"I don't know, dear. Probably teased."
"Exactly. He always does, no matter how serious the question may be. He laughed and pinched my cheek, and had the audacity to ask if I wanted to add the stranger to my list of victims. Then I asked the Chancellor. You know he doesn't like girls. He puffed out his cheeks—so, drew down his brows—like this, and glared. 'Umph, umph,' he blustered and stalked away. Josef was the only one who would tell anything."
"Well, he could tell you only, as he did me, that they had resumed their journey."
"O-o-oh," the exclamation was long drawn, indicating that some one had fibbed. "He told me that the strangers were dangerous. Russian spies, he said. Do you think they are, Tru? It's perfectly thrilling. And to think, one actually held you in his arms! Who knows——" she began mischievously. There was a gurgling sputter of sounds, as if a hand had been placed over theteasing mouth. Then it was withdrawn and the offender was permitted to prattle on.
"If they weren't spies, Tru, why should they be put in one of the old cells?"
"What makes you say that, Natalie? Josef certainly told me they had gone on with their journey."
"He told me that they were locked up. I saw the auto not five minutes before coming here. It's under sentry in the courtyard."
"Surely, Natalie, you are mistaken, dear? Josef would not tell me a deliberate untruth." Carter felt a strong desire to see and expose this Josef who held such an exalted place in the confidence of Her Grace of Schallberg. Symptoms threatening a tiff were evident in the Lady Natalie's voice.
"Really, Your Grace," she said with dignity, "am I to understand that you'd take his word before mine?"
"Your Grace?—what nonsense! Between you and me! Don't pout, dear. Just think what chance Krovitch would have for a man to rule her people, and lead them in their battles if it wasn't for this same loyal, disinterested Josef? Do you wonder I hold him in such high esteem?" There was a gentle reproof in the Duchess's tones.
"But why," persisted the somewhat mollified Natalie, "did your paragon fib so to me?"
"We'll go and see now, dear. Marie has finished my hair."
The listener, assured that they would get a fair trial, arose and, with Carrick following, made his way back in the direction from which they had adventured.
There is always a difference, telepathic it may be, in a room which, then empty, has been entered and vacated by some living thing. Carter appreciated this as soon as he set his foot in the first cell on their return journey. Some one had been there since he and Carrick had come through. He glanced at the Cockney to see if he, too, had the same impression. The fellow's head was craned forward, as one who strives to catch an elusive sound.
"I was sure I 'eard something in there, Mr. Carter," he whispered, responding to the visual question, as he nodded his head toward the doorway beyond them. Carter listened intently. It might have been an atom broken from silence; he was not positive that he had really heard anything, but he was convinced that the silence had not been unbroken. They moved cautiously to the door and peered guardedly around its frame.
There is also an actual physical—or, if you choose, psychical connection between what is seen, what has just missed being seen by an infinitefraction of time, and what one has imagined one has just seen, and between these all the scientists of all the ages have not been able to formulate a real distinction. One's senses, after all, remain the best guides.
"I just missed seeing something going through that door," whispered Carrick. It is noticeable, too, that he had said "something" and not "some one." The gloomy cells, centuries old, the damp memories of the dungeons still clinging to the walls, together with this weird presence which eluded their eyes before they could behold it, might well arouse the superstitions of firmer minds than the Cockney's.
They were approaching the cell in which they had been placed. At last there was a perfectly appreciable sound. It was a fumbling, as of some one in the darkness, making hasty efforts to get a key in a lock. Carter, now bent on discovery, made a rush into the abysmal darkness. He could see—nothing!
Still he felt that he and Carrick, who had joined him, were not the only occupants of the room.
Along the hall could be heard the unmistakable sound of approaching steps.
"Quite a select party, sir," remarked Carrick in comment, while Carter still tried to pierce thegloom to establish the identity of the invisible visitant.
"About three," replied Carter.
The sounds stopped directly opposite their door. There was a grating of a key against the lock and the door swung open.
The Gray Man stood in front of the narrow entrance. The sinister smile which flickered across his face was made diabolic by the cross rays from the lanterns carried by two peasant soldiers. As if his attendance was an enforced and unwelcome one, the equerry of Lady Trusia, who had followed in the wake of the others, advanced no further into the room, but stood with his back against the closed door.
One furtive glance cast in the direction of the cell from which Carter and Carrick had just returned convinced the former that the old fellow was at least aware of their explorations.
When the two privates had deposited their lanterns upon a table which seemed to emerge from the gloom under the partial illumination, Carter surveyed his prison with a curiosity previously denied him. One glance was sufficient. The Gray Man had come to conduct an inquisition. What more fitting place, therefore, could be found to strike terror to the hearts of the guilty or weakling than the torture chamber of the castle?
A man of keen perceptive nature is apprised of secret as well as professed antagonisms, through a primitive discrimination, unaided by either word or deed, of the one holding him in enmity. Carter felt sure that with the possible exception of the equerry this visit to the cell was not prompted by a friendly motive. They had, evidently, been imprisoned in darkness that a sudden revelation of the devilish machinery about them might shake their courage.
Carter's lip curled disdainfully at such cheap theatrical efforts. He turned to the smirking face before him, which from behind the table was watching for the signs of trepidation he had hoped to surprise. By an answering smile as mocking as his own, he was satisfied that his ruse had failed. He shrugged his thin shoulders.
Purringly in an incomprehensible jargon, he addressed Carter to receive no other response than a blank and puzzled stare.
He essayed French.
"So, Monsieur of the White Police prefers the more polite language of France? Well, so be it."
At the mention of that secret, ubiquitous organization of Russian espionage, Carter realized that Carrick's prognostications had been correct. The cool insinuation made his blood boil. His answercame with the force of a blow. "What do you mean?" he thundered.
Staggered for an instant, the Gray Man's equanimity was shaken, then, turning to speak to the two peasants, he waited until they had placed themselves at the sides of the enraged American. Assured that he had forestalled any possible violence to himself, he regarded the prisoners sneeringly.
"That you are Russian spies."
"We are Americans. I will prove it, too, as soon as I am out of this place; and that in a manner which will not be pleasant to those concerned in this outrage."
"Provided you get a chance. Spies are not given much shrift hereabouts." This was said with deliberate malevolence.
"Would you dare?" challenged Carter who realized to the full what the menace implied.
"It would be but an incident, monsieur," replied his jailer in a casual manner. "You would be numbered among the missing in the big events of to-morrow. Enough time has been wasted on you, Monsieur of the White Police," he said, as if dismissing discussion. "We must to business."
At a nod from him, the two peasant soldiers threw themselves upon the helpless prisoners, andruthlessly rifled their persons of all belongings, which were placed upon the table before the Gray Man. Straining till the big veins in their arms stood out in ridges and the sweat poured from their brows, the captives were helpless against the indignities put upon them.
Carrick's shirt was torn open. The Krovitzer soldiers stood dumbfounded at the sight of the star which hung upon the Cockney's breast. As though its appearance had countermanded all previous orders, they turned puzzled faces to their superior, who also saw the emblem.
Into those sneering eyes crept a pallid fear, while his face grew ashen. Approaching the Cockney he laid a trembling finger on the star.
"Your name?" he asked hoarsely.
"Tod Carrick," was the sullen reply.
A slight start followed this, as though the answer had matched his anticipations.
Instantly, the training and duplicity of years reasserted themselves. The habitual mask once more settled upon his inscrutable countenance. He turned to Carter who had been an attentive though puzzled observer of this by-play.
"I was surprised," he explained, "but only for an instant, to see your companion wearing the badge of our most noble order. I should not havebeen as there is no moral distinction between a thief and a spy." Encouraged by his own words, he tore the medal from its resting place, while Carrick groaned impotently.
"I'll make you sweat for this," growled the Cockney.
"What authority have you for this?" asked Carter with forced calmness as the Gray Man commenced a leisurely perusal of his private papers. Without deigning a reply, their self-constituted judge completed his task; carefully folding the various documents he had been reading, he looked up complacently.
"Authority," he replied with a rising inflection, as though the idea were a new one. "Oh, I think I am justified in assuming it."
Carter breathed a prayer of silent thanksgiving that the Lady Trusia had been no party to the indignity.
As though in response to the thought, the Lady Trusia herself walked indignantly into the room. Going straight to the table she confronted the Gray Man with flashing eyes.
"Josef," she addressed him with stamping foot, "what does this mean? Who gave you permission to treat this gentleman so harshly? I am still mistress here."
"They are Russian spies, Highness."
"Fiddlesticks," she replied with the feminine faith in the man who had given her such tender care. "Anyhow," she temporized, "our Privy Council, not you, shall be their judges." With charming hesitation, she turned to make a suitable apology to Carter, when, as her eyes fell before his ardent gaze, they rested upon Carrick's heirloom lying on the table.
"Can it be?" she questioned as one in a dream. "Is it yours?" she asked breathlessly, her whole soul in her eyes and parted lips, as she turned to Carter.
"No, Your Grace," he answered, "it is my chauffeur's."
"Yours?" she skeptically inquired of Carrick. "Where did you get it?"
"He probably stole it. He had it hidden under his shirt," suggested Josef.
Her fine brows drew together in annoyance as she turned to look steadily into the crafty eyes of him she called Josef.
"You forget your place, sir. I gave you no leave to speak. Have you forgotten that I am the Duchess of Schallberg? Be silent until you are spoken to."
Josef shrugged his shoulders after he had bowedapologetically, for he saw that the lady was no longer looking in his direction. Minutely, closely, she was studying the face of the Cockney; first red, then pale, her own countenance betrayed some inward apprehension.
"It cannot be," she said huskily as if striving to dispel some doubt that would arise, "and yet there is no other jewel unlocated. Please tell me how you got this," she supplicated helplessly.
"Honestly, mem," was all the satisfaction she could elicit, for Carrick made no distinctions between her and the servant whom he thought was her agent.
"I've no doubt of that," she answered soothingly. "Will you tell me your name?" Her eager, expectant face held an expression of one who half fears the reply.
"Carrick," he answered with the monotony of iteration.
"Thank you," she said in relief. "Oh," she cried as she espied their bonds for the first time, "your hands are tied. This is intolerable. Casimir," she commanded the equerry, who had been keeping as much out of sight as possible, "undo those cords. They are cutting into the flesh. Messieurs, pardon my overzealous servants. Indeed, we have much to fear from strangers. Thoughyou may mean no wrong to us, yet formality requires that you satisfy our Privy Council of your honesty in coming to our remote country at this particular time. Let us go at once, that you may the speedier be relieved of surveillance.
"Josef," she said, turning to the Gray Man, "if you so desire you may present your foolish charges there."
She lifted her glance graciously to Carter.
"I have no fear for you, monsieur. You have the marks of an honorable gentleman."
"I've 'arf a notion to knock your block for a bloomin' sneak." Carrick halted suddenly in the doorway of the cell to face Josef. The Cockney's fists were clenched in a manner which promised that action would immediately follow declaration. Carter intervened peremptorily while Josef discreetly withdrew out of reach of the tough, bunched knuckles.
Led by the Duchess of Schallberg, they traversed a stone-flagged, arched passageway, which brought them to the main hall of the castle. A modern dwelling of average size could have been erected there without entirely exhausting the spaciousness of the hall.
Tattered banners, gray with antiquity, hung like memories on the walls. Below these, crumbling with age, were the antlers of ancestral deer, while arms and armor of heroic mold glimmered from the shadowy niches filled by them for generations.
Crossing the hall, the party led by Trusia approached a tapestried-hung archway, whose singlesentry raised the heavy folds to admit her to whatever lay beyond.
Preceded by Her Grace, and followed closely by Josef, Carter and Carrick entered the Council Chamber of Schallberg.
At one end of its many-pillared room, a dais held a double throne, whose high, broad back was carved with many heraldic devices of past intelligence. Its intricate traceries were capped by a lion rampant, which had pawed the air for generations.
Directly from the steps of the throne ran a heavy table at which were seated three Privy Counselors. A fourth seat was vacant. For Her Grace of Schallberg? Evidently not, for she mounted the two broad steps and seated herself on the throne, bowing graciously to the trio of ministers who had risen at her entrance. With a gesture that indicated that Carter and Carrick should stand facing these, their judges, she settled herself back in the high chair, while the accused found themselves with their backs to the door. Josef, with mocking deference, placed himself at the end of the table as the prosecutor. He unburdened himself of the purloined articles which he now placed before him in a little pile.
Admitting the seriousness of the situation so far as himself and his man were concerned, Carter couldnot but confess that the scene was a picturesque one, and that the very element of danger gave it a touch of piquancy. Here were himself and Carrick, fresh from the greatest shrine of modernity, after having been cast into a mediæval dungeon, now being hauled before a trinity of gold-laced judges on a charge of being spies.
Mounted the Steps and Seated Herself on the ThroneMounted the Steps and Seated Herself on the Throne
He glanced admiringly toward Her Grace, whose tempting chin was cupped in her pink palm, while the deep lace of her half sleeve fell back from the round elbow propped by the broad arm of the throne. Her eyes dreamed of far-away things, until, telepathically, she became aware of Carter's ardent gaze.
Recalled to the duty before her, she blushed guiltily at her abstraction.
"Josef says these strangers are spies. You must judge," she said trenchantly to her Counselors.
Carter could have knelt before her as she spoke, for her voice proclaimed her disbelief.
"This," she said turning to Calvert as she indicated the stern-faced veteran nearest the throne, "this is Colonel Sutphen, the Hereditary Chancellor of Krovitch and member of our Privy Council."
Carter bowed gravely, but received no other acknowledgment than a frigid glare from the veteran. Josef had undoubtedly prejudiced Sutphen againstthe accused. This was more plausible than to suppose that the Colonel had become rancorous merely because the unconscious Trusia had not been more promptly surrendered to him, for it was he who had received her from the automobile. Proudly meeting the glaring eyes of Sutphen, Carter turned with relief to Her Grace of Schallberg. He caught the faint smile of amused comprehension which hovered about her lips; she had seen and enjoyed that duel of glances, as an ancient suzeraine might have delighted in a tourney in her honor. As her eyes met those of the American, he smiled.
"Seated beside Colonel Sutphen is Count Muhlen-Sarkey, the Holder of the Purse."
This Privy Counselor was a moon-faced and rotund individual, who, in his efforts to preserve a fitting severity of expression in keeping with the duty before him, had succeeded only in appearing monstrously depressed. He smiled eagerly, responsively, to Carter's bow, bobbing his head like a gleeful sparrow. As a matter of fact, the proceedings were to him a joke—something to relieve the monotony of his existence. Yet this modern Falstaff, as Carter afterward learned, was among the bravest of the brave, meeting death with this same cheery smile, and following the grim monarch with a jest.
The only remaining member of the Council present was Count Sobieska, Minister of Private Intelligence, who, from under half closed Oriental eyes, acknowledged the presentation with a dignified, but non-committal, inclination of the head. He seemed preoccupied in his own passivity, and was a man in the fullest triumph of life,—the years that enrich at forty. Lithe-looking as a panther—a somnolent animal now to all appearances—an occasional gleam of the half masked eyes suggested that this show of indifference concealed a mind of no inferior order. His nose was thin and arched like an Arab sheik's, and the close black hair was chafed from his temples in a seeming baldness. The iron firmness of his square jaw was not effaced beneath his well-trimmed beard. His hands, lightly folded over the hilt of a sword held between his knees, were long, slim, and muscular. Evidently a tireless friend or an implacable enemy, his was the strongest personality of the three Counselors present, despite his seeming air of ennui.
Bowing to Carter, he had turned an indifferent scrutiny upon Josef, who, though smiling, would have apparently foregone the inspection. All eyes were upon the accuser, however. Trusia's voice broke the silence as she addressed him.
"You may speak, Josef." There was a trace ofregret in her voice. "I fear you have been over-zealous."
"Listen, Highness," he said. He was anxious to convince; over-anxious, it seemed. "These men, in their accursed machine, flew past the sentries at the frontier, disregarding all commands to halt, even the shots fired."
"That is true," replied Carter. "We could take no chances. We had no desire to meet Russians just then."
An inquiry half parted Trusia's lips as she turned to hear Carter's confirmation, but checking her curiosity, she signed for Josef to proceed.
"Then they came to Posner's Inn. You know, Highness, what preparations were going forward there. These the spies noted. They even tried to bribe Posner into telling where Count Zulka could be found. They knew there was a heavy price upon his head. The cursed Russians." Carter started in surprise at this information regarding his friend. Josef pointed a triumphant finger at him. "See," he said, "it is true as I have said." Turning to Her Grace he continued, "If you attribute your fall from your horse to an accident, there are others who do not. It was part of their plan. Had not the highways been so well guarded they would have carried you to the Russian salt mines, a prisoner." Josef's vehemence had cost him his breath. He paused to regain it.
To all appearances the Minister of Private Intelligence had been the least interested of the auditors. He now spoke quietly with reference to the belongings lying upon the table. Doubtless his keen eyes had already inventoried them.
"Have you found any proofs?" he asked, with a wave of his hand toward the group of miscellany.
At this question, Josef faced about with a conciliatory smile.
"No more than was to be expected, Excellency, upon the person of a spy of the undoubtedly superior intelligence that Russia would send on a mission to Krovitch just now. A fortune in bills—presumably for bribes, a road map of our country, and the name of 'Zulka' written across the capital, Schallberg."
At the reference to Zulka's name used in connection with the alleged plot, Trusia gave a slight start and a reproachful look clouded her eyes.
Frankly, fearlessly, he met her glance as well as the steel-like glint from Sobieska.
"He was my friend," the American said, as though no further explanation could be demanded.
"He was their quarry," retorted Josef vehemently. "Else why the questions to Posner and attempts tobribe, the fortune in bills, the name written significantly across the capital's, the city where to friends and foes he was best known. Had his friend been as careful," continued Josef, who already tasted triumph and liked the flavor, "we would have no more clues. His passion for acquisition, however, has given us additional material." He held up the star with evident dramatic intent.
As Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey recognized it they started in genuine surprise.
"King Stovik's star," cried Sutphen.
Sobieska held out an indolent hand into which the eager Josef dropped it for examination. First the obverse, then the reverse were inspected with apparently slight interest. To Carter's appreciation of character, however, it was evident that not the slightest scratch on its surface had escaped those drooping eyes, as it was passed on to the gaping Holder of the Purse, whose chubby hands received it as though it were the relic of a saint. The jovial face was for the first time honestly grave. Reverently he transferred it to the Hereditary Chancellor. It lay before that bristling veteran who turned a questioning glance to Her Grace of Schallberg.
"I have seen it," she said.
"Is it—is it the missing star?" he asked in a hesitating manner, as though an affirmative answer was more than he could hope for.
"It is," she replied with slightly inclining head.
"Then who is he?" asked the bewildered Sutphen, rising from his seat and pointing impulsively at Carrick.
"Only an English peasant, Excellency, who has stolen the missing star," Josef insinuated.
"Are you sure? Are you sure?" persisted the Colonel, who was struggling with a grave doubt, which was now inclining his judgment in favor of the captives.
Josef, comprehending the nature of the perplexity and fearing he might lose a partisan, advanced an argument whose significance did not then appeal to Carter.
"A medal, Excellency, even that medal may pass easily from one person to another without ownership having any special value. Papers, valuable papers, would be guarded faithfully from father to son because they alone would be incontestable proof. We know what we have already found. Look at this uncouth fellow," said Josef, indicating Carrick with a sneer. "Remember, he is a servant, and judge if there be any chance that his possession of the star should cause you any doubts? Was it with such as he the Line was maintained?"
That he had stilled any uneasiness in the minds of the Counselors caused by the display of the medal, Josef was now satisfied. He paused for a final effort.
Sobieska spoke quickly to Carrick in an unintelligible language to be met with a look of honest mystification.
Josef smiled ironically.
"Your Lordship surely did not expect to catch such clever rogues by so innocent a ruse? They hardly would confess to a familiarity with Russian. Such an admission would convict them. Indulge them in French. One of the pair has that much linguistic ability. Besides, we have so far conducted our investigations in that diplomatic language."
"You are presumptuous, sir," said Trusia sharply. "Youhave no part in the conduct of this matter. You are simply a witness." Josef bowed low in meekness.
Without deigning a reply to the old fellow, Sobieska spoke next in fairly good English to the Cockney.
"What is your nation—birthplace?"
"England; Whitechapel, London," replied Carrick with natural taciturnity.
"Where did you get that?" continued the Minister, pointing to the medal.
"My guv'nor left it to me when he croaked."
His questioner's eyelids were raised the merest shade in non-comprehension of the vernacular.
"Your governor," he said slowly as if seeking a key to relationship. Josef smiled. The latter's exultation was that of one enjoying a possible misconstruction which might attend a literal interpretation of what he knew was idiomatic.
"Guvnor is the Whitechapel slang for father. My man many years ago told me he had received it in that way—the death of his parent," explained Carter coming to the rescue.
The stately Krovitzer bowed in acknowledgment of the explanation then continued his questioning.
"Where did he get it?" His sleepy eyes were probing deep.
"How the hell should I know," replied the irritated Cockney, who swiftly resented this prying into his affairs. Remembering himself instantly, he turned with a fine red in his face to the girl on the dais. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, for forgetting myself. It was none of 'is business," he said, defending his lapse.
"Was he English, also?" pursued Sobieska relentlessly.
"Sure."
"His name?"
"Mark Carrick," was the almost surly answer.
"His business?"
"Scrivener."
"Why did you come to Krovitch?" The question was advanced suddenly, unexpectedly, as if to catch the chauffeur off his guard.
"I'm Captain Carter's man; you'd better arsk him." Carrick was displaying renewed signs of impatience.
Sobieska paused. He gravely turned to his associates, and, for their information, translated fairly and without comment what the chauffeur had said into French, with which language Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey seemed conversant.
"That you might correct any misstatements," he explained calmly to Carter.
"There was no need," replied the American. "You have been most impartial."
Evidently not yet satisfied with the results obtained from his preliminary investigations, he turned again to the Englishman, who seemed not a little mystified to find his domestic history so interesting to these lordly foreigners.
"Where is your father buried?" inquired Sobieska courteously.
"Dunno, sir. I was awye when 'e died. Landlidey said as 'ow a strange gent came, buried 'iman' took 'is hinsurance pipers awye with 'im. Sed 'e was the guvnor's brother."
"Did you ever see this uncle?" he asked suavely.
"No, sir. Never knew I 'ad one. Guvnor sed 'e was the only child."
"Did you claim the insurance?"
Carrick paused long before replying. When he spoke again his tone was decidedly hostile.
"What's all this got to do with my bein' a spy? These things about my guvnor an' me are personal matters. I don't see as 'ow I'm bound to answer such questions." His face reddened slowly and then he added impressively, "This much I'll admit to my own discredit, though."
Sobieska bent forward even more closely in anticipation.
"The guvnor an' me," continued Carrick, "didn't allus 'it hit off together, so you see I didn't know much about 'is affairs. I said hinsurance pipers, because they looked like 'em to me. They might not 'ave been, but the guvnor set a great store by 'em. Captain Carter can tell as 'ow I told 'im all this at Santiago." He turned to his master for confirmation.
"It is true," said the latter.
Still the Minister was not satisfied to relax hisintimate investigations. Her Grace of Schallberg appeared an interested listener and had lost not a syllable of what had been said. The remaining Counselors were patiently expectant of translation as English was a closed door to them. Josef on the other hand would have gladly welcomed a divertisement though clearly afraid to inaugurate one. For some subtle reason he was very uneasy. Since Carrick's assertion that a stranger had purloined valuable papers from his father, the Gray Man had seemed to fear an unexpected revelation of some sort. Sobieska seemed to scent this secret fear and was willing to play with Josef's susceptibility.
"When did your father die?" asked the Count after a pause which had threatened to become intense, during which Josef had shifted uneasily.
"Fifteen years ago come the seventh of August."
"Where?"
"Twelve Tottinam Plyce, Whitechapel."
"Is the landlady living?"
"Now 'ow the devil should I know? I beg your pardon, again, Your Grace, but this man is badgerin' me orful." Her smile asked him to be patient so he turned to his inquisitor patiently.
"I 'aven't seen 'er since," he replied.
Josef felt this line of investigation had gone far enough and determined to stop it at all hazards.He coughed. Sobieska turned to him inquiringly, an amused smile in his eyes.
"Is all this important, Excellency?" the Gray Man asked deprecatingly, intimating that the issue had been forgotten. With a quiet drawl, containing both a reproof and a demurrer, Sobieska corrected him.
"Interesting," he said as he shot a covert glance at Josef which also held a challenge. Then as though in tacit compliance with the suggestion he turned not discourteously to Carter.
"Where did you get the title of Captain your man gave you a while ago?"
"I have no real right to it, never claim it," replied the American, "though at one time I bore it as of right in the Spanish-American war. It is the American habit never to let a man forget a title he has once won through merit."
Sobieska bowed.
"What brought you to Krovitch? It is outside the usual route of tourists."
For the fraction of a second the men gazed steadily at each other—possible antagonists appraising the other's chances. The question had been as hitherto in French for the benefit of the other auditors.
Careful to keep any appearance of apology from what he might say, yet scorning any other mediumthan the truth, Carter explained the motive for his coming to Krovitch. "An American's love of adventure—a wish to join your insurrection."
Even his inquisitor was startled by the boldness of the reply. The Counselors leaped to their feet and laid suggestive hands upon their swords. Trusia's face went white, while her hand clutched in terror at her throat. Then, seeing that Carter was in danger, with an effort she quickly recovered herself.
"Put up your swords, my lords," she commanded in distress. "Let him explain."
"What insurrection?" thundered a bristling Sutphen, seating himself stiffly erect, on the edge of his chair.
"I told you they were spies," Josef almost shouted in gratification. "Why else would they say such a thing except as a play for your confidence. Where would they learn our secret?"
Carter turned to Trusia.
"Pardon me, Your Grace, for my inept choice of words. I meant restoration, not insurrection." He bowed low as to the sovereign of Krovitch as he supposed her to be. Then raising his head he continued, "As for your secret, the world has already heard the rumors of the approaching war."
Then with effective repression he added, "My country's wars have always been for Freedom andRighteousness, never for aggrandizement. A nation's sentiments will animate her citizens. I heard rumors of a sister country in distress and longed to help her. I heard rumors. I find them confirmed. I am no spy. I am Adventure's cadet."
"How then did he hear or know of Count Zulka?" sneeringly suggested Josef. Carter noticed that again the momentarily favorable impression had been destroyed. Josef for some strange reason was aggressively opposed to a vindication of the two strangers in Krovitch.
"Your Grace, there was a club in New York City," Carter explained to Trusia, "of which Paul Zulka and myself were members. We were good friends. One year ago he left hurriedly. Knowing from his ardently expressed love for his birthplace and his outspoken hate for Russia that he would be in the front rank of any fight of Krovitch's, I naturally sought him for my voucher."
The chubby Purse Holder was anxious to question the accused. "What is the name of this club?" he asked.
"It is the Racquet Club."
The Holder of the Purse leaned back. With a satisfied air, Sutphen turned to him.
"That the club to which your nephew, Count Paul, belonged?" he asked.
"Yes," he said genially. "I am Paul Zulka's uncle," he explained to Carter.
"Did he ever mention a Calvert Carter as among his associates there?" queried a lenient Trusia.
The Holder of the Purse spread out two fat palms deprecatingly.
"How should I remember?" he said helplessly. "These English names are hard to bear in mind. Such things, ach! as I have had to remember in the last year." The burden was evidently appalling. "Yet," he added kindly, that he might do no injustice, "it might be so that he did."
"If Count Zulka were here"—began Carter confidently. He was interrupted by Her Grace of Schallberg who raised her hand for silence.
It was Paul Zulka who bowed low over the Duchess's hand. He was totally oblivious to all other claims upon his attention for the nonce.
"Do you know that gentleman, Paul?"
As Trusia questioned him, he turned about in mystification. Not expecting to see Carter there or anywhere, it required time for his mental processes to adjust themselves to the detached conditions, unfavorable to a recognition.
That the Krovitzer had not instantly identified his former clubmate was causing the latter some uneasiness. He knew it would be impossible for Zulka to have forgotten his existence completely after two years of almost daily social intercourse. A greater fear followed on the heels of this first misgiving. Carter's mouth set firm and hard as he considered the possibility of an intentional snub. If such were the case his fate was undoubtedly sealed, for he had invoked this very test—this meeting was to vouch for his sincerity. His mind went rapidly back over the whole period of his acquaintance with the Krovitch nobleman, to recall if there had been any indication of such a poltroon trait in Paul Zulka's character. He was, in justice, forced to deny the existence of any such.
In the flash of an eye it had all happened. Forgetting court etiquette in his rush, Zulka grasped his friend's hand and shook it vigorously.
"You," he said half doubting his own senses. "Here? Will wonders never cease? Carrick, too," and a friendly nod greeted the grinning and relieved Cockney. The recognition was complete.
"Mea Culpa!" said Zulka, suddenly remembering his grievous breach of decorum, turning now to bow deeply with a humility which seemed but half sincere. Of course Trusia forgave him for she seemed vastly pleased with the favorable outcome of the meeting.
"Carter a spy!" Paul exploded, when the status of affairs was duly explained to him. "I would as soon suspect our loyal old Josef there."
The face of the latter, since Zulka's advent, had been a study, though this allusion to him had been received with his accustomed smirk.
Sobieska, for the time being no further interested in the proceedings, was openly watching the mask-like face. It was as though a suspicious mind, aroused by the vigorous and unsustained charges,had, as a reflex, determined to probe the motives to their devious sources. Too subtle to display the uneasiness he felt at this surveillance, Josef appeared the personification of innocence and candor.
Colonel Sutphen, willing to make amends, and aware that Carter and Carrick had not yet been formally acquitted, arose and addressed Her Grace.
"I think we may take it, Highness, that this gentleman and his—his servant are vindicated." The word servant caused him some difficulty as he was not prepared to relegate Carrick to such servile rank. It might be of some significance to note that both Josef and Sobieska displayed a covert interest in this hesitation in the usually downright Chancellor.
"I am so glad," she said as she stepped from the dais to greet him.
There was a generous simplicity of movement somewhat at variance with the haughty poise of her head. That Trusia, Duchess of Schallberg, was a very lovely young woman Carter found himself mentally confessing with no small degree of enthusiasm, while his heart warmed at her sweet effusiveness.
"Do you really and truly mean it?" she continued as she placed a small, firm palm in his, man-wise. "You have come all the way from that wonderful country of yours to join us?"
She clasped her hands at her neck in a sweet girlish gesture as he silently bowed his assent. He felt dazzled. Though accustomed to the society of high-bred women, he was at a loss for the first time in his experience; was unable to frame a simple affirmative. If, he thought, she would only turn away those wonderful eyes of hers for an instant, he felt confident of accomplishing a conversational commonplace at least.
The members of the Privy Council, following her lead, came forward to greet him. Carter devoutly prayed that this diversion might loosen his unruly member.
That no remark might escape his vigilant ears, Josef edged cautiously to the outskirts of the group now gathered around the Americans. Trusia espied him, and much against his desire haled him to the fore.
"You must make amends, sir," she prompted, though not unkindly, "for the annoyance you have caused Captain Carter."
"Your Highness," he said with a deferential bow, but unbending mind, "must accept my zeal in the cause as my justification." Trusia was much hurt at this intentional and undisguised evasion of her behest, as much on the strangers' as on her own account, so hastened to supplement such an ambiguous apology.
"Josef is indulged by us," she began deprecatingly, "because to his fidelity, loyalty and zeal, we are indebted for a royal leader for Krovitch, a man descended from our one-time kings of the day when Krovitch was great."
"But I thought," said the puzzled Carter, "that you were the only descendant of Augustus."
"I am." The little head was raised in imperialpride. "But King Stovik, though deposed, was the rightful sovereign, not my ancestor. The fugitive monarch left a scion whom Josef as a faithful servitor has attended from his infancy. Finding in recent events that the time was ripe for his crownless prince, he came to tell us that we had a king, if we dared to strike for him. He showed us proofs. We already had organization, men and money, but we sadly lacked a man for the struggle. My valorous people would have fought for me, poor as were my claims to the crown, founded on the wrong done another. Imagine how high their enthusiasm became on hearing that not only one of King Stovik's glorified stock, but a man—a young king—was to lead the ancient flag to victory. Russia, already dazed, can do nothing against the flame of my people's ardor."
"But the Almanac de Gotha," insisted Carter to whom the reference to the invisible king was a puzzling one.
"Knew nothing about King Stovik after his deposition and flight," she interrupted with a charming smile.
"Tell me the story, Your Grace," he pleaded, for he could feel instinctively that there was a story, an old world romance hidden here.
She held up a warning finger. "Be warned intime," she said, "it is a vulnerable point with me, one on which I am likely to be extremely prolix."
"You can but enhance the value of the legend," he replied with a bow. "I promise, Highness," he laughed, once more at his ease, "not to take the teeniest of naps."
Already deep in her recollections of her country's tribulations, her responsive smile was of one who dreamed. Inspiring scenes of tragic grandeur, the pageant of a nation's history wiped out in the groans of conquest, lit the beauty of her eyes. So must the Maid of Orleans have appeared to those who in awe listened to her. Softened by her translation into the world of inspiration, she turned to him.
"How I envy those who can wield the pen," she sighed. "I wish I could chronicle the story of the kings who have been safely hidden for generations. Patiently, devotedly, for two centuries have they waited for this day to dawn, the first opportunity that Krovitch has had to take back her own from the despoiler of Europe. The narrative from where general information ends," she continued, "briefly is as follows: King Stovik with his queen and infant son escaped by the connivance of a loyal nobleman on the midnight of the intended assassination of the overthrown dynasty. With two servants, husband and wife, who insisted on sharing theexile, he left Krovitch to find an asylum in a strange country, where caution led him to change his name. Certain it is that his subjects never learned the place of his retreat though they were well assured that his line was maintained in exile. After some years of silence, during which the heir apparent had reached a marriageable age, King Stovik sent again to his native land, to that nobleman in fact who had aided his escape, beseeching that from the maidens of noble birth a bride should be selected and sent back under the care of the messenger, who was none other than the faithful servant who had shared all the tribulations of the royal family. Bribes, threats, and coaxing of still loyal Krovitzers could not induce the faithful fellow to betray his master's hiding place. In fact on that, as on all similar embassies, in the generations that followed, her family bade farewell to their daughter, knowing not the place of her future home, nor her name, nothing but that she was to be the consort of their rightful king. So careful was Stovik in his banishment, that it became a hereditary rule not to permit the young bride to communicate with her family. Thus only could the never-dying hatred of Russia be avoided.
"Until my father's time this system has been maintained, always through the agency of the descendants of that pair of original servants, of whom Josefis the last. As a little child, I remember him first, when he came and claimed the hand of one of our most beautiful girls to share his master's banishment. Then, until recently, we had supposed the Line had become extinct, for no further missions came. Then he returned and offered to put a king at the head of our national movement. Nothing could have been a greater boon. Those who, for years, at all corners of the earth, had been striving for Krovitch, came flocking to her standards. Our joy was complete. Do you wonder, Captain Carter," she said gently, "that we are very lenient to Josef?"
Appreciating the girl's nobility, Carter strove to do justice to the Gray Man, but as he glanced into the mask-like face a greater repugnance than aforetimes overcame all generous impulses. He strove to put down the distrust that he was certain no one present shared with him, for on every countenance, save that of Sobieska who was gazing idly out of a window, he read a story of affection for the man who had done this thing for Krovitch.
"And the new king," he questioned lightly, avoiding the issue raised, "has he, too, married a maid of Krovitch?"
She crimsoned in manifest confusion. Averting her head for an instant, she bravely met his glance.
"Not yet," she replied. The signals of her embarrassment told him on whom the choice had nevertheless fallen.
She hurried on that this stranger might not the longer probe her sentiments with his compelling eyes. "In a few days we go to bring him who knows not he is king, and at the head of a valorous people seat him on his throne. Now are the days when only a man must lead. My ancestors threw this land into Russia's clutches, their descendant must return it to Krovitch's rightful king. This is about all, Captain Carter, except that when King Stovik fled he was supposed to have worn the medal found on your chauffeur. Doubtless at some time a member of Carrick's family received it as a mark of royal gratitude."
"I thank you for the story," said Carter. "Now that my identity is established, may I ask for a place in your army? The cause of your country shall be my own."
She smiled indulgently. "Perhaps," she said, "when you have fully mastered our language, we might make you a lance corporal. You see we have only one Field Marshal, Colonel Sutphen, although fully a score of applicants for that rank."
"Don't tease, Tru," said Zulka with the intimacy of a lifelong friendship, "I am a colonel. Cal Carter, here, is a better soldier. We fought together at Santiago, so I should know."
"We'll see," was all she would reply, as she turned to go. Then hesitatingly she held out her hand to Carter, who bent above it with inspired gallantry and touched his lips to her fingers.
"Au revoir, Lady Paramount," he said.
"Au revoir, Sir Knight of the Auto-car," she replied; adding; "be sure to come to the levee to-night. Already the maidens of Krovitch have heard of you, sir. One at least, desires to make your acquaintance."