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. "You have 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 'im an' 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 his intimate 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 medium than 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 and Righteousness, 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.



X

THE GLIMMER OF SUSPICION

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.



XI

YOU LOVE TRUSIA

"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 imperial pride. "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 in time," 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 the exile, 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 Josef is 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."

"We are going to the inn," Zulka announced as he took Carter by the arm, so the latter made his adieux to the gentlemen of the Privy Council and turned prepared to follow him.

"Castle's full," Paul explained to relieve the mystification apparent on his friend's countenance. "Privy Counselors with their families and households, Army Staff, Duchess's Attendants and Aides-de-Camp, and so forth."

"But the inn's full, too, Paul. The landlord——"

"Thought you were a spy. That's why Josef recommended Schallberg. Thought you would probably tumble to the fact that he was wise, as we say in New York; to the fact that more than a hundred notices were posted there offering a reward for the apprehension of humble me, whom they flatteringly described. You see," he explained, "shortly after my return last year, I hurt Russia's feelings. Made what they very truthfully called a revolutionary address. I've been dodging Siberia ever since. Get your medal, Carrick, and come along," he called over his shoulder to the Cockney, who was reluctant to leave without his precious heirloom.

Carter's second appearance in the courtyard was more gratifying than his first, and he had no difficulty in procuring his touring car from the sentry, who already seemed to have been apprised of the stalwart stranger's status.

Whirled along in the auto, the inn was soon reached, where, arm in arm with Count Zulka, Carter entered, much to the unenlightened bewilderment of the landlord, who, nevertheless, at the Krovitzer's request, had no difficulty in finding them a private room for their dinner.

After having enjoyed to the full the appetizing meal which had been set before them, the two friends at first indulged themselves with intermittent cigarettes and the thimblefuls of local liquor attendant at their elbows. Digestion, for a while, stood in the way of discourse, and the tally was naturally indolent, somnolent.

Presently, after having sufficiently watched the rings of smoke flatten themselves against a black, studded rafter, Carter gave a slight rein to his speculations.

"Why," he said, holding up his cigarette to gaze squintingly at the ember at its head, "why is the Count Sobieska antagonistic to Josef?"

Zulka stretched himself further back in his heavy chair. Very much at his ease, he could have dispensed with questions just then.

"Professional jealousy, I suppose," he replied. "When it comes to knowledge of Russian movements," he went on to explain, "that's Sobieska's department, mind you, but somehow Josef is always hours ahead of him through some source of his own. Naturally Sobieska takes the chance to rub a miscue in on the old chap."

"Why should he be interested in Carrick's antecedents, Paul?"

"Cal, you are like the youngster, who after exhausting all other questions, asked his dazed parent, 'Father, why is why?' Tell me all that happened," he said, seeing the slightly nettled expression on his friend's face. "You see the circus was all over before I arrived."

Carter related the affair from the time of their first meeting with Josef, at that very inn, to the time when Zulka's timely appearance put an end to their trial. "The rest you know," he concluded.

Zulka opened his cigarette case, selected one and after knocking the end of it two or three times against the metal lid without putting it in his mouth, looked up at his friend. "Cal, I'm afraid I've given you the idea that Sobieska is incompetent. That is not so. The fact is, he is devilish deep and clever. He never lets up once he has struck a trail. He's probably hit on something now that he thinks should be investigated. By the way, how's Saunderson of the Racquet?" So the conversation drifted.

Their mutual friends in New York had included many women of gentle birth with whom Paul Zulka had always been more or less of a favorite. Concerning these, individually and collectively, Carter's replies to his friend's inquiries had been equally frank and responsive.

"So you left no sweetheart behind, Cal?"

"No, Paul. I'd not leave a sweetheart. I'd make her my wife."

"In the face of a conge?"

"You ought to know me better. I never take 'no' for an answer." Carter's pride glowed in his face as he made this reply.

"The Duchess of Schallberg," announced Zulka, "will marry the King of Krovitch to unite the two houses. She has pledged herself." This seemingly irrelevant announcement was made through a swirling cloud of smoke.

"So?" Carter strove to make his reply partake of easy nonchalance, but his throat tightened so that he could feel his face go red and hot. It was as if Paul had intimated that he, Calvert Carter, would seek and be refused by the Duchess of Schallberg. He was thankful the Krovitzer was not looking just then.

Had he been wise, Carter would have said no more. But failing to emphasize his disinterestedness, he added to his monosyllabic exclamation a query in a studied tone of unconcern.

"What's that got to do with us, old chap?"

Zulka leaned forward confidentially as he laid a friendly hand upon the other's knee.

"She's for neither you nor me, Cal," he said regretfully. "She must marry a man she has never seen for the sake of a country that she adores. Without this submission on her part we could count on no united Krovitch. Our country worships her and will follow no king who will not seat her upon his throne. Get that angel face out of your heart. Deafen your ears to her voice before, like me, you try too late. Oh, I know, I saw," he hastened on as Carter would have stopped him, "love makes all eyes keen. You love Trusia."

As the significance of the last remark went home, Carter sat as one stunned. The perspiration gathered slowly in great beads on his forehead. He hung his head gloomily; his face went pale. It seemed, suddenly, that life, ever a pleasant vista to him, had built a wall before his eyes, unscalable, opaque.

Then he understood. A pain gripped his heart as the great truth came home to him.

"I do," he answered jerkily, for he was striving to keep a strong man's grip on his soul. Slowly, however, the agony, defying him, triumphed. "My God," he wailed in surrender, "it is true though I never realized it till now." That was all he said, but with blind hands he groped for fellowship and welcomed Zulka's responsive grip of steel.

Relaxing his handclasp, he arose and walked to the window, to gaze out upon darkness until his own night passed from him sufficiently to enable him to seize upon his soul in the elusive shadows and hold it firmly. From where he stood, after an interval of pregnant silence, he turned a high-held, stern, white face upon Zulka.

"Paul," he said quietly, "we'll have to stand by her now to the end. If Krovitch wins and I'm alive, I'll go back to New York. If she loses, our lives must purchase her safety, should that be the price. It will be Trusia first, then."

"It will always be Trusia," said Zulka.

Carter nodded his understanding.

"Come, Carter!" Zulka said almost brusquely, "enough of sentiment. We must dress for the levee. I can fit you out in clothes."



XII

CARTER FINDS AN ALLY

The haut nobility of Krovitch were present at the Ducal reception that night. Glittering uniforms, with a plentiful supply of feminine silks and sparkling jewels, made even the gray old halls of the castle take on a warmer, gladder note. But to Carter, with an aching heart hidden behind a smiling countenance, the gaiety seemed forced, the colors glaring; while to his questing eyes all faces appeared blank surfaces, save one.

She was talking to a wisp of a golden-haired girl, whom he afterward learned was Zulka's cousin, the daughter of the plump Holder of the Purse. Apparently Trusia had not yet noticed his entrance, but why should she?

Had he been gifted with omnipresence, however, he would have heard her say to her companion, "That is he. The one in dress suit. No, stupid, not the short man in black and gold, but the strapping big fellow who holds his head like some ancient paladin."

"Oh," her companion had answered impulsively, as she finally singled Carter out from the throng about the entrance, "he is fine, Highness. I'm going to fall in love with him. I'm sure I am. Do you mind, Tru?" she teased, with the intuitive sex-given perception that her royal chum felt at least a passing interest in the handsome stranger. The Duchess made no immediate reply to her friend, but gazed resolutely in a direction opposite to the one from which she knew Carter was approaching. Even predestined queens are not averse to stately coquetry.

"No, Natalie," she finally condescended to reply, "why should I, dear?" She smiled affectionately down on the sweet face before her. "I envy you, child, that you may love where you please," she added gently.

"Oh," said Natalie. The little maid of honor changed front with ready sympathy. "I might have known you could not faint in his arms, be brought home by him, rescue him from jail, without feeling some interest in him. He's coming this way, Highness," she added in a confidential undertone as if Trusia had not already divined the fact through the back of her regal little head. Nevertheless, the Duchess achieved a very natural surprise as Calvert Carter presented himself before her.

He was duly presented to the golden-haired girl and apprised of her kinship to his friend Paul, who had already entered into conversation with Her Grace of Schallberg. Carter found a temporary distraction from his unearned wounds in listening to her cheery prattle and answering her light queries about the wilderness she imagined his country to be, just beyond the environs of the municipalities. Their group was constantly augmented by fresh arrivals, so the conversation grew general, and Carter had no opportunity except for a chance word now and then with the woman to whom he had silently yielded his heart. Enthusiastic young officers, cadets of ancient lineage, boasted hopefully of the efforts which they would make to restore the fatherland to its place among the great nations of the world. Even Natalie was soon claimed by an admiring young hussar glittering in black and gold, and Carter found himself alone for the nonce. He suddenly remembered a forgotten duty, and the possibility of its performance was now causing him some perplexity.

"You look troubled, Captain Carter," said Trusia, at his elbow. "Is there anything we can do?"

He smiled gratefully. "Yes, Highness," he responded eagerly. "I was just cudgeling my brains for a suitable form in which to present my request."

"It is——"

"Permission to cable my address in the morning to my New York agent."

"It is granted," she said. "A messenger will leave at seven to-morrow morning for Vienna. I will have Josef call with him in the morning. I need scarcely caution you not to refer to the state of affairs here."

"You have my word, Highness," he answered.

"I could ask for no better guaranty," she commented sweetly.

If Carter was distrustful of the emissary she had chosen, he was well aware that his vague misgivings would find no other reception than coldness did he even dare to hint at them. He turned to find Sobieska's look of pseudo-indolence upon him.

"Have I your permission, Highness, to make Captain Carter acquainted with some of his brother officers?" queried the Minister of Private Intelligence. She nodded her consent and Carter was led away, but not to meet any military men. Having found a place sufficiently out of earshot of the others, the Count motioned the American into a seat, placing himself opposite him.

"There is nothing like a common object of suspicion, Captain Carter, to make men friends," he began guardedly. Then probably recognizing that the man to whom he was speaking would hold his disclosures sacred, he threw away his diplomatic subterfuges and came frankly to the point.

"I wanted to tell you," he said gravely, "that I have already cabled my agents in London and Paris to investigate the history of your man Carrick." The American turned to regard him with a slight frown. Had the fellow brought him here to tell him they had not been believed at the afternoon's trial? Sobieska, understanding what was passing in the other's mind, smiled indulgently.

"Oh, I believed your story, don't fear," he said; "but, in the face of all things, I have always doubted the sincerity of Josef. I cannot convince myself that his motives are entirely as disinterested as he has convinced Her Grace they are. There was something, too, about Carrick's story of his father's death that awakened my suspicions. That medal for instance."

"You surely cannot mean——" began Carter, fairly rising from his seat in his wild surmise.

"Quietly, quietly," cautioned Sobieska, glancing warily back toward the throng of guests to assure himself that the American's perturbation had passed unnoted. Having satisfied himself that it had attracted no attention, he took up the thread where it had been dropped by him.

"I meant nothing more at present than that I want to know everything my agents can learn. Meanwhile not a word to any one, especially Josef. Don't trust him in any way, though."

With such an opportunity, Carter naturally told him about his dilemma concerning the despatches.

"Oh, if they refer to business, I suppose you may let him have them," he was assured. "He would hardly tamper with private papers. They will be perfectly safe, especially as he will know that you have already spoken to Her Grace concerning them. I may be doing him an injustice," he continued cogitatingly, "but I somehow feel that he is playing a deeper game in Krovitch than you or I have any idea of at present. Every one here from Her Highness down almost worships him. Can I count on your aid?"

"Certainly," replied Carter as they both arose. "I don't like the fellow either." They sauntered nonchalantly back to the others, baffling Josef's inquiring eyes.



XIII

A NEW MAJOR OF HUSSARS

Carter admitted that in his present state of mind dawn was no more to be welcomed than darkness. For hours on end now, he had been fighting grimly and silently to the end that he might cast out of his heart, for all time, the love for a woman which had crept in. Sleep had dared not come within range of that titanic struggle. Worn with the battle which had witnessed his defeat, he had just completed his cipher message, when, following a modest knock at the door, Josef entered complacently with the pent-browed peasant at his heels.

"If monsieur desires to send despatches," said the Hereditary Servitor, "he can make his arrangements with Johann here. Johann goes at once to Vienna, via Schallberg. He is trustworthy and discreet. Can I be of further service to monsieur? No? Then I shall go." Without waiting for any reply, he closed the door behind him as though upon a nervous patient.

After giving the messenger minute instructions and a liberal gratuity, Carter dismissed him and the despatches from his thoughts. Later in the day he was to be reminded not only of them but of the evil leer bestowed by Johann at the munificent tip dropped into his horny palm.

From the window of his room Carter watched the stir in the camp. In response to the first call from the bugles, the men were already bestirring themselves along the tent-marked company streets; some industriously polishing belt plates and buttons; some tightening the laces of their leggings, while still others, ruddy of visage, were plunging close-cropped heads into buckets of splashing cold water. At the far end of the street, opposite his window, the over prompt were already falling in. The sergeants picturesquely marked the points of rest. The first sergeant was glancing over the bundle of orders he had drawn from his belt, preparatory to roll call and the routine of the day.

The world beyond, the world of fields and woods and flowers, looked fair; the sun had not yet dried the dew, and jaded as he was, Carter thanked God for all things sweet and pure. Something choked in his throat. He welcomed the galloping approach of Zulka, who, shortly, drew up beneath his window. In a flash, the Count read the trouble in the New Yorker's face, but pretending not to, he touched his hat brim in precise military salute.

"I've rare tidings for thee, my lord," and he vigorously waved an oblong paper in a melodramatic manner. "Given under hand and seal, as your lawyer chaps would say."

"Just as soon as I can get this boot on," answered Carter in a tone he strove desperately to keep cheerful. Having accomplished his task without unreasonable delay, he picked up a hat and crop and descended to the courtyard of the inn where the other was impatiently waiting with some good tidings he found hard to contain.

"Read that, Cal," he said, as he thrust the papers into his friend's hands. Carter opened the document to be confronted with an incomprehensible jumble of letters in Latin,—a language he had promptly forgotten the day of his graduation,—a lordly seal and, dearest of all, in an angular feminine hand, in subscription:

"Trusia, Dei Gratia, Vice Regina."

He feasted his eyes on the one word that for him blurred all the rest, "Trusia."

"Trusia" of the marvelous eyes. "Trusia" of the ensnaring hair. "Trusia" the beloved, the desirable.

"So you haven't forgotten your Latin, after all," Zulka was saying, leisurely dismounting from his horse.

"But I have," answered Carter. "What does it all mean?"

"Your commission, man. Major of the Royal Hussars. For the present attached to Her Grace, as Aide. I congratulate you."

"Don't, Paul; not yet. It is going to be all the harder for me."

Zulka nodded his head gravely. "You'd better fight at close range. It is harder, but quicker."

He noted Calvert's riding costume at a glance and made a sudden resolve.

"Better take a ride, old chap. Get yourself in condition. I'm busy to-day. Borrow Casimir's horse—he's off for the morning. I think Natalie will be out on the road this way. She'd appreciate your escort, I'll wager. We creep a step nearer the city this morning, and as Division Adjutant I'll have my hands full.

"Here, Casimir," he called to the equerry who was lazily swinging his feet over the edge of the porch on which he had seated himself, "lend Major Carter your mount for this morning, can't you?"

"Gladly. Saral is the right sort and I guess bears him no ill will for yesterday's stampede."

Carter was about to mount when Carrick put in a solemn appearance from the stables.

"Some one has tackled the automobile with an axe, sir," he announced ruefully. "The wheels are left, and that's about all of the 'go' part." Carter turned wrathfully from the horse to follow Carrick back to the shed where the big car had been housed. With ready sympathy the two young Krovitzers followed.

"It is dastardly," Paul remarked as he bent over and discovered that not a particle of the motive mechanism had been left intact.

"Count on me, sir," Casimir volunteered, "to help you ferret out the rascals. Have you any idea who could have played such a shabby trick?"

While Carter had pretty definite suspicions he was not prepared just then to announce them.

"The car is done for, certainly," he said gloomily. "No," he said as he turned indifferently away, "I don't know who did it, and thank you, Casimir, I don't care to. I don't think I would be justified in killing a man for breaking up even six thousand dollars' worth of property, but if I was certain just now who did it I feel I would be strongly tempted to wring his neck. Au revoir, gentlemen, I am not going to permit this to spoil my ride." With this and a nod, he returned and, mounting the horse, cantered out of view along the road to the castle.

The handsome bay pounded steadily ahead. The air was soothing soft with a thousand scents of forest and hill, of field and farm; kind zephyrs of morning touched his brow and eased his sorrows, while the sun, from a bed of pearl-pink clouds, rose slowly before his eyes. Beyond and alongside of the already striking camp, on the right of the road, the woods began again, leaving the open fields like an alternate square on some mammoth checker board. More than one soldier gazed admiringly at his strong figure as he cantered past, while the sentries, doubtless under instructions, permitted him to pass unchallenged through the lines.

When he reached the spot where he had first seen Trusia—the place of the accident, he checked his horse to indulge in the sensations the scene awakened. He beheld again the marble beauty of the face; he felt the wondrous softness of the skin, and once more his heart was entangled in the meshes of the fragrant hair as the loosened strands blew against his hot cheek.

Round the bend in the road, as then, he heard approaching hoof beats. He marveled that his heart should beat so high merely for the advent of Lady Natalie. In the indulgence of his dream, the suggested thuds presaged the coming of Trusia. He sat immovably upon his horse in mid-road, waiting. Every sense was aquiver, every nerve on edge.

A black horse swept into view as it first had in his fancy. It was ridden by Trusia. Saladin had not forgotten. As his mistress reined him in, his wide eyes shifted about distrustfully. A quiver ran beneath the satiny flanks while his slender legs trembled. Carter made no effort to conceal his surprise, as he lifted his hat in salutation.

"Your Highness," he ejaculated.

"Yes," she laughed. "Why, aren't you disappointed? Lady Natalie is. Her mother found some unwelcome duty shirked which she insisted should be properly discharged. I am her apologetic substitute. Besides I wished to discipline Saladin to this place before he should acquire the habit of shying at it. There, Beauty," she said patting his arching neck as he snorted in pure ecstasy of terrified recollections. Calmed by her caressing voice and the touch of her hand he stretched forth his head to nozzle the other horse in neighborly fashion.

"Natalie is a sweet girl, Major Carter," she said tentatively, giving him his full title. "Am I forgiven for coming—in her stead?"

"On condition that Your Highness will do me the honor of riding with me—in her stead." He smiled his usual frank smile. "Besides," he pleaded, "it will take me some time to thank you for your kindness in giving me my brevet. I know it is an honor which many a man of Krovitch would die to win."

She flushed as she answered him. "It was but a small return for what you have suffered."

In silent assent to his invitation, she pointed her crop to a path among the trees, which might easily have escaped the observation of those not familiar with its existence.

"Right beyond the turn in the road is a bypath. Let us take that. It goes down into the heart of the wood, to the ancestor of forests. The trees stand there as if brooding over the lost centuries of their youth. The moss is as gray as Time himself. The only sounds, save the soughing sighs of the giant branches, are the chime of the waterfall and the chirping of birds. I love it," she said with sparkling eyes, "because those trees seem typical of the undying faith of the land, which for two centuries has never lost hope and has never ceased working for the day which will soon crown our efforts. See," she pointed down the aisle of overhanging branches they were entering, "is it not magnificent?"

Side by side, comrades under the spell of the woodlands, rode Trusia and Carter, inhaling the fresh morning sifted through the leaves. A vista of trees arose on either hand, each one seemingly more massive, more aged than its fellow; some bowed in retrospection, some erect with hope and looking skyward for the new star in their country's firmament.

A peace begotten of serenity settled on Carter's soul. He turned to look at the girl beside him. The magic of the place had brought a refreshing expression of content into her face. He noted the soft turn of her cheek, the inviting round chin and the steady splendor of the eyes. The spell of silence was broken then. The wood sprites were routed by a modern girl. Feeling his eyes upon her, she turned to him, her lips half parted in a smile.

"Is it not wonderful, all of this?" she said, caressing the leafy monarchs with a wide-spread gesture. "Do you have such forests in America, such trees? Oh, I have heard of your California forests, where roads are cut through the trunk of a single giant without destroying its life. But it is the spirit of the woodlands, I mean. Do they breathe traditions?"

"Not to us, Highness. We are not their children. Perhaps the Indian when he bade them farewell could understand their counsels."

"You were a soldier," she said, as a suggested possibility caught her, "did you ever fight Indians?" Her eager face was almost as a child's who begs a story.

"Sorry I can't oblige you," he laughed indulgently. "I engaged only the prosaic European from Spain."

"You fought in Cuba? Tell me about it."

So much as he modestly might tell, he related to her as they rode on. They were young, time was cheap and the tale was not uninteresting.

The labored heaving of the horses' shoulders brought them back to their surroundings. They were leaving the forest to mount a little hill upon whose side a small hovel stood, which Carter some time in his need was to bless.

"It's Hans's, the charcoal-burner's," Trusia said with surprise; "we've ridden ten miles, Major Carter, and scarcely faster than a walk. We must turn back at once; my household will be filled with alarm. Please come," she said earnestly.

Together they turned their horses about, and started the return journey at a good ground-eating gallop. Mile after mile they canceled, occupied in the thoughts the ride had awakened. She was silent, in the spell of a new obsession wrought by this man with his honest voice and stories of the new, strange land, from which he came. Carter, distressed that possibly he had caused trouble by his senseless prattle, was dutifully bent on getting her back to the castle with the least possible delay. Mentally he was attempting to frame a suitable and fitting apology to offer her. Several times he cleared his throat, but she seemed so preoccupied that he maintained silence.

Finally he achieved an explanation.

"I have been trying, Highness, to apologize, but really I can't. You understand, don't you? I would be a hypocrite to say that I am sorry. I am not. It must have been the magic of the place to which a year is as a second quickly passed, so old is the forest."

"Have you been worrying about that all this time, my friend?" she said with a quick laugh, awakening from her revery. "You remind me of my duty," she added gently. "I was wool-gathering." She turned to discover if he had in any measure divined her thoughts. Satisfied that he had not, she was content to talk of many things which would claim her time. Their conversation became gradually impersonal and general.

Once he had asked her why she had been so relieved at the answers concerning the medal the Cockney wore. She hung her head for a moment answering almost in a whisper, "It was Stovik's medal. I feared Carrick was the king to whom I am to be married." Carter pursued the matter no further. To his regret he saw that they were fast approaching the entrance to the wood.

Bending forward suddenly she looked athwart his horse into the shadows of bough and bush.

"Did you see him?" she inquired breathlessly.

"Whom? Where?" He pivoted about stupidly.

"Johann, the messenger," she answered, "who should have been in Schallberg two hours ago. There, he's skulking behind that white oak. Johann!" she commanded imperiously. Seeing that concealment was no longer practicable, the fellow sulkily came from his hiding-place and stood, with sullen countenance, in the path beside them. "Find out what he is doing here, Major Carter."

The messenger maintained a dogged silence to Carter's inquiries. Fearing that some treachery was at the root of the matter, the American finally asked whether the fellow had the despatches given him that morning. With an evil leer Johann looked up at this, breaking his silence.

"Ja, Herr Major," he replied, "I have them all right, and your hush money, too." He jingled the coins in his pocket with insolent significance.

"He's surely drunk, but what does he mean, Major?" asked Trusia in bewilderment.

"I do not know, Highness," he replied tensely, "but if, as I suspect, some treason's afoot, I would suggest he be at once taken to the castle for a formal investigation."

The man guffawed impudently. "You wouldn't dare," he said meaningly to Carter, "you wouldn't dare let Count Sobieska or Her Grace know what is in that letter."

Indignant at the suggestion that his message had been read Carter retorted: "We shall see, my man, for to Count Sobieska you go at once."

"All right," the peasant answered jauntily, with a satisfaction Carter thought was assumed, "if you are willing, I am. Come along," and with a leering wink he initiated the return castleward.



XIV

FOUND IN THE COURTYARD OF THE INN

Through the thronged courtyard Johann was led directly to the office of the Minister of Private Intelligence. Not, however, before Josef had attempted to communicate with him. This privilege Carter denied. Nevertheless he was unable to prevent a covert exchange of triumphant glances between the Hereditary Servitor and the closely watched messenger. This argued that the two were in league. Josef followed, unbidden.

As they entered his official sanctum, Sobieska looked up, and, as he arose, a genuine surprise passed, cloudlike, across his face. He appreciated at a glance that something unusual had occurred. He bowed Trusia to a seat, directing a well-defined look of inquiry toward Carter. The latter merely shrugged his shoulders, implying that it was not his affair.

Sobieska consulted his watch, which lay on the table beside him, while he turned sternly to Johann. "Why aren't you in Schallberg?" he demanded; "you had despatches, as well as a cable to send for Major Carter."

"I have that cable still, Excellency," he grunted.

"What, you didn't transmit it?"

"No," the man answered boldly. Seeing the volcanic wrath awakening behind the Minister's sleepy eyes, he hastened to explain.

"I went to his room," he said, pointing fiercely at Carter, "he gave me a sealed envelope. After I had taken it he handed me a large sum of money—a fortune to a peasant. He told me to let no one see it but the telegraph operator at Schallberg."

"That is true," said Carter. "It was a business transaction, a communication relating to my personal affairs."

"I am an ignorant man," whimpered the messenger, stimulated by a mental contemplation of his supposed injuries, "but I was made the tool of that traitor—that spy." His eyes, red from excessive potations, glared with hatred as he pointed to Carter.

"Be careful, sir," broke in indignant Trusia, "remember the gentleman is one of our Aides and bears a commission in the royal army. Would you taste the whip?"

"Better that than the noose he planned for me," sulkily retorted the peasant.

"You had better be precise," said Sobieska.

"Well, if you will have it, I'll tell you," the man answered. Emboldened by an encouraging murmur from Josef he continued.

Carter held up his hand. "Wait a moment," he exclaimed as he turned appealingly to Trusia. "Highness, this may be of greatest interest to some one not present when Johann, the messenger, was apprehended. It may also be of secret importance to Krovitch, to Your Highness. Is Josef necessary here? Surely he can offer neither testimony nor enlightenment."

Though cautioned to stay within call, Josef was dismissed to his unrevealed disappointment.

"Now, go ahead, Johann," commanded the Privy Counselor, when the sound of receding footsteps assured him that Josef was no longer in earshot.

"I never had so much money at one time," continued the messenger, manifestly ill at ease since the departure of Josef. "I began to wonder why the stranger had given it to me for so simple a service. When the dumb man ponders overlong he seeks counsel. That was my case. My friend and I sat and talked of it and as we talked we drank.

"My friend said that the reason for keeping it secret was the person to whom it was written. At first I laughed at him. It could mean nothing. He pushed the brandy toward me and laughed too. I supposed he thought the same. Then I began to turn it over in my head, and as it seemed possible it might mean something, I besought him how such a thing could be. He replied by asking to whom the letter was addressed. I said in a foreign language,—English I do not understand. He pondered and said it might be sent by a spy to the Russian police. He added that it might mean hanging for me; I was afraid it was so, then in my fright I drank more brandy. My head reeled, but I was less afraid. I laughed once more. I asked him what he would do. He requested to see the letter. I was angry. 'Fool,' he said, 'not to open it; just to see the address. That will tell. No one will know.' I gave it to him. He pushed the brandy to me as he puzzled over the odd letters. When I looked up from the bottle, he was staring at me, his eyes big and scared. 'It is as I thought,' he said, in a whisper one uses near the graveyard at night. I hardly knew what to do, Excellency, so I wandered in the forest. I fear I was drunk from the brandy. The rest Her Highness can tell you," and the man wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"We found him skulking in the forest; not twenty minutes ago," supplemented Trusia. "His actions were so mysterious and his speech so reprehensible that we brought him here."

Carter, regarding the whole affair as a delusion—a bubble soon broken, brought the matter to an issue.

"Don't you think," he suggested confidently, "that Johann should produce the incriminating document. I think it will turn out to be a certain message to one Henry Jarvis, Broker, William Street, New York." He came forward to stand beside Sobieska at the table, as Johann took out a bulky envelope from a dispatch box and placed it before the Minister. Trusia, too, had drawn near. The trio started involuntarily as they read the address of Russia's sub-minister of Secret Police in Warsaw staring them in the face. Trusia gasped and turned white. Sobieska walked to the door, closed it gently and returned to the table.

"Who was your friendly counselor?" he demanded of Johann.

"I dare not tell you," the fellow replied doggedly.

"If I have to ask Posner at the inn, it will go hard with you, Johann."

"He does not know; we did not drink at Posner's."

"That is certainly a clever imitation of my writing," said Carter, who had been carefully studying the characters on the envelope. Sobieska looked up. "You do not believe me capable of communicating with your enemies!" He appealed to the girl, whose white face was staring at the oblong packet lying on the table.

"I do not know what to believe," she said as she struggled to keep back the tears. "Open it, Sobieska." The latter complied and scanned the communication.

"This," he said, looking up gravely, "purports to be a preliminary report of Calvert Carter and Todcaster Carrick to their immediate superior in the Imperial Secret Police at Warsaw. It contains a further promise of early developments and the coming of a King to Krovitch. It is signed 'Calvert Carter.'"

Sobieska reached so suddenly forward to touch a call bell that Johann jumped. A gray-haired sergeant entered.

"A corporal and file," was Sobieska's command. Carter straightened himself haughtily. Were they going to arrest him for this forgery?

"Count Sobieska," he began indignantly, while Johann's dull eyes brightened.

"Wait, please," was the Minister's only comment.

Carter turned to Her Grace to remonstrate against such an indignity, but her head was turned from him. There were footsteps, rhythmic, orderly, at the door. It opened to admit the corporal and his men. Vividly it recalled to Carter another such scene when he was a judge and——

"Put Johann under arrest," came the curt interruption to his thoughts from the lips of Sobieska. "If you permit any one to communicate with him, it will mean a court martial for all of you," said the Minister.

The sudden and unexpected reversal of the preconceived program was too much for the messenger, as, cursing and struggling, he was hustled toward the door. As the heavy oak panel swung to upon the prisoner, he muttered something which caught the waiting ear of Sobieska, who glanced toward his princess to see if she had heard. Satisfied that she had not, he swept a triumphant look at Carter, who was dumbfounded at the turn affairs had taken. The American stretched out his hand to the Krovitzer.

"Paul Zulka's friends are to be trusted," said Sobieska. "You have already made a personally vindictive enemy," he continued; "have you any idea who it is?" The indolent wink accompanying the inquiry cautioned Carter not to name any one if he had.

"I have," replied Calvert, who had understood the signal.

"Don't name him then, at present," requested the Minister.

"Why not?" queried an indignant Trusia, "as Major Carter is innocent, this wretch must be punished at once."

"Your Highness," respectfully counseled the Privy Counselor, "Major Carter has been in our country too short a time even to be sure of his friends, much less of his enemies. His surmises, therefore, might be unwarranted, and might put a perfectly innocent person under suspicion. Be assured," he asserted vehemently, "I will thoroughly sift out this matter in my official capacity. Whether it confirms his premonitions or not, you will learn in due time. I am inclined to believe that Johann was intended to fall into your hands, but with a different intent. Either that or the message was meant for Russia, the risk to be shouldered upon Carter. May I employ Josef," he requested blandly, "as a messenger to Colonel Sutphen?"

"Certainly," she replied, and the old fellow was sent for.

There was neither tremor nor twitch on his impassive countenance as he responded to the summons, although he must have missed Johann and knew not what had transpired.

"You are to take this note to Colonel Sutphen at once," said Sobieska curtly. "At once," he reiterated with emphasis, "don't even wait for a hat. Your trip and return will be timed," he was fairly warned. "It is of the utmost importance," the Minister remarked impressively as he handed the retainer a hastily scrawled but securely sealed note. Josef might have been carrying the order for his own execution, for all he knew, but he did not permit any outward sign of trepidation to show in his face. With commendable alacrity he left the room on his mission, watched by Sobieska in the doorway. Returning, with hardly concealed impatience, the Minister begged of Her Grace to be excused for the time being and requested the assistance of Carter.

"Yes, Sobieska, go," she said. "I am as anxious as you can be to reach the bottom of this mystery. Somehow, I cannot help feeling that there is something inimical to my country in it all."

"Pray God that it is not so," said the Minister as he bowed her from the office. No sooner was she gone than the two men faced each other, the same thought in their minds, the same name on their lips.

"Josef," they said in the same breath.

"There's not a minute to lose," continued the Minister. "That is why I trumped up that message to get him out of the way. We must search his room immediately, before he has a chance to forestall us. Come," he said, grasping Carter's arm.

Together they mounted stairways, plunged down passages, grim and shadow infested, until the Servitor's room was reached. The barrenness of the place seemed to be sufficient guarantee for the honesty of its usual occupant. A table without a drawer, no closet and some burned-out logs in the large fireplace afforded but scant hiding places. Sobieska carefully tapped each board separately to ascertain if a secret receptacle had been formed in such a fashion, but the floor was perfectly solid. He tried the flagging of the hearth as well as the brick arch of the fireplace with no more success. He was about to acknowledge failure when Carter accidentally turned over one of the charred logs lying at his feet. An exclamation burst from the Minister's lips.

Minute and scattered fragments of paper, saved from the blaze by the bulk of the log above them, lay scattered on the hearth. These Sobieska pounced upon eagerly.

Further search bore no fuller fruit, so with their meagre harvest the pair descended to the office again. Here the Krovitzer, piecing the fragments together, and pasting them on a sheet of paper, laid them before Carter.

"There," said the Minister, "are the experiments in your handwriting. Now wait until he comes back."

"But how did he get a copy?" queried the puzzled American.

"Easy enough," replied Sobieska. "He kept those papers he took from you in the cell yesterday. Your passport furnished your signature. He's a clever rascal. Substituted the forgery for the other letter, while Johann drank. Either that or they're in league together, which I am not prepared to believe, yet. In any event we must get a new messenger."

"Tell me," said the curious Carter, "how came you to suspect Josef, as you read the letter Johann had with him?"

Sobieska smiled indulgently. "A man of your varied metropolitan experience would scarcely write a letter as he would a thesis for a University degree. Whoever wrote that epistle had doubtless a work of rhetoric at his elbow, fearful of mistakes. Look at it yourself," and he pushed the paper over to Carter. It was, indeed, a studied composition of good proportions and well rounded sentences.

"I have heard you talk," continued his instructor, "and I felt satisfied that Major Carter, if a spy, would hardly have wasted his efforts in such a prim presentation of his facts." He glanced at his watch. "He would have doubtless used cipher. Josef is due in just one minute now. There he comes," he said, as there was a low rap at the door. "Come in."

Punctuality outdone, Josef entered and handed Sobieska a note. Without even glancing at it, the latter tossed it on the table. Picking up the sheet on which were the pasted fragments, he handed it to the Servitor, watching him closely with narrowing eyes. Without a tremor the paper was received, examined, read, and handed back to Sobieska with a smile.

"Well, Excellency?"

"Ever see that before, Josef?"

"I think so, Excellency. Did you find them in my room?" he inquired with quiet effrontery.

"They were found there. I found them," replied Sobieska coolly, not yet despairing of breaking down the impassive wall with which Josef had surrounded his thoughts.

"Then I have seen them before," the Servitor answered as though courteously acknowledging an irrefutable logic. "I took them there to interpret them," he said as if willing to make an explanation though not admitting any necessity. "I found them beneath a certain window last night—in the courtyard of the inn," he concluded with a significant glance at Carter. Then boldly his eyes challenged both men.

"It's a lie," said Carter contemptuously. Josef smiled.

"Your word—the word of a stranger—against mine," he sneered. "Shall I appeal to Her Highness?"

"Her Highness knows everything," hazarded Sobieska. "From Johann," he added deliberately.

There was a start, if you call the slightest flicker of the eyelids such—to show that the shot had told; then Josef, calm as before, inquired,

"Then of what interest can these scraps of paper be?"

"Be careful, Josef," interrupted Carter, whose anger had not yet been appeased, "that you do not pick up something deadly—in the courtyard of the inn, something like a revolver bullet."

The fellow bowed mockingly to the last speaker, then turning to Sobieska said, "May I go, Excellency?" Sobieska nodded assent.

"Wait," said Carter, and Josef paused.

"You say you found these papers—in the courtyard of the inn," said Carter endeavoring to connect the man with the mishap to the auto, "any place near the carriage shed?"

The Servitor smiled and assumed a non-committal aloofness.

"Why," he asked as, turning, he left the room.

Following a short talk with the Minister of Private Intelligence, Carter took his departure, and, as he rode thoughtfully back to the inn, he was startled to see a distraught Carrick arise from a stone by the highway.

"Why, Carrick," he cried with a premonitive feeling of some new evil, "what brings you here?"

"Been huntin' for you for nearly three hours, sir. I could not bide there, sir, till I 'ad seen you."

Carter, dismounting, took the bridle rein over his arm and walked alongside the Cockney, who in detail recited the story of a meeting of Josef and Johann in the wood, which, unseen by them, he had watched, and which in every detail corroborated the recital of Johann and the surmises of Sobieska.

"What do you think of it, sir?" he concluded.

Carter shook his head gravely.

"I can't say, Carrick. Keep your eyes and ears open, but do not say a word to any one but me of this or anything else you happen to notice about Josef. There's some game going on that I have not fathomed yet.

"Tod Carrick," he continued in a burst of affectionate consideration, "you're a good faithful soul. Here's my hand. I do not believe you have had a mouthful to eat to-day. Now, have you?"

The Cockney smiled.

"I forgot, sir," he answered almost shyly, elated with the words of approval he had won.



XV

THE DREAM KISS

The next day in solemn conclave the Counselors decided that the time had come to bring the King to Krovitch.

"All is ready," said the grizzled Sutphen, "to inaugurate his reign with the fall of Schallberg."

"You must come too," said Trusia to Carter, "as a member of my household." The question of expedients was debated. Suspicion might be awakened should such a large party travel together. It was decided that Carter and Sobieska should proceed to Vienna; Muhlen-Sarkey and Trusia with their two attendants were to cross into Germany at the nearest point, thence travel by rail, while Josef and the rest should embark boldly from Schallberg.

Carrick was much depressed at learning he was to be left behind, but extracted some consolation from the fact that he was to be detailed to attend Count Zulka for whom he had always shown a preference.

"The rendezvous is Paris,—Boulevard St. Michel, second house on the left from St. Germain. The time, two days hence, at six o'clock in the evening. That will allow the necessary time for unforeseen hitches," said Sobieska, to which all quietly assented.

Speeded by the entire court coterie, Sobieska and Carter mounted and clattered out of the courtyard, and by ways through the forest, which the Minister of Private Intelligence had learned in a score of hunting trips, the pair, evading the vigilance of Russian sentries, reached the Vistula. They were ferried across by a loyal peasant and landed on Austrian soil without hostile interruption.

While the journey from Vienna to Paris was destined to be without particular incident, it furnished the opportunity for a fuller acquaintance and understanding between Carter and Sobieska.

"I have wanted to have a fuller talk with you anent Josef," said Sobieska when their conversation had reached the confidential stage. "It was manifestly impossible at the castle. I was afraid of eavesdroppers. It may be one of those unreasonable prejudices, but, aside from the fellow's social inferiority, I cannot help feeling that his is a sinister influence in Krovitch."

"I thought his allegiance held him to the side of his exiled master. Has he been in Krovitch all his life?"

"Although familiar to the older nobles during the lifetime of King Marc, the grandfather of his present Majesty, Josef reappeared last autumn after an absence of several years. He immediately requested the hand of Lady Trusia in marriage for His Majesty." Here Sobieska glanced covertly at Carter to see the effect of this disclosure. The American's face, however, was as stoical as an Indian's. "He produced the historic documents of Stovik's right to the crown—the traditional proof of embassy. He preached a war on Russia and the rehabilitation of Krovitch. Our people were aroused. For our country's sake, our lady yielded. Messages were sent to all parts of the world to the patriots, who, in large numbers, have been returning to their fatherland. Russia, asleep, or lulled into a false sense of security, has made no move to indicate that she is aware of a plot, yet you heard rumors a year ago that at least matters were in a ferment here. It is strange, strange," he said musingly.

Then, marveling at his own irrelevance, Carter told Sobieska for the first time of Carrick's confirmation of their suspicions that Josef was party to the plot of the substituted letter in the forest. "He knew the name and address of Russia's chief spy in Warsaw. How could he, a retainer—a loyal servant of an exiled monarch, know these things? Pitch defiles."

With a laugh which dismissed the subject, Sobieska turned to Carter. "It seems to me," he said, "we're allowing an absent servant to monopolize considerable of our conversation. Let's talk of something else."

"Have you any conception of His Majesty's, the King's, personality?" asked Carter.

"We were shown a photograph by Josef. Certainly a handsome fellow. An artist." This with the faintest shade of contempt that the man of action always holds for the artist, the poet or the dreamer. "I may be deceived in him, God grant I am, but the face is the face of a sensualist, not of a leader of men. What we need now for the throne is an inveterate hater of Russia. We have good leaders, now. We don't want a king who cannot understand and, consequently, may spoil our best plans."

"Wouldn't he be controlled?"

"You mean by his wife, by Trusia? He may, if she takes his fancy. If not, he may lose interest, and fall under other control."

"You mean Josef's?"

"Yes."

"It seems complications are likely to arise."

"It is not too late for you to draw out," replied Sobieska coldly.

"I am no quitter." Carter's jaws set grim and hard. Then catching an elusive humor in the fact that, even as one who might become unfriendly to him, he should have to accompany this man to Paris, he smiled. So did Sobieska and a cordial understanding was reestablished.

Paris was reached. Familiar as New York to Carter, he had no difficulty in guiding his companion directly to the rendezvous near the Quai D'Orsay.

Although their friends were not yet arrived, they found a corps of servants had already arranged the house for their reception. As Sobieska was known to the majestic butler, the travelers had no difficulty in immediately establishing themselves in the quarters intended for them.

As night drew on, the others came trooping in, ready to do justice to anything eatable the chef could purvey.

"We had an unexpected rencontre just as we alighted from the train," said Trusia. She leaned forward from her place at the table to speak to Count Sobieska. In doing so, her eyes met Carter's. They were filled with a gentle regard—a more than friendliness.

"With whom?" asked her Minister of Private Intelligence anxiously, for this city was the centre of international intrigue and espionage.

"You remember General Vladimar, the former Russian commandant at Schallberg? It was he. He was very cordial; as cordial as a dangerous Russian always is."

Sobieska, in assenting, drew in his breath with a sibilant sound through pursed lips.

"I have every reason to believe he has been transferred to the White Police," he commented gravely, as he turned his listless glance toward the girl. "Any one with him—did he give any inkling that he suspected anything?"

"He must suspect something," said Trusia, "he was so very, very pleasant. It is impossible for him to know anything, though." She turned her fine eyes again to her Minister. "There was a man with him. He presented him as Herr Casper Haupt, who the General said was connected with the Russian Consulate here. He did not say in what capacity."

Sobieska aimlessly turned and returned a fork lying before him.

"No?" he inquired listlessly; then he repeated the question more indifferently, "No?" He permitted a distant shadow of a smile to cross his face as he looked up. "He didn't tell you, for instance, that Herr Casper Haupt is the Chief of Imperial Secret Police for the district embracing Poland, Krovitch, Austria and France; a very important personage? What did Vladimar have to say?"

"When I told him I was on a shopping tour, he looked the usual masculine horror and gave the usual masculine prayer for deliverance. He jokingly suggested that I was going to purchase a trousseau." Her cheeks took a faint color from her remark. "When he saw my suite—though he didn't think I noticed it—his face stiffened a trifle and his tone was a trifle less cordial. He remarked dryly we must be shopping for an army. He became very anxious to learn my stopping-place that he might call, as an old neighbor. I told him that I had determined, as yet, neither where I would stay permanently, nor how long I would be in Paris, and he had to be content with that."

Sobieska nodded his approval and laid down his fork.

"Such neighbors become more dangerous the older they grow. We will have to keep a lookout for General Alexis Vladimar. He suspects something."

"He made no attempt to follow us," replied Trusia. "I watched. He appeared to have forgotten our existence."

"He is a clever man, that Vladimar," said Sobieska grudgingly. "He has not forgotten. Perhaps he is so sure of finding you when he wants to that he is not giving himself any trouble. Fortunately we leave to-morrow morning and will give him the slip, for all his cleverness."

Trusia now turned to Carter, and with fine free friendliness asked him of his journey and if it had seemed long.

"Yes, it did," he admitted, but he did not say it was because it took him from her.

"Now, isn't that odd," she laughed, "a journey home seems always the longest to me; no train can get me there quickly enough," she added with an extra note of tender patriotism.

When dinner was spread, Trusia seemed pale and depressed as though the anticipated meeting with her unknown fiance was not fraught with joy. Rallying herself, however, she was soon as much a centre of attraction as a sparkling fountain in a park is to feathered citizens on a sultry summer day.

The wine of Krovitch, unfamiliar to Carter, was quite heady. He felt it coursing through his arteries while his heart beat stronger. In its convivial influence he turned to the jovial Muhlen-Sarkey and touched glasses.

"A short life and a merry one," he said.

"A strong blade and a noble one," replied the elderly noble with unexpected martial ardor. The incident had not escaped the notice of Trusia. She arose, glass held high above her head.

"Gentlemen," she cried, "the King of Krovitch!"

"The King! The King!" came the ready response. Each toaster crashed his glass in token that no less worthy sentiments should ever be drunk from it. When the loyal cries had faded into a ghostly silence, the tall, pale girl spoke again.

"This night, my lords and gentlemen, you go, after two centuries, to call him back unto his own. As you kneel before him, you will hold your sword hilts to his hand in token that at his call, alone, they'll be drawn. Remember, this man is your king, whatever the state in which you find him. Reverence must be shown as though upon his ancestral throne. In full regalia, then, you must present yourselves.

"He may be in rags, but purple never made a king. He may be alone, but royal birth gave him dominion over millions. He may be poor in purse, but is rich in your—in Krovitch's devotion. You must bring him here to-night, guarded with your naked breasts if need be. God save His Majesty!"

When, resplendent in their uniforms, glittering with noble orders, the party reappeared before Her Grace, her face was still pale and her eyes shone from startled depths. Each man kissed her hand and, leaving, received her whispered—"Godspeed." Carter was last.

With his hand upon the knob, he felt that the closing of that door was like sealing the death warrant of his hopes. He was going to find a husband among strangers for the girl he loved. Obeying an irresistible impulse he looked back.

Trusia was standing by the table in the middle of the room. Her left hand leaned on its edge, supporting a weariness shown in the relaxed lines of her figure. Her lips were parted as if in pain, while her eyes seemed searching for Carter as he met her gaze. The others had already passed from the hall. With a bound he was before her, kneeling, his face, turned upward to hers, pleading the love he dared not speak.

Whether he imagined what he wished the most, or whether she, bending, actually touched her lips to his, he could not have said, but satisfied that she loved him, he arose and staggered blindly from the room.



XVI

YOU ARE THE KING OF KROVITCH

At about the same time the Krovitzers were leaving the house on the Boulevard S. Michel, one of those little comedies from real life was being enacted in the attic studio of Eugene Delmotte. Its finale was to be influenced considerably by their actions. The artist was to be transported by them from Hadean depths of despair to Olympian heights of rejoicing.

His disordered locks, beret upon the floor, red tie askew, if not his tragic, rolling eyes and clenched fists, would have apprised Mlle. Marie that all was not as it should be with M. Delmotte. With full appreciation of the effectiveness of the gesture, the artist threw himself into a large chair before an unfinished canvas of heroic dimensions. He buried his face in his hands. He groaned. This was too much for Marie. She approached. Laying a hesitating hand upon his shoulder, she looked down with real concern at the bowed, curly head.

"And Pere Caros will not wait for the rent?" she queried.

"No, curse him," came from between the locked fingers.

"But 'Gene," persisted the girl as though puzzled, "I thought that Harjes, the banker, always paid you an income."

"So he did until to-day. I went there, to be told that, to their regret, my unknown benefactor had not sent them the usual monthly remittance. They regretted also that their foolish rules prevented them advancing me as much as a sou. No reasons given, no names disclosed. I haven't a centime. Not a canvas can I sell. I've fasted since yesterday morning."

"Why, 'Gene?" she inquired innocently. Her mind was occupied with the puzzle of the income which, womanlike, engrossed her entire curiosity.

"Huh," he sniffed bitterly, "because I had to. I haven't even paints with which to complete my masterpiece."

He turned, the personification of despair, to regard the painting against the wall.

"Have you no clues as to the source of the income?" she asked, her mind clinging tenaciously to that unsettled question. "Have you no relatives? No one you could ask to assist you?"

"Only slight memories dating back to early childhood—the remembrance of a servant's face. Here is the tale, Marie. A thousand times I have gone over it to myself, only to be disappointed at its meagreness. My parents must have died when I was too young to have remembered them, judging from what this attendant seems to have told me. I have that impression resisting all arguments. My recollections all centre about a gray-haired man of the confidential-servant class. He was my companion and humored my every whim. By and by, though, he left me. I was taken charge of by a charwoman, and only once visited by my infancy's mentor. My new guardian was authority for the statement that, though not appearing wealthy, this M. Petros, as she called him, was always able to obtain money as needed from M. Harjes. There is nothing more to add."