Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

by William Le Queux

the Tzarina. She was inexpressiblysweet and refined, her soft beauty seeming the more perfect as she stoodthere inert in the man's strong arms.

  Again his lips met hers. Then to his boundless joy he felt that, at thesame instant she kissed him in return.

  Yet next second, as though annoyed that she should have flung discretionto the winds, she gently disengaged herself from his embrace, saying ina low, pained voice:

  "No, Hubert--I--I mean Mr Waldron--this is madness. I--we can never beanything but friends, alas! though I--"

  She broke off short, and hot tears again filled her splendid eyes.

  Then, covering her face suddenly with her hands, she burst into a fit ofsobbing.

  Hubert crossed and turned the key in the door in case Peters mightenter.

  Then, returning to her, he strove to comfort her. He implored her, withall the pleading he could summon, to reveal to him the whole story ofthe plans and the reason she had abstracted them.

  But she gravely shook her head, and still preserved a resolute silence.

  The man stood bewildered. He saw himself in a terrible quandary.Within a few hours the King might get to know, or Cataldi mightinadvertently mention the mysterious theft of the key plan.

  The Press--and more especially the scurrilous section of it on theContinent--has an ingenious way of ferreting out details regardingscandals which is gravely disconcerting to those who are trying tosuppress them.

  Of his love Hubert Waldron made no further mention. Her mild reproofheld him tongue-tied. He knew, alas! too well, the bitter truth of hersimple remark. They could never be more than friends, for she mustmarry a Prince of the blood-royal. The pride of the Royal House ofSavoy would never admit or sanction a morganatic marriage.

  For fully another quarter of an hour she remained there. He saw,however, upon her face traces of tears, and when she grew calmer heopened the door of his room, into which she passed, and there bathed hereyes with eau-de-Cologne.

  When she again emerged she was her old self, though still very pale andnervous, and just before one o'clock she drew on her long gloves and,taking up her blue, morocco hand-bag which bore the royal cipher ingold, bade him a low, half-whispered "_Addio_."

  "Not farewell," he said, bending and kissing her hand. "Keep a stoutheart, Lola. Do nothing rash. Act with great caution and discretion,and I, on my part, will do all I can to preserve silence." She shookher head despairingly.

  "That does not remove the terrible stigma upon me," she said. "It doesnot remove my guilt!" And with those words upon her white lips shepassed through the door which Hubert unlocked for her and down thestairs to the busy street; he following in silence.

  In order not to attract notice she would not allow him to call a_vettura_, but preferred to walk. Therefore, slipping out of the doorwith another whispered adieu, she was instantly lost to his sight.

  When he returned upstairs the telephone bell was ringing, and heresponded.

  He heard the detective, Pucci, speaking.

  "You missed me, signore--eh?" he said cheerily, though the voice soundedfar away. "I am at Orvieto--at the Hotel Belle Arti--eighty miles fromRome. I could not communicate with you before leaving. Can you comehere? It is most important. I cannot leave."

  "Neither can I," Waldron replied. "Why have you gone to the country?"

  "I am keeping observation upon a friend of yours, signore."

  "A friend of mine! Who?"

  "The gentleman whom you spoke with at the station in Rome last night--aforeigner."

  Waldron started. Could he mean Henn Pujalet?

  "A Frenchman?"

  "_Si, signore_. His behaviour was curious, therefore I came here withhim. I have made a discovery. Will you come here? If you leave by thetwo-eighteen from Rome--the Milan express--you can be here soon afterfive. I would return to Rome but I have no one here whom I can trust tofollow if he leaves," Pucci explained.

  Waldron felt that in the circumstances to leave Rome was impossible--andyet on further reflection he saw that if the King summoned him toaudience would it not be best to be absent from the capital and thusgain time for action? The brigadier, Pucci, was not a man ever tofollow false scents. He must have discovered something gravelymysterious. Was it possible that he had found out that the elegantFrenchman was the lover of Princess Luisa!

  He had only a few seconds to make up his mind. "Very well, Pucci. Ifyou think it necessary I will leave by the train you mention. Meet meat the station."

  "_Benissimo, signore_," answered the voice faintly dying away, as itdoes upon some trunk-telephone lines.

  Waldron tried to question him further, when the querulous voice of thefemale clerk at the Exchange declared that the time was up, and promptlycut him off without further ceremony. Telephone operators are norespecters of persons, whether one Is in Paris, Pekin, Petersburg, orPaddington.

  Swallowing a sandwich at the station buffet, and travelling withoutluggage, Hubert Waldron entered a first-class compartment of theexpress, which that afternoon was well-filled by foreigners leaving Romefor the north--the reason being that the Roman season, now over, Societywas making for Paris and London, as fast as it could. There is always aheadlong rush at the end of the season, be it in Egypt, on the Riviera,from Algeria or from any French or German watering-place. It is alwayshelter-skelter to the capitals, regardless of comfort or of expense, andthe Compagnie des Wagons-lits reaps a rich harvest always.

  The journey from Rome up the wooded valley of the winding Tiber, througha country rich in ruins of the ancient Etruscans, lay through the realheart of Italy, delightfully picturesque, yet for Hubert in his state ofmind it held no attraction. He sat in the compartment together with twoelderly Englishwomen of the quiet, _pension_ type, and a young andrather foppish German student, impatient to meet the detective, and hearfrom him the result of his observations.

  Orte, high up amid its most delightful surroundings, was passed at last,and then, after several stoppages--though the train was termed anexpress--Orvieto, situate upon the top of its steep rock was reached, aGibraltar on land, an invulnerable fortress in the days of the EtruscanLeague, and in mediaeval times a great stronghold of the Guelphs, andoften affording refuge to the Popes.

  The station lay below the town, which latter was reached by a funicularrailway through a long, dark tunnel beneath the fortress. And upon theplatform, as the train ran in, Hubert discerned a ratherinsignificant-looking man in shabby black and somewhat down at heel--aman at whom no one would cast a second glance. It was the brigadier,Pucci.

  Hubert descended and crossed towards him, but to his surprise thedetective turned away and did not appear to recognise him.

  Indeed Pucci hurried off quickly as though business had called himelsewhere, and ere the diplomat could approach he was already out of thestation.

  In a secluded corner, away from the view of other arriving passengers,the detective halted, saying with relief:

  "_Madonna mia, signore_! That was a narrow escape of being detected."

  "Why?" inquired Hubert in surprise.

  "Why, did you not see who arrived by the train with you?"

  "No," replied the Englishman. "I was not watching."

  "Her Royal Highness the Princess Luisa alighted from your train."

  "Her Highness?" he gasped utterly dumbfounded.

  "Yes; but I hope she has not seen you," Pucci remarked dubiously.

  "Then Pujalet is here--still at the hotel," said Hubert, for he at oncerealised the object of Lola's visit there.

  "_Si, signore_. Presently I will tell you what I have by the merestchance discovered," Pucci replied. "But we must be extremely wary--orthe Princess may see us. She is evidently on her way to the hotel tomeet your friend the Frenchman. We will let her go, and follow quicklyafterwards. Last night a complot was afoot--some desperate plot--But mysuspicions were aroused, and by some action of yours--I know not what--it was frustrated."

  "But what do you know, Pucci?" Hubert Wald
ron demanded breathlessly."Tell me quickly."

  "I will tell you presently--after we have ascertained the motive of thisjourney of Her Highness," replied the detective quietly. "Ah! I amglad you have come here, Signor Waldron. There is something in progresswhich is an entire mystery to me--something which I believe that youalone will be able to explain."

  "But you have said there was a plot which was frustrated last night. Ofwhat was its nature?" The detective did not reply. His head was turnedtowards the roadway, which his quick eyes were watching intently.

  "Her Highness has gone up to the hotel," he said. "Let us hasten andwatch. I will explain all later. Come--we have not time to lose. Thisfellow, Flobecq, is a very slippery customer."

  "Flobecq!" echoed Hubert Waldron, starting in amazement.

  "Yes. His name is