Truxton King: A Story of Graustark

by George Barr McCutcheon

  Produced by Rick Niles, Charlie Kirschner and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team

  "'DON'T YOU KNOW ANY BETTER THAN TO COME IN HERE?'DEMANDED THE PRINCE"]

  TRUXTON KINGA STORY _of_ GRAUSTARK

  BYGEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON

  Author of "Graustark""Beverly of Graustark"etc.

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONSBY HARRISON FISHER

  NEW YORKDODD, MEAD & COMPANY1909

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I TRUXTON KING 1 II A MEETING OF THE CABINET 23 III MANY PERSONS IN REVIEW 40 IV TRUXTON TRESPASSES 59 V THE COMMITTEE OF TEN 80 VI INGOMEDE THE BEAUTIFUL 94 VII AT THE WITCH'S HUT 114 VIII LOOKING FOR AN EYE 130 IX STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES 147 X THE IRON COUNT 161 XI UNDER THE GROUND 177 XII A NEW PRISONER ARRIVES 190 XIII A DIVINITY SHAPES 205 XIV ON THE RIVER 219 XV THE GIRL IN THE RED CLOAK 231 XVI THE MERRY VAGABOND 245 XVII THE THROWING OF THE BOMB 263XVIII TRUXTON ON PARADE 278 XIX TRUXTON EXACTS A PROMISE 295 XX BY THE WATER-GATE 312 XXI THE RETURN 329 XXII THE LAST STAND 345XXIII "YOU WILL BE MRS. KING" 357

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  "'Don't you know any better than to come in here?' demanded the Prince" (page 67) _Frontispiece_

  "'You are the only man to whom I feel sure that I can reveal myself and be quite understood'" _Facing page_ 104

  "'Bobby! Don't be foolish. How could I be in love with _him_?'" 158

  "'His Majesty appears to have--ahem--gone to sleep,' remarked the Grand Duke tartly" 366

  TRUXTON KING A STORY OF GRAUSTARK

  CHAPTER I

  TRUXTON KING

  He was a tall, rawboned, rangy young fellow with a face so tanned bywind and sun you had the impression that his skin would feel likeleather if you could affect the impertinence to test it by the sense oftouch. Not that you would like to encourage this bit of impudence aftera look into his devil-may-care eyes; but you might easily imaginesomething much stronger than brown wrapping paper and not quite sopassive as burnt clay. His clothes fit him loosely and yet weregraciously devoid of the bagginess which characterises the appearance ofextremely young men whose frames are not fully set and whose joints arestill parading through the last stages of college development. Thisfellow, you could tell by looking at him, had been out of college fromtwo to five years; you could also tell, beyond doubt or contradiction,that he had been in college for his full allotted time and had notescaped the usual number of "conditions" that dismay but do notdiscourage the happy-go-lucky undergraduate who makes two or three teamswith comparative ease, but who has a great deal of difficulty withphysics or whatever else he actually is supposed to acquire between theclose of the football season and the opening of baseball practice.

  This tall young man in the panama hat and grey flannels was TruxtonKing, embryo globe-trotter and searcher after the treasures of Romance.Somewhere up near Central Park, in one of the fashionable crossstreets, was the home of his father and his father's father before him:a home which Truxton had not seen in two years or more. It is worthy ofpassing notice, and that is all, that his father was a manufacturer;more than that, he was something of a power in the financial world. Hismother was not strictly a social queen in the great metropolis, but shewas what we might safely call one of the first "ladies in waiting."Which is quite good enough for the wife of a manufacturer; especiallywhen one records that her husband was a manufacturer of steel. It isalso a matter of no little consequence that Truxton's mother was more orless averse to the steel business as a heritage for her son. Be itunderstood, here and now, that she intended Truxton for the diplomaticservice: as far removed from sordid steel as the New York post office isfrom the Court of St. James.

  But neither Truxton's father, who wanted him to be a manufacturingCroesus, or Truxton's mother, who expected him to become a socialSolomon, appears to have taken the young man's private inclinations intoconsideration. Truxton preferred a life of adventure distinctlyseparated from steel and velvet; nor was he slow to set his esteemedparents straight in this respect. He had made up his mind to travel, tosee the world, to be a part of the big round globe on which we, asordinary individuals with no personality beyond the next block, arecontent to sit and encourage the single ambition to go to Europe atleast once, so that we may not be left out of the general conversation.

  Young Mr. King believed in Romance. He had believed in Santa Claus andthe fairies, and he grew up with an ever increasing bump of imagination,contiguous to which, strange to relate, there was a properly developedbump of industry and application. Hence, it is not surprising that hewas willing to go far afield in search of the things that seemed more orless worth while to a young gentleman who had suffered the ill-fortuneto be born in the nineteenth century instead of the seventeenth. Romanceand adventure, politely amorous but vigorously attractive, came up tohim from the seventeenth century, perhaps through the blood of someswash-buckling ancestor, and he was held enthralled by the possibilitiesthat lay hidden in some far off or even nearby corner of this hopelesslyunromantic world of the twentieth century.

  To be sure there was war, but war isn't Romance. Besides, he was tooyoung to fight against Spain; and, later on, he happened to be moreinterested in football than he was in the Japs or the Russians. The onlything left for him to do was to set forth in quest of adventure;adventure was not likely to apply to him in Fifth Avenue or at thefactory or--still, there was a certain kind of adventure analogous toBroadway, after all. He thought it over and, after trying it for a yearor two, decided that Broadway and the Tenderloin did not produce thesort of Romance he could cherish for long as a self-respecting hero, sohe put certain small temptations aside, chastened himself as well as hecould, and set out for less amiable but more productive by-ways in othersections of the globe.

  We come upon him at last--luckily for us we were not actually followinghim--after two years of wonderful but rather disillusioning adventure inmid-Asia and all Africa. He had seen the Congo and the Euphrates, theGanges and the Nile, the Yang-tse-kiang and the Yenisei; he had climbedmountains in Abyssinia, in Siam, in Thibet and Afghanistan; he had shotbig game in more than one jungle, and had been shot at by small brownmen in more than one forest, to say nothing of the little encounters hehad had in most un-Occidental towns and cities. He had seen women inMorocco and Egypt and Persia and--But it is a waste of time toenumerate. Strange to say, he was now drifting back toward thecivilisation which we are pleased to call our own, with a sense ofgenuine disappointment in his heart. He had found no sign of Romance.

  Adventure in plenty, but Romance--ah, the fairy princesses were in thestory books, after all.

  Here he was, twenty-six years old, strong and full of the fire of life,convincing himself that there was nothing for him to do but to driftback to dear old New York and talk to his father about going into theoffices; to let his mother tell him over and over again of the nicegirls she knew who did not have to be rescued from ogres and all thatsort of thing in order to settle down to domestic obsolescence; to tellhis sister and all of their mutual friends the whole truth and nothingbut the truth concerning his adventures in the wilds, and to feel thatthe friends, at least, were predestined to look upon him as a fearlessliar, nothing more.

  For twenty days he had travelled by caravan across the Persian uplands,through Herat, and Meshed and Bokhara, striking off with his guide alonetoward the Sea of Aral and the eastern shores of the Caspian, thencethrough the Ural foothills
to the old Roman highway that led down intothe sweet green valleys of a land he had thought of as nothing more thanthe creation of a hairbrained fictionist.

  Somewhere out in the shimmering east he had learned, to his honestamazement, that there was such a land as Graustark. At first he wouldnot believe. But the English bank in Meshed assured him that he wouldcome to it if he travelled long enough and far enough into the north andwest and if he were not afraid of the hardships that most men abhor. Thedying spirit of Romance flamed up in his heart; his blood grew quickagain and eager. He would not go home until he had sought out this landof fair women and sweet tradition. And so he traversed the wild anddangerous Tartar roads for days and days, like the knights ofScheherazade in the times of old, and came at last to the gates ofEdelweiss.

  Not until he sat down to a rare dinner in the historic Hotel Regengetzwas he able to realise that he was truly in that fabled, mythical landof Graustark, quaint, grim little principality in the most secret pocketof the earth's great mantle. This was the land of his dreams, the landof his fancy; he had not even dared to hope that it actually existed.

  And now, here he was, pinching himself to prove that he was awake,stretching his world-worn bones under a dainty table to which real foodwas being brought by--well, he was obliged to pinch himself again. Fromthe broad terrace after dinner he looked out into the streets of thequaint, picture-book town with its mediaeval simplicity and ruggednesscombined; his eyes tried to keep pace with the things that his fertilebrain was seeing beyond the glimmering lights and dancing windowpanes--for the whole scene danced before him with a persistent unrealitythat made him feel his own pulse in the fear that some sudden, insidiousfever had seized upon him.

  If any one had told him, six months before, that there was such a landas Graustark and that if he could but keep on travelling in a certaindirection he would come to it in time, he would have laughed that personto scorn, no matter how precise a geographer he might have been.

  Young Mr. King, notwithstanding his naturally reckless devotion to firstimpressions, was a much wiser person than when he left his New York hometwo years before. Roughing it in the wildest parts of the world hadtaught him that eagerness is the enemy of common sense. Therefore hecurbed the thrilling impulse to fare forth in search of diversion onthis first night; he conquered himself and went to bed early--and tosleep at once, if that may serve to assist you in getting an idea ofwhat time and circumstances had done for his character.

  A certain hard-earned philosophy had convinced him long ago thatadventure is quite content to wait over from day to day, but that when aman is tired and worn it isn't quite sensible to expect sleep to be putoff regardless. With a fine sense of sacrifice, therefore, he went tobed, forsaking the desire to tread the dim streets of a city by night inadvance of a more cautious survey by daylight. He had come to know thatit is best to make sure of your ground, in a measure, at least, beforetaking too much for granted--to look before you leap, so to speak. Andso, his mind tingling with visions of fair ladies and goodlyopportunities, he went to sleep--and did not get up to breakfast untilnoon the next day.

  And now it becomes my deplorable duty to divulge the fact that TruxtonKing, after two full days and nights in the city of Edelweiss, was quiteready to pass on to other fields, completely disillusionised in his ownmind, and not a little disgusted with himself for having gone to thetrouble to visit the place. To his intense chagrin, he had found thequaint old city very tiresome. True, it was a wonderful old town, richin tradition, picturesque in character, hoary with age, bulging withthe secrets of an active past; but at present, according to the welltravelled Truxton, it was a poky old place about which historians eitherhad lied gloriously or had been taken in shamelessly. In either case,Edelweiss was not what he had come to believe it would be. He hadtravelled overland for nearly a month, out of the heart of Asia, to findhimself, after all, in a graveyard of great expectations!

  He had explored Edelweiss, the capital. He had ridden about theramparts; he had taken snapshots of the fortress down the river and hadnot been molested; he had gone mule-back up the mountain to thesnowcapped monastery of St. Valentine, overtopping and overlooking thegreen valleys below; he had seen the tower in which illustriousprisoners were reported to have been held; he had ridden over the King'sRoad to Ganlook and had stood on American bridges at midnight--all thewhile wondering why he was there. Moreover, he had traversed the narrow,winding streets of the city by day and night; never, in all his travels,had he encountered a more peaceful, less spirit-stirring place orpopulace.

  Everybody was busy, and thrifty, and law abiding. He might just as wellhave gone to Prague or Nuremburg; either was as old and as quaint and asstupid as this lukewarm city in the hills.

  Where were the beautiful women he had read about and dreamed of eversince he left Teheran? On his soul, he had not seen half a dozen womenin Edelweiss who were more than passably fair to look upon. True, he hadto admit, the people he had seen were of the lower and middleclasses--the shopkeepers and the shopgirls, the hucksters and the fruitvendors. What he wanted to know was this: What had become of the royaltyand the nobility of Graustark? Where were the princes, the dukes andthe barons, to say nothing of the feminine concomitants to theseexcellent gentlemen?

  What irritated him most of all was the amazing discovery that there wasa Cook's tourist office in town and that no end of parties arrived anddeparted under his very nose, all mildly exhilarated over the fact thatthey had seen Graustark! The interpreter, with "Cook's" on his cap, wasquite the most important, if quite the least impressive personage intown. It is no wonder that this experienced globe-trotter was disgusted!

  There was a train to Vienna three times a week. He made up his mind thathe would not let the Saturday express go down without him. He had donesome emphatic sputtering because he had neglected to take the one onThursday.

  Shunning the newly discovered American club in Castle Avenue as if itwere a pest house, he lugubriously wandered the streets alone, painfullyconscious that the citizens, instead of staring at him with admiringeyes, were taking but little notice of him. Tall young Americans werequite common in Edelweiss in these days.

  One dingy little shop in the square interested him. It was directlyopposite the Royal Cafe (with American bar attached), and the contentsof its grimy little windows presented a peculiarly fascinating interestto him. Time and again, he crossed over from the Cafe garden to lookinto these windows. They were packed with weapons and firearms of suchancient design that he wondered what they could have been used for, evenin the Middle Ages. Once he ventured inside the little shop. Finding noattendant, he put aside his suddenly formed impulse to purchase a mightybroadsword. From somewhere in the rear of the building came the clangingof steel hammers, the ringing of highly tempered metals; but, althoughhe pounded vigorously with his cane, no one came forth to attend him.

  On several occasions he had seen a grim, sharp-featured old man in thedoorway of the shop, but it was not until after he had missed theThursday train that he made up his mind to accost him and to have thebroadsword at any price. With this object in view, he quickly crossedthe square and inserted his tall frame into the narrow doorway, callingout lustily for attention. So loudly did he shout that the multitude ofancient swords and guns along the walls seemed to rattle in terror atthis sudden encroachment of the present.

  "What is it?" demanded a sharp, angry voice at his elbow. He wheeled andfound himself looking into the wizened, parchment-like face of thelittle old man, whose black eyes snapped viciously. "Do you think I amdeaf?"

  "I didn't know you were here," gasped Truxton, forgetting to besurprised by the other's English. "The place looked empty. Excuse me foryelling."

  "What do you want?"

  "That broad--Say, you speak English, don't you?"

  "Certainly," snapped the old man. "Why shouldn't I? I can't afford aninterpreter. You'll find plenty of English used here in Edelweiss sincethe Americans and British came. They won't learn our language, so wemust learn
theirs."

  "You speak it quite as well as I do."

  "Better, young man. You are an American." The sarcasm was not lost onTruxton King, but he was not inclined to resent it. A twinkle had comeinto the eyes of the ancient; the deep lines about his lips seemedalmost ready to crack into a smile.

  "What's the price of that old sword you have in the window?"

  "Do you wish to purchase it?"

  "Certainly."

  "Three hundred gavvos."

  "What's that in dollars?"

  "Four hundred and twenty."

  "Whew!"

  "It is genuine, sir, and three hundred years old. Old Prince Boriscarried it. It's most rare. Ten years ago you might have had it forfifty gavvos. But," with a shrug of his thin shoulders, "the price ofantiquities has gone up materially since the Americans began to come.They don't want a thing if it is cheap."

  "I'll give you a hundred dollars for it, Mr.--er--" he looked at thesign on the open door--"Mr. Spantz."

  "Good day, sir." The old man was bowing him out of the shop. King wasamused.

  "Let's talk it over. What's the least you'll take in real money?"

  "I don't want your money. Good day."

  Truxton King felt his chin in perplexity. In all his travels he hadfound no other merchant whom he could not "beat down" two or threehundred per cent. on an article.

  "It's too much. I can't afford it," he said, disappointment in his eyes.

  "I have modern blades of my own make, sir, much cheaper and quite asgood," ventured the excellent Mr. Spantz.

  "You make 'em?" in surprise.

  The old man straightened his bent figure with sudden pride. "I amarmourer to the crown, sir. My blades are used by the nobility--not bythe army, I am happy to say. Spantz repairs the swords and guns for thearmy, but he welds only for the gentlemen at court."

  "I see. Tradition, I suppose."

  "My great-grandfather wrought blades for the princes a hundred yearsago. My son will make them after I am gone, and his son after him. I,sir, have made the wonderful blade with the golden hilt and scabbardwhich the little Prince carries on days of state. It was two years inthe making. There is no other blade so fine. It is so short that youwould laugh at it as a weapon, and yet you could bend it double. Ah,there was a splendid piece of work, sir. You should see the little toyto appreciate it. There are diamonds and rubies worth 50,000 gavvos setin the handle. Ah, it is--"

  Truxton's eyes were sparkling once more. Somehow he was amused by thesudden garrulousness of the old armourer. He held up his hand to checkthe flow of words.

  "I say, Herr Spantz, or Monsieur, perhaps, you are the first man I'vemet who has volunteered to go into rhapsodies for my benefit. I'd liketo have a good long chat with you. What do you say to a mug of thatexcellent beer over in the Cafe garden? Business seems to be a littledull. Can't you--er--lock up?"

  Spantz looked at him keenly under his bushy brows, his little black eyesfairly boring holes into King's brain, so to speak.

  "May I ask what brings you to Edelweiss?" he asked abruptly.

  "I don't mind telling you, Mr. Spantz, that I'm here because I'msomewhat of a fool. False hopes led me astray. I thought Graustark wasthe home, the genesis of Romance, and I'm more or less like that chapwe've read about, who was always in search of adventure. Somehow,Graustark hasn't come up to expectations. Up to date, this is theslowest burg I've ever seen. I'm leaving next Saturday for Vienna."

  "I see," cackled Spantz, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "You thought youcould capture wild and beautiful princesses here just as you pleased,eh? Let me tell you, young man, only one American--only one foreigner,in fact--has accomplished that miracle. Mr. Lorry came here ten yearsago and won the fairest flower Graustark ever produced-the beautifulYetive--but he was the only one. I suppose you are surprised to findGraustark a solid, prosperous, God-fearing little country, whose peopleare wise and happy and loyal. You have learned, by this time, that wehave no princesses for you to protect. It isn't as it was when Mr. Lorrycame and found Her Serene Highness in mediaeval difficulties. There is aprince on the throne to-day--you've seen him?"

  "No. I'm not looking for princes. I've seen hundreds of 'em in all partsof the world."

  "Well, you should see Prince Robin before you scoff. He's the mostwonderful little man in all the world."

  "I've heard of nothing but him, my good Mr. Spantz. He's seven years oldand he looks like his mother and he's got a jewelled sword and all thatsort of thing. I daresay he's a nice little chap. Got American blood inhim, you see."

  "Do not let any one hear you laugh about him, sir. The people worshiphim. If you laugh too publicly, you may have your hands full ofadventures in a very few minutes--and your body full of fine steelblades. We are very proud of our Prince."

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Spantz. I didn't mean _lese majeste_. I'm bored,that's all. You wouldn't blame me for being sore if you'd come as far asI have and got as little for your pains. Why, hang it all, this morningthat confounded man from Cook's had a party of twenty-two Americanschool-teachers and Bible students in the Castle grounds and I had tostand on my toes outside the walls for two hours before I could get apermit to enter. American engineers are building the new railroad;American capital controls the telephone and electric light companies;there are two American moving picture shows in Regengetz Circus and anAmerican rush hand laundry two blocks up. And you can get Bourbon whiskyanywhere. It's sickening."

  "The Americans have done much for Edelweiss, sir. We don't resent theirprogressiveness. They have given us modern improvements withoutoverthrowing ancient customs. My dear young sir, we are very oldhere--and very honest. That reminds me that I should accept your kindinvitation to the Cafe garden. If you will bear with me for just onemoment, sir." With this polite request, the old man retired to the rearof the shop and called out to some one upstairs. A woman's voiceanswered. The brief conversation which followed was in a tongue unknownto King.

  "My niece will keep shop, sir, while I am out," Spantz explained, takinghis hat from a peg behind the door. Truxton could scarcely restrain asmile as he glanced over his queer little old guest. He looked eightybut was as sprightly as a man of forty. A fine companion for a youth oftwenty-six in search of adventure!

  They paused near the door until the old man's niece appeared at the backof the shop. King's first glance at the girl was merely a casual one.His second was more or less in the nature of a stare of amazement.

  A young woman of the most astounding beauty, attired in the black andred of the Graustark middle classes, was slowly approaching from theshadowy recesses at the end of the shop. She gave him but a cursoryglance, in which no interest was apparent, and glided quietly into thelittle nook behind the counter, almost at his elbow. His heart enjoyed alively thump. Here was the first noticeably good-looking woman he hadseen in Edelweiss, and, by the powers, she was a sword-maker's niece!

  The old man looked sharply at him for an instant, and a quick littlesmile writhed in and out among the mass of wrinkles. Instead of passingdirectly out of the shop, Spantz stopped a moment to give the girl somesuddenly recalled instruction. Truxton King, you may be sure, did notprecede the old man into the street. He deliberately removed his hat andwaited most politely for age to go before youth, in the meantime blandlygazing upon the face of this amazing niece.

  Across the square, at one of the tables, he awaited his chance and aplausible excuse for questioning the old man without giving offence.Somewhere back in his impressionable brain there was growing a distincthope that this beautiful young creature with the dreamy eyes wassomething more than a mere shopgirl. It had occurred to him in that onebrief moment of contact that she had the air, the poise of a truearistocrat.

  The old man, over his huge mug of beer, was properly grateful. He waswilling to repay King for his little attention by giving him a carefulhistory of Graustark, past, present and future, from the time of Tartarrule to the time of the so-called "American invasion." ills glowingdescription of the little Prince m
ight have interested Truxton in hisLord Fauntleroy days, but just at present he was more happily engaged inspeculating on the true identify of the girl in the gun-shop. Herecalled the fact that a former royal princess of Graustark had gonesight-seeing over the world, incognita, as a Miss Guggenslocker, and hadbeen romantically snatched up by a lucky American named Lorry. What ifthis girl in the gun-shop should turn out to be a--well, he could hardlyhope for a princess; but she might be a countess.

  The old mart was rambling on. "The young Prince has lived most of hislife in Washington and London and Paris, sir. He's only seven, sir. Ofcourse, you remember the dreadful accident that made him an orphan andput him on the throne with the three 'wise men of the East' as regentsor governors. The train wreck near Brussels, sir? His mother, theglorious Princess Yetive, was killed and his father, Mr. Lorry, died thenext day from his injuries. That, sir, was a most appalling blow to thepeople of Graustark. We loved the Princess and we admired her fineAmerican husband. There never will be another pair like them, sir. Andto think of them being destroyed as they were--in the most dreadful way,sir. Their coach was demolished, you remember. I--I will not go into thedetails. You know them, of course. God alone preserved the littlePrince. He was travelling with them, on the way from London toEdelweiss. By some strange intervention of Providence he had gone withhis governess and other members of the party to the luggage van in thefore part of the train, which had stopped on a side track below thestation. The collision was from the rear, a broken rail throwing alocomotive into the Princess's coach. This providential escape of theyoung Prince preserved the unbroken line of the present royal family. Ifhe had been killed, the dynasty would have come to an end, and, I amtelling no secret, sir, when I say that a new form of government wouldhave followed."

  "What sort of government?"

  "A more modern system, sir. Perhaps socialistic. I can't say. At allevents, a new dynasty could not have been formed. The people would haverejected it. But Prince Robin was spared and, if I do say it, sir, he isthe manliest little prince in all the world. You should see him ride andfence and shoot--and he is but seven!"

  "I say, Mr. Spantz, I don't believe I've told you that your niece is amost remarkably beau--"

  "As I was saying, sir," interrupted Spantz, so pointedly that Truxtonflushed, "the little Prince is the idol of all the people. Under thepresent regency he is obliged to reside in the principality until hisfifteenth year, after which he may be permitted to travel abroad.Graustark intends to preserve him to herself if it is in her power to doso. Woe betide the man who thinks or does ill toward little PrinceRobin."

  King was suddenly conscious of a strange intentness of gaze on the oldman's part. A peculiar, indescribable chill swept over him; he had adistinct, vivid impression that some subtle power was exercising itselfupon him--a power that, for the briefest instant, held him in a grip ofiron. What it was, he could not have told; it passed almost immediately.Something in the old man's eyes, perhaps--or was it something in thequeer smile that flickered about his lips?

  "My dear Mr. Spantz," he hastened to say, as if a defence werenecessary, "please don't get it into your head that I'm thinking ill ofthe Prince. I daresay he's a fine little chap and I'm sorryhe's--er--lost his parents."

  Spantz laughed, a soft, mirthless gurgle that caused Truxton to wonderwhy he had made the effort at all. "I imagine His Serene Highness haslittle to fear from any American," he said quietly. "He has been taughtto love and respect the men of his father's land. He loves America quiteas dearly as he loves Graustark." Despite the seeming sincerity of theremark, Truxton was vaguely conscious that a peculiar harshness hadcrept into the other's voice. He glanced sharply at the old man's face.For the first time he noticed something sinister--yes, evil--in theleathery countenance; a stealthiness in the hard smile that seemed totransform it at once into a pronounced leer. Like a flash there dartedinto the American's active brain a conviction that there could be nocommon relationship between this flinty old man and the delicate,refined girl he had seen in the shop. Now he recalled the fact that herdark eyes had a look of sadness and dejection in their depths, and thather face was peculiarly white and unsmiling.

  Spantz was eyeing him narrowly. "You do not appear interested in ourroyal family," he ventured coldly.

  Truxton hastened to assure him that he was keenly interested. Especiallyso, now that I appreciate that the little Prince is the last of hisrace."

  "There are three regents, sir, in charge of the affairs of state--CountHalfont, the Duke of Perse and Baron Jasto Dangloss, who is minister ofpolice. Count Halfont is a granduncle of the Prince, by marriage. TheDuke of Perse is the father of the unhappy Countess Ingomede, the youngand beautiful wife of the exiled "Iron Count" Marlanx. No doubt you'veheard of him."

  "I've read something about him. Sort of a gay old bounder, wasn't he?Seems to me I recall the stories that were printed about him a few yearsago. I remember that he was banished from the principality and hisestates seized by the Crown."

  "Quite true, sir. He was banished in 1901 and now resides on hisestates in Austria. Three years ago, in Buda Pesth, he was married toIngomede, the daughter of the Duke. Count Marlanx has great influence atthe Austrian court. Despite the fact that he is a despised anddiscredited man in his own country, he still is a power among peoplehigh in the government of more than one empire. The Duke of Perserealised this when he compelled his daughter to accept him as herhusband. The fair Ingomede is less than twenty-five years of age; theIron Count is fully sixty-five."

  "She ought to be rescued," was King's only comment, but there was nomistaking the gleam of interest in his steady grey eyes.

  "Rescued?" repeated the old man, with a broad grin. "And why? She ismistress of one of the finest old castles in Austria, Schloss Marlanx,and she is quite beautiful enough to have lovers by the score when theCount grows a little blinder and less jealous. She is in Edelweiss atpresent, visiting her father. The Count never comes here."

  "I'd like to see her if she's really beautiful. I've seen but one prettywoman in this whole blamed town--your niece, Herr Spantz. I've looked'em over pretty carefully, too. She is exceedingly attract--"

  "Pardon me, sir, but it is not the custom in Graustark to discuss ourwomen in the public drinking places." King felt as if he had received aslap in the face. He turned a fiery red under his tan and mumbled somesort of an apology. "The Countess is a public personage, however, and wemay speak of her," went on the old man quickly, as the American, in hisconfusion, called a waiter to replenish the tankards. The steely glitterthat leaped into the armourer's eyes at this second reference to hisniece disappeared as quickly as it came; somehow it left behind theimpression that he knew how to wield the deadly blades he wrought.

  "I'd like to hear more about her," murmured Mr. King. "Anything to passthe time away, Mr. Spantz. As I said before, I journeyed far to reachthis land of fair women and if there's one to be seen, I'm properlyeager to jump at the chance. I've been here two days and I've seennothing that could start up the faintest flutter around my heart. I'msorry to say, my good friend, that the women I've seen in the streets ofEdelweiss are not beauties. I won't say that they'd stop a clock, butthey'd cause it to lose two or three hours a day, all right enough."

  "You will not find the beautiful women of Edelweiss in the streets,sir."

  "Don't they ever go out shopping?"

  "Hardly. The merchants, if you will but notice, carry their wares to thehouses of the noble and the rich. Graustark ladies of quality would nomore think of setting foot in a shop or bazaar than they would think ofentering a third class carriage. Believe me, there are many beautifulwomen in the homes along Castle Avenue. Noblemen come hundreds of milesto pay court to them."

  "Just the same, I'm disgusted with the place. It's not what it's crackedup to be. Saturday will see me on my way."

  "To-morrow the garrison at the fortress marches in review before thePrince. If you should happen to be on the avenue near the Castle gate attwelve o'clock, you will see the bea
uty and chivalry of Graustark. Thesoldiers are not the only ones who are on parade." There was anunmistakable sneer in his tone.

  "You don't care much for society, I'd say," observed Truxton, with asmile.

  Spantz's eyes flamed for an instant and then subtly resumed their mostingratiating twinkle. "We cannot all be peacocks," he said quietly. "Youwill see the Prince, his court and all the distinguished men of the cityand the army. You will also see that the man who rides beside thePrince's carriage wheel is an American, while Graustark nobles take lessexalted places."

  "An American, eh?"

  "Yes. Have you not heard of John Tullis, the Prince's friend?"

  "Another seven-year-old?"

  "Not at all. A grown man, sir. He, your countryman, is the real powerbehind our throne. On his deathbed, the Prince's father placed his sonin this American's charge and begged him to stand by him through thickand thin until the lad is able to take care of himself. As if there werenot loyal men in Graustark who might have done as much for theirPrince!"

  King looked interested. "I see. The people, no doubt, resent thisespionage. Is that it?"

  Spantz gave him a withering look, as much as to say that he was a foolto ask such a question in a place so public. Without replying, he got tohis feet and made ready to leave the little garden.

  "I must return. I have been away too long. Thank you, sir, for yourkindness to an old man. Good day, sir, and--"

  "Hold on! I think I'll walk over with you and have another look at thatbroadsword. I'm--"

  "To-morrow, sir. It is past time to close the shop for to-day. Cometo-morrow. Good day."

  He was crossing the sidewalk nimbly before King could offer a word ofremonstrance. With a disappointed sigh, the American sank back in hischair, and watched his odd companion scurry across the square. Suddenlyhe became conscious of a disquieting feeling that some one was lookingat him intently from behind. He turned in his chair and found himselfmeeting the gaze of a ferocious looking, military appearing little manat a table near by. To his surprise, the little man's fierce staremaintained its peculiarly personal intentness until he, himself, wascompelled to withdraw his own gaze in some little confusion anddispleasure. His waiter appeared at his elbow with the change.

  "Who the devil is that old man at the table there?" demanded young Mr.King loudly.

  The waiter assumed a look of extreme insolence. "That is Baron Dangloss,Minister of Police. Anything more, sir?"

  "Yes. What's he looking so hard at me for? Does he think I'm apickpocket?"

  "You know as much as I, sir," was all that the waiter said in reply.King pocketed the coin he had intended for the fellow, and deliberatelyleft the place. He could not put off the feeling, however, that theintense stare of Baron Dangloss, the watch-dog of the land, followed himuntil the corner of the wall intervened. The now incensed Americanglanced involuntarily across the square in the direction of Spantz'sshop. He saw three mounted soldiers ride up to the curb and hail thearmourer as he started to close his doors. As he sauntered across thelittle square his gaze suddenly shifted to a second-story window abovethe gun-shop.

  The interesting young woman had cautiously pushed open one of theshutters and was peering down upon the trio of red-coated guardsmen.Almost at the same instant her quick, eager gaze fell upon the tallAmerican, now quite close to the horsemen. He saw her dark eyes expandas if with surprise. The next instant he caught his breath and almoststopped in his tracks.

  A shy, impulsive smile played about her red lips for a second, lightingup the delicate face with a radiance that amazed him. Then the shutterwas closed gently, quickly. His first feeling of elation was followedinstantly by the disquieting impression that it was a mocking smile ofamusement and not one of inviting friendliness. He felt his ears burn ashe abruptly turned off to the right, for, somehow, he knew that she waspeeping at him through the blinds and that something about his tall,rangy figure was appealing to her sense of the ridiculous.

  You will see at once that Truxton King, imaginative chap that he was,had pounced upon this slim, attractive young woman as the only plausibleheroine for his prospective romance, and, as such, she could not beguilty of forwardness or lack or dignity. Besides, first impressions arealways good ones: she had struck him at the outset as being a girl ofrare delicacy and refinement.

  In the meantime, Baron Dangloss was watching him covertly from the edgeof the Cafe garden across the square.