CHAPTER X
THE IRON COUNT
When King, in the kindness of his heart, grasped the old woman to keepher from falling to the floor, he played directly into the hands of verymaterial agencies under her control. There was nothing ghostly or evenspiritual in the incidents that followed close upon the simulatedfainting spell of the fortune-teller. It has been said before that herbony fingers closed upon his arms in a far from feeble manner. He had notime for surprise at this sudden recovery; there was only time to see afiendish grin flash into her face. The next instant something struck himin the face; then with a fierce jerk this same object tightened abouthis neck. His attempt to yell out was checked before a sound could issuefrom his lips.
It all came to him in a flash. A noose had been dropped over his head;as he was pulled backward, his startled, bulging eyes swept the ceiling.The mystery was explained, but in a manner that left him small room forsatisfaction. Above him a square opening had appeared in the ceiling;two ugly, bearded faces were leaning over the edge and strong hands weregrasping a thick rope. In a frenzy of fear and desperation he cast theold woman from him and tore violently at the rope.
They were drawing hard from above; his toes were barely touching thefloor; he was strangling. Frantically he grasped the rope, liftinghimself from the floor in the effort to loosen the noose with his freehand. A hoarse laugh broke upon his dinning ears, the leering faces drewnearer; and then, as everything went black, a heavy, yet merciful blowfell upon his head. As consciousness left him, he felt himself rushingdizzily upward, grasped by powerful hands and whisked through theopening into air so hot and stiffling that his last thought was of thefires of Hell.
Not many minutes passed before consciousness, which had been butpartially lost, returned to him. The ringing sensation remained in hishead, but he was no longer choking. The noose had been removed from hisneck; the rope itself was now serving as a bond for his hands and feet,a fact that impressed itself upon him when he tried to rise. For sometime he lay perfectly still, urging his senses into play: wonderingwhere he was and what had happened to him.
It was pitch dark and the air was hot and close. Not a sound came to histhrobbing cars. With characteristic irrepressibility he began to swearsoftly, but articulately. Proof that his profanity was mild--one mightsay genteel--came in an instant. A gruff voice, startlingly near athand, interrupted him.
"Spit it out, young feller! Swear like a man, not like a damn canarybird."
Truxton tried hard to pierce the darkness, a strange thrill passingthrough his veins. The hidden speaker was unquestionably an American.
"What the devil does all this mean?" demanded the captive. "Where am I?"
"It means business, and you're here, that's where you are," was thesarcastic answer.
"Are you an American?"
"No. I'm a Chinaman."
"Oh, come off! Answer square."
"Well, I was born in Newport." As an afterthought: "Kentucky."
"You're in a damned nice business, I'll say that for you," growledTruxton. "Who is responsible for this outrage?"
He heard the man yawn prodigiously. "Depends on what you call anoutrage."
"This is the damnedest high-handed outrage I've ever--"
"Better save your breath, young feller. You won't have it very long, sosave what you can of it."
Truxton was silent for a moment, analysing this unique remark. "You meanI am to stop breathing altogether?"
"Something like that."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Well, who does?"
"You'll find out when the boss gets good and ready."
"You are a fine American!"
"Look here, young feller, I've been polite to you, so don't get gay.I'll come over there and kick your jaw in."
"Come ahead. Anything to break the monotony."
"Didn't you get enough of the hangman's knot and the sandbag? Want more,eh? Well, if I wasn't so darned comfortable I'd come over there and giveit to you. Now don't rile me!"
"I deserve to be kicked for being such a blithering fool as to get intothis mess. Come on and kick me."
"You wanted to get a poke at the old man's eye, did ye? By thunder,that's like an American. Never satisfied to let things alone. See whatit got you into?"
"The old man's eye? What old man?"
"That's for you to find out, if you can. You've made a hell of a poorstart at it."
"You're a good-natured scoundrel"
"Thanks for them kind words."
"Well, what are you going to do with me? I don't like the air in here.It's awful. How long do I stay here?"
"Say, you're a gritty little man. I like your nerve. Too bad we ain't onthe same side. I'll tell you this: you won't be here long. How would theold girl down there put it? You're going on a long voyage. That's it.But first we'll get out of this rat hole, just as soon as them otherguys come back from the cave. You'll get fresh air purty soon. Now,don't talk any more. I'm through gossipin'!"
"How do you, an American, happen to be mixed up in a deal like this?"
"It's healthier work than makin' barrels at--I was goin' to say SingSing, but I hear they've changed the name. I prefer outdoor work."
"Fugitive, eh?"
"You might call it that. I'm wanted in seven States. The demand for meis great."
Truxton saw that he could get nothing out of the satirical rascal, sofell to speculating for himself. That he was still in the loft above thehovel was more or less clear to him. His mind, now active, ran back tothe final scene in the kitchen. The trap-door in the ceiling, evidentlya sliding arrangement, explained the mysterious disappearance of theowner of the eye; he had been whisked up through the aperture byconfederates and the trap-door closed before it could be discovered. Thesmoking kettle no longer puzzled him, now that he knew of the secretroom above the kitchen; a skilfully concealed blow-pipe could haveproduced the phenomenon. The space in which he was now lying, halfsuffocated, was doubtless a part of the cleverly designed excavation atthe back of the hovel, the lower half being the kitchen, the upper anactual gateway to the open air somewhere in the mountainside.
That he had fallen into the hands of a band of conspirators was alsoquite clear to him. Whether they were brigands or more importantoperators against the Crown, he was, of course, in no position todecide. Time would tell.
It was enough that they expected to kill him, sooner or later. This, initself, was sufficient to convince him that he was not to be held forransom, but to be disposed of for reasons best known to his captors.
Like a shot the warning of Olga Platanova flashed into his brain. Here,then, was the proof that she actually knew of the peril he was in. Butwhy should he be an object of concern to these men, whoever they were?His guard had mentioned "the old man." Good heavens, could he meanSpantz? The cold perspiration was standing on King's brow. Spantz! Herecalled the wickedness in the armourer's face. But why should Spantzwish him evil? Again intuition, encouraged by memory, supplied him witha possible, even plausible explanation.
The Anarchists! The Reds! Olga was an avowed Anarchist; she was almost aprisoner in the house of her uncle. Truxton's guard sat up suddenly andfelt for his weapon when the captive let out a bitter oath ofunderstanding and rage.
"By gad, they think I am a detective!" he added, light coming to himwith a rush.
"What's that?" snapped the other. Truxton could almost feel the other'sbody grow tense despite the space between them. "Are you a detective?Are you? By God, if you are, I'll finish you up right here. You--"
"No! They're on the wrong scent. By Jove, the laugh's on old manSpantz."
"Oho! So you _do_ know what's up, then? Spantz, eh? Well, what you'veguessed at or found out won't make much difference, my fine youngfellow. They've got you, and you'll be worse off than Danny Deever inthe mornin'! Hello! Here they come. Now we'll get out of this infernalbake-oven. Say, do you know, you've been cuddlin' up against a j'int ofwarm stove pipe for nearly an hour?
Sh!"
The glimmer of a light came bobbing up from somewhere behind Truxton; hecould see the flickering shadows on the wall. Two men crept into theroom a moment later. One of them carried a lantern; the other turnedKing's body over with his foot.
"You damned brute," grated the captive.
"Call him what you like, young feller," said his first acquaintance. "Hecan't understand a word you say. Well, do we pull out?" This to the manwith the lantern.
The roof was so low that they were compelled to stoop in moving about.Truxton saw that the three ruffians were great, brutal-faced fellows,with bared arms that denoted toil as well as spoils.
"Immediate!" said the lantern bearer. "Come; we drag him to the cave."
"Drag? Nix; we c'n carry him, pard. I'm not for draggin' him down thatpassage. Grab hold there,--you! Hey, get his feet, damn you!" The thirdman was reluctant to understand, but at last grasped the prisoner by thefeet, swearing in a language of his own. The Yankee desperado took hisshoulders, and together, with earnest grunts, they followed the manwith the lantern, Truxton knew not whither except that it was away fromthe wretched sweat-hole.
He could see that they were crowding through a low, narrow passage, theearthen sides of which reeked with moisture. Twice they paused to rest,resuming the journey after a season of cursing, finally depositing himwith scant courtesy upon the rocky floor of what proved to be a rathercommodious cave. The breath was almost jarred from his body. He had thesatisfaction of driving his two heels viciously against the person ofthe man who had held them the last ten minutes, receiving a savage kickin return.
Daylight streamed into this convenient "hole in the wall;" lying uponhis side, Truxton faced the opening that looked out upon the world. Hesaw nothing but blue sky. Near the opening, looking down as if into thevalley below, stood the tall, gaunt figure of a man, thin-shouldered andstooped. His back was to the captive, but King observed that the threemen, with two companions, who sat at the back of the cave, never removedtheir gaze from the striking figure outlined against the sky.
Many minutes passed before the watcher turned slowly to take in thealtered conditions behind him. King saw that he was old; grey-haired andcadaverous, with sharp, hawk-like features. This, then, was the "oldman," and he was not William Spantz. Unlike Spantz in every particularwas this man who eyed him so darkly, so coldly. Here was a highborn man,a man whose very manners bespoke for him years at court, a life spent inthe upper world, not among the common people. Truxton found himselfreturning the stare with an interest that brought results.
"Your name is King, I believe," came from the thin lips of the old man.The tones were as metallic as the click of steel.
"Yes. May I inquire--"
"No, you may not inquire. Put a gag in his mouth. I don't care to hearanything from him. Gag him and cut the rope from his feet. He may walkfrom now on."
Three men sprang to do his bidding.
King felt in that instant that he was looking for the first time uponthe features of the Iron Count, Marlanx the dishonoured. He lay therehelpless, speechless for many minutes, glancing at this cruel tyrant.Into his soul sank the conviction that no mercy would come from thisman, this hater of all men; justice would play no part in the final,sickening tragedy. It was enough that Marlanx suspected him of being inthe way; to be suspected was to be condemned. The whole, hellishconspiracy flashed through his brain. He closed his eyes with the horrorof it all.
Here was Marlanx on Graustark soil, conniving with cutthroats,commanding them without opposition. What could it mean except aswift-growing menace to the Crown--to the little Prince.
Marlanx was speaking. Truxton looked up, as at an executioner. The lean,cruel face of that beautiful girl's husband was not far from his own;the fiery eyes were burning into his. The Iron Count sat upon a bouldernear his feet.
"So you are the Quixote who would tilt at invisible windmills, eh? Iremember you quite well. We have met before. Perhaps you remembermeeting my eye in Dame Babba's cabin--twice, I think. You remember, Isee. Ha, ha! You were very slow not to have caught such an old man. Youwere near to it the first time, but--you missed it, eh? I thought youmight have seen my heels as I disappeared. I dare say you are wonderingwhat I intend to do with you, now that I have you. Well, I am not theman to mince words. Mr. King, you are quite young, but the good dieyoung. I am very old, you observe. I will not say that you are to dieto-night or to-morrow or any day, for I do not know. I am going to sendyou to a court. Not an ordinary court, Mr. King, but one of extremeperspicacity. I fancy you will die before long. We can spare you. I donot approve of meddlers. It seems to be quite settled that you are apolice agent. Be that as it may, I imagine our little court of lastresort will take no chances, one way or the other. A man or two, more orless, will not be counted a year from now."
The steady, cruel eyes fascinated King. He knew that he was in desperatestraits, that he had one chance in a million to escape, and yet he foundhimself held by the spell of those eyes, drinking in certain metallicmonotones as if hypnotised.
"I am glad you called again at my temporary abode, Mr. King. Americansare always welcome: the sooner they come, the sooner it's over. It mayinterest you to know that I am very partial to Americans. Were I acannibal, I could eat them with relish. If I had my way, all Americansshould be in heaven. The earth surely is not good enough nor big enoughfor them, and hell is already overcrowded. Yes," reflectively pressinghis nose with a bony forefinger, "I love the Americans dearly. I shouldenjoy a similar visit from Mr. John Tullis. Although, I may say, heseems to be choosing another way of testing my hospitality. I expect himto visit me in my humble castle before many days. I should like to havehim remain there until his dying day." There was a deep significance inhis smile. King shuddered. His gaze followed the gaunt, spidery old manas he returned to the opening for another long survey of the valleybelow. Night was falling; the sky was growing darker, and the wind wasrising. Marlanx's sharp features were not so distinguishable when hereturned to the boulder. The men in the cave had not spoken except inwhispers. They appeared to be living in abject fear of this grim oldnobleman.
"Night is coming. I must say farewell, my bold young friend. My way liesto the north. This is merely a land of promise to me. You go southward,to the city of Edelweiss. But not through the gates; oh, no! There areother ways, as you will find. If you should, by any chance, escape thejurisdiction of the court I am sending you to, I sincerely trust you mayhonour me with another visit here. I come often to the hovel in theglen. It is the only friendly house I know of in all Graustark. Some dayI may be able to recompense its beauteous mistress. My good friends,Dangloss, and Halfont, and Braze--and Tullis, whom I know only byreputation--are, as yet, unaware of my glorious return to Graustark,else they would honour me with their distinguished presence. Some day Imay invite them to dine with me. I shall enjoy seeing them eat of thehumble pie I can put before them. Good-bye, my brave Sir Galahad; I maynever see you again."
With a courtly bow he turned from the tense-muscled captive and directedhis final instructions to the men. "Take him at once to the city, but beon your guard. A single false move now means utter ruin for all of us.Our affairs go so well at present that we cannot afford to offend DameFortune. She smiles on us, my men. Take this fool to the house on theMonastery road. There you will turn him over to the others. It is forthem to drag the truth from his lips. I'd suggest, dear Mr. King, thatyou tell them all you know before they begin the dragging process. It isa very unpleasant way they have." With a curt nod to the men, he strodeout through the mouth of the cave and was gone. Dusk had settled downupon mountain and valley; a thin fog swam high in the air above. One ofthe men cut the rope that bound Truxton's feet.
"Get up," said the Newport man. "We've got to be movin'. How'd you likethe old man? Smart bug, ain't he? Say, he'll throw the hooks into themguys down in Edelweiss so hard one of these days that they won't comeout till they rot out."
Still gagged and somewhat dizzy, King was hurried off into the narrowmo
untain path, closely surrounded by the five men.
"They tell me your friend, the Cook guy, got plugged down in the Gapwhen he tried to duck this afternoon," volunteered the Yankeeunconcernedly.
Hobbs shot? King's eyes suddenly filled with tears, a great wave of pityand shame rushing to his heart. Poor Hobbs! He had led him into this; togratify a vain-glorious whim, he had done the little Englishman todeath.
The silent, cautious march down the valley, through the Gap and alongthe ridge carried them far into the night. King knew that they wereskirting the main roads, keeping to the almost hidden trails of themountaineers. They carried no light, nor did they speak to each other,except in hoarse whispers. In single file they made their way, theprisoner between them, weary, footsore and now desperate in the fullrealisation of his position. Being gagged, he could make no appeal tothe one man who might befriend him--his villainous countryman. Itoccurred to him--grim thought--that the astute Marlanx had consideredthat very probability, and had made it impossible for him to resort tothe cupidity of the hireling.
At last, when he could scarcely drag his feet after him, they came to ahalt. A consultation followed, but he could not understand a word. Thismuch he knew: they were in the hills directly above the northern gates.Two of the men went forward, moving with extreme caution. In half anhour they returned and the march was resumed.
Their next halt came sooner than he expected. The vague, black shadow ofa lightless house loomed up before them. In a twinkling he was hustledacross the road and into a door. Then down a flight of stairs, throughpitchy darkness, guided by two of the men, a whispered word of advicenow and then from the Yankee saving him from perilous stumbles. He wasjerked up sharply with a command to stand still. A light flashedsuddenly in his face, blinding him for the moment. Voices in eager,quick conversation came to his ears long before his eyes could take inthe situation.
Soon he saw that they were in a broad, bare cellar; three men in heavyblack beards were in earnest conversation with several of his captors;all were gesticulating fiercely.
His Newport companion enlightened him, between puffs of the pipe he wasstruggling with. "Here's where we say good-bye, young fellow. We turnyou over to these gents, whoever they are. I'm sort of out of it whenthey get to jabberin' among themselves. I can understand 'em when theytalk slow, but, say, did you ever hear a flock of Union Square sparrowschirp faster than them fellers is talkin' now? Nix. You go into thevillage gay with these Schwabs by the sewer line, I guess." Truxtonpricked up his ears. "The old man has had a hole chopped in the sewerhere, they tell me, and it's a snap to get into the city. Not very cleanor neat, but it gets you there. Well, so long! They're ready, I see.They don't monkey long when they've got a thing to do. I'd advise younot to be too stubborn when they get you to headquarters; it may goeasier with you. I'm not so damned bad, young feller. It's just thebusiness I'm in--and the company."
King felt a thrill of real regard for the rascal. He nodded his thanksand tried to smile. The fellow grinned and slapped him on the shoulder,unobserved by the others. In another moment his guardianship wastransferred; he was being hurried across the cellar toward an opendoorway. Down a few stone steps he was led by the bearded crew, and thenpushed through a hole in what appeared to be a heavy brick wall. Herealised at once where he was. The gurgle of running water, the odor offoul airs came up to him. It was the great sewer that ran from the hillsthrough the heart of the city, flushed continuously by a divertedmountain stream that swept down from above.
He was wading in cold water over a slippery bottom, tightly held by twomen, the third going ahead with the lantern. Always ahead loomed theblack, opaque circle which never came nearer, never grew smaller. It wasthe ever receding wall of darkness.
He did not know how long they traversed the chill sewer in this fashion.In time, however, the water got deeper; rats began to scurry along thesides of the circle or to swim frantically on in front of thedisturbers. The smells were sickening, overpowering. Only excitement,curiosity, youth--whatever you may care to term it-kept him up andgoing. The everlasting glory of youth never ends until old age hasprovided the surfeit of knowledge; the strife to see ahead, to find outwhat is to be, to know,--that is youth. Youth dies when curiosity ends.The emotion is even stronger than the dread of what may lie beyond inthe pallid sea of uncertainty.
His bones were chilled and creaking with fatigue. He was remorselesslyhungry. There was water, but he could not drink it.
At last the strange journey ended. They came to a niche in the slimywall. Up into this the men climbed, dragging him after them. The manabove was cautiously tapping on what appeared to be solid masonry. ToKing's surprise a section of the wall suddenly opened before them. Hewas seized from above by strong hands and literally jerked through thehole, his companions following. Up narrow steps, through a sour-smellingpassage and--then, into a long, dimly lighted room, in the centre ofwhich stood a long table.
He was not permitted to linger here for long, but passed on into a smallroom adjoining. Some one, speaking in English, told him to sit down. Thegag was removed from his stiff, inflamed mouth.
"Fetch him some water," said a voice that he was sure he recognised--ahigh, querulous voice.
"Hello, Spantz," articulated Truxton, turning to the black-bearded, bentfigure.
There was an instance of silence. Then Spantz spoke, with a soft laugh:"You will not know so much to-morrow, Herr King. Give him the water,man. He has much to say to us, and he cannot talk with a dry throat."
"Nor an empty stomach," added King. He drank long of the pitcher thatwas held to his lips.
"This is not the Regengetz," growled a surly voice.
"You mean, I don't eat?"
"Not at midnight, my friend."
"It seems to be an all-night joint."
"Enough," cried Spantz. "Bring him out here. The others have come."
King was pushed out into the larger room, where he was confronted by acrowd of bewhiskered men and snaky-eyed women with most intellectualnose-glasses. It required but a glance to convince him that the whiskerswere false.
For nearly an hour he was probed with questions concerning his businessin Edelweiss. Threats followed close upon his unsatisfactory answers,though they were absolutely truthful. There was no attempt made todisguise the fact that they were conspiring against the government; infact, they were rather more open than secretive. When he thought of itafterward, a chill crept over him. They would not have spoken so openlybefore him if they entertained the slightest fear that he would ever bein a position to expose them.
"We'll find a way to make you talk to-morrow, my friend. Starving is notpleasant."
"You would not starve me!" he cried.
"No. You will have the pleasure of starving yourself," said a thin-eyedfellow whom he afterward knew as Peter Brutus.
He was thrown back into the little room. To his surprise andgratification, the bonds on his wrists were removed. Afterward he was toknow that there was method in this action of his gaolers: his own utterimpotency was to be made more galling to him by the maddening knowledgethat he possessed hands and feet and lungs--and could not use them!
He found a match in his box and struck it. There was no article offurniture. The floor was bare, the walls green with age. He had afeeling that there would be rats; perhaps lizards. A search revealed thefact that his purse, his watch and his pocket-knife were missing.Another precious match showed him that there were no windows. A chimneyhole in the ceiling was, perhaps, the only means by which fresh aircould reach this dreary place.
"Well, I guess I'm here to stay," he said to himself. He sat down withhis back to the wall, despair in his soul. A pitiful, weak smile came tohim in the darkness, as he thought of the result of his endeavour to"show off" for the benefit of the heartless girl in rajah silk. "What anass I am," he groaned. "Now she will never know."
Sleep was claiming his senses. He made a pillow of his coat, commendedhimself to the charity of rats and other horrors, and stretched hiswea
ry bones upon the relentless floor.
"No one will ever know," he murmured, his last waking thought being of adear one at home.
Truxton King: A Story of Graustark Page 10