VIII
THE SPECTRE OF THE STAR
The Gray Man stood in front of the narrow entrance. The sinister smilewhich flickered across his face was made diabolic by the cross rays fromthe lanterns carried by two peasant soldiers. As if his attendance wasan enforced and unwelcome one, the equerry of Lady Trusia, who hadfollowed in the wake of the others, advanced no further into the room,but stood with his back against the closed door.
One furtive glance cast in the direction of the cell from which Carterand Carrick had just returned convinced the former that the old fellowwas at least aware of their explorations.
When the two privates had deposited their lanterns upon a table whichseemed to emerge from the gloom under the partial illumination, Cartersurveyed his prison with a curiosity previously denied him. One glancewas sufficient. The Gray Man had come to conduct an inquisition. Whatmore fitting place, therefore, could be found to strike terror to thehearts of the guilty or weakling than the torture chamber of thecastle?
A man of keen perceptive nature is apprised of secret as well asprofessed antagonisms, through a primitive discrimination, unaided byeither word or deed, of the one holding him in enmity. Carter felt surethat with the possible exception of the equerry this visit to the cellwas not prompted by a friendly motive. They had, evidently, beenimprisoned in darkness that a sudden revelation of the devilishmachinery about them might shake their courage.
Carter's lip curled disdainfully at such cheap theatrical efforts. Heturned to the smirking face before him, which from behind the table waswatching for the signs of trepidation he had hoped to surprise. By ananswering smile as mocking as his own, he was satisfied that his rusehad failed. He shrugged his thin shoulders.
Purringly in an incomprehensible jargon, he addressed Carter to receiveno other response than a blank and puzzled stare.
He essayed French.
"So, Monsieur of the White Police prefers the more polite language ofFrance? Well, so be it."
At the mention of that secret, ubiquitous organization of Russianespionage, Carter realized that Carrick's prognostications had beencorrect. The cool insinuation made his blood boil. His answer came withthe force of a blow. "What do you mean?" he thundered.
Staggered for an instant, the Gray Man's equanimity was shaken, then,turning to speak to the two peasants, he waited until they had placedthemselves at the sides of the enraged American. Assured that he hadforestalled any possible violence to himself, he regarded the prisonerssneeringly.
"That you are Russian spies."
"We are Americans. I will prove it, too, as soon as I am out of thisplace; and that in a manner which will not be pleasant to thoseconcerned in this outrage."
"Provided you get a chance. Spies are not given much shrift hereabouts."This was said with deliberate malevolence.
"Would you dare?" challenged Carter who realized to the full what themenace implied.
"It would be but an incident, monsieur," replied his jailer in a casualmanner. "You would be numbered among the missing in the big events ofto-morrow. Enough time has been wasted on you, Monsieur of the WhitePolice," he said, as if dismissing discussion. "We must to business."
At a nod from him, the two peasant soldiers threw themselves upon thehelpless prisoners, and ruthlessly rifled their persons of allbelongings, which were placed upon the table before the Gray Man.Straining till the big veins in their arms stood out in ridges and thesweat poured from their brows, the captives were helpless against theindignities put upon them.
Carrick's shirt was torn open. The Krovitzer soldiers stood dumbfoundedat the sight of the star which hung upon the Cockney's breast. As thoughits appearance had countermanded all previous orders, they turnedpuzzled faces to their superior, who also saw the emblem.
Into those sneering eyes crept a pallid fear, while his face grew ashen.Approaching the Cockney he laid a trembling finger on the star.
"Your name?" he asked hoarsely.
"Tod Carrick," was the sullen reply.
A slight start followed this, as though the answer had matched hisanticipations.
Instantly, the training and duplicity of years reasserted themselves.The habitual mask once more settled upon his inscrutable countenance. Heturned to Carter who had been an attentive though puzzled observer ofthis by-play.
"I was surprised," he explained, "but only for an instant, to see yourcompanion wearing the badge of our most noble order. I should not havebeen as there is no moral distinction between a thief and a spy."Encouraged by his own words, he tore the medal from its resting place,while Carrick groaned impotently.
"I'll make you sweat for this," growled the Cockney.
"What authority have you for this?" asked Carter with forced calmness asthe Gray Man commenced a leisurely perusal of his private papers.Without deigning a reply, their self-constituted judge completed histask; carefully folding the various documents he had been reading, helooked up complacently.
"Authority," he replied with a rising inflection, as though the ideawere a new one. "Oh, I think I am justified in assuming it."
Carter breathed a prayer of silent thanksgiving that the Lady Trusia hadbeen no party to the indignity.
As though in response to the thought, the Lady Trusia herself walkedindignantly into the room. Going straight to the table she confrontedthe Gray Man with flashing eyes.
"Josef," she addressed him with stamping foot, "what does this mean? Whogave you permission to treat this gentleman so harshly? I am stillmistress here."
"They are Russian spies, Highness."
"Fiddlesticks," she replied with the feminine faith in the man who hadgiven her such tender care. "Anyhow," she temporized, "our PrivyCouncil, not you, shall be their judges." With charming hesitation, sheturned to make a suitable apology to Carter, when, as her eyes fellbefore his ardent gaze, they rested upon Carrick's heirloom lying on thetable.
"Can it be?" she questioned as one in a dream. "Is it yours?" she askedbreathlessly, her whole soul in her eyes and parted lips, as she turnedto Carter.
"No, Your Grace," he answered, "it is my chauffeur's."
"Yours?" she skeptically inquired of Carrick. "Where did you get it?"
"He probably stole it. He had it hidden under his shirt," suggestedJosef.
Her fine brows drew together in annoyance as she turned to look steadilyinto the crafty eyes of him she called Josef.
"You forget your place, sir. I gave you no leave to speak. Have youforgotten that I am the Duchess of Schallberg? Be silent until you arespoken to."
Josef shrugged his shoulders after he had bowed apologetically, for hesaw that the lady was no longer looking in his direction. Minutely,closely, she was studying the face of the Cockney; first red, then pale,her own countenance betrayed some inward apprehension.
"It cannot be," she said huskily as if striving to dispel some doubtthat would arise, "and yet there is no other jewel unlocated. Pleasetell me how you got this," she supplicated helplessly.
"Honestly, mem," was all the satisfaction she could elicit, for Carrickmade no distinctions between her and the servant whom he thought was heragent.
"I've no doubt of that," she answered soothingly. "Will you tell me yourname?" Her eager, expectant face held an expression of one who halffears the reply.
"Carrick," he answered with the monotony of iteration.
"Thank you," she said in relief. "Oh," she cried as she espied theirbonds for the first time, "your hands are tied. This is intolerable.Casimir," she commanded the equerry, who had been keeping as much out ofsight as possible, "undo those cords. They are cutting into the flesh.Messieurs, pardon my overzealous servants. Indeed, we have much to fearfrom strangers. Though you may mean no wrong to us, yet formalityrequires that you satisfy our Privy Council of your honesty in coming toour remote country at this particular time. Let us go at once, that youmay the speedier be relieved of surveillance.
"Josef," she said, turning to the Gray Man, "if you so desire you maypresent your foolish charges t
here."
She lifted her glance graciously to Carter.
"I have no fear for you, monsieur. You have the marks of an honorablegentleman."
Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch Page 8