A key turned suddenly in the lock, and his heart bounded with the hope that it might be some one with her surrender in response to his ultimatum. He sat upright and rubbed his swollen eyes. The door swung open, and a tall prison guard peered in upon him, a sharpeyed, low-browed fellow in rain coat and helmet. His lantern’s single unkind eye was turned menacingly toward the bed.
“What do you want?” demanded the prisoner, irritably.
Instead of answering, the guard proceeded to unlock the second or grated door, stepping inside the cell a moment later. Smothering an exclamation, Lorry jerked out his watch and then sprang to his feet, intensely excited. It was just twelve o’clock, and he remembered now that she had said a guard would come to him at that hour. Was this the man? Was the plan to be carried out?
The two men stood staring at each other for a moment or two, one in the agony of doubt and suspense, the other quizzically. A smile flitted over the face of the guard; he calmly advanced to the table, putting down his lantern. Then he drew off his rain coat and helmet and placed in the other’s hand a gray envelope. Lorry reeled and would have fallen but for the wall against which he staggered. A note from her was in his hand. He tore open the envelope and drew forth the letter. As he read he grew strangely calm and contented; a blissful repose rushed in to supplant the racking unrest of a moment before; the shadows fled and life’s light was burning brightly once more. She had written:
“I entreat you to follow instructions and go tonight. You say you will not leave Graustark until you have seen me. How rash you are to refuse liberty and life for such a trifle. But why, I ask, am I offering you this chance to escape? Is it because I do not hope to see you again? Is it not enough that I am begging, imploring you to go? I can say no more.”
He folded the brief note, written in agitation, and, after kissing it, proceeded to place it in his pocket, determined to keep it to the last hour of his life. Glancing up at a sound from the guard, he found himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver. A deep scowl overspread the face of the man as he pointed to the letter and then to the lamp. There was no mistaking his meaning. Lorry reluctantly held the note over the flame and saw it crumble away as had its predecessor. There was to be no proof of her complicity left behind. He knew it would be folly to offer a bribe to the loyal guard.
After this very significant act the guard’s face cleared, and he deposited his big revolver on the table. Stepping to the cell’s entrance he listened intently, then softly closed the heavy iron doors. Without a word he began to strip off his uniform, Lorry watching him as if fascinated. The fellow looked up impatiently and motioned for him to be quick, taking it for granted that the prisoner understood his part of the transaction. Awakened by this sharp reminder, Lorry nervously began to remove his own clothes. In five minutes his garments were scattered over the floor and he was attired in the uniform of a guard. Not a word had been spoken. The prisoner was the guard, the guard a prisoner.
“Are you not afraid this will cost you your life?” asked Lorry, first in English, then in German. The guard merely shook his head, indicating that he could not understand.
He quickly turned to the bed, seized a sheet and tore it into strips, impatiently thrusting them into the other’s hands. The first letter had foretold all this, and the prisoner knew what was expected of him. He therefore securely bound the guard’s legs and arms. With a grim smile the captive nodded his head toward the revolver, the lantern and the keys. His obliging prisoner secured them, as well as his own personal effects, and was ready to depart. According to instructions he was to go forth, locking the doors behind him, leaving the man to be discovered the next morning by surprised keepers. It struck him that there was something absurd in this part of the plan. How was this guard to explain his position with absolutely no sign of a struggle to bear him out? It was hardly plausible that a big, strong fellow could be so easily overpowered single-handed; there was something wretchedly incongruous about the—but there came a startling and effective end to all criticism.
The guard, bound as he was, suddenly turned and lunged head-foremost against the sharp bedpost. His head struck with a thud, and he rolled to the floor as if dead. Uttering an exclamation of horror, Lorry ran to his side. Blood was gushing from a long gash across his head, and he was already unconscious. Sickened by the brave sacrifice, he picked the man up and placed him on the bed.
A hasty examination proved that it was no more than a scalp wound, and that death was too remote to be feared. The guard had done his part nobly, and it was now the prisoner’s turn to act as resolutely and as unflinchingly. Sorry to leave the poor fellow in what seemed an inhuman manner, he strode into the corridor, closed and locked the doors clumsily, and began the descent of the stairs. He had been instructed to act unhesitatingly, as the slightest show of nervousness would result in discovery.
With the helmet well down over his face and the cape well up, he steadily, even noisily made his way to the next floor below. There were prisoners on this floor, while he had been the only occupant of the floor above. Straight ahead he went, flashing his lantern here and there, passing down another stairway and into the main corridor. Here he met a guard who had just come in from the outside. The man addressed him in the language of the country, and his heart almost stopped beating. How was he to answer? Mumbling something almost inaudible, he hurried on to the ground floor, trembling with fear lest the man should call to him to halt. He was relieved to find, in the end, that his progress was not to be impeded. In another moment he was boldly unlocking the door that led to the visitors’ hall. Then came the door to the warden’s office. Here he found three sleepy guards, none of whom paid any attention to him as he passed through and entered Captain Dangloss’ private room. The gruff old Captain sat at a desk, writing. The escaping man half paused as if to speak to him. A sharp cough from the Captain and a significant jerk of the head told him that there must be no delay, no words. Opening the door he stepped out into a storm so fierce and wild that he shuddered apprehensively.
“A fitting night!” he muttered, as he plunged into the driving rain, forcing his way across the court-yard toward the main gate. The little light in the gate-keeper’s window was his guide, so, blinded by the torrents, blown by the winds, he soon found himself before the final barrier. Peering through the window he saw the keeper dozing in his chair. By the light from within he selected from the bunch of keys he carried one that had a white string knotted in its ring. This was the key that was to open the big gate in case no one challenged him. In any other case he was to give the countersign, “Dangloss,” and trust fortune to pass him through without question.
Luck was with him, and, finding the great lock, he softly inserted and turned the key. The wind blew the heavy gate open violently, and it required all of his strength to keep it from banging against the wall beyond. The most difficult task that he had encountered grew from his efforts to close the gate against the blast. He was about to give up in despair when a hand was laid on his shoulder and some one hissed in his startled ear:
“Sh! Not a word!”
His legs almost went from under his body, so great was the shock and the fear. Two strong hands joined his own in the effort to pull the door into position, and he knew at once that they belonged to the man who was to meet him on the corner at the right of the prison wall. He undoubtedly had tired of the delay, and, feeling secure in the darkness of the storm, had come to meet his charge, the escaping prisoner. Their united efforts brought about the desired result, and together they left the prison behind, striking out against the storm in all its fury.
“You are late,” called the stranger in his ear.
“Not too late, am I?” he cried back, clutching the other’s arm.
“No, but we must hasten.”
“Captain Quinnox, is it you?”
“Have a care! The storm has ears and can hear names,” cautioned the other. As rapidly as possible they made their way along the black street, almost a river with its
sheet of water. Lorry had lost his bearings, and knew not whither he went, trusting to the guidance of his struggling companion. There seemed to be no end to their journey, and he was growing weak beneath the exertion and the excitement.
“How far do we go?” he cried, at last.
“But a few rods. The carriage is at the next corner.”
“Where is the carriage to take me?” he demanded.
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“Am I to see her before I go?”
“That is something I cannot answer, sir. My instructions are to place you in the carriage and ride beside the driver until our destination is reached.”
“Is it the castle?” cried the other, joyously.
“It is not the castle,” was the disappointing answer.
At that moment they came upon a great dark hulk and heard the stamping of horses’ hoofs close at hand. It was so dark they could scarcely discern the shape of the carriage, although they could touch its side with their hands.
A soldier stood in the shelter of the vehicle and opened the door for the American.
“Hurry! Get in!” exclaimed Quinnox.
“I wish to know if this is liable to get her into trouble,” demanded Lorry, pausing with one foot on the steps.
“Get in!” commanded the soldier who was holding the door, pushing him forward uneasily. He floundered into the carriage where all was dry and clean. In his hand he still carried the keys and the lantern, the slide of which he had closed before leaving the prison yard. He could not see, but he knew that the trappings of the vehicle were superior. Outside he heard the soldier, who was preparing to enter, say:
“This carriage travels on most urgent business for Her Royal Highness, captain. It is not to be stopped.”
A moment later he was inside and the door slammed. The carriage rocked as Quinnox swung up beside the driver.
“You may as well be comfortable,” said Lorry’s companion, as he sat rigid and restless. “We have a long and rough ride before us.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE SOLDIER
Off went the carriage with a dash, the rumbles of its wheels joining in the grewsome roar of the elements. For some time the two sat speechless, side by side. Outside the thunder rolled, the rain swirled and hissed, the wind howled and all the horrors of nature seemed crowded into the blackness of that thrilling night. Lorry wondered vaguely whither they were going, why he had seen no flashes of lightning, if he should ever see her again. His mind was busy with a thousand thoughts and queries.
“Where are we going?” he asked, after they had traveled half a mile or so.
“To a place of safety,” came the reply from the darkness beside him.
“Thanks,” he said, drily. “By the way, don’t you have any lightning in this part of the world? I haven’t seen a flash tonight.”
“It is very rare,” came the brief reply.
“Devilish uncommunicative,” thought Lorry.
After a moment he asked: “How far do we travel tonight?”
“A number of miles.”
“Then I’m going to take off this wet coat. It weighs a ton. Won’t you remove yours?” He jerked off the big rain coat and threw it across to the opposite seat, with the keys and the lantern. There was a moment’s hesitation on the part of his companion, and then a second wet coat followed the first. Their rain helmets were also tossed aside. “Makes a fellow feel more comfortable.”
“This has been too easy to seem like an escape,” went on Lorry, looking back reflectively over the surprises of the night. “Maybe I am dreaming. Pinch me.”
A finger and a thumb came together on the fleshy part of his arm, causing him to start, first in amazement, then in pain. He had not expected his reserved guardian to obey the command literally.
“I am awake, thanks,” he laughed, and the hand dropped from his arm.
After this there was a longer silence than at any time before. The soldier drew himself into the corner of the seat, an action which repelled further discussion, it seemed to Lorry, so he leaned back in the opposite corner and allowed his mind to wander far from the interior of that black, stuffy carriage. Where was he going? When was he to leave Graustark? Was he to see her soon?
Soon the carriage left the smooth streets of Edelweiss and he could tell, by the jolting and careening, that they were in the country, racing over a rough, rocky road. It reminded him of an overland trip he had taken in West Virginia some months before, with the fairest girl in all the world as his companion. Now he was riding in her carriage, but with a surly, untalkative soldier of the guard. The more he allowed his thoughts to revel in the American ride and its delights, the more uncontrollable became his desire to see the one who had whirled with him in “Light-horse Jerry’s” coach.
“I wish to know how soon I am to see your mistress,” he exclaimed, impulsively, sitting up and striking his companion’s arm byway of emphasis. To his surprise the hand was dashed away, and he distinctly heard the soldier gasp. “I beg your pardon!” he cried, fearing that he had given pain with his eager strength.
“You startled me I was half asleep,” stammered the other, apologetically. “Whom do you mean by my mistress?”
“Her Royal Highness, of course,” said Lorry, impatiently.
“I cannot say when you are to see the Princess,” said his companion after waiting so long that Lorry felt like kicking him.
“Well, see here, my friend, do you know why I agreed to leave that place back there? I said I wouldn’t go away from Graustark until I had seen her. If you fellows are spiriting me away—kidnapping me, as it were,—I want to tell you I won’t have it that way. I must know, right now, where we are going in this damnable storm.”
“I have orders to tell you nothing,” said the soldier, staunchly.
“Orders, eh! From whom?”
“That is my affair, sir!”
“I guess I’m about as much interested in this affair as anybody, and I insist on knowing our destination. I jumped into this thing blindly, but I’m going to see my way out of it before we go much farther. Where are we going?”
“You—you will learn that soon enough,” insisted the other.
“Am I to see her soon? That’s what I want to know.”
“You must not insist,” cried the soldier.
“Why are you so anxious to see her?” he asked, suddenly.
“Don’t be so blamed inquisitive,” cried Grenfall, angrily, impatiently. “Tell me where we are going or I’ll put a bullet into you!” Drawing his revolver he leaned over, grasped the guard by the shoulder and placed the muzzle against his breast.
“For God’s sake, be calm! You would not kill me for obeying orders! I am serving one you love. Are you mad? I shall scream if you keep pressing that horrid thing against my side.” Lorry felt him tremble, and was at once filled with compunction. How could he expect a loyal fellow to disobey orders?
“I beg your pardon a thousand times,” he cried, jamming the pistol into his pocket. “You are a brave gentleman and I am a fool. Take me where you will; I’ll go like a lamb. You’ll admit, however, that it is exasperating to be going in the dark like this.”
“It is a very good thing that it is dark,” said the soldier, quickly. “The darkness is very kind to us. No one can see us and we can see no one.”
“I should say not. I haven’t the faintest idea what you look like. Have I seen you at the castle?”
“Yes, frequently.”
“Will you tell me your name?”
“You would not know me by name.”
“Are you an officer?”
“No; I am new to the service.”
“Then I’ll see that you are promoted. I like your staunchness. How old are you?”
“I am—er—twenty-two.”
“Of the nobility?”
“My father was of noble birth.”
“Then you must be so, too. I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness. I’m a bit nervous, you know.”
“I forgive you gladly.”
“Devilish rough road, this.”
“Devilish. It is a mountain road.”
“That’s where we were, too.”
“Where who were?”
“Oh, a young lady and I, some time ago. I just happened to think of it.”
“It could not have been pleasant.”
“You never made a bigger mistake in your life.”
“Oh, she must have been pretty, then.”
“You are right this time. She is glorious.”
“Pardon me! They usually are in such adventures.”
“By Jove, you’re a clever one!”
“Does she live in America?”
“That’s none of your affair.”
“Oh!” and then there was silence between them.
“Inquisitive fool!” muttered Gren to him= self.
For some time they bumped along over the rough road, jostling against each other frequently, both enduring stoically and silently. The rain was still falling, but the thunder storm had lost its fury. The crashing in the sky had abated, the winds were not so fierce, the night was being shorn of its terrors. Still the intense, almost suffocating darkness prevailed. But for the occasional touch neither could have told that there was another person on the seat. Suddenly Lorry remembered the lantern. It was still lit with the slide closed when he threw it on the seat. Perhaps it still burned and could relieve the oppressive darkness if but for a short time. He might, at least, satisfy his curiosity and look upon the face of his companion. Leaning forward he fumbled among the traps on the opposite seat.
“I think I’ll see if the lantern is lighted. Let’s have it a little more cheerful in here,” he said. There was a sharp exclamation, and two vigorous hands grasped him by the shoulder, jerking him back unceremoniously.
“No! No! You will ruin all! There must be no light,” cried the soldier, his voice high and shrill.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 39