The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories

by George Barr McCutcheon

  “Your highness sent for me?” asked he, advancing after the formal salutation. The princess exhibited genuine amazement.

  “I did, Baron Dangloss, but you must have come with the wings of an eagle. It is really not more than three minutes since I gave the order to Colonel Quinnox.” The baron smiled mysteriously, but volunteered no solution. The truth is, he was entering the castle doors as the messenger left them, but he was much too fond of effect to spoil a good situation by explanations. It was a long two miles to his office in the Tower. “Something has just happened that impels me to ask a few questions concerning Baldos, the new guard.”

  “May I first ask what has happened?” Dangloss was at a loss for the meaning of the general smile that went around.

  “It is quite personal and of no consequence. What do you know of him? My curiosity is aroused. Now, be quiet, Beverly; you are as eager to know as the rest of us.”

  “Well, your highness, I may as well confess that the man is a puzzle to me. He comes here a vagabond, but he certainly does not act like one. He admits that he is being hunted, but takes no one into his confidence. For that, he cannot be blamed.”

  “Have you any reason to suspect who he is?” asked Lorry.

  “My instructions were to refrain from questioning him,” complained Dangloss, with a pathetic look at the original plotters. “Still, I have made investigations along other lines.”

  “And who is he?” cried Beverly, eagerly.

  “I don’t know,” was the disappointing answer. “We are confronted by a queer set of circumstances. Doubtless you all know that young Prince Dantan is flying from the wrath of his half-brother, our lamented friend Gabriel. He is supposed to be in our hills with a half-starved body of followers. It seems impossible that he could have reached our northern boundaries without our outposts catching a glimpse of him at some time. The trouble is that his face is unknown to most of us, I among the others. I have been going on the presumption that Baldos is in reality Prince Dantan. But last night the belief received a severe shock.”

  “Yes?” came from several eager lips.

  “My men who are watching the Dawsbergen frontier came in last night and reported that Dantan had been seen by mountaineers no later than Sunday, three days ago. These mountaineers were in sympathy with him, and refused to tell whither he went. We only know that he was in the southern part of Graustark three days ago. Our new guard speaks many languages, but he has never been heard to use that of Dawsbergen. That fact in itself is not surprising, for, of all things, he would avoid his mother tongue. Dantan is part English by birth and wholly so by cultivation. In that he evidently finds a mate in this Baldos.”

  “Then, he really isn’t Prince Dantan?” cried Beverly, as though a cherished ideal had been shattered.

  “Not if we are to believe the tales from the south. Here is another complication, however. There is, as you know, Count Halfont, and perhaps all of you, for that matter, a pretender to the throne of Axphain, the fugitive Prince Frederic. He is described as young, good looking, a scholar and the next thing to a pauper.”

  “Baldos a mere pretender,” cried Beverly in real distress. “Never!”

  “At any rate, he is not what he pretends to be,” said the baron, with a wise smile.

  “Then, you think he may be Prince Frederic?” asked Lorry, deeply interested.

  “I am inclined to think so, although another complication has arisen. May it please your highness, I am in an amazingly tangled state of mind,” admitted the baron, passing his hand over his brow.

  “Do you mean that another mysterious prince has come to life?” asked Yetive, her eyes sparkling with interest in the revelations.

  “Early this morning a despatch came to me from the Grand Duke Michael of Rapp-Thorberg, a duchy in western Europe, informing me that the duke’s eldest son had fled from home and is known to have come to the far east, possibly to Graustark.”

  “Great Scott!” exclaimed Anguish. “It never rains but it hails, so here’s hail to the princes three.”

  “We are the Mecca for runaway royalty, it seems,” said Count Halfont.

  “Go on with the story, Baron Dangloss,” cried the princess. “It is like a book.”

  “A description of the young man accompanies the offer of a large reward for information that may lead to his return home for reconciliation. And—” here the baron paused dramatically.

  “And what?” interjected Beverly, who could not wait.

  “The description fits our friend Baldos perfectly!”

  “You don’t mean it?” exclaimed Lorry. “Then, he may be any one of the three you have mentioned?”

  “Let me tell you what the grand duke’s secretary says. I have the official notice, but left it in my desk. The runaway son of the grand duke is called Christobal. He is twenty-seven years of age, speaks English fluently, besides French and our own language. It seems that he attended an English college with Prince Dantan and some of our own young men who are still in England. Six weeks ago he disappeared from his father’s home. At the same time a dozen wild and venturous retainers left the grand duchy. The party was seen in Vienna a week later, and the young duke boldly announced that he was off to the east to help his friend Dantan in the fight for his throne. Going on the theory that Baldos is this same Christobal, we have only to provide a reason for his preferring the wilds to the comforts of our cities. In the first place, he knows there is a large reward for his apprehension and he fears—our police. In the second place, he does not care to direct the attention of Prince Dantan’s foes to himself. He missed Dantan in the hills and doubtless was lost for weeks. But the true reason for his flight is made plain in the story that was printed recently in Paris and Berlin newspapers. According to them, Christobal rebelled against his father’s right to select a wife for him. The grand duke had chosen a noble and wealthy bride, and the son had selected a beautiful girl from the lower walks of life. Father and son quarreled and neither would give an inch. Christobal would not marry his father’s choice, and the grand duke would not sanction his union with the fair plebeian.”

  Here Beverly exclaimed proudly, her face glowing: “He doesn’t look like the sort of man who could be bullied into marrying anybody if he didn’t want to.”

  “And he strikes me as the sort who would marry any one he set his heart upon having,” added the princess, with a taunting glance at Miss Calhoun.

  “Umph!” sniffed Beverly defiantly. The baron went on with his narrative, exhibiting signs of excitement.

  “To lend color to the matter, Christobal’s sweetheart, the daughter of a game-warden, was murdered the night before her lover fled. I know nothing of the circumstances attending the crime, but it is my understanding that Christobal is not suspected. It is possible that he is ignorant even now of the girl’s fate.”

  “Well, by the gods, we have a goodly lot of heroes about us,” exclaimed Lorry.

  “But, after all,” ventured the Countess Halfont, “Baldos may be none of these men.”

  “Good heavens, Aunt Yvonne, don’t suggest anything so distressing,” said Yetive. “He must be one of them.”

  “I suggest a speedy way of determining the matter,” said Anguish. “Let us send for Baldos and ask him point blank who he is. I think it is up to him to clear away the mystery.”

  “No!” cried Beverly, starting to her feet.

  “It seems to be the only way,” said Lorry.

  “But I promised him that no questions should be asked,” said Beverly, almost tearfully but quite resolutely. “Didn’t I, yet—your highness?”

  “Alas, yes!” said the princess, with a pathetic little smile of resignation, but with loyalty in the clasp of her hand.

  CHAPTER XIV

  A VISIT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

  That same afternoon Baldos, blissfully ignorant of the stir he had created in certain circles, rode out for the first time as a member of the Castle Guard. He and Haddan were detailed by Colonel Quinnox to act as private e
scort to Miss Calhoun until otherwise ordered. If Haddan thought himself wiser than Baldos in knowing that their charge was not the princess, he was very much mistaken; if he enjoyed the trick that was being played on his fellow guardsman, his enjoyment was as nothing as compared to the pleasure Baldos was deriving from the situation. The royal victoria was driven to the fortress, conveying the supposed princess and the Countess Dagmar to the home of Count Marlanx. The two guards rode bravely behind the equipage, resplendent in brilliant new uniforms. Baldos was mildly surprised and puzzled by the homage paid the young American girl. It struck him as preposterous that the entire population of Edelweiss could be in the game to deceive him.

  “Who is the princess’s companion?” he inquired of Haddan, as they left the castle grounds.

  “The Countess Dagmar, cousin to her highness. She is the wife of Mr. Anguish.”

  “I have seen her before,” said Baldos, a strange smile on his face.

  The Countess Dagmar found it difficult at first to meet the eye of the new guard, but he was so punctiliously oblivious that her courage was restored. She even went so far as to whisper in Beverly’s ear that he did not remember her face, and probably would not recognize Yetive as one of the eavesdroppers. The princess had flatly refused to accompany them on the visit to the fortress because of Baldos. Struck by a sudden impulse, Beverly called Baldos to the side of the vehicle.

  “Baldos, you behaved very nicely yesterday in exposing the duplicity of those young women,” she said.

  “I am happy to have pleased your highness,” he said steadily.

  “It may interest you to know that they ceased to be ladies-in-waiting after that exposure.”

  “Yes, your highness, it certainly is interesting,” he said, as he fell back into position beside Haddan. During the remainder of the ride he caught himself time after time gazing reflectively at the back of her proud little head, possessed of an almost uncontrollable desire to touch the soft brown hair.

  “You can’t fool that excellent young man much longer, my dear,” said the countess, recalling the look in his dark eyes. The same thought had been afflicting Beverly with its probabilities for twenty-four hours and more.

  Count Marlanx welcomed his visitors with a graciousness that awoke wonder in the minds of his staff. His marked preference for the American girl did not escape attention. Some of the bolder young officers indulged in surreptitious grimaces, and all looked with more or less compassion upon the happy-faced beauty from over the sea. Marlanx surveyed Baldos steadily and coldly, deep disapproval in his sinister eyes. He had not forgotten the encounter of the day before.

  “I see the favorite is on guard,” he said blandly. “Has he told you of the lesson in manners he enjoyed last night?” He was leading his guests toward the quarters, Baldos and Haddan following. The new guard could not help hearing the sarcastic remark.

  “You didn’t have him beaten?” cried Beverly, stopping short.

  “No, but I imagine it would have been preferable. I talked with him for half an hour,” said the general, laughing significantly.

  When the party stopped at the drinking-fountain in the center of the fort, Baldos halted near by. His face was as impassive as marble, his eyes set straight before him, his figure erect and soldierly. An occasional sarcastic remark by the Iron Count, meant for his ears, made no impression upon the deadly composure of the new guard who had had his lesson. Miss Calhoun was conscious of a vague feeling that she had served Baldos an ill-turn when she put him into this position.

  The count provided a light luncheon in his quarters after the ladies had gone over the fortress. Beverly Calhoun, with all of a woman’s indifference to things material, could not but see how poorly equipped the fort was as compared to the ones she had seen in the United States. She and the countess visited the armory, the arsenal, and the repair shops before luncheon, reserving the pleasures of the clubhouse, the officers’ quarters, and the parade-ground until afterwards. Count Marlanx’s home was in the southeast corner of the enclosure, near the gates. Several of the officers lunched with him and the young ladies. Marlanx was assiduous in his attention to Beverly Calhoun—so much so, in fact, that the countess teased her afterwards about her conquest of the old and well-worn heart. Beverly thought him extremely silly and sentimental, much preferring him in the character of the harsh, implacable martinet.

  At regular intervals she saw the straight, martial form of Baldos pass the window near which she sat. He was patrolling the narrow piazza which fronted the house. Toward the close of the rather trying luncheon she was almost unable to control the impulse to rush out and compel him to relax that imposing, machine-like stride. She hungered for a few minutes of the old-time freedom with him.

  The Iron Count was showing her some rare antique bronzes he had collected in the south. The luncheon was over and the countess had strolled off toward the bastions with the young officers, leaving Beverly alone with the host. Servants came in to clear the tables, but the count harshly ordered them to wait until the guests had departed.

  “It is the dearest thing I have seen,” said Beverly, holding a rare old candlestick at arm’s length and looking at it in as many ways as the wrist could turn. Her loose sleeves ended just below the elbows. The count’s eyes followed the graceful curves of her white forearm with an eagerness that was annoying.

  “I prize it more dearly than any other piece in my collection,” he said. “It came from Rome; it has a history which I shall try to tell you some day, and which makes it almost invaluable. A German nobleman offered me a small fortune if I would part with it.”

  “And you wouldn’t sell it?”

  “I was saving it for an occasion, your highness,” he said, his steely eyes glittering. “The glad hour has come when I can part with it for a recompense far greater than the baron’s gold.”

  “Oh, isn’t it lucky you kept it?” she cried. Then she turned her eyes away quickly, for his gaze seemed greedily endeavoring to pierce through the lace insertion covering her neck and shoulders. Outside the window the steady tramp of the tall guard went on monotonously.

  “The recompense of a sweet smile, a tender blush and the unguarded thanks of a pretty woman. The candlestick is yours, Miss Calhoun,—if you will repay me for my sacrifice by accepting it without reservation.”

  Slowly Beverly Calhoun set the candlestick down upon the table her eyes meeting his with steady disdain.

  “What a rare old jester you are, Count Marlanx,” she said without a smile. “If I thought you were in earnest I should scream with laughter. May I suggest that we join the countess? We must hurry along, you know. She and I have promised to play tennis with the princess at three o’clock.” The count’s glare of disappointment lasted but a moment. The diplomacy of egotism came to his relief, and he held back the gift for another day, but not for another woman.

  “It grieves me to have you hurry away. My afternoon is to be a dull one, unless you permit me to watch the tennis game,” he said.

  “I thought you were interested only in the game of war,” she said pointedly.

  “I stand in greater awe of a tennis ball than I do of a cannonball, if it is sent by such an arm as yours,” and he not only laid his eyes but his hand upon her bare arm. She started as if something had stung her, and a cold shiver raced over her warm flesh. His eyes for the moment held her spellbound. He was drawing the hand to his lips when a shadow darkened the French window, and a saber rattled warningly.

  Count Marlanx looked up instantly, a scowl on his face. Baldos stood at the window in an attitude of alert attention. Beverly drew her arm away spasmodically and took a step toward the window. The guard saw by her eyes that she was frightened, but, if his heart beat violently, his face was the picture of military stoniness.

  “What are you doing there?” snarled the count.

  “Did your highness call?” asked Baldos coolly.

  “She did not call, fellow,” said the count with deadly menace in his voice. “Report to
me in half an hour. You still have something to learn, I see.” Beverly was alarmed by the threat in his tones. She saw what was in store for Baldos, for she knew quite as well as Marlanx that the guard had deliberately intervened in her behalf.

  “He cannot come in half an hour,” she cried quickly. “I have something for him to do, Count Marlanx. Besides, I think I did call.” Both men stared at her.

  “My ears are excellent,” said Marlanx stiffly.

  “I fancy Baldos’s must be even better, for he heard me,” said Beverly, herself once more. The shadow of a smile crossed the face of the guard.

  “He is impertinent, insolent, your highness. You will report to me tomorrow, sir, at nine o’clock in Colonel Quinnox’s quarters. Now, go!” commanded the count.

  “Wait a minute, Baldos. We are going out, too. Will you open that window for me?” Baldos gladly took it as a command and threw open the long French window. She gave him a grateful glance as she stepped through, and he could scarcely conceal the gleam of joy that shot into his own eyes. The dark scowl on the count’s face made absolutely no impression upon him. He closed the window and followed ten paces behind the couple.

  “Your guard is a priceless treasure,” said the count grimly.

  “That’s what you said about the candlestick,” said she sweetly.

  She was disturbed by his threat to reprimand Baldos. For some time her mind had been struggling with what the count had said about “the lesson.” It grew upon her that her friend had been bullied and humiliated, perhaps in the presence of spectators. Resentment fired her curiosity into action. While the general was explaining one of the new gun-carriages to the countess, Beverly walked deliberately over to where Baldos was standing. Haddan’s knowledge of English was exceedingly limited, and he could understand but little of the rapid conversation. Standing squarely in front of Baldos, she questioned him in low tones.

  “What did he mean when he said he had given you a lesson?” she demanded. His eyes gleamed merrily.

  “He meant to alarm your highness.”