The Prince led the way up the bank, followed by the amused American, who stooped so admirably that the boy, looking back, whispered that it was “just fine.” At the top of the knoll, the Prince turned into a little shrub-lined path leading down to the banks of the pool almost directly below the rocky face of the grotto.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered to his new friend. “It ain’t very deep, if you should slip in. But you’d scare the fish away. Gee, it’s a great place to catch ’em. They’re all red, too. D’you ever see red fish?”
Truxton started. This was no place for him! The Prince had a right to poach on his own preserves, but a grown man to be caught in the act of landing the royal goldfish was not to be thought of. He hung back.
“I’m afraid I won’t have time, your Highness. A friend is waiting for me back there. He—”
“It’s right here,” pleaded the Prince. “Please stop a moment. I—I don’t know how to put the bait on the pin. I just want to catch a couple. They won’t bite unless there’s worms on the hook. I tried ’em. Look at ’em! Goodness, there’s lots of ’em. Nobody can see us here. Please, mister, fix a worm for me.”
The man sat down behind a bush and laughed joyously. The eager, appealing look in the lad’s eyes went to his heart. What was a goldfish or two? A fish has no feeling—not even a goldfish. There was no resisting the boyish eagerness.
“Why, you’re a real boy, after all. I thought being a prince might have spoiled you,” he said.
“Uncle Jack says I can always be a prince, but I’ll soon get over being a boy,” said Prince Bobby sagely. “You will fix it, won’t you?”
King nodded, conscienceless now. The Prince scurried behind a big rock and reappeared at once with a willow branch from the end of which dangled a piece of thread. A bent pin occupied the chief end in view. He unceremoniously shoved the branch into the hands of his confederate, and then produced from one of his pockets a silver cigarette box, which he gingerly opened to reveal to the gaze a conglomerate mass of angle worms and grubs.
“A fellow gets awful dirty digging for worms, doesn’t he?” he pronounced.
“I should say so,” agreed the big boy. “Whose cigarette case is this?”
“Uncle Caspar’s—I mean Count Halfont’s. He’s got another, so he won’t miss this one. I’m going to leave some worms in it when I put it back in his desk. He’ll think the fairies did it. Do you believe in fairies?”
“Certainly, Peter,” said Truxton, engaged in impaling a stubborn worm.
“My name isn’t Peter,” said the Prince coldly.
“I was thinking of Peter Pan. Ever hear of him?”
“No. Say, you mustn’t talk or you’ll scare ’em away. Is it fixed?” He took the branch and gingerly dropped the hook into the dancing pool. In less time than it requires to tell it he had a nibble, a bite and a catch. There never was a boy so excited as he when the scarlet nibbler flew into the shrubbery above; he gasped with glee. Truxton recovered the catch from the bushes and coolly detached the truculent pin.
“I’ll have ’em for dinner,” announced the Prince.
“Are you going to catch a mess?” queried the man, appalled.
“Sure,” said Bobby, casting again with a resolute splash.
“Are you not afraid they’ll get onto you if you take them to the Castle?” asked the other diplomatically. “Goldfish are a dead give-away.”
“Nobody will scold ’cept Uncle Jack, and he won’t know about it. He’s prob’ly gone away by this time.” King noticed that his lip trembled suddenly.
“Gone away?”
“Yes. He was banished this morning right after breakfast.” The announcement began with a tremor but ended with imperial firmness.
“Great Scott!” gasped the other, genuinely shocked.
“I banished him,” said the Prince ruefully. “But,” with a fine smile, “I don’t think he’ll go. He never does. See my sign up there?” He pointed to the rocks near the grotto. “I did it with Hugo’s shoe blacking.”
A placard containing the important announcement, “NO FISHING ALOUD” stared down at the poachers from a tree trunk above. There was nothing very peremptory in its appearance, but its designer was sufficiently impressed by the craftiness it contained.
“I put it up so’s people wouldn’t think anybody—not even me—would dare to fish here. Oh, look!” The second of his ruddy mess was flopping in the grass. Again Truxton thought of Mr. Hobbs, this time with anxious glances in all directions.
“Where do they think you are, your Highness?”
“Out walking with my aunt. Only she met Count Vos Engo, and while they were talking I made a sneak—I mean, I stole away.”
“Then they’ll be searching for you in all parts of the—”began Truxton, coming to his feet. “I really must be going. Please excuse me, your—”
“Oh, don’t go! I’ll not let ’em do anything to you,” said the Prince staunchly. “I like Americans better than anybody else,” he went on with deft persuasiveness. “They ain’t—aren’t afraid of anything. They’re not cowards.”
Truxton sat down at once. He could not turn tail in the face of such an exalted opinion.
“I’m not supposed to ever go out alone,” went on the Prince confidentially. “You see, they’re going to blow me up if they get a chance.”
“Blow you up?”
“Haven’t you heard about it? With dynamite bums—bombs. Yes, sir! That’s the way they do to all princes.” He was quite unconcerned. Truxton’s look of horror diminished. No doubt it was a subterfuge employed to secure princely obedience, very much as the common little boy is brought to time by mention of the ubiquitous bogie man.
“That’s too bad,” commiserated Truxton, baiting the pin once more.
“It’s old Count Marlanx. He’s going to blow me up. He hated my mother and my father, so I guess he hates me. He’s turrible, Uncle Caspar says.”
King was very thoughtful for a moment. Something vivid yet fleeting had shot through his brain—something that he tried to catch and analyse, but it was gone before he could grasp its significance. He looked with new interest upon this serene, lovable little chap, who was growing up, like all princes, in the shadow of disaster.
Suddenly the fisherman’s quick little ears caught a sound that caused him to reveal a no-uncertain agitation. He dropped his rod incontinently and crawled to the opening in the shrubbery, peering with alarmed eyes down the path along the bank.
“What is it? A dynamiter?” demanded Truxton uneasily.
“Worse’n that,” whispered his royal Highness. “It’s Aunt Loraine. Gee!” To King’s utter dismay, the Prince scuttled for the underbrush.
“Here!” he called in consternation. The Prince stopped, shamefaced on the instant. “I thought you were going to protect me.”
“I shall,” affirmed Bobby, manfully resuming his ground. “She’s coming up the path. Don’t run,” he exclaimed scornfully, as Truxton started for the rocks. “She can’t hurt you. She’s only a girl.”
“All right. I won’t run,” said the big culprit, who wished he had the power to fly.
“And there’s Saffo and Cors over there watching us, too. We’re caught. I’m sorry, mister.”
On the opposite bank of the pool stood two rigid members of the Royal Guard, intently watching the fishers. King was somewhat disturbed by the fact that their rifles were in a position to be used at an instant’s notice. He felt himself turning pale as he thought of what might have happened if he had taken to flight.
A young lady in a rajah silk gown, a flimsy panama hat tilted well over her nose, with a red feather that stood erect as if always in a state of surprise, turned the bushes and came to a stop almost at King’s elbow. He had time to note, in his confusion, that she was about shoulder-high alongside him, and that she was staring up into his face with amazed grey eyes. Afterward he was to realise that she was amazingly pretty, that her teeth were very white and even, that her eyes were the mo
st beautiful and expressive he had ever seen, that she was slender and imperious, and that there were dimples in her checks so fascinating that he could not gather sufficient strength of purpose to withdraw his gaze from them. Of course, he did not see them at the outset: she was not smiling, so how could he?
The Prince came to the rescue. “This is my Aunt Loraine, Mr.—Mr.—” he swallowed hard and looked helpless.
“King,” supplied Truxton, “Truxton King, your Highness.” Then with all the courage he could produce, he said to the beautiful lady: “I’m as guilty as he. See!” He pointed ruefully to the four goldfish, which he had strung upon wire grass and dropped into the edge of the pool.
She did not smile. Indeed, she gave him a very severe look. “How cruel!” she murmured. “Bobby, you deserve a sound spanking. You are a very naughty little boy.” She spoke rapidly in French.
“He put the bait on,” said Bobby, also in French. Here was treachery!
Truxton delivered himself of some French. “Oh, I say, your Highness, you said you’d pardon me if I were caught.”
“I can’t pardon you until you are found guilty,” said the Prince in English.
“Please put those poor little things back in the pool, Mr. King,” said the lady in perfect English.
“Gladly—with the Prince’s permission,” said King, also in English. The Prince looked glum, but interposed no imperial objection. Instead he suddenly shoved the cigarette box under the nose of his dainty relative, who at that unpropitious instant stooped over to watch King’s awkward attempt to release the fishes.
“Look at the worms,” said the Prince engagingly, opening the box with a snap.
“Oh!” cried the young lady, starting back. “Throw them away! the horned things!”
“Oh, they can’t bite,” scoffed the Prince. “See! I’m not afraid of ’em. Look at this one.” He held up a wriggler and she fled to the rock. She happened to glance at Truxton’s averted face and was conscious of a broad grin; whereupon she laughed in the quick staccato of embarrassment.
It must be confessed that King’s composure was sorely disturbed. In the first place, he had been caught in a most reprehensible act, and in the second place, he was not quite sure that the Prince could save him from ignominious expulsion under the very eyes—and perhaps direction—of this trim and attractive member of the royal household. He found himself blundering foolishly with the fishes and wondering whether she was a duchess or just a plain countess. Even a regal personage might jump at the sight of angle worms, he reflected.
He glanced up, to find her studying him, plainly perplexed.
“I just wondered in here,” he began guiltily. “The Prince captured me down there by the big tree.”
“Did you say your name is Truxton King?” she asked somewhat sceptically.
“Yes, your—yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Of New York.”
“Your father is Mr. Emerson King? Are you the brother of Adele King?”
Truxton stared. “Have you been interviewing the police?” he asked before he thought.
“The police? What have you been doing?” she cried, her eyes narrowing.
“Most everything. The police know all about me. I’m a spotted character. I thought perhaps they had told you about me.”
“I asked if you were Adele’s brother.”
“I am.”
“I’ve heard her speak of her brother Truxton. She said you were in South America.”
He stared the harder. Could he believe his ears?
She was regarding him with cool, speculative interest. “I wonder if you are he?”
“I think I am,” he said, but doubtfully. “Please pardon my amazement. Perhaps I’m dreaming. At any rate, I’m dazed.”
“We were in the convent together for two years. Now that I observe you closely, you do resemble her. We were very good friends, she and I.”
“Then you’ll intercede for me?” he urged, with a fervent glance in the direction of the wall.
She smiled joyously. He realised then and there that he had never seen such beautiful teeth, nor any creature so radiantly beautiful, for that matter.
“More than that,” she said, “I shall assist you to escape. Come!”
He followed her through the shrubbery, his heart pounding violently. The Prince, who trotted on ahead, had mentioned a Count. Was she married? Was she of the royal blood? What extraordinary fate had made her the friend of his sister? He looked back and saw the two guardsmen crossing the bridge below, their eyes still upon him.
“It’s very good of you,” he said. She glanced back at him, a quaint smile in her eyes.
“For Adele’s sake, if you please. Trespassing is a very serious offence here. How did you get in?”
“I hopped in, over the wall.”
“I’d suggest that you do not hop out again. Hopping over the walls is not looked upon with favour by the guards.”
He recalled the distressed Mr. Hobbs. “The man from Cook’s tried to restrain me,” he said in proper spirit. “He was very much upset.”
“I dare say. You are a Cook’s tourist, I see. How very interesting! Bobby, Uncle Jack is waiting to take you to see the trained dogs at the eastern gate.”
The Prince gave a whoop of joy, but instantly regained his dignity.
“I can’t go, auntie, until I’ve seen him safe outside the walls,” he said firmly. “I said I would.”
They came to the little gate and passed through, into a winding path that soon brought them to a wide, main-travelled avenue. A light broke in upon Truxton’s mind. He had it! This was the wonderful Countess Marlanx! No sooner had he come to that decision than he was forced to abandon it. The Countess’s name was Ingomede and she already had been pointed out to him.
“I suppose I shall have to recall Uncle Jack from exile,” he heard the Prince saying to the beautiful lady. Truxton decided that she was not more than twenty-two. But they married very young in these queer old countries—especially if they happened to be princes or princesses. He wanted to talk, to ask questions, to proclaim his wonder, but discreetly resolved that it was best to hold his tongue. He was by no means sure of himself.
Be that as it may, he was filled with a strange rejoicing. Here was a woman with whom he was as sure to fall in love as he was sure that the sun shone. He liked the thought of it. Now he appreciated the distinction between the Olga Platanova type and that which represented the blood of kings. There was a difference! Here was the true Patrician!
The Castle suddenly loomed up before them—grey and frowning, not more than three hundred yards away. He was possessed of a wild desire to walk straight into the grim old place and proclaim himself the feudal owner, seizing everything as his own—particularly the young woman in the rajah silk. People were strolling in the shady grounds. He felt the instant infection of happy indolence, the call to luxury. Men in gay uniforms and men in cool flannels; women in the prettiest and daintiest of frocks—all basking in the playtime of life, unmindful of the toil that fell to the Sons of Martha out in the sordid world.
“Do you think you can find your man from Cook’s?” she asked.
“Unless he has gone and jumped into the river, your—madam. In any event, I think I may safely find my way out. I shall not trouble you to go any farther. Thank you for overlooking my indiscretion. Thank you, my dear little Prince, for the happiest experience of my life. I shall never forget this hour.” He looked boldly into her eyes, and not at the Prince. “Have you ever been in New York?” he asked abruptly.
He was not at all sure whether the look she gave him was one of astonishment or resentment. At any rate, it was a quick glance, followed by the palpable suppression of words that first came to her lips, and the substitution of a very polite:
“Yes, and I love it.” He beamed. The smile that came into her eyes escaped him. If he could have seen it, his bewilderment; would have been sadly increased.
“Say!” whispered the Prince, dropping back as if to impart a gra
ve secret. “See that man over there by the fountain, Mr. King?”
“Bobby!” cried the lady sharply. “Good-bye, Mr. King. Remember me to your sister when you write. She—”
“That’s Aunt Loraine’s beau,” announced the Prince.
“That’s Count Eric Vos Engo.” Truxton’s look turned to one of interest at once. The man designated was a slight, swarthy fellow in the uniform of a colonel. He did not appear to be particularly happy at the moment.
The American observed the lady’s dainty ears. They had turned a delicate pink.
“May I ask who—” began Truxton timidly.
“She will know if you merely call me Loraine.”
“So long,” said the Prince.
They parted company at once, the Prince and the lady in the rajah silk going toward the Castle, King toward the gates, somewhat dazed and by no means sure of his senses. He came down to earth after he had marched along on air for some distance, so to speak, and found himself deciding that she was a duchess here, but Loraine at school. What a wonderful place a girl’s school must be! And his sister knew her—knew a lady of high degree!
“Hobbs!” he called, catching sight of a dejected figure in front of the chief steward’s door.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Mr. Hobbs sullenly.
“It is, Hobbs—very much me. I’ve been fishing with royalty and chatting with the nobility. Where the devil have you been?”
“I’ve been squaring it with old man Fraasch. I’m through with you, sir. No more for me, not if I know—”
“Come along, Hobbs,” said the other blithely, taking Hobbs by the arm. “The Prince sent his love to you.”
“Did he mention Cook’s?” gasped Hobbs.
“He certainly did,” lied Truxton. “He spoke of you most kindly. He wondered if you could find time to come around tomorrow.”
CHAPTER V
THE COMMITTEE OF TEN
It has been said before that Truxton King was the unsuspecting object of interest to two sets of watchers. The fact that he was under the surveillance of the government police, is not surprising when we consider the evident thoroughness of that department; but that he should be continually watched by persons of a more sinister cast suggests a mystery which can be cleared up by visiting a certain underground room, scarce two blocks from the Tower of Graustark. It goes without saying that corporeal admittance to this room was not to be obtained easily. In fact, one must belong to a certain band of individuals; and, in order to belong to that band, one must have taken a very solemn pledge of eternal secrecy and a primal oath to devote his life to certain purposes, good or evil, according to his conscience. By means of the friendly Sesame that has opened the way for us to the gentler secrets, we are permitted to enter this forbidding apartment and listen in safety to the ugly business of the Committee of Ten.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 80