Then the storm abated; the soft drip of rain from the eaves of the car beat a monotonous tattoo in the pools below; the raw winds from the mountains blew stealthily in the wake of the tornado, picking up the waste that had been left behind only to cast it aside with a moan of derision.
Something stirred in the far end of the car. A still, small noise as of something alive that moved with the utmost wariness. A heavy, breathing body crept stealthily across the intervening space; so quietly that a mouse could have made but little less noise.
Then it stopped; there was not a sound inside the car except the deep, regular breathing of Truxton King. The girl’s respiration was so faint that one might have thought she did not breathe at all. Again the sly, cautious movement of a heavy body; the creaking of a joint or two, the sound of a creature rising from a crouching position to the upright; then the gentle rubbing of cloth, the fumbling of fingers in a stubborn pocket.
An instant later the bluish flame of a sulphur match struggled for life, growing stronger and brighter in the hand of a man who stood above the sleepers.
CHAPTER XV
THE GIRL IN THE RED CLOAK
Inside of an hour after the return of the frightened, quivering groom who had escaped from the brigands in the hills, Jack Tullis was granted permission by the war department to take a hundred picked men with him in the effort to overtake and capture the abductors of his sister. The dazed groom’s story hardly had been told to the horrified brother before he was engaged in telephoning to General Braze and Baron Dangloss. A hurried consultation followed. Other affairs that had been troubling the authorities for days were forgotten in the face of this distressing catastrophe; there was no time to be lost if the desperadoes were to be headed before they succeeded in reaching the Dawsbergen passes with their lovely captive. Once there, it would be like hunting a needle in a haystack; they could elude pursuit for days among the wild crags of upper Dawsbergen, where none but outlaws lived, and fierce beasts thrived.
Unluckily for the dearest hopes of the rescuing party, the miserable groom did not reach the city until almost noon of the day following the abduction. He had lost his way and had wandered all night in the forests. When Miss Tullis failed to return at nightfall, her brother, having in mind the mysterious disappearance of Truxton King and the flight of Countess Ingomede, was preparing to set forth in search of her. A telephone message from Ganlook, fifteen miles north of the city, came at seven o’clock, just as he was leaving the Castle. The speaker purported to be the Countess Prandeville, a very estimable chatelaine who ruled socially over the grim old village of Ganlook. She informed Tullis that his sister was with her for the night, having arrived in the afternoon with a “frightful headache.” She would look after the dear child, of whom she was very fond, and would send her down in the morning, when she would surely be herself again. Greatly relieved, Tullis gave up his plan to ride off in quest of her; he knew the amiable Countess, and felt that his sister was in good hands.
It was not until the return of the groom that he recalled the fact that the voice on the telephone was not quite like that of the Countess. He had been cleverly hoodwinked. Baron Dangloss, obtaining connection with the Prandeville household in Ganlook, at once discovered that Loraine had not been in the chateau in many days.
The fierce, cock-robin baron was sadly upset. Three prominent persons had been stolen from beneath his nose, so to speak. He was beside himself with rage and dismay. This last outrage was the climax. The old man adored the sister of Jack Tullis; he was heartbroken and crushed by the news of the catastrophe. For a while he worked as if in a daze; only the fierce spurring of Jack Tullis and Vos Engo, who believed himself to be an accepted suitor, awoke him from an unusual state of lethargy. It is even said that the baron shed tears without blowing his nose to discredit the emotion.
The city was soon to know of the fresh outrage at the hands of the bandits in the hills. Great excitement prevailed; there were many sincere lamentations, for the beautiful American girl was a great favourite—especially with those excellent persons who conducted bazaars in the main avenues. Loraine, being an American, did not hesitate to visit the shops in person: something that the native ladies never thought of doing. Hundreds of honest citizens volunteered to join in a search of the hills, but the distinction was denied them.
The war department issued official notice to all merchants that their places of business must be decorated properly against the holiday that would occur on the morrow. Shops were to be closed for two hours at midday, during the ceremonies attending the unveiling of the Yetive monument in the Plaza. The merchants might well give their time to decorating their shops; the soldiers could do all the searching and all the fighting that was necessary. Strict orders, backed by method, were issued to the effect that no one was to pass through the gates during the day, except by special permission from General Braze.
Count Vos Engo was eager to accompany the expedition to Dawsbergen in search of his wayward lady-love. Tullis, who liked the gay young nobleman despite the reputation he had managed to live down, was willing that he should be the one to lead the troops, but Colonel Quinnox flatly refused to consider it.
“Tomorrow’s celebration in the city will demand the attendance of every noble officer in the guard,” he said. “I cannot allow you to go, Count Vos Engo. Your place is here, beside the Prince. Line officers may take charge of this expedition to the hills; they will be amply able to manage the chase. I am sorry that it happens so. The Royal Guard, to a man, must ride with the Prince tomorrow.”
Captain Haas, of the dragoons, was put in charge of the relief party, much to the disgust of Vos Engo; and at two o’clock in the afternoon they were ready to ride away. The party was armed and equipped for a bitter chase. Word had been sent to Serros, the capital of Dawsbergen, asking the assistance of Prince Dantan in the effort to overtake the abductors. A detachment, it was announced in reply, was to start from Serros during the afternoon, bound for the eastern passes.
Baron Dangloss rode to the southern gate with the white-faced, suffering Tullis. “We will undoubtedly receive a communication from the rascals this afternoon or tomorrow,” he said gloomily. “They will not be slow to make a formal demand for ransom, knowing that you and your sister are possessed of unlimited wealth. When this communication arrives it may give us a clue to their whereabouts; certainly as to their methods. If it should be necessary, Tullis, to apprise you of the nature of this demand, I, myself, will ride post haste to St. Michael’s Pass, which you are bound to reach tomorrow after your circuit of the upper gaps. It is possible, you see, that an open attack on these fellows may result in her—er—well, to be frank—her murder. Damn them, they’d do it, you know. My place tomorrow is here in the city. There may be disturbances. Nothing serious, of course, but I am uneasy. There are many strangers in the city and more are coming for the holiday. The presence of the Prince at the unveiling of the statue of his mother—God bless her soul!—is a tremendous magnet. I would that you could be here tomorrow, John Tullis; at Prince Robin’s side, so to speak.”
“Poor little chap! He was terribly cut up when I told him I was going. He wanted to come. Had his little sword out, and all that. Said the celebration could be postponed or go hang, either one. Look after him closely tomorrow, Dangloss. I’d shoot myself if anything were to happen to him. Marlanx is in the air; I feel him, I give you my word, I do! I’ve been depressed for days. As sure as there’s a sun up yonder, that old scoundrel is planning something desperate. Don’t forget that we’ve already learned a few things regarding his designs.” He waited a moment before uttering his gravest fear. “Don’t give him a chance to strike at the Prince.”
“He wouldn’t dare to do that!”
“He’d dare anything, from what I’ve heard of him.”
“You hate him because—”
“Go on! Yes, I hate him because he has made her unhappy. Hello, who’s this?”
A man who had ridden up to the gates, his horse c
overed with foam, was demanding admission. The warders halted him unceremoniously as Dangloss rode forward. They found that he was one of the foremen in the employ of the railway construction company. He brought the disquieting news that another strike had been declared, that the men were ugly and determined to tear up the track already laid unless their demands were considered, and, furthermore, that there had been severe fighting between the two factions engaged on the work. He urgently implored Dangloss to send troops out to hold the rioters in check. Many of the men were demanding their pay so that they might give up their jobs and return to their own lands.
“What is your name?” demanded the harassed minister of police.
“Polson,” replied the foreman. He lied, for he was no other than John Cromer, the unsavoury husband of Anna Cromer, of the Committee of Ten.
“Come with me,” said Dangloss. “We will go to General Braze. Good-bye and good luck, Tullis.”
The little baron rode back into the city, accompanied by the shifty-eyed Cromer, while John Tullis sped off to the south, riding swiftly by the side of the stern-faced Captain Haas, an eager company of dragoons behind, a mountain guide in front.
At that very moment, Loraine Tullis was comparing notes with Truxton King in the room beneath the armourer’s shop; Count Marlanx was hiding in the trader’s inn outside the northern gates; the abductors themselves were scattered about the city, laughing triumphantly over the success of the ruse that had drawn the well-feared American away on a wild-goose chase to the distant passes of Dawsbergen. More than that: at five o’clock in the afternoon a second detachment of soldiers left the city for the scene of the riots in the construction camps, twenty miles away.
Surely the well-laid plans of the Iron Count were being skilfully carried out!
All afternoon and evening men straggled in from the hills and surrounding country, apparently loth to miss the early excitement attending the ceremonies on the following day. Sullen strikers from the camps came down, cursing the company but drinking noisy toasts to the railroad and its future. The city by night swarmed with revelling thousands; the bands were playing, the crowds were singing, and mobs were drinking and carousing in the lower end. The cold, drizzling rain that began to blow across the city at ten o’clock did little toward checking the hilarity of the revellers. Honest citizens went to bed early, leaving the streets to the strangers from the hills and the river-lands. Not one dreamed of the ugly tragedy that was drawing to a climax as he slept the sleep of the just, the secure, the conscience-free.
At three o’clock in the morning word flew from brothel to brothel, from lodging house to lodging house, in all parts of the slumbering city; a thousand men crept out into the streets after the storm, all animated by one impulse, all obeying a single fierce injunction.
They were to find and kill a tall American! They were to keep him or his companion from getting in touch with the police authorities, or with the Royal Castle, no matter what the cost!
The streets were soon alive with these alert, skulking minions. Every approach to the points of danger was guarded by desperate, heavily armed scoundrels who would not have hesitated an instant if it came to their hands to kill Truxton King, the man with all their dearest secrets in his grasp. In dark doorways lounged these apparently couchless strangers; in areaways and alleys, on doorsteps they found shelter; in the main streets and the side streets they roamed. All the time they had an eager, evil eye out for a tall American and a slender girl!
Dangloss’s lynx-eyed constabulary kept close watch over these restless, homeless strangers, constantly ordering them to disperse, or to “move on,” or to “find a bed, not a doorstep.” The commands were always obeyed; churlishly, perhaps, in many instances, but never with physical resistance.
At five o’clock, a stealthy whisper went the rounds, reaching the ear of every vagabond and cutthroat engaged in the untiring vigil. Like smoke they faded away. The silent watch was over.
The word had sped to every corner of the town that it was no longer necessary to maintain the watch for Truxton King. He was no longer in a position to give them trouble or uneasiness!
The twenty-sixth dawned bright and cool after the savage storm from the north. Brisk breezes floated down from the mountain peaks; an unreluctant sun smiled his cheeriest from his seat behind the hills, warmly awaiting the hour when he could peep above them for a look into the gala nest of humanity on the western slope. Everywhere there was activity, life, gladness and good humour.
Gaudy decorations which had been torn away by the storm were cheerfully replaced; workmen refurbished the public stands and the Royal box in the Plaza; bands paraded the avenues or gave concerts in Regengetz Circus; troops of mounted soldiers and constabulary patroled the streets. There was nothing to indicate to the municipality that the vilest conspiracy of the age—of any age—was gripping its tentacles about the city of Edelweiss, the smiling, happy city of mountain and valley. No one could have suspected guile in the laughter and badinage that masked the manner of the men who were there to spread disaster in the bunting-clad thoroughfares.
“I don’t like the looks of things,” said Baron Dangloss, time and again. His men were never so alert as today and never so deceived.
“There can’t be trouble of any sort,” mused Colonel Quinnox. “These fellows are ugly, ’tis true, but they are not prepared for a demonstration. They are unarmed. What could they do against the troops, even though they are considerably depleted?”
“Colonel, we’ll yet see the day when Graustark regrets the economy that has cut our little army to almost nothing. What have we now, all told? Three hundred men in the Royal Guard. Less than six hundred in the fortress. I have a hundred policemen. There you are. Today there are nearly two hundred soldiers off in the mountains on nasty business of one sort or another. ’Gad, if these ruffians from the railroad possessed no more than pistols they could give us a merry fight. There must be a thousand of them. I don’t like it. We’ll have trouble before the day’s over.”
“General Braze says his regulars can put down any sort of an uprising in the city,” protested Quinnox. “In case of war, you know we have the twenty thousand reserves, half of whom were regulars until two years ago.”
“Perfectly true. Quinnox, it’s your duty to take care of the Prince. You’ve done so in your family for fifteen generations. See to it that Prince Robin is well looked after today, that’s all.”
“Trust me for that, Baron,” said Quinnox with his truest smile. Even Marlanx knew that he would have to kill a Quinnox before a Graustark ruler could be reached.
By eleven o’clock the streets in the neighbourhood of the Plaza were packed with people. All along Castle Avenue, up which the Prince was to drive in the coach of State, hung the proud, adoring burghers and their families: like geese to flock, like sheep to scatter. At twelve the Castle gates were to be thrown open for the brilliant cavalcade that was to pass between these cheering rows of people. In less than a quarter of an hour afterward, the Prince and his court, the noble ladies and gentlemen of Graustark, with the distinguished visitors from other lands, would pass into the great square through Regengetz Circus.
At the corner below the crowded Castle Café, in the north side of the square, which was now patroled by brilliant dragoons, two men met and exchanged the compliments of the day. One of them had just come up on horseback. He dismounted, leaving the animal in charge of an urchin who saw a gavvo in sight. This man was young and rather dashing in appearance. The other was older and plainly a citizen of some consequence.
“Well?” said the latter impatiently, after they had passed the time of day for the benefit of the nearest on-lookers. The younger man, slapping his riding boot with his crop, led the way to the steps of a house across the sidewalk. Both had shot a swift, wary glance at one of the upper windows.
“Everything is ready. There will be no hitch,” said the horseman in low tones.
“You have seen Spantz?”
“Sh! No names
. Yes. The girl is ready.”
“And the fortress?”
“Fifty men are in the houses opposite and others will go there—later on.”
“We must keep the reserves out of the fortress. It would mean destruction if they got to the gun-rooms and the ammunition houses.”
“Is he here?” with a motion toward the upper window.
“Yes. He came disguised as an old market woman, just after daybreak.”
“Well, here’s his horse,” said the other, “but he’ll have to change his dress. It isn’t a side saddle.” The young villain laughed silently.
“Go up now to the square, Peter. Your place is there.”
If one had taken the time to observe, he might have seen that the young man wore his hat well forward, and that his face was unnaturally white. We, who suspect him of being Peter Brutus, have reason to believe that there was an ugly cut on the top of his head and that it gave him exceeding pain.
Shortly after half past eleven o’clock certain groups of men usurped the positions in front of certain buildings on the south side of the square. A score here, a half score there, others below them. They favoured the shops operated by the friends of the Committee of Ten; they were the men who were to take possession of the rifles that lay hidden behind counters and walls. Here, there, everywhere, all about the city, other instructed men were waiting for the signal that was to tell them to hustle deadly firearms from the beds of green-laden market wagons. It was all arranged with deadly precision. There could be no blunder. The Iron Count and his deputies had seen to that.
Men were stationed in the proper places to cut all telephone and telegraph wires leading out of the city. Others were designated to hold the gates against fugitives who might seek to reach the troops in the hills.
Marlanx’s instructions were plain, unmistakable. Only soldiers and policemen were to be shot; members of the royal household were already doomed, including the ministry and the nobles who rode with the royal carriage.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 94