He was up bright and early the next morning, tingling with anticipation. There ought to be word from Paris before noon, and it might come earlier. He kept pretty close to the wireless operator’s office, and was particularly attentive to the spitting crackle of the instrument.
About eleven o’clock an incomprehensibly long message began to rattle out of the air. He contained himself in patience for the matter of half an hour or longer, and then, as the clatter continued without cessation, he got up and made his way to the door of the operator’s office.
“What is it? The history of England?” he demanded sarcastically.
“Message for you, Mr. Blithers. It’s a long one and I’m having a hard time picking it up. Everybody seems to be talking at once. Do you want the baseball scores, Mr. Blithers?”
“Not unless they come in cipher,” said Mr. Blithers acidly.
“Some of ’em do. Six to nothing in favor of the Giants, two to nothing—Here we are at last. I’ve picked up the Mauretania again. She’s relaying.”
Mr. Blithers sat down on the steps and looked at his watch. It would be five o’clock in Paris. He wondered if they were giving Maud her afternoon tea, and then choked up with a sudden pity for the terrified captive. It was all he could do to keep from jumping up and ordering the operator to drop everything and take a message countermanding his inhuman instructions to those asses in Paris. Tears gushed from his eyes. He brushed them away angrily and tried to convince himself that it served Maud right for being so obstinate. Still the tears came. The corners of his mouth drooped and his chin began to quiver. It was too much! The poor child was—
But just then the operator sat back with a sigh of relief, mopped his brow, and said:
“Good thing you’re a rich man, Mr. Blithers. It came collect and—”
“Never mind,” blurted Mr. Blithers. “Hand it over.”
There were four sheets of writing at some outlandish price per word, but what cared he? He wanted to get back to his stateroom and his cipher code as quickly—but his eyes almost started from his head as he took in the name at the bottom of the message. It was “Maud.”
He did not require the cipher book. A fourth reader child could have read the message without a halt. Maud had taken his request literally. He had asked her to send him a nice long message, but he did not expect her to make a four-page letter of it. She was paying him out with a vengeance!
He took the precaution to read it before handing it over to his wife, to whom it was addressed in conjunction with himself:
“Dear father and mother,” it began—(and he looked at the date line again to make sure it was from Paris)—”in reply to your esteemed favour of the nineteenth, or possibly the twentieth, I beg to inform you that I arrived safely in Paris as per schedule. Regarding the voyage, it was delightful. We had one or two rough days. The rest of the time it was perfectly heavenly. I met two or three interesting and amusing people on board and they made the time pass most agreeably. I think I wired you that I had a glimpse of a certain person. On my arrival in Paris I was met at the station by friends and taken at once to the small, exclusive hotel where they are stopping for the summer. It is so small and exclusive that I’m sure you have never heard of it. I may as well tell you that I have seen Channie,—you know who I mean,—Chandler Scoville, and he has been very nice to me. Concerning your suggestion that I reconsider the statement issued to the press, I beg to state that I don’t see any sense in taking the world into my confidence any farther than it has been taken already, if that is grammatically correct. I have also sent word to a certain person that he is not to pay any attention to the report that we are likely to change our minds in order to help out the greedy newspapers who don’t appear to know when they have had enough. I hope that the voyage will benefit both of you as much as it did me. If I felt any better than I do now I’d call for the police as a precaution. Let me suggest that you try the chicken a la Bombardier in the Ritz restaurant. I found it delicious. I daresay they serve it as nicely on your ship as they do on the Jupiter. as the management is the same. Of course one never can tell about chefs. My plans are a trifle indefinite. I may leave here at any moment. It is very hot and muggy and nearly every one is skipping off to the mountains or seashore. If I should happen to be away from Paris when you arrive don’t worry about me. I shall be all right and in safe hands. I will let you know where I am just as soon as I get settled somewhere. I must go where it is quiet and peaceful. I am so distressed over what has occurred that I don’t feel as though I could ever be seen in public again without a thick veil and a pair of goggles. I have plenty of money for immediate use, but you might deposit something to my credit at the Credit Lyonnais as I haven’t the least idea how long I shall stay over here. Miranda is well and is taking good care of me. She seldom lets me out of her sight if that is any comfort to you. I hope you will forgive the brevity of thiscommunication and believe me when I say that it is not lack of love for you both that curtails its length but the abominably hot weather. With endless love from your devoted daughter—Maud.”
The tears had dried in Mr. Blithers’ eyes but he wiped them time and again as he read this amazing letter,—this staggering exhibition of prodigality. He swore a little at first, but toward the end even that prerogative failed him. He set out in quest of his wife. Not that he expected her to say any more than he had said, but that he wanted her to see at a glance what kind of a child she had brought into the world and to forever hold her peace in future when he undertook to speak his mind.
He could not understand why his wife laughed softly to herself as she read, and he looked on in simple amazement when she deliberately undertook to count the words. She counted them in a whisper and he couldn’t stand it. He went down where the children were shrieking over a game of quoits and felt singularly peaceful and undisturbed.
It was nearly bed-time before word came from his managers in Paris. Bed-time had no meaning for him after he had worked out the message by the code. It is true that he observed a life-long custom and went to bed, but he did not do it for the purpose of going to sleep.
“Your daughter has disappeared from Paris. All efforts to locate her have failed. Friends say she left ostensibly for the Pyrenees but inquiries at stations and along line fail to reveal trace of her. Scoville still here and apparently in the dark. He is being watched. Her companion and maid left with her last night. Prince of Graustark and party left for Edelweiss today.”
So read the message from Paris.
CHAPTER XVIII
A WORD OF ENCOURAGEMENT
One usually has breakfast on the porch of the Hotel Schweizerhof at Interlaken. It is not the most fashionable hostelry in the quaint little town at the head of the Lake of Thun, but it is of an excellent character, and the rolls and honey to be had with one’s breakfast can not be surpassed in the Bernese Oberland. Straight ahead lies one of the most magnificent prospects in all the world: an unobstructed view of the snow-thatched Jungfrau, miles away, gleaming white and jagged against an azure sky, suggesting warmth instead of chill, grandeur instead of terror. Looking up the valley one might be led to say that an hour’s ramble would take him to the crest of that shining peak, and yet some men have made a life’s journey of it. Others have turned back in time.
One has a whiff of fragrant woodlands and serene hay-cocks, a breath of cool air from the Jungfrau’s snows, a sniff of delectable bacon and toast—and a zest for breakfast. And one sets about it with interest, with the breakfast of the next day as a thing to look forward to.
R. Schmidt sat facing the dejected Boske Dank. His eyes were dancing with the joy of living, and nothing better can be said of a man’s character than that he is gay and happy at breakfast-time. He who wakes up, refreshed and buoyant, and eager for the day’s adventure, is indeed a child of nature. He will never grow old and crabbed; he will grip the hand of death when the time comes with the unconquered zeal that makes the grim reaper despise himself for the advantage he takes of youth.
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“Well, here we are and in spite of that, where are we?” said Dank, who saw nothing beautiful in the smile of any early morn. “I mean to say, what have we to show for our pains? We sneak into this Godforsaken hamlet, surrounded on all sides by abominations in the shape of tourists, and at the end of twenty-four hours we discover that the fair Miss Guile has played us a shabby trick. I daresay she is laughing herself sick over the whole business.”
“Which is more than you can say for yourself, Boske,” said Robin blithely. “Brace up! All is not lost. We’ll wait here a day or two longer and then—well, I don’t know what we’ll do then.”
“She never intended to come here at all,” said Dank, filled with resentment. “It was a trick to get rid of us. She—”
“Be honest, old chap and say that it was a trick to get rid of me. Us is entirely too plural. But I haven’t lost heart. She’ll turn up yet.”
“Count Quinnox is in despair over this extraordinary whim of yours, highness. He is really ill in bed this morning. I—”
“I’ll run up and see him after breakfast,” cried the Prince, genuinely concerned. “I’m sorry he is taking it so seriously.”
“He feels that we should be at home instead of dawdling about the—”
“That reminds me. Dank,” broke in the Prince, fresh happiness in his smile; “I’ve decided that home is the place for you and the Count—and Gourou too. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself,—with some assistance from Hobbs,—and I don’t see any necessity for you three to remain with me any longer. I’ll tell the Count that you all may start for Vienna tonight. You connect with the Orient express at—”
“Are you mad, highness?” cried Dank, startled out of his dejection. “What you speak of is impossible—utterly impossible. We cannot leave you. We were delegated to escort you—”
“I understand all of that perfectly, Dank,” interrupted Robin, suddenly embarrassed, “but don’t you see how infernally awkward it will be for me if Miss Guile does appear, according to plan? She will find me body-guarded, so to speak, by three surly, scowling individuals whose presence I cannot explain to save my soul, unless I tell the truth, and I’m not yet ready to do that. Can’t you see what I mean? How am I to explain the three of you? A hawk-eyed triumvirate that camps on my trail from morn till night and refuses to budge! She’ll suspect something, old fellow, and—well, I certainly will feel more comfortable if I’m not watched for the next few days.”
“That’s the point, highness. You’ve just got to be watched for the next few days. We would never dare to show our faces in Graustark again if we allowed anything to happen to you while you are under our care. You are a sacred charge. We must return you to Graustark as—er—inviolate as when you departed. We—we couldn’t think of subjecting you to the peril of a—that is to say, it might prove fatal. Graustark, in that event, would be justified in hanging two of her foremost citizens and yours truly from gibbets designed especially for the blackest of traitors.”
“I see, Dank. If I find happiness, you are almost sure to find disgrace and death, eh? It doesn’t seem a fair division, does it? I suppose you all feel that the worst thing that can possibly happen is for me to find happiness.”
“If I were the Prince of Graustark I should first think of the happiness of my subjects. I would not offend.”
“Well put, Boske, but fortunately you are not the Prince. I sometimes wish that you were. It would relieve me of a tremendous responsibility. I am not mean enough, however, to wish a crown upon you, old fellow. You are lucky to be who and what you are. No one cares what you do, so long as you are honourable about it. With me it is different. I have to be watched day and night in order to be kept from doing what all the rest of the world looks upon as honourable.”
“I implore you, highness, to give up this mad enterprise and return to your people as—”
“There is only one person in the world who can stop me now, Dank.”
“And she isn’t likely to do so, worse luck,” was the other’s complaint.
“When she tells me to go about my business, I’ll go, but not until then. Don’t you like honey, Dank?”
“No,” said Dank savagely. “I hate it.” He leaned back in his chair and glowered upon the innocent, placid Jungfrau. The Prince ate in silence. “May I be permitted a question, highness?”
“All you like, Boske. You are my best friend. Go ahead.”
“Did you see Miss Guile after that visit to St. Cloud—and to the police station?”
“No. Evidently she was frightened out of her boots by the Hawkshaws. I don’t blame her, do you?”
“And you’ve had no word from her?”
“None. Now you are going to ask what reason I have for believing that she will come to Interlaken. Well, I can’t answer that question. I think she’ll come, that’s all.”
“Do you think she is in love with you?”
“Ah, my dear fellow, you are asking me to answer my own prayer,” said Robin, without a sign of resentment in his manner. “I’m praying that she isn’t altogether indifferent. By the way, it is my turn to ask questions. Are you still in love with her?”
“I am proud to say that you are more in my prayers that she,” said Dank, with a profound sigh. “Nothing could please me more than to be the one to save my prince from disaster, even if it meant the sacrifice of self. My only prayer is that you may be spared, sir, and I taken in your place.”
“That was a neat answer, ’pon my soul,” cried the Prince admiringly. “You—Hello, who is this approaching? It is no other than the great Gourou himself, the king of sleuths, as they say in the books I used to read. Good morning, Baron.”
The sharp-visaged little Minister of Police came up to the table and fixed an accusing eye upon his sovereign,—the literal truth, for he had the other eye closed in a protracted wink.
“I regret to inform your majesty that the enemy is upon us,” he said. “I fear that our retreat is cut off. Nothing remains save—”
“She has arrived?” cried the Prince eagerly.
“She has,” said the Baron. “Bag and baggage, and armed to the eyes. Each eye is a gatling-gun, each lip a lunette behind which lies an unconquerable legion of smiles and rows of ivory bayonets, each ear a hardy spy, and every nut-brown strand a covetous dastard on the warpath not for a scalp but for a crown. Napoleon was never so well prepared for battle as she, nor Troy so firmly fortified. Yes, highness, the foe is at our gates. We must to arms!”
“Where is she?” demanded Robin, unimpressed by this glowing panegyric.
“At this instant, sir, I fancy she is rallying her forces in the very face of a helpless mirror. In other words, she is preparing for the fray. She is dressing.”
“The devil! How dare you pry into the secret—”
“Abhorrent thought! I deduce, nothing more. Her maid loses herself in the halls while attempting to respond to the call for re-inforcements. She accosts a gentleman of whom she inquires the way. The gentleman informs her she is on the third, not the second etage, and she scurries away simpering, but not before confiding to me—the aforesaid gentleman—that her mistress will give her fits for being late with her hair, whatever that may signify. So, you see, I do not stoop to keyholes but put my wits to work instead.”
“When did she arrive?”
“She came last night via Milan.”
“From Milan?” cried Robin, astonished.
“A roundabout way, I’ll admit,” said the Baron, drily, “and tortuous in these hot days, but admirably suited to a purpose. I should say that she was bent on throwing some one off the track.”
“And yet she came!” cried the Prince, in exultation. “She wanted to come, after all, now didn’t she, Dank?” He gave the lieutenant a look of triumph.
“She is more dangerous than I thought,” said the guardsman mournfully.
“Sit down, Baron,” commanded the Prince. “I want to lay down the law to all of you. You three will have to move on to Graus
tark and leave me to look out for myself. I will not have Miss Guile—”
“No!” exclaimed the Baron, with unusual vehemence. “I expected you to propose something of the kind, and I am obliged to confess to you that we have discussed the contingency in advance. We will not leave you. That is final. You may depose us, exile us, curse us or anything you like, but still we shall remain true to the duty we owe to our country. We stay here, Prince Robin, just so long as you are content to remain.”
Robin’s face was very red. “You shame me, Baron,” he said simply. “I am sorry that I spoke as I did. You are my friends, my loyal friends, and I would have humbled you in the eyes of my people. I beg your pardon, and yours, Boske. After all, I am only a prince and a prince is dependent on the loyalty of such as you. I take back all that I said.”
The Baron laid a kindly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I was rough, highness, in my speech just now, but you will understand that I was moved to—”
“I know, Baron. It was the only way to fetch me up sharp. No apology is required. God bless you.”
“Now I have a suggestion of my own to offer,” said the Baron, taking a seat at the end of the table. “I confess that Miss Guile may not be favourably impressed by the constant attendance of three able-bodied nurses, and, as she happens to be no fool, it is reasonably certain that she will grasp the significance of our assiduity. Now I propose that the Count, Dank and myself efface ourselves as completely as possible during the rest of our enforced stay in Interlaken. I propose that we take quarters in another hotel and leave you and Hobbs to the tender mercies of the enemy. It seems to me that—”
“Good!” cried Robin. “That’s the ticket! I quite agree to that, Baron.”
Dank was prepared to object but a dark look from Gourou silenced him. “I’ve talked it over with the Count and he acquiesces,” went on the Baron. “We recognise the futility of trying to induce you to leave at once for Graustark, and we are now content to trust Providence to watch over and protect you against a foe whose motives may in time become transparent, even to the blind.”
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 126