Princess Maritza

by Percy Brebner

  “Now, Stefan, can we find the men we want?” Ellerey asked.

  “A dozen of them?” queried the soldier, thoughtfully. “Twelve trusty comrades? It's a large order in a world where it's safest to trust nobody.”

  “There is adventure, there is good pay, two attractions to the soldier of fortune.”

  “Yes, Captain; but the soldier of fortune in Sturatzberg is a scurvy sort of rascal. He's not over fond of his trade when there's any danger in it. But I'll sound one or two I know of, and you can see what you think of them. And mark this, Captain, don't pay them too much until they've earned it. A few coins to oil their courage is enough to begin with.”

  The choosing of the men became Stefan's work, but only half a dozen had been determined on when Ellerey received an unexpected letter from Sir Charles Martin.

  It was a pleasant letter of friendship, such a letter as brings forcibly to the senses of the mind the sunlight and shadow dappling an English lane, and the familiar sounds and refreshing fragrances which linger about an English home. Toward the end Sir Charles turned to a painful subject, but wrote hopefully. “Let me urge you,” he said, “to return home. I am convinced that the time has come for you to begin to slowly prove that you are innocent. While the affair was fresh in people's minds you were at a disadvantage, but that time is past. One thing I may tell you. A person very highly placed has expressed his complete belief in you. Come home, Desmond.”

  Ellerey was musing over this letter and the remembrance it brought with it, when Stefan entered. “A gentleman to see you, Captain.”

  Ellerey rose hastily. The one or two brother officers who visited him stood on no such ceremony as this. He bowed in silence as Lord Cloverton came in. Neither of them spoke until Stefan had closed the door.

  “You will pardon the intrusion, Captain Ellerey.”

  “I am honored, my lord,” said Ellerey as he placed a chair for his visitor.

  “I am still interested in you, you see,” said the Ambassador, “but have not considered it wise to draw attention to ourselves at Court. A man in my position labors under a disadvantage of never being supposed to speak a word that has not weighty matter behind it. Some people will find a mystery in my simple utterance of 'Good-evening.' You and I are both Englishmen, and to be seen often in intimate conversation would start a small army of rumors on the march.”

  Ellerey bowed. He intended to let the Ambassador lead the conversation.

  “Do you mind looking at me, Captain Ellerey?”

  Ellerey did so, and for the space of thirty seconds the two men gazed into each other's eyes.

  “No, I do not believe it.”

  “To what do you refer?” Ellerey asked.

  “To that card scandal of yours. I believe you are an innocent man. Why don't you prove it?”

  Ellerey took up the letter which he had thrown on the table when Lord Cloverton entered.

  “Do you know Sir Charles Martin?” he asked, holding the letter out to him.

  “I have heard of him. Who that is interested in English politics has not? I may live to see him Prime Minister. What, do you wish me to read this?”

  “If you please.” Lord Cloverton read the letter through.

  “Evidently an intimate friend of yours. You could not haye a better sponsor for your character. I think he gives you excellent advice.”

  “You would give me the same, Lord Cloverton?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are an innocent man. It is your duty to fight for your character to the last ditch.”

  “Why should you suppose I am not fighting for my character?” Ellerey asked.

  “Here in Sturatzberg?”

  “Why not? Words will never mend a broken reputation; deeds may.”

  “Deeds done here will not count in England.”

  “And in England, or for England, I am debarred from doing anything. A sorry position, is it not, my lord?”

  “I am advising you to alter it.”

  “But you have not told me why,” said Ellerey. “Shall I tell you the reason, Lord Cloverton? You wish me to leave Sturatzberg.”

  “Why should I?”

  “That you must tell me.”

  “There is a candor about you, Captain Ellerey, that compels straightforward treatment in return, and you shall have it. I have a misgiving that your presence here will tend to hamper my work, and by my work I mean England's interests. I do not pretend to know exactly in what direction you will hinder me, but I can guess, and you are too good a man to be crushed while striving against your own country. Go back to England. I thoroughly believe in you, and you shall have my hearty support in your endeavor to establish your innocency.” “You are very good, my lord, and I thank you; but I regret that I cannot comply with your wishes. I shall not leave Sturatzberg.”

  “You prefer to be crushed?”

  “Yes, in the service of my adopted country. We fight with different weapons, Lord Cloverton.”

  “Then it is to be war between us?”

  “You seem to say so. I cannot leave Sturatzberg.”

  “Is it not possible that some sense of honor may exist here, that officers here may not care to associate with one who has been convicted of cheating, even though he be a foreigner?”

  “I am not afraid that Lord Cloverton will spread such a report of me.”

  “My country stands first with me, Captain Ellerey.”

  “But not to make you dishonorable. You are attempting to do yourself an injustice. Besides if I were driven to use such weapons in self-defence, is it not possible that Lord Cloverton has some enemies in Sturatzberg?”

  “Many, no doubt.”

  “I might suggest, for instance, that he had secretly sought to alienate the loyalty of one of his Majesty's officers.”

  “Enough, Captain Ellerey,” said Lord Cloverton rising. “I see that we must unfortunately be enemies. It is a pity. You will be crushed under the Juggernaut of international politics.”

  “It may be so, it may not,” said Ellerey. “Believe me, I am not unmindful of your kindness; but as I have said, we fight with different weapons. You wield the power of the politician; I have only my sword. We cannot therefore meet in hand-to-hand encounter. I should hesitate to use my sword against my countrymen, but until British soldiers hold the heights above Sturatzberg there is no need to consider that question; and your work, I presume, lies in preventing any chance of such a contingency. If you could forget that I am an Englishman, and remember only that I am a Captain of Horse, subject to the commands of my superior officer, you would understand my position better.”

  “You are a difficult man to deal with, but I rather like you,” said the Ambassador, holding out his hand. “I regret that Fate makes us enemies, and if at the last moment I can save you from being entirely crushed, I will.”

  “Thank you. I, too, may find an opportunity of rendering you a service, my lord.”

  As Lord Cloverton went quickly away, a man who had been sitting at a small table in a cafe opposite, who had sipped two glasses of absinthe and smoked innumerable cigarettes, rose hastily and crossed the street. His dress was travel-stained, and he had evidently ridden through dirty weather, for his boots were thickly cased with mud. Ellerey was almost as surprised to see De Froilette as he had been to see the Ambassador.

  “You have been away from Sturatzberg,” he said.

  “I have only just returned,” De Froilette answered, throwing out his arms to draw attention to his clothes, “and before going to the Altstrasse came to prepare you. I have been waiting at the cafe opposite until Lord Cloverton came out.”

  “And wondering why he visited me?” asked Ellerey, smiling.

  “Wondering, rather, how far you would be successful in deceiving him.”

  “He was disposed to be friendly,” said Ellerey, carelessly taking up Sir Charles Martin's letter from the table and putting it in his pocket. “Friendly! A trick of his, monsieur, a trick.”r />
  “Exactly. We have agreed to be enemies.”

  “Ah, but that was foolish,” said De Froilette quickly. “You should have played with him even as I do. He believes that I am very friendly, while I hate him.”

  “That is your method; it is not mine. I am not an adept at crawling, even to the British Ambassador.”

  “What does he suspect?” asked De Froilette after a pause, during which he had seemed inclined to resent Ellerey's words.

  “Naturally, he did not say, and I am unable to guess, which is hardly remarkable, seeing that I am entirely in the dark myself.”

  “But why did he come?”

  “He used his knowledge of some friends of mine in England as an excuse for visiting me, but he had probably taken upon himself for the time being the office of spy. As I had no information to give, he has returned little wiser than he came. When am I to be fully trusted, monsieur?”

  “You are fully trusted now, Captain Ellerey, but the time for striking has not arrived. It approaches, however. Until the man in Sturatzberg was ready we could not proceed. Look at me; I have come from a journey. I have been doing my part, and I come to you and say, Be ready. At any moment her Majesty may send for you.”

  “I am waiting,” said Ellerey.

  “Not to-night, perhaps, nor to-morrow, but soon.”

  Knowing the Frenchman's secretive method, Ellerey was convinced that the time was at hand. Were it not, De Froilette would hardly have risked seeking him at his lodging; he had been so careful to avoid all appearance of intimacy with him. Ellerey was not inclined to place implicit trust in De Froilette. He did not pretend to a keen insight into other men's characters, but he conceived that De Froilette would not be likely to lose sight of his own interests, no matter whom he served, nor how humbly such service might be tendered. Ellerey was not even convinced that the Frenchman's support of the Queen's schemes was whole-hearted, and believed him quite capable of giving just so much help as would presently enable him to thwart her and reap benefit for himself. Whatever the mission was which he was about to undertake, Ellerey intended to do his utmost to carry it to success; and if De Froilette by chance stood in his way, it was not likely to be merely a question of words between them.

  More subtle, more given to abstract reasoning, a successful student of character, it must be said for Monsieur De Froilette that he fully trusted Captain Ellerey, in so far that he believed he would do whatever task was set him better, probably, than most men would. That he would be a match for such men as Lord Cloverton, with the weapons Lord Cloverton would use, he did not expect, and that the Ambassador had visited Ellerey troubled him not a little. That Lord Cloverton could possibly suspect the true state of things he did not for a moment believe; but every hour's delay now would be in the Ambassador's favor, and the sooner the blow was struck the better—the more hope of success was there. Everything was ready, and it was now that De Froilette's anxiety was greatest. He was too complete a schemer not to realize how often it was the small insignificant thing which served to ruin great enterprises built up with so much care and elaboration. Over and over again he had tested every point in his plans, and had not succeeded in finding any weak spot. There seemed to be no contingency he was not prepared to meet, for which he was not ready; and yet a sense of misgiving, almost amounting to a feeling of insecurity, oppressed him as he walked along the Altstrasse. The people hanging about the door saluted him, for the Frenchman had been liberal to his poor neighbors, and had an excellent name for charity. He had made many friends of this kind in Sturatzberg, and since he had confessed to disliking unprofitable friends, it must be assumed that he looked to reap some reward from them in the future. He was not the man to pay merely for respect and smiles.

  He went to his room, the room in which he and Ellerey had sat talking after dinner, the room to which the Queen had come. A pile of unopened letters was upon the desk, for Monsieur De Froilette employed no secretary, and he turned over these letters without opening them before ringing for Francois.

  “Well, Francois?” he said as the man entered. He always asked the question in the same manner when he had been absent for any time, and listened to the servant's answer without interrupting him. The answer was usually a long one, full details of the happenings during the master's absence, not of those in the house only, but of those in the city as well. To-day, however, there was no long answer. Francois seemed fully aware of the essential point.

  “Monsieur, the Princess, she has left England!”

  “My good Francois, you are uninteresting. That happened weeks ago. The Princess is cruising to the British Colonies. It is known, indeed was arranged, by the British Government.”

  “It was, monsieur, that is right—it was; but the Princess found a substitute for that voyage. She did not go. She slipped away quietly, and no one knew.” De Froilette's face was suddenly pale. He did not speak, but Francois read the question in his eyes.

  “It is so, monsieur,” he said. “The Princess Maritza is in Sturatzberg.”

  CHAPTER VI. FRINA MAVRODIN'S GUEST

  For some time Monsieur De Froilette remained silent. The return of the Princess was a contingency he had not provided for.

  “Where is she?” he asked suddenly.

  “Alas, monsieur, I do not know,” Francois answered. “She has powerful friends in Sturatzberg, and they conceal her well. I saw her for one moment in Konigsplatz. She was alone, and entered a shop there. I followed her, but she was gone. I called myself her servant, and inquired about her, making the sign that has so long been used by her partisans to secure an answer. It had no effect. I was told that I was mistaken, that no such lady as I had described had entered. Do you not understand, monsieur, the sign must have been changed?”

  De Froilette understood only too well. At his very door were enemies, the more dangerous because they had been partially admitted into his plans. He had himself given them reason for watching him, and the opportunity of doing so. That was past and beyond reparation, but this arch schemer was not the man to stand idly regretting a mistake. Even mistakes might be used to advantage.

  “I will dress, Francois,” he said presently. “I had not intended to go to Court to-night, but this news compels me.” “And how shall we find the Princess, monsieur?”

  “We will not trouble. We will set others to do that. Matters will be for our benefit in the end, Francois. Quickly, I must dress.”

  De Froilette dined alone and dismissed the man who waited upon him as soon as possible. A portrait of Queen Elena stood on a side table, and he got up and placed it beside him, contemplating it thoughtfully as he sipped his wine.

  “If we succeed,” he mused, “there is high place and distinction to be won. This Englishman may win it for me. In a revolution a King's life is as other men's, dependent on the hazard of a die. If I read her smile aright I shall have my reward. And if we fail?”—he paused to consider the course of events in such a case—“who knows? My reward might come the easier. There would be few shelters open to her. Only in defeat through Princess Maritza's influence is there danger to me. Success or failure otherwise, what does it matter? I shall win. The paths to mountain peaks are ever rugged, but men reach the summits. Why should I fail? The road to power may be closed against me, but the road to love—” And he gazed into the eyes of the portrait, finding an answer in them. This man of action was a dreamer too.

  When he entered the palace that evening, De Froilette inquired whether Lord Cloverton had arrived, and being answered in the negative, remained at the head of the stairs, speaking a few words to this acquaintance and to that, bowing a well-turned compliment to one fair lady, or meeting another's pleasantry with an answering jest. He was in excellent good humor.

  Presently Lord Cloverton came mincing up the steps, pausing half a dozen times to greet acquaintances. He, too, was in excellent humor; but then he seldom allowed people to see him otherwise.

  “How I hate the man,” De Froilette said to himself, going towa
rd the Ambassador as he reached the vestibule. “May I have a word with you, my lord?”

  “A thousand, my dear Monsieur De Froilette. Ah, a private word is it?” he added as the Frenchman led him aside.

  “My lord, you have my greatest esteem, as you are aware.”

  Lord Cloverton bowed.

  “If, as a loyal Frenchman, I would see France predominant in the affairs of this country, that is natural, is it not so?”

  “Most natural indeed, and, monsieur, I say frankly, France is playing a very worthy part.”

  “No doubt, my lord,” De Froilette answered. “I am but a looker-on, with certain business interests which politics might affect, and therefore I take some notice of politics. Perhaps I see more clearly than some, my lord—the lookers-on often do; and I am convinced that British policy is at the present moment the safeguard of Wallaria.”

  “I rejoice to hear it, monsieur.”

  “And if you will allow me, my lord, I will add that your presence in Sturatzberg is the great security.”

  “You flatter me,” Lord Cloverton returned. “You will be pleased to learn that I have received no notification that I am likely to be removed from Sturatzberg.”

  “That would indeed be a disaster,” said De Froilette. “So, my lord, any small help, any little information I can give you, I shall give gladly. Regard for yourself and my business interests will prompt me. We have all a vein of selfishness in us.” “I am honored by your confidence, and you will be welcome at the Embassy.”

  “I will give you the information now,” said De Froilette. And he lowered his voice as he leaned toward the Ambassador: “The Princess Maritza!”

  “Is in Australia at present, I believe.”

  “Exactly,” said the Frenchman. “Making a tour of the English Colonies. A delicate attention to an honored guest and unfortunate exile, designed to keep her out of the way while the present unsettled feeling in Wallaria lasts; is it not so?”

  “Your political acumen is not at fault.”