The rest was easy.
Rowley had closed with the sergeant before he could draw, and, when I descended, my man had dropped his revolver and was writhing in pain.
“Tie them up,” said I, and ran for the other car.
This began to move forward when I was but six feet away, and, though I made a great effort, before I could manage to board it, I was outrun.
At once George brought up the Rolls and, almost before I was in, began to give chase.
For this piece of folly both he and I were to blame, for I was as eager as he to lay all three men by the heels. Looking back, I am ashamed that we should have been so childish, for we had won our battle and cleared our way and had only to go about to be in Vigil itself in little more than an hour. Instead of this, we went pelting through country we did not know, along roads which were so narrow that, unless the other let us, we dared not pass, in the hope, I suppose, of his being checked by traffic or meeting with some misadventure which would give him into our hand. Meanwhile we had left the servants to shift for themselves and were now but two to cope with whatever befell.
Such foolishness had its reward.
A sudden jarring told us a tyre was punctured, and, before we could come to a standstill, two more had met the same fate.
This was, of course, out of reason, unless the man we were chasing had strewn something sharp in our way. So he had done. One of his barbs or snags is before me now – a four-spiked horror of steel, which, however idly you throw it, will always stand upon three spikes and thrust the fourth into the air. Such things were once used in warfare to lame the enemy’s horse, and I afterwards found that in the Riechtenburg army they were field service stores.
We had two spare wheels, and, as luck would have it, a tube, so half an hour’s hard labour would make the car fit for the road, but I fear we were out of temper with all the world, and, when the Duke protested that we should “get on to Vigil and let the — tyres go,” I ignored the suggestion and Hanbury answered curtly that, even if it had not been ours, we should never so abuse such a car.
With that, we took off our coats and got to work, and the Duke flounced back on his seat and closed his eyes.
The Grand Duchess was down by my side.
“What can I do?” she said.
With the back of my hand I wiped the sweat from my brow. Then I took up one of the snags that had punctured our tyres.
“If you will walk back,” said I, “and look for some more things like this. I don’t know how many he dropped, but it’s hardly likely he got us the first go off.”
Before I had finished, she was gone and was searching the road.
By the time the Rolls was ready she had not returned: we, therefore, turned the car round with infinite care and started to go very slowly the way we had come.
Before we had gone half a mile, the road bent sharp to the right and then split into two, and, though George without hesitation swung to the left, I was by no means certain that that was our way. What was more to the point, it very soon became clear that, rightly or wrongly, the Grand Duchess had taken the other road, and, since she had to be found before we did anything else, we went about again and essayed the right-hand road.
Almost at once we found her, but, when George asked her if this was the way we had come, she said that, now that she had seen it, she was not sure and added that, for what it was worth, she had found no snags.
I did not know what to think, and, though George was now less certain that he had been right, we had just decided to return once more to the fork, when the Duke indicated a rill which leapt from between two rocks, as though from a mouth, and then fell into a trough which was cut from the trunk of a tree. This he declared he remembered, and, since that was very much more than anyone else could say, we considered the matter settled and drove ahead.
And that was the beginning of trouble for, when, after twenty minutes, we had proved his memory faithless and sought to return to the fork, we could by no means find it and only with every movement seemed to stray further afield.
The country was very blind and the roads rose and fell and twisted as though bewitched; there were no fingerposts to help us, and when we looked for the map it was not to be found.
After an hour of wandering, George brought the car to rest by the side of the road.
“What the hell’s the matter now?” said the Duke.
George spoke over his shoulder.
“For one thing,” he said, “I’m tired. I’ve stopped and started and turned and backed till I can’t feel the clutch. Add to that that I’ve changed two wheels and permanently injured my brain, trying to find the way which you insisted you knew.” He sighed there, and I began to shake with laughter. “Well, that’s one reason. If you want another, we’ve exactly half a gallon of petrol left. We had ample to get to Vigil, but I meant to fill up at the frontier – just in case. But that was before the mix-up… I don’t want to point no fingers and I’m perfectly ready to bear my share of the blame. I’ve been driving, and the dial’s right under my nose. But it’s all this mucking about that’s run us dry.”
There was an uneasy silence.
Then—
“How far,” said the Duke, “will half a gallon get us?”
George raised his eyebrows.
“In this going, employed with care, about five miles.”
With that, he turned to me and demanded a cigarette.
I had walked three miles across country and seen neither man nor beast nor any sort of building but a cottage that had been burned down, when I came to the edge of a bluff, to see, far below me, fair meadows and in their midst an abbey with its attendant farm.
The scene made as pretty a picture as ever I saw, for the sun was setting and the valley was full of red light. A stream flowed through the meadows, and cattle were slaking their thirst on their way by a ford: the water was running golden, and everything, great and little, was throwing its clean-cut shadow upon the turf. Smoke was rising from the buildings, but I saw neither monks nor nuns, and the view of a ruinous cloister suggested that the place was no longer a covert of Holy Church. Still it was a decent homestead, at which, if need be, the Grand Duchess could pass the night: and that was what I was seeking, for, unless we could come by some petrol, we could not go on and, before we set our face to the frontier, the servants had to be found.
A road ran out of the valley, and, so far as I was able, I marked the line that it took. Then I returned to the Rolls and made my report.
“Can they give us petrol?” said the Duke sullenly.
“We’ll know when we get there,” said I.
He flung himself back on his seat and held his peace.
It was an anxious journey, for dusk was upon us and I had to guess the way: but, after much disappointment, we ran down a long steep hill and into the valley I sought.
We crossed the stream by a bridge of old grey stone, and a moment later we saw the abbey ahead with the bluff on its left.
And there the engine fainted, for lack of fuel…
In spite of my walk, George was more weary than I, for his rest had been but broken the night before. I, therefore, alighted and started to walk to the farm, which lay a lady’s mile distant at the end of the road.
The Grand Duchess lifted her voice.
“Where are you going?”
“For petrol,” I answered. “And, if I can’t have it, for horses to pull us in.”
“I will go,” she said shortly, stepping down into the road.
“Thank you,” said I, “but it’s nothing. Besides, you can’t go alone.”
“Then I will go with you,” she said, “for the look of the thing.”
We began to walk in silence towards the farm.
The Grand Duchess was speaking.
“Has Paul thanked you once for anything that you’ve done?”
“We don’t want any thanks,” said I. “And we haven’t done very much.”
“I thank you,” she said quietly.
I did not know what to reply and so said nothing, but walked along, like a fool, with my eyes on the ground. But the words had been gently spoken, and I felt more than paid.
“If they can’t give us petrol,” she said, “what shall we do?”
“I shall ride to the nearest garage. Then I must find the servants, and then we’ll drive to Vigil, if you’re not too tired.”
“This delay’s unlucky,” she said. “By keeping out of the picture, Paul is playing directly into his cousin’s hand. You see, he should be on parade – especially now. The Prince is dying, and Paul is his rightful heir. There’s no shadow of doubt about that. And everyone will support him – provided that he himself doesn’t let them down. If he does, if he’s not there at the moment for them to support, to sign proclamations and orders, to appear on the balcony – well, people are only human… If you’ve got a King you must play him, or the other side will.”
“But if,” said I, “if he’s the heir apparent—”
“Paul isn’t popular,” she said. “It isn’t his fault – he was spoiled. Plenty of people believe that he doesn’t value the throne. If he takes his place and claims it, he’ll have it, because it’s his right. But, if he doesn’t, they’ll throw up their hats for Johann. And that’s why we must get to Vigil as soon as we possibly can.”
“We’ll do our utmost,” I said. “I promise you that.”
The Grand Duchess lifted her head and spoke to the sky.
“Paul’s his worst enemy,” she said, “and always was. Far worse than Johann. He’s lost so many games, because he couldn’t be bothered to play the right cards. But he – he mustn’t throw this away.”
I made no answer, but stepped along by her side, very well aware of her beauty and thankful to find her so friendly and frank of speech.
Presently she spoke of England and asked of the life we led. And I told her of Maintenance and Wiltshire and how we hunted all the winter and spent more hours in the open than under a roof.
“That’s right,” she said gravely. “That’s the way we were meant to live. Up and down with the sun and three meals a day.”
I walked clean into the trap.
“One breaks it sometimes,” said I, “but it’s a very good rule.”
“I agree,” said the Grand Duchess. And then, “I – I thought you never lunched.”
I could feel her eyes upon me, but, when at last I looked round, she was gazing into the distance with the faintest smile on her face.
“I – I have nothing to say,” I stammered.
The Grand Duchess’ smile deepened.
“No one,” she said, “could accuse you of being changeable.”
As we drew near the buildings, I could see that the abbey had been built in the form of a square; but two sides of this were gone. What I had taken for the church was the refectory: this with the ancient kitchen still made one side of the square and ran at right angles to a mansion which made the other. I say ‘a mansion’ for lack of a better word, but the face of it was not changed and it looked the private dwelling of someone of note. Along the refectory some twenty yards of cloister were well preserved, but, except for its bench and pavement, the rest was gone, though the mansion still bore the piers from which its arches had sprung.
No lights were burning in the house, the door of which was set wide, but two dogs came towards us, baying, and a man who was sitting by the doorway rose up and called them to heel.
I could not see him very well, for the daylight was almost gone, but he was a big, burly fellow and clearly the farmer or master of the place.
When the Grand Duchess asked for petrol, he shook his head.
“I have none,” he said slowly. “I have an old car, but that is away for repairs, and all the spirit I have is in her tank. Have you far to go, madam?”
“As far as the nearest pump.”
“I see. Well, that is at Bariche, on the Riechtenburg road.”
“How far is Bariche?”
“A matter of fifteen miles.”
My companion drew in her breath.
“We must have petrol,” she said. “Can you lend us a horse?”
“Not to travel that distance, madam. My horses have done their day’s work.”
“It shall be stabled at Bariche, and I will deposit its value against its return.”
The other shook his head.
“Tomorrow, madam,” he said. “But not tonight. Where is your car?”
“This side of the bridge,” said my lady. “A mile away.”
“I do not see its lamps,” said the other.
“Because they are not turned on.”
The man appeared to hesitate.
Then—
“I will give you shelter,” he said, and called for lights.
“I do not want shelter,” said my lady. “I want a horse.”
As a man came clumping with a lantern—
“In any event,” said the farmer, “I will go with you to your car.”
With that, he took the lantern and bade the man turn out a yoke of oxen and bring them down to the bridge.
“It is damp in the meadows,” he said.
The Grand Duchess shrugged her shoulders and turned to me.
“Force majeure,” she said.
“I will walk to Bariche,” said I.
“And lose yourself by the way. No. There is nothing to be done. At dawn, perhaps…”
She was right. There was nothing to be done. Bell and Rowley must wait and so must the Duke. The farmer was not a peasant that could be bluffed or bribed. In his way he would help us or not at all.
“Will you wait here?” said I. “If we can do nothing till daybreak, we may as well bring in the car.”
The girl hesitated. Then—
“Paul will be hasty,” she said. “I think I had better come.”
“I will handle him,” said I. “Your shoes were not meant for these roads.” I stepped to the bench from which the man had risen and felt the stone. “The stone is still warm and will be for half an hour. But we shall be here before then.”
“Very well,” said the Grand Duchess. “Don’t let Paul play the fool.”
The farmer was a man of few words. When I asked him the way to Bariche, he answered that it lay to the South: when I asked him if he could lodge us, he nodded his head; and, when I observed that his home was very handsome, he spoke to one of his dogs.
As we approached the car, I took the lead and, cheerfully hailing the others, cried out that we were in luck, for that we could have food and lodging of an excellent sort, that petrol would be brought in the morning and that oxen were coming to draw the car to the farm. My ruse, however, was a failure; for the Duke began to rave like a madman, demanding to be carried to Vigil, as though we were slaves of some lamp, now swearing that we had betrayed him and now reviling the car, talking all manner of nonsense about his position and birth and declaring that we might be glad to sleep where we could, but that such was not the habit of royalty or indeed of any person of high estate.
Hanbury was speaking wearily.
“The reasons for this display are three. The first is he wants a cocktail: the second, he’s out of cigarettes: and the third, he regrets having chucked his excellent gold cigarette-case – merely because it was empty – into the stream.”
Once more, remembering my promise, I strove to appease the Duke’s wrath, although, I confess, I was sorely tempted to cool it by throwing him after his bauble into the stream: but, as was to be expected, I might have saved my breath, for he cut me short by announcing that he was not accustomed to having his commands disobeyed.
“Needs must,” said I shortly. “We’ll breakfast over the border with any luck.”
The Duke peered at the farmer, who was now alongside.
“You’ve got petrol, of course,” he blustered. “You can’t deceive me. How many cans can I have at a pound apiece?”
The farmer raised his lantern, until he could see the Duke’s face. Fo
r a moment he regarded him steadily. Then he lowered the light.
“The misfortune is mine,” he said quietly. “I have no petrol. But I have a kitchen and a cellar of which I am not ashamed.”
I was greatly relieved, for the Duke’s tone was high and mighty, and I had not expected an answer one half so smooth. I, therefore, made haste to suggest that he and George and the farmer should proceed to the house, while I came on with the oxen, soon to arrive. While he was hesitating, I gave him a cigarette, and I think that settled the matter, for, when he had lit it, he spat out an oath or two and flung out of the car.
The oxen moved very slowly, and nearly an hour had gone by before I was led to a handsomely furnished parlour – which once, I should say, had been the abbot’s – with arras upon its walls. The Rolls was bestowed in an outhouse of which I had taken the key, and, since her bonnet was locked, could come to no harm. And I had washed in a horse trough and was ready enough for a meal.
A table had been set in the parlour and decently laid for four, and the chamber was pleasantly lighted by lamps which hung from the roof.
The Duke was there, dozing, and Hanbury was reading a book.
“We’ve fallen soft,” said George. “This is some cove’s private house. The book-plates suggest that his name is Martin Egge. I imagine the farmer’s his bailiff. I hope he’s a right to lodge us, but I’m damned well not going to ask.”
Be sure I agreed with him.
A good, plain dinner was served by two young girls, and the Duke said the wine would pass, but Hanbury and I drank ale.
The Grand Duchess was very silent, but thanked me for sending her dressing-case up to her room.
When the meal was over, our host came into the parlour and stood blinking in the light of the lamp.
“We have to thank you,” said my lady. “You are treating us very well.”
The other bowed.
“I am bailiff to Baron Veners, madam, whose house this is. He would wish me to entertain strangers who have lost their way.”
“And to speed them,” said the Grand Duchess, “by sending a man for petrol at break of day.”
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