The Puppet Crown

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER III. AN EPISODE TEN YEARS AFTER

  One fine September morning in a year the date of which is of noparticular importance, a man stepped out of a second-class carriageon to the canopied platform of the railway terminus in the ancient andpicturesque city of Bleiberg. He yawned, shook himself, and stretchedhis arms and legs, relieved to find that the tedious journey from Viennahad not cramped those appendages beyond recovery.

  He stood some inches above the average height, and was built up ina manner that suggested the handiwork of a British drill-master, hisfigure being both muscular and symmetrical. Besides, there was on hisskin that rich brown shadow which is the result only of the forcesof the sun and wind, a life in the open air. This color gave peculiaremphasis to the yellow hair and mustache. His face was not handsome,if one accept the Greek profile as a model of manly beauty, but itwas cleanly and boldly cut, healthful, strong and purposeful, based ondetermined jaws and a chin which would have been obstinate but for thepresence of a kindly mouth.

  A guard deposited at his feet a new hatbox, a battered traveling bag andtwo gun cases which also gave evidence of rough usage. The luggage wasliterally covered with mutilated square and oblong slips of paper ofmany colors, on which were printed the advertisements of far-sightedhotel keepers all the way from Bombay to London and half-way back acrossthe continent.

  There was nothing to be seen, however, indicative of the traveler'sname. He surveyed his surroundings with lively interest shining in hisgray eyes, one of which peered through a monocle encircled by a thin rimof tortoise shell. He watched the fussy customs officials, who, bysome strange mischance, overlooked his belongings. Finally he made animpatient gesture.

  "Find me a cab," he said to the attentive guard, who, with an eye tothe main chance, had waved off the approach of a station porter. "If theinspectors are in no hurry, I am."

  "At once, my lord;" and the guard, as he stooped and lifted the luggage,did not see the start which this appellation caused the stranger tomake, but who, after a moment, was convinced that the guard had givenhim the title merely out of politeness. The guard placed the trapsinside of one of the many vehicles stationed at the street exit of theterminus. He was an intelligent and deductive servant.

  The traveler was some noted English lord who had come to Bleibergto shoot the famed golden pheasant, and had secured a second-classcompartment in order to demonstrate his incognito. Persons who traveledsecond-class usually did so to save money; yet this tall Englishman,since the train departed from Vienna, had almost doubled in gratuitiesthe sum paid for his ticket. The guard stood respectfully at the doorof the cab, doffed his cap, into which a memento was dropped, and wentalong about his business.

  The Englishman slammed the door, the jehu cracked his whip, and a momentlater the hoarse breathings of the motionless engines became lost in thesharper noises of the city carts. The unknown leaned against the fadedcushions, curled his mustache, and smiled as if well satisfied withevents. It is quite certain that his sense of ease and security wouldhave been somewhat disturbed had he known that another cab was closeon the track of his, and that its occupant, an officer of the citygendarmerie, alternately smiled and frowned as one does who floatsbetween conviction and uncertainty. At length the two vehicles turnedinto the Konigstrasse, the principal thoroughfare of the capital, andhere the Englishman's cab came to a stand. The jehu climbed down andopened the door.

  "Did Herr say the Continental?" he asked.

  "No; the Grand."

  The driver shrugged, remounted his box, and drove on. The Grand Hotelwas clean enough and respectable, but that was all that could be saidin its favor. He wondered if the Englishman would haggle over the fare.Englishmen generally did. He was agreeably disappointed, however, when,on arriving at the mean hostelry, his passenger plunged a hand into apocket and produced three Franz-Josef florins.

  "You may have these," he said, "for the trouble of having them exchangedinto crowns."

  As he whipped up, the philosophical cabman mused that these touristswere beyond the pale of his understanding. With a pocket full of money,and to put up at the Grand! Why not the Continental, which lay close tothe Werter See, the palaces, the royal and public gardens? It was atthe Continental that the fine ladies and gentlemen from Vienna, andInnsbruck, and Munich, and Belgrade, resided during the autumn months.But the Grand--ach! it was in the heart of the shops and markets, andwithin a stone's throw of that gloomy pile of granite designated in thevarious guide books as the University of Bleiberg.

  The Englishman had some difficulty in finding a pen that would write,and the ink was oily, and the guest-book was not at the proper angle.At last he managed to form the letters of his name, which was JohnHamilton. After some deliberation, he followed this with "England." Theproprietor, who acted as his own clerk, drew the book toward him, andafter some time, deciphered the cabalistic signs.

  "Ah, Herr John Hamilton of England; is that right?"

  "Yes; I am here for a few days' shooting. Can you find me a man to actas guide?"

  "This very morning, Herr."

  "Thanks."

  Then he proceeded up the stairs to the room assigned to him. The smellof garlic which pervaded the air caused him to make a grimace. Oncealone in the room, he looked about. There was neither soap nor towel,but there was a card which stated that the same could be purchased atthe office. He laughed. A pitcher of water and a bowl stood on a smalltable, which, by the presence of a mirror (that could not in truthreflect anything but light and darkness), served as a dresser. Thesehe used to good advantage, drying his face and hands on the whitecounterpane of the bed, and laughing quietly as he did so. Next he lita pipe, whose capacity for tobacco was rather less than that of a lady'sthimble, sat in a chair by the window, smoked quietly, and gazed down onthe busy street.

  It was yet early in the morning; sellers of vegetables, men and womenpeasants, with bare legs and wooden shoes, driving shaggy Servian poniesattached to low, cumbersome carts, passed and repassed, to and from themarkets. A gendarme, leaning the weight of his shoulder on the guard ofa police saber, rested against the corner of a wine shop across the way.Students, wearing squat caps with vizors, sauntered indolently along,twirling canes and ogling all who wore petticoats. Occasionally thebright uniform of a royal cuirassier flashed by; and the Englishmanwould lean over the sill and gaze after him, nodding his head inapproval whenever the cuirassier sat his horse well.

  In the meantime the gendarme, who followed him from the station, hadentered the hotel, hastily glanced at the freshly written name, and madeoff toward the palace.

  "Well, here we are," mused the Englishman, pressing his thumb into thebowl of his pipe. "The affair promises some excitement. To-morrow willbe the sixth; on the twentieth it will be a closed incident, as thediplomats would say. I don't know what brought me here so far ahead oftime. I suppose I must look out for a crack on the head from some oneI don't know, but who knows me so deuced well that he has hunted mein India and England, first with fine bribes, then with threats." Heglanced over his shoulder in the direction of the gun cases. "It was acapital idea, otherwise a certain ubiquitous customs official, who liesin wait for the unwary at the frontier, would now be an inmate ofa hospital. To have lived thirty-five years, and to have ground outthirteen of them in her Majesty's, is to have acquired a certain disdainfor danger, even when it is masked. I am curious to see how far thesethreats will go. It will take a clever man to trap me. The incognito isa fort. By the way, I wonder how the inspectors at the station came tooverlook my traps? Strange, considering what I have gone through."

  At this moment the knuckles of a hand beat against the door.

  "Come in!" answered the Englishman, wheeling his chair, but making noeffort to rise. "Come in!"

  The door swung in, and there entered a short, spectacled man in darkgray clothes which fairly bristled with brass buttons. He was the chiefinspector of customs. He bowed.

  The Englishman, consternation widening his eyes, lowered his pipe.

&
nbsp; "Monsieur Hamilton's pardon," the inspector began, speaking in French,"but with your permission I shall inspect your luggage and glance atyour passports." He bowed again.

  "Now do you know, mon ami," replied the Englishman, "that MonsieurHamilton will not permit you to gaze even into yonder washbowl?" He roselazily.

  "But, Monsieur," cried the astonished official, to whom non-complaisancein the matter of inspection was unprecedented, "you certainly will notput any obstacle in the path of my duty!"

  "Your duty, Monsieur the Spectacles, is to inspect at the station.There your assistants refused to award me their attention. You aretrespassing."

  "Monsieur forgets," sternly; "it is the law. Is it possible that I shallbe forced to call in the gendarmes to assist me? This is extraordinary!"

  "I dare say it is, on your part," admitted the Englishman, polishing thebowl of his pipe against the side of his nose. "You had best go at once.If you do not, I shall take you by the nape of your Bleibergian neck andkick you down the stairs. I have every assurance of my privileges.The law here, unless it has changed within the past hour, requiresinspection at the frontier, and at the capital; but your jurisdictiondoes not extend beyond the stations. Bon jour, Monsieur the Spectacles;bon jour!"

  "O, Monsieur!"

  "Good day!"

  "Monsieur, it is my duty; I must!"

  "Good day! How will you go, by the stairs or by the window? I--butwait!" an idea coming to him which caused him to reflect on the possibleoutcome of violence done to a government official, who, perhaps, wasdischarging his peculiar duty at the orders of superiors. He walkedswiftly to the door and slid the bolt, to the terror of the inspector,on whose brow drops of perspiration began to gather. "Now," opening thehat box and taking out a silk hat, "this is a hat, purchased in Parisat Cook's. There is nothing in the lining but felt. Look into thebox; nothing. Take out your book and follow me closely," he continued,dividing the traveling bag into halves, and he began to enumerate thecontents.

  "But, Monsieur!" remonstrated the inspector, who did not enjoy thisinfringement of his prerogatives; his was the part to overhaul. "Thisis--"

  "Be still and follow me," and the Englishman went on with theinventory. "There!" when he had done, "not a dutiable thing except thisGerman-Scotch whisky, and that is so bad that I give it to you ratherthan pay duty. What next? My passports? Here they are, absolutelyflawless, vised by the authorities in Vienna."

  The slips crackled in the fluttering fingers of the inspector. "Theyare as you say, Monsieur," he said, returning the permits. Then he addedtimidly, "And the gun cases?"

  "The gun cases!" The pipe spilled its coal to the floor. "The guncases!"

  "Yes, Monsieur."

  "And why do you wish to look into them?" with agitation.

  "Smugglers sometimes fill them with cigars."

  "Ah!" The Englishman selected two loaded shells, drew a gun from thecase, threw up the breech and rammed in the shells. Then he extendedthe weapon to within an inch of the terrified inspector's nose. "Now,Monsieur the Spectacles, look in there and tell me what you see."

  The fellow sank half-fainting into a chair. "Mon Dieu, Monsieur, wouldyou kill me who have a family?"

  "What's a customs inspector, more or less?" asked the terrible islander,laughing. "I advise you not to ask me to let you look into the othergun, out of consideration for your family. It has hair triggers, and myfingers tremble."

  "Monsieur, Monsieur, you do wrong to trifle with the law. I shall beobliged to report you. You will be arrested."

  "Nothing of the kind," was the retort. "I have only to inform theBritish minister how remiss you were in your obligations. I should gofree, whereas you would be discharged. But what I demand to know is,what the devil is the meaning of this farce."

  "I am simply obeying orders," answered the inspector, wiping hisforehead. "It is not a farce, as Monsieur will find." Then, as if toexcuse this implied threat: "Will Monsieur please point the gun theother way?"

  The Englishman unloaded the gun and tossed it on the bed.

  "Thanks. In coming here I simply obeyed the orders of the minister ofpolice."

  "And what in the world did you expect to find?"

  "We are looking--that is, they are looking--O, Monsieur, it isimpossible for me to disclose to you my government's purposes."

  "What and whom were you expecting?" demanded the Englishman. "Youshall not leave this room till you have fully explained this remarkableintrusion."

  "We were expecting the Lord and Baronet Fitzgerald."

  "The lord!" laughing. "Does the lord visit Bleiberg often, then, thatyou prepare this sort of a reception? And the Baronet Fitzgerald?"

  "They are the same and the one person."

  "And who the deuce is he; a spy, a smuggler, a villain, or what?"

  "As to that, Monsieur," with a wonder why this man laughed, "I know nomore than you. But I do know that for the past month every Englishmanhas been subjected to this surveillance, and has submitted with moregrace than you," with an oblique glance.

  "What! Examined his luggage at the hotel?"

  "Yes, Monsieur. It is the order of the minister of police. I know notwhy." The natural color was returning to his cheeks.

  "This is a fine country, I must say. At least the king should acquainthis visitors with the true cause of this treatment." In his turn theEnglishman resorted to oblique glances.

  "The king?" The inspector raised a shoulder and spread his hands. "Theking is a paralytic, Monsieur, and has little to say these days."

  "A paralytic? I thought he was called `the handsome monarch'?"

  "That was years ago, Monsieur. For three years he has been helpless andbedridden. The archbishop is the real king nowadays. But he meddles notwith the police."

  "This is very sad. I suppose it would be impossible for strangers to seehim now."

  "An audience?" a sparkle behind the spectacles. "Is your business withthe king, Monsieur?"

  "My business is mine," shortly. "I am only a tourist, and should haveliked to see the king from mere curiosity. However, had you explainedall this to me, I should not have caused you so many gray hairs."

  "Monsieur did not give me the chance," simply.

  "True," the Englishman replied soberly. He began to think that he hadbeen over hasty in asserting his privileges. "But all this has nothingto do with me. My name is John Hamilton. See, it is engraved on thestock of the gun," catching it up and holding it under the spectacledeyes, which still observed it with some trepidation. "That is the namein my passports, in the book down stairs, in the lining of my hat. I amsorry, since you were only obeying orders, that my rough play has causedyou alarm." He unbolted the door. "Good morning."

  The inspector left the room as swiftly as his short legs could carryhim, ignoring the ethics of common politeness. As he stumbled down thestairs he cursed the minister of police for requiring this spy work ofhim, and not informing him why it was done. Ah, these cursed Anglaisfrom Angleterre! They were all alike, and this one was the worst he hadever encountered. And those ugly black orifices in the gun! Peste! Hewould resign! Yes, certainly he would resign.

  As to the Englishman, he stood in the center of the room and scratchedhis head. "Hang it, I've made an ass of myself. That blockhead will havethe gendarmes about my ears. If they arrest me there will be the devilto pay. The Lord and the Baronet Fitzgerald!" he repeated. He sat downon the edge of the bed, and fell to laughing again. "Confound thesepicture-book kingdoms! They always take themselves so seriously. Well,if the gendarmes call this afternoon I'll not be at home. No, thank you.I shall be hunting pheasants."

  And thereat he set to work cleaning the gun which had all but prostratedthe inspector. Soon the room smelled of oiled rags and tobacco.Some-times the worker whistled softly. Sometimes he let the gun fallagainst his knee, and stared dreamily through the window at the flightof the ragged clouds. Again, he would shake his head, as if there weresomething which he failed to understand. Half an hour passed, when againsome one knock
ed on the door.

  "Come in!" Under his breath he added: "The gendarmes, likely."

  But it was only the proprietor of the hotel. "Asking Herr's pardon," hesaid, "for this intrusion, but I have secured a man for you. I have thehonor to recommend Johann Kopf as a good guide and hunter."

  "Send him up. If he pleases me, I'll use him."

  The proprietor withdrew.

  Johann Kopf proved to be a young German with a round, ruddy face,which was so innocent of guile as to be out of harmony with theshrewd, piercing black eyes looking out of it. The Englishman eyed himinquisitively, even suspiciously.

  "Are you a good hunter?" he asked.

  "There is none better hereabout," answered Johann, twirling his cap withnoticeably white fingers. It was only in after days that the Englishmanappreciated the full significance of this answer.

  "Speak English?"

  "No. Herr's German is excellent, however."

  "Humph!" The Englishman gave a final glance into the shining tubes ofthe gun, snapped the breach, and slipped it into the case. "You'll do.Return to the office; I'll be down presently."

  "Will Herr hunt this morning?"

  "No; what I wish this morning is to see the city of Bleiberg."

  "That is simple," said Johann. The fleeting, imperceptible smile did notconvict his eyes of false keenness.

  He bowed out. When the door closed the Englishman waited until the soundof retreating steps failed. Then he took the gun case which he had notyet opened, and thrust it under the mattress of the bed.

  "Johann," he said, as he put on a soft hat and drew a cane from thestraps of the traveling bag, "you will certainly precede me in ourhunting expeditions. I do not like your eyes; they are not at home inyour boyish face. Humph! what a country. Every one speaks a differenttongue."

  The city of Bleiberg lay on a hill and in the valleys which fell awayto the east and west. It was divided into two towns, the upper andthe lower. The upper town and that part which lay on the shores of theWerter See was the modern and fashionable district. It was here that theking and the archbishop had their palaces and the wealthy their brickand stone. The public park skirted the lake, and was patterned afterthose fine gardens which add so much to the picturesqueness of Viennaand Berlin. There were wide gravel paths and long avenues of loftychestnuts and lindens, iron benches, fountains and winding flower beds.The park, the palaces, and the Continental Hotel enclosed a publicsquare, paved with asphalt, called the Hohenstaufenplatz, in the centerof which rose a large marble fountain of several streams, guarded byhuge bronze wolves. Here, too, were iron benches which were, for themost part, the meeting-place of the nursemaids. Carriages were allowedto make the circuit, but not to obstruct the way.

  The Konigstrasse began at the Platz, divided the city, and wound awaysouthward, merging into the highway which continued to the Thalian Alps,some thirty miles distant. The palaces were at the southeast corner ofthe Platz, first the king's, then the archbishop's. The private gardensof each ran into the lake. Directly across from the palaces stood thecathedral, a relic of five centuries gone. On the northwest corner stoodthe Continental Hotel, with terrace and parapet at the water's edge, anda delightful open-air cafe facing the Platz. September and October wereprosperous months in Bleiberg. Fashionable people who desired quiet madeBleiberg an objective point. The pheasants were plump, there were boars,gray wolves, and not infrequently Monsieur Fourpaws of the shaggy coatwandered across from the Carpathians.

  As to the lower town, it was given over to the shops and markets, thebarracks, the university, and the Rathhaus, which served as the house ofthe Diet. It was full of narrow streets and quaint dwellings.

  Up the Konigstrasse the guide led the Englishman, who nodded wheneverthe voluble chatter of the German pleased him. When they began thedescent of the hill, the vista which opened before them drew from theEnglishman an ejaculation of delight. There lay the lake, like a brightnew coin in a green purse; the light of the sun broke on the whitebuildings and flashed from the windows; and the lawns twinkled likeemeralds.

  "It makes Vienna look to her laurels, eh, Herr?" said Johann.

  "But it must have cost a pretty penny."

  "Aye, that it did; and the king is being impressed with that fact everyday. There are few such fine palaces outside of first-class kingdoms.The cathedral there was erected at the desire of a pope, born fivehundred years ago. It is full of romance. There is to be a grand weddingthere on the twentieth of this month. That is why there are so manyfashionable people at the hotels. The crown prince of Carnavia, whichis the large kingdom just east of us, is to wed the Princess Alexia, thedaughter of the king."

  "On the twentieth? That is strange."

  "Strange?"

  "I meant nothing," said the Englishman, jerking back his shoulders;"I had in mind another affair."

  There was a flash in Johann's eyes, but he subdued it before theEnglishman was aware of its presence. "However," said Johann, "there issomething strange. The prince was to have arrived a week ago to completethe final arrangements for the wedding. His suite has been here a week,but no sign of his Highness. He stopped over a train at Ehrensteinto visit for a few hours a friend of the king, his father. Since thennothing has been heard from him. The king, it is said, fears that someaccident has happened to him. Carnavia is also disturbed over thisdisappearance. Some whisper of a beautiful peasant girl. Who can say?"

  "Any political significance in this marriage?"

  "Leopold expects to strengthen his throne by the alliance. But--"Johann's mouth closed and his tongue pushed out his cheek. "There willbe some fine doings in the good city of Bleiberg before the month isgone. The minister from the duchy has been given his passports. Everyone concedes that trouble is likely to ensue. Baron von Rumpf--"

  "Baron von Rumpf," repeated the Englishman thoughtfully.

  "Yes; he is not a man to submit to accusations without making adisagreeable defense."

  "What does the duke say?"

  "The duke?"

  "Yes."

  "His Highness has been dead these four years."

  "Dead four years? So much for man and his futile dreams. Dead fouryears," absently.

  "What did you say, Herr?"

  "I? Nothing. How did he die?"

  "He was thrown from his horse and killed. But the duchess lives, and sheis worthy of her sire. Eh, Herr, there is a woman for you! She shouldsit on this throne; it is hers by right. These Osians are aliens andwere forced on us."

  "It seems to me, young man, that you are talking treason."

  "That is my business, Herr." Johann laughed. "I am a socialist, andoccasionally harangue for the reds. And sometimes, when I am in need ofmoney, I find myself in the employ of the police."

  The muscles of the Englishman's jaws hardened, then they relaxed. Theexpression on the face of his guide was free from anything but bonhomie.

  "One must live," Johann added deprecatingly.

  "Yes, one must live," replied the Englishman.

  "O! but I could sell some fine secrets to the Osians had they money topay. Ach! but what is the use? The king has no money; he is on the vergeof bankruptcy, and this pretty bit of scenery is the cause of it."

  "So you are a socialist?" said the Englishman, passing over Johann'sdeclamatory confidences.

  "Yes, Herr. All men are brothers."

  "Go to!" laughed the Englishman, "you aren't even a second cousin to me.But stay, what place is this we are passing?" indicating with his cane ared-brick mansion which was fronted by broad English lawns and protectedfrom intrusion by a high iron fence.

  "That is the British legation, Herr."

  The Englishman stopped and stared, unconscious of the close scrutiny ofthe guide. His eyes traveled up the wide flags leading to the veranda,and he drew a picture of a square-shouldered old man tramping backwardand forward, the wind tangling his thin white hair, his hands behind hisback, his chin in his collar and at his heels a white bulldog. Rapidlyanother picture came. It was an English scene. An
d the echo of a voicefell on his ears. "My way and the freedom of the house and the key tothe purse; your way and a closed door while I live. You can go, but youcan not come back. You have decided? Yes? Then good morning." Thirteenyears, thirteen years! He had sacrificed the freedom of the house andthe key to the purse, the kind eyes and the warm pressure of that oldhand. And for what? Starvation in the deserts, plenty of scars andlittle of thanks, ingratitude and forgetfulness.

  And now the kind eyes were closed and the warm hand cold. O, to recallthe vanished face, the silent voice, the misspent years, the April daysand their illusions! The Englishman took the monocle from his eye andlooked at it, wondering what had caused the sudden blur.

  "There was a fine old man there in the bygone days," said Johann.

  "And who was he?"

  "Lord Fitzgerald, the British minister. He and Leopold were closefriends." Johann's investigating gaze went unrewarded. The Englishman'sface had resumed its expression of mild curiosity.

  "Ah; a compatriot of mine," he said. Inwardly he mused: "This guide iswatching me; let him catch me if he can. His duchess? I know far toomuch of her!"

  "He was a millionaire, too," went on Johann.

  "Well, we can't all be rich. Come."

  They crossed the Strasse and traversed the walk at the side of thepalace enclosures. The Englishman aimlessly trailed his cane along thegreen pickets of the fence till they ended in a stone arch which rosehigh over the driveway. The gates were open, and coming toward the twowanderers as they stood at the curb rolled the royal barouche, oneach side of which rode a mounted cuirassier, sashed and helmeted. TheEnglishman, however, had observed nothing; he was lost in some dream.

  "Look, Herr!" cried Johann, rousing the other by a pull at the sleeve."Look!" Socialist though he claimed to be, Johann touched his cap.

  In the barouche, leaning back among the black velvet cushions, her facemellowed by the shade of a small parasol, was a young woman of nineteenor twenty, as beautiful as a da Vinci freshly conceived. The Englishmansaw a pair of grave dark eyes which, in the passing, met his and heldthem. He caught his breath.

  "Who is that?" he asked.

  "That is her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Alexia."

  Afterward the Englishman remembered seeing a white dog lying on theopposite seat.