For the past three weeks that prospect had weighed heavily on them both, and, although Ilona had not been definitely saved from it, its postponement came as an immense relief. They recognised now that each of their meetings might be almost the last, so to have them free of this cloud which had been hanging over their joy in one another meant a great deal to them. Moreover, when they had to part, they would now at least escape the added distress of knowing that he was leaving her to be thrust, almost immediately, into the arms of a complete stranger.
Before they joined the others in the garden, she asked him to dine with her at the palace that evening, and added that they could make further discussion of the war charities an excuse for his doing so.
When he arrived, he found that the party consisted only of themselves, Adam, Sárolta and the Officer of the Guard, a pleasant young man whom de Richleau had already met on several occasions.
War charities were not even mentioned: and, after dinner, in an effort to forget for an hour or so both the world crisis and her own, Ilona suggested that they should play blind-man’s-buff and other hilarious children’s games. Then, when time enough had elapsed for her to give the young officer his dismissal without impoliteness, she said she felt like a stroll in the garden. With a demure expression, Sárolta fetched her a dark cloak and they all slipped down a back staircase out into the moonlit grounds.
As the two couples strolled towards the long pleached alleyways with Adam and Sárolta bringing up the rear, she whispered to him, “Adam, dear, now that our engagement is about to be announced we shall have lots of opportunities for kissing, but those two poor darlings get so few, and at any moment now he may have to leave her. When they sit down somewhere, we must separate. You take one end of the alley and I’ll take the other, so that they can make love without any risk of being surprised.”
Count Adam agreed at once; so with the aid of these two loyal friends Ilona and her lover spent a blissful hour; but it could be no more as the Countess Aulendorf would be coming on her official visit at half past eleven, to see her charge safely into bed.
Soon after de Richleau woke next morning he remembered that it was Bank Holiday Monday in England, and he wondered what was happening there. But he was not left to his speculations long, as a telephone message was brought to him from Count Tisza, saying that the Count wished to see him as soon as possible.
The Duke received it with anything but pleasure. He felt certain that it heralded his release. If war with Britain was imminent he felt that he had no option but to return at once to England; but he could have wept at the thought that the dreaded time had really come when he must leave Ilona. He had loved before but never, never, as he loved this beautiful Princess. If she had imperfections, he could not see them: her impulsiveness made her human: her childishness in some things made her so unspoiled: the zest with which she had embarked on love when it had so belatedly come to her, made her utterly adorable. Nevertheless, he dressed as quickly as he could and went round to the Minister-President’s palace.
Count Tisza wasted no time in preambles. He said at once, “I asked you to call, Duke, because I am overwhelmed with urgent business that requires my presence in Budapest. My visits there in the past ten days have been of sufficient length only to enable me barely to fulfil my duties to the Hungarian Parliament, and now I must take up my residence there for at least a week. The last thing I wish is that you should be caught here: and the general situation shows no improvement. Most of my colleagues still feel that Britain will remain outside the conflict. On the other hand, I understand that she has warned Germany that should the German Fleet attack the French Channel ports she could not remain indifferent. I wanted to tell you that, should either country issue an ultimatum to the other during my absence, you are free to depart.”
De Richleau accepted this conditional release with a sigh of thankfulness. Had it been, as he had expected, a complete one, he would have felt constrained to leave Vienna that day, after seeing Ilona only to say good-bye. As it was, he had been given the freedom to go without further consulting the Count directly the situation regarding Britain became acute. But until then he must continue as a prisoner of his bond, and so could also remain, unstricken by conscience, the willing captive of Ilona’s kisses.
As the two men shook hands they had little doubt that they were taking farewell of one another for a long time to come, if not for ever. Their outlook on life was so similar, and their minds were so well attuned, that in a few short weeks a bond had been forged between them of the kind which occasionally unites two people of the same sex in a friendship that is akin to brother-love. The wish of each, that good fortune should attend the other, was not mere words but came from their hearts, and they parted with genuine sadness.
After the Duke had breakfasted he went to another of Ilona’s committee meetings, and that afternoon met her again at de Lazalo’s. Again she asked him to dine with her. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but she caught the thought that had flashed through his brain and checked his immediate acceptance. With a half hysterical laugh, she said:
“The time has gone when you need worry about compromising me by dining in my apartments on two nights running. I am living only for these moments now before I must weep my heart away. I grudge every second that I am not with you, and I no longer give a damn what people think or say. Come early, Armand. I shall expect you at a quarter to eight.”
When he arrived fresh news of the crisis had just come in. Germany had declared war on France at 6.45 that evening.
The party was a larger one than that of the preceding night, as Ilona had invited several people some days before whom it was too late to put off. But she was brazen now in her determination to be alone with her lover. Within a quarter of an hour of dinner being over, she announced that she had matters concerning her charities that she wished to discuss with him; then dismissed everyone else except Adam and Sárolta.
Again the four of them slipped out into the friendly shadows of the palace gardens, but Tonight poor Ilona could not keep back her tears. Now that France had become embroiled all hopes of a peaceful settlement were at an end. It remained only to see if England would come to her assistance and, if she did, Ilona knew that she could not detain her knight a moment longer. De Richleau did his utmost to comfort her, kissing her tear-stained face again and again, and vowing his eternal love for her; but when at last her weeping eased she was running a high temperature and being shaken every few moments by violent bouts of coughing.
Next morning, Tuesday the 4th of August, the headlines in the papers gave the news that the Duke had expected since the previous evening. German forces had over-run Luxemburg and were invading Belgium. The Germans were putting the Schlieffen plan into operation. He had a committee meeting with Ilona at mid-day. Just before he set out for the palace a special edition appeared. Britain had sent an ultimatum to Germany, forbidding her to violate the Belgian frontiers and requiring her to withdraw at once any troops who might have done so. An answer was required by midnight.
The ultimatum freed him from his parole, but meant that he must not remain in Vienna until another sun had set. He had already made his plans, knowing that in such circumstances, if the time limit were less than twenty-four hours, the western frontier of Germany would be closed to him before he could get through to Belgium. His quickest way out now was to go down to Trieste on the Adriatic and cross the border into Italy. The journey was about two hundred and fifty miles, so if he caught the 4.15 express he should have ample time to be over the frontier before midnight. To have taken an earlier train would have deprived him of his last chance to say farewell to Ilona in private. In anticipation of having to make a hurried departure he had already had the bulk of his packing done by the valet three days before. A quarter of an hour would be enough for him to finish it, and he could do that after lunch. Then he would only have to collect it on his way to the station after having said good-bye to Ilona at the studio.
He tol
d the desk clerk that he would be vacating his rooms for good that afternoon, asked him to have his bill made up and, as for the past week all trains leaving Vienna had been exceptionally crowded, arranged with the head porter to send an under-porter ahead in good time to get him a seat on the 4.15 train for Trieste. Then he wrote a brief note, which he took with him, and set off for the palace.
At the meeting he slipped the note to Ilona. It simply said, “Be brave, my sweet. Our joyous hour is run. I shall go early to the studio this afternoon, and pray that you can do so too.”
When she had read it, under cover of a batch of papers that was on the table in front of her, she looked at him and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then she displayed a fine courage by briskly returning to the business in hand, and conducting it as though her only care in the world was that adequate provision should be made for the aged mothers of soldiers, whose sons were their only support and had been called up for the war. But she could not conceal the red rims round her blue eyes, her hectic flush or the cough that harassed her, and as he watched her de Richleau’s heart was wrung as though it were in a mangle.
Immediately after the meeting he returned to Sacher’s. A clerk met him in the hall-way and requested him to step into the office for a moment. His thoughts were still of Ilona’s tragic face but, rousing himself, he assumed that Frau Sacher had learned that he was leaving and wished to say good-bye to him. He had meant to ask her to give him coffee after lunch, so that he could make his farewells to this old and treasured friend in as pleasant circumstances as possible; but he felt that to join her in an apéritif would serve as well, so he let the clerk usher him through the door behind the desk.
Suddenly he found himself confronted by Major Ronge and two uniformed policemen. He made a quick step back, but the fat, dark-moustached Major pulled an automatic from his pocket and said quietly, “Don’t move!”
The Duke covered his consternation by an icy stare, and demanded, “What do you want of me?”
The Chief of the K.S. Bureau bowed slightly. “I am here to take you into custody as an enemy alien.”
“You can’t do that,” snapped de Richleau. “I am a British subject, and Britain is not at war with Austria-Hungary.”
A smile flickered into Ronge’s sly eyes. “We have heard from several quarters that you are British, but have no proof of that. I am glad that you admit it. We shall be at war with Britain by midnight. I am merely anticipating matters by a few hours.”
De Richleau was furious at having given himself away, although he was quick to realise that in any case he could not have concealed his nationality for long. Angrily he protested: “By midnight I can be over the frontier, and you have no conceivable right to detain me.”
“In that you are wrong, Herr Graf. I have powers to question all suspects; and there is nothing to prevent me from prolonging my questioning until to-morrow morning if I wish. But why should we quibble about technicalities? I intend to take you in, and that is the end of the matter.”
“Count Tisza assumed personal responsibility for me!” de Richleau replied quickly. “He knows everything there is to know about me, and has given me permission to leave.”
The fat man shrugged. “His Excellency the Minister-President is now in Budapest. He is of so honest a disposition that he sometimes allows himself to be hoodwinked by clever people. I thought his interference in a matter about which we are so much better informed than he, was both ill-advised and regrettable. But he is absent from Vienna and a very busy man, so we will trouble him about it no more. Please to come quietly.”
To put up a fight against three armed men would have been madness, and the Duke was at his wits’ end how to get out of this trap that had so unexpectedly been sprung upon him. The last thing he wished to do was to involve Ilona, but she was now his only hope. The question of whether he could retain his liberty of action for the next few hours or not meant the difference between getting home safely and the possibility of incarceration for many months. In desperation he said:
“I am a Colonel in the Archduchess Ilona Theresa’s regiment of Hussars. I have just come from a meeting with her at the Schönbrunn Palace. I insist that you telephone to Her Imperial Highness, or her equerry, Captain Count Adam Grünne, and inform one of them of your intention.”
As the Major only shook his head in silent refusal, de Richleau made a forlorn attempt to scare him, by saying sharply:
“You’ll rue it if you don’t! Her Imperial Highness would never allow one of her officers to be arrested in this arbitrary manner. If you persist without informing her you will lose your job when she gets to hear of it.”
Major Ronge sighed a little wearily. “Believe me, I have often been threatened with losing my job, but somehow nobody ever dismisses me. Do you know why, Herr Graf? It is because I am always right in matters where secret agents are concerned. I will admit that you are a most unusual one. I take off my hat to you for having imposed upon Her Imperial Highness, the Minister-President, and many other illustrious people. But that will not help you now, as I do not intend to inform any of them that I have arrested you. For me it is quite sufficient that I know you to be a free-lance secret agent. That you happen also to be of noble birth, as I have discovered to be a fact since our last meeting, is curious; but it makes not the least difference. What you were up to in Serbia is no concern of mine, except as evidence of the form of your activities. But since you have been in Vienna you must have collected a great deal of information that would be of value to Austria’s enemies. How I hold you is, to me, a matter of complete indifference. I would charge you with robbing the poor box in the Stefanskirk if I could find nothing else that would serve. But these high ones of your acquaintance must be protected against their own lack of understanding in such affairs. It is I who am responsible for seeing that our secrets do not leak out. Therefore, it is my duty to prevent your leaving the country. I hope I have said enough to make the position clear. Come please, Herr Graf. I am anxious to be done with this business, as I have not yet had my lunch.”
The Duke now saw that there was nothing that he could do—nothing whatever. So he allowed himself to be taken off in a cab, driven to a high-walled prison, and locked up.
For hours he sat miserably in his cell, considering his wretched position, but for the life of him he could not see any way out of it. Since Major Ronge had already made it clear that he would not allow any messages from the prisoner to be transmitted to Ilona, Count Tisza or any other of his friends, and had further refused to let him see a lawyer, there was positively no useful action of any kind that he could take.
When the lights were put out he partially undressed, lay down on the truckle bed and endeavoured to sleep: but sleep would not come to him.
He heard the prison clock toll midnight. It was a knell of doom, the like of which has rarely sounded throughout the ages. With the last stroke the final phase of the crisis had been resolved. The conflict was no longer confined to Europe. The British Empire was now at war with Germany, and ships were closing to give battle the world over, in every sea. Five million men under arms were now on the march. Double that number were to die before peace came again. One thousand nine hundred and fifty miles of European frontiers were aflame. From them a ghastly miasma of sorrow, misery and disease was to spread over the whole earth. But worse, the highest conceptions of freedom, decency and humanity, built up by a hundred generations of mankind, were, within half that number of months, now doomed to perish.
Chapter XXI
An Extraordinary Situation
During his first day in prison the Duke had some hopes of a speedy release. It seemed certain that his failure to arrive at the studio would have led Ilona to have inquiries made for him at Sacher’s, and that on learning of his arrest she would demand an explanation of the police. But as Wednesday and Thursday passed with no sign of outside intervention in his case, he was forced to the conclusion that Major Ronge must have succeeded in hushing up his arrest, and poor Ilo
na believed that some accident had prevented him from keeping their last rendezvous.
Meanwhile a series of interrogations by Ronge had led only to a stalemate. De Richleau took the firm line that his statement to General von Ostromiecz had, in all essentials, been the truth; and as Belgrade was now entirely cut off from Vienna by the war, the Austrian police were in no position to procure any evidence supporting Herr Höller’s story. However, the Major obviously had complete faith in his subordinate, so regarded the Duke as a most dangerous character. He continued to refuse him permission to communicate with the outside world, or even to mix with his fellow prisoners when taken out for exercise; and evidently still hoped to unearth some evidence of his activities in Vienna which would enable a charge of espionage affecting the Dual Monarchy to be brought against him.
Fortunately for the Duke, the first great war had only just started, and the day was still far distant when its effects would have so brutalised the Teutonic peoples that thousands of educated men among them condoned or practised wholesale abominations, the like of which are recorded only as comparatively rare episodes in the Dark Ages. The torture of convicted criminals had been abolished throughout Europe, including Russia, a hundred and fifty years earlier, and it was still unthinkable that it would ever again be permitted. So de Richleau had nothing whatever to fear in the way of ill-treatment. On the contrary, he was well fed, lodged in reasonable comfort, and his belongings—after they had been brought from Sacher’s and minutely searched—were handed over to him without as much as a boot-lace missing.
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