“You're a good-looking boy enough,” laughed Ellerey, “but Heaven forgive her Majesty. Does she think I am bent on some summer picnic that she sends a child to bear me company?”
“We are wont to go together, Captain. Grigosie is a good scout, and I warrant is likely to prove useful,” said Anton.
“For cooking and bedmaking maybe. We shall have little opportunity for either one or the other,” [illustration: “YOU WILL PARDON ME COUNTESS!”] Blank Page “Nor should I do either of them except of my own will,” said the lad.
“A stroke or two of the whip would make you tell a different tale,” said Ellerey; “and you may thank your lucky fortune that I will not take you, for the whip would certainly follow.”
“I have heard of Captain Ellerey,” said the boy, “but never that he was a bully.”
Ellerey looked at him quizzically.
“Well, lad, I did not mean to hurt your feelings. You do not lack courage, and you'll grow into a stout man for rough work some day. In this expedition I cannot use you.”
“I can use a sword and am a master of fence, and the sword is not the only weapon which victory hangs upon.”
“Peace, Grigosie; I will give the Captain an excellent reason for taking you.”
“Peace, yourself, Anton. Am I to be taken out of charity? Set me to prove my worth, Captain.”
“I have no time, lad,” said Ellerey, picking up his cloak. “Anton may come since we are few, but—-”
“There is a fly on the wall, Captain.”
“Well, what of it? You are a strange lad.”
“It is gone, I warrant; but in case I have missed—darkness.”
Two revolver shots cracked in quick succession as he spoke, and the room was in darkness. Then the landlord rushed in.
“The candle is out; light it again, landlord,” said the boy, and then when it had burnt up he pointed with the revolver to the spot where the fly had been and where now there was a hole. “I do not think I missed.”
“Leave us, landlord,” said Ellerey. “It was the deciding of a foolish boast.”
The lad slipped the revolver into his pocket again and refolded his arms.
“That was a foolish jest, youngster,” Ellerey said. “Do you think such boastfulness fits you for such work as ours?”
“There are few who could have done it,” was the answer.
“True.”
“Such precision might serve you were your enemies three to one.”
“True again.”
“Then ask me to go with you,” was the prompt reply.
“May I not even take you out of charity?”
The lad shook his head with a smile, and there was something very winning in his smile.
“Very well. Will you come with me?” asked Ellerey.
“To the death.”
“Your hand on that bargain.”
“I'll earn the grip of comradeship before I take it, Captain. Until then it is for you to order, be it to cooking or to bedmaking.”
“You'll serve for sport and as a relief to monotony, if for nothing else,” said Ellerey. “Orders, then. We must be starting.”
“You have not heard my further news,” said Anton. “It is not time to start yet.”
Ellerey turned upon him angrily. Was his authority so soon to be questioned?
“Every gate is closed against Captain Ellerey by the King's orders,” said Anton. “It has been so since noon to-day.”
“Is the scent so hot already?”
“We shall leave the city, but not yet. The lad here will show us the way,” Anton answered. “You see I am to be of some service quickly, Captain,” said Grigosie. “Trust me. My way is clear enough, and no King's order has power to bar it. We must wait a little. I have some money in my pouch; may I pay for liquor?”
“You're doing me good, youngster,” laughed Ellerey. “Order your drinks, and tell me who they were who fathered and mothered you that you have such wit. You are not fashioned after the usual breed in Wallaria.”
“I am of the pure breed which is being forgotten in the bastard race. I am of the old stock reared without the city walls. Anton can answer for me.”
“That I can.”
The drinks were brought, but the lad drank sparingly. Ellerey liked him none the worse for that. If wine were found upon the journey, one sober comrade, though he were a lad, might be more profitable than half a dozen boasters. The boy talked brightly, and his air of boastfulness fell from him. There was a tone of deference to the Captain in his manner which sat gracefully on his young shoulders.
“Were it not that they brought your favor, I should regret the fly and the candle,” he said presently. “I crave your pardon.”
“Say no more of it. We'll give you better marks before long, maybe.”
“You carry two cloaks, Captain. How is that?”
“One my own, one I borrowed this morning. I am going to leave it with the landlord to be returned.”
“Wear it until we are free of the city. It may conceal you from some prying eyes. I warrant you are well looked for to-night.”
“Have we far to travel to this exit of yours?”
“Some distance, and by narrow ways. If there should be prying eyes we must close them quickly. We want no shouts to raise a rabble. Is it not time, Anton?”
“Yes, the gates have been closed for half an hour.”
“Come, then,” said the lad. “Must we go through the court?”
“There is no other way,” Anton answered.
“Then Captain, will you permit that Anton and I go first?” said Grigosie. “Follow close upon our heels; but should we stop, do not you; overtake us and push us roughly aside, and we will overtake you again in a moment. Your pardon that I seem to lead in this matter, but I know the road we must take.”
Ellerey returned a gruff assent to the arrangement. He had looked into the boy's eyes and seen honesty there, but he was not going to walk carelessly, for all that.
The inn was empty, so was the court, and there were few people abroad in the Bergenstrasse. Grigosie and Anton, leading the way by scarce a dozen paces, turned almost directly from the main thoroughfare into a side street, and had soon turned to left and right so often that Ellerey would hardly have found his way back to the Toison d'Or. Not once did they stop, and if they looked back to see that their companion was following them, Ellerey was not aware of the fact. He kept close upon their heels, ready to stand on the defensive at the first sign of treachery, but he took little notice of where they led him.
Suddenly a street corner struck him as familiar, and the next moment the truth flashed upon him. It was the street he had traversed last night. At the bottom there they had met Baron Petrescu. Even now the light was dimly burning in the upper window as it had been then. Grigosie and Anton stopped, but when Ellerey reached them he did not push them aside; he stopped, too. “And now which way?” he asked.
“Toward the light yonder,” Grigosie answered.
“My lad, there is a point beyond which I trust no one,” said Ellerey. “I know that light.”
“It marks our point of safety.”
“Yours, perhaps; not mine.”
“I do not understand, Captain.”
“If you are innocent, how should you? If you are false, why should you? Last night I had an appointment beneath that dim lamp. With difficulty I escaped with my life.”
“But you did escape; you know how. To-night there will be no duel. We shall go direct to that door in the wall.”
Who was this youngster that he knew so much?
“It seems to me a desperate chance even if you are honest in advising it,” said Ellerey. “Look you, lad, I give you warning. My life I am prepared to give, but if by treachery it is taken, I'll see that you bear me company on that journey, even as you have sworn to follow me to the death on the other.”
“I am content,” was the short answer. “Muffle your cloak about your face and leave me to speak.”
&nbs
p; They went together toward the light, and Grigosie knocked at the door as Baron Petrescu had done. There was the same delay, the self-same shaggy head was thrust out to the intruders. Silence reigned again until the stentorian voice had shouted, and then the clattering and the voices started instantly.
The man led them aside into the same room.
“Pass us out through the garden and ask no questions,” said Grigosie.
“Who have we here?” asked the man, pointing to Ellerey. “Neither ask questions nor answer any,” Grigosie returned.
“That's too pert a tongue to satisfy me,” growled the man. “Signs and passwords are easily stolen. I'd sooner let some one bear witness with me after last night.”
In an instant the lad was beside him. What he said was in so low a tone that Ellerey could not catch a word, but the effect was magical. The surly brute became alert and obsequious. He led them quickly down the passage, and opened the door leading into the garden. Perhaps Grigosie did not altogether trust him, for he caught him by the arm, saying that he should see them safely through the garden, and Ellerey noticed that Anton was particular to keep close to the man.
At the door in the wall the boy stopped.
“Your cloak, monsieur,” he said, turning to Ellerey “You wish it returned, do you not?”
Ellerey gave it to him and nodded, but did not speak
Grigosie gave the cloak to the man.
“Theodor, see that this is returned to Captain Ward at the British Embassy. Send it by a trusted messenger, and let him say that he had it from Captain Desmond Ellerey to-night, an hour before midnight—mark the time—when he met him in the Konigplatz. Good-night.”
The man bowed low as he opened the door for them. When it had closed upon them Grigosie turned to Ellerey.
“Are you satisfied, Captain?”
The boy's knowledge astonished Ellerey.
“You have reproved me twice to-night, youngster; first for being a bully, now for doubting you.”
“My anger is forgotten,” laughed the lad. “The cloak was a good thought. They will know that you were in the city to-night, and they will search Sturatzberg for you all day to-morrow. So we gain time. Our horses await us on the Breslen road; and yours, Captain?”
“Also on the Breslen road.”
“Then, Captain, will you order the march? My brief command is over.”
CHAPTER XIII. THE CASTLE IN THE HILLS
The first light of a new day awoke a chorus of blended voices within the depths of the forest. The early matin praise of the birds rose high and clear above the low-hummed hymn of the insects. The trees shook out their rustling garments, glorious autumn robes of color, scattering the dewy tears of night before the smiling day. Among the fallen leaves were hasty rushes to and fro, while rabbits flashed across the narrow open tracts.
There was stirring, too, in a dry hollow securely hidden by dense undergrowth from any traveller who chanced to pass that way. The whinnying of a horse sounded on the morning air, the rough rubbing of leather trappings, and the sharp click of steel. There were gruff laughter and gruffer oaths, man's salutation to the new day, and some low spoken words of discontent.
The addition to their number was not pleasing to them. The more they were, the less would each man receive as reward, they argued. Last night they were half-asleep, and had barely roused at Ellerey's coming. The men who had come with him, they supposed, were soldiers of fortune like themselves, men they knew, and even they were not not welcome; but with morning discontent broke out. The new arrivals were not soldiers, were strangers to them, and one at least was a mere lad. What good was he in their company?
Stefan did not complain. He noted Anton from head to foot, and did not like him. He looked at Grigosie and he laughed aloud. He turned to find Ellerey close beside him.
“This is the first day of the festival, then, Captain?”
“Festival?”
“Surely since we have such company. Some of these fellows might have brought their sweethearts with them had they known the kind of expedition they were engaged for. You bid me choose carefully, picked men who held life and death in such easy balance that they would take whichever happened without a murmur; and now you bring us a lean forester who is good for naught but felling trees, and a lad whose mother might still whip him without offence.”
“The lad is well enough, Stefan, and served me well last night.”
“Thank him, then, and send him home again. I have a message to send into the city. It will be employment for him to take it.”
“No, he goes with us.”
“There'll be much grumbling, Captain. These fellows like comrades they know the stomach of.”
“I'll answer for the boy.”
“You'd best do it quickly, then, or there'll be one or two riding back into Sturatzberg as yesterday they rode out.”
“If that is their spirit I'd sooner have lads like yonder beside me in a tight place,” Ellerey answered angrily. Then he went to the men who were looking to their saddle girths preparatory to mounting. “Comrades, we have a journey before us which may run smoothly, but which may bring us hard knocks. The reward is generous to those who win through. Are we prepared to take our chances one and all?” He paused, but only a grunt of tardy consent answered him.
“Last night I brought two others to join in our enterprise.”
“What need of them?” growled one man, “and one of them a boy.”
“They go with me whoever else stays behind,” said Ellerey, turning quickly to the man who had spoken. “Haven't you faith enough in me to trust my discretion?”
There was no reply.
“It must be tacit obedience, swift action to my command from every man who bears me company. Mount.”
In a moment every one was in his saddle excepting Ellerey himself, who stood with his horse's bridle over his arm.
“Yonder lies the Breslen road, an easy morning's canter into Sturatzberg. Who likes may ride that way and free himself from my authority.”
No man spoke or moved.
“Then are we comrades, and do not growl among ourselves,” said Ellerey, springing into his saddle. “Forward! You must find some other carrier for your message, Stefan.”
“And soon, or I'll have murder on my soul,” was the answer, as the troop rode singly out of the hollow and picked its way along a forest track.
It was high noon before they chanced upon a woodcutter and his boy.
“Give me leave, Captain,” said Stefan, bringing his horse to a standstill. “Here's one may take my message. Aye there, how far is it to Sturatzberg by the shortest road?”
“Five miles by foot, but riding you'll scarce do it in ten,” answered the woodcutter. “Will you or the lad carry a message there?”
“To-morrow I would. I go with a team there, taking timber.”
“To-morrow,” mused Stefan. “Why not? He'll last until then. Well, then, to-morrow. Here's a key. Take it to the Altstrasse. Do you know the Altstrasse?”
“Surely. I have a brother living there.”
“To the Altstrasse—thirteen—to the house of Monsieur De Froilette.”
“I have heard of him.”
“Then you will do him this service,” said Stefan.
“Give him the key, and say that if he has lost his servant, this key fits a certain cellar door in a certain lodging by the Western Gate. He will guess which lodging. His servant, loving wine too much, lies behind that cellar door, howling for his liberty.”
“I'll take the message.”
“Here's for refreshment by the way,” said Stefan, tossing him the key and a coin. “Monsieur De Froilette will reward you liberally, I warrant.”
“And who shall I say gave me the key?”
“Say a woman you met by the road, if your conscience will sanction the lie; if not, say a man, and word my picture as you please so that you make it handsome enough. But do not fail to deliver the message, for the man behind that door is slowly dying, and, i
f you do not go to his rescue, will surely curse you from his grave.”
“What does this mean, Stefan?” Ellerey asked, as the troop rode on, laughing at their companion.
“Francois was watching us, and saw the boy who carried your message to me yesterday. He came to question me, thinking me a fool, and went with me to the cellar to hear my story and to drink your wine. He got no story, and little wine for that matter, unless the ropes have slipped from his wrists and ankles. I tied him securely before I made him free of all the cellar contained. He'll be wanting food badly by to-morrow, when his master finds him.”
“It was well done, Stefan. We want no spies about us; but why should Monsieur De Froilette spy upon me?”
“For the same reason that a hawk watches its prey; it's his nature. You may snatch chestnuts out of the fire for monsieur, but it's only the charred husks will be your portion if the dividing is left to him.”
All that day they kept to the forest, making a wide detour round Sturatzberg. Progress was slow along the narrow tracks, and they went singly for the most part, careful of their horses' steps. That night they lay within a circle of trees, deep hidden in the woods and far from the road. For two days they were able to hold to the forest, and had no expectation of being surprised. They met no one save an occasional woodcutter or charcoal-burner, and once they disturbed some robbers who were perhaps near the place of their hidden booty. On the third day they were on the edge of the forest, and much open country lay between them and the mountains. The utmost caution was necessary now.
Ellerey called Grigosie to him.
“Anton said that you would be useful at scouting work.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“You will go forward with Stefan. Use your eyes and ears well.”
The lad saluted, and presently rode out with Stefan. Anton asked to go with them, but this Ellerey would not allow. He was glad of the opportunity of separating Grigosie from his companion for a little while. He had no reason to suspect them, but keeping them apart was a precaution. Ellerey had instructed Stefan to use the lad well, and with a grim smile upon his face the soldier rode with his youthful companion, keeping silence for a time.
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