Hanbury took out tobacco and started to fill a pipe. Then he looked at our prisoners, who were leaning disgustedly against a boulder watching Rowley lash together their ankles as though they were to be entered for a three-legged race.
“You were asking my indulgence,” said George, “and I cut you short. What was it you wanted to say?”
The two looked at one another helplessly.
“Go on,” said George pleasantly. “You were only doing your duty, and we’ve no quarrel with you.”
To point this assurance, I offered the two cigarettes, but, though they seemed greatly relieved and bowed their appreciation as well as they could, they were plainly reluctant to give us the information we sought.
“I think,” said George, “you owe us an explanation. You did your best to arrest us, and, before we leave the country, we should like to know what we’ve done.”
The two regarded one another.
Then—
“You are leaving the country, sir?” said the one who had spoken to George.
“Well, you don’t think we’re going back? Tonight we shall cross the frontier and be in Salzburg by dawn.”
Upon this false declaration, the fellows opened their mouths.
We were to have been arrested for breaking and entering Grieg’s flat.
When we asked why we were suspected, they swore that they did not know; but, after a little, admitted that I was charged with the felony and George with being accessory after the fact.
“I was out of Vigil,” said I, “as your masters very well know.”
Professional pride will out.
“You were there until midnight, sir: and you left the opera-house at half past nine.”
I stared at the speaker.
“That’s perfectly true,” said I. “Who told you that?”
“Do not ask any more, sir,” said the other. “I am sure that you had good reason for all you did, but the warrant was all in order – and, if I may say so, I think you are wise to be gone. You have given offence in high quarters, and—”
“Let me see the warrant,” said George.
At once both protested that the warrant had been held by their chief who had gone to our flat to take us, because he had reason to think that we should be there.
George Hanbury fingered his chin.
“I think,” said he, “that you have a duplicate. You see, your chief wasn’t with you, and, without a warrant…”
He nodded to Rowley, who started to search their pockets in a highly professional way.
“It is hopeless,” said one. “Give it him.”
A blue envelope passed, and George and I sat down to see what its papers would show.
The warrant was seemingly in order, and we turned to another and longer document.
“By thunder!” cried George. “By thunder, this is the goods. This is the ‘information’ – the secret depositions upon which the warrant was applied for. No wonder they were so sticky about parting.”
There were in all five deponents.
The first was Grieg.
His testimony may be imagined. He swore to the bad blood between us and our attempt upon his life, to our sudden occupation of the flat directly below him and our undoubted desire to do him grave injury.
The second was Grieg’s servant.
He swore that our ways were suspicious and that we kept strange hours: that on the night in question he had been out by permission from nine o’clock until twelve: that, though it was not discovered until the morning, he had no doubt that the crime had in fact been committed between those hours, for that he was a light sleeper, yet had heard no sound in the night: that George Hanbury had volunteered that he heard some movement at three, in the hope, no doubt, of diverting suspicion from us.
The third and fourth were detectives, who swore little more than that they knew us by sight and that our ways were peculiar and not at all those of tourists seeking amusement abroad.
The fifth deponent put the rope round our necks.
He swore that we were desperate men and that we carried arms. He had seen us do violence and had heard us threaten Grieg. He had seen us in the stalls of the theatre on Wednesday night and had particularly noticed that after the first act of Tosca I had gone out of the house and had not reappeared.
Such was the deposition of his Highness Duke Paul of Riechtenburg.
It is said of Henry II, King of England, that when he saw signed against him his own son’s name, John, Count of Mortain, he turned his face to the wall.
We were not thus moved, and, though we were at once dumbfounded and most deeply provoked, I am glad to think that the more we considered the outrage, the less consideration it seemed to deserve.
At first, in our haste, we were ready to return to Vigil and lay the papers before the Grand Duchess herself. But presently reason prevailed, and we remembered that, after all, Duke Paul was no more to us than a chessboard king that we were seeking to move to his proper place.
“Speaking for myself,” said George, “this entirely beastly young man can go to hell. I’m helping a pretty lady to – God save her – her heart’s desire. I suppose she’s in her right mind, but let that go. And if her heart’s desire is to cherish a third-class viper – well, we must expect to be bitten whenever we give it the chance.”
It was, of course, for my sake that George took the matter so well, for, whatever may be your reason for taking up the cudgels in another’s behalf, if he himself turns upon you, it is only human to wash your hands of the business and let him fare as he deserves: but George was the soul of loyalty and, since it was my furrow he was ploughing, nothing but my hesitation would have made him look back.
His parable of the viper was, I fear, much to the point, but it must be remembered that Duke Paul had little or no idea that we were doing our utmost to place him upon the throne: that does not excuse his misconduct, but, as some two hours later, we picked our way through the mountains towards the town we had left, I could not help feeling that to judge such a youth too harshly was easy enough.
The duke was evil, and the blood in his veins was bad. Little wonder that in such soil honesty languished and ill weeds grew apace. I think he liked no one but himself, and I do not think he would ever have been familiar with any honest man. The Grand Duchess he valued, as one treasures a beautiful horse. Us he disliked of instinct. He envied our car and our servants and our freedom from worldly care. We had not courted his pleasure, and more than once we had shown him very plainly that we were not under his orders and would stand no nonsense from him. Before these whips he had been helpless as the shorn lamb before the wind. Finally, he had grown jealous. The Grand Duchess plainly liked us, and when at Barabbas she had been missing and I had gone off to seek her, I remember that his eyes were upon us as we came forth together to enter the car.
That in this matter of the warrant he had been Johann’s cats-paw I had no doubt; and though I have never learned the truth, I fancy Duke Paul spoke freely before his servants, and if these were not faithful or did not hold their tongues, I suppose the rest was simple to a man that was ready and active behind the scenes.
It was now near six o’clock, and we were approaching Vigil from a quarter we did not know.
George and Bell and I were wearing overalls which we had bought in a village and fouled in a ditch. Our faces and hands were filthy with oil and grease, and no one, I think, would have known us but for the Rolls. In sacks we had food enough to last us for two or three days.
We three were bound for the passage – to keep our appointment with Grimm at seven o’clock. Rowley was to set us down on the skirts of the town and then withdraw to the country and lay up the Rolls: when this was done, he would return on foot and make his way to the passage as soon as he could.
A farmer we had found was willing to care for the car, and though we were all reluctant to abandon our magic carpet – for that is what she had proved – our brush with the police had, so to speak, put her in balk. She
had only to be seen in Vigil to be immediately chased, and, since secrecy was of the essence of the course we were trying to steer, to use her would have been madness, no matter how sore our need.
Now I was far from easy about the walk we must take to reach the fosse. For one thing, we had no map or plan of the streets, and, while it is simple enough to find some prominent feature of any town, the skirts of Vigil were ample and we had no time to spare, yet dared to ask the way of no man, lest such a question should bear us evil fruit: for another, it was broad daylight. Still, the engagement had been made, and I feared that if we did not keep it, Grimm would think we had failed him and shut the door.
My forebodings were justified.
For a full hour we wandered, afraid to loiter, afraid to show undue haste, afraid to consult together, afraid to go different ways, and when at last I glanced through an open house door to look clean through the building and see beyond it the trees of the palace gardens, I could hardly believe my eyes.
At once I told George, who was slouching along, fuming, some two or three paces ahead, and five minutes later we were all looking into the fosse.
The fosse was a natural gorge which many years before had been partly revetted by man. To judge by the ear, water was steadily coursing down all its length, and waterside bushes and plants had come to such luxuriance that at some points the walls were hidden and the fosse was so full of green that none could have told its depth without a sounding-rod. As a matter of fact it was some thirty feet deep, and I think it was something wider, but I cannot be sure. Upon one side ran a pleasant, quiet road with, beyond it, the wall which fenced the palace gardens from curious gaze: on the other, the backs of old houses stood up in some disarray, and I think an artist would have found half a dozen pictures in the little I was able to remark.
Three bridges were spanning the fosse that I could see, all of them weatherbeaten and very elegant, with their piers thick-covered with moss, and lichen on all their stones. The last of the three was marked by a pretty pulpit which rose from its parapet and was meant, I suppose, for a bridge-ward in days gone by: and since George had mentioned this feature, I knew that this was the bridge beneath which the passage emerged.
It had been arranged that we should each enter the fosse at a different place and make our way to the passage by the bed of the stream; and perhaps because I was the most fearful I was the first to disappear.
As luck would have it, there were not many people in sight, but those that were there were of a dangerous kind, for they were about no business but that of strolling and staring and generally taking their ease.
I walked down the road slowly…
Now and again there were little breaks in the wall which was guarding the fosse, and from each of these a path or a rude flight of steps went down very sharp. I afterwards found that these ways led down to old troughs in which the poor women of Vigil had used to wash clothes.
There was no time to be lost: indeed, every moment I was expecting to hear some impatient clock declare the hour: so I laid the sack I was bearing upon the wall and, in taking my seat beside it, struck it as though by accident into the fosse below.
The ruse was slight enough and, for all I know, may have been needless, but it gave me a certain courage, and I started without more ado, to recover my bread and cheese.
A moment later I was hastening along the bed of the busy water, while the bushes which flourished about it hid me from view.
As the clocks of Vigil were striking seven o’clock, I swung myself into the niche; and we were all three in the passage before two minutes were past.
Twenty-five minutes later Hanbury was fighting his way into a scarlet coat, while Grimm’s son was teaching Bell to powder my hair.
8: In Sheep’s Clothing
I do not know whether it is generally known that if you can change the colour of a man’s hair, his own mother may be forgiven for passing him by. I certainly never knew it, and when I came suddenly face to face with George Hanbury powdered, for an instant I thought him a stranger, and that is the plain truth. What is more to the point, he made a splendid footman: and, indeed, I think that no one would ever have suspected that he and Bell and I were not in fact royal servants in all their state.
We were fortunate in our livery, for the sergeant-footman had by him nearly a dozen suits which had been made at one time or another for different men and, being in perfect condition, had been kept against the enlistment of footmen whom they might fit. From these we three were equipped, and though the set of my breeches would perhaps have been questioned in Savile Row, the coats we chose might have been stitched upon us, and no one but we could have told that they were uncomfortably tight.
It will be remembered that we had our food with us: we had, therefore, no need to call upon the kitchens for rations, and since there was nothing to take us beyond the private suite, none of the staff would suspect that the footmen whom Grimm had dismissed had been replaced. The physicians would see us and so would the lords-in-waiting, and these would know that there were still four footmen, while the staff were equally sure that there was but one: but I judged that with any luck some time would elapse before these two beliefs came into conflict and that ere the resultant rumour had won to Johann’s ears, the Prince would be dead.
I, therefore, made up my mind that, provided we bore ourselves as lackeys, kept our mouths shut and took our cue from Grimm, we had little to fear: but we spent a broken half-hour rehearsing the manner we should use on entering and leaving a chamber, on opening and shutting a door and other such petty occasions, for, though Grimm and his son were to shoulder as much of our duty as they could, there was watching and waiting to be done by night as by day, and, as I shall show, the service now demanded could not possibly be rendered by only two men.
The Prince’s apartments lay upon the first floor, and, as Sully had said, they took the form of a flat. This flat was cut from the rest of the palace by a broad corridor or hall which ran the width of the building and was laid with a heavy carpet so that no footfalls might be heard. Immediately beyond this hall lay the Grand Staircase with a spacious antechamber on either side. The hall could be reached from either of the antechambers or from the staircase itself, and I learned that double sentries were guarding each of these doors. (Myself I heard the guard changed at nine o’clock.) When I asked if such precaution was usual, Grimm said that in all his service it had never been taken before. The back stairs were similarly guarded, and since access to the private apartments – always an important question – had now become a matter of the gravest concern, I will deal with it here and now.
In the ordinary way two footmen were always on duty in the broad corridor, one at the door from the staircase and the other at the door of the room in which the Prince happened to be. The others would be in their quarters or about some other business, while the sergeant-footman himself was always at hand.
There was an unwritten law that no one should ever be admitted to the corridor without reference to the Prince. To this rule there were four exceptions – the two lords-in-waiting on duty, the heir apparent and the Lord President of the Council. Everyone else, however exalted his position or urgent his case, must wait in an antechamber until the Prince’s pleasure was known.
In view of the Prince’s sickness, this rule had been relaxed so far as the physicians were concerned, and these had immediate access by night or day.
Five days ago, with the connivance of Brooch, the second lord-in-waiting, Johann had been permitted to break this rule, and Grimm had come upon them pacing the corridor. At once he had apprised the Prince, who was much annoyed. Johann had been conducted to an antechamber, and Brooch had been summoned and rated as he deserved.
I think this will show what manner of man Grimm was – strong, fearless and resolute to stand upon his rights. He was answerable to no man, except the Prince. The lords-in-waiting could give him no orders, and the question of access lay with the Prince and with him. If the Prince’s pleasure c
ould not be ascertained, the matter rested with Grimm. His personality was compelling. Men were afraid of him, as of the Prince. There was no doubt about it – the old sergeant-footman was a true tower of strength.
For all that, Grimm was a servant, and if Johann chose to crush him, it was within his power. Both of them knew this. But to touch so stout-hearted a man required a purpose which Johann could not summon, and I fancy he waived the matter as one which would lose its importance the moment the Prince was dead. If I am right in this, I think his decision was sound, for with the Prince’s death Grimm’s authority must plainly fall into abeyance, if not come to an end.
When I asked him whose orders he would take when the Prince had breathed his last, he hesitated a moment and then replied “Those of Duke Paul,” but I think he saw that, on the death of a monarch, there must be goings and comings which no one man could control and that, the circumstances being extraordinary, rules and regulations would have to be honoured in the breach.
Grimm’s invaluable loyalty had been bred in the bone. He was deeply attached to his master, but he worshipped the latter’s office as his father’s father had worshipped it seventy years before. In his eyes the succession was sacred. To tamper with the royal tradition was the unpardonable sin. For better or for worse, Duke Paul had been born to the purple – and there was an end of that.
The sergeant-footman was, of course, perfectly right. Maybe his simple outlook was out of date; but so are many honest ways of thinking, and the world would be the richer if there were more spirits of his sort. The man was faithful, cared not at all for himself and, keeping his eyes upon his duty, looked neither to right nor left.
The doctors were lodged in a room which lay directly beneath the royal suite, and, in the event of a crisis, one of the nuns had only to touch a bell to summon them up.
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