Castle Craneycrow Part 15

"I knew you were here, Prince Ugo, and would have inquired for you but that I suspected you would be closely engaged," said Quentin, after a moment.

"Earlier in the evening I was engaged, but I am here now as the bearer of a message to you, Mr. Quentin. Miss Garrison has asked me to deliver into your hands this missive." With that he drew from his pocket a sealed envelope and pa.s.sed it to Quentin. "I was commanded to give it you to-night, so perhaps you will read it now."

"Thank you," muttered the other, nervously tearing open the envelope as the prince turned to d.i.c.key Savage. At that moment the duke and the count strolled into the rotunda, jauntily, easily, as if they had been no farther than the block just beyond, instead of racing about in a bounding cab. They approached the group as Phil turned away to read the note which had come so strangely into his hands.

Dorothy wrote:

"Dear Phil: I trust you to say nothing to Prince Ugo. I mean, do not intimate that I saw him yesterday when I went to drive with you. He would consider it an affront. I know it is not necessary to caution you, but I feel safe in doing so. You will pardon me, I am sure. My conduct, as well as yours, when we look at it calmly in an afterlight, was quite extraordinary. So fully do I trust him and so well does he love me that I know this note comes to you inviolate.

"D."

Phil's brain was in a whirl. He glanced at the handsome face of Dorothy's n.o.ble lover and then at his swarthy fellow countrymen.

Could they be plotters? Could he be hand-in-hand with those evil-looking men? He had delivered the note, and yet he so feared its recipient that he was employing questionable means to dispose of him. There could be no doubt as to the genuineness of the note. It was from Dorothy, and the prince had borne it to him direct from her hand.

"An invitation to dinner?" asked the prince, laughing easily. "Miss Garrison is alarmingly fond of Mr. Quentin, and I begin to feel the first symptoms of jealousy. Pardon me, I should not speak of her here, even in jest." So sincere was his manner that the Americans felt a strange respect for him. The same thought flashed through the minds of both: "He is not a blackguard, whatever else he may be."

But up again came the swift thought of Courant and his ugly companions, and the indisputable evidence that the first named, at least, was a paid agent of the man who stood before them, now the prince, once the singer in far away Brazil.

"The mention of dinner recalls me to affairs of my own," continued Ugo. "To-morrow night I expect a few friends here to dine, and I have the honor to ask you all to be among my guests. We shall sit down at nine o'clock, and I only exact a promise that the end may come within a week thereafter."

The Americans could do naught but accept, but there was an oppressive sense of misgiving in their hearts. Mayhap the signal failure to carry out the plans of one night was leading swiftly and resolutely up to the success of another. For more than an hour Quentin and his friend sat silently, soberly in the former's room, voicing only after long intervals the opinions and conjectures their puzzled minds begot, only to sink back into fresh fields for thought.

"I can't understand it," said d.i.c.key, at last, starting to bed.

"I believe I understand it perfectly. They are on a new tack. It occurs to me that they fear we suspect something and the dinner is a sort of peace offering."

"We may be getting into a nest of masculine Lucretia Borgias, my boy."

"Pleasant dreams, then. Good-night!"

XIV. A DINNER AND A DUEL

At nine o'clock the next evening Quentin and Savage found themselves in the rooms occupied by the prince, the former experiencing a distinct sense of wariness and caution.

If Quentin suspected some form of treachery at the outset, he was soon obliged to ridicule his fears. There were nearly a score of men there, and a single glance revealed to him the gratifying fact that no treachery could be practiced in such an a.s.semblage. Among their fellow guests there was an English lord, an Austrian duke, a Russian prince, a German baron, besides others from France, Belgium and Germany.

Prince Ugo greeted them warmly, and they were at their ease in an instant under the magnetism of his manner. Duke Laselli and Count Diego were more profuse in their greetings to the young men, and it devolved upon the latter to introduce them to the distinguished strangers. There was but one other American there, a millionaire whose name is a household word in the states and whose money was at that time just beginning to a.s.sert itself as a menace to the great commercial interests of the old world. He welcomed his fellow New Yorkers with no small show of delight. The expression of relief on his face plainly exposed a previous fear that he was unspeakably alone in this a.s.semblage of continental aristocrats.

At the table, Quentin sat between an Austrian duke and a German named Von Kragg. He was but two seats removed from Prince Ugo, while Savage was on the other side of the table, almost opposite Quentin.

On d.i.c.key's right sat the Duke Laselli, and next to that individual was the American millionaire. Directly across the broad table from Quentin was the tall rakish-looking Count Diego Sallaconi.

"Ob, n.o.bde gap sansan wobble wibble raggle dully pang rubby dub, bob," said the baron, in his best French, addressing the statuesque American with the broad shoulders and the intense countenance.

"With all my heart," responded Mr. Quentin, with rare composure and equal confidence. He had no more conception of what the baron intended to say than he would have had if the planet Mars had wigwagged a signal to him, but he was polite enough to do anything for the sake of conversation. The baron smiled gladly, even approvingly; it was plain that he understood Phil's English fully as well as that gentleman understood his French. Quentin heard his name uttered by Prince Ugo and turned from the baron.

"Mr. Quentin, Prince Kapolski tells me he saw our friends, the Saxondales, in London last week. They were preparing to go to their place in the country. You have been there, have you not?" Prince Ugo turned his gleaming eyes and engaging smile upon the man addressed.

"On several occasions," responded the other. "Saxondale is a famous hunter and he gave me some rare sport. When do they leave London?"

he asked, indifferently.

"They were to have started this week," said the Russian prince, "and there is to be quite a large party, I hear. A young American who was with them was called away suddenly last week, and, as the trip was arranged for his special amus.e.m.e.nt--by the Lady Jane, I was told--his departure upset the plans a trifle." Quentin and Savage, who had heard the remarks glanced at one another in surprise.

"I should enjoy being with them," said the former, warmly. "My friend, Mr. Savage, was invited, I think," he added, and d.i.c.key studiously consulted the salad. He had not been invited and the announcement that the Saxondales were off for the north of England was news to him.

"Oh, certainly," exclaimed Ugo; "he was their guest. And the Lady Jane arranged it, you say, Kapolski? Draft horses could not have been strong enough to pull me away from London had she planned for my pleasure. You must discover the fault in him, my dear Quentin, and hold him to account for a very reprehensible act." Ugo knew that d.i.c.key was listening, and the first point in a beautiful game was scored.

"Mr. Savage does not care for shooting," said Phil, flushing slightly. The Russian prince had been looking at him intently; a peculiar flash came into his eye when Quentin made the defensive remark.

"But there is game to be had without resorting to the gun," he said, smiling blandly.

"One doesn't have to go to a shooting box to bag it, though," said Sallaconi, mischievously.

"I think the hunter uses bow and arrow exclusively," added Ugo, and there was a general laugh, which sent a streak of red up d.i.c.key's cheeks. If the Russian's news was true he had been purposely slighted by the Saxondales. And yet it was not altogether humiliation or wounded pride that brought the red to his cheek. He and the Lady Jane had quarrelled just before he left her, and while he hated her and she hated him and all that, still he did not care to hear her name bandied about by the wine sippers at this delectable table.

"What are they talking about?" asked the American millionaire of d.i.c.key, his curiosity aroused by the laughter of a moment before.

"About as nasty as they can," growled d.i.c.key. "That's their style, you know."

"Whew! You don't have much of an opinion of n.o.bility. Beware of the prince," said the other, in a low tone.

"You couldn't insult some of them with a deliberate and well-aimed kick," remarked the younger man, sourly. The Duke Laselli's ears turned a shade pinker under his oily, swarthy skin, for the words penetrated them in spite of the speaker's caution.

"A toast," said the Russian prince, arising from his seat beside Ravorelli. The guests arose and gla.s.ses almost met in a long line above the center of the table. Ugo alone remained seated as if divining that they were to drink to him. For the first time Quentin closely observed the Russian. He was tall and of a powerful frame, middle-aged and the possessor of a strong, handsome face on which years of dissipation had left few weakening marks. His eyes were narrow and as blue as the sky, his hair light and bushy, his beard coa.r.s.e and suggestive of the fierceness of the wild boar. His voice was clear and cutting, and his French almost perfect. "We drink to the undying happiness of our host, the luckiest prince in all the world. May he always know the bliss of a lover and never the cares of a husband; may his wedded state be an endless love story without a prosaic pa.s.sage; may life with the new Princess of Ravorelli be a poem, a song, a jub late, with never a dirge between its morn and its midnight."

"And a long life to him," added Quentin, clearly. As they drank the eyes of Prince Ugo were upon the last speaker, and there was a puzzled expression in them. Count Sallaconi's black eyebrows shot up at the outer ends and a curious grimness fastened itself about his mouth and nose.

"I thank you, gentlemen," responded Ugo, arising. "Will you divide the toast with me in proposing the happiness of the one who is to bring all these good things into my life?" The half-emptied gla.s.ses were drained. d.i.c.key Savage's eyes met Quentin's in a long look of perplexity. At last an almost imperceptible twinkle, suggestive of either mirth or skepticism, manifested itself in his friend's eyes and the puzzled observer was satisfied.

When, in the end, the diners pushed their chairs back from the table and pa.s.sed into another room, it was far past midnight, and the real revelry of the night was at hand. Reckless, voluptuous women from the vaudeville houses and dance halls appeared, and for hours the wine-soaked scions of n.o.bility reeked in those exhibitions which shock the sensibilities of true men. Four men there were who tried to conceal their disgust while the others roared out the applause of degenerates.

"I am not a saint, but this is more than I can stand. It is sickening," said Quentin.

"And these miserable specimens of European manhood delight in it,"

said Savage, his face aflame with shame and disgust. "It is too vile for a man who has a breath of manhood in him to encourage, and yet these bounders go crazy with rapture. Gad, don't ask what kind of women they are. Ask how it is the world has ever called these fellows men."

"Did I understand you correctly, sir?" asked a cold voice at his side, and d.i.c.key turned to look into the flaming eyes of Prince Kapolski. Count Sallaconi was clutching the left arm of the big Russian, and there was a look of dismay in his face. He flashed a glance of fierce disappointment at Quentin, and then one of helplessness across the room at Prince Ugo.

"If you understand English you probably did," said d.i.c.key, pale but defiant.

"Come, prince," began the agitated count, but Kapolski shook him off.

"You must apologize for your comments, sir," said the prince, in excellent English.

"I can't apologize, you know. I meant what I said," said d.i.c.key, drawing himself up to the limit of his five feet ten. The Russian's open hand came violently in contact with the young fellow's cheek, driving the tears to the surface of his eyes They were tears of anger, pain and mortification, not of submission or fear.

His clenched right hand shot outward and upward, and before the Russian knew what had happened a crashing blow caught him full in the jaw, and he would have gone sprawling to the floor had not Diego Sallaconi caught him in his arms. Quentin grasped d.i.c.key and pulled him away, while others rushed in and held the roaring, sputtering victim.