The Game and the Candle Part 6

The short spring day drew toward its close. The threatened storm marshaled its gray columns down the river, a sighing rain whispered around the building of sorrows. Very early, sh.o.r.e and water alike blended into vague, indeterminate dusk.

Rather less than the hour fixed had elapsed when the distinguished visitor, who had once worn the name of Don Feodor instead of that journalistic t.i.tle, reentered the upper end of the hall. He came accompanied only by the same stolid official as before; Dancla had disappeared.

Opposite the prisoner he paused to light a cigarette, then hesitated, looking from him to the little gold case in his own hand.

"I am going out again with this officer," he said in French, his casual tone excellently feigned. "Go to that river door, put on the coat lying upon the bench and the cap you will find in a pocket, then walk slowly to the barred gate and wait for me. When I come, salute me and follow."

Allard stiffened to rigidity, his eyes seeking the other's.

"I am guilty of what they accuse; do you still wish this?" he demanded.

There was something more than admiration in the visitor's smile.

"Did you question me in Palermo, or did you accept caste as enough? Yes, I wish it." He turned to the official and offered him the gold case. "I wanted to give the poor devil a cigarette," he explained. "But he says it is not allowed. Ah, I have forgotten to sign your register; will you come back?"

"Yes, sir," readily consented the man, curiously inspecting the diminutive, gold-tipped, perfumed cigarette lying in his ample palm. The nicotine bon-bon touched his ma.s.sive sense of the ludicrous; he was still contemplating it as he led the way back.

When the two vanished, Allard went swiftly down the long room, casting around him a glance of feverish scrutiny. He reached the door as a great gong announced the time when he should have returned from his work. s.n.a.t.c.hing up the coat, he slipped into it, pulled out the yachting cap with its gilt insignia, and finding a pair of gloves, drew them over his stained hands. So far well!

The most dangerous part, the journey across the broad, open wharf under the gaze of the armed guards in the towers, at least gave him the tonic of the sweet, wet air.

"I need John Allard's unshaken nerves," he told himself grimly. "If I reach there, perhaps I can believe he still exists."

The cloudy twilight, just light enough to show his conventional outline, just dark enough to veil discrepancies, aided him. He walked quite slowly and naturally, carefully avoiding puddles, stopping once to turn up his collar against the drizzling rain. Several times he looked back for his companion, and strolled on again.

A dozen eyes watched the self-possessed figure as he leaned nonchalantly upon the barred gate, and pa.s.sed from him to the more interesting spectacle of the small white launch and immaculate crew waiting outside.

There was little time, and the visitor, now with three attendant officials, moved slowly across the s.p.a.ce.

"G.o.d," prayed Allard dumbly, leaning against the gate in anguished waiting. "I think I have paid; but if not, let them shoot--to kill."

The group came nearer, halted. Allard drew himself stiffly erect and raised his hand in salute as the tallest man came opposite, then obeyed a slight movement of direction and stepped behind him. A grating of locks, a brief exchange of compliments, and for the first time in two years the prisoner stood without the barriers. Free, if only for that instant, free, and in reach of the lapping river.

The sailors waited at rigid salute, the visitor stepped into the swaying launch, and as Allard followed the gate closed--behind him. The tiny engine puffed, caught its beat, and the boat darted toward the dim white shape out in the stream.

Lights were flashing up here and there in the buildings, shining through the barred windows. To see the uncheckered sky again!

At the throb of their motor the yacht gleamed unexpectedly into an outline of myriad-pointed fire. Men ran across the decks, a miniature staircase fell in readiness.

"Follow me closely," directed the cool voice, when the launch stopped.

The wet, shining deck, the mutely respectful figures waiting to receive them, all blurred into insignificance for Allard. As his foot touched the yacht, pandemonium broke loose in the prison. Out over shouts and gong crashed the deafening roar of the huge whistle, rousing the country-side for miles around.

"It means?" questioned the master of the situation.

"They know I am missing--and they will think to search the yacht first."

"They will not search it without my consent, but I shall grant it.

Come."

A hand closed on Allard's arm; he was guided swiftly down a tinted and gilded companionway, across several rooms no less brilliant, and finally halted in a jewel box state-room.

"The clothes lie ready; get into them as soon as possible and come back to me. Lose no time, and toss the things you wear into that chest," came the directions. "I dare send no one to aid you."

"I understand," Allard answered, equally collected. In those Palermo days, it had been Don John who had lent Don Feodor a dinner dress; there would be little difficulty in the subst.i.tution now.

The other man went out to the salon. Touching a bell on the table, he gave his outer garments to the attendant who appeared.

"I shall not dress for dinner," he stated. "Let it be served here, now."

"Your Royal Highness is obeyed."

"And my companion is a gentleman who takes Dancla's place; let the suite be arranged for him."

"Yes, your Royal Highness."

His Royal Highness sat down in an arm-chair, his dark eyes more drowsily l.u.s.trous than usual as he listened to the din on sh.o.r.e. His old-world beauty of feature was characterized very strongly by the locked tranquillity of expression seen in those who live constantly under the observation of others; he wore a mask of repose not readily lifted.

It was not long before Allard came out, and closing the door behind him, stood for a moment regarding his host with an expression that blended all thoughts in its pa.s.sionate intensity. And prepared as he was for the change, remembering as he did the Don John of Palermo, the other yet returned the gaze with startled admiration and wonder. This gentleman, who proclaimed his cla.s.s in bearing, glance, in the very poise of his head with its short, waving chestnut hair of patrician fineness,--how had he been confounded for one hour with the underworld? Who had found the stamp of criminality in the strong, fine, sorrowful face?

"Monsieur," said Allard, taking a step forward.

Recalled, the host rose at once.

"Pardon a thousand times; I must remember you are the guest now and that this is not Villa Giocosa. But I can not play incognito any more. I have told my people that you come to take the place of my late secretary, Dancla--the man of whom you warned me--so you comprehend that it would never do for us not to know each other. I am Feodor Stanief."

Too aloof from recent European news, too long separated in thought from his former careless knowledge of such things, the name awoke in Allard only a vague sense of familiarity.

"If you have so much patience, or care for the old days, I will tell you my story whenever you choose, monsieur," he answered frankly and with dignity. "Until then, may I still give you the half-truth of Villa Giocosa and bear the name of John?"

The soft tinkle of china interrupted them. Stanief had only time to reply with his unexpectedly brilliant smile, before the servant entered the salon.

"I shall have pleasure in claiming the confidence, Monsieur John," he returned, "and may have one to give, if you concede what I hope. Marzio, what is that uproar outside?" turning to the servant.

"Your Royal Highness, it is not known. The people on sh.o.r.e are much disturbed."

"Apparently. If we were home, Monsieur John, I should call it a riot; but here--" he shrugged his shoulders and moved toward the table.

Allard followed, noting for the first time the t.i.tle given the other.

Interpreting his glance, Stanief nodded intelligence as the servant withdrew for an instant.

"Yes; a mere formality, but one it is not safe to ignore in our delicate position. To speak otherwise might draw attention."

Allard looked across the miniature dining table, of which the shaded candles and slim vase of flowers, the translucent crystal and frosty silver, all seemed to typify and insist upon the life which so strangely claimed him; and gazing at the author of this, the gray eyes grew splendidly luminous with something for which grat.i.tude was too pale and colorless a term. All the h.o.a.rded emotion of the last two years, all the despair and desolation, added their strength to his eloquent regard.

Receiving it, Stanief's own eyes grew warm and almost femininely sweet.

No speech could have told so much. When the servant reentered and the lashes of both men fell, a chain unbreakable had been forged, the clearness of wordless understanding was between them.

Neither spoke during the first course. The rapid beat of a small engine finally disturbed the silence, telling of a launch approaching from sh.o.r.e.