The Princess Dehra Part 15

"Has it come to this, then-that my life isn't safe here-nor in my house, nor on the street! Is this civilization or savagery?"

Bernheim shrugged his shoulders.

"Neither," he said, "neither-it's h.e.l.l. It's always h.e.l.l where Lotzen plays. Surely, sir, you have not forgot the past."

"No-no-but that was a Masque, and a.s.sa.s.sination went with the costumes and the atmosphere; yet now, in Dornlitz of the twentieth century-I can't bring myself to believe ... why don't you threaten me with poison or a bomb?"

"Poison is possible, but not a bomb-it is not neat enough for Lotzen."

Armand looked at him in puzzled amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I see," he said, "I see-he murders artistically-he doesn't like a mess."

"Just so, sir; and the most artistic and least messy is a neat hole through the heart.... You will wear the vest, my lord?"

The Archduke's glance wandered to the window-electric cars were speeding down the avenue-an automobile whizzed by-and another-and another.

"Look," said he, "look! isn't it absurd to talk of steel vests!"

Bernheim shook his head. "Lotzen does not belong yonder-he is a remnant of the Middle Ages."

"Well, I'm not; so no armor for me, my dear Bernheim-I'll keep my eyes open and take my chances. I don't believe the crown of Valeria will be the reward of an a.s.sa.s.sin."

Disappointment shone in the Aide's eyes.

"I'm something of a Fatalist, myself, sir," he said, "but I wouldn't play with a tiger after I had goaded him to fury."

Armand smiled. "The case isn't exactly parallel."

"No-not exactly:-the tiger might not kill me."

The Archduke picked up the letter knife and slowly cut lines on the blotter.

"You need not go into the tiger's cage," he remarked.

"There isn't any cage-the beast is at large."

"Nonsense, Colonel; this fellow Lotzen has got on your nerves. I thought you hadn't any."

"The pity of it is, sir, that he hasn't got on yours."

"And when he does," said Armand kindly, "will be time enough for the chain-mail."

Bernheim took the vest and deliberately laid it on the blotter.

"For the sake of those who love you, my lord," he said-"and"-turning to a picture of the Princess, which hung on the opposite wall, and saluting-"for her whom we all serve."

The Archduke looked at the picture in silence for a moment.

"Send the vest to the Epsau," he said; "I will wear it-sometimes."

And Bernheim knew he had to be satisfied with the sometimes-though as even that was more than he had dared to hope for, he was well content.

The Archduke and the American Amba.s.sador met by appointment at the outer gate of the City, and as the former had been delayed, they rode at speed to the Summer Palace. It was the first time they had been together, informally, since the King's death, but beyond the usual friendly greeting and an occasional word en route there was no conversation. There was much that Armand wished to discuss with his friend, but this was not the place for it-it needed a quiet room and the other aids to serious consultation.

"I want a word with you, d.i.c.k, before you go back to town," he remarked, as they dismounted.

And Courtney nodded comprehendingly.

"As many as you wish, my boy," he said.

But the Princess also wanted a word with Courtney; she knew his keen insight into motives and men; his calm judicialness of judgment; his critical a.n.a.lysis of facts, and, most important of all, his influence with Armand, and she desired his counsel and his aid. She had not forgot the part he had played in the recent past; that but for him there would be no Archduke Armand; that, indeed, it was this quiet diplomat whom she had to thank for the happiest days of her life, and the happy prospect for the days to come; and, but for whom, there would be to her only the memory of that ride in the forest with the American Captain Smith; and Ferdinand of Lotzen would be King; and she-she might even be his Queen-and have yet to learn his vileness and his villainy.

All this she knew, and her heart warmed to Courtney as now it warmed to none other save Armand himself. And that very morning, as the two men crossed the terrace and came toward them, she had told Lady Helen Radnor, with the smiling frankness of a comrade, that if she sent this man away, no act in all her life would equal it in folly; then without waiting for an answer she had gone to greet her guests.

Now, when the luncheon was ended, she dismissed the servants and turned to Courtney.

"Will you do something for Armand?" she asked.

"Don't you think I have already done him service enough?" he said, looking at her with a significant smile-"more than he deserves or can ever appreciate."

"Well, may be you have," she smiled, catching his humor, "so do this for me-help me to make him King."

"What can I do?" he asked.

She leaned a bit nearer. "Keep him firm for his birthright; don't let him fling it aside in disgust, if the struggle drags out, for long."

Courtney nodded. "I understand," he said; "but you need have no concern; you yourself will keep him firm-it's the only way he can make you Queen."

He paused and tapped his cigarette meditatively against his gla.s.s. "You think there isn't any doubt as to the decree in his favor?" he asked.

"None-absolutely none."

"Then all you have to do is to find the Book-that shouldn't be so very difficult."

"True enough; it shouldn't-but it will be."

"You seem very positive," he said.

"A woman's intuition."

Courtney smiled. "Which isn't infallible."

"Will you try to prove that?" she asked. "Will you help us find the Book?" And without waiting for his answer she turned to the Archduke.

"Armand," she said, "tell Mr. Courtney what we know as to the Laws; I want his advice."

Armand laughed. "I fancy he already knows it, my dear-it's his business to know things."

"And it's also particularly his business," she retorted, "never to betray that he knows-therefore, we must tell him."