The Puppet Crown Part 46

Again the flash of silver, broader and clearer this time; and Maurice could now separate the shadow-shapes. A carriage of some sort rolled from side to side, and two smaller shadows followed its wild flight.

One--two--three times Maurice saw the sparks and heard the faint reports. He became excited. Something extraordinary was taking place on the lonely road. Suddenly the top of the carriage replied with spiteful flashes of red. Then the moon came out from behind the clouds, and the picture was vividly outlined. Two continuous flashes of silver....

Cuira.s.siers! Maurice loosened the rein, and the horse went forward as smoothly as a sail. The distance grew visibly less. The carriage opened fire again, and Maurice heard the sinister m-m-m of a bullet winging past him.

"The wrong man may get hit, Bucephalus," he said, bending to the neck of the horse; "which is not unusual. You're pulling them down, old boy; keep it up. There's trouble ahead, and since the cuira.s.siers are for the king, we'll stand by the cuira.s.siers."

On they flew, nearer and nearer, until the pistol shots were no longer echoes. Two other hors.e.m.e.n came into view, in advance of the carriage.

Five minutes more of this exciting chase, and the faces took on lines and grew into features. Up, up crept the gallant little horse, his hoofs rattling against the road like snares on a drum. When within a dozen rods, Maurice saw one of the cuira.s.siers turn and level a revolver at him. Fortunately the horse swerved, and the ball went wide.

"Don't shoot!" Maurice yelled; "don't shoot!"

The face he saw was von Mitter's. His heart clogged in his throat, not at the danger which threatened him, but at the thought of what that carriage might contain.

A short time pa.s.sed, during which nothing was heard but the striking of galloping hoofs and the rumble of the carriage. Maurice soon drew abreast of von Mitter. There was a gash on the latter's cheek, and the blood from it dripped on his cuira.s.s.

"Close for you, my friend," he gasped; when he recognized the new arrival. "Have you--G.o.d! my leg that time," with a groan.

For the fire of the carriage had spoken again, and true.

Maurice shut his teeth, drew his revolver, c.o.c.ked it and applied the spurs. With a bound he shot past von Mitter, who was cursing deeply and trying to reload. Maurice did not propose to waste powder on the driver, but was determined to bring down one of the carriage horses, which were marvelous brutes for speed. Scharfenstein kept popping away at the driver, but without apparent result. Finally Maurice secured the desired range. He raised the revolver, rested the barrel between the left thumb and forefinger and pressed the trigger. The nearest carriage horse lurched to his knees, a bullet in his brain, dragging his mate with him.

The race had come to an end.

At once the two hors.e.m.e.n in front separated; one continued toward the great forest, while the other took to the hills. Scharfenstein started in pursuit of the latter. As for the carriage, it came to an abrupt stand. The driver made a flying leap toward the lake, but stumbled and fell, and before he could regain his feet Maurice was off his horse and on his quarry. He caught the fellow by the throat and pressed him to the earth, kneeling on his chest.

"Hold him!" cried von Mitter, coming up with a limp, "hold him till I knock in his head, d.a.m.n him!"

"No, no!" said Maurice, "you can't get information out of a dead man."

"It's all up with me," groaned the Lieutenant. "I'll ask for my discharge. I could hit nothing, my hand trembled. I was afraid of shooting into the carriage."

Maurice turned his attention to the man beneath him. "Now, you devil,"

he cried, "a clean breast of it, or off the board you go. O!" suddenly peering down. "By the Lord, so it is you--you--you!" savagely b.u.mping the fellow's head against the earth. "Spy!"

"You are killing me!"

"Small matter. Who is this fellow?" asked Maurice.

"Johann Kopf, a spy, a police rat, and G.o.d knows what else," answered von Mitter, limping toward the carriage. "Curse the leg!" He forced the door and peered inside. "Fainted! I thought as much." He lifted the inanimate bundle which lay huddled in between the seats and carried it to the side of the road, where he tenderly laid it. He rubbed the girl's wrists, unmindful of the blood which fell from his face and left dark stains on her dress. "Thank G.o.d," heartily, "that her Royal Highness was suffering from a headache. She would have died from fright."

Maurice felt the straining cords in the prisoner's neck grow limp. The rascal had fainted.

"Not her Highness?" Maurice asked, the weight of dread lifting from his heart.

"No. Her Royal Highness sent Camille, her maid of honor, veiled and dressed like herself, to play an innocent jest on her old nurse. Some one shall account for this; for they mistook Camille for her Highness.

I'm going to wade out into the water," von Mitter added, staggering to his feet.

"You'll never get off your boot," said Maurice.

"I'll cut it off," was the reply, "I shall faint if I do not cool off the leg. The ball is somewhere in the calf." And he waded out into the water until it reached above his knees. Thus he stood for a moment, then returned to the maid, who, on opening her eyes, screamed. "It is all over, Camille," said the Lieutenant, throwing an arm about her.

"Your face is bleeding!" she cried, and sank back with her head against his broad breast.

As Maurice gazed at the pair he sighed. There were no obstacles here.

Soon Scharfenstein came loping down the hill alone.

"I killed his horse," he said, in response to queries, "but he fled into the woods where I could not follow. A bad night for us, Carl, a bad night," swinging off his horse. "A boy would have done better work. Whom have we here?"

"Kopf," said Maurice, "and he has a ball somewhere inside," holding up a b.l.o.o.d.y hand.

"Kopf?" Scharfenstein c.o.c.ked his revolver.

The maid of honor placed her hands over her ears and screamed again. Max gazed at her, and, with a short, Homeric laugh, lowered the revolver.

"Any time will do," he said. "Ah, he opens his eyes."

The prisoner's eyes rolled wildly about. That frowning face above him...

was it a vision? Who was it? What was he doing here?

"Who put you up to this?" demanded Maurice.

"You are choking me!"

"Who, I say?"

"Beauvais."

Scharfenstein and von Mitter looked at each other comprehensively.

"Who is this Beauvais? Speak!"

"I am dying, Herr... Your knees--"

Maurice withdrew his knees. "Beauvais; who is he?"

"Prince... Walmoden, formerly of the emperor's staff."

Johann's eyes closed again, and his head fell to one side.

"He looks as if he were done for," said Maurice, standing up. "Let us clear up the rubbish and hitch a horse to the carriage. The mate's all right."

Von Mitter a.s.sisted the maid into the carriage and seated her.

"Go and stay with her," said Maurice, brusquely; "you're half fainting."

"You are very handy, Carewe," said von Mitter gratefully, and he climbed in beside the maid, who, her fright gone, gave way to womanly instincts.

She took her kerchief and wiped the Lieutenant's cheek, pressing his hand in hers the while.

Maurice and Scharfenstein worked away at the traces, and dragged the dead horse to the side of the road. Scharfenstein brought around von Mitter's horse, took oft the furnishings, and backed him into the pole.