2:  A Lady of High Degree

Half an hour had gone by, and we were again upon the road.

We were not bound for Vigil or even for Riechtenburg, but for a castle in Carinthia which lay to the east of St Martin, some seventy miles away. This was the seat of the Riechtenburg second line, now alone represented, it seemed, by the Grand Duchess Leonie, to whom the Duke was betrothed.

So much our guest had vouchsafed us, after a deplorable scene, in which he breathed enough threatenings to fill up a book, swore that the army was faithful and would follow him to the death and instanced a score of times the love, esteem and veneration in which he was held by the people that he vas to rule. In view of all these protests, we counselled his immediate departure, promising to have him at Vigil before it was noon; but he steadfastly ignored our entreaties to enter the car until he conceived the idea of himself acquainting his fiancée with what was afoot. Then he would wait for nothing, raving like any madman because we must look at the map, but I fear that, had her castle stood in Riechtenburg instead of in the opposite direction to that principality, he would not have been so instant that we should proceed.

In a word, the man was ‘rattled.’ It is not for me to blame him, for what I should have done in his case I do not know; but I cannot pretend that he cut a princely figure, and I could not help wondering whether his cousin Johann, usurper or no, would not rule his people at least as well.

To be perfectly frank, both George and I were glad to be quit of the duty of visiting Riechtenburg. Had Duke Paul been other than he was, if his presence had inspired any feelings but those of scorn and dislike, we should both have been happy to help him to try to save the game; but the prospect of escorting to Vigil so objectionable a youth, there perhaps to meet with a reception which, however unpleasant, we could not honestly condemn was, I think, not unnaturally, one which we were thankful to forego. Indeed, we looked forward cheerfully to our approaching release, and that with a clear conscience, for if we had had our way, we should have been driving for Vigil as hard as we could.

Now, well as we knew Carinthia, we had never passed by Anger, the Grand Duchess Leonie’s home, and I cannot forget the impression of vanished splendour which my first sight of it evoked.

To reach it, we left the valleys and climbed by the side of a torrent into the hills. Our road, though shown upon the map, was for the last three miles as good as private, for so far as I saw, it served no other dwelling, but led directly to the castle and there came to an end. This was by no means unusual, for the great houses of those parts are nearly always retired, and, since the estates about them are seldom if ever fenced, one who is touring at random can never tell what some lane or by-road may bring forth.

Our way was girt thick with timber, and, since the trees were in leaf, I at the wheel could see nothing except that we had entered a gorge and were climbing between two shoulders that towered on either side. At length, as we rounded a beechwood, the sides of the gorge fell away, or rather the gorge itself bellied into an ample circus, once, no doubt, all forest, but now greensward. This was the head of the gorge, for the mountains stood round in a ring, and on the far side of the circus a great cascade fell down in a single leap. At its base the waters parted and ran to right and to left, meeting again in the midst of the great greensward to form the angry torrent by the side of which we had come. And on the island, so made, rose the castle itself – a grey, lichened pile, with the water fretting its sides and the trees stretching out great boughs to overhang its battlements and chafe its towers. The ramparts had been made into a terrace, perhaps a century ago, and seven great windows argued a lofty gallery upon the south. These were shuttered within, and nearly every one was short of a pane. Between each window stood a statue, plainly of bronze, bearing aloft a lantern which must have been three feet high. There had no doubt been a drawbridge, but this was gone: in its room four leopards held up a bridge of stone. In niches above the gateway stood two bronze men-at-arms, between whom hung a great bell. Above this their hands were raised as though to strike, and I afterwards found that their arms were controlled by pulleys and that years ago they had served the castle clock. Now a clapper had been put to the bell, and the rope which dangled from this was hitched to one side of the archway, for those who came to pull. Porter there was none, and, but for some cows in the meadow and a little child to tend them, there was no sign of life.

When I came to the bridge, I slowed down.

“Go on. Drive in,” said the Duke. “And sound the horn.”

More to please myself than my guest, I did his bidding, for I had a mind to see the courtyard within; but I sounded the bulb horn gently, for the other would have cried ‘Havoc!’ in such a place.

As I passed under the archway, the Duke exclaimed with impatience and, leaning across me, sounded the electric horn.

In that gesture you have the man.

Arrogant, mannerless, strong to commit an offence which those it offended would lay to another’s charge – for it was I that was driving and I that had the horn-button under my hand…

The noise, of course, was monstrous. The old walls bandied it frantically, and the cliffs beyond gave it back: a muster of terrified pigeons took clumsy flight: two dogs were barking like mad things, and I sat still fuming and waiting for the echoes to die.

As the Duke descended, a woman’s clear voice rang out.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The words came from behind me. I did not turn, but looked into the driving mirror to see a girl sitting square on a great bay horse.

She had followed us under the archway and was now framed by its mouth. I could see that her hair was dark and her colour high. She sat astride and was wearing riding-trousers that fitted her very well: her rough straw hat was bound with a bright red kerchief, and her white silk shirt lay open about her throat.

As the Duke approached, she drew off her right-hand glove and, when he uncovered, she leaned down ever so slightly and put her bare hand into his. I saw him kiss her fingers and look up into her face.

“Leonie,” he said, “they’ve done it on me. The old man died last evening, and Johann was proclaimed this morning at nine o’clock.”

The Grand Duchess never moved.

“Why are you here?” she said.

“Grieg came for me yesterday evening. The Prince wanted me, he said. He had a blind car, and before I knew where I was we were out of the city and flicking hell for leather along the Austrian road. I’d have broken his neck, but he shoved a gun in my ribs. About half past ten we got out on some country road. I’ve never seen such rain. Then another car comes up and Grieg tells me to get inside. You couldn’t argue the point in rain like that. I tell you it was too awful. Besides, he had a gun…

“Well, it was the wrong car. Belonged to these English fellows – they’d been catching fish. I put them wise, and between us we flattened Grieg out. Spent the night at some village in a fly-blown inn. Grieg cleared out in the night and left this note.” I saw a paper pass. “I was just leaving for Vigil when somebody brought it in.”

The Grand Duchess read the note and handed it back. Then she spoke in English as clear and clean as could be.

“Why are you here?”

The Duke took out cigarettes.

“To put you wise, of course, Leonie.”

“You could have telephoned: and – well, unless you mean to sit down under—”

“Of course I don’t,” cried the Duke.

“Then why aren’t you at Vigil?”

“I’m going,” said the Duke. “I’m going.” He lighted a cigarette and stared at its fiery end. “So you advise—”

The Grand Duchess laughed.

“Nothing, Paul. I’m not – interested.”

The Duke looked up sharply.

“I should have thought,” he began.

“I know. Most people would.”

“Don’t you want to be Princess?”

“I never did,” said the girl: “but I used to have a weakness for seeing people come by their rights. But you’ve got me out of that.”

I cannot describe the scorn with which her words were spoken. It was a quiet, cold disdain, more evident to us, I fancy, than to the Duke himself. This and her use of English made me feel sure that she was determined that we strangers should know the truth, lest we should hold her shameless in being betrothed to such a man.

“Hang it, Leonie,” said the Duke. “I didn’t come for a pi-jaw.”

“I know. You came for advice. Or was it to put me wise? Never mind. I’ve no advice to give you, but I can give you some news.”

“News?”

“News. That note’s a lie. It was very nearly true. Grieg, of course, hoped it was true, and he guessed that, true or false, it would keep you out of Vigil for several hours. The Prince had a stroke last night at half past five. Everyone thought it was the end, but at half past six he rallied and at eight o’clock this morning he was doing extremely well.”

“You’re joking,” cried the Duke hoarsely.

“Of course I’m not,” said the girl. “Marya Dresden telephoned to me last night. And she rang up again this morning to tell me I needn’t come.”

The Duke whooped, flung his hat into the air and began to dance grotesquely and to play a phantom banjo…

That the man would now expect us to drive him to Vigil forthwith I had no doubt, and, all things considered, I did not see how we could well refuse to convey him at least as far as the frontier of Riechtenburg. I, therefore, started the engine and set about turning the car.

There was not too much room, for an idle fountain stood in the middle of the court, and, the outlet of this being in course of repair, the court itself had been opened, to let a man come at the drain.

By the time, therefore, that I had gone about, the Grand Duchess was off her horse, which a groom was leading away, and the Duke was urging some point with a sheepish look on his face.

As I brought the car to rest, the Grand Duchess cut him short.

“I’ve told you,” she said, using German, “I do not care. I wish you no ill, of course. But I wouldn’t lift a finger to save your throne.”

With that, she turned her head and her eyes met mine.

I was gazing at her as at something which is not of this world; for, now that I saw her clearly, her beauty was so excelling that, for all the good they did me, I might have had no manners and indeed no one of the senses, save only that of sight.

She had pulled off her hat, and her soft, short hair was so black that the lights in its waves were blue. Her nose was aquiline, and her steady, grave eyes were grey. Her mouth was especially lovely, but very proud: her colour was high and healthy and her skin very white and, indeed, her whole countenance was fine and fresh and vivid as a flower may be in a garden before the sun is high. She was slim and tall for a woman and stood very well. There was nothing about her which was not feminine, yet it was very plain that her little finger was thicker than the Duke’s loins. Her look was keen and fearless, her temples were wise, and I have never seen such dignity so artlessly displayed.

As I gazed, I saw her displeasure and hastily bowed my head to examine the instrument-board, but my cheeks and my ears were burning, and so, when I think of that moment, they do to this day.

The Grand Duchess was speaking in English.

“You may as well introduce them if I am to give them lunch.”

The words stung like a whip, and almost before I knew it I was standing by the side of the car with my hat in my hand.

I addressed myself to the Duke.

“We never lunch,” I said quietly, “but, if you’d like us to give you a lift to Vigil, we’ll throw a fly over that water and be back here in two hours.”

The Duke stared at me.

“D’you mean you never—”

“Never,” said I shortly, and glanced at my watch. “Shall we say half past one?”

“That’ll suit me all right,” said the Duke. “But don’t you want a drink, or—”

But I was back in my seat.

“At half past one,” I said, smiling, and let in the clutch.

Now George, who had never descended, was up on his feet, and the servants had only just time to get aboard: when, therefore, the car shot forward, each clawed hold of the other and all fell down in a heap upon the back seat, presenting a spectacle which must have been more diverting than the antics of any clowns. But the first I knew of it was the long, fresh peal of a girl’s laughter ringing under the archway as the Rolls passed over the bridge.

 

We did not fish, but, since on leaving Salzburg we had taken food for two days, we lunched in a blowing meadow ten miles away.

I cannot pretend that we made a festive meal.

We had put ourselves out and about for a notorious wastrel, who accepted our services as though the privilege of doing them greatly outweighed their worth: I had forgotten my manners in a most unfortunate way, and in return we had been deliberately insulted by a girl who was plainly no more than twenty years old, who, by her relation to the Duke, might very well be considered to be in our debt: my zeal to be gone had made us a laughing-stock – a point upon which the Grand Duchess had taken care to insist; and, worst of all, I had in my haste engaged us to suffer for another five hours a well-nigh insufferable guest.

However, there was nothing to be done, and I gratefully remember that George very handsomely declined to blame me at all, declaring that if there had been anything to retrieve, I had much more than retrieved it by my very pointed refusal to meet the Grand Duchess at all, “while as for staring,” he added, “I don’t know what the hussy expects. If she likes to look like a Madonna, talk like Queen Elizabeth and get her clothes made in Savile Row, anyone may be pardoned for staring. And now let’s go back and swallow the rest of our gruel. I’m going to drive and you’re going to sit with me, and if the Duke don’t like the back seat he can damned well sit on the floor.”

At the hour appointed we were back in the old courtyard.

A manservant saw our coming and disappeared, but, as though to prove our patience, nobody came to the door; and after waiting ten minutes I bade Rowley ring the bell.

After another five minutes the manservant reappeared and descended the steps. I saw that the man was English.

“Her Highness hopes, sir,” he said, “that you will come in.”

“Beg her Highness to excuse us,” I said. “And tell his Highness Duke Paul that, if he has no objection, we are anxious to start at once.”

“Very good, sir,” said the man, and withdrew.

For a moment or two we sat waiting. Then the Grand Duchess appeared at the head of the steps.

“So I must come myself,” she said quietly.

Hanbury and I uncovered, but sat where we were.

“I’m sorry I spoke so rudely and I should like to be friends.”

I opened my door and alighted, and Hanbury followed me out.

“The fault was mine,” I stammered, with my eyes on the ground.

As though I had not spoken she turned to George.

“I saw you looking at the bay. If you’re interested in horses, I can show you a better than he.”

“We’d love to see him,” said Hanbury.

She led the way over the cobbles and under another arch…

She never addressed me once, but when we had seen her three hunters she led us into the house by another way. I hardly looked at her, except when her back was turned, but she had changed her clothes for a dress of an old rose colour which suited her very well.

As we came into a hall, a woman of many summers rose from a table at which she was writing a note, and the Duke cried ‘Hullo’ from the sofa on which he sprawled.

The Grand Duchess introduced us, and I was astonished to find that the Duke, who must have informed her, had so well remembered our names.

“My great-aunt, Mrs Scarlett,” she said. And then, “My mother was English. That’s why I speak so well.”

“We needn’t start yet,” said the Duke. “Sit down and have a brandy. I’ve tasted worse.”

Before we could make any answer, a telephone-bell was ringing somewhere at hand,

The Grand Duchess flashed to a corner, and I heard her reply.

“Yes…this is Anger. Yes, Marya, this is me… He’s here, he’s here, Marya. He’s just going to start for Vigil: he ought to be there by six… He’ll tell you himself: I can’t tell you over the line, but… What?… I can’t quite hear, Marya. ‘Tell him…’” She took the second earpiece and listened with all her might. “Yes, I’ve got that. I will. And… Very well. At eight o’clock this evening, if you’ve no news before. Goodbye, Marya.”

She put the receiver back and turned to the Duke.

“The Prince is worse,” she said. “The doctors won’t say he’s sinking, but he’s awfully bad. Marya says you must come as quick as ever you can. Her words were ‘Tell him it’s vital – you can guess what I mean.’”

The Duke was biting his nails.

“It’s all damned fine,” he said. “These sort of shows can’t be rushed. What on earth did you say I was here for?”

The Grand Duchess stared at him.

“Why shouldn’t I say so? What do you propose to do?”

“Go carefully,” said the Duke. “I’m not at all sure that it’s wise to go bursting back.”

“I suppose by ‘wise’ you mean ‘safe’?”

Mrs Scarlett covered her eyes, but the Duke’s withers were unwrung.

“It’s all Weber’s fault,” he cried, “for withdrawing those blasted police. They police me in Paris and London. Why the devil don’t they police me at home?” He got to his feet. “I’ll ring him up and tell him to send some along.”

The Grand Duchess appeared to hesitate. Then she went to his side.

“Paul,” she said, “listen to me. It’s vital that you should get back and state your case. Till you appear and start talking, Johann, Grieg and Co. can have it all their own way: but once the Prince knows what’s happened, Johann won’t dare to touch you – that’s common sense. And now get ready. I’m coming with you.” The Duke started, and the old lady rose to her feet. “I may as well be at Vigil, and – well, it’d rather amuse me to flatten Johann.”

Before he could answer she was gone, and, since there was no point in our waiting, we took our leave of her great-aunt and made our way back to the car.

I was astounded at this complete change of front. Her declarations apart, three hours ago I could have sworn that the girl did not care a farthing whether Duke Paul or his cousin came to the throne. More. She had seemed to care for his honour less than he cared for it himself. This in cold blood. Such an outlook had not surprised me. To know him was to lose interest in such a man. And now…

As Hanbury took his seat, I reflected that it was at least more pleasant to carry to Vigil one who was worth her salt.

 

We were twenty miles from the frontier when I saw a closed car ahead by the side of the road. Of this I thought little enough, but we had encountered very little traffic, and I think that when you are moving on empty roads you always observe a car which is standing still.

As we drew near, I could see that someone was standing beside the car and was watching us closely, as though he were more than half minded to signal to us to stop; but, when we drew nearer, I saw him turn back to his car and shake his head.

I was wondering what was his business and for whom, if not us, he was watching, when he looked round again. The next instant he was out in the road and was waving his arms.

Hanbury spoke over his shoulder.

“Am I to stop?”

“What? Yes. Stop!” cried the Duke. “Stop, man, stop! It’s the police. Good old Weber.” I heard him slap his thigh. “Marya Dresden must have told him. Oh, my aunt, what a scream!”

I give his own words, as he spoke them, for, though as a rule, he spoke German, he very often used English and spoke it extremely well. But I cannot represent his jubilant tone or the awkwardness of the silence which succeeded his speech. The man was above shame.

As George set his foot upon the brake, another man came running to join the first. Both wore a grey uniform which was bound with green.

As the car stopped, they saluted.

“Pardon, your Highness,” said the first, who had stripes on his sleeve, “but we have been sent to escort you.”

“That’s the style,” said the Duke, and, without asking Hanbury or me, he bade them mount the Rolls and stand on her running-boards.

The sergeant looked ill-at-ease.

“Your Highness will excuse me,” he said, “but we were instructed that your Highness would use the police car.”

The Duke frowned.

The Rolls was very good-looking and moved like a bird on the wing: the other was closed and shabby and the noisy fuss of its engine promised a less pleasant ride.

“No,” he said shortly. “I’m going to stay where I am. Get on the step, as I tell you, and your driver can follow behind.”

“Your Highness will forgive me,” said the sergeant, “but we have had special instructions not to go by the bridge at Elsa, but to follow a devious route.”

There was a little silence.

Then—

“Does the chauffeur know the way?” said the Duke.

“Yes, your Highness, he does. And he alone. So—”

“Then we’ll follow him,” said the Duke, lighting a cigarette.

There was nothing more to be said, and, though George and I were raging inwardly, for the sake of the Grand Duchess we held our peace.

One minute later we were again under way.

Our speed was now much lower, for our pilot was not a swift car and was troubled by every rise. Very soon, moreover, it left the main road, leading us into country through which no car could hasten, for the roads were none too wide and very crooked, the hills severe and most of the turnings blind.

We had gone, I suppose, some three miles and had just descended the very deuce of a hill, when we rounded a sudden bend to see the police car at rest in the midst of the way. Where it stood, the road was sunk in a little swell of the forest which lay hereabouts, and we could not draw alongside to see what the matter might be.

As George brought the Rolls to a standstill, the sergeant stepped into the road and opened the hinder door.

“Your Highness will descend immediately.”

We all stared at him.

“And no one else will move,” said a voice on my left.

Instinctively we all looked round.

The other policeman was still on the running-board, half sitting on the near spare wheel, with one hand grasping the windscreen and the other a Service revolver of which he seemed none too sure.

“God in heaven,” said the Duke weakly. “And I thought you were police.”

The first speaker bowed.

“We flatter ourselves,” he said, “a very natural mistake.”

As the Duke rose, the man on my left incautiously lowered his weapon, and I hit him full in the stomach with all my might. It was, of course, a foul blow, and he crumpled and then fell sideways without a sound.

The rest was easy.

Rowley had closed with the sergeant before he could draw, and, when I descended, my man had dropped his revolver and was writhing in pain.

“Tie them up,” said I, and ran for the other car.

This began to move forward when I was but six feet away, and, though I made a great effort, before I could manage to board it, I was outrun.

At once George brought up the Rolls and, almost before I was in, began to give chase.

For this piece of folly both he and I were to blame, for I was as eager as he to lay all three men by the heels. Looking back, I am ashamed that we should have been so childish, for we had won our battle and cleared our way and had only to go about to be in Vigil itself in little more than an hour. Instead of this, we went pelting through country we did not know, along roads which were so narrow that, unless the other let us, we dared not pass, in the hope, I suppose, of his being checked by traffic or meeting with some misadventure which would give him into our hand. Meanwhile we had left the servants to shift for themselves and were now but two to cope with whatever befell.

Such foolishness had its reward.

A sudden jarring told us a tyre was punctured, and, before we could come to a standstill, two more had met the same fate.

This was, of course, out of reason, unless the man we were chasing had strewn something sharp in our way. So he had done. One of his barbs or snags is before me now – a four-spiked horror of steel, which, however idly you throw it, will always stand upon three spikes and thrust the fourth into the air. Such things were once used in warfare to lame the enemy’s horse, and I afterwards found that in the Riechtenburg army they were field service stores.

We had two spare wheels, and, as luck would have it, a tube, so half an hour’s hard labour would make the car fit for the road, but I fear we were out of temper with all the world, and, when the Duke protested that we should “get on to Vigil and let the — tyres go,” I ignored the suggestion and Hanbury answered curtly that, even if it had not been ours, we should never so abuse such a car.

With that, we took off our coats and got to work, and the Duke flounced back on his seat and closed his eyes.

The Grand Duchess was down by my side.

“What can I do?” she said.

With the back of my hand I wiped the sweat from my brow. Then I took up one of the snags that had punctured our tyres.

“If you will walk back,” said I, “and look for some more things like this. I don’t know how many he dropped, but it’s hardly likely he got us the first go off.”

Before I had finished, she was gone and was searching the road.

By the time the Rolls was ready she had not returned: we, therefore, turned the car round with infinite care and started to go very slowly the way we had come.

Before we had gone half a mile, the road bent sharp to the right and then split into two, and, though George without hesitation swung to the left, I was by no means certain that that was our way. What was more to the point, it very soon became clear that, rightly or wrongly, the Grand Duchess had taken the other road, and, since she had to be found before we did anything else, we went about again and essayed the right-hand road.

Almost at once we found her, but, when George asked her if this was the way we had come, she said that, now that she had seen it, she was not sure and added that, for what it was worth, she had found no snags.

I did not know what to think, and, though George was now less certain that he had been right, we had just decided to return once more to the fork, when the Duke indicated a rill which leapt from between two rocks, as though from a mouth, and then fell into a trough which was cut from the trunk of a tree. This he declared he remembered, and, since that was very much more than anyone else could say, we considered the matter settled and drove ahead.

And that was the beginning of trouble for, when, after twenty minutes, we had proved his memory faithless and sought to return to the fork, we could by no means find it and only with every movement seemed to stray further afield.

The country was very blind and the roads rose and fell and twisted as though bewitched; there were no fingerposts to help us, and when we looked for the map it was not to be found.

After an hour of wandering, George brought the car to rest by the side of the road.

“What the hell’s the matter now?” said the Duke.

George spoke over his shoulder.

“For one thing,” he said, “I’m tired. I’ve stopped and started and turned and backed till I can’t feel the clutch. Add to that that I’ve changed two wheels and permanently injured my brain, trying to find the way which you insisted you knew.” He sighed there, and I began to shake with laughter. “Well, that’s one reason. If you want another, we’ve exactly half a gallon of petrol left. We had ample to get to Vigil, but I meant to fill up at the frontier – just in case. But that was before the mix-up… I don’t want to point no fingers and I’m perfectly ready to bear my share of the blame. I’ve been driving, and the dial’s right under my nose. But it’s all this mucking about that’s run us dry.”

There was an uneasy silence.

Then—

“How far,” said the Duke, “will half a gallon get us?”

George raised his eyebrows.

“In this going, employed with care, about five miles.”

With that, he turned to me and demanded a cigarette.

 

I had walked three miles across country and seen neither man nor beast nor any sort of building but a cottage that had been burned down, when I came to the edge of a bluff, to see, far below me, fair meadows and in their midst an abbey with its attendant farm.

 

The scene made as pretty a picture as ever I saw, for the sun was setting and the valley was full of red light. A stream flowed through the meadows, and cattle were slaking their thirst on their way by a ford: the water was running golden, and everything, great and little, was throwing its clean-cut shadow upon the turf. Smoke was rising from the buildings, but I saw neither monks nor nuns, and the view of a ruinous cloister suggested that the place was no longer a covert of Holy Church. Still it was a decent homestead, at which, if need be, the Grand Duchess could pass the night: and that was what I was seeking, for, unless we could come by some petrol, we could not go on and, before we set our face to the frontier, the servants had to be found.

A road ran out of the valley, and, so far as I was able, I marked the line that it took. Then I returned to the Rolls and made my report.

“Can they give us petrol?” said the Duke sullenly.

“We’ll know when we get there,” said I.

He flung himself back on his seat and held his peace.

It was an anxious journey, for dusk was upon us and I had to guess the way: but, after much disappointment, we ran down a long steep hill and into the valley I sought.

We crossed the stream by a bridge of old grey stone, and a moment later we saw the abbey ahead with the bluff on its left.

And there the engine fainted, for lack of fuel…

In spite of my walk, George was more weary than I, for his rest had been but broken the night before. I, therefore, alighted and started to walk to the farm, which lay a lady’s mile distant at the end of the road.

The Grand Duchess lifted her voice.

“Where are you going?”

“For petrol,” I answered. “And, if I can’t have it, for horses to pull us in.”

“I will go,” she said shortly, stepping down into the road.

“Thank you,” said I, “but it’s nothing. Besides, you can’t go alone.”

“Then I will go with you,” she said, “for the look of the thing.”

We began to walk in silence towards the farm.

The Grand Duchess was speaking.

“Has Paul thanked you once for anything that you’ve done?”

“We don’t want any thanks,” said I. “And we haven’t done very much.”

“I thank you,” she said quietly.

I did not know what to reply and so said nothing, but walked along, like a fool, with my eyes on the ground. But the words had been gently spoken, and I felt more than paid.

“If they can’t give us petrol,” she said, “what shall we do?”

“I shall ride to the nearest garage. Then I must find the servants, and then we’ll drive to Vigil, if you’re not too tired.”

“This delay’s unlucky,” she said. “By keeping out of the picture, Paul is playing directly into his cousin’s hand. You see, he should be on parade – especially now. The Prince is dying, and Paul is his rightful heir. There’s no shadow of doubt about that. And everyone will support him – provided that he himself doesn’t let them down. If he does, if he’s not there at the moment for them to support, to sign proclamations and orders, to appear on the balcony – well, people are only human… If you’ve got a King you must play him, or the other side will.”

“But if,” said I, “if he’s the heir apparent—”

“Paul isn’t popular,” she said. “It isn’t his fault – he was spoiled. Plenty of people believe that he doesn’t value the throne. If he takes his place and claims it, he’ll have it, because it’s his right. But, if he doesn’t, they’ll throw up their hats for Johann. And that’s why we must get to Vigil as soon as we possibly can.”

“We’ll do our utmost,” I said. “I promise you that.”

The Grand Duchess lifted her head and spoke to the sky.

“Paul’s his worst enemy,” she said, “and always was. Far worse than Johann. He’s lost so many games, because he couldn’t be bothered to play the right cards. But he – he mustn’t throw this away.”

I made no answer, but stepped along by her side, very well aware of her beauty and thankful to find her so friendly and frank of speech.

Presently she spoke of England and asked of the life we led. And I told her of Maintenance and Wiltshire and how we hunted all the winter and spent more hours in the open than under a roof.

“That’s right,” she said gravely. “That’s the way we were meant to live. Up and down with the sun and three meals a day.”

I walked clean into the trap.

“One breaks it sometimes,” said I, “but it’s a very good rule.”

“I agree,” said the Grand Duchess. And then, “I – I thought you never lunched.”

I could feel her eyes upon me, but, when at last I looked round, she was gazing into the distance with the faintest smile on her face.

“I – I have nothing to say,” I stammered.

The Grand Duchess’ smile deepened.

“No one,” she said, “could accuse you of being changeable.”

As we drew near the buildings, I could see that the abbey had been built in the form of a square; but two sides of this were gone. What I had taken for the church was the refectory: this with the ancient kitchen still made one side of the square and ran at right angles to a mansion which made the other. I say ‘a mansion’ for lack of a better word, but the face of it was not changed and it looked the private dwelling of someone of note. Along the refectory some twenty yards of cloister were well preserved, but, except for its bench and pavement, the rest was gone, though the mansion still bore the piers from which its arches had sprung.

No lights were burning in the house, the door of which was set wide, but two dogs came towards us, baying, and a man who was sitting by the doorway rose up and called them to heel.

I could not see him very well, for the daylight was almost gone, but he was a big, burly fellow and clearly the farmer or master of the place.

When the Grand Duchess asked for petrol, he shook his head.

“I have none,” he said slowly. “I have an old car, but that is away for repairs, and all the spirit I have is in her tank. Have you far to go, madam?”

“As far as the nearest pump.”

“I see. Well, that is at Bariche, on the Riechtenburg road.”

“How far is Bariche?”

“A matter of fifteen miles.”

My companion drew in her breath.

“We must have petrol,” she said. “Can you lend us a horse?”

“Not to travel that distance, madam. My horses have done their day’s work.”

“It shall be stabled at Bariche, and I will deposit its value against its return.”

The other shook his head.

“Tomorrow, madam,” he said. “But not tonight. Where is your car?”

“This side of the bridge,” said my lady. “A mile away.”

“I do not see its lamps,” said the other.

“Because they are not turned on.”

The man appeared to hesitate.

Then—

“I will give you shelter,” he said, and called for lights.

“I do not want shelter,” said my lady. “I want a horse.”

As a man came clumping with a lantern—

“In any event,” said the farmer, “I will go with you to your car.”

With that, he took the lantern and bade the man turn out a yoke of oxen and bring them down to the bridge.

“It is damp in the meadows,” he said.

The Grand Duchess shrugged her shoulders and turned to me.

“Force majeure,” she said.

“I will walk to Bariche,” said I.

“And lose yourself by the way. No. There is nothing to be done. At dawn, perhaps…”

She was right. There was nothing to be done. Bell and Rowley must wait and so must the Duke. The farmer was not a peasant that could be bluffed or bribed. In his way he would help us or not at all.

“Will you wait here?” said I. “If we can do nothing till daybreak, we may as well bring in the car.”

The girl hesitated. Then—

“Paul will be hasty,” she said. “I think I had better come.”

“I will handle him,” said I. “Your shoes were not meant for these roads.” I stepped to the bench from which the man had risen and felt the stone. “The stone is still warm and will be for half an hour. But we shall be here before then.”

“Very well,” said the Grand Duchess. “Don’t let Paul play the fool.”

The farmer was a man of few words. When I asked him the way to Bariche, he answered that it lay to the South: when I asked him if he could lodge us, he nodded his head; and, when I observed that his home was very handsome, he spoke to one of his dogs.

As we approached the car, I took the lead and, cheerfully hailing the others, cried out that we were in luck, for that we could have food and lodging of an excellent sort, that petrol would be brought in the morning and that oxen were coming to draw the car to the farm. My ruse, however, was a failure; for the Duke began to rave like a madman, demanding to be carried to Vigil, as though we were slaves of some lamp, now swearing that we had betrayed him and now reviling the car, talking all manner of nonsense about his position and birth and declaring that we might be glad to sleep where we could, but that such was not the habit of royalty or indeed of any person of high estate.

Hanbury was speaking wearily.

“The reasons for this display are three. The first is he wants a cocktail: the second, he’s out of cigarettes: and the third, he regrets having chucked his excellent gold cigarette-case – merely because it was empty – into the stream.”

Once more, remembering my promise, I strove to appease the Duke’s wrath, although, I confess, I was sorely tempted to cool it by throwing him after his bauble into the stream: but, as was to be expected, I might have saved my breath, for he cut me short by announcing that he was not accustomed to having his commands disobeyed.

“Needs must,” said I shortly. “We’ll breakfast over the border with any luck.”

The Duke peered at the farmer, who was now alongside.

“You’ve got petrol, of course,” he blustered. “You can’t deceive me. How many cans can I have at a pound apiece?”

The farmer raised his lantern, until he could see the Duke’s face. For a moment he regarded him steadily. Then he lowered the light.

“The misfortune is mine,” he said quietly. “I have no petrol. But I have a kitchen and a cellar of which I am not ashamed.”

I was greatly relieved, for the Duke’s tone was high and mighty, and I had not expected an answer one half so smooth. I, therefore, made haste to suggest that he and George and the farmer should proceed to the house, while I came on with the oxen, soon to arrive. While he was hesitating, I gave him a cigarette, and I think that settled the matter, for, when he had lit it, he spat out an oath or two and flung out of the car.

The oxen moved very slowly, and nearly an hour had gone by before I was led to a handsomely furnished parlour – which once, I should say, had been the abbot’s – with arras upon its walls. The Rolls was bestowed in an outhouse of which I had taken the key, and, since her bonnet was locked, could come to no harm. And I had washed in a horse trough and was ready enough for a meal.

A table had been set in the parlour and decently laid for four, and the chamber was pleasantly lighted by lamps which hung from the roof.

The Duke was there, dozing, and Hanbury was reading a book.

“We’ve fallen soft,” said George. “This is some cove’s private house. The book-plates suggest that his name is Martin Egge. I imagine the farmer’s his bailiff. I hope he’s a right to lodge us, but I’m damned well not going to ask.”

Be sure I agreed with him.

 

A good, plain dinner was served by two young girls, and the Duke said the wine would pass, but Hanbury and I drank ale.

The Grand Duchess was very silent, but thanked me for sending her dressing-case up to her room.

When the meal was over, our host came into the parlour and stood blinking in the light of the lamp.

“We have to thank you,” said my lady. “You are treating us very well.”

The other bowed.

“I am bailiff to Baron Veners, madam, whose house this is. He would wish me to entertain strangers who have lost their way.”

“And to speed them,” said the Grand Duchess, “by sending a man for petrol at break of day.”

“That is understood, madam.”

He bowed again and withdrew.

Very soon after, the Grand Duchess took her leave.

As I opened the door, she looked me full in the eyes.

“Who’s Baron Veners?” she murmured.

The next moment she was gone.

I made my way to the window and stood looking out into the night.

There was much that was strange about the bailiff and unusual about the place. The name on the book-plates was not Veners. The house was at our disposal, and food and wine, but not a horse to help us to go our ways. But I was tired and had had my fill of riddles, and I think there comes a time when the evil of the day is sufficient and a man will swallow his fortune without asking whence it came. The Grand Duchess, however, was not the one to ask an idle question or to set a tired man thinking for nothing at all.

Wearily enough, I started to marshal my wits…

As I did so, without and below the window somebody coughed.

I leaned out to see the bailiff, sitting as we had found him, on the bench by the door. This was open, and his shape was outlined against the blur of light which was shed by a lamp in the hall. His great head was up, and he was smoking placidly, with his heavy arms folded and his eyes on the West.

I drew in my head and strove to appraise the man.

He had not been uncivil, yet he had not been polite: he had been firm, but not downright: his air was not that of a soldier, nor that of a rogue, but of something betwixt and between – I could not think what. I did not distrust the fellow, but I had the feeling that, though he had given us shelter, he had done so neither for our sake nor yet for his own. He had seemed, I recalled, to doubt the presence of the car and had plainly decided to go and see for himself. He had called for a lantern, although night had not fallen and only a blind man could ever have missed the way. When I would have talked, he would not: and, when the Duke had crossed him, he passed it by. These things were consistent with his manner – the wilful, deliberate manner of a masterful man whose eyes are upon his duty, whose duty is to take no risks…

Slowly I returned to the room.

As I looked upon the table which bore the remains of our meal, I suddenly wondered whether the food we had eaten had not in fact been prepared for somebody else.

Instantly my brain seized upon this idea.

We could not have been expected: yet, if our reception was improvised, it had been amazingly done. The Baron was not in residence, yet his apartments were open and ready for use: four benighted strangers had been given a four-course dinner with more dispatch than they would have found at an inn – this notwithstanding that so far as we were concerned no orders had been issued to the servants until the bailiff was back from viewing the car.

The thing was clear. Company had been expected, and we had taken its place.

Before I could digest this conclusion, I saw that it was false.

If the bailiff was expecting a party, he would hardly have encouraged four strangers to usurp its lodging and board.

I felt suddenly angry with the man. As our host, he should have been friendly. Instead, he had the air of a jailer. Yes. That was right. He had the air of a jailer…

The word might have been a wand.

As it came into my mind, the scales fell from my eyes.

Who Baron Veners might be, I did not know. But I knew where he was. And that was on his back by the side of a country road, with his hands bound fast behind him and Bell and Rowley sitting in the dark by his side.