CHAPTER III
Wogan waked up in the dark and was seized with a fear that he had slepttoo long. He jumped out of bed and pushed open the door of his parlour.There was a lighted lamp in the room, and Marnier was quietly laying hismaster's supper.
"At what hour?" asked Wogan.
"Ten o'clock, monsieur, at the little postern in the garden wall."
"And the time now?"
"Nine."
Wogan dressed with some ceremony, supped, and at eight minutes to tenslipped down the stairs and out of doors. He had crushed his hat downupon his forehead and he carried his handkerchief at his face. But thestreets were dark and few people were abroad. At a little distance tohis left he saw above the housetops a glow of light in the air whichmarked the Opera-House. Wogan avoided it; he kept again to the alleysand emerged before the Chevalier's lodging. This he passed, but ahundred yards farther on he turned down a side street and doubled backupon his steps along a little byway between small houses. The line ofhouses, however, at one point was broken by a garden wall. Under thiswall Wogan waited until a clock struck ten, and while the clock wasstill striking he heard on the other side of the wall the brushing offootsteps amongst leaves and grass. Wogan tapped gently on a little doorin the wall. It was opened no less gently, and Edgar the secretaryadmitted him, led him across the garden and up a narrow flight of stairsinto a small lighted cabinet. Two men were waiting in that room. One ofthem wore the scarlet robe, an old man with white hair and a broadbucolic face, whom Wogan knew for the Pope's Legate, Cardinal Origo. Theslender figure of the other, clad all in black but for the blue ribbonof the Garter across his breast, brought Wogan to his knee.
Wogan held out the Pope's procuration to the Chevalier, who took it anddevoutly kissed the signature. Then he gave his hand to Wogan with asmile of friendliness.
"You have outsped your time by two days, Mr. Wogan. That is unwise,since it may lead us to expect again the impossible of you. But here,alas, your speed for once brings us no profit. You have heard, no doubt.Her Highness the Princess Clementina is held at Innspruck in prison."
Wogan rose to his feet.
"Prisons, sir," he said quietly, "have been broken before to-day. Imyself was once put to that necessity." The words took the Chevaliercompletely by surprise. He leaned back in his chair and stared at Wogan.
"An army could not rescue her," he said.
"No, but one man might."
"You?" he exclaimed. He pressed down the shade of the lamp to throw thelight fully upon Wogan's face. "It is impossible!"
"Then I beg your Majesty to expect the impossible again."
The Chevalier drew his hand across his eyes and stared afresh at Wogan.The audacity of the exploit and the imperturbable manner of its proposalcaught his breath away. He rose from his chair and took a turn or twoacross the room.
Wogan watched his every gesture. It would be difficult he knew to wringthe permission he needed from his dejected master, and his unruffleddemeanour was a calculated means of persuasion. An air of confidence wasthe first requisite. In reality, however, Wogan was not troubled at thismoment by any thought of failure. It was not that he had any plan in hishead; but he was fired with a conviction that somehow this chosen womanwas not to be wasted, that some day, released by some means in spite ofall the pressure English Ministers could bring upon the Emperor, shewould come riding into Bologna.
The Chevalier paused in his walk and looked towards the Cardinal.
"What does your Eminence say?"
"That to the old the impulsiveness of youth is eternally charming," saidthe Cardinal, with a foppish delicacy of speaking in an odd contrast tohis person.
Mr. Wogan understood that he had a second antagonist.
"I am not a youth, your Eminence," he exclaimed with all the indignationof twenty-seven years. "I am a man."
"But an Irishman, and that spells youth. You write poetry too, Ibelieve, Mr. Wogan. It is a heady practice."
Wogan made no answer, though the words stung. An argument with theCardinal would be sure to ruin his chance of obtaining the Chevalier'sconsent. He merely bowed to the Cardinal and waited for the Chevalier tospeak.
"Look you, Mr. Wogan; while the Emperor's at war with Spain, whileEngland's fleet could strip him of Sicily, he's England's henchman. Hedare not let the Princess go. We know it. General Heister, the Governorof Innspruck, is under pain of death to hold her safe."
"But, sir, would the world stop if General Heister died?"
"A German scaffold if you fail."
"In the matter of scaffolds I have no leaning towards any onenationality."
The Cardinal smiled. He liked a man of spirit, though he might think himabsurd. The Chevalier resumed his restless pacing to and fro.
"It is impossible."
But he seemed to utter the phrase with less decision this second time.Wogan pressed his advantage at the expense of his modesty.
"Sir, will you allow me to tell you a story,--a story of an impossibleescape from Newgate in the heart of London by a man in fetters? Therewere nine grenadiers with loaded muskets standing over him. There weretwo courtyards to cross, two walls to climb, and beyond the walls theunfriendly streets. The man hoodwinked his sentries, climbed his twowalls, crossed the unfriendly streets, and took refuge in a cellar,where he was discovered. From the cellar in broad daylight he fought hisway to the roofs, and on the roofs he played such a game ofhide-and-seek among the chimney-tops--" Wogan broke off from his storywith a clear thrill of laughter; it was a laugh of enjoyment at apleasing recollection. Then he suddenly flung himself down on his kneeat the feet of his sovereign. "Give me leave, your Majesty," he criedpassionately. "Let me go upon this errand. If I fail, if the scaffold'sdressed for me, why where's the harm? Your Majesty loses one servant outof his many. Whereas, if I win--" and he drew a long breath. "Aye, and Ishall win! There's the Princess, too, a prisoner. Sir, she has venturedmuch. I beg you give me leave."
The Chevalier laid his hand gently upon Wogan's shoulder, but he did notassent. He looked again doubtfully to the Cardinal, who said with hispleasant smile, "I will wager Mr. Wogan a box at the Opera on the firstnight that he returns, that he will return empty-handed."
Wogan rose to his feet and replied good-humouredly, "It's a wager Itake the more readily in that your Eminence cannot win, though you maylose. For if I return empty-handed, upon my honour I'll not return atall."
The Cardinal condescended to laugh. Mr. Wogan laughed too. He had goodreason, for here was his Eminence in a kindly temper and the Chevalierwarming out of his melancholy. And, indeed, while he was still laughingthe Chevalier caught him by the arm as a friend might do, and in anoutburst of confidence, very rare with him, he said, "I would that Icould laugh so. You and Whittington, I do envy you. An honest laugh,there's the purge for melancholy. But I cannot compass it," and heturned away.
"Sure, sir, you'll put us all to shame when I bring her Royal Highnessout of Innspruck."
"Oh, that!" said the Chevalier, as though for the moment he hadforgotten. "It is impossible," and the phrase was spoken now in anaccent of hesitation. Moreover, he sat down at a table, and drawing asheet of paper written over with memoranda, he began to read aloud witha glance towards Wogan at the end of each sentence.
"The house stands in the _faubourgs_ of Innspruck. There is an avenue oftrees in front of the house; on the opposite side of the avenue there isa tavern with the sign of 'The White Chamois.'"
Wogan committed the words to memory.
"The Princess and her mother," continued the Chevalier, "are imprisonedin the east side of the house."
"And how guarded, sir?" asked Wogan.
The Chevalier read again from his paper.
"A sentry at each door, a third beneath the prisoners' windows. Theykeep watch night and day. Besides, twice a day the magistrate visits thehouse."
"At what hours?"
"At ten in the morning. The same hour at night."
"And on each visit the magistrate sees the Pri
ncess?"
"Yes, though she lies abed."
Wogan stroked his chin. The Cardinal regarded him quizzically.
"I trust, Mr. Wogan, that we shall hear Farini. There is talk of hiscoming to Bologna."
Wogan did not answer. He was silent; he saw the three sentinels standingwatchfully about the house; he heard them calling "All's well" each tothe other. Then he asked, "Has the Princess her own servants to attendher?"
"Only M. Chateaudoux, her chamberlain."
"Ah!"
Wogan leaned forward with a question on his tongue he hardly dared toask. So much hung upon the answer.
"And M. Chateaudoux is allowed to come and go?"
"In the daylight."
Wogan turned to the Cardinal. "The box will be the best box in thehouse," Wogan suggested.
"Oh, sir," replied the Cardinal, "on the first tier, to be sure."
Wogan turned back to the Chevalier.
"All that I need now is a letter from your Majesty to the King of Polandand a few rascally guineas. I can leave Bologna before a soul's astir inthe morning. No one but Whittington saw me to-day, and a word will keephim silent. There will be secrecy--" but the Chevalier suddenly cut himshort.
"No," said he, bringing the palm of his hand down upon the table."Here's a blow that we must bend to! It's a dream, this plan of yours."
"But a dream I'll dream so hard, sir, that I'll dream it true," criedWogan, in despair.
"No, no," said the Chevalier. "We'll talk no more of it. There's God'swill evident in this arrest, and we must bend to it;" and at once Woganremembered his one crowning argument. It was so familiar to histhoughts, it had lain so close at his heart, that he had left itunspoken, taking it as it were for granted that others were as familiarwith it as he.
"Sir," said he, eagerly, "I have never told you, but the PrincessClementina when a child amongst her playmates had a favourite game. Theycalled it kings and queens. And in that game the Princess was alwayschosen Queen of England."
The Chevalier started.
"Is that so?" and he gazed into Wogan's eyes, making sure that he spokethe truth.
"In very truth it is," and the two men stood looking each at the otherand quite silent.
It was the truth, a mere coincidence if you will, but to both these menomens and auguries were the gravest matters.
"There indeed is God's finger pointing," cried Wogan. "Sir, give meleave to follow it."
The Chevalier still stood looking at him in silence. Then he saidsuddenly, "Go, then, and God speed you! You are a gallant gentleman."
He sat down thereupon and wrote a letter to the King of Poland, askinghim to entrust the rescue of his daughter into Wogan's hands. Thisletter Wogan took and money for his journey.
"You will have preparations to make," said the Chevalier. "I will notkeep you. You have horses?"
Mr. Wogan had two in a stable at Bologna. "But," he added, "there is ahorse I left this morning six miles this side of Fiesole, a black horse,and I would not lose it."
"Nor shall you," said the Chevalier.
Wogan crept back to his lodging as cautiously as he had left it. Therewas no light in any window but in his own, where his servant, Marnier,awaited him. Wogan opened the door softly and found the porter asleep inhis chair. He stole upstairs and made his preparations. These, however,were of the simplest kind, and consisted of half-a-dozen orders toMarnier and the getting into bed. In the morning he woke before daybreakand found Marnier already up. They went silently out of the house asthe dawn was breaking. Marnier had the key to the stables, and theysaddled the two horses and rode through the blind and silent streetswith their faces muffled in their cloaks.
They met no one, however, until they were come to the outskirts of thetown. But then as they passed the mouth of an alley a man came suddenlyout and as suddenly drew back. The morning was chill, and the man wasclosely wrapped.
Wogan could not distinguish his face or person, and looking down thealley he saw at the end of it only a garden wall, and over the top ofthe wall a thicket of trees and the chimney-tops of a low houseembosomed amongst them. He rode on, secure in the secrecy of hisdesperate adventure. But that same morning Mr. Whittington paid a visitto Wogan's lodging and asked to be admitted. He was told that Mr. Woganhad not yet returned to Bologna.
"So, indeed, I thought," said he; and he sauntered carelessly along, notto his own house, but to one smaller, situated at the bottom of a_cul-de-sac_ and secluded amongst trees. At the door he asked whetherher Ladyship was yet visible, and was at once shown into a room withlong windows which stood open to the garden. Her Ladyship lay upon asofa sipping her coffee and teasing a spaniel with the toe of herslipper.
"You are early," she said with some surprise.
"And yet no earlier than your Ladyship," said Whittington.
"I have to make my obeisance to my King," said she, stifling a yawn."Could one, I ask you, sleep on so important a day?"
Mr. Whittington laughed genially. Then he opened the door and glancedalong the passage. When he turned back into the room her Ladyship hadkicked the spaniel from the sofa and was sitting bolt upright with allher languor gone.
"Well?" she asked quickly.
Whittington took a seat on the sofa by her side.
"Charles Wogan left Bologna at daybreak. Moreover, I have had a messagefrom the Chevalier bidding me not to mention that I saw him in Bolognayesterday. One could hazard a guess at the goal of so secret a journey."
"Ohlau!" exclaimed the lady, in a whisper. Then she nestled back uponthe sofa and bit the fragment of lace she called her handkerchief.
"So there's an end of Mr. Wogan," she said pleasantly.
Whittington made no answer.
"For there's no chance that he'll succeed," she continued with a touchof anxiety in her voice.
Whittington neither agreed nor contradicted. He asked a questioninstead.
"What is the sharpest spur a man can know? What is it that gives a manaudacity to attempt and wit to accomplish the impossible?"
The lady smiled.
"The poets tell us love," said she, demurely.
Whittington nodded his head.
"Wogan speaks very warmly of the Princess Clementina."
Her Ladyship's red lips lost their curve. Her eyes became thoughtful,apprehensive.
"I wonder," she said slowly.
"Yes, I too wonder," said Whittington.
Outside the branches of the trees rustled in the wind and flung shadows,swift as ripples, across the sunlit grass. But within the little roomthere was a long silence.