“I am not interested in history,” growled the crown prince. “At present I am interested in but one thing, and that is to get as far away from that frightful state dinner at Klovia as possible.”
“You wished to be a prince, my friend,” Nicholas reminded him, “and state dinners are a part of the penalty of being a prince.”
“I have had all of this prince business that I care for,” replied the other, scowling. “Get me out of here. Get me back to Peter’s Inn, and let me go my am sick of seeing people laugh at me behind their hands, and even openly as they did in the streets this morning. If you do not get me out of here I will reveal the truth to the king of Margoth before I am an hour older.”
The three noble conspirators saw that the man was in earnest. They were far from loath to humor him, since they themselves had felt the sting and the burden of embarrassment since they had entered Margoth in his company.
It was Alexander Palensk who first suggested a feasible plan of escape from the impossible position in which the levity of the true Boris had placed them all. It was, in short, to wait until dark, and then hurry away on the Roman road for Sovgrad, after sending word to Alexis at Klovia that Prince Boris had been taken suddenly ill with what appeared to be a mild attack of ptomaine poisoning. Ivan Kantchi was to bear the message and apologies.
And thus it was that the pseudo prince and his two companions rode out of Demia under the cover of darkness that very evening while Ivan Kautchi made his way to Klovia with the excuses of his royal master to the king of Margoth.
It was evident to the young noble that Alexis was far from displeased to be rid of his gauche guest, and as a result Ivan could not resist the temptation to bait the Margothian ruler.
“It is evident, Sire,” he said, “that the charms of her royal highness, Princess Mary, have captivated my prince; and I trust that I may be the bearer of the glad tidings to him that his suit is looked upon with favor by both your majesty and her royal highness.”
For a moment Alexis III was silent. It was apparent that he labored under the stress of powerful emotions which he would have gladly hidden; but at last indignation got the better of diplomacy and he blurted out his true feelings to the friend and confidante of the Karlovian prince.
“My god, sir,” he cried,“do you think for a moment that I would give the hand of my daughter to the ill-bred boor who disgraced my capitol today, to the monkey who was the laughing stock of all Demia?”
Ivan Kantchi forgot for the moment the truth of the other’s statements. He thought only of the affront that had been put upon the name of his friend and prince. His face went white, and he straightened very stiffly as he replied in a cold, ironic tone.
“By leaving thus under the cloak of simulated illness Prince Boris but endeavored to spare you the knowledge of his true sentiments-sentiments which were shared by all those Karlovians who looked upon the Princess Mary to-day. Do I make myself quite plain, Your Majesty?”
Alexis III flushed, rose from his chair, and without another word turned his back upon the ambassador of the Karlovian prince and left the apartment
Ivan shrugged and turned away toward the door that had opened to admit him to the presence. As he passed out of the palace his lips formed a sentence in which at least one word was repeated several times-a word which sounded much like ‘war.’
CHAPTER NINE
FOR a matter of half an hour M. Klein awaited the pleasure of the little Princess Mary of Margoth; but receiving no summons and hearing no sound from the chamber beyond he at last ventured to knock upon the door of the tiny room into which the princess had herself ushered him. There was no response to his knocking, which he repeated at intervals for several minutes. Then he called aloud the name of his princess, to be answered only by silence. M. Klein became more and more perturbed in spirit. He still hesitated to turn the knob and enter the apartment of her royal highness without first obtaining permission, but at last he grew desperate. The knob turned beneath his fingers, he pressed outward with increasing vigor, but the door did not open-M. Klein was a prisoner. It came to him with the sudden shock of an unexpected douche of cold water; and it made him tremble all over and gasp, too, as the water might have.
For a moment or two he stood looking dumbly at the blank panels of the door. Knowing the Princess Mary as he did he was quite positive that his imprisonment was not a matter of chance; but what would the king say! At the thought M. Klein went white, and commenced to beat violently upon the door, shouting in the mean while at the top of his voice. There was no response.
The afternoon waned, and darkness came. M. Klein was exhausted by his vain efforts at attracting attention. The little, grated window had proved too high for him to reach, and had only served to admonish him of the flight of time as the afternoon light which it shed within his tiny prison waned and faded into the blackness of night.
The secretary became frantic. His calls for help rose finally to wild shrieks. He pounded upon the door. He kicked it, and continually he cursed himself for a silly ass in thus permitting a slip of a girl to put him in so ridiculous and dangerous a position. The king would never forgive him-he would be lucky if Alexis did not throw him into prison.
For the twentieth time he leaped for the grating of the window above him. His fingers caught and held. He drew himself up until his face was at the opening, and then he opened his mouth and gave vent to a piercing scream for help.
Below in the courtyard a sentry pacing to and fro heard the wild cry. Instantly his own voice rose in a sharp summons for the non-commissioned officer of the guard. The scream from above was repeated as a sergeant came upon a run from the guard house.
“Who calls?” cried the sentry.
M. Klein’s fingers were relaxing their hold upon the grating. He had only time to cry: “Princess Mary’s apartments!” before they slipped and let him drop back to the floor of his prison.
But the sergeant had heard, and so had the sentry; and a moment later an officer of the guard followed by a score of armed men were dashing through the corridors of the palace, up stairs, and along passageways until they came to the suite of the Princess Mary.
And here they permitted no courtly etiquette to detain them, but throwing open the doors bolted into the forbidden precincts of the royal apartments. A moment later M. Klein was released and, bundled into an automobile, was speeding toward Klovia, his heart in his mouth and his brain a-whirl with the stupendous fact that the Princess Mary had fled the royal palace.
At about the same time Stefan, mounted upon the abandoned horse of the highwayman, was spurring along the Roman road into Demia. Through the streets of the ancient capitol he raced, regardless of gendarmes and speed laws, upon his way to Klovia and his king.
Alexis III, relieved of the embarrassment of his royal guest, was giving himself over to the pleasures of the society of his own nobility, when a very much excited and dishevelled young man dashed unannounced into the banquet hall, throwing aside and upsetting a couple of guardsmen who had thought to interrupt his impetuous progress. To the king’s side the young man made his way, while the guardsmen, picking themselves from the floor, pursued him.
“Klein!” exclaimed the king. “What is the meaning of this?”
“0, pardon, Sire!” cried the excited secretary, falling upon his knees. “It is awful!”
“What is awful?” demanded the king, rising.
The guests too rose from their seats. The guardsmen, seeing now who their quarry was, halted beside the kneeling Klein. The king extended his hand and lifted the trembling secretary to his feet.
“Quick, man!” he cried. “What brings you here? What has happened?”
“The Princess Mary!” sobbed the overwrought secretary. “She has run away. She locked me in a closet, and then she ran away.
A poorly suppressed titter ran around the banquet board. Even the king smiled.
“I cannot say that I blame her, Klein,” he said,
The secretary rose, dum
bfounded. He had expected the wrath of his sovereign to be poured upon his head, and instead he found anything but anger in the aspect and the tones of the king.
“She would have been no Margothian princess had she willingly consented to mate with that Karlovian swineherd,” said Prince Stroebel, who sat at the king’s right. “Even I would rather have war with Constans of Karlova than see our beloved princess wed to the impossible boor whom we had among us this morning.”
“I am glad that you have come to your senses, Stroebel,” said the king, and then, turning to his secretary; “Come, Klein, don’t look so downhearted. We forgive you. Her Highness has doubtless, gone to Vitza-she always goes to Vitza when she is angry with me. Inform Captain Polnik that it is our wish that he ride at once to Vitza and see that her highness has arrived safely.”
The king was still speaking when an officer of the guard entered the room hastily and approached the ruler.
“And now what, Polnik?” asked Alexis, looking up at the white face and startled eyes of the officer.
“My God, your majesty,” blurted the guardsman, “it is awful. Stefan has just ridden in with the most frightful news of the Princess Mary
Alexis leaped to his feet. His face went as white as that of the soldier before him.
“What has happened?” he cried in a hoarse voice. “Quick, man! Tell me,” and then, his eyes chancing to glance in the direction of the doorway, he espied Stefan leaning, wide eyed, against the frame. “Here, Stefan!” he called. “Come here, man, and tell us your story.”
Hatless, dust covered, and trembling, Stefan staggered across the room where he would have fallen to one knee before the king had not the latter deterred him with an impatient snap of his fingers.
“Your story, Stefan!” demanded Alexis. “What has happened to the Princess Mary?”
“The Rider, Sire,” cried Stefan. “The Rider held us up upon the highway, and at the point of a pistol drove me away. Then he entered the machine and taking the wheel himself rode off with her highness and Mademoiselle Carlotta. It happened just before we turned from the Roman road into the Vitza way. I mounted his horse, Sire, and rode here as fast as the beast could go That is all, Sire!”
“God knows it is enough,” cried Alexis. “Captain Polnik, turn out the guard. Impress into your service as many of the private machines as you may need, in addition to the military and royal cars at your disposal here, to transport your men in pursuit. Lose no time. At the border scatter your forces in both directions, unless you strike the trail before, and search the mountains thoroughly-The Rider lairs somewhere not far from the Roman road. We will go at once to Demia where you will keep us advised of the progress of your search. Do not cross into Karlova except under the most pressing necessity, though I do not need tell you that I shall expect you to c~ss even into Hell, if necessary, to rescue Her Highness from the clutches of that Devil’s spawn.”
“No, Sire,” replied Polnik, “we of The Guard need not be told that”
“Good! Now go. In the meantime we will wire Sovgrad to co-operate with us from their side of the border.”
Captain Polnik saluted and left the hall. The guests who had risen when the king rose, were now talking excitedly among themselves. Those who were officers of The Guard were hastening from the palace to join their men. All was bustle and excitement. The courtly form and ceremony of a royal function were forgotten or ignored. In the mind of each Margothian there but a single thought loomed, large and ominous-their beloved princess was in the hands of that notorious cutthroat and scoundrel, The Rider. In fifteen minutes from the time that Captain Polnik left the banquet hall twenty automobiles carrying a hundred and fifty officers and soldiers of The Guard were racing toward the Roman road on their way to the western frontier.
CHAPTER TEN
SEVERAL miles ahead of them two other automobiles sped westward. In the foremost car rode Mrs. Abner J. Bass and her daughter, Gwendolyn-in the second the false Prince Boris with Alexander Palensk and Nicholas Gregovitch rode in moody silence, bound for the hunting lodge of the crown prince of Karlova, where The Rider and the prince were again to exchange identities and take up once more the particular roles for which each was best suited.
“I hope Boris will he there,” said Alexander.
“Peter can get word to him quicky enough if he is not,” replied the bandit. “If he is not there he will be in my camp if the gendarmes haven’t got him.”
Nicholas laughed. “Gad!” he exclaimed, “what a joke on Boris, if they should.”
“And on us, too,” growled Mexander. “It would cost us our commissions should His Majesty ever learn our part in this affair. Say! what have we here?” as the car turned to one side and came to a stop beside another machine which blocked the road at a bad turn.
The royal chauffeur was excitedly berating the driver of the other car for stopping in such a place.
“Get out of there!” he cried. “Make way for His Royal Highness, Prince Boris of Karlova.”
“Gwan, you Dago,” growled the man addressed. “Talk American. Wotinel do you tink I AM?”
If her chauffeur had failed to understand the speech of the Karlovian, Mrs. Abner J. Bass had not ‘His Royal Highness, Prince Boris of Karlova!’ Mrs. Bass was out in the dust of the Roman road in a second.
“McDougall!” she cried sharply. “Have a care! Prince Boris of Karlova is in that car.
“I don’t givadam whose in dat car,” grumbled the exasperated American who had been tinkering with a refractory magneto. If he tinks I can pack a tourin’ car off on me back he’s got annuder tink comin’.”
The three men had now descended from the royal limousine, the two officers having seen that a woman was in distress, and the bandit following their example from force of habit.
“I am so sorry, your highness,” apologized Mrs. Bass, looking questioningly from one of the men to another; but none of them seemed desirous of acknowledging himself crown prince of Karlova. It was at this moment that Gwendolyn stepped from the car to her mother’s side.
At sight of her face The Rider raised his military cap and bowed low.
“Permit me,” he said, “to offer my services. I am Prince Boris of Karlova.”
Mrs. Bass and her daughter curtsied. Alexander and Nicholas raised their helmets, bowing low from the hips.
“I am Mrs. Abner J. Bass of America,” said the wife of the multi-millionaire, “and this is my daughter.”
The Rider licked his lips. He had heard of the millions of the famous Abner J. Bass. What a haul!
“If you will permit me to offer you the use of my ear,” he said, “I will gladly take you to Sovgrad. My aides will remain with your chauffeur and see that he gets in safely after he has made the necessary repairs.”
Alexander and Nicholas bit their lips and scowled. The affrontery of the man! Nicholas looked at Alexander. What were they to do? They had given their promises to respect the exchange which their prince had made with the highwayman, and to treat the latter as their lord and master until the true Boris claimed his rightful position. Alexander shrugged, and bowed in acquiescence. The Rider held open the door of the royal car, and assisted the two ladies enter. Then he followed them.
“Good evening, my friends!” he called through the window to the two officers as the car started once more upon its interrupted journey.
As the car bowled along the road The Rider thought rapidly. It never would do to enter Sovgrad in the royal car, nor could he hope to hold his precious prizes within the boundaries of the capitol city. Picking up the speaking tube he signalled the driver.
“To the hunting lodge,” he said; “but stop first at Peter’s Inn.” And then to Mrs. Bass: “It is a long way to Sovgrad-we will stop for a moment at my hunting lodge for refreshments.”
Mrs. Abner J. Bass, quite overcome by this close communion with royalty would have agreed to anything.
“How thoughtful of your highness,” she murmured. In the dim light The Rider could see tha
t the younger of his victims was extremely beautiful. To her he addressed most of his remarks. He told her of the attempt to marry him to the Margothian princess, and during the narration an inspiration came to the unscrupulous scoundrel, which almost caused him to laugh aloud.
“You see,” he said, “I must marry at once, someone whom I could love, or I shall be forced to marry this hideous woman. Of course if I marry another I can-not marry the princess.”
“It would seem that it should be easy to find many desirable princesses who would be honored by such an alliance,” suggested Mrs. Bass.
“But she need not be a princess,” The Rider hastened to assure her. “In fact I should much prefer marrying one who is not a princess,” and he looked directly and pointedly at Miss Gwendolyn Bass.
Mrs. Abner J. Bass gasped and almost choked. For once in her life she was at a loss as to what to say. A real Prince a crown prince! and he had as much as said that he would like to marry Gwendolyn. ‘Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Gwendolyn!’ My! how wonderful it sounded! And later, Queen Gwendolyn! Mrs. Bass was thankful that she had chosen a really distinguished name for her daughter.
Miss Bass, who had seen quite all she desired to of the royal features, shrank far back into her corner of the car, a little shiver of horror playing up and down her spine. What had become of Hemmy? She was sure that she had caught a glimpse of him in Bucharest, and that her mother had seen him there, for immediately Mrs. Bass had altered her plans and turned back toward the west. She needed him now, if ever she had needed anyone, for she was not so blind but that she could read all too plainly the trend of the thoughts of the man at her side, and she knew her mother quite well enough to be sure that that ambitious lady would jump at the chance to become the mother-in-law of a prince of the blood-royal. But Hemmy might have been dead and buried, thought the girl, for all the good he could do her now. She hadn’t the faintest idea as to where she might reach him.