Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch. Brinton Davis
into the room. Going straight to the table she confronted the Gray Man with flashing eyes.
"Josef," she addressed him with stamping foot, "what does this mean? Who gave you permission to treat this gentleman so harshly? I am still mistress here."
"They are Russian spies, Highness."
"Fiddlesticks," she replied with the feminine faith in the man who had given her such tender care. "Anyhow," she temporized, "our Privy Council, not you, shall be their judges." With charming hesitation, she turned to make a suitable apology to Carter, when, as her eyes fell before his ardent gaze, they rested upon Carrick's heirloom lying on the table.
"Can it be?" she questioned as one in a dream. "Is it yours?" she asked breathlessly, her whole soul in her eyes and parted lips, as she turned to Carter.
"No, Your Grace," he answered, "it is my chauffeur's."
"Yours?" she skeptically inquired of Carrick. "Where did you get it?"
"He probably stole it. He had it hidden under his shirt," suggested Josef.
Her fine brows drew together in annoyance as she turned to look steadily into the crafty eyes of him she called Josef.
"You forget your place, sir. I gave you no leave to speak. Have you forgotten that I am the Duchess of Schallberg? Be silent until you are spoken to."
Josef shrugged his shoulders after he had bowed apologetically, for he saw that the lady was no longer looking in his direction. Minutely, closely, she was studying the face of the Cockney; first red, then pale, her own countenance betrayed some inward apprehension.
"It cannot be," she said huskily as if striving to dispel some doubt that would arise, "and yet there is no other jewel unlocated. Please tell me how you got this," she supplicated helplessly.
"Honestly, mem," was all the satisfaction she could elicit, for Carrick made no distinctions between her and the servant whom he thought was her agent.
"I've no doubt of that," she answered soothingly. "Will you tell me your name?" Her eager, expectant face held an expression of one who half fears the reply.
"Carrick," he answered with the monotony of iteration.
"Thank you," she said in relief. "Oh," she cried as she espied their bonds for the first time, "your hands are tied. This is intolerable. Casimir," she commanded the equerry, who had been keeping as much out of sight as possible, "undo those cords. They are cutting into the flesh. Messieurs, pardon my overzealous servants. Indeed, we have much to fear from strangers. Though you may mean no wrong to us, yet formality requires that you satisfy our Privy Council of your honesty in coming to our remote country at this particular time. Let us go at once, that you may the speedier be relieved of surveillance.
"Josef," she said, turning to the Gray Man, "if you so desire you may present your foolish charges there."
She lifted her glance graciously to Carter.
"I have no fear for you, monsieur. You have the marks of an honorable gentleman."
IX
IF ZULKA WERE HERE
"I've 'arf a notion to knock your block for a bloomin' sneak." Carrick halted suddenly in the doorway of the cell to face Josef. The Cockney's fists were clenched in a manner which promised that action would immediately follow declaration. Carter intervened peremptorily while Josef discreetly withdrew out of reach of the tough, bunched knuckles.
Led by the Duchess of Schallberg, they traversed a stone-flagged, arched passageway, which brought them to the main hall of the castle. A modern dwelling of average size could have been erected there without entirely exhausting the spaciousness of the hall.
Tattered banners, gray with antiquity, hung like memories on the walls. Below these, crumbling with age, were the antlers of ancestral deer, while arms and armor of heroic mold glimmered from the shadowy niches filled by them for generations.
Crossing the hall, the party led by Trusia approached a tapestried-hung archway, whose single sentry raised the heavy folds to admit her to whatever lay beyond.
Preceded by Her Grace, and followed closely by Josef, Carter and Carrick entered the Council Chamber of Schallberg.
At one end of its many-pillared room, a dais held a double throne, whose high, broad back was carved with many heraldic devices of past intelligence. Its intricate traceries were capped by a lion rampant, which had pawed the air for generations.
Directly from the steps of the throne ran a heavy table at which were seated three Privy Counselors. A fourth seat was vacant. For Her Grace of Schallberg? Evidently not, for she mounted the two broad steps and seated herself on the throne, bowing graciously to the trio of ministers who had risen at her entrance. With a gesture that indicated that Carter and Carrick should stand facing these, their judges, she settled herself back in the high chair, while the accused found themselves with their backs to the door. Josef, with mocking deference, placed himself at the end of the table as the prosecutor. He unburdened himself of the purloined articles which he now placed before him in a little pile.
Admitting the seriousness of the situation so far as himself and his man were concerned, Carter could not but confess that the scene was a picturesque one, and that the very element of danger gave it a touch of piquancy. Here were himself and Carrick, fresh from the greatest shrine of modernity, after having been cast into a mediæval dungeon, now being hauled before a trinity of gold-laced judges on a charge of being spies.
He glanced admiringly toward Her Grace, whose tempting chin was cupped in her pink palm, while the deep lace of her half sleeve fell back from the round elbow propped by the broad arm of the throne. Her eyes dreamed of far-away things, until, telepathically, she became aware of Carter's ardent gaze.
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