Long Live the King, Guy Boothby [red queen ebook TXT] 📗

few minutes later, the man we wanted entered the room. Strekwitz had told him nothing, so that he was quite unprepared for the news I had to give him. On hearing it his grief was as great, and plainly as sincere, as my own had been.

"I can scarcely believe it," he said, after he had heard what we had to tell. "What possible motive can anyone have had for such a dastardly deed?"

I could furnish him with no answer that would be in any way satisfactory. Strekwitz inclined to the belief that it was the work of the enemy--an act of revenge, in fact, for the defeat they had suffered at our hands. Von Marquart, however, ridiculed the notion.

"No," he said, "there is more behind it than meets the eye. We must look elsewhere for a solution of the mystery."

Suddenly Bertram uttered an exclamation.

"Why on earth didn't I think of it sooner?" he cried. "If I'm not mistaken, I can explain everything."

"What do you mean?" I asked impatiently. "What do you remember? Tell us quickly."

"The man I ran into, in the street at Zaarfburg," he replied. "Rodriguez, who was with us in South America. Was it possible that his appearance in the city was only a coincidence, or had he some more sinister object in view? He was aware of the mysterious marks upon your brother's body, and knew they were connected with the hidden diamonds. Seeing that he was dead, and that he might never have another opportunity, is it not quite possible that he would be anxious to penetrate the secret before it was too late?"

All this was so much Greek to von Marquart and Strekwitz. They knew nothing, it must be remembered, of Max's past life, consequently they had not heard of Moreas, or of the now famous expedition in search of the diamonds. In a few words I enlightened them, and then we fell to considering the problem that Bertram had set before us. His theory, though extraordinary, certainly seemed feasible enough.

"This is what puzzles me, however," said Bertram, who had been silent for a few moments. "If he were able to get near enough to the body to examine it, why did he take it away? It would be of no use to him, and would be a source of continual danger. No! I am very much afraid that there is something else behind it. Some other person is pulling the strings. Rodriguez would be a mere tool."

"One thing is quite certain," said von Marquart, walking towards the fireplace as he spoke, "and that is that we must find this man. If we can once get hold of him we shall be able to discover a way to make him speak. The rest should then be easy."

"But how on earth are we to catch him?" I inquired. "He would scarcely be likely to remain in Zaarfburg. Besides, there is no time. It is only three days before the State funeral will take place, and it is most improbable that we shall be able to regain possession of the body in that short space of time. It will be sad news indeed to give to the world."

"It must not be given," said von Marquart imperatively. "They must know nothing of it."

"But, good heavens! man," I cried, "how is the funeral to take place if the body is still missing?"

"Very easily," he replied. "The public did not doubt you to-night when you passed through the city to the cathedral; the archbishop did not doubt you when he led the way up the aisle; and if every one else holds his tongue, why should not the coffin be placed in the vault without suspicion having been aroused?" Then, dropping his voice a little, and speaking with even greater emphasis than before, he continued: "I tell you as plainly as I can speak that we have no other course open to us. After struggling with what at one time appeared to be insurmountable difficulties, we have at last succeeded in replacing the Ramonyi dynasty upon the throne. It behooves us, therefore, to proceed with the greatest caution possible. One false step may result in destruction to all our hopes. Your poor brother's mysterious absence did a vast amount of harm; his death, however, fighting for his country as he did, retrieved it. I must leave you to understand what the result will be if you reveal to the nation this fresh catastrophe. The sensible will describe it as a regrettable incident; the foolish will declare it to be a sign that Heaven is against your house. That will be the opportunity your enemies want, and they will be sure to make capital out of it."

"And when we have recovered that which we are seeking? What then?"

"Then his body can be laid to its rest, and what has been placed in the vault in the meantime can be removed."

"Very well," I answered. "I suppose it must be so. And who is to carry out the search?"

"There is one man who most certainly must go," von Marquart replied, "since he is the only person who is familiar with the features of the man you saw at Zaarfburg; our friend here must undertake the mission." Then, turning to Bertram, he continued: "You understand, sir, I presume, the difficulty of the task we are setting you? Believe me, it will be no light one. Nor will the responsibility be lighter. You will have to proceed with the utmost circumspection. His Majesty's honour, and the honour of the country, will be in your hands. I do not doubt your integrity, but I should like to be also assured of your discretion."

"I will answer for Mr. Bertram," I said. Then, turning to him, I continued: "Mr. Bertram, my poor brother trusted you when he was alive; I am sure you will do what you can for him, and for me, now that he is dead."

"Your Majesty may trust me in everything," he returned simply, and with a sincerity that spoke for itself. "I loved him, and would serve him alive or dead."

For a minute we were all silent, then Bertram inquired when he should start.

"The sooner the better," I answered. "I will give you a letter to General Groplau, informing him that you are on personal business for myself, and asking him to give you all the assistance that lies in his power. You may imagine with what eagerness I shall await news from you. And now you had better retire to rest. I will see you before you start."

Bertram accordingly left the room, and when he had gone Strekwitz received his final instructions.

We discussed the arrangements for the funeral for a little longer, and then Strekwitz and von Marquart withdrew, and I was left alone with my gloomy thoughts.

When I retired to rest, I lay awake hour after hour, thinking of Max, and of the vile deed of which his poor body was the innocent victim. Long before it was light I had said good-bye to Bertram, and he had left the city, after which I set myself to wait and hope. Of what transpired during the next three days I scarcely like to think, even now. The grim mockery that was daily taking place in the cathedral, and the knowledge of the still grimmer one that was to follow it, weighed upon my heart like lead. All day long, from my study window, I could see the crowd passing into the building by one door and out by another. I could not but watch it, though the sight irritated me beyond measure. Had it not been for the constant letters of love and sympathy that I received from Ottilie, I believe I could not have borne it as well as I did.

Of the funeral ceremony itself I will say but little. Its grandeur and pomp could not have been excelled. I did my best to bear myself as a man should, but as I looked at the coffin, and thought of what it contained, my feelings well-nigh overcame me. When all was over, I left the cathedral and entered the carriage that awaited me at the foot of the steps. The great square was crowded, till it resembled one vast sea of heads, upon which a gleam of wintry sunshine played as if with a caressing hand. Slowly I drove along to the accompaniment of the respectful salutations of the people, though, wrapt as I was in my own thoughts, I was scarcely conscious of their presence. We were not half-way across the square, however, before my feelings underwent a complete change. Looking from the carriage I saw among the multitude of faces one that stung me to instant action. I could scarcely believe the evidence of my own eyes. I looked again, only to become doubly certain that there was no mistake. To the best of my belief, there, looking up at me, was the man we suspected, the individual who had cannoned into Bertram at Zaarfburg, and to search for whom Bertram had returned to the scene of Max's death. A moment later it had disappeared, and I was left wondering what I should do. To stop the procession and to go in search of the man was out of the question, and yet to continue our journey to the palace would be to run the risk of allowing him to escape. Situated as I was, there was nothing for it but to go on and to trust to Providence for the rest. One thing, however, was quite certain. A message must be sent to Bertram telling him to return to Pannonia at once. Drawing Strekwitz aside as soon as we reached the palace, I told him what had happened, and gave him the necessary instructions.

For the remainder of the day the memory of the face I had seen in the crowd haunted me like that of a ghoul. Please God, Bertram would not be too late to catch him after all.


CHAPTER XXII.


I was well aware that, even should my telegram have the good fortune to catch him at once, Bertram could not reach the capital in less than twenty-four hours. During that time, however, I had not much leisure to think of him; I was kept incessantly busy, bidding my guests farewell, and attending to the various important matters of state, which had perforce been neglected under the stress of the last few days. Busy as I was, however, the face of the man I had seen in the crowd was continually before my eyes. Whenever I went abroad, I scanned the countenances of the people I met, in the hope that I might discover him again. But I was not successful. Look as I would I could find no trace of him. Could I have been mistaken? No! I felt certain I had not. The man's image had printed itself so firmly upon my memory that I could entertain no doubt upon the matter. I was still thinking of this when word was brought to me that my father-in-law elect, the Prince of Lilienhoehe, had reached the palace and desired an audience. On the previous day, that is to say, the day of the funeral, I had only time to salute him. Having received no letter from Ottilie that morning, his presence was the more welcome. I bade them conduct him to my presence.

"You are surprised to see me," he said, as we shook hands. "I have come to acquaint you with the fact that Ottilie is in the city."

"Ottilie here?" I cried, my heart