"my dear countess," said i, the next morning, "while i am willing to admit that all you say is true, there still remains the unhappy fact that you were very near to upsetting everything last night. mr. pless saw you quite plainly. the moon was very full, you'll remember. fortunately he was too far away from your window to recognise you. think how easy it might—"
"but i've told you twice that i held my hand over pinko's nose and he just couldn't bark, mr. smart. you are really most unreasonable about it. the dog had to have a breath of fresh air."
"why not send him up to the top of the tower and let him run around on the—"
"oh, there's no use talking about it any longer," she said wearily. "it is all over and no real harm was done. i am awfully sorry if they made it uncomfortable for you. it is just like him to suggest something—well, scandalous. and the rest of them are dreadful teases, especially mrs. smith. they love anything risque. but you haven't told me what they said that kept you awake all night."
my dignity was worth beholding.
"it was not what they said to me, countess, but what they left unsaid. i sha'n't tell you what they said."
"i think i can make a pretty good guess—"
"well, you needn't!" i cried hastily, but too late. she would out with it.
"they accuse you of being a sad, sad dog, a foxy; bachelor, and a devil of a fellow. they all profess to be very much shocked, but they assure you that it's all right,—not to mind them. they didn't think you had it in you, and they're glad to see you behaving like a scamp. oh, i know them!"
as a matter of fact, she was pretty near to being right. "all the more reason for you to be cautious and circumspect," said i boldly. "pray think of my position, if not your own."
she gave me a queer little look and then smiled brightly. (she is lovely!)
"i'll promise to be good," she said.
"i only ask you to be careful," said i, blunderingly. she laughed aloud: her merriest, most distracting gurgle.
"and now will you be good enough to tell me who i am?" she asked, after a few minutes. "that is, who am i supposed to be?"
"oh," said i uneasily, "you are really nobody. you are britton's wife."
"what! does britton know it?"
"yes," said i, with a wry smile. "he took a mean advantage of me in the presence of george hazzard not an hour ago, and asked for a raise in wages on account of his wife's illness. it seems that you are an invalid."
"i hope he hasn't forgotten the baby in his calculations."
"he hasn't, you may be sure. he has named the baby after me."
"how original!"
"i thought it rather clever to change rosemary's sex for a few days," said i. "moreover, it will be necessary for britton to take max's place as your personal servant. he will fetch your meals and—"
"oh, i can't agree to that, mr. smart," she cried with decision. "i must have max. he is—"
"but britton must have some sort of a pretext for—"
"nonsense! no one cares about britton and his sick wife. let well enough alone."
"i—i'll think it over, countess," said i weakly.
"and now tell me all about—mr. pless. how is he looking? does he appear to be unhappy?" there was a curious note in her voice, as of anxiety or eagerness, it was hard to tell which. in any case, i found myself inwardly resenting her interest in the sneering hungarian. (i had discovered that he was not an austrian.) there was a queer sinking sensation in the region of my heart, and a slight chill. could it be possible that she—but no! it was preposterous!
"he appears to be somewhat sentimental and preoccupied. he gazes at the moon and bites his nails."
"i—i wish i could have a peep at him some time without being—"
"for heaven's sake, don't even consider such a thing," i cried in alarm.
"just a little peek, mr. smart," she pleaded.
"no!" said i firmly.
"very well," she said resignedly, fixing me with hurt eyes. "i'm sorry to be such a bother to you."
"i believe you'll go back to him, after all," i said angrily. "women are all alike. they—"
"just because i want to see how unhappy he is, and enjoy myself a little, you say horrid things to me," she cried, almost pathetically. "you treat me very badly."
"there is a great deal at stake," said i. "the peril is—well, it's enormous. i am having the devil's own time heading off a scheme they've got for exploring the entire castle. your hus—your ex-husband says he knows of a secret door opening into this part of the—"
she sprang to her feet with a sharp cry of alarm.
"heavens! i—i forgot about that! there is a secret panel and—heaven save us!—it opens directly into my bedroom!" her eyes were very wide and full of consternation. she gripped my arm. "come! be quick! we must pile something heavy against it, or nail it up, or—do something."
she fairly dragged me out into the corridor, and then, picking up her dainty skirts, pattered down the rickety stairs at so swift a pace that i had some difficulty in keeping her pink figure in sight. why is it that a woman can go downstairs so much faster than a man? i've never been able to explain it. she didn't stumble once, or miss a step, while i did all manner of clumsy things, and once came near to pitching headlong to the bottom. we went down and down and round and round so endlessly that i was not only gasping but reeling.
at last we came to the broad hall at the top of the main staircase. almost directly in front of us loomed the great padlocked doors leading to the other wing. passing them like the wind she led the way to the farthermost end of the hall. light from the big, paneless windows overlooking the river, came streaming into the vast corridor, and i could see doors ahead to the right and the left of us.
"your bedroom?" i managed to gasp, uttering a belated question that should have been asked five or six flights higher up at a time when i was better qualified to voice it. "what the dickens is it doing down here?"
she did not reply, but, turning to the left, threw open a door and disappeared into the room beyond. i followed ruthlessly, but stopped just over the threshold to catch my breath in astonishment.
i was in "my lady's bed-chamber."
the immense gothic bed stood on its dais, imposing in its isolation. three or four very modern innovation trunks loomed like minarets against the opposite walls, half-open; one's imagination might have been excused if it conjured up sentries who stood ready to pop out of the trunks to scare one half to death. some of my most precious rugs adorned the floor, but the windows were absolutely undraped. there were a few old chairs scattered about, but no other article of furniture except an improvised wash-stand, and a clumsy, portable tin bath-tub which leaned nonchalantly against the foot of the bed. there were great mirrors, in the wall at one end of the room, cracked and scaly it is true, but capable of reflecting one's presence.
"don't stand there gaping," she cried in a shrill whisper, starting across the room only to turn aside with a sharp exclamation. "that stupid helene!" she cried, flushing warmly. catching up a heap of tumbled garments, mostly white, from a chair, she recklessly hurled them behind the bed. "this is the mirror—the middle one. it opens by means of a spring. there is a small hole in the wall behind it and then there is still another secret door beyond that, a thick iron one with the sixth baron rothhoefen's portrait on the outer side of it. the canvas swings open. we must—"
i was beginning to get my bearings.
"the sixth baron? old ludwig the red?"
"the very one."
"then, by jove, he is in my study! you don't mean to say—"
"please don't stop to talk," she cried impatiently, looking about in a distracted manner, "but for goodness sake get something to put against this mirror."
my mind worked rapidly. the only object in the room heavy enough to serve as a barricade was the bed, and it was too heavy for me to move, i feared. i suggested it, of course, involuntarily lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"pull it over, quick!" she commanded promptly.
"perhaps i'd better run out and get max and ru—"
"if my hus—if mr. pless should open that secret door from the other side, mr. smart, it will be very embarrassing for you and me, let—"
i put my shoulder to the huge creaky bed and shoved. there were no castors. it did not budge. the countess assisted me by putting the tips of her small fingers against one end of it and pushing. it was not what one would call a frantic effort on her part, but it served to make me exert myself to the utmost. i, a big strong man, couldn't afford to have a slim countess pushing a bedstead about while i was there to do it for her.
"don't do that," i protested. "i can manage it alone, thank you."
i secured a strong grip on the bottom of the thing and heaved manfully.
"you might let me help," she cried, firmly grasping a side piece with both hands.
the bed moved. the veins stood out on my neck and temples. my face must have been quite purple, and it is a hue that i detest. when i was a very small laddie my mother put me forward to be admired in purple velveteen. the horror of it still lingers.
by means of great straining i got the heavy bed over against the mirror, upsetting the tin bathtub with a crash that under ordinary circumstances would have made my heart stand still but now only tripled its pumping activities. one of the legs was hopelessly splintered in the drop from the raised platform.
"there," she said, standing off to survey our joint achievement, "we've stopped it up very nicely." she brushed the tips of her fingers daintily. "this afternoon you may fetch up a hammer and some nails and fasten the mirror permanently. then you can move the bed back to its proper place. goodness! what a narrow squeak!"
"madam," said i, my hand on my heart but not through gallantry, "that bed stays where it is. not all the king's horses nor all the king's men can put it back again."
"was it so heavy, mr. smart?"
i swallowed very hard. a prophetic crick already had planted itself in my back. "will you forgive me if i submit that you sleep quite a distance from home?" i remarked with justifiable irony. "why the deuce don't you stay on the upper floors?"
"because i am mortally afraid," she said, with a little shudder. "you've no idea how lonely, how spooky it is up there at the dead hour of night. i couldn't sleep. after the third night i had my things moved down here, where i could at least feel that there were strong men within—you might say arm's length of me. i'm—i'm shockingly timid."
she smiled; a wavering, pleading little smile that conquered.
"of course, i don't mind, countess," i hastened to say. "only i thought it would be cosier up there with rosemary and the two maids for company."
she leaned a little closer to me. "we all sleep down here," she said confidentially. "we bring rosemary's little mattress down every night and put it in the bathtub. it is a very good fit and makes quite a nice cradle for her. helene and blake sleep just across the hall and we leave the doors wide open. so, you see, we're not one bit afraid."
i sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed.
"this is delicious," i cried, not without compunction for i was looking directly into her eager, wistful eyes. a shadow crossed them. "i beg your pardon. i—i can't help laughing."
"pray do not stop laughing on my account," she said icily. "i am used to being laughed at since i left america. they laugh at all of us over here."
"i dare say they laugh at me, confound them," said i, lugubriously.
"they do," said she flatly. before i could quite recover from this sentient dig, she was ordering me to put the bathtub where it belonged. this task completed, i looked up. she was standing near the head of the bed, with a revolver in her hand. i stared. "i keep it under my pillow, mr. smart," she said nervously. i said nothing, and she replaced it under the pillow, handling the deadly weapon as gingerly as if it were the frailest glass. "of course i couldn't hit anything with it, and i know i should scream when it went off, but still—accidents will happen, you know."
"urn!" said i, judicially. "and so my study is just beyond this mirror, eh? may i enquire how you happen to know that i have my study there?"
"oh, i peeked in the other day," she said, serene once more.
"the deuce you did!"
"i was quite sure that you were out," she explained. "i opened ludwig the red an inch or two, that's all. you are quite cosy in there, aren't you? i envy you the grand old chaise longe."
i wavered, but succeeded in subduing the impulse. "it is the only comfortable piece of furniture i have left in my apartments," said i, with convincing candour.
"you poor man," she said, with her rarest smile. "how fortunate you are that i did not remember the chaise longe. you would have been deprived of it, i am quite sure. of course i couldn't think of robbing you of it now."
"as a matter of fact, i never lie in it," i said, submitting to a once conquered impulse. "if you'd really like to have it, i'll see that it is taken up to your rooms at once."
"thank you," she said, shaking her head. "it's kind of you, but i am not so selfish as all that, believe me."
"it is—quite in the way, countess."
"some one would be sure to miss it if you sent it up now," she said reflectively.
"we'll wait till they're all gone," said i.
she smiled and the bargain was settled without a word from her. you've heard of men being wrapped about little fingers, haven't you? well, there you are. we returned to the corridor. she closed the door softly, a mockery in view of the clatter i had made in shifting the bed and its impediments.
"we can't be too careful," she said in a whisper. she might have spoken through a megaphone and still been quite safe. we were tramping up the stairs. "don't you think your guests will consider you rather inhospitable if you stay away from them all morning?"
i stopped short. "by jove, now that you remind me of it, i promised to take them all out for a spin in the motor boat before luncheon. hazzard has had his boat sent down."
she looked positively unhappy. "oh, how i should love to get out for a spin on the river! i wonder if i'll ever be free to enjoy the things i like most of—"
"listen!" i whispered suddenly, grasping her arm. "did you hear footsteps in the—sh!"
some one was walking over the stone floor in the lower hall, brisk strides that rang out quite clearly as they drew nearer.
"it is—it is mr. pless," she whispered in a panic. "i recognise his tread. as if i could ever forget it! oh, how i hate him! he—"
"don't stop here to tell me about it," i cut in sharply. "make haste! get up to your rooms and lock yourself in. i'll—i'll stop him. how the deuce did he get into this side of the—"
"through the dungeons. there is a passage," she, whispered, and then she was gone, flying noiselessly up the narrow stairway.
assuming a nonchalance i certainly did not feel, i descended the stairs. we met in the broad hallway below. mr. pless approached slowly, evidently having checked his speed on hearing my footsteps on the stairs.
"hello," i said agreeably. "how did you get in?"
he surveyed me coolly. "i know the castle from top to bottom, mr. smart. to be perfectly frank with you, i tried the secret panel in your study but found the opposite door blocked. you have no objection, i trust, to my looking over the castle? it is like home to me."
my plan was to detain him in conversation until she had time to secrete herself on the upper floor. somehow i anticipated the banging of a door, and it came a moment later—not loud but very convicting, just the same. he glanced at me curiously.
"then how did you get in?" i repeated, cringing perceptibly in response to the slam of the distant door.
"by the same means, i daresay, that you employ," said he.
for a moment i was confounded. then my wits came to the rescue.
"i see. through the dungeon. you do know the castle well, mr. pless."
"it is a cobwebby, unlovely passage," said he, brushing the dirt and cobwebs from his trousers. my own appearance was conspicuously immaculate, but i brushed in unison, just the same.
"grewsome," said i.
he was regarding me with a curious smile in his eyes, a pleasantly bantering smile that had but one meaning. casting an eye upwards, he allowed his smile to spread.
"perhaps you'd rather i didn't disturb mrs.— mrs.—"
"britton," said i. "my valet's wife. i don't believe you will disturb her. she's on the top floor, i think."
he still smiled. "a little remote from britton, isn't she?"
i think i glared. what right had he to meddle in britton's affairs?
"i am afraid your fancy draws a rather long bow, mr. pless," said i, coldly.
he was at once apologetic. "if i offend, mr. smart, pray forgive me. you are quite justified in rebuking me. shall we return to our own ladies?"
nothing could have been more adroit than the way he accused me in that concluding sentence. it was the quintessence of irony.
"i'd like to have your opinion as to the best way of restoring or repairing those mural paintings in the dome of the east hall," i said, detaining him. it was necessary for me to have a good excuse for rummaging about in the unused part of the castle. "it seems too bad to let those wonderful paintings go to ruin. they are hanging down in some places, and are badly cracked in others. i've been worrying about them ever since i came into possession. for instance, that murillo in the centre. it must be preserved."
he gave me another queer look, and i congratulated myself on the success of my strategy.
he took it all in. the mocking light died out in his eyes, and he at once became intensely interested in my heaven-sent project. for fifteen or twenty minutes we discussed the dilapidated frescoes and he gave me the soundest sort of advice, based on a knowledge and experience that surprised me more than a little. he was thoroughly up in matters of art. his own chateau near buda pesth, he informed me, had only recently undergone complete restoration in every particular. a great deal of money had been required, but the expenditures had been justified by the results.
paintings like these had been restored to their original glory, and so on and so forth. he offered to give me the address of the men in munich who had performed such wonders for him, and suggested rather timidly that he might be of considerable assistance to me in outlining a system of improvements. i could not help being impressed. his manner was most agreeable. when he smiled without malice, his dark eyes were very boyish. one could then forget the hard lines of dissipation in his face, and the domineering, discontented expression which gave to him the aspect of a far greater age than he had yet attained. a note of eager enthusiasm in his voice proved beyond cavil that if this sprig of nobility had had half a chance in the beginning he might have been nobler than he was to-day. but underneath the fascinating charm of manner, back of the old world courtliness, there lurked the ever dominant signs of intolerance, selfishness and—even cruelty. he was mean to the core. he had never heard of the milk of human kindness, much less tasted of it.
there was no getting away from the fact that he despised me for no other reason than that i was an american. i could not help feeling the derision in which he held not only me but the hazzards and the smiths as well. he looked upon all of us as coming from an inferior race, to be tolerated only as passers-by and by no means worthy of his august consideration. we were not of his world and never could be.
ignoble to him, indeed, must have been the wife who came with the vulgar though welcome dollars and an ambition to be his equal and the sharer of his heaven-born glory! he could not even pity her!
while he was discoursing so amiably upon the subjects he knew so well by means of an inherited intelligence that came down through generations, i allowed my thoughts to drift upstairs to that frightened, hunted little fellow-countrywoman of mine, as intolerant, as vain perhaps as he after a fashion, and cursed the infernal custom that lays our pride so low. infinitely nobler than he and yet an object of scorn to him and all his people, great and small; a discredited interloper who could not deceive the lowliest menial in her own household into regarding her as anything but an imitation. her loveliness counted for naught. her wit, her charm, her purity of heart counted for even less than that. she was a thing that had been bartered for and could be cast aside without loss—a pawn. and she had committed the inconceivable sin of rebelling against the laws of commerce: she had defaulted! they would not forgive her for that.
my heart warmed toward her. she had been afraid of the dark! i can forgive a great deal in a person who is afraid of the dark.
i looked at my watch. assuming a careless manner, i remarked:
"i am afraid we shall be late for the start. are you going out with us in the boat or would you prefer to browse about a little longer? will you excuse me? i must be off."
his cynical smile returned. "i shall forego the pleasure of browsing in another man's pasture, if you don't mind."
it was almost a direct accusation. he did not believe a word of the britton story. i suddenly found myself wondering if he suspected the truth. had he, by any chance, traced the fugitive countess to my doors? were his spies hot upon the trail? or had she betrayed herself by indiscreet acts during the past twenty-four hours? the latter was not unlikely; i knew her whims and her faults by this time. in either case, i had come to feel decidedly uncomfortable, so much so, in fact, that i was content to let the innuendo pass without a retort. it behooved me to keep my temper as well as my wits.
"come along," said i, starting off in the direction of the lower regions. he followed. i manoeuvred with such success that ultimately he took the lead. i hadn't the remotest idea how to get to the confounded dungeons!
it never rains but it pours. just as we were descending the last flight of stairs before coming to the winding stone steps that led far down into the earth, who but britton should come blithely up from the posterior regions devoted to servants and their ilk. he was carrying a long pasteboard box. i said something impressive under my breath. britton, on seeing us, stopped short in his tracks. he put the box behind his back and gazed at me forlornly.
"ah, britton," said i, recovering myself most creditably; "going up to see little john bellamy, i suppose."
i managed to shoot a covert look at mr. pless. he was gazing at the half-hidden box with a perfectly impassive face, and yet i knew that there was a smile about him somewhere.
the miserable box contained roses, i knew, because i had ordered them for rosemary.
"yes, sir," said my valet, quite rigid with uncertainty, "in a way, sir." a bright look flashed into his face. "i'm taking up the wash, mr. smart. from the laundry over in the town, sir. it is somethink dreadful the way they mangle things, sir. especially lady's garments. thank you, sir."
he stood aside to let us pass, the box pinned between him and the wall. never in my life have i known roses with a more pungent and penetrating odour! britton seemed to fairly reek with it.
"i like the perfumes the women are using nowadays," said mr. pless affably, as we felt our way down the steps.
"attar of roses," said i, sniffing.
"umph!" said he.
it was quite dark and very damp in the underground passages. i had the curious sensation of lizards wriggling all about me in the sinister shadows. then and there i resolved that the doors of this pestilential prison should be locked and double locked and never opened again, while i was master of the place.
moreover, old man schmick was down for a bad half-hour with me. how came these doors to be unlocked when the whole place was supposed to be as tight as a drum? if nothing else sufficed, the two prodigious schmicks would be required to stand guard, day and night, with bludgeons if needs be. i intended to keep snooping busybodies out of that side of the castle if i had to nail up every door in the place, even at the risk of starving those whom i would defend.
especially was i firm in my resolve to keep the meddling ex-husband in his proper place. granted that he suspected me of a secret amour, what right had he to concern himself about it? none whatever. i was not the first baron to hold a fair prisoner within these powerful walls, and i meant to stand upon my dignity and my rights, as every man should who—but, great heaven, what an imbecile view to take of the matter! truly my brain was playing silly tricks for me as i stumbled through the murky corridors. i had my imagination in a pretty fair state of subjection by the time we emerged from the dungeons and started up the steps. facts were facts, and i would have to stick to them. that is why i bethought myself to utter this sage observation:
"britton is a faithful, obliging fellow, mr. pless. it isn't every englishman who will gracefully submit to being chucked out of comfortable quarters to make room for others. we're a bit crowded, you know. he gave up his room like a gentleman and moved over temporarily into the other wing. he was afraid, don't you see, that the baby might disturb my guests. a very thoughtful, dependable fellow."
"yes," said he, "a very dependable fellow, mr. smart. my own man is much the same sort of a chap. he also is married." did i imagine that he chuckled?
half an hour later when i rejoined my guests after a session with conrad schmick, i was somewhat annoyed by the dig george hazzard planted in my devoted ribs, and the furtive wink he gave me. the two ladies were regarding me with expressions that seemed pretty well divided between disapproval and mirth. the baron, whose amicable relations with mr. pless evidently had been restored, was grinning broadly at me.
and the countess imperiously had directed me to supply her with all the scandal of the hour!
