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Dash for a Throne

<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <h3>A CHECK</h3> Matters were now hurrying fast to a crisis; and I hoped the result of my journey would be to complete all my preparations, and leave me nothing to do but return to escort Minna to Munich. So far all had gone well enough. I had no reason to think that either Heckscher or von Nauheim had the remotest idea that I knew of their treachery; and it was, of course, of the very essence of my plan that they should remain in ignorance. On this account I was unwilling to meet Praga again personally, and I resolved therefore to send Steinitz to him as soon as we reached Munich to tell him my intentions, and to get from him in return what he believed to be the Ostenburg move. I myself went straight to Baron Heckscher. He received me with apparent cordiality; but it was not difficult to see that as the day of the crisis drew near his anxiety was growing. "All is going well, I hope," I said, after I had greeted him. "We have all our preparations made." "All is going very well," he replied. "But you are a day earlier in Munich than we anticipated." "I have not come to remain," I answered, "although I have some important business. My cousin is not well; and her nerves are giving way as the day approaches. I have difficulty in keeping her courage up. Like a woman, she has some foolish fear that at the last moment something will happen to her—some disaster to overthrow her. But I have nearly conquered that fear, I trust." "How?" "She associates the fear with her visit here, and I have assured her that night and day, every hour and every minute, she herself will be surrounded by absolutely stanch friends who would give their lives for her. The death of her brother just at the moment when success seemed to be within grasp is frightening her. Nor is that unnatural, especially when we reflect that her nerves have again been strained by her father's death." My words had the effect I desired. It did not suit his plans that Minna should be guarded in this way. "The Countess is not ill, I trust," he said after a pause. "Oh, no, not positively ill. But she is very young, and so full of alarms that even I myself am inclined at times to question the wisdom of all this." Perceiving the value of the line I had taken, I went on to make the most of it. "Indeed, I want some very confidential talk with you. You understand that I am resolved to go on, and I have not breathed a word to suggest to her that there is even an alternative course; but there are two points on which I wish to consult you. In the first place, is it quite impracticable to abandon the thing? I am convinced my cousin would only too gladly renounce all claim to the throne." He looked at me sharply and with manifest consternation. "It is absolutely impossible, Prince, absolutely," he said emphatically. "But you are not in earnest. Why, it would be madness, sheer madness to think of such a thing. Since you were here we have sounded men in all directions, and there is not one who is not enthusiastic at the idea of getting rid once and for all of this madman." "But my cousin can only make a weak Queen at the best." "My dear Prince, her weakness will be the strength of the country. Our great object is not so much to change the person of the ruler as to break the traditions of the ruler's power—to put on the throne some one whose title will rest, not on any right divine, but on the people's power and will and choice. A woman will thus be far more dependent on the people than a man. Prince, the countess cannot draw back." "But supposing she were willing to acquiesce in the election of the Ostenburg heir, and thus unite all sections of the people?" "It is impossible, equally impossible!" he exclaimed readily. "It would be a betrayal of us all. It is not to be thought of." I sat as if thinking this over, but in truth this prompt rejection of the means to do fairly what I knew he was plotting to do by foul had filled me with anger. "And what would be the immediate consequences of a withdrawal?" I asked. "Do you mean the personal consequences to the countess and yourself?" he asked, with a suggestion of contempt for such a consideration. "I mean to all concerned." "What could but be the consequences where three-fourths of a nation had been worked up to desire a revolution and found themselves cheated at the last moment by the—the timorousness of those in whose name and for whose sake the whole movement has been carried out? The badge of cowardice is a hard one to bear, Prince, and the anger of a disappointed people would not lighten the disgrace." "We are no cowards, Baron Heckscher," I replied warmly, as if stung by his taunt. "Then you must not so act that people may mistake you." "We will not," I returned, with an air of angry decision. "I was sure of it, and am only sorry you thought it necessary even to moot the suggestion. But now what is your second point? Not another objection, I hope." "It is merely to discuss with you the last arrangements. Under the circumstances you will, I am sure, see the necessity for making them as simple as possible—indeed, my cousin's health will not permit anything else." "Up to the moment of our great coup they cannot possibly be too simple. Anything else would be a great mistake. Up till somewhere about midnight of this day week, Wednesday next, the countess is of course no one but the very charming young lady that I am assured she is—I mean she is a private person. In that capacity she will attend the reception, and in order that there may be no suspicion attaching to her making a public appearance so soon after her father's death it has been arranged that a special desire for her attendance shall be expressed by the King. She will merely attend, kiss hands, and pass through the presence chamber, and leave the palace at once, should it be desired. She can return home and go to the ball, where she should be at about ten o'clock. She must be at hand of course when the great drama is played in which we are to take part. When the Act of Abdication has been read, you will lead her forward. That is all. We shall do the rest." "And what will follow then?" "I think she will stay at the palace. It is just in the few hours succeeding that scene that we shall have to be alert. The King will be missing, and a Council of State will be called on the following morning, when she will be proclaimed to the country. After that, events will settle themselves rapidly. We are prepared with a petition to the Imperial authorities, which will be signed by nearly every man of influence in the country, to recognize the succession and validate the abdication." "But that Act of the King will surely be found to be a forgery?" I said. My companion smiled and shook his head. "On the contrary, it will be genuine. We should not use such clumsy means as forgery. We have it already written. For once his Majesty's lunacy has done his subjects a good service," he said bitterly. "He was minded recently to play a farce of abdication in favor of one of his hounds, declaring with his customary facetiousness that the Bavarians were dogs, and a fit King for them would be a hound. Accordingly he held what he was pleased to call a Privy Council—consisting of himself and his dogs. But those about him knew their business, and when he thought he had abdicated in favor of his dog they fooled him to the top of his bent, but drew the document in such a way that the insertion of the countess's name would be an easy matter. The addition of a date will make everything complete; and thus when the madman thought he was only insulting his people, he was in fact signing away his throne. He had this dog, a clever poodle, seated in the chair in the Council Chamber, garbed in State robes, and crowned with the crown of Bavaria. I tell you, Prince, that one act would stir the blood of even a nation of cravens—and we Bavarians are no cowards. My blood boils at the thought," he cried, clenching his fist, while his eyes flashed, and his face, usually immobile and cold, lighted up with the fires of passion. I joined him in a hot outburst of indignation. "But the time is past for mere anger," he said presently. "We are resolved to act; and that farce of his shall cost him dear. As to Berlin, so soon as we have driven home the conviction that we are in dead earnest, and that practically the whole country is with us, there will be no opposition. The usual official intimation will be published that the King's health has failed, and the rest follows naturally." "But you are forgetting the Ostenburg interest." "I forget nothing, Prince," he replied, somewhat curtly. "I know the public feeling. The very inaction they are showing will make the Duke Marx impossible in the eyes of the people. While the country has been writhing and suffering under the insults and iniquities of this madman, what have the Ostenburgs done? Has one of them raised a finger to help the people or protest against this royal mumming? Has any one of them said a word? And how do you suppose the nation is to interpret that silence and inaction, except as approval of what has been done? They had the better right of succession and a strong following on their side; they have forfeited the one by their apathy and have lost the other as a consequence;" and he went on to give many reasons for this conclusion. "I admit," he said at the close, "there will be some anxious hours just after the Countess Minna is proclaimed; but, with all the will in the world, they can do nothing. I tell you there is nothing can stay our success nor shake your cousin's seat on the throne when she has once taken it." I allowed myself to appear to share his convictions, even while I marvelled at the depth of his duplicity, and I then told him the plan of our movements. He listened closely, and made several suggestions which I said we would adopt; and he quite acquiesced in my view that during the time Minna was to be in Munich she should remain in the greatest seclusion, giving audience only to himself and two or three others. When I left him my task in Munich was practically finished, so far as he was concerned; but he advised me to attend a reception at the palace on the following day but one, the Friday, and I agreed. I felt sure I had left the impression I had gone to create—that their best time for abducting Minna would be at the moment of her return from the palace; and I completed my arrangements on that basis. Steinitz was waiting for me at the hotel with an important communication from Praga, giving me the particulars of an intended attempt to carry off Minna from Gramberg during the night; and though it seemed to me a mad scheme enough, and pretty certain to be abandoned after my interview with Baron Heckscher, I despatched Steinitz post-haste back to the castle to put von Krugen on his guard. Whether it were abandoned or not, the fact that we had knowledge of it would render it certain to fail, and I felt no great anxiety on that score. But I soon had cause for anxiety in another direction. The two men whom I had asked to visit Gramberg had not been there, and we were, in fact, perilously short-handed for all the work that had to be done. I was the more anxious, too, to get extra help because of a weak spot in my plans, which I could not remedy without further assistance. If the Ostenburg agents held the person of the King, and I checkmated them at the last moment by producing Minna and keeping their duke in confinement, there was a chance that they might counter my stroke by bringing the mad King back on the scene, and thus checkmate me in turn. The only means of preventing this would be to secure that those who held the King in custody should be loyal to Minna; and it was for this part of the scheme that I had hoped to make use of the two men, Kummell and Beilager. I set out to find them, therefore. I chanced upon them together at the house of Kummell, and it did not take me a minute to perceive that there was a decided restraint in their manner toward me. I had meant to be perfectly frank with them, telling them, indeed, all I knew; but their attitude made this impossible, and for a moment I was at a loss what line to take. While gaining time to think, I talked at large upon the importance of the affair generally, and at length asked them point-blank why they had not been to Gramberg. "We have been very busy," replied Kummell, who spoke for both; and the answer was rather curtly given. "Scarcely a sufficient reason, gentlemen, in an affair of this sort," I replied in quite as curt a tone, "nor, I presume, the only one." They hesitated, and glanced at one another. "I think you must excuse us if we do not answer the question. In point of fact, I am not yet in a position to do so." "I cannot understand you, and, under the circumstances, I must really press you very closely to be frank with me," I urged; and, although they still hesitated and equivocated, I was resolved not to leave without an answer, and I told them as much. "You put us in a very awkward position, indeed, but the fact is we had intended to make the visit, and had fixed the day, when we were advised not to do so by Herr Bock." "And who is Herr Bock, pray?" So utterly unsuspicious was I of any possible mischief that I put a good deal of indignation into the question. Yet it was a blunder of the grossest kind, and the reply astounded me utterly. "Herr Bock is your own lawyer, who has been negotiating the sale to me of your late mother's property." That confounded property again! My four years' training on the stage stood me in good stead now, and I masked my surprise with a laugh as I exclaimed: "Oh, that Bock! I did not know it was you who were contemplating a purchase. But why should that keep you away from Gramberg? Were you afraid that a look at the property would put you out of conceit with the bargain, or that I should charge you more, thinking you were growing eager?" But there was more in this than a laugh could carry off. "No, but he has been in communication with your old family lawyer, and together they say or think they are on the track of some kind of strange complication which I believe in some way touches yourself; how I do not know, but Bock advised me to wait." "This has a somewhat serious sound, sir," I said, sternly enough to cover my apprehension. "I cannot help that. You asked me, pressed me, indeed, for an answer to your question. In times like these you will understand I feel great need to be cautious—overcautious perhaps you may deem it. But still here it is." "And what is the nature of this supposed ridiculous complication?" "You must excuse me if I say no more. You know Herr Bock's address here in Munich." The scent was getting warm. "I shall of course see him," I answered readily. "And I will find a short method of dealing with a couple of meddlesome attorneys as soon as this business of next week is through. And what then do you propose to do?" "I think we had better not discuss any matters except in the presence of Baron Heckscher." I rose to leave. I had met with my first serious check. "I thought I could have relied implicitly upon your loyalty to the House of Gramberg," I said loftily. "To the House of Gramberg, yes," was the answer, stolidly spoken, yet with a significance I could not mistake. I went back to my hotel angry and apprehensive. I could have twisted von Fromberg's neck for his maladroitness in hurrying to sell his property, and then getting beyond my reach and keeping there. Moreover, I could not see what to do. These two bungling old fools of lawyers had no doubt been comparing notes, and probably comparing the different handwritings of von Fromberg and myself; and had hatched a pretty cock-and-bull story about me. Probably they were already making all sorts of inquiries. Yet I dared not go and face the man Bock. I could not tell if he had ever seen von Fromberg. If he had, he would proclaim me an impostor straight away; and Heaven only knew what the consequences of such a step would be at such a time. On the other hand the two men I had just left were obviously suspicious of me. Knowing nothing of the double plot, it was as likely as not that they viewed me as some kind of spy and traitor, either from the mad King's party or the Ostenburgs; and they would go blabbing their suspicions to every one else. And all through that greedy renegade von Fromberg. I paced my room like a caged beast, searching every nook and cranny of my mind for some device to stop these fools of lawyers. Everything might be jeopardized. This pair of blundering meddlers might even now be in Charmes, and face to face with the real man; and the truth might come flashing over the wires at any moment. But all my anger brought me no nearer a solution. There was just one chance—that von Fromberg might stay away on his honeymoon long enough to get us over the business of the next week, and to that fragile reed I must trust. Certainly I myself must not take the time necessary to go to Charmes, and as certainly there was no one I could trust with the secret. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to wait, and be resolved to fight when the time came. I was in this state of excitement when a servant came and said a lady wished to see me. "A lady?" I cried in astonishment. "What is her name? It must be a mistake. There can be no one——Stay; show her up," I broke off, for it occurred to me that after all there might be some one with information to give or sell; or, perhaps, a messenger from Praga. It would do no harm to see her. She came in very closely veiled, and very beautifully, if very showily, dressed. "You wish to see me, madam? What is your name?" She stood silent until the servant had left the room; and I looked at her with considerable curiosity. "So you are the Prince von Gramberg. I trust your Highness is in excellent health." Despite the mocking accent, I could recognize the voice, though I could not recall the speaker. It was certainly no one whom I ought to have known as the Prince von Gramberg, and I accordingly made ready for another unpleasant surprise. "I am sorry I cannot recall your name. I think I have heard your voice; it is too sweet to forget." It is never wrong to flatter a woman. My visitor stamped her foot angrily. "Yes, you know my voice, and used to like to hear it." The little impatient angry gesture told me who she was—Clara Weylin, the actress, who had pestered my life out at Frankfort and had vowed to be revenged on me for slighting her. I wondered what particular strain of ill luck had brought her across my path at this juncture, and I wished her and her pretty face and sweet voice at the other end of the earth. The coils were indeed drawing closer round me. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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