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Dash for a Throne

<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> <h3>AN OLD ENEMY</h3> I saw at once it would be hopeless to attempt any resistance to this new development. My first feeling was one of bitter chagrin and exasperation, mingled with genuine alarm for the consequences to Minna. Who had dealt the blow, and for what object? I knew that I had rendered myself liable to arrest and prosecution for my impersonation of the Prince von Gramberg, although, despite what Baron Heckscher had said, I could not understand who would attempt to set the law in motion. But with Minna it was very different. It was certain that the conspiracy with which she had nominally been concerned might carry very ugly consequences; but, at the worst, any such act would constitute only a political offence against the Bavarian laws, and I did not think that outside Bavaria she could be touched. But we had long passed that frontier safely. Whose hand, then, was this? I recalled, with something of a shudder, the news which Major Gessler had told me, to the effect that von Augener had gone to Munich, and I saw that, if our arrest was made at his instigation, the results might be even more serious than I had anticipated. "I have no intention to offer resistance to this step," I said after a pause of thought; "but, of course, you must satisfy me of your authority for it." "I am the chief of the police here," replied the official, "and hold full instructions—very full instructions indeed, and very urgent ones. The case is a very exceptional one." "But surely you can tell me the nature of the charge for which you say I am to consider myself under arrest?" "Under ordinary circumstances I could and should, of course, do so; but not in this. I trust you will understand my position." "You have performed an unpleasant task very tactfully. But can you tell me no more than you have—if not officially, then as a matter of courtesy?" "We are not allowed much latitude for courtesy, I fear, your Highness; but I may tell you privately that I have not been informed of any charge against you. My instructions are merely to prevent your crossing the frontier should you attempt to do so, and to see that you return to Munich; and these instructions, which came first from Munich, have been repeated as urgent from Berlin." "I need no more than that, and will not mention that you told me. We will return to Munich, Minna," I said, turning to her. There was an hour to wait for the train, the man told me, and we filled up the time by getting some supper. It was a doleful enough meal. The police official did his best to make the fact that we were under arrest as little obvious as possible; but it was plain to me that we were kept under the strictest surveillance. "What do you think it means?" asked Minna. "It can scarcely be anything very serious, I think. Probably it is the outcome of old von Augener's presence at Munich, and maybe half an hour's conversation with him will be enough to put things right again. I had intended to see him in any event." I spoke much more lightly of the matter than I thought, in order to reassure her, and I was pleased to see my words had the effect I desired. When the train came in, the police official showed us to a carriage, and, with another apology for his intrusion, entered it after us. I made no demur, because I knew it would be superfluous. We must make the best of a bad job, and consequently I settled Minna comfortably in a corner of the carriage so that she might sleep through the night. I took my seat opposite to her, and during the whole of the long, wearisome journey I sat rapt in thought, speculating upon the possible reasons for the arrest and trying to see the best course to be taken in her interest. I was now disposed to blame myself bitterly, since matters had come to this pass, for not having, in the first instance, abstained from meddling with the plot against the mad King. I had pitted my wits against the men in the Ostenburg interest, and had allowed Minna to appear to be implicated in everything that was done, trusting to my own ingenuity to beat them at their own game. I had done it successfully to a point; but now I could see how, like a fool, I had miscalculated the real effect of this intervention from Imperial headquarters. The flaw in the present situation was one I could see easily enough now. I had neglected to provide anything like sufficient proof of Minna's innocence, her dislike of the scheme, and her disinclination even to think of accepting the throne. I could see now clearly what I ought to have seen at the start—that if Minna had actually left the country at the moment following her father's death, and had openly relinquished all claim to the throne, she would have had an absolutely clean case so far as Berlin was concerned, and, if necessary, could have appealed there for protection against any efforts of the Ostenburgs to harm her. The danger to her from the Ostenburgs, which had then loomed so large in my thought, was dwarfed now by this greater and actual danger from Berlin. How, then, was I to repair the blunder I had made? There was one possible chance—forlorn so far as Minna was concerned, and almost desperate for myself. But the pith of everything would be now that I should be able to prove beyond question and suspicion the absolute sincerity of my motives, and be able to thoroughly convince the Emperor and his advisers that my version of the facts was the correct one. Everything might turn upon this. As an adventurer who had been known first as Heinrich Fischer, an actor, next as Henry Fisher, an Englishman, and afterward as Hans von Fromberg, only to change once more into the Prince von Gramberg, I could not hope to be believed. Even this very attempt to get Minna out of the country would be charged against me as a crowning offence; while I might rely upon it that every word and act I had spoken and done in the character of the Prince would be construed in the worst light by my enemies. But what if I declared myself in my true character? The question stirred a host of old memories and associations which came crowding thick and fast upon me with conflicting force and perplexing contradictions. I lived again in thought the crowded week of my life that came between the scene on the yacht and my supposed death. I could not tell how far that act of expiation on my part had changed the royal feeling toward me; nor on the other hand could I gauge what effect would be produced by the avowal that I cheated every one by the farce of my supposed death. There was one thing on which I thought I could rely, however. There had been many acts of close friendship between the Prince and myself, and on one occasion I had rendered him a service which he declared at the time would make him ready to grant me any favor I should ever ask. I had none too high an opinion of the gratitude of princes, and had never urged any request; while it was more than likely he would consider what had happened since had completely cancelled any obligation. But I was prepared to risk any and every thing now, and to exhaust every possible resource to help Minna at this juncture. I had never had such a motive to spur my energies, and I ransacked my memory for incidents which I thought might be turned to help my purpose. I was in this frame of mind when we arrived at Munich; but I had not got much farther in my plans than a resolve to use every means that might offer, regardless of any effect upon myself. Minna awoke, chilled and cramped by the long journey, and the cold gray light of the morning depressed her spirits. She looked pale and frightened as the train entered the station, and we peered out curiously to see what reception awaited us. "Keep a brave heart, Minna," I whispered. And she smiled a rather wan, weary smile in reply. "Where are we to go?" I asked the police official. "I expect to find instructions here," he answered. Then Minna gave a little start and cry of surprise. "There is aunt Gratz," she said. "What can that mean?" I could make no suggestion; but the reason of her presence was soon clear enough. As we alighted she came forward. "I should think you are ashamed of yourself, Minna," was her greeting. "If not, I am ashamed of you. Thank God, we have saved you, though only on the very brink, it seems." "There is no need for you to say that to me," returned Minna warmly. "There is very great need, indeed. You have been the victim of this man's villany." "There has been no villany—except, perhaps, that which you and the Count von Nauheim attempted yesterday, and cousin Hans succeeded in foiling." "Cousin Hans, indeed. Poor child; it's only your own obstinacy which prevents your seeing that this man is a wicked impostor who has——" "Pardon me, baroness——" I began, when she turned on me. "I will not pardon you nor allow you to speak to me or to the poor girl whom you have so shamefully deceived. But you are unmasked at last, and will be punished as you deserve. Come, Minna. You are to come with me." At that moment the police official who had travelled with us came forward with another man, who said: "The countess is to go to her own house here with this lady; and you are to accompany me, if you please." "As you will," I answered. At that the tears forced themselves into Minna's eyes, and she came very close to me and gave me her hand. "We shall meet again soon. I am sure of that. Meanwhile"—and she raised her head proudly as she looked round at the others present, and said: "I wish all to know that I am your promised wife. You have saved my life, and more than my life; and I can never sufficiently repay you for all you have done. When every one else was treacherous, you were stanch and brave on my behalf. Let them say what they will, I know the truth, and nothing shall ever make me doubt you." I had no words ready for a reply, but I raised her hand to my lips; and, with a lingering look into my eyes, she went away, her face aflame with her gallant little act of loyalty to me. Then I turned to the man who had spoken to me. "And what is the charge against me?" I asked. "You will learn it to-day," he said, with courteous curtness. "Be good enough to come with me." We entered a carriage that was waiting, and drove to the police bureau, the official stolidly declining to exchange a single word on the way. There they gave me breakfast, and afterward I was left by myself for some two or three hours. At the end of that time the same man entered the room—for I had not been put to the indignity of having to enter a police cell—and requested me to accompany him, though again he would not say where we were to go. I was not much surprised, however, when I found the carriage approaching the palace, for I had detected old von Augener's hand in the matter. He delighted in secrecy and surprises. I was led through several corridors into an ante-room, where I waited some time until the door of an inner room was opened and I was told to enter. I went forward, and, as I had anticipated, the first object which my eyes encountered in the room was the hard, stern face of von Augener, whose sharp, piercing eyes looked at me, curiously and menacingly, from under the heavy brows I knew well enough. He let me stand before his table for some minutes without a word, and after his first glance at me pretended to be writing. He finished this, and then took up a bundle of papers, which he turned over leisurely. I guessed that his motive was to make me understand by this brusk treatment the change in my position. But I let him understand quietly that it had no such effect on me as he wished. I carried a chair close to the side of his table and sat down, saying lightly, as I crossed my legs: "I've had rather a long journey, so you'll excuse me if I sit down until you are ready to commence our conversation." At the sound of my voice I saw him start, bend a sharp, keen look on me, and then appear to dive into his capacious memory for the connection which it stirred. Then he said as sternly and harshly as he could: "This is no drawing-room audience. I don't allow prisoners to sit in my presence. Be so good as to stand up," and he motioned with his hand. "Thank you, but I deny your right to address me in that tone. I am no prisoner, and this is no court. While I am here I demand to be treated with common courtesy." "I will send you to a police cell to learn manners," he cried. "As you please. I would rather sit in a jail than stand to be hectored by you," and I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Like my voice, the smile appeared to set his wits gleaning for the facts that would piece together the puzzle my voice and gesture had set him. For a moment he seemed as if he would carry out his threat; but I judged he would be much more eager to learn what I knew of the conspiracy than to stickle over the question whether I sat or stood in his presence. And so it proved. "You still dare to carry things with a high hand, even with me?" "On the contrary, I am here for the express purpose of discussing the whole of this affair with you in its new light. But I tell you at the outset that if you think to frighten me with threats or to treat me as what you call a prisoner, with the meaning your accent gives to the term, you will get nothing from the interview." "We shall see," he said grimly; but he said no more about my standing up. A long pause followed, in which I saw him look several times at me with obvious doubt and interest; and I knew by these glances that he was trying hard to place me in his memory and failing. "Now, sir," he said at length in a quick, sharp tone. "Who are you?" "At present I am generally known as the Prince von Gramberg—but that is not my real name." "A needless addition. What is your real name? Who were you before you were known as Heinrich Fischer, the actor at Frankfort? I warn you to speak freely. Your only hope lies in that." "For the present I prefer not to tell you," I answered very quietly. "It does not concern this matter—in its present stage, that is." "You refuse to tell me?" "If you put it so, I refuse to tell you." "What was your object in usurping the character of the Prince von Gramberg?" "I was forced by a series of blunders on the part of others to take the position; it was done by the desire of the real heir of the Prince, Hans von Fromberg, who is now known as Henri Frombe; and I kept up the part in order to protect the Countess Minna from a foul conspiracy against her, in which a scoundrel who is now dead was one of the chief agents." And then I told him at considerable length the exact circumstances under which I had first been taken to Gramberg by von Krugen and Steinitz. "You can easily verify what I say," I added. "You mean by those two men who have since been your tools in the affair?" he sneered. "I mean by finding the real von Fromberg and questioning him." Despite his sneer I could see that the story impressed him; and he put a number of questions to test its consistency and truth. "You don't attempt to deny, then, that you were willing to continue the impersonation of the late Prince and to accept the inheritance?" "There were no gains in what you call the inheritance. The only inheritance was the castle of Gramberg itself, mortgaged for a great deal more than its value. Scarcely a valuable prize for such an adventurer as men appear to have described me to you. I have my own private fortune—a large one." "There was something else at the castle besides a mortgage," he sneered. "Indeed there was," I replied quickly, purposely misunderstanding him. "There was a mess of intrigue and treachery against the Countess Minna." "And you were the cavalier to save her from it—and for yourself." The gibe made my blood boil. "That is the sneer of a coward," I cried hotly. "And if that is to be the tone in which you dare to address me, I decline to say another word or to remain in your presence. I am prepared to tell you the whole truth, and to lay bare every word, motive, and act of mine throughout; but I will not allow you or any man to insult me in that coarse and brutal fashion." He laughed coldly. "You use bold terms," he said. "I will back them with acts. Unless you pledge yourself to abstain from further insults, you can send me to jail or to hell itself before I'll remain here." "I'm not accustomed to make compacts with prisoners." "Nor I to hold converse with bullies who forget themselves!" I cried, all my old hate of the man fired by his manner and words. I got up and turned to the door. "Come back at once, sir," he thundered. "If you dare to attempt to leave this room you go straight to a prison." "Rather there than here." I flung the words at him over my shoulder, and went on toward the door. He struck the bell on his table sharply, and the door opened as I neared it to admit two men in uniform. "Will you return here?" he called to me. "No, not without a pledge that you cease to insult me." "Detain that man," he cried to the others, who came and stood on either side of me, and laid their hands on my shoulders. I stood with my back to the table. "Face him round," he ordered, his voice thick with anger. The men forced me to turn round. "Now, sir, I give you a last chance," he cried, pointing his finger at me and shaking it menacingly. "I don't accept it," I answered recklessly. "I've had enough of this Inquisition process. I will have a public trial. I am not ashamed of what I have done; but I should be ashamed of myself if I stayed here to be bullied and browbeaten and insulted and sneered at by you. Do what you like." My recklessness was a factor on which he had not calculated, and I could tell by his indecision how it perplexed him. Without my version of the plot he could not hope to get a full grasp of the facts, and I reckoned that in an affair of such real State importance he would be altogether unwilling to have any public trial. "Leave us a moment," he said to the men; and when they had gone he asked, "Do you mean to persist in this obstinacy?" "'Obstinacy!' Is that what you call my refusal to be a stalking-horse for your ill-conditioned flouts and gibes, after you have had me dragged three hundred or four hundred miles, and hauled in here that you may treat me like a dog or a thief, without even telling me the charge preferred against me? If that be obstinacy, then indeed I am obstinate, and shall remain so. But I will do more than that. I will appeal to the Emperor himself, and tell him the story to which you have refused a courteous ear." "The Emperor does not concern himself with the private offences of every nameless adventurer in his empire." "I am no nameless adventurer. I bear a name——" I stopped, checked by the cold, steely glance of his eye. "What name is that? Or what do you say it is?" he asked when I paused. "I decline to tell you;" and with that I turned on my heel and walked to the back door. Again the bell was rung, and the two men entered. "Detain the prisoner in the ante-room," cried von Augener peremptorily; "and send the chief of the police to me at once. I'll find a way to make you talk," he added angrily to me. I was led out into the ante-room, and the men mounted guard over me, the rest of those present, who were lolling and chatting idly, staring at me with some curiosity. I cared nothing. My temper was still excited, and my pulses throbbing with anger, as I sat paying scant heed to what went on around me. Suddenly there came a change. Every man in the room leapt to his feet and stood rigid at attention. A strong, firm, somewhat harsh voice was heard, which I knew well; and, like the rest, I rose instinctively as I saw the Emperor enter the room, followed by two officers of his suite. A single, hurried, sweeping glance of his appeared to notice everything in the place, and after a rapid, lightning look in my direction, the eyes dwelling on my face for one second, he passed through the door and entered the room which I had just left. When I resumed my seat my heart was beating fast, no longer with anger against von Augener, but with the thought of meeting again under such altered circumstances the powerful and remarkable monarch who, as a Prince, had been my intimate companion. I hoped and more than half believed that he had come so that he might be present at my examination. I guessed he would have been told the hour fixed for it, and, let the risks be what they might, I resolved that the opportunity should not pass, if I could possibly help it, without my obtaining an audience. I would put everything to the hazard in order to lay before him directly the true story of the plot from Minna's point of view, and I would back my statement with an avowal of my identity. A quarter of an hour later the door was opened again—and how anxiously I had kept my eyes glued to it may be imagined—and I was ordered to return alone into the room. My excitement, as I rose to obey, was so intense and unnerving that it was all I could do to command myself sufficiently to be able to walk steadily into the presence. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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