The St. Charles herald. [volume], May 18, 1918, Image 3

About The St. Charles herald. [volume] (Hahnville, La.) 1873-1993

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^CMäRY ROBERTS RINEHART
C
e*r > sr/7'gy 77/j?
'■dgwa y cosrfws'r
cosr?*?/r?sf r, / 9 / 7 . «V
MAJTf #eB£/rrs k'wmapt
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g. E 5 li>tVED
THE countess, trapped by terrorists, faces cru
cial TEST OF HER LIFE
Synopsis.—The crown prince of Livonia. Ferdinand William Otto
t n .'cars old, taken to the opera by his aunt, tires of the singing and
Ti ^ U " ay }° tfu * P" rk - "here he makes the acquaintance of Hobby
orpe. a little American boy. Returning to the palace at night, he
ne s everything in an uproar as a result of the search which has been
tua e for him. The same night the chancellor calls to consult the
my s grandfather, the old king, who is very ill. The chancellor sug
gests that to preserve the kingdom, the friendship of the neighboring
ngdorn of Karnia be secured by giving the I'rincess Uedwig in mar
riage to King Karl of that country. Countess Loschek, lady-in-waiting
to Princess Annunciata, Iledwig's mother, is in love with King Karl
and plots to prevent his marriage to Hedwig. Hedwig, who loves
Nikkv Larisch, Otto's nid de camp, is dismayed when told of the plans
for her marriage. Countess Loschek sends a secret message to King
Karl. The messenger is attacked by agents of the terrorists and a
dummy letter substituted. Captain Larisch, unaware of the substitu
tion. holds up Karl's chauffeur and secures the envelope. The captain
impersonates Karl's chauffeur and exchanges the sheet within the
envelope for some cigarette papers. On delivering the envelope to
Karl, Larisch is made prisoner when the deception is discovered.
Mettlich, chancellor of Livonia, goes to Karnia and arranges with
Karl for his marriage to Hedwig. Karl thereupon releases Captain
Larisch. Countess Loschek finds her room in the palace searched
and incriminating documents stolen.
CHAPTER X.—Continued
— 9 —
A glance about showed her that her
-code book was gone. In the tray
above, her jewels remained untouched ;
her pearl collar, the diamond knick
knacks the archduchess had given her
on successive Christmases, even
handful of gold coins, all were safe
enough. But the code book was gone.
Then indeed did the countess look
death in the face—and found it ter
rible. For a moment she could not so
much as stand without support. It
was then that she saw T a paper folded
under her jewels and took it out with
shaking fingers. In fine, copperplate
script she read:
Madame—Tonight at one o'clock a closed
fiacre will await you in the Street of the
Wise Virgins, near the church. You will
go in it, without fail, to wherever it takes
you.
(Signed) The Committee of Ten.
The committee of ten! This thing
had happened to her. Then it was
true that the half mythical committee
of ten existed, that this terror of Li
vonia was a real terror, which had her
by the throat. For there was no es
cape. None. NoVv indeed she knew
that rumor spoke the truth, and that
the terrorists were everywhere. In
daylight they had entered her room.
They had known of the safe, known
of the code. Known how much else?
Wild ideas of flight crossed her
mind, to be as instantly abandoned for
their futility. Where could she go
that they would not follow her?
When she had reacted from her first
shock she fell to pondering the mat
ter, pro and con. What could they
want of her? If she was an enemy to
the country, so were they. But even
that led nowhere, for after all, the
terrorists were not enemies to Livonia.
They claimed Indeed to be its friends,
to hold in their hands its future and
Its betterment. Enemies of the royal
house they were, of course.
She was nearly distracted by that
time. She was a brave woman, phy
sically and mentally of hard fiber, but
the very name signed to the puper set
her nerves to twitching. It was the
committee of ten which had murdered
Prince Hubert and his young wife ; the
committee of ten which had exploded
a bomb in the very palace itself, and
killed old Breidau. of the king's coun
cil; the committee of ten which had
burned the government house, and had
)led the mob in the student riots a
year or so before.
In this dread presence, then, she
would find herself that night! For
she would go. There was no way out.
The countess rang for her maid.
She was cool enough now, and white,
with a cruel line about her mouth that
Minna knew well. She went to the
door Into the corridor, and locked It.
Then she turned on the maid. "I
am ready for you, now."
"Madame will retire?"
•<Yon little fool! Ton itiow what
j am ready for!"
The mold stood still. Her wide,
bovine eyes, filled with alarm, watched
the countess as she moved swiftly
across the room to her wardrobe.
When she turned about again, she held
In her band a thin black riding crop.
Minna's ruddy color faded. She knew
the Loscheks, knew their furies.
"Madame!" she cried, and fell on
her knees. "What have I done?
what have I done?
«That is what yon will tell me,"
the countess, and brought down the
crop. A livid stripe across the girls
face turned slowly to red.
"I have done nothing, I swear it.
Mother of pity, help me! I have done
n °The crop descended again, this time
on one of the great
peasant costume
brutal the blow,
Oh,
said
sleeves of her
So thin it was, so
that it cut Into the
"I
her
;
her
so
It
In
muslin. Groaning, the girl fell for
ward on her face. The countess con
tinued to strike pitiless blows into
which she put all her fury, her terror,
her frayed and ragged nerves.
The girl on the floor, from whimper
ing, fell to crying hard, with great
noiseless sobs of pain and bewilder
ment. When at last the blows ceased,
she lay still.
The countess prodded her with her
foot. ''Get up," she commanded.
But she was startled when she saw
the girl's face. It was she who was
the fool. The welt would tell its own
story, and the other servants would
talk. It was already a deep purple,
and swollen. Both women were
trembling. The countess, still holding
the crop, sat down.
"Now!" she said. "You will tell me
to whom you gave a certuin small book
of which you know."
"I, madame?"
"You."
"But what book? I have given noth
ing, madame. I swear it"
"Then you admitted some one to
this room?"
"No one, madame, except—" She
hesitated.
■Well?"
'There came this afternoon the men
who clean madame's windows. No one
else, madame."
She put her hand to her cheek, and
looked furtively to see if her fingers
were stained with blood. The countess,
muttering, fell to furious pacing of
T
:KS1
m
m
&
"I Have Done Nothing, I Swear It"
the room. So that was it, of course.
The girl was telling the truth. She
was too stupid to lie. * Then the com
mittee of ten Indeed knew every
thing—had known that she would be
away, bad known of the window clean
ers, had known of the safe, and her
possession of the code.
She dismissed the girl and pat away
the riding crop, then sho smoothed the
disorder of her hair and dress. The
court physician, calling a half hour
later, found her reading on a chaise
longue In her boudoir, looking pale and
handsome, and spent what he consid
ered a pleasant half hour with her.
Then at last he was gone, and she
went about her heavy-hearted prepara
tions for the night. From a corner of
her wardrobe she drew a long peas
ant's cape, such a cape as Minna
might wear. Over her head, instead j
It
in
ly
on
of
of
to
ly
of
her
her
for
It
ers.
will
si a
liât, she threw
a gray v»
■il. A care
1
leSS
disguise, hut
all that
uas neees
sary
The sentries
11 1 r* nigh
and about
the
lalace were 11
U unaecustomed to
sin-li
shrouded figures sli
pping out
from
its gloom to ii
gilt, and
perhaps to
love.
Bi
fore sho left,
she It h
ked ilt'out
the
•00m. What
assurant
• had she
that
this very ex
ursion was not a
traji.
and that in In
r absent'
■ the vault
would not bo loot
*d again
? It con
tained now something infinitely val
uable and incriminating— the roll of
film. She glanced ab 'ut, aad seeing a
silver vase of roses, hurriedly emptied
the water out, wrapped the film in
oiled paper, and dropped it down
among the steins. *
The Street of the Wise Virgins was
not near the palace. Even by walking
briskly ehe was in /lunger of being
iate. The wind kept her buck, too.
Then, at last, the Street of the Wise
Virgins and the fiacre, standing at the
curb, with a driver wrapped in rugs
against the cold of the February night,
and his hat pulled down over bis eyes.
The countess stopped beside him.
"You are expecting a passenger?"
"Yes, madame."
With her hand on the door, the
countess realized that the fiacre was
already occupied. As she peered Into
its darkened interior, the shadow re
solved itself into a cloaked and masked
figure. She shrank back.
"Enter, madame," said a voice.
The figure appalled her. It was not
sufficient to know that behind the
horrifying mask which covered the en
tire face and head, there was a hu
man figure, human pulses that beat,
human eyes that appraised her. She
hesitated.
"Quickly," said the voice.
She got in, shrinking into a corner
of the carriage. Her lips were dry,
the roaring of terror was In her ears.
The door closed.
Then commenced n drive of which
afterward the countess dared not
think. The figure neither moved nor
spoke. Inside the carriage reigned the
most complete silence. Then the car
riage stopped, and at last the shrouded
figure moved and spoke.
"I regret, countess, that my orders
are to blindfold you.I'
She submitted ungracefully, while
he bound a black cloth over her eyes.
He drew it very close and knotted it
behind. In the act his fingers touched
her face, and she felt them cold and
clammy. The contact sickened her.
"Your hand, madame."
She led
me
to
j
She was led out of the carriage, and
across soft earth, a devious course
again, as though they avoided small
obstacles. Once her foot touched
something low and hard, like marble.
Again, in the darkness, they stumbled
over a mound. She knew where she
was, then—In a graveyard. But
which? There were many about the
city.
An open space, the opening of a
gate or door that squeaked softly, a
flight of steps that led downward, and
a breath of musty, cold air, damp and
cellarlike.
At last, still in unbroken silence, she
knew that they had entered a large
space. Their footsteps no longer
echoed and reechoed. Her guide
walked more slowly, and at last paus
ed, releasing her hand. She felt again
the touch of his clammy fingers as he
untied the knots of her bandages. He
took it off.
At first she could see little. When
her eyes grew accustomed, she made
out the scene slowly.
A great stone vault, its walls
broken Into crypts which had con
tained caskets of the dead. But the
caskets had been removed, and were
piled in a corner, and in the niches
were rifles. In the center was a pine
table, curiously incongruous, and on
It writing materials, a cheap clock,
and a pile of documents. There were
two candles only, and these were stuck
in skulls—old brown skulls so infinite
ly removed from all semblance to the
human that they were not even hor
rible. It was as If they had been used,
not to inspire terror, but because they
were at hand and convenient for the
purpose. In the shadow, ranged in a
semicircle, were nine figures, all mo
tionless, all masked, and cloaked in
black. They sat, another incongruity,
on plain wooden chairs. But in spite
of that they were figures of dread.
The one who had brought her made
the tenth.
Had she not known the past record
of the men before her, the rather opera
bouffe setting with which they tose
to surround themselves might have
aroused her scorn. But Olga Loschek
knew too much. She guessed shrewd
ly that, with the class of men with
whom they dealt, it was not enough
that their name spelled terror. They
must visualize It. They had taken
their cue from that very church, In
deed, beneath which they hid. The
church, with its shrines and Images,
appealed to the eye. They, too, ap
pealed to the eye. Their masks, the
carefully constructed and upheld
mystery of their identity, the trappings
of death about them—It was skillfully
done.
Still no one spoke. The countess
faced them. Only her eyes showed
her nervousness; she stood haughtily,
her head held high. But like most
women, she could not endure silence
for long, at least the silence of
shrouded figures and Intent eyes.
"Now that I am here," she fie
manded, "may I ask why I have been
summoned?"
It was Number Seven who replied.
It was Number Seven who, during the
hour that followed, spoke for the oth
ers. None moved, or but slightly.
Evidently all had been carefully pre
arranged.
"Look on the table, countess. You
will find there some papers you will
perhaps recognize."
She took a step toward the table
1 and gl.
triced down.
The
code book
la
V the'
0.
Uso the I.
tter si
e bad sent
Pet'
r N
burg. S!i
■ mail
* no effort
to
dise!
dm
them.
"I re
■og:
ize them,'
she
said clear
ly
"Do
rou
realize w
hat w
IÎ happen,
rn
idamt
>. if
these pa
pers :
re turned
o\
or to
It n
authoriti
'S?"
a
She s
Iiru
gged her
should
*rs. And
now Numbt
r Seven rose, a
tall figure
of
my.st
ery,
and spok
• at it
■ugth in a
a
cultivated, softly intoned voice. The
countess, listening, felt the voice
vaguely familiar, as were the burning
eyes behind the mask.
"It is our hope, madame," he said,
"that you will make it unnecessary
for the committee of ten to use those
papers. We have no quarrel with
women. We wish rather a friend than
an enemy. The committee of ten, to
those who know its motives, has the
highest and most loyal of Ideals—to
the country."
Ills voice took on a new, almost a
fanatic note. They had watched the
gradual decay of the country, he said.
Its burden of taxation grew greater
each year. The masses sweated and
toiled, to carry on their backs the dead
weight of the aristocracy and the
throne. The iron hand of the chancel
lor held everything; an old king who
would die, was dying now, and after
that a boy, nominal ruler only, while
the chancellor continued his hard rule.
J
Û
t\
A
1
h s#;
ym
m
i/i.
' /
ill
!
'lüü'nülirj
The Countess Faced Them.
a
The Countess Faced Them.
And now, as if that were not enough,
there was talk of an alliance with
Karnia, an alliance which, carried
through, would destroy the hope of a
republic.
The countess stared.
"The price of the alliance, madame,
Is the Princess Hedwig in marriage.
The committee, which knows all
things, believes that you have reason
to dislike this marriage."
Save that she clutched her cloak
more closely, the countess made no
move. But there w s a soft stir among
ps, after all, the
e did not know all
PerliA
a wh*
the figures,
committee as
things.
"To prevent this alliance, madame,
is our first aim. There are others to
follow. But"—he bent forward—"the
king will not live many days. It is
our hope that that marriage will not
occur before his death."
By this time Olga Loschek knew
very well where she stood. The com
mittee was propitiatory. She was not
in danger, save as it might develop.
They were, in a measure, putting their
case.
"King Karl has broken faith before.
He will not support Livonia until he
has received his price. He Is de
termined on the marriage."
'A marriage of expediency," said
the countess impatiently.
The speaker for the committee
shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps," he
replied. "Although there are those of
us who think that In this matter of
expediency, Karl gives more than he
i'es.
e matter lies thus, madame. The
chancellor is now in Karnia. Doubt
less he will return with the agreement
signed. We shall learn that in a day
or so. We do not approve of this
alliance for various reasons, and we
intend to take steps to prevent it
The paper Itself is nothing. But
plainly, countess, we need a friend in
the palace, one who Is in the con
fidence of the royal family."
"And for such friendship, I am to
secure safety?"
'Tes, madame. But that Is not all.
Let me tell you briefly how things
stand with us. We have, supporting
us, certain bodies, workingmen's
guilds, a part of the student body, not
so much of the army as we would
wish. Dissatisfied folk, madame, who
would exchange the emblem of
tyranny for freedom. On the an
nouncement of the king's death, in
every part of the kingdom will go up
the cry of liberty. But the movement
must start here. The city must rise
against the throne. And against that
there are two obstacles." He paused.
The clock ticked, and water dripped
into the tin pail with metallic splashes.
"The first is this marriage. The sec
ond—is the Crown Prince Ferdinand
William Otto."
The countess recoiled. "No !"
"A moment, madame. You think
badly of us." Under his mask the]
it
Is
of
a
countess divined a cold smile,
not necessary to contemplate viole
Tin re jire other methods. The
could he taken over the border,
hidden until the republic is firmly
tablished. Alter that, be
d at
my intclli
to
a
portant."
"rin countess, still pale, 1,
him scornfully. "Yo;
genre small honor."
"Where peaceful methods will avail,
our methods are peaceful, madame."
m mur
• past."
"Make
"It was, then, in pea<\ that
dered Prince Hubert?''
"The errors of the past a
Then, with u new sternness:
no mistake. Whether through your
agency or another, countess, when the
cathedral bell rouses the city to the
king's death, and the people wait in
the place for their new king to come
out on the balcony, he will not come."
The countess was not entirely bad.
Standing swaying and white-faced be
fore the tribunal, she saw suddenly
the golden head of the little crown
prince, saw him smiling ns he had
smiled that day In the sunlight, saw
him troubled and forlorn as he had
been when, that very evening, he had
left them to go to his lonely rooms.
Perhaps she reached the biggest mo
ment of her life then, when she folded
her arms and stared proudly at the
shrouded figures before her.
"I will not do it," she said.
But Number Seven remained impas
sive. "A new Idea, countess !" he said
suavely. "I can understand that your
heart recoils. But this thing is' in
evitable, as I have said. Whether you
or another—but perhaps with time to
think you may come to another con
clusion. We make no threats. Our
position Is, however, one of responsi
bility. We are compelled to place the
future of the republic before every
other consideration."
"That is a threat."
"We remember both our friends and
our enemies, madame. And we have
only friends and enemies. There is no
middle course, if you would like time
to think it over—"
"How much time?" She clutched at
the words.
"Women vary," said Number Seven
mockingly. "Some determine quickly.
Others—"
"May I have a month?"
"During which the king may die!
Alas, madame, it is now you who do
us too little honor!"
"A week?" begged the countess
desperately.
The leader glanced along the line.
One head after another nodded slow
"It is
! re-.',
• l»..y
. ai d
uuitn
a
"A week it Is, madame. Comrade
Five !"
The one who had brought her came
forward with the bandage.
"At the end of one week, madame,
a fiacre will, as tonight, be waiting
in the Street of the Wise Virgins."
"And these papers?"
"On the day the republic of Li
vonia is established, madame, they will
be returned to you."
He bowed, and returned to his chair.
Save for the movements of the man
who placed the bandage over her eyes,
there was absolute silence In the
room.
Prince Ferdinand William Otto was
supremely happy. Three quite delight
ful things had happened. First, Nik
ky had returned. He said he felt per
fectly well, but the crown prince
thought he looked as though he had
been ill, and glanced frequently at
Nikky's cigarette during the riding
hour. Second, Hedwig did not come
to the riding lesson, and he had Nik
ky to himself. Third, he, Prince
Ferdinand William Otto, wus on the
eve of a birthday.
*■ This Inst, however, was not unmixed
happiness. For the one day the
sentence of exile was to be removed
so that he might lunch with the king,
and he was to have strawberry jam
with his tea, some that Miss Braith
waite's sister hud sent from England.
But to offset all this, he was to re
ceive a delegation of citizens,
Hedwig was not at the riding
school that morning. This relieved
Prince Ferdinand William Otto, whose
views as to Nikky were entirely sei
fish, but Nikky himself had unaccount
ably lost his high spirit of the morn
ing. He played, of course, as he al
ways did. And even taught the crown
prince how to hang over the edge of
his saddle, while his horse was canter
ing, so that bullets would not strike
him.
They rode and frolicked, yelled a
bit, got two ponies and whacked a polo
ball over the tan bark, until the
crown prince was sweating royally and
was gloriously flushed.
"I don't know when I have been so
happy," he said, dragging out his hand
kerchief and mopping his face. "It's
a great deal pleasanter without Hed
wig, Isn't it?"
While they played, overhead the
great hearse was ready at last Its
woodwork shone. Its gold crosses
gleamed. No fleck of dost disturbed
its austere magnificence.
The man and the boy who had been
working on It stood back and sur
veyed It
"All ready," said the man, leaning
on the handle of his long brush. "Now
it may happen any time."
It Is very handsome. But I am
glad I am not the old king." The boy
picked up pails and brushes. "Noth
ing to look forward to but—that."
'But much to look back on," the
man observed grimly, "and little that
Is good."
The boy g'anced through a window,
below which the riding ring stretched
its brown surface, scarred by nervous
hoofs. "I would change places with
the crown prince," he said enviously.
"Listen to him! Always laughing.
Never to labor, nor worry, nor think
of the next day's food—"
a
the
of
at
in
is I "Young fool!"
j his sic .aider a nd
i ' Would like to 1 .
d .V» worry. No t;
play!" He gripp.
i "i.o.ik, lad, at
j That is what it c
Wherever you look
Stablemen? Gr«c
agents, watching
such perhaps as
about."
He stopped and
glass clear that h
Nikky without His
flushed with exert
frantic shot at ttie
Past him. \\ here had lie been such a
head, such a flying mop of hair? Ah!
IIo remembered. It was the flying
young devil who had attacked him and
the others that night in the by street,
wheu l'eter Niburg lay stunned 1
The man 'Mine to
glanced down also,
e a prim cling, then !
■ A ; lay,
d the 1 . .y's shoulder,
the windows about,
is to be a prince.
k, W ti.1t do y I U See?
'"ins? Ball, secret
that no assassin.
■ j"U and 1 , lurk
stared, wiping ffio
■ might see better,
.'up, disheveled and
ou, was making a
white bull, rolling
Miss Braithwaite bad a bad head
ache that afternoon, and the crown
prince drove out with his aunt. The
Archduchess Annunciata vent shop
1'lng. The crown prince sat in the
carriuge and watched the people. The
man beside the coachman sat with
alert eyes, and there were others who
scanned the crowd intently. But It
was a quiet, ulmost an adoring crowd,
and there was even a dog, to Prince
Ferdinand William Otto's huge de
light.
The man who owned the dog, seeing
the child's eyes on him, put Mm
through his tricks. Truly a wonderful
dog, that would catch things on iî^
nose and lie dead, rousing only to a
whistle which Its owner called Ga
briel's trumpet.
Prince Ferdinand William Otto,
growing excited, leaned quite out of*
the window. "What is your dog's
name?" he inquired, in his clear treble.
The man took off his hat and bowed.
"Toto, highness. lie is of French
origin."
"He is a very nice dog. I have al
ways wanted a dog like that. Ho
must be a great friend."
"A great friend, highness." He
would have expatiated on the dog, but
he was uncertain of the etiquette of
the procedure. His face beamed with
pleasure, however. Then a splendid
impulse came to him. This dog, his
boon companion, he would present to
the crown prince. It was all he had,
and he would give it, freely, even
though it left him friendless.
But here again he was at a loss.
" ns it the proper thing? Did one do
such things in this fashion, or was
there a procedure? He cocked an eye
at the box of the carriage, but the two
men sat impressive, immobile.
Finally he made up his mind. Hat
in hand, he stepped forward. "High
ness," he said nervously, ''since the
dog pleases you, I—I would present
him to you."
"To me?" The crown prince's voice
was full of incredulous joy.
"Yes, highness. If such a thing be
permissible."
"Are you sure you don't mind?"
"He is the best I have, highness. I
wish to offer my best."
Prince Ferdinand William Otto al
most choked with excitement. "I have
always wanted one," he cried. "If
you are certain you can spare him, I'll
be very good to him. No one," he
said, "ever gave me a dog before. I'd
like to have him now, If I may."
The crowd was growing. It pressed
closer, pleased at the boy's delight.
Truly they were participating in great
things. A small cheer and many
smiles followed the lifting of the dog
through the open window of the car
riage. And the dog was surely a dog
to be proud of. Already it shook
hands with the crown prince.
Perhaps, in that motley gathering,
there were some who viewed the scene
with hostile eyes, some who saw, not
a child glowing with delight over a
gift, but one of the hated ruling fam
ily, a barrier, an obstacle in the way
of freedom. But if such there were,
they were few. It was, indeed, as the
terrorists feared. The city loved the
boy.
Annunciata, followed by an irritated
Hilda, came out of the shop. Hilda's
wardrobe had been purchased, and
was not to her taste.
"Good heavens," cried the arch
duchess, and stared Into the carriage.
"Otto !"
"He Is mine," said the crown prince
fondly. "He is the cleverest dog. lie
can do all sorts of things."
"Put him out."
''But he Is mine," protested Ferdl*
nand William Otto. "He is a gift.
That gentleman there, In the corduroy
jacket—"
"Put him out," said the Archduchess
Annunciata.
There was nothing else to do. The
crown prince did not cry. He tvas
much too proud. He thanked the
donor again carefully, and regretted
that he could not accept the dog. He
said It was a wonderful dog, and just
the sort he liked. And the carriage
drove away.
He went back to the palace, nn«
finding that the governess still had •
headache, settled down to the burnt
wood frame. Once he glanced up kt
the woolen dog on Its shelf at the top
of the cabinet. "Well, anyhow," be
said sturdily, "I still have yon."
If you were a princess and
loved a brave soldier, who, bound
by tradition and loyalty to his
king, dared not speak the words
which crowded to his lips, what
would you do? Hedwig faced
this problem and was forced to
make a decision. The next in
stallment teils how she m'et the
situation.
(TU BK UONTLSWiBUi