A Modern Mercenary

The next second Valerie Selpdorf found herself alone in the dim corridor, in which the lights burned low. She stood quite still, the shock of the last sentence 'with his lips upon the hurt' still ringing in her ears. Rallywood! Rallywood with the clear grey eyes and that look in them which remained persistently in her memory. Her father had taught her to suspect the whole world. But she had chosen to think differently of this man, even when she told herself she hated him. Different from others – exempt from the universal stain of hypocrisy – one to be trusted, if it were possible to trust any. Then she turned upon herself. After all had he deceived her, had she not rather deceived herself? He had spoken openly to her of his despairing secret, of the woman he could never hope to win. And she had concluded what? Nothing definite, but there had been a dim thought. Oh, it was unbearable! But why did she linger to think of this, while Maäsau itself was in danger?

She hurried along the passages, moving with a soft swiftness of silken garments, and as she passed the hidden eyes of the watchers looked out after the muffled figure. Madame de Sagan was free to come and go.

From the head of the great staircase a narrow corridor branched away to the Duke's quarters. A very dim light shone from the embrasure at the end as she hurried along and, before she could stop herself, she ran right into the arms of a tall man who was coming out towards her.

He put her gently back against the wall and looked at her, but the lace was drawn close about her face.

'I must pass,' she said.

The man's back was to the light, but she knew the shape of the head and shoulders.

'No one can pass, Madame.'

The relief of knowing Rallywood was safe jarred in her mind with the hideous suspicion that Isolde's allurements had after all conquered his allegiance to the Duke. He clearly recognised the cloak and believed her to be the Countess. She would have been more than woman not to take advantage of the mistake. She bent forward a little.

'Come with me,' she whispered.

'I cannot.'

'Do you forget your promise?'

'Under the circumstances' – he glanced back at the Duke's door – 'you know I could make none.'

'But I am in danger – and you promised, surely you promised, with your lips there!'

Rallywood stared at the shapely hand and firm white wrist thrust out from the dark sables, with a great leap at his heart. The sight took him unawares.

'Valerie!' he exclaimed.

CHAPTER XVII

IRIS

From its beetling crags the Castle of Sagan looked out that night with many luminous eyes over the crowding black pine woods and away across the frost-bound, melancholy marshes of the frontier. The renewed violence of the storm had not abated, and the wind moaned about the old walls.

There was one in Sagan that night to whom the wind had an old yet new story to tell. The Duke had heard it in his cradle even in the summer palace where he was born; during later years his dulled senses paid little heed to that wild singing, and, in truth, passing most of his life as he now preferred to do in the low-lying sheltered palace at Révonde, where the state apartments were well within the towering mass of masonry, and protected on the river side by the Cloister of St. Anthony, he seldom heard its voice. So that to-night, while the tsa whimpered and clamoured about the exposed buttresses and towers of Sagan, it sounded to his ears like the calling of some long-dead friend, a wraith belonging to his lost youth. Sleeping memories awoke and troubled him; he fancied he had read a vague menace in Count Simon's bloodshot eyes, and every little incident that had taken place since his arrival now assumed strange and malign meanings.

He looked around the great vaulted chamber oppressed by a presentiment of danger, and tried to still his jangled nerves. For with the instinct of failing mastership he resolved to think out some scheme of defence and a spontaneous policy, by which he might not only defeat his enemies, but outwit and overwhelm his rebellious servants.

Selpdorf – was he also false and self-seeking? For more years than he cared to remember the Duke had forced this man to enact the part of virtual ruler of the State, always believing in his loyalty – if not to Gustave of Maäsau, at least to Maäsau the Free. Any dimmest doubt of Selpdorf's patriotism had never during all that period entered into the soddened brain of his master. But to-night, as the Duke recalled the half-jesting proposal to disband the Guard, made by the Chancellor on the day of the review, and added to that hint the pregnant significance of Valerie's speech, he realised that evil days were overtaking him, that his most trusted minister had been bid for and bought by his foes, and that it now behoved him to strike out a personal policy, whereby he should secure strong friends and supporters to aid him in the coming struggle against these traitors.

He had retired to his room at an early hour under the plea of weariness. He was, as a matter of fact, worn out by the flood of fears and anxieties that Valerie's one reckless sentence had let loose upon him. So long was it since he had placed these weightier matters of diplomacy and government in other hands, that the renewed sense of responsibility and the imminent need for action seemed to be crushing in his brain. But the instinct of self-preservation, backed by the one kingly attribute left him – love of his country – strengthened him to attempt a final effort to combat the overpowering odds which he felt rather than knew to be against him.

Tossed and harried by a hundred terrifying thoughts, the self-enfeebled creature broke at length into that dreadful crying, the scanty painful tears, the aching sobs, which is the weeping of age or of an exhausted constitution.

When the paroxysm was over he lay back in his bed, absolutely drained of strength and of all power to think longer. Whether he dozed or not he scarcely knew, but after an interval he seemed to awake as if from sleep with his thoughts once more under control.

Oh, that he had his Guard about him! The Guard, always reliable and full of the old grim dash and power which had been the firm foundation of the ducal throne from the beginning. Amongst their ranks was no slackening of discipline, of devotion, or of that splendid recklessness which had made them what they were – the premier Garde du Corps of Europe! In spirit he yearned once more to see their plumes and gleaming equipment come dancing down the sunny wind, and to hear the grand thunder of their charge, which but the other day he had been half-inclined to call stale and unprofitable. In this solitary hour, when the night-lamps flickered on the massive walls and the sense of loneliness grew upon him till he sickened at the unceasing cry of the pitiless wind, he realised that the Guard was the sole bulwark now as always of Maäsau. He shivered down among the soft coverings and listened apprehensively.

Unziar and Rallywood with two troopers watched in the guard-room, through which lay the only approach to his sleeping chamber. Unziar, could Unziar be trusted? He had heard something of Unziar and that handsome vixen of Selpdorf's. Then Colendorp – ah, there was no doubt there! Dark and resentful, his poverty and his pride were the bye-words of the barracks; he, whatever the temptation, would never fall from honour.

There remained Rallywood. He, too, was to be depended upon, the Duke decided quickly, though for no special reason but that he had taken some vague fancy to the Englishman's bronzed face and swinging stride. Yet Simon was powerful and unscrupulous; how could this handful of men oppose him?

He sprang up in his bed as the door opened and a man stood on the threshold.

'Sire, there is treason! Colendorp has been murdered.'

'Is it you, Unziar?' The Duke's voice came strangely from his pillows. 'Send for the whole escort of the Guard from their quarters.'

'Impossible, sire! The corridors are held by Count Sagan's men. Mademoiselle Selpdorf has brought the news.'

'What! You told me not two hours ago she was engaged to von Elmur. She is the price of Selpdorf's treason.'

Unziar stepped nearer.

'Mademoiselle Selpdorf has already risked her life to warn us that we are in danger. I'd stake my soul she is loyal.'

'Good indeed, Anthony! I'd sooner have your honour than your soul. But go, in the name of the Virgin, and since the corridors are closed to the men of my Guard, send the girl for Major Counsellor. She can but die!'

Unziar saluted and hurried back to the ante-room where Valerie and Rallywood were waiting. In spite of his personal horror at the thought of her danger, he was well aware that only by Valerie's aid could they hope to reach Counsellor.

Valerie listened to the Duke's order, then wrapping the lace as before about her head turned to Rallywood. He accompanied her through the guard-room and some little way along the passage. It seemed as if he could not let her go forth on this perilous enterprise.

'For God's sake, take care of yourself!' he said. 'If anything were to happen to you.'

The prolonged excitement of events, the sense of responsibility and danger, the exaltation of such a moment must have reacted on Valerie. Whether prompted by some instinct of coquetry, or betrayed into a touch of real feeling, or perhaps moved by the knowledge that death stood close beside them both, she drew her hand from his arm and raising her face asked in her soft voice:

'Do you remember what you said to me once – on the night of the palace ball?'

He saw the deep eyes upraised to his, though their meaning in that dim place he could not be sure of, but a rush of quick memories came over him.

'Yes.'

She gave a little excited laugh.

'Then expect me!' she said. And she was gone.

When Valerie returned to Madame de Sagan half an hour later she was still white and breathless. Isolde, in a fever of impatient terror, caught her by the arm.

'Where is he? When is he coming! Valerie – '

Valerie made a supreme effort to control herself.

'He is on guard.'

'Yes, I know. I know! But he is coming!'

'It was impossible! He could not leave His Highness. Isolde, you would not wish it!'

'What does anything matter unless it's found out?' cried Isolde, giving in her adherence to a common creed. 'Did you give him all my message? Did you make him understand? Then, when all else failed, you asked him for the cigarette case? That would remind him – ' Madame de Sagan spoke in growing agitation.

Valerie looked into her wild eyes.

'I forgot that,' she admitted.

Isolde shook the arm she held.

'You have killed him! Valerie, you have been jealous of me, and by your jealousy you have killed him! Had you spoken as I told you he would be here now – and safe! As it is he is lost!' she flung herself down among the cushions.

Her slender hands were clenched, her turquoise eyes stared wide and blind from her white face. She seemed to hold her breath as if waiting for the inevitable blow to fall. Valerie, greatly moved, knelt down beside her.

'What does it matter if we die to-night or a month hence?' Isolde spoke in a low voice; her heart had unconsciously been gathering up bitterness against Valerie, and she had no longer the strength to conceal it under this unbearable strain. 'Valerie, you have stooped to meanness – you who have so scorned meanness in others. You knew long ago what – Rallywood's love was to me. You have known my life, and much that I have to bear. Amongst all who pretend to love me there is not one like him, not one! He would be always kind and true. I think these are English qualities, for in another way there is Major Counsellor – ' the weary voice broke off as if too tired for more.

It was well Counsellor never heard that little expression of opinion concerning himself; it might have proved the thorn in a somewhat callous diplomatic memory.

'You have betrayed me! You!' she repeated with a bitter laugh; then, springing up, she ran towards the spot where her sables lay heaped upon the floor just as Valerie had dropped them from her shoulders.

'It may be too late, but I will go myself. I will save him if I can!'

Valerie wrapped the cloak around her.

'Isolde, I will go with you.'

'You!' Isolde turned with a startling look of dislike and suspicion. 'No, I hate you, and I choose to go alone!'

Valerie drew back and Madame de Sagan passed her by and flung wide the door. As she did so a confused noise could be heard, and the two women stood listening while a distant hubbub of voices rose louder, then a pistol shot followed by others echoed down the passages.

'He is dead! By your fault!'

Isolde turned upon Valerie with a wild gesture, as if she would have struck her.

Valerie drew back.

'If you really loved him, Isolde, you would rather he was – there – with his honour – than – here – without it,' she said.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SWORD OF UNZIAR

The Castle of Sagan may be roughly divided into three irregular parts. The massive old keep dominates all, standing high and black against the skyline; then the varied cluster of buildings immediately around its foot contain the principal reception and living rooms, and lowest of all the courtyards, kitchens, stables and offices. To the right of the keep a wing, curved like the fluke of an anchor, slopes down to a lower level. This portion is fairly modern and arranged for the housing of guests. The Countess's own apartments were situated at the junction of this wing with the main building, while the quarters assigned by ancient custom to the use of the reigning Duke during his visits to Sagan occupies the whole upper floor of an old and bulky annex that juts out from the base of the keep.

The passage leading to this annex branched from the head of the grand staircase. Upon the landing rows of heavily armed men were gathering noiselessly.

As Elmur and Sagan stood together waiting at the mouth of the Duke's corridor, the Count turned to his companion.

'Have you proposals ready to lay before his Highness?' he demanded.

'In form,' returned Elmur, touching his pocket.

'That is well, for you are about to present them. The Duke lies practically in my power at this moment,' Count Simon continued grimly. 'Gustave is a coward. The way to his presence lies open, and I think you will agree with me that his Highness of Maäsau will consent to most things rather than look the fear of death in the eyes!'

'There must be no violence,' Elmur began.

'That shall be exactly as I choose,' Sagan swore with an oath. 'By the good God we can't afford scruples to-night!'

After a short interval he went on.

'Once we have Gustave's word, we are safe. He is too proud to own that he gave it unwillingly. Besides, so long as we win what matter the means we use? Is your conscience so ticklish, Baron?'

'Politics have their exigencies and are inevitably rigorous, my lord,' answered Elmur slowly. 'To be successful means absolution. In the political courts where our actions will be judged they make no provision for failure. Success is recognised and mercifully considered, while failure, my lord, not being in any sense public, falls to the level of ordinary crime, and is judged by the standard applied to ordinary crime. Thus you will see that I risk as much in my place as you risk in yours.' Perhaps this was as near an approach to a threat as had ever been uttered in the ears of the fierce old Count. With a violent movement, he stepped forward.

'There is no hindrance in our path that cannot be cut through with a sword, and, by my soul, if we find one I will cut it!' Then, looking round, he gave the word to advance, and entered the darkness of the corridor.

A turn brought them in sight of Unziar's tall figure, standing sword in hand on the lowest step of the flight that led up to the embrasure covering the door leading to the royal apartments.

Count Simon pushed Elmur ahead of him while he fell back to whisper a few words to the man immediately behind; then he took precedence once more.

'I request an audience of His Highness, Lieutenant Unziar,' he said.

'Certainly, my lord, if you will give me the password of the night,' replied Unziar.

Sagan's answer was the countersign he had given to his own following in the Castle.

Unziar shook his head.

'You cannot pass, my lord.'

'What – not see my guest and cousin in my own house?'

'His Highness gave orders that none should be allowed to enter without giving the countersign chosen by himself.'

Sagan considered a second or two.

'True, I had forgotten. Come here, Unziar; your trooper there has long ears; I must speak with you. Stand back, men!' he said roughly. 'Baron von Elmur, pray remain, and you, Hern,' addressing the man behind. Unziar still stood upon the step.

'Come here! I tell you, man, I must see the Duke to-night – at once,' continued Sagan approaching Unziar. 'What the devil are you afraid of?' Unziar stepped down as the Count pulled him confidentially nearer to himself and towards the narrow entry. But while the Count whispered, a hand suddenly darted over his shoulder and seized Unziar by the throat, at the same moment when a well-directed kick from Sagan, delivered cunningly behind the knees, brought the young man to the ground. He lunged at Sagan as he fell with his sword, then it was knocked from his hand as his assailants swarmed over him, but not before he had fired his revolver into Hern's body. The man fell across him, but Unziar again swinging clear rose on his elbow and sent a second shot into the face nearest him. Meantime the trooper at the door was making a gallant fight, but the odds were too great. The struggle was soon over, the trooper's dead body flung aside, and Unziar, frantic and helpless, was tied hand and foot and left upon the bloody flooring of the outer passage while the Count's people forced the door.

This was a matter of some difficulty, but it was presently accomplished. The besieging party pushed through into the guard-room, which seemed brilliantly lit in comparison with the gloom outside.

Most of the furniture and the screen had been utilised by Rallywood to make a barricade in front of the Duke's ante-room. A single trooper with his musket levelled knelt behind it.

Sagan, who held a handkerchief to his cheek, spoke loudly.

'Do you see who I am? Clear the way!'

At this Rallywood stepped into view from behind the screen.

'The man acts under orders from his Highness, my lord,' he said.

Sagan stared at Rallywood with haughty scorn.

'It is of the utmost importance that I should see his Highness at once. Inform his Highness that I urgently beg to be granted an interview.'

'With pleasure, my lord,' returned Rallywood formally, 'if you will be good enough to give me the password, without which it is quite impossible for anyone to have an audience to-night. Our orders were very distinct on that point.'

'His Highness could not foresee that I' – the Count dwelt upon the pronoun imperiously – 'should desire one. Stand back, Captain Rallywood! I must pass and am willing to take the responsibility.'

'It is quite impossible, my lord,' repeated Rallywood without moving.

'You force me to extreme measures,' cried Sagan. 'Remove this man,' he ordered, 'as quietly as may be. We must not alarm his Highness.'

There was a clatter of arms as Sagan's followers advanced. The foremost of them ran in upon Rallywood, the swords met, Rallywood's sleeve was ripped from wrist to elbow, but his sword blade passed through his opponent's shoulder. The man sank down in a sitting posture, coughing oddly; his head dropped forward.

'Shoot them down!' shouted Sagan, but the words were still on his lips when the door behind John Rallywood slowly opened and a figure stood beside him.

Its appearance checked the rising struggle, for the figure was the figure of the Grand Duke of Maäsau. He was wrapped in his hooded robe of green velvet, and the five points of the golden star of Maäsau blazed upon his breast.

'Cousin, I would speak with you, but these fools stopped me,' exclaimed Sagan.

The Duke turned his shadowed face and spoke to Rallywood in a low voice.

'His Highness begs you, my lord, to withdraw your men,' said Rallywood aloud.

Sagan, scowling, ordered his men to the further end of the long room. Meantime Rallywood, with evident unwillingness, pulled away a portion of the barricade. Through this the Duke advanced with a stately deliberation, and walked slowly up to the Count.

With a sudden hoarse shout of triumph Sagan flung his great arms about the Duke's body.

'By St. Anthony, Gustave, no one shall stop our conversation now!'

The Duke made no attempt to release himself from the rough hug that held him prisoner. He merely raised his hood with one hand, so that Sagan, his coarse mouth still wide in laughter, could stare into the countenance not four inches from his own.

Consternation and fury swept over the Count's features. From under the hood a red challenging face, a big white moustache, and shaggy-browed humorous eyes met his gaze. The sight held him gaping. But only for a second. Then he whipped out his pistol.

'An English plot, by Heaven!'

But Rallywood was quicker still. A sharp knock on the Count's wrist sent the bullet into the ceiling.

'Have a care, my lord,' Counsellor said authoritatively. 'You cannot do as you will even in this lonely and remote room in your lonely Castle of Sagan, since England and – ' with a bow towards Elmur – 'Germany are looking on.'

Sagan still threatened Counsellor with the revolver.

'Can you see any reason why I should not kill you as a traitor to my country at this moment, Major Counsellor?' he shouted.

'Only one, my lord. Russia also, in the person of M. Blivinski, knows where I am, and is awaiting my return to arrange for our journey to Révonde – which we propose to make in each other's company,' replied Counsellor pointedly.

Sagan burst into his habitual storm of curses.

'Your nation have well been called perfidious, Major Counsellor. A stab in the back – '

'Why no, my lord,' said Counsellor; 'our greatest vice is admittedly that we are always well in front!'

'Come, Baron, have you nothing to say to this?' Sagan asked, ready to spring at his friends in his torment of baffled rage.

'Nothing, my lord. You will remember I am here to-night entirely at your request.'

Sagan's laugh was not altogether a pleasant one.

'Put it how you like, Monsieur, I should not have been here either but for you!'

Elmur stood with folded arms. To stoop to recriminations before the common enemy! The cause was lost for the moment, but there was the future, and in that future the fool who figured as his ally should become his slave! Germany had, after all, gained something in gaining the knowledge of British designs afoot.

'Then his Highness refuses to see me, although he can give audience to – you?' the Count at length broke the silence.

'On the contrary, my lord, he looks forward to the pleasure of meeting you to-morrow. That is the message with which I am charged. Captain Rallywood, his Highness wishes Lieutenant Unziar to attend him.'

Count Simon made a sign to his men, and a moment later Unziar stalked into the room, maddened by the outrage put upon him.

'My sword, Count Sagan,' he said huskily.

'Your sword! Is it lost?' returned the Count with an angry sneer. 'In my day it was not the custom of the guard to lose their swords!'

'When I saw it last it was sticking in your cheek, my lord,' said the young man with a studied insolence, pointing to a bleeding cut on the Count's face.

One of the men, coming forward, laid the sword upon the top of the barricade. Unziar grasped it and thrust it back into the scabbard.

'It was lost by treachery!' he flung out. 'And I leave it to these gentlemen to say where the shame lies!'

With that he leaped the barricade and passed into the Duke's room.

CHAPTER XIX

IN DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS

It was late on the following morning before the Castle was awake. It almost seemed as if the guests had waited for the appearance of the reassuring daylight before they ventured from their rooms. Four huge fires roared in the four great chimneys round the vast hall where the breakfast was in progress.