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Dash for a Throne

<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> <h3>AT MUNICH</h3> When we started for Munich it required very little observation to see that von Nauheim was striving sedulously to conceal the fact that he attached such critical importance to my accompanying him. Indeed, had I had no prior knowledge of him, I think his demeanor would have roused my suspicions. "I suppose you will tell me what passed between you and Minna yesterday," he said when we were in the train. "You've produced a considerable change in her, for I found her much more willing to go on with us than she was before." "I gave her to understand that very much must depend on the result of this journey. If I am satisfied that there is reason to hope for success, it will be at least an impartial opinion—for at present I have not much faith. And I suppose she attaches a great deal of importance to that." "Did you urge her not to throw us over? I presume you did." "Why should I? I am not convinced myself." "Well, here are signs enough of the popular indignation, at any rate," he said as he tossed me a morning paper with some very strong comments on the lunatic King's acts. "Discontent is one thing, rebellion another," I replied as I opened the paper to read what he pointed out. I had no wish to talk, but to think, and I made as though I were engrossed in the paper. My companion took another journal and played at reading it; but I saw him watching me every now and then, until the paper fell on his lap, and he stared out of the window obviously buried in his thoughts. I knew the tenor of them later when his face changed, and he turned to speak. "You will stay with me, of course, Prince?" he said. "Certainly," I replied readily, although half a hundred suspicions were started of his probably sinister motive for the invitation. "It will be so much more convenient for our purpose than your going to the Gramberg town-house," he said. "I've been thinking of the best course to take. What sort of proof do you wish to have that measures are ripe?" "An interview with those who are to carry them out, of course." "That will be best; and fortunately most of them are in Munich. Then I presume you will be prepared to do what all the rest of us have done—take an oath of allegiance to the new Queen?" "When I join you, I will do whatever the rest do." "We are all pledged to the hilt. Every man of us has made the oath and signed a declaration to uphold the good cause." "Signed a declaration? That seems a strong step," I said, though all forms were pretty much the same thing to me. "But a necessary one. There is no drawing back then," he answered. "Well, I will sign what I see others sign and do what others do," I replied firmly. "But, understand, I must see these things done before my eyes." I said this because of an idea that flashed into my thoughts at that moment. "You are disposed to be cautious to the verge of timidity, eh?" he sneered. "I am resolved to satisfy myself," I returned; and for a reason that I kept to myself I rather liked the idea of what he had said. After a pause he continued: "Roughly, what I propose is this: I will take you round to introduce you to the more prominent men—in particular to Baron Heckscher, who is really the leader of us; and then we will have a meeting at my rooms, where everything can be explained and settled. What say you?" "I agree; but of course I reserve my right to take any other step I may think necessary that suggests itself to me." "Naturally, naturally!" he exclaimed. "Now that the Prince has gone we are only too glad to have a cautious, calculating head to take his part." The words were as false as the man. I read it in his tone and manner; and he was far more ready to curse me, had he dared, for my profession of caution. But I pressed it, because I knew that this exaggerated carefulness was the best evidence of my seeming sincerity. A long silence followed, during which I weighed carefully all he had said. His manner in speaking of these details was tinged by a singular nervousness; he blurted out his points like a man who has been given a task which has overweighted him. And he suggested to me the condition of a poor actor who has had his part drilled into him by a subtler hand, and says his lesson badly. Presently he began again: "Of course you'll understand we are all putting ourselves into your hands and in your power in this matter; and the more so with every additional step we take." He was coming to another point in his lesson, I thought. "You will give me your solemn pledge not to divulge a single name you hear, nor a single fact that is told to you. If you'll do that now, I'll give you an outline of our plans at once." "You can tell me as much or as little as you please. I pledge my honor to use nothing, except as the interest of my cousin may require—and that, I presume, is the intention of all concerned." He frowned and bit his lips and thought a moment. "Of course that's the intention; what else could it be?" "Then if you want me to join you you must trust me; otherwise I may as well go back to Gramberg at once. But, of course, my return will be the signal for throwing the whole thing up at once. It is for you to choose." "I had better tell you," he said after another pause. "Things are nearly ripe; almost as forward as when that hot-headed fellow Gustav wrecked everything by losing his temper and getting involved in that duel. We have resolved to take up the Prince's scheme pretty much where it was dropped. In a fortnight's time there will be an excellent time for striking the final blow. We have friends in all the public offices; several of the Ministers themselves are ready to welcome the change; the whole bodyguard of the King at the palace is practically composed of our men; and everything promises success. The King will be at the palace, and we have arranged that a great fancy-dress ball shall be given on a certain night. His lunatic Majesty is, as perhaps you know, rather madder on that subject than on any other; and he delights in dressing himself up in half a dozen different costumes in the course of a single night to perplex, as he thinks, all who are present, and get at the real sentiments of his people about him. But his attendants always arrange that his costume shall bear a certain mark by which he will be known. In this way the ass of a King is fooled to the top of his bent, and instead of hearing genuine opinions about himself hears only those which are carefully tuned for his ears. Well, our scheme is to have this royal mark worn by some one who is not the King; to have the King himself seized and placed under restraint; to let Minna be at hand at the ball, and as soon as it is known that the King has gone to proclaim her there and then." "An ingenious scheme, so far as the easy part of abducting the King is concerned," I replied. "But the difficulties only begin when he is out of the way. What are you going to do with him—kill him?" "No, there will be no bloodshed. There is no need. The whole country is ready for the abdication; nine-tenths of the best men are on our side—and the other tenth will come in; and to give the thing plausibility we are going to have a sort of drama at the ball, in which the King—the sham one, of course—will announce his abdication and appoint his successor—Minna. That act of abdication will be written, and on examination will be found to be actually in the handwriting of the King himself. The whole scene will be described to the country as an actual occurrence; and this will be on the authority of the foremost men in Bavaria—a sort of informal Council of State. It will be a definite and formal abdication. That of itself will silence opposition and carry the people, who are, indeed, only too eager to need much argument." "And the King himself?" "He will simply be put where he ought to have been long enough ago—under restraint." It was a clever plot, and, given the power behind those carrying it out, as likely to be successful as any that human wit could have devised. "But what of the Ostenburg interest?" I rapped out the question sharply, with a keen, quick glance, and for a moment it seemed to disconcert him slightly. "We do not put their power very high," he said then. "They think our chances ended with Gustav's death, and that, now the old Prince has gone, there is no one to carry the thing a step farther. But we must, of course, lose no time, and must strike before they even think we are contemplating any action at all. We shall catch them utterly unprepared; and, in a thing of this kind, to be unprepared is to lose." "Do you mean you think they will surrender their claim to the throne without a struggle of any sort?" "No; but they can do nothing when once we are in possession." "But the Imperial authorities at Berlin, man?" "The one consideration there is the de facto argument. Let us get possession, backed by formal abdication and the actual document appointing Minna to the succession, and Berlin may do what it likes. They will think twice before risking a civil war in the country to maintain the rights of a lunatic. At least so longer heads than mine hold, and I agree with them." "Well, I shall see," and I was bound to confess to myself that, if everything was genuine, the inference he drew was right. I knew enough of the sort of argument that weighs at Berlin to be sure of this. But was it genuine? If not, where was the flaw? And all the rest of the journey I sat pondering this part of the problem, and reviewing again and again all he had said. I was much impressed by it. Two points in particular stood out boldly in my thoughts: If this plot could be carried through—and I was half inclined to believe it possible—Minna could make far better terms, if she still wished to recede, when success had been attained than she could at present. If there were at the back of the scheme all this influence of which von Nauheim had spoken, it would be a dangerous thing for her to throw over those who had supported her without securing, at least, their safety as well as her own. That would be dishonorable and cowardly, and I knew she would not consent to such a course. If these representations were correct, therefore, I began to fear that Minna had been too far pledged to be able to draw back at this juncture. We must go forward until the best terms could be made. But against this I knew that the man who was giving me the information was as false as hell itself; and, even while I sat meditating and brooding over what he had said, I caught the swift, searching, cunning glances which he darted every now and then at me as if to see how far he had fooled me. It was in this mood of fresh doubt that I arrived at Munich, and drove with him to his rooms. The sumptuous comfort and costly appointments of these surprised me. When I had known him years before, he had had but scanty means, and his family were comparatively poor. Yet these rooms of his were fit for a man of the largest fortune. Even this circumstance added to my suspicions. If he was a traitor, he was being well paid for his treachery. The journey with me in the train and the fact that he was now in his own house seemed to put him more at his ease. "I shall have to leave you for a considerable time, Prince, while I prepare our friends for your visits," he said; "but you will of course consider this quite as your own house. This evening, or probably to-morrow, we can get to work. In the mean time, if you do not already know Munich, you will find no lack of interesting sights." For the rest of that day I was left to my own devices, and we did not meet until late in the evening, when he told me his plans for the next day, and that he had arranged for a round of interviews with the leading men on our side. The result of them was only to increase my perplexity. Wherever I went I was welcomed cordially, my co-operation requested, my caution approved, and the most complete assurances given to me on all points. Had the success of the scheme depended entirely upon my joining in it, I could not have been more warmly welcomed. I could not understand it in the least. Every question I asked was answered, as it seemed, quite fully and frankly; and every investigation I made only convinced me that the ramifications of the plot were vastly wider than I imagined, and that the prospects of success were enough to force me to believe in it. And yet I could not shake off my suspicions. I could find no ground for them other than my knowledge of von Nauheim. There was nothing but that to warrant them. But the more closely I watched him the more uneasy I became, and the more convinced that he at least had some double motive. I was in the position of a man who is being persuaded to a course he dislikes against every prejudice and instinct of his nature, and despite his earnest desire to trust his instinct. I did not wish to find the affair genuine, but I could find no flaw anywhere, probe, search, suspect, and investigate as I would. At the end of the fourth day I could not deny they had a right to ask for a definite decision for me to throw in my lot with them, and, while I was dead against doing so, I could not suggest a single reason of value and force for my opinion. The meeting to receive my decision was fixed for the sixth evening, and I looked forward to it with considerable apprehension. The previous day I resolved to use for a purpose that was almost as critical as the object of the visit to Munich. It was an inquiry that I alone could make as to von Nauheim's past. I knew that in the days when he had dealt his dastardly injury on my family he had a wife, whom he had married secretly, living in Thuringia. I was almost alone in the knowledge, which I had gained by accident, and my purpose now was to ascertain if she was still alive. Fortune favored my investigation. The wife was still in the town, living in a humble way as a shop-keeper, and still ignorant of the real position and character of her husband. I had no difficulty in finding her, and using part of my knowledge of years before. I had some conversation with her and her two children, eliciting the fact that she had not seen von Nauheim for years, did not know whether he was alive or dead, and did not care. She was earning her own living and educating her children, and prayed only that she might be troubled by the man no more. It was not my cue to stir muddy waters. All I needed was to know where to put my hand upon her at any moment that it might be necessary to spoil the scoundrel's schemes. The villain meant to deceive Minna von Gramberg as he had deceived my sister years before, and my thoughts about him were bitter and black and wrathful as the train whirled me back through the summer night to Munich. But I was jubilant too; for I held the knowledge that must inevitably frustrate his scheme, and I resolved that I would use it at the forthcoming meeting, if no other cause suggested itself, to refuse to go forward any farther. It was, of course, an ample reason for such refusal; and as I had the proofs so fresh in my hands, there was not a man of honor in the affair who would not say I was doing right. But events were to happen destined to change all this current of my thoughts. When I reached Munich it was late, but a mild, soft night, and I loitered through the deserted streets on my way to von Nauheim's house, enjoying the walk. I had to pass through one of the outlying parts of the city, and I was walking very slowly, thinking and smoking, when I was startled by a loud and sudden cry for help that came from some distance ahead of me. I am a swift runner, and I set off at my fastest pace, the cry, which was repeated, being my guide. I passed two or three streets, crossed a broad, dark square, and then I heard the cry for the third time, and with it the sound of men struggling and fighting, and the clash of steel. I had no weapon with me save a stout oak stick; but I gave no thought to my own danger as I rushed on, and set up an answering shout to let it be known that I was at hand. As I reached the other side of the square I came suddenly in full view of the disturbance. Four men, two armed with swords and two having knives, were attacking one man, who, with his back to the wall, was fighting for his life like a demon, parrying, lunging, and thrusting with amazing dexterity and skill. He had been wounded, however, I could tell, and although he had wounded more than one of his assailants, he was in a very fair way of coming badly out of the fight. Fired by the infernal cowardice of the four men in setting on one, I let out an oath, and, grasping my stick with both hands, I clenched my teeth, and rushed upon the villains from behind. I brought the heavy knob of my stick down with crushing force upon the arm of the man nearest me, making the arm drop nerveless by his side, and sending his sword clattering down on the stones; and then I turned and smashed it with all my force right into the face of a second man who made as if to attack me. At the same instant he who had been assailed in the first instance drove his sword through a third; and, seeing this unexpected turn given to matters, the fourth ran away—an example which the rest followed. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus4.jpg" alt=""/></div> <h3>GRASPING MY STICK WITH BOTH HANDS, I CLENCHED MY TEETH, AND RUSHED UPON THE VILLAINS FROM BEHIND.</h3> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> "You came in the nick of time, friend," said the man coolly, coming toward me. "Another two minutes or so and these beasts would have done——What! Heinrich Fischer!" he cried, in a tone of the greatest astonishment, holding out his hand. "This is well met indeed." I did not think so; for it was with something akin to dismay that I recognized a French fencing-master, named Guion, with none too savory a reputation, from whom, in the days of my play-acting, I had lessons in stage fencing. I gave him my hand, but I could not make the clasp cordial. "How came you in this plight, M. Guion?" He laughed. "Guion? Was that my name then? French, I suppose. By the body of the devil, I have such a lot of names and countries I can't remember them all. But I only use one at a time, and now, my good sir, I am a Corsican, and my name is Praga—Juan Praga, at your service, and not ashamed to own that I owe you my life. But what's the matter with you?" "Praga!" I cried. "So it's you, is it, who fought the young Count von Gramberg and killed him?" "Ho, and what in the name of the devil's skin do you know about that? But it's true, and it's equally true that to-night's business is part of the result. But, by the blood!"—and his face snarled like an angry dog's—"I'll make them pay." "I can help you to your revenge," I said impulsively. "Let's go where we can be alone." He stared at me as if in the greatest astonishment, then shrugged his shoulders, laughed, swore copiously, and then laughed again and said: "You? Well, you've saved my life, so it's only fair you should do what you please with it. Come along with me." And he led me away, vowing and protesting, by all the saints in and out of the calendar, that all he had in the world, whether purse, sword, or life itself, was at my absolute disposal. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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