Part 18 (1/2)
”I observed him as he crossed the terrace this morning,” said Lorry. ”He's a striking sort of chap, and I'll bet my head he's not what he claims to be.”
”He claims to be a fugitive, you must remember,” said Beverly, in his defense.
”I mean that he is no common malefactor or whatever it may be. Who and what do you suppose he is? I confess that I'm interested in the fellow and he looks as though one might like him without half trying. Why haven't you dug up his past history, Beverly? You are so keen about him.”
”He positively refuses to let me dig,” explained Beverly. ”I tried, you know, but he--he--well, he squelched me.”
”Well, after all is said and done, he caught us peeping to-day, and I am filled with shame,” said the princess. ”It doesn't matter who he is, he must certainly have a most unflattering opinion as to _what_ we are.”
”And he is sure to know us sooner or later,” said the young countess, momentarily serious.
”Oh, if it ever comes to that I shall be in a splendid position to explain it all to him,” said Beverly. ”Don't you see, I'll have to do a lot of explaining myself?”
”Baron Dangloss!” announced the guard of the upper hall, throwing open the door for the doughty little chief of police.
”Your highness sent for me?” asked he, advancing after the formal salutation. The princess exhibited genuine amazement.
”I did, Baron Dangloss, but you must have come with the wings of an eagle. It is really not more than three minutes since I gave the order to Colonel Quinnox.” The baron smiled mysteriously, but volunteered no solution. The truth is, he was entering the castle doors as the messenger left them, but he was much too fond of effect to spoil a good situation by explanations. It was a long two miles to his office in the Tower. ”Something has just happened that impels me to ask a few questions concerning Baldos, the new guard.”
”May I first ask what has happened?” Dangloss was at a loss for the meaning of the general smile that went around.
”It is quite personal and of no consequence. What do you know of him? My curiosity is aroused. Now, be quiet, Beverly; you are as eager to know as the rest of us.”
”Well, your highness, I may as well confess that the man is a puzzle to me. He comes here a vagabond, but he certainly does not act like one. He admits that he is being hunted, but takes no one into his confidence.
For that, he cannot be blamed.”
”Have you any reason to suspect who he is?” asked Lorry.
”My instructions were to refrain from questioning him,” complained Dangloss, with a pathetic look at the original plotters. ”Still, I have made investigations along other lines.”
”And who is he?” cried Beverly, eagerly.
”I don't know,” was the disappointing answer. ”We are confronted by a queer set of circ.u.mstances. Doubtless you all know that young Prince Dantan is flying from the wrath of his half-brother, our lamented friend Gabriel. He is supposed to be in our hills with a half-starved body of followers. It seems impossible that he could have reached our northern boundaries without our outposts catching a glimpse of him at some time. The trouble is that his face is unknown to most of us, I among the others. I have been going on the presumption that Baldos is in reality Prince Dantan. But last night the belief received a severe shock.”
”Yes?” came from several eager lips.
”My men who are watching the Dawsbergen frontier came in last night and reported that Dantan had been seen by mountaineers no later than Sunday, three days ago. These mountaineers were in sympathy with him, and refused to tell whither he went. We only know that he was in the southern part of Graustark three days ago. Our new guard speaks many languages, but he has never been heard to use that of Dawsbergen. That fact in itself is not surprising, for, of all things, he would avoid his mother tongue. Dantan is part English by birth and wholly so by cultivation. In that he evidently finds a mate in this Baldos.”
”Then, he really isn't Prince Dantan?” cried Beverly, as though a cherished ideal had been shattered.
”Not if we are to believe the tales from the south. Here is another complication, however. There is, as you know, Count Halfont, and perhaps all of you, for that matter, a pretender to the throne of Axphain, the fugitive Prince Frederic. He is described as young, good looking, a scholar and the next thing to a pauper.”
”Baldos a mere pretender,” cried Beverly in real distress. ”Never!”
”At any rate, he is not what he pretends to be,” said the baron, with a wise smile.
”Then, you think he may be Prince Frederic?” asked Lorry, deeply interested.