Part 3 (1/2)
A magnificently uniformed hotel servant called a private car, drew the vitrine curtains, and saluted as the car lifted sharply into the chilly night air. The car sped across the ca.n.a.l to the jeweled city across the water, to a residence district whose magnificence even the pale night light revealed.
The two women entered a mansion of glittering metal and came to a private apartment.
”Everybody's gone to bed,” said the girl, addressing her maid.
”That's one thing we can be thankful for.”
”Yes, Your Highness. Did you discover anything of importance in the man's room?”
”No. Draw me a bath, Mellie. He--he caught me--and kissed me!”
The maid, with flasks of perfume and aromatic oils in her hand, paused, discreetly impudent.
”You seem not displeased, Your Highness.”
”But of that he had no inkling.” And Princess Sira laughed. ”I left him standing, utterly at a loss. He took me for a common a.s.sa.s.sin, and yet he wanted to kiss me. That pleased me. But if he had valuable information he kept it. And I promised him death for his kiss.”
As Princess Sira, claimant to the throne of a planet, slipped into the tepid waters of her bath, Mellie stood by, her smooth little Martian's face disturbed. For she loved her mistress, and could not comprehend the things she did under ambition's sway.
”Your Highness, couldn't you let your royal friends do these dangerous things for you?”
”For what? For fear? And how could a Martian princess who knows fear lay claim to a throne? No, Mellie, one gets used to it. The enemies of the house of Sira are ever alert. Didn't they murder my father and my mother, and my only brother? My peril in this palace is as great as in the room of a terrestrial detective. Only their fear of the people--”
She was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell. The maid left the alcove, and returned a moment later with the news that Joro, Prince of Hanlon, awaited the princess's pleasure in the ante-room.
”At this hour!” exclaimed the princess. ”Did he say what brought him here?”
”Something about a new plot.”
”Plots! They fall thicker than rain on Venus. Bid him wait.”
Fifteen minutes later, swathed in a trailing orange silk robe that made her look like a Venus orchid, she greeted the prince.
”Greetings, Joro. We seem to have the unusual this night.”
The prince, a thin, elderly man of medium stature, smiled admiringly.
His sharp features and bright little b.u.t.ton eyes gave some hint of the energy which suffused him. Here was a man both ruthless and loyal to his royal house. He addressed her by her given name.
”The hour seems to make no difference with you; Phobos has set, but as long as you are awake there is loveliness enough. I have come, dear one, to tell you that success is ours at last!”
Sira smiled. ”I will restrain my joy, my good Joro, until I hear the price.”
”Always the same!” Joro chuckled. ”A price, 'tis true, but not too heavy, since you are, in a manner, fond of him.”
”I've had vague promises from Wilc.o.x,” Sira said, with a wry smile. ”I would rather trade places with Mellie than be espoused by that madman.”
”Not Wilc.o.x, but Scar Balta. He is badly smitten, for which I can not blame him. He has great political power, and the backing of the military. He could have dictated better terms, but for love of you has yielded, point after point. He wants nothing now but your hand in marriage, and is prepared to cede to the royal cause all the advantages he has gained--”