A prince of lovers

CAPTAIN VON OMPERTZ, when the Chancellor had dismissed him, made very natural haste to get clear of the palace precincts before his deception should be discovered. He had not, however, gone far when he found he was being caught up by one of his late associates, the Italian to whom Rollmar had whispered. Judging it wiser to appear in no particular haste, he turned and waited for the fellow to join him.

“Ah, you are going home, Capitano, after a pretty night’s work. May I come with you as far as our ways lie together?”

Now if Ompertz had really carried out his late orders he would have declined, with no complimentary language, the company of a man whom he loathed and whose associateship he resented. But to-night he could scarcely with prudence refuse the fellow’s proposal, so they went on together.

“I am in haste to get to my lodging,” he said. “So step out, signore. I hope to-night’s work has been more acceptable to you than it has to me.”

The Italian, edging his lithe body close to his companion’s shoulder, as with quickly gliding steps he kept pace with the soldier’s stride, threw out his arms with a deprecating gesture.

“Basta! Capitano mio, such little affairs are common enough at our Court. Our Chancellor ever takes the nearest way to his destination. A wise man does not wait for a wasp to sting him before he crushes it. And the Baron has the wisest head in Europe to-day.”

“And the reddest hand, eh?”

“Ah, amico mio, a kingdom is not to be maintained in safety without the judicious spilling of a little blood. Better a few drops of rain than a storm, a little blood-letting than a fever.”

“That is true enough,” Ompertz assented, not caring to express his real views on the subject. “And we servants of the State, must regard ourselves as the great surgeon’s lancets, eh?”

“Exactly,” grinned the Italian. “And we should have as little feeling and curiosity as the scarifying knife, be as empty of scruples as is the cupping glass of air.”

“Oh, I shall get used to it, never fear,” the Captain assured him.

They were making their way to one of the side gates of the park which opened upon an outskirt of the town, and now had reached the outer belt of woodland, near the spot where Ompertz had once lain concealed. It was his intention, as soon as they should have passed through the gate, to separate from his companion, not caring even at that time of the night to be seen walking through the streets with him.

As they went quickly along under the trees Ompertz stumbled over a projecting root and nearly fell, but managed to recover himself. But the stumble made him aware of a peculiar action on the part of the Italian which put him keenly on his guard. When his foot caught the root the impetus of the quick pace at which they were walking sent him headlong some yards before he could right himself. His companion made a sudden spring after him, only to reach him just as he recovered his balance. As Ompertz half turned, he fancied he caught a certain ugly gleam in the other’s uplifted hand, but the Italian quickly lowered his arm and threw out the other with a pretence of steadying him.

“Davuero! That was nearly a bad fall, Capitano,” he observed with an awkward laugh, and Ompertz told himself that if the stumble had sent him a foot less far, and so just out of the other’s reach it would indeed have been a fall from which he might never have risen. However, he kept a wary eye on the Italian, grimly alert for his expected attack, and so they passed out of the gate together.

Here he halted. “Which is your way, Signor Calosi?”

The Italian pointed townwards. “Surely we go to the city together,” he suggested with feline courtesy.

Ompertz checked his first impulse which was unceremoniously to separate from the fellow. He nodded, and they walked on together along the gloomy road skirting the park wall. Very bitter and resentful thoughts were in his mind as he realized his position and his employer’s treacherous intention. It was plain enough. He was supposed to have done his work, and so was to be incontinently put out of the way as the possessor of a dangerous secret. And within the hour Rollmar had flattered him, spoken of his honour and trustworthiness, and promised him his absolute freedom as the price of his night’s work, while all the time he was marking him down for the assassin’s knife. His blood boiled at the idea, and he exulted fiercely in the thought of the trick he had played on the treacherous old Chancellor and of a second thwarting on which he was grimly resolved. So he kept on with the Italian, having the object of giving that worthy a chance of repeating his attempt It was not long in coming. This time it was Calosi who stumbled, or pretended to do so. The spot was one which Ompertz had shrewdly suspected he would choose for the attack; darker than the rest of the obscure way by reason of the overhanging trees. Moreover, it was the last convenient place for a dark deed before they should approach the outlying houses of the city.

At Calosi’s stumble, Ompertz, who was on the watch for a trick, gave a sudden spring forward and turned, at the same time whipping out his sword already loosened in its scabbard. As he anticipated, he faced round to meet the Italian’s dagger raised for the stroke he had so cunningly avoided.

“You cursed, black-muzzled dastard!” he cried with a derisive laugh. “You shall pay for that coystril’s trick,” and with that made a lunge at him.

The Italian’s face at first showed an attempt to laugh the thing off, but its futility was so apparent and the soldier’s blade so pressing, that he speedily abandoned it and set to work to defend himself as best he could.

“Ah, my poor Capitano, it is enough,” he exclaimed in terror as, putting aside a thrust at his heart, he felt the blade pierce his shoulder. “I will confess!” he screamed, as the irresistible attack grew hotter. “I will give you—”

“Silence, you pest, you treacherous dog!” Ompertz cried, setting his teeth. “If you choose to play your murderous tricks on a stronger man you must be ready for the penalty.” And so, bearing down the Italian’s desperate defence, he ran him through.

Calosi fell with a gasping cry and had expired ere he touched the ground. Ompertz drew back his sword and wiped it on the dead man’s cloak, shaking his head with a troubled countenance as he sheathed it.

“I’d as lief this had not happened,” he muttered, “but it was necessary, and ’tis done. Well, my head can scarce be in greater jeopardy now than it was before, and at least this gives me a few hours’ start.”

Hastily he rolled the body into the ditch that ran under the park wall, where it lay concealed by the over-growing grass and weeds. “Well, there is one scoundrel the fewer walking the earth to-night,” he commented. “If I hang for this I shall leave the world a trifle better than I found it.” He effaced the blood marks from the path, and hurried on to the city.

As he gained the narrow streets his devil-may-care humour, which had been repressed by the events of the night, returned; he hummed a tune and strode along with his characteristic jauntiness. Once he stopped and seemed to debate with himself whether he should go on or turn back. “No; I must do it,” he said. “A good turn from a stranger is worth six from a friend; and, after all, my life is not of such wonderful value or surety that I need think twice about risking it.”

So, starting on again with a more purposeful gait, he soon arrived at the door of Ludovic von Bertheim’s lodging. As he looked up at the windows for a light, the man he sought came round the corner.

“Well met, Lieutenant,” he said with a military salute. “I came on my way to—who knows?—the gallows, probably, to give you a word of warning.”

“Come in,” Ludovic replied, and led the way.

The soldier smacked his lips significantly and followed. “A glass of that excellent brandy after this night’s work will not come amiss,” he observed frankly.

In the room von Bertheim pointed to the suggested refreshment and his guest lost no time in helping himself.

“I have to thank you, Captain, for my life.”

Ompertz gave a deprecating wave of the arm. “Pfui! ’Twas but a natural quid pro quo, my friend,” he protested airily.

“It was more than that,” the other returned gravely.

“Well,” said the soldier, after a second draught, “time is short, and were it not, I have not come hither to bandy words about that. I have a sense of common honour and gratitude—that is nothing to boast of—and am not a midnight bravo, although I admit that an hour ago I must have looked uncommonly like one.”

“I can understand the matter,” Ludovic assured him with a smile.

“Can you? Then you will understand that you stay here in considerable danger, my enterprising young friend.”

Ludovic smiled confidently. “I hope that is past.”

“Is it?” the other retorted. “You have a singular confidence, young man, amounting almost to folly. Take my advice. You have had two miraculous escapes. Are you mad enough to fancy that his Excellency, our most noble Chancellor Rollmar, will fail a third time to brush you out of his way?”

“Possibly not,” von Bertheim replied dryly. “But I do not think he is likely to try it a third time.”

“Ah, you are not going to give him the chance? That’s right. I am off now to save my skin. Suppose we go together?”

“With all my heart, Captain,” Ludovic laughed. “But I am not ready to start just yet.”

“The devil you are not!” Ompertz exclaimed in surprise. “Why, you are not, I take it, such a coxcomb as to trouble about packing your trunks when the trunk that stands on your two legs is likely to have a hole picked in it.”

“Hardly,” the other laughed. “Still, I can assure you, Captain von Ompertz, that there is no such especial hurry for either of us to take to our heels. I am quite safe, and will take you under my protection.”

Ompertz stared and then broke into a laugh. “Alle Wetter! But you have no mean opinion of yourself, my brave Lieutenant. To stand man to man, or to a round half dozen, is one thing; to pit oneself against the seven devils united in the scraggy person of our Chancellor is quite another.”

“You are right enough, my friend; and I admit that I have run a couple of very foolish risks. But now I do not mean to fight, to oppose myself to this incarnation of the seven devils.”

“That’s well,” Ompertz hastily replied. “Discretion is virtue, even in a soldier, when the odds are against him. Boldness is for the big battalions, as I have learnt often enough. So you are going to retreat and fall back upon a less dangerous wooing. Good! We may as well go together, at least part of the way.”

“You mistake me,” von Bertheim said quietly. “I do not intend to leave Waldenthor, at least just yet.”

“Then I do,” Ompertz exclaimed, catching up his hat and taking a stride towards the door. “I have warned you, and, as it seems, to no purpose. I am sorry, but that your brandy is a good viaticum, to have wasted so much time over the business.”

Ludovic made a restraining gesture. “Stay here with me for the next twenty-four hours and we will start together. In the meantime I will guarantee your safety.”

The soldier looked at him curiously. “You speak very confidently, young sir; and I am loath to disbelieve you. But you will pardon me if I am inclined to set more store by the practical and cogent evidence of Chancellor Rollmar’s ill-will than by the pleasanter but less tangible proofs of Lieutenant von Bertheim’s good-will.”

“And yet,” replied the other, “I could easily convince you.” He stopped and seemed to debate with himself, taking a turn across the room. His manner evidently puzzled Ompertz, who stood with his hand on the door, his departure just restrained by curiosity. But the chance of safety by staying seemed too doubtful. “I must wish you farewell, and a safe slipping out of old Rollmar’s clutches,” he said, pulling open the door.

Ludovic turned. “You will not go?”

“While my feet can touch terra firma.”

“You will go to your death. Whereas——”

The sound of a horse’s hoofs came up the street, and suddenly ceased under their window. Then came a knock at the street door. Ompertz let an oath slip through his teeth. “Too late! I have stayed to my death. But——” He set himself hard, taking his stand in a corner of the room with drawn sword. Von Bertheim laughed but made no remark. Both men kept silence, in which they could hear the door being opened. Next moment a man’s figure appeared in the doorway, and a good-humoured face looked with amused wonder at the room’s two occupants and their strangely contrasted attitudes, one loungingly expectant, the other desperately militant.

Checking the visitor’s exclamation of surprise, Ludovic went forward with a cry of welcome.

“Anton! You, my dear fellow, at this time of the night! You bring me news?”

“Or I should scarcely have risked finding you so very wide awake at this hour. Yes; I bring you news, and have ridden hard with it.”

He glanced significantly at Ompertz, who, half reassured, had lowered his point.

Von Bertheim answered the look. “My good friend, Captain von Ompertz, who has just rendered me an important service at some risk to himself.”

“Then,” the newcomer observed dryly, “as we are all friends and it is late, Captain von Ompertz may put his sword to bed.”

“If his sword were afraid of late hours,” the free-lance retorted, as with a laugh he sent the weapon home in its scabbard, “Captain von Ompertz would not have the honour of standing before you at this moment. It is hard to tell friends from foes in this city, and I but waited Lieutenant von Bertheim’s word before disguarding.”

“Now, Anton, your news. You may speak before our friend,” said Ludovic.

“Your uncle has met with an accident, a fall out riding.”

“He is dead? No?”

“When I left he was as far through death’s door as a man can be to have any chance of drawing back.”

“Then there was a chance, Anton?”

He gave a shrug. “He was alive. I did not tarry to hear the result of the putting together of six scientific craniums. It was enough that the patient had a breakage in his; so I came post-haste to tell you.”

“It was what I might have expected of you, Anton. Now I will have a bed made ready for you and——”

Anton opened his eyes. “A bed? My dear friend, you are not going to sleep on it?”

“I cannot start till to-morrow.”

“Then I cannot help thinking that you run a grave risk. You have been away over long already.”

“The risk is mine, not my uncle’s,” Von Bertheim returned. “To-morrow evening I will start at latest.”

Anton looked serious. “I would not like to answer for the consequences,” he said warningly.

“Nor I,” chimed in Ompertz. “I have been telling our friend as much for the last half-hour. If he stays here till to-morrow I would not like to wager that he survives his uncle with the smash on his skull.”

“What keeps you here?” Anton asked.

“Never mind,” Ludovic replied.

Ompertz laughed.