Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch

"That is true," replied Carter. "We could take no chances. We had no desire to meet Russians just then."

An inquiry half parted Trusia's lips as she turned to hear Carter's confirmation, but checking her curiosity, she signed for Josef to proceed.

"Then they came to Posner's Inn. You know, Highness, what preparations were going forward there. These the spies noted. They even tried to bribe Posner into telling where Count Zulka could be found. They knew there was a heavy price upon his head. The cursed Russians." Carter started in surprise at this information regarding his friend. Josef pointed a triumphant finger at him. "See," he said, "it is true as I have said." Turning to Her Grace he continued, "If you attribute your fall from your horse to an accident, there are others who do not. It was part of their plan. Had not the highways been so well guarded they would have carried you to the Russian salt mines, a prisoner." Josef's vehemence had cost him his breath. He paused to regain it.

To all appearances the Minister of Private Intelligence had been the least interested of the auditors. He now spoke quietly with reference to the belongings lying upon the table. Doubtless his keen eyes had already inventoried them.

"Have you found any proofs?" he asked, with a wave of his hand toward the group of miscellany.

At this question, Josef faced about with a conciliatory smile.

"No more than was to be expected, Excellency, upon the person of a spy of the undoubtedly superior intelligence that Russia would send on a mission to Krovitch just now. A fortune in bills – presumably for bribes, a road map of our country, and the name of 'Zulka' written across the capital, Schallberg."

At the reference to Zulka's name used in connection with the alleged plot, Trusia gave a slight start and a reproachful look clouded her eyes.

Frankly, fearlessly, he met her glance as well as the steel-like glint from Sobieska.

"He was my friend," the American said, as though no further explanation could be demanded.

"He was their quarry," retorted Josef vehemently. "Else why the questions to Posner and attempts to bribe, the fortune in bills, the name written significantly across the capital's, the city where to friends and foes he was best known. Had his friend been as careful," continued Josef, who already tasted triumph and liked the flavor, "we would have no more clues. His passion for acquisition, however, has given us additional material." He held up the star with evident dramatic intent.

As Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey recognized it they started in genuine surprise.

"King Stovik's star," cried Sutphen.

Sobieska held out an indolent hand into which the eager Josef dropped it for examination. First the obverse, then the reverse were inspected with apparently slight interest. To Carter's appreciation of character, however, it was evident that not the slightest scratch on its surface had escaped those drooping eyes, as it was passed on to the gaping Holder of the Purse, whose chubby hands received it as though it were the relic of a saint. The jovial face was for the first time honestly grave. Reverently he transferred it to the Hereditary Chancellor. It lay before that bristling veteran who turned a questioning glance to Her Grace of Schallberg.

"I have seen it," she said.

"Is it – is it the missing star?" he asked in a hesitating manner, as though an affirmative answer was more than he could hope for.

"It is," she replied with slightly inclining head.

"Then who is he?" asked the bewildered Sutphen, rising from his seat and pointing impulsively at Carrick.

"Only an English peasant, Excellency, who has stolen the missing star," Josef insinuated.

"Are you sure? Are you sure?" persisted the Colonel, who was struggling with a grave doubt, which was now inclining his judgment in favor of the captives.

Josef, comprehending the nature of the perplexity and fearing he might lose a partisan, advanced an argument whose significance did not then appeal to Carter.

"A medal, Excellency, even that medal may pass easily from one person to another without ownership having any special value. Papers, valuable papers, would be guarded faithfully from father to son because they alone would be incontestable proof. We know what we have already found. Look at this uncouth fellow," said Josef, indicating Carrick with a sneer. "Remember, he is a servant, and judge if there be any chance that his possession of the star should cause you any doubts? Was it with such as he the Line was maintained?"

That he had stilled any uneasiness in the minds of the Counselors caused by the display of the medal, Josef was now satisfied. He paused for a final effort.

Sobieska spoke quickly to Carrick in an unintelligible language to be met with a look of honest mystification.

Josef smiled ironically.

"Your Lordship surely did not expect to catch such clever rogues by so innocent a ruse? They hardly would confess to a familiarity with Russian. Such an admission would convict them. Indulge them in French. One of the pair has that much linguistic ability. Besides, we have so far conducted our investigations in that diplomatic language."

"You are presumptuous, sir," said Trusia sharply. "You have no part in the conduct of this matter. You are simply a witness." Josef bowed low in meekness.

Without deigning a reply to the old fellow, Sobieska spoke next in fairly good English to the Cockney.

"What is your nation – birthplace?"

"England; Whitechapel, London," replied Carrick with natural taciturnity.

"Where did you get that?" continued the Minister, pointing to the medal.

"My guv'nor left it to me when he croaked."

His questioner's eyelids were raised the merest shade in non-comprehension of the vernacular.

"Your governor," he said slowly as if seeking a key to relationship. Josef smiled. The latter's exultation was that of one enjoying a possible misconstruction which might attend a literal interpretation of what he knew was idiomatic.

"Guvnor is the Whitechapel slang for father. My man many years ago told me he had received it in that way – the death of his parent," explained Carter coming to the rescue.

The stately Krovitzer bowed in acknowledgment of the explanation then continued his questioning.

"Where did he get it?" His sleepy eyes were probing deep.

"How the hell should I know," replied the irritated Cockney, who swiftly resented this prying into his affairs. Remembering himself instantly, he turned with a fine red in his face to the girl on the dais. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, for forgetting myself. It was none of 'is business," he said, defending his lapse.

"Was he English, also?" pursued Sobieska relentlessly.

"Sure."

"His name?"

"Mark Carrick," was the almost surly answer.

"His business?"

"Scrivener."

"Why did you come to Krovitch?" The question was advanced suddenly, unexpectedly, as if to catch the chauffeur off his guard.

"I'm Captain Carter's man; you'd better arsk him." Carrick was displaying renewed signs of impatience.

Sobieska paused. He gravely turned to his associates, and, for their information, translated fairly and without comment what the chauffeur had said into French, with which language Sutphen and Muhlen-Sarkey seemed conversant.

"That you might correct any misstatements," he explained calmly to Carter.

"There was no need," replied the American. "You have been most impartial."

Evidently not yet satisfied with the results obtained from his preliminary investigations, he turned again to the Englishman, who seemed not a little mystified to find his domestic history so interesting to these lordly foreigners.