CHAPTER VII.
Cousin Fritz led the way through the impenetrable darkness, holding the princess by the arm. Behind them came Bennett, guiding the king by the sound of the dwarf’s harsh, insistent voice. Count von Reibach and Baron Wollenstein, the loyal courtiers, stumbled along in the rear, muttering impatiently now and again as they collided with some obstacle in their course or lost sight in the gloom of the fugitives in front of them.
“Courage, friends,” cried Cousin Fritz, cheerfully, “we’ll find a place of safety and comfort very soon.” He and the princess had paused to await the approach of their companions.
“We go down these stairs,” explained their guide, as the four men grouped themselves behind him. Scratching a match against the stone wall at his right hand, Cousin Fritz showed them a flight of steps that seemed to run downward into the blackness of everlasting gloom. The Princess Hilda trembled as if with cold.
“We didn’t come here for burial, Cousin Fritz,” remarked King Rudolph testily, leaning forward and gazing into the abyss.
“No, your majesty, you came here to escape it,” returned the dwarf sarcastically. He struck another temporary light, and taking the hand of the princess began to descend the steps. It required a good deal of courage to follow this madcap guide into the bowels of the earth, but the men behind him seemed to have no choice in the matter. For some time past they had obeyed his orders, and at this juncture there seemed to be no good reason for rejecting his leadership. Bennett was the only one of the party who harbored the slightest distrust of the dwarf’s loyalty. Circumstances had combined to prove to him that Cousin Fritz was worthy of the trust reposed in him, but the American, suspicious by temperament and habit, crept down the stone steps into the chill blackness with great reluctance. He had grown very weary of the seemingly inexhaustible resources of the old castle in the way of unpleasant surprises, and he hesitated to place himself beyond all possibility of escape from the antique structure.
There was one circumstance, however, that gave Bennett unalloyed satisfaction in this hour of peril and discomfort. The social barrier between the Princess Hilda and himself had been broken down at one blow. They were both fugitives, and, although she might hold him responsible for the downfall of King Rudolph, he was, nevertheless, in a position to be of great service to her in the crises that were sure to confront them in the near future. As he caught a glimpse of her stately figure in the flickering gleam thrown by a match lighted by the dwarf, as they reached the bottom of the long stairway, a sensation of ecstatic triumph thrilled Bennett’s soul. Down here in the damp depths of this gigantic cellar there were no kings, no princesses, no counts, no barons. They were all adventurers. The equality begotten of misfortune had placed the American upon a new plane, and he rejoiced at the prospect that opened before his mind’s eye. It would go hard, indeed, if he could not prove his fealty to the princess by a method less heroic, perhaps, but more satisfactory than that of voluntary banishment. Nevertheless, he realized that at this moment the princess looked upon him as a perjured and recreant knight, no longer worthy of rank on the lists of chivalry.
“What next, Cousin Fritz?” asked King Rudolph, puffing heavily and peering anxiously around him. “We seem to be in the wine cellar.”
“We are, your majesty,” answered the dwarf. “We are surrounded by vintages worth a king’s ransom. Pardon me, your majesty. I didn’t mean to be personal. But, follow me a little further, and I will fulfil my promise regarding your safety and comfort.”
A moment later the fugitives stood in a large, damp room, in which Cousin Fritz seemed thoroughly at home. He scurried about, lighting candles, pushing pieces of antique furniture toward his guests and keeping up a running fire of comment on the honor paid him by a visit from royalty. Now and then he would drop a sarcastic remark that suggested to Bennett the line of thought the dwarf’s mind was pursuing. Cousin Fritz, monarch of Hesse-Heilfels for a thousand years, was proving openly at last that he was more powerful than any temporary monarch who held the throne in the eyes of a short-sighted world. Here in his secret apartments was the real centre of royalty in Hesse-Heilfels. Could he not afford to let the petty kings up above fret their lives away while he, to whom a century was but a single day, reigned undisturbed, but all-powerful, over the realm they thought was theirs?
“Your majesty needs repose,” said Cousin Fritz imperiously, pointing toward an ancient divan in a distant corner of the room. “You are out of spirits, out of breath, and out of danger. Lie down and take your rest. We have much to do later on, and we must begin the day fresh from a little sleep.”
King Rudolph gazed blankly at the dwarf. The deposed monarch seemed to feel the severe physical exertion he had undergone, and his breath came and went with painful effort. He stumbled toward the divan and stretched himself thereon with a groan. The princess stood by the side of his rude couch and gently rubbed the brow from which a crown had so recently fallen. In a moment the king had dropped into a restless sleep and was snoring with a royal indifference to the comfort of others curiously characteristic of the Schwartzburgers.
Cousin Fritz deferentially approached the Princess Hilda, and, taking her hand, led her to a corner of the room that lay deep in shadow. Pulling aside a heavy, moth-eaten curtain, the dwarf pointed to an inner and smaller room and said:
“Your apartment awaits you, princess. In the hurry of our departure I forgot to summon one of your women to attend you. I will repair this oversight at once, however. I hope you will forgive my carelessness.”
A sad smile played across the wan face of the princess.
“I need no assistance, Cousin Fritz,” she said gently. “Do not risk your life for my sake. You must not return to my apartments.”
The dwarf laughed gayly. “I go and come as the humor sways me,” he said proudly, “and no man says me nay. Sleep for a time, sweet princess, and when you awake you will find a woman by your side. Aufwiedersehen, and may you sleep well.”
He dropped the curtain and skipped lightly toward von Reibach and Wollenstein, who stood in deep converse in one corner of the room, glancing furtively now and then at Bennett, who was seated in a chair near the centre of the apartment, moodily reviewing the startling events of the long night.
“You will do me the honor, gentlemen,” said the dwarf cordially, but with a note of command in his voice, “you will do me the honor of making yourselves comfortable for a time. You will find these old couches fitted for an early morning nap. As for me, I must return to the upper halls.”
Bennett overheard the dwarf’s final words. They reawakened his slumbering suspicion. As the count and baron, acting upon the hint thrown out to them by their host, prepared themselves for sleep in a shadow-haunted alcove, he strode up to Cousin Fritz. Placing his hand upon the dwarf’s shoulder, he said:
“You are about to return to the upper part of the castle. I go with you, my friend.”
A mocking smile played across the unsymmetrical face of the dwarf. He read Bennett’s mind at a glance.
“As you will, Herr Bennett. My advice to you would be to get a little sleep while you may, but your company on an expedition that is not without some slight peril would be a pleasure and a comfort to me. Come, then, there is no time to lose.”
They had hardly passed from the room into the gloom of the cellar when a thought crossed Bennett’s mind that caused him to seize the dwarf’s arm and hold him motionless for a moment.
“These men,” he whispered, “why have they remained loyal to the king? Count von Reibach first. Why does he cling to Rudolph’s fallen fortunes?”
Cousin Fritz chuckled silently. Then he answered in low, rasping tones:
“Von Reibach is a ruined man. He has lost his all at poker, and fears to face his creditors.”
“And Baron Wollenstein?”
“Oh, Wollenstein,” answered the dwarf, “Wollenstein is in love with the Princess Hilda.”
“The devil you say!” muttered Bennett profanely. Suddenly he seized the dwarf’s hand in a grip of iron.
“Tell me, man, why do you leave us here at this time?”
Cousin Fritz uttered an exclamation of anger, and attempted to withdraw his hand from the American’s grip.
“Gott im Himmel, Herr Bennett, why do you distrust me?” he asked petulantly. “You’re the shortest-sighted clever man I ever knew. I’m about to run some risk, if you must know it, in order to bring back a waiting-woman for the princess. I made a miscalculation, and must atone for it. Are you satisfied?”
A hot flush rose to Bennett’s cheeks, who felt ashamed of the injustice he had done to the loyal little man at his side.
“Go then,” he exclaimed cordially, “and forgive me, Cousin Fritz, for my impertinence. Hereafter I shall trust you fully. As for me, I think it best that I should return to your rooms. Do you understand me?”
“I think I do, Herr Bennett,” answered the dwarf, laughing mockingly as he disappeared in the darkness.
The American turned and groped his way toward the room he had just left. He opened the heavy door softly. The candles in the grim apartment were still lighted, but heavy shadows danced blackly here and there as the flames wavered in the draught. Bennett glanced around the apartment apprehensively. Suddenly from a distant corner two figures made toward him hurriedly. He realized instinctively that the count and baron had been plotting his destruction.
Closing the door behind him he leaned against it, and drawing his revolver from his hip pocket held the weapon in front of him. The flickering candle-light was reflected by the gleaming steel.
“Hold hard, my friends,” said Bennett coolly, “a step farther in my direction means a bullet for the man who makes it.”