By this time they were at the house steps. Malvine flew in to give orders, while Maximilian waited, his eyes on his watch. Four minutes later Captain von Loewenstein, the Emperor's aide-de-camp (who had been in the act of proposing to pretty Baroness Marie Vedera), stood ready to receive his master's orders. Ten minutes more, and the two soldierly figures rode at a gallop out from the park gates at Lynarberg.
"We're going to the station, to catch the Orient express, Von Loewenstein," said Maximilian. "I have—promised myself to say good- bye to some friends."
"Were you aware, Your Majesty," asked the aide-de-camp, "that the 211 time-table has just been changed for the autumn? The Orient express leaves ten minutes earlier than it has during the summer."
The Emperor used a strong word. "Are you certain, Von Loewenstein?"
"Certain, Your Majesty. I looked out the time for my sister, who goes to Paris next week. The new table only came into use yesterday."
"I'll kill my horse under me rather than lose the train," said the Emperor. And he loved Arabian Selim well, as Von Loewenstein knew.
"We've just a chance of doing it without that, Your Majesty. It's scarcely five miles now."
They rode as if their lives were at stake. And they rode without a word. At last they came to the suburbs, then into the outskirts of the town. In the distance, a church clock chimed the quarter before one. The two looked at each other. Five minutes, and the station was but a mile away. They would do the trick yet!
The upright line between Maximilian's black brows relaxed. He threw up his head and smiled like a boy, looking—Loewenstein thought—as he 212 looked when they camped in the Weisshorn and shot chamois.
"You shall have something to make you remember to-day, if all goes well," he said to the aide-de-camp; then drew in his breath sharply, for Selim had stumbled. A dozen yards away, on the dusty white of the road, lay a black crescent—Selim's shoe.