The Queen's Advocate

by Arthur W. Marchmont

There was no use blinking at ugly facts, or attempting to hide from myself that if she came to learn the real purpose of my presence in Belgrade, she could do me incalculable mischief; and I did not begin to persuade myself that if the occasion arose she would hesitate to do it.

It was in this wise. In those silly, calf days of my boyish infatuation I had written the usual wild, high-falutin nonsense to her—and plenty of it. Pouring out my soul to her, I had thought it then: making an egregious young ass of myself, I deemed it now; but soulful or asinine, there were the letters on record against me. Nor could I doubt that if Elma found me attempting to use my influence with Gatrina against the plans of the Russian party those letters would be used for all they were worth to checkmate that influence.

Elma had indeed been clever enough to appeal to me to bury the past and to hint that she was afraid of my revealing what I knew about her. But she had meant it more as a bluffing appeal to my sense of honour. She knew she had little enough to fear from any revelations. They might damage her Court influence; but the Russian authorities who employed her would not care a red cent. They would have no inconvenient scruples so long as she was useful to them. Very probably they knew all about her already, and had perhaps used the knowledge to give a twist to the screw which kept her zealous in their service.

I flinched and flushed at the thought of those letters being read by Gatrina. That must be stopped somehow, and I must get them back into my possession. But how? I could not see any means at present. Elma was just an abominably clever woman. She had shewn that by rising to her present position out of the ashes of that old scandal in Prague; and I was only too painfully conscious that in any play of wits in such a matter she would almost certainly outwit me.

Yet disconcerting as was this personal side of the matter, it was not by any means the most disturbing result of that talk with her.

She had made me realise that the obstacles in my way were vastly greater than I had reckoned. The whole axis of the position seemed to have shifted, indeed. I had come to Belgrade with the somewhat vague notion that by means of my wealth and the knowledge I had gained of the character of Prince Albrevics, I should be able to stop the proposed marriage. But that somewhat arrogant assurance was beaten out of me at a stroke. Money was useless here.

I saw that Gatrina’s marriage was the centre round which two at least of these ugly schemes of high political intrigue actually revolved. It was one of the most critical issues of that most critical time; and in regard to it her happiness and welfare were just the last things to which anyone concerned gave five cent’s worth of consideration.

The Court scheme meant her sacrifice to such a man as this Albrevics in order that she might be out of the way of the Queen’s project to secure the succession for her brother. The Russian plan was scarcely less treacherous. They were wishing to use her as a counter in order to get their own puppet on the Throne. No more and no less.

Then there was the third plot—that of the army; and so far as it concerned Gatrina it threatened to be worse than either of the others. If it came to a head and Elma’s grim forecast of assassination were realised, it would be directed against the Obrenovics family as a whole. Gatrina, as a member of that family, would be in actual personal danger; for it was difficult to think that one so directly in the line of succession as she was would be allowed to slip through the meshes of a net flung wide and drawn in by strong, angry, merciless hands.

I had looked for anything rather than this. But Elma had outlined the picture; and my own concern for Gatrina soon painted in the details in lurid and alarmist colours.