It was evident throughout the short conversation that the excellent official was on pins and needles. Struck by the Emperor’s features, which he had so often seen in painting and photograph, it still seemed impossible that the greatest man in Rhaetia could be traveling thus about the country, in ordinary morning dress, and unattended. Sure at one instant that he must be talking with the Emperor, sure the next that he had been deceived by a likeness, the poor fellow struggled against his confusion in a way that would have amused Leopold, in a different mood.
With a manner that essayed the difficult mean between reverence due to Royalty, and common, every-day politeness, good enough for an ordinary gentleman, the station-master volunteered to ascertain whether the ladies described had gone out and given up their tickets. A few minutes of suspense dragged on; then came the news that no such persons had passed.
Here was a stumbling-block. Since Helen Mowbray and her mother had apparently not traveled by the Orient Express, where had they gone on leaving the hotel at Kronburg? Had they after all misled Baroness von Lyndal as to their intentions, for the purpose of blinding the Emperor; or had they simply changed their minds at the last minute, as women may? Could it be possible that they had changed them so completely as to return to Schloss Lyndalberg? Or had they chosen to vanish mysteriously through some back door out of Rhaetia, leaving no trace which even a lover could find?
Leopold could not help recalling the Chancellor’s “revelations,” but dismissed them as soon as they had crept into his brain. No matter where the clue to the tangle might lie, he told himself that it was not in any act of which Helen Mowbray need be ashamed.
He could think of nothing more to do but to go dismally back to Kronburg, and await developments—or rather, to stir them up by every means in his power. This was the course he finally chose; and, just as he was about to act upon his decision, he remembered his carelessly given promise to Count von Breitstein.
There was a telephone in the railway station at Felgarde, and Leopold himself called up the Chancellor at Kronburg.
“My friends are not here. I’m starting for Kronburg as soon as possible, either by the next train, or by special,” he announced, after a far-away squeak had signified Count von Breitstein’s presence at the other end. “I don’t see why you wish to know, but I would not break my promise. That’s all; good-by—Eh?—What was that you said?”
“I have a—curious—piece of—news for you,” came over the wire in the Chancellor’s voice. “It’s—about the—ladies.”