A Prince to Order

by Charles Stokes Wayne

“Lean over,” said Dr. Zagaie; “he wishes to speak to you. His voice is very weak.”

A sensation of repulsion had swept over Grey at sight of the old man, and now, to bring his face close to that of the invalid upon whom death had already set its mark was sickeningly repugnant. But with an effort of will he bent his head. A withered, wrinkled hand gripped his wrist and for the hundredth part of a second he recoiled. The voice that breathed into his ear was little more than a sigh, and he strained to gather the words.

“Take it,” he heard; “it is yours. The key——”

And then the utterances sank so low as to be unintelligible. That the old man had spoken in English was a circumstance over which Grey marvelled quite as much as he did over the ambiguous command. He stood erect again and would have stepped back, but the grip of the sufferer was still upon his arm. Then, from the glazing eyes came an appeal that was unmistakable, and again Grey bent his ear.

“The throne,” breathed the voice feebly; “it is yours. Take it!” This much the listener heard quite clearly, mentally commenting that the speaker was delirious. But from the sentences that followed he could only glean a word here and there. “Key” was mentioned again, and “box,” and he thought he heard “proofs,” and something that sounded like “Gare du Nord.”

At length the fingers on his wrist relaxed and the eyes of Herr Schlippenbach closed. Instantly and with professional celerity Dr. Zagaie plunged the needle of a hypodermic syringe into the fainting man’s arm. Simultaneously there was a gentle tap on the door, and without waiting to be bidden a florid-faced priest entered, carrying a small black leather case.

Grey resumed his place by the window, his brain teeming with problems so enigmatical as to defy even theoretical solution. The dying man was delirious, of course, he argued; therefore his words were unworthy of consideration. And yet, he answered himself, he had made a supreme effort to convey a message and he had chosen to phrase it in not his own tongue but his listener’s, to make sure that it would be understood. He felt like a man in a maze. At every turn there was some new surprise; and he was going on and on, getting farther and farther into the tangle, without as yet seeing any chance of extricating himself.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by him, preparations for the Sacrament of Extreme Unction were being hurriedly made. The priest had donned his alb and stole and poured from a cruet the holy oil. The next minute the voice of the cleric, clear and distinct, cleaving the hush of the room, startled Grey from his meditation. The droning of the Latin ritual, solemn and awesome, struck a new chord in his emotional being. He got to his feet and stood with clasped hands and bowed head. Now the priest was anointing the dying man’s eyes. With oily thumb he made the sign of the cross and recited the words: “Through this holy unction, and His most blessed mercy, may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins thou hast committed by thy sight, Amen.” And then his ears, his nose, his mouth, his hands, his feet were each in turn anointed with the same form of supplication.

The ceremony concluded, Dr. Zagaie again stepped forward, taking the place vacated by the priest. As he did so Herr Schlippenbach, who had been breathing softly, peacefully, with closed lids, opened his eyes wide with a look of sudden horror. There was a quick, convulsive movement that stirred the coverlet, a long deep-drawn sigh, and the aged man lay motionless.

Fraülein von Altdorf turned away, grief-stricken and horrified, from the spectacle of death, and Grey for the first time saw her face. It was more than pretty, he thought, with its big, sad blue eyes and its full, red-lipped mouth all a-quiver with emotion. And her hair, which shone even in the dusk of that darkened apartment with a lustre of its own imparting, was very abundant and very beautiful. He realised that she was coming towards him and he took a step forward to meet her. She raised her arms and stretched out her hands gropingly until they rested on his shoulders, and instinctively he knew that she had grown suddenly faint. He clasped her swaying figure about the waist and supported her to a couch.