“Come here, Herr Schmidt,” said Wilhelm, a cruel tone in his deep voice. “Seat yourself at this table and write as I direct. Are you ready? Go on then. ‘To the people of Hesse-Heilfels, greeting: I, Wilhelm IX., by the grace of God king of Hesse-Heilfels, do call upon you to render up to me, dead or alive, the person of one Cousin Fritz, a dwarf, who has held, under my predecessor, the office of Court Jester. To the man or men who shall bring to my castle the body of said Cousin Fritz shall be paid the sum of five hundred marks. Given under my hand and seal, at the castle of Heilfels, this tenth day of August, 189—.’ There, I think that may be effective in crushing out the last sparks of rebellion in this afflicted land. Have a hundred copies of that proclamation made at once, Herr Schmidt. See to it that they are exposed in every wine-shop in the kingdom. Take a few of them, Herr Eingen, and affix them to the walls in the most remote corners of the cellars under us. Oh, one moment, Herr Schmidt; add to the proclamation that a full pardon will be granted to any one who has been in rebellion against Wilhelm IX., in case he aids in the capture of Cousin Fritz. That may have an effect upon Reibach and Wollenstein, if they should see the notice. As I remember them, those two men are among the worst products of Brother Rudolph’s worm-eaten vineyard. And now, gentlemen, let us break our fast. Ladies, I bid you good-morning. It is my fondest hope that you may have your mistress with you again at the earliest possible moment.”
Wilhelm arose and the audience was at an end. With a heavy heart, Carl Eingen joined Herr Schmidt and prepared for another descent to the weird regions beneath the castle. Meanwhile the people of Hesse-Heilfels had begun the day under a new régime, and the whisper went abroad throughout the kingdom that indulgence in the game of draw-poker would be construed as the crime of lese majesté.
CHAPTER XI.
Carl Eingen had searched, as he believed, the most remote corner of the wine-cellar. He had taken with him no companion upon his subterranean bill-posting expedition, and, courageous though he was, he could not control a feeling of nervous discomfort as he fastened the grewsome proclamation of King Wilhelm to what he imagined was the last outpost in this tortuous hole in the ground. He had affixed type-written copies offering a reward for the capture of Cousin Fritz, dead or alive, to wine casks, stone walls, and wooden pillars in various parts of the cellar, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that his grim task was at an end. Suddenly a harsh, shrill voice, just above his head, cried out:
“Ha Carl Eingen, I’m worth five hundred marks, eh? I’ll throw you double or quits for my body. What say you?”
Carl started in affright, and dropped the hammer he held in his hand. Perched upon a huge hogshead sat Cousin Fritz, his feathered cap upon his head, smiling down mischievously at the astonished youth.
“Will you come up and take me?” asked the dwarf maliciously, moving his short sword in the air and then making a few defiant passes at his antagonist. “Do you need money, Carl? Five hundred marks! It is a large sum.”