Posadowski was silent for a moment. Then he answered, a note of stubbornness in his voice:
“Industrial conditions here are not as they should be. That is true. But surely a monarchy would not set them right.”
“Ha!” cried Prince Carlo, “that is just the point. A monarchy would not solve the problems of this country. On the other hand, a republic would not remedy the defects in Rexania’s body politic. I am liberal in my views, Posadowski. I will grant you that if I should mount the throne of Rexania I could not rule after the fashion of my great-grandfather. The king and his people must walk hand-in-hand to-day, not at sword’s points. But let Rexania become a republic on the instant, and what would result? Dissensions among the people, and political chaos: possibly the annexation of the country by a stronger power on our border. You talk of the selfishness of kings. Are they not the most heroic figures of the age? Take my father—God be with him! He has loved Rexania with a devoted unselfishness that only those who have been near him can appreciate. Weary, sad at heart, sometimes almost hopeless, he has had it in his power to accumulate a vast fortune, put it into portable shape, and abandon his country for a land in which he could live in peace and idleness. Do you think that such a step has been no temptation to him? You have so long looked at only one side of this matter that it will be hard for you to realize the full force of my question. I tell you that my father has loved Rexania with more fervor than you have ever felt for our fatherland, that he has displayed more courage and patriotic devotion in his life than any one of his rebellious subjects has ever shown, and that he has understood the practical necessities of our country’s environment better than the dreamers who have fostered discontent among the people. My father has been a grand and unselfish man, Posadowski, and you—you would crucify him.”
The arch-conspirator had grown pale as the youth, with a calmness that was almost uncanny in its exhibition of self-control, had given voice to the thoughts that had taken form in his mind during his days of captivity. Presently he spoke again, observing that Posadowski had, at that moment, no arguments to advance.
“What dire calamities you may bring upon Rexania by holding me here a prisoner I dare to contemplate. Granting that you keep me captive from the very highest motives of patriotism, can you not see that you are endangering the very cause for which you strive? Let us suppose that my father dies and that Rexania becomes a republic. Unless you kill me, Posadowski, I shall eventually return to Europe. Not only that, but I shall be placed upon the throne of Rexania by forces against which your republican brethren could make no resistance worthy of the name. You are a clear-headed man, Posadowski. I can see by your face that what I have said has made an impression upon you that will give you, surely, a different point of view.”
A grim smile crossed the arch-conspirator’s countenance. “I will acknowledge, Prince Carlo, that I have not at this moment arguments at hand to answer the line of reasoning you have advanced. I am a slow thinker, and, as you can well understand, I am confronted by a dilemma of tremendous import. I must ask you to give me time to weigh your words. If, after close consideration, I reach your conclusions—a result that necessitates the rejection of convictions that I have cherished for many years—I will discuss frankly with you the step that we should take.”
Posadowski arose and approached the prince.
“Let me ask you, Prince Carlo,” he said, before taking his leave, “let me ask you not to discuss the matters we have in hand with my colleagues. There is not one among them who would have allowed you to explain your position as I have done. You understand me?”
“Fully,” answered the prince, smiling up at the gray-eyed Rexanian, “I understand you, Posadowski, and I trust you.”
At that very moment Ludovics was making his exit from a road-house a mile away, the fumes of brandy imprisoned in the cells of his brain. With the money that Norman Benedict had left for him at the restaurant in St. Mark’s Square, Ludovics had purchased a revolver and had gone on a hunting expedition into Westchester County. It was big game that he was after—nothing less than a king who was making wild merriment at his expense; and where that king was Ludovics well knew.