“You feel sure, Posadowski,” a frowzy-headed, full-bearded man was saying in the purest Rexanian, a dialect spoken by only a few hundred East-siders, “you feel sure that you have the dates exactly as they should be?”
“I will read you the letter, Rukacs, and you can make your own calculations,” answered Posadowski, a better-groomed man than his companions, nearing middle age, but with a fresh complexion and a clear, gray eye that could look like ice or gleam with fire, as the spirit of the man ordained. His companions bent toward him eagerly, as he took from his pocket a letter bearing a foreign postmark. Lighting a fresh cigarette, Posadowski read, in a low voice, the following epistle:
“Dear Brother: Strange things have happened in Rexania. The crown prince has left here in disguise. Three men only know this, the king, the prime minister, and myself. If they knew that I held their secret, this would be my last letter—eh, my friends? But they will never suspect me—the best servant in the palace—of communicating with such rebellious rascals as you, Posadowski and Rukacs and the rest of you. The king was bitterly opposed to Prince Carlo’s journey. But Carlo is no longer a boy. He is a clever, active-minded, studious man, who might have been one of us if he had not been born a crown prince. He has great influence over Prime Minister Fejeravy, and persuaded him to plead with the king. Carlo has set out for America, and travels incognito. I have risked my life to tell you that he will reach New York on the Wiendam, under the title of Count Szalaki. He has promised to return as soon as he has crossed the continent and visited Chicago and San Francisco. The fact is that the prince is anxious to see for himself how a country looks that is governed by its people. Poor fellow! I have long felt sorry for him. Upon his firmness at his father’s death will depend the maintenance of the Rexanian monarchy, and I feel sure that he is only half-hearted in his assumed regard for royalty. But I dare not waste more time on this hasty letter. I am obliged to spend nearly all my time quieting suspicions that I fear I may have aroused in this palatial hotbed of treachery and intrigue. Nevertheless, my brothers, reflect on this: fate has placed a great opportunity in your power. The king is old and failing. If the crown prince is not at hand when the king dies—well, there will be no more kings in Rexania. The people love the prince; but if he is not here when the sceptre falls from his father’s hand he will never be crowned. It is in your control—the future of Rexania. I and my fellow-republicans—we are very quiet at present—leave it to you to make Rexania free. If the king dies and the crown prince is not here, no power on earth can prevent the republic. My love and devotion to you all. Courage! We trust to you.”
The faces of the conspirators had turned pale as Posadowski had slowly and impressively emphasized the pregnant sentences of the revolutionist who defied death at the king’s right hand.
“He is magnificent,” exclaimed Posnovitch, the oldest member of the quartette, a gigantic man, with picturesque gray locks.
“Yes. How little we have to fear, compared with a spy who knows the king’s secret thoughts and who lives under Fejeravy’s eye,” remarked Rukacs. “But tell me, Posadowski, have you a plan of action in your mind?”
“There is only one thing to do,” said Ludovics, a small, black-whiskered man with feverish eyes and nervous manner. “Count—Count Szalaki, I think, was the name he took, was it not?—must not leave this country alive.”
“Hush!” whispered Posadowski, imperatively, as a waiter refilled their coffee-cups. “You were always reckless, Ludovics. There may be a way open to us that does not require bloodshed. The crown prince, we are told, is not a monarchist at heart.”
“Don’t be deceived by that fact—if it is a fact,” returned Ludovics, hotly. “He won’t abdicate. Whatever may be his inner convictions, he has an hereditary liking for a throne, and I’m sure that his visit to this country will destroy all fondness that he may have begotten, in his imagination, for republics.”