There is no necessity for dwelling upon the details of Bennett’s success as a court physician. He had written a carefully worded letter offering his services to the afflicted monarch “free of charge unless a cure is effected.” King Rudolph, weary of suffering and disgusted with the impotence of his own doctors, had sent for the young American and, much to the astonishment and annoyance of the court, had given him full charge of his royal person. The cure effected by the gifted amateur had won him the friendship of the king, and the enmity of the court circle. In spite of his suavity, Bennett had been unable to make himself popular in a household in which the good-will of the king must be purchased at the expense of general detestation. The feeling against Bennett was intensified, of course, because of his foreign birth. Never before, in the long and polychromatic history of the House of Schwartzburg, had a stranger from a land far over sea become at a bound an influential factor in shaping the destinies of the kingdom of Hesse-Heilfels. Upon the door of his bedchamber one morning, Bennett had found inscribed in chalk, the words, “Geben sie acht. Halt!” The warning had opened his eyes to the fact that the enemies he had made were bold and determined. But he had smiled mockingly, rubbed the chalk from the panel, and made his way, humming a merry catch, to the king’s apartments.
Nevertheless Bennett was not in a joyous mood as he gazed at the moon-kissed river and mountains from a balcony adjoining his apartments on the evening of the day upon which our tale opens. Although the king had apologized in the afternoon for his bitter denunciation of the American in the morning, Bennett realized that his hold upon royal favor was insecure, and that as Rudolph’s rheumatism improved, and his fondness for poker decreased, the end of his adventure would impend.
Twenty-four hours before this Bennett would have felt no special annoyance had a decree of perpetual banishment from the kingdom of Hesse-Heilfels been enforced against him. But as he puffed cigar smoke into the balmy air and gazed dreamily at the silver thread that gleamed between the distant hills, the face of the Princess Hilda—proud, cold, and beautiful—seemed to taunt him, defy him, fascinate him. His pulse beat wildly as the temptation to break this haughty woman’s pride, to make her eyes grow gentle at his approach and her lips melt into smiles as he addressed her, swept over him.
The hopelessness of his longing was clear to him. The princess looked upon him as a quack, an adventurer, a man to be shunned and despised. She had never vouchsafed to him a word, a glance, the slightest recognition of his existence. To win her regard seemed to be impossible. The sceptre of Hesse-Heilfels was as much within his reach as the good-will of the Princess Hilda. Nevertheless, Jonathan Bennett, soothed by tobacco, lulled by the glories of a summer night, haunted by the swarming spirits of the storied Rhine, dreamed his dream of love and conquest and allowed his wild fancies to lead him far from the vulgar plane of poker, sanitary plumbing, and “sure cures” for rheumatism.
“Ach, mein Herr, but you look like an archangel planning a crime.”
Bennett sprang up from his seat in dismay. He had carefully locked the doors of his apartments, and this sudden invasion of his privacy smacked of the supernatural. Cousin Fritz, with a mocking smile playing across his gnarled face, displayed a mischievous joy in the American’s consternation.
“Be seated, Herr Bennett,” cried the dwarf, bowing with exaggerated politeness. “I owe you an apology—but this is one of my jokes. Is it not a good one? Ha—ha!” He danced up and down the balcony with weird agility for a moment. Then he seated himself upon the stone coping and tilted his feathered cap sideways upon his overgrown head.
“You will forgive me,” said Bennett gently, offering the jester a cigar, which the latter accepted with much ceremony, “if I ask you how you managed to surprise me so successfully?”
Cousin Fritz winked knowingly and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.
“I’ve lived in this castle a thousand years,” he answered solemnly. “It has taken me all that time to learn its secrets. Hist, Herr Bennett, they think it’s my business to amuse the king. Nonsense. That’s my pleasure. My work for a thousand years has been to discover all the mysteries of this old castle. I know them all now. What is the result? I’ll tell you, Herr Bennett, and I’ll tell you why I tell you. You made those scoundrels return my money this afternoon. Four aces! The robbers! But they took your word on poker, Herr Bennett—although they hate you. Do you hear me? They hate you.”