The Weight of the Crown

by Fred M. White

The porter intimated that the description was fairly accurate and Lechmere asked no further questions on that head. He knew quite well that Mazaroff was not far off. But what was the enemy doing here after the desired mischief had been accomplished. There was only one more question to ask. What had become of the King of Asturia? The porter put up his hand with a gesture of impatience.

"That is the puzzle," he said. "There were two gentlemen with the king when the accident happened; they are not badly hurt, M'sieu will understand, and they are at two cottages in the village. They are visited from time to time by the gentleman who is stopping at the hotel."

"Spy," Lechmere muttered to himself. "Mazaroff is leaving nothing to chance. As to the king now?"

"As to the king nobody knows anything," the porter resumed. "He simply vanished. There are some who say that he was spirited away by Anarchists, that the whole thing was a vile conspiracy. The other two gentlemen lay stunned on the ground so that they could see nothing of what was going on. And they are just as puzzled and bewildered over the disappearance of the king as anybody else."

Lechmere nodded as if the thing were of the most trivial importance to him, but he was utterly puzzled. What was the motive or the sense in spiriting off the king in this way? If he was dead, then the game of the conspirators would simply be played for without any further efforts of theirs. Had the king contrived to escape unhurt, and had he taken this chance to get away from those whom he virtually regarded as little better than his gaolers? By this time he was probably enjoying himself in Paris, heedless of the trouble that he was giving to others.

Lechmere figured it out that he would have to get to the bottom of this business for himself. He dared not go near either to Maxwell or Alexis for fear of meeting Mazaroff. It was imperative that Mazaroff should not know of his presence in the village.

The only thing to be done now was to settle down in his lodging and keep out of Mazaroff's way. A clean but frugal meal was provided and despatched, for Lechmere was keen set and for the most part he did not care what he ate when on expeditions like these. After the meal was done he sat smoking and thinking over the problem. Suddenly it occurred to him that he had been told by Peretori's cablegram to ask for the hut of Pierre Loti. Pierre Loti, he found, bore anything but a good character. It was a moot point as to how he got his living; he lived in a hut in the woods close by where the accident had happened and he had been first on the spot. All this interested Lechmere and he decided to try and find Loti at once. He had no difficulty in running down his man, who was making hurdles in the wood. He received the advances of the Englishman with evident suspicion.

"It is no use fencing about like this," Lechmere said at length. "I have come all the way from England to see you. I had a telegram asking me to do so. Do you understand?"

The man nodded and blinked slowly. His cunning little eyes were turned on Lechmere's face. He took from his pocket a dirty piece of paper and proceeded to spell out some rude signs there.

"I have a friend," he said, "a gentleman who has been very good to me. He was with me in my hut last night. And before he went away he said that very likely a gentleman would come from England to see me. And he said that the gentleman's name began by a certain letter. Would M'sieu be so good as to suggest what that letter is likely to be?"