The Princess Dehra

by John Reed Scott

In the interval, there had been no developments as to the Book of Laws. The Duke of Lotzen had observed the very strictest of mourning; not transgressing, in the slightest particular, the most trivial canon of propriety. He had remained practically secluded in his big residence on the Alta Avenue, appearing in public only at intervals. He had paid his brief visit of condolence to the Princess and had been greeted by her with calm and formal dignity. He had made his call of ceremony upon the Governor of Dornlitz—the Archduke Armand—and had been received by him in the presence of half his Staff. Then, after the funeral of the dead King, he had settled down to wait the termination of the two weeks of enforced inactivity. He could well afford, for that long, to dally with the future. So he subdued his natural indisposition to quiet and orderly living, and sternly bade Bigler and the others do likewise, telling them that the search for the Laws and the removal of the American could abide for the time.

But never a word did he speak to them of having seen the Book and what Frederick had written the night before he died.

Sometime before midnight, of the day that Adolph, the valet, had been killed, the sergeant of the guard, in making his rounds, saw a man skulking in the private garden. At the order to stand, the fellow had dashed away, and, seemingly unharmed by the shot sent after him, he leaped the low wall into the park, where among the trees and bushes, he had little difficulty in escaping. The matter was duly reported to the officer of the day and an entry made of it, but as such occurrences were rather frequent in the park, due sometimes to petty pilferers from the town, and sometimes to soldiers out without pass, it received no special attention, beyond a cursory inspection of the locality the following morning.

Two days later, Adolph’s body was discovered by a gardener who was clipping the hedge; and then it was remembered that the valet had not been seen since the morning after Frederick’s death. No one had given him a thought—in truth, no one cared anything about him. Like most of his class under such circumstances, he had won the cordial hatred of every one about the Court—a spoiled, impudent and lying knave. Busy with the royal funeral, and the great crowds it brought to the Capital, the police gave the matter scant regard—the fellow was known to them as a night prowler and a frequenter of questionable resorts, and to have had numerous escapades with married women; and the autopsy indicating he had been dead at least thirty-six hours, they had promptly ascribed the death to the skulker shot at by the sergeant. There was no other clue to work on, so, after a perfunctory search, they shrugged it over among the other unsolved. What was the use of bothering about a valet, any way! Besides, it was a case to let alone, unless special orders came from higher powers.

So they saw to it that the affair was entirely suppressed—such happenings around royal palaces are not for the public—and the information was casually given out that the King’s valet was so distressed, by his royal master’s death, he found it quite impossible to remain in Dornlitz, and had returned to France.

Once again, had the fickle Goddess smiled upon the Duke of Lotzen, still captivated, doubtless, by the very debonairness of his villainy and his steady gambler’s nerve.

And all unwittingly the Archduke Armand had played directly into Lotzen’s hands. Out of consideration for the Princess, he had insisted that they forget the Book of Laws until the period of mourning were passed, and Dehra, against her better judgment, had consented, though only upon condition that they two should first make a thorough search of her father’s apartments, which they did the following morning; she even climbing up and looking behind the large pictures—much to Armand’s amusement; he asking what would be the King’s object in concealing the Book in such a place; and she retorting that, as there was no reason at all for concealing it, the unreasonable place was the most likely.

And in that she was very right; for the box itself was now the most unreasonable place, yet even her woman’s fancy stopped short of it.

The period of official mourning expired on the twentieth, and on the twenty-first, the Princess telephoned to the Archduke to ride out to the Palace for luncheon that day, and to bring the American Ambassador with him—unless Mr. Courtney would object to being with Helen Radnor—and that the day being very warm they would be served under the trees near the sun dial, below the marble terrace—and that he and Courtney should join them there—and that Helen was with her now. And Armand had laughed and readily promised for them both.

As he hung up the receiver, Colonel Bernheim stood in the doorway, and he nodded for him to come in.