“Certainly, Excellency. I can obtain all the information in two minutes.”
“Do so,” Gersdorff returned, “and furnish Herr Galabin with it. I will send him to your room at once.” Botheim bowed and withdrew. “You will undertake this mission?”
“I am only too much honoured, Excellency, by your confidence.”
“I am sure it is well placed. You have two objects, remember. First, to discover, if possible, what has become of Prince Roel; and secondly, to find out what you can about this Count Zarka. Now, good-bye. Be wary. I do not trust the Count. Botheim will give you all available information; we shall look to you to add to it materially.”
CHAPTER II
A CHANCE SHOT
The nearly horizontal rays of a setting September sun, red with the promise of a brilliant resurrection on the morrow, struck full against the great elevated timber-line, where, at any rate for a space, European civilization seems to be held in check by the appalling ruggedness and grandeur—the insurmountable wildness of self-assertive nature. The parting glory falling directly on the fringe of the great coniferous belt, threw into more striking relief the blue-black intensity of the forest depths. The day had been hot—sultry for the time of year, for September days are, as it were, the Parthian cohort of Summer’s retreating array: the air was still and silent with the languor which comes of hours of steady, windless heat. Only occasionally there rose from the impenetrable blackness of the woods the lazy cry of a pigeon or the whirr of a tree-partridge, so infrequent as to be almost startling in contrast with the prevailing stillness.
The nibbling hares, dotted at picturesque intervals over one at the tufted and sparsely wooded lawns which here and there broke the continuity of the interminable woods, munched and leaped peacefully and comfortably enough. Presently by common consent, not simultaneously, but by twos and threes, and batches, they stopped their feeding, raised their heads, and pricked their ears until the whole company was at attention. A few tree-partridges, preening their grey feathers, paused and looked round inquiringly towards the black wood into which they could see but a few yards, yet perhaps further than any other living thing. The pause—of alert expectancy—lasted but a few seconds. A fox came with slinking trot out of the wood, and made across the best covered corner of the lawn towards the thickets opposite, increasing his pace as he crossed the open, his eyes redder than normal, for the sun struck full into them. Most of the hares reassured, resumed their eclectic nibbling; a few, impressed by Reynard’s gait and manner, leisurely put a less distance between themselves and the covert, plucking an occasional tempting blade on the way.
There is a subtle magnetic influence acting from animal life upon animal life. Unknown as its cause is to us—for all our researches can never take us beyond the border-line of half-knowledge, at least this side of the grave—and imperfect as our conjectures are, we see clearly enough its influence the more unmistakable in direct ratio to the sharpness of the senses of the creature upon which it acts. We feel it ourselves in the same proportion, keeping time with our individual sensitiveness; but with most of us, at any rate, distance attenuates the subtle power. So, not without the grosser signs of the sudden lifting, this time with one accord, of scores of furry heads and ears, the warning cry of pigeons behind the dark foliage, and the sudden swift rush of the lately indolent tree-partridge, would a human being have felt constrained to look expectingly towards the fringe of the wood, the natural line of which was now broken by the figure of a man.
He had stopped on emerging from the covert, and now stood, set off picturesquely against his dark background, perhaps admiring the romantic scene suddenly opened before him, perhaps uncertain as to his whereabouts. So motionless was his attitude, so striking his appearance, that he hardly seemed to lend a human interest to the fairy spot; an onlooker from the opposite side of the valley would have expected him to vanish as mysteriously as he had come. Presently, however, he moved forward and began to descend the slope. The hares, which had begun to wonder whether there was any harm in him, scampered away on all sides. The man at once halted and made a quick movement of pointing the gun he carried under his arm, but it seemed to be merely the sportsman’s instinct, for he checked the action ere he had aimed, and replacing the weapon in its former position, resumed his way across the now deserted valley.
A handsome man, of fair complexion and athletic frame, dressed in a dark-green shooting suit, whose easy swinging gait had nevertheless a suggestion of military precision and alertness. His figure, standing out against the dark background, was picturesque enough; even the modern fashion of his clothes scarcely detracted from the suggestion of romance in his appearance; his coat was thrown open, and there seemed a characteristic touch of a bygone age in the dress which harmonized so perfectly with his old-world surroundings.