CHAPTER XVII
THE JAGUAR’S DEN
I spent the ensuing hours in reasoning with Von Lindheim against his panic, and endeavouring to instil hope into him. Naturally, under circumstances which would have shaken the strongest nerves, it was not easy, but at length I succeeded in calming him, and he seemed to take a sufficiently resolute view of the situation to bring himself to discuss the best plan for relieving it.
I now determined to postpone our flight for a day, while I would go to Buyda, see the Chancellor, and remonstrate with him, pointing out how unnecessary and cruel these devilish precautions were.
Accordingly, having made Von Lindheim promise to do nothing rash in my absence, I had a horse saddled, and after an early breakfast rode off to Buyda, choosing that mode of travel rather than the railway, as being calculated to give any spies less indication of a prolonged journey.
I have often wondered since at my temerity in bearding the Jaguar in his den; but in those days I was strong and confident; even the ghastly business in the midst of which chance had thrown me had hardly shaken my nerves, and then, again, I did not imagine myself to be in such danger as the sequel showed to be the case. The morning was fair and bright after an early shower, and as I rode along with a winding sparkling river below me on the one hand, and the dark blue masses of pine-clad hills on the other, I could not help contrasting Nature’s tranquil beauty with the hideousness of man’s cruelty. An old theme, but one that appealed to me very strongly that summer morning.
I arrived at Buyda before mid-day, and leaving my horse at the hotel made my way straight to the Chancellor’s quarters in the palace. Having sent up my name with a request to have an audience of him on urgent business, a message was brought back that his Excellency was with the King, but that he would be happy to see me at a later hour in the afternoon. So I went back to the hotel and lunched. Afterwards, as I was preparing to go out for a stroll in the city to kill time, a precautionary measure occurred to me, which I proceeded to put into practice. I wrote down certain particulars, sealed them in an envelope, and then went to the office of the British Consul, with whom I had already a slight acquaintance. He was a very much bored man, for whom even the pleasantest side of life in Buyda had ceased to have any charm, and he was evidently, as a relief from the monotony, glad to see me.
“I am going to leave this letter with you, Mr. Turnour,” I said. “If I don’t come back or send for it before to-morrow morning, open it.”
He opened his eyes. “And what then?”
“It will explain itself.”