“Then shall we now proceed to get rid of our surplus possessions?” asked Cyril. “As my luggage has consisted since the beginning of this trip of a toothbrush, a pocket-comb, and a piece of soap, I have a good deal of room left in my pockets, and I shall be glad to carry anything I can for any one, and so will Nicolai, I am sure. To work, ladies, if you please!”
With heroic calmness the Queen and Fräulein von Staubach proceeded to select the most necessary or most portable of their belongings, and dispose of them as best they could about their persons, while Cyril and Paschics, with the aid of some broken branches, were digging a hole in the ground, in which they laid the Queen’s cloak and the other rejected treasures. This operation was finished by the pale light of the spring morning; and as soon as the leaves and soil had been replaced, Cyril ordered a start. They walked as far as possible through the wood, and only quitted it when it would have taken them away from the road, to which they returned at a spot some four English miles beyond that at which they had left it the night before in order to reach the farm. The order of their march had now to be adapted to their supposed circumstances. Cyril and Paschics walked in front in lordly style, while the two ladies came humbly behind, according to Thracian custom, carrying, when there was any one to see them, the one the little King and the other the bundle of rugs, although when the road was empty they were immediately relieved of their burdens. It was only occasionally that they fell in with country-people, who exchanged a bucolic greeting with the two men and took no notice of the women, and to their great relief they were not overtaken by any one from the farm they had quitted so unceremoniously. At about eight o’clock in the morning they came in sight of the little town, or rather large village, at which they were to have spent the night; and Paschics proposed that the rest should make their way round it without entering, while he went boldly on to purchase food and, if possible, a suit of country clothes for himself. Cyril was loath to lose such an opportunity of gauging personally the feelings of the inhabitants; but his common-sense told him that in the uncertain condition of affairs Paschics was a safer messenger than he was, and he led his charges into a field-path which, as his map showed him, would rejoin the road later on, while the detective walked on towards the town. At the point at which the path returned to the road Cyril and his party halted and, concealed by a clump of bushes, waited for Paschics. It was some time before he came in sight, and when he saw Cyril awaiting him he made him a hasty sign to withdraw behind the bushes, and looked up and down the road anxiously. Then he turned aside, and, sitting down on the bank, began to eat some food which he took from his pocket. Presently Cyril, who had been watching him through the bushes in surprise, saw the reason of this strange behaviour, for another wayfarer came round the turn of the road, and, after exchanging a greeting with Paschics, limped on his way. It was not until this man had passed out of sight that Paschics rose and approached the rest, and they saw as he came that his face was very gloomy.
“Then you could not get any other clothes?” Cyril asked him, as he distributed the coarse bread and slices of sausage which he had brought in his handkerchief.
“I found the shopkeeper so inquisitive, sir, that I did not venture to do anything that might arouse his suspicions further. He asked me any number of questions—who I was, whence I came, where I was going, whether I was travelling alone, and if so, what I wanted with such a store of food. My answers did not throw much light on our circumstances, as you may guess; but the fact of his asking the questions was in itself unpleasant.”
“But was the man merely inquisitive, or did he know anything to make him suspicious?” demanded Cyril quickly. The detective’s eyes met his meaningly, and he was about to suggest a private conversation, when the Queen, seeing his intention, interposed—
“Allow us to hear what new danger threatens us, Count. We are all exposed to the same peril, and we have a right to know its nature.”
“I find,” Paschics went on unwillingly, in response to a sign from Cyril, to whom he persisted in addressing himself, “that our friend the farmer’s son passed through the town last night on his way from Ortojuk to the farm. He rested a short time at the tavern, and told the people the news which he had heard in Ortojuk, whither it had been telegraphed from Tatarjé. It seems (this is what he said) that an arrangement had been arrived at between her Majesty the Queen and our Holy Synod for the conversion of the King to the Orthodox faith. It was for this reason that the Court was spending the winter at Tatarjé, which is at once a stronghold of the Orthodox and remote from the capital, for the conversion was to be kept a secret until it had actually taken place, on account of the opposition which would be raised by the Queen’s mother and the Hercynian Imperial family generally, and by the other Western Powers. Meanwhile, Bishop Philaret of Tatarjé had been instructing the King diligently in his new faith, and the ceremony of receiving him into the Orthodox Church by the rite of confirmation was arranged to take place on Friday—yesterday. But on the night of Thursday his Majesty was kidnapped by some person or persons unknown, presumably foreigners in the employ of the Princess of Weldart, and had utterly disappeared. A strict watch had been set on the frontier, and it was known that no suspicious characters had crossed it, so that it was evident that the abductors had turned their steps into the interior of the country, and measures were at once taken to discover and arrest them. This was done by order of the Queen, who remained at Tatarjé in the greatest distress and anxiety; but my informant did not hesitate to add that he believed she had only been half-hearted all along, and was a party to the plot——”
“But,” exclaimed the Queen, breaking the stunned silence, “how could I be at Tatarjé when I am here? What can they mean?”
“I am afraid Baroness Paula has played her part a little too well,” said Cyril. “I arranged with Baroness von Hilfenstein that in case of need her daughter should personate you, madame, for a short time, in order to give us a better opportunity of escape; but now it seems that we have been too clever by half. But no! it is impossible that they could have been deceived when it was daylight. They have taken advantage of our ruse for their own purposes. You think that they have not discovered who took part in their Majesties’ flight, Paschics?”
“How could they, Excellency? You had left for Bellaviste, and I had gone to visit my relations. Fräulein von Staubach is the only person they could make sure of. But what I fear is that some chance—or possibly merely his own suspicions—may take our friend the sub-prefect to Tatarjé. When he heard what had happened he would instantly remember the English travellers, and his description of you would be recognised by some one, and the identification established by showing him one of your photographs. Then he would be after us like a bloodhound, enraged at having allowed such a prey to slip through his fingers.”