The Heir

by Sydney C. Grier

“I don’t know how I shall keep Maurice quiet all day,” sighed Zoe.

“Oh, he’ll be all right when he knows some one is trying to see her. Are you going to ask her to come out?”

“Oh, not in the note. They would never let it reach her. But if you see her, you might suggest that she should spend a day here. The Professor knew her father, you know. Of course, Madame Ladoguin must come too, but I’ll manage her.”

“You will be the first person that ever did that,” said Wylie, as he went off to find his host.

Professor Panagiotis was quite willing to accept him as a companion, and they rode off early in the afternoon. At the Professor’s house in the town they separated, the Professor going to the Konak to seek an interview with the Roumi Governor, and Wylie to the British Consulate. Sir Frank was busy, but asked him to come to dinner that evening and tell his story afterwards, and he went on at once to the Scythian Consulate, where the comedy of which he had formerly grown so tired recommenced. Servant after servant poured forth floods of eloquence in the attempt to convince him that the Princess was indisposed, that she received no one, that she was out driving, that she was preparing for her journey to Scythia, that he might safely leave the note to be delivered to her. This Wylie declined, and asked for an interview with Madame Ladoguin, which was denied him, and he put the note back into his pocket, and took up his old position opposite the Consulate. Here he remained until it was very nearly dark, without seeing the ladies return, so that it became pretty clear that one of the excuses, at any rate, was false. He quitted his post reluctantly, and finding that he had barely left himself sufficient time to go back and dress for dinner, called a cab to take him to the Professor’s house.

He had scarcely departed when the great gates were thrown open, and Madame Ladoguin and Eirene drove out. They were going to dine at the Hercynian Consulate, one of the “safe” houses where there was no fear of meeting any meddling English people. Even in cases like this, however, Madame Ladoguin insisted on the list of guests being submitted to her beforehand, representing that the Princess was very strict on such points of etiquette, and refused to waive them even when paying visits, as at present, under a partial incognito. There was a cloud on Madame Ladoguin’s brow. Wylie’s unexpected reappearance had much perturbed her, and she scented a deep-laid scheme for carrying off Eirene before she could be safely removed to Scythia. She had sent anxious messages to her husband and brother to ask them to come to her before starting, but M. Ladoguin had been out all the afternoon, discussing with his fellow-Consuls the alarming rumours which were prevalent in the town of impending revolutionary movements, and Nicetas Mitsopoulo was still away on one of his mysterious errands. As a last resource, Madame Ladoguin ordered her coachman to stop at a club much frequented by the European representatives, in the hope of finding her husband there, intending to send him to complain to Sir Frank Francis that his troublesome fellow-countryman was renewing his intolerable persecution of the Princess.

M. Ladoguin was at the club, but his wife would not have him summoned to speak to her. Apologising to Eirene, she left the victoria and went into the hall, where her charge could not hear what was said. Eirene, left alone, looked out indifferently down the brightly lighted street. Here, in the European quarter, thanks to the efforts of the consular body, paving and lighting conformed to Western rather than Eastern standards. Next door to the club towered the dark bulk of a building, which she knew to be the Seignorial Bank, now closed for the night, but something moving on its steps attracted her attention. It was difficult to see what it was in the shadow, but she thought that a porter must be laying down his burden there while he rested. At this moment her thoughts were distracted by a cab, which drove up furiously, its wheels almost grazing those of the carriage, and by the bad language which ensued between the driver and the consular cavass. Then—it all happened in a moment—the houses seemed to reel, she was thrown violently forward, and the air was filled with the sound of a tremendous explosion. The frightened horses went off like the wind, further terrified by the crash of falling fragments of masonry which came hurtling through the air. Eirene crouched dazed at the bottom of the carriage, face and shoulders cut and bruised by the stony shower. The sound of fresh explosions showed her that she was not deafened, but she could not hear the coachman’s voice calling to his horses, and guessed that he had been thrown from the box. At the same moment she became aware that she was in pitch darkness. Her first horrified thought was that she had been struck blind, but as she looked up through the tattered hood of the carriage she saw a jet of flame soar into the sky, and realised that whoever had caused the explosions must also have cut off the gas supply of the town. The horses had now turned out of the foreign quarter into one of the native streets, as she could tell by the way the carriage swayed and bumped over the cobbles, and it was a marvel to her that it was not every moment upset, as the wheels now collided with a post and now grazed a projecting shop-front.

The air was full of shrieks and cries, still punctuated by an occasional explosion, and there was a distant sound which she thought must be firing. Sitting helpless, as the maddened horses tore along, she analysed probabilities with a calmness that surprised herself, and wondered whether the wild race would end in the waters of the harbour or in one comprehensive smash. Then there happened something that struck her with greater horror than all that had gone before. She had raised herself to the front seat, and kneeling, was trying to look out ahead to see where she was going, when a black figure gained the box with a mad spring, and seizing the whip, lashed the horses on. By the glare in the sky she could see that it wore the high cap and flowing robes of a monk, with unkempt hair and beard. They dashed on into another street, which Eirene had a vague idea belonged to the Moslem quarter, and peering out she saw a dark mass of people in front. She shrieked to them to stop the horses, but they did not understand, and scattered to let the carriage through. This brought it opposite a large building, and the man on the box, dropping the whip, stood upright and hurled something with all his strength. The explosion that followed was no surprise to Eirene; it seemed to her that she waited for the sound. The building appeared to crumple up, and the horses sprang forward again with a jerk, which threw the monk from the box; but a minaret at the side fell across the street, and they could not face the ruin which came crashing down. Driven on by the shouts from behind, they dashed at the obstacle formed by the heap, turned when they found themselves thwarted, and dragged the carriage violently round, with one wheel high on the stones. Eirene had just sufficient presence of mind to spring clear as it went over, and to crouch against the houses on one side while the horses kicked and struggled furiously to free themselves. One succeeded, and rushed wildly down the street, but the other, which had fallen and was entangled in the harness, tried in vain to raise itself from the ground.

Seeing that the danger was past, the people behind came running up, and Eirene found herself dragged from her shelter. The monk had disappeared, and, to her horror, she perceived that the mob evidently took her for the person who had destroyed their mosque. They were all Moslems, armed with knives and daggers, and they poured blood-curdling imprecations upon her as she stood surrounded by a ring of steel. In every language she knew she entreated them to take her back to the Consulate, or merely to let her go, but no one would listen, or seemed to understand. She tore off her rings and the diamond stars from her hair and threw them among them, then her pearl necklace—not the historic necklace which had been given up to the brigands, but a less valuable one which had been sent on into safety in the jewel-case after the railway accident. The string snapped as she pulled it off, and she caught the pearls in her hands and offered them to the mob if they would let her go, but in vain. They forced her hands open, and fought for the pearls, but never so eagerly as to leave a gap by which she could escape. She would have given even the girdle of Isidora as the price of her life if she had had it with her, but it was reposing safely at the Consulate.

After the first moment it gave her no comfort that she was not cut to pieces at once, for she guessed from the gestures of her assailants that while some of them advocated this course, others were proposing to take her into one of the houses and torture her in order to discover her accomplices. In another moment she must have fainted from sheer horror, when the prostrate horse, which every one had forgotten, created a diversion by struggling to its feet and lashing out furiously, clearing a space round it. Seeing her chance, she tore herself from the men who held her, leaving her cloak in their hands, and sprang up the heap of rubbish which blocked the road. She could never have crossed it in cold blood, for the foothold was insecure, and the projecting pieces of rough stone and jagged wood caught her clothes and tore her hands; but she descended like a thunderbolt into a second crowd which had collected on the farther side, and burst through them before they could understand the agonised shouts which reached them from her defrauded captors.