“But you would have objected strongly to their adopting me on any other ground than as the heir of John Theophanis,” said Maurice. “At any rate, it is satisfactory to know why the offer collapsed so suddenly. But I cannot imagine, Cavaliere, why Prince Romanos did not jump at your news. His subjects would not have objected to his marrying anyone who brought with her as a dowry the future adhesion of Illyria.”
“Alas, Highness! the news was never told. I received an urgent letter from Olimpia, entreating me to write what I had to say, but on no account to come to Therma. The moment was most unpropitious, and my visit might do irreparable harm by setting people talking. I could well understand that the moment was unfortunate for my son-in-law, for the rumours of his impending marriage were becoming more definite. As you have no doubt seen, his photograph and that of the Grand Duchess Feodora were published together in the papers, and it was positively, though not officially, announced that they were engaged. I did not wish to embarrass Olimpia by insisting on visiting her against her wishes, but I wrote very strongly pressing my point, and refusing to commit my news to paper. I have had no reply to that letter, Highnesses—no further letter of any kind from my daughter.”
His auditors were silent, and looked at one another. The inference was obvious, but no one liked to put it into words. At last Maurice spoke.
“Pardon me, Cavaliere; do I understand that you have had no news of Donna Olimpia from that day to this?”
“If they can be called news, I have had one or two brief notes from her husband—assurances that Olimpia could not write, but sent her love and implored me not to be anxious, and above all not to come to Therma. Nothing in her own writing—not even a pencilled signature. I wrote again urgently, demanding definite tidings of the nature of her illness, the opinion of her doctors—above all, some word from herself, failing which, I should start for Therma at once. What did I receive, Highnesses? A long letter purporting to be written by Prince Romanos at his wife’s dictation. Why do I say ‘purporting’? Because it was never dictated by Olimpia. It was not the letter which a loving, ailing woman would send to the fond father who was breaking his heart for her at a distance. It was the letter of a poet trying to put himself in such a woman’s place, full of images that would not occur to her, of words that she would not dream of using. Highnesses, when I received that letter, my mind was made up. I also have a soul capable of stratagem. I left behind me letters to be posted at my usual weekly intervals, and started for Therma by sea.”
He paused, to deepen the impression, then hurried on, his words seeming to overflow one another. “I said, Highnesses, that I possessed a mind capable of stratagem. To that let my proceedings on approaching Therma be witness. I sent my old soldier-servant on shore with my passport, and wearing clothes of mine, while I remained on board the steamer. No sooner was the name on the passport perceived than he was detained, and refused permission to proceed into the city. At the police-office he was photographed, his physical measurements taken, as though he were a criminal, and he was reconducted on board, informed that he would not be allowed to land. My worst suspicions were confirmed, but I have one consolation. Neither the photograph nor the measurements thus obtained will help the Therma police when they have to deal, not with old Filippi, but with me.”
“I think you are very wise, monsieur,” said Wylie. “I understand also that Prince Romanos has never seen you? You decided, then, to make your next attempt to enter Therma by land?”
“No, that was my idea,” said Armitage proudly. “We met at Trieste, and the Cavaliere heard I was bound for Therma, and asked me to take him in the yacht, but I thought it would be much safer to get in by the back door. So I got him a brand-new passport, and they let him pass the frontier without the slightest suspicion as Lacroix and my secretary. I thought he might go on to Therma to see about rooms for me, and make inquiries on his own account, and then when he has found Donna Olimpia, we can bring the yacht up and get her off in it.”
“But what do you think has happened to her?” asked Maurice.
“Why, that she’s imprisoned somewhere, of course.”