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Game and the Candle

<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> <h3>AN ARABIAN NIGHT</h3> The Emperor's congratulations and formal inquiries duly arrived, borne by a glittering officer who was so impressed by the coldness of the message intrusted to him that he scarcely raised his eyes during its delivery. He had the misfortune to be attached to the Regent. But Stanief received all unmoved. A clear scarlet burned in his dark cheek, his drowsy eyes glowed with some inward fire. He had just left the Grand Duchess and still carried traces of the recent accident, but he smiled in utter tranquillity as he listened, and gave his reply. It was too unaccountable; actually dismayed by the indifferent composure, the officer retired, and found himself stammering again when he repeated the answering message to the Emperor. Adrian was at dinner, or rather had just concluded, when he found time to receive the envoy; and he set down his glass to study this embarrassment in a courtier of twenty years' standing. He was always cynically interested in such situations. "What else did the Grand Duke say?" he demanded. "Sire, nothing was said except that which I have had the honor to report to your Imperial Majesty." "Nothing to you?" "Nothing, sire." Adrian made no sign, yet the unfortunate equery was conscious that he was not believed. "My cousin appeared well?" came the inquiry. "Perfectly well, sire. Remarkably so." "I am enchanted to hear it; he has need of steady nerves. That will do." He pushed away the glass and rose, his glance encountering that of Allard near him. "You almost hate me to-night, Allard?" he questioned softly. Allard, in evening dress, the tiny jeweled star of honor flashing on his coat, was very different in appearance from the smoke-grimed gentleman of noon, but his gray eyes met Adrian's in the same indignation with which they had shone from beneath the stains of the explosion. "Almost, sire," he acknowledged. Staggered by the unexpected frankness, Adrian nearly lost his self-possession for the first time in his seventeen years. But he recovered immediately. "Thanks for the 'almost'," he said with nonchalance. "Just bring my cloak; I want you to go with me." Amazed at himself, Allard obeyed, humiliatingly aware that he had been scarcely decorous and certainly unwise. "I beg your pardon, sire," he said seriously, as he offered the cloak. Adrian surveyed him calmly. "Was it true?" he queried. In spite of himself Allard smiled. "Almost, sire," he confessed. "Truth is a virtue, at least theoretically, and needs no apology. Moreover, I challenged you. Come." And Allard followed. It was, of course, impossible to question the Emperor, but Allard's anxiety nearly betrayed him into the indiscretion as Adrian slipped on the cloak and led the way to a small private salon from which a staircase permitted reaching the street unobserved. For, in common with Peter the Great and Harun-al-Rashid, Adrian occasionally indulged in rambles about his capital, incognito, and with Allard for sole companion. It was a habit only a year old, of which even the omniscient Stanief was ignorant. The Emperor had made it a point of honor with his confidant to guard the secret absolutely; and many a bad hour had Allard passed in consequence. No one suspected the true reason why the American had bought a compact, exquisite Italian automobile during the summer before; or guessed the identity of the slim young chauffeur, masked and wearing the usual shapeless coat, who drove the machine through the streets at dusk or later. But it was a current tale for laughter in the clubs that Monsieur Allard had been arrested four times for over-speeding his car and each time had paid his fine without a murmur, himself assuming the blame and exonerating his chauffeur. Perhaps, being young himself, Allard also had enjoyed the variety and slight peril of these excursions. But then the city had lain quiet under the Regent's strong hand, while now— For once he was pleased to see Dalmorov, who rose at their entrance into the salon. At least his presence proved that nothing wholly secret was intended. "The carriage is ready, Baron?" Adrian asked, drawing on his gloves with his leisurely decision of movement. "It waits at the lower door, sire." "Very good. Are you ready, Allard?" "Sire, I did not understand—" "Well, you have always a coat here, I think." That was true, and taking a key from his waistcoat pocket Allard silently opened the wardrobe that held their apparel for the motor trips. It was Adrian's affair, not his, if the proceeding awakened Dalmorov's ever-active curiosity. However, the baron's attention was fixed on the master, not the man; he was watching Adrian with intent and crafty eagerness. He barely glanced at Allard when he came back ready to go out. "I also may have the honor of accompanying your Imperial Majesty?" he urged. "No," Adrian returned. "Sire—" "No, Dalmorov. Come, Allard." But Allard stood still. "Sire, dare I ask where?" he said, with firm respect. "To drive to the cathedral and observe the preparations for next week," was the dry explanation. "Pardon me yet again; without escort?" "Yes." "Perhaps Monsieur Allard disapproves," suggested Dalmorov sarcastically. "I do," Allard declared, taking a step toward Adrian and throwing back his head obstinately. "It is not fit for the Emperor to go on the streets to-night. Sire, I have talked with Captain Alisov of the guards and with Zaliski of the secret police, and it is a seething frenzy of excitement out there. This morning's attack has brought to the surface the most dangerous elements in the capital. To-morrow all may be under control, but to-night it is not fit." "Your affectionate solicitude overwhelms me, Allard," Adrian retorted. The irony and the allusion brought Allard's color, but he maintained his position. "Sire, I state a fact. There is real and serious danger in such a drive this evening. I beg you to consider seriously the event occurring at noon." "I am not Feodor; the attack was on him. Let him keep his house if the people make it necessary." This of the adored Regent, for whom the whole Empire mourned in bitter regret! It was too much. "Sire, the attack this morning was intended for you," Allard flung with exasperated bluntness. "When the assailant saw the Grand Duke, he shouted directions how to prevent the explosion. It was meant for you; all the court and city know it." Adrian stood quite still, looking from one to the other. Aghast at the introduction of rude truth, not venturing to deny what could be verified, Dalmorov found no words. "For me?" the Emperor repeated. "Yes, sire. And for that I am amazed at Baron Dalmorov's willingness that you should go out." "It is safe," cried Dalmorov furiously. "If you are afraid, Monsieur Allard, of your own tales, ask to be left here and let me attend his Imperial Majesty." If the statement regarding the morning had made any impression on Adrian, he shook it off as soon as received. "So; suppose I adopt that suggestion, Allard?" he remarked. "Sire, if you go out I shall have the honor of going also." "If I choose that you shall," the Emperor replied. His eyes afire, Allard touched the star upon his coat. "If this gives me any claim to your consideration, sire, you will not refuse me the privilege of accompanying you. I did not speak for myself, indeed I think you scarcely believe so; I spoke because the imperial carriage will attract every eye and recognition will be certain. There is no one in the Empire for whom the worst districts would be so dangerous as the brightest avenues will be for you, sire." "You invited me out into that, Baron?" was the incredulous question. "Because it is safe, sire. Because the Regent keeps the secret police on guard and I informed—" he checked himself abruptly. The comprehension that rushed to Adrian's expression was far from pleased. "Oh; I was to go out for a private tour of observation, surrounded by the secret police. All my compliments, Dalmorov. It would doubtless have been safe, if somewhat misleading." "No, sire—" "Let me explain, Allard," he went on, mercilessly ignoring the baron's dismay at the exposure of his designs before Stanief's friend. "Dalmorov has long been interested in showing me the spirit of the capital and the necessity for various changes in the government. And regarding to-day as the climax of dissatisfaction with the Regent's methods, he proposed a quiet drive through the principal streets as a means of gaging the public feeling. He suggested that I would find such a trip an amusing novelty." Remembering their many expeditions Allard's lips twitched, in spite of his indignant disgust at the intrigues which were dragging Stanief down with myriad nets of cobweb spinning. "So I consented. The baron felt very strongly the conviction that the people themselves would prove to me the necessity of a different mode of rule at once. Now it appears that his zeal deceived him, and we can very well wait to conclude affairs with dignity next week. That will do, Dalmorov; the loving care that made you surround me with secret guards might also have impelled you to arrange the crowds from which I was to gather my opinion. I shall remain at home to-night. Pray say so to the police with whom you and the Regent annoy me, and send the carriage back to the stables." Dalmorov waited an instant for the storm to settle. It was not the first stinging rebuke he had endured from the young autocrat, but he had the consolation of knowing that few or none of the court escaped the same infliction. "I acted from the purest motives," he began, with profound humility. "If my too-great anxiety has displeased your Imperial Majesty, I am grieved to the heart." Adrian turned to him again, his brow quite clear. "Nothing can alter my regard for you, my dear baron," he interrupted kindly. "Only, do not interfere another time. Go, do my errand; I shall spend this evening looking over some plans with Allard. Good night." There was a pause after the door closed. Adrian stood slowly removing his gloves, which he abstractedly tossed with his cloak upon the nearest chair, and Allard remained waiting patiently. With the latter's relief at the decision was mingled a vague wonder at the parting glance he had received from Dalmorov. Certainly worsted in the late passage of arms, the baron nevertheless had looked at his antagonist with malevolent and sinister triumph, a distinctly gratified hate. Was it because he divined that the American suffered with Stanief's hurt, and would go with him into voluntary exile? There seemed no other solution, yet— "Open the wardrobe and take out our wraps," Adrian's matter-of-fact tones broke in upon the reverie. "I will walk to the garage with you, since the palace is watched, instead of letting you bring the car here." "Sire!" gasped Allard. "I told you after dinner that I was going out; I never change my mind. Simply, Dalmorov is eliminated. Make haste, please." In despair of gaining more, Allard obeyed, his brief satisfaction ended. Resignedly he assisted Adrian into his long coat and put on his own, finding what comfort he could in the fact that they had taken many such journeys undetected. In spite of his injunction to make haste, the Emperor did not take at once his cap and gauntlets but remained dangling his mask by its ribbons and watching his companion's preparations. "Allard," he said, "you have the faculty of finding yourself in posts of danger and making yourself famous. It is an art, or a destiny, that of being apropos. Three years ago you acquired a scar and a star in protecting me; now you have repeated the exploit for Feodor. Come here." Wondering, Allard turned. "Pardon, sire," he objected, "I did nothing at all for the Grand Duke. He himself destroyed the bomb; I merely looked on and tried to help." "Ah? Well, the Grand Duke and the rest of the capital do not agree with you. In the newspapers of several continents you are figuring as an example of self-possessed bravery and devotion to our house; probably you do not care, but the world must have its sensations. And since Feodor can not give the tinsel toys that accompany such events, affairs are left in my hands. Bend your head—so." He had lifted a slender, glittering cordon he himself wore, and deftly threw it around the other's neck with the last word. Completely taken by surprise, Allard had no time for retreat. "Sire, I should prefer not!" he exclaimed decidedly, almost angrily. "I—the Grand Duke is my friend; such things have no place between us. Forgive me, and allow me to decline." "I do not care in the least whether you prefer or not," Adrian replied, with the most perfect indifference. "Or whether you earned it or not. It is simply a question of dignity. This is expected of me, and I refuse to have it said that I place a higher valuation on my own life than on that of any one else. You will accept, and wear the order. Of course you do not prize the plaything; neither do I. Shall we go?" The presentation was sufficiently incongruous, indeed the whole scene was typical of Adrian himself in its mingling of medieval and ultra-modern: the two men in their half-opened motoring coats, and beneath, the gleam of the quaint, ancient, gemmed symbols. And the Emperor added the final touch by picking up the hideous goggled mask and putting it on. "Let us go," he repeated. Allard looked down at the pendant Maltese cross of rubies as he buttoned his coat, then caught up gauntlets and cap, and went to open the door. "Dare I offer my thanks after being so ungracious, sire?" he asked contritely. "If you choose. But I would rather have you remember in the future that I gave you the decoration before we took this drive, not after." It was useless to endeavor to understand Adrian's enigmatical moods, but that sentence puzzled Allard for many hours, whenever it recurred to him. The walk to the garage was accomplished as often before. Several times they passed men whom Allard recognized as belonging to the secret service, and doubtless passed many more whom he did not know, all letting the Emperor's favorite go by, unquestioned, with his companion. But he sighed with relief when they finally reached the garage and he stepped into the low, silver-gray machine beside his pretended chauffeur. A man flung open the wide doors, Adrian bent forward with truly professional ease and nonchalance, and they were out in the damp night air. Through the humming, fevered city they slipped, merely one of many vehicles. The streets were filled with walking people, without destination or object, walking only from consuming restlessness or excitement. The murmur of countless voices rose above the throbbing voice of the automobile as it wound in and out among the crowds. On every corner men were collected in groups, noisy or quiet according to their class, but alike in grim earnestness. Policemen and soldiers were everywhere; spurred by the Emperor's threat, the chief of police was sifting the city grain by grain for the criminal of the morning. Not to the cathedral did the gray car take its flight, and Allard's amazement reached its culmination when they halted before one of the capital's main hotels, under the glaring electric lights. For the first time it dawned upon him that there was an object behind the apparent capriciousness of the trip. "I am to descend?" he hazarded, as his companion did not speak. "No; you are to wait for me." "I—you—" Adrian deliberately stepped down and crossed the bright, crowded sidewalk into the lobby, deigning no explanation whatever. Utterly stupefied, powerless to interfere, Allard watched him; saw him hand a card to the attendant who advanced, then follow on into an elevator and disappear. The huge hall was filled with chatting men and women, many of them moving in the court or diplomatic circles; to the watcher's excited fancy it seemed impossible that they should not recognize the slight, erect figure; it seemed that Adrian's identity cried out from every leisurely movement, every turn of the small imperious head. But presently the attendant returned alone, tranquil and smiling. It was fully an hour that Allard waited, each of the sixty minutes an hour in itself. Many of those passing knew and bowed to him; some came over to congratulate him on the day's escape or to ask questions concerning it. One or two ladies paused with their escorts to shower him with effusive compliments. Knowing nothing of Adrian's intentions, he dared not even assume the partial protection of his mask. The climax arrived with the vibrating roar of another automobile, which fell into silence behind him as Count Rosal came placidly around to greet his friend. "You, Allard," he welcomed languidly. "I thought you were on duty every night." "Not this evening; the Emperor," he recollected the fiction told Dalmorov, "the Emperor is busy with some plans." "I have been with the Regent. Do you believe it, the accident has made him look years younger. There must be some tonic in gunpowder and sulphur fumes. But you, you appear rather upset and pale; or is it these abominable lights?" "It has been a hard day. I am too tired to be amusing, Rosal." Rosal put his foot on the running-board without the least sign of going away. "Then why are you not at home?" he very naturally inquired. "Because I had an errand; I was too nervous to rest." "Waiting for some one?" "My chauffeur." Rosal settled his eye-glass, extracted a case of cigarettes which he proceeded to offer to Allard, and himself selected one of the contents. "Tell me," he said confidentially, "is it true that the Emperor took scarcely any interest in the Regent's escape?" "No." Allard watched a descending elevator with keen anxiety; the fear that Adrian had been decoyed into some trap was becoming unbearable, yet it was impossible to go in search of him. "They say so at the palace, and all over the city. They say he did not even give a word of praise to you." Aroused to justice as well as a desire to shield Stanief, Allard withdrew his eyes from the hotel entrance to regard his visitant. "Does this seem so?" he demanded irritably, and pushed aside his coat to permit a glimpse of the fiery gem he wore. Rosal's cigarette fell to the pavement; the idle patrician was well skilled in matters heraldic. "That!" he cried, dazzled and envious. Allard shrugged his shoulders and leaned back. "Were you going somewhere?" he asked. "Oh, no; just trying to avoid being bored. Every felicitation, my dear Allard; that is superb. You have nothing to fear from next week, evidently. Vasili told me yesterday that Dalmorov was speaking so kindly of you that it positively alarmed him. The baron praised everything you had ever done, from the time you came aboard the Nadeja at New York. And he asked all manner of questions about the trip over and the Grand Duke's fondness for you." "Yes?" Allard responded absently. He could see an illuminated clock down the street, and he resolved that when the hand reached the hour he would defy Adrian's order and go in quest of him. "Yes. A jealous animal, Dalmorov. New family; the title is only three generations old. I shall go to Paris next week; he never liked me very much, and there is a new singer at the Théâtre Français. Tiens, here is your man!" Allard turned sharply, catching his breath. Rosal, who knew the Emperor so well,—could he be deceived? Certainly he could not keep the secret if it were learned, not if the mines, exile and sudden death itself awaited his disclosure; every club in the capital could have afforded tales of "ce bon bavard Rosal." Adrian came through the vestibule and across the sidewalk with absolute composure. At Rosal he barely glanced while raising his gloved hand in conventional salute to the owner of the car. "Good night, Rosal," Allard said pointedly. Rosal did not move from his position, blocking entrance to the machine and surveying the arrival with mild interest. "This is the chauffeur who drives over the limit about once a month?" he asked, with genuine continental and aristocratic insolence to a supposed inferior. "My man, do not apply to me for a position when your master tires of you; you are too expensive a luxury." Adrian saluted imperturbably. "He is English, he understands no French," Allard interposed. "Really, Rosal, I am in haste." "The Emperor will want you? Alisov told me his Imperial Majesty was particularly difficult to-day, so I do not envy you. He is never facile, eh? Once more, congratulations." Adrian's white teeth flashed in the electric light as he averted his face from the unconscious Rosal and entered the automobile. He was still smiling under his mask when he sent the machine leaping forward. "I would have given a good deal to have heard your unbiased reply to that, Allard," he remarked. "I fear you would not have been flattered, sire," was the grim answer. "I have spent an unendurable evening. Let me implore you to return to the palace." "Eventually. Put on your mask; we are going driving." Allard obeyed in dumb protest, his powers of remonstrance exhausted, and resigned himself to as disagreeable an hour's sport as he could imagine. But it was almost enough for the time being to feel his charge beside him in comparative security. As if impelled by perversity, Adrian drove through one swarming avenue after another, across the square and down the street where the morning's attack had taken place, swinging finally into the dark, deserted park. Too early in the season, too late at night, for promenaders, the quietness here was in vivid contrast to the scenes just left. Tired out by excitement and strain, bearing the constant aching regret for Stanief's setting star, Allard had been gradually lulled into mesmeric quiescence by the shifting lights and shadows. And by a freak of exhausted nerves, it was old things thrust out of sight for years which took shape out of the dark and dragged their ugliness before him in a strange waking nightmare. He forgot the risk of accident, the danger of the return through the city, but he saw Desmond's rugged face framed in the doorway of the cottage above the Hudson and felt the anguish of the abandonment to worse than death. Pictures of his trial rose persistently, details of the intolerably bitter months of prison lashed his pride. "You spoke?" Adrian's cool voice broke in. "Pardon, sire; an old pain caught my breath." Unnoticed by one of its passengers, the automobile increased its speed, rocking softly from side to side, leaping with cat-like lightness the inequalities of the road. One might have imagined that the driver also fled from his own thoughts through the empty parkways. Allard saw nothing; here in the heart of Europe, by the Emperor's side, the hateful gray walls had closed around him and he relived the unlivable. He was stifling, suffocating, with the sweet spring air singing past like a strong wind. A sharp whistle pierced above the whining purr of the motor, a shouted command. Allard started up, bewildered, and the black mood fell from him as a muffling garment cast aside. They had emerged again into the city, at the same gait. "The police, sire," he warned reproachfully. "We must stop." "I will not. Let them try to catch us." "They will know the car." "Then we will pay the fine, to-morrow. If they threaten worse I will pardon you." The irony of that might have brought Allard's laugh if he had not been distracted by the view ahead. "Not possible, sire; there is a regiment crossing at the head of the square. If we are examined—" Adrian sullenly shut off the power and came to a standstill. He had no desire to have his amusement ended and made an anecdote all over the Empire. "Tell them you are on my affairs," he directed, as the two pursuing officers galloped toward them. "Or anything you choose. I will not go through a police station farce to-night, do you understand?" Allard did laugh that time, the relief of waking to reality still tingling in his veins. "Then I must go alone, if they insist. May I ask to take the driver's seat and claim his responsibility?" "For what? They would take the machine. Do you expect me to walk alone to the palace?" "Good heavens, no!" Allard exclaimed vehemently. The two riders came panting up as Adrian replied with an expressive shrug. "You are under arrest, messieurs," was the crisp announcement. Allard leaned out into the light of the street lamp, taking off his mask and shaking his coat unbuttoned from top to bottom. Perhaps a memory of Rosal's admiration prompted the last move. "For over-speeding?" he inquired sweetly. "Certainly; monsieur was going at least forty miles an hour." "Ah, but my errand was important. I am Monsieur Allard, of the household of his Imperial Majesty." John Allard's name was linked with Stanief's on every tongue in the capital that night. Moreover, he stood up as he spoke and his coat fell apart, revealing the confirming luster of jewels and his elaborately careful dress. "We are desolated, Excellency," the man stammered. "Oh, you were quite right, but I assure you that it would be a mistake to carry this further. I am on an errand for—some one not to be questioned. Just fail to remember that you saw me, and there will be no trouble." He held out a hand in which a yellow coin gleamed alluringly. The officer coughed, and stooped. "Yes, Excellency. Graciously excuse our stupidity; it is true that the light misled us as to the speed of your Excellency's car." "Exactly. Good night." "Good night, Excellency." "Allard, Allard," drawled Adrian, throwing his levers, "bribery and deception! And under my eyes." "I obeyed orders, sire," he retorted demurely. "May I drive?" "La belle excuse! However, I admit the coercion. No, you may not drive; I will consider your reputation the rest of the way." This time they turned home, at a more modest pace. Again they ran the gauntlet of the brilliant, sullen streets, and Allard's heart lost a beat with each halt made necessary by the crowd or each glance from the knots of men gathered on the corners. At the sleepy garage they at last arrived, and left the automobile. It was but a short distance to the palace, and they walked in silence until almost before the door, when Adrian paused for an instant. "You guard me so carefully, with so much energy, my inconsistent Allard," he observed, the lighter manner of the last hours hardened into his usual coldness. "Have you then not thought what it would mean to your beloved Regent if I were removed?" "Sire, if I thought of that it would be to guard you with double care," Allard flashed, shocked and deeply wounded. "Surely I owe so much." And after a moment, recovering a little, "For that matter, even the Baron Dalmorov admits the protection that the Regent draws around your Imperial Majesty. Sire, if the Grand Duke planned treason, has he not had ample opportunities before now?" "Are you trying to convince me that some one still exists who possesses a sense of duty?" "Perhaps you will more readily credit a sense of honor, sire." "Perhaps. So it is a point of honor to take care of me?" "Yes, sire." Adrian turned and went on without comment. The guard at the door saluted Allard without regarding the uninteresting figure of the chauffeur, and they passed into the safety of the palace. When they were once more in the little salon and had slipped off their wraps, the impression seized Allard that his companion was rather pale and fatigued. Either from the pallor or from recent excitement Adrian looked younger than usual as he stood pushing back the dark hair disordered by his mask, and the watcher was pierced by remorse and something of Stanief's wide pity for the one so warped by circumstance and environment. Very kind to him the Emperor had been, the Emperor who next week would send away the only two men who cared for him and stand splendidly desolate in his treacherous court. The pathos of it beat down resentment. And being transparent, Allard's gray eyes betrayed the softened thoughts as they encountered the other's. "Well?" Adrian questioned, as if to a spoken phrase. "You will not believe me, sire, but—I would guard you if nothing compelled." Adrian made a movement of surprise, then smiled at Allard with almost his cousin's charming grace. "Why should I not believe you, who are truth itself? Thank you, Allard. Pray come with me; it is time to rest, I fancy." Allard hurriedly put away their motoring garments, and presently they went from the room. But the Emperor was not one around whom gentle illusions long could cling; sword-like he slipped through such gauzy fabrics. As they parted for the night he regarded Allard keenly, with even a suggestion of amused cruelty. "If you have found me indecorously frivolous to-night," he said, "remember how near we are to next week. It will be a robust sense of honor that survives next week, Allard. You can not conceive how earnestly I desire my day for which I have waited so long." Allard stiffened to the rigidity of self-control; comprehending all the allusion to Stanief, he found no reply he dared give. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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