XXIV Raoul
Raoul looked up, thoughtfully, playing with his pistols, and said to King Constantine in an unaccented and conversational tone:
“After all, who were you to rule Naxos?—you cheap, treacherous, yellow dog!”
That partly cleared the king’s muddy mind and he lurched to an upright position and began to take notice.
“You sold Greece to the boche,” continued Raoul in his serene, even voice, toying idly with his pistols. “What else you did—what else you are—is a trifle too vile to repeat aloud——”
He turned and looked at the Tzar of all the Bulgars whose ungainly bulk as he sat on his chair was now agitated by visible tremors:
“Murderer and coward,” mused Raoul aloud. “Every time you hire your gun-men to kill an enemy you hurry away to establish an alibi, don’t you? You cheap peddler of duped people—you made a rotten bargain this time, didn’t you? When your treacherous pal, Tino, betrayed Serbia, you swindled your own people, didn’t you?”
He shrugged, dangled his pistols, glanced at Gizzler,—or rather through Gizzler as though, the wretched creature were not there,—and his eyes encountered the interested jet black orbs of Eddin Bey.
Both smiled, Eddin in the face of death; Raoul with the generous grin of a man who recognizes in his enemy a peer.
“Eddin Bey,” he said, still smiling, “the Osmanli fight fairly. Ask the British Tommy.... And your fool of a Sultan is dead. And what do you think of affairs at present?”
“They are not any too gay,” replied Eddin Bey, laughing, “especially in the Alps.”
The half smile on Raoul’s face flickered and faded:
“You’re about done for, you Turks,” he said quietly. “You bet on the wrong horse, too. And now Enver Pasha keeps running to Berlin to ask why the all-highest doesn’t make him Khedive of Egypt as he promised. And Taalat is scared, and the butcher Djavid is in the dumps. Oh, I know it was not you Osmanli that set the Kurds and Bashi-Bazouks on the Armenians. That butchery of a million souls, men, women, children, babies, was conceived by the Berlin government and superintended from the Yldiz Palace.”
Raoul turned and looked contemptuously at the Germans:
“You square-heads,” he said, “have achieved one thing, anyway. Never before in history has a nation been indicted, and it was supposed it could not be done. But it has been done in your case. And for the first time also in history an entire race is spoken of and known to civilization only by a revolting nick-name—boche!
“Do you know what it means? There have been disputes concerning the origin of the term boche. The French say it means a stupid fellow—a clown; the Belgians think that it is a vulgar term for ‘blockhead.’ But I shall tell you what it really does mean: it means, in South African Dutch, an unclean and degraded species of wart-hog; and it has been in use for fifty years!”
He lifted one pistol and sat idly twirling it around his fore-finger.
“I know why you came here to Schwindlewald,” he said, “to put that back on the throne of Greece!”—he nodded toward Tino.
“In Berne you live luxuriously and wastefully in the midst of famine. You eat as usual; your bread is white; there are no restrictions for you in the matter of food amid a hungry people. You maintain a court there with flunkies, stables, motor-cars—every necessity and luxury which is now forbidden by Swiss law and by the law of decency you violate daily!”
He looked at the queen:
“Your effrontery, madame, is of course, in keeping with Hohenzollern tradition. But things are happening now—now, madame,—at this very moment! And I’m wondering just how long the Swiss are likely to endure your behavior in Berne.”
He sat silent after that for a little while, twirling his pistols and whistling softly to himself:
“Crack-brain-cripple-arm——”
Suddenly Eddin made a quick motion and Raoul shot the leg off his chair letting him down with a crash.
The startling crash of the pistol-shot brought them to their feet.
“Sit down!” said Raoul sharply, “or it will be a living leg next time; and the time after that a wooden head!” He sat watching Eddin getting to his feet with a shame-faced laugh:
“No use,” said Raoul in a friendly voice, “it can’t be done, Colonel.”
“I notice it can’t,” remarked Eddin, laughing. “Well sir, you have entertained us very pleasantly with your historical inappropos. Is there to be a denouément perhaps?”
“Did you expect one?”
Eddin shrugged: “A firing-squad, possibly. But of course I don’t insist.”
Raoul shook his curly head: “No, Colonel Eddin; no firing-squad. No Turkish atrocities, no Bulgarian murders, no boche bestialities.” He turned contemptuously on Constantine:
“You laid plans in Berne to entrap the leaders of the Ægean League. You forged instructions sent to me by Monsieur Venizelos. You attempted to foment an uprising in Naxos because you foresaw the trouble it would bring between two of the Allied powers—between Italy and Greece!
“Also you conceived and encouraged a plot to attempt the capture of yourself and your wife because you believed that Greece, although now rid of you, would resent such an attempt; and that chivalrous America would be shocked at the kidnaping of a woman—even such a notorious one as your Hohenzollern wife.”
He eyed him for a moment: “You are the cheapest back-stairs scullion who ever grafted, Tino,” he said. “But remember this little couplet the next time you go gaily grafting:
“‘Grecian gift and Spanish fig
Help the fool his grave to dig!’”
“That’s the motto of the Ægean League!” burst out the queen in a white hot fury.
“It is, madame,” returned Raoul, pleasantly.
Then he placed the other foot on the floor and got up leisurely from his seat on the table.
“You’re all free to go,” he said carelessly.
A moment of suspense, then the boche herd scrambled to its feet and rushed for the nearest exit. And Raoul came over to where I stood beside Thusis with Smith and Clelia beside me.
“All their weapons are locked up in the cellar,” he said, laughing; “let them look for them. Also I have all their documents packed up. We’re through with them,” he added, smiling at Thusis.
But there was a thunder cloud on her white brow:
“Are we not going to secure and crate the kings, Raoul?” she demanded. “Do you and Josephine fail me, now?”
“Duchess,” he said smilingly, “news came to-night—a real communication from Monsieur Venizelos.”
“How could it come?” I asked.
“The Pass is open,” he replied serenely. “And,” turning to Thusis, “so is the road to France. And we should travel it this night unless we wish to see our papers taken from us and our persons subjected to arrest by these somewhat singular Swiss gendarmes.”
“What did Monsieur Venizelos say?” insisted Thusis, tears of disappointment and vexation shining in her gray eyes.
“The letter is here,”—Raoul touched his breast pocket—“at the disposal of her grace the Duchess of Naxos——”
“Tell me!” cried Thusis, angrily, “and let my ‘grace’ go to the devil!”
“Monsieur Venizelos warns us of Tino’s forgery. We are not to touch these kings: we are not to proclaim Naxos an Italian Duchy and you its hereditary ruler.”
There was a painful silence.
Very slowly Thusis turned and looked at me. And I remembered then what I had said to her about the purity and unselfishness of justifiable revolutions.
And now I realized that part of this revolution in Naxos was the restoration of an ancient Duchy and of a family as ancient, embodied in this young girl before me.
At that moment Tino came lurching into the room followed by the queen, and presently by the majority of the huns in the house-party.
“Somebody has been through my luggage!” he barked. “Now I’m damned if I put up with that——”
Raoul still held one of his pistols in his hand and Tino’s bloodshot eyes fell on it.
“Oh, very well,” he said, turning on his heel.
The queen, pallid and ghastly with fury, faced us a moment:
“You’ll all pay this reckoning!” she whispered,—“every one of you!”
“Madame,” said Raoul gaily, “the Pass is open. And really very wonderful news has come through. But I’m afraid you don’t like Yankees, and it won’t interest you to hear that the Yankee General Pershing has wiped out the St. Mihiel salient, and the guns of Metz are saluting the event.”
“Lies!” she retorted; “Yankee lies!” She bit her lip, glared at us all, turned her Hohenzollern back on us. Behind her stood the huddled huns, sullen, enraged, baffled in their headlong rush to find weapons for avenging Prussian “honor.”
They were quite helpless although outnumbering us; and they seemed to realize it.
Raoul, watching them, passed his pistols to me and walking coolly in among them and shoving the Admiral and Von Dungheim out of his way, went to the kitchen. Josephine had wrung out the disinfected garments of the Bolsheviki. But they were still steaming when Raoul unlocked their door and flinging the clothing at them, bade them dress and depart.
“The Pass is open,” he said. “It’s a summer night and you won’t take cold. Get into those things and get out of this house! And,” he added, “you ought to be obliged for what I’ve done to you.”
When Raoul came back the huns had retired to their several apartments; Smith and Clelia stood by the window whispering together; Thusis was absently looking over the letter from Monsieur Venizelos; and I leaned in the doorway gazing out at the high stars above the disfigured Bec de l’Empereur.
“Nature pulled his nose and twisted it, too,” murmured Raoul, passing me. Then he said aloud:
“It really is not healthy for us here any longer. The Swiss gendarmes will arrive in the morning. I have held the wagon that penetrated the Pass. It’s waiting for us. So if you’ll be kind enough to pack your luggage——”
“Are you going?” I asked, appalled.
“We must,” said Raoul gaily. “And I regret to say that I think you and Mr. Smith had better come with us.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“It’s too bad to have done this to you,” said Raoul, “but we couldn’t very well avoid it. You had better cross with us into France until this blows over. The boche are sure to raise a terrific row; and the Swiss are mortally afraid of invasion. So if you remain you’ll be annoyed—held for examination—possibly imprisoned. But they won’t confiscate your estate: you know too much about the Swiss Government’s cognizance of these hun conspirators, and their use of neutral soil.”
I scarcely heard him; I was looking at Thusis who stood bending over the music-box and studying the disks lying there.
“Could I help you to pack up?” insisted Raoul.
“Thanks; I shall remain here,” said I quietly.
At that moment the door burst open and Puppsky, his clothing still steaming in spots, rushed in upon us followed by Wildkatz in similar and vaporous attire:
“I been robbed!” yelled Puppsky. “All my papers und evertings it bass been robbed me alretty!”
Raoul shot a contemptuous glance at the chattering pair of Reds: “I haven’t bothered about your papers,” he said.
“Did I say you done it! No, I did not say you done!” shouted Puppsky. “I see this here Countess hanging around by the room of comrade Wildkatz. What for iss she in this, I ask it? She iss who, perhaps? I think she got my papers also comrade Wildkatz he also believes it——”
“Go and ask her!” said Raoul bluntly.
When they were gone Smith turned from the window where he had been whispering with Clelia:
“It’s quite en règle,” he said coolly. “The Countess Manntrapp is in the employment of the Siberian government. She came here to get what she wanted and report on these Reds. She left for the Pass an hour ago, on foot.”
The unseen web in the center of which I had unwittingly stood for so long suddenly became partly visible to me.
Raoul laughed. “It’s really a pity,” he remarked to me, “that we can’t catch and box up these kings and take them along with us. But Venizelos says no; and he’s always right. So we had all better pack up and be on our way.”
He went off whistling the “Crack-brain” song. Presently, without noticing me, Thusis turned from the music-box and walked over to where her sister was standing; and I heard her say something about dressing.
I turned away and went silently upstairs to my room, and, closing the door, seated myself.
The baby-party indeed was ended.