'The Grand Panjandrum himself,' says he, 'and the less he sees of us just now, the better. Don’t want to spoil tomorrow’s surprise, do we? Let’s grin into our hats ’till he’s past. We doffed, covering ourselves, and as the carriage crossed the Kreutzplatz to polite cheering, Willem laughed. 'Tell you what, Harry—he looks more than half like you!'
I don’t care to be told that I resemble royalty; it wakes too many unpleasant memories, and in the case of Franz-Josef it was downright foolish, for while he cut a fairish figure, tall, dark and well-moustached and whiskered, he had no more style than a clothes-horse—and I ain’t got a Hapsburg lip or the stare of a backward haddock. He didn’t have my shoulders or easy carriage, either, and as he’d raised his hat I’d noted that his hair was receding— and dyed, by the look of it. That aside, he hadn’t changed much in the fifteen years since I’d seen him. He’d be in his early fifties now, eight years my junior.
'It’s a solemn thought,' says Willem, as we resumed our walk down the Landstrasse, 'that as he drives serenely by, the Holnup lads will be watching.' He nodded at the fashionable shoppers thronging the pavements. 'Aye, they’ll be here, biding their time for tomorrow night, or the next. Too smart to try a shot or a bomb in open day, though risky, and not near so impressive as cutting his throat in his own bedroom.' He slipped his arm through mine. 'Little do they know, eh?'
I hardly heard him. Somehow the sight of Franz-Josef had driven it home to me that in a few hours I’d be embarked on the lunatic business of faking a game leg in his coverts, being taken in as his guest, and prowling his blasted house in the middle of the night in the company of this bloodthirsty young ruffian, waiting for assassins to break in. It was like some beastly dream, there in this bustling, sunny resort, with respectable, decent folk strolling by, the women exclaiming at the shop windows, their men pausing indulgently, young people chattering gaily at the cafe tables—dammit, a pair of polizei twirling their moustaches at the next corner … and Willem must have had some sixth sense, for his arm tightened on mine and he shot me a quick glance as we walked past them. The urge to wrench free and run screaming for help lasted only an instant; I daren’t, and I knew I daren’t … but, oh Lord, somehow, in the next few hours, I must summon up the courage to try … what? The sweat was breaking out on me as we reached the Golden Ship, and Willem called cheerfully for coffee and cake.
And it was all wasted fear, for the die was cast already by hands other than Bismarck’s, and rolling in my direction.
We dined early that evening, and for all his artless banter I sensed that Willem was wound tight, as was Kralta. She it was who proposed that we should visit the casino, less from an urge for play, I guessed, than for some distraction from the strain of waiting. Willem said it was a capital notion, and I forced a cheery agreement, so then we waited while Kralta donned her evening finery, and presently we strolled through the lantern-lit gardens to the New Casino, with Beefy acting as rearguard and taking post at the entrance as we passed into the salon.
That feeling of unreality that had gripped me in the streets came back with a vengeance under the glittering chandeliers. It was a scene from operetta, like the Prince’s reception we’d seen at the theatre the previous night, a swirl of elegant figures clustered round the tables or waltzing in the ballroom beyond, all laughter and gaiety and heady music, gallants in immaculate evening rig or dress uniform, the ladies splendid in coloured silks, bright eyes and white shoulders and jewels a-gleam in the candleshine, glasses raised to red lips and white-gloved fingertips resting on stalwart arms, the rattle of the wheel and the voices of the croupiers mingling with the cries of delight or disappointment, the soft strains of 'La Belle Helene' and 'Blue Danube' from the orchestra, Ruritania come to life on a warm Austrian evening that would go on flirting and laughing and dancing forever … and a bare mile away, the lonely lodge among the dark silent trees with its precious royal tenant all unguarded against the creeping menace that would come by night, and only one desperate adventurer and one shivering poltroon to save the peace of Europe, unless at the eleventh hour that poltroon could streak to safety in the tall timber.
D’you wonder that while I retain a vivid image of the scene in that casino, I haven’t the faintest recollection of the play? Not that I’m much in the punting line; running a hell in Santa Fe convinced me that it’s money burned unless you hold the bank, but if I’d been as big a gambling fool as George Bentinck I’d not have noticed whether it was faro or roulette or vingt-et-un we wagered on; I was too much occupied keeping down my fears, mechanically holding Kralta’s stakes and muttering inane advice, working up my courage with brandy while Willem smoked and watched me across the table.
I know Kralta won, smiling coolly as her chips were pushed across, and suggesting we escape from the noise and crowd into the garden. Willem nodded, and she went off to find her stole and to tittivate while I collected her winnings from the caissier and sauntered out of the salon to the entrance, my heart going like a trip-hammer, for I knew it was now or never.
Beefy was on the q.v. at the head of the steps, so I told him offhand that her highness would come presently, and I would wait for her at the little fountain yonder. He scowled doubtfully, and as I went leisurely down the steps to the gravel walk I saw him from the tail of my eye, hesitating whether to wait or come after me. Sure enough, he stuck to his orders, and followed me; I heard his beetle-crunchers on the gravel as I paused to light a cheroot and loafed on idly towards the fountain, glittering prettily under the lanterns a few yards ahead. There were clusters of light every-where in the gardens, but deep stretches of dark among the trees—let me side-step swiftly into one of these and be off to a flying start, and if I couldn’t give that lumbering oaf ten yards in the hundred, even at my time of life, I’d deserve to be caught. And then I’d be in full flight with the length and breadth of Europe before me, Kralta’s winnings and my own cash to speed my pass-age, by train or coach or on foot or on hands and knees if need be—if I’ve learned one thing in life it’s to bolt at the first chance and let the future take care of itself … so now I strolled unhurriedly high', savvy?' That meant the Prime Minister, in politicals' lingo … Gladstone. 'And higher still,' adds Hutton sharply. My God, that could only mean the Queen …
'Now, understand this, sir. We know Bismarck’s plan, down to the last detail, for safeguarding the Emperor. Starnberg must have put it to you? Very good, tell me what he said, precisely, and quick as you like.'
When you’ve been trained as a political by Sekundar Burnes you talk to the point and ask no questions. In one short minute I’d been given staggering information demanding a thousand 'whys', but that didn’t matter. What did, was the joyous discovery that I was among friends and safe from Bismarck’s ghastly intrigues. So I gave ’em what they wanted, as terse as I knew how, from my boarding the Orient Express, omitting only those tender passages with Kralta which might have offended their sensibilities, and any mention of the Pechmann blackmail: my story was that Willem had backed up his proposal with a pistol. They listened in silence broken only once by a groan from the bushes, at which Hutton snarled over his shoulder: 'Hit him again, can’t you? And go through the bugger’s pockets every last penny, mind!'
When I’d finished he asked: 'Did you believe it?'
'How the blazes could I tell? It sounded wild, but—'
'Oh, it’s wild!' he agreed. 'It’s also gospel true, though I don’t blame you for doubting it … why the dooce couldn’t Bismarck approach you open and aboveboard instead of humbugging you aboard that train? Best way to make you disbelieve ’em, I’d say.' He shot me a leery look. 'Told Starnberg to go to the devil, did you?'
'By God I did, and let me tell you—'
'But you’re still with ’em, so either you’ve changed your mind or are pretending you’ve changed it.' He was no fool, this one. 'Well, sir, it makes no odds, for from this moment you’re with ’em in earnest. And that’s an order from Downing Street.'
Only paralysed disbelief at these frightful words prevented me from depositing my dinner at his feet. He couldn’t mean them, surely? But he did; as I gaped in stricken horror he went on urgently:
'It’s this way. Bismarck’s right. If these Hungarian villains succeed, God help the peace. And he’s right, too, that the Emperor can’t be warned—'
'It would be fatal!' The Frog spoke for the first time. 'There can be no confidence in his judgment. He might well provoke a storm. Bismarck’s plan is the only hope.'
'It not only preserves the Emperor but deals those Magyar fanatics a fatal blow,' says Hutton. 'Suppose something arose to make this attempt impossible, they’d just wait for another day—but wipe out their best assassins now, swift and sudden, and they’ll not come again!' I could see his eyes fairly gleaming in the shadows. 'So it rests with you and von Starnberg—but now you know you have the blessing of our own chief … and the French authorities, too, of course,' he added quickly, no doubt to keep Jean Crapaud happy.
'M. Grevy approves the plan, and your participation,' says Froggy, and smiled grimly. 'And your old copain of the Legion bids you `Bonne chance, camarade!' '
