“What? What do you mean?” stammered Oncle Charles.
Prokop made a gesture in the air with his hand as if he were throwing something imaginary in front of him. “Bang,” he said.
Oncle Charles drew back. “You intend to defend yourself?”
Prokop said nothing, but stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning darkly and reflecting.
Oncle Charles, pale and fragile in the nocturnal darkness, stepped up to him. “Do you … love her as much as that?” he said quickly, gulping with emotion.
Prokop did not answer. “You love her,” repeated Rohn, and embraced him. “Be strong. Leave her and go away! You can’t stay here, you must realize that. What would it lead to? For God’s sake have pity on her. Save her from a scandal. Can you really imagine that she could ever be your wife? It may be that she is in love with you but—she is too proud; she wouldn’t forego the title of Princess. … Oh, it’s impossible, it’s impossible! I don’t wish to know what there was between you, but if you love her, go away! Go at once, this very night! In the name of love, go away, friend, I beg you in her name. You’ve made her the most unhappy woman—isn’t that enough? Protect her if she’s not able to protect herself! Do you love her? Then sacrifice yourself!”
Prokop stood motionless, his head bent, and le bon prince felt that this black rough trunk was splitting inside with pain. His heart was torn in sympathy, but he had still one more card to play; if it was not successful he would have to give in.
“She’s proud, fantastic, wildly ambitious; she’s been like that from childhood. And now we have received the valuable information that she’s a princess whose pedigree is equal to that of anyone else’s. You don’t realize what that means to her. To her and to us. It may be prejudice but … such things are our life. Prokop, the Princess is going to be married. She is marrying a Grand Duke without a throne—a decent and amenable person—but she, she will fight for the crown, for fighting is her nature, her mission, her pride. At last her lifelong dream is being realized. And now you’re standing between her and her future. But she’s already decided; she’s only torturing herself with reproaches—”
“Aha!” cried Prokop. “So it’s that way, is it? And—you think that I shall give way now? Wait and see!”
And before Oncle Rohn could realize what was happening he had hurried off in the darkness to the laboratory. Mr. Holz silently behind him.
XXXVII
When they reached the laboratory he wanted to slam the door in Holz’s face, so as to fortify himself inside, but Mr. Holz just had time to whisper the words: “The Princess.”
“What’s that?” said Prokop, turning round sharply.
“She has instructed me to remain with you.”
Prokop was unable to disguise his delighted surprise. “Has she paid you?”
Mr. Holz shook his head and for the first time a smile passed across his parchment-like face. “She gave me her hand,” he said respectfully. “I promised her that nothing should happen to you.”
“Good. Have you got the gun? Now you shall watch the door. Nobody must come in, you understand?”
Mr. Holz nodded and Prokop made a thorough strategical examination of the laboratory, considered as a fortress.
Fairly satisfied, he collected on the table all the metal vessels and boxes which he could get together, and further, to his great delight, discovered a heap of nails. Then he set to work.
The next morning Mr. Carson, with a fine assumption of casualness, wandered down to Prokop’s laboratory. When some distance away he made him out standing in front of the building, evidently practising throwing stones. “A very healthy sport,” he shouted cheerfully.
Prokop hastily put on his coat again. “Healthy and useful,” he answered readily. “What do you want me for?”
The pockets of his coat bulged out and something rattled inside them. “What have you got in your pockets?” asked Mr. Carson carelessly.
“Nitric acid,” said Prokop. “And explosives.”
“H’m. Why do you carry it in your pockets?”
“Oh, just for a joke. Is there anything you want to say to me?”
“Nothing at the moment. Particularly not at this moment,” said Mr. Carson uneasily, keeping at a fair distance. “And what have you got in those—those boxes?”
“Nails. And here,” he said, bringing a little box out of his pockets, “is some Benzoltetraoxozonid, a novelty, the dernier cri. Eh?”
“Don’t wave it about,” said Mr. Carson, retreating to a safer distance. “Is there any request you have to make?”
“Request?” said Prokop pleasantly. “I should be obliged if you would tell them something. To begin with, that I’m not going.”
“Good. That’s to be understood. And further?”
“And further, if anybody should inadvertently attack me … or try to make an assault on me. … I hope that it isn’t your intention to murder me.”
“Certainly not. Honestly.”
“You can come nearer.”
“You won’t go up in the air?”
“I shall be careful. I only wanted to ask you to stop anybody entering my fortress while I’m away from it. There’s an explosive fuse on the door. Be careful; there’s a trap behind you.”
“Explosive?”
“Only Diazobenzolperchlorate. You must warn people. Nobody’s to come near here, see? Further, I’ve certain reasons … to believe that I’m in danger. I should be grateful to you if you would arrange for Holz to protect me personally … against every sort of attack. And he should be armed.”
“No,” said Carson loudly. “Holz will be transferred.”
“What?” protested Prokop. “I’m afraid to be alone, you understand? Kindly instruct him.” So saying he approached Carson threateningly, rattling as if he was made of nothing but tin and nails.
“All right then,” said Carson hastily. “Holz, you are to look after Mr. Prokop. If anybody wishes to approach him—Devil take it, do what you like. Is there anything else you want?”
“Nothing for the moment.
