The Puppet Crown by Harlod MacGrath (best life changing books .TXT) 📕

his head Stuler took down the tallow dip, unlocked the door, and bade Johann pass in. He caught up another bottle and glass and followed. Without a word he filled the glass and set it down before Johann, who raised it and drank, his beady eyes flashing over the rim of the glass and compelling the innkeeper to withdraw his gaze.

"Well?" said Stuler, uneasily.

"I need you." Johann finished his glass with moderate slowness. "Your storehouse on the lake is empty?"

"Yes, but-"

"I shall want it, two nights from this, in case Madame the duchess does not conquer the Englishman. I shall want two fellows who will ask no questions, but who will follow my instructions to the letter. It is an abduction."

"A nasty business," was Stuler's comment. "You have women to thank for your present occupation, Johann."

"Stuler, you are a fool. It is not a woman; it is a crown."

"Eh?" Stuler's eyes bulged.

"A crown. The duchess may remain a duchess. Who is master in Bleiberg to-day? At whose word the army moves or stands? At whose word the Osians fall or reign? On whom does the duchess rely? Who is king in deed, if not in fact? Who will find means to liquidate the kingdom's indebtedness, whoever may be the creditor? Pah! the princess may marry, but the groom will not be Prince Frederick. The man she will marry will be the husband of a queen, and he will be a king behind a woman's skirts. It is what the French call a coup d'etat. She will be glad to marry; there is no alternative. She will submit, if only that her father may die in peace."

"And this king?" in a whisper.

"You are old, Stuler; you remember many things of the past. Do you recollect a prince of a noble Austrian house by the name of Walmoden, once an aide to the emperor, who was cashiered from the army and exiled for corresponding with France?"

Stuler's hand shook as he brushed his forehead. "Yes, I recollect. He fought against the Prussians in the Franco- Prussian war, then disappeared, to be heard of again as living in a South American republic. But what has he to do with all this? Ah, Johann, this is deep water."

"For those who have not learned to swim. You will aid me? A thousand crowns-two hundred pieces of gold like that which has just passed from my pocket into yours. It is politics."

"But the sacking of the town?"

"A jest. If Madame the duchess conquers the Englishman, the king that is to be will pay her. Then, if she wages war Austria can say nothing for defending ourselves."

"And Walmoden?" Stuler struck his forehead with his fist as if to pound it into a state of lucidity. "Where is he? It is a stone wall; I can see nothing."

"Beauvais."

"Beauvais!" Stuler half rose from his chair, but sank again.

"Exactly. This play, for some reason unexplained, is the price of his reestablishment into the graces of the noble Hapsburgs. Between us, I think the prince is playing a game for himself. But who shall blame him?"

"The devil! I thought Austria was very favorable to the Osian house."

"Favorable or not, it is nothing to us."

"Well, well, it's a thousand crowns," philosophically.

"That's the sentiment," laughed Johann. "It is not high treason, it is not lese majeste; it is not a crime; it is a thousand crowns. Votre sante, as the damned French say!" swallowing what was left of the wine. "And then, it is purely patriotic in us," with a deceitful smile.

"The storehouse is yours, and the men. Now tell me how 'tis to be played."

"Where does her Royal Highness go each Thursday evening, accompanied by her eternal cuirassiers, von Mitter and Scharfenstein?"

"Where but to see her old nurse Elizabeth? But two men will not be enough. Von Mitter and Scharfenstein-"

"Will as usual remain at the carriage. But what's to prevent the men from gaining entrance by the rear?-carrying off her Highness that way, passing through the alley and making off, to be a mile away before the cuirassiers even dream of the attempt?"

"After all, I'd rather the duchess."

"We can not all be kings and queens." Johann got up and slapped Stuler familiarly on the shoulder. "Forget not the gold, the yellow gold; little heaps of it to finger, to count, and to spend."

Stuler's eyes gleamed phosphorescently. There was the strain of the ancient marauder in his veins; gold easily gotten. He opened the door, and Johann passed out, swaying. The wine was taking hold of him. He turned into the hall, while Stuler busied himself with the spigots. Some one discovered the spy, and called him by name; it was caught up by others, and there were numerous calls for a speech.

As a socialist Johann was well known about the lower town. Besides, five years gone, he himself had been a student and a brother of freedom. He had fought a dozen successful duels, and finally had been expelled from the university for beating a professor who had objected to his conduct in the presence of ladies. Other ill reports added to his popularity. To be popular in this whimsical world of ours, one has either to be very good or very bad. Johann was not unwilling to speak. Stuler had given him the cue; the cuirassiers. His advice was secretly to arm and hold in readiness. As this was the substance of the other speeches, Johann received his meed of applause.

"And let us not forget the bulldog; let us kill him, too," cried one of the auditors; "the prodigal bulldog, who has lived on our fatted calves."

This was unanimously adopted. The bulldog was not understood; and he smacked of the English. Then, too, the bulldog roamed too freely in the royal enclosures; and, until late years, trespassers fared badly. The students considered that their privileges extended everywhere; the dog, not being conversant with these privileges, took that side which in law is called the benefit of a doubt.

After his speech Johann retired to the bar-room. What he desired most of all was a replenished purse. Popular he was; but the students knew his failings, among which stood prominently that of a forgetful borrower. They would buy him drinks, clothes and food, if need be, but they would not lend him a stiver. And he could not borrow from Stuler, whose law was only to trust. Johann gambled, and wine always brought back the mad fever for play. The night before he had lost rather heavily, and he wanted to recover his losses. Rouge-et-noir had pinched him; he would be revenged on the roulette. All day long combinations and numbers danced before his eyes. He had devised several plans by which to raise money, but these had fallen through. Suddenly he smiled, and beckoned to Stuler.

"Stuler, how much will you advance me," he asked, "on a shotgun worth one hundred crowns?"

"A shotgun worth one hundred crowns? Ten."

Johann made a negative gesture. "Fifty or none. You can sell it for seventy-five in the morning. So could I, only I want the money to-night."

"If you want wine-" began Stuler.

"I want money."

Stuler scratched his nose. "Bring the gun to me. If it is worth what you say, I'll see what I can do."

"In an hour;" and Johann went out. A cold thin rain was falling, and a dash of it in the face had a cooling effect. Somehow, the exhilaration of the wine was gone, and his mood took a sullen turn. Money! he was ever in need of money. He cursed his ill luck. He cursed the cause of it-drink. But for drink he would not have been plain Johann Kopf, brawler, outcast, spy, disowned by his family and all save those who could use him. He remained standing in the doorway, brooding.

At last he drew his collar about his throat and struck off, a black shadow in a bank of gray. When he reached that part of the street opposite the Grand Hotel, he stopped and sought shelter under an awning. The night patrol came clattering down the street. It passed quickly, and soon all was still again. Johann stepped out and peered up and down. The street was deserted. All the hotel windows were in gloom, save a feeble light which beamed from the office windows.

Would it be robbery? He had not yet stooped to that. But he could hear the ivory ball clatter as it fell into the lucky numbers. He had a premonition that he would win if he stuck to a single combination. He would redeem the gun, replace it, and no one would be any the wiser. If his numbers failed him. . . . . No matter. He determined to cross the Rubicon. He traversed the street and disappeared into the cavernous alley, shortly to loom up in the deserted courtyard of the hotel. He counted the windows on the first floor and stopped at the fourth. That was the window he must enter. Noiselessly he crept along the walls, stopping now and then to listen. There was no sound except the monotonous dripping of the rain, which was growing thinner and colder.

Presently he came across the ladder he was seeking. He raised it to the required height, and once more placed his hand to his ear. Silence. He mounted the rounds to the window, which he found unfastened. In another moment he was in the room. Not an object could he see, so deep was the darkness. If he moved without light he was likely to stumble, and heydey to his fifty crowns, not to say his liberty for many days to come. He carefully drew the blinds and struck a match. The first object which met his gaze was a fallen candle. This he lit and when the glare of the flame softened, all the corners of the room stood out. Nowhere was there any sign of a gun. He gave vent to a half-muttered curse. Some one had pilfered the gun, or the proprietor was keeping it until the Englishman returned from the duchy. But he remembered that there were two guns, one of which the Englishman did not use in the hunting expeditions.

So he began a thorough search. It meant fifty crowns, green baize and the whims of fortune. Cautiously he moved between the fallen chairs. He looked behind the bed, under the dresser, but without success. His hand closed savagely around the candle, and he swore inaudibly. He threw back the bed coverings, not that he expected to find anything, but because he could vent his rage on these silent, noiseless things. When he lifted the mattress it was then he took a deep breath and smiled. What he saw was a gun case. He drew it from under. It was heavy; his fifty crowns were inside. Next he picked up a candlestick and stuffed the candle into it, and laid a quilt against the threshold of the door so that no light would pierce the corridor.

"This is the gun the Englishman did not use in the hunting expeditions," he thought. "If it is out of repair, as he said it was, my fifty crowns are not so many pfennige. The devil! it must be a valuable piece of gunsmithing, to hide it under the bedclothes. Let me see if my crowns are for the picking."

He investigated forthwith. The hammers and the triggers worked smoothly. He unlocked the breech and held