Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch. Brinton Davis

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СКАЧАТЬ gloomy cells, centuries old, the damp memories of the dungeons still clinging to the walls, together with this weird presence which eluded their eyes before they could behold it, might well arouse the superstitions of firmer minds than the Cockney's.

      They were approaching the cell in which they had been placed. At last there was a perfectly appreciable sound. It was a fumbling, as of some one in the darkness, making hasty efforts to get a key in a lock. Carter, now bent on discovery, made a rush into the abysmal darkness. He could see – nothing!

      Still he felt that he and Carrick, who had joined him, were not the only occupants of the room.

      Along the hall could be heard the unmistakable sound of approaching steps.

      "Quite a select party, sir," remarked Carrick in comment, while Carter still tried to pierce the gloom to establish the identity of the invisible visitant.

      "About three," replied Carter.

      The sounds stopped directly opposite their door. There was a grating of a key against the lock and the door swung open.

      VIII

      THE SPECTRE OF THE STAR

      The Gray Man stood in front of the narrow entrance. The sinister smile which flickered across his face was made diabolic by the cross rays from the lanterns carried by two peasant soldiers. As if his attendance was an enforced and unwelcome one, the equerry of Lady Trusia, who had followed in the wake of the others, advanced no further into the room, but stood with his back against the closed door.

      One furtive glance cast in the direction of the cell from which Carter and Carrick had just returned convinced the former that the old fellow was at least aware of their explorations.

      When the two privates had deposited their lanterns upon a table which seemed to emerge from the gloom under the partial illumination, Carter surveyed his prison with a curiosity previously denied him. One glance was sufficient. The Gray Man had come to conduct an inquisition. What more fitting place, therefore, could be found to strike terror to the hearts of the guilty or weakling than the torture chamber of the castle?

      A man of keen perceptive nature is apprised of secret as well as professed antagonisms, through a primitive discrimination, unaided by either word or deed, of the one holding him in enmity. Carter felt sure that with the possible exception of the equerry this visit to the cell was not prompted by a friendly motive. They had, evidently, been imprisoned in darkness that a sudden revelation of the devilish machinery about them might shake their courage.

      Carter's lip curled disdainfully at such cheap theatrical efforts. He turned to the smirking face before him, which from behind the table was watching for the signs of trepidation he had hoped to surprise. By an answering smile as mocking as his own, he was satisfied that his ruse had failed. He shrugged his thin shoulders.

      Purringly in an incomprehensible jargon, he addressed Carter to receive no other response than a blank and puzzled stare.

      He essayed French.

      "So, Monsieur of the White Police prefers the more polite language of France? Well, so be it."

      At the mention of that secret, ubiquitous organization of Russian espionage, Carter realized that Carrick's prognostications had been correct. The cool insinuation made his blood boil. His answer came with the force of a blow. "What do you mean?" he thundered.

      Staggered for an instant, the Gray Man's equanimity was shaken, then, turning to speak to the two peasants, he waited until they had placed themselves at the sides of the enraged American. Assured that he had forestalled any possible violence to himself, he regarded the prisoners sneeringly.

      "That you are Russian spies."

      "We are Americans. I will prove it, too, as soon as I am out of this place; and that in a manner which will not be pleasant to those concerned in this outrage."

      "Provided you get a chance. Spies are not given much shrift hereabouts." This was said with deliberate malevolence.

      "Would you dare?" challenged Carter who realized to the full what the menace implied.

      "It would be but an incident, monsieur," replied his jailer in a casual manner. "You would be numbered among the missing in the big events of to-morrow. Enough time has been wasted on you, Monsieur of the White Police," he said, as if dismissing discussion. "We must to business."

      At a nod from him, the two peasant soldiers threw themselves upon the helpless prisoners, and ruthlessly rifled their persons of all belongings, which were placed upon the table before the Gray Man. Straining till the big veins in their arms stood out in ridges and the sweat poured from their brows, the captives were helpless against the indignities put upon them.

      Carrick's shirt was torn open. The Krovitzer soldiers stood dumbfounded at the sight of the star which hung upon the Cockney's breast. As though its appearance had countermanded all previous orders, they turned puzzled faces to their superior, who also saw the emblem.

      Into those sneering eyes crept a pallid fear, while his face grew ashen. Approaching the Cockney he laid a trembling finger on the star.

      "Your name?" he asked hoarsely.

      "Tod Carrick," was the sullen reply.

      A slight start followed this, as though the answer had matched his anticipations.

      Instantly, the training and duplicity of years reasserted themselves. The habitual mask once more settled upon his inscrutable countenance. He turned to Carter who had been an attentive though puzzled observer of this by-play.

      "I was surprised," he explained, "but only for an instant, to see your companion wearing the badge of our most noble order. I should not have been as there is no moral distinction between a thief and a spy." Encouraged by his own words, he tore the medal from its resting place, while Carrick groaned impotently.

      "I'll make you sweat for this," growled the Cockney.

      "What authority have you for this?" asked Carter with forced calmness as the Gray Man commenced a leisurely perusal of his private papers. Without deigning a reply, their self-constituted judge completed his task; carefully folding the various documents he had been reading, he looked up complacently.

      "Authority," he replied with a rising inflection, as though the idea were a new one. "Oh, I think I am justified in assuming it."

      Carter breathed a prayer of silent thanksgiving that the Lady Trusia had been no party to the indignity.

      As though in response to the thought, the Lady Trusia herself walked indignantly into the room. Going straight to the table she confronted the Gray Man with flashing eyes.

      "Josef," she addressed him with stamping foot, "what does this mean? Who gave you permission to treat this gentleman so harshly? I am still mistress here."

      "They are Russian spies, Highness."

      "Fiddlesticks," she replied with the feminine faith in the man who had given her such tender care. "Anyhow," she temporized, "our Privy Council, not you, shall be their judges." With charming hesitation, she turned to make a suitable apology to Carter, when, as her eyes fell before his ardent gaze, they rested upon Carrick's heirloom lying on the table.

      "Can it be?" she questioned as one in a dream. "Is it yours?" she asked breathlessly, her whole soul in her eyes and parted lips, as she turned to Carter.

      "No, СКАЧАТЬ