That settled it. He clicked his heels, squeaked at his men, and sent them off at the double. He took the keys from his own belt, and passed them to me as though they were red-hot; then he gathered up his sabre and cap and was off, but I called him back.
"Wessel," says I, in a softer voice. "You are not married?"
"No, highness."
"But you are perhaps a lover?"
He went pink. "Highness, I… ."
"You understand, I think." I frowned and forced a smile together—one of those grimaces of the strong man moved—and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Take care of her for me, won't you?"
He was one of those very young, intense creatures of the kind you see addressing heaven in the background of pictures showing Napoleon crossing the Alps in dancing pumps; he went red with emotion.[40]
"With my life, highness," says he, gulping, and he snatched my hand, kissed it, and sped away.
Well, that was Ensign Wessel taken care of. He'd cut the whole bloody German army to bits before he let anyone near Irma. Likewise, and more important, he didn't doubt his prince for a minute. Ah, the ideals of youth, I thought, as I sorted out the keys.
There were three of them; one to the ironwork gate, a second to the door beyond it, and a third to the little cage, shrouded in velvet, which stood on a table in the centre of the small jewel-room. It was so easy I could have cheered. There was a valise in the guard-room, and I laid it open beside the table and went to work.
God, what a haul it was! There were the rings, the staff of sovereignty, the diamond-and-emerald gold chain, the duchess's collar, and the two crowns—they didn't have to be bent, after all. The Sword of State I left behind, as too unwieldy, but there were a couple of necklaces I hadn't seen before and a jewelled casket, so in they went.
I was sweating, not with exertion but excitement, as I shut the valise and strapped it up; it weighed about a ton, and suddenly I was asking myself: where was I going to fence this collection? Oh, well, time to worry about that when I was safe over the border, and back in England or France. Thank God the only name Sapten and Co. knew me by was Thomas Arnold—they were welcome to call at his tombstone if they felt like it, and ask for their money back. They had no way of tracing me, even if they dared—for if they ever did ferret me out, what could they do that wouldn't cause an unholy international scandal? But they'd never even know where to look in England—I was safe as houses.
Aye—once I'd got away: time was flying. It was full dawn outside by now. I locked the cage, arranged its velvet cover, locked the door and the gate, and set off down the stairs, lugging my bag with me. I emerged cautiously at the head of the grand staircase—thanks to my sending the sentries away there wasn't a soul in sight. I stole down, and was tip-toeing towards the head of the last flight when I heard footsteps along the passage. Quickly I thrust the valise behind the base of a statue; I was just in time. Old Schwerin, the Chief Minister, still with his nightcap on and a robe-de-chambre flapping round his ankles, was hobbling along towards me, with a little knot of attendants fussing in his wake.
He was in a tremendous taking, of course; I thought the old ass would have a seizure. Forcing myself not to panic at the delay, I stilled his questions with the same recital of tommy-rot that I'd served up to Irma and the ensign—well, I say I stilled them, but he babbled on, demanding details and explanations, and eventually I only shut him up by taking a strong line, insisting on the need for haste on my part—I had to get back to the scene of the action at once, I told him.
"Oh, God!" groans he, and sank down on a sofa. "Oh, the unhappy country! What shall we do?"
"Nonsense, sir," says I, stifling a sudden desire to run for it, "I have told you the alarm is over—all but over, anyway. What remains to do is to see that no disorders follow—to quiet our contending factions, Danish and German, in the city itself. This shall be your first concern." And for some reason I asked: "Which side are you on, by the way?"
He stopped moaning and gazed up at me like a dying retriever. "I am for Strackenz, highness," says he. He was no fool, this one, for all he was an old woman.
"Excellent!" I cried. "Then summon the ministers at onceyou'd better get dressed first—and send these people"—I indicated his followers—" to wait upon the duchess."
It was going to be like a galloping field day at her apartments, but the more of them were out of the way the better.
"Above all," says I, "try to communicate as little disquiet as possible. Now set about it, if you please."
He gathered himself up, and shooed away the crowd.
"And yourself, highness?" he quavered. "You are going into danger? But you will take a strong escort with you?"
"No," says I, "the fewer who see me go, the better." That was God's truth, too. "Not another word, sir. For the duchess's sake, do as I have bidden you."
"You will have a care, highness?" he pleaded. "I beg of you. For her sake—and for our country's. Oh, but must you go?"
I was almost bursting with anxiety, but I had to humour the senile bastard.
"Sir," says I, "have no fear. Briefly as I have been in Strackenz, I owe a debt to this duchy already, and I intend to pay it in full."
He drew himself upright and straightened his night-cap. "God bless you, highness," says he, all moist and trembling. "You are in the true mould of the Oldenbourgs."
Well, from what I've seen of European royalty, he may well have been right. I gave him my manliest smile, pressed his hand, and watched him totter away to guard the destiny of the duchy, God help it. He was going to have his work cut out.
As soon as he was round the corner I heaved out my valise, adjusted it over my shoulder by a strap, and pulled my ridingcloak over that side, The swag had a tendency to clank as I walked, so I paced slowly down the broad staircase and across the hall; the little major-domo was waiting, hopping in anxiety. There was a horse at the door, he pointed out, and its saddle-bags were packed. I thanked him and walked out into the morning.
There were guardsmen there, of course, and a couple of officers all agog at the rumours that must have been flying about. I instructed them to post their men at the palace railings, and to let no one pass without my orders—with any luck they might blow Sapten's grizzled head off when he arrived. Then I mounted, very carefully, which is damned difficult to do when you have a stone or two of loot swinging under your cloak, took the reins in my free hand, and addressed the officers again:
"I ride to Jotunberg!"
I cantered off down the great carriage-sweep, and they opened the gates at my approach. I stopped at the sentry and quietly inquired which was the western road to Lauenburg, and he told me—that would reach Sapten's ears, for certain, and should set him on the wrong track. Five minutes later I was clattering out of Strackenz City, making south-east towards Brandenburg.
10
I've noticed that in novels, when the hero has to move any distance at all, he leaps on to a mettlesome steed which carries him at breakneck speed over incredible distances—without ever casting a shoe, or going lame, or simply running out of wind and strength. On my flight from Strackenz, admittedly, my beast bore up remarkably well, despite the fact that I rode him hard until we were over the border and into Prussia. After that I went easier, for I'd no wish to have him founder under me before I'd put some distance between myself and possible pursuit. But thirty miles, with my weight to carry, is asking a lot of any animal, and by afternoon I was looking for a place to lie up until he was fit for the road again.
We found one, in an old barn miles from anywhere, and I rubbed him down and got him some fodder, before using up some of my store of cold food for myself. I took a tack to the south next day, for it seemed to me on reflection that the wider I could pass from Berlin, the better. I know my luck—I was going to have to go closer to Schönhausen than was comfortable, and it would have been just like it if I'd run into dear Otto on the way. (As it happened, I needn't have worried; there was plenty to occupy him in Berlin just then.) But I had planned out my line of march: acting on the assumption that the safest route was through the heart of Germany to Munich, where I could choose whether to go on to Switzerland, Italy, or even France, I had decided to make first of all for Magdeburg, where I could take to the railway. After that it should be plain sailing to Munich, but in the meantime I would ride by easy stages, keeping to the country and out of sight so far as possible—my baggage wouldn't stand examination, if I ran across any of the great tribe of officials who are always swarming in Germany, looking for other folk's business to meddle in.