“Yes, a very good imitation, but just an imitation. Come. I’ll show you right away. I’ll take you to the room of relics.”
The three grabbed their cameras and Djaro led them through a long stone corridor. They went down some winding steps to a broader corridor below. The walls, floors and ceilings were all of stone.
“The palace was built nearly three hundred years ago,” Djaro told them. “The foundations and part of the walls belonged to an old castle that used to stand here. There are dozens of empty rooms — in fact, no one ever goes into the upper two floors. Varania is a poor country and we can’t afford all the servants it would take to keep the whole palace open. Besides, there is no heat except for the rooms that have been modernized, and we could not afford to modernize very much of it. Imagine living here without heat!”
They could imagine it easily. Although it was August, it was very cool inside Djaro’s palace.
“There are dungeons and cellars left over from the old castle,” continued Djaro, as they went down another flight of stairs, “with secret entrances we’ve forgotten about, and secret stairways that lead nowhere. Even I could get lost if I wandered away from the parts I’m used to.”
He laughed now. “It would be a great place for a horror movie,” he said, “with ghosts dodging in and out of the secret entrances. Luckily, we have no ghosts. Uh-oh!” he added. “Here comes Duke Stefan.”
As they reached the lower corridor, a tall man came hurrying along. He stopped and made a little bow to Djaro.
“Good morning, Djaro,” he said. “These are your American friends?”
His voice was chilly and formal. He himself was straight as a spear, with a drooping black mustache and a hawk nose.
“Good morning, Duke Stefan,” replied Djaro. “These are my friends, yes. Let me present Jupiter Jones, Peter Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews, all from California in the United States.”
The tall man inclined his head an inch at each introduction. His sharp eyes inspected them carefully.
“Welcome to Varania,” he said, in the same polite but chilly tone. “You are showing your friends the castle?”
“We’re going to the relic room,” Djaro said. “They are interested in the history of our nation. Duke Stefan,” he told the boys, “is Regent of Varania. He has ruled since my father was killed in a hunting accident.”
“In your name, Prince,” Duke Stefan said quickly. “And for your benefit, I hope. I will accompany you. It is only fitting that I show courtesy to your guests.”
“Very well,” Djaro answered, though The Three Investigators could tell it was the last thing he wanted. “But we must not take you from your duties for too long. I believe you have a council meeting this morning, Duke Stefan?”
“Yes,” the man answered, falling into step beside them. “To consider the details of your coronation, which happy event will take place in two weeks. But I can spare a few moments.”
Djaro said nothing more but led them down the corridor until they reached a large room with a ceiling two stories high. Pictures covered the walls, and the room was full of glass cases. In them were old flags, shields, medals, books and other relics. Each had a neatly typed white card beside it telling what it was. The boys peered into a case containing a broken sword. The card said it was the sword used by Prince Paul in successfully combating the revolution of 1675.
“Here in this room,” Duke Stefan said, “is a condensed history of our nation. But we are a small nation, and our history has not been an exciting one. You no doubt find us rather quaint and old-fashioned, coming from the vast country of America.”
“No, sir,” Jupiter said politely. “From what we have seen of your country so far it is very attractive.”
“Most of your countrymen,” Duke Stefan said, “find us hopelessly impractical and behind the times. I only hope our slow pace will not bore you. However, you must excuse me now. I have to attend the council meeting.”
He turned on his heel and strode off.
Bob gave a little sigh of relief. “He didn’t like us, that’s for certain,” he said in a low voice.
“Because you are my friends,” Djaro said. “And he does not want me to have friends. He does not want me to speak up and oppose him, as I have been doing lately — especially since visiting America. But let’s forget him. Look, here is a picture of Prince Paul himself.”
He led them to a life-size painting of a man wearing a brilliant red uniform with gold buttons, a sword held in one hand so the point touched the floor. He had a noble face and an eagle gaze. His other hand was outstretched, and on it sat a spider. The boys examined it closely. It was really very handsome, with a velvety black body specked with gold.
“My ancestor,” Djaro said proudly. “Prince Paul the Conqueror. And the spider that saved his life.”
As the boys studied the picture, they could hear voices behind them in many languages, including English. The room was quite crowded with people, most of them obviously tourists. They carried cameras or guidebooks, or both. Two royal guards were stationed in the room, standing at attention, each of them holding a spear.
One American couple, a rather stout man and his wife, took up positions just behind the four.
“Ugh!” they heard the woman say. “Look at that nasty old spider!”
“Sssh!” the man cautioned. “Don’t let these people hear you say that. That’s their good-luck mascot. Besides, spiders are much nicer than they’re given credit for. It’s just a case of getting a bad name.”
“I don’t care,” the woman answered. “If I see one I’m going to step on it.”
Pete and Bob grinned. Djaro’s eyes twinkled. Little by little the boys made their way around the room until they came to a door at which a third guard stood at attention.
“I wish to enter, Sergeant,” Djaro said. The soldier saluted respectfully.
“Yes, sire,” he said.
He stood to one side and Djaro produced a key which opened the heavy, brass- studded door. Inside was a short hall. At the end of it they saw another door, locked with a combination lock. Djaro opened this, and beyond it was still a third door, this one of iron grillwork. When this was finally unlocked, they stepped into a room about eight feet square which looked like, and really was, a bank vault.
Next to one wall were glass cabinets displaying the royal jewels—a crown, a scepter, and several necklaces and rings.
“For the queen — when there is a queen,” Djaro said, pointing to the jewelry. “We don’t have many jewels — we’re not rich — but we guard them well, as you can see. However, this is what we want to look at.”
He led the way to a cabinet by itself in the center of the room. Here on a special stand reposed a spider on a silver chain. To the amazement of the three boys, it looked exactly like the real thing.
“It is enamel over silver,” Djaro explained. “You thought it would be all silver? No, it is black enamel with specks of gold. The eyes are small rubies. But it is not the genuine silver spider of Varania. That is far superior to this one.”
The jeweled spider looked like a first-class job to the boys, but they accepted Djaro’s word for it. They studied it from all angles so they could recognize the original if they had the luck to find it.
“The real one was taken last week, and this imitation left in its place,” Djaro said bitterly. “I suspect the only man who could have done it — Duke Stefan. But I cannot speak without proof. The political situation is very delicate. All the members of the Supreme Council are Stefan’s men. Until I am crowned I have little power, and they do not want me crowned. The theft of the royal spider is the first step to prevent me from taking my place as ruler.