CHAPTER FOUR

THE THIERGARTEN

The competition for the King's Cup had no terror for Nervy Trafford, nor did the fact that he was lamentably short of practice affect his peace of mind. When a man has lost his heart's desire, has faced the barrel of his own revolver, the prospect of gyrating on skates before a critical audience becomes a matter of casual importance. When he left Harvard--to the vast regret of his fellow-undergraduates and the infinite relief of the much-enduring dean--he had not known in what direction to bend his superabundant energies. To one who had an innate craving for an electrically-charged atmosphere and the employment of explosives, and who was not of the dollar-hunting kind, office work was out of the question. So he had gone to Oxford. But sport there--the sport of the English shires--was too stereotyped and too little dangerous to appeal to his ardent spirit. Back again in the United States, he had commenced a military career, but it is a platitude that a soldier must learn to obey before he can command; and Trafford had stumbled badly on the lowest rung of the military ladder. After that he had wandered. He had seen men and cities, and had come to the conclusion that there was only one city, and in that city but one person. Whither that conclusion had led him we have already seen. Briefly, he was an unsettled and rather a dangerous person in such an inflammatory country as he was now visiting. It is little wonder, therefore, that the competition on the Rundsee caused him little anxiety, either as a trial of nerves or as a matter of vital importance in his cosmic outlook.

The Rundsee, where the contest was to take place, was an artificial piece of water, circular of shape, situated in the Thiergarten, the public park on the outskirts of Weidenbruck. At half-past two in the afternoon its frozen surface was crowded with a vast number of human beings, who had come to see the great annual competition for the King's prize. On one side a big pavilion, garnished with small flags and red cloth, had been erected for the benefit of the King and the favoured few. The majority of the throng were crowded behind ropes, leaving a sufficient area for the evolutions of the competitors. There was no question of the ice bearing so great a crowd, for the ice of the Rundsee was as hard as a London pavement, and many times as thick. A battery of elephant guns would have traversed it without inflicting a crack on its adamantine surface.

The scene was a gay one, for the winter sun had sucked up the morning mist and turned the dull grey sky to turquoise, and the snowy covering of the great trees into a bejewelled mantle of sparkling purity. A feeling of pent expectancy held the well-wrapped throng, a feeling which found outlet in rousing cheers when, with a cracking of whips and jingling of bells, a sleigh and four horses came rapidly down a broad avenue and halted at the back of the wooden pavilion.

It was the King--King Karl XXII., fat, smiling, smoking, wrapped luxuriously in magnificent furs, and accompanied by his favourites, General Meyer and Robert Saunders.

The Grimlanders,--to do them justice,--never received their monarch without noise. They might hoot or they might cheer, they might throw garlands of flowers or nitro-glycerine bombs, but royalty is royalty, whether its representative be hero or villain, and it was never received in the silence of indifference. And at the present moment the throng was benevolent. The day was fine, the occasion interesting, and in the love of sport the Grimland public forgot its antipathy to permanent institutions.

"By the way," asked the King of General Meyer, when they had found their way to the royal enclosure overlooking the Rundsee, "did you secure our friend Bernhardt last night?"

General Meyer shook his head.

"We had a failure," he replied, "another failure."

The King received the news without any outward sign of displeasure. Only one who knew him well would have read the deep disappointment of his placid silence.

"I thought you had discovered where he lodged," he said at length.

"I had discovered the fox's earth," said Meyer, "but my hounds had not strong enough teeth to inconvenience him. I approached a certain Captain of the Guides, a young man of good family and approved courage. I offered substantial rewards, but the work was too dirty for his aristocratic fingers."

"Perhaps it would have been wiser to have approached someone of humbler birth," said the King drily.

"I was forced to that conclusion myself," sneered the General, "and I requisitioned the services of two of the biggest scoundrels who enjoy the privilege of being your Majesty's subjects. Their consciences were un-tender, but they failed, as _canaille_ will, when they come to hand-grips with a brave man."

"In other words," said the King, "two armed ruffians are incapable of tackling one priest. Next time I should try four."

"That is what I propose doing to-night, sire," said the General impassively.

The King turned to Saunders, who was seated on his left.

"What does the Englishman advise?" he asked.

"A company of Guards and a squadron of Dragoons," said Saunders curtly.

"An open arrest?" demanded his Majesty.

"Yes, and an open trial," affirmed Saunders. "After all, simplicity has its charms, and Father Bernhardt's popularity is so great that it can hardly be enhanced by a visit to the picturesque prison in the Cathedral Square."

"The Strafeburg!" said Meyer, naming the prison in question. "I fear the good citizens might essay a rescue."

"They certainly would," conceded Saunders, "but the Strafeburg was not erected by a speculative builder. It is made of stone, not papier-maché, and the gentlemen who keep guard over it are not armed with pea-shooters."

The General nodded sagely.

"You mean you would risk bringing things to a head?" he said.

"That is my advice," said Saunders. "I have only been in Weidenbruck twenty-four hours, but have been here long enough to see the need of strong measures."

"You are right," said the King with some bitterness; "the woman who was once my wife and who hates me more than anything on earth, is seen at large unmolested in my capital. The Princess Gloria,--a charming young lady, who would like to see me guillotined in order that she may sit more comfortably in my seat,--is waiting her opportunity to cross the frontier and take up her quarters here, if she has not done so already. The music-halls resound with incendiary ditties! There is one in particular, the Rothlied,--a catchy melody with a most inspiriting refrain,--which frankly and courageously advocates my removal to a better world. I am a patient man, God knows, and I desire peace at almost any price; but there are limits to my forbearance. Yet, when I put in a plea for action, I am told that a rash step would precipitate a revolution. I am beginning to think that my friend Saunders here is my best counsellor, and that simplicity is the best policy."

A roar of cheering from the crowd betokened the presence of the competitors on the ice. General Meyer rose from his seat.

"The best policy is generally simple," he said, "and so is the worst. But with your Majesty's permission I will withdraw. My services are required below."

Hardly had Meyer left when Mrs. Saunders was ushered into the royal enclosure. She was a tall, fair woman with a cold, correct profile and unemotional grey eyes. Her manner was usually reserved, and her speech mocking. She possessed, however, a keen, if caustic, sense of humour, and those few people who were privileged to know her well were wisely proud of the privilege. The King rose from his chair, his gaze resting admirably on the tall, athletic figure in its neat Chinchilla coat and smart fur toque.

"Enter the Ice Queen!" said his Majesty, offering her the chair vacated by the Commander-in-Chief.

"Has the skating begun?" the lady thus addressed inquired animatedly.

"Not yet," her husband answered, "the competitors are having a little preliminary exercise while Meyer is putting on his skates. But you come at an opportune moment, my dear. We were indulging in a political discussion. I was advocating bold measures; Meyer, masterly inactivity. I desire your support for my arguments."

"Meyer says we can't trust the army," put in the King.

"Of course you can't trust the army," said Mrs. Saunders; "for it is not commanded by a soldier. General Meyer is an excellent judge of skating and champagne, but he is more of a policeman than a warrior. I should send him on a diplomatic mission to a remote country."

"And whom would you make Commander-in-Chief in his place?" asked the King smiling.

"One of the competitors to-day."

"What!" exclaimed the King, mystified. "Who?"

"Why, my husband's friend--George Trafford, the American!"

The King roared with laughter.

"Why not appoint your husband to the post?" he demanded.

"Because my husband has a young and beautiful wife," retorted Mrs. Saunders smilingly.

"Whereas this Mr. Trafford----?"

"Is a broken-hearted bachelor. He is prepared to seek the bubble reputation even at the cannon's mouth. He has more imagination than Robert. Besides, I don't mind so much his being killed."

Saunders laughed loudly, while the King's sunburned face beamed with genuine amusement.

"I have to thank Mrs. Saunders for a cheerful moment," he said, "a rare thing these troublous times. I'm forty-five years of age, my dear lady," he went on, "and I've been on the throne fifteen years. Sometimes I feel as if I had reigned as long as Rameses II., and sometimes I feel every bit as old and dried-up as that mummied old gentleman in the British Museum. At the same time, as you see, I have my cheerful moments, and in those cheerful moments I see Father Bernhardt in one cell of the Strafeburg and the ex-Queen in another--the latter in a particularly damp cell, by the way."

"And the Princess Gloria von Schattenberg?" asked Saunders.

"Is too young and pretty for a cell," replied the King with a smile. "She is popular and dangerous, but I have a soft corner in my heart for her. I must fight her, of course, if she persists, but I've certain sunny memories of a little girl at Weissheim, all fun and laughter and enthusiasm for winter games, and I find it hard to take her seriously or wish her harm. But for the others," he went on, hardening his voice, "I'd have no mercy. They are playing with fire, and they are old enough to know that fire burns. Arrest them openly, I say, try them openly, I say, and if the proletariat objects--shoot them openly."

"Hear, hear," said Mrs. Saunders impassively, putting up her glasses and studying the faces of the different competitors on the Rundsee.

"Meyer wants one more chance of nobbling Father Bernhardt," said Saunders in a low voice.

"He shall have it," said the King; "and I hope and pray he will succeed. That priest's the heart and soul of the whole trouble. Once he is safe under lock and key, where can the Princess Gloria find another with such cunning, such resource, such heedless daring, to fight her battles and build her up a throne? Hullo, more cheering! What's that for? Ah, one of the competitors doing a bit of fancy skating to keep himself warm. A fine skater, too, by St. Liedwi,* a powerful skater, but a shade reckless, eh?"

* The patron saint of skating.

"That is our friend, George Trafford," said Saunders; "a fine skater, a powerful skater, but, as you say, distinctly reckless."