Читать книгу Nightcap and Plume - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 12

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That evening Gustaf asked Beylon to search again for the glove, but the faithful Reader, in despair, had already overturned everything in the King's apartments, telling the lackeys, and all the gentlemen save Colonel Munch, the Equerry most close in the royal favour that he looked for a diamond brooch; but the glove, so small a trifle, had not been found.

"It has been kept too carefully, Sire, you have surely locked it away in some secret place."

Beylon, who could hardly control his agitation as the daring plot increased its ramifications, added that Toll had given him the King's pistols and dagger.

"Why?" asked Gustaf. "They were not marked, they would not have incriminated him."

"He said, sire, that they were too rich and valuable for him and that he had his own army weapons—perhaps your Majesty will take them again?" pleaded the Reader nervously, "and wear a steel cuirass, there is one, light as a lady's corselet, in the little armoury.

"Elk's hide or oxhide will turn bullets better than steel," smiled the King, "but there are two leathern jackets in Riddarsholm Church that have been pierced. I'll have no weapons about my person, or in my apartments, Beylon."

"What shall I do with these pistols and the dagger, Sire? I have no wish to be armed if you are not." Beylon spoke with simple loyalty.

"Give them to Schorderheim, he can enter the armoury without exciting attention."

"You would not employ Colonel Munck or Count Scheffer for this, Sire?"

"The first is my friend, but knows nothing of the plot—the second is not a stable man, he does not believe in me." Gustaf spoke thoughtfully. "He works with me for his own interest, he might even betray me, yes, Beylon, if we have an informer amongst us it is Karl Scheffer."

This was Beylon's opinion, smooth and flattering as the Chamberlain was he could only be relied on as long as he served success.

"I shall keep the weapons locked in my desk, Sire, and choose a quiet moment to return them to the armoury. I do not intend to broadcast the fact that you are unarmed. I have tried to let your lacqueys think you are privately defended. I shall let them believe you carry the pistols and the dagger—remember your mother gave one to you, Sire," the Reader spoke anxiously.

"Poor Beylon!" the King sighed. "I know that, humanly speaking, I am in constant peril of my life from some malcontent, but I do not really believe I shall be assassinated, no Swede would do that."

Beylon thought how pitiful it was that a man who had never harmed anyone, should accept with tranquillity the overshadowing horror of secret and sudden murder.

"I wish I could have given Toll more money," said Gustaf again voicing this regret, "but one must dress one's part, Beylon, kingship has its trappings. I shall go out to-night, Beylon."

He rested his head on his hand, and though a mirror was before him, he did not look into it, his thoughts were not of himself, but of all those others who would die horribly, leaving ruined families behind him, if his throw of total hazard failed.