Читать книгу The Traitors - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 14

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“Prince Ughtred of Tyrnaus.”

Brand awoke from a hideous nightmare, sat up on a rude horsehair couch, and held his head with both hands. He was conscious of a sense of nausea, burning temples, and a general indisposition to take any interest in his surroundings. He sank back upon his pillow.

“Oh, rot,” he murmured. “Go away, please.”

There was a short silence, then footsteps, and the newcomer bent over the sofa.

“Drink this.”

The invitation was alluring. Brand’s throat was like a limekiln. He sat up and took the proffered tumbler into his hands. The liquid was cold and sparkling—almost magical in its effects. He drained it to the last drop, and then looked curiously about him.

“Where the mischief am I?” he asked; “and who are you?”

The newcomer stood in the light from the window. He was a short and thick-set man, with iron-grey hair and black moustache slightly upturned. He had a pallid skin and keen grey eyes. His manner was at once grave and conciliatory.

“Your memory, Prince,” he remarked, “is scarcely so good as mine. I have had the pleasure of seeing you but once before, yet I think that I should have recognized you anywhere.”

“Oh, would you!” Brand remarked, beneath his breath.

“I will recall myself to your memory,” the other continued, blandly. “My name is Domiloff!”

“Domiloff, of course,” Brand echoed. “You are still——”

“Still the representative of Russia to the State of Theos. It is true.”

“And where am I?” Brand asked, looking around the bare, lofty room with some surprise; “and what am I here for?”

“You are in the House of Customs at Gallona. I met the train at the frontier to secure the honour of a little conversation with you before you proceeded to the capital. I found you exceedingly unwell, and took the liberty of bringing you here that you might have the opportunity of resting a little before completing your journey.”

Brand rose slowly to his feet. He was still giddy, but rapidly recovering himself. His last distinct recollection was the coffee which he and the priest had ordered in their coupé. There was a peculiar taste—a swimming in his head—afterwards blank unconsciousness.

“You have been most considerate, I am sure,” he said, slowly. “I am glad to have your explanation, otherwise my presence here, under the circumstances, might have suggested unpleasant things to me.”

Domiloff’s lips parted in an inscrutable smile. He remained silent.

“I might have remembered,” Brand continued, “that I was travelling with two friends. What has become of them?”

Domiloff shrugged his shoulders.

“It was most unfortunate,” he declared. “The train pulled up for a moment at a wayside station, and they appear to have descended—and to have been left behind.”

Brand nodded.

“I might also have remembered,” he continued, stroking his moustache thoughtfully, “a priest whose interest in his fellow-passengers was a little extraordinary—a cup of coffee pressed upon me, a queer taste—bah! Why waste time? I was drugged, sir, with your connivance, no doubt, and brought here. What is the meaning of it?”

Domiloff shrugged his shoulders.

“You assume too much, my dear Prince,” he declared, blandly. “Let us not waste time by fruitless discussion. I will admit that I was particularly anxious to have a few minutes’ quiet conversation with you before you entered the capital. The opportunity is here. Let us avail ourselves of it.”

“Well?”

Domiloff coughed. He had expected a torrent of indignation and abuse. His guest’s nonchalance was a little disquieting.

“You are entering,” he said, “upon a troublesome inheritance.”

“Well?”

“It is an inheritance,” Domiloff continued, “which you can neither possess yourself of, nor hold, without powerful friends.”

“Well?”

“My country is willing to be your friend.”

“Your country,” Brand remarked, quietly, “is renowned throughout the world for her generosity.”

Domiloff bowed.

“You do us, sir,” he said, “no more than justice.”

Brand smiled.

“Well! Go on!”

“Theos is in a state of hopeless confusion,” Domiloff remarked. “It is very doubtful whether the actual state of the country has been represented to you. The people are all clamouring for they know not what, law and order seem to be things of the past. South of the Balkans the Turks are massing; northwards, the mailed hand of Austria is slowly being extended.”

“And Russia?” Brand asked. “It is not her custom to remain in the background.”

“Russia,” Domiloff said, “desires to be your friend. She will secure for you the throne, and she will guarantee your independence.”

“At what price?”

Domiloff shrugged his shoulders.

“You are very suspicious, my dear Prince,” he said. “My master does not sell his favours. He asks only for a reasonable recognition of your gratitude. I have here the copy of a treaty which will secure you against any foreign interference in the affairs of your kingdom. Its advantages to you and to Theos are so obvious that it is idle for me to waste time by enlarging upon them. Read it, my Prince.”

“I shall be charmed,” Brand exclaimed, stretching out his hand for it.

“You would doubtless prefer,” Domiloff said, “to look it through alone. I will return in half-an-hour.”

“You are very thoughtful,” Brand answered. “By the bye, you will excuse my denseness, but I am not quite clear as to our exact relations at the present moment. I am, I presume, at Gallona?”

The Baron bowed.

“It is indisputable!”

“At an hotel?”

“You are,” Domiloff declared, “my honoured guest.”

“Is it part of your diplomacy to starve me?” Brand asked, coolly, “or may I have some breakfast?”

Domiloff touched the bell.

“My dear Prince!” he exclaimed, deprecatingly.

A servant entered with a tray—cold meats and a flask of wine. Outside the window a sentry walked up and down. Brand eyed him thoughtfully.

“I think that I should like a stroll,” he remarked. “My head is still heavy.”

Domiloff advanced, and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

“My dear Prince,” he said, “I beg that for the present you will not think of it. It is of the utmost importance that your presence upon the soil of Theos should not be suspected. I have a special train waiting to take you to the capital. Until we start it will be far better, believe me, that you do not attempt to leave this room.”

“At what hour do we start?” Brand asked.

Domiloff hesitated.

“It depends,” he said, slowly, “upon circumstances.”

Brand sat down and poured himself out a glass of wine.

“That means when I have signed the treaty, I suppose?”

Domiloff was already at the door. He affected not to hear.

“If your Highness will ring when you are prepared to give me an audience,” he said, “I shall be entirely at your service.”

Brand ate and drank, threw himself into an easy-chair, and lit a cigarette. Presently he tried the handle of the door. It was locked. He moved to the window and looked out. Below was an old courtyard enclosed within high grey walls and iron gates, through which he could catch a glimpse of the town. The wide, open space, half square, half market-place, was crowded with people in strange costume, having baskets of fruit and vegetables, before which they squatted and called out their wares. Beyond were houses with vivid, whitewashed fronts, red roofs, and narrow windows. At the gates were stationed two soldiers in red tunics and broad white trousers, very baggy, and tucked into their boots. They were bareheaded, and they smoked long cigarettes, chattering meanwhile to one another and the people around in a dialect which to Brand was like a nightmare. He watched them for a while, and laughed softly to himself. This was an adventure after his own heart.

He looked at his watch. It was three o’clock.

“So Reist and the Prince were left behind,” he murmured. “It was very well arranged. By now they should be on their way to the capital. I must make this last out as long as possible. What a coup!”

He lit another cigarette, and turned the treaty over in his hands. Here he met with a disappointment. There were two copies, one in Russian, the other in the Thetian language. He could not read either. After a few moments’ deliberation he rang the bell.

Domiloff hurried in, expectantly.

“You are ready for me?” he asked. “You have read our proposals? You will perhaps now be disposed to admit the generosity of my master?”

Brand shrugged his shoulders.

“As yet,” he said, coolly, “I am in a position to admit nothing. As a matter of fact, I cannot read this document. I cannot read Russian, and I have forgotten nearly all Thetian. You must have a copy made for me quickly either in French or English.”

Domiloff started. A momentary shade of suspicion darkened his forehead.

“Forgotten your Thetian, Prince?” he exclaimed. “Your native tongue!”

“You forget that I have been an exile from Theos ever since I was a child,” Brand answered. “I can understand a word or so here and there, but that is not sufficient. It is necessary that I should have an exact and precise comprehension of your proposals.”

Domiloff took up the document.

“I will make a copy myself,” he said. “It will not take long. I hope that you will soon find your recollection of the language revive, Prince. You will find the people sensitive about it.”

Domiloff seated himself at the table, and for some time there was silence in the room except for the scratching of his pen. Brand lounged in the easy-chair—amused himself by speculating as to the end of his adventure. Presently there was a sharp tap at the door. A messenger entered, and conversed for awhile with Domiloff in Russian. He was dismissed with a few rapid orders. Domiloff turned round in his chair and faced Brand.

“Prince Ughtred,” he said, “I have disturbing news from the capital. The disorder in the city is so great that the Powers must intervene at once unless some decisive step be taken. I have finished my translation. Sign it and you shall enter into your kingdom before sunset.”

Brand smiled.

“I will give you my answer,” he said, “in ten minutes.”

Domiloff bowed.

“I shall await your decision, Prince,” he said. “Only remember this. To-night there must be a King of Theos or a Protectorate.”