Читать книгу The Kingdom of Earth - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 12

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IN a small but lofty writing-chamber leading out of a great library, an elderly gentleman in a dark morning-suit, with a large pink rose in his buttonhole, stood looking out of the window. He had a gray beard, gray hair parted in the centre, a high forehead, and long, powerfully shaped features. He was smoking a cigar, and apparently looking out across the park, but he turned continually toward the door, as though expecting some one. It was opened at last by a man in dark livery, who stood at one side and =respectfully announced a visitor:

"His Royal Highness the Prince of Bergeland!"

The man who called himself John Peters strolled in, and after a formal bow, shook hands with his uncle.

"Hope you're well, sir," he said.

The king frowned. "I am well enough," he said, "but you—if all the accounts of your doings are true—you ought to have one foot in the grave."

"You shouldn't believe all you see in the papers, sir," the young man answered carelessly. "I never look at them myself."

"It's a pity that you don't," the king answered. "You might learn to be a little more careful. Your doings are becoming perfectly scandalous. What's this about Mademoiselle Cara and the duchess's diamonds?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders. "So the journalists got hold of that, did they?" he remarked. "Upon my word, nothing seems sacred from them nowadays."

The king stood up and moved back toward the window. The square outside was crowded with passers-by, for the palace stood in an enclosure fronting a great public thoroughfare. He called to the prince to stand by his side. "You see all those people," he said gravely; "my subjects, yours some day. Ten years ago, such a thing as a republic can was unknown in this city. To-day, every third man, who passes there is a revolutionist."

The prince was interested. He looked out thoughtfully upon the constant stream of people. "Well," he said, "I for one don't blame them. If I had to pay to support a royal house, I should be a revolutionist myself."

The king frowned heavily. "This is not a joking matter," he said. "There is a power growing up right under our eyes here which threatens our very existence. There is more underneath it all, too; I suspect, a deliberate plot against the monarchy. Bernhardt says little, but I know that he is anxious."

John Peters shrugged his shoulders. "We must take our chances, I suppose," he said.

"Rubbish!" the king exclaimed emphatically. "I sent for you because I want you to understand that I consider you largely responsible for what is going on."

John Peters looked at him keenly. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Simply this," his uncle continued. "The capital rings with your name and the reports of your scandalous doings. All this is what those people work upon. They keep an account of your extravagances, of your mad doings in every city you enter. They ask one another whether they are to pay for them. They dare to put these things into print."

"One must amuse oneself," the prince answered. "You yourself, my dear uncle—"

"That will do," the king said sharply. "At any rate, I do not flaunt my weaknesses. So far as I know, in this country you lead a decent life. The moment you leave it, you seem to lose your head altogether. I sent for you because I am tired of warnings. I want you to understand this: There is a strong party growing up throughout the country that does not intend to be ruled by a scoundrel. You may even succeed, if you go on, in bringing about a revolution."

The prince was silent for a moment. "Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I suppose I am unpopular here. But a revolution—it always needs a genius to bring about that."

"The genius may appear," the king said drily. "The man and the moment generally arrive together. There is only one thing you can do to restore your popularity."

"And that?"

"Marry."

John Peters smiled. "Whom? Hergmann's daughter?—he is the head of the People's party, isn't he? It would be a diplomatic alliance."

"Don't be a fool, John. You must marry either a German or an English princess."

John Peters shook his head. "Impossible," he declared. "I have acquired your wonderful taste as regards the sex. To save my throne, I couldn't marry a woman with thick ankles."

"You are a downright fool this morning, John," the king declared angrily. "I request that you abandon this tone once and for all."

"All right," John Peters answered, "but I won't marry the Princess Ida!"

The king laughed softly. "It wasn't proposed that you should," he answered. "Bernhardt and I will go into the matter in a day or two. I wanted to warn you. And I want you also to understand this: I will not have you going about the city unattended and incognito. It is undignified, and likely to do you harm."

"Anything else?" the young man inquired, with the air of a martyr.

"There were several more things, but I have forgotten them," the king answered. "I am tired to-day."

John Peters regarded him anxiously. "You are feeling quite well, sir, I hope?" he inquired.

"There's nothing the matter," the king answered sharply. "You needn't worry."

"I don't want to have to," the prince answered. "The fact of it is, your health and mine are rather intimately connected just now."

"What do you mean?" the king asked. "Intimately connected, eh?"

The prince nodded. "Fellow tried to assassinate me in London last week," he remarked. "I came off best, and we made terms. His employers, whoever they were, give me six months' grace before they try again, provided you live for the six months."

The king regarded his nephew in angry amazement.

"Is this a joke, sir?" he demanded.

"It was no joke for me," John Peters answered grimly. "It happened exactly as I say."

"But where were you? There was nothing about it in the papers."

John Peters sighed. "I'm afraid I must confess to being alone—and unattended," he admitted. "I had been calling upon a lady. We won't say anything more about it, as it is rather a painful subject. I managed to turn the tables upon them, but things might easily have gone the other way."

"You are a fool to expose yourself to such risks," the king declared. "Tell me exactly what happened."

John Peters told the story, making slight mention of Grace. The king listened eagerly, frowning but attentive.

"Do you suppose," he asked, "that these people were inspired from Bergeland?"

John Peters shrugged his shoulders. "Most likely," he answered. "I asked them why they didn't have a go at you."

"The devil you did!" the king exclaimed. "How dared you put such a thought into their heads?"

"Oh, you're safe enough," John Peters answered. "They explained that they were not professional anarchists, and a king took too much getting at."

His majesty walked restlessly up and down the room. All his life he had been troubled with the fear of assassination. "I will tell you one thing, John," he said, stopping abruptly. "Whoever rules here during the next twenty years is going to have trouble. They say that the Republicans will have a majority in the House of Assembly. What will happen then I do not know."

"They will cut down the household emoluments, without a doubt," John Peters remarked. "I really don't think I'd better get married. I might not be able to support my wife."

A groom of the chambers, with murmurs of apology, placed a small note in the king's hand. He read it hastily and crushed it up between his fingers.

"We will drive together to-morrow morning, John," he said. "For the moment I have affairs to attend to."

John Peters paid his respectful adieu and departed. Crossing the library, escorted by the groom of the chambers, he passed a lady, heavily veiled. Her dark eyes sought his for a moment, and then dropped. Momentarily curious, he looked after her, but she had disappeared in the king's room. John Peters smiled a little bitterly as he left the palace.

"So we pay the great tax," he muttered, "young and old, rich and poor! They turn the wheels, and we spin or jump for their pleasure, like monkeys! Curse all women!"

He entered his motor-car, which was waiting at the palace gates. "Drive to the office of the chief of the police," he ordered.