The Secret of the Silver Car by Wyndham Martyn (snow like ashes series .TXT) 📖

are not a mechanic; that is plain. You came for a certain political document worth in money—nothing. You took it. Now, sir, where is it?”

There was no doubting the count’s eagerness or Anthony Trent’s astonishment. The count had not recovered the treaty. So far as Trent remembered the envelope was in his coat pocket, the same coat he had taken off among the hay and made a pillow for his head. He assumed, naturally, that when he was roughly dragged from slumber his clothes were searched. A light of triumph came into his eyes at the thought that it did not repose behind those inviolate doors of steel. But it was amazing that the heap of hay had not been disturbed. He supposed it was because of the week of almost continuous rain.

“Where is it?” Count Michael repeated.

“When I saw it was of no value,” Trent said, sticking to his chauffeur role, “I burned it.”

“For the moment we will assume that you speak the truth. Now, how is it you made the mistake of supposing that I had here certain guests of high degree?”

“Just a guess,” Trent said calmly, “Wasn’t I right? Remember I had to bring them up from Fiume. I saw coronets on dressing cases and from the way Hentzi bowed and scraped I imagined they were at least royalties in disguise.”

“You said,” Count Michael insisted, “‘Give my love to the prince.’ You could only have meant one particular personage. You did not speak in generalities you particularized. You said ‘The prince.’ I warn you you do not help yourself by denials. I am not a patient man. The world knows that. Here in my castle of Radna I am supreme. I have not chosen my servants idly. They are committed to me and my cause absolutely. Old Ferencz there would die for me or mine. It is the tradition of loyalty born in him. So with the others. You are surrounded here with those who regard you as my enemy. How can I chide them if, knowing their lord is in peril, they seek to remove it?”

“First and second murderers,” Trent commented.

“Executioners,” the count corrected.

“It makes no difference what you call them,” Trent exclaimed.

“I am glad you look at it in that light,” Count Michael said, “It does not make any difference as you will see. I shall convince you of that by relating the sad accident which befell your friend Captain the Honourable Oswald Hardcastle, formerly of the Royal Dragoons.”

“My friend?” Trent exclaimed.

“Certainly,” the count returned, “Lord Rosecarrel’s military attach�� at Constantinople. Your innocence amuses me. You no doubt know that I owned that great horse Daliborka—a winner of the Grand Prix. I was dissatisfied with my trainer and asked friends at the Jockey Club in Paris to recommend me someone. Captain Hardcastle disguised himself much as you have done. He was no longer an aristocrat, an officer of a great regiment, but a trainer who was an ex-jockey. He was a good trainer and a great horseman. Daliborka’s time trials were marvelous. I entered him for the great races in England. My new trainer was so jealous of his horse he would have no strangers near and none was allowed to follow him in his rides through the grass meadows.” Count Michael laughed softly, “Yes, I was deceived, made a fool of, as you have it but I can confess it as I do in your case with the satisfaction that the last laugh, the last trick will be mine. It was my laugh at the last with Captain Hardcastle. You are interested?”

“I was in Paris when Daliborka won,” Trent said. “I made money on him. Most certainly I’m interested.”

“Captain Hardcastle wished for the document which you say you have destroyed. He obtained it. He did not seek to escape as you have done down the main roads. No. No. He had studied the country profoundly with all the topographical knowledge gained at the Staff College. He had such complete charge of my large stables that none questioned has right to do as he chose and I was too busy at the time even to Bee him. He planned his route carefully. He found out a path to the sea where there would wait him a yacht. It was, oddly enough, the same steam yacht in which my lord Rosecarrel makes his cruises. At intervals he placed my horses, horses he had trained for steeple chases. But the first stretch of the journey, ten miles of velvet turf he had planned to ride Daliborka. It is sufficient to tell you that we knew his plans in time. He was to start at midnight. It happened that I passed his quarters at half past eleven and detained him in talk, talk that gave him no uneasiness.”

“Then, thinking I was safely here he rushed to the little outbuilding where my great black horse was saddled. He sprang to its back quickly. And as he did so we lit a torch so that he might see how we laughed last. It was a black horse indeed, but a work horse, a slow placid beast which we had substituted. I have never seen real despair seize on a brave man as it did when he saw he had failed. I enjoyed it very much Arlfrit.

“The stable hands who had always resented his iron discipline, the discipline of the soldier, took their vengeance of him in my absence. They are rough, these brave fellows of mine, and do not know their strength.”

“You mean,” Trent snapped, “you let them murder a man who was probably tied as I am tied now?“Count Michael shrugged his shoulders.

“A man who puts his head in the lion’s den must not complain if the lion be hungry. This is my house and I do not welcome thieves. Then there was Sir Piers Edgcomb. I was never sure of him. A big man, slow of movement and who spoke German so well I believed him to be of Bavaria. He was my butler. These country bred servants of mine do well enough in most things but the niceties of table service as I see in your own country are beyond them.

“A butler who has to take charge of much valuable plate and old, precious glass should at least be able to clean them. This man—he called himself Peters knew nothing of these things. So I set traps for him. He had a wolf’s cunning. But a wise hunter can snare a wolf and I snared him. I did not bring you here to tell you of them so that you might be entertained. I brought you here to tell you that they who plotted, failed and died for their cause. You, who have succeeded and have injured me are my captive just as they were.”

“Well?” Anthony Trent said, “What of it?”

“Simply this. You say you have burned the document. That might be true or untrue. It is possible you have concealed it in some place where I could recover it only after long search. I shall give you a day to make up your mind to speak the whole truth.”

“And after that?”

“You will be glad to tell what you know,” Count

Michael said grimly. “Your death will be but a poor triumph to me; that I am willing to admit, but it is the greatest loss that can befall you.”

“You are trying to make a bargain with me?”

“Perhaps. I will say at least that if the document is procured Alfred Anthony would be free to return to London on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That he gave me his word of honor to forget every face and name he had seen or heard in Castle Radna. Under the circumstances I could allow myself to be so generous but I should require the most solemn of oaths.” The count leaned forward a little and spoke impressively. “Remember again, that your death will be but poor consolation for me yet it is the most terrible thing that can happen to you.”

“I’m not so sure,” Anthony Trent muttered.

In that moment there was stripped from him the cunning and audacity that success in crime had brought. Often he had seen himself in a melodramatic almost heroic light, laughing at the nice distinctions of wrong and right, stretching out his hand to take what he wanted and caring nothing for the judgments of men. With the egocentricity of the successful criminal he had felt himself superior to all his opponents and had seen himself in future performing such exploits as none had dared to do.

His months at Castle Radna had been very dull. The plentiful food was coarse; his companions boors; of music he had heard not a note. He was anxious to be back again among people he liked. Such a chance was offered him now. He believed if he gave his solemn word that the count—in order to retain his hold on Lord Rosecarrel would give him safe conduct to Fiume.

Yet he was amazed to find that he would not accept Count Michael’s offer. Rather than tell him the truth about the document and so bring disaster again on the family of the woman he loved he was content to give up his life. Perhaps there was another reason which brought him to this way of thinking also. Daphne was not for him. That, long ago, he had realized. Life without Daphne! Dreary days that would hold no joy lengthening into months and years of heart hunger and at last into dissatisfied old age. He was brought back from his thoughts by the count’s voice.

“Of what are you not sure? That I shall not keep my word?”

“I’m not sure that I shall give mine,” Trent answered.

“You will have a day and a night to think it over. I shall find you in a more reasonable mood when I see you again. But remember this. After tomorrow there will be no other opportunity. I am not a patient man and I am holding back my anger with difficulty. I do not relish being sick of chagrin.”

Anthony Trent held up his manacled hands.

“This is a sporting way of doing things, isn’t it?” he exclaimed.

“Until tomorrow,” Count Michael smiled.

It was dark when the prisoner reached his cell. An oil lamp lit the bare room. It was hung on a nail in the little cage out of reach of any occupant of the stone chamber.

Peter Sissek and old Ferencz had brought him to his prison. They offered him no violence. Evidently they were acting under orders. The count had made no comment on the bruises that still discoloured the American’s face.

He had been sitting an hour on the edge of his cot when the outer door opened. Trent did not even look up. It was at this hour unappetizing food was brought and thrust under the cage, food he could pick at clumsily with his hands in iron bracelets.

Hearing no grating sound of heavy plate being pushed over the uneven floor he looked up. Pauline stood in the cage with Hentzi. The latter was obviously nervous and alarmed. He looked about him in dread and listened unhappily for sounds that might indicate the coming of others along the flagged passage.

“Open the gate,” Pauline commanded, pointing to the steel barrier.

“If the count should hear of it!” he wailed.

“I will bear the blame,” she said. “Be quick.”

“You must be but five minutes,” he insisted.

“I shall take ten,” she retorted.

Wringing his hands Hentzi, the prey of many apprehensions, left her alone with the prisoner. It chanced that Pauline was aware of some petty thefts on the secretary’s part, defalcations which would destroy Count Michael’s faith in his probity. It was a threat of