CHAPTER XXVII
THE END OF THE AFFAIR
IN a moment the two men had taken in the scene, and Von Tressen strode quickly towards Zarka. “You ruffian!” he cried. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Stand away!” was the Count’s defiant reply. “This lady is my wife, and you interfere at your peril.”
“It is a lie!” Philippa gasped, recovering from her half faint, and struggling to free herself from Zarka’s grasp. “This man is a villain. I have been lured to this place by a trick. Osbert, I hate and loathe the man. I am not his wife; I would rather die than marry him. Will you not——?”
Before she could say more, Von Tressen’s arm was round her, and his disengaged hand dealt the Count a blow such as he had never felt before, a square, well-placed hit, worthy of an Englishman, which broke his hold of Philippa and sent him staggering back, falling over the chairs ranged behind him.
He recovered himself quickly and, facing them, white with rage and pain, seemed to be meditating a rush. But he thought better of it, seeing that the odds were against him. Von Tressen and Galabin supported Philippa to a seat, where she sank down overcome by fear and excitement.
In the few seconds this occupied Zarka had regained the mastery over himself and a certain amount of composure.
“You will answer for this outrage, Lieutenant Von Tressen,” he said, speaking in a loud harsh voice. “It is you who are the ruffian; this is my private chapel in which you are brawling, and that lady is my wife.”
“I think not,” Von Tressen returned quietly.
“I have witnesses to prove it,” cried Zarka.
“Witnesses! Who are they?” Von Tressen demanded contemptuously.
“This man is your servant,” Galabin put in, pointing to the valet.
“And this,” pursued Von Tressen, indicating the priest who had laid down his book, and was sitting in one of the altar chairs with as much dignity as he could retain, “Is this another of your servants? Cowardly villain! I will proclaim you from one end of Europe to the other.”
The priest, taking his cue to speak, rose and stepped towards Von Tressen.
“You are mistaken, sir,” he said blandly. “I am not a suborned domestic masquerading as a priest. This is no mock marriage. I am Desider Hornthal, a graduate of the University of Buda, and priest of the parish of Lilienberg.”
“Then,” Von Tressen retorted, “if you are privy to this precious piece of villainy you are a disgrace to your cloth.”
“Will you leave my chapel?” cried Zarka.
“I will not,” Von Tressen answered. “Neither shall any man, till we have got to the bottom of this vile business. Galabin, make fast that door, there’s a good fellow. Now, sir,” he went on, turning again to Hornthal, “accepting your statement about yourself, have you the audacity to tell me and my friend that the Fräulein is that man’s wife? Stop! Before you answer I warn you. I am Lieutenant Von Tressen of the Second Regiment of Cavalry: my uncle is Staatssecretär Von Tressen. This gentleman,” he pointed to Galabin, “is Herr Galabin, in the Bureau of his Excellency Baron Gersdorff, and we intend this matter shall be fully brought to light. The reply you give us you will have to repeat before a tribunal of justice.”
“Of course she is my wife,” exclaimed Zarka angrily, as the priest hesitated. “The ceremony——”
“No, no! A thousand times no!” cried Philippa. “I swear I am not his wife. Osbert, it was by force and fraud, and they know it. Even if——”
“Yes, yes, dear,” said Von Tressen reassuringly. “You need have no fear. You, father, do you confirm Count Zarka, or this lady?”
The priest had begun to fear he was on the brink of an ugly scandal. But he was astute enough to see in a moment on which side his bread was buttered, and that his line was stoutly to support his patron.
“The marriage is undoubtedly duly performed,” he answered, unctuously decisive. “The lady, although a little hysterical, was quite a willing party, until she heard you coming, when her manner altogether changed.”
“Do you, a professor of religion, standing at the altar, mean to tell me,” demanded Galabin sternly, “that this lady gave her consent to become Count Zarka’s wife?”
Hornthal was not troubled either by nerves or superstition, consequently his position, professional or local, made no difference to his answer.
“Certainly. That was my impression before you came upon the scene.”
But he looked scared as he had never been before, and all his suavity seemed to vanish in a guilty start as a voice, coming behind from the very depths of the altar, cried, “It is a lie!”
The priest turned involuntarily, and all looked wonderingly towards the spot whence the voice proceeded. The altar-cloth, stiff and heavy with its elaborate embroidery, was disturbed, then lifted, and from beneath it appeared a figure at sight of which Zarka uttered an oath, and Philippa, transfixed by the apparition, gave a cry of mingled astonishment and fear.
“Prince Roel!”
Pale and with hollow, sunken eyes, he looked a weird apparition to their startled imaginations. For a few moments no one could speak, as the figure of the Prince stood clutching one corner of the altar and glaring at them, half fearful, half defiant.
“A lie! An impious lie!” he repeated. “I am a witness. It is no marriage.”
“Bah! Mad fellow!” cried Zarka. “What trick is this. He is mad; pay no heed to his raving!”
The Prince made a spring forward but stopped half way, and stood glaring at him, unable to speak through the working of his passion.
“You call me mad!” he gasped. “Yes; you have tried to make me so. But I have escaped from your diabolical trap.”
“I think,” said Galabin coolly to Zarka, “this is Prince Roel of Rapsburg, whom you, as a creature of the Russian, have kept here secretly a prisoner—”
“That you might accuse Fräulein Harlberg of his death,” Von Tressen cried fiercely, “and, by working upon her fears, force her into a marriage with you. It was the act of a contemptible coward and a villain! Come, Philippa. We have had enough of this.”
He put out his arm half caressingly, half protectingly to lead her away. But as they made a move towards the door, Zarka came quickly forward and planted himself to intercept them, with an ugly, determined set to his face.
“You do not think I shall let you go like this,” he said. “She is my wife, and you touch her at your peril.”
“I can prove she is not his wife,” Prince Roel cried excitedly.
“I intend,” Von Tressen said quietly, “to take Fräulein Harlberg home to her father. If your assertion be true, you will have ample opportunity for claiming her.”
“You shall not dictate to me, Lieutenant,” Zarka cried in fury. “In any case you will answer to me for this insolent intrusion. Now, stand away, or take the consequences!”
For reply Von Tressen handed Philippa to Galabin and advanced towards the door in front of which Zarka was standing like a tiger at bay.
“Do you mean to let us pass, Count?”
In another moment Von Tressen had seized hold of him, and the two men were struggling fiercely. Strong and well-knit as Zarka was, he was hardly a match for his younger and more athletic opponent. A very few seconds’ time sufficed for the Lieutenant to get the upper hand. He forced Zarka from the door and then flung him heavily away.
Galabin and Philippa had by this already passed through the sacristy and out into the hall beyond. The valet had followed close upon them without showing any sign of what his intention might be, and as Von Tressen turned from Zarka to cover their retreat the Prince sprang before him and rushed after the man.
“Quick!” cried Galabin, seeing Von Tressen coming after them. “The sooner we are out of this place the better. Ah!”
The valet had rushed to the door for which they were making and locked it. Next moment Prince Roel’s fingers were round his throat from behind; he was pulled backwards and flung, half-throttled, to the floor.
“Good!” Galabin exclaimed, throwing open the door for Philippa. “Come with us, Prince; we must get you away from here.”
Philippa, passing out, drew back with a startled cry. In the doorway stood Zarka, with two swords in his hand. He entered and shut the door behind him.
“You have reckoned without your host, Lieutenant,” he said. “You shall not leave my house without paying for this outrage, or at least till we have adjusted our differences. We have a score to settle. You are undeniable as a wrestler; now let us see if you are equally admirable with edged tools.”
“If you think I am going to fight a duel with you, Count, you are greatly mistaken,” answered Von Tressen.
“But you will have to fight me before you leave this place,” Zarka returned. “It is not the custom among Hungarian gentlemen to maul one another like drunken fishwives. We leave that to the tumblers at our fairs and the dancing dogs. The world is too small to hold us both. There is your sword.”
He threw one of the duelling swords down at Von Tressen’s feet.
“I am not in the least afraid of you,” the Lieutenant said, “and should be quite content to settle our quarrel according to your code. But I presume not even the custom among Hungarian gentlemen would sanction my crossing swords with a man who has flung away all right to be looked upon as a man of honour.”
Zarka’s eyes blazed with fury.
“You swagger well, soldier-boy! But it shall not serve you. No man ever yet insulted me with impunity, nor shall you be the first. Pick up that sword and defend yourself, or take the consequences.”
“I must protest against anything of the sort,” interposed Galabin, leaving Philippa and coming forward. “The Lieutenant has a perfect right to refuse your challenge, and you touch an unarmed man at your peril.”
“I accept that,” Zarka retorted.
“You ignore the presence of the lady about whom you affect such interest——”
But Zarka would not listen.
“Take that sword and fight me, Lieutenant, or I swear I’ll run you through.”
“Have you not given proof enough of your cowardice?” returned Von Tressen, folding his arms.
Zarka sprang forward and slashed at him furiously with his sword. Von Tressen caught the blow on his arm, and tried to grapple with him, but Zarka was too alert, and stepping quickly back, kept him off at the sword’s point.
“Take your sword!” he cried, “or I’ll kill you!”
The situation was serious, for the man was mad with fury. Galabin reached for the sword and put it into Von Tressen’s hand—with the warning—“Take care of yourself!”
He had hardly caught hold of it when Zarka set upon him furiously. Von Tressen had no time to get on his guard or even to grasp the weapon properly, and in an instant a pass from Zarka had sent it from his hand. With a cry of triumphant execration Zarka went forward to lunge at him; Philippa and Galabin both by a common impulse rushed towards them, but at the same moment Prince Roel caught up a massive silver candlestick from a stand by the wall, and flung it with all his might at Zarka. It struck him full in the face, and hurled him senseless to the floor.