NEXT morning, as in duty bound, Von Tressen stopped on his way to Kulhausen to inquire after Fräulein Harlberg’s injury. The surgeon had pronounced it to be trifling, had extracted a shot and answered for a speedy healing.
“So you see,” Philippa said to the Lieutenant, “you have nothing to reproach yourself with.”
She had come out of the house to greet him, her father not being visible.
“I have indeed,” he returned, “when I think how awful the result might have been.”
“It was a curiously informal introduction,” she said laughingly.
“That is to me the only pleasant aspect of the affair. I feel inclined never to fire a gun again.”
“You must not say that. You should have good sport to-day if my wishes were of any avail.”
“I don’t deserve,” he said self-reproachfully, “that you should be so forgiving.”
“A woman,” she replied—and as she spoke her eyes rested on him with a sort of wistful trust—“can afford to overlook in a man slight failings in consideration of qualities she respects.”
He coloured a little at the implied compliment.
“You are good to say so,” he murmured.
“Oh,” she said lightly, “it is nothing. You are a soldier; I am sure you are brave and true and loyal, that you have a sense of duty. What is a moment’s carelessness to set against that? There! Perhaps I have said too much for the proprieties, but I can’t bear to see you weighed down by unnecessary self-reproach. Now you must go and shoot away with a clear conscience.”
Respecting her motive for frankness, he only gave her a grateful bow.
“I am not going to shoot this morning,” he informed her. “I have been lucky enough to find a companion.”
“Ah!” She turned quickly to him with a look of something more than curiosity. “Here in these wilds?”
“Not exactly here,” he laughed. “But in Kulhausen last evening. An old friend of mine. I am going now to fetch him over to my gipsy camp.”
“A brother officer?”
“No, a civilian. His name is Horaz Galabin. He is one of the secretaries in the Chancellor’s Bureau.”
He spoke quite carelessly, as though his friend’s identity were scarcely a matter to interest his companion, and he was surprised to notice a rather anxious look on her face.
“What in the world,” she asked—and he could not help thinking her voice rather betrayed an unsuccessful attempt at indifference—“is a secretary of the Chancellerie doing out in these uncivilized parts?”
“He comes for sport, he tells me.”
“Ah! And you both by lucky chance find a companion.” She had regained her self-possession now. “Come! Here is another reason why you need not regret that mistaken shot. If you had not ridden into town for the doctor you would not have met your friend.”
A chance which he had been hoping for had presented itself, and he seized it.
“If I had taken the Count’s horse,” he said with a reminiscent laugh, “I should have got to Kulhausen sooner, and thereby should have probably missed Galabin.”
“No doubt,” she agreed. “I am glad you did not take it.”
“Not for that reason alone, Fräulein?”
For a moment her eyes rested on him searchingly as though to determine whether she might trust him. Evidently the result of the scrutiny was favourable, for she answered:
“No; I did not want you to take the Count’s horse.”
“I gathered that,” he said with a smile; “and I have been puzzled for a reason, which perhaps I have no right to seek.”
“The explanation is quite simple,” she replied, smiling now in her turn. “I did not wish the Count detained here till you could bring his horse back.”
“The Count,” he said, “did not seem to share your idea that it would be inconvenient to him.”
“To him? Did I say so?”
“Ah, then to you. You do not like Count Zarka?”
Without looking at him she gave a little impatient shake of the head. “Not very much.”
“I thought so yesterday.” The girl was silent. “Perhaps,” he added, “I can guess why.”
“It is scarcely worth speculating about,” she said with a touch of pride. “Ah, here is my father.”
Herr Harlberg had sauntered from the house, and now came towards them with a not particularly gracious look on his discontented face. Von Tressen paid his respects, explained the object of his call, and expressed his relief at the doctor’s favourable report. Then, accepting a hint from Harlberg’s manner that he had stayed long enough, he took his leave.
“Tell me about this Count Zarka,” Galabin asked Von Tressen as they drove out to the forest together. “A wonderful fellow, is he not?”
“My dear man, I know little more than you. He has at least a wonderful house. Why are you so curious about the fellow?”
“Oh, I have heard of him in town,” the other answered carelessly. “He is reported to have become rich in an astonishingly short time, and no one can tell how.”
“He has the reputation of being a great gambler, and, what seldom follows, a successful one.”
“So I have heard.”
“And do you not believe it?”
Galabin gave a shrug. “I have no grounds on which to form an opinion. Yet I confess a man may well be sceptical. The gambler’s trade hardly pays so prodigiously—at least when he plays fair.”
They soon reached Von Tressen’s encampment, and after luncheon took their guns and strolled out.
“If it is all the same to you,” Galabin suggested, “suppose we shape our course in the direction of the Schloss Rozsnyo. I am rather curious to see the place.”
“I think, my friend,” Von Tressen returned slily, “you are very anxious to see it, and are much interested in Count Zarka. Why, I do not know. To me he is not an attractive person.”
Galabin gave a shrug. “I am a student of human nature, my dear Osbert. This man is a curiosity. At least you will allow that. Most men are negative characters. I love a positive, whether it be good or evil.”
“The positive characters in general are evil, are they not?”
“True. And I imagine our friend over there in particular. Still he will be a study.”
“Mark!” Von Tressen’s gun rang out, and a black-cock fell twenty yards in front of them. “But, my good Horaz,” he said as he reloaded, “you did not come out here to study character. You came for sport, did you not?”
Galabin pointed to the fallen bird. “There are more kinds of sport than that, my friend,” he returned.
Von Tressen looked at him sharply, and, as the eyes of the two men met, the light of a mutual understanding seemed to fill them. “Now, Horaz,” he said with a laugh, “is it worth while wasting time by playing at cross purposes? We are old comrades; you can trust me.”
“Yes,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation, “I can trust you. We both serve the same master, and it is on his business that I am here. Besides, you should be able to help me; there is no reason why we should not work together.”
“State service? My dear Horaz, you may be sure I shall only be too ready.”
“We diplomats,” Galabin observed cautiously, “have to be more than ordinarily careful. Gersdorff would say it is a mistake to trust one’s dearest friend. The very essence of our work is secrecy. Still, confidence here is less dangerous than the risk of our playing at cross purposes; for there, my friend, you might easily and quite unwittingly spoil my game.”
“No doubt,” Von Tressen agreed. “Nevertheless, you must not take me into your confidence against your better judgment.”
“I would not. Still I feel sure you can help me here if you will. It is a business where pluck and nerve are likely to be needed. You will give me your word of honour to be secret?”
“Certainly. You have my word of honour. Beyond that, if, as I understand, it is a state affair, and no private business, I am already bound by my oath of service.”
“Of course, my dear Osbert, I know you would be loyal to the death.”
“Now what is this mysterious undertaking?”
“Principally to find out all about your friend at Rozsnyo.”
Von Tressen laughed. “As I had already guessed. He is suspect?”
Galabin nodded. “There is an idea that he is in the pay of Russia. And, incidentally that he knows as much, or rather more, than anybody else about the disappearance of Prince Roel of Rapsberg.”
“And your mission is to convert the conjecture into a certainty.”
“Precisely. Now, tell me what you know.”
He threw himself down on the natural bank which rose towards the trunk of a great pine, and Von Tressen followed his example.
“Very little,” the Lieutenant replied. “And about Count Zarka, except that I have made the man’s acquaintance, probably much less than you. My meeting him was the result of a rather curious adventure yesterday.”
“Tell me.”
Von Tressen thereupon related the story of his unlucky shot, and his meeting with Fräulein Harlberg, telling everything with perfect frankness. When he had come to an end Galabin remarked:
“So you were not favourably impressed with the Herr Graf, and the young lady shares your repugnance. Harlberg? H’m! It is curious that an elderly man should drag his daughter out to a lonely farmhouse in these wilds for sport. You have come across him in your shooting excursions?”
“No. But I have been here only a few days.”
“You have no corroborative evidence that he does shoot?”
Von Tressen laughed. “No. Nor can I say that he looks a keen sportsman. One thing I did notice about him, though.”
“That he had the air of a military man?”
The Lieutenant stared. “Why, Horaz, how did you guess that?”
“You shall know before long. I have an idea. These people are intimate with the Count, and mein Herr comes here for sport. The Count, their friend, has a great house quite near. Why does he not invite them to stay at Rozsnyo instead of allowing them to undergo the discomforts of an old farmhouse?”
He seemed to be arguing the matter with himself rather than putting the question to his companion.
Von Tressen shook his head. “It is very singular.”
“Not so very strange,” Galabin returned with a laugh. “If you are an admirer of Fräulein Harlberg, my dear friend, I dare say there is no reason why you should not continue your admiration.”
Von Tressen was silent for a few moments.
“Why are they here?” he asked.
“Ah! That is a question which perhaps no one could answer so satisfactorily as Count Zarka. But if we have patience we may find it out for ourselves. At present I can only hazard the merest guess.”
“And that is——?”
“That the Count may share your and Prince Roel’s admiration for the young lady. Is it too improbable?”
Von Tressen shook his head resentfully. “No; I fear it is quite likely.”
“At least it supplies a motive. I fancy Rozsnyo is the central point of a very pretty series of conspiracies, public and private, one within the other, which it will be my task to unravel.”
“I shall only be too glad to help you,” Von Tressen declared heartily.
“Very well, then. We will make a reconnaissance of Rozsnyo to-night.”