The Traitors. E. Phillips OppenheimЧитать онлайн книгу.
he said. “He is perhaps a soldier?”
Ughtred shook his head.
“I have seen some fighting,” he said, “but I am not a soldier. I am a journalist, if you know what that means—one who writes for the newspapers. My friend whom you saw speak to me just now is a soldier by profession.”
The priest nodded pleasantly.
“And he, like yourself,” he asked, “is he, too, English?”
Ughtred looked around, and lowered his voice.
“He has been in the English army, but he is not an Englishman. He has had a very unfortunate history. I wish that I could tell it to you, but the time is too short, and he does not like to be talked about.”
The priest’s face shone with sympathy.
“Poor fellow!” he murmured.
“Brand!”
They both looked up. Brand himself had entered the coupé. There was a slight frown upon his forehead, and his tone was curt.
“I wish you would explain to the conductor about our tickets,” he said. “He is very stupid, and I cannot make him understand.”
Ughtred rose at once and left the coupé. Brand bowed gravely to the priest.
“I trust monsieur will excuse me,” he said, “for interrupting what I am sure must have been a very agreeable conversation.”
The slight foreign accent was beautifully done. Brand was as tall as Ughtred, and although not so broad his carriage was good and his natural air one of distinction. The priest smiled benignly upon him.
“I fear,” he said, “that I have already wearied your friend. My life must seem so humdrum to him, and to you, who have travelled so far and seen so much. For I, monsieur, as I have told your friend, have lived all my days in one quiet country place, and this journey is a great event for me.”
Brand slipped into the vacant seat. In the vestibule Ughtred met Reist. He drew him into the smoking-compartment. He was very pale, and his voice shook with emotion.
“The priest,” he said, “is a creature of Domiloff’s. You were on your guard?”
Ughtred nodded.
“What a famous fellow Brand is. Up to now, at any rate, his scheme has worked. He is personating me bravely, and really we are very much alike.”
“He will be too clever for him,” Reist said. “It is a matter of time. Do you know that in half-an-hour we shall be at the frontier?”
“So soon?” Ughtred exclaimed.
“Listen! I had a message from our friends at Limburg. The train will be searched at the barrier. There will be a determined attempt to prevent your entering the country. Theos is in a state of hopeless confusion. The motion to repeal your sentence of banishment is still before the House of Laws. The Custom officers, and I am afraid the Government officials, have been heavily bribed by Russia not to pass you across the frontier.”
A bright light flashed in Ughtred’s eyes.
“So we shall see,” he muttered.
“They have a plan ready for us, no doubt,” Reist continued, “and that priest is in it. Never mind. We shall outwit them. If only your friend Brand is equal to his part.”
“The man is a born actor,” Ughtred said. “I left him playing the Prince as I could never have done it. I do not think that Domiloff’s man will find him out.”
Reist pulled the window softly down and looked out. The train was passing across a high bridge. Below, the river wound its way through a stretch of rocky, broken country.
“We are barely twenty miles from my home—the castle of Reist is to the left of the hills there. In a few minutes the train will stop. Be ready to follow me, and do exactly as I do.”
“But we are not timed to stop until we reach Gallona!”
“Never mind,” Reist answered. “This will be a stop that does not appear upon the time-table. It is the plan of those who are working for us in Theos, and it is good. At the village station of Moschaum the signals will be against us, and we shall stop. Our task is to leave the train unseen—it may be difficult, but I have bribed all the servants, and they are preparing to see nothing. There will be horses waiting for us—and then—then it will be a gallop for a kingdom.”
“The plan seems good enough,” Ughtred said, thoughtfully, “and I am in your hands. But what about Brand?”
Reist shrugged his shoulders.
“He is one of those who love adventure, and I do not think that he can come to any harm. Let him play out his game. It was his own idea to personate you, and the risk is his own. Ah!”
There was a sudden slackening of speed. The brakes were on and the whistle sounding. Reist strolled to the platform of the car as though to look out, and Ughtred followed him. A conductor unfastened the gate and slipped away. The train had come to a standstill in a tiny station, a little wooden building with a cupola, and everywhere surrounded with a dense forest of pines. Reist looked swiftly round.
“Now,” he said. “Follow me.”
They slipped from the train on the side remote from the platform, and in half-a-dozen strides had reached the impenetrable shelter of the trees. Then there was a whistle. The train crawled onward serpent-like with its flaring electric lights and the shower of sparks which flew upwards from the engine. An hour later Ughtred, riding in silence and at breakneck speed with Reist at his elbow crossed the frontier of his kingdom.
CHAPTER X
“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