The Puppet Crown [13]
bedridden. The archbishop is the real king nowadays. But he meddles not with the police."
"This is very sad. I suppose it would be impossible for strangers to see him now."
"An audience?" a sparkle behind the spectacles. "Is your business with the king, Monsieur?"
"My business is mine," shortly. "I am only a tourist, and should have liked to see the king from mere curiosity. However, had you explained all this to me, I should not have caused you so many gray hairs."
"Monsieur did not give me the chance," simply.
"True," the Englishman replied soberly. He began to think that he had been over hasty in asserting his privileges. "But all this has nothing to do with me. My name is John Hamilton. See, it is engraved on the stock of the gun," catching it up and holding it under the spectacled eyes, which still observed it with some trepidation. "That is the name in my passports, in the book down stairs, in the lining of my hat. I am sorry, since you were only obeying orders, that my rough play has caused you alarm." He unbolted the door. "Good morning."
The inspector left the room as swiftly as his short legs could carry him, ignoring the ethics of common politeness. As he stumbled down the stairs he cursed the minister of police for requiring this spy work of him, and not informing him why it was done. Ah, these cursed Anglais from Angleterre! They were all alike, and this one was the worst he had ever encountered. And those ugly black orifices in the gun! Peste! He would resign! Yes, certainly he would resign.
As to the Englishman, he stood in the center of the room and scratched his head. "Hang it, I've made an ass of myself. That blockhead will have the gendarmes about my ears. If they arrest me there will be the devil to pay. The Lord and the Baronet Fitzgerald!" he repeated. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and fell to laughing again. "Confound these picture-book kingdoms! They always take themselves so seriously. Well, if the gendarmes call this afternoon I'll not be at home. No, thank you. I shall be hunting pheasants."
And thereat he set to work cleaning the gun which had all but prostrated the inspector. Soon the room smelled of oiled rags and tobacco. Some-times the worker whistled softly. Sometimes he let the gun fall against his knee, and stared dreamily through the window at the flight of the ragged clouds. Again, he would shake his head, as if there were something which he failed to understand. Half an hour passed, when again some one knocked on the door.
"Come in!" Under his breath he added: "The gendarmes, likely."
But it was only the proprietor of the hotel. "Asking Herr's pardon," he said, "for this intrusion, but I have secured a man for you. I have the honor to recommend Johann Kopf as a good guide and hunter."
"Send him up. If he pleases me, I'll use him."
The proprietor withdrew.
Johann Kopf proved to be a young German with a round, ruddy face, which was so innocent of guile as to be out of harmony with the shrewd, piercing black eyes looking out of it. The Englishman eyed him inquisitively, even suspiciously.
"Are you a good hunter?" he asked.
"There is none better hereabout," answered Johann, twirling his cap with noticeably white fingers. It was only in after days that the Englishman appreciated the full significance of this answer.
"Speak English?"
"No. Herr's German is excellent, however."
"Humph!" The Englishman gave a final glance into the shining tubes of the gun, snapped the breach, and slipped it into the case. "You'll do. Return to the office; I'll be down presently."
"Will Herr hunt this morning?"
"No; what I wish this morning is to see the city of Bleiberg."
"That is simple," said Johann. The fleeting, imperceptible smile did not convict his eyes of false keenness.
He bowed out. When the door closed the Englishman waited until the sound of retreating steps failed. Then he took the gun case which he had not yet opened, and thrust it under the mattress of the bed.
"Johann," he
"This is very sad. I suppose it would be impossible for strangers to see him now."
"An audience?" a sparkle behind the spectacles. "Is your business with the king, Monsieur?"
"My business is mine," shortly. "I am only a tourist, and should have liked to see the king from mere curiosity. However, had you explained all this to me, I should not have caused you so many gray hairs."
"Monsieur did not give me the chance," simply.
"True," the Englishman replied soberly. He began to think that he had been over hasty in asserting his privileges. "But all this has nothing to do with me. My name is John Hamilton. See, it is engraved on the stock of the gun," catching it up and holding it under the spectacled eyes, which still observed it with some trepidation. "That is the name in my passports, in the book down stairs, in the lining of my hat. I am sorry, since you were only obeying orders, that my rough play has caused you alarm." He unbolted the door. "Good morning."
The inspector left the room as swiftly as his short legs could carry him, ignoring the ethics of common politeness. As he stumbled down the stairs he cursed the minister of police for requiring this spy work of him, and not informing him why it was done. Ah, these cursed Anglais from Angleterre! They were all alike, and this one was the worst he had ever encountered. And those ugly black orifices in the gun! Peste! He would resign! Yes, certainly he would resign.
As to the Englishman, he stood in the center of the room and scratched his head. "Hang it, I've made an ass of myself. That blockhead will have the gendarmes about my ears. If they arrest me there will be the devil to pay. The Lord and the Baronet Fitzgerald!" he repeated. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and fell to laughing again. "Confound these picture-book kingdoms! They always take themselves so seriously. Well, if the gendarmes call this afternoon I'll not be at home. No, thank you. I shall be hunting pheasants."
And thereat he set to work cleaning the gun which had all but prostrated the inspector. Soon the room smelled of oiled rags and tobacco. Some-times the worker whistled softly. Sometimes he let the gun fall against his knee, and stared dreamily through the window at the flight of the ragged clouds. Again, he would shake his head, as if there were something which he failed to understand. Half an hour passed, when again some one knocked on the door.
"Come in!" Under his breath he added: "The gendarmes, likely."
But it was only the proprietor of the hotel. "Asking Herr's pardon," he said, "for this intrusion, but I have secured a man for you. I have the honor to recommend Johann Kopf as a good guide and hunter."
"Send him up. If he pleases me, I'll use him."
The proprietor withdrew.
Johann Kopf proved to be a young German with a round, ruddy face, which was so innocent of guile as to be out of harmony with the shrewd, piercing black eyes looking out of it. The Englishman eyed him inquisitively, even suspiciously.
"Are you a good hunter?" he asked.
"There is none better hereabout," answered Johann, twirling his cap with noticeably white fingers. It was only in after days that the Englishman appreciated the full significance of this answer.
"Speak English?"
"No. Herr's German is excellent, however."
"Humph!" The Englishman gave a final glance into the shining tubes of the gun, snapped the breach, and slipped it into the case. "You'll do. Return to the office; I'll be down presently."
"Will Herr hunt this morning?"
"No; what I wish this morning is to see the city of Bleiberg."
"That is simple," said Johann. The fleeting, imperceptible smile did not convict his eyes of false keenness.
He bowed out. When the door closed the Englishman waited until the sound of retreating steps failed. Then he took the gun case which he had not yet opened, and thrust it under the mattress of the bed.
"Johann," he