The Puppet Crown [99]
"The archbishop will not be able to form another cabinet."
"Count von Wallenstein . . . "
"Mollendorf and Beauvais, too--"
"The king is dying . . . The archbishop has been given full powers."
"The army will revolt unless Beauvais is recalled."
"And the Marshal says here . . ."
Maurice waited to hear no more, but climbed through the window into the office.
"By George, something has happened since last night. I must have an evening paper." He found one, and read an elaborate account of what had taken place during the day. Von Wallenstein had been relieved of the finance. Mollendorf of the police, Erzberg of foreign affairs, and Beauvais of his epaulettes. There remained only the archbishop, the chancellor and the Marshal. The editorial was virulent in its attack on the archbishop, blustered and threatened, and predicted that the fall of the dynasty was but a matter of a few hours. For it asserted that the prelate could not form another cabinet, and without a cabinet there could be no government. It was not possible for the archbishop to shoulder the burden alone; he must reinstate the ministry or fall.
"And this is the beginning of the end," said Maurice, throwing aside the paper. "What will happen next? The old prelate is not a man to play to the gallery. Has he found out the double dealing of Beauvais? That takes a burden off my shoulders-- unless he goes at once to the duchy. But why wasn't the cabinet dismissed ages ago? It is now too late. And where is Prince Frederick to the rescue? There is something going on, and what it is only the archbishop knows.
That smile of his! How will it end? I'd like to see von Mitter, who seems to be a good gossip. And that poor, friendless, paralytic king! I say, but it makes the blood grow warm."
He left the chair and paced the office confines. Only one thing went echoing through his brain, and that was he could do nothing. The sooner he settled down in the attitude of a spectator the better for him. Besides, he was an official in the employ of a foreign country, and it would be the height of indiscretion to meddle, even in a private capacity. It would be to jeopardize his diplomatic career, and that would be ridiculous.
A porter touched him on the shoulder.
"A letter for your Excellency."
It was from the American minister in Vienna.
"My dear Carewe: I have a service to ask of you. The British minister is worried over the disappearance of a fellow- countryman, Lord Fitzgerald. He set out for Bleiberg, leaving instructions to look him up if nothing was heard of him within a week. Two weeks have gone. Knowing you to be in Bleiberg, I believed you might take the trouble to look into the affair. The British ambassador hints at strange things, as if he feared foul play. I shall have urgent need of you by the first of October; our charge d'affaires is to return home on account of ill-health, and your appointment to that office is a matter of a few days."
Maurice whistled. "That is good news; not Haine's illness, but that I have an excuse to meddle here. I'll telegraph at once. And I'll take the ride besides." He went to his room and buckled on his spurs, and thoughtfully slipped his revolver into a pocket. "I am not going to take any chances, even in the dark." Once again in the office, he stepped up to the desk and ordered his horse to be brought around to the cafe entrance.
"Certainly," said the clerk. Then in low tones "There has been a curious exchange in saddles, Monsieur."
"Saddles?"
"Yes. The saddle in your stall is, curiously enough, stamped with the arms of the house of Auersperg. How that military saddle came into the stables is more than the grooms can solve."
"O," said Maurice, with an assumption of carelessness; "that is all right. It's the saddle I arrived on. The horse and saddle belong to Madame the duchess. I have been visiting at the Red Chateau. I shall return in the morning."
"Ah," said the clerk, with a furtive smile which Maurice lost; "that accounts for the mystery."