THE KIDNAPPED PRINCE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 201, 23 August 1905, Page 11

THE KIDNAPPED PRINCE.

:■■;,. — ~ — I By* E. K. A2$D E. A. Weekes,

I Anchors of Si Prisoners of War,' 3 "Unknown,** etc

■' S--SQFSIS OF I>"ST_-L_f_.NT I. . Cement Carre, a young Frenchman, -sits the chambers of Roland Carew, an I _Sr»Bshiaan of wealth and leisure, ■with, j *__Bn he is on intiraate terms, and hints at! of the occurrence of won-J ? rferfnl thin. s about to happen to him, and \ implying that he is concerned in a plot to I —jstore the old _f,narehy in France. Ro-fe-d' presently visits h's friend, Violet Xic_-Ison. a youns lady of great charm ~__ much character, who is trying to a living at literature, where amongst atler tJiiQ-S, the matter of tiie Legitimist pot is discus-cd with, some originality. Having left Violet Sicholson. with whom, __t|_toTJ-a to himself. Roland is in love! Ie goes to a. restaurant, where he finds '■■-■, ! a pocket book, belonging to two French-! m& <*n Berri and Souvestre, in which hs £_*Is co___r___.tion of th, Soyalist plot. He restores the papers to their owners, and fg by them induced to visit their headanarteis, where he is assaulted and nearly filled. |; CHAPTER lII.— (Continued.) V Dv Berri had picked himself up durinothe struggle. He took the cognac from Jacques" hand? and gave it to Souvestre, jrho poured it between Roland's lips. 'Touch and go." he said, nodding at Boland's discoloured, ghastly face. '"Fortunately for you. Jacques, it is touch and not go." He stood up. and spoke in dominant tones. "You want a taste of the lash it seems, eh?" "But, m'sieu. I did but what 11. Paul would have done. M. Paul went so, and I saw his eyes look strange, and his voice grew soft, and then I saw his hxind touch monsieur's cheek, and he had his emerald ring on. Well, theu monsieur dashed away, and would have called for help; and what .was Jacques to do?" "Is iB true, Paul ?" Souvestre asked, taming sharply on his comrade, "Quite true." said dv Berri unabashed: "but I did not authorise him to strangle the gentleman. A touch of my ring "is «mc matter, and the grip of those great eanailie hands on a gentleman's throat is another. I have a mind to set you flogged, butcher/ ""This once, out of our great clemency and kindness, we will let you off, Jacques. •For the future, take care. The lash is always handy, and when a man has fifty or so red furrows down his back he is not well at his ease. Now go: When will you learn, dv Berri, that we are soldiers and not assassins ? Your ideas axe of the Middle Ages." he refused to join us."' Paul explained, evidently feeling his explanation fully sufficient. "Nor would he give up the papers, nor pledge himself to secrecy. He sympathised with the idea of setting free the Bourbon, but for the rest he ■would do nothing. He was even insolent, and extremely insolent." "-No matter: you should not have done it. except as a last resource. We are not murderers; besides, one cannot have too many brave men. This is a good fighter: I was watching him while he struggled with Jacques. Also, he is strong. It is some way from the piano to the wall, and I presume you did not He down there on purpose.'' "I was a child in his hands," frankly acknowledged dv Berri. "I tbink he is coming round. What you say is very true, and perhaps I was hasty." Roland came to himself quietly enough, and did not flinch though he found dv Bern bending over him. "Oh.'" he said dreamily. "I hope I did not hurt you. my dear sir. I had an idea that you were going to murder mc. Was it you or the other man?'* °Tt was the other man." said dv Berri hurriedly. "I did not mean him to do it." Souvestre broke into a short laugh. Roland looked round wondering. "I feel rather good-for-nothing. Give mc a hand up, will you, M. dv Berri?*' Paul helped him to his feet cautiously, and he sat down with a gesture of weariness. " After all'* —it was Roland still who epoke; the other two stood silent—"it is only a question of times and seasons. You do wa__t to get rid of mc, I suppose f "I will not cheat you." said dv Berri with a pride which seemed misplaced. "I did intend to remove you. See this m_g which I wear —a prick, and you fall: the symptoms are those of an apoplectic fit. Xo one hut an exper, could detect the difference, and then only in an examination." •? "Then if you die of apoplexy seme : day. I shall know what it is." retorted Roland. "And what is the next move in the game""" "This." said Souvestre. ""Either you die. or you join us in the question of freeing our King. Decide, Mr Carew." "Yoa will never be able to do it." "It is merely a bargain." "Nevertheless I must refuse it." There was a short silence, occupied, by Souvestre at least, in hard thought. He had seen Roland's lighting powers, and that was not his only advantage: he was an aristocrat, and had proved his incorruptibility by refusing a bribe. Such men were hard to get. On the other hand he knew too much to be let go: he must either swear allegiance or be shot. And Souvestre- unlike his ac--ernpLice. was no assassin; he shrank inexpressibly from the taking of a life in cold blood. He ransacked his memory for suggestions which might influence Roland's decision. "After alL*' he said, "it is for our king that we tight. And, monsieur, he suffers." "Poor little beggar, yes.** said Roland, with a sigh. •~A lad of seventeen, immured for life —can yoa wonder if our hearts bleed for him? It is hard, is it not so?" "'Uncommonly." |s. Tf you had ever met him,'* Souvestre pursued earnestly, 'yoa would understand our emotions. I suppose," he added, struck by a sudden idea, "you have not ever met him? He has lived m London." "King Louis XIX! Xo. never,™ said Ro'and. shaking his head. "He did not live under h:"s own name," Souvestre explained. "'He was known by an alias." "What was the alias, may I ask?" . ""He was generally known as Clement C—" ""What!" shwrted Roland, leaping to his feet with a violence which made EouvesTr" start, and sent Paul precipitately into a corner. "He was called Clement Carre —" "Clement Carre? Oh, my sainted ; Aunt Maria! Holy Moses I poker r" gasped Roland, dropping abruptly back into his chair, '"why couldn't you say so before? Clement Carre, King of . Prance? Clement Carre shut up in fievil's Island f* "T did not know you knew him," ob- • served Souvestre, is a tone of depreca- . •-. ' .tion. "You were friends, perhaps?'' "Friend-. _ Gh, bans the President—.that if, don't hang hi_p, but blow hnn ;^ = TJfn_-rnf jgre

| feel like doing. Poor little chap! Poor j httle Carre! By Jove, 111 come with ; you with all the pleasure in life! Stop • a bit, though; I can't connive at an asj sassmat-on. Oh, confound the luck! j whatever made you go and let out' all your beastly plans, you two?-"' Roland ran his fingers through his hair till it stood on end. Souvestre suddenly got up and walked to the window. X 3U are willing to join us except in the Eiatter of the President?" he asked in level, business-like tones, j '•Willing? I'd give mv ears for a ! chance of doing it." '•One question. You mad English are fond of the sea; do you, like your countrymen, love it?" "Yes, rather; why?" "You are, perhaps, a navigator?" "I can sail a yacht as well a; most men; but why?" Souvestre raised bis hand, and Roland discovered that he was looking'straight into the gleaming barrel of a revolver. There are probably few experiences more irresistible in their fascination, and Roland, who liked his life, fell silen, abruptly, though he did not f_in,h. In the same cool, argumentative manner, Souvestre spoke. "You are unarmed, one man; we are three men, armed. If you run away we will shoot you. You will always be watched, unless you give your parole. By and bye, we will put chloroform up your nose, and take you away. You will not wake up till you are upon our yacht. Then you will not be able to escape, or warn anybody. You are a fighter, and an able seaman, as you call it, and besides, Ido not care to kill. So now you see you must come along of us. As you cannot help it, will you give your parole?" Roland's eyes flashed: he was partly angry, partly amused, and chiefly pleased. "I won't* give my parole," he said emphatically. ''Very well, some one with a revolver will be with you always, always, till you wake up on the yacht. It is an armed neutrality, is it not?" Roland shrugged his shoulders. "I can't very well say no," he remarked. "You hold the winning c_rds." "Very well; and now let mc hind up your arm. I am afraid it was hurt in the struggle. Afterwards we will have our dessert." Paul tied his handkerchief, a dainty slip of lace and cambric, round Roland's wounded arm, and then took him into the apartment opposite. Here, all was different: lights sparkled in a chandelier and illuminated a table laid with white damask and .glittering silver. A tall vase full of ferns stood in the centre: places were laid, and chairs set for three. Heavy curtains of grey velvet shut out, the dirty street and darkling sky: bookshelves lined the walls, and the floor was softly carpeted. Souve__re took the head oi the table: Paul sat on his left hand, Roland on his right, and the red-faced man, now correctly attired in evening dress, waited upon them. To the end of his life Roland remembered that strange dinner, and the merry laughter of Paul, and Armand's sombre eyes. Costly and refined as the room appeared, Roland found himself involuntarily seeking for stains upon the handsome carpet. He saw dv Bern's emerald flash in the lamplight, and wondered if perhaps some hapless guest had ever sank forward tipon the white cloth, when Paul', grown affectionate, had thrown an arm round his neck. And Paul grew very affectionate, as be talked and smoked, and sipped his delicious champagne. He confided all the surprising- details of the plan of rescue to Roland, while Armand sat and watched, and sometimes laughed rather ironically. Paul talked on., till Roland's head spun; he was rather shaken by his violent experiences, and would fain have gone to sleep where he sat. Souvestre fortunately intervened, just as Roland for the tenth time put np his hand to hide a yawn, and broke across the stream of dv Berri's talk. "When you have finished your little . romances, Paul. Mr. Carew will be j ____n__ful to retire. And I also: I am i sleepy; but do not let us disturb you; j you have, perhaps, more to say."' Paul pushed back his chair and stood | up. Souvestre conducted Roland into the passage and up the stairs. The upper storey was almost unfurnished, and the room into which Roland was shown bore no slight resemblance to a prison; its I walls and floor were naked, its windows j h-avity barred. There were two wooden I chairs and a low bed dingily furnished. A basin and ewer stood on the floor in a corfter. Roland accepted the position with an ill grace. "Do you expect mc to sleep in this hole?" * "Paul and I would yield to you the room we ourselves occupy, if it offered any improvement, monsieur." This was a cogent argument. v Roland J I shrugged his shoulders, and took the! light—a guttering candle—from Souves-1 tre's hand. "I do not see why I should not go out i and sleep at an hotel," he said, as a final effort. | • "It does matter in the least whether you see or not." rejoined Souvestre. "We see for you. Adieu! Sleep well." j Roland was left alone. Souve_tre, as he went, turned the key in the lock, so j that Roland had no chance of escape on I that point. A glance at the window j showed him his utter helplessness; and, resolving to make the best of evii3 which he could not mend, Roland jammed both chairs across the door, placed the basin on the top of one of them in a position so insecure that the slightest jar would knock it down with a crash, and threw himself down to sleep. Later on he woke with an oppressive sense of fear, and found that be had been roused by the I shininjr of a bright light. It appeared in a corner of the room, and gave a. strange effect of distance. Roland was considerably startled: so much so that he dared not give way to his fear, but got up and went towards the light. Midway, it vanished; Roland moved aside, and it appeared again. Then Roland saw that in a corner of the room there was a grating, ! and that a lamp was burning somewhere ! behir.d the grating. With what it communicated he could not tell, nor could he for a while hear any sound, even the faintest; bnt bye and bye there stolupon his ears the murmur of regular breathing; and scarcely had he tasted the delight of reassurance, when suddenly, without the least warning, there, shone -! a Bash oi bright light, and then there i -! appeared. fr3_nad in the square apsrture, : ! the evil and jeering ia.oe cf Ja-xjiies. For - j a moment it remained there, smiling and s | silent j and was again withdrawn. j :\ ""K-Js^w^jjajEd^^

his own, and there Jacques was sleeping. |S BLteryalf, prsbably brief, jhj sleeper would awaken, and peer in upon his captive; the signal for these visits Was no doubt the flashing of that distant lamp. It Was a slight matter now that it was j fairly understood; or it should have been j so; but Roland had gone all his life in | a strange and morbid dislike of being j 'watched; and the knowledge that a man was continually' spying upon him, and observing him as he woke or slept, and that man Jacques, the butcher, whose ■ hands had that very day come nigh to j tearing the life out of him—this know- | ledge daunted Roland. He was cowed iby it; and he crawled back to bed, and f lay wakeful, straining his eyes for the j warning flash which came at intervals all I through the night. Instead came, at length, the blue pal- | lor of earliest dawn pricking through the I chinks in the shutters. Then Roland | took courage, resoultely put aside his i fears turned his face to the wall, and ! slept. CHAPTER IT. VOICE OCT OF THE NIGHT. j The upper skies showed faintly blue, j and the sun was beginning to peer doubtrally throu-rh the mists which overwhelmed the lower spaces of air: the sea lay i rolling lazy surges, which broke glittering round - the keel of the Eyes of j Fire. or _rli_L outwards into the skirts of the great fog. Roland, standj ing on deck, could sometimes hear the | blast of foghorns which he knew came j from an inland river; but of that river, j and of the peaceful country through which it flowed, he could sec nothing. Gloomy fog—blinding, chill, affrightiiy fog—attended the commencement of his voyage in the Eyes of Fire: most appropriately, as it seemed to him. He | was in the mood to find a sort of symi holism in the circle of haggard sunshine j which girdled the yacht: to him | for the easy opening of dv Bcrri's plans, j while the hopeless blindness beyond | symbolised their inevitable end. i Dv Bern had chri-tened the ship by | its fantastic name because of the pow- ! erful searchlights with which she was I furnished. She was an incongruous yesI sel, little and fast: a dangerous craft to ! cross the Atlantic in; fitted with the i luxuries of a gentleman's yacht, and | with some of the deadly weapons of a man o' war. The crew was as strange las the appointments. Roland slept alone, j aft of the cabin, where were two berths; j Souvestre and Paul were amidships: j the rest of the crew, Jacques and three ! Portguese sailors, shared the forecastle. lOf 'these seven only live pretended to ! any knowledge of the sea: dv Berri hai never set foot on any ship but the Chan- ■ nel steamers, and Jacques had been what I Souvestre called him. a butcher. SouI vestre.who was captain, appeared to have I a good deal of book-learning but less ex- ; perience. Roland was full of lively expectation of going to the bottom, and except when he thought of Violet, did not much care. But Roland was no landsman; he knew and loved the salt smell of the sea, the cold freshness of the wind that ran past him as the Eyes of Fire steamed down the channel. His spirits went up and he began to whistle. Bu Berri came ;up and taucned him on tbe arm. "Well, mon ami, are you so glad to leave your England?" 7 -For the pleasure of your society?" | asked Roland laughing. 1 'Tor tbe society of this diriy ocean, j which tosses and tumbles so alarmingly." i ''Alarmingly, indeed! My dear Paul. j you are as green as the sea." I "Very likely. I am. you must rememi ber. a boulevard ier, a lover of the City :of the World. Very good: I remove my- ; self—l enter upon an odious voyage, in •■ an odious ship, upon an ocean which I cries to be washed—Nature rebels! She says quite plainly. 'Mon cher. you are ja fool! Return to your Paris!' I do not j return, however, and by and bye she subI mits. A.t present, however, she is reI volting. I wish this deck would rei mam still-" Roland gripped him by the arm and i held him firmly. "Will you go below, j Paul?" he asked. "Merei—if you would assist mc. No, •do not take my hand—be careful!" ; Roland remembered the episode of ' the emerald ring, and hastily put his ! arm round Paul's shoulders instead. He • helped the unlucky conspirator down | the gangway into his berth, which I smelt of the engines, and left him j there, himself returning on deck. There ! was something at once ludicrous and ,' dreadful about Paul dv Berri; his lispi ing. childish talk and sickly physique — i the emerald death on his slim, white finger. j Roland lit a cigar and leaned over j the side- Paul, in the gangway below, i was safe from plotting, at least for a j time: Souvestre was at the other end iof the deck, poring over an open chart; ! Jacques was at the wheel, and the '.others below in the engine-room. The sun was nearing the horizon, and from the bows of the vessel the water fell away with a creaming, prattling noise, in curves darkling green, along whose upper edges there ran an evanescent arabesque oi foam. The fog seemed to be darkening and dropping: it would be an evil night. He wondered what Violet was doing; it was . now a week since he had seen her—a 1 week of annoying restrictions. He had I passed it in Paul's house, under sur- | veillance of either dv Berri or Sbuj vestre—one or other had stayed within j hearing the whole time, and Jacques I himself was never out of reach. On ! the last day of the week, a cup of I coffee was as usual brought to him with his breakfast; he drank it, and in i ten minutes he was lying unconscious jon the floor. He woke from- his stupor l in the cabin of the Eyes of Fire, and he learned afterwards that during his five hours' unconsciousness he had been put into a cab, driven to the docks, and put on board. He had already found that the plans confided to him by Paul on the night of their meeting were quite imaginary; of their real scheme he had no idea. So he smoked and watched the sunset. It grew dark, the wind blew colder. Roland looked at his watch, which pointed to a quarter past eight- He was about to go down and get something to eat, when suddenly there came, or seemed to come, a low: cry over the dark and troubled water. -Did tou hear anything?" asked a voice at Roland's elbow. It was Souvestre. Roland did not answer for a minute, but listened intently. '-'Yes, I do; there it is again. A kind of cry—don't you hear it too!" "A _eaztri_ T s "' suggested Souvestre. - "No, it- is - a man's voice. Listen." "1 think I hear something; it squads like a can." ' "Some one is hailing us." ''From which way? Thus fog is beI wildering to eye and ear alike.' "I can't tell- But it most be some j one in distress." "How do yon know that?" I "Who else could it be?" 1 **•

"There it is again! Souvestre, Td : swear he's In distress. You must pnt on the searcfaiight. It may be a wreck." ,"0n such a night"*" i**J»othlng more likely. . The fog is frightfully dangerous m crowded waters;' there aire constant collisions.*' Souvestre went aft, and Roland heard hiim give the order for the engines to go at half speed. The vessel checked with a bae_cvrard surge of foam; then she moved on with slower pace. Then Armand's voice was heard giving directions about the searchlight, and presently there shot from the Eyes of j Fire a broad and steady beam, which j drove a widening furrow through the I murky fog. On the yacht's deck every j strip of burnished metal, every spray - j drenched spar glowed and sparkled J against an intense, a more vivid black - j ness of shadow; while over the sea j that fan-shaped beam opened a lane of | misty glory between rolling walls of ; fog, a path of hoary diamond along the j shattering, spray-clad waves. But it j showed no shape of wreck. Then it ; moved, it lanced and winnowed the ; fog; it streamed out across the ocean. ' Half of sea, sky, and ship was as black jas a coal mine: the other half ran fire. Suddenly there struck on Roland's 1 straining eyes a spot of blackness in | the trail of gtpry. The light moved, and ; the object was swallowed up in a mist; j but the look-out had seen it too, and | with his aid the searchlight was turned iin its former direction. "Roland had no j telescope, but be could dimly guess that !it was a small, open pleasure boat. The I look-out bad a glass; he scanned it for | a moment and then called out: "Boat, sir: one man in it. He waves | his hand! He asks to be taken on board!" "This is rather awkwa rd for you," ' said Roland laughing. "My dear Souj vestre. what shall you do with him?" ""Run him down!" said a voice which ; seemed to come from Armand's boots. It j was Paul, who was dragging himself up ' the companion. i "Why. you inhuman brute!" said Ro- ( land, still laughing. "What for?" j "Because he interferes with us. If we | take him on board he will be furiously l inconvenient; if we leave him in his j boat he will get picked up. and then he l will carry tales about the ship which | saw him and left him to drown." ! "Do I understand tbat your advice was given in earnest?*' said Roland, in- , credulously. ",Vfy friend, you do not appear to rej gard our affair as serious. You believe : tbat the sacred object of our journey j can be put aside for every trifling pretext j which offers itself. You would say, 'It ;is our duty to rescue this man, who is j altogether a stranger, and without | doubt only some vulgar fisherman, | though v.c risk in so doing the success of our sacred task." You must learn to take a higher view of life and its rei snonsihilit?es." "Very well. You will do as you please. j Only—lll be no partner to your bruj tality." "~_\o." said Paul, watching him -larrowly. "You will do —what?" "Join him." "What do you mean?" | "What I say- I shall jump overboard, j swim to his boat, help him if I can to .get out of tbe way of the Eyes of Fire; at least gife him fair warning, and if .it come, to the -worst, die -with him. I "Is your mind made up?" "Quite. I've gone as low as I can go." Paul hesitated and reviewed the case. I Tne yacht was under-manned already. I and the loss of one of her crew would ibe serious; besides, be foresaw the posI sibility of making use of the stranger as I "Very well." he said amicably. "Ar- ' mand. give orders that we may approach :as ciose as possible to that little boat." Armand shrugged his shoulders and '; obeyed. Dv Berri laid his hand on Roj land's arm. I "T cannot. beaY to let you die. It is for •your sake that I spare this man. You S observe thnt now. I am sacrificing myj ?=elf to save your life, mon cher Roland. >et that asainst the time when I had j intended to kill you. and let us cry | quits." J The Eyes of Fir» wheeled and curved j till she was quite near the little boat, in j which Roland could see a solitary figure standing up; he sat down and took !up the oars to get the boat alongside. ] and caught at the rope which was flung !to him. He swung himself easily up on I deck and looked round on the company. j (To be Continued >Te3t Saturday.)