Chapter 19: Confidences

As I walked through the corridor considerably concerned over the statements made to us by this east-side Princess and seriously disturbed by finding myself in the very vortex of this whirlpool of intrigue which every moment seemed to spew up from its dizzying depths new plots and counter-plots, I almost ran into the ex-Queen of Greece.

She was in curl-papers and negligee, standing just outside her door, an electric torch in one hand, a pistol in the other.

“Madame!” I exclaimed, “what in the world is the matter?”

“I don’t like this inn,” she said. “I consider it a suspicious place.”

“Madame!”

“What do I know about your inn?” she demanded insolently, “or about you, either?”

“Madame!“

“You say you are a Chilean. You don’t look it. Neither does your friend resemble a Norwegian. If you desire to know my opinion you both look like Yankees!”

“Madame, this is intolerable——”

“Possibly,” she interrupted, staring at me out of chilly eyes that fairly glittered. “Possibly, too, I am mistaken. Perhaps your servants, also, unduly arouse suspicion—your pretty housekeeper may really be your housekeeper. The waitress, too, may be a real waitress. This is all quite possible, Monsieur. But I prefer to be prepared for any eventuality in this tavern!”

And she went into her room and shut the door.

The ex-queen’s insolence upset me. I was possessed by a furious desire to turn them all out of doors. The prospect of living in the same house with these people for days—perhaps for weeks, seemed unbearable. Surely there must be some way out of the valley!

Down stairs I saw Raoul coming from the front courtyard leading two strange horses attached to a sort of carryall.

“Where on earth did you discover that rig?” I called out to him in the starlight.

“Two guests have just arrived,” he replied, laughing.

I hurried out to where he stood.

“Guests!” I repeated. “Where did they come from? Isn’t the pass closed?”

“Sealed tight, Monsieur O’Ryan. But when the avalanche fell this vehicle and its passengers were just far enough inside the pass to be caught.

“I understand they’ve been digging themselves out of the snow all this time. They’ve just arrived and are in the long hall asking for accommodations.”

“Who are they?” I demanded in utter disgust; “more huns?”

“One is a Turkish gentleman,” he said. “The other is the driver. I will take care of him. The Turkish traveler’s name is Eddin Bey, and he says he’s a friend of Admiral Lauterlaus.”

I went into the house and discovered Eddin Bey entering his signature on the ledger while Clelia with keys and candle waited beside him to show him to his quarters.

“Ah!” he exclaimed cordially when I named myself, offering his dark, nervous hand, “I am inexpressibly happy to have the privilege, Monsieur O’Ryan! A narrow escape for us, I assure you!—that mountain of snow roaring down on us and our horses whipped to a gallop! Not gay—eh? No, sir! And I thought we’d never dig out the horses and our wagon and luggage!”

I replied politely and suitably, and Clelia presently piloted this dark, lean, vivacious young man to his quarters across the corridor from General von Dungheim.

When she returned her flushed, set features arrested my attention. “Did that Turk annoy you, Clelia?” I asked sharply.

She shrugged: “Tavern gallantry,” she replied briefly: “men of that sort are prone to it.”

I said: “If any of these people annoy you and Thusis come to me at once.”

She laughed: “Dear Monsieur O’Ryan,” she said, “Thusis and I know how to take care of ourselves.” She came nearer, looking up at me out of her lovely, friendly eyes:

“Thusis is in her room. It isn’t very proper, of course, but she is waiting for you. Will you go?”

“Yes.”

Clelia laid one hand lightly on my arm, and her smile became wistful and troubled:

“You do care for my sister, don’t you?”

“I am deeply in love with her.”

“I was afraid so.”

“Afraid?”

“Oh, I don’t know how Thusis is going to behave, —how she is going to take it!” said Clelia in frank anxiety. “Never before has she cared for any man; and I don’t know what she’s going to do about you—indeed I don’t, Mr. O’Ryan!”