just below the lodge gate, and at the very top of the hill, kate strong had fallen from her bicycle and sprained her ankle. the sudden and excruciating pain had begotten a momentary faintness that had prevented her from crying out in time to attract the attention of mrs. brevoort and her brother, who were at that instant coasting down the hillside at a merry pace.
dizzy and sick with the shock she had sustained, kate, realizing that she could not recall her companions, decided to arouse rudolph at the lodge and send him at once for a physician. the pain in her ankle seemed to grow worse every moment, and she began to doubt her ability to reach the gate of her ancestral home, when an open carriage was dragged over the top of the hill by a panting horse, seemingly one of westchester county’s revolutionary relics. the owner and driver of the ancient steed and ramshackle vehicle was wont to remark solemnly that his faithful horse had withstood the wear and tear of years and labor until the bicycle had begun to haunt his footsteps. the effect of wheels operated by men upon the nervous system of an old-fashioned and conservative horse, whose career of usefulness had been rendered possible by the prosperity of the livery-stable business, cannot be appreciated by a flippant mind. in the case under our[89] immediate consideration, the sight of a prostrate bicycle lying by the roadside affected the aged steed instantly. a snort, perhaps of triumph, burst from the supersensitive horse as it planted its forefeet stubbornly in the dust of the roadway and looked down at the overturned wheel.
the sudden halting of the carriage aroused norman benedict from an intense concentration of mind. he had been attempting to decide upon a course of action in case the rather unpromising clew he was now following should not result in the discovery of a rexanian who, as he had been told, had charge of a deserted manor-house somewhere in the neighborhood. the sight that met his eyes caused the reporter to spring hastily from the carriage.
“are you badly hurt?” he asked kate strong, who had managed to rise to her feet by the aid of the fence toward which she had crept. she stood with one hand on the railing, her face pale and drawn.
“i’ve sprained my ankle, i think,” she answered, trying to smile gratefully at the stranger’s kindly interest in her plight. “if i could get to the lodge, there, our man rudolph could make me comfortable until a doctor reached me.”
“draw up here,” cried benedict to his driver. “put your hand on my arm, miss—miss——”
“miss strong,” answered kate, resting her hand on his elbow and hobbling toward the carriage.
“now drive slowly up to that gate,” ordered benedict again, as he turned and lifted kate’s bicycle from the ground and wheeled[90] it along by the side of his improvised ambulance.
as the carriage stopped in front of the lodge gate, the reporter rang a bell whose vibrations in these days of an international crisis always gave rudolph smolenski’s nerves a severe shock. since the crown prince of rexania had become his prisoner, the lodge-keeper never opened the gate without first making a close and lengthy examination of those who craved his attention. the tradesmen and urchins who had occasion to beard the rexanian in his lair had noticed of late that he had grown surly and unsociable, and that he allowed no one to pass the gloomy portals of a domain over which his long service had rendered him practically autocratic.
at the moment at which norman benedict pulled the knob that set a bell within the lodge a-trembling, rudolph was deep in revery, and wondering what would be the outcome of posadowski’s mission to the prince. if he had known that at that very instant prince carlo was advancing arguments that tended to shake the arch-conspirator’s devotion to the enterprise in which the rexanian exiles were engaged, rudolph would have felt even greater dissatisfaction than influenced his mood at the time. he had begun to grow impatient and restless. he had almost become a convert to ludovics’ belief in heroic measures. the fact was that rudolph felt that he was risking more than any one of his colleagues in this lawless effort to make european history in a secluded corner of westchester county. the longer the temporizing policy pursued by posadowski was[91] continued, the more certain was rudolph of the ultimate discovery of his secret and the loss of a place that was in all respects satisfactory to his indolent and rather unsociable nature. the thought of returning to the east side to slave in a sweater’s establishment filled him with horror.
there was something ominous in the sharp summons of the bell that caused him to lay aside his pipe with trembling hand, while his flabby cheeks turned white. he could think of no one who would be likely to disturb the lonely lodge at that hour, unless, as he reflected with conflicting emotions, ludovics, the impetuous, had found his way back to the centre of high pressure.
hurrying toward the entrance, his heart beating with unpleasant rapidity, rudolph opened a peep-hole in the iron gate and looked out. his eyes first rested on norman benedict: there was nothing in the reporter’s appearance to increase the lodge-keeper’s apprehensions. but, as his glance fell upon the carriage, drawn up on the outside of the antique stepping-stone to the left of the gateway, a cold perspiration broke out upon his hands and face, and his short, puffy legs trembled beneath him. he had seen his employer’s daughter often enough to recognize instantly the pale, patrician face of kate strong. for an instant consternation rendered him powerless. then he turned from the gate and ran frantically toward the manor-house. rukacs was on guard on the front piazza.
“rukacs,” cried the lodge-keeper, excitedly, “keep close behind the pillars, and don’t show yourself where you can be seen from[92] the lodge. tell posadowski and the others to keep out of sight. and be sure that not a sound issues from this house until you hear from me again. miss strong, daughter of my employer, is at the lodge gate. she looks very pale: i think she may have fainted, or something of that kind. but keep a close watch, rukacs. i’ll do my best to hold her at the lodge, but you must keep your eye on the game.”
rudolph, his legs working clumsily under the pressure of a great crisis, rushed back to the gate, leaving rukacs white with dismay. the lodge, as he passed it, seemed to tremble with the noise of a bell that froze the rexanian’s soul with its threatening insistence. opening the gate, he confronted norman benedict.
“miss strong has sprained her ankle,” said the reporter, who realized that this was no time for padding his news. “come out and help me to get her on to a sofa. what are you staring at, man? don’t you speak english?”
rudolph made a strong effort of will and approached the carriage. a spasm of pain crossed kate’s face as she gave one hand to rudolph and the other to benedict and stepped to the ground.
“i will go into the lodge, rudolph,” she said. “i couldn’t stand the motion of that old conveyance a moment longer.”
the lodge-keeper was white and speechless as he helped the injured girl into the parlor of the lodge, while the reporter drew the only comfortable piece of furniture in the room, an antique lounge, toward the front windows and arranged a tattered pillow at its head.
[93]
“there is a doctor not far from here?” asked benedict, turning to the lodge-keeper and giving him a penetrating glance. there was something in rudolph’s manner that struck the quick-witted reporter as peculiar.
“half a mile down the road,” answered rudolph, his voice unsteady.
“get into the carriage and bring him here at once,” ordered benedict, sharply, noting instantly the reluctance rudolph’s manner expressed. kate strong also noticed her retainer’s hesitation.
“do as this gentleman directs, rudolph,” she commanded; and the lodge-keeper, seeing no alternative at hand, turned and left the room with hesitating steps.
“pardon me, miss strong,” remarked benedict, stationing himself at a window from which he could see the roadway, “your man is a foreigner?”
“yes,” answered kate. “he is a rexanian, i believe.” her reply caused the reporter to regret for the moment that he had allowed the lodge-keeper to leave his sight. of what significance was a girl with a sprained ankle, compared with the greatest newspaper “beat” of the year?
