Only by the tunnel mouth where I lay were there signs of human occupation: a rough stone fireplace and utensils, palliasses and camp-beds, plain chairs and table, a couple of packing-cases, and a litter of stores and gear. But like ourselves, these worldly things seemed out of place and dwarfed in the awful majesty of the cavern. The cold was fit to freeze you to the bone.
"You’re in an old salt-mine in the Saltzkammergut, in the mountains above Ischl,"[19] says Willem. "Jolly little tomb, ain’t it? Hark-away!" He had raised his voice, and the echo came back in an eerie whisper, "harkaway … away …. away …", fading ever so softly in the unseen reaches of the cavern. He stood cocking an appreciative ear, very trim in riding boots, breeches, and shooting jacket, and none the worse, it seemed, for the free-for-all shooting match which was the last thing I remembered.
"We’re near the surface here," says he, "but God knows how far the tunnels go below. The place hasn’t been worked for years. D’ye know, when I was a nipper I pictured salt-mines as hellish places where slaves with red-rimmed eyes waded knee-deep in the stuff. But it’s rather grand and spooky, don’t you think? Splendid bolt-hole, too, for clandestine plotters like the Holnup. My lads were camped here for a week, but I’ve had to send ’em off now, thanks to you." He perched on a packing-case, cradling his knee, and gave me his quizzy look. "When did you twig I was the fox at the hen-roost, then?"
"Cut me loose first!" croaks I, but he only grinned and repeated the question, so I told him about finding the tampered cartridges, and he swore and slapped his thigh, laughing.
"I’ll be damned! That’s what comes o' bein' too clever by half—oh, and bein' in awe of your fearsome reputation! Ironic, ain’t it? I gave you a harmless pistol by way of insurance, but if I’d given you a loaded one, Franz-Josef would have been with his fathers by now. Or if you’d come on the scene a minute later, even … oh, aye, we had the lock picked and I was about to go aloft when you arrived with your little snickersnee, curse you, and then that damned sergeant and his sentries, and we had to shoot our way clear, and lost two good men—one of ’em your pal Gunther, you’ll be desolated to learn. Ah, well, c’est la guerre!"
You’d have thought he was describing a rag in the dormitory, chuckling with hardly a sign of irritation. Oh, he was Rudi’s boy all right, cool as a trout and regarding me with amusement.
"So there it is!" cries he. "Franz-Josef lives on, two of my boys don’t, there ain’t a hope of a return match with half a regiment round the place by now, I imagine—supposin' F-J hasn’t decamped for Vienna already. The conspiracy is kaput, I’ve had to disperse the best band of night-runners I ever hope to see, and four weeks of dam' good plannin' have gone down the bogs." He jumped down from his seat, and stood before me, hands on hips. "Yes, sir, the guv’nor was right. You truly are an inconvenient son-of-a-bitch. Still … no hard feelin’s, what? Not on my side, leastways."
Call me a sceptic if you will, but I doubted it. I’d come within a whisker of cutting his throat, ruined his plot all unwitting, and cost him two men dead—and he didn’t mind a bit? No, this could only be cat-and-mouse in the best Starnberg tradition, and his claws would show presently; in the meantime, with my innards turning cartwheels, I pretended to take him at face value.
"Glad to hear it," says I. "Then you won’t mind cutting these infernal ropes."
"Certainly … by and by," says he. "When my arrangements for departure are complete. Austria’s a trifle warm just now, you see, what with two dead desperadoes under the Emperor’s window, a sentry with a slit weasand, and those two mysterious visitors, Flashman and Starnberg, vanished none knows whither. It wouldn’t surprise me," says the sardonic pup, "if they started lookin' for us, which is why I intend to be over the Italian border by daybreak tomorrow. I’ve no inclination to grace an Austrian gallows—or rot in a Brandenburg fortress, which is what’ll happen if Bismarck ever learns the truth of our little soiree yestre’en. He’d have my ballocks for breakfast."
That settled one thing. "So last night was off your own bat! Bismarck had nothing to do with it?"
He stared. "With our gallant attempt to snuff Franz-Josef’s wick, you mean? Good lord, no! My word, you do have a low opinion of our worthy Chancellor!" He grinned at my bewilderment. "I see I’ll have to explain. Two months ago the Holnup learned that F-J was comin' to Ischl without his usual retinue, and would be a sittin' bird for assassination. Plans were laid for a night attack on the lodge, but Bismarck got wind of it from a spy in the Holnup council, and devised his great plan for guardin' the Emperor, just as Kralta and I told you. What he didn’t know, when he entrusted it to me, his loyal agent," he went on, looking waggish, "was that I happen to be a great-nephew of Lajos Kossuth himself, and have been a member of the Holnup since boyhood. And that in choosin' me to guard the great booby he was playin' into our hands, makin' our task even easier by handin' me on a plate the golden opportunity that every Hungarian patriot has been prayin' for this ten years past. You may be sure," he added, "that we’ve identified the spy in our council, and have left him strictly alone … for the time being."
He paused, and just for a moment the bantering manner dropped from him like a cloak. The boyish face was set and his eyes were far away as he said softly: "And we were so close. Another moment—another few seconds—and the blow would have been struck that would have freed Hungary from the Hapsburgs forever. Holnup … holnuputan!"["Tomorrow … the day after tomorrow!"] He gave a deep sigh, and slowly unclenched his hands—and then he was himself again, shaking his head at me in mock reproach. "You really have been an uncommon nuisance, you know."
For some reason, despite my fears, this infuriated me. "Because I stopped you from committing murder? Why, you dam' fool, I saved your lousy life, more like! Bismarck would have had more than your ballocks—he’d have had your neck!"
He regarded me pityingly. "Oh, ye of little faith! D’you think I’m a half-wit? It was all arranged—once F-J had kicked the bucket we’d have fetched you out o' the house, quiet-like, tapped you gently on your great fat head, laid you out beside the royal corpse with a bloody knife in your hand, and left you to explain matters when you woke up." He regarded my expression of stupefied horror with cheerful satisfaction. "Of course they’d have hanged you—if they hadn’t finished you off on the spot. But don’t you see, I could then have pleaded injured innocence to Bismarck, pointing out that it wasn’t I who brought you into the business, and that you must have gone berserk, or been a Holnup hireling all unsuspected, or killed F-J for love of the beauteous Sissi … or anythin' at all. He’d ha' swallowed it. Besides, that would have been the least of his troubles, with the dogs of war slippin' all over the parish, and everyone blamin' perfidious Albion as usual, and Gladstone havin' apoplexy." He shrugged. "Aye, me, the best-laid schemes …"
What was the phrase young Hawkins used in his book? "Surely, while you’re above ground, Hell wants its master!" Spoken of the fictitious image of Rudi von Starnberg, but by God it fitted his abominable son even better, sitting there while he lighted another of his blasted cigarettes.[20] Was he mad, perhaps … and why had he brought me to this ghastly solitude? It made no sense, for if he’d wanted me dead they could have done for me in the fight at the lodge. Was it possible that his geniality was genuine, and that he didn’t mean me harm after all? No, for why was I bound hand and foot? The evil bastard had brought me here to gloat … and he must have read my thoughts, for: