A few minutes later an official in a handsome uniform was shown into the Duke’s room.
De Richleau extended his hand. “My dear Fritz, this is an unexpected pleasure.”
Herr Murenberg took the Duke’s hand with marked deference, he clicked his heels and bowed low over it. “For me also, Altesse.”
“How many years is it since I have last seen you? Fifteen — no, twenty it must be — dear me, but you have prospered, my dear Fritz.” De Richleau patted the Austrian on the shoulder. “What a fine uniform you have got, to be sure.”
Herr Murenberg bowed and smiled again. “I hope, Altesse, you will be kind enough to forget the little restaurant where you so often gave me your patronage in the old days, many things are changed since then, although I remember your kindness with much gratitude.”
“That would be impossible, my dear fellow; many of my most cherished memories have an association with the dear old Baumgarten which you used to run so well. Nevertheless I am delighted to think that the upheaval of the War has brought good fortune to one of my friends at least. What splendid position has Fate decreed for you?”
“I am deputy chief of the police, Altesse; that I knew many languages has stood me in good stead.”
“Dear me,” the Duke made a grimace. “I — er — trust that this is not an official visit?”
“I fear, yes, Altesse,” he bowed again. “It is a serious matter that I come upon.”
“Sit down, my friend. Let us hear how I have broken the laws of your delightful city.”
The Chief of Police sat gingerly on the extreme edge of an arm-chair. “Unfortunately, Altesse, it is not here that you have offended — if that were so...” he spread out his hands, “it would be my pleasure to put the matter right; it seems that you have come from Russia?”
De Richleau’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he admitted, “that is so.”
Murenberg was obviously troubled. “Altesse, in the old days you were a gentleman who liked his amusements; the cabmen of Vienna, they knew you well — and if you smashed up their cabs with reckless driving after a party — what matter. If you broke a few heads even — you paid handsomely in the morning, and all was well, but now it seems that you have taken to killing men for your amusement — Bolsheviks, it is true, but even so it is a serious thing.”
“Hardly for amusement, my dear Fritz,” the Duke smiled, grimly. “It happened that I was called on to defend myself. I did so to the best of my ability.”
The Chief of Police shook his head sadly, he raised one arched eyebrow, and scratched the back of his neck; he was evidently much troubled. “An order has been applied for — for the extradition of yourself and others, Excellency. What am I to do?”
De Richleau was thinking quickly. “What is the procedure in such cases,” he asked.
“It is my duty to issue a warrant for the arrest of you and your friends.”
“You have not done it yet?”
“No, Altesse, when I saw your name on the paper the memory of the old days came to me, I thought to myself ‘tomorrow will do for this — tonight I will go informally to pay my respects to my old patron’.”
“That was very good of you, Fritz; tell me, what happens when this warrant is executed?”
“There is a man from Russia here. He will identify you; we shall supply an escort to the frontier, and with him you will go back to Moscow to be tried.”
“Do you know the name of the man they have sent?”
“Yes, Altesse. It is an important man, a Kommissar Leshkin. He stays in this hotel.”
De Richleau nodded. “Now if we leave Austria tonight, this man will follow us, will he not, and apply for our extradition in any country in which he finds us?”
“I fear that is so, Altesse, but the world is wide; there are many very comfortable trains which leave Vienna this evening. If you travel it will mean delay — important witnesses against you may disappear — time is on your side in this affair.”
“If there were no one to prove our identity, however, they could not apply for our extradition, I imagine,” the Duke said, softly.
“No, that is true.” Herr Murenberg stood up. “But this man is here, Excellency. For the sake of the old days I trust that I may not have to make this arrest tomorrow morning.”
De Richleau took his hand. “I am more grateful to you, my dear Fritz, than I can say, you may rely on me to spare you that painful duty.”
III
The dinner-table was gay with flowers, the string band was worthy of the Viennese traditions, the champagne sparkled in the glasses. To Marie Lou it was like fairyland.
Richard sat on her right, Simon on her left. Across the table were Rex and De Richleau, between them the long, humorous face of Gerry Bruce.
Dinner was over, the Duke was handing round cigars, the first of a new box of the famous Hoyos, that had arrived with his clothes that afternoon from London. Marie Lou had just finished a peach, the first that she had ever seen in her life, the flavour lingered, exquisite, on her tongue — she was in Heaven. She looked across at Rex. “Have you arranged everything?” she asked.
He grinned. “Sure thing. There won’t be any fool — ”
“Hush!” she exclaimed, quickly.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I nearly spilled the beans that time, but it’s all O.K., you can take it from me.”
“Thank you. It is a little surprise that Rex and I have arranged for you,” she explained to the others, who were looking completely mystified. “He has got me a nice strong file; I spent a busy hour this morning.”
Rex began to look mystified, too; he had got no file for her, and it was only while dressing for dinner that she had asked for his co-operation in a little secret.
She produced a flat square parcel from under her chair, and laid it on the table. They had all wondered what it could be when she had brought it in to dinner with her.
Richard and Simon cleared away the plates and glasses to make room; Rex was looking more and more puzzled.
A waiter paused beside De Richleau’s chair and laid a heavy triangular parcel on the table beside him: “The manager’s compliments, sir, and he hopes that will do.”
“Thank you.” The Duke nodded, and gave the man a coin, then he felt the package carefully and transferred it to the pocket of his tail coat; the others were far too interested in Marie Lou’s big parcel to pay any attention.
She smiled at Rex as she undid the wrapping. “For a long time,” she said, “he has been telling us that it will be tomorrow that he will find the jewels — I have decided that it shall be today!”
She removed the last sheet of paper from her parcel. Rex and the Duke recognized at once the gaily painted abacus that she had insisted on taking from her cottage at Romanovsk when they fled to the Château. It lay there, incongruous enough — a childish toy, the solid square frame and the cross wires with the gaily painted beads, upon which every Russian learns to calculate.
“As I have told you,” she said slowly, “my mother always said that if I ever left Russia, I must take this with me; and it was not because she feared that I should forget how to count. I knew that she had taken it from the walls of the foundry after the fire — it was she who cleaned and painted it after that. This morning I filed through the iron tubing which makes the frame — see, now, what it contains.” As she finished speaking she divided one piece of the framework from the other where she had filed it through. She swept some wafers from a dish in front of her and poured out the contents of the hollow pipe.
With a little rattle they fell on the china dish — a heap of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, a glistening pile of precious stones sparkling and flashing in the electric light. She took the second and third and fourth sides of the abacus and added their contents to the shining heap. The men sat round, speechless, gazing in wonder at the heap of stones sparkling with hidden fire from their many facets.