The clatter of approaching hoofbeats prevented the young officer’s reply. He turned as several other soldiers rode up. It was not necessary for them to report failure; they had no prisoners. I heard Miss Perkins give a soft sigh.
The officer turned back to us.
“It is necessary, madame, for me to ask you the identity of the two men who rode with you.”
“I have no idea,” said Miss Perkins calmly. “Until you mentioned them, I was unaware that we had any such escort.”
The officer was not stupid. When he asked the question, he watched me, not Miss Perkins. As he had hoped, my face betrayed my surprise at her answer.
“Indeed,” he said softly, his eyes still on me. “Then I fear, madame, that you must come with us.”
“Impossible,” said Miss Perkins angrily. “We are already late. I do not wish to be delayed. It is dangerous to be out after dark on these roads.”
“More dangerous than you realize. It is no use arguing with me, madame; you have no choice. Get into the carriage, or my men will assist you to do so.” As she hesitated, sputtering angrily, he added in a soft voice, “I myself will assist mademoiselle. She has said nothing; perhaps she is less foolish than you, and is amenable to persuasion.”
He began to dismount. I looked at Miss Perkins, making no attempt to conceal my alarm. She nodded at me, and said clearly.
“Perhaps, sir, you will send a messenger to Prince Tarconti, telling him that you are holding his granddaughter a prisoner and that she will, therefore, be delayed.”
The officer’s reaction would have been amusing if I hadbeen in any mood to find humor in the situation. He stood motionless, one foot still in the stirrup. Then he finished dismounting and came toward us. His expression was no longer hostile.
“This young lady is the granddaughter of Prince Tar-conti?”
“You may accompany us to the castle and see for yourself, if you doubt,” said Miss Perkins.
“But, madame—why did you not say so at once?”
“You gave me no opportunity, sir,” said Miss Perkins, now in control of the situation and enjoying it immensely.
“But then—you will accept my apologies, madame? My apologies, and my escort. The roads are dangerous; I would not have any relation of the Prince in danger through my negligence.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Miss Perkins graciously. “Would you care to join us in the carriage?”
The officer accepted the invitation with alacrity. His name, he informed us, was Captain Raoul De Merode. He was not a bad-looking man, though I thought his features too sharp and his dark eyes too close-set. When he removed his helmet his appearance was improved, for his face was softened by thick brown hair, scarcely darker in color than his tanned countenance. But I was not misled by his smile. He had been ready enough to be rude—perhaps worse than rude—to two undefended women when he thought them unimportant. I knew Miss Perkins was no more deceived by his present courtesy. She had some hidden motive behind her actions, but what it was I could not guess. I could only follow her lead, trusting to her better understanding.
One thing she certainly wanted was information. Adjusting her plume to its former cocky position, she leaned forward and asked, “Who is this dangerous criminal you are pursuing, Captain? A murderer—a brigand?”
“One might call him a brigand. Or a traitor. He is quite a famous character in these parts; you would not have heard of him, being strangers here…”
His voice was as smooth as cream, his face guileless, but suddenly I had a feeling that he and Miss Perkins were playing a game of wits, in which I was only a spectator.
“If you would tell me his name I would know whether I had heard of him,” said Miss Perkins, showing all her teeth in a broad smile.
“They call him II Falcone,” said De Merode. This time he got no reaction from either of us. I had never heard the name, and if Miss Perkins had, she was too clever to betray the fact.
“The Falcon,” she translated, unnecessarily. “How very romantic!”
“Childish,” De Merode corrected, with a snap of his even white teeth. “These people are like that—like spoiled children who don’t know what is good for them. But the games they play are sinister, dangerous games, and one day they will be punished as they deserve.”
“By their fond papa,” said Miss Perkins gently.
“His Holiness is the spiritual father of us all,” the captain said sternly. “He is also the ruler of these peasants. By disobeying him they offend God twice over.”
“How you must dislike your present service,” said Miss Perkins. “For a daring young officer to pursue ragged peasants…”
“A soldier does not question his orders. And, to be truthful, it is not the peasants who give us trouble. Without the anarchists to stir them up, they would be docile enough. The rebels are men of the so-called educated classes, who have read too much and thought too little.”
His thin lips curved in a smile, as if he appreciated his own bon mot.
“Is this Falcon person an educated man, then?” Miss Perkins inquired.
“I don’t know who he is, or what he is. If I did…”
I could contain my curiosity no longer. “Do you mean that this man’s identity is unknown? How can that be?”
“He is an elusive creature,” De Merode said. “And he commands a certain loyalty—though to use that word of the brigands who make up his guerrilla troops is to do them too much honor. We have caught and—er—questioned several of his men. They died without divulging his name.
Miss Perkins’ face grew stern, and despite the warmth of the day I felt a sudden chill.
“They—died?” I repeated.
The captain’s eyes turned to me.
“They were executed, mademoiselle. The price of treason is death—even in your country.”
Under the concealment of her skirt Miss Perkins’ fingers found my hand and pinched it warningly. I subsided; but there was no doubt in my mind that De Merode had tortured the unfortunate men who had fallen into his hands.
“You spoke of guerrilla troops,” said Miss Perkins. “Does this man have his own army, then?”
