Truxton King

Late in the afternoon, a telegram was brought to Tullis which upset all of their calculations and caused the minister of police to swear softly in pure disgust. It was from the Countess Marlanx herself, sent from Porvrak, a station far down the railway, in the direction of Vienna. It was self-explanatory: "I am going to Schloss Marlanx, there to end my days. There is no hope for me. I go voluntarily. Will you not understand why I am leaving Edelweiss? You must know." It was signed "Ingomede."

Tullis was dumbfounded. He caught the penetrating glance of Dangloss and flushed under the sudden knowledge that this shrewd old man also understood why she was leaving Edelweiss. Because of him! Because she loved him and would not be near him. His heart swelled exultantly in the next moment; a brave resolve was born within him.

"We don't need a key to that, my boy," said the Baron indulgently. "But I will say that she has damned little consideration for you when she steals away in the dead of night, without a word. In a ball dress, too. Unfeeling, I'd say. Well, we can devote our attention to Mr. King, who is lost."

"See here, Baron," said Tullis after a moment, "I want you to give me a couple of good men for a few days. I'm going to Schloss Marlanx. I'll get her away from that place if I have to kill Marlanx and swing for it."

At seven o'clock that night, accompanied by two clever secret service men, Tullis boarded the train for the West. A man who stood in the tobacconist's shop on the station platform smiled quietly to himself as the train pulled out. Then he walked briskly away. It was Peter Brutus, the lawyer.

A most alluring trap had been set for John Tullis!

The party that had gone to Ganlook Gap in charge of Count Vos Engo returned at nightfall, no wiser than when it left the barracks at noon. Riding bravely, but somewhat dejectedly beside the handsome young officer in command was a girl in grey. It was her presence with the troop that had created comment at the gates earlier in the day. No one could understand why she was riding forth upon what looked to be a dangerous mission. Least of all, Count Vos Engo, who had striven vainly to dissuade her from the purpose to accompany the soldiers.

Now she was coming home with them, silent, subdued, dispirited--even more so than she allowed the Count to see.

"I was hateful to him yesterday," she said penitently, as they rode into the city. Vos Engo had been thinking of something else: the remark disturbed him.