“I trust you will pardon the interruption at this late hour,” said the Japanese. Matthew glanced up in surprise as the Japanese, the two Indians, and the Arab entered his room. “Sure,” said he cheerily, “have any seats you can find. Sorry there’s so little space.”
It was three o’clock in the morning. He was in his shirt sleeves without collar, and he was packing hastily, wondering how on earth all these things had ever come out of his two valises. The little room on the fifth floor of the Roter Adler Hotel did look rather a mess. But his guests smiled and so politely deprecated any excuses or discomfort that he laughed too, and leaned against the window, while they stood about door and bed.
“You had, I believe,” continued the Japanese, “an interview with her Royal Highness, the Princess, before you left her home tonight.”
“Yes.”
“I—er—presume you realize, Mr. Towns, that the Princess of Bwodpur is a lady of very high station—of great wealth and influence.”
“I cannot imagine anybody higher.”
The elder Indian interrupted. “There are,” he said, “of course, some persons of higher hereditary rank than her Royal Highness, but not many. She is of royal blood by many scores of generations of direct descent. She is a ruling potentate in her own right over six millions of loyal subjects and yields to no human being in the ancient splendor of her heritage. Her income, her wealth in treasure and jewels, is uncounted. Sir, there are few people in the world who have the right to touch the hem of her garment.” The Indian drew himself to full height and looked at Matthew.
“I’m strongly inclined to agree with you there,” said Matthew, smiling genially.
“I had feared,” continued the younger Indian, also looking Matthew squarely in the eye, “that perhaps, being American, and unused to the ceremony of countries of rank, you might misunderstand the democratic graciousness of her Royal Highness toward you. We appreciate, sir, more than we can say,” and both Indians bowed low, “your inestimable service to the Princess yesterday, in protecting her royal person from insufferable insult. But the very incident illustrates and explains our errand.
“The Princess is young and headstrong. She delights, in her new European independence, to elude her escort, and has given us moments of greatest solicitude and even fright. Meeting her as you did yesterday, it was natural for you to take her graciousness toward you as the camaraderie of an equal, and—quite unconsciously, I am sure—your attitude toward her has caused us grave misgiving.”
“You mean that I have not treated the Princess with courtesy?” asked Matthew in consternation. “In what way? Tell me.”
“It is nothing—nothing, now that it is past, and since the Princess was gracious enough to allow it. But you may recall that you never addressed her by her rightful title of ‘Royal Highness’; you several times interrupted her conversation and addressed her before being addressed; you occupied the seat of honor without even an attempted refusal and actually shook her Highness’ hand, which we are taught to regard as unpardonable familiarity.”
Matthew grinned cheerfully. “I reckon if the Princess hadn’t liked all that she’d have said so—”
The Japanese quickly intervened. “This is, pardon me, beside our main errand,” he said. “We realize that you admire and revere the Princess not only as a supremely beautiful woman of high rank, but as one of rare intelligence and high ideals.”
“I certainly do.”
“And we assume that anything you could do—anyway you could cooperate with us for her safety and future, we could count upon your doing?”
“To my very life.”
“Good—excellent—you see, my friends,” turning to the still disturbed Indians and the silent, sullen Arab, “it is as I rightly divined.”
They did not appear wholly convinced, but the Japanese continued:
“In her interview with you she told you a story she had heard in Moscow, of a widespread and carefully planned uprising of the American blacks. She has entrusted you with a letter to the alleged leader of this organization and asked you to report to her your impressions and recommendations; and even to deliver the letter, if you deem it wise.
“Now, my dear Mr. Towns, consider the situation: First of all, our beloved Princess introduces you, a total stranger, into our counsels and tells you some of our general plans. Fortunately, you prove to be a gentleman who can be trusted; and yet you yourself must admit this procedure was not exactly wise. Further than that, through this letter, our reputations, our very lives, are put in danger by this well-meaning but young and undisciplined lady. Her unfortunate visit to Russia has inoculated her with Bolshevism of a mild but dangerous type. The letter contains money to encourage treason. You know perfectly well that the American Negroes will neither rebel nor fight unless put up to it or led like dumb cattle by whites. You have never even heard of the alleged leader, as you acknowledged to the Princess.”
“She is evidently well spied upon.”
“She is, and will always be, well guarded,” answered the elder Indian tensely.
“Except yesterday,” said Matthew.
But the Japanese quickly proceeded. “Why then go on this wild goose chase? Why deliver dynamite to children?”
“Thank you.”
“I beg your pardon. I may speak harshly, but I speak frankly. You are an exception among your people.”
“I’ve heard that before. Once I believed it. Now I do not.”
“You are generous, but you are an exception, and you know you are.”
“Most people are exceptions.”
“You know that your people are cowards.”
“That’s a lie; they are the bravest people fighting for justice today.”
“I wish it were so, but I do not believe it, and neither do you. Every report from America—and believe me, we have many—contradicts this statement for you. I am not blaming them, poor things, they were slaves and children of slaves. They cannot even begin to rise in a century. We Samurai have been lords a thousand years and more; the ancestors of her Royal Highness have ruled for twenty centuries—how can you think to place yourselves beside us as equals? No—no—restrain your natural anger and distaste for such truth. Our situation is too delicate for niceties. We have been almost betrayed by an impulsive woman, high and royal personage though she be. We have come to get that letter and to ask you to write a report now, to be delivered later, thoroughly disenchanting our dear Princess of this black American chimera.”
“And if I refuse?”
The Japanese looked pained but patient. The others moved impatiently, and perceptibly narrowed the circle about Matthew. He was thinking rapidly; the letter was in his coat pocket on the bed beyond the Japanese and within easy reach of the Indians if they had known it. If he jumped out the window, he would be dead, and they would eventually secure the letter. If he fought, they were undoubtedly armed, and four to one. The Japanese was elderly and negligible as an opponent, but the young Indian and the Arab were formidable, and the older Indian dangerous. He might perhaps kill one and disable another and raise enough hullabaloo to arouse the hotel, but how would such a course affect the Princess?
The Japanese watched him sadly.
“Why speak of unpleasant things,” he said gently, “or contemplate futilities? We are not barbarians. We are men of thought and culture. Be assured our plans have been laid with care. We know the host of this hotel well. Resistance on your part would be absolutely futile. The back stairs opposite your entrance are quite clear and will be kept clear until we go. And when we go, the letter will go with us.”
Matthew set his back firmly against the window. His thoughts raced. They were armed, but they would use their arms only as a last resort; pistols were noisy and knives were messy. Oh, they would use them—one look at their hard, set eyes showed that; but not first. Good! Then first, instead of lurching forward to attack as they might expect, he would do a first-base slide and spike the Japanese in the ankles. It was a mean trick, but anything was fair now. He remembered once when they were playing the DeWitt Clinton High—But he jerked his thoughts back. The Japanese was nearest him; the fiery younger Indian just behind him and a bit to the right, bringing him nearer the bed and blocking the aisle. By the door was the elder Indian, and at the foot of the bed, the Arab.
Good! He would, at the very first movement of the young Indian, who he instinctively knew, would begin the mélée, slide feet forward into the ankles of the Japanese, catching him a little to the right so that he would fall or lurch between him and the Indian. Then he would with the same movement slide under the low iron bed and rise with the bed as weapon and shield. But he would not keep it. No; he would hurl it sideways and to the left, pinning the young Indian to the wall and the Japanese to the floor. With the same movement he would attempt a football tackle on the Arab. The Arab was a tough customer—tall, sinewy, and hard. If he turned left, got his knife and struck down, quick and sure, Matthew would be done for. But most probably he would, at Matthew’s first movement, turn right toward his fellows. If he did, he was done for. He would go down in the heap, knocking the old Indian against the door.
Beside that door was the electric switch. Matthew would turn it and make a last fight for the door. He might get out, and if he did, the stairs were clear. The coat and letter? Leave them, so long as he got his story to the Princess. It was all last desperate throw. He calculated that he had good chances against the Japanese’s shins, about even chances to get under the bed unscathed, and one in two to tackle the Arab. He had not more than one chance in three of making the door unscathed, but this was the only way. If he surrendered without a fight—That was unthinkable. And after all, what had he to lose? Life? Well, his prospects were not brilliant anyhow. And to die for the Princess—silly, of course, but it made his blood race. For the first time he glimpsed the glory of death. Meantime—he said—be sensible! It would not hurt to spar for time.
He pretended to be weighing the matter.
“Suppose you do steal the letter by force, do you think you can make me write a report?”
“No, a voluntary report would be desirable but not necessary. You left with the Princess, you will remember, a page of directions and information about America to guide her in the trip she is preparing to make and from which we hope to dissuade her. You appended your signature and address. From this it will be easy to draft a report in handwriting so similar to yours as to be indistinguishable by ordinary eyes.”
“You add forgery to your many accomplishments.”
“In the pursuit of our duty, we do not hesitate at theft or forgery.”
Still Matthew parried: “Suppose,” he said, “I pretended to acquiesce, gave you the letter and reported to the Princess. Suppose even I told the German newspapers of what I have seen and heard tonight.”
There was a faraway look in the eyes of the Japanese as he answered slowly: “We must follow Fate, my dear Mr. Towns, even if Fate leads—to murder. We will not let you communicate with the Princess, and you are leaving Berlin tonight.”
The Indians gave a low sigh almost like relief.
Matthew straightened and spoke slowly and firmly.
“Very well. I won’t surrender that letter to anybody but the Princess—not while I’m alive. And if I go out of here dead I won’t be the only corpse.”
Every eye was on the Japanese, and Matthew knew his life was in the balance. The pause was tense; then came the patient voice of the Japanese again.
“You—admire the Princess, do you not?”
“With all my heart.”
The Indians winced.
“You would do her a service?”
“To the limit of my strength.”
“Very well. Let us assume that I am wrong. Assume that the Negroes are worth freedom and ready to fight for it. Can you not see that the name of this young, beautiful, and highborn lady must under no circumstances be mixed up with them, whether they gain or lose? What would not Great Britain give thus to compromise an Indian ruler?”
“That is for the Princess to decide.”
“No! She is a mere woman—an inexperienced girl. You are a man of the world. For the last time, will you rescue her Royal Highness from herself?”
“No. The Princess herself must decide.”
“Then—”
“Then,” said the Princess’ full voice, “the Princess will decide.” She stood in the open doorway, the obsequious and scared landlord beside her with his passkeys. She had thrown an opera cloak over her evening gown, and stood unhatted, white-slippered, and ungloved. She threw one glance at the Indians, and they bowed low with outstretched hands, She stamped her foot angrily, and they went to their knees. She wheeled to the Arab. Without a word, he stalked out. The Japanese alone remained, calm and imperturbable.
“We have failed,” he said, with a low bow.
The Princess looked at him.
“You have failed,” she said. “I am glad there is no blood on your hands.”
“A drop of blood more or less matters little in the great cause for which you and I fight, and if I have incurred your Royal Highness’ displeasure tonight, remember that, for the same great cause, I stand ready tomorrow night to repeat the deed and seal it with my life.”
The Princess looked at him with troubled eyes. Then she seated herself in the only and rather rickety chair and motioned for her two subjects to arise. Matthew never forgot that scene: he, collarless and in shirt sleeves, with sweat pouring off his face; the room in disorder, mean, narrow, small, and dingy; the Japanese standing in the same place as when he entered, in unruffled evening dress; the Indians on their knees with hidden faces; the Princess, disturbed, yet radiant. She spoke in low tones.
“I may be wrong,” she said, “and I know how right, but infinitely and calmly right, you usually are. But some voice within calls me. I have started to fight for the dark and oppressed peoples of the world; now suddenly I have seen a light. A light which illumines the mass of men and not simply its rulers, white and yellow and black. I want to see if this thing is true, if it can possibly be true that wallowing masses often conceal submerged kings. I have decided not simply to send a messenger to America but shortly to sail myself perhaps this week on the Gigantic. I want to see for myself if slaves can become men in a generation. If they can—well, it makes the world new for you and me.”
The Japanese started to speak, but she would not pause:
“There is no need for protest or advice. I am going. Mr. Towns will perform his mission as we agreed, if he is still so minded, and as long as he is in Europe, these two gentlemen,” she glanced at the Indians, “will bear his safety on their heads, at my command. Go!”
The Indians bowed and walked out slowly, backward. She turned to the Japanese.
“Your Highness, I bid you good night and goodbye. I shall write you.”
Gravely the Japanese kissed her hand, bowed, and withdrew. The Princess looked at Matthew. He became acutely conscious of his appearance as she looked at him almost a full minute with her great, haunting eyes.
“Thank you, again,” she said slowly. “You are a brave man—and loyal.” She held out her hand, low, to shake his.
But the tension of the night broke him; he quivered, and taking her hand in both his, kissed it.
She rose quickly, drew herself up, and looked at first almost affronted; then when she saw his swimming eyes, a kind of startled wonder flashed in hers. Slowly she held out her hand again, regally, palm down and the long fingers drooping.
“You are very young,” she said.
He was. He was only twenty-five. The Princess was all of twenty-three.