“Grandfather?” said Tom Dobson.
“Good evening, Tom,” said The Potter. “Eloise, my dear, I am sorry about all this.”
General Kaluk started to get up. The shotgun which The Potter held instantly swung in his direction. “Do not move, Kaluk,” said The Potter. “There is a second shell in this gun, and it would give me great pleasure to discharge it right in your face.”
The general sat down again.
“Jupiter, my boy!” said The Potter. “Will you please collect the guns? From the general’s friend on the floor, of course, and I am sure the general has one someplace. The general has always been fond of guns.”
“Yes, sir, Mr Potter,” said Jupiter. “I mean, Mr Kerenov.”
18
The Bargain
NO one spoke until Jupiter Jones had taken Demetrieff’s revolver, and had searched General Kaluk and relieved him of Farrier’s blunt automatic and a smaller, but still deadly, pistol.
“Lock the guns in the pantry, Jupiter, and bring me the key,” said The Potter.
Jupiter did so. The Potter tucked the key into a pocket hidden somewhere in his robe and allowed himself to relax a bit, leaning against a cupboard.
Only then did Eloise Dobson begin to cry.
“Now, now, my dear,” said The Potter. “It is all over. I have been watching these scoundrels the entire time. I would never have let them touch a hair of your head.”
Mrs Dobson got up and went to The Potter. He handed his shotgun to Jupiter and put his arms round her. “I know, I know,” he said. He laughed and held her away from him, so that she could not help but see his hair, his beard, and the robe, now soiled and stained. “Yes, I am a shock to you, eh?” he said. “No one has a father like Alexander Potter.”
Mrs Dobson nodded, then shook her head, then burst into new tears.
General Kaluk said something in that strange, singsong language which Jupiter and Bob had heard at Hilltop House.
“I must ask you to speak English,” said The Potter to him. “It is so many years since I heard my mother tongue that I am no longer proficient in it.”
“Astonishing!” exclaimed the general.
“And who is that?” said The Potter, indicating the unfortunate Mr Farrier, who still crouched in his chair, holding his injured wrist.
“A person of no importance,” said the general. “A common thief.”
“His name is Mr Farrier, Grandfather,” said Tom Dobson. “Jupe thinks he’s the one who’s been trying to scare us out of the house.”
“Scare you? How?”
“On three separate occasions,” said Jupiter Jones, “flaming footprints have appeared in the house. You will notice three footprints near the pantry and two near the cellar door. There is a third set on the stairs.”
“Ho-ha!” said The Potter. “Flaming footprints? I see you’ve done your homework, Mr Farrier, and learned about our family ghost. Jupiter, why is the man bleeding?”
“General Kaluk shot him,” said Jupe.
“I see. And do I understand correctly that this person has been entering the house and trying to frighten my family?”
“You’ll never prove it,” growled Farrier.
“He has your extra set of keys,” said Jupiter.
“I believe we should summon Chief Reynolds,” announced The Potter. “My dear Eloise, I had no idea. I was so concerned lest Kaluk might do you some harm, that I neglected to keep a proper watch on my own house.”
The general looked at The Potter with some awe. “Do I understand correctly, Alexis, that you have been watching me?”
“I have been watching you, and you have been watching my daughter.”
“May I ask, old friend, where you have been these three days?”
“There is a loft in the garage at Hilltop House,” said The Potter simply. “The garage doors are locked, but there is a window on the north side.”
“I see,” said the general. “I fear I am getting careless in my old age.”
“Exceedingly,” said The Potter. “And now, Jupiter, let us call Chief Reynolds and have these people removed from my house.”
“One moment, Alexis,” said the general. “There is the matter of some jewels which were removed from their rightful owners many years ago.”
“The rightful owners are the Azimovs,” countered The Potter. “It is my duty to safeguard those jewels.”
“The rightful owners are the people of Lapathia,” said the general. “The Azimovs are gone!”
“You lie!” flared The Potter. “Nicholas did not die in the palace at Madanhoff. We fled together. We were to meet in America. It was arranged. I had a way to send a message to him. I have been waiting.”
“Poor Alexis,” said the general. “You have waited a lifetime, and for nothing. Nicholas did not even reach the railroad station. He was recognized.” The general reached into an inside pocket and produced a photograph. He handed it to The Potter.
The Potter looked at the thing for almost a minute. Then, “Murderer!” he said to the Lapathian general.
The general took back the photograph. “It was not my choice,” he told The Potter. “His Highness was my friend, remember?”
“And so you use your friends?” asked The Potter.
“It could not be helped,” said the general. “There may be a justice in it. We cannot say. The Azimovs began in blood, they ended in blood. But Alexis, they did end. And what of you? You have spent a lifetime waiting. Waiting behind locked doors. Hiding behind a beard, and the robe of an eccentric. Living without your family. You did not see your daughter grow up, I assume?”
The Potter shook his head.
“For a crown,” said the general. “All of this you have done for a crown which no one can wear.”
“What do you want?” asked The Potter at last.
“I wish to take it back with me to Madanhoff,” said the general. “It will be put into the National Museum there. That is where it belongs. That is where the people wish to see it. It is what the generals promised them so long ago.”
“That promise was a mockery!” cried The Potter.
“I know. I know. I myself did not approve, but Lubaski insisted, and once the gesture had been made, we had to go on with it. Anything else would have shaken the faith of the people.”
“Liars!” stormed The Potter. “Murderers! How dare you talk about the faith of the people?”
“I am an old man now, Alexis,” said the general, “and you are old, too. And the people of Lapathia are happy–I promise you, they are happy. How much love was there for the Azimovs? And now the Azimovs are gone. What will you accomplish if you refuse me? Would you make yourself a thief? I cannot believe it. You have the crown. You swore you would always have it. That is why I came. Give it to me, Alexis, and let us part friends.”
“Never friends,” said The Potter.
“Then let us at least not part enemies,” pleaded the general. “Let us consider what will be the greater good for all. And let us forget the price we have both paid.”
The Potter was silent.
“You cannot claim it for yourself,” said the general. “Alexis, you have no choice. There is no place it can go but to Madanhoff. And think, what would be the consequences to yourself if it were known that it is in your possession? And what would be the consequences to Lapathia? I do not know, but I can imagine–distrust, unrest, perhaps a revolution. Would you wish another revolution, Alexis?”
The Potter shuddered. “Very well, I will get it for you.”
“It is here now?” asked General Kaluk.
“It is here,” said The Potter. “Just a moment.”
“Mr Potter?” said Jupiter Jones.
“Yes, Jupiter?”
“Shall I get it?” asked Jupe. “It’s in the urn, isn’t it?”
“You are a clever boy, Jupiter. It is in the urn. Will you get it?”
Jupe left the room and was gone for perhaps a minute, during which time no one spoke. When Jupiter returned he was carrying a bulky bundle. Layers of soft cloth had been wrapped around an object which Jupiter put down on the table.
“You can open it,” said The Potter.
General Kaluk nodded agreement. “I am sure you are curious,” he said.
Jupiter undid the wrappings and folded back the cloth. There, exposed on The Potter’s kitchen table, was a magnificent crown of gold and lapis lazuli, surmounted by a huge ruby, with a crimson eagle screaming from both sharp enamelled beaks.
“The imperial crown of Lapathia!” exclaimed Bob.
“But . . . but I thought that was in the museum at Madanhoff!” said Pete.
The general stood up and looked at the marvellous object almost with reverence. “The one at Madanhoff is a copy,” he said. “It is a clever copy, although it was executed without the help of a Kerenov. I suppose there were a few experts, like this . . . this Farrier person . . . who may have guessed at the truth, but the secret has been kept well. The crown is always under glass, of course, and the barriers which protect it are set well back from the case. No one can look too closely at it. Not too long ago a photographer even received permission to include it in his book. He was an expert on photography, not jewels, so we granted his request.”