I sometimes wonder what would happen if I really had a mind of my own. Would I be content to exercise it capably? Would I cease to be putty in the hands of other people? I doubt it. Even a strong, obdurate¹ mind is liable to connect with conditions that render it weak and pliable² for the simple reason that it is sometimes easier to put up with a thing than to try to put it down. An exacting³, arbitrary mind perhaps might evolve a set of resolutions that even the most intolerant would hesitate to violate, but for an easygoing, trouble-dodging brain like my own there is no such thing as tenacity⁴ of purpose, unless it be in the direction of an obfuscated⁵ tendency to maintain its own pitiful equilibrium⁶. I try to keep an even ballast in my dome⁷ of thought and to steer⁸ straight through the sea of circumstance, a very difficult undertaking⁹ and sometimes hazardous¹⁰.  
A man with a firm, resolute¹¹ grip on himself would have checked Mr. Pless and Baron¹² Umovitch at the outset of their campaign to acquire undisputed possession of all the comforts and conveniences that the castle afforded.
 
He would have said no to their demands that all work about the place should be regulated according to their own life-long habits, which, among other things, included lying in bed till noon, going back to bed at three for a quiet nap, and staying up all night so that they might be adequately worn out by the time they went to bed in the first place.
 
I mention this as a single instance of their power to over-ride me. It got to be so that when a carpenter wanted to drive a nail he had to substitute a screw and use a screw-driver, a noiseless process but an insufferable waste of time and money. Lathers¹³ worked four days on a job that should have been accomplished¹⁴ in as many hours. Can you imagine these expert, able-bodied men putting laths on a wall with screw-drivers?
 
When Elsie Hazzard, painfully aware of my annoyance¹⁶, asked the two noblemen why on earth they couldn't get up for breakfast, they coldly informed her that they were civilised human beings and not larks¹⁷.
 
They used my study for purposes of their own, and glared at me when I presumed to intrude¹⁸ upon their privacy. Mr. Pless took possession of this room, and here received all sorts of secret operatives engaged in the task of unearthing¹⁹ the former Mrs. Pless. Here he had as many as fifteen reports a day by messenger from all parts of the land and here he discussed every new feature of the chase as it presented itself, coolly barring me out of my sanctum sanctorum with the impassive command to knock before attempting to enter.
 
In spite of their acrimonious²⁰ tilts²¹ over the card table, he and the baron were as thick as could be when it came to the question of the derelict countess. They maintained the strictest privacy and resented even the polite interest of their four American friends.
 
Finding Mr. Poopendyke at work over some typing one day, Mr. Pless peremptorily²² ordered him out of the study and subsequently complained to me about the infernal racket the fellow made with his typewriter. Just as I was on the point of telling him to go to the devil, he smilingly called my attention to a complete plan for the restoration of the two great halls as he had worked it out on paper. He had also written a personal letter, commanding the Munich firm to send their most competent expert to Schloss Rothhoefen without delay, to go over the plans with him. As I recall it, he merely referred to me as a rich American who needed advice.
 
They cursed my servants, drank my wines, complained of the food, and had everybody about the place doing errands for them. My butler and footman threatened to leave if they were compelled to continue to serve drinks until four in the morning; but were somewhat appeased²³ when I raised their wages. Britton surreptitiously thrashed the French valet, and then had to serve Mr. Pless (to my despair) for two days while Francois took his time recovering.
 
The motor boat was operated as a ferry after the third day, hustling²⁴ detectives, lawyers, messengers and newspaper correspondents back and forth²⁵ across the much be-sung Danube. Time and again I shivered in my boots when these sly-faced detectives appeared and made their reports behind closed doors. When would they strike the trail?
 
To my surprise the Hazzards and the Smiths were as much in the dark as I concerning development in the great kidnapping case. The wily Mr. Pless suddenly ceased delivering his confidences to outsiders. Evidently he had been cautioned by those in charge of his affairs. He became as uncommunicative as the Sphinx.
 
I had the somewhat valueless satisfaction of knowing a blessed sight more about the matter than he and all of his bloodhounds put together. I could well afford to laugh, but under the extremely harassing²⁶ conditions it was far from possible for me to get fat. As a matter of fact, it seemed to me that I was growing thinner. Mrs. Betty Billy Smith, toward the end of her visit, dolefully—almost tearfully—remarked upon my haggard appearance. She was very nice about it, too. I liked her immensely.
 
It did not require half an eye to see that she was thoroughly²⁷ sick of the baron and Mr. Pless. She was really quite uncivil to them toward the end.
 
At last there came a day of deliverance. The guests were departing and I can truthfully say that I was speeding them.
 
Elsie Hazzard took me off to a remote corner, where a little later on Betty Billy and the two husbands found us.
 
"John, will you ever forgive me?" she said very soberly. "I swear to you I hadn't the faintest idea what it—"
 
"Please, please, Elsie," I broke in warmly; "don't abuse yourself in my presence. I fully¹⁵ understand everything. At least, nearly everything. What I can't understand, for the life of me, is this: how did you happen to pick up two such consummate²⁸ bounders as these fellows are?"
 
"Alas²⁹, John," said she, shaking her head, "a woman never knows much about a man until she has lived a week in the same house with him. Now you are a perfect angel."
 
"You've always said that," said I. "You did not have to live in the same house with me to find it out, did you?"
 
She ignored the question. "I shall never, never forgive myself for this awful week, John. We've talked it all over among ourselves. We are ashamed—oh, so terribly ashamed. If you can ever like us again after—"
 
"Like you!" I cried, taking her by the shoulders. "Why, Elsie Hazzard, I have never liked you and George half so much as I like you now. You two and the Smiths stand out like Gibraltars in my esteem³⁰. I adore all of you. I sha'n't be happy again until I know that you four—and no more—are coming back to Schloss Rothhoefen for an indefinite stay. Good Lord, how happy we shall be!"
 
I said it with a great deal of feeling. The tears rushed into her eyes.
 
"You are a dear, John," she sighed.
 
"You'll come?"
 
"In a minute," said she with vehemence³¹, a genuine American girl once more.
 
"Just as soon as these pesky workmen are out of the place, I'll drop you a line," said I, immeasurably exalted³². "But I draw the line at noblemen."
 
"Don't worry," she said, setting her nice little white teeth. "I draw it too. Never again! Never!"
 
It occurred to me that here was an excellent opening for a bit of missionary³³ work. Very pointedly³⁴ I said to her: "I fancy you are willing to admit now that she wasn't such a simpleton for leaving him."
 
She went so far as to shudder³⁵, all the time regarding me with dilated³⁶ eyes. "I can't imagine anything more dreadful than being that man's wife, John."
 
"Then why won't you admit that you are sorry for her? Why won't you be a little just to her?"
 
She looked at me sharply. "Do you know her?"
 
"Not by a long shot," I replied hastily, and with considerable truthfulness³⁸.
 
"Why are you so keen to have me take sides with her?"
 
"Because I did, the instant I saw that infernal cad."
 
She pursed her lips. It was hard for her to surrender.
 
"Out with it, Elsie," I commanded. "You know you've been wrong about that poor little girl. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you have switched over completely in the last four days, and so has Betty Billy."
 
"I can't forgive her for marrying him in the first place," she said stubbornly. "But I think she was justified³⁹ in leaving him. As I know him now, I don't see how she endured it as long as she did. Yes, I am sorry for her. She is a dear girl and she has had a—a—"
 
"I'll say it, my dear: a hell of a time."
 
"Thank you." "And I daresay you now think she did right in taking the child, too," I persisted.
 
"I—I hope she gets safely away with little Rosemary, back to God's country as we are prone⁴⁰ to call it. Oh, by the way, John, I don't see why I should feel bound to keep that wretch's secret any longer. He has treated us like dogs. He doesn't deserve—"
 
"Hold on! You're not thinking of telling me his name, are you?"
 
"Don't you want to know it? Don't you care to hear that you've been entertaining the most talked of, the most interesting—"
 
"No, I don't!"
 
"Don't you care to hear who it was that he married and how many millions he got from—"
 
"No, I don't."
 
"And why not?"
 
"Well," said I, judicially⁴¹, "in the first place I like the mystery of it all. In the second place, I don't want to know anything more about this fellow than I already know. He is enough of a horror to me, as it is, God knows, without giving a name to him. I prefer to think of him as Mr. Pless. If you don't mind, Elsie, I'll try to eradicate⁴² him thoroughly from my system as Pless before I take him on in any other form of evil. No, I don't want to know his name at present, nor do I care a hang who it was he married. Silly notion, I suppose, but I mean what I say."
 
She looked at me in wonder for a moment and then shook her head as if considering me quite hopeless. "You are an odd thing, John. God left something out when He fashioned you. I'm just dying to tell you all about them, and you won't let me."
 
"Is she pretty?" I asked, yielding a little.
 
"She is lovely. We've been really quite hateful about her, Betty and I. Down in our hearts we like her. She was a spoiled child, of course, and all that sort of thing, but heaven knows she's been pretty thoroughly made over in a new crucible⁴³. We used to feel terribly sorry for her, even while we were deriding⁴⁴ her for the fool she had made of herself in marrying him. I've seen her hundreds of times driving about alone in Vienna, where they spent two winters, a really pathetic figure, scorned not only by her husband but by every one else. He never was to be seen in public with her. He made it clear to his world that she was not to be inflicted⁴⁵ upon it by any unnecessary act of his. She came to see Betty and me occasionally; always bright and proud and full of spirit, but we could see the wounds in her poor little heart no matter how hard she tried to hide them. I tell you, John, they like us as women but they despise us as wives. It will always be the same with them. They won't let us into their charmed circle. Thank God, I am married to an American. He must respect me whether he wants to or not."
 
"Poor little beggar," said I, without thinking of how it would sound to her; "she has had her fling, and she has paid well for it."
 
"If her stingy old father, who permitted her to get into the scrape, would come up like a man and pay what he ought to pay, there would be no more pother about this business. He hasn't lived up to his bargain. The—Mr. Pless has squandered⁴⁶ the first million and now he wants the balance due him. A trade's a trade, John. The old man ought to pay up. He went into it with his eyes open, and I haven't an atom of sympathy for him. You have read that book of Mrs. O'Burnett's, haven't you?—'The Shuttle'? Well, there you are. This is but another example of what fools American parents can be when they get bees in their bonnets⁴⁷."
 
She seemed to be accusing me!
 
"I hope she gets away safely with the kiddie," said I, non-committally.
 
"Heaven knows where she is. Maybe she's as safe as a bug⁴⁸ in a rug."
 
"I shouldn't be surprised," said I.
 
The Billy Smiths and George Hazzard came up at this juncture⁴⁹. Elsie at once proceeded to go into a long series of conjectures⁵⁰ as to the probable whereabouts of Mr. Pless's former wife and their child. I was immensely gratified to find that they were now undivided in their estimate of Mr. Pless and firmly allied⁵¹ on the side of the missing countess.
 
I gathered from their remarks that the young woman's mother and brothers were still in Paris, where their every movement was being watched by secret agents. They were awaiting the arrival from New York of the father of the countess, after which they were to come to Vienna for the purpose of making a determined⁵² fight for the daughter's absolute freedom and the custody⁵³ of the child.
 
Somehow this news gave me a strange feeling of apprehension⁵⁴, a sensation that later on was to be amply justified.
 
I daresay an historian less punctilious⁵⁵ about the truth than I propose to be, would, at this stage of the narrative⁵⁶, insert a whopping lie for the sake of effect, or "action," or "heart interest," as such things are called in the present world of letters. He would enliven his tale by making Mr. Pless do something sensational⁵⁷ while he was about it, such as yanking his erstwhile companion out of her place of hiding by the hair of her head, or kicking down all the barricades⁵⁸ about the place, or fighting a duel⁵⁹ with me, or—well, there is no end of things he might do for the sake of a "situation." But I am a person of veracity⁶⁰ and the truth is in me. Mr. Pless did none of these interesting things, so why should I say that he did?
 
He went away with the others at half-past eleven, and that was the end of his first visit to my domain⁶¹. For fear that you, kind reader, may be disappointed, I make haste to assure you that he was to come again.
 
Of course there was more or less turmoil⁶² and—I might say disaffection—attending his departure. He raised Cain with my servants because they did this and that when they shouldn't have done either; he (and the amiable⁶³ baron) took me to task for having neglected to book compartments⁶⁴ for them in the Orient Express; he insisted upon having a luncheon⁶⁵ put up in a tea basket and taken to the railway station by Britton, and he saw to it personally that three or four bottles of my best wine were neatly⁶⁶ packed in with the rest. He said three or four, but Britton is firm in his belief that there was nearer a dozen, judging by the weight.
 
He also contrived⁶⁷ to have Mr. Poopendyke purchase first-class railway tickets for him and the baron, and then forgot to settle for them. It amounted to something like four hundred and fifty kronen, if I remember correctly. He took away eleven hundred and sixty-five dollars of my money, besides, genially⁶⁸ acquired at roulette, and I dread³⁷ to think of what he and the baron took out of my four friends at auction⁶⁹ bridge.
 
I will say this for him: he was the smartest aristocrat⁷⁰ I've ever known.
 
Need I add that the Hazzards and the Smiths travelled second-class?
 
"Well, thank the Lord!" said I, as the ferry put off with the party, leaving me alone on the little landing. The rotten timbers seemed to echo the sentiment. At the top of the steep all the Schmicks were saying it, too; in the butler's pantry it was also being said; a score of workmen were grunting⁷¹ it; and the windlass that drew me up the hill was screaming it in wild, discordant⁷² glee. I repeated it once more when Britton returned from town and assured me that they had not missed the train.
 
"That's what I'd like to say, sir," said he.
 
"Well, say it," said I. And he said it so vociferously⁷³ that I know it must have been heard in the remotest corners of heaven.
 
The merry song of the hammer and the sweet rasp of the saw greeted my delighted ear as I entered the castle. Men were singing and whistling for all they were worth; the air was full of music. It was not unlike the grand transformation⁷⁴ scene in the pantomime when all that has been gloom and despondency gives way in the flash of an eye to elysian splendour and dazzling gaiety. 'Pon my soul, I never felt so exuberant⁷⁵ in all my life. The once nerve-racking clangour was like the soothing⁷⁶ strains of an invisible orchestra to my delighted senses. Ha! Ha! What a merry old world it is, after all!
 
Nearing my study, I heard an almost forgotten noise: the blithe⁷⁷, incessant⁷⁸ crackle of a typewriting machine. Never have I heard one rattle⁷⁹ so rapidly or with such utter ga............