"Maybe you'd like to take part in an experiment?" Quelius called as he came pattering back down the stairs. "Actually, it's wasteful to merely cast aside a valuable experimental animal—and as it happens, I have a new modification on one of Jorlemagne's little trinkets I'd like to put to trial. It will take a few moments to set things up, but please be patient."
By rolling his eyes, Lafayette could see the renegade Commissioner setting out an armload of equipment on the landing. There was a tripod, a spherical, green-painted object the size of a softball, wires, pipes, a heavy black box.
"Jorlemagne intended the device as an aid to medical examination," Quelius confided as he worked. "Gives the surgeons a superb view of one's insides, eh? It required only a slight shifting about of components to improve it, however. My version simply turns the subject inside out, with no nonsense. Liver and lights right there for handy inspection. Of course, there's a bit of difficulty when it comes to getting you put back in the original order afterward, but after all, we can't expect the pilot model to be without bugs, eh?"
Lafayette closed his eyes. No point in spending his last moments listening to the raving of a madman when he could be remembering pleasant scenes of the past for the last time. He pictured Daphne's smiling face . . . but the vision of her chained to a chair rose to blot out the image. He thought of Adoranne and Alain—and pictured them humbled before Quelius as he lolled on his stolen throne flanked by his secret police. Jorlemagne's towering figure was there—shaking his head futilely. Luppo rose up; Gizelle looked at him tearfully. Belarius stared at him accusingly; Agent Raunchini shook a fist at him, mouthing reproaches. The lean visage of Wizner Hiz was there, alight with triumph as he led his choral group in song . . .
Lafayette opened his eyes. Quelius was busily stringing wires.
"Won't be a moment, O'Leary. Don't be impatient," he called.
Lafayette cleared his throat, and started to sing:
Out of the world
Away and beyond
Back through the veil
Quelius begone . . .
"What's this?" the oldster looked around in surprise. "Vocal renditions in the face of eternity? A notable display of pluck. Pity your bride will never know. I intend to tell her that you kicked and screamed, offered to trade her for your life, volunteered to cut her ears off and all that sort of thing. Most amusing to watch her attempting to keep a stiff upper lip."
Afloat on a sea
Wider than night
Deeper and deeper
Sinking from sight
"Catchy tune," Quelius said. "Interesting rhythm. Seems to be a variation on the natural reality harmonic. Curious. Where did you learn it?"
Back where you came from,
Stealer of thrones
Back to the depths
Far under the stones . . .
"You're annoying me, O'Leary," Quelius snapped. He had stopped work to glare at his captive. "Stop that caterwauling at once!"
Out of the world,
Far from the sun
Begone from Artesia
Forever begone
.
"Stop it at once, do you hear?" Quelius shrieked, covering his ears. "You're making me dizzy!" Suddenly he snatched up the knife from the heap of tools at his feet, leaned far out and slashed at the rope supporting the net.
Borne on the wings
Of the magic song
From fair Artesia
Forever begone!
There was a sharp
pop!
The rasping of the knife against the rope ceased abruptly. In the sudden silence, O'Leary thought he heard a faint, faraway cry, that trailed off into silence . . .
Footsteps rasped on the stone steps. O'Leary pried an eye open, saw Jorlemagne leaning out to pull the net in to the landing.
" . . . found the entry . . . few minutes to discover trick . . . Quelius . . . where is he—" the scientist's voice boomed and faded.
"Daphne—upstairs . . ." Lafayette managed; and then the darkness folded in like a black comforter.
3
Lafayette awoke lying on his back in a narrow white bed. An anxious-looking old fellow whom he recognized as the royal physician was hovering over him.
"Ah, awake at last, are we, sir? Now, just rest quietly—"
"Where's Daphne?" O'Leary sat up, threw off the covers.
"Sir Lafayette! I must insist! You've been unconscious for two days—"
"Nonsense! I've never felt better. Where is she?"
"Why—ah—as to that—Countess Daphne is in her apartments—in seclusion. She, er, doesn't wish to be disturbed—"
"Don't be silly, I don't want to disturb her." Lafayette leaped up, staggering only slightly, and grabbed a robe from the chair beside the bed.
"But Sir Lafayette—you can't—"
"Just watch me!"
Two minutes later, O'Leary rapped on Daphne's door.
"It's me, Lafayette!" he called. "Open up, Daphne!"
"Go away," came a muffled reply.
"Lafayette—what seems to be the trouble?" Jorlemagne called, arriving at a trot. "Dr. Ginsbag told me you'd leaped up and dashed off in a frenzy!"
"What's the matter with Daphne? She won't open the door!"
The old gentleman spread his hands. "Poor child, she's been through so much. I suggest you give her a few weeks to recover from the shock—"
"A few weeks! Are you out of your beanie? I want to see her
now
!" He pounded on the door again. "Daphne! Open this door!"
"Go away, you imposter!"
"Imposter—" Lafayette whirled to the startled sentries flanking the door. "All right, boys—break it down!"
As they hesitated, shuffling their feet and exchanging anxious glances, the door was flung open. Daphne stood there, dabbing at tear-reddened eyes. She jumped back as Lafayette reached for her.
"Leave me alone, you . . . you makeup artist," she wailed. "I knew you weren't really Lafayette the minute you threw the soup tureen at the Second cook!"
"Daphne—that was all a mistake! I wasn't really me then, but I am now!"
"No, you're not; you're a stranger! And Lafayette is a horrid man with a gold ring in his ear and the whitest teeth, and the most immense black eyes, and . . ."
"That's Zorro, the crook!" O'Leary yelled. "I was him for a while, while Quelius was me, but now I'm me again, and so is he!"
"I recognized him when he kissed me—"
"Almost kissed you," Lafayette corrected. "I stopped in time, remember?"
"I mean the next time. And then . . . and then he went away with that little dark-eyed creature with the knife—and he . . . he stole my gold bracelet before he left!"
"Daphne! What's been going on here? Don't tell me! Zorro is Zorro—and I'm me! Lafayette! Look at me! Don't you know me, Daphne?"
"My dear Countess," Jorlemagne started, "I assure you—"
"Stay out of this!" O'Leary yelled. "Daphne! Remember the fountain in the gardens where we used to sit and feed the goldfish? Remember the time you dropped the chamber pot on Alain's head? Remember the dress—the rose-colored silk one? Remember the time you saved me when I was falling off the roof?"
"If . . . if you're actually Lafayette," Daphne said, facing him, "when is my mother's birthday?"
"Your mother's birthday? Ah . . . let's see . . . uh . . . in October?"
"Wrong! What night are we supposed to play bridge with the duchess?"
"Er . . . Wednesday?"
"Wrong! When is our anniversary?"
"I know that one," Lafayette cried in relief. "The third of next month!"
"He's an imposter," Daphne wailed. "Lafayette never remembered our anniversary!" She turned and fled into the room, threw herself facedown on the bed, weeping. Lafayette hurried after her.
"Don't touch me!" she cried as he bent over her.
"Oh, this is fine," O'Leary groaned. "Just perfect! Why did I have to do such a convincing job of selling you on my identity when I was Zorro?"
"It wasn't so much what he said," Daphne wept, "it was the way he made love that convinced me . . . and now he's gone . . ."
"Daphne! I keep telling you—you—what?" O'Leary's voice rose to a squeak. "Give me air!" he yelped, and plunged through the doors to the balcony—
And fell twenty feet into a rhododendron bush.
4
Daphne was sitting on the ground, cradling his head in her lap.
"Lafayette—is it really you—"
"I . . . I've been telling you . . ."
"But it has to be. The false Lafayette was the one who ordered the balcony removed, when he tried to lock me in our apartments.
He
would have known it wasn't there. And besides—nobody but my very own Lafayette falls down quite the way you do!"
"Daphne," O'Leary murmured, and drew her down to him . . .
"I just happened to think," Daphne said later. "If you were Zorro—just what was your relationship with that little brunette baggage named Gizelle?"
"
I
was wondering what
your
sleeping arrangements were—up until that four-flusher showed his true colors—"
"But then," Daphne went on as if he hadn't spoken, "I decided there are some questions best left unasked."