He reached the road and made for the place where the car had been left. If the others had escaped they also would go in that direction. He saw no guard or sentry, and heard no sound from the walled enclosure of the monastery. He struck against something in the roadway and stooped and picked it up. It was stitched in a canvas cover and it felt like a book. He suddenly remembered the scraps of conversation he had overheard between the girl and Malcolm.

This, then, was the "Book of All-Power."

"Foolishness," said Cherry, and put it in his pocket. But the book showed one thing clearly—the others had got away. He had marked the place where they had stopped, but the car was gone!

It was too dark to see the tracks, but there was no question that it had been here, for he found an empty petrol tin and the still air reeked of rubber solution.

He had need of all his philosophy. He was in an unknown country, a fugitive from justice, and that country was teeming with soldiers. Every road was watched, and he had four cartridges between him and capture. There was only one thing to do, and that was to go back the way the car had come, and he stepped out undauntedly, halting now and again to stoop and look along the railway line, for he was enough of an old campaigner to know how to secure a skyline.

Then in the distance he saw a regular line of lights, and those lights were moving. It was a railway train, and apparently it was turning a curve, for one by one the lights disappeared and only one flicker, which he judged was on the engine, was visible. He bent down again and saw the level horizon of a railway embankment less than two hundred yards on his left, and remembered that Malinkoff had spoken of the Warsaw line.

He ran at full speed, floundering into pools, breaking through bushes, and finally scrambled up the steep embankment. How to board the train seemed a problem which was insuperable, if the cars were moving at any speed. There was little foothold by the side of the track, and undoubtedly the train was moving quickly, for now the noise of it was a dull roar, and he, who was not wholly unacquainted with certain unauthorized forms of travel, could judge to within a mile an hour the rate it was travelling.

He fumbled in his pocket and found a match. There was no means of making a bonfire. The undergrowth was wet, and he had not so much as a piece of paper in his pocket.

"The book!"

He pulled it out, ripped off the canvas cover with his knife, and tried to open it. The book was locked, he discovered, but locks were to Cherry like pie-crusts—made to be broken. A wrench and the covers fell apart.

He tore out the first three or four pages, struck the match, and the flame was touching the corner of the paper when his eyes fell upon the printed words. He stood open-mouthed, the flame still burning, gazing at the torn leaf until the burning match touched his finger and he dropped it.

Torn between doubts, and dazed as he was, the train might have passed him, but the light of a match in the still, dark night could be seen for miles, and he heard the jar of the brakes. He pushed the book and the loose leaves into his pocket and ran along the embankment to meet the slowing special—for special it was.

He managed to pass the engine unnoticed, then, crouching down until the last carriage was abreast, he leapt up, caught the rail and swung himself on to the rear footboard, up the steel plates which serve as steps, to the roof of the carriage, just as the train stopped.

There were excited voices demanding explanations, there was a confusion of orders, and presently the train moved on, gathering speed, and Cherry had time to think. It was still dark when they ran into a little junction, and, peeping over the side, he saw a group of officers descend from a carriage to stretch their legs. To them came a voluble and gesticulating railway official, and again there was a confusion of voices. He was telling them something and his tone was apologetic, almost fearful. Then, to Cherry's amazement, he heard somebody speak in English. It was the voice of a stranger, a drawling English voice.

"Oh, I say! Let them come on, general! I wouldn't leave a dog in this country—really I wouldn't."

"But it is against all the rules of diplomacy," said a gruffer voice in the same language.

"Moses!" gasped Cherry.

The road led into the station-yard and he had seen the car. There was no doubt of it. The lights from one of the train windows were sufficiently strong to reveal it, and behind the stationmaster was another little group in the shadow.

"It is a matter of life and death." It was Malcolm's voice. "I must get this lady to the Polish frontier—it is an act of humanity I ask."

"English, eh?" said the man called the general. "Get on board."

Malcolm took the girl in his arms before them all.

"Go, darling," he said gently.

"I cannot go without you," she said, but he shook his head.

"Malinkoff and I must wait. We cannot leave Cherry. We are going back to find him. I am certain he has escaped."

"I will not leave without you," she said firmly.

"You'll all have to come or all have to stay," said the Englishman briskly. "We haven't any time to spare, and the train is now going on. You see," he said apologetically, "it isn't our train at all, it belongs to the Polish Commission, and we're only running the food end of the negotiations. We have been fixing up terms between the Red Army and the Poles, and it is very irregular that we should take refugees from the country at all."

"Go!"

Malcolm heard the hoarse whisper, and it was as much as he could do to stop himself looking up. He remembered the motor-car and Cherry's mysterious and providential appearance from the roof, and he could guess the rest.

"Very well, we will go. Come, Malinkoff, I will explain in the car," said Malcolm.

They lifted the girl into the carriage and the men followed. A shriek from the engine, a jerk of the cars, and the train moved on. Before the rear carriage had cleared the platform a car rocked into the station-yard, dashing through the frail wooden fencing on to the platform itself.

"Stoi! Stoi!"

Boolba stood up in the big touring car, his arms outstretched, the white bandage about his neck showing clearly in the car lights. Cherry Bim rose to his knees and steadied himself. Once, twice, three times he fired, and Boolba pitched over the side of the car dead.

"I had a feeling that we should meet again," said Cherry. "That's not a bad gun."



CHAPTER THE LAST

"All my life," said Cherry Bim, fondling his Derby hat affectionately, "I have been what is called by night-court reporters a human parricide."

He occupied a corner seat in the first-class compartment which had been placed at the disposal of the party. To the Peace Commissioners in their saloon the fugitives had no existence. Officially they were not on the train, and the hot meal which came back to them from the Commissioner's own kitchenette was officially sent to "extra train-men," and was entered as such on the books of the chef.

The girl smiled. There was cause for happiness, for these dreary flats which were passing the window were the flats of Poland.

"I have often thought, Mr. Bim, that you were a human angel!"

Cherry beamed.

"Why, that's what I was named after," he said. "Ain't you heard of the Cherry Bims? My sister Sarah was named the same way—you've heard of Sarah Bims?"

"Seraphims," laughed Malcolm; "true, it's near enough. But why this dissertation on your moral character, Cherry?"

"I'm only remarking," said Cherry, "I wouldn't like you gu—fellers to go away thinkin' that high-class female society hadn't brought about a change in what I would describe, for want of a better word, as my outlook."

"All our outlooks have been shaken up," said the girl, laying her hand on Cherry's arm.

"I am a Grand Duchess of Russia and you are—you are——"

"Yes, I'm that," said Cherry, helping her out. "I'm one of nature's extractors. But I'm through. I hate the idea of workin' and maybe I won't have to, because I've got enough of the—well, any way, I've got enough."

Malcolm slapped him on the knee.

"You've brought more from Russia than we have, Cherry," he said.

"But not the greatest prize." It was the silent Malinkoff who spoke. "Highness, is there no way of recovering your father's fortune?"

She shook her head.

"It is gone," she said quietly, "and if Russia were pacified to-morrow I should be poor—you know that, Malcolm!"

He nodded.

"I have not even," she smiled, "poor Israel Kensky's wonderful book."

"I was a careless fool," growled Malcolm, "when we struck the road I was so intent upon getting to the auto that I did not realize the book had dropped out. We hadn't a second to lose," he explained for the third time to Cherry. "The soldiers were searching in the yard when Malinkoff found the breach in the wall. I hated leaving you——"

"Aw!" said the disgusted Cherry. "Ain't we settled that? Didn't I hear you tellin' Percy—and say, is it true that the young lady is—is broke?"

"'Broke' is exactly the word," she said cheerfully. "I am going to be a nice Scottish wife and live within my husband's means—why, Cherry?"

He had a book in his hand—the "Book of All-Power."

"Where——?"

"Found it on the road," he said. "I broke the lock an' tore out a couple of leaves to light a flare. I wanted to flag the train—but I've got 'em—the leaves, I mean."

"You found it?"

She reached out her hand for the volume, but he did not give it to her.

"I can't read Russian," he said. "What does this say?" and he pointed to the inscription on the cover, and she read, translating as she went on:

"THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER

"Herein is the magic of power and the words and symbols which unlock the sealed hearts of men and turn their proud wills to water."

Cherry was silent.

"That's a lie," he said quietly, "for it didn't turn my will to water—take it, miss!"

She took it from his hand, wondering, and turned the broken cover. She could not believe her eyes ... and turned the leaves quickly. Every page was a Bank of England note worth a thousand pounds.

* * * * *

"That was how Kensky kept his money evidently," said Malinkoff. "In such troublesome times as the Jews passed through, he must have thought it safest to convert his property into English money, and when he had reached the limit of his hoard he bound the notes into a book."

The girl turned her bewildered face to Cherry.

"Did you know that this was money?" she asked.

"Sure," he said; "didn't I start in to burn it?"

THE END