"That ought not to be difficult. Here goes." And he took the crossroad to the right.

So far all was well, but the stolen motor car was a dead weight on Renwick's conscience, and the danger of detection was still most unpleasant. If an excuse were needed for his arrest, a pretext which would hide the real secret of the mission of his pursuers, the larceny of the machine would now furnish it. He had no humor to see the inside of a village jail from which communication with the Ambassador would be difficult if not impossible. There were processes of law in Austria which suddenly became formidable to one in his position. But he drove on, keeping a lookout for sign posts, aware that the girl beside him, now that their danger was passed, had again assumed an uncompromising silence which was not too favorable an indication of the state of her mind and feelings toward him. He smiled inwardly. At least she could not rob him of the moment when on the steps of the train he had held her in his arms. He did not doubt that she was thinking of that moment also, hating him the more cordially because she was so dependent on him. Did she hate him? He stole a glance at her. She sat stiffly staring before her into the night, a frown at her brows, her lips closed in a thin line. Pride?

"Marishka," he ventured softly, "will you forgive me?"

Her figure grew more rigid.

"Herr Renwick——!" she gasped.

"I love you," he broke in. "You must know how much——"

"It is a pity that I have already gauged your capacity for devotion," she said bitterly.

"I had to tell, Marishka——"

"Herr Renwick, I am already much in your debt. Add to my burden, if you will, by keeping silence on a matter so painful——"

"Forgive me——"

"Never. You have betrayed me."

"I'll never give you up."

"You must. Circumstances have placed me in this false position. I am at your mercy. I beg you to be silent."

"You will marry me, some day, Marishka," he asserted cheerfully.

"Never," scornfully. "Never. The House of Strahni, Herr Renwick, holds honor high and loyalty even higher than honor——"

"There is another precept of the House of Strahni," he broke in calmly. "Their women—where they give their lips——"

"Oh, you are intolerable! I abominate you!"

"And I—I still adore you," he whispered. "I shall always adore—and serve."

"Thank God, the hour of your service nears its end," she said chokingly.

"Who knows?" he muttered.

But he made no further attempt to break through her reserve. She was too greatly in his power. And so he drove in silence, passing through the silent streets of Budweis without challenge and soon found himself upon the main highroad to Prague, over which the two had traveled less than a week ago in their hurried flight to Vienna. The moon had long since set, but when they climbed the hills along the Moldau faint gray streaks upon their right hand proclaimed the coming of the dawn. If Marishka was weary she gave no sign of it, for she sat bolt upright in her seat, her eyes wide open, staring along the thin yellow ribbon which marked their road. To the few questions as to her comfort she answered in monosyllables, and at last he made no further effort to engage her in a conversation. He felt no anger at her rebuffs—only tenderness—for in his heart he could not altogether blame her for her repudiation of him.

Broad daylight found them on the Prague highroad, not three miles from Konopisht Schloss. Here Renwick decided to desert the car and go afoot through the forest to the castle. He hid the machine in a thicket and led the way, Marishka following silently, content to trust herself to a judgment which until the present moment had seemed unerring. He glanced at her from time to time, aware of the pallor of her face and the fatigue of her movements. Once when he turned he fancied that her lips were smiling, but when he spoke to her she answered him shortly. The wounds to her pride were deep, it seemed, but he armed himself with patience and smiled at her reassuringly as they paused at the edge of the wood.

"The Schloss is just beyond these woods, I think. Some smoke is rising yonder. We must avoid the village. I think we may reach the garden by the lower gate. And there I will await you, Countess Strahni," he finished quietly.

It seemed as though in giving her her title, that he was accepting without further plea any conditions of formality in their relations which she might impose.

She waited a long moment without moving or replying. And then she turned toward him with a smile.

"Herr Renwick," she said gently, "whatever the personal differences between us, I owe you at least a word of gratitude for all that you have done. I thank you again. But I do not wish you to wait for me. I shall not trouble you longer."

"I will wait for you," he repeated.

"It is not necessary. I shall not return."

"You might, you know," he smiled. "I don't mind waiting at all. I shall breakfast upon a cigarette."

"Oh," she cried, her temper rising again, "you are——you are impossible."

With that she turned and strode ahead, reaching the gate before him and entering.

"Au revoir, Countess Strahni," he called after her.

But she walked rapidly toward the rose garden without turning her head, while Renwick, after lighting his cigarette, strolled slowly after her, sure that the world was very beautiful, but that his path of love even amid the roses did not run smoothly.

He reached the hedge just in time to see a man, one of the gardeners he seemed to be, come forward along the path from the direction of the castle and stand before Marishka bowing. He saw the girl turn a glance over her shoulder, an appealing glance, and Renwick had just started to run forward when from each tree and hedge near him figures appeared which seemed to envelop him. He struck out to right and left, but they were too many. He felt a stinging blow at the back of his head, and had the curious sensation of seeing the garden path suddenly rise and smite him tremendously.



CHAPTER VI

HERR WINDT

When Renwick managed again to summon his wits, he found himself lying in the dark where somebody was bathing his brows with a damp cloth. His head ached a great deal and he lay for a moment without opening his eyes, aware of soft fingers, the touch of which seemed to soothe the pain immeasurably. He opened his eyes to the semi-obscurity of a small room furnished with the cot on which he lay, a table and two chairs. It was all very comfortable and cozy, but the most agreeable object was the face of Marishka Strahni, not a foot from his own. Through eyes dimmed by pain he thought he read in her expression a divine compassion and tenderness, and quickly closed them again for fear that his eyes might have deceived him. When he opened them again he murmured her name.

"Marishka," he said gently, "you—you have forgiven me?"

But she had moved slightly away from him and was now regarding him impassively. It was too bad for his vision to have played him such a trick. It was so much pleasanter to sleep with Marishka looking at him like that.

"You have had a blow upon the head, Herr Renwick," her voice came as from a distance. "I hope you are feeling better. It was necessary for me to bathe your head with cold compresses."

Necessary! Of course. But it would have been so much pleasanter to know that she had done it because she wanted to.

"So it was au revoir, after all?" he smiled, struggling to a sitting posture.

"You had better lie still for a while," she said briefly.

His head was throbbing painfully, but he managed to make light of it.

"Oh, I'm quite all right, I think," he said looking around the room curiously. "Would you mind telling me what happened and where we are?"

"They struck you down and brought us here. It's one of the gardener's cottages on the estate."

"And you?"

"They were very polite but we are prisoners—for how long I don't know. I've failed, Herr Renwick——" she finished miserably.

"Perhaps it isn't too late——"

"There are men outside. They intend to keep us here for the present."

"There ought to be a way——" said Renwick, putting his feet to the ground. "I could——" He stopped abruptly, for at that moment he discovered that the captured weapon had been removed from his pocket.

"I'm afraid it's hopeless," said Marishka bitterly.

Renwick glanced at his watch. "Only eight o'clock. Even now we could——"

He rose and walked to the window, peering through a crack in the shutter, but an attack of vertigo caused him to sink into a chair. She regarded him dubiously, pride and compassion struggling, but she said nothing.

"Beastly stupid of me," he groaned. "I might have known they'd spare no detail——"

There was a knock upon the door, and at Marishka's response, a turning of the key, and a man entered. In spite of a discolored eye and a wrinkled neckband, he was not difficult to identify as their friend of the railroad train. His manner, however, was far from forbidding, for he clicked his heels, swept off his cap and smiled slowly, his gold tooth gleaming pleasantly.

"Herr Renwick is, I trust, feeling better," he said politely.

Renwick grinned up at him sheepishly.

"I congratulate Herr Windt upon his adroitness," he said. "I fear I made the mistake of underestimating his skill in divination."

"It was not inspired enough to guess that you were in the Countess Strahni's carriage," he replied. "You have quick fingers, Herr Renwick. Fortunately I was aware of your destination and knew that we should meet. All is well that ends well."

"That depends upon the point of view, Herr Windt. But I might have killed you in the railway carriage."

"That would have been an error in judgment, which would have been most unfortunate for both of us. I, too, might have shot you through my pocket, but I refrained, at some hazard to myself. I try never to exceed the necessities of a situation. Having performed my mission successfully I can now afford to be generous."

"Meaning—what, Herr Windt?"

"That I shall keep you here only so long as is absolutely necessary." He glanced at his watch and said significantly, "The Archduke's private train will leave here in half an hour."

Marishka had listened in some amazement to this conversation, but the politeness of her jailer only angered her.

"I would like to know by what authority you imprison a loyal citizen of Austria," she stormed. "Your identity seems to have made some impression upon Herr Renwick, but I would inform you that I at least am not without friends to whom you will answer for this outrage."

Herr Windt bowed low.

"I beg that Countess Strahni will reconsider that word. I have intended to act with great discretion. Herr Renwick unfortunately underestimated the forces to which he was opposed. I am sorry he has suffered injury. As for you, Countess, I beg leave to recall that those who have restrained you have treated you with every consideration."

"Who are you?" she asked angrily.

"Herr Renwick has spoken my name."

"You are a member of the secret service of the Austrian government?"

He smiled again and bowed low.

"It is the custom of those in my trade to ask questions—not to answer them. In this service, however, it will please you perhaps to know that I am not acting for the Austrian government."

"Who then?"

"I cannot reply."

"You dare not."

"Perhaps. But I am willing to admit, Countess Strahni, that the same motive which impelled you to Schoenbrunn," he said significantly, "has actuated both myself and my employers."

"And that motive?"

"The safety of the Empire."

"Austria! But not complicity in this dastardly——"

At a warning sound from Renwick she paused. Herr Windt was regarding her gravely.

"I regret that I do not comprehend the Countess Strahni's meaning," he said with a bow. "It would be a source of great unhappiness to me, if in doing my duty, I had done you a harm. I am not an enemy, Countess, but a loyal compatriot. I may add that I am prepared to do what I can to protect you from the results of your unfortunate connection with a dangerous political situation."

"Protect! You!" Marishka smiled bitterly and glanced ironically around the walls of the cabin.

"I beg to assure you that I am not jesting. Herr Renwick will recall that he was attacked one night upon the streets of Vienna. He was also shot at by some person unknown. The inspiration for those assaults did not emanate from my employers."

"I suspected as much," muttered Renwick.

Marishka was examining Renwick wide-eyed.

"Shot at!" she murmured.

"The information in Herr Renwick's possession," Herr Windt went on suavely, "was more damaging to other interests than to theirs. Herr Renwick's connection with the British Embassy has terminated. He has merely the status in Austria of a traveling Englishman. But his activities are dangerous where they concern the movements of the Countess Strahni. I am performing an act of friendship to a loyal Austrian in offering her escort back to Vienna, where if she is wise she will remain quietly under my surveillance."

During this speech, of which Herr Windt delivered himself with much bowing and rubbing of his hands, Marishka remained silent, a wonder growing in her eyes.

"I fail to see how my presence here or elsewhere can interest you or others," she said as she sank upon the cot. Weariness was telling on her and the disappointment of her mission's failure. And the threat of danger that hung in his words was hardly reassuring.

"Countess Strahni may doubt my good intentions. That is her privilege. In a short time"—here he looked at his watch again—"she will be at liberty to come and go as she chooses. In the meanwhile I beg that she will listen to me and heed my warning."

He looked at her until she raised her head and signified for him to continue. "The agencies which attempted to prevent the delivery of Herr Renwick's information to the British Embassy are again at work. Herr Renwick having been"—he paused and bowed to Renwick—"if I may be permitted to say so—having been repudiated by his Ambassador and by the British government, he is politically a person of no importance—at least as far as my relations with him are concerned. Whatever he may do privately, unless it proves valuable to the interests of Austria's enemies, will pass as it has already passed—unnoticed in Austria. The case of the Countess Strahni is different——"

He paused a moment to rub his hands together thoughtfully.

"I can not understand——"

"Within the past twenty-four hours the apartments of the Baroness Racowitz have been observed by persons not in my service. The Countess perhaps has had no unusual communications?"

Marishka started up in her chair, while Windt, watching her, smiled slowly.

"Ah, I was not mistaken——" he said.

"A request to go to the Hofburg tonight—before Herr Renwick came," she whispered, now thoroughly aroused. "I did not go. The signature was unfamiliar to me."

Herr Windt took a pace toward the window and peered forth through the slats of the blind.

"The Countess Strahni would not have reached the Hofburg," he said quietly. "She would have gone—er—elsewhere!"

"The man in the green limousine!" came suddenly in cryptic tones from the silent Renwick.

"Exactly. He followed the Countess Strahni's fiacre in motor car to the Nordwest Bahnhof."

"And you?"

"We forestalled him—that's all," he said, showing his gold tooth in a most ingratiating smile, but there was a flash in the deep set eyes which explained much to Renwick.

"There was a commotion near the booking-stall," said Renwick.

"Ah, you witnessed?"

"From a distance. I had other affairs."

"Yes. That will perhaps make my laxity with regard to Herr Renwick's sudden appearance the more pardonable," said Windt, with a professional air.

Marishka, who had listened with growing inquietude to these revelations of her danger, had risen and paced nervously the length of the room.

"But why?" she pleaded. "Who can dare to molest me in my own home or in the streets of Vienna?"

Herr Windt rubbed his injured eye gravely.

"The Countess Strahni has unfortunately become a political document, the possession of which, I may even say the suppression of which, is highly important."

Marishka sank upon the couch, and for a moment buried her face in her hands.

"But what would be gained by getting me out of the way? I have already told what I know."

Herr Windt smiled.

"As Herr Renwick would perhaps inform you, the place for an important document is the safe. If the document is harmless a desk may do. If it is incriminating, like you, Countess"—he said with a dramatic gesture—"the fire!"

Renwick by this time had risen and stood fitting his monocle into his eye.

"Astounding!" he muttered. "And yet I quite believe you."

"There seems little room to doubt." Herr Windt walked to the window and peered out again. "My men are all about this place, Herr Renwick, and yet even now I am not certain that you have not been followed."

He turned and faced Marishka with his usual bland composure. "Herr Renwick should, I think, be able to take care of himself. I beg, however, that Countess Strahni will not be unduly anxious. I shall myself go outside and take every precaution." He turned at the door and bowed. "I beg that in the meanwhile, you will come to some decision as to your immediate plans, counting upon my efforts to aid you. There is no train for Vienna until this afternoon," he said significantly. "I may add that the machine in which you came from Altensteig will be returned to its owner by one of my young men, who will explain the circumstances, and arrange a proper compensation."

With this parting shot delivered in his best professional manner, Herr Windt left the room with an air of triumphant urbanity which added not a little to the respect with which Renwick now regarded him.

Marishka sat upright on the bed staring straight before her while Renwick paced the floor frowning.

"If I could only have reached her—for a moment," said Marishka brokenly, as though thinking aloud. "She would have listened to me—she would have believed me. I would have thrown myself upon her mercy—told her all. It is horrible—a death like that—when a word might save them now—and it will be I—I who have killed them——" She started up staring at Renwick. "And you! Why do you stand there, doing nothing?" she flung at him wildly. "You learned of this thing—at Belgrade. Why couldn't you have prevented it? Given it publicity? Why don't you do something now? England has power. Why doesn't your Ambassador speak? Is he frightened? Dumb? Will he stand idly by and see this——"

"It is none of England's affair, Countess Strahni," Renwick broke in soothingly.

"Then it is of Germany's?" She halted as the new idea came to her, and walked to the small table where she sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands, trying to think.

After a while she raised her head suddenly and looked at Renwick.

"Do you believe that this man tells the truth?"

"I do. He stands high among those of his profession."

"Do you believe that agents of the German government were trying to take me prisoner—and you?"

"Herr Windt is surprisingly well informed. I am quite sure that someone is trying to shoot me," he laughed. "I believe that you were followed—by whom I don't know."

"Then how do you explain the efforts of German agents to take me, when I am acting in the interests of the Kaiser's friend and ally, the Archduke Franz?"

"You forget that this plot is a secret one. The Archduke may fear the Serbians and the Bosnians, not his own countrymen."

"Oh! Yes—of course." She was silent again, but moved her hands nervously along the table top and in a moment got up and peered through the window-blind.

"I beg that you will submit yourself to Herr Windt if not to me——" pleaded Renwick earnestly. "At least in his company you will be in no danger. I have done what I can to help you reach the Duchess, because the secret we shared brought about this calamity. But the matter has been taken out of my hands and yours. I advise you to return this afternoon to Vienna."

She did not reply and only stood by the window, tapping at the sash with unquiet fingers.

"You are tired," he said gently. "Lie down on this bed for awhile and I will see what can be done about breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"You can't go without food."

"I'm not hungry," she repeated.

Renwick shrugged and walked to the other window, where he presently observed Herr Windt coming around the corner of the building. That remarkable person had thought of everything, for he carried in his hands a coffeepot and cups, while another man followed with plates and a saucepan.

He turned the key in the lock and entered, putting the coffee upon the table and rubbing his hands with a more than usual gusto.

"I am delighted to be able to inform you that the occasion for your detention has passed. Within certain bounds you are now at liberty. The train of the Archduke has just passed down the valley."

"Oh!" gasped Marishka.

"I would advise you, however, to keep within call. If Herr Renwick will give me his word of honor not to try to escape——"

"I don't quite know where I should go——"

"Very good. The wires, of course, Herr Renwick, are in the hands of Austrian officials."

Renwick nodded.

"You have won, Herr Windt. I have no plans which conflict with yours." He turned a glance toward Marishka. "Countess Strahni is very tired. I think if we were to leave her for a few hours, she would probably eat and rest——"

"By all means," said Windt with alacrity, moving toward the door. "And if Herr Renwick will follow me I think I can find another coffeepot."

Marishka did not turn from the window as they went out of the door. Her heart was heavy within her, and through the glaring summer sunlight which came in at the window and beat upon her face, she saw—Sarajevo! Sophie Chotek alighting from her train, the pomp and circumstance, the glitter of uniforms, the crowded streets through which she must pass and the crowd which seethed with unrest, along the street through which Sophie Chotek must pass...! It was too horrible. She wanted to shriek—to cry out against the infamy that was to be done, but she could only close her eyes to try and shut the vision out.

After awhile she grew calmer, and tried to think clearly. There was a pitcher and basin in the corner of the room, and so she bathed her face and hands and refreshed herself. The coffee still steamed upon the table. There was rye bread, and there were eggs in the water of the saucepan. She felt weak and dispirited, but it would not do to fail for lack of strength, and so she sat and ate and drank. The plan born of her talk with Hugh Renwick still turned over and over in her mind. Would Renwick still be able to do something to help her? Which way should she turn? If her own efforts to warn Sophie Chotek had been futile, if Hugh Renwick could not do something, and England selfishly held aloof while this horrible conspiracy which seemed to have its very tendrils hidden in the hearts of those who should have been her friends, was under way, what must she do? She felt dreadfully; alone, and fearfully guilty. Her own death or the threatened imprisonment of which Herr Windt spoke seemed slight atonements for the wrong that she had done Sophie Chotek. If she could still succeed, by using the agents of the Archduke's imperial friend and ally, in sending a warning through the German ambassador at Vienna, to Budapest or Sarajevo, the consequences to herself were immaterial. They might have her to do with as they chose; for by this sacrifice only could she atone. She did not fear death, for death to youth and health is inconceivable. She smiled incredulously as she thought again of the ominous surmises of the impossible Herr Windt. There was something of the opera bouffe about his methods which abstracted from the brilliancy of his success. To Marishka he was still the head waiter. This was the twentieth century. No political secret could justify the imprisonment or death of a woman!... She shuddered a little, as she thought of the very death that had been planned by the employers of Herr Windt—Austrians—loyal Austrians he called them, of the same blood and lineage perhaps as herself. She had not yet succeeded in wholly believing it. There was some missing reason for the actions of this secret service agent, some motive which neither she nor Hugh Renwick had yet fathomed, which would explain her detention and his. It was unbelievable that——

Marishka started at a small sound from the direction of the fireplace. It was a curious sound, a subdued metallic clink which nevertheless differentiated itself with startling clearness from among the already familiar sounds of the quiet summer morning. She started up and peered into the shadows of the hearth. There was something there, a small object—round, wrapped in paper. She reached forward quickly, picked it up and examined it curiously then took off its covering, disclosing an Austrian coin—a kroner—nothing more. It was most mysterious. The thing could obviously have not come from the sky. Who?

She examined the paper closely. It seemed like a leaf torn from a note book. There was writing on it, and moving to the window she made out the script without difficulty. It was written in evident haste with a blunt pencil.

I have found a way to escape in a machine from Herr Wendt, if you will come at once. Only one man watches the cabin by the door. There is another in the orchard. Go quietly out by the window and follow the hedge to the garden wall. I will be at the gate beyond the arbor. Destroy this note.

HUGH RENWICK.

Marishka read the note twice to be sure that there was no mistake. She quickly peered through the window by the door. Yes, the man was there, smoking his pipe in the sunshine, his back against a tree, dozing. Anything were better than this interminable suspense—this horrible oppression of acknowledged failure. To be under further obligations to Herr Renwick was an added bitterness to her wounded pride, but hope had already beggared her and she could not choose. She got into coat and hat, and after another careful scrutiny of her somnolent guardian, quietly opened the shutters of the side window, stepped out into the shadow of the hedge, and made her way toward the distant garden wall.



CHAPTER VII

THE GREEN LIMOUSINE

Herr Windt started up from the bench on which he had thrown himself. It was a pity there was no earlier train for Vienna. He stretched himself and yawned, for he confessed himself a trifle disappointed that there was to be, after all, no test of wits between himself and the agent of the Wilhelmstrasse who had followed the Countess Strahni to the Nordwest station in Vienna. His men had done the fellow in the motor cap no great damage, for his own instructions had been limited but definite: to save Marishka Strahni in all secrecy from coming to harm, but to prevent her at all hazards from reaching Konopisht before the Archduke and Duchess left for Sarajevo. This simple task had been accomplished with little difficulty. The agent of the Wilhelmstrasse, undoubtedly a person of small caliber, had given up his efforts, or would seek a more propitious moment, to carry it out later in Vienna. Herr Windt yawned again. His visit to Bohemia would have been indeed a delight if a secret agent of the caliber of Herr Hauptman Leo Goritz, or Ober Lieutenant Franz Scheib, could have been sent upon this delicate mission to oppose him. But there was no such luck. Herr Windt had made a careful round of village and garden while Herr Renwick remained under the eye of his men, and there had been no sign of anything suspicious to disturb the monotonous peacefulness of the quiet garden. The reaction which always followed upon success, had set in, and the famous man was now frankly bored and somewhat fidgety. He got up and paced the stone walk a few times and then gazed out to where his most trusted man, Spivak, was dozing in the sun. Everything was too quiet, too peaceful. The serenity of the landscape annoyed him. He glanced at his watch—still four hours of this infernal quiet before their train left for Vienna. He went to the door of the room into which Herr Renwick had gone to lie down and looked in. The room was empty. This was not surprising, for Herr Renwick was under parole and would have the freedom of the garden in the immediate vicinity of the two cabins. As the morning was hot he had perhaps gone out to enjoy the shade of the trees. But Herr Windt now moved with alacrity and crossed the small plot of vegetable garden which separated the two cabins, and in some haste turned the corner of the small building which sheltered the Countess Strahni.

Before the door, listening, a puzzled look upon his face was Herr Renwick.

"I have called her three times," said the Englishman quickly. "She sleeps very soundly—or else——"

But Herr Windt did not stand upon ceremony, for he thrust past the Englishman, threw open the inner door, then returned bellowing lustily.

"Gone! The room is empty——"

"Gone!" cried Renwick.

Windt eyed him keenly.

"I have been yonder, by the trees, near your man——" protested Renwick and there seemed no doubt as to his innocence.

"Hi! Spivak! Linder! Hadwiger!" cried Windt. And as the men came running from all directions, "She is gone. What have you been at?"

"Gone?"

"By the window, idiots; did none of you see her?"

"No, Herr Windt——"

"But she could not have flown up the chimney——"

He halted abruptly, then dashed into the room again, peering into the fire place and examining the furniture, all his professional instincts keenly aroused. As he shook the bed clothing, there was a tinkle upon the floor, and a coin rolled into the farthest corner of the room. This he pounced upon like a dog upon a rat and brought it forth into the light of the window.

"A kroner!" he muttered. "Curious! Could she have dropped it do you suppose?"

"Perhaps. Her money was in a handbag," cried Renwick with his legs out of the window. He had already espied a possible mode of escape, and started running along in the shadow of the hedge.

"Your parole, Herr Renwick!" shouted Windt, scrambling after him.

"Come on then," cried the Englishman over his shoulder while the Austrian followed swiftly shouting orders to his assistants. "Follow me, Spivak! The Park gates, Hadwiger! Let no vehicle get out! Linder, notify Lengelbach—the telegraph!"

Renwick went fast but Herr Windt and the puffing Spivak kept at his heels as they reached the garden, crossing it at full speed toward the arbor, whither Renwick led them as though by an inspiration, through the bushes and toward the small gate beyond, which led to the door in the wall, over which a week ago he had climbed in his hurried flight with Marishka to Vienna.

Renwick was thinking rapidly. Had Marishka escaped alone—perhaps devised a plan of her own to reach Vienna from Budweis in time to come up with the party of the Archduke? Or had someone——He doubled his pace, cursing his throbbing head and his own simplicity and impotence. A trap?

"There is a door?" stammered Windt.

"In the bushes just beyond—a private one—usually locked——"

"Spivak! You hear?"

"I could not know——" panted the other.

"You should have known——"

They reached the small flight of steps that led down, and dashed along the path among the bushes toward an open gate, emerging upon the road which marked the beginnings of the village street. There were a few people in sight, an old man hobbling upon a stick, a child with a dog, two peasants in the shade of a tree eating their midday meal—and down the road to the west—a cloud of dust!

The peasants rose in alarm at the rapid approach of the three excited men, and turned as though to flee into the safety of the adjoining field, but Renwick overtook them.

"You saw a lady come out of the gate yonder?" he questioned.

"A lady, Excellency?"

"Yes, yes. A lady and perhaps a gentlemen."

"We are merely eating our dinner, Excellency. We—we have no wish to do harm to anyone."

"Idiots!" cried Windt. "A motor-car? An automobile? Did you see it? Answer—or——"

"A motor-car—Excellency?" the fellow stammered. "Yes—a motor-car."

"How long since?" snapped Windt.

"A moment only—it was here—just here—and now it is gone——"

"Where?"

"Y-yonder——" and he pointed down the road.

The three men exchanged frowning glances, but Herr Windt's were the most terrible of the three.

"You saw? Speak—What color was this car?"

"H—how should I know, Excellency? I was peacefully eating my dinner. See! It is but half finished——"

"You will never eat what remains unless you speak the truth——" he roared.

"I—I am speaking the truth——"

"What color had this car?"

"I don't understand——"

"Its color, man—the paint?"

"Oh! The paint——"

"Speak! Blockhead——"

"Excellency, I think——" he stammered in terror, "I think——"

"What—quickly——"

"I think, Excellency, that it was green."

Renwick gasped. The face of Herr Windt wore a blank look as though he had suddenly received a glacial douche.

"Herr Gott!" he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow with an eloquent forefinger.

"The green limousine!" muttered Renwick.

For a moment all three men stood helplessly staring down the road toward the west, where the dustcloud was slowly settling on leaf and hedgerow, but there was a turn in the road which hid all objects beyond. Herr Windt was the first to recover his initiative.

"Clever!" he muttered. "A message! Linder should have observed——But they will not get far. Come——" And he led the way at a quick trot in the direction of the village, where they reached the telegraph office at the railway station.

While Herr Windt went inside to give his orders, Renwick sank upon a bench outside and tried to think of what had happened and what it might mean to Marishka and to him. The green limousine—a German secret agent—there could be no doubt, and he, Renwick, already warned of this possible danger to Marishka had permitted her to fall into this trap, while he had come off unscathed. His conscience assailed him bitterly. Trusting to the efficiency of Herr Windt's men he had slept—slept while Marishka was being carried off to danger—to imprisonment—or perhaps—he did not dare to think of anything worse. And Marishka must have connived at the plan for her escape! How had the message passed? And what was the lure?

As the new idea came to him he rose quickly and moved toward the door of the telegraph office. He paused for a moment to adjust his monocle and it was fortunate that he did so, for there was a crash of glass at the window just by his head, followed by a cry of alarm within the room. Renwick dodged behind a projection of the building, and peered out while Windt and Linder came rushing from the office.

"A shot?"

"Who?"

"I can't imagine. He can't have gone far."

The four men raced out, Herr Windt with automatic drawn, but when they reached the freight station which seemed to be in the direction from which the shot had come there was no one in sight. Across the railroad was a patch of dense woods.

Here Herr Windt paused.

"He was shooting at you, Herr Renwick," he said calmly.

"I haven't a doubt of it."

"Go forward, Linder and Spivak—search the woods—but do no shooting unless attacked." Here Windt pocketed his weapon. "I regret, Herr Renwick, that my other business is of the utmost importance. You will come with me to the telegraph office, please."

Renwick obeyed rather willingly. He was unarmed and saw no possible utility to his own cause or Marishka's in dodging around in woods which contained a person bent upon assassinating him.

"You see, Herr Renwick, the matter is not ended."

"I'm much more comfortable that it is not," replied Renwick grimly. "He shoots well."

"You must be careful," said his companion casually. "Come inside. Hadwiger will watch." And he calmly took up his interrupted duty with the telegraph officer, with an air of impassivity, which of course, was part of his professional mien, but Renwick somehow gained the idea that his own death whether by shooting, poison, or other sudden device was a matter with which Herr Windt could have the least possible concern. Renwick sank into a chair and smoked a pipe, trying to think what he could do, listening dully meanwhile to the Austrian's dictated messages to the wire, delivered rapidly and with a certain military precision.

"Stop all green motor cars traveling north on the Prague highroad—and all roads leading north. Report at once here by telegraph description of those arrested. Confirm this message by name of station." And then in quicker tones, "Send that to all telegraph stations in this district north and west of here—and quick, you understand—lose no time. When that message is sent I will give you another—for the Chief of Police at Prague." Then turning to the door as a new thought came to him he spoke to Hadwiger.

"Go to the wood on the Prague highroad where the machine is concealed and bring it here. Quick. We may need it. You see, Herr Renwick, in ten minutes all the roads into Prague will be closed to them. Even if they reach the city they will be detained."

Renwick did not reply. He was weighing the probabilities in his own thorough English way. His head still ached, but the pipe of tobacco aided his faculties. The thought that persisted in his mind was that Marishka had escaped from Herr Windt with the sole purpose of carrying out the object of her visit to Konopisht. He remembered the sudden interest she had displayed at the mention of the possibility of her having been followed to Konopisht by an agent of the Wilhelmstrasse. England could do nothing for her, Austria her own country stood helpless, while the Military Party, which alone possibly had the power to help her, still remained in ignorance of the plot. Germany! He remembered the look that had come into her eyes as he had confirmed the opinions of Herr Windt—an opinion borne out by the attempts upon his life and her safety in Vienna. But what of the man in the green limousine? She was a human document, as Herr Windt had said, which was destined for the safe, or possibly for destruction. By what means had the man in the green car lured her from the security of the cabin? Renwick could not believe, after all that he had done for her, that she would throw herself into the hands of a stranger on the barest chance of success without at least confiding in him. A shadow had fallen between them, a shadow and an abyss which had grown darker and deeper with the hours, but that he was her enemy—political, personal—he could hardly believe she could think him that; for he had done what he could—striven earnestly to help her reach the Duchess in safety. That he had failed was through no fault of his own. He could not understand her flight—not from Windt, but from him—without a word or a sign. It was not like her—not even like the Marishka who had chosen to call him dishonorable. However much she could repudiate his political actions, there still remained between them the ties of social consanguinity, the memory of things which might have been, that no wounded pride could ever quite destroy. But to repudiate him without a word—that was not like Marishka—not even the Marishka of today and yesterday. And while he tried to solve the problem in his own way, the telegraph instrument ticked busily on. Herr Windt leaned over the desk reading the messages, repeating the names of the towns which replied.

"Beneschau—Pribram—Wrshowitz—that district is covered, Lengelbach?"

"Yes. Ah, here is something."

Windt bent forward again repeating the message aloud.

"From Beraun—Franz—Schweppenheiser—and—a—woman—says—she—is—his —wife. Small—four—cylinder—car—American—make—black—in—color —with—brass—band—on—hood. Both—man—and—woman—have—grey—hair —age—seventy-two—and——" Herr Windt broke off with an oath, "Schafskoepfen!" he cried. "Enough of that——" And paced the floor of the room before Renwick, glaring impatiently out of the window.

"Another," said Lengelbach, "from Bresnitz. Man—and—girl—much frightened——"

"Ah!"

"Say—they—are—running—away—to—be—married."

"Yes—the description——"

"Man—dark—age—twenty-five—girl—yellow—hair——"

"Bah!" furiously. "Enough—the next."

For an hour or more, Renwick sat helplessly and listened while the different towns including the city of Prague responded. There was no green limousine in all Bohemia. At last, his patience exhausted, he rose and knocked his pipe out.

"Herr Windt," he inquired calmly, "what reason have you for believing that they will go to Prague?"

"The roads are good. The German border lies beyond," said Windt shortly, turning away.

"Wait!" Renwick's hand clutched his arm firmly. "Is there a road running south and parallel to the highroad?"

Windt regarded him in silence for a moment and then—

"Yes, many—but most of them mere cow paths."

"An automobile could pass over them, Herr Lengelbach?"

"Yes, the roads to Bruenn are not bad," said the man.

Renwick smiled grimly. "It is my belief, Herr Windt, that they have slipped through your fingers."

"No."

"You have exhausted almost every means——"

"There are other stations——"

"I would suggest that you try the country to the southward."

"Why?"

"Because that is the way that they have gone——"

"Impossible!"

"I think you forget the Countess Strahni's mission—and yours."

"She will not succeed."

His stubbornness angered Renwick, and he caught him by the arm again, and whispered a few words in his ear.

Herr Windt turned a startled glance at the Englishman. His mind had been bent upon mere machinery. When he spoke there was in his voice a note of respect.

"Ah—it is worth considering. But how? The telegraph wires are now in my possession—here in this district to Budweis—to Vienna——"

"Then why don't you use them?" asked Renwick bluntly.

Windt stood stock still a moment and then went quickly to the desk.

"Repeat that message to Budweis, to Gmund, to Altensteig and Absdorf. Also cover the Bruenn road. It can do no harm," he said turning urbanely to Renwick.

"Perhaps not," said Renwick dryly, "if the harm is not already done."

Together they listened to the clicking of the telegraph instrument. Half an hour passed. Hadwiger returned with the machine. Spivak and Linder came in from their fruitless search of the woods. The suspense was unendurable. Renwick, forgetting his danger, paced the road outside until a cry from Windt brought him into the office. The others were leaning over the instrument while Windt spelled out the words, "I-g-l-a-u t-w-o s-e-v-e-n-t-e-e-n G-e-r-m-a-n o-f-f-i-c-e-r a-n-d w-i-f-e. G-r-e-e-n l-i-m-o-u-s-i-n-e p-a-s-s-e-d h-e-r-e t-e-n m-i-n-u-t-e-s a-g-o f-o-r V-i-e-n-n-a."

"Kollosaler Halunke!" thundered Windt, his urbanity shattered to shreds. "They have taken the other road. Here, Lengelbach, take this quick. "Hold green motor-car man and woman." Send that to every telegraph station between Bruenn and Danube. Relay all messages to Budweis. I'm going there."

And turning quickly he went toward the automobile, with a sign to the others to follow. Very politely he stood aside while Renwick entered, and with one of the men climbed into the rear seat while the other two got in front, Hadwiger driving at a furious pace. For a long time they went in silence, Herr Windt sitting with folded arms, his brows tangled in thought. To acknowledge that he had been outwitted had been galling, but to let this English creature of pipe and monocle indicate, in the presence of his own underlings, the precise means of his discomfiture was bitter indeed. At last his lips mumbled vaguely.

"Still I do not understand," they said.

"A note wrapped around the coin," suggested Renwick.

"Ach, so. It is very probable. The simplest expedients are often the most effective. Still it is remarkable that they have slipped through."

"The green limousine goes to Vienna," said Renwick.

Herr Windt had self-respect enough for a rather cynical smile.

"And after Vienna?" he asked.

Renwick shrugged.

"That will depend upon the efficiency of the Austrian Secret Police."

"Meaning, precisely what, Herr Renwick?"

"Merely that the Wilhelmstrasse is skillful, Herr Windt," he replied.

"You mean that they will escape—here in Austria! Impossible!"

"You will need all your wits," said Renwick dryly.

The truth of the remark was soon apparent for when Herr Windt's party reached the telegraph station at Budweis, there were no reassuring messages. The green limousine had vanished into the earth.



CHAPTER VIII

AN ESCAPE AND A CAPTURE

In her flight from the cabin in the Archduke's woods, the Countess Strahni crept along in the shadow of the hedge which bordered the orchard, and reached the gate of the garden. She had seen the watcher in the orchard pacing to and fro, and, awaiting the moment when his back should be turned, she hurried swiftly on to the shelter of the garden wall, once within which, she thought that she would be safe from detection by the men of Herr Windt. She waited for a moment at the gate to be sure that the man near the cabin had not observed her, and noted, through the foliage, that he had not moved. Then summoning her courage, she crossed the garden boldly in the direction of the arbor—the fateful arbor of Austria's betrayal—and her own. In the path beyond it Hugh Renwick would be awaiting her—Renwick, the imperturbable, the persistent, the—the despicable. Yes, she was quite sure that she despised him, in spite of all his efforts on her behalf, so the thought that she was once more to be beholden to him in this hapless quest gave her a long moment of uncertainty as she reached the arbor. She paused within the structure, wondering whether, now that she had succeeded in eluding Herr Windt, it would not be better to flee into the castle, and enlist the aid of the servants in behalf of their master and mistress. She had even taken a few steps toward the tennis court, when she remembered—the telegraph in the hands of Austrian officials who had their instructions! That way was hopeless. The Archduke's chamberlain had, of course, gone south, and in the castle, beside the house-servants, there would have remained only the English governess, the children, and the housekeeper. There could be little help expected from them—only bewilderment, horror, or perhaps incredulity. She must go on to Herr Renwick, continue the impossible situation between them, hide her exasperation in a studied politeness, and trust implicitly, as she had done before, to his undoubted desire to retrieve his lost standing.

She turned into the path which led from the arbor, and hurried through into the narrow path which led to the hidden gate beyond. Just here where the foliage was thickest, and not twenty yards from the spot where she and Hugh Renwick had listened to the pact of Konopisht, a figure stood bowing. She had been so intent upon seeing the Englishman that it was a full moment before she recovered from the shock of her surprise. The man before her was tall, with good shoulders, and wore a brown Norfolk jacket and a soft hat. His eyes were dark and as he smiled they wrinkled very pleasantly at the corners.

Marishka halted and stared at him uncertainly.

"I beg your pardon," she said. "I came here to meet——" She paused, for the thought suddenly entered her head that this perhaps might be another of the men sent to detain her. But in a moment she realized her mistake. The air with which the man swept off his hat and bowed convinced her that he was a gentleman and his manner put her at once at her ease.

"Herr Renwick," he said, with a smile, "has gone on to make some arrangements for your comfort. He has asked me to conduct you to the automobile, and will join us beyond the village."

An automobile! There would still be time, perhaps, to reach Vienna before the archducal party should leave for Bosnia.

"Oh, of course," gasped Marishka thankfully.

"If you will come this way, Countess——" he said, with something of an air. He bowed, but kept his gaze fixed upon hers. There was something very remarkable about this man's eyes—she could not tell just what it was—but they held her for a second, held her motionless until the hand which held his hat gestured for her to pass on. She took the walk before him, descended the steps which led to the lower path where he hurried forward and opened the door in the wall.

Even now, no notion entered her head that this polite person was other than he represented himself to be. And the well equipped machine which stood in the road outside the wall only caused her a momentary thrill of joy at the opportunity which placed the means of their escape so readily at the hand of the now really admirable Herr Renwick. As she paused again for a moment, her companion threw open the door of the limousine, and lightly touched her elbow.

"If the Countess Strahni will enter——" he said quietly. "There is little time to lose."

Marishka obeyed and in a moment the man in the Norfolk jacket was seated beside her, the chauffeur had thrown in the gears, and the machine was moving swiftly upon its way. She sank back into the comfortable cushions with a sigh of satisfaction which did not escape her companion.

"It was fortunate that I should have been in this neighborhood," he said with a strange smile. It was not until then that she noticed the slightly thick accents with which he spoke and she glanced at his profile hurriedly. His nose was aquiline and well cut, but the suggestion of his nationality was elusive. In spite of his evident gentility, his good looks, his courtesy and his friendship with Hugh Renwick, Marishka now had her first belated instinct that all was not as it should be. The man beside her looked past the chauffeur down the road ahead, turning one or two glances over his shoulder into the cloud of dust behind them. She noticed now that the car had not gone in the direction of the village, but had reached the country road which led to the west and was moving at a high speed which seemed to take the waiting Renwick little into consideration. All the windows of the car were closed, and she had a sense of being restrained—suffocated. For a while she did not dare to give her thoughts utterance, but as the car reached the Prague highroad and turned to the right, she started and turned in alarm to the man beside her.

"You told me that Herr Renwick was waiting for us just beyond the village. Where is——?"

The question trembled and died on her lips for the eyes of the man beside her answered before it was asked.

"I regret," he said evenly, "that there is no time to wait for Herr Renwick."

"You—you have——" she stammered helplessly.

"I beg that the Countess Strahni will not be unduly disturbed."

"Where are we going? This is the road to Prague. Tell me where you are taking me. I insist——"

He smiled at her again, but did not reply.

Marishka was now really alarmed and looked out of the closed windows at the flying hedgerows in desperation, wondering what she must do and trying to think how this dreadful mishap had befallen her. Hugh Renwick—his note to her—this stranger with the remarkable eyes who always smiled! Where was the missing link—what the deduction? But it was no time in which to lose one's courage. She turned toward the man beside her who was regarding her calmly.

"Who are you?" she asked.



His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked past her out of the window. Then he said politely:

"The Countess Strahni is well within her rights in asking that question. I am Captain Leo Goritz."

That meant nothing to her and she found herself repeating her question.

He deliberated a moment.

"I see no reason why I should not tell you," he said at last. "I do not desire a misconception of my personal motives—which I beg you to understand are of the highest. I am merely carrying out my orders to bring the Countess Strahni with all dispatch within the borders of the German Empire."

"You—you are——" she paused in dismay.

"Of the German Imperial Secret Service," he said quickly.

Marishka sank back into her seat breathless with apprehension, the warnings of the hated Herr Windt dinning in her ears.

"Then you sent——" She fingered the scribbled note which had not left her fingers.

"I regret, Countess, that the situation made deception necessary. One of my men in the tree above the chimney. My orders were urgent."

Marishka glanced about the machine helplessly, her thoughts, in spite of herself, recurring to Hugh Renwick, who must before long discover her absence and guess its cause. But there seemed no chance of escape. To open the door and leap forth into the road at this speed was only courting injury, and the calm appearance of Captain Leo Goritz seemed only the mask for a resoluteness of purpose with which she could not dare to cope. To cry out seemed equally futile for the road was deserted except for a few market wagons, the occupants of which were country louts who only stared dully as they passed. But in a flash the inspiration came to her. Germany! Germany could help her carry out her purpose to warn the Duchess before she reached Sarajevo. She glanced at her companion and found that his brown eyes had turned as though by prescience to hers.

"Captain Goritz," she stammered, "I—I seem to be in your power. Whatever your authority for this—this restraint of my liberty—I submit myself——"

He showed his fine teeth in a smile.

"I regret that the Countess Strahni should have been put to this inconvenience."

She made a motion of deprecation.

"I beg that you will spare yourself meaningless civilities. I do not know the meaning of this outrage."

"The Countess Strahni is far too clever to suppose that I can believe her——" he put in quickly.

"What do you mean?"

"Merely that an intelligence which can throw central Europe into a turmoil," and he laughed pleasantly, "does itself and me too little credit."

"Oh, you know——" she gasped.

"Yes, I know."

She examined Captain Goritz with a new interest.

"But you did not know the object of my visit to Konopisht," she went on desperately.

"I confess," he said slowly, "that your sudden departure from Vienna was most mystifying——"

"I will tell you," she went on excitedly. "I came to Konopisht to warn the Archduke Franz of a plot to assassinate him when he reaches Sarajevo——"

"Ah! So that——" Captain Goritz started suddenly forward in his seat and faced her eagerly in an attitude of sudden alertness.

"A plot! Serbian?" he asked sharply.

"No—I——" Loyalty stifled her lips.

"I see." And then keenly, "Austrian—as a result of your disclosures to the Emperor?"

She eyed the man in amazement. He was omniscient.

"A plot——" she stammered. "I do not know—I came to warn them—the Archduke and Duchess, but I was prevented from doing so. They——" she gasped again—"those who plan this dastardly thing are powerful—they control the telegraph. There was no way to reach them and so I came——"

"Herr Windt——?"

She nodded. "You know—he acts for them. He kept me in the cabin until it was too late."

"I understand——" He nodded, his brows tangled in thought. "There can be no other explanation."

"I heard. I saw—back there in the garden—Emperor and Archduke—friends. Oh, don't you understand? He would do something——"

Captain Goritz had sunk lower into his seat and with folded arms was gazing at the back of the man in front of them, but under his frowning brows his eyes glowed with initiative.

"What you tell me is serious, Countess——" he muttered.

"So serious that I beg you will listen to me," she went on almost hysterically. "The Duchess was my friend—I heard and I told what I heard——"

"Yes. It is a pity, Countess Strahni."

"But I did not know," she went on breathlessly, conscious only of the imminence of Sarajevo and of the power of the man beside her perhaps to aid her. "I could not know that I should be betraying her—the friend of a lifetime—to this—I did my duty as I saw it—to Austria. I am telling you this—a stranger—an enemy perhaps—because it is in your power to help—to prevent this terrible thing. Think! Think! It is your duty as well as mine—your duty to the one who shares with Franz Ferdinand the secret of the rose garden—his friend, and if God so wills—his ally. It is all so terrible—so bewildering. But you must see that I am in earnest—that I am speaking the truth."

"Yes, yes," he said abstractedly, nodding, and then was silent, while the machine went thundering northward, every moment taking them further from Marishka's goal. She watched his face anxiously for a sign. His eyes glowed somberly but he did not more or glance aside. His problem, it appeared, was as deep as hers. For an age, he sat there like a stone figure, but she had the instinct not to speak, and after a while he straightened, leaned quickly forward and threw down the window in front of them.

"What is the village before us, Karl?" he asked in quick tones.

"Beneschau, Herr Hauptmann."

"There is a road to Bruenn?"

"Yes, a fair one, Herr Hauptmann."

"Take it—and faster."

That was all. Marishka knew that she had won. Captain Goritz was frowning at the dial of his watch.

"Perhaps we are too late—but we can at least try," he muttered.

"Whatever your mission with regard to me—that is unimportant—beside this other duty——"

"Yes, yes. We shall need you. If you could reach the Duchess personally——"

"She will listen. I have known her all my life."

"Good. We must succeed." And then, figuring to himself. "Bruenn—one hundred kilometers—Vienna seventy more—five hours—six perhaps. They may not leave Vienna at once——"

"The German Ambassador——" she suggested.

"Of course." And then, turning suddenly toward her, his eyes intent, he said, with great seriousness: "Countess Strahni, for the moment your interests and mine are identical. The success of this project depends upon your silence——"

"Anything——!"

"One moment, please," he put in quickly. "I wish you to understand the seriousness of your position. Your security, your safety now and later, will depend upon your own actions. You have proved yourself politically dangerous to the peace—to the welfare of Europe. My mission was to bring you safely into Germany. Failing in that, I must exact absolute silence and obedience——"

"Yes——"

"You travel as my wife, the wife of a German officer going to Vienna for medical advice——"

She flinched a little, but his air of abstraction reassured her.

"Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"You have friends in Vienna. You must not see them. Have I your word?"

"I have no wish but to help you."

He examined her keenly.

"I regret that the terms of our contract must be more explicit."

"In what?"

"I exact your word of honor to remain under my orders, to make no attempt to escape, to speak no word as to my identity or your own——"

"Have I not told you that my own fate is unimportant if I succeed in reaching the Duchess of Hohenberg?"

"And after that?" he asked keenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Merely that the same conditions as to yourself shall continue to exist."

Marishka hesitated. What lay before her? It was incredible that harm could come to one of her condition at the hands of the servants of a great and Christian nation like Germany. She glanced at Captain Goritz. He was still examining her gravely, impersonally. There seemed little doubt as to the genuineness of his intentions.

"And the alternative?" she asked.

His expression changed and he looked slowly away from her at the flying landscape. "I regret that you are still oblivious to your danger. You and one other person in Europe were the witnesses to the meeting at Konopisht. His Majesty's government does not deem it expedient at this time that you should be at liberty to discuss the matter——"

"But I have already spoken——"

"That matters nothing if the witnesses are eliminated."

His tones were quiet, but there was no doubt as to his meaning and she started back from him in dismay.

"You mean that you would——"

She halted again, wordless.

"Political secrets are dangerous—their possessors a menace."

"You—you would destroy——?" she gasped.

"The evidence!" he finished.

His voice was firm, his lips compressed, and he would not look at her. But she was still incredulous. Civility such as his and violence such as he suggested were incongruous. She took refuge from her terror in a laugh.

"You are trying to—to frighten me," she stammered.

"If you are frightened, I am sorry. You are in no danger, if you will do what I ask. I shall spare no courtesy, neglect no pains for your comfort."

"Thanks. That is kind of you. You will gorge the goose that it may be the more palatable."

He gave a slight shrug.

"I am but doing my duty. In my position, Countess, one is but a piece of thinking machinery."

"Yet it has been said that even machinery has a soul."

He glanced around at her quickly, but she was looking straight before her at the narrow ribbon of road which whirled toward them. She was very handsome, this dark-haired prisoner of his, and the personal note that had fallen into her speech made their relations at once more easy and more difficult.

"I regret," he said coolly, "that my orders have been explicit. I still demand that you comply with the conditions I have imposed. Your word of honor—it is enough."

She paused for a long moment—debating her chances. She was selling her liberty—bartering it with a word—for Sophie Chotek. This was her atonement, and if she failed, her sacrifice would be in vain.

She took a surreptitious glance at the profile of Captain Goritz. A part of the great machine that the world calling Germany he might be, but she read something in his looks which gave her an idea that he might be something more than a cog between the wheels.

Some feminine instinct in her, aroused by his impassive performance of his duty, gave her new courage. Since they were at war, she would play the game using women's weapons. After all, he was a man, a mere man.

When she spoke, it was with the air of calm resolution with which one faces heavy odds.

"I am in your power," she said quietly. "I give my word of honor to do as you wish."

And as his gaze dwelt for a moment upon her face—

"I shall not break it, Captain Goritz."

"Good!" he said, with an air of satisfaction. "Now we understand each other."

Meanwhile the machine went thundering on, the man at the wheel driving with a skill which excited admiration. At times the speed of the car seemed frightful, for it swerved dangerously at the frequent turns in the road, but Marishka clung desperately to the arm-rest to save herself from being thrown into the arms of Captain Goritz, aware of her impotence, but conscious, too, of a sense of exhilaration in the wildness of their pace, which seemed at any moment likely to throw both the car and its occupants into the ditch. Her companion made no effort to resume the conversation and only sat staring forth watching the villages through which they passed, his brows deeply thoughtful.



CHAPTER IX

CAPTAIN GORITZ

At Iglau, a town, as Marishka afterwards learned, inhabited largely by Germans, they stopped to replenish the petrol tank. But Captain Goritz wore a deep frown when he got into the seat with the chauffeur, who immediately started the car. They were off again.

What this action portended Marishka could not know, nor could she understand the meaning of the conversation which immediately took place between the two men. But the car still moved forward as rapidly as before, and in a moment when they skidded around a passing vehicle and dangerously near a stone wall, she found herself wishing that Captain Goritz had chosen to enter the limousine, leaving all the wits of their astonishing chauffeur for the exigencies of the road.

But as the front window was down, a tribute to the confidence her jailer now reposed in her, fragments of their conversation reached her.

"A road—away from trunk-lines. Jarmeritz, perhaps.... It should not be difficult—a Peugeot if possible, or a Mercedes—its age would tell. At any time now.... A detour here, I think—there is a telegraph line along the hill yonder.... It would be better in a more desolate place, in the foothills of the Maehrische-Hoehe. It is a matter of luck, Karl. We must chance it."

She saw the chauffeur nodding and putting in here and there a suggestion, while every little while she caught an allusion to herself. She had no inkling of the meaning of this extraordinary conversation nor of the way the man called Karl now slowed down as they passed other machines either going or coming, and gazed at them with a critical air, shaking his head as he passed on at redoubled speed. But the mystery was soon to be revealed to her, for on a long piece of level road which went straight through a strip of pine woods, she felt the machine leap suddenly forward and heard the comments of the men in front.

"I cannot tell at this distance. A good one, I should say, and new." And gazing through the dust before her she made out the lines of a touring-car traveling rapidly in the same direction as their own. Karl's motor horn sent a deep blast, but the fellow in front was in no mood to give him the road. He repeated it loudly, warningly, encroaching upon the rear wheels of the touring car, and at last the other car slowed down, and as the road was narrow, drew aside into a shallow ditch. But instead of putting on speed in passing, as he had done before, the chauffeur Karl merely drew up a little ahead of the other car and held out his hand as a signal to stop while Captain Goritz quickly clambered down into the road and stood just below Marishka where she could quite easily hear the conversation which followed. The people in the touring car were a chauffeur, a stout man and a small boy. Captain Goritz was bowing politely.

"Very sorry," he said, "but we are almost out of petrol."

"There is a garage a few miles beyond," said the chauffeur of the touring car.

But Goritz shook his head.

"I wish to exchange cars with you—at once, please."

The chauffeur and the stout man, who looked like a small magistrate, sat staring at Goritz as though they thought that he or they had suddenly been bereft of their senses. But Karl, who seemed to know precisely what to do, got down beside them and produced from his pocket a pistol, which he brandished in their direction. The meaning of the situation was now obvious, and the Austrians scrambled down in great alarm.

Captain Goritz smiled at their precipitous movements and his voice was reassuring as he addressed the fat man.

"I regret that we have no time to lose. I only ask you to exchange cars with me. Mine, I think, is the more valuable."

But the others seemed stricken dumb and continued to stare wide-eyed, their mouths gaping open.

"Would you mind telling me how you are equipped with oil and petrol?" asked Goritz coolly.

"The tank is full," stammered the frightened chauffeur, still eyeing Karl's weapon dubiously. But by this time the fat man had regained some of his courage.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" he blustered.

"We go upon a matter of life and death," said Goritz sharply.

"And I——"

His remark was cut short, for at that moment a bullet from Karl's pistol went off somewhere in his general direction, and leaving the boy and the chauffeur to their fate, he fled, a frightened behemoth, into the woods.

Captain Goritz now opened the door of the limousine.

"You will get down at once, please," he said quietly to Marishka. "We will go on in the other car." And while Karl transferred a suitcase and other personal belongings, Captain Goritz scribbled something upon a card which he handed to the astonished chauffeur. "If your master ever comes back and is not satisfied with his bargain, he should present himself at this address in Vienna and the matter will be satisfactorily arranged." And then as he got into the tonneau of the car beside Marishka, "I would warn you not to follow us too closely. It would be dangerous."

Karl put in the gears and they started at once. "It would also be difficult, Herr Hauptmann," he said with a laugh, "for I have locked the switch."

"Ah, it is better so," said Goritz calmly. "And now, by Jarmeritz, I should think."

Karl nodded and, increasing the speed of the touring car, soon left the green limousine and its new owners far behind.

The precision and speed with which the exchange of automobiles had been accomplished and the unruffled impudence of the demeanor of Captain Goritz gave Marishka a new idea of the caliber of the man upon whose mercies she had been thrown, a new idea of the lengths to which he was prepared to go in the performance of his duty. Success, the gaining of which might easily have been tragic, was by his command of the situation turned into something which seemed comically near opera-bouffe. She could not understand what it all meant and timidly she asked him.

He smiled gravely.

"Your friend, Herr Windt, will be trying to make our journey difficult for us. The green limousine was conspicuous. It was observed in Vienna. We shall be more dusty, but I hope otherwise quite as comfortable."

"You think that we may be detained?" she asked anxiously.

"We shall do our best to prevent that from happening," he replied. "The way is long and our paths must be devious, but I think we shall succeed. There are many roads to Vienna, Countess." And then, with an air of consideration, "I hope that loss of sleep is not wearing on you. Presently we shall get out and have something to eat."

"Thank you," said Marishka with a grateful glance.

She felt Captain Goritz's look upon her for a long moment after she had turned away. Marishka sighed gently. Her companion's gaze left her and he peered straight before him, frowning. All this she knew by her woman's sixth sense without even looking at him. Even a thinking machine must have its moments of aberration. In a little while, the choice of roads having been decided, he turned to her again and Marishka's eyes met his fairly.

"You have not already regretted your bargain?" he asked quietly.

"No," she replied, smiling at him. "If you succeed, I shall regret nothing. A pawn has small chance, when the fate of kings is in question."

He was silent for a moment.

"I hope that you will understand my position, Countess. It is not my wish to make war upon women——"

"But one's duty is paramount, of course," she put in quickly. "I am not squeamish, Captain Goritz, but if my—my—er—elimination is necessary to your plans, it is only fair that I should be advised of the fact in time to say my prayers."

He regarded her soberly. Was she laughing at him? Her mien was quite serious, but her tone was sprightly—even flippant.

"It would be a matter of profound regret to me, Countess Strahni," he said, with some dignity, "if any misfortune should happen to you while under my charge."

"It is so nice of you to put it that way," she smiled at him. "Under other conditions, you know, we might even have been friends."

"I would be deeply pained if you should consider me an enemy," he replied.

"Ach! leider!" she sighed. "A prisoner can have no choice."

He made no reply to that and sank back into his favorite position with arms folded, staring straight before him. This girl was too handsome to quibble with. Her newly discovered cheerfulness disturbed him. He had known in abundance women of courage, women of skill in dissimulation, but he remembered that when they were both beautiful and clever it was the part of wisdom to be upon one's guard.

Marishka glanced at Captain Goritz's well-shaped head in the seat beside her. It was to be war between them—war! A thinking machine! Was he? She smiled to herself. She knew that she had power. What handsome clever woman does not know it? Men had desired her—a Russian duke, an Italian prince. And an Austrian archduke even, braving the parental ire, had wished to marry her, willing even to sacrifice his princely prerogatives if she would have said the word. Hugh Renwick——She swallowed bravely.... But the sense of her power over men gave her a new courage to meet Captain Goritz with a smile upon her lips while she summoned in secret all her feminine instinct to aid her in the unequal struggle, a game needing both caution and daring, a game for high stakes—in which perhaps no quarter would be given.

As they approached the environs of Vienna, the car now moved at a reduced speed and boldly chose the main highroads. Twice they were stopped and examined. This showed that all the machinery of the telegraph was now in operation, but the touring car did not answer to the given description and Captain Goritz's air of surprise and annoyance was so genuine that there was little delay.

"Our friends of the Maehrische-Hoehe are fortunately still frightened or else quite satisfied with the green limousine," he laughed. "We shall go through, I think."

"Shall we be in time?" asked Marishka.

The German shrugged and looked at his watch. "We shall be in Vienna in twenty minutes."

Marishka made no comment. As their journey neared its ending she realized that she was very tired, but the incentive that, had spurred her last night and all day still gave her strength to cope with whatever was to come.

"To the Embassy," Goritz whispered, "and fast!"

He had mounted again into the seat beside the chauffeur, and so Marishka did not question him, but his back was eloquent of determination. They drove boldly into the Ringstrasse and turned rapidly into a side street. Here the machine stopped again and Captain Goritz stood at the door of the tonneau waiting for her to descend. He led the way, walking rapidly, while Marishka struggled beside him as fast as her stiffened limbs permitted.

"The Ambassador can succeed where we should fail. He must procure an interview for you. I think it may be managed unless——" He paused. "But we shall see."

Silently Marishka followed into the Metternichgasse and up the steps of the Embassy and into a lofty salon where Captain Goritz bade her wait, and disappeared. A gloomy room with dingy frescoes of impossible cupids and still more impossible roses. Roses—the leit motif of her tragedy! There were mirrors—many mirrors, all of which seemed to be reflecting her pallid face. She was weary and covered with dust, but not so weary as she was desperate. Why should she wait again, while Sophie Chotek was here—here in Vienna. Unable to remain seated, she rose and walked about the room, the eternal feminine impelling a rearrangement of her hat and veil at the long mirror near the upper end of the room. Beside her was a window which opened upon a small court. Opposite this window was another window from which came sound of voices. She listened. It was her privilege, for they were speaking of her.

"...I acted upon my own judgment, Excellency. There seemed nothing else to do. The Countess Strahni has given me her word of honor. She will keep it."

"But the telegraph——"

"Sealed——"

"Impossible!"

"I beg you to try it—at once."

"Ah—the telephone!"

Marishka heard the clicking of the instrument and the voice again asking for a number. Silence. And then,—"I do not understand...." A pause. "Ach—so!" Another click and tinkle of the bell. "Donnerwetter, Herr Hauptmann! You are right. They say there is a temporary derangement of the system."

Another bell sounded. A door opened and shut. Then a question in the same voice.

"Graf von Mendel, the Archduke Franz reached Vienna this afternoon with the Duchess on the way to Sarajevo. Where are they now?"

Another voice replied, "I do not know, Excellency. They were at prayers in the Capuchin Church."

"When does their train leave Vienna?"

"At six—from the Staats Bahnhof—Excellency."

"It is six o'clock now," cried the other voice in dismay. "We are too late——"

Marishka heard no more. It was enough. Too late! She had failed. Her sacrifice, her atonement,—fruitless. She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands, trying to think. But in her head was a dull chaos of sounds, echoes of her wild ride, and her body swayed as she sat. She had never fainted, but for a moment it seemed that she lost consciousness. She found herself presently staring through her fingers at the pattern in the gray aubusson carpet—and wondering where she was. Then she heard the voices again and remembered that she must listen.

The voice of the one they called Excellency was speaking.

"Herr Gott, Goritz! Austria's mad archdukes! The telegraph also closed! It is unbelievable. I must send a message in code to Berlin."

"It would be delayed," said Goritz dryly.

"But something must be done——"

"If you will permit——"

"Speak."

"Excellency, this is a desperate game. I thought perhaps we should arrive in time to get a message through. But Herr Windt has wasted no time. We must suit our actions to the emergency——"

"Of course. But how?"

"Go to Sarajevo—at once."

"But I——"

"Not you, Excellency. I shall go. A railroad book, Graf Mendel, if you please. Today is the twenty-sixth. The Archduke goes by way of Budapest. We can save several hours, I think, by way of Gratz and Agram—if there is a train tonight."

"And the Countess Strahni?"

"Your Excellency may well see her usefulness merely in telling what has happened in her efforts to reach the ear of the Duchess of Hohenberg. No word from you to Archduke Franz could be more convincing——"

"Ja wohl, even if I could send it——"

"And you cannot—of that I am convinced."

Another voice broke in.

"A train at eight—Excellency—by way of Oedenburg and Brueck—reaching Marburg in the morning——"

"Good!"

"And from there," added Goritz, "by automobile along the new military road through Brod. We might reach Sarajevo tomorrow night—surely by Sunday morning."

"If that would not be too late."

"It is the only thing to do."

A silence. And then—

"The Countess Strahni is here?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"You will make proper preparations to leave at once—secretly—you understand. I will secure the necessary papers."

"Zu befehl, Excellency——"

Without waiting to hear the conclusion of the interview Marishka moved away from the window to the further end of the room, and when Goritz came some moments later she stood looking out upon the traffic of the street. Fortunately dissimulation was not difficult, as the growing darkness of the room hid her face.

"We are too late," said Captain Goritz. "The Archduke's train has gone."

"How terrible!" muttered Marishka.

"Are you prepared to go on, Countess Strahni?"

"Yes—yes, if——" she paused.

"To Sarajevo—tonight—at once?"

"Yes—at once."

She realized that she was repeating his words like a parrot, but she seemed to be speaking, moving as in a dream. Captain Goritz came closer and examined her face in the dim light of the window.

"You are tired?"

"A little——"

"I am sorry. I wish I could spare you further trouble."

"It does not matter."

Her voice was very close to tears.

He paused uncertainly for a moment.

"Countess Strahni, we leave at eight by the night train. I shall make arrangements for your comfort, a sleeping compartment. In the meanwhile you may go upstairs to a guest room of the Embassy and rest. If you will write a note asking for a valise with necessary articles of apparel, I will see that it is brought to you. A dark suit and heavy veil."

He walked to the side of the room and touched a button. "You see," he said with a smile, "I am trusting you."

"You are very kind."

"Bitte. You will not mention the Embassy."

"No."

A man-servant appeared.

"His Excellency wishes the Countess Strahni to occupy a room upstairs. You will inform one of the upstairs maids that everything is to be done for her comfort. You will also bring to his Excellency's office a note which Countess Strahni will write."

The man bowed, then stood aside while Marishka went out.

"At half-past seven, Countess——"

She nodded over her shoulder to where the German stood with bowed head looking after her.



CHAPTER X

DIAMOND CUTS DIAMOND

Captain Leo Goritz made it a habit to neglect no detail. There was but a little more than an hour of time, but he acted swiftly. At his request the Ambassador procured money, and from the War Ministry the necessary papers, a safe conduct for an officer of the Fifteenth Army Corps, returning to his regiment at Sarajevo with his wife. Graf von Mendel attended to the secret arrangements for their departure from the Embassy and booked the passage. Captain Goritz sat at a desk in a private office, upon which was a small copper teapot above a spirit lamp. The water in the pot was steaming. A servant knocked at the door and brought him a letter.

"Ah! You followed my directions about the paper and ink?"

"As you ordered, Herr Hauptmann. And a maid is with the Countess Strahni."

"Very good. Wait outside and be prepared to take a message in an automobile."

"Zu befehl, Herr Hauptmann."

As the servant reached the door Goritz halted him.

"The room which the Countess Strahni has is not on the side toward the British Embassy?"

"No, Herr Hauptmann."

"Very good. You may go."

The man withdrew, closing the door gently. And Captain Goritz took the note of the Countess Strahni and held it in front of the copper teapot, moving it to and fro, the back of the envelope in the jet of steam. In a moment the flap of the envelope curled back and opened. The thing was simplicity itself. He took two slips of paper out of the envelope and read them through attentively, smiling amusedly as he did so. Then without waste of time, he put one of the notes before him, and drawing some writing paper nearer wrote steadily for ten minutes, tearing up sheet after sheet and burning each in turn. At last apparently satisfied with what he had written he put the sheet aside and burned the original note in which he had been so interested. Then he addressed several small envelopes, glancing from time to time at the other note of the Countess Strahni upon the desk in front of him. The envelopes all bore the words,

HERR HUGH RENWICK Strohgasse No. 26 Wien.

At last, critically selecting one of those he had written, he burned the others, and folding the note enclosed it in the smaller envelope, which he sealed carefully, putting it with the Countess Strahni's letter into the original and larger envelope, which he pasted anew and carefully closed. Then he rang the bell, and when the man appeared:

"You will take this note to the given address. You will explain that the note within is to be delivered tonight at eight o'clock. Then you will wait twenty minutes for a suitcase or valise and bring it here. That's all. And hasten."

"Zu befehl, Herr Hauptmann."

Goritz sat for a moment—just a moment of contemplation. It was merely a thread of possibility, a chance, if other expedients had failed, but thoroughly worth taking. His man Kronberg was a good shot, but he might have missed, and if so Europe was large, and Herr Renwick clever. The hook of Leo Goritz was baited with a delectable morsel—most delectable—it would have been childish not to use it. Where Marishka Strahni was, there also was the heart of Renwick—the Englishman with the nine lives—the last of which must be taken.

This duty accomplished, Goritz went to a room upstairs, bathed and dressed in the uniform which had been provided, packing a large bag with several objects besides clothing and necessities of the toilet, including two automatic pistols, and went down to the Embassy office. All this had occupied an hour. He was awaiting Marishka when, somewhat refreshed and newly attired, she descended and entered the Embassy office. His Excellency rose and bowed over her hand—



"Captain Goritz tells me that you have consented to help us in this extraordinary affair. I wish you Godspeed, Countess Strahni, and a safe return," he added with some deliberateness.

She glanced at Captain Goritz who stood in a military attitude, but he only smiled politely and said nothing.

"I thank Your Excellency for your hospitality and protection," she said slowly. "I am sure that I shall be quite safe with Captain Goritz——"

"Ober Lieutenant Carl von Arnstorf, at your service," corrected Goritz, "of the Third Regiment, Fifteenth Army Corps."

Marishka smiled.

"And I?"

"Frau Ober Lieutenant von Arnstorf," said Goritz shortly.

"It is necessary, I suppose?"

Goritz bowed, and his Excellency added, "It simplifies matters greatly, Countess Strahni."

Marishka shrugged. It was no time for quibbling.

"The way is clear?" asked the Ambassador of von Mendel.

"Quite, Excellency. The side street has been patrolled for ten minutes."

Goritz opened a door which led to a small staircase, and he and Marishka descended and went through the kitchens to a small street or alley where a machine was awaiting them. A question—a reply from a man who had brought down their bags, and they moved slowly out of the alley into a small street.

A bath, food, and a glass of wine had restored Marishka, and she now faced the immediate future with renewed hope and courage. Apart from the belief, fostered by the careful detail of her companions arrangements, that she might still be successful in reaching the ear of the Duchess before the royal train reached Sarajevo, there was an appeal in the hazard of her venture with Captain Goritz. He was a clever man and a dangerous one, who, to gain his ends, whatever they were, would not hesitate to stoop to means beneath the dignity of honorable manhood—an intriguer, a master craftsman in the secret and recondite, a perverted gentleman, trained in a school which eliminated compassion, sentiment and all other human attributes in the attainment of its object and the consummation of its plans. And yet Marishka did not fear Captain Goritz. There is a kind of feminine courage which no man can understand, that is not physical nor even mental, born perhaps of that mysterious relation which modern philosophy calls sex antagonism—a spiritual hardihood which deals in the metaphysics of emotion and pays no tribute to any form of materiality. Captain Goritz, whatever his quality, to Marishka was merely a man. And whatever the forces at his command, her promise, the half uttered threat as to her fate—which she had refused to take seriously—she was aware that she was not defenseless. The elaborateness of the Ambassador's manner, the graces of Graf von Mendel, and Captain Goritz's now covert glances advised her that she was still armed with her woman's weapons. Marishka was young, but her two years in the life of the gayest court in Europe had sharpened her perceptions amazingly, but she knew that if beauty is a woman's letter of credit worth its face value with a man, it can also be a dangerous liability. Captain Goritz differed from the gay idlers of the Viennese Court. The signs of interest he had given her were slight,—a courtesy perhaps a trifle too studied, a lingering glance of his curiously penetrating eyes which might even have been impelled by professional curiosity, a thoughtfulness for her comfort which might have been any woman's due, and yet Marishka did not despair.

They reached the railway station uneventfully, where she learned that men from the Embassy had followed on bicycles as a matter of precaution, and the travelers found their compartment and were safely installed. She sank into her place silently and looked out of the window into the blur of moving lights as Vienna was left behind them. Upon the seat opposite her sat the newly created officer of the Fifteenth Army Corps, Ober Lieutenant Carl von Arnstorf, looking rather smart in his borrowed plumage. The intimacy of their new situation did not frighten her, for she thought that already she had read enough of her companion's character to know that at least so far she was on safe ground. She gave him permission to smoke without his asking it, and this, it seemed, made for the beginnings of a new informality in their relations.