Gibbs George
The Secret Witness
"Yes. There are garments."
"A fez, jacket, breeches, stout opankas."
"It shall be as you desire."
Renwick went up the stairs into the room where he and Goritz had met, recapitulating briefly in his mind the sequence of events which had led to his own downfall. If he had only shot the man when he had stood there a fair mark, defenseless! It had not been the sporting thing, but if he had known what was to follow, he would have done it nevertheless. At least he thought so now. The fateful armor had been restored to its place in the corner, and while he anxiously awaited Yeva's return he examined it casually with the rather morbid interest which one might display in the inspection of one's coffin. It was dented upon the sides with the marks of bullets which had glanced aside, but three neatly drilled holes, two in the breastplate and one in the helmet, reminded him again how narrow had been his escape from death. "Close shooting, that," he muttered to himself. "Emptied clip and not one miss."
Yeva, who had gone with Zubeydeh into the Harim, now returned (discreetly veiled) and with an air of restraint made a sign to the Englishman to be seated while Zubeydeh brought refreshments.
He heard Yeva speaking gently at his ear.
"Allah is good. Excellency, they told me that you were dead—that they would bury you. They took your body and that of the other man in a cart to the hills above the city. But someone came, and they were forced to go away."
"You saw her go with him?"
"Yes. She had fainted. I helped to carry her down through the selamlik to the street at the back of the house. Then an automobile came, and they took her away."
"There have been no inquiries here?"
"None. And you will say nothing?" she asked anxiously.
"Not a word. Would you have me deliver myself into the hands of my enemies?"
"I shall help you, Excellency, if you will try to find her."
"Yes. I shall try. I will follow, if you will provide me with clothing."
"It shall be done. But first you must eat and drink and then we shall plan."
Zubeydeh, now completely disarmed, brought cakes and sherbet, and when Renwick had eaten and drunk, gave him cigarettes and the clothing, showing him into a room where he quickly divested himself of his rags of wrapper and put on the garments which she had brought. They were curiously familiar. His own disguise—that which he had bought in the bazaar and had worn when he had first come to this house. He felt in the pockets of his trousers but the money was gone. And when he was dressed, Zubeydeh colored his face with some liquid which she brought from the kitchen.
The clock on the mantle indicated the hour of eleven when Renwick prepared to take his departure. It had been a market day in the Turkish quarter, and late at night the farmers would be returning to their homes. Aware of the difficulties which might lie in the way of his leaving the city, Yeva proposed that Renwick should leave the Carsija in the cart of a cousin of Zubeydeh's, a farmer who lived on the Romanja Plain; and Renwick, quick to see the advantages of the plan, readily agreed, for it was toward the Visegrader Gate, he had learned, that the automobile of Captain Goritz had departed.
As he left the lower door with Zubeydeh, who was to accompany him as far as the Carsija, Renwick caught Yeva by the hand.
"I cannot thank you, girl. But some day I shall pay. You will remember. I promise."
"It is nothing," she said; and then with a laugh: "But if in Vienna or Paris or London, you should see a silk dress of blue–"
"You shall have two of them—and two of pink–"
"Excellency–!" she cried, clapping her hand childishly.
"And if I find her—jewels–!"
"It is too much–" she cried. And then eagerly, as though she feared he might misinterpret, "Still, I should like them–"
"You shall have them—some day."
"I shall pray to Allah that you may find her. Go, Excellency. Go to her and tell her that I have done what I can."
"Allah will bless you."
"May Allah bless you both," she sighed, "for it is all so very beautiful."
The last glimpse that Renwick had of her was from the gate of the garden, where he turned to wave his hand as she stood, leaning wistfully against the doorpost of the house, looking after him.
The arrangements for his journey were readily made and the business of the night being concluded, in half an hour Renwick, passing again as Stefan Thomasevics on his way to Rogatica to help in gathering the harvest, was seated beside Selim Ali, Zubeydeh's cousin, driving in a cart through the silent Kastele. Renwick saw several Bosnian police officers in uniform, who inspected the empty vehicle, but merely glanced at the slouching figures on the seat. At the Visegrader Gate they were detained and questioned, but Selim had a clever tongue and told a straight story which Renwick corroborated with nods and gestures. It would have been dangerous to risk his too fluent German on the officer of the guard. No, they had seen no bearded man in a blue coat. It had been a hot day in the bazaar. One didn't like to think of blue coats on such a day. Even tonight it was still sultry, but soon the harvest time would be here, and after that the snows. Would the Excellency like a fine melon, for forty hellers—the only one left in all the day? No? Then we will give it to the Excellency for nothing.
The officer grinned and let them pass, but he took the melon. It was after midnight for in the distance behind them they had heard the bell of the cathedral tolling the hour. Safely past all military barriers, Selim, who had had a long day, yawned and clambered into the tail of the cart to sleep, leaving the horse to its own devices. But sleep was not for Renwick. His escape had been accomplished without much trouble, and given a little luck and some skill he thought he could manage to lose himself quickly in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But the magnitude of his undertaking in finding Marishka was formidable. Most of Bosnia and all of Austria Hungary lay between Sarajevo and the German border—five hundred miles of enemy's country to be traversed without other resources than eighteen kroner pieces and a pair of somewhat worn opankas! And after that—the heart of the enemy's country!
Eighteen kroner! His own, probably, filched from the pockets of the clothing he had worn when he had entered the house in search of Marishka. His own clothing, the disguise he had bought in the bazaar. Then perhaps–! Feverishly he felt along the upper lining, where he had pinned the larger sum of money he had taken from his purse when he had changed from mufti at the inn over in the Bistrick quarter of the town. They had found it? Something crinkled under the pressure of his fingers, and a pin pricked his thumb. It was there—his money. They had not searched for it, thinking of course that the money they had found in the pockets was all that he had possessed. He found the head of the pin and opened the lining, counting the notes—ten of them in all—of one hundred kroners each.
A thousand kroners! He could have shouted for glee. But caution came to him in time. He looked around to find that Selim had awakened and was sitting up rubbing his eyes.
CHAPTER XX
RENWICK QUESTIONS
Had the man observed him when he was counting his money? The hazard of his position made Renwick suspicious. Selim was a crafty rogue as his conversation with the officer at the Visegrader Gate had shown, and one of Zubeydeh's breed needed watching. But the man yawned and stretched his arms, then got up and looked about with so genuine an air of drowsiness and fatigue that Renwick concluded that he had been mistaken. How much or how little Selim had been told of Renwick's affair the Englishman did not know. But the man had already done him a service and might be in a position to help him further. So he decided upon an attitude of friendliness and gratitude which might perhaps be measured by a few of his eighteen kroners but no more.
It was about three o'clock, when having met no adventures upon the way, they reached the farm of Selim Ali upon the border of the Romanja Plain. Twenty hours at a stretch, nine of which had been spent in the tension of his escape, were more than Renwick's strength permitted, and he sank upon the straw pallet to which Selim assigned him, weary and shaken, and with a hand which instinctively clutched the lining of his trousers where his money was pinned, he fell into a deep sleep, from which he did not awaken until the sun was high in the heavens.
He did not rise at once, but lay on his cot, gazing at the ceiling, his mind adjusting itself slowly to his situation. He felt for the money in the lining of his trousers. It had not been touched. If Selim had discovered the notes in Renwick's possession he was either without design upon them or had concluded to postpone its consummation until some later hour. Where was the man? Renwick wanted to talk to him. He heard the sound of a voice in another part of the house, and getting up went outside and walked around to the rear of the building. A young woman in Turkish costume was washing some clothing in a tub by the door.
Renwick greeted her with a bow and a smile, and asked for Selim. She pointed toward a distant field, and then asked if he desired food. Renwick thanked her and replied that he would wait until Selim returned, and went back to bed. There, some moments later the woman brought him coffee, bread, and excellent soup, which the Englishman devoured hungrily, not aware until the moment that it was precisely food he required. When he had finished eating, he smoked a cigarette and planned his pilgrimage.
He had but two known facts with regard to the flight of Captain Goritz with his prisoner; first, the automobile had gone through the Kastele in the direction of the Visegrader Gate, over the very road by which Renwick had come with Selim; second, the object of Captain Goritz was to reach the German border as speedily as possible.
The fact that Goritz had left town by this road to the north and east indicated one of two things: that Goritz, seeking the more quietly to escape from the town, had chosen the road through the Kastele quarter, intending to make a détour over the mountains and reach the Bosna road, by which he would go straight through Hungary and Austria to his destination; the other inference was that Goritz had chosen the more easterly road to the north in order to avoid passing through Austria, seeking the shortest road into Silesia, through central Hungary and Galicia by way of Cracow. It seemed probable that Goritz had already reached Germany, and yet even this was no assured fact. If Goritz had chosen to return through Austria by the main traveled roads, by Bosna, by Agram, or by Budapest, there was scarcely a chance that he could have eluded the agents of the watchful Windt. The plot against the life of the Archduke had consummated in his death. Marishka had failed, but with her failure had come a restitution of her complete rights as an Austrian citizen. Herr Windt, no longer seeking to restrain her actions, would wish to save her from the results of her own imprudences, redoubling his efforts to come between Goritz and the German border.
Renwick tried to think as Goritz would think. Why had Goritz come by the circuitous road over the Romanja Plain? Surely not to go north by way of Serbian territory. Goritz had a reason. The shortest road—the least traveled road, the road which avoided Brod, the main gateway into Bosnia, was the road by which he would pass through the rural districts of eastern Hungary, proceeding all the while along the level country of the Danube or the Thiess, reaching Silesia—the long tail of the German Empire which thrust out between Poland and Galicia.
Renwick paced the room with quick strides. The theory hung together. And given this to be the plan of Goritz, had he succeeded in carrying it out? Possibly. But Hungary was wide. It was five hundred miles at least from Sarajevo to the Carpathians, and much may happen to an automobile in five hundred miles. Marishka, Yeva told him, had fainted. It would have been inhuman for Goritz to have taken her such a distance without a chance for rest or recuperation. Goritz! Every theory that Renwick devised seemed to fall to the ground when he thought of him. The cleverness of the man was amazing. And what lay behind his cleverness? What of decency or what of deviltry lay behind the mask that Renwick had seen? The man had treated her with consideration—for Marishka had not complained of his attitude toward her—until there in the Turkish house, when he had seized her by the arm....
Deliberation had gained something—only a theory as yet, but if a theory, one which stood the acid of inspection from every angle.
Renwick's task seemed hopeless, but that spirit of persistence, of which Marishka had once spoken, was one of the dominating characteristics of his nature. Given a sound purpose, a worthy desire, he was not easily dismayed, and desperate as his chances of finding Marishka now seemed, it did not enter his head to give up and seek his way—as he might easily have done—to the Serbian border and so to safety. Marishka had forgiven him! During the long days of his convalescence the memory of their brief joyous moments in the Turkish house had renewed and invigorated him. He had heard her calling to him across the distances—despairingly, but hoping against hope that the man she loved was still alive. It thrilled him to think that he could still come to her—if she would wait—come even from the grave and answer her call to him—the call of one brave spirit to another, which needed no material fact of physical utterance to make itself heard. He would find her—not soon perhaps, but all in good time. Providence had not saved him miraculously for failure, and it was written that he should succeed. The gods would be with him now and arm him against disaster. He rejoiced to find how strong he felt today. All the tremors had gone out of his nerves, and he was ready to begin his journey whenever it should be time. But first he wanted to question Selim—Goritz had passed this house—there was a chance …
Selim Ali returned from the fields at supper time, greeted Renwick with bluff heartiness, and together they sat at a substantial meal of Jungfern-Braten, over which Selim's wife Zaidee presided. In the light of events, Renwick willingly reconstructed his estimate of Selim. Last night Renwick would have been suspicious of the angel Gabriel, but with the courage of the sunlight had come confidence in himself, and faith in his star. It seemed that Zubeydeh had told her cousin nothing of Renwick's nationality or predicament, but that he was a friend who had gotten into a trouble, and that the police of Sarajevo were looking for him. Selim was to shelter him and speed him upon his way. Selim asked many questions which Renwick answered as he chose, biding his own time. Yes, he, Stefan Thomasevics, had gotten into trouble in Sarajevo, all because of a woman (and this Renwick knew to be true), and desired to leave the country. He did not wish to go to the war and he would not fight against the Serbians who were not in the wrong. He, Thomasevics, wished to go north to Budapest where he would work in the factories and amass a fortune. Selim wagged his head wisely and laughed.
"You must work long, my young friend, and spend nothing," he said. "Come. You're a strong fellow—a little weak just now from smoking too many cigarettes and staying up too late at night. But I will give you work here upon my farm and pay you well."
But Thomasevics shook his head.
"Thank you. You are kind, but I have already made up my mind."
Selim shrugged and lighted his long pipe.
"As you will, but I have made you a good offer."
"A good offer. Yes. Which I would accept were my mind not set upon other matters." He paused and then, "Selim, you are a good fellow. I will tell you the truth. I would like to stay with you, but I am searching for something which may take me to the ends of the earth."
"That is a long way, my friend."
"Yes, a long way, when one doesn't know which way to go."
"Ah, that is even longer. There are but two things which will take a man like you so far as that—vengeance, or a woman."
Renwick smiled.
"I see that you are wise as well as clever. I go for both, Selim."
"A woman? Young?"
"Yes."
"Beautiful?"
"Yes."
"And the vengeance–"
"That shall be beautiful also."
Selim smoked his pipe solemnly and as Renwick hesitated,
"Will it please you to tell me more?" he asked.
Renwick deliberated.
"Yes. I am groping in the dark. And the darkness begins at Sarajevo. She left there in the night—with him."
"Ah, a man! Of course."
"They fled by the Visegrader Gate and they came upon this road, past this very house."
Selim shrugged.
"At night! It is a pity. I might have seen them but I sleep soundly."
"There are no other houses for a long distance in either direction. They might have stopped here."
"But they did not!" And as Renwick gave up despairingly, "You see, I worked very hard all last week and slept like a dead man."
"It was not last week," said Renwick gloomily, "almost two months ago–"
"Ah, as to that–" and Selim shrugged again. "One has no recollection of things that happened before the Hegira."
Of course it was hopeless. Renwick had only unraveled the thread to see how far it would lead. Here it broke off, and so he relinquished it. Rather wearily he sank back into his chair and gazed out of the window into the sunset.
Selim's wife entered with a tray to take away the dishes. She wore no yashmak, for Selim, though professing the Moslem faith, was somewhat lax in carrying out its articles. He did not believe in running a good thing into the ground, he said. So Zaidee came and went as she chose.
"I have been listening from the kitchen," she said with a smile. "It is always a woman that makes the trouble, nicht wahr?"
"Then how can Paradise be Paradise?" grunted Selim.
"Thou wouldst get on poorly without us, just the same," said Zaidee demurely.
"But I should not go to the ends of the earth, like Stefan, here."
"Thou! Thou dost not know the meaning of love. I wish I could help him."
"It is impossible," sneered Selim.
"But it is interesting," sighed Zaidee. "She went away with another man—that is cruel!"
"Perhaps Stefan is better off than he knows," said Selim.
"Selim," said Zaidee with great solemnity, "thou art a pig!"
"Pig I am not."
"Pig!" she repeated with more acerbity.
Renwick was in no mind to take a part in their quarrel and was moving toward the door of the adjoining room when a phrase caught his ear.
"And thou art a magpie, Zaidee, always croaking. It will get us into trouble, thy talking. I have but to set my foot outside the house and thy tongue wags like the clothing of a scarecrow."
"I have done no harm," she said angrily.
"It is no affair of thine—they will come again asking questions. I have no humor to talk with any of that accursed breed."
"What harm can come—if we tell the truth–?"
"Bah—what do the police care about the truth?"
Renwick turned and reëntered the room.
"The police!" he said quickly.
"Zaidee talks too much. A month ago in my absence they came inquiring."
"And what wouldst thou have said?" cried Zaidee angrily. "To shelter a sick woman is no crime–"
"I should have said nothing."
"And what happened?" asked Renwick eagerly, now aware of the bone that chance had thrown in the way of a starving man.
"In the middle of the night which followed the day upon which the Archduke was assassinated–"
"And whose tongue is wagging now—thou magpie?" put in Zaidee spitefully.
"Be quiet–" said Selim.
Renwick glared at the woman as though he would have liked to choke her, and she subsided.
"An automobile stopped at my door. There were three people, an Austrian officer, a lady who was sick, and a man who drove the car. They asked admittance on account of the Excellency who was sick. I could not refuse, for they said that they would pay me well."
Selim paused, hunting in his pockets for a match to light his pipe, and Renwick, containing his patience with difficulty, stood, his hands clenched behind him, waiting. They had stopped here—at this very house.
"And then–?" he asked calmly.
"We put the Excellency to bed–"
"I did," said Zaidee.
"Bah! What matter? They were bound upon a journey over the mountains to Vlasenica, where the Excellency was taking his wife for the waters."
"His wife," mumbled Renwick.
"They traveled at night to avoid the heat of midday, but the sudden sickness of the Excellency made further travel impossible."
"The officer Excellency lied–!" said Zaidee.
"Be quiet, thou–!" roared Selim.
"Let Zaidee speak. I am no policeman," said Renwick.
"What interest is it of yours?"
Renwick caught the man by the shoulders with both hands and glared at him.
"Merely because this is the woman I seek."
"An Excellency like—and you?"
"What I am does not matter. A hundred kroner if you tell the truth–"
"A hundred kroner——!"
His eyes searched Renwick eagerly, and then, "There is little I would not tell for a hundred kroner, but–"
"I am not of the police, I tell you. This lady is an Austrian noblewoman in danger."
"And the Austrian officer–"
"Is no Austrian, but an enemy of Austria–"
"A Serb–?"
"No."
"Who are you?"
"What does that matter?"
Selim shrugged. "Nothing perhaps—still–"
"And if I tell you, you will keep silent?"
"A hundred kroner will make me dumb."
"I am an Englishman," said Renwick after a moment.
"Ah—a spy!"
"No. A prisoner who has escaped."
"That is better."
"Speak!"
And as the man still hesitated Renwick unpinned the notes in his pocket and tossed one of them upon the table, in front of him. Selim took it eagerly.
"I am quite ready to believe anything you say–"
But Renwick seized his wrist in a strong grip. "You have not spoken yet."
"I will speak, then," said Zaidee. "Selim is a fool to hesitate. I nursed the Excellency for two nights and a day. I cooked her eggs and chicken and soup, but she would not eat. She was very much frightened."
"The man—he treated her badly?"
"Oh, no. Very politely, and paid us for our service, but the Excellency was frightened. I was kind to her, and she was grateful, but she spoke nothing of where she was going. Perhaps she did not know. But it was not to take the waters."
"You, Selim," broke in Renwick, "you heard the men speaking? What did they say?"
He shrugged.
"How can I remember? They planned their journey with a map, but I had no interest–"
"What map–?"
"A map—how should I know–"
"Of Hungary–"
"Hungary!" And then scratching his head, "Yes, it must have been of Hungary, for they spoke of Budapest–"
"And what else? The Danube—the Thiess?"
"I do not remember?"
"You must–!" Renwick's fingers closed again upon the hundred kroner note which Selim had put back on the table.
"What good would it do if I lied to you?"
"Think, man, think! They made marks upon the map?"
"Marks? Oh, yes—marks."
"Up and down, the way they were sitting?"
"Yes. I think so. By the beard of the Prophet! You can't expect a fellow to remember such things as this for two months."
"Did they speak of mountains?"
"Mountains–!" Selim scratched his head again. "How should I know?"
"The Carpathians?"
"The Carpathians. Perhaps. Ah–"
Selim tapped his brow with a stubby forefinger.
"There was a name they spoke many times. It was a strange name."
"What?"
"I can't think."
"Zaidee, you heard?" Renwick asked.
"I was listening, but I could not understand."
"Was it a city?"
"I do not know."
"Was it Cracow? Kaschau? Agram? Was it Brünn?"
But they made no sign.
"Think!" said Renwick. "At the top of the map—away from them—near the edge?"
Selim shrugged hopelessly. "I can't remember," he said.
Renwick despaired.
"Was the map large?"
"Yes. I remember that. It covered this table–"
"Ah—then you can tell me how they stood?"
"Yes. I can tell you that."
He got up and placed himself at the side of the table. "The Excellency was here—the map spread out–"
"Did he lean to the left or to the right?"
"He leaned well forward with both elbows upon the table—straight forward—yes—almost across—a pencil in his hand—the other was pointing. The lamp was just there–" pointing to the left center of the table.
"The lamp was on the map?"
"Yes—to keep it in position–"
"On the left-hand side?"
"Yes."
"And they didn't move the lamp?"
"No. It remained there until they raised it to take the map away."
"I understand. And they made marks up and down with a pencil?"
Selim shrugged.
"It is what I think, merely."
"And the name was–?"
"How can one be sure of a name? It is a wonder just now that I can remember my own. Had I known what was to happen–" And he shrugged and dropped wearily again into his chair.
"And the police—? What has Zaidee said to the police?"
"Merely that the Excellencies were here—in this house."
"The police are coming again?"
"I do not know. It would seem that they have forgotten."
"And if they come, you will speak?"
"The hundred kroner will make me dumb."
"And Zaidee?"
"I will not speak."
"Nothing of me, you understand. I am but Stefan Thomasevics–"
"It is understood."
"And you remember nothing more?"
"Nothing."
"You are sure. The Excellency left no message—no note–?"
"Nothing."
Renwick pushed the hundred kroner note toward Selim and straightened.
"You have done me a service, Selim. They have gone to the east of the Tatra–"
"Tatra!" suddenly shouted Selim triumphantly. "It is the name!"
"Are you sure?" asked Renwick excitedly.
"Yes. Tatra—that is it. They spoke of it for half an hour. Eh—Zaidee?"
"Yes. It is the name."
Renwick paced the floor with long steps.
"Selim," he said at last, "it is now dark. I must go at once."
"Tomorrow."
"Tonight. The stars are out."
He moved to the door and peered out.
"You will keep silent?" he asked.
"Have I not promised?" said Selim.
He caught them both by the hand.
"Allah will bless you."
"A hundred kroner—that is blessing enough for one day, Stefan Thomasevics," he laughed.
"Adieu!" said Renwick, and walked bravely off into the starlight.
