Gibbs George
The Secret Witness
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, "Schafsköpfen!" 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 Brünn 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 Brünn 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 Brünn 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.
