Gibbs George
The Secret Witness
"What is the village before us, Karl?" he asked in quick tones.
"Beneschau, Herr Hauptmann."
"There is a road to Brünn?"
"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. "Brünn—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 détour 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 Mährische-Höhe. 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 Mährische-Höhe 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 Brück—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.
