THE RESCUING PARTY
"I wonder how much farther we have to go?"
Fenton voiced the query with rising impatience. For the past three
hours they had been following a tortuous trail up and down the
mountain-side, and the Canadian had chafed at the unavoidable slowness
of their march. Beside him tramped Crane, his head with its flaring
mop of red hair bent resolutely forward. Ahead of them was the
towering figure of Take Larescu and, dotted back along the path by
which they had come, was a long file of hill men.
"Can't be much farther," said Crane. "Larescu said we would make it in
a little over three hours, and we must have been on the tramp fully
that long now. I've come to the conclusion our bulky friend means
everything he says. Even when he hashes up our proverbs and wise saws,
he gets more sense into them than the originators."
"Larescu is a wonder," affirmed Fenton. "Talk about organisation!
He's got this hill country trimmed into better shape than a political
ward in New York. Now how do you suppose he found where the princess
was being kept?"
"Well, he had five hours to work in while we were sleeping," said
Crane. "News travel fast in the mountains. You may not credit it, but
a word is passed along faster up here than in a crowded city. These
hill people can communicate with each other from one peak to another.
Fact. They've learned to pitch their voices so high the sound carries
to almost incredible distances. I've seen proofs of it. Larescu
probably has agents at Kirkalisse who ferreted out the news for him and
then passed it along."
They tramped on for a few minutes in silence.
"Miridoff is up to all the tricks," said Fenton finally. "It would
never have done for him to have had the princess taken to Kirkalisse.
By holding her up in this deserted hunting lodge, he keeps himself
clear of any blame in case of a miscarriage of his plans. Still he has
made it easier for us. Getting the princess safely away will be a
comparatively easy matter now."
"I am not so sure of that myself," rejoined Crane. "I think this grand
ducal enemy of yours has something up his sleeve. In fact, I'm
anticipating a stiff fight."
Larescu, some distance in front of them, had reached the crest of the
precipitous mountain-side up which they had so laboriously worked their
way. He turned back and stretched out his arm toward the west. On the
slope of a distant hill rose the black towers of a building of imposing
dimensions.
"Kirkalisse," said Larescu. He regarded the distant castle with a
lowering frown. "I have a long score to settle with the master of
Kirkalisse, a score dating back ten years. The balance is in his
favour so far, but perhaps to-night I shall exact heavy payment for the
wrongs the Grand Duke has done!"
"Are we far from the lodge?" asked Fenton eagerly.
"My impulsive young friend, accept this assurance that in half an hour
her royal highness will be safely in our hands," said Larescu. "Do not
worry. Everything is arranged. I have set my hand to the plough--as
your proverb goes--and I shall gather no moss."
Half an hour later, in response to a warning gesture from Larescu, they
stopped on the edge of a large clearing in the thick forest through
which the latter part of their journey had taken them. It was rapidly
growing dark, but at the far end of the clearing it was still possible
to discern the outlines of a frame building of picturesque design. Two
paths led to this structure, the one by which they had come and a
second and wider road which wound off through the forest in the
opposite direction.
"Your princess is there," whispered Crane, pointing to the building.
Fenton glanced eagerly across the clearing and dimly made out the
figure of a man pacing up and down in front of the lodge with a rifle
over his shoulder. As he looked, a second figure emerged from the
lodge and, after a brief word with the sentry, strode briskly along the
second path. There was something familiar about the carriage of this
man that won Fenton's attention.
"Crane, that is Miridoff," he whispered to his companion, motioning
after the receding figure. "I couldn't get a glimpse of his face, but
I'm sure it's our man. That path must lead to Kirkalisse."
Crane fingered his revolver with a speculative air.
"I'm a fair shot, Fenton," he said. "It might save a lot of trouble if
I potted him now."
"It wouldn't do," replied Fenton. "We have no positive proofs of his
complicity yet and a murder charge is just as serious a matter here as
it is under British law. No, I think we can safely leave the
punishment of the Grand Duke to our doughty Larescu."
The leader of the hill men turned at this moment and cautiously made
his way back to them.
"There are but two or three armed men at the lodge," he said. "We can
take it without difficulty. I shall spread a line of my men around on
all sides. Then a quick rush--and her highness is safe once more."
Crane, who had been regarding the dim outlines of the hunting lodge
with interest, suddenly let drop a hasty ejaculation and grasped
Fenton's arm. With every evidence of excitement, he pointed toward the
building.
"Look at that!" he commanded. At the rear of the lodge the tops of
several high trees elevated themselves in restive silhouette against
the darkening sky. Above the level of the highest tree was a single
mast that a casual observer would probably have mistaken for a flag
pole.
"Wireless!" said Crane. "There's no mistaking the apparatus. I served
as operator on an Atlantic steamship for a year and I ought to know a
wireless plant when I see one. Saturnine Sisyphus, we're certainly in
luck on this trip, Fenton! Here we've probably stumbled on the station
by means of which Miridoff has kept in close touch with the Austrians
across the border. If we keep our heads now we can find out his whole
plan of campaign."
Crane's discovery necessitated new arrangements for the capture of the
lodge. A rush from all sides as Larescu had planned would not now
serve as it would give the defender an opportunity to send a message
across space giving warning of the attack. As Crane pointed out, it
was necessary to capture or incapacitate the operator before any
attempt was made to rush the place.
Accordingly it was settled that nothing would be done, with the
exception of establishing a cordon around the lodge, until Crane had
had an opportunity to reconnoitre. The Englishman cautiously skirted
the clearing until he had reached a point in the rear of the building.
He investigated the clump of trees, from the midst of which the
wireless mast protruded, and found that his surmise had been correct.
A thoroughly up-to-date wireless plant had been installed.
As he moved quietly about, a light showed in a second story rear
window. One of the trees grew close to the building, and Crane judged
that, by climbing it, he would obtain a view of the lighted room.
Accordingly he removed his boots and slowly worked his way up the tree
to a position where he could see within.
A man in uniform sat at a desk with an oil lamp beside him. He was
industriously working his key, his gaze fixed the while on a sheet of
paper that lay spread out on the table. As far as Crane could make out
the room was quite bare of other furniture.
For several minutes the operator stuck to his key, while not more than
twelve feet away, crouching over a branch that bent with his weight,
Crane watched every move he made with the utmost eagerness. Finally
the man in uniform stood up and, holding the sheet to the lamp flame,
carefully burned it to the last scrap. Then he left the room, closing
the door after him.
Crane saw his opportunity. By edging along the limb he could bring
himself within arm's length of the window ledge. Inch by inch he
worked his way on the swaying branch, fearing each second that it would
give way under his weight. It held, however, and at last he had the
satisfaction of grasping the firm ledge of the window and swinging
himself across to it. The window lifted easily enough and Crane
climbed quietly into the room.
He had scarcely reached the floor when the sound of returning footsteps
caused him to dash on tiptoe across the room to a commanding position
behind the door. It opened and the operator stepped briskly into the
room. The latter had almost reached his seat before he became aware of
another presence in the room. His eyes opened wide and his jaw sagged
with amazement when he saw Crane. The latter with a grim frown had
stepped between him and the door and was covering him with a revolver.
"Make a sound and you're a dead man!" said Crane, in a shrill whisper.
He conveyed his ultimatum first in Ironian and then in German.
The operator, after the first effects of his surprise had passed,
recovered his wits sufficiently to seat himself facing Crane. This
placed him in such a position that he covered the instrument on the
table. Divining his purpose to operate the instrument behind his back,
Crane brought his revolver up to a business-like level and covered his
man.
"Stand up," he ordered.
The operator hesitated a moment and then got to his feet.
"Hands in front of you!" In a trice Crane had replaced the revolver in
his belt, pinioned one of the operator's hands over the other and bound
them with a handkerchief. It was done so neatly that, within a minute
from the time the first move was made, the man had been unceremoniously
shoved back into his chair with his hands bound in front of him. He
appeared thoroughly dazed.
Then came an unexpected development. A light step sounded outside the
door. Crane, who was proceeding to gag the pinioned operator, looked
up and saw a girl standing in the doorway--a pretty girl who viewed his
proceedings with every evidence of astonishment. Crane was thorough in
his methods. He promptly left the task of trussing up the operator and
dragged the girl into the room with more force than ceremony, taking
the precaution to close the door and sternly admonishing her the while
to keep silent.
"Not a sound out of you or I'll treat you the same way as I've done
Marconi here," he said, seating her in the only other chair that the
room boasted, and speaking in the native tongue.
The girl showed no evidence of fear, despite the rough handling she had
received and the grim appearance of the aggressive Crane. She sat back
quietly enough and watched his movements with keenest interest.
Keeping a wary eye on his two prisoners the while, Crane took up the
lamp and signalled with it through the window, moving it backward and
forward in front of him several times. He kept this up until convinced
that his signal had been noted. Then he placed the lamp back on the
table and detached two revolvers from his belt.
"There's likely to be no end of a shindy downstairs," he said to the
girl. "You mustn't get frightened, you know. You won't get hurt.
Just stay where you are and close your jaw and no harm will come to
you."
There was a sudden shout, a sound of rushing feet, a shot or two.
Crane ran from the room and down a flight of stairs that opened before
him, shouting at the top of his voice. He found Fenton and several of
the hill men standing in the doorway. The lodge had been captured
without a blow.
It was found that there were three men in the place beside the
operator. The defenders had made no attempt at resistance, prudently
deciding, when the numbers of the attacking party became manifest, that
resistance would be useless in any case. They were bound securely in
the lodge under guard. The two maids were confined in another room and
also guarded. All this happened in the course of ten minutes.
"The operator's upstairs, safely trussed," said Crane to Fenton.
"There's a girl there too, but I don't think it can be the princess.
Hello! Here she is herself."
Anna Petrowa, holding the lamp above her head, had appeared on the
stairs. She gave a cry of delight when she discerned the fair head of
Fenton towering above the group of men in the dark hall.
"My brave Canadian, no time you lost in getting here," she said, coming
down the stairs.
"How is it that you are here?" demanded Fenton in amazement.
"The Grand Duke's orders," replied Anna in low tones. "It was thought
best that the princess should not be left without companionship. And
then I was to keep a close watch on her. But this plan has not been
the success. The princess has shut herself up and I have seen her but
little."
"Where is she now?" asked Fenton, with all of a lover's eagerness.
Anna indicated a door leading off from the right of the hall. "You
will find her there," she said. Then she placed a delaying hand on the
arm. "Who is the extraordinary person of the very red hair? He made
me a prisoner. He is the most rough, the most brutal--but----"
"Crane!" shouted Fenton. "I am going to leave Mademoiselle Petrowa in
your charge. You apparently have amends to make to mademoiselle, who,
by the way, has done a great deal for the Cause--more than any of us
know. Could you manage to be polite for a while?"