THE BEATING OF DEATH'S WINGS
We had walked a hundred yards or more, and turned the corner of the
street before either of us spoke. Then I said, "A narrow escape, my
friend."
"Are you sure?" he asked, scarcely above his breath, and, as he turned
towards me, his face looked ghastly under the lamp.
I told him exactly what I had seen.
"I'm a marked man," was all his comment as I finished my story, and
he spoke the words in a tone of despairing conviction. "A marked man,
Tyrrell, my good friend," he continued; "how can I thank you for having
saved my life? Your presence of mind was wonderful, though I fear your
services can only prolong my agony. I'm doomed, lost."
"Nonsense, Lindheim! For Heaven's sake don't let your nerves go now
when you want them most."
He shook his head. "Nerves are of no avail against the powers here. You
don't know--be thankful you don't. Furello is merely an instrument: one
of many."
"Anyhow," I said cheerily, "I am going to stand by you and get you out
of this business if it is as bad as you say. An Englishman doesn't let
cowardly murder go on before his eyes if he can help it."
"It is splendidly kind of you, Tyrrell; but you had better leave me to
my fate. If you interfere you will only share it."
I laughed. "Not I."
"You don't know Rallenstein."
"Don't I?"
He gave an apprehensive glance behind. "It is hardly worth while," he
said, with an attempt at a laugh, "but we may as well be careful, as we
are probably being watched."
"Of course, you are supposed to be ill; the poison is taking its
effect," I returned. "You had better stagger and lean on me for the
rest of the way."
It did not need much of an effort to make him look pretty ill. He went
through some appropriate pantomime, dismal enough when one comes to
think of it, and I pretended to help him along till we came to his
house. As we turned in I certainly seemed to see the indistinct figure
of a man some distance behind on the other side of the deserted street.
Von Lindheim begged me to stay, and, indeed, I was unwilling to leave
him, having seen enough on both that and the previous nights to realize
that he might stand in considerable danger, although, had it not been
for the evidence of my own eyes, I should probably have set down his
own fears as rather childish.
In the house we found Szalay waiting, pacing the room in a perturbed
state of mind.
"Well?" he inquired anxiously.
Von Lindheim flung down his hat. "We had better both make our wills,
Szalay," he cried in desperation.
Szalay's face turned greenish grey. "You can't settle it, then?" he
asked nervously.
"I have nearly settled myself in trying to," the other returned grimly.
"I went to the Baroness's to give Furello a hint, with the result
that, but for our friend here, I should have been carried home on four
shoulders."
"Heaven! what do you mean?" Szalay's eyes were almost starting from
his head as he gasped out the question.
Von Lindheim related the story of his escape.
"My own idea is," he said in conclusion, "that the whole business, your
challenge, and my invitation, are simply methods to get rid of us both."
Then there was silence, the silence of almost hopeless fear.
"What are we to do?" Szalay asked unsteadily.
Von Lindheim gave a shrug. Then, to relieve the tension, I spoke.
"Is it asking too much, as I mean to stand by you fellows, that you
should tell me the reason of all this; what you saw last night?"
"Better not ask, my dear Tyrrell; the knowledge is fatal--too fatal,
already. D'Urban is missing too," he went on, in a fresh access of
despair. "Poor D'Urban, dead by now, probably. And Orsova, you know."
"I saw his death," I remarked.
"In the papers to-night, yes."
"No," I returned quietly; "I was present at his death last night."
"You?" they both gasped out.
"Assuredly. In the palace."
"Suicide? No?"
"Well, it was and it wasn't. Tell me what you saw, and you shall hear
all about it."
Von Lindheim walked to the mantel and leaned against it. "We are
doomed, Szalay. We are both dead men."
His colleague had turned away to hide, perhaps, the fear that was in
his face.
"What did you fellows see?" I repeated.
"Enough," Von Lindheim answered, with a short laugh of desperation, "to
make our lives forfeit. The devil must have led us to investigate that
light."
"What did you see?"
"A sight for which we have now to pay," Szalay broke in bitterly.
"The little chapel was just dimly lighted by a pair of candles," Von
Lindheim proceeded. "Through a light-coloured pane in the low window we
could see a priest in vestments standing before what had once been the
altar. It was curious. He seemed the only person in the chapel. Soon he
looked up, as though at the entrance of some one, and opened the book
in his hand. Three people, a man and two ladies, came quickly up the
chapel and placed themselves before him at the altar. You may guess who
two of them were. Von Orsova and the Princess Casilde. They had come to
be married."
"Married! That accounts for everything."
"More than accounts for it," my friend continued grimly. "Well, when we
realized what the scene meant, the spirit of caution took possession of
us; we were chance spectators of what was practically an act of high
treason."
"Accessories in effect," Szalay put in.
"There were two courses open to us," Von Lindheim went on. "To
interrupt the ceremony, or to steal away and keep our own counsel. Our
evil genius prompted us all three to choose the latter."
"The former was too dangerous," Szalay said. "We knew too much; even in
that case we should have been marked men."
"Anyhow," the other proceeded, "we crept away from the window and
hurried back through the wood to the palace."
"It was a mistake," Szalay said. "We should have run the other way."
"A fatal mistake. For we came plump upon two men hastening towards the
chapel. One ran on, the other halted and scrutinized us, then followed
his companion. The Jaguar, and his striking paw, Furello."
"The two I saw," was my remark.
"Yes. Now you see the man, the fiend, and his methods," Von Lindheim
said. "He did not strike at once, but watched the marriage to an end,
that he might strike more surely and quietly. Now we have the whole
story."
"So far. It is not ended," Szalay said gloomily.
"I fear it is I who have unwittingly betrayed you," I said. "Furello
could but have guessed before he cross-questioned me."
"A guess is enough for Rallenstein. He makes sure."
"Anyhow, I feel guilty," I said, "and am determined to stand by you
both if you will let me."
"Better start for England to-night," Von Lindheim replied gloomily,
"before you share our fate."
I laughed. "Even your Chancellor will think twice before he murders a
British subject."
"Murders? No. My dear Tyrrell, your death would be of the most
deplorably accidental description. Rallenstein is above all things an
artist."
"Well, I'm not going to desert you fellows, so please don't suggest it.
Now you shall know what I saw last night."
Then I told them of the chance which had made me a witness of Von
Orsova's death. Needless to say the recital did not tend to allay their
fears.
"The Rittmeister has paid!" Szalay exclaimed, with a lugubrious jerk of
the head.
"But you," I said, "what crime can there be in what you saw in that
glance through the window? If that is motive enough for getting rid of
you----"
"Motive enough," Von Lindheim returned. "If you knew what we could tell
you, you would not be surprised. In this country a whisper, a shrug, a
laugh are, any one of them, enough to bring a man to his death. And
the innocent have often to suffer for the guilty--to make sure."
"It is clear enough," Szalay added, pacing the room. "This _affaire_
Orsova is likely to upset the Chancellor's plans. If it were to become
a scandal, the alliance he has set his heart and the King's upon would
never come to anything."
Some one was heard below, and Von Lindheim ran to the door.
"It is only Pabst," he said, coming back with a relieved face. "I had
forgotten he was out."
There was a knock at the door and Pabst came in. He was Von Lindheim's
housekeeper and factotum, a respectable elderly man. He looked
perturbed.
"Pardon, meine Herren," he said. "I did not know Herr Szalay was here.
He has doubtless brought you the bad news."
The two colleagues looked at each other in renewed fear. "What bad
news?" Von Lindheim asked.
"You mean the death of the Herr Rittmeister von Orsova," I suggested.
"Pardon, mein Herr," Pabst answered, with a grave shake of the head,
"it is nearer than that. Herr D'Urban----"
"Ah!" The terror in both men made them cry out simultaneously. But the
good Pabst probably read nothing in their faces beyond ignorance, and
concern for the fate of a colleague.
"He is most unhappily drowned," he said.
"Drowned?"
"They found his body in the river this evening near the Powder Mills.
They say his mother, poor lady, is----"
"But D'Urban was a swimmer," Szalay cried.
"He could swim well," Von Lindheim said gloomily. "But of what avail
was that----"
"True, mein Herr," Pabst chimed in. "He has an ugly blow on his head.
They say he must have been carried over the Tollert Fall, struck
against a rock or pile, and so been stunned."
"His turn has come first," Von Lindheim observed grimly when the old
servant had left the room. He seemed to be growing reckless now from
the very hopelessness of his situation. "What are we to do?" he laughed.
"One thing is settled," I said. "You and Herr Szalay are going to face
this danger, if it exists, and will not give up your lives without a
struggle. Surely, Lindheim, there is some law, some authority to which
you can appeal for protection."
He shook his head. "None."
"But in these days of civilization men are not butchered in cold blood
without an appeal to law and justice."
"Civilization," he answered, "is a very pretty word for occasions. We
are proud of it, in theory, but it is never allowed to stand in the
way of political expediency. The head of all law and authority in this
country is the Chancellor; the King himself is but his creature, and
Rallenstein's methods are, when necessary, quite mediæval."
"But men in your position----"
"Bah! He would have the King poisoned to-morrow if it suited his
purpose. We have no party government here, worse luck!"
"Then there is nothing to do but to find a way of escape."
"Escape? Outwit the Jaguar!" He laughed at the idea.
"We'll try, anyhow. Let us view the situation calmly. You are supposed
to have drunk that dose of Furello's, and are dying. We have the start
of them there."
He made an impatient gesture. "It comes to the same in the end; the
agony is only prolonged. Better get it over."
"Nonsense. You have a chance, and a good one. I tell you both you must
not be so mad and wicked as to throw it away."
Thus appealed to, and perhaps catching hope from my confident manner,
they made an effort to look more cheerfully at the business.
"There may be half a chance," Von Lindheim said.
"There will be none," I said, "if you give up. We have three heads
here, and we know our danger. You mean to fight for your life, eh, Herr
Szalay?"
Szalay tried to smile, but could only achieve a ghastly grimace. "I am
not yet tired of my life, and am ready to make an effort."
"Good!" I returned. "Now for our plans. We must hoodwink this
autocratic butcher. Send for a doctor; the most stupid in the place,
for choice. Who answers to that description?"
Von Lindheim thought a moment. "Doctor Rothmer, I should think, eh,
Szalay? The man who killed the Reichsrath Lorenz by treating him for
indigestion when he had peritonitis."
"A pompous idiot, eh? Just the man. Send for him at once, and turn into
bed. Recollect you are poisoned; but don't tell the doctor that. All
you know is that you have been supping abroad and are horribly ill."
I rang, and told Pabst to send for the doctor.
"And I? What am I to do?" Szalay inquired with almost ludicrous
concern. "I am not poisoned."
"No. You have simply got to keep quiet and not be seen. Your second is
taken suddenly ill and cannot act for you. I may be able to avert the
meeting; at any rate to delay it. Anyhow, we must work to throw our
enemies off their guard. That's the vague plan I have at present."
Szalay brightened. My taking things so coolly seemed to give him
confidence. The whole business was an eye-opener certainly; and after
what I had seen there was no room for doubt that the Chancellor and his
people meant business. However, funk and flurry would do no good. I,
being somewhat involved in the affair, was prepared to see it through,
and take my chance of trying any of the pleasant little ways the
authorities seemed to have for disposing of awkward onlookers. Whether
I had let these men in for the trouble or not I was resolved to get
them out, and I thought I could do it.