A MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE
Nothing more happened for a day or two, except that Von Lindheim
received a letter asking him to send word as soon as possible when he
would be able to resume his duties, the Hof-Artzt having reported his
opinion that the indisposition was only temporary. The letter concluded
with a compliment to Von Lindheim's ability, and an expression of
regret that the bureau should be deprived of his valued services at a
time when their loss was being particularly felt.
"They want to entice me back," he said. "So much for their fair words.
That is a stroke of the Jaguar's soft paw with the claws ready to
spring out. I know him."
His impression was, that he had puzzled, if not quite deceived, Doctor
Beckmeister. He flattered himself that he had played his part well.
"If they think I am really off my head they may treat me as a
neglectable factor, and so give me a chance of escape."
Then there was the question of Szalay. We had no opportunity of
learning how his disappearance had been taken. Of course his presence
at Schönval was a distinct source of danger, inasmuch as it absolutely
contradicted the part Von Lindheim was playing, if only it were known.
This, however, we hoped was not the case. We had elaborated his
disguise, and even the Chancellor's suspicious eye could hardly have
recognized in the dark, sleek-looking attendant on the invalid the
red-haired, bristling, lively Szalay of our Buyda days. Our plan was to
wait awhile, and then to take an opportunity of sending him out of the
country to some friends who lived on the other side of the Alps.
But as every day safely passed was making us more hopeful of ultimate
escape from those vicious claws, our hopes were dashed by an
extraordinary occurrence which revived our worst fears, and which I
will relate in detail.
It will be understood that I ignored all necessity for keeping myself
a prisoner, as the others had to do. Personally, although at times I
conceived it quite possible that Rallenstein might not be sorry for a
plausible opportunity of putting me out of the way, I felt no fear, and
went about the place as I felt inclined, merely taking the precaution
of carrying loaded in my pocket the small revolver with which I always
travelled. I walked about the village, rode over the country round, but
never saw anything suspicious, nothing in which could be discerned the
Jaguar's watching eye, until the evening I am about to speak of.
I had strolled out after dinner, as was my wont, in company with a
favourite dog of Von Lindheim's, a fine wolf-hound, which I often took
with me on my rides. My evening strolls were as much in the nature
of a patrol as a constitutional, but, as I have said, I had never
detected anything to warrant them. On this occasion I went across
the garden, then through a belt of plantation, and so on to a long
terraced walk, lined on either hand with conifers, and having on one
side occasional gaps, giving on to an arable field sloping down to a
road some quarter of a mile below. These openings had been made to
afford passing glimpses of what was a charming view, with a small river
winding its course on the other side of the road, and, beyond, the
pine woods stretching away in broken masses as far as the eye could
reach. The land between our terrace and the road was divided into small
fields by hedges running longitudinally, useless divisions, except that
they broke up the stretch of furrow, and so improved the landscape.
The fields were now green with springing wheat, and dotted here and
there over them were dummy scarecrows, a very necessary, if feeble
defence, against the multitudes of birds that were harboured in the
woods beyond. I mention all these details as being necessary to the
comprehension of what follows.
I strolled along the walk thinking of the situation, the dog running
now behind now in front of me. We had been getting more hopeful; our
plan now being that we should wait a little longer, and then all three
make our way out of the country. The two men would take up their abode
in Paris, or possibly go to England with me, not to return to their
home until Rallenstein's power was at an end, or at least until the
turn of political events gave them assurance that they could breathe
their native air in safety.
I had taken a turn and a half along the terrace when a sharp, low bark
of suspicion from the dog broke the silence round, and aroused my
attention. "Hey, Fritz, old fellow! What's the matter?" I cried.
The dog was running to and fro with his nose to earth, growling and
whining excitedly. I went through the opening to the edge of the field
and stood watching him. It was now dusk, and nothing could be clearly
seen beyond a distance of, say, fifty yards. The dog was evidently on
the scent of something; on a strange scent, I thought; one, to judge by
his manner, that aroused his instinctive suspicion. He was evidently
trying to find where the scent led away, but in this for a while he was
in fault. Suddenly, however, he gave louder tongue and darted off. I
went through the opening, and ran along the crest of the hill in the
direction Fritz had taken. He had got some distance ahead, and I could
see nothing of him in the gathering darkness. After going some way, I
stopped and whistled. There was no response to that, but a few seconds
after, as I was about to call again, there came a loud, angry bark,
with a deep cry (I could not swear, but it seemed to me human), and the
snarling growl of a dog in the act of seizure, abruptly stopping, then
silence.
"By George, he has caught something!" I cried, and ran towards the
point whence the noise had come. Nothing unusual was to be seen.
"Fritz!" I called, then whistled. No answer. Dead silence. Fairly
puzzled now, I ran on. Then thinking that I had gone too far, I wheeled
round and went back towards the terrace, walking slowly, and looking
well about me. Suddenly in the semi-darkness I sprang forward with a
cry of anger. The mystery of the silence at least was solved.
This is what I came upon.
An overthrown scarecrow, and Fritz lying stretched on the ground beside
it. I called him, although something told me it was useless, he would
never move again. So it was. There was a great wound in his throat, and
his head lay in a pool of blood.
What had happened? I jumped up and looked round, pulling out my
revolver. I listened intently. Not a sound. I ran down the field to the
road, keeping as sharp a look-out as was possible. No one was to be
seen. I broke through the hedge and searched the bank of the river, but
with no greater result. Then returning to the sloping field, I beat the
hedges that crossed it, but came across neither man nor beast.
So at last there was nothing for it but to abandon the search, and
take in the uncomfortable tidings to Von Lindheim, since there was no
chance of hiding them from him, Fritz being his favourite companion.
Both men were greatly perturbed.
"Don't let us alarm ourselves unnecessarily," I said. "Poor Fritz may
have fallen a victim to one of his natural enemies--a boar from the
forest. At the same time it might be wise for us to accept it as a sign
of danger."
For I had little doubt in my own mind that the unfortunate dog's
death-wound had been given by no boar's tusk, but by a human hand.