The shock paralysed her muscles. She could only look up at him
dumbly, trying to pull together her scattered thoughts, to make some
coherency of his words.
"So shall suffer all enemies of the Commune," he boasted. "So should
you too, my pretty lady, and yet--" he moistened his thick, sensuous
lips--"it would be a pity if the world lost such a charming young
person. My efforts with the Soviet have served you, sweet Elizabeth,
and they have put your life in my hands.
"Fear not, you shall not die, though your father hangs at midnight.
I shall myself see that the work is faithfully carried out." He
paused, and unconsciously his fingers touched his head, still bruised
and tender where Imre's stick had caught it. "Afterwards--" he
bowed--"afterwards, pretty lady, you may expect me here. Your life
is mine, I shall make good use of it. See, I will leave you this
candle till then. It shall not be said that I was unkind to the
little lady whose life I have saved." With which he withdrew from
the room, his eyes flickering as he shut the door.
_CHAPTER VI_
"Ho, there!"
Two men stood outside the castle gates, cursing beneath their breath.
On the other side a Communist laughed noisily.
"Hullo, comrades! What want you at this time of night?"
"We come with a message to Comrade Grocz from Bela Kun."
The Communist laughed again, and turned to his companion, whose
besotted face grinned vacantly. "A good joke, eh, my friend! A
message from Bela Kun. What was it good Comrade Grocz told us?
'Open not the gates even to Bela Kun himself.' Ha, ha! You will
have to come again to-morrow, friends." He swayed unsteadily on his
feet.
"Open! Our message is important." Wenzel's voice hardened. "Unless
Bela Kun's orders are obeyed your necks may stretch."
Imre's potent wine had done its work well. "Who cares for Bela Kun?
To-morrow I may be the Dictator, or at least a commissary. Or else
my friend here. Good night, brothers. Come again to-morrow." Arm
in arm the two guards turned their backs and reeled into the interior
of the castle, carrying with them the flask of wine.
The darkness, unrelieved by even the light of moon or stars, hid
everything within a cloak of invisibility, so that even the castle
itself was but a blur, revealed only by flickering gleams of
illumination from a few windows. That, and one other thing. On top
of the castle itself three men, working by the light of four or five
lanterns, moved busily about to the accompaniment of hammering. They
were erecting the gallows from which Imre was shortly to hang.
Wenzel cursed at the sudden, unforeseen obstacle in the fulfilment of
his plans. "Hell! May the Devil seize him! Do you think Comrade
Grocz suspected he was being followed, Arnold?"
"No, I think not," Terhune replied slowly.
"Then why the order not to let in even Bela Kun himself?"
Arnold shrugged his shoulders. "A sense of authority in the first
place, but there is a worse aspect. After the hanging Grocz wishes
no interruption in his filthy schemes."
Wenzel's muscles tightened. "God grant me the chance to grip his
soft throat between my thumbs," he muttered between his teeth. "But
now, is there another way in? Let us explore, Arnold."
Stumbling along the uneven rocky surface, Wenzel and his lieutenant
proceeded to examine, as far as possible, the geography of the
castle. Keeping well beneath the shadow of the outer battlements
they knew they were safe from the observation of those within the
castle. It would be only Communists or sentries actually above them
on the battlements who would be likely to hear or see them--an
unlikely contingency.
Presently they came to one corner; here the wall turned off at right
angles to make a second side of the square in which the castle was
built. Continuing, the two Englishmen turned also. For perhaps two
hundred feet they crept along without discovering any sign of another
door.
Suddenly Wenzel stopped, restraining Arnold by a touch on his arm,
his keen ears having become aware of a strange, sighing echo, a noise
hollowly flung at them from out of the darkness. He felt the
influence of a cold wind, a sensation of space.
He looked ahead, then beneath him, and gasped slightly. Deep down
below, an inestimable distance, were lights eerily waving to and fro.
Another few steps and they might have hurtled into the depths before
them.
The lights puzzled him; he could make nothing definite of their
fantastic action. What, too, was the soughing below? All at once
the solution occurred to him. The lights below were reflections of
others above.
"The Danube!" he breathed softly.
"Good Lord!" Arnold was horrified. "Another few steps and----"
"Perhaps."
That was all! Coolly indifferent to the possibility of having just
escaped death, the White Knight passed again to the front of Arnold
and they retraced their steps. They reached the gates again, and
with the utmost caution passed by in front of them, then explored the
other side of the castle.
There it was just the same. After the turn, a couple of hundred
yards' walk, and then the blowing wind, the sensation of space. The
castle needed battlements on three sides only, for the fourth was
impregnable; Nature in the shape of a precipitous drop to the river
provided protection enough.
"Well?"
Arnold detected a grim note of interrogation in Wenzel's voice.
"There seems no hope of admittance," he answered.
"There has got to be. Do you think I am content to let the old man
hang, and his daughter be violated?"
"What can you do? If Grocz meant all he said at the station buffet,
Imre Kiss will hang at twelve."
"He was deadly serious, Arnold, else why the gallows?" He pointed to
the castle roof where the men had been working, to notice that there
was now no sign of them. The work was finished, the deadly
instrument ready for its victim.
"The swine!" In the intensity of his emotion Arnold hissed the word
between set teeth. "And yet----?"
There was no need for him to complete his unspoken question. The
White Knight answered it after a slight pause. "Arnold, there is one
way. I am going to scale the battlements."
"Geoffrey--you can't! They must be twenty feet high or more and
probably smooth as glass."
"Yet I am going to try," and there was a finality in his voice which
permitted of no opposition. Arnold, knowing that his leader would
make the attempt, failed to see any prospect of success. If there
had been but a modicum of light, a single gleam of illumination by
which to see footholds, find weaknesses in the solid structure of
which advantage might be taken, then, however hazardous and foolhardy
the task might have seemed, there was at least a possibility of
triumph. But in the present circumstances...
The White Knight laughed slightly, and the next moment he was by the
wall, his hands and feet feeling for the slightest crack, the
smallest protuberance which would afford him a hold.
The moss was thick in parts, and deceiving. It felt firm and secure,
yet it needed little pressure to tear its roots from the stonework,
and was a hindrance rather than a help, for pieces fell into Wenzel's
face, and into his eyes.
At last his groping fingers found a tiny indent where the mortar had
crumbled away. Not deep enough for him to insert his finger-tips
even as far as the first joint, yet he deemed it sufficient. He took
a firm grip, and by sheer force lifted his tall body a few inches and
pressed his toes against the wall, until one foot felt resistance
beneath it. So he advanced the first step upward.
Carefully he released his left hand. His weight pulled at the
fingers of the other, but he tightened his muscles, and somehow he
clung, supported by the toes of one foot.
With his free hand he felt for another hold, and presently found one,
scarcely better than the first, but good enough. He took hold, swung
away, and, as before, pulled himself up till he could use both hands.
He moved upward, inch by inch, somehow finding fingerholds where the
fierce weather had, through the centuries, crumbled the stone; but
mainly it was sheer strength, fortified by force of will, which
helped him up, for he held on tenaciously, even when his position was
precarious, when the slightest weakening would have sent him slipping
down.
Up and up! Presently, for all he knew, he might have been nearly to
the top, or yet not above the height of Terhune's head, for soon he
lost count of time and sense of distance.
Presently it became an effort to think; his brain reiterated
monotonously: "Hold on, hold on." He must hold on; that much he
knew; so he held on, step by step, inch by inch.
Something wet trickled on his face; he thought it was moisture from
the squeezed moss, till it rolled upon his dry lips, and tasted warm
and salty to his tongue. He knew then that it was blood from his
fingers where the skin was wearing through.
Up and up! His muscles were tearing and aching from the strain; his
body suffered as if it had been tortured on the rack. He felt that
it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the superhuman
effort, but he was aware that he must continue, knowing if he fell it
would mean death, and though he would have welcomed oblivion, there
was work to be done first.
More important than the rescue of Imre Kiss was that of his daughter
Elizabeth. A man can die but once, and hanging is short and sweet,
but the girl--she would die a thousand deaths if once the foul beast
Grocz laid hands upon her, and yet remain alive, and live thereafter
suffering the tortures of the damned.
Up and up! Suddenly he laughed aloud. God! he had nearly gone that
time. The blood streamed down his arm, spurted over his clothes,
even dripped on Terhune who waited below, pressed close against the
wall with outstretched arms just in case he could catch the White
Knight should he fall. Terhune heard the laughter and, never
dreaming that it was an escape of pent-up relief from his leader,
trembled for the White Knight, believing he had heard a Communist
somewhere on the battlements.
Wenzel wondered at himself. Why had he laughed? For what in Hades
was he climbing the wall? Why not drop and go to sleep? Sleep, that
was it! He was tired; he could move no more.
Perhaps for thirty seconds he remained still, while his brain, dazed
by the tremendous strain his body had suffered, whirled and twisted
in mental gymnastics. For a brief period he could not collect his
thoughts; then out of the fog of uncertainty something in his heart
repeated once again: "Up--up."
Up and up! Somehow he held on, even when it seemed to him that to
continue was impossible, until at last the top. One final clamber
and he was on the broad, level wall. Weakly he slithered down and
lay stretched out, while he gasped loudly for breath.
The strain over, his brain renewed its functions, and he was able to
think intelligently, so he allowed himself five minutes for recovery.
This period of time he estimated, then he rose to his feet, ready for
the next part of the programme.
Somewhere or other he believed there were bound to be stairs leading
down into the castle courtyard. These he knew he could only find by
feeling for them, so he set out along the wall, step by step.
He was not long in his search. Having traversed some fifteen yards
or so he came to a small tower. Suspecting that the stairs might be
inside he entered, to find his surmise correct. The tower was a
shield for a circular staircase leading from below.
Treading with the utmost caution he ventured down, and at length
arrived at the courtyard. Even there not a single man was to be
seen, though he could hear them, for inside the castle there was a
noise of music and singing. Deprive the Hungarian of his music, and
part of his life is erased.
The tune was dimly reminiscent; and a grim smile creased the features
of the White Knight. Well might it strike a chord in his memory! It
was the _Marseillaise_! Altered and transposed almost out of
recognition so that even Rouget de Lisle might not have identified
it, the song howled by the drunken villagers was basically the same
as that which had fired the blood of other revolutionaries in other
times, in another land.
The tune was Hungarianized, the words modernized by a local poet; but
the spirit of the singers was not altered one iota. So had the
people of France sung their hymn, drinking from their bottles under
the frowning fortifications of Paris, and their thoughts had been the
same, their aspirations similar. The uprooting of law and order, the
disruption of the country--what mattered so long as they had
government for the mass by the mass? That the rule of the mass
proved even more despotic, still more unjust than before, was a
matter of no account at all.
The large iron-bound doors of the castle proper stood wide open, and
for this Wenzel breathed a sigh of thankfulness. His entrance should
be comparatively easy.
From the shadows outside he looked into the large hall. Not yet had
the invaders managed to destroy all semblance of its beauty. The
stately walls still rose grandly up to the raftered roof; its upper
panels, beyond the reach of the peasants, were still adorned with the
trophies of centuries of war and sport.
It was the floor which had suffered most; its polish was
irretrievably ruined, damaged by the contact of heavy boots, and the
mess and filth which littered it. There, too, sprawled the filthy
bodies of the Communists, drunkenly sleeping off the effects of a
day's carousal.
Those who were still able to remain awake were piled around a
platform which occupied part of the left side of the hall. Here were
the musicians, babbling in their cups, and yet still musical.
As Wenzel glanced around he noticed one significant fact. There was
not one person looking in the direction of the door. Now was his
chance to gain admittance inside without becoming a centre of
interest! Once within he believed he might not have to fear
discovery; for one thing, they all looked too drunk to notice the
presence of a stranger, and, again, even if he were seen, he trusted
that the villagers would take him to be one of the Budapest
contingent, while the Communists from the city might assume him to
belong to the peasants' party.
Pulling his cap well over his head, swathing his chin and neck in his
dirty scarf, and slouching his shoulders to lessen his height, Wenzel
unsteadily crossed the threshold into the midst of the unpleasant
company, and sank into a chair while he looked around. Most of them
had not yet troubled to take off hats or coats, so he did not remove
his either.
In front of him he saw a magnificent staircase, wide enough to take
twelve men abreast, which led to the upper floor. By the platform
was another door through which men staggered in, now and again, food
or drink in their hands, so Wenzel assumed that it led to the
kitchens.
Otherwise, barring the front entrance, through which he himself had
entered, he could see no other door. He frowned slightly. He felt
that there should be another exit--one by which the servants could
make their way into other parts of the house without using either the
kitchen or the main staircase.
If there was one he did not see it, so he made up his mind to use the
stairs, for even as he looked, a Communist stumbled down, holding on
to the carved banisters for support. If one could use them, why not
another?
The _Marseillaise_ finished, the _Internationale_ rang out. There
was a burst of enthusiasm, and the noise of the chorus boisterously
rolled round the hall with a deafening din.
Wenzel rose from his chair, deeming the time a good one to move. He
crossed the hall to the staircase. With his foot on the first stair
he stopped. Some one was entering the hall by a door just two or
three yards to the side of him, a panelled door which swung on its
hinges, and had been invisible to him before because it merged into
the pattern of the wall.
It was decidedly a less conspicuous entrance to the other part of the
house. In case he should be observed he slipped and rolled to the
floor. When he arose the door was in front of him, so the next
second he was on the other side, and at once was conscious of a
welcome silence after the noise of the hall.
The passage ahead of him was lit only in one place, by a faint light
escaping from a room on the right; from a slightly discernible
flicker and the soft yellowness of its gleam Wenzel guessed it to be
that of an oil lamp.
There was, apparently, no one about; Wenzel wondered if it were too
much to hope that all the Bolsheviks were congregated together. If
so, and if he could but find where Imre and his daughter were, to
escape would be a matter of extreme simplicity.
There was no object in moving secretively; he shuffled along the
passage until he was level with the lighted room. With a quick
sideward glance he looked within, but it was empty.
He moved on, and the passage turned sharply to the left.
Having turned the corner Wenzel found the darkness more accentuated,
for there were no other lights to be seen, and the illumination from
the lamp in the room he had just passed had no effect.
Feeling his way along by the wall he penetrated further into the
heart of the castle. He came to another corner, and as he turned he
became conscious of approaching footsteps.
The castle seemed all corners. The next moment a man walked suddenly
into view from the left, carrying a candle in his hand. Wenzel
darted back into the shelter of the passage from which he had just
emerged, a plan of action already forming in his brain.
The other man came nearer. Wenzel crouched for a spring. Then as
the Communist turned into his passage Wenzel moved. With his left
arm he grasped the man round the body in an unavoidable embrace,
while he used his right hand to seize the man's throat, and gently
squeeze the windpipe between thumb and first finger.
The candle dropped and sizzled out; the comrade tried convulsively to
free himself, but he was helpless. Wenzel increased the pressure of
his arms and felt his victim sag limply. Then he released his hold
on the man's throat, but quickly transferred his hand to the mouth,
pressing it fiercely so that no sound could escape.
"Quick, you dog," he said in a low voice, "tell me, where is Imre
Kiss?"
He released his hand from the man's mouth so that the other might
speak. The man breathed hoarsely, his body panting as he pulled the
air into his lungs with deep gulps.
"Down in the cells," he croaked.
"You know the way?"
The Communist hesitated. Wenzel tightened the arm which encircled
the man's waist till the unfortunate prisoner felt the air leaving
his body again with a rush.
"Yes, yes," he muttered hoarsely. "I have just come from there."
"For what reason?"
"Comrade Grocz sent me with this message: 'Tell the old man to say
his prayers; it is nearly time for him to die.'"
In his fury Wenzel unconsciously increased the pressure of his arm,
and the Communist whimpered in agony.
"Mercy, mercy," he gasped, "you are killing me!"
Wenzel grunted, but eased up. The man might yet prove to be of use,
otherwise...
"Pick up that candle, light it, and lead me to Imre Kiss. If you
fail, or if you raise the slightest alarm--the Devil has a special
reception for such as you, my friend, so if you do not want to see
him yet awhile----"
Without a word the Communist pulled some matches from his pocket,
and, striking one, looked for the dropped candle. This he picked up
and relit. Holding it with fingers which shook and trembled in fear
he began to retrace his steps.
Presently they came to stairs which led downward; cold, stone stairs
which, in the past, many a prisoner had trodden but once--going down.
The air was fetid from the moss-covered walls and lack of
ventilation, the atmosphere chilly and gruesome.
The Communist pointed to the dark depths: "Imre Kiss is in the second
cell on the left."
Wenzel did not waste time in words. He roughly caught the man by his
arms, and with a jerk swung him forward, and the unwilling guide
crept down.
There was a murmuring cry from one of the cells.
"Hear my prayers, O Lord! Guard Elizabeth from the foul hands of the
beast; take my life but save hers. In Thy infinite justice destroy
the man who would dare lay hands upon her. In Thy Omnipotency,
protect her this night; show mercy to her who hath ever revered Thy
Name."
Conscious, suddenly, of intruders, Imre ceased his invocation. He
saw the light of the candle, the two Communists--his call had come.
He threw himself on his knees, his arms outstretched toward them.
"Save my daughter! for God's sake rescue her from the arms of that
brute! You shall be well rewarded. But tell the truth to my
friends, and on my sacred oath you will receive a thousand crowns,
ten thousand crowns, the whole of my fortune, my castle! I will give
you a note of hand; it will be honoured I swear."
His voice broke; he could say no more, and, believing his appeal
futile, he collapsed to the floor with a sob.
The door of the cell was locked. Wenzel turned to the guide with a
growl. "The key."
"Comrade Grocz has it."
Wenzel swore. The door was an unexpected obstacle. Unsuspecting the
cells he had not worried about keys. There was no door made to
withstand the force of his shoulders, but the iron-barred gate...
He seized the candle from the hand of the other. If there were one
single flaw, a weakness... But he found no sign of such, only that
the rust of ages had eaten into the metal. Wenzel passed the candle
back to the Communist.
If only his arms had not suffered from the strain of that gruelling
climb, if only his hands were not still raw and hard with dried
blood; but Wenzel knew he would have to make the attempt even if his
back broke. There was still echoing in his memory Imre's prayer....
He stood with his back to the door, which was composed solely of iron
bars. His arms hung down by his side, his hands gripping a cross
bar. Carefully he placed his feet into position. He was ready.
With a slowly increasing force he pushed, with his feet, his hands,
his back, pushed until his limbs were as taut as the iron bars
themselves. Nothing happened, so he increased the pressure, and the
sweat burst from his forehead and trickled down his face.
A little more and he would be finished, his strength exhausted.
Despairingly he thrust again--the rusted iron lock moved, bent
beneath the strain, and then burst; the door swung in, and Wenzel,
lurching forward with it, tumbled to the floor, while the Communist
felt his knees weaken at the joints, wondering whether it were the
Devil himself he watched. For twenty seconds no one moved, then
Wenzel rose to his feet and turned to Imre Kiss: "Come, there is no
time to waste."
Heavily the old man followed Wenzel out, his legs scarcely bearing
him. Not yet did Imre realize that he was being rescued. "I am
ready," he whispered.
In the meantime Wenzel stood before the trembling Communist, his lips
twisted in an ugly grin. "The candle," he ordered, and hypnotized by
the fierce eyes the agitator from Budapest passed the guttering
tallow over.
There was no mercy in Wenzel's soul then. Somehow he must dispose of
the Communist, otherwise there would soon be a warning shout. He
could not lock him up. His arm leaped upward as he clenched his
fist. There was a dull thud as it came into contact with the man's
chin. The Communist's head jerked back, and he slithered to the
ground. There would be no fear of disturbance from him.
Imre felt sick. "Why did you do that?" he murmured.
"It was the only way," Wenzel replied harshly. "Otherwise he might
have raised an alarm."
"An alarm!" Imre's trembling fingers waveringly flew to his mouth,
and slowly his eyes brightened in hope. "You--you are here to rescue
me?"
"You and your daughter, Elizabeth."
Imre tried to speak, his lips quivered; but his brain was overwhelmed
by a rushing flood of relief, and the words refused to come. He
could only stare at Wenzel; yet all his unspoken gratitude was in
that look, in the curving smile, in the fading lines, and in the eyes
which streamed with tears of joy and happiness.
"Come, we must not stop here." Wenzel's voice was gentle; more so
than it had been for many months. "First you must show me the way to
the roof."
"The roof? ... But ... but ... why?"
Wenzel's face hardened. "Question me not, but lead." And Imre Kiss,
who, because of the way in which his rescuer had wrapped his face,
could see nothing but his eyes, led the way without another word.
There was an incident on the way up to the roof. They heard
approaching voices: Imre turned round helplessly to the White Knight.
Wenzel picked the other man up and flung him across his shoulders
like a sack of flour.
Two Communists staggered into them. "Ho, ho!" leered one. "Our
friend carries a man to his room. Why is it a man you choose to take
to your room, comrade?" and he dug Wenzel in the ribs. "What is the
matter with him?"
"He is fuller with wine than a barrel."
"Oh, ho! Have they found some more?"
"It flows like the Danube in the hall. I am just going down to have
my fill."
The two Communists exchanged glances. "It will be a big one," said
one, "we had better get there first."
When Wenzel set Imre upon his feet again, the old man turned to him.
"That was clever," he said simply.
At last they reached the roof, and crossed to where the gallows stood
awaiting its victim. Imre shuddered.
The long length of rope with its running noose, the noose which was
never to tighten, was there, prepared. Wenzel observed the fact
grimly. It was for this that he had come. He stepped forward and
pulled the rope from the supports, and having untied the noose
estimated the length.
"Seventeen feet," he surmised, "a drop of from four or five feet,
allowing for tying." Turning to Imre he asked: "Is there a direct
way from here to the battlements on the right, or must we descend to
the courtyard and cross?"
"No; there is an exterior staircase--a modern innovation. My own, as
a matter of fact."
"Huh! It may save your life." Wenzel laughed shortly. "You
scarcely foresaw this when you had it built?"
"God forbid!"
A few seconds later they were on the battlements at the spot where
Wenzel had climbed scarcely an hour ago. He formed his lips into a
circle, and a hoot of an owl rang through the quiet night, to be
echoed from below.
Wenzel turned to Imre: "Listen carefully to my instructions. I shall
drop you by means of this rope to where my friend stands below. It
is five feet short. When it reaches its capacity I shall tug it
twice. Then you must untie yourself and drop. When you meet my
friend you and he must go at once to the nearest village. Afterwards
Terhune--my lieutenant--will know what to do. You understand? You
must set off at once."
"But--but my daughter?"
There was a rasp in Wenzel's voice when he answered: "You must obey
me."
It did not take a moment to fix the rope round Imre's waist.
Afterward the old man climbed over the parapet, and Wenzel commenced
to lower him. Foot by foot the hemp passed through his hands till it
came to the end. He lifted it slightly and lowered it. Then he
raised it again for the second tug, and a calamity occurred.
The rasping fibre bit into his tender hand, where it suddenly scraped
a nerve. Involuntarily his hand unclasped--and Imre dropped, the
rope with him.
The loss of it was a blow: Wenzel had been relying on it to let down
Elizabeth and himself. But there was no time to waste in vain
regrets. It was more than possible Grocz might send down further
insulting messages to his prisoner, and once the escape was
discovered it would be awkward for both the girl and himself unless
they were away by then.
Awaiting only Arnold's signal that Imre was safe, Wenzel commenced
cautiously to feel his way to the roof and back again to the stairs
which led into the castle. He had learned from Imre the position of
Elizabeth's room and now he made his way toward it.
There was no one about. Still more fortunate proved the fact that
the key was in the door. He unlocked it and entered.
The room was in pitch darkness; the candle which Grocz had left had
already burned down to nothing. Hearing him, Elizabeth gave a
muffled shriek.
"Fear not, mademoiselle."
Three simple words, but to Elizabeth they represented a suggestion of
unexpected comradeship. The deep, resonant tone of his voice echoed
round the room.
"Fear not!" A cultured voice at last, when all she had heard that
day had been the slurring accents of the uncouth, the uneducated.
"Fear not!" Whatever words that voice might have conveyed to her
hearing none could have been more superfluous, for the deep notes
inspired trust, revealed the voice of a gentleman.
Just as her father had done, Elizabeth sobbed slightly at the
unexpected possibility of succour which was so suddenly held out
before her, dazzling in its promise. Once again the strain of the
occult within warned her that the man whose voice had floated to her
through the darkness was a friend, even though he had not told her so.
"Mademoiselle, I have come to rescue you." If she had needed proof
his words supplied it.
"Oh, thank God!" she murmured. "For if--if that man had come to me I
would have died.... But--my father----"
"Is already safe and sound."
Wenzel heard a soft, cooing laugh. "Oh, monsieur, how can I thank
you? Whatever can I say or do to show my gratitude? My father safe!
It sounds--wonderful. You have done this?"
"I have." Impatiently he replied, but if his manner was brusque she
did not notice it.
In a low, vibrant voice, which grew softer as she approached him, she
poured out her gratitude in full measure: "Monsieur, what you have
done this night will for ever live within my memory. On every
anniversary of this date I shall bless your name, remember every word
you speak, picture to myself every line of your face----"
"Stop!" Fiercely, passionately he hurled the word at her, for the
pain of her gentle thoughts seared into his heart with a rending,
tearing gash. "Every line of his face." God! Why had she said
that? How well he knew that once she saw his face each line of it
would indeed be for ever depicted in her memory--but not in the way
she believed. Its forbidding distortion would haunt her, its
satyr-like grimness would represent a horror from which she would
turn away in fear and loathing.
"I want neither your thanks nor your remembrance. Do you not realize
that at any moment your father's escape may be discovered? Get
ready!" he ordered, and his words cut through the intervening space
with the sharpness of a rapier.
Bewildered and confused by his attitude she could only answer in a
low undertone: "I am ready." What type of man was it who had so
suddenly slipped into her life? Intuition, her sense of hearing,
everything suggested that her unseen rescuer was a gentleman, yet his
last words were those of a blustering bully, a coarse and domineering
adventurer.
"Then come." He stretched out his arm, and his hand came into
contact with her wrist. He seized it firmly, and pulled her roughly
to the door.
With the other hand upon the door-handle he stopped dead, as suddenly
from below there was a reverberating shout, a rumbling yell of rage.
Wenzel's lips compressed, and unconsciously he tightened his grip
upon her arm, till she could stand it no longer, and she screamed
slightly with the agony.