"Leave me, I will join you--later," he answered quietly.
There was no time to argue. With a quick run Arnold and Apor
disappeared into the night _en route_ for a previously arranged
destination, and Wenzel laughed softly to himself. Provided that
nothing unforeseen should happen, in five minutes' time Apor would be
safe, and once again the White Knight would have scored another
triumph.
He knew that he should run--he could hear the reinforcements,
shouting in their excitement, just inside the door. Four, three more
paces and they would be in the open, their revolvers cocked ready to
spit at the shadow which he knew would be faintly visible to them.
Yet, before he left, there was one more task to do.
Gonnard was lying at his feet: alive or dead he knew not, nor was
there time to investigate. That would do later. He picked the body
up and flung it across his shoulder. The first guard came through
the door, and Wenzel fired. His aim was true, the man fell heavily.
There were dismayed cries from the others, and the rush ceased
suddenly. It was all that Wenzel required. He turned, and his long
legs carried him across the square and away into the friendly
darkness, while the bullying Red guards cowered back, shooting
indiscriminately from the cover of the protecting doorway.
There was no pursuit, and as Wenzel quickly drew farther away the
crackle of the shooting sounded fainter, until suddenly it stopped,
and the White Knight knew that revenge for the death of Elizabeth's
cousin was now certain.
He was well away, and rapidly drawing near the Suspension Bridge. He
stopped short as he approached it, but there was not a soul to be
seen, and he continued on his way across it. In the centre he halted
again, and slipped the unconscious commissary from his shoulder.
Gonnard was not dead. His heart was thumping irregularly, but
strongly, and even as Wenzel laid him down the wounded man stirred,
moaned with pain, and spoke.
"My ankle! What has happened? My ankle, it hurts. Where am I?" He
spoke as though his mind were in a haze.
Wenzel bent over to him and whispered in his ear: "In the hands of
the White Knight, Comrade Gonnard, and to-day----"
He heard the Communist gasp. There was a moment's silence, tense and
dramatic, then Gonnard shrieked with horror. Wenzel clapped his hand
roughly over the mouth of the other, and the noise died away to a
faint gurgle.
With the other hand Wenzel fumbled in his coat. Always prepared for
emergencies, there was a length of rope in his pocket. Sternly and
unemotionally he adjusted a noose, and slipped it round the neck of
the commissary. The other end he tied to the steelwork of the bridge.
Easily, as though he were lifting a baby, he raised the Communist up.
Once again he whispered in his ear: "The White Knight pays the debts
of two Hungarian officers, comrade."
Then he dropped the helpless commissary toward the water: Gonnard
fell the length of the rope, moaning. The noose tautened--the corpse
swayed to and fro like a pendulum--and with a set face, on which
there was not the slightest expression of pity or horror, the White
Knight passed on his way. In the country of lawlessness there was
but one law: "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!" His merely
the hand of judgment--alas, the only hand!
* * * * * *
"Suicide!" was the general verdict of the large crowd which gathered
round to watch the unusual spectacle of a man hanging in mid-air,
suspended from the bridge.
The news spread rapidly. Some one recognized the corpse as that of a
commissary. The rumour came to the ears of the Council, the meeting
was hurriedly adjourned, and many of its members hastened to the
bridge.
Some one pulled the body up. The pockets were searched ... and the
Communists glanced affrightedly at one another. There was no need to
explain the tiny piece of carved wood which the searchers discovered.
The white knight spoke for itself.
_CHAPTER XV_
When Elizabeth eventually awoke from her last unsettled sleep she
became conscious that her body was cramped, aching in every bone, and
she hazily wondered why. Next she frowned, for her eyes failed to
recognize her surroundings. Then she tried to flick from her face an
unruly, annoying hair, and not until she found it impossible to move
her arms did her mind become clear.
All at once she remembered the events of the day before--her
abduction, her agonized wait through the long hours for the return of
her jailer--and finally she recollected relaxing. After that she
assumed she must have fallen asleep.
She still sat upright on the chair, the one and only article of
furniture in the attic other than an equally rickety table--and an
empty soap-box. Her mouth caused her more terrible pain than she had
ever imagined existed, and she wondered how the hurt of it could have
allowed her to sleep. Her arms felt numb and paralysed.
Despite everything she felt a wave of exhilaration: she was still
unharmed, uncontaminated. It was almost a good omen.
This feeling did not last long, for gradually it evaporated, a blank
despair taking its place. There was no means of knowing the time,
but a faint suspicion of chill in the air made her suspect it to be
still early morning. Even so, it meant that she had been missing
from the _château_ for twelve or thirteen hours, sufficient time to
have confirmed the worst misgivings of her father and of her
fellow-refugees.
Thoughts of her father hurt. His gentle soul would suffer from the
uncertainty of her fate. What would he imagine had happened to her?
Would he suspect the truth? She endeavoured to persuade herself that
such a thought would be farthest from his mind, but unfortunately she
realized only too well that one of the most possible solutions of her
disappearance would be what had actually occurred.
What would the White Knight say? As not infrequently happened, her
thoughts turned toward her two brief recollections of her rescuer.
Extraordinarily enough, each time she had met him they had remained
in pitch darkness, so her only memory of him was his voice.
The thought of him thrilled her. In thinking of him who was known as
the White Knight she became aware of an extraordinary glow of warmth
within her, as though, at the mention of his name, there was kindled
an inward fire. Her blood pounded through her body all the more
hotly because of it, and, almost against her will, her brain visioned
dreams--light fairy fancies which airily danced to the blithe tune of
her innermost desires.
As yet she was unaware of the reason. In her life of partial
seclusion, her father and his work had occupied the greater part of
her thoughts, so that his alone would not be the triumph when his
book finally saw the light of day. Her work and her encouragement
had been invaluable to him.
With her day occupied, and her maternal instincts satisfied in the
loving care of her father, men had somehow failed to find a place
within the limit of her mental horizon. Love, marriage, and
motherhood had been names only; to be venerated in due course
admittedly, but as yet relegated to some future time.
She naïvely believed her interest in the White Knight to be
unexpressed thanks for his deliverance of her father and herself from
the clutches of the Communists, and therefore it did not seem unusual
that the memory of the deep vibrant clarity of his voice should ring
so repeatedly in her ears. Strangely enough, the quality of their
voices was to each of them a revelation of the other, for it had been
the fearlessness, the steadiness, the sweet cadence of Elizabeth's
tone which had first attracted the White Knight's attention, though
afterward her voice ceased to be remarkable because it inevitably
became an integral part of her charm and beauty.
She was convinced that, to judge by the little she knew of him, he
was all that an English gentleman should be, and so she was wont to
visualize him as being tall, and owning more than his fair share of
strength, for had he not fought the swift Danube current, landing
them both in safety--a feat she had previously believed impossible?
He had been excellently educated; his cultured voice assured her of
that; his accent, the result of four years' practice that he might
converse worthily with Zita, was irreproachable, his foreign
mannerisms discernible only to the acutest eye.
Of his age she was more uncertain. Physically she would have
surmised that he was at the zenith of manhood; in strategy and
generalship he seemed apparently older by a score of years. That
this last assumption might be correct she hated to admit, not
realizing that four tense years at the Front more than made up for a
thrice longer period lived under mor peaceful conditions.
As to his characteristics, she considered it scarcely incumbent upon
her to criticize one who risked his life daily to aid the helpless
nobility of a country against which he had but lately been fighting,
and in any event she could not conceive that in such a man there
could be anything other than good.
It was only about his looks that she was doubtful. In her
imagination she saw him with strong but sympathetic blue eyes,
possibly shadowed by slightly heavy eyebrows. His hair, she felt,
would be of a nut-brown colour, alive with crisp, irregular curls,
while his face surely would be long, consistent with his height. His
nose undoubtedly was finely chiselled, his chin round, firmly
betraying the masterfulness of its owner.
The White Knight! How applicable was the name! He was indeed a
knight-errant, truly a 'White' knight as opposed to the 'Reds.' Like
a legendary figure of the past, he might have arisen from the ashes
of forgotten heroes, have been a reincarnation of one of the saintly
king-warriors with whom the pages of Hungary's history abound.
Such was her dream-picture of him, such was the cloak of perfection
in which she had wrapped his personality!
* * * * * *
There was a sudden clamour in the street below, and Elizabeth
realized that for a brief time she had forgotten her plight in
contemplation of the White Knight.
She heard a voice shrieking, "Long live the Commune!" and shuddered.
How long would the hated Commune exist? Had not the Communists
already dragged their country into the lowest depths of degradation,
without wishing to exist solely for the purpose of completing the
ruin? During her stay in the _château_ she had learned the real
meaning of Communism, what it had done to her country, and to Russia
also.
She tried to struggle to her feet, but found that her legs were
lifeless. The rigid attitude of her sleep had prevented the blood
from circulating; when she tried to stretch she found she could not
move her limbs.
Her under lip trembled slightly. Sleep banished, dreams dissolved,
once again the full realization of her plight returned to her. Why
had the Communist not returned? How could she escape before he did?
Her eyes gleamed more brightly and her mouth tightened to control the
quivering muscles. Her courage returned in full, overpowering even
the knowledge of her helplessness. Had she not struggled for hours
the night before till her wrists bled, fruitlessly endeavouring to
free her hands? Had she not worked her mouth till it was swollen and
sore to dispose of the gag, without the slightest suggestion of
success to encourage her?
For all that she would try once again. Whatever she might suffer
now, it would be as nothing compared to what she would have to endure
should the commissary return. Before anything, however, she realized
it was necessary to force her legs into activity again.
She began by concentrating all her will-power to fidget her toes
about. For some time there was no response, so she tried tightening
the muscles of the limbs with spasmodic jerks. The effort of doing
this caused her exquisite torture. Acute, tormenting pains shot up
and down the arteries, so that she had to bite her lips to prevent a
moan escaping.
Again and again she worked her muscles so, till at last feeling
returned to her toes. After that her work became easier, if more
painful, until finally she felt she could stand, and with a great
effort braced herself up to her feet.
She had overestimated the strength of her legs. They were unable to
bear the weight of her body, and she fell to the ground with a heavy
crash which jarred every nerve in her body, twisting her arms until
she wondered if either of them was broken.
For ten minutes she remained as she had fallen, a hundred different
pains racking her body, while her brain havered on the borderline of
consciousness. Only an indomitable will to refrain kept her from
fainting.
At the end of that time she recommenced her exertions, but now she
was in an even more awkward position than before. There seemed only
one way of gaining her feet. Rolling to the wall she placed her back
to it, and pushing with her slowly reviving legs gradually forced
herself upward until she stood.
She crossed to the window and looked down upon the street below, but
it was quieter. Evidently the crowd who had just been noisily
acclaiming the merits of the Commune had departed for another
quarter; there were not more than half a dozen people in all to be
seen, of which number three were women and two children.
The sight served to cheer her more than anything else. She felt that
if she could but escape from the room she might yet gain a safer part
of the city without molestation. Yet--how to free her hands?
Despairingly she gazed round the room. There seemed nothing in any
shape or form which could possibly assist her. Obviously there was
but one thing to do--to continue twisting her wrists as much as
possible in the hope of finally loosening the handkerchief.
Perhaps half an hour passed, but it became more apparent that she was
no freer than she had been at first. She angrily chided herself on
her woman's weakness, confident that a man could have wrenched his
hands apart from sheer strength.
She could feel her wrists bleeding again, the skin bruised by the
rasping of the material. She did not know how much blood was
escaping, but there was enough to make her hands sticky, and she
became afraid that if the cloth should become saturated it might
shrink.
Feverishly she continued struggling, and for some time without any
signs of success, but suddenly her thumb slipped through into a fold.
She forced it higher and still higher till it hurt, but all at once
it was free. The rest was easy. While her index finger struggled to
follow suit, she forced the material farther down the hand, till a
few seconds later her arms were free, and her mouth too.
Then she cried--not from pain or fear, but from pure relief. Only a
few seconds before she had believed her task impossible, and then,
unexpectedly, she had succeeded. There remained now only the door.
Drying her tears she approached it and caught hold of the handle with
both hands. Placing her feet against the wall, she pulled, but the
door held steadily, and presently she had to stop to regain her
breath, but for only two minutes or so, when once again she took up
her position.
Her hands turned on the handle; she pulled, and the door swung open.
Gonnard had thought it locked, but the key had merely turned in the
lock; the tumblers had not moved. Elizabeth laughed, a trifle
hysterically. She had pulled so hard, when all she need have done
was to have walked out....
What did it matter? The way to freedom was before her, and, stopping
only to dust herself as far as possible, and wipe away as much of the
blood from her wrists as she could, she crept cautiously down the
steps and into the street.
* * * * * *
It would have been difficult to decide which of the three men walking
toward the Château Juhusz was the happiest. Apor would have sworn it
to be himself. During his brief imprisonment he had not been without
hope that the White Knight would rescue him, even if he was more than
fully aware of the difficulties which his leader would be bound to
encounter.
This supreme confidence upheld him, right until the time when he had
fallen asleep in his cell. At the Communists' threats, at the brutal
jesting of his jailers, he had merely laughed lightly. Somehow or
other the White Knight would rescue him!
Because of his high spirits the reaction was all the greater when, a
few hours later, he awoke to find a leering face bending over him.
"Come along, my friend, get up." The words had rung ominously to
Apor's ear.
"And why?" he had asked. The Red guard had grinned.
"Because why?" he had repeated. "Because Bela Kun has just
telephoned through and ordered you to be taken at once to the
Suspension Bridge to be dropped over."
"My God! But that would be murder. Surely I am at least entitled to
a trial?"
The guard shrugged his shoulders. "It is none of my business,
comrade. Besides, what do you want a trial for? The result would be
the same."
Apor could not deny it. As assistant commissary he had seen more
than enough of the methods of the Communists to know how true was the
remark.
The blow had been a heavy one. Convinced that for some mysterious
reason the Communists had suddenly changed their plans with regard to
him, he had been forced to realize how impossible it would be for the
White Knight to rescue him, and so, with a sinking heart, he had
resigned himself to fate, prepared to meet his death as a man should.
By the time the handcuffs were snapped upon his wrists he had given
up all hope of rescue, and though he walked with a steady step there
had been a bitter smile upon his lips. He had not understood the
reason for the urgent need of his death--the Communists knew, of
course, of his connexion with the Whites, but as far as he was then
aware, they were not cognizant of the fact that he was also a member
of the White Knight's band.
So, in his own mind, Death had stood at his shoulder, and yet,
unbelievably, miraculously, he had been rescued. Instead of being
dead he was alive, and his heart filled with a bubbling happiness.
No longer need he pretend; now he could openly declare himself a
White, and fight for the relief of his country from the clutches of
the Bolsheviks.
Arnold, on his part, was filled with a sense of satisfaction, and,
better still, a pleasurable anticipation. Satisfied, because Apor
was safe, and pleased--more than pleased--because in a few minutes'
time he would see Cecile again, would look into her eyes, where he
hoped to see the flame of welcome, of gladness, because he was still
safe and unhurt.
Their love still remained unspoken, yet to themselves neither
disguised its existence, just as each recognized that it should
remain unrevealed until other times--better times--when the Red
octopus should be slaughtered.
And Wenzel ... in one stroke he had fulfilled his oath to Elizabeth
and, by an ingenious plan, had rescued Apor. The one puzzling aspect
in the drama--namely, how it was that Gonnard was in Budapest--did
not worry him for long. What mattered how he came there? He had met
his fate, and Elizabeth was avenged.
Elizabeth! It was because he was near Elizabeth that the White
Knight was conscious of an infectious gaiety in the air. Within a
few minutes they would reach the clearing. Then, while Apor and
Arnold went in, he would climb one of the bordering trees, and with
greedy eyes would watch every fleeting expression which would cross
her face, every graceful movement of her body, while she walked the
weedy gardens of the _château_ with Cecile, with Arnold, or with her
father.
He was content just to watch her so, to worship her from afar.
Beyond that he knew he might never dare venture. If once she saw
him--his searing scars... He visioned her face if that should ever
happen, and saw how it would twist into horror; how she would shrink
away in disgust.
He forced these thoughts from his brain and indulged in more roseate
dreams. Arnold, he knew, understood, and would diplomatically
arrange that for a short time she should wander where he could best
see her. Dear old Arnold! What did it matter to him what happened
to Hungary? What had been his reason for helping Hungary? Only an
innate pity for the helpless, a gallant, old-fashioned quixotism, a
love of adventure, and, above all, friendship for the man who was now
his leader. That was all! Wenzel smiled to himself. All,
originally, but now Arnold had another interest in Hungary. He had
been rewarded. Well, he deserved it. He had risked his life for
Hungary, and sooner or later, if all went well, he would pluck one of
her choicest blooms for himself.
No brighter was the sun which bathed the country in its benevolent
smile than the thoughts of the three men and the faces of two.
Whatever his inward thoughts, Wenzel's expression never changed. He
knew from past experience that, hideous as was his face in repose, it
became positively satanical when he smiled, for then his face
puckered up, his wounds twisted into grotesque shapes, and to look
upon him thus was as if looking upon the visage of a satyr, a mocking
mask of demon-like cunning.
They reached the edge of the clearing. With a slight motion of his
head Wenzel sent his two friends forward, then climbed the branches
of an adjacent tree, from where he could see and yet remain unseen.
To his impatient glance it seemed as if Apor and Arnold lagged in
their walk to the _château_, but at last they disappeared within.
Not long to wait now! A few minutes more and he would see Elizabeth!
Already he knew every sweet expression by heart.
It seemed hours before anything happened, though actually it was but
four to five minutes--just long enough for an hysterical father to
pour the story of Elizabeth's disappearance into Arnold's horrified
ears, and for the tired and despondent searchers to confirm and
corroborate.
Unsuspectingly Wenzel waited. He wondered why Arnold had not yet
succeeded in enticing Elizabeth into the garden. Then from his leafy
retreat he saw Arnold hurrying toward him.
Wenzel's eyes narrowed and his nerves seemed to tighten warningly.
There was something in Arnold's attitude, in his unusual walk and
expression, which prepared Wenzel for bad news. He quickly swung
himself down from the tree, and dropped even as Arnold approached.
"What is it, Arnold? There is something wrong?"
Arnold's glance wavered and dropped. "There is, Geoffrey," he said
huskily. "I--I--Elizabeth Kiss has--disappeared."
Wenzel battled with his emotions. He felt a tigerish fury arising,
but knew that firstly he must hear all and not let his temper cloud
his reason.
"Tell me!" he said curtly.
"She told Cecile that she was going out to pick wild flowers as
usual--that was some time between four and five o'clock. Cecile
suggested going as well, but Elizabeth laughingly commanded her to
finish the picture she was painting, and went alone.
"By six o'clock she had not returned. Imre Kiss began to fidget, and
when at seven she was still missing he insisted on a search-party.
"They divided into groups. One group headed towards the Budapest
road, and just near found a big bunch of flowers lying carelessly on
the ground, as if they had been suddenly dropped. That was all! All
night long they have searched, and there is still no sign of her."
"The Devil! What does it mean?" Suddenly Wenzel jerked his head
forward. "Wheel tracks, footprints, were there marks of any kind on
the road?"
Arnold laughed bitterly: "No one thought of looking. I asked the
same question."
Wenzel felt his blood seething: "Oh, heavens! What idiots, what
stupendous fools! Hell! For what are brains made if people do not
use them? Fools! Fools!" He clenched his hands in the agony of his
thoughts. "And you, Arnold, what do you think?"
"Heaven only knows what to think! So many things might have
happened. A band of roving Communists may have seen
her--a--a--Hades! Geoffrey, I hate to say it, but I must--a
licentious lunatic--Heaven alone knows!"
Wenzel bowed his head and groaned slightly. "Oh, I hope not. I have
not said anything to you, Arnold, but ... I can never hope for
anything else, yet just to watch her from a distance..." Suddenly
his mood changed again. His passionate temper--born the day he first
saw the foul ravishes of the Communists, and aggravated by the
mis-aimed bullet which had seared perilously near his brain--burst
its always unstable barriers, and Arnold saw deep into his leader's
soul, and for the first time saw how near twisting it had been but
for Elizabeth. He realized also, if anything should happen to her,
how it still might warp.
With fierce, angry words Wenzel blasphemed his Maker, reviled the
world, and even cursed his parents who had brought him into it. For
a brief space he was insane. There was no one, not even Arnold
himself, who did not come beneath the flail of his wrath, and Arnold
flinched before the torrent of words which Wenzel released.
Presently he became calmer, and in the end he apologized in halting,
broken sentences.
"I am sorry, Arnold, but--four years I dreamed and planned--for four
years I dodged bullets, praying to God that I might live--I loved
Zita so, she was my beacon, the one star in the black, overcast
sky--full of hope I journeyed to Budapest, only to find her
dead--dead, Arnold, before my eyes, killed simply and solely by
horror....
"Can you wonder that my brain may have given way? Since then I have
seen worse sights: Szamuelly hanging innocent men just for the love
of killing--gouging out their eyes for the pleasure of
torture--burying his victims alive for the sake of brutality.
"Then God was kind to me--I met Elizabeth. I can never even let her
see me, yet--once again I have found a star to guide me, and if
anything happens to her too, if the Communists have---- Arnold, I
must not give way." He stopped, his lips moved, while his teeth bit
into them.
"There, I am calm now.... Arnold, listen!" His voice was crisper,
once again he was the White Knight, the leader. "That road, near
which Elizabeth presumably disappeared, is the road to Budapest. It
is quite possible that Elizabeth has been carried away to that city.
It is but the barest possibility, I admit, yet there must be no stone
left unturned, no avenue which must be left unexplored, to find
her--safe or--or otherwise.
"While I go to Budapest you must go the other way. Francis can tour
the countryside between Budapest and here; Apor from here onward.
"If you should find her, meet me to-night, fifty yards from the
Tunnel, Pest Bank, on the left-hand side of the road, at nine-thirty
sharp. If I am not there within forty minutes meet me the following
evening. Now go. I shall try to get that early train back to Buda."
With two seconds to spare Wenzel caught the overcrowded train to the
capital. It meant lying on the roof, but as there were many doing
the same he was in no way conspicuous. Not very long afterward he
was once again in the lions' den.
Outside the station there was a crowd, gathered in several groups.
Wenzel could see that a spirit of excitement prevailed; there were
many individual speakers, gesticulating less confidently, for they
were being heckled from every direction. He would have passed
quickly on his way, anxious to get into the heart of the city, from
where he intended to commence his search for Elizabeth, but suddenly
his attention was arrested by the mention of the White Knight.
Even the most secret sessions of the Soviet Council were apt to be
noised abroad, and more than once, by joining Communistic gatherings,
he had garnered information which had subsequently proved invaluable
to him.
"Yes, comrades, despite all the boasting of the Supreme Council that
they would soon have detectives on the track of this White Knight,
this protector of the _bourgeoisie_, this Enemy of the Commune, as he
calls himself, he has been at work again, has flaunted the feeble
efforts of the detectives, and scarcely less than twelve hours ago
had the audacity to rescue again a prisoner from under the very noses
of the Red guards.
"Bah! The fools! Do you know the story, friends--would you like to
hear the details? Eh! I thought as much. Yesterday morning an
assistant commissary, named Apor, was arrested by members of the
counter-espionage. Apor was a White spy. He was thrown into prison,
into one of the Parliament House cells. You might have thought that
he would have been safe enough there. So would I. But listen.
"Late last night our worthy Dictator learned that Apor was more than
a White spy. He discovered that the assistant commissary was one of
the White Knight's band. That was news, was it not, friends? What
did he do? What you or I would have done, and wisely.
"He knew the White Knight would try and rescue his follower, so there
and then he telephoned through to Parliament House and ordered the
guards to throw this Apor into the Danube. Yes, all of you, that was
Bela Kun's order, and no one can say it was wrong.
"In less than five minutes the Red guards left Parliament House with
their prisoner. They had scarcely got outside the door of the
building when two of them were stunned, the third one shot dead, and
Apor, the traitor, the spy, was rescued!"
His next words were lost in the fierce growl which arose from the
crowd. Question after question was asked of the speaker, but he
stood mute, holding up his hand for silence, and presently,
recognizing that he still had more to say, the audience quietened
down.
"That was not all!" With fierce emphasis the man flung the words at
the surrounding crowd, and as they sunk into the brains of the people
there was a tense, dramatic silence.
"Yes, he did more than that! This White Knight, disdainful of the
Commune and the weak efforts to catch him, hanged a commissary from
the middle of the Suspension Bridge."
Evidently the man had a sense of the dramatic. He swayed his
listeners as he willed, and Wenzel saw a grin puckering the corners
of his lips as the crowd obeyed his unspoken commands.
The people raged and stormed. "Death to the White Knight! Search
him out! Hang him!" That and more they yelled and shouted, all the
while Wenzel wondered the reason for the enigmatic smile. Evidently
the speaker had an axe to grind.
Wenzel was soon to know. "Now, comrades, if Szamuelly were allowed a
free hand..." So that was it! A tout for Szamuelly. Szamuelly the
murderer was not yet satisfied. More and more blood must flow to
appease his appetite.
A tiny pin-prick of murderous hatred danced in the White Knight's
eyes. Not yet had he forgotten Bira, and now Gonnard was out of the
way. But first Elizabeth.
Now that he was in Budapest, where in the name of creation could he
look for her? She might be in any one of a thousand buildings, even
assuming that she were indeed within the limits of the city. She
might be to the north, south, east, or west.
At any rate, for what little good it might be, he had a fixed plan in
his head. In the morning, which even now was nearly over, he would
call in at every coffee-house frequented by the Council and higher
members of the Commune. There he might pick up scraps of
conversation or a slight clue, anything which might suggest any
connexion with the disappearance of Elizabeth.
In the coffee-houses, he knew, the talk was apt to veer round to
women. If they all failed he would try the beer-taverns and the
wine-bars, where the men conversed together even more openly still of
their women-folk, and at one of them what would be more natural, or
unnatural, according to which way one thinks, than that the kidnapper
should boast of his capture?
The spouter outside the station continued to rant of Szamuelly. It
was evident to Wenzel that he would do no good staying where he was,
and so he carelessly moved off, and was presently away from the
crowds, once again his mind reverting to Elizabeth.
With his thoughts centred upon her he began his weary search.
_CHAPTER XVI_
There are coincidences in real life which far outrival their nearest
cousins in fiction. Life is a paradox, controlled by mysterious
forces of Nature which even the most learned of students does not
dare to criticize.
Coincidence it may have been, yet there is a more subtle explanation.
On that morning two minds were fixed upon each other. Wenzel, as he
moved from coffee-house to coffee-house, was aware of one thing, was
obsessed by one thought, only--Elizabeth--he must find Elizabeth; and
so his brain disseminated his innermost resolves and desires, and
upon the wings of Nature's electric waves, for ever radiating through
the ether, were shed Wenzel's mental longings.
On her part Elizabeth crept through the streets of Budapest with a
furtive air. She wandered hither and thither, up one street and down
the next, only knowing that she sought a station, or a neighbourhood
she knew, but afraid to ask, to question passers-by, lest she should
draw attention to herself.
Despair was in her attitude. Even if she reached a station she had
no money with which to journey back to the _château_ again. In the
sullen, uncouth faces which paraded the streets of the Communist
stronghold, where was one which she could recognize, where was one,
perhaps kindly and sympathetic, to which she might turn for succour?
There seemed not one. In the days of the Red Terror Budapest was
safe only for the Terrorists, the Red guards, and their rabid
supporters. The rest had fled or else kept within the scanty
security of their single rooms.
The very environment of the town filled her with a nervous dread,
brave and fearless though she was ordinarily. In her plight there
was but one upon whom her thoughts turned. The White Knight! If
only he knew!
So, as she wandered aimlessly, she wondered what he would think of
her. What would he do when he discovered her disappearance? What
could he do? She smiled bitterly to herself. There was nothing. In
all Hungary how could he possibly surmise that she was in Budapest?
She encouraged herself to think of him as she continued her search
for--what? She herself scarcely knew.
Like magnet and steel they gradually drew together. Neither of them
aware of the fact, their thoughts were, attracting one another,
picking up the broadcast messages, until suddenly, as each turned a
corner, they met with a force which sent her reeling to the wall, and
his hat to the ground.
Wenzel stared at her with a blank amazement. Like a miracle she was
all at once before him, not a vision of her, but the real her,
panting for breath. His eyes lit with a glare, a flash of triumph,
of love; his lips moved to shout out her name in a glad welcome; but
just in time he remembered.
He dared not do so. She must never know him for what he was, never
realize that she had met the White Knight face to face; for his
romance would be broken, never to be mended. He felt the horror with
which she would always in future regard him, for, with a bitterness
which cut into his heart, he saw it already rising in her eyes.
He did not misread her expression. A cold wave of terror swept over
her as she recognized the face of the man who had looked up at her
window the night before. Too vividly she remembered the scars, the
evilness of his looks. She shrank away from him, sick and faint lest
he should take notice of her. Even Gonnard before this man--and at
that moment she prayed to God that He might send the White Knight to
save her.
He saw on the other side of the road a man, whom he knew to be a
journalist, eyeing them queerly. With a vile oath he crammed his cap
back on his head again, and spat on the ground. With a leering
glance he moved on.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the newspaper man turn away, so
he looked back. Elizabeth was hurrying off as quickly as her legs
could carry her. Wenzel swung round on his heels. He must not lose
her again.
While he discreetly followed her through the streets, Wenzel puzzled
over the strange problem of her sudden appearance. The last thing he
expected was to find her at liberty. At the same time his heart was
troubled with doubts--not of her, but of what horrors might have
happened to her in the meantime.
As the time passed, and the chase continued, along road after road,
he was forced to the conclusion that she was wandering aimlessly.
She was certainly making for no specific object, for first she headed
to the north or the east, then to the south or the west.
It was not until he saw her stop by a communal restaurant, and look
inside with a longing expression, that he remembered that in all
probability she was without money. He saw her hesitate, move on, and
then retrace her footsteps. Once again she faltered before the open
door. Then with a determined movement she went within, and he
groaned.
Not knowing that Elizabeth, starved and miserable, and unable to
stand any longer the pangs of hunger which gripped her, had decided
to throw herself on the tender mercies of the proprietor, he was
convinced that his supposition with regard to her financial stability
was wrong, though he knew that she was doomed to disappointment.
Only those with the red food tickets of the manual labourers or the
blue ones of the intellectual workers were allowed to dine at the
communal restaurants, or even buy food at the shops.
Two minutes elapsed. He frowned, imagining that, after all, she must
have obtained the necessary tickets, and that she was feeding.
Disturbed, he left his retreat--the shelter of an empty shop
window--and took two steps toward the restaurant.
At that moment Elizabeth emerged, dazed and bewildered by the truth.
In perhaps kinder tones than he had used for a long time the
proprietor had explained that matters were no longer as they used to
be--it was not of his own choice: in the old days he had served
ladies and gentlemen, and liked them well. No, he dared not serve
her. He had a wife and child; if he were thrown into prison for
surreptitiously feeding a _bourgeois_--he asked her pardon for using
the word--what would become of them?
As she came out Elizabeth felt the tears springing to her eyes.
Here, in Budapest, in a big middle-Europe city, the capital of a
large country--even then being carved up by the peacemakers in
Paris--her plight was no better than that of a castaway on a desert
island. Surrounded by food of a kind, yet unable to eat any of it!
Passing thousands of people, yet not daring to speak to one of them!
Scarcely forty miles from the _château_, yet without the slightest
possibility of getting back there!
A bubble of hysterical laughter forced itself to her throat: then,
surprised at her own humour, she looked up, and her mirth died away.
As quickly as Wenzel had retreated to his shelter again, her sharp
eyes had seen and recognized him.
Instinct gave her an inkling of the truth: he was following her. The
human vulture had scented his prey, and was merely waiting the
opportunity to pounce upon her.
The knowledge threw her into a state of panic. Obsessed by the
terror with which the man of the scars inspired her, she hurried from
the spot, oblivious of everything except the fact that somehow or
other she must get away from him.
Just before she had been ready to drop with fatigue; now the
startling discovery supplied her with fresh vigour. Forgetting that
her feet were sore, that blisters were developing, that her legs were
leaden, and her wrists smarting, she blindly threaded the streets in
an effort to shake off her pursuer.
So quickly did she travel, indeed, that she very nearly succeeded.
Not realizing that she had seen him, Wenzel still kept at a
reasonable distance, and thus came to a choice of roads, with no
inkling as to which one she had taken, for both streets curved
inwardly, thus effectively hiding the continuity of each one.
He felt the first warning of temper, a curious constriction in his
throat, but resolutely he conquered himself. He realized that he
must take a chance. She had come from the road on the left.
Hurrying as she was, he felt it would have been natural for her to
have taken the nearer one to her, and so he too took the same one,
increasing his pace considerably in an effort to catch her up.
He was wrong. Elizabeth had not even realized that there were two
roads. She had seen one ahead of her, and had crossed to it, but,
had she known, it would have been all the same. The street was a
crescent, curving back to meet itself, and so for the second time
that day they met face to face.
She faltered and stopped; a moan escaped her lips. All her efforts
for nothing, and with the realization of her failure returned a
consciousness of her weariness, and knowledge that she could continue
no longer.
She leaned against one of the trees which lined the street, her
breast heaving with despair and lack of breath. One hand clutched
her throat, the other she rested over her heart as if to stay its
wild beating, and thus she waited, physically unable to continue her
flight.
Wenzel read her mind, realized that she had reached the limit of her
tether, and was glad, for in the meantime he had formed a plan in his
head, a scheme by which he could secure her safety, and yet not have
her suspect that he was the White Knight.
With a rapid glance in each direction he observed that there were but
three people to be seen, all women. He lurched up to Elizabeth.
"Well, my little chicken, a fine chase you have led me." His voice
was rasping and uncultured, and never for a moment did Elizabeth
connect it with another voice of which, even now, the memory echoed
in her ears.
She looked at him scornfully. At her steady glance Wenzel felt a
glow of admiration, and at that moment loved her more than ever. Her
quivering under lip betrayed the fact that her heart was sick with
fear, but otherwise her attitude was one of defiance, of cool
disregard for his blustering arrogance.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Too proud to speak to me, are you, my
fine lady? Well, that does not worry me. When you hear what I have
to say you will soon change your tone." He lowered his voice:
"Listen, I have news for you from the White Knight."
"The White Knight!" There was a marvellous transformation, a bright
light dawned in her eyes, and her face was suffused with a newly
found relief and joy. "You bring me news of the White Knight? God
be praised! How knew he that I was in Budapest?"
"Because he saw you early this morning, and sent me after you. Why
did you hurry away from me?"
His question seemed to awaken suspicions in her mind, for she drew
herself up slightly. "I will tell that to your master, the White
Knight," she said coldly, and then asked: "What is the message you
bring me?"
"Huh! Is that all you have to say? After all my trouble following
you round the city and awaiting a convenient opportunity to speak to
you! Bah! I have a good mind not to tell you."
Instantly she was apologetic. "You will forgive me?" she said
prettily, and Wenzel had to turn his eyes away so that she should not
see into them and recognize the thoughts behind. "I--I have been
frightened."
"Yes," he answered surlily, "I suppose so. He said that you were to
come with me and I should take you to him."
"Oh!" She clasped her hands together. "Then I shall be able
actually to see him? God be praised! I thought I was lost, and yet
for the second time he has come to my rescue. Where is he?"
"That's none of your business. You wait and ask him yourself. In
the meantime, come with me."
"I am ready," she said simply.
Wenzel himself did not know the neighbourhood in which they were, but
with the bump of locality strongly developed he proceeded in what he
believed to be the direction where a week ago he had found new
headquarters. In the heart of the roughest district of Pest it was
there he believed he would be least suspected and least conspicuous.
Already he had seen in the same street many faces which, if not as
brutal and terrifying as his, were at least more decadent and
bestial, more sensuous and cunning.
He recognized it as a risk to take Elizabeth there, for she was too
beautiful not to be noticed, but, once in his room, he knew there was
less prospect of interference, and less likelihood of being detected
by a chance detective or spy, all of whom were too busy raking in the
_bourgeoisie_ and magnates from the better parts of the town to worry
about the criminal quarters, especially when, in the present lawless
times, their interference meant, more than ever, death.
The journey was long, and as the time passed vague suspicions
occurred to her that everything was not as her momentary optimism had
suggested, and in that spirit she began to see the situation in a
different light.
The man by her side had not once mentioned her name. Certainly he
had said he was from the White Knight, but what proof had she that he
really was? She had heard from Arnold and Francis that the White
Knight was known and hated throughout the Communist community of
Budapest, but on the other hand more than revered in the circles of
the persecuted.
It was therefore, she argued with herself, not impossible that her
present escort, calculating from her attitude that she was being
pursued, and perhaps not realizing that he himself was the guilty
one, had craftily used the name, hoping that it would act as a
password to her confidence.
More and more she became uneasy, and when she glanced up at the
scowling face of her guide all her terror of him returned. Suddenly
she stopped, and when he looked round questioned him.
"Why did not the White Knight himself come after me?"
There was grim humour in her words which unfortunately he alone was
able to appreciate.
"Huh! So you are suspicious of me, are you, my fine lady? For why
do I work for this spawn of Satan, this _bourgeois_, the White
Knight? Only because he pays me good money--money which I spend to
have a merry life. There is nothing else to live for in these days
but money. He pays me well, pretty one, but so would Comrade Bela
Kun. I could give him a lot of information. He would not be
suspicious of me, nor insult me with sneering glances and haughty
airs.
"Why did not the White Knight himself run after you? Perhaps he knew
it would be a long chase--though his legs are longer than mine." He
laughed at his own joke, then leered into her face so that she shrank
back. "What do you take him for? An idiot, a fool with the brains
of a babe? If the White Knight ventured into the street he would be
torn to bits. Now follow me again if you want to see him."
Without another word, without a look to see whether she was keeping
up with him, he strode on, and almost at once Elizabeth caught him
up. There was so much truth in his words. Not only that, but with a
queer feeling of constriction at her heart she realized that a false
move on her part might throw the mysterious Englishman into the hands
of his enemies. Supposing through her the White Knight were
betrayed...?
The neighbourhood became more shabby, somehow reminiscent, and with a
shock Elizabeth recognized the street. They were passing by the
building in which she had been imprisoned the previous evening.
Despite herself, doubts again began to arise in her mind. That she
should be brought to the same street was too much a coincidence.
With a wrenching pain at her heart it seemed to her that, too late,
she saw through the whole plot. The commissary, having discovered
her flight, had sent a friend out to search for her, and, like an
innocent child, she had believed that the man--of whom instinctively
she had been afraid--was an emissary of the White Knight.
Suddenly she reasoned to herself that the White Knight would never
put his faith in such an evil person as the man with the scars, and
with that thought she became conscious that it was now too late for
her to escape.
The knowledge proved too much. Wenzel heard her gasp, and suddenly
realized that she was fainting; so with a rapid movement he put his
arm tightly round her waist, and holding her upright by sheer
strength forced her on until at last he came to his destination, and
turned into a dark and evil-smelling doorway where Elizabeth
collapsed into his arms.
More a result of exhaustion than anything else, her brief swoon was
soon over, and she revived just as Wenzel tenderly laid her on a
decrepit bed which stood in a dark corner, scarcely remaining upright.
She sat up weakly. "You cur, oh, you cur!" She spat the words out
with a fierce intensity, and two bright red spots glowed in her
cheeks.
Wenzel was amazed at the reception. Not for a moment suspecting the
trend which her thoughts had taken, not even aware that she had been
near the neighbourhood before, he could not conjecture what her
unexpected words represented, but if he did not know the wherefore of
them, he understood their significance and saw how he could take
advantage of them.
"Ho, ho, my fine lady, more suspicions?" He laughed mockingly.
"You have lied to me!" she panted breathlessly: "you do not know the
White Knight; you are no gallant helper of his. Fool that I was not
to understand," she continued bitterly. "You are a friend of the man
who kidnapped me. Oh, Heaven, how cruel, how cruel! To get away
safely once, only to be captured again." She faltered, and, that he
should not see that her discovery was more than she could bear,
turned her head away.
A fierce glow of relief flooded the whole of his body. In a few
words she herself had answered a question which he would never have
dared to ask. Safe and sound, untouched and unhurt! In his emotion
he laughed aloud, and Elizabeth shuddered, taking it to mean a
confirmation of her accusation.
At the same time her words gave him the clue he needed as to what had
happened, and also assured him that she would never, never suspect
the truth. He would play up in earnest to the part which she had
allotted him, and so he spat upon the floor.
"Ho, ho! So you are quick at putting two and two together, are you,
my dear lady? You have made five of it this time. You are right up
to a point. You were missed--and not by the White Knight, oh,
no--and I was sent to look for you.
"But he won't see you again--not yet, anyway. You are far too
pretty, my dear. Why should I go to all that trouble for nothing?
It isn't every day I can pick up a fine prize like you for the
asking. I am going to keep you for myself.
"You have heard of the White Knight, have you? I thought the bait
would work." He grinned. "Well, well, the nearest you will see of
the White Knight for some time now is the one in the box over there.
While I am gone to tell my friend how I lost you, you can work out a
few chess problems and see whether the white knight can prevent his
queen being checkmated. I shall be back--later." With a roar of
significant laughter he walked from the room, and this time Elizabeth
heard the key turn unmistakably in the lock.
Her soul wilted, for whatever fear she had felt of Gonnard was
infinitesimal compared with the terror which she now experienced.
There was only one thing which prevented her giving way to the
hopeless despair that gripped her in its vice. The few words which
he had spoken had flashingly supplied her with a possible scheme of
escape, and, only waiting till the sound of his footsteps had
completely faded away, she leaped from her bed, prepared to risk her
life on one throw of the dice.
_CHAPTER XVII_
A lurking shadow whistled sibilantly as Wenzel approached, and the
White Knight, recognizing its low note, knew that Arnold had kept his
appointment.
"No news for you, Geoffrey." Arnold's voice was full of sympathy.
Wenzel laughed happily. "But I have, old man," he announced. "I
have discovered her. Listen, walk along with me and I will tell you
everything." And so, while they walked, talking carelessly, yet
withal keeping a wary eye open for Red guards and the Terrorists,
Wenzel retailed the story of his chance meeting with Elizabeth and
the subsequent happenings.
"And now, this is where you come in. When I go back there I shall
play up to my part, and torture her mentally so that she will never
believe me anything other than the worst specimen of a Communist on
earth.
"About twenty minutes later you will burst in. There must be a grand
battle, and in the end you will give me an upper-cut and I shall be
_hors de combat_. Then you can hurry her away, and the deed will be
done. Make up some tale or other as to how you discovered her.
"Only one thing, Arnold. Never, under any circumstances, must she
ever suspect that I am the White Knight. If you had but seen her
expression when she looked me full in the face!..."
In silence they walked along toward their destination, until at last
Wenzel halted.
"Look, Arnold, you had better have a drink while you are waiting.
Give me about a quarter of an hour, and then follow."
They parted with a handshake, and while Arnold dropped into an
illicit beer-tavern Wenzel passed on to where he had left Elizabeth.
There was no light in the room, but he could hear the sound of her
breathing. He struck a match and illuminated a half-burned candle,
which, stuck in the neck of an empty wine-bottle, occupied a place of
honour on an old soap-box in the middle of the room.
Elizabeth was on the bed, gazing defiantly at him.
He laughed coarsely. "Well, my little canary, are you glad I have
returned?"
She did not reply, but continued to gaze at him in a steadfast manner.
He advanced toward her with an ugly glare. "Sulking, are you? I
know what to do with perverse women." He moved another step nearer
to her, his attitude became more menacing, but still there was no
sign of fear on her face, and he thrilled with admiration at her
bravery.
"Speak, you, or by God! I will choke the breath out of your body
with my fingers," and he waved his hands before her.
"A gentleman," she said at last, "would take off his hat in the
presence of a lady."
He burst into a bellow of rude laughter. "Do you call yourself a
lady? Do you know what I have called you to all my friends? I have
told them you are nothing but a----"
Before the fateful word was out of his mouth she was stung into
activity. With faring cheeks she sprang up from the bed, her hand
flashed upward, and there was a sharp report as it came into contact
with his face.
His eyes sparkled. It was just what he would have had her do.
Still, he had a part to play. With a roar of rage he grabbed hold of
her in his arms and pressed her to him.
He felt her shudder convulsively, and tightened his muscles in
expectation of the struggle which he believed she would put up. In
that he was unexpectedly surprised. Her hand strayed to his side,
fumbled there for a moment, then dropped listlessly down again, and
she remained passive within his grasp.
He looked down upon her face, slightly bewildered by her lack of
resistance. Her eyes were closed, and he wondered whether she had
fainted in horror, but even as he looked they flashed open.
There was a quizzical expression within them, a curious sense of
elation; and suddenly he became conscious of a feeling of uneasiness.
It was almost as if she had deliberately played for this moment.
Once again he looked into the depths of her eyes and saw therein a
mocking devil which gibbered at and scorned him. A tempting,
overpowering sensation gripped hold of him. Flashingly it occurred
to him that never again in his life would he hold her quiescent in
his arms. Her lips were there, so red and inviting, so near to his.
He knew it was the last thing he should have ever dreamed of doing,
it being far from his nature to take advantage of a woman in his
power, but his leaping blood, hot with a fire of passion lit by her
glance and her position in his arms, mounted to his brain: the next
moment he bent over her and pressed his lips gently upon hers.
It might have been any time from five to ten seconds that they
remained thus; then, with a moan, she wrenched her arms upward and,
placing her hands upon his face, pushed with all her might and forced
him away from her.
Instantly he released hold of her, so she drew away from him and
tremblingly sat upon the bed, her fingers upon her lips. Yet her
expression was not one of loathsome horror as he had expected;
instead it was one of bewilderment.
He wondered why, because he was not to know that during that long
kiss Elizabeth had received a surprise. She had read his expression,
had seen quickly what was going to happen, and had been unable to
prevent it. His burning lips had come into contact with hers, and
she had expected from them a bestial, sensuous kiss. Instead their
pressure had been soft and loving, their contact caressing.
After that momentary pause there was a dramatic interruption, a
pounding on the door, the calling of gruff voices, and the next
moment six Terrorists burst into the room, Gunzi leading them. The
White Knight knew then that he had reached the end of his race, that
capture, imprisonment, and death were ahead of him.
He leaped for the door, and quicker than the eye could follow his
fist had lifted once, twice, and two of the Red guards reeled
backward with a grunt of pain; then his hand flashed to his
hip-pocket, where reposed a loaded revolver, but just as his fingers
touched its ready butt something dug into his stomach, and he saw
that Gunzi, the detective from Aszod, had him covered.
With a shrug of his shoulders he resigned himself to his fate. He
had expected it to come sooner or later, and now that it had
arrived... Only one thing pained him. Elizabeth would discover that
he was the White Knight. He had hoped to remain but a mythical
figure in her memory, one of whom she could dream. Now, if ever she
remembered him, it would be only to shudder.