Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, the man who stands there, a prisoner in your
hands, is the man for whom the Commune has long searched--the White
Knight!"
During his adventures Wenzel had succeeded in schooling his
expression; whatever his thoughts, they remained secret, being
mirrored neither upon his features nor in his eyes, but at this his
control gave way. He could not believe the evidence of his
ears--Elizabeth, the woman whom he had twice saved from worse than
death, to betray him thus into the hands of his enemies!
It seemed to him that he must be in the throes of a violent,
unpleasant nightmare, and, as if to awaken himself, he shouted: "You
lie! You lie! I am a good Communist, me! Believe her not,
comrades; she only seeks revenge----"
"But who denies it?" interrupted Gunzi smoothly. "Of course she
seeks revenge, and rightly so. Who are you, friend, to insult such a
worthy member of the Commune? For your very threats to her she seeks
revenge."
He could not understand Gunzi's words. "What mean you--threats?
What have I done to this woman that she should lie about me?" His
voice was hoarse, not that his race was ended, but because Elizabeth,
of all people, had been the one to betray him.
Her ingratitude was beyond his comprehension; it was too ghastly that
this--this vile betrayal should be her thanks for everything he had
done for her and hers, as also for others of her country-people.
Gunzi, the rat-faced, smiled derisively: "You did not threaten her,
my friend--you did not, then, send her--this?" From his pocket he
pulled out a tiny carved piece of wood, a white knight,
all-betraying, all-accusing. "You did not, I suppose, send her this
as a threat, because she is a good Communist, because she would not
give way to your evil suggestions, eh, my friend?" He turned to
Elizabeth: "He is but a craven fellow after all; I begin to wonder if
he is indeed the White Knight."
Elizabeth laughed scornfully: "Is not his letter, his threat, proof
enough? Besides, doubtless he hides in one of his pockets another
such proof of his _bourgeois_ proclivities."
Gunzi smiled softly: "A good suggestion!" He plunged his hands into
Wenzel's pockets. In the first two there was nothing, but when the
detective tried another pocket, on the left-hand side, he laughed
triumphantly as he pulled out another small piece of carved wood.
Line for line it was identical with the one Elizabeth had sent him.
Side by side Gunzi placed them on the palm of his hand, and Wenzel
drew in his breath with a hiss of fury. Like two peas from a pod,
neither differed from its twin by even a fraction of an inch. Mutely
they convicted him. They would be proof enough for Korvin-Klein.
Yet how had it got there? Just as Wenzel knew that Gunzi's words
were lies, lies to weave around him a mesh of evidence from which it
would be impossible for him to escape, so was he positive that half
an hour ago every one of his pockets had been empty of all but money,
a revolver, a handkerchief, and finally a key to his room.
Suddenly he realized the truth, and his head bowed with the anguish
of his thoughts. Elizabeth's eyes, her expression of triumphant
manœuvre, her failure to struggle when he had first grasped her in
his arms, the slight fumbling of her hand on his waist, finally his
suspicions that she had deliberately encouraged him to do what he had
done--now he understood. The whole story was an open book before
him. Elizabeth herself had dropped the white knight into his pocket,
just as Elizabeth had weaved the plot which was to be his undoing.
But Gunzi was speaking to her, and Wenzel listened, his heart sick
with sorrow.
"Here you are, my girl; here is the reward for capturing the White
Knight. Bela Kun told me to give it you." He laughed sourly: "You
did well to mention it in your letter to him."
So she had written to Bela Kun! His temper, ever hovering near the
surface, for the second time that day broke beyond control. With a
flash of his wrist he knocked the pistol from the hand of the Red
guard who had taken Gunzi's place, and it clattered to the ground.
Almost at once three other guards seized him, but he shook them off
almost as easily as he would have flicked a fly from his sleeve.
Gunzi stood before him, but Wenzel, using his arm as a flail, bowled
him head-first into a corner.
He stood before Elizabeth, and she shrank back as she gazed into his
flashing, murderous eyes. He seemed a fiend incarnate, and she
shrieked, a long, piercing cry of terror which echoed through the
building and out into the street.
"Delilah!" Just that one word he spoke, and raised his hand to
throttle her. She read her fate in his expression. His scars glowed
redly, his twisted mouth opened, exposing his teeth, and she closed
her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his terrible face.
Dimly at the back of his mind something whispered one word to
him--"Elizabeth!" After all she was--Elizabeth, and his hands
dropped to his sides. Then the guards were on him again, six of
them, with Gunzi making a seventh.
He was invulnerable. With a fierce peal of laughter he battled with
them; the struggling mass of humanity swayed to and fro. One, two,
three, and yet a fourth went to the floor. He caught hold of a fifth
one and wrapped his arms round the guard, gradually squeezing the
breath out of the man, all the while using him as a cudgel, but--at
last Gunzi saw his opportunity. The butt of his pistol lifted into
the air, and, driven downward with the full force of the detective's
arm, it descended with a dull thud on Wenzel's defenceless head.
The White Knight swayed indecisively. The helpless guard dropped to
the floor, and then Wenzel too collapsed, sprawling across the guard.
It seemed the end. A few minutes later Elizabeth was left alone, as
with difficulty the Red guards, not one of whom but displayed
evidence of some injury, carried away the heavy, helpless form of
their prisoner.
The door, having been burst open, would not shut properly, and
Elizabeth became aware of curious heads peeping in, for now that the
Communists had gone the curious neighbours and other residents of the
house ventured out to ascertain the meaning of the _fracas_.
Not daring to venture out that night Elizabeth determined to stay
where she was until morning, so she dragged the bed up to the door,
and in that way kept it closed. In a few minutes' time she had the
pleasure of hearing the unwelcome curiosity-mongers depart.
Her emotions at that moment were indeed mixed, for while she still
trembled over what she believed to have been a narrow escape from
death, she was also very relieved. By a clever ruse she had not only
rid herself of a man the very sight of whom filled her with
supernatural fear and loathing, but she had also done a service to
one whom she loved--a fact which she had at last come to realize--the
White Knight!
During her wanderings that day she had seen notices, "Death to the
White Knight!" and offers of a reward for his capture. She had heard
the people's vituperation, the anathemas at the mere mention of his
name, and had realized how the hunt for him was up, how the
Communists were searching for him high and low.
What had she done? Delivered into their hands one of their own vile
crowd, letting them believe that he was the White Knight. Him they
would assuredly hang, and then, with the White Knight apparently
dead, the chase for him would cease, making his work of rescue twice
as easy--she did not allow herself to think that through her
denunciation an innocent man would hang. She consoled herself that,
anyway, such as he more than deserved death.
Fondly believing that she had rendered a great service to her unknown
hero, her heart beat with gratitude to the kindly Fate which had
permitted her to give him a helping hand.
So ran the current of her thoughts, and intermingled with them were
two distinct scenes which constantly reverted to her mind. The first
was of the kiss which Wenzel had implanted upon her unsuspecting
lips. It had been as sweet as that of a lover, as gentle and
innocent as that of a child, when it might have been so different,
and as a paradox it puzzled her. It was so absolutely foreign to his
nature as she knew it, and it seemed almost as though she had gazed
upon a slimy, weedy pond, from out the green vegetation of which had
peeped the pure whiteness of a water-lily.
When she closed her eyes she could feel again the velvet of his lips;
if she could have only thrust away the vision of his mutilated,
repulsive features she believed her heart might have thrillingly
responded--then she chided herself for the very thought. So with an
effort she thrust from her mind the memory of the kiss, but in its
place was substituted, even more vividly, the moment when he had
stood before her, mad with rage.
"Delilah!" Why had he termed her Delilah? She had betrayed him, but
only in self-defence. How could she have played Delilah to his
Samson?
Samson! Him the name justly described--seven men hanging on to every
part of his body, their united strength against his, yet it had taken
a pistol-butt to defeat him, a treacherous blow from behind.
The next moment all these thoughts were driven from her mind as she
heard a pounding on the door. Her heart leaped in dismay, then an
icy chill settled round it, while her nerves twitched.
She feared to give her imagination full play. She seemed to see a
scene in the street, the scarred man recovering from his blow,
breaking loose, and returning for revenge.
The noise ceased abruptly, and suddenly the bed began to move as the
door was pushed inward. A muttered shriek escaped her lips, and
Arnold cursed. What was the White Knight doing, permitting her to
draw attention to them like that? He pushed still harder, till at
last there was enough room for him to insert his body, and he
squeezed into the room.
There was no Wenzel, only Elizabeth gazing at him with an expression
of horror, which rapidly changed to one of incredulous amazement and
unutterable relief. The next moment she jumped from the bed and ran
to him, buried her head on his shoulder, and now, with safety in
sight at last, gave way to a paroxysm of tears.
Arnold smoothed her hair compassionately. He would far sooner Cecile
were in her place just for that brief moment, but at some future date
... and he smiled happily.
As for the White Knight, he could only conclude that for reasons best
known to himself he had changed his plans at the last moment, and had
no doubt that Elizabeth's subsequent words would give him a clue
which he might follow up.
"At last I have been able to reach you!" he murmured. The sound of
his voice seemed to recall her. She dried her eyes and drew away.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked.
During the time he had been waiting Arnold had concocted a story to
tell her. He knew it to be thin, but hoped that, in her relief at
being rescued, she would not be too critical as to details.
"By the most slender coincidence in the world. Of course,
immediately the White Knight, Apor, and myself arrived at the Château
Juhusz--we rescued Apor, by the way, but of that more presently--we
learned of your disappearance.
"In the meantime the search-parties who had been looking for you
discovered a pile of flowers dropped by the Budapest road, so,
putting two and two together, we assumed that you had been kidnapped.
"You might have been taken either way, so while I came to Budapest,
the White Knight went the other way, while Francis and Apor divided
the rest of the surrounding country between them.
"All day long I had been looking for you, then suddenly I saw you
with a very tall man. I followed you nearly here, and then, just at
the last moment, lost you. All this time I have been making discreet
inquiries, till at last I heard that a tall man, with a lady--and the
woman who told me described you to a nicety--had come into this
building. Here I am. I soon found out that none of the other rooms
sheltered you, and this was the last one. When I started pushing the
door I heard you call out, and _voilà_! I knew I had found you at
last."
He chuckled to himself. It was not such a bad attempt after all. He
had told his story with an histrionic ability which emphasized the
strongest links and shaded the weakest points. Mentally he patted
himself on the back.
Yet, had he known it, he need not have worried. Since at last she
felt safe Elizabeth was too full of her successful scheme in
disposing of an enemy and helping the White Knight to heed very
carefully what he had been telling her.
Almost before he had finished speaking she commenced to tell him.
"Listen, Monsieur Arnold, I have done a wonderful thing! During my
adventures to-day I learned how the people here in Budapest rave of
and revile the White Knight, and that there was scarcely one who was
not on the look out for any clue which might deliver him into the
hands of the Commune.
"Listen! Supposing one were delivered into their clutches whom they
believed to be the White Knight! Supposing there were sufficient
proof to make them have no doubt that the right man was in their
hands! Would this not be of invaluable assistance to your wonderful
leader?"
"Undoubtedly, mademoiselle. Once the chase died down it would mean
that for a time the White Knight could come and go with far greater
safety, and it might be quite a little while before the Communists,
realizing that a trick had been perpetrated upon them, took up the
hunt again. But, mademoiselle, I scarcely believe such an idea could
be successfully carried out."
Her eyes glowed with triumph. "Yet, Monsieur Arnold, I have done
this!"
"You have done that!" he repeated in surprise. "Good God!"
"Yes," she continued. "By a most wonderful ruse I have deceived the
Communists.
"While I was imprisoned in this room--I will explain how that
happened later on--I came across a box of chess-pieces. Naturally
there were two white knights among them. I found also pencil and
paper, and I wrote to Bela Kun and threw the letter through the
window into the road. I told him where he could find the White
Knight, whom I had recognized as such because I had found a white
knight in his pocket; and to make my betrayal all the more real I
pretended I was doing this for revenge. Also I claimed the reward.
"Bela Kun acted upon my advice. He sent six Red guards and a
detective to the place I mentioned. There they found the man I had
described to them. There was no doubt in their minds as to the
truth, but, even so, they received further proof, because another
white knight was found in his pockets--a white knight which I had put
there!"
"Good Lord! But, mademoiselle, you are wonderful! How on earth did
you manage to put that piece there?"
She hesitated for a moment. "No," she said at last, "I do not think
I will tell you that."
Arnold did not press the matter. He did not think it mattered much.
Lost in admiration for her skill, only reckoning the benefit which
his leader would receive from such a scoop, it mattered not to him
the why and the wherefore.
"Mademoiselle, I congratulate you with all my heart. Your
achievement is marvellous! But now for home--home before the man
with whom I saw you returns?" There was a query in his voice. He
wondered what had happened to Wenzel.
She laughed softly. "You need not worry about him any more," she
said, and Arnold detected a note of triumph in her voice. For a
moment he wondered at it. Had she, then, disposed of Wenzel? A
horrible, ghastly suspicion arose in his mind.
"Mademoiselle, what do you mean?" His voice rose shrilly.
Elizabeth looked at him strangely. There was something in his
suddenly anxious expression, a look of absolute consternation, which
frightened her. Even in the uncertain light of the flickering candle
she saw his face pale and his eyes gleam wildly.
"What do I mean?" she repeated vacantly, and then faltered. She felt
terrified. Arnold's staring eyes--they seemed to hypnotize her.
"Monsieur, I--I mean that--that the man with whom you saw me, the man
who brought me here by trickery, is the man I have denounced to the
Commune as the White Knight."
Arnold could only stare and stare, his face conveying nothing but a
blank look of inconceivable horror and dismay. His face was now
chalky white, and in contrast to the pallor his eyes seemed
abnormally large--accusing.
What had she done? If he would only speak!
"Oh, Mother in Heaven!" She could bear the anxiety no longer.
"Monsieur Arnold, for Heaven's sake tell me what is the matter! Your
look... I am afraid, my heart trembles...."
He spoke in emotionless tones, his voice devoid of any feeling
whatsoever:
"Nothing, mademoiselle, nothing, except--the man you have just
denounced into the hands of the Commune as the White
Knight--he--he--he is none other than--the White Knight himself."
There was a dead silence. Elizabeth did not speak, simply gazed at
Arnold, then, without warning, dropped to the floor unconscious. And
the Englishman laughed hysterically.