THE PLOT
The car drew up at the door of a store the sign upon which proclaimed
the sale of articles of feminine apparel and Khodkine got out and stood
bowing upon the pavement.
"A suit-case, a hat, gloves and coat and such other articles as you
require. Let me know the cost and I will give you money. And remember
our agreement. I will await you here."
She had slipped out of her dark robe before getting down, and entered
the store. For a moment a vague notion came into her head of escaping
through a rear door and hiding from him. But maturer thought soon
convinced her that such a plan was impracticable. Gregory Khodkine was
far too clever to permit himself to be eluded in such a way. He had
made sure, too, that she had no money in her possession and without
money her case was hopeless. The exciting events of the night and
previous day had worn upon her and she now felt weak from lack of food.
There was nothing for it but to obey Monsieur Khodkine's injunctions and
so she made her purchase quickly, put on the hat, coat and gloves, and
with the other articles in the suit-case, presented the bill to
Khodkine, who gave her the money.
As he handed her into the machine he smiled at her gravely.
"I am sorry to have kept you up all night, but there is an inn near by
and breakfast should be welcome."
Monsieur Khodkine was right. The coffee was poor, but it was real
coffee, the eggs were freshly laid in a neighboring barn yard and the
rations of war bread were nourishing. She found nothing to complain of
in the demeanor of her companion and their breakfast finished they were
again upon their way. Khodkine had now taken the suitcase into the
front seat beside him and put Tanya into the tonneau, expressing a hope
that she would find a chance to doze. It would be impossible to stop to
rest as many miles were to be covered by nightfall, and there was no
time to spare. This rearrangement of their positions was agreeable to
Tanya, for she had many things to think of. If she still had any thought
of escaping, Gregory Khodkine quickly removed them, for the fuel of the
machine having been replenished at Tuttlingen, she soon saw that he was
bent on covering the miles to Munich at a speed as rapid as consistent
with safety. His suggestion that she try to sleep in the tonneau was
impracticable, for though the road was for the most part in good
condition, the car swerved violently at the turns and it was difficult
without holding by a hand grasp to keep an upright position. Indeed it
seemed as though she never wished to sleep again. Her body was weary
with sitting upright, but her eyes, wide open, stared along the gray
road before her as she wondered at Gregory Khodkine's skill, persistence
and tirelessness.
A German agent! Many things had happened that had made her suspect him
of Teutonic leanings. But this! And Gregory Khodkine was but one of
many. Poor Russia! She had indeed fallen into the hands of the
Philistines.
Every mile they traveled carried the Princess Tatyana further into the
enemy's country and nearer to those from whom this traitor drew his high
authority. Already she had been given proofs of the character of his
_laisser passer_. One glance by an officer of the guard seemed
sufficient to send the machine flying upon its way. There was always
too an air of quick deference and a military salute which accompanied
it. What chance was there for her with the Central Committee at Munich
to which they were bound, with the finger of the Wilhelmstrasse upon the
latch of its door, with ears near by, strained for the first free murmur
which passed the bounds proscribed? Members of this Committee had been
to Nemi--Georg Senf--letters had passed between them. Madame Rochal
even had come from Munich, properly accredited. Tanya felt very much
alone, very much at a loss, helpless in the face of the innumerable
forces opposed to her. But somewhere within her heart a hope still
leaped that all might yet be well with Monsieur Rowland.
All night and morning the possibility of his death had weighed heavily
upon her conscience, for she could not deny a personal responsibility in
the series of events which had brought about the final disaster. Of
course she could hardly have foretold the madness of Ivanitch, but the
fact remained that she had cast her fortunes upon Monsieur Rowland's
side, and by giving him the secret of the vault, had plunged him into
the danger that had resulted in his undoing. There was a sweetness in
the memory of their first encounter in the garden of Nemi. Here was a
boy grown to manhood unspoiled by rough contacts. She knew nothing of
his history, save by the vague phrases which confessed a roving habit
and a knowledge of many sides of life. But the naturalness of their
brief friendship, its ingenuousness and charm were singularly refreshing
to one who from childhood had been brought up in an atmosphere of
intrigue and double meaning.
She could not believe that he would die. The vault was large. One,
two, perhaps even three days might elapse before the air of the vault
should be exhausted, and surely before that time a means would be found
to enter it. Gregory Khodkine's revelation of Herr Liederman's plans had
filled her with hope. Perhaps already Monsieur Rowland had been
liberated and was devising means to offset the successes of her captor.
Would he follow her into Germany? And could he if he wished? If Picard
had succeeded in crossing the frontier, her note to Shestov would have
been delivered, for Picard, she knew, would go through fire for her.
But what claim after all had she on this Philippe Rowland? A strange
brief friendship, based upon the call of youth to youth, and an intimate
community of interests born of her dependence and his mere love of
adventure. (Poor boy! She had got him more than he had bargained for.)
Or was his sudden allegiance born of something more than the interests
she served? She tried to remember the things that he had said, the
good-natured, disarming smile, the amused look in his dark eyes, that
could be both deferent and bold.
And as she thought of this a slight frown gathered at her brows. His
eyes could be bold and he was quite capable of suiting his actions to
their meaning. Madame Rochal had lost no time in discovering Monsieur
Rowland's knowledge of the complexities of her sex.
To a woman of the antecedents and training of Zoya Rochal the conquest
of a person of Monsieur Rowland's frank disposition was a mere matter of
opportunity and Madame Rochal had lost no time in creating that. But
Tanya had been a little dismayed at finding how quickly the designing
cosmopolitaine had accomplished her ends, more than a little dismayed,
too, to find that Monsieur Rowland had so soon fallen to her wiles. And
yet back of it all was the undeniable fact of Monsieur Rowland's
cleverness, his genuine appeal to her own generosity and forgiveness
which she had granted there at the door of the vault when he had seemed
to have forgotten the numbers of the combination. His boyishness and
humor had reassured her and something more than mere friendship she had
seen in his eyes. The deference had been there, the boldness also, but
there was another look which she had seen in other men's eyes, knew, and
recognized. Philippe Rowland had given his allegiance to her cause,
because it was in a measure his cause too, but he had also given Tanya
Korasov his allegiance because of herself.
Unfortunately she realized that his promise to help her defeat an
intrigue against the fortunes of the Society of Nemi was one thing; a
chase across the enemy's country, from which, by great trial and good
fortune he had just managed to escape, was another. She had given
Shestov the slenderest of clues and Germany was large. And if, not for
her sake merely, but that of Nemi, of which he was the titular head, he
decided to follow her fortunes into danger, where could she find the
hope that he would succeed--without a passport, without influence and
without means unless he borrowed them? Liederman--Zoya
Rochal--Shestov--to the outwitted Councilors of Nemi, the loss of
twenty-five millions of francs by the society would be a terrible
catastrophe, as it was indeed to Tanya, for she had no hope that Gregory
Khodkine intended to use this money in the purposes for which it had
been contributed. If any part of it was to be used in Russia, its
appropriation would be in the hands of Teuton agents who would dispense
it at the dictation of Graf von Stromberg of the Secret Service to
debauch the dreamers along the thin gray line which marked the only
borderland between Prussianism and the free Russia she loved.
And yet, had not circumstance put Monsieur Rowland in a position of
responsibility toward those who had contributed toward this vast sum of
money for the propaganda of freedom and liberal government? He was the
leader of Nemi, secretly elected in accordance with the strange rites
which had come down from the forgotten ages. These hundreds of
thousands did not know the names of the leaders of the order, but they
did know that the Society of Nemi was great, and actuated by a high
purpose and that its leader, whoever he was, was responsible to them for
the use of the accumulated funds in its possession.
How much of this responsibility would weigh upon Monsieur Rowland? And
if he felt it, what use would he make of the power that had come
ready-made to his hands? Was he already upon his way to France to rejoin
his regiment of the legion or would he...?
The Princess Tanya's pretty head dropped forward upon her breast and she
awoke suddenly with a start. How long had she slept? The heat, the
dust, the roar of the exhaust of the machine had worn upon her
weariness, but she straightened guiltily as though she had been false to
a trust. There was no answer to her problems but the implacable back of
Gregory Khodkine's head, who drove onward skillfully without a word, the
suit-case safe beneath his eyes and the source of his authority ever
growing nearer.
At Ulm he bade her get down at the railroad station and deliver a
message for the telegraph. Inside the door of the place, beyond the
range of his vision, she scrutinized it eagerly--a mere jumble of words
strung together, meaningless to her--in code. She sent it. What would
have been the use of opposing him in this when he could confirm the
message at the next town they came to? Indeed, during the afternoon
messages were delivered to him as he arrived. And he read them with
satisfaction.
Her case seemed hopeless and if indeed she had needed the proof, the
venality of Gregory Khodkine was fully assured. But after awhile she
became curious as to how he would attempt to explain away these
evidences of Prussianism.
"The miles increase your assurance," she said bitterly in Russian.
He found her gaze and then glanced away.
"It is well to take precautions. I am not in the habit of traveling
with more money than enough for my immediate uses," he said with a lame
attempt at humor. "The responsibility weighs upon me."
"The responsibility to whom, Gregory Khodkine?" she asked.
"To those who have sent me," he replied uneasily.
"You grow bold with success."
"Who doesn't?" And then with a frown, "I warn you, Tatyana, of your
promise."
Gone were the softer tones in which he had pitched his morning appeal.
This was another Khodkine, the man who last night had asked her into his
room at Nemi that he might try to frighten her into a confession of what
she knew of the secret of the vault. She had evaded him then, had
managed as she thought to throw him off the scent, but there seemed no
chance of evading him now or indeed of finding any way into his
confidences. She had missed her chance this morning. The sense of a
possible power over him had flitted from her and with its loss came a
sense of defeat and utter hopelessness.
If Monsieur Khodkine's sense of security had been increased he still
drove rapidly and at turns in the road in the open country she saw him
turn his chin over his shoulder and eagerly scrutinize the landscape
behind them. But they had come far and it seemed hardly possible that
pursuit could threaten now.
When Gregory Khodkine spoke it was to carry the war into her camp. He
was quite civil and spoke in Russian in a low tone, but his question
probed deep and took her off her guard.
"Princess Samarov, last night while you were outside the vault, your
friend the American accused me of a connection with the Wilhelmstrasse,
and obligingly gave me a _dossier_. Who told him that my name was
Hochwald? Did you?"
Tanya was unprepared and involuntarily her hand clutched at her shirt
waist where the papers were hidden in her breast. She recovered herself
instantly and faced him quite calmly, her hand dropping into her lap.
"You are full of surprises, Gregory Khodkine. Hochwald! Is it true?"
His pale eyes were regarding her keenly.
"No. But who told him?"
"I can't imagine, unless Madame Rochal----"
"You are playing with fire, Princess. I must know the facts."
She shrugged lightly and smiled at him, though she was cold with fear.
"Then you must go to those who know them." Then, lying with the
ingenuousness which only a woman can command, "Hochwald?" she said
coolly. "I've never heard the name before."
From the tail of her eye she saw his look flicker and leave her and she
knew that she had baffled him, but the infamous records burned against
her, smirched the clean skin against which they lay. It seemed that he
must feel their existence as she did.
"You seem disturbed," she ventured carelessly. "It is the name perhaps
you use in your dual role?"
"Yes," he replied shortly. "In Germany I have no other."
"Must I then use it here?"
"It would perhaps be better, when you speak in German," he muttered.
The incident passed and with it Gregory Khodkine's incertitude. Tanya
who at the last stop for petrol had returned to the tonneau sat clinging
to the supports of the top staring gloomily before her. Her new
suit-case was in front of her. Beside it in a litter upon the floor,
some spare tubes, a can of oil and other impedimenta. She examined them
drowsily, wondering whose car this was and how it happened to be where
they had found it. But she had asked no questions of Gregory Khodkine
and now it didn't seem to matter, as long as the machinery held together
until they reached their destination. But the new suit-case seemed to
fascinate her. And then quite spontaneously an idea was born--a plan!
It seemed utterly absurd--madness--and she dismissed it. It recurred
again, was dismissed; then it came and remained in her thoughts, in all
its precariousness, in all its beautiful simplicity. She looked again
at her new suit-case and suddenly felt herself trembling with
excitement. A wonderful plan to be sure, a brave plan, but unless
fortune aided her, foredoomed to failure. But of the consequences she
had no fear. After all, what could be worse than the uncertainty of
this terrible, endless night and day. Gregory Hochwald might be an
agent of the hated von Stromberg, but Gregory Khodkine would never dare
to murder her, even if she succeeded in her venture.
All afternoon she waited for an opportunity, feigning slumber while she
watched him through lowered eyelashes. But he drove on grimly, the
millions of Nemi on the seat beside him, his gaze fastened upon the
towers of Augsburg. But after dinner his mood was more cheerful and he
invited her into the seat beside him again, and lighting a cigar drove
off into the gathering darkness to the south. Khodkine no longer feared
pursuit and success was to be the reward of his efforts, for they would
reach Munich tonight. It was no wonder that he was happy. Tanya
noticed a return of his solicitude for her comfort, and catered to his
friendliness, assenting as though in sheer weariness to his plans.
"I hope that you may forgive me, Tatyana. It has pained me horribly to
cause you so much suffering, but I am only doing what I believe to be my
duty. When that is accomplished, you shall see how I will requite you
for your generosity."
"You have left me no choice," she sighed wearily. "It does not matter.
This is not work that women were made for. I am very tired."
"You poor child," he murmured. "It will not be long before you shall be
quite comfortable and at home in the Bayrischer Hof. No one shall
disturb you and you shall rest as long as you please."
"I shall be thankful for that," she said quietly.
"Our long acquaintance, Tatyana," he went on smoothly, "your knowledge
of my character and the nature of my confession this morning must do
more than any further words of mine to reassure you."
"Yes, yes," she sighed.
"Will you tell me at least that you are no longer angry with me?"
"No. I am not angry with you," she said promptly.
"And you will let me try by my kindness and consideration to correct the
poor estimate you have made of me?"
"Perhaps--" And then wearily, "But do not urge me further now, Grisha
Khodkine. My mind refuses to act. I am more than half asleep."
"Poor _dushka_. I shall trouble you no more. Sleep on."
And then, after a while, without warning came the watchful Tanya's
chance. A tire blew out. Gregory Khodkine with a muttered imprecation
stopped the car, got down and examined the wheel. They were in a
deserted road with no lights of any kind in sight. Tanya stirred and
questioned lazily. Khodkine had already thrown off his coat and was on
his knees in the road. By the reflection of the lights upon the
indicators, Tanya's eyes furtively examined the suit-case which
contained the fortune of Nemi. The catch was closed, but the key was in
the lock. All day Gregory Khodkine, keeping the suit-case under his
eye, had not deemed the key important. And now----
Tanya, fingering the catch with one hand to be sure that it would open,
leaned past the wheel and peered over the side of the car.
"Do you think you will be long delayed?" she inquired sleepily.
"A matter of twenty minutes, I should say," he grunted from behind the
car, where he was tugging at the straps of the spare tire.
"Oh! Then do you mind if I creep into the tonneau and steal a wink of
sleep?"
"Not at all. You'd better," he growled. "I may be an hour."
"Really? That's too blissful for words."
And crawling down slowly, lifting the suit-case containing the bank
notes to the seat as she did so, she clambered down into the road beside
him, making sympathetic inquiries as to the nature of the injury. He
reassured her, but she saw how greatly he was absorbed and she wandered
around upon the other side of the car. But her plan was already made.
Ahead of the car along the side of the road she had seen some large
loose rocks. There would be others here in the darkness. Feeling with
her feet, at last she found one, another, and stooping quickly picked
the heaviest of them up, into her arms. Then she paused, feeling that
her companion might have observed her, but after waiting a moment
motionless she bent over and deposited them noiselessly upon the floor
of the car.
"I think I will take my nap," she said sleepily. And as Khodkine
assented she mounted into the tonneau. There was no moon and the clouds
enshrouded the car in darkness, but for a moment Tanya lay upon the seat
in the tonneau, watching furtively through the rear curtains. The car
was already jacked from the ground and Khodkine was tinkering at the
rim. Now was the time. She must act quickly. The bags were of nearly
the same size. Silently, and taking care that no movement should shake
the car, she hauled the suit-case which contained the banknotes over the
back of the seat into the tonneau, then quickly removed the piles of
notes, transferred them to her own bag, the contents of which she put
upon the floor. Then she took up the heavy stones, wrapping them in the
lap robe which she had used all day as a dust cover, and put them into
the other suit-case, packing it tightly with the aid of the rubber tubes
and other small articles until the stones were tightly wedged. Then she
locked the suit-case, put the key in her pocket and with an effort
restored it to its position beside the wheel in front. She then crept
back noiselessly to the seat of the tonneau, where she lay breathless,
her heart throbbing with excitement. It was done. She had done it.
Gregory Khodkine was still hammering at the rebellious rim. She was a
little frightened when she realized what hung upon the success or
failure of her plan. The weights of the two suitcases it seemed to her
were much the same. Gregory Khodkine could never know what she had done
unless he examined the contents of the bag he had guarded so carefully
all day. The key in her pocket would prevent that. But suppose that he
became curious about the absent key. Suppose he found her new clothing
upon the floor. The new suit-case was somewhat larger than the old one
and she managed to get the linen and toilet articles into it. The other
things she stuffed behind the cushions of the seat on which she sat.
Suppose he chose to test the weight of _her_ suit-case!
That at all hazards must be prevented. She moved it alongside of her
just before Khodkine bobbed up out of the darkness and peered in,
reporting that he would be ready to start in ten minutes. She snored
gently, in reply, and presently heard him fussing at the wheel again.
Were the packages all inside the bag? Had she left any of the contents
of her suit-case upon the floor of the tonneau? She could see nothing
in the darkness, but her fingers eagerly searched the tonneau and
finding nothing she breathed more easily. Fortune so far had favored
her. What was to follow must be left to chance. Whatever happened she
had much to gain and nothing to lose--unless, perhaps, the tender lapses
from duty of Gregory Khodkine who was born Hochwald.
After a while he got into the driver's seat. She trembled as she saw
him lift the suit-case containing the rocks and her newly bought finery
to the seat beside him and for a terrible moment thought that he paused,
examining the lock. Through her half closed eyes she saw him peer over
his shoulder at her in a moment of hesitation and then heard the whirr
of the engine as they started upon their way. Then one by one she took
the articles that she had stuffed behind the curtains of the rear seat
and choosing favorable opportunity dropped them onto the road or threw
them into the hedge. When this was done she breathed more easily and
straightened, yawned and sat up.
"I have slept," she said with a laugh. "How far have we gone?"
"Not two miles," grumbled Khodkine.
"Oh!" said Tanya in a tone of disappointment, "I thought we must be
nearly there."
Now that she had started upon this venture she found a new interest in
living. She was wide awake now, thinking quickly, for every vestige of
her weariness seemed by some strange magic of her success to have
vanished. Women have a natural talent for deception in minor matters,
but it is under the spur of great necessity that they reach the
perfection of dissimulation. Tanya weighed every chance of failure, and
gained confidence in her ability to carry the thing through to its end.
And so when they reached their journey's end and drew up at the doors of
the Bayrischer Hof, she was standing upright in the tonneau, trying to
carry lightly her heavy burden and had even stepped down upon the
pavement before Gregory Khodkine had come beside her. If she could ever
get the bag up to her room without letting it pass into alien hands!
Khodkine was for taking it from her at once, but she refused to
relinquish it.
"You have quite enough to carry, Gregory Hochwald. If you will permit
me--I am quite rested."
And with a glance at her face he smiled and led the way into the
building. The hour was late and she was assigned to a room immediately,
while Khodkine wearily bearing his suit-case which he like Tanya refused
to relinquish, disappeared with the clerk.
Once within the sanctuary of her own room and the door closed and bolted
behind her, Tanya sat upon the bed breathing hard, weak in the forces of
reaction. But she realized that her difficulties had only begun. Her
thoughts whirled tumultuously for a moment as she tried to picture
Khodkine when he learned of the deception she had practiced upon him.
There was no time to lose. She must do something with this money,
something to put it forever out of Gregory Khodkine's way--but what?