PURSUIT
Rowland's head ached, his muscles were stiff and the wounds in his cheek
and shoulder needed first aid, but after they were given attention he
lost no time, and breakfast eaten, Zoya Rochal's car was brought to the
gate by Liederman and in less than an hour they were upon their way.
Another suit of clothes and some linen from the posthumous wardrobe of
Ivanitch, had restored the American to a semblance of presentability and
he found his courage and optimism rising with every mile that they
traveled. Barthou and Shestov remained with Signorina Colodna at Nemi
to explain to the new arrivals the cause and extent of the disaster, and
to keep in touch with the telegraph office in the village below, that
they might be informed as to what happened in Germany.
Max Liederman drove and Rowland and Zoya Rochal sat in the tonneau.
On its face, this was a mad errand--to go flying into the heart of the
enemy's country from which after weeks of trial Rowland had managed
miraculously to escape. But a transformation had been worked in
Rowland's point of view, as well as in his appearance. He seemed, in
the few short hours he had spent at Nemi, to have achieved a mission and
an object in life, something, he was forced to admit, that he had never
possessed before. The mission,--a defeat of Prussian intrigue, the
object,--Tanya Korasov. If the success of Monsieur Khodkine had for the
moment balked him, he was aware now of a spirit of mild exaltation at
the prospect of the dangers he must run in the hope of success. The
sense of danger always made him cheerful and rather quiet. And so
though the massive Liederman sat gloomily, driving with a heavy hand
which at narrow places in the road seemed to threaten destruction,
swearing volubly over his shoulder in the odd moments, and Zoya Rochal
chattered excitedly in three languages, Rowland sat grinning hopefully
into the long stretch of road which lay before them, thinking of Tanya
Korasov and wishing that he had Monsieur Khodkine's throat in his
fingers again. He would pinch harder next time.
Rowland had devised a plan which he hoped would enable him to pass the
frontier in safety. And so, when a mile distant from the military posts
that guarded the German line along the main highway, Rowland got down
and after making a _rendezvous_ at a small town which Liederman
suggested, three miles beyond the border, turned into the woods by the
roadside and moved stealthily westward. This was a dangerous game, for
in his escape from Germany a few days before, he had done most of his
traveling by night, sleeping in the woods by day. But there was no time
to be lost and nothing else to be done. Herr Liederman and Madame Rochal
had their own passports of course and would go through without trouble,
and once within the borders of Germany the inspection of the machine and
its occupants would be less rigid than at the frontier gates.
The plight of Tanya Korasov and the responsibility which he now shared
with her for the safety of the money had sharpened Rowland's wits
amazingly. He reached the edge of the woods and crouched in the bushes
on a slight elevation for a moment, studying the lay of the land to the
northward. Then, discovering a slight depression upon his left down
which a small stream trickled, he crouched, taking advantage of the
cover which screened him from the view of some men working in a field
and went northward rapidly for half a mile.
But he came at last to a spot where the stream debouched into a meadow,
beside which was a farm-house and more men working. So he was forced to
go back a few hundred yards and wriggle upon hands and knees in the
shadow of a stone wall up a hill, at the crest of which he paused again
for observation. Before him, again to his left beyond the farm houses,
was a wood which spread northward and eastward. Once within its borders
he felt sure that he could move forward in greater security. He
clambered into some shrubbery, and upon the other side of the hill saw
the road which approached the farm houses. Once across this the cover
would be better. There was no one in sight. He crawled out of his
place of concealment, braving detection for the few hundred yards of
open country, dashed down the hill across the lane and in a moment was
hidden in a thicket upon the further side. Here he waited again,
watching in all directions, and then taking to the undergrowth went on
more rapidly, at last reaching the protection of the thick woods, where
he breathed a deep sigh of gratification. He had figured that the
border line must cut somewhere near the center of this forest and could
not be more than a kilometer away.
He was more at home here, for the starvation and misery of the past
weeks had given him a skill in stealth and woodcraft which would have
done credit to a North American Indian. The possibility of there being
a wire fence along the border had not occurred to him, for if he had
passed such a barrier a few nights ago, he had merely considered it the
border of a sheep or cattle pasture, even believing at Nemi that he was
still well within the German Empire. But suddenly as he moved forward a
wire fence rose before him, a barrier of barbed steel, thickly woven
between the stout posts that retained it. Rowland crawled into the
center of a bush nearby and waited a moment, for along each side of the
fence was a well-beaten path which showed where the sentries passed.
Rowland had resolved to burrow under the wire, since to climb such a
fence, even if it were not electrified, would be difficult and damaging
to his clothing, the presentability of which was essential to his
safety. But he did not wish to attempt it until he was sure of the
exact moment of the passage of the sentries. And so he waited calmly,
aware of an intense desire to smoke which could not be gratified.
In a moment his patience and wisdom were rewarded, for, listening
intently, he heard the thud of heavy boots and the sound of a fine
masculine voice singing. The Swiss soldier approached, still singing
and passed him. And not fifty yards beyond, the singing stopped and he,
heard another voice in greeting.
"Ah, Kamerad--you sing well."
"One must do something to pass the time."
"Weary work--with nothing to show for it. You have seen nothing?"
"No."
"Nor I. It is the time for my relief. _Auf wiedersehen_."
And the German soldier approached upon the opposite side of the fence
and passed on.
Now was the time. Rowland waited a moment until both men were out of
sight, and hearing, when he came out quickly, and approaching a slight
depression in the soft loam below the wire, set to work burrowing
furiously with his hands, in a few moments making a hole deep enough to
wriggle through. Then covering the evidences of his work with leaves,
crossed quickly into the woods beyond and disappeared.
It was a very weary and much bedraggled individual who emerged from some
bushes near the highroad at the spot where the car was awaiting him.
Liederman was fuming, Madame Rochal anxious. They had used two hours of
time and it was now well past noon. But Rowland, though weary, was
quite cheerful. He had already found a flaw in the perfection of the
efficiency which had so astonished the world. There would be other
flaws and careless, casual little New York would find them.
The passports of Zoya Rochal and Herr Liederman and the credentials
which the latter carried, showing him to be a member of the Reichstag,
would probably be sufficient to pass the party along the road. But to
insure less chance of detention an alias was provided for Rowland in
case of surprise. He had become Herr Professor Leo Knaus, Curator of
the Schwanthaler Museum, returning to Munich after a brief holiday in
search of lost health in the Bavarian Highlands, where through an
unfortunate accident, his knapsack containing all his personal papers
had been lost from a cliff into a deep torrent whence their recovery had
been impossible.
By making detours, avoiding the larger towns, however, they managed to
travel fifty or sixty kilometers without even so much as seeing a
soldier, and Liederman figured that once well within Bavaria away from
the Swiss border, the scrutiny of their papers would be less exacting.
And whether by good luck or good management they reached Ulm without
mishap, where Herr Liederman had friends and influence. And then a
passport for the unfortunate Herr Professor from Ulm to Munich was
procured which made the remainder of their journey less hazardous.
Rowland would have felt more comfortable if he had had a little money of
his own, for though Madame Rochal and Max Liederman seemed well supplied
with funds, he would find himself in a pretty pickle if he were suddenly
left upon his own resources. He ran his fingers hopefully through the
pockets of Kirylo Ivanitch and found nothing--oh, yes, the coin of the
Priest of Nemi with which Khodkine last night had presented him. He had
shifted it to the new clothing with the matches and cigarettes. He
fingered it carelessly, then brought it forth and examined it--a clever
bit of low-relief, done by an artist, probably Italian.
Madame Rochal who had been vociferously exchanging opinions with Herr
Liederman found curiosity more essential to her happiness than argument
and bending suddenly forward, examined the coin.
"Who gave you this, Monsieur?" she asked excitedly.
"Monsieur Khodkine--last night. It was to be the symbol of our eternal
friendship. The Gods will otherwise."
"It is the Talisman," she cried. "Do you know what its possession
means?"
"Ah, yes," he said, shrugging lightly, "that I'm the King-pin in your
ten-twenty-thirty." And as she looked puzzled he laughed. "That I'm
the Head of the Society of Nemi. But how the devil that's going to help
me here, I can't quite see."
"Monsieur Rowland," she broke in, "this is most important. In Munich
you will need no better credentials than this."
"But I'm an enemy of Germany--an American."
"Of Autocracy--of the Army--yes. But Internationalism knows no
enemies."
"You mean----?"
"That the Democrats of Germany, whether Socialist or Revolutionary, will
receive you as a friend. Names--nationalities mean nothing to them now.
All that they need is a leader who has no fear of the Army--and a spark
to cause the conflagration."
"And you believe that I----?"
"Precisely," she said with a flash of her dark eyes, "if I have not
misjudged you. _You_, Monsieur!"
She showed the coin to Liederman who fully confirmed her opinion. The
Talisman passed with the office, and it was very lucky that Rowland had
found it, for there was no other like it in the world. Rowland looked
at the coin with interest, and then flipped it carelessly.
"Heads I win, tails Khodkine loses," he laughed. "You see, Madame.
Anyway you look at it Nemi triumphs."
Zoya Rochal examined Rowland's profile through her half-closed eyes and
when she spoke she used English, a language which fell from her lips
quite as readily as French or Russian.
"Monsieur Rowland," she smiled, "you are quite the most cheerful person
I have ever known in my life. You always smile more when things go
wrong. I don't understand. Do you never get angry?"
"Well, rather! Once when a piece of Boche shrapnel smashed my
jimmy-pipe, right out of my teeth. It was the best pipe I ever had," he
finished thoughtfully.
She laughed. "I've never met one like you before. Most men are so
desperate in great affairs."
"H--m. I've been desperate a lot of times but didn't find it helped me
much. I tried that in the vault last night and only barked my shins.
So I went to sleep and dreamed I was married to a princess--until Herr
Liederman blew me up."
"A princess!" she smiled archly. "Monsieur Rowland, you still have the
heart of a child." Her voice sank a note as she glanced at the back of
Herr Liederman's head. "It is that which has attracted me to you. The
world has grown so old in wisdom and in sin," she sighed.
He laughed. "It's a good old world but it needs a vacuum cleaner.
We've got to 'get' Khodkine, Madame Rochal. He's a breeder of germs."
"And is bred of Germans----" she whispered.
"Same thing--disease in the _Welt Politik_--always excepting our good
chauffeur----," indicating Liederman's broad back, "who is your friend
and mine and therefore quite all right." Rowland was silent a moment
and then turned and laid his hand over Zoya Rochal's. She turned her
palm upward and their fingers clasped.
"You and I, Madame----"
"Zoya----," she corrected.
He smiled and touched her fingers lightly to his lips.
"Zoya----," he repeated. "Pretty name, that. Zoya! You and I must
swear an allegiance."
"I have already sworn it in my heart," she said softly.
"And I can count upon you--whatever happens."
"Yes--for Russia."
"There are many Russias----"
"The Russia of the Constituent Assembly--the Russia of sanity--of
reconstruction----"
"Good. We understand each other. A beautiful woman is a power, but a
clever, beautiful woman----" he smiled at her gaily, "the world lies at
her feet."
Her fingers closed upon his own and she looked past him down into the
valley of a little river which flowed past them while her voice seemed
to trail away into the beautiful distance.
"If you would only lay it there,--Philippe!"
His eyes boldly sought for flaws in her perfect face, and found none.
And yet its very perfection was in itself a flaw, for he knew something
of her history. Passion had made no mark upon her, or the suffering she
must have caused in others. Whatever the world had done to her soul, it
had passed her beauty by as though that in itself were a matter of no
importance.
But Rowland did not kiss her, though he had a notion that this was what
was required to seal their compact. He only laughed a little.
"You shall have it, Zoya Rochal. I give you my word on it, if you will
help me to catch Gregory Khodkine." And then as he released her hand,
"Tell me something of this Central Committee of Bavaria."
She watched him as he lighted his cigarette and marveled a little at the
coolness of his renunciation of an opportunity.
"Perhaps you didn't know that it is from the Central Committee of Munich
that I come to Nemi. Perhaps also you may think it strange that I, a
loyal Russian, should stand high in such councils. But politics make
strange affiliations. I have served the cause in many countries and in
Germany I have secretly stood with advanced Socialism. As you have
seen, I possess papers which permit me to come and go as I please and I
am not without influence even in Berlin."
"Ah, that is strange. A secret agent----?"
"What you choose. In the past I've done Prussia some service in
Constantinople, Buda-Pesth and Vienna. But since the war began---" she
shrugged. "Can you not imagine? After all, I am a Russian."
"I see. And this Central Committee at Munich,--who is its leader?"
"George Senf, a giant among pigmies. You shall see----"
"A member of the Society of Nemi?"
"Yes, and more than once a Councilor. But he serves our cause better in
Germany where his name is a byword for fearlessness and wisdom."
"And Liederman?"
"Herr Liederman represents Georg Senf and his followers on the floor of
the Reichstag. They are both loyal men but Senf is the master."
"Thanks. This is what I wanted to know." And then, after a pause, "But
why should Monsieur Khodkine choose Munich as the place to which to take
this money?"
"That has puzzled me, but I think I am beginning to understand. The
first stronghold of the Order of Nemi is in the Munich Committee and
those others which it influences. Monsieur Khodkine plans first to take
the money to a place of safety; then to throw the whole power of the
Government into the Committee to thwart its leaders, who are the friends
of Nemi and to divert this money to the corruption of Russian leaders,
in the Prussian cause."
"You are positive as to this----?"
"This or something worse," she said.
"What could be worse?"
"Its theft by Khodkine himself or its appropriation--by the State."
"Can this be possible?"
"Anything is possible in Germany."
Rowland pursed his lips in a tenuous whistle.
"I can well believe that. You have heard that Khodkine is a Prussian
agent?"
"I know nothing of Khodkine. Our paths have not crossed except at Nemi.
But I am ready to suspect him of anything. There is much energy
conserved in twenty-five millions of francs," she finished cynically.
"Well, rather," he laughed. "Twenty-five millions--five million
dollars! Phew, but that's a lot of money! Think of the eats and shows
and things----"
"You'd get a lot of jimmy-pipes with that, _mon vieux_," she laughed and
then lowered her tone suddenly. "Where are you going to put this money
if you recover it?" she questioned.
Rowland puffed his cigarette quite calmly but hid his thoughts under the
cloak of his perpetual smile.
"Would you like a new hat?" he asked.
"There are many things I would like, _mon_ Philippe," she said coolly.
"A villa at Monte Carlo, an hotel in Paris, a very tiny one, but--" she
halted suddenly and shrugged, "but I'm not apt to get those things with
the money of Nemi." And then with a dramatic gesture, "Is it not
pledged to the Cause?"
He did not look at her for fear that he would betray the confirmation of
his suspicion. But the impulse stirred in him to follow this line of
subjective inquiry still further.
"And yet I cannot forget that it was you, Zoya, who at a doubtful moment
swung the Council of Nemi in my favor."
"I have not regretted it--nor shall I."
"I owe you much. I am about to place myself in a position where I shall
owe you more. With your help in Munich I am doubly armed. Something
tells me that we shall win. But I must pay----"
"You shall pay me with your friendship, Philippe," she murmured. "That
is all I ask. You will give it me, will you not?"
She was clever. He drew closer and looked into her eyes which had in
them something of the appealing quality of a child's. It was difficult
for him to believe that her expressions were not genuine, but he could
not forget the warnings of Tanya Korasov and smiled into her eyes with a
boyish frankness.
"Have I not already given it to you, Zoya? Last night--you didn't mind?
Your lips were very close.... They are very close now----"
Max Liederman narrowly missed a tree at the side of the road. Then he
swore that terrible German oath which translated means "thunder
weather," slowed his pace, stopped the car, then turned around in his
seat.
"What do you talk about in English, you two?" he roared, his face as
black as the weather he apostrophized. "Is it not enough to try and
drive rapidly without these distractions behind me? You will come to
the front seat, Zoya," he growled, "or I shall drive no further."
"By all means," said Rowland cheerfully, getting up and opening the
door. "If Madame will descend."
Zoya obeyed, but the pressure of her fingers and the look she gave him
advised him of her preferences.
"You act like a spoiled child, my great bear," she said to the German,
with a laugh. "I was merely telling Philippe of Georg Senf and the
Committee."
"Philippe!" he growled. "Already----"
She said something to him and as Rowland got in behind them he drove off
again. But it was easy to see how the wind sat in that quarter.
Rowland was obliged to admit that the woman distilled a kind of subtle
poison. There was a time.... But by the bloody beard of von
Tirpitz--not now! Her beauty passed him by. It was not for him, for he
was now measuring loveliness by other standards. He would play the
game, must play it, wherever it led, even with Zoya, but he found
himself hoping that it would not lead too far. He had reason to doubt
her sincerity and had guessed the inspiration for this sudden affection
upon the part of Madame Rochal. She had long lived upon admiration and
received it of Rowland as a right, but more than this, she loved power,
and more even than power, the money that brought it. Max Liederman was
a horrible example of the effectiveness of her art, for it was plainly
to be seen that he was infatuated and was now even jealous of Rowland.
It wouldn't do to stir up Liederman, or to blow cold with Zoya, for he
needed them both and meant to use them to the best of his bent, for
after all was not his captive Princess awaiting him yonder, somewhere in
the blue haze beyond the plain, and how could he hope to succeed in
finding her without the help of Liederman?
They had made good time and by early afternoon had passed Ulm on the way
to Augsburg. After dinner Liederman's spirits rose and lighting a big
black cigar, he invited Rowland into the seat beside him, while Zoya
Rochal leaned over their shoulders and joined in the conversation.
"Herr Rowland, you have not yet explained entirely to my satisfaction
how you happened to be inside the vault. Khodkine surprised you there
with Fraeulein Korasov, _nicht wahr_?"
Rowland told him the truth.
"I understand," said Liederman when he had finished. "And what were you
going to do with the money?"
"I don't know. Fraeulein Korasov had planned for that."
"Ah--and you trusted Fraeulein Korasov?"
"Implicitly."
Liederman laughed and tapped Rowland playfully upon the knee.
"Ach--a little tenderness in that quarter, _nicht wahr_?"
This was for Zoya's benefit, but the heaviness of his humor made his
intention rather pathetic.
"Fraeulein Korasov was kind to me. She fed me when I was starved. I
could hardly show anything but gratitude," said Rowland quietly.
"What assurance can you give me that her intentions were honest?" asked
Liederman.
The man was so dull. But Rowland kept his patience admirably.
"Merely this--that Fraeulein Korasov sought to prevent the very thing
that has happened. She distrusted Monsieur Khodkine."
"Ach, so. That is the one bond we all have in common. But Herr
Khodkine is clever. If he has high authority for this game he is
playing, we will be at our wits' end to circumvent him."
Rowland thought a moment.
"You may be sure he will have that authority," he said at last.
"You know----?"
Rowland paused again. Where did the German in Liederman end, where the
Socialist begin? Rowland took the chance.
"He is an agent of the German Government," he said shortly.
He was soon to find out where Herr Liederman stood. The machine swerved
violently as the German's heavy hands suddenly grasped the wheel.
"A secret agent!" he muttered. "Who told you?"
"Fraeulein Korasov."
"And how did she learn this?"
"From Kirylo Ivanitch."
"The devil! How did he find out?"
"I don't know. But he knew."
A stream of smoke and sparks flew backwards from Herr Liederman's cigar
as he puffed violently. He was much disturbed.
"The Wilhelmstrasse! It is worse than I supposed."
"It is well to know the worst," Zoya Rochal's clear voice cut in coolly,
"for then we can plan for it. Georg Senf must know at once."
"It will be a battle for our existence," said Liederman grimly. "They
dare not interfere with our meetings," he roared. "They dare not!"
"You feel very sure of yourself," put in Rowland. "I wish I were as
confident."
Max Liederman clenched his great fist, held it for a moment suspended in
the air and then let it fall quietly upon the wheel. To Rowland, who
had felt the might of German autocracy, the action seemed typical--the
clenched fist of an aroused people which did not dare to strike, a fist
restrained in awe of a habit of thought! But Liederman's words were
brave enough.
"The German Socialists will permit themselves to be intimidated just so
far," he muttered between set teeth. "And then they will show their
might. It may be that this is the straw that will break the camel's
back. We shall see. They will not find us unprepared."
"Who is Graf von Stromberg?" asked Rowland, suddenly recalling the name
in Khodkine's _dossier_.
A stifled murmur came from Zoya Rochal.
"Br--! You do not know? The most terrible man in the world. He knows
everything about everybody. A thinking machine which nothing escapes,
which sees into every cranny of Europe, with power no less than that of
the Emperor himself. That man!"
Madame Rochal paused in the spell of some unpleasant reminiscence.
"Why do you ask, Herr Rowland?" questioned Liederman quickly.
"Because I have reason to believe that for some years Khodkine has taken
his orders from him."
"Do you think that he was acting under orders from General von Stromberg
when he took the treasure of Nemi?"
Rowland shrugged. "How should I know? It is possible."
"You have learned a great deal in a very short time," growled the
Socialist. "I owe you an apology. I thought you were a fool, I'm glad
to admit I was mistaken."
"I'm stupid enough at any rate to admit that I won't know where to find
Fraeulein Korasov when we reach Munich. Without her we shall move in
the dark. Her testimony before the Committee----"
"That is true. We must find her. But you must leave that to me. You
shall see. Ten thousand men if we need them will search for her. By
tomorrow night at the latest----"
Zoya Rochal behind them was laughing softly. "It is not at all
improbable that you will find them in the Imperial suite at the
Bayrischer Hof."
Rowland felt the blood rising to the tips of his ears but he kept his
composure.
"Them, Madame Rochal?" he questioned soberly.
"Why not, _mon_ Philippe?" she laughed. "One can live quite decently
even in Munich with twenty-five millions of francs."
But he played the game and laughed the remark aside.
"There is nothing in the animal world so unkind as one beautiful woman
to another."
Zoya Rochal shrugged, Liederman scowled, but Rowland smoked quietly, his
gaze on the distance.
Inquiries along the road, which was well traveled, revealed no knowledge
of Monsieur Khodkine or of his stolen Mercedes--which Max Liederman had
paid for--but they drove steadily on, passing Augsburg and reaching
their destination late at night, where Herr Liederman drove directly to
the house of Georg Senf, which stood in a region of small houses thickly
settled.
An enormous bearded head stuck out of a window, heard Liederman's
earnest plea, and in a moment they were admitted to the house, where the
whole tale of their adventure was told, when Zoya Rochal, protesting
that not for twenty-five hundred millions would she lose another hour of
sleep, was driven to the Russischer Hof where Rowland and Max Liederman
promised to meet her upon the following day.