ESCAPE
Rowland slept lightly and was awakened by a sound overhead, a scuffling
upon the tiles of the roof. Herr Markov already stood upright by the
window, listening. Rowland started, wide awake at once, but a gesture
from his host halted him.
"Under the couch," he whispered, "the covers will hide you."
And Rowland obeyed quickly, aware that the sound of shots would soon
have the hornets about their ears.
Whoever was upon the roof was slowly sliding down to the window.
Soldiers! They had followed the wounded Zoya. Even the rain...?
He heard Herr Markov's voice out of the window.
"What the devil do you do up there?"
Another voice replied, and then questioned, for he heard Markov's reply.
"In here? What should anyone do in here?"
The other voice came nearer at the window-opening itself--a young voice,
sharp, peremptory.
"What is this house?"
"A lodging house, Herr Lieutnant. You see--of the poorer class."
"Who keeps it?"
"Frau Nisko, Herr Lieutnant. It is number sixteen."
"No one entered by this window last night?"
"Last night! By this window!" in excellent bewilderment. "No, Herr
Lieutnant. That would have been impossible. Besides, you may see for
yourself--who would wish to enter here?"
"Someone may have passed through while you slept."
"I was awake all night with my wife yonder, who is very ill of
tuberculosis."
"Ah--then you are certain?"
"Positive--but if the Herr Lieutnant will enter----?"
Rowland wondered at Herr Markov's temerity--also wondered what he would
do if the Herr Lieutnant accepted the invitation. But fortunately the
ingenuousness of Herr Markov had stopped the gap. The young officer
withdrew and presently they heard his boots scrambling up the tiles
overhead.
"Pfui!" said Markov, wiping the sweat from his brow as Rowland peeped
out. "That was a close shave, Herr Rowland. He would have entered if I
had not invited him to. Human nature is the great paradox. It always
desires that which is denied it and scorns that which is proffered. Had
the Herr Lieutnant been older the thing would have been difficult."
Rowland crawled out from his place of concealment and examined his host
with a new interest--a new respect. An attic philosopher! He grasped
Herr Markov by the hand.
"A friend indeed!" he murmured. "And what would you have done if he had
come in."
Herr Markov shrugged. "I do not know. Waited, perhaps. He might have
gone again." He glanced at Madame Rochal and set his jaws. "My hands
are very strong, Herr Rowland. Besides, I have pledged you my word."
"It is a fearful danger into which I have brought you----"
"I have welcomed it--you need not worry."
"But if they come again----?"
"I think they will be satisfied with this. But it will not do to stay
here too long. We will see. At present, since you are awake, I will go
down and make some inquiries."
The sun had been up many hours, a brilliant summer day of blue and gold.
Rowland cautiously brought his head up to the level of the window-sill,
looking out, but the houses upon the opposite side of the street were
small and this window was in no danger of observation. So he
straightened and went over to Zoya, for the sound of voices had awakened
her and she had turned on her bed. He felt her pulse and at the light
touch of his fingers she turned her head and opened her eyes.
"Ah, Philippe," she sighed gently.
"You are feeling better?" he asked cheerfully.
"I--I am not sure," she murmured. "I ache--how I ache--from head to
foot--Oh--!" She tried to move her bandaged shoulder and gasped, "I
remember--him!"
"You are quite safe," he said reassuringly, "in the hands of friends."
"Safe--no, not safe, Philippe----" she muttered, "not safe while _he_ is
alive."
"Who?"
"Von Stromberg." She started up feverishly. "He fell. But as I went
out of the window, I--I saw him rise. It--it is impossible to escape
him----"
Her voice gained strength and Rowland soothed her gently.
"You must be quiet, Zoya. They have been here--over the roofs--but they
went away again. They won't come back----"
"But he--he--is--is the devil incarnate----"
Her eyes stared at the wall above her--as at a specter of their enemy.
The terror of last night had come over her again.
"Quite so. I agree with you. But I'm no longer alarmed. Why should
you be? A swallow of water--and then sleep again, Zoya. You're going
to be quite all right."
"I was shot----"
"Through the arm-pit--nothing serious. A few days and----"
"Whose room is this?" she asked suddenly, looking round at the bare
walls and shabby furniture.
"A friend's. A Samaritan, Zoya. He has nursed you while I slept--a
stranger----"
"Oh," she gave a little shrug and turned her face toward the wall. He
poured out a glass of water and brought it to her. She drank it eagerly
and then sank back with a sigh.
"A devil incarnate," she repeated. "And the money----?" she asked
suddenly.
"Here," he laughed. "Like a millstone around my neck."
"You have it still--here?"
"Well, rather. But I wish it were in Jericho."
"You are a man, _mon Phili_----"
She had thrown her sound arm impulsively over his, but at a sudden sharp
memory she withdrew it and turned her head toward the wall. There was a
moment of silence and then he heard her voice, hard, expressionless.
"I wanted to--to vote as you wished, but--but I betrayed you. His eyes
were burning me, his words--scorching--my--my very soul." And then,
almost in a whisper, "You heard what he said----"
"What does it matter now?" he asked softly.
"He scourged me," she whispered again, "stripped me bare for those
animals to look at. If he had killed me--if this shot had been a few
inches lower----"
"But it isn't," said Rowland cheerfully. "Buck up, Zoya. The worst is
yet to come. I hoped the old pelican was dead, but we'll outwit
him--some way."
She turned, smiled feebly and gave him her hand again.
"You forgive me?" she asked.
"Forgive--what for? The thing was hopeless from the beginning. I was a
fool to try to start anything, but it made me sore--to see the old
rooster walk off with this money--under my very eyes--and he hasn't got
it yet," he finished boyishly.
"What are you going to do?"
Rowland rose and put the glass on the washstand.
"I'm going to get out of here if you don't stop talking--at once--or
tell your nurse."
"My nurse?"
"The Johnny whose bed you're lying on. _He'll_ make you keep quiet."
"What will he do?"
"Give you more dope, for one thing----"
A knock upon the door, and Tanya, clad in a gray dressing gown much too
large for her, entered and came quietly forward. Her glance met
Rowland's as she gave him her hand. She looked a little tired but
smiled as she knelt beside the bed and took one of Zoya's hands in both
of hers.
"You are better, Madame?" she inquired.
"I think so. You are very good." The tones were listless--indifferent.
"We are safe for the present," said Tanya. "The soldiers at the front
of the house have been withdrawn."
"Who told you this?" asked Rowland quickly.
"Frau Nisko. She answered all their questions satisfactorily."
Zoya Rochal stirred uneasily.
"Nevertheless," she said hopelessly, "they will find us."
"Don't lose courage."
"He never fails. I know."
"Who?" asked Tanya.
"Von Stromberg," she muttered. "He sees everything, knows everything.
You can't escape."
Rowland shrugged.
"We're at least willing to try. And now you must sleep again, Zoya.
Herr Markov----"
He paused, for Zoya started at the sound of the name, and just then the
door opened and Zoya's gaze turned toward it quickly. He saw her eyes
look, then stare, closing perplexedly.
"She is awake?" Herr Markov asked.
At the sound of his voice Zoya moved upon her pillow and opened her eyes
again. But their strange host had come forward and laid his hand
quietly over hers.
"It is I, Mariana--Matthias Markov. The good God has sent you to
me----"
"Matthias!" she gasped, still looking at him.
He bowed his head gravely and raised her hand to his lips, but at the
contact she closed her eyes and lay back, breathing deeply.
Tanya had taken Rowland by the hand and led him out of the room into her
own.
"His moment----" she whispered. "Let him have it--with her--alone."
There was much to say and in a few words Tanya told him what Frau Nisko
had learned about the disastrous results of the riot in the hall. There
had been shooting--six men and a woman had been killed, and many wounded
and burned in the hall and on the stairs. Four soldiers were dead,
amongst them an officer. There had been fighting in the streets but the
soldiers, where they could, had permitted many to escape. Order had not
been restored until the early hours of the morning, when fresh companies
of troops had arrived and were now patrolling the neighborhood.
"And Von Stromberg----?"
"No one knows--he has not been seen."
"Hochwald----?"
"He either--Senf, Liederman, Fenner, Weiss--were taken away----"
"Benz?"
"I don't know. He may have escaped----"
Rowland paced the floor thoughtfully.
"We can't stay here, Tanya," he said at last.
"I know----"
"It means prison or worse for Herr Markov and Frau Nisko. We've got to
do something."
"But Madame Rochal----"
He frowned. "I'm thinking of her. She voted as Von Stromberg
wished----
"At what a cost!" She hid her face in her hands a moment. "It is
horrible to see a soul stripped bare! Poor Zoya!"
He was silent a moment, thinking deeply.
"We must do what is best for the greatest number. If you and I are
taken with the money, your work in Germany is finished forever. Don't
you see? Our power--our influence, are gone. We must get this money
out--some way. If Hochwald has escaped he is probably already on his
way to Switzerland. The _dossier_--the papers you have----"
"I had forgotten----"
"They must go, too----"
She thought a moment and then raised her head joyously and laid her hand
in his.
"Whatever you say, _mon_ Philippe," she said bravely.
He took her in his arms and kissed her, but she drew away from him
quietly.
"The plan----?" she questioned.
He frowned and smiled in the same moment.
"It requires another--Herr Markov--but it is a brave plan," he laughed,
"a wonderful plan. You shall see."
"Why can't you tell----?"
"Because without Herr Markov it fails. He may refuse----"
"I don't understand--
"A woman's curiosity!" he laughed. "Trust me. And wait."
At this moment there was a quiet knock upon the door and Frau Nisko
entered with Tanya's dry clothing. Rowland was introduced and seized the
woman warmly by the hand. But when he tried to thank her she demurred.
"I was born free, Herr Rowland. I would rather die than believe I shall
not be free again."
"But we can't endanger you longer--tonight we must go----"
"They suspect nothing yet. But Matthias Markov is no fool. He will
think of something. You do not know Herr Markov----!" she finished
quietly.
"We know only that he is risking his safety and yours for strangers--
"It is not the first time. He sets no value on his life." She
shrugged. "Nor I on mine. It's a pilgrimage--soon over. His life has
not been a happy one--a man of wealth, of family, position--reduced
through misfortune, suffering and ill health to take to the roads with a
music-box. Herr Gott! And yet he pays his way--always the same, with
the courage of a man and the heart of a child. Patience, forgiveness,
gentleness. That is Matthias Markov."
"But why has he chosen this strange vocation?" asked Rowland.
Frau Nisko shrugged her plump shoulders again.
"He says it is because of his health, because he cannot stay indoors.
But I know----"
She paused while with intense interest they waited for her to go on.
"It is not my secret, but you are his friends. His wife deserted
him--ran away with another--a beautiful woman--faithless. He searches
for her from one end of Europe to the other----"
Rowland and Tanya exchanged a quick glance of comprehension. Rowland
stepped forward and laid a hand on Frau Nisko's arm.
"His search is ended, Frau Nisko," he said gently. And then, with a
gesture toward the door of Matthias Markov, "He has found her. She is
there!"
The woman gazed at him uncomprehendingly.
"Frau Markov!" she whispered.
"Madame Rochal----"
"You are sure----?"
"We left them there--alone."
Frau Nisko peered out at the eloquent panels of the closed door and they
heard the deep rumble of Herr Markov's voice and Zoya's in a low tone
answering him. There could be no doubt about it. Herr Markov's
pilgrimage was ended. And Zoya's----? Rowland's lips set in a thin
line and his glance and Tanya's met in silent communion.
In a moment there was a commotion below and a lodger came up the stairs
in some excitement. Frau Nisko went out to meet him. There was a
soldier at the door who wished to ask Frau Nisko a few more questions.
"Very well," she said coolly. "Tell him that I will come down at once,"
and the lodger departed.
She signaled them to follow and silently they reentered the room of Herr
Markov. He was sitting beside Zoya's bed, her hand in both of his, and
started to his feet as they entered.
"Soldiers again, Herr Markov. They may mean to search the house. Herr
Rowland and the Fraeulein must go in your closet. There is a narrow
opening under the eaves at the further end where two boards have been
displaced. Enter, and I will hang some clothing before it. We must take
the chance. We will leave the door open."
Rowland and Tanya obeyed quickly, taking the black bag; Frau Nisko,
thrusting Tanya's clothing after them and hiding all traces of their
presence. This was the test that Rowland had been expecting and Frau
Nisko had met it with a calmness that argued for success. So Rowland
and Tanya crawled through the aperture and crouched upon the naked beams
of the house in the darkness, listening for the footsteps of the
searchers.
"What shall you do if they find us?" whispered Tanya, her hand in
Rowland's.
"Nothing," he said. "The game is up. I could shoot one man--two
perhaps--but not the entire Landwehr. We won't think of that, though.
It's devilish black in here--but fearfully cozy."
He drew her into his arms and silently they listened to the tramp of
heavy boots upon the stair and the sound of gruff voices.
"A woman ill, you say?"
"Very ill, of lung trouble, and in high fever. My wife, Herr Lieutnant.
I hope you will not find it necessary to disturb her for long." This in
Markov's voice, somewhat tremulous in the depth of its appeal.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Markov. I was refused for service on account of permanent
illness. My papers are here."
"_Gut!_"
A silence in which the officer examined them. Then the steps of the
officer to and fro in the room.
"This trunk----"
"Contains merely some books--Herr Lieutnant."
"The closet----?"
The officer's steps sounded again nearer them.
"Merely some old clothes, Herr Lieutnant," said Markov's voice. "Will
you enter?"
A terrible moment of suspense. But at last the footsteps turned and
moved away.
"And this other room here?" asked the voice. And Frau Nisko replied
coolly, "My daughter's. She works in the Kraus Locomotivfabrik."
"_Ach, so!_"
"And these other rooms?"
"No one. Search, Herr Lieutnant."
And presently they heard the heavy steps go thumping down the stairs.
Rowland drew a long breath. It seemed that he had been holding it for
hours.
This visit was a warning to them all. Rowland and Tanya crawled out of
their hole in the wall, somewhat pallid, and covered with dust, but
determined that an effort of some sort to escape must be made at once.
Herr Markov agreed with them and a council was held. Rowland, who had
been doing some serious thinking, at once startled them by revealing
what was in his mind.
"If Herr Markov will sell his donkey and piano-organ," he said, "I will
give him ten thousand marks for them."
Zoya Rochal turned on her pillow and looked at him curiously, while Frau
Nisko threw up her hands and repeated the fabulous sum.
But Herr Markov had straightened.
"So you had thought of that, too, Herr Rowland?"
"There is nothing else," shrugged Rowland helplessly. "Whatever happens
I must get this money through to Switzerland--and in the machine there
is perhaps room----"
"Yes, yes--there is room," said Markov thoughtfully. "We could make
room. My poor instrument of torture! And Fra Umberto!"
"You do not wish to part with them?"
"It is not that. But I would not sell them, Herr Rowland. What I give,
I give,--in the fullness of my heart."
"I can't ask more of you. Perhaps it will be but a loan----"
"Wait----," said Markov, his hand to his brow. "I am thinking." They
watched in a moment of silence, when Herr Markov rose and took a pace or
two toward the window.
"Yes. Yes. It could be done. It shall be done. My poor machine! We
shall disembowel it--take out all its poor noisy entrails. It can be
done in a short while. And the Fraeulein shall sit inside, and travel
in state to the Swiss border."
"A stroke of genius," cried Rowland excitedly. "I hadn't thought of
that. And the money----?"
"A soft cushion of bank notes to sit upon."
"Ten thousand marks--a hundred thousand if you will but do it."
Matthais Markov looked at him reproachfully.
"Herr Rowland does not understand," he said gently. "It is not my
poverty--but my heart--that consents."
Rowland bowed his head and caught Markov by the hand.
"Forgive me, my friend," he muttered.
Markov waved his apologies aside.
"It shall be done. The Fraeulein shall go and----"
Zoya gave a hard little laugh.
"And what becomes of me?" she asked.
Markov rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The question it seemed for the
moment had stricken him dumb.
"It will be some days, Zoya," said Rowland quickly, "before you can be
moved----"
"In the meanwhile you will leave me here at the mercy of Baron von
Stromberg?" she asked querulously.
Frau Nisko looked pained but spoke up bravely: "They have done what they
could--you were not recognized----"
"But if _he_ should come----" she shuddered.
"The chances are one in a hundred----"
"But that one chance----! It is the one he never neglects."
Another silence in which Zoya relaxed again upon her pillow, groaning.
Markov crossed to the side of the bed and bent over her.
"What is it that you wish--Maria----" he paused in a significant
confusion, and then finished painfully, calling her by the name they
knew--"What can we do--Madame Rochal?"
She straightened again and sat up in bed, her eyes flashing feverishly.
"Who is to stay here with me?" she asked. "Am I to be deserted,
flaunted, cast aside into the gutter for my enemy to step upon? Am I no
longer of any value--any account in your reckonings?" She laughed
hysterically. "Go!" she whispered. "Go! I don't care."
"Sh--! Mariana! Sh--! Madame," whispered Markov soothingly. "There
is no danger. No one can harm you. Did you not vote as Von Stromberg
wished? He can have nothing against you. What can he do? In less than
a week I will return----"
"You!" muttered Frau Nisko.
Zoya slowly raised herself on one elbow while Tanya looked at Rowland
uncomprehendingly, the nature of the sacrifice Markov was making slowly
dawning on her.
"Who else?" said Markov quietly. "It would be suicide for Herr Rowland.
I have my papers. It is simplicity itself. In four days I shall be at
Lindenhof. It is a mile from Lindau, on the Bodensee--Lake Constance.
The Fraeulein and the money shall cross into Switzerland from there at
night in a boat. It is a village I know well. It can be arranged.
Then I shall return by train to Munich."
Tanya had said nothing and her lips were tightly compressed with a
meaning that Rowland had learned to understand.
"And you, Philippe?" she asked quietly.
"What I have done once before," he murmured soberly, "shall be
accomplished again."
His look silenced the protest that was rising to her lips. She only
clasped her hands nervously a moment, but said nothing.
"And you will stay here--_mon ami_, for a few days--until I am better,"
questioned Zoya eagerly.
"There's nothing else," he said with a shrug.
Pain clutched at the hearts of at least three persons in that room, but
Matthias Markov suffered the most. Rowland could see it in the lines of
his eyes, which had suddenly made him seem quite old again. The years
that had parted Markov and the woman who bore his name had only served
to widen the breach between them--a breach that all the love and
tenderness in the world from such a man as he could never hope to fill.
Even on her bed of pain Zoya remained the _mondaine_ while Matthias
Markov, to her at least, was only the hurdy-gurdy man. She had
repudiated him, had forbidden him to use her name. It was piteous. But
Herr Markov shrugged his lean shoulders and managed a smile for Rowland
and Tanya, in which they both read a new meaning of abnegation and
sacrifice.
Zoya had sunk back upon her pillow, so Herr Markov gave her another
opiate and presently she slept. Then while Frau Nisko went down stairs
to reassure herself that all was well below, Rowland and Tanya listened
to Markov's itinerary between Munich and Lindau. Fra Umberto could
travel thirty miles a day if he had to. It was nothing--if the
Fraeulein would not get tired within the instrument of
torture--Landsberg tomorrow night, Memmingen the night after, then
Weingarten and Lindenhof--four days at the most. He, Markov, had been
over the road often and knew it well. At Lindenhof he had a great
friend, a fisherman and a vine-grower named Gratz who lived with his
poverty like a prince in the ruined schloss of Kempelstein. There they
would go. And there take boat from the very walls of the _schloss_ to
Switzerland and freedom.
In the meanwhile they must decide upon a simple code of numerals and
letters for the telegraph, to be sent to Weingarten in case of important
information or warning. When that was arranged, Markov went down stairs
to find a screw driver, wrench and hammer to "disembowel" the dear
"machine of torture."
They followed him out of the room with their glances and then with one
accord gazed at the sleeping woman. She lay breathing deeply, one
graceful arm under her head and her lips were smiling. Tanya's mood
toward her had changed.
"You saw?" she asked in a whisper. "She repudiated him. She is not
worth waiting for." And then impulsively she threw her arms around
Rowland's neck, whispering tensely, "Come, Philippe--tonight, with me.
He should stay here--it is his place----"
Rowland kissed her gently.
"It would not be safe, dear. You must get through to Switzerland--with
the money. Don't make things too hard for me----"
"Ah, Philippe," she whispered. "I am nothing without you. His
papers--a disguise----"
But Rowland shook his head.
"It is dangerous. We should both be lost and that which I came to save.
In this way you at least shall get through surely----"
"But you? We have found life together--I am frightened for you."
"Don't worry. I'll pull through--some way."
"Come, Philippe," she whispered again. "Life or death--together!"
He held her close in his arms, aware that the moment of her weakness
should be his for strength, and soothed her gently.
"This way means life for both of us--success. I am not afraid. I will
follow soon. Would you have me less noble than he?" he asked.
She was silent and after a while she raised her head and he saw that the
moment of her uncertainty had passed.
"I will go," she murmured, and he kissed away the moisture that had
gathered at her eyes before it fell.
"Princess Tatyana!" he laughed, "if you will only wave your wand--no
evil can come to me."
* * * * *
And so it was that that evening, just after dark, a very tall man and a
very small donkey hauling a hurdy-gurdy, passed southward along the
Sommer Strasse and were soon lost in the darkness of the night.