THE VISITOR
For three days the President of the Order of Nemi had sat in the room
upon the third floor of Number 16 Schwaiger Strasse, keeping the
convalescent Zoya company, sleeping at night on a pallet of straw in the
dark hole under the eaves. Frau Nisko brought food and water and
dressed Zoya's wound, which was of a much less serious character than
had been supposed. Rowland had at last prevailed upon Frau Nisko to
accept five hundred marks from the roll that he had abstracted from a
package of the bank notes--legitimate traveling expenses on this
extraordinary commission. Nothing had disturbed the quiet of his
imprisonment but the itching desire to be on his way, and the impatience
of his difficult companion, who with her improvement showed growing
symptoms of a gayety which Rowland could not share. Frau Nisko had
reported that all was quiet in the neighborhood, the guard of soldiers
having been withdrawn, and from his view from the dormer window, the
peaceful streets were tempting. Rowland longed to go down the stairs
and carelessly saunter forth under the very eyes of the police. That
was the sort of an escape that appealed to him--something simple,
something obvious and then--to the woods and fields by night--they'd
never catch him there. He knew that game.
But Zoya Rochal bothered him. With convalescence had come a desire for
cigarettes and companionship. She was now quite reconciled to her
situation and except for the fear of Von Stromberg which she continually
expressed, seemed to be suffering no great hardship. It was perhaps
unfortunate that Rowland thought of Tanya and Matthias Markov, followed
them in his mind's eye in their long pilgrimage to the Boden See, for
Zoya Rochal was clever and with returning spirits discovered the
restraint in his manner which was so different from that to which she
had been accustomed.
"_Mon pauvre_ Philippe," she said at last, with a smile at the lighted
candle, "you are never quite contented unless you are shooting somebody.
Come, let us be happy. I am getting very strong. See, I move my arm
easily. Tomorrow, tonight even, I should be able to go away with you."
"Tomorrow! But you were to wait for Matthias Markov!" he said in
surprise.
"Pouf! It is precisely because of Herr Markov that I do not propose to
wait. Herr Markov is--well--a friend of my girlhood---- But one
outgrows one's early associations, _n'est-ce pas_? He is very kind, but
oh! so tiresome." She gave an expressive shrug and frowned. "I do not
like to look back. I might be turned into a pillar of salt. The future
is difficult enough without thinking of the mistakes of one's past."
She cared for nothing, thought of nothing--but herself. But whatever his
own opinion, Rowland had no curiosity, no wish to encourage confidences
that might be painful. He knew what she was....
"Escape?" he questioned. "That is easily said. But how?"
"That we shall walk forth, arm in arm, _mon ami_, take a train like a
newly wedded couple and be off----"
"And be arrested at the Bahnhof----?"
"The chance is worth taking----"
"You have passports--you might get through----"
"And you--where is your resourcefulness? Are you not the President of
Nemi? Give Frau Nisko your coin to take to Herr Yaeger. He is not
unlike you in appearance. His papers would serve----"
But Rowland shook his head.
"Impossible. My faith in your associates has failed. When Markov
returns he will help you to freedom and I----"
"You would desert me, _mon brave_?" she said softly, one hand upon his
arm. "Can it be true that after all my admiration for you, my aid in
your cause, my faith, my devotion, you will turn against me? Don't say
that, _mon_ Philippe. You do not know the depths of the heart of a
woman of my kind. You are a man of experience. You know what a woman
who has come from nothing must suffer to rise in the world."
"Oh, I say, Zoya," he broke in with a smile, "I haven't reproached
you----"
"Perhaps I should be more happy if you did. For then I would know that
you cared. But you say nothing--say nothing and only smoke and smile."
She broke off with a bitter little laugh. "You do not flatter me, _mon
vieux_."
"Is this a time for flattery, Zoya? Over a hundred miles of hostile
country to be passed----"
"We will not pass them more quickly by losing confidence in each
other----"
He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Have I not
remained----?" he asked.
She made a grimace at the hand that he had released.
"Such a cold little kiss!" she smiled. "What has come over you, _mon_
Philippe? A few days ago you were so different. I had begun to hope
that you cared as--as I do. Have I grown ugly because of my wound? Or
was your devotion only a means to an end--the rescue of Fraeulein
Korasov?"
"Zoya, what's the use. You know----"
"I am no fool, _mon vieux_," she went on coolly. "I have a seventh
sense. Fraeulein Korasov--she is very pretty. You are her D'Artagnan.
You play the hero in the piece. You rescue her--she adores you----"
She waved a hand in protest as he began to speak.
"Oh, I have eyes in my head. And you, _mon_ Philippe, you are filled
with pity--beauty in distress--you care for her a little, perhaps, and
you forget your great pact of loyalty and friendship with Zoya
Rochal----"
"It is not true----"
"You send her away with Matthias Markov and the money of Nemi. What do
you know of the honesty of Matthias Markov or of her? And you keep me
here to be taken by General Graf von Stromberg and to be shot perhaps
against a wall."
"There was nothing else to do. You were in no condition----"
"Ah, yes, but you might at least have given me the privilege of your
confidences."
"I did what I thought was best," he said shortly. "Do I not share your
danger?"
She shrugged.
"With regret, with impatience, but without tenderness, _mon brave_. Do
you suppose that I cannot see? I am merely an impediment. I hold you
back while you long to be off yonder--to escape and leave me here----"
"Zoya----"
She laughed and rose.
"Beware of the fury of the woman scorned, _mon vieux_. Tell me that you
love me, tell me that you hate--but indifference--that, at least, I will
not bear!"
There was nothing for it but to mollify her. He put his arm around her
and kissed her.
"Hang it all, Zoya! You ought to know me by this time," he muttered.
"Desperation and sentiment won't mix. I'm not going to be caught here
if I can help it----"
She relaxed a little in his arms.
"Philippe," she murmured, "you know the worst of me. Don't judge me with
those terrible accusing eyes of yours. I want to begin--again. Give me
my chance to forget. I love you, _mon_ Philippe, since the first----"
She paused, startled, for Rowland had released her suddenly, a warning
finger at his lips. And then they heard clearly again a thin voice in
the hallway below, a man's voice that they both knew--and the sound of
footsteps upon the stairs.
The color had all gone from Zoya's cheeks and she stared helplessly at
Rowland.
"Von Stromberg!" he whispered.
He snatched up his cap and vanished out of the window into the darkness
upon the roof. Hurriedly he crawled up astride the peak of the dormer
window where he lay forward listening.
A loud knock upon the door.
"Where is this sick lady?" said the voice. "I would like to see
her----" A pause, and then, "Ah! And so it is you after all, Madame
Rochal! This is most extraordinary--most extra-or-din-ary!" He
caressed the words as if they were something good to the taste. "You
have nothing to say. You are very pale. I have frightened you? I am
sorry. _Bitte_, lie down again upon the bed from which you have arisen
and be quite composed. I will not harm you. Why should I? Did you not
vote for my wonderful resolution? _Ach so!_"
The tones of the voice were eloquent--cynical and soft by turns, and
Rowland did not need to see the cadaverous, leering face, the air of
sardonic condescension, the deep baleful eyes which glared and charmed
by their very malignity.
"Ach, you are feeling better, _nicht wahr_? A swallow of water. So.
We will now have a quiet amicable chat. Will you not ask me to sit down?
Will you not ask after my wound? I have no wound," he laughed dryly.
"Herr Rowland is a bad shot. _Danke_. But if there is one thing in the
world that irks me, it is the climbing of stairs.... Now we will begin.
Will you now have the kindness to tell me how you managed to come
here...?"
A low murmur scarcely distinguishable in reply.
"Over the roofs? Wounded? There is some negligence here. My men
searched." And then more quietly, "You were always resourceful--most
resourceful, Madame. Wounded too. That is a pity. I trust not
seriously.... That is good. It would be a pity.... Your beautiful
neck, in a ball dress. But it is not possible that you could have
accomplished this escape alone.... In the storm! ... a desperate
venture...."
Rowland heard her murmur again.
"Ach. It is unbelievable. Alone--you, Madame ... so frail--and
wounded, too."
"I was hurt and frightened, Excellency," Rowland heard her say as her
voice gathered strength. "But it was not difficult."
"Very easy. So. It is a pity I am such a credulous old man, _nicht
wahr_? I am growing old. I am losing my cunning. What a pity!"
"I tell you the truth, Excellency."
"You surprise me. But I am suspicious. It is my trade--to believe in
the universality of the lie, which is the basis of all successful
intrigue. You will pardon me, Madame, but I do not believe you." And
then in a quick concentrated tone, menacing--vicious, "Who helped you
across those roofs, Madame? Herr Rowland, _nicht wahr_?"
"No."
"Herr Rowland----!"
"I did not see him."
"You lie! Answer me."
"Excellency! You are hurting my arm."
"Answer me."
A long silence, then a murmur of pain.
"You shall----"
It was with an effort that Rowland controlled his will to descend ...
but he clutched at the tiles and did not move.
"_Ach, so_----" came the triumphant voice. "It was he----"
"But he has escaped--gone yesterday. I swear it!"
"So--and the black bag? It was here? Answer me!"
"Yes, it was here."
"And Fraeulein Korasov----?"
"She, too."
"A nice party--and they have all escaped? Some one shall suffer for
this."
Rowland could hear him stamping to and fro, heard his voice at the
window, while he peered out and Rowland had even prepared to risk
discovery by crawling up to the shelter of the chimneys above, when Von
Stromberg turned back into the room again. Rowland heard him call to
the man in the corridor who had accompanied him and between them find
the loose boarding into the loft. And after a while the malicious voice
again.
"So it was there he slept? While these pigs of officers played tag upon
the roof tops." And then to the soldier, "Go. Wait below!"
Just above his head, Rowland grinned to himself and breathed more
freely. Luck! Sheer luck!
There was silence in the room for a long moment.
"So! Escape--and you have helped to accomplish it. Accessory to
treason, Madame. You know the penalty of that."
"Excellency, I had nothing to do with it. I was under the influence of
morphine. I slept."
"You do not then know how it was accomplished?"
"No, Excellency----"
A silence and then the quiet tones that were so dangerous.
"It will not pay you to be stubborn, Madame. It is my habit always to
find out what I want to know----"
"But if I am ignorant----?" she appealed.
"Who is this Herr Markov who occupies this room? Markov! A name not
unfamiliar. Markov!"
She was silent.
"Who is he? Speak!"
"He is--my husband, Excellency."
Rowland heard the thin raucous laugh.
"You lose a lover only to find a husband! A real husband? The long arm
of coincidence? Or another lie?"
"The truth----" in a lowered voice. "I had not seen him for years."
"Well, and if--I believe you? Herr Markov helped our birds to escape?"
"We came. What could he do? Give me up to the police after all these
years----?"
"But--the others--the black bag----"
A silence, and then----
"Have I not told you, Excellency, that I was sick--sleeping----?"
"You have told me many things. I shall believe what I choose. How much
of this did Frau Nisko know?"
"Nothing--except that I had come to him. She did not know how. She
believed that I came up the stairs. We all shared the food of two. The
others went out into the streets at night and escaped----"
"With the black bag? Impossible. There is not a black suit-case in
Germany that we do not know about."
He broke off suddenly and a change came into his voice.
"Come, Madame. You and I have worked together before and you have not
found me ungenerous. I will make a bargain with you. Help me to find
the black bag and I will give you--say--two hundred thousand marks. Ah,
you are tempted? The woman who is tempted falls."
"I know nothing," she murmured.
"Perhaps three hundred thousand will sharpen your intelligence."
He laughed and chose another method.
"How was the money taken from this room?"
"I do not know. At night while I slept."
"Who took it?"
A long silence. And then another change of tone.
"You are young, Madame, and still beautiful. It would be a pity----"
She understood what he meant.
"Excellency!" Her tone was raised now in fear, in horror. "What,
Excellency?"
"Death! Tomorrow!" The words fell from his lips sharply. "Will you
speak or will you not? On the one hand--what I have promised--on the
other--a military trial--a matter of minutes, and then--a stone wall--a
volley--and a tumbled heap of soiled clothing upon the ground. Zoya
Rochal--the most beautiful woman in Europe. I paint a true portrait. I
have seen----"
"Excellency----!"
"You will speak?"
Her voice had sunk to a murmur and Rowland could not distinctly hear but
he felt suddenly very ill. She was telling. Zoya was betraying Tanya
and Matthias Markov. A sudden fury possessed him. He gripped the tiles
in a struggle to control the impulse to murder that was in his heart.
But the fever passed. Tanya! He must get word to Markov--a
hurdy-gurdy--a donkey--their trail from Munich was wide and long and the
expedient that had seemed so certain of success was now doomed to sudden
disaster unless he could reach Markov before von Stromberg's men were
put upon the track.
Did Zoya know which way the pair had gone? He tried to think. Only
Markov and he knew the itinerary--he listened intently.
"I do not know, Excellency," said Zoya in a suppressed voice. "I do not
know more. To Switzerland, by the nearest route. A piano-organ, a
donkey. You promise?"
"Herr Markov and the Fraeulein shall meet with no harm. I give you my
word, as Councilor of the Empire. He shall go free. For your sake I
will merely send him to Austria and you----" He broke off with a laugh,
"You, Madame, shall have the rest of Europe to yourself."
"Thanks, Excellency," she murmured. "And I am free?"
"As the air. Once a day you will report at the Police Headquarters of
Munich until further notice."
Rowland heard his footsteps and the sound of the door latch.
"My compliments, Madame Rochal, upon your discretion. I hope that your
beautiful neck may not be scarred. I will indeed see that a doctor is
sent to you at once. In the meanwhile--_au revoir_."
The door closed with a bang and Rowland heard the heavy footsteps going
down the bare stairs. And in a little while from a perch in the shadow
of the dormer window he marked the tall figure with his soldier
attendant enter an automobile and drive swiftly away.
Rowland waited a moment, desperate--uncertain--sure only that he must
find some means of getting a message over the wire to the luckless
Markov and Tanya at Weingarten, where they would have arrived tonight,
but in a grim apprehension as to his ability to reach a telegraph
office. But there was no time to delay. The moments were precious. In
half an hour--perhaps less--Von Stromberg would have instructions wired
to his agents in every town between Munich and the Swiss frontier. And
so, reckless of his silhouette as he crawled in at the window, he again
entered the room. Zoya was standing, facing him, pale, expectant,
terrified at the look she saw in his eyes. She caught at his arm but as
he strode to the door she seized him again and held him fiercely.
"Where are you going----?"
"Away from here--from the sight of you----"
"You heard----?"
"Yes. You've betrayed us--for money----"
"That is not true, Philippe," she whispered wildly, as she fought to
keep his hand from the door knob. "You did not hear what passed----"
"I heard enough----"
"I lied to him,--told him that you had gone. He believes it----"
"But the others. You told----"
"It was merely to gain time. They are far away. We can reach them. It
was you that I was thinking of--you--all the time. You--out there on
the roof. All that I wanted was for him to go away so that you would
not be discovered. I did it to save you----"
"To save me--_you_!"
"I threw him off his guard. He believes that you are gone. You shall
escape now,--I too--we will escape to freedom--in a few days it will be
arranged. Herr Markov and the Fraeulein will come to no harm even if
they are found. He promised. You heard?"
"I've heard enough. Let me go."
He shook himself free of her but she seized him again.
"No--you shall not go. I did what I could to save you. I told him as
little ... merely that they had gone upon the road ... that was all.
His eyes were burning into my brain, Philippe. He compelled me. He may
not find them. And even if he does, he will not harm them. It is only
the money of Nemi that he wants. That will satisfy him. Let the money
go. What does it matter now? I do not want the money--I only
want--you, Philippe. In a few days I will get you passports and we will
leave together. Not tonight, Philippe--wait. I will explain----"
"Out of my way----"
He had pulled the door open and thrust her aside. She stumbled and fell
to her knees, still clinging to him.
"I will not--let you go. You will be killed. Just a moment. Listen to
me, Philippe. I swear to you that you have misunderstood. I did
not---- Oh God!"
[Illustration: "Listen to me, Philippe! I swear to you that you have
misunderstood."]
He drew away and she fell prone upon the floor, trying to follow him.
His fury had turned to contempt and now to pity. He turned, picked her
up in his arms and carried her to the bed, releasing himself gently, for
she had no more strength to fight him. And then he left her and went
slowly down the stairs.
For a while she lay there motionless, her head buried in her arms. Once
her shoulders moved convulsively but she made no sound. Her face when
she raised it toward the candle light was haggard, but tearless. Her
lips were compressed and she even smiled a little. But her eyes were
unusually bright. With an abrupt movement of decision she straightened,
and getting up went to the door, where she paused a moment, gazing down
the stairs. Then went to the landing below, clinging to the railing,
and called Frau Nisko. There was no reply. She crept down to the lower
floor and out to the kitchen. There was a woman there by the window
fanning herself with a newspaper.
"Where is Frau Nisko?" asked Zoya.
The woman turned a heavy bovine gaze.
"She has gone," she replied.
"Where?"
The woman shrugged.
"Did a man come in here a while ago?"
"A man--yes."
"They talked?"
"Yes--yonder," pointing to the door of the dining room.
"Did they stay there long?"
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
"I do not know. He went out yonder," pointing to a rear door.
"There is a gate at the rear?"
"Oh, yes."
"Did you hear what they said?"
The woman laughed mirthlessly.
"What business is it of mine?"
"Where has Frau Nisko gone?"
"Have I not said that I did not know?"
She had merely the politeness of cooks and now turned her back
resolutely, faced the window and fanned herself again with a view to
ending the discussion.
There was nothing for it but to await Frau Nisko's return and so,
leaving word that she wished to see the landlady when she returned,
slowly Zoya climbed the stairs again and went into her room, where she
sat on the bed in deep thought. After awhile she got up and lighting
the lamp, searched for her clothing in the drawers of the dressing
stand. She took the garments out one by one, examining them and
preening them with her fingers. Then, discarding the old wrapper that
she wore, she dressed with some care and attention to detail, and then
lay down upon the bed and waited.
But when Frau Nisko knocked some moments later, she straightened and
questioned rapidly.
"Herr Rowland has gone?"
The woman was somewhat shaken by the events of the evening and more than
surprised at Madame Rochal's appearance.
"Yes, God be thanked! He went safely from my house. It has been almost
too much. But the Herr General said nothing when he went out. I can't
understand----"
"I explained matters to his satisfaction. He will not bother you----"
"You are very kind--but it mystifies me greatly. You are in terror of
your life in one moment and then suddenly--all is well. And now you go
somewhere----?"
"Frau Nisko," said Zoya, ignoring the question, "you were sent out with
a message to the telegraph, _nicht wahr_?"
"It was at Herr Rowland's orders----"
"What was the message?"
"I didn't understand. It was written in a code."
"He wrote it--here?"
"Down stairs in the dining room. It was dangerous to be there. I told
him so. But he did not care."
"What did the message say?"
"It was about the price of some second-hand furniture to be shipped to
Weingarten."
"Yes, yes. Where was it sent?"
"To Weingarten----"
"But to whom?"
"To a Herr Liedenthal at the Zweisler Waldhaus----"
"Ah. You are sure of the names?"
"Positive."
"And Herr Rowland, did he tell you where he was going?"
Frau Nisko's amazement had been increasing.
"Did he not tell _you_, Madame?"
"No. He--he was frightened at the Herr General and has left me. Where
did he go?"
"Into danger, I'm afraid. He seemed reckless. He asked if I knew the
time of the night-trains for Lindau----"
"Lindau--and you told him?"
"I found out from a lodger upon the second floor who is in the Railway
Service. There is but one train. It leaves the Haupt Bahnhof at
thirteen minutes past eleven."
Madame Rochal hesitated a moment, and then:
"Frau Nisko," she said, quickly, glancing at her watch, "I have been
given my freedom. I am going out. I do not know when I shall
return----"
"But Herr Markov----!"
"I will communicate with him."
She glanced around the room and then went quickly down the stair, Frau
Nisko following, still bewildered at the turn of events.
"What shall I say to Herr Markov?" she repeated helplessly.
"That I--I am going to seek him," said Zoya.
"And if the Herr General should send?"
"You need not worry. That has been arranged. He believes that you knew
nothing of the others. Good by," she finished at the street door. "You
shall be rewarded----"
"_Im Himmel_," muttered Frau Nisko cynically, as she watched the slim
figure of Zoya Rochal go swiftly down the street toward the bridge.
"And Matthias Markov--he also."
Then she slowly turned and reentered the house.