KEMPELSTEIN
"Chere Zoya," said Rowland, in a moment as he smoked a much desired
cigarette, "this will not do at all, we must never be seen together in
these costumes. You look like the front cover of a fashion magazine and
I--like a coal miner up for the air. But we haven't any time to lose.
In ten minutes the Sleeping Beauty will roll into the Bahnhof at Lindau
waiting for someone to wake him with a kiss. They'll be getting
suspicious in fifteen minutes and after that they'll go over this
smiling land with a fine-tooth comb. And if there are no teeth out of
it, they'll draw something. There's one way."
"What, Philippe--
"A bee-line for the lake----"
"How far is it?"
"Not over a mile or so, I think. You can see the water shimmering
through the trees."
"Let's go then----"
"You're not too tired?"
"No. Lead on. I'll follow."
He peered out of their place of concealment and walked in a leisurely
way along the road. Behind them at the Railroad Gate the old woman
still sat knitting. Both trains had gone. The way to the lake was
clear, a country road, little traveled. A fresh breeze had started up
and the sun had broken above the low hanging bands of moisture and laid
a pretty pattern of the shimmering foliage across his path. The
business of escaping seemed absurdly simple--only a few miles of water
between himself and freedom.
But the uncertainty about Tanya and Markov made him grave. Had they
received his message last night and if so had they heeded it and come on
safely to Lindenhof. More "ifs" came suddenly into his mind than he
cared to think about. Markov was clever, and with the hurdy-gurdy could
have been counted on to reach Schloss Kempelstein without difficulty.
But without the hurdy-gurdy, and surrounded by police and soldiers all
of whom had been notified of his passage across Bavaria, how would he
fare? Was he equal to such an emergency? That was the risk. In a
moment Rowland had proof of the thoroughness with which Von Stromberg
had done his work, for at the next crossing two provincial policemen
awaited his approach, scrutinizing him carefully.
He nodded to them cheerfully and bade them good morning, but they stood
in his path and he stopped, rather alarmed at the unexpected turn of
events. But he kept his easy poise admirably and his grin disarmed
them.
"Your name please?" asked the older man.
"With pleasure," politely, "Leo Knaus."
"You are of the railroad?"
"Assuredly. Do I not look black enough?"
"Quite so. Where do you live?"
"In Kempten."
"Where do you go now?"
Rowland laughed.
"To the lake for a bath. You would like to do the same if you had spent
the night upon my locomotive."
Here the younger man broke in, "The man described has gray hair. As you
will see, that of Herr Knaus is black."
"Aye, and his skin too," laughed Rowland. And then, "You were looking
for someone?"
"A tall man with gray hair and a girl whose hair is reddish brown. You
did not see by chance upon the road, a hurdy-gurdy, a piano-organ on
wheels, drawn by a small donkey?"
"I am a fireman. There is no time to examine the scenery. But
wait----" Rowland took off his cap and scratched his head. "A
hurdy-gurdy you say? With a donkey?"
"Yes--yes. You've seen----?"
"I think--I'm sure. Yesterday near Immenstadt--a donkey--a very small
donkey?"
"Yes--a small donkey--and a man and woman walking----"
"At dusk last night, where the railroad and the highway ran parallel
near the lake of Immenstadt. I am sure. There is no grade there and I
was resting--leaning against the side of my coal-box--My engineer,
Duveneck----"
"That does not matter--you are sure of what you tell?"
"Positive."
"You will report to the Weissenburg Station when you have had your
bath?"
"Assuredly. My engine is there. I go on duty this afternoon."
"Good----"
At this moment Zoya Rochal came up to the group and, staring blankly,
passed on.
"Reddish hair," repeated the older man.
"Of course I could not see the color of the woman's hair----"
"We will see to this at once. The telegraph, Nussbaum----"
And off they went, traveling back along the road by which Rowland had
come. With a grin he watched them depart on their wild-goose chase.
Immenstadt was east, Weingarten west. "And never the twain shall
meet----" he quoted cheerfully to himself, aware of the fact that not
yet had the net been closed around Markov and Tanya. And he, Rowland,
had perhaps widened its mouth by fifty miles or so. But such expedients
were dangerous and made the necessity for his disappearance and Zoya's
from the immediate neighborhood a matter of great urgency. He went on
toward the Lake following Zoya Rochal, compelling his feet to move
slowly, while every impulse urged speed. Already the sleeping Von
Stromberg must have been discovered and it would not be many minutes
before the alarm would go out for Zoya Rochal. Her trim dark figure
moved steadily in front of him a hundred yards away, slowly reducing the
distance to the water which Rowland could now see at the foot of the
lane. There were boats there, he could see them clearly now, boats of
all kinds ... Zoya seemed to move more slowly--more painfully ... she
was tired out. He hurried forward and passed her. "Courage," he
whispered, "we are not suspected. Can you go on?" She was very pale.
"Yes--yes--a little faint----"
"Courage," he repeated.
He strode on more rapidly now, passing through a village of small frame
houses of the poorer sort, reaching the foot of the lane where there was
a jetty, beyond which several sail-boats were anchored. There was an
old man on the jetty cleaning some fish which he had taken out of a
sail-boat alongside. Rowland lighted a cigarette and approached him
leisurely.
"Good luck?" he asked.
The man looked up with the taciturnity of fishermen.
"Fair," he said.
"Any boats to hire?"
The man looked Rowland over from top to toe, his fish-knife suspended in
the air.
"You don't think I can pay because I am a workman. I am off for a
holiday, my friend. See." And Rowland exhibited a hundred mark note
with an air of great pride. The fisherman became more interested at
once. But shook his head.
"There is a new law about renting boats to strangers. You must have a
pass from the officer commanding at Lindau."
Rowland laughed.
"Strangers! That's pretty good. And me working between Weissenburg and
Kempten for ten years."
The fisherman rose and took up his bucket of fish.
"I'm sorry. Your money is as good as anyone else's, but it can't be
done."
Rowland looked around him quickly. There was no one in sight upon the
shore and only the slender figure of Zoya Rochal slowly approaching him
along the jetty. Alongside the raft to which the man had descended to
wash his fish was the sail-boat he had used. The breeze was fresh and
from the South. The boom swung noisily to and fro. Rowland's mind was
working rapidly.
Zoya joined him. "Courage," he whispered. "Go down."
She obeyed him, descending the wooden steps to the lower level. The
fisherman looked up indifferently and rose, his fish strung.
"You're sure you don't want to change your mind?" asked Rowland
pleasantly.
"No--it is _verboten_."
"Is this your boat?"
"Yes--but----"
"A hundred marks, Herr Fisherman," said Rowland bringing the money out
and holding it before the man's eyes again.
The man dropped his fish and scowled at Rowland.
"_Donnerwetter_! Have I not said----?"
There was no time to waste. Rowland had put both their necks into a
noose which this idiot would draw if they parleyed longer.
"Get in the sail-boat, Zoya," he said coolly and the bewildered
fisherman watched her obey. "Your money----"
"My boat----" the man shouted rushing forward. But he got no further
for Rowland shoved him violently, tripping him skillfully at the same
time and he disappeared into the water.
Zoya was already in the boat and before the fisherman came to the
surface Rowland had cast off the bow-line and pushed away from the raft.
The fellow rose sputtering and tried to clamber in but found himself
looking into the barrel of Rowland's automatic.
"_Herr Gott!_" the fellow muttered and dropped back into the water.
By this time the sail-boat had swung off from the dock. Rowland hauled
in the sheet, pulled up the lug sail, and a quick twist of the tiller
sent her on her way.
"Silly fool," said Rowland half to himself. "He's merely out a hundred
marks."
The craft heeled over and the foam rushed out from under her counter,
bubbling aft in a manner most cheerful to see. But before Rowland had
worked clear of the other boats at anchor, he heard a sound behind him
and looking over his shoulder saw the drenched figure of his friend the
fisherman, rushing along the jetty shouting like a demon. Figures
emerged along the shore and stood watching curiously and when the man
reached them and told his story there was a good deal of running around
and waving of arms, but the thing that interested Rowland most was the
fact that while he looked no one ran out on the jetty or toward the
row-boats. They may have disliked the taciturn fisherman as Rowland had
done or they may have thought that he dreamed.
"There may be a telephone in that dump," grinned Rowland, "but I'll risk
a hundred marks on it."
Meanwhile he steered for the open lake, sure that the rule against the
use of petrol which applied to motor cars would also apply to power
boats. For the present at least they were safe, and skimming along
under a quartering breeze which showed no signs of diminishing. Zoya sat
rigidly upon the hard bench, her gaze on the town of Lindau, which,
separated from the mainland by a bridge, seemed to be slowly rising from
the water.
"_He_ is there," she said with a shudder. "Imagine--when he wakes!"
"Pfui! The guard! Poor devil." And then joyously, "Zoya--we've beaten
them."
"Yes--the gods are good."
"Do you feel better?"
"Better--yes--but I am very tired."
"Will you lie down yonder and try to rest?"
"Yes, Philippe."
She was very submissive. He covered her with his coat and she thanked
him softly. But again he noticed the air of indifference, of restraint,
of passive acceptance of the new relationship between them.
The breeze was life-giving and the craft, which bore the name of _Elsa_
seemed as deeply imbued as Rowland with the exigencies of the occasion,
for as the breeze freshened she leaped joyously toward the distant shore
as though aware of an important mission which had nothing to do with
trout or felchen. Rowland steered wide of all other craft, fishermen's
boats returning to Lindau, a steamer just leaving the Hafen for
Rorschach, and having covered as he thought a sufficient distance from
his point of departure swung in again toward the Bavarian shore.
Markov had described Schloss Kempelstein to him--a solitary tower upon
the shore of the lake, west of Lindau. There was a small jetty too with
boats. Such a place should not be difficult to find. He searched the
shore with his gaze and found a tower--much nearer Lindau than he had
supposed.
At the sudden change in the motion of the _Elsa_ coming around on the
other tack, Zoya Rochal started up and looked at the rapidly approaching
shore.
"It seems a pity," she said quietly.
He understood her but answered cheerfully enough.
"We'll come through, Zoya, don't worry."
"It's death, this time, Philippe----"
"Well----" he laughed. "We'll go merrily. There's only one thing I
regret."
"What, Philippe?"
"That I didn't tickle His Excellency under the chin."
"I hope he doesn't tickle us under ours, _mon vieux_," she said rather
grimly.
The tower of Schloss Kempelstein grew in height and now the ruined walls
surrounding it appeared. There was a sail-boat moored alongside the
jetty and one or two smaller boats, drawn up on the shore by the tower.
Rowland watched the place eagerly and the _Elsa_ rushed on her bows
dipping heavily into the cross seas, drenching them both with foam.
Zoya leaned forward, her hands clasped over the gunwale pale, calm,
indifferent to her discomfort, her wide weary gaze fixed like Rowland's
on the jetty beside the tower. There was an arch which connected the
tower with a ruined building alongside and it was in the shadow of this
arch that they were both suddenly aware of figures moving,--two men and
two women. The _Elsa_ was still too far away for them to distinguish
faces but the figures stood for a moment as though in conversation and
then seemed to move toward the jetty. Behind the ruin upon what seemed
to be a highroad, there were men on horseback, riding in a cloud of
dust.
"There's something going on, Zoya," whispered Rowland tensely. "What
does this mean?"
The _Elsa_ was now rushing in headlong. Rowland was so eager to shorten
the distance, that he had taken no account of the possible dangers of
the beach or of the necessities of a safe landing, but he put the helm
up now and let the craft swing down the beach a hundred yards or so
while he watched the figures on the pier, now plainly distinguishable.
One of the women was Tanya Korasov, the other woman--Rowland stared in
astonishment. It was no woman but a monk in a belted robe and while
Rowland and Zoya looked, they saw the monk direct Tanya to the sail-boat
alongside the jetty. There was a shout from the men in the shadow of
the arch as they rushed out toward the figure of the monk. As they
emerged into the sunlight the monk raised an arm gesturing, and then
there was a loud report and one of the men under the arch seemed to
stumble and fall. Then they saw him half rise and crawl on toward the
monk. Another report and the crawling man sank to the ground and moved
no more. The other man hesitated and then ran back to the shadow of the
arch.
"Good old Markov!" shouted Rowland. "The monk is Markov, Zoya----" And
then again wildly, "The boat," he shouted to the monk; "they're coming,
Markov!--Behind you--from the road."
Zoya had started up at the beginning as the shots were fired and had
leaned forward, her eyes peering in horror.
"That's not Markov," she whispered now to Rowland. "Not Markov," she
repeated. "It was he yonder." She sank down upon the seat and buried
her head in her hands.
"Not Markov," he muttered--"then who----"
An inkling of the truth came into Rowland's mind at the same moment for
the man in the monk's robes turned and catching up a bag that lay beside
him upon the jetty, caught Tanya by the arm, helped her abruptly into
the boat and pushed off from the jetty just as the cavalcade of horsemen
rode through the arch. Rowland saw them dismount and rush forward upon
the jetty, but the boat had swung off and her sail had caught the breeze
so that by the time the men in uniform had reached the end of the jetty
there was thirty feet of clear water, quickly widening, between them.
The soldiers shouted and one of them drew a revolver but the man in the
monk's robes had leveled his weapon again and fired. Rowland was now
near enough to see quite clearly the features of the monk. Even without
a mustache, Rowland recognized the man who had done the
shooting--Gregory Hochwald.
The _Elsa_ was now working up close hauled under the lee of the other
sail-boat which was making for the open waters of the lake. The soldier
kneeled and Hochwald pushed Tanya down below the gunwale. The automatic
of the soldier spoke again and again but without effect for Rowland saw
Hochwald rise in his place and make a derisive gesture. The other
soldiers fired also but the bullets spattered harmlessly in the water.
Herr Hochwald had been so busily engaged in making his escape that he
had not been aware of the _Elsa_ which had come up under his lee not a
hundred meters away, but as he set his course for the open water he
glanced over his shoulder at the _Elsa_, where Rowland, crouched at the
tiller, was slowly overhauling him. Rowland saw him laugh and say
something to Tanya who straightened, her white face gazing across the
space of water at Rowland but without recognition. Zoya lay face
downwards upon the seat, silent and motionless.
Rowland crouched lower, his cap pulled over his eyes. The meaning of the
events upon the wharf had come to him slowly and not until he had seen
Hochwald's face did he realize what this escape meant to him and to
Tanya. But having grasped the facts, he planned quickly. For the
present at least their common foe was baffled and every mile that grew
between the boats and the Bavarian shore was so much to the credit of
them both in a defensive alliance which should not in the least cloud
the personal issue between Rowland and Hochwald. There was going to be
a reckoning of some sort presently when they reached the center of the
lake--a reckoning which would balance all grievances. Rowland had
suddenly become quite calmly exhilarated, and Zoya raised her head and
looked at him in pallid astonishment. As her look questioned, he
answered:
"It's Hochwald, Zoya--the priest is Hochwald." And as she straightened
to look---"Keep down below the gunwale. He doesn't know, we're going to
surprise him."
"What are you going to do?"
"Oh, just trail along."
He was silent again, thinking, and she questioned no more. Indeed from
the look of her she was more dead than alive, and Rowland found time to
wonder how she had managed to keep up for so long. He marveled at the
look of sudden terror that had come into her face when Matthias Markov
had fallen. It had been as though suddenly in that dreadful moment she
had had a vision of the ghosts of her sins, against him ... Poor
Markov....
But the memory of Tanya's frightened face in Herr Hochwald's boat soon
blotted all else from Rowland's mind. Tanya there with his arch enemy
Hochwald, escaping to freedom and Switzerland, with Tanya and the
treasure of Nemi! What chance could have thrown them together--for
nothing but chance could have aided Hochwald where such a man as Von
Stromberg had failed. Chance ... Chance should not avail him now. The
_Elsa_ was Nemesis and she seemed to be aware of it, for she outfooted
the heavy craft of Hochwald three to two. But Rowland was not ready to
come up with Hochwald yet--not until they had passed the middle of the
lake and were safely over the Swiss line, so he eased the _Elsa_ up into
the wind and let her hang there from time to time until a mile or two
had been covered when he hauled his lug sail as close as he could and
crossing the stern of Hochwald's boat stole up the windward where he
kept the _Elsa's_ sail between Hochwald and himself.
Rowland could now see that Hochwald was puzzled by the actions of this
other boat which clung to him so closely and tried to come closer up
into the wind, but Rowland edged away, all the while forging ahead and
choosing a position which would give him the advantage when they came to
terms. The wind was now blowing half a gale from the mountains to the
southward and the heavy clouds which had formed above their peaks came
rolling down deeper and deeper in shadow as a presage of more wind to
come. But the _Elsa_ was a good sea-boat and had so far shipped little
but the crests of foam. Zoya lay upon the seat, leaning on one elbow,
her eyes dully watching the race. From time to time she turned and
glanced at Rowland who smiled at her encouragingly but said nothing.
The German shore was now hardly distinguishable through the mist of
flying spume and shadow. There was a steamer in the direction of
Lindau; Rowland had marked her for the last ten minutes and she was
coming fast, traveling under forced draught for from time to time her
stack belched clouds of black smoke. And now, there was a deep boom
which rolled with sullen reverberations across the water and at the same
moment almost, a column of spray shot up into the air two hundred yards
to the _Elsa's_ left. Zoya started upright and glanced at Rowland who
knew what this new danger meant.
"The Patrol-boat, Zoya," he said coolly. "Somebody's given our show
away."
"Will they catch us?"
"I hope not. A stern chase--and we're legging it pretty fast."
"It's Von Stromberg," she said with the abstracted air of the fatalist.
"One cannot get the best of the game with Von Stromberg."
"We shall," cried Rowland triumphantly. "Look, Zoya. The Swiss
Patrol."
She followed the direction of his arm and saw, stealing out from the
Hafen of Romanshorn, over their starboard bow, another steamer of about
the same size as their pursuer.
There was no time to spare if Rowland's argument with Herr Hochwald was
to be concluded before the interesting conflict of these new forces.
Another distant boom and another geyser of water shot into the air, a
hundred feet nearer.
"Can you sail a boat, Zoya?" he asked of her.
"No--but I'm willing to try," she said with a strange smile.
Rowland brought the _Elsa_ up into the wind and held her there until the
boat of Herr Hochwald drew up on even terms, then he eased up the helm
and steered a course that would bring the two boats together in a few
moments. He saw Hochwald, who had by this time thrown off his monk's
robe, rise in the stern of the other boat and scrutinize him eagerly,
his sail meanwhile flapping uncertainly. But the _Elsa_ bore down on
him like an avenging angel until only a few yards of water separated the
two boats. By this time Hochwald who had guessed that the actions of
the _Elsa_ boded him no good had put his helm up to run for it. But
Rowland, his cap pulled well down over his eyes, maneuvered skillfully,
and brought the _Elsa_ alongside, and there they rushed for a second or
so, crashing together, the foam dashing over them, the white water
flashing between.
"Quick, Zoya," cried Rowland. "Hold her--as she is----"
And leaving the helm he dashed forward seizing the _Elsa's_ bow-line,
leaped into the air landing safely and took a quick turn of the painter
around the mast of Hochwald's boat.
Hochwald had recognized him now and began firing as Rowland saw Tanya
rise from the bottom of the boat where she had been lying.
"Keep down, Tanya," he cried triumphantly in the voice that she knew so
well. "It's I--Philippe."
[Illustration: "Keep down, Tanya," he cried. "It's I--Philippe."]
She obeyed him--in a fascination of surprise and terror.... Saw Zoya
Rochal clamber from one boat to the other and rise.... Heard the
reports of firearms ... saw Zoya's eyes widen, saw her clutch at her
breast and stumbling, fall just behind Philippe who had run aft toward
Hochwald, firing as he went.
Tanya hid her face in her hands for a second, then rose, watching the
two men swaying in a deadly embrace. There was another shot from
Hochwald's weapon, muffled against the body of Philippe, but he still
struck and struggled, lifting Hochwald clear of the gunwale. As Tanya
ran aft, Rowland fell half over the side, while Hochwald hung a moment,
his face ghastly, feebly gripping for a hold and then disappeared in the
green swirl of water astern.
Tanya caught at Rowland's shoulder and hauled him back into the boat and
he sank into her arms, the smile still on his lips ... a smile that now
twitched painfully ... for upon his soaking shirt above the breast was a
dark spot--spreading rapidly.
"Tanya," he was muttering, "cast off--other boat--steer, Swiss
Patrol----" And then his head fell forward and he was silent.
She gazed at him in anguish but laid him gently down and ran quickly
forward. The boats were thrashing together dangerously and the other
was half full of water. With difficulty she cast off the line ... Zoya
lay upon it ... but at last she got it free and ran back to Philippe,
who was lying where she had laid him, the water in the cockpit washing
over him. She sat beside the tiller, raising his head in her lap,
trying with her handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood from his
wound. Was it to be death after all...?
"Steer--Swiss Patrol----" She caught at the sheet beside her, that
Hochwald had pulled and fastened it to the cleat. A huge wave came over
the bow and frightened her, but she grasped the tiller and headed toward
the Swiss shore. The Swiss Patrol boat loomed larger--larger, but the
other, the German boat, still came on, a white cataract at its bows.
She did not seem to care now. The rush of the waves--of the growing
storm--roared in her ears, as though from a great distance. Before her
out of the gray of the mist and rain came the loom of the shore. She
heard the hails of men, they seemed to be all about her, but she knew
not how to obey and only sat clinging to the tiller and to Rowland,
whose head was against her body very pale and still....
She was aware of a boat along side of her, manned by men in smart
uniforms--one of whom leaped over into her boat, gave one quick glance
around and then at first gently and then with more force released the
tiller from her hand.
"If the Fraeulein will permit----" a voice said.
"You are----?"
"Lieutnant Hoffmeier of the Swiss Lake Patrol----"
She raised her head, blankly staring at him and then as he caught her in
his arms--suddenly relaxed.