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_The_ SECRET WITNESS
BY GEORGE GIBBS
AUTHOR OF "PARADISE GARDEN," "THE YELLOW DOVE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE BREHM
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON
1917
Copyright, 1917, by the Curtis Publishing Company
Published in the United States of America
TO MY FRIEND
MAJOR R. TAIT McKENZIE, R.A.M.C.
[Illustration: "Your veil--quick," he stammered breathlessly.]
CONTENTS
I. JUNE 12, 1914
II. COURT SECRETS
III. THE HABSBURG HAVEN
IV. SECRET INFORMATION
V. TWO INTRUDERS
VI. HERR WINDT
VII. THE GREEN LIMOUSINE
VIII. AN ESCAPE AND A CAPTURE
IX. CAPTAIN GORITZ
X. DIAMOND CUTS DIAMOND
XI. THE MAN IN BLACK
XII. FLIGHT
XIII. TRAGEDY
XIV. THE HARIM
XV. THE LIGHTED WINDOWS
XVI. THE BEG OF RATAJ
XVII. THE MAN IN ARMOR
XVIII. NUMBER 28
XIX. DISGUISE
XX. RENWICK QUESTIONS
XXI. AN IMPERSONATION
XXII. THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYSTACK
XXIII. SCHLOSS SZOLNOK
XXIV. PRISONER AND CAPTIVE
XXV. THE RIFT IN THE ROCK
XXVI. THE DEATH GRIP
XXVII. BESIEGED
IN REGARD TO THE EVIDENCE IN THE CASE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Your veil--quick," he stammered breathlessly.
"It is too late," she murmured. "They would see us."
"Who are you?" she asked.
His Excellency rose and bowed over her hand--
"Be quiet. People are watching you," said Goritz sternly.
"Thank you," she said simply. "I believe you."
THE SECRET WITNESS
CHAPTER I
JUNE 12, 1914
The Countess Marishka was fleet of foot. She was straight and slender
and she set a pace for Renwick along the tortuous paths in the rose
gardens of the Archduke which soon had her pursuer gasping. She ran like
a boy, her dark hair falling about her ears, her draperies like Nike's
in the wind, her cheeks and eyes glowing, a pretty quarry indeed and
well worthy of so arduous a pursuit. For Renwick was not to be denied
and as the girl turned into the path which led to the thatched arbor, he
saw that she was breathing hard and the half-timorous laugh she threw
over her shoulder at him only spurred him on to new endeavor. He reached
the hedge as she disappeared, but his instinct was unerring and he
leaped through the swaying branches just in time to see the hem of her
skirt in the foliage on the other side and plunging through caught her
in his arms just as she sank, laughing breathlessly, to the spangled
shadows of the turf beyond.
"Marishka," he cried joyously, "did you mean it?"
But she wouldn't reply.
"You said that if I caught you----"
"The race--isn't always--to the swift--" she protested falteringly in
her pretty broken English.
"Your promise----"
"I made no promise."
"You'll make it now, the one I've waited for--for weeks--Marishka. Lift
up your head."
"No, no," she stammered.
"Then I----"
Renwick caught her in his arms again and turned her chin upward. Her
eyes were closed, but as their lips met her figure relaxed in his arms
and her head sank upon his shoulder.
"You run very fast, Herr Renwick," she whispered.
"You'll marry me, Marishka?"
"Who shall say?" she evaded.
"Your own lips. You've given them to me----"
"No, no. You have taken them----"
"It is all the same. They are mine." And Renwick took them again.
"Oh," she gasped, "you are so persistent--you English. You always wish
to have your own way."
He laughed happily.
"Would you have me otherwise? My way and your way, Marishka, they go
together. You wish it so, do you not?"
She was silent a while, the wild spirit in her slowly submissive, and at
last a smile moved her lips, her dark eyes were upturned to his and she
murmured a little proudly:
"It is a saying among the women of the House of Strahni that where the
lips are given the heart must follow."
"Your heart, Marishka! Mine, for many weeks. I know it. It is the lips
which have followed."
"What matters it now, belovèd," she sighed, "since you have them both?"
Renwick smiled.
"Nothing. I only wondered why you've kept me dangling so long."
She was silent a moment.
"I--I have been afraid."
"Of what?"
"I do not know. It is the Tzigane in my blood which reads into the
future----"
She paused and he laughed gayly.
"Because I am a foreigner----"
"I have not always loved the English. I have thought them cold,
different from my people."
He kissed her again.
"And I could let you believe me that!"
She laughed. "Oh, no.... But you have shown me enough." And, pushing him
gently away, "I am convinced, _mon ami_...."
"As if you couldn't have read it in my eyes----"
"Alas! One reads--and one runs----"
"You couldn't escape me. It was written."
"Yes," she said dreamily, "I believe that now." And then, "But if
anything should come between us----"
"What, Marishka?" he smiled.
"I don't know. I have always thought that love would not come to me
without bitterness."
"What bitterness, _liebchen_?"
She settled softly closer to him and shrugged lightly. "How should I
know?"
He smiled at her proudly and caught her brown hand to his lips.
"You are dyed in the illusions of your race,--mystery--fatalism. They
become you well. But here among the roses of Konopisht there is no room
in my heart or yours for anything but happiness. See how they nod to
each other in the sunlight, Marishka. Like us, they love and are loved.
June comes to Bohemia but once a year--or to us. Let us bloom in the
sunlight like them--happy--happy----"
"Blood red, the roses," she said pensively. "The white ones please me
better. But they are so few. The Archduke likes the red ones best. What
is the verse?
"I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled."
"What matter Cæsar or Kaiser to us, Marishka? Our own kingdom----"
"Yes, yes," she sighed. "And I am happy in it. You know it, _nicht
wahr_?"
Silence, except for the drowsy hum of the bees and the songs of the
birds. No fatalism is long proof against the call of love and June.
Marishka was content that her flight had ended in capture and sat
dreamily gazing at the white clouds floating overhead while she listened
to the voice at her ear, replying to it in monosyllables, the language
of acquiescence and content. The moments passed. Konopisht was no longer
a garden. Enchanted their bower and even the red roses forgotten.
Suddenly the girl started upright to her knees, and peered wide-eyed
through an opening in the foliage.
"What is it, Marishka?"
She put a finger to her lips in token of silence, and Renwick followed
her gaze down the graveled path which led toward the arbor. As
under-secretary of the British Embassy in Vienna, he had been trained to
guard his emotions against surprises, but the sight of the three figures
which were approaching them down the path left him bereft for the moment
of all initiative. In the center walked the Archduke, pulling
deliberately at his heavy dark mustaches while he listened to the figure
upon his right, a man of medium stature, who wore a hunting suit and a
jäger hat with a feather in it. He carried his left hand, concealing a
defect of his arm, in the pocket of his shooting jacket, while with his
free right hand he swung an ebony cane. His mustaches were turned
straight upward from the corners of his mouth and the aggressive chin
shot outward as he glanced right and left, talking meanwhile with his
companions. The third figure was very tall, topping even the Archduke,
who was by no means small of stature, by at least six inches; his hair,
or as much of it as could be seen beneath the soft hat, was gray, and a
long beard, almost white in the patches at either side of the chin,
descended in two long points half of the way to his waist.
Renwick recognized the visitors at once, and turned toward his startled
companion, his own mind as to the propriety of his situation at once
made up.
"Marishka," he whispered, "we must go."
"It is too late," she murmured. "They would see us."
[Illustration: "It is too late," she murmured. "They would see us."]
"And what does that matter?"
"I forgot," she breathed helplessly. "I was told I was not to come today
into the rose garden. I wondered why. Sh----! Sit still. Crouch lower.
Perhaps they will pass on and then----"
Renwick obeyed somewhat dubiously and sank, scarcely daring to breathe,
beneath the thick foliage beside the arbor which concealed his
companion. She seized his hand and he felt her fingers trembling in his
own, but he pressed them gently--aware that the tremors of the girl's
fingers as the footsteps approached the arbor were being unpleasantly
communicated to his own. The breach of hospitality to the household of
the Archduke, upon whose land he was, was as nothing beside the breach
of etiquette to the Empire by his Chief. Renwick's nerves were good but
he trembled with Marishka. The friendship of nations depended upon the
security of his concealment--more than that--and less than that--his own
fate and the girl's. And so Renwick crouched beside her and silently
prayed in English, a language he thought more fitted to the desperate
nature of his desires, that the three figures would pass on to another
part of the garden, that they, the luckless lovers, might flee to the
abandoned tennis court in innocence and peace.
But Renwick's prayers were not to be answered. Had he known at the
moment how deeply the two of them were to be enmeshed in the skein of
Europe's destiny he would have risen and faced the anger of his host,
or, risking detection, incontinently fled. But Marishka's hand clasped
his own, and lucklessly, he waited.
The three men reached the gate of the arbor, the smaller one entering
first, the giant with the gray beard, at a gesture from their host,
following, and they all sat in chairs around the small iron table.
Renwick was paralyzed with fear and Marishka's chill fingers seemed
frozen to his. There had been rumors in the chancellories of Europe of
this visit to Konopisht to see the most wonderful rose garden in Bohemia
in mid-June, but Renwick knew, as did every other diplomat in Vienna,
that the visit to the roses of Konopisht was a mere subterfuge. If there
had been any doubt in the Englishman's mind as to the real nature of the
visit, the grave expressions upon the faces of the men in the arbor
would speedily have set him right. The Archduke opened a cigarette case
and offered it to his companions who helped themselves with some
deliberation.
"A wonderful rose garden, truly, my friend," said the man in the jäger
hat with a smile which broke the grave lines of his face into pleasant
wrinkles. "I will give your gardener twice what you offer him to come to
me."
The Archduke showed his white teeth in a smile. "_Majestät_ has but to
request----"
"A jest, my friend. It would be unmannerly. It is Her Highness that I
would also rob, for roses, after all, are more a woman's pleasure than a
man's."
"The Duchess spends many hours here----"
"The _Arch_ Duchess," corrected the other vehemently.
The Archduke shrugged. "She will always hold that rank in my heart," he
said quietly.
"And with me and my House," said the other quickly.
"It is a pity that my own family should not be of the same mind."
"It matters nothing," said the other. "Nothing. You shall see."
The Archduke examined the ash of his cigarette, but said nothing.
"You must realize, my great and good friend," continued the man in the
hunting suit, "that I did not come to Konopisht only to see your roses."
The Archduke nodded attentively.
"The fortunes of your family are linked to mine by ties deeper than
those of blood,--a community of interest and of fortune which involves
the welfare, happiness and progress of many millions of people. The
history of civilization in Europe has reached a new page, one which must
be written by those who have in keeping the Divine destiny of the
Germanic race. It is not a time to falter before the graveness of our
responsibility and the magnitude of our undertakings. I spoke of these
things at Eckartsau. I think you understand."
The Archduke nodded gravely.
"I will not shirk any responsibility. I hesitated once. That hour has
passed. Sophie--Maximilian--Ernest----"
"They must have their heritage."
The man in the jäger hat got up and paced impatiently the length of the
arbor, at one moment within three yards of the terrified lovers in the
foliage.
"Are we alone, your Highness?" he asked of the Archduke.
"I gave orders that no one should enter the rose garden at any time this
afternoon," replied his host.
"It is well." He sent a quick glance toward the tall man who had risen.
"You understand, Admiral, _nicht wahr_?"
A guttural sound came from the old man's throat.
"The destinies of Europe, _meine Herren_," he went on.
"_Majestät_ may speak on," said the Archduke coolly, "without fear of
eavesdroppers."
Renwick, crouched beneath the foliage, was incapable of motion. All his
will power was used in the effort to control his breathing, and reduce
his body to absolute inertness. But as the moments passed, and the men
in the arbor gave no sign of suspicion he gained confidence, all his
professional instincts aroused at the import of this secrecy and the
magnificence of the impending revelations. He was England, waiting,
alert, on guard, for the safety and peace of Europe. He did not dare to
look at Marishka, for fear of the slightest motion or sound which might
betray them. Only their hands clasped, though by this time neither of
them was conscious of the contact.
"At Eckartsau, my brother," went on the smaller man, "you and I came to
an understanding. Maximilian and Ernest are growing toward manhood. And
what is that manhood to be? Habsburg blood flows in their veins as it
flows in you, the Heir Presumptive, but the Family Law debars them. Not
even the Este estates can pass to your children. They will become
pensioners upon the bounty of those who hate their mother."
"Impossible!" whispered the Archduke tensely. "It must not be. I will
find a way----"
"Listen, Franz, my brother. A magnificent horizon spreads before you.
Look at it. Part of the Duchy of Posen, the ancient Kingdom of Poland
with Lithuania and the Ukraine, the Poland of the Jagellons, stretching
from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Yours. And after you, Maximilian's.
For Ernest, Bohemia, Hungary, the Southern Slav lands of Austria,
Serbia, the Slav coast of the Eastern Adriatic and Saloniki;--two
Empires in one. And the states of those who have despised Sophie
Chotek----" he paused expressively and snapped his jaws, "the Austrian
Erbländer will come into the Confederated German Empire." He paused
again and then went on more quietly, "Between us two a close and
perpetual military and economic alliance, to be the arbiters of Europe
under the Divine will, dominating the West and commanding the road to
the East." He paused and took a fresh cigarette from the box on the
table.
"It is what I have dreamed," murmured the deep voice of the Archduke.
"And yet it is no dream, but reality. Fate plays into my hands. At no
time have we been in a better position."
It was the turn of the Archduke to walk the floor of the arbor with long
strides, his hands behind him, his gaze bent before him.
"Yes, civilization, progress--all material things. But the Church--you
forget, _Majestät_, that your people and mine are of different faiths.
Some assurance I must have that there will be no question----"
"Willingly," said the other, rising. "Do not my people serve God as they
choose? For you, if you like, the Holy Roman Empire reconstituted with
you as its titular head, the sovereignty of central Europe intact--all
the half formulated experiments of the West, at the point of the sword.
This is your mission--and mine!"
The two men faced each other, eye to eye, but the smaller dominated.
"A pact, my brother," said the man in the hunting-suit, extending his
hand.
The Archduke hesitated but a moment longer, and then thrust forward. The
hands clasped, while beside the two, the tall man stood like a Viking,
his great head bent forward, his forked beard wagging over the table.
"A pact," repeated the Archduke, "which only Death may disrupt."
They stood thus in a long moment of tension. It was he they called
_Majestät_ who first relaxed.
"Death?" he smiled. "Who knows? God defends the Empire. It lives on in
my sons and yours."
"Amen!" said the Archduke solemnly.
"For the present," continued the other quietly, "silence! I shall advise
you. You can rely upon Von Hoetzendorf?"
"Utterly. In two weeks I shall attend the grand maneuvers at Savajevo."
"Oh, yes, of course. You shall hear from me." He took a few steps toward
the door of the arbor. "It does not do to stay here too long. We must
join the others. Berchtold, you said, is coming?"
The Archduke nodded with a frown, and followed with the Admiral into the
garden. The sun had declined and the warm glow of late afternoon fell
upon the roses, dyeing them with a deeper red. But along the crimson
alleys the three men walked calmly, the smaller one still gesturing with
his ebony cane. Presently the sound of their footsteps upon the gravel
diminished and in a moment they disappeared beyond the hedge by the
greenhouses.
Renwick in his place of concealment trembled again. The reaction had
come. He drew a long breath, moved his stiffened limbs and glanced at
his companion. Her face was like wax, pale as death and as colorless.
Her fingers in his were ice-cold. Her eyes, dark with bewilderment,
sought his blankly like those of a somnambulist. Renwick rose stiffly to
his knees and peered through the bushes.
"They have gone," he muttered.
"The Archduke!" she gasped. "You heard?"
He nodded.
"Have we dreamed? I cannot believe----"
Renwick was thinking quickly. Marishka--their position--his duty--a way
of escape--one thought crowded another in his mind. He glanced about
through the foliage behind them and then rose to his feet.
"I must get back to Vienna, at once," he said hoarsely.
Marishka stood beside him, clinging to his arm.
"And I--I know not what to do. I could not look Her Highness in the
face. But I too must go to Vienna. I am not versed in politics, but the
secret that we share is terrible. It oppresses me. Austria--my country!"
She hid her face in her hands and stood silent a moment, in the throes
of a struggle, still trembling violently. At the touch of Renwick's
fingers upon her arm, she straightened, lowered her hands, her face now
quite composed.
"I too must leave here at once," she said quietly. "I have an allegiance
stronger than my duty to Sophie Chotek. I am going----"
"Where?" he asked.
"To Schönbrunn."
"But Marishka, have you thought----?"
"I pray that you will waste no words. As you love me, Hugh, you will do
what I ask and be silent."
"What can I do?"
"Go with me to Vienna tonight."
"That would be most imprudent. Your reputation----"
"I care nothing. Will you accompany me?"
Renwick shrugged. "Of course."
"Then do as I bid you. I will show you a way out to a small gate from
the garden by which you can reach the public road. Go to your Inn. Make
arrangements for an automobile. I will join you tonight." She peered in
all directions through the foliage and then led the way through the
bushes in a direction opposite to that by which they had come. Renwick
followed silently, his mind turbulent. What was his duty? And where did
it conflict with Marishka's mad plan? What would his Ambassador have
wished him to do? And in what could he serve England best? He must have
time to think. For the present at least Marishka should have her way.
Indeed, had he wished, he saw no means of dissuading her. He would go
with her to Vienna, make a clean breast of things to his Chief, before
Marishka could carry out her plan. After that the matter would be out of
his hands.
The girl descended some steps to a narrow gate in the hedge. Here
Renwick paused a moment to clasp her in his arms.
"Belovèd," she whispered, "not now. Go. Follow the path to the wall. You
must climb it. Let no one see you descend. Au revoir. God be with you."
And she was gone.