AN ESCAPE AND A CAPTURE
In her flight from the cabin in the Archduke's woods, the Countess
Strahni crept along in the shadow of the hedge which bordered the
orchard, and reached the gate of the garden. She had seen the watcher in
the orchard pacing to and fro, and, awaiting the moment when his back
should be turned, she hurried swiftly on to the shelter of the garden
wall, once within which, she thought that she would be safe from
detection by the men of Herr Windt. She waited for a moment at the gate
to be sure that the man near the cabin had not observed her, and noted,
through the foliage, that he had not moved. Then summoning her courage,
she crossed the garden boldly in the direction of the arbor--the fateful
arbor of Austria's betrayal--and her own. In the path beyond it Hugh
Renwick would be awaiting her--Renwick, the imperturbable, the
persistent, the--the despicable. Yes, she was quite sure that she
despised him, in spite of all his efforts on her behalf, so the thought
that she was once more to be beholden to him in this hapless quest gave
her a long moment of uncertainty as she reached the arbor. She paused
within the structure, wondering whether, now that she had succeeded in
eluding Herr Windt, it would not be better to flee into the castle, and
enlist the aid of the servants in behalf of their master and mistress.
She had even taken a few steps toward the tennis court, when she
remembered--the telegraph in the hands of Austrian officials who had
their instructions! That way was hopeless. The Archduke's chamberlain
had, of course, gone south, and in the castle, beside the
house-servants, there would have remained only the English governess,
the children, and the housekeeper. There could be little help expected
from them--only bewilderment, horror, or perhaps incredulity. She must
go on to Herr Renwick, continue the impossible situation between them,
hide her exasperation in a studied politeness, and trust implicitly, as
she had done before, to his undoubted desire to retrieve his lost
standing.
She turned into the path which led from the arbor, and hurried through
into the narrow path which led to the hidden gate beyond. Just here
where the foliage was thickest, and not twenty yards from the spot where
she and Hugh Renwick had listened to the pact of Konopisht, a figure
stood bowing. She had been so intent upon seeing the Englishman that it
was a full moment before she recovered from the shock of her surprise.
The man before her was tall, with good shoulders, and wore a brown
Norfolk jacket and a soft hat. His eyes were dark and as he smiled they
wrinkled very pleasantly at the corners.
Marishka halted and stared at him uncertainly.
"I beg your pardon," she said. "I came here to meet----" She paused, for
the thought suddenly entered her head that this perhaps might be another
of the men sent to detain her. But in a moment she realized her mistake.
The air with which the man swept off his hat and bowed convinced her
that he was a gentleman and his manner put her at once at her ease.
"Herr Renwick," he said, with a smile, "has gone on to make some
arrangements for your comfort. He has asked me to conduct you to the
automobile, and will join us beyond the village."
An automobile! There would still be time, perhaps, to reach Vienna
before the archducal party should leave for Bosnia.
"Oh, of course," gasped Marishka thankfully.
"If you will come this way, Countess----" he said, with something of an
air. He bowed, but kept his gaze fixed upon hers. There was something
very remarkable about this man's eyes--she could not tell just what it
was--but they held her for a second, held her motionless until the hand
which held his hat gestured for her to pass on. She took the walk before
him, descended the steps which led to the lower path where he hurried
forward and opened the door in the wall.
Even now, no notion entered her head that this polite person was other
than he represented himself to be. And the well equipped machine which
stood in the road outside the wall only caused her a momentary thrill of
joy at the opportunity which placed the means of their escape so readily
at the hand of the now really admirable Herr Renwick. As she paused
again for a moment, her companion threw open the door of the limousine,
and lightly touched her elbow.
"If the Countess Strahni will enter----" he said quietly. "There is
little time to lose."
Marishka obeyed and in a moment the man in the Norfolk jacket was seated
beside her, the chauffeur had thrown in the gears, and the machine was
moving swiftly upon its way. She sank back into the comfortable cushions
with a sigh of satisfaction which did not escape her companion.
"It was fortunate that I should have been in this neighborhood," he said
with a strange smile. It was not until then that she noticed the
slightly thick accents with which he spoke and she glanced at his
profile hurriedly. His nose was aquiline and well cut, but the
suggestion of his nationality was elusive. In spite of his evident
gentility, his good looks, his courtesy and his friendship with Hugh
Renwick, Marishka now had her first belated instinct that all was not as
it should be. The man beside her looked past the chauffeur down the road
ahead, turning one or two glances over his shoulder into the cloud of
dust behind them. She noticed now that the car had not gone in the
direction of the village, but had reached the country road which led to
the west and was moving at a high speed which seemed to take the waiting
Renwick little into consideration. All the windows of the car were
closed, and she had a sense of being restrained--suffocated. For a while
she did not dare to give her thoughts utterance, but as the car reached
the Prague highroad and turned to the right, she started and turned in
alarm to the man beside her.
"You told me that Herr Renwick was waiting for us just beyond the
village. Where is----?"
The question trembled and died on her lips for the eyes of the man
beside her answered before it was asked.
"I regret," he said evenly, "that there is no time to wait for Herr
Renwick."
"You--you have----" she stammered helplessly.
"I beg that the Countess Strahni will not be unduly disturbed."
"Where are we going? This is the road to Prague. Tell me where you are
taking me. I insist----"
He smiled at her again, but did not reply.
Marishka was now really alarmed and looked out of the closed windows at
the flying hedgerows in desperation, wondering what she must do and
trying to think how this dreadful mishap had befallen her. Hugh
Renwick--his note to her--this stranger with the remarkable eyes who
always smiled! Where was the missing link--what the deduction? But it
was no time in which to lose one's courage. She turned toward the man
beside her who was regarding her calmly.
"Who are you?" she asked.
[Illustration: "Who are you?" she asked.]
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked past her out of the window. Then
he said politely:
"The Countess Strahni is well within her rights in asking that question.
I am Captain Leo Goritz."
That meant nothing to her and she found herself repeating her question.
He deliberated a moment.
"I see no reason why I should not tell you," he said at last. "I do not
desire a misconception of my personal motives--which I beg you to
understand are of the highest. I am merely carrying out my orders to
bring the Countess Strahni with all dispatch within the borders of the
German Empire."
"You--you are----" she paused in dismay.
"Of the German Imperial Secret Service," he said quickly.
Marishka sank back into her seat breathless with apprehension, the
warnings of the hated Herr Windt dinning in her ears.
"Then you sent----" She fingered the scribbled note which had not left
her fingers.
"I regret, Countess, that the situation made deception necessary. One of
my men in the tree above the chimney. My orders were urgent."
Marishka glanced about the machine helplessly, her thoughts, in spite of
herself, recurring to Hugh Renwick, who must before long discover her
absence and guess its cause. But there seemed no chance of escape. To
open the door and leap forth into the road at this speed was only
courting injury, and the calm appearance of Captain Leo Goritz seemed
only the mask for a resoluteness of purpose with which she could not
dare to cope. To cry out seemed equally futile for the road was deserted
except for a few market wagons, the occupants of which were country
louts who only stared dully as they passed. But in a flash the
inspiration came to her. Germany! Germany could help her carry out her
purpose to warn the Duchess before she reached Sarajevo. She glanced at
her companion and found that his brown eyes had turned as though by
prescience to hers.
"Captain Goritz," she stammered, "I--I seem to be in your power.
Whatever your authority for this--this restraint of my liberty--I submit
myself----"
He showed his fine teeth in a smile.
"I regret that the Countess Strahni should have been put to this
inconvenience."
She made a motion of deprecation.
"I beg that you will spare yourself meaningless civilities. I do not
know the meaning of this outrage."
"The Countess Strahni is far too clever to suppose that I can believe
her----" he put in quickly.
"What do you mean?"
"Merely that an intelligence which can throw central Europe into a
turmoil," and he laughed pleasantly, "does itself and me too little
credit."
"Oh, you know----" she gasped.
"Yes, I know."
She examined Captain Goritz with a new interest.
"But you did not know the object of my visit to Konopisht," she went on
desperately.
"I confess," he said slowly, "that your sudden departure from Vienna was
most mystifying----"
"I will tell you," she went on excitedly. "I came to Konopisht to warn
the Archduke Franz of a plot to assassinate him when he reaches
Sarajevo----"
"Ah! So that----" Captain Goritz started suddenly forward in his seat
and faced her eagerly in an attitude of sudden alertness.
"A plot! Serbian?" he asked sharply.
"No--I----" Loyalty stifled her lips.
"I see." And then keenly, "Austrian--as a result of your disclosures to
the Emperor?"
She eyed the man in amazement. He was omniscient.
"A plot----" she stammered. "I do not know--I came to warn them--the
Archduke and Duchess, but I was prevented from doing so. They----" she
gasped again--"those who plan this dastardly thing are powerful--they
control the telegraph. There was no way to reach them and so I came----"
"Herr Windt----?"
She nodded. "You know--he acts for them. He kept me in the cabin until
it was too late."
"I understand----" He nodded, his brows tangled in thought. "There can
be no other explanation."
"I heard. I saw--back there in the garden--Emperor and
Archduke--friends. Oh, don't you understand? _He_ would do
something----"
Captain Goritz had sunk lower into his seat and with folded arms was
gazing at the back of the man in front of them, but under his frowning
brows his eyes glowed with initiative.
"What you tell me is serious, Countess----" he muttered.
"So serious that I beg you will listen to me," she went on almost
hysterically. "The Duchess was my friend--I heard and I told what I
heard----"
"Yes. It is a pity, Countess Strahni."
"But I did not know," she went on breathlessly, conscious only of the
imminence of Sarajevo and of the power of the man beside her perhaps to
aid her. "I could not know that I should be betraying her--the friend of
a lifetime--to this--I did my duty as I saw it--to Austria. I am telling
you this--a stranger--an enemy perhaps--because it is in your power to
help--to prevent this terrible thing. Think! Think! It is your duty as
well as mine--your duty to the one who shares with Franz Ferdinand the
secret of the rose garden--his friend, and if God so wills--his ally. It
is all so terrible--so bewildering. But you must see that I am in
earnest--that I am speaking the truth."
"Yes, yes," he said abstractedly, nodding, and then was silent, while
the machine went thundering northward, every moment taking them further
from Marishka's goal. She watched his face anxiously for a sign. His
eyes glowed somberly but he did not more or glance aside. His problem,
it appeared, was as deep as hers. For an age, he sat there like a stone
figure, but she had the instinct not to speak, and after a while he
straightened, leaned quickly forward and threw down the window in front
of them.
"What is the village before us, Karl?" he asked in quick tones.
"Beneschau, Herr Hauptmann."
"There is a road to Brünn?"
"Yes, a fair one, Herr Hauptmann."
"Take it--and faster."
That was all. Marishka knew that she had won. Captain Goritz was
frowning at the dial of his watch.
"Perhaps we are too late--but we can at least try," he muttered.
"Whatever your mission with regard to me--that is unimportant--beside
this other duty----"
"Yes, yes. We shall need you. If you could reach the Duchess
personally----"
"She will listen. I have known her all my life."
"Good. We must succeed." And then, figuring to himself. "Brünn--one
hundred kilometers--Vienna seventy more--five hours--six perhaps. They
may not leave Vienna at once----"
"The German Ambassador----" she suggested.
"Of course." And then, turning suddenly toward her, his eyes intent, he
said, with great seriousness: "Countess Strahni, for the moment your
interests and mine are identical. The success of this project depends
upon your silence----"
"Anything----!"
"One moment, please," he put in quickly. "I wish you to understand the
seriousness of your position. Your security, your safety now and later,
will depend upon your own actions. You have proved yourself politically
dangerous to the peace--to the welfare of Europe. My mission was to
bring you safely into Germany. Failing in that, I must exact absolute
silence and obedience----"
"Yes----"
"You travel as my wife, the wife of a German officer going to Vienna for
medical advice----"
She flinched a little, but his air of abstraction reassured her.
"Do you agree?"
"Yes."
"You have friends in Vienna. You must not see them. Have I your word?"
"I have no wish but to help you."
He examined her keenly.
"I regret that the terms of our contract must be more explicit."
"In what?"
"I exact your word of honor to remain under my orders, to make no
attempt to escape, to speak no word as to my identity or your own----"
"Have I not told you that my own fate is unimportant if I succeed in
reaching the Duchess of Hohenberg?"
"And after that?" he asked keenly.
"What do you mean?"
"Merely that the same conditions as to yourself shall continue to
exist."
Marishka hesitated. What lay before her? It was incredible that harm
could come to one of her condition at the hands of the servants of a
great and Christian nation like Germany. She glanced at Captain Goritz.
He was still examining her gravely, impersonally. There seemed little
doubt as to the genuineness of his intentions.
"And the alternative?" she asked.
His expression changed and he looked slowly away from her at the flying
landscape. "I regret that you are still oblivious to your danger. You
and one other person in Europe were the witnesses to the meeting at
Konopisht. His Majesty's government does not deem it expedient at this
time that you should be at liberty to discuss the matter----"
"But I have already spoken----"
"That matters nothing if the witnesses are eliminated."
His tones were quiet, but there was no doubt as to his meaning and she
started back from him in dismay.
"You mean that you would----"
She halted again, wordless.
"Political secrets are dangerous--their possessors a menace."
"You--you would destroy----?" she gasped.
"The evidence!" he finished.
His voice was firm, his lips compressed, and he would not look at her.
But she was still incredulous. Civility such as his and violence such as
he suggested were incongruous. She took refuge from her terror in a
laugh.
"You are trying to--to frighten me," she stammered.
"If you are frightened, I am sorry. You are in no danger, if you will do
what I ask. I shall spare no courtesy, neglect no pains for your
comfort."
"Thanks. That is kind of you. You will gorge the goose that it may be
the more palatable."
He gave a slight shrug.
"I am but doing my duty. In my position, Countess, one is but a piece of
thinking machinery."
"Yet it has been said that even machinery has a soul."
He glanced around at her quickly, but she was looking straight before
her at the narrow ribbon of road which whirled toward them. She was very
handsome, this dark-haired prisoner of his, and the personal note that
had fallen into her speech made their relations at once more easy and
more difficult.
"I regret," he said coolly, "that my orders have been explicit. I still
demand that you comply with the conditions I have imposed. Your word of
honor--it is enough."
She paused for a long moment--debating her chances. She was selling her
liberty--bartering it with a word--for Sophie Chotek. This was her
atonement, and if she failed, her sacrifice would be in vain.
She took a surreptitious glance at the profile of Captain Goritz. A part
of the great machine that the world calling Germany he might be, but she
read something in his looks which gave her an idea that he might be
something more than a cog between the wheels.
Some feminine instinct in her, aroused by his impassive performance of
his duty, gave her new courage. Since they were at war, she would play
the game using women's weapons. After all, he was a man, a mere man.
When she spoke, it was with the air of calm resolution with which one
faces heavy odds.
"I am in your power," she said quietly. "I give my word of honor to do
as you wish."
And as his gaze dwelt for a moment upon her face--
"I shall not break it, Captain Goritz."
"Good!" he said, with an air of satisfaction. "Now we understand each
other."
Meanwhile the machine went thundering on, the man at the wheel driving
with a skill which excited admiration. At times the speed of the car
seemed frightful, for it swerved dangerously at the frequent turns in
the road, but Marishka clung desperately to the arm-rest to save herself
from being thrown into the arms of Captain Goritz, aware of her
impotence, but conscious, too, of a sense of exhilaration in the
wildness of their pace, which seemed at any moment likely to throw both
the car and its occupants into the ditch. Her companion made no effort
to resume the conversation and only sat staring forth watching the
villages through which they passed, his brows deeply thoughtful.