THE MAN IN BLACK
It was after dark when the train bearing Herr Windt and Renwick reached
the Franz Josef station, the stolen machine of Altensteig having been
left at Budweis with Hadwiger, who was to return it to its owner and in
the name of the state to make proper arrangements for compensation. Herr
Windt, sadder if no wiser, took a _fiacre_ and drove off hastily,
leaving Renwick to his own devices.
To the Englishman, Marishka's case seemed desperate, for though the
identity of the driver of the green limousine was unknown, his
cleverness in eluding the net which Herr Windt had spread for him
indicated him to be an agent of the Wilhelmstrasse, a personal emissary
of those near the Kaiser, who was moving with great skill, using every
means of a great organization to keep Marishka's mission and identity a
secret. But Renwick was not the sort of a man that gives up easily. In
the back of his head an idea persisted, and he planned to follow its
development for good or ill to its conclusion.
The correctness of his surmise as to the direction of Marishka's flight
in the green limousine had convinced him that Vienna was not her final
destination. He, too, took a _fiacre_ and drove at once to the apartment
of Baroness Racowitz. Marishka's guardian was away, but a fee to the
Austrian maid put him in possession of the facts.
"No, Herr Renwick," she replied, "Countess Strahni did not return to the
apartment, but she was in Vienna and had sent for a suitcase and
clothing, which were delivered to a man who waited in an automobile."
"What sort of a man?"
"I couldn't exactly say, sir, a servant, a butler, perhaps; but there
was a note for Herr Renwick."
"Ah--give it to me."
"My instructions were to deliver it at eight o'clock at Herr Renwick's
residence in the Strohgasse. I have but just returned from there."
Renwick started down the steps and then turned. "There was nothing
else?"
"Nothing."
"You do not know where Countess Strahni is?"
"I know nothing more than I have told you, sir."
Renwick rushed out to the waiting _fiacre_, and bade the driver go at
top speed. A note from Marishka! Under different circumstances this
would not perhaps have been surprising. The difference that the change
in their personal relations had wrought in the last few weeks, her mood
during their hurried flight to Konopisht, her desertion of him, all of
these circumstances made the fact of her writing to him the more
significant. She had accepted his services in the escape from Windt,
because he had forced them upon her, but he could not forget that she
had afterward repudiated him and fled from him without a word of
explanation of her sudden decision. His own personal danger had warned
him that Marishka, his companion eavesdropper, would also be in jeopardy
at the hands of those unseen forces which were working in the interests
of the Wilhelmstrasse. Marishka had thrown herself into their power and
was perhaps at this very moment in danger. But he was soon to know the
facts. At his apartment his servant handed him the note and hastily he
tore it open and read.
I have gone to Sarajevo. I must do what I can, but I need you. I am
a prisoner and in great personal danger if we are stopped en route.
Therefore move secretly, telling no one. Go to the Hotel Europa,
where I will try to communicate with you.
M. S.
Renwick read the communication through twice, and then glanced at his
watch. Nine o'clock. There was no time to go to the British Embassy in
the Metternichgasse, though he would have liked to know if anything had
been seen of Marishka at the German Embassy which was just adjoining.
But he wrote a note to Sir Herbert, then called his servant, who packed
a bag while Renwick bathed and dressed. At ten he was seated in the
train for Budapest--a slow train that he had taken two weeks before on
his mission to Belgrade.
He had made this move on impulse, without second thought, for Marishka's
message as to her destination again justified his surmises and
corroborated his fears as to her perilous situation. No other thoughts
save those of her danger and her need of him had entered his head, and
he had moved quickly, aware that any loss of time might be fatal to his
hope of helping her. But seated in his compartment of the railway
carriage, he had time to consider the note in all its aspects and in its
relation to the extraordinary events of the day. There were but two
other occupants of the carriage, an old gentleman with a white beard,
and a young Hungarian officer--a vacuous looking youth in
uniform--neither of them obviously of material from which secret service
agents are made. After the experience at the Konopisht railway station,
Renwick had no humor to be shot at in such close quarters, where the
range would necessarily be deadly. He settled his automatic comfortably
in his pocket, and after another and more reassuring inspection of his
travelling companions he took out Marishka's note and examined it
carefully.
The knowledge he possessed as to her situation suggested caution. An
agency which could attempt to take his life would not be above forgery.
Marishka's hand? There seemed no doubt of it. It was not difficult for
Renwick to remember the peculiarities of her angular writing. The notes
he had received from her, invitations, appointments, apologies--very
often apologies, he remembered with a slow smile--dainty, faintly
scented missives on gray paper which bore her crest, differed from this
hurriedly written scrawl on a heavier paper which he had no means of
identifying. Only upon closer inspection did he discover a hesitation in
the lower curves and upward strokes of the letters which were not
characteristic of the decisive Marishka.
Without being certain of its spuriousness, he came to the conclusion
that because of its contents, the note was for the present to be
regarded as an object for suspicion. Would Marishka--the Marishka who a
few hours ago had treated him with such acidulous politeness--write, "I
need you"? Could contemptuous silence be turned so quickly into urgent
appeal? Her danger made such a transition a possibility, and if she was
now ready to recant, all the more reason why he should obey. The one
thing about the message which struck a jarring note was the request for
secrecy under plea of personal danger. And if a forgery--why should his
enemies speak of her personal danger? A lure! So obvious a one that only
the veriest dolt could be deceived by it. The situation then resolved
itself into this: He was invited to go to Sarajevo--if by Marishka, to
save her from personal danger or abduction by her captor--if by the
German agent, with Marishka as a lure, to be the victim of a conspiracy
which planned either murder or imprisonment. And, however keen his own
prescience, Renwick realized that the note had so far succeeded in its
object. He was on his way.
He was too tired tonight to do the situation justice, for the blow at
the back of his head had taken some of his strength, and he realized
that without sleep his utility would be impaired for the morrow. And
after a glance at his companions, he decided to chance it, and settling
himself comfortably, he was soon heavily sleeping.
Renwick was awakened some while later by the young Hungarian officer's
cursing as he stumbled over the Englishman's feet. A glance at his watch
showed Renwick that he had slept four hours. It was dawn. Beside him at
the further end of the seat the old man with the white beard still
slept. Renwick glanced out of the window and found that the station was
Vacz. They were twenty or thirty miles from the Hungarian capital. The
morning was cool, and Renwick stepped down from the open door upon the
platform and stretched his limbs, sniffing the air eagerly. He felt
renewed, invigorated, and the ache at his head was gone. He had made no
plans beyond the very necessary one of getting money at the British
Consulate and taking the first train south. The difficulties in making
proper connections, the probability that somewhere he must desert the
railroad and beg, buy, or steal a motor car, and the ever present danger
of a shot from a German agent confronted him, but in his early morning
humor nothing seemed impossible. He would get through in some way and
find a means of reaching Marishka! And if Marishka were already spirited
away? He would find her and the green limousine chap with whom he would
have a reckoning.
Impatient of the delay of the train, he took out his cigarette case and
was about to smoke, when the warning of the guard was shouted, and he
got into his carriage, followed by another traveler who clambered in at
the last moment and sank into the seat opposite. As the train moved, the
two men scanned each other in the light of the growing dawn which now
vied with the flickering light of the overhead lamp in their
compartment. The stranger was a very tall man in dark clothes, who gave
an instant impression of long rectangularity. He had a long nose, a long
upper lip which hung over a thin slit of a mouth which resembled a
buttonhole slightly frayed by wear. His chin was long and square and,
like his upper lip, blue, as though a stiff black beard were in constant
battle with a razor. His eyes were large and regarded Renwick with a
mild melancholy as he bowed the Englishman a good morning. Renwick
nodded curtly. He had planned another nap and hardly relished sitting
awake and staring at the sepulchral visitor. Where last night's
weariness had sealed his eyes to the ever-present sense of danger,
morning brought counsel of caution and alertness. The leanness of the
huge intruder was of the kind that suggested endurance rather than
malnutrition, a person who for all his pacific and rather gloomy
exterior, could be counted on to be extremely dangerous.
In a situation where any man might prove to be his hidden enemy, Renwick
was learning to be wary. And so upon his guard for any movement of
hostility, he sat bolt upright and smoked his cigarette, puffing it
indolently into the face of his solemn companion. Beyond the first
greeting, no words passed between them, and the Englishman, more at his
ease, looked out of the window at the low marshlands along the river and
planned the business which brought him. Day came swiftly, and before the
train reached the city the sun was up in smiling splendor, melting the
pale fogbanks of the Danube valley beneath its golden glow.
At the Westbahnhof, Renwick got down, and bag in hand made his way to
the railway restaurant for a cup of coffee. The keen morning air had
made him hungry, and he breakfasted like a man who does not know where
his next meal is coming from. It was not until he paid his check and got
up from the table that he noticed his gigantic companion of the train
doing likewise, but he gave the matter no thought, and getting into a
waiting _fiacre_ drove to the British Consulate to make some necessary
arrangements, including the procuring of money for possible large
expenses. The Archduke and Duchess, he discovered, had slept in their
car, which had been shifted to a train that had left for the south in
the early hours of the morning. The service on the road was none too
good, except that of the Orient Express, which had gone through last
night, but by haste Renwick managed to catch the nine o'clock train for
Belgrade, planning to get off it at Ujvidek and trust to Providence for
an automobile.
He was no sooner comfortably seated in his compartment and
congratulating himself upon its emptiness, which would permit of
opportunity for sleep, when the door was thrown open and his tall
companion of the early morning solemnly entered. Renwick did not know
whether to be surprised or angry, and finished by being both, glancing
at the intruder through his monocle in a manner distinctly offensive.
But the tall man if aware of the Englishman's antagonism gave no sign of
it, clasping his cotton umbrella with large bony hands and gazing
gloomily at the passing landscape.
An accidental meeting of two travelers bound in the same direction?
Perhaps. But there was too much at stake for Renwick to be willing to
take chances, and yet he could not kill and throw out of the window an
entire stranger who looked like the proprietor of a small confectionery
shop, in mourning for a departed friend. Of course there was nothing to
be done, but the man's presence irritated Renwick. As the moments went
on, and the man still silently stared out of the window, Renwick's
choler diminished. The fellow was quite harmless, a person from whom
murder and secret missions were miles asunder. If the man of the green
limousine had foreseen that Renwick would take the nine o'clock train
for Budapest and had set this behemoth upon him, the man would have made
an attempt upon his life this morning in the ride between Vacz and the
capital. And how, since the telegraph lines were closed to the German
agent, could this person have been put upon the scent? It hardly seemed
possible that this was an agent of Germany. And yet as the miles flew
by, the stranger's silence, immobility and unchanging expression got on
Renwick's nerves. He was in no mood to do a psychopathic duel with a
sphinx.
The morning dragged slowly. At Szabadka he got down for lunch and was
not surprised to see his traveling companion at his elbow, eating with a
deliberation which gave Renwick a momentary hope that the train might
get off without him. Renwick was already in his carriage and the guard
calling when the fellow stalked majestically from the eating-room
munching at the remains of his _Böhmische Dalken_ and entered the
carriage, still clinging to the cotton umbrella, and quite oblivious of
the powdered sugar with which he was liberally besmeared. Secret agent!
The man was a joke--a rectangular comedy in monosyllables.
There was no connection for Brod at Szabadka until late in the afternoon
and Renwick hoped to make better time by going on to Ujvidek, a large
town, somewhat sophisticated, where the buying or hiring of a machine
would be a possibility. During the afternoon he took Marishka's letter
from his pocket and studied it again, now quite oblivious of the
creature who had curiously enough resumed the same seat opposite him.
And in his concentration upon the problem of the note the man was for
the moment forgotten. It was only when he glanced up quickly and quite
unintentionally that he saw the gaze of his neighbor eagerly watching
him. It was only a fleeting glance, but in it, it seemed, the whole
character of his fellow traveler had changed. His hands still clasped
the umbrella, the sugar was still smeared upon his sallow cheeks, but it
seemed that his eyes had glowed with a sudden intentness. A second later
when Renwick looked at him again, the man was staring dully at the
passing cornfields and vineyards and he thought he had been mistaken. He
would have liked to know more of this fellow, and was again tempted to
try to draw him out but the recollection of his former venture dismayed
him. So he relapsed into silence and lying back in his seat, one hand in
his pocket, he closed his eyes and feigned slumber, watching the man
through his eyelashes. For a long while nothing happened. Then at last
as Renwick's breathing became regular the giant's head turned, and his
eyes regarded the Englishman stealthily. Renwick did not move. But he
saw his companion lean slightly forward while one hand left the umbrella
handle, unbuttoned his coat and then moved very slowly behind him. That
was enough for Renwick, who started upright and covered the man with his
automatic. But the other had merely drawn a large and rather soiled
handkerchief from a pocket of his trousers and was in the act of blowing
his nose when he looked up and saw the impending blue muzzle of
Renwick's weapon.
Then his jaw dropped and his eyes flew wide open.
"_Herr Gott!_" he stammered in a husky whisper. "Don't shoot!"
Whether it was the pleasure of discovering that the man had at last
found his tongue or whether the innocence of his purpose was explained,
Renwick found himself much relieved.
"Are you crazy?" the other was saying. "To draw a pistol upon me like
that! What do you mean?"
But Renwick still held the pistol pointed in his neighbor's direction.
"I will trouble you to stand," he said quietly, "with your hands up and
back toward me."
The man stared at him wide eyed but at last obeyed, lifting his huge
back to its full height, and Renwick ran an investigating hand over his
hip pockets. They were empty.
"Thanks," he said at last, "you may be seated." He felt a good deal of a
fool but he managed an uncomfortable laugh as he returned the automatic
to his pocket. "You see," he explained, "I owe you an apology----"
"Yes, sir--such an outrage upon my dignity. I do not understand----"
"Let me explain," went on Renwick, feeling more idiotic every moment; "I
have an enemy who seeks my life and when you put your hand in your
pocket I thought that you----"
"It is strange that a gentleman in a railway carriage may not be
permitted to blow his nose without being threatened with a pistol," he
said hotly.
"But you will admit, my friend, that your always being next to me in
trains is at least suspicious."
"_Donnerwetter!_ And why, for the same reason, should I not be
suspicious of _you_?"
"I trust at least that you have no enemies who seek _your_ life."
"Who knows?" he shrugged. "Every man has enemies. I will thank you, sir,
to keep your pistol in your pocket."
"Willingly. And in return I may say that you may blow your nose as often
as you please."
"_Danke_," with some irony. "You are very kind. I suppose, if when
reaching Ujvidek, I should happen to be going in your direction you
would shoot me without further question."
"That would depend on which direction you are taking," replied Renwick,
with a sense of abortive humor.
"I go to Brod--thence to Sarajevo----"
"The devil you do----!" cried Renwick in English, starting forward and
staring at the man. And then more calmly in German,
"And how are you going?"
The fellow paused and looked out of the window again. "As to that--I do
not know," he said slowly.
He had resumed his air of settled gloom, the dignity of which was
somewhat marred by a vestige of powdered sugar upon his chin, but in
spite of the low esteem in which Renwick had held him, all his former
suspicions of the creature rushed over him in a moment.
"And suppose that I, too, should be going to Brod and Sarajevo?" he
asked brusquely.
The stranger turned toward him a slow bovine gaze which gradually
relaxed into the semblance of a smile.
"_Ach so_," he replied blandly, "then it is just possible that we may go
together."
His manner was sphinxlike again, and the Englishman eyed him curiously,
feeling a strong desire to kick him in the shins. But luckily he
refrained, saying coolly.
"And what means of transportation do you propose to employ? Of course
you know there are no trains----"
"_Natürlich._"
"Then how shall you travel?"
"And you, Herr Shooter, how shall you go?"
Renwick smiled indulgently.
"If I took an automobile----"
"I should be constrained to go with you."
"Constrained?"
"If you would invite me--or condescend to permit me to pay my share of
the expenses."
The man's personality was slowly expanding. Second class confectioners
who venture on wild goose chases were rare in Renwick's acquaintance. He
was becoming interesting as well as elusive, but Renwick was in no humor
for further quibbling.
"I regret that that is impossible. I go on alone," he said decisively.
"_Ach, so_," said the other sadly. "That is too bad----" His words
trailed off into a melancholy silence and he resumed his occupation of
looking out of the window. The incident in so far as Renwick was
concerned, was concluded.
At least he thought that. At Ujvidek, when Renwick, bag in hand, got
down upon the station platform, the stranger stood beside him, fingering
his cotton umbrella foolishly and looking this way and that. But when
the Englishman after an inquiry of a loiterer, started in search of a
garage, he found his fellow traveler at his heels, and the frown which
Renwick threw over his shoulder failed utterly to deter him from his
purpose--which clearly seemed to be that of continuing his journey in
the Englishman's company.
When Renwick reached the garage and talked with the proprietor, a
Hungarian whose German was almost negligible, the man of the cotton
umbrella abandoned the doorway which he had been darkening with his
shadow, and shuffled forward awkwardly.
"If you will permit me," he said solemnly. "I speak the Hungarian quite
well. I should be glad to interpret your wishes."
The man's impertinence was really admirable. Renwick's desire to get
forward on his long journey made him impatient of obstacles. He
shrugged.
"Very well, then. Tell him I must have a machine and chauffeur to take
me to Sarajevo by way of Brod. I will pay him handsomely and in advance.
I must travel today and all night. I must reach Sarajevo in the
morning."
"_Ach, so_," said the stranger, and Renwick listened to the conversation
that ensued, endeavoring by the light of his small knowledge of the
language to make out what was said. But he was lost in the maze of
consonants.
In a moment the interpreter turned with a smile.
"It is good. There is a machine. This man will drive himself. The price
is two hundred _kroner_ and the petrol."
"Thank you. That is very good. I must leave within half an hour."
Renwick produced money, the sight of which brought about an amazing
activity on the part of the garage man. Renwick strolled to and fro
outside, alternately smoking and watching the preparations for
departure, while the melancholy giant stood leaning upon his umbrella in
the doorway. What was he waiting for? Renwick thought that he had made
his intentions sufficiently explicit. At last, his impatience getting
the better of him, he stopped before the man with the umbrella.
"I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness. But you understand? I go
on alone."
The man in black regarded him blandly.
"That is not a part of the arrangement," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"That I am to go with you."
"I asked you to make no such arrangement."
"It is a pity that perhaps I misunderstood."
Renwick angrily approached the garage owner and tried to make him
understand, but he only proceeded with his work with greater alacrity,
bowing and pointing to the man in the doorway.
"You observe," said the tall man, "that you will only complicate
matters?"
Renwick glared at the other, but he returned the look with an impudent
composure, and Renwick, in fear of losing his self-control, at last
turned away. Nothing was to be gained by this controversy. After all,
what difference did the fellow's presence make? As a source of danger he
had already proved himself a negligible quantity. So Renwick with an ill
grace at last acquiesced, and within an hour they were on their way,
crossing the Danube and turning to their right along a rough road by the
Fruska mountains.
The first accident happened before the machine reached Sarengrad, a
blowout which made another tire a necessity. The second, a broken leaf
of a spring, which made rapid travel hazardous. But it was not until
nightfall, in the midst of a desolation of plains, that carburetor
trouble of a most disturbing character developed. Renwick paced up and
down, offering advice and suggestion and then swearing in all the
languages he knew, but the chauffeur only shrugged and sputtered, while
the tall man gurgled soothingly. An hour they remained there when
Renwick's patience became exhausted, and he gave way to the suspicion
which had for some time obsessed him, that the pair of them were
conspiring to delay him upon his way.
He came up behind the tall man who was bending over the open hood of the
car, and catching him roughly by the elbow, swung him around and faced
him angrily.
"I've had about enough of this," he said. "Either that car moves in five
minutes or one of you will be hurt."
He moved his hand toward his pocket to draw his weapon but his wrist was
caught in midair by a grip of steel that held Renwick powerless. The
Englishman was stronger than most men of his weight and made a sharp
struggle to get loose, but the man in black disarmed him as he would
have disarmed a child, and calmly put the pistol into his own pocket. It
was not until then that his bulk had seemed so significant, and the real
purpose of his presence been so apparent. There was no use in battling
with this melancholy Colossus who might, if he wished, break every bone
in Renwick's body.
"Herr Renwick, if it will please you to be reasonable," he said,
releasing the Englishman and speaking as if soothing a spoiled child.
At the mention of his name, Renwick drew back in growing wonder.
"Who--who are you?" he asked.
"My name is Gustav Linke," he said suavely. "I have been sent to keep
you from coming to harm. You see"----and he patted the pocket which
contained Renwick's pistol, "it is not difficult to run into danger when
one is always pulling one's pistol out."
"Who sent you?" demanded Renwick furiously.
The man in black coolly picked up his cotton umbrella which in the
struggle had fallen to the ground.
"That is not a matter which need concern you."
"I insist upon knowing and in going on to Brod without delay."
The other merely shrugged.
"I regret to say that that is impossible."
"Why?"
"Because my instructions were to keep you from reaching the Bosnian
border until tomorrow morning."
"You are----?"
"Herr Gustav Linke--that is all, Herr Renwick."
"An agent of----"
"The agent of Providence--let us say. Come. Be reasonable. I am sure
that the trifling disorder in the carburetor may be corrected. We shall
go on presently. The night is young. We shall reach Brod perhaps by
daylight. What do you say? Shall we be friends?"
There was nothing else to be done. The disgusted Renwick shrugged and
got into the tonneau of the machine, awaiting the pleasure of his
captor. Out of the chaos of his disappointment came the one consoling
thought, that whatever Linke was, he was not a German.