THE LIGHTED WINDOWS
The night journey of Mr. Renwick to the Bosnian border with the man in
black was one long chapter of accidents and delays. But Herr Linke
commanded the situation. He had taken care not to return the
Englishman's weapon, and there was nothing for Renwick to do but sit in
silence by the side of the melancholy Colossus, and pray for an
opportunity which never came, for Linke had a watchful eye and sat in
the tonneau of the machine. Toward midnight they reached Vinkovcze,
where they had supper, and resumed their leisurely journey with a new
supply of petrol, which only seemed to increase the trouble in the
carburetor. It was at this time that an uncontrollable drowsiness fell
upon Renwick. He struggled against it but at last realized that in spite
of himself sleep was slowly overpowering him. As in a haze he saw the
huge figure of Linke beside him lean over, smiling, while a deep voice
which seemed to come from a distance rumbled calmly,
"You are very sleepy, Herr Renwick?"
Renwick dimly remembered muttering a curse.
"You've drugged--cof----"
Then Renwick slept.
When he awoke it was broad daylight. The car was moving smoothly enough
along a good road between two mountains, and at the side of the road a
river flowed in the direction from which the machine had come.
Renwick felt light-headed and rather ill, and it was some moments before
he became conscious of the figure beside him, while he struggled upright
and found his speech.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Near Duboj, Herr Renwick, where we shall presently eat our supper----"
"Supper!"
"Yes. You have slept the clock around----"
"Ah, I remember," and he turned upon the man with a renewed and quite
futile anger. "You drugged me, you----"
"Softly, my friend," the big man broke in soothingly. "You can do no
good by defaming me."
Renwick shrugged. "You'll pay the score at settling time, nevertheless."
"Perhaps. In the meanwhile I beg you to consider that you are but fifty
kilometers from your destination. Since we passed the Save we have
proceeded with greater rapidity."
But Renwick had sunk into a sullen silence. The huge creature, whom he
had held in such light esteem, had made a fool of him, had reduced him
to the impotence of a child. As his mind cleared, the object of the
man's actions became more involved. Whatever he was, he had succeeded in
preventing Renwick from reaching Sarajevo before the Archduke's party
should arrive, but why he should wish to drug a man who was meeting his
wishes and giving no trouble was more than Renwick could answer. Still
puzzled, he glanced at his watch. It was now five o'clock. The sight of
the dial startled him. Had Marishka succeeded in reaching the Duchess or
had----? Forgetting his quarrel with Linke in the new interest in
portending events, he questioned,
"You have heard from Sarajevo?"
"By wire at Yranduk," said Linke, nodding gravely. "The Archduke Franz
and the Duchess of Hohenburg were assassinated this morning in the
streets of Sarajevo."
Renwick's knowledge of the plot and the difficulties which surrounded
his and Marishka's efforts to prevent its consummation had convinced him
that the attempt would at least be made, but Herr Linke's bold statement
of the fact shocked him none the less.
"They are dead?"
"Both," said Linke. "They died before reaching the Landes hospital."
"Who----" Renwick paused, aware that names meant nothing.
"A Serbian student, named Prinzep."
The Englishman said nothing more, for he was again thinking of Marishka.
She had failed! Had she arrived too late or had her visit to Sarajevo
been prevented? And if so where was she now? There was nothing for it
but to go on to the Europa Hotel and inquire for the note that she would
leave there. In a somewhat desperate mood, he followed Herr Linke into
the small hotel at Duboj, for he knew that he could not go on without
food, having eaten nothing since the day before. As he hesitated, the
_goulash_ upon the dish before him, Linke smiled.
"You need have no further fear, Herr Renwick," he said calmly. "We are
now friends, engaged upon precisely the same service."
"Indeed! And that----?"
"To find the Countess Stranhni at the earliest possible moment."
"And after that?"
"To restore her to her friends."
"You know where she is?"
"No. But I can find her."
It entered Renwick's head at the moment to tell the fellow of the note
in his pocket, but the events of the night had made him careful.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
But the man evaded.
"I beg that you will eat, Herr Renwick," he said coolly. "We have no
time to spare."
And so at last, when Herr Linke ponderously helped himself and the
Hungarian chauffeur from the dish, Renwick followed his lead and ate.
In less than half an hour they were again upon their way, reaching the
hills above the Bosnian capital just before nightfall. Here, for some
reason, the machine again halted with a loud explosion of back-fire and
a prodigious amount of smoke. The chauffeur got out, looked into the
hood and straightened, gesticulating wildly. Herr Linke followed, and a
conversation ensued, the import of which was lost upon the Englishman.
But when it was finished, Linke turned to Renwick and explained that the
machinery was injured beyond repair and that the car could go no
further. Two Bosnian policemen who had appeared in the road before them,
now rode up and made inquiries. Renwick shrugged and was about to walk
away with the intention of finishing his journey afoot, when the
chauffeur came forward and caught him by the arm, shouting something in
an excited and angry voice, appealing to the men on horseback and
pointing alternately at the Englishman and at the injured machine. The
Bosnians got down and listened while one of them, who seemed to
understand, addressed Renwick in German.
"This man says that you engaged to pay for any breakages to the machine,
and that you have not paid him all that you owe."
"He lies. I paid him at Ujvidek. Herr Linke here will bear me
witness----" As he turned to address his traveling companion, he paused
in amazement, for without a word, or a sound, Herr Linke had suddenly
vanished into space.
But the Hungarian was screaming again, and what he said must have
impressed the policeman who had spoken to him, for he turned to Renwick,
scratching his head dubiously, and suggested that the matter be further
discussed before a magistrate in the city below. Renwick agreed, gave
the policeman his card with the word that he would find him at the
Europa Hotel and leaving his suitcase in the car as security for his
appearance when summoned went hurriedly down the hills toward the city.
The colloquy had occupied some moments, but when Renwick came to a
straight reach of road which led toward the tobacco factory buildings he
was surprised to find that Herr Linke was nowhere in sight. The man was
an enigma, a curious mixture of desperado and buffoon, but his sudden
disappearance without a word of thanks, apology or explanation, gave
Renwick something to puzzle over as he made his way to the bridge. Its
possible significance escaped him until he had reached the river, when,
a thought suddenly occurring to him, he put his hand into the breast
pocket of his coat, feeling for the note from Marishka. It was gone! He
hunted, feverishly, one pocket after another, and was on the point of
going back for a search of the machine when the truth suddenly dawned.
Herr Linke had taken it from him, last night when he slept--had drugged
him that he might get it without commotion! In an illuminating flash he
remembered the sharp look in the man's eyes yesterday morning in the
train from Budapest when Renwick had taken the note from his pocket.
Linke! He hurried his footsteps, bewailing his own simplicity and
wondering what this new phase of Herr Linke's activities might signify.
Renwick had assumed that the Austrian was an agent of Herr Windt, who
unable to follow him on to Sarajevo had guessed the train upon which he
had left and had sent this man up from Budapest to get into his
carriage. But his most recent accomplishment seemed to leave this
presumption open to doubt. If Herr Linke had stolen the letter in the
belief that it contained secret information which would be of value to
Austrian secret service officials, the mere reading of it would have
convinced him of its innocence in so far as Marishka was concerned. And
if a forgery! Perhaps something in the message which Renwick had
overlooked would put him upon the track of the fellow of the green
limousine. He went along the river bank from the bridge toward the
hotel, the location of which was familiar to him, hurrying his pace. At
any rate the note was gone and with it the mysterious Linke, facts which
clearly indicated one purpose. Herr Linke was bent upon intercepting any
message which might come to the Hotel Europa for the Englishman. And
given that to be his purpose, what was his intention with regard to the
Countess Strahni?
Still puzzling over the mysteries, which gained in elusiveness as he
hurried into Franz Josef Street, he reached the hotel, which was near
the Carsija, and made hurried inquiries of the Turkish porter, who
smiled and professed ignorance, but said to the Excellency that he would
diligently inquire, bringing Renwick at last to the major-domo, who
informed him that a note bearing the name of Herr Renwick had been left
at the hotel an hour before, but that not twenty minutes ago, Herr
Renwick had called and claimed it.
"That is not possible," said Renwick hotly, "since I am Herr Renwick."
The major-domo shrugged and bowed obsequiously. It was most unfortunate,
he said, but of course as Excellency must know, the Hotel Europa was not
a postoffice and could not be held responsible for the proper delivery
of letters when it knew nothing of the identity of those to whom they
were addressed.
Renwick paused a moment, and then said quickly, "To whom was the note
delivered? You saw?"
"Yes, Excellency. The person who said he was Herr Renwick was tall,
attired in black clothing, and carried an umbrella."
"Who brought the note?"
"As to that--I do not know."
The major-domo moved majestically away, but the Turkish porter who stood
listening, broke in.
"If your Excellency will permit. It was I who received the note, late
this afternoon. It was brought by a woman in a _yashmak_--a Turkish
woman. Of course I could not know her, since one looks with averted eyes
upon the women of Islam, but she would have come from the Turkish
quarter of the town--from beyond the Carsija--perhaps. I do not know. I
can say no more."
Renwick paused irresolutely and giving the man a fee, went out of the
hotel into the street, mingling with the crowds upon Franz Josef Street,
where but a few hours before on a nearby corner, the Archduke and
Duchess had met their deaths. Deciding that at all hazards he must
remain inconspicuous while he thought out a plan, he crossed the river
and went into a small park, where he sank wearily into a bench and
buried himself in new speculations.
A pipe and tobacco soothed, if they failed to stimulate his faculties.
He had reached an _impasse_. What if the Enigma in black were playing
some deep game of his own with regard to Marishka? What if, after all,
he was no agent of Herr Windt, but represented perhaps the military
party of Austria, which had as deep an interest in Marishka's silence as
had the Wilhelmstrasse? And yet such a theory was hardly plausible, for
if Linke were interested in Marishka's silence he would also be
interested in Renwick's, and this being the case, the easiest way out of
the business would have been to have dropped Renwick into some deep pool
of the Save or the Bosna while he slept. Herr Linke puzzled Renwick, but
reason informed him that the unknown limousine chap was the greater
menace both to Marishka and himself. That he held Renwick's life cheaply
was indicated by the frequent attempts upon it in Vienna and in Bohemia
and the mere fact that he had twice failed was no sign that a third
attempt might not be successful. The most unfavorable phase of the
situation was that the German agent knew Renwick by sight, and would
have every opportunity of following him to some secluded spot--shooting
him in the back and escaping into a nearby street before the excitement
subsided. What did the German agent look like? He might pass the fellow,
elbow to elbow, and the Englishman would not know him. Renwick had no
fear of meeting the man on even terms, but the thought of being stabbed
in the back or shot at by any casual passer-by was disturbing to his
morale. Every innocent bush, every tree was an enemy. What did the green
limousine chap look like? A Prussian? With a bulky nose, small mustache,
and no back to his head? Or was he small, clean shaven, and ferret-like?
How would he be dressed? In mufti? Or in some favoring disguise which
might better lend itself to his purposes?
Renwick rose suddenly and, with a careful glance about him, made slowly
for the Lateimer Bridge, sure at least, that he had not been followed,
and convinced that he must equalize the hazards between this German and
himself by playing the game according to the standards of the
Wilhelmstrasse. So he found his way carefully into the Carsija, and
found a stall where he managed to buy a native Bosnian costume,--fez,
white shirt, short jacket, wide trousers fitting close below the knee,
sash and slippers. His automatic having been taken by the prudent Linke,
he was unarmed, but managed to find a revolver of American make and
cartridges which fitted it. With his newly acquired purchases he
returned in the darkness to the other bank of the river, where he found
a small inn in the Bistrick quarter.
He concealed ten one hundred _kroner_ notes in the lining at the belt of
the trousers, and pinned it securely. The remainder of his money, a few
fifty crown notes and coins, he put in his pockets with his watch and
other valuables, and changed his clothing. When he had finished dressing
he examined himself in a mirror. His face was tanned by exposure, and
the dust of the journey which he retained gave him a soiled appearance
sufficiently Oriental. He was now Stefan Thomasevic, a seller of sheep
and goats, which he had brought to the market. He left his English
clothing in a bundle in the care of the innkeeper and advising the man
that he would return later in the night or at least upon the morrow,
went forth across the river again, with a sense of greater security from
the observations of any who meant mischief to Hugh Renwick. If he did
not know what the green limousine chap looked like, the limousine chap
at least could not know him.
As he slouched through the alleys of the Carsija, reassured as to the
completeness of his disguise, he smoked a native cigarette, and asked
many questions among the keepers of the stalls, squatting cross-legged
with them upon the ground and learning much of all matters save of the
one with which he was most concerned.
"Few but Moslem people had passed through the Carsija upon this day,"
they said, "for the terrible happenings of the morning had kept the
Austrian Excellencies in their own part of the town and Islam--Islam in
time of trouble was always wise to find its company among its own
people."
Renwick's task seemed hopeless, but he did not despair, leaving the
bazaar at last, and climbing the hill to the old town beyond the
Bastion. Here he again questioned every passer-by. "Had the Effendi seen
a tall Excellency dressed in black who carried an umbrella? He, Stefan
Thomasevic, had sold the Excellency some sheep and goats, but the
Excellency had not yet paid all of that which he owed. It was not a
matter about which to laugh. If the Excellency did not soon appear in
the Carsija, it was a matter for the police."
But no one could help him. Herr Linke was moving with discretion, for it
was probable that if such a creature had strolled through the Carsija,
there would be a dozen idlers who would have observed and noted the
fact. Renwick's chief hopes were crumbling. And yet, if Linke suspected
that the note which had been sent to the Hotel Europa was a bait, he
would of course act with great caution. It was nearly midnight when,
weary and disappointed, Renwick returned from the Kastele quarter in the
direction of the Carsija. The houses were dark save for a glimmer of
light in an upper window here and there, but the moon had come out, and
Renwick, moving silently along in the shadow of walls and houses, gazed
about him with the eagerness of despair. For a while he stopped in the
angle of a wall, and listened to the sounds of the city below him, the
rush of the river below the Bastion, the motor and bell of the electric
tram-car, the whistle of a freight locomotive at the further end of the
town--strident noises brought from the West to break the drowsy murmur
of the Orient, but not a sight nor a sound which could give him a clew
as to the whereabouts of Linke or Countess Marishka. The inaction was
maddening. In his belt the American revolver hung its futile weight. Had
it not been for Linke, he might have had a chance at least to follow the
instructions of the note of the Hotel Europa to some conclusion whether
for good or ill--it did not matter. If Marishka herself had written
it!... She would be awaiting him now--and he could not come to
her.... In his stead--Linke the gigantic, the mellifluous....
Renwick turned slowly into a side street, and crouched in the dark angle
of a wall, for a motor car was coming toward him. Motors in the region
of Franz Josef Street and the river were not uncommon, but as a rule
they were seldom to be seen in the hilly region near the Bastion. From
his dark vantage point, Renwick saw the car approach and pass him,
quietly coasting, and stop a short distance below the angle of the
street from which he had emerged. He caught a glimpse of the profile of
the chauffeur, and noted the condition of the car. He judged that it had
come a long journey, for Sarajevo and the part of Bosnia through which
his own machine had traveled, had suffered much from the drought. This
machine was covered with dust, of course, but it was also literally
spattered with mud. The Englishman watched the machine for a while, but
the chauffeur having silenced the engine, remained motionless, in deep
shadow, waiting. Of course belated visitors from the European section of
the city to the Kastele were a possibility, but the quietness with which
the chauffeur had approached, and the eager way in which he now leaned
forward in his seat watching the _meshrebiya_ windows of a house at some
distance, excited Renwick's curiosity. Why was the man there? Who was he
watching in the house of the lighted window? Had this mystery anything
in common with his own? Renwick watched the windows too. A light burned
dimly within, and once he thought a shadow passed. The window and the
chauffeur interested him, but he was too far away to distinguish the
house clearly, and so, moving stealthily, he stole quietly up the hill
to a cross street, and turning to the left, in the shadow of a wall,
walked rapidly down to a small alley which he took at random, at the end
of which he paused for observation. The house with the _meshrebiya_
windows was now just below where he stood, but opposite him was an
ancient stone wall, and in its center was a blue door. There were trees
within the enclosure, and he heard the sound of falling water. He found
a dark doorway and crouched silently, watching.
A _cul-de-sac_? Perhaps. Disappointment and chagrin had done their worst
to him. He would wait see what was to happen, and if nothing came of the
venture he would merely have his labor for his pains. He noted above the
wall that there were windows of the house which overlooked the garden.
In one of them, in the room which the chauffeur had been observing, the
light still dimly burned, but he saw no shadows. Peering out from the
angle of the alleyway, he thought he had discovered a doorway or court
between the house he was watching and the one below it toward the
Carsija, and in a moment fancied that he could distinguish the sound of
whispering voices, from that direction; but the shadow of a mosque
nearby threw its shadow upon this part of the street, and he could see
nothing clearly. If there were men there, they were keeping in the
shadow of the wall around the turn of the street, beyond the range of
Renwick's vision, but the night breeze which carried the sound of the
whispers also wafted the odor of a native cigarette. The smell of it
made Renwick wish to smoke, for the suspense and inaction were telling
upon him, but he resisted the impulse, sinking lower into the shadow,
and awaiting events.
Minutes passed--hours they seemed to the waiting Renwick--and then came
the deep boom of a bell, which echoing down the silent streets, seemed
just at Renwick's elbow--another--another--until he counted twelve, of
the belfry of the cathedral announcing midnight.
He waited, thinking deeply. The machine which had come a long journey?
The lighted windows which the chauffeur watched? The whisper of voices
from the street below him? There was mystery here. He crouched lower and
watched the dark shadow of the arch below the house.