NUMBER 28
For a month the Landes Hospital had been greatly interested in the
mystery of patient Number 28. In spite of the imminence of war, and the
preparations which were being made to care for the wounded along the
border, the physicians, the nurses, and the other patients had all
formed theories as to the man's history and the possible causes of his
injuries. And during the long period in which he lay unconscious,
hovering in the dim realm between life and death, not a day passed in
which his temperature, respiration, and other symptoms were not
discussed from one end of the hospital to the other. The Head Surgeon,
Colonel Bohratt, inclined to the opinion that if the man continued for a
few days longer without change he would recover. But the Head Nurse
shook her head sagely. The wound in the head had been difficult, as the
operation was an unusual one, the wound in the shoulder was nothing, but
the one in the stomach! If the operation of Colonel Bohratt proved
successful, then a miracle had been performed.
The interest in the case, both from the sentimental as well as the
professional point of view, was so great that the man's bed had been
carefully wheeled from a ward where he had been taken from the operating
table, into a private room, where every chance would be given him to
recover.
On the twenty-seventh of July, Fräulein Roth, the nurse on duty at the
bedside of the man of mystery, noted a slight change in his breathing,
and saw that he had opened his eyes, which were regarding her calmly,
but with the puzzled expression of one who has come a great distance
into a strange country. She knew then that what the Head Surgeon had
said was true, and that the man of mystery had turned the corner which
led away from the land of the Great Beyond. But being a prudent person,
she gave no sign of her delight, merely moving softly closer to the
bedside, and in German quietly asked him if he felt better.
The man did not or could not reply at once, but she saw that his gaze
slowly passed beyond her to the bare walls of the room and to the open
window, beyond which were clouds, sunshine, and the distant drowsy
murmur of the city.
"You are feeling more comfortable?" she asked again, in German.
"Yes," he _muttered_.
"You have been sick," she whispered softly, smoothing his pillow.
"Ah, yes, sick," the man muttered, and closing his eyes, slept again.
It was not long before the news of the awakening of Number 28 had
reached the nurses and attending physicians. Colonel Bohratt, greatly
pleased at the correctness of his prophecy and the end of the period of
coma, at once a tribute to his wisdom as well as to his professional
skill, came himself and viewed the patient, gave directions for
treatment and predicted speedy recovery.
That night, the man of mystery awoke again, exchanged a few words with
Fräulein Roth as before, and again slept. And on the morrow, a sure sign
that all was going well with him, he had gained so much strength that he
moved freely in his bed, and took more than the casual interest of the
desperately sick in his situation and surroundings. Fräulein Roth had
been given instructions to keep him quiet, but she smiled at him when
quite rationally he questioned her.
"Is this a hospital?" he asked.
"Yes--the Landes Hospital."
"Where?"
"Sarajevo."
"Ah,--Sarajevo."
He remained silent for a long moment.
"I have been here long?" he asked again.
"A month."
"A month! And the date?"
"The twenty-eighth of July----"
"Yes. I understand."
Fräulein Roth wished him to be quiet, but after a long moment of
contemplation of the ceiling, in which his brows puckered in a puzzled
way, he spoke again.
And when Fräulein Roth anxiously desired him to be quiet, she discovered
that Number 28 had a will of his own and only smiled at her earnestness.
"I am feeling quite strong," he said weakly. "It will do me no harm to
talk, for some things puzzle me. I was brought here. Won't you tell me
how?"
She debated with herself for a moment, but after an inspection of her
patient she decided to tell him the facts.
"A peasant had discovered two men lying in a strip of woods near the road
to Gradina. At first he had thought that both were dead, but upon closer
examination he found that one of the men, although desperately wounded,
still breathed, and notified the police, who summoned the ambulance."
"I?" asked the sick man.
She nodded. "You were brought here--to the Landes Hospital in a bad
condition. The other man was dead."
"The other man--dead?"
"Yes," said the nurse, "with stab wounds in the back, and one in the
heart." She regarded her patient keenly a moment, and then went on.
"There were no marks of identification upon either of you. You were
without clothing. Following so closely upon the assassination of the
Archduke Franz and his wife, the circumstances were suspicious, and the
police of Sarajevo and the secret service officials have done all they
could to find some clew to the murderers. You see," she concluded with a
smile, "you are a man of mystery and all Sarajevo awaits your recovery."
"Oh, I see. They are waiting for me to speak?"
Number 28 lay silent, regarding the ceiling intently, frowning a little.
His mind worked slowly and Fräulein Roth saw that he found some
difficulty in mental concentration.
"We will talk no more at present," she said firmly. "If you are no
worse--perhaps again tomorrow."
But on the following day and the next the condition of the patient was
not so favorable, for he lay in a drowsy condition and showed no
interest in anything. It seemed that the pallid fingers of Death were
still stretched over him. There were whispered consultations at the
bedside, and a magistrate came to take a deposition, but the Head
Surgeon advised delay. He had a reputation at stake.
The wisdom of his advice was soon proved, for at the end of three days
Number 28 rallied, his fever subsided, and he smiled again at Nurse
Roth. But she had learned wisdom and refused to talk.
Number 28 straightened in bed and ran his thin fingers through the beard
with which his face was now covered. He ate of his food with a relish
and then eagerly questioned.
"I am quite strong again, Fräulein. See--my hand does not even tremble.
Will you not talk with me?"
"My orders are to keep you quiet."
"I have been quiet long enough--a month!" he sighed. "The world does not
stand still for a month."
The nurse smiled. "I see that you are used to having your own way," she
said.
"Is it not natural that I should wish to know what has happened in the
world? Tell me. The Archduke Franz was killed. Did they discover a
plot?"
"A plot? Yes. The boy Prinzep was employed by the Serbians."
"He confessed?"
"Not to that--but it is obvious."
"And what has happened?"
She examined him intently, aware now of what she herself had long
suspected, that this patient was no ordinary kind of man. His German had
a slight accent, but whether he came from central Europe or elsewhere
she could not decide.
"Austria Hungary is on the eve of great events. A week or more ago
Austria Hungary sent an ultimatum to the Serbian government, to which an
unsatisfactory reply was received. The Austro-Hungarian minister has
left Belgrade, and war has been declared upon Serbia."
"War! and Russia?"
"Russia, France and Germany have mobilized."
"And England?"
"Nothing is known of what England will do. But it is feared that she may
join the cause of Russia and France."
Number 28 lay silent for a moment thinking deeply, and then--
"It has come at last. War. All of Europe----"
"It is frightful. There has already been fighting on the Serbian border.
We are preparing here to receive the wounded."
He remained silent a moment, his eyes sparkling as he thought of what
she had told him and then quietly, "War!" he muttered. "I must get well
very quickly, Nurse, I must----"
_She waited for him to go on, for, being a woman,_ curiosity as to his
history obsessed her, but he said no more. And in spite of her interest
in this man whom she had faithfully watched and served for more than a
month, some delicacy restrained the questions on her tongue.
"You will not get well for a long while, Herr Twenty-Eight, if you do
not keep quiet," she said quickly.
"You are very good to me," he replied. "I shall do as you wish."
Several days after this, the patient having gained strength rapidly, he
was permitted solid food. He slept much, and in his waking hours seemed
to be thinking deeply. He was very obedient, as though concentrating all
his mind upon an effort toward speedy recovery, but he did not talk of
himself. His strength now permitting more frequent conversation, the
nurse brought him the news of the world outside, which included the
declaration of war by Great Britain against Germany--and the certainty
of a declaration against Austria Hungary.
"It is as I suspected," he muttered. "England----"
Again her patient was silent, and Nurse Roth glanced at him quickly.
English!
She did not speak her thought, for the import of her news had sent her
patient into one of his deep spells of concentration. No Englishman that
she had ever met had spoken the German language so fluently. But
concealing her interest and curiosity when he turned toward her again,
she smiled at him brightly.
"You are now getting much stronger, Herr Twenty-Eight," she said. "The
Head Surgeon has given permission for your examination."
"Examination?"
"A magistrate will come tomorrow to take your deposition."
"I don't understand."
"About all the facts connected with your injuries."
"They have learned nothing?"
"A little. The man who was found with you has been identified."
"Ah!"
"As Nicholas Szarvas, a Hungarian police officer----"
"Szarvas!"
"You knew him?"
The patient was silent again. She had come suddenly upon the stone wall
which had balked all her efforts. Her hand was near him upon the bed. He
took it and pressed it to his lips.
"Do not think me ungrateful for all your kindnesses, Fräulein. Some day
perhaps I can repay you. But there are reasons why I cannot speak."
She drew her hand away from him slowly.
"But you must speak when the magistrate questions," she said gently.
"Perhaps!" And he was silent again.
With his growing strength had come wariness. If England declared war,
he, Hugh Renwick, at present unknown, would be interned, a prisoner; and
all hope of finding Marishka and the German, Goritz, would be lost. In
the first few days of his awakening, he had thought of sending for
Warwick, the British Consul, and putting the matter entirely in his
hands. But before he had had the strength to decide what it was best to
do, had come the declarations of war, and he had determined to remain
silent and act upon his own initiative. Unless he had muttered something
of his past in his fever, and this he doubted, or some sign of it would
have come from Fräulein Roth, there would he no means of identifying him
as an Englishman, and when he recovered, they would let him go. As it
was, he was a man of mystery, and as such he intended to remain. He had
noted the marks of interest in the face of the nurse, and in her
questions, and his gratitude to her was very genuine, but he was sure
now that he was in no position to take chances. War being declared,
Warwick would have been given his passports, and would have left the
country. No one in Sarajevo knew the Englishman, Renwick--at least no
one who would be likely to connect the man of mystery of the Landes
Hospital with the former secretary of the British Embassy in Vienna.
As his mind had grown clearer, the wisdom of his decision became more
apparent. If a magistrate came, he would be obliged to see him, but he
knew that his period of illness could cover a multitude of remembrances.
The magistrate came with a clerk, and questioned with an air of
importance. Renwick realized that if he refused to answer, he might make
himself an object of suspicion, and endanger the chances of his release
upon recovery, and so, as he was not under oath, he invented skillfully.
"What is your name?"
"Peter Langer."
"What nationality?"
"Austrian, if you like. I am a citizen of the world."
The magistrate examined him over his glasses.
"The world is large. From what part of Austria did you come?"
"Vienna."
"Your parents are Viennese?"
"They were in Vienna when I was young."
"Were they born there?"
"I do not know."
"It is necessary that you should."
"I am sorry if it is necessary. I do not know."
"What brought you to Sarajevo?"
"I am a wanderer. I wished to see the world."
"A wish that has almost proved fatal. You have no business?"
"Merely the business of wandering."
The magistrate frowned.
"I beg that you will take this matter seriously, Herr Langer."
"I do. It is not in the least amusing."
The man consulted his notes for a moment.
"Where were you on the night of June twenty-eight?"
"I have been ill for a month. Dates mean nothing to me. My memory is
bad."
"Ah! Well, then, where were you on the night of the assassination?"
"What assassination----?"
"The assassination of the Archduke," replied the magistrate sternly.
"In Sarajevo, I should say."
"_Natürlich._ But in what place?"
"In the street, perhaps--or in a house. I don't remember."
"I beg that you make the effort to remember."
"I cannot," said Renwick after a pause.
"You must."
"My mind is clouded."
The magistrate exchanged a glance with the nurse, who stood at the head
of the bed, and spoke to her. "This man talks to you quite rationally?"
Fräulein Roth hesitated and then said: "Yes. But he has been very ill. I
should suggest that you excuse him where possible."
"H--m! This is a matter of great seriousness. A police officer has been
murdered by a person or persons unknown. This man was found near his
body, both of them left for dead. It is not possible that he can have
forgotten the circumstances--the fight, the shooting which preceded his
unconsciousness." And then to Renwick--"You knew Nicholas Szarvas?"
"No."
"I would remind you that this is the man who was found dead beside you."
"I did not know him."
"What are your recollections of the evening I have mentioned?"
"I have no recollections."
"You said that you were in a house."
"Or the street--I forget."
"You remember having an altercation with someone?"
"In my dreams--yes. Many."
"But before your dreams, when you were conscious?"
"None."
"Szarvas was stabbed. Did you see him attacked?"
"I did not."
"Have you any idea who shot you?"
"A man who was my enemy, I should say."
"Ah--you had an enemy?"
"What man has not?"
"What was his name?"
"I don't remember."
The magistrate got up frowning, and paced up and down the room, his
hands behind his back.
"I should advise you, Herr Langer, that it is my opinion that you are
willfully endeavoring to impede the steps of this investigation. I would
remind you also that those who try to thwart the officers of the law in
the performance of their duty, are alike amenable to it. Your
reticence--I can call it by a less pleasant word--is aiding and
abetting a criminal, who must be brought to justice."
"It is not likely----" He paused.
"What?"
"That I should wish to save a man who had tried to murder me."
"But this is precisely what you are doing."
Renwick smiled.
"What would you? Have me invent a story for your record? I can say no
more than I remember. I remember nothing."
The magistrate took off his glasses and rubbed them rigorously, as if by
so doing he could clear his own mind as to what had best be done. Then
he put them upon his nose and took up his hat and papers. It was certain
that the patient's brain was still far from strong.
"I shall not pursue this investigation now," he said to Nurse Roth. "I
shall wait a few days in which Herr Langer may have time to reflect. He
is still very weak. In the meanwhile, Herr Langer, I would tell you that
it would be wise for you to recover your memory."
"A desire which I sincerely share," said Renwick with a smile.
"If not," continued the magistrate with his most magisterial manner,
"you will be detained, as a material witness, in Sarajevo."
"I have no intention of leaving Sarajevo unless someone should happen to
pay my railroad fare," replied Renwick wearily.
The man left, followed by his clerk, and Nurse Roth closed the door
behind them. When the sounds of their footsteps had faded away along the
corridor, she turned to the table where she rearranged some roses in a
vase.
"You lie very ingeniously, Herr Twenty-eight," she said with a smile.
Renwick regarded her calmly.
"It is not my nature, Nurse Roth. But a cracked skull doesn't improve
the brains beneath."
She came over to him quickly, and stood beside the bed.
"You have some reason for concealing your identity. I know that you
remember what happened. But I will protect you as far as I can, upon one
condition."
"And that?" he asked anxiously.
"That you will give me your word of honor that it was not you who killed
Nicholas Szarvas."
He caught her by the hand and smiled up at her with a look so genuine
that there was no question as to his sincerity.
"I give it. I did not kill Nicholas Szarvas."
"Thank you," she said simply. "I believe you."
[Illustration: "Thank you," she said simply. "I believe you."]
"I wish I could tell you," he whispered earnestly, "for I know that you
are my friend, but"--and he relinquished her hand--"but I _must_ keep
silent."
She touched him gently upon the shoulder in token of understanding, and
from that moment said no more.
The days passed slowly, but it was evident to those who were interested
in the case that Number 28 gained strength very rapidly. His wounds had
healed, and he was soon permitted to get up and sit in an armchair near
the window, where he could look out over the minarets of the city below
the hill. But to all except Nurse Roth, it seemed that the injury to his
head had done something to retard the recovery of his memory. He spoke
quite rationally to Colonel Bohratt upon matters regarding his physical
condition, but sometimes even when the Head Surgeon was talking with
him, he relapsed into a state of mental apathy which caused that worthy
man to remove his bandage and examine the wound in his head. After which
the Colonel would leave the room with a puzzled expression. And in
consequence of this curious mental condition, it was thought wise to
defer the visit of the officer of the law until the patient's mind
should show a change for the better. There was even a consultation upon
the advisability of another operation upon the head, but the patient
showed such encouraging marks of growing lucidity that the operation was
deferred.
It was a dangerous game that he was playing, and Renwick knew it, for
the time would come when he must tell who he was, or find a chance to
escape from the hospital. Escape was his hope and each day as he gained
new strength, he thought of a hundred expedients by which it might be
accomplished. He knew that even now he was under surveillance, and
virtually a prisoner of the Austrian government, until he could give
some account of himself, and of the events of the night of the
twenty-eighth of June. And so he conserved his energies carefully,
gaining courage and weight with each new day, playing the game of delay
until he was assured of his strength and the moment was propitious. The
chief difficulty which confronted him was a means to procure clothing.
He was allowed the privileges of the hospital, permitted to walk upon
the terrace, but he had no clothing except the sleeping suit of cotton
and a wrapper-like affair which he wore when out of his room. Whether
his restriction to this costume was by neglect or by design, he did not
know, for all the other convalescents whom he met out in the air wore
the clothes in which they had come to the hospital. The fact that he had
been brought here unclothed was of little comfort to him, and he feared
to request a change of garments for this might excite suspicion. There
was nothing for it but to wait, and when strength enough came, seize the
first opportunity presented to slip quietly away.
He had been studying his chances with a discriminating eye. His room was
upon the second floor, but there was a rain-spout which passed just
beside it, and given the strength of hand and wrist to accomplish the
descent, the matter would be simple. There was a row of shrubbery just
below the terrace, which led to a path over the hills, where he might be
lost under cover of the night. But even at night he could not go into
Sarajevo without clothing. For a while the idea of appealing to Nurse
Roth occurred to him, but he at last rejected it, aware that she had
already done much that could not be repaid, and unwilling to subject her
to the alternatives of refusal or acquiescence--one of which might be
hazardous to his own chances, the other surely fruitful of
unpleasantness to herself. He had no right to ask this of her. He wished
to incur no new obligations, for when the time came, he intended to go,
and he could not repay her kindness with deceit. And so he waited,
simulating weakness, exercising in secret, and gaining in strength for
the hopeless task before him.
He had made no plans. What plans could he make when he had no means of
making inquiries? Goritz was gone with Marishka,--by this time perhaps
far beyond the German border, the girl a prisoner--or----? For a moment
he paused as the new thought came to him. What would be the status of
the Countess Strahni since the outbreak of war? The conditions which
existed before the pact of Konopisht were no more. Germany's ambitions
stultified--Austria forgiving--both nations involved in a great
undertaking the prosecution of which must make them careless of all less
vital issues! Had Goritz been recalled from this secret mission to
another more important? And if so, where was Marishka? Could she have
been released? There was a chance of it, but it seemed a slender one.
Goritz! Something--some deeply hidden instinct, some suspicion harbored
perhaps in the long days and nights of his unconsciousness, some pang of
fear born of pain and unrest, advised him that, behind the secret duty
which had first brought Goritz to Vienna, he was now playing a game of
his own. The brief glimpse he had had of the man, short but fearfully
significant, had made an unpleasant impression. He had seen the look in
the eyes of the German as he had asked Marishka to go with him from the
house of the garden, a look courteous and considerate, that had in it,
too, something more than mere admiration. If the man were in love with
her! And what man of any vision, learning to know Marishka could help
caring for her! Not love, surely! Not love from a man who sheltered
himself from danger by using her as a shield. He had been safe then.
Renwick could not have fired then. And Goritz was clever enough to know
it. But the dastardliness of such a trick! There was a long score to pay
between Renwick and Goritz, a score the items of which had begun with
the attempts upon the Englishman's life in Vienna and Konopisht, the
imprisonment of Marishka, and the shooting in Sarajevo which had
nothing to do with politics. They were enemies. Their countries were
enemies. It was written.
Absorbed in these unpleasant meditations, Renwick sat upon the terrace
of the hospital after supper, idly manicuring his nails with Nurse
Roth's scissors. As it grew dark, he got up, slowly pacing up and down
the length of the terrace. The moment was approaching when he would be
called in to go to his room, but he grudgingly relinquished the moments
in the soft evening air. It was curious how much latitude they gave
him--curious, also, that the magistrate, after his second fruitless
visit a few days ago, had not returned. As Renwick had continued evasive
the magistrate had grown angry and at last had threatened him with the
visit of one who would make him speak. Who was this new inquisitor to
be? Someone in higher authority? Or perhaps some secret service agent
who had finally succeeded in getting some clews as to the murder of the
colossal Szarvas?
Of one thing Renwick was sure--that soon he must make a break for
liberty. Tonight--now--into the dusk beyond the hills. He was not very
strong yet, but it might be----
"Herr Twenty-Eight," said the voice of Nurse Roth at his elbow, "you are
to go at once to your room for examination."
"Thanks, Fräulein. I shall go. It is the magistrate?"
She nodded soberly.
"The magistrate and another whom I have never seen. They are now in the
office consulting the Head Surgeon."
Renwick smiled at her as he whispered, "I am to be _grilled_?"
"I fear so."
He shrugged. "The time for subterfuge is past." And then, taking her
hand again, "I shall go at once. But whatever happens I want you to know
that I shall never forget what you have done for me."
"It is nothing. Now go, please."
He bowed and preceded her into the hallway. As they passed the office
the door was open and Renwick glanced in. The magistrate was there and
another man, talking to Colonel Bohratt, all of them unaware of the
patient in the darker hallway looking at them. Renwick started, and then
gazed again at the third man leaning over the table facing him. His
figure seemed familiar, his bowing and gestures more so, and yet for a
second Renwick could not place him. And then the man smiled, showing a
gold tooth which caught the reflection of the electric light upon the
table. A gold tooth----
Nurse Roth was regarding Renwick who glanced at the open door behind him
and then at Nurse Roth. The pause was momentous. Renwick quickly
recovered his poise and went on a few steps.
"They wish to see me--in the office?" he asked in a whisper.
"In your room, please. I shall tell them that you are waiting."
"Thanks, again," said Renwick abruptly, with outstretched hand, "and
good-by."
"Good-by?" she asked in alarm.
He smiled over the shoulder as he went up the stairs.
"I think I shall exchange the hospital--for the jail."
He left her standing there looking up at him in wonder or pity, and then
turning the stairhead went on down the upper corridor. There were nurses
conversing here, and a patient or two, so Renwick went slowly until he
reached his room. But once within the door he acted with speed and
resolution. First he turned the key in the lock and softly shot the
bolt, then crossed the room quickly, his heart beating rapidly. He was
not strong and his nerves already were warning him, but they did not
fail him. He peered out of the window upon the terrace. It was not yet
dark and there was a nurse below standing beside a man in a wheel chair.
He could not go now for they would see him and surely give the alarm,
and so he waited, going back to the door and listening for the sound of
approaching male footsteps. As yet no sound. He peered down upon the
head of the luckless nurse, mutely imprecating. The moments were
precious. Would they never go in? It was past the hour for loitering on
the terrace. For a moment the idiotic notion came to him to go out into
the corridor and call the attention of the nurse in charge of the floor
to the infraction of rules, but he turned again to the window. The nurse
was moving now, slowly pushing the wheel chair toward the door. It was
barely a hundred feet away, but to Renwick it seemed an eternity before
the pair vanished within. Then taking off his slippers he put them in
the pocket of his wrapper, and rolling it into a bundle, dropped it
noiselessly upon the terrace below. His nerves quivered as he sat
astride the window-sill but he set his jaw and lowered himself from the
window, catching the iron gutter-pipe with bare fingers and toes. The
spout seemed to creak horribly, and for a moment he thought that it was
swaying outward with him. But the sensation was born of his own
weakness. The pipe held and slowly he descended, reaching the ground,
his knuckles bruised and torn, but so far, safe.
He paused for a moment to slip into his wrapper and then crossed the
terrace quietly, reached the lawn and the shelter of the bushes below.