DISGUISE
Long ago he had planned the direction in which he should go when the
time came for him to escape. And so without pausing to look behind him
he hurried down the hill in the shelter of the hedge until he reached
its end. A hundred yards away was a hillock. By going forward in a line
which he had already marked he would have the partial protection of
rocks and bushes. He paused just a moment to be sure that no one was
coming after him. All was as before and the dark group of buildings, his
home for nearly two months, loomed in silent dignity behind him. But
Renwick knew that it would not be long before the whole countryside
would be buzzing like a hornet's nest. In his enfeebled condition, he
could hardly hope to cope with his pursuers in the matter of speed and
so as he went on across the stream at the base of the hill, he tried to
plan something that would outwit them. The nearest outlying houses of
the town were but a few hundred yards distant, but instead of taking the
road down the hill, he turned sharply to his left after crossing the
road and entered the Moslem cemetery, laid according to the custom in a
cypress grove. He now moved slowly and leaning against the bole of a
tree regained his breath while he listened for the expected sounds of
pursuit. The cemetery seemed to be deserted, but he decided to take no
chances, so he found a tree with thick foliage, and climbed from one
bough to another until he found a crotch of a limb where he disposed
himself as comfortably as possible to wait until the pursuit had passed
him by.
His pulses were still pounding furiously from the sudden effort of
muscles long unused, and his nerves were tingling strangely, but he
clung to his perch until the period of weakness passed and then planned
what he had better do. Inside of an hour every policeman in Sarajevo
would be warned by Herr Windt to look out for a man with a beard,
wearing a sleeping suit and a blue woolen wrapper. The obvious thing
therefore was to avoid Sarajevo or else find a means to change his
costume. But if he begged, borrowed, or stole an outfit of native
clothing--what then? Where should he turn? He had no money, for that, of
course, had been taken by the ruffians who had carried his body into the
woods and stripped him of his clothing. To all intents and purposes he
had been born again--had come into the world anew, naked save for the
unsightly flapping things in which he was wrapped. His English clothes
were at the inn in the Bistrick quarter where he had left them, but to
seek them now meant immediate capture. And if he wore English clothes in
the streets of a town full of men in uniform he would be as conspicuous
as though in sleeping suit and wrapper. A native costume was the
thing--and a fez which would hide the plaster on his head. But how to
get it? He heard voices, and two men passed below him weaving in and out
among the trees; he blessed the inspiration which had bidden him climb.
He would have known Windt. He was not one of them. They were men from
the hospital, out of breath with running, and the phrases they exchanged
gave Renwick comforting notion that they were already wearily impressed
with the hopelessness of their task. A while they waited, and then he
saw them go out on the further side of the copse as though glad to be
well away from so melancholy a spot. Indeed the gray turban-carved
tombstones were eloquent to Renwick and a newly made grave not far away
was unpleasantly suggestive of the fate that had so nearly been his. It
was starlight now, but dark, and the owls were already hooting
mournfully as though the souls of those who lay in the sod beneath had
come again to visit by night their last resting places. It was not the
most cheerful spot for a man who had just come out of a bout with death,
and Renwick had no mind to stay there. So when the men who had been
searching for him had gone their ways, he clambered stiffly down. He
lingered by the newly made grave, obsessed by the rather morbid notion
of digging up the estimable Moslem who reposed there and exchanging his
own hospital wrapper for the much to be desired native costume, but
desperate as was his need the idea was too unpleasant. He would rob, if
necessary, but not the dead.
As he wandered among the trees in the direction of the nearest lights,
he felt a pair of scissors in the pocket of his wrapper--Fräulein
Roth's. His fingers closed upon them now. A weapon? Better than that. A
plan had come to him which he proceeded immediately to put into
practice. Taking off his wrapper he seated himself upon a tombstone and
began cutting it into pieces, shaping a short sleeveless jacket. He cut
the sleeves of the wrapper lengthwise and made a turban.
Its skirt made him a belt with something left over. He puzzled for
awhile over the remnant of cloth left to him, thinking of his legs, but
at last discarded it as useless, and hid it among the bushes. Then,
laboriously, he trimmed his mustache and beard. It was low work without
light or mirror, but he persevered until to the touch of his fingers the
merest bristle remained, a stubble such as a man would have who had gone
a few days without shaving. Then, satisfied that under cover of the
darkness he might pass in a crowd of people unnoticed, he slipped the
scissors into the coat of his sleeping suit and sallied forth.
At least he was rid of the flowing robe which would have made of him a
marked man. Fortunately the night was hot and sultry, and so far he
suffered no inconveniences, but he knew that this disguise was only a
makeshift and that by fair means or foul, he must come into the
possession of some sort of costume in which he could face the light of
day. In the road, he passed a farmer returning from the bazaar, and the
careless greeting of the man reassured him. A polyglot costume
surely--but this was a city of polyglots. The disguise would do--at
least for this night. But the appearance of Windt had seriously alarmed
him. It meant, if he was taken, that he would surely be interned, or
worse, perhaps that he might be accused of complicity in the murder of
Szarvas, Windt's own man. In the back of his head a plan had been
forming, which meant if not active help in escaping from the city, at
least a short refuge from pursuit, and perhaps something more. He meant
to go to the house where Marishka had been--and speak to the girl, Yeva.
It was the only hope he had of a clew to Marishka's whereabouts--the
only hope of help in this city of enemies. He was quite sure that he
would not be a welcome visitor, for it was the old ruffian in the
turban, of course, who had taken the clothing from Renwick's body and
left him for dead upon the hillside. The theory in the hospital had been
that those who had carried Renwick into the woods had intended burying
the bodies--for a spade had been found later near the place--but that
the murderers had been frightened away before being able to carry out
their plan. And lacking information upon the subject, Renwick had come
to the same conclusion. He might not be welcome at the house of the blue
door, but he knew the old man's secret and decided to risk danger by
playing the game with an open hand.
Instead of going into the city by the nearest way, which would have led
him in a few moments into the European part of the town, he bore to the
left again, climbing the hill behind the Tekija mosque, until he reached
an eminence back of the fortress above the Golden Bastion, and then
slowly descended into the Turkish quarter of the town where the streets
were narrow and dark and the danger of detection minimized. He had
already passed many people who had merely glanced at him and gone their
ways, and the success of his disguise gave him confidence; but as he
approached the Sirocac Tor he was badly frightened, for on turning the
corner of a street he ran directly into the arms of a stout Bosnian
policeman who was looking for him. The man swore at him in bad German
and Renwick drew back against the wall, sure that the game was up, until
he realized that the fellow was only cursing because he was almost, if
not quite as much startled as Renwick. So the Englishman, regaining his
composure, bowed politely and would have gone on, but the policeman
spoke.
"Which way have you come?" he asked.
"From the Kastele."
"You have seen no bareheaded man with a beard, wearing a long blue
coat?"
"A long blue coat? There are none with long blue coats in the Kastele in
the month of August."
"Pfui--! I do not wonder!" said the fat Bosnian, and hurried on.
But the venture made Renwick more cautious, and he avoided the
street-lights, moving under the shadows of walls and houses, at last
reaching the tortuous alleyway down which he had once come to inspect
the house with the _meshrebiya_ windows. Almost two months had passed
since he had stood in this spot, watching these same lighted windows,
unaware of the success that had been almost within his grasp. Outwardly
nothing was changed. The blue door faced him, and gathering courage, he
crossed the street and entered the garden. It was very dark under the
trees and he went quietly forward, stopping by the fountain to listen
for sounds within the house. He realized that it was growing late, and
that while the garden offered him a refuge from those who were seeking
him in the city, daylight would make his tenure precarious even here. If
the girl Yeva would only come down into the garden! He waited by the
bench listening, and presently was rewarded by hearing a light rippling
laugh from the room above the door. She was there--the girl--but not
alone--with the old woman perhaps, or the man with the beard. Renwick
listened again and watched the window, but heard nothing more. There
was nothing for it but to put on a bold front, so summoning his courage,
he walked to the door of the house and loudly knocked.
There was an exclamation, a sound of footsteps upon the stair, and at
last the bolt of the door was shot and the door opened. Zubeydeh stood,
a lantern in her hand, scrutinizing him.
He spoke in German at once. "I come upon an urgent matter," he said
coolly. "Upon a matter very important to the owner of this house----"
"Speak--what do you want?" she asked.
"I bear a message."
"The Effendi is not at home----"
"Ah--then Yeva may receive it."
"Yeva! Who are you?"
He smiled. "For the present that need not matter."
Zubeydeh blocked the door more formidably with her body.
"No one enters this house in the Effendi's absence."
"I do not desire to enter the house. I merely wish to talk with Yeva,
here----"
"That is not possible." The woman moved back and made a motion to close
the door, but Renwick took a pace forward and blocked her effort with
his foot.
"Wait," he said.
Something in the tone of his voice arrested her, and the hand which held
the door relaxed. She regarded Renwick with a new curiosity. Her eyes
narrowed as she peered into his face. She had seen someone who looked
like this tall beggar, but where----?
"Who are you?" she asked again, this time with a note of anxiety,
scarcely concealed.
Renwick smiled, but he had not yet removed his foot from the sill of the
door.
"You do not remember me?"
"No--and yet----" She paused in bewilderment, and Renwick quickly
followed his advantage.
"I am one who can save this house from a danger."
"Speak!"
"I have but to speak yonder," and he gestured eloquently toward the city
below them, "and the danger will fall." He leaned forward, whispering
tensely, "The secret police of the Austrian government wish to know more
about the death of Nicholas Szarvas and----"
Zubeydeh dropped the handle of the door and seized Renwick's arm, while
her narrow eyes glittered terrified close to his own.
"And you----?"
"It is merely that I did not die," he said coolly.
"You are----?"
"I am the man in the armor, Zubeydeh," he said solemnly.
She started back from him in affright, her hands before her eyes.
"Allah!" she whispered, and then leaned forward again touching his arm
lightly, imploringly, while she looked past him into the dark recesses
of the garden.
"Then they are there--the police are coming----?"
He quickly reassured her.
"No. I mean you no harm. Do you understand? I have said nothing--nor
shall I speak unless----" he paused significantly.
"Unless----?"
"Unless you refuse to permit me to speak with Yeva. That is all. Listen,
Zubeydeh; since that night I have been in the hospital. They would keep
me here a prisoner. I have escaped--in this disguise. I make a bargain
with you. You help me--I will be silent. If you refuse, I shall tell the
police."
"What do you want?" she asked breathlessly.
"A disguise, a weapon, and some money--not much."
"Money! The Effendi has gone upon a journey."
"A few _kroner_ only--enough to get me out of town."
"And you will keep silent?"
"As the grave. Don't you understand? I wish to go away from
here--quickly, and then you will not see me again."
"How can I believe you?" she said suspiciously.
"Bah! Don't be stupid! If I had desired to betray you, I should have
told the truth long ago."
Zubeydeh hesitated.
"You will go away?"
"Yes. I shall go----"
There was a sound upon the stairs behind Zubeydeh and Yeva thrust
herself forward.
"I was at the window above. I heard. Allah be praised! You are alive?"
"Yeva! You know anything--of _her_?"
"No, nothing," sadly. And then as she examined him closely, "But you
must come into the house. I will do what you wish."
The matter was now out of Zubeydeh's hands, for whatever her doubts,
Yeva's swift confidence had swept them away. She stood aside and
motioned for him to go up the stairs.
"You will not remain long?" she asked.
"Only long enough to change my clothing--you will provide?"
"Yes. There are garments."
"A fez, jacket, breeches, stout _opankas_."
"It shall be as you desire."
Renwick went up the stairs into the room where he and Goritz had met,
recapitulating briefly in his mind the sequence of events which had led
to his own downfall. If he had only shot the man when he had stood there
a fair mark, defenseless! It had not been the sporting thing, but if he
had known what was to follow, he would have done it nevertheless. At
least he thought so now. The fateful armor had been restored to its
place in the corner, and while he anxiously awaited Yeva's return he
examined it casually with the rather morbid interest which one might
display in the inspection of one's coffin. It was dented upon the sides
with the marks of bullets which had glanced aside, but three neatly
drilled holes, two in the breastplate and one in the helmet, reminded
him again how narrow had been his escape from death. "Close shooting,
that," he muttered to himself. "Emptied clip and not one miss."
Yeva, who had gone with Zubeydeh into the Harim, now returned
(discreetly veiled) and with an air of restraint made a sign to the
Englishman to be seated while Zubeydeh brought refreshments.
He heard Yeva speaking gently at his ear.
"Allah is good. Excellency, they told me that you were dead--that they
would bury you. They took your body and that of the other man in a cart
to the hills above the city. But someone came, and they were forced to
go away."
"You saw her go with him?"
"Yes. She had fainted. I helped to carry her down through the
_selamlik_ to the street at the back of the house. Then an automobile
came, and they took her away."
"There have been no inquiries here?"
"None. And you will say nothing?" she asked anxiously.
"Not a word. Would you have me deliver myself into the hands of my
enemies?"
"I shall help you, Excellency, if you will try to find her."
"Yes. I shall try. I will follow, if you will provide me with clothing."
"It shall be done. But first you must eat and drink and then we shall
plan."
Zubeydeh, now completely disarmed, brought cakes and sherbet, and when
Renwick had eaten and drunk, gave him cigarettes and the clothing,
showing him into a room where he quickly divested himself of his rags of
wrapper and put on the garments which she had brought. They were
curiously familiar. His own disguise--that which he had bought in the
bazaar and had worn when he had first come to this house. He felt in the
pockets of his trousers but the money was gone. And when he was dressed,
Zubeydeh colored his face with some liquid which she brought from the
kitchen.
The clock on the mantle indicated the hour of eleven when Renwick
prepared to take his departure. It had been a market day in the Turkish
quarter, and late at night the farmers would be returning to their
homes. Aware of the difficulties which might lie in the way of his
leaving the city, Yeva proposed that Renwick should leave the Carsija in
the cart of a cousin of Zubeydeh's, a farmer who lived on the Romanja
Plain; and Renwick, quick to see the advantages of the plan, readily
agreed, for it was toward the Visegrader Gate, he had learned, that the
automobile of Captain Goritz had departed.
As he left the lower door with Zubeydeh, who was to accompany him as far
as the Carsija, Renwick caught Yeva by the hand.
"I cannot thank you, girl. But some day I shall pay. You will remember.
I promise."
"It is nothing," she said; and then with a laugh: "But if in Vienna or
Paris or London, you should see a silk dress of blue----"
"You shall have two of them--and two of pink----"
"Excellency----!" she cried, clapping her hand childishly.
"And if I find her--jewels----!"
"It is too much----" she cried. And then eagerly, as though she feared
he might misinterpret, "Still, I should like them----"
"You shall have them--some day."
"I shall pray to Allah that you may find her. Go, Excellency. Go to her
and tell her that I have done what I can."
"Allah will bless you."
"May Allah bless you both," she sighed, "for it is all so very
beautiful."
The last glimpse that Renwick had of her was from the gate of the
garden, where he turned to wave his hand as she stood, leaning wistfully
against the doorpost of the house, looking after him.
The arrangements for his journey were readily made and the business of
the night being concluded, in half an hour Renwick, passing again as
Stefan Thomasevics on his way to Rogatica to help in gathering the
harvest, was seated beside Selim Ali, Zubeydeh's cousin, driving in a
cart through the silent Kastele. Renwick saw several Bosnian police
officers in uniform, who inspected the empty vehicle, but merely glanced
at the slouching figures on the seat. At the Visegrader Gate they were
detained and questioned, but Selim had a clever tongue and told a
straight story which Renwick corroborated with nods and gestures. It
would have been dangerous to risk his too fluent German on the officer
of the guard. No, they had seen no bearded man in a blue coat. It had
been a hot day in the bazaar. One didn't like to think of blue coats on
such a day. Even tonight it was still sultry, but soon the harvest time
would be here, and after that the snows. Would the Excellency like a
fine melon, for forty _hellers_--the only one left in all the day? No?
Then we will give it to the Excellency for nothing.
The officer grinned and let them pass, but he took the melon. It was
after midnight for in the distance behind them they had heard the bell
of the cathedral tolling the hour. Safely past all military barriers,
Selim, who had had a long day, yawned and clambered into the tail of the
cart to sleep, leaving the horse to its own devices. But sleep was not
for Renwick. His escape had been accomplished without much trouble, and
given a little luck and some skill he thought he could manage to lose
himself quickly in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But the magnitude of his
undertaking in finding Marishka was formidable. Most of Bosnia and all
of Austria Hungary lay between Sarajevo and the German border--five
hundred miles of enemy's country to be traversed without other resources
than eighteen _kroner_ pieces and a pair of somewhat worn _opankas_! And
after that--the heart of the enemy's country!
Eighteen _kroner_! His own, probably, filched from the pockets of the
clothing he had worn when he had entered the house in search of
Marishka. His own clothing, the disguise he had bought in the bazaar.
Then perhaps----! Feverishly he felt along the upper lining, where he
had pinned the larger sum of money he had taken from his purse when he
had changed from mufti at the inn over in the Bistrick quarter of the
town. They had found it? Something crinkled under the pressure of his
fingers, and a pin pricked his thumb. It was there--his money. They had
not searched for it, thinking of course that the money they had found in
the pockets was all that he had possessed. He found the head of the pin
and opened the lining, counting the notes--ten of them in all--of one
hundred _kroners_ each.
A thousand _kroners_! He could have shouted for glee. But caution came
to him in time. He looked around to find that Selim had awakened and was
sitting up rubbing his eyes.