Dorward, whistling softly to himself, sat in a corner of his coupe
rolling innumerable cigarettes. He was a man of unbounded courage and
wonderful resource, but with a slightly exaggerated idea as to the
sanctity of an American citizen. He had served his apprenticeship in
his own country, and his name had become a household word owing to his
brilliant success as war correspondent in the Russo-Japanese War. His
experience of European countries, however, was limited. After the more
obvious dangers with which he had grappled and which he had overcome
during his adventurous career, he was disposed to be a little
contemptuous of the subtler perils at which his friend Bellamy had
plainly hinted. He had made his escape from the hotel without any very
serious difficulty, and since that time, although he had taken no
particular precautions, he had remained unmolested. From his own point
of view, therefore, it was perhaps only reasonable that he should no
longer have any misgiving as to his personal safety. Arrest as a thief
was the worst which he had feared. Even that he seemed now to have
evaded.
The coupe was exceedingly comfortable and, after all, he had had a
somewhat exciting day. He lit a cigarette and stretched himself out
with a murmur of immense satisfaction. He was close upon the great
triumph of his life. He was perfectly content to lie there and look out
upon the flying landscape, upon which the shadows were now fast
descending. He was safe, absolutely safe, he assured himself.
Nevertheless, when the door of his coupe was opened, he started almost
like a guilty man. The relief in his face as he recognized his visitor
was obvious. It was Bellamy who entered and dropped into a seat by his
side.
“Wasting your time, aren’t you?” the latter remarked, pointing to the
growing heap of cigarettes.
“Well, I guess not,” Dorward answered. “I can smoke this lot before we
reach London.”
Bellamy smiled enigmatically.
“I don’t think that you will,” he said.
“Why not?”
“You are such a sanguine person,” Bellamy sighed. “Personally, I do not
think that there is the slightest chance of your reaching London at
all.”
Dorward laughed scornfully.
“And why not?” he asked.
Bellamy merely shrugged his shoulders. Dorward seemed to find the
gesture irritating.
“You’ve got espionage on the brain, my dear friend,” he declared dryly.
“I suppose it’s the result of your profession. I may not know so much
about Europe as you do, but I am inclined to think that an American
citizen traveling with his passport on a train like this is moderately
safe, especially when he’s not above a scrap by way of taking care of
himself.”
“You’re a plucky fellow,” remarked Bellamy.
“I don’t see any pluck about it. In Vienna, I must admit, I shouldn’t
have been surprised if they’d tried to fake up some sort of charge
against me, but anyhow they didn’t. Guess they’d find it a pretty tall
order trying to interfere with an American citizen.”
Bellamy looked at his friend curiously.
“I suppose you’re not bluffing, by any chance, Dorward?” he said. “You
really believe what you say?”
“Why in thunder shouldn’t I?” Dorward asked.
Bellamy sighed.
“My dear Dorward,” he said, “it is amazing to me that a man of your
experience should talk and behave like a baby. You’ve taken some notice
of your fellow-passengers, I suppose?”
“I’ve seen a few of them,” Dorward answered carelessly. “What about
them?”
“Nothing much,” Bellamy declared, “except that there are, to my certain
knowledge, three high officials of the Secret Police of Austria in the
next coupe but one, and at least four or five of their subordinates
somewhere on board the train.”
Dorward withdrew his cigarette from his mouth and looked at his friend
keenly.
“I guess you’re trying to scare me, Bellamy,” he remarked.
But Bellamy was suddenly grave. There had come into his face an utterly
altered expression. His tone, when he spoke, was almost solemn.
“Dorward,” he said, “upon my honor, I assure you that what I have told
you is the truth. I cannot seem to make you realize the seriousness of
your position. When you left the Palace with that paper in your pocket,
you were, to all intents and purposes, a doomed man. Your passport and
your American citizenship count for absolutely nothing. I have come in
to warn you that if you have any last messages to leave, you had better
give them to me now.”
“This is a pretty good bluff you’re putting up!” Dorward exclaimed
contemptuously. “The long and short of it is, I suppose, that you want
me to break the seal of this document and let you read it.”
Bellamy shook his head.
“It is too late for that, Dorward,” he said. “If the seal were broken,
they’d very soon guess where I came in, and it wouldn’t help the work I
have in hand for me to be picked up with a bullet in my forehead on the
railway track.”
Dorward frowned uneasily.
“What are you here for, anyway, then?” he asked.
“Well, frankly, not to argue with you,” Bellamy answered. “As a matter
of fact, you are of no use to me any longer. I am sorry, old man. You
can’t say that I didn’t give you good advice. I am bound to play for my
own hand, though, in this matter, and if I get any benefit at all out
of my journey, it will be after some regrettable accident has happened
to you.”
“Say, ring the bell for drinks and chuck this!” Dorward exclaimed.
“I’ve had about enough of it. I am not denying anything you say, but if
these fellows really are on board, they’ll think twice before they
meddle with me.”
“On the contrary,” Bellamy assured him, “they will not take the trouble
to think at all. Their minds are perfectly made up as to what they are
going to do. However, that’s finished. I have nothing more to say.”
Dorward gazed for a minute or two fixedly out of the window.
“Look here, Bellamy,” he said, turning abruptly round, “supposing I
change my mind, supposing I open this precious document and let you
read it over with me?”
Bellamy rose hastily to his feet.
“You must not think of it!” he exclaimed. “You would simply write my
death-warrant. Don’t allude to that matter again. I have risked enough
in coming in here to sit with you.”
“Then, for Heaven’s sake, don’t stop any longer!” Dorward said
irritably. “You get on my nerves with all this foolish talk. In an
hour’s time I am going to bolt my door and go to sleep. We’ll breakfast
together in the morning, if you like.”
Bellamy said nothing. The steward had brought them the whiskies and
sodas which Dorward had ordered. Bellamy raised his tumbler to his lips
and set it down again.
“Forgive me,” he said, “I do not think that I am thirsty.”
Dorward drank his off at a gulp. Almost immediately he closed his eyes.
Bellamy, with a little shrug of the shoulders, left him alone. As he
passed along to his own coupe, he met Louise in the corridor.
“You have seen Von Behrling?” he whispered. She nodded.
“He is in that coupe, number 7, alone,” she said. “I invited him to
come in with me but he seemed embarrassed. It is his companions who
watch him all the time. He has promised to talk with me later.”
In the middle of the night, Louise opened her eyes to find Bellamy
bending over her.
“Louise,” he whispered, “it is Von Behrling who will take possession of
the packet. They have been discussing whether it will not be safer to
go on to London instead of doubling back. See Von Behrling again. Do
all you can to persuade him to come to London,—all you can, Louise,
remember.”
“So!” she whispered. “I shall put on my dressing-gown and sit in the
corridor. It is hot here.”
Bellamy glided out, closing the door softly behind him. The train was
rushing on now through the blackness of an unusually dark night. For
some time he sat in his own compartment, listening. The voices whose
muttered conversation he had overheard were silent now, but once he
fancied that he heard shuffling footsteps and a little cry. In his
heart he knew well that before morning Dorward would have disappeared.
The man within him was hard to subdue. He longed to make his way to
Dorward’s side, to interfere in this terribly unequal struggle, yet he
made no movement. Dorward was a man and a friend, but what was a life
more or less? It was to a greater cause that he was pledged. Towards
three o’clock he lay down on his bed and slept....
The train attendant brought him his coffee soon after daylight. The
man’s hands were trembling.
“Where are we?” Bellamy asked sleepily.
“Near Munich, Monsieur,” the man answered. “Monsieur noticed, perhaps,
that we stopped for some time in the night?”
Bellamy shook his head.
“I sleep soundly,” he said. “I heard nothing.”
“There has been an accident,” the man declared. “An American gentleman
who got in at Vienna was drinking whiskey all night and became very
drunk. In a tunnel he threw himself out upon the line.”
Bellamy shuddered a little. He had been prepared, but none the less it
was an awful thing, this.
“You are sure that he is dead?” he asked.
The man was very sure indeed.
“There is a doctor from Vienna upon the train, sir,” he said. “He
examined him at once, but death must have been instantaneous.”
Bellamy drew a long breath and commenced to put on his clothes. The
next move was for him.