The Secret Witness
"I would like to know by what authority you imprison a loyal citizen of Austria," she stormed. "Your identity seems to have made some impression upon Herr Renwick, but I would inform you that I at least am not without friends to whom you will answer for this outrage."
Herr Windt bowed low.
"I beg that Countess Strahni will reconsider that word. I have intended to act with great discretion. Herr Renwick unfortunately underestimated the forces to which he was opposed. I am sorry he has suffered injury. As for you, Countess, I beg leave to recall that those who have restrained you have treated you with every consideration."
"Who are you?" she asked angrily.
"Herr Renwick has spoken my name."
"You are a member of the secret service of the Austrian government?"
He smiled again and bowed low.
"It is the custom of those in my trade to ask questions—not to answer them. In this service, however, it will please you perhaps to know that I am not acting for the Austrian government."
"Who then?"
"I cannot reply."
"You dare not."
"Perhaps. But I am willing to admit, Countess Strahni, that the same motive which impelled you to Schönbrunn," he said significantly, "has actuated both myself and my employers."
"And that motive?"
"The safety of the Empire."
"Austria! But not complicity in this dastardly–"
At a warning sound from Renwick she paused. Herr Windt was regarding her gravely.
"I regret that I do not comprehend the Countess Strahni's meaning," he said with a bow. "It would be a source of great unhappiness to me, if in doing my duty, I had done you a harm. I am not an enemy, Countess, but a loyal compatriot. I may add that I am prepared to do what I can to protect you from the results of your unfortunate connection with a dangerous political situation."
"Protect! You!" Marishka smiled bitterly and glanced ironically around the walls of the cabin.
"I beg to assure you that I am not jesting. Herr Renwick will recall that he was attacked one night upon the streets of Vienna. He was also shot at by some person unknown. The inspiration for those assaults did not emanate from my employers."
"I suspected as much," muttered Renwick.
Marishka was examining Renwick wide-eyed.
"Shot at!" she murmured.
"The information in Herr Renwick's possession," Herr Windt went on suavely, "was more damaging to other interests than to theirs. Herr Renwick's connection with the British Embassy has terminated. He has merely the status in Austria of a traveling Englishman. But his activities are dangerous where they concern the movements of the Countess Strahni. I am performing an act of friendship to a loyal Austrian in offering her escort back to Vienna, where if she is wise she will remain quietly under my surveillance."
During this speech, of which Herr Windt delivered himself with much bowing and rubbing of his hands, Marishka remained silent, a wonder growing in her eyes.
"I fail to see how my presence here or elsewhere can interest you or others," she said as she sank upon the cot. Weariness was telling on her and the disappointment of her mission's failure. And the threat of danger that hung in his words was hardly reassuring.
"Countess Strahni may doubt my good intentions. That is her privilege. In a short time"—here he looked at his watch again—"she will be at liberty to come and go as she chooses. In the meanwhile I beg that she will listen to me and heed my warning."
He looked at her until she raised her head and signified for him to continue. "The agencies which attempted to prevent the delivery of Herr Renwick's information to the British Embassy are again at work. Herr Renwick having been"—he paused and bowed to Renwick—"if I may be permitted to say so—having been repudiated by his Ambassador and by the British government, he is politically a person of no importance—at least as far as my relations with him are concerned. Whatever he may do privately, unless it proves valuable to the interests of Austria's enemies, will pass as it has already passed—unnoticed in Austria. The case of the Countess Strahni is different–"
He paused a moment to rub his hands together thoughtfully.
"I can not understand–"
"Within the past twenty-four hours the apartments of the Baroness Racowitz have been observed by persons not in my service. The Countess perhaps has had no unusual communications?"
Marishka started up in her chair, while Windt, watching her, smiled slowly.
"Ah, I was not mistaken–" he said.
"A request to go to the Hofburg tonight—before Herr Renwick came," she whispered, now thoroughly aroused. "I did not go. The signature was unfamiliar to me."
Herr Windt took a pace toward the window and peered forth through the slats of the blind.
"The Countess Strahni would not have reached the Hofburg," he said quietly. "She would have gone—er—elsewhere!"
"The man in the green limousine!" came suddenly in cryptic tones from the silent Renwick.
"Exactly. He followed the Countess Strahni's fiacre in motor car to the Nordwest Bahnhof."
"And you?"
"We forestalled him—that's all," he said, showing his gold tooth in a most ingratiating smile, but there was a flash in the deep set eyes which explained much to Renwick.
"There was a commotion near the booking-stall," said Renwick.
"Ah, you witnessed?"
"From a distance. I had other affairs."
"Yes. That will perhaps make my laxity with regard to Herr Renwick's sudden appearance the more pardonable," said Windt, with a professional air.
Marishka, who had listened with growing inquietude to these revelations of her danger, had risen and paced nervously the length of the room.
"But why?" she pleaded. "Who can dare to molest me in my own home or in the streets of Vienna?"
Herr Windt rubbed his injured eye gravely.
"The Countess Strahni has unfortunately become a political document, the possession of which, I may even say the suppression of which, is highly important."
Marishka sank upon the couch, and for a moment buried her face in her hands.
"But what would be gained by getting me out of the way? I have already told what I know."
Herr Windt smiled.
"As Herr Renwick would perhaps inform you, the place for an important document is the safe. If the document is harmless a desk may do. If it is incriminating, like you, Countess"—he said with a dramatic gesture—"the fire!"
Renwick by this time had risen and stood fitting his monocle into his eye.
"Astounding!" he muttered. "And yet I quite believe you."
"There seems little room to doubt." Herr Windt walked to the window and peered out again. "My men are all about this place, Herr Renwick, and yet even now I am not certain that you have not been followed."
He turned and faced Marishka with his usual bland composure. "Herr Renwick should, I think, be able to take care of himself. I beg, however, that Countess Strahni will not be unduly anxious. I shall myself go outside and take every precaution." He turned at the door and bowed. "I beg that in the meanwhile, you will come to some decision as to your immediate plans, counting upon my efforts to aid you. There is no train for Vienna until this afternoon," he said significantly. "I may add that the machine in which you came from Altensteig will be returned to its owner by one of my young men, who will explain the circumstances, and arrange a proper compensation."
With this parting shot delivered in his best professional manner, Herr Windt left the room with an air of triumphant urbanity which added not a little to the respect with which Renwick now regarded him.
Marishka sat upright on the bed staring straight before her while Renwick paced the floor frowning.
"If I could only have reached her—for a moment," said Marishka brokenly, as though thinking aloud. "She would have listened to me—she would have believed me. I would have thrown myself upon her mercy—told her all. It is horrible—a death like that—when a word might save them now—and it will be I—I who have killed them–" She started up staring at Renwick. "And you! Why do you stand there, doing nothing?" she flung at him wildly. "You learned of this thing—at Belgrade. Why couldn't you have prevented it? Given it publicity? Why don't you do something now? England has power. Why doesn't your Ambassador speak? Is he frightened? Dumb? Will he stand idly by and see this–"
"It is none of England's affair, Countess Strahni," Renwick broke in soothingly.
"Then it is of Germany's?" She halted as the new idea came to her, and walked to the small table where she sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands, trying to think.
After a while she raised her head suddenly and looked at Renwick.
"Do you believe that this man tells the truth?"
"I do. He stands high among those of his profession."
"Do you believe that agents of the German government were trying to take me prisoner—and you?"
"Herr Windt is surprisingly well informed. I am quite sure that someone is trying to shoot me," he laughed. "I believe that you were followed—by whom I don't know."
"Then how do you explain the efforts of German agents to take me, when I am acting in the interests of the Kaiser's friend and ally, the Archduke Franz?"
"You forget that this plot is a secret one. The Archduke may fear the Serbians and the Bosnians, not his own countrymen."
"Oh! Yes—of course." She was silent again, but moved her hands nervously along the table top and in a moment got up and peered through the window-blind.
"I beg that you will submit yourself to Herr Windt if not to me–" pleaded Renwick earnestly. "At least in his company you will be in no danger. I have done what I can to help you reach the Duchess, because the secret we shared brought about this calamity. But the matter has been taken out of my hands and yours. I advise you to return this afternoon to Vienna."
She did not reply and only stood by the window, tapping at the sash with unquiet fingers.
"You are tired," he said gently. "Lie down on this bed for awhile and I will see what can be done about breakfast."
"I'm not hungry."
"You can't go without food."
"I'm not hungry," she repeated.
Renwick shrugged and walked to the other window, where he presently observed Herr Windt coming around the corner of the building. That remarkable person had thought of everything, for he carried in his hands a coffeepot and cups, while another man followed with plates and a saucepan.
He turned the key in the lock and entered, putting the coffee upon the table and rubbing his hands with a more than usual gusto.
"I am delighted to be able to inform you that the occasion for your detention has passed. Within certain bounds you are now at liberty. The train of the Archduke has just passed down the valley."
"Oh!" gasped Marishka.
"I would advise you, however, to keep within call. If Herr Renwick will give me his word of honor not to try to escape–"
"I don't quite know where I should go–"
"Very good. The wires, of course, Herr Renwick, are in the hands of Austrian officials."
Renwick nodded.
"You have won, Herr Windt. I have no plans which conflict with yours." He turned a glance toward Marishka. "Countess Strahni is very tired. I think if we were to leave her for a few hours, she would probably eat and rest–"
"By all means," said Windt with alacrity, moving toward the door. "And if Herr Renwick will follow me I think I can find another coffeepot."
Marishka did not turn from the window as they went out of the door. Her heart was heavy within her, and through the glaring summer sunlight which came in at the window and beat upon her face, she saw—Sarajevo! Sophie Chotek alighting from her train, the pomp and circumstance, the glitter of uniforms, the crowded streets through which she must pass and the crowd which seethed with unrest, along the street through which Sophie Chotek must pass…! It was too horrible. She wanted to shriek—to cry out against the infamy that was to be done, but she could only close her eyes to try and shut the vision out.
After awhile she grew calmer, and tried to think clearly. There was a pitcher and basin in the corner of the room, and so she bathed her face and hands and refreshed herself. The coffee still steamed upon the table. There was rye bread, and there were eggs in the water of the saucepan. She felt weak and dispirited, but it would not do to fail for lack of strength, and so she sat and ate and drank. The plan born of her talk with Hugh Renwick still turned over and over in her mind. Would Renwick still be able to do something to help her? Which way should she turn? If her own efforts to warn Sophie Chotek had been futile, if Hugh Renwick could not do something, and England selfishly held aloof while this horrible conspiracy which seemed to have its very tendrils hidden in the hearts of those who should have been her friends, was under way, what must she do? She felt dreadfully; alone, and fearfully guilty. Her own death or the threatened imprisonment of which Herr Windt spoke seemed slight atonements for the wrong that she had done Sophie Chotek. If she could still succeed, by using the agents of the Archduke's imperial friend and ally, in sending a warning through the German ambassador at Vienna, to Budapest or Sarajevo, the consequences to herself were immaterial. They might have her to do with as they chose; for by this sacrifice only could she atone. She did not fear death, for death to youth and health is inconceivable. She smiled incredulously as she thought again of the ominous surmises of the impossible Herr Windt. There was something of the opera bouffe about his methods which abstracted from the brilliancy of his success. To Marishka he was still the head waiter. This was the twentieth century. No political secret could justify the imprisonment or death of a woman!… She shuddered a little, as she thought of the very death that had been planned by the employers of Herr Windt—Austrians—loyal Austrians he called them, of the same blood and lineage perhaps as herself. She had not yet succeeded in wholly believing it. There was some missing reason for the actions of this secret service agent, some motive which neither she nor Hugh Renwick had yet fathomed, which would explain her detention and his. It was unbelievable that–
Marishka started at a small sound from the direction of the fireplace. It was a curious sound, a subdued metallic clink which nevertheless differentiated itself with startling clearness from among the already familiar sounds of the quiet summer morning. She started up and peered into the shadows of the hearth. There was something there, a small object—round, wrapped in paper. She reached forward quickly, picked it up and examined it curiously then took off its covering, disclosing an Austrian coin—a kroner—nothing more. It was most mysterious. The thing could obviously have not come from the sky. Who?
She examined the paper closely. It seemed like a leaf torn from a note book. There was writing on it, and moving to the window she made out the script without difficulty. It was written in evident haste with a blunt pencil.
I have found a way to escape in a machine from Herr Wendt, if you will come at once. Only one man watches the cabin by the door. There is another in the orchard. Go quietly out by the window and follow the hedge to the garden wall. I will be at the gate beyond the arbor. Destroy this note.
Hugh Renwick.
Marishka read the note twice to be sure that there was no mistake. She quickly peered through the window by the door. Yes, the man was there, smoking his pipe in the sunshine, his back against a tree, dozing. Anything were better than this interminable suspense—this horrible oppression of acknowledged failure. To be under further obligations to Herr Renwick was an added bitterness to her wounded pride, but hope had already beggared her and she could not choose. She got into coat and hat, and after another careful scrutiny of her somnolent guardian, quietly opened the shutters of the side window, stepped out into the shadow of the hedge, and made her way toward the distant garden wall.
CHAPTER VII
THE GREEN LIMOUSINE
Herr Windt started up from the bench on which he had thrown himself. It was a pity there was no earlier train for Vienna. He stretched himself and yawned, for he confessed himself a trifle disappointed that there was to be, after all, no test of wits between himself and the agent of the Wilhelmstrasse who had followed the Countess Strahni to the Nordwest station in Vienna. His men had done the fellow in the motor cap no great damage, for his own instructions had been limited but definite: to save Marishka Strahni in all secrecy from coming to harm, but to prevent her at all hazards from reaching Konopisht before the Archduke and Duchess left for Sarajevo. This simple task had been accomplished with little difficulty. The agent of the Wilhelmstrasse, undoubtedly a person of small caliber, had given up his efforts, or would seek a more propitious moment, to carry it out later in Vienna. Herr Windt yawned again. His visit to Bohemia would have been indeed a delight if a secret agent of the caliber of Herr Hauptman Leo Goritz, or Ober Lieutenant Franz Scheib, could have been sent upon this delicate mission to oppose him. But there was no such luck. Herr Windt had made a careful round of village and garden while Herr Renwick remained under the eye of his men, and there had been no sign of anything suspicious to disturb the monotonous peacefulness of the quiet garden. The reaction which always followed upon success, had set in, and the famous man was now frankly bored and somewhat fidgety. He got up and paced the stone walk a few times and then gazed out to where his most trusted man, Spivak, was dozing in the sun. Everything was too quiet, too peaceful. The serenity of the landscape annoyed him. He glanced at his watch—still four hours of this infernal quiet before their train left for Vienna. He went to the door of the room into which Herr Renwick had gone to lie down and looked in. The room was empty. This was not surprising, for Herr Renwick was under parole and would have the freedom of the garden in the immediate vicinity of the two cabins. As the morning was hot he had perhaps gone out to enjoy the shade of the trees. But Herr Windt now moved with alacrity and crossed the small plot of vegetable garden which separated the two cabins, and in some haste turned the corner of the small building which sheltered the Countess Strahni.
Before the door, listening, a puzzled look upon his face was Herr Renwick.
"I have called her three times," said the Englishman quickly. "She sleeps very soundly—or else–"
But Herr Windt did not stand upon ceremony, for he thrust past the Englishman, threw open the inner door, then returned bellowing lustily.
"Gone! The room is empty–"
"Gone!" cried Renwick.
Windt eyed him keenly.
"I have been yonder, by the trees, near your man–" protested Renwick and there seemed no doubt as to his innocence.
"Hi! Spivak! Linder! Hadwiger!" cried Windt. And as the men came running from all directions, "She is gone. What have you been at?"
"Gone?"
"By the window, idiots; did none of you see her?"
"No, Herr Windt–"
"But she could not have flown up the chimney–"
He halted abruptly, then dashed into the room again, peering into the fire place and examining the furniture, all his professional instincts keenly aroused. As he shook the bed clothing, there was a tinkle upon the floor, and a coin rolled into the farthest corner of the room. This he pounced upon like a dog upon a rat and brought it forth into the light of the window.
"A kroner!" he muttered. "Curious! Could she have dropped it do you suppose?"
"Perhaps. Her money was in a handbag," cried Renwick with his legs out of the window. He had already espied a possible mode of escape, and started running along in the shadow of the hedge.
"Your parole, Herr Renwick!" shouted Windt, scrambling after him.
"Come on then," cried the Englishman over his shoulder while the Austrian followed swiftly shouting orders to his assistants. "Follow me, Spivak! The Park gates, Hadwiger! Let no vehicle get out! Linder, notify Lengelbach—the telegraph!"
Renwick went fast but Herr Windt and the puffing Spivak kept at his heels as they reached the garden, crossing it at full speed toward the arbor, whither Renwick led them as though by an inspiration, through the bushes and toward the small gate beyond, which led to the door in the wall, over which a week ago he had climbed in his hurried flight with Marishka to Vienna.
Renwick was thinking rapidly. Had Marishka escaped alone—perhaps devised a plan of her own to reach Vienna from Budweis in time to come up with the party of the Archduke? Or had someone–He doubled his pace, cursing his throbbing head and his own simplicity and impotence. A trap?
"There is a door?" stammered Windt.
"In the bushes just beyond—a private one—usually locked–"
"Spivak! You hear?"
"I could not know–" panted the other.
"You should have known–"
They reached the small flight of steps that led down, and dashed along the path among the bushes toward an open gate, emerging upon the road which marked the beginnings of the village street. There were a few people in sight, an old man hobbling upon a stick, a child with a dog, two peasants in the shade of a tree eating their midday meal—and down the road to the west—a cloud of dust!
The peasants rose in alarm at the rapid approach of the three excited men, and turned as though to flee into the safety of the adjoining field, but Renwick overtook them.
"You saw a lady come out of the gate yonder?" he questioned.
"A lady, Excellency?"
"Yes, yes. A lady and perhaps a gentlemen."
"We are merely eating our dinner, Excellency. We—we have no wish to do harm to anyone."
"Idiots!" cried Windt. "A motor-car? An automobile? Did you see it? Answer—or–"
"A motor-car—Excellency?" the fellow stammered. "Yes—a motor-car."
"How long since?" snapped Windt.
"A moment only—it was here—just here—and now it is gone–"
"Where?"
"Y-yonder–" and he pointed down the road.
The three men exchanged frowning glances, but Herr Windt's were the most terrible of the three.
"You saw? Speak—What color was this car?"
"H—how should I know, Excellency? I was peacefully eating my dinner. See! It is but half finished–"
"You will never eat what remains unless you speak the truth–" he roared.
"I—I am speaking the truth–"
"What color had this car?"
"I don't understand–"
"Its color, man—the paint?"
"Oh! The paint–"
"Speak! Blockhead–"
"Excellency, I think–" he stammered in terror, "I think–"
"What—quickly–"
"I think, Excellency, that it was green."
Renwick gasped. The face of Herr Windt wore a blank look as though he had suddenly received a glacial douche.
"Herr Gott!" he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow with an eloquent forefinger.
"The green limousine!" muttered Renwick.
For a moment all three men stood helplessly staring down the road toward the west, where the dustcloud was slowly settling on leaf and hedgerow, but there was a turn in the road which hid all objects beyond. Herr Windt was the first to recover his initiative.
"Clever!" he muttered. "A message! Linder should have observed–But they will not get far. Come–" And he led the way at a quick trot in the direction of the village, where they reached the telegraph office at the railway station.
While Herr Windt went inside to give his orders, Renwick sank upon a bench outside and tried to think of what had happened and what it might mean to Marishka and to him. The green limousine—a German secret agent—there could be no doubt, and he, Renwick, already warned of this possible danger to Marishka had permitted her to fall into this trap, while he had come off unscathed. His conscience assailed him bitterly. Trusting to the efficiency of Herr Windt's men he had slept—slept while Marishka was being carried off to danger—to imprisonment—or perhaps—he did not dare to think of anything worse. And Marishka must have connived at the plan for her escape! How had the message passed? And what was the lure?
As the new idea came to him he rose quickly and moved toward the door of the telegraph office. He paused for a moment to adjust his monocle and it was fortunate that he did so, for there was a crash of glass at the window just by his head, followed by a cry of alarm within the room. Renwick dodged behind a projection of the building, and peered out while Windt and Linder came rushing from the office.