Front matter (continued 3)

"But I don't understand----" persisted Barthou.

"Monsieur," cut in Rowland quickly, "there is no time for explanations. The bank-notes of Nemi are in a machine bound for the interior of Germany. Some of us must follow at once. A machine----

"Mine is in the village," said Zoya.

"Passports----"

"Mine----" cried Liederman.

"And Monsieur Rowland----?" questioned Zoya.

"I shall take my chances. We must go at once."

CHAPTER X

FLIGHT

Monsieur Khodrine drove steadily into the gray light of the new day, satisfied with the events of the night which had resulted quite miraculously to his advantage, for the suit-case containing the bank notes of Nemi was safe upon the floor of the tonneau and the Princess Tatyana, still clad in her dark robe, sat in the seat beside him, completely at his orders. The escape of Picard had annoyed him, for he had intended taking the man far into the interior of Germany and there turning him over to the authorities as an alien enemy and a prisoner. But in the present turn of affairs it was possible that the counselors of Nemi might be put upon his own tracks and the pig of a Yankee liberated from the vault. He had been imprudent when in the first flush of his success he had told Tanya of their destination, but the chances of Picard getting back safely were not great, and he knew nothing of value.

The way in which the American Rowland had hidden his hand and almost defeated Monsieur Khodkine's projects showed how easily one could be mistaken in appearances and the feeling of comfort that had followed the imprisonment of the Yankee intruder in the vault was now slowly giving way to a vague inquietude. For the arm of Nemi, as Khodkine himself had said, was long and if Max Liederman blew open the door of the vault before the air for Rowland's cursed lungs was exhausted, Khodkine would have the whole pack of them yelping at his heels before he could take himself and the money to cover.

It was gratifying to him to turn his head and see the handsome angry profile of the Princess Tatyana there just beside him, but in spite of the way in which fortune had played into his hands and the ease with which her abduction had been accomplished, there were many thoughts that bothered him and her uncompromising attitude of enmity made him aware that he must play his game with a gentle hand. He had held her, heretofore, by the threat which he had hung over her,--a painful business at best, since she was quite the most desirable woman he had ever known. But the pig Rowland had startled him by revealing a knowledge of his nationality, his correct name, regiment and employment. For if Rowland knew who he was, from whom had he received the information? Not from Zoya Rochal, for that lady, clever as she was, could have had no possible means of learning the truth. Not from Liederman nor Barthou nor Shestov, for he had covered his trail far too cleverly. He was not so sure that Kirylo Ivanitch had not discovered something--Kirylo! Had Tatyana gotten something from the dead priest and told what she had learned to Rowland?

And so, driving silently, Monsieur Khodkine tried to think out a solution of his problems, mindful of the girl at his side, who sat rigidly in resolute silence, deaf or oblivious to the small attentions which he offered her. But as the day had now broken and the roads had suddenly seemed to fill with people, some of whom stared at the dark, cowled figure, he turned to her with a smile.

"They think, Princess Samarov," he said, "that I'm eloping with a nun."

She made no reply.

"If it pleases you, Princess Samarov, we will descend at Tuttlingen."

She understood the meaning of the repetition of her name, but gave no sign that she was aware of it.

"Of course, Gregory Khodkine," she replied coldly, "I must do as you wish."

"Ah, my dear Tatyana," he urged, "do not say that. Rather tell me that you wish it also."

"I wish for nothing but my freedom."

He smiled at her pleasantly.

"How like a woman," he said, "to desire the one thing not in my power to grant. I cannot let you go. And if I did, here in Germany, your position would be precarious." He drove on in a moment of silence and then spoke more soberly. "Come. Be reasonable. Through no fault of my own we are enemies. It is very painful to me to feel that you are not in sympathy with my aims for Russia, but the very fact that I am right and you are wrong, makes me more generous toward you."

"Generous! Is this generosity----?"

"One moment, Princess Tatyana," he broke in as she paused. "You cannot forget, nor can I, that no matter what has passed between us, you had no right to condemn me unheard for what happened in Moscow. Prince Samaroff brought his fate upon himself. Nor had you the right to confide, without the consent of the Council of Nemi, in this absurd adventurer from America, to set him against the established authority, furnish him with the combination of the door which protected the money of the society that he might loot the vault for his own uses----"

"That is a lie," she muttered tensely.

He shrugged.

"The evidence is all against him--and you, Princess Samarov," he added quietly.

She faced him and in the abrupt action the cowl fell over her shoulders, disclosing her disordered hair.

"You dare not look me in the eyes and say that I would steal money given in a holy cause. You dare not!" she murmured bravely.

He drove on stolidly for a moment and then a smile came on his thin lips.

"Much as I would like to look in your eyes, Princess, it is now impossible, since I would surely run into a market-cart. It is difficult furthermore," he said coolly, "because to look into your eyes is dangerous to my peace of mind----"

"Tch!--" The accent of scorn in her voice was very genuine, as she twisted away from him. "You honor me, Gregory Khodkine," she finished.

"I would honor you more, Tatyana Samarov--the highest honor in the privilege of any man to bestow," he said quietly. "I ask you to be my wife."

She was startled and turned toward him, wide-eyed.

"You!--after what you have done to me and mine----!"

"I beseech you to listen to me. Your father, Prince Samarov, was the enemy of Russia's freedom----'

"Because he believed in order," she broke in wildly, "instead of anarchy----"

"Because he was reactionary--" he paused with some show of delicacy, "because he was a traitor to the very causes you represent."

"That is not true. His cause is mine--the integrity of Russia as well as her freedom."

Khodkine smiled lightly.

"The old order passeth, Princess, and with it those who are not awake to the new issues."

"And what is the new order of things?" She returned with spirit. "A carefully planned disorder that Germany may triumph, a chase of will-o'-the-wisps through a mist of illusions. You speak of treachery; You----!" She stifled the scorn of her tongue with an effort, for the thought of the papers in her bodice warned her that she was coming to dangerous ground.

"You are trying to do me injustice, Princess," he said quietly, "but your very words fail you for lack of proof. That it was through my agency that Prince Samarov was thrown into prison is indeed a proof of my loyalty--for did I not know that in condemning him--" Khodkine's voice sank a note as he finished slowly, "that in condemning him I was losing my own heart's desire--the one woman in the world that I have ever loved--or can."

She glanced at him quickly but anger dominated.

"He was innocent of any connection with the Camarilla of Rasputin," she said in a tense voice. "He despised trickery--and you knew it."

"That will doubtless be proved, Princess Tatyana, and it may be that I can help," he said suavely. "Indeed I am not without influence with the Council of Workmen's and Soldiers' Deputies."

"And why should you not be--you who are----!"

Again she paused, her hand below her cassock fingering the dossier of Gregory Hochwald.

"I am--what, Tatyana?" he asked keenly.

She shrugged and looked away.

"The apostle of--of license!" she said chokingly.

The promptness of her reply reassured him. She believed in the Provisional Government and the dangers that now beset it were very real to her.

He smiled and turned to her softly.

"Aren't your mission and mine the same, after all? We desire a Russia free--not alone from medievalism but from the traitors within her borders who have stolen the food from her soldiers, profited upon munitions which never reached those who upheld the honor of Russia at the front--the capitalists and those they put in power. I need not go on. You know their names and places--vipers that any true Russian of the nobility or of the people should pledge his life to crush. You too, Tatyana--you are their enemy as I am. Will you deny it?"

Tanya had listened in silence, amazed at the fervor of his denunciation and at his plausibility. Had she not held close against her body the proofs of his perfidy, had she not known the secrets of his Russian intrigue, his clever tongue might have persuaded her. As it was, having in her misery already planned a course of action, she merely answered evasively. Gregory Khodkine should be no more clever than she. At the present moment she seemed to be completely in his power, and until a proper opportunity presented, she must meet him at his own game. This was not the first time he had declared his love for her. There had been other moments in Petrograd and at Nemi when Gregory Khodkine had chosen to dignify her with his attentions, but beneath his suave demonstrations of affection, she had always been sure of his venality and felt the threat of a danger. Her father at this moment lay in a cell in the Prison of St. Peter and St. Paul, a prisoner through this man's agency, and of those others who had sworn falsely. She had blamed Gregory Khodkine, because she had guessed that the currents which actuated him had their source among the high places. Now she knew what and where, for the proof was in her possession, and that knowledge made her fear and hate him the more.

The disaster to Monsieur Rowland had stricken her helpless, the death of Stepan had terrified her, but she had managed to gather her wits together in time to feign illness and write the note to Shestov which Picard had taken. All her hopes lay in Picard. Would he reach Nemi in safety and if so would he be in time to save Monsieur Rowland from a frightful death? Monsieur Rowland was a brave man. There was a quality of carelessness in his courage and ingenuity that had made her throw herself impulsively into his confidences and upon his protection. It was incredible that this fine young life should be snuffed out.... She would not believe it! And Monsieur Khodkine, Rowland's enemy, Stepan's slayer, sat beside her, driving into the sunshine of the dewy morning, alive, awake, persistent and successful, a portent of the triumph of the dark forces which were spreading their evil snares all about the world. She stole a quick sidelong glance at him and marked the handsome, finely-cut profile. He was good to look at--but cold--so ruthless and so cold! And it was this man who a moment ago had asked her to marry him! There had seemed something more ominous to her in the carefully chosen words of his declaration than there would have been in the rugged orders of an honest jailor. And yet there was too something in the quietness of his manner and in the air of submissiveness with which he had accepted her rebuff which reassured her. Could it be, after all, that under this impassive exterior there was a soul that could be touched, a chord of memory, an ideal to be invoked, in which during moments not given to the soulless pursuit of a mad nation's ambitions, she, Tanya, could have a part? Once or twice she had believed him genuine, for in his pale blue eyes had come a look that had been born of a real emotion, and then something had happened--a quick return of his imperiousness or suspicion, which had driven from her mind all thoughts except that this was the man who held the fate of Prince Samarov in the hollow of his hand. But what if...

She glanced at him again. His position was unchanged, his expression unmoved, sober, determined but not unpleasant, and for the present he seemed to have forgotten her existence. Love? To such a man--it was a thing apart, a trifle, an incident upon the highway of his life and yet--what if she could find it--use it?

There was a weapon here for her woman's fingers to grasp and wield. He had offered it to her. Was that too a part of the tissue of falsehoods he had woven about his life or was it a tangible thing that would cut and rend as a woman's weapons should? There was nothing left for her but to choose. Timidly, but firmly she caught at it.

"Grisha Khodkine," she said with a smile that belied the fear in her heart, "perhaps you are right. I am only a woman. I have thought deeply and sorrowed deeply for Russia, but that is a woman's weakness for her heart leads her always. As to my father----"

She paused and looked over the blue valley which led down to Lake Constance.

"He need not worry you," he broke in. "Before leaving Petrograd, I assured myself that he lacked nothing. He is comfortable, well-fed and in no danger. If you will trust in me, it will not be long before all your clouds are rolled away."

"I--I do not believe you, Grisha Khodkine," she murmured. "One does not change one's thoughts at the first wind that blows. You are catering to a maddened people drunk with liberty. That is dangerous and bodes no good to my country--and--and yours."

"And yet the Council of Workmen's and Soldiers' Deputies is to rule all Russia. You shall see. Out of chaos, cosmos shall come, a government 'of the people, for the people, by the people.'"

She shook her head and spoke quickly.

"Nothing can come out of chaos but the chaotic. You see I can not believe in you."

"That is a pity, Princess Tatyana," he said quietly. "But one day you will learn that I have spoken the truth."

She was silent a moment and then she spoke, trying to measure her words which came hotly in spite of herself.

"What have you done to make me believe in you? What does this flight into Germany mean? These passports--which permit you, who call yourself a loyal Russian, to go into the very heart of your enemy's country without hindrance, without question? And by what right do you carry me against my will to this central committee of Munich, which represents a socialism tainted with the poisons of Potsdam----?"

"I would suggest caution, Prince Tatyana," he interrupted sharply. "You are now in Germany and presently may be placed in a position where such a remark if overheard would put you in great danger."

"The daughter of Prince Samarov is not afraid," she said scornfully.

"Then I shall be afraid for you and protect you in spite of yourself."

Her growing anger had driven prudence to the winds.

"I am no puppet, Gregory Khodkine, to be carried here and there against my will. By what right have you dared do this thing----?"

"By right--of might," he said quietly, "the force that sways Russia and will sway the world." The car had reached a deserted strip of the road and Khodkine drove more slowly. "Listen, Tatyana. Perhaps you did not believe me a while ago when I told you what was in my heart. That is your privilege. But it is mine to serve--and wait----"

"Serve!"

"Let me finish. Perhaps I can make my purposes clearer to you. You believe that I have stolen this money, for some personal or political object. That is not true. It goes to a place of safety, where you as well as I will have some say in its disposition in international affairs. You chose to be suspicious of me and to take into your confidence this mad American, but he did not foresee, nor did you, that there were other forces at work which threatened the Society of Nemi--Ah! You are interested! It is the truth."

"Max Liederman!"

He nodded. "And you know what that meant?"

"Zoya Rochal."

"Exactly! You are clever, Princess Tatyana. Herr Liederman would have wasted no time. I know. I have evidence. He was prepared for the death of Kirylo Ivanitch. He meant that the bank notes should fall into no other hands but his."

"But Herr Liederman, whatever his deficiencies, is at least honest in his convictions and in his allegiance."

Khodkine laughed lightly.

"The convictions, the allegiances of a dotard who is in love with a dangerous woman are no more to be relied upon than the woman herself. Zoya Rochal has owned many men and used their fortunes. She is without an occupation. Herr Liederman is not prepossessing, but in her eyes twenty-five million of francs would beautify Pluto himself. And Herr Liederman----"

He shrugged expressively and finished with a smile.

"Herr Liederman would never have carried out his good intentions."

And then as she made no reply,

"So you see why I have acted quickly. Monsieur Rowland is clever, but the Gods serve the righteous. I brought you with me, Princess, because it was impossible to do otherwise. The judgment of a woman is not always to be relied upon. You are out of harm's way. I shall save you from mischief and from others who might do you and the cause I serve incalculable harm. I pray that you will do me the justice of believing in the honesty of my motives."

Under her robe her fingers clutched the dossier of Gregory Hochwald.

"Honesty is as honesty does. The passports, Monsieur--to me they can mean but one thing."

"Two things, Princess," he said with a laugh. "I am either a spy of Germany in Russia or a spy of Russia in Germany. Can you choose?"

His impudence amazed her.

"A spy--of Russia!"

It was time that she moved carefully, for the slightest slip might betray her. "Oh," she said carelessly, "I had not thought of that."

"I am not without friends in Germany," he went on--"in Prussia. I was educated in a German university. If I have used my connections in Russia's services, how can you blame me?"

She made no reply.

"Does that explain any facts--or help you to understand?" he asked.

"I think--perhaps," she said slowly, "that it does."

He examined her keenly for a moment.

"You suspected--you had heard that I was acting in the interests of Prussia? Did Ivanitch speak of me to you?"

"Oh, no," she said, turning and looking steadily into his eyes. "I was not the confidante of Kirylo Ivanitch in such matters." She broke off and turned away with a shrug.

"My doubts as to your genuineness are purely personal--and based, you must admit, upon good grounds. In the twentieth century abduction is hardly conventional. Women no longer kiss the hands that beat them, Gregory Khodkine."

He was silent for a long moment of meditation.

"It is very painful to me that you should dislike me so much. I ask nothing of you--expect nothing. For while I can help the cause of free Russia, I have sworn that no personal consideration shall stand in the way of duty. It is the irony of fate that it should be you, Princess Tatyana, who are thrown across my path, but that has made no difference to me. My life or happiness is nothing beside the other issue. That day at the British Embassy when we met and afterwards walked along the river, our minds struck fire. I knew then that you were different from other Russian women of your class. I am not sentimental--perhaps you think me cold; but I love you, Tatyana, and whether you believe it or not will serve and protect----"

"Please, Grisha Khodkine," she murmured. "My situation is delicate enough, without making it more difficult."

They were approaching the town and Monsieur Khodkine drove more carefully.

"It shall be as you please," he said quietly. "My desire was to reassure you. You shall be as safe in my company as you are at Nemi, but I pray you to be discreet. One may not speak freely in Germany in times like these. I warn you now that for myself I fear nothing, so that you are powerless against me, but should you antagonize or deride German authority, I may not be able to save you."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Keep silent, that is all. You travel as my sister. At the town ahead of us you will provide yourself with a valise, a hat, coat, and such toilet articles as you may require. Tonight we should reach Munich where you will be again among members of the society. I shall try my case before them, place this money in their care."

"And after that--what?"

"If it pleases you, we shall go on into Russia."

She thought a moment. "And if I promise to obey you thus far, what do you offer me in return?"

"The liberation of Prince Samarov when we reach Petrograd," he replied promptly.

"Very well," she assented at last. "I agree."

"Good," and then with a smile; "one word more, Princess Tatyana, a word of warning and of prophecy. The cause of the Provisional Government is hopeless, its leaders dreamers--idealists. Russia has dreamed too long. The party to come into power will be radical, applying desperate remedies to desperate diseases, but it will be practical and it will be triumphant. Do not sink with a lost cause--for in the end the result is the same--Russia free--socialism--Internationalism victorious----"

"International Prussianism----!"

He frowned slightly--

"You are already breaking your agreement--

"And England, France, Italy--" she persisted eagerly. "What becomes of our agreements with them?"

He shut his jaws grimly.

"They must look out for themselves, Princess Tatyana," he finished.

"Ah!" she gasped, and sinking back into her seat, said no more.

CHAPTER XI

THE PLOT

The car drew up at the door of a store the sign upon which proclaimed the sale of articles of feminine apparel and Khodkine got out and stood bowing upon the pavement.

"A suit-case, a hat, gloves and coat and such other articles as you require. Let me know the cost and I will give you money. And remember our agreement. I will await you here."

She had slipped out of her dark robe before getting down, and entered the store. For a moment a vague notion came into her head of escaping through a rear door and hiding from him. But maturer thought soon convinced her that such a plan was impracticable. Gregory Khodkine was far too clever to permit himself to be eluded in such a way. He had made sure, too, that she had no money in her possession and without money her case was hopeless. The exciting events of the night and previous day had worn upon her and she now felt weak from lack of food. There was nothing for it but to obey Monsieur Khodkine's injunctions and so she made her purchase quickly, put on the hat, coat and gloves, and with the other articles in the suit-case, presented the bill to Khodkine, who gave her the money.

As he handed her into the machine he smiled at her gravely.

"I am sorry to have kept you up all night, but there is an inn near by and breakfast should be welcome."

Monsieur Khodkine was right. The coffee was poor, but it was real coffee, the eggs were freshly laid in a neighboring barn yard and the rations of war bread were nourishing. She found nothing to complain of in the demeanor of her companion and their breakfast finished they were again upon their way. Khodkine had now taken the suitcase into the front seat beside him and put Tanya into the tonneau, expressing a hope that she would find a chance to doze. It would be impossible to stop to rest as many miles were to be covered by nightfall, and there was no time to spare. This rearrangement of their positions was agreeable to Tanya, for she had many things to think of. If she still had any thought of escaping, Gregory Khodkine quickly removed them, for the fuel of the machine having been replenished at Tuttlingen, she soon saw that he was bent on covering the miles to Munich at a speed as rapid as consistent with safety. His suggestion that she try to sleep in the tonneau was impracticable, for though the road was for the most part in good condition, the car swerved violently at the turns and it was difficult without holding by a hand grasp to keep an upright position. Indeed it seemed as though she never wished to sleep again. Her body was weary with sitting upright, but her eyes, wide open, stared along the gray road before her as she wondered at Gregory Khodkine's skill, persistence and tirelessness.

A German agent! Many things had happened that had made her suspect him of Teutonic leanings. But this! And Gregory Khodkine was but one of many. Poor Russia! She had indeed fallen into the hands of the Philistines.

Every mile they traveled carried the Princess Tatyana further into the enemy's country and nearer to those from whom this traitor drew his high authority. Already she had been given proofs of the character of his laisser passer. One glance by an officer of the guard seemed sufficient to send the machine flying upon its way. There was always too an air of quick deference and a military salute which accompanied it. What chance was there for her with the Central Committee at Munich to which they were bound, with the finger of the Wilhelmstrasse upon the latch of its door, with ears near by, strained for the first free murmur which passed the bounds proscribed? Members of this Committee had been to Nemi--Georg Senf--letters had passed between them. Madame Rochal even had come from Munich, properly accredited. Tanya felt very much alone, very much at a loss, helpless in the face of the innumerable forces opposed to her. But somewhere within her heart a hope still leaped that all might yet be well with Monsieur Rowland.

All night and morning the possibility of his death had weighed heavily upon her conscience, for she could not deny a personal responsibility in the series of events which had brought about the final disaster. Of course she could hardly have foretold the madness of Ivanitch, but the fact remained that she had cast her fortunes upon Monsieur Rowland's side, and by giving him the secret of the vault, had plunged him into the danger that had resulted in his undoing. There was a sweetness in the memory of their first encounter in the garden of Nemi. Here was a boy grown to manhood unspoiled by rough contacts. She knew nothing of his history, save by the vague phrases which confessed a roving habit and a knowledge of many sides of life. But the naturalness of their brief friendship, its ingenuousness and charm were singularly refreshing to one who from childhood had been brought up in an atmosphere of intrigue and double meaning.

She could not believe that he would die. The vault was large. One, two, perhaps even three days might elapse before the air of the vault should be exhausted, and surely before that time a means would be found to enter it. Gregory Khodkine's revelation of Herr Liederman's plans had filled her with hope. Perhaps already Monsieur Rowland had been liberated and was devising means to offset the successes of her captor.

Would he follow her into Germany? And could he if he wished? If Picard had succeeded in crossing the frontier, her note to Shestov would have been delivered, for Picard, she knew, would go through fire for her. But what claim after all had she on this Philippe Rowland? A strange brief friendship, based upon the call of youth to youth, and an intimate community of interests born of her dependence and his mere love of adventure. (Poor boy! She had got him more than he had bargained for.) Or was his sudden allegiance born of something more than the interests she served? She tried to remember the things that he had said, the good-natured, disarming smile, the amused look in his dark eyes, that could be both deferent and bold.

And as she thought of this a slight frown gathered at her brows. His eyes could be bold and he was quite capable of suiting his actions to their meaning. Madame Rochal had lost no time in discovering Monsieur Rowland's knowledge of the complexities of her sex.

To a woman of the antecedents and training of Zoya Rochal the conquest of a person of Monsieur Rowland's frank disposition was a mere matter of opportunity and Madame Rochal had lost no time in creating that. But Tanya had been a little dismayed at finding how quickly the designing cosmopolitaine had accomplished her ends, more than a little dismayed, too, to find that Monsieur Rowland had so soon fallen to her wiles. And yet back of it all was the undeniable fact of Monsieur Rowland's cleverness, his genuine appeal to her own generosity and forgiveness which she had granted there at the door of the vault when he had seemed to have forgotten the numbers of the combination. His boyishness and humor had reassured her and something more than mere friendship she had seen in his eyes. The deference had been there, the boldness also, but there was another look which she had seen in other men's eyes, knew, and recognized. Philippe Rowland had given his allegiance to her cause, because it was in a measure his cause too, but he had also given Tanya Korasov his allegiance because of herself.

Unfortunately she realized that his promise to help her defeat an intrigue against the fortunes of the Society of Nemi was one thing; a chase across the enemy's country, from which, by great trial and good fortune he had just managed to escape, was another. She had given Shestov the slenderest of clues and Germany was large. And if, not for her sake merely, but that of Nemi, of which he was the titular head, he decided to follow her fortunes into danger, where could she find the hope that he would succeed--without a passport, without influence and without means unless he borrowed them? Liederman--Zoya Rochal--Shestov--to the outwitted Councilors of Nemi, the loss of twenty-five millions of francs by the society would be a terrible catastrophe, as it was indeed to Tanya, for she had no hope that Gregory Khodkine intended to use this money in the purposes for which it had been contributed. If any part of it was to be used in Russia, its appropriation would be in the hands of Teuton agents who would dispense it at the dictation of Graf von Stromberg of the Secret Service to debauch the dreamers along the thin gray line which marked the only borderland between Prussianism and the free Russia she loved.

And yet, had not circumstance put Monsieur Rowland in a position of responsibility toward those who had contributed toward this vast sum of money for the propaganda of freedom and liberal government? He was the leader of Nemi, secretly elected in accordance with the strange rites which had come down from the forgotten ages. These hundreds of thousands did not know the names of the leaders of the order, but they did know that the Society of Nemi was great, and actuated by a high purpose and that its leader, whoever he was, was responsible to them for the use of the accumulated funds in its possession.

How much of this responsibility would weigh upon Monsieur Rowland? And if he felt it, what use would he make of the power that had come ready-made to his hands? Was he already upon his way to France to rejoin his regiment of the legion or would he...?

The Princess Tanya's pretty head dropped forward upon her breast and she awoke suddenly with a start. How long had she slept? The heat, the dust, the roar of the exhaust of the machine had worn upon her weariness, but she straightened guiltily as though she had been false to a trust. There was no answer to her problems but the implacable back of Gregory Khodkine's head, who drove onward skillfully without a word, the suit-case safe beneath his eyes and the source of his authority ever growing nearer.

At Ulm he bade her get down at the railroad station and deliver a message for the telegraph. Inside the door of the place, beyond the range of his vision, she scrutinized it eagerly--a mere jumble of words strung together, meaningless to her--in code. She sent it. What would have been the use of opposing him in this when he could confirm the message at the next town they came to? Indeed, during the afternoon messages were delivered to him as he arrived. And he read them with satisfaction.

Her case seemed hopeless and if indeed she had needed the proof, the venality of Gregory Khodkine was fully assured. But after awhile she became curious as to how he would attempt to explain away these evidences of Prussianism.

"The miles increase your assurance," she said bitterly in Russian.

He found her gaze and then glanced away.

"It is well to take precautions. I am not in the habit of traveling with more money than enough for my immediate uses," he said with a lame attempt at humor. "The responsibility weighs upon me."

"The responsibility to whom, Gregory Khodkine?" she asked.

"To those who have sent me," he replied uneasily.

"You grow bold with success."

"Who doesn't?" And then with a frown, "I warn you, Tatyana, of your promise."

Gone were the softer tones in which he had pitched his morning appeal. This was another Khodkine, the man who last night had asked her into his room at Nemi that he might try to frighten her into a confession of what she knew of the secret of the vault. She had evaded him then, had managed as she thought to throw him off the scent, but there seemed no chance of evading him now or indeed of finding any way into his confidences. She had missed her chance this morning. The sense of a possible power over him had flitted from her and with its loss came a sense of defeat and utter hopelessness.

If Monsieur Khodkine's sense of security had been increased he still drove rapidly and at turns in the road in the open country she saw him turn his chin over his shoulder and eagerly scrutinize the landscape behind them. But they had come far and it seemed hardly possible that pursuit could threaten now.

When Gregory Khodkine spoke it was to carry the war into her camp. He was quite civil and spoke in Russian in a low tone, but his question probed deep and took her off her guard.

"Princess Samarov, last night while you were outside the vault, your friend the American accused me of a connection with the Wilhelmstrasse, and obligingly gave me a dossier. Who told him that my name was Hochwald? Did you?"

Tanya was unprepared and involuntarily her hand clutched at her shirt waist where the papers were hidden in her breast. She recovered herself instantly and faced him quite calmly, her hand dropping into her lap.

"You are full of surprises, Gregory Khodkine. Hochwald! Is it true?"

His pale eyes were regarding her keenly.

"No. But who told him?"

"I can't imagine, unless Madame Rochal----"

"You are playing with fire, Princess. I must know the facts."

She shrugged lightly and smiled at him, though she was cold with fear.

"Then you must go to those who know them." Then, lying with the ingenuousness which only a woman can command, "Hochwald?" she said coolly. "I've never heard the name before."

From the tail of her eye she saw his look flicker and leave her and she knew that she had baffled him, but the infamous records burned against her, smirched the clean skin against which they lay. It seemed that he must feel their existence as she did.

"You seem disturbed," she ventured carelessly. "It is the name perhaps you use in your dual role?"

"Yes," he replied shortly. "In Germany I have no other."

"Must I then use it here?"

"It would perhaps be better, when you speak in German," he muttered.

The incident passed and with it Gregory Khodkine's incertitude. Tanya who at the last stop for petrol had returned to the tonneau sat clinging to the supports of the top staring gloomily before her. Her new suit-case was in front of her. Beside it in a litter upon the floor, some spare tubes, a can of oil and other impedimenta. She examined them drowsily, wondering whose car this was and how it happened to be where they had found it. But she had asked no questions of Gregory Khodkine and now it didn't seem to matter, as long as the machinery held together until they reached their destination. But the new suit-case seemed to fascinate her. And then quite spontaneously an idea was born--a plan! It seemed utterly absurd--madness--and she dismissed it. It recurred again, was dismissed; then it came and remained in her thoughts, in all its precariousness, in all its beautiful simplicity. She looked again at her new suit-case and suddenly felt herself trembling with excitement. A wonderful plan to be sure, a brave plan, but unless fortune aided her, foredoomed to failure. But of the consequences she had no fear. After all, what could be worse than the uncertainty of this terrible, endless night and day. Gregory Hochwald might be an agent of the hated von Stromberg, but Gregory Khodkine would never dare to murder her, even if she succeeded in her venture.

All afternoon she waited for an opportunity, feigning slumber while she watched him through lowered eyelashes. But he drove on grimly, the millions of Nemi on the seat beside him, his gaze fastened upon the towers of Augsburg. But after dinner his mood was more cheerful and he invited her into the seat beside him again, and lighting a cigar drove off into the gathering darkness to the south. Khodkine no longer feared pursuit and success was to be the reward of his efforts, for they would reach Munich tonight. It was no wonder that he was happy. Tanya noticed a return of his solicitude for her comfort, and catered to his friendliness, assenting as though in sheer weariness to his plans.

"I hope that you may forgive me, Tatyana. It has pained me horribly to cause you so much suffering, but I am only doing what I believe to be my duty. When that is accomplished, you shall see how I will requite you for your generosity."

"You have left me no choice," she sighed wearily. "It does not matter. This is not work that women were made for. I am very tired."

"You poor child," he murmured. "It will not be long before you shall be quite comfortable and at home in the Bayrischer Hof. No one shall disturb you and you shall rest as long as you please."

"I shall be thankful for that," she said quietly.

"Our long acquaintance, Tatyana," he went on smoothly, "your knowledge of my character and the nature of my confession this morning must do more than any further words of mine to reassure you."

"Yes, yes," she sighed.

"Will you tell me at least that you are no longer angry with me?"

"No. I am not angry with you," she said promptly.

"And you will let me try by my kindness and consideration to correct the poor estimate you have made of me?"

"Perhaps--" And then wearily, "But do not urge me further now, Grisha Khodkine. My mind refuses to act. I am more than half asleep."

"Poor dushka. I shall trouble you no more. Sleep on."

And then, after a while, without warning came the watchful Tanya's chance. A tire blew out. Gregory Khodkine with a muttered imprecation stopped the car, got down and examined the wheel. They were in a deserted road with no lights of any kind in sight. Tanya stirred and questioned lazily. Khodkine had already thrown off his coat and was on his knees in the road. By the reflection of the lights upon the indicators, Tanya's eyes furtively examined the suit-case which contained the fortune of Nemi. The catch was closed, but the key was in the lock. All day Gregory Khodkine, keeping the suit-case under his eye, had not deemed the key important. And now----

Tanya, fingering the catch with one hand to be sure that it would open, leaned past the wheel and peered over the side of the car.

"Do you think you will be long delayed?" she inquired sleepily.

"A matter of twenty minutes, I should say," he grunted from behind the car, where he was tugging at the straps of the spare tire.

"Oh! Then do you mind if I creep into the tonneau and steal a wink of sleep?"

"Not at all. You'd better," he growled. "I may be an hour."

"Really? That's too blissful for words."

And crawling down slowly, lifting the suit-case containing the bank notes to the seat as she did so, she clambered down into the road beside him, making sympathetic inquiries as to the nature of the injury. He reassured her, but she saw how greatly he was absorbed and she wandered around upon the other side of the car. But her plan was already made. Ahead of the car along the side of the road she had seen some large loose rocks. There would be others here in the darkness. Feeling with her feet, at last she found one, another, and stooping quickly picked the heaviest of them up, into her arms. Then she paused, feeling that her companion might have observed her, but after waiting a moment motionless she bent over and deposited them noiselessly upon the floor of the car.

"I think I will take my nap," she said sleepily. And as Khodkine assented she mounted into the tonneau. There was no moon and the clouds enshrouded the car in darkness, but for a moment Tanya lay upon the seat in the tonneau, watching furtively through the rear curtains. The car was already jacked from the ground and Khodkine was tinkering at the rim. Now was the time. She must act quickly. The bags were of nearly the same size. Silently, and taking care that no movement should shake the car, she hauled the suit-case which contained the banknotes over the back of the seat into the tonneau, then quickly removed the piles of notes, transferred them to her own bag, the contents of which she put upon the floor. Then she took up the heavy stones, wrapping them in the lap robe which she had used all day as a dust cover, and put them into the other suit-case, packing it tightly with the aid of the rubber tubes and other small articles until the stones were tightly wedged. Then she locked the suit-case, put the key in her pocket and with an effort restored it to its position beside the wheel in front. She then crept back noiselessly to the seat of the tonneau, where she lay breathless, her heart throbbing with excitement. It was done. She had done it. Gregory Khodkine was still hammering at the rebellious rim. She was a little frightened when she realized what hung upon the success or failure of her plan. The weights of the two suitcases it seemed to her were much the same. Gregory Khodkine could never know what she had done unless he examined the contents of the bag he had guarded so carefully all day. The key in her pocket would prevent that. But suppose that he became curious about the absent key. Suppose he found her new clothing upon the floor. The new suit-case was somewhat larger than the old one and she managed to get the linen and toilet articles into it. The other things she stuffed behind the cushions of the seat on which she sat. Suppose he chose to test the weight of her suit-case!

That at all hazards must be prevented. She moved it alongside of her just before Khodkine bobbed up out of the darkness and peered in, reporting that he would be ready to start in ten minutes. She snored gently, in reply, and presently heard him fussing at the wheel again.

Were the packages all inside the bag? Had she left any of the contents of her suit-case upon the floor of the tonneau? She could see nothing in the darkness, but her fingers eagerly searched the tonneau and finding nothing she breathed more easily. Fortune so far had favored her. What was to follow must be left to chance. Whatever happened she had much to gain and nothing to lose--unless, perhaps, the tender lapses from duty of Gregory Khodkine who was born Hochwald.

After a while he got into the driver's seat. She trembled as she saw him lift the suit-case containing the rocks and her newly bought finery to the seat beside him and for a terrible moment thought that he paused, examining the lock. Through her half closed eyes she saw him peer over his shoulder at her in a moment of hesitation and then heard the whirr of the engine as they started upon their way. Then one by one she took the articles that she had stuffed behind the curtains of the rear seat and choosing favorable opportunity dropped them onto the road or threw them into the hedge. When this was done she breathed more easily and straightened, yawned and sat up.

"I have slept," she said with a laugh. "How far have we gone?"

"Not two miles," grumbled Khodkine.

"Oh!" said Tanya in a tone of disappointment, "I thought we must be nearly there."

Now that she had started upon this venture she found a new interest in living. She was wide awake now, thinking quickly, for every vestige of her weariness seemed by some strange magic of her success to have vanished. Women have a natural talent for deception in minor matters, but it is under the spur of great necessity that they reach the perfection of dissimulation. Tanya weighed every chance of failure, and gained confidence in her ability to carry the thing through to its end. And so when they reached their journey's end and drew up at the doors of the Bayrischer Hof, she was standing upright in the tonneau, trying to carry lightly her heavy burden and had even stepped down upon the pavement before Gregory Khodkine had come beside her. If she could ever get the bag up to her room without letting it pass into alien hands!

Khodkine was for taking it from her at once, but she refused to relinquish it.

"You have quite enough to carry, Gregory Hochwald. If you will permit me--I am quite rested."

And with a glance at her face he smiled and led the way into the building. The hour was late and she was assigned to a room immediately, while Khodkine wearily bearing his suit-case which he like Tanya refused to relinquish, disappeared with the clerk.

Once within the sanctuary of her own room and the door closed and bolted behind her, Tanya sat upon the bed breathing hard, weak in the forces of reaction. But she realized that her difficulties had only begun. Her thoughts whirled tumultuously for a moment as she tried to picture Khodkine when he learned of the deception she had practiced upon him. There was no time to lose. She must do something with this money, something to put it forever out of Gregory Khodkine's way--but what?

CHAPTER XII

PURSUIT

Rowland's head ached, his muscles were stiff and the wounds in his cheek and shoulder needed first aid, but after they were given attention he lost no time, and breakfast eaten, Zoya Rochal's car was brought to the gate by Liederman and in less than an hour they were upon their way. Another suit of clothes and some linen from the posthumous wardrobe of Ivanitch, had restored the American to a semblance of presentability and he found his courage and optimism rising with every mile that they traveled. Barthou and Shestov remained with Signorina Colodna at Nemi to explain to the new arrivals the cause and extent of the disaster, and to keep in touch with the telegraph office in the village below, that they might be informed as to what happened in Germany.

Max Liederman drove and Rowland and Zoya Rochal sat in the tonneau.

On its face, this was a mad errand--to go flying into the heart of the enemy's country from which after weeks of trial Rowland had managed miraculously to escape. But a transformation had been worked in Rowland's point of view, as well as in his appearance. He seemed, in the few short hours he had spent at Nemi, to have achieved a mission and an object in life, something, he was forced to admit, that he had never possessed before. The mission,--a defeat of Prussian intrigue, the object,--Tanya Korasov. If the success of Monsieur Khodkine had for the moment balked him, he was aware now of a spirit of mild exaltation at the prospect of the dangers he must run in the hope of success. The sense of danger always made him cheerful and rather quiet. And so though the massive Liederman sat gloomily, driving with a heavy hand which at narrow places in the road seemed to threaten destruction, swearing volubly over his shoulder in the odd moments, and Zoya Rochal chattered excitedly in three languages, Rowland sat grinning hopefully into the long stretch of road which lay before them, thinking of Tanya Korasov and wishing that he had Monsieur Khodkine's throat in his fingers again. He would pinch harder next time.

Rowland had devised a plan which he hoped would enable him to pass the frontier in safety. And so, when a mile distant from the military posts that guarded the German line along the main highway, Rowland got down and after making a rendezvous at a small town which Liederman suggested, three miles beyond the border, turned into the woods by the roadside and moved stealthily westward. This was a dangerous game, for in his escape from Germany a few days before, he had done most of his traveling by night, sleeping in the woods by day. But there was no time to be lost and nothing else to be done. Herr Liederman and Madame Rochal had their own passports of course and would go through without trouble, and once within the borders of Germany the inspection of the machine and its occupants would be less rigid than at the frontier gates.

The plight of Tanya Korasov and the responsibility which he now shared with her for the safety of the money had sharpened Rowland's wits amazingly. He reached the edge of the woods and crouched in the bushes on a slight elevation for a moment, studying the lay of the land to the northward. Then, discovering a slight depression upon his left down which a small stream trickled, he crouched, taking advantage of the cover which screened him from the view of some men working in a field and went northward rapidly for half a mile.

But he came at last to a spot where the stream debouched into a meadow, beside which was a farm-house and more men working. So he was forced to go back a few hundred yards and wriggle upon hands and knees in the shadow of a stone wall up a hill, at the crest of which he paused again for observation. Before him, again to his left beyond the farm houses, was a wood which spread northward and eastward. Once within its borders he felt sure that he could move forward in greater security. He clambered into some shrubbery, and upon the other side of the hill saw the road which approached the farm houses. Once across this the cover would be better. There was no one in sight. He crawled out of his place of concealment, braving detection for the few hundred yards of open country, dashed down the hill across the lane and in a moment was hidden in a thicket upon the further side. Here he waited again, watching in all directions, and then taking to the undergrowth went on more rapidly, at last reaching the protection of the thick woods, where he breathed a deep sigh of gratification. He had figured that the border line must cut somewhere near the center of this forest and could not be more than a kilometer away.

He was more at home here, for the starvation and misery of the past weeks had given him a skill in stealth and woodcraft which would have done credit to a North American Indian. The possibility of there being a wire fence along the border had not occurred to him, for if he had passed such a barrier a few nights ago, he had merely considered it the border of a sheep or cattle pasture, even believing at Nemi that he was still well within the German Empire. But suddenly as he moved forward a wire fence rose before him, a barrier of barbed steel, thickly woven between the stout posts that retained it. Rowland crawled into the center of a bush nearby and waited a moment, for along each side of the fence was a well-beaten path which showed where the sentries passed. Rowland had resolved to burrow under the wire, since to climb such a fence, even if it were not electrified, would be difficult and damaging to his clothing, the presentability of which was essential to his safety. But he did not wish to attempt it until he was sure of the exact moment of the passage of the sentries. And so he waited calmly, aware of an intense desire to smoke which could not be gratified.

In a moment his patience and wisdom were rewarded, for, listening intently, he heard the thud of heavy boots and the sound of a fine masculine voice singing. The Swiss soldier approached, still singing and passed him. And not fifty yards beyond, the singing stopped and he, heard another voice in greeting.

"Ah, Kamerad--you sing well."

"One must do something to pass the time."

"Weary work--with nothing to show for it. You have seen nothing?"

"No."

"Nor I. It is the time for my relief. Auf wiedersehen."

And the German soldier approached upon the opposite side of the fence and passed on.

Now was the time. Rowland waited a moment until both men were out of sight, and hearing, when he came out quickly, and approaching a slight depression in the soft loam below the wire, set to work burrowing furiously with his hands, in a few moments making a hole deep enough to wriggle through. Then covering the evidences of his work with leaves, crossed quickly into the woods beyond and disappeared.

It was a very weary and much bedraggled individual who emerged from some bushes near the highroad at the spot where the car was awaiting him. Liederman was fuming, Madame Rochal anxious. They had used two hours of time and it was now well past noon. But Rowland, though weary, was quite cheerful. He had already found a flaw in the perfection of the efficiency which had so astonished the world. There would be other flaws and careless, casual little New York would find them.

The passports of Zoya Rochal and Herr Liederman and the credentials which the latter carried, showing him to be a member of the Reichstag, would probably be sufficient to pass the party along the road. But to insure less chance of detention an alias was provided for Rowland in case of surprise. He had become Herr Professor Leo Knaus, Curator of the Schwanthaler Museum, returning to Munich after a brief holiday in search of lost health in the Bavarian Highlands, where through an unfortunate accident, his knapsack containing all his personal papers had been lost from a cliff into a deep torrent whence their recovery had been impossible.

By making detours, avoiding the larger towns, however, they managed to travel fifty or sixty kilometers without even so much as seeing a soldier, and Liederman figured that once well within Bavaria away from the Swiss border, the scrutiny of their papers would be less exacting.

And whether by good luck or good management they reached Ulm without mishap, where Herr Liederman had friends and influence. And then a passport for the unfortunate Herr Professor from Ulm to Munich was procured which made the remainder of their journey less hazardous.

Rowland would have felt more comfortable if he had had a little money of his own, for though Madame Rochal and Max Liederman seemed well supplied with funds, he would find himself in a pretty pickle if he were suddenly left upon his own resources. He ran his fingers hopefully through the pockets of Kirylo Ivanitch and found nothing--oh, yes, the coin of the Priest of Nemi with which Khodkine last night had presented him. He had shifted it to the new clothing with the matches and cigarettes. He fingered it carelessly, then brought it forth and examined it--a clever bit of low-relief, done by an artist, probably Italian.

Madame Rochal who had been vociferously exchanging opinions with Herr Liederman found curiosity more essential to her happiness than argument and bending suddenly forward, examined the coin.

"Who gave you this, Monsieur?" she asked excitedly.

"Monsieur Khodkine--last night. It was to be the symbol of our eternal friendship. The Gods will otherwise."

"It is the Talisman," she cried. "Do you know what its possession means?"

"Ah, yes," he said, shrugging lightly, "that I'm the King-pin in your ten-twenty-thirty." And as she looked puzzled he laughed. "That I'm the Head of the Society of Nemi. But how the devil that's going to help me here, I can't quite see."

"Monsieur Rowland," she broke in, "this is most important. In Munich you will need no better credentials than this."

"But I'm an enemy of Germany--an American."

"Of Autocracy--of the Army--yes. But Internationalism knows no enemies."

"You mean----?"

"That the Democrats of Germany, whether Socialist or Revolutionary, will receive you as a friend. Names--nationalities mean nothing to them now. All that they need is a leader who has no fear of the Army--and a spark to cause the conflagration."

"And you believe that I----?"

"Precisely," she said with a flash of her dark eyes, "if I have not misjudged you. You, Monsieur!"

She showed the coin to Liederman who fully confirmed her opinion. The Talisman passed with the office, and it was very lucky that Rowland had found it, for there was no other like it in the world. Rowland looked at the coin with interest, and then flipped it carelessly.

"Heads I win, tails Khodkine loses," he laughed. "You see, Madame. Anyway you look at it Nemi triumphs."

Zoya Rochal examined Rowland's profile through her half-closed eyes and when she spoke she used English, a language which fell from her lips quite as readily as French or Russian.

"Monsieur Rowland," she smiled, "you are quite the most cheerful person I have ever known in my life. You always smile more when things go wrong. I don't understand. Do you never get angry?"

"Well, rather! Once when a piece of Boche shrapnel smashed my jimmy-pipe, right out of my teeth. It was the best pipe I ever had," he finished thoughtfully.

She laughed. "I've never met one like you before. Most men are so desperate in great affairs."

"H--m. I've been desperate a lot of times but didn't find it helped me much. I tried that in the vault last night and only barked my shins. So I went to sleep and dreamed I was married to a princess--until Herr Liederman blew me up."

"A princess!" she smiled archly. "Monsieur Rowland, you still have the heart of a child." Her voice sank a note as she glanced at the back of Herr Liederman's head. "It is that which has attracted me to you. The world has grown so old in wisdom and in sin," she sighed.

He laughed. "It's a good old world but it needs a vacuum cleaner. We've got to 'get' Khodkine, Madame Rochal. He's a breeder of germs."

"And is bred of Germans----" she whispered.

"Same thing--disease in the Welt Politik--always excepting our good chauffeur----," indicating Liederman's broad back, "who is your friend and mine and therefore quite all right." Rowland was silent a moment and then turned and laid his hand over Zoya Rochal's. She turned her palm upward and their fingers clasped.

"You and I, Madame----"

"Zoya----," she corrected.

He smiled and touched her fingers lightly to his lips.

"Zoya----," he repeated. "Pretty name, that. Zoya! You and I must swear an allegiance."

"I have already sworn it in my heart," she said softly.

"And I can count upon you--whatever happens."

"Yes--for Russia."

"There are many Russias----"

"The Russia of the Constituent Assembly--the Russia of sanity--of reconstruction----"

"Good. We understand each other. A beautiful woman is a power, but a clever, beautiful woman----" he smiled at her gaily, "the world lies at her feet."

Her fingers closed upon his own and she looked past him down into the valley of a little river which flowed past them while her voice seemed to trail away into the beautiful distance.

"If you would only lay it there,--Philippe!"

His eyes boldly sought for flaws in her perfect face, and found none. And yet its very perfection was in itself a flaw, for he knew something of her history. Passion had made no mark upon her, or the suffering she must have caused in others. Whatever the world had done to her soul, it had passed her beauty by as though that in itself were a matter of no importance.

But Rowland did not kiss her, though he had a notion that this was what was required to seal their compact. He only laughed a little.

"You shall have it, Zoya Rochal. I give you my word on it, if you will help me to catch Gregory Khodkine." And then as he released her hand, "Tell me something of this Central Committee of Bavaria."

She watched him as he lighted his cigarette and marveled a little at the coolness of his renunciation of an opportunity.

"Perhaps you didn't know that it is from the Central Committee of Munich that I come to Nemi. Perhaps also you may think it strange that I, a loyal Russian, should stand high in such councils. But politics make strange affiliations. I have served the cause in many countries and in Germany I have secretly stood with advanced Socialism. As you have seen, I possess papers which permit me to come and go as I please and I am not without influence even in Berlin."

"Ah, that is strange. A secret agent----?"

"What you choose. In the past I've done Prussia some service in Constantinople, Buda-Pesth and Vienna. But since the war began---" she shrugged. "Can you not imagine? After all, I am a Russian."

"I see. And this Central Committee at Munich,--who is its leader?"

"George Senf, a giant among pigmies. You shall see----"

"A member of the Society of Nemi?"

"Yes, and more than once a Councilor. But he serves our cause better in Germany where his name is a byword for fearlessness and wisdom."

"And Liederman?"

"Herr Liederman represents Georg Senf and his followers on the floor of the Reichstag. They are both loyal men but Senf is the master."

"Thanks. This is what I wanted to know." And then, after a pause, "But why should Monsieur Khodkine choose Munich as the place to which to take this money?"

"That has puzzled me, but I think I am beginning to understand. The first stronghold of the Order of Nemi is in the Munich Committee and those others which it influences. Monsieur Khodkine plans first to take the money to a place of safety; then to throw the whole power of the Government into the Committee to thwart its leaders, who are the friends of Nemi and to divert this money to the corruption of Russian leaders, in the Prussian cause."

"You are positive as to this----?"

"This or something worse," she said.

"What could be worse?"

"Its theft by Khodkine himself or its appropriation--by the State."

"Can this be possible?"

"Anything is possible in Germany."

Rowland pursed his lips in a tenuous whistle.

"I can well believe that. You have heard that Khodkine is a Prussian agent?"

"I know nothing of Khodkine. Our paths have not crossed except at Nemi. But I am ready to suspect him of anything. There is much energy conserved in twenty-five millions of francs," she finished cynically.

"Well, rather," he laughed. "Twenty-five millions--five million dollars! Phew, but that's a lot of money! Think of the eats and shows and things----"

"You'd get a lot of jimmy-pipes with that, mon vieux," she laughed and then lowered her tone suddenly. "Where are you going to put this money if you recover it?" she questioned.

Rowland puffed his cigarette quite calmly but hid his thoughts under the cloak of his perpetual smile.

"Would you like a new hat?" he asked.

"There are many things I would like, mon Philippe," she said coolly. "A villa at Monte Carlo, an hotel in Paris, a very tiny one, but--" she halted suddenly and shrugged, "but I'm not apt to get those things with the money of Nemi." And then with a dramatic gesture, "Is it not pledged to the Cause?"

He did not look at her for fear that he would betray the confirmation of his suspicion. But the impulse stirred in him to follow this line of subjective inquiry still further.

"And yet I cannot forget that it was you, Zoya, who at a doubtful moment swung the Council of Nemi in my favor."

"I have not regretted it--nor shall I."

"I owe you much. I am about to place myself in a position where I shall owe you more. With your help in Munich I am doubly armed. Something tells me that we shall win. But I must pay----"

"You shall pay me with your friendship, Philippe," she murmured. "That is all I ask. You will give it me, will you not?"

She was clever. He drew closer and looked into her eyes which had in them something of the appealing quality of a child's. It was difficult for him to believe that her expressions were not genuine, but he could not forget the warnings of Tanya Korasov and smiled into her eyes with a boyish frankness.

"Have I not already given it to you, Zoya? Last night--you didn't mind? Your lips were very close.... They are very close now----"

Max Liederman narrowly missed a tree at the side of the road. Then he swore that terrible German oath which translated means "thunder weather," slowed his pace, stopped the car, then turned around in his seat.

"What do you talk about in English, you two?" he roared, his face as black as the weather he apostrophized. "Is it not enough to try and drive rapidly without these distractions behind me? You will come to the front seat, Zoya," he growled, "or I shall drive no further."

"By all means," said Rowland cheerfully, getting up and opening the door. "If Madame will descend."

Zoya obeyed, but the pressure of her fingers and the look she gave him advised him of her preferences.

"You act like a spoiled child, my great bear," she said to the German, with a laugh. "I was merely telling Philippe of Georg Senf and the Committee."

"Philippe!" he growled. "Already----"

She said something to him and as Rowland got in behind them he drove off again. But it was easy to see how the wind sat in that quarter.

Rowland was obliged to admit that the woman distilled a kind of subtle poison. There was a time.... But by the bloody beard of von Tirpitz--not now! Her beauty passed him by. It was not for him, for he was now measuring loveliness by other standards. He would play the game, must play it, wherever it led, even with Zoya, but he found himself hoping that it would not lead too far. He had reason to doubt her sincerity and had guessed the inspiration for this sudden affection upon the part of Madame Rochal. She had long lived upon admiration and received it of Rowland as a right, but more than this, she loved power, and more even than power, the money that brought it. Max Liederman was a horrible example of the effectiveness of her art, for it was plainly to be seen that he was infatuated and was now even jealous of Rowland. It wouldn't do to stir up Liederman, or to blow cold with Zoya, for he needed them both and meant to use them to the best of his bent, for after all was not his captive Princess awaiting him yonder, somewhere in the blue haze beyond the plain, and how could he hope to succeed in finding her without the help of Liederman?

They had made good time and by early afternoon had passed Ulm on the way to Augsburg. After dinner Liederman's spirits rose and lighting a big black cigar, he invited Rowland into the seat beside him, while Zoya Rochal leaned over their shoulders and joined in the conversation.

"Herr Rowland, you have not yet explained entirely to my satisfaction how you happened to be inside the vault. Khodkine surprised you there with Fräulein Korasov, nicht wahr?"

Rowland told him the truth.

"I understand," said Liederman when he had finished. "And what were you going to do with the money?"

"I don't know. Fräulein Korasov had planned for that."

"Ah--and you trusted Fräulein Korasov?"

"Implicitly."

Liederman laughed and tapped Rowland playfully upon the knee.

"Ach--a little tenderness in that quarter, nicht wahr?"

This was for Zoya's benefit, but the heaviness of his humor made his intention rather pathetic.

"Fräulein Korasov was kind to me. She fed me when I was starved. I could hardly show anything but gratitude," said Rowland quietly.

"What assurance can you give me that her intentions were honest?" asked Liederman.

The man was so dull. But Rowland kept his patience admirably.

"Merely this--that Fräulein Korasov sought to prevent the very thing that has happened. She distrusted Monsieur Khodkine."

"Ach, so. That is the one bond we all have in common. But Herr Khodkine is clever. If he has high authority for this game he is playing, we will be at our wits' end to circumvent him."

Rowland thought a moment.

"You may be sure he will have that authority," he said at last.

"You know----?"

Rowland paused again. Where did the German in Liederman end, where the Socialist begin? Rowland took the chance.

"He is an agent of the German Government," he said shortly.

He was soon to find out where Herr Liederman stood. The machine swerved violently as the German's heavy hands suddenly grasped the wheel.

"A secret agent!" he muttered. "Who told you?"

"Fräulein Korasov."

"And how did she learn this?"

"From Kirylo Ivanitch."

"The devil! How did he find out?"

"I don't know. But he knew."

A stream of smoke and sparks flew backwards from Herr Liederman's cigar as he puffed violently. He was much disturbed.

"The Wilhelmstrasse! It is worse than I supposed."

"It is well to know the worst," Zoya Rochal's clear voice cut in coolly, "for then we can plan for it. Georg Senf must know at once."

"It will be a battle for our existence," said Liederman grimly. "They dare not interfere with our meetings," he roared. "They dare not!"

"You feel very sure of yourself," put in Rowland. "I wish I were as confident."

Max Liederman clenched his great fist, held it for a moment suspended in the air and then let it fall quietly upon the wheel. To Rowland, who had felt the might of German autocracy, the action seemed typical--the clenched fist of an aroused people which did not dare to strike, a fist restrained in awe of a habit of thought! But Liederman's words were brave enough.

"The German Socialists will permit themselves to be intimidated just so far," he muttered between set teeth. "And then they will show their might. It may be that this is the straw that will break the camel's back. We shall see. They will not find us unprepared."

"Who is Graf von Stromberg?" asked Rowland, suddenly recalling the name in Khodkine's dossier.

A stifled murmur came from Zoya Rochal.

"Br--! You do not know? The most terrible man in the world. He knows everything about everybody. A thinking machine which nothing escapes, which sees into every cranny of Europe, with power no less than that of the Emperor himself. That man!"

Madame Rochal paused in the spell of some unpleasant reminiscence.

"Why do you ask, Herr Rowland?" questioned Liederman quickly.

"Because I have reason to believe that for some years Khodkine has taken his orders from him."

"Do you think that he was acting under orders from General von Stromberg when he took the treasure of Nemi?"

Rowland shrugged. "How should I know? It is possible."

"You have learned a great deal in a very short time," growled the Socialist. "I owe you an apology. I thought you were a fool, I'm glad to admit I was mistaken."

"I'm stupid enough at any rate to admit that I won't know where to find Fräulein Korasov when we reach Munich. Without her we shall move in the dark. Her testimony before the Committee----"

"That is true. We must find her. But you must leave that to me. You shall see. Ten thousand men if we need them will search for her. By tomorrow night at the latest----"

Zoya Rochal behind them was laughing softly. "It is not at all improbable that you will find them in the Imperial suite at the Bayrischer Hof."

Rowland felt the blood rising to the tips of his ears but he kept his composure.

"Them, Madame Rochal?" he questioned soberly.

"Why not, mon Philippe?" she laughed. "One can live quite decently even in Munich with twenty-five millions of francs."

But he played the game and laughed the remark aside.

"There is nothing in the animal world so unkind as one beautiful woman to another."

Zoya Rochal shrugged, Liederman scowled, but Rowland smoked quietly, his gaze on the distance.

Inquiries along the road, which was well traveled, revealed no knowledge of Monsieur Khodkine or of his stolen Mercedes--which Max Liederman had paid for--but they drove steadily on, passing Augsburg and reaching their destination late at night, where Herr Liederman drove directly to the house of Georg Senf, which stood in a region of small houses thickly settled.

An enormous bearded head stuck out of a window, heard Liederman's earnest plea, and in a moment they were admitted to the house, where the whole tale of their adventure was told, when Zoya Rochal, protesting that not for twenty-five hundred millions would she lose another hour of sleep, was driven to the Russischer Hof where Rowland and Max Liederman promised to meet her upon the following day.

CHAPTER XIII

A SCENT

George Senf was leonine. Aroused suddenly from his bed, the disorder of his long white hair and beard gave him a singularly wild and ferocious aspect. But he got out a long-stemmed pipe and after lighting it, settled down with a steady eye to listen to the story that Liederman and Rowland told him. He heard them through to the end, putting in keen questions or incisive remarks here and there which did much to reassure Rowland that their case was in capable hands. This was a leader of men, a thinker and a man of action, and his comprehension of all aspects of the situation and the definite manner of his decisions, left no room to doubt that he believed a crisis to be impending between the forces he represented and the powers of the government which stood behind Khodkine. When Liederman and Rowland had finished he sat for a long while on his bed smoking, his brows frowning, staring at the opposite wall. At last he waved them away.

"Go," he said shortly. "You will need your sleep. My work begins now—at once. Tomorrow we will have a report from Fraulein Korasov. We need her. The meeting of the Committee is tomorrow night. Come here when you have slept and we will plan further. Good night."

And so the two men returned to the Russischer Hof and found the sleep of which they were both much in need. But it was with some mental reservations that Rowland went to bed, for he had vowed that until Tanya was found he would never rest in peace. He had seen something of the double nature of this Gregory Hochwald, and the possible dangers to which she might be subjected filled him constantly with vague alarms. But he realized that he must rest to be effective upon the morrow. If his conscience troubled him, he had no chance to be aware of it, for he was sound asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Liederman was hammering upon the door of the adjoining room which he occupied before Rowland awoke and sat up in his bed, blinking at the light of broad day, and after a hurried bath and breakfast they called upon Zoya Rochal and hastened to the house of Georg Senf.

They found the Socialist leader in his bedroom, which was blue with the tobacco smoke of a secret conference of several men, three of them leaders, as Rowland afterward discovered, in labor organizations allied to the Socialist-Democratic and Socialist-Revolutionary parties. As the new comers entered there was a silence except for the words of greeting of Georg Senf and they all rose and made place. One of them wore a workman's blouse, and the others were shabbily dressed but in all three Rowland noted the same characteristics--the broad brows of intelligence, the firm lips of resolution, the clear penetrating gaze of men accustomed to think for themselves.

"This is Herr Rowland," said Georg Senf briefly, "the new President of the Order of Nemi, who has come from Switzerland on this sudden mission."

The men bowed and shook the hand of the American gravely.

"You will not find Munich lacking in ardor, Herr Rowland. Our followers are many and we are strong," said one, named Conrad Weiss, who was chief telegrapher of the Munich Post Office.

"You will need to be strong," said Rowland, "for there is every sign that a test of your power is coming soon."

"We are ready for it, Herr Rowland," rumbled the deep bass of Herr Hoffner, who wore the blouse, "and the people of Bavaria are behind us. They are sick--war weary. And the time has come."

"Have you arms--ammunition?" asked Rowland pointedly.

The question seemed to have probed deep below the surface, for no one replied at once. And then spoke Herr Yaeger, a smallish man with long hair and the dark eyes of a dreamer.

"Arms--ammunition. Yes, perhaps--here and there. But arms are verboten. It is necessary that we move with caution. Nor do we wish to win with arms or ammunition, Herr Rowland. Stronger weapons,--poverty, hunger, the rights of one man as against another. They will triumph in the end."

Rowland assumed an air of dignity he was far from feeling, for deep in his heart he realized as these men did not that strong as their organization was, or firm its affiliations, the time would be long in coming for any nation which so feared the verboten sign. He was sorry for them, but he dared not tell them so. He had that maddening inclination to laugh which came to him sometimes upon the most sober occasions, but he bowed his head deeply, saying nothing, which as every one knows--is the part of wisdom.

In this he added to the respect with which they held his office and when Georg Senf drew the meeting to a close, offered him all the help that was in their power to find the money that had been taken.

"That is well," finished Senf, "you will carry out your instructions. You, Herr Weiss, to the telegraph office and summon all leaders for tonight by the harmless code of initials. The meeting is at ten. So lose no time. You, Herr Yaeger, to your factory. You, Herr Hoffner, will keep in readiness for a further call. Herr Berghof will please remain."

Now for the first time Rowland noted a figure in the corner of the room, who rose as the others went out and came forward at a sign from Herr Senf and was presented to the new arrivals.

Georg Senf, relighting his long-stemmed pipe, paced the floor before the fire place.

"I have been busy, my friends, while you have slept," he said. "This matter of the money brooks no delay. In ten minutes after you left this house last night I had made my plans. Our comrades live all about me here and by daylight our different leaders had been notified. By breakfast time thousands of members of our organizations were combing the city in all directions. Every hotel, every pension--An hour ago we met with some success----"

"You've found her----?" broke in Rowland eagerly.

"Only to lose her again." As Rowland sprang up Senf raised his hand. "One moment. It was through no fault of our own--or of Herr Berghof's here, who could not of course have known that Fräulein Korasov's interests and mine were identical."

Herr Berghof, a thin, ferret-like person, smiled and squinted as Rowland glared at him.

"You saw her, Herr Berghof----?"

But Georg Senf broke in again with maddening, methodical Teuton insistence.

"All things in order, Herr Rowland," he said calmly. "A little patience and you shall know all. Herr Berghof is a Social Democrat, but not a member of the Order of Nemi. He has been brought here by Herr Weiss a while ago, somewhat against his will, but he has replied to our questions, upon the condition that the matter is kept secret! Will you relate what happened last night, Herr Berghof?"

The little man cleared his throat, squinted and nodded politely.

"I am a stranger in Munich, a Swiss, from Basle, but I have much interest in the Socialist cause. Democracy is very near my heart and if I can help----"

He glanced at Rowland, who had risen, his patience nearly exhausted.

"You will please proceed directly to the matter in hand," said Senf placidly. "Fräulein Korasov came to the Bayrischer Hof last night----?"

Zoya Rochal shot a triumphant glance at Rowland but his gaze was fixed on Berghof.

"Yes, Herr Senf," the man replied, "I am connected with the management of the hotel. At about eleven, with a gentleman who called himself Herr Hochwald----"

"Hochwald!" muttered Rowland in surprise.

"That was the name--the name also given by the gentleman awaiting him in the south drawing room--who said he was expecting his arrival."

"Ah, I see."

"Fräulein Korasov was taken at once to a room, number two hundred and twenty-one, upon the second floor. She carried a large suit-case. I myself conducted Herr Hochwald to the south drawing room where a visitor was awaiting him. They sat conversing at once in a low tone of voice. As I was not wanted I gave Herr Hochwald the key to his room which was upon the third floor of the hotel, at some distance from that occupied by Fräulein Korasov."

"I see. And then?"

"And then? Nothing. I went to sleep. I was very tired. You must understand, Herr Senf, we are very lacking in service at the hotel and upon the day before I had been on duty----"

"Proceed, Herr Berghof," growled Liederman. "At what time did you see Herr Hochwald again?"

"Oh, yes. It must, have been at least an hour or more later. Herr Hochwald, accompanied by Herr Förster, the man who had met him in the south drawing room, came running down the stairs and awoke me, swearing in a manner such as I have thought was only practiced by officers in the army, and demanding to be let at once into room number two hundred and twenty-one. The proceeding was most unusual, especially as Herr Hochwald had been so particular in ordering that Fräulein Korasov was not to be disturbed by anyone. They had knocked upon her door, they said, but had not been able to get a reply and feared that something had happened to the lady. So I procured my ring of pass keys, and followed them up the stairs. The matter was delicate and one which might have involved me in much difficulty with the proprietor of the hotel, but when I hesitated Herr Hochwald raved and swore again, knocking so that others nearby might easily have been awakened, and then, thinking that perhaps something might really have happened to the Fräulein, I found the proper key and opened the door."

The clerk paused to get his breath and Liederman swore softly.

"The Fräulein was sitting upon the edge of the bed, fully dressed," he went on, "as though aroused from a sleep of utter exhaustion. But she gained her dignity and self-possession almost at once and quite naturally, demanded the meaning of the intrusion."

"'The suit-case,' cried Herr Hochwald. 'You have the suit-case here?'"

"Fräulein Korasov looked a little bewildered. 'The suitcase? Yes, I have my suit-case here. But what----?'"

"At that moment Herr Förster espied the bag of Fraulein Korasov upon a table and running across the room fell upon it eagerly, and opened it. There was nothing in it but a few pieces of linen. And Hochwald let forth another of his mad cries."

"'The money,' he said. 'What have you done with the money?'"

"The Fräulein had now risen and stood, very pale and angry."

"'I don't understand you,' she said quietly. 'The money? What should I know about the money?'"

"Herr Hochwald stood a moment, his face working, trying to compose himself. And then turning to the officer who stood uncertainly, 'Search the room,' he ordered, 'everywhere. It must be here.'"

"Fräulein Korasov stood immovable. 'It is a pity, Herr Hochwald,' she said coolly, 'that you have neither honor nor decency.'"

"'What have you done with it?' he went on, trying to keep his composure, 'tell me now, and all may yet be well.'"

"'I know nothing,' she replied."

"Herr Hochwald stared at her a moment and then, as though to himself. 'This is a grave matter. We shall take further steps.' And seeing me standing beside the door, he seemed suddenly to realize that I had seen and heard all that had happened, for he frowned and ordered me from the room."

"'Go,' he muttered, 'and order a cab--at once. Fräulein Korasov, you will descend with me. Herr Förster, you will stay, continue the search and question the servants. You have full authority. It is understood?'"

"'At your orders, Herr Hochwald,' said the other."

"That was all I heard, for I went below and ordered the cab, into which Herr Hochwald and the Fräulein entered and were driven away."

The man paused and there was a moment of silence, when a storm of questions assailed him.

"The directions to the driver," cried Liederman.

"Herr Förster found nothing?" asked Zoya Rochal.

"The servants were questioned?" demanded Senf.

"I did not hear the directions to the driver," said Berghof, with a shifting glance at Rowland. "The man who conducted the Fräulein to her room could shed no light upon the matter."

"But you. Did Herr Förster not question you?" asked Rowland keenly.

"Yes. He questioned this morning, and I answered him. It is not healthy not to answer the questions of one in such authority."

There was another silence, baffled it seemed on the part of the questioners. Herr Berghof took up his hat and rose. Rowland no longer smiled. Liederman rocked to and fro from one foot to the other by the mantel-shelf. Zoya Rochal nervously lighted a cigarette.

"One moment, Herr Berghof," said Rowland, whose mind had been tracing the interstices of the puzzle in his own American way. "You say that this Herr Förster has questioned the servants of the hotel?"

Herr Berghof hesitated a moment.

"One or two only. What was the use? The Fräulein had been there but an hour or more."

"But you seem to forget that in that hour much happened," said Rowland. "If that money was taken from the valise of Herr Hochwald, it was taken before he reached the hotel, not afterward. If Fräulein Korasov took it--ah----" He paused a moment, then went on quickly, "She had a valise, you say. Empty?"

Herr Berghof hesitated again and shot a quick glance over his shoulder toward the closed door behind him. But Rowland had risen and now stood beside it.

"You say the suit-case was empty?" repeated Rowland sternly.

Berghof swallowed uneasily.

"Except for one or two articles of apparel--yes."

"Then where did the other bag come from?" asked Rowland suddenly.

Berghof's little eyes squinted rapidly and he moistened his lips nervously.

"The other one?"

"The one in which the money was removed?"

"I--I don't understand."

"Follow me closely, Herr Berghof. You have said that Fräulein Korasov carried her suit-case to her room. Were there servants to perform that service?"

"Yes."

"Fräulein Korasov had the money in that suit-case. Herr Hochwald knew that she had taken it, or he would not have gone to her room at night with you and forced the door. She did take it. But who helped her?"

"I'm sure I----"

"Are there bells in the bed-rooms?"

"Yes, but----"

"Where do they ring?"

"Er--in the office. It is an English system----"

"Were there any calls between eleven and half-past twelve?"

Rowland was shooting his questions at the bewildered clerk like thunderbolts, and the man seemed to have grown more and more anxious.

"Calls? I dropped into a doze in my chair, as I have said. I cannot----"

"Think----!"

"Yes, a call or two--but I was half asleep----"

"A call--who answered it?"

Berghof rubbed his head with unsteady fingers but replied with reluctance.

"Yes. There was a call."

"Did you answer it?"

"No. It is the duty of the valet or night porter."

"Did the night porter go?"

"I--I presume so."

"The night porter! What is his name?"

Herr Berghof now seemed truly alarmed and for a moment refused to reply.

"What is his name?" thundered Rowland.

"Drelich!" said Berghof sullenly.

"Is he on duty now?"

"No."

"Can you find him?"

"No."

"You shall try. I will go with you. He is the man who has taken the money."

Liederman and Senf who had followed the rapid deductions of the American with astonishment, rose eagerly and Zoya Rochal laughed her admiration.

"You are right," said Senf.

"It is worth trying," muttered Liederman.

"There is no time to be lost," said Rowland quickly. And then to Senf, "Have your men been sent to trace the cab?"

"No, Herr Rowland--since the money was the most important----"

Rowland reached down into his pocket, pulled forth the talisman of Nemi and crashed it down upon the table.

"If there's any virtue in this--if Nemi is anything but an empty word--if its leader is your master as well as your slave, then do as I command," he said sternly.

Herr Senf gazed at the coin and then looked up at the dominating figure before him.

"What more can I do----"

"Find me the man who drove that cab," said Rowland. "And you, Herr Liederman--give me money. I need it."

Max Liederman glanced at Zoya Rochal, then at Rowland, and without a word obeyed.

"I will go with you, Herr Rowland," said Zoya Rochal decisively.

But Rowland was already out of the door, his hand on Herr Berghof's arm.

Georg Senf ran his fingers through his long hair and looked at Liederman as Rowland went out.

"If we have longed for a leader, Herr Liederman, the God of Democracy has sent us one. Some of his fire has got into my ancient bones. I will follow and obey."

Liederman grunted and glanced at the door through which Zoya Rochal had departed.

"He is keen," he muttered grudgingly.

"Moreover, his judgment is excellent. Our case falls without Fräulein Korasov. We must find her. I myself will go to the cab stand in the Maximilian Strasse. Call Herr Hoffner if you please and I will give him instructions."

In the meanwhile Rowland and Zoya Rochal with Herr Berghof found a cab. The Swiss, at first sullen and inclined to balk Rowland's plans, was speedily brought into submission by the American's determined attitude and the exhibition of an automatic, the mere sight of which made him become more obliging and cheerful. And they found the lodgings of the porter Drelich at last, and Drelich himself quite drunk upon his bed in his room. But he became more sober and quite alarmed when the purpose of the visit was disclosed to him. He was a man of sixty, servile of manner but at first furtive and obstinate, giving evasive replies. But Zoya Rochal, who was resourceful, informed him that she was an agent of the Government and the man collapsed.

"Against my better judgment, I did it, Fräulein," he stammered. "Money is not made so easily nowadays."

"Fräulein Korasov gave you money?" asked Rowland eagerly.

"Five hundred marks. I give it to you. Here it is," and with trembling hands he brought it forth from a greasy note book in his pocket.

"Tell us what you did and you may keep this money," said Rowland quickly.

Drelich straightened hopefully and looked from one to the other.

"I did this thing in ignorance. How could I know that the Fräulein was working against the interests of the Fatherland?"

"Speak--what happened?" ordered Rowland.

"I was called to the office by Herr Berghof to reply to a call upon the indicator. He will tell you that. I noted the number and went to room Number two twenty-one. The Fräulein within looked out at me and I could see that she was very much disturbed. Then she called me within the room and shut the door behind me. As the lock caught I too was startled for I could not know what was to happen. She produced from the pocket of her coat this note which she held up that I might look. 'I want a suit-case or a bag of the size of this one,' said she. 'Bring it here at once and obey my further instructions and I will give you the money.' I remembered that there were some old suit-cases in the porter's room--long unclaimed and it did not take me more than a few minutes to unlock one of them with my keys, to empty it and return to room Number two twenty-one. I am sure that I have done nothing which could put me under suspicion of having done other than a service to a guest of the hotel."