Front matter (continued 5)

Herr Hochwald faced the man calmly, waiting for him to finish. Then with a hand raised for silence he stood smiling and self-possessed. When the noise had subsided he spoke again.

"You ask me where she is? I tell you that I do not know. She has escaped----"

"How? Why? Did you not----"

"I drove with her in a cab to the Bureau of State Railways where I had sent the machine in which I had arrived from Switzerland. It was my intention to take her somewhere into the country and keep her under guard until the missing bag could be found. But upon the road I was set upon by two men who disarmed and beat me, and Fräulein Korasov went with them. You will see," he finished, pointing to the bruise upon his cheek which Rowland had inflicted. "You will see by this scar that I did not come off unscathed."

He was clever enough to bait his lie with truth and they listened to him and believed. He did not notice, nor did they, the slip of paper which was brought in to Georg Senf, who read the message eagerly and then looked at his watch. The big workman was questioning again.

"Who were those men who attacked you?"

"How should I know," replied Hochwald. "The same who took the suit-case from the Haupt Bahnhof? I do not know. I know nothing more. The money is gone and all trace of Fräulein Korasov who took it."

He stood easily, amid the uproar, that was renewed, smiling again, triumphant. Georg Senf rose in his place, held up his hand.

"Herr Hochwald," he said calmly, and Hochwald faced him. "I would like to ask you a few questions."

Hochwald bowed.

"You speak of two men who attacked you in the automobile. Why did you stop to let them attack you?"

"They stood in the middle of the road and the car slowed down. When it stopped, they sprang upon the running board."

"You were armed?"

"Yes, but they had me covered before I could get my weapon."

"You had a chauffeur?"

"No."

"That is all for the present, Herr Hochwald."

And Hochwald sat down. Senf remained standing and with a sober face commanded silence. Men leaned forward in their seats, wondering what was coming next, aware from the manner of the chairman that the statement of Herr Hochwald was not to go unchallenged. The big man in the blouse at a gesture from Senf took his seat and the crowd became quiet. Hochwald had lighted a cigarette, and sent a quick look of challenge toward Liederman and Zoya Rochal. The venerable chairman began speaking.

"I charge you all," he began, "to remain quiet in your seats, for this is a grave matter and involves the probity of members of this Committee and of our Councilors in the Society of Nemi--which is responsible to us for the funds in its possession. At a late hour evidence has reached me which must be presented to you at once. The witness is a woman who has long labored for a government by the people."

Senf paused a moment, raised his chin and gazed toward the distant end of the suite of rooms. Zoya Rochal nudged Liederman and they both stared at Herr Hochwald, who had turned in his chair, a frown at his brows, his glance swiftly sweeping the row of faces behind him.

"You will remember my instructions," said Senf. "The person who rises from his seat or interrupts the speaker will be ejected from the hall." And then, in a clear tone that reached every one in the rooms,

"I now call Fräulein Tanya Korasov."

Hochwald sprang to his feet but was immediately forced down by the two men who sat next him. There was a low sibilant murmur and all heads were turned as Tanya, followed by Herr Weiss and another, came quickly up the aisle. She bowed to Herr Senf and accepted a chair, which was provided for her, facing the crowd. She was very pale and the faint blue shadows around her eyes showed the strain under which she had labored and the incertitude of the present moment. She clasped and unclasped her hands in a moment of nervousness, but raised her head bravely, at Herr Senf's first question, her lips twisted in a little smile.

"Your name is Tanya Korasov?" asked the Chairman kindly.

"It is."

"You are a Russian?"

"I am."

"For how long were you the Secretary of Kirylo Ivanitch, the Head of the Order of Nemi?"

"Three years."

"You shared his confidence?"

"More than anyone else."

"You knew of the contents of the vault at Nemi?"

"Yes."

"What have you to say as to the character and honesty of the newly elected President of the Order----?"

"I object," Hochwald cried, springing up.

"Silence," roared Senf, like Jove aroused. "Silence! You have testified. If you will not keep your tongue--you will be gagged."

The men beside Hochwald had pulled him down into his seat and those of the crowd nearest him had assumed an angry attitude.

"You will answer my question, Fräulein."

"Herr Rowland," she said clearly, "is the most honest, the most loyal man I have ever known."

"It has been said that you went to the vault to take the money to a place of safety. Whose idea was this? His or yours?"

"Mine, Herr Senf. I had reason to believe that the vault would be entered by those without authority to do so. The combination of the door was in my possession----"

"How----?" The question was stifled upon the lips of Gregory Hochwald for a heavy hand was clapped over his lips while the man beside him held him down.

"Because----" she went on firmly, with a glance at Hochwald, "at the death of Kirylo Ivanitch it was mine to keep in trust for the new Leader of the Order."

"You have heard the testimony of Herr Liederman and Herr Hochwald. Is the account of what happened at the vault true?"

"Substantially, yes."

"And Herr Hochwald managed to escape and force you to go with him and the money in an automobile?"

"Yes."

"You reached the Bayrischer Hof last night, having made the substitution of the money by a ruse?"

"It was the only thing to do," she said, her clear voice slightly raised. "I had to. It was my only chance."

"Your only chance of what?"

"Of saving the money which belonged to the Society."

The ingenuousness of her reply made an excellent impression.

"Then you believed that in Herr Hochwald's hands the money was in danger."

"I knew it," she said simply.

"Silence!" again roared Senf, as an eager murmur went around the room, a sympathetic murmur which showed the shifting temper of the crowd. Once again Herr Hochwald had struggled in the arms of his captors and was again silent. The angry looks of those nearby showed him that he was playing a losing game.

"Herr Hochwald's testimony in regard to the porter Drelich is correct?"

"Yes. Except that I had no confederate. I knew no one in Munich except you, Herr Senf, and I had forgotten your address. I had hoped to recover the bag the next day, but the porter Drelich did not return with the check. Herr Hochwald with Herr Förster entered my room before there was time."

"Who is Herr Förster?"

"An accomplice of Herr Hochwald."

"Were you attacked in the automobile on the way to Starnberg?"

"Oh no. There was no attack."

"And you reached the villa of Count Monteori quite safely?"

"Oh yes--safely."

"And you were kept a prisoner there by Herr Hochwald, until you were rescued this evening?"

"That is true."

Herr Hochwald's face was now quite unpleasant to see. He was very pale and the dark bruises upon his cheek had become unpleasantly prominent. His hair had been ruffled and his cravat disarranged and altogether he presented a very wild appearance.

Senf glanced at him scornfully and then to Tanya:

"That will be all for the present, Fräulein Korasov. If you will sit yonder----" indicating a chair nearby. Then he raised his voice again so that all might hear and summoned Zoya Rochal.

As she got up there was another movement and murmur in the crowd, quickly suppressed as she began to speak. Madame Rochal knew her audience. Beauty had always been her weapon, but she had always had the good sense to realize that intelligence in this assemblage was the greater asset. She wore no rouge and though she wore her clothing smartly, this was somber and of the plainest.

"Madame Rochal--will you tell the Committee your judgment as to Herr Rowland?"

Her fine teeth showed in the most ingenuous of smiles.

"He is a man," she said, with quick enthusiasm in her very slightly foreign accent. "And you may be sure that I know what a man is like."

A nervous laugh from somewhere near the middle room broke the silence and then a ripple of amusement passed over the crowd. Their nervous tension was broken and with their smiles came their sympathy. Zoya Rochal was en rapport at once. She was the center of interest and very much enjoying herself.

"A man, yes," said Senf smiling, "but as to his character, his loyalty, honesty, devotion----?"

"I would trust Herr Rowland," she said gravely, "to the very ends of the world."

"You know then that it is not he who could have taken this money?"

"That would not have been possible. Until this afternoon either Herr Liederman or myself was with him constantly."

Herr Senf nodded his head and looked at his watch upon the table. It seemed that he was playing for time.

"You went with Herr Rowland this afternoon to the Haupt Bahnhof with Drelich to present the check and recover the bag?"

"I did. It was not there. Someone had taken it."

"Do you know Herr Berghof?"

"I met him today."

"You have proof that he took the bag?"

"Yes. The woman at the house of Drelich saw him enter the room early in the morning where Drelich lay drunk. She knew Berghof well for he was Drelich's employer."

"And Berghof took the check from the pocket of Drelich while he slept?"

"Yes. She saw him, through the crack of the door into the kitchen."

"Thanks, Madame. That will be all." And then turning to a man near the platform, "Herr Yaeger, if you please."

The Committeeman rose awkwardly and stood.

"You followed this clue this afternoon at my orders?"

"I did."

"You received a report that Herr Berghof had been seen in a small pension near a house in Haidhausen?"

"I did."

"Tell us what happened."

"I went with two men from the factory and watched the place. We saw Herr Hochwald enter the house and----"

"At what time was this?"

"About three o'clock. A short while later they both came out and went away in an automobile together. We tried to follow but it was impossible. We lost them."

"You have heard of Herr Berghof since that time?"

Herr Yaeger paused and looked steadily at Hochwald.

"Herr Berghof was found in the Englischer Garten at half-past five. He had been murdered----!"

"I demand to be heard----"

Hochwald with an effort had thrown the man next him aside, had risen to his feet, crying hoarsely, "I demand to be heard. It is my right----"

"Sit down----!" a hoarse voice shouted, while other hands reached for him. But with a tremendous effort he struggled free and faced them, pale and dishevelled, in a desperate effort to regain his lost ground. "Is this an inquisition?" he cried. "Is this the freedom you would give to Germany? You listen to the testimony of my enemies, not even sworn, who conspire to ruin me without permitting me to say one word in defense. Let me speak. It is my right. I demand it."

Herr Senf calmly waved the men aside and Hochwald stood alone in the empty space, breathing hard, his pale eyes glittering with fury as he gazed from one accuser to the other.

"It is a fine story that you tell, Herr Yaeger. What should I know of Herr Berghof? I was not upon this side of the river or near the Englischer Garten but elsewhere, as I can prove by many witnesses. If Herr Berghof has been killed where is the proof that I have killed him? My word is as good as those who testify against me. If I have taken the money, you must find it. Fräulein Korasov says that she had no confederates when you have heard that Herr Rowland whom I found in the very act of robbing the vault of Nemi was today here in Munich. It is he who has taken the money of the Society of Nemi."

Here he turned to Herr Senf and pointed one trembling forefinger.

"It would have been better if you had sent your men in search of this clever scoundrel who has pulled the wool over your eyes, instead of sending them upon a wild goose chase to watch honest men in the rightful pursuit of their business. It is you who have let the Treasure of Nemi slip through your fingers, Herr Senf, for by this time this American has doubtless sent it across the border into Switzerland! Find him, Herr Senf, find him, I say----"

Herr Senf raised his hand. There was a smile upon his face and his eyes eagerly sought the most distant room of the three, where there was a commotion at the door.

Hochwald hesitated--paused--as though already he felt a premonition of new disaster.

"I have found him, Herr Hochwald," cried Senf, with his Jovian smile. "He is here!"

CHAPTER XVIII

VON STROMBERG

The crowd of people turned in their seats or rose and stretched their necks to look over the heads of those who sat behind them. What they saw was a tall, very much bedraggled individual, with a rain-soaked cap pulled over one eye, but grinning happily and struggling up the narrow aisle, with a disreputable looking black bag which seemed to be very heavy. Hochwald glared at him in a startled way, and at the bag, then turned away laughing softly to himself. But Rowland followed closely by Herr Benz marched past him perspiring and breathless and crashed the bag down upon the speaker's table, with a great gasp of satisfaction. He took off his cap, shook himself like a St. Bernard dog emerging from a bath, then wiped his forehead with a coarse red handkerchief.

"Pfui!" he said cheerfully, "I didn't think I'd ever get here!"

Herr Senf, Liederman and Madame Rochal were crowding around him shaking him by the hand.

"You've found it?" Zoya asked in a low voice in English.

"Surest thing you know," said Rowland with a nod.

And then Senf, "Fräulein Korasov!"

"She is here--quite safe."

Rowland's eyes quickly found Tatyana's and a look passed between them, a look which no one in the room except perhaps Zoya Rochal, could have read, and she did not see it. For Georg Senf was again calling the meeting, to order and the sound of excited voices in controversy diminished to a hum, a whisper and then to silence. Herr Senf was still smiling. He was evidently very happy.

"Herr Rowland has justified our faith and our allegiance," he began, his deep bass ringing with the sounding periods he loved. "You have heard what has been said of him here tonight. If you would believe all you have heard he is both super-man and devil! Fortunately, we are not all so acrimonious as Herr Hochwald. Perhaps that is because we have less at stake. I may tell you that Herr Rowland is neither super-man nor devil but a being like you or me, a citizen of the world, thrust suddenly, in a crisis in its affairs, into the leadership of a great organization which brings our message to all peoples. That he has acquitted himself with skill, good faith and devotion, you shall now see for yourselves and decide, at least for the South German representatives, whether he is not worthy of his high prerogatives."

The citizen of the world sat upon the speaker's table swinging his legs, one arm affectionately around the black bag alongside of him, his highest prerogative at that moment being the use of a pinch of dry tobacco from the pouch of his nearest neighbor, which he was now smoking, exhaling it through his nose luxuriously. He was very contented and chuckled at the angry face of Herr Hochwald in front of him.

"I will not take your time," Herr Senf went on, "to tell you the means by which Herr Rowland discovered the whereabouts of Fräulein Korasov. I will let him inform you how he found her and how he has brought you the Treasure of Nemi. Herr Rowland."

A murmur of voices pitched in low excited tones, while the occupants of the benches leaned eagerly forward, those in the rear seats crowding and climbing up to see over the shoulders of those in front of them. Rowland stopped swinging his legs and crawled down from the table with evident regret, but he laid the pipe aside and stood up facing them with a smile. A good many things have been said about Phil Rowland's smile, and tonight it was essentially a part of him because he couldn't remember when he had ever been so happy in his life, and he didn't intend to have his evening spoiled (or theirs for that matter) by making a speech. So he began quite clearly and without the slightest hesitation an account of the events of the evening with Herr Benz, culminating in the discovery of Fräulein Korasov in the room upstairs in the villa of Count Monteori at Starnberg.

"Our friend, Herr Hochwald, had planned well," he finished. "But a vacant house which exhales the odor of a Turkish cigarette is an object of suspicion. The resistance of Herr Förster was unfortunate, but if the thought is any comfort to you, Herr Hochwald, I may tell you that Herr Förster is now in the care of a doctor and I hope for the best. I succeeded in getting what I went for. Fräulein Korasov came to you by the evening train, because her testimony was necessary to your business. I did not know if I could get through in time but thanks to Herr Benz, here I am and what is more to the point here,----" tapping the bag beside him, "here is the money."

Hochwald had risen with a swagger and a smile.

"This man is an impostor," he cried. "He is trying to deceive you. This is the bag which Fräulein Korasov filled with stones. Have you a key, Herr Rowland," he asked maliciously, "that you may open it?"

Rowland laughed.

"Oh yes," he said easily and then significantly, "I found the key, Herr Hochwald--in the chimney!"

Hochwald staggered and leaned upon the back of a chair. His face was ghastly, for Rowland opened the bag and took out the packages one by one, exhibited them and put them on the table.

"I think they are all here," he said. "Twenty-five of them--mostly in thousand franc notes--a thousand in a package. Would you like to count them, Herr Hochwald?"

There was no reply and Rowland put the packages in the bag again.

Herr Hochwald waited in a moment of hesitation and then crossed the room toward a door beyond the speaker's table. But before he reached it, a strange thing happened, for a man rose from a seat upon the left in a corner where he had sat silent and unobtrusive all the evening, a very tall man in a long linen coat with a slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes.

"Stop that man!" he cried in quick, sharp accents. "He is under arrest!"

Hochwald halted and the two men nearest him instinctively caught him by the arms. All eyes were upon the tall man who spoke as though with authority. Georg Senf stared at him. Rowland looked up quickly. But Zoya Rochal turned a startled look in his direction and muttered an exclamation.

"And who are you, sir," asked Senf anxiously.

The tall man threw off his slouch hat and linen coat and revealed a cadaverous figure, clad in the field gray uniform of a Prussian General. His face was thin, wrinkled and yellow and his small eyes were hidden under the thatch of his brows. He pushed forward, those nearest him making way quickly and as he did so they saw the decorations which glittered on his breast.

"The pelican!" whispered Rowland to Zoya Rochal.

A silence had fallen--a hush rather--which differed from that which had been compelled before. It seemed now as though the breath of every person was held in suspense, in awe--or was it terror?

The tall man reached the cleared space by the speaker's table and with a quick gesture of authority motioned Hochwald to return.

Hochwald's eyes were starting from his head, and he seemed unable to move, but suddenly as though obedient to a habit he couldn't resist, he came back to the table and saluted.

"At your orders, Excellency," he stammered and stood at attention.

"I am General von Stromberg," the officer snapped in his crisp staccato as he turned to the crowd. "Let no person leave the room. The house is surrounded by my men. I am in command here."

Of all those within the rooms, only Rowland moved. Behind von Stromberg's back, he seized the black bag from the table, put it down on end upon the floor near Tanya and sat on it.

General von Stromberg folded his arms and glared along the rows of faces which seemed to bleach row by row, under his withering glance. He dominated them--completely, as Rowland hurriedly thought, the living personification of the Verboten sign.

"You were permitted to come into these rooms," the General began--"all of you. But none of you," and he gave a sardonic grin, "will be permitted--to go out."

In his long fingers, he swung a silver whistle by a silken cord. He seemed to be playing with it, amusing himself, while he watched their faces.

"I have been very much interested in listening to your speeches and your testimony," he said, his thin voice caressing his words, "it has been very interesting--ve-ry interesting. And now you shall listen to mine. Is there anyone here who denies me the right?"

Silence. Rowland struck a light for his extinguished pipe and the venerable Senf with some show of spirit spoke up.

"The right of free speech has not been denied us, Excellency."

Von Stromberg glanced at him and very slightly shrugged his shoulders.

"I have heard much of the rights of free speech, much more of the doings of the Bavarian Committee. It has aroused my curiosity. That is why I am here. Some of you are well known to me. Herr Senf, Herr Liederman, Madame Rochal, Herr Fenner, Herr Rowland, I am glad to identify you. I hope you will come to no harm. Perhaps it will surprise you when I say that I am deeply in sympathy with your purpose to recover the money of the International Society of Nemi. So large a sum if misappropriated, if wasted or improperly used, may do an incalculable harm to your own cause--or even to the Fatherland."

He paused and looked around the room. Then he went on amusedly.

"While I have heard many things here tonight which have greatly enlightened me, still I am not disposed to be querulous. We will pass them by. We will forget them. You like to meet and drink your beer and listen to speeches. It is an amusing pastime to find fault with the Government. You are all loyal citizens--oh I am sure of that. But I want very much to put your loyalty to the proof, for the Fatherland now has need of all the support, all the devotion and patriotism of its people."

Where was he leading? The faces of the people before him showed mystification. Zoya Rochal shot a hopeless glance at Rowland, who frowned a little, then crossed his legs and squatted more firmly on the black bag.

At this moment General von Stromberg turned, faced him and their glances met.

If the General's look held a challenge, Herr Rowland could scarcely have been aware of it, for he looked up at him, quite respectfully but with a look of grave inquiry. Von Stromberg turned away.

"Perhaps I do not make myself clear," he went on. "Herr Rowland, the new leader of the Society of Nemi, has brought you back your twenty-five millions of francs that you may vote this appropriation for certain laudable purposes. Perhaps there is some question in your minds as to which purpose is the most desirable. Some of you wish the money to go to Russia, some that it may be used in France, England, Italy and America. A few of you perhaps that it shall be spent in Germany."

He laughed again and toyed with his whistle cord.

"And why not in Germany, my friends? For three years we have been at war with the ring of enemies who are bent upon exterminating us. And there are some among you who would send this money into the countries of our enemies, where it will eventually go into munitions to murder your own brothers? It is unbelievable."

"If your Excellency will permit," Rowland had risen and stood astride like the Colossus of Rhodes with the black suit-case between his legs.

Von Stromberg turned toward him with a frown, impatient at the interruption. But Rowland's tone, though polite was quite firm and his smile charmingly ingenuous. "Your Excellency perhaps is unaware that this money is not the property of this Committee to do with as it chooses. It was contributed by men and women of many nationalities, and is to be kept in trust by the Society which I represent for----"

"A grave responsibility for one so young, Herr Rowland," the General broke in suddenly. And then with much politeness, "Will you permit me to continue?"

Rowland laughed.

"No," he said clearly. "Not if you're going to urge the appropriation of this money for interests with which the Society of Nemi has nothing in common."

At this effrontery those in the front seats gasped, but there was a deep murmur of approval among those at the rear of the room.

General von Stromberg merely smiled.

"I claim the right to speak. I ask for a ruling from the chair. Herr Senf----"

The chairman frowned and rose.

"Excellency," he gasped. "You may speak."

"Thanks. I will not detain you long. Herr Rowland has chosen to bring up the question of the ownership of the money, on the ground of its contribution by people of many nationalities. My reply is that Germany recognizes but two groups of peoples on the earth, its allies and its enemies. In the one case, the money is ours because we have contributed it--in the other it is ours----" he lowered his voice and spoke the words softly--but everyone in the rooms heard him--"because--we take it."

As he finished, he turned slowly and with a significant gesture.

"Herr Rowland will bring the suit-case here--to the table."

Rowland remained immovable but his eyes narrowed and his lips compressed.

"You can hardly expect me to comply with such a request----"

Von Stromberg frowned.

"I don't request, I command," he said sharply.

Rowland's features relaxed again and he burst into a good humored laugh.

"You can't mean it, Excellency. You are too wise. It would lead to trouble--serious trouble----"

Something in Rowland's tone, more than the words themselves, arrested Von Stromberg's attention.

"Trouble!" he repeated. "What trouble?"

"Merely that I might feel compelled to call a revolution," said Rowland pleasantly.

Von Stromberg glared at him a moment, his closely cropped bullet-like head, deep between his shoulders. Then suddenly he straightened and a smile twisted at the end of his lips.

"You have a strange sense of humor, Herr Rowland. A revolution! In Germany?" he laughed. "Surely the time is not yet when a polite adventurer from the United States, our most deadly enemy,----"

"Your most deadly enemy, Baron von Stromberg," Rowland broke in. And then with a wave of his hand, "Not theirs!"

"Ah, Herr Rowland, I must pay you the tribute of admiration," said the General with a bow of mock humility. "You are a brave man--so brave that it seems a pity to arrest you--to shoot you tonight--as a spy. It would pain me deeply----"

"Not so much as it would me, Herr General," said Rowland, "or those whose cause I represent," he continued, his voice ringing clearly, "for that shot would echo from one end of Germany to the other."

A roar of approval rang through the Hall. "That is true!" roared a voice, and another, "He does not dare!"

General von Stromberg stood erect, quiet, searching out with his keen eyes those members of the Committee who had spoken, waiting for the outbreak to cease. Then when quiet was restored, he shrugged a shoulder and with a quick gesture of his fingers toward Rowland,

"Herr Rowland is there," he said with a smile. "Quite safe, unharmed. That is my reply. He shall remain quite safe, unharmed and go whence he came, to conduct his own business and yours--upon certain conditions. I like this loyalty to his great trust. It is quite admirable." He smiled slowly. "Fortunately this Committee can lift from his shoulders the weight of his responsibility."

"How, Excellency?"

Von Stromberg's smile vanished and he spoke with great deliberateness, each word falling with icy distinctness upon the hush of the crowd.

"By voting this money as I shall direct," he said.

"Your Excellency!" Senf had risen at last to the full majesty of his outraged dignity. "That may not be. I cannot permit such a vote to be taken," he broke in.

The hoarse murmur of approval had risen again and here and there a reckless note of anger punctuated the commotion. General von Stromberg listened coolly, his twisted smile unpleasantly unhumorous.

"Silence!" he snapped, and the noise of voices diminished but did not cease. A rumble of thunder outside added to the din. Electricity was in the air. But Von Stromberg stood upright, swinging his whistle by its silken cord.

"Silence!" he repeated. "I command you!"

The habit of obedience compelled them and they sat silent at last, but there were angry faces among them.

"My friends, this toy in my fingers is harmless enough. But if I put it to my lips, you will be shot as you sit upon your benches----"

"We can die but once----" broke in a clear high voice almost beside him. Tatyana had risen pale and erect, her hands at her sides and faced him calmly.

"We can die but once," she repeated again more insistently as though she feared he might not have heard.

Von Stromberg stared at her in a moment of silence, then without replying turned to Herr Senf who still stood, trembling with anger.

"You refuse to obey my command?" asked the General.

"I do."

"Then I will take the chair," he grinned. "Herr Hochwald! You will take pencil and paper and record the vote." And then raising his voice so that it rang sharply through the rooms.

"It has been moved by Herr General Graf von Stromberg, Privy Councillor of His Majesty the Emperor----"

He paused to grin in self-gratulation--"that the funds of the Society of Nemi at the present moment in the custody of the Central Socialist Revolutionary Committee of Bavaria, be and hereby are appropriated for the uses of the Socialist Party in the Reichstag as his Imperial Majesty may direct."

A death-like silence had now fallen. What did it portend? Rowland stood as though the smile had frozen on his lips, the impudence of this old man was more wonderful than anything he had ever witnessed in his life--one man against two hundred enemies, so sure of himself and of the power that he represented--that there seemed to be not a doubt in his own mind as to the outcome of his audacity. Rowland could have shot him as he stood, but feared. Their leader could not stand alone. Senf was plainly frightened.

It was their fight--those others. He set his jaws in a moment of fury. Were they stuffed men--images? Where was the defiance he had heard so brave upon their lips today? Shriveled in their hearts with the terror that made them dumb. He had no definite plan, but he measured the distance to the door behind the table, resolved that if the worst came the money and Tanya would go with him from this room. What a fool he had been to bring it here.

"We will now vote," Von Stromberg's voice broke in again. "Herr Hochwald will record your names as you come forward. He will also take your addresses. We will proceed--the first now--from the right. Herr Fenner----"

The man who a moment ago had swayed Tanya by his fervor and sincerity, rose and came forward slowly.

"I know you very well, Herr Fenner," Von Stromberg was saying, "You have devised a bomb which has proved quite efficient. One of your bombs exploded last month in the rifle-assembling room at Essen. Fortunately no one was injured. You are an inventor, Herr Fenner. I pray you to invent an excuse for this outrage which will make you innocent."

"Excellency, I----"

The man's face was the color of parchment.

"How do you vote, Herr Fenner?" asked Von Stromberg with a leer. "For the resolution----? Or against it?"

"For----" the man gasped in a half whisper. "I vote for----"

Von Stromberg grinned.

"Good!" he cried jovially. "The force of example will be of inestimable value. Herr Liederman!"

The bulky form of the Socialist approached, his brows twitching, his face suffused with blood.

"Excellency. I am Councilor of the Order of Nemi."

"Max Liederman," cut in the sharp voice. "Socialist-Democrat. Owns property in Stuttgart which may be desired by the Government. Accepted money from the discredited Baron von Weiler in the case of----"

"Excellency, enough!" said Liederman chokingly.

"How do you vote?" thundered Von Stromberg.

"For--Excellency," muttered Liederman.

"Quite right. You see how the wind blows?" And then, with a smile, "Zoya Rochal!"

Madame Rochal approached and her eyes and Rowland's met. The look in his compelled her and she faced the General with desperate coolness.

"Ah, Madame. And you----?"

"I vote No----" she said firmly, her lips compressed, her eyes closed.

"One moment, Madame, in case you should feel any uncertainty--you are a Russian by birth, the daughter of Alexiev Manuilov, a dealer in hides in Odessa. You were a very beautiful child. At the age of seventeen, you ran away from home with an English gambler named----"

"Is my dossier necessary, Excellency?" she muttered, with bowed head.

----"named Wishart," he continued relentlessly. "You were next heard of in Constantinople, where you were a part of the household of Mustapha Bey----"

"Excellency----!"

"In Paris, whither you fled with a French rug agent named Dunois, you met the Duc de Noailles----"

"Excellency, I pray that you----"

----"who shot himself, when you ran away to Austria with----"

"For the love of God, Excellency----"

----"with Baron Meyerling of the Embassy. But he repudiated you when he discovered that his secretary----"

"Excellency, enough. I will vote----"

"How--Madame----?"

Rowland caught one glimpse of her face in this moment of her disgrace. Her glance met his and fell, she seemed in a moment to have grown years older.

"Your vote----?" Von Stromberg laughed. "How--Madame?"

No one heard her reply but General von Stromberg announced quite coolly,

"For, Herr Hochwald."

And Zoya Rochal sought her seat, her head bowed, broken and defeated.

Baron von Stromberg was greatly enjoying himself. He leaned against the edge of the table and as each man came up, transfixed him with a look, hypnotic and deeply suggestive of the power of his malice.

But in another moment a change was to come--one of those astonishing shifts of the psychology of a crowd. For one man voted "No" defiantly, the big man in the blouse who had been so violent earlier in the evening.

"Stand aside, Herr Borsch," snapped Von Stromberg.

"With me," cried Rowland, joyously. He might have been shouting "Montjoie!" with his famous namesake in defiance of the Saracens.

"And me," cried another nearby, rising from his seat.

"And me----!"

"And me----!"

The crowd had leaped to its feet as though with one accord, the chorus swelled and the rooms rocked with the tumult. Von Stromberg straightened and his right hand which held the whistle moved slowly toward his lips.

Rowland bent over Tanya and whispered something. The movement caught Hochwald's eye.

"Excellency!" he shouted.

As Von Stromberg turned, the whistle already in his lips, he gazed straight into the muzzle of Rowland's automatic.

"Blow, Excellency----"

The shrill whistle and the shot sounded at the same moment. Von Stromberg seemed to stumble and fall. As Hochwald reached for a weapon Borsch fell upon him and bore him to the ground by the sheer weight of his body. Other shots rang out further down the rooms. A woman's scream punctuated the roar. A rush of feet in the hallways outside--doors flew open, and soldiers appeared, the lamplight glinting on helmet, spike and bayonet. At the sight of soldiers there was a roar of fury.

"Down with the soldiers! Kill! The hour of deliverance is here! Kill! Kill!"

There was a crash of glass as one of the lamps went down--another. The rooms were in darkness except for the flashes of the lightning through the dirty windows. Rowland seized the suit-case and pushed through the crowd which surged toward the door, his arm around Tanya. The soldiers were trying to keep the crowd inside. A furious struggle followed, shots were fired and men fell.

"It is impossible--that way," cried Rowland in Tanya's ear. "Come."

A few had escaped by a rear window which let upon the roof of an adjoining house. Outside, too, above the roar of the thunder, came the sharp note of firearms. But there was no other chance. Rowland went first, stumbling over a figure that had fallen just outside and as he reached the roof there was a flash in the darkness and a bullet crashed into the woodwork of the window. He stood still, sheltering Tanya with the black suit-case, while she descended, his weapon in line, waiting for the flash of lightning to reveal the whereabouts of the sniper. A gleam of light. A German officer at the top of the slanting roof above him, deliberately reloading his weapon. Fortunately the roof had a low pitch. Rowland waited a moment until Tanya was behind him and then clambered upward, the suit-case clasped in front of him, firing as he went. The officer toppled, caught at the chimney-breast beside him, missed it, and falling, slid head first down the slippery roof and disappeared. Rowland gained the top, a flat space buttressed by chimneys which adjoined a larger building upon the right, hauled Tanya up beside him and then hurried along toward its further end, hoping to find a roof adjoining. But as he did so, his toe struck a projection and he fell sprawling, just as two soldiers clambered up and began firing. Rowland heard Tanya's cry of dismay.

"All right," he cried reassuringly. "The other chimney--hide."

She obeyed. And Rowland waited until the nearest soldier had almost reached him when with the last shot in his weapon he fired point blank into his body. The man crashed down, his rifle falling just beside Rowland's hand. With a cry of joy he seized it and rose. The other man fired. Rowland felt the bullet pass through his clothing somewhere and was surprised that he felt no pain and did not fall. Instead he found himself erect, standing quite firmly upon his feet, his keen gaze seeking the point of the bayonet of his adversary. This was a game he knew. He aimed at the approaching figure and pulled the trigger of his rifle but there was only a harmless click. The chamber was empty. But the other man had not fired again. A flash of lightning revealed him--a mere boy, very pale and uncertain. It seemed a pity--he was so young.

And then he heard the boy's voice.

"Kamerad!" it said. "Kamerad!"

And Rowland waited a moment.

"Hold up your hands."

The boy obeyed, whimpering.

"I do not want to kill my own people," he said.

"You are sure?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good. Nor do I." And then, after a moment more, "Go thou then and tell them that the roof is cleared."

In a moment Rowland had dropped the rifle and joined Tanya by the chimney.

"You're not hurt?" she whispered in a lull of the storm.

"No, I think not. And you?"

She reassured him quickly.

"Thank God for that."

The rain was still pouring in torrents. Behind them the tumult of the baited crowd, but upon the roof upon which they hid there was no one. The boy had been true to his word.

He took the weapon of Herr Förster which he had not had time to draw from his other pocket, picked up the suit-case and looked around.

"Come," he said. "There must be some way out of this."

CHAPTER XIX

A SAMARITAN

Beyond them at one side was another roof, and beyond it again, through the driving storm they could see the chimneys of others. Rowland slid down to the lower level. Tanya handed him the suitcase and in a moment in obedience to his orders she had swung herself over the edge of the eaves and into his arms.

But their situation was precarious for the new roof had a deeper pitch and the tiles were loose, but they climbed to its peak, along which they made their way on their hands and knees, Rowland leading and dragging their precious booty toward a group of chimneys fifty or sixty feet beyond, a defensible position should their means of escape be discovered. They reached it at last, their clothes and fingers torn, and halted a moment here, while Rowland reloaded his automatic while he watched the dim profile of the house above them.

"It was horrible--I can never forget----," Tanya was whispering. "Like rats in a trap. That dreadful man!"

"I shot. There was nothing else to do. But I could swear I missed him--the uncertain light--the crowd all about----"

"But he fell--I saw him----"

"Yes," dubiously, "but they say he has as many lives as a cat. Sh!" he whispered suddenly.

They crouched lower in the darkness, while Rowland peered up at the dim shapes along the roof of the building from which they had descended. Two soldiers--for he could see the rifles in their hands--but they looked down upon the sloping roof, exchanged a few words and then, evidently changing their minds, disappeared again. The roar of the storm had now drowned all other sounds, for the shooting had ceased, but a dull glow now appeared defining the window from which they had escaped. The glow was too red for lamp light, and then a smell of smoke was borne down toward them upon the storm. Fire! Rowland pointed and Tanya saw.

"The lamps," he said. "Unless they put it out it will soon be so light that we can be seen from the street. Risky footing in the dark, but we've got to chance it," he said grimly. "Can you follow?"

"Try me," she said bravely.

He pressed her hand, caught up the suit-case, and they went on, now at a higher elevation, now at a lower one, until Rowland stopped again by another group of chimneys to rest and listen.

"I don't know how far these roofs go, but there's a river over here somewhere. There's a dormer window just beyond. We can't go much further. We'll have to slip in and take a chance. Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes."

In a lull of the storm they heard loud outcries from the now distant hall. Smoke and sparks were coming from the windows, and at last a tongue of flame shot upward.

"If we can get down----"

But the descent was precarious, for this roof was steeper than the others. In the street below the eaves they now heard the rumble of heavy wheels upon the cobbles, the clang of bells and shouts of excitement.

"If we can reach the street we might slip away in the confusion," Rowland muttered, and had already begun the dangerous descent to the roof of the dormer window when a word of warning from Tanya made him pause.

"Someone--is following us," she whispered.

Rowland lodged the suit-case in the angle by the chimney and turned, weapon in hand, peering into the darkness. The glow of the sparks and flame from the burning building now shed a faint illumination along the wet roofs and he made out a figure crawling toward them. He waited a moment until the figure reached the gable of the house on which they sat when he lowered his automatic and frowned in uncertainty.

"I can't make out----" he whispered. And then in a guarded tone, "Who's there?"

There was a moment's pause and then a faint voice came to them--a woman's voice.

"Philippe!"

With an exclamation, Rowland slipped the weapon in his pocket and crawled back along the roof.

"Philippe--thank God!" And then faintly, "You must help me. I--I am--hurt----"

"Zoya!"

He helped her up and along the roof while she clung to him in weakness and in terror, but he managed to reach the safety of the chimneys, where Tanya helped him support her.

"You are wounded?" he whispered.

"I saw you go. I tried to follow. Someone shot at me in the dark. I fell.... Then I knew that I--I must go on and--and when the soldiers went--I crept--up--the roof--I don't know how. In the glow of the fire I saw you and--and came. But I am so dizzy----"

She stared down into the dark chasms on either side and then her head fell sideways on Tanya's shoulder.

"She has fainted," muttered Rowland.

"We must get her down there in some way," said Tanya bravely.

"Stay where you are. I will see."

And putting the suit-case beside him he sat and went carefully down to the roof of the dormer window, where he lodged the suit-case again and then slid down. There was a broad ledge here and he crouched, peering around into the window of the room beneath. It was dark inside but the window was open. There was no time to spare, so, weapon in hand, he entered without ceremony. His matches were wet and he had no means of making a light, but he felt around with his hands and found a door, which he opened cautiously. There was a dim light in the hall and by its light he made out the objects within the shabby room, a trunk, two beds, a bureau and wash-stand. One of the two beds had been occupied and the disorder of the room indicated that it had been suddenly deserted.

Rowland scratched his head in a moment of uncertainty, and then closed the door and locked it.

"Sorry, old top," he muttered, "but our need is greater than yours."

As he emerged the flames from the burning building had burst through the roof and the figures of Tanya and Madame Rochal by the chimney were deeply etched in silhouette against the glow of the heavens. The downpour had ceased and only a slight drizzle remained of the storm which had been so friendly to them. Even now, if anyone chose to look upward they could see. And so he crouched and crawled up again.

"It's got to be managed some way," he muttered to Tanya. "Come."

But she shook her head.

"I will follow," she said firmly. "See, she has revived a little."

With words of encouragement they got Madame Rochal upright and the perilous descent began, Rowland with one arm around her, the other hand clinging to a projection of the roof. They moved slowly down, Rowland fearing another fainting spell which might cause her to lose her balance, but the assurance of her companion gave her the use of the last remnants of her strength, and they reached the ledge in safety, where she clung to the woodwork of the window while Rowland entered and then half-dragged, half-lifted her within. He carried her then to the couch upon which he laid her and then returned for Tanya. But just outside the window he met her coming down alone and in a moment had her in his arms and safe with the suit-case within the room.

But safe for how long? The security of their hiding place depended upon their unknown host or hostess. What sort of a house was this and who was the occupant of the disordered couch? While Tanya knelt beside Madame Rochal, unfastening her clothing and trying to learn the extent of her injuries, Rowland cautiously unlocked the door and peered out down the stairs. A light burned on a lower floor, showing a shabby hallway with torn wall-paper, a broken chair or two, but no person in sight. Then he made out the sound of voices below, talking excitedly, and he realized that the commotions of the street had entered here. Outside he could still hear the hoarse cries of the men in the street. The story of the raiding of the hall above must now have reached all the neighborhood.

Leaving the door open, he returned to the bedside of Zoya Rochal. In this new care so suddenly thrown upon her, Tanya had forgotten her own danger and Rowland's. She had loosened Madame Rochal's clothing, and had found the injury, a flesh wound in the side below the arm-pit.

To leave Zoya there--to go down with Tanya and lose themselves in the crowd outside--the thought occurred to Rowland, but when Tanya spoke, he dismissed it.

"We must do something--make a bandage, get some water, some restoratives," she whispered. "We can't let her die."

"But----"

"We'll be discovered by the one who sleeps here sooner or later. We must take our chances," she said quietly.

She shamed him. From what new source had she drawn the moral and physical courage to meet this new test of her womanhood? Even Rowland was weary and anxious, yet here beside him undismayed by her night of terror sat this woman he loved, calmly ministering to one who, though perhaps not her enemy, had tonight been proclaimed of a class beyond the pale of decent women. He could not know that perhaps it was Zoya's very frailty that had given Tanya strength. And yet to know what sort of woman she was he had only to remember Tanya there in the hall of the committee, standing pale but fearless while she defied the terrible von Stromberg. This was the girl who now commanded the situation, the mistress of his will as well as his heart. He wanted to tell her all that he thought of her, to live for another space this one joyous moment of communion, so soon broken; but her tone was urgent. There was nothing but to obey.

He had managed at last to find matches and a candle which he lighted and placed upon the dressing stand at the head of the bed.

"Now," said Tanya, "there must be water in the pitcher--tear the sheet on the other bed for a bandage."

He was moving to obey when the door of the room was pushed quietly open and a man carrying a lamp in his hand stood upon the threshhold, gaping with astonishment. He was a very tall man, with a long neck and a face tanned a deep brown which brought into contrast the whiteness of his hair. He was collarless and very shabby, and peered first at Rowland, then at Tanya, and the figure on the bed, as though he couldn't bring himself to believe the evidence of his eyes. But Rowland's quiet tones cut the silence clearly.

"Come in, please--and shut the door."

It was not until then that he saw the weapon in Rowland's hand, started a little,--then obeyed--still silent and not a little perturbed. But to make sure of him Rowland crossed to the door behind him and locked it. Still unable to comprehend, the tall man stared at the dark figure on his bed and at the girl kneeling beside it, for Tanya had turned and was looking up at him in passionate appeal.

"We escaped over the roofs from the hall--where the fire is," said Rowland quickly. "The woman on the bed has been shot. If you are friendly you will help us. Otherwise----" He frowned and fingered his weapon. suggestively.

"A friend----yes," said the tall man. "It is horrible, what has happened yonder. I would have gone to help, but the soldiers have cleared the streets. You need have no doubt of me, my friend," he said with a smile. "You may put your weapon away."

His voice was deep, resonant and suggestive of a life in the open. He spoke German with a slight Czech accent and even in his shabby surroundings had an air of distinction not to be denied. Now that his astonishment was gone, he went forward and put the lamp on the dressing stand and turned facing Rowland, who had put his pistol into his pocket and was examining their host with growing confidence.

"The woman there needs attention," said Rowland. "She has bled a great deal--some clean bandages and medicine. Can you get them?"

"Yes. It is little enough. I will help and thank God for the chance. I have some skill--if you will permit me----"

Rowland nodded and Tanya moved aside and took up the lamp as the man knelt beside the bed and bent over the prostrate figure. As Tanya brought the lamp over the bed, she saw him start back and then peer more closely at the features of Madame Rochal.

"God in Heaven!" his deep tones muttered. "You!"

Emotion mastered him and his voice vibrated as he asked,

"This woman--how did she come here?"

"She was a member of the committee which met there. You know what happened--the soldiers came. She was shot in escaping. You know who----?"

Their host held up his hand.

"No matter what I know. But I must save her. I must--must----"

With Rowland's help, he turned the injured woman, his long bony fingers quickly exposing the wound. The bullet had entered the side below the arm, and had passed through the muscles at the back.

"It is not so bad as I supposed," he muttered. "She has lost much blood but the hemorrhage has ceased."

He rose and crossed quickly to the washstand and brought a basin full of water and a clean towel.

"If you will wash the wound, Fräulein, I will get some dry clothing and medicine."

Rowland opened the door and their host hurried out, while Tanya obeyed his injunctions.

"He knew her," said Rowland. "You saw----?"

"Yes."

"What do you make of him?"

"He has been born to better things--gentle once, gentle always. You need have no fear."

"It's of you, Tanya, that I'm thinking. There has been too much----"

"We are still free," she smiled up at him, "still victorious. I am no weakling, Philippe."

"But we are still in great danger. I wouldn't mind taking a chance in the street alone, but with you----"

"Where would you go?" she asked quietly.

"To Georg Senf, to Yaeger--to Weiss--to----"

"To arrest," she said with a smile. "We don't know what has happened. There was fighting--shooting. Georg Senf may be dead. If the streets are cleared the soldiers are in command, that is certain. We can gain nothing by going now."

"But they will search this house----"

"Why? The soldiers were on guard upon the roofs. They missed us in the darkness. Those frightful roofs!" She glanced at Zoya. "How she ever managed to follow us!"

"Poor Zoya!" he said, and she understood what he meant. And then after a pause, "But we have another duty."

Her look questioned.

"To get out of Germany, with this!" and he kicked the black bag that had been the cause of all their troubles.

"Yes," she said quietly, with a smile. "Of course. But something will happen to help us. I'm sure of it. Wait."

Her courage was of the quiet kind, patient, enduring, and her words reproved the hot impulses that were surging up against his own better judgment. Soft footsteps on the stair outside and the tall man entered again, bringing some clean soft linen, a nightdress, and several bottles. Between them they managed to remove her outer clothing and then Tanya completed the arrangements for her comfort. The stranger set to work at once, silently anointing and bandaging the injury. The sting of the iodine as it entered the wound aroused her and she opened her eyes and looked around the room, meeting Rowland's eyes.

"Philippe!" she whispered softly.

Rowland, holding the lamp, felt rather than saw the slight tilt of Tanya's head upward and noticed the face of the tall man who turned his gaze up to Rowland's in grave inquiry.

"You are quite safe, Zoya," he found himself saying, "and in good hands. You will sleep now."

They gave her an opiate, and, with a weak smile, she obeyed him.

The dawn was creeping up over the roof-tops outside and searched the dark shadows of the room. Their host had risen, tall and gaunt, staring down at the woman on the couch. His white hair had deceived them, and in the pale light of day they could see that he was not as old as he had seemed to be, a man not far from forty. The lines in his cheeks were deeply graven as though seared by sudden misfortune, but his somber eyes burned steadily and the smile which parted his lips as he looked at his handiwork was very gentle and very sweet. For the moment, it seemed that he had forgotten Rowland and Tanya--in the spell of some memory that was not all bitterness.

The early morning air was chill and for nearly two hours Tanya had sat in her drenched clothing. Her sneeze, which she tried to repress, awoke their host from his revery with a start.

"Fräulein, I am sorry my poor chamber affords so little of comfort. But you must sleep and have dry clothing. I am afraid, Herr----" he paused.

"Rowland."

"I am afraid, Herr Rowland, that I must take Frau Nisko into our confidence."

"Who is Frau Nisko?"

"The amiable person who lets out these palatial lodgings," he said with a smile and an expressive gesture of the hand. "A compatriot of mine--Bohemian," he explained. "A lover of liberty and a woman to be trusted."

"We can pay well for silence."

"She is poor--as I am, God knows, but there are some things, Herr Rowland," he finished gently, "that may not be bought with money."

Rowland felt the reproof under this strange creature's gentleness, and took him by the hand in token of understanding.

"You know that I cannot thank you. Necessity knows no law. We are desperate--hunted! And if found will be shot----"

"They shall not find you--I pledge you my honor. I too owe you something----" his gaze wandered to the figure on the couch. "And perhaps I can pay."

"There is then no danger of a search?"

"I think not. The streets are now cleared. There are soldiers just outside keeping the lodgers in. The scene of the horror is several hundred meters away from here. How you managed to cross the roofs so far--with her----!" And then moving toward the door, "It shall be arranged. There is another room just here in the corridor. I will return."

The wounded woman was now sleeping heavily. For the first time since they had left Starnberg See Rowland and Tanya were alone with each other.

"Are you very tired?" he asked gently as he took her in his arms.

"A little," she sighed, smiling, "but I'm very happy."

He held her more closely. "And I. You've got more sand than any woman I have ever known."

"Brave?" she smiled. "I'm afraid--not. I----"

Her teeth chattered with the chill and reaction which he knew must come. And suddenly she sank more deeply into the shelter of his arms, her shoulders shaking.

"Tanya----!"

She reassured him with a laugh. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going--to give--way!"

"Sh--dear. Presently you shall sleep. Tomorrow--today--we shall devise something. You love me?"

"As much as possible--in--four days,--my Philippe."

"I have loved you all my life, Princess Tatyana," he laughed.

"And yet you--you do not even know my name."

"I know what it's going to be."

"You have no curiosity?"

"You're a princess, you said----!"

She nodded. "My name is Samarov."

"I like Tatyana better."

"What does it matter?"

"Nothing. We have looked death in the eyes, we have won life--together."

"God grant that may be true."

He kissed her gently and looked at the recumbent figure on the couch.

"And if they find us here----?" she questioned.

"We have still this hour----" he whispered.

They sprang apart as the tall man entered. He looked at them for a moment in silence and then a smile broke over his gaunt face.

"So," he said, "I ask pardon. It has been arranged. The room is ready, Fräulein. A night-gown upon the bed. Your clothing shall be dried while you sleep. If Herr Rowland will permit----"

He stood beside the door bowing and following the direction of his gesture, Tanya went out into the hallway to the room adjoining, where Frau Nisko was awaiting her. In a moment his host returned and hunted about in the drawers of the old dressing stand.

"You, too, Herr Rowland--some dry clothes----"

"I'm dry already. It doesn't matter. To a soldier a little dampness----"

"A soldier----?"

"Of the French Legion----"

"Here!"

And briefly Rowland told him of the strange events that had brought him into Germany.

"The Society of Nemi. I have heard--And you----?"

"Its leader--but in Germany--merely an American, a spy--rifle-fodder. You understand. I've told you all--because I trust you, Herr----"

Rowland paused suggestively, then waited.

"My name?" the tall man said at last--"I am called Markov. Perhaps you will not believe that I was once a gentleman. But that matters nothing. I was taken ill with tubercular trouble and knew that I must live in the open air." He laughed a little bitterly. "My occupation will amuse you. I travel with a hurdy-gurdy, a piano organ drawn by my excellent Fra Umberto from one end of Germany and Austria to the other."

"And who is Fra Umberto?" asked Rowland.

"A donkey, sir, the best, the only friend I ever had, patient, enduring, honest, amiable, who asks nothing, borrows no money and does what I ask of him without question. What more could one ask of friendship than that?"

Rowland laughed.

"Nothing, God knows. And where is he, your friend?"

"In the stable nearby, with my precious instrument of torture. The Germans are a musical race. In the cities they chase me away but in the country--all Summer long I gathered in the pfennigs, a harvest which lasts me through the winter--here in this palatial habitation. But I am happy for my trunk is full of books. I read, I study, I dream----"

Herr Markov put his hand to his brow, gazed at the silent figure of Zoya Rochal for a moment and then with an abrupt gesture of abnegation, rose and closed the door.

"I--I am selfish keeping you awake with my story, Herr Rowland. You have been through much. We cannot tell what may come. You must rest. Take off your coat at least--a dry, warm garment--and sleep."

"But you--Herr Markov----?"

"I sleep little. It's a farce even to lie down. I will watch, Herr Rowland." And as the American protested he pushed him gently toward the vacant cot. "It is sometimes occupied by another--but it is quite clean. Bitte, Herr Rowland."

And so with a sigh Rowland obeyed. But it was a long while before he slept for the events of the day and night had brought high nervous tension which refused to diminish. But at last, admitting the wisdom of his strange host, Rowland relaxed and closed his eyes. The last waking memory he had was of Markov, sitting in the chair beside Zoya's bed, bending forward intently, like a mother at the bedside of a sick child.

CHAPTER XX

ESCAPE

Rowland slept lightly and was awakened by a sound overhead, a scuffling upon the tiles of the roof. Herr Markov already stood upright by the window, listening. Rowland started, wide awake at once, but a gesture from his host halted him.

"Under the couch," he whispered, "the covers will hide you."

And Rowland obeyed quickly, aware that the sound of shots would soon have the hornets about their ears.

Whoever was upon the roof was slowly sliding down to the window. Soldiers! They had followed the wounded Zoya. Even the rain...?

He heard Herr Markov's voice out of the window.

"What the devil do you do up there?"

Another voice replied, and then questioned, for he heard Markov's reply.

"In here? What should anyone do in here?"

The other voice came nearer at the window-opening itself--a young voice, sharp, peremptory.

"What is this house?"

"A lodging house, Herr Lieutnant. You see--of the poorer class."

"Who keeps it?"

"Frau Nisko, Herr Lieutnant. It is number sixteen."

"No one entered by this window last night?"

"Last night! By this window!" in excellent bewilderment. "No, Herr Lieutnant. That would have been impossible. Besides, you may see for yourself--who would wish to enter here?"

"Someone may have passed through while you slept."

"I was awake all night with my wife yonder, who is very ill of tuberculosis."

"Ah--then you are certain?"

"Positive--but if the Herr Lieutnant will enter----?"

Rowland wondered at Herr Markov's temerity--also wondered what he would do if the Herr Lieutnant accepted the invitation. But fortunately the ingenuousness of Herr Markov had stopped the gap. The young officer withdrew and presently they heard his boots scrambling up the tiles overhead.

"Pfui!" said Markov, wiping the sweat from his brow as Rowland peeped out. "That was a close shave, Herr Rowland. He would have entered if I had not invited him to. Human nature is the great paradox. It always desires that which is denied it and scorns that which is proffered. Had the Herr Lieutnant been older the thing would have been difficult."

Rowland crawled out from his place of concealment and examined his host with a new interest--a new respect. An attic philosopher! He grasped Herr Markov by the hand.

"A friend indeed!" he murmured. "And what would you have done if he had come in."

Herr Markov shrugged. "I do not know. Waited, perhaps. He might have gone again." He glanced at Madame Rochal and set his jaws. "My hands are very strong, Herr Rowland. Besides, I have pledged you my word."

"It is a fearful danger into which I have brought you----"

"I have welcomed it--you need not worry."

"But if they come again----?"

"I think they will be satisfied with this. But it will not do to stay here too long. We will see. At present, since you are awake, I will go down and make some inquiries."

The sun had been up many hours, a brilliant summer day of blue and gold. Rowland cautiously brought his head up to the level of the window-sill, looking out, but the houses upon the opposite side of the street were small and this window was in no danger of observation. So he straightened and went over to Zoya, for the sound of voices had awakened her and she had turned on her bed. He felt her pulse and at the light touch of his fingers she turned her head and opened her eyes.

"Ah, Philippe," she sighed gently.

"You are feeling better?" he asked cheerfully.

"I--I am not sure," she murmured. "I ache--how I ache--from head to foot--Oh--!" She tried to move her bandaged shoulder and gasped, "I remember--him!"

"You are quite safe," he said reassuringly, "in the hands of friends."

"Safe--no, not safe, Philippe----" she muttered, "not safe while he is alive."

"Who?"

"Von Stromberg." She started up feverishly. "He fell. But as I went out of the window, I--I saw him rise. It--it is impossible to escape him----"

Her voice gained strength and Rowland soothed her gently.

"You must be quiet, Zoya. They have been here--over the roofs--but they went away again. They won't come back----"

"But he--he--is--is the devil incarnate----"

Her eyes stared at the wall above her--as at a specter of their enemy. The terror of last night had come over her again.

"Quite so. I agree with you. But I'm no longer alarmed. Why should you be? A swallow of water--and then sleep again, Zoya. You're going to be quite all right."

"I was shot----"

"Through the arm-pit--nothing serious. A few days and----"

"Whose room is this?" she asked suddenly, looking round at the bare walls and shabby furniture.

"A friend's. A Samaritan, Zoya. He has nursed you while I slept--a stranger----"

"Oh," she gave a little shrug and turned her face toward the wall. He poured out a glass of water and brought it to her. She drank it eagerly and then sank back with a sigh.

"A devil incarnate," she repeated. "And the money----?" she asked suddenly.

"Here," he laughed. "Like a millstone around my neck."

"You have it still--here?"

"Well, rather. But I wish it were in Jericho."

"You are a man, mon Phili----"

She had thrown her sound arm impulsively over his, but at a sudden sharp memory she withdrew it and turned her head toward the wall. There was a moment of silence and then he heard her voice, hard, expressionless.

"I wanted to--to vote as you wished, but--but I betrayed you. His eyes were burning me, his words--scorching--my--my very soul." And then, almost in a whisper, "You heard what he said----"

"What does it matter now?" he asked softly.

"He scourged me," she whispered again, "stripped me bare for those animals to look at. If he had killed me--if this shot had been a few inches lower----"

"But it isn't," said Rowland cheerfully. "Buck up, Zoya. The worst is yet to come. I hoped the old pelican was dead, but we'll outwit him--some way."

She turned, smiled feebly and gave him her hand again.

"You forgive me?" she asked.

"Forgive--what for? The thing was hopeless from the beginning. I was a fool to try to start anything, but it made me sore--to see the old rooster walk off with this money--under my very eyes--and he hasn't got it yet," he finished boyishly.

"What are you going to do?"

Rowland rose and put the glass on the washstand.

"I'm going to get out of here if you don't stop talking--at once--or tell your nurse."

"My nurse?"

"The Johnny whose bed you're lying on. He'll make you keep quiet."

"What will he do?"

"Give you more dope, for one thing----"

A knock upon the door, and Tanya, clad in a gray dressing gown much too large for her, entered and came quietly forward. Her glance met Rowland's as she gave him her hand. She looked a little tired but smiled as she knelt beside the bed and took one of Zoya's hands in both of hers.

"You are better, Madame?" she inquired.

"I think so. You are very good." The tones were listless--indifferent.

"We are safe for the present," said Tanya. "The soldiers at the front of the house have been withdrawn."

"Who told you this?" asked Rowland quickly.

"Frau Nisko. She answered all their questions satisfactorily."

Zoya Rochal stirred uneasily.

"Nevertheless," she said hopelessly, "they will find us."

"Don't lose courage."

"He never fails. I know."

"Who?" asked Tanya.

"Von Stromberg," she muttered. "He sees everything, knows everything. You can't escape."

Rowland shrugged.

"We're at least willing to try. And now you must sleep again, Zoya. Herr Markov----"

He paused, for Zoya started at the sound of the name, and just then the door opened and Zoya's gaze turned toward it quickly. He saw her eyes look, then stare, closing perplexedly.

"She is awake?" Herr Markov asked.

At the sound of his voice Zoya moved upon her pillow and opened her eyes again. But their strange host had come forward and laid his hand quietly over hers.

"It is I, Mariana--Matthias Markov. The good God has sent you to me----"

"Matthias!" she gasped, still looking at him.

He bowed his head gravely and raised her hand to his lips, but at the contact she closed her eyes and lay back, breathing deeply.

Tanya had taken Rowland by the hand and led him out of the room into her own.

"His moment----" she whispered. "Let him have it--with her--alone."

There was much to say and in a few words Tanya told him what Frau Nisko had learned about the disastrous results of the riot in the hall. There had been shooting--six men and a woman had been killed, and many wounded and burned in the hall and on the stairs. Four soldiers were dead, amongst them an officer. There had been fighting in the streets but the soldiers, where they could, had permitted many to escape. Order had not been restored until the early hours of the morning, when fresh companies of troops had arrived and were now patrolling the neighborhood.

"And Von Stromberg----?"

"No one knows--he has not been seen."

"Hochwald----?"

"He either--Senf, Liederman, Fenner, Weiss--were taken away----"

"Benz?"

"I don't know. He may have escaped----"

Rowland paced the floor thoughtfully.

"We can't stay here, Tanya," he said at last.

"I know----"

"It means prison or worse for Herr Markov and Frau Nisko. We've got to do something."

"But Madame Rochal----"

He frowned. "I'm thinking of her. She voted as Von Stromberg wished----

"At what a cost!" She hid her face in her hands a moment. "It is horrible to see a soul stripped bare! Poor Zoya!"

He was silent a moment, thinking deeply.

"We must do what is best for the greatest number. If you and I are taken with the money, your work in Germany is finished forever. Don't you see? Our power--our influence, are gone. We must get this money out--some way. If Hochwald has escaped he is probably already on his way to Switzerland. The dossier--the papers you have----"

"I had forgotten----"

"They must go, too----"

She thought a moment and then raised her head joyously and laid her hand in his.

"Whatever you say, mon Philippe," she said bravely.

He took her in his arms and kissed her, but she drew away from him quietly.

"The plan----?" she questioned.

He frowned and smiled in the same moment.

"It requires another--Herr Markov--but it is a brave plan," he laughed, "a wonderful plan. You shall see."

"Why can't you tell----?"

"Because without Herr Markov it fails. He may refuse----"

"I don't understand--

"A woman's curiosity!" he laughed. "Trust me. And wait."

At this moment there was a quiet knock upon the door and Frau Nisko entered with Tanya's dry clothing. Rowland was introduced and seized the woman warmly by the hand. But when he tried to thank her she demurred.

"I was born free, Herr Rowland. I would rather die than believe I shall not be free again."

"But we can't endanger you longer--tonight we must go----"

"They suspect nothing yet. But Matthias Markov is no fool. He will think of something. You do not know Herr Markov----!" she finished quietly.

"We know only that he is risking his safety and yours for strangers--

"It is not the first time. He sets no value on his life." She shrugged. "Nor I on mine. It's a pilgrimage--soon over. His life has not been a happy one--a man of wealth, of family, position--reduced through misfortune, suffering and ill health to take to the roads with a music-box. Herr Gott! And yet he pays his way--always the same, with the courage of a man and the heart of a child. Patience, forgiveness, gentleness. That is Matthias Markov."

"But why has he chosen this strange vocation?" asked Rowland.

Frau Nisko shrugged her plump shoulders again.

"He says it is because of his health, because he cannot stay indoors. But I know----"

She paused while with intense interest they waited for her to go on.

"It is not my secret, but you are his friends. His wife deserted him--ran away with another--a beautiful woman--faithless. He searches for her from one end of Europe to the other----"

Rowland and Tanya exchanged a quick glance of comprehension. Rowland stepped forward and laid a hand on Frau Nisko's arm.

"His search is ended, Frau Nisko," he said gently. And then, with a gesture toward the door of Matthias Markov, "He has found her. She is there!"

The woman gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

"Frau Markov!" she whispered.

"Madame Rochal----"

"You are sure----?"

"We left them there--alone."

Frau Nisko peered out at the eloquent panels of the closed door and they heard the deep rumble of Herr Markov's voice and Zoya's in a low tone answering him. There could be no doubt about it. Herr Markov's pilgrimage was ended. And Zoya's----? Rowland's lips set in a thin line and his glance and Tanya's met in silent communion.

In a moment there was a commotion below and a lodger came up the stairs in some excitement. Frau Nisko went out to meet him. There was a soldier at the door who wished to ask Frau Nisko a few more questions.

"Very well," she said coolly. "Tell him that I will come down at once," and the lodger departed.

She signaled them to follow and silently they reëntered the room of Herr Markov. He was sitting beside Zoya's bed, her hand in both of his, and started to his feet as they entered.

"Soldiers again, Herr Markov. They may mean to search the house. Herr Rowland and the Fräulein must go in your closet. There is a narrow opening under the eaves at the further end where two boards have been displaced. Enter, and I will hang some clothing before it. We must take the chance. We will leave the door open."

Rowland and Tanya obeyed quickly, taking the black bag; Frau Nisko, thrusting Tanya's clothing after them and hiding all traces of their presence. This was the test that Rowland had been expecting and Frau Nisko had met it with a calmness that argued for success. So Rowland and Tanya crawled through the aperture and crouched upon the naked beams of the house in the darkness, listening for the footsteps of the searchers.

"What shall you do if they find us?" whispered Tanya, her hand in Rowland's.

"Nothing," he said. "The game is up. I could shoot one man--two perhaps--but not the entire Landwehr. We won't think of that, though. It's devilish black in here--but fearfully cozy."

He drew her into his arms and silently they listened to the tramp of heavy boots upon the stair and the sound of gruff voices.

"A woman ill, you say?"

"Very ill, of lung trouble, and in high fever. My wife, Herr Lieutnant. I hope you will not find it necessary to disturb her for long." This in Markov's voice, somewhat tremulous in the depth of its appeal.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Markov. I was refused for service on account of permanent illness. My papers are here."

"Gut!"

A silence in which the officer examined them. Then the steps of the officer to and fro in the room.

"This trunk----"

"Contains merely some books--Herr Lieutnant."

"The closet----?"

The officer's steps sounded again nearer them.

"Merely some old clothes, Herr Lieutnant," said Markov's voice. "Will you enter?"

A terrible moment of suspense. But at last the footsteps turned and moved away.

"And this other room here?" asked the voice. And Frau Nisko replied coolly, "My daughter's. She works in the Kraus Locomotivfabrik."

"Ach, so!"

"And these other rooms?"

"No one. Search, Herr Lieutnant."

And presently they heard the heavy steps go thumping down the stairs. Rowland drew a long breath. It seemed that he had been holding it for hours.

This visit was a warning to them all. Rowland and Tanya crawled out of their hole in the wall, somewhat pallid, and covered with dust, but determined that an effort of some sort to escape must be made at once. Herr Markov agreed with them and a council was held. Rowland, who had been doing some serious thinking, at once startled them by revealing what was in his mind.

"If Herr Markov will sell his donkey and piano-organ," he said, "I will give him ten thousand marks for them."

Zoya Rochal turned on her pillow and looked at him curiously, while Frau Nisko threw up her hands and repeated the fabulous sum.

But Herr Markov had straightened.

"So you had thought of that, too, Herr Rowland?"

"There is nothing else," shrugged Rowland helplessly. "Whatever happens I must get this money through to Switzerland--and in the machine there is perhaps room----"

"Yes, yes--there is room," said Markov thoughtfully. "We could make room. My poor instrument of torture! And Fra Umberto!"

"You do not wish to part with them?"

"It is not that. But I would not sell them, Herr Rowland. What I give, I give,--in the fullness of my heart."

"I can't ask more of you. Perhaps it will be but a loan----"

"Wait----," said Markov, his hand to his brow. "I am thinking." They watched in a moment of silence, when Herr Markov rose and took a pace or two toward the window.

"Yes. Yes. It could be done. It shall be done. My poor machine! We shall disembowel it--take out all its poor noisy entrails. It can be done in a short while. And the Fräulein shall sit inside, and travel in state to the Swiss border."

"A stroke of genius," cried Rowland excitedly. "I hadn't thought of that. And the money----?"

"A soft cushion of bank notes to sit upon."

"Ten thousand marks--a hundred thousand if you will but do it."

Matthais Markov looked at him reproachfully.

"Herr Rowland does not understand," he said gently. "It is not my poverty--but my heart--that consents."

Rowland bowed his head and caught Markov by the hand.

"Forgive me, my friend," he muttered.

Markov waved his apologies aside.

"It shall be done. The Fräulein shall go and----"

Zoya gave a hard little laugh.

"And what becomes of me?" she asked.

Markov rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The question it seemed for the moment had stricken him dumb.

"It will be some days, Zoya," said Rowland quickly, "before you can be moved----"

"In the meanwhile you will leave me here at the mercy of Baron von Stromberg?" she asked querulously.

Frau Nisko looked pained but spoke up bravely: "They have done what they could--you were not recognized----"

"But if he should come----" she shuddered.

"The chances are one in a hundred----"

"But that one chance----! It is the one he never neglects."

Another silence in which Zoya relaxed again upon her pillow, groaning. Markov crossed to the side of the bed and bent over her.

"What is it that you wish--Maria----" he paused in a significant confusion, and then finished painfully, calling her by the name they knew--"What can we do--Madame Rochal?"

She straightened again and sat up in bed, her eyes flashing feverishly.

"Who is to stay here with me?" she asked. "Am I to be deserted, flaunted, cast aside into the gutter for my enemy to step upon? Am I no longer of any value--any account in your reckonings?" She laughed hysterically. "Go!" she whispered. "Go! I don't care."

"Sh--! Mariana! Sh--! Madame," whispered Markov soothingly. "There is no danger. No one can harm you. Did you not vote as Von Stromberg wished? He can have nothing against you. What can he do? In less than a week I will return----"

"You!" muttered Frau Nisko.

Zoya slowly raised herself on one elbow while Tanya looked at Rowland uncomprehendingly, the nature of the sacrifice Markov was making slowly dawning on her.

"Who else?" said Markov quietly. "It would be suicide for Herr Rowland. I have my papers. It is simplicity itself. In four days I shall be at Lindenhof. It is a mile from Lindau, on the Bodensee--Lake Constance. The Fräulein and the money shall cross into Switzerland from there at night in a boat. It is a village I know well. It can be arranged. Then I shall return by train to Munich."

Tanya had said nothing and her lips were tightly compressed with a meaning that Rowland had learned to understand.

"And you, Philippe?" she asked quietly.

"What I have done once before," he murmured soberly, "shall be accomplished again."

His look silenced the protest that was rising to her lips. She only clasped her hands nervously a moment, but said nothing.

"And you will stay here--mon ami, for a few days--until I am better," questioned Zoya eagerly.

"There's nothing else," he said with a shrug.

Pain clutched at the hearts of at least three persons in that room, but Matthias Markov suffered the most. Rowland could see it in the lines of his eyes, which had suddenly made him seem quite old again. The years that had parted Markov and the woman who bore his name had only served to widen the breach between them--a breach that all the love and tenderness in the world from such a man as he could never hope to fill. Even on her bed of pain Zoya remained the mondaine while Matthias Markov, to her at least, was only the hurdy-gurdy man. She had repudiated him, had forbidden him to use her name. It was piteous. But Herr Markov shrugged his lean shoulders and managed a smile for Rowland and Tanya, in which they both read a new meaning of abnegation and sacrifice.

Zoya had sunk back upon her pillow, so Herr Markov gave her another opiate and presently she slept. Then while Frau Nisko went down stairs to reassure herself that all was well below, Rowland and Tanya listened to Markov's itinerary between Munich and Lindau. Fra Umberto could travel thirty miles a day if he had to. It was nothing--if the Fräulein would not get tired within the instrument of torture--Landsberg tomorrow night, Memmingen the night after, then Weingarten and Lindenhof--four days at the most. He, Markov, had been over the road often and knew it well. At Lindenhof he had a great friend, a fisherman and a vine-grower named Gratz who lived with his poverty like a prince in the ruined schloss of Kempelstein. There they would go. And there take boat from the very walls of the schloss to Switzerland and freedom.

In the meanwhile they must decide upon a simple code of numerals and letters for the telegraph, to be sent to Weingarten in case of important information or warning. When that was arranged, Markov went down stairs to find a screw driver, wrench and hammer to "disembowel" the dear "machine of torture."

They followed him out of the room with their glances and then with one accord gazed at the sleeping woman. She lay breathing deeply, one graceful arm under her head and her lips were smiling. Tanya's mood toward her had changed.

"You saw?" she asked in a whisper. "She repudiated him. She is not worth waiting for." And then impulsively she threw her arms around Rowland's neck, whispering tensely, "Come, Philippe--tonight, with me. He should stay here--it is his place----"

Rowland kissed her gently.

"It would not be safe, dear. You must get through to Switzerland--with the money. Don't make things too hard for me----"

"Ah, Philippe," she whispered. "I am nothing without you. His papers--a disguise----"

But Rowland shook his head.

"It is dangerous. We should both be lost and that which I came to save. In this way you at least shall get through surely----"

"But you? We have found life together--I am frightened for you."

"Don't worry. I'll pull through--some way."

"Come, Philippe," she whispered again. "Life or death--together!"

He held her close in his arms, aware that the moment of her weakness should be his for strength, and soothed her gently.

"This way means life for both of us--success. I am not afraid. I will follow soon. Would you have me less noble than he?" he asked.

She was silent and after a while she raised her head and he saw that the moment of her uncertainty had passed.

"I will go," she murmured, and he kissed away the moisture that had gathered at her eyes before it fell.

"Princess Tatyana!" he laughed, "if you will only wave your wand--no evil can come to me."

* * * * *

And so it was that that evening, just after dark, a very tall man and a very small donkey hauling a hurdy-gurdy, passed southward along the Sommer Strasse and were soon lost in the darkness of the night.

CHAPTER XXI

THE VISITOR

For three days the President of the Order of Nemi had sat in the room upon the third floor of Number 16 Schwaiger Strasse, keeping the convalescent Zoya company, sleeping at night on a pallet of straw in the dark hole under the eaves. Frau Nisko brought food and water and dressed Zoya's wound, which was of a much less serious character than had been supposed. Rowland had at last prevailed upon Frau Nisko to accept five hundred marks from the roll that he had abstracted from a package of the bank notes--legitimate traveling expenses on this extraordinary commission. Nothing had disturbed the quiet of his imprisonment but the itching desire to be on his way, and the impatience of his difficult companion, who with her improvement showed growing symptoms of a gayety which Rowland could not share. Frau Nisko had reported that all was quiet in the neighborhood, the guard of soldiers having been withdrawn, and from his view from the dormer window, the peaceful streets were tempting. Rowland longed to go down the stairs and carelessly saunter forth under the very eyes of the police. That was the sort of an escape that appealed to him--something simple, something obvious and then--to the woods and fields by night--they'd never catch him there. He knew that game.

But Zoya Rochal bothered him. With convalescence had come a desire for cigarettes and companionship. She was now quite reconciled to her situation and except for the fear of Von Stromberg which she continually expressed, seemed to be suffering no great hardship. It was perhaps unfortunate that Rowland thought of Tanya and Matthias Markov, followed them in his mind's eye in their long pilgrimage to the Boden See, for Zoya Rochal was clever and with returning spirits discovered the restraint in his manner which was so different from that to which she had been accustomed.

"Mon pauvre Philippe," she said at last, with a smile at the lighted candle, "you are never quite contented unless you are shooting somebody. Come, let us be happy. I am getting very strong. See, I move my arm easily. Tomorrow, tonight even, I should be able to go away with you."

"Tomorrow! But you were to wait for Matthias Markov!" he said in surprise.

"Pouf! It is precisely because of Herr Markov that I do not propose to wait. Herr Markov is--well--a friend of my girlhood---- But one outgrows one's early associations, n'est-ce pas? He is very kind, but oh! so tiresome." She gave an expressive shrug and frowned. "I do not like to look back. I might be turned into a pillar of salt. The future is difficult enough without thinking of the mistakes of one's past."

She cared for nothing, thought of nothing--but herself. But whatever his own opinion, Rowland had no curiosity, no wish to encourage confidences that might be painful. He knew what she was....

"Escape?" he questioned. "That is easily said. But how?"

"That we shall walk forth, arm in arm, mon ami, take a train like a newly wedded couple and be off----"

"And be arrested at the Bahnhof----?"

"The chance is worth taking----"

"You have passports--you might get through----"

"And you--where is your resourcefulness? Are you not the President of Nemi? Give Frau Nisko your coin to take to Herr Yaeger. He is not unlike you in appearance. His papers would serve----"

But Rowland shook his head.

"Impossible. My faith in your associates has failed. When Markov returns he will help you to freedom and I----"

"You would desert me, mon brave?" she said softly, one hand upon his arm. "Can it be true that after all my admiration for you, my aid in your cause, my faith, my devotion, you will turn against me? Don't say that, mon Philippe. You do not know the depths of the heart of a woman of my kind. You are a man of experience. You know what a woman who has come from nothing must suffer to rise in the world."

"Oh, I say, Zoya," he broke in with a smile, "I haven't reproached you----"

"Perhaps I should be more happy if you did. For then I would know that you cared. But you say nothing--say nothing and only smoke and smile." She broke off with a bitter little laugh. "You do not flatter me, mon vieux."

"Is this a time for flattery, Zoya? Over a hundred miles of hostile country to be passed----"

"We will not pass them more quickly by losing confidence in each other----"

He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Have I not remained----?" he asked.

She made a grimace at the hand that he had released.

"Such a cold little kiss!" she smiled. "What has come over you, mon Philippe? A few days ago you were so different. I had begun to hope that you cared as--as I do. Have I grown ugly because of my wound? Or was your devotion only a means to an end--the rescue of Fräulein Korasov?"

"Zoya, what's the use. You know----"

"I am no fool, mon vieux," she went on coolly. "I have a seventh sense. Fräulein Korasov--she is very pretty. You are her D'Artagnan. You play the hero in the piece. You rescue her--she adores you----"

She waved a hand in protest as he began to speak.

"Oh, I have eyes in my head. And you, mon Philippe, you are filled with pity--beauty in distress--you care for her a little, perhaps, and you forget your great pact of loyalty and friendship with Zoya Rochal----"

"It is not true----"

"You send her away with Matthias Markov and the money of Nemi. What do you know of the honesty of Matthias Markov or of her? And you keep me here to be taken by General Graf von Stromberg and to be shot perhaps against a wall."

"There was nothing else to do. You were in no condition----"

"Ah, yes, but you might at least have given me the privilege of your confidences."

"I did what I thought was best," he said shortly. "Do I not share your danger?"