Chapter XIII

That night the sun had scarcely buried itself beneath the rim of the horizon when Gunzi entered a low-class bar in a quarter scarcely a stone's-throw from where Elizabeth was imprisoned.

Many things had happened that day in Aszod. In the morning the White Knight had been daring enough to touch him on the shoulder, whisper a message in his ear, and yet dissolve into the crowd without betraying himself in the slightest to the detective, and Gunzi, who could conceive only that the White Knight had singled him out for the purpose of fooling him, seethed with fury against the audacious bourgeois.

He had masked it when giving Gonnard the whispered message. He realized that the terror caused by the constant succession of warnings was part and parcel of the White Knight's plan, in which case it obviously suited him to assist it to its fulfilment, for he was certain that sooner or later the White Knight would betray his hand.

After leaving Gonnard he worked diligently all the morning, but with no tangible result, and his anger increased, and burned within his breast like a smouldering fire. Then, in the afternoon, he came across his first clue. The man in prison recovered his memory, not so much as regards his description of the White Knight, but as to an address where the mysterious avenger had once stayed.

There was only one small matter: if it should be definitely proved that his information was correct he was to be released unconditionally. Gunzi, who aimed for bigger fry, was more than agreeable to this proposal.

When Gunzi investigated, it was to find that the White Knight had gone from there, but—"Look you, comrade, I had my suspicions of him. He did not seem a true Communist, and he talked in his sleep. One night when I was passing his door I heard the name of Comrade Gonnard mentioned, whoever he may be, and this man was turning, twisting, and swearing vengeance."

"Yes, yes; but where went he after leaving you?" Gunzi could scarcely control his patience.

"Ah! friend, maybe I can tell you, maybe I cannot. Yet, some time after he left me, I saw him coming out of a house in another part of the city. Where was it? Well, comrade, am I not about to tell you? Why should I hurry?..." And the detective had to listen for ten minutes to unimportant and loquacious meandering, but in the end he learned a fresh address.

Scarcely daring to hope he rushed post-haste across the town. The door was opened by a smiling-faced, buxom woman. Did she have a man so—and Gunzi described to the best of his ability as much as he knew of the White Knight—staying at her charming residence?

"Why, yes, comrade, of course I knew him, but he left me four days ago. Hearing that the château of Zoltan Giesswein was to be taken over by the Communists, he told me he intended to confiscate one of the rooms for himself. He seemed a studious young man. He was kind and kissed me when he left."

Later, Gunzi arrived at the château of Zoltan Giesswein, once magnate and owner of a huge steel-works, now a refugee in Vienna, devoting his time to the formation of a White Army.

Here the men were more loth to answer questions, for they, unlike the others, had not been coached in their answers. What did it matter to Gunzi, they asked, if such a man now lived at the château? In no uncertain words they told him to look for himself. Yet in the end he secured the information for which he had been seeking.

"Him!" The man to whom the detective put the question laughed scornfully. "He is out all day, yes, and he is out now. But he will be back, comrade, do not worry. A cold-blooded fish—women do not interest him; he told me so this very afternoon. Tried to make me believe he had had too many. As if any man can have too many women!"

"So he will be back to-night?"

"I am not his mother. He did not tell me so."

"But you think he will?"

"Bah! I have no doubt that he will. Myself, I believe he is afraid of the dark. He will be back. An early worm!"

There were no longer any doubts left in Gunzi's mind that he had tracked his man, and chuckling to himself in triumph he hurried back to Gonnard to let the commissary hear the good news.

When he looked for Gonnard the man had disappeared. The detective could make neither head nor tail of the mystery, and with a sinking heart came to the conclusion that the White Knight had succeeded in his revenge, cleverly anticipating his ultimatum by a day, and he realized the full cunning of the daily warnings.

For all that, where was the missing Gonnard? With a tenacity worthy of a better cause Gunzi set to work again, and fitted together, piece by piece, a possible solution.

The commissary had fled in fear; and from the facts he had collected Gunzi could not believe that he had scuttled to anywhere save Budapest. Determining to wait only long enough to arrest the Enemy of the Commune, he resolved to follow.

He waited—in vain. Night arrived, and in the end he realized that the White Knight too must have hurried to Budapest, more than probably on the heels of Gonnard.

Under the new régime Gunzi had no superiors. It was in his own hands to depart instantly for the capital. As for the necessary funds ... down one quiet road he saw an old man shuffling along. At the pistol's point, and in the name of the Commune, Gunzi forced him to turn out his pockets, and fortunately secured enough cash to get him to Budapest and back, with the possibility of a drink or two in between.

Arriving late in Budapest he made his way to a place he knew well, a beershop which defied the official regulations as to the sale of intoxicating liquor, and the White Knight, recognizing him, knew that the Fates were playing into his hands, for he could have wished for no better tool than Gunzi to use in the plot already fermenting in his head for the rescue of his lieutenant from the clutches of the Communists.

He followed Gunzi in and sat a couple of tables away. With a loud but unsteady voice he ordered drink. His rough tones were heard even above the din of voices and clatter of glasses; several pairs of eyes, observing him, twinkled significantly.

For a while Wenzel remained quiet, drinking steadily, but after a time he shuffled uneasily.

"More drink!" he shouted, and a fresh bottle of wine was placed on the table before him. He filled his glass, rose to his feet, and banged loudly. The noise of argument ceased, and he became a centre of interest.

"Here ... here's to the Commune!" he toasted, and with a wavering hand, which caused the wine to slop over the rim of the glass down the front of his clothes, he guided the glass to his lips and drank heavily.

"Hear! Hear!" There was an echoing chorus, and the toast was drunk.

Wenzel refilled his glass, and once again pounded on the table. "And—and damnation—to all Whites!" he bellowed.

There was muttered laughter. The fellow was becoming amusing, and for the sake of the fun they began to encourage him. Once again they drank his toast.

"Go on, go on!" some one called out encouragingly.

Wenzel blinked, his head wagged stupidly from side to side. "And death to all those who say otherwise," he hiccupped, and drained a third glass.

There was an unrestrained roar of laughter: "Keep it up, keep it up!"

Wenzel refilled his glass, the wine spilling all over the table in the effort: "And may—the—damned traitor Apor—die soon."

There was a silence. This was news.

"What's that you say? Who is Apor?" Questions were hurled at him from all quarters of the tavern.

Wenzel looked blearily around. "What! Have you not heard yet of the arrest of Apor, assistant—assistant to Comrade Eugene Hamburger, Commissary for—for—for Agriculture?" he asked thickly.

There was a stir of interest. "No, no. Tell us, friend."

"Tell you! Why not? Have I not heard the story from Comrade Hamburger himself? This Apor was a good Communist, yet secrets of the Soviet drifted out, and the Council wondered why. One—one day a detective searched this Apor's correspondence. What do you think he found, friends?" He paused dramatically, and looked round with a triumphant grin. "He discovered, comrades, that Apor was a spy, corresponding with Vienna, acting for the Whites."

There was a wild roar of anger from his listeners, but Wenzel held up a shaking hand.

"Peace—peace, friends. There is more to tell you. Not only was Apor a spy for the Whites, he was also acting for one of whom we have all heard ... heard. The White Knight, friends, the White Knight."

There was a momentous silence, broken only by a gasp from Gunzi. Then, suddenly, the tavern resounded with hoarse cries of anger. Many rose to their feet. "Death to the traitor, death! Hang him! Torture him! Make him confess! Make him tell of the White Knight!"

If Wenzel had hoped to create pandemonium he had undoubtedly achieved success. Presently the clamour subsided, and once more all eyes were turned in the direction of Wenzel, who continued to stand upon his feet, but only with an effort. He swayed to and fro, his eyes blinked and watered under the cap which was crushed down over them. They could see only the lower part of his face, and that but indistinctly, for the scarf which was wound round his neck and chin reached as high as his lower lip.

Wenzel laughed gutturally. "What—what use shouting, comrades? Apor will not die. White Knight will rescue." His speech became more indistinct, and his audience feared that he would collapse in a drunken stupor before his story was finished. Some one dexterously removed the half-finished bottle from the table.

At the same time this last statement was received incredulously. Some one remonstrated: "Yah! Yah! You talk loudly, my friend. How could anyone rescue Apor? Is he not in prison?"

"Apor in prison." Wenzel laughed, and the saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth. "Of course. He is in Parliament—cells. Yet White Knight will rescue. Easy enough."

"Bah! I know the Parliament House cells, and I say that not even the White Knight could rescue anyone from them."

Wenzel wagged a remonstrating finger. "Yes, he could, just same I could."

There was a roar of laughter, and Wenzel frowned.

"Tell us then," his hearers shouted, but Wenzel shook his head. "You might tell Bela Kun—I hang—keep my secrets—myself."

His talk was incoherent, the interest of the others began to lessen. They had obtained all the news they could from him, and now they wanted none of his drunken babblings and theories of impossible rescue.

Yet there was one who leaned forward, eyes gleaming interestedly. Gunzi knew well the potent influence of drink: in his time he had secured many a guarded secret from a man "liquored up" to a degree of nicety, and Gunzi, reading the signs, was convinced that the man to whom he had been listening had reached that stage.

He moved his chair over to Wenzel's table: "Sit down, my friend, and tell me. I am interested."

Obediently Wenzel collapsed on to his chair, then glared malignantly at the detective: "Why should—tell you and not—not—not other people?"

Gunzi shrugged his shoulders. "They are fools, they would believe anything. Myself, I would not. I ask you to tell me so that I can point out to you how impossible would be your plan."

For a moment he believed the Devil had been raised in the other man, for Wenzel shot out a clawing hand which searched for the detective's throat, while Gunzi shrank back, his small rat-face paling, but the effort was too much for Wenzel. His arm relaxed, fell heavily upon the table, and his head followed suit.

Gunzi frowned. Supposing he learned something of advantage to Bela Kun! It was not unlikely that the Dictator might reward him. He leaned forward and whispered: "More drink, eh, friend?"

His words had their effect. Wenzel raised his head and blinked. "Yes," he muttered, "if you pay."

"I will pay," Gunzi agreed eagerly, and ordered wine. Slowly Wenzel raised himself to a sitting position, and drank.

"Well, comrade, how would you rescue this traitor, Apor?" prompted the detective.

"Easily. Suppose ... suppose, for instance, I were this—this White Knight. Would I wait longer than early to-morrow morning rescue Apor? No, comrade, for if I were the White Knight I should hear that to-morrow Apor—come before Korvin-Klein. There—therefore should I act even before the sun rises above the—the horizon.

"To Parliament House I should go with a letter from Bela Kun himself, an order to release an unnamed prisoner." Wenzel chuckled, and looked cunningly up at Gunzi from the corners of his eyes. Unconsciously his hand wandered to his breast pocket and patted it caressingly. "What would the jailers say? 'What want you ... this prisoner?' I should tell them.... 'Bela Kun's business. Apor to be hanged elsewhere.... Allies might hear of it ... interfere.'"

Gunzi smiled scornfully. "A fool scheme, comrade. The jailers would smell a rat. They would refuse to hand over the prisoner."

Wenzel leered. "Yah! You take me for big fool! I am not that, no. I am all ... I ... I would be all prepared. Do I not know the jailer would be curious?..." Somehow the expression of his face changed, and Gunzi saw a look of suspicion cross the features of the other.

"Why—why ask you all these questions? What does it matter to you?" His eyes seemed brighter, less bleary.

"Nothing, nothing at all, comrade." Gunzi endeavoured to appease the other: "You will drink again?" The detective dreaded that the symptoms of the drunken man might change. At present he was docile; just stupid and sleepy. If he should become ferocious, should the spirit of battle be aroused within him ... Gunzi had seen many a drunken scrimmage in his time, and with a sinking heart realized that the other man's temper was slowly rising.

Quickly he ordered the drinks. Wenzel observed the bottle of wine set before him, and wavered. He stretched out a hand to grasp it, and Gunzi sighed with relief. The next moment Wenzel rose to his feet and towered above Gunzi. He seized the bottle and crashed it down on the table, where it shivered to pieces, the wine spurting in streams on to the floor.

"You—you spy!" In a thick, unsteady voice Wenzel accused the detective. "I will not talk to you. Perhaps I will kill you!"

There was drama in the air. Once again Wenzel was the centre of attraction, and several men near by tensed themselves, ready to spring to Gunzi's help. Wenzel gazed round him with a belligerent air, but seemed to realize that the odds would be against him, for with a growl he turned his back and swayingly zigzagged his way to the door. This he opened, and the next moment disappeared into the night, and with scarcely another pause the tavern resumed its normal appearance.

Nevertheless Gunzi was annoyed that he had not heard the finish of the scheme, though he believed he had heard enough to assure him that the White Knight intended to act before the early morning. Some one ought to be warned!

He communed with himself. He had enough news to give Bela Kun to warrant asking a favour in return. If he waited until morning the White Knight might have carried through his plans, and have liberated Apor. Then of what use would it be for Gunzi to approach him?

He made up his mind, called the waiter to him, and asked the way to Bela Kun. The man smiled. "Bela Kun may be anywhere. In the palace of the Hapsburgs, in the Parliament building, or yet, and still more likely, in Batthyany's Palace. He likes good food, I am told, and there is nightly a great feast there."

With rapid steps Gunzi made his way toward the Batthyany Palace, and for the first time obtained a glimpse of Budapest under the Red régime. Everywhere he passed wholesale looting was taking place. Savage Red guards and drunken Terrorists, riding wildly about in confiscated automobiles, commandeered food and dwellings.

Other bands paid domiciliary visits in search of bourgeois spies, or refugees. Hostages were arrested, to be kept in prison against the good behaviour of the innocent bourgeoisie.

Even Gunzi was slightly surprised, though not shocked, and he was all the more determined to gain a post in Budapest. He began to have visions of a life about which hitherto he had hardly dreamed. In Aszod, he realized, he had been too faithful to his duties, even if he were indubitably a Communist.

He remembered the beautiful mansion in the Theresa Boulevard, and because he had visions of it still in his mind's eye as he neared it, its present appearance caused him to rub his eyes and wonder whether he were dreaming.

In front of the house the pavement was heavily barricaded. Lights gleaming from the mansion behind the obstructions reflected on the barrels of field-guns, machine-guns, and Minnenwerfers, while before the gates were three heavy motor-lorries, armed with machine-guns.

Here and there patrolled Lenin Boys, and Gunzi, looking through the barricades, could see that each one was armed with revolver, bowie-knife, and hand-grenades.

Gazing at the mansion in bewilderment, Gunzi compared it to a fortress, and, as he was afterward to find, the imagery lost nothing in the searchlight of reality. It was indeed a veritable fortress. Down in the cellars were stored an enormous amount of ammunition and quantities of food. Still more, it protected a host of Lenin Boys, who, under the leadership of Josef Cserni, an ex-sailor of no mean physical dimensions, terrorized the city of Budapest.

Evidently Gunzi was betraying too great an interest. He felt something boring into his ribs, and turning round found a Lenin Boy covering him with a rifle.

"Well, comrade," the guard growled unpleasantly, "what do you want? This part is unhealthy for sightseers and tourists."

"I am looking for Bela Kun."

"Well?"

"I have news for him, urgent and important news."

The Lenin Boy laughed shortly and jerked his thumb in the direction of the palace: "I doubt that you have news more important than the little lady who doubtless occupies his attention at the moment. Try and see him to-morrow, friend. You will find him more inclined to listen to affairs of State."

"To-morrow will be too late," protested Gunzi. "Tell Bela Kun my news concerns the White Knight."

"What!" The guard lowered his rifle. "That is different. The Devil! Why did you not say so before?"

"Did you give me a chance?" asked Gunzi, but the other had not heard, for with a muttered "Follow me!" he turned and was threading the barricades toward the entrance of the Batthyany mansion.

Five minutes later Gunzi was taken to Bela Kun, and there received another shock. Partly warned by the waiter at the beerhouse, he had realized that he would find the Dictator partaking of some sort of a feast, but in no way was he prepared for the positive banquet which was set out in one of the rooms.

The tables groaned with good food and wine, all commandeered, and round them sat dozens of Terror Boys, already showing traces of the orgy in which they were indulging. Not only Terror Boys were there, but many women, kidnapped earlier in the evening and forced to take a part in the wild revels.

In the Batthyany Palace there was no evidence of the food shortage. No one seeing the nightly feasts which took place would have suspected that in Hungary people were starving for lack of nourishment, that women sold their souls to keep homes going. The best of everything was served up to the four hundred odd Terror Boys and the commissaries, with their wives and mistresses. "The Commune!" One day in the future dictionaries will print another definition of the word. Perhaps—"mine—thine." It will be sufficient! The true Communist may rant of "share—share!" He can afford to, he who has nothing to share!

Gunzi could readily conceive Bela Kun's dislike to being interrupted after the business of the day was over. On his knee sat a young girl, perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age. Her clothes were torn in front from neck to waist, exposing here and there two snowy-white, innocent breasts. Her dainty little face was suffused with terror; her dilated eyes, her trembling lips were ample evidence that she was in torment—and Gunzi saw that she was but one of many.

When he saw the detective Bela Kun glanced up with an ugly frown. "I hear you have urgent news for me concerning the White Knight? What is it? And listen, my friend, if it is not important——" He left the threat unspoken.

Gunzi, who in his own way was not unpossessed of his share of courage, smiled slightly. "Fear not, Comrade Bela Kun. My information is more than urgent. It needs immediate attention.

"To-night I arrived in Budapest from Aszod and entered a tavern for a glass of beer. There I came across a man, half-drunk, who rose to his feet and told the company at large that an assistant commissary, by name Apor, had been arrested to-day."

Bela Kun's eyes narrowed. "This grows interesting. I thought the fact of Apor's arrest was secret. Go on."

"Next," continued Gunzi, "he told us the reason why. Apor had been found corresponding with the Whites in Vienna." He looked at the Dictator for confirmation, and the other nodded his head slightly. "There was an uproar from his listeners, but this drunken fool had not finished blurting out all his secrets. He told us all something else. He said that Apor was also an emissary of the White Knight."

He stopped short. With a roar of rage Bela Kun rose to his feet in a turmoil of excitement, throwing the girl to the floor, where she lay, sobbing. Fiercely the Dictator peered into the face of the detective, seeking to divert the direct stare of the other, but Gunzi's glance did not waver.

"Satan! If that is true——"

His words rang queerly to the astute detective. "What do you mean, comrade?" he asked hoarsely. "Did you not know that?"

"No, by God, I did not!"

"Then," said Gunzi quietly, "that proves my theory. The man who, with a drink-loosened tongue, let me into all his secrets must have been a member of the White Knight's gang." He smiled scornfully. "That must have been good wine!"

Bela Kun waved his hand impatiently. "Tell me more."

"I got this man to talk. He told me much; not all that I wanted, yet sufficient to assure me that before the sun rises to-morrow Apor will have been rescued."

"Impossible! Apor is imprisoned in the cells beneath Parliament House."

The detective shrugged his shoulders. "Yet it is all planned. The White Knight has a letter from you, an order to release an unnamed prisoner——"

He was interrupted by a hoarse growl of rage from the Dictator: "The Devil! He speaks the truth. Some time back I wrote one out. It disappeared. How did he get that?" Light dawned in his mind. "Apor!"

Gunzi nodded. "You see, comrade, I do not exaggerate. That much I discovered, but that was all. Not only will the White Knight rely upon that letter, but he has some other plan up his sleeve. What it is I cannot tell. If you wish to keep Apor prisoner you must act now—immediately."

"You are right." Bela Kun's face worked with the rage which consumed him, but presently his face calmed, and slowly a smile—a grin of wile and cunning—spread across his features.

"I think," he said, chuckling, "that for once the White Knight is going to fail. Before the sun rises to-morrow morning Apor will be dead."

"You mean...?" Gunzi raised his forehead inquiringly.

"I mean that I shall telephone immediately to Parliament House. In less than ten minutes' time a few trusty Red guards will convey Apor to the Suspension Bridge and drop him into the Danube, bound hand and foot, that the rat shall not struggle. Do you not think that a good scheme?"

"It is the only one," agreed Gunzi admiringly.