Chapter XIV

Two men crouched back deep in the shadows of Parliament House, tensely waiting, waiting with a nervousness neither could conceal.

"Arnold, the time goes slowly. I feel damnably afraid. Supposing my plan should miscarry, supposing I have failed to elucidate the intricate workings of Bela Kun's twisted mind, I shall have signed Apor's death-warrant just as if I had passed judgment on him myself."

"You can do no more, Geoffrey, than what you have done. In any event Apor would die."

"Never have I perpetrated such a thin, feeble plot, Arnold. It has so many weak links. When Gunzi passes on the news to Bela Kun, the Dictator may refuse to credit Gunzi's story; on the other hand, he may be so enraged that he will telephone through to have the poor fellow bayoneted right away. Or, if Apor is to be flung into the Danube, he may do it from Parliament House, and all we shall hear will be a splash and—and Apor will be no more." His voice broke slightly.

"That—that, I am afraid, is your weakest link, Geoffrey."

"No, you are wrong there, Arnold, and it is upon my estimation of the ingrained cruelty of the Red guards that I have staked the success of my plans. To you or me it would be an easy matter to dispose of—of Apor. A blow on the head, and over the balustrade into the river. Nothing could be more quiet, more secretive.

"Such a programme fails to satisfy the Communists. It is too quick and too easy a death, so they drag their victims to one of the bridges. That takes time—every yard progressed is a mental, poignant stab for the unfortunate prisoner. Every step is punctuated with a thrust from a rifle butt or the prick of a bayonet. Fine torture that, Arnold, and ... well, I hope to Heaven that they think Apor worthy of it. Otherwise he is doomed and——"

Some one stumbled in the distance, and with a warning touch on Arnold's arm Wenzel stopped short, and the two Englishmen waited, hoping against hope that Bela Kun would fall into the trap. With fierce eyes they watched the door from which the condemned prisoners were led. Would it open?—would it open?

The streets were quiet and comparatively deserted. At night only the Terror Boys, or slinking fugitives, ventured out, for there were flying bullets, apt to hit the most innocent targets. At night the Red guards were even more belligerent. Those who would live, or remain unmolested, stayed indoors.

Thus the steps of the one whom Wenzel had heard in the distance echoed loudly in the quietness, and the next instant the air resounded with the notes of a jubilant song. In quavering tones, hideously out of tune, punctuated with hilarious bursts of laughter, the inebriated singer disturbed the peace, and the effect was the more weird for its jarring contrast to the air of tragedy in which Budapest was steeped night and day.

Suddenly Wenzel swore. Judging by the increasing clearness of the wild sounds which the man uttered he was approaching Parliament Square. The White Knight clenched his fist with a desperate intensity. "May the Devil seize him, the drunken swine!" he whispered. "If his visit here should coincide——"

The door which they watched was opening, formless shapes could dimly be seen issuing from it, and the next moment Wenzel knew that up to this point his plot was a success, for in the vague, uncertain light of an adjacent street lamp he could distinguish Apor, handcuffed, surrounded by three armed Red guards.

The moment the door was shut behind the group the time for action would have arrived. Wenzel and Arnold gripped their revolvers by the barrels, ready to bring them down upon the heads of the soldiers.

The drunkard came nearer, and Wenzel could have cried cut in agony. Instead of proceeding with their ghastly business, the guards were hesitating, looking curiously around. The Englishmen shrank closer into the shadows. If they were seen...

For some reason the men seemed disinclined to slam the door, and start.

"Hullo, comrade, what noise is that?" asked one.

The man to his right laughed slightly. "Some one who has failed to heed Bela Kun's instructions as to prohibition. His row is enough to awaken the dead. What say you, friends—shall we knock him across the head with our rifles and teach him a lesson?"

"You are envious, you," exclaimed the third man. "Let us get this job over. I feel sleepy."

"Yes, leave the poor devil alone. He is lucky to get it, that's what I say."

The sanguinary one hesitated, and the damage was done. The group had been seen. Steering an erratic course the drunken singer made toward them.

"What ... matter...? What are you men doing here?"

Wenzel stiffened. The voice was reminiscent. He peered through the darkness, but the newcomer had his back toward him.

"Move on, comrade, and mind your own business."

"Who you telling—mind my business? I am commissary—for me order you about...."

"Hell!" The guard who had originally suggested doing what Wenzel longed to do turned upon the drunken man with an angry air: "Don't you talk like that, my friend. Get on, I say!" He stretched out an arm and roughly pushed the other, so that the commissary stumbled and nearly fell. By swinging round he saved himself, and then Wenzel saw his face.

A wild sense of exhilaration bubbled up inside the White Knight. How wrong to think that Fate was playing against him! How wrong, when it was just the opposite! How it was that the man came there, what he was doing in Budapest, Wenzel could not even imagine, but at that moment nothing mattered, nothing except that after all he could keep his oath to Elizabeth, for there, in front of him, was Comrade Gonnard.

he gripped Arnold's arm convulsively, and with the slightest hiss Terhune signified that he was prepared. Events were turning out more propitious than either of them had dreamed. For a brief space the Red guards were interested in disposing of Gonnard, and without being aware of it their vigilance had lessened.

Once again Wenzel's fingers conveyed a message, and the next instant two silent forms leaped from the shadows of Parliament House. There were two sickening thuds, as two of the guards collapsed to the ground with scarcely a moan.

The third man yelled with surprise. Hypnotized by the sudden attack, his limbs refused to move until he saw three shadows advancing toward him with an uncanny quietness.

His hand darted to his belt; even as he pulled out the heavy Army revolver his fingers tightened on the trigger, and a stream of bullets whipped through the air, the attendant flickering flashes of light momentarily lighting up the drama with a ghastly clarity.

Almost before the guard's last shot had finished echoing reverberatingly round the square it was challenged by two new reports, and even while Apor whirled round and dropped, and Gonnard, the third man, grunted and gently collapsed, the guard shrieked, and then he too slumped to the ground, where he lay still and motionless.

Wenzel was conscious that one other shadow still remained upright. "Who is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"I am untouched—and you, Geoffrey?"

"Safe—but I am afraid Apor is down."

It was Apor himself who answered: "Only a flesh wound in the arm, Wenzel."

"Thank God! But now we must run like Hell. Quick, Arnold, help Apor."

Already Apor was making an effort to stumble to his feet, but his manacled hands made the task difficult. Arnold bent down and practically lifted him to his feet.

"Away with you," Wenzel growled—his ear caught the sound of running footsteps inside Parliament House—"they are coming."

For one second Arnold hesitated: "And you, Geoffrey?"

"Leave me, I will join you—later," he answered quietly.

There was no time to argue. With a quick run Arnold and Apor disappeared into the night en route for a previously arranged destination, and Wenzel laughed softly to himself. Provided that nothing unforeseen should happen, in five minutes' time Apor would be safe, and once again the White Knight would have scored another triumph.

He knew that he should run—he could hear the reinforcements, shouting in their excitement, just inside the door. Four, three more paces and they would be in the open, their revolvers cocked ready to spit at the shadow which he knew would be faintly visible to them. Yet, before he left, there was one more task to do.

Gonnard was lying at his feet: alive or dead he knew not, nor was there time to investigate. That would do later. He picked the body up and flung it across his shoulder. The first guard came through the door, and Wenzel fired. His aim was true, the man fell heavily.

There were dismayed cries from the others, and the rush ceased suddenly. It was all that Wenzel required. He turned, and his long legs carried him across the square and away into the friendly darkness, while the bullying Red guards cowered back, shooting indiscriminately from the cover of the protecting doorway.

There was no pursuit, and as Wenzel quickly drew farther away the crackle of the shooting sounded fainter, until suddenly it stopped, and the White Knight knew that revenge for the death of Elizabeth's cousin was now certain.

He was well away, and rapidly drawing near the Suspension Bridge. He stopped short as he approached it, but there was not a soul to be seen, and he continued on his way across it. In the centre he halted again, and slipped the unconscious commissary from his shoulder.

Gonnard was not dead. His heart was thumping irregularly, but strongly, and even as Wenzel laid him down the wounded man stirred, moaned with pain, and spoke.

"My ankle! What has happened? My ankle, it hurts. Where am I?" He spoke as though his mind were in a haze.

Wenzel bent over to him and whispered in his ear: "In the hands of the White Knight, Comrade Gonnard, and to-day——"

He heard the Communist gasp. There was a moment's silence, tense and dramatic, then Gonnard shrieked with horror. Wenzel clapped his hand roughly over the mouth of the other, and the noise died away to a faint gurgle.

With the other hand Wenzel fumbled in his coat. Always prepared for emergencies, there was a length of rope in his pocket. Sternly and unemotionally he adjusted a noose, and slipped it round the neck of the commissary. The other end he tied to the steelwork of the bridge.

Easily, as though he were lifting a baby, he raised the Communist up. Once again he whispered in his ear: "The White Knight pays the debts of two Hungarian officers, comrade."

Then he dropped the helpless commissary toward the water: Gonnard fell the length of the rope, moaning. The noose tautened—the corpse swayed to and fro like a pendulum—and with a set face, on which there was not the slightest expression of pity or horror, the White Knight passed on his way. In the country of lawlessness there was but one law: "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!" His merely the hand of judgment—alas, the only hand!

* * * * * *

"Suicide!" was the general verdict of the large crowd which gathered round to watch the unusual spectacle of a man hanging in mid-air, suspended from the bridge.

The news spread rapidly. Some one recognized the corpse as that of a commissary. The rumour came to the ears of the Council, the meeting was hurriedly adjourned, and many of its members hastened to the bridge.

Some one pulled the body up. The pockets were searched ... and the Communists glanced affrightedly at one another. There was no need to explain the tiny piece of carved wood which the searchers discovered.

The white knight spoke for itself.