Chapter XVI

There are coincidences in real life which far outrival their nearest cousins in fiction. Life is a paradox, controlled by mysterious forces of Nature which even the most learned of students does not dare to criticize.

Coincidence it may have been, yet there is a more subtle explanation. On that morning two minds were fixed upon each other. Wenzel, as he moved from coffee-house to coffee-house, was aware of one thing, was obsessed by one thought, only—Elizabeth—he must find Elizabeth; and so his brain disseminated his innermost resolves and desires, and upon the wings of Nature's electric waves, for ever radiating through the ether, were shed Wenzel's mental longings.

On her part Elizabeth crept through the streets of Budapest with a furtive air. She wandered hither and thither, up one street and down the next, only knowing that she sought a station, or a neighbourhood she knew, but afraid to ask, to question passers-by, lest she should draw attention to herself.

Despair was in her attitude. Even if she reached a station she had no money with which to journey back to the château again. In the sullen, uncouth faces which paraded the streets of the Communist stronghold, where was one which she could recognize, where was one, perhaps kindly and sympathetic, to which she might turn for succour?

There seemed not one. In the days of the Red Terror Budapest was safe only for the Terrorists, the Red guards, and their rabid supporters. The rest had fled or else kept within the scanty security of their single rooms.

The very environment of the town filled her with a nervous dread, brave and fearless though she was ordinarily. In her plight there was but one upon whom her thoughts turned. The White Knight! If only he knew!

So, as she wandered aimlessly, she wondered what he would think of her. What would he do when he discovered her disappearance? What could he do? She smiled bitterly to herself. There was nothing. In all Hungary how could he possibly surmise that she was in Budapest?

She encouraged herself to think of him as she continued her search for—what? She herself scarcely knew.

Like magnet and steel they gradually drew together. Neither of them aware of the fact, their thoughts were, attracting one another, picking up the broadcast messages, until suddenly, as each turned a corner, they met with a force which sent her reeling to the wall, and his hat to the ground.

Wenzel stared at her with a blank amazement. Like a miracle she was all at once before him, not a vision of her, but the real her, panting for breath. His eyes lit with a glare, a flash of triumph, of love; his lips moved to shout out her name in a glad welcome; but just in time he remembered.

He dared not do so. She must never know him for what he was, never realize that she had met the White Knight face to face; for his romance would be broken, never to be mended. He felt the horror with which she would always in future regard him, for, with a bitterness which cut into his heart, he saw it already rising in her eyes.

He did not misread her expression. A cold wave of terror swept over her as she recognized the face of the man who had looked up at her window the night before. Too vividly she remembered the scars, the evilness of his looks. She shrank away from him, sick and faint lest he should take notice of her. Even Gonnard before this man—and at that moment she prayed to God that He might send the White Knight to save her.

He saw on the other side of the road a man, whom he knew to be a journalist, eyeing them queerly. With a vile oath he crammed his cap back on his head again, and spat on the ground. With a leering glance he moved on.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the newspaper man turn away, so he looked back. Elizabeth was hurrying off as quickly as her legs could carry her. Wenzel swung round on his heels. He must not lose her again.

While he discreetly followed her through the streets, Wenzel puzzled over the strange problem of her sudden appearance. The last thing he expected was to find her at liberty. At the same time his heart was troubled with doubts—not of her, but of what horrors might have happened to her in the meantime.

As the time passed, and the chase continued, along road after road, he was forced to the conclusion that she was wandering aimlessly. She was certainly making for no specific object, for first she headed to the north or the east, then to the south or the west.

It was not until he saw her stop by a communal restaurant, and look inside with a longing expression, that he remembered that in all probability she was without money. He saw her hesitate, move on, and then retrace her footsteps. Once again she faltered before the open door. Then with a determined movement she went within, and he groaned.

Not knowing that Elizabeth, starved and miserable, and unable to stand any longer the pangs of hunger which gripped her, had decided to throw herself on the tender mercies of the proprietor, he was convinced that his supposition with regard to her financial stability was wrong, though he knew that she was doomed to disappointment. Only those with the red food tickets of the manual labourers or the blue ones of the intellectual workers were allowed to dine at the communal restaurants, or even buy food at the shops.

Two minutes elapsed. He frowned, imagining that, after all, she must have obtained the necessary tickets, and that she was feeding. Disturbed, he left his retreat—the shelter of an empty shop window—and took two steps toward the restaurant.

At that moment Elizabeth emerged, dazed and bewildered by the truth. In perhaps kinder tones than he had used for a long time the proprietor had explained that matters were no longer as they used to be—it was not of his own choice: in the old days he had served ladies and gentlemen, and liked them well. No, he dared not serve her. He had a wife and child; if he were thrown into prison for surreptitiously feeding a bourgeois—he asked her pardon for using the word—what would become of them?

As she came out Elizabeth felt the tears springing to her eyes. Here, in Budapest, in a big middle-Europe city, the capital of a large country—even then being carved up by the peacemakers in Paris—her plight was no better than that of a castaway on a desert island. Surrounded by food of a kind, yet unable to eat any of it! Passing thousands of people, yet not daring to speak to one of them! Scarcely forty miles from the château, yet without the slightest possibility of getting back there!

A bubble of hysterical laughter forced itself to her throat: then, surprised at her own humour, she looked up, and her mirth died away. As quickly as Wenzel had retreated to his shelter again, her sharp eyes had seen and recognized him.

Instinct gave her an inkling of the truth: he was following her. The human vulture had scented his prey, and was merely waiting the opportunity to pounce upon her.

The knowledge threw her into a state of panic. Obsessed by the terror with which the man of the scars inspired her, she hurried from the spot, oblivious of everything except the fact that somehow or other she must get away from him.

Just before she had been ready to drop with fatigue; now the startling discovery supplied her with fresh vigour. Forgetting that her feet were sore, that blisters were developing, that her legs were leaden, and her wrists smarting, she blindly threaded the streets in an effort to shake off her pursuer.

So quickly did she travel, indeed, that she very nearly succeeded. Not realizing that she had seen him, Wenzel still kept at a reasonable distance, and thus came to a choice of roads, with no inkling as to which one she had taken, for both streets curved inwardly, thus effectively hiding the continuity of each one.

He felt the first warning of temper, a curious constriction in his throat, but resolutely he conquered himself. He realized that he must take a chance. She had come from the road on the left. Hurrying as she was, he felt it would have been natural for her to have taken the nearer one to her, and so he too took the same one, increasing his pace considerably in an effort to catch her up.

He was wrong. Elizabeth had not even realized that there were two roads. She had seen one ahead of her, and had crossed to it, but, had she known, it would have been all the same. The street was a crescent, curving back to meet itself, and so for the second time that day they met face to face.

She faltered and stopped; a moan escaped her lips. All her efforts for nothing, and with the realization of her failure returned a consciousness of her weariness, and knowledge that she could continue no longer.

She leaned against one of the trees which lined the street, her breast heaving with despair and lack of breath. One hand clutched her throat, the other she rested over her heart as if to stay its wild beating, and thus she waited, physically unable to continue her flight.

Wenzel read her mind, realized that she had reached the limit of her tether, and was glad, for in the meantime he had formed a plan in his head, a scheme by which he could secure her safety, and yet not have her suspect that he was the White Knight.

With a rapid glance in each direction he observed that there were but three people to be seen, all women. He lurched up to Elizabeth.

"Well, my little chicken, a fine chase you have led me." His voice was rasping and uncultured, and never for a moment did Elizabeth connect it with another voice of which, even now, the memory echoed in her ears.

She looked at him scornfully. At her steady glance Wenzel felt a glow of admiration, and at that moment loved her more than ever. Her quivering under lip betrayed the fact that her heart was sick with fear, but otherwise her attitude was one of defiance, of cool disregard for his blustering arrogance.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Too proud to speak to me, are you, my fine lady? Well, that does not worry me. When you hear what I have to say you will soon change your tone." He lowered his voice: "Listen, I have news for you from the White Knight."

"The White Knight!" There was a marvellous transformation, a bright light dawned in her eyes, and her face was suffused with a newly found relief and joy. "You bring me news of the White Knight? God be praised! How knew he that I was in Budapest?"

"Because he saw you early this morning, and sent me after you. Why did you hurry away from me?"

His question seemed to awaken suspicions in her mind, for she drew herself up slightly. "I will tell that to your master, the White Knight," she said coldly, and then asked: "What is the message you bring me?"

"Huh! Is that all you have to say? After all my trouble following you round the city and awaiting a convenient opportunity to speak to you! Bah! I have a good mind not to tell you."

Instantly she was apologetic. "You will forgive me?" she said prettily, and Wenzel had to turn his eyes away so that she should not see into them and recognize the thoughts behind. "I—I have been frightened."

"Yes," he answered surlily, "I suppose so. He said that you were to come with me and I should take you to him."

"Oh!" She clasped her hands together. "Then I shall be able actually to see him? God be praised! I thought I was lost, and yet for the second time he has come to my rescue. Where is he?"

"That's none of your business. You wait and ask him yourself. In the meantime, come with me."

"I am ready," she said simply.

Wenzel himself did not know the neighbourhood in which they were, but with the bump of locality strongly developed he proceeded in what he believed to be the direction where a week ago he had found new headquarters. In the heart of the roughest district of Pest it was there he believed he would be least suspected and least conspicuous. Already he had seen in the same street many faces which, if not as brutal and terrifying as his, were at least more decadent and bestial, more sensuous and cunning.

He recognized it as a risk to take Elizabeth there, for she was too beautiful not to be noticed, but, once in his room, he knew there was less prospect of interference, and less likelihood of being detected by a chance detective or spy, all of whom were too busy raking in the bourgeoisie and magnates from the better parts of the town to worry about the criminal quarters, especially when, in the present lawless times, their interference meant, more than ever, death.

The journey was long, and as the time passed vague suspicions occurred to her that everything was not as her momentary optimism had suggested, and in that spirit she began to see the situation in a different light.

The man by her side had not once mentioned her name. Certainly he had said he was from the White Knight, but what proof had she that he really was? She had heard from Arnold and Francis that the White Knight was known and hated throughout the Communist community of Budapest, but on the other hand more than revered in the circles of the persecuted.

It was therefore, she argued with herself, not impossible that her present escort, calculating from her attitude that she was being pursued, and perhaps not realizing that he himself was the guilty one, had craftily used the name, hoping that it would act as a password to her confidence.

More and more she became uneasy, and when she glanced up at the scowling face of her guide all her terror of him returned. Suddenly she stopped, and when he looked round questioned him.

"Why did not the White Knight himself come after me?"

There was grim humour in her words which unfortunately he alone was able to appreciate.

"Huh! So you are suspicious of me, are you, my fine lady? For why do I work for this spawn of Satan, this bourgeois, the White Knight? Only because he pays me good money—money which I spend to have a merry life. There is nothing else to live for in these days but money. He pays me well, pretty one, but so would Comrade Bela Kun. I could give him a lot of information. He would not be suspicious of me, nor insult me with sneering glances and haughty airs.

"Why did not the White Knight himself run after you? Perhaps he knew it would be a long chase—though his legs are longer than mine." He laughed at his own joke, then leered into her face so that she shrank back. "What do you take him for? An idiot, a fool with the brains of a babe? If the White Knight ventured into the street he would be torn to bits. Now follow me again if you want to see him."

Without another word, without a look to see whether she was keeping up with him, he strode on, and almost at once Elizabeth caught him up. There was so much truth in his words. Not only that, but with a queer feeling of constriction at her heart she realized that a false move on her part might throw the mysterious Englishman into the hands of his enemies. Supposing through her the White Knight were betrayed...?

The neighbourhood became more shabby, somehow reminiscent, and with a shock Elizabeth recognized the street. They were passing by the building in which she had been imprisoned the previous evening.

Despite herself, doubts again began to arise in her mind. That she should be brought to the same street was too much a coincidence. With a wrenching pain at her heart it seemed to her that, too late, she saw through the whole plot. The commissary, having discovered her flight, had sent a friend out to search for her, and, like an innocent child, she had believed that the man—of whom instinctively she had been afraid—was an emissary of the White Knight.

Suddenly she reasoned to herself that the White Knight would never put his faith in such an evil person as the man with the scars, and with that thought she became conscious that it was now too late for her to escape.

The knowledge proved too much. Wenzel heard her gasp, and suddenly realized that she was fainting; so with a rapid movement he put his arm tightly round her waist, and holding her upright by sheer strength forced her on until at last he came to his destination, and turned into a dark and evil-smelling doorway where Elizabeth collapsed into his arms.

More a result of exhaustion than anything else, her brief swoon was soon over, and she revived just as Wenzel tenderly laid her on a decrepit bed which stood in a dark corner, scarcely remaining upright.

She sat up weakly. "You cur, oh, you cur!" She spat the words out with a fierce intensity, and two bright red spots glowed in her cheeks.

Wenzel was amazed at the reception. Not for a moment suspecting the trend which her thoughts had taken, not even aware that she had been near the neighbourhood before, he could not conjecture what her unexpected words represented, but if he did not know the wherefore of them, he understood their significance and saw how he could take advantage of them.

"Ho, ho, my fine lady, more suspicions?" He laughed mockingly.

"You have lied to me!" she panted breathlessly: "you do not know the White Knight; you are no gallant helper of his. Fool that I was not to understand," she continued bitterly. "You are a friend of the man who kidnapped me. Oh, Heaven, how cruel, how cruel! To get away safely once, only to be captured again." She faltered, and, that he should not see that her discovery was more than she could bear, turned her head away.

A fierce glow of relief flooded the whole of his body. In a few words she herself had answered a question which he would never have dared to ask. Safe and sound, untouched and unhurt! In his emotion he laughed aloud, and Elizabeth shuddered, taking it to mean a confirmation of her accusation.

At the same time her words gave him the clue he needed as to what had happened, and also assured him that she would never, never suspect the truth. He would play up in earnest to the part which she had allotted him, and so he spat upon the floor.

"Ho, ho! So you are quick at putting two and two together, are you, my dear lady? You have made five of it this time. You are right up to a point. You were missed—and not by the White Knight, oh, no—and I was sent to look for you.

"But he won't see you again—not yet, anyway. You are far too pretty, my dear. Why should I go to all that trouble for nothing? It isn't every day I can pick up a fine prize like you for the asking. I am going to keep you for myself.

"You have heard of the White Knight, have you? I thought the bait would work." He grinned. "Well, well, the nearest you will see of the White Knight for some time now is the one in the box over there. While I am gone to tell my friend how I lost you, you can work out a few chess problems and see whether the white knight can prevent his queen being checkmated. I shall be back—later." With a roar of significant laughter he walked from the room, and this time Elizabeth heard the key turn unmistakably in the lock.

Her soul wilted, for whatever fear she had felt of Gonnard was infinitesimal compared with the terror which she now experienced. There was only one thing which prevented her giving way to the hopeless despair that gripped her in its vice. The few words which he had spoken had flashingly supplied her with a possible scheme of escape, and, only waiting till the sound of his footsteps had completely faded away, she leaped from her bed, prepared to risk her life on one throw of the dice.