The Secret Witness by George Gibbs (book recommendations txt) đź“•
"Willingly," said the other, rising. "Do not my people serve God as they choose? For you, if you like, the Holy Roman Empire reconstituted with you as its titular head, the sovereignty of central Europe intact--all the half formulated experiments of the West, at the point of the sword. This is your mission--and mine!"
The two men faced each other, eye to eye, but the smaller dominated.
"A pact, my brother," said the man in the hunting-suit, extending his hand.
The Archduke hesitated but a moment longer, and then thrust forward. The hands clasped, while beside the two, the tall man stood like a Viking, his great head bent forward, his forked beard wagging over the table.
"A pact," repeated the Archduke, "which only Death may disrupt."
They stood thus in a long moment of tension. It was he they called Majestät who first relaxed.
"Death?" he smiled. "Who knows? God defends the Empire. It lives on in my sons and yours.
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Another voice replied, "I do not know, Excellency. They were at prayers in the Capuchin Church."
"When does their train leave Vienna?"
"At six—from the Staats Bahnhof—Excellency."
"It is six o'clock now," cried the other voice in dismay. "We are too late——"
Marishka heard no more. It was enough. Too late! She had failed. Her sacrifice, her atonement,—fruitless. She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands, trying to think. But in her head was a dull chaos of sounds, echoes of her wild ride, and her body swayed as she sat. She had never fainted, but for a moment it seemed that she lost consciousness. She found herself presently staring through her fingers at the pattern in the gray aubusson carpet—and wondering where she was. Then she heard the voices again and remembered that she must listen.
The voice of the one they called Excellency was speaking.
"Herr Gott, Goritz! Austria's mad archdukes! The telegraph also closed! It is unbelievable. I must send a message in code to Berlin."
"It would be delayed," said Goritz dryly.
"But something must be done——"
"If you will permit——"
"Speak."
"Excellency, this is a desperate game. I thought perhaps we should arrive in time to get a message through. But Herr Windt has wasted no time. We must suit our actions to the emergency——"
"Of course. But how?"
"Go to Sarajevo—at once."
"But I——"
"Not you, Excellency. I shall go. A railroad book, Graf Mendel, if you please. Today is the twenty-sixth. The Archduke goes by way of Budapest. We can save several hours, I think, by way of Gratz and Agram—if there is a train tonight."
"And the Countess Strahni?"
"Your Excellency may well see her usefulness merely in telling what has happened in her efforts to reach the ear of the Duchess of Hohenberg. No word from you to Archduke Franz could be more convincing——"
"Ja wohl, even if I could send it——"
"And you cannot—of that I am convinced."
Another voice broke in.
"A train at eight—Excellency—by way of Oedenburg and Brück—reaching Marburg in the morning——"
"Good!"
"And from there," added Goritz, "by automobile along the new military road through Brod. We might reach Sarajevo tomorrow night—surely by Sunday morning."
"If that would not be too late."
"It is the only thing to do."
A silence. And then—
"The Countess Strahni is here?"
"Yes, Excellency."
"You will make proper preparations to leave at once—secretly—you understand. I will secure the necessary papers."
"Zu befehl, Excellency——"
Without waiting to hear the conclusion of the interview Marishka moved away from the window to the further end of the room, and when Goritz came some moments later she stood looking out upon the traffic of the street. Fortunately dissimulation was not difficult, as the growing darkness of the room hid her face.
"We are too late," said Captain Goritz. "The Archduke's train has gone."
"How terrible!" muttered Marishka.
"Are you prepared to go on, Countess Strahni?"
"Yes—yes, if——" she paused.
"To Sarajevo—tonight—at once?"
"Yes—at once."
She realized that she was repeating his words like a parrot, but she seemed to be speaking, moving as in a dream. Captain Goritz came closer and examined her face in the dim light of the window.
"You are tired?"
"A little——"
"I am sorry. I wish I could spare you further trouble."
"It does not matter."
Her voice was very close to tears.
He paused uncertainly for a moment.
"Countess Strahni, we leave at eight by the night train. I shall make arrangements for your comfort, a sleeping compartment. In the meanwhile you may go upstairs to a guest room of the Embassy and rest. If you will write a note asking for a valise with necessary articles of apparel, I will see that it is brought to you. A dark suit and heavy veil."
He walked to the side of the room and touched a button. "You see," he said with a smile, "I am trusting you."
"You are very kind."
"Bitte. You will not mention the Embassy."
"No."
A man-servant appeared.
"His Excellency wishes the Countess Strahni to occupy a room upstairs. You will inform one of the upstairs maids that everything is to be done for her comfort. You will also bring to his Excellency's office a note which Countess Strahni will write."
The man bowed, then stood aside while Marishka went out.
"At half-past seven, Countess——"
She nodded over her shoulder to where the German stood with bowed head looking after her.
CHAPTER X DIAMOND CUTS DIAMONDCaptain Leo Goritz made it a habit to neglect no detail. There was but a little more than an hour of time, but he acted swiftly. At his request the Ambassador procured money, and from the War Ministry the necessary papers, a safe conduct for an officer of the Fifteenth Army Corps, returning to his regiment at Sarajevo with his wife. Graf von Mendel attended to the secret arrangements for their departure from the Embassy and booked the passage. Captain Goritz sat at a desk in a private office, upon which was a small copper teapot above a spirit lamp. The water in the pot was steaming. A servant knocked at the door and brought him a letter.
"Ah! You followed my directions about the paper and ink?"
"As you ordered, Herr Hauptmann. And a maid is with the Countess Strahni."
"Very good. Wait outside and be prepared to take a message in an automobile."
"Zu befehl, Herr Hauptmann."
As the servant reached the door Goritz halted him.
"The room which the Countess Strahni has is not on the side toward the British Embassy?"
"No, Herr Hauptmann."
"Very good. You may go."
The man withdrew, closing the door gently. And Captain Goritz took the note of the Countess Strahni and held it in front of the copper teapot, moving it to and fro, the back of the envelope in the jet of steam. In a moment the flap of the envelope curled back and opened. The thing was simplicity itself. He took two slips of paper out of the envelope and read them through attentively, smiling amusedly as he did so. Then without waste of time, he put one of the notes before him, and drawing some writing paper nearer wrote steadily for ten minutes, tearing up sheet after sheet and burning each in turn. At last apparently satisfied with what he had written he put the sheet aside and burned the original note in which he had been so interested. Then he addressed several small envelopes, glancing from time to time at the other note of the Countess Strahni upon the desk in front of him. The envelopes all bore the words,
Herr Hugh Renwick Strohgasse No. 26 Wien.
At last, critically selecting one of those he had written, he burned the others, and folding the note enclosed it in the smaller envelope, which he sealed carefully, putting it with the Countess Strahni's letter into the original and larger envelope, which he pasted anew and carefully closed. Then he rang the bell, and when the man appeared:
"You will take this note to the given address. You will explain that the note within is to be delivered tonight at eight o'clock. Then you will wait twenty minutes for a suitcase or valise and bring it here. That's all. And hasten."
"Zu befehl, Herr Hauptmann."
Goritz sat for a moment—just a moment of contemplation. It was merely a thread of possibility, a chance, if other expedients had failed, but thoroughly worth taking. His man Kronberg was a good shot, but he might have missed, and if so Europe was large, and Herr Renwick clever. The hook of Leo Goritz was baited with a delectable morsel—most delectable—it would have been childish not to use it. Where Marishka Strahni was, there also was the heart of Renwick—the Englishman with the nine lives—the last of which must be taken.
This duty accomplished, Goritz went to a room upstairs, bathed and dressed in the uniform which had been provided, packing a large bag with several objects besides clothing and necessities of the toilet, including two automatic pistols, and went down to the Embassy office. All this had occupied an hour. He was awaiting Marishka when, somewhat refreshed and newly attired, she descended and entered the Embassy office. His Excellency rose and bowed over her hand—
"Captain Goritz tells me that you have consented to help us in this extraordinary affair. I wish you Godspeed, Countess Strahni, and a safe return," he added with some deliberateness.
She glanced at Captain Goritz who stood in a military attitude, but he only smiled politely and said nothing.
"I thank Your Excellency for your hospitality and protection," she said slowly. "I am sure that I shall be quite safe with Captain Goritz——"
"Ober Lieutenant Carl von Arnstorf, at your service," corrected Goritz, "of the Third Regiment, Fifteenth Army Corps."
Marishka smiled.
"And I?"
"Frau Ober Lieutenant von Arnstorf," said Goritz shortly.
"It is necessary, I suppose?"
Goritz bowed, and his Excellency added, "It simplifies matters greatly, Countess Strahni."
Marishka shrugged. It was no time for quibbling.
"The way is clear?" asked the Ambassador of von Mendel.
"Quite, Excellency. The side street has been patrolled for ten minutes."
Goritz opened a door which led to a small staircase, and he and Marishka descended and went through the kitchens to a small street or alley where a machine was awaiting them. A question—a reply from a man who had brought down their bags, and they moved slowly out of the alley into a small street.
A bath, food, and a glass of wine had restored Marishka, and she now faced the immediate future with renewed hope and courage. Apart from the belief, fostered by the careful detail of her companions arrangements, that she might still be successful in reaching the ear of the Duchess before the royal train reached Sarajevo, there was an appeal in the hazard of her venture with Captain Goritz. He was a clever man and a dangerous one, who, to gain his ends, whatever they were, would not hesitate to stoop to means beneath the dignity of honorable manhood—an intriguer, a master craftsman in the secret and recondite, a perverted gentleman, trained in a school which eliminated compassion, sentiment and all other human attributes in the attainment of its object and the consummation of its plans. And yet Marishka did not fear Captain Goritz. There is a kind of feminine courage which no man can understand, that is not physical nor even mental, born perhaps of that mysterious relation which modern philosophy calls sex antagonism—a spiritual hardihood which deals in the metaphysics of emotion and pays no tribute to any form of materiality. Captain Goritz, whatever his quality, to Marishka was merely a man. And whatever the forces at his command, her promise, the half uttered threat as to her fate—which she had refused to take seriously—she was aware that she was not defenseless. The elaborateness of the Ambassador's manner, the graces of Graf von Mendel, and Captain Goritz's now covert glances advised her that she was still armed with her woman's weapons. Marishka was young, but her two years in the life of the gayest court in Europe had sharpened her perceptions amazingly, but she knew that if beauty is a woman's letter of credit worth its face value with a man, it can also be a dangerous liability. Captain Goritz differed from the gay idlers of the Viennese Court. The signs of interest he had given her were slight,—a courtesy perhaps a trifle too studied, a lingering glance of his curiously penetrating eyes which might even have been impelled by professional curiosity, a thoughtfulness for her comfort which might have been any woman's due, and yet Marishka did not despair.
They reached the railway station uneventfully, where she learned that men from the Embassy had followed on bicycles as a matter of precaution, and the travelers found their compartment and were safely installed. She sank into her place silently and looked out of the window into the blur of moving lights as Vienna was left behind them. Upon the seat opposite her sat the newly created officer of the Fifteenth Army Corps, Ober Lieutenant Carl von Arnstorf, looking rather smart in his borrowed plumage. The intimacy of their new situation did not frighten her, for
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