The Secret Witness by George Gibbs (book recommendations txt) 📕

I have promised the bearer of this note fifteen thousand kroner, as the condition of my liberation. Give him what you can, and arrange for the payment of the balance tomorrow. This is the cry of desperation. Do not come here or attempt to see me. It is dangerous. I will come to you.

M.

She sealed the note and handed it to him. He turned it over and over in his fingers, his gaze aslant.

"But suppose," he repeated slowly, "that I should not be able to find him."

"You must," she said with desperate hardihood. "If the note should not reach him, the conditions of our agreement change. And be sure of this, Effendi—if harm comes to Hugh Renwick, payment will be exacted from you to the tenth part of a hair. His safety and my freedom——"

"I do not comprehend," said the man, his brows raised in a well-simulated surprise. "What have I to do with the safety of this Excellency? He can be in no danger, here in Bosna-Seraj. We are a peaceable people——"

"Still—" she said distinctly, "you will remember."

He shrugged and took a pace away from her, still fingering the note.

"I do not comprehend," he repeated. "But I will do as you request. I shall go at once," and he moved toward the door, then paused. "As to the guard at the door below, that will not be necessary, since you will await me in the mabein." He went quickly down the corridor, opened the door of the dutap, and called Zubeydeh, who entered at once. "The Countess will wait in the outer room. When I return I shall conduct her to the Hotel Europa, where she will spend the night. You will wait upon her in the meanwhile, as becomes a distinguished guest of the house of Rataj."

Then followed a phrase or two of Turkish, and the woman bowed stolidly.

"It shall be as you wish, Effendi."

And he passed the woman with another phrase, and was gone.

Zubeydeh and Marishka stood facing each other, the elder woman in sullen antipathy, illy concealed by the habitual mask of imperturbability. Marishka had disliked her from the first, actuated by that rare instinct which only women can employ, and now there seemed something ominous in her stolid ugliness. Marishka had not fully understood the instructions of the Beg, and not until Zubeydeh picked up her suitcase and carried it down the corridor, did she realize that she was merely carrying out the orders of her master. But Marishka did not move. Before her eyes danced the words of her earlier note to Hugh, which asked him to come to her by the private passage to the court below. If the Effendi did not succeed in finding him, he would come; and she would not be there to meet him. Instead of following Zubeydeh, who had returned and stood staring at her, her feet refused to obey.

"But I should prefer to remain here——" she said firmly.

A vestige of a smile—slight, but none the less disagreeable—came into the woman's yellow face.

"The Harim," she said dryly, "is intended for the daughters of the faithful. You cannot stay tonight."

And as Marishka still stood irresolutely, she caught her by the arm with a grip which was none too gentle, and pushed her down the corridor and out into the mabein.

Marishka sat upon the couch in the room into which she had first been conducted, her head near the latticed window, through which the pale green moonlight vied with the glow from the lantern over her head. Though it could not yet be time for him to return, she listened intently for the sound of the footsteps of the Beg. Had she succeeded? In spite of the danger which threatened Hugh Renwick, and the ominous absence of Captain Goritz, she felt that there was a chance that all might still be well. Where was Captain Goritz? The tale that he had gone upon a journey was an invention, of course. He was here in Sarajevo if not in the house where she was held a prisoner, at least somewhere near, where he could be sure of the culmination of the plot to remove Hugh Renwick, without himself being involved in any unpleasant issues. From the appearance of the Beg of Rataj and of the man she had met at the foot of the stairs, she knew that any dreadful deed was possible in the darkness of the secluded streets outside the house, in the garden below, or in the house itself. But she did not despair. It was easier to win money by keeping within the law than by breaking it. The Beg was a rogue, but money was his fetish, and Marishka's bribe was the larger.

As the moments lengthened and the man did not return, hope ebbed, and she grew anxious. The small metal clock on the table in the corner indicated the hour. It was half-past eleven. In half an hour, if the Beg had not delivered her note, Hugh Renwick would come to find her, unless! She breathed a silent prayer—unless he had not yet reached Sarajevo! For hours she had prayed that he had followed her, for that was the proof of his devotion that her heart required of him; but now she prayed just as fervently that he had not come. The notion of another attempt to escape occurred to her, but when she got up and peered down into the darkness of the stairway which led below, her courage failed her, and she remembered the man at the foot of the other stair. Zubeydeh, too, was near, and while she was planning, the woman passed into the Harim and closed the door behind her.

She peered out of the window into the garden, searching its shadows for signs of a guard, but all was quiet, except for the sound of whispering voices, which might have come from the street or from the house adjoining. In the dim light she watched the hour hand of the clock as it slowly moved around the dial. Ten, fifteen minutes passed, and still she heard no sound of footsteps. What if Hugh came while the Beg was absent searching for him? She knew that there must be other men besides the villain she had met at the foot of the stairs. What orders had the Beg given his men? And what orders had he countermanded? The silence was closing in upon her like a fog. She could not bear it. What if Hugh were already at the foot of the stairs, waiting to knock upon the door of the Harim as she had directed? The suspense was killing her. She rose quietly and tried the door of the dutap into the corridor which led to the Harim. It was locked.

She staggered and clung to the wall to keep from falling. She saw it all now. Goritz had intercepted the note she had sent by Yeva. They were in there—Zubeydeh, the Beg and his men, and perhaps Goritz, too, waiting—waiting for the two knocks at the steps below. And then the door would be opened, and Hugh——

The bell of the cathedral tolled, and fearfully she counted its strokes. It was twelve o'clock.

Renwick waited in his place of concealment near the blue door, listening and watching eagerly. Something was happening in the house with the meshrebiya windows, for it was after midnight, and all Islam was asleep. There were sounds of whispering again, but when he peered out there was no one in sight. Then he thought he heard footsteps; but whether they came from the direction of the house of the lighted window, or whether from up the street he could not yet decide. Now he was sure of them. Someone was approaching over the rough cobbles—from the alley behind him! He crouched into a place of concealment behind a broken lattice, flattening himself against the door, and waited—breathless. He did not dare to look out, for the figure was almost upon him, but the footsteps now silent, now moving rapidly forward, indicated the stealth of a man who evades pursuit or fears detection. Presently a shadow loomed beside him as a man paused for a moment beside the doorway where Renwick stood, so close that the Englishman could hear his breathing, and then moved on to the corner of the wider street a few feet away. Even yet, Renwick feared to move, but at last, as the man went on toward the wall of the blue door, Renwick risked detection, and peered out.

The figure glanced at the blue door, and then turning quickly, went with long strides down the street toward the house with the meshrebiya windows. Renwick's glance had been but a momentary one, but in it he had marked a huge figure, in a squarish hat and ill-fitting clothes. Gustav Linke! In his hand, clutched like a weapon, he still carried his atrocious umbrella. A grotesque outlandish figure, an ink-blot on the velvet night! What was he doing here near the house of the lighted windows? Renwick sprang from his place of concealment, whispering Linke's name; but when he reached the corner of the alley the man was twenty paces away, and so bent upon his mission that he heard nothing. Renwick halted instinctively, and in the moment of hesitation, his opportunity was lost. As wisdom had urged caution while Renwick had waited, so doubly it urged it now. Linke moved like a man with a mission, and Renwick peered forth from the angle of the wall watching eagerly, sure now of what that mission was—the pursuit of Marishka Strahni!

He saw the man stop beneath the lighted windows, look up, and then with a glance to right and left, enter the shadow of the mosque and disappear within the small court beside the house. Renwick thought rapidly and clearly. In the court where Linke had disappeared there must be another entrance to the house. For a fleeting second, the idea entered Renwick's head to follow the man, and trust to fortune; but the wall and blue door opposite tempted him. Inside the garden, at least there would be a chance for concealment, and a vantage point from which he could watch and hear what went on within the house. He waited a moment, trying to decide whether or not he had better risk detection in the narrow strip of moonlight, or wait and see if anyone moved in the street below. He was on the point of taking the chance when from the door of a house just below him, several men emerged. It was difficult to determine how many there were, but Renwick thought that there were at least four—perhaps five; but whether Bosnians or Turks he could not decide. And from their stealth and silence, and the rapidity with which they followed the tall figure of Linke into the dark passage, the obvious inference was that they were bent upon mischief.

There was no further time to plan, so Renwick, with a quick look to right and left, darted furtively across to the gate of the blue door and tried the latch. It was unlocked, and quickly he entered the garden; with his hand upon the revolver in his belt he waited, listening, but there was no sound within but the plashing of the water of