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

only shot the man when he had stood there a fair mark, defenseless! It had not been the sporting thing, but if he had known what was to follow, he would have done it nevertheless. At least he thought so now. The fateful armor had been restored to its place in the corner, and while he anxiously awaited Yeva's return he examined it casually with the rather morbid interest which one might display in the inspection of one's coffin. It was dented upon the sides with the marks of bullets which had glanced aside, but three neatly drilled holes, two in the breastplate and one in the helmet, reminded him again how narrow had been his escape from death. "Close shooting, that," he muttered to himself. "Emptied clip and not one miss."

Yeva, who had gone with Zubeydeh into the Harim, now returned (discreetly veiled) and with an air of restraint made a sign to the Englishman to be seated while Zubeydeh brought refreshments.

He heard Yeva speaking gently at his ear.

"Allah is good. Excellency, they told me that you were dead—that they would bury you. They took your body and that of the other man in a cart to the hills above the city. But someone came, and they were forced to go away."

"You saw her go with him?"

"Yes. She had fainted. I helped to carry her down through the selamlik to the street at the back of the house. Then an automobile came, and they took her away."

"There have been no inquiries here?"

"None. And you will say nothing?" she asked anxiously.

"Not a word. Would you have me deliver myself into the hands of my enemies?"

"I shall help you, Excellency, if you will try to find her."

"Yes. I shall try. I will follow, if you will provide me with clothing."

"It shall be done. But first you must eat and drink and then we shall plan."

Zubeydeh, now completely disarmed, brought cakes and sherbet, and when Renwick had eaten and drunk, gave him cigarettes and the clothing, showing him into a room where he quickly divested himself of his rags of wrapper and put on the garments which she had brought. They were curiously familiar. His own disguise—that which he had bought in the bazaar and had worn when he had first come to this house. He felt in the pockets of his trousers but the money was gone. And when he was dressed, Zubeydeh colored his face with some liquid which she brought from the kitchen.

The clock on the mantle indicated the hour of eleven when Renwick prepared to take his departure. It had been a market day in the Turkish quarter, and late at night the farmers would be returning to their homes. Aware of the difficulties which might lie in the way of his leaving the city, Yeva proposed that Renwick should leave the Carsija in the cart of a cousin of Zubeydeh's, a farmer who lived on the Romanja Plain; and Renwick, quick to see the advantages of the plan, readily agreed, for it was toward the Visegrader Gate, he had learned, that the automobile of Captain Goritz had departed.

As he left the lower door with Zubeydeh, who was to accompany him as far as the Carsija, Renwick caught Yeva by the hand.

"I cannot thank you, girl. But some day I shall pay. You will remember. I promise."

"It is nothing," she said; and then with a laugh: "But if in Vienna or Paris or London, you should see a silk dress of blue——"

"You shall have two of them—and two of pink——"

"Excellency——!" she cried, clapping her hand childishly.

"And if I find her—jewels——!"

"It is too much——" she cried. And then eagerly, as though she feared he might misinterpret, "Still, I should like them——"

"You shall have them—some day."

"I shall pray to Allah that you may find her. Go, Excellency. Go to her and tell her that I have done what I can."

"Allah will bless you."

"May Allah bless you both," she sighed, "for it is all so very beautiful."

The last glimpse that Renwick had of her was from the gate of the garden, where he turned to wave his hand as she stood, leaning wistfully against the doorpost of the house, looking after him.

The arrangements for his journey were readily made and the business of the night being concluded, in half an hour Renwick, passing again as Stefan Thomasevics on his way to Rogatica to help in gathering the harvest, was seated beside Selim Ali, Zubeydeh's cousin, driving in a cart through the silent Kastele. Renwick saw several Bosnian police officers in uniform, who inspected the empty vehicle, but merely glanced at the slouching figures on the seat. At the Visegrader Gate they were detained and questioned, but Selim had a clever tongue and told a straight story which Renwick corroborated with nods and gestures. It would have been dangerous to risk his too fluent German on the officer of the guard. No, they had seen no bearded man in a blue coat. It had been a hot day in the bazaar. One didn't like to think of blue coats on such a day. Even tonight it was still sultry, but soon the harvest time would be here, and after that the snows. Would the Excellency like a fine melon, for forty hellers—the only one left in all the day? No? Then we will give it to the Excellency for nothing.

The officer grinned and let them pass, but he took the melon. It was after midnight for in the distance behind them they had heard the bell of the cathedral tolling the hour. Safely past all military barriers, Selim, who had had a long day, yawned and clambered into the tail of the cart to sleep, leaving the horse to its own devices. But sleep was not for Renwick. His escape had been accomplished without much trouble, and given a little luck and some skill he thought he could manage to lose himself quickly in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But the magnitude of his undertaking in finding Marishka was formidable. Most of Bosnia and all of Austria Hungary lay between Sarajevo and the German border—five hundred miles of enemy's country to be traversed without other resources than eighteen kroner pieces and a pair of somewhat worn opankas! And after that—the heart of the enemy's country!

Eighteen kroner! His own, probably, filched from the pockets of the clothing he had worn when he had entered the house in search of Marishka. His own clothing, the disguise he had bought in the bazaar. Then perhaps——! Feverishly he felt along the upper lining, where he had pinned the larger sum of money he had taken from his purse when he had changed from mufti at the inn over in the Bistrick quarter of the town. They had found it? Something crinkled under the pressure of his fingers, and a pin pricked his thumb. It was there—his money. They had not searched for it, thinking of course that the money they had found in the pockets was all that he had possessed. He found the head of the pin and opened the lining, counting the notes—ten of them in all—of one hundred kroners each.

A thousand kroners! He could have shouted for glee. But caution came to him in time. He looked around to find that Selim had awakened and was sitting up rubbing his eyes.

CHAPTER XX RENWICK QUESTIONS

Had the man observed him when he was counting his money? The hazard of his position made Renwick suspicious. Selim was a crafty rogue as his conversation with the officer at the Visegrader Gate had shown, and one of Zubeydeh's breed needed watching. But the man yawned and stretched his arms, then got up and looked about with so genuine an air of drowsiness and fatigue that Renwick concluded that he had been mistaken. How much or how little Selim had been told of Renwick's affair the Englishman did not know. But the man had already done him a service and might be in a position to help him further. So he decided upon an attitude of friendliness and gratitude which might perhaps be measured by a few of his eighteen kroners but no more.

It was about three o'clock, when having met no adventures upon the way, they reached the farm of Selim Ali upon the border of the Romanja Plain. Twenty hours at a stretch, nine of which had been spent in the tension of his escape, were more than Renwick's strength permitted, and he sank upon the straw pallet to which Selim assigned him, weary and shaken, and with a hand which instinctively clutched the lining of his trousers where his money was pinned, he fell into a deep sleep, from which he did not awaken until the sun was high in the heavens.

He did not rise at once, but lay on his cot, gazing at the ceiling, his mind adjusting itself slowly to his situation. He felt for the money in the lining of his trousers. It had not been touched. If Selim had discovered the notes in Renwick's possession he was either without design upon them or had concluded to postpone its consummation until some later hour. Where was the man? Renwick wanted to talk to him. He heard the sound of a voice in another part of the house, and getting up went outside and walked around to the rear of the building. A young woman in Turkish costume was washing some clothing in a tub by the door.

Renwick greeted her with a bow and a smile, and asked for Selim. She pointed toward a distant field, and then asked if he desired food. Renwick thanked her and replied that he would wait until Selim returned, and went back to bed. There, some moments later the woman brought him coffee, bread, and excellent soup, which the Englishman devoured hungrily, not aware until the moment that it was precisely food he required. When he had finished eating, he smoked a cigarette and planned his pilgrimage.

He had but two known facts with regard to the flight of Captain Goritz with his prisoner; first, the automobile had gone through the Kastele in the direction of the Visegrader Gate, over the very road by which Renwick had come with Selim; second, the object of Captain Goritz was to reach the German border as speedily as possible.

The fact that Goritz had left town by this road to the north and east indicated one of two things: that Goritz, seeking the more quietly to escape from the town, had chosen the road through the Kastele quarter, intending to make a détour over the mountains and reach the Bosna road, by which he would go straight through Hungary and Austria to his destination; the other inference was that Goritz had chosen the more easterly road to the north in order to avoid passing through Austria, seeking the shortest road into Silesia, through central Hungary and Galicia by way of Cracow. It seemed probable that Goritz had already reached Germany, and yet even this was no assured fact. If Goritz had chosen to return through Austria by the main traveled roads, by Bosna, by Agram, or by Budapest, there was scarcely a chance that he could have eluded the agents of the watchful Windt. The plot against the life of the Archduke had consummated in his death. Marishka had failed, but with her failure had come a restitution of her complete rights as an Austrian citizen. Herr Windt, no longer seeking to restrain her actions, would wish to save her from the results of her own imprudences, redoubling his efforts to come between Goritz and the German border.

Renwick tried to think as Goritz would think. Why had Goritz come by the circuitous road over the Romanja Plain? Surely not to go north by way of Serbian territory. Goritz had a reason. The shortest road—the least traveled road, the road which avoided Brod, the main gateway into Bosnia, was the road by which