The Secret Witness, George Gibbs [world of reading TXT] 📗

in her, fragments of their conversation reached her.

"A road—away from trunk-lines. Jarmeritz, perhaps.... It should not be difficult—a Peugeot if possible, or a Mercedes—its age would tell. At any time now.... A détour here, I think—there is a telegraph line along the hill yonder.... It would be better in a more desolate place, in the foothills of the Mährische-Höhe. It is a matter of luck, Karl. We must chance it."

She saw the chauffeur nodding and putting in here and there a suggestion, while every little while she caught an allusion to herself. She had no inkling of the meaning of this extraordinary conversation nor of the way the man called Karl now slowed down as they passed other machines either going or coming, and gazed at them with a critical air, shaking his head as he passed on at redoubled speed. But the mystery was soon to be revealed to her, for on a long piece of level road which went straight through a strip of pine woods, she felt the machine leap suddenly forward and heard the comments of the men in front.

"I cannot tell at this distance. A good one, I should say, and new." And gazing through the dust before her she made out the lines of a touring-car traveling rapidly in the same direction as their own. Karl's motor horn sent a deep blast, but the fellow in front was in no mood to give him the road. He repeated it loudly, warningly, encroaching upon the rear wheels of the touring car, and at last the other car slowed down, and as the road was narrow, drew aside into a shallow ditch. But instead of putting on speed in passing, as he had done before, the chauffeur Karl merely drew up a little ahead of the other car and held out his hand as a signal to stop while Captain Goritz quickly clambered down into the road and stood just below Marishka where she could quite easily hear the conversation which followed. The people in the touring car were a chauffeur, a stout man and a small boy. Captain Goritz was bowing politely.

"Very sorry," he said, "but we are almost out of petrol."

"There is a garage a few miles beyond," said the chauffeur of the touring car.

But Goritz shook his head.

"I wish to exchange cars with you—at once, please."

The chauffeur and the stout man, who looked like a small magistrate, sat staring at Goritz as though they thought that he or they had suddenly been bereft of their senses. But Karl, who seemed to know precisely what to do, got down beside them and produced from his pocket a pistol, which he brandished in their direction. The meaning of the situation was now obvious, and the Austrians scrambled down in great alarm.

Captain Goritz smiled at their precipitous movements and his voice was reassuring as he addressed the fat man.

"I regret that we have no time to lose. I only ask you to exchange cars with me. Mine, I think, is the more valuable."

But the others seemed stricken dumb and continued to stare wide-eyed, their mouths gaping open.

"Would you mind telling me how you are equipped with oil and petrol?" asked Goritz coolly.

"The tank is full," stammered the frightened chauffeur, still eyeing Karl's weapon dubiously. But by this time the fat man had regained some of his courage.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" he blustered.

"We go upon a matter of life and death," said Goritz sharply.

"And I——"

His remark was cut short, for at that moment a bullet from Karl's pistol went off somewhere in his general direction, and leaving the boy and the chauffeur to their fate, he fled, a frightened behemoth, into the woods.

Captain Goritz now opened the door of the limousine.

"You will get down at once, please," he said quietly to Marishka. "We will go on in the other car." And while Karl transferred a suitcase and other personal belongings, Captain Goritz scribbled something upon a card which he handed to the astonished chauffeur. "If your master ever comes back and is not satisfied with his bargain, he should present himself at this address in Vienna and the matter will be satisfactorily arranged." And then as he got into the tonneau of the car beside Marishka, "I would warn you not to follow us too closely. It would be dangerous."

Karl put in the gears and they started at once. "It would also be difficult, Herr Hauptmann," he said with a laugh, "for I have locked the switch."

"Ah, it is better so," said Goritz calmly. "And now, by Jarmeritz, I should think."

Karl nodded and, increasing the speed of the touring car, soon left the green limousine and its new owners far behind.

The precision and speed with which the exchange of automobiles had been accomplished and the unruffled impudence of the demeanor of Captain Goritz gave Marishka a new idea of the caliber of the man upon whose mercies she had been thrown, a new idea of the lengths to which he was prepared to go in the performance of his duty. Success, the gaining of which might easily have been tragic, was by his command of the situation turned into something which seemed comically near opera-bouffe. She could not understand what it all meant and timidly she asked him.

He smiled gravely.

"Your friend, Herr Windt, will be trying to make our journey difficult for us. The green limousine was conspicuous. It was observed in Vienna. We shall be more dusty, but I hope otherwise quite as comfortable."

"You think that we may be detained?" she asked anxiously.

"We shall do our best to prevent that from happening," he replied. "The way is long and our paths must be devious, but I think we shall succeed. There are many roads to Vienna, Countess." And then, with an air of consideration, "I hope that loss of sleep is not wearing on you. Presently we shall get out and have something to eat."

"Thank you," said Marishka with a grateful glance.

She felt Captain Goritz's look upon her for a long moment after she had turned away. Marishka sighed gently. Her companion's gaze left her and he peered straight before him, frowning. All this she knew by her woman's sixth sense without even looking at him. Even a thinking machine must have its moments of aberration. In a little while, the choice of roads having been decided, he turned to her again and Marishka's eyes met his fairly.

"You have not already regretted your bargain?" he asked quietly.

"No," she replied, smiling at him. "If you succeed, I shall regret nothing. A pawn has small chance, when the fate of kings is in question."

He was silent for a moment.

"I hope that you will understand my position, Countess. It is not my wish to make war upon women——"

"But one's duty is paramount, of course," she put in quickly. "I am not squeamish, Captain Goritz, but if my—my—er—elimination is necessary to your plans, it is only fair that I should be advised of the fact in time to say my prayers."

He regarded her soberly. Was she laughing at him? Her mien was quite serious, but her tone was sprightly—even flippant.

"It would be a matter of profound regret to me, Countess Strahni," he said, with some dignity, "if any misfortune should happen to you while under my charge."

"It is so nice of you to put it that way," she smiled at him. "Under other conditions, you know, we might even have been friends."

"I would be deeply pained if you should consider me an enemy," he replied.

"Ach! leider!" she sighed. "A prisoner can have no choice."

He made no reply to that and sank back into his favorite position with arms folded, staring straight before him. This girl was too handsome to quibble with. Her newly discovered cheerfulness disturbed him. He had known in abundance women of courage, women of skill in dissimulation, but he remembered that when they were both beautiful and clever it was the part of wisdom to be upon one's guard.

Marishka glanced at Captain Goritz's well-shaped head in the seat beside her. It was to be war between them—war! A thinking machine! Was he? She smiled to herself. She knew that she had power. What handsome clever woman does not know it? Men had desired her—a Russian duke, an Italian prince. And an Austrian archduke even, braving the parental ire, had wished to marry her, willing even to sacrifice his princely prerogatives if she would have said the word. Hugh Renwick——She swallowed bravely.... But the sense of her power over men gave her a new courage to meet Captain Goritz with a smile upon her lips while she summoned in secret all her feminine instinct to aid her in the unequal struggle, a game needing both caution and daring, a game for high stakes—in which perhaps no quarter would be given.

As they approached the environs of Vienna, the car now moved at a reduced speed and boldly chose the main highroads. Twice they were stopped and examined. This showed that all the machinery of the telegraph was now in operation, but the touring car did not answer to the given description and Captain Goritz's air of surprise and annoyance was so genuine that there was little delay.

"Our friends of the Mährische-Höhe are fortunately still frightened or else quite satisfied with the green limousine," he laughed. "We shall go through, I think."

"Shall we be in time?" asked Marishka.

The German shrugged and looked at his watch. "We shall be in Vienna in twenty minutes."

Marishka made no comment. As their journey neared its ending she realized that she was very tired, but the incentive that, had spurred her last night and all day still gave her strength to cope with whatever was to come.

"To the Embassy," Goritz whispered, "and fast!"

He had mounted again into the seat beside the chauffeur, and so Marishka did not question him, but his back was eloquent of determination. They drove boldly into the Ringstrasse and turned rapidly into a side street. Here the machine stopped again and Captain Goritz stood at the door of the tonneau waiting for her to descend. He led the way, walking rapidly, while Marishka struggled beside him as fast as her stiffened limbs permitted.

"The Ambassador can succeed where we should fail. He must procure an interview for you. I think it may be managed unless——" He paused. "But we shall see."

Silently Marishka followed into the Metternichgasse and up the steps of the Embassy and into a lofty salon where Captain Goritz bade her wait, and disappeared. A gloomy room with dingy frescoes of impossible cupids and still more impossible roses. Roses—the leit motif of her tragedy! There were mirrors—many mirrors, all of which seemed to be reflecting her pallid face. She was weary and covered with dust, but not so weary as she was desperate. Why should she wait again, while Sophie Chotek was here—here in Vienna. Unable to remain seated, she rose and walked about the room, the eternal feminine impelling a rearrangement of her hat and veil at the long mirror near the upper end of the room. Beside her was a window which opened upon a small court. Opposite this window was another window from which came sound of voices. She listened. It was her privilege, for they were speaking of her.

"...I acted upon my own judgment, Excellency. There seemed nothing else to do. The Countess Strahni has given me her word of honor. She will keep it."

"But the telegraph——"

"Sealed——"

"Impossible!"

"I beg you to try it—at once."

"Ah—the telephone!"

Marishka heard the clicking of the instrument and the voice again asking for a number. Silence. And then,—"I do not understand...." A pause. "Ach—so!" Another click and tinkle of the bell. "Donnerwetter, Herr Hauptmann! You are right. They say there is a temporary derangement of the system."

Another bell sounded. A door opened and shut. Then a question in the same voice.

"Graf von Mendel, the Archduke Franz reached Vienna this afternoon with the Duchess on the way to Sarajevo. Where are