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

toward the profile of the distant mountain, and smiled.

"I thought that you might be interested to learn something of my reasons for stopping here."

"The insect in the web of the spider has little emotion left for curiosity."

"The spider! I have always admired your courage, Countess."

"I can die but once."

"Perhaps you may care to know that you are not in the slightest danger of death."

"Thanks," she said coolly. "Your kindness is overwhelming. Or is my—'elimination' no longer essential?"

The more flippant her tone, the more somber Goritz became.

"My purposes, Countess Strahni, I think, you no longer have any reason to doubt. You are quite safe at Schloss Szolnok——"

"So is the insect in the web—from all other insects but the spider." She turned away. "You cannot blame me, Herr Hauptmann, if I judge of the future by the past."

"I would waste words to make further explanations which are so little understood, but there are matters of interest to you."

"Ah."

"You have been ill. Many things have happened. You would like to hear?"

"I am listening."

"It is the trifles of the world which make or prevent its greatest disasters. The man with the lantern at the bridgehead at Brod did not know that he held the destiny of Europe in his hand. And yet, this is the truth. Had he permitted us to pass unquestioned we should have reached Sarajevo in time to prevent the greatest cataclysm of all the ages."

Marishka turned toward him, her interest now fully aroused.

"What do you mean?"

"War, Countess Strahni—the most bloody—terrible—in the history of the world—the event that I have striven all my life to prevent. All of Europe is ablaze. Millions of men are marching—battles have already been fought——"

"Horrible? I cannot believe——"

"It is the truth. It followed swiftly upon the assassination at Sarajevo——"

"Serbia!"

"Serbia first—then Russia—Germany—Belgium—France—England, too——"

"You are speaking the truth?"

"I swear it."

"And Austria?"

"Germany and Austria—against a ring of enemies bent on exterminating us——"

"England—?"

And while with eager ears she listened, he told her the history of the long weeks, now growing into months, in which she had been hidden from the world—including the defeat of the Austrians by the Serbians along the Drina, and the advance of the Russians in East Prussia and Galicia.

She heard him through until the end, questioning eagerly, then aware of the dreadful significance of his news, forgetting for the moment her own animosities, her own questionable position in the greater peril of her country—and his. His country and hers at war against the world!

"Russia has won victories against Austria—in Galicia?" she urged.

"Yes—the Cossacks already are approaching Lemberg——"

"Lemberg!"

"They are less than two hundred kilometers from us at the present moment."

"And will they come—here?"

"I hope not," he said with a slow smile. "But Schloss Szolnok is hardly equipped to resist a siege of modern ordnance."

"And you—why are you here?"

The ingenuousness of her impetuous question seemed to amuse him.

"I?" he said. "I am here because—well, because you—because I had no other place to go."

"Will you explain?"

"I see no reason why I should not. I chose the place as a temporary refuge from pursuit. Your illness marred my plans. The war continues to mar them."

"How?"

He smiled.

"The insect has curiosity, then? Schloss Szolnok has proved safe. I have no desire to take unnecessary risks."

"You were pursued?"

He nodded. "Yes. And I managed to get away—here, but the other end of this pass is now strongly guarded. I could have gone through when I first came, but you were very ill. You would probably have died if I had gone on. Now it is too late. You see," he said with a shrug, "I am quite cheerful about it."

She turned and examined him with an air of timidity.

"You mean that—that to save my life you—you have sacrificed all hope of winning through to Germany?"

"With you, yes—for the present," he smiled.

She turned away and leaned upon the wall.

"I—I think that I—I have done you some injustice, Herr Hauptmann," she murmured with an effort.

"Thank you."

"But I cannot understand. The papers which passed you through Hungary—signed by General Von Hoetzendorf——"

"Unfortunately are of no further service. An order for my arrest has been issued in Vienna."

"Your arrest? For taking me?"

"For many things——" And he shrugged.

"What do you propose to do?"

"Remain here for the present," he said slowly. "It is doubtful if anyone would think of seeking us here. The Schloss has an evil name along the countryside. None of the peasants dares to come within a league of the place."

"And I—?" she asked.

"It seems, Countess Strahni," he said slowly, smiling at her, "that our positions are now reversed—you the captor—I the prisoner. And yet, as you see," with a shrug, "I am making no effort to escape. You have led captivity captive."

His phrases were too well spoken, and the look in his eyes disturbed her.

"You—you wish me to understand that I am free to go——"

"Hardly that," he interrupted with a short laugh. "Only this morning you said that you would kill me if you dared. I do not relish the notion of being delivered into the hands of the police."

"You think that I would do that?" she questioned.

"Wouldn't you?"

"I don't know. I——"

"I am sure of it. I am no longer under any illusions with regard to your sentiments toward myself. This morning I uncovered my heart to you—and you plunged a dagger into it. It was too much—beyond my deserts. I am no man for a woman to spit upon, Countess Strahni. You are still a prisoner—as completely under my power as though you and I were the last people left upon the earth."

His tone was mild, but there was a depth of meaning under it.

"I—I can scarcely be unaware of it," she murmured. "What are you going to do with me?"

"For the present we shall stay here—until an opportunity presents——"

"For escape?"

"I could go alone tonight—and reach Germany—without you. That is not my purpose."

"Then you propose to take me with you?"

"When the coast is clear—yes."

"And if the coast should not be clear?"

"I shall remain."

The situation was as she had supposed, but his motive—the real motive! She drew the wrap more closely around her throat and turned away from him again. To escape from him! That was the only thing she could think of now. Upon the road, his attitude of firm consideration, his cool insistence upon compliance with his wishes, had not been nearly so ominous as the personal note which he had injected into their relations. He frightened her now. But to escape? She was watched, she was sure, for in the afternoon, while the drawbridge was lowered, she had made out the figure of a man on guard at the end of the causeway. But while her conversation with Goritz dismayed her, she studied him keenly, trying to read him by what he did not say.

She smiled at him impudently.

"And suppose I attempted to escape?" she asked.

"You would fail. There is but one exit from Szolnok—the drawbridge—and that is continually guarded."

"You have ordered your men to shoot me?"

"No—but you will not pass."

"I see. Your contrition does not go as far as that."

"Not beyond the walls of Schloss Szolnok," he said coolly.

"And you ask me to believe in the integrity of your motives? What was the use, Herr Hauptmann? I could understand duplicity to me in the performance of a duty, but to practice your machine-made emotions upon my simplicity—! I could hardly forgive you that."

He kept himself well in hand and even smiled again.

"You wrong me, Countess Strahni. I have spoken the truth."

"You cannot deny me the privilege of doubting you," she replied.

"What further proof would you have me give you that I am honest in my love for you?"

She pointed past the drawbridge along the causeway toward the valley below.

"Permit me to go—there—alone—tonight."

He laughed quietly.

"Alone? I do not know what danger may lurk in the valley. The fact that I wish to keep you here—is a better proof of my tenderness."

She turned away from him and leaned upon the wall. But to him at least she did not show fear.

"We cannot remain here indefinitely," she said coolly.

"Are you not comfortable? Is not everything provided for you? It has been my pride to make your convalescence agreeable in all ways," he said, leaning a little nearer to her. "I have tried to atone for the discomforts of your journey. Was it not my solicitude for your health which balked my own plans? You have questioned the truth of my professions, but you cannot deny the evidences of your safety."

Marishka was thinking quickly. Much as she abhorred the man, she realized that, if she were to have any chance of success she must meet him with weapons stronger than his own. And so she turned to him with a smile which concealed her growing terror.

"Herr Hauptmann, I do not wish you to think that I am ungrateful for the many indulgences that you have shown me. Your position has been a difficult one. But from the beginning we have been enemies——"

"Before the outbreak of the war—but allies now——"

"Not if you persist in your plan to carry me to Germany."

He asked her permission to smoke, and when she had granted it he went on coolly.

"Perhaps something may happen to prevent the execution of my plan," he said.

"What?" she stammered.

He searched her face eagerly for a moment.

"You may be sure, Countess Strahni," he said in a half-whisper, "that it is very painful to me that you should think of me as an enemy. Enemy I am not. It is my duty to take you to Germany, but it is very painful to me to do anything which makes you unhappy. Here, safe from detection, I am still doing my duty. And in remaining here you, too, are safe. Will you not try to be contented—to endure my society just for a little while? I want to show you that I can be as other men——"

She laughed to hide her fears.

"All men are alike where a woman is concerned—"

"Will you try? I will be your slave—your servant. Within the castle you may come and go as you please. No one shall approach you without your permission. You see, I am not an exacting jailer. All I ask is the hope of your friendship, a glimpse of your returning smile, and such companionship as you care to give me. It is not much. Do I not deserve it? Bitte, think a little."

Marishka gasped and fought the impulse to run from him, for his face was very near her shoulder, his voice very close to her ear.

"I—I think that—we may be friends," she murmured.

"Will you give me your hand, Countess Strahni?"

She extended it slowly and he bowed over it, pressing it to his lips.

She found her excuse in a cough, a vestige of her illness which she summoned to her rescue.

"It—it is getting late, Herr Hauptmann," she said. "I must be going in. The night air——"

"By all means." He accompanied her to the portal of the hall and then she left him.

That night Marishka did not sleep, and the next day, pleading fatigue, remained in her bedroom, trying to muster up the courage to go forth and meet Goritz at this tragic game of his own choosing. That she had stirred some sort of an emotion in the man was not to be doubted. She read it in his eyes, in the touch of his fingers, and in the resonant tones of his voice, but she read too, the sense of his power, the confidence of his egotism to which all things were possible. And much as she wished to believe the testimony of his flashes of tenderness, the hazard of her position stared her in the face. But she knew that with such a man she must play a game of subtlety and courage. And so she resolved to meet him frequently, testing every feminine device to win him to her service which would obliterate all things but her own wishes, and present at last an opportunity for her escape.

In the week that followed she walked out with him across