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

of Goritz, force an entrance and trust to luck.

But there might be some other and less dangerous means of reaching Marishka. Even if he entered the Hall, he would have no idea which way to turn. Better to follow the passage to the upper floors, if it were possible, and enter above, thus creating a diversion which might add to the advantage of his surprise. But did the passage mount higher? Or was—? His advancing toes touched something solid. Bending forward, he found steps, and immediately began mounting them on all fours.

The sleeping-rooms, he had supposed, were on the two upper floors of the keep and in the buttressed building toward the south which was a part of it. This was the direction in which he was going now. He reached another landing, as nearly as he could judge by the steps he had taken, almost over the crypt, three levels below. This was the keep, then, upon his left. With pulse beating rapidly he felt for and found a wooden upright—another door. He paused and listened. There was no sound nor any light upon the other side. So he went on slowly until at a distance above him he saw the starlight coming through another loophole, the counterpart of that below the Hall, and mounted noiselessly, peering out upon the wider valley to the south. He had therefore traversed the castle from one side to the other, and was now near the top of the buttressed wing of the keep.

Breathing in deep gasps the keen night air, Renwick waited, listening, and now heard again from outside the thunderous reverberations of the battle at the head of the Pass. He had been so intent upon his mission that he had forgotten it! But now the furious character of the engagement was obvious. It was far distant, perhaps four or five miles away, and yet the wild heavens were aglow with strange flashing fires, the reflections of the bombs and star-shells which paled the ineffectual lights of the firmament. Battle! Schloss Szolnok, too, should see battle—his own with Goritz! But Renwick would take no chances this time.

The heavy reverberations rose and died away, but a fainter spatter of sounds continued, the deadly counter-melody of machine-gun and rifle fire which went on without intermission. Far below the Schloss, in the direction of the road along the Dukla, he heard the clatter of transport, and the calls of men.

All of this Renwick's mind assimilated in his moment of rest and recuperation, but beside the loophole, clearly defined by the flashes in the heavens, his searching glances made out the uprights of another door. Here, perhaps——He bent forward, listening at its cracks, and then knelt, searching for a latch or keyhole. Nothing. But as he turned his back to the loophole, shutting out the starlight, he imagined that he saw something white upon the stone flagging. He leaned forward to pick it up and found that his fingers were softly illuminated. The spot was the reflection of a dim light within the room. He put his face close to the floor and found the aperture, a small hole of irregular shape in the baseboard of the door. A candle. Someone, then, was within? He put his ear to the chink and listened. A muffled sound, faint, but agonizingly definite—a woman's sobs! Renwick straightened and then listened again. Silence. Perhaps he had been mistaken. No. There it was again—fainter now. He ran his fingers softly along the edges of the woodwork, seeking a latch, a handle, but could find none. If there were a secret spring, it was so deftly hidden that he could not discover it. But in the brief moments of his search he had decided that he must enter this room at all costs. And so rising to his feet, he gave up trying to find the secret of admittance and slowly put his weight against the woodwork. It made no sound nor yielded to his pressure. He tried it again with the same results. Then despairing, and desperate, he struck a match and ran it quickly along the jambs. The hinges were concealed, but he found signs of them at the right. To the left, then—another match—a handle, a knob—where? And then just as the third match went out he found it—a flat, iron lever which moved around a swivel, cunningly let into the woodwork. He caught it quickly in his fingers, twisted it down, and then, automatic in hand, he pushed upon the door which opened and swung inward upon its hinges.

Renwick waited for a moment in the doorway, pistol in hand, blinking at the candle upon the table, like a cat emerging from a cellar, searching the vast room for its occupant. A huge room with wainscoted walls, with heavy hangings at the windows, massive furniture, a high canopied bed——

He took a few quick steps forward into the room, for a figure clothed in soft white had started up from the bed and was staring at him with startled eyes—Marishka!

Renwick was hatless, tattered, covered with dust, his face streaked with grime and sweat, and the short beard that he wore still further transformed him. But it seemed that a look of recognition struggled with the terror in her eyes.

"You, Hugh—again!" she whispered.

A pang shot through him at the pitiful sound of her voice and at the words. Had her sufferings——

"Your spirit. It has—has been—with me often, Hugh." She went on dreamily.

"Marishka!" he whispered, crossing to her swiftly. "It is I—Hugh. It is no dream, no vision. Awake!"

She brushed an arm across her eyes like one arousing from a deep sleep, and then straightened suddenly and still uncertainly. But he caught her by the arm and brought her face close to his own so that she might see.

"I didn't die, dear. I am here in the flesh—to protect—to take you away from this place."

"Then I—I have not dreamed?"

"Not now?"

She clasped his wrists, his shoulders, his face with her hands to assure herself of the truth, and he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.

"Marishka!" he murmured again. And then she seemed to grow heavy in his arms, repeating his name breathlessly.

He was frightened for a moment for her head drooped away from him. She looked so piteously thin and white, and her hands were ice cold.

"Marishka!" he pleaded. "Marishka."

Her eyes opened again and her smile reassured him.

"Forgive me, Hugh. The joy is almost more than I can bear."

"You are safe now," he whispered. "Safe!" And he clasped her close, holding her there in a breathless moment oblivious to their danger.

Then while she still wondered, Renwick suddenly released her, moving quickly to the door by which he had entered, and after examining the mechanism carefully, quietly closed it. Then he turned to Marishka and questioned, while still seated upon the bed, she regarded him with bewildered eyes.

"What men are there at Schloss Szolnok, Marishka?" he asked quickly.

"Goritz—the chauffeur—and Ena's husband," she answered slowly, with an effort.

"Strohmeyer?"

"Yes. The two men—at the farm—are not here—at night."

"Ah, I see——" And then, "That other door," he whispered tensely. "Is it locked?"

"Yes. I—I locked it tonight."

"You feared?"

"Hugh—until tonight——"

She stopped and shuddered, until he came to her and held her for a moment in his arms.

"He will not frighten you again," he muttered between set lips.

"Thank God," she whispered, now starting up as though with the first realization of their position.

"Have you any plan of what you will do?"

"Yes. Goritz is still below in the Hall. I have a plan, but I can do nothing until he goes to bed. Where is his room?"

"In the keep, along the passageway outside."

"I see," thoughtfully; and then, "Do you know where I can find a rope—several ropes, stout ones?"

"I do not know. There is a storeroom."

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, I think so."

"And you can find it—in the dark?"

"I think so."

"Is there any way of telling when Goritz goes to bed?"

"I hear his steps sometimes in the corridor outside."

He went noiselessly over to the door, listened a moment and then returned.

"No sounds. There isn't much sleep for anyone here tonight. The noise and the knowledge that Herr Windt is somewhere near——"

"Herr Windt!"

"He has followed us here. I think he found a trace of me at Bartfeld—the village beyond the mountain," he whispered.

"But we might go down through the castle and the courtyard—if we could pass the man at the drawbridge. Does it make a noise when it is lowered?"

"Oh, yes, Hugh—a dreadful noise."

"That's awkward." He crossed to the door into the wainscoting and listened there, then at the other door into the corridor, and returned to her.

"For the present, at least, we're safe."

He caught her in his arms and held her silently. Her arms clinging to him, she raised her head and found his lips.

"Belovèd," she whispered, "how did you——"

"I followed you here—on a mere fragment of a clew—but it was enough."

"But he shot you——"

"I was well cared for—in a hospital."

"You were wounded—dangerously?"

"Yes, but I don't die easily. I'm quite well again."

"Are you sure?"

He laughed. "Could I be here, else? Your cliffs are steep——"

"You climbed——?"

"Yes, up a fissure and through the ruins. I saw you—there in the window—from across the gorge. I heard you call, Marishka——"

"Call——?"

"That you were not afraid to die."

"But I was afraid, Hugh—it was so far—so dark below." She shuddered.

He pressed her closer to him. "Has he—has Goritz——"

"Until tonight, Hugh—he has not been unkind," she said slowly. "I was sick; he nursed me. But I've feared him—I fear him still——"

He felt her body trembling against his own, and reassured her gently, pausing a moment to listen tensely for sounds at either door. And then——

"Don't worry, dearest. He cannot harm you. I was not spared from death for nothing."

"I am not frightened now, but tonight has been horrible—the noise—my terror of I know not what. It has been like the end of the world to me."

"The beginning of our world, yours and mine," he said confidently.

She straightened, drew away from him and put a hand before her eyes again. "Even yet I cannot believe." She looked up at him with a wide gaze that still held in it something of the reflection of the long days of helplessness and misery—something more deeply spiritual than he had ever seen. "Hugh, dear," she went on softly, "you will think it strange, but I—I have heard you calling to me—speaking to me, like a living presence here in this room. Not as you are now, belovèd, but paler.... I thought that you were dead.... And so when you came—at the door—I thought—I must have dreamed——"

"You were frightened, dear."

"Yes—terribly frightened, Hugh," she confessed, "by him—and by the firing. It seemed at times as though the castle were rocking under me. Listen!"

A terrific cannonading began again—louder, more continuous than any that had gone before.

"Yes—they are fighting for the end of the Pass," he muttered; "the Russians——"

"And will they——?"

"God knows. I pray——" he paused and scanned her face anxiously.

"What, Hugh?"

"That the Russians may win."

She started away from him, her eyes widely inquiring.

"Why?"

He smiled slowly.

"It's simple enough. Because if I am taken by the Austrians I shall be shot as a spy."

"You—a spy!"

"No, not really," he said soberly. "But I'm an Englishman, an enemy of Austria armed and in disguise. That is enough——"

"They—my people would shoot you!" She whispered, horror-stricken.

"I have no illusions about my fate—if taken——"

"But you have come here—to help me——"

"Unfortunately that does not change matters."

He put her gently aside and went for a while and listened at the doors, and then came back to her.

"Silence. But we will wait a little longer," he whispered.

Marishka caught him by the shoulders and looked up into his eyes.

"Hugh, what you have said frightens me. You mean that you—that we are enemies—you and I—because our nations are at war——!"

She drew away and held him at arm's length while she scrutinized him in the light of the guttering candle.

"You—my enemy, Hugh? I—yours?" A wan smile came proudly to her lips. "If I am your