the probabilities now were, that fr?ulein asta von winterstein was still alive. horribly shocked as i was by what i had seen, it was yet with a feeling of almost relief that, when the ghastly work was over, and the men had gone, i got down from my place of observation and went back to the inn.
one thing greatly annoyed me. that was the thought of the opportunity i had missed, while the men were engaged in the wood, of slipping into their boat and trying whether they had not left the little door unfastened. what i could have done towards rescuing the imprisoned girl, even had i gained entrance into the building, was very doubtful; still, had i imagined that it was not her body they were going to bury i should certainly have made the attempt. after all my life was in no greater danger than that of a soldier’s in action, with, personally, a far more imperative reason for risking it. the relation of the night’s deed had a bad effect on von lindheim, although he manfully strove to hide it.
“i am the only man left now,” he said bitterly, “who saw that affair. is it likely that i shall be allowed to live?”
i did my best to give him courage, making most of the chancellor’s assurance, and pointing out how different his case was from that of the priest who had actually performed the ceremony. but in the unstrung [pg 155] of his nerves my arguments made little impression, and, though he affected to take a hopeful view, i fear he went to bed in a miserable frame of mind.
next morning strode came over, and we prepared to go out shooting with him. there was a certain breeziness about my fellow-countryman that acted as a nerve tonic. i had been worrying about von lindheim during the night, and had come to the conclusion that the only thing for him was to slip away out of the country and put, if possible, a continent between himself and the ruthless chancellor. the opportunity was apt, since, so far as we could tell, our whereabouts was not known. still, any hour might bring us evidence of the contrary, and it seemed to me that the sooner my friend was on his way the better.
at breakfast i told him my idea, and was glad to notice that it seemed to jump with his own inclination.
“the only question is the detail,” i said. “i am sorry that i cannot come with you, but i am bound to stay here, at any rate till i know the worst, and perhaps, after all, you will have a better chance by yourself, since, if rallenstein’s people are on the look-out, it will naturally be for us both together.”
strode’s appearance at the inn put an idea into my head, which i thought out and communicated to him later in the day.
“i want your advice and your help, if you’ll give it me,” i said. we had walked some two or three miles from the geierthal on to high ground along which ran a chain of woods well stocked with game. von lindheim was some little way from us, and i had shortened the regulation interval between strode and myself to speaking distance.
he answered eagerly, rather surprised, it seemed, that any one should be found to ask help of him.
[pg 156]
“my dear fellow, of course i will. what’s the trouble?”
“you will give me your word it shall go no farther?” he nodded, and i felt i could trust him. “our friend von lindheim is under a cloud. he is being hunted down for political reasons. holds a dangerous secret, and his life is not worth twelve hours’ purchase.”
strode whistled. “bad as that?”
“yes; you don’t know what vindictive fiends these government people are. now, if he is to save his life he must get away out of the country.”
“i should think so. i’m your man; this is rather exciting. what can i do?”
“you have a passport?”
“yes. ah, i see.”
“i have an idea if he travelled in your name it might put the bloodhounds off the scent. he speaks english perfectly, as you hear. it is but a chance, still i can’t see a good fellow like that done to death in cold blood without an effort to save him. he ought to slip away quietly at once.”
“yes,” he drawled, but i could see he was thinking it out. “we had better head for my diggings, potting what we can on our way. i’ve an idea an eilwagen passes about a mile below the house between four and five. that might do for him. we can talk it over as we go.”
whereupon we called von lindheim and communicated the plan to him. the situation and his chances were discussed as we went; details of his flight and the safest route were arranged. the cottage, a literal shooting-box, was soon reached, a curiously bare little place furnished simply with necessaries, and, with the exception perhaps of one armchair, none of the luxuries of life. here strode provided an excellent luncheon, considering the resources of the place, fish and game [pg 157]and ham, with an assortment of delicatessen and a capital bottle of wine. then we equipped von lindheim for his journey, making him as much like a travelling briton as possible, towards which an old suit of strode’s went a long way. everything that could be was changed, even down to the linen, which now bore the englishman’s name, proof positive of his identity. then, furnished with the all-important passport, a travelling bag, a flask and sandwiches, he set off with us to intercept the eilwagen, which was soon to pass through the valley below.
both he and i were depressed at the thought of the parting, and i am sure our minds were full of darker forebodings than we cared to acknowledge; but strode’s dry humour and happy-go-lucky temperament kept up our spirits; carelessness of self is infectious, as every soldier knows.
we reached the spot where the eilwagen was to pass, and after some twenty minutes’ waiting it lumbered into sight. thereupon we bade von lindheim god-speed and left him, thinking it just as well that he should appear alone. still, in that wooded country we were able unobserved to see the last of him, and it was with satisfaction we noticed that the only passenger so far was an old market woman who sat beside the driver talking volubly. the accent of our friend’s hail was worthy of a real englishman; the jolting vehicle pulled up, he threw in his bag and took his seat. there was just time for a wave of the hand unseen by the other occupants, and a turn in the road shut him from our sight.
i must confess that it was with a good deal of relief that i saw von lindheim safely on his way. i had my doubts as to the probabilities of his ultimate escape, the more so as i mistrusted his nerve at a critical juncture. still, something had to be done, he had the advantage of a good start, and i had arranged [pg 158]that if there was no more chance of helping fr?ulein von winterstein i would follow him, it might be on the next day. but that was not to be.
i could not quite make up my mind whether it would be as well to tell strode the real reason of my staying on at the inn in the geierthal. his pluck, contempt of danger, and promptness of resource were all that i could wish; he was, i felt sure, staunch enough; yet i hesitated, and, although more than once on the point of doing so, said nothing that day of the imprisoned girl. we had plenty to talk of on our way back in the recital of the chancellor’s methods of securing secrecy. however, i did not tell strode what the particular affair was that had brought these men to their death. we made an arrangement to meet and shoot on the morrow, and i went back alone to the geierthal.
on reaching the inn i found the coffee-room occupied by a young fellow whose appearance was so curious that i gave him a second glance. he was poorly dressed, of a very dark complexion, his lip was fringed with a slight moustache, while a mass of untidy black hair fell over his collar and stood out in front from beneath his cap, almost veiling his eyes. by the side of his plate stood an old concertina. a tramping musician, i thought; then looked again and, from habit, became suspicious. however, he had as much right there as i, so i ordered my dinner, explaining to the innkeeper that my friend was sleeping that night at the englishman’s cottage to be ready for an early shoot in the morning.
presently the young man took up his concertina and went out. from the window i saw him seat himself on the bench in front of the house, roll a cigarette and lazily smoke it, playing the while softly on his instrument.
“a travelling musician?” i asked the landlord. [pg 159]
he gave a shrug. “i think so. he says he came from carlzig to-day. they sometimes pass this way, but not often; there is not much to be picked up here. no people, no pence.”
i thought it strange enough to be suspicious; but when i went out a little later the musician was gone and i saw him no more.
