The Golden Bough

The hoarse murmur of approval had risen again and here and there a reckless note of anger punctuated the commotion. General von Stromberg listened coolly, his twisted smile unpleasantly unhumorous.

"Silence!" he snapped, and the noise of voices diminished but did not cease. A rumble of thunder outside added to the din. Electricity was in the air. But Von Stromberg stood upright, swinging his whistle by its silken cord.

"Silence!" he repeated. "I command you!"

The habit of obedience compelled them and they sat silent at last, but there were angry faces among them.

"My friends, this toy in my fingers is harmless enough. But if I put it to my lips, you will be shot as you sit upon your benches-"

"We can die but once-" broke in a clear high voice almost beside him. Tatyana had risen pale and erect, her hands at her sides and faced him calmly.

"We can die but once," she repeated again more insistently as though she feared he might not have heard.

Von Stromberg stared at her in a moment of silence, then without replying turned to Herr Senf who still stood, trembling with anger.

"You refuse to obey my command?" asked the General.

"I do."

"Then I will take the chair," he grinned. "Herr Hochwald! You will take pencil and paper and record the vote." And then raising his voice so that it rang sharply through the rooms.

"It has been moved by Herr General Graf von Stromberg, Privy Councillor of His Majesty the Emperor-"

He paused to grin in self-gratulation-"that the funds of the Society of Nemi at the present moment in the custody of the Central Socialist Revolutionary Committee of Bavaria, be and hereby are appropriated for the uses of the Socialist Party in the Reichstag as his Imperial Majesty may direct."

A death-like silence had now fallen. What did it portend? Rowland stood as though the smile had frozen on his lips, the impudence of this old man was more wonderful than anything he had ever witnessed in his life-one man against two hundred enemies, so sure of himself and of the power that he represented-that there seemed to be not a doubt in his own mind as to the outcome of his audacity. Rowland could have shot him as he stood, but feared. Their leader could not stand alone. Senf was plainly frightened.

It was their fight-those others. He set his jaws in a moment of fury. Were they stuffed men-images? Where was the defiance he had heard so brave upon their lips today? Shriveled in their hearts with the terror that made them dumb. He had no definite plan, but he measured the distance to the door behind the table, resolved that if the worst came the money and Tanya would go with him from this room. What a fool he had been to bring it here.

"We will now vote," Von Stromberg's voice broke in again. "Herr Hochwald will record your names as you come forward. He will also take your addresses. We will proceed-the first now-from the right. Herr Fenner-"

The man who a moment ago had swayed Tanya by his fervor and sincerity, rose and came forward slowly.

"I know you very well, Herr Fenner," Von Stromberg was saying, "You have devised a bomb which has proved quite efficient. One of your bombs exploded last month in the rifle-assembling room at Essen. Fortunately no one was injured. You are an inventor, Herr Fenner. I pray you to invent an excuse for this outrage which will make you innocent."

"Excellency, I-"

The man's face was the color of parchment.

"How do you vote, Herr Fenner?" asked Von Stromberg with a leer. "For the resolution-? Or against it?"

"For-" the man gasped in a half whisper. "I vote for-"

Von Stromberg grinned.

"Good!" he cried jovially. "The force of example will be of inestimable value. Herr Liederman!"

The bulky form of the Socialist approached, his brows twitching, his face suffused with blood.

"Excellency. I am Councilor of the Order of Nemi."

"Max Liederman," cut in the sharp voice. "Socialist-Democrat. Owns property in Stuttgart which may be desired by the Government. Accepted money from the discredited Baron von Weiler in the case of-"

"Excellency, enough!" said Liederman chokingly.

"How do you vote?" thundered Von Stromberg.

"For-Excellency," muttered Liederman.

"Quite right. You see how the wind blows?" And then, with a smile, "Zoya Rochal!"

Madame Rochal approached and her eyes and Rowland's met. The look in his compelled her and she faced the General with desperate coolness.

"Ah, Madame. And you-?"

"I vote No-" she said firmly, her lips compressed, her eyes closed.

"One moment, Madame, in case you should feel any uncertainty-you are a Russian by birth, the daughter of Alexiev Manuilov, a dealer in hides in Odessa. You were a very beautiful child. At the age of seventeen, you ran away from home with an English gambler named-"

"Is my dossier necessary, Excellency?" she muttered, with bowed head.

–"named Wishart," he continued relentlessly. "You were next heard of in Constantinople, where you were a part of the household of Mustapha Bey-"

"Excellency-!"

"In Paris, whither you fled with a French rug agent named Dunois, you met the Duc de Noailles-"

"Excellency, I pray that you-"

–"who shot himself, when you ran away to Austria with-"

"For the love of God, Excellency-"

–"with Baron Meyerling of the Embassy. But he repudiated you when he discovered that his secretary-"

"Excellency, enough. I will vote-"

"How-Madame-?"

Rowland caught one glimpse of her face in this moment of her disgrace. Her glance met his and fell, she seemed in a moment to have grown years older.

"Your vote-?" Von Stromberg laughed. "How-Madame?"

No one heard her reply but General von Stromberg announced quite coolly,

"For, Herr Hochwald."

And Zoya Rochal sought her seat, her head bowed, broken and defeated.

Baron von Stromberg was greatly enjoying himself. He leaned against the edge of the table and as each man came up, transfixed him with a look, hypnotic and deeply suggestive of the power of his malice.

But in another moment a change was to come-one of those astonishing shifts of the psychology of a crowd. For one man voted "No" defiantly, the big man in the blouse who had been so violent earlier in the evening.

"Stand aside, Herr Borsch," snapped Von Stromberg.

"With me," cried Rowland, joyously. He might have been shouting "Montjoie!" with his famous namesake in defiance of the Saracens.

"And me," cried another nearby, rising from his seat.

"And me-!"

"And me-!"

The crowd had leaped to its feet as though with one accord, the chorus swelled and the rooms rocked with the tumult. Von Stromberg straightened and his right hand which held the whistle moved slowly toward his lips.

Rowland bent over Tanya and whispered something. The movement caught Hochwald's eye.

"Excellency!" he shouted.

As Von Stromberg turned, the whistle already in his lips, he gazed straight into the muzzle of Rowland's automatic.

"Blow, Excellency-"

The shrill whistle and the shot sounded at the same moment. Von Stromberg seemed to stumble and fall. As Hochwald reached for a weapon Borsch fell upon him and bore him to the ground by the sheer weight of his body. Other shots rang out further down the rooms. A woman's scream punctuated the roar. A rush of feet in the hallways outside-doors flew open, and soldiers appeared, the lamplight glinting on helmet, spike and bayonet. At the sight of soldiers there was a roar of fury.

"Down with the soldiers! Kill! The hour of deliverance is here! Kill! Kill!"

There was a crash of glass as one of the lamps went down-another. The rooms were in darkness except for the flashes of the lightning through the dirty windows. Rowland seized the suit-case and pushed through the crowd which surged toward the door, his arm around Tanya. The soldiers were trying to keep the crowd inside. A furious struggle followed, shots were fired and men fell.

"It is impossible-that way," cried Rowland in Tanya's ear. "Come."

A few had escaped by a rear window which let upon the roof of an adjoining house. Outside, too, above the roar of the thunder, came the sharp note of firearms. But there was no other chance. Rowland went first, stumbling over a figure that had fallen just outside and as he reached the roof there was a flash in the darkness and a bullet crashed into the woodwork of the window. He stood still, sheltering Tanya with the black suit-case, while she descended, his weapon in line, waiting for the flash of lightning to reveal the whereabouts of the sniper. A gleam of light. A German officer at the top of the slanting roof above him, deliberately reloading his weapon. Fortunately the roof had a low pitch. Rowland waited a moment until Tanya was behind him and then clambered upward, the suit-case clasped in front of him, firing as he went. The officer toppled, caught at the chimney-breast beside him, missed it, and falling, slid head first down the slippery roof and disappeared. Rowland gained the top, a flat space buttressed by chimneys which adjoined a larger building upon the right, hauled Tanya up beside him and then hurried along toward its further end, hoping to find a roof adjoining. But as he did so, his toe struck a projection and he fell sprawling, just as two soldiers clambered up and began firing. Rowland heard Tanya's cry of dismay.

"All right," he cried reassuringly. "The other chimney-hide."

She obeyed. And Rowland waited until the nearest soldier had almost reached him when with the last shot in his weapon he fired point blank into his body. The man crashed down, his rifle falling just beside Rowland's hand. With a cry of joy he seized it and rose. The other man fired. Rowland felt the bullet pass through his clothing somewhere and was surprised that he felt no pain and did not fall. Instead he found himself erect, standing quite firmly upon his feet, his keen gaze seeking the point of the bayonet of his adversary. This was a game he knew. He aimed at the approaching figure and pulled the trigger of his rifle but there was only a harmless click. The chamber was empty. But the other man had not fired again. A flash of lightning revealed him-a mere boy, very pale and uncertain. It seemed a pity-he was so young.

And then he heard the boy's voice.

"Kamerad!" it said. "Kamerad!"

And Rowland waited a moment.

"Hold up your hands."

The boy obeyed, whimpering.

"I do not want to kill my own people," he said.

"You are sure?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good. Nor do I." And then, after a moment more, "Go thou then and tell them that the roof is cleared."

In a moment Rowland had dropped the rifle and joined Tanya by the chimney.

"You're not hurt?" she whispered in a lull of the storm.

"No, I think not. And you?"

She reassured him quickly.

"Thank God for that."

The rain was still pouring in torrents. Behind them the tumult of the baited crowd, but upon the roof upon which they hid there was no one. The boy had been true to his word.

He took the weapon of Herr Förster which he had not had time to draw from his other pocket, picked up the suit-case and looked around.

"Come," he said. "There must be some way out of this."

CHAPTER XIX

A SAMARITAN

Beyond them at one side was another roof, and beyond it again, through the driving storm they could see the chimneys of others. Rowland slid down to the lower level. Tanya handed him the suitcase and in a moment in obedience to his orders she had swung herself over the edge of the eaves and into his arms.

But their situation was precarious for the new roof had a deeper pitch and the tiles were loose, but they climbed to its peak, along which they made their way on their hands and knees, Rowland leading and dragging their precious booty toward a group of chimneys fifty or sixty feet beyond, a defensible position should their means of escape be discovered. They reached it at last, their clothes and fingers torn, and halted a moment here, while Rowland reloaded his automatic while he watched the dim profile of the house above them.

"It was horrible-I can never forget-," Tanya was whispering. "Like rats in a trap. That dreadful man!"

"I shot. There was nothing else to do. But I could swear I missed him-the uncertain light-the crowd all about-"

"But he fell-I saw him-"

"Yes," dubiously, "but they say he has as many lives as a cat. Sh!" he whispered suddenly.

They crouched lower in the darkness, while Rowland peered up at the dim shapes along the roof of the building from which they had descended. Two soldiers-for he could see the rifles in their hands-but they looked down upon the sloping roof, exchanged a few words and then, evidently changing their minds, disappeared again. The roar of the storm had now drowned all other sounds, for the shooting had ceased, but a dull glow now appeared defining the window from which they had escaped. The glow was too red for lamp light, and then a smell of smoke was borne down toward them upon the storm. Fire! Rowland pointed and Tanya saw.

"The lamps," he said. "Unless they put it out it will soon be so light that we can be seen from the street. Risky footing in the dark, but we've got to chance it," he said grimly. "Can you follow?"

"Try me," she said bravely.

He pressed her hand, caught up the suit-case, and they went on, now at a higher elevation, now at a lower one, until Rowland stopped again by another group of chimneys to rest and listen.

"I don't know how far these roofs go, but there's a river over here somewhere. There's a dormer window just beyond. We can't go much further. We'll have to slip in and take a chance. Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes."

In a lull of the storm they heard loud outcries from the now distant hall. Smoke and sparks were coming from the windows, and at last a tongue of flame shot upward.

"If we can get down-"

But the descent was precarious, for this roof was steeper than the others. In the street below the eaves they now heard the rumble of heavy wheels upon the cobbles, the clang of bells and shouts of excitement.

"If we can reach the street we might slip away in the confusion," Rowland muttered, and had already begun the dangerous descent to the roof of the dormer window when a word of warning from Tanya made him pause.

"Someone-is following us," she whispered.

Rowland lodged the suit-case in the angle by the chimney and turned, weapon in hand, peering into the darkness. The glow of the sparks and flame from the burning building now shed a faint illumination along the wet roofs and he made out a figure crawling toward them. He waited a moment until the figure reached the gable of the house on which they sat when he lowered his automatic and frowned in uncertainty.

"I can't make out-" he whispered. And then in a guarded tone, "Who's there?"

There was a moment's pause and then a faint voice came to them-a woman's voice.

"Philippe!"

With an exclamation, Rowland slipped the weapon in his pocket and crawled back along the roof.

"Philippe-thank God!" And then faintly, "You must help me. I-I am-hurt-"

"Zoya!"

He helped her up and along the roof while she clung to him in weakness and in terror, but he managed to reach the safety of the chimneys, where Tanya helped him support her.

"You are wounded?" he whispered.

"I saw you go. I tried to follow. Someone shot at me in the dark. I fell… Then I knew that I-I must go on and-and when the soldiers went-I crept-up-the roof-I don't know how. In the glow of the fire I saw you and-and came. But I am so dizzy-"

She stared down into the dark chasms on either side and then her head fell sideways on Tanya's shoulder.

"She has fainted," muttered Rowland.

"We must get her down there in some way," said Tanya bravely.

"Stay where you are. I will see."

And putting the suit-case beside him he sat and went carefully down to the roof of the dormer window, where he lodged the suit-case again and then slid down. There was a broad ledge here and he crouched, peering around into the window of the room beneath. It was dark inside but the window was open. There was no time to spare, so, weapon in hand, he entered without ceremony. His matches were wet and he had no means of making a light, but he felt around with his hands and found a door, which he opened cautiously. There was a dim light in the hall and by its light he made out the objects within the shabby room, a trunk, two beds, a bureau and wash-stand. One of the two beds had been occupied and the disorder of the room indicated that it had been suddenly deserted.

Rowland scratched his head in a moment of uncertainty, and then closed the door and locked it.

"Sorry, old top," he muttered, "but our need is greater than yours."

As he emerged the flames from the burning building had burst through the roof and the figures of Tanya and Madame Rochal by the chimney were deeply etched in silhouette against the glow of the heavens. The downpour had ceased and only a slight drizzle remained of the storm which had been so friendly to them. Even now, if anyone chose to look upward they could see. And so he crouched and crawled up again.

"It's got to be managed some way," he muttered to Tanya. "Come."

But she shook her head.

"I will follow," she said firmly. "See, she has revived a little."

With words of encouragement they got Madame Rochal upright and the perilous descent began, Rowland with one arm around her, the other hand clinging to a projection of the roof. They moved slowly down, Rowland fearing another fainting spell which might cause her to lose her balance, but the assurance of her companion gave her the use of the last remnants of her strength, and they reached the ledge in safety, where she clung to the woodwork of the window while Rowland entered and then half-dragged, half-lifted her within. He carried her then to the couch upon which he laid her and then returned for Tanya. But just outside the window he met her coming down alone and in a moment had her in his arms and safe with the suit-case within the room.

But safe for how long? The security of their hiding place depended upon their unknown host or hostess. What sort of a house was this and who was the occupant of the disordered couch? While Tanya knelt beside Madame Rochal, unfastening her clothing and trying to learn the extent of her injuries, Rowland cautiously unlocked the door and peered out down the stairs. A light burned on a lower floor, showing a shabby hallway with torn wall-paper, a broken chair or two, but no person in sight. Then he made out the sound of voices below, talking excitedly, and he realized that the commotions of the street had entered here. Outside he could still hear the hoarse cries of the men in the street. The story of the raiding of the hall above must now have reached all the neighborhood.

Leaving the door open, he returned to the bedside of Zoya Rochal. In this new care so suddenly thrown upon her, Tanya had forgotten her own danger and Rowland's. She had loosened Madame Rochal's clothing, and had found the injury, a flesh wound in the side below the arm-pit.

To leave Zoya there-to go down with Tanya and lose themselves in the crowd outside-the thought occurred to Rowland, but when Tanya spoke, he dismissed it.

"We must do something-make a bandage, get some water, some restoratives," she whispered. "We can't let her die."

"But-"

"We'll be discovered by the one who sleeps here sooner or later. We must take our chances," she said quietly.

She shamed him. From what new source had she drawn the moral and physical courage to meet this new test of her womanhood? Even Rowland was weary and anxious, yet here beside him undismayed by her night of terror sat this woman he loved, calmly ministering to one who, though perhaps not her enemy, had tonight been proclaimed of a class beyond the pale of decent women. He could not know that perhaps it was Zoya's very frailty that had given Tanya strength. And yet to know what sort of woman she was he had only to remember Tanya there in the hall of the committee, standing pale but fearless while she defied the terrible von Stromberg. This was the girl who now commanded the situation, the mistress of his will as well as his heart. He wanted to tell her all that he thought of her, to live for another space this one joyous moment of communion, so soon broken; but her tone was urgent. There was nothing but to obey.

He had managed at last to find matches and a candle which he lighted and placed upon the dressing stand at the head of the bed.

"Now," said Tanya, "there must be water in the pitcher-tear the sheet on the other bed for a bandage."

He was moving to obey when the door of the room was pushed quietly open and a man carrying a lamp in his hand stood upon the threshhold, gaping with astonishment. He was a very tall man, with a long neck and a face tanned a deep brown which brought into contrast the whiteness of his hair. He was collarless and very shabby, and peered first at Rowland, then at Tanya, and the figure on the bed, as though he couldn't bring himself to believe the evidence of his eyes. But Rowland's quiet tones cut the silence clearly.

"Come in, please-and shut the door."

It was not until then that he saw the weapon in Rowland's hand, started a little, – then obeyed-still silent and not a little perturbed. But to make sure of him Rowland crossed to the door behind him and locked it. Still unable to comprehend, the tall man stared at the dark figure on his bed and at the girl kneeling beside it, for Tanya had turned and was looking up at him in passionate appeal.

"We escaped over the roofs from the hall-where the fire is," said Rowland quickly. "The woman on the bed has been shot. If you are friendly you will help us. Otherwise-" He frowned and fingered his weapon. suggestively.

"A friend-yes," said the tall man. "It is horrible, what has happened yonder. I would have gone to help, but the soldiers have cleared the streets. You need have no doubt of me, my friend," he said with a smile. "You may put your weapon away."

His voice was deep, resonant and suggestive of a life in the open. He spoke German with a slight Czech accent and even in his shabby surroundings had an air of distinction not to be denied. Now that his astonishment was gone, he went forward and put the lamp on the dressing stand and turned facing Rowland, who had put his pistol into his pocket and was examining their host with growing confidence.

"The woman there needs attention," said Rowland. "She has bled a great deal-some clean bandages and medicine. Can you get them?"

"Yes. It is little enough. I will help and thank God for the chance. I have some skill-if you will permit me-"

Rowland nodded and Tanya moved aside and took up the lamp as the man knelt beside the bed and bent over the prostrate figure. As Tanya brought the lamp over the bed, she saw him start back and then peer more closely at the features of Madame Rochal.

"God in Heaven!" his deep tones muttered. "You!"

Emotion mastered him and his voice vibrated as he asked,

"This woman-how did she come here?"

"She was a member of the committee which met there. You know what happened-the soldiers came. She was shot in escaping. You know who-?"

Their host held up his hand.

"No matter what I know. But I must save her. I must-must-"

With Rowland's help, he turned the injured woman, his long bony fingers quickly exposing the wound. The bullet had entered the side below the arm, and had passed through the muscles at the back.

"It is not so bad as I supposed," he muttered. "She has lost much blood but the hemorrhage has ceased."

He rose and crossed quickly to the washstand and brought a basin full of water and a clean towel.

"If you will wash the wound, Fräulein, I will get some dry clothing and medicine."

Rowland opened the door and their host hurried out, while Tanya obeyed his injunctions.

"He knew her," said Rowland. "You saw-?"

"Yes."

"What do you make of him?"

"He has been born to better things-gentle once, gentle always. You need have no fear."

"It's of you, Tanya, that I'm thinking. There has been too much-"

"We are still free," she smiled up at him, "still victorious. I am no weakling, Philippe."