The Golden Bough

"But we are still in great danger. I wouldn't mind taking a chance in the street alone, but with you-"

"Where would you go?" she asked quietly.

"To Georg Senf, to Yaeger-to Weiss-to-"

"To arrest," she said with a smile. "We don't know what has happened. There was fighting-shooting. Georg Senf may be dead. If the streets are cleared the soldiers are in command, that is certain. We can gain nothing by going now."

"But they will search this house-"

"Why? The soldiers were on guard upon the roofs. They missed us in the darkness. Those frightful roofs!" She glanced at Zoya. "How she ever managed to follow us!"

"Poor Zoya!" he said, and she understood what he meant. And then after a pause, "But we have another duty."

Her look questioned.

"To get out of Germany, with this!" and he kicked the black bag that had been the cause of all their troubles.

"Yes," she said quietly, with a smile. "Of course. But something will happen to help us. I'm sure of it. Wait."

Her courage was of the quiet kind, patient, enduring, and her words reproved the hot impulses that were surging up against his own better judgment. Soft footsteps on the stair outside and the tall man entered again, bringing some clean soft linen, a nightdress, and several bottles. Between them they managed to remove her outer clothing and then Tanya completed the arrangements for her comfort. The stranger set to work at once, silently anointing and bandaging the injury. The sting of the iodine as it entered the wound aroused her and she opened her eyes and looked around the room, meeting Rowland's eyes.

"Philippe!" she whispered softly.

Rowland, holding the lamp, felt rather than saw the slight tilt of Tanya's head upward and noticed the face of the tall man who turned his gaze up to Rowland's in grave inquiry.

"You are quite safe, Zoya," he found himself saying, "and in good hands. You will sleep now."

They gave her an opiate, and, with a weak smile, she obeyed him.

The dawn was creeping up over the roof-tops outside and searched the dark shadows of the room. Their host had risen, tall and gaunt, staring down at the woman on the couch. His white hair had deceived them, and in the pale light of day they could see that he was not as old as he had seemed to be, a man not far from forty. The lines in his cheeks were deeply graven as though seared by sudden misfortune, but his somber eyes burned steadily and the smile which parted his lips as he looked at his handiwork was very gentle and very sweet. For the moment, it seemed that he had forgotten Rowland and Tanya-in the spell of some memory that was not all bitterness.

The early morning air was chill and for nearly two hours Tanya had sat in her drenched clothing. Her sneeze, which she tried to repress, awoke their host from his revery with a start.

"Fräulein, I am sorry my poor chamber affords so little of comfort. But you must sleep and have dry clothing. I am afraid, Herr-" he paused.

"Rowland."

"I am afraid, Herr Rowland, that I must take Frau Nisko into our confidence."

"Who is Frau Nisko?"

"The amiable person who lets out these palatial lodgings," he said with a smile and an expressive gesture of the hand. "A compatriot of mine-Bohemian," he explained. "A lover of liberty and a woman to be trusted."

"We can pay well for silence."

"She is poor-as I am, God knows, but there are some things, Herr Rowland," he finished gently, "that may not be bought with money."

Rowland felt the reproof under this strange creature's gentleness, and took him by the hand in token of understanding.

"You know that I cannot thank you. Necessity knows no law. We are desperate-hunted! And if found will be shot-"

"They shall not find you-I pledge you my honor. I too owe you something-" his gaze wandered to the figure on the couch. "And perhaps I can pay."

"There is then no danger of a search?"

"I think not. The streets are now cleared. There are soldiers just outside keeping the lodgers in. The scene of the horror is several hundred meters away from here. How you managed to cross the roofs so far-with her-!" And then moving toward the door, "It shall be arranged. There is another room just here in the corridor. I will return."

The wounded woman was now sleeping heavily. For the first time since they had left Starnberg See Rowland and Tanya were alone with each other.

"Are you very tired?" he asked gently as he took her in his arms.

"A little," she sighed, smiling, "but I'm very happy."

He held her more closely. "And I. You've got more sand than any woman I have ever known."

"Brave?" she smiled. "I'm afraid-not. I-"

Her teeth chattered with the chill and reaction which he knew must come. And suddenly she sank more deeply into the shelter of his arms, her shoulders shaking.

"Tanya-!"

She reassured him with a laugh. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going-to give-way!"

"Sh-dear. Presently you shall sleep. Tomorrow-today-we shall devise something. You love me?"

"As much as possible-in-four days, – my Philippe."

"I have loved you all my life, Princess Tatyana," he laughed.

"And yet you-you do not even know my name."

"I know what it's going to be."

"You have no curiosity?"

"You're a princess, you said-!"

She nodded. "My name is Samarov."

"I like Tatyana better."

"What does it matter?"

"Nothing. We have looked death in the eyes, we have won life-together."

"God grant that may be true."

He kissed her gently and looked at the recumbent figure on the couch.

"And if they find us here-?" she questioned.

"We have still this hour-" he whispered.

They sprang apart as the tall man entered. He looked at them for a moment in silence and then a smile broke over his gaunt face.

"So," he said, "I ask pardon. It has been arranged. The room is ready, Fräulein. A night-gown upon the bed. Your clothing shall be dried while you sleep. If Herr Rowland will permit-"

He stood beside the door bowing and following the direction of his gesture, Tanya went out into the hallway to the room adjoining, where Frau Nisko was awaiting her. In a moment his host returned and hunted about in the drawers of the old dressing stand.

"You, too, Herr Rowland-some dry clothes-"

"I'm dry already. It doesn't matter. To a soldier a little dampness-"

"A soldier-?"

"Of the French Legion-"

"Here!"

And briefly Rowland told him of the strange events that had brought him into Germany.

"The Society of Nemi. I have heard-And you-?"

"Its leader-but in Germany-merely an American, a spy-rifle-fodder. You understand. I've told you all-because I trust you, Herr-"

Rowland paused suggestively, then waited.

"My name?" the tall man said at last-"I am called Markov. Perhaps you will not believe that I was once a gentleman. But that matters nothing. I was taken ill with tubercular trouble and knew that I must live in the open air." He laughed a little bitterly. "My occupation will amuse you. I travel with a hurdy-gurdy, a piano organ drawn by my excellent Fra Umberto from one end of Germany and Austria to the other."

"And who is Fra Umberto?" asked Rowland.

"A donkey, sir, the best, the only friend I ever had, patient, enduring, honest, amiable, who asks nothing, borrows no money and does what I ask of him without question. What more could one ask of friendship than that?"

Rowland laughed.

"Nothing, God knows. And where is he, your friend?"

"In the stable nearby, with my precious instrument of torture. The Germans are a musical race. In the cities they chase me away but in the country-all Summer long I gathered in the pfennigs, a harvest which lasts me through the winter-here in this palatial habitation. But I am happy for my trunk is full of books. I read, I study, I dream-"

Herr Markov put his hand to his brow, gazed at the silent figure of Zoya Rochal for a moment and then with an abrupt gesture of abnegation, rose and closed the door.

"I-I am selfish keeping you awake with my story, Herr Rowland. You have been through much. We cannot tell what may come. You must rest. Take off your coat at least-a dry, warm garment-and sleep."

"But you-Herr Markov-?"

"I sleep little. It's a farce even to lie down. I will watch, Herr Rowland." And as the American protested he pushed him gently toward the vacant cot. "It is sometimes occupied by another-but it is quite clean. Bitte, Herr Rowland."

And so with a sigh Rowland obeyed. But it was a long while before he slept for the events of the day and night had brought high nervous tension which refused to diminish. But at last, admitting the wisdom of his strange host, Rowland relaxed and closed his eyes. The last waking memory he had was of Markov, sitting in the chair beside Zoya's bed, bending forward intently, like a mother at the bedside of a sick child.

CHAPTER XX

ESCAPE

Rowland slept lightly and was awakened by a sound overhead, a scuffling upon the tiles of the roof. Herr Markov already stood upright by the window, listening. Rowland started, wide awake at once, but a gesture from his host halted him.

"Under the couch," he whispered, "the covers will hide you."

And Rowland obeyed quickly, aware that the sound of shots would soon have the hornets about their ears.

Whoever was upon the roof was slowly sliding down to the window. Soldiers! They had followed the wounded Zoya. Even the rain…?

He heard Herr Markov's voice out of the window.

"What the devil do you do up there?"

Another voice replied, and then questioned, for he heard Markov's reply.

"In here? What should anyone do in here?"

The other voice came nearer at the window-opening itself-a young voice, sharp, peremptory.

"What is this house?"

"A lodging house, Herr Lieutnant. You see-of the poorer class."

"Who keeps it?"

"Frau Nisko, Herr Lieutnant. It is number sixteen."

"No one entered by this window last night?"

"Last night! By this window!" in excellent bewilderment. "No, Herr Lieutnant. That would have been impossible. Besides, you may see for yourself-who would wish to enter here?"

"Someone may have passed through while you slept."

"I was awake all night with my wife yonder, who is very ill of tuberculosis."

"Ah-then you are certain?"

"Positive-but if the Herr Lieutnant will enter-?"

Rowland wondered at Herr Markov's temerity-also wondered what he would do if the Herr Lieutnant accepted the invitation. But fortunately the ingenuousness of Herr Markov had stopped the gap. The young officer withdrew and presently they heard his boots scrambling up the tiles overhead.

"Pfui!" said Markov, wiping the sweat from his brow as Rowland peeped out. "That was a close shave, Herr Rowland. He would have entered if I had not invited him to. Human nature is the great paradox. It always desires that which is denied it and scorns that which is proffered. Had the Herr Lieutnant been older the thing would have been difficult."

Rowland crawled out from his place of concealment and examined his host with a new interest-a new respect. An attic philosopher! He grasped Herr Markov by the hand.

"A friend indeed!" he murmured. "And what would you have done if he had come in."

Herr Markov shrugged. "I do not know. Waited, perhaps. He might have gone again." He glanced at Madame Rochal and set his jaws. "My hands are very strong, Herr Rowland. Besides, I have pledged you my word."

"It is a fearful danger into which I have brought you-"

"I have welcomed it-you need not worry."

"But if they come again-?"

"I think they will be satisfied with this. But it will not do to stay here too long. We will see. At present, since you are awake, I will go down and make some inquiries."

The sun had been up many hours, a brilliant summer day of blue and gold. Rowland cautiously brought his head up to the level of the window-sill, looking out, but the houses upon the opposite side of the street were small and this window was in no danger of observation. So he straightened and went over to Zoya, for the sound of voices had awakened her and she had turned on her bed. He felt her pulse and at the light touch of his fingers she turned her head and opened her eyes.

"Ah, Philippe," she sighed gently.

"You are feeling better?" he asked cheerfully.

"I-I am not sure," she murmured. "I ache-how I ache-from head to foot-Oh-!" She tried to move her bandaged shoulder and gasped, "I remember-him!"

"You are quite safe," he said reassuringly, "in the hands of friends."

"Safe-no, not safe, Philippe-" she muttered, "not safe while he is alive."

"Who?"

"Von Stromberg." She started up feverishly. "He fell. But as I went out of the window, I-I saw him rise. It-it is impossible to escape him-"

Her voice gained strength and Rowland soothed her gently.

"You must be quiet, Zoya. They have been here-over the roofs-but they went away again. They won't come back-"

"But he-he-is-is the devil incarnate-"

Her eyes stared at the wall above her-as at a specter of their enemy. The terror of last night had come over her again.

"Quite so. I agree with you. But I'm no longer alarmed. Why should you be? A swallow of water-and then sleep again, Zoya. You're going to be quite all right."

"I was shot-"

"Through the arm-pit-nothing serious. A few days and-"

"Whose room is this?" she asked suddenly, looking round at the bare walls and shabby furniture.

"A friend's. A Samaritan, Zoya. He has nursed you while I slept-a stranger-"

"Oh," she gave a little shrug and turned her face toward the wall. He poured out a glass of water and brought it to her. She drank it eagerly and then sank back with a sigh.

"A devil incarnate," she repeated. "And the money-?" she asked suddenly.

"Here," he laughed. "Like a millstone around my neck."

"You have it still-here?"

"Well, rather. But I wish it were in Jericho."

"You are a man, mon Phili-"

She had thrown her sound arm impulsively over his, but at a sudden sharp memory she withdrew it and turned her head toward the wall. There was a moment of silence and then he heard her voice, hard, expressionless.

"I wanted to-to vote as you wished, but-but I betrayed you. His eyes were burning me, his words-scorching-my-my very soul." And then, almost in a whisper, "You heard what he said-"

"What does it matter now?" he asked softly.

"He scourged me," she whispered again, "stripped me bare for those animals to look at. If he had killed me-if this shot had been a few inches lower-"

"But it isn't," said Rowland cheerfully. "Buck up, Zoya. The worst is yet to come. I hoped the old pelican was dead, but we'll outwit him-some way."

She turned, smiled feebly and gave him her hand again.

"You forgive me?" she asked.

"Forgive-what for? The thing was hopeless from the beginning. I was a fool to try to start anything, but it made me sore-to see the old rooster walk off with this money-under my very eyes-and he hasn't got it yet," he finished boyishly.

"What are you going to do?"

Rowland rose and put the glass on the washstand.

"I'm going to get out of here if you don't stop talking-at once-or tell your nurse."

"My nurse?"

"The Johnny whose bed you're lying on. He'll make you keep quiet."

"What will he do?"

"Give you more dope, for one thing-"

A knock upon the door, and Tanya, clad in a gray dressing gown much too large for her, entered and came quietly forward. Her glance met Rowland's as she gave him her hand. She looked a little tired but smiled as she knelt beside the bed and took one of Zoya's hands in both of hers.

"You are better, Madame?" she inquired.

"I think so. You are very good." The tones were listless-indifferent.

"We are safe for the present," said Tanya. "The soldiers at the front of the house have been withdrawn."

"Who told you this?" asked Rowland quickly.

"Frau Nisko. She answered all their questions satisfactorily."

Zoya Rochal stirred uneasily.

"Nevertheless," she said hopelessly, "they will find us."

"Don't lose courage."

"He never fails. I know."

"Who?" asked Tanya.

"Von Stromberg," she muttered. "He sees everything, knows everything. You can't escape."

Rowland shrugged.

"We're at least willing to try. And now you must sleep again, Zoya. Herr Markov-"

He paused, for Zoya started at the sound of the name, and just then the door opened and Zoya's gaze turned toward it quickly. He saw her eyes look, then stare, closing perplexedly.

"She is awake?" Herr Markov asked.

At the sound of his voice Zoya moved upon her pillow and opened her eyes again. But their strange host had come forward and laid his hand quietly over hers.

"It is I, Mariana-Matthias Markov. The good God has sent you to me-"

"Matthias!" she gasped, still looking at him.

He bowed his head gravely and raised her hand to his lips, but at the contact she closed her eyes and lay back, breathing deeply.

Tanya had taken Rowland by the hand and led him out of the room into her own.

"His moment-" she whispered. "Let him have it-with her-alone."

There was much to say and in a few words Tanya told him what Frau Nisko had learned about the disastrous results of the riot in the hall. There had been shooting-six men and a woman had been killed, and many wounded and burned in the hall and on the stairs. Four soldiers were dead, amongst them an officer. There had been fighting in the streets but the soldiers, where they could, had permitted many to escape. Order had not been restored until the early hours of the morning, when fresh companies of troops had arrived and were now patrolling the neighborhood.

"And Von Stromberg-?"

"No one knows-he has not been seen."

"Hochwald-?"

"He either-Senf, Liederman, Fenner, Weiss-were taken away-"

"Benz?"

"I don't know. He may have escaped-"

Rowland paced the floor thoughtfully.

"We can't stay here, Tanya," he said at last.

"I know-"

"It means prison or worse for Herr Markov and Frau Nisko. We've got to do something."

"But Madame Rochal-"

He frowned. "I'm thinking of her. She voted as Von Stromberg wished-

"At what a cost!" She hid her face in her hands a moment. "It is horrible to see a soul stripped bare! Poor Zoya!"

He was silent a moment, thinking deeply.

"We must do what is best for the greatest number. If you and I are taken with the money, your work in Germany is finished forever. Don't you see? Our power-our influence, are gone. We must get this money out-some way. If Hochwald has escaped he is probably already on his way to Switzerland. The dossier-the papers you have-"

"I had forgotten-"

"They must go, too-"

She thought a moment and then raised her head joyously and laid her hand in his.

"Whatever you say, mon Philippe," she said bravely.

He took her in his arms and kissed her, but she drew away from him quietly.

"The plan-?" she questioned.

He frowned and smiled in the same moment.

"It requires another-Herr Markov-but it is a brave plan," he laughed, "a wonderful plan. You shall see."

"Why can't you tell-?"

"Because without Herr Markov it fails. He may refuse-"

"I don't understand-

"A woman's curiosity!" he laughed. "Trust me. And wait."

At this moment there was a quiet knock upon the door and Frau Nisko entered with Tanya's dry clothing. Rowland was introduced and seized the woman warmly by the hand. But when he tried to thank her she demurred.

"I was born free, Herr Rowland. I would rather die than believe I shall not be free again."

"But we can't endanger you longer-tonight we must go-"

"They suspect nothing yet. But Matthias Markov is no fool. He will think of something. You do not know Herr Markov-!" she finished quietly.

"We know only that he is risking his safety and yours for strangers-

"It is not the first time. He sets no value on his life." She shrugged. "Nor I on mine. It's a pilgrimage-soon over. His life has not been a happy one-a man of wealth, of family, position-reduced through misfortune, suffering and ill health to take to the roads with a music-box. Herr Gott! And yet he pays his way-always the same, with the courage of a man and the heart of a child. Patience, forgiveness, gentleness. That is Matthias Markov."

"But why has he chosen this strange vocation?" asked Rowland.

Frau Nisko shrugged her plump shoulders again.

"He says it is because of his health, because he cannot stay indoors. But I know-"

She paused while with intense interest they waited for her to go on.

"It is not my secret, but you are his friends. His wife deserted him-ran away with another-a beautiful woman-faithless. He searches for her from one end of Europe to the other-"

Rowland and Tanya exchanged a quick glance of comprehension. Rowland stepped forward and laid a hand on Frau Nisko's arm.

"His search is ended, Frau Nisko," he said gently. And then, with a gesture toward the door of Matthias Markov, "He has found her. She is there!"

The woman gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

"Frau Markov!" she whispered.

"Madame Rochal-"

"You are sure-?"

"We left them there-alone."

Frau Nisko peered out at the eloquent panels of the closed door and they heard the deep rumble of Herr Markov's voice and Zoya's in a low tone answering him. There could be no doubt about it. Herr Markov's pilgrimage was ended. And Zoya's-? Rowland's lips set in a thin line and his glance and Tanya's met in silent communion.

In a moment there was a commotion below and a lodger came up the stairs in some excitement. Frau Nisko went out to meet him. There was a soldier at the door who wished to ask Frau Nisko a few more questions.

"Very well," she said coolly. "Tell him that I will come down at once," and the lodger departed.

She signaled them to follow and silently they reëntered the room of Herr Markov. He was sitting beside Zoya's bed, her hand in both of his, and started to his feet as they entered.

"Soldiers again, Herr Markov. They may mean to search the house. Herr Rowland and the Fräulein must go in your closet. There is a narrow opening under the eaves at the further end where two boards have been displaced. Enter, and I will hang some clothing before it. We must take the chance. We will leave the door open."

Rowland and Tanya obeyed quickly, taking the black bag; Frau Nisko, thrusting Tanya's clothing after them and hiding all traces of their presence. This was the test that Rowland had been expecting and Frau Nisko had met it with a calmness that argued for success. So Rowland and Tanya crawled through the aperture and crouched upon the naked beams of the house in the darkness, listening for the footsteps of the searchers.

"What shall you do if they find us?" whispered Tanya, her hand in Rowland's.

"Nothing," he said. "The game is up. I could shoot one man-two perhaps-but not the entire Landwehr. We won't think of that, though. It's devilish black in here-but fearfully cozy."

He drew her into his arms and silently they listened to the tramp of heavy boots upon the stair and the sound of gruff voices.

"A woman ill, you say?"

"Very ill, of lung trouble, and in high fever. My wife, Herr Lieutnant. I hope you will not find it necessary to disturb her for long." This in Markov's voice, somewhat tremulous in the depth of its appeal.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Markov. I was refused for service on account of permanent illness. My papers are here."

"Gut!"

A silence in which the officer examined them. Then the steps of the officer to and fro in the room.

"This trunk-"

"Contains merely some books-Herr Lieutnant."

"The closet-?"

The officer's steps sounded again nearer them.

"Merely some old clothes, Herr Lieutnant," said Markov's voice. "Will you enter?"

A terrible moment of suspense. But at last the footsteps turned and moved away.

"And this other room here?" asked the voice. And Frau Nisko replied coolly, "My daughter's. She works in the Kraus Locomotivfabrik."

"Ach, so!"

"And these other rooms?"

"No one. Search, Herr Lieutnant."

And presently they heard the heavy steps go thumping down the stairs. Rowland drew a long breath. It seemed that he had been holding it for hours.