The Secret Witness

"Is this a hospital?" he asked.

"Yes—the Landes Hospital."

"Where?"

"Sarajevo."

"Ah,—Sarajevo."

He remained silent for a long moment.

"I have been here long?" he asked again.

"A month."

"A month! And the date?"

"The twenty-eighth of July–"

"Yes. I understand."

Fräulein Roth wished him to be quiet, but after a long moment of contemplation of the ceiling, in which his brows puckered in a puzzled way, he spoke again.

And when Fräulein Roth anxiously desired him to be quiet, she discovered that Number 28 had a will of his own and only smiled at her earnestness.

"I am feeling quite strong," he said weakly. "It will do me no harm to talk, for some things puzzle me. I was brought here. Won't you tell me how?"

She debated with herself for a moment, but after an inspection of her patient she decided to tell him the facts.

"A peasant had discovered two men lying in a strip of woods near the road to Gradina. At first he had thought that both were dead, but upon closer examination he found that one of the men, although desperately wounded, still breathed, and notified the police, who summoned the ambulance."

"I?" asked the sick man.

She nodded. "You were brought here—to the Landes Hospital in a bad condition. The other man was dead."

"The other man—dead?"

"Yes," said the nurse, "with stab wounds in the back, and one in the heart." She regarded her patient keenly a moment, and then went on. "There were no marks of identification upon either of you. You were without clothing. Following so closely upon the assassination of the Archduke Franz and his wife, the circumstances were suspicious, and the police of Sarajevo and the secret service officials have done all they could to find some clew to the murderers. You see," she concluded with a smile, "you are a man of mystery and all Sarajevo awaits your recovery."

"Oh, I see. They are waiting for me to speak?"

Number 28 lay silent, regarding the ceiling intently, frowning a little. His mind worked slowly and Fräulein Roth saw that he found some difficulty in mental concentration.

"We will talk no more at present," she said firmly. "If you are no worse—perhaps again tomorrow."

But on the following day and the next the condition of the patient was not so favorable, for he lay in a drowsy condition and showed no interest in anything. It seemed that the pallid fingers of Death were still stretched over him. There were whispered consultations at the bedside, and a magistrate came to take a deposition, but the Head Surgeon advised delay. He had a reputation at stake.

The wisdom of his advice was soon proved, for at the end of three days Number 28 rallied, his fever subsided, and he smiled again at Nurse Roth. But she had learned wisdom and refused to talk.

Number 28 straightened in bed and ran his thin fingers through the beard with which his face was now covered. He ate of his food with a relish and then eagerly questioned.

"I am quite strong again, Fräulein. See—my hand does not even tremble. Will you not talk with me?"

"My orders are to keep you quiet."

"I have been quiet long enough—a month!" he sighed. "The world does not stand still for a month."

The nurse smiled. "I see that you are used to having your own way," she said.

"Is it not natural that I should wish to know what has happened in the world? Tell me. The Archduke Franz was killed. Did they discover a plot?"

"A plot? Yes. The boy Prinzep was employed by the Serbians."

"He confessed?"

"Not to that—but it is obvious."

"And what has happened?"

She examined him intently, aware now of what she herself had long suspected, that this patient was no ordinary kind of man. His German had a slight accent, but whether he came from central Europe or elsewhere she could not decide.

"Austria Hungary is on the eve of great events. A week or more ago Austria Hungary sent an ultimatum to the Serbian government, to which an unsatisfactory reply was received. The Austro-Hungarian minister has left Belgrade, and war has been declared upon Serbia."

"War! and Russia?"

"Russia, France and Germany have mobilized."

"And England?"

"Nothing is known of what England will do. But it is feared that she may join the cause of Russia and France."

Number 28 lay silent for a moment thinking deeply, and then—

"It has come at last. War. All of Europe–"

"It is frightful. There has already been fighting on the Serbian border. We are preparing here to receive the wounded."

He remained silent a moment, his eyes sparkling as he thought of what she had told him and then quietly, "War!" he muttered. "I must get well very quickly, Nurse, I must–"

She waited for him to go on, for, being a woman, curiosity as to his history obsessed her, but he said no more. And in spite of her interest in this man whom she had faithfully watched and served for more than a month, some delicacy restrained the questions on her tongue.

"You will not get well for a long while, Herr Twenty-Eight, if you do not keep quiet," she said quickly.

"You are very good to me," he replied. "I shall do as you wish."

Several days after this, the patient having gained strength rapidly, he was permitted solid food. He slept much, and in his waking hours seemed to be thinking deeply. He was very obedient, as though concentrating all his mind upon an effort toward speedy recovery, but he did not talk of himself. His strength now permitting more frequent conversation, the nurse brought him the news of the world outside, which included the declaration of war by Great Britain against Germany—and the certainty of a declaration against Austria Hungary.

"It is as I suspected," he muttered. "England–"

Again her patient was silent, and Nurse Roth glanced at him quickly. English!

She did not speak her thought, for the import of her news had sent her patient into one of his deep spells of concentration. No Englishman that she had ever met had spoken the German language so fluently. But concealing her interest and curiosity when he turned toward her again, she smiled at him brightly.

"You are now getting much stronger, Herr Twenty-Eight," she said. "The Head Surgeon has given permission for your examination."

"Examination?"

"A magistrate will come tomorrow to take your deposition."

"I don't understand."

"About all the facts connected with your injuries."

"They have learned nothing?"

"A little. The man who was found with you has been identified."

"Ah!"

"As Nicholas Szarvas, a Hungarian police officer–"

"Szarvas!"

"You knew him?"

The patient was silent again. She had come suddenly upon the stone wall which had balked all her efforts. Her hand was near him upon the bed. He took it and pressed it to his lips.

"Do not think me ungrateful for all your kindnesses, Fräulein. Some day perhaps I can repay you. But there are reasons why I cannot speak."

She drew her hand away from him slowly.

"But you must speak when the magistrate questions," she said gently.

"Perhaps!" And he was silent again.

With his growing strength had come wariness. If England declared war, he, Hugh Renwick, at present unknown, would be interned, a prisoner; and all hope of finding Marishka and the German, Goritz, would be lost. In the first few days of his awakening, he had thought of sending for Warwick, the British Consul, and putting the matter entirely in his hands. But before he had had the strength to decide what it was best to do, had come the declarations of war, and he had determined to remain silent and act upon his own initiative. Unless he had muttered something of his past in his fever, and this he doubted, or some sign of it would have come from Fräulein Roth, there would he no means of identifying him as an Englishman, and when he recovered, they would let him go. As it was, he was a man of mystery, and as such he intended to remain. He had noted the marks of interest in the face of the nurse, and in her questions, and his gratitude to her was very genuine, but he was sure now that he was in no position to take chances. War being declared, Warwick would have been given his passports, and would have left the country. No one in Sarajevo knew the Englishman, Renwick—at least no one who would be likely to connect the man of mystery of the Landes Hospital with the former secretary of the British Embassy in Vienna.

As his mind had grown clearer, the wisdom of his decision became more apparent. If a magistrate came, he would be obliged to see him, but he knew that his period of illness could cover a multitude of remembrances.

The magistrate came with a clerk, and questioned with an air of importance. Renwick realized that if he refused to answer, he might make himself an object of suspicion, and endanger the chances of his release upon recovery, and so, as he was not under oath, he invented skillfully.

"What is your name?"

"Peter Langer."

"What nationality?"

"Austrian, if you like. I am a citizen of the world."

The magistrate examined him over his glasses.

"The world is large. From what part of Austria did you come?"

"Vienna."

"Your parents are Viennese?"

"They were in Vienna when I was young."

"Were they born there?"

"I do not know."

"It is necessary that you should."

"I am sorry if it is necessary. I do not know."

"What brought you to Sarajevo?"

"I am a wanderer. I wished to see the world."

"A wish that has almost proved fatal. You have no business?"

"Merely the business of wandering."

The magistrate frowned.

"I beg that you will take this matter seriously, Herr Langer."

"I do. It is not in the least amusing."

The man consulted his notes for a moment.

"Where were you on the night of June twenty-eight?"

"I have been ill for a month. Dates mean nothing to me. My memory is bad."

"Ah! Well, then, where were you on the night of the assassination?"

"What assassination–?"

"The assassination of the Archduke," replied the magistrate sternly.

"In Sarajevo, I should say."

"Natürlich. But in what place?"

"In the street, perhaps—or in a house. I don't remember."

"I beg that you make the effort to remember."

"I cannot," said Renwick after a pause.

"You must."

"My mind is clouded."

The magistrate exchanged a glance with the nurse, who stood at the head of the bed, and spoke to her. "This man talks to you quite rationally?"

Fräulein Roth hesitated and then said: "Yes. But he has been very ill. I should suggest that you excuse him where possible."

"H—m! This is a matter of great seriousness. A police officer has been murdered by a person or persons unknown. This man was found near his body, both of them left for dead. It is not possible that he can have forgotten the circumstances—the fight, the shooting which preceded his unconsciousness." And then to Renwick—"You knew Nicholas Szarvas?"

"No."

"I would remind you that this is the man who was found dead beside you."

"I did not know him."

"What are your recollections of the evening I have mentioned?"

"I have no recollections."

"You said that you were in a house."

"Or the street—I forget."

"You remember having an altercation with someone?"

"In my dreams—yes. Many."

"But before your dreams, when you were conscious?"

"None."

"Szarvas was stabbed. Did you see him attacked?"

"I did not."

"Have you any idea who shot you?"

"A man who was my enemy, I should say."

"Ah—you had an enemy?"

"What man has not?"

"What was his name?"

"I don't remember."

The magistrate got up frowning, and paced up and down the room, his hands behind his back.

"I should advise you, Herr Langer, that it is my opinion that you are willfully endeavoring to impede the steps of this investigation. I would remind you also that those who try to thwart the officers of the law in the performance of their duty, are alike amenable to it. Your reticence—I can call it by a less pleasant word—is aiding and abetting a criminal, who must be brought to justice."

"It is not likely–" He paused.

"What?"

"That I should wish to save a man who had tried to murder me."

"But this is precisely what you are doing."

Renwick smiled.

"What would you? Have me invent a story for your record? I can say no more than I remember. I remember nothing."

The magistrate took off his glasses and rubbed them rigorously, as if by so doing he could clear his own mind as to what had best be done. Then he put them upon his nose and took up his hat and papers. It was certain that the patient's brain was still far from strong.

"I shall not pursue this investigation now," he said to Nurse Roth. "I shall wait a few days in which Herr Langer may have time to reflect. He is still very weak. In the meanwhile, Herr Langer, I would tell you that it would be wise for you to recover your memory."

"A desire which I sincerely share," said Renwick with a smile.

"If not," continued the magistrate with his most magisterial manner, "you will be detained, as a material witness, in Sarajevo."

"I have no intention of leaving Sarajevo unless someone should happen to pay my railroad fare," replied Renwick wearily.

The man left, followed by his clerk, and Nurse Roth closed the door behind them. When the sounds of their footsteps had faded away along the corridor, she turned to the table where she rearranged some roses in a vase.

"You lie very ingeniously, Herr Twenty-eight," she said with a smile.

Renwick regarded her calmly.

"It is not my nature, Nurse Roth. But a cracked skull doesn't improve the brains beneath."

She came over to him quickly, and stood beside the bed.

"You have some reason for concealing your identity. I know that you remember what happened. But I will protect you as far as I can, upon one condition."

"And that?" he asked anxiously.

"That you will give me your word of honor that it was not you who killed Nicholas Szarvas."

He caught her by the hand and smiled up at her with a look so genuine that there was no question as to his sincerity.

"I give it. I did not kill Nicholas Szarvas."

"Thank you," she said simply. "I believe you."

"I wish I could tell you," he whispered earnestly, "for I know that you are my friend, but"—and he relinquished her hand—"but I must keep silent."

She touched him gently upon the shoulder in token of understanding, and from that moment said no more.

The days passed slowly, but it was evident to those who were interested in the case that Number 28 gained strength very rapidly. His wounds had healed, and he was soon permitted to get up and sit in an armchair near the window, where he could look out over the minarets of the city below the hill. But to all except Nurse Roth, it seemed that the injury to his head had done something to retard the recovery of his memory. He spoke quite rationally to Colonel Bohratt upon matters regarding his physical condition, but sometimes even when the Head Surgeon was talking with him, he relapsed into a state of mental apathy which caused that worthy man to remove his bandage and examine the wound in his head. After which the Colonel would leave the room with a puzzled expression. And in consequence of this curious mental condition, it was thought wise to defer the visit of the officer of the law until the patient's mind should show a change for the better. There was even a consultation upon the advisability of another operation upon the head, but the patient showed such encouraging marks of growing lucidity that the operation was deferred.

It was a dangerous game that he was playing, and Renwick knew it, for the time would come when he must tell who he was, or find a chance to escape from the hospital. Escape was his hope and each day as he gained new strength, he thought of a hundred expedients by which it might be accomplished. He knew that even now he was under surveillance, and virtually a prisoner of the Austrian government, until he could give some account of himself, and of the events of the night of the twenty-eighth of June. And so he conserved his energies carefully, gaining courage and weight with each new day, playing the game of delay until he was assured of his strength and the moment was propitious. The chief difficulty which confronted him was a means to procure clothing. He was allowed the privileges of the hospital, permitted to walk upon the terrace, but he had no clothing except the sleeping suit of cotton and a wrapper-like affair which he wore when out of his room. Whether his restriction to this costume was by neglect or by design, he did not know, for all the other convalescents whom he met out in the air wore the clothes in which they had come to the hospital. The fact that he had been brought here unclothed was of little comfort to him, and he feared to request a change of garments for this might excite suspicion. There was nothing for it but to wait, and when strength enough came, seize the first opportunity presented to slip quietly away.

He had been studying his chances with a discriminating eye. His room was upon the second floor, but there was a rain-spout which passed just beside it, and given the strength of hand and wrist to accomplish the descent, the matter would be simple. There was a row of shrubbery just below the terrace, which led to a path over the hills, where he might be lost under cover of the night. But even at night he could not go into Sarajevo without clothing. For a while the idea of appealing to Nurse Roth occurred to him, but he at last rejected it, aware that she had already done much that could not be repaid, and unwilling to subject her to the alternatives of refusal or acquiescence—one of which might be hazardous to his own chances, the other surely fruitful of unpleasantness to herself. He had no right to ask this of her. He wished to incur no new obligations, for when the time came, he intended to go, and he could not repay her kindness with deceit. And so he waited, simulating weakness, exercising in secret, and gaining in strength for the hopeless task before him.

He had made no plans. What plans could he make when he had no means of making inquiries? Goritz was gone with Marishka,—by this time perhaps far beyond the German border, the girl a prisoner—or–? For a moment he paused as the new thought came to him. What would be the status of the Countess Strahni since the outbreak of war? The conditions which existed before the pact of Konopisht were no more. Germany's ambitions stultified—Austria forgiving—both nations involved in a great undertaking the prosecution of which must make them careless of all less vital issues! Had Goritz been recalled from this secret mission to another more important? And if so, where was Marishka? Could she have been released? There was a chance of it, but it seemed a slender one. Goritz! Something—some deeply hidden instinct, some suspicion harbored perhaps in the long days and nights of his unconsciousness, some pang of fear born of pain and unrest, advised him that, behind the secret duty which had first brought Goritz to Vienna, he was now playing a game of his own. The brief glimpse he had had of the man, short but fearfully significant, had made an unpleasant impression. He had seen the look in the eyes of the German as he had asked Marishka to go with him from the house of the garden, a look courteous and considerate, that had in it, too, something more than mere admiration. If the man were in love with her! And what man of any vision, learning to know Marishka could help caring for her! Not love, surely! Not love from a man who sheltered himself from danger by using her as a shield. He had been safe then. Renwick could not have fired then. And Goritz was clever enough to know it. But the dastardliness of such a trick! There was a long score to pay between Renwick and Goritz, a score the items of which had begun with the attempts upon the Englishman's life in Vienna and Konopisht, the imprisonment of Marishka, and the shooting in Sarajevo which had nothing to do with politics. They were enemies. Their countries were enemies. It was written.

Absorbed in these unpleasant meditations, Renwick sat upon the terrace of the hospital after supper, idly manicuring his nails with Nurse Roth's scissors. As it grew dark, he got up, slowly pacing up and down the length of the terrace. The moment was approaching when he would be called in to go to his room, but he grudgingly relinquished the moments in the soft evening air. It was curious how much latitude they gave him—curious, also, that the magistrate, after his second fruitless visit a few days ago, had not returned. As Renwick had continued evasive the magistrate had grown angry and at last had threatened him with the visit of one who would make him speak. Who was this new inquisitor to be? Someone in higher authority? Or perhaps some secret service agent who had finally succeeded in getting some clews as to the murder of the colossal Szarvas?

Of one thing Renwick was sure—that soon he must make a break for liberty. Tonight—now—into the dusk beyond the hills. He was not very strong yet, but it might be–

"Herr Twenty-Eight," said the voice of Nurse Roth at his elbow, "you are to go at once to your room for examination."

"Thanks, Fräulein. I shall go. It is the magistrate?"

She nodded soberly.

"The magistrate and another whom I have never seen. They are now in the office consulting the Head Surgeon."

Renwick smiled at her as he whispered, "I am to be grilled?"

"I fear so."

He shrugged. "The time for subterfuge is past." And then, taking her hand again, "I shall go at once. But whatever happens I want you to know that I shall never forget what you have done for me."

"It is nothing. Now go, please."

He bowed and preceded her into the hallway. As they passed the office the door was open and Renwick glanced in. The magistrate was there and another man, talking to Colonel Bohratt, all of them unaware of the patient in the darker hallway looking at them. Renwick started, and then gazed again at the third man leaning over the table facing him. His figure seemed familiar, his bowing and gestures more so, and yet for a second Renwick could not place him. And then the man smiled, showing a gold tooth which caught the reflection of the electric light upon the table. A gold tooth–

Nurse Roth was regarding Renwick who glanced at the open door behind him and then at Nurse Roth. The pause was momentous. Renwick quickly recovered his poise and went on a few steps.

"They wish to see me—in the office?" he asked in a whisper.

"In your room, please. I shall tell them that you are waiting."

"Thanks, again," said Renwick abruptly, with outstretched hand, "and good-by."

"Good-by?" she asked in alarm.

He smiled over the shoulder as he went up the stairs.

"I think I shall exchange the hospital—for the jail."

He left her standing there looking up at him in wonder or pity, and then turning the stairhead went on down the upper corridor. There were nurses conversing here, and a patient or two, so Renwick went slowly until he reached his room. But once within the door he acted with speed and resolution. First he turned the key in the lock and softly shot the bolt, then crossed the room quickly, his heart beating rapidly. He was not strong and his nerves already were warning him, but they did not fail him. He peered out of the window upon the terrace. It was not yet dark and there was a nurse below standing beside a man in a wheel chair. He could not go now for they would see him and surely give the alarm, and so he waited, going back to the door and listening for the sound of approaching male footsteps. As yet no sound. He peered down upon the head of the luckless nurse, mutely imprecating. The moments were precious. Would they never go in? It was past the hour for loitering on the terrace. For a moment the idiotic notion came to him to go out into the corridor and call the attention of the nurse in charge of the floor to the infraction of rules, but he turned again to the window. The nurse was moving now, slowly pushing the wheel chair toward the door. It was barely a hundred feet away, but to Renwick it seemed an eternity before the pair vanished within. Then taking off his slippers he put them in the pocket of his wrapper, and rolling it into a bundle, dropped it noiselessly upon the terrace below. His nerves quivered as he sat astride the window-sill but he set his jaw and lowered himself from the window, catching the iron gutter-pipe with bare fingers and toes. The spout seemed to creak horribly, and for a moment he thought that it was swaying outward with him. But the sensation was born of his own weakness. The pipe held and slowly he descended, reaching the ground, his knuckles bruised and torn, but so far, safe.