VOLNA was down before me the next morning waiting in a little room where we had had supper.
“I guessed Bob would be tired so I would not have him called,” she said. “I have been up an hour or more.”
“And Peggy, how is she?”
“Hungry. And breakfast is ready.”
“You slept well?”
“When I had stopped thinking. I couldn’t help it,” she said in answer to my shake of the head. “I was saying my lesson over and over, lest I should forget it. Do you know it?”
“Lesson?”
“All the names you mentioned so glibly last night at the station.”
I laughed. “Oh, we shan’t need to remember. We shan’t have any more bother. That man’s hint as to how to ask questions will carry us through. You’ll see.”
“Well, we must be quick, it’s nearly ten o’clock.”
“We’ve half an hour. And we’re developing a knack of doing a good deal in half an hour.”
“I think I shall be a little afraid of you.”
“Why?”
“Ah, that’s Bob Garrett. Don’t worry about him. He won’t tell them to you.”
“I know that.”
“I think that for a pair of dangerous conspirators we keep up our spirits capitally.”
“I shouldn’t be able to without you. I don’t know what I should have done, indeed, nor how to thank you.”
“Wouldn’t a man be a brute who didn’t do his best to look after his sister?”
“You make light of everything.”
“Well, you can thank me at about six or seven o’clock this evening. We shall be in Cracow then, and the papers will be out of our hands and off our minds.”
“And after that?”
“By Jove. I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that. One thing at a time and—Cracow first. We must go.”
We walked up to the station and found a most welcome change in the attitude of the police. Our friend of the preceding night was looking out for us, and he had evidently let it be known that there were gold pieces to be earned. Everybody received us with smiles. Even the man who had acted the inquisitor’s part overnight came up and was almost profuse in his apologies.
He had not known that I was an English milord; my appearance at that time and in such a way had aroused curiosity; duty compelled them all to be suspicious; there were dangerous people about; I had probably heard of the discovered plot; and so on.
I understood. I took out some gold coins and fingered them carelessly. His eyes lighted with greed as he gazed at them.
“About the accident?” I asked.
“There has been a bad accident; but no one of the name of Trevor, no Englishman at all, was in the train. I have made a special investigation,” he added insinuatingly.
“I’m sorry to have given you the trouble; but thank you.”
“It is no trouble, only a pleasure to be of some small service to an English milord.”
“I am greatly relieved,” I said. “You will probably have had to pay some one for the work. Permit me to repay you;” and I gave him a fifty rouble note. His good will was cheap at a five pound note; but he seemed amazed at so generous a tip. His face beamed as he pocketed it.
“Really it is not necessary,” he said. “If I can be of any further assistance, pray tell me.”
“My sister and I were thinking of going to Cracow,” I said indifferently. “Is the line safe, do you think?”
“You still wish to see the British Consul there?” This with just a shade of anxiety.
“Oh, dear no—unless it is to express my high opinion of the courtesy shown me here. Last night is forgotten. I quite understand.”
“The train will start at eleven. It is usual—a mere form of course in your case—to ask for passports when issuing tickets for stations beyond the frontier.”
“Here they are;” and I took them out of my pocket book making sure that he should see there was plenty of money in it. “Robert Garrett and Margaret Garrett, my sister.”
He just glanced at them and with a bow to Volna, returned them.
“Shall I show you where to get your tickets?” He was making everything delightfully smooth for us.
“I suppose we shall reach Cracow by about four?” I asked casually, as I took out my cigar case.
“Scarcely that, I fear. The traffic is disorganized and the direct line has been closed. You will travel by way of Bratinsk and change there; and then go round by the loop which joins the main line again at Solden.”
The ill news was so unexpected that it caught me right off my guard. To go to Bratinsk meant walking right into the hands of the men who were hunting for us.
To cover my sudden confusion, I let my cigar case fall, and as the official stooped to pick it up, I caught Volna’s look of dire dismay, and shot her a warning glance.
“You smoke of course,” I said to him, and as we lit our cigars, I was thinking how on earth to get out of the difficulty.
Then Volna gave another proof of her quick-wittedness. “Ought you to smoke just yet, Bob?” she asked in a snappy sisterly tone. “You know what the doctor said about your heart.”
I took the cue. “You’re always interfering, Peggy,” I said, very testily. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
The police official affected not to hear this little interchange of family amenities and discreetly looked away.
“I only do it for your good,” she rapped back, with a great air of superiority. “You complained of that feeling, you know. But please yourself. You always do.”
“Rubbish. It’s only because you know I want to go and you want to stay.” She shrugged her shoulders and turned away.
“If you are going, the time is close,” said the official.
“Of course I am going;” and I scowled at Volna and took out some money. “Where do we get the tickets?”
He was turning to show me when I let the coins fall and the cigar drop from my lips as I pressed one hand to my heart—which, by the way, was as sound as a bell—and clutched him with the other for support.
“I knew it by the look about your eyes. I saw it coming,” said Volna, unsympathetically, as she stooped to pick up the money, and the man helped me to a seat. “You will do these things. Please lay him straight down and get him some water, or better, a drop of brandy.” She took off my hat and fanned me with her handkerchief. “It’s nothing serious,” she said to the others who came round. “He’ll be better in a moment. Thank you,” this to the man who came back with the brandy. “Give him air, please.” She was most business-like and sisterly—as though I had been in the habit of fainting daily and she of restoring me.
I came round, of course; but not until the train had left and the question of our return to Bratinsk was settled.
“Perhaps you are satisfied now,” I said to Volna most ungraciously, as I sat up.
“How absurd you are, Bob. I didn’t give you the cigar.”
“When is the next train?” I asked the official.
“Not until to-night.”
“There you are,” I said to Volna with a brotherly readiness to put all the blame on her. “What now?”
“This gentleman said there was some fine scenery here; and a ride or drive would do you good.”
“Scenery!” I cried with a fine contempt. “Well, I suppose we can’t sit about the station all day. But do as you please;” and she walked out of the station. I could have laughed at the excellent affectation of sisterly discontent.
The police official sympathized with me—it was I who had tipped him—and expressed his feeling with a deprecating smile and shrug and a lifting of the brows.
“I suppose it’s the only thing to do,” I murmured as I rose.
“It is perhaps for the best after all that you did not catch the train. There is you baggage,” he said.
“Baggage?”
“Remembering what you said last night about the accident to your carriage on the way from Vashtic, and thinking you might need the baggage in it, I sent out this morning to have it brought here.”
“Did you? That’s really very friendly and obliging,” I managed to answer quite cordially, while wishing him at the devil for his interference.
“What shall we do with it?”
“Oh, just keep it at the station here till I come back for that evening train. You’ll know it easily. Two leather portmanteaus; one marked ‘R. G.’ and one ‘M. G.,’ London. I’ll go and tell my sister. She’ll be as delighted as I am at your thoughtfulness. It was only that which made her wish to remain here for the day.”
I went after Volna, who was walking toward the little town.
“That’s a nice thoughtful fellow. He has sent out some one to find our luggage in the broken-down trap and bring it in. I told him how glad you’d be.”
“Should I go back and thank him?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary, you can do that when we get back this evening. We are going for a ride now—and the sooner we’re off the better.” I went to the stable where my horse was, thinking how to get over the rather awkward difficulty of securing a second animal.
I did not intend to return to Pulta; and if I hired the horse I should not be able to return it. To buy it might create suspicion, as a man does not purchase a horse merely to go for a ride—even in that horse-bartering region; and I had no wish to turn horse-thief.
I put a bold face on the matter and went into the stable whistling. An ostler was grooming my horse and the owner of the place looking on.
“That’s a nice looking animal of yours,” he said.
“Yes; and as good as he looks.”
“No doubt. Andreas knows a good horse.”
“Andreas? Who’s he?”
“At Bratinsk. Where you got him, I suppose.”
I scented danger and fenced. “I suppose you know most of the horses round about here. Will you smoke?” And I gave him a cigar.
“I know this one. I sold him to Andreas.”
“Did you? Well, I don’t care anything about Andreas, but I know he’s a good horse and I want to hire one as good for my sister to ride to-day.”
“I can find you one. There he stands.” I had a look at him. A good horse I saw at a glance. “I like his looks,” I said.
The ostler took him out and ran him up and down. Then an idea occurred to me, involving some of the white lies of necessity however. I expressed a very exaggerated admiration.
“Carry a lady?”
“Carry a baby,” was the reply.
“Then I tell you what I’ll do if you’ll agree. We’re going to Cracow for a couple of days and coming back; and when we come back we shall want two horses. I’ll buy him from you if you can find me a couple of saddles, and if we can come to terms for your taking care of both the horses while we stay here.”
It did not take very long to conclude the bargain, and Volna and I were soon mounted.
Just as we were starting my friend of the police came up.
“Going for the ride then?” he asked knowingly.
“Oh, yes. By the way, has that luggage of mine come in yet?”
“No. They ought to have been back long before now.”
“That’s a nuisance. My sister has to do without her habit.”
“She looks very charming,” he replied, with a bow.
“What time must we be back for that train?”
“Six o’clock. But why not ride to Solden, it’s not more than twenty miles or so. You could take the train there.”
“Oh, no. We’re going the other way.”
“Are you ever coming, Bob?” asked Volna, sharply.
He stepped aside with another significant shrug of the shoulders and with a laugh I rode off.
“You do the vinegary sister to the life,” I said.
“There was cause then. I caught sight of that police agent from Bratinsk in the distance.”
“By Jove!” I exclaimed; and we clattered off through the narrow streets and as soon as we were clear of the town gave our horses their heads.