I LOST no time in undeceiving the police agent. “You are plucking unshot birds,” I said. “There is not going to be any arrest either of this lady or myself. You can end the thing anyhow you please, short of arresting either of us.”
I was glad that that made him lose his temper. “Do you dare to disobey me?” he cried furiously.
I became personal and heaped fuel on the fire of his anger. “Don’t be a foolish little person. You don’t know how idiotic you look. You can do nothing. You are six inches shorter than I am, and I don’t care a kopeck for your authority as a policeman.”
He swore fluently and stamped his feet with rage. “You will answer for this,” he shouted, using a very foul epithet. “I thought this morning you were a spy. Now I know it. You shall not insult me. In the name of the Czar, I call on you to submit.”
I laughed at him with intentional aggravation. “You are a worse fool than I thought. I am a British subject; I have done no wrong; and I care no more for your Czar than I do for you. You have just insulted me grossly and the best thing you can do is to clear out.”
“You are a revolutionary, in league with this woman and the carrion there;” and he jerked his thumb toward the dead body.
I took no notice of this coarseness, but untethered the unhurt horse and led it over to my companion.
“We are going,” I said to him. “I have told you that this is Miss Mary Smith; I have her passport here in my coat.” I rummaged in the pockets, found two passports, and handed them to him.
He glanced at them and then pocketed them with a grin of self-satisfaction at his astuteness.
“Where are you going?”
“That is our own business. I will not let you follow us. Return me those passports,” I said, threateningly. He did not see my object but backed away toward his horse. “Come, quick.”
He hesitated a moment and then mounted hurriedly. “As they were in your coat they will connect you with these people,” he said with a cunning leer.
I did not care a rap for this now; whether he kept or returned them. We could not possibly use them again, so I shrugged my shoulders and turned away. “Go to the devil,” I said.
But he had a surprise for me. As my back was turned a pistol shot rang out, and the horse I was holding plunged and tore loose from me, limped down the hill and fell to the ground.
“Now we’ll see about your tall talk, Mr. Englishman. You and the woman there will just march on ahead of me into Bratinsk; and if either of you so much as look round, I’ll fire. Mind that. By God.”
His weapon was levelled at my head and my companion again showed the stuff she was made of. With a little cry she dashed right in front of me dead in the line of fire.
“You must not shoot,” she said, quite steadily. “This gentleman has done nothing but help me after the accident.”
“We’ll find out all about that at Bratinsk,” replied the man. “Now march, you two.”
It was an ugly situation; but I did not take the police agent as seriously as did “Mary Smith.” They are bullies to the core, so long as it is safe to bully; and this fellow was a particularly brutal brute of his brutal class.
There is one thing they are all afraid of, however, the censure of their superiors; and their superiors hate the investigation which follows when anything happens to foreigners in general, and Englishmen and Americans in particular.
I felt quite confident, therefore, that he would not fire, and that the chief danger we ran was that his weapon might go off by accident. Moreover, he was probably as bad a shot as they nearly all are. So I put up a bluff.
I drew my companion to one side and looking the man square in the face I walked a couple of paces toward him. Instead of shooting he backed his horse and warned me again. This satisfied me.
“You can fire if you like. You know I am an Englishman and if you shoot me there’ll be a row.”
“Do as I say,” he shouted with an oath.
I paused and then said very deliberately: “I’ll see you in hell first. Fire at me if you dare.”
A little gasp of alarm from the girl was lost in a volley of oaths from the police agent.
Then the luck veered once more to our side. Inadvertently his spur touched his horse’s flank and the animal, taking his loud tones as addressed to it, began to fidget and prance so that he could not have taken aim had he wished. The figure he cut was quite laughable.
But it was my chance and I took it. I picked up a stone and flung it at the horse. This set it kicking and plunging desperately so that the none too skilful rider was nearly unhorsed. Choosing my moment I ran up, seized the hand which held the revolver and wrenched the weapon away without any trouble at all.
That was the end of the fighting so far as he was concerned; for he drove his spurs home and clattered away up the hill.
I judged that he was afraid I might now do the shooting which he had threatened so glibly; and mingled with his fear was the belief that, as he had shot our horse and had thus destroyed the means of our flight, he could safely ride off to fetch assistance.
“That’s a good riddance anyhow,” said I with a laugh, when he had disappeared. “I think you’re the pluckiest girl I ever knew.”
“I was so frightened,” she declared.
“Yes, so frightened that you actually put yourself right in front of his revolver. That’s the kind of fright I mean; only I call it pluck.”
“It was nothing. But you should not have taken any part in this miserable affair. You have compromised yourself with the police and may get into all kinds of trouble.”
“Don’t you think we had better start for Cracow? That fellow won’t be away longer than he can help, and I have to get a little scheme ready for him before he returns. The sooner we start the safer.”
“But what can we do about——” and she glanced to where the Count’s body lay.
“If we are to think of the living, we can do nothing. He has been recognized and when the police return they will care for the body and something can be done from Warsaw.”
“It seems heartless to leave him,” she murmured in distressed perplexity.
“There is no other way; so if you please we will start. I’ll tell you my plan as we walk. Your mother’s safety is in the balance, remember.” She yielded then and we set out.
“I think we shall get through without any great trouble. There is a train from Bratinsk somewhere about eight o’clock, which will put us in Cracow in a few hours.”
“But I have no passport now, to pass the frontier.”
“Fortunately, I can arrange that. My first plan is to send the police off on a false scent. There is a peasant family, not a mile from the top of the hill—where my horse is, by the way—and they will do anything for me. I helped them out of some trouble when I was here last year, and they think a lot of it. With this police agent away from Bratinsk for a few hours, we can get off secretly and safely.”
At the top of the hill I found my horse, put “Miss Smith” on his back and handed her the coat which had been the first cause of trouble.
“I shall need the coat for my plan; so find the papers which are sewn into it and be ready to rip them out the moment we reach the cottage.”
“But you?” she protested.
“No protest, please. I am good for more than a mile at fair speed.”
“You do all this for a stranger,” she said, her eyes lighting as she looked down at me.
“Oh, we shan’t always be strangers. Keep him going. I can’t talk and run at the same time. Be merciful;” and with that we set off at a good round trot. I held to the stirrup and so had no difficulty in keeping up.
In about five minutes we turned off the road and the cottage was soon in sight. By good fortune the man I sought, Michel, was in the patch of garden and greeted me with a smile. I came to the point at once.
“Michel, you have often asked for a chance of repaying that little debt. You can do it now. I want you and your sister, Testa, to help me. You are to ride my horse and your sister yours, and start at once. Ride down the Devil’s Staircase, strike out any way you like at the bottom; ride for four or five hours; you in the name of Ivan Grubel, your sister as Mary Smith, an English girl. At the end of the ride, which must be as near a railway station as you can manage, turn my horse adrift to go where he will; and then make your way home secretly. And no one must know of your absence. You’ll do this?”
“Why yes, Excellency. Testa, Testa;” and he ran in calling his sister.
“Now for the coat? It will be the best possible thing to create the false trail with.”
“The papers are here in the lining.”
“Get them out then at once, please. We have no minutes to lose.” I handed her a knife and she found them.
Michel came round the cottage a minute later leading the horse for his sister just as Testa herself appeared ready to start.
“Good-evening, Excellency,” she said, her brown eyes dancing at the thought of an adventure.
“You grow stronger every day, Testa, and prettier,” I said. “Now, Michel, wear this coat, take care that every one has a full view of it; and when you get rid of the horse, strap it on his back. Mind, you two, my liberty may depend upon you. God-speed.”
“Trust me,” replied Michel as he mounted.
I helped Testa to the saddle. “Don’t look scared, child,” I said; for her face had clouded at my words. “I shall be in no danger if you do this thing well. Off with you.”
“By the help of the Virgin,” returned Testa; and away they went helter-skelter towards the Devil’s Staircase.
As soon as they were out of sight we set off for Bratinsk, across the fields; and I explained the next part of my plan. This was to use the two passports of Bob Garrett and his sister.
“I have not told you my real name,” said my companion.
“We scarcely seem to have had time to speak of anything yet. We’ve been pretty busy, you see.”
“It is Volna Drakona. My father is dead; my dear mother is in feeble health. I have a half-brother and half-sister—Paul and Katinka.”
“The passports will give you another sort of brother till we get to Cracow. Only for a few hours, however, if all goes well. Volna! I have never heard that name before.”
“It is my mother’s——” she said simply. Then, “You like it?”
“It is southern in its sweetness.”
“My mother is from the South. Do you think I could write to her and let her know that all is well with me? She may hear of my uncle’s death, and the anxiety will almost kill her. We are deeply attached to one another.”
“There is no reason why you should not. And from Cracow it may be safe to telegraph.”
“You speak as if we were quite certain of getting through.”
“Why shouldn’t we? I have had another thought. My servant is at Bratinsk and I shall use him to create another scent for the police. I shall send him off toward Warsaw in my name while we go to Cracow as the two Garretts. I look for no trouble in Bratinsk. The police agent is not likely to think we shall venture to return there. I expect he will just get the help he needs and rattle back to make the arrest. He will then follow Michel and his sister; and as this will take up some hours at least, we ought to be clear away and near Cracow before he even returns to Bratinsk.”
“You make it seem very simple and easy.”
“So it ought to be; but I shall feel better when we are in the train speeding west. There is one thing, by-the-by, you had better make some kind of change in your appearance. I can do it easily by shaving my beard and changing my clothes. Do you think you could buy something in Bratinsk? Your description is sure to be telegraphed in all directions.”
We discussed the means of doing this and had scarcely settled matters when we reached Bratinsk. Having arranged where to meet, I went to the inn and Volna to procure the change of costume.
The dusk was beginning to fall and deeming it best to be cautious, I entered the inn by a side door and succeeded in slipping up to my rooms unnoticed.
My servant, Felsen, was not there; but afraid to lose time in waiting, and unwilling to risk asking for him, I set to work and shaved off my beard and moustache. As I changed my clothes, I found the police agent’s revolver; and took it with me.
As Felsen always looked after my things I did not notice anything amiss, except that he seemed to keep them very carelessly; but as soon as I went into the sitting room, which opened from the bedroom, I scented trouble.
Every drawer and cupboard in the place had been ransacked, and papers and books were all left in the greatest confusion.
The reason was plain. It was the result of a police visit. My friend of the Devil’s Staircase had set his comrades to work. Instinctively I ran back into the bedroom and destroyed the evidences of my shaving operation, and was in the act of leaving the room when I heard voices approaching it.
I had barely time to step into a cupboard when the door was opened and two men entered. One was Felsen, the other a stranger. His curt, sharp tone and manner suggested the police.
They passed through into the sitting room beyond.
“Your master has not been back then, it seems?”
“I shouldn’t think he’ll come back after what you say.”
“He’ll probably be brought back.” This with a sneer. “We know how to deal with spies and traitors.”
There was a pause and then Felsen said: “I suppose if he’s caught he won’t be let out for a long while.”
“Our prison doors only open one way easily,” chuckled the other.
“Then I may as well look after myself, I suppose.”
“Yes. He’s evidently made a fool of you.”
“Well, it’s my turn now. Have a cigar?”
I heard matches struck and smelt my best cigars.
“We can wait downstairs as well as here,” said the police agent. “I’ll lock the doors this time to make sure.” He came into the bedroom, locked the door on the inside and then went back. The other door was then locked and the two men went downstairs.
Fortunately he had left the key in the bedroom door, and the instant the way was clear, I went out, crept along the corridor and down the back stairway to the door by which I had entered.
I gained the street safely and walked away toward the railway station, trusting to the gloom of the evening and my shaven face to save me from recognition.
By the action of the police and the fact that they were already on the look-out for me had crumpled up my plan. And there was still worse to come.