CHAPTER XXIII STRANGE SIGHTS IN VIENNA

The course of the _Flyer_ to the Austro-Hungarian capital was southeasterly, and it was already dusk by the time the vicinity was reached. Had it only been lighter the boys might have been treated to a magnificent view of the outlying ranges of the Alps directly in front of them, with the ancient historic city lying there below on the right bank of the lordly Danube.

Their approach had, however, been seen, and long before they reached the city ten or twelve military aeroplanes were hovering excitedly about them. According to directions given by the commandant at Przemysl, the boys hung out two flags--one German, the other Austrian--and, encouraged by the sight of these, one aviator more daring than his comrades, planed up parallel with them, shouting in German:

“Who are you, aeronauts?”

Bob answered him from one of the outer runways.

“Friends from Przemysl with a wounded soldier,” he shouted through a megaphone. “We want to alight in the city as near the largest hospital as possible. Will you show us the way?”

“What is the code word?” questioned the circling Austrian aviator, still suspicious.

“The Double-headed Eagle and a Third Crown,” replied Bob, as instructed by the governor.

This apparently satisfied the airman, who at once passed the word to his flying companions and the whole crowd of aircraft descended upon the city like a flock of sparrows settling down upon a telegraph wire. The Austrian flyers guided the _Ocean Flyer’s_ direction of descent.

A landing was successfully accomplished in the Prater, which is a vast expanse of wood and park on the east side of the city between the river Danube and the Danube “canal.” Here in former times the fashionable and the blue-blooded rolled in stately carriages along the Haupt-Allee, and the light-hearted, pleasure-loving middle-classes whiled away their time boisterously in the Wurstel Prater.

Now all was very different though. This plaisance of indolent fashion was changed to a military aviation field. Flimsily constructed plank hangars dotted the terraces all around the celebrated Rotunda, and wireless apparatus towered gaunt and skeleton-like into the air. High-powered automobiles, driven with reckless speed, were rushing between there and the city across the canal.

It is hardly necessary to relate here the astonishment and curiosity of the Austrian aviators over the _Ocean Flyer_ as it finally alighted in their midst. Alan was selected to remain in charge of it, while the three other boys and the wounded Racoszky were whirled rapidly into Vienna in one of the waiting automobiles. On the way Bob told the two officers who accompanied them the pathetic story of the invalid, and they were at once all sympathy for him.

“Since the old count is the sort of man you say he is, you will probably find him to-morrow dawdling in the ‘Inner City’ where the palaces are, or else driving here along the Ringstrasse,” said one of the officers. “You may not believe it, sir, but practically no steps have been taken to fortify Vienna here against capture. The military aviation corps is supposed to guard aerial approach, and nobody save the good old Emperor seems to take other dangers seriously.

“Our nobility is too pleasure-loving, too loath to acknowledge responsibility. To-day, with all of our outside territory in the throes of a death struggle, with three nations across our borders, and with the ugly rumble of national revolution, the fashionables still parade grandly about, affecting to ignore conditions. Last week there were bread riots and the scum of the city’s alleys and back streets sacked shops throughout the Leopoldstadt district. It took two regiments of soldiers to drive them back. Conspiracy is rank around us; pestilence stalks abroad through the byways. I hear that Bohemia is already in revolt. No one knows what terrible disaster will come in the next news from the front.

“The aged Emperor can do nothing but sit there in the Hofburg, while his peers, fled here in terror from all other parts of the kingdom, spend their time in the gambling casinos, dance as if frenzied in the _Zinspaeleste_ or, believing the end of the world at hand, are lost to religion, morality and the commonest decencies of mankind in debauching there in the Tabarin and vice-sinks like it.

“All day long they ride in landaus with silk parasols, lap-dogs and frippery, where cavalry divisions should be maneuvering. Silk hats are seen where helmets ought to gleam. The cane is more widely flourished here than the sword! But ‘drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die.’”

As the indignant officer paused in his tirade, the automobile wheeled into the Alsergrund district and in a few seconds more was at the foot of the great flight of gray stone stairs leading up to the official military hospital.

“We want to get a light, airy, private room for Lieutenant Racoszky,” Ned explained to the tired, white-uniformed attendant who met them.

He shook his head wearily, shrugged his shoulders and replied patiently:

“That is what they all say. Each day I hear it hundreds of times--as if there were room in all of the Alsergrund for half the sick in Vienna! Is this one of the plague-ridden too?”

Finally, however, accommodations were found for poor Racoszky, and the boys left, promising to return on the morrow. The officers then escorted them to their military headquarters, where their story had to be retold before they were given the liberty of the city. They told too of the gallant defenders in Przemysl and evoked loud cheers from all who heard them.

“Ah!” exclaimed one old soldier, “would that I were there to die a hero’s death with them, rather than standing guard over this madhouse here!”

Inasmuch as the night was still young, the boys decided to look about the city a bit before returning to Alan and the _Flyer_ out in the Prater. In a rented taxicab they toured the city and found conditions much as they had been described to them. All of the street lamps, cafes, dance halls and places of amusement were ablaze with light and thronged with patrons as if on a gala night. The dreamy strains of a Strauss or Gungel waltz were weirdly intermingled with the barbaric staccato of banjorines thrumming the latest tango.

The shocked and astounded boys sat for a few moments in the gallery surrounding one of the huge dance pavilions where hilarity was at its height. The babel of incongruous noises beat all around them, but every now and then during a momentary lull in the clamor, they were conscious of a subdued conversation going on at an adjacent table.

The four men who sat there were neither noisy nor bent on amusement. That was plain. One was of gigantic physique and wore a huge black, bristly beard. One was short and unwholesomely fat. He had pouches under his wicked little pig’s eyes and his skin was blotchy. On his one hand three rings set with magnificent jewels sparkled. The third man was evidently from a different social class, for his hands were stubby, with black-rimmed finger nails and a loose, brutal mouth. The fourth man at the table sat with his back to the boys and wore a cape pulled high up so as almost completely to muffle his face. They all were leaning with heads close together over the table, scarcely having tasted the wine in their glasses.

Ned, who sat nearest to them, at one time heard the little fat man with the rings, saying:

“... best done as you say. To-morrow night I know from His Excellency the Grand Chancellor that A Certain Distinguished Personage will remove for the week-end to the imperial chateau of Schoenbrunn. That is only fifty-five minutes run by motor car from the Hofburg and certainly we can----”

The blare of music beneath the gallery as the giddy dance resumed, drowned his further utterance. By and by, though, Ned again caught a disjointed phrase or two:

“... only a guard of ten Hussars ... servants in the chateau all bribed. We’re sure of them ... he sleeps ordinarily in that suite in the southwest wing, easily reached by a ladder against the wall.... No! no! Don’t use your knife, Ottaker, you fool! He is so old and feeble that a good minute’s grip on his windpipe will finish him!”

“And the Lerchenfeld cathedral chimes will go ‘_Ding, dong, ding! Ding, dong, ding!_ Franz Joseph dead! Franz Joseph----’”

Both the fat little man and he of the enveloping cape swung quickly around and eyed the near-by boys sharply. Ned met their scrutiny innocently enough.

The iron jaw and full eyes of the man in the cloak impressed themselves indelibly upon his memory.

“Huh!” grunted the fat man, as he turned, back to his companions.

“They don’t matter--only young boys--maybe tourists caught over here by the war!”

Ned furtively motioned Bob Russell closer to him.

“Bob,” he whispered, “those men are talking in French, although they are every one Austrians, and I can understand them.”

“Well, what of it?” asked Bob, puzzled.

“Just this!” breathed Ned. “They are plotting to assassinate the Emperor to-morrow night!”