CHAPTER XXIV

A NIGHT ADVENTURE

After clasping Frau Nisko warmly by the hand, Rowland left Number 16 Schwaiger Strasse and went out into the darkness of a small street at the rear of the house. The clock on the kitchen wall had told the hour of ten and he realized that he had a little more than an hour to accomplish his purpose of boarding the train for Lindau. It would be suicide to attempt without a passport the purchase of a ticket at the Haupt Bahnhof, and it was with a feeling of great uncertainty as to the result of the project that he made his way across the bridge and in the general direction of the railway station. He knew that any appearance of hesitation in his manner in the streets would lead to questions and arrest and so whistling cheerfully to keep up his courage he went his way along the Sommer Strasse as far as the Schwanthaler Museum (the very one of which he, Prof. Leo Knaus, was curator) when, the Haupt Bahnhof looming in sight, he turned to his left and followed a street which ran parallel to the railroad tracks. Having come this far he felt more encouraged for he was now in a region of breweries and factories where his rough clothes were less conspicuous than in the fashionable region through which he had just passed. He realized that he wasn't very pretty to look at, for there was a six days' growth of beard upon his chin and the dust of the garret had completed the damage to Georg Senf's clothing, begun the other night upon the roofs.

Poor Senf! It was prison for him--and for Weiss and Benz. The hour was not ripe for mutiny in Germany--but there had been signs.... Next winter when the pinch of hunger came....

But this was no time to be thinking of misfortunes of the Munich Committeemen. Prison for a while and then conditional release, with a warning.... His own case was more desperate and required a desperate expedient--to board the eleven-thirteen train without buying a ticket. He went on until he reached the edge of the brewery district where he stopped in a small tobacconist's to buy pipe tobacco and ask questions. The man behind the counter was old and querulous, but Rowland found out what he wished to know--that he had already passed the switches of the freight yards and that the straight double track to Pasing began just here at Friedenheim. Rowland didn't wait to discuss the matter further, for a clock upon the shelf indicated that the hour of eleven was near, and so, leaving the old man staring after him, he went out abruptly and strode rapidly eastward, crossing the tracks and at last coming to a stop in the shadow of an abutment close to the rails.

A train passed going toward the city and another approached him going eastward, but it could scarcely be the time yet. So he waited and watched it pass--(a train of goods-cars)--calculating its speed and figuring on his chances of success. If the speed of the eleven thirteen was no greater than this.... But what if he missed it--or boarded a train for Berlin by mistake? He would have to take that chance. Silence except for the distant rattle of the train that had passed. He glanced around him. There was no one near, no lights, no watchmen--no police. He had chosen well. There was a cinder path beside the track--if for few seconds he could get up as much speed as the train--that was all he needed, that and a good grip on something....

Another train leaving Munich. He could see its lights and hear the rattle of its wheels as it crossed the switches. He had tried to figure the passage of the minutes since he had left the tobacconist's and was sure that the time of departure of the train he wanted had long since passed. This must be it then. He pulled his cap down firmly over his ears and peered out. The exhaust of the locomotive warned him that this was an express, slowly gathering speed, but it was do or die now. A light along the rails--Rowland stepped back in the shadows, an arm over his eyes to protect them from the glare. Then a deafening clank and roar as the engine passed, ever gathering speed. Rowland waited until one car passed--two--then darted out, running furiously and sprang for the step as it passed. A wrench at his arm-pit, a moment of doubt as he clutched at the rail, and then, he lay along the foot board of the old fashioned car, for the moment quite safe. There was no guard in sight but he could not tell how soon one would appear--probably at Pasing, less than five minutes away, and so clutching at the nearest guard rail, he crouched and moved to the rear end of the coach. There was one dark compartment but he did not dare raise his head above the sill to look in, nor had he any intention of entering it. Indeed he had already made his plan, and moving with great caution found an iron ladder between the cars and climbed quickly to the top of the coach, along which he crawled upon hands and knees and finally lay flat with arms and legs extended, bruised and breathless but quite happy. He grinned to himself at the ease with which the thing had been accomplished, and thought of the mess he would have made of himself if he had tried to take liberties of this kind with the Empire State Express or the Manhattan Limited.

At Pasing he heard the call of the guard which reassured him that he had made no mistake. This was the Lindau train, all right, and the Bodensee but eight or ten hours away. If they did not see him--if no one looked up.... He crawled over to the side away from the lights of the platform. The travelers were all intent upon getting into their places and the guards in putting them there, so that the sprawling figure in the gloom above them only a few feet away escaped notice. But Rowland saw and heard. There was a delay of a few moments while the officials waited for a tall man who had gotten down from a machine alongside the platform. Rowland heard his rasping voice, saw the guard salute and take his valise; heard the obsequious "Excellency" of the station agent and then the door of a compartment just below him crashed to and the train moved off into the darkness. There was no mistaking Von Stromberg, and his presence was reasonable enough,--even his departure from Pasing instead of from the Haupt Bahnhof where he might have been recognized by those who could balk his plans. Rowland wondered at his own stupidity in not realizing that the Herr General would go to Lindau rather than entrust so important an affair to a subordinate. And if to Lindau why not on the only train which left for that place tonight? And here he was, the old villain, in the compartment Rowland might have entered, not ten feet from where Rowland lay. Zoya Rochal had said of Rowland that he was never so happy as when he was shooting at somebody and at this moment Rowland confessed to a strong desire to justify the statement. He crawled along the top of the carriage until he reached the ventilator which let into the compartment Von Stromberg had entered, but of course could see nothing. There was an odor of a good cigar, the rattle of a newspaper and then silence. Rowland had seen no one but von Stromberg enter the compartment and since there was no sound of other voices below him Rowland knew that the Herr General was alone.

While Rowland was planning how best to take advantage of this extraordinary situation, the train came to a stop again and he distinctly heard Von Stromberg's voice, the caressing voice that Rowland remembered, giving some orders to the guard.

"In the second compartment of the last car," he said suavely, "you will find a very beautiful lady. You will recognize her by her hair which is as black as a raven's wing. Present my compliments and say that General von Stromberg will be honored if she will share the journey with him."

"_Zu befehl, Excellenz_," muttered the man and departed toward the rear of the train, running.

Even now, Rowland did not realize just what the message meant and until the guard returned accompanied by a slender woman in dark clothes with a small hat set rakishly upon her head, Rowland didn't know that the beautiful lady with the dark hair was Zoya Rochal. She stood for a moment in the glow of the open door, it seemed looking up directly at the shadow where Rowland was as their glances met. Then he heard Von Stromberg's voice welcoming her.

"_Ach_, Madame. This is indeed a pleasure. And I had feared that I should be forced to pass this tedious journey with no one but myself for company ... unless an evil conscience.... I pray you to enter and make yourself quite at home. The guard will bring your luggage.... So. Of course I had forgotten that you left Munich so suddenly," and then as she hesitated, his voice more insistent, "Come, Madame, if you please."

Rowland heard her climb the steps, heard the door shut behind her and then the shaken tones of her voice.

"Herr General--how did you know----?"

"Madame, do not pry behind my scenes. It spoils the effect. I know everything. It's my trade. The thing was so much more simple since there is but one train to Lindau. I was notified at Pasing the moment you entered your compartment. You do not object to the smell of tobacco? So. Perhaps you will even condescend to smoke a cigarette with me...."

The train was rumbling on into the darkness again and Rowland for the moment could hear no more. Indeed his ears were filled with one phrase and he could hear no other. "I know everything--I know everything," even the car wheels announced it, the exhaust of the locomotive as the train went up grade. If Von Stromberg was omniscient, he was surely aware of Rowland perched on the car-top just above his head, listening at the ventilator. Something of the terror that Zoya had expressed for the old man's devilish ingenuity came over Rowland at this moment. He had seen something of Von Stromberg's power of will. He wasn't frightened in the physical sense, for fear of that kind clogs the brain, the heart, the muscles,--but the fact of Zoya's presence and the old demon's knowledge of it had given Rowland a new sense of Von Stromberg's skill in divination which anticipated what it could not guess, and guessed what it could not anticipate. In all reason Von Stromberg could have no possible means of knowing that Rowland had "jumped" the train at Friedenheim and was now crouched upon the top listening to this very interesting conversation. Back there in the Schwaiger Strasse Rowland had heard Zoya Rochal swear to the old man that he, Rowland, had escaped from Munich, but Rowland would have felt much more comfortable if Zoya hadn't come. What did her presence mean? Had she found out from Frau Nisko that Rowland had inquired as to the trains for Lindau, and, determined to repair the dreadful damage she had done, had decided to follow Tanya and Markov to the Bodensee and help them in the danger of Von Stromberg's pursuit? Or had she come seeking Rowland, trying in helping him escape to atone for her treachery? Or had her mission some less pleasant purpose?

Whatever her intentions whether good or bad, the fact of her presence alone with Von Stromberg in the railway carriage below him was in itself a threat against Rowland's security. For Zoya _knew_ that he planned to be on this train or she wouldn't have come. And what might not the clever brain of the great Councilor succeed in wheedling from this woman of uncertain quality by persuasion, bribery, or threat during the long night journey that lay before them? Rowland lay flat upon the cartop, his ear near the ventilator, but could hear nothing except the low murmur of their voices. Once he heard Von Stromberg's laugh and then a little later Zoya's. They seemed to be getting on famously for with the odor of the masculine cigar came that of a Russian cigarette. Rowland did not trust her.... Beneath the smooth veneer that she had for years so carefully applied, she had shown him tonight the rough grain beneath--the Tartar grain--and he had scratched it....

Perhaps she would give him away to the old man who would have the train searched. At the next stop, Rowland had half expected it, but when nothing happened he breathed more freely. At least so far she had held her tongue. There was some good in the woman--some loyalty left--loyalty for Rowland at least that had rightfully belonged to Herr Markov, whom she had betrayed. Love--whatever it was that she had for Rowland--whatever it was ... had kept her lips sealed.

As the hours passed and nothing happened, Rowland gained confidence in his luck. Barring new treachery in Zoya Rochal, or some miraculous guess-work from his enemy below, or the searching daylight, he would come through safely to Tanya. And if he didn't get through safely to Tanya, he wouldn't be the only one who went down. It was going to be a "peach" of a "scrap" while it lasted--a "peach," and the old pelican would be one of those to keep him company in the last adventure.

But wasn't there something better than killing a lot of railroad guards (old gentlemen, with white whiskers for the most part with families of grandchildren at home) to say nothing of getting killed one's self? That wouldn't help America much, or France, or even the Society of Nemi. What he had come into Germany for was to save Tanya from Hochwald and bring the money back into Switzerland. He was on his way; and unless some unforeseen disaster had occurred--unless Frau Nisko had failed him, the money and Tanya were already nearing Lindau. With success so near, he couldn't lose--he mustn't.

And then the train stopped at Kaufbeuren. It had been in motion for more than two hours, but the sound of voices was still to be heard in the carriage below. Rowland tried to make out what they said.

"My prisoner, Madame.... Well to submit with a good grace.... I mistrust your generosity ... broken faith.... Manage this affair alone ... pay you well if I succeed. But at Lindau ... the military prison for a few days. I will give especial instructions as to your comfort."

"Not prison, Excellency----"

"For a few days only.... I am sorry. I can't forget your help in this affair. A glass of wine--never travel without it. The ventilator? Permit me."

"Excellency, I can reach quite easily from the seat." Her voice came suddenly very near Rowland's ear. He heard her fingers on the mechanism and as he peered in through the hole in the roof a white object appeared within touch of his fingers--a tiny scrap of paper! He thrust his fingers in carefully and seized it. A message from Zoya before Von Stromberg's very eyes.... But he couldn't understand how....

He waited until the train moved on again and then brought the paper close to the ventilator to read the penciled scrawl.

"Patience," he read. "Before daylight."

That was all. But it was eloquent enough. He lay flat again, puzzled but jubilant. She had been looking for him as she came forward to Von Stromberg's compartment and had seen him crouching in the gloom above. She had guessed what he would do. That was clever of her. The old pelican wasn't the only one who could guess. Rowland suddenly had a sense of doing Zoya a great injustice, a great wrong. He had been brutal with her back there in the room in the Schwaiger Strasse, because he had thought that what she had done was beneath contempt--forgetting her wound, her weariness, and the fear she had for this sardonic old brute who even now was talking of committing her to prison. She could be no less weary now than she had been four hours ago and yet he found her planning to save him and to save those others from the results of her treachery. What was she going to do? Not murder--that would be a Boche vengeance. He couldn't consent to that. But even if he wanted to prevent, what could he do unless he came down and revealed himself and that would make an end of them both.

And so Rowland waited, his ear close to the ventilator, listening. The sounds of their voices, Zoya's laugh, the clink of glasses--was this the weak link in the old man's armor? "_Wein, weib_----" And after a while he heard no sound of any kind. What was happening? The train was winding laboriously up through a narrow dark valley beside a mountain tarn. From time to time a red glare shot from the furnace doors of the locomotive and then a shower of cinders fell upon him. The air was chill and Rowland shivered with the cold. A glance at the East alarmed him, for the first signs of the coming dawn had appeared. It would not be long before daylight would come and with it discovery of his position by some switchman or station agent. He crouched lower clinging to the ventilator and listened again. A sound, repeated at regular intervals and growing in volume ... a snore, a man's snore. Von Stromberg slept. And then he heard Zoya's voice close at his ear.

"Philippe," it said. "He sleeps. You must come down. But wait a moment. I will see."

He waited breathless and in a moment heard her at the window of the compartment. Then her voice again.

"There is no stop for half an hour yet. You must descend."

"Where is the guard?" he asked.

"In the carriage in front. Descend by the rear and enter. The window is open."

"Good."

With a glance around, Rowland raised his head and slowly slid his body backwards until he found the iron ladder by which he had climbed and descended, waiting a moment at the corner of the car to peer out along the guards and then bending down below the line of windows swung himself along the steps to the window where Zoya was awaiting him and in a moment had tumbled in head first upon the floor beside her. In the dim light of the further corner Von Stromberg lay sprawled helpless, his head back, his mouth open, snoring stentoriously. He was not pretty to look at. But he wasn't in the least formidable. Teeth were missing. He was only senility asleep.

Rowland stared at him a moment in wonder.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"My medicine--the opiate--in his wine glass. He never knew."

"You didn't give him too much?"

"I hope not. There was nothing else to do."

Rowland caught her by the hand.

"Zoya--you're four square. It's fifty-fifty now. Forgive me."

"And you?" she questioned.

"I'm sorry. I'm a beast. We'll beat him now. But the guard----"

"He won't bother us. His Excellency gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. The guard has not dared to look in since. But we'll draw the curtain again."

They stood hand in hand and gazed at the prostrate giant.

"To think that anything like that could frighten one," said Rowland with a grin. "I think I could die happy if I tickled his nose." And then, "How did you know I was there?"

"I didn't until I saw you. I searched at Munich. It was a fearful risk for you to take."

"I had to take it. But I'll confess I didn't know what I was going to do when daylight came--unless I tumbled off. I'm not quite sure that I know now."

"The train stops at Weissenburg. We must get off there--by the opposite door and run for it."

"Are you up to it, Zoya? You've had no sleep--the excitement----"

"I'm no weakling, _mon brave_."

The daylight filtered slowly through the curtain of the carriage and still Von Stromberg slept. Twice the train stopped and each time, by way of precaution, Rowland crouched in a corner hidden under the traveling rug of His Excellency, At the second station Zoya pulled up the curtain and inquired of the guard the distance yet to be traveled. Herr Graf von Stromberg was asleep and desired on no account to be disturbed even when they reached their destination. If he still slept, the car was to remain in the station. Was this understood? She spoke in tones of authority and the man bowed and said he would repeat the orders. Madame need have no fear that they would not be obeyed.

Zoya's face was pallid and the cold light of the morning was merciless, but she smiled at Rowland and sat calmly beside their sleeping enemy, fully aware of the nature of the sacrifice she had made. Her fate was now bound up with Rowland's, his with hers. Failure now meant the extreme penalty of this man's power for them both--and his power was limitless. But a change had come over her since the scene in the room in the Schwaiger Strasse. She was very quiet, very pale, smiling when he spoke but making few comments and uttering no reproaches. She was like a soul already judged--already condemned and awaiting punishment. Rowland took her hand and held it in his. It was very cold and made no response to his pressure. It seemed that all the good in her, all the bad, all the noble, all the selfish, all indeed that was Zoya Rochal had been fused in the heat of a great emotion, then suddenly chilled with disillusion.

"Zoya," he said softly, "I'm sorry."

She smiled a little. "As you have said, it's fifty-fifty, _mon brave_. But I am no fool. I am aware of the sacrifice I make--for Her." She laughed aloud. "My sickness has made me weak. My claws are sheathed, _mon_ Philippe. I shall not scratch her. I have paid--have I not?"

"Yes, Zoya--in full----"

She gave a sigh and a little shrug that seemed meant to deny it.

"It is strange. I seem to look upon you now as one who happened a long while since. You belong to a dream of what might have been. You are very young, _mon_ Philippe--also beautiful and brutal as a god----"

"Oh I say, Zoya----"

"I talk across a distance, Philippe--from a dream. You threw me to the floor brutally. I adored you. It was curious. Never in my life before Philippe, I swear it. Not like this. Even with this girl waiting for you yonder, I knew that I had to--I had to save you--to repair the damage and pay my debt--Fifty-fifty, as you say, _mon_ Philippe."

"You've paid already----"

"I have an idea that I shall pay more.... No. You do not know. In the end the woman pays for all--with interest. The balance will yet be on my side of the ledger."

"I'll square it, Zoya,--some way," he muttered.

Her fingers moved in his.

"You may square it now, _mon_ Philippe," she whispered, "for all time. Kiss me.... No ... upon the brow,--a Benedictus.... _Voila_! I am forgiven, _nicht wahr_--cleansed--the new fire burns up the old."

She rose abruptly and peered out through the slit in the curtain.

"Clean--cold--passionless--like the new day," she muttered. "It cannot be long now. You shall succeed----"

"You too--we will cross the lake somehow--to freedom."

"Perhaps--at least I have done what I could, _n'est ce pas_?" She raised the hand of Von Stromberg and let it drop upon the seat. "He will do," she smiled, "but his snore is like the ride of the Valkyries. No one will dare disturb him. Have you ever been to Lindau?"

"No," he replied, "but it's on an island. Lindenhof is what we want--a village a mile to the west. Do you think you can make it?"

"Three miles from Weissenberg--Yes. I don't seem to be tired."

He looked at her anxiously. Her face was paler even than before in the cool light, but its expression was quite calm and even smiling.

A sudden grinding of the brakes of the train as it drew into a station, while the guards called out its name. Rowland, stumbling over the legs of the prostrate Von Stromberg, rushed to the left hand door, lowered the window and peered out. The train came to a stop.

"Luck! Zoya!" whispered Rowland. "A train of goods cars just opposite. We've got to start at once."

And without further words, he stepped on the seat and swung himself out of the window to the step below. Without a moment's hesitation, Zoya followed, feet first, and Rowland lowered her beside him and after closing the window of the compartment took her hand in his and together they bent forward beneath the goods car, where they paused in a moment of danger while Rowland whispered,

"I will go first. Our clothing--we must not be seen together. Follow when I pause."

And with a slight pressure of the fingers he left her, and crawled out upon the further side. There was but one person in sight--a gate woman, her back turned. Rowland walked a few steps, then paused and Zoya emerged and followed him. He turned into a country road to the southward, walking rapidly until he reached a clump of trees where he waited until Zoya came up with him, when he drew her into the security of the bushes where he bade her sit down a moment to rest while they planned which way to go.

In which direction was Lindenhof? And where Schloss Kempelstein?