CHAPTER XXV

KEMPELSTEIN

"Chere Zoya," said Rowland, in a moment as he smoked a much desired cigarette, "this will not do at all, we must never be seen together in these costumes. You look like the front cover of a fashion magazine and I--like a coal miner up for the air. But we haven't any time to lose. In ten minutes the Sleeping Beauty will roll into the Bahnhof at Lindau waiting for someone to wake him with a kiss. They'll be getting suspicious in fifteen minutes and after that they'll go over this smiling land with a fine-tooth comb. And if there are no teeth out of it, they'll draw something. There's one way."

"What, Philippe--

"A bee-line for the lake----"

"How far is it?"

"Not over a mile or so, I think. You can see the water shimmering through the trees."

"Let's go then----"

"You're not too tired?"

"No. Lead on. I'll follow."

He peered out of their place of concealment and walked in a leisurely way along the road. Behind them at the Railroad Gate the old woman still sat knitting. Both trains had gone. The way to the lake was clear, a country road, little traveled. A fresh breeze had started up and the sun had broken above the low hanging bands of moisture and laid a pretty pattern of the shimmering foliage across his path. The business of escaping seemed absurdly simple--only a few miles of water between himself and freedom.

But the uncertainty about Tanya and Markov made him grave. Had they received his message last night and if so had they heeded it and come on safely to Lindenhof. More "ifs" came suddenly into his mind than he cared to think about. Markov was clever, and with the hurdy-gurdy could have been counted on to reach Schloss Kempelstein without difficulty. But without the hurdy-gurdy, and surrounded by police and soldiers all of whom had been notified of his passage across Bavaria, how would he fare? Was he equal to such an emergency? That was the risk. In a moment Rowland had proof of the thoroughness with which Von Stromberg had done his work, for at the next crossing two provincial policemen awaited his approach, scrutinizing him carefully.

He nodded to them cheerfully and bade them good morning, but they stood in his path and he stopped, rather alarmed at the unexpected turn of events. But he kept his easy poise admirably and his grin disarmed them.

"Your name please?" asked the older man.

"With pleasure," politely, "Leo Knaus."

"You are of the railroad?"

"Assuredly. Do I not look black enough?"

"Quite so. Where do you live?"

"In Kempten."

"Where do you go now?"

Rowland laughed.

"To the lake for a bath. You would like to do the same if you had spent the night upon my locomotive."

Here the younger man broke in, "The man described has gray hair. As you will see, that of Herr Knaus is black."

"Aye, and his skin too," laughed Rowland. And then, "You were looking for someone?"

"A tall man with gray hair and a girl whose hair is reddish brown. You did not see by chance upon the road, a hurdy-gurdy, a piano-organ on wheels, drawn by a small donkey?"

"I am a fireman. There is no time to examine the scenery. But wait----" Rowland took off his cap and scratched his head. "A hurdy-gurdy you say? With a donkey?"

"Yes--yes. You've seen----?"

"I think--I'm sure. Yesterday near Immenstadt--a donkey--a very small donkey?"

"Yes--a small donkey--and a man and woman walking----"

"At dusk last night, where the railroad and the highway ran parallel near the lake of Immenstadt. I am sure. There is no grade there and I was resting--leaning against the side of my coal-box--My engineer, Duveneck----"

"That does not matter--you are sure of what you tell?"

"Positive."

"You will report to the Weissenburg Station when you have had your bath?"

"Assuredly. My engine is there. I go on duty this afternoon."

"Good----"

At this moment Zoya Rochal came up to the group and, staring blankly, passed on.

"Reddish hair," repeated the older man.

"Of course I could not see the color of the woman's hair----"

"We will see to this at once. The telegraph, Nussbaum----"

And off they went, traveling back along the road by which Rowland had come. With a grin he watched them depart on their wild-goose chase. Immenstadt was east, Weingarten west. "And never the twain shall meet----" he quoted cheerfully to himself, aware of the fact that not yet had the net been closed around Markov and Tanya. And he, Rowland, had perhaps widened its mouth by fifty miles or so. But such expedients were dangerous and made the necessity for his disappearance and Zoya's from the immediate neighborhood a matter of great urgency. He went on toward the Lake following Zoya Rochal, compelling his feet to move slowly, while every impulse urged speed. Already the sleeping Von Stromberg must have been discovered and it would not be many minutes before the alarm would go out for Zoya Rochal. Her trim dark figure moved steadily in front of him a hundred yards away, slowly reducing the distance to the water which Rowland could now see at the foot of the lane. There were boats there, he could see them clearly now, boats of all kinds ... Zoya seemed to move more slowly--more painfully ... she was tired out. He hurried forward and passed her. "Courage," he whispered, "we are not suspected. Can you go on?" She was very pale. "Yes--yes--a little faint----"

"Courage," he repeated.

He strode on more rapidly now, passing through a village of small frame houses of the poorer sort, reaching the foot of the lane where there was a jetty, beyond which several sail-boats were anchored. There was an old man on the jetty cleaning some fish which he had taken out of a sail-boat alongside. Rowland lighted a cigarette and approached him leisurely.

"Good luck?" he asked.

The man looked up with the taciturnity of fishermen.

"Fair," he said.

"Any boats to hire?"

The man looked Rowland over from top to toe, his fish-knife suspended in the air.

"You don't think I can pay because I am a workman. I am off for a holiday, my friend. See." And Rowland exhibited a hundred mark note with an air of great pride. The fisherman became more interested at once. But shook his head.

"There is a new law about renting boats to strangers. You must have a pass from the officer commanding at Lindau."

Rowland laughed.

"Strangers! That's pretty good. And me working between Weissenburg and Kempten for ten years."

The fisherman rose and took up his bucket of fish.

"I'm sorry. Your money is as good as anyone else's, but it can't be done."

Rowland looked around him quickly. There was no one in sight upon the shore and only the slender figure of Zoya Rochal slowly approaching him along the jetty. Alongside the raft to which the man had descended to wash his fish was the sail-boat he had used. The breeze was fresh and from the South. The boom swung noisily to and fro. Rowland's mind was working rapidly.

Zoya joined him. "Courage," he whispered. "Go down."

She obeyed him, descending the wooden steps to the lower level. The fisherman looked up indifferently and rose, his fish strung.

"You're sure you don't want to change your mind?" asked Rowland pleasantly.

"No--it is _verboten_."

"Is this your boat?"

"Yes--but----"

"A hundred marks, Herr Fisherman," said Rowland bringing the money out and holding it before the man's eyes again.

The man dropped his fish and scowled at Rowland.

"_Donnerwetter_! Have I not said----?"

There was no time to waste. Rowland had put both their necks into a noose which this idiot would draw if they parleyed longer.

"Get in the sail-boat, Zoya," he said coolly and the bewildered fisherman watched her obey. "Your money----"

"My boat----" the man shouted rushing forward. But he got no further for Rowland shoved him violently, tripping him skillfully at the same time and he disappeared into the water.

Zoya was already in the boat and before the fisherman came to the surface Rowland had cast off the bow-line and pushed away from the raft. The fellow rose sputtering and tried to clamber in but found himself looking into the barrel of Rowland's automatic.

"_Herr Gott!_" the fellow muttered and dropped back into the water.

By this time the sail-boat had swung off from the dock. Rowland hauled in the sheet, pulled up the lug sail, and a quick twist of the tiller sent her on her way.

"Silly fool," said Rowland half to himself. "He's merely out a hundred marks."

The craft heeled over and the foam rushed out from under her counter, bubbling aft in a manner most cheerful to see. But before Rowland had worked clear of the other boats at anchor, he heard a sound behind him and looking over his shoulder saw the drenched figure of his friend the fisherman, rushing along the jetty shouting like a demon. Figures emerged along the shore and stood watching curiously and when the man reached them and told his story there was a good deal of running around and waving of arms, but the thing that interested Rowland most was the fact that while he looked no one ran out on the jetty or toward the row-boats. They may have disliked the taciturn fisherman as Rowland had done or they may have thought that he dreamed.

"There may be a telephone in that dump," grinned Rowland, "but I'll risk a hundred marks on it."

Meanwhile he steered for the open lake, sure that the rule against the use of petrol which applied to motor cars would also apply to power boats. For the present at least they were safe, and skimming along under a quartering breeze which showed no signs of diminishing. Zoya sat rigidly upon the hard bench, her gaze on the town of Lindau, which, separated from the mainland by a bridge, seemed to be slowly rising from the water.

"_He_ is there," she said with a shudder. "Imagine--when he wakes!"

"Pfui! The guard! Poor devil." And then joyously, "Zoya--we've beaten them."

"Yes--the gods are good."

"Do you feel better?"

"Better--yes--but I am very tired."

"Will you lie down yonder and try to rest?"

"Yes, Philippe."

She was very submissive. He covered her with his coat and she thanked him softly. But again he noticed the air of indifference, of restraint, of passive acceptance of the new relationship between them.

The breeze was life-giving and the craft, which bore the name of _Elsa_ seemed as deeply imbued as Rowland with the exigencies of the occasion, for as the breeze freshened she leaped joyously toward the distant shore as though aware of an important mission which had nothing to do with trout or felchen. Rowland steered wide of all other craft, fishermen's boats returning to Lindau, a steamer just leaving the Hafen for Rorschach, and having covered as he thought a sufficient distance from his point of departure swung in again toward the Bavarian shore.

Markov had described Schloss Kempelstein to him--a solitary tower upon the shore of the lake, west of Lindau. There was a small jetty too with boats. Such a place should not be difficult to find. He searched the shore with his gaze and found a tower--much nearer Lindau than he had supposed.

At the sudden change in the motion of the _Elsa_ coming around on the other tack, Zoya Rochal started up and looked at the rapidly approaching shore.

"It seems a pity," she said quietly.

He understood her but answered cheerfully enough.

"We'll come through, Zoya, don't worry."

"It's death, this time, Philippe----"

"Well----" he laughed. "We'll go merrily. There's only one thing I regret."

"What, Philippe?"

"That I didn't tickle His Excellency under the chin."

"I hope he doesn't tickle us under ours, _mon vieux_," she said rather grimly.

The tower of Schloss Kempelstein grew in height and now the ruined walls surrounding it appeared. There was a sail-boat moored alongside the jetty and one or two smaller boats, drawn up on the shore by the tower. Rowland watched the place eagerly and the _Elsa_ rushed on her bows dipping heavily into the cross seas, drenching them both with foam. Zoya leaned forward, her hands clasped over the gunwale pale, calm, indifferent to her discomfort, her wide weary gaze fixed like Rowland's on the jetty beside the tower. There was an arch which connected the tower with a ruined building alongside and it was in the shadow of this arch that they were both suddenly aware of figures moving,--two men and two women. The _Elsa_ was still too far away for them to distinguish faces but the figures stood for a moment as though in conversation and then seemed to move toward the jetty. Behind the ruin upon what seemed to be a highroad, there were men on horseback, riding in a cloud of dust.

"There's something going on, Zoya," whispered Rowland tensely. "What does this mean?"

The _Elsa_ was now rushing in headlong. Rowland was so eager to shorten the distance, that he had taken no account of the possible dangers of the beach or of the necessities of a safe landing, but he put the helm up now and let the craft swing down the beach a hundred yards or so while he watched the figures on the pier, now plainly distinguishable. One of the women was Tanya Korasov, the other woman--Rowland stared in astonishment. It was no woman but a monk in a belted robe and while Rowland and Zoya looked, they saw the monk direct Tanya to the sail-boat alongside the jetty. There was a shout from the men in the shadow of the arch as they rushed out toward the figure of the monk. As they emerged into the sunlight the monk raised an arm gesturing, and then there was a loud report and one of the men under the arch seemed to stumble and fall. Then they saw him half rise and crawl on toward the monk. Another report and the crawling man sank to the ground and moved no more. The other man hesitated and then ran back to the shadow of the arch.

"Good old Markov!" shouted Rowland. "The monk is Markov, Zoya----" And then again wildly, "The boat," he shouted to the monk; "they're coming, Markov!--Behind you--from the road."

Zoya had started up at the beginning as the shots were fired and had leaned forward, her eyes peering in horror.

"That's not Markov," she whispered now to Rowland. "Not Markov," she repeated. "It was he yonder." She sank down upon the seat and buried her head in her hands.

"Not Markov," he muttered--"then who----"

An inkling of the truth came into Rowland's mind at the same moment for the man in the monk's robes turned and catching up a bag that lay beside him upon the jetty, caught Tanya by the arm, helped her abruptly into the boat and pushed off from the jetty just as the cavalcade of horsemen rode through the arch. Rowland saw them dismount and rush forward upon the jetty, but the boat had swung off and her sail had caught the breeze so that by the time the men in uniform had reached the end of the jetty there was thirty feet of clear water, quickly widening, between them. The soldiers shouted and one of them drew a revolver but the man in the monk's robes had leveled his weapon again and fired. Rowland was now near enough to see quite clearly the features of the monk. Even without a mustache, Rowland recognized the man who had done the shooting--Gregory Hochwald.

The _Elsa_ was now working up close hauled under the lee of the other sail-boat which was making for the open waters of the lake. The soldier kneeled and Hochwald pushed Tanya down below the gunwale. The automatic of the soldier spoke again and again but without effect for Rowland saw Hochwald rise in his place and make a derisive gesture. The other soldiers fired also but the bullets spattered harmlessly in the water.

Herr Hochwald had been so busily engaged in making his escape that he had not been aware of the _Elsa_ which had come up under his lee not a hundred meters away, but as he set his course for the open water he glanced over his shoulder at the _Elsa_, where Rowland, crouched at the tiller, was slowly overhauling him. Rowland saw him laugh and say something to Tanya who straightened, her white face gazing across the space of water at Rowland but without recognition. Zoya lay face downwards upon the seat, silent and motionless.

Rowland crouched lower, his cap pulled over his eyes. The meaning of the events upon the wharf had come to him slowly and not until he had seen Hochwald's face did he realize what this escape meant to him and to Tanya. But having grasped the facts, he planned quickly. For the present at least their common foe was baffled and every mile that grew between the boats and the Bavarian shore was so much to the credit of them both in a defensive alliance which should not in the least cloud the personal issue between Rowland and Hochwald. There was going to be a reckoning of some sort presently when they reached the center of the lake--a reckoning which would balance all grievances. Rowland had suddenly become quite calmly exhilarated, and Zoya raised her head and looked at him in pallid astonishment. As her look questioned, he answered:

"It's Hochwald, Zoya--the priest is Hochwald." And as she straightened to look---"Keep down below the gunwale. He doesn't know, we're going to surprise him."

"What are you going to do?"

"Oh, just trail along."

He was silent again, thinking, and she questioned no more. Indeed from the look of her she was more dead than alive, and Rowland found time to wonder how she had managed to keep up for so long. He marveled at the look of sudden terror that had come into her face when Matthias Markov had fallen. It had been as though suddenly in that dreadful moment she had had a vision of the ghosts of her sins, against him ... Poor Markov....

But the memory of Tanya's frightened face in Herr Hochwald's boat soon blotted all else from Rowland's mind. Tanya there with his arch enemy Hochwald, escaping to freedom and Switzerland, with Tanya and the treasure of Nemi! What chance could have thrown them together--for nothing but chance could have aided Hochwald where such a man as Von Stromberg had failed. Chance ... Chance should not avail him now. The _Elsa_ was Nemesis and she seemed to be aware of it, for she outfooted the heavy craft of Hochwald three to two. But Rowland was not ready to come up with Hochwald yet--not until they had passed the middle of the lake and were safely over the Swiss line, so he eased the _Elsa_ up into the wind and let her hang there from time to time until a mile or two had been covered when he hauled his lug sail as close as he could and crossing the stern of Hochwald's boat stole up the windward where he kept the _Elsa's_ sail between Hochwald and himself.

Rowland could now see that Hochwald was puzzled by the actions of this other boat which clung to him so closely and tried to come closer up into the wind, but Rowland edged away, all the while forging ahead and choosing a position which would give him the advantage when they came to terms. The wind was now blowing half a gale from the mountains to the southward and the heavy clouds which had formed above their peaks came rolling down deeper and deeper in shadow as a presage of more wind to come. But the _Elsa_ was a good sea-boat and had so far shipped little but the crests of foam. Zoya lay upon the seat, leaning on one elbow, her eyes dully watching the race. From time to time she turned and glanced at Rowland who smiled at her encouragingly but said nothing.

The German shore was now hardly distinguishable through the mist of flying spume and shadow. There was a steamer in the direction of Lindau; Rowland had marked her for the last ten minutes and she was coming fast, traveling under forced draught for from time to time her stack belched clouds of black smoke. And now, there was a deep boom which rolled with sullen reverberations across the water and at the same moment almost, a column of spray shot up into the air two hundred yards to the _Elsa's_ left. Zoya started upright and glanced at Rowland who knew what this new danger meant.

"The Patrol-boat, Zoya," he said coolly. "Somebody's given our show away."

"Will they catch us?"

"I hope not. A stern chase--and we're legging it pretty fast."

"It's Von Stromberg," she said with the abstracted air of the fatalist. "One cannot get the best of the game with Von Stromberg."

"We shall," cried Rowland triumphantly. "Look, Zoya. The Swiss Patrol."

She followed the direction of his arm and saw, stealing out from the Hafen of Romanshorn, over their starboard bow, another steamer of about the same size as their pursuer.

There was no time to spare if Rowland's argument with Herr Hochwald was to be concluded before the interesting conflict of these new forces. Another distant boom and another geyser of water shot into the air, a hundred feet nearer.

"Can you sail a boat, Zoya?" he asked of her.

"No--but I'm willing to try," she said with a strange smile.

Rowland brought the _Elsa_ up into the wind and held her there until the boat of Herr Hochwald drew up on even terms, then he eased up the helm and steered a course that would bring the two boats together in a few moments. He saw Hochwald, who had by this time thrown off his monk's robe, rise in the stern of the other boat and scrutinize him eagerly, his sail meanwhile flapping uncertainly. But the _Elsa_ bore down on him like an avenging angel until only a few yards of water separated the two boats. By this time Hochwald who had guessed that the actions of the _Elsa_ boded him no good had put his helm up to run for it. But Rowland, his cap pulled well down over his eyes, maneuvered skillfully, and brought the _Elsa_ alongside, and there they rushed for a second or so, crashing together, the foam dashing over them, the white water flashing between.

"Quick, Zoya," cried Rowland. "Hold her--as she is----"

And leaving the helm he dashed forward seizing the _Elsa's_ bow-line, leaped into the air landing safely and took a quick turn of the painter around the mast of Hochwald's boat.

Hochwald had recognized him now and began firing as Rowland saw Tanya rise from the bottom of the boat where she had been lying.

"Keep down, Tanya," he cried triumphantly in the voice that she knew so well. "It's I--Philippe."

She obeyed him--in a fascination of surprise and terror.... Saw Zoya Rochal clamber from one boat to the other and rise.... Heard the reports of firearms ... saw Zoya's eyes widen, saw her clutch at her breast and stumbling, fall just behind Philippe who had run aft toward Hochwald, firing as he went.

Tanya hid her face in her hands for a second, then rose, watching the two men swaying in a deadly embrace. There was another shot from Hochwald's weapon, muffled against the body of Philippe, but he still struck and struggled, lifting Hochwald clear of the gunwale. As Tanya ran aft, Rowland fell half over the side, while Hochwald hung a moment, his face ghastly, feebly gripping for a hold and then disappeared in the green swirl of water astern.

Tanya caught at Rowland's shoulder and hauled him back into the boat and he sank into her arms, the smile still on his lips ... a smile that now twitched painfully ... for upon his soaking shirt above the breast was a dark spot--spreading rapidly.

"Tanya," he was muttering, "cast off--other boat--steer, Swiss Patrol----" And then his head fell forward and he was silent.

She gazed at him in anguish but laid him gently down and ran quickly forward. The boats were thrashing together dangerously and the other was half full of water. With difficulty she cast off the line ... Zoya lay upon it ... but at last she got it free and ran back to Philippe, who was lying where she had laid him, the water in the cockpit washing over him. She sat beside the tiller, raising his head in her lap, trying with her handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood from his wound. Was it to be death after all...?

"Steer--Swiss Patrol----" She caught at the sheet beside her, that Hochwald had pulled and fastened it to the cleat. A huge wave came over the bow and frightened her, but she grasped the tiller and headed toward the Swiss shore. The Swiss Patrol boat loomed larger--larger, but the other, the German boat, still came on, a white cataract at its bows.

She did not seem to care now. The rush of the waves--of the growing storm--roared in her ears, as though from a great distance. Before her out of the gray of the mist and rain came the loom of the shore. She heard the hails of men, they seemed to be all about her, but she knew not how to obey and only sat clinging to the tiller and to Rowland, whose head was against her body very pale and still....

She was aware of a boat along side of her, manned by men in smart uniforms--one of whom leaped over into her boat, gave one quick glance around and then at first gently and then with more force released the tiller from her hand.

"If the Fraeulein will permit----" a voice said.

"You are----?"

"Lieutnant Hoffmeier of the Swiss Lake Patrol----"

She raised her head, blankly staring at him and then as he caught her in his arms--suddenly relaxed.