Part 14

"More drink!" he shouted, and a fresh bottle of wine was placed on the table before him. He filled his glass, rose to his feet, and banged loudly. The noise of argument ceased, and he became a centre of interest.

"Here ... here's to the Commune!" he toasted, and with a wavering hand, which caused the wine to slop over the rim of the glass down the front of his clothes, he guided the glass to his lips and drank heavily.

"Hear! Hear!" There was an echoing chorus, and the toast was drunk.

Wenzel refilled his glass, and once again pounded on the table. "And--and damnation--to all Whites!" he bellowed.

There was muttered laughter. The fellow was becoming amusing, and for the sake of the fun they began to encourage him. Once again they drank his toast.

"Go on, go on!" some one called out encouragingly.

Wenzel blinked, his head wagged stupidly from side to side. "And death to all those who say otherwise," he hiccupped, and drained a third glass.

There was an unrestrained roar of laughter: "Keep it up, keep it up!"

Wenzel refilled his glass, the wine spilling all over the table in the effort: "And may--the--damned traitor Apor--die soon."

There was a silence. This was news.

"What's that you say? Who is Apor?" Questions were hurled at him from all quarters of the tavern.

Wenzel looked blearily around. "What! Have you not heard yet of the arrest of Apor, assistant--assistant to Comrade Eugene Hamburger, Commissary for--for--for Agriculture?" he asked thickly.

There was a stir of interest. "No, no. Tell us, friend."

"Tell you! Why not? Have I not heard the story from Comrade Hamburger himself? This Apor was a good Communist, yet secrets of the Soviet drifted out, and the Council wondered why. One--one day a detective searched this Apor's correspondence. What do you think he found, friends?" He paused dramatically, and looked round with a triumphant grin. "He discovered, comrades, that Apor was a spy, corresponding with Vienna, acting for the Whites."

There was a wild roar of anger from his listeners, but Wenzel held up a shaking hand.

"Peace--peace, friends. There is more to tell you. Not only was Apor a spy for the Whites, he was also acting for one of whom we have all heard ... heard. The White Knight, friends, the White Knight."

There was a momentous silence, broken only by a gasp from Gunzi. Then, suddenly, the tavern resounded with hoarse cries of anger. Many rose to their feet. "Death to the traitor, death! Hang him! Torture him! Make him confess! Make him tell of the White Knight!"

If Wenzel had hoped to create pandemonium he had undoubtedly achieved success. Presently the clamour subsided, and once more all eyes were turned in the direction of Wenzel, who continued to stand upon his feet, but only with an effort. He swayed to and fro, his eyes blinked and watered under the cap which was crushed down over them. They could see only the lower part of his face, and that but indistinctly, for the scarf which was wound round his neck and chin reached as high as his lower lip.

Wenzel laughed gutturally. "What--what use shouting, comrades? Apor will not die. White Knight will rescue." His speech became more indistinct, and his audience feared that he would collapse in a drunken stupor before his story was finished. Some one dexterously removed the half-finished bottle from the table.

At the same time this last statement was received incredulously. Some one remonstrated: "Yah! Yah! You talk loudly, my friend. How could anyone rescue Apor? Is he not in prison?"

"Apor in prison." Wenzel laughed, and the saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth. "Of course. He is in Parliament--cells. Yet White Knight will rescue. Easy enough."

"Bah! I know the Parliament House cells, and I say that not even the White Knight could rescue anyone from them."

Wenzel wagged a remonstrating finger. "Yes, he could, just same I could."

There was a roar of laughter, and Wenzel frowned.

"Tell us then," his hearers shouted, but Wenzel shook his head. "You might tell Bela Kun--I hang--keep my secrets--myself."

His talk was incoherent, the interest of the others began to lessen. They had obtained all the news they could from him, and now they wanted none of his drunken babblings and theories of impossible rescue.

Yet there was one who leaned forward, eyes gleaming interestedly. Gunzi knew well the potent influence of drink: in his time he had secured many a guarded secret from a man "liquored up" to a degree of nicety, and Gunzi, reading the signs, was convinced that the man to whom he had been listening had reached that stage.

He moved his chair over to Wenzel's table: "Sit down, my friend, and tell me. I am interested."

Obediently Wenzel collapsed on to his chair, then glared malignantly at the detective: "Why should--tell you and not--not--not other people?"

Gunzi shrugged his shoulders. "They are fools, they would believe anything. Myself, I would not. I ask you to tell me so that I can point out to you how impossible would be your plan."

For a moment he believed the Devil had been raised in the other man, for Wenzel shot out a clawing hand which searched for the detective's throat, while Gunzi shrank back, his small rat-face paling, but the effort was too much for Wenzel. His arm relaxed, fell heavily upon the table, and his head followed suit.

Gunzi frowned. Supposing he learned something of advantage to Bela Kun! It was not unlikely that the Dictator might reward him. He leaned forward and whispered: "More drink, eh, friend?"

His words had their effect. Wenzel raised his head and blinked. "Yes," he muttered, "if you pay."

"I will pay," Gunzi agreed eagerly, and ordered wine. Slowly Wenzel raised himself to a sitting position, and drank.

"Well, comrade, how would you rescue this traitor, Apor?" prompted the detective.

"Easily. Suppose ... suppose, for instance, I were this--this White Knight. Would I wait longer than early to-morrow morning rescue Apor? No, comrade, for if I were the White Knight I should hear that to-morrow Apor--come before Korvin-Klein. There--therefore should I act even before the sun rises above the--the horizon.

"To Parliament House I should go with a letter from Bela Kun himself, an order to release an unnamed prisoner." Wenzel chuckled, and looked cunningly up at Gunzi from the corners of his eyes. Unconsciously his hand wandered to his breast pocket and patted it caressingly. "What would the jailers say? 'What want you ... this prisoner?' I should tell them.... 'Bela Kun's business. Apor to be hanged elsewhere.... Allies might hear of it ... interfere.'"

Gunzi smiled scornfully. "A fool scheme, comrade. The jailers would smell a rat. They would refuse to hand over the prisoner."

Wenzel leered. "Yah! You take me for big fool! I am not that, no. I am all ... I ... I would be all prepared. Do I not know the jailer would be curious?..." Somehow the expression of his face changed, and Gunzi saw a look of suspicion cross the features of the other.

"Why--why ask you all these questions? What does it matter to you?" His eyes seemed brighter, less bleary.

"Nothing, nothing at all, comrade." Gunzi endeavoured to appease the other: "You will drink again?" The detective dreaded that the symptoms of the drunken man might change. At present he was docile; just stupid and sleepy. If he should become ferocious, should the spirit of battle be aroused within him ... Gunzi had seen many a drunken scrimmage in his time, and with a sinking heart realized that the other man's temper was slowly rising.

Quickly he ordered the drinks. Wenzel observed the bottle of wine set before him, and wavered. He stretched out a hand to grasp it, and Gunzi sighed with relief. The next moment Wenzel rose to his feet and towered above Gunzi. He seized the bottle and crashed it down on the table, where it shivered to pieces, the wine spurting in streams on to the floor.

"You--you spy!" In a thick, unsteady voice Wenzel accused the detective. "I will not talk to you. Perhaps I will kill you!"

There was drama in the air. Once again Wenzel was the centre of attraction, and several men near by tensed themselves, ready to spring to Gunzi's help. Wenzel gazed round him with a belligerent air, but seemed to realize that the odds would be against him, for with a growl he turned his back and swayingly zigzagged his way to the door. This he opened, and the next moment disappeared into the night, and with scarcely another pause the tavern resumed its normal appearance.

Nevertheless Gunzi was annoyed that he had not heard the finish of the scheme, though he believed he had heard enough to assure him that the White Knight intended to act before the early morning. Some one ought to be warned!

He communed with himself. He had enough news to give Bela Kun to warrant asking a favour in return. If he waited until morning the White Knight might have carried through his plans, and have liberated Apor. Then of what use would it be for Gunzi to approach him?

He made up his mind, called the waiter to him, and asked the way to Bela Kun. The man smiled. "Bela Kun may be anywhere. In the palace of the Hapsburgs, in the Parliament building, or yet, and still more likely, in Batthyany's Palace. He likes good food, I am told, and there is nightly a great feast there."

With rapid steps Gunzi made his way toward the Batthyany Palace, and for the first time obtained a glimpse of Budapest under the Red _régime_. Everywhere he passed wholesale looting was taking place. Savage Red guards and drunken Terrorists, riding wildly about in confiscated automobiles, commandeered food and dwellings.

Other bands paid domiciliary visits in search of _bourgeois_ spies, or refugees. Hostages were arrested, to be kept in prison against the good behaviour of the innocent _bourgeoisie_.

Even Gunzi was slightly surprised, though not shocked, and he was all the more determined to gain a post in Budapest. He began to have visions of a life about which hitherto he had hardly dreamed. In Aszod, he realized, he had been too faithful to his duties, even if he were indubitably a Communist.

He remembered the beautiful mansion in the Theresa Boulevard, and because he had visions of it still in his mind's eye as he neared it, its present appearance caused him to rub his eyes and wonder whether he were dreaming.

In front of the house the pavement was heavily barricaded. Lights gleaming from the mansion behind the obstructions reflected on the barrels of field-guns, machine-guns, and _Minnenwerfers_, while before the gates were three heavy motor-lorries, armed with machine-guns.

Here and there patrolled Lenin Boys, and Gunzi, looking through the barricades, could see that each one was armed with revolver, bowie-knife, and hand-grenades.

Gazing at the mansion in bewilderment, Gunzi compared it to a fortress, and, as he was afterward to find, the imagery lost nothing in the searchlight of reality. It was indeed a veritable fortress. Down in the cellars were stored an enormous amount of ammunition and quantities of food. Still more, it protected a host of Lenin Boys, who, under the leadership of Josef Cserni, an ex-sailor of no mean physical dimensions, terrorized the city of Budapest.

Evidently Gunzi was betraying too great an interest. He felt something boring into his ribs, and turning round found a Lenin Boy covering him with a rifle.

"Well, comrade," the guard growled unpleasantly, "what do you want? This part is unhealthy for sightseers and tourists."

"I am looking for Bela Kun."

"Well?"

"I have news for him, urgent and important news."

The Lenin Boy laughed shortly and jerked his thumb in the direction of the palace: "I doubt that you have news more important than the little lady who doubtless occupies his attention at the moment. Try and see him to-morrow, friend. You will find him more inclined to listen to affairs of State."

"To-morrow will be too late," protested Gunzi. "Tell Bela Kun my news concerns the White Knight."

"What!" The guard lowered his rifle. "That is different. The Devil! Why did you not say so before?"

"Did you give me a chance?" asked Gunzi, but the other had not heard, for with a muttered "Follow me!" he turned and was threading the barricades toward the entrance of the Batthyany mansion.

Five minutes later Gunzi was taken to Bela Kun, and there received another shock. Partly warned by the waiter at the beerhouse, he had realized that he would find the Dictator partaking of some sort of a feast, but in no way was he prepared for the positive banquet which was set out in one of the rooms.

The tables groaned with good food and wine, all commandeered, and round them sat dozens of Terror Boys, already showing traces of the orgy in which they were indulging. Not only Terror Boys were there, but many women, kidnapped earlier in the evening and forced to take a part in the wild revels.

In the Batthyany Palace there was no evidence of the food shortage. No one seeing the nightly feasts which took place would have suspected that in Hungary people were starving for lack of nourishment, that women sold their souls to keep homes going. The best of everything was served up to the four hundred odd Terror Boys and the commissaries, with their wives and mistresses. "The Commune!" One day in the future dictionaries will print another definition of the word. Perhaps--"mine--thine." It will be sufficient! The true Communist may rant of "share--share!" He can afford to, he who has nothing to share!

Gunzi could readily conceive Bela Kun's dislike to being interrupted after the business of the day was over. On his knee sat a young girl, perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age. Her clothes were torn in front from neck to waist, exposing here and there two snowy-white, innocent breasts. Her dainty little face was suffused with terror; her dilated eyes, her trembling lips were ample evidence that she was in torment--and Gunzi saw that she was but one of many.

When he saw the detective Bela Kun glanced up with an ugly frown. "I hear you have urgent news for me concerning the White Knight? What is it? And listen, my friend, if it is not important----" He left the threat unspoken.

Gunzi, who in his own way was not unpossessed of his share of courage, smiled slightly. "Fear not, Comrade Bela Kun. My information is more than urgent. It needs immediate attention.

"To-night I arrived in Budapest from Aszod and entered a tavern for a glass of beer. There I came across a man, half-drunk, who rose to his feet and told the company at large that an assistant commissary, by name Apor, had been arrested to-day."

Bela Kun's eyes narrowed. "This grows interesting. I thought the fact of Apor's arrest was secret. Go on."

"Next," continued Gunzi, "he told us the reason why. Apor had been found corresponding with the Whites in Vienna." He looked at the Dictator for confirmation, and the other nodded his head slightly. "There was an uproar from his listeners, but this drunken fool had not finished blurting out all his secrets. He told us all something else. He said that Apor was also an emissary of the White Knight."

He stopped short. With a roar of rage Bela Kun rose to his feet in a turmoil of excitement, throwing the girl to the floor, where she lay, sobbing. Fiercely the Dictator peered into the face of the detective, seeking to divert the direct stare of the other, but Gunzi's glance did not waver.

"Satan! If that is true----"

His words rang queerly to the astute detective. "What do you mean, comrade?" he asked hoarsely. "Did you not know that?"

"No, by God, I did not!"

"Then," said Gunzi quietly, "that proves my theory. The man who, with a drink-loosened tongue, let me into all his secrets must have been a member of the White Knight's gang." He smiled scornfully. "That must have been good wine!"

Bela Kun waved his hand impatiently. "Tell me more."

"I got this man to talk. He told me much; not all that I wanted, yet sufficient to assure me that before the sun rises to-morrow Apor will have been rescued."

"Impossible! Apor is imprisoned in the cells beneath Parliament House."

The detective shrugged his shoulders. "Yet it is all planned. The White Knight has a letter from you, an order to release an unnamed prisoner----"

He was interrupted by a hoarse growl of rage from the Dictator: "The Devil! He speaks the truth. Some time back I wrote one out. It disappeared. How did he get that?" Light dawned in his mind. "Apor!"

Gunzi nodded. "You see, comrade, I do not exaggerate. That much I discovered, but that was all. Not only will the White Knight rely upon that letter, but he has some other plan up his sleeve. What it is I cannot tell. If you wish to keep Apor prisoner you must act now--immediately."

"You are right." Bela Kun's face worked with the rage which consumed him, but presently his face calmed, and slowly a smile--a grin of wile and cunning--spread across his features.

"I think," he said, chuckling, "that for once the White Knight is going to fail. Before the sun rises to-morrow morning Apor will be dead."

"You mean...?" Gunzi raised his forehead inquiringly.

"I mean that I shall telephone immediately to Parliament House. In less than ten minutes' time a few trusty Red guards will convey Apor to the Suspension Bridge and drop him into the Danube, bound hand and foot, that the rat shall not struggle. Do you not think that a good scheme?"

"It is the only one," agreed Gunzi admiringly.

_CHAPTER XIV_

Two men crouched back deep in the shadows of Parliament House, tensely waiting, waiting with a nervousness neither could conceal.

"Arnold, the time goes slowly. I feel damnably afraid. Supposing my plan should miscarry, supposing I have failed to elucidate the intricate workings of Bela Kun's twisted mind, I shall have signed Apor's death-warrant just as if I had passed judgment on him myself."

"You can do no more, Geoffrey, than what you have done. In any event Apor would die."

"Never have I perpetrated such a thin, feeble plot, Arnold. It has so many weak links. When Gunzi passes on the news to Bela Kun, the Dictator may refuse to credit Gunzi's story; on the other hand, he may be so enraged that he will telephone through to have the poor fellow bayoneted right away. Or, if Apor is to be flung into the Danube, he may do it from Parliament House, and all we shall hear will be a splash and--and Apor will be no more." His voice broke slightly.

"That--that, I am afraid, is your weakest link, Geoffrey."

"No, you are wrong there, Arnold, and it is upon my estimation of the ingrained cruelty of the Red guards that I have staked the success of my plans. To you or me it would be an easy matter to dispose of--of Apor. A blow on the head, and over the balustrade into the river. Nothing could be more quiet, more secretive.

"Such a programme fails to satisfy the Communists. It is too quick and too easy a death, so they drag their victims to one of the bridges. That takes time--every yard progressed is a mental, poignant stab for the unfortunate prisoner. Every step is punctuated with a thrust from a rifle butt or the prick of a bayonet. Fine torture that, Arnold, and ... well, I hope to Heaven that they think Apor worthy of it. Otherwise he is doomed and----"

Some one stumbled in the distance, and with a warning touch on Arnold's arm Wenzel stopped short, and the two Englishmen waited, hoping against hope that Bela Kun would fall into the trap. With fierce eyes they watched the door from which the condemned prisoners were led. Would it open?--would it open?

The streets were quiet and comparatively deserted. At night only the Terror Boys, or slinking fugitives, ventured out, for there were flying bullets, apt to hit the most innocent targets. At night the Red guards were even more belligerent. Those who would live, or remain unmolested, stayed indoors.

Thus the steps of the one whom Wenzel had heard in the distance echoed loudly in the quietness, and the next instant the air resounded with the notes of a jubilant song. In quavering tones, hideously out of tune, punctuated with hilarious bursts of laughter, the inebriated singer disturbed the peace, and the effect was the more weird for its jarring contrast to the air of tragedy in which Budapest was steeped night and day.

Suddenly Wenzel swore. Judging by the increasing clearness of the wild sounds which the man uttered he was approaching Parliament Square. The White Knight clenched his fist with a desperate intensity. "May the Devil seize him, the drunken swine!" he whispered. "If his visit here should coincide----"

The door which they watched was opening, formless shapes could dimly be seen issuing from it, and the next moment Wenzel knew that up to this point his plot was a success, for in the vague, uncertain light of an adjacent street lamp he could distinguish Apor, handcuffed, surrounded by three armed Red guards.

The moment the door was shut behind the group the time for action would have arrived. Wenzel and Arnold gripped their revolvers by the barrels, ready to bring them down upon the heads of the soldiers.

The drunkard came nearer, and Wenzel could have cried cut in agony. Instead of proceeding with their ghastly business, the guards were hesitating, looking curiously around. The Englishmen shrank closer into the shadows. If they were seen...

For some reason the men seemed disinclined to slam the door, and start.

"Hullo, comrade, what noise is that?" asked one.

The man to his right laughed slightly. "Some one who has failed to heed Bela Kun's instructions as to prohibition. His row is enough to awaken the dead. What say you, friends--shall we knock him across the head with our rifles and teach him a lesson?"

"You are envious, you," exclaimed the third man. "Let us get this job over. I feel sleepy."

"Yes, leave the poor devil alone. He is lucky to get it, that's what I say."

The sanguinary one hesitated, and the damage was done. The group had been seen. Steering an erratic course the drunken singer made toward them.

"What ... matter...? What are you men doing here?"

Wenzel stiffened. The voice was reminiscent. He peered through the darkness, but the newcomer had his back toward him.

"Move on, comrade, and mind your own business."

"Who you telling--mind my business? I am commissary--for me order you about...."

"Hell!" The guard who had originally suggested doing what Wenzel longed to do turned upon the drunken man with an angry air: "Don't you talk like that, my friend. Get on, I say!" He stretched out an arm and roughly pushed the other, so that the commissary stumbled and nearly fell. By swinging round he saved himself, and then Wenzel saw his face.

A wild sense of exhilaration bubbled up inside the White Knight. How wrong to think that Fate was playing against him! How wrong, when it was just the opposite! How it was that the man came there, what he was doing in Budapest, Wenzel could not even imagine, but at that moment nothing mattered, nothing except that after all he could keep his oath to Elizabeth, for there, in front of him, was Comrade Gonnard.

he gripped Arnold's arm convulsively, and with the slightest hiss Terhune signified that he was prepared. Events were turning out more propitious than either of them had dreamed. For a brief space the Red guards were interested in disposing of Gonnard, and without being aware of it their vigilance had lessened.

Once again Wenzel's fingers conveyed a message, and the next instant two silent forms leaped from the shadows of Parliament House. There were two sickening thuds, as two of the guards collapsed to the ground with scarcely a moan.