Part 16

Wenzel battled with his emotions. He felt a tigerish fury arising, but knew that firstly he must hear all and not let his temper cloud his reason.

"Tell me!" he said curtly.

"She told Cecile that she was going out to pick wild flowers as usual--that was some time between four and five o'clock. Cecile suggested going as well, but Elizabeth laughingly commanded her to finish the picture she was painting, and went alone.

"By six o'clock she had not returned. Imre Kiss began to fidget, and when at seven she was still missing he insisted on a search-party.

"They divided into groups. One group headed towards the Budapest road, and just near found a big bunch of flowers lying carelessly on the ground, as if they had been suddenly dropped. That was all! All night long they have searched, and there is still no sign of her."

"The Devil! What does it mean?" Suddenly Wenzel jerked his head forward. "Wheel tracks, footprints, were there marks of any kind on the road?"

Arnold laughed bitterly: "No one thought of looking. I asked the same question."

Wenzel felt his blood seething: "Oh, heavens! What idiots, what stupendous fools! Hell! For what are brains made if people do not use them? Fools! Fools!" He clenched his hands in the agony of his thoughts. "And you, Arnold, what do you think?"

"Heaven only knows what to think! So many things might have happened. A band of roving Communists may have seen her--a--a--Hades! Geoffrey, I hate to say it, but I must--a licentious lunatic--Heaven alone knows!"

Wenzel bowed his head and groaned slightly. "Oh, I hope not. I have not said anything to you, Arnold, but ... I can never hope for anything else, yet just to watch her from a distance..." Suddenly his mood changed again. His passionate temper--born the day he first saw the foul ravishes of the Communists, and aggravated by the mis-aimed bullet which had seared perilously near his brain--burst its always unstable barriers, and Arnold saw deep into his leader's soul, and for the first time saw how near twisting it had been but for Elizabeth. He realized also, if anything should happen to her, how it still might warp.

With fierce, angry words Wenzel blasphemed his Maker, reviled the world, and even cursed his parents who had brought him into it. For a brief space he was insane. There was no one, not even Arnold himself, who did not come beneath the flail of his wrath, and Arnold flinched before the torrent of words which Wenzel released.

Presently he became calmer, and in the end he apologized in halting, broken sentences.

"I am sorry, Arnold, but--four years I dreamed and planned--for four years I dodged bullets, praying to God that I might live--I loved Zita so, she was my beacon, the one star in the black, overcast sky--full of hope I journeyed to Budapest, only to find her dead--dead, Arnold, before my eyes, killed simply and solely by horror....

"Can you wonder that my brain may have given way? Since then I have seen worse sights: Szamuelly hanging innocent men just for the love of killing--gouging out their eyes for the pleasure of torture--burying his victims alive for the sake of brutality.

"Then God was kind to me--I met Elizabeth. I can never even let her see me, yet--once again I have found a star to guide me, and if anything happens to her too, if the Communists have---- Arnold, I must not give way." He stopped, his lips moved, while his teeth bit into them.

"There, I am calm now.... Arnold, listen!" His voice was crisper, once again he was the White Knight, the leader. "That road, near which Elizabeth presumably disappeared, is the road to Budapest. It is quite possible that Elizabeth has been carried away to that city. It is but the barest possibility, I admit, yet there must be no stone left unturned, no avenue which must be left unexplored, to find her--safe or--or otherwise.

"While I go to Budapest you must go the other way. Francis can tour the countryside between Budapest and here; Apor from here onward.

"If you should find her, meet me to-night, fifty yards from the Tunnel, Pest Bank, on the left-hand side of the road, at nine-thirty sharp. If I am not there within forty minutes meet me the following evening. Now go. I shall try to get that early train back to Buda."

With two seconds to spare Wenzel caught the overcrowded train to the capital. It meant lying on the roof, but as there were many doing the same he was in no way conspicuous. Not very long afterward he was once again in the lions' den.

Outside the station there was a crowd, gathered in several groups. Wenzel could see that a spirit of excitement prevailed; there were many individual speakers, gesticulating less confidently, for they were being heckled from every direction. He would have passed quickly on his way, anxious to get into the heart of the city, from where he intended to commence his search for Elizabeth, but suddenly his attention was arrested by the mention of the White Knight.

Even the most secret sessions of the Soviet Council were apt to be noised abroad, and more than once, by joining Communistic gatherings, he had garnered information which had subsequently proved invaluable to him.

"Yes, comrades, despite all the boasting of the Supreme Council that they would soon have detectives on the track of this White Knight, this protector of the _bourgeoisie_, this Enemy of the Commune, as he calls himself, he has been at work again, has flaunted the feeble efforts of the detectives, and scarcely less than twelve hours ago had the audacity to rescue again a prisoner from under the very noses of the Red guards.

"Bah! The fools! Do you know the story, friends--would you like to hear the details? Eh! I thought as much. Yesterday morning an assistant commissary, named Apor, was arrested by members of the counter-espionage. Apor was a White spy. He was thrown into prison, into one of the Parliament House cells. You might have thought that he would have been safe enough there. So would I. But listen.

"Late last night our worthy Dictator learned that Apor was more than a White spy. He discovered that the assistant commissary was one of the White Knight's band. That was news, was it not, friends? What did he do? What you or I would have done, and wisely.

"He knew the White Knight would try and rescue his follower, so there and then he telephoned through to Parliament House and ordered the guards to throw this Apor into the Danube. Yes, all of you, that was Bela Kun's order, and no one can say it was wrong.

"In less than five minutes the Red guards left Parliament House with their prisoner. They had scarcely got outside the door of the building when two of them were stunned, the third one shot dead, and Apor, the traitor, the spy, was rescued!"

His next words were lost in the fierce growl which arose from the crowd. Question after question was asked of the speaker, but he stood mute, holding up his hand for silence, and presently, recognizing that he still had more to say, the audience quietened down.

"That was not all!" With fierce emphasis the man flung the words at the surrounding crowd, and as they sunk into the brains of the people there was a tense, dramatic silence.

"Yes, he did more than that! This White Knight, disdainful of the Commune and the weak efforts to catch him, hanged a commissary from the middle of the Suspension Bridge."

Evidently the man had a sense of the dramatic. He swayed his listeners as he willed, and Wenzel saw a grin puckering the corners of his lips as the crowd obeyed his unspoken commands.

The people raged and stormed. "Death to the White Knight! Search him out! Hang him!" That and more they yelled and shouted, all the while Wenzel wondered the reason for the enigmatic smile. Evidently the speaker had an axe to grind.

Wenzel was soon to know. "Now, comrades, if Szamuelly were allowed a free hand..." So that was it! A tout for Szamuelly. Szamuelly the murderer was not yet satisfied. More and more blood must flow to appease his appetite.

A tiny pin-prick of murderous hatred danced in the White Knight's eyes. Not yet had he forgotten Bira, and now Gonnard was out of the way. But first Elizabeth.

Now that he was in Budapest, where in the name of creation could he look for her? She might be in any one of a thousand buildings, even assuming that she were indeed within the limits of the city. She might be to the north, south, east, or west.

At any rate, for what little good it might be, he had a fixed plan in his head. In the morning, which even now was nearly over, he would call in at every coffee-house frequented by the Council and higher members of the Commune. There he might pick up scraps of conversation or a slight clue, anything which might suggest any connexion with the disappearance of Elizabeth.

In the coffee-houses, he knew, the talk was apt to veer round to women. If they all failed he would try the beer-taverns and the wine-bars, where the men conversed together even more openly still of their women-folk, and at one of them what would be more natural, or unnatural, according to which way one thinks, than that the kidnapper should boast of his capture?

The spouter outside the station continued to rant of Szamuelly. It was evident to Wenzel that he would do no good staying where he was, and so he carelessly moved off, and was presently away from the crowds, once again his mind reverting to Elizabeth.

With his thoughts centred upon her he began his weary search.

_CHAPTER XVI_

There are coincidences in real life which far outrival their nearest cousins in fiction. Life is a paradox, controlled by mysterious forces of Nature which even the most learned of students does not dare to criticize.

Coincidence it may have been, yet there is a more subtle explanation. On that morning two minds were fixed upon each other. Wenzel, as he moved from coffee-house to coffee-house, was aware of one thing, was obsessed by one thought, only--Elizabeth--he must find Elizabeth; and so his brain disseminated his innermost resolves and desires, and upon the wings of Nature's electric waves, for ever radiating through the ether, were shed Wenzel's mental longings.

On her part Elizabeth crept through the streets of Budapest with a furtive air. She wandered hither and thither, up one street and down the next, only knowing that she sought a station, or a neighbourhood she knew, but afraid to ask, to question passers-by, lest she should draw attention to herself.

Despair was in her attitude. Even if she reached a station she had no money with which to journey back to the _château_ again. In the sullen, uncouth faces which paraded the streets of the Communist stronghold, where was one which she could recognize, where was one, perhaps kindly and sympathetic, to which she might turn for succour?

There seemed not one. In the days of the Red Terror Budapest was safe only for the Terrorists, the Red guards, and their rabid supporters. The rest had fled or else kept within the scanty security of their single rooms.

The very environment of the town filled her with a nervous dread, brave and fearless though she was ordinarily. In her plight there was but one upon whom her thoughts turned. The White Knight! If only he knew!

So, as she wandered aimlessly, she wondered what he would think of her. What would he do when he discovered her disappearance? What could he do? She smiled bitterly to herself. There was nothing. In all Hungary how could he possibly surmise that she was in Budapest?

She encouraged herself to think of him as she continued her search for--what? She herself scarcely knew.

Like magnet and steel they gradually drew together. Neither of them aware of the fact, their thoughts were, attracting one another, picking up the broadcast messages, until suddenly, as each turned a corner, they met with a force which sent her reeling to the wall, and his hat to the ground.

Wenzel stared at her with a blank amazement. Like a miracle she was all at once before him, not a vision of her, but the real her, panting for breath. His eyes lit with a glare, a flash of triumph, of love; his lips moved to shout out her name in a glad welcome; but just in time he remembered.

He dared not do so. She must never know him for what he was, never realize that she had met the White Knight face to face; for his romance would be broken, never to be mended. He felt the horror with which she would always in future regard him, for, with a bitterness which cut into his heart, he saw it already rising in her eyes.

He did not misread her expression. A cold wave of terror swept over her as she recognized the face of the man who had looked up at her window the night before. Too vividly she remembered the scars, the evilness of his looks. She shrank away from him, sick and faint lest he should take notice of her. Even Gonnard before this man--and at that moment she prayed to God that He might send the White Knight to save her.

He saw on the other side of the road a man, whom he knew to be a journalist, eyeing them queerly. With a vile oath he crammed his cap back on his head again, and spat on the ground. With a leering glance he moved on.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the newspaper man turn away, so he looked back. Elizabeth was hurrying off as quickly as her legs could carry her. Wenzel swung round on his heels. He must not lose her again.

While he discreetly followed her through the streets, Wenzel puzzled over the strange problem of her sudden appearance. The last thing he expected was to find her at liberty. At the same time his heart was troubled with doubts--not of her, but of what horrors might have happened to her in the meantime.

As the time passed, and the chase continued, along road after road, he was forced to the conclusion that she was wandering aimlessly. She was certainly making for no specific object, for first she headed to the north or the east, then to the south or the west.

It was not until he saw her stop by a communal restaurant, and look inside with a longing expression, that he remembered that in all probability she was without money. He saw her hesitate, move on, and then retrace her footsteps. Once again she faltered before the open door. Then with a determined movement she went within, and he groaned.

Not knowing that Elizabeth, starved and miserable, and unable to stand any longer the pangs of hunger which gripped her, had decided to throw herself on the tender mercies of the proprietor, he was convinced that his supposition with regard to her financial stability was wrong, though he knew that she was doomed to disappointment. Only those with the red food tickets of the manual labourers or the blue ones of the intellectual workers were allowed to dine at the communal restaurants, or even buy food at the shops.

Two minutes elapsed. He frowned, imagining that, after all, she must have obtained the necessary tickets, and that she was feeding. Disturbed, he left his retreat--the shelter of an empty shop window--and took two steps toward the restaurant.

At that moment Elizabeth emerged, dazed and bewildered by the truth. In perhaps kinder tones than he had used for a long time the proprietor had explained that matters were no longer as they used to be--it was not of his own choice: in the old days he had served ladies and gentlemen, and liked them well. No, he dared not serve her. He had a wife and child; if he were thrown into prison for surreptitiously feeding a _bourgeois_--he asked her pardon for using the word--what would become of them?

As she came out Elizabeth felt the tears springing to her eyes. Here, in Budapest, in a big middle-Europe city, the capital of a large country--even then being carved up by the peacemakers in Paris--her plight was no better than that of a castaway on a desert island. Surrounded by food of a kind, yet unable to eat any of it! Passing thousands of people, yet not daring to speak to one of them! Scarcely forty miles from the _château_, yet without the slightest possibility of getting back there!

A bubble of hysterical laughter forced itself to her throat: then, surprised at her own humour, she looked up, and her mirth died away. As quickly as Wenzel had retreated to his shelter again, her sharp eyes had seen and recognized him.

Instinct gave her an inkling of the truth: he was following her. The human vulture had scented his prey, and was merely waiting the opportunity to pounce upon her.

The knowledge threw her into a state of panic. Obsessed by the terror with which the man of the scars inspired her, she hurried from the spot, oblivious of everything except the fact that somehow or other she must get away from him.

Just before she had been ready to drop with fatigue; now the startling discovery supplied her with fresh vigour. Forgetting that her feet were sore, that blisters were developing, that her legs were leaden, and her wrists smarting, she blindly threaded the streets in an effort to shake off her pursuer.

So quickly did she travel, indeed, that she very nearly succeeded. Not realizing that she had seen him, Wenzel still kept at a reasonable distance, and thus came to a choice of roads, with no inkling as to which one she had taken, for both streets curved inwardly, thus effectively hiding the continuity of each one.

He felt the first warning of temper, a curious constriction in his throat, but resolutely he conquered himself. He realized that he must take a chance. She had come from the road on the left. Hurrying as she was, he felt it would have been natural for her to have taken the nearer one to her, and so he too took the same one, increasing his pace considerably in an effort to catch her up.

He was wrong. Elizabeth had not even realized that there were two roads. She had seen one ahead of her, and had crossed to it, but, had she known, it would have been all the same. The street was a crescent, curving back to meet itself, and so for the second time that day they met face to face.

She faltered and stopped; a moan escaped her lips. All her efforts for nothing, and with the realization of her failure returned a consciousness of her weariness, and knowledge that she could continue no longer.

She leaned against one of the trees which lined the street, her breast heaving with despair and lack of breath. One hand clutched her throat, the other she rested over her heart as if to stay its wild beating, and thus she waited, physically unable to continue her flight.

Wenzel read her mind, realized that she had reached the limit of her tether, and was glad, for in the meantime he had formed a plan in his head, a scheme by which he could secure her safety, and yet not have her suspect that he was the White Knight.

With a rapid glance in each direction he observed that there were but three people to be seen, all women. He lurched up to Elizabeth.

"Well, my little chicken, a fine chase you have led me." His voice was rasping and uncultured, and never for a moment did Elizabeth connect it with another voice of which, even now, the memory echoed in her ears.

She looked at him scornfully. At her steady glance Wenzel felt a glow of admiration, and at that moment loved her more than ever. Her quivering under lip betrayed the fact that her heart was sick with fear, but otherwise her attitude was one of defiance, of cool disregard for his blustering arrogance.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Too proud to speak to me, are you, my fine lady? Well, that does not worry me. When you hear what I have to say you will soon change your tone." He lowered his voice: "Listen, I have news for you from the White Knight."

"The White Knight!" There was a marvellous transformation, a bright light dawned in her eyes, and her face was suffused with a newly found relief and joy. "You bring me news of the White Knight? God be praised! How knew he that I was in Budapest?"

"Because he saw you early this morning, and sent me after you. Why did you hurry away from me?"

His question seemed to awaken suspicions in her mind, for she drew herself up slightly. "I will tell that to your master, the White Knight," she said coldly, and then asked: "What is the message you bring me?"

"Huh! Is that all you have to say? After all my trouble following you round the city and awaiting a convenient opportunity to speak to you! Bah! I have a good mind not to tell you."

Instantly she was apologetic. "You will forgive me?" she said prettily, and Wenzel had to turn his eyes away so that she should not see into them and recognize the thoughts behind. "I--I have been frightened."

"Yes," he answered surlily, "I suppose so. He said that you were to come with me and I should take you to him."

"Oh!" She clasped her hands together. "Then I shall be able actually to see him? God be praised! I thought I was lost, and yet for the second time he has come to my rescue. Where is he?"

"That's none of your business. You wait and ask him yourself. In the meantime, come with me."

"I am ready," she said simply.

Wenzel himself did not know the neighbourhood in which they were, but with the bump of locality strongly developed he proceeded in what he believed to be the direction where a week ago he had found new headquarters. In the heart of the roughest district of Pest it was there he believed he would be least suspected and least conspicuous. Already he had seen in the same street many faces which, if not as brutal and terrifying as his, were at least more decadent and bestial, more sensuous and cunning.

He recognized it as a risk to take Elizabeth there, for she was too beautiful not to be noticed, but, once in his room, he knew there was less prospect of interference, and less likelihood of being detected by a chance detective or spy, all of whom were too busy raking in the _bourgeoisie_ and magnates from the better parts of the town to worry about the criminal quarters, especially when, in the present lawless times, their interference meant, more than ever, death.

The journey was long, and as the time passed vague suspicions occurred to her that everything was not as her momentary optimism had suggested, and in that spirit she began to see the situation in a different light.

The man by her side had not once mentioned her name. Certainly he had said he was from the White Knight, but what proof had she that he really was? She had heard from Arnold and Francis that the White Knight was known and hated throughout the Communist community of Budapest, but on the other hand more than revered in the circles of the persecuted.

It was therefore, she argued with herself, not impossible that her present escort, calculating from her attitude that she was being pursued, and perhaps not realizing that he himself was the guilty one, had craftily used the name, hoping that it would act as a password to her confidence.

More and more she became uneasy, and when she glanced up at the scowling face of her guide all her terror of him returned. Suddenly she stopped, and when he looked round questioned him.

"Why did not the White Knight himself come after me?"

There was grim humour in her words which unfortunately he alone was able to appreciate.

"Huh! So you are suspicious of me, are you, my fine lady? For why do I work for this spawn of Satan, this _bourgeois_, the White Knight? Only because he pays me good money--money which I spend to have a merry life. There is nothing else to live for in these days but money. He pays me well, pretty one, but so would Comrade Bela Kun. I could give him a lot of information. He would not be suspicious of me, nor insult me with sneering glances and haughty airs.