Part 7

"An alarm!" Imre's trembling fingers waveringly flew to his mouth, and slowly his eyes brightened in hope. "You--you are here to rescue me?"

"You and your daughter, Elizabeth."

Imre tried to speak, his lips quivered; but his brain was overwhelmed by a rushing flood of relief, and the words refused to come. He could only stare at Wenzel; yet all his unspoken gratitude was in that look, in the curving smile, in the fading lines, and in the eyes which streamed with tears of joy and happiness.

"Come, we must not stop here." Wenzel's voice was gentle; more so than it had been for many months. "First you must show me the way to the roof."

"The roof? ... But ... but ... why?"

Wenzel's face hardened. "Question me not, but lead." And Imre Kiss, who, because of the way in which his rescuer had wrapped his face, could see nothing but his eyes, led the way without another word.

There was an incident on the way up to the roof. They heard approaching voices: Imre turned round helplessly to the White Knight. Wenzel picked the other man up and flung him across his shoulders like a sack of flour.

Two Communists staggered into them. "Ho, ho!" leered one. "Our friend carries a man to his room. Why is it a man you choose to take to your room, comrade?" and he dug Wenzel in the ribs. "What is the matter with him?"

"He is fuller with wine than a barrel."

"Oh, ho! Have they found some more?"

"It flows like the Danube in the hall. I am just going down to have my fill."

The two Communists exchanged glances. "It will be a big one," said one, "we had better get there first."

When Wenzel set Imre upon his feet again, the old man turned to him. "That was clever," he said simply.

At last they reached the roof, and crossed to where the gallows stood awaiting its victim. Imre shuddered.

The long length of rope with its running noose, the noose which was never to tighten, was there, prepared. Wenzel observed the fact grimly. It was for this that he had come. He stepped forward and pulled the rope from the supports, and having untied the noose estimated the length.

"Seventeen feet," he surmised, "a drop of from four or five feet, allowing for tying." Turning to Imre he asked: "Is there a direct way from here to the battlements on the right, or must we descend to the courtyard and cross?"

"No; there is an exterior staircase--a modern innovation. My own, as a matter of fact."

"Huh! It may save your life." Wenzel laughed shortly. "You scarcely foresaw this when you had it built?"

"God forbid!"

A few seconds later they were on the battlements at the spot where Wenzel had climbed scarcely an hour ago. He formed his lips into a circle, and a hoot of an owl rang through the quiet night, to be echoed from below.

Wenzel turned to Imre: "Listen carefully to my instructions. I shall drop you by means of this rope to where my friend stands below. It is five feet short. When it reaches its capacity I shall tug it twice. Then you must untie yourself and drop. When you meet my friend you and he must go at once to the nearest village. Afterwards Terhune--my lieutenant--will know what to do. You understand? You must set off at once."

"But--but my daughter?"

There was a rasp in Wenzel's voice when he answered: "You must obey me."

It did not take a moment to fix the rope round Imre's waist. Afterward the old man climbed over the parapet, and Wenzel commenced to lower him. Foot by foot the hemp passed through his hands till it came to the end. He lifted it slightly and lowered it. Then he raised it again for the second tug, and a calamity occurred.

The rasping fibre bit into his tender hand, where it suddenly scraped a nerve. Involuntarily his hand unclasped--and Imre dropped, the rope with him.

The loss of it was a blow: Wenzel had been relying on it to let down Elizabeth and himself. But there was no time to waste in vain regrets. It was more than possible Grocz might send down further insulting messages to his prisoner, and once the escape was discovered it would be awkward for both the girl and himself unless they were away by then.

Awaiting only Arnold's signal that Imre was safe, Wenzel commenced cautiously to feel his way to the roof and back again to the stairs which led into the castle. He had learned from Imre the position of Elizabeth's room and now he made his way toward it.

There was no one about. Still more fortunate proved the fact that the key was in the door. He unlocked it and entered.

The room was in pitch darkness; the candle which Grocz had left had already burned down to nothing. Hearing him, Elizabeth gave a muffled shriek.

"Fear not, mademoiselle."

Three simple words, but to Elizabeth they represented a suggestion of unexpected comradeship. The deep, resonant tone of his voice echoed round the room.

"Fear not!" A cultured voice at last, when all she had heard that day had been the slurring accents of the uncouth, the uneducated.

"Fear not!" Whatever words that voice might have conveyed to her hearing none could have been more superfluous, for the deep notes inspired trust, revealed the voice of a gentleman.

Just as her father had done, Elizabeth sobbed slightly at the unexpected possibility of succour which was so suddenly held out before her, dazzling in its promise. Once again the strain of the occult within warned her that the man whose voice had floated to her through the darkness was a friend, even though he had not told her so.

"Mademoiselle, I have come to rescue you." If she had needed proof his words supplied it.

"Oh, thank God!" she murmured. "For if--if that man had come to me I would have died.... But--my father----"

"Is already safe and sound."

Wenzel heard a soft, cooing laugh. "Oh, monsieur, how can I thank you? Whatever can I say or do to show my gratitude? My father safe! It sounds--wonderful. You have done this?"

"I have." Impatiently he replied, but if his manner was brusque she did not notice it.

In a low, vibrant voice, which grew softer as she approached him, she poured out her gratitude in full measure: "Monsieur, what you have done this night will for ever live within my memory. On every anniversary of this date I shall bless your name, remember every word you speak, picture to myself every line of your face----"

"Stop!" Fiercely, passionately he hurled the word at her, for the pain of her gentle thoughts seared into his heart with a rending, tearing gash. "Every line of his face." God! Why had she said that? How well he knew that once she saw his face each line of it would indeed be for ever depicted in her memory--but not in the way she believed. Its forbidding distortion would haunt her, its satyr-like grimness would represent a horror from which she would turn away in fear and loathing.

"I want neither your thanks nor your remembrance. Do you not realize that at any moment your father's escape may be discovered? Get ready!" he ordered, and his words cut through the intervening space with the sharpness of a rapier.

Bewildered and confused by his attitude she could only answer in a low undertone: "I am ready." What type of man was it who had so suddenly slipped into her life? Intuition, her sense of hearing, everything suggested that her unseen rescuer was a gentleman, yet his last words were those of a blustering bully, a coarse and domineering adventurer.

"Then come." He stretched out his arm, and his hand came into contact with her wrist. He seized it firmly, and pulled her roughly to the door.

With the other hand upon the door-handle he stopped dead, as suddenly from below there was a reverberating shout, a rumbling yell of rage. Wenzel's lips compressed, and unconsciously he tightened his grip upon her arm, till she could stand it no longer, and she screamed slightly with the agony.

He thought it was fear: "Keep quiet; there is still time to escape."

She writhed at the scorn in his voice, but she knew that in spite of his optimism escape was rapidly becoming impossible. Once the rabble downstairs took it into their heads to make sure she was still safe----

The noise swelled louder, as a drunken fury seized the crowd. "Where's the girl? Hang her! ... Death to the _bourgeoise_! Where's her room?"

Clearly the shouts echoed along the passages; and then there was a noise of pounding steps, a clamorous yelling. Worked into a frenzy the mob was on its way up.

Wenzel would have pulled her out in an attempt to avoid the Communists, but her knowledge of the castle warned her that they were hemmed in, that they were being approached from both ways.

"Too late. We are cut off." Quite calmly she informed him of the fact, so that even he could not fail to appreciate the lack of fear in her voice.

"You are not afraid?" he asked quickly.

"If my father is safe--no," she replied quietly.

He secured the key, and turned it in the lock, breathing a sigh of thankfulness that the door was strongly built, the lock more so. For a short while it would resist the onslaught of the attackers, and in that time he might yet find a means of escape.

"Tell me quickly, is there no other way out, no other door?"

"But one door and one window."

"The window----"

She did not hear the finish of his sentence for the deafening din outside. Like a pack of wolves the crowd was gathered to batten on the flesh of the innocent girl, and like the animals whose human prototypes they were they raised their voices at the scent of prey.

When they found the door locked their anger knew no bounds. With fists and feet they beat upon the stout door till it shivered beneath the assault. "Kill her! Hang her!" they shouted, and only one expostulated with them.

Mad with rage at the thought of his victim escaping his clutches, even at the end of the hangman's rope, Comrade Grocz tried in vain to stem the flood. Above the roar of other voices his stridently rose: "Comrades, comrades, the girl is mine. She was given to me by Bela Kun, the Dictator of the Proletariat. You shall not kill her! Stop, stop, I say!"

He might have attempted to prevent a raincloud bursting. "Get away, Grocz. She must die."

"But she was given to me!" he shrieked.

"Yah! Yah!" Two or three laughed boisterously, and one cried out: "You forget, Comrade Grocz, that the Dictatorship has abolished all private ownership."

"Ay! Kill her! Hang the girl!"

"Stop! Stop!" Grocz grew desperate. "Listen. Do not kill her ... let us share her, as all good Communists should."

As though at a signal the wild noise now ceased, while this fresh aspect of the situation slowly burned itself into the obtuse minds of the Communists.

Wenzel had to close his eyes; a red filmy cloud floated before them, summoned by the boiling fury which surged up from his heart. Only with an effort of will did he pull himself together and think rationally--he wanted to throw open the door, throttle the vile laughter of the men with his hands, smash them with his fists, pound them to death.

He knew that she had heard, for he heard her catch in her breath with a gush of horror, and felt her trembling. This time he could not mock her weakness.

"The window," he prompted.

"Had the worst come, I should have--have thrown myself out."

"You mean--suicide?"

"Yes," she breathed softly. "May Heaven forgive me for the thought."

"What is below?--the courtyard?"

"No, the Danube, fifty feet down."

"The Danube!" So her room was on the fourth side of the castle? A fifty-foot drop--but if it were a clear fall into the water there would be at least a chance. "Is it a clear drop?"

"Practically. The cliff at this part overhangs the edge of the water, and the castle is built on the extreme edge. With a good jump one might avoid the bank."

"Yet you spoke of suicide!"

"The current, monsieur, runs swiftly at this part. No one could hope to swim against it."

Outside the Communists understood at last, and now, urged on by a different kind of excitement, the tumultuous clatter recommenced. "Break open the door! Let us feast our eyes upon her beauty." The pressure of weight was beginning to have its effect, for the door cracked suspiciously.

So it seemed that Death might claim him at last! Wenzel felt a glow of contentment stealing over him. Perhaps Zita waited for him, there, just beyond the Veil, with outstretched arms....

"Mademoiselle, are you prepared to jump?"

"Gladly. Death can be no worse than--than---- Oh, Mother in Heaven, what has happened to our unhappy country? Monsieur, I am ready."

Not too soon. The door was groaning and splitting. She guided him to the window, and flung it open. Wenzel felt her raise herself up until she was standing on the ledge. He did the same, and so tall was the window that he, for all his height, could yet stand upright.

Before them was a grim blackness, an abyss of gloom. Not even was there the light of a star to twinkle a message of confidence. Behind them an equal density, and men whose souls were blacker still. Nothing but impenetrable darkness in every direction.

The moment was awe-inspiring, soul-crushing. There was a sensation of immensity, a feeling of unfathomable depth. When they jumped it would be--whither?--where? Perhaps, by a trickery of fate, on to the cruel rocks which bordered the river, and which would crush their bodies into pulp; or perhaps into shallow water where they would split open on the river bed.

"You are still not afraid?" he asked.

"Yes, but ready." Her voice was firm and steady, and Wenzel felt a sudden thrill of admiration at her nerve and courage. All at once it seemed to him a pity that such a woman should die. Still...

Even as the door gave way he picked her up in his arms. Bracing his legs he jumped....

He experienced no particular feeling, just a hotch-potch of different sensations--of suffocation, of helplessness, the noise of raging winds and rushing waters, eternity, and finally a shock, which left him dazed and stunned, as they entered the water.

Down, down, and still down. His lungs were bursting. There was no question of thought. It was instinct which made him curve his body so that their hurtling flight to the bottom was diverted; it was the inevitable fight for life which set his legs kicking, shooting his body up to the surface again.

Then air, precious life-provoking air. He filled his lungs with deep soul-satisfying gulps, and soon consciousness returned to him. Elizabeth was still in his arms, limp and motionless, and Wenzel believed she was stunned. Better so--she might have struggled.

Already his thoughts were turning toward life, and while before jumping he had welcomed death, now he wanted to live, to reach the bank, to carry his precious burden to a place of safety.

With this resolve came the knowledge that Elizabeth had not exaggerated the strength of the current. He felt it now pulling, now boisterously twisting and pushing them along hither and thither; but all the time insidiously, inexorably drawing them along on its bosom.

If Elizabeth--if he--were to live he must strike out for the bank. Somehow he shifted the girl until she was half across his back, so that he could hold her with one hand, then with the other he commenced to swim.

He found it easy. With sure, even strokes he gradually progressed, and buoyed up with enthusiasm and confidence he believed it would be a matter of minutes only before he reached the river bank. The current, apparently, was not so strong as it seemed.

Yet the minutes dragged by. Surely now, he thought, he must be in the shallows. He stopped short, and trod water, attempting to feel bottom, but his feet met with no resistance.

Once again his arm and his legs thrashed out--then, all at once, he realized the truth. No wonder the going was easy, for he was swimming with the current instead of across it!

He turned to his right, and instantly experienced the rush of the water, for now he made no progress forward, but was swept along, broadside on.

He was tired, and the cold water began to chill him, but urged by an impulse which he could not translate he struggled on, ignoring the possibility of surrendering himself to the water and the waiting arms of Death. Elizabeth must live--that much he knew; and so he kept going, kept on until his body was once again racked with pain.

He had done so much that night, what more could he do? Why should he do more? If he gave up now he could sleep so easily, so peacefully! His mind worked sluggishly. One, two, three! One, two three! His strong arm, though weakened by strain, continued to strike out regularly. His limbs moved like an automaton, but he still progressed.

The rush of the water grew louder, and Wenzel's head began to sing. Much more and it would be the end. Much more... much more... The words twisted themselves into a refrain, and the music was in time to his strokes. Much more...

Something scraped the toe of his boot, again and yet again, and he knew he had touched bottom. A few more strokes and he discovered that he could stand. Somehow he stumbled through the water till it dropped from his chin to his hips, from his waist to his ankles, and then--there was no more water.

* * * * * *

When Elizabeth came to she was in a peasant's hut, lying in a crude bed. Across the room, bending over a log fire, a woman was cooking something, the appetizing odour of which pervaded the room.

Elizabeth gazed around wonderingly, unable to collect her thoughts together. But presently she remembered. One after another the vivid details returned to her, concluding with the last terrible jump into an inky nothingness....

Where was her unknown rescuer? She looked around, but except for the peasant woman she could see no one. Then, on a chair she saw a note. It was so brief that it brought the tears to her eyes; just:

MADEMOISELLE, You are safe with this woman. _Adieu._

"_Adieu!_" Good-bye! She gazed away.

He had almost written _Au revoir_, for as he himself had laid her on the rough blanket, and gazed upon her beauty, his lips had trembled. It was not that she was really like the Zita he remembered, yet...

_CHAPTER VII_

The hour was past nine o'clock before the Council meeting broke up, and Eugene Hamburger, Commissary for Agriculture, together with his assistant, Apor, were free to leave.

For a while they walked together discussing the work of the day.

"Well, my friend, life is different from what it was in the old days. You and me, what were we before the glorious days of the Revolution? What were we all, who are, to-day, the proud leaders of the world? Slaves of the capitalists, sweating and toiling for a meagre pittance, living in slums and tenements, while our masters reaped the harvest of our industry. What did they do with the money? Increase our wages? No! Improve our houses, help our families? No! They lazed away their useless lives in luxurious idleness; lived in glorious palaces; travelled in handsome limousines." Hamburger chuckled. "Times are not the same. We are the nobles now, Apor, you and I; we are the people who count."

"How can we be the nobles? I thought we were all equal now?" Apor dryly put the question to the commissary.

"Stuff and nonsense! You provoke me to anger, comrade; you are for ever casting shadows upon the golden vista of Communist dreams."

"Well! Well!" mollified Apor. "You must remember that the brighter the sun shines the blacker is the shadow. Do not think I am not satisfied. My only question is: will it last?"

"Bah! Croaking again! Can it do otherwise? How can anything be altered? Does not the Soviet control the country from top to bottom: the Army, the post offices, the banks, the public services, and the people? Do you think the people would wish to rise against us, even if they dared? You are stupid, friend! They have never been so well off as they are to-day. Free as the air, the poorest as rich as the wealthiest, the affluent as destitute as the pauper. The State owns everything, and in the eyes of the State each one of us is equal. Could life be better?"

"And yet the members of the Soviet ride about in motor-cars, and their humble 'equals' walk to work!"

Hamburger's cheeks flushed. "You argue absurdly, Apor. The State merely lends the motor-cars to the Soviet for their extra responsibility."

"I see!" Apor paused, as if thinking deeply. "But the capitalists of the old days, were they not entitled to motor-cars for their share of responsibility?"

The commissary growled. "You are impossible to-night, comrade. You see matters through a smoky pair of spectacles. Much more, and I shall suspect that you have views which do not agree with the doctrines of Communism."

Apor answered smoothly: "Not at all, my friend. I merely argue as one equal to another. We are as free as air, I think you said. Except to think differently, eh, comrade? But there, my tongue is sharp from the vinegar I swallowed to-day. I argue only that I can have the benefit of your wisdom, to be even better assured of the splendid principles of Communism."

Hamburger was pleased, for he laughed softly. "It is a good thing I know you as well as I do, Apor. But there; have I not always thought you a wise sort of a fellow, for all the queer kinks in your brain? I think we part here. I have to-day moved into my free quarters in the Hotel Bristol. Good night, Apor."

"Good night..." Hamburger disappeared into the darkness of the night, and Apor continued savagely to himself: "... and may your bones rot on a dung heap, and your flesh feed the rats."

He turned on his heels and retraced his steps. Presently, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a lurking shadow move softly to his side and walk with him.

"You are late to-night."

"Yes. Their rhetoric becomes wilder as their courage strengthens."

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean, Wenzel? God! only what I say. Their grip on the country becomes firmer every day. Unless something happens soon, Hungary will be ruined beyond all power of recovery. Already she is weakening beneath the crushing ravages of these Russian-financed Bolsheviks. Yes, Wenzel, there is scarcely one who does not spend Russian gold. But where have you been the last two days?"

"Rescuing Imre Kiss and his daughter Elizabeth. Have you heard?"

"Heard!" Suddenly Apor exploded with laughter. "My dear man, the only thing which surprises me is that you did not hear the echo of the howl which went up when the Council was made cognizant of their escape. For ten minutes nearly every man present shouted at once. But how did you learn of their plans on the Castle Gisella? When I came to warn you, you had gone."

"Arnold overheard Grocz at the station. He was boasting to his friends of what he was going to do to the father--and the daughter. Now, what news have you for me?"

"Bad, Wenzel; bad. For once you have slipped. Your identity is known. You are no longer safe in Budapest."

"Damn!" Aghast at the information, Wenzel unconsciously spoke in English, and Apor started.

"Hush, for God's sake! Never more truly was it said that walls have ears, Wenzel. Detectives swarm all over the place. A word in English is enough to draw a dozen after you."

"Why?"

"Because already the rumour has gone round that the White Knight is English."

Wenzel groaned. "Refugees must have been babbling. After all my warnings, too! Yet, tell me, how came they to connect Wenzel with the White Knight?"

"Simply! When Count Bakocz escaped they sent for you. You were not there and they searched your rooms and found--a white knight."

Wenzel swore again, this time beneath his breath. To have left such an easy clue behind him!

"What a fool I was, what a fool! Now must I find fresh lodgings."

"No, Wenzel, you must go altogether. They are hunting for you right and left."