There was nothing else to be done. The disgusted Renwick shrugged and got into the tonneau of the machine, awaiting the pleasure of his captor. Out of the chaos of his disappointment came the one consoling thought, that whatever Linke was, he was not a German.

CHAPTER XII

FLIGHT

The visions which disturbed Marishka Strahni in that dim borderland between sleep and waking persisted in her dreams. And always Goritz predominated--sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning but always cold, sinister and calculating. He made love to her and spurned her by turns, threatened her with the fate of the Duchess, whom she saw dead before her eyes, the victim of a shot in the back. There was a smoking pistol in Marishka's hand, and another figure lying near, which wore the uniform of an Austrian general--the Archduke Franz it seemed, until she moved to one side and saw that the figure had the face of Hugh Renwick.

She started up from her couch, a scream on her lips--calling to Hugh----! Was she awake or was this another dream, more dreadful than the last? There followed a conflict of bewildering noises, as though night had mercifully fallen upon a chaos of disaster. She sat up and looked around her. A train.

She gasped a sigh of relief as her gaze pierced the dimness of the elusive shadows. She remembered now. Captain Goritz. But she was still alone. She lay down again, trying to keep awake in dread of the visions, but exhaustion conquered again and she slept, dreaming now of another Hugh, a tender and chivalrous lover who held her in his arms and whispered of roses.

It was daylight when she awoke. Captain Goritz was now sitting by the window smiling at her. She started up drowsily, fingering at her hair.

"You have slept well, Countess?" he asked cheerfully and without waiting for her reply. "It is well. You have probably a trying day before you."

Marishka straightened and looked out of the window past him at the sunlit morning. Could it be possible that this alert pleasant person was the Nemesis of her dreams? The world had taken on a new complexion, washed clean of terrors by the pure dews of the night.

"Thanks, Herr Hauptmann," she smiled at him. "I am quite myself again."

"That is fortunate," he said. "We are nearly at our journey's end--at least this part of it. Our train goes no further than Marburg."

"And then?"

"An automobile--a long journey."

"I am quite ready."

At Marburg they got down, and after Marishka had made a hurried toilet, they breakfasted in comfort at the Bahnhof restaurant. If Captain Goritz nourished any suspicion that they were being followed he gave no sign of it, and after breakfast, to Marishka's surprise, Karl the chauffeur appeared miraculously and announced that their car was awaiting them.

"If I were not sure that you were Herr Lieutenant von Arnstorf," laughed Marishka, "I should say you were the fairy of the magic carpet."

"The magic carpet--_ach_, yes--if we but had one!" he said genuinely.

The motion of the automobile soothed and satisfied her. At least she was doing what she could to reach Sarajevo before the archducal party arrived, and as her companion hopefully assured her, with a fair chance of success. If Marishka could see Sophie Chotek, all her troubles would be over, for then the Wilhelmstrasse would not care to oppose the dictum of the Duchess in favor of one who whatever her political sins in Germany's eyes, had made endless sacrifices to atone.

If Marishka succeeded! But if she failed?

The morning was too wonderful for thoughts of grim deeds or the authors of them. The poisons distilled in her mind the night before were dispelled into the clear air of the mountainside, over which singing streams gushed joyously down. Birds were calling--mating; wild creatures scampered playfully in thicket and hedge; and the peaceful valleys were redolent of sweet odors.

In the long hours of the afternoon Marishka's thoughts were of Hugh Renwick. Perspective had given him a finer contour, for she had Goritz to compare him with. She loved Hugh. She knew now how much. Her happiness had been too sweet to have had such a sudden ending. She had been unkind--cruel--broken with him even when he was bending every effort to aid her. He was trying to help her now for all that she knew.... She had written him a note from the German Embassy--just a few lines which she had enclosed with the message to her maid at the apartment--warning him that he was in danger and praying that he leave the country and return to England, a kindly note which by its anxiety for his safety conveyed perhaps more of what was in her heart than she would have cared to write had she believed that she was to see him again.

What reason had Captain Goritz for believing that Hugh would follow her in this mad quest? How could Hugh be sure where she had gone and with whom? There had been a quality of the miraculous in the judgment of Captain Goritz. What if even now Hugh Renwick were near her? Her pulse went a little faster. Pride--the pride which asks in vain--for a while had been dashed low, and she had scorned him with her eyes, her voice, her mien, her gestures, all, alas! but her heart. The women of the house of Strahni----! Hugh Renwick had kissed her. And the memory of those kisses amid the red roses of the Archduke was with her now. She felt them on her lips--the touch of his firm strong fingers--the honest gaze of his gray eyes--these were the tokens she had which came to her as evidence that the readings of her heart had not been wrong. A Serbian spy----! She smiled confidently.

In a moment she stole a glance at Captain Goritz, who was bent forward studying his road map. She waited until he gave directions to the chauffeur and then spoke.

"Captain Goritz," she said carelessly, "you manage so cleverly that I am beginning to trust implicitly to your guidance and knowledge. But there is one thing that puzzles me. It must be more than a whim which makes you think that Herr Renwick will follow us to Sarajevo."

"Not _us_, Countess," he smiled; "I said _you_."

"But granting that he would follow me--which I doubt--how could he know where I have gone?"

Goritz laughed easily.

"He will find a way."

Marishka's face grew sober.

"I fear Herr Renwick's friendship cannot achieve miracles. The last he saw of me was in a hut in Bohemia. What clew could he have----? What possible----"

"Ah, Countess," Goritz broke in, "you do not realize as I have done the cleverness of the Austrian Secret Service. We have so far eluded them.

We were very lucky but it cannot be long before the green limousine will be discovered, and the direction of our journey."

"But even that----"

"To a clever man like Herr Renwick--to a man whose affections are involved," he added slowly, "it would not be difficult to decide where you have gone. He knows the discomforts and dangers you have passed through to achieve your object. He will, of course, seek your apartment and read the meaning of your sending for your clothing just as easily"--he paused a moment and smiled at the back of Karl's head--"just as easily," he repeated slowly, "as though you yourself had written him a note telling him--er--exactly which train you had taken."

Marishka felt the warm color flooding her neck and brows. In writing Renwick she had broken her promise to this man not to communicate with her friends. Goritz watched her pretty distress for a moment with amusement which speedily turned to interest.

"Of course, Countess, you did _not_ write to him?" he said, with sudden severity.

"I owe you an explanation, Captain Goritz----" she said timidly.

"You wrote--Countess?" evincing the most admirable surprise.

"I inclosed a few words in my note to my maid--a warning of danger and a request that Herr Renwick leave at once for England----"

And as Goritz frowned at her, "Surely there is no harm in that."

"Your word of honor----"

"I betrayed nothing of my whereabouts or plans," she pleaded.

"How can I know that you speak the truth?"

"I swear it."

Goritz shrugged lightly.

"It is, of course, a woman's privilege to change her mind. Still, you put me upon my guard. It is unfortunate. How can I be sure that you will not be sending other notes without my permission to the Europa when we reach Sarajevo?"

"The Europa----? I fail to understand."

"The Europa Hotel," he said with a curious distinctness, "where all English people stop, and where of course your friend Mr. Renwick will stop."

Marishka examined him keenly.