And as Marishka still stood irresolutely, she caught her by the arm with a grip which was none too gentle, and pushed her down the corridor and out into the _mabein_.

Marishka sat upon the couch in the room into which she had first been conducted, her head near the latticed window, through which the pale green moonlight vied with the glow from the lantern over her head.

Though it could not yet be time for him to return, she listened intently for the sound of the footsteps of the Beg. Had she succeeded? In spite of the danger which threatened Hugh Renwick, and the ominous absence of Captain Goritz, she felt that there was a chance that all might still be well. Where was Captain Goritz? The tale that he had gone upon a journey was an invention, of course. He was here in Sarajevo if not in the house where she was held a prisoner, at least somewhere near, where he could be sure of the culmination of the plot to remove Hugh Renwick, without himself being involved in any unpleasant issues. From the appearance of the Beg of Rataj and of the man she had met at the foot of the stairs, she knew that any dreadful deed was possible in the darkness of the secluded streets outside the house, in the garden below, or in the house itself. But she did not despair. It was easier to win money by keeping within the law than by breaking it. The Beg was a rogue, but money was his fetish, and Marishka's bribe was the larger.

As the moments lengthened and the man did not return, hope ebbed, and she grew anxious. The small metal clock on the table in the corner indicated the hour. It was half-past eleven. In half an hour, if the Beg had not delivered her note, Hugh Renwick would come to find her, unless!

She breathed a silent prayer--unless he had not yet reached Sarajevo!

For hours she had prayed that he had followed her, for that was the proof of his devotion that her heart required of him; but now she prayed just as fervently that he had not come. The notion of another attempt to escape occurred to her, but when she got up and peered down into the darkness of the stairway which led below, her courage failed her, and she remembered the man at the foot of the other stair. Zubeydeh, too, was near, and while she was planning, the woman passed into the Harim and closed the door behind her.

She peered out of the window into the garden, searching its shadows for signs of a guard, but all was quiet, except for the sound of whispering voices, which might have come from the street or from the house adjoining. In the dim light she watched the hour hand of the clock as it slowly moved around the dial. Ten, fifteen minutes passed, and still she heard no sound of footsteps. What if Hugh came while the Beg was absent searching for him? She knew that there must be other men besides the villain she had met at the foot of the stairs. What orders had the Beg given his men? And what orders had he countermanded? The silence was closing in upon her like a fog. She could not bear it. What if Hugh were already at the foot of the stairs, waiting to knock upon the door of the Harim as she had directed? The suspense was killing her. She rose quietly and tried the door of the _dutap_ into the corridor which led to the Harim. It was locked.

She staggered and clung to the wall to keep from falling. She saw it all now. Goritz had intercepted the note she had sent by Yeva. _They_ were in there--Zubeydeh, the Beg and his men, and perhaps Goritz, too, waiting--waiting for the two knocks at the steps below. And then the door would be opened, and Hugh----

The bell of the cathedral tolled, and fearfully she counted its strokes.

It was twelve o'clock.

CHAPTER XVII

THE MAN IN ARMOR

Renwick waited in his place of concealment near the blue door, listening and watching eagerly. Something was happening in the house with the _meshrebiya_ windows, for it was after midnight, and all Islam was asleep. There were sounds of whispering again, but when he peered out there was no one in sight. Then he thought he heard footsteps; but whether they came from the direction of the house of the lighted window, or whether from up the street he could not yet decide. Now he was sure of them. Someone was approaching over the rough cobbles--from the alley behind him! He crouched into a place of concealment behind a broken lattice, flattening himself against the door, and waited--breathless. He did not dare to look out, for the figure was almost upon him, but the footsteps now silent, now moving rapidly forward, indicated the stealth of a man who evades pursuit or fears detection. Presently a shadow loomed beside him as a man paused for a moment beside the doorway where Renwick stood, so close that the Englishman could hear his breathing, and then moved on to the corner of the wider street a few feet away.

Even yet, Renwick feared to move, but at last, as the man went on toward the wall of the blue door, Renwick risked detection, and peered out.

The figure glanced at the blue door, and then turning quickly, went with long strides down the street toward the house with the _meshrebiya_ windows. Renwick's glance had been but a momentary one, but in it he had marked a huge figure, in a squarish hat and ill-fitting clothes. Gustav Linke! In his hand, clutched like a weapon, he still carried his atrocious umbrella. A grotesque outlandish figure, an ink-blot on the velvet night! What was he doing here near the house of the lighted windows? Renwick sprang from his place of concealment, whispering Linke's name; but when he reached the corner of the alley the man was twenty paces away, and so bent upon his mission that he heard nothing.

Renwick halted instinctively, and in the moment of hesitation, his opportunity was lost. As wisdom had urged caution while Renwick had waited, so doubly it urged it now. Linke moved like a man with a mission, and Renwick peered forth from the angle of the wall watching eagerly, sure now of what that mission was--the pursuit of Marishka Strahni!

He saw the man stop beneath the lighted windows, look up, and then with a glance to right and left, enter the shadow of the mosque and disappear within the small court beside the house. Renwick thought rapidly and clearly. In the court where Linke had disappeared there must be another entrance to the house. For a fleeting second, the idea entered Renwick's head to follow the man, and trust to fortune; but the wall and blue door opposite tempted him. Inside the garden, at least there would be a chance for concealment, and a vantage point from which he could watch and hear what went on within the house. He waited a moment, trying to decide whether or not he had better risk detection in the narrow strip of moonlight, or wait and see if anyone moved in the street below. He was on the point of taking the chance when from the door of a house just below him, several men emerged. It was difficult to determine how many there were, but Renwick thought that there were at least four--perhaps five; but whether Bosnians or Turks he could not decide. And from their stealth and silence, and the rapidity with which they followed the tall figure of Linke into the dark passage, the obvious inference was that they were bent upon mischief.

There was no further time to plan, so Renwick, with a quick look to right and left, darted furtively across to the gate of the blue door and tried the latch. It was unlocked, and quickly he entered the garden; with his hand upon the revolver in his belt he waited, listening, but there was no sound within but the plashing of the water of the fountain.

His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and he searched the shadows of the bushes by the reflected moonlight which silvered the upper stories of the building. He saw that there was a door near the center of the house facing the fountain, and upstairs in the windows over it was the dull glow of a lamp or lantern. The windows of the other room, which he had observed from across the street, were now darkened.

This was curious, but there was no time to debate upon it. He must act quickly. He was sure now that Marishka was somewhere in this house, a prisoner. She had sent for him, or why should Linke be here? He drew the revolver from the folds of his sash, and with a keen glance to right and left, crouching below the level of the shrubbery, he reached the door of the house and tried it.

It was locked. He hesitated for a moment, looking over his shoulder, and then slipping his weapon into his belt again, he put a foot into the trellis beside the doorway and began climbing. It was a dangerous thing to attempt, for as he emerged from the shadows below, his figure would be clearly outlined against the moonlit wall, and a well directed shot from the garden would send him clattering down like a maimed squirrel from a tree. But the game was worth the candle, for he had seen that the window in the room above the door was open, and as he had decided to enter the house at any cost, this was the only way. But it was slow work, for the trellis was old, and creaked beneath his weight, and once, when his foot slipped, he thought he must surely be discovered. Then he waited, with his fingers almost at the window ledge, listening. He heard the low murmur of voices, but they seemed to come from another part of the building, and so risking the whole venture in one effort, he quickly raised his head above the level of the window-ledge, and peered in. At first he saw only the flickering shadows of a lamp hanging from the ceiling, and then a figure in the corner opposite, which startled him until he saw that it was immovable--a suit of armor upright against the wall. The room appeared to be empty, and so he grasped the inside of the sill, and hauled himself up until his shoulders were within the window opening.

It was then that a female figure started up from a couch just beside him, stifling a cry. The light from the lantern above fell full upon her face, and her eyes were staring at him in terror. It was Marishka. He whispered her name, but still she stared at him wildly, and it was not until then that he remembered his disguise. He took off his fez, and spoke to her again.

"Marishka, it is I, Hugh!"

He saw her stare and then take a pace toward him as he clambered into the room, and in a moment she was in his arms.

"Hugh--beloved!" she murmured brokenly, as she leaned heavily against him. "I have been so frightened----"

"Marishka! Your hands are ice cold. They have kept you here--against your will?"

"Yes. And you--Hugh--they've tried----"

"Don't fear," he smiled. "I've as many lives as a cat. Didn't you hear me scratching my way up the wall? Sh----"

He left her for a moment, and peered out into the darkness of the garden. All was silent as before, and so he returned and took her in his arms again.

"You've forgiven me?" he whispered.

"Need you ask? Oh, Hugh, I've wanted you so!"

"Thank God for that." Their lips met and she clung to him, all the pitiful longings of her days and nights of misery in her caress, the dependence of helpless womanhood, but greater than that, the fear for his safety, which took precedence over her own.

He kissed her tenderly, the joy of possession the greater for the dangers that they ran.

"You're trembling, Marishka. Don't worry."

But she clung to him anew.

"If anything should happen now--that I have you again."

"Dearest! I, too, have suffered with you--but I haven't despaired. I would never have given you up, you know," he said with a smile.

"I've never wanted you to give me up, Hugh. I've tested you cruelly--because--because--my pride was hurt----"

"It had to be, Marishka. But you've survived it----"

"My love is greater--greater than anything in the world to me," she murmured. "Danger has proved it--and yours----"

"It needed nothing. I love you--now and always."

"You forgive?"

He kissed her again and again, and for a long moment they clasped each other in silence, their lips together, questioning, replying in broken syllables. To the woman, nothing else mattered. If death came now, she knew that it would be sweet. And it was Renwick who found his reason first. Her hands still in his, he led her to the window, where he scanned the garden anxiously. But there was still no sign of anything suspicious, nor, in the house, any sound. But Renwick now questioned her quickly.

"You sent me a note in Vienna?"

"Yes. A warning. I was afraid. I urged you to return to England, but I hoped----"

"Ah! The note--a forgery!"

"What do you mean?"

"Your note told me to come to Sarajevo--to the Hotel Europa, where you would communicate with me."

"A forgery! Goritz! Now I understand. He said that you would follow."

"Goritz--the limousine chap! He is here?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since this morning. Hugh! He has laid plans to kill you--a trap----"

"We shall outwit him----"