The magistrate took off his glasses and rubbed them rigorously, as if by so doing he could clear his own mind as to what had best be done. Then he put them upon his nose and took up his hat and papers. It was certain that the patient's brain was still far from strong.

"I shall not pursue this investigation now," he said to Nurse Roth. "I shall wait a few days in which Herr Langer may have time to reflect. He is still very weak. In the meanwhile, Herr Langer, I would tell you that it would be wise for you to recover your memory."

"A desire which I sincerely share," said Renwick with a smile.

"If not," continued the magistrate with his most magisterial manner, "you will be detained, as a material witness, in Sarajevo."

"I have no intention of leaving Sarajevo unless someone should happen to pay my railroad fare," replied Renwick wearily.

The man left, followed by his clerk, and Nurse Roth closed the door behind them. When the sounds of their footsteps had faded away along the corridor, she turned to the table where she rearranged some roses in a vase.

"You lie very ingeniously, Herr Twenty-eight," she said with a smile.

Renwick regarded her calmly.

"It is not my nature, Nurse Roth. But a cracked skull doesn't improve the brains beneath."

She came over to him quickly, and stood beside the bed.

"You have some reason for concealing your identity. I know that you remember what happened. But I will protect you as far as I can, upon one condition."

"And that?" he asked anxiously.

"That you will give me your word of honor that it was not you who killed Nicholas Szarvas."

He caught her by the hand and smiled up at her with a look so genuine that there was no question as to his sincerity.

"I give it. I did not kill Nicholas Szarvas."

"Thank you," she said simply. "I believe you."

[Illustration: "Thank you," she said simply. "I believe you."]

"I wish I could tell you," he whispered earnestly, "for I know that you are my friend, but"--and he relinquished her hand--"but I _must_ keep silent."

She touched him gently upon the shoulder in token of understanding, and from that moment said no more.

The days passed slowly, but it was evident to those who were interested in the case that Number 28 gained strength very rapidly. His wounds had healed, and he was soon permitted to get up and sit in an armchair near the window, where he could look out over the minarets of the city below the hill. But to all except Nurse Roth, it seemed that the injury to his head had done something to retard the recovery of his memory. He spoke quite rationally to Colonel Bohratt upon matters regarding his physical condition, but sometimes even when the Head Surgeon was talking with him, he relapsed into a state of mental apathy which caused that worthy man to remove his bandage and examine the wound in his head. After which the Colonel would leave the room with a puzzled expression. And in consequence of this curious mental condition, it was thought wise to defer the visit of the officer of the law until the patient's mind should show a change for the better. There was even a consultation upon the advisability of another operation upon the head, but the patient showed such encouraging marks of growing lucidity that the operation was deferred.

It was a dangerous game that he was playing, and Renwick knew it, for the time would come when he must tell who he was, or find a chance to escape from the hospital. Escape was his hope and each day as he gained new strength, he thought of a hundred expedients by which it might be accomplished. He knew that even now he was under surveillance, and virtually a prisoner of the Austrian government, until he could give some account of himself, and of the events of the night of the twenty-eighth of June. And so he conserved his energies carefully, gaining courage and weight with each new day, playing the game of delay until he was assured of his strength and the moment was propitious. The chief difficulty which confronted him was a means to procure clothing.

He was allowed the privileges of the hospital, permitted to walk upon the terrace, but he had no clothing except the sleeping suit of cotton and a wrapper-like affair which he wore when out of his room. Whether his restriction to this costume was by neglect or by design, he did not know, for all the other convalescents whom he met out in the air wore the clothes in which they had come to the hospital. The fact that he had been brought here unclothed was of little comfort to him, and he feared to request a change of garments for this might excite suspicion. There was nothing for it but to wait, and when strength enough came, seize the first opportunity presented to slip quietly away.

He had been studying his chances with a discriminating eye. His room was upon the second floor, but there was a rain-spout which passed just beside it, and given the strength of hand and wrist to accomplish the descent, the matter would be simple. There was a row of shrubbery just below the terrace, which led to a path over the hills, where he might be lost under cover of the night. But even at night he could not go into Sarajevo without clothing. For a while the idea of appealing to Nurse Roth occurred to him, but he at last rejected it, aware that she had already done much that could not be repaid, and unwilling to subject her to the alternatives of refusal or acquiescence--one of which might be hazardous to his own chances, the other surely fruitful of unpleasantness to herself. He had no right to ask this of her. He wished to incur no new obligations, for when the time came, he intended to go, and he could not repay her kindness with deceit. And so he waited, simulating weakness, exercising in secret, and gaining in strength for the hopeless task before him.

He had made no plans. What plans could he make when he had no means of making inquiries? Goritz was gone with Marishka,--by this time perhaps far beyond the German border, the girl a prisoner--or----? For a moment he paused as the new thought came to him. What would be the status of the Countess Strahni since the outbreak of war? The conditions which existed before the pact of Konopisht were no more. Germany's ambitions stultified--Austria forgiving--both nations involved in a great undertaking the prosecution of which must make them careless of all less vital issues! Had Goritz been recalled from this secret mission to another more important? And if so, where was Marishka? Could she have been released? There was a chance of it, but it seemed a slender one.

Goritz! Something--some deeply hidden instinct, some suspicion harbored perhaps in the long days and nights of his unconsciousness, some pang of fear born of pain and unrest, advised him that, behind the secret duty which had first brought Goritz to Vienna, he was now playing a game of his own. The brief glimpse he had had of the man, short but fearfully significant, had made an unpleasant impression. He had seen the look in the eyes of the German as he had asked Marishka to go with him from the house of the garden, a look courteous and considerate, that had in it, too, something more than mere admiration. If the man were in love with her! And what man of any vision, learning to know Marishka could help caring for her! Not love, surely! Not love from a man who sheltered himself from danger by using her as a shield. He had been safe then.

Renwick could not have fired then. And Goritz was clever enough to know it. But the dastardliness of such a trick! There was a long score to pay between Renwick and Goritz, a score the items of which had begun with the attempts upon the Englishman's life in Vienna and Konopisht, the imprisonment of Marishka, and the shooting in Sarajevo which had nothing to do with politics. They were enemies. Their countries were enemies. It was written.

Absorbed in these unpleasant meditations, Renwick sat upon the terrace of the hospital after supper, idly manicuring his nails with Nurse Roth's scissors. As it grew dark, he got up, slowly pacing up and down the length of the terrace. The moment was approaching when he would be called in to go to his room, but he grudgingly relinquished the moments in the soft evening air. It was curious how much latitude they gave him--curious, also, that the magistrate, after his second fruitless visit a few days ago, had not returned. As Renwick had continued evasive the magistrate had grown angry and at last had threatened him with the visit of one who would make him speak. Who was this new inquisitor to be? Someone in higher authority? Or perhaps some secret service agent who had finally succeeded in getting some clews as to the murder of the colossal Szarvas?

Of one thing Renwick was sure--that soon he must make a break for liberty. Tonight--now--into the dusk beyond the hills. He was not very strong yet, but it might be----

"Herr Twenty-Eight," said the voice of Nurse Roth at his elbow, "you are to go at once to your room for examination."

"Thanks, Fraulein. I shall go. It is the magistrate?"

She nodded soberly.

"The magistrate and another whom I have never seen. They are now in the office consulting the Head Surgeon."

Renwick smiled at her as he whispered, "I am to be _grilled_?"

"I fear so."

He shrugged. "The time for subterfuge is past." And then, taking her hand again, "I shall go at once. But whatever happens I want you to know that I shall never forget what you have done for me."

"It is nothing. Now go, please."

He bowed and preceded her into the hallway. As they passed the office the door was open and Renwick glanced in. The magistrate was there and another man, talking to Colonel Bohratt, all of them unaware of the patient in the darker hallway looking at them. Renwick started, and then gazed again at the third man leaning over the table facing him. His figure seemed familiar, his bowing and gestures more so, and yet for a second Renwick could not place him. And then the man smiled, showing a gold tooth which caught the reflection of the electric light upon the table. A gold tooth----

Nurse Roth was regarding Renwick who glanced at the open door behind him and then at Nurse Roth. The pause was momentous. Renwick quickly recovered his poise and went on a few steps.

"They wish to see me--in the office?" he asked in a whisper.

"In your room, please. I shall tell them that you are waiting."

"Thanks, again," said Renwick abruptly, with outstretched hand, "and good-by."

"Good-by?" she asked in alarm.

He smiled over the shoulder as he went up the stairs.

"I think I shall exchange the hospital--for the jail."

He left her standing there looking up at him in wonder or pity, and then turning the stairhead went on down the upper corridor. There were nurses conversing here, and a patient or two, so Renwick went slowly until he reached his room. But once within the door he acted with speed and resolution. First he turned the key in the lock and softly shot the bolt, then crossed the room quickly, his heart beating rapidly. He was not strong and his nerves already were warning him, but they did not fail him. He peered out of the window upon the terrace. It was not yet dark and there was a nurse below standing beside a man in a wheel chair.

He could not go now for they would see him and surely give the alarm, and so he waited, going back to the door and listening for the sound of approaching male footsteps. As yet no sound. He peered down upon the head of the luckless nurse, mutely imprecating. The moments were precious. Would they never go in? It was past the hour for loitering on the terrace. For a moment the idiotic notion came to him to go out into the corridor and call the attention of the nurse in charge of the floor to the infraction of rules, but he turned again to the window. The nurse was moving now, slowly pushing the wheel chair toward the door. It was barely a hundred feet away, but to Renwick it seemed an eternity before the pair vanished within. Then taking off his slippers he put them in the pocket of his wrapper, and rolling it into a bundle, dropped it noiselessly upon the terrace below. His nerves quivered as he sat astride the window-sill but he set his jaw and lowered himself from the window, catching the iron gutter-pipe with bare fingers and toes. The spout seemed to creak horribly, and for a moment he thought that it was swaying outward with him. But the sensation was born of his own weakness. The pipe held and slowly he descended, reaching the ground, his knuckles bruised and torn, but so far, safe.

He paused for a moment to slip into his wrapper and then crossed the terrace quietly, reached the lawn and the shelter of the bushes below.

CHAPTER XIX

DISGUISE

Long ago he had planned the direction in which he should go when the time came for him to escape. And so without pausing to look behind him he hurried down the hill in the shelter of the hedge until he reached its end. A hundred yards away was a hillock. By going forward in a line which he had already marked he would have the partial protection of rocks and bushes. He paused just a moment to be sure that no one was coming after him. All was as before and the dark group of buildings, his home for nearly two months, loomed in silent dignity behind him. But Renwick knew that it would not be long before the whole countryside would be buzzing like a hornet's nest. In his enfeebled condition, he could hardly hope to cope with his pursuers in the matter of speed and so as he went on across the stream at the base of the hill, he tried to plan something that would outwit them. The nearest outlying houses of the town were but a few hundred yards distant, but instead of taking the road down the hill, he turned sharply to his left after crossing the road and entered the Moslem cemetery, laid according to the custom in a cypress grove. He now moved slowly and leaning against the bole of a tree regained his breath while he listened for the expected sounds of pursuit. The cemetery seemed to be deserted, but he decided to take no chances, so he found a tree with thick foliage, and climbed from one bough to another until he found a crotch of a limb where he disposed himself as comfortably as possible to wait until the pursuit had passed him by.