"Thanks, Herr Moyer. I shall remember. You are going on to Budapest?"

"Yes. And you?"

"I am detained here to watch for a Russian spy who is trying to get through to the Galician border." He laughed. "You're sure you're not----?"

"That's a good joke, Spivak," he smiled. "A Russian! I'd have precious little chance----" And then as the train rolled in--

"Don't forget--Ferdinand Strasse, Number 83----"

"I will not. Adieu!"

"Adieu, my friend."

And with a final wave of the hand Renwick turned and slowly mounted into his third class carriage. The plan had worked and the man, it seemed, had not the slightest suspicion. He was, as Renwick remembered from Konopisht, not infallible, and the ease with which Renwick had accomplished his object and the remarkable nature of his newly acquired information could only be explained by the fact that Spivak was seeking the Russian and not himself, and by the boldness of his impersonation, which had immediately pierced the crust of Spivak's professional reserve. All had gone well, but it seemed an age before the train drew out of the station. Renwick did not dare to look out of the window to learn if the man were still there, and until the bell of the locomotive rang announcing the departure of the train, he was unpleasantly nervous, for fear that a suspicion might dawn in the man's mind which would lead him to pursue the conversation.

Renwick never learned whether Spivak's second thoughts had warned him that all was not as it should be, for instead of taking any chances, the Englishman got down from the train at the first stop and disappeared into the darkness.

It was with a feeling of elation mingled with apprehension that Renwick made his way forward. Elation because of the new crumbs of information, apprehension because of the definite assurance that Goritz still held Marishka a prisoner somewhere within the borders of Hungary. Definite it seemed, for Spivak had spoken with the utmost confidence of things with which he was intimately concerned. The trail narrowed. It seemed as though Providence, aware of past impositions, was bent on making amends to one who had suffered much from her disfavor. The sudden appearance of Spivak, which had seemed to threaten disaster, had been turned by a bold stroke from calamity to good fortune. But Renwick determined to avoid further such encounters if possible. And so, resuming the mode of progress which had been so effective on the way to Tuzla, he walked at night, and slept under cover by day, reaching a town upon the banks of the Danube, where he bought new clothing, a straw hat, a change of linen, and a hand bag with which (representing himself as a grain merchant of Ujvidek), he boldly boarded a steamer upon the river, reaching Budapest without further incident.

It was not until he had passed the Quai and was safely in the Karoly Korut that Renwick breathed easily. He was now safe, finding his way to his immediate destination, the house of a person connected with the English Secret Service, into whose care he confidently entrusted himself.

CHAPTER XXII

THE NEEDLE IN THE HAYSTACK

Herr Koulas was by birth a Greek, by citizenship, an Austrian, and by occupation, a chemist; but his real metier, concealed under a most docile and law abiding exterior, was secret inquiry in behalf of the British government into all matters pertaining to its interests, either social, political, or military. He knew his Hungary from Odenburg to Kronstadt, from the Save to the Carpathians, and Renwick, while somewhat dubious as to the wisdom of his visit under the circumstances, found himself received at this excellent man's home with a warmth of welcome which left no doubt in his own mind as to the unselfishness of his host.

Even before the war Renwick and Constantine Koulas had met in secret, so that if trouble came no plan should mar the man's impeccable character in Austrian eyes. And Renwick would not have come to him now, had not his own need been great. But Herr Koulas, having heard the tale of his adventures and reassured as to the present danger of pursuit, gave willingly of his hospitality and counsel, and when he learned the character of Renwick's mission, volunteered to procure him a set of papers which would rob his pilgrimage to the north, at least, of its most obvious dangers. He was ready with information, too, and offered a mind with a peculiar genius for the kind of problem that Renwick presented. The fact that the great Prussian secret agent, Leo Goritz, was involved in the affair lent it an individuality which detracted nothing from its other interest. Leo Goritz! Only last year there had been a contest of wits between them, both under cover, and Koulas had managed to get what he wanted, not, however, without narrowly escaping the revelation of his own part in the investigation. Goritz was a clever man and a dangerous one, young, brilliant, handsome, unscrupulous, who wore an armor of impenetrability which had not yet revealed a single weak link. And yet, Herr Koulas reasoned, broodingly, that there must be one. A weak link! Where was the man without one? The messages from the Wilhelmstrasse! Why had Goritz not returned to Berlin upon the outbreak of the war? What was keeping him in Hungary? He was in the Tatra region?

Possibly. Which were the passes by which he might try to go? Uzoker, Dukla, or perhaps even Jablunka. The Russians were already battering at Przemysl--Uzoker Pass was out of the question. Jablunka--that was nearer the German border, but eagerly watched even in times of peace. Goritz would not have dared to try to abduct the Countess Strahni by way of Jablunka! The railroad went through Jablunka, a narrow highway with no outlet for many miles. It was not the kind of _cul-de-sac_ that Goritz would have chosen. Dukla? Perhaps. A little farther to the east, of course, but not yet menaced by the Russian advance.

The thing was puzzling, but interesting--very. The abduction of a loyal citizen of Austria--a lady of noble birth--a hurried flight by unfrequented roads and then an _impasse_! Had Herr Windt blocked the way? Was the lady ill? Or had something else detained them?

Renwick sat in the back room of the small laboratory, his arms folded, his brows tangled in thought, as Herr Koulas, puffing great clouds of smoke from his long pipe, thus analyzed the situation.

"I have thought of all of these things, Herr Koulas," Renwick muttered, "and my mind always comes back to the same point. If I know that Goritz has come to this region, if I know that he has not gone out of it, I also know that he remains. I do not care _why_--my question is _where--where_?"

Koulas ran his long forefinger over the map upon the table.

"It is the map Goritz might use--a road map of the government," he grumbled.

"The center near the top--Poprad--he would get through there with difficulty----"

Renwick had risen and paced the floor slowly.

"I have not been through Dukla. It is accessible?"

"Yes. Svidnik to Przemysl. Rocks--a _schloss_ or two----" He turned. "It was there that the Baron Neudeck was killed--you remember--three years ago?"

"I have forgotten--Neudeck--an Austrian?"

"A German--Neudeck was selling military plans to the Russians--Goritz!"

Koulas sprang to his feet triumphantly--"Goritz! It was Goritz who discovered him----"

Renwick was listening eagerly, and Koulas turned with a shrug. "Nothing much, my friend. And yet--a coincidence perhaps--Goritz, Neudeck, Dukla.

Goritz--Strahni--'the center of the map--at the top.' It might be worth trying."

"I shall try it. There is nothing else for me to do. The Pass is used for transport?"

"No. The line of communication is through Mezo Laborcz."

"It will be risky----"

"Not unless you make it so. With luck you shall bear a letter to General Lechnitz (which you need never deliver) as a writer for a newspaper."

"That can be managed?"

"I hope--I believe--I am confident."

Renwick smiled. Herr Koulas was something of a humorist.

"Tell me more of this Neudeck case," asked the Englishman.

"There is unfortunately little more to tell. Neudeck was a German baron with military connections, not too rich and not above dishonesty. Goritz traced the plans to Schloss Szolnok, an ancient feudal stronghold which an elder Baron Neudeck had bought----"

"In the Dukla?"

"--in the Dukla--where some Russian officers were invited for the shooting. They did not know how little they were to enjoy it----" Koulas chuckled and blew a cloud of smoke--"for Goritz shot Neudeck before their very eyes, and took the plans back to Germany. This is secret history--a nine days' wonder--but it passed and with it a clever scoundrel who well deserved what he got."

"And since his death who lives in Schloss Szolnok?"

"I don't know." He laughed again. "You jump very rapidly at conclusions, my friend."

"Time passes. I must jump at something. I am going to Dukla Pass--tomorrow if you will help me."

"That goes without saying. For the present you shall go to bed and sleep soundly. I would like to go with you, but alas--I am not so young as I was and I can best serve all your interests here."

Renwick shook Koulas by the hand and took the bedroom candle that was offered him.

"Good night," he said. "I pray that no harm may come to you from this imprudence of mine."

"Do not worry, my friend. I am well hedged about with alibis. Good night."

The next evening after dark Renwick, now Herr Max Schoff of the _Wiener Zeitung_, supplied with a pass which Herr Koulas by means of his underground machinery had managed to procure, took the night train for Kaschau, which he reached in the early morning of the following day, going on later to Bartfeld, the terminus of the railroad, a small and ancient town under the very shadow of the mountains. Here, it being late in the afternoon, he found the Hungaria, a hotel to which he had been directed, where he made arrangements to stop for the night while he leisurely pursued his inquiries.

Now at last, so very near his destination, he was curiously oppressed with the futility of his pilgrimage. He had come far, braving the danger of detection and death, for he had no illusions regarding the status of an Englishman approaching the battle lines under the guise of a newspaper writer. If taken, it would be as a spy, and he would be treated as such.