The Golden Bough

CHAPTER XII

PURSUIT

Rowland's head ached, his muscles were stiff and the wounds in his cheek and shoulder needed first aid, but after they were given attention he lost no time, and breakfast eaten, Zoya Rochal's car was brought to the gate by Liederman and in less than an hour they were upon their way. Another suit of clothes and some linen from the posthumous wardrobe of Ivanitch, had restored the American to a semblance of presentability and he found his courage and optimism rising with every mile that they traveled. Barthou and Shestov remained with Signorina Colodna at Nemi to explain to the new arrivals the cause and extent of the disaster, and to keep in touch with the telegraph office in the village below, that they might be informed as to what happened in Germany.

Max Liederman drove and Rowland and Zoya Rochal sat in the tonneau.

On its face, this was a mad errand-to go flying into the heart of the enemy's country from which after weeks of trial Rowland had managed miraculously to escape. But a transformation had been worked in Rowland's point of view, as well as in his appearance. He seemed, in the few short hours he had spent at Nemi, to have achieved a mission and an object in life, something, he was forced to admit, that he had never possessed before. The mission, – a defeat of Prussian intrigue, the object, – Tanya Korasov. If the success of Monsieur Khodkine had for the moment balked him, he was aware now of a spirit of mild exaltation at the prospect of the dangers he must run in the hope of success. The sense of danger always made him cheerful and rather quiet. And so though the massive Liederman sat gloomily, driving with a heavy hand which at narrow places in the road seemed to threaten destruction, swearing volubly over his shoulder in the odd moments, and Zoya Rochal chattered excitedly in three languages, Rowland sat grinning hopefully into the long stretch of road which lay before them, thinking of Tanya Korasov and wishing that he had Monsieur Khodkine's throat in his fingers again. He would pinch harder next time.

Rowland had devised a plan which he hoped would enable him to pass the frontier in safety. And so, when a mile distant from the military posts that guarded the German line along the main highway, Rowland got down and after making a rendezvous at a small town which Liederman suggested, three miles beyond the border, turned into the woods by the roadside and moved stealthily westward. This was a dangerous game, for in his escape from Germany a few days before, he had done most of his traveling by night, sleeping in the woods by day. But there was no time to be lost and nothing else to be done. Herr Liederman and Madame Rochal had their own passports of course and would go through without trouble, and once within the borders of Germany the inspection of the machine and its occupants would be less rigid than at the frontier gates.

The plight of Tanya Korasov and the responsibility which he now shared with her for the safety of the money had sharpened Rowland's wits amazingly. He reached the edge of the woods and crouched in the bushes on a slight elevation for a moment, studying the lay of the land to the northward. Then, discovering a slight depression upon his left down which a small stream trickled, he crouched, taking advantage of the cover which screened him from the view of some men working in a field and went northward rapidly for half a mile.

But he came at last to a spot where the stream debouched into a meadow, beside which was a farm-house and more men working. So he was forced to go back a few hundred yards and wriggle upon hands and knees in the shadow of a stone wall up a hill, at the crest of which he paused again for observation. Before him, again to his left beyond the farm houses, was a wood which spread northward and eastward. Once within its borders he felt sure that he could move forward in greater security. He clambered into some shrubbery, and upon the other side of the hill saw the road which approached the farm houses. Once across this the cover would be better. There was no one in sight. He crawled out of his place of concealment, braving detection for the few hundred yards of open country, dashed down the hill across the lane and in a moment was hidden in a thicket upon the further side. Here he waited again, watching in all directions, and then taking to the undergrowth went on more rapidly, at last reaching the protection of the thick woods, where he breathed a deep sigh of gratification. He had figured that the border line must cut somewhere near the center of this forest and could not be more than a kilometer away.

He was more at home here, for the starvation and misery of the past weeks had given him a skill in stealth and woodcraft which would have done credit to a North American Indian. The possibility of there being a wire fence along the border had not occurred to him, for if he had passed such a barrier a few nights ago, he had merely considered it the border of a sheep or cattle pasture, even believing at Nemi that he was still well within the German Empire. But suddenly as he moved forward a wire fence rose before him, a barrier of barbed steel, thickly woven between the stout posts that retained it. Rowland crawled into the center of a bush nearby and waited a moment, for along each side of the fence was a well-beaten path which showed where the sentries passed. Rowland had resolved to burrow under the wire, since to climb such a fence, even if it were not electrified, would be difficult and damaging to his clothing, the presentability of which was essential to his safety. But he did not wish to attempt it until he was sure of the exact moment of the passage of the sentries. And so he waited calmly, aware of an intense desire to smoke which could not be gratified.

In a moment his patience and wisdom were rewarded, for, listening intently, he heard the thud of heavy boots and the sound of a fine masculine voice singing. The Swiss soldier approached, still singing and passed him. And not fifty yards beyond, the singing stopped and he, heard another voice in greeting.

"Ah, Kamerad-you sing well."

"One must do something to pass the time."

"Weary work-with nothing to show for it. You have seen nothing?"

"No."

"Nor I. It is the time for my relief. Auf wiedersehen."

And the German soldier approached upon the opposite side of the fence and passed on.

Now was the time. Rowland waited a moment until both men were out of sight, and hearing, when he came out quickly, and approaching a slight depression in the soft loam below the wire, set to work burrowing furiously with his hands, in a few moments making a hole deep enough to wriggle through. Then covering the evidences of his work with leaves, crossed quickly into the woods beyond and disappeared.

It was a very weary and much bedraggled individual who emerged from some bushes near the highroad at the spot where the car was awaiting him. Liederman was fuming, Madame Rochal anxious. They had used two hours of time and it was now well past noon. But Rowland, though weary, was quite cheerful. He had already found a flaw in the perfection of the efficiency which had so astonished the world. There would be other flaws and careless, casual little New York would find them.

The passports of Zoya Rochal and Herr Liederman and the credentials which the latter carried, showing him to be a member of the Reichstag, would probably be sufficient to pass the party along the road. But to insure less chance of detention an alias was provided for Rowland in case of surprise. He had become Herr Professor Leo Knaus, Curator of the Schwanthaler Museum, returning to Munich after a brief holiday in search of lost health in the Bavarian Highlands, where through an unfortunate accident, his knapsack containing all his personal papers had been lost from a cliff into a deep torrent whence their recovery had been impossible.

By making detours, avoiding the larger towns, however, they managed to travel fifty or sixty kilometers without even so much as seeing a soldier, and Liederman figured that once well within Bavaria away from the Swiss border, the scrutiny of their papers would be less exacting.

And whether by good luck or good management they reached Ulm without mishap, where Herr Liederman had friends and influence. And then a passport for the unfortunate Herr Professor from Ulm to Munich was procured which made the remainder of their journey less hazardous.

Rowland would have felt more comfortable if he had had a little money of his own, for though Madame Rochal and Max Liederman seemed well supplied with funds, he would find himself in a pretty pickle if he were suddenly left upon his own resources. He ran his fingers hopefully through the pockets of Kirylo Ivanitch and found nothing-oh, yes, the coin of the Priest of Nemi with which Khodkine last night had presented him. He had shifted it to the new clothing with the matches and cigarettes. He fingered it carelessly, then brought it forth and examined it-a clever bit of low-relief, done by an artist, probably Italian.

Madame Rochal who had been vociferously exchanging opinions with Herr Liederman found curiosity more essential to her happiness than argument and bending suddenly forward, examined the coin.

"Who gave you this, Monsieur?" she asked excitedly.

"Monsieur Khodkine-last night. It was to be the symbol of our eternal friendship. The Gods will otherwise."

"It is the Talisman," she cried. "Do you know what its possession means?"

"Ah, yes," he said, shrugging lightly, "that I'm the King-pin in your ten-twenty-thirty." And as she looked puzzled he laughed. "That I'm the Head of the Society of Nemi. But how the devil that's going to help me here, I can't quite see."

"Monsieur Rowland," she broke in, "this is most important. In Munich you will need no better credentials than this."

"But I'm an enemy of Germany-an American."

"Of Autocracy-of the Army-yes. But Internationalism knows no enemies."

"You mean-?"

"That the Democrats of Germany, whether Socialist or Revolutionary, will receive you as a friend. Names-nationalities mean nothing to them now. All that they need is a leader who has no fear of the Army-and a spark to cause the conflagration."

"And you believe that I-?"

"Precisely," she said with a flash of her dark eyes, "if I have not misjudged you. You, Monsieur!"

She showed the coin to Liederman who fully confirmed her opinion. The Talisman passed with the office, and it was very lucky that Rowland had found it, for there was no other like it in the world. Rowland looked at the coin with interest, and then flipped it carelessly.

"Heads I win, tails Khodkine loses," he laughed. "You see, Madame. Anyway you look at it Nemi triumphs."

Zoya Rochal examined Rowland's profile through her half-closed eyes and when she spoke she used English, a language which fell from her lips quite as readily as French or Russian.

"Monsieur Rowland," she smiled, "you are quite the most cheerful person I have ever known in my life. You always smile more when things go wrong. I don't understand. Do you never get angry?"

"Well, rather! Once when a piece of Boche shrapnel smashed my jimmy-pipe, right out of my teeth. It was the best pipe I ever had," he finished thoughtfully.

She laughed. "I've never met one like you before. Most men are so desperate in great affairs."

"H-m. I've been desperate a lot of times but didn't find it helped me much. I tried that in the vault last night and only barked my shins. So I went to sleep and dreamed I was married to a princess-until Herr Liederman blew me up."

"A princess!" she smiled archly. "Monsieur Rowland, you still have the heart of a child." Her voice sank a note as she glanced at the back of Herr Liederman's head. "It is that which has attracted me to you. The world has grown so old in wisdom and in sin," she sighed.

He laughed. "It's a good old world but it needs a vacuum cleaner. We've got to 'get' Khodkine, Madame Rochal. He's a breeder of germs."

"And is bred of Germans-" she whispered.

"Same thing-disease in the Welt Politik-always excepting our good chauffeur-," indicating Liederman's broad back, "who is your friend and mine and therefore quite all right." Rowland was silent a moment and then turned and laid his hand over Zoya Rochal's. She turned her palm upward and their fingers clasped.

"You and I, Madame-"

"Zoya-," she corrected.

He smiled and touched her fingers lightly to his lips.

"Zoya-," he repeated. "Pretty name, that. Zoya! You and I must swear an allegiance."

"I have already sworn it in my heart," she said softly.

"And I can count upon you-whatever happens."

"Yes-for Russia."

"There are many Russias-"

"The Russia of the Constituent Assembly-the Russia of sanity-of reconstruction-"

"Good. We understand each other. A beautiful woman is a power, but a clever, beautiful woman-" he smiled at her gaily, "the world lies at her feet."

Her fingers closed upon his own and she looked past him down into the valley of a little river which flowed past them while her voice seemed to trail away into the beautiful distance.

"If you would only lay it there, – Philippe!"

His eyes boldly sought for flaws in her perfect face, and found none. And yet its very perfection was in itself a flaw, for he knew something of her history. Passion had made no mark upon her, or the suffering she must have caused in others. Whatever the world had done to her soul, it had passed her beauty by as though that in itself were a matter of no importance.

But Rowland did not kiss her, though he had a notion that this was what was required to seal their compact. He only laughed a little.

"You shall have it, Zoya Rochal. I give you my word on it, if you will help me to catch Gregory Khodkine." And then as he released her hand, "Tell me something of this Central Committee of Bavaria."

She watched him as he lighted his cigarette and marveled a little at the coolness of his renunciation of an opportunity.

"Perhaps you didn't know that it is from the Central Committee of Munich that I come to Nemi. Perhaps also you may think it strange that I, a loyal Russian, should stand high in such councils. But politics make strange affiliations. I have served the cause in many countries and in Germany I have secretly stood with advanced Socialism. As you have seen, I possess papers which permit me to come and go as I please and I am not without influence even in Berlin."

"Ah, that is strange. A secret agent-?"

"What you choose. In the past I've done Prussia some service in Constantinople, Buda-Pesth and Vienna. But since the war began-" she shrugged. "Can you not imagine? After all, I am a Russian."

"I see. And this Central Committee at Munich, – who is its leader?"

"George Senf, a giant among pigmies. You shall see-"

"A member of the Society of Nemi?"

"Yes, and more than once a Councilor. But he serves our cause better in Germany where his name is a byword for fearlessness and wisdom."

"And Liederman?"

"Herr Liederman represents Georg Senf and his followers on the floor of the Reichstag. They are both loyal men but Senf is the master."

"Thanks. This is what I wanted to know." And then, after a pause, "But why should Monsieur Khodkine choose Munich as the place to which to take this money?"

"That has puzzled me, but I think I am beginning to understand. The first stronghold of the Order of Nemi is in the Munich Committee and those others which it influences. Monsieur Khodkine plans first to take the money to a place of safety; then to throw the whole power of the Government into the Committee to thwart its leaders, who are the friends of Nemi and to divert this money to the corruption of Russian leaders, in the Prussian cause."

"You are positive as to this-?"

"This or something worse," she said.

"What could be worse?"

"Its theft by Khodkine himself or its appropriation-by the State."

"Can this be possible?"

"Anything is possible in Germany."

Rowland pursed his lips in a tenuous whistle.

"I can well believe that. You have heard that Khodkine is a Prussian agent?"

"I know nothing of Khodkine. Our paths have not crossed except at Nemi. But I am ready to suspect him of anything. There is much energy conserved in twenty-five millions of francs," she finished cynically.

"Well, rather," he laughed. "Twenty-five millions-five million dollars! Phew, but that's a lot of money! Think of the eats and shows and things-"

"You'd get a lot of jimmy-pipes with that, mon vieux," she laughed and then lowered her tone suddenly. "Where are you going to put this money if you recover it?" she questioned.