The Golden Bough

CHAPTER XI

THE PLOT

The car drew up at the door of a store the sign upon which proclaimed the sale of articles of feminine apparel and Khodkine got out and stood bowing upon the pavement.

"A suit-case, a hat, gloves and coat and such other articles as you require. Let me know the cost and I will give you money. And remember our agreement. I will await you here."

She had slipped out of her dark robe before getting down, and entered the store. For a moment a vague notion came into her head of escaping through a rear door and hiding from him. But maturer thought soon convinced her that such a plan was impracticable. Gregory Khodkine was far too clever to permit himself to be eluded in such a way. He had made sure, too, that she had no money in her possession and without money her case was hopeless. The exciting events of the night and previous day had worn upon her and she now felt weak from lack of food. There was nothing for it but to obey Monsieur Khodkine's injunctions and so she made her purchase quickly, put on the hat, coat and gloves, and with the other articles in the suit-case, presented the bill to Khodkine, who gave her the money.

As he handed her into the machine he smiled at her gravely.

"I am sorry to have kept you up all night, but there is an inn near by and breakfast should be welcome."

Monsieur Khodkine was right. The coffee was poor, but it was real coffee, the eggs were freshly laid in a neighboring barn yard and the rations of war bread were nourishing. She found nothing to complain of in the demeanor of her companion and their breakfast finished they were again upon their way. Khodkine had now taken the suitcase into the front seat beside him and put Tanya into the tonneau, expressing a hope that she would find a chance to doze. It would be impossible to stop to rest as many miles were to be covered by nightfall, and there was no time to spare. This rearrangement of their positions was agreeable to Tanya, for she had many things to think of. If she still had any thought of escaping, Gregory Khodkine quickly removed them, for the fuel of the machine having been replenished at Tuttlingen, she soon saw that he was bent on covering the miles to Munich at a speed as rapid as consistent with safety. His suggestion that she try to sleep in the tonneau was impracticable, for though the road was for the most part in good condition, the car swerved violently at the turns and it was difficult without holding by a hand grasp to keep an upright position. Indeed it seemed as though she never wished to sleep again. Her body was weary with sitting upright, but her eyes, wide open, stared along the gray road before her as she wondered at Gregory Khodkine's skill, persistence and tirelessness.

A German agent! Many things had happened that had made her suspect him of Teutonic leanings. But this! And Gregory Khodkine was but one of many. Poor Russia! She had indeed fallen into the hands of the Philistines.

Every mile they traveled carried the Princess Tatyana further into the enemy's country and nearer to those from whom this traitor drew his high authority. Already she had been given proofs of the character of his laisser passer. One glance by an officer of the guard seemed sufficient to send the machine flying upon its way. There was always too an air of quick deference and a military salute which accompanied it. What chance was there for her with the Central Committee at Munich to which they were bound, with the finger of the Wilhelmstrasse upon the latch of its door, with ears near by, strained for the first free murmur which passed the bounds proscribed? Members of this Committee had been to Nemi-Georg Senf-letters had passed between them. Madame Rochal even had come from Munich, properly accredited. Tanya felt very much alone, very much at a loss, helpless in the face of the innumerable forces opposed to her. But somewhere within her heart a hope still leaped that all might yet be well with Monsieur Rowland.

All night and morning the possibility of his death had weighed heavily upon her conscience, for she could not deny a personal responsibility in the series of events which had brought about the final disaster. Of course she could hardly have foretold the madness of Ivanitch, but the fact remained that she had cast her fortunes upon Monsieur Rowland's side, and by giving him the secret of the vault, had plunged him into the danger that had resulted in his undoing. There was a sweetness in the memory of their first encounter in the garden of Nemi. Here was a boy grown to manhood unspoiled by rough contacts. She knew nothing of his history, save by the vague phrases which confessed a roving habit and a knowledge of many sides of life. But the naturalness of their brief friendship, its ingenuousness and charm were singularly refreshing to one who from childhood had been brought up in an atmosphere of intrigue and double meaning.

She could not believe that he would die. The vault was large. One, two, perhaps even three days might elapse before the air of the vault should be exhausted, and surely before that time a means would be found to enter it. Gregory Khodkine's revelation of Herr Liederman's plans had filled her with hope. Perhaps already Monsieur Rowland had been liberated and was devising means to offset the successes of her captor.

Would he follow her into Germany? And could he if he wished? If Picard had succeeded in crossing the frontier, her note to Shestov would have been delivered, for Picard, she knew, would go through fire for her. But what claim after all had she on this Philippe Rowland? A strange brief friendship, based upon the call of youth to youth, and an intimate community of interests born of her dependence and his mere love of adventure. (Poor boy! She had got him more than he had bargained for.) Or was his sudden allegiance born of something more than the interests she served? She tried to remember the things that he had said, the good-natured, disarming smile, the amused look in his dark eyes, that could be both deferent and bold.

And as she thought of this a slight frown gathered at her brows. His eyes could be bold and he was quite capable of suiting his actions to their meaning. Madame Rochal had lost no time in discovering Monsieur Rowland's knowledge of the complexities of her sex.

To a woman of the antecedents and training of Zoya Rochal the conquest of a person of Monsieur Rowland's frank disposition was a mere matter of opportunity and Madame Rochal had lost no time in creating that. But Tanya had been a little dismayed at finding how quickly the designing cosmopolitaine had accomplished her ends, more than a little dismayed, too, to find that Monsieur Rowland had so soon fallen to her wiles. And yet back of it all was the undeniable fact of Monsieur Rowland's cleverness, his genuine appeal to her own generosity and forgiveness which she had granted there at the door of the vault when he had seemed to have forgotten the numbers of the combination. His boyishness and humor had reassured her and something more than mere friendship she had seen in his eyes. The deference had been there, the boldness also, but there was another look which she had seen in other men's eyes, knew, and recognized. Philippe Rowland had given his allegiance to her cause, because it was in a measure his cause too, but he had also given Tanya Korasov his allegiance because of herself.

Unfortunately she realized that his promise to help her defeat an intrigue against the fortunes of the Society of Nemi was one thing; a chase across the enemy's country, from which, by great trial and good fortune he had just managed to escape, was another. She had given Shestov the slenderest of clues and Germany was large. And if, not for her sake merely, but that of Nemi, of which he was the titular head, he decided to follow her fortunes into danger, where could she find the hope that he would succeed-without a passport, without influence and without means unless he borrowed them? Liederman-Zoya Rochal-Shestov-to the outwitted Councilors of Nemi, the loss of twenty-five millions of francs by the society would be a terrible catastrophe, as it was indeed to Tanya, for she had no hope that Gregory Khodkine intended to use this money in the purposes for which it had been contributed. If any part of it was to be used in Russia, its appropriation would be in the hands of Teuton agents who would dispense it at the dictation of Graf von Stromberg of the Secret Service to debauch the dreamers along the thin gray line which marked the only borderland between Prussianism and the free Russia she loved.

And yet, had not circumstance put Monsieur Rowland in a position of responsibility toward those who had contributed toward this vast sum of money for the propaganda of freedom and liberal government? He was the leader of Nemi, secretly elected in accordance with the strange rites which had come down from the forgotten ages. These hundreds of thousands did not know the names of the leaders of the order, but they did know that the Society of Nemi was great, and actuated by a high purpose and that its leader, whoever he was, was responsible to them for the use of the accumulated funds in its possession.

How much of this responsibility would weigh upon Monsieur Rowland? And if he felt it, what use would he make of the power that had come ready-made to his hands? Was he already upon his way to France to rejoin his regiment of the legion or would he…?

The Princess Tanya's pretty head dropped forward upon her breast and she awoke suddenly with a start. How long had she slept? The heat, the dust, the roar of the exhaust of the machine had worn upon her weariness, but she straightened guiltily as though she had been false to a trust. There was no answer to her problems but the implacable back of Gregory Khodkine's head, who drove onward skillfully without a word, the suit-case safe beneath his eyes and the source of his authority ever growing nearer.

At Ulm he bade her get down at the railroad station and deliver a message for the telegraph. Inside the door of the place, beyond the range of his vision, she scrutinized it eagerly-a mere jumble of words strung together, meaningless to her-in code. She sent it. What would have been the use of opposing him in this when he could confirm the message at the next town they came to? Indeed, during the afternoon messages were delivered to him as he arrived. And he read them with satisfaction.

Her case seemed hopeless and if indeed she had needed the proof, the venality of Gregory Khodkine was fully assured. But after awhile she became curious as to how he would attempt to explain away these evidences of Prussianism.

"The miles increase your assurance," she said bitterly in Russian.

He found her gaze and then glanced away.

"It is well to take precautions. I am not in the habit of traveling with more money than enough for my immediate uses," he said with a lame attempt at humor. "The responsibility weighs upon me."

"The responsibility to whom, Gregory Khodkine?" she asked.

"To those who have sent me," he replied uneasily.

"You grow bold with success."

"Who doesn't?" And then with a frown, "I warn you, Tatyana, of your promise."

Gone were the softer tones in which he had pitched his morning appeal. This was another Khodkine, the man who last night had asked her into his room at Nemi that he might try to frighten her into a confession of what she knew of the secret of the vault. She had evaded him then, had managed as she thought to throw him off the scent, but there seemed no chance of evading him now or indeed of finding any way into his confidences. She had missed her chance this morning. The sense of a possible power over him had flitted from her and with its loss came a sense of defeat and utter hopelessness.

If Monsieur Khodkine's sense of security had been increased he still drove rapidly and at turns in the road in the open country she saw him turn his chin over his shoulder and eagerly scrutinize the landscape behind them. But they had come far and it seemed hardly possible that pursuit could threaten now.

When Gregory Khodkine spoke it was to carry the war into her camp. He was quite civil and spoke in Russian in a low tone, but his question probed deep and took her off her guard.

"Princess Samarov, last night while you were outside the vault, your friend the American accused me of a connection with the Wilhelmstrasse, and obligingly gave me a dossier. Who told him that my name was Hochwald? Did you?"

Tanya was unprepared and involuntarily her hand clutched at her shirt waist where the papers were hidden in her breast. She recovered herself instantly and faced him quite calmly, her hand dropping into her lap.

"You are full of surprises, Gregory Khodkine. Hochwald! Is it true?"

His pale eyes were regarding her keenly.

"No. But who told him?"

"I can't imagine, unless Madame Rochal-"

"You are playing with fire, Princess. I must know the facts."

She shrugged lightly and smiled at him, though she was cold with fear.

"Then you must go to those who know them." Then, lying with the ingenuousness which only a woman can command, "Hochwald?" she said coolly. "I've never heard the name before."

From the tail of her eye she saw his look flicker and leave her and she knew that she had baffled him, but the infamous records burned against her, smirched the clean skin against which they lay. It seemed that he must feel their existence as she did.

"You seem disturbed," she ventured carelessly. "It is the name perhaps you use in your dual role?"

"Yes," he replied shortly. "In Germany I have no other."

"Must I then use it here?"

"It would perhaps be better, when you speak in German," he muttered.

The incident passed and with it Gregory Khodkine's incertitude. Tanya who at the last stop for petrol had returned to the tonneau sat clinging to the supports of the top staring gloomily before her. Her new suit-case was in front of her. Beside it in a litter upon the floor, some spare tubes, a can of oil and other impedimenta. She examined them drowsily, wondering whose car this was and how it happened to be where they had found it. But she had asked no questions of Gregory Khodkine and now it didn't seem to matter, as long as the machinery held together until they reached their destination. But the new suit-case seemed to fascinate her. And then quite spontaneously an idea was born-a plan! It seemed utterly absurd-madness-and she dismissed it. It recurred again, was dismissed; then it came and remained in her thoughts, in all its precariousness, in all its beautiful simplicity. She looked again at her new suit-case and suddenly felt herself trembling with excitement. A wonderful plan to be sure, a brave plan, but unless fortune aided her, foredoomed to failure. But of the consequences she had no fear. After all, what could be worse than the uncertainty of this terrible, endless night and day. Gregory Hochwald might be an agent of the hated von Stromberg, but Gregory Khodkine would never dare to murder her, even if she succeeded in her venture.

All afternoon she waited for an opportunity, feigning slumber while she watched him through lowered eyelashes. But he drove on grimly, the millions of Nemi on the seat beside him, his gaze fastened upon the towers of Augsburg. But after dinner his mood was more cheerful and he invited her into the seat beside him again, and lighting a cigar drove off into the gathering darkness to the south. Khodkine no longer feared pursuit and success was to be the reward of his efforts, for they would reach Munich tonight. It was no wonder that he was happy. Tanya noticed a return of his solicitude for her comfort, and catered to his friendliness, assenting as though in sheer weariness to his plans.

"I hope that you may forgive me, Tatyana. It has pained me horribly to cause you so much suffering, but I am only doing what I believe to be my duty. When that is accomplished, you shall see how I will requite you for your generosity."

"You have left me no choice," she sighed wearily. "It does not matter. This is not work that women were made for. I am very tired."

"You poor child," he murmured. "It will not be long before you shall be quite comfortable and at home in the Bayrischer Hof. No one shall disturb you and you shall rest as long as you please."

"I shall be thankful for that," she said quietly.

"Our long acquaintance, Tatyana," he went on smoothly, "your knowledge of my character and the nature of my confession this morning must do more than any further words of mine to reassure you."