CHAPTER II. A STATION WITHOUT A CAB
The arrangements for my meeting with Mr. Rassendyll had been
carefully made by correspondence before he left England. He was
to be at the Golden Lion Hotel at eleven o'clock on the night of
the 15th of October. I reckoned to arrive in the town between
eight and nine on the same evening, to proceed to another hotel,
and, on pretence of taking a stroll, slip out and call on him at
the appointed hour. I should then fulfil my commission, take his
answer, and enjoy the rare pleasure of a long talk with him.
Early the next morning he would have left Wintenberg, and I
should be on my way back to Strelsau. I knew that he would not
fail to keep his appointment, and I was perfectly confident of
being able to carry out the programme punctually; I had, however,
taken the precaution of obtaining a week's leave of absence, in
case any unforeseen accident should delay my return. Conscious of
having done all I could to guard against misunderstanding or
mishap, I got into the train in a tolerably peaceful frame of
mind. The box was in my inner pocket, the letter in a
portemonnaie. I could feel them both with my hand. I was not in
uniform, but I took my revolver. Although I had no reason to
anticipate any difficulties, I did not forget that what I carried
must be protected at all hazards and all costs.
The weary night journey wore itself away. Bauer came to me in the
morning, performed his small services, repacked my hand-bag,
procured me some coffee, and left me. It was then about eight
o'clock; we had arrived at a station of some importance and were
not to stop again till mid-day. I saw Bauer enter the
second-class compartment in which he was traveling, and settled
down in my own coupe. I think it was at this moment that the
thought of Rischenheim came again into my head, and I found
myself wondering why he clung to the hopeless idea of compassing
Rupert's return and what business had taken him from Strelsau.
But I made little of the matter, and, drowsy from a broken
night's rest, soon fell into a doze. I was alone in the carriage
and could sleep without fear or danger. I was awakened by our
noontide halt. Here I saw Bauer again. After taking a basin of
soup, I went to the telegraph bureau to send a message to my
wife; the receipt of it would not merely set her mind at case,
but would also ensure word of my safe progress reaching the
queen. As I entered the bureau I met Bauer coming out of it. He
seemed rather startled at our encounter, but told me readily
enough that he had been telegraphing for rooms at Wintenberg, a
very needless precaution, since there was no danger of the hotel
being full. In fact I was annoyed, as I especially wished to
avoid calling attention to my arrival. However, the mischief was
done, and to rebuke my servant might have aggravated it by
setting his wits at work to find out my motive for secrecy. So I
said nothing, but passed by him with a nod. When the whole
circumstances came to light, I had reason to suppose that besides
his message to the inn-keeper, Bauer sent one of a character and
to a quarter unsuspected by me.
We stopped once again before reaching Wintenberg. I put my head
out of the window to look about me, and saw Bauer standing near
the luggage van. He ran to me eagerly, asking whether I required
anything. I told him "nothing"; but instead of going away, he
began to talk to me. Growing weary of him, I returned to my seat
and waited impatiently for the train to go on. There was a
further delay of five minutes, and then we started.
"Thank goodness!" I exclaimed, leaning back comfortably in my
seat and taking a cigar from my case.
But in a moment the cigar rolled unheeded on to the floor, as I
sprang eagerly to my feet and darted to the window. For just as
we were clearing the station, I saw being carried past the
carriage, on the shoulders of a porter, a bag which looked very
much like mine. Bauer had been in charge of my bag, and it had
been put in the van under his directions. It seemed unlikely that
it should be taken out now by any mistake. Yet the bag I saw was
very like the bag I owned. But I was not sure, and could have
done nothing had I been sure. We were not to stop again before
Wintenberg, and, with my luggage or without it, I myself must be
in the town that evening.
We arrived punctual to our appointed time. I sat in the carriage
a moment or two, expecting Bauer to open the door and relieve me
of my small baggage. He did not come, so I got out. It seemed
that I had few fellow-passengers, and these were quickly
disappearing on foot or in carriages and carts that waited
outside the station. I stood looking for my servant and my
luggage. The evening was mild; I was encumbered with my hand-bag
and a heavy fur coat. There were no signs either of Bauer or of
baggage. I stayed where I was for five or six minutes. The guard
of the train had disappeared, but presently I observed the
station-master; he seemed to be taking a last glance round the
premises. Going up to him I asked whether he had seen my servant;
he could give me no news of him. I had no luggage ticket, for
mine had been in Bauer's hands; but I prevailed on him to allow
me to look at the baggage which had arrived; my property was not
among it. The station-master was inclined, I think, to be a
little skeptical as to the existence both of bag and of servant.
His only suggestion was that the man must have been left behind
accidentally. I pointed out that in this case he would not have
had the bag with him, but that it would have come on in the
train. The station-master admitted the force of my argument; he
shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands out; he was evidently
at the end of his resources.
Now, for the first time and with sudden force, a doubt of Bauer's
fidelity thrust itself into my mind. I remembered how little I
knew of the fellow and how great my charge was. Three rapid
movements of my hand assured me that letter, box, and revolver
were in their respective places. If Bauer had gone hunting in the
bag, he had drawn a blank. The station-master noticed nothing;
he was stating at the dim gas lamp that hung from the roof. I
turned to him.
"Well, tell him when he comes--" I began.
"He won't come to-night, now," interrupted the stationmaster,
none too politely. "No other train arrives to-night."
"Tell him when he does come to follow me at once to the
Wintenbergerhof. I'm going there immediately." For time was
short, and I did not wish to keep Mr. Rassendyll waiting.
Besides, in my new-born nervousness, I was anxious to accomplish
my errand as soon as might be. What had become of Bauer? The
thought returned, and now with it another, that seemed to connect
itself in some subtle way with my present position: why and
whither had the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim set out from Strelsau
a day before I started on my journey to Wintenberg?
"If he comes I'll tell him," said the station-master, and as he
spoke he looked round the yard.
There was not a cab to be seen! I knew that the station lay on
the extreme outskirts of the town, for I had passed through
Wintenberg on my wedding journey, nearly three years before. The
trouble involved in walking, and the further waste of time, put
the cap on my irritation.
"Why don't you have enough cabs?" I asked angrily.
"There are plenty generally, sir," he answered more civilly, with
an apologetic air. "There would be to-night but for an accident."
Another accident! This expedition of mine seemed doomed to be the
sport of chance.
"Just before your train arrived," he continued, "a local came in.
As a rule, hardly anybody comes by it, but to-night a number of
men--oh, twenty or five-and-twenty, I should think--got out. I
collected their tickets myself, and they all came from the first
station on the line. Well, that's not so strange, for there's a
good beer-garden there. But, curiously enough, every one of them
hired a separate cab and drove off, laughing and shouting to one
another as they went. That's how it happens that there were only
one or two cabs left when your train came in, and they were
snapped up at once."
Taken alone, this occurrence was nothing; but I asked myself
whether the conspiracy that had robbed me of my servant had
deprived me of a vehicle also.
"What sort of men were they?" I asked.
"All sorts of men, sir," answered the station-master, "but most
of them were shabby-looking fellows. I wondered where some of
them had got the money for their ride."
The vague feeling of uneasiness which had already attacked me
grew stronger. Although I fought against it, calling myself an
old woman and a coward, I must confess to an impulse which almost
made me beg the station-master's company on my walk; but, besides
being ashamed to exhibit a timidity apparently groundless, I was
reluctant to draw attention to myself in any way. I would not for
the world have it supposed that I carried anything of value.
"Well, there's no help for it," said I, and, buttoning my heavy
coat about me, I took my hand-bag and stick in one hand, and
asked my way to the hotel. My misfortunes had broken down the
station-master's indifference, and he directed me in a
sympathetic tone.
"Straight along the road, sir," said he, "between the poplars,
for hard on half a mile; then the houses begin, and your hotel is
in the first square you come to, on the right."
I thanked him curtly (for I had not quite forgiven him his
earlier incivility), and started on my walk, weighed down by my
big coat and the handbag. When I left the lighted station yard I
realized that the evening had fallen very dark, and the shade of
the tall lank trees intensified the gloom. I could hardly see my
way, and went timidly, with frequent stumbles over the uneven
stones of the road. The lamps were dim, few, and widely
separated; so far as company was concerned, I might have been a
thousand miles from an inhabited house. In spite of myself, the
thought of danger persistently assailed my mind. I began to
review every circumstance of my journey, twisting the trivial
into some ominous shape, magnifying the significance of
everything which might justly seem suspicious, studying in the
light of my new apprehensions every expression of Bauer's face
and every word that had fallen from his lips. I could not
persuade myself into security. I carried the queen's letter,
and--well, I would have given much to have old Sapt or Rudolf
Rassendyll by my side.
Now, when a man suspects danger, let him not spend his time in
asking whether there be really danger or in upbraiding himself
for timidity, but let him face his cowardice, and act as though
the danger were real. If I had followed that rule and kept my
eyes about me, scanning the sides of the road and the ground in
front of my feet, instead of losing myself in a maze of
reflection, I might have had time to avoid the trap, or at least
to get my hand to my revolver and make a fight for it; or,
indeed, in the last resort, to destroy what I carried before harm
came to it. But my mind was preoccupied, and the whole thing
seemed to happen in a minute. At the very moment that I had
declared to myself the vanity of my fears and determined to be
resolute in banishing them, I heard voices--a low, strained
whispering; I saw two or three figures in the shadow of the
poplars by the wayside. An instant later, a dart was made at me.
While I could fly I would not fight; with a sudden forward plunge
I eluded the men who rushed at me, and started at a run towards
the lights of the town and the shapes of the houses, now distant
about a quarter of a mile. Perhaps I ran twenty yards, perhaps
fifty; I do not know. I heard the steps behind me, quick as my
own. Then I fell headlong on the road--tripped up! I understood.
They had stretched a rope across my path; as I fell a man bounded
up from either side, and I found the rope slack under my body.
There I lay on my face; a man knelt on me, others held either
hand; my face was pressed into the mud of the road, and I was
like to have been stifled; my hand-bag had whizzed away from me.
Then a voice said:
"Turn him over."
I knew the voice; it was a confirmation of the fears which I had
lately been at such pains to banish. It justified. the forecast
of Anton von Strofzin, and explained the wager of the Count of
Luzau-Rischenheim--for it was Rischenheim's voice.
They caught hold of me and began to turn me on my back. Here I
saw a chance, and with a great heave of my body I flung them from
me. For a short instant I was free; my impetuous attack seemed to
have startled the enemy; I gathered myself up on my knees. But my
advantage was not to last long. Another man, whom I had not seen,
sprang suddenly on me like a bullet from a catapult. His fierce
onset overthrew me; I was stretched on the ground again, on my
back now, and my throat was clutched viciously in strong fingers.
At the same moment my arms were again seized and pinned. The face
of the man on my chest bent down towards mine, and through the
darkness I discerned the features of Rupert of Hentzau. He was
panting with the sudden exertion and the intense force with which
he held me, but he was smiling also; and when he saw by my eyes
that I knew him, he laughed softly in triumph. Then came
Rischenheim's voice again.
"Where's the bag he carried? It may be in the bag."
"You fool, he'll have it about him," said Rupert, scornfully.
"Hold him fast while I search."
On either side my hands were still pinned fast. Rupert's left
hand did not leave my throat, but his free right hand began to
dart about me, feeling, probing, and rummaging. I lay quite
helpless and in the bitterness of great consternation. Rupert
found my revolver, drew it out with a gibe, and handed it to
Rischenheim, who was now standing beside him. Then he felt the
box, he drew it out, his eyes sparkled. He set his knee hard on
my chest, so that I could scarcely breathe; then he ventured to
loose my throat, and tore the box open eagerly.
"Bring a light here," he cried. Another ruffian came with a
dark-lantern, whose glow he turned on the box. Rupert opened it,
and when he saw what was inside, he laughed again, and stowed it
away in his pocket.
"Quick, quick!" urged Rischenheim. "We've got what we wanted, and
somebody may come at any moment."
A brief hope comforted me. The loss of the box was a calamity,
but I would pardon fortune if only the letter escaped capture.
Rupert might have suspected that I carried some such token as the
box, but he could not know of the letter. Would he listen to
Rischenheim? No. The Count of Hentzau did things thoroughly.
"We may as well overhaul him a bit more," said he, and resumed
his search. My hope vanished, for now he was bound to come upon
the letter.
Another instant brought him to it. He snatched the pocketbook,
and, motioning impatiently to the man to hold the lantern nearer,
he began to examine the contents. I remember well the look of his
face as the fierce white light threw it up against the darkness
in its clear pallor and high-bred comeliness, with its curling
lips and scornful eyes. He had the letter now, and a gleam of joy
danced in his eyes as he tore it open. A hasty glance showed him
what his prize was; then, coolly and deliberately he settled
himself to read, regarding neither Rischenheim's nervous hurry
nor my desperate, angry glance that glared up at him. He read
leisurely, as though he had been in an armchair in his own house;
the lips smiled and curled as he read the last words that the
queen had written to her lover. He had indeed come on more than
he thought.
Rischenheim laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Quick, Rupert, quick," he urged again, in a voice full of
agitation.
"Let me alone, man. I haven't read anything so amusing for a long
while," answered Rupert. Then he burst into a laugh, crying,
"Look, look!" and pointing to the foot of the last page of the
letter. I was mad with anger; my fury gave me new strength. In
his enjoyment of what he read Rupert had grown careless; his knee
pressed more lightly on me, and as he showed Rischenheim the
passage in the letter that caused him so much amusement he turned
his head away for an instant. My chance had come. With a sudden
movement I displaced him, and with a desperate wrench I freed my
right hand. Darting it out, I snatched at the letter. Rupert,
alarmed for his treasure, sprang back and off me. I also sprang
up on my feet, hurling away the fellow who had gripped my other
hand. For a moment I stood facing Rupert; then I darted on him.
He was too quick for me; he dodged behind the man with the
lantern and. hurled the fellow forward against me. The lantern
fell on the ground.
"Give me your stick!" I heard Rupert say. "Where is it? That's
right!"
Then came Rischenheim's voice again, imploring and timid:
"Rupert, you promised not to kill him."
The only answer was a short, fierce laugh. I hurled away the man
who had been thrust into my arms and sprang forward. I saw Rupert
of Hentzau; his hand was raised above his head and held a stout
club. I do not know what followed; there came--all in a confused
blur of instant sequence--an oath from Rupert, a rush from me, a
scuffle, as though some one sought to hold him back; then he was
on me; I felt a great thud on my forehead, and I felt nothing
more. Again I was on my back, with a terrible pain in my head,
and a dull, dreamy consciousness of a knot of men standing over
me, talking eagerly to one another.
I could not hear what they were saying; I had no great desire to
hear. I fancied, somehow, that they were talking about me; they
looked at me and moved their hands towards me now and again. I
heard Rupert's laugh, and saw his club poised over me; then
Rischenheim caught him by the wrist. I know now that Rischenheim
was reminding his cousin that he had promised not to kill me,
that Rupert's oath did not weigh a straw in the scales, but that
he was held back only by a doubt whether I alive or my dead body
would be more inconvenient to dispose of. Yet then I did not
understand, but lay there listless. And presently the talking
forms seemed to cease their talking; they grew blurred and dim,
running into one another, and all mingling together to form one
great shapeless creature that seemed to murmur and gibber over
me, some such monster as a man sees in his dreams. I hated to see
it, and closed my eyes; its murmurings and gibberings haunted my
ears for awhile, making me restless and unhappy; then they died
away. Their going made me happy; I sighed in contentment; and
everything became as though it were not.
Yet I had one more vision, breaking suddenly across my
unconsciousness. A bold, rich voice rang out, "By God, I will!"
"No, no," cried another. Then, "What's that?" There was a rush of
feet, the cries of men who met in anger or excitement, the crack
of a shot and of another quickly following, oaths, and scuffling.
Then came the sound of feet flying. I could not make it out; I
grew weary with the puzzle of it. Would they not be quiet? Quiet
was what I wanted. At last they grew quiet; I closed my eyes
again. The pain was less now; they were quiet; I could sleep.
When a man looks back on the past, reviewing in his mind the
chances Fortune has given and the calls she has made, he always
torments himself by thinking that he could have done other and
better than in fact he did. Even now I lie awake at night
sometimes, making clever plans by which I could have thwarted
Rupert's schemes. In these musings I am very acute; Anton von
Strofzin's idle talk furnishes me with many a clue, and I draw
inferences sure and swift as a detective in the story books.
Bauer is my tool, I am not his. I lay Rischenheim by the heels,
send Rupert howling off with a ball in his arm, and carry my
precious burden in triumph to Mr. Rassendyll. By the time I have
played the whole game I am indeed proud of myself. Yet in truth--
in daylight truth--I fear that, unless Heaven sent me a fresh set
of brains, I should be caught in much the same way again. Though
not by that fellow Bauer, I swear! Well, there it was. They had
made a fool of me. I lay on the road with a bloody head, and
Rupert of Hentzau had the queen's letter.
