The Secret Witness - George Gibbs (best book reader .txt) 📗

say you, Excellency?" the Effendi asked bewildered.

"You have heard."

"It is impossible. This was the man——"

"Bah! You are a sheep's head."

"Sheep's head I am not——"

"Then you are a fool!"

"By the beard of the Prophet—he was in my Harim," muttered the Effendi. "I call you all to witness——"

"I wash my hands of the matter," said Goritz furiously.

"I am within my rights—the Harim——"

"Bah—You have killed a police officer of the Empire!"

"And you?" The Effendi's face was the color of that of the man upon the floor, but his eyes glowed with fear and desperation.

"I know nothing of the matter," continued Goritz. "A Christian comes into your Harim and you kill him. If he turns out to be an officer of the law, what is it to me?"

"You will pay me that which you owe," shrieked the Effendi. "The man has broken my furniture."

"It is a pity he didn't break your head. I pay you nothing."

And then to Marishka, "Come, Countess, we must be upon our way."

Marishka stood staring at Goritz, a new horror in her eyes. She now understood. The Effendi thrust himself between them.

"You will pay me that which you owe," he stormed again.

"Stand aside!" said the German, and then to Marishka,

"If the Countess Strahni will be good enough to accompany me?" he said, civilly.

But Marishka stood fixed, staring at him with alien eyes, as the Effendi rushed forward toward her, his arms extended.

"She shall not go. She will see what has been done. He is not the man. She will remain here in my house until——"

"Stand aside, Effendi!" cried Goritz furiously, and as the man did not move, he caught him by the shoulder and thrust him roughly aside. He scorned to use a weapon, and the other man and the woman seemed completely dominated by his air of command.

"You will please come at once, Countess Strahni. There is no telling how soon the police will be coming."

And as Marishka did not move—

"You heard?"

"I will not go," stammered Marishka.

Goritz paused, examining her keenly, as though he had not quite understood.

"I have asked you quite courteously, Countess——"

"I will not go," repeated Marishka. Her voice was ice-cold, like her body, which seemed to be frozen into immobility.

"I beg to remind you of your promise—to go with me——"

"I will not go," she said again.

"Then I must take you," he said, striding toward her furiously, and reaching out a hand to seize her by the wrist.

Then a strange thing happened. The man in armor, in the corner behind Marishka, strode clanking forth into the room, while a voice reverberated in the iron helmet. What it said no one understood. The Effendi gazed at the moving thing in terror, and then with a shriek fled down the stairs, Zubeydeh and her companion, calling in loud tones upon Allah, at his heels. Goritz glanced at the thing and then stood irresolute a moment, as the man in the armor slowly raised an arm, for at the end of the arm Goritz saw a revolver pointed directly at him.

"Hold up your hands, Captain Goritz," rang the voice from the depths of the helmet. "Quickly, or I'll shoot."

Goritz bit his lips.

"Clever—Herr Renwick," he said coolly in English. "You've taken the trick."

"Hold up your hands——"

But Goritz with a sudden leap had sprung behind Marishka. Renwick fired once as he jumped, and missed. And now Goritz, shielding himself behind Marishka's body, drew his automatic and fired again and again, riddling the ancient armor like a sieve. Marishka struggled wildly in the arms of the German, and managed to draw the dagger concealed in her waist, but he caught her wrist and held her in front of him, taking careful aim at the man in the armor and firing deliberately. Renwick tottered forward silently and came crashing to the floor in the corner, where after a moment of struggle, he relaxed and lay motionless.

Goritz caught Marishka around the waist and disarmed her. But this act of precaution was unnecessary, for after one fleeting glance at the tangled heap of iron in the corner, she sank a dead weight in his arms.

CHAPTER XVIII NUMBER 28

For a month the Landes Hospital had been greatly interested in the mystery of patient Number 28. In spite of the imminence of war, and the preparations which were being made to care for the wounded along the border, the physicians, the nurses, and the other patients had all formed theories as to the man's history and the possible causes of his injuries. And during the long period in which he lay unconscious, hovering in the dim realm between life and death, not a day passed in which his temperature, respiration, and other symptoms were not discussed from one end of the hospital to the other. The Head Surgeon, Colonel Bohratt, inclined to the opinion that if the man continued for a few days longer without change he would recover. But the Head Nurse shook her head sagely. The wound in the head had been difficult, as the operation was an unusual one, the wound in the shoulder was nothing, but the one in the stomach! If the operation of Colonel Bohratt proved successful, then a miracle had been performed.

The interest in the case, both from the sentimental as well as the professional point of view, was so great that the man's bed had been carefully wheeled from a ward where he had been taken from the operating table, into a private room, where every chance would be given him to recover.

On the twenty-seventh of July, Fräulein Roth, the nurse on duty at the bedside of the man of mystery, noted a slight change in his breathing, and saw that he had opened his eyes, which were regarding her calmly, but with the puzzled expression of one who has come a great distance into a strange country. She knew then that what the Head Surgeon had said was true, and that the man of mystery had turned the corner which led away from the land of the Great Beyond. But being a prudent person, she gave no sign of her delight, merely moving softly closer to the bedside, and in German quietly asked him if he felt better.

The man did not or could not reply at once, but she saw that his gaze slowly passed beyond her to the bare walls of the room and to the open window, beyond which were clouds, sunshine, and the distant drowsy murmur of the city.

"You are feeling more comfortable?" she asked again, in German.

"Yes," he muttered.

"You have been sick," she whispered softly, smoothing his pillow.

"Ah, yes, sick," the man muttered, and closing his eyes, slept again.

It was not long before the news of the awakening of Number 28 had reached the nurses and attending physicians. Colonel Bohratt, greatly pleased at the correctness of his prophecy and the end of the period of coma, at once a tribute to his wisdom as well as to his professional skill, came himself and viewed the patient, gave directions for treatment and predicted speedy recovery.

That night, the man of mystery awoke again, exchanged a few words with Fräulein Roth as before, and again slept. And on the morrow, a sure sign that all was going well with him, he had gained so much strength that he moved freely in his bed, and took more than the casual interest of the desperately sick in his situation and surroundings. Fräulein Roth had been given instructions to keep him quiet, but she smiled at him when quite rationally he questioned her.

"Is this a hospital?" he asked.

"Yes—the Landes Hospital."

"Where?"

"Sarajevo."

"Ah,—Sarajevo."

He remained silent for a long moment.

"I have been here long?" he asked again.

"A month."

"A month! And the date?"

"The twenty-eighth of July——"

"Yes. I understand."

Fräulein Roth wished him to be quiet, but after a long moment of contemplation of the ceiling, in which his brows puckered in a puzzled way, he spoke again.

And when Fräulein Roth anxiously desired him to be quiet, she discovered that Number 28 had a will of his own and only smiled at her earnestness.

"I am feeling quite strong," he said weakly. "It will do me no harm to talk, for some things puzzle me. I was brought here. Won't you tell me how?"

She debated with herself for a moment, but after an inspection of her patient she decided to tell him the facts.

"A peasant had discovered two men lying in a strip of woods near the road to Gradina. At first he had thought that both were dead, but upon closer examination he found that one of the men, although desperately wounded, still breathed, and notified the police, who summoned the ambulance."

"I?" asked the sick man.

She nodded. "You were brought here—to the Landes Hospital in a bad condition. The other man was dead."

"The other man—dead?"

"Yes," said the nurse, "with stab wounds in the back, and one in the heart." She regarded her patient keenly a moment, and then went on. "There were no marks of identification upon either of you. You were without clothing. Following so closely upon the assassination of the Archduke Franz and his wife, the circumstances were suspicious, and the police of Sarajevo and the secret service officials have done all they could to find some clew to the murderers. You see," she concluded with a smile, "you are a man of mystery and all Sarajevo awaits your recovery."

"Oh, I see. They are waiting for me to speak?"

Number 28 lay silent, regarding the ceiling intently, frowning a little. His mind worked slowly and Fräulein Roth saw that he found some difficulty in mental concentration.

"We will talk no more at present," she said firmly. "If you are no worse—perhaps again tomorrow."

But on the following day and the next the condition of the patient was not so favorable, for he lay in a drowsy condition and showed no interest in anything. It seemed that the pallid fingers of Death were still stretched over him. There were whispered consultations at the bedside, and a magistrate came to take a deposition, but the Head Surgeon advised delay. He had a reputation at stake.

The wisdom of his advice was soon proved, for at the end of three days Number 28 rallied, his fever subsided, and he smiled again at Nurse Roth. But she had learned wisdom and refused to talk.

Number 28 straightened in bed and ran his thin fingers through the beard with which his face was now covered. He ate of his food with a relish and then eagerly questioned.

"I am quite strong again, Fräulein. See—my hand does not even tremble. Will you not talk with me?"

"My orders are to keep you quiet."

"I have been quiet long enough—a month!" he sighed. "The world does not stand still for a month."

The nurse smiled. "I see that you are used to having your own way," she said.

"Is it not natural that I should wish to know what has happened in the world? Tell me. The Archduke Franz was killed. Did they discover a plot?"

"A plot? Yes. The boy Prinzep was employed by the Serbians."

"He confessed?"

"Not to that—but it is obvious."

"And what has happened?"

She examined him intently, aware now of what she herself had long suspected, that this patient was no ordinary kind of man. His German had a slight accent, but whether he came from central Europe or elsewhere she could not decide.

"Austria Hungary is on the eve of great events. A week or more ago Austria Hungary sent an ultimatum to the Serbian government, to which an unsatisfactory reply was received. The Austro-Hungarian minister has left Belgrade, and war has been declared upon Serbia."

"War! and Russia?"

"Russia, France and Germany have mobilized."

"And England?"

"Nothing is known of what England will do. But it is feared that she may join the cause of Russia and France."

Number 28 lay silent for a moment thinking deeply, and then—

"It has come at last. War. All of Europe——"

"It is frightful. There has already been fighting on the Serbian border. We are preparing here to receive the wounded."

He remained silent a moment, his eyes sparkling