George Gibbs - The Secret Witness

"It has, Countess Strahni," he said gravely, then paused. "I beg that you will believe me."

She sank into a chair and motioned for him to be seated, but he remained standing, his eyes studying the fine line of her neck and shoulder as she bent forward, her gaze upon the rug. There was something almost childish in her imperiousness. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her there as he would have done a spoiled child, and trust the issue to his strength and her weakness, but the quick tap of her slippered toe upon the carpet warned him that his mission was delicate.

"Proceed, if you please," she said after a moment.

"You may not know, but a few days after my return from Konopisht, my connection with the British Embassy ceased–"

"I have heard," she broke in quickly, in a suppressed tone; "I am sorry."

"But my interests in the political aspect of affairs were so great that I could not leave Vienna."

"At least I am not to blame for the actions of the ministry."

"Naturally. I suppose I might attribute all my misfortunes to the roses of Konopisht," he said.

She glanced up at him quickly and a little scornfully, but she swallowed nervously and her toe accelerated its tapping upon the rug.

"I beg that you will come to the point of your visit," she said quickly.

"I will," he went on easily. "The possession of State secrets has given me an interest in Austrian affairs which has created a pardonable curiosity. Fortune has favored my investigations and I have learned much here in Vienna. I have learned more in Belgrade—and in Sarajevo."

She glanced up quickly.

"Sarajevo! Why?"

"You will remember that the Archduke spoke of going there to see the maneuvers of his troops on the twenty-eighth of this month."

"Yes." Her eyes stared at him widely now. "But what–?"

She paused uncertainly, expecting him to go on. Instead he waited a moment as though seeking his words carefully.

"The Archduke plans to take the Duchess of Hohenberg to Sarajevo with him. I came here to tell you that if she goes she will be in great danger–"

"Danger!"

"Yes. There is a plot against the life of the Archduke. I thought that as a lifelong friend, you would like to know–"

"Assassination! Holy Virgin! Not that!"

She had started up from her chair and faced him, trembling violently.

"I swear to you," he said soberly, "that I have every reason for believing that in Sarajevo the lives of both will hang by a hair."

"But who–?" she stammered, her eyes wide with consternation.

She paused, the thoughts that had come first into her mind, stifled in horror.

"It is not necessary for me to say. I am merely giving my belief based on the closest study of political conditions."

A slight color had come into her cheeks.

"I am sure that you must be unduly alarmed," she said coolly. "The Archduke will be in the midst of his friends—his whole army at maneuvers!" Her lips found courage in a smile. "Why, the thing is impossible!"

Renwick leaned against the mantel, his arms folded, and went on steadily.

"The thing is not impossible, Countess Strahni. The danger to Franz Ferdinand is very real—a danger that no army of Austrian soldiers can minimize. He goes to a hostile neighborhood. He is not loved in Sarajevo. Should not this be sufficient?"

"You trouble me," she muttered, passing a hand before her eyes. "But I must know more. An Archduke must have enemies–"

"But this Archduke! Can you conceive of no reason why Franz Ferdinand should be in danger?" he asked meaningly.

She searched his face quickly, in her eyes the truth dawning.

"You mean–?"

He shrugged.

"You should know what I mean."

"I cannot believe–" she halted again.

"Countess Strahni," he went on quickly, "were I still a member of the staff of the British Embassy, I should not speak. I do not even now accuse any group or political party of participation in this plot. The Emperor at least is guiltless. Death has already done its worst to him. The matter is out of his hands. But I do know that such a plot exists. Franz Ferdinand will not return alive from Sarajevo and if the Duchess of Hohenberg accompanies him, she, too–"

"It is horrible—and I—I will have been the cause–"

She sank into her chair and buried her face in her hands.

"Perhaps now you will understand my motive in coming to you," he said softly. "I have no desire but to serve you. England has no further concern for Archduke Ferdinand. Forewarned is forearmed. His sting is already drawn. But death, like this—sudden, violent, without a chance—England has never looked with kindness upon the killing of women, Countess Strahni."

"It is horrible," she whispered. "Horrible! I cannot believe–"

"Unfortunately I can give you none of the sources of my information. But whatever my sins in your eyes, at least you will admit that I am not given to exaggeration. You may still believe that I have taken a liberty in coming to you; but the situation admits of no delay. The telegraph lines are in the hands of the Archduke's enemies. The Archduke and Duchess leave Konopisht in the morning by special train, but there is still time to reach them."

Marishka had risen, and was now pacing the floor, her hands nervously clasped before her.

"I see. I—I—understand. I—I should be grateful that you have told me. But it is all so sudden. So terrible!"

She paused before him.

"I have betrayed her," she stammered through pallid lips.

"You could do nothing else. His fortunes are hers–"

"But not this–" she whispered. "It is too ghastly!"

There was a long pause, and then, "Will you make the effort?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You must leave in an hour."

"But how–?"

She looked at Renwick and their glances met.

"I will go with you," he said coolly.

His gaze was on the dial of his watch which he had taken from his pocket and was regarding judicially. His calmness, his impudence, enraged her. She had sworn, because of his falseness, that she would never see this man again, and here he was calmly proposing a night journey into Bohemia, and she was actually listening to him.

She turned quickly toward the door and stood, one hand grasping the portière, while she turned a white face toward him.

"Thanks, Herr Renwick," she said icily, "but I go alone–"

"That is impossible. There is danger. A night journey in a train of uncertain quality–"

"I hope that you will not waste words. I thank you for what you have done, but I—I must go at once–"

Renwick took a pace toward her.

"Countess Strahni, if you will listen to me–"

But he got no farther, for he knew that her will was as strong as his own, and that forgiveness was not to be read in her eyes.

"I beg that you will excuse me, Herr Renwick. The time is short–"

He bowed gravely.

"At least, you will permit me to order you a fiacre ——"

She nodded in assent as though to be rid of him and then turned and went up the stairs leaving Renwick to find his way out into the darkness of the street.

Marishka hurried to her room and rang for her maid. In spite of the turbulence of her thoughts, she gave her orders calmly and then prepared for the journey. The imminence of the danger to Sophie Chotek should have obsessed her to the exclusion of all personal considerations, but while she dressed she could not help thinking of the imperturbable impudence of her visitor. His kindness, his thoughtfulness, the fact that he had done her a service, and was at this very moment doing her another, gave her a sense of being in a false position, which made her most uncomfortable. And yet one could not treat with contumely a person who acted in one's interests. His calmness, his assurance enraged her. She would never see him again, of course, but she seemed to feel the need of some final words to convince him of the depth of her disdain. He was so calm, so gravely cheerful, so assured, so maddeningly considerate! She wondered now why she had not led him on to a renewed plea for forgiveness, that she might the more effectually have crushed him.