Chapter VII: Part 7

"Here ... here's to the Commune!" he toasted, and with a wavering hand, which caused the wine to slop over the rim of the glass down the front of his clothes, he guided the glass to his lips and drank heavily.

"Hear! Hear!" There was an echoing chorus, and the toast was drunk.

Wenzel refilled his glass, and once again pounded on the table. "And--and damnation--to all Whites!" he bellowed.

There was muttered laughter. The fellow was becoming amusing, and for the sake of the fun they began to encourage him. Once again they drank his toast.

"Go on, go on!" some one called out encouragingly.

Wenzel blinked, his head wagged stupidly from side to side. "And death to all those who say otherwise," he hiccupped, and drained a third glass.

There was an unrestrained roar of laughter: "Keep it up, keep it up!"

Wenzel refilled his glass, the wine spilling all over the table in the effort: "And may--the--damned traitor Apor--die soon."

There was a silence. This was news.

"What's that you say? Who is Apor?" Questions were hurled at him from all quarters of the tavern.

Wenzel looked blearily around. "What! Have you not heard yet of the arrest of Apor, assistant--assistant to Comrade Eugene Hamburger, Commissary for--for--for Agriculture?" he asked thickly.

There was a stir of interest. "No, no. Tell us, friend."

"Tell you! Why not? Have I not heard the story from Comrade Hamburger himself? This Apor was a good Communist, yet secrets of the Soviet drifted out, and the Council wondered why. One--one day a detective searched this Apor's correspondence. What do you think he found, friends?" He paused dramatically, and looked round with a triumphant grin. "He discovered, comrades, that Apor was a spy, corresponding with Vienna, acting for the Whites."

There was a wild roar of anger from his listeners, but Wenzel held up a shaking hand.

"Peace--peace, friends. There is more to tell you. Not only was Apor a spy for the Whites, he was also acting for one of whom we have all heard ... heard. The White Knight, friends, the White Knight."

There was a momentous silence, broken only by a gasp from Gunzi. Then, suddenly, the tavern resounded with hoarse cries of anger. Many rose to their feet. "Death to the traitor, death! Hang him! Torture him! Make him confess! Make him tell of the White Knight!"

If Wenzel had hoped to create pandemonium he had undoubtedly achieved success. Presently the clamour subsided, and once more all eyes were turned in the direction of Wenzel, who continued to stand upon his feet, but only with an effort. He swayed to and fro, his eyes blinked and watered under the cap which was crushed down over them. They could see only the lower part of his face, and that but indistinctly, for the scarf which was wound round his neck and chin reached as high as his lower lip.

Wenzel laughed gutturally. "What--what use shouting, comrades? Apor will not die. White Knight will rescue." His speech became more indistinct, and his audience feared that he would collapse in a drunken stupor before his story was finished. Some one dexterously removed the half-finished bottle from the table.

At the same time this last statement was received incredulously. Some one remonstrated: "Yah! Yah! You talk loudly, my friend. How could anyone rescue Apor? Is he not in prison?"

"Apor in prison." Wenzel laughed, and the saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth. "Of course. He is in Parliament--cells. Yet White Knight will rescue. Easy enough."

"Bah! I know the Parliament House cells, and I say that not even the White Knight could rescue anyone from them."

Wenzel wagged a remonstrating finger. "Yes, he could, just same I could."

There was a roar of laughter, and Wenzel frowned.

"Tell us then," his hearers shouted, but Wenzel shook his head. "You might tell Bela Kun--I hang--keep my secrets--myself."

His talk was incoherent, the interest of the others began to lessen. They had obtained all the news they could from him, and now they wanted none of his drunken babblings and theories of impossible rescue.

Yet there was one who leaned forward, eyes gleaming interestedly. Gunzi knew well the potent influence of drink: in his time he had secured many a guarded secret from a man "liquored up" to a degree of nicety, and Gunzi, reading the signs, was convinced that the man to whom he had been listening had reached that stage.

He moved his chair over to Wenzel's table: "Sit down, my friend, and tell me. I am interested."

Obediently Wenzel collapsed on to his chair, then glared malignantly at the detective: "Why should--tell you and not--not--not other people?"

Gunzi shrugged his shoulders. "They are fools, they would believe anything. Myself, I would not. I ask you to tell me so that I can point out to you how impossible would be your plan."

For a moment he believed the Devil had been raised in the other man, for Wenzel shot out a clawing hand which searched for the detective's throat, while Gunzi shrank back, his small rat-face paling, but the effort was too much for Wenzel. His arm relaxed, fell heavily upon the table, and his head followed suit.

Gunzi frowned. Supposing he learned something of advantage to Bela Kun! It was not unlikely that the Dictator might reward him. He leaned forward and whispered: "More drink, eh, friend?"

His words had their effect. Wenzel raised his head and blinked. "Yes," he muttered, "if you pay."

"I will pay," Gunzi agreed eagerly, and ordered wine. Slowly Wenzel raised himself to a sitting position, and drank.

"Well, comrade, how would you rescue this traitor, Apor?" prompted the detective.

"Easily. Suppose ... suppose, for instance, I were this--this White Knight. Would I wait longer than early to-morrow morning rescue Apor? No, comrade, for if I were the White Knight I should hear that to-morrow Apor--come before Korvin-Klein. There--therefore should I act even before the sun rises above the--the horizon.

"To Parliament House I should go with a letter from Bela Kun himself, an order to release an unnamed prisoner." Wenzel chuckled, and looked cunningly up at Gunzi from the corners of his eyes. Unconsciously his hand wandered to his breast pocket and patted it caressingly. "What would the jailers say? 'What want you ... this prisoner?' I should tell them.... 'Bela Kun's business. Apor to be hanged elsewhere.... Allies might hear of it ... interfere.'"

Gunzi smiled scornfully. "A fool scheme, comrade. The jailers would smell a rat. They would refuse to hand over the prisoner."

Wenzel leered. "Yah! You take me for big fool! I am not that, no. I am all ... I ... I would be all prepared. Do I not know the jailer would be curious?..." Somehow the expression of his face changed, and Gunzi saw a look of suspicion cross the features of the other.

"Why--why ask you all these questions? What does it matter to you?" His eyes seemed brighter, less bleary.

"Nothing, nothing at all, comrade." Gunzi endeavoured to appease the other: "You will drink again?" The detective dreaded that the symptoms of the drunken man might change. At present he was docile; just stupid and sleepy. If he should become ferocious, should the spirit of battle be aroused within him ... Gunzi had seen many a drunken scrimmage in his time, and with a sinking heart realized that the other man's temper was slowly rising.

Quickly he ordered the drinks. Wenzel observed the bottle of wine set before him, and wavered. He stretched out a hand to grasp it, and Gunzi sighed with relief. The next moment Wenzel rose to his feet and towered above Gunzi. He seized the bottle and crashed it down on the table, where it shivered to pieces, the wine spurting in streams on to the floor.

"You--you spy!" In a thick, unsteady voice Wenzel accused the detective. "I will not talk to you. Perhaps I will kill you!"

There was drama in the air. Once again Wenzel was the centre of attraction, and several men near by tensed themselves, ready to spring to Gunzi's help. Wenzel gazed round him with a belligerent air, but seemed to realize that the odds would be against him, for with a growl he turned his back and swayingly zigzagged his way to the door. This he opened, and the next moment disappeared into the night, and with scarcely another pause the tavern resumed its normal appearance.

Nevertheless Gunzi was annoyed that he had not heard the finish of the scheme, though he believed he had heard enough to assure him that the White Knight intended to act before the early morning. Some one ought to be warned!

He communed with himself. He had enough news to give Bela Kun to warrant asking a favour in return. If he waited until morning the White Knight might have carried through his plans, and have liberated Apor. Then of what use would it be for Gunzi to approach him?

He made up his mind, called the waiter to him, and asked the way to Bela Kun. The man smiled. "Bela Kun may be anywhere. In the palace of the Hapsburgs, in the Parliament building, or yet, and still more likely, in Batthyany's Palace. He likes good food, I am told, and there is nightly a great feast there."

With rapid steps Gunzi made his way toward the Batthyany Palace, and for the first time obtained a glimpse of Budapest under the Red _régime_. Everywhere he passed wholesale looting was taking place. Savage Red guards and drunken Terrorists, riding wildly about in confiscated automobiles, commandeered food and dwellings.

Other bands paid domiciliary visits in search of _bourgeois_ spies, or refugees. Hostages were arrested, to be kept in prison against the good behaviour of the innocent _bourgeoisie_.

Even Gunzi was slightly surprised, though not shocked, and he was all the more determined to gain a post in Budapest. He began to have visions of a life about which hitherto he had hardly dreamed. In Aszod, he realized, he had been too faithful to his duties, even if he were indubitably a Communist.

He remembered the beautiful mansion in the Theresa Boulevard, and because he had visions of it still in his mind's eye as he neared it, its present appearance caused him to rub his eyes and wonder whether he were dreaming.

In front of the house the pavement was heavily barricaded. Lights gleaming from the mansion behind the obstructions reflected on the barrels of field-guns, machine-guns, and _Minnenwerfers_, while before the gates were three heavy motor-lorries, armed with machine-guns.

Here and there patrolled Lenin Boys, and Gunzi, looking through the barricades, could see that each one was armed with revolver, bowie-knife, and hand-grenades.

Gazing at the mansion in bewilderment, Gunzi compared it to a fortress, and, as he was afterward to find, the imagery lost nothing in the searchlight of reality. It was indeed a veritable fortress. Down in the cellars were stored an enormous amount of ammunition and quantities of food. Still more, it protected a host of Lenin Boys, who, under the leadership of Josef Cserni, an ex-sailor of no mean physical dimensions, terrorized the city of Budapest.

Evidently Gunzi was betraying too great an interest. He felt something boring into his ribs, and turning round found a Lenin Boy covering him with a rifle.

"Well, comrade," the guard growled unpleasantly, "what do you want? This part is unhealthy for sightseers and tourists."

"I am looking for Bela Kun."

"Well?"

"I have news for him, urgent and important news."

The Lenin Boy laughed shortly and jerked his thumb in the direction of the palace: "I doubt that you have news more important than the little lady who doubtless occupies his attention at the moment. Try and see him to-morrow, friend. You will find him more inclined to listen to affairs of State."

"To-morrow will be too late," protested Gunzi. "Tell Bela Kun my news concerns the White Knight."

"What!" The guard lowered his rifle. "That is different. The Devil! Why did you not say so before?"

"Did you give me a chance?" asked Gunzi, but the other had not heard, for with a muttered "Follow me!" he turned and was threading the barricades toward the entrance of the Batthyany mansion.

Five minutes later Gunzi was taken to Bela Kun, and there received another shock. Partly warned by the waiter at the beerhouse, he had realized that he would find the Dictator partaking of some sort of a feast, but in no way was he prepared for the positive banquet which was set out in one of the rooms.

The tables groaned with good food and wine, all commandeered, and round them sat dozens of Terror Boys, already showing traces of the orgy in which they were indulging. Not only Terror Boys were there, but many women, kidnapped earlier in the evening and forced to take a part in the wild revels.

In the Batthyany Palace there was no evidence of the food shortage. No one seeing the nightly feasts which took place would have suspected that in Hungary people were starving for lack of nourishment, that women sold their souls to keep homes going. The best of everything was served up to the four hundred odd Terror Boys and the commissaries, with their wives and mistresses. "The Commune!" One day in the future dictionaries will print another definition of the word. Perhaps--"mine--thine." It will be sufficient! The true Communist may rant of "share--share!" He can afford to, he who has nothing to share!

Gunzi could readily conceive Bela Kun's dislike to being interrupted after the business of the day was over. On his knee sat a young girl, perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age. Her clothes were torn in front from neck to waist, exposing here and there two snowy-white, innocent breasts. Her dainty little face was suffused with terror; her dilated eyes, her trembling lips were ample evidence that she was in torment--and Gunzi saw that she was but one of many.

When he saw the detective Bela Kun glanced up with an ugly frown. "I hear you have urgent news for me concerning the White Knight? What is it? And listen, my friend, if it is not important----" He left the threat unspoken.

Gunzi, who in his own way was not unpossessed of his share of courage, smiled slightly. "Fear not, Comrade Bela Kun. My information is more than urgent. It needs immediate attention.

"To-night I arrived in Budapest from Aszod and entered a tavern for a glass of beer. There I came across a man, half-drunk, who rose to his feet and told the company at large that an assistant commissary, by name Apor, had been arrested to-day."

Bela Kun's eyes narrowed. "This grows interesting. I thought the fact of Apor's arrest was secret. Go on."

"Next," continued Gunzi, "he told us the reason why. Apor had been found corresponding with the Whites in Vienna." He looked at the Dictator for confirmation, and the other nodded his head slightly. "There was an uproar from his listeners, but this drunken fool had not finished blurting out all his secrets. He told us all something else. He said that Apor was also an emissary of the White Knight."

He stopped short. With a roar of rage Bela Kun rose to his feet in a turmoil of excitement, throwing the girl to the floor, where she lay, sobbing. Fiercely the Dictator peered into the face of the detective, seeking to divert the direct stare of the other, but Gunzi's glance did not waver.

"Satan! If that is true----"

His words rang queerly to the astute detective. "What do you mean, comrade?" he asked hoarsely. "Did you not know that?"

"No, by God, I did not!"

"Then," said Gunzi quietly, "that proves my theory. The man who, with a drink-loosened tongue, let me into all his secrets must have been a member of the White Knight's gang." He smiled scornfully. "That must have been good wine!"

Bela Kun waved his hand impatiently. "Tell me more."

"I got this man to talk. He told me much; not all that I wanted, yet sufficient to assure me that before the sun rises to-morrow Apor will have been rescued."

"Impossible! Apor is imprisoned in the cells beneath Parliament House."

The detective shrugged his shoulders. "Yet it is all planned. The White Knight has a letter from you, an order to release an unnamed prisoner----"

He was interrupted by a hoarse growl of rage from the Dictator: "The Devil! He speaks the truth. Some time back I wrote one out. It disappeared. How did he get that?" Light dawned in his mind. "Apor!"

Gunzi nodded. "You see, comrade, I do not exaggerate. That much I discovered, but that was all. Not only will the White Knight rely upon that letter, but he has some other plan up his sleeve. What it is I cannot tell. If you wish to keep Apor prisoner you must act now--immediately."

"You are right." Bela Kun's face worked with the rage which consumed him, but presently his face calmed, and slowly a smile--a grin of wile and cunning--spread across his features.

"I think," he said, chuckling, "that for once the White Knight is going to fail. Before the sun rises to-morrow morning Apor will be dead."

"You mean...?" Gunzi raised his forehead inquiringly.

"I mean that I shall telephone immediately to Parliament House. In less than ten minutes' time a few trusty Red guards will convey Apor to the Suspension Bridge and drop him into the Danube, bound hand and foot, that the rat shall not struggle. Do you not think that a good scheme?"

"It is the only one," agreed Gunzi admiringly.

_CHAPTER XIV_

Two men crouched back deep in the shadows of Parliament House, tensely waiting, waiting with a nervousness neither could conceal.

"Arnold, the time goes slowly. I feel damnably afraid. Supposing my plan should miscarry, supposing I have failed to elucidate the intricate workings of Bela Kun's twisted mind, I shall have signed Apor's death-warrant just as if I had passed judgment on him myself."

"You can do no more, Geoffrey, than what you have done. In any event Apor would die."

"Never have I perpetrated such a thin, feeble plot, Arnold. It has so many weak links. When Gunzi passes on the news to Bela Kun, the Dictator may refuse to credit Gunzi's story; on the other hand, he may be so enraged that he will telephone through to have the poor fellow bayoneted right away. Or, if Apor is to be flung into the Danube, he may do it from Parliament House, and all we shall hear will be a splash and--and Apor will be no more." His voice broke slightly.

"That--that, I am afraid, is your weakest link, Geoffrey."

"No, you are wrong there, Arnold, and it is upon my estimation of the ingrained cruelty of the Red guards that I have staked the success of my plans. To you or me it would be an easy matter to dispose of--of Apor. A blow on the head, and over the balustrade into the river. Nothing could be more quiet, more secretive.

"Such a programme fails to satisfy the Communists. It is too quick and too easy a death, so they drag their victims to one of the bridges. That takes time--every yard progressed is a mental, poignant stab for the unfortunate prisoner. Every step is punctuated with a thrust from a rifle butt or the prick of a bayonet. Fine torture that, Arnold, and ... well, I hope to Heaven that they think Apor worthy of it. Otherwise he is doomed and----"

Some one stumbled in the distance, and with a warning touch on Arnold's arm Wenzel stopped short, and the two Englishmen waited, hoping against hope that Bela Kun would fall into the trap. With fierce eyes they watched the door from which the condemned prisoners were led. Would it open?--would it open?

The streets were quiet and comparatively deserted. At night only the Terror Boys, or slinking fugitives, ventured out, for there were flying bullets, apt to hit the most innocent targets. At night the Red guards were even more belligerent. Those who would live, or remain unmolested, stayed indoors.

Thus the steps of the one whom Wenzel had heard in the distance echoed loudly in the quietness, and the next instant the air resounded with the notes of a jubilant song. In quavering tones, hideously out of tune, punctuated with hilarious bursts of laughter, the inebriated singer disturbed the peace, and the effect was the more weird for its jarring contrast to the air of tragedy in which Budapest was steeped night and day.

Suddenly Wenzel swore. Judging by the increasing clearness of the wild sounds which the man uttered he was approaching Parliament Square. The White Knight clenched his fist with a desperate intensity. "May the Devil seize him, the drunken swine!" he whispered. "If his visit here should coincide----"

The door which they watched was opening, formless shapes could dimly be seen issuing from it, and the next moment Wenzel knew that up to this point his plot was a success, for in the vague, uncertain light of an adjacent street lamp he could distinguish Apor, handcuffed, surrounded by three armed Red guards.

The moment the door was shut behind the group the time for action would have arrived. Wenzel and Arnold gripped their revolvers by the barrels, ready to bring them down upon the heads of the soldiers.

The drunkard came nearer, and Wenzel could have cried cut in agony. Instead of proceeding with their ghastly business, the guards were hesitating, looking curiously around. The Englishmen shrank closer into the shadows. If they were seen...

For some reason the men seemed disinclined to slam the door, and start.

"Hullo, comrade, what noise is that?" asked one.

The man to his right laughed slightly. "Some one who has failed to heed Bela Kun's instructions as to prohibition. His row is enough to awaken the dead. What say you, friends--shall we knock him across the head with our rifles and teach him a lesson?"

"You are envious, you," exclaimed the third man. "Let us get this job over. I feel sleepy."

"Yes, leave the poor devil alone. He is lucky to get it, that's what I say."

The sanguinary one hesitated, and the damage was done. The group had been seen. Steering an erratic course the drunken singer made toward them.

"What ... matter...? What are you men doing here?"

Wenzel stiffened. The voice was reminiscent. He peered through the darkness, but the newcomer had his back toward him.

"Move on, comrade, and mind your own business."

"Who you telling--mind my business? I am commissary--for me order you about...."

"Hell!" The guard who had originally suggested doing what Wenzel longed to do turned upon the drunken man with an angry air: "Don't you talk like that, my friend. Get on, I say!" He stretched out an arm and roughly pushed the other, so that the commissary stumbled and nearly fell. By swinging round he saved himself, and then Wenzel saw his face.

A wild sense of exhilaration bubbled up inside the White Knight. How wrong to think that Fate was playing against him! How wrong, when it was just the opposite! How it was that the man came there, what he was doing in Budapest, Wenzel could not even imagine, but at that moment nothing mattered, nothing except that after all he could keep his oath to Elizabeth, for there, in front of him, was Comrade Gonnard.

he gripped Arnold's arm convulsively, and with the slightest hiss Terhune signified that he was prepared. Events were turning out more propitious than either of them had dreamed. For a brief space the Red guards were interested in disposing of Gonnard, and without being aware of it their vigilance had lessened.

Once again Wenzel's fingers conveyed a message, and the next instant two silent forms leaped from the shadows of Parliament House. There were two sickening thuds, as two of the guards collapsed to the ground with scarcely a moan.

The third man yelled with surprise. Hypnotized by the sudden attack, his limbs refused to move until he saw three shadows advancing toward him with an uncanny quietness.

His hand darted to his belt; even as he pulled out the heavy Army revolver his fingers tightened on the trigger, and a stream of bullets whipped through the air, the attendant flickering flashes of light momentarily lighting up the drama with a ghastly clarity.

Almost before the guard's last shot had finished echoing reverberatingly round the square it was challenged by two new reports, and even while Apor whirled round and dropped, and Gonnard, the third man, grunted and gently collapsed, the guard shrieked, and then he too slumped to the ground, where he lay still and motionless.

Wenzel was conscious that one other shadow still remained upright. "Who is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"I am untouched--and you, Geoffrey?"

"Safe--but I am afraid Apor is down."

It was Apor himself who answered: "Only a flesh wound in the arm, Wenzel."

"Thank God! But now we must run like Hell. Quick, Arnold, help Apor."

Already Apor was making an effort to stumble to his feet, but his manacled hands made the task difficult. Arnold bent down and practically lifted him to his feet.

"Away with you," Wenzel growled--his ear caught the sound of running footsteps inside Parliament House--"they are coming."

For one second Arnold hesitated: "And you, Geoffrey?"

"Leave me, I will join you--later," he answered quietly.

There was no time to argue. With a quick run Arnold and Apor disappeared into the night _en route_ for a previously arranged destination, and Wenzel laughed softly to himself. Provided that nothing unforeseen should happen, in five minutes' time Apor would be safe, and once again the White Knight would have scored another triumph.

He knew that he should run--he could hear the reinforcements, shouting in their excitement, just inside the door. Four, three more paces and they would be in the open, their revolvers cocked ready to spit at the shadow which he knew would be faintly visible to them. Yet, before he left, there was one more task to do.

Gonnard was lying at his feet: alive or dead he knew not, nor was there time to investigate. That would do later. He picked the body up and flung it across his shoulder. The first guard came through the door, and Wenzel fired. His aim was true, the man fell heavily.

There were dismayed cries from the others, and the rush ceased suddenly. It was all that Wenzel required. He turned, and his long legs carried him across the square and away into the friendly darkness, while the bullying Red guards cowered back, shooting indiscriminately from the cover of the protecting doorway.

There was no pursuit, and as Wenzel quickly drew farther away the crackle of the shooting sounded fainter, until suddenly it stopped, and the White Knight knew that revenge for the death of Elizabeth's cousin was now certain.

He was well away, and rapidly drawing near the Suspension Bridge. He stopped short as he approached it, but there was not a soul to be seen, and he continued on his way across it. In the centre he halted again, and slipped the unconscious commissary from his shoulder.

Gonnard was not dead. His heart was thumping irregularly, but strongly, and even as Wenzel laid him down the wounded man stirred, moaned with pain, and spoke.

"My ankle! What has happened? My ankle, it hurts. Where am I?" He spoke as though his mind were in a haze.

Wenzel bent over to him and whispered in his ear: "In the hands of the White Knight, Comrade Gonnard, and to-day----"

He heard the Communist gasp. There was a moment's silence, tense and dramatic, then Gonnard shrieked with horror. Wenzel clapped his hand roughly over the mouth of the other, and the noise died away to a faint gurgle.

With the other hand Wenzel fumbled in his coat. Always prepared for emergencies, there was a length of rope in his pocket. Sternly and unemotionally he adjusted a noose, and slipped it round the neck of the commissary. The other end he tied to the steelwork of the bridge.

Easily, as though he were lifting a baby, he raised the Communist up. Once again he whispered in his ear: "The White Knight pays the debts of two Hungarian officers, comrade."

Then he dropped the helpless commissary toward the water: Gonnard fell the length of the rope, moaning. The noose tautened--the corpse swayed to and fro like a pendulum--and with a set face, on which there was not the slightest expression of pity or horror, the White Knight passed on his way. In the country of lawlessness there was but one law: "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!" His merely the hand of judgment--alas, the only hand!

* * * * * *

"Suicide!" was the general verdict of the large crowd which gathered round to watch the unusual spectacle of a man hanging in mid-air, suspended from the bridge.

The news spread rapidly. Some one recognized the corpse as that of a commissary. The rumour came to the ears of the Council, the meeting was hurriedly adjourned, and many of its members hastened to the bridge.

Some one pulled the body up. The pockets were searched ... and the Communists glanced affrightedly at one another. There was no need to explain the tiny piece of carved wood which the searchers discovered.

The white knight spoke for itself.

_CHAPTER XV_

When Elizabeth eventually awoke from her last unsettled sleep she became conscious that her body was cramped, aching in every bone, and she hazily wondered why. Next she frowned, for her eyes failed to recognize her surroundings. Then she tried to flick from her face an unruly, annoying hair, and not until she found it impossible to move her arms did her mind become clear.

All at once she remembered the events of the day before--her abduction, her agonized wait through the long hours for the return of her jailer--and finally she recollected relaxing. After that she assumed she must have fallen asleep.

She still sat upright on the chair, the one and only article of furniture in the attic other than an equally rickety table--and an empty soap-box. Her mouth caused her more terrible pain than she had ever imagined existed, and she wondered how the hurt of it could have allowed her to sleep. Her arms felt numb and paralysed.

Despite everything she felt a wave of exhilaration: she was still unharmed, uncontaminated. It was almost a good omen.

This feeling did not last long, for gradually it evaporated, a blank despair taking its place. There was no means of knowing the time, but a faint suspicion of chill in the air made her suspect it to be still early morning. Even so, it meant that she had been missing from the _château_ for twelve or thirteen hours, sufficient time to have confirmed the worst misgivings of her father and of her fellow-refugees.

Thoughts of her father hurt. His gentle soul would suffer from the uncertainty of her fate. What would he imagine had happened to her? Would he suspect the truth? She endeavoured to persuade herself that such a thought would be farthest from his mind, but unfortunately she realized only too well that one of the most possible solutions of her disappearance would be what had actually occurred.

What would the White Knight say? As not infrequently happened, her thoughts turned toward her two brief recollections of her rescuer. Extraordinarily enough, each time she had met him they had remained in pitch darkness, so her only memory of him was his voice.

The thought of him thrilled her. In thinking of him who was known as the White Knight she became aware of an extraordinary glow of warmth within her, as though, at the mention of his name, there was kindled an inward fire. Her blood pounded through her body all the more hotly because of it, and, almost against her will, her brain visioned dreams--light fairy fancies which airily danced to the blithe tune of her innermost desires.

As yet she was unaware of the reason. In her life of partial seclusion, her father and his work had occupied the greater part of her thoughts, so that his alone would not be the triumph when his book finally saw the light of day. Her work and her encouragement had been invaluable to him.

With her day occupied, and her maternal instincts satisfied in the loving care of her father, men had somehow failed to find a place within the limit of her mental horizon. Love, marriage, and motherhood had been names only; to be venerated in due course admittedly, but as yet relegated to some future time.

She naïvely believed her interest in the White Knight to be unexpressed thanks for his deliverance of her father and herself from the clutches of the Communists, and therefore it did not seem unusual that the memory of the deep vibrant clarity of his voice should ring so repeatedly in her ears. Strangely enough, the quality of their voices was to each of them a revelation of the other, for it had been the fearlessness, the steadiness, the sweet cadence of Elizabeth's tone which had first attracted the White Knight's attention, though afterward her voice ceased to be remarkable because it inevitably became an integral part of her charm and beauty.

She was convinced that, to judge by the little she knew of him, he was all that an English gentleman should be, and so she was wont to visualize him as being tall, and owning more than his fair share of strength, for had he not fought the swift Danube current, landing them both in safety--a feat she had previously believed impossible?

He had been excellently educated; his cultured voice assured her of that; his accent, the result of four years' practice that he might converse worthily with Zita, was irreproachable, his foreign mannerisms discernible only to the acutest eye.

Of his age she was more uncertain. Physically she would have surmised that he was at the zenith of manhood; in strategy and generalship he seemed apparently older by a score of years. That this last assumption might be correct she hated to admit, not realizing that four tense years at the Front more than made up for a thrice longer period lived under mor peaceful conditions.

As to his characteristics, she considered it scarcely incumbent upon her to criticize one who risked his life daily to aid the helpless nobility of a country against which he had but lately been fighting, and in any event she could not conceive that in such a man there could be anything other than good.

It was only about his looks that she was doubtful. In her imagination she saw him with strong but sympathetic blue eyes, possibly shadowed by slightly heavy eyebrows. His hair, she felt, would be of a nut-brown colour, alive with crisp, irregular curls, while his face surely would be long, consistent with his height. His nose undoubtedly was finely chiselled, his chin round, firmly betraying the masterfulness of its owner.

The White Knight! How applicable was the name! He was indeed a knight-errant, truly a 'White' knight as opposed to the 'Reds.' Like a legendary figure of the past, he might have arisen from the ashes of forgotten heroes, have been a reincarnation of one of the saintly king-warriors with whom the pages of Hungary's history abound.

Such was her dream-picture of him, such was the cloak of perfection in which she had wrapped his personality!

* * * * * *

There was a sudden clamour in the street below, and Elizabeth realized that for a brief time she had forgotten her plight in contemplation of the White Knight.

She heard a voice shrieking, "Long live the Commune!" and shuddered. How long would the hated Commune exist? Had not the Communists already dragged their country into the lowest depths of degradation, without wishing to exist solely for the purpose of completing the ruin? During her stay in the _château_ she had learned the real meaning of Communism, what it had done to her country, and to Russia also.

She tried to struggle to her feet, but found that her legs were lifeless. The rigid attitude of her sleep had prevented the blood from circulating; when she tried to stretch she found she could not move her limbs.

Her under lip trembled slightly. Sleep banished, dreams dissolved, once again the full realization of her plight returned to her. Why had the Communist not returned? How could she escape before he did? Her eyes gleamed more brightly and her mouth tightened to control the quivering muscles. Her courage returned in full, overpowering even the knowledge of her helplessness. Had she not struggled for hours the night before till her wrists bled, fruitlessly endeavouring to free her hands? Had she not worked her mouth till it was swollen and sore to dispose of the gag, without the slightest suggestion of success to encourage her?

For all that she would try once again. Whatever she might suffer now, it would be as nothing compared to what she would have to endure should the commissary return. Before anything, however, she realized it was necessary to force her legs into activity again.

She began by concentrating all her will-power to fidget her toes about. For some time there was no response, so she tried tightening the muscles of the limbs with spasmodic jerks. The effort of doing this caused her exquisite torture. Acute, tormenting pains shot up and down the arteries, so that she had to bite her lips to prevent a moan escaping.

Again and again she worked her muscles so, till at last feeling returned to her toes. After that her work became easier, if more painful, until finally she felt she could stand, and with a great effort braced herself up to her feet.

She had overestimated the strength of her legs. They were unable to bear the weight of her body, and she fell to the ground with a heavy crash which jarred every nerve in her body, twisting her arms until she wondered if either of them was broken.

For ten minutes she remained as she had fallen, a hundred different pains racking her body, while her brain havered on the borderline of consciousness. Only an indomitable will to refrain kept her from fainting.

At the end of that time she recommenced her exertions, but now she was in an even more awkward position than before. There seemed only one way of gaining her feet. Rolling to the wall she placed her back to it, and pushing with her slowly reviving legs gradually forced herself upward until she stood.

She crossed to the window and looked down upon the street below, but it was quieter. Evidently the crowd who had just been noisily acclaiming the merits of the Commune had departed for another quarter; there were not more than half a dozen people in all to be seen, of which number three were women and two children.

The sight served to cheer her more than anything else. She felt that if she could but escape from the room she might yet gain a safer part of the city without molestation. Yet--how to free her hands?

Despairingly she gazed round the room. There seemed nothing in any shape or form which could possibly assist her. Obviously there was but one thing to do--to continue twisting her wrists as much as possible in the hope of finally loosening the handkerchief.

Perhaps half an hour passed, but it became more apparent that she was no freer than she had been at first. She angrily chided herself on her woman's weakness, confident that a man could have wrenched his hands apart from sheer strength.

She could feel her wrists bleeding again, the skin bruised by the rasping of the material. She did not know how much blood was escaping, but there was enough to make her hands sticky, and she became afraid that if the cloth should become saturated it might shrink.

Feverishly she continued struggling, and for some time without any signs of success, but suddenly her thumb slipped through into a fold. She forced it higher and still higher till it hurt, but all at once it was free. The rest was easy. While her index finger struggled to follow suit, she forced the material farther down the hand, till a few seconds later her arms were free, and her mouth too.

Then she cried--not from pain or fear, but from pure relief. Only a few seconds before she had believed her task impossible, and then, unexpectedly, she had succeeded. There remained now only the door.

Drying her tears she approached it and caught hold of the handle with both hands. Placing her feet against the wall, she pulled, but the door held steadily, and presently she had to stop to regain her breath, but for only two minutes or so, when once again she took up her position.

Her hands turned on the handle; she pulled, and the door swung open. Gonnard had thought it locked, but the key had merely turned in the lock; the tumblers had not moved. Elizabeth laughed, a trifle hysterically. She had pulled so hard, when all she need have done was to have walked out....

What did it matter? The way to freedom was before her, and, stopping only to dust herself as far as possible, and wipe away as much of the blood from her wrists as she could, she crept cautiously down the steps and into the street.

* * * * * *

It would have been difficult to decide which of the three men walking toward the Château Juhusz was the happiest. Apor would have sworn it to be himself. During his brief imprisonment he had not been without hope that the White Knight would rescue him, even if he was more than fully aware of the difficulties which his leader would be bound to encounter.

This supreme confidence upheld him, right until the time when he had fallen asleep in his cell. At the Communists' threats, at the brutal jesting of his jailers, he had merely laughed lightly. Somehow or other the White Knight would rescue him!

Because of his high spirits the reaction was all the greater when, a few hours later, he awoke to find a leering face bending over him.

"Come along, my friend, get up." The words had rung ominously to Apor's ear.

"And why?" he had asked. The Red guard had grinned.

"Because why?" he had repeated. "Because Bela Kun has just telephoned through and ordered you to be taken at once to the Suspension Bridge to be dropped over."

"My God! But that would be murder. Surely I am at least entitled to a trial?"

The guard shrugged his shoulders. "It is none of my business, comrade. Besides, what do you want a trial for? The result would be the same."

Apor could not deny it. As assistant commissary he had seen more than enough of the methods of the Communists to know how true was the remark.

The blow had been a heavy one. Convinced that for some mysterious reason the Communists had suddenly changed their plans with regard to him, he had been forced to realize how impossible it would be for the White Knight to rescue him, and so, with a sinking heart, he had resigned himself to fate, prepared to meet his death as a man should.

By the time the handcuffs were snapped upon his wrists he had given up all hope of rescue, and though he walked with a steady step there had been a bitter smile upon his lips. He had not understood the reason for the urgent need of his death--the Communists knew, of course, of his connexion with the Whites, but as far as he was then aware, they were not cognizant of the fact that he was also a member of the White Knight's band.

So, in his own mind, Death had stood at his shoulder, and yet, unbelievably, miraculously, he had been rescued. Instead of being dead he was alive, and his heart filled with a bubbling happiness. No longer need he pretend; now he could openly declare himself a White, and fight for the relief of his country from the clutches of the Bolsheviks.

Arnold, on his part, was filled with a sense of satisfaction, and, better still, a pleasurable anticipation. Satisfied, because Apor was safe, and pleased--more than pleased--because in a few minutes' time he would see Cecile again, would look into her eyes, where he hoped to see the flame of welcome, of gladness, because he was still safe and unhurt.

Their love still remained unspoken, yet to themselves neither disguised its existence, just as each recognized that it should remain unrevealed until other times--better times--when the Red octopus should be slaughtered.

And Wenzel ... in one stroke he had fulfilled his oath to Elizabeth and, by an ingenious plan, had rescued Apor. The one puzzling aspect in the drama--namely, how it was that Gonnard was in Budapest--did not worry him for long. What mattered how he came there? He had met his fate, and Elizabeth was avenged.

Elizabeth! It was because he was near Elizabeth that the White Knight was conscious of an infectious gaiety in the air. Within a few minutes they would reach the clearing. Then, while Apor and Arnold went in, he would climb one of the bordering trees, and with greedy eyes would watch every fleeting expression which would cross her face, every graceful movement of her body, while she walked the weedy gardens of the _château_ with Cecile, with Arnold, or with her father.

He was content just to watch her so, to worship her from afar. Beyond that he knew he might never dare venture. If once she saw him--his searing scars... He visioned her face if that should ever happen, and saw how it would twist into horror; how she would shrink away in disgust.

He forced these thoughts from his brain and indulged in more roseate dreams. Arnold, he knew, understood, and would diplomatically arrange that for a short time she should wander where he could best see her. Dear old Arnold! What did it matter to him what happened to Hungary? What had been his reason for helping Hungary? Only an innate pity for the helpless, a gallant, old-fashioned quixotism, a love of adventure, and, above all, friendship for the man who was now his leader. That was all! Wenzel smiled to himself. All, originally, but now Arnold had another interest in Hungary. He had been rewarded. Well, he deserved it. He had risked his life for Hungary, and sooner or later, if all went well, he would pluck one of her choicest blooms for himself.

No brighter was the sun which bathed the country in its benevolent smile than the thoughts of the three men and the faces of two. Whatever his inward thoughts, Wenzel's expression never changed. He knew from past experience that, hideous as was his face in repose, it became positively satanical when he smiled, for then his face puckered up, his wounds twisted into grotesque shapes, and to look upon him thus was as if looking upon the visage of a satyr, a mocking mask of demon-like cunning.

They reached the edge of the clearing. With a slight motion of his head Wenzel sent his two friends forward, then climbed the branches of an adjacent tree, from where he could see and yet remain unseen.

To his impatient glance it seemed as if Apor and Arnold lagged in their walk to the _château_, but at last they disappeared within. Not long to wait now! A few minutes more and he would see Elizabeth! Already he knew every sweet expression by heart.

It seemed hours before anything happened, though actually it was but four to five minutes--just long enough for an hysterical father to pour the story of Elizabeth's disappearance into Arnold's horrified ears, and for the tired and despondent searchers to confirm and corroborate.

Unsuspectingly Wenzel waited. He wondered why Arnold had not yet succeeded in enticing Elizabeth into the garden. Then from his leafy retreat he saw Arnold hurrying toward him.

Wenzel's eyes narrowed and his nerves seemed to tighten warningly. There was something in Arnold's attitude, in his unusual walk and expression, which prepared Wenzel for bad news. He quickly swung himself down from the tree, and dropped even as Arnold approached.

"What is it, Arnold? There is something wrong?"

Arnold's glance wavered and dropped. "There is, Geoffrey," he said huskily. "I--I--Elizabeth Kiss has--disappeared."

Wenzel battled with his emotions. He felt a tigerish fury arising, but knew that firstly he must hear all and not let his temper cloud his reason.

"Tell me!" he said curtly.

"She told Cecile that she was going out to pick wild flowers as usual--that was some time between four and five o'clock. Cecile suggested going as well, but Elizabeth laughingly commanded her to finish the picture she was painting, and went alone.

"By six o'clock she had not returned. Imre Kiss began to fidget, and when at seven she was still missing he insisted on a search-party.

"They divided into groups. One group headed towards the Budapest road, and just near found a big bunch of flowers lying carelessly on the ground, as if they had been suddenly dropped. That was all! All night long they have searched, and there is still no sign of her."

"The Devil! What does it mean?" Suddenly Wenzel jerked his head forward. "Wheel tracks, footprints, were there marks of any kind on the road?"

Arnold laughed bitterly: "No one thought of looking. I asked the same question."

Wenzel felt his blood seething: "Oh, heavens! What idiots, what stupendous fools! Hell! For what are brains made if people do not use them? Fools! Fools!" He clenched his hands in the agony of his thoughts. "And you, Arnold, what do you think?"

"Heaven only knows what to think! So many things might have happened. A band of roving Communists may have seen her--a--a--Hades! Geoffrey, I hate to say it, but I must--a licentious lunatic--Heaven alone knows!"

Wenzel bowed his head and groaned slightly. "Oh, I hope not. I have not said anything to you, Arnold, but ... I can never hope for anything else, yet just to watch her from a distance..." Suddenly his mood changed again. His passionate temper--born the day he first saw the foul ravishes of the Communists, and aggravated by the mis-aimed bullet which had seared perilously near his brain--burst its always unstable barriers, and Arnold saw deep into his leader's soul, and for the first time saw how near twisting it had been but for Elizabeth. He realized also, if anything should happen to her, how it still might warp.

With fierce, angry words Wenzel blasphemed his Maker, reviled the world, and even cursed his parents who had brought him into it. For a brief space he was insane. There was no one, not even Arnold himself, who did not come beneath the flail of his wrath, and Arnold flinched before the torrent of words which Wenzel released.

Presently he became calmer, and in the end he apologized in halting, broken sentences.

"I am sorry, Arnold, but--four years I dreamed and planned--for four years I dodged bullets, praying to God that I might live--I loved Zita so, she was my beacon, the one star in the black, overcast sky--full of hope I journeyed to Budapest, only to find her dead--dead, Arnold, before my eyes, killed simply and solely by horror....

"Can you wonder that my brain may have given way? Since then I have seen worse sights: Szamuelly hanging innocent men just for the love of killing--gouging out their eyes for the pleasure of torture--burying his victims alive for the sake of brutality.

"Then God was kind to me--I met Elizabeth. I can never even let her see me, yet--once again I have found a star to guide me, and if anything happens to her too, if the Communists have---- Arnold, I must not give way." He stopped, his lips moved, while his teeth bit into them.

"There, I am calm now.... Arnold, listen!" His voice was crisper, once again he was the White Knight, the leader. "That road, near which Elizabeth presumably disappeared, is the road to Budapest. It is quite possible that Elizabeth has been carried away to that city. It is but the barest possibility, I admit, yet there must be no stone left unturned, no avenue which must be left unexplored, to find her--safe or--or otherwise.

"While I go to Budapest you must go the other way. Francis can tour the countryside between Budapest and here; Apor from here onward.

"If you should find her, meet me to-night, fifty yards from the Tunnel, Pest Bank, on the left-hand side of the road, at nine-thirty sharp. If I am not there within forty minutes meet me the following evening. Now go. I shall try to get that early train back to Buda."