Chapter VIII: Part 8

With two seconds to spare Wenzel caught the overcrowded train to the capital. It meant lying on the roof, but as there were many doing the same he was in no way conspicuous. Not very long afterward he was once again in the lions' den.

Outside the station there was a crowd, gathered in several groups. Wenzel could see that a spirit of excitement prevailed; there were many individual speakers, gesticulating less confidently, for they were being heckled from every direction. He would have passed quickly on his way, anxious to get into the heart of the city, from where he intended to commence his search for Elizabeth, but suddenly his attention was arrested by the mention of the White Knight.

Even the most secret sessions of the Soviet Council were apt to be noised abroad, and more than once, by joining Communistic gatherings, he had garnered information which had subsequently proved invaluable to him.

"Yes, comrades, despite all the boasting of the Supreme Council that they would soon have detectives on the track of this White Knight, this protector of the _bourgeoisie_, this Enemy of the Commune, as he calls himself, he has been at work again, has flaunted the feeble efforts of the detectives, and scarcely less than twelve hours ago had the audacity to rescue again a prisoner from under the very noses of the Red guards.

"Bah! The fools! Do you know the story, friends--would you like to hear the details? Eh! I thought as much. Yesterday morning an assistant commissary, named Apor, was arrested by members of the counter-espionage. Apor was a White spy. He was thrown into prison, into one of the Parliament House cells. You might have thought that he would have been safe enough there. So would I. But listen.

"Late last night our worthy Dictator learned that Apor was more than a White spy. He discovered that the assistant commissary was one of the White Knight's band. That was news, was it not, friends? What did he do? What you or I would have done, and wisely.

"He knew the White Knight would try and rescue his follower, so there and then he telephoned through to Parliament House and ordered the guards to throw this Apor into the Danube. Yes, all of you, that was Bela Kun's order, and no one can say it was wrong.

"In less than five minutes the Red guards left Parliament House with their prisoner. They had scarcely got outside the door of the building when two of them were stunned, the third one shot dead, and Apor, the traitor, the spy, was rescued!"

His next words were lost in the fierce growl which arose from the crowd. Question after question was asked of the speaker, but he stood mute, holding up his hand for silence, and presently, recognizing that he still had more to say, the audience quietened down.

"That was not all!" With fierce emphasis the man flung the words at the surrounding crowd, and as they sunk into the brains of the people there was a tense, dramatic silence.

"Yes, he did more than that! This White Knight, disdainful of the Commune and the weak efforts to catch him, hanged a commissary from the middle of the Suspension Bridge."

Evidently the man had a sense of the dramatic. He swayed his listeners as he willed, and Wenzel saw a grin puckering the corners of his lips as the crowd obeyed his unspoken commands.

The people raged and stormed. "Death to the White Knight! Search him out! Hang him!" That and more they yelled and shouted, all the while Wenzel wondered the reason for the enigmatic smile. Evidently the speaker had an axe to grind.

Wenzel was soon to know. "Now, comrades, if Szamuelly were allowed a free hand..." So that was it! A tout for Szamuelly. Szamuelly the murderer was not yet satisfied. More and more blood must flow to appease his appetite.

A tiny pin-prick of murderous hatred danced in the White Knight's eyes. Not yet had he forgotten Bira, and now Gonnard was out of the way. But first Elizabeth.

Now that he was in Budapest, where in the name of creation could he look for her? She might be in any one of a thousand buildings, even assuming that she were indeed within the limits of the city. She might be to the north, south, east, or west.

At any rate, for what little good it might be, he had a fixed plan in his head. In the morning, which even now was nearly over, he would call in at every coffee-house frequented by the Council and higher members of the Commune. There he might pick up scraps of conversation or a slight clue, anything which might suggest any connexion with the disappearance of Elizabeth.

In the coffee-houses, he knew, the talk was apt to veer round to women. If they all failed he would try the beer-taverns and the wine-bars, where the men conversed together even more openly still of their women-folk, and at one of them what would be more natural, or unnatural, according to which way one thinks, than that the kidnapper should boast of his capture?

The spouter outside the station continued to rant of Szamuelly. It was evident to Wenzel that he would do no good staying where he was, and so he carelessly moved off, and was presently away from the crowds, once again his mind reverting to Elizabeth.

With his thoughts centred upon her he began his weary search.

_CHAPTER XVI_

There are coincidences in real life which far outrival their nearest cousins in fiction. Life is a paradox, controlled by mysterious forces of Nature which even the most learned of students does not dare to criticize.

Coincidence it may have been, yet there is a more subtle explanation. On that morning two minds were fixed upon each other. Wenzel, as he moved from coffee-house to coffee-house, was aware of one thing, was obsessed by one thought, only--Elizabeth--he must find Elizabeth; and so his brain disseminated his innermost resolves and desires, and upon the wings of Nature's electric waves, for ever radiating through the ether, were shed Wenzel's mental longings.

On her part Elizabeth crept through the streets of Budapest with a furtive air. She wandered hither and thither, up one street and down the next, only knowing that she sought a station, or a neighbourhood she knew, but afraid to ask, to question passers-by, lest she should draw attention to herself.

Despair was in her attitude. Even if she reached a station she had no money with which to journey back to the _château_ again. In the sullen, uncouth faces which paraded the streets of the Communist stronghold, where was one which she could recognize, where was one, perhaps kindly and sympathetic, to which she might turn for succour?

There seemed not one. In the days of the Red Terror Budapest was safe only for the Terrorists, the Red guards, and their rabid supporters. The rest had fled or else kept within the scanty security of their single rooms.

The very environment of the town filled her with a nervous dread, brave and fearless though she was ordinarily. In her plight there was but one upon whom her thoughts turned. The White Knight! If only he knew!

So, as she wandered aimlessly, she wondered what he would think of her. What would he do when he discovered her disappearance? What could he do? She smiled bitterly to herself. There was nothing. In all Hungary how could he possibly surmise that she was in Budapest?

She encouraged herself to think of him as she continued her search for--what? She herself scarcely knew.

Like magnet and steel they gradually drew together. Neither of them aware of the fact, their thoughts were, attracting one another, picking up the broadcast messages, until suddenly, as each turned a corner, they met with a force which sent her reeling to the wall, and his hat to the ground.

Wenzel stared at her with a blank amazement. Like a miracle she was all at once before him, not a vision of her, but the real her, panting for breath. His eyes lit with a glare, a flash of triumph, of love; his lips moved to shout out her name in a glad welcome; but just in time he remembered.

He dared not do so. She must never know him for what he was, never realize that she had met the White Knight face to face; for his romance would be broken, never to be mended. He felt the horror with which she would always in future regard him, for, with a bitterness which cut into his heart, he saw it already rising in her eyes.

He did not misread her expression. A cold wave of terror swept over her as she recognized the face of the man who had looked up at her window the night before. Too vividly she remembered the scars, the evilness of his looks. She shrank away from him, sick and faint lest he should take notice of her. Even Gonnard before this man--and at that moment she prayed to God that He might send the White Knight to save her.

He saw on the other side of the road a man, whom he knew to be a journalist, eyeing them queerly. With a vile oath he crammed his cap back on his head again, and spat on the ground. With a leering glance he moved on.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the newspaper man turn away, so he looked back. Elizabeth was hurrying off as quickly as her legs could carry her. Wenzel swung round on his heels. He must not lose her again.

While he discreetly followed her through the streets, Wenzel puzzled over the strange problem of her sudden appearance. The last thing he expected was to find her at liberty. At the same time his heart was troubled with doubts--not of her, but of what horrors might have happened to her in the meantime.

As the time passed, and the chase continued, along road after road, he was forced to the conclusion that she was wandering aimlessly. She was certainly making for no specific object, for first she headed to the north or the east, then to the south or the west.

It was not until he saw her stop by a communal restaurant, and look inside with a longing expression, that he remembered that in all probability she was without money. He saw her hesitate, move on, and then retrace her footsteps. Once again she faltered before the open door. Then with a determined movement she went within, and he groaned.

Not knowing that Elizabeth, starved and miserable, and unable to stand any longer the pangs of hunger which gripped her, had decided to throw herself on the tender mercies of the proprietor, he was convinced that his supposition with regard to her financial stability was wrong, though he knew that she was doomed to disappointment. Only those with the red food tickets of the manual labourers or the blue ones of the intellectual workers were allowed to dine at the communal restaurants, or even buy food at the shops.

Two minutes elapsed. He frowned, imagining that, after all, she must have obtained the necessary tickets, and that she was feeding. Disturbed, he left his retreat--the shelter of an empty shop window--and took two steps toward the restaurant.

At that moment Elizabeth emerged, dazed and bewildered by the truth. In perhaps kinder tones than he had used for a long time the proprietor had explained that matters were no longer as they used to be--it was not of his own choice: in the old days he had served ladies and gentlemen, and liked them well. No, he dared not serve her. He had a wife and child; if he were thrown into prison for surreptitiously feeding a _bourgeois_--he asked her pardon for using the word--what would become of them?

As she came out Elizabeth felt the tears springing to her eyes. Here, in Budapest, in a big middle-Europe city, the capital of a large country--even then being carved up by the peacemakers in Paris--her plight was no better than that of a castaway on a desert island. Surrounded by food of a kind, yet unable to eat any of it! Passing thousands of people, yet not daring to speak to one of them! Scarcely forty miles from the _château_, yet without the slightest possibility of getting back there!

A bubble of hysterical laughter forced itself to her throat: then, surprised at her own humour, she looked up, and her mirth died away. As quickly as Wenzel had retreated to his shelter again, her sharp eyes had seen and recognized him.

Instinct gave her an inkling of the truth: he was following her. The human vulture had scented his prey, and was merely waiting the opportunity to pounce upon her.

The knowledge threw her into a state of panic. Obsessed by the terror with which the man of the scars inspired her, she hurried from the spot, oblivious of everything except the fact that somehow or other she must get away from him.

Just before she had been ready to drop with fatigue; now the startling discovery supplied her with fresh vigour. Forgetting that her feet were sore, that blisters were developing, that her legs were leaden, and her wrists smarting, she blindly threaded the streets in an effort to shake off her pursuer.

So quickly did she travel, indeed, that she very nearly succeeded. Not realizing that she had seen him, Wenzel still kept at a reasonable distance, and thus came to a choice of roads, with no inkling as to which one she had taken, for both streets curved inwardly, thus effectively hiding the continuity of each one.

He felt the first warning of temper, a curious constriction in his throat, but resolutely he conquered himself. He realized that he must take a chance. She had come from the road on the left. Hurrying as she was, he felt it would have been natural for her to have taken the nearer one to her, and so he too took the same one, increasing his pace considerably in an effort to catch her up.

He was wrong. Elizabeth had not even realized that there were two roads. She had seen one ahead of her, and had crossed to it, but, had she known, it would have been all the same. The street was a crescent, curving back to meet itself, and so for the second time that day they met face to face.

She faltered and stopped; a moan escaped her lips. All her efforts for nothing, and with the realization of her failure returned a consciousness of her weariness, and knowledge that she could continue no longer.

She leaned against one of the trees which lined the street, her breast heaving with despair and lack of breath. One hand clutched her throat, the other she rested over her heart as if to stay its wild beating, and thus she waited, physically unable to continue her flight.

Wenzel read her mind, realized that she had reached the limit of her tether, and was glad, for in the meantime he had formed a plan in his head, a scheme by which he could secure her safety, and yet not have her suspect that he was the White Knight.

With a rapid glance in each direction he observed that there were but three people to be seen, all women. He lurched up to Elizabeth.

"Well, my little chicken, a fine chase you have led me." His voice was rasping and uncultured, and never for a moment did Elizabeth connect it with another voice of which, even now, the memory echoed in her ears.

She looked at him scornfully. At her steady glance Wenzel felt a glow of admiration, and at that moment loved her more than ever. Her quivering under lip betrayed the fact that her heart was sick with fear, but otherwise her attitude was one of defiance, of cool disregard for his blustering arrogance.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Too proud to speak to me, are you, my fine lady? Well, that does not worry me. When you hear what I have to say you will soon change your tone." He lowered his voice: "Listen, I have news for you from the White Knight."

"The White Knight!" There was a marvellous transformation, a bright light dawned in her eyes, and her face was suffused with a newly found relief and joy. "You bring me news of the White Knight? God be praised! How knew he that I was in Budapest?"

"Because he saw you early this morning, and sent me after you. Why did you hurry away from me?"

His question seemed to awaken suspicions in her mind, for she drew herself up slightly. "I will tell that to your master, the White Knight," she said coldly, and then asked: "What is the message you bring me?"

"Huh! Is that all you have to say? After all my trouble following you round the city and awaiting a convenient opportunity to speak to you! Bah! I have a good mind not to tell you."

Instantly she was apologetic. "You will forgive me?" she said prettily, and Wenzel had to turn his eyes away so that she should not see into them and recognize the thoughts behind. "I--I have been frightened."

"Yes," he answered surlily, "I suppose so. He said that you were to come with me and I should take you to him."

"Oh!" She clasped her hands together. "Then I shall be able actually to see him? God be praised! I thought I was lost, and yet for the second time he has come to my rescue. Where is he?"

"That's none of your business. You wait and ask him yourself. In the meantime, come with me."

"I am ready," she said simply.

Wenzel himself did not know the neighbourhood in which they were, but with the bump of locality strongly developed he proceeded in what he believed to be the direction where a week ago he had found new headquarters. In the heart of the roughest district of Pest it was there he believed he would be least suspected and least conspicuous. Already he had seen in the same street many faces which, if not as brutal and terrifying as his, were at least more decadent and bestial, more sensuous and cunning.

He recognized it as a risk to take Elizabeth there, for she was too beautiful not to be noticed, but, once in his room, he knew there was less prospect of interference, and less likelihood of being detected by a chance detective or spy, all of whom were too busy raking in the _bourgeoisie_ and magnates from the better parts of the town to worry about the criminal quarters, especially when, in the present lawless times, their interference meant, more than ever, death.

The journey was long, and as the time passed vague suspicions occurred to her that everything was not as her momentary optimism had suggested, and in that spirit she began to see the situation in a different light.

The man by her side had not once mentioned her name. Certainly he had said he was from the White Knight, but what proof had she that he really was? She had heard from Arnold and Francis that the White Knight was known and hated throughout the Communist community of Budapest, but on the other hand more than revered in the circles of the persecuted.

It was therefore, she argued with herself, not impossible that her present escort, calculating from her attitude that she was being pursued, and perhaps not realizing that he himself was the guilty one, had craftily used the name, hoping that it would act as a password to her confidence.

More and more she became uneasy, and when she glanced up at the scowling face of her guide all her terror of him returned. Suddenly she stopped, and when he looked round questioned him.

"Why did not the White Knight himself come after me?"

There was grim humour in her words which unfortunately he alone was able to appreciate.

"Huh! So you are suspicious of me, are you, my fine lady? For why do I work for this spawn of Satan, this _bourgeois_, the White Knight? Only because he pays me good money--money which I spend to have a merry life. There is nothing else to live for in these days but money. He pays me well, pretty one, but so would Comrade Bela Kun. I could give him a lot of information. He would not be suspicious of me, nor insult me with sneering glances and haughty airs.

"Why did not the White Knight himself run after you? Perhaps he knew it would be a long chase--though his legs are longer than mine." He laughed at his own joke, then leered into her face so that she shrank back. "What do you take him for? An idiot, a fool with the brains of a babe? If the White Knight ventured into the street he would be torn to bits. Now follow me again if you want to see him."

Without another word, without a look to see whether she was keeping up with him, he strode on, and almost at once Elizabeth caught him up. There was so much truth in his words. Not only that, but with a queer feeling of constriction at her heart she realized that a false move on her part might throw the mysterious Englishman into the hands of his enemies. Supposing through her the White Knight were betrayed...?

The neighbourhood became more shabby, somehow reminiscent, and with a shock Elizabeth recognized the street. They were passing by the building in which she had been imprisoned the previous evening.

Despite herself, doubts again began to arise in her mind. That she should be brought to the same street was too much a coincidence. With a wrenching pain at her heart it seemed to her that, too late, she saw through the whole plot. The commissary, having discovered her flight, had sent a friend out to search for her, and, like an innocent child, she had believed that the man--of whom instinctively she had been afraid--was an emissary of the White Knight.

Suddenly she reasoned to herself that the White Knight would never put his faith in such an evil person as the man with the scars, and with that thought she became conscious that it was now too late for her to escape.

The knowledge proved too much. Wenzel heard her gasp, and suddenly realized that she was fainting; so with a rapid movement he put his arm tightly round her waist, and holding her upright by sheer strength forced her on until at last he came to his destination, and turned into a dark and evil-smelling doorway where Elizabeth collapsed into his arms.

More a result of exhaustion than anything else, her brief swoon was soon over, and she revived just as Wenzel tenderly laid her on a decrepit bed which stood in a dark corner, scarcely remaining upright.

She sat up weakly. "You cur, oh, you cur!" She spat the words out with a fierce intensity, and two bright red spots glowed in her cheeks.

Wenzel was amazed at the reception. Not for a moment suspecting the trend which her thoughts had taken, not even aware that she had been near the neighbourhood before, he could not conjecture what her unexpected words represented, but if he did not know the wherefore of them, he understood their significance and saw how he could take advantage of them.

"Ho, ho, my fine lady, more suspicions?" He laughed mockingly.

"You have lied to me!" she panted breathlessly: "you do not know the White Knight; you are no gallant helper of his. Fool that I was not to understand," she continued bitterly. "You are a friend of the man who kidnapped me. Oh, Heaven, how cruel, how cruel! To get away safely once, only to be captured again." She faltered, and, that he should not see that her discovery was more than she could bear, turned her head away.

A fierce glow of relief flooded the whole of his body. In a few words she herself had answered a question which he would never have dared to ask. Safe and sound, untouched and unhurt! In his emotion he laughed aloud, and Elizabeth shuddered, taking it to mean a confirmation of her accusation.

At the same time her words gave him the clue he needed as to what had happened, and also assured him that she would never, never suspect the truth. He would play up in earnest to the part which she had allotted him, and so he spat upon the floor.

"Ho, ho! So you are quick at putting two and two together, are you, my dear lady? You have made five of it this time. You are right up to a point. You were missed--and not by the White Knight, oh, no--and I was sent to look for you.

"But he won't see you again--not yet, anyway. You are far too pretty, my dear. Why should I go to all that trouble for nothing? It isn't every day I can pick up a fine prize like you for the asking. I am going to keep you for myself.

"You have heard of the White Knight, have you? I thought the bait would work." He grinned. "Well, well, the nearest you will see of the White Knight for some time now is the one in the box over there. While I am gone to tell my friend how I lost you, you can work out a few chess problems and see whether the white knight can prevent his queen being checkmated. I shall be back--later." With a roar of significant laughter he walked from the room, and this time Elizabeth heard the key turn unmistakably in the lock.

Her soul wilted, for whatever fear she had felt of Gonnard was infinitesimal compared with the terror which she now experienced. There was only one thing which prevented her giving way to the hopeless despair that gripped her in its vice. The few words which he had spoken had flashingly supplied her with a possible scheme of escape, and, only waiting till the sound of his footsteps had completely faded away, she leaped from her bed, prepared to risk her life on one throw of the dice.

_CHAPTER XVII_

A lurking shadow whistled sibilantly as Wenzel approached, and the White Knight, recognizing its low note, knew that Arnold had kept his appointment.

"No news for you, Geoffrey." Arnold's voice was full of sympathy.

Wenzel laughed happily. "But I have, old man," he announced. "I have discovered her. Listen, walk along with me and I will tell you everything." And so, while they walked, talking carelessly, yet withal keeping a wary eye open for Red guards and the Terrorists, Wenzel retailed the story of his chance meeting with Elizabeth and the subsequent happenings.

"And now, this is where you come in. When I go back there I shall play up to my part, and torture her mentally so that she will never believe me anything other than the worst specimen of a Communist on earth.

"About twenty minutes later you will burst in. There must be a grand battle, and in the end you will give me an upper-cut and I shall be _hors de combat_. Then you can hurry her away, and the deed will be done. Make up some tale or other as to how you discovered her.

"Only one thing, Arnold. Never, under any circumstances, must she ever suspect that I am the White Knight. If you had but seen her expression when she looked me full in the face!..."

In silence they walked along toward their destination, until at last Wenzel halted.

"Look, Arnold, you had better have a drink while you are waiting. Give me about a quarter of an hour, and then follow."

They parted with a handshake, and while Arnold dropped into an illicit beer-tavern Wenzel passed on to where he had left Elizabeth.

There was no light in the room, but he could hear the sound of her breathing. He struck a match and illuminated a half-burned candle, which, stuck in the neck of an empty wine-bottle, occupied a place of honour on an old soap-box in the middle of the room.

Elizabeth was on the bed, gazing defiantly at him.

He laughed coarsely. "Well, my little canary, are you glad I have returned?"

She did not reply, but continued to gaze at him in a steadfast manner.

He advanced toward her with an ugly glare. "Sulking, are you? I know what to do with perverse women." He moved another step nearer to her, his attitude became more menacing, but still there was no sign of fear on her face, and he thrilled with admiration at her bravery.

"Speak, you, or by God! I will choke the breath out of your body with my fingers," and he waved his hands before her.

"A gentleman," she said at last, "would take off his hat in the presence of a lady."

He burst into a bellow of rude laughter. "Do you call yourself a lady? Do you know what I have called you to all my friends? I have told them you are nothing but a----"

Before the fateful word was out of his mouth she was stung into activity. With faring cheeks she sprang up from the bed, her hand flashed upward, and there was a sharp report as it came into contact with his face.

His eyes sparkled. It was just what he would have had her do. Still, he had a part to play. With a roar of rage he grabbed hold of her in his arms and pressed her to him.

He felt her shudder convulsively, and tightened his muscles in expectation of the struggle which he believed she would put up. In that he was unexpectedly surprised. Her hand strayed to his side, fumbled there for a moment, then dropped listlessly down again, and she remained passive within his grasp.

He looked down upon her face, slightly bewildered by her lack of resistance. Her eyes were closed, and he wondered whether she had fainted in horror, but even as he looked they flashed open.

There was a quizzical expression within them, a curious sense of elation; and suddenly he became conscious of a feeling of uneasiness. It was almost as if she had deliberately played for this moment.

Once again he looked into the depths of her eyes and saw therein a mocking devil which gibbered at and scorned him. A tempting, overpowering sensation gripped hold of him. Flashingly it occurred to him that never again in his life would he hold her quiescent in his arms. Her lips were there, so red and inviting, so near to his.

He knew it was the last thing he should have ever dreamed of doing, it being far from his nature to take advantage of a woman in his power, but his leaping blood, hot with a fire of passion lit by her glance and her position in his arms, mounted to his brain: the next moment he bent over her and pressed his lips gently upon hers.

It might have been any time from five to ten seconds that they remained thus; then, with a moan, she wrenched her arms upward and, placing her hands upon his face, pushed with all her might and forced him away from her.

Instantly he released hold of her, so she drew away from him and tremblingly sat upon the bed, her fingers upon her lips. Yet her expression was not one of loathsome horror as he had expected; instead it was one of bewilderment.

He wondered why, because he was not to know that during that long kiss Elizabeth had received a surprise. She had read his expression, had seen quickly what was going to happen, and had been unable to prevent it. His burning lips had come into contact with hers, and she had expected from them a bestial, sensuous kiss. Instead their pressure had been soft and loving, their contact caressing.

After that momentary pause there was a dramatic interruption, a pounding on the door, the calling of gruff voices, and the next moment six Terrorists burst into the room, Gunzi leading them. The White Knight knew then that he had reached the end of his race, that capture, imprisonment, and death were ahead of him.

He leaped for the door, and quicker than the eye could follow his fist had lifted once, twice, and two of the Red guards reeled backward with a grunt of pain; then his hand flashed to his hip-pocket, where reposed a loaded revolver, but just as his fingers touched its ready butt something dug into his stomach, and he saw that Gunzi, the detective from Aszod, had him covered.

With a shrug of his shoulders he resigned himself to his fate. He had expected it to come sooner or later, and now that it had arrived... Only one thing pained him. Elizabeth would discover that he was the White Knight. He had hoped to remain but a mythical figure in her memory, one of whom she could dream. Now, if ever she remembered him, it would be only to shudder.

Gunzi spoke. Turning to Elizabeth he asked: "Is this the man?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, the man who stands there, a prisoner in your hands, is the man for whom the Commune has long searched--the White Knight!"

During his adventures Wenzel had succeeded in schooling his expression; whatever his thoughts, they remained secret, being mirrored neither upon his features nor in his eyes, but at this his control gave way. He could not believe the evidence of his ears--Elizabeth, the woman whom he had twice saved from worse than death, to betray him thus into the hands of his enemies!

It seemed to him that he must be in the throes of a violent, unpleasant nightmare, and, as if to awaken himself, he shouted: "You lie! You lie! I am a good Communist, me! Believe her not, comrades; she only seeks revenge----"

"But who denies it?" interrupted Gunzi smoothly. "Of course she seeks revenge, and rightly so. Who are you, friend, to insult such a worthy member of the Commune? For your very threats to her she seeks revenge."

He could not understand Gunzi's words. "What mean you--threats? What have I done to this woman that she should lie about me?" His voice was hoarse, not that his race was ended, but because Elizabeth, of all people, had been the one to betray him.

Her ingratitude was beyond his comprehension; it was too ghastly that this--this vile betrayal should be her thanks for everything he had done for her and hers, as also for others of her country-people.

Gunzi, the rat-faced, smiled derisively: "You did not threaten her, my friend--you did not, then, send her--this?" From his pocket he pulled out a tiny carved piece of wood, a white knight, all-betraying, all-accusing. "You did not, I suppose, send her this as a threat, because she is a good Communist, because she would not give way to your evil suggestions, eh, my friend?" He turned to Elizabeth: "He is but a craven fellow after all; I begin to wonder if he is indeed the White Knight."

Elizabeth laughed scornfully: "Is not his letter, his threat, proof enough? Besides, doubtless he hides in one of his pockets another such proof of his _bourgeois_ proclivities."

Gunzi smiled softly: "A good suggestion!" He plunged his hands into Wenzel's pockets. In the first two there was nothing, but when the detective tried another pocket, on the left-hand side, he laughed triumphantly as he pulled out another small piece of carved wood. Line for line it was identical with the one Elizabeth had sent him. Side by side Gunzi placed them on the palm of his hand, and Wenzel drew in his breath with a hiss of fury. Like two peas from a pod, neither differed from its twin by even a fraction of an inch. Mutely they convicted him. They would be proof enough for Korvin-Klein.

Yet how had it got there? Just as Wenzel knew that Gunzi's words were lies, lies to weave around him a mesh of evidence from which it would be impossible for him to escape, so was he positive that half an hour ago every one of his pockets had been empty of all but money, a revolver, a handkerchief, and finally a key to his room.

Suddenly he realized the truth, and his head bowed with the anguish of his thoughts. Elizabeth's eyes, her expression of triumphant manœuvre, her failure to struggle when he had first grasped her in his arms, the slight fumbling of her hand on his waist, finally his suspicions that she had deliberately encouraged him to do what he had done--now he understood. The whole story was an open book before him. Elizabeth herself had dropped the white knight into his pocket, just as Elizabeth had weaved the plot which was to be his undoing.

But Gunzi was speaking to her, and Wenzel listened, his heart sick with sorrow.

"Here you are, my girl; here is the reward for capturing the White Knight. Bela Kun told me to give it you." He laughed sourly: "You did well to mention it in your letter to him."

So she had written to Bela Kun! His temper, ever hovering near the surface, for the second time that day broke beyond control. With a flash of his wrist he knocked the pistol from the hand of the Red guard who had taken Gunzi's place, and it clattered to the ground.

Almost at once three other guards seized him, but he shook them off almost as easily as he would have flicked a fly from his sleeve. Gunzi stood before him, but Wenzel, using his arm as a flail, bowled him head-first into a corner.

He stood before Elizabeth, and she shrank back as she gazed into his flashing, murderous eyes. He seemed a fiend incarnate, and she shrieked, a long, piercing cry of terror which echoed through the building and out into the street.

"Delilah!" Just that one word he spoke, and raised his hand to throttle her. She read her fate in his expression. His scars glowed redly, his twisted mouth opened, exposing his teeth, and she closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his terrible face.

Dimly at the back of his mind something whispered one word to him--"Elizabeth!" After all she was--Elizabeth, and his hands dropped to his sides. Then the guards were on him again, six of them, with Gunzi making a seventh.

He was invulnerable. With a fierce peal of laughter he battled with them; the struggling mass of humanity swayed to and fro. One, two, three, and yet a fourth went to the floor. He caught hold of a fifth one and wrapped his arms round the guard, gradually squeezing the breath out of the man, all the while using him as a cudgel, but--at last Gunzi saw his opportunity. The butt of his pistol lifted into the air, and, driven downward with the full force of the detective's arm, it descended with a dull thud on Wenzel's defenceless head.

The White Knight swayed indecisively. The helpless guard dropped to the floor, and then Wenzel too collapsed, sprawling across the guard.

It seemed the end. A few minutes later Elizabeth was left alone, as with difficulty the Red guards, not one of whom but displayed evidence of some injury, carried away the heavy, helpless form of their prisoner.

The door, having been burst open, would not shut properly, and Elizabeth became aware of curious heads peeping in, for now that the Communists had gone the curious neighbours and other residents of the house ventured out to ascertain the meaning of the _fracas_.

Not daring to venture out that night Elizabeth determined to stay where she was until morning, so she dragged the bed up to the door, and in that way kept it closed. In a few minutes' time she had the pleasure of hearing the unwelcome curiosity-mongers depart.

Her emotions at that moment were indeed mixed, for while she still trembled over what she believed to have been a narrow escape from death, she was also very relieved. By a clever ruse she had not only rid herself of a man the very sight of whom filled her with supernatural fear and loathing, but she had also done a service to one whom she loved--a fact which she had at last come to realize--the White Knight!

During her wanderings that day she had seen notices, "Death to the White Knight!" and offers of a reward for his capture. She had heard the people's vituperation, the anathemas at the mere mention of his name, and had realized how the hunt for him was up, how the Communists were searching for him high and low.

What had she done? Delivered into their hands one of their own vile crowd, letting them believe that he was the White Knight. Him they would assuredly hang, and then, with the White Knight apparently dead, the chase for him would cease, making his work of rescue twice as easy--she did not allow herself to think that through her denunciation an innocent man would hang. She consoled herself that, anyway, such as he more than deserved death.

Fondly believing that she had rendered a great service to her unknown hero, her heart beat with gratitude to the kindly Fate which had permitted her to give him a helping hand.

So ran the current of her thoughts, and intermingled with them were two distinct scenes which constantly reverted to her mind. The first was of the kiss which Wenzel had implanted upon her unsuspecting lips. It had been as sweet as that of a lover, as gentle and innocent as that of a child, when it might have been so different, and as a paradox it puzzled her. It was so absolutely foreign to his nature as she knew it, and it seemed almost as though she had gazed upon a slimy, weedy pond, from out the green vegetation of which had peeped the pure whiteness of a water-lily.

When she closed her eyes she could feel again the velvet of his lips; if she could have only thrust away the vision of his mutilated, repulsive features she believed her heart might have thrillingly responded--then she chided herself for the very thought. So with an effort she thrust from her mind the memory of the kiss, but in its place was substituted, even more vividly, the moment when he had stood before her, mad with rage.

"Delilah!" Why had he termed her Delilah? She had betrayed him, but only in self-defence. How could she have played Delilah to his Samson?

Samson! Him the name justly described--seven men hanging on to every part of his body, their united strength against his, yet it had taken a pistol-butt to defeat him, a treacherous blow from behind.

The next moment all these thoughts were driven from her mind as she heard a pounding on the door. Her heart leaped in dismay, then an icy chill settled round it, while her nerves twitched.

She feared to give her imagination full play. She seemed to see a scene in the street, the scarred man recovering from his blow, breaking loose, and returning for revenge.

The noise ceased abruptly, and suddenly the bed began to move as the door was pushed inward. A muttered shriek escaped her lips, and Arnold cursed. What was the White Knight doing, permitting her to draw attention to them like that? He pushed still harder, till at last there was enough room for him to insert his body, and he squeezed into the room.

There was no Wenzel, only Elizabeth gazing at him with an expression of horror, which rapidly changed to one of incredulous amazement and unutterable relief. The next moment she jumped from the bed and ran to him, buried her head on his shoulder, and now, with safety in sight at last, gave way to a paroxysm of tears.

Arnold smoothed her hair compassionately. He would far sooner Cecile were in her place just for that brief moment, but at some future date ... and he smiled happily.

As for the White Knight, he could only conclude that for reasons best known to himself he had changed his plans at the last moment, and had no doubt that Elizabeth's subsequent words would give him a clue which he might follow up.

"At last I have been able to reach you!" he murmured. The sound of his voice seemed to recall her. She dried her eyes and drew away.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

During the time he had been waiting Arnold had concocted a story to tell her. He knew it to be thin, but hoped that, in her relief at being rescued, she would not be too critical as to details.

"By the most slender coincidence in the world. Of course, immediately the White Knight, Apor, and myself arrived at the Château Juhusz--we rescued Apor, by the way, but of that more presently--we learned of your disappearance.

"In the meantime the search-parties who had been looking for you discovered a pile of flowers dropped by the Budapest road, so, putting two and two together, we assumed that you had been kidnapped.

"You might have been taken either way, so while I came to Budapest, the White Knight went the other way, while Francis and Apor divided the rest of the surrounding country between them.

"All day long I had been looking for you, then suddenly I saw you with a very tall man. I followed you nearly here, and then, just at the last moment, lost you. All this time I have been making discreet inquiries, till at last I heard that a tall man, with a lady--and the woman who told me described you to a nicety--had come into this building. Here I am. I soon found out that none of the other rooms sheltered you, and this was the last one. When I started pushing the door I heard you call out, and _voilà_! I knew I had found you at last."

He chuckled to himself. It was not such a bad attempt after all. He had told his story with an histrionic ability which emphasized the strongest links and shaded the weakest points. Mentally he patted himself on the back.

Yet, had he known it, he need not have worried. Since at last she felt safe Elizabeth was too full of her successful scheme in disposing of an enemy and helping the White Knight to heed very carefully what he had been telling her.

Almost before he had finished speaking she commenced to tell him.

"Listen, Monsieur Arnold, I have done a wonderful thing! During my adventures to-day I learned how the people here in Budapest rave of and revile the White Knight, and that there was scarcely one who was not on the look out for any clue which might deliver him into the hands of the Commune.

"Listen! Supposing one were delivered into their clutches whom they believed to be the White Knight! Supposing there were sufficient proof to make them have no doubt that the right man was in their hands! Would this not be of invaluable assistance to your wonderful leader?"

"Undoubtedly, mademoiselle. Once the chase died down it would mean that for a time the White Knight could come and go with far greater safety, and it might be quite a little while before the Communists, realizing that a trick had been perpetrated upon them, took up the hunt again. But, mademoiselle, I scarcely believe such an idea could be successfully carried out."

Her eyes glowed with triumph. "Yet, Monsieur Arnold, I have done this!"

"You have done that!" he repeated in surprise. "Good God!"

"Yes," she continued. "By a most wonderful ruse I have deceived the Communists.

"While I was imprisoned in this room--I will explain how that happened later on--I came across a box of chess-pieces. Naturally there were two white knights among them. I found also pencil and paper, and I wrote to Bela Kun and threw the letter through the window into the road. I told him where he could find the White Knight, whom I had recognized as such because I had found a white knight in his pocket; and to make my betrayal all the more real I pretended I was doing this for revenge. Also I claimed the reward.

"Bela Kun acted upon my advice. He sent six Red guards and a detective to the place I mentioned. There they found the man I had described to them. There was no doubt in their minds as to the truth, but, even so, they received further proof, because another white knight was found in his pockets--a white knight which I had put there!"

"Good Lord! But, mademoiselle, you are wonderful! How on earth did you manage to put that piece there?"

She hesitated for a moment. "No," she said at last, "I do not think I will tell you that."

Arnold did not press the matter. He did not think it mattered much. Lost in admiration for her skill, only reckoning the benefit which his leader would receive from such a scoop, it mattered not to him the why and the wherefore.

"Mademoiselle, I congratulate you with all my heart. Your achievement is marvellous! But now for home--home before the man with whom I saw you returns?" There was a query in his voice. He wondered what had happened to Wenzel.

She laughed softly. "You need not worry about him any more," she said, and Arnold detected a note of triumph in her voice. For a moment he wondered at it. Had she, then, disposed of Wenzel? A horrible, ghastly suspicion arose in his mind.

"Mademoiselle, what do you mean?" His voice rose shrilly.

Elizabeth looked at him strangely. There was something in his suddenly anxious expression, a look of absolute consternation, which frightened her. Even in the uncertain light of the flickering candle she saw his face pale and his eyes gleam wildly.

"What do I mean?" she repeated vacantly, and then faltered. She felt terrified. Arnold's staring eyes--they seemed to hypnotize her. "Monsieur, I--I mean that--that the man with whom you saw me, the man who brought me here by trickery, is the man I have denounced to the Commune as the White Knight."

Arnold could only stare and stare, his face conveying nothing but a blank look of inconceivable horror and dismay. His face was now chalky white, and in contrast to the pallor his eyes seemed abnormally large--accusing.

What had she done? If he would only speak!

"Oh, Mother in Heaven!" She could bear the anxiety no longer. "Monsieur Arnold, for Heaven's sake tell me what is the matter! Your look... I am afraid, my heart trembles...."

He spoke in emotionless tones, his voice devoid of any feeling whatsoever:

"Nothing, mademoiselle, nothing, except--the man you have just denounced into the hands of the Commune as the White Knight--he--he--he is none other than--the White Knight himself."

There was a dead silence. Elizabeth did not speak, simply gazed at Arnold, then, without warning, dropped to the floor unconscious. And the Englishman laughed hysterically.

CHAPTER XVIII

Throughout the night Wenzel's head ached abominably from the blow it had received, but by the time morning arrived, and a grinning, jeering jailer brought him a meagre pittance of mouldy bread, together with a cup of water, the pain began to ease somewhat, and he was able to think more clearly.

Purely in passing curiosity he wondered how many hours it would be before he died. Actually he cared neither how soon nor when that hour might be. The death for which he had sought after the passing of Zita and before the rebirth of love in his breast was to be his at last.

The few minutes during which he learned from Elizabeth's own lips the entire depth of her treachery had more than sufficed to wash away the work of weeks. Once again he was the sullen automaton, hating creation, its Maker, and all who breathed and lived--even the unfortunate victims of the Commune for whose rescue he was in the main responsible.

He did not think of Elizabeth. Having regained consciousness his earlier flash of temper died away and he forgave her, realizing that it was not the action itself which angered him, but the thought of what had been the real impulse which had urged her to such a course. The pitiable story was so easy to read.

In his imagination he could picture her as she probably had been during his absence, when, somehow or other, she must have discovered his identity. Aghast--nay, possibly hypnotized by his personality and satanical appearance--she had passed her knowledge on to the Communists, probably shocked that such a man as he could live and not be struck down by the wrath of God!