And then he heard the boy's voice.
"Kamerad!" it said. "Kamerad!"
And Rowland waited a moment.
"Hold up your hands."
The boy obeyed, whimpering.
"I do not want to kill my own people," he said.
"You are sure?"
"Yes, yes."
"Good. Nor do I." And then, after a moment more, "Go thou then and tell them that the roof is cleared."
In a moment Rowland had dropped the rifle and joined Tanya by the chimney.
"You're not hurt?" she whispered in a lull of the storm.
"No, I think not. And you?"
She reassured him quickly.
"Thank God for that."
The rain was still pouring in torrents. Behind them the tumult of the baited crowd, but upon the roof upon which they hid there was no one. The boy had been true to his word.
He took the weapon of Herr Förster which he had not had time to draw from his other pocket, picked up the suit-case and looked around.
"Come," he said. "There must be some way out of this."
CHAPTER XIX
A SAMARITAN
Beyond them at one side was another roof, and beyond it again, through the driving storm they could see the chimneys of others. Rowland slid down to the lower level. Tanya handed him the suitcase and in a moment in obedience to his orders she had swung herself over the edge of the eaves and into his arms.
But their situation was precarious for the new roof had a deeper pitch and the tiles were loose, but they climbed to its peak, along which they made their way on their hands and knees, Rowland leading and dragging their precious booty toward a group of chimneys fifty or sixty feet beyond, a defensible position should their means of escape be discovered. They reached it at last, their clothes and fingers torn, and halted a moment here, while Rowland reloaded his automatic while he watched the dim profile of the house above them.
"It was horrible-I can never forget-," Tanya was whispering. "Like rats in a trap. That dreadful man!"
"I shot. There was nothing else to do. But I could swear I missed him-the uncertain light-the crowd all about-"
"But he fell-I saw him-"
"Yes," dubiously, "but they say he has as many lives as a cat. Sh!" he whispered suddenly.
They crouched lower in the darkness, while Rowland peered up at the dim shapes along the roof of the building from which they had descended. Two soldiers-for he could see the rifles in their hands-but they looked down upon the sloping roof, exchanged a few words and then, evidently changing their minds, disappeared again. The roar of the storm had now drowned all other sounds, for the shooting had ceased, but a dull glow now appeared defining the window from which they had escaped. The glow was too red for lamp light, and then a smell of smoke was borne down toward them upon the storm. Fire! Rowland pointed and Tanya saw.
"The lamps," he said. "Unless they put it out it will soon be so light that we can be seen from the street. Risky footing in the dark, but we've got to chance it," he said grimly. "Can you follow?"
"Try me," she said bravely.
He pressed her hand, caught up the suit-case, and they went on, now at a higher elevation, now at a lower one, until Rowland stopped again by another group of chimneys to rest and listen.
"I don't know how far these roofs go, but there's a river over here somewhere. There's a dormer window just beyond. We can't go much further. We'll have to slip in and take a chance. Are you all right?"
"Oh, yes."
In a lull of the storm they heard loud outcries from the now distant hall. Smoke and sparks were coming from the windows, and at last a tongue of flame shot upward.
"If we can get down-"
But the descent was precarious, for this roof was steeper than the others. In the street below the eaves they now heard the rumble of heavy wheels upon the cobbles, the clang of bells and shouts of excitement.
"If we can reach the street we might slip away in the confusion," Rowland muttered, and had already begun the dangerous descent to the roof of the dormer window when a word of warning from Tanya made him pause.
"Someone-is following us," she whispered.
Rowland lodged the suit-case in the angle by the chimney and turned, weapon in hand, peering into the darkness. The glow of the sparks and flame from the burning building now shed a faint illumination along the wet roofs and he made out a figure crawling toward them. He waited a moment until the figure reached the gable of the house on which they sat when he lowered his automatic and frowned in uncertainty.
"I can't make out-" he whispered. And then in a guarded tone, "Who's there?"
There was a moment's pause and then a faint voice came to them-a woman's voice.
"Philippe!"
With an exclamation, Rowland slipped the weapon in his pocket and crawled back along the roof.
"Philippe-thank God!" And then faintly, "You must help me. I-I am-hurt-"
"Zoya!"
He helped her up and along the roof while she clung to him in weakness and in terror, but he managed to reach the safety of the chimneys, where Tanya helped him support her.
"You are wounded?" he whispered.
"I saw you go. I tried to follow. Someone shot at me in the dark. I fell… Then I knew that I-I must go on and-and when the soldiers went-I crept-up-the roof-I don't know how. In the glow of the fire I saw you and-and came. But I am so dizzy-"
She stared down into the dark chasms on either side and then her head fell sideways on Tanya's shoulder.
"She has fainted," muttered Rowland.
"We must get her down there in some way," said Tanya bravely.
"Stay where you are. I will see."
And putting the suit-case beside him he sat and went carefully down to the roof of the dormer window, where he lodged the suit-case again and then slid down. There was a broad ledge here and he crouched, peering around into the window of the room beneath. It was dark inside but the window was open. There was no time to spare, so, weapon in hand, he entered without ceremony. His matches were wet and he had no means of making a light, but he felt around with his hands and found a door, which he opened cautiously. There was a dim light in the hall and by its light he made out the objects within the shabby room, a trunk, two beds, a bureau and wash-stand. One of the two beds had been occupied and the disorder of the room indicated that it had been suddenly deserted.
Rowland scratched his head in a moment of uncertainty, and then closed the door and locked it.
"Sorry, old top," he muttered, "but our need is greater than yours."
As he emerged the flames from the burning building had burst through the roof and the figures of Tanya and Madame Rochal by the chimney were deeply etched in silhouette against the glow of the heavens. The downpour had ceased and only a slight drizzle remained of the storm which had been so friendly to them. Even now, if anyone chose to look upward they could see. And so he crouched and crawled up again.
"It's got to be managed some way," he muttered to Tanya. "Come."
But she shook her head.
"I will follow," she said firmly. "See, she has revived a little."
With words of encouragement they got Madame Rochal upright and the perilous descent began, Rowland with one arm around her, the other hand clinging to a projection of the roof. They moved slowly down, Rowland fearing another fainting spell which might cause her to lose her balance, but the assurance of her companion gave her the use of the last remnants of her strength, and they reached the ledge in safety, where she clung to the woodwork of the window while Rowland entered and then half-dragged, half-lifted her within. He carried her then to the couch upon which he laid her and then returned for Tanya. But just outside the window he met her coming down alone and in a moment had her in his arms and safe with the suit-case within the room.
But safe for how long? The security of their hiding place depended upon their unknown host or hostess. What sort of a house was this and who was the occupant of the disordered couch? While Tanya knelt beside Madame Rochal, unfastening her clothing and trying to learn the extent of her injuries, Rowland cautiously unlocked the door and peered out down the stairs. A light burned on a lower floor, showing a shabby hallway with torn wall-paper, a broken chair or two, but no person in sight. Then he made out the sound of voices below, talking excitedly, and he realized that the commotions of the street had entered here. Outside he could still hear the hoarse cries of the men in the street. The story of the raiding of the hall above must now have reached all the neighborhood.
Leaving the door open, he returned to the bedside of Zoya Rochal. In this new care so suddenly thrown upon her, Tanya had forgotten her own danger and Rowland's. She had loosened Madame Rochal's clothing, and had found the injury, a flesh wound in the side below the arm-pit.
To leave Zoya there-to go down with Tanya and lose themselves in the crowd outside-the thought occurred to Rowland, but when Tanya spoke, he dismissed it.
"We must do something-make a bandage, get some water, some restoratives," she whispered. "We can't let her die."
"But-"
"We'll be discovered by the one who sleeps here sooner or later. We must take our chances," she said quietly.
She shamed him. From what new source had she drawn the moral and physical courage to meet this new test of her womanhood? Even Rowland was weary and anxious, yet here beside him undismayed by her night of terror sat this woman he loved, calmly ministering to one who, though perhaps not her enemy, had tonight been proclaimed of a class beyond the pale of decent women. He could not know that perhaps it was Zoya's very frailty that had given Tanya strength. And yet to know what sort of woman she was he had only to remember Tanya there in the hall of the committee, standing pale but fearless while she defied the terrible von Stromberg. This was the girl who now commanded the situation, the mistress of his will as well as his heart. He wanted to tell her all that he thought of her, to live for another space this one joyous moment of communion, so soon broken; but her tone was urgent. There was nothing but to obey.
He had managed at last to find matches and a candle which he lighted and placed upon the dressing stand at the head of the bed.
"Now," said Tanya, "there must be water in the pitcher-tear the sheet on the other bed for a bandage."
He was moving to obey when the door of the room was pushed quietly open and a man carrying a lamp in his hand stood upon the threshhold, gaping with astonishment. He was a very tall man, with a long neck and a face tanned a deep brown which brought into contrast the whiteness of his hair. He was collarless and very shabby, and peered first at Rowland, then at Tanya, and the figure on the bed, as though he couldn't bring himself to believe the evidence of his eyes. But Rowland's quiet tones cut the silence clearly.
"Come in, please-and shut the door."
It was not until then that he saw the weapon in Rowland's hand, started a little, – then obeyed-still silent and not a little perturbed. But to make sure of him Rowland crossed to the door behind him and locked it. Still unable to comprehend, the tall man stared at the dark figure on his bed and at the girl kneeling beside it, for Tanya had turned and was looking up at him in passionate appeal.
"We escaped over the roofs from the hall-where the fire is," said Rowland quickly. "The woman on the bed has been shot. If you are friendly you will help us. Otherwise-" He frowned and fingered his weapon. suggestively.
"A friend-yes," said the tall man. "It is horrible, what has happened yonder. I would have gone to help, but the soldiers have cleared the streets. You need have no doubt of me, my friend," he said with a smile. "You may put your weapon away."
His voice was deep, resonant and suggestive of a life in the open. He spoke German with a slight Czech accent and even in his shabby surroundings had an air of distinction not to be denied. Now that his astonishment was gone, he went forward and put the lamp on the dressing stand and turned facing Rowland, who had put his pistol into his pocket and was examining their host with growing confidence.
"The woman there needs attention," said Rowland. "She has bled a great deal-some clean bandages and medicine. Can you get them?"
"Yes. It is little enough. I will help and thank God for the chance. I have some skill-if you will permit me-"
Rowland nodded and Tanya moved aside and took up the lamp as the man knelt beside the bed and bent over the prostrate figure. As Tanya brought the lamp over the bed, she saw him start back and then peer more closely at the features of Madame Rochal.
"God in Heaven!" his deep tones muttered. "You!"
Emotion mastered him and his voice vibrated as he asked,
"This woman-how did she come here?"
"She was a member of the committee which met there. You know what happened-the soldiers came. She was shot in escaping. You know who-?"
Their host held up his hand.
"No matter what I know. But I must save her. I must-must-"
With Rowland's help, he turned the injured woman, his long bony fingers quickly exposing the wound. The bullet had entered the side below the arm, and had passed through the muscles at the back.
"It is not so bad as I supposed," he muttered. "She has lost much blood but the hemorrhage has ceased."
He rose and crossed quickly to the washstand and brought a basin full of water and a clean towel.
"If you will wash the wound, Fräulein, I will get some dry clothing and medicine."
Rowland opened the door and their host hurried out, while Tanya obeyed his injunctions.
"He knew her," said Rowland. "You saw-?"
"Yes."
"What do you make of him?"
"He has been born to better things-gentle once, gentle always. You need have no fear."
"It's of you, Tanya, that I'm thinking. There has been too much-"
"We are still free," she smiled up at him, "still victorious. I am no weakling, Philippe."
"But we are still in great danger. I wouldn't mind taking a chance in the street alone, but with you-"
"Where would you go?" she asked quietly.
"To Georg Senf, to Yaeger-to Weiss-to-"
"To arrest," she said with a smile. "We don't know what has happened. There was fighting-shooting. Georg Senf may be dead. If the streets are cleared the soldiers are in command, that is certain. We can gain nothing by going now."
"But they will search this house-"
"Why? The soldiers were on guard upon the roofs. They missed us in the darkness. Those frightful roofs!" She glanced at Zoya. "How she ever managed to follow us!"
"Poor Zoya!" he said, and she understood what he meant. And then after a pause, "But we have another duty."
Her look questioned.
"To get out of Germany, with this!" and he kicked the black bag that had been the cause of all their troubles.
"Yes," she said quietly, with a smile. "Of course. But something will happen to help us. I'm sure of it. Wait."
Her courage was of the quiet kind, patient, enduring, and her words reproved the hot impulses that were surging up against his own better judgment. Soft footsteps on the stair outside and the tall man entered again, bringing some clean soft linen, a nightdress, and several bottles. Between them they managed to remove her outer clothing and then Tanya completed the arrangements for her comfort. The stranger set to work at once, silently anointing and bandaging the injury. The sting of the iodine as it entered the wound aroused her and she opened her eyes and looked around the room, meeting Rowland's eyes.
"Philippe!" she whispered softly.
Rowland, holding the lamp, felt rather than saw the slight tilt of Tanya's head upward and noticed the face of the tall man who turned his gaze up to Rowland's in grave inquiry.
"You are quite safe, Zoya," he found himself saying, "and in good hands. You will sleep now."
They gave her an opiate, and, with a weak smile, she obeyed him.
The dawn was creeping up over the roof-tops outside and searched the dark shadows of the room. Their host had risen, tall and gaunt, staring down at the woman on the couch. His white hair had deceived them, and in the pale light of day they could see that he was not as old as he had seemed to be, a man not far from forty. The lines in his cheeks were deeply graven as though seared by sudden misfortune, but his somber eyes burned steadily and the smile which parted his lips as he looked at his handiwork was very gentle and very sweet. For the moment, it seemed that he had forgotten Rowland and Tanya-in the spell of some memory that was not all bitterness.
The early morning air was chill and for nearly two hours Tanya had sat in her drenched clothing. Her sneeze, which she tried to repress, awoke their host from his revery with a start.
"Fräulein, I am sorry my poor chamber affords so little of comfort. But you must sleep and have dry clothing. I am afraid, Herr-" he paused.
"Rowland."
"I am afraid, Herr Rowland, that I must take Frau Nisko into our confidence."
"Who is Frau Nisko?"
"The amiable person who lets out these palatial lodgings," he said with a smile and an expressive gesture of the hand. "A compatriot of mine-Bohemian," he explained. "A lover of liberty and a woman to be trusted."
"We can pay well for silence."
"She is poor-as I am, God knows, but there are some things, Herr Rowland," he finished gently, "that may not be bought with money."
Rowland felt the reproof under this strange creature's gentleness, and took him by the hand in token of understanding.
"You know that I cannot thank you. Necessity knows no law. We are desperate-hunted! And if found will be shot-"
"They shall not find you-I pledge you my honor. I too owe you something-" his gaze wandered to the figure on the couch. "And perhaps I can pay."
"There is then no danger of a search?"
"I think not. The streets are now cleared. There are soldiers just outside keeping the lodgers in. The scene of the horror is several hundred meters away from here. How you managed to cross the roofs so far-with her-!" And then moving toward the door, "It shall be arranged. There is another room just here in the corridor. I will return."
The wounded woman was now sleeping heavily. For the first time since they had left Starnberg See Rowland and Tanya were alone with each other.
"Are you very tired?" he asked gently as he took her in his arms.
"A little," she sighed, smiling, "but I'm very happy."
He held her more closely. "And I. You've got more sand than any woman I have ever known."
"Brave?" she smiled. "I'm afraid-not. I-"
Her teeth chattered with the chill and reaction which he knew must come. And suddenly she sank more deeply into the shelter of his arms, her shoulders shaking.
"Tanya-!"
She reassured him with a laugh. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going-to give-way!"
"Sh-dear. Presently you shall sleep. Tomorrow-today-we shall devise something. You love me?"
"As much as possible-in-four days, – my Philippe."
"I have loved you all my life, Princess Tatyana," he laughed.
"And yet you-you do not even know my name."
"I know what it's going to be."
"You have no curiosity?"
"You're a princess, you said-!"
She nodded. "My name is Samarov."
"I like Tatyana better."
"What does it matter?"
"Nothing. We have looked death in the eyes, we have won life-together."
"God grant that may be true."
He kissed her gently and looked at the recumbent figure on the couch.
"And if they find us here-?" she questioned.
"We have still this hour-" he whispered.
They sprang apart as the tall man entered. He looked at them for a moment in silence and then a smile broke over his gaunt face.
"So," he said, "I ask pardon. It has been arranged. The room is ready, Fräulein. A night-gown upon the bed. Your clothing shall be dried while you sleep. If Herr Rowland will permit-"
He stood beside the door bowing and following the direction of his gesture, Tanya went out into the hallway to the room adjoining, where Frau Nisko was awaiting her. In a moment his host returned and hunted about in the drawers of the old dressing stand.
"You, too, Herr Rowland-some dry clothes-"
"I'm dry already. It doesn't matter. To a soldier a little dampness-"
"A soldier-?"
"Of the French Legion-"
"Here!"
And briefly Rowland told him of the strange events that had brought him into Germany.
"The Society of Nemi. I have heard-And you-?"
"Its leader-but in Germany-merely an American, a spy-rifle-fodder. You understand. I've told you all-because I trust you, Herr-"
Rowland paused suggestively, then waited.
"My name?" the tall man said at last-"I am called Markov. Perhaps you will not believe that I was once a gentleman. But that matters nothing. I was taken ill with tubercular trouble and knew that I must live in the open air." He laughed a little bitterly. "My occupation will amuse you. I travel with a hurdy-gurdy, a piano organ drawn by my excellent Fra Umberto from one end of Germany and Austria to the other."
"And who is Fra Umberto?" asked Rowland.
"A donkey, sir, the best, the only friend I ever had, patient, enduring, honest, amiable, who asks nothing, borrows no money and does what I ask of him without question. What more could one ask of friendship than that?"
Rowland laughed.
"Nothing, God knows. And where is he, your friend?"
"In the stable nearby, with my precious instrument of torture. The Germans are a musical race. In the cities they chase me away but in the country-all Summer long I gathered in the pfennigs, a harvest which lasts me through the winter-here in this palatial habitation. But I am happy for my trunk is full of books. I read, I study, I dream-"
Herr Markov put his hand to his brow, gazed at the silent figure of Zoya Rochal for a moment and then with an abrupt gesture of abnegation, rose and closed the door.
"I-I am selfish keeping you awake with my story, Herr Rowland. You have been through much. We cannot tell what may come. You must rest. Take off your coat at least-a dry, warm garment-and sleep."
"But you-Herr Markov-?"
"I sleep little. It's a farce even to lie down. I will watch, Herr Rowland." And as the American protested he pushed him gently toward the vacant cot. "It is sometimes occupied by another-but it is quite clean. Bitte, Herr Rowland."
And so with a sigh Rowland obeyed. But it was a long while before he slept for the events of the day and night had brought high nervous tension which refused to diminish. But at last, admitting the wisdom of his strange host, Rowland relaxed and closed his eyes. The last waking memory he had was of Markov, sitting in the chair beside Zoya's bed, bending forward intently, like a mother at the bedside of a sick child.