Adventure Magazine Cover — page 134: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

698 his from Poliany is coming here after all. I’ll wager you the onbashi never delivered the Apostle’s letter as I ordered him. What do you think, Osman?”’ “The onbashi did deliver it; don’t you worry.” It was almost the first time the prisoner had spoken. “You fool, answer my questions when you are the one asked!’’ and Selim’s boot dug into his prisoner’s stomach. They were just outside the gate when the innkeeper ap- peared from the other side of the courtyard. “Hola, Stanko, can you guess what I am going to do with him? Take him straight to my Bishop in Tetino and have him branded as the Devil in public, then send an account of it all to the Patriarch in Con- stantinople. They’ll make me an archdea- con for it, and maybe an abbot. If they do, I'll take you over to my monastery to look after the winery—what?”’ “But the St. Georges?” Stanko inquired. “T did not wish to open the package in the Devil’s presence. But you will find them there on the divan. They’ll pay for your brandy and Prespa bottles!”’ “St. Onuphry and St. Sophrony pre- serve you, and St. Pantelelmon multiply your children! Na dobur put!” “Zbogoml” the Effendi replied in peas- ant fashion, and Stanko entered the café. The others turned down the street towards the livery-stable. “Where is your horse, Effendi?”” Osman noticed the empty stall the moment he entered the stable. A folded piece of paper was nailed on the stall-bar. Selim snatched it, and the same hand-printed sort of mes- sage in Bulgarian greeted his eyes: To the Devil in Stanko’s Inn, Care of Archdea- con Ananias’s brother. From the Den of Lions— Greeting! He that Prepareth the Way sent you a message last Sunday by a man who never returned. Yours is not a coward’s heart, Robespierre; fear not. It was a wise whim of mine, to change my dis- guise; I knew you without being recognized myself. But the little fool that shaved me took too long a time to it, else the Effendi would have found us together. That brat’s slow bungling caused your capture. But fear not, my Robespierre. The ikon- dealer will never take you to the bishop. You are worth nothing to him, and Selim Effendi won’t have Enver Pasha laugh at his story. It is not cowardice that makes me desert you; I am too much needed now. Keep your mouth locked; and may your papers be never deciphered by Selim and his like. I leave you in your captor’s pocket, but fear not. Nobody wants you; you are useless baggage now, and that’s your safety. I have bartered my two- mule carriage for the Effendi’s horse. A fine animal. Adventure It will carry me where Bloodhounds can’t even sniff me. “Of a rice-merchant with a shaven beard, Nor Turk nor Moslem ever is afeared!”’ Selim Effendi reread the message, non- plused, but only for a moment. Then he stuck the letter in front of the Poliany schoolmaster’s nose. ‘Read it, you crafty fox! Read this, and see if you haven’t found your match! Who’d have ever thought that rice-merchant was your man! Oh no, you are not the Apostle, you are just plain ‘Robespierre’ of Poliany! That is, if I am idiotic enough to believe what the real ‘Robespierre’ of Poliany has written on this rag of paper! But you won’t eel out this time by any such trickery! When I hang you upside down in my cellar you'll tell me a different story!” “Robespierre of Poliany” did not reply. His surprise at the Apostle’s daring letter was second only to his amazement at the Turk’s wrong interpretation of it. Of one thing at least he felt sure—He that Pre- pareth the Way was safe. ‘‘Robespierre’s”’ spirits rose, and the effi- cient way in which he met Selim’s threats made the latter waver a little. Who could tell but that the letter in his hands was actu- ally penned by the Apostle? Which one was the real bird? If the thief of his horse were the real Apostle, he had gone to Poli- any, the nearest insurgent center where assistance could be obtained. Selim had heard too much of the Apostle’s trickeries to believe in the final way in which the writer of the letter consigned the prisoner of Stanko’s Inn to the kindness of destiny. However, even in case his first interpre- tation of the message was the correct one, still the schoolmaster of Poliany could have all the better reason for rousing up a relief party in Poliany to save the captured Apos- tle. If only the onbashi there could be stirred into action! Selim Effendi thought longingly of the Tetino telegraph-office. He wished the apostolic baggage were safely caged in his Tetino cellar. It was fast thinking, and the conclusion reached was a bold one. “Osman,” Selim shouted to the zaptieh, “mount your horse and gallop the life out of him straight to Poliany! Rouse the onbasi1 to turn the whole village downside up and capture that rice-merchant! Also describe this man to him, and let us see COMICLOOCKKS. EGO