Adventure, December 1914 — page 186: what you’re looking at

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

184 “Didn’t you think you had beaten us when you persuaded the old man in Sofia to declare war?”’ he persisted. “TI never think much about scoundrels of your type, von Griffenstein,” I returned pleasantly. ‘‘By the way, where is Héléne von Anhalt? I smell her hand in this.” His lips drew back in an ugly snarl, exactly like Stoyan’s a few minutes be- fore. ; “‘Never mind about that,’’ he said curtly. “‘Have you got any papers on you? [shall have to search you, anyhow, but it may simplify matters me “Go as far as you like,” I urged. “My arms are bound, and those merry banditti of Gortcheff’s got my gun which was the only thing I had worth anything. But go ahead.” He gave me a suspicious glance. “T believe I will,’ he answered. ‘You never can tell about you —— Yankees.”’ It did not take him long to make sure that I had told the truth, and he rode off with a short command in Turkish to the troopers who stood guard over me. They linked my bridle with theirs and trotted me into the midst of their comrades. Five min- utes later we were cantering along a rough wood-road that led through the forest in a southeasterly direction toward Tchataldja. Von Griffenstein and the lieutenant in command rode ahead. I was packed close in the center of the cavalcade, sur- rounded by flat-featured Tartars and desert Arabs. We rode without a break until about nine o’clock, by which time I was so weary that I could scarcely keep my seat. We had left the forest behind us and were traversing an open, rolling country, dotted with occasional villages and farmsteads, from not one of which rose the column of smoke that is the sign of human occupation. It was at one of these villages, forlorn and desolate, yet seemingly unharmed, that we stopped for breakfast. My guards untied my hands, helped me to dismount and let me stretch out on the ground. There was not a bone or muscle in my body that did not ache, but when the Aus- trian strolled over to me I sat up and pre- tended to feel perfectly fit. He was the low-bred, mongrel kind of cur who gloats over an enemy’s sufferings. ‘‘We have been talking about you,” he said, flicking the ash off his cigarette. ‘“‘He”’ Adventure —with a nod toward the officer in command of the troop—“seems to think we should take you before Abdullah Pasha.” Vesp”’ “‘But as a matter of fact, you know,” he continued, “‘we’re not going to do anything of the kind.” ““You’re going to get yourself into a heap of trouble as soon as this is found out,” I returned. “I’m an American citizen and a non-combatant, and the American Ambas- sador at Constantinople will make things interesting for you and your gang when he hears of it.”’ He smiled deprecatingly, in the most vil- lainous, nauseating way I have ever seen a man smile. ““Ah, but he won’t hear of it,’”’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘We shall take care of that, never fear.” ‘“‘What do you mean?” I asked curiously. ‘““My dear sir,” he responded, “‘we are perfectly acquainted with the reasons for your presence with the Bulgarian army. Do you suppose we are going to permit you to draw any attention to yourself now that we have you in our power? Mr. Blair, you are dead. You died last night. We shall place you in a good safe place where you will stay dead—oh, quite some time. Yes, quite some time!”’ So this was their plan—and not a bad one, either. I looked at the man with re- spect which was somewhat diminished by the instant conclusion that Héléne von An- halt, not this waster before me, was re- sponsible for its inception. “Of course,’ von Griffenstein added, ‘“‘your Bulgar friends will cry aloud that you are a prisoner, that the report of your death is false. But we shall take care—or, rather, our good friend Gortcheff—will take care that the report is a most circumstantial one; and there will be no trace of you in any of the prisons of Constantinople.”’ I regarded him with mock admiration. “‘That’s the first really clever trick your gang has played yet, von Griffenstein,” I said. ‘‘What would you do without that girl’s brain?” He flushed. “Oh, she doesn’t do everything,” he an- swered. “Faugh!” said I. ‘‘She’s the only one among you with reasoning intelligence.” ‘‘Well, she isn’t responsible for this par- ticular idea,” he growled. ‘Or at any rate, MICLOOOK (C@