In the Cause of Freedom

by Arthur W. Marchmont

The people in the station were travellers from the opposite direction who had been put out and told, with the usual courtesy of the railway authorities, that they must shift for themselves until the line was clear. They might think themselves lucky, I overheard little Blauben tell one man, if they got on by noon the following day.

This was check with a vengeance; if not checkmate.

I hung about for some time with the object of ascertaining the chance of getting a train in the other direction—anything to get out of Bratinsk—and was pretending to study one of the time bills when I caught my own name.

“Know the Englishman, Anstruther? Of course I do.” It was Blauben’s voice. “If he comes here, I’ll stop him.”

“We think he may try and bolt.”

“How’s he going to bolt? There’s no train west and nothing east except the midnight express. But what’s it all about?” The reply was given in low tone and escaped me. But part of the stationmaster’s answer was enough.

“Spy? Rubbish. Why he was here shooting last year. You people would find spies growing on gooseberry bushes. No. I have already told a hundred of you that there will be no train”—this to a questioner in a tone of exasperation; and I saw him hurry off gesticulating frantically. I could do no good by waiting longer, so I slipped out of the station, and went back to the village to meet Volna.

After all, the accident at Pulta might not prove an unmitigated evil. The few sentences I had overheard showed that the police were watching the station for me; and an attempt to leave would probably have landed us right into their hands.

Then it occurred to me that we might even turn the accident to good account. If we could get to Pulta soon, we could give an excellent reason for our presence; that we wished to inquire about some friend supposed to have been in the wrecked train; and, as the line from there to Cracow would be open, we could do the journey after all by rail.

Pulta by the road was some ten miles, and a rough hilly road it was. Too far and too rough for Volna to attempt to walk. To hire any kind of conveyance was of course out of the question; as it would lay a trail which even a blind policeman could follow. I had a spare horse at the inn; but for the same reason I dared not attempt to take it out of the stable.