Morton hurried below and found a stupid-looking lout sweeping the tap-room floor. The door of the inn stood open, and a cold damp wind was blowing into the room. He stepped out and saw with satisfaction that it was raining heavily, with a cold east wind blowing in sharp gusts. Returning to the room he inquired of the servant if his breakfast was ready; but the man looked at him blankly with unintelligent bovine eyes. Evidently he was not understood. Resorting to signs he finally got the fellow to catch his meaning, for he ceased dusting and began to lay the table.
From the back part of the inn came now the sound of wheels rumbling on cobblestones. John realized that this must mean the arrival of Papiu. Stepping quickly through the hallway to the rear exit he saw the very man alighting from a primitive and cumbersome conveyance, the wheels of which would have supported a six-inch gun. Papiu took no notice of John, but kept looking at the sky and examining the house. Morton caught his cue from the man’s actions and returned to the tap-room, where he found his breakfast waiting for him. A few minutes later Papiu entered, dripping wet, and, seating himself by the table adjoining the one at which John was eating, called loudly for the waiter. The landlord, in shirt-sleeves and leather apron, appeared now on the scene, and after exchanging a few words withdrew to attend to Papiu’s requirements.
Immediately they were alone, the driver leaned over and deftly slipping a piece of paper into John’s hands, quickly resumed his seat and yawned lazily and loudly. Morton read the note, which was from Donald.
Everything had been done as ordered and all was ready. Mihai was waiting with the reserve team at the crossroad, Kilometer 34 of the map, and Papiu’s saddle horse was just beyond the town gate. He, Don, would remain in the wagon until he received further orders from Mr. Morton.
John was greatly relieved. Returning to his room, he put on a heavy ulster. On his way through the tap-room he whispered to Papiu, who was munching black bread and fat bacon, “Remain here till you hear from me,” and passed out into the rain.
The street was utterly deserted. Disregarding the sweeping, cold downpour, he made his way to Rosen’s house by the gateway he had entered the day before. Rachel greeted him cordially and smilingly put aside his apologies for his soaking condition. It was the very weather father had been praying for, she told him. When he was snugly seated in the room which had now become sacred to him, she told him that everything had been arranged as they had planned. Marco would be on guard at the South Gate between five and seven that evening. The watchword was “Luna Dragu.” He would permit two ladies to pass out unchallenged. It had been settled that after he had been relieved Marco was to strike out for the big river, where his people would be waiting for him, and cross over into Bulgaria. His sweetheart would meet him there later. As to the clothes for the girls, she pointed to three packages, each marked with a number. No. 1 was the Princess’s, No. 2 the Comtesse Helène’s and No. 3 the articles both ladies might use in common. John was perfectly satisfied, and expressed his sincere thanks for all the trouble she had taken.
“I am only too happy to serve them,” Miss Rosen replied. “I shall be fully repaid when I know they are once again in a safe place.”
“You may rely on me, dear lady,” said John earnestly, “to do everything in my power.”
“Father will be in soon,” remarked the girl, “he’s just gone out to the café to hear the news. Won’t you sit in his office until he returns? You may smoke there,” she added, laughing.
John thanked her as she led him into a small but well-furnished study adjoining. “Here is where father does all his important business,” she said. “You will be quite safe here.”