"How far is it?"
"Not over a mile or so, I think. You can see the water shimmering through the trees."
"Let's go then----"
"You're not too tired?"
"No. Lead on. I'll follow."
He peered out of their place of concealment and walked in a leisurely way along the road. Behind them at the Railroad Gate the old woman still sat knitting. Both trains had gone. The way to the lake was clear, a country road, little traveled. A fresh breeze had started up and the sun had broken above the low hanging bands of moisture and laid a pretty pattern of the shimmering foliage across his path. The business of escaping seemed absurdly simple--only a few miles of water between himself and freedom.
But the uncertainty about Tanya and Markov made him grave. Had they received his message last night and if so had they heeded it and come on safely to Lindenhof. More "ifs" came suddenly into his mind than he cared to think about. Markov was clever, and with the hurdy-gurdy could have been counted on to reach Schloss Kempelstein without difficulty. But without the hurdy-gurdy, and surrounded by police and soldiers all of whom had been notified of his passage across Bavaria, how would he fare? Was he equal to such an emergency? That was the risk. In a moment Rowland had proof of the thoroughness with which Von Stromberg had done his work, for at the next crossing two provincial policemen awaited his approach, scrutinizing him carefully.
He nodded to them cheerfully and bade them good morning, but they stood in his path and he stopped, rather alarmed at the unexpected turn of events. But he kept his easy poise admirably and his grin disarmed them.
"Your name please?" asked the older man.
"With pleasure," politely, "Leo Knaus."