"Good old Markov!" shouted Rowland. "The monk is Markov, Zoya----" And then again wildly, "The boat," he shouted to the monk; "they're coming, Markov!--Behind you--from the road."
Zoya had started up at the beginning as the shots were fired and had leaned forward, her eyes peering in horror.
"That's not Markov," she whispered now to Rowland. "Not Markov," she repeated. "It was he yonder." She sank down upon the seat and buried her head in her hands.
"Not Markov," he muttered--"then who----"
An inkling of the truth came into Rowland's mind at the same moment for the man in the monk's robes turned and catching up a bag that lay beside him upon the jetty, caught Tanya by the arm, helped her abruptly into the boat and pushed off from the jetty just as the cavalcade of horsemen rode through the arch. Rowland saw them dismount and rush forward upon the jetty, but the boat had swung off and her sail had caught the breeze so that by the time the men in uniform had reached the end of the jetty there was thirty feet of clear water, quickly widening, between them. The soldiers shouted and one of them drew a revolver but the man in the monk's robes had leveled his weapon again and fired. Rowland was now near enough to see quite clearly the features of the monk. Even without a mustache, Rowland recognized the man who had done the shooting--Gregory Hochwald.
The Elsa was now working up close hauled under the lee of the other sail-boat which was making for the open waters of the lake. The soldier kneeled and Hochwald pushed Tanya down below the gunwale. The automatic of the soldier spoke again and again but without effect for Rowland saw Hochwald rise in his place and make a derisive gesture. The other soldiers fired also but the bullets spattered harmlessly in the water.
Herr Hochwald had been so busily engaged in making his escape that he had not been aware of the Elsa which had come up under his lee not a hundred meters away, but as he set his course for the open water he glanced over his shoulder at the Elsa, where Rowland, crouched at the tiller, was slowly overhauling him. Rowland saw him laugh and say something to Tanya who straightened, her white face gazing across the space of water at Rowland but without recognition. Zoya lay face downwards upon the seat, silent and motionless.
Rowland crouched lower, his cap pulled over his eyes. The meaning of the events upon the wharf had come to him slowly and not until he had seen Hochwald's face did he realize what this escape meant to him and to Tanya. But having grasped the facts, he planned quickly. For the present at least their common foe was baffled and every mile that grew between the boats and the Bavarian shore was so much to the credit of them both in a defensive alliance which should not in the least cloud the personal issue between Rowland and Hochwald. There was going to be a reckoning of some sort presently when they reached the center of the lake--a reckoning which would balance all grievances. Rowland had suddenly become quite calmly exhilarated, and Zoya raised her head and looked at him in pallid astonishment. As her look questioned, he answered:
"It's Hochwald, Zoya--the priest is Hochwald." And as she straightened to look---"Keep down below the gunwale. He doesn't know, we're going to surprise him."
"What are you going to do?"