The machine climbed a mountain from which a vista of many miles of country was spread out before them, but there was no sign of their destination. Half-past eight—nine——! The roads became crowded again, with vehicles, horsemen, footmen, and groups of soldiers, all traveling in the same direction. Sarajevo was not far distant but they went at a snail's pace, their nerves leaping in the reaction. Marishka, pallid with fatigue, sat leaning forward in her seat, dumb with anxiety. Goritz rubbed his chin thoughtfully. But he had not yet begun to despair. Suddenly the car came to a turning in the road, and the Bosnian capital was spread out at their feet. Goritz looked at his watch. It was nearly ten. If the thing they dreaded had not yet come to pass there might still be time. As they descended the hill into the valley of the Miljacka, it was apparent that the town was in holiday attire. Flags floated from many poles, and the streets and bridges were crowded with people. At the direction of Captain Goritz, Karl drove quickly to the railroad station, where a group of officials stood gesturing and talking excitedly.
"Has His Highness gone into the city?" asked Goritz of the man nearest him.
The fellow paused and turned at the sight of the Austrian uniform.
"Ah, Herr Lieutenant—you have not heard?"
"I have just come down from the hills. What is the matter?"
"A bomb has been thrown into the automobile of the Archduke——"
"He is killed?" asked Goritz, while Marishka leaned forward in horror.
"Fortunately, no. He cast the bomb into the street, but it exploded under the vehicle of his escort, killing several, they say."
"She is safe—Her Highness is safe?" questioned Marishka.
"Yes, but it was a narrow escape," said another man.