Renwick tried to think as Goritz would think. Why had Goritz come by the circuitous road over the Romanja Plain? Surely not to go north by way of Serbian territory. Goritz had a reason. The shortest road—the least traveled road, the road which avoided Brod, the main gateway into Bosnia, was the road by which he would pass through the rural districts of eastern Hungary, proceeding all the while along the level country of the Danube or the Thiess, reaching Silesia—the long tail of the German Empire which thrust out between Poland and Galicia.
Renwick paced the room with quick strides. The theory hung together. And given this to be the plan of Goritz, had he succeeded in carrying it out? Possibly. But Hungary was wide. It was five hundred miles at least from Sarajevo to the Carpathians, and much may happen to an automobile in five hundred miles. Marishka, Yeva told him, had fainted. It would have been inhuman for Goritz to have taken her such a distance without a chance for rest or recuperation. Goritz! Every theory that Renwick devised seemed to fall to the ground when he thought of him. The cleverness of the man was amazing. And what lay behind his cleverness? What of decency or what of deviltry lay behind the mask that Renwick had seen? The man had treated her with consideration—for Marishka had not complained of his attitude toward her—until there in the Turkish house, when he had seized her by the arm....
Deliberation had gained something—only a theory as yet, but if a theory, one which stood the acid of inspection from every angle.
Renwick's task seemed hopeless, but that spirit of persistence, of which Marishka had once spoken, was one of the dominating characteristics of his nature. Given a sound purpose, a worthy desire, he was not easily dismayed, and desperate as his chances of finding Marishka now seemed, it did not enter his head to give up and seek his way—as he might easily have done—to the Serbian border and so to safety. Marishka had forgiven him! During the long days of his convalescence the memory of their brief joyous moments in the Turkish house had renewed and invigorated him. He had heard her calling to him across the distances—despairingly, but hoping against hope that the man she loved was still alive. It thrilled him to think that he could still come to her—if she would wait—come even from the grave and answer her call to him—the call of one brave spirit to another, which needed no material fact of physical utterance to make itself heard. He would find her—not soon perhaps, but all in good time. Providence had not saved him miraculously for failure, and it was written that he should succeed. The gods would be with him now and arm him against disaster. He rejoiced to find how strong he felt today. All the tremors had gone out of his nerves, and he was ready to begin his journey whenever it should be time. But first he wanted to question Selim—Goritz had passed this house—there was a chance ...
Selim Ali returned from the fields at supper time, greeted Renwick with bluff heartiness, and together they sat at a substantial meal of Jungfern-Braten, over which Selim's wife Zaidee presided. In the light of events, Renwick willingly reconstructed his estimate of Selim. Last night Renwick would have been suspicious of the angel Gabriel, but with the courage of the sunlight had come confidence in himself, and faith in his star. It seemed that Zubeydeh had told her cousin nothing of Renwick's nationality or predicament, but that he was a friend who had gotten into a trouble, and that the police of Sarajevo were looking for him. Selim was to shelter him and speed him upon his way. Selim asked many questions which Renwick answered as he chose, biding his own time. Yes, he, Stefan Thomasevics, had gotten into trouble in Sarajevo, all because of a woman (and this Renwick knew to be true), and desired to leave the country. He did not wish to go to the war and he would not fight against the Serbians who were not in the wrong. He, Thomasevics, wished to go north to Budapest where he would work in the factories and amass a fortune. Selim wagged his head wisely and laughed.
"You must work long, my young friend, and spend nothing," he said. "Come. You're a strong fellow—a little weak just now from smoking too many cigarettes and staying up too late at night. But I will give you work here upon my farm and pay you well."
But Thomasevics shook his head.
"Thank you. You are kind, but I have already made up my mind."
Selim shrugged and lighted his long pipe.
"As you will, but I have made you a good offer."