"What—quickly——"
"I think, Excellency, that it was green."
Renwick gasped. The face of Herr Windt wore a blank look as though he had suddenly received a glacial douche.
"Herr Gott!" he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow with an eloquent forefinger.
"The green limousine!" muttered Renwick.
For a moment all three men stood helplessly staring down the road toward the west, where the dustcloud was slowly settling on leaf and hedgerow, but there was a turn in the road which hid all objects beyond. Herr Windt was the first to recover his initiative.
"Clever!" he muttered. "A message! Linder should have observed——But they will not get far. Come——" And he led the way at a quick trot in the direction of the village, where they reached the telegraph office at the railway station.
While Herr Windt went inside to give his orders, Renwick sank upon a bench outside and tried to think of what had happened and what it might mean to Marishka and to him. The green limousine—a German secret agent—there could be no doubt, and he, Renwick, already warned of this possible danger to Marishka had permitted her to fall into this trap, while he had come off unscathed. His conscience assailed him bitterly. Trusting to the efficiency of Herr Windt's men he had slept—slept while Marishka was being carried off to danger—to imprisonment—or perhaps—he did not dare to think of anything worse. And Marishka must have connived at the plan for her escape! How had the message passed? And what was the lure?
As the new idea came to him he rose quickly and moved toward the door of the telegraph office. He paused for a moment to adjust his monocle and it was fortunate that he did so, for there was a crash of glass at the window just by his head, followed by a cry of alarm within the room. Renwick dodged behind a projection of the building, and peered out while Windt and Linder came rushing from the office.
"A shot?"