“Aren’t you perhaps prejudiced because he and the Queen are enemies?”
“Perhaps, but there is something very strange about Conrad. He goes off to that old manor house of his—”
“Not the one near the frontier customs house?” John asked.
“No, no, that is the Count Visichich’s place. The young Count is in charge of the post there. Why?”
We told her about the young woman in green velvet.
“Katerina,” she said, “the old Count’s daughter, Countess Katerina Visichich. She dresses like that, and it was just as well you didn’t tell her you were coming here. You’d have stayed there for a while on some pretext or other. Being Americans, she did not suspect you. Probably she knows her mistake by now, though. They are not fools, those Visichiches. Strong supporters of Conrad’s, intimate friends of his, too. He lives about ten miles from their place, nearer Herrovosca. The Visichich men are probably busy brewing trouble somewhere while Katerina watches the road into Rheatia. This is the only way through the mountains for ninety miles in one direction and sixty in the other. And the only other important way is the railroad tunnel. You were lucky to get through.” She rose suddenly and moved about the room restlessly. “If I could only get word from Alaria. Oh, they know. They will send news when they can. They are afraid of Conrad—and of Katerina and the Black Ghost and the Soviets and the Republicans, and the people Bela has antagonized. There are so many people to be afraid of here.”
“The others, naturally,” John interrupted, “but why should you be afraid of the Black Ghost? You surely don’t believe in ghosts?”
“Not in most ghosts,” Helena answered, “but the Black Ghost I do believe in. Since the first Turkish occupation of Alaria he and his band have guarded the Pass. The legend is that the leader was a Knight Templar. At least he always wears the white cross of the Templars on his breast.”
“And has done so for eight hundred years?” I asked. “Oh, come, now, Helena, really.”
“And has done so from time to time at least, for eight hundred years,” Helena answered, and I knew by her voice that she was quite convinced of the truth of her statement, “and I can’t see the necessity for laughing at my belief. I have seen him on the Pass. He was looking down at me when I came back from Herrovosca one day. He was standing on a shelf of rock overlooking the road. It was dusk, but I saw him quite plainly. The chauffeur saw him, too, and almost ran the car off the road, he was so frightened. I am afraid, too.”