If ever a man was sick at the irony and unfairness of life I was then, as I drew back from that poor fellow, already, as it seemed, half-dead. Indeed, I remember wondering how he contrived to keep so steady. I glanced at his dapper little opponent, standing in professional duellist’s style, not the easiest of marks for a good shot; to my man practically invisible. Paulssen was to give the word; the usual One! Two! Three! Perhaps he had anticipated my instructions to Szalay as to firing if possible before his adversary: the usual advice given to a novice at the game. Anyhow, he made a deliberate pause between One! and Two! but none between Two! and Three!
The reports appeared to be simultaneous; next I heard Paulssen utter an oath as he rushed forward to his man, followed by the doctor. As fate would have it, the unexpected had happened. Szalay was untouched, while De Hayn, the victor in a dozen encounters, lay prone on the turf with a bullet through his heart.
CHAPTER X
AN ASYLUM
As may be imagined, we returned to Von Lindheim’s in a very different state of mind from that in which we had set out. Our friend’s surprise at seeing Szalay, whom he had already looked upon as a dead man, was only equalled by his delight. But we realized that Szalay’s providential escape had only increased the danger of the situation. No time was to be lost now in forming a plan of escape. We agreed that it must be effected that morning, before Rallenstein might have time to set his emissaries of death on our track. Both the result of the duel and the pretence of illness would give colour to a precipitate move from Buyda. As a dying man, Von Lindheim was to be conveyed to a country house he had at Schönval, some twenty miles from the capital. And indeed, if he was really to die, he would prefer that the blow should fall there; and in that stronghold we felt we might turn at bay and at least gain time, if flight out of the country, too dangerous now, should subsequently seem feasible. Then came the question—what was to become of poor Szalay? He stood in equal danger. We could not, for humanity’s sake, leave him to his fate. If we did he would most assuredly be a dead man within twenty-four hours. But how to get him away under the lynx eyes of Rallenstein and his creatures? After many plans we decided upon doing the best we could to disguise him as a servant, and so taking him down to Schönval with us.
He was a fair-faced man with reddish hair and beard. We made him shave, blackened his hair and eyebrows, found some paint and gave his complexion a ruddy tinge; then we dressed him in an extra suit of Pabst’s, and flattered ourselves the disguise would pass even under Count Furello’s eye. Anyhow, when he finally saw himself in the glass he hardly recognized his own identity, and behind his effective mask began to take courage. But it was an anxious time for all of us. I was too concerned for the awful peril in which my friends stood to appreciate fully the adventurous side of the business. Fighting against these underhand methods of assassination was not quite to my taste. Still, the danger was real enough, and that had to be met.
Having come to a decision, we sent hastily for Dr. Rothmer. After our anxious vigil Von Lindheim looked pale and drawn enough to support his pretended symptoms. When we mentioned his desire to be taken to his country home, the doctor, as we foresaw, strongly objected to any such move. He was not going to lose fees if he could help it.
We appeared rather to fall in with his views, intending all the same to make a start when he had gone, and simply mentioning the matter for the sake of plausibility. Von Lindheim lay groaning, with a stimulated quick respiration and signs of collapse in which we had coached him. The doctor looked grave, shook his head at the difficulty of combating ptomaine poisoning, and finally, having impressed upon us the patient’s extremely critical state, went off, promising to send another draught, which might relieve the symptoms.
No sooner had he left us than we began to prepare for our flight. We had settled that the first part of the journey should be made by road, for the reason that by railway we should be more open to observation. So we proposed driving to a country station about eight miles distant, and then catching a train to our destination.