The move was carried out successfully; at least without hindrance. Half an hour sufficed to make our preparations and have a roomy carriage at the door; our pseudo-invalid was borne out and laid in it, Szalay, in his new guise, helping in the work. So we started, leaving the faithful Pabst to answer inquiries; our departure and manner of travelling being plausible enough.
So far as we could tell, our move had been quite unobserved. The street was comparatively deserted, as it would be at that early hour, and as we drove off and got clear of the city, we congratulated ourselves that, so far, we had given the slip to the Jaguar, and at least had a good start of any pursuit. It was a bright morning, and as we rolled along over the country roads lined with dew-sparkling hedges, the gloom of the situation seemed to have lifted with that of the night. The brilliancy of the day seemed to give the two despairing men a new zest for life, and with that came courage. Even poor Szalay could discuss his position calmly and more hopefully; we could have laughed at the absurd alteration in his appearance but for the thought that he had taken a man’s life that day. We presently slackened our pace, that we might arrive at the wayside station just when the train was due. This we hit off very successfully, and carried our invalid tenderly, with anxious faces, into an empty compartment. No other passengers were at the station, with the exception of a couple of old market women, and we felt sure they were genuine. An attentive guard found us a carriage and assisted us, rather officiously, it seemed; but then first-class passengers were rare at those little stations. At each stoppage he came to look after us, and at the end of the short but tedious journey, he helped us out and bustled about us with rather more assiduity than was agreeable. However, before we were able to leave the station for Schönval we had seen him whistle the train off and depart with it.
“I didn’t quite like that guard,” Von Lindheim said as we drove away.
I reasoned with him against his uneasiness.
“Ah, you forget,” he answered, “our railways are state property. The man may very well be in the Chancellor’s employ.”
“Anyhow,” I said, “he is miles away by this.”
“And here we are at home,” he exclaimed with a sigh of relief. “Safe so far.”
CHAPTER XI
A COURT PHYSICIAN