Adventure, December 1914 — page 196: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

194 bluntly. “This is not a robin’s nest.” I groaned aloud. It seemed as if Fate were fighting on the side of my enemies. “Do you want to say anything else?’”’ he asked hurriedly. “Ves,” Isnapped. ‘‘Whoare you?” ‘You would not know me if I told you, guspodine,”’ he answered with a smile, ‘‘al- though you have seen me before. I am one of Beran Kokalji’s band.” “Of the Tziganes?”’ “Ves. Most of the band are in the city. The Lady sent us in to be of use in case of an emergency. We——”’ He broke off at sound of a crunching on the gravel without. “No, effendi,” he went on, speaking in Turkish and quite loud. ‘As you know, we are not allowed to speak with you. I can tell you no more.”’ The sergeant of the guard peered in the doorway of the Summer-house as the Gipsy concluded— ‘“‘The effendi knows he must not talk to the guards unless it is necessary.” After that I did not see my Tzigane troop- er for several weeks. His first chance came on a night when he was detailed again to wait on the table. As he was passing around my chair to take away a plate he contrived to drop a tiny pellet of paper down the back of my neck. Later, when I was alone, I smoothed it out. A narrowstrip, less than six inches long, it was covered with fine script that I recognized as Masoya’s. It read: But be M. We have a plan. It may take time. ready. That was the middle of February. To me the days passed like weeks; the weeks were tenuous as months. I was always ready, yet nothing ever happened. It was the first week in March before I received another message. This time my Tzigane friend displayed less caution. ‘“‘We have been spending money, guspo- dine,” he said at dinner. ‘‘He—’’ nodding to the sergeant, whose back was discreetly turned—“‘has been fixed, and so have some of the others. But the plan is not quite ready yet.” Rexn AGAIN more than a week dragged ic AN] by, but my next hint of the plans SSAwS preparing by my friends was little short of staggering. Striding up and down on the terrace with Kemil Bey, fighting Adventure against a vicious gale that blew in tangy with salt moisture from the Black Sea, I chanced to look up in the midst of our con- versation and saw a slim, well-set-up strip- ling tramping down the path in the rear rank of a squad of reliefs for the guard. ‘His’ back was toward me, but a single glance told me that the trooper was Masoya Vavaroff. “Look here,” said Kemil testily, ‘‘you’re not paying the slightest attention to me. What’s the matter?” I caught myself up sharp, and looked studiously in the direction opposite to that which the relief of the guard had taken. “It’s the salt air,’’ I grumbled in answer. “You wouldn’t be cheerful, either, if you were cooped up in restricted quarters for months at a time.” ‘And you call this restricted!” He laugh- ed as he waved his hand toward the broad park that stretched around us. ‘‘Was ever prisoner better treated?” “That isn’t the point, Kemil. As a pris- oner, I am well treated. But still Iam a prisoner, and a man who is a prisoner can not feel comfortable or at home.”’ ‘‘There’s no satisfying you,” he said with pretended displeasure. ‘‘I suppose you want to have this war stopped so that you can get out.” ‘“‘Not for a minute,’’ I answered quickly. “TI want it to go on until you are licked out of your boots—as you will be pretty soon.” I saw no more of Masoya; nor did I see the trooper who had acted as messenger, until the following Wednesday when he brushed by me on the terrace. “It will be Friday night,’’ he muttered. During the next two nights and days I jumped at every deviation in the calm rou- tine of my prison-ordered life. It seemed to me that Kemil Bey stayed an unconscion- able long time each day, and that on Friday afternoon he was unduly solicitous about my comfort and well-being. ‘You know, Héléne von Anhalt is back,” he said just as he was leaving. ‘She came in on the Constanza steamer yesterday. She wanted to come out with me this after- noon, but she didn’t seem to be sure that you would care about seeing her.”’ I shivered at the thought of Héléne von Anhalt’s keen eyes probing my face at such a time. And suppose she should happen to get a view of that slim-waisted stripling of the guard! Decidedly, the Fates had been MICLOOOK (C@