of
these circumstances made the fact of her writing to him the more
significant. She had accepted his services in the escape from Windt,
because he had forced them upon her, but he could not forget that she
had afterward repudiated him and fled from him without a word of
explanation of her sudden decision. His own personal danger had warned
him that Marishka, his companion eavesdropper, would also be in jeopardy
at the hands of those unseen forces which were working in the interests
of the Wilhelmstrasse. Marishka had thrown herself into their power and
was perhaps at this very moment in danger. But he was soon to know the
facts. At his apartment his servant handed him the note and hastily he
tore it open and read.

I have gone to Sarajevo. I must do what I can, but I need you. I am
a prisoner and in great personal danger if we are stopped en route.
Therefore move secretly, telling no one. Go to the Hotel Europa,
where I will try to communicate with you.

M. S.

Renwick read the communication through twice, and then glanced at his
watch. Nine o'clock. There was no time to go to the British Embassy in
the Metternichgasse, though he would have liked to know if anything had
been seen of Marishka at the German Embassy which was just adjoining.
But he wrote a note to Sir Herbert, then called his servant, who packed
a bag while Renwick bathed and dressed. At ten he was seated in the
train for Budapest--a slow train that he had taken two weeks before on
his mission to Belgrade.

He had made this move on impulse, without second thought, for Marishka's
message as to her destination again justified his surmises and
corroborated his fears as to her perilous situation. No other thoughts
save those of her danger and her need of him had entered his head, and
he had moved quickly, aware that any loss of time might be fatal to his
hope of helping her. But seated in his compartment of the railway
carriage, he had time to consider the note in all its aspects and in its
relation to the extraordinary events of the day. There were but two
other occupants of the carriage, an old gentleman with a white beard,
and a young Hungarian officer--a vacuous looking youth in
uniform--neither of them obviously of material from which secret service
agents are made. After the experience at the Konopisht railway station,
Renwick had no humor to be shot at in such close quarters, where the
range would necessarily be deadly. He