means of his
underground machinery had managed to procure, took the night train for
Kaschau, which he reached in the early morning of the following day,
going on later to Bartfeld, the terminus of the railroad, a small and
ancient town under the very shadow of the mountains. Here, it being late
in the afternoon, he found the Hungaria, a hotel to which he had been
directed, where he made arrangements to stop for the night while he
leisurely pursued his inquiries.

Now at last, so very near his destination, he was curiously oppressed
with the futility of his pilgrimage. He had come far, braving the danger
of detection and death, for he had no illusions regarding the status of
an Englishman approaching the battle lines under the guise of a
newspaper writer. If taken, it would be as a spy, and he would be
treated as such.

Herr Koulas had warned him not to be too sanguine, for the roads out of
Hungary were many, and Dukla Pass, merely because of a bit of forgotten
secret history, a possibility not to be neglected. Herr Koulas had also
warned him that the methods in induction which had been open to him had
also been open to the Austrian secret service men who, perhaps, had
already taken measures to follow the same scent. And so it was that the
golden smile of Herr Windt still persisted in Renwick's dreams by night,
and in his thoughts by day. If Spivak had told his story of his meeting
with the spurious Moyer, his conversation about Szarvas would
immediately identify him as Renwick the Englishman. But however near the
two trails ran, Windt's men had not yet come up with him, and, until
they did, Renwick knew that he must move boldly and quickly upon his
quest. And so at last resolution armed him anew.

It was now approaching dusk, and he cast about for a person to whom he
might talk without arousing suspicion, and so he turned into an inn at
the corner of the street and ordering beer sat himself upon a bench
along the wall before a long wooden table. The few men who sat drinking
and smoking gave him a curious glance, and the proprietor of the
establishment, aware of a stranger, felt it to be his duty to learn
something of his mission to this small town and of his identity. This
was what Renwick wanted, and as the man spoke in German, he told with
brief glibness his well rehearsed story, inviting his host to join him
in a glass, over which they were presently chatting as thick as thieves.
He was a newspaper writer, Renwick