Part 42 (1/2)

When he found himself a prisoner in Unorna's conservatory, his intention underwent no change though his body was broken with fatigue and his nerves with the long continued strain of a terrible excitement. His determination was as cool and as fixed as ever.

These somewhat dry reflections seem necessary to the understanding of what followed.

The key turned in the lock and the bolt was slipped back. Instantly Israel Kafka's energy returned. He rose quickly and hid himself in the shrubbery, in a position from which he could observe the door. He had seen Unorna enter before and had of course heard her cry before the Wanderer had carried her away, and he had believed that she had wished to face him, either with the intention of throwing herself upon his mercy or in the hope of dominating him with her eyes as she had so often done before. Of course, he had no means of knowing that she had already left the house. He imagined that the Wanderer had gone and that Unorna, being freed from his restraint, was about to enter the place again. The door opened and the three men came in. Kafka's first idea, on seeing himself disappointed, was that they had come to take him into custody, and his first impulse was to elude them.

The Wanderer entered first, tall, stately, indifferent, the quick glance of his deep eyes alone betraying that he was looking for some one. Next came Keyork Arabian, m.u.f.fled still in his furs, turning his head sharply from side to side in the midst of the sable collar that half buried it, and evidently nervous. Last of all the Individual, who had divested himself of his outer coat and whose powerful proportions did not escape Israel Kafka's observation. It was clear that if there were a struggle it could have but one issue. Kafka would be overpowered. His knowledge of the disposition of the plants and trees offered him a hope of escape.

The three men had entered the conservatory, and if he could reach the door before they noticed him, he could lock it upon them, as it had been locked upon himself. He could hear their footsteps on the marble pavement very near him, and he caught glimpses of their moving figures through the thick leaves.

With cat-like tread he glided along in the shadows of the foliage until he could see the door. From the entrance an open way was left in a straight line towards the middle of the hall, down which his pursuers were still slowly walking. He must cross an open s.p.a.ce in the line of their vision in order to get out, and he calculated the distance to be traversed, while listening to their movements, until he felt sure that they were so far from the door as not to be able to reach him. Then he made his attempt, darting across the smooth pavement with his knife in his hand. There was no one in the way.

Then came a violent shock and he was held as in a vice, so tightly that he could not believe himself in the arms of a human being. His captors had antic.i.p.ated that he would try to escape and has posted the Individual in the shadow of a tree near the doorway. The deaf and dumb man had received his instructions by means of a couple of quick signs, and not a whisper had betrayed the measures taken. Kafka struggled desperately, for he was within three feet of the door and still believed an escape possible. He tried to strike behind him with his sharp blade of which a single touch would have severed muscle and sinew like silk threads, but the bear-like embrace seemed to confine his whole body, his arms and even his wrists. Then he felt himself turned round and the Individual pushed him towards the middle of the hall. The Wanderer was advancing quickly, and Keyork Arabian, who had again fallen behind, peered at Kafka from behind his tall companion with a grotesque expression in which bodily fear and a desire to laugh at the captive were strongly intermingled.

”It is of no use to resist,” said the Wanderer quietly. ”We are too strong for you.”

Kafka said nothing, but his bloodshot eyes glared up angrily at the tall man's face.

”He looks dangerous, and he still has that thing in his hand,” said Keyork Arabian. ”I think I will give him ether at once while the Individual holds him. Perhaps you could do it.”

”You will do nothing of the kind,” the Wanderer answered. ”What a coward you are, Keyork!” he added contemptuously.

Going to Kafka's side he took him by the wrist of the hand which held the knife. But Kafka still clutched it firmly.

”You had better give it up,” he said.

Kafka shook his head angrily and set his teeth, but the Wanderer unclasped the fingers by quiet force and took the weapon away. He handed it to Keyork, who breathed a sigh of relief as he looked at it, smiling at last, and holding his head on one side.

”To think,” he soliloquised, ”that an inch of such pretty stuff as Damascus steel, in the right place, can draw the sharp red line between time and eternity!”

He put the knife tenderly away in the bosom of his fur coat. His whole manner changed and he came forward with his usual, almost jaunty step.

”And now that you are quite harmless, my dear friend,” he said, addressing Israel Kafka, ”I hope to make you see the folly of your ways.

I suppose you know that you are quite mad and that the proper place for you is a lunatic asylum.”

The Wanderer laid his hand heavily upon Keyork's shoulder.

”Remember what I told you,” he said sternly. ”He will be reasonable now.

Make your fellow understand that he is to let him go.”

”Better shut the door first,” said Keyork, suiting the action to the word and then coming back.

”Make haste!” said the Wanderer with impatience. ”The man is ill, whether he is mad or not.”

Released at last from the Individual's iron grip, Israel Kafka staggered a little. The Wanderer took him kindly by the arm, supporting his steps and leading him to a seat. Kafka glanced suspiciously at him and at the other two, but seemed unable to make any further effort and sank back with a low groan. His face grew pale and his eyelids drooped.

”Get some wine--something to restore him,” the Wanderer said.

Keyork looked at the Moravian critically for a moment.

”Yes,” he a.s.sented, ”he is more exhausted than I thought. He is not very dangerous now.” Then he went in search of what was needed. The Individual retired to a distance and stood looking on with folded arms.