Part 19 (1/2)

Ian did not answer and murder shone from the Prussian's evil face. The old priest's heart stood still. What, oh, what could he do to help? The sergeant scribbled hard, finished, licked his pencil and awaited further orders. The subaltern put his revolver a shade nearer Ian's head.

Father Constantine knew he was playing to put the looters off the scent.

For if he lost the jewels there would be nothing left to live upon. Ian thought of the moonlight labor on the Plock road, of Szmul's prying eyes, and feared greatly.

”What are they worth?” repeated the Prussian.

”I don't know. They have not been valued for fifty years.”

”But those emeralds ... you must know what they are worth.”

”They are priceless,” said Father Constantine.

The man turned to him.

”Hold your tongue,” he said rudely. ”You weren't so ready to talk outside.” Then to Ian:

”Give me the banker's receipt for the jewels and plate.”

”My lawyers have them.”

”Who are they? But no matter...” He laughed roughly. ”Next week we shall be in Warsaw, and if I find you've been lying, you'll be shot.”

He withdrew his revolver. Ian gave a slight breath of relief. ”Now for the food,” said the Teuton.

Ian took a bunch of keys from the safe, locked it and rang the bell.

Martin appeared, white as a sheet. He had heard what was going on.

”Take this officer to the store-room; open the cupboards,” said his master.

”You must come,” put in the looter. Ian gave him a cold look.

”My servant will show you where to find the things.”

The Prussians stalked out and Martin with them. Szmul was still in the pa.s.sage.

Ian did not speak till the sound of their footsteps died away. Then he made sure there were no eaves-droppers, and shut the door, his soul filled with rage, worry and mortification. For a few minutes he gave way and called the looters by names it did the old priest good to hear, for the soutane put a limit on his own language.

”If not for the women I'd have strangled him at the safe,” Ian cried.

”But the day may come when I'll have to shoot them, to save them from dishonor.”

”Mother of G.o.d!” Father Constantine gasped. ”Are they going to make Poland another Belgium?”

The thought of what his Countess and the other women in the house would have to suffer filled him with horror. To shoot her! He could not bear it. Ian tried to comfort him.

”Cheer up, Father. It hasn't come to that yet.” Then angry again: ”That swine Szmul has betrayed us.”

”What are you going to say about the cellars?”

”Swear I've nothing more. We've no list.”