The Playground of Satan Part 19

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."

"But they'll tear down the walls?"

"It'll take time. Oh, if only I could get in touch with some Russians!

We should have these devils entrapped."

"There must be thousands of Germans about. Szmul knows it, or he would not have risked telling about the emeralds and stores," said the priest.

"I'll punish him when this is over," cried Ian. "After I've sheltered him, too."

Here the Countess came in. She had heard all.

"Give them everything, rather than they should shoot you," she pleaded.

"They won't shoot me, Mother, not till they've tried the Commercial Bank. Where is Minnie?"

"Up in the secret room."

"Thank G.o.d!" He looked relieved. "And now, you go there, too."

Martin came in. He was shaking with rage and fear.

"That Jewish pig has betrayed us," he cried. "They're in the cellar now."

They looked at each other in consternation. Martin turned to his mistress.

"My Lady Countess, it will be well for you to go upstairs ... they are very coa.r.s.e."

"Yes, Mother, I insist."

"But perhaps I can do something----"

The question was settled by the subaltern, who stalked into the room, followed by two of his henchmen. He was afraid to go about alone. He had already found some of Ian's wine, his face was flushed, and both troopers smelt of it. He did not even salute the Countess, who glared at him in silent rage.

"n.o.body to leave this room!" he bellowed. Then to Ian: "Where are your supplies?"

"It appears you have them," was the cool answer. "I hear you have already emptied my stores."

"But the cellar, dolt!" roared the Prussian. "The Jew says you have bricked up corn and potatoes to feed an army."

"My cellar holds wine," put in the Countess. "Judging from your behavior, you have found it without our help."

She devoured him with her scornful, angry eyes, and he had the grace to look a little confused. He saluted and lowered his tone.

"I give you three minutes"--he looked at his watch--"to come down and show me where to find your supplies. If you refuse, I'll not leave one stone upon another in your cellar, but destroy it as soon as my men have removed the stores and wine. You'll be without food, for, if you persist in your obstinate refusal, I will not leave you a week's rations; and you will no longer have a refuge in case of bombardment.

You will have no choice then but to leave this place."

"Never!" This from the Countess.

"As you please. We will begin the three minutes."