The Traitors. E. Phillips Oppenheim

who was writing upon a telegraph-form, paused at once. They were on the side of the steamer, remote from the bustle of departure, and almost alone.

      “There is likely to be trouble, then, on the frontier, or before?” he inquired. “You have opponents?”

      “So much so,” Reist answered, fiercely, “that if we were in Theos now, and you talked of filling the newspapers with idle gossip of us and our affairs, we should not stop to argue the matter with you.”

      Brand laughed softly.

      “I don’t want to do you any harm,” he said. “We must compromise matters.”

      Reist misunderstood him.

      “An affair of money,” he exclaimed. “I understand. We will give your paper one, two hundred pounds, to make no mention of Theos for a week.”

      Brand glanced at Ughtred with twinkling eyes.

      “The special train which brought me here cost more than that, I am afraid,” he said. “Believe me, Duke, it is not a matter of money at all. The proprietors of my paper are millionaires. What they want is information. When I spoke of a compromise I meant something entirely different.”

      “Perhaps you had better explain exactly what you mean,” Reist said, curtly. “I do not understand this Western journalism. It is new to me.”

      Brand nodded.

      “Good!” he said. “You want to keep this journey secret until you are safe in Theos. Very well, I will send no message to my people until you give me leave. Only you must supply me then with exclusive information. And you must see that I am the first to cable it from your country.”

      “That is an agreement,” Reist answered, solemnly. “If you will keep to that I am satisfied.”

      They were already in the Channel. A wave broke over the bows of the vessel, drenching them with spray. Brand led the way down-stairs.

      “Since we are to be fellow-passengers,” he said, “let us drink to our prosperous journey—and Theos.”

      Reist touched Ughtred’s arm upon the stairs.

      “He is to be trusted, this friend of yours?” he whispered, anxiously.

      “Implicitly,” Ughtred answered, with emphasis.

      “Then we are very fortunate,” Reist said, “for it is such a man as this whom we wanted.”

CHAPTER IX

       Table of Contents

      “Monsieur will pardon me!”

      Ughtred glanced up, startled. For an hour or more he had been watching with fascinated eyes the great rolling pine forests through which the train was rushing. Brand and Reist were in the restaurant-car—Ughtred was rapidly becoming too excited to eat. They had entered upon the last stage of their journey. Somewhere away beyond that dim line of mountains was Theos. So far they had been neither accosted nor watched. This was the first stranger who had addressed a word to either of them.

      “You wished for a seat here?” Ughtred asked.

      The priest, who had come through from the dining-car, held between his fingers an unlit cigar. His fat, good-humoured face was a little flushed. He had the appearance of a man who has found his dinner a satisfactory meal.

      “It is your coupé, I understand, monsieur,” he answered, “but the smoking-car is full. I wondered if monsieur would permit me to occupy his friend’s seat until he returns. One misses a smoke so much.”

      He looked longingly at the cigar. Ughtred rose and cleared off the rugs and papers which were spread over the vacant seats.

      “My friends, I am sure, will have no objection,” he declared. “I think that there is room for all of us.”

      The priest was volubly thankful. He lit his cigar and puffed at it with obvious pleasure.

      “Monsieur is doubtless a great traveller,” he remarked, urbanely. “For me a journey such as this is an event—a wonderful event. Not once in many years do I leave my people. Monsieur will be amused, but it is indeed ten years since I found myself in a railway train.”

      Ughtred was reserved, but the priest was quite willing to bear the brunt of the conversation so long as he had a listener. It appeared that he was on his way to visit his brother, who was a prosperous merchant in Belgrade. And monsieur?—if he were not too inquisitive—should he have the pleasure of his company all the way?

      Ughtred hesitated for the fraction of a second. Reist was passing along the corridor with imperturbable face, but with his cap in his hand—an agreed upon sign of danger. So Ughtred, to whom a lie was as poison, braced himself for the effort.

      “I go even farther than you,” he declared. “My journey is not ended at Constantinople.”

      The priest’s fat face was wrinkled into smiles. It was most fortunate—his own good fortune. For himself he was so unaccustomed to travel that he found it impossible to read. He was excited—besides, it gave him the headache. To converse only was possible. But after all he had no right to inflict himself thus upon monsieur. He had perhaps affairs to attend to—or he desired to sleep? Ughtred, who found it impossible to suspect this fat, simple-mannered man so shabbily dressed, so wrapped in enjoyment of his bad cigar, smiled, and shook his head. They drifted into conversation. Ughtred learned the entire village history of Baineuill, and was made acquainted with the names and standing of each of its inhabitants from Jean the smith to Monsieur le Comte, who was an infidel, and whose house-parties were as orgies of the evil one.

      “And monsieur,” the priest asked, ingenuously, “monsieur is perhaps a soldier? I have talked so long of my own poor affairs. It must be tedious.”

      Just then Reist and Brand passed along the corridor, laughing heartily. Brand paused, and with a bow to the priest held out a paper to Ughtred.

      “Read that, Brand!” he exclaimed. “These papers are the drollest in the world.”

      Ughtred looked up puzzled, but took the paper held out insistently towards him. At the bottom of an illustration were a few pencilled words.

      “Be careful! Remember! You are W. B. The priest has been asking questions about us!”

      Ughtred read, and smiled. The priest leaned forward.

      “It is a joke, eh? Monsieur will permit me also? It is good to laugh.”

      Brand was equal to the occasion. He took the paper quickly away from Ughtred.

      “Monsieur,” he said, removing his cap, “the joke which I pointed out to my friend has, without doubt, humour, but the journal, as you see, is for the students. Monsieur will excuse me if I refrain from offering it to him.”

      The priest acquiesced with a graver face, and some show of dignity.

      “But I fear, monsieur,” he said to Brand, “that I am occupying your seat. You wish to return here, beyond a doubt?”

      Brand shook his head.

      “By no means, monsieur,” he declared. “For the present, at any rate, I am engaged elsewhere.”

      They passed along the corridor. Glancing up at the priest, Ughtred was aware of a slight change in his expression. His brows were contracted, he was immersed in thought. The change was momentary, however. Soon he was again chattering away—still always of his own affairs. But there came a time when he wound up a little speech with a question.

      “Is it not so, Monsieur Brand—was not that how your friend called you?”

      Ughtred assented.

      “My