Wenzel's voice was hard when he replied: "Yet, Apor, you must work for me alone. You cannot serve two taskmasters. You are inflamed by a fanatical patriotism, and yet, worthy as it may seem, you are blinded by its light, you do not foresee its actualities. Come, Apor; if you love Hungary guard yourself from suspicion, keep free from anything which may cast doubt upon you in the eyes of the Council. Now of these petty revolutions! What happens?" "Don't ask me!" His voice cracked. "It is awful! The Council tells Szamuelly, then the brute leers, and goes off to his Death Train; the next day--he hangs Hungarians promiscuously. Guilty or not guilty, he strings up any man upon whom he can lay his hands and----" There was a dramatic interruption. Some twenty yards behind there was a sudden burst of noise, a sound of running footsteps and hoarse shouting, then a series of flickering flashes which heralded the ensuing staccato explosions of several rifles. Simultaneously there was a scream and the whistling screech of bullets. Wenzel grunted slightly. He was unhurt, but it had been but a matter of inches. A little more to his right, and at least one of the missiles would have found a billet. "Quick, Apor, are you unhurt?" "Only just." "Then run like Hades. It is another poor victim. Whatever happens we must not be found together." Without another word they parted, and rapidly merged into the darkness. Presently Wenzel stopped, and from a distance watched. Around the figure of a man stretched out upon the pavement were grouped half a dozen Red soldiers, laughing and joking. One of them kicked the helpless, stricken man, and even at that distance Wenzel heard the moan of pain. Evidently the human hare was still alive. Two of the soldiers hoisted the man to his feet, then dragged him along, and Wenzel followed, impelled by a curiosity he could not define. Perhaps for nearly a quarter of a mile the Bolsheviks pushed and pulled the wounded sufferer, till at last they were near the river. The soldiers kept on until they were half-way across the Francis Joseph Bridge, where it was pitch dark, and from where he was Wenzel could see nothing. Yet, all at once, there was a desperate cry for help and then--a splash. The Reds laughed boisterously, and continued their way. Presently there was silence. The Englishman stood still, gazing into the blackness of the night. The Danube sucked yet one more body into its depths. There was a distant rumble of thunder, from where a storm played round the hills beyond old Buda, yet it seemed to Wenzel more a rolling chuckle of laughter from Mars, as he watched and ticked off one more life in his already long and fearful list. To the fierce Roman god of war it must have seemed almost as bloody a sport as a European war. * * * * * *