There was a roar of laughter from his followers, and the verdict was unanimous: "White, Comrade Szamuelly, white!" "Then he hangs. Throw a rope over that tree yonder." Willing hands were found to obey the injunction. In less than a minute a rope was thrown over a lower branch, a running loop formed, and underneath it a chair was placed. To it the victim was dragged and forced up upon the chair. The loop was adjusted round his neck. Everything ready, Szamuelly crossed and stood in front of the man. He took the cigarette from his mouth, and suddenly placed its lighted end upon the hapless victim's bare foot. The poor wretch howled with pain, kicked backward, the chair fell over, and the loop tightened.... There were seven other trees near by, and in less than twenty minutes at every tree twisted and swayed a lifeless body at the end of a rope. After that Szamuelly was satisfied. "Come along, comrades. Do you think Bira will go White again?" A hoarse growl of laughter arose. "Not if they are wise." So the Death Train steamed back to Budapest. Its work was done. Bira would not go White again. Innocent or guilty, eight victims hung warningly in the station square. Wenzel--as his body had been chilled with cold the night before, so now his heart and his emotions were frozen. He could not think coherently. Civilization! What progress had it made in the hearts of these people? They were more savage than the Turks their forefathers had driven across the frontier centuries before. There was but one thought dominant in Wenzel's mind then. After Gonnard, Szamuelly; after Gonnard, known murderer of two good Hungarian men. Szamuelly, the murderer of hundreds! Szamuelly must die! Of the chaotic thoughts which obsessed Wenzel that was the one dominant factor. Szamuelly must die! The Death Train disappeared in the distance, and Wenzel watched it with eyes which gleamed with an unbridled fury of hatred. Even the death of Elizabeth's cousin was as nothing compared with this crime, but there was his word--the word of the White Knight--given to Elizabeth. Yet afterward... Szamuelly must die! _CHAPTER X_ Thirty-three miles away from Budapest is Aszod. This town was almost as much a centre of Communism as Budapest; its people took kindly to the doctrine of upheaval, and so they hoisted a huge Red flag, which flapped in the wind from above the reformatory, while a similar flag above the station advertised the politics of the town.