Chapter XIV. Marco Does Not Answer

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　By the time he turned the corner of the stairs, the beautifullady had risen from her seat in the back room and walked into thedining-room at the front. A heavily-built, dark-bearded man wasstanding inside the door as if waiting for her."I could do nothing with him," she said at once, in her softvoice, speaking quite prettily and gently, as if what she saidwas the most natural thing in the world. "I managed the littletrick of the sprained foot really well, and got him into thehouse. He is an amiable boy with perfect manners, and I thoughtit might be easy to surprise him into saying more than he knew hewas saying. You can generally do that with children and youngthings. But he either knows nothing or has been trained to holdhis tongue. He's not stupid, and he's of a high spirit. I madea pathetic little scene about Samavia, because I saw he could beworked up. It did work him up. I tried him with the Lost Princerumor; but, if there is truth in it, he does not or will notknow. I tried to make him lose his temper and betray somethingin defending his father, whom he thinks a god, by the way. But Imade a mistake. I saw that. It's a pity. Boys can sometimes bemade to tell anything." She spoke very quickly under herbreath. The man spoke quickly too."Where is he?" he asked."I sent him up to the drawing-room to look for a book. He willlook for a few minutes. Listen. He's an innocent boy. He seesme only as a gentle angel. Nothing will shake him so much as tohear me tell him the truth suddenly. It will be such a shock tohim that perhaps you can do something with him then. He may losehis hold on himself. He's only a boy.""You're right," said the bearded man. "And when he finds outhe is not free to go, it may alarm him and we may get somethingworth while.""If we could find out what is true, or what Loristan thinks istrue, we should have a clue to work from," she said."We have not much time," the man whispered. "We are orderedto Bosnia at once. Before midnight we must be on the way.""Let us go into the other room. He is coming."When Marco entered the room, the heavily-built man with thepointed dark beard was standing by the easy-chair."I am sorry I could not find the book," he apologized. "Ilooked on all the tables.""I shall be obliged to go and search for it myself," said theLovely Person.She rose from her chair and stood up smiling. And at her firstmovement Marco saw that she was not disabled in the least."Your foot!" he exclaimed. "It's better?""It wasn't hurt," she answered, in her softly pretty voice andwith her softly pretty smile. "I only made you think so."It was part of her plan to spare him nothing of shock in hersudden transformation. Marco felt his breath leave him for amoment."I made you believe I was hurt because I wanted you to come intothe house with me," she added. "I wished to find out certainthings I am sure you know.""They were things about Samavia," said the man. "Your fatherknows them, and you must know something of them at least. It isnecessary that we should hear what you can tell us. We shall notallow you to leave the house until you have answered certainquestions I shall ask you."Then Marco began to understand. He had heard his father speak ofpolitical spies, men and women who were paid to trace the peoplethat certain governments or political parties desired to havefollowed and observed. He knew it was their work to search outsecrets, to disguise themselves and live among innocent people asif they were merely ordinary neighbors.They must be spies who were paid to follow his father because hewas a Samavian and a patriot. He did not know that they hadtaken the house two months before, and had accomplished severalthings during their apparently innocent stay in it. They haddiscovered Loristan and had learned to know his outgoings andincomings, and also the outgoings and incomings of Lazarus,Marco, and The Rat. But they meant, if possible, to learn otherthings. If the boy could be startled and terrified intounconscious revelations, it might prove well worth their while tohave played this bit of melodrama before they locked the frontdoor behind them and hastily crossed the Channel, leaving theirlandlord to discover for himself that the house had been vacated.In Marco's mind strange things were happening. They were spies!But that was not all. The Lovely Person had been right when shesaid that he would receive a shock. His strong young chestswelled. In all his life, he had never come face to face withblack treachery before. He could not grasp it. This gentle andfriendly being with the grateful soft voice and grateful softeyes had betrayed--betrayed him! It seemed impossible to believeit, and yet the smile on herm curved mouth told him that it wastrue. When he had sprung to help her, she had been playing atrick! When he had been sorry for her pain and had winced at thesound of her low exclamation, she had been deliberately laying atrap to harm him. For a few seconds he was stunned--perhaps, ifhe had not been his father's son, he might have been stunnedonly. But he was more. When the first seconds had passed, therearose slowly within him a sense of something like high, remotedisdain. It grew in his deep boy's eyes as he gazed directlyinto the pupils of the long soft dark ones. His body felt as ifit were growing taller."You are very clever," he said slowly. Then, after a second'spause, he added, "I was too young to know that there was any oneso--clever--in the world."The Lovely Person laughed, but she did not laugh easily. Shespoke to her companion."A grand seigneur!" she said. "As one looks at him, one halfbelieves it is true."The man with the beard was looking very angry. His eyes weresavage and his dark skin reddened. Marco thought that he lookedat him as if he hated him, and was made fierce by the mere sightof him, for some mysterious reason."Two days before you left Moscow," he said, "three men came tosee your father. They looked like peasants. They talked to himfor more than an hour. They brought with them a roll ofparchment. Is that not true?""I know nothing," said Marco."Before you went to Moscow, you were in Budapest. You wentthere from Vienna. You were there for three months, and yourfather saw many people. Some of them came in the middle of thenight.""I know nothing," said Marco."You have spent your life in traveling from one country toanother," persisted the man. "You know the European languagesas if you were a courier, or the portier in a Viennese hotel. Doyou not?"Marco did not answer.The Lovely Person began to speak to the man rapidly in Russian."A spy and an adventurer Stefan Loristan has always been andalways will be," she said. "We know what he is. The police inevery capital in Europe know him as a sharper and a vagabond, aswell as a spy. And yet, with all his cleverness, he does notseem to have money. What did he do with the bribe theMaranovitch gave him for betraying what he knew of the oldfortress? The boy doesn't even suspect him. Perhaps it's truethat he knows nothing. Or perhaps it is true that he has been soill-treated and flogged from his babyhood that he dare not speak.There is a cowed look in his eyes in spite of his childishswagger. He's been both starved and beaten."The outburst was well done. She did not look at Marco as shepoured forth her words. She spoke with the abruptness andimpetuosity of a person whose feelings had got the better of her.If Marco was sensitive about his father, she felt sure that hisyouth would make his face reveal something if his tongue didnot--if he understood Russian, which was one of the things itwould be useful to find out, because it was a fact which wouldverify many other things.Marco's face disappointed her. No change took place in it, andthe blood did not rise to the surface of his skin. He listenedwith an uninterested air, blank and cold and polite. Let themsay what they chose.The man twisted his pointed beard and shrugged his shoulders."We have a good little wine-cellar downstairs," he said. "Youare going down into it, and you will probably stay there for sometime if you do not make up your mind to answer my questions. Youthink that nothing can happen to you in a house in a Londonstreet where policemen walk up and down. But you are mistaken.If you yelled now, even if any one chanced to hear you, theywould only think you were a lad getting a thrashing he deserved.You can yell as much as you like in the black little wine-cellar,and no one will hear at all. We only took this house for threemonths, and we shall leave it to-night without mentioning thefact to anyone. If we choose to leave you in the wine-cellar, you will waitthere until somebody begins to notice that no one goes in andout, and chances to mention it to the landlord--which few peoplewould take the trouble to do. Did you come here from Moscow?""I know nothing," said Marco."You might remain in the good little black cellar anunpleasantly long time before you were found," the man went on,quite coolly. "Do you remember the peasants who came to seeyour father two nights before you left?""I know nothing," said Marco."By the time it was discovered that the house was empty andpeople came in to make sure, you might be too weak to call outand attract their attention. Did you go to Budapest from Vienna,and were you there for three months?" asked the inquisitor."I know nothing," said Marco."You are too good for the little black cellar," put in theLovely Person. "I like you. Don't go into it!""I know nothing," Marco answered, but the eyes which were likeLoristan's gave her just such a look as Loristan would have givenher, and she felt it. It made her uncomfortable."I don't believe you were ever ill-treated or beaten," shesaid. "I tell you, the little black cellar will be a hardthing. Don't go there!"And this time Marco said nothing, but looked at her still as ifhe were some great young noble who was very proud.He knew that every word the bearded man had spoken was true. Tocry out would be of no use. If they went away and left himbehind them, there was no knowing how many days would pass beforethe people of the neighborhood would begin to suspect that theplace had been deserted, or how long it would be before itoccurred to some one to give warning to the owner. And in themeantime, neither his father nor Lazarus nor The Rat would havethe faintest reason for guessing where he was. And he would besitting alone in the dark in the wine-cellar. He did not know inthe least what to do about this thing. He only knew that silencewas still the order."It is a jet-black little hole," the man said. "You mightcrack your throat in it, and no one would hear. Did men come totalk with your father in the middle of the night when you were inVienna?""I know nothing," said Marco."He won't tell," said the Lovely Person. "I am sorry for thisboy.""He may tell after he has sat in the good little blackwine-cellar for a few hours," said the man with the pointedbeard. "Come with me!"He put his powerful hand on Marco's shoulder and pushed himbefore him. Marco made no struggle. He remembered what hisfather had said about the game not being a game. It wasn't agame now, but somehow he had a strong haughty feeling of notbeing afraid.He was taken through the hallway, toward the rear, and down thecommonplace flagged steps which led to the basement. Then he wasmarched through a narrow, ill-lighted, flagged passage to a doorin the wall. The door was not locked and stood a trifle ajar.His companion pushed it farther open and showed part of a wine-cellar which was so dark that it was only the shelves nearest thedoor that Marco could faintly see. His captor pushed him in andshut the door. It was as black a hole as he had described.Marco stood still in the midst of darkness like black velvet.His guard turned the key."The peasants who came to your father in Moscow spoke Samavianand were big men. Do you remember them?" he asked from outside."I know nothing," answered Marco."You are a young fool," the voice replied. "And I believe youknow even more than we thought. Your father will be greatlytroubled when you do not come home. I will come back to see youin a few hours, if it is possible. I will tell you, however,that I have had disturbing news which might make it necessary forus to leave the house in a hurry. I might not have time to comedown here again before leaving."Marco stood with his back against a bit of wall and remainedsilent.There was stillness for a few minutes, and then there was to beheard the sound of footsteps marching away.When the last distant echo died all was quite silent, and Marcodrew a long breath. Unbelievable as it may appear, it was in onesense almost a breath of relief. In the rush of strange feelingwhich had swept over him when he found himself facing theastounding situation up-stairs, it had not been easy to realizewhat his thoughts really were; there were so many of them andthey came so fast. How could he quite believe the evidence ofhis eyes and ears? A few minutes, only a few minutes, hadchanged his prettily grateful and kindly acquaintance into asubtle and cunning creature whose love for Samavia had been partof a plot to harm it and to harm his father.What did she and her companion want to do--what could they do ifthey knew the things they were trying to force him to tell?Marco braced his back against the wall stoutly."What will it be best to think about first?"This he said because one of the most absorbingly fascinatingthings he and his father talked about together was the power ofthe thoughts which human beings allow to pass through theirminds--the strange strength of them. When they talked of this,Marco felt as if he were listening to some marvelous Easternstory of magic which was true. In Loristan's travels, he hadvisited the far Oriental countries, and he had seen and learnedmany things which seemed marvels, and they had taught him deepthinking. He had known, and reasoned through days with men whobelieved that when they desired a thing, clear and exaltedthought would bring it to them. He had discovered why theybelieved this, and had learned to understand their profoundarguments.What he himself believed, he had taught Marco quite simply fromhis childhood. It was this: he himself--Marco, with the strongboy-body, the thick mat of black hair, and the patched clothes--was the magician. He held and waved his wand himself--and hiswand was his own Thought. When special privation or anxietybeset them, it was their rule to say, "What will it be best tothink about first?" which was Marco's reason for saying it tohimself now as he stood in the darkness which was like blackvelvet.He waited a few minutes for the right thing to come to him."I will think of the very old hermit who lived on the ledge ofthe mountains in India and who let my father talk to him throughall one night," he said at last. This had been a wonderfulstory and one of his favorites. Loristan had traveled far to seethis ancient Buddhist, and what he had seen and heard during thatone night had made changes in his life. The part of the storywhich came back to Marco now was these words:"Let pass through thy mind, my son, only the image thou wouldstdesire to see a truth. Meditate only upon the wish of thy heart,seeing first that it can injure no man and is not ignoble. Thenwill it take earthly form and draw near to thee. This is the lawof that which creates.""I am not afraid," Marco said aloud. "I shall not be afraid.In some way I shall get out."This was the image he wanted most to keep steadily in his mind--that nothing could make him afraid, and that in some way hewould get out of the wine-cellar.He thought of this for some minutes, and said the words overseveral times. He felt more like himself when he had done it."When my eyes are accustomed to the darkness, I shall see ifthere is any little glimmer of light anywhere," he said next.He waited with patience, and it seemed for some time that he sawno glimmer at all. He put out his hands on either side of him,and found that, on the side of the wall against which he stood,there seemed to be no shelves. Perhaps the cellar had been usedfor other purposes than the storing of wine, and, if that wastrue, there might be somewhere some opening for ventilation. Theair was not bad, but then the door had not been shut tightly whenthe man opened it."I am not afraid," he repeated. "I shall not be afraid. Insome way I shall get out."He would not allow himself to stop and think about his fatherwaiting for his return. He knew that would only rouse hisemotions and weaken his courage. He began to feel his waycarefully along the wall. It reached farther than he had thoughtit would.The cellar was not so very small. He crept round it gradually,and, when he had crept round it, he made his way across it,keeping his hands extended before him and setting down each footcautiously. Then he sat down on the stone floor and thoughtagain, and what he thought was of the things the old Buddhist hadtold his father, and that there was a way out of this place forhim, and he should somehow find it, and, before too long a timehad passed, be walking in the street again.It was while he was thinking in this way that he felt a startlingthing. It seemed almost as if something touched him. It madehim jump, though the touch was so light and soft that it wasscarcely a touch at all, in fact he could not be sure that he hadnot imagined it. He stood up and leaned against the wall again.Perhaps the suddenness of his movement placed him at some anglehe had not reached before, or perhaps his eyes had become morecompletely accustomed to the darkness, for, as he turned his headto listen, he made a discovery: above the door there was a placewhere the velvet blackness was not so dense. There was somethinglike a slit in the wall, though, as it did not open upon daylightbut upon the dark passage, it was not light it admitted so muchas a lesser shade of darkness. But even that was better thannothing, and Marco drew another long breath."That is only the beginning. I shall find a way out," he said."I shall."He remembered reading a story of a man who, being shut byaccident in a safety vault, passed through such terrors beforehis release that he believed he had spent two days and nights inthe place when he had been there only a few hours."His thoughts did that. I must remember. I will sit down againand begin thinking of all the pictures in the cabinet rooms ofthe Art History Museum in Vienna. It will take some time, andthen there are the others," he said.It was a good plan. While he could keep his mind upon the gamewhich had helped him to pass so many dull hours, he could thinkof nothing else, as it required close attention--and perhaps, asthe day went on, his captors would begin to feel that it was notsafe to run the risk of doing a thing as desperate as this wouldbe. They might think better of it before they left the house atleast. In any case, he had learned enough from Loristan torealize that only harm could come from letting one's mind runwild."A mind is either an engine with broken and flying gear, or agiant power under control," was the thing they knew.He had walked in imagination through three of the cabinet roomsand was turning mentally into a fourth, when he found himselfstarting again quite violently. This time it was not at a touchbut at a sound. Surely it was a sound. And it was in the cellarwith him. But it was the tiniest possible noise, a ghost of asqueak and a suggestion of a movement. It came from the oppositeside of the cellar, the side where the shelves were. He lookedacross in the darkness saw a light which there could be nomistake about. It was a light, two lights indeed, two roundphosphorescent greenish balls. They were two eyes staring athim. And then he heard another sound. Not a squeak this time,but something so homely and comfortable that he actually burstout laughing. It was a cat purring, a nice warm cat! And shewas curled up on one of the lower shelves purring to somenew-born kittens. He knew there were kittens because it wasplain now what the tiny squeak had been, and it was made plainerby the fact that he heard another much more distinct one and thenanother. They had all been asleep when he had come into thecellar. If the mother had been awake, she had probably been verymuch afraid. Afterward she had perhaps come down from her shelfto investigate, and had passed close to him. The feeling ofrelief which came upon him at this queer and simple discovery waswonderful. It was so natural and comfortable an every-day thingthat it seemed to make spies and criminals unreal, and onlynatural things possible. With a mother cat purring away amongher kittens, even a dark wine-cellar was not so black. He got upand kneeled by the shelf. The greenish eyes did not shine in anunfriendly way. He could feel that the owner of them was a nicebig cat, and he counted four round little balls of kittens. Itwas a curious delight to stroke the soft fur and talk to themother cat. She answered with purring, as if she liked the senseof friendly human nearness. Marco laughed to himself."It's queer what a difference it makes!" he said. "It isalmost like finding a window."The mere presence of these harmless living things wascompanionship. He sat down close to the low shelf and listenedto the motherly purring, now and then speaking and putting outhis hand to touch the warm fur. The phosphorescent light in thegreen eyes was a comfort in itself."We shall get out of this--both of us," he said. "We shallnot be here very long, Puss-cat."He was not troubled by the fear of being really hungry for sometime. He was so used to eating scantily from necessity, and topassing long hours without food during his journeys, that he hadproved to himself that fasting is not, after all, such adesperate ordeal as most people imagine. If you begin byexpecting to feel famished and by counting the hours between yourmeals, you will begin to be ravenous. But he knew better.The time passed slowly; but he had known it would pass slowly,and he had made up his mind not to watch it nor ask himselfquestions about it. He was not a restless boy, but, like hisfather, could stand or sit or lie still. Now and then he couldhear distant rumblings of carts and vans passing in the street.There was a certain degree of companionship in these also. Hekept his place near the cat and his hand where he couldoccasionally touch her. He could lift his eyes now and then tothe place where the dim glimmer of something like light showeditself.Perhaps the stillness, perhaps the darkness, perhaps the purringof the mother cat, probably all three, caused his thoughts tobegin to travel through his mind slowly and more slowly. At lastthey ceased and he fell asleep. The mother cat purred for sometime, and then fell asleep herself.