"If you love freedom. She is an agent of the Wilhelmstrasse."
"Ah-I see. But her nationality?"
"No one knows. What does it matter? She is an actress-a friend of princes, in Russia, in Austria, a go-between, a shuttle-cock playing her own game for her own ends."
"And Liederman-?"
"Is it not obvious? Her servitor."
"But why should she have chosen to accept me without question as the new President of the Order?"
Tanya was silent a moment, and then:
"Because, if I may make so bold as to say so," she said, "your guileless appearance marks a line of least resistance best suited to her methods of attack. Kirylo Ivanitch was immune. She thinks to find you less difficult. In other words," she finished dryly, "she means to use you, Monsieur."
"I shall be guileless, Mademoiselle, as long as I can learn something, but not too guileless to be ungrateful to you." She shrugged and laughed as he glanced toward the stairway whence came the sound of voices.
Rowland laughed quietly. "I'm pledged to you, to Khodkine and to Madame Rochal. Messieurs Shestov and Barthou are perhaps on my side. Before the hour passes I shall swear allegiance to Signorina Colodna and Herr Liederman," he grinned, "the society of Nemi at least shall be cohesive and I shall be the amalgam."
"This is no joke."
"Nevertheless I shall not cry over it-"
He caught her hand and pressed it in his strong fingers. "Will you let me solve these problems in my own way? If I seem to be guileless, humor me for my simplicity but do not distrust me, Mademoiselle-for of all these who are at Nemi it is you only who shall be my guide."
"You swear it?" she whispered.
"Upon my honor."
Her face flamed suddenly and her glance fell.
Then he kissed her hand and released her just as Khodkine entered from the garden where what had once been Kirylo Ivanitch had, without ceremony, been put below the ground. But the lines at Monsieur Khodkine's brows were not born of this gruesome informality for it seemed that Nemi turned without question from old gods to new, but of another matter which for some hours had obviously given him inquietude.
"If Monsieur Rowland will permit," he said gravely turning to Tanya, "Mademoiselle Korasov is best informed to speak of the affairs of Kirylo Ivanitch and of the business pending in the Council-"
"Shall I leave you, Monsieur?" asked Rowland.
"Why? You are one of us-our leader-"
Rowland chose to read something satirical in his ceremonious bow.
"Well," said the American good-humoredly, "what's the order of business?"
"The reports from the various central committees which these Councilors represent, appropriations of money to carry on the propaganda and the plans for Russia. But first it is necessary to see into the condition of the affairs of Monsieur Ivanitch. The vault must be opened."
"The vault?" echoed Rowland.
Khodkine nodded and glanced at Tanya.
"The Priest of Nemi is sole custodian of the documents and funds of the order. Only Ivanitch knew the secret of the doors to the vault-" Here he turned suddenly to the girl-"Unless perhaps you, Tatyana-"
"What should I know, Grisha Khodkine?" she said coolly. "I have merely obeyed orders. Kirylo Ivanitch entrusted me with no such weighty responsibility as this."
"And yet it is strange, that no record should be left-"
"Kirylo Ivanitch died without speaking."
"But you Tatyana were closest in his confidence. He must have given some sign, left some paper-"
"Search for it then, his room, his desk, his clothing-"
"I have done so. There is nothing."
Rowland found another cigarette which he lighted with the greatest cheerfulness.
"An impasse," he smiled, "what are you going to do about it?"
Khodkine shrugged.
"That is a grave question, Monsieur Rowland."
"Dynamite," suggested the American. Khodkine paced the floor slowly for a moment, and then to the girl.
"Go, Tatyana, if you please, and make a thorough search. Perhaps you may succeed where I have failed."
Tanya turned toward the door and then paused. "And the others, what shall you say to them?" she asked.
"Tell them the truth," said Khodkine.
The Russian waited until Tanya had gone and then coming close to the new President of Nemi, spoke rapidly and in whispers.
"You and I are allied for a common purpose. The vault is outside in the garden, deep under the Tree, we must find a way into it, you comprehend, without the knowledge of these others."
"Yes, but how?"
"That we shall devise. I will find a way." At the sound of voices he glanced toward the door. "Meanwhile," he whispered, "say nothing."
Rowland nodded and they drew apart as Madame Rochal and Shestov entered the room.
"Ah, Machiavelli," she said, coming forward with a smile-"already wrapping your tendrils around the Tree of Nemi."
Khodkine laughed uneasily.
"My tendrils perhaps do not grow so far or cling so tightly as yours may do, Madame."
Zoya Rochal glanced at Rowland who caught her look.
"For the wild rose, Madame," said the new Priest quietly, "the oak always bears a life-long friendship."
"Ah, Monsieur, who has taught you to make pretty speeches? But be sure that I am no poison vine," she said with a shrug.
"It is only the dead oak tree that the poison-vine loves. I, Madame, am very much alive."
She flashed a quick smile at him, at once a challenge and a reproach, while Khodkine looked on gravely.
"Only an escaping slave shall break the golden Bough," muttered the literal Shestov soberly.
Zoya Rochal laughed. "You, Grisha Khodkine?" she said significantly.
Khodkine started.
"Or you, Madame," he replied quickly.
"A slave?" she said. "I have escaped from one servitude into another. But to have political opinions in Russia is fortunately no longer a crime."
Rowland looked from one to the other and laughed.
"Monsieur Shestov has rendered me a service," he said with a grin. "I didn't know of this menace. If you, Madame Rochal, desire my life you shall take it at once." He picked up the dagger of Kirylo Ivanitch which had been brought into the house and put upon the table, and thrust the handle toward her. But she shuddered prettily and turned away. "As for you, Monsieur Khodkine," he said coolly, "from this moment I must be upon my guard."
But the Russian saw no humor in this pleasantry.
"Enough of this nonsense, Monsieur. Let us go in to dinner."
And yet this controversy which had been heard by the others who had followed Zoya Rochal into the room, in spite of its apparent triviality, had done something to clear the atmosphere. Rowland's perfect good humor and air of guilelessness which seemed to see nothing but good humor and guilelessness in all those about him, had the effect of providing a common meeting ground of good-fellowship for those of different camps. And whatever the diversity of their opinions, the darkness of their thoughts and purposes, the dinner table gave no sign of the deeper undercurrents of their various allegiances.
And when they all rose from the table at the conclusion of the meal Rowland and Madame Rochal went to smoke their cigarettes.
"I can't make you out, Monsieur Rowland," she said when they were seated on a bench at the end of the garden. "At times you seem very much like