7 
Across the Border

As Carneades led him into the Trieste station Ramsay hurriedly glanced about.

The place was filled with the general buzz of conversation, bustle, and noise as the morning crowd of travelers moved about in all directions at once. Ramsay looked to his right and left, scanned the area, then located the schedule board. He ran toward it.

It revealed a 7:13 departure for Milan.

“That’s it,” cried Ramsay. “Seven-thirteen. Where’s platform three? It might not be too late!”

“This way,” answered Carneades, lumbering into a run.

Ramsay broke into a sprint, quickly passed him, and now ran through the tunnel almost in Amanda’s very footsteps of only a few short minutes earlier.

Unfortunately, the engineer of the Milan express, a crusty Italian who had worked for the railroad since he was fifteen, kept rigorously to the schedule and sent steam to wheels at the precise instant the second hand of his watch rounded the apex of 7:13 on the dot.

When the two men hurried up to the platform, therefore, it was only in time to see the last coach of the westbound train departing the station about fifty yards down the track.

A great imprecation exploded from Ramsay’s lips. He saw nobody at the windows this time. But an inner conviction assured him that Amanda was on that train.

“Do you have a car?” he said to the Greek.

“A friend’s,” replied Carneades. “It’s outside.”

“Let’s go, then!” cried Ramsay. “The train will stop at the border. If we fly, we just might be able to make it. We’ll catch her there!”

Forty minutes later Amanda stepped out of the coach and followed the other passengers toward the border inspection station.

Though Italy was the third member of the Triple Alliance and on friendly terms with Germany and Austria-Hungary, she had become angered by the Austrian ultimatum to Serbia in August and had declared her neutrality. She was presently engaged in a shrewd diplomatic game between the two sides in the war. Amanda knew she would be reasonably safe once inside Italy. The delay while passports were checked would not be long. Yet with a war on, security even at a friendly border such as this had been tightened.

Amanda stood in line pulling out Gertrut Oswald’s passport. Hurry, hurry, she thought. Can’t you move any faster!

The minutes dragged by. One by one each of the passengers was cleared through the gate, then returned on the Italian side back to the waiting train. Impatiently Amanda shuffled and glanced nervously about.

The roar of an automobile engine broke through the faint hissing coming from the stopped train. Amanda turned toward the sound. A black sedan was racing toward the scene. It screeched to a stop on the other side of the tracks about a hundred yards away. Two men jumped out from each side.

Amanda’s heart suddenly leapt into her throat.

No . . . not again! How could he have followed her here!

Almost at the same moment the lady in front of her walked through the gate.

“Pass,” said the guard.

Amanda shoved the stolen passport into his hand, glancing nervously back and forth between the guard and her pursuer.

Ramsay was running toward the inspection booth! His footsteps echoed on the pavement stones.

“That man,” she said frantically to the guard. “He is—”

A shout sounded.

“Stop that young woman!”

Amanda glanced fearfully behind her.

“Don’t worry, Fraulein,” replied the guard, gesturing Amanda through as he handed back her passport. “We will take care of him.”

Amanda dashed through the gate and toward the train.

Ramsay ran up to the small guardhouse.

“You’ve got to detain that woman,” he said, flashing his passport as if to run straight through. “She is—”

“You’re the one we will detain,” interrupted the guard. He stepped forward to block Ramsay’s way.

“What are you doing, you fool!” exploded Ramsay. “She’s English, and a spy. She’s trying to get—”

A shrill whistle drowned out whatever else he might have been planning to say. Within seconds Ramsay found himself in the grip of two Austrian soldiers clutching both his arms.

“You’re making a mistake,” he cried. “I’m not—”

“None of your impertinence,” rejoined the guard. “You’re the one who made a mistake trying to accost that young lady.”

“You won’t get away from us, Amanda!” Ramsay shouted through the gate. “I’ll follow you wherever you go. You are my wife now. You cannot escape me!”

Trying desperately to shut out his voice behind her, Amanda stumbled into the train.

She found her seat and looked out the window. They were leading Ramsay away. He was struggling and straining, but to no avail. The first soldiers had now been joined by two others.

The passport line contained ten or twelve more people. If only the train would get moving before he managed to convince them that he was telling the truth.

Ten minutes later, seeing no further action outside involving Ramsay, Amanda felt the train jerk again into motion.