eting the man himself
or someone who knew him intimately, he could pursue his object of
following the trail of Captain Goritz with a brave front which would
defy suspicion. True, he would have no papers and no credentials, but
this, too, was a part of the guise of a man who might be moving upon a
secret mission. Carl Moyer, disguised as an Austrian of the laboring
class, moving from Bosnia to the Carpathians--what could be more
natural?

As Renwick ate his breakfast in the small inn at Otok, he came to a
sudden decision to put this bold plan into practice. And so, exhibiting
another ten-_kroner_ piece, he made known his wishes to the innkeeper.
He was a Bosnian, he said, but in Hungary he did not wish to attract
attention by wearing his native costume. In parts of Hungary there was a
feeling that the Bosnians who lived near the Serbian border were not
loyal to the Emperor and this, it had been said, might make it difficult
for him to obtain employment. His purse was not large but if his host
would procure for him a suit of western clothing, a coat, a pair of
trousers, a shirt, a cravat, and a soft hat, he, Thomasevics, would
offer his Bosnian clothing in exchange and do what was fair in the
matter of money. The train from Britzka did not go north for an hour.
Would it be possible to find these things in so short a time? The
innkeeper regarded the worn and mud-stained garments of his guest rather
dubiously, but the terms of the offer in the matter of money having been
made clear, the transformation was accomplished without difficulty and
Renwick boarded the train rather jubilant at the celerity and speed of
his journey. By nightfall, with luck, he would be across the Danube and
well within the borders of Hungary, mingling in crowds where all trace
of his identity would be lost. He spent most of his afternoon on the
train trying to recall the mannerisms of the man Moyer, a trick of
gesture, a drawl and a shrug which he thought he could manage. Carl
Moyer he now was, on a mission from Bosnia to the North, in which the
better to disguise himself he was permitting his hair and beard to grow.

Hut success had made him over-confident, for at the Bahnhof at Zombor
where he had to change into a train for Budapest, something happened
which drove all thought from his head save that of escape from the
predicament into which his imprudence had plunged him.

He was sitting upon a bench on the platform waiting for his train when a