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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15671-8.txt b/15671-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7103012 --- /dev/null +++ b/15671-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8869 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Splendid Hazard, by Harold MacGrath + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Splendid Hazard + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Release Date: April 20, 2005 [EBook #15671] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPLENDID HAZARD *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +SPLENDID HAZARD + + +By + +HAROLD MACGRATH + + + + + + +AUTHOR OF + +THE GOOSE GIRL, THE LURE OF THE MASK, +THE MAN ON THE BOX, ETC. + + + + +With Illustrations by + +HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY + + +[Transcriber's note: All illustrations were missing from book.] + + + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +COPYRIGHT 1910 + +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I A MEMORABLE DATE + II THE BUTTERFLY MAN + III A PLASTER STATUETTE + IV PIRATES AND SECRETARIES + V NO FALSE PRETENSES + VI SOME EXPLANATIONS + VII A BIT OF ROMANTIC HISTORY + VIII SOME BIRDS IN A CHIMNEY + IX THEY DRESS FOR DINNER + X THE GHOST OF AN OLD REGIME + XI PREPARATIONS AND COGITATIONS + XII M. FERRAUD INTRODUCES HIMSELF + XIII THE WOMAN WHO KNEW + XIV THE DRAMA BEGINS + XV THEY GO A-SAILING + XVI CROSS-PURPOSES + XVII A QUESTION PROM KEATS + XVIII CATHEWE ADVISES AND THE ADMIRAL DISCLOSES + XIX BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER + XX AN OLD SCANDAL + XXI CAPTAIN FLANAGAN MEETS A DUKE + XXII THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT + XXIII CATHEWE ASKS QUESTIONS + XXIV THE PINES OF AITONE + XXV THE DUPE + XXVI THE END OF THE DREAM + + + + +A SPLENDID HAZARD + + +CHAPTER I + +A MEMORABLE DATE + +A blurring rain fell upon Paris that day; a rain so fine and cold that +it penetrated the soles of men's shoes and their hearts alike, a +dispiriting drizzle through which the pale, acrid smoke of innumerable +wood fires faltered upward from the clustering chimney-pots, only to be +rent into fragments and beaten down upon the glistening tiles of the +mansard roofs. The wide asphalts reflected the horses and carriages +and trains and pedestrians in forms grotesque, zigzagging, flitting, +amusing, like a shadow-play upon a wrinkled, wind-blown curtain. The +sixteenth of June. To Fitzgerald there was something electric in the +date, a tingle of that ecstasy which frequently comes into the blood of +a man to whom the romance of a great battle is more than its history or +its effect upon the destinies of human beings. Many years before, this +date had marked the end to a certain hundred days, the eclipse of a sun +more dazzling than Rome, in the heyday of her august Caesars, had ever +known: Waterloo. A little corporal of artillery; from a cocked hat to +a crown, from Corsica to St. Helena: Napoleon. + +Fitzgerald, as he pressed his way along the _Boulevard des Invalides_, +his umbrella swaying and snapping in the wind much like the sail of a +derelict, could see in fancy that celebrated field whereon this eclipse +had been supernally prearranged. He could hear the boom of cannon, the +thunder of cavalry, the patter of musketry, now thick, now scattered, +and again not unlike the subdued rattle of rain on the bulging silk +careening before him. He held the handle of the umbrella under his +arm, for the wind had a temper mawling and destructive, and veered into +the _Place Vauban_. Another man, coming with equal haste from the +opposite direction, from the entrance of the tomb itself, was also two +parts hidden behind an umbrella. The two came together with a jolt as +sounding as that of two old crusaders in a friendly joust. Instantly +they retreated, lowering their shields. + +"I beg your pardon," said Fitzgerald in French. + +"It is of no consequence," replied the stranger, laughing. "This is +always a devil of a corner on a windy day." His French had a slight +German twist to it. + +Briefly they inspected each other, as strangers will, carelessly, with +annoyance and amusement interplaying in their eyes and on their lips, +all in a trifling moment. Then each raised his hat and proceeded, as +tranquilly and unconcernedly as though destiny had no ulterior motive +in bringing them thus really together. And yet, when they had passed +and disappeared from each other's view, both were struck with the fact +that somewhere they had met before. + +Fitzgerald went into the tomb, his head bared. The marble underfoot +bore the imprint of many shoes and rubbers and hobnails, of all sizes +and--mayhap--of all nations. He recollected, with a burn on his +cheeks, a sacrilege of his raw and eager youth, some twelve years +since; he had forgotten to take off his hat. Never would he forget the +embarrassment of that moment when the attendant peremptorily bade him +remove it. He, to have forgotten! He, who held Napoleon above all +heroes! The shame of it! + +To-day many old soldiers were gathered meditatively round the heavy +circular railing. They were always drawn hither on memorable +anniversaries. Their sires and grandsires had carried some of those +tattered flags, had won them. The tides of time might ebb and flow, +but down there, in his block of Siberian porphyry, slept the hero. +There were some few tourists about this afternoon, muttering over their +guide-books, when nothing is needed on this spot but the imagination; +and that solemn quiet of which the tomb is ever jealous pressed down +sadly upon the living. Through the yellow panes at the back of the +high altar came a glow suggesting sunshine, baffling the drab of the +sky outside; and down in the crypt itself the misty blue was as +effective as moonshine. + +Napoleon had always been Fitzgerald's ideal hero; but he did not +worship him blindly, no. He knew him to have been a brutal, +domineering man, unscrupulous in politics, to whom woman was either a +temporary toy or a stepping-stone, not over-particular whether she was +a dairy-maid or an Austrian princess; in fact, a rascal, but a great, +incentive, splendid, courageous one, the kind which nature calls forth +every score of years to purge her breast of the petty rascals, to the +benefit of mankind in general. Notwithstanding that he was a rascal, +there was an inextinguishable glamour about the man against which the +bolts of truth, history, letters, biographers broke ineffectually. Oh, +but he had shaken up all Europe; he had made precious kings rattle in +their shoes; he had redrawn a hundred maps; and men had laughed as they +died for him. It is something for a rascal to have evolved the Code +Napoleon. What a queer satisfaction it must be, even at this late day, +nearly a hundred years removed, to any Englishman, standing above this +crypt, to recollect that upon English soil the Great Shadow had never +set his iron heel! + +Near to Fitzgerald stood an elderly man and a girl. The old fellow was +a fine type of manhood; perhaps in the sixties, white-haired, and the +ruddy enamel on his cheeks spoke eloquently of sea changes and many +angles of the sun. There was a button in the lapel of his coat, and +from this Fitzgerald assumed that he was a naval officer, probably +retired. + +The girl rested upon the railing, her hands folded, and dreamily her +gaze wandered from trophy to trophy; from the sarcophagus to the +encircling faces, from one window to another, and again to the porphyry +beneath. And Fitzgerald's gaze wandered, too. For the girl's face was +of that mold which invariably draws first the eye of a man, then his +intellect, then his heart, and sometimes all three at once. The face +was as lovely as a rose of Taormina. Dark brown were her eyes, dark +brown was her hair. She was tall and lithe, too, with the subtle hint +of the woman. There were good taste and sense in her garments. A +bunch of Parma violets was pinned against her breast. + +"A well-bred girl," was the grateful spectator's silent comment. "No +new money there. I wish they'd send more of them over here. But it +appears that, with few exceptions, only freaks can afford to travel." + +Between Fitzgerald and the girl was a veteran. He had turned eighty if +a day. His face was powder-blown, an empty sleeve, was folded across +his breast, and the medal of the Legion of Honor fell over the Sleeve. +As the girl and her elderly escort, presumably her father, turned about +to leave, she unpinned the flowers and offered them impulsively to the +aged hero. + +"Take these, _mon brave_," she said lightly; "you have fought for +France." + +The old man was confused and his faded eyes filled. "For me, +mademoiselle?" + +"Surely!" + +"Thanks, mademoiselle, thanks! I saw _him_ when they brought him back +from St. Helena, and the Old Guard waded out into the Seine. Those +were days. Thanks, mademoiselle; an old soldier salutes you!" And the +time-bent, withered form grew tall. + +Fitzgerald cleared his throat, for just then something hard had formed +there. Why, God bless her! She was the kind of girl who became the +mother of soldiers. + +With her departure his present interest here began to wane. He +wondered who she might be and what part of his native land she adorned +when not gracing European capitals. Well, this was no time for +mooning. He had arrived from London the day proceeding, and was +leaving for Corfu on the morrow, and perforce he must crowd many things +into this short grace of time. He was only moderately fond of Paris as +a city; the cafes and restaurants and theaters amused him, to be sure; +but he was always hunting for romance here and never finding it. The +Paris of his Dumas and Leloir no longer existed. In one way or +another, the Louvre did not carry him back to the beloved days; he +could not rouse his fancy to such height that he could see D'Artagnan +ruffling it on the staircase, or Porthos sporting a gold baldric, which +was only leather, under his cloak. So then, the tomb of Napoleon and +the articles of clothing and warfare which had belonged to him and the +toys of the poor little king of Rome were far more to him than all the +rest of Paris put together. These things of the first great empire +were tangible, visible, close to the touch of his hand. Therefore, +never he came to Paris that he failed to visit the tomb and the two +museums. + +To-day his sight-seeing ended in the hall of Turenne, before the +souvenirs of the Duc de Reichstadt, so-called the king of Rome. Poor, +little lead soldiers, tarnished and broken; what a pathetic history! +Abused, ignored, his childish aspirations trampled on, the name and +glory of his father made sport of; worried as cruel children worry a +puppy; tantalized; hoping against hope that this night or the next his +father would dash in at the head of the Old Guard and take him back to +Paris. A plaything for Metternich! Who can gaze upon these little +toys without a thrill of pity? + +"Poor little codger!" Fitzgerald murmured aloud. + +"Yes, yes!" agreed a voice in good English, over his shoulder; "who +will ever realize the misery of that boy?" + +Fitzgerald at once recognized his jousting opponent of the previous +hour. Further, this second appearance refreshed his memory. He knew +now where he had met the man; he even recalled his name. + +"Are you not Karl Breitmann?" he asked with directness. + +"Yes. And you are--let me think. Yes; I have it. You are the +American correspondent, Fitzgerald." + +"And we met in Macedonia during the Greek war." + +"Right. And you and I, with a handful of other scribblers, slept that +night under the same tent." + +"By George!" + +"I did not recall you when we bumped a while ago; but once I had gone +by you, your face became singularly familiar." + +"Funny, isn't it?" And Fitzgerald took hold of the extended hand. +"The sight of these toys always gets into my heart." + +"Into mine also. Who can say what might have been had they not crushed +out the great spirit lying dormant in his little soul? I saw Bernhardt +and Coquelin recently in _L'Aiglon_. Ah, but they play it! It drove +me here to-day. But this three-cornered hat holds me longest," with a +quick gesture toward the opposite wall. "Can't you see the lean face +under it, the dark eyes, the dark hair falling upon his collar? What +thoughts have run riot under this piece of felt? The brain, the brain! +A lieutenant at this time; a short, wiry, cold-blooded youngster, but +dreaming the greatest dream in the world!" + +Fitzgerald smiled. "You are an enthusiast like myself." + +"Who wouldn't be who has, visited every battlefield, who has spent days +wandering about Corsica, Elba, St. Helena? But you?" + +"My word, I have done the same things." + +They exchanged smiles. + +"What written tale can compare with this living one?" continued +Breitmann, his eyes brilliant, his voice eager and the tone rich. "Ah! +How many times have I berated the day I was born! To have lived in +that day, to have been a part of that bewildering war panorama; from +Toulon to Waterloo! Pardon; perhaps I bore you?" + +"By George, no! I'm as bad, if not worse. I shall never forgive one +of my forebears for serving under Wellington." + +"Nor I one of mine for serving under Blücher!" + +They laughed aloud this time. It is always pleasant to meet a person +who waxes enthusiastic over the same things as oneself. And Fitzgerald +was drawn toward this comparative stranger, who was not ashamed to +speak from his heart. They drifted into a long conversation, and +fought a dozen battles, compared this general and that, and built idle +fancies upon what the outcome would have been had Napoleon won at +Waterloo. This might have gone on indefinitely had not the patient +attendant finally dandled his keys and yawned over his watch. It was +four o'clock, and they had been talking for a full hour. They +exchanged cards, and Fitzgerald, with his usual disregard of +convention, invited Breitmann to dine with him that evening at the +Meurice. + +He selected a table by the window, dining at seven-thirty. Breitmann +was prompt. In evening clothes there was something distinctive about +the man. Fitzgerald, who was himself a wide traveler and a man of the +world, instantly saw and was agreeably surprised that he had asked a +gentleman to dine. Fitzgerald was no cad; he would have been just as +much interested in Breitmann had he arrived in a cutaway sack. But +chance acquaintances, as a rule, are rudimental experiments. + +They sat down. Breitmann was full of surprises; and as the evening +wore on, Fitzgerald remembered having seen Breitmann's name at the foot +of big newspaper stories. The man had traveled everywhere, spoke five +languages, had been a war correspondent, a sailor in the South Seas, +and Heaven knew what else. He had ridden camels and polo ponies in the +Soudan; he had been shot in the Greece-Turkish war, shortly after his +having met Fitzgerald; he had played a part in the recent +Spanish-American, and had fought against the English in the Transvaal. + +"And now I am resting," he concluded, turning his chambertin round and +round, giving the effect of a cluster of rubies on the table linen. +"And all my adventures have been as profitable as these," indebted for +the moment to the phantom rubies. "But it's all a great stage, whether +you play behind the wings or before the lights. I am thirty-eight; +into twenty of those years I have crowded a century." + +"You don't look it." + +"Ah, one does not need to dissipate to live quickly. The life I have +led has kept me in health and vigor. But you? You are not a man who +travels without gaining material." + +"I have had a few adventures, something like yours, only not so widely +diversified. I wrote some successful short stories about China once. +I have had some good sport, too, here and there." + +"You live well for a newspaper correspondent," suggested Breitmann, +nodding at the bottle of twenty-eight-year-old Burgundy. + +"Oh, it's a habit we Americans have," amiably. "We rough it for a few +months on bacon and liver, and then turn our attention to truffles and +old wines and Cabanas at two-francs-fifty. We are collectively, a good +sort of vagabond. I have a little besides my work; not much, but +enough to loaf on when no newspaper or magazine cares to pay my +expenses in Europe. Anyhow, I prefer this work to staying home to be +hampered by intellectual boundaries. My vest will never reach the true +proportions which would make me successful in politics." + +"You are luckier than I am," Breitmann replied. He sipped his wine +slowly and with relish. How long was it since he had tasted a good +chambertin? + +Perhaps Fitzgerald had noticed it when Breitmann came in. The latter's +velvet collar was worn; there was a suspicious gloss at the elbows; the +cuff buttons were of cheap metal; his fingers were without rings. But +the American readily understood. There are lean years and fat years in +journalism, and he himself had known them. For the present this man +was a little down on his luck; that was all. + +A party came in and took the near table. There were four; two elderly +men, an elderly woman, and a girl. Fitzgerald, as he side-glanced, was +afforded a shiver of pleasure. He recognized the girl. It was she who +had given the flowers to the veteran. + +"That is a remarkably fine young woman," said Breitmann, echoing +Fitzgerald's thought. + +The waiter opened the champagne. + +"Yes. I saw her give some violets this afternoon to an old soldier in +the tomb. It was a pretty scene." + +"Well," said Breitmann, raising his glass, "a pretty woman and a +bottle!" + +It was the first jarring note, and Fitzgerald frowned. + +"Pardon me," added Breitmann, observing the impression he had made, +smiling, and when he smiled the student slashes in his cheeks weren't +so noticeable. "What I should have said is, a good woman and a good +bottle. For what greater delight than to sip a rare vintage with a +woman of beauty and intellect opposite? One glass is enough to loose +her laughter, her wit, her charm. Bah! A man who knows how to drink +his wine, a woman who knows when to laugh, a story-teller who stops +when his point is told; these trifles add a little color as we pass. +Will you drink to my success?" + +"In what?" with Yankee caution. + +"In whatever the future sees fit to place under my hand." + +"With pleasure! And by the same token you will wish me the same?" + +"Gladly!" + +Their glasses touched lightly; and then their glances, drawn by some +occult force, half-circled till they paused on the face of the girl, +who, perhaps compelled by the same invisible power, had leveled her +eyes in their direction. With well-bred calm her interest returned to +her companions, and the incident was, to all outward sign, closed. +Whatever took place behind that beautiful but indifferent mask no one +else ever learned; but simultaneously in the minds of these two +adventurers--and surely, to call a man an adventurer does not +necessarily imply that he is a _chevalier d'industrie_--a thought, +tinged with regret and loneliness, was born; to have and to hold a maid +like that. Love at first sight is the false metal sometimes offered by +poets as gold, in quatrains, distiches, verses, and stanzas, tolerated +because of the license which allows them to give passing interest the +name of love. If these two men thought of love it was only as +bystanders, witnessing the pomp and panoply--favored phrase!--of Venus +and her court from a curbstone, might have thought of it. Doubtless +they had had an affair here and there, over the broad face of the +world, but there had never been any barbs on the arrows, thus easily +plucked out. + +"Sometimes, knowing that I shall never be rich, I have desired a +title," remarked Fitzgerald humorously. + +"And what would you do with it?" curiously. + +"Oh, I'd use it against porters, and waiters, and officials. There's +nothing like it. I have observed a good deal. It has a magic sound, +like Orpheus' lyre; the stiffest back becomes supine at the first +twinkle of it." + +"I should like to travel with you, Mr. Fitzgerald," said Breitmann +musingly. "You would be good company. Some day, perhaps, I'll try +your prescription; but I'm only a poor devil of a homeless, landless +baron." + +Fitzgerald sat up. "You surprise me." + +"Yes. However, neither my father nor my grandfather used it, and as +the pitiful few acres which went with it is a sterile Bavarian +hillside, I have never used it, either. Besides, neither the _Peerage_ +nor the _Almanac de Gotha_ make mention of it; but still the patent of +nobility was legal, and I could use it despite the negligence of those +two authorities." + +"You could use it in America. There are not many 'Burke's' there." + +"It amuses me to think that I should confide this secret to you. The +wine is good, and perhaps--perhaps I was hungry. Accept what I have +told you as a jest." + +They both became untalkative as the coffee came. Fitzgerald was musing +over the impulse which had seized him in asking Breitmann to share his +dinner. He was genuinely pleased that he had done so, however; but it +forced itself upon him that sometime or other these impulses would land +him in difficulties. On his part the recipient of this particular +impulse was also meditating; Napoleon had been utterly forgotten, +verbally at least. Well, perhaps they had threshed out that +interesting topic during the afternoon. Finally he laid down the end +of his cigarette. + +"I have to thank you very much for a pleasant evening, Mr. Fitzgerald." + +"Glad I ran into you. It has done me no end of good. I leave for the +East to-morrow. Is there any possibility of seeing you in the Balkans +this fall?" + +"No. I am going to try my luck in America again." + +"My club address you will find on my card. You must go? It's only the +shank of the evening." + +"I have a little work to do. Some day I hope I may be able to set as +good a dinner before you." + +"Better have a cigar." + +"No, thank you." + +And Fitzgerald liked him none the less for his firmness. So he went as +far as the entrance with him. + +"Don't bother about calling a cab," said Breitmann. "It has stopped +raining, and the walk will tone me up. Good night and good luck." + +And they parted, neither ever expecting to see the other again, and +equally careless whether they did or not. + +Breitmann walked rapidly toward the river, crossed, and at length +entered a gloomy old _pension_ over a restaurant frequented by +bargemen, students, and human driftwood. As he climbed the badly +lighted stairs, a little, gray-haired man, wearing spectacles, passed +him, coming down. A "pardon" was mumbled, and the little man proceeded +into the restaurant, picked a _Figaro_ from the table littered with +newspapers, ensconced himself in a comfortable chair, and ordered +coffee. No one gave him more than a cursory glance. The quarter was +indigent, but ordinarily respectable; and it was only when some noisy +Americans invaded the place that the habitues took any unusual interest +in the coming and going of strangers. + +Up under the mansard roof there was neither gas nor electricity. +Breitmann lighted his two candles, divested himself of his collar, tie, +and coat, and flung them on the bed. + +"Threadbare, almost! Ah, but I was hungry to-night. Did he know it? +Why the devil should I care? To work! Up to this night I have tried +to live more or less honestly. I have tried to take the good that is +in me and to make the most of it. And," ironically, "this is the +result. I have failed. Now we'll see what I can accomplish in the way +of being a great rascal." + +He knelt before a small steamer trunk, battered and plentifully +labeled, and unscrewed the lock. From a cleverly concealed pocket he +brought forth a packet of papers. These he placed on the table and +unfolded with almost reverent care. Sometimes he shrugged, as one does +who is confronted by huge obstacles, sometimes he laughed harshly, +sometimes his jaws hardened and his fingers writhed. When he had +done--and many and many a time he had repeated this performance, +studied the faded ink, the great seal, the watermarks--he hid them away +in the trunk again. + +He now approached the open window and leaned out. Glittering Paris, +wonderful city! How the lights from the bridges twinkled on the +wind-wrinkled Seine! Over there lay the third wealth of the world; +luxury, vice, pleasure. Eh, well, he could not fight it, but he could +curse it deeply and violently, which he did. + +"Wait, Moloch, wait; you and I are not done with each other yet! Wait! +I shall come back, and when I do, look to yourself! Two million +francs, and every one of them mine!" + +He laid his head on his hands. It ached dully. Perhaps it was the +wine. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE BUTTERFLY MAN + +The passing and repassing shadows of craft gave a fitful luster to the +river; so crisply white were the spanning highways that the eye grew +quickly dim with looking; the brisk channel breeze which moved with +rough gaiety through the trees in the gardens of the Tuileries, had, +long hours before, blown away the storm. Bright sunshine, expanses of +deep cerulean blue, towering banks of pleasant clouds, these made Paris +happy to-day, in spots. + +The great minister gazed across the river, his hands under the tails of +his frock, and the perturbation of his mind expressed by the frequent +flapping of those somber woolen wings. To the little man who watched +him, there was a faint resemblance to a fiddling cricket. + +"Sometimes I am minded to trust the whole thing to luck, and bother no +more about him." + +"Monsieur, I have obeyed orders for seven years, since we first +recognized the unfortunate affair. Nothing he has done in this period +is missing from my notebook; and up to the present time he has +done--nothing. But just a little more patience. This very moment, +when you are inclined to drop it, may be the one. One way or another, +it is a matter of no real concern to me. There will always be plenty +of work for me to do, in France, or elsewhere. But I am like an old +soldier whose wound, twinging with rheumatism, announces the approach +of damp weather. I have, then, monsieur, a kind of psychological +rheumatism; prescience, bookmen call it. Presently we shall have damp +weather." + +"You speak with singular conviction." + +"In my time I have made very few mistakes. You will recollect that. +Twenty years have I served France. I was wrong to say that this affair +does not concern me. I'm interested to see the end." + +"But will there be an end?" impatiently. "If I were certain of that! +But seven years, and still no sign." + +"Monsieur, he is to be feared; this inactivity, to my mind, proves it. +He is waiting; the moment is not ripe. There are many sentimental +fools in this world. One has only to step into the street and shout +'Down with!' or 'Long live!' to bring these fools clattering about." + +"That is true enough," flapping the tails of his coat again. + +"This fellow was born across the Rhine. He has served in the navy; he +is a German, therefore we can not touch him unless he commits some +overt act. He waits; there is where the danger, the real danger, lies. +He waits; and it is his German blood which gives him this patience. A +Frenchman would have exploded long since." + +"You have searched his luggage and his rooms, times without number." + +"And found nothing; nothing that I might use effectively. But there is +this saving grace; he on his side knows nothing." + +"I would I were sure of that also. Eh, well; I leave the affair in +your hands, and they are capable ones. When the time comes, act, act +upon your own initiative. In this matter we shall give no accounting +to Germany." + +"No, because what I do must be done secretly. It will not matter that +Germany also knows and waits. But this is true; if we do not +circumvent him, she will make use of whatever he does." + +"It has its whimsical side. Here is a man who may some day blow up +France, and yet we can put no hand on him till he throws the bomb." + +"But there is always time to stop the flight of the bomb. That shall +be my concern; that is, if monsieur is not becoming discouraged and +desires me to occupy myself with other things. I repeat: I have +rheumatism, I apprehend the damp. He will go to America." + +"Ah! It would be a very good plan if he remained there." + +The little man did not reply. + +"But you say in your reports that you have seen him going about with +some of the Orleanists. What is your inference there?" + +"I have not yet formed one. It is a bit of a riddle there, for the +crow and the eagle do not fly together." + +"Well, follow him to America." + +"Thanks. The pay is good and the work is congenial." The tone of the +little man was softly given to irony. + +Gray-haired, rosy-cheeked, a face smooth as a boy's, twinkling eyes +behind spectacles, he was one of the most astute, learned, and patient +of the French secret police. And he did not care the flip of his +strong brown fingers for the methods of Vidocq or Lecoq. His only +disguise was that not one of the criminal police of the world knew him +or had ever heard of him; and save his chief and three ministers of +war--for French cabinets are given to change--his own immediate friends +knew him as a butterfly hunter, a searcher for beetles and scarabs, +who, indeed, was one of the first authorities in France on the +subjects: Anatole Ferraud, who went about, hither and thither, with a +little red button in his buttonhole and a tongue facile in a dozen +languages. + +"Very well, monsieur. I trust that in the near future I may bring you +good news." + +"He will become nothing or the most desperate man in Europe." + +"Admitted." + +"He is a scholar, too." + +"All the more interesting." + +"As a student in Munich he has fought his three duels. He has been a +war correspondent under fire. He is a great fencer, a fine shot, a +daring rider." + +"And penniless. What a country they have over there beyond the Rhine! +He would never have troubled his head about it, had they not harried +him. To stir up France, to wound her if possible! He will be a man of +great courage and resource," said the secret agent, drawing the palms +of his hands together. + +"In the end, then, Germany will offer him money?" + +"That is the possible outlook." + +"But, suppose he went to work on his own responsibility?" + +"In that case one would be justified in locking him up as a madman. Do +you know anything about Alpine butterflies?" + +"Very little," confessed the minister. + +"There is often great danger in getting at them; but the pleasure is +commensurate." + +"Are there not rare butterflies in the Amazonian swamps?" cynically. + +"Ah, but this man has good blood in him; and if he flies at all he will +fly high. Think of this man fifty years ago; what a possibility he +would have been! But it is out of fashion to-day. Well, monsieur, I +must be off. There is an old manuscript at the Bibliothèque I wish to +inspect." + +"Concerning this matter?" + +"Butterflies," softly; "or, I should say, chrysalides." + +The subtle inference passed by the minister. There were many other +things to-ing and fro-ing in the busy corridors of his brain. "I shall +hear from you frequently?" + +"As often as the situation requires. By the way, I have an idea. When +I cable you the word butterfly, prepare yourself accordingly. It will +mean that the bomb is ready." + +"Good luck attend you, my savant," said the minister, with a +friendliness which was deep and genuine. He had known Monsieur Ferraud +in other days. "And, above all, take care of yourself." + +"Trust me, Count." And the secret agent departed, to appear again in +these chambers only when his work was done. + +"A strange man," mused the minister when he was alone. "A still +stranger business for a genuine scholar. Is he really poor? Does he +do this work to afford him ease and time for his studies? Or, better +still, does he hide a great and singular patriotism under butterfly +wings? Patriotism? More and more it becomes self-interest. It is +only when a foreign mob starts to tear down your house, that you become +a patriot." + +Now the subject of these desultory musings went directly to the +Bibliothèque Nationale. The study he pursued was of deep interest to +him; it concerned a butterfly of vast proportions and kaleidoscopic in +color, long ago pinned away and labeled among others of lesser +brilliancy. It had cast a fine shadow in its brief flight. But the +species was now extinct, at least so the historian of this particular +butterfly declared. Hybrid? Such a contingency was always possible. + +"Suppose it does exist, as I and a few others very well know it does; +what a fine joke it would be to see it fly into Paris! But, no. Idle +dream! Still, I shall wait and watch. And now, suppose we pay a visit +to Berlin and use blunt facts in place of diplomacy? It will surprise +them." + + +Each German chancellor has become, in turn, the repository of such +political secrets as fell under the eyes of his predecessor; and the +chancellor who walked up and down before Monsieur Ferraud, possessed +several which did not rest heavily upon his soul simply because he was +incredulous, or affected that he was. + +"The thing is preposterous." + +"As your excellency has already declared." + +"What has it to do with France?" + +"Much or little. It depends upon this side of the Rhine." + +"What imagination! But for your credentials, Monsieur Ferraud, I +should not listen to you one moment." + +"I have seen some documents." + +"Forgeries!" contemptuously. + +"Not in the least," suavely. "They are in every part genuine. They +are his own." + +The chancellor paused, frowning. "Well, even then?" + +Monsieur Ferraud shrugged. + +"This fellow, who was forced to resign from the navy because of his +tricks at cards, why I doubt if he could stir up a brawl in a tavern. +Really, if there was a word of truth in the affair, we should have +acted before this. It is all idle newspaper talk that Germany wishes +war; far from it. Still, we lose no point to fortify ourselves against +the possibility of it. Some one has been telling you old-wives' tales." + +"Ten thousand marks," almost inaudibly. + +"What was that you said?" cried the chancellor, whirling round +abruptly, for the words startled him. + +"Pardon me! I was thinking out loud about a sum of money." + +"Ah!" And yet the chancellor realized that the other was telling him +as plainly as he dared that the German government had offered such a +sum to forward the very intrigue which he was so emphatically denying. +"Why not turn the matter over to your own ambassador here?" + +The secret agent laughed. "Publicity is what neither your government +nor mine desires. Thank you." + +"I am sorry not to be of some service to you." + +"I can readily believe that, your excellency," not to be outdone in the +matter of duplicity. "I thank you for your time." + +"I hadn't the least idea that you were in the service; butterflies and +diplomacy!" with a hearty laugh. + +"It is only temporary." + +"Your _Alpine Butterflies_ compares favorably with _The Life of the +Bee_." + +"That is a very great compliment!" + +And with this the interview, extraordinary in all ways, came to an end. +Neither man had fooled the other, neither had made any mistake in his +logical deductions; and, in a way, both were satisfied. The chancellor +resumed his more definite labors, and the secret agent hurried away to +the nearest telegraph office. + +"So I am to stand on these two feet?" Monsieur Ferraud ruminated, as he +took the seat by the window in the second-class carriage for Munich. +"All the finer the sport. Ten thousand marks! He forgot himself for a +moment. And I might have gone further and said that ninety thousand +marks would be added to those ten thousand if the bribe was accepted +and the promise fulfilled." + +Ah, it would be beautiful to untangle this snarl all alone. It would +be the finest chase that had ever fallen to his lot. No grain of sand, +however small, should escape him. There were fools in Berlin as well +as in Paris; and he knew what he knew. "Never a move shall he make +that I shan't make the same; and in one thing I shall move first. Two +million francs! Handsome! It is I who must find this treasure, this +fulcrum to the lever which is going to upheave France. There will be +no difficulty then in pricking the pretty bubble. In the meantime we +shall proceed to Munich and carefully inquire into the affairs of the +grand opera singer, Hildegarde von Mitter." + +He extracted a wallet from an inner pocket and opened it across his +knees. It was full of butterflies. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A PLASTER STATUETTE + +Fitzgerald's view from his club window afforded the same impersonal +outlook as from a window in a car. It was the two living currents, +moving in opposite directions, each making toward a similar goal, only +in a million different ways, that absorbed him. Subconsciously he was +always counting, counting, now by fives, now by tens, but invariably +found new entertainment ere he reached the respectable three numerals +of an even hundred. Sometimes it was a silk hat which he followed till +it became lost up the Avenue; and as often as not he would single out a +waiting cabman and speculate on the quality of his fare; and other +whimsies. + +That this was such and such a woman, or that was such and such a man +never led him into any of that gossip so common among club-men who are +out of touch with the vital things in life. Even when he espied a +friend in this mysterious flow of souls, there was only a transient +flash of recognition in his eyes. When he wasn't in the tennis-courts, +or the billiard- or card-rooms, he was generally to be found in this +corner. He had seen all manner of crowds, armies pursuing and +retreating, vast concords in public squares, at coronations, at +catastrophes, at play, and he never lost interest in watching them; +they were the great expressions of humanity. This is perhaps the +reason why his articles were always so rich in color. No two crowds +were ever alike to him, consequently he never was at loss for a fresh +description. + +To-day the Italian vender of plaster statuettes caught his eye. For an +hour now the poor wretch hadn't even drawn the attention of one of the +thousands passing. Fitzgerald felt sorry for him, and once the desire +came to go over and buy out the Neapolitan; but he was too comfortable +where he was, and beyond that he was expecting a friend. + +Fitzgerald was thirty, with a clean-shaven, lean, and eager face, +russet in tone, well offset by the fine blue eyes which had the faculty +of seeing little and big things at the same time. He had dissipated in +a trifling fashion, but the healthy, active life he lived in the open +more than counteracted the effects. A lonely orphan, possessing a +lively imagination, is seldom free from some vice or other. There had +never been, however, what the world is pleased to term entanglements. +His guardian angel gave him a light step whenever there was any social +thin ice. Oh, he had some relatives; but as they were neither very +rich nor very poor, they seldom annoyed one another. He was, then, a +free lance in all the abused word implies; and he lived as he pleased, +spending his earnings freely and often carelessly, knowing that the +little his father had left him would keep a moderately hungry wolf from +the door. He had been born to a golden spoon, but the food from the +pewter one he now used tasted just as good. + +"So here you are! I've been in the billiard-room, and the card-room, +and the bar-room." + +"Talking of bar-rooms!" Fitzgerald reached for the button. "Sit down, +Hewitt, old boy. Glad to see you. Now, I'll tell you right off the +bat, nothing will persuade me. For years I've been jumping to the four +points of the compass at the beck of your old magazine and syndicate. +I'm going to settle down and write a novel." + +"Piffle!" growled the editor, dropping his lanky form into a chair. +"Thank goodness, they haven't swivel chairs in the club. I've been +whirling round in one all day--a long, tall Scotch, please--but a +novel! I say, piffle!" + +"Piffle it may be, but I'm going to have a whack at it. If I ever do +another article it will be as a millionaire's private secretary. I +should like to study his methods for saving his money. What is it this +time?" + +"A dash to the North Pole." + +"Never again north of Berlin or south of Assuan for mine. No." + +"Come, Fitz; a great chance." + +"When you sent me to Manila I explored hell for you, but I've cooled +off considerably since then. No ice for mine, except in silver +buckets." + +"You've made a pretty good thing out of us; something like five +thousand a year and your expenses; and with the credentials we've +always given you, you have been able to see the world as few men see +it." + +"That's just the trouble. You've spoiled me." + +"Well, you may take my word for it, you won't have the patience to sit +down at home here and write a hundred thousand words that mean +anything. There's no reason why you can't do my work and write novels +on the side. We both know a dozen fellows who are doing it. We've got +to have this article, and you're the only man we dare trust alone on +it, if it will flatter you any to know it." + +"Come, pussy, come!" + +"If it's a question of more money--" + +"Perish the thought!" cried Fitzgerald, clasping his knees and rocking +gently. "You know as well as I do, Hewitt, that it's the game and not +the cash. I've found a new love, my boy." + +"Double harness?" with real anxiety. Hewitt bit his scrubby mustache. +When a special correspondent married that was the end of him. + +"There you go again!" warned the recalcitrant. "If you don't stop +eating that mustache you'll have stomach trouble that no Scotch whisky +will ever cure. The whole thing is in a nutshell," a sly humor +creeping into his eyes. "I am tired of writing ephemeral things. I +want to write something that will last." + +"Write your epitaph, Jack," drawled a deep voice from the reading +table. "That's the only sure way, and even that is no good if your +marble is spongy." + +"Oh, Cathewe, this is not your funeral," retorted the editor. + +"Perhaps not. All the same, I'll be chief mourner if Jack takes up +novel writing. Critics don't like novels, because any one can write an +average story; but it takes a genius to turn out first-class magazine +copy. Anyhow, art becomes less and less particular every day. The +only thing that never gains or loses is this _London Times_. Someday +I'm going to match the _Congressional Record_ and the _Times_ for the +heavyweight championship of the world, with seven to one on the +_Record_, to weigh in at the ringside." + +"You've been up north, Arthur," said Fitzgerald. "What's your advice?" + +"Don't do it. You've often wondered how and where I lost these two +digits. Up there." The _Times_ rattled, and Cathewe became absorbed +in the budget. + +Arthur Cathewe was a tall, loose-limbed man, forty-two or three, rather +handsome, and a bit shy with most folk. Rarely any one saw him outside +the club. He had few intimates, but to these he was all that +friendship means, kindly, tender, loyal, generous, self-effacing. And +Fitzgerald loved him best of all men. It did not matter that there +were periods when they became separated for months at a time. They +would some day turn up together in the same place. "Why, hello, +Arthur!" "Glad to see you, Jack!" and that was all that was necessary. +All the enthusiasm was down deep below. Cathewe was always in funds; +Fitzgerald sometimes; but there was never any lending or borrowing +between them. This will do much toward keeping friendship green. The +elder man was a great hunter; he had been everywhere, north and south, +east and west. He never fooled away his time at pigeons and traps; big +game, where the betting was even, where the animal had almost the same +chance as the man. He could be tolerably humorous upon occasions. The +solemn cast to his comely face predestined him for this talent. + +"Well, Fitz, what are you going to do?" + +"Hewitt, give me a chance. I've been home but a week. I'm not going +to dash to the Pole without having a ripping good time here first. +Will a month do?" + +"Oh, the expedition doesn't leave for two months yet. But we must sign +the contract a month beforehand." + +"To-day is the first of June; I promise to telegraph you yes or no this +day month. You have had me over in Europe eighteen months. I'm tired +of trains, and boats, and mules. I'm going fishing." + +"Ah, bass!" murmured Cathewe from behind his journal. + +"By the way, Hewitt," said Fitzgerald, "have you ever heard of a chap +called Karl Breitmann?" + +"Yes," answered Hewitt. "Never met him personally, though." + +"I have," joined in Cathewe quietly. He laid down the Times. "What do +you know about him?" + +"Met him in Paris last year. Met him once before in Macedonia. Dined +with me in Paris. Amazing lot of adventures. Rather down on his luck, +I should judge." + +"Couple of scars on his left cheek and a bit of the scalp gone; German +student sort, rather good-looking, fine physique?" + +"That's the man." + +"I know him, but not very well." And Cathewe fumbled among the other +newspapers. + +"Dine with me to-night," urged Hewitt. + +"I'll tell you what. See that Italian over there with the statues? I +am going to buy him out; and if I don't make a sale in half an hour, +I'll sign the dinner checks." + +"Done!" + +"I'll take half of that bet," said Cathewe, rising. "It will be cheap." + +Ten minutes later the two older men saw Fitzgerald hang the tray from +his shoulders and take his position on the corner. + +"I love that chap, Hewitt; he is what I always wanted to be, but +couldn't be." Cathewe pulled the drooping ends of his mustache. "If +he should write a novel, I'm afraid for your sake that it will be a +good one. Keep him busy. Novel writing keeps a man indoors. But +don't send him on any damn goose chase for the Pole." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, he might discover it. But, honestly, it's so God-forsaken and +cold and useless. I have hunted musk-ox, and I know something about +the place. North Poling, as I call it, must be a man's natural bent; +otherwise you kill the best that's in him." + +"Heaven on earth, will you look! A policeman is arguing with him." +Hewitt shook with laughter. + +"But I bought him out," protested Fitzgerald. "There's no law to +prevent me selling these." + +"Oh, I'm wise. We want no horse-play on this corner; no joyful college +stunts," roughly. + +Fitzgerald saw that frankness must be his card, so he played it. "Look +here, do you see those two gentlemen in the window there?" + +"The club?" + +"Yes. I made a wager that I could sell one of these statues in half an +hour. If you force me off I'll lose a dinner." + +"Well, I'll make a bargain with you. You can stand here for half an +hour; but if you open your mouth to a woman, I'll run you in. No +fooling; I'm talking straight. I'm going to see what your game is." + +"I agree." + +So the policeman turned to his crossing and reassumed his authority +over traffic, all the while never losing sight of the impromptu vender. + +Many pedestrians paused. To see a well-dressed young man hawking +plaster Venuses was no ordinary sight. They knew that some play was +going on, but, with that inveterate suspicion of the city pedestrian, +none of them stopped to speak or buy. Some newsboys gathered round and +offered a few suggestions. Fitzgerald gave them back in kind. No +woman spoke, but there wasn't one who passed that didn't look at him +with more than ordinary curiosity. He was enjoying it. It reminded +him of the man who offered sovereigns for shillings, and never +exchanged a coin. + +Once he turned to see if his friends were still watching him. They +were, two among many; for the exploit had gone round, and there were +other wagers being laid on the result. While his head was turned, and +his grin was directed at the club window, a handsome young woman in +blue came along. She paused, touched her lips with her gloved hand +meditatingly, and then went right-about-face swiftly. Some one in the +window motioned frantically to the vender, but he did not understand. +Ten minutes left in which to win his bet. He hadn't made a very good +bargain. Hm! The young woman in blue was stopping. Her exquisite +face was perfectly serious as her eyes ran over the collection on the +tray. They were all done execrably, something Fitzgerald hadn't +noticed before. + +"How much are these apiece?" + +"Er--twenty-five cents, ma'am," he stammered. As a matter of fact he +hadn't any idea what the current price list was. + +"You seem very well dressed," doubtfully; "and you do not look hungry." + +"I am doing this for charity's sake," finding his wits. The policeman +hovered near, scowling. He was powerless, since the young woman had +spoken first. + +"Charity," in a half-articulated voice, as if the word to her possessed +many angles, and she was endeavoring to find the proper one to fit the +moment. + +"What organization?" + +A blank pause. "My own, ma'am, of which I am the head." There was no +levity in tone or expression. + +By now every window in the club framed a dozen or more faces. + +"I will take this Canova, I believe," she finally decided, opening her +purse and producing the necessary silver. "Of course, it is quite +impossible to send this?" + +"Yes, ma'am. Sending it would eat up all the profits." But, with +ill-concealed eagerness, "If you will leave your address I can send as +many as you like." + +"I will do that." + +Incredible as it seemed, neither face lost its repose; he dared not +smile, and the young woman did not care to. There was something +familiar to his memory in the oval face, but this was no time for a +diligent search. + +"Hey, miss," yelled one of the newsboys, "you're t'rowin' your money +away. He's a fake; he ain't no statoo seller. He's doing it for a +joke!" + +Fitzgerald lost a little color, that was all. But his customer ignored +the imputation. She took out a card and laid it on the tray, and +without further ado went serenely on her way. The policeman stepped +toward her as if to speak, but she turned her delicate head aside. The +crowd engulfed her presently, and Fitzgerald picked up the card. There +was neither name nor definite address on it. It was a message, hastily +written; and it sent a thrill of delight and speculation to his +impressionable heart. Still carrying the tray before him he hastened +over to the club, where there was something of an ovation. Instead of +a dinner for three it became one for a dozen, and Fitzgerald passed the +statuettes round as souvenirs of the most unique bet of the year. +There were lively times. Toward midnight, as Fitzgerald was going out +of the coat room, Cathewe spoke to him. + +"What was her name, Jack?" + +"Hanged if I know." + +"She dropped a card on your tray." + +Fitzgerald scrubbed his chin. "There wasn't any name on it. There was +an address and something more. Now, wait a moment, Arthur; this is no +ordinary affair. I would not show it to any one else. Here, read it +yourself." + +"Come to the house at the top of the hill, in Dalton, to-morrow night +at eight o'clock. But do not come if you lack courage." + +That was all. Cathewe ran a finger, comb-fashion, through his +mustache. He almost smiled. + +"Where the deuce _is_ Dalton?" Fitzgerald inquired. + +"It is a little village on the New Jersey coast; not more than forty +houses, post-office, hotel, and general store; perhaps an hour out of +town." + +"What would you do in my place? It may be a joke, and then again it +may not. She knew that I was a rank impostor." + +"But she knew that a man must have a certain kind of daredevil courage +to play the game you played. Well, you ask me what I should do in your +place. I'd go." + +"I shall. It will double discount fishing. And the more I think of +it, the more certain I become that she and I have met somewhere. +By-by!" + +Cathewe lingered in the reading-room, pondering. Here was a twist to +the wager he was rather unprepared for; and if the truth must be told, +he was far more perplexed than Fitzgerald. He knew the girl, but he +did not know and could not imagine what purpose she had in aiding +Fitzgerald to win his wager or luring him out to an obscure village in +this detective-story manner. + +"Well, I shall hear all about it from her father," he concluded. + +And all in good time he did. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +PIRATES AND PRIVATE SECRETARIES + +It was a little station made gloomy by a single light. Once in so +often a fast train stopped, if properly flagged. Fitzgerald, feeling +wholly unromantic, now that he had arrived, dropped his hand-bag on the +damp platform and took his bearings. It was after sundown. The sea, +but a few yards away, was a murmuring, heaving blackness, save where +here and there a wave broke. The wind was chill, and there was the +hint of a storm coming down from the northeast. + +"Any hotel in this place?" he asked of the ticket agent, the telegraph +operator, and the baggageman, who was pushing a crate of vegetables off +a truck. + +"Swan's Hotel; only one." + +"Do people sleep and eat there?" + +"If they have good digestions." + +"Much obliged." + +"Whisky's no good, either." + +"Thanks again. This doesn't look much like a summer resort." + +"Nobody ever said it was. I beg your pardon, but would you mind taking +an end of this darned crate?" + +"Not at all." Fitzgerald was beginning to enjoy himself. "Where do +you want it?" + +"In here," indicating the baggage-room. "Thanks. Now, if there's +anything I can do to help you in return, let her go." + +"Is there a house hereabouts called the top o' the hill?" + +"Come over here," said the agent. "See that hill back there, quarter +of a mile above the village; those three lights? Well, that's it. +They usually have a carriage down here when they're expecting any one." + +"Who owns it?" + +"Old Admiral Killigrew. Didn't you know it?" + +"Oh, Admiral Killigrew; yes, of course. I'm not a guest. Just going +up there on business. Worth about ten millions, isn't he?" + +"That and more. There's his yacht in the harbor. Oh, he could burn up +the village, pay the insurance, and not even knock down the quality of +his cigars. He's the best old chap out. None of your red-faced, +yo-hoing, growling seadogs; just a kindly, generous old sailor, with +only one bee in his bonnet." + +"What sort of bee?" + +"Pirates!" in a ghostly whisper. + +"Pirates? Oh, say, now!" with a protest. + +"Straight as a die. He's got the finest library on piracy in the +world, everything from _The Pirates of Penzance_ to _The Life of +Morgan_." + +"But there's no pirate afloat these days." + +"Not on the high seas, no. It's just the old man's pastime. Every so +often, he coals up the yacht, which is a seventeen-knotter, and goes +off to the South Seas, hunting for treasures." + +"By George!" Fitzgerald whistled softly. "Has he ever found any?" + +"Not so much as a postage stamp, so far as I know. Money's always been +in the family, and his Wall Street friends have shown him how to double +what he has, from time to time. Just for the sport of the thing some +old fellows go in for crockery, some for pictures, and some for horses. +The admiral just hunts treasures. Half-past six; you'll excuse me. +There'll be some train despatches in a minute." + +Fitzgerald gave him a good cigar, took up his bag, and started off for +the main street; and once there he remembered with chagrin that he had +not asked the agent the most important thing of all: Had the admiral a +daughter? Well, at eight o'clock he would learn all about that. +Pirates! It would be as good as a play. But where did he come in? +And why was courage necessary? His interest found new life. + +Swan's Hotel was one of those nondescript buildings of wood which are +not worth more than a three-line paragraph even when they burn down. +It was smelly. The kitchen joined the dining-room, and the dining-room +the office, which was half a bar-room, with a few boxes of sawdust +mathematically arranged along the walls. There were many like it up +and down the coast. There were pictures on the walls of terrible +wrecks at sea, naval battles, and a race horse or two. + +The landlord himself lifted Fitzgerald's bag to the counter. + +"A room for the night and supper, right away." + +"Here, Jimmy," called the landlord to a growing, lumbering boy, "take +this satchel up to number five." + +The boy went his way, eying the labels respectfully and with some awe. +This was the third of its kind he had ported up-stairs in the past +twenty-four hours. + +Fitzgerald cast an idle glance at the loungers. There were half a +dozen of them, some of them playing cards and some displaying talent on +a pool table, badly worn and beer-stained. There was nothing +distinctive about any of them, excepting the little man who was reading +an evening paper, and the only distinctive thing about him was a pair +of bright eyes. Behind their gold-rimmed spectacles they did not waver +under Fitzgerald's scrutiny; so the latter dismissed the room and its +company from his mind and proceeded into dinner. As he was late, he +dined alone on mildly warm chicken, greasy potatoes, and muddy coffee. +He was used often to worse fare than this, and no complaint was even +thought of. After he had changed his linen he took the road to the +house at the top of the hill. Now, then, what sort of an affair was +this going to be, such as would bend a girl of her bearing to speak to +him on the street? Moreover, at a moment when he was playing a +grown-up child's game? She had known that he was prevaricating when he +had stated that he represented a charitable organization; and he knew +that she knew he knew it. What, then? It could not be a joke; women +never rise to such extravagant heights. Pirates and treasures; he +wouldn't have been surprised at all had Old Long John Silver hobbled +out from behind any one of those vine-grown fences, and demanded his +purse. + +The street was dim, and more than once he stumbled over a loose board +in the wooden walk. If the admiral had been the right kind of +philanthropist he would have furnished stone. But then, it was one +thing to give a country town something and another to force the town +council into accepting it. The lamp-posts, also of wood, stood +irregularly apart, often less than a hundred feet, and sometimes more, +lighting nothing but their immediate vicinity. Fitzgerald could see +the lamps, plainly, but could separate none of the objects round or +beneath. That is why he did not see the face of the man who passed him +in a hurry. He never forgot a face, if it were a man's; his only +difficulty was in placing it at once. Up to this time one woman +resembled another; feminine faces made no particular impression on his +memory. He would have remembered the face of the man who had just +passed, for the very fact that he had thought of it often. The man had +come into the dim radiance of the far light, then had melted into the +blackness of the night again, leaving as a sign of his presence the +creak of his shoes and the aroma of a cigarette. + +Fitzgerald tramped on cheerfully. It was not an unpleasant climb, only +dark. The millionaire's home seemed to grow up out of a fine park. +There was a great iron fence inclosing the grounds, and the lights on +top of the gates set the dull red trunks of the pines a-glowing. There +were no lights shining in the windows of the pretty lodge. Still, the +pedestrians' gate was ajar. He passed in, fully expecting to be +greeted by the growl of a dog. Instead, he heard mysterious footsteps +on the gravel. He listened. Some one was running. + +"Hello, there!" he called. + +No answer. The sound ceased. The runner had evidently taken to the +silent going of the turf. Fitzgerald came to a stand. Should he go on +or return to the hotel? Whoever was running had no right here. +Fitzgerald rarely carried arms, at least in civilized countries; a +stout cane was the best weapon for general purposes. He swung this +lightly. + +"I am going on. I should like to see the library." + +He was not overfond of unknown dangers in the night; but he possessed a +keen ear and a sharp pair of eyes, being a good hunter. A poacher, +possibly. At any rate, he determined to go forward and ring the bell. + +Both the park and the house were old. Some of those well-trimmed pines +had scored easily a hundred and fifty years, and the oak, standing +before the house and dividing the view into halves, was older still. +No iron deer or marble lion marred the lawn which he was now +traversing; a sign of good taste. Gardeners had been at work here, men +who knew their business thoroughly. He breathed the odor of trampled +pine needles mingled with the harsher essence of the sea. It was tonic. + +In summer the place would be beautiful. The house itself was built on +severe and simple lines. It was quite apparent that in no time of its +history had it been left to run down. The hall and lower left wing +were lighted, but the inner blinds and curtains were drawn. He did not +waste any time. It was exactly eight o'clock when he stepped up to the +door and pulled the ancient wire bell. At once he saw signs of life. +The broad door opened, and an English butler, having scrutinized his +face, silently motioned him to be seated. The young man in search of +an adventure selected the far end of the hall seat and dandled his hat. +An English butler was a good beginning. Perhaps three minutes passed, +then the door to the library opened and a young woman came out. +Fitzgerald stood up. + +Yes, it was she. + +"So you have come?" There was welcome neither in her tone nor face, +nor was there the suggestion of any other sentiment. + +"Yes. I am not sure that I gave you my name, Miss Killigrew." He was +secretly confused over this enigmatical reception. + +She nodded. She had been certain that, did he come at all, he would +come in the knowledge of who she was. + +"I am John Fitzgerald," he said. + +She thought for a space. "Are you the Mr. Fitzgerald who wrote the +long article recently on the piracy in the Chinese Seas?" + +"Yes," full of wonder. + +Interest began to stir her face. "It turns out, then, rather better +than I expected. I can see that you are puzzled. I picked you out of +many yesterday, on impulse, because you had the sang-froid necessary to +carry out your jest to the end." + +"I am glad that I am not here under false colors. What I did yesterday +was, as you say, a jest. But, on the other hand, are you not playing +me one in kind? I have much curiosity." + +"I shall proceed to allay it, somewhat. This will be no jest. Did you +come armed?" + +"Oh, indeed, no!" smiling. + +She rather liked that. "I was wondering if you did not believe this to +be some silly intrigue." + +"I gave thought to but two things: that you were jesting, or that you +were in need of a gentleman as well as a man of courage. Tell me, what +is the danger, and why do you ask me if I am armed?" It occurred to +him that her own charm and beauty might be the greatest danger he could +possibly face. More and more grew the certainty that he had seen her +somewhere in the past. + +"Ah, if I only knew what the danger was. But that it exists I am +positive. Within the past two weeks, on odd nights, there have been +strange noises here and there about the house, especially in the +chimney. My father, being slightly deaf, believes that these sounds +are wholly imaginative on my part. This is the first spring in years +we have resided here. It is really our summer home. I am not more +than normally timorous. Some one we do not know enters the house at +will. How or why I can't unravel. Nothing has ever disappeared, +either money, jewels, or silver, though I have laid many traps. There +is the huge fireplace in the library, and my room is above. I have +heard a tapping, like some one hammering gently on stone. I have +examined the bricks and so has my father, but neither of us has +discovered anything. Three days ago I placed flour thinly on the +flagstone before the fireplace. There were footprints in the +morning--of rubber shoes. When I called in my father, the maid had +unfortunately cleaned the stone without observing anything. So my +father still holds that I am subject to dreams. His secretary, whom he +had for three years, has left him. The butler's and servants' quarters +are in the rear of the other wing. They have never been disturbed." + +"I am not a detective, Miss Killigrew," he remarked, as she paused. + +"No, but you seem to be a man of invention and of good spirit. Will +you help me?" + +"In whatever way I can." His opinion at that moment perhaps agreed +with that of her father. Still, a test could be of no harm. She was a +charming young woman, and he was assured that beneath this present +concern there was a lively, humorous disposition. He had a month for +idleness, and why not play detective for a change? Then he recalled +the trespasser in the park. By George, she might be right! + +"Come, then, and I will present you to my father. His deafness is not +so bad that one has to speak loudly. To speak distinctly will be +simplest." + +She thereupon conducted him into the library. His quick glance, thrown +here and there absorbingly, convinced him that there were at least five +thousand volumes in the cases, a magnificent private collection, +considering that the owner was not a lawyer, and that these books were +not dry and musty precedents from the courts of appeals and supreme. +He was glad to see that some of his old friends were here, too, and +that the shelves were not wholly given over to piracy. What a hobby to +follow! What adventures all within thirty square feet! And a shiver +passed over his spine as he saw several tattered black flags hanging +from the walls; the real articles, too, now faded to a rusty brown. +Over what smart and lively heeled brigs had they floated, these +sinister jolly rogers? For in a room like this they could not be other +than genuine. All his journalistic craving for stories awakened. + +Behind a broad, flat, mahogany desk, with a green-shaded student lamp +at his elbow, sat a bright-cheeked, white-haired man, writing. +Fitzgerald instantly recognized him. Abruptly his gaze returned to the +girl. Yes, now he knew. It was stupid of him not to have remembered +at once. Why, it was she who had given the bunch of violets that day +to the old veteran in Napoleon's tomb. To have remembered the father +and to have forgotten the daughter! + +"I was wondering where I had seen you," he said lowly. + +"Where was that?" + +"In Napoleon's tomb, nearly a year ago. You gave an old French soldier +a bouquet of violets. I was there." + +"Were you?" As a matter of fact his face was absolutely new to her. +"I am not very good at recalling faces. And in traveling one sees so +many." + +"That is true." Queer sort of girl, not to show just a little more +interest. The moment was not ordinary by any means. He was +disappointed. + +"Father!" she called, in a clear, sweet voice, for the admiral had not +heard them enter. + +At the call he raised his head and took off his Mandarin spectacles. +Like all sailors, he never had any trouble in seeing distances clearly; +the difficulty lay in books, letters, and small type. + +"What is it, Laura?" + +"This is Mr. Fitzgerald, the new secretary," she answered blandly. + +"Aha! Bring a chair over and sit down. What did you say the name is, +Laura?" + +"Fitzgerald." + +"Sit down, Mr. Fitzgerald," repeated the admiral cordially. + +Fitzgerald desired but one thing; the privilege of laughter! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +NO FALSE PRETENSES + +A private secretary, and only one way out! If the girl had been kind +enough to stand her ground with him he would not have cared so much. +But there she was vanishing beyond the door. There was a suggestion of +feline cruelty in thus abandoning him. He dared not call her back. +What the devil should he say to the admiral? There was one thing he +knew absolutely nothing about, and this was the duties of a private +secretary to a retired admiral who had riches, a yacht, a hobby, and a +beautiful, though impulsive daughter. His thought became irrelevant, +as is frequent when one faces a crisis, humorous or tragic; here indeed +was the coveted opportunity to study at close range the habits of a man +who spent less than his income. + +"Come, come; draw up your chair, Mr. Fitzgerald." + +"I beg your pardon; I--that is, I was looking at those flags, sir," +stuttered the self-made victim of circumstances. + +"Oh, those? Good examples of their kind; early part of the nineteenth +century. Picked them up one cruise in the Indies. That faded one +belonged to Morgan, the bloodthirsty ruffian. I've always regretted +that I wasn't born a hundred years ago. Think of bottling them up in a +shallow channel and raking 'em fore and aft!" With a bang of his fist +on the desk, setting the ink-wells rattling like old bones, "That would +have been sport!" + +The keen, blue, sailor's eye seemed to bore right through Fitzgerald, +who thought the best thing he could do was to sit down at once, which +he did. The ticket agent had said that the admiral was of a quiet +pattern, but this start wasn't much like it. The fire in the blue eyes +suddenly gave way to a twinkle, and the old man laughed. + +"Did I frighten you, Mr. Fitzgerald?" + +"Not exactly." + +"Well, every secretary I've had has expected to see a red-nosed, +swearing, peg-legged sailor; so I thought I'd soften the blow for you. +Don't worry. Sailor?" + +"Not in the technical sense," answered Fitzgerald, warming. "I know a +stanchion from an anchor and a rope from a smoke-stack. But as for +travel, I believe that I have crossed all the high and middle seas." + +"Sounds good. Australia, East Indies, China, the Antilles, Gulf, and +the South Atlantic?" + +"Yes; round the Horn, too, and East Africa." Fitzgerald remembered his +instructions and spoke clearly. + +"Well, well; you are a find. In what capacity have you taken these +voyages?" + +Here was the young man's opportunity. This was a likeable old sea-dog, +and he determined not to impose upon him another moment. Some men, for +the sake of the adventure, would have left the truth to be found out +later, to the disillusion of all concerned. The abrupt manner in which +Miss Killigrew had abandoned him merited some revenge. + +"Admiral, I'm afraid there has been a mistake, and before we go any +further I'll be glad to explain. I'm not a private secretary and never +have been one. I should be less familiar with the work than a +Chinaman. I am a special writer for the magazines, and have been at +odd times a war correspondent." And then he went on to describe the +little comedy of the statuettes, and it was not without some charm in +the telling. + +Plainly the admiral was nonplussed. That girl; that minx, with her +innocent eyes and placid face! He got up, and Fitzgerald awaited the +explosion. His expectancy missed fire. The admiral exploded, but with +laughter. + +"I beg pardon, Mr. Fitzgerald, and I beg it again on my daughter's +behalf. What would you do in my place?" + +"Show me the door at once and have done with it." + +"I'm hanged if I do! You shall have a toddy for your pains, and, by +cracky, Laura shall mix it." He pushed the butler's bell. "Tell Miss +Laura that I wish to see her at once." + +"Very well, sir." + +She appeared shortly. If Fitzgerald admired her beauty he yet more +admired her perfect poise and unconcern. Many another woman would have +evinced some embarrassment. Not she. + +"Laura, what's the meaning of this hoax?" the admiral demanded sternly. +"Mr. Fitzgerald tells me that he had no idea you were hiring him as my +secretary." + +"I am sure he hadn't the slightest." The look she sent Fitzgerald was +full of approval. "He hadn't any idea at all save that I asked him to +come here at eight this evening. And his confession proves that I +haven't made any mistake." + +"But what in thunder--" + +"Father!" + +"My dear, give me credit for resisting the desire to make the term +stronger. Mr. Fitzgerald's joke, I take it, bothered no one. Yours +has put him in a peculiar embarrassment. What does it mean? You went +to the city to get me a first-class secretary." + +"Mr. Fitzgerald has the making of one, I believe." + +"But on your word I sent a capable man away half an hour gone. He +could speak half a dozen languages." + +"Mr. Fitzgerald is, perhaps, as efficient." + +Fitzgerald's wonder grew and grew. + +"But he doesn't want to be a secretary. He doesn't know anything about +the work. And I haven't got the time to teach him, even if he wanted +the place." + +"Father," began the girl, the fun leaving her eyes and her lips +becoming grave, "I do not like the noises at night. I have not +suggested the police, because robbery is _not_ the motive." + +"Laura, that's all tommyrot. This is an old house, and the wood always +creaks with a change of temperature. But this doesn't seem to touch +Mr. Fitzgerald." + +The girl shrugged. + +"Well, I'm glad I told that German chap not to leave till he heard +again from me. I'll hire him. He looks like a man who wouldn't let +noises worry him. You will find your noises are entirely those of +imagination." + +"Have it that way," she agreed patiently. + +"But here's Mr. Fitzgerald still," said the admiral pointedly. + +"Not long ago you said to me that if ever I saw the son of David +Fitzgerald to bring him home. Till yesterday I never saw him; only +then because Mrs. Coldfield pointed him out and wondered what he was +doing with a tray of statuettes around his neck. As I could not invite +him to come home with me, I did the next best thing; I invited him to +call on me. I was told that he was fond of adventures, so I gave the +invitation as much color as I could. Do I stand pardoned?" + +"Indeed you do!" cried Fitzgerald. So this was the Killigrew his +father had known? + +"David Fitzgerald, your father? That makes all the difference in the +world." The admiral thrust out a hand. "Your father wasn't a good +business man, nor was he in the navy, but he could draw charts of the +Atlantic coast with his eyes shut. Laura, you get the whisky and sugar +and hot water. You haven't brought me a secretary, but you have +brought under my roof the son of an old friend." + +She laughed. It was rich and free-toned laughter, good for any man to +hear. As she went to prepare the toddy, the music echoed again through +the hall. + +"Sometimes I wake up in the morning with a new gray hair," sighed the +admiral. "What would you do with a girl like that?" + +"I'd hang on to her as long as I could," earnestly. + +"I shall," grimly. "Your father and I were old friends. There wasn't +a yacht on these waters that could show him her heels, not even my own. +You don't mean to tell me you're no yachtsman! Why, it ought to be in +the blood." + +"Oh, I can handle small craft, but I don't know much about the +engine-room. What time does the next train return to New York?" + +"For you there'll be no train under a week. You're going to stay here, +since you've been the victim of a hoax." + +"Disabuse your mind there, sir. I don't know when I've enjoyed +anything so thoroughly." + +"But you'll stay? Oh, yes!" as Fitzgerald shook his head. "The +secretary can do the work here while you and I can take care of the +rats in the hold. Laura's just imagining things, but we'll humor her. +If there's any trouble with the chimney, why, we'll get a bricklayer +and pull it down." + +"Miss Killigrew may have some real cause for alarm. I saw a man, or +rather, I heard him, running, as I came up the road from the gates. I +called to him, but he did not answer." + +"Is that so? Wasn't the porter at the gates when you came in?" + +"No. The footpath was free." + +"This begins to look serious. If the porter isn't there the gate bell +rings, I can open it myself by wire. I never bother about it at night, +unless I am expecting some one. But in the daytime I can see from here +whether or not I wish to open the gate. A man running in the park, eh? +Little good it will do him. The house is a network of burglar alarms." + +"Wires can be cut and quickly repaired." + +"But this is no house to rob. All my valuables, excepting these books, +are in New York. The average burglar isn't of a literary turn of mind. +Still, if Laura has really heard something, all the more reason why you +should make us a visit. Wait a moment. I've an idea." The admiral +set the burglar alarm and tried it. The expression on his face was +blank. "Am I getting deafer?" + +"No bell rang," said Fitzgerald quickly. + +"By cracky, if Laura is right! But not a word to her, mind. When she +goes up-stairs we'll take a trip into the cellar and have a look at the +main wire. You've got to stay; that's all there is about it. This is +serious. I hadn't tested the wires in a week." + +"Perhaps it's only a fuse." + +"We can soon find out about that. Sh! Not a word to her!" + +She entered with a tray and two steaming toddies, as graceful a being +as Hebe before she spilled the precious drop. The two men could not +keep their eyes off her, the one with loving possession, the other with +admiration not wholly free from unrest. The daring manner in which she +had lured him here would never be forgetable. And she had known him at +the start? And that merry Mrs. Coldfield in the plot! + +"I hope this will cheer you, father." + +"It always does," replied the admiral, as he took the second glass. "I +have asked Mr. Fitzgerald to spend a week with us." + +"Thank you, father. It was thoughtful of you. If you had not asked +him, the pleasure of doing so would have been mine. Mrs. Coldfield +pointed you out to me as a most ungrateful fellow, because you never +called on your father's or mother's friends any more, but preferred to +gallivant round the world. You will stay? We are very unconventional +here." + +"It is all very good of you. I am rather a lonesome chap. The +newspapers and magazines have spoiled me. There's never a moment so +happy to me as when I am ordered to some strange country, thousands of +miles away. It is in the blood. Thanks, very much; I shall be very +happy to stay. My hand-bag, however, is at Swan's Hotel, and there's +very little in it." + +"A trifling matter to send to New York for what you need," said the +admiral, mightily pleased to have a man to talk to who was not paid to +reply. "I'll have William bring the cart round and take you down." + +"No, no; I had much rather walk. I'll turn up some time in the +morning, say luncheon, if that will be agreeable to you." + +"As you please. Only, I should like to save you an unpleasant walk in +the dark." + +"I don't mind. A dark street in a country village this side of the +Atlantic holds little or no danger." + +"I offered to build a first-class lighting plant if the town would +agree to pay the running expenses; but the council threw it over. They +want me to build a library. Not much! Hold on," as Fitzgerald was +rising. "You are not going right away. I shan't permit that. Just a +little visit first." + +Fitzgerald resumed his chair. + +"Have a cigar. Laura is used to it." + +"But does Miss Killigrew like it?" laughing. + +"Cigars, and pipes, and cigarettes," she returned. "I am really fond +of the aroma. I have tried to acquire the cigarette habit, but I have +yet to learn what satisfaction you men get out of it." + +Conversation veered in various directions, and finally rested upon the +subject of piracy; and here the admiral proved himself a rare scholar. +By some peculiar inadvertency, as he was in the middle of one of his +own adventures, his finger touched the burglar alarm. Clang! Brrrr! +From top to bottom of the house came the shock of differently voiced +bells. The two men gazed at each other dumfounded. But the girl +laughed merrily. + +"You touched the alarm, father." + +"I rather believe I did. And a few minutes before you came in with the +toddies I tried it and it didn't work." + +It took some time to quiet the servants; and when that was done +Fitzgerald determined to go down to the village. + +"Good night, Mr. Fitzgerald," said the girl. "Better beware; this +house is haunted." + +"We'll see if we can't lay that ghost, as they say," he responded. + +The admiral came to the door. "What do you make of it?" he whispered. + +"You possibly did not press the button squarely the first time." And +that was Fitzgerald's genuine belief. + +"By the way, will you take a note for me to Swan's? It will not take +me a moment to scribble it." + +"Certainly." + +Finally the young man found himself in the park, heading quickly toward +the gates. He searched the night keenly, but this time he neither +heard nor saw any one. Then he permitted his fancy to take short +flights. Interesting situation! To find himself a guest here, when he +had come keyed up for something strenuous! Pirates and jolly-rogers +and mysterious trespassers and silent bells, to say nothing of a +beautiful young woman with a leaning toward adventure! But the most +surprising turn was yet to come. + +In the office of Swan's hotel the landlord sat snoozing peacefully +behind the desk. There was only one customer. He was a gray-haired, +ruddy-visaged old salt in white duck--at this time of year!--and a blue +sack-coat dotted with shining brass buttons, the whole five-foot-four +topped by a gold-braided officer's cap. He was drinking what is +jocularly called a "schooner" of beer, and finishing this he lurched +from the room with a rolling, hiccoughing gait, due entirely to a +wooden peg which extended from his right knee down to a highly polished +brass ferrule. + +Fitzgerald awakened the landlord and gave him the admiral's note. + +"You will be sure and give this to the gentleman in the morning?" + +"Certainly, sir. Mr. Karl Breitmann," reading the superscription +aloud. "Yes, sir; first thing in the morning." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SOME EXPLANATIONS + +Karl Breitmann! Fitzgerald pulled off a shoe, and carefully deposited +it on the floor beside his chair. Private secretary to Rear Admiral +Killigrew, retired; Karl Breitmann! He drew off the second shoe, and +placed it, with military preciseness, close to the first. Absently, he +rose, with the intention of putting the pair in the hall, but +remembered before he got as far as the door that it was not customary +in America to put one's shoes outside in the halls. Ultimately, they +would have been stolen or have remained there till the trump of doom. + +Could there be two Breitmanns by the name of Karl? Here and there, +across the world, he had heard of Breitmann, but never had he seen him +since that meeting in Paris. And, simply because he had proved to be +an enthusiastic student of Napoleon, like himself, he had taken the man +to dinner. But that was nothing. Under the same circumstances he +would have done the same thing again. There had been something +fascinating about the fellow, either his voice or his manner. And +there could be no doubting that he had been at ebb tide; the shiny +coat, the white, but ragged linen, the cracked patent leathers. + +A baron, and to reach the humble grade of private secretary to an +eccentric millionaire--for the admiral, with all his kindliness and +common sense, was eccentric--this was a fall. Where were his +newspapers? There was a dignity to foreign work, even though in Europe +the pay is small. There was trouble going on here and there, petty +wars and political squabbles. Yes, where were his newspapers? Had he +tried New York? If not, in that case, he--Fitzgerald--could be of some +solid assistance. And Cathewe knew him, or had met him. + +Fitzgerald had buffeted the high and low places; he seldom made +mistakes in judging men offhand, an art acquired only after many +initial blunders. This man Breitmann was no sham; he was a scholar, a +gentleman, a fine linguist, versed in politics and war. Well, the +little mystery would be brushed aside in the morning. Breitmann would +certainly recognize him. + +But to have forgotten the girl! To have permitted a course of events +to discover her! Shameful! He jumped into bed, and pulled the +coverlet close to his nose, and was soon asleep, sleep broken by +fantastic dreams, in which the past and present mixed with the +improbable chances of the future. + +Thump-thump, thump-thump! To Fitzgerald's fogged hearing, it was like +the pulse beating in the bowels of a ship, only that it stopped and +began at odd intervals, intermittently. At the fourth recurrence, he +sat up, to find that it was early morning, and that the sea lay; gray +and leaden, under the pearly haze of dawn. Thump-thump! He rubbed his +eyes, and laughed. It could be no less a person than the old sailor in +the summer-yachting toggery. Drat 'em! These sailors were always +trying to beat sun-up. At length, the peg left the room above, and +banged along the hall and bumped down the stairs. Then all became +still once more, and the listener snuggled under the covers again, and +slept soundly till eight. Outside, the day was full, clear, and windy. + +On the way to the dining-room, he met the man. The scars were a little +deeper in color and the face was thinner, but there was no shadow of +doubt in Fitzgerald's mind. + +"Breitmann?" he said, with a friendly hand. + +The other stood still. There was no recognition in his eyes; at least, +Fitzgerald saw none. + +"Breitmann is my name, sir," he replied courteously. + +"I am Fitzgerald; don't you remember me? We dined in Paris last year, +after we had spent the afternoon with the Napoleonic relics. You +haven't forgotten Macedonia?" + +Breitmann took the speaker by the arm, and turned him round. +Fitzgerald had been standing with his back to the light. The scrutiny +was short. The eyes of the Bavarian softened, though the quizzical +wrinkles at the corners remained unchanged. All at once his whole +expression warmed. + +"It is you? And what do you here?" extending both hands. + +Some doubt lingered in Fitzgerald's mind; yet the welcome was perfect, +from whichever point he chose to look. "Come in to breakfast," he +said, "and I'll tell you." + +"My table is here; sit by the window. Who was it said that the world +is small? Do you know, that dinner in Paris was the first decent meal +I had had in a week? And I didn't recognize you at once! _Herr +Gott_!" with sudden weariness. "Perhaps I have had reason to forget +many things. But you?" + +Fitzgerald spread his napkin over his knees. There was only one other +man breakfasting. He was a small, wiry person, white of hair, and +spectacled, and was at that moment curiously employed. He had pinned +to the table a small butterfly, yellow, with tiny dots on the wings. +He was critically inspecting his find through a jeweler's glass. + +"I am visiting friends here," began Fitzgerald. "Rear Admiral +Killigrew was an old friend of my father's. I did not expect to +remain, but the admiral and his daughter insisted; so I am sending to +New York for my luggage, and will go up this morning." He saw no +reason for giving fuller details. + +"So it must have been you who brought the admiral's note. It is fate. +Thanks. Some day that casual dinner may give you good interest" + +The little man with the butterfly bent lower over his prize. + +"Do you believe in curses?" asked Breitmann. + +"Ordinary, every-day curses, yes; but not in Roman anathemas." + +"Neither of those. I mean the curse that sometimes dogs a man, day and +night; the curse of misfortune. I was hungry that night in Paris; I +have been hungry many times since, I have held honorable places; +to-day, I become a servant at seventy-five dollars a month and my bread +and butter. A private secretary." + +"But why aren't you with some newspaper?" asked Fitzgerald, breaking +his eggs. + +Breitmann drew up his shoulders. "For the same reason that I am +renting my brains as a private secretary. It was the last thing I +could find, and still retain a little self-respect. My heart was dead +when the admiral told me he had already engaged a secretary. But your +note brought me the position." + +"But the newspapers?" + +"None of them will employ me." + +"In New York, with your credentials?" + +"Even so." + +"I don't quite understand." + +"It would take too long to explain." + +"I can give you some letters." + +"Thank you. It would be useless. Secretly and subterraneously, I have +had the bottom knocked out from under my feet. Why, God knows! But no +more of that. Some day I will give you my version." + +The little man smiled over his butterfly, took out a wallet, something +on the pattern of a fisherman's, and put the new-found specimen into +one of the mica compartments, in which other dead butterflies of +variant beauty reposed. + +"So I become a private secretary, till the time offers something +better." Breitmann stared at the sea. + +"I am sorry. I wish I could help you. Better let me try." Fitzgerald +stirred his coffee. "You are convinced that there is some cabal +working against you in the newspaper business? That seems strange. +Some of them must have heard of your work--London, Paris, Berlin. Have +you tried them all?" + +"Yes. Nothing for me, but promises as thick as yonder sands." + +The little man rose, and walked out of the room, smiling. + +"Splendid!" he murmured. "What a specimen to add to my collection!" + +"Do you know what your duties will be?" Fitzgerald inquired. + +"They will consist of replying to begging letters from the needy and +deserving, from crazy inventors, and ministers. In the meantime, I am +to do translating, together with indexing a vast library devoted to +pirates. Droll, isn't it?" Breitmann laughed, but this time without +bitterness. + +"It is a harmless hobby," rather resenting Breitmann's tone. + +"More than that," quickly; "it is philanthropic, since it will employ +me for some length of time." + +"When do they expect you?" + +"At half-after ten." + +"We'll go up together, then. Did you see the admiral's daughter?" + +"A daughter? Has he one?" Breitmann accepted this news with an +expression of disfavor. + +"Yes; and charming, I can tell you. It's all very odd. In Paris that +night, they both sat at the next table." + +"Why did you not speak to them?" + +"Didn't know who they were. The admiral was one of my father's boyhood +friends, and I did not meet them till very recently;" which was all +true enough. For some unaccountable reason, Fitzgerald found that he +was on guard. "I have ordered an open carriage. If you have any +trunks, I can take them up for you." + +"It will be good of you." + +They proceeded to finish the repast, and then sought the office, for +their reckoning. Later, they strolled toward the water front. +Fitzgerald, during moments when the talk lagged, thought over the +meeting. There was a false ring to it somewhere. If Breitmann had +been turned down in all the offices in New York, there must have been +some good cause. Newspapers were not passing over men of this fellow's +experience, unless he had been proved untrustworthy. Breitmann had not +told him everything; he had even told him too little. Still, he would +withhold his judgment till he heard from New York on the subject. +Cathewe hadn't been enthusiastic over the name; but Cathewe was never +inclined to enthusiasms. + +Passing the angle of the freight depot brought the little harbor into +full view. A fine white yacht lay tugging at her cables. + +"There's a beauty," said Fitzgerald admiringly. + +"She looks as if she could take care of herself. How fresh the green +water-line looks! She'll be fast in moderate weather; a fair thousand +tons, perhaps." + +"A close guess." + +"I understand she belongs to my employer. I hope he takes the sea +soon. I suppose you know that I have knocked about some as a sailor." + +"That will help you into the good graces of the admiral." + +"How dull and uninteresting the coast-lines are here! No gardens, no +palms, nothing of beauty." + +"You must remember the immensity of this coast and that our summers are +really less than three months. Here comes one who can tell us about +the yacht," cried Fitzgerald, espying the peg-legged sailor. "I say!" +he hailed, as the old sailor drew nigh; "you are on the _Laura_, are +you not?" + +"Yessir. An' I've bin on her since she wus commissioned as a pleasure +yacht, sir. Capt'n." + +"Ah!" + +"Fought under th' commodore in th' war, sir; an' he knows me, an' I +knows him; an' when Flanagan is on th' bridge, he doesn't signal no +pilots between Key West an' St. Johns." + +"I am visiting the admiral," said Fitzgerald, amused. + +"Oh!" Captain Flanagan ducked, with his hand to his cap. On land, he +was likely to imitate landsmen in manners and politeness; but on board +he tipped his hat to nobody; leastwise, to nobody but Miss Laura, bless +her heart! "I reckon one o' you is th' new sec'rety." + +"Yes, I am the new secretary," replied Breitmann, unsmiling. + +"Furrin parts?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, well!" as if, while he couldn't help the fact, it was none the +less to be pitied. "You'll be comin' aboard soon, then. Off for th' +Banks. Take my word for it, you'll find her as stiddy as one o' your +floatin' hotels, sir, where you don't see no sailor but a deck hand as +swabs th' scuppers when a beam sea's on. Good mornin'!" And Captain +Flanagan stumped off toward the village. + +Breitmann shrugged contemptuously. + +"He may not be in European yachting form," admitted Fitzgerald, "but +he's the kind of man who makes a navy a good fighting machine." + +"But we usually pick out gentlemen to captain our private yachts." + +"Oh, this Flanagan is an exception. There is probably a fighting bond +between him and the admiral; that makes some difference. You observed, +he called the owner by the title of commodore, as he did thirty-five +years ago. Ten o'clock; we should be going up." + +The carriage was at the hotel when they returned. They bundled in +their traps, and drove away. + +The little man now dropped into the railway station, and stuck his head +into the ticket aperture. The agent, who was seated before the +telegraph keys, looked up. + +"No tickets before half-past ten, sir." + +"I am not wanting a ticket. I wish to know if I can send a cable from +here." + +"A cable? Sure. Where to?" + +"Paris." + +"Yes, sir. I telegraph it to the cable office in New York, and they do +the rest. Here are some blanks." + +The other wrote some hieroglyphics, which made the address impossible +to decipher, save that it was directed mainly to Paris. The body of +the cablegram contained a single word. The writer paid the toll, and +went away. + +"Now, what would you think of that?" murmured the operator, scratching +his head in perplexity. "Well, the company gets the money, so it's all +the same to me. Butterflies; and all the rest in French. Next time +it'll be bugs. All right; here goes!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A BIT OF ROMANTIC HISTORY + +The house at the top of the hill had two names. It had once been +called The Watch Tower, for reasons but vaguely known by the present +generation of villagers. To-day it was generally styled The Pines. +Yet even this had fallen into disuse, save on the occupant's letter +paper. When any one asked where Rear Admiral Killigrew lived, he was +directed to "the big white house at the top o' the hill." + +The Killigrews had not been born and bred there. Its builder had been +a friend of King George; that is, his sympathies had been with taxation +without representation. One day he sold the manor cheap. His reasons +were sufficient. It then became the property of a wealthy trader, who +died in it. This was in 1809. His heirs, living, and preferring to +live, in Philadelphia, put up a sign; and being of careful disposition, +kept the place in excellent repair. + +In the year 1816, it passed into the hands of a Frenchman, and during +his day the villagers called the house The Watch Tower; for the +Frenchman was always on the high balcony, telescope in hand, gazing +seaward. No one knew his name. He dealt with the villagers through +his servant, who could speak English, himself professing that he could +not speak the language. He was a recluse, almost a hermit. At odd +times, a brig would be seen dropping anchor in the offing. She was +always from across the water, from the old country, as villagers to +this day insist upon calling Europe. The manor during these peaceful +invasions showed signs of life. Men from the brig went up to the big +white house, and remained there for a week or a month. And they were +lean men, battle-scarred and fierce of eye, some with armless sleeves, +some with stiff legs, some twisted with rheumatism. All spoke French, +and spat whenever they saw the perfidious flag of old England. This +was not marked against them as a demerit, for the War of 1812 was yet +smoking here and there along the Great Lakes. Suddenly, they would up +and away, and the manor would reassume its repellent aloofness. Each +time they returned their number was diminished. Old age had succeeded +war as a harvester. In 1822, the mysterious old recluse surrendered +the ghost. His heirs--ignored and hated by him for their affiliation +with the Bourbons--sold it to the father of the admiral. + +The manor wasn't haunted. The hard-headed longshoremen and sailors who +lived at the foot of the hill were a practical people, to whom spirits +were something mostly and generally put up in bottles, and emptied on +sunless, blustery days. Still, they wouldn't have been human if they +had not done some romancing. + +There were a dozen yarns, each at variance with the other. First, the +old "monseer" was a fugitive from France; everybody granted that. +Second, that he had helped to cut off King Lewis' head; but nobody +could prove that. Third, that he was a retired pirate; but retired +pirates always wound up their days in riotous living, so this theory +died. Fourth, that he had been a great soldier in the Napoleonic wars, +and this version had some basis, as the old man's face was slashed and +cut, some of his fingers were missing, and he limped. Again, he had +been banished from France for a share in the Hundred Days. But, all +told, nothing was proved conclusively, though the villagers burrowed +and delved and hunted and pried, as villagers are prone to do when a +person appears among them and keeps his affairs strictly to himself. + +But the next generation partly forgot, and the present only +indifferently remembered that, once upon a time, a French _emigré_ had +lived and died up there. They knew all there was to know about the +present owner. It was all compactly written and pictured in a book of +history, which book agents sold over the land, even here in Dalton. + +All these things Fitzgerald and his companion learned from the driver +on the journey up the incline. + +"Where was this Frenchman buried?" inquired Breitmann softly. + +"In th' cemet'ry jest over th' hill. But nobody knows jest where he is +now. Stone's gone, an' th' ground's all level that end. He wus on'y a +Frenchman. But th' admiral, now you're talkin'! He pays cash, an' +don't make no bargain rates, when he wants a job done. Go wan, y' ol' +nag; what y' dreamin' of?" + +"There might be history in that corner of the graveyard," said +Breitmann. + +"Who knows? Good many strange bits of furniture found their way over +here during those tremendous times. Beautiful place in the daytime; +eh?" Fitzgerald added, with an inclination toward The Pines. + +"More like an Italian villa than an Englishman's home. Good gardeners, +I should say." + +"Culture and money will make a bog attractive." + +"Is the admiral cultured, then?" + +"I should imagine so. But I am sure the daughter is. Not that veneer +which passes for it, but that deep inner culture, which gives a deft, +artistic touch to the hand, softens the voice, gives elegance to the +carriage, with a heart and mind nicely balanced. Judge for yourself, +when you see her. If there is any rare knickknack in the house, it +will have been put there by the mother's hand or the daughter's. The +admiral, I believe, occupies himself with his books, his butterflies, +and his cruises." + +"A daughter. She is cultured, you say? Ah, if culture would only take +beauty in hand! But always she selects the plainer of two women." + +Fitzgerald smiled inwardly. "I have told you she is not plain." + +"Oh, beautiful," thoughtfully. "Culture and beauty; I shall be pleased +to observe." + +"H'm! If there is any marrow in your bones, my friend, you'll show +more interest when you see her." This was thought, not spoken. +Fitzgerald wasn't going to rhapsodize over Miss Killigrew's charms. It +would have been not only incautious, but suspicious. Aloud, he said: +"She has a will of her own, I take it; however, of a quiet, resolute +order." + +"So long as she is not capricious, and does not interfere with my +work--" + +"Or peace of mind!" interrupted Fitzgerald, with prophetic suddenness, +which was modified by laughter. + +"No, my friend; no woman has ever yet stirred my heart, though many +have temporarily captured my senses. A man in my position has no right +to love," with a dignity which surprised his auditor. + +Fitzgerald looked down at the wheels. There was something even more +than dignity, an indefinable something, a superiority which +Fitzgerald's present attitude of mind could not approach. + +"This man," he mused, "will afford some interesting study. One would +think that nothing less than a grand duke was riding in this rattling +old carryall." There was silence for a time. "I must warn you, +Breitmann, that, in all probability, you will have your meals at the +table with the admiral and his daughter; at least, in this house." + +"At the same table? It would hardly be so in Europe. But it pleases +me. I have been alone so much that I grow moody; and that is not good." + +There was always that trifling German accent, no matter what tongue he +used, but it was perceptible only to the trained ear. And yet, to +Fitzgerald's mind, the man was at times something Gallic in his +liveliness. + +"You will never use your title, then?" + +Breitmann laughed. "No." + +"You have made a great mistake. You should have fired the first shot +with it. You would have married an heiress by this time," ironically, +"and all your troubles would be over." + +"Or begun," in the same spirit. "I'm no fortune hunter, in the sense +you mean. Pah! I have no debts; no crumbling _schloss_ to rebuild. +All I ask is to be let alone," with a flash of that moodiness of which +he had spoken. "How long will you be here?" + +"Can't say. Three or four days, perhaps. It all depends. What shall +I say about you to them?" + +"As little as possible." + +"And that's really about all I could say," with a suggestion. + +But the other failed to meet the suggestion half-way. + +"You might forget about my ragged linen in Paris," acridly. + +"I'll omit that," good-naturedly. "Come, be cheerful; fortune's wheel +will turn, and it pulls up as well as down. Remember that." + +"I must be on the ascendancy, for God knows that I am at the nadir just +at present." He breathed in the sweet freshness which still clung to +the morning, and settled his shoulders like a recruiting sergeant. + +"How well the man has studied his English!" thought Fitzgerald. He +rarely hesitated for a word, and his idioms were always nicely adjusted. + +The admiral was alone. He received them with an easy courtliness, +which is more noticeable in the old world than in the new. He directed +the servants to take charge of the luggage, and to Breitmann there was +never a word about work. That had all been decided by letter. He +urged the new secretary to return to the library as soon as he had +established himself. + +"Strange that you should know the man," said the admiral. "It comes in +pat. From what you say, he must be a brilliant fellow. But this +situation seems rather out of his line." + +"We all have our ups and downs, admiral. I've known a pinch or two +myself. We are an improvident lot, we writers, who wander round the +globe; rich to-day, poor to-morrow. But on the other hand, it's +something to set down on paper what a king says, the turn of a battle, +to hobnob with famous men, explorers, novelists, painters, soldiers, +scientists, to say nothing of the meat in the pie and the bottom crust. +I'm going to write a novel some day myself." + +"Here," said the admiral, with a sweep of the hand, which included the +row upon row of books, "come here to do it. Make it a pirate story; +there's always room for another." + +"But it takes a Stevenson to write it. It is very good of you, though. +Where is Miss Killigrew this morning?" + +"She hasn't returned from her ride. Ah! Come in, Mr. Breitmann, and +sit down. By the way, you two must be fair horsemen." + +Breitmann smiled, and Fitzgerald laughed. + +"I dare say," replied the latter, "that there's only one thing we two +haven't ridden: ostriches. Camels and elephants and donkeys; we've +done some warm sprinting. Eh, Breitmann?" + +The secretary agreed with a nod. He was rather grateful for +Fitzgerald's presence. This occupation was not going to be menial; at +the least, there would be pleasant sides to it. And, then, it might +not take him a week to complete his own affair. There was no +misreading the admiral; he was a gentleman, affable, kindly, and a good +story-teller, too, crisp and to the point, sailor fashion. Breitmann +cleverly drew him out. Pirates! He dared not smile. Why, there was +hardly such a thing in the pearl zone, and China was on the highway to +respectability. And every once in so often there was a futile treasure +hunt! He grew cold. If this old man but knew! + +"Do you know butterflies, Mr. Fitzgerald?" + +"Social?" + +The admiral laughed. "No. The law doesn't permit you to stick pins in +that kind. No; I mean that kind," indicating the cases. + +Both young men admitted that this field had been left unexplored by +either of them. + +It was during a lull, when the talk had fallen to the desultory, that +the hall door opened, and Laura came in. Her cheeks glowed like the +sunny side of a Persian peach; her eyes sparkled; between her moist red +lips there was a flash of firm, white teeth; the seal-brown hair +glinted a Venetian red--for at that moment she stood in the path of the +sunshine which poured in at the window--and blown tendrils in +picturesque disorder escaped from under her hat. + +The three men rose hastily; the father with pride, Fitzgerald with +gladness, and Breitmann with doubt and wonder and fear. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SOME BIRDS IN A CHIMNEY + +It might be truthfully said that the tableau lasted as long as she +willed it to last. Perhaps she read in the three masculine faces +turned toward her a triangular admiration, since it emanated from three +given points, and took from it a modest pinch for her vanity. Vain she +never was; still, she was not without a share of vanity, that vanity of +the artless, needing no sacrifices, which is gratified and appeased by +a smile. It pleased her to know that she was lovely; and it doubled +her pleasure to realize that her loveliness pleased others. She +demanded no hearts; she craved no jewels, no flattery. She warmed when +eyes told her she was beautiful; but she chilled whenever the lips took +up the speech, and voiced it. She was one of those happy beings in +either sex who can amuse themselves, who can hold pleasant communion +with the inner self, who can find romance in old houses, and yet love +books, who prefer sunrises and sunsets at first hand, still loving a +good painting. + +Perhaps this trend of character was the result of her inherited love of +the open. With almost unlimited funds under her own hand, she lived +simply. She was never happy in smart society, though it was always +making demands upon her. When abroad, she was generally prowling +through queer little shops instead of mingling with the dress parades +on the grand-hotel terraces. There was no great battle-field in Europe +she had not trod upon. She knew them so well that she could people +each field with the familiar bright regiments, bayonets and sabers, +pikes and broadswords, axes and crossbowmen, matchlock and catapult, +rifles and cannon. + +And what she did not know of naval warfare her father did. They were +very companionable. There was never any jealousy on the part of the +admiral. Indeed, he was always grateful when some young man evinced a +deep regard for his daughter. He would have her always, married or +unmarried. He was rich enough, and the son-in-law should live with +him. He was so assured of her good judgment, he knew that whenever +this son-in-law came along, there would be another man in the family. +He had long ceased to bother his head about the flylike buzzing of +fortune hunters. He had been father and mother and brother to the +child, and with wisdom. + +She smiled at her father, gave her hand to Fitzgerald, who found it +warm and moist from the ride, and glanced inquiringly at Breitmann. + +"My dear," said her father, "this is Mr. Breitmann, my new secretary." + +That gentleman bowed stiffly, and the scars faded somewhat when he +observed that her hand was extended in welcome. This unconventionality +rather confused him, and as he took the hand he almost kissed it. She +understood the innocence of the gesture, and saved him from +embarrassment by withdrawing the hand casually. + +"I hope you will like it here," was the pleasant wish. + +"Thank you, I shall." + +"You are German?" quickly. + +"I was born in Bavaria, Miss Killigrew." + +"The name should have told me." She excused herself. + +"Oho!" thought Fitzgerald, with malicious exultancy. "If she doesn't +interfere with your work!" + +But with introspection, this exultancy grew suddenly dim. How about +himself? Yes. Here was a question that would bear some close +inspection. Was it really the wish to capture a supposable burglar? +He made short work of this analysis. He never lied to others--not even +in his work, which every one knows is endowed with special licenses in +regard to truth--nor did he ever play the futile, if soothing, game of +lying to himself. This girl was different from the ordinary run of +girls; she might become dangerous. He determined then and there not to +prolong his visit more than three or four days; just to satisfy her +that there was no ghost in the chimney. Then he would return to New +York. He had no more right than Breitmann to fall in love with the +daughter of a millionaire. Loving her was not impossible, but leaving +at an early day would go toward lessening the probability. He was not +afraid of Breitmann; he was foreigner enough to accept at once his +place, and to appreciate that he and this girl stood at the two ends of +the world. + +And Breitmann's mind, which had, up to this time, been deep and +unruffled as a pool, became strangely disturbed. + +The time moved on to luncheon. Breitmann took the part of listener, +and spoke only when addressed. + +"I must tell you, Mr. Breitmann," said Laura, "that a ghost has +returned to us." + +"A ghost?" interestedly. + +"Yes. My daughter," said the admiral tolerantly, "believes that she +hears strange noises at night, tapping, and such like." + +"Oh!" politely. Breitmann broke his bread idly. It was too bad. She +had not produced upon him the impression that she was the sort of woman +whose imagination embraced the belief in spirits. "Where does this +ghost do its tapping?" + +"In the big chimney in the library," she answered. + +No one observed Breitmann's hand as it slid from the bread, some of +which was scattered upon the floor. The scars, betraying emotion such +as no mental effort could control, deepened, which is to say that the +skin above and below them had paled. + +"Might it not be some trial visit of your patron saint, Santa Claus?" +he inquired, his voice well under control. + +"Really, it is no jest," she affirmed. "For several nights I have +heard the noise distinctly; a muffled tapping inside the chimney." + +"Suppose we inspect it after luncheon?" suggested Fitzgerald. + +"It has been done," said the admiral. Outwardly he was still +skeptical, but a doubt was forming in his mind. + +"It will do no harm to try it again," said Breitmann. + +If Fitzgerald noted the subdued excitement in the man's voice, he +charged it to the moment. + +"Take my word for it," avowed the admiral, "you will find nothing. +Bring the coffee into the library," he added to the butler. + +The logs were taken out of the fireplace, and as soon as the smoke +cleared the young men gave the inside of the chimney a thorough going +over. They could see the blue sky away up above. The opening was +large, but far too small for any human being to enter down it. The +mortar between the bricks seemed for the most part undisturbed. +Breitmann made the first discovery of any importance. Just above his +height, standing in the chimney itself, he saw a single brick +projecting beyond its mates. He reached up, and shook it. It was +loose. He wrenched it out, and came back into the light. + +"See! Nothing less than a chisel could have cut the mortar that way. +Miss Killigrew is right." He went back, and with the aid of the tongs +poked into the cavity. The wall of bricks was four deep, yet the tongs +went through. This business had been done from the other side. + +"Well!" exclaimed the admiral, for once at loss for a proper phrase. + +"You see, father? I was right. Now, what can it mean? Who is digging +out the bricks, and for what purpose? And how, with the alarms all +over the house, to account for the footprints in the flour?" + +"It is quite likely that something is hidden in the chimney, and some +one knows that it is worth hunting for. This chimney is the original, +I should judge." Fitzgerald addressed this observation to the admiral. + +"Never been touched during my time or my father's. But we can soon +find out. I'll have a man up here. If there is anything in the +chimney that ought not to be there, he'll dig it out, and save our +midnight visitor any further trouble." + +"Why not wait a little while?" Fitzgerald ventured. "With Breitmann +and me in the house, we might trap the man." + +"A good scheme!" + +"He comes from the outside, somewhere; from the cellar, probably. Let +us try the cellar." Breitmann urged this with a gesture of his hands. + +"There'll be sport," said Fitzgerald. + +The coffee was cold in the little cups when they returned to it. The +cellar, as far as any one could learn, was free from any signs of +recent invasion. It was puzzling. + +"And the servants?" Breitmann intimated. + +"They have been in the family for years." The admiral shook his head +convincedly. "I ask your pardon, my dear. My ears are not so keen as +might be. I'm an old blockhead to think that you were having an attack +of ghosts. But we'll solve the riddle shortly, and then we shan't have +any trouble with our alarm bells," with a significant glance at +Fitzgerald. "Well, Mr. Breitmann, suppose we take a look at the work? +Laura, you show Mr. Fitzgerald the gardens. The view from the terrace +is excellent." + +Fine weather. The orchard was pink with apple blossoms, giving the far +end of the park a tint not unlike Sicilian almonds in bloom. And the +intermittent breeze, as it waned or strengthened, carried delicate +perfumes to and fro. Yon was the sea, with well-defined horizon, and +down below were the few smacks and the white yacht _Laura_, formally +bowing to one another, or tossing their noses impudently; and, far +away, was the following trail of brown smoke from some ship which had +dropped down the horizon. + +Fitzgerald, stood silent, musing, at the girl's side. He was fond of +vistas. There was rest in them, a peace not to be found even in the +twilight caverns of cathedrals; wind blowing over waters, the flutter +of leaves, the bend in the grasses. To dwell in a haven like this. No +care, no worry, no bother of grubbing about in one's pockets for +overlooked coins, no flush of excitement! It is, after all, the +homeless man who answers quickest the beckon of wanderlust. It is only +when he comes into the shelter of such a roof that he draws into his +heart the bitter truth of his loneliness. + +"You must think me an odd girl." + +"Pray why?" + +"By the manner in which I brought you here." + +"On the contrary, you are one of the few women I ever met who know +something about scoring a good joke. Didn't your friend, Mrs. +Coldfield, know my mother; and wasn't your father a great friend of my +father's? As for being odd, what about me? I believe I stood on the +corner, and tried to sell plaster casts, just to win a foolish club +wager." + +"Men can jest that way with impunity, but a woman may not. Still, I +really couldn't help acting the way I did," with a tinkle in her voice +and a twinkle in her eyes. + +"Convention is made up of many idiotic laws. Why we feel obliged to +obey is beyond offhand study. Of course, the main block is sensible; +it holds humanity together. It's the irritating, burr-like amendments +that one rages against. It's the same in politics. Some clear-headed +fellow gets up and makes a just law. His enemies and his friends alike +realize that if the law isn't passed there will be a roar from the +public. So they pass the bill with amendments. In other words, they +kill its usefulness. I suppose that's why I am always happy to leave +convention behind, to be sent to the middle of Africa, to Patagonia, or +sign an agreement to go to the North Pole." + +"The North Pole? Have you been to the Arctic?" + +"No; but I expect to go up in June with an Italian explorer." + +"Isn't it terribly lonely up there?" + +"It can't be worse than the Sahara or our own Death Valley. One +extreme is as bad as the other. Some time I hope your father will take +me along on one of those treasure hunts. I should like to be in at the +finding of a pirate ship. It would make a boy out of me again." + +His eyes were very handsome when he smiled. Boy? she thought. He was +scarce more than that now. + +"Pirates' gold! What a lure it has been, is, and will be! Blood +money, brrr! I can see no pleasure in touching it. And the poor, +pathetic trinkets, which once adorned some fair neck! It takes a man's +mind to pass over that side of the picture, and see only the fighting. +But humanity has gone on. The pirate is no more, and the highwayman is +a thing to laugh at." + +"Thanks to railways and steamships. It is beautiful here." + +"We are nearly always here in the summer. In the winter we cruise. +But this winter we remained at home. It was splendid. The snow was +deep, and often I joined the village children on their bobsleds. I +made father ride down once. He grumbled about making a fool of +himself. After the first slide, I couldn't keep him off the hill. He +wants to go to St. Moritz next winter." She laughed joyously. + +"I shall take the Arctic trip," he said to himself irrelevantly. + +"Let us go and pick some apple blossoms. They last such a little +while, and they are so pretty on the table. So you were in Napoleon's +tomb that day? I have cried over the king of Rome's toys. Did Mr. +Breitmann receive those scars in battle?" + +"Oh, no. It was a phase of his student life in Munich. But he has +been under fire. He has had some hard luck." He wanted to add: "Poor +devil!" + +She did not reply, but walked down the terrace steps to the path +leading to the orchard. The sturdy, warty old trees leaned toward the +west, the single evidence of the years of punishment received at the +hands of the winter sea tempests. It was a real orchard, composed of +several hundred trees, well kept, as evenly matched as might be, out of +weedless ground. From some hidden bough, a robin voiced his happiness, +and yellowbirds flew hither and thither, and there was billing and +cooing and nesting. Along the low stone wall a wee chipmunk scampered. + +"What place do you like best in this beautiful old world?" she asked, +drawing down a snowy bough. Some of the blossoms fell and lay +entrapped in her hair. + +"This," he answered frankly. She met his gaze quickly, and with +suspicion. His face was smiling, but not so his eyes. "Wherever I am, +if content, I like that place best. And I am content here." + +"You fought with Greece?" + +"Yes." + +"How that country always rouses our sympathies! Isn't there a little +too much poetry and not enough truth about it?" + +"There is. I fought with the Greeks because I disliked them less than +the Turks." + +"And Mr. Breitmann?" + +He smiled. "He fought with the Turks to chastise Greece, which he +loves." + +"What adventures you two must have had! To be on opposing sides, like +that!" + +"Opposing newspapers. The two angles of vision made our copy +interesting. There was really no romance about it. It was purely a +business transaction. We offered our lives and our pencils for a +hundred a week and our expenses. Rather sordid side to it, eh? And a +fourth-rate order or two--" + +"You were decorated?" excitedly. "I am sure it was for bravery." + +"Don't you believe it. The king of Greece and the sultan both +considered the honor conferred upon us as good advertising." + +"You are laughing." + +"Well, war in the Balkans is generally a laughing matter. Sounds +brutal, I know, but it is true." + +"I know," gaily. "You are conceited, and are trying to make me believe +that you are modest." + +"A bull's-eye!" + +"And this Mr. Breitmann has been decorated for valor? And yet to-day +he becomes my father's private secretary. The two do not connect." + +"May I ask you to mention nothing of this to him? It would embarrass +him. I had no business to bring him into it." + +She grew meditative, brushing her lips with the blossoms. "He will be +something of a mystery. I am not overfond of mysteries outside of book +covers." + +"There is really no mystery; but it is human for a man in his position +to wish to bury his past greatness." + +By and by the sun touched the southwest shoulder of the hill, and the +two strolled back to the house. + +From his window, Breitmann could see them plainly. + +"Damn those scars!" he murmured, striking with his fist the disfigured +cheek, which upon a time had been a source of pride and honor. "Damn +them!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THEY DRESS FOR DINNER + +Breitmann watched them as long as he could. There was no jealousy in +his heart, but there was bitterness, discontent, a savage +self-pillorying. He was genuinely sorry that this young woman was so +pretty; still, had she the graces of Calypso, he must have come. She +would distract him, and he desired at that time distraction least of +all diversions. Concentration and singleness of purpose--upon these +two attributes practically hung his life. How strangely fate had +stepped with him. What if there had not been that advertisement for a +private secretary? How then should he have gained a footing in this +house? Well, here he was, and speculation was of no value, save in a +congratulatory sense. The fly in the amber was the presence of the +young American; Fitzgerald, shrewd and clever, might stumble upon +something. Well, till against that time! + +His room was pleasant, a corner which gave two excellent views, one of +the sea and the other of the orchard. There was no cluttering of +furniture; it was simple, substantial, decently old. On the plain +walls were some choice paintings. A landscape by Constable, a water +color by Fortuny, and a rough sketch by Détaille; and the inevitable +marines, such as one might expect in the house of a fighting sailor. +He examined these closely, and was rather pleased to find them valuable +old prints. And, better to his mind than all these, was the deft, +mysterious touch or suggestion of a woman's hand. He saw it in the +pillows on the lounge, in the curtains dropping from the windows, in +the counterpane on the old four-poster. + +Did Americans usually house their private secretaries in rooms fit for +guests of long and intimate acquaintance? Ah, yes; this sailor was a +rich man; and this mansion had not been erected yesterday. It amused +him to think that these walls and richly polished floors were older +than the French revolution. It seemed incredible, but it was true. + +"Pirates!" His laughter broke forth, not loudly but deeply, fired by a +broad and ready sense of humor--a perilous gift for a man who is +seeking fine hazards. It was droll, it was even fantastic. To cruise +about the world in search of pirate treasures, as if there remained a +single isle, shore, promontory, known to have been the haunt of +pirates, which had not been dug up and dug up again! And here, under +the very hand---- He struck his palms. "Why not?" + +He ran to the window. The sleek white yacht lay tugging at her cables, +like an eager hound in the leash. "Seaworthy from stem to stern. Why +not? No better cloak than this. I may not make you a good secretary, +admiral; but, the gods propitious, I can, if needs say must, take you +treasure hunting. It will be a fine stroke. Is it possible that +fortune begins to smile on me at last? Well, I have had the patience +to wait. The hour has come, and fortune shall not find me laggard. It +has been something to wait as I have, never to have spoken, never to +have forgotten. France knows and Germany knows, but only me, not what +I have. They have even tried to drive me to crime. Wait, fools, wait!" + +He drew his arms tightly over his heaving breast, for he was deeply +moved, while over his face came that indefinable light which, at times, +illuminates the countenance of a great man. It came and went; as a +flash of lightning betrays the oncoming storm. + +The chimney! His heart missed a beat. He had forgotten the chimney. +The reaction affected him like a blow. A snarl twisted his mouth. +What was this chimney to any other man? Only he of all men, knew. And +yet, here was some one stealthily at work, forestalling him, knocking +the bottom out of his great dream. There was nothing pleasant in the +growing expression an his face; it was the tiger, waking. There could +be only one way. + +Swiftly he dashed to his trunk, knelt and examined the lock, unscrewed +it, and took out the documents more precious to him than the treasures +of a hundred Captain Kidds. Instantly, he returned to the window. +Nothing was missing. But here was something he had never noticed +before. On the face of the slip of parchment--a diagram, dim and +faded--was an oily thumb-mark. The oil from the lock; nothing more; +doubtless he himself had touched it. How many times had he found an +unknown touch among his few belongings? How often had he smiled? +Still, to quell all rising doubts, he rubbed his right thumb on the +lock, and made a second impression. The daylight was now insufficient, +so he turned on the electricity, and compared them. Slowly, the scars +deepened till they were the tint of cedar. Death's head itself could +not have fascinated him more than the dissimilarity of these two +thumb-prints. He said nothing, but a queer little strangling sound +came through his lips. + +Who? Where? His heart beat so violently that the veins in his throat +swelled and threatened to burst. But he was no weakling. He summoned +all his will. He must act, and act at once, immediately. + +Fitzgerald? No, not that clever, idling fool. But who, who? He +replaced the papers and the lock. A hidden menace. Question as he +would, there was never any answer. + +He practised the pleasant deceit that the first mark had been there +when the diagram had been given to him. It was not possible that any +one had discovered his hiding-place. Had he not with his own hands +contrived it, alone and without aid, under that accursed mansard roof? +Not one of his co-adventurers knew; they had advanced him funds on his +word. His other documents they had seen; these had sufficed them. +Still, back it came, with deadly insistence; some one was digging at +the bricks in the chimney. The drama was beginning to move. Had he +waited too long? + +Mechanically, he proceeded to dress for dinner. Since he was to sit at +the family table, he must fit his dress and manners to the hour. He +did not resist the sardonic smile as he put on his fresh patent +leathers and his new dinner coat. He recalled Fitzgerald's +half-concealed glances of pity the last time they had dined together. + +In the room across the corridor, Fitzgerald was busy with a similar +occupation. The only real worry he had was the doubt of his luggage +arriving before he left. He had neither tennis clothes nor +riding-habit, and these two pastimes were here among the regular events +of the day. The admiral both played and rode with his daughter. She +was altogether too charming. Had she been an ordinary society girl, he +would have stayed his welcome threadbare perhaps. But, he repeated, +she was not ordinary. She had evidently been brought up with few +illusions. These she possessed would always be hers. + +The world, in a kindly but mistaken spirit, fosters all sorts of +beliefs in the head of a child. True, it makes childhood happy, but it +leaves its skin tender. The moment a girl covers her slippers with +skirts and winds her hair about the top of her curious young head, +things begin to jar. The men are not what she dreamed them to be, +there never was such a person as Prince Charming; and the women embrace +her--if she is pretty and graceful--with arms bristling with needles of +envy and malice; and the rosal tint that she saw in the approach is +nothing more or less than jaundice; and, one day disheartened and +bewildered, she learns that the world is only a jumble of futile, +ill-made things. The admiral had weeded out most of these illusions at +the start. + +"So much for suppositions and analysis," panted Fitzgerald, reknotting +his silk tie. "As for me, I go to the Arctic; cold, but safe. I have +never fallen in love. I have enjoyed the society of many women, and to +some I've been silly enough to write, but I have never been maudlin. +I'm no fool. This is the place where it would be most likely to +happen. Let us beat an orderly retreat. What the devil ails my +fingers to-night? M'h! There; will you stay tied as I want you? She +has traveled, she has studied, she is at home with grand dukes in Nice, +and scribblers in a country village. She is wise without being solemn. +She has courage, too, or I should not be here on a mere fluke. Now, my +boy, you have given yourself due notice. Take care!" + +He slipped his coat over his shoulders--and passably sturdy ones they +were--and took a final look into the glass. Not for vanity's sake; +sometimes a man's tie will show above the collar of his coat. + +"Hm! I'll wager the trout are rising about this time." He imitated a +cast which was supposed to land neatly in the corner. "Ha! Struck you +that time, you beauty!" All of which proved to himself, conclusively, +that he was in normal condition. "I should get a wire to-morrow about +Breitmann. I hate to do anything that looks underhand, but he puzzles +me. There was something about the chimney to-day; I don't know what. +This is no place for him--nor for me, either," was the shrewd +supplement. + +There was still some time before dinner, so he walked about, with his +hands in his pockets, and viewed the four walls of his room. He +examined the paints and admired the collection of blood-thirsty old +weapons over the mantel, but with the indirect interest of a man who is +thinking of other things. At the end, he paused before the window, +which, like the one in Breitmann's room, afforded a clear outlook to +the open waters. Night was already mistress of the sea; and below, the +village lights twinkled from various points. + +Laura tried on three gowns, to the very great surprise of her maid. +Usually her mistress told her in the morning what to lay out for +dinner. Here there were two fine-looking young men about, and yet she +was for selecting the simplest gown of the three. The little French +maid did not understand the reason, nor at that moment could her +mistress have readily explained. It was easy to dress for the critical +eyes of rich young men, officers, gentlemen with titles; all that was +required was a fresh Parisian model, some jewels, and a bundle of +orchids or expensive roses. But these two men belonged to a class she +knew little of; gentlemen adventurers, who had been in strange, +unfrequented places, who had helped to make history, who received +decorations, and never wore them, who remained to the world at large +obscure and unknown. + +So, with that keen insight which is a part of a well-bred, intelligent +woman--and also rather inexplicable to the male understanding--she +chose the simplest gown. She was hazily conscious that they would +notice this dress, whereas the gleaming satin would have passed as a +matter of fact. Round her graceful throat she placed an Indian +turquoise necklace; nothing in her hair, nothing on her fingers. She +went down-stairs perfectly content. + +As she came into the hall, she heard soft music. Some one was in the +music-room, which was just off the library. She stopped to listen. +Chopin, with light touch and tender feeling. Which of the two +wanderers was it? Quietly, she moved along to the door. Breitmann; +she rather expected to find him. Nearly all educated Germans played. +The music stopped for a moment, then resumed. Another melody followed, +a melody she had heard from one end of France to the other. She +frowned, not with displeasure, but with puzzlement. For what purpose +did a soldier of the German empire play the battle hymn of the French +republic? _The Marseillaise_? She entered the music-room, and the low +but vibrant chords ceased instantly. Breitmann had been playing these +melodies standing. He turned quickly. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, but perfectly free from embarrassment. + +"I am very fond of music myself. Please play whenever the mood comes +to you. _The Marseillaise_--" + +"Ah!" he interrupted, laughing. "There was a bit of traitor in my +fingers just then. But music should have no country; it should be +universal." + +"Perhaps, generally speaking; but every land should have an anthem of +its own. The greatest composition of Beethoven or Wagner will never +touch the heart as the ripple of a battle song." + +And when Fitzgerald joined them they were seriously discussing Wagner +and his ill-treatment in Munich, and of the mad king of Bavaria. + +As she had planned, both men noticed the simplicity of her dress. + +"It is because she doesn't care," thought Breitmann. + +"It is because she knows we don't care," thought Fitzgerald. And he +was nearer the truth than Breitmann. + +The dinner was pleasant, and there was much talk of travel. The +admiral had touched nearly every port, Fitzgerald had been round three +times, and Breitmann four. The girl experienced a sense of elation as +she listened. She knew most of her father's stories, but to-night he +drew upon a half-forgotten store. Without embellishment, as if they +were ordinary, every-day affairs, they exchanged tales of adventure in +strange island wildernesses; and there were lion hunts and man hunts +and fierce battles on land and sea. Never had any story-book opened a +like world. She felt a longing for the Himalayas, the Indian jungles, +the low-lying islands of the South Pacific. + +So far as the admiral was concerned, he was very well pleased with the +new secretary. + + +Fitzgerald was not asleep. He had an idea, and he smoked his yellow +African gourd pipe till this same idea shaped itself into the form of a +resolve. He laid the pipe on the mantel, turned over the logs--for the +nights were yet chill, and a fire was a comfort--and raised a window. +He would like to hear some of that tapping in the chimney. He was +fully dressed, excepting that he had exchanged shoes for slippers. + +He went out into the corridor. There was no light under Breitmann's +door. So much the better; he was asleep. Fitzgerald crept down the +stairs with the caution of a hunter who is trailing new game. As he +arrived at the turn of the first landing, he hesitated. He could hear +the old clock striking off the seconds in the lower hall. He cupped +his ear. By George! Joining the sharp monotony of the clock was +another sound, softer, intermittent. He was certain that it came from +the library. That door was never closed. Click-click! Click-click! +The mystery was close at hand. + +He moved forward. He wanted to get as close as possible to the +fireplace. He peered in. The fire was all but dead; only the corner +of a log glowed dully. Suddenly, the glow died, only to reappear, +unchanged. This phenomena could be due to one thing, a passing of +something opaque. Fitzgerald had often seen this in camps, when some +one's legs passed between him and the fire. Some one else was in the +room. With a light bound, he leaped forward, to find himself locked in +a pair of arms no less vigorous than his own. + +And even in that lively moment he remembered that the sound in the +chimney went on! + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE GHOST OF AN OLD RÉGIME + +It was a quick, silent struggle. The intruder wore no shoes. It would +be a test of endurance. Fitzgerald recalled some tricks he had learned +in Japan; but even as he stretched out his arm to perform one, the arm +was caught by the wrist, while a second hand passed under his elbow. + +"Don't!" he gasped lowly. "I'll give in." His arm would have snapped +if he hadn't spoken. + +A muttered oath in German. "Fitzgerald?" came the query, in a whisper. + +"Yes. For God's sake, is this you, Breitmann?" + +"Sh! Not so loud! What are you doing here?" + +"And you?" + +"Listen! It has stopped. He has heard our scuffling." + +"It seems, then, that we are both here for the same purpose?" said +Fitzgerald, pulling down his cuffs, and running his fingers round his +collar. + +"Yes. You came too late or too soon." Breitmann stooped, and ran his +hands over the rug. + +The other saw him but dimly. "What's the matter?" + +"I have lost one of my studs," with the frugal spirit of his mother's +forebears. "You are stronger than I thought." + +"Much obliged." + +"It's a good thing you did not get that hold first. You'd have broken +my arm." + +"Wouldn't have given in, eh? I simply cried quits in order to start +over again. There's no fair fighting in the dark, you know." + +"Well, we have frightened him away. It is too bad." + +"What have you on your feet?" + +"Felt slippers." + +"Are you afraid of the cold?" + +A laugh. "Not I!" + +"Come with me." + +"Where?" + +"First to the cellar. Remember that hot-air box from the furnace, that +backs the chimney, way up?" + +"I looked only at the bricks." + +"We'll go and have a look at that box. It just occurred to me that +there is a cellar window within two feet of that box." + +"Let us hurry. Can you find the way?" + +"I can try." + +"But lights?" + +Fitzgerald exhibited his electric pocket lamp. "This will do." + +"You Americans!" + +After some mistakes they found their way to the cellar. The window was +closed, but not locked, and resting against the wall was a plank. It +leaned obliquely, as if left in a hurry. Fitzgerald took it up, and +bridged between the box and the window ledge. Breitmann gave him a leg +up, and in another moment he was examining the brick wall of the great +chimney under a circular white patch of light. A dozen rows of bricks +had been cleverly loosened. There were also evidences of chalk marks, +something on the order of a diagram; but it was rather uncertain, as it +had been redrawn four or five times. The man hadn't been sure of his +ground. + +"Can you see?" asked Fitzgerald. + +"Yes." Only Breitmann himself knew what wild rage lay back of that +monosyllable. He was sure now; that diagram brushed away any lingering +doubt. The lock had been trifled with, but the man who had done the +work had not been sure of his dimensions. + +"Clever piece of work. Took away the mortar in his pockets; no sign of +it here. The admiral had better send for his bricklayer, for more +reasons than one. There'll be a defective flue presently. Now, what +the devil is the duffer expecting to find?" Fitzgerald coolly turned +the light full into the other's face. + +"It is beyond me," with equal coolness; "unless there's a pirate's +treasure behind there." The eyes blinked a little, which was but +natural. + +"Pirate's treasure, you say?" Fitzgerald laughed. "That _would_ be a +joke, eh?" + +"What now?" For Breitmann thought it best to leave the initiative with +his friend. + +"A little run out to the stables," recalling to mind the rumor of the +night before. + +"The stables?" + +"Why, surely. The fellow never got in here without some local +assistance, and I am rather certain that this comes from the stables. +Besides, no one will be expecting us." He came down agilely. + +Breitmann nodded approvingly at the ease with which the other made the +descent. "It would be wiser to leave the cellar by the window," he +suggested. + +"My idea, too. We'll make a step out of this board. The stars are +bright enough." Fitzgerald climbed out first, and then gave a hand to +Breitmann. + +"I understood there was a burglar alarm in the house." + +"Yes; but this very window, being open, probably breaks the circuit. +All cleverly planned. But I'm crazy to learn what he is looking for. +Double your coat over your white shirt." + +Breitmann was already proceeding with this task. A dog-trot brought +them into the roadway, but they kept to the grass. They were within a +yard of the stable doors when a hound began bellowing. Breitmann +smothered a laugh and Fitzgerald a curse. + +"The quicker we get back to the cellar the better," was the former's +observation. + +And they returned at a clip, scrambling into the cellar as quickly and +silently as they could, and made for the upper floors. + +"Come into my room," said Fitzgerald; "it's only midnight." + +Breitmann agreed. If he had any reluctance, he did not show it. +Fitzgerald produced cigars. + +"Do my clothes look anything like yours?" asked Breitmann dryly, +striking a match. + +"Possibly." + +They looked themselves over for any real damage. There were no rents, +but there were cobwebs on the wool and streaks of coal dust on the +linen. + +"We shall have to send our clothes to the village tailor. The +admiral's valet might think it odd." + +"Where do you suppose he comes from?" + +"I don't care where. What's he after, to take all this trouble? +Something big, I'll warrant." + +And then, for a time, they smoked like Turks, in silence. + +"By George, it's a good joke; you and I trying to choke each other, +while the real burglar makes off." + +"It has some droll sides." + +"And you all but broke my arm." + +Breitmann chuckled. "You were making the same move. I was quicker, +that was all." + +Another pause. + +"The admiral has seen some odd corners. Think of seeing, at close +range, the Japanese-Chinese naval fight!" + +"He tells a story well." + +"And the daughter is a thoroughbred." + +"Yes," non-committally. + +"By the way, I'm going to the Pole in June or August." + +"The Italian expedition?" + +"Yes." + +"That ought to make fine copy. You will not mind if I turn in? A bit +sleepy." + +"Not at all. Shall we tell the admiral?" + +"The first thing in the morning. Good night." + +Fitzgerald finished his cigar, and went to bed also. "Interesting old +place," wadding a pillow under his ear. "More interesting to-morrow." + +Some time earlier, the individual who was the cause of this nocturnal +exploit hurried down the hill, nursing a pair of skinned palms, and +laughing gently to himself. + +"Checkmate! I shall try the other way." + +On the morrow, Fitzgerald recounted the adventure in a semi-humorous +fashion, making a brisk melodrama out of it, to the quiet amusement of +his small audience. + +"I shall send for the mason this morning," said the admiral. "I've +been dreaming of _The Black Cat_ and all sorts of horrible things. I +hate like sixty to spoil the old chimney, but we can't have this going +on. We'll have it down at once. A fire these days is only a nice +touch to the mahogany." + +"But you must tell him to put back every brick in its place," said +Laura. "I could not bear to have anything happen to that chimney. All +the same, I am glad the matter is going to be cleared up. It has been +nerve-racking; and I have been all alone, waiting for I know not what." + +"You haven't been afraid?" said Fitzgerald. + +"I'm not sure that I haven't." She sighed. + +"Nonsense!" cried the admiral. + +"I am not afraid of anything I can see; but I do not like the dark; I +do not like mysteries." + +"You're the bravest girl I know, Laura," her father declared. "Now, +Mr. Breitmann, if you don't mind." + +"Shall we begin at once, sir?" + +"You will copy some of my notes, to begin with. Any time you're in +doubt over a word, speak to me. There will not be much outside of +manuscript work. Most of my mail is sorted at my bankers, and only +important letters forwarded. There may be a social note occasionally. +Do you read and write English as well as you speak it?" + +"Oh, yes." + +Laura invited Fitzgerald to the tennis court. + +"In these shoes?" he protested. + +"They will not matter; it is a cement court." + +"But I shan't look the game. Tennis without flannels is like duck +without apples." + +"Bother! We'll play till the mason comes up. And mind your game. +I've been runner-up in a dozen tournaments." + +And he soon found that she had not overrated her skill. She served +strongly, volleyed beautifully, and darted across the court with a +fleetness and a surety both delightful to observe. So interested were +they in the battle that they forgot all about the mason, till the +butler came out, and announced that the desecration had begun. + +In fact the broad marble top was on the floor, and the room full of +impalpable dust. The admiral and the secretary were gravely stacking +the bricks, one by one, as they came out. + +"Found anything?" asked the girl breathlessly. + +"Not yet; but Mr. Donovan here has just discovered a hollow space above +the mantel line." + +The admiral sneezed. + +Mr. Donovan, in his usual free and happy way, drew out two bricks, and +dropped them on the polished floor. + +"There's your holler, sir," he said, dusting his hands. + +Unbidden, Breitmann pushed his hand into the cavity. His arm went down +to the elbow, and he was forced to stand on tiptoe. He was pale when +he withdrew his arm, but in his hand was a square metal case, about the +size and shape of a cigar box. + +"By cracky! What's the matter, Mr. Breitmann?" The admiral stepped +forward solicitously. + +Breitmann swayed, and fell against the side of the fireplace. "It is +nothing; lost my balance for a moment. Will you open it, sir?" + +"Lost his balance?" muttered Fitzgerald. "He looks groggy. Why?" + +This was not a time for speculation. All rushed after the admiral, who +laid the case on his desk, and took out his keys. None of them would +turn in the ancient lock. With an impatient gesture, which escaped the +others, the secretary seized Mr. Donovan's hammer, inserted the claw +between the lock and the catch, and gave a powerful wrench. The lid +fell back, crooked and scarred. + +The admiral put on his Mandarin spectacles. With his hands behind his +back, he bent and critically examined the contents. Then, very +carefully, he extracted a packet of papers, yellow and old, bound with +heavy cording. Beneath this packet was a medal of the Legion of Honor, +some rose leaves, and a small glove. + +"Know what I think?" said the admiral, stilling the shake in his voice. +"This belonged to that mysterious Frenchman who lived here eighty years +ago. I'll wager that medal cost some blood. By cracky, what a find!" + +"And the poor little glove and the rose leaves!" murmured the girl, in +pity. "It seems like a crime to disturb them." + +"We shan't, my child. Our midnight friend wasn't digging yonder for +faded keepsakes. These papers are the things." The admiral cut the +string, and opened one of the documents. "H'm! Written in French. So +is this," looking at another, "and this. Here, Laura, cast your eye +over these, and tell us why some one was hunting for them." + +Fitzgerald eyed Breitmann thoughtfully. The whole countenance of the +man had changed. Indeed, it resembled another face he had seen +somewhere; and it grew in his mind, slowly but surely, as dawn grows, +that Breitmann was not wholly ignorant in this affair. He had not +known who had been working at night; but that dizziness of the moment +gone, the haste in opening the case, the eagerness of the search last +night; all these, to Fitzgerald's mind, pointed to one thing: Breitmann +knew. + +"I shall watch him." + +Laura read the documents to herself first. Here and there was a word +which confused her; but she gathered the full sense of the remarkable +story. Her eyes shone like winter stars. + +"Father!" she cried, dropping the papers, and spreading out her arms. +"Father, it's the greatest thing in the world. A treasure!" + +"What's that, Laura?" straining his ears. + +"A treasure, hidden by the soldiers of Napoleon; put together, franc by +franc, in the hope of some day rescuing the emperor from St. Helena. +It is romance! A real treasure of two millions of francs!" clapping +her hands. + +"Where?" It was Breitmann who spoke. His voice was not clear. + +"Corsica!" + +"Corsica!" The admiral laughed like a child. Right under his very +nose all these years, and he cruising all over the chart! "Laura, +dear, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't take the yacht +and go and dig up this pretty sum." + +"No reason in the world!" But the secretary did not pronounce these +words aloud. + +"A telegram for you, sir," said the butler, handing the yellow envelope +to Fitzgerald. + +"Will you pardon me?" he said drawing off to a window. + +"Go ahead," said the admiral, fingering the medal of the Legion of +Honor. + +Fitzgerald read: + +"Have made inquiries. Your man never applied to any of the +metropolitan dailies. Few ever heard of him." + +He jammed the message into a pocket, and returned to the group about +the case. Where should he begin? Breitmann had lied. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +PREPARATIONS AND COGITATIONS + +The story itself was brief enough, but there was plenty of husk to the +grain. The old expatriate was querulous, long-winded, not niggard with +his ink when he cursed the English and damned the Prussians; and he +obtained much gratification in jabbing his quill-bodkin into what he +termed the sniveling nobility of the old regime. Dog of dogs! was he +not himself noble? Had not his parents and his brothers gone to the +guillotine with the rest of them? But he, thank God, had no wooden +mind; he could look progress and change in the face and follow their +bent. And now, all the crimes and heroisms of the Revolution, all the +glorious pageantry of the empire, had come to nothing. A Bourbon, +thick-skulled, sordid, worn-out, again sat upon the throne, while the +Great Man languished on a rock in the Atlantic. Fools that they had +been, not to have hidden the little king of Rome as against this very +dog! It was pitiful. He never saw a shower in June that he did not +hail curses upon it. To have lost Waterloo for a bucketful of water! +Thousand thunders! could he ever forget that terrible race back to +Paris? Could he ever forget the shame of it? Grouchy for a fool and +Blücher for a blundering ass. _Eh bien_; they would soon tumble the +Bourbons into oblivion again. + +A rambling desultory tale. And there were reminiscences of such and +such a great lady's _salon_; the flight from Moscow; the day of the +Bastille; the poor fool of a Louis who donned a red-bonnet and wore the +tricolor; some new opera dances; the flight of his cowardly cousins to +Austria; Austerlitz and Jena; the mad dream in Egypt; the very day when +the Great Man pulled a crown out of his saddle-bag and made himself an +emperor. Just a little corporal from Corsica; think of it! And so on; +all jumbled but keyed with tremendous interest to the listeners and to +Laura herself. It was the golden age of opportunity, of reward, of +sudden generals and princes and dukes. All gone, nothing left but a +few battle-flags; England no longer shaking in her boots, and the rest +of them dividing the spoils! No! There were some left, and in their +hands lay the splendid enterprise. + +Quietly they had pieced together this sum and that, till there was now +stored away two-million francs. Two or three frigates and a corvette +or two; then the work would go forward. Only a little while to wait, +and then they would bring their beloved chief back to France and to his +own again. Had he not written: "Come for me, _mon brave_. They say +they have orders to shoot me. Come; better carry my corpse away than +that I should rot here for years to come." They would come. But this +year went by and another; one by one the Old Guard died off, smaller +and smaller had drawn the circle. The vile rock called St. Helena +still remained impregnable. On a certain day they came to tell him +that the emperor was no more. Soon he was all alone but one; these +brave soldiers who had planned with him were no more. An alien, an +outcast, he too longed for night. And what should he do with it, this +vast treasure, every franc of which meant sacrifice and unselfishness, +bravery and loyalty? Let the gold rot. He would bury all knowledge of +it in yonder chimney, confident that no one would ever find the +treasure, since he alone possessed the key to it, having buried it +himself. So passed the greatest Caesar of them all, the most brilliant +empire, the bravest army. Ah! had the king of Rome lived! Had there +been some direct Napoleonic blood to take up the work! Vain dreams! +The Great Man's brothers had been knaves and fools. + +"And so to-night," the narrator ended, "I bury the casket in the +chimney; within it, my hopes and few trinkets of the past of which I am +an integral part. Good-by, little glove; good-by, brave old medal! I +am sending a drawing of the chimney to the good Abbe le Fanu. He will +outlive me. He lives on forty-centime the day; treasures mean nothing +to him; his cry, his eternal cry, is always of the People. He will +probably tear it up. The brig will never come again. So best. Death +will come soon. And I shall die unknown, unloved, forgotten. _Bonne +nuit_!" + + +Mr. Donovan alone remained in normal state of mind. 'Twas all +faradiddle, this talk of finding treasures. The old Frenchman had been +only half-baked. He dumped his tools into his bag, and, with the +wisdom of his kind, departed. There would be another job to-morrow, +putting the bricks back. + +The others, however, were for the time but children, and like children +they all talked at once; and there was laughter and thumping of fists +and clapping of hands. The admiral had a new plan every five minutes. +He would do this, or he would do that; and Fitzgerald would shake his +head, or Breitmann would point out the feasibility of the plan. Above +all, he urged, there must be no publicity (with a flash toward +Fitzgerald); the world must know nothing till the treasure was in their +hands. Otherwise, there would surely be piracy on the high-seas. Two +million francs was a prize, even in these days. There were plenty of +men and plenty of tramp ships. Even when they found the gold, secrecy +would be best. There might be some difficulty with France. Close +lips, then, till they returned to America; after that Mr. Fitzgerald +would become famous as the teller of the exploit. + +"I confess that, for all my excitement," said Fitzgerald, "I am +somewhat skeptical. Still, your suggestion, Mr. Breitmann, is good." + +"Do you mean to say you doubt the existence of the treasure?" cried the +admiral, something impatient. + +"Oh, no doubt it once existed. But seventy-five or eighty years! +There were others besides this refugee Frenchman. Who knows into what +hands similar documents may have fallen?" + +"And the unknown man who worked in the chimney?" put in the girl +quietly. + +"That simply proves what I say. He knows that this treasure once +existed, but not where. Now, it is perfectly logical that some other +man, years ago, might have discovered the same key as we have. He may +have got away with it. The man might have plausibly declared that he +had made the money somewhere. The sum is not so large as to create any +wide comment." + +"Ah, my boy, your father had more enthusiasm than that." The admiral +looked reproachful. + +"My dear admiral," and Fitzgerald laughed in that light-hearted way of +his, "I would go into the heart of China on a treasure hunt, for the +mere fun of it. Enthusiasm? Nothing would gratify me more than to +strike a shovel into the spot where this treasure, this pot of gold, is +supposed to lie. It will be great sport; nothing like it. I was +merely supposing. I have never heard of, or come into contact with, a +man who has found a hidden treasure. I am putting up these doubts +because we are never sure of anything. Why, Mr. Breitmann knows; isn't +it more fun to find a dollar in an old suit of clothes than to know you +have ten in the suit you are wearing? It's not how much, it's the +finding that gives the pleasure." + +"That is true," echoed Breitmann generously. He fingered the papers +with a touch that was almost a caress. "A pity that you will go to the +Arctic instead." + +"I am not quite sure that I shall go," replied Fitzgerald. That this +man had deliberately lied to him rendered him indecisive. For the +present he could not do or say anything, but he had a great desire to +be on hand to watch. + +"You are not your father's son if you refuse to go with us;" and the +Admiral sent home this charge with fist against palm. + +"'Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!'" parroted the girl drolly. "You +will go, Mr. Fitzgerald." + +"Do you really want me to?" cleverly putting the decision with her. + +"Yes." There was no coquetry in voice or eye. + +"When do you expect to go?" Fitzgerald put this question to the +admiral. + +"As soon as we can coal up and provision. Laura, I've just got to +smoke. Will you gentlemen join me?" The two young men declined. "We +can go straight to Funchal in the Madieras and re-coal. With the +club-ensign up nobody will be asking questions. We can telegraph the +_Herald_ whenever we touch a port. Just a pleasure-cruise." The +admiral fingered the Legion of Honor. "And here was Alladin's Lamp +hanging up in my chimney!" He broke in laughter. "By cracky! that man +Donovan knows his business. He's gone without putting back the bricks. +He has mulcted me for two days' work." + +"But crossing in the yacht," hesitated Fitzgerald. He wished to sound +this man Breitmann. If he suggested obstacles and difficulties it +would be a confirmation of the telegram and his own singular doubts. + +"It is likely to be a rough passage," said Breitmann experimentally. + +"He doesn't want me to go." Fitzgerald stroked his chin slyly. + +"We have crossed the Atlantic twice in the yacht," Laura affirmed with +a bit of pride; "once in March too, and a heavy sea half the way." + +"Enter me as cabin-boy or supercargo," said Fitzgerald. "If you don't +you'll find a stowaway before two days out." + +"That's the spirit." The admiral drew strongly on his cigar. He had +really never been so excited since his first sea-engagement. "And it +comes in so pat, Laura. We were going away in a month anyway. Now we +can notify the guests that we've cut down the time two weeks. I tell +you what it is, this will be the greatest cruise I ever laid a course +to." + +"Guests?" murmured Fitzgerald, unconsciously poaching on Breitmann's +thought. + +"Yes. But they shall know nothing till we land in Corsica. And in a +day or two this fellow would have laid hands on these things and we'd +never been any the wiser." + +"And may we not expect more of him?" said Breitmann. + +"Small good it will do him." + +"Corsica," repeated the girl dreamily. + +"Ay, Napoleon. The Corsican Brothers' daggers and vendetta, the +restless island! It is full of interest. I have been there." +Breitmann smiled pleasantly at the girl, but his thought was unsmiling. +Versed as he was in reading at a glance expression, whether it lay in +the eyes, in the lips, or the hands, he realized with chagrin that he +had made a misstep somewhere. For some reason he would have given much +to know, Fitzgerald was covertly watching him. + +"You have been there, too, have you not, Mr. Fitzgerald?" asked Laura. + +"Oh, yes; but never north of Ajaccio." + +"Laura, what a finishing touch this will give to my book." For the +admiral was compiling a volume of treasures found, lost and still being +hunted. "All I can say is, that I am really sorry that the money +wasn't used for the purpose intended." + +"I do not agree there," said Fitzgerald. + +"And why not?" asked Breitmann. + +"France is better off as she is. She has had all the empires and +monarchies she cares for. Wonderful country! See how she has lived in +spite of them all. There will never be another kingdom in France, at +least not in our generation. There's a Napoleon in Belgium and a +Bourbon in England; the one drills mediocre soldiers and the other +shoots grouse. They will never go any further." + +The secretary spread his fingers and shrugged. "If there was only a +direct descendant of Napoleon!" + +"Well, there isn't," retorted Fitzgerald, dismissing the subject into +limbo. "And much good it would do if there was." + +"This treasure would rightly be his," insisted Breitmann. + +"It was put together to bring Napoleon back. There is no Napoleon to +bring back." + +"In other words, the money belongs to the finder?" + +"Exactly." + +"Findings is keepings," the admiral determined. "That's Captain +Flanagan's rule." + +The girl could bring together no reasons for the mind inclining to the +thought that between the two young men there had risen an antagonism of +some sort, nothing serious but still armed with spikes of light in the +eyes and a semi-truculent angle to the chin. Fitzgerald was also aware +of this apparency, and it annoyed him. Still, sometimes instinct +guides more surely than logic. After all, he and Breitmann were only +casual acquaintances. There had never been any real basis for +friendship; and the possibility of this had been rendered nil by the +telegram. One can not make a friend of a man who has lied gratuitously. + +"Now, Mr. Breitmann," interposed the admiral pacifically, for he was +too keen a sailor not to have noted the chill in the air, "suppose we +send off those letters? Here, I'll write the names and addresses, and +you can finish them up by yourself. Please call up Captain Flanagan at +Swan's Hotel and tell him to report this afternoon." The admiral +scribbled out the names of his guests, gathered up the precious +documents, and put them into his pocket. "Come along now, my children; +we'll take the air in the garden and picture the Frenchman's brig +rocking in the harbor." + +"It is all very good of you," said Fitzgerald, as the trio eyed the +yacht from the terrace. + +"Nonsense! The thing remains that all these years you ignored us." + +"I have been, and still am, confoundedly poor. There is a little; I +suppose I could get along in a hut in some country village; but the +wandering life has spoiled me for that." + +"Fake pride," rebuked the girl. + +"I suppose it is." + +"Your father had none. Long after the smash he'd hunt me up for a +week's fishing. Isn't she a beauty?" pointing to the yacht. + +"She is," the young man agreed, with his admiration leveled at the +lovely profile of the girl. + +"Let me see," began the admiral; "there will be Mr. and Mrs. Coldfield, +first-class sailors, both of them. What's the name of that singer who +is with them?" + +"Hildegarde von Mitter." + +"Of the Royal Opera in Munich?" asked Fitzgerald. + +"Yes. Have you met her? Isn't she lovely?" + +"I have only heard of her." + +"And Arthur Cathewe," concluded the admiral. + +"Cathewe? That will be fine," Fitzgerald agreed aloud. But in his +heart he swore he would never forgive Arthur for this trick. And he +knew all the time! "He's the best friend I have. A great hunter, with +a reputation which reaches from the Carpathians to the Himalayas, from +Abyssinia to the Congo." + +"He is charming and amusing. Only, he is very shy." + +At four that afternoon Captain Flanagan presented his respects. The +admiral was fond of the old fellow, a friendship formed in the blur of +battle-smoke. He had often been criticized for officering his yacht +with such a gruff, rather illiterate man, when gentlemen were to be had +for the asking. But Flanagan was a splendid seaman, and the admiral +would not have exchanged him for the smartest English naval-reserve +afloat. There was never a bend in Flanagan's back; royalty and +commonalty were all the same to him. And those who came to criticize +generally remained to admire; for Flanagan was the kind of sailor fast +disappearing from the waters, a man who had learned his seamanship +before the mast. + +"Captain, how long will it take us to reach Funchal in the Madieras?" + +"Well, Commodore, give us a decent sea an' we can make 'er in fourteen +days. But I thought we wus goin' t' th' Banks, sir?" + +"Changed my plans. We'll put out in twelve days. Everything +shipshape?" + +"Up to the buntin', sir, and down to her keel. I sh'd say about +six-hundred tons; an' mebbe twelve days instead of fourteen. An' +what'll be our course after Madeery, sir?" + +"Ajaccio, Corsica." + +"Yessir." + +If the admiral had said the Antarctic, Flanagan would never have batted +an eye. + +"You have spoken the crew?" + +"Yessir; deep-sea men, too, sir. Halloran 'll have th' injins as us'l, +sir. Shall I run 'er up t' N' York fer provisions? I got your list." + +"Triple the order. I'll take care of the wine and tobacco." + +"All right, sir." + +"That will be all. Have a cigar." + +"Thank you, sir. What's the trouble?" extending a pudgy hand toward +the chimney. + +"I'll tell you all about that later. Send up that man Donovan again." +It occurred to the admiral that it would not be a bad plan to cover Mr. +Donovan's palm. They had forgotten all about him. He had overheard. + +Very carefully the captain put away the cigar and journeyed back to the +village. He regretted Corsica. He hated Dagos, and Corsica was Dago; +thieves and cut-throats, all of them. + +This long time Breitmann had despatched his letters and gone to his +room, where he remained till dinner. He was a servant in the house. +He must not forget that. He had been worse things than this, and still +he had not forgotten. He had felt the blush of shame, yet he had +remembered, and white anger had embossed the dull scars; it was +impossible that he should forget. + +He had grown accustomed, even in this short time, to the window +overlooking the sea, and he leaned that late afternoon with his arms +resting on the part where the two frames joined and locked. The sea +was blue and gentle breasted. Flocks of gulls circled the little +harbor and land-birds ventured daringly forth. + +With what infinite care and patience had he gained this place! What +struggles had ensued! Like one of yonder birds he had been blown +about, but even with his eyes hunting for this resting. He had found +it and about lost it. A day or so later! He had come to rob, to lie, +to pillage, any method to gain his end; and fate had led him over this +threshold without dishonor, ironically. Even for that, thank God! + +Dimly he heard Fitzgerald whistling in his room across. The sound +entered his ear, but not his trend of thought. God in Heaven what a +small place this earth was! In his hand, tightly clutched, was a ball +of paper, damp from the sweat of his palm. He had gnawed it, he had +pressed it in despair. Cathewe was a man, and he was not afraid of any +man living. Besides, men rarely became tellers of tales. But the +woman: Hildegarde von Mitter! How to meet her, how to look into her +great eyes, how to hear the sound of her voice! + +He flung the ball of paper into the corner. She could break him as one +breaks a dry and brittle reed. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +M. FERRAUD INTRODUCES HIMSELF. + +"Yessir, Mr. Donovan," said Captain Flanagan, his peg-leg crossed and +one hand abstractedly polishing the brass ferrule; "Yessir, the +question is, what did y' hear?" + +Mr. Donovan caressed his beer-glass and reflected. The two were seated +in the office of Swan's Hotel. "Well, I took them bricks out an' it +seems that loony ol' Frenchman our grandpas use to blow about had hid a +box in th' chimbley." + +"A box in the chimbley. An' what was in the box?" + +Mr. Donovan considered again. "I'll tell you the truth, Cap'n. It wus +a lot of rigermarole about a treasure. I wanted t' laugh. Your +commodore's a hoodoo on pirates an' treasures, an' he ain't found +either yet." + +"No jokin'; keep a clear course." + +"No harm. Th' admiral's all right, and don't you forget it. As I wus +sayin', they finds this 'ere box. The dockeyments wus in French, but +th' daughter read 'em off sumpin wonderful. You've heard of Napoleon?" + +"Yes; I recollects the name," replied the captain, with quiet ridicule. + +"Well, this business pertained t' him. Seems some o' his friends got +money t'gether t' rescue him from some island or other." + +"St. Helena." + +"That wus it. They left the cash in a box in Corsiker, 'nother island; +I-talyan, I take it. But I'll bet a dollar you never find anythin' +there." + +"That is as may be." The captain liberated a full sigh and dug a hand +into a trousers pocket. He looked cautiously about. The two of them +were without witnesses. The landlord was always willing to serve beer +to those in quest of it; but immediately on providing it, he resumed +his interrupted perusal of the sporting column. At this moment his +soul was flying around the track at Bennington. When the captain +pulled out his hand it seemed full of bright autumn leaves. Donovan's +glass was suspended midway between the table and his lips. Slowly the +glass retraced the half-circle and resumed its perpendicular position +upon the oak. + +"Beauties; huh?" said the captain. + +"Twenty-dollar bills!" + +"Yessir; every one of 'em as good as gold; payable to bearer on demand, +says your Uncle Sam." + +"An' why are you makin' me envious this way?" said Donovan crossly. + +"Donovan, you and me's been friends off an' on these ten years, ever +since th' commodore bought th' _Laura_. Well, says he t' me 'Capt'n, +we forgot that Mr. Donovan was in th' room at th' time o' th' +discovery. Will you be so kind as to impress him with the fact that +this expedition is on the Q.T.? Not that I think he will say anythin', +but you might add these few bits o' paper to his promise not t' speak.' +Says I, 'I'll trust Mr. Donovan.' An' I do. You never broke no +promise yet." + +"It pays in the long run," replied Mr. Donovan, vainly endeavoring to +count the bills. + +"Well, this 'ere little fortune is yours if you promise to abide by th' +conditions." + +"That I keeps my mouth shut." + +"An' _not_ open it even to th' Mrs." + +Mr. Donovan permitted a doubt to wrinkle his brow. "That'll be a tough +proposition." + +"Put th' money in th' bank and say nothin' till you hear from me," +advised the captain. + +"That's a go." + +"Then I give you these five nice ones with th' regards o' th' +commodore." The captain stripped each bill and slowly laid it down on +the table for the fear that by some curious circumstance there might be +six. + +"One hundred? Capt'n, I'm a--" Mr. Donovan emptied his glass with a +few swift gulps and banged the table. "Two more." + +The landlord lowered his paper wearily (would they never let him +alone?) and stepped behind the bar. At the same time Mr. Donovan +folded the bills and stowed them away. + +"Not even t' th' Mrs.," he swore. "Here's luck, Capt'n." + +"Same t' you; an' don't get drunk this side o' Jersey City." + +And with this admonition the captain drank his beer and thumped off for +the water front, satisfied that the village would hear nothing from Mr. +Donovan. Nevertheless, it was shameful to let a hundred go that easy; +twenty would have served. He was about to hail the skiff when he was +accosted by the quiet little man he had recently observed sitting alone +in the corner of Swan's office. + +"Pardon, but you are Captain Flanagan of the yacht _Laura_?" + +"Yessir," patiently. "But the owner never lets anybody aboard he don't +know, sir." + +"I do not desire to come aboard, my Captain. What I wish to know is if +his excellency the admiral is at home." + +"His excellency" rather confounded the captain for a moment; but he +came about without "takin' more'n a bucketful," as he afterward +expressed it to Halloran the engineer. "I knew right then he wus a +furriner; I know 'em. They ain't no excellencies in th' navy. But I +tells him that the commodore was snug in his berth up yonder, and with +that he looks to me like I wus a lady. I've seen him in Swan's at +night readin'; allus chasin' butterflies when he sees 'em in the +street." And the captain rounded out this period by touching his +forehead as a subtle hint that in his opinion the foreigner carried no +ballast. + +In the intervening time the subject of this light suggestion was +climbing the hill with that tireless resiliant step of one born to +mountains. No task appeared visibly to weary this man. Small as he +was, his bones were as strong and his muscles as stringy as a wolf's. +If the butterfly was worth while he would follow till it fell to his +net or daylight withdrew its support. Never he lost patience, never +his smile faltered, never his mild spectacled eyes wavered. He was a +savant by nature; he was a secret agent by choice. Who knows anything +about rare butterflies appreciates the peril of the pursuit; one never +picks the going and often stumbles. He was a hunter of butterflies by +nature; but he possessed a something more than a mere smattering of +other odd crafts. He was familiar with precious gems, marbles he knew +and cameos; he could point out the weakness in a drawing, the false +effort in a symphony; he was something of mutual interest to every man +and woman he met. + +So it fell out very well that Admiral Killigrew was fond of +butterflies. Still, he should have been equally glad to know that the +sailor's hobby inclined toward the exploits of pirates. M. Ferraud was +a modest man. That his exquisite brochure on lepidopterous insects was +in nearly all the public libraries of the world only gratified, but +added nothing to his vanity. + +As it oftentimes happens to a man whose mind is occupied with other +things, the admiral, who received M. Ferraud in the library, saw +nothing in the name to kindle his recollection. He bade the savant to +be seated while he read the letter of introduction which had been +written by the secretary of the navy. + + +"MY DEAR KILLIGREW: + +"This will introduce to you Monsieur Ferraud, of the butterfly fame. +He has learned of the success of your efforts in the West Indies and +South America and is eager to see your collection. Do what you can for +him. I know you will, for you certainly must have his book. I myself +do not know a butterfly from a June-bug, but it will be a pleasure to +bring you two together." + + +Breitmann arranged his papers neatly and waited to be dismissed. He +had seen M. Ferraud at Swan's, but had formed no opinion regarding him; +in fact, the growth of his interest had stopped at indifference. On +his part, the new arrival never so much as gave the secretary a second +glance--the first was sufficient. And while the admiral read on, M. +Ferraud examined the broken skin on his palms. + +"Mr. Ferraud! Well, well; this is a great honor, I'm sure. It was +very kind of them to send you here. Where is your luggage?" + +"I am stopping at Swan's Hotel." + +"We shall have your things up this very night." + +"Oh!" said Ferraud, in protest; though this was the very thing he +desired. + +"Not a word!" The admiral summoned the butler, who was the general +factotem at The Pines, and gave a dozen orders. + +"Ah, you Americans!" laughed M. Ferraud, pyramiding his fingers. "You +leave us breathless." + +"Your book has delighted me. But I'm afraid my collection will not pay +you for your trouble." + +"That is for me to decide. My South American specimens are all +seconds. On the other hand, you have netted yours yourself." + +And straightway a bond of friendship was riveted between these two men +which still remains bright and untarnished by either absence or +forgetfulness. They bent over the cases, agreed and disagreed, the one +with the sharp gestures, the other with the rise and fall of the voice. +For them nothing else existed; they were truly engrossed. + +Breitmann, hiding a smile that was partly a yawn, stole quietly away. +Butterflies did not excite his concern in the least. + +M. Ferraud was charmed. He was voluble. Never had he entered a more +homelike place, large enough to be called a chateau, yet as cheerful as +a winter's fire. And the daughter! Her French was the elegant speech +of Tours, her German Hanoverian. Incomparable! And she was not +married? _Helas_! How many luckless fellows walked the world +desolate? And this was M. Fitzgerald the journalist? And M. Breitmann +had also been one? How delighted he was to be here! All this flowed +on with perfect naturalness; there wasn't a false note anywhere. At +dinner he diffused a warmth and geniality which were infectious. Laura +was pleased and amused; and she adored her father for these impulses +which brought to the board, unexpectedly, such men as M. Ferraud. + +M. Ferraud did not smoke, but he dissipated to the extent of drinking +three small cups of coffee after dinner. + +"You are right," he acknowledged--there had been a slight dispute +relative to the methods of roasting the berry--"Europe does not roast +its coffee, it burns it. The aroma, the bouquet! I am beaten." + +"So am I," Fitzgerald reflected sadly, snatching a vision of the girl's +animated face. + +Three days he had ridden into the country with her, or played tennis, +or driven down to the village and inspected the yacht. He had been +lonely so long and this beautiful girl was such a good comrade. One +moment he blessed the prospective treasure hunt, another he execrated +it. To be with this girl was to love her; and whither this pleasurable +idleness would lead him he was neither blind nor self-deceiving. But +with the semi-humorous recklessness which was the leaven of his +success, he thrust prudence behind him and stuck to the primrose path. +He had played with fire before, but never had the coals burned so +brightly. He did not say that she was above him; mentally and by birth +they were equals; simply, he was compelled to admit of the truth that +she was beyond him. Money. That was the obstacle. For what man will +live on his wife's bounty? Suppose they found the treasure (and with +his old journalistic suspicion he was still skeptical), and divided it; +why, the interest on his share would not pay for her dresses. To the +ordinary male eye her gowns looked inexpensive, but to him who had +picked up odd bits of information not usually in the pathway of man, to +him there was no secret about it. That bodice and those sleeves of old +Venetian point would have eaten up the gains of any three of his most +prosperous months. + +And Breitmann, dropping occasionally the ash of his cigarette on the +tray, he, too, was pondering. But his German strain did not make it so +easy for him as for Fitzgerald to give concrete form to his thought. +The star, as he saw it, had a nebulous appearance. + +M. Ferraud chatted gaily. Usually a man who holds his audience is of +single purpose. The little Frenchman had two aims: one, to keep the +conversation on subjects of his own selection, and the other, to study +without being observed. Among one of his own tales (butterflies) he +told of a chase he once had made in the mountains of the Moors, in +Abyssinia. To illustrate it he took up one of the nets standing in the +corner. In his excitable way he was a very good actor. And when he +swooped down the net to demonstrate the end of the story, it caught on +a button on Breitmann's coat. + +"Pardon!" said M. Ferraud, with a blithe laugh. "The butterfly I was +describing was not so big." + +Breitmann freed himself amid general laughter. And with Laura's rising +the little after-dinner party became disorganized. + +It was yet early; but perhaps she had some thought she wished to be +alone with. This consideration was the veriest bud in growth; still, +it was such that she desired the seclusion of her room. She swung +across her shoulders the sleepy Angora and wished the men good night. + + +The wire bell in the hall clock vibrated twice; two o'clock of the +morning. A streak of moon-shine fell aslant the floor and broke off +abruptly. Before the safe in the library stood Breitmann, a small tape +in his hand. For several minutes he contemplated somberly the nickel +combination wheel. He could open it for he knew the combination. To +open it would be the work of a moment. Why, then, did he hesitate? +Why not pluck it forth and disappear on the morrow? The admiral had +not made a copy, and without the key he might dig up Corsica till the +crack of doom. The flame on the taper crept down. The man gave a +quick movement to his shoulders; it was the shrug, not of impatience +but of resignation. He saw the lock through the haze of a conjured +face. He shut his eyes, but the vision remained. Slowly he drew his +fingers over the flame. + +Yet, before the flame died wholly it touched two points of light in the +doorway, the round crystals of a pair of spectacles. + +"Two souls with but a single thought!" the secret agent murmured. +"Poor devil! why does he hesitate? Why does he not take it and be +gone? Is he still honest? _Peste_! I must be growing old. I shall +not ruin him, I shall save him. It is not goot politics, but it is +good Christianity. _Schlafen Sie wohl, Hochwohl geboren_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE WOMAN WHO KNEW + +"Don't you sometimes grow weary for an abiding place?" Laura pulled +off her gauntlets and laid her hot hands on the cool lichen-grown +stones of the field-wall. The bridle-rein hung over her arm. +Fitzgerald had drawn his through a stirrup. "Think of wandering here +and there, with never a place to come back to." + +"I have thought of it often in the few days I have been here. I have a +home in New York, but I could not possibly afford to live in it; so I +rent it; and when I want to go fishing there's enough under hand to pay +the expenses. My poor old dad! He was always indorsing notes for his +friends, or carrying stock for them; and nothing ever came back. I am +afraid the disillusions broke his heart. And then, perhaps I was a +bitter disappointment. I was expelled from college in my junior year. +I had no head for figures other than that kind which inhabit the Louvre +and the Vatican." + +Her face became momentarily mirthful. + +"So I couldn't take hold of the firm for him," he continued. "And I +suppose the last straw was when I tried my hand at reporting on one of +the newspapers. He knew that the gathering of riches, so far as I was +concerned, was a closed door. But I found my level; the business was +and is the only one that ever interested me or fused my energy with +real work." + +"But it is real work. You are one of those men who have done +something. Most men these days rest on their fathers' laurels." + +"It's the line of the least resistance. I never knew that the Jersey +coast was so picturesque. What a sweep! Do you know, your house on +that pine-grown crest reminds me of the Villa Serbelloni, only yonder +is the sea instead of Como?" + +"Como." Her eyes became dreamily half-shut. Recollection put on its +seven-league boots and annihilated the space between the wall under her +elbows and the gardens of Serbelloni. Fitzgerald half understood the +thought. "Isn't Mr. Breitmann just a bit of a mystery to you?" she +asked. The seven-league boots had returned at a bound. + +"In some ways, yes." He rather resented the abrupt angle; it was not +in poetic touch with the time being. + +"He is inclined to be too much reserved. But last night Mr. Ferraud +succeeded in tearing down some of it. If I could put in a book what +all you men have seen and taken part in! Mr. Breitmann would be almost +handsome but for those scars." + +He kicked the turf at the foot of the wall. "In Germany they are +considered beauty-spots." + +"I am not in sympathy with that custom." + +"Still, it requires courage of a kind." + +"The noblest wounds are those that are carried unseen. Student scars +are merely patches of vanity." + +"He has others besides those. He was nearly killed in the Soudan." +Fitzgerald was compelled to offer some defense for the absent. That +Breitmann had lied to him, that his appearance here had been in the +regular order of things, did not take away the fact that the Bavarian +was a man and a brave one. Closely as he had watched, up to the +present he had learned absolutely nothing; and to have shown Breitmann +the telegram would have accomplished nothing further than to have put +him wholly on guard. + +"Have you no scars?" mischief in her eyes. + +"Not yet;" and the force of his gaze turned hers aside. "Yet I must +not forget my conscience; 'tis pretty well battered up." + +She greeted this with laughter. She had heard men talk like this +before. "You have probably never done a mean or petty thing in all +your life." + +"Mean and petty things never disturb a man's conscience. It's the big +things that scar." + +"That's a platitude." + +"Then my end of the conversation is becoming flat." + +"Confess that you are eager to return to the great highways once more." + +"I shall confess nothing of the sort. I should like to stay here for a +hundred years." + +"You would miss us all very much then," merrily. "And Napoleon's +treasure would have gone in and out of innumerable pockets!" + +"Do you really and truly believe that we shall bring home a single +franc of it?" facing her with incredulous eyes. + +"Really and truly. And why not? Treasures have been found before. +Fie on you for a Doubting Thomas!" + +"We sometimes go many miles to find, in the end, that the treasure was +all the time under our very eyes." + +"Hyperbole!" But she looked down at the lichen again and began pealing +it off the stone. She thought of a duke she knew. At this instant he +would have been telling her that she was the most beautiful woman since +Helen. What a relief this man at her side was! She was perfectly +aware that he admired her, but he veiled his tributes with half-smiles +and flashes of humor. "What a gay little man that Mr. Ferraud is!" + +"Lively as a cricket. Your father, I understand, is to take him as far +as Marseilles. After to-night everything will be quite formal, I +suppose. Honestly, I feel ill at ease in accepting your splendid +hospitality. I'm an interloper. I haven't even the claim of an +ordinary introduction. It has been very, very kind of you." + +"You know Mrs. Coldfield. I will, if you wish it, ask her to present +you to me." + +"I am really serious." + +"So am I." + +"They will be here to-morrow?" + +"Yes. And in four days we sail. Oh, it is all so beautiful! A real +treasure hunt." + +"It does not seem possible that I have been here a week. It has been a +long time since I enjoyed myself so thoroughly. Have you ever wondered +what has become of the other man?" + +"The other man?" + +"Yes; the other one in or outside the chimney. I've been thinking +about him this long while. Hasn't it occurred to you that he may have +other devices?" + +"If he has he will find that he has waited too long. But I would like +to know how he found out. You see," triumphantly, "he believed that +there is one." She shook the rein, for the sleek mare was nozzling her +shoulder and pawing slightly, "Let us be off." + +She put her small booted foot on his palm and vaulted into the saddle, +and he swung on to his mount. He stuffed his cap into a pocket, for he +was no fair-weather horseman, but loved the tingle of the wind rushing +through his hair; and the two cantered down the clear sandy road. + +"_En avant_!" she cried joyously, with a light stroke of her whip. + +For half a mile they ran and drew in at the fork in the road. +Exhilaration was in the eyes of both of them. + +"There's nothing equal to it. You feel alive. And off there," with a +wave of the whip toward the sea, "off there lies our fortunes. O happy +day! to take part in a really truly adventure, without the assistance +of a romancer!" + +"I think you are one of the most charming women I have ever met," he +replied. + +"Some women would object to the modification, but I rather like it." + +"I withdraw the modification." The smile on his lips was not reflected +in his eyes. + +The antithesis of the one expression to the other did not annoy her; +rather she was sensitive to a tender exultance the recurrence of which, +later in the day, subdued her: for Breitmann at tea turned a few +phrases of a similar character. Fitzgerald was light-hearted and +boyish, Breitmann was grave and dignified; but in the eyes of each +there was a force she had encountered so seldom as to forget its being. +Breitmann, in his capacity of secretary, was not so often in her +company as Fitzgerald; nevertheless she was subtly attracted toward +him. When he was of the mind he could invent a happy compliment with a +felicity no less facile than Fitzgerald. And the puzzling thing of it +all was, both men she knew from their histories had never been +ornaments at garden-parties where compliments are current coin. She +liked Fitzgerald, but she admired Breitmann, a differentiation which +she had no inclination to resolve into first principles. That +Breitmann was a secretary for hire drew no barrier in her mind. She +had known many gentlemen of fine families who had served in like +situations. There were no social distinctions. On the other hand, she +never felt wholly comfortable with Breitmann. There was not the least +mistrust in this feeling. It was rather because she instinctively felt +that he was above his occupation. To sum it up briefly, Breitmann was +difficult to understand and Fitzgerald wasn't. + +Fitzgerald had an idea; boldly put, it was a grave suspicion. Not once +had he forgotten the man in the chimney. Once the finger had pointed +at Breitmann or some one with whom he was in understanding. This had +proved to be groundless. But he kept turning over the incident and +inspecting it from all sides. There were others a-treasure hunting; +persons unknown; and a man might easily become desperate in the pursuit +of two-million francs, almost half a million of American money, more, +for some of these coins would be rare. He had thoroughly searched the +ground outside the cellar-window, but the sea gravel held its secret +with a tenacity as baffling as the mother-sea herself. There was a new +under-groom, or rather there had been. He had left, and where he had +gone no one knew. Fitzgerald dismissed the thought of him; at the most +he could have been but an accomplice, one to unlock the cellar-window. + +While Breitmann lingered near Laura, offering what signs of admiration +he dared, and while the admiral chatted to his country neighbors who +were gathered round the tea-table, Fitzgerald and M. Ferraud were +braced against the terrace wall, a few yards farther on, and exchanged +views on various peoples. + +"America is a wonderful country," said M. Ferraud, when they had +exhausted half a dozen topics. He spread out his hands, Frenchman-wise. + +"So it is." Fitzgerald threw away his cigarette. + +"And how foolish England was over a pound of tea." + +"Something like that." + +"But see what she lost!" with a second gesture. + +"In one way it would not have mattered. She would patronize us as she +still does." + +"Do you not resent it, this patronizing attitude?" + +"Oh, no--we are very proud to be patronized by England," cynically. +"It's a fine thing to have a lord tell you that you wear your clothes +jolly well." + +"I wonder if you are serious or jesting." + +"I am very serious at this moment," said Fitzgerald quietly catching +the other by the wrist and turning the palm. + +M. Ferraud looked into his face with an astonishment on his own, most +genuine. But he did not struggle. "Why do you do that?" + +"I am curious, Mr. Ferraud, when I see a hand like this. Would you +mind letting me see the other?" + +"Not in the least." M. Ferraud offered the other hand. + +Fitzgerald let go. "What was your object?" + +"Mon dieu! what object?" + +Fitzgerald lowered his voice. "What was your object in digging holes +in yonder chimney? Did you know what was there? And what do you +propose to do now?" + +M. Ferraud coolly, took off his spectacles and polished the lenses. It +needed but a moment to adjust them. "What are you talking about?" + +"You are really M. Ferraud?" said the young man coldly. + +The Frenchman produced a wallet and took out a letter. It was written +by the president of France, introducing M. Ferraud to the ambassador at +Washington. Next, there was a passport, and far more important than +either of these was the Legion of Honor. "Yes, I am Anatole Ferraud." + +"That is all I desire to know." + +"Shall we return to the ladies?" asked M. Ferraud, restoring his +treasures. + +"Since there is nothing more to be said at present. It seems strange +to me that foreign politics should find its way here." + +"Politics? I am only a butterfly hunter." + +"There are varieties. But you are the man. I shall find out!" + +"Possibly," returned M. Ferraud thinking hard. + +"I give you fair warning that if anything is missing--" + +"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald!" + +"I shall know where to look for it," with a smile which had no humor in +it. + +"Why not denounce me now?" + +"Would it serve your purpose?" + +"No," with deeper gravity. "It would be a great disaster; how great, I +can not tell you." + +"Then, I shall say nothing." + +"About what?" dryly, even whimsically. + +"About your being a secret agent from France." + +This time M. Ferraud's glance proved that he was truly startled. Only +three times in his career had his second life been questioned or +suspected. He eyed his hands accusingly; they had betrayed him. This +young man was clever, cleverer than he had thought. He had been too +confident and had committed a blunder. Should he trust him? With that +swift unerring instinct which makes the perfect student of character, +he said: "You will do me a great favor not to impart this suspicion to +any one else." + +"Suspicion?" + +"It is true: I am a secret agent;" and he said it proudly. + +"You wish harm to none here?" + +"_Mon dieu_! No. I am here for the very purpose of saving you all +from heartaches and misfortune and disillusion. And had I set to work +earlier I should have accomplished all this without a single one of you +knowing it. Now the matter will have to go on to its end." + +"Can you tell me anything?" + +"Not now. I trust you; will you trust me?" + +Fitzgerald hesitated for a space. "Yes." + +"For that, thanks," and M. Ferraud put out a hand. "It is clean, Mr. +Fitzgerald, for all that the skin is broken." + +"Of that I have no doubt." + +"Before we reach Corsica you will know." + +And so temporarily that ended the matter. But as Fitzgerald went over +to the chair just vacated by the secretary, he found that there was a +double zest to life now. This would be far more exciting than dodging +ice-floes and freezing one's toes. + +Laura told him the news. Their guests would arrive that evening in +time for dinner. + + +It was Breitmann's habit to come down first. He would thrum a little +on the piano or take down some old volume. To-night it was Heine. He +had not met any of the guests yet, which he considered a piece of good +fortune. But God only knew what would happen when _she_ saw him. He +dreaded the moment, dreaded it with anguish. She was a woman, schooled +in acting, but a time comes when the best acting is not sufficient. If +only in some way he might have warned her; but no way had opened. She +would find him ready, however, ready with his eyes, his lips, his +nerves. What would the others think or say if she lost her presence of +mind? His teeth snapped. He read on. The lamp threw the light on the +scarred side of his face. + +He heard some one enter, and his gaze stole over the top of his book. +This person was a woman, and her eyes traveled from object to object +with a curiosity tinged with that incertitude which attacks us all when +we enter an unfamiliar room. She was dressed in black, showing the +white arms and neck. Her hair was like ripe wheat after a rain-storm: +oh, but he knew well the color of her eyes, blue as the Adriatic. She +was a woman of perhaps thirty, matured, graceful, handsome. The sight +of her excited a thrill in his veins, deny it how he would. + +She scanned the long rows of books, the strange weapons, the heroic and +sinister flags, the cases of butterflies. With each inspection she +stepped nearer and nearer, till by reaching out his hand he might have +touched her. Quietly he rose. It was a critical moment. + +She was startled. She had thought she was alone. + +"Pardon me," she said, in a low, musical voice; "I did not know that +any one was here." And then she saw his face. Her own blanched and +her hands went to her heart. "Karl?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE DRAMA BEGINS + +She swayed a little, but recovered as the pain of the shock was +succeeded by numbness. That out of the dark of this room, into the +light of that lamp, in this house so far removed from cities that it +seemed not a part of the world . . . there should step this man! Why +had there been no hint of his presence? Why had not the clairvoyance +of despair warned her? One of her hands rose and pressed over her +eyes, as if to sponge out this phantom. It was useless; it was no +dream; he was still there, this man she had neither seen nor heard of +for five years because her will was stronger than her desire, this man +who had broken her heart as children break toys! And deep below all +this present terror was the abiding truth that she still loved him and +always would love him. The shame of this knowledge did more than all +else to rouse and to nerve her. + +"Karl?" It was like an echo. + +"Yes." There was war in his voice and attitude and not without reason. +He had wronged this woman, not with direct intention it was true, but +nevertheless he had wronged her; and her presence here could mean +nothing less than that fate had selected this spot for the reckoning. +She could topple down his carefully reared schemes with the same ease +with which he had blown over hers. And to him these schemes were life +to his breath and salt to his blood, everything. What was one woman? +cynically. "Yes, it is I," in the tongue native to them both. + +"And what do you here?" + +"I am Admiral Killigrew's private secretary." He wet his lips. He was +not so strong before this woman as he had expected to be. The glamour +of the old days was faintly rekindled at the sight of her. And she +_was_ beautiful. + +"Then, this is the house?" in a whisper. + +"It is." + +"You terrify me!" + +"Hildegarde, this is your scheme," shrugging. "Tell them all you know; +break me, ruin me. Here is a fair opportunity for revenge." + +"God forbid!" she cried with a shiver. "Were you guilty of all crimes, +I could only remember that once I loved you." + +"You shame me," he replied frankly, but with infinite relief. "You +have outdone me in magnanimity. Will you forgive me?" + +"Oh, yes. Forgiveness is one of the few things you men can not rob us +of." She spoke without bitterness, but her eyes were dim and her lips +dropped. "What shall we do? They must not know that we have met." + +"Cathewe knows," moodily. + +"I had forgotten!" + +"I leave all in your hands. Do what you will. If you break me--and +God knows well that you can do it--it would be only an act of justice. +I have been a damned scoundrel; I am man enough to admit of that." + +She saw his face more clearly now. Time had marked it. There were new +lines at the corners of his eyes and the cheek-bones were more +prominent. Perhaps he had suffered too. "You will always have the +courage to do," she said, "right or wrong in a great manner." + +"Am I wrong to seek--" + +"Hush! I know. It is what you must thrust aside or break to reach it, +Karl. The thing itself is not wrong, but you will go about it wrongly. +You can not help that." + +He did not reply. Perhaps she was right. Indeed, was she not herself +an example of it? If there was one thing in his complex career that he +regretted more than another it was the deception of this woman. He did +not possess the usual vanity of the sex; there was nothing here to be +proud of; his dream of conquest was not over the kingdom of women. + +"Some one is coming," he said, listening. + +"Leave it all to me." + +"Ah! . . ." with a hand toward her. + +"Do not say it. I understand the thought. If only you loved me, you +would say!" the iron in her voice unmistakable. + +He let his hand fall. He was sorry. + +Presently the others made their entrance upon the scene, a singular +anticlimax. The admiral rang for the cocktails. Introductions +followed. + +"Is it not strange?" said the singer to Laura. "I stole in here to +look at the trophies, when I discovered Mr. Breitmann whom I once knew +in Munich." + +"Mr. Cathewe," said the young hostess, "this is Mr. Breitmann, who is +aiding father in the compilation of his book." + +"Mr. Breitmann and I have met before," said Cathewe soberly. + +The two men bowed. Cathewe never gave his hand to any but his +intimates. But Laura, who was not aware of this ancient reserve, +thought that both of them showed a lack of warmth. And Fitzgerald, who +was watching all comers now, was sure that the past of his friend and +Breitmann interlaced in some way. + +"So, young man," said Mrs. Coldfield, a handsome motherly woman, "you +have had the impudence to let five years pass without darkening my +doors. What excuse have you?" + +"I'm guilty of anything you say," Fitzgerald answered humbly. "What +shall be my punishment?" + +"You shall take Miss Laura in and I shall sit at your left." + +"For my sins it shall be as you say. But, really, I have been so +little in New York," he added. + +"I forgive you simply because you have not made a failure of your +mother's son. And you look like her, too." It is one of the +privileges of old persons to compare the young with this or that parent. + +"You are flattering me. Dad used to say that I was as homely as a +hedge-fence." + +"Now you're fishing, and I'm too old a fish to rise to such a cast." + +"I heard you sing in Paris a few years ago," said M. Ferraud. + +"Yes?" Hildegarde von Mitter wondered who this little man could be. + +"And you sing no more?" + +"No. The bird has flown; only the woman remains." They were at the +table now, and she absently plucked the flowers beside her plate. + +"Ah, to sing as you did, and then to disappear, to vanish! You had no +right to do so. You belonged to the public," animatedly. + +"The public is always selfish; it always demands more than any single +person can give to it. Pardon?" she said as Cathewe leaned to speak to +her. "I did not hear." + +M. Ferraud nibbled his crisp celery. + +"I asked, what will you do?" repeated Cathewe for her ear only. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Did you know that he was here?" + +"I should not have been seated at this table had I known." + +"Some day you are going to tell me all about it," he asserted; "and you +are going to smile when you answer me." + +"Thank you. I forgot. My dear friend, I am never going to tell you +all about it. Why did you not come first?" her voice vibrating. + +"You still love him." + +"That is not kind," striving hard to keep the smile on her trembling +lips. "Oh, I beg of you, do not make this friendship impossible. Do +not rob me of the one man I trust." + +Cathewe motioned aside the fish and reached for his sauterne. "I have +loved you faithfully and loyally for seven years. I have tried to win +you by all those roads a man may honorably traverse in quest of the one +woman. For seven years; and for something like three I have stayed +away at your command. Will you believe it? Sometimes my hands ache +for his throat . . . Smile, they are looking." + +It was a crooked smile. "Why did I ever tell you?" + +"Why did you ever tell me . . . only part? It is the other part I wish +to know. Till I learn what that is I shall never leave you. You will +find that there is a difference between love and infatuation." + +"As I have never known infatuation I can not tell the difference. Now, +no more, unless you care to see me break down before them. For if you +tell me that you have loved me seven years, I have loved him eight," +cruelly, for Cathewe was pressing her cruelly. + +"Devil take him! What do you find in the man?" + +"What do you find in me?" her eyes filled with anger. + +"Forgive me, Hildegarde; I am blind and mad to-night. I did not expect +to find him here either." + +Breitmann had tried ineffectually to read their lips. She had given +her word, and once given, he knew of old that she never broke it; but +he was keenly alive that in some way he was the topic of the inaudible +conversation. As he sat here to-night he knew why he had never loved +Hildegarde, why in fact, he had never loved any woman. The one great +passion which comes in the span of life was centered in the girl beside +him, dividing her moments between him and Fitzgerald. Strange, but he +had not known it till he saw the two women together. For once his nice +calculations had ceased to run smoothly; there appeared now a knot in +the thread for which he saw no untying. + +"You do not sing now?" asked Laura across the table. + +"No," Hildegarde answered, "my voice is gone." + +"Oh, I am so sorry." + +"It does not matter. I can hum a little to myself; there is yet some +pleasure in that. But in opera, no, never again. Has not Mrs. +Coldfield told you? No? Imagine! One night in Dresden, in the middle +of the aria, my voice broke miserably and I could not go on." + +"And her heart nearly broke with it," interposed Mrs. Coldfield, with +the best intentions, nearer the truth than she knew. "I am sorry, +Laura, that I never told you before." + +Hildegarde laughed. "Sooner or later this must happen. I worked too +hard, perhaps. At any rate, the opera will know me no more." + +There was the hard blue of flint in Cathewe's eyes as they met and held +Breitmann's. There was a duel, and the latter was routed. But hate +burned fiercely in the breast against the man who could compel him to +lower his eyes. Some day he would pay back that glance. + +Now, M. Ferraud had missed nothing. He twisted the talk into other +channels with his usual adroitness, but all the while there was +bubbling in his mind the news that these two men had met before. The +history of Hildegarde von Mitter was known to him. But how much did +she know, or this man Cathewe? The woman was a thoroughbred. He, +Anatole Ferraud, knew; it was his business to know; and that she should +happen upon the scene he considered as one of these rare good pieces of +luck that fall to the lot of few. There would be something more than +treasure hunting here; an intricate comedy-drama, with as many +well-defined sides as a diamond. He ate his endive with pleasure and +sipped the old yellow _Pol Roger_ with his eyes beaming toward the +gods. To be, after a fashion, the prompter behind the scenes; to be +able to read the final line before the curtain! Butterflies and +butterflies and pins and pins. + +Did Laura note any of the portentous glances, those exchanged between +the singer and Cathewe and Breitmann? Perhaps. At all events she felt +a curiosity to know how long Hildegarde von Mitter had known her +father's secretary. There was no envy in her heart as again she +acknowledged the beauty of the other woman; moreover, she liked her and +was going to like her more. Impressions were made upon her almost +instantly, for good or bad, and rarely changed. + +She turned oftenest to Fitzgerald, for he made particular effort to +entertain, and he succeeded better than he dreamed. It kept turning +over in her mind what a whimsical, capricious, whirligig was at work. +It was droll, this man at her side, chatting to her as if he had known +her for years, when, seven or eight days ago, he had stood, a man all +unknown to her, on a city corner, selling plaster of Paris statuettes +on a wager; and but for Mrs. Coldfield, she had passed him for ever. +Out upon the prude who would look askance at her for harmless daring! + +"Drop into my room before you turn in," urged Fitzgerald to Cathewe. + +"That I shall, my boy. I've some questions to ask of you." + +But a singular idea came into creation, and this was for him, Cathewe, +to pay Breitmann a visit on the way to Fitzgerald's room. Not one man +in a thousand would have dared put this idea into a plan of action. +But neither externals nor conventions deterred Cathewe when he sought a +thing. He rapped lightly on the door of the secretary's room. + +"Come in." + +Cathewe did so, gently closing the door behind him. Breitmann was in +his shirt-sleeves. He rose from his chair and laid down his cigarette. +A faint smile broke the thin line of his mouth. He waited for his +guest, or, rather, this intruder, to break the silence. And as Cathewe +did not speak at once, there was a tableau during which each was +speculatively busy with the eyes. + +"The vicissitudes of time," said Cathewe, "have left no distinguishable +marks upon you." + +Breitmann bowed. He remained standing. + +And Cathewe had no wish to sit. "I never expected to see you in this +house." + +"A compliment which I readily return." + +"A private secretary; I never thought of you in that capacity." + +"One must take what one can," tranquilly. + +"A good precept." Cathewe rolled the ends of his mustache, a trifle +perplexed how to put it. "But there should be exceptions. What," and +his voice became crisp and cold, "what was Hildegarde von Mitter to +you?" + +"And what is that to you?" + +"My question first." + +"I choose not to answer it." + +Again they eyed each other like fencers. + +"Were you married?" + +Breitmann laughed. Here was his opportunity to wring this man's heart; +for he knew that Cathewe loved the woman. "You seem to be in her +confidence. Ask her." + +"A poltroon would say as much. There is a phase in your make-up I have +never fully understood. Physically you are a brave man, but morally +you are a cad and a poltroon." + +"Take care!" Breitmann stepped forward menacingly. + +"There will be no fisticuffs," contemptuously. + +"Not if you are careful. I have answered your questions; you had +better leave at once." + +"She is loyal to you. It was not her voice that broke that night; it +was her heart, you have some hold over her." + +"None that she can not throw off at any time." Breitmann's mind was +working strangely. + +"If she would have me I would marry her tomorrow," went on Cathewe, +playing openly, "I would marry her to-morrow, priest or protestant, for +her religion would be mine." + +There was a spark of admiration in Breitmann's eyes. This man Cathewe +was out of the ordinary. Well, as for that, so was he himself. He +walked silently to the door and opened it, standing aside for the other +to pass. "She is perfectly free. Marry her. She is all and more than +you wish her to be. Will you go now?" + +Cathewe bowed and turned on his heel. Breitmann had really got the +better of him. + +A peculiar interview, and only two strong men could have handled it in +so few words. Not a word above normal tones; once or twice only, in +the flutter of the eyelids or in the gesture of the hands, was there +any sign that had these been primitive times the two would have gone +joyously at each other's throats. + +"I owed her that much," said Breitmann as he locked the door. + +"It did not matter at all to me," was Cathewe's thought, as he knocked +on Fitzgerald's door and heard his cheery call, "I only wanted to know +what sort of man he is." + + +"Oh, I really don't know whether I like him or not," declared +Fitzgerald. "I have run across him two or three times, but we were +both busy. He has told me a little about himself. He's been knocked +about a good deal. Has a title, but doesn't use it." + +"A title? That is news to me. Probably it is true." + +"I was surprised to learn that you knew him at all." + +"Not very well. Met him in Munich mostly." + +A long pause. + +"Isn't Miss Killigrew just rippin'? There's a comrade for some man. +Lucky devil, who gets her! She is new to me every day." + +"I think I warned you." + +"You were a nice one, never to say a word that you knew the admiral!" + +"Are you complaining?" + +Fitzgerald laughed; no not exactly; he wasn't complaining. + +"You remember the caravan trails in the Lybian desert; the old ones on +the way to Khartoum? The pathway behind her is like that, marked with +the bleached bones of princely and ducal and common hopes." Cathewe +stretched out in his chair. "Since she was eighteen, Jack, she has +crossed the man-trail like a sandstorm, and quite as innocently, too." + +"Oh, rot! I'm no green and salad youth." + +"Your bones will be only the tougher, that's all." + +Another pause. + +"But what's your opinion regarding Breitmann?" + +Cathewe laced his fingers and bent his chin on them. "There's a great +rascal or a great hero somewhere under his skin." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THEY GO A-SAILING + +Five o'clock in the afternoon, and a mild blue sea flashing under the +ever-deepening orange of the falling sun. Golden castles and gray +castles and castles of shadowed-white billowed in the east; turrets +rose and subsided and spires of cloud-cities formed and re-formed. The +yacht _Laura_, sleek and swan-white, her ensign and colors folding and +unfolding, lifting and sinking, as the shore breeze stirred them, was +making ready for sea; and many of the villagers had come down to the +water front to see her off. Very few sea-going vessels, outside of +freighters, ever stopped in this harbor; and naturally the departures +of the yacht were events equalled only by her arrivals. The railroad +station was close to the wharves, and the old sailors hated the sight +of the bright rails; for the locomotive had robbed them of the +excitement of the semi-weekly packets that used to coast up and down +between New York and Philadelphia. + +"Wonder what poor devil of a pirate is going to have his bones turned +over this trip?" said the station-agent to Mr. Donovan, who, among +others on the station platform, watched the drab anchor as it clanked +jerkily upward to the bows, leaving a swivel and a boil on the waters +which had released it so grudgingly. + +"I guess it ain't goin' t' be any ol' pirate this time," replied Mr. +Donovan, with a pleasurable squeeze of the pocket-book over his heart. + +"Well, I hope he finds what he's going after," generously. "He is the +mainstay of this old one-horse town. Say, she's a beauty, isn't she? +Why, man, that anchor alone is worth more than we make in four months. +And think of the good things to eat and drink. If I had a million, no +pirates or butterflies for mine. I'd hie me to Monte Carlo and bat the +tiger all over the place." + +Mr. Donovan knew nothing definite about Monte Carlo, but he would have +liked to back up against some of those New York contractors on their +own grounds. + +"Hi! There she goes. Good luck!" cried the station-agent, swinging +his hat with gusto. + +The yacht swam out gracefully. There was a freshening blow from the +southwest, but it would take the yacht half an hour to reach the +deep-sea swells outside. Her whistle blew cheerily and was answered by +the single tug-boat moored to the railroad wharf. And after that the +villagers straggled back to their various daily concerns. Even the +landlord of Swan's Hotel sighed as he balanced up his books. Business +would be slack for some days to come. + + +The voyagers were gathered about the stern-rail and a handkerchief or +two fluttered in the wind. For an hour they tarried there, keeping in +view the green-wooded hills and the white cottages nestling at their +base. And turn by turn there were glimpses of the noble old house at +the top of the hill. And some looked upon it for the last time. + +"I've had a jolly time up there," said Fitzgerald. The gulls swooped, +as they crossed and recrossed the milky wake. "Better time than I +deserved." + +"Are you still worried about that adventure?" Laura demanded. "Dismiss +it from your mind and let it be as if we had known each other for many +years." + +"Do you really mean that?" + +"To be sure I do," promptly. "I have stepped to the time of convention +so much that a lapse once in a while is a positive luxury. But Mrs. +Coldfield had given me a guaranty before I addressed you, so the +adventure was only a make-believe one after all." + +There never was a girl quite like this one. He purloined a sidelong +glance at her which embraced her wholly, from the chic gray cap on the +top of her shapely head to the sensible little boots on her feet. She +wore a heavy, plaid coat, with deep pockets into which her hands were +snugly buried; and she stood braced against the swell and the wind +which was turning out strong and cold. The rich pigment in the blood +mantled her cheeks and in her eyes there was still a bit of captive +sunshine. He knew now that what had been only a possibility was an +assured fact. Never before had he cursed his father's friends, but he +did so now, silently and earnestly; for their pilfering fingers and +their plausible lies had robbed his father's son of a fine inheritance. +Money. Never had he desired it so keenly. A few weeks ago it had +meant the wherewithal to pay his club-dues and to support a decent +table when he traveled. Now it was everything; for without it he never +could dare lift his eyes seriously to this lovely picture so close to +him, let alone dream of winning her. He recalled Cathewe's light +warning about the bones of ducal hopes. What earthly chance had he? +Unconsciously he shrugged. + +"You are shrugging!" she cried, noting the expression; for, if he was +secretly observing her, she was surreptitiously contemplating his own +advantages. + +"Did I shrug?" + +"You certainly did." + +"Well," candidly, "it was the thought of money that made me do it." + +"I detest it, too." + +"Good heavens, I didn't say I detested it! What I shrugged about was +my own dreary lack of it." + +"Bachelors do not require much." + +"That's true; but I no longer desire to remain a bachelor." The very +thing that saved him was the added laughter, forced, miserably forced. +Fool! The words had slipped without his thinking. + +"Gracious! That sounds horribly like a proposal." She beamed upon him +merrily. + +And his heart sank, for he had been earnest enough, for all his +blunder. Manlike, he did not grasp the fact that under the +circumstance merriment was all she could offer him, if she would save +him from his own stupidity. + +"But I do hate money," she reaffirmed. + +"I shouldn't. Think of what it brings." + +"I do; begging letters, impostures, battle-scarred titles, humbugging +shop-keepers, and perhaps one honest friend in a thousand. And if I +married a title, what equivalent would I get for my money, to put it +brutally? A chateau, which I should have to patch up, and tolerance +from my husband's noble friends. Not an engaging prospect." + +She threw a handful of biscuit to the gulls, and there was fighting and +screaming almost in touch of the hands. Then of a sudden the red rim +of the sun vanished behind the settling landscape, and all the grim +loneliness of the sea rose up to greet them. + +"It is lonely; let us go and prepare for dinner. Look!" pointing to a +bright star far down the east. "And Corsica lies that way." + +"And also madness!" was his thought. + +"Oh, it seems not quite true that we are all going a-venturing as they +do in the story-books. The others think we are just going to Funchal. +Remember, you must not tell. Think of it; a real treasure, every franc +of which must tell a story of its own; love, heroism and devotion." + +"Beautiful! But there must be a rescuing of princesses and fighting +and all that. I choose the part of remaining by the princess." + +"It is yours." She tilted back her head and breathed and breathed. +She knew the love of living. + +"Lucky we are all good sailors," he said. "There will be a fair sea on +all night. But how well she rides!" + +"I love every beam and bolt of her." + +Shoulder to shoulder they bore forward to the companionway, and +immediately the door banged after them. + +Breitmann came out from behind the funnel and walked the deck for a +time. He had studied the two from his shelter. What were they saying? +Oh, Fitzgerald was clever and strong and good to look at, but . . . ! +Breitmann straightened his arms before him, opened and shut his hands +violently. Like that he would break him if he interfered with any of +his desires. It would be fully twenty days before they made Ajaccio. +Many things might happen before that time. + +Two or three of the crew were lashing on the rail-canvas, and the snap +and flap of it jarred on Breitmann's nerves. For a week or more his +nerves had been very close to the surface, so close that it had +required all his will to keep his voice and hands from shaking. As he +passed, one of the sailors doffed his cap and bowed with great respect. + +"That's not the admiral, Alphonse," whispered another of the crew, +chuckling. "It's only his privit secretary." + +"Ah, I haf meestake!" + +But Alphonse had made no mistake. He knew who it was. His mates did +not see the smile of irony, of sly ridicule, which stirred his lips as +he bowed to the passer. Immediately his rather handsome effeminate +face resumed a stolid vacuity. + +His name was not Alphonse; it was a captious offering by the crew, +which, on this yacht, never went further than to tolerate the addition +of a foreigner to their mess. He had signed a day or two before +sailing; he had even begged for the honor to ship with Captain +Flanagan; and he gave his name as Pierre Picard, to which he had no +more right than to Alphonse. As Captain Flanagan was too good a sailor +himself to draw distinctions, he was always glad to add a foreign +tongue to his crew. You never could tell when its use might come in +handy. That is why Pierre Picard was allowed to drink his soup in the +forecastle mess. + +Breitmann continued on, oblivious to all things save his cogitations. +He swung round the bridge. He believed that he and Cathewe could +henceforth proceed on parallel lines, and there was much to be grateful +for. Cathewe was quiet but deep; and he, Breitmann, had knocked about +among that sort and knew that they were to be respected. In all, he +had made only one serious blunder. He should never have permitted the +vision of a face to deter him. He should have taken the things from +the safe and vanished. It had not been, a matter of compunction. And +yet . . . Ah, he was human, whatever his dream might be; and he loved +this American girl with all his heart and mind. It was not lawless +love, but it was ruthless. When the time was ripe he would speak. +Only a little while now to wait. The course had smoothed out, the +sailing was easy. The man in the chimney no longer bothered him. +Whoever and whatever he was, he had not shot his bolt soon enough. + +Hildegarde von Mitter. He stopped against the rail. The yacht was +burying her nose now, and the white drift from her cut-water seemed +strangely luminous as it swirled obliquely away in the fading twilight. +Hildegarde von Mitter. Was she to be the flaw in the chain? No, no; +there should be no regret; he had steeled his heart against any such +weakness. She had been necessary, and he would be a fool to pause over +a bit of sentimentality. Her appearance had disorganized his nerves, +that was all. Peering into his watch he found that he had only half an +hour before dinner. And it may be added that he dressed with singular +care. + +So did Fitzgerald, for that matter. + +It took Cathewe just as long, but he did not make two or three +selections of this or that before finding what he wanted. He was +engrossed most of the time in the sober contemplation of the rubber +flooring or the running sea outside the port-hole. + +And this night Hildegarde von Mitter was meditating on the last throw +for her hopes. She determined to cast once more the full sun of her +beauty into the face of the man she loved; and if she failed to win, +the fault would not be hers. Why could she not tear out this maddening +heart of hers and fling it to the sea? Why could she not turn it +toward the man who loved her? Why, why? Why should God make her so +unhappy? Why such injustice? Why this twisted interlacing of lives? +And yet, amid all these futile seekings, with subconscious deftness her +hands went on with their appointed work. Never again would the +splendor of her beauty burn as it did this night. + +Laura, alone among them all, went serenely about her toilet. She was +young, and love had not yet spread its puzzle before her feet. + +As for the others, they were on the far side of the hill, whence the +paths are smooth and gentle and the prospect is peacefulness and the +retrospect is dimly rosal. They dressed as they had done those twenty +odd years, plainly. + +On the bridge the first officer was standing at the captain's side. + +"Captain," he shouted, "where did you get that Frenchman?" + +"Picked him up day before yestiddy. Speaks fair English an' a bit o' +Dago. They're allus handy on a pleasure-boat. He c'n keep off th' +riffraff boatmen. An' _you_ know what persistent cusses they be in the +Med'terranean. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing, if he's a good sailor. Notice his hands?" + +"Why, no!" + +"Soft as a woman's." + +"Y' don't say! Well, we'll see 'em tough enough before we sight +Funchal. Smells good up here; huh?" + +"Yes; but I don't mind three months on land, full pay. Not me. But +this Frenchman?" + +"Oh, he had good papers from a White Star liner; an' you can leave it +to me regardin' his lily-white hands. By th' way, George, will you +have them bring up my other leg? Th' salt takes th' color out o' this +here brass ferrule, an' rubber's safer." + +"Yes, sir." + +There was one vacant chair in the dining-salon. M. Ferraud was +indisposed. He could climb the highest peak, he could cross +ice-ridges, with a sheer mile on either side of him, with never an +attack of vertigo; but this heaving mystery under his feet always got +the better of him the first day out. He considered it the one flaw in +an otherwise perfect system. Thus, he misled the comedy and the +tragedy of the eyes at dinner, nor saw a woman throw her all and lose +it. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +CROSS-PURPOSES + +"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Fitzgerald, venturing his +head into M. Ferraud's cabin. + +"Nothing; to-morrow it will all be gone. I am always so. The +miserable water!" M. Ferraud drew the blanket under his chin. + +"When you are better I should like to ask you some questions." + +"My friend, you have been very good. I promise to tell you all when +the time comes. It will interest you." + +"Breitmann?" + +"What makes you think I am interested in Mr. Breitmann?" + +Fitzgerald could not exactly tell. "Perhaps I have noticed you +watching him." + +"Ah, you have good eyes, Mr. Fitzgerald. Have you observed that I have +been watching you also?" + +"Yes. You haven't been quite sure of me." Fitzgerald smiled a little. +"But you may rest your mind. I never break my word." + +"Nor do I, my friend. Have patience. Satan take these small boats!" +He stifled a groan. + +"A little champagne?" + +"Nothing, nothing; thank you." + +"As you will. Good night." + +Fitzgerald shut the door and returned to the smoking-room. Something +or other, concerning Breitmann; he was sure of it. What had he done, +or what was he going to do, that France should watch him? There was no +doubt in his mind now; Breitmann had known of this treasure and had +come to The Pines simply to put his hands on the casket. M. Ferraud +had tried to forestall him. This much of the riddle was plain. But +the pivots upon which these things turned! There was something more +than a treasure in the balance. Well, M. Ferraud had told him to wait. +There was nothing else for him to do. + +A little rubber at bridge was in progress. The admiral was playing +with Mrs. Coldfield and Cathewe sat opposite Hildegarde. The latter +two were losing. She was ordinarily a skilful player, as Cathewe knew; +but to-night she lost constantly, was reckless with her leads, and +played carelessly into her opponents' hands. Cathewe watched her +gravely. Never had he seen her more beautiful; and the apprehension +that she would never be his was like a hand straining over his heart. + +Yes, she was beautiful; but he did not know that there was death in her +eyes and death in her smile. Once upon a time he had believed that her +heart had broken; but she was learning that the heart breaks, rebreaks, +and breaks again. + +How many times he stood on the precipice during the dinner hour, +Breitmann doubtless would never be told. A woman scorned is an old +story; still, the story goes on, retold each day. Education may smooth +the externals, but underneath the fire burns just as furiously as of +old. To this affront the average woman's mind leaps at once to +revenge; and that she does not always take it depends upon two things; +opportunity, and love, which is more powerful than revenge. Sometimes, +on hot summer nights, clouds form angrily in the distance; vivid +flashes dartle hither and about, which serve to intensify the evening +darkness. Thus, a similar phenomenon was taking place in Hildegarde +von Mitter's mind. The red fires of revenge danced before her eyes, +blurring the spots, on the cards, the blackness of despair crowding +upon each flash. Let him beware! With a word she could shatter his +dream; ay, and so she would. What! sit there and let him turn the +knife in her heart and receive the pain meekly? No! It was the +thoughtless brutality with which he went about this new affair that bit +so poignantly. To show her, so indurately, that she was nothing, that, +despite her magnificent sacrifice, she had never been more than a +convenience, was maddening. There was no spontaneity in his heart; his +life was a calculation to which various sums were added or subtracted. +With all her beauty, intellect, genius and generosity, she had not been +able to stir him as this young girl was unconsciously doing. She held +no animosity for the daughter of her host; she was clear-visioned +enough to put the wrong where it belonged. + +"It is your lead," said the admiral patiently. + +"Pardon me!" contritely. The gentle reproach brought her back to the +surroundings. + +"It is the motion of the boat," hazarded Cathewe, as he saw her lead +the ace. "I often find myself losing count in waiting for the next +roll." + +"Mr. Cathewe is very kind," she replied. "The truth is, however, I am +simply stupid to-night." + +Breitmann continued to speak lowly to Laura. He was evidently amusing, +for she smiled frequently. Nevertheless, she smiled as often upon +Fitzgerald. Never a glance toward the woman who held his fortunes, as +they both believed, in the hollow of her hand. Breitmann appeared to +have forgotten her existence. + +When the rubber was finished Cathewe came into the breach by suggesting +that they two, he and his partner, should take the air for a while; and +Hildegarde thanked him with her eyes. They tramped the port side, +saying nothing but thinking much. His arm was under hers to steady +her, and he could feel the catch each time she breathed, as when one +stifles sobs that are tearless. Ah, to hold her close and to shield +her; but a thousand arms may not intervene between the heart and the +pain that stabs it. He knew; he knew all about it, and there was +murder in his thought whenever his thought was of Breitmann. To be +alone with him somewhere, and to fight it out with their bare hands. + +She had been schooled in the art of acting, but not in the art of +dissimulation; she had been of the world without having been worldly; +and sometimes she was as frank and simple as a child. And worldliness +makes a buffer in times like these. Cathewe thanked God for his own +shell, toughened as it had been in the war of life. + +"Look!" he exclaimed, thankful for the diversion. "There goes a big +liner for Sandy Hook. How cheerful she looks with all her lights! +Everybody's busy there. There will be greetings to-morrow, among the +sundry curses of those who have not declared their Parisian models." + +They paused by the rail and followed the great ship till all the lights +had narrowed and melted into one; and then, almost at once, the +limitless circle of pitching black water seemed tenanted by themselves +alone. + +Without warning she bent swiftly and kissed the hand which lay upon the +rail. "How kind you are to me!" + +"Oh, pshaw!" But the touch of her lips shook his soul. + +Cathewe was one of those sure, quiet men, a staff to lean on, that a +woman may find once in a life-time. They are, as a usual thing, always +loving deeply and without success, but always invariably cheerful and +buoyant, genuine philosophers. They are not given much to writing +sonnets or posing; and they can stand aside with a brave heart as the +other man takes the dream out of their lives. This is not to affirm +that they do not fight stoutly to hold this dream; simply, that they +accept defeat like good soldiers. There are many heroes who have never +heard war's alarms. He knew that the whole heart of Hildegarde von +Mitter had yielded to another. But it had been thrown, as it were, +against a wall; there was this one hope, dimly burning, that some day +he might catch it on the rebound. + +"Why are not all men like you?" she asked. + +"The world would not be half so interesting. Some men shall be +fortunate and others shall not; everything has to balance in some way. +I am necessary to one side of the scales, as a weight." He spoke with +a levity he by no means felt. + +"You are always making sport of yourself." + +"Would it be wise to weep? Not at all. I laugh because I enjoy it, +just the same as I enjoy hunting or going on voyages of discovery." + +"To have met _you_!" childishly. + +"Don't talk like that. It always makes me less sad than furious. And +how do you know? If it had been written that you should care for me, +would any one else have mattered? No. It just is, that's all. So +we'll go on as we have done in the past, good friends. Call me when +you need me, and wherever I am I shall come." + +"How pitifully weak I must seem to you!" + +"You would be no happier if you wore a mask. Hildegarde, what has +happened? What power has this adventurer over you? I can not +understand. He was man enough to say that you were guiltless of any +wrong." + +"He said that?" turning upon him sharply. She could forgive much. + +He could not see her face, but by the tone of her voice he knew it had +brightened. "Yes. I did a freakish thing the night we arrived at the +Killigrews'. I forced him into a corner, but it did not pan out as I +hoped. So far as it touched me, it wasn't necessary, as I have told +you a thousand times. Your past is nothing to me; your future is +everything, and I want it. God knows how I want it! Well, I wished to +find out what kind of man he is, but I wasn't very successful. +Hildegarde," and he pressed his hand down hard over hers, "I could find +a priest the day we land if you would love me. You will always +remember that." + +"As if I could ever forget your kindness! But you forced him; there is +no merit in such a confession. And I wonder how you forced him. It +was not by fear. Much as I know him there are still some unfilled +pages. I would call him a scoundrel did I not know that in parts he +has been a hero. What sacrifices the man has made, and with what +patience!" + +"To what end?" quietly. + +"No, no, Arthur! I have promised him." + +He took her by the arm roughly. "Let us make two or three rounds and +go back. We shan't grow any more cheerful talking this way." + +"He loves her. I saw it in his eyes; and I must stand aside and watch!" + +"So must I," he said. "Aren't you just a little selfish, Hildegarde?" + +"I am wretched, Arthur; and I am a fool, besides. Oh, that I were +cold-blooded like your women, that I could eat out my heart in secret; +but I can't, I can't!" + +"But you have courage; only use it. If what you say of him is true, +rest easy. She is not in his orbit. She will not be impressed by an +adventurer of his breed." + +"Thank you!" with a broken laugh. "I am only an opera-singer, here on +suffrance." + +"Oh, good Lord! I did not mean it that way. Let us finish the walk," +savagely. + + +On the afternoon of the second day out, tea was served under the +awning, and Captain Flanagan condescended to leave his bridge for half +an hour. Through a previous hint dropped by the admiral they lured the +captain into spinning yarns; and well-salted hair-breadth escapes they +were. He understood that the admiral's guests always expected these +flights, and he was in nowise niggard. An ordinary sailor would have +been dead these twenty years, under any one of the exploits. + +"Marvelous!" said M. Ferraud from the depths of his rugs. "And he +still lives to tell it?" + +"It's the easiest thing in the world, sir, if y' know how," the captain +declared complacently. Indeed, he had recounted these yarns so many +times that he was beginning to regard them as facts. His statement, +ambiguous as it was, passed unchallenged, however; for not one had the +daring to inquire whether he referred to the telling or the living of +them. So he believed that he was looked upon as an apostle of truth. +Only the admiral had the temerity to look his captain squarely in the +eye and wink. + +"Captain, would you mind if I put these tales in a book?" Fitzgerald +put this question with a seriousness which fooled no one but the +captain. + +"You come up t' the bridge some afternoon, when we've got a smooth sea, +and I'll give y' some _real_ ones." The captain's vanity was soothed, +but he was not aware that he had put doubt upon his own veracity. + +"That's kind of you." + +"An' say!" went on the captain, drinking his tea, not because he liked +it but because it was customary, "I've got a character forwards. I'm +allus shippin' odds and ends. Got a Frenchman; hands like a lady." + +Breitmann leaned forward, and M. Ferraud sat up. + +"Yessir," continued the captain; "speaks I-talyan an' English. An' if +I ever meets a lady with long soft hands like his'n, I'm for a pert +talk, straightway." + +"What's the matter with his hands?" asked the admiral. + +"Why, Commodore, they're as soft as Miss Laura's here, an' yet when th' +big Swede who handles th' baggage was a-foolin' with him this mornin', +it was the Swede who begs off. Nary a callous, an' yet he bowls the +big one round the deck like he was a liner being pierced by a sassy +tug. An' what gets me is, he knows every bolt from stem to stern, sir, +an' an all-round good sailor int' th' bargain; an' it don' take me +more'n twelve hours t' find that out. Well, I'm off t' th' bridge. +Good day, ladies." + +When he was out of earshot the admiral roared. "He's the dearest old +liar since Münchhausen." + +"Aren't they true stories?" asked Hildegarde. + +"Bless you, no! And he knows we know it, too. But he tells them so +well that I've never had the courage to sheer him off." + +"It's amusing," said Laura; "but I do not think that it's always fair +to him." + +"Why, Laura, you're as good a listener as any I know. Read him a +tract, if you wish." + +Breitmann rose presently and sauntered forward, while M. Ferraud +snuggled down in his rugs again. The others entered into a game of +deck-cricket. + +But M. Ferraud was not so ill that he was unable to steal from his +cabin at half after nine, at night, without even the steward being +aware of his departure. It can not be said that he roamed about the +deck, for whenever he moved it was in the shadow, and always forward. +By and by voices drifted down the wind. One he knew and expected, +Breitmann's; of the other he was not sure, though the French he spoke +was of classic smoothness. M. Ferraud was exceedingly interested. He +had been waiting for this meeting. Only a phrase or two could be heard +distinctly. But words were not necessary. What he desired above all +things was a glimpse of this Frenchman's face. After several minutes +Breitmann went aft. M. Ferraud stepped out cautiously, and luck was +with him. The sailor to whom Breitmann had spoken so earnestly was +lolling against the rail, in the act of lighting a cigarette. The +light from the match was feeble, but it sufficed the keen eyes of the +watcher. He gasped a little. Strong hands indeed! Here in the garb +of a common sailor, was one of the foremost Orleanists in France! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A QUESTION FROM KEATS + +Breitmann and the admiral usually worked from ten till luncheon, unless +it was too stormy; and then the admiral took the day off. The business +under hand was of no great moment; it was rather an outlet for the +admiral's energy, and gave him something to look forward to as each day +came round. Many a morning he longed for the quarter-deck of his old +battle-ship; the trig crew and marines lined up for inspection; the +revelries of the foreign ports; the great manoeuvres; the target +practice. Never would his old heart swell again under the full-dress +uniform nor his eyes sparkle under the plume of his rank. He was +retired on half-pay. Only a few close friends knew how his half-pay +was invested. There remained perhaps ten of the old war-crew, and +among them every Christmas the admiral's half-pay was divided. This +and his daughter were the two unalloyed joys of his life. + +Since his country had no further use for him, and as it was as +necessary as air to his lungs that he tread the deck of a ship, he had +purchased the _Laura_; and, when he was not stirring up the bones of +dead pirates, he was at Cowes or at Brest or at Keil or on the Hudson, +wherever the big fellows indulged in mimic warfare. + +"That will be all this morning, Mr. Breitmann," he said, rising and +looking out of the port-hole. + +"Very well, sir. I believe that by the time we make Corsica we shall +have the book ready for the printers. It is very interesting." + +"Much obliged. You have been a good aid. As you know, I am writing +this rubbish only because it is play and passable mental exercise." + +"I do not agree with you there," returned the secretary, with his +pleasant smile. "The book will be really a treasure of itself. It is +far more interesting than any romance." + +The admiral shook his head dubiously. + +"No, no," Breitmann averred. "There is no flattery in what I say. +Flattery was not in our agreement. And," with a slight lift of the +jaw, "I never say what I do not honestly mean. It will be a good book, +and I am proud to have had a hand, however light, in the making." + +The admiral chuckled. "That is the kind of flattery no man may shut +his ears to. It has been a great pleasure to me; it has kept me +out-of-doors, in the open, where I belong. Come in, Laura, come in." + +The girl stood framed in the low doorway, a charming picture to the old +man and a lovely one to the secretary. She balanced herself with a +hand on each side of the jam. + +"Father, how can you work when the sun is so beautiful outside? Good +morning, Mr. Breitmann," cordially. + +"Good morning." + +"Work is over, Laura. Come in." The admiral reached forth an arm and +caught her, drawing her gently in and finally to his breast. + +Breitmann would have given an eye for that right. The picture set his +nerves twitching. + +"I am not in the way?" + +"Not at all," answered the secretary. "I was just leaving." And with +good foresight he passed out. + +"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever," murmured the admiral. + +"Fudge!" and she laughed. + +"We are having a fine voyage." + +"Splendid! Why is it that I am always happy?" + +"It is because you do not depend upon others for it, my dear. I am +happy, too. I am as happy as a boy with his first boat. But never has +a ship gone slower than this one of mine. I am simply crazy to drop +anchor in the Gulf of Ajaccio. I find it on the tip of my tongue, +every night at dinner, to tell the others where we are bound." + +"Why not? Where's the harm now?" + +"I don't know, but something keeps it back. Laura," looking into her +eyes, "did we ever cruise with brighter men on board?" + +"What is it you wish to know, father?" merrily. "You dear old sailor, +don't you understand that these men are different? They are men who +accomplish things; they haven't time to bother about young women." + +"You don't say!" pinching the ear nearest. + +"This is the seventh day out, and not one of them has ceased to be +interesting yet." + +"Would they cease to be interesting if they proposed?" quizzing. + +These two had no unshared secrets. They were sure of each other. He +knew that when this child of his divided her affection with another +man, that man would be deserving. + +"I would rather have them all as they are. They make fine comrades." + +He sighed thankfully. "Arthur seems to be out of the race." + +"Rather say I am!" with laughter. "Why, a child could read Arthur +Cathewe's face when he looks at her. Isn't she simply beautiful?" + +"Very. But there are types and types." + +"Am I really pretty?" Sometimes she grew shy under her father's open +admiration. She was afraid it was his love rather than his judgment +that made her beautiful in his eyes. + +"My child, there's more than one man who will agree with me when I say +that there is no one to compare with you. You are the living quotation +from Keats." + +"I shall kiss you for that." And straightway she did. + +"What do you think of Mr. Breitmann?" soberly. + +"He is charming sometimes; but he has a little too much reserve. +Doubtless he sees his position too keenly. He should not." + +"Do you like him?" + +"Yes," frankly. + +"So do I; and yet there are moments when I do not." The admiral filled +his pipe carefully. + +"But your reason?" surprised. + +"That's just the trouble. I haven't any tangible reason. The doubt +exists, and I can't explain it. The sea often looks smooth and mild, +and the sky is cloudless; yet an old sailor will suddenly grow +suspicious; he will see a storm, a heavy blow. And why, he couldn't +say for the life of him. Flanagan will tell you." + +The girl grew studious and grave. Had there not been an echo of this +doubt in her own mind? Immediately she smiled. + +"We are talking nonsense and wasting the sunshine." + +"How about Fitzgerald?" + +"Oh, he's the most sensible of them all. He proposed to me the first +night out." + +"What?" The admiral dropped his pipe. + +"Not so loud!" she warned. And then the clear music of her laughter +penetrated beyond the cabin; and Fitzgerald, wandering about without +purpose, heard it and paused. + +"You minx!" growled the admiral; "to scare your old father like that!" + +"Dearest, weren't you fishing to be scared?" + +"Let's get out into the sunshine. I never could get the best of you. +But you really don't mean--" + +"I really do not. He's too busy telling me the plot of this novel he +is going to write to make love to a girl who doesn't want more than one +man in the family, and that's her foolish old father." + +And they went outside, arm in arm, laughing together like the good +comrades they were. M. Ferraud joined them. + +"I wish," said he, "that I was a poet." + +"What would you do?" she asked. + +"I should write a sonnet to your eyebrows this morning, is it not?" + +"Mercy, no! That kind of poetry has long been _passé_." + +"_Helas_!" mournfully. + +It was a beautiful morning, a sharp blue sky and a sea of running +silver; warm, too, for they were bearing away into the southern seas +now. Every one had sea-legs by this time, and the larder dwindled in a +respectable manner. + +Fitzgerald viewed his case dispassionately. But what to do? A +thousand times he had argued out the question, with a single result, +that he was a fool for his pains. He became possessed with sudden +inexplicable longings for land. He could not get away from this yacht; +on land there would have been a hundred straight lines to the woods and +the fisherman's philosophy. Things were going directly to one end, and +presently he would have no more power to stem the words. At least one +thing was certain, the admiral could not drop him overboard. + +"The villain?" + +He was moved suddenly out of his dream, for the object of it stood +smiling at his side. A wisp of hair was blowing across her eyes and +she was endeavoring to adjust it under her cap. + +"The villain?" making a fine effort to remarshal his thoughts. + +"Yes. We were talking about him last night. Where did you leave him?" + +"He was still pursuing, I believe." + +"Why don't you make him a real villain, a man who never kills any one, +but who makes every one unhappy?" + +"But that's a problem-villain; what we must have is a romance-villain, +the kind every one is sorry for. Look at that old Portuguese +man-o'-war," pointing to the crest of a near-by wave. "Funny little +codger!" + +"When do you expect to begin the story on paper?" + +"When I have _all_ the material," not afraid of her eyes at that moment. + +She propped her elbows on the rail. It was a seductive pose, and came +very near being the young man's undoing. + +"Does it seem impossible to you," she said, "that in these prosaic +times we are treasure hunting? Must we not wake up and find it a +dream?" + +"Most dreams are perishable, but in this case we have the dream tightly +bound. But what are we going to do with all this money when we find +it?" + +"Divide it or start a soldiers' home. I've never thought of it as +money." + +"Heaven knows, I have!" + +"Why?" + +"Do you really wish to know?" in a voice new to her ear. "Do you wish +to know why I want money, lots and lots of it?" + +She dropped her arms and turned. The tone agitated and alarmed her +strangely. "Why, yes. With plenty of money you could devote all your +time to writing; and I am sure you could write splendid stories." + +"That was not my exact thought," he replied, resolutely pulling himself +together. "But it will serve." By George! he thought, that was close +enough. + +She did not ask him what his exact thought was, but she suspected it. +There was a little shock of pleasure and disappointment; the one rising +from the fact that he had stopped where he did and the other that he +had not gone on. And she grew angry over this second expression. She +liked him; she had never met a young man whom she liked more. But +liking is never loving, and her heart was as free and unburdened as the +wind. As once remarked, many of the men with whom she had come into +contact had been bred in idleness, and her interest in them had never +gone above friendly tolerance. Her admiration was for men, young or +old, who cut their way roughly through the world's great obstacles, who +achieved things in pioneering, in history, in science; and she admired +them because they were rather difficult to draw out, being more +familiar with startling journeys, wildernesses, strange peoples, than +with the gilded metaphors of the drawing-room. + +And here were three of them to meet daily, to study and to ponder over. +And types as far apart as the three points of a triangle; the man at +her side, young, witty, agreeable; Cathewe, grave, kindly, and +sometimes rather saturnine; Breitmann, proud and reserved; and each of +them having rung true in some great crisis. If ever she loved a +man . . . The thought remained unfinished and she glanced up and met +Fitzgerald's eyes. They were sad, with the line of a frown above them. +How was she to keep him under hand, and still erect an impassable +barrier! It was the first time she had given the matter serious +thought. The joy of the sea underfoot, the tang of the rushing air, +the journey's end, these had occupied her volatile young mind. But now! + +"I am dull," said he gloomily. + +"Thank you!" + +"I mean that I am stupid, doubly stupid," he corrected. + +"Cricket will be a cure for that." + +"I doubt it," approaching dangerous ground once more. + +"Let's go and talk to Captain Flanagan, then." + +"There!" with sudden spirit, "the very thing I've been wanting!"' + +It was of no importance that they both knew this to be a prevarication +about which St. Peter would not trouble his hoary head nor take the +pains to indite in his great book of demerits. + +But all through that bright day the girl thought, and there were times +when the others had to speak to her twice; not at all a reassuring sign. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +CATHEWE ADVISES AND THE ADMIRAL DISCLOSES + +One day they dropped anchor in the sapphire bay of Funchal, in the +summer calm, hot and glaring; Funchal, with its dense tropical growth, +its cloud-wreathed mountains, its amethystine sisters in the faded +southeast. And for two days, while Captain Flanagan recoaled, they +played like children, jolting round in the low bullock-carts, climbing +the mountains or bumping down the corduroy road. It was the strangest +treasure hunt that ever left a home port. It was more like a page out +of a boy's frolic than a sober quest by grown-ups. That danger, menace +and death hid in covert would have appealed to them (those who knew) as +ridiculous, impossible, obsolete. The story of cutlass and pistol and +highboots had been molding in archives these eighty-odd years. +Dangers? From whom, from what direction? No one suggested the +possibility, even in jest; and the only man who could have advanced, +with reasonable assurance, that danger, real and serious, existed, was +too busy apparently with his butterfly-net. Still, he had not yet been +consulted; he was not supposed to know that this cruise was weighted +with something more than pleasure. + +Fitzgerald waited with an impatience which often choked him. A secret +agent had not so adroitly joined this expedition for the pleasure of +seeing a treasure dug up from some reluctant grave. What was he after? +If indeed Breitmann was directly concerned, if he knew of the +treasure's existence, of what benefit now would be his knowledge? A +share in the finding at most. And was Breitmann one who was +conditioned of such easy stuff that he would rather be sure and share +than to strike out for all the treasure and all the risks? The more he +gave his thought to Breitmann the more that gentleman retracted into +the fog, as it were. On several occasions he had noticed signs of a +preoccupation, of suppressed excitement, of silence and moroseness. +Fitzgerald could join certain squares of the puzzle, but this led +forward scarce a step. Breitmann had entered the employ of the admiral +for the very purpose for which M. Ferraud had journeyed sundrily into +the cellar and beaten futilely on the chimney. It resolved to one +thing, and that was the secretary had arrived too late. He was sure +that Breitmann had no suspicion regarding M. Ferraud. But for a casual +glance at the little man's hands, neither would he have had any. He +determined to prod M. Ferraud. He was well trained in repression; so, +while he often lost patience, there was never any external sign of it. +Besides, there was another affair which over-shadowed it and at times +engulfed it. + +Love. The cross-tides of sense and sentiment made a pretty +disturbance. And still further, there was another counter-tide. Love +does not necessarily make a young man keen-sighted, but it generally +highly develops his talent for suspicion. By subtle gradations, +Breitmann had shifted in Fitzgerald's mind from a possible friend to a +probable rival. Breitmann did not now court his society when the +smoking bouts came round, or when the steward brought the whisky and +soda after the ladies had retired. Breitmann was moody, and whatever +variance his moods had, they retained the gray tone. This Fitzgerald +saw and dilated upon; and it rankled when he thought that this +hypothetical adventurer had rights, level and equal to his, always +supposing he had any. + +In this state of mind he drooped idly over the rail as the yacht drew +out of the bay, the evening of the second day. The glories of the +southern sunset lingered and vanished, a-begging, without his senses +being roused by them; and long after the sea, chameleon-like, changed +from rose to lavender, from lavender to gray, the mountains yet +jealously clung to their vivid aureolas of phantom gold. Fitzgerald +saw nothing but writing on the water. + +"Well, my boy," said Cathewe, lounging affectionately against +Fitzgerald, "here we are, rolled over again." + +"What?" + +Cathewe described a circle with his finger lazily. + +"Oh!" said Fitzgerald, listless. "Another day more or less, crowded +into the past, doesn't matter." + +"Maybe. If we could only have the full days and deposit the others and +draw as we need them; but we can't do it. And yet each day means +something; there ought always to be a little of it worth remembering." + +"Old parson!" cried Fitzgerald, with a jab of his elbow. + +"All bally rot, eh? I wish I could look at it that way. Yet, when a +man mopes as you are doing, when this sunset. . ." + +"New one every day." + +"What's the difficulty, Jack?" + +"Am I walking around with a sign on my back?" testily. + +"Of a kind, yes." + +Cathewe spoke so solemnly that Fitzgerald looked round, and saw that +which set his ears burning. Immediately he lowered his gaze and sought +the water again. + +"Have I been making an ass of myself, Arthur?" + +"No, Jack; but you are laying yourself open to some wonder. For three +or four days now, except for the forty-eight hours on land there, +you've been a sort of killjoy. Even the admiral has remarked it." + +"Tell him it's my liver," with a laugh not wholly free of +embarrassment. "Suppose," he continued, in a low voice; "suppose--" +But he couldn't go on. + +"Yes, suppose," said Cathewe, taking up the broken thread; "suppose +there was a person who had a heap of money, or will have some day; and +suppose there's another person who has but little and may have less in +days to come. Is that the supposition, Jack? The presumption of an +old friend, a right that ought never to be abrogated." Cathewe laid a +hand on his young friend's shoulder; there was a silent speech of +knowledge and brotherhood in it such as Fitzgerald could not mistake. + +"That's the supposition," he admitted generously. + +"Well, money counts only when you buy horses and yachts and houses, it +never really matters in anything else." + +"It is easy to say that." + +"It is also easy to learn that it is true." + +"Isn't there a good deal of buying these days where there should be +giving?" + +"Not among real people. You have had enough experience with both types +to be competent to distinguish the one from the other. You have birth +and brains and industry; you're a decent sort of chap besides," +genially. "Can money buy these things when grounded on self-respect as +they are in you? Come along now; for the admiral sent me after you. +It's the steward's champagne cocktail; and you know how good they are. +And remember, if you will put your head into the clouds, don't take +your feet off the deck." + +Fitzgerald expanded under his tactful interpretation. A long breath of +relief issued from his heart, and the rending doubt was dissipated: the +vulture-shadow spread its dark pennons and wheeled down the west. A +priceless thing is that friend upon whom one may shift the part of a +burden. It seemed to be one of Cathewe's occupations in life to +absorb, in a kindly, unemotional manner, other people's troubles. It +is this type of man, too, who rarely shares his own. + +It would be rather graceless to say that after drinking the cocktail +Fitzgerald resumed his aforetime rosal lenses. He was naturally at +heart an optimist, as are all men of action. And so the admiral, who +had begun to look upon him with puzzled commiseration, came to the +conclusion that the young man's liver had resumed its normal functions. +An old woman would have diagnosed the case as one of heart (as Mrs. +Coldfield secretly and readily and happily did); but an old fellow like +the admiral generally compromises on the liver. + +When one has journeyed for days on the unquiet sea, a touch of land +underfoot renews, Antaeus-wise, one's strength and mental activity; so +a festive spirit presided at the dinner table. The admiral determined +to vault the enforced repression of his secret. Inasmuch as it must be +told, the present seemed a propitious moment. He signed for the +attendants to leave the salon, and then rapped on the table for +silence. He obtained it easily enough. + +"My friends," he began, "where do you think this boat is really going?" + +"Marseilles," answered Coldfield. + +"Where else?" cried M. Ferraud, as if diversion from that course was +something of an improbability. + +"Corsica. We can leave you at Marseilles, Mr. Ferraud, if you wish; +but I advise you to remain with us. It will be something to tell in +your old age." + +Cathewe glanced across to Fitzgerald, as if to ask: "Do you know +anything about this?" Fitzgerald, catching the sense of this mute +inquiry, nodded affirmatively. + +"Corsica is a beautiful place," said Hildegarde. "I spent a spring in +Ajaccio." + +"Well, that is our port," confessed the admiral, laying his precious +documents on the table. "The fact is, we are going to dig up a +treasure," with a flourish. + +Laughter and incredulous exclamations followed this statement. + +"Pirates?" cried Coldfield, with a good-natured jeer. He had cruised +with the admiral before. "Where's the cutlass and jolly-roger? Yo-ho! +and a bottle o' rum!" + +"Yes. And where's the other ship following at our heels, as they +always do in treasure hunts, the rival pirates who will cut our throats +when we have dug up the treasure?"--from Cathewe. + +"Treasures!" mumbled M. Ferraud from behind his pineapple. Carefully +he avoided Fitzgerald's gaze, but he noted the expression on +Breitmann's face. It was not pleasant. + +"Just a moment," the admiral requested patiently. "I know it smells +fishy. Laura, go ahead and read the documents to the unbelieving +giaours. Mr. Fitzgerald knows and so does Mr. Breitmann." + +"Tell us about it, Laura. No joking, now," said Coldfield, +surrendering his incredulity with some hesitance. "And if the treasure +involves no fighting or diplomatic tangle, count me in. Think of it, +Jane," turning to his wife; "two old church-goers like you and me, +a-going after a pirate's treasure! Doesn't it make you laugh?" + +Laura unfolded the story, and when she came to the end, the excitement +was hot and Babylonic. Napoleon! What a word! A treasure put +together to rescue him from St. Helena! Gold, French gold, English +gold, Spanish and Austrian gold, all mildewing in a rotting chest +somewhere back of Ajaccio! It was unbelievable, fantastic as one of +those cinematograph pictures, running backward. + +"But what are you going to do with it when you find it?" + +"Findings is keepings," quoted the admiral. "Perhaps divide it, +perhaps turn it over to France, providing France agrees to use it for +charitable purposes." + +"A fine plan, is it not, Mr. Breitmann?" said M. Ferraud. + +"Findings is keepings," repeated Breitmann, with a pale smile. + +The eyes of Hildegarde von Mitter burned and burned. Could she but +read what lay behind that impassive face! And he took it all with a +smile! What would he do? what would he do now? kept recurring in her +mind. She knew the man, or at least she thought she did; and she was +aware that there existed in his soul dark caverns which she had never +dared to explore. Yes, what would he do now? How would he put his +hand upon this gold? She trembled with apprehension. + +And later, when she found the courage to put the question boldly, he +answered with a laugh, so low and yet so wild with fury that she drew +away from him in dumb terror. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER + +The secretary nerved himself and waited; and yet he knew what her reply +would be, even before she framed it, knew it with that indescribable +certainty which prescience occasionally grants in the space of a +moment. Before he had spoken there had been hope to stand upon, for +she had always been gentle and kindly toward him, not a whit less than +she had been to the others. + +"Mr. Breitmann, I am sorry. I never dreamed of this;" nor had she. +She had forgotten Europeans seldom understand the American girl as she +is or believe that the natural buoyancy of spirit is as free from +purpose or intent as the play of a child. But in this moment she +remembered her little and perfectly inconsequent attentions toward this +man, and seeing them from his viewpoint she readily forgave him. +Abroad, she was always on guard; but here, among her own compatriots +who accepted her as she was, she had excusably forgotten. "I am sorry +if you have misunderstood me in any way." + +"I could no more help loving you than that those stars should cease to +shine to-night," his voice heavy with emotion. + +"I am sorry," she could only repeat. Men had spoken to her like this +before, and always had the speech been new to her and always had a +great and tender pity charged her heart. And perhaps her pity for this +one was greater than any she had previously known; he seemed so lonely. + +"Sorry, sorry! Does that mean there is no hope?" + +"None, Mr. Breitmann, none." + +"Is there another?" his throat swelling. But before she could answer: +"Pardon me; I did not mean that. I have no right to ask such a +question." + +"And I should not have answered it to any but my father, Mr. +Breitmann." She extended her hand. "Let us forget that you have +spoken. I should like you for a friend." + +Without a word he took the hand and kissed it. He made no effort to +hold it, and it slipped from his clasp easily. + +"Goodnight." + +"Good night." And he never lost sight of her till she entered the +salon-cabin. He saw a star fall out of nothing into nothing. She was +sorry! The moment brewed a thousand wild suggestions. To abduct her, +to carry her away into the mountains, to cast his dream to the four +winds, to take her in spite of herself. He laid his hand on the teak +railing, wondering at the sudden wracking pain, a pain which unlinked +coherent thought and left his mind stagnant and inert. For the first +time he realized that his pain was a recurrence of former ones similar. +Why? He did not know. He only remembered that he had had the pain at +the back of his head and that it was generally followed by a burning +fury, a rage to rend and destroy things. What was the matter? + +The damp rail was cool and refreshing, and after a spell the pain +diminished. He shook himself free and stood straight, his jaws hard +and his eyes, absorbing what light there was from the stars, chatoyant. +Sorry! So be it. To have humbled himself before this American girl +and to be snubbed for his pains! But, patience! Two million francs +and his friends awaiting the word from him. She was sorry! He +laughed, and the laughter was not unlike that which a few nights gone +had startled the ears of the other woman to whom he had once appealed +in passionate tones and not without success. + +"Karl!" + +The sight of Hildegarde at this moment neither angered nor pleased him. +He permitted her hand to lay upon his arm. + +"My head aches," he said, as if replying to the unspoken question in +her eyes. + +"Karl, why not give it up?" she pleaded. + +"Give it up? What! when I have come this far, when I have gone through +what I have? Oh, no! Do not think so little of me as that." + +"But it is a dream!" + +He shook off her hand angrily. "If there is to be any reckoning I +shall pay, never fear. But it will not, _shall_ not fail!" + +She would have liked to weep for him. "I would gladly give you my +eyes, Karl, if you might see it all as I see it. Ruin, ruin! Can you +touch this money without violence? Ah, my God, what has blinded you to +the real issues?" + +"I have not asked you to share the difficulties." + +"No. You have not been that kind to me." + +To-night there were no places in his armor for any sentiment but his +own. "I want nothing but revenge." + +"I think I can read," her own bitterness getting the better of her +tongue. "Miss Killigrew has declined." + +"You have been listening?" with a snarl. + +"It has not been necessary to listen; I needed only to watch." + +"Well, what is it to you?" + +"Take care, Karl! You can not talk to me like that." + +"Don't drive me, then. Oh," with a sudden turn of mind, "I am sorry +that you can not understand." + +"If I hadn't I should never have given you my promise not to speak. +There was a time when you had right on your side, but that time ceased +to be when you lied to me. How little you understood me! Had you +spoken frankly and generously at the start, God knows I shouldn't have +refused you. But you set out to walk over my heart to get that +miserable slip of paper. Ah! had I but known! I say to you, you will +fail utterly and miserably. You are either blind or mad!" + +Without a word in reply to this prophecy he turned and left her; and as +soon as he had vanished she kissed the spot on the rail where his hand +had rested and laid her own there. When at last she raised it, the +rail was no longer merely damp, it was wet. + + +"Now there," began Fitzgerald, taking M. Ferraud firmly by the sleeve, +"I have come to the end of my patience. What has Breitmann to do with +all this business?" + +"Will you permit me to polish my spectacles?" mildly asked M. Ferraud. + +"It's the deuce of a job to get you into a corner," Fitzgerald +declared. "But I have your promise, and you should recollect that I +know things which might interest Mr. Breitmann." + +"_Croyez-vous qu'il pleuve? Il fait bien du vent_," adjusting his +spectacles and viewing the clear sky and the serene bosom of the +Mediterranean. Then M. Ferraud turned round with: "Ah, Mr. Fitzgerald, +this man Breitmann is what you call 'poor devil,' is it not? At dinner +to-night I shall tell a story, at once marvelous past belief and +pathetic. I shall tell this story against my best convictions because +I wish him no harm, because I should like to save him from black ruin. +But, attend me; my efforts shall be as wind blowing upon stone; and I +shall not save him. An alienist would tell you better than I can. +Listen. You have watched him, have you not? To you he seems like any +other man? Yes? Keen-witted, gifted, a bit of a musician, a good deal +of a scholar? Well, had I found that paper first, there would have +been no treasure hunt. I should have torn it into one thousand pieces; +I should have saved him in spite of himself and have done my duty also. +He is mad, mad as a whirlwind, as a tempest, as a fire, as a sandstorm." + +"About what?" + +"To-night, to-night!" + +And the wiry little man released himself and bustled away to his chair +where he became buried in rugs and magazines. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +AN OLD SCANDAL + +"Corsica to-morrow," said the admiral. + +"Napoleon," said Laura. + +"Romance," said Cathewe. + +"Treasures," said M. Ferraud. + +Hildegarde felt uneasy. Breitmann toyed with the bread crumbs. He was +inattentive besides. + +"Napoleon. There is an old scandal," mused M. Ferraud. "I don't think +that any of you have heard it." + +"That will interest me," Fitzgerald cried. "Tell it." + +M. Ferraud cleared his throat with a sharp ahem and proceeded to +burnish his crystals. Specks and motes were ever adhering to them. He +held them up to the light and pretended to look through them: he saw +nothing but the secretary's abstraction. + +"We were talking about treasures the other night," began the Frenchman, +"and I came near telling it then. It is a story of Napoleon." + +"Never a better moment to tell it," said the admiral, rubbing his hands +in pleasurable anticipation. + +"I say to you at once that the tale is known to few, and has never had +any publicity, and must never have any. Remember that, if you please, +Mr. Fitzgerald, and you also, Mr. Breitmann." + +"I beg your pardon," said Breitmann. "I was not listening." + +M. Ferraud repeated his request clearly. + +"I am no longer a newspaper writer," Breitmann affirmed, clearing the +fog out of his head. "A story about Napoleon; will it be true?" + +"Every word of it." M. Ferraud folded his arms and sat back. + +During the pause Hildegarde shivered. Something made her desire madly +to thrust a hand out and cover M. Ferraud's mouth. + +"We have all read much about Napoleon. I can not recall how many lives +range shoulder to shoulder on the booksellers' shelves. There have +been letters and memoirs, anecdotes by celebrated men and women who +were his contemporaries. But there is one thing upon which we shall +all agree, and that is that the emperor was in private life something +of a beast. As a soldier he was the peer of all the Caesars; as a +husband he was vastly inferior to any of them. This story does not +concern him as emperor. If in my narrative there occurs anything +offensive, correct me instantly. I speak English fluently, but there +are still some idioms I trip on." + +"I'll trust you to steer straight enough," said the admiral. + +"Thank you. Well, then, once upon a time Napoleon was in Bavaria. The +country was at that time his ablest ally. There was a pretty peasant +girl." + +A knife clattered to the floor. "Pardon!" whispered Hildegarde to +Cathewe. "I am clumsy." She was as white as the linen. + +Breitmann went on with his crumbs. + +"I believe," continued M. Ferraud, "that it was in the year 1813 that +the emperor received a peculiar letter. It begged that a title be +conferred upon a pretty little peasant boy. The emperor was a grim +humorist, I may say in passing; and for this infant he created a +baronetcy, threw in a parcel of land, and a purse. That was the end of +it, as far as it related to the emperor. Waterloo came and with it +vanished the empire; and it would be a long time before a baron of the +empire returned to any degree of popularity. For years the matter was +forgotten. The documents in the case, the letters of patent, the deeds +and titles to the land, and a single Napoleonic scrawl, these gathered +dust in the loft. When I heard this tale the thing which appealed to +me most keenly was the thought that over in Bavaria there exists the +only real direct strain of Napoleonic blood: a Teuton, one of those who +had brought about the downfall of the empire." + +"You say exists?" interjected Cathewe. + +"Exists," laconically. + +"You have proofs?" demanded Fitzgerald. + +"The very best in the world. I have not only seen those patents, but I +have seen the man." + +"Very interesting," agreed Breitmann, brushing the crumbs into his hand +and dropping them on his plate. "But, go on." + +"What a man!" breathed Fitzgerald, who began to see the drift of things. + +"I proceed, then. Two generations passed. I doubt if the third +generation of this family has ever heard of the affair. One day the +last of his race, in clearing up the salable things in his house--for +he had decided to lease it--stumbled on the scant history of his +forebears. He was at school then; a promising youngster, brave, +cheerful, full of adventure and curiosity. Contrary to the natural +sequence of events, he chose the navy, where he did very well. But in +some way Germany found out what France already knew. Here was a fine +chance for a stroke of politics. France had always watched; without +fear, however, but with half-formed wonder. Germany considered the +case: why not turn this young fellow loose on France, to worry and to +harry her? So, quietly Germany bore on the youth in that cold-blooded, +Teutonic way she has, and forced him out of the navy. + +"He was poor, and poverty among German officers, in either branch, is a +bad thing. Our young friend did not penetrate the cause of this at +first; for he had no intention of utilizing his papers, save to dream +over them. The blood of his great forebear refused to let him bow +under this unjust stroke. He sought a craft, an interesting one. The +net again closed in on him. He began to grow desperate, and +desperation was what Germany desired. Desperation would make a tool of +the young fellow. But our young Napoleon was not without wit. He +plotted, but so cleverly and secretly that never a hand could reach out +to stay him. Germany finally offered him an immense bribe. He threw +it back, for now he hated Germany more than he hated France. You +wonder why he hated France? If France had not discarded her empire--I +do not refer to the second empire--he would have been a great personage +to-day. At least this must be one of his ideas. + +"And there you are," abruptly. "Here we have a Napoleon, indeed with +all the patience of his great forebear. If Germany had left him alone +he would to-day have been a good citizen, who would never have +permitted futile dreams to enter his head, and who would have +contemplated his greatness with the smile of a philosopher. And who +can say where this will end? It is pitiful." + +"Pitiful?" repeated Breitmann. "Why that?" calmly. + +M. Ferraud repressed the admiration in his eyes. It was a singular +duel. "When we see a madman rushing blindly over a precipice it is a +human instinct to reach out a hand to save him." + +"But how do you know he is rushing blindly?" Breitmann smiled this +question. + +Hildegarde sent him a terrified glance. But for the stiff back of her +chair she must have fallen. + +M. Ferraud demolished an olive before he answered the question. "He +has allied himself with some of the noblest houses in France; that is +to say, with the most heartless spendthrifts in Europe. Napoleon IV? +They are laughing behind his back this very minute. They are making a +cat's-paw of his really magnificent fight for their own ignoble ends, +the Orleanist party. To wreak petty vengeance on France, for which +none of them has any love; to embroil the government and the army that +they may tell of it in the boudoirs. This is the aim they have in +view. What is it to them that they break a strong man's heart? What +is it to them if he be given over to perpetual imprisonment? Did a +Bourbon ever love France as a country? Has not France always +represented to them a purse into which they might thrust their +dishonest hands to pay for their base pleasures? Oh, beware of the +conspirator whose sole portion in life is that of pleasure! I wish +that I could see this young man and tell him all I know. If I could +only warn him." + +Breitmann brushed his sleeve. "I am really disappointed in your +climax, Mr. Ferraud." + +"I said nothing about a climax," returned M. Ferraud. "That has yet to +be enacted." + +"Ah!" + +"A descendant of Napoleon, direct! Poor devil!" The admiral was +thunderstruck. "Why, the very spirit of Napoleon is dead. Nothing +could ever revive it. It would not live even a hundred days." + +"Less than that many hours," said M. Ferraud. "He will be arrested the +moment he touches a French port." + +"Father," cried Laura, with a burst of generosity which not only warmed +her heart but her cheeks, "why not find this poor, deluded young man +and give him the treasure?" + +"What, and ruin him morally as well as politically? No, Laura; with +money he might become a menace." + +"On the contrary," put in M. Ferraud; "with money he might be made to +put away his mad dream. But I'm afraid that my story has made you all +gloomy." + +"It has made me sad," Laura admitted. "Think of the struggle, the +self-denial, and never a soul to tell him he is mad." + +The scars faded a little, but Breitmann's eyes never wavered. + +"The man hasn't a ghost of a chance." To Fitzgerald it was now no +puzzle why Breitmann's resemblance to some one else had haunted him. +He was rather bewildered, for he had not expected so large an order +upon M. Ferraud's promise. "Fifty years ago. . ." + +"Ah! Fifty years ago," interrupted M. Ferraud eagerly, "I should have +thrown my little to the cause. Men and times were different then; the +world was less sordid and more romantic." + +"Well, I shall always hold that we have no right to that treasure." + +"Fiddlesticks, Laura! This is no time for sentiment. The questions +buzzing in my head are: Does this man know of the treasure's existence? +Might he not already have put his hand upon it?" + +"Your own papers discredit that supposition," replied Cathewe. "A +stunning yarn, and rather hard to believe in these skeptical times. +What is it?" he asked softly, noting the dead white on Hildegarde's +cheeks. + +"Perhaps it is the smoke," she answered with a brave attempt at a smile. + +The admiral in his excitement had lighted a heavy cigar and was +consuming it with jerky puffs, a bit of thoughtlessness rather +pardonable under the stress of the moment. For he was beginning to +entertain doubts. It was not impossible for this Napoleonic chap to +have a chart, to know of the treasure's existence. He wished he had +heard this story before. He would have left the women at home. +Corsica was not wholly civilized, and who could tell what might happen +there? Yes, the admiral had his doubts. + +"I should like to know the end of the story," said Breitmann musingly. + +"There is time," replied M. Ferraud; and of them all, only Fitzgerald +caught the sinister undercurrent. + +"So, Miss Killigrew, you believe that this treasure should be handed +over to its legal owner?" Breitmann looked into her eyes for the first +time that evening. + +"I have some doubt about the legal ownership, but the sentimental and +moral ownership is his. A romance should always have a pleasant +ending." + +"You are thinking of books," was Cathewe's comment. "In life there is +more adventure than romance, and there is seldom anything more +incomplete in every-day life than romance." + +"That would be my own exposition, Mr. Cathewe," said Breitmann. + +The two fenced briefly. They understood each other tolerably well; +only, Cathewe as yet did not know the manner of the man with whom he +was matched. + +The dinner came to an end, or, rather, the diners rose, the dinner +having this hour or more been cleared from the table; and each went to +his or her state-room mastered by various degrees of astonishment. +Fitzgerald moved in a kind of waking sleep. Napoleon IV! That there +was a bar sinister did not matter. The dazzle radiated from a single +point: a dream of empire! M. Ferraud had not jested; Breitmann was +mad, obsessed, a monomaniac. It was grotesque; it troubled the senses +as a Harlequin's dance troubles the eyes. A great-grandson of +Napoleon, and plotting to enter France! And, good Lord! with what? +Two million francs and half a dozen spendthrifts. Never had there been +a wilder, more hopeless dreamer than this! Whatever antagonism or +anger he had harbored against Breitmann evaporated. Poor devil, indeed! + +He understood M. Ferraud now. Breitmann was mad; but till he made a +decisive stroke no man could stay him. So many things were clear now. +He was after the treasure, and he meant to lay his hands upon it, +peacefully if he could, violently if no other way opened. That day in +the Invalides, the old days in the field, his unaccountable appearance +on the Jersey coast; each of these things squared themselves in what +had been a puzzle. But, like the admiral, he wished that there were no +women on board. There would be a contest of some order, going forward, +where only men would be needed. Pirates! He rolled into his bunk with +a dry laugh. + +Meantime M. Ferraud walked the deck alone, and finally when Breitmann +approached him, it was no more than he had been expecting. + +"Among other things," began the secretary, with ominous calm, "I should +like to see the impression of your thumb." + +"That lock was an ingenious contrivance. It was only by the merest +accident I discovered it." + +"It must be a vile business." + +"Serving one's country? I do not agree with you. Wait a moment, Mr. +Breitmann; let us not misunderstand each other. I do not know what +fear is; but I do know that I am one of the few living who put above +all other things in the world, France: France with her wide and +beautiful valleys, her splendid mountains, her present peace and +prosperity. And my life is nothing if in giving it I may confer a +benefit." + +"Why did you not tell the whole story? A Frenchman, and to deny +oneself a climax like this?" + +M. Ferraud remained silent. + +"If you had not meddled! Well, you have, and these others must bear +the brunt with you, should anything serious happen." + +"Without my permission you will not remain in Ajaccio a single hour. +But that would not satisfy me. I wish to prove to you your blindness. +I will make you a proposition. Tear up those papers, erase the memory +from your mind, and I will place in your hands every franc of those two +millions." + +Breitmann laughed harshly. "You have said that I am mad; very well, I +am. But I know what I know, and I shall go on to the end. You are +clever. I do not know who you are nor why you are here with your +warnings; but this will I say to you: to-morrow we land, and every hour +you are there, death shall lurk at your elbow. Do you understand me?" + +"Perfectly. So well, that I shall let you go freely." + +"A warning for each, then; only mine has death in it." + +"And mine, nothing but good-will and peace." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +CAPTAIN FLANAGAN MEETS A DUKE + +The isle of Corsica, for all its fame in romance and history, is yet +singularly isolated and unknown. It is an island whose people have +stood still for a century, indolent, unobserving, thriftless. No +smoke, that ensign of progress, hangs over her towns, which are squalid +and unpicturesque, save they lie back among the mountains. But the +country itself is wildly and magnificently beautiful: great mountains +of granite as varied in colors as the palette of a painter, emerald +streams that plunge over porphyry and marble, splendid forests of pine +and birch and chestnut. + +The password was, is, and ever will be, Napoleon. Speak that name and +the native's eye will fire and his patois will rattle forth and tingle +the ear like a snare-drum. Though he pays his tithe to France, he is +Italian; but unlike the Italian of Italy, his predilection is neither +for gardening, nor agriculture, nor horticulture. Nature gave him a +few chestnuts, and he considers that sufficient. For the most part he +subsists upon chestnut-bread, stringy mutton, sinister cheeses, and a +horrid sour wine. As a variety he will shoot small birds and in the +winter a wild pig or two; his toil extends no further, for his wife is +the day-laborer. Viewing him as he is to-day, it does not seem +possible that his ancestors came from Genoa la Superba. + +Napoleon was born in Ajaccio, but the blood in his veins was Tuscan, +and his mind Florentine. + +These days the world takes little or no interest in the island, save +for its wool, lumber and an inferior cork. Great ships pass it on the +north and south, on the east and west, but only cranky packets and +dismal freighters drop anchor in her ports. + +The Gulf of Ajaccio lies at the southwest of the island and is +half-moon in shape, with reaches of white sands, red crags, and brush +covered dunes, and immediately back of these, an embracing range of +bald mountains. + +A little before sunrise the yacht _Laura_ swam into the gulf. The +mountains, their bulks in shadowy gray, their undulating crests +threaded with yellow fire, cast their images upon the smooth tideless +silver-dulled waters. Forward a blur of white and red marked the town. + +"Isn't it glorious?" said Laura, rubbing the dew from the teak rail. +"And oh! what a time we people waste in not getting up in the mornings +with the sun." + +"I don't know," replied Fitzgerald. "Scenery and sleep; of the two I +prefer the latter. I have always been routed out at dawn and never +allowed to turn in till midnight. You can always find scenery, but +sleep is a coy thing." + +"There's a drop of commercial blood in your veins somewhere, the blood +of the unromantic. But this morning?" + +"Oh, sleep doesn't count at all this morning. The scenery is +everything." + +And as he looked into her clear bright eyes he knew that before this +quest came to its end he was going to tell this enchanting girl that he +loved her "better than all the world"; and moreover, he intended to +tell it to her with the daring hope of winning her, money or no money. +Had not some poet written--some worldly wise poet who rather had the +hang of things-- + + "He either fears his fate too much, + Or his deserts are small, + Who dares not put it to the touch + To win or lose it all." + +Money wasn't everything; she herself had made that statement the first +night out. He had been afraid of Breitmann, but somehow that fear was +all gone now. Did she care, if ever so little? + +He veered his gaze round and wondered where Breitmann was. Could the +man be asleep on a morn so vital as this? No, there he was, on the +very bowsprit itself. The crew was busy about him, some getting the +motor-boat in trim, others yanking away at pulleys, all the +preparations of landing. A sharp order rose now and then; a servant +passed, carrying Captain Flanagan's breakfast to the pilot-house. To +all this subdued turmoil Breitmann seemed apparently oblivious. What +mad dream was working in that brain? Did the poor devil believe in +himself; or did he have some ulterior purpose, unknown to any but +himself? Fitzgerald determined, once they touched land, never to let +him go beyond sight. It would not be human for him to surrender any +part of the treasure without making some kind of a fight for it, +cunning or desperate. If only the women-folk remained on board! + +Breitmann gazed toward the town motionless. It was difficult for +Fitzgerald not to tell the great secret then and there; but his caution +whispered warningly. There was no knowing what effect it would have +upon the impulsive girl at his side. And besides, there might have +been a grain of selfishness in the repression. All is fair in love or +war; and it would not have been politic to make a hero out of Breitmann. + +"You haven't said a word for five minutes," she declared. How boyish +he looked for a man of his experience! + +"Silence is sometimes good for the soul," sententiously. + +"Of what were you thinking?" + +His heart struck hard against his breast. What an opening, what a +moment in which to declare himself! But he said: "Perhaps I was +thinking of breakfast. This getting up early always makes me ravenous. +The smell of the captain's coffee may have had something to do with it." + +"You were thinking of nothing of the sort," she cried. "I know. It +was the treasure and this great-grandson of Napoleon. Sometimes I feel +I only dreamed these things. Why? Because, whoever started out on a +treasure quest without having thrilling adventures, shots in the dark, +footsteps outside the room, villains, and all the rest of the +paraphernalia? I never read nor heard of such a thing." + +"Nor I. But there's land yonder," he said, without an answering smile. + +"Then," in an awed whisper, "you believe something is going to happen +there?" + +"One thing I am certain of, but I can not tell you just at this moment." + +A bit of color came to her cheeks. As if, reading his eyes, she did +not know this thing he was so certain of! Should she let him tell her? +Not a real eddy in the current, unless it was his fear of money. If +only she could lose her money, temporarily! If only she had an ogre +for a parent, now! But she hadn't. He was so dear and so kind and so +proud of her that if she told him she was going to be married that +morning, his only questions would have been: At what time? Why, this +sort of romance was against all accepted rules. She was inordinately +happy. + +"There is only one thing lacking; this great-grandson himself. He will +be yonder somewhere. For the man in the chimney was he or his agent." + +"And aren't you afraid?" + +"Of what?" proudly. + +"It will not be a comedy. It is in the blood of these Napoleons that +nothing shall stand in the path of their desires, neither men's lives +nor woman's honor." + +"I am not afraid. There is the sun at last What a picture! And the +shame of it! I am hungry!" + +At half after six the yacht let go her anchor a few hundred yards from +the quay. Every one was astir by now; but at the breakfast table there +was one vacant chair--Breitmann's. M. Ferraud and Fitzgerald exchanged +significant glances. In fact, the Frenchman drank his coffee hurriedly +and excused himself. Breitmann was not on deck; neither was he in his +state-room. The door was open. M. Ferraud, without any unnecessary +qualms of conscience, went in. One glance at the trunk was sufficient. +The lock hung down, disclosing the secret hollow. For once the little +man's suavity forsook him, and he swore like a sailor, but softly. He +rushed again to the deck and sought Captain Flanagan, who was enjoying +a pipe forward. + +"Captain, where is Mr. Breitmann?" + +"Breitmann? Oh, he went ashore in one of the fruit-boats. Missed th' +motor." + +"Did he take any luggage?" + +"Baggage?" corrected Captain Flanagan. "Nothin' but his hat, sir. +Anythin' wrong?" + +"Oh, no! We missed him at breakfast." M. Ferraud turned about, +painfully conscious that he had been careless. + +Fitzgerald hove in sight. "Find him?" + +"Ashore!" said M. Ferraud, with a violent gesture. + +"Isn't it time to make known who he is?" + +"Not yet. It would start too many complications. Besides, I doubt if +he has the true measurements." + +"There was ample time for him to make a copy." + +"Perhaps." + +"Mr. Ferraud?" + +"Well?" + +"I've an idea, and I have had it for some time, that you wouldn't feel +horribly disappointed if our friend made away with the money." + +M. Ferraud shrugged; then he laughed quietly. + +"Well, neither would I," Fitzgerald added. + +"My son, you are a man after my own heart. I was furious for the +moment to think that he had outwitted me the first move. I did not +want him to meet his confederates without my eyes on him. And there +you have it. It is not the money, which is morally his; it is his +friends, his lying, mocking friends." + +"Are we fair to the admiral? He has set his heart on this thing." + +"And shall we spoil his pleasure? Let him find it out later." + +"Do you know Corsica?" + +"As the palm of my hand." + +"But the women?" + +"They will never be in the danger zone. No blood will be spilled, +unless it be mine. He has no love for me, and I am his only friend, +save one." + +"Suppose this persecution of Germany's was only a blind?" + +"My admiration for you grows, Mr. Fitzgerald. But I have dug too +deeply into that end of it not to be certain that Germany has tossed +this bombshell into France without holding a string to it. Did you +know that Breitmann had once been hit by a spent bullet? Here," +pointing to the side of his head. "He is always conscious of what he +does but not of the force that makes him do it. Do you understand me? +He is living in a dream, and I must wake him." + +The adventurers were now ready to disembark. They took nothing but +rugs and hand-bags, for there would be no preening of fine feathers on +hotel verandas. With the exception of Hildegarde all were eager and +excited. Her breast was heavy with forebodings. Who and what was this +man Ferraud? One thing she knew; he was a menace to the man she loved, +aye, with every throb of her heart and every thought of her mind. + +The admiral was like a boy starting out upon his first +fishing-excursion. To him there existed nothing else in the world +beyond a chest of money hidden somewhere in the pine forest of Aïtone. +He talked and laughed, pinched Laura's ears, shook Fitzgerald's +shoulder, prodded Coldfield, and fussed because the motor wasn't +sixty-horse power. + +"Father," Laura asked suddenly, "where is Mr. Breitmann?" + +"Oh, I told him last night to go ashore early, if he would, and arrange +for rooms at the Grand Hotel d'Ajaccio. He knows all about the place." + +M. Ferraud turned an empty face toward Fitzgerald, who laughed. The +great-grandson of Napoleon, applying for hotel accommodations, as a +gentleman's gentleman, and within a few blocks of the house in which +the self-same historic forebear was born! It had its comic side. + +"Are there any brigands?" inquired Mrs. Coldfield. She was beginning +to doubt this expedition. + +"Brigands? Plenty," said the admiral, "but they are all hotel +proprietors these times, those that aren't conveniently buried. From +here we go to Carghese, where we spend the night, then on to Evisa, and +another night. The next morning we shall be on the ground. Isn't that +the itinerary, Fitzgerald?" + +"Yes." + +"And be sure to take an empty carriage to carry canned food and bottled +water," supplemented Cathewe. "The native food is frightful. The +first time I took the journey I was ignorant. Happily it was in the +autumn, when the chestnuts were ripe. Otherwise I should have starved." + +"And you spent a winter or spring here, Hildegarde?" said Mrs. +Coldfield. + +"It was lovely then." There was a dream in Hildegarde's eyes. + +The hotel omnibus was out of service, and they rode up in carriages. +The season was over, and under ordinary circumstances the hotel would +have been closed. A certain royal family had not yet left, and this +fact made the arrangements possible. It was now very warm. Dust lay +everywhere, on the huge palms, on the withered plants, on the chairs +and railings, and swam palpable in the air. Breitmann was nowhere to +be found, but he had seen the manager of the hotel and secured rooms +facing the bay. Later, perhaps two hours after the arrival, he +appeared. In this short time he had completed his plans. As he viewed +them he could see no flaw. + +Now it came about that Captain Flanagan, who had not left the ship once +during the journey, found his one foot aching for a touch and feel of +the land. So he and Holleran, the chief-engineer, came ashore a little +before noon and decided to have a bite of maccaroni under the shade of +the palms in the _Place des Palmiers_. A bottle of warm beer was +divided between them. The captain said Faugh! as he drank it. + +"Try th' native wine, Capt'n," suggested the chief-engineer. + +"I have a picture of Cap'n Flanagan drinkin' the misnamed vinegar. No +Dago's bare fut on the top o' mine, when I'm takin' a glass. An' +that's th' way they make ut. This Napoleyun wus a fine man. He pushed +'em round some." + +"Sure, he had Irish blood in 'im, somewheres," Holleran assented. "But +I say," suddenly stretching his lean neck, "will ye look t' see who's +comin' along!" + +Flanagan stared. "If ut ain't that son-of-a-gun ov a Picard, I'll eat +my hat!" The captain grew purple. "An' leavin' th' ship without +orders!" + +"An' the togs!" murmured Holleran. + +"Watch me!" said Flanagan, rising and squaring his peg. + +Picard, arrayed in clean white flannels, white shoes, a panama set +rakishly on his handsome head, his fingers twirling a cane, came +head-on into the storm. The very jauntiness of his stride was as a red +rag to the captain. So then, a hand, heavy and charged with righteous +anger, descended upon Picard's shoulder. + +"Right about face an' back to th' ship, fast as yer legs c'n make ut!" + +Picard calmly shook off the hand, and, adding a vigorous push which +sent the captain staggering among the little iron-tables, proceeded +nonchalantly. Holleran leaped to his feet, but there was a glitter in +Picard's eye that did not promise well for any rough-and-tumble fight. +Picard's muscular shoulders moved off toward the vanishing point. +Holleran turned to the captain, and with the assistance of a waiter, +the two righted the old man. + +"Do you speak English?" roared the old sailor. + +"Yes, sir," respectfully. + +"Who wus that?" + +The waiter, in reverent tones, declared that the gentleman referred to +was well known in Ajaccio, that he had spent the previous winter there, +and that he was no less a person than the Duke of--But the waiter never +completed the sentence. The title was enough for the irascible +Flanagan. + +"Th'--hell--he--is!" The captain subsided into the nearest chair, +bereft of future speech, which is a deal of emphasis to put on the +phrase. Picard, a duke, and only that morning his hands had been +yellow with the stains of the donkey-engine oil! And by and by the +question set alive his benumbed brain; what was a duke doing on the +yacht _Laura_? "Holleran, we go t' the commodore. The devil's t' pay. +What's a dook doin' on th' ship, and we expectin' to dig up gold in +yonder mountains? Look alive, man; they's villany afoot!" + +Holleran's jaw sagged. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT + +"What's this you're telling me, Flanagan?" said the admiral perturbed. + +"Ask Holleran here, sir; he wus with me when th' waiter said Picard wus +a dook. I've suspicioned his han's this long while, sir." + +"Yes, sir; Picard it was," averred Holleran. + +"Bah! Mistaken identity." + +"I'm sure, sir," insisted Holleran. "Picard has a whisker-mole on his +chin, sir, like these forriners grow, sir. Picard, sir, an' no +mistake." + +"But what would a duke . . ." + +"Ay, sir; that's the question," interrupted Flanagan; and added in a +whisper: "Y' c'n buy a dozen dooks for a couple o' million francs, sir. +Th' first-officer, Holleran here, an' me; nobody else knows what we're +after, sir; unless you gentlemen abaft, sir, talked careless. I say +'tis serious, Commodore. _He_ knows what we're lookin' fer." + +Holleran nudged his chief. "Tell th' commodore what we saw on th' way +here." + +"Picard hobnobbin' with Mr. Breitmann, sir." + +Breitmann? The admiral's smile thinned and disappeared. There might +be something in this. Two million francs did not appeal to him, but he +realized that to others they stood for a great fortune, one worthy of +hazards. He would talk this over with Cathewe and Fitzgerald and learn +what they thought about the matter. If this fellow Picard was a duke +and had shipped as an ordinary hand foreward . . . Peace went out of +the admiral's jaw and Flanagan's heart beat high as he saw the old +war-knots gather. Oh, for a row like old times! For twenty years he +had fought nothing bigger than a drunken stevedore. Suppose this was +the beginning of a fine rumpus? He grinned, and the admiral, noting +the same, frowned. He wished he had left the women at Marseilles. + +"Say nothing to any one," he warned. "But if this man Picard comes +aboard again, keep him there." + +"Yessir." + +"That'll be all." + +"What d' y' think?" asked Holleran, on the return to the _Place des +Palmiers_, for the two were still hungry. + +"Think? There's a fight, bucko!" jubilantly. + +"These pleasure-boats sure become monotonous." Holleran rubbed his +dark hands. "When d' y' think it'll begin?" + +"I wish ut wus t'day." + +"I've seen y' do some fine work with th' peg." + +They had really seen Picard and Breitmann talking together. The +acquaintanceship might have dated from the sailing of the _Laura_, and +again it mightn't. At least, M. Ferraud, who overheard the major part +of the conversation, later in the day, was convinced that Picard had +joined the crew of the _Laura_ for no other purpose than to be in touch +with Breitmann. There were some details, however, which would be +acceptable. He followed them to the Rue Fesch, to a _trattoria_, but +entered from the rear. M. Ferraud never assumed any disguises, but +depended solely upon his adroitness in occupying the smallest space +possible. So, while the two conspirators sat at a table on the +sidewalk, M. Ferraud chose his inside, under the grilled window which +was directly above them. + +"Everything is in readiness," said Picard. + +"Thanks to you, duke." + +"To-night you and your old boatman Pietro will leave for Aïtone. The +admiral and his party will start early to-morrow morning. No matter +what may happen, he will find no drivers till morning. The drivers all +understand what they are to do on the way back from Evisa. I almost +came to blows with that man Flanagan. I wasn't expecting him ashore. +And I could not stand the grime and jeans a minute longer. Perhaps he +will believe it a case of mistaken identity. At any rate he will not +find out the truth till it's too late for him to make a disturbance. +We have had wonderful luck!" + +A cart rumbled past, and the listener missed a few sentences. What did +the drivers understand? What was going to happen on the way back from +Evisa? Surely, Breitmann did not intend that the admiral should do the +work and then be held up later. The old American sailor wasn't afraid +of any one, and he would shoot to kill. No, no; Breitmann meant to +secure the gold alone. But the drivers worried M. Ferraud. He might +be forced to change his plans on their account. He wanted full +details, not puzzling components. Quiet prevailed once more. + +"Women in affairs of this sort are always in the way," said Picard. + +M. Ferraud did not hear what Breitmann replied. + +"Take my word for it," pursued Picard, "this one will trip you; and you +can not afford to trip at this stage. We are all ready to strike, man. +All we want is the money. Every ten francs of it will buy a man. We +leave Marseilles in your care; the rest of us will carry the word on to +Lyons, Dijon and Paris. With this unrest in the government, the army +scandals, the dissatisfied employees, and the idle, we shall raise a +whirlwind greater than '50 or '71. We shall reach Paris with half a +million men." + +Again Breitmann said something lowly. M. Ferraud would have liked to +see his face. + +"But what are you going to do with the other woman?" + +Two women: M. Ferraud saw the ripple widen and draw near. One woman he +could not understand, but two simplified everything. The drivers and +two women. + +"The other?" said Breitmann. "She is of no importance." + +M. Ferraud shook his head. + +"Oh, well; this will be, your private affair. Captain Grasset will +arrive from Nice to-morrow night. Two nights later we all should be on +board and under way. Do you know, we have been very clever. Not a +suspicion anywhere of what we are about." + +"Do you recollect M. Ferraud?" inquired Breitmann. + +"That little fool of a butterfly-hunter?" the duke asked. + +M. Ferraud smiled and gazed laughingly up at the grill. + +"He is no fool," abruptly. "He is a secret agent, and not one move +have we made that is unknown to him." + +"Impossible!" + +M. Ferraud could not tell whether the consternation in Picard's voice +was real or assumed. He chose to believe the latter. + +"And why hasn't he shown his hand?" + +"He is waiting for us to show ours. But don't worry," went on +Breitmann. "I have arranged to suppress him neatly." + +And the possible victim murmured: "I wonder how?" + +"Then we must not meet again until you return; and then only at the +little house in the Rue St. Charles." + +"Agreed. Now I must be off." + +"Good luck!" + +M. Ferraud heard the stir of a single chair and knew that the +great-grandson was leaving. The wall might have been transparent, so +sure was he of the smile upon Picard's face, a sinister speculating +smile. But his imagination did not pursue Breitmann, whose lips also +wore a smile, one of irony and bitterness. Neither did he hear Picard +murmur "Dupe!" nor Breitmann mutter "Fools!" + +When Breitmann saw Hildegarde in the hotel gardens he did not avoid her +but stopped by her chair. She rose. She had been waiting all day for +this moment. She must speak out or suffocate with anxiety. + +"Karl, what are you going to do?" + +"Nothing," unsmilingly. + +"You will let the admiral find and keep this money which is yours?" + +Breitmann shrugged. + +"You are killing me with suspense!" + +"Nonsense!" briskly. + +"You are contemplating violence of some order. I know it, I feel it!" + +"Not so loud!" impatiently. + +"You are!" she repeated, crushing her hands together. + +"Well, all there remains to do is to tell the admiral. He will, +perhaps, divide with me." + +"How can you be so cruel to me? It is your safety; that is all I wish +to be assured of. Oh, I am pitifully weak! I should despise you. +Take this chest of money; it is yours. Go to England, to America, and +be happy." + +"Happy? Do you wish me to be happy?" + +"God knows!" + +"And you?" curiously. + +"I have no time to ask you to consider me," with a clear pride. "I do +not wish to see you hurt. You are courting death, Karl, death." + +"Who cares?" + +"I care!" with a sob. + +The bitterness in his face died for a space. "Hildegarde, I'm not +worth it. Forget me as some bad dream; for that is all I am or ever +shall be. Marry Cathewe; I'm not blind. He will make you happy. I +have made my bed, or rather certain statesmen have, and I must lie in +it. If I had known what I know now," with regret, "this would not have +been. But I distrusted every one, myself, too." + +She understood. "Karl, had you told me all in the first place, I +should have given you that diagram without question, gladly." + +"Well, I am sorry. I have been a beast. Have we not always been such, +from the first of us, down to me? Forget me!" + +And with that he left her standing by the side of her chair and walked +swiftly toward the hotel. When next she realized or sensed anything +she was lying on her bed, her eyes dry and wide open. And she did not +go down to dinner, nor did she answer the various calls on her door. + +Night rolled over the world, with a cool breeze driving under her +million planets. The lights in the hotel flickered out one by one, and +in the third corridor, where the adventurers were housed, only a wick, +floating in a tumbler of oil, burned dimly. + +Fitzgerald had waited in the shadow for nearly an hour, and he was +growing restless and tired. All day long he had been obsessed with the +conviction that if Breitmann ever made a start it would be some time +that night. Distinctly he heard the light rattle of a carriage. It +stopped outside the gardens. He pressed closer against the wall. The +door to Breitmann's room opened gently and the man himself stepped out +cautiously. + +"So," began Fitzgerald lightly, "your majesty goes forth to-night?" + +But he overreached himself. Breitmann whirled, and all the hate in his +breast went into his arm as he struck. Fitzgerald threw up his guard, +but not soon enough. The blow hit him full on the side of the head and +toppled him over; and as the back of his head bumped the floor, the +world came to an end. When he regained his senses his head was +pillowed on a woman's knees and the scared white face of a woman bent +over his. + +"What's happened?" he whispered. There were a thousand wicks where +there had been one and these went round and round in a circle. +Presently the effect wore away, and he recognized Laura. Then he +remembered. "By George!" + +"What is it?" she cried, the bands of terror about her heart loosening. + +"As a hero I'm a picture," he answered. "Why, I had an idea that +Breitmann was off to-night to dig up the treasure himself. Gone! And +only one blow struck, and I in front of it!" + +"Breitmann?" exclaimed Laura. She caught her dressing-gown closer +about her throat. + +"Yes. The temptation was too great. How did you get here?" He ought +to have struggled to his feet at once, but it was very comfortable to +feel her breath upon his forehead. + +"I heard a fall and then some one running. Are you badly hurt?" + +The anguish in her voice was as music to his ears. + +"Dizzy, that's all. Better tell your father immediately. No, no; I +can get up alone. I'm all right. Fine rescuer of princesses, eh?" +with an unsteady laugh. + +"You might have been killed!" + +"Scarcely that. I tried to talk like they do in stories, with this +result. The maxim is, always strike first and question afterward. You +warn your father quietly while I hunt up Ferraud and Cathewe." + +Seeing that he was really uninjured she turned and flew down the dark +corridor and knocked at her father's door. + +Fitzgerald stumbled along toward M. Ferraud's room, murmuring: "All +right, Mr. Breitmann; all right. But hang me if I don't hand you back +that one with interest. Where the devil is that Frenchman?" as he +hammered on Ferraud's door and obtained no response. He tried the +knob. The door opened. The room was black, and he struck a match. M. +Ferraud, fully dressed, lay upon his bed. There was a handkerchief +over his mouth and his hands and feet were securely bound. His eyes +were open. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +CATHEWE ASKS QUESTIONS + +The hunter of butterflies rubbed his released wrists and ankles, tried +his collar, coughed, and dropped his legs to the floor. + +"I am getting old," he cried in self-communion; "near-sighted and old. +I've worn spectacles so long in jest that now I must wear them in +earnest." + +"How long have you been here?" asked Fitzgerald. + +"I should say about two hours. It was very simple. He came to the +door. I opened it. He came in. _Zut_! He is as powerful as a lion." + +"Why didn't you call?" + +"I was too busy, and suddenly it became too late. Gone?" + +"Yes." And Fitzgerald swore as he rubbed the side of his head. +Briefly he related what had befallen him. + +"You have never hunted butterflies?" + +"No," sharply. "Shall we start for him while his heels are hot?" + +"It is very exciting. It is the one thing I really care for. There is +often danger, but it is the kind that does not steal round your back. +Hereafter I shall devote my time to butterflies. You can make +believe--is that what you call it?--each butterfly is a great rascal. +The more difficult the netting, the more cunning the rascal . . . What +did you say?" + +"Look here, Ferraud," cried Fitzgerald angrily; "do you want to catch +him or not? He's gone, and that means he has got the odd trick." + +"But not the rubber, my son. Listen. When you set a trap for a rat or +a lion, do you scare the animal into it, or do you lure him with a +tempting bait? I have laid the trap; he and his friend will walk into +it. I am not a police officer. I make no arrests. My business is to +avert political calamities, without any one knowing that these +calamities exist. That is the real business of a secret agent. Let +him dig up his fortune. Who has a better right? _Peste_! The pope +will not crown him in the gardens of the Tuileries. What!" with a ring +in his voice Fitzgerald had never heard before; "am I one to be +overcome without a struggle, without a call for help? The trap is set, +and in forty-eight hours it will be sprung. Be calm, my son. Tonight +we should not find a horse or carriage in the whole town of Ajaccio." + +"But what are you going to do?" + +"Go to Aïtone, to find a hole in the ground." + +"But the admiral!" + +"Let him gaze into the hole, and then tell him what you will. I owe +him that much. Come on!" + +"Where?" + +"To the admiral, to tell him his secretary is a fine rogue and that he +has stolen the march on us. A good chase will soften his final +disappointment." + +"You're a strange man." + +"No; only what you English and Americans call a game sport. To start +on even terms with a man, to give him the odds, if necessary. What! +have beaters for my rabbits, shoot pigeons from traps? _Fi donc_!" + +"Hang it!" growled the young man, undecided. + +"My son, give me my way. Some day you will be glad. I will tell you +this: I am playing against desperate men; and the liberty, perhaps +honor, of one you love is menaced." + +"My God!" + +"Sh! Ask me nothing; leave it all to me. There! They are coming. +Not a word." + +The admiral's fury was boundless, and his utterances were touched here +and there by strong sailor expressions. The scoundrel! The black-leg! +And he had trusted him without reservation. He wanted to start at +once. Laura finally succeeded in calming him, and the cold reason of +M. Ferraud convinced him of the folly of haste. There was a comic side +to the picture, too, but they were all too serious to note it; the +varied tints of the dressing-gowns, the bath-slippers and bare feet, +the uncovered throats, the tousled hair, the eyes still heavy with +sleep. Every one of the party was in Ferraud's room, and their voices +hummed and murmured and their arms waved. Only one of them did Ferraud +watch keenly; Hildegarde. How would she act now? + +Fitzgerald's head still rang, and now his mind was being tortured. +Laura in danger from this madman? No, over his body first, over his +dead body. How often had he smiled at that phrase; but there was no +melodrama in it now. Her liberty and perhaps her honor! His strong +fingers worked convulsively; to put them round the blackguard's throat! +And to do nothing himself, to wait upon this Frenchman's own good time, +was maddening. + +"Your head is all right now?" as she turned to follow the others from +the room. + +"It was nothing." He forced a smile to his lips. "I'm as fit as a +fiddle now; only, I'll never forgive myself for letting him go. Will +you tell me one thing? Did he ever offend you in any way?" + +"A woman would not call it an offense," a glint of humor in her eyes. +"Real offense, no." + +"He proposed to you?" + +The suppressed rage in his tone would have amused if it hadn't thrilled +her strangely. "It would have been a proposal if I had not stopped it. +Good night." + +He could not see her eyes very well; there was only one candle burning. +Impulsively he snatched at her hand and kissed it. With his life, if +need be; ay, and gladly. And even as she disappeared into the corridor +the thought intruded: Where was the past, the days of wandering, the +active and passive adventures, he had contemplated treasuring up for a +club career in his old age? Why, they had vanished from his mind as +thin ice vanishes in the spring sunshine. To love is to be borne again. + +And Laura? She possessed a secret that terrified her one moment and +enraptured her the next. And she marveled that there was no shame in +her heart. Never in all her life before had she done such a thing; +she, who had gone so calmly through her young years, wondering what it +was that had made men turn away from her with agony written on their +faces! She would never be the same again, and the hand she held softly +against her cheek would never be the same hand. Where was the +tranquillity of that morning? + +Fitzgerald found himself alone with Ferraud again. There was going to +be no dissembling; he was going to speak frankly. + +"You have evidently discovered it. Yes, I love Miss Killigrew, well +enough to die for her." + +"_Zut_! She will be as safe as in her own house. Had Breitmann not +gone to-night, had any of us stopped him, I could not say. Unless you +tell her, she will never know that she stood in danger. Don't you +understand? If I marred one move these men intend to make, if I showed +a single card, they would defeat me for the time; for they would make +new plans of which I should not have the least idea. You comprehend?" + +Fitzgerald nodded. + +"It all lies in the hollow of my hand. Breitmann made one mistake; he +should have pushed me off the boat, into the dark. _He_ knows that I +know. And there he confuses me. But, I repeat, he is not vicious, +only mad." + +"Where will it be?" + +"It will _not_ be;" and M. Ferraud smiled as he livened up the burnt +wick of his candle. + +"Treachery on the part of the drivers? Oh, don't you see that you can +trust me wholly?" + +"Well, it will be like this;" and reluctantly the secret agent outlined +his plan. "Now, go to bed and sleep, for you and I shall need some to +draw upon during the next three or four days. Hunting for buried +treasures was never a junketing. The admiral will tell you that. At +dawn!" Then he added whimsically: "I trust we haven't disturbed the +royal family below." + +"Hang the royal family!" + +"Their own parliament, or Reichstag, will arrange for that!" and the +little man laughed. + +Dawn came soon enough, yellow and airless. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Coldfield, "I really wish you wouldn't go." + +"But Laura and Miss von Mitter insist on going. I can't back out now," +protested Coldfield. "What are you worried about? Brigands, +gun-shots, and all that?" + +"He will be a desperate man." + +"To steal a chest full of money is one thing; to shoot a man is +another. Besides, the admiral will go if he has to go alone; and I +can't desert him." + +"Very well. You will have to take me to Baden for nervous prostration." + +"Humph! Baden; that'll mean about two-thousand in fresh gowns from +Vienna or Paris. All right; I'm game. But, no nerves, no Baden." + +"Go, if you will; but _do_ take care of yourself; and let the admiral +go _first_, when there's any sign of danger." + +Coldfield chuckled. "I'll get behind him every time I think of it." + +"Kiss me. They are waiting for you. And be careful." + +It was only a little brave comedy. She knew this husband and partner +of hers, hard-headed at times, but full of loyalty and courage; and she +was confident that if danger arose the chances were he would be getting +in front instead of behind the admiral. A pang touched her heart as +she saw him spring into the carriage. + +The admiral had argued himself hoarse about Laura's going; but he had +to give in when she threatened to hire a carriage on her own account +and follow. Thus, Coldfield went because he was loyal to his friends; +Laura, because she would not leave her father; Hildegarde, because to +remain without knowing what was happening would have driven her mad; M. +Ferraud, because it was a trick in the game; and Cathewe and +Fitzgerald, because they loved hazard, because they were going with the +women they loved. The admiral alone went for the motive apparent to +all: to lay hands on the scoundrel who had betrayed his confidence. + +So the journey into the mountains began. In none of the admiral's +documents was it explained why the old Frenchman had hidden the +treasure so far inland, when at any moment a call might have been made +on it. Ferraud put forward the supposition that they had been watched. +As for hiding it in Corsica at all, every one understood that it was a +matter of sentiment. + +Fitzgerald keenly inspected the drivers, but found them of the ordinary +breed, in velveteens, red-sashes, and soft felt hats. As they made the +noon stop, one thing struck him as peculiar. The driver of the +provision carriage had little or nothing to do with his companions. +"That is because _he_ is mine," explained M. Ferraud in a whisper. +They were all capable horsemen, and on this journey spared their horses +only when absolutely necessary. The great American _signori_ were in a +hurry. They arrived at Carghese at five in the afternoon. The admiral +was for pushing on, driving all night. He stormed, but the drivers +were obdurate. At Carghese they would remain till sunrise; that was +final. Besides, it was not safe at night, without moonshine, for many +a mile of the road lipping tremendous precipices was without curb or +parapet. Not a foot till dawn. + +In the little _auberge_, dignified but not improved by the name of +Hôtel de France, there was room only for the two women and the older +men. Fitzgerald and Cathewe had to bunk the best they could in a +tenement at the upper end of the town; two cots in a single room, +carpetless and ovenlike for the heat. + +Cathewe opened his rug-bag and spread out a rug in front of his cot, +for he wasn't fond at any time of dirty, bare boards under his feet. +He began to undress, silently, puffing his pipe as one unconscious of +the deed. Cathewe looked old. Fitzgerald hadn't noticed the change +before; but it certainly was a fact that his face was thinner than when +they put out to sea. Cathewe, his pipe still between his teeth, +absently drew his shirt over his head. The pipe fell to the rug and he +stamped out the coals, grumbling. + +"You'll set yourself afire one of these fine days," laughed Fitzgerald +from his side of the room. + +"I'm safe enough, Jack, you can't set fire to ashes, and that's about +all I amount to." Cathewe got into his pajamas and sat upon the bed. +"Jack, I thought I knew something about this fellow Breitmann; but it +seems I've something to learn." + +The younger man said nothing. + +"Was that yarn of Ferraud's fact or tommy-rot?" + +"Fact." + +"The great-grandson of Napoleon! Here! Nothing will ever surprise me +again. But why didn't he lay the matter before Killigrew, like a man?" + +Fitzgerald patted and poked the wool-filled pillow, but without +success. It remained as hard and as uninviting as ever. "I've thought +it over, Arthur. I'd have done the same as Breitmann," as if reluctant +to give his due to the missing man. + +"But why didn't this butterfly man tell the admiral all?" + +"He had excellent reasons. He's a secret agent, and has the idea that +Breitmann wants to go into France and make an emperor of himself." + +"Do men dream of such things to-day, let alone try to enact them?" +incredulously. + +"Breitmann's an example." + +"Are you taking his part?" + +"No, damn him! May I ask you a pertinent question?" + +"Yes." + +"Did he know Miss von Mitter very well in Munich?" + +"He did." + +"Was he quite square?" + +"I am beginning to believe that he was something between a cad and a +scoundrel." + +"Did you know that among her forebears on her mother's side was the +Abbe Fanu, who left among other things the diagram of the chimney?" + +"So that was it?" Cathewe's jaws hardened. + +Fitzgerald understood. Poor old Cathewe! + +"Most women are fools!" said Cathewe, as if reading his friend's +thought. "Pick out all the brutes in history; they were always better +loved than decent men. Why? God knows! Well, good night;" and +Cathewe blew out his candle. + +So did Fitzgerald; but it was long before he fell asleep. He was +straining his ears for the sound of a carriage coming down from Evisa. +But none came. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE PINES OF AITONE + +Before sun-up they were on the way again. They circled through +magnificent gorges now, of deep red and salmon tinted granite, +storm-worn, strangely hollowed out, as if some Titan's hand had been at +work; and always the sudden disappearance and reappearance of the blue +Mediterranean. + +The two young women rode in the same carriage. Occasionally the men +got down out of theirs and walked on either side of them. Whenever an +abrupt turn showed forward, Fitzgerald put his hand in his pocket. +From whichever way it came, he, at least, was not going to be found +unprepared. Sometimes, when he heard M. Ferraud's laughter drift back +from the admiral's carriage, he longed to throttle the aggravating +little man. Yet, his admiration of him was genuine. What a chap to +have wandered round with, in the old days! He began to realize what +Frenchmen must have been a hundred years gone. And the strongest point +in his armor was his humanity; he wished no one ill. Gradually the +weight on Fitzgerald's shoulders lightened. If M. Ferraud could laugh, +why not he? + +"Isn't that view lovely!" exclaimed Laura, as the _Capo di Rosso_ +glowed in the sun with all the beauty of a fabulous ruby. "Are you +afraid at all, Hildegarde?" + +"No, Laura; I am only sad. I wish we were safely on the yacht. Yes, +yes; I _am_ afraid, of something I know not what." + +"I never dreamed that he could be dishonest. He was a gentleman, +somewhere in his past. I do not quite understand it all. The money +does not interest my father so much as the mere sport of finding it. +You know it was agreed to divide, his share among the officers and +seamen, and the balance to our guests. It would have been such fun." + +And the woman who knew everything must perforce remain silent. With +what eloquence she could have defended him! + +"Do you think we shall find it?" wistfully. + +"No, Laura." + +"How can he find his way back without passing us?" + +"For a desperate man who has thrown his all on this one chance, he will +find a hundred ways of returning." + +A carriage came round one of the pinnacled _calenches_. It was empty. +M. Ferraud casually noted the number. He was not surprised. He had +been waiting for this same vehicle. It was Breitmann's, but the man +driving it was not the man who had driven it out of Ajaccio. He was an +Evisan. A small butterfly fluttered alongside. M. Ferraud jumped out +and swooped with his hat. He decided not to impart his discovery to +the others. He was assured that the man from Evisa knew absolutely +nothing, and that to question him would be a waste of time. At this +very moment it was not unlikely that Breitmann and his confederate were +crossing the mountains; perhaps with three or four sturdy donkeys, +their panniers packed with precious metal. And the dupe would go +straight to his fellow-conspirators and share his millions. Curious +old world! + +They saw Evisa at sunset, one of the seven glories of the earth. The +little village rests on the side of a mountain, nearly three-thousand +feet above the sea, the sea itself lying miles away to the west, +V-shaped between two enormous shafts of burning granite. Even the +admiral forgot his smoldering wrath. + +The hotel was neat and cool, and all the cook had to do was to furnish +dishes and hot water for tea. There was very little jesting, and what +there was of it fell to the lot of Coldfield and the Frenchman. The +spirit in them all was tense. Given his way, the admiral would have +gone out that very night with lanterns. + +"Folly! To find a given point in an unknown forest at night; +impossible! Am I not right, Mr. Cathewe? Of course. Breitmann's man +knew Aïtone from his youth. Suppose," continued M. Ferraud, "that we +spend two days here?" + +"What? Give him all the leeway?" The admiral was amazed that M. +Ferraud could suggest such a stupidity. "No. In the morning we make +the search. If there's nothing there we'll return at once." + +M. Ferraud spoke to the young woman who waited on the table. "Please +find Carlo, the driver, and bring him here." + +Ten minutes later Carlo came in, hat in hand, curious. + +"Carlo," began the Frenchman, leaning on his elbows, his sharp eyes +boring into the mild brown ones of the Corsican, "we shall not return +to Carghese to-morrow but the day after." + +"Not return to-morrow?" cried Carlo dismayed. + +"Ah, but the _signore_ does not understand. We are engaged day after +to-morrow to carry a party to Bonifacio. We have promised. We must +return to-morrow." + +Fitzgerald saw the drift and bent forward. The admiral fumed because +his Italian was an indifferent article. + +"But," pursued M. Ferraud, "we will pay you twenty francs the day, just +the same." + +"We are promised." Carlo shrugged and spread his hands, but the glitter +in his questioner's eyes disquieted him. + +"What's this about?" growled the admiral. + +"The man says he must take us back to-morrow, or leave us, as he has +promised to return to Ajaccio to carry a party to Bonifacio," M. +Ferraud explained. + +"Then, if we don't go to-morrow it means a week in this forsaken hole?" + +"It is possible." M. Ferraud turned to Carlo once more. "We will make +it fifty francs per day." + +"Impossible, _signore_!" + +"Then you will return to-morrow without us." + +Carlo's face hardened. "But--" + +"Come outside with me," said M. Ferraud in a tone which brooked no +further argument. + +The two stepped out into the hall, and when the Frenchman came back his +face was animated. + +"Mr. Ferraud," said the admiral icily, "my daughter has informed me +what passed between you. I must say that you have taken a deal upon +yourself." + +"Mr. Ferraud is right," put in Fitzgerald. + +"You, too?" + +"Yes. I think the time has come, for Mr. Ferraud to offer full +explanations." + +The butterfly-hunter resumed his chair. "They will remain or carry us +on to Corte. From there we can take the train back to Ajaccio, saving +a day and a half. Admiral, I have a confession to make. It will +surprise you, and I offer you my apologies at once." He paused. He +loved moments like this, when he could resort to the dramatic in +perfect security. "_I_ was the man in the chimney." + +The admiral gasped. Laura dropped her hands to the table. Cathewe sat +back stiffly. Coldfield stared. Hildegarde shaded her face with the +newspaper through which she had been idly glancing. + +"Patience!" as the admiral made as though to press back his chair. +"Mr. Fitzgerald knew from the beginning. Is that not true?" + +"It is, Mr. Ferraud. Go on." + +"Breitmann is the great-grandson of Napoleon. By this time he is +traveling over some mountain pass, with his inheritance snug under his +hand. You will ask, why all these subterfuges, this dodging in and +out? Thus. Could I have found the secret of the chimney--I worked +from memory--none of us would be here, and one of the great +conspiracies of the time would have been nipped in the bud. What do +you think? Breitmann proposes to go into France with the torch of +anarchy in his hand; and if he does, he will be shot. He proposes to +divide this money among his companions, who, with their pockets full of +gold, will desert him the day he touches France. Do you recollect the +scar on his temple? It was not made by a saber; it is the mark of a +bullet. He received it while a correspondent in the Balkans. Well, it +left a mark on his brain also. That is to say, he is conscious of what +he does but not why he does it. He is a sane man with an obsession. +This wound, together with the result of Germany's brutal policy toward +him and France's indifference, has made him a kind of monomaniac. You +will ask why I, an accredited agent in the employ of France, have not +stepped in and arrested him. My evidence might bring him to trial, but +it would never convict him. Once liberated, he would begin all over +again, meaning that I also would have to start in at a new beginning. +So I have let him proceed to the end, and in doing so I shall save him +in spite of himself. You see, I have a bit of sentiment." + +Hildegarde could have reached over and kissed his hand. + +"Why didn't he tell this to me?" cried the admiral. "Why didn't he +tell me? I would have helped him." + +"To his death, perhaps," grimly. "For the money was only a means, not +an end. The great-grandson of Napoleon: well, he will never rise from +his obscurity. And sometime, when the clouds lift from his brain, he +will remember me. I have seen in your American cottages the motto +hanging on the walls--_God Bless Our Home_. Mr. Breitmann will place +my photograph beside it and smoke his cigarette in peace." + +And this whimsical turn caused even the admiral to struggle with a +smile. He was a square, generous old sailor. He stretched his hand +across the table. M. Ferraud took it, but with a shade of doubt. + +"You are a good man, Mr. Ferraud. I'm terribly disappointed. All my +life I have been goose-chasing for treasures, and this one I had set my +heart on. You've gone about it the best you could. If you had told me +from the start there wouldn't have been any fun." + +"That is it," eagerly assented M. Ferraud. "Why should I spoil your +innocent pleasure? For a month you have lived in a fine adventure, and +no harm has befallen. And when you return to America, you will have an +unrivaled story to tell; but, I do not think you will ever tell all of +it. He will have paid in wretchedness and humiliation for his +inheritance. And who has a better right to it? Every coin may +represent a sacrifice, a deprivation, and those who gave it freely, +gave it to the blood. Is it sometimes that you laugh at French +sentiment?" + +"Not in Frenchmen like you," said the admiral gravely. + +"Good! To men of heart what matters the tongue?" + +"Poor young man!" sighed Laura. "I am glad he has found it. Didn't I +wish him to have it?" + +"And you knew all this?" said Cathewe into the ear of the woman he +loved. + +Thinly the word came through her lips: "Yes." + +Cathewe's chin sank into his collar and he stared at the crumbs on the +cloth. + +"But what meant this argument with the drivers?" asked Coldfield. + +"Yes! I had forgotten that," supplemented the sailor. + +"On the way back to Carghese, we should have been stopped. We were to +be quietly but effectively suppressed till our Napoleon set sail for +Marseilles." M. Ferraud bowed. He had no more to add. + +The admiral shook his head. He had come to Corsica as one might go to +a picnic; and here he had almost toppled over into a gulf! + +The significance of the swift glance which was exchanged between M. +Ferraud and Fitzgerald was not translatable to Laura, who alone caught +it in its transit. An idea took possession of her, but this idea had +nothing to do with the glance, which she forgot almost instantly. +Woman has a way with a man; she leads him whither she desires, and +never is he any the wiser. She will throw obstacles in his way, or she +will tear down walls that rise up before him; she will make a mile out +of a rod, or turn a mountain into a mole-hill: and none but the Cumaean +Sibyl could tell why. And as Laura was of the disposition to walk down +by the cemetery, to take a final view of the sea before it melted into +the sky, what was more natural than that Fitzgerald should follow her? +They walked on in the peace of twilight, unmindful of the curiosity of +the villagers or of the play of children about their feet. The two +were strangely silent; but to him it seemed that she must presently +hear the thunder of his insurgent heart. At length she paused, gazing +toward the sea upon which the purples of night were rapidly deepening. + +"And if I had not made that wager!" he said, following aloud his train +of thought. + +"And if I had not bought that statuette!" picking up the thread. If +she had laughed, nothing might have happened. But her voice was low +and sweet and ruminating. + +The dam of his reserve broke, and the great current of life rushed over +his lips, to happiness or to misery, whichever it was to be. + +"I love you, and I can no more help telling you than I can help +breathing. I have tried not to speak, I have so little to offer. I +have been lonely so long. I did not mean to tell you here; but I've +done it." He ceased, terrified. His voice had diminished down to a +mere whisper, and finally refused to work at all. + +Still she stared out to sea. + +He found his voice again. "So there isn't any hope? There is some one +else?" He was very miserable. + +"Had there been, I should have stopped you at once." + +"But . . . !" + +"Do you wish a more definite answer . . . John?" And only then did she +turn her head. + +"Yes!" his courage coming back full and strong. "I want you to tell me +you love me, and while my arms are round you like this! May I kiss +you?" + +"No other man save my father shall." + +"Ah, I haven't done anything to deserve this!" + +"No?" + +"I'm not even a third-rate hero." + +"No?" with gentle raillery. + +"Say you love me!" + +"_Amo, ama, amiamo_ . . ." + +"In English; I have never heard it in English." + +"So," pushing back from him, "you have heard it in Italian?" + +"Laura, I didn't mean that! There was never any one else. Say it!" + +So she said it softly; she repeated it, as though the utterance was as +sweet to her lips as it was to his ears. And then, for the first time, +she became supine in his arms. With his cheek touching the hair on her +brow, they together watched but did not see the final conquest of the +day. + +"And I have had the courage to ask you to be my wife?" It was +wonderful. + +Napoleon, his hunted great-grandson, the treasure, all these had ceased +to exist. + +"John, when you lay in the corridor the other night, and I thought you +were dying, I kissed you." Her arm tightened as did his. "Will you +promise never to tell if I confess a secret?" + +"I promise." + +"You never would have had the courage to propose if I hadn't +deliberately brought you here for that purpose. It was I who proposed +to you." + +"I'm afraid I don't quite get that," doubtfully. + +"Then we'll let the subject rest where it is. You might bring it up in +after years." Her laughter was happy. + +He raised his eyes reverently toward heaven. She would never know that +she had stood in danger. + +"But your father!" with a note of sudden alarm. And all the worldly +sides to the dream burst upon him. + +"Father is only the 'company,' John." + +And so the admiral himself admitted when, an hour later, Fitzgerald put +the affair before him, briefly and frankly. + +"It is all her concern, my son, and only part of mine. My part is to +see that you keep in order. I don't know; I rather expected it. Of +course," said the admiral, shifting his cigar, "there's a business end +to it. I'm a rich man, but Laura isn't worth a cent, in money. Young +men generally get the wrong idea, that daughters of wealthy parents +must also be wealthy." He was glad to hear the young man laugh. It +was a good sign. + +"My earnings and my income amount to about seven-thousand a year; and +with an object in view I can earn more. She says that will be plenty." + +"She's a sensible girl; that ought to do to start on. But let there be +no nonsense about money. Laura's happiness; that's the only thing +worth considering. I used to be afraid that she might bring a duke +home." It was too dark for Fitzgerald to see the twinkle in the eyes +of his future father-in-law. "If worst comes to worst, why, you can be +my private secretary. The job is open at present," dryly. "I've been +watching you; and I'm not afraid of your father's son. Where's it to +be?" + +"We haven't talked that over yet." + +The admiral drew him down to the space beside him on the parapet and +offered the second greatest gift in his possession: one of his selected +perfectos. + +The course of true love does not always run so smoothly. A short +distance up the road Cathewe was grimly fighting for his happiness. + +"Hildegarde, forget him. Must he spoil both our lives? Come with me, +be my wife. I will make any and all sacrifices toward your +contentment." + +"Have we not threshed this all out before, my friend?" sadly. "Do not +ask me to forget him rather let me ask you to forget me." + +"He will never be loyal to any one but himself. He is selfish to the +core. Has he not proved it?" Where were the words he needed for this +last defense? Where his arguments to convince her? He was losing; in +his soul he knew it. If his love for her was strong, hers for this +outcast was no less. "I have never wished the death of any man, but if +he should die . . . !" + +She interrupted him, her hands extended as in pleading. Never had he +seen a woman's face so sad, "Arthur, I have more faith in you than in +any other man, and I prize your friendship above all other things. But +who can say _must_ to the heart? Not you, not I! Have I not fought +it? Have I not striven to forget, to trample out this fire? Have you +yourself not tried to banish me from your heart? Have you succeeded? +Do you remember that night in Munich? My voice broke, miserably, and +my public career was ruined. What caused it? A note from him, saying +that he had tired of the role and was leaving. It was not my love he +wanted after all; a slip of paper, which at any time would have been +his for the asking. Arthur, my friend, when you go from me presently +it will be with loathing. That night you went to his room . . . he +lied to you." + +"About what?" + +"I mean, if I can not be his wife, I can not in honor be any man's. +God pity me, but must I make it plainer?" + +Here, he believed, was his last throw. "Have I not told you that +nothing mattered, nothing at all save that I love you?" + +"I can not argue more," wearily. + +"He will tire of you again," desperately. + +"I know it. But in my heart something speaks that he will need me; and +when he does I shall go to him." + +"God in heaven! to be loved like that!" + +Scarcely realizing the violence of his action, he crushed her to his +heart, roughly, and kissed her face, her eyes, her hair. She did not +struggle. It was all over in a moment. Then he released her and +turned away toward the dusty road. She was not angry. She understood. +It was the farewell of the one man who had loved her in honor. +Presently he seemed to dissolve into the shadows, and she knew that out +of her life he had gone for ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE DUPE + +The next morning Fitzgerald found Cathewe's note under his plate. He +opened it with a sense of disaster. + + +"MY DEAR OLD JACK: + +I'm off. Found a pony and shall jog to Ajaccio by the route we came. +Please take my luggage back to the Grand Hotel, and I'll pick it up. +And have my trunk sent ashore, too. I shan't go back to America with +the admiral, bless his kindly old heart! I'm off to Mombassa. Always +keep a shooting-kit there for emergencies. I suppose you'll +understand. Be kind to her, and help her in any way you can. I hope I +shan't run into Breitmann. I should kill him out of hand. Happiness +to you, my boy. And maybe I'll ship you a trophy for the wedding. +Explain my departure in any way you please. + + "CATHEWE." + + +The reader folded the note and stowed it away. Somehow, the bloom was +gone from things. He was very fond of Cathewe, kindly, gentle, brave, +and chivalrous. What was the matter with the woman, anyhow? How to +explain? The simplest way would be to state that Cathewe had gone back +to Ajaccio. The why and wherefore should be left to the imagination. +But, oddly enough, no one asked a second question. They accepted +Cathewe's defection without verbal comment. What they thought was of +no immediate consequence. Fitzgerald was gloomy till that moment when +Laura joined him. To her, of course, he explained the situation. + +Neither she nor Hildegarde cared to go up to the forest. They would +find nothing but a hole. And indeed, when the men returned from the +pines, weary, dusty, and dissatisfied, they declared that they had +gone, not with the expectation of finding anything, but to certify a +fact. + +M. Ferraud was now in a great hurry. Forty miles to Corte; night or +not, they _must_ make the town. There was no dissention; the spell of +the little man was upon them all. + +Hildegarde rode alone, in the middle carriage. Such had been her +desire. She did not touch her supper. And when, late at night, they +entered the gates of Corte and stepped down before the hotel lights, +Laura observed that Hildegarde's face was streaked by the passage of +many burning tears. She longed to comfort her, but the older woman +held aloof. + +Men rarely note these things, and when they do it has to be forced upon +them. Fitzgerald, genuine in his regret for Cathewe, was otherwise at +peace with the world. He alone of them all had found a treasure, the +incomparable treasure of a woman's love. + + +Racing his horses all through the night, scouring for fresh ones at +dawn and finding them, and away again, climbing, turning, climbing +round this pass, over that bridge, through this cut, thus flew +Breitmann, the passion of haste upon him. By this tremendous pace he +succeeded in arriving at Evisa before the admiral had covered half the +distance to Carghese. + +How clear and keen his mind was as on he rolled! A thousand places +wove themselves to the parent-stem. He even laughed aloud, sending a +shiver up the spine of the driver, who was certain his old _padrone_ +was mad. The face of Laura drifted past him as in a dream, and then +again, that of the other woman. No, no; he regretted nothing, +absolutely nothing. But he had been a fool there; he had wasted time +and lent himself to a despicable intrigue. For all that he outcried +it, there was a touch of shame on his cheeks when he remembered that, +had he asked, she would have given him that scrap of paper the first +hour of their meeting. Somewhere in Hildegarde von Mitter lay dormant +the spirit of heroes. He had made a mistake. + +Two millions of shining money, gold, silver, and English notes! And he +laughed again as he recalled M. Ferraud, caught in a trap. He was +clever, but not clever enough. What a stroke! To make prisoners of +the party on their return, to carry the girl away into the mountains! +Would any of them think of treasures, of conspiracies, with her as a +hostage? He thought not. In the hue and cry for her, these elements +in the game would fall to a minor place. Well he knew M. Ferraud: he +would call to heaven for the safety of Laura. Love her? Yes! She was +the one woman. But men did not make captives of women and obtain their +love. He knew the futility of such coercion. He had committed two or +three scoundrelly acts, but never would he or could he sink to such a +level. No. He meant no harm at all. Frighten her, perhaps, and +terrorize the others; and mayhap take a kiss as he left her to the +coming of her friends. Nothing more serious than that. + +Two millions in gold and silver and English notes! He would have his +revenge, for all these years of struggle and failure; for the cold and +callous policies of state which had driven him to this piece of +roguery, on their heads be it. Two thousand in Marseilles, ready at +his beck and call, a thousand more in Avignon, in Lyons, in Dijon, and +so on up to Paris, the Paris he had cursed one night from under his +mansard. In a week he would have them shaking in their boots. The +unemployed, the idlers, thieves, his to a man. If he saw his own death +at the end, little he cared. He would have one great moment, pay off +the score, France as well as Germany. He would at least live to see +them harrying each other's throats. To declare to France that he was +only Germany's tool, put forward for the sole purpose of destroying +peace in the midst of a great military crisis. He had other papers, +and the prying little Frenchman had never seen those; clever forgeries, +bearing the signature of certain great German personages. These should +they find at the selected moment. Let them rip one another's throats, +the dogs! Two million of francs, enough to purchase a hundred thousand +men. + +"Ah, my great-grandsire, if spirits have eyes, yours will see something +presently. And that poor little devil of a secret agent thinks I want +a crown on my head! There was a time . . . Curse these infernal +headaches!" + +On, on; hurry, hurry. The driver was faithful, a sometime brigand and +later a harbor boatman; and of all his confederates this one was the +only man he dared trust on an errand of this kind. + +Evisa. They did not pause. They ate their supper on the way. With +three Sardinian donkeys, strong and patient little brutes, with +lanterns and shovels and sacks, the two fared into the pines. Aïtone +was all familiar ground to the Corsican who, in younger days, had taken +his illegal tithe from these hills. They found the range soon enough, +but made a dozen mistakes in measurements; and it was long toward +midnight, when the oil of the lanterns ran low, that their shovels bore +down into the precious pocket. The earth flew. They worked like +madmen, with nervous energy and power of will; and when the chest +finally came into sight, rotten with age and the soak of earth, they +fell back against a tree, on the verge of collapse. The hair was damp +on their foreheads, their breath came harshly, almost in sobs. + +Suddenly Breitmann fell upon his knees and laughed hysterically, +plunged his blistered hands into the shining heap. It played through +his fingers in little musical cascades. He rose. + +"Pietro, you have been faithful to me. Put your two hands in there." + +"I, _padrone_?" stupefied. + +"Go on! Go on! As much as your two hands can hold is yours. Dig them +in deep, man, dig them in deep!" + +With a cry Pietro dropped and burrowed into the gold and silver. A +dozen times he started to withdraw his hands, but they trembled so that +some of the coins would slip and fall. At last, with one desperate +plunge, the money running down toward his elbows, he turned aside and +let fall his burden on the new earth outside the shallow pit. He +rolled beside it, done for, in a fainting state. Breitmann laughed +wildly. + +"Come, come; we have no time. Put it into your pockets." + +"But, _padrone_, I have not counted it!" naively. + +"To-morrow, when we make camp for breakfast. Let us hurry." + +Quickly Pietro stuffed his pockets. Jabbering in his patois, swearing +so many candles to the Virgin for this night's work. Then began the +loading of the sacks, and these were finally dumped into the +donkey-panniers. + +"Now, Pietro, the shortest cut to Ajaccio. First, your hand on your +amulet, and oath never to reveal what has happened." + +Pietro swore solemnly. "I am ready now, _padrone_!" + +"Lead on, then," replied Breitmann. Impulsively he raised his hands +high above his head. "Mine, all mine!" + +He wiped his face and hands, pulled his cap down firmly, lighted a +cigarette, struck the rear donkey, and the hazardous journey began. + + +Seven men, more or less young, with a genial air of dissipation about +their eyes and a varied degree of recklessness lurking at the corners of +their mouths; seven men sat round a table in a house in the Rue St. +Charles. They had been eating and drinking rather luxuriously for +Ajaccio. The Rue St. Charles is neither spacious nor elegant as a +thoroughfare, but at that point where it turns into the _Place Letitia_ +it is quiet and unfrequented at night. A film of tobacco smoke wavered +in and out among the guttering candles and streamed round the empty and +part empty champagne bottles. At the head of the table sat Breitmann, +still pale and weary from his Herculean labors. His face was immobile, +but his eyes were lively. + +"To-morrow," said Breitmann, "we leave for France. On board the moneys +will be equally divided. Then, for the work." His voice was cold, +authoritative. + +"Two millions!" mused Picard, from behind a fresh cloud of smoke. He +picked up a bottle and gravely filled his glass, beckoning to the +others to follow his example. At another sign all rose to their feet, +Breitmann alone remaining seated, "To the Day!" + +Breitmann's lips grew thinner; that was the only sign. + +Outside, glancing obliquely through the grilled window, stood M. +Ferraud. He had not seen these worthies together before. He knew all +of them. There was not a shoulder among them that he could not lay a +hand upon and voice with surety the order of the law. Courage of a +kind they all had, names once written gloriously in history but now +merely passports into dubious traffics. Heroes of boulevard exploits, +duelists, card-players; could it be possible that any sane man should +be their dupe? After the strange toast he heard many things, some he +had known, some he had guessed at, and some which surprised him. Only +loyalty was lacking to make them feared indeed. Presently he saw +Breitmann rise. He was tired; he needed sleep. On the morrow, then; +and in a week the first blow of the new terror. They all bowed +respectfully as he passed out. + +The secret agent followed him till he reached the _Place des Palmiers_. +He put a hand on Breitmann's arm. The latter, highly keyed, swung +quickly. And seeing who it was (the man he believed to be at that +moment a prisoner in the middle country!), he made a sinister move +toward his hip. M. Ferraud was in peril, and he realized it. + +"Wait a moment, Monsieur; there is no need of that. I repeat, I wish +you well, and this night I will prove it. What? do you not know that I +could have put my hand on you at any moment? Attend. Return with me +to the little house in Rue St. Charles." + +Breitmann's hand again stole toward his hip. + +"You were listening?" + +"Yes. Be careful. My death would not change anything. I wish to +disillusion you; I wish to prove to you how deeply you are the dupe of +those men. All your plans have been remarkable, but not one of them +has remained unknown to me. You clasp the hand of this duke who plays +the sailor under the name of Picard, who hails you as a future emperor, +and stabs you behind your back? How? Double-face that he is, have I +not proof that he has written detail after detail of this conspiracy to +the _Quai d'Orsay_, and that he has clung to you only to gain his share +of what is yours? _Zut_! Come back with me and let your own ears +testify. The fact that I am not in the mountains should convince you +how strong I am." + +Breitmann hesitated, wondering whether he had best shoot this meddler +then and there and cut for it, or follow him. + +"I will go with you. But I give you this warning: if what I hear is +not what you expect me to hear, I promise to put a bullet into your +meddling head." + +"I agree to that," replied the other. He did not underestimate his +danger; neither did he undervalue his intimate knowledge of human +nature. + +With what emotions Breitmann returned to the scene of his triumph, his +self-appointed companion could only surmise. He had determined to save +this young fool in spite of his madness, and never had he failed to +bring his enterprises to their fore-arranged end. And there was +sentiment between all this, sentiment he would not have been ashamed to +avow. Upon chance, then, fickle inconstant chance, depended the +success of the seven years' labor. If by this time the wine had not +loosened their tongues, or if they had disappeared! + +But fortune favors the persistent no less than the brave. The +profligates were still at the table, and there were fresh bottles of +wine. They were laughing and talking. In all, not more than fifteen +minutes had elapsed since Breitmann's departure. M. Ferraud stationed +him by the window and kept a hand lightly upon his arm, as one might +place a finger on a pulse. + +Of what were they talking? Ostend. The ballet-dancers. The races in +May. The shooting at Monte Carlo. Gaming-tables, empty purses. And +again ballet-dancers. + +"To divide two millions!" cried one. "That will clear my debts, with a +little for Dieppe." + +"Two hundred and fifty thousand francs! Princely!" + +And then the voice of the master-spirit, pitiless, ironical; Picard's. +"Was there ever such a dupe? And not to laugh in his face is penance +for my sins. A Dutchman, a bullet-headed clod from Bavaria, the land +of sausage, beer, and daschunds; and this shall be written Napoleon IV! +Ye gods, what farce, comedy, vaudeville! But, there was always that +hope: if he found the money he would divide it. So, kowtow, kowtow! +Opera bouffe!" + +Breitmann shuddered. M. Ferraud, feeling that shudder under his hand, +relaxed his shoulders. He had won! + +"An empire! Will you believe it?" + +"I suggest the eagle rampant on a sausage!" + +"No, no; the lily on the beer-pot!" + +The scene went on. The butt of it heard jest and ridicule. They were +pillorying him with the light and matchless cruelty of wits. And he, +poor fool, had believed them to be _his_ dupes, whereas he was +_theirs_! Gently he disengaged himself from M. Ferraud's grasp. + +"What are you going to do?" whispered the hunter of butterflies. + +"Watch and see." + +Breitmann walked noiselessly round to the entrance, and M. Ferraud lost +sight of him for a few moments. Picard was on his feet, mimicking his +dupe by assuming a Napoleonic pose. The door opened and Breitmann +stood quietly on the threshold. A hush fell on the revelers. There +was something kingly in the contempt with which Breitmann swept the +startled faces. He stepped up to the table, took up a full glass of +wine and threw it into Picard's face. + +"Only one of us shall leave Corsica," said the dupe. + +"Certainly it will not be your majesty," replied Picard, wiping his +face with a serviette. "His majesty will waive his rights to meet me. +To-morrow morning I shall have the pleasure of writing finis to this +Napoleonic phase. You fool, you shall die for that!" + +"That," returned Breitmann, still unruffled as he went to the door, +"remains to be seen. Gentlemen, I regret to say that your monetary +difficulties must continue unchanged." + +"Oh, for fifty years ago!" murmured the little scene-shifter from the +dark of his shelter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE END OF THE DREAM + +It took place on the road which runs from Ajaccio to the _Cap de la +Parata_, not far from _Iles Sanguinaires_; not a main-traveled road. +The sun had not yet crossed the mountains, but a crisp gray light lay +over land and sea. They fired at the same time. The duke lowered his +pistol, and through the smoke he saw Breitmann pitch headforemost into +the thick white dust. Presently, nay almost instantly, the dust at the +left side of the stricken man became a creeping blackness. The surgeon +sprang forward. + +"Dead?" asked Picard. + +"No! through the shoulder. He has a fighting chance." + +"The wine last night; my hand wasn't steady enough. Some day the fool +will curse me as a poor shot. The devil take the business! Not a sou +for my pocket, out of all the trouble I have had. But for the want of +a clear head I should be a rich man to-day. Who thought he would come +back?" + +"I did," answered M. Ferraud. + +"You?" + +"With pleasure! I brought him back; thank me for your empty pockets, +Monsieur. If I were you I should not land at Marseilles. Try Livarno, +by all means, Livarno." + +"For this?" asked Picard, with a jerk of his head toward Breitmann, who +was being carefully lifted on to the carriage seat. + +"No, for certain letters you have _not_ sent to the _Quai d'Orsay_. +You comprehend?" + +"What do you mean?" truculently; for Picard was not in a kindly mood +this morning. + +But the little Bayard of the _Quai_ laughed. "Shall I explain here, +Monsieur? Be wise. Go to Italy, all of you. This time you +overreached, _Monsieur le Duc_. Your ballet-dancers must wait!" And +with rare insolence, M. Ferraud showed his back to his audience, +climbed to the seat by the driver, and bade him return slowly to the +Grand Hotel. + +Hildegarde refused to see any one but M. Ferraud. Hour after hour she +sat by the bed of the injured man. Knowing that in all probability he +would live, she was happy for the first time in years. He needed her; +alone, broken, wrecked among his dreams, he needed her. He had +recovered consciousness almost at once, and his first words were a +curse on the man who had aimed so badly. He could talk but little, but +he declared that he would rip the bandages if they did not prop his +pillows so he could see the bay. The second time he woke he saw +Hildegarde. She smiled brokenly, but he turned his head aside. + +"Has the yacht gone yet?" + +"No." + +"When will it sail?" + +"To-morrow." Her heart swelled with bitter pain. The woman he loved +would be on that yacht. But toward Laura she held nothing but kindness +tinged with a wondering envy. Was not she, Hildegarde, as beautiful? +Had Laura more talents than she, more accomplishments? Alas, yes; one! +She had had the unconscious power of making this man love her. + +To and fro she waved the fan. For a while, at any rate, he would be +hers. And when M. Ferraud said that the others wished to say farewell, +she declined. She could look none of them in the face again, nor did +she care. She was sorry for Cathewe. His life would be as broken as +hers; but a man has the world under his feet, scenes of action, changes +to soothe his hurt: a woman has little else but her needle. + +All through the day and all through the night she remained on guard, +surrendering her vigil only to M. Ferraud. With cold cloths she kept +down the fever, wiping the hot face and hands. He would pull through, +the surgeon said, but he would have his nurse to thank. There was +something about the man the doctor did not understand: he acted as if +he did not care to live. + +The morning found her still at her post. Breitmann awoke early, and +appeared to take little interest in his surroundings. + +"Why do you waste your time?" his voice was colorless. + +"I am not wasting my time, Karl." + +His head rolled slowly over on the pillow till he could see outside. +Only two or three fishing-boats were visible. + +"When will the yacht sail?" + +Always that question! "Go to sleep. I will wake you when I see it." + +"I've been a scoundrel, Hildegarde;" and he closed his eyes. + +Where would she go when he left this room? For the future was always +rising up with this question. What would she do, how would she live? +She too shut her eyes. + +The door opened. The visitor was M. Ferraud. He touched his lips with +a finger and stole toward the bed. + +"Better?" + +She nodded. + +"Are you not dead for sleep?" + +"It does not matter." + +Breitmann's eyes opened, for his brain was wide awake. "Ferraud?" + +"Yes. They wished me to say good-by for them." + +"To me?" incredulously. + +"They have none but good wishes." + +"She will never know?" + +"Not unless Mr. Fitzgerald tells her." + +"Hildegarde, I had planned her abduction. Don't misunderstand. I have +sunk low indeed, but not so low as that. I wanted to harry them. They +would have left me free. She was to be a pawn. I shouldn't have hurt +her." + +"You do not care to return to Germany?" + +"Nor to France, M. Ferraud." + +"There's a wide world outside. You will find room enough," diffidently. + +"An outlaw?" + +"Of a kind." + +"Be easy. I haven't even the wish to be buried there. There is more +to the story, more than you know. My name is Herman Stüler . . . if I +live. There is not a drop of French blood in my veins. Breitmann died +on the field in the Soudan, and I took his papers." His eyes burned +into Ferraud's. + +"Perhaps that would be the best way," replied M. Ferraud pensively. + +"What shall I do with the money? It is under the bed." + +"Keep it. No one will contest your right to it, Herman Stüler; and +besides, your French, fluent as it is, still possesses the Teutonic +burr. Yes, Herman Stüler; very good, indeed." + +Hildegarde eyed them in wonder. Were they both mad? + +"Will you be sure always to remember?" said M. Ferraud to the +bewildered woman. "Herman Stüler; Karl Breitmann, who was the great +grandson of Napoleon, died of a gunshot in Africa. If you will always +remember that, why even Paris will be possible some day." + +Hildegarde was beginning to understand. She was coming to bless this +little man. + +"I do not believe that the money under the bed is safe there. I shall, +if you wish, make arrangements with the local agents of the Credit +Legonnais to take over the sum, _without question_, and to issue you +two drafts, one on London and the other on New York, or in two letters +of credit. Two millions; it is a big sum to let repose under one's +bed, anywhere, let alone Corsica, where the amount might purchase half +the island." + +"I am, then, a rich man; no more crusades, no more stale bread and +cheap tobacco, no more turning my cuffs and collars and clipping the +frayed edges of my trousers. I am fortunate. There is a joke, too. +Picard and his friends advanced me five thousand francs for the +enterprise." + +"I marvel where they got it!" + +"I am sorry that I was rough with you." + +"I bear you not the slightest ill-will. I never have. Herman Stüler; +I must remember to have them make out the drafts in that name." + +Breitmann appeared to be sleeping again. After waiting a moment or +two, his guardian-angel tiptoed out. + +An hour went by. + +"Hildegarde, have you any money?" + +"Enough for my needs." + +"Will you take half of it?" + +"Karl!" + +"Will you?" + +"No!" + +He accepted this as final. And immediately his gaze became fixed on +the bay. A sleek white ship was putting out to sea. + +"They are leaving, Karl," she said, and the courage in her eyes beat +down the pain in her heart. + +"In my coat, inside; bring them to me." As he could move only his +right arm and that but painfully, he bade her open each paper and hold +it so that he could read plainly. The scrawl of the Great Captain; a +deed and title; some dust dropping from the worn folds: how he strained +his eyes upon them. He could not help the swift intake of air, and the +stab which pierced his shoulder made him faint. She began to refold +them. "No," he whispered. "Tear them up, tear them up!" + +"Why, Karl." + +"Tear them up, now, at once. I shall never look at them again. Do it. +What does it matter? I am only Herman Stüler. Now!" + +With shaking fingers she tipped the tattered sheets, and the tears ran +over and down her cheeks. It would not have hurt her more had she torn +the man's heart in twain. He watched her with fevered eyes till the +last scrap floated into her lap. + +"Now, toss them into the grate and light a match." + +And when he saw the reflected glare on the opposite wall, he sank +deeper into the pillow. The woman was openly sobbing. She came back +to his side, knelt, and laid her lips upon his hand. There was now +only a dim white speck on the horizon, and with that strange sea-magic +the hull suddenly dipped down, and naught but a trail of smoke +remained. Then this too vanished. Breitmann withdrew his hand, but he +laid it upon her head. + +"I am a broken man, Hildegarde; and in my madness I have been something +of a rascal. But for all that, I had big dreams, but thus they go, the +one in flames and the other out to sea." He stroked her hair. "Will +you take what is left? Will you share with me the outlaw, be the wife +of a disappointed outcast? Will you?" + +"Would I not follow you to any land? Would I not share with you any +miseries? Have you ever doubted the strength of my love?" + +"Knowing that there was another?" + +"Knowing even that." + +"It is I who am little and you who are great. Hildegarde, we'll have +our friend Ferraud seek a priest this afternoon and square accounts." + +Her head dropped to the coverlet. + +After that there was no sound except the crisp metallic rattle of the +palms in the freshening breeze. + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Splendid Hazard, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPLENDID HAZARD *** + +***** This file should be named 15671-8.txt or 15671-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/6/7/15671/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/15671-8.zip b/15671-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1522a1c --- /dev/null +++ b/15671-8.zip diff --git a/15671.txt b/15671.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10e248e --- /dev/null +++ b/15671.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8869 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Splendid Hazard, by Harold MacGrath + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Splendid Hazard + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Release Date: April 20, 2005 [EBook #15671] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPLENDID HAZARD *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +SPLENDID HAZARD + + +By + +HAROLD MACGRATH + + + + + + +AUTHOR OF + +THE GOOSE GIRL, THE LURE OF THE MASK, +THE MAN ON THE BOX, ETC. + + + + +With Illustrations by + +HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY + + +[Transcriber's note: All illustrations were missing from book.] + + + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +COPYRIGHT 1910 + +THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I A MEMORABLE DATE + II THE BUTTERFLY MAN + III A PLASTER STATUETTE + IV PIRATES AND SECRETARIES + V NO FALSE PRETENSES + VI SOME EXPLANATIONS + VII A BIT OF ROMANTIC HISTORY + VIII SOME BIRDS IN A CHIMNEY + IX THEY DRESS FOR DINNER + X THE GHOST OF AN OLD REGIME + XI PREPARATIONS AND COGITATIONS + XII M. FERRAUD INTRODUCES HIMSELF + XIII THE WOMAN WHO KNEW + XIV THE DRAMA BEGINS + XV THEY GO A-SAILING + XVI CROSS-PURPOSES + XVII A QUESTION PROM KEATS + XVIII CATHEWE ADVISES AND THE ADMIRAL DISCLOSES + XIX BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER + XX AN OLD SCANDAL + XXI CAPTAIN FLANAGAN MEETS A DUKE + XXII THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT + XXIII CATHEWE ASKS QUESTIONS + XXIV THE PINES OF AITONE + XXV THE DUPE + XXVI THE END OF THE DREAM + + + + +A SPLENDID HAZARD + + +CHAPTER I + +A MEMORABLE DATE + +A blurring rain fell upon Paris that day; a rain so fine and cold that +it penetrated the soles of men's shoes and their hearts alike, a +dispiriting drizzle through which the pale, acrid smoke of innumerable +wood fires faltered upward from the clustering chimney-pots, only to be +rent into fragments and beaten down upon the glistening tiles of the +mansard roofs. The wide asphalts reflected the horses and carriages +and trains and pedestrians in forms grotesque, zigzagging, flitting, +amusing, like a shadow-play upon a wrinkled, wind-blown curtain. The +sixteenth of June. To Fitzgerald there was something electric in the +date, a tingle of that ecstasy which frequently comes into the blood of +a man to whom the romance of a great battle is more than its history or +its effect upon the destinies of human beings. Many years before, this +date had marked the end to a certain hundred days, the eclipse of a sun +more dazzling than Rome, in the heyday of her august Caesars, had ever +known: Waterloo. A little corporal of artillery; from a cocked hat to +a crown, from Corsica to St. Helena: Napoleon. + +Fitzgerald, as he pressed his way along the _Boulevard des Invalides_, +his umbrella swaying and snapping in the wind much like the sail of a +derelict, could see in fancy that celebrated field whereon this eclipse +had been supernally prearranged. He could hear the boom of cannon, the +thunder of cavalry, the patter of musketry, now thick, now scattered, +and again not unlike the subdued rattle of rain on the bulging silk +careening before him. He held the handle of the umbrella under his +arm, for the wind had a temper mawling and destructive, and veered into +the _Place Vauban_. Another man, coming with equal haste from the +opposite direction, from the entrance of the tomb itself, was also two +parts hidden behind an umbrella. The two came together with a jolt as +sounding as that of two old crusaders in a friendly joust. Instantly +they retreated, lowering their shields. + +"I beg your pardon," said Fitzgerald in French. + +"It is of no consequence," replied the stranger, laughing. "This is +always a devil of a corner on a windy day." His French had a slight +German twist to it. + +Briefly they inspected each other, as strangers will, carelessly, with +annoyance and amusement interplaying in their eyes and on their lips, +all in a trifling moment. Then each raised his hat and proceeded, as +tranquilly and unconcernedly as though destiny had no ulterior motive +in bringing them thus really together. And yet, when they had passed +and disappeared from each other's view, both were struck with the fact +that somewhere they had met before. + +Fitzgerald went into the tomb, his head bared. The marble underfoot +bore the imprint of many shoes and rubbers and hobnails, of all sizes +and--mayhap--of all nations. He recollected, with a burn on his +cheeks, a sacrilege of his raw and eager youth, some twelve years +since; he had forgotten to take off his hat. Never would he forget the +embarrassment of that moment when the attendant peremptorily bade him +remove it. He, to have forgotten! He, who held Napoleon above all +heroes! The shame of it! + +To-day many old soldiers were gathered meditatively round the heavy +circular railing. They were always drawn hither on memorable +anniversaries. Their sires and grandsires had carried some of those +tattered flags, had won them. The tides of time might ebb and flow, +but down there, in his block of Siberian porphyry, slept the hero. +There were some few tourists about this afternoon, muttering over their +guide-books, when nothing is needed on this spot but the imagination; +and that solemn quiet of which the tomb is ever jealous pressed down +sadly upon the living. Through the yellow panes at the back of the +high altar came a glow suggesting sunshine, baffling the drab of the +sky outside; and down in the crypt itself the misty blue was as +effective as moonshine. + +Napoleon had always been Fitzgerald's ideal hero; but he did not +worship him blindly, no. He knew him to have been a brutal, +domineering man, unscrupulous in politics, to whom woman was either a +temporary toy or a stepping-stone, not over-particular whether she was +a dairy-maid or an Austrian princess; in fact, a rascal, but a great, +incentive, splendid, courageous one, the kind which nature calls forth +every score of years to purge her breast of the petty rascals, to the +benefit of mankind in general. Notwithstanding that he was a rascal, +there was an inextinguishable glamour about the man against which the +bolts of truth, history, letters, biographers broke ineffectually. Oh, +but he had shaken up all Europe; he had made precious kings rattle in +their shoes; he had redrawn a hundred maps; and men had laughed as they +died for him. It is something for a rascal to have evolved the Code +Napoleon. What a queer satisfaction it must be, even at this late day, +nearly a hundred years removed, to any Englishman, standing above this +crypt, to recollect that upon English soil the Great Shadow had never +set his iron heel! + +Near to Fitzgerald stood an elderly man and a girl. The old fellow was +a fine type of manhood; perhaps in the sixties, white-haired, and the +ruddy enamel on his cheeks spoke eloquently of sea changes and many +angles of the sun. There was a button in the lapel of his coat, and +from this Fitzgerald assumed that he was a naval officer, probably +retired. + +The girl rested upon the railing, her hands folded, and dreamily her +gaze wandered from trophy to trophy; from the sarcophagus to the +encircling faces, from one window to another, and again to the porphyry +beneath. And Fitzgerald's gaze wandered, too. For the girl's face was +of that mold which invariably draws first the eye of a man, then his +intellect, then his heart, and sometimes all three at once. The face +was as lovely as a rose of Taormina. Dark brown were her eyes, dark +brown was her hair. She was tall and lithe, too, with the subtle hint +of the woman. There were good taste and sense in her garments. A +bunch of Parma violets was pinned against her breast. + +"A well-bred girl," was the grateful spectator's silent comment. "No +new money there. I wish they'd send more of them over here. But it +appears that, with few exceptions, only freaks can afford to travel." + +Between Fitzgerald and the girl was a veteran. He had turned eighty if +a day. His face was powder-blown, an empty sleeve, was folded across +his breast, and the medal of the Legion of Honor fell over the Sleeve. +As the girl and her elderly escort, presumably her father, turned about +to leave, she unpinned the flowers and offered them impulsively to the +aged hero. + +"Take these, _mon brave_," she said lightly; "you have fought for +France." + +The old man was confused and his faded eyes filled. "For me, +mademoiselle?" + +"Surely!" + +"Thanks, mademoiselle, thanks! I saw _him_ when they brought him back +from St. Helena, and the Old Guard waded out into the Seine. Those +were days. Thanks, mademoiselle; an old soldier salutes you!" And the +time-bent, withered form grew tall. + +Fitzgerald cleared his throat, for just then something hard had formed +there. Why, God bless her! She was the kind of girl who became the +mother of soldiers. + +With her departure his present interest here began to wane. He +wondered who she might be and what part of his native land she adorned +when not gracing European capitals. Well, this was no time for +mooning. He had arrived from London the day proceeding, and was +leaving for Corfu on the morrow, and perforce he must crowd many things +into this short grace of time. He was only moderately fond of Paris as +a city; the cafes and restaurants and theaters amused him, to be sure; +but he was always hunting for romance here and never finding it. The +Paris of his Dumas and Leloir no longer existed. In one way or +another, the Louvre did not carry him back to the beloved days; he +could not rouse his fancy to such height that he could see D'Artagnan +ruffling it on the staircase, or Porthos sporting a gold baldric, which +was only leather, under his cloak. So then, the tomb of Napoleon and +the articles of clothing and warfare which had belonged to him and the +toys of the poor little king of Rome were far more to him than all the +rest of Paris put together. These things of the first great empire +were tangible, visible, close to the touch of his hand. Therefore, +never he came to Paris that he failed to visit the tomb and the two +museums. + +To-day his sight-seeing ended in the hall of Turenne, before the +souvenirs of the Duc de Reichstadt, so-called the king of Rome. Poor, +little lead soldiers, tarnished and broken; what a pathetic history! +Abused, ignored, his childish aspirations trampled on, the name and +glory of his father made sport of; worried as cruel children worry a +puppy; tantalized; hoping against hope that this night or the next his +father would dash in at the head of the Old Guard and take him back to +Paris. A plaything for Metternich! Who can gaze upon these little +toys without a thrill of pity? + +"Poor little codger!" Fitzgerald murmured aloud. + +"Yes, yes!" agreed a voice in good English, over his shoulder; "who +will ever realize the misery of that boy?" + +Fitzgerald at once recognized his jousting opponent of the previous +hour. Further, this second appearance refreshed his memory. He knew +now where he had met the man; he even recalled his name. + +"Are you not Karl Breitmann?" he asked with directness. + +"Yes. And you are--let me think. Yes; I have it. You are the +American correspondent, Fitzgerald." + +"And we met in Macedonia during the Greek war." + +"Right. And you and I, with a handful of other scribblers, slept that +night under the same tent." + +"By George!" + +"I did not recall you when we bumped a while ago; but once I had gone +by you, your face became singularly familiar." + +"Funny, isn't it?" And Fitzgerald took hold of the extended hand. +"The sight of these toys always gets into my heart." + +"Into mine also. Who can say what might have been had they not crushed +out the great spirit lying dormant in his little soul? I saw Bernhardt +and Coquelin recently in _L'Aiglon_. Ah, but they play it! It drove +me here to-day. But this three-cornered hat holds me longest," with a +quick gesture toward the opposite wall. "Can't you see the lean face +under it, the dark eyes, the dark hair falling upon his collar? What +thoughts have run riot under this piece of felt? The brain, the brain! +A lieutenant at this time; a short, wiry, cold-blooded youngster, but +dreaming the greatest dream in the world!" + +Fitzgerald smiled. "You are an enthusiast like myself." + +"Who wouldn't be who has, visited every battlefield, who has spent days +wandering about Corsica, Elba, St. Helena? But you?" + +"My word, I have done the same things." + +They exchanged smiles. + +"What written tale can compare with this living one?" continued +Breitmann, his eyes brilliant, his voice eager and the tone rich. "Ah! +How many times have I berated the day I was born! To have lived in +that day, to have been a part of that bewildering war panorama; from +Toulon to Waterloo! Pardon; perhaps I bore you?" + +"By George, no! I'm as bad, if not worse. I shall never forgive one +of my forebears for serving under Wellington." + +"Nor I one of mine for serving under Bluecher!" + +They laughed aloud this time. It is always pleasant to meet a person +who waxes enthusiastic over the same things as oneself. And Fitzgerald +was drawn toward this comparative stranger, who was not ashamed to +speak from his heart. They drifted into a long conversation, and +fought a dozen battles, compared this general and that, and built idle +fancies upon what the outcome would have been had Napoleon won at +Waterloo. This might have gone on indefinitely had not the patient +attendant finally dandled his keys and yawned over his watch. It was +four o'clock, and they had been talking for a full hour. They +exchanged cards, and Fitzgerald, with his usual disregard of +convention, invited Breitmann to dine with him that evening at the +Meurice. + +He selected a table by the window, dining at seven-thirty. Breitmann +was prompt. In evening clothes there was something distinctive about +the man. Fitzgerald, who was himself a wide traveler and a man of the +world, instantly saw and was agreeably surprised that he had asked a +gentleman to dine. Fitzgerald was no cad; he would have been just as +much interested in Breitmann had he arrived in a cutaway sack. But +chance acquaintances, as a rule, are rudimental experiments. + +They sat down. Breitmann was full of surprises; and as the evening +wore on, Fitzgerald remembered having seen Breitmann's name at the foot +of big newspaper stories. The man had traveled everywhere, spoke five +languages, had been a war correspondent, a sailor in the South Seas, +and Heaven knew what else. He had ridden camels and polo ponies in the +Soudan; he had been shot in the Greece-Turkish war, shortly after his +having met Fitzgerald; he had played a part in the recent +Spanish-American, and had fought against the English in the Transvaal. + +"And now I am resting," he concluded, turning his chambertin round and +round, giving the effect of a cluster of rubies on the table linen. +"And all my adventures have been as profitable as these," indebted for +the moment to the phantom rubies. "But it's all a great stage, whether +you play behind the wings or before the lights. I am thirty-eight; +into twenty of those years I have crowded a century." + +"You don't look it." + +"Ah, one does not need to dissipate to live quickly. The life I have +led has kept me in health and vigor. But you? You are not a man who +travels without gaining material." + +"I have had a few adventures, something like yours, only not so widely +diversified. I wrote some successful short stories about China once. +I have had some good sport, too, here and there." + +"You live well for a newspaper correspondent," suggested Breitmann, +nodding at the bottle of twenty-eight-year-old Burgundy. + +"Oh, it's a habit we Americans have," amiably. "We rough it for a few +months on bacon and liver, and then turn our attention to truffles and +old wines and Cabanas at two-francs-fifty. We are collectively, a good +sort of vagabond. I have a little besides my work; not much, but +enough to loaf on when no newspaper or magazine cares to pay my +expenses in Europe. Anyhow, I prefer this work to staying home to be +hampered by intellectual boundaries. My vest will never reach the true +proportions which would make me successful in politics." + +"You are luckier than I am," Breitmann replied. He sipped his wine +slowly and with relish. How long was it since he had tasted a good +chambertin? + +Perhaps Fitzgerald had noticed it when Breitmann came in. The latter's +velvet collar was worn; there was a suspicious gloss at the elbows; the +cuff buttons were of cheap metal; his fingers were without rings. But +the American readily understood. There are lean years and fat years in +journalism, and he himself had known them. For the present this man +was a little down on his luck; that was all. + +A party came in and took the near table. There were four; two elderly +men, an elderly woman, and a girl. Fitzgerald, as he side-glanced, was +afforded a shiver of pleasure. He recognized the girl. It was she who +had given the flowers to the veteran. + +"That is a remarkably fine young woman," said Breitmann, echoing +Fitzgerald's thought. + +The waiter opened the champagne. + +"Yes. I saw her give some violets this afternoon to an old soldier in +the tomb. It was a pretty scene." + +"Well," said Breitmann, raising his glass, "a pretty woman and a +bottle!" + +It was the first jarring note, and Fitzgerald frowned. + +"Pardon me," added Breitmann, observing the impression he had made, +smiling, and when he smiled the student slashes in his cheeks weren't +so noticeable. "What I should have said is, a good woman and a good +bottle. For what greater delight than to sip a rare vintage with a +woman of beauty and intellect opposite? One glass is enough to loose +her laughter, her wit, her charm. Bah! A man who knows how to drink +his wine, a woman who knows when to laugh, a story-teller who stops +when his point is told; these trifles add a little color as we pass. +Will you drink to my success?" + +"In what?" with Yankee caution. + +"In whatever the future sees fit to place under my hand." + +"With pleasure! And by the same token you will wish me the same?" + +"Gladly!" + +Their glasses touched lightly; and then their glances, drawn by some +occult force, half-circled till they paused on the face of the girl, +who, perhaps compelled by the same invisible power, had leveled her +eyes in their direction. With well-bred calm her interest returned to +her companions, and the incident was, to all outward sign, closed. +Whatever took place behind that beautiful but indifferent mask no one +else ever learned; but simultaneously in the minds of these two +adventurers--and surely, to call a man an adventurer does not +necessarily imply that he is a _chevalier d'industrie_--a thought, +tinged with regret and loneliness, was born; to have and to hold a maid +like that. Love at first sight is the false metal sometimes offered by +poets as gold, in quatrains, distiches, verses, and stanzas, tolerated +because of the license which allows them to give passing interest the +name of love. If these two men thought of love it was only as +bystanders, witnessing the pomp and panoply--favored phrase!--of Venus +and her court from a curbstone, might have thought of it. Doubtless +they had had an affair here and there, over the broad face of the +world, but there had never been any barbs on the arrows, thus easily +plucked out. + +"Sometimes, knowing that I shall never be rich, I have desired a +title," remarked Fitzgerald humorously. + +"And what would you do with it?" curiously. + +"Oh, I'd use it against porters, and waiters, and officials. There's +nothing like it. I have observed a good deal. It has a magic sound, +like Orpheus' lyre; the stiffest back becomes supine at the first +twinkle of it." + +"I should like to travel with you, Mr. Fitzgerald," said Breitmann +musingly. "You would be good company. Some day, perhaps, I'll try +your prescription; but I'm only a poor devil of a homeless, landless +baron." + +Fitzgerald sat up. "You surprise me." + +"Yes. However, neither my father nor my grandfather used it, and as +the pitiful few acres which went with it is a sterile Bavarian +hillside, I have never used it, either. Besides, neither the _Peerage_ +nor the _Almanac de Gotha_ make mention of it; but still the patent of +nobility was legal, and I could use it despite the negligence of those +two authorities." + +"You could use it in America. There are not many 'Burke's' there." + +"It amuses me to think that I should confide this secret to you. The +wine is good, and perhaps--perhaps I was hungry. Accept what I have +told you as a jest." + +They both became untalkative as the coffee came. Fitzgerald was musing +over the impulse which had seized him in asking Breitmann to share his +dinner. He was genuinely pleased that he had done so, however; but it +forced itself upon him that sometime or other these impulses would land +him in difficulties. On his part the recipient of this particular +impulse was also meditating; Napoleon had been utterly forgotten, +verbally at least. Well, perhaps they had threshed out that +interesting topic during the afternoon. Finally he laid down the end +of his cigarette. + +"I have to thank you very much for a pleasant evening, Mr. Fitzgerald." + +"Glad I ran into you. It has done me no end of good. I leave for the +East to-morrow. Is there any possibility of seeing you in the Balkans +this fall?" + +"No. I am going to try my luck in America again." + +"My club address you will find on my card. You must go? It's only the +shank of the evening." + +"I have a little work to do. Some day I hope I may be able to set as +good a dinner before you." + +"Better have a cigar." + +"No, thank you." + +And Fitzgerald liked him none the less for his firmness. So he went as +far as the entrance with him. + +"Don't bother about calling a cab," said Breitmann. "It has stopped +raining, and the walk will tone me up. Good night and good luck." + +And they parted, neither ever expecting to see the other again, and +equally careless whether they did or not. + +Breitmann walked rapidly toward the river, crossed, and at length +entered a gloomy old _pension_ over a restaurant frequented by +bargemen, students, and human driftwood. As he climbed the badly +lighted stairs, a little, gray-haired man, wearing spectacles, passed +him, coming down. A "pardon" was mumbled, and the little man proceeded +into the restaurant, picked a _Figaro_ from the table littered with +newspapers, ensconced himself in a comfortable chair, and ordered +coffee. No one gave him more than a cursory glance. The quarter was +indigent, but ordinarily respectable; and it was only when some noisy +Americans invaded the place that the habitues took any unusual interest +in the coming and going of strangers. + +Up under the mansard roof there was neither gas nor electricity. +Breitmann lighted his two candles, divested himself of his collar, tie, +and coat, and flung them on the bed. + +"Threadbare, almost! Ah, but I was hungry to-night. Did he know it? +Why the devil should I care? To work! Up to this night I have tried +to live more or less honestly. I have tried to take the good that is +in me and to make the most of it. And," ironically, "this is the +result. I have failed. Now we'll see what I can accomplish in the way +of being a great rascal." + +He knelt before a small steamer trunk, battered and plentifully +labeled, and unscrewed the lock. From a cleverly concealed pocket he +brought forth a packet of papers. These he placed on the table and +unfolded with almost reverent care. Sometimes he shrugged, as one does +who is confronted by huge obstacles, sometimes he laughed harshly, +sometimes his jaws hardened and his fingers writhed. When he had +done--and many and many a time he had repeated this performance, +studied the faded ink, the great seal, the watermarks--he hid them away +in the trunk again. + +He now approached the open window and leaned out. Glittering Paris, +wonderful city! How the lights from the bridges twinkled on the +wind-wrinkled Seine! Over there lay the third wealth of the world; +luxury, vice, pleasure. Eh, well, he could not fight it, but he could +curse it deeply and violently, which he did. + +"Wait, Moloch, wait; you and I are not done with each other yet! Wait! +I shall come back, and when I do, look to yourself! Two million +francs, and every one of them mine!" + +He laid his head on his hands. It ached dully. Perhaps it was the +wine. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE BUTTERFLY MAN + +The passing and repassing shadows of craft gave a fitful luster to the +river; so crisply white were the spanning highways that the eye grew +quickly dim with looking; the brisk channel breeze which moved with +rough gaiety through the trees in the gardens of the Tuileries, had, +long hours before, blown away the storm. Bright sunshine, expanses of +deep cerulean blue, towering banks of pleasant clouds, these made Paris +happy to-day, in spots. + +The great minister gazed across the river, his hands under the tails of +his frock, and the perturbation of his mind expressed by the frequent +flapping of those somber woolen wings. To the little man who watched +him, there was a faint resemblance to a fiddling cricket. + +"Sometimes I am minded to trust the whole thing to luck, and bother no +more about him." + +"Monsieur, I have obeyed orders for seven years, since we first +recognized the unfortunate affair. Nothing he has done in this period +is missing from my notebook; and up to the present time he has +done--nothing. But just a little more patience. This very moment, +when you are inclined to drop it, may be the one. One way or another, +it is a matter of no real concern to me. There will always be plenty +of work for me to do, in France, or elsewhere. But I am like an old +soldier whose wound, twinging with rheumatism, announces the approach +of damp weather. I have, then, monsieur, a kind of psychological +rheumatism; prescience, bookmen call it. Presently we shall have damp +weather." + +"You speak with singular conviction." + +"In my time I have made very few mistakes. You will recollect that. +Twenty years have I served France. I was wrong to say that this affair +does not concern me. I'm interested to see the end." + +"But will there be an end?" impatiently. "If I were certain of that! +But seven years, and still no sign." + +"Monsieur, he is to be feared; this inactivity, to my mind, proves it. +He is waiting; the moment is not ripe. There are many sentimental +fools in this world. One has only to step into the street and shout +'Down with!' or 'Long live!' to bring these fools clattering about." + +"That is true enough," flapping the tails of his coat again. + +"This fellow was born across the Rhine. He has served in the navy; he +is a German, therefore we can not touch him unless he commits some +overt act. He waits; there is where the danger, the real danger, lies. +He waits; and it is his German blood which gives him this patience. A +Frenchman would have exploded long since." + +"You have searched his luggage and his rooms, times without number." + +"And found nothing; nothing that I might use effectively. But there is +this saving grace; he on his side knows nothing." + +"I would I were sure of that also. Eh, well; I leave the affair in +your hands, and they are capable ones. When the time comes, act, act +upon your own initiative. In this matter we shall give no accounting +to Germany." + +"No, because what I do must be done secretly. It will not matter that +Germany also knows and waits. But this is true; if we do not +circumvent him, she will make use of whatever he does." + +"It has its whimsical side. Here is a man who may some day blow up +France, and yet we can put no hand on him till he throws the bomb." + +"But there is always time to stop the flight of the bomb. That shall +be my concern; that is, if monsieur is not becoming discouraged and +desires me to occupy myself with other things. I repeat: I have +rheumatism, I apprehend the damp. He will go to America." + +"Ah! It would be a very good plan if he remained there." + +The little man did not reply. + +"But you say in your reports that you have seen him going about with +some of the Orleanists. What is your inference there?" + +"I have not yet formed one. It is a bit of a riddle there, for the +crow and the eagle do not fly together." + +"Well, follow him to America." + +"Thanks. The pay is good and the work is congenial." The tone of the +little man was softly given to irony. + +Gray-haired, rosy-cheeked, a face smooth as a boy's, twinkling eyes +behind spectacles, he was one of the most astute, learned, and patient +of the French secret police. And he did not care the flip of his +strong brown fingers for the methods of Vidocq or Lecoq. His only +disguise was that not one of the criminal police of the world knew him +or had ever heard of him; and save his chief and three ministers of +war--for French cabinets are given to change--his own immediate friends +knew him as a butterfly hunter, a searcher for beetles and scarabs, +who, indeed, was one of the first authorities in France on the +subjects: Anatole Ferraud, who went about, hither and thither, with a +little red button in his buttonhole and a tongue facile in a dozen +languages. + +"Very well, monsieur. I trust that in the near future I may bring you +good news." + +"He will become nothing or the most desperate man in Europe." + +"Admitted." + +"He is a scholar, too." + +"All the more interesting." + +"As a student in Munich he has fought his three duels. He has been a +war correspondent under fire. He is a great fencer, a fine shot, a +daring rider." + +"And penniless. What a country they have over there beyond the Rhine! +He would never have troubled his head about it, had they not harried +him. To stir up France, to wound her if possible! He will be a man of +great courage and resource," said the secret agent, drawing the palms +of his hands together. + +"In the end, then, Germany will offer him money?" + +"That is the possible outlook." + +"But, suppose he went to work on his own responsibility?" + +"In that case one would be justified in locking him up as a madman. Do +you know anything about Alpine butterflies?" + +"Very little," confessed the minister. + +"There is often great danger in getting at them; but the pleasure is +commensurate." + +"Are there not rare butterflies in the Amazonian swamps?" cynically. + +"Ah, but this man has good blood in him; and if he flies at all he will +fly high. Think of this man fifty years ago; what a possibility he +would have been! But it is out of fashion to-day. Well, monsieur, I +must be off. There is an old manuscript at the Bibliotheque I wish to +inspect." + +"Concerning this matter?" + +"Butterflies," softly; "or, I should say, chrysalides." + +The subtle inference passed by the minister. There were many other +things to-ing and fro-ing in the busy corridors of his brain. "I shall +hear from you frequently?" + +"As often as the situation requires. By the way, I have an idea. When +I cable you the word butterfly, prepare yourself accordingly. It will +mean that the bomb is ready." + +"Good luck attend you, my savant," said the minister, with a +friendliness which was deep and genuine. He had known Monsieur Ferraud +in other days. "And, above all, take care of yourself." + +"Trust me, Count." And the secret agent departed, to appear again in +these chambers only when his work was done. + +"A strange man," mused the minister when he was alone. "A still +stranger business for a genuine scholar. Is he really poor? Does he +do this work to afford him ease and time for his studies? Or, better +still, does he hide a great and singular patriotism under butterfly +wings? Patriotism? More and more it becomes self-interest. It is +only when a foreign mob starts to tear down your house, that you become +a patriot." + +Now the subject of these desultory musings went directly to the +Bibliotheque Nationale. The study he pursued was of deep interest to +him; it concerned a butterfly of vast proportions and kaleidoscopic in +color, long ago pinned away and labeled among others of lesser +brilliancy. It had cast a fine shadow in its brief flight. But the +species was now extinct, at least so the historian of this particular +butterfly declared. Hybrid? Such a contingency was always possible. + +"Suppose it does exist, as I and a few others very well know it does; +what a fine joke it would be to see it fly into Paris! But, no. Idle +dream! Still, I shall wait and watch. And now, suppose we pay a visit +to Berlin and use blunt facts in place of diplomacy? It will surprise +them." + + +Each German chancellor has become, in turn, the repository of such +political secrets as fell under the eyes of his predecessor; and the +chancellor who walked up and down before Monsieur Ferraud, possessed +several which did not rest heavily upon his soul simply because he was +incredulous, or affected that he was. + +"The thing is preposterous." + +"As your excellency has already declared." + +"What has it to do with France?" + +"Much or little. It depends upon this side of the Rhine." + +"What imagination! But for your credentials, Monsieur Ferraud, I +should not listen to you one moment." + +"I have seen some documents." + +"Forgeries!" contemptuously. + +"Not in the least," suavely. "They are in every part genuine. They +are his own." + +The chancellor paused, frowning. "Well, even then?" + +Monsieur Ferraud shrugged. + +"This fellow, who was forced to resign from the navy because of his +tricks at cards, why I doubt if he could stir up a brawl in a tavern. +Really, if there was a word of truth in the affair, we should have +acted before this. It is all idle newspaper talk that Germany wishes +war; far from it. Still, we lose no point to fortify ourselves against +the possibility of it. Some one has been telling you old-wives' tales." + +"Ten thousand marks," almost inaudibly. + +"What was that you said?" cried the chancellor, whirling round +abruptly, for the words startled him. + +"Pardon me! I was thinking out loud about a sum of money." + +"Ah!" And yet the chancellor realized that the other was telling him +as plainly as he dared that the German government had offered such a +sum to forward the very intrigue which he was so emphatically denying. +"Why not turn the matter over to your own ambassador here?" + +The secret agent laughed. "Publicity is what neither your government +nor mine desires. Thank you." + +"I am sorry not to be of some service to you." + +"I can readily believe that, your excellency," not to be outdone in the +matter of duplicity. "I thank you for your time." + +"I hadn't the least idea that you were in the service; butterflies and +diplomacy!" with a hearty laugh. + +"It is only temporary." + +"Your _Alpine Butterflies_ compares favorably with _The Life of the +Bee_." + +"That is a very great compliment!" + +And with this the interview, extraordinary in all ways, came to an end. +Neither man had fooled the other, neither had made any mistake in his +logical deductions; and, in a way, both were satisfied. The chancellor +resumed his more definite labors, and the secret agent hurried away to +the nearest telegraph office. + +"So I am to stand on these two feet?" Monsieur Ferraud ruminated, as he +took the seat by the window in the second-class carriage for Munich. +"All the finer the sport. Ten thousand marks! He forgot himself for a +moment. And I might have gone further and said that ninety thousand +marks would be added to those ten thousand if the bribe was accepted +and the promise fulfilled." + +Ah, it would be beautiful to untangle this snarl all alone. It would +be the finest chase that had ever fallen to his lot. No grain of sand, +however small, should escape him. There were fools in Berlin as well +as in Paris; and he knew what he knew. "Never a move shall he make +that I shan't make the same; and in one thing I shall move first. Two +million francs! Handsome! It is I who must find this treasure, this +fulcrum to the lever which is going to upheave France. There will be +no difficulty then in pricking the pretty bubble. In the meantime we +shall proceed to Munich and carefully inquire into the affairs of the +grand opera singer, Hildegarde von Mitter." + +He extracted a wallet from an inner pocket and opened it across his +knees. It was full of butterflies. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A PLASTER STATUETTE + +Fitzgerald's view from his club window afforded the same impersonal +outlook as from a window in a car. It was the two living currents, +moving in opposite directions, each making toward a similar goal, only +in a million different ways, that absorbed him. Subconsciously he was +always counting, counting, now by fives, now by tens, but invariably +found new entertainment ere he reached the respectable three numerals +of an even hundred. Sometimes it was a silk hat which he followed till +it became lost up the Avenue; and as often as not he would single out a +waiting cabman and speculate on the quality of his fare; and other +whimsies. + +That this was such and such a woman, or that was such and such a man +never led him into any of that gossip so common among club-men who are +out of touch with the vital things in life. Even when he espied a +friend in this mysterious flow of souls, there was only a transient +flash of recognition in his eyes. When he wasn't in the tennis-courts, +or the billiard- or card-rooms, he was generally to be found in this +corner. He had seen all manner of crowds, armies pursuing and +retreating, vast concords in public squares, at coronations, at +catastrophes, at play, and he never lost interest in watching them; +they were the great expressions of humanity. This is perhaps the +reason why his articles were always so rich in color. No two crowds +were ever alike to him, consequently he never was at loss for a fresh +description. + +To-day the Italian vender of plaster statuettes caught his eye. For an +hour now the poor wretch hadn't even drawn the attention of one of the +thousands passing. Fitzgerald felt sorry for him, and once the desire +came to go over and buy out the Neapolitan; but he was too comfortable +where he was, and beyond that he was expecting a friend. + +Fitzgerald was thirty, with a clean-shaven, lean, and eager face, +russet in tone, well offset by the fine blue eyes which had the faculty +of seeing little and big things at the same time. He had dissipated in +a trifling fashion, but the healthy, active life he lived in the open +more than counteracted the effects. A lonely orphan, possessing a +lively imagination, is seldom free from some vice or other. There had +never been, however, what the world is pleased to term entanglements. +His guardian angel gave him a light step whenever there was any social +thin ice. Oh, he had some relatives; but as they were neither very +rich nor very poor, they seldom annoyed one another. He was, then, a +free lance in all the abused word implies; and he lived as he pleased, +spending his earnings freely and often carelessly, knowing that the +little his father had left him would keep a moderately hungry wolf from +the door. He had been born to a golden spoon, but the food from the +pewter one he now used tasted just as good. + +"So here you are! I've been in the billiard-room, and the card-room, +and the bar-room." + +"Talking of bar-rooms!" Fitzgerald reached for the button. "Sit down, +Hewitt, old boy. Glad to see you. Now, I'll tell you right off the +bat, nothing will persuade me. For years I've been jumping to the four +points of the compass at the beck of your old magazine and syndicate. +I'm going to settle down and write a novel." + +"Piffle!" growled the editor, dropping his lanky form into a chair. +"Thank goodness, they haven't swivel chairs in the club. I've been +whirling round in one all day--a long, tall Scotch, please--but a +novel! I say, piffle!" + +"Piffle it may be, but I'm going to have a whack at it. If I ever do +another article it will be as a millionaire's private secretary. I +should like to study his methods for saving his money. What is it this +time?" + +"A dash to the North Pole." + +"Never again north of Berlin or south of Assuan for mine. No." + +"Come, Fitz; a great chance." + +"When you sent me to Manila I explored hell for you, but I've cooled +off considerably since then. No ice for mine, except in silver +buckets." + +"You've made a pretty good thing out of us; something like five +thousand a year and your expenses; and with the credentials we've +always given you, you have been able to see the world as few men see +it." + +"That's just the trouble. You've spoiled me." + +"Well, you may take my word for it, you won't have the patience to sit +down at home here and write a hundred thousand words that mean +anything. There's no reason why you can't do my work and write novels +on the side. We both know a dozen fellows who are doing it. We've got +to have this article, and you're the only man we dare trust alone on +it, if it will flatter you any to know it." + +"Come, pussy, come!" + +"If it's a question of more money--" + +"Perish the thought!" cried Fitzgerald, clasping his knees and rocking +gently. "You know as well as I do, Hewitt, that it's the game and not +the cash. I've found a new love, my boy." + +"Double harness?" with real anxiety. Hewitt bit his scrubby mustache. +When a special correspondent married that was the end of him. + +"There you go again!" warned the recalcitrant. "If you don't stop +eating that mustache you'll have stomach trouble that no Scotch whisky +will ever cure. The whole thing is in a nutshell," a sly humor +creeping into his eyes. "I am tired of writing ephemeral things. I +want to write something that will last." + +"Write your epitaph, Jack," drawled a deep voice from the reading +table. "That's the only sure way, and even that is no good if your +marble is spongy." + +"Oh, Cathewe, this is not your funeral," retorted the editor. + +"Perhaps not. All the same, I'll be chief mourner if Jack takes up +novel writing. Critics don't like novels, because any one can write an +average story; but it takes a genius to turn out first-class magazine +copy. Anyhow, art becomes less and less particular every day. The +only thing that never gains or loses is this _London Times_. Someday +I'm going to match the _Congressional Record_ and the _Times_ for the +heavyweight championship of the world, with seven to one on the +_Record_, to weigh in at the ringside." + +"You've been up north, Arthur," said Fitzgerald. "What's your advice?" + +"Don't do it. You've often wondered how and where I lost these two +digits. Up there." The _Times_ rattled, and Cathewe became absorbed +in the budget. + +Arthur Cathewe was a tall, loose-limbed man, forty-two or three, rather +handsome, and a bit shy with most folk. Rarely any one saw him outside +the club. He had few intimates, but to these he was all that +friendship means, kindly, tender, loyal, generous, self-effacing. And +Fitzgerald loved him best of all men. It did not matter that there +were periods when they became separated for months at a time. They +would some day turn up together in the same place. "Why, hello, +Arthur!" "Glad to see you, Jack!" and that was all that was necessary. +All the enthusiasm was down deep below. Cathewe was always in funds; +Fitzgerald sometimes; but there was never any lending or borrowing +between them. This will do much toward keeping friendship green. The +elder man was a great hunter; he had been everywhere, north and south, +east and west. He never fooled away his time at pigeons and traps; big +game, where the betting was even, where the animal had almost the same +chance as the man. He could be tolerably humorous upon occasions. The +solemn cast to his comely face predestined him for this talent. + +"Well, Fitz, what are you going to do?" + +"Hewitt, give me a chance. I've been home but a week. I'm not going +to dash to the Pole without having a ripping good time here first. +Will a month do?" + +"Oh, the expedition doesn't leave for two months yet. But we must sign +the contract a month beforehand." + +"To-day is the first of June; I promise to telegraph you yes or no this +day month. You have had me over in Europe eighteen months. I'm tired +of trains, and boats, and mules. I'm going fishing." + +"Ah, bass!" murmured Cathewe from behind his journal. + +"By the way, Hewitt," said Fitzgerald, "have you ever heard of a chap +called Karl Breitmann?" + +"Yes," answered Hewitt. "Never met him personally, though." + +"I have," joined in Cathewe quietly. He laid down the Times. "What do +you know about him?" + +"Met him in Paris last year. Met him once before in Macedonia. Dined +with me in Paris. Amazing lot of adventures. Rather down on his luck, +I should judge." + +"Couple of scars on his left cheek and a bit of the scalp gone; German +student sort, rather good-looking, fine physique?" + +"That's the man." + +"I know him, but not very well." And Cathewe fumbled among the other +newspapers. + +"Dine with me to-night," urged Hewitt. + +"I'll tell you what. See that Italian over there with the statues? I +am going to buy him out; and if I don't make a sale in half an hour, +I'll sign the dinner checks." + +"Done!" + +"I'll take half of that bet," said Cathewe, rising. "It will be cheap." + +Ten minutes later the two older men saw Fitzgerald hang the tray from +his shoulders and take his position on the corner. + +"I love that chap, Hewitt; he is what I always wanted to be, but +couldn't be." Cathewe pulled the drooping ends of his mustache. "If +he should write a novel, I'm afraid for your sake that it will be a +good one. Keep him busy. Novel writing keeps a man indoors. But +don't send him on any damn goose chase for the Pole." + +"Why not?" + +"Well, he might discover it. But, honestly, it's so God-forsaken and +cold and useless. I have hunted musk-ox, and I know something about +the place. North Poling, as I call it, must be a man's natural bent; +otherwise you kill the best that's in him." + +"Heaven on earth, will you look! A policeman is arguing with him." +Hewitt shook with laughter. + +"But I bought him out," protested Fitzgerald. "There's no law to +prevent me selling these." + +"Oh, I'm wise. We want no horse-play on this corner; no joyful college +stunts," roughly. + +Fitzgerald saw that frankness must be his card, so he played it. "Look +here, do you see those two gentlemen in the window there?" + +"The club?" + +"Yes. I made a wager that I could sell one of these statues in half an +hour. If you force me off I'll lose a dinner." + +"Well, I'll make a bargain with you. You can stand here for half an +hour; but if you open your mouth to a woman, I'll run you in. No +fooling; I'm talking straight. I'm going to see what your game is." + +"I agree." + +So the policeman turned to his crossing and reassumed his authority +over traffic, all the while never losing sight of the impromptu vender. + +Many pedestrians paused. To see a well-dressed young man hawking +plaster Venuses was no ordinary sight. They knew that some play was +going on, but, with that inveterate suspicion of the city pedestrian, +none of them stopped to speak or buy. Some newsboys gathered round and +offered a few suggestions. Fitzgerald gave them back in kind. No +woman spoke, but there wasn't one who passed that didn't look at him +with more than ordinary curiosity. He was enjoying it. It reminded +him of the man who offered sovereigns for shillings, and never +exchanged a coin. + +Once he turned to see if his friends were still watching him. They +were, two among many; for the exploit had gone round, and there were +other wagers being laid on the result. While his head was turned, and +his grin was directed at the club window, a handsome young woman in +blue came along. She paused, touched her lips with her gloved hand +meditatingly, and then went right-about-face swiftly. Some one in the +window motioned frantically to the vender, but he did not understand. +Ten minutes left in which to win his bet. He hadn't made a very good +bargain. Hm! The young woman in blue was stopping. Her exquisite +face was perfectly serious as her eyes ran over the collection on the +tray. They were all done execrably, something Fitzgerald hadn't +noticed before. + +"How much are these apiece?" + +"Er--twenty-five cents, ma'am," he stammered. As a matter of fact he +hadn't any idea what the current price list was. + +"You seem very well dressed," doubtfully; "and you do not look hungry." + +"I am doing this for charity's sake," finding his wits. The policeman +hovered near, scowling. He was powerless, since the young woman had +spoken first. + +"Charity," in a half-articulated voice, as if the word to her possessed +many angles, and she was endeavoring to find the proper one to fit the +moment. + +"What organization?" + +A blank pause. "My own, ma'am, of which I am the head." There was no +levity in tone or expression. + +By now every window in the club framed a dozen or more faces. + +"I will take this Canova, I believe," she finally decided, opening her +purse and producing the necessary silver. "Of course, it is quite +impossible to send this?" + +"Yes, ma'am. Sending it would eat up all the profits." But, with +ill-concealed eagerness, "If you will leave your address I can send as +many as you like." + +"I will do that." + +Incredible as it seemed, neither face lost its repose; he dared not +smile, and the young woman did not care to. There was something +familiar to his memory in the oval face, but this was no time for a +diligent search. + +"Hey, miss," yelled one of the newsboys, "you're t'rowin' your money +away. He's a fake; he ain't no statoo seller. He's doing it for a +joke!" + +Fitzgerald lost a little color, that was all. But his customer ignored +the imputation. She took out a card and laid it on the tray, and +without further ado went serenely on her way. The policeman stepped +toward her as if to speak, but she turned her delicate head aside. The +crowd engulfed her presently, and Fitzgerald picked up the card. There +was neither name nor definite address on it. It was a message, hastily +written; and it sent a thrill of delight and speculation to his +impressionable heart. Still carrying the tray before him he hastened +over to the club, where there was something of an ovation. Instead of +a dinner for three it became one for a dozen, and Fitzgerald passed the +statuettes round as souvenirs of the most unique bet of the year. +There were lively times. Toward midnight, as Fitzgerald was going out +of the coat room, Cathewe spoke to him. + +"What was her name, Jack?" + +"Hanged if I know." + +"She dropped a card on your tray." + +Fitzgerald scrubbed his chin. "There wasn't any name on it. There was +an address and something more. Now, wait a moment, Arthur; this is no +ordinary affair. I would not show it to any one else. Here, read it +yourself." + +"Come to the house at the top of the hill, in Dalton, to-morrow night +at eight o'clock. But do not come if you lack courage." + +That was all. Cathewe ran a finger, comb-fashion, through his +mustache. He almost smiled. + +"Where the deuce _is_ Dalton?" Fitzgerald inquired. + +"It is a little village on the New Jersey coast; not more than forty +houses, post-office, hotel, and general store; perhaps an hour out of +town." + +"What would you do in my place? It may be a joke, and then again it +may not. She knew that I was a rank impostor." + +"But she knew that a man must have a certain kind of daredevil courage +to play the game you played. Well, you ask me what I should do in your +place. I'd go." + +"I shall. It will double discount fishing. And the more I think of +it, the more certain I become that she and I have met somewhere. +By-by!" + +Cathewe lingered in the reading-room, pondering. Here was a twist to +the wager he was rather unprepared for; and if the truth must be told, +he was far more perplexed than Fitzgerald. He knew the girl, but he +did not know and could not imagine what purpose she had in aiding +Fitzgerald to win his wager or luring him out to an obscure village in +this detective-story manner. + +"Well, I shall hear all about it from her father," he concluded. + +And all in good time he did. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +PIRATES AND PRIVATE SECRETARIES + +It was a little station made gloomy by a single light. Once in so +often a fast train stopped, if properly flagged. Fitzgerald, feeling +wholly unromantic, now that he had arrived, dropped his hand-bag on the +damp platform and took his bearings. It was after sundown. The sea, +but a few yards away, was a murmuring, heaving blackness, save where +here and there a wave broke. The wind was chill, and there was the +hint of a storm coming down from the northeast. + +"Any hotel in this place?" he asked of the ticket agent, the telegraph +operator, and the baggageman, who was pushing a crate of vegetables off +a truck. + +"Swan's Hotel; only one." + +"Do people sleep and eat there?" + +"If they have good digestions." + +"Much obliged." + +"Whisky's no good, either." + +"Thanks again. This doesn't look much like a summer resort." + +"Nobody ever said it was. I beg your pardon, but would you mind taking +an end of this darned crate?" + +"Not at all." Fitzgerald was beginning to enjoy himself. "Where do +you want it?" + +"In here," indicating the baggage-room. "Thanks. Now, if there's +anything I can do to help you in return, let her go." + +"Is there a house hereabouts called the top o' the hill?" + +"Come over here," said the agent. "See that hill back there, quarter +of a mile above the village; those three lights? Well, that's it. +They usually have a carriage down here when they're expecting any one." + +"Who owns it?" + +"Old Admiral Killigrew. Didn't you know it?" + +"Oh, Admiral Killigrew; yes, of course. I'm not a guest. Just going +up there on business. Worth about ten millions, isn't he?" + +"That and more. There's his yacht in the harbor. Oh, he could burn up +the village, pay the insurance, and not even knock down the quality of +his cigars. He's the best old chap out. None of your red-faced, +yo-hoing, growling seadogs; just a kindly, generous old sailor, with +only one bee in his bonnet." + +"What sort of bee?" + +"Pirates!" in a ghostly whisper. + +"Pirates? Oh, say, now!" with a protest. + +"Straight as a die. He's got the finest library on piracy in the +world, everything from _The Pirates of Penzance_ to _The Life of +Morgan_." + +"But there's no pirate afloat these days." + +"Not on the high seas, no. It's just the old man's pastime. Every so +often, he coals up the yacht, which is a seventeen-knotter, and goes +off to the South Seas, hunting for treasures." + +"By George!" Fitzgerald whistled softly. "Has he ever found any?" + +"Not so much as a postage stamp, so far as I know. Money's always been +in the family, and his Wall Street friends have shown him how to double +what he has, from time to time. Just for the sport of the thing some +old fellows go in for crockery, some for pictures, and some for horses. +The admiral just hunts treasures. Half-past six; you'll excuse me. +There'll be some train despatches in a minute." + +Fitzgerald gave him a good cigar, took up his bag, and started off for +the main street; and once there he remembered with chagrin that he had +not asked the agent the most important thing of all: Had the admiral a +daughter? Well, at eight o'clock he would learn all about that. +Pirates! It would be as good as a play. But where did he come in? +And why was courage necessary? His interest found new life. + +Swan's Hotel was one of those nondescript buildings of wood which are +not worth more than a three-line paragraph even when they burn down. +It was smelly. The kitchen joined the dining-room, and the dining-room +the office, which was half a bar-room, with a few boxes of sawdust +mathematically arranged along the walls. There were many like it up +and down the coast. There were pictures on the walls of terrible +wrecks at sea, naval battles, and a race horse or two. + +The landlord himself lifted Fitzgerald's bag to the counter. + +"A room for the night and supper, right away." + +"Here, Jimmy," called the landlord to a growing, lumbering boy, "take +this satchel up to number five." + +The boy went his way, eying the labels respectfully and with some awe. +This was the third of its kind he had ported up-stairs in the past +twenty-four hours. + +Fitzgerald cast an idle glance at the loungers. There were half a +dozen of them, some of them playing cards and some displaying talent on +a pool table, badly worn and beer-stained. There was nothing +distinctive about any of them, excepting the little man who was reading +an evening paper, and the only distinctive thing about him was a pair +of bright eyes. Behind their gold-rimmed spectacles they did not waver +under Fitzgerald's scrutiny; so the latter dismissed the room and its +company from his mind and proceeded into dinner. As he was late, he +dined alone on mildly warm chicken, greasy potatoes, and muddy coffee. +He was used often to worse fare than this, and no complaint was even +thought of. After he had changed his linen he took the road to the +house at the top of the hill. Now, then, what sort of an affair was +this going to be, such as would bend a girl of her bearing to speak to +him on the street? Moreover, at a moment when he was playing a +grown-up child's game? She had known that he was prevaricating when he +had stated that he represented a charitable organization; and he knew +that she knew he knew it. What, then? It could not be a joke; women +never rise to such extravagant heights. Pirates and treasures; he +wouldn't have been surprised at all had Old Long John Silver hobbled +out from behind any one of those vine-grown fences, and demanded his +purse. + +The street was dim, and more than once he stumbled over a loose board +in the wooden walk. If the admiral had been the right kind of +philanthropist he would have furnished stone. But then, it was one +thing to give a country town something and another to force the town +council into accepting it. The lamp-posts, also of wood, stood +irregularly apart, often less than a hundred feet, and sometimes more, +lighting nothing but their immediate vicinity. Fitzgerald could see +the lamps, plainly, but could separate none of the objects round or +beneath. That is why he did not see the face of the man who passed him +in a hurry. He never forgot a face, if it were a man's; his only +difficulty was in placing it at once. Up to this time one woman +resembled another; feminine faces made no particular impression on his +memory. He would have remembered the face of the man who had just +passed, for the very fact that he had thought of it often. The man had +come into the dim radiance of the far light, then had melted into the +blackness of the night again, leaving as a sign of his presence the +creak of his shoes and the aroma of a cigarette. + +Fitzgerald tramped on cheerfully. It was not an unpleasant climb, only +dark. The millionaire's home seemed to grow up out of a fine park. +There was a great iron fence inclosing the grounds, and the lights on +top of the gates set the dull red trunks of the pines a-glowing. There +were no lights shining in the windows of the pretty lodge. Still, the +pedestrians' gate was ajar. He passed in, fully expecting to be +greeted by the growl of a dog. Instead, he heard mysterious footsteps +on the gravel. He listened. Some one was running. + +"Hello, there!" he called. + +No answer. The sound ceased. The runner had evidently taken to the +silent going of the turf. Fitzgerald came to a stand. Should he go on +or return to the hotel? Whoever was running had no right here. +Fitzgerald rarely carried arms, at least in civilized countries; a +stout cane was the best weapon for general purposes. He swung this +lightly. + +"I am going on. I should like to see the library." + +He was not overfond of unknown dangers in the night; but he possessed a +keen ear and a sharp pair of eyes, being a good hunter. A poacher, +possibly. At any rate, he determined to go forward and ring the bell. + +Both the park and the house were old. Some of those well-trimmed pines +had scored easily a hundred and fifty years, and the oak, standing +before the house and dividing the view into halves, was older still. +No iron deer or marble lion marred the lawn which he was now +traversing; a sign of good taste. Gardeners had been at work here, men +who knew their business thoroughly. He breathed the odor of trampled +pine needles mingled with the harsher essence of the sea. It was tonic. + +In summer the place would be beautiful. The house itself was built on +severe and simple lines. It was quite apparent that in no time of its +history had it been left to run down. The hall and lower left wing +were lighted, but the inner blinds and curtains were drawn. He did not +waste any time. It was exactly eight o'clock when he stepped up to the +door and pulled the ancient wire bell. At once he saw signs of life. +The broad door opened, and an English butler, having scrutinized his +face, silently motioned him to be seated. The young man in search of +an adventure selected the far end of the hall seat and dandled his hat. +An English butler was a good beginning. Perhaps three minutes passed, +then the door to the library opened and a young woman came out. +Fitzgerald stood up. + +Yes, it was she. + +"So you have come?" There was welcome neither in her tone nor face, +nor was there the suggestion of any other sentiment. + +"Yes. I am not sure that I gave you my name, Miss Killigrew." He was +secretly confused over this enigmatical reception. + +She nodded. She had been certain that, did he come at all, he would +come in the knowledge of who she was. + +"I am John Fitzgerald," he said. + +She thought for a space. "Are you the Mr. Fitzgerald who wrote the +long article recently on the piracy in the Chinese Seas?" + +"Yes," full of wonder. + +Interest began to stir her face. "It turns out, then, rather better +than I expected. I can see that you are puzzled. I picked you out of +many yesterday, on impulse, because you had the sang-froid necessary to +carry out your jest to the end." + +"I am glad that I am not here under false colors. What I did yesterday +was, as you say, a jest. But, on the other hand, are you not playing +me one in kind? I have much curiosity." + +"I shall proceed to allay it, somewhat. This will be no jest. Did you +come armed?" + +"Oh, indeed, no!" smiling. + +She rather liked that. "I was wondering if you did not believe this to +be some silly intrigue." + +"I gave thought to but two things: that you were jesting, or that you +were in need of a gentleman as well as a man of courage. Tell me, what +is the danger, and why do you ask me if I am armed?" It occurred to +him that her own charm and beauty might be the greatest danger he could +possibly face. More and more grew the certainty that he had seen her +somewhere in the past. + +"Ah, if I only knew what the danger was. But that it exists I am +positive. Within the past two weeks, on odd nights, there have been +strange noises here and there about the house, especially in the +chimney. My father, being slightly deaf, believes that these sounds +are wholly imaginative on my part. This is the first spring in years +we have resided here. It is really our summer home. I am not more +than normally timorous. Some one we do not know enters the house at +will. How or why I can't unravel. Nothing has ever disappeared, +either money, jewels, or silver, though I have laid many traps. There +is the huge fireplace in the library, and my room is above. I have +heard a tapping, like some one hammering gently on stone. I have +examined the bricks and so has my father, but neither of us has +discovered anything. Three days ago I placed flour thinly on the +flagstone before the fireplace. There were footprints in the +morning--of rubber shoes. When I called in my father, the maid had +unfortunately cleaned the stone without observing anything. So my +father still holds that I am subject to dreams. His secretary, whom he +had for three years, has left him. The butler's and servants' quarters +are in the rear of the other wing. They have never been disturbed." + +"I am not a detective, Miss Killigrew," he remarked, as she paused. + +"No, but you seem to be a man of invention and of good spirit. Will +you help me?" + +"In whatever way I can." His opinion at that moment perhaps agreed +with that of her father. Still, a test could be of no harm. She was a +charming young woman, and he was assured that beneath this present +concern there was a lively, humorous disposition. He had a month for +idleness, and why not play detective for a change? Then he recalled +the trespasser in the park. By George, she might be right! + +"Come, then, and I will present you to my father. His deafness is not +so bad that one has to speak loudly. To speak distinctly will be +simplest." + +She thereupon conducted him into the library. His quick glance, thrown +here and there absorbingly, convinced him that there were at least five +thousand volumes in the cases, a magnificent private collection, +considering that the owner was not a lawyer, and that these books were +not dry and musty precedents from the courts of appeals and supreme. +He was glad to see that some of his old friends were here, too, and +that the shelves were not wholly given over to piracy. What a hobby to +follow! What adventures all within thirty square feet! And a shiver +passed over his spine as he saw several tattered black flags hanging +from the walls; the real articles, too, now faded to a rusty brown. +Over what smart and lively heeled brigs had they floated, these +sinister jolly rogers? For in a room like this they could not be other +than genuine. All his journalistic craving for stories awakened. + +Behind a broad, flat, mahogany desk, with a green-shaded student lamp +at his elbow, sat a bright-cheeked, white-haired man, writing. +Fitzgerald instantly recognized him. Abruptly his gaze returned to the +girl. Yes, now he knew. It was stupid of him not to have remembered +at once. Why, it was she who had given the bunch of violets that day +to the old veteran in Napoleon's tomb. To have remembered the father +and to have forgotten the daughter! + +"I was wondering where I had seen you," he said lowly. + +"Where was that?" + +"In Napoleon's tomb, nearly a year ago. You gave an old French soldier +a bouquet of violets. I was there." + +"Were you?" As a matter of fact his face was absolutely new to her. +"I am not very good at recalling faces. And in traveling one sees so +many." + +"That is true." Queer sort of girl, not to show just a little more +interest. The moment was not ordinary by any means. He was +disappointed. + +"Father!" she called, in a clear, sweet voice, for the admiral had not +heard them enter. + +At the call he raised his head and took off his Mandarin spectacles. +Like all sailors, he never had any trouble in seeing distances clearly; +the difficulty lay in books, letters, and small type. + +"What is it, Laura?" + +"This is Mr. Fitzgerald, the new secretary," she answered blandly. + +"Aha! Bring a chair over and sit down. What did you say the name is, +Laura?" + +"Fitzgerald." + +"Sit down, Mr. Fitzgerald," repeated the admiral cordially. + +Fitzgerald desired but one thing; the privilege of laughter! + + + + +CHAPTER V + +NO FALSE PRETENSES + +A private secretary, and only one way out! If the girl had been kind +enough to stand her ground with him he would not have cared so much. +But there she was vanishing beyond the door. There was a suggestion of +feline cruelty in thus abandoning him. He dared not call her back. +What the devil should he say to the admiral? There was one thing he +knew absolutely nothing about, and this was the duties of a private +secretary to a retired admiral who had riches, a yacht, a hobby, and a +beautiful, though impulsive daughter. His thought became irrelevant, +as is frequent when one faces a crisis, humorous or tragic; here indeed +was the coveted opportunity to study at close range the habits of a man +who spent less than his income. + +"Come, come; draw up your chair, Mr. Fitzgerald." + +"I beg your pardon; I--that is, I was looking at those flags, sir," +stuttered the self-made victim of circumstances. + +"Oh, those? Good examples of their kind; early part of the nineteenth +century. Picked them up one cruise in the Indies. That faded one +belonged to Morgan, the bloodthirsty ruffian. I've always regretted +that I wasn't born a hundred years ago. Think of bottling them up in a +shallow channel and raking 'em fore and aft!" With a bang of his fist +on the desk, setting the ink-wells rattling like old bones, "That would +have been sport!" + +The keen, blue, sailor's eye seemed to bore right through Fitzgerald, +who thought the best thing he could do was to sit down at once, which +he did. The ticket agent had said that the admiral was of a quiet +pattern, but this start wasn't much like it. The fire in the blue eyes +suddenly gave way to a twinkle, and the old man laughed. + +"Did I frighten you, Mr. Fitzgerald?" + +"Not exactly." + +"Well, every secretary I've had has expected to see a red-nosed, +swearing, peg-legged sailor; so I thought I'd soften the blow for you. +Don't worry. Sailor?" + +"Not in the technical sense," answered Fitzgerald, warming. "I know a +stanchion from an anchor and a rope from a smoke-stack. But as for +travel, I believe that I have crossed all the high and middle seas." + +"Sounds good. Australia, East Indies, China, the Antilles, Gulf, and +the South Atlantic?" + +"Yes; round the Horn, too, and East Africa." Fitzgerald remembered his +instructions and spoke clearly. + +"Well, well; you are a find. In what capacity have you taken these +voyages?" + +Here was the young man's opportunity. This was a likeable old sea-dog, +and he determined not to impose upon him another moment. Some men, for +the sake of the adventure, would have left the truth to be found out +later, to the disillusion of all concerned. The abrupt manner in which +Miss Killigrew had abandoned him merited some revenge. + +"Admiral, I'm afraid there has been a mistake, and before we go any +further I'll be glad to explain. I'm not a private secretary and never +have been one. I should be less familiar with the work than a +Chinaman. I am a special writer for the magazines, and have been at +odd times a war correspondent." And then he went on to describe the +little comedy of the statuettes, and it was not without some charm in +the telling. + +Plainly the admiral was nonplussed. That girl; that minx, with her +innocent eyes and placid face! He got up, and Fitzgerald awaited the +explosion. His expectancy missed fire. The admiral exploded, but with +laughter. + +"I beg pardon, Mr. Fitzgerald, and I beg it again on my daughter's +behalf. What would you do in my place?" + +"Show me the door at once and have done with it." + +"I'm hanged if I do! You shall have a toddy for your pains, and, by +cracky, Laura shall mix it." He pushed the butler's bell. "Tell Miss +Laura that I wish to see her at once." + +"Very well, sir." + +She appeared shortly. If Fitzgerald admired her beauty he yet more +admired her perfect poise and unconcern. Many another woman would have +evinced some embarrassment. Not she. + +"Laura, what's the meaning of this hoax?" the admiral demanded sternly. +"Mr. Fitzgerald tells me that he had no idea you were hiring him as my +secretary." + +"I am sure he hadn't the slightest." The look she sent Fitzgerald was +full of approval. "He hadn't any idea at all save that I asked him to +come here at eight this evening. And his confession proves that I +haven't made any mistake." + +"But what in thunder--" + +"Father!" + +"My dear, give me credit for resisting the desire to make the term +stronger. Mr. Fitzgerald's joke, I take it, bothered no one. Yours +has put him in a peculiar embarrassment. What does it mean? You went +to the city to get me a first-class secretary." + +"Mr. Fitzgerald has the making of one, I believe." + +"But on your word I sent a capable man away half an hour gone. He +could speak half a dozen languages." + +"Mr. Fitzgerald is, perhaps, as efficient." + +Fitzgerald's wonder grew and grew. + +"But he doesn't want to be a secretary. He doesn't know anything about +the work. And I haven't got the time to teach him, even if he wanted +the place." + +"Father," began the girl, the fun leaving her eyes and her lips +becoming grave, "I do not like the noises at night. I have not +suggested the police, because robbery is _not_ the motive." + +"Laura, that's all tommyrot. This is an old house, and the wood always +creaks with a change of temperature. But this doesn't seem to touch +Mr. Fitzgerald." + +The girl shrugged. + +"Well, I'm glad I told that German chap not to leave till he heard +again from me. I'll hire him. He looks like a man who wouldn't let +noises worry him. You will find your noises are entirely those of +imagination." + +"Have it that way," she agreed patiently. + +"But here's Mr. Fitzgerald still," said the admiral pointedly. + +"Not long ago you said to me that if ever I saw the son of David +Fitzgerald to bring him home. Till yesterday I never saw him; only +then because Mrs. Coldfield pointed him out and wondered what he was +doing with a tray of statuettes around his neck. As I could not invite +him to come home with me, I did the next best thing; I invited him to +call on me. I was told that he was fond of adventures, so I gave the +invitation as much color as I could. Do I stand pardoned?" + +"Indeed you do!" cried Fitzgerald. So this was the Killigrew his +father had known? + +"David Fitzgerald, your father? That makes all the difference in the +world." The admiral thrust out a hand. "Your father wasn't a good +business man, nor was he in the navy, but he could draw charts of the +Atlantic coast with his eyes shut. Laura, you get the whisky and sugar +and hot water. You haven't brought me a secretary, but you have +brought under my roof the son of an old friend." + +She laughed. It was rich and free-toned laughter, good for any man to +hear. As she went to prepare the toddy, the music echoed again through +the hall. + +"Sometimes I wake up in the morning with a new gray hair," sighed the +admiral. "What would you do with a girl like that?" + +"I'd hang on to her as long as I could," earnestly. + +"I shall," grimly. "Your father and I were old friends. There wasn't +a yacht on these waters that could show him her heels, not even my own. +You don't mean to tell me you're no yachtsman! Why, it ought to be in +the blood." + +"Oh, I can handle small craft, but I don't know much about the +engine-room. What time does the next train return to New York?" + +"For you there'll be no train under a week. You're going to stay here, +since you've been the victim of a hoax." + +"Disabuse your mind there, sir. I don't know when I've enjoyed +anything so thoroughly." + +"But you'll stay? Oh, yes!" as Fitzgerald shook his head. "The +secretary can do the work here while you and I can take care of the +rats in the hold. Laura's just imagining things, but we'll humor her. +If there's any trouble with the chimney, why, we'll get a bricklayer +and pull it down." + +"Miss Killigrew may have some real cause for alarm. I saw a man, or +rather, I heard him, running, as I came up the road from the gates. I +called to him, but he did not answer." + +"Is that so? Wasn't the porter at the gates when you came in?" + +"No. The footpath was free." + +"This begins to look serious. If the porter isn't there the gate bell +rings, I can open it myself by wire. I never bother about it at night, +unless I am expecting some one. But in the daytime I can see from here +whether or not I wish to open the gate. A man running in the park, eh? +Little good it will do him. The house is a network of burglar alarms." + +"Wires can be cut and quickly repaired." + +"But this is no house to rob. All my valuables, excepting these books, +are in New York. The average burglar isn't of a literary turn of mind. +Still, if Laura has really heard something, all the more reason why you +should make us a visit. Wait a moment. I've an idea." The admiral +set the burglar alarm and tried it. The expression on his face was +blank. "Am I getting deafer?" + +"No bell rang," said Fitzgerald quickly. + +"By cracky, if Laura is right! But not a word to her, mind. When she +goes up-stairs we'll take a trip into the cellar and have a look at the +main wire. You've got to stay; that's all there is about it. This is +serious. I hadn't tested the wires in a week." + +"Perhaps it's only a fuse." + +"We can soon find out about that. Sh! Not a word to her!" + +She entered with a tray and two steaming toddies, as graceful a being +as Hebe before she spilled the precious drop. The two men could not +keep their eyes off her, the one with loving possession, the other with +admiration not wholly free from unrest. The daring manner in which she +had lured him here would never be forgetable. And she had known him at +the start? And that merry Mrs. Coldfield in the plot! + +"I hope this will cheer you, father." + +"It always does," replied the admiral, as he took the second glass. "I +have asked Mr. Fitzgerald to spend a week with us." + +"Thank you, father. It was thoughtful of you. If you had not asked +him, the pleasure of doing so would have been mine. Mrs. Coldfield +pointed you out to me as a most ungrateful fellow, because you never +called on your father's or mother's friends any more, but preferred to +gallivant round the world. You will stay? We are very unconventional +here." + +"It is all very good of you. I am rather a lonesome chap. The +newspapers and magazines have spoiled me. There's never a moment so +happy to me as when I am ordered to some strange country, thousands of +miles away. It is in the blood. Thanks, very much; I shall be very +happy to stay. My hand-bag, however, is at Swan's Hotel, and there's +very little in it." + +"A trifling matter to send to New York for what you need," said the +admiral, mightily pleased to have a man to talk to who was not paid to +reply. "I'll have William bring the cart round and take you down." + +"No, no; I had much rather walk. I'll turn up some time in the +morning, say luncheon, if that will be agreeable to you." + +"As you please. Only, I should like to save you an unpleasant walk in +the dark." + +"I don't mind. A dark street in a country village this side of the +Atlantic holds little or no danger." + +"I offered to build a first-class lighting plant if the town would +agree to pay the running expenses; but the council threw it over. They +want me to build a library. Not much! Hold on," as Fitzgerald was +rising. "You are not going right away. I shan't permit that. Just a +little visit first." + +Fitzgerald resumed his chair. + +"Have a cigar. Laura is used to it." + +"But does Miss Killigrew like it?" laughing. + +"Cigars, and pipes, and cigarettes," she returned. "I am really fond +of the aroma. I have tried to acquire the cigarette habit, but I have +yet to learn what satisfaction you men get out of it." + +Conversation veered in various directions, and finally rested upon the +subject of piracy; and here the admiral proved himself a rare scholar. +By some peculiar inadvertency, as he was in the middle of one of his +own adventures, his finger touched the burglar alarm. Clang! Brrrr! +From top to bottom of the house came the shock of differently voiced +bells. The two men gazed at each other dumfounded. But the girl +laughed merrily. + +"You touched the alarm, father." + +"I rather believe I did. And a few minutes before you came in with the +toddies I tried it and it didn't work." + +It took some time to quiet the servants; and when that was done +Fitzgerald determined to go down to the village. + +"Good night, Mr. Fitzgerald," said the girl. "Better beware; this +house is haunted." + +"We'll see if we can't lay that ghost, as they say," he responded. + +The admiral came to the door. "What do you make of it?" he whispered. + +"You possibly did not press the button squarely the first time." And +that was Fitzgerald's genuine belief. + +"By the way, will you take a note for me to Swan's? It will not take +me a moment to scribble it." + +"Certainly." + +Finally the young man found himself in the park, heading quickly toward +the gates. He searched the night keenly, but this time he neither +heard nor saw any one. Then he permitted his fancy to take short +flights. Interesting situation! To find himself a guest here, when he +had come keyed up for something strenuous! Pirates and jolly-rogers +and mysterious trespassers and silent bells, to say nothing of a +beautiful young woman with a leaning toward adventure! But the most +surprising turn was yet to come. + +In the office of Swan's hotel the landlord sat snoozing peacefully +behind the desk. There was only one customer. He was a gray-haired, +ruddy-visaged old salt in white duck--at this time of year!--and a blue +sack-coat dotted with shining brass buttons, the whole five-foot-four +topped by a gold-braided officer's cap. He was drinking what is +jocularly called a "schooner" of beer, and finishing this he lurched +from the room with a rolling, hiccoughing gait, due entirely to a +wooden peg which extended from his right knee down to a highly polished +brass ferrule. + +Fitzgerald awakened the landlord and gave him the admiral's note. + +"You will be sure and give this to the gentleman in the morning?" + +"Certainly, sir. Mr. Karl Breitmann," reading the superscription +aloud. "Yes, sir; first thing in the morning." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SOME EXPLANATIONS + +Karl Breitmann! Fitzgerald pulled off a shoe, and carefully deposited +it on the floor beside his chair. Private secretary to Rear Admiral +Killigrew, retired; Karl Breitmann! He drew off the second shoe, and +placed it, with military preciseness, close to the first. Absently, he +rose, with the intention of putting the pair in the hall, but +remembered before he got as far as the door that it was not customary +in America to put one's shoes outside in the halls. Ultimately, they +would have been stolen or have remained there till the trump of doom. + +Could there be two Breitmanns by the name of Karl? Here and there, +across the world, he had heard of Breitmann, but never had he seen him +since that meeting in Paris. And, simply because he had proved to be +an enthusiastic student of Napoleon, like himself, he had taken the man +to dinner. But that was nothing. Under the same circumstances he +would have done the same thing again. There had been something +fascinating about the fellow, either his voice or his manner. And +there could be no doubting that he had been at ebb tide; the shiny +coat, the white, but ragged linen, the cracked patent leathers. + +A baron, and to reach the humble grade of private secretary to an +eccentric millionaire--for the admiral, with all his kindliness and +common sense, was eccentric--this was a fall. Where were his +newspapers? There was a dignity to foreign work, even though in Europe +the pay is small. There was trouble going on here and there, petty +wars and political squabbles. Yes, where were his newspapers? Had he +tried New York? If not, in that case, he--Fitzgerald--could be of some +solid assistance. And Cathewe knew him, or had met him. + +Fitzgerald had buffeted the high and low places; he seldom made +mistakes in judging men offhand, an art acquired only after many +initial blunders. This man Breitmann was no sham; he was a scholar, a +gentleman, a fine linguist, versed in politics and war. Well, the +little mystery would be brushed aside in the morning. Breitmann would +certainly recognize him. + +But to have forgotten the girl! To have permitted a course of events +to discover her! Shameful! He jumped into bed, and pulled the +coverlet close to his nose, and was soon asleep, sleep broken by +fantastic dreams, in which the past and present mixed with the +improbable chances of the future. + +Thump-thump, thump-thump! To Fitzgerald's fogged hearing, it was like +the pulse beating in the bowels of a ship, only that it stopped and +began at odd intervals, intermittently. At the fourth recurrence, he +sat up, to find that it was early morning, and that the sea lay; gray +and leaden, under the pearly haze of dawn. Thump-thump! He rubbed his +eyes, and laughed. It could be no less a person than the old sailor in +the summer-yachting toggery. Drat 'em! These sailors were always +trying to beat sun-up. At length, the peg left the room above, and +banged along the hall and bumped down the stairs. Then all became +still once more, and the listener snuggled under the covers again, and +slept soundly till eight. Outside, the day was full, clear, and windy. + +On the way to the dining-room, he met the man. The scars were a little +deeper in color and the face was thinner, but there was no shadow of +doubt in Fitzgerald's mind. + +"Breitmann?" he said, with a friendly hand. + +The other stood still. There was no recognition in his eyes; at least, +Fitzgerald saw none. + +"Breitmann is my name, sir," he replied courteously. + +"I am Fitzgerald; don't you remember me? We dined in Paris last year, +after we had spent the afternoon with the Napoleonic relics. You +haven't forgotten Macedonia?" + +Breitmann took the speaker by the arm, and turned him round. +Fitzgerald had been standing with his back to the light. The scrutiny +was short. The eyes of the Bavarian softened, though the quizzical +wrinkles at the corners remained unchanged. All at once his whole +expression warmed. + +"It is you? And what do you here?" extending both hands. + +Some doubt lingered in Fitzgerald's mind; yet the welcome was perfect, +from whichever point he chose to look. "Come in to breakfast," he +said, "and I'll tell you." + +"My table is here; sit by the window. Who was it said that the world +is small? Do you know, that dinner in Paris was the first decent meal +I had had in a week? And I didn't recognize you at once! _Herr +Gott_!" with sudden weariness. "Perhaps I have had reason to forget +many things. But you?" + +Fitzgerald spread his napkin over his knees. There was only one other +man breakfasting. He was a small, wiry person, white of hair, and +spectacled, and was at that moment curiously employed. He had pinned +to the table a small butterfly, yellow, with tiny dots on the wings. +He was critically inspecting his find through a jeweler's glass. + +"I am visiting friends here," began Fitzgerald. "Rear Admiral +Killigrew was an old friend of my father's. I did not expect to +remain, but the admiral and his daughter insisted; so I am sending to +New York for my luggage, and will go up this morning." He saw no +reason for giving fuller details. + +"So it must have been you who brought the admiral's note. It is fate. +Thanks. Some day that casual dinner may give you good interest" + +The little man with the butterfly bent lower over his prize. + +"Do you believe in curses?" asked Breitmann. + +"Ordinary, every-day curses, yes; but not in Roman anathemas." + +"Neither of those. I mean the curse that sometimes dogs a man, day and +night; the curse of misfortune. I was hungry that night in Paris; I +have been hungry many times since, I have held honorable places; +to-day, I become a servant at seventy-five dollars a month and my bread +and butter. A private secretary." + +"But why aren't you with some newspaper?" asked Fitzgerald, breaking +his eggs. + +Breitmann drew up his shoulders. "For the same reason that I am +renting my brains as a private secretary. It was the last thing I +could find, and still retain a little self-respect. My heart was dead +when the admiral told me he had already engaged a secretary. But your +note brought me the position." + +"But the newspapers?" + +"None of them will employ me." + +"In New York, with your credentials?" + +"Even so." + +"I don't quite understand." + +"It would take too long to explain." + +"I can give you some letters." + +"Thank you. It would be useless. Secretly and subterraneously, I have +had the bottom knocked out from under my feet. Why, God knows! But no +more of that. Some day I will give you my version." + +The little man smiled over his butterfly, took out a wallet, something +on the pattern of a fisherman's, and put the new-found specimen into +one of the mica compartments, in which other dead butterflies of +variant beauty reposed. + +"So I become a private secretary, till the time offers something +better." Breitmann stared at the sea. + +"I am sorry. I wish I could help you. Better let me try." Fitzgerald +stirred his coffee. "You are convinced that there is some cabal +working against you in the newspaper business? That seems strange. +Some of them must have heard of your work--London, Paris, Berlin. Have +you tried them all?" + +"Yes. Nothing for me, but promises as thick as yonder sands." + +The little man rose, and walked out of the room, smiling. + +"Splendid!" he murmured. "What a specimen to add to my collection!" + +"Do you know what your duties will be?" Fitzgerald inquired. + +"They will consist of replying to begging letters from the needy and +deserving, from crazy inventors, and ministers. In the meantime, I am +to do translating, together with indexing a vast library devoted to +pirates. Droll, isn't it?" Breitmann laughed, but this time without +bitterness. + +"It is a harmless hobby," rather resenting Breitmann's tone. + +"More than that," quickly; "it is philanthropic, since it will employ +me for some length of time." + +"When do they expect you?" + +"At half-after ten." + +"We'll go up together, then. Did you see the admiral's daughter?" + +"A daughter? Has he one?" Breitmann accepted this news with an +expression of disfavor. + +"Yes; and charming, I can tell you. It's all very odd. In Paris that +night, they both sat at the next table." + +"Why did you not speak to them?" + +"Didn't know who they were. The admiral was one of my father's boyhood +friends, and I did not meet them till very recently;" which was all +true enough. For some unaccountable reason, Fitzgerald found that he +was on guard. "I have ordered an open carriage. If you have any +trunks, I can take them up for you." + +"It will be good of you." + +They proceeded to finish the repast, and then sought the office, for +their reckoning. Later, they strolled toward the water front. +Fitzgerald, during moments when the talk lagged, thought over the +meeting. There was a false ring to it somewhere. If Breitmann had +been turned down in all the offices in New York, there must have been +some good cause. Newspapers were not passing over men of this fellow's +experience, unless he had been proved untrustworthy. Breitmann had not +told him everything; he had even told him too little. Still, he would +withhold his judgment till he heard from New York on the subject. +Cathewe hadn't been enthusiastic over the name; but Cathewe was never +inclined to enthusiasms. + +Passing the angle of the freight depot brought the little harbor into +full view. A fine white yacht lay tugging at her cables. + +"There's a beauty," said Fitzgerald admiringly. + +"She looks as if she could take care of herself. How fresh the green +water-line looks! She'll be fast in moderate weather; a fair thousand +tons, perhaps." + +"A close guess." + +"I understand she belongs to my employer. I hope he takes the sea +soon. I suppose you know that I have knocked about some as a sailor." + +"That will help you into the good graces of the admiral." + +"How dull and uninteresting the coast-lines are here! No gardens, no +palms, nothing of beauty." + +"You must remember the immensity of this coast and that our summers are +really less than three months. Here comes one who can tell us about +the yacht," cried Fitzgerald, espying the peg-legged sailor. "I say!" +he hailed, as the old sailor drew nigh; "you are on the _Laura_, are +you not?" + +"Yessir. An' I've bin on her since she wus commissioned as a pleasure +yacht, sir. Capt'n." + +"Ah!" + +"Fought under th' commodore in th' war, sir; an' he knows me, an' I +knows him; an' when Flanagan is on th' bridge, he doesn't signal no +pilots between Key West an' St. Johns." + +"I am visiting the admiral," said Fitzgerald, amused. + +"Oh!" Captain Flanagan ducked, with his hand to his cap. On land, he +was likely to imitate landsmen in manners and politeness; but on board +he tipped his hat to nobody; leastwise, to nobody but Miss Laura, bless +her heart! "I reckon one o' you is th' new sec'rety." + +"Yes, I am the new secretary," replied Breitmann, unsmiling. + +"Furrin parts?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, well!" as if, while he couldn't help the fact, it was none the +less to be pitied. "You'll be comin' aboard soon, then. Off for th' +Banks. Take my word for it, you'll find her as stiddy as one o' your +floatin' hotels, sir, where you don't see no sailor but a deck hand as +swabs th' scuppers when a beam sea's on. Good mornin'!" And Captain +Flanagan stumped off toward the village. + +Breitmann shrugged contemptuously. + +"He may not be in European yachting form," admitted Fitzgerald, "but +he's the kind of man who makes a navy a good fighting machine." + +"But we usually pick out gentlemen to captain our private yachts." + +"Oh, this Flanagan is an exception. There is probably a fighting bond +between him and the admiral; that makes some difference. You observed, +he called the owner by the title of commodore, as he did thirty-five +years ago. Ten o'clock; we should be going up." + +The carriage was at the hotel when they returned. They bundled in +their traps, and drove away. + +The little man now dropped into the railway station, and stuck his head +into the ticket aperture. The agent, who was seated before the +telegraph keys, looked up. + +"No tickets before half-past ten, sir." + +"I am not wanting a ticket. I wish to know if I can send a cable from +here." + +"A cable? Sure. Where to?" + +"Paris." + +"Yes, sir. I telegraph it to the cable office in New York, and they do +the rest. Here are some blanks." + +The other wrote some hieroglyphics, which made the address impossible +to decipher, save that it was directed mainly to Paris. The body of +the cablegram contained a single word. The writer paid the toll, and +went away. + +"Now, what would you think of that?" murmured the operator, scratching +his head in perplexity. "Well, the company gets the money, so it's all +the same to me. Butterflies; and all the rest in French. Next time +it'll be bugs. All right; here goes!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A BIT OF ROMANTIC HISTORY + +The house at the top of the hill had two names. It had once been +called The Watch Tower, for reasons but vaguely known by the present +generation of villagers. To-day it was generally styled The Pines. +Yet even this had fallen into disuse, save on the occupant's letter +paper. When any one asked where Rear Admiral Killigrew lived, he was +directed to "the big white house at the top o' the hill." + +The Killigrews had not been born and bred there. Its builder had been +a friend of King George; that is, his sympathies had been with taxation +without representation. One day he sold the manor cheap. His reasons +were sufficient. It then became the property of a wealthy trader, who +died in it. This was in 1809. His heirs, living, and preferring to +live, in Philadelphia, put up a sign; and being of careful disposition, +kept the place in excellent repair. + +In the year 1816, it passed into the hands of a Frenchman, and during +his day the villagers called the house The Watch Tower; for the +Frenchman was always on the high balcony, telescope in hand, gazing +seaward. No one knew his name. He dealt with the villagers through +his servant, who could speak English, himself professing that he could +not speak the language. He was a recluse, almost a hermit. At odd +times, a brig would be seen dropping anchor in the offing. She was +always from across the water, from the old country, as villagers to +this day insist upon calling Europe. The manor during these peaceful +invasions showed signs of life. Men from the brig went up to the big +white house, and remained there for a week or a month. And they were +lean men, battle-scarred and fierce of eye, some with armless sleeves, +some with stiff legs, some twisted with rheumatism. All spoke French, +and spat whenever they saw the perfidious flag of old England. This +was not marked against them as a demerit, for the War of 1812 was yet +smoking here and there along the Great Lakes. Suddenly, they would up +and away, and the manor would reassume its repellent aloofness. Each +time they returned their number was diminished. Old age had succeeded +war as a harvester. In 1822, the mysterious old recluse surrendered +the ghost. His heirs--ignored and hated by him for their affiliation +with the Bourbons--sold it to the father of the admiral. + +The manor wasn't haunted. The hard-headed longshoremen and sailors who +lived at the foot of the hill were a practical people, to whom spirits +were something mostly and generally put up in bottles, and emptied on +sunless, blustery days. Still, they wouldn't have been human if they +had not done some romancing. + +There were a dozen yarns, each at variance with the other. First, the +old "monseer" was a fugitive from France; everybody granted that. +Second, that he had helped to cut off King Lewis' head; but nobody +could prove that. Third, that he was a retired pirate; but retired +pirates always wound up their days in riotous living, so this theory +died. Fourth, that he had been a great soldier in the Napoleonic wars, +and this version had some basis, as the old man's face was slashed and +cut, some of his fingers were missing, and he limped. Again, he had +been banished from France for a share in the Hundred Days. But, all +told, nothing was proved conclusively, though the villagers burrowed +and delved and hunted and pried, as villagers are prone to do when a +person appears among them and keeps his affairs strictly to himself. + +But the next generation partly forgot, and the present only +indifferently remembered that, once upon a time, a French _emigre_ had +lived and died up there. They knew all there was to know about the +present owner. It was all compactly written and pictured in a book of +history, which book agents sold over the land, even here in Dalton. + +All these things Fitzgerald and his companion learned from the driver +on the journey up the incline. + +"Where was this Frenchman buried?" inquired Breitmann softly. + +"In th' cemet'ry jest over th' hill. But nobody knows jest where he is +now. Stone's gone, an' th' ground's all level that end. He wus on'y a +Frenchman. But th' admiral, now you're talkin'! He pays cash, an' +don't make no bargain rates, when he wants a job done. Go wan, y' ol' +nag; what y' dreamin' of?" + +"There might be history in that corner of the graveyard," said +Breitmann. + +"Who knows? Good many strange bits of furniture found their way over +here during those tremendous times. Beautiful place in the daytime; +eh?" Fitzgerald added, with an inclination toward The Pines. + +"More like an Italian villa than an Englishman's home. Good gardeners, +I should say." + +"Culture and money will make a bog attractive." + +"Is the admiral cultured, then?" + +"I should imagine so. But I am sure the daughter is. Not that veneer +which passes for it, but that deep inner culture, which gives a deft, +artistic touch to the hand, softens the voice, gives elegance to the +carriage, with a heart and mind nicely balanced. Judge for yourself, +when you see her. If there is any rare knickknack in the house, it +will have been put there by the mother's hand or the daughter's. The +admiral, I believe, occupies himself with his books, his butterflies, +and his cruises." + +"A daughter. She is cultured, you say? Ah, if culture would only take +beauty in hand! But always she selects the plainer of two women." + +Fitzgerald smiled inwardly. "I have told you she is not plain." + +"Oh, beautiful," thoughtfully. "Culture and beauty; I shall be pleased +to observe." + +"H'm! If there is any marrow in your bones, my friend, you'll show +more interest when you see her." This was thought, not spoken. +Fitzgerald wasn't going to rhapsodize over Miss Killigrew's charms. It +would have been not only incautious, but suspicious. Aloud, he said: +"She has a will of her own, I take it; however, of a quiet, resolute +order." + +"So long as she is not capricious, and does not interfere with my +work--" + +"Or peace of mind!" interrupted Fitzgerald, with prophetic suddenness, +which was modified by laughter. + +"No, my friend; no woman has ever yet stirred my heart, though many +have temporarily captured my senses. A man in my position has no right +to love," with a dignity which surprised his auditor. + +Fitzgerald looked down at the wheels. There was something even more +than dignity, an indefinable something, a superiority which +Fitzgerald's present attitude of mind could not approach. + +"This man," he mused, "will afford some interesting study. One would +think that nothing less than a grand duke was riding in this rattling +old carryall." There was silence for a time. "I must warn you, +Breitmann, that, in all probability, you will have your meals at the +table with the admiral and his daughter; at least, in this house." + +"At the same table? It would hardly be so in Europe. But it pleases +me. I have been alone so much that I grow moody; and that is not good." + +There was always that trifling German accent, no matter what tongue he +used, but it was perceptible only to the trained ear. And yet, to +Fitzgerald's mind, the man was at times something Gallic in his +liveliness. + +"You will never use your title, then?" + +Breitmann laughed. "No." + +"You have made a great mistake. You should have fired the first shot +with it. You would have married an heiress by this time," ironically, +"and all your troubles would be over." + +"Or begun," in the same spirit. "I'm no fortune hunter, in the sense +you mean. Pah! I have no debts; no crumbling _schloss_ to rebuild. +All I ask is to be let alone," with a flash of that moodiness of which +he had spoken. "How long will you be here?" + +"Can't say. Three or four days, perhaps. It all depends. What shall +I say about you to them?" + +"As little as possible." + +"And that's really about all I could say," with a suggestion. + +But the other failed to meet the suggestion half-way. + +"You might forget about my ragged linen in Paris," acridly. + +"I'll omit that," good-naturedly. "Come, be cheerful; fortune's wheel +will turn, and it pulls up as well as down. Remember that." + +"I must be on the ascendancy, for God knows that I am at the nadir just +at present." He breathed in the sweet freshness which still clung to +the morning, and settled his shoulders like a recruiting sergeant. + +"How well the man has studied his English!" thought Fitzgerald. He +rarely hesitated for a word, and his idioms were always nicely adjusted. + +The admiral was alone. He received them with an easy courtliness, +which is more noticeable in the old world than in the new. He directed +the servants to take charge of the luggage, and to Breitmann there was +never a word about work. That had all been decided by letter. He +urged the new secretary to return to the library as soon as he had +established himself. + +"Strange that you should know the man," said the admiral. "It comes in +pat. From what you say, he must be a brilliant fellow. But this +situation seems rather out of his line." + +"We all have our ups and downs, admiral. I've known a pinch or two +myself. We are an improvident lot, we writers, who wander round the +globe; rich to-day, poor to-morrow. But on the other hand, it's +something to set down on paper what a king says, the turn of a battle, +to hobnob with famous men, explorers, novelists, painters, soldiers, +scientists, to say nothing of the meat in the pie and the bottom crust. +I'm going to write a novel some day myself." + +"Here," said the admiral, with a sweep of the hand, which included the +row upon row of books, "come here to do it. Make it a pirate story; +there's always room for another." + +"But it takes a Stevenson to write it. It is very good of you, though. +Where is Miss Killigrew this morning?" + +"She hasn't returned from her ride. Ah! Come in, Mr. Breitmann, and +sit down. By the way, you two must be fair horsemen." + +Breitmann smiled, and Fitzgerald laughed. + +"I dare say," replied the latter, "that there's only one thing we two +haven't ridden: ostriches. Camels and elephants and donkeys; we've +done some warm sprinting. Eh, Breitmann?" + +The secretary agreed with a nod. He was rather grateful for +Fitzgerald's presence. This occupation was not going to be menial; at +the least, there would be pleasant sides to it. And, then, it might +not take him a week to complete his own affair. There was no +misreading the admiral; he was a gentleman, affable, kindly, and a good +story-teller, too, crisp and to the point, sailor fashion. Breitmann +cleverly drew him out. Pirates! He dared not smile. Why, there was +hardly such a thing in the pearl zone, and China was on the highway to +respectability. And every once in so often there was a futile treasure +hunt! He grew cold. If this old man but knew! + +"Do you know butterflies, Mr. Fitzgerald?" + +"Social?" + +The admiral laughed. "No. The law doesn't permit you to stick pins in +that kind. No; I mean that kind," indicating the cases. + +Both young men admitted that this field had been left unexplored by +either of them. + +It was during a lull, when the talk had fallen to the desultory, that +the hall door opened, and Laura came in. Her cheeks glowed like the +sunny side of a Persian peach; her eyes sparkled; between her moist red +lips there was a flash of firm, white teeth; the seal-brown hair +glinted a Venetian red--for at that moment she stood in the path of the +sunshine which poured in at the window--and blown tendrils in +picturesque disorder escaped from under her hat. + +The three men rose hastily; the father with pride, Fitzgerald with +gladness, and Breitmann with doubt and wonder and fear. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SOME BIRDS IN A CHIMNEY + +It might be truthfully said that the tableau lasted as long as she +willed it to last. Perhaps she read in the three masculine faces +turned toward her a triangular admiration, since it emanated from three +given points, and took from it a modest pinch for her vanity. Vain she +never was; still, she was not without a share of vanity, that vanity of +the artless, needing no sacrifices, which is gratified and appeased by +a smile. It pleased her to know that she was lovely; and it doubled +her pleasure to realize that her loveliness pleased others. She +demanded no hearts; she craved no jewels, no flattery. She warmed when +eyes told her she was beautiful; but she chilled whenever the lips took +up the speech, and voiced it. She was one of those happy beings in +either sex who can amuse themselves, who can hold pleasant communion +with the inner self, who can find romance in old houses, and yet love +books, who prefer sunrises and sunsets at first hand, still loving a +good painting. + +Perhaps this trend of character was the result of her inherited love of +the open. With almost unlimited funds under her own hand, she lived +simply. She was never happy in smart society, though it was always +making demands upon her. When abroad, she was generally prowling +through queer little shops instead of mingling with the dress parades +on the grand-hotel terraces. There was no great battle-field in Europe +she had not trod upon. She knew them so well that she could people +each field with the familiar bright regiments, bayonets and sabers, +pikes and broadswords, axes and crossbowmen, matchlock and catapult, +rifles and cannon. + +And what she did not know of naval warfare her father did. They were +very companionable. There was never any jealousy on the part of the +admiral. Indeed, he was always grateful when some young man evinced a +deep regard for his daughter. He would have her always, married or +unmarried. He was rich enough, and the son-in-law should live with +him. He was so assured of her good judgment, he knew that whenever +this son-in-law came along, there would be another man in the family. +He had long ceased to bother his head about the flylike buzzing of +fortune hunters. He had been father and mother and brother to the +child, and with wisdom. + +She smiled at her father, gave her hand to Fitzgerald, who found it +warm and moist from the ride, and glanced inquiringly at Breitmann. + +"My dear," said her father, "this is Mr. Breitmann, my new secretary." + +That gentleman bowed stiffly, and the scars faded somewhat when he +observed that her hand was extended in welcome. This unconventionality +rather confused him, and as he took the hand he almost kissed it. She +understood the innocence of the gesture, and saved him from +embarrassment by withdrawing the hand casually. + +"I hope you will like it here," was the pleasant wish. + +"Thank you, I shall." + +"You are German?" quickly. + +"I was born in Bavaria, Miss Killigrew." + +"The name should have told me." She excused herself. + +"Oho!" thought Fitzgerald, with malicious exultancy. "If she doesn't +interfere with your work!" + +But with introspection, this exultancy grew suddenly dim. How about +himself? Yes. Here was a question that would bear some close +inspection. Was it really the wish to capture a supposable burglar? +He made short work of this analysis. He never lied to others--not even +in his work, which every one knows is endowed with special licenses in +regard to truth--nor did he ever play the futile, if soothing, game of +lying to himself. This girl was different from the ordinary run of +girls; she might become dangerous. He determined then and there not to +prolong his visit more than three or four days; just to satisfy her +that there was no ghost in the chimney. Then he would return to New +York. He had no more right than Breitmann to fall in love with the +daughter of a millionaire. Loving her was not impossible, but leaving +at an early day would go toward lessening the probability. He was not +afraid of Breitmann; he was foreigner enough to accept at once his +place, and to appreciate that he and this girl stood at the two ends of +the world. + +And Breitmann's mind, which had, up to this time, been deep and +unruffled as a pool, became strangely disturbed. + +The time moved on to luncheon. Breitmann took the part of listener, +and spoke only when addressed. + +"I must tell you, Mr. Breitmann," said Laura, "that a ghost has +returned to us." + +"A ghost?" interestedly. + +"Yes. My daughter," said the admiral tolerantly, "believes that she +hears strange noises at night, tapping, and such like." + +"Oh!" politely. Breitmann broke his bread idly. It was too bad. She +had not produced upon him the impression that she was the sort of woman +whose imagination embraced the belief in spirits. "Where does this +ghost do its tapping?" + +"In the big chimney in the library," she answered. + +No one observed Breitmann's hand as it slid from the bread, some of +which was scattered upon the floor. The scars, betraying emotion such +as no mental effort could control, deepened, which is to say that the +skin above and below them had paled. + +"Might it not be some trial visit of your patron saint, Santa Claus?" +he inquired, his voice well under control. + +"Really, it is no jest," she affirmed. "For several nights I have +heard the noise distinctly; a muffled tapping inside the chimney." + +"Suppose we inspect it after luncheon?" suggested Fitzgerald. + +"It has been done," said the admiral. Outwardly he was still +skeptical, but a doubt was forming in his mind. + +"It will do no harm to try it again," said Breitmann. + +If Fitzgerald noted the subdued excitement in the man's voice, he +charged it to the moment. + +"Take my word for it," avowed the admiral, "you will find nothing. +Bring the coffee into the library," he added to the butler. + +The logs were taken out of the fireplace, and as soon as the smoke +cleared the young men gave the inside of the chimney a thorough going +over. They could see the blue sky away up above. The opening was +large, but far too small for any human being to enter down it. The +mortar between the bricks seemed for the most part undisturbed. +Breitmann made the first discovery of any importance. Just above his +height, standing in the chimney itself, he saw a single brick +projecting beyond its mates. He reached up, and shook it. It was +loose. He wrenched it out, and came back into the light. + +"See! Nothing less than a chisel could have cut the mortar that way. +Miss Killigrew is right." He went back, and with the aid of the tongs +poked into the cavity. The wall of bricks was four deep, yet the tongs +went through. This business had been done from the other side. + +"Well!" exclaimed the admiral, for once at loss for a proper phrase. + +"You see, father? I was right. Now, what can it mean? Who is digging +out the bricks, and for what purpose? And how, with the alarms all +over the house, to account for the footprints in the flour?" + +"It is quite likely that something is hidden in the chimney, and some +one knows that it is worth hunting for. This chimney is the original, +I should judge." Fitzgerald addressed this observation to the admiral. + +"Never been touched during my time or my father's. But we can soon +find out. I'll have a man up here. If there is anything in the +chimney that ought not to be there, he'll dig it out, and save our +midnight visitor any further trouble." + +"Why not wait a little while?" Fitzgerald ventured. "With Breitmann +and me in the house, we might trap the man." + +"A good scheme!" + +"He comes from the outside, somewhere; from the cellar, probably. Let +us try the cellar." Breitmann urged this with a gesture of his hands. + +"There'll be sport," said Fitzgerald. + +The coffee was cold in the little cups when they returned to it. The +cellar, as far as any one could learn, was free from any signs of +recent invasion. It was puzzling. + +"And the servants?" Breitmann intimated. + +"They have been in the family for years." The admiral shook his head +convincedly. "I ask your pardon, my dear. My ears are not so keen as +might be. I'm an old blockhead to think that you were having an attack +of ghosts. But we'll solve the riddle shortly, and then we shan't have +any trouble with our alarm bells," with a significant glance at +Fitzgerald. "Well, Mr. Breitmann, suppose we take a look at the work? +Laura, you show Mr. Fitzgerald the gardens. The view from the terrace +is excellent." + +Fine weather. The orchard was pink with apple blossoms, giving the far +end of the park a tint not unlike Sicilian almonds in bloom. And the +intermittent breeze, as it waned or strengthened, carried delicate +perfumes to and fro. Yon was the sea, with well-defined horizon, and +down below were the few smacks and the white yacht _Laura_, formally +bowing to one another, or tossing their noses impudently; and, far +away, was the following trail of brown smoke from some ship which had +dropped down the horizon. + +Fitzgerald, stood silent, musing, at the girl's side. He was fond of +vistas. There was rest in them, a peace not to be found even in the +twilight caverns of cathedrals; wind blowing over waters, the flutter +of leaves, the bend in the grasses. To dwell in a haven like this. No +care, no worry, no bother of grubbing about in one's pockets for +overlooked coins, no flush of excitement! It is, after all, the +homeless man who answers quickest the beckon of wanderlust. It is only +when he comes into the shelter of such a roof that he draws into his +heart the bitter truth of his loneliness. + +"You must think me an odd girl." + +"Pray why?" + +"By the manner in which I brought you here." + +"On the contrary, you are one of the few women I ever met who know +something about scoring a good joke. Didn't your friend, Mrs. +Coldfield, know my mother; and wasn't your father a great friend of my +father's? As for being odd, what about me? I believe I stood on the +corner, and tried to sell plaster casts, just to win a foolish club +wager." + +"Men can jest that way with impunity, but a woman may not. Still, I +really couldn't help acting the way I did," with a tinkle in her voice +and a twinkle in her eyes. + +"Convention is made up of many idiotic laws. Why we feel obliged to +obey is beyond offhand study. Of course, the main block is sensible; +it holds humanity together. It's the irritating, burr-like amendments +that one rages against. It's the same in politics. Some clear-headed +fellow gets up and makes a just law. His enemies and his friends alike +realize that if the law isn't passed there will be a roar from the +public. So they pass the bill with amendments. In other words, they +kill its usefulness. I suppose that's why I am always happy to leave +convention behind, to be sent to the middle of Africa, to Patagonia, or +sign an agreement to go to the North Pole." + +"The North Pole? Have you been to the Arctic?" + +"No; but I expect to go up in June with an Italian explorer." + +"Isn't it terribly lonely up there?" + +"It can't be worse than the Sahara or our own Death Valley. One +extreme is as bad as the other. Some time I hope your father will take +me along on one of those treasure hunts. I should like to be in at the +finding of a pirate ship. It would make a boy out of me again." + +His eyes were very handsome when he smiled. Boy? she thought. He was +scarce more than that now. + +"Pirates' gold! What a lure it has been, is, and will be! Blood +money, brrr! I can see no pleasure in touching it. And the poor, +pathetic trinkets, which once adorned some fair neck! It takes a man's +mind to pass over that side of the picture, and see only the fighting. +But humanity has gone on. The pirate is no more, and the highwayman is +a thing to laugh at." + +"Thanks to railways and steamships. It is beautiful here." + +"We are nearly always here in the summer. In the winter we cruise. +But this winter we remained at home. It was splendid. The snow was +deep, and often I joined the village children on their bobsleds. I +made father ride down once. He grumbled about making a fool of +himself. After the first slide, I couldn't keep him off the hill. He +wants to go to St. Moritz next winter." She laughed joyously. + +"I shall take the Arctic trip," he said to himself irrelevantly. + +"Let us go and pick some apple blossoms. They last such a little +while, and they are so pretty on the table. So you were in Napoleon's +tomb that day? I have cried over the king of Rome's toys. Did Mr. +Breitmann receive those scars in battle?" + +"Oh, no. It was a phase of his student life in Munich. But he has +been under fire. He has had some hard luck." He wanted to add: "Poor +devil!" + +She did not reply, but walked down the terrace steps to the path +leading to the orchard. The sturdy, warty old trees leaned toward the +west, the single evidence of the years of punishment received at the +hands of the winter sea tempests. It was a real orchard, composed of +several hundred trees, well kept, as evenly matched as might be, out of +weedless ground. From some hidden bough, a robin voiced his happiness, +and yellowbirds flew hither and thither, and there was billing and +cooing and nesting. Along the low stone wall a wee chipmunk scampered. + +"What place do you like best in this beautiful old world?" she asked, +drawing down a snowy bough. Some of the blossoms fell and lay +entrapped in her hair. + +"This," he answered frankly. She met his gaze quickly, and with +suspicion. His face was smiling, but not so his eyes. "Wherever I am, +if content, I like that place best. And I am content here." + +"You fought with Greece?" + +"Yes." + +"How that country always rouses our sympathies! Isn't there a little +too much poetry and not enough truth about it?" + +"There is. I fought with the Greeks because I disliked them less than +the Turks." + +"And Mr. Breitmann?" + +He smiled. "He fought with the Turks to chastise Greece, which he +loves." + +"What adventures you two must have had! To be on opposing sides, like +that!" + +"Opposing newspapers. The two angles of vision made our copy +interesting. There was really no romance about it. It was purely a +business transaction. We offered our lives and our pencils for a +hundred a week and our expenses. Rather sordid side to it, eh? And a +fourth-rate order or two--" + +"You were decorated?" excitedly. "I am sure it was for bravery." + +"Don't you believe it. The king of Greece and the sultan both +considered the honor conferred upon us as good advertising." + +"You are laughing." + +"Well, war in the Balkans is generally a laughing matter. Sounds +brutal, I know, but it is true." + +"I know," gaily. "You are conceited, and are trying to make me believe +that you are modest." + +"A bull's-eye!" + +"And this Mr. Breitmann has been decorated for valor? And yet to-day +he becomes my father's private secretary. The two do not connect." + +"May I ask you to mention nothing of this to him? It would embarrass +him. I had no business to bring him into it." + +She grew meditative, brushing her lips with the blossoms. "He will be +something of a mystery. I am not overfond of mysteries outside of book +covers." + +"There is really no mystery; but it is human for a man in his position +to wish to bury his past greatness." + +By and by the sun touched the southwest shoulder of the hill, and the +two strolled back to the house. + +From his window, Breitmann could see them plainly. + +"Damn those scars!" he murmured, striking with his fist the disfigured +cheek, which upon a time had been a source of pride and honor. "Damn +them!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THEY DRESS FOR DINNER + +Breitmann watched them as long as he could. There was no jealousy in +his heart, but there was bitterness, discontent, a savage +self-pillorying. He was genuinely sorry that this young woman was so +pretty; still, had she the graces of Calypso, he must have come. She +would distract him, and he desired at that time distraction least of +all diversions. Concentration and singleness of purpose--upon these +two attributes practically hung his life. How strangely fate had +stepped with him. What if there had not been that advertisement for a +private secretary? How then should he have gained a footing in this +house? Well, here he was, and speculation was of no value, save in a +congratulatory sense. The fly in the amber was the presence of the +young American; Fitzgerald, shrewd and clever, might stumble upon +something. Well, till against that time! + +His room was pleasant, a corner which gave two excellent views, one of +the sea and the other of the orchard. There was no cluttering of +furniture; it was simple, substantial, decently old. On the plain +walls were some choice paintings. A landscape by Constable, a water +color by Fortuny, and a rough sketch by Detaille; and the inevitable +marines, such as one might expect in the house of a fighting sailor. +He examined these closely, and was rather pleased to find them valuable +old prints. And, better to his mind than all these, was the deft, +mysterious touch or suggestion of a woman's hand. He saw it in the +pillows on the lounge, in the curtains dropping from the windows, in +the counterpane on the old four-poster. + +Did Americans usually house their private secretaries in rooms fit for +guests of long and intimate acquaintance? Ah, yes; this sailor was a +rich man; and this mansion had not been erected yesterday. It amused +him to think that these walls and richly polished floors were older +than the French revolution. It seemed incredible, but it was true. + +"Pirates!" His laughter broke forth, not loudly but deeply, fired by a +broad and ready sense of humor--a perilous gift for a man who is +seeking fine hazards. It was droll, it was even fantastic. To cruise +about the world in search of pirate treasures, as if there remained a +single isle, shore, promontory, known to have been the haunt of +pirates, which had not been dug up and dug up again! And here, under +the very hand---- He struck his palms. "Why not?" + +He ran to the window. The sleek white yacht lay tugging at her cables, +like an eager hound in the leash. "Seaworthy from stem to stern. Why +not? No better cloak than this. I may not make you a good secretary, +admiral; but, the gods propitious, I can, if needs say must, take you +treasure hunting. It will be a fine stroke. Is it possible that +fortune begins to smile on me at last? Well, I have had the patience +to wait. The hour has come, and fortune shall not find me laggard. It +has been something to wait as I have, never to have spoken, never to +have forgotten. France knows and Germany knows, but only me, not what +I have. They have even tried to drive me to crime. Wait, fools, wait!" + +He drew his arms tightly over his heaving breast, for he was deeply +moved, while over his face came that indefinable light which, at times, +illuminates the countenance of a great man. It came and went; as a +flash of lightning betrays the oncoming storm. + +The chimney! His heart missed a beat. He had forgotten the chimney. +The reaction affected him like a blow. A snarl twisted his mouth. +What was this chimney to any other man? Only he of all men, knew. And +yet, here was some one stealthily at work, forestalling him, knocking +the bottom out of his great dream. There was nothing pleasant in the +growing expression an his face; it was the tiger, waking. There could +be only one way. + +Swiftly he dashed to his trunk, knelt and examined the lock, unscrewed +it, and took out the documents more precious to him than the treasures +of a hundred Captain Kidds. Instantly, he returned to the window. +Nothing was missing. But here was something he had never noticed +before. On the face of the slip of parchment--a diagram, dim and +faded--was an oily thumb-mark. The oil from the lock; nothing more; +doubtless he himself had touched it. How many times had he found an +unknown touch among his few belongings? How often had he smiled? +Still, to quell all rising doubts, he rubbed his right thumb on the +lock, and made a second impression. The daylight was now insufficient, +so he turned on the electricity, and compared them. Slowly, the scars +deepened till they were the tint of cedar. Death's head itself could +not have fascinated him more than the dissimilarity of these two +thumb-prints. He said nothing, but a queer little strangling sound +came through his lips. + +Who? Where? His heart beat so violently that the veins in his throat +swelled and threatened to burst. But he was no weakling. He summoned +all his will. He must act, and act at once, immediately. + +Fitzgerald? No, not that clever, idling fool. But who, who? He +replaced the papers and the lock. A hidden menace. Question as he +would, there was never any answer. + +He practised the pleasant deceit that the first mark had been there +when the diagram had been given to him. It was not possible that any +one had discovered his hiding-place. Had he not with his own hands +contrived it, alone and without aid, under that accursed mansard roof? +Not one of his co-adventurers knew; they had advanced him funds on his +word. His other documents they had seen; these had sufficed them. +Still, back it came, with deadly insistence; some one was digging at +the bricks in the chimney. The drama was beginning to move. Had he +waited too long? + +Mechanically, he proceeded to dress for dinner. Since he was to sit at +the family table, he must fit his dress and manners to the hour. He +did not resist the sardonic smile as he put on his fresh patent +leathers and his new dinner coat. He recalled Fitzgerald's +half-concealed glances of pity the last time they had dined together. + +In the room across the corridor, Fitzgerald was busy with a similar +occupation. The only real worry he had was the doubt of his luggage +arriving before he left. He had neither tennis clothes nor +riding-habit, and these two pastimes were here among the regular events +of the day. The admiral both played and rode with his daughter. She +was altogether too charming. Had she been an ordinary society girl, he +would have stayed his welcome threadbare perhaps. But, he repeated, +she was not ordinary. She had evidently been brought up with few +illusions. These she possessed would always be hers. + +The world, in a kindly but mistaken spirit, fosters all sorts of +beliefs in the head of a child. True, it makes childhood happy, but it +leaves its skin tender. The moment a girl covers her slippers with +skirts and winds her hair about the top of her curious young head, +things begin to jar. The men are not what she dreamed them to be, +there never was such a person as Prince Charming; and the women embrace +her--if she is pretty and graceful--with arms bristling with needles of +envy and malice; and the rosal tint that she saw in the approach is +nothing more or less than jaundice; and, one day disheartened and +bewildered, she learns that the world is only a jumble of futile, +ill-made things. The admiral had weeded out most of these illusions at +the start. + +"So much for suppositions and analysis," panted Fitzgerald, reknotting +his silk tie. "As for me, I go to the Arctic; cold, but safe. I have +never fallen in love. I have enjoyed the society of many women, and to +some I've been silly enough to write, but I have never been maudlin. +I'm no fool. This is the place where it would be most likely to +happen. Let us beat an orderly retreat. What the devil ails my +fingers to-night? M'h! There; will you stay tied as I want you? She +has traveled, she has studied, she is at home with grand dukes in Nice, +and scribblers in a country village. She is wise without being solemn. +She has courage, too, or I should not be here on a mere fluke. Now, my +boy, you have given yourself due notice. Take care!" + +He slipped his coat over his shoulders--and passably sturdy ones they +were--and took a final look into the glass. Not for vanity's sake; +sometimes a man's tie will show above the collar of his coat. + +"Hm! I'll wager the trout are rising about this time." He imitated a +cast which was supposed to land neatly in the corner. "Ha! Struck you +that time, you beauty!" All of which proved to himself, conclusively, +that he was in normal condition. "I should get a wire to-morrow about +Breitmann. I hate to do anything that looks underhand, but he puzzles +me. There was something about the chimney to-day; I don't know what. +This is no place for him--nor for me, either," was the shrewd +supplement. + +There was still some time before dinner, so he walked about, with his +hands in his pockets, and viewed the four walls of his room. He +examined the paints and admired the collection of blood-thirsty old +weapons over the mantel, but with the indirect interest of a man who is +thinking of other things. At the end, he paused before the window, +which, like the one in Breitmann's room, afforded a clear outlook to +the open waters. Night was already mistress of the sea; and below, the +village lights twinkled from various points. + +Laura tried on three gowns, to the very great surprise of her maid. +Usually her mistress told her in the morning what to lay out for +dinner. Here there were two fine-looking young men about, and yet she +was for selecting the simplest gown of the three. The little French +maid did not understand the reason, nor at that moment could her +mistress have readily explained. It was easy to dress for the critical +eyes of rich young men, officers, gentlemen with titles; all that was +required was a fresh Parisian model, some jewels, and a bundle of +orchids or expensive roses. But these two men belonged to a class she +knew little of; gentlemen adventurers, who had been in strange, +unfrequented places, who had helped to make history, who received +decorations, and never wore them, who remained to the world at large +obscure and unknown. + +So, with that keen insight which is a part of a well-bred, intelligent +woman--and also rather inexplicable to the male understanding--she +chose the simplest gown. She was hazily conscious that they would +notice this dress, whereas the gleaming satin would have passed as a +matter of fact. Round her graceful throat she placed an Indian +turquoise necklace; nothing in her hair, nothing on her fingers. She +went down-stairs perfectly content. + +As she came into the hall, she heard soft music. Some one was in the +music-room, which was just off the library. She stopped to listen. +Chopin, with light touch and tender feeling. Which of the two +wanderers was it? Quietly, she moved along to the door. Breitmann; +she rather expected to find him. Nearly all educated Germans played. +The music stopped for a moment, then resumed. Another melody followed, +a melody she had heard from one end of France to the other. She +frowned, not with displeasure, but with puzzlement. For what purpose +did a soldier of the German empire play the battle hymn of the French +republic? _The Marseillaise_? She entered the music-room, and the low +but vibrant chords ceased instantly. Breitmann had been playing these +melodies standing. He turned quickly. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, but perfectly free from embarrassment. + +"I am very fond of music myself. Please play whenever the mood comes +to you. _The Marseillaise_--" + +"Ah!" he interrupted, laughing. "There was a bit of traitor in my +fingers just then. But music should have no country; it should be +universal." + +"Perhaps, generally speaking; but every land should have an anthem of +its own. The greatest composition of Beethoven or Wagner will never +touch the heart as the ripple of a battle song." + +And when Fitzgerald joined them they were seriously discussing Wagner +and his ill-treatment in Munich, and of the mad king of Bavaria. + +As she had planned, both men noticed the simplicity of her dress. + +"It is because she doesn't care," thought Breitmann. + +"It is because she knows we don't care," thought Fitzgerald. And he +was nearer the truth than Breitmann. + +The dinner was pleasant, and there was much talk of travel. The +admiral had touched nearly every port, Fitzgerald had been round three +times, and Breitmann four. The girl experienced a sense of elation as +she listened. She knew most of her father's stories, but to-night he +drew upon a half-forgotten store. Without embellishment, as if they +were ordinary, every-day affairs, they exchanged tales of adventure in +strange island wildernesses; and there were lion hunts and man hunts +and fierce battles on land and sea. Never had any story-book opened a +like world. She felt a longing for the Himalayas, the Indian jungles, +the low-lying islands of the South Pacific. + +So far as the admiral was concerned, he was very well pleased with the +new secretary. + + +Fitzgerald was not asleep. He had an idea, and he smoked his yellow +African gourd pipe till this same idea shaped itself into the form of a +resolve. He laid the pipe on the mantel, turned over the logs--for the +nights were yet chill, and a fire was a comfort--and raised a window. +He would like to hear some of that tapping in the chimney. He was +fully dressed, excepting that he had exchanged shoes for slippers. + +He went out into the corridor. There was no light under Breitmann's +door. So much the better; he was asleep. Fitzgerald crept down the +stairs with the caution of a hunter who is trailing new game. As he +arrived at the turn of the first landing, he hesitated. He could hear +the old clock striking off the seconds in the lower hall. He cupped +his ear. By George! Joining the sharp monotony of the clock was +another sound, softer, intermittent. He was certain that it came from +the library. That door was never closed. Click-click! Click-click! +The mystery was close at hand. + +He moved forward. He wanted to get as close as possible to the +fireplace. He peered in. The fire was all but dead; only the corner +of a log glowed dully. Suddenly, the glow died, only to reappear, +unchanged. This phenomena could be due to one thing, a passing of +something opaque. Fitzgerald had often seen this in camps, when some +one's legs passed between him and the fire. Some one else was in the +room. With a light bound, he leaped forward, to find himself locked in +a pair of arms no less vigorous than his own. + +And even in that lively moment he remembered that the sound in the +chimney went on! + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE GHOST OF AN OLD REGIME + +It was a quick, silent struggle. The intruder wore no shoes. It would +be a test of endurance. Fitzgerald recalled some tricks he had learned +in Japan; but even as he stretched out his arm to perform one, the arm +was caught by the wrist, while a second hand passed under his elbow. + +"Don't!" he gasped lowly. "I'll give in." His arm would have snapped +if he hadn't spoken. + +A muttered oath in German. "Fitzgerald?" came the query, in a whisper. + +"Yes. For God's sake, is this you, Breitmann?" + +"Sh! Not so loud! What are you doing here?" + +"And you?" + +"Listen! It has stopped. He has heard our scuffling." + +"It seems, then, that we are both here for the same purpose?" said +Fitzgerald, pulling down his cuffs, and running his fingers round his +collar. + +"Yes. You came too late or too soon." Breitmann stooped, and ran his +hands over the rug. + +The other saw him but dimly. "What's the matter?" + +"I have lost one of my studs," with the frugal spirit of his mother's +forebears. "You are stronger than I thought." + +"Much obliged." + +"It's a good thing you did not get that hold first. You'd have broken +my arm." + +"Wouldn't have given in, eh? I simply cried quits in order to start +over again. There's no fair fighting in the dark, you know." + +"Well, we have frightened him away. It is too bad." + +"What have you on your feet?" + +"Felt slippers." + +"Are you afraid of the cold?" + +A laugh. "Not I!" + +"Come with me." + +"Where?" + +"First to the cellar. Remember that hot-air box from the furnace, that +backs the chimney, way up?" + +"I looked only at the bricks." + +"We'll go and have a look at that box. It just occurred to me that +there is a cellar window within two feet of that box." + +"Let us hurry. Can you find the way?" + +"I can try." + +"But lights?" + +Fitzgerald exhibited his electric pocket lamp. "This will do." + +"You Americans!" + +After some mistakes they found their way to the cellar. The window was +closed, but not locked, and resting against the wall was a plank. It +leaned obliquely, as if left in a hurry. Fitzgerald took it up, and +bridged between the box and the window ledge. Breitmann gave him a leg +up, and in another moment he was examining the brick wall of the great +chimney under a circular white patch of light. A dozen rows of bricks +had been cleverly loosened. There were also evidences of chalk marks, +something on the order of a diagram; but it was rather uncertain, as it +had been redrawn four or five times. The man hadn't been sure of his +ground. + +"Can you see?" asked Fitzgerald. + +"Yes." Only Breitmann himself knew what wild rage lay back of that +monosyllable. He was sure now; that diagram brushed away any lingering +doubt. The lock had been trifled with, but the man who had done the +work had not been sure of his dimensions. + +"Clever piece of work. Took away the mortar in his pockets; no sign of +it here. The admiral had better send for his bricklayer, for more +reasons than one. There'll be a defective flue presently. Now, what +the devil is the duffer expecting to find?" Fitzgerald coolly turned +the light full into the other's face. + +"It is beyond me," with equal coolness; "unless there's a pirate's +treasure behind there." The eyes blinked a little, which was but +natural. + +"Pirate's treasure, you say?" Fitzgerald laughed. "That _would_ be a +joke, eh?" + +"What now?" For Breitmann thought it best to leave the initiative with +his friend. + +"A little run out to the stables," recalling to mind the rumor of the +night before. + +"The stables?" + +"Why, surely. The fellow never got in here without some local +assistance, and I am rather certain that this comes from the stables. +Besides, no one will be expecting us." He came down agilely. + +Breitmann nodded approvingly at the ease with which the other made the +descent. "It would be wiser to leave the cellar by the window," he +suggested. + +"My idea, too. We'll make a step out of this board. The stars are +bright enough." Fitzgerald climbed out first, and then gave a hand to +Breitmann. + +"I understood there was a burglar alarm in the house." + +"Yes; but this very window, being open, probably breaks the circuit. +All cleverly planned. But I'm crazy to learn what he is looking for. +Double your coat over your white shirt." + +Breitmann was already proceeding with this task. A dog-trot brought +them into the roadway, but they kept to the grass. They were within a +yard of the stable doors when a hound began bellowing. Breitmann +smothered a laugh and Fitzgerald a curse. + +"The quicker we get back to the cellar the better," was the former's +observation. + +And they returned at a clip, scrambling into the cellar as quickly and +silently as they could, and made for the upper floors. + +"Come into my room," said Fitzgerald; "it's only midnight." + +Breitmann agreed. If he had any reluctance, he did not show it. +Fitzgerald produced cigars. + +"Do my clothes look anything like yours?" asked Breitmann dryly, +striking a match. + +"Possibly." + +They looked themselves over for any real damage. There were no rents, +but there were cobwebs on the wool and streaks of coal dust on the +linen. + +"We shall have to send our clothes to the village tailor. The +admiral's valet might think it odd." + +"Where do you suppose he comes from?" + +"I don't care where. What's he after, to take all this trouble? +Something big, I'll warrant." + +And then, for a time, they smoked like Turks, in silence. + +"By George, it's a good joke; you and I trying to choke each other, +while the real burglar makes off." + +"It has some droll sides." + +"And you all but broke my arm." + +Breitmann chuckled. "You were making the same move. I was quicker, +that was all." + +Another pause. + +"The admiral has seen some odd corners. Think of seeing, at close +range, the Japanese-Chinese naval fight!" + +"He tells a story well." + +"And the daughter is a thoroughbred." + +"Yes," non-committally. + +"By the way, I'm going to the Pole in June or August." + +"The Italian expedition?" + +"Yes." + +"That ought to make fine copy. You will not mind if I turn in? A bit +sleepy." + +"Not at all. Shall we tell the admiral?" + +"The first thing in the morning. Good night." + +Fitzgerald finished his cigar, and went to bed also. "Interesting old +place," wadding a pillow under his ear. "More interesting to-morrow." + +Some time earlier, the individual who was the cause of this nocturnal +exploit hurried down the hill, nursing a pair of skinned palms, and +laughing gently to himself. + +"Checkmate! I shall try the other way." + +On the morrow, Fitzgerald recounted the adventure in a semi-humorous +fashion, making a brisk melodrama out of it, to the quiet amusement of +his small audience. + +"I shall send for the mason this morning," said the admiral. "I've +been dreaming of _The Black Cat_ and all sorts of horrible things. I +hate like sixty to spoil the old chimney, but we can't have this going +on. We'll have it down at once. A fire these days is only a nice +touch to the mahogany." + +"But you must tell him to put back every brick in its place," said +Laura. "I could not bear to have anything happen to that chimney. All +the same, I am glad the matter is going to be cleared up. It has been +nerve-racking; and I have been all alone, waiting for I know not what." + +"You haven't been afraid?" said Fitzgerald. + +"I'm not sure that I haven't." She sighed. + +"Nonsense!" cried the admiral. + +"I am not afraid of anything I can see; but I do not like the dark; I +do not like mysteries." + +"You're the bravest girl I know, Laura," her father declared. "Now, +Mr. Breitmann, if you don't mind." + +"Shall we begin at once, sir?" + +"You will copy some of my notes, to begin with. Any time you're in +doubt over a word, speak to me. There will not be much outside of +manuscript work. Most of my mail is sorted at my bankers, and only +important letters forwarded. There may be a social note occasionally. +Do you read and write English as well as you speak it?" + +"Oh, yes." + +Laura invited Fitzgerald to the tennis court. + +"In these shoes?" he protested. + +"They will not matter; it is a cement court." + +"But I shan't look the game. Tennis without flannels is like duck +without apples." + +"Bother! We'll play till the mason comes up. And mind your game. +I've been runner-up in a dozen tournaments." + +And he soon found that she had not overrated her skill. She served +strongly, volleyed beautifully, and darted across the court with a +fleetness and a surety both delightful to observe. So interested were +they in the battle that they forgot all about the mason, till the +butler came out, and announced that the desecration had begun. + +In fact the broad marble top was on the floor, and the room full of +impalpable dust. The admiral and the secretary were gravely stacking +the bricks, one by one, as they came out. + +"Found anything?" asked the girl breathlessly. + +"Not yet; but Mr. Donovan here has just discovered a hollow space above +the mantel line." + +The admiral sneezed. + +Mr. Donovan, in his usual free and happy way, drew out two bricks, and +dropped them on the polished floor. + +"There's your holler, sir," he said, dusting his hands. + +Unbidden, Breitmann pushed his hand into the cavity. His arm went down +to the elbow, and he was forced to stand on tiptoe. He was pale when +he withdrew his arm, but in his hand was a square metal case, about the +size and shape of a cigar box. + +"By cracky! What's the matter, Mr. Breitmann?" The admiral stepped +forward solicitously. + +Breitmann swayed, and fell against the side of the fireplace. "It is +nothing; lost my balance for a moment. Will you open it, sir?" + +"Lost his balance?" muttered Fitzgerald. "He looks groggy. Why?" + +This was not a time for speculation. All rushed after the admiral, who +laid the case on his desk, and took out his keys. None of them would +turn in the ancient lock. With an impatient gesture, which escaped the +others, the secretary seized Mr. Donovan's hammer, inserted the claw +between the lock and the catch, and gave a powerful wrench. The lid +fell back, crooked and scarred. + +The admiral put on his Mandarin spectacles. With his hands behind his +back, he bent and critically examined the contents. Then, very +carefully, he extracted a packet of papers, yellow and old, bound with +heavy cording. Beneath this packet was a medal of the Legion of Honor, +some rose leaves, and a small glove. + +"Know what I think?" said the admiral, stilling the shake in his voice. +"This belonged to that mysterious Frenchman who lived here eighty years +ago. I'll wager that medal cost some blood. By cracky, what a find!" + +"And the poor little glove and the rose leaves!" murmured the girl, in +pity. "It seems like a crime to disturb them." + +"We shan't, my child. Our midnight friend wasn't digging yonder for +faded keepsakes. These papers are the things." The admiral cut the +string, and opened one of the documents. "H'm! Written in French. So +is this," looking at another, "and this. Here, Laura, cast your eye +over these, and tell us why some one was hunting for them." + +Fitzgerald eyed Breitmann thoughtfully. The whole countenance of the +man had changed. Indeed, it resembled another face he had seen +somewhere; and it grew in his mind, slowly but surely, as dawn grows, +that Breitmann was not wholly ignorant in this affair. He had not +known who had been working at night; but that dizziness of the moment +gone, the haste in opening the case, the eagerness of the search last +night; all these, to Fitzgerald's mind, pointed to one thing: Breitmann +knew. + +"I shall watch him." + +Laura read the documents to herself first. Here and there was a word +which confused her; but she gathered the full sense of the remarkable +story. Her eyes shone like winter stars. + +"Father!" she cried, dropping the papers, and spreading out her arms. +"Father, it's the greatest thing in the world. A treasure!" + +"What's that, Laura?" straining his ears. + +"A treasure, hidden by the soldiers of Napoleon; put together, franc by +franc, in the hope of some day rescuing the emperor from St. Helena. +It is romance! A real treasure of two millions of francs!" clapping +her hands. + +"Where?" It was Breitmann who spoke. His voice was not clear. + +"Corsica!" + +"Corsica!" The admiral laughed like a child. Right under his very +nose all these years, and he cruising all over the chart! "Laura, +dear, there's no reason in the world why we shouldn't take the yacht +and go and dig up this pretty sum." + +"No reason in the world!" But the secretary did not pronounce these +words aloud. + +"A telegram for you, sir," said the butler, handing the yellow envelope +to Fitzgerald. + +"Will you pardon me?" he said drawing off to a window. + +"Go ahead," said the admiral, fingering the medal of the Legion of +Honor. + +Fitzgerald read: + +"Have made inquiries. Your man never applied to any of the +metropolitan dailies. Few ever heard of him." + +He jammed the message into a pocket, and returned to the group about +the case. Where should he begin? Breitmann had lied. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +PREPARATIONS AND COGITATIONS + +The story itself was brief enough, but there was plenty of husk to the +grain. The old expatriate was querulous, long-winded, not niggard with +his ink when he cursed the English and damned the Prussians; and he +obtained much gratification in jabbing his quill-bodkin into what he +termed the sniveling nobility of the old regime. Dog of dogs! was he +not himself noble? Had not his parents and his brothers gone to the +guillotine with the rest of them? But he, thank God, had no wooden +mind; he could look progress and change in the face and follow their +bent. And now, all the crimes and heroisms of the Revolution, all the +glorious pageantry of the empire, had come to nothing. A Bourbon, +thick-skulled, sordid, worn-out, again sat upon the throne, while the +Great Man languished on a rock in the Atlantic. Fools that they had +been, not to have hidden the little king of Rome as against this very +dog! It was pitiful. He never saw a shower in June that he did not +hail curses upon it. To have lost Waterloo for a bucketful of water! +Thousand thunders! could he ever forget that terrible race back to +Paris? Could he ever forget the shame of it? Grouchy for a fool and +Bluecher for a blundering ass. _Eh bien_; they would soon tumble the +Bourbons into oblivion again. + +A rambling desultory tale. And there were reminiscences of such and +such a great lady's _salon_; the flight from Moscow; the day of the +Bastille; the poor fool of a Louis who donned a red-bonnet and wore the +tricolor; some new opera dances; the flight of his cowardly cousins to +Austria; Austerlitz and Jena; the mad dream in Egypt; the very day when +the Great Man pulled a crown out of his saddle-bag and made himself an +emperor. Just a little corporal from Corsica; think of it! And so on; +all jumbled but keyed with tremendous interest to the listeners and to +Laura herself. It was the golden age of opportunity, of reward, of +sudden generals and princes and dukes. All gone, nothing left but a +few battle-flags; England no longer shaking in her boots, and the rest +of them dividing the spoils! No! There were some left, and in their +hands lay the splendid enterprise. + +Quietly they had pieced together this sum and that, till there was now +stored away two-million francs. Two or three frigates and a corvette +or two; then the work would go forward. Only a little while to wait, +and then they would bring their beloved chief back to France and to his +own again. Had he not written: "Come for me, _mon brave_. They say +they have orders to shoot me. Come; better carry my corpse away than +that I should rot here for years to come." They would come. But this +year went by and another; one by one the Old Guard died off, smaller +and smaller had drawn the circle. The vile rock called St. Helena +still remained impregnable. On a certain day they came to tell him +that the emperor was no more. Soon he was all alone but one; these +brave soldiers who had planned with him were no more. An alien, an +outcast, he too longed for night. And what should he do with it, this +vast treasure, every franc of which meant sacrifice and unselfishness, +bravery and loyalty? Let the gold rot. He would bury all knowledge of +it in yonder chimney, confident that no one would ever find the +treasure, since he alone possessed the key to it, having buried it +himself. So passed the greatest Caesar of them all, the most brilliant +empire, the bravest army. Ah! had the king of Rome lived! Had there +been some direct Napoleonic blood to take up the work! Vain dreams! +The Great Man's brothers had been knaves and fools. + +"And so to-night," the narrator ended, "I bury the casket in the +chimney; within it, my hopes and few trinkets of the past of which I am +an integral part. Good-by, little glove; good-by, brave old medal! I +am sending a drawing of the chimney to the good Abbe le Fanu. He will +outlive me. He lives on forty-centime the day; treasures mean nothing +to him; his cry, his eternal cry, is always of the People. He will +probably tear it up. The brig will never come again. So best. Death +will come soon. And I shall die unknown, unloved, forgotten. _Bonne +nuit_!" + + +Mr. Donovan alone remained in normal state of mind. 'Twas all +faradiddle, this talk of finding treasures. The old Frenchman had been +only half-baked. He dumped his tools into his bag, and, with the +wisdom of his kind, departed. There would be another job to-morrow, +putting the bricks back. + +The others, however, were for the time but children, and like children +they all talked at once; and there was laughter and thumping of fists +and clapping of hands. The admiral had a new plan every five minutes. +He would do this, or he would do that; and Fitzgerald would shake his +head, or Breitmann would point out the feasibility of the plan. Above +all, he urged, there must be no publicity (with a flash toward +Fitzgerald); the world must know nothing till the treasure was in their +hands. Otherwise, there would surely be piracy on the high-seas. Two +million francs was a prize, even in these days. There were plenty of +men and plenty of tramp ships. Even when they found the gold, secrecy +would be best. There might be some difficulty with France. Close +lips, then, till they returned to America; after that Mr. Fitzgerald +would become famous as the teller of the exploit. + +"I confess that, for all my excitement," said Fitzgerald, "I am +somewhat skeptical. Still, your suggestion, Mr. Breitmann, is good." + +"Do you mean to say you doubt the existence of the treasure?" cried the +admiral, something impatient. + +"Oh, no doubt it once existed. But seventy-five or eighty years! +There were others besides this refugee Frenchman. Who knows into what +hands similar documents may have fallen?" + +"And the unknown man who worked in the chimney?" put in the girl +quietly. + +"That simply proves what I say. He knows that this treasure once +existed, but not where. Now, it is perfectly logical that some other +man, years ago, might have discovered the same key as we have. He may +have got away with it. The man might have plausibly declared that he +had made the money somewhere. The sum is not so large as to create any +wide comment." + +"Ah, my boy, your father had more enthusiasm than that." The admiral +looked reproachful. + +"My dear admiral," and Fitzgerald laughed in that light-hearted way of +his, "I would go into the heart of China on a treasure hunt, for the +mere fun of it. Enthusiasm? Nothing would gratify me more than to +strike a shovel into the spot where this treasure, this pot of gold, is +supposed to lie. It will be great sport; nothing like it. I was +merely supposing. I have never heard of, or come into contact with, a +man who has found a hidden treasure. I am putting up these doubts +because we are never sure of anything. Why, Mr. Breitmann knows; isn't +it more fun to find a dollar in an old suit of clothes than to know you +have ten in the suit you are wearing? It's not how much, it's the +finding that gives the pleasure." + +"That is true," echoed Breitmann generously. He fingered the papers +with a touch that was almost a caress. "A pity that you will go to the +Arctic instead." + +"I am not quite sure that I shall go," replied Fitzgerald. That this +man had deliberately lied to him rendered him indecisive. For the +present he could not do or say anything, but he had a great desire to +be on hand to watch. + +"You are not your father's son if you refuse to go with us;" and the +Admiral sent home this charge with fist against palm. + +"'Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!'" parroted the girl drolly. "You +will go, Mr. Fitzgerald." + +"Do you really want me to?" cleverly putting the decision with her. + +"Yes." There was no coquetry in voice or eye. + +"When do you expect to go?" Fitzgerald put this question to the +admiral. + +"As soon as we can coal up and provision. Laura, I've just got to +smoke. Will you gentlemen join me?" The two young men declined. "We +can go straight to Funchal in the Madieras and re-coal. With the +club-ensign up nobody will be asking questions. We can telegraph the +_Herald_ whenever we touch a port. Just a pleasure-cruise." The +admiral fingered the Legion of Honor. "And here was Alladin's Lamp +hanging up in my chimney!" He broke in laughter. "By cracky! that man +Donovan knows his business. He's gone without putting back the bricks. +He has mulcted me for two days' work." + +"But crossing in the yacht," hesitated Fitzgerald. He wished to sound +this man Breitmann. If he suggested obstacles and difficulties it +would be a confirmation of the telegram and his own singular doubts. + +"It is likely to be a rough passage," said Breitmann experimentally. + +"He doesn't want me to go." Fitzgerald stroked his chin slyly. + +"We have crossed the Atlantic twice in the yacht," Laura affirmed with +a bit of pride; "once in March too, and a heavy sea half the way." + +"Enter me as cabin-boy or supercargo," said Fitzgerald. "If you don't +you'll find a stowaway before two days out." + +"That's the spirit." The admiral drew strongly on his cigar. He had +really never been so excited since his first sea-engagement. "And it +comes in so pat, Laura. We were going away in a month anyway. Now we +can notify the guests that we've cut down the time two weeks. I tell +you what it is, this will be the greatest cruise I ever laid a course +to." + +"Guests?" murmured Fitzgerald, unconsciously poaching on Breitmann's +thought. + +"Yes. But they shall know nothing till we land in Corsica. And in a +day or two this fellow would have laid hands on these things and we'd +never been any the wiser." + +"And may we not expect more of him?" said Breitmann. + +"Small good it will do him." + +"Corsica," repeated the girl dreamily. + +"Ay, Napoleon. The Corsican Brothers' daggers and vendetta, the +restless island! It is full of interest. I have been there." +Breitmann smiled pleasantly at the girl, but his thought was unsmiling. +Versed as he was in reading at a glance expression, whether it lay in +the eyes, in the lips, or the hands, he realized with chagrin that he +had made a misstep somewhere. For some reason he would have given much +to know, Fitzgerald was covertly watching him. + +"You have been there, too, have you not, Mr. Fitzgerald?" asked Laura. + +"Oh, yes; but never north of Ajaccio." + +"Laura, what a finishing touch this will give to my book." For the +admiral was compiling a volume of treasures found, lost and still being +hunted. "All I can say is, that I am really sorry that the money +wasn't used for the purpose intended." + +"I do not agree there," said Fitzgerald. + +"And why not?" asked Breitmann. + +"France is better off as she is. She has had all the empires and +monarchies she cares for. Wonderful country! See how she has lived in +spite of them all. There will never be another kingdom in France, at +least not in our generation. There's a Napoleon in Belgium and a +Bourbon in England; the one drills mediocre soldiers and the other +shoots grouse. They will never go any further." + +The secretary spread his fingers and shrugged. "If there was only a +direct descendant of Napoleon!" + +"Well, there isn't," retorted Fitzgerald, dismissing the subject into +limbo. "And much good it would do if there was." + +"This treasure would rightly be his," insisted Breitmann. + +"It was put together to bring Napoleon back. There is no Napoleon to +bring back." + +"In other words, the money belongs to the finder?" + +"Exactly." + +"Findings is keepings," the admiral determined. "That's Captain +Flanagan's rule." + +The girl could bring together no reasons for the mind inclining to the +thought that between the two young men there had risen an antagonism of +some sort, nothing serious but still armed with spikes of light in the +eyes and a semi-truculent angle to the chin. Fitzgerald was also aware +of this apparency, and it annoyed him. Still, sometimes instinct +guides more surely than logic. After all, he and Breitmann were only +casual acquaintances. There had never been any real basis for +friendship; and the possibility of this had been rendered nil by the +telegram. One can not make a friend of a man who has lied gratuitously. + +"Now, Mr. Breitmann," interposed the admiral pacifically, for he was +too keen a sailor not to have noted the chill in the air, "suppose we +send off those letters? Here, I'll write the names and addresses, and +you can finish them up by yourself. Please call up Captain Flanagan at +Swan's Hotel and tell him to report this afternoon." The admiral +scribbled out the names of his guests, gathered up the precious +documents, and put them into his pocket. "Come along now, my children; +we'll take the air in the garden and picture the Frenchman's brig +rocking in the harbor." + +"It is all very good of you," said Fitzgerald, as the trio eyed the +yacht from the terrace. + +"Nonsense! The thing remains that all these years you ignored us." + +"I have been, and still am, confoundedly poor. There is a little; I +suppose I could get along in a hut in some country village; but the +wandering life has spoiled me for that." + +"Fake pride," rebuked the girl. + +"I suppose it is." + +"Your father had none. Long after the smash he'd hunt me up for a +week's fishing. Isn't she a beauty?" pointing to the yacht. + +"She is," the young man agreed, with his admiration leveled at the +lovely profile of the girl. + +"Let me see," began the admiral; "there will be Mr. and Mrs. Coldfield, +first-class sailors, both of them. What's the name of that singer who +is with them?" + +"Hildegarde von Mitter." + +"Of the Royal Opera in Munich?" asked Fitzgerald. + +"Yes. Have you met her? Isn't she lovely?" + +"I have only heard of her." + +"And Arthur Cathewe," concluded the admiral. + +"Cathewe? That will be fine," Fitzgerald agreed aloud. But in his +heart he swore he would never forgive Arthur for this trick. And he +knew all the time! "He's the best friend I have. A great hunter, with +a reputation which reaches from the Carpathians to the Himalayas, from +Abyssinia to the Congo." + +"He is charming and amusing. Only, he is very shy." + +At four that afternoon Captain Flanagan presented his respects. The +admiral was fond of the old fellow, a friendship formed in the blur of +battle-smoke. He had often been criticized for officering his yacht +with such a gruff, rather illiterate man, when gentlemen were to be had +for the asking. But Flanagan was a splendid seaman, and the admiral +would not have exchanged him for the smartest English naval-reserve +afloat. There was never a bend in Flanagan's back; royalty and +commonalty were all the same to him. And those who came to criticize +generally remained to admire; for Flanagan was the kind of sailor fast +disappearing from the waters, a man who had learned his seamanship +before the mast. + +"Captain, how long will it take us to reach Funchal in the Madieras?" + +"Well, Commodore, give us a decent sea an' we can make 'er in fourteen +days. But I thought we wus goin' t' th' Banks, sir?" + +"Changed my plans. We'll put out in twelve days. Everything +shipshape?" + +"Up to the buntin', sir, and down to her keel. I sh'd say about +six-hundred tons; an' mebbe twelve days instead of fourteen. An' +what'll be our course after Madeery, sir?" + +"Ajaccio, Corsica." + +"Yessir." + +If the admiral had said the Antarctic, Flanagan would never have batted +an eye. + +"You have spoken the crew?" + +"Yessir; deep-sea men, too, sir. Halloran 'll have th' injins as us'l, +sir. Shall I run 'er up t' N' York fer provisions? I got your list." + +"Triple the order. I'll take care of the wine and tobacco." + +"All right, sir." + +"That will be all. Have a cigar." + +"Thank you, sir. What's the trouble?" extending a pudgy hand toward +the chimney. + +"I'll tell you all about that later. Send up that man Donovan again." +It occurred to the admiral that it would not be a bad plan to cover Mr. +Donovan's palm. They had forgotten all about him. He had overheard. + +Very carefully the captain put away the cigar and journeyed back to the +village. He regretted Corsica. He hated Dagos, and Corsica was Dago; +thieves and cut-throats, all of them. + +This long time Breitmann had despatched his letters and gone to his +room, where he remained till dinner. He was a servant in the house. +He must not forget that. He had been worse things than this, and still +he had not forgotten. He had felt the blush of shame, yet he had +remembered, and white anger had embossed the dull scars; it was +impossible that he should forget. + +He had grown accustomed, even in this short time, to the window +overlooking the sea, and he leaned that late afternoon with his arms +resting on the part where the two frames joined and locked. The sea +was blue and gentle breasted. Flocks of gulls circled the little +harbor and land-birds ventured daringly forth. + +With what infinite care and patience had he gained this place! What +struggles had ensued! Like one of yonder birds he had been blown +about, but even with his eyes hunting for this resting. He had found +it and about lost it. A day or so later! He had come to rob, to lie, +to pillage, any method to gain his end; and fate had led him over this +threshold without dishonor, ironically. Even for that, thank God! + +Dimly he heard Fitzgerald whistling in his room across. The sound +entered his ear, but not his trend of thought. God in Heaven what a +small place this earth was! In his hand, tightly clutched, was a ball +of paper, damp from the sweat of his palm. He had gnawed it, he had +pressed it in despair. Cathewe was a man, and he was not afraid of any +man living. Besides, men rarely became tellers of tales. But the +woman: Hildegarde von Mitter! How to meet her, how to look into her +great eyes, how to hear the sound of her voice! + +He flung the ball of paper into the corner. She could break him as one +breaks a dry and brittle reed. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +M. FERRAUD INTRODUCES HIMSELF. + +"Yessir, Mr. Donovan," said Captain Flanagan, his peg-leg crossed and +one hand abstractedly polishing the brass ferrule; "Yessir, the +question is, what did y' hear?" + +Mr. Donovan caressed his beer-glass and reflected. The two were seated +in the office of Swan's Hotel. "Well, I took them bricks out an' it +seems that loony ol' Frenchman our grandpas use to blow about had hid a +box in th' chimbley." + +"A box in the chimbley. An' what was in the box?" + +Mr. Donovan considered again. "I'll tell you the truth, Cap'n. It wus +a lot of rigermarole about a treasure. I wanted t' laugh. Your +commodore's a hoodoo on pirates an' treasures, an' he ain't found +either yet." + +"No jokin'; keep a clear course." + +"No harm. Th' admiral's all right, and don't you forget it. As I wus +sayin', they finds this 'ere box. The dockeyments wus in French, but +th' daughter read 'em off sumpin wonderful. You've heard of Napoleon?" + +"Yes; I recollects the name," replied the captain, with quiet ridicule. + +"Well, this business pertained t' him. Seems some o' his friends got +money t'gether t' rescue him from some island or other." + +"St. Helena." + +"That wus it. They left the cash in a box in Corsiker, 'nother island; +I-talyan, I take it. But I'll bet a dollar you never find anythin' +there." + +"That is as may be." The captain liberated a full sigh and dug a hand +into a trousers pocket. He looked cautiously about. The two of them +were without witnesses. The landlord was always willing to serve beer +to those in quest of it; but immediately on providing it, he resumed +his interrupted perusal of the sporting column. At this moment his +soul was flying around the track at Bennington. When the captain +pulled out his hand it seemed full of bright autumn leaves. Donovan's +glass was suspended midway between the table and his lips. Slowly the +glass retraced the half-circle and resumed its perpendicular position +upon the oak. + +"Beauties; huh?" said the captain. + +"Twenty-dollar bills!" + +"Yessir; every one of 'em as good as gold; payable to bearer on demand, +says your Uncle Sam." + +"An' why are you makin' me envious this way?" said Donovan crossly. + +"Donovan, you and me's been friends off an' on these ten years, ever +since th' commodore bought th' _Laura_. Well, says he t' me 'Capt'n, +we forgot that Mr. Donovan was in th' room at th' time o' th' +discovery. Will you be so kind as to impress him with the fact that +this expedition is on the Q.T.? Not that I think he will say anythin', +but you might add these few bits o' paper to his promise not t' speak.' +Says I, 'I'll trust Mr. Donovan.' An' I do. You never broke no +promise yet." + +"It pays in the long run," replied Mr. Donovan, vainly endeavoring to +count the bills. + +"Well, this 'ere little fortune is yours if you promise to abide by th' +conditions." + +"That I keeps my mouth shut." + +"An' _not_ open it even to th' Mrs." + +Mr. Donovan permitted a doubt to wrinkle his brow. "That'll be a tough +proposition." + +"Put th' money in th' bank and say nothin' till you hear from me," +advised the captain. + +"That's a go." + +"Then I give you these five nice ones with th' regards o' th' +commodore." The captain stripped each bill and slowly laid it down on +the table for the fear that by some curious circumstance there might be +six. + +"One hundred? Capt'n, I'm a--" Mr. Donovan emptied his glass with a +few swift gulps and banged the table. "Two more." + +The landlord lowered his paper wearily (would they never let him +alone?) and stepped behind the bar. At the same time Mr. Donovan +folded the bills and stowed them away. + +"Not even t' th' Mrs.," he swore. "Here's luck, Capt'n." + +"Same t' you; an' don't get drunk this side o' Jersey City." + +And with this admonition the captain drank his beer and thumped off for +the water front, satisfied that the village would hear nothing from Mr. +Donovan. Nevertheless, it was shameful to let a hundred go that easy; +twenty would have served. He was about to hail the skiff when he was +accosted by the quiet little man he had recently observed sitting alone +in the corner of Swan's office. + +"Pardon, but you are Captain Flanagan of the yacht _Laura_?" + +"Yessir," patiently. "But the owner never lets anybody aboard he don't +know, sir." + +"I do not desire to come aboard, my Captain. What I wish to know is if +his excellency the admiral is at home." + +"His excellency" rather confounded the captain for a moment; but he +came about without "takin' more'n a bucketful," as he afterward +expressed it to Halloran the engineer. "I knew right then he wus a +furriner; I know 'em. They ain't no excellencies in th' navy. But I +tells him that the commodore was snug in his berth up yonder, and with +that he looks to me like I wus a lady. I've seen him in Swan's at +night readin'; allus chasin' butterflies when he sees 'em in the +street." And the captain rounded out this period by touching his +forehead as a subtle hint that in his opinion the foreigner carried no +ballast. + +In the intervening time the subject of this light suggestion was +climbing the hill with that tireless resiliant step of one born to +mountains. No task appeared visibly to weary this man. Small as he +was, his bones were as strong and his muscles as stringy as a wolf's. +If the butterfly was worth while he would follow till it fell to his +net or daylight withdrew its support. Never he lost patience, never +his smile faltered, never his mild spectacled eyes wavered. He was a +savant by nature; he was a secret agent by choice. Who knows anything +about rare butterflies appreciates the peril of the pursuit; one never +picks the going and often stumbles. He was a hunter of butterflies by +nature; but he possessed a something more than a mere smattering of +other odd crafts. He was familiar with precious gems, marbles he knew +and cameos; he could point out the weakness in a drawing, the false +effort in a symphony; he was something of mutual interest to every man +and woman he met. + +So it fell out very well that Admiral Killigrew was fond of +butterflies. Still, he should have been equally glad to know that the +sailor's hobby inclined toward the exploits of pirates. M. Ferraud was +a modest man. That his exquisite brochure on lepidopterous insects was +in nearly all the public libraries of the world only gratified, but +added nothing to his vanity. + +As it oftentimes happens to a man whose mind is occupied with other +things, the admiral, who received M. Ferraud in the library, saw +nothing in the name to kindle his recollection. He bade the savant to +be seated while he read the letter of introduction which had been +written by the secretary of the navy. + + +"MY DEAR KILLIGREW: + +"This will introduce to you Monsieur Ferraud, of the butterfly fame. +He has learned of the success of your efforts in the West Indies and +South America and is eager to see your collection. Do what you can for +him. I know you will, for you certainly must have his book. I myself +do not know a butterfly from a June-bug, but it will be a pleasure to +bring you two together." + + +Breitmann arranged his papers neatly and waited to be dismissed. He +had seen M. Ferraud at Swan's, but had formed no opinion regarding him; +in fact, the growth of his interest had stopped at indifference. On +his part, the new arrival never so much as gave the secretary a second +glance--the first was sufficient. And while the admiral read on, M. +Ferraud examined the broken skin on his palms. + +"Mr. Ferraud! Well, well; this is a great honor, I'm sure. It was +very kind of them to send you here. Where is your luggage?" + +"I am stopping at Swan's Hotel." + +"We shall have your things up this very night." + +"Oh!" said Ferraud, in protest; though this was the very thing he +desired. + +"Not a word!" The admiral summoned the butler, who was the general +factotem at The Pines, and gave a dozen orders. + +"Ah, you Americans!" laughed M. Ferraud, pyramiding his fingers. "You +leave us breathless." + +"Your book has delighted me. But I'm afraid my collection will not pay +you for your trouble." + +"That is for me to decide. My South American specimens are all +seconds. On the other hand, you have netted yours yourself." + +And straightway a bond of friendship was riveted between these two men +which still remains bright and untarnished by either absence or +forgetfulness. They bent over the cases, agreed and disagreed, the one +with the sharp gestures, the other with the rise and fall of the voice. +For them nothing else existed; they were truly engrossed. + +Breitmann, hiding a smile that was partly a yawn, stole quietly away. +Butterflies did not excite his concern in the least. + +M. Ferraud was charmed. He was voluble. Never had he entered a more +homelike place, large enough to be called a chateau, yet as cheerful as +a winter's fire. And the daughter! Her French was the elegant speech +of Tours, her German Hanoverian. Incomparable! And she was not +married? _Helas_! How many luckless fellows walked the world +desolate? And this was M. Fitzgerald the journalist? And M. Breitmann +had also been one? How delighted he was to be here! All this flowed +on with perfect naturalness; there wasn't a false note anywhere. At +dinner he diffused a warmth and geniality which were infectious. Laura +was pleased and amused; and she adored her father for these impulses +which brought to the board, unexpectedly, such men as M. Ferraud. + +M. Ferraud did not smoke, but he dissipated to the extent of drinking +three small cups of coffee after dinner. + +"You are right," he acknowledged--there had been a slight dispute +relative to the methods of roasting the berry--"Europe does not roast +its coffee, it burns it. The aroma, the bouquet! I am beaten." + +"So am I," Fitzgerald reflected sadly, snatching a vision of the girl's +animated face. + +Three days he had ridden into the country with her, or played tennis, +or driven down to the village and inspected the yacht. He had been +lonely so long and this beautiful girl was such a good comrade. One +moment he blessed the prospective treasure hunt, another he execrated +it. To be with this girl was to love her; and whither this pleasurable +idleness would lead him he was neither blind nor self-deceiving. But +with the semi-humorous recklessness which was the leaven of his +success, he thrust prudence behind him and stuck to the primrose path. +He had played with fire before, but never had the coals burned so +brightly. He did not say that she was above him; mentally and by birth +they were equals; simply, he was compelled to admit of the truth that +she was beyond him. Money. That was the obstacle. For what man will +live on his wife's bounty? Suppose they found the treasure (and with +his old journalistic suspicion he was still skeptical), and divided it; +why, the interest on his share would not pay for her dresses. To the +ordinary male eye her gowns looked inexpensive, but to him who had +picked up odd bits of information not usually in the pathway of man, to +him there was no secret about it. That bodice and those sleeves of old +Venetian point would have eaten up the gains of any three of his most +prosperous months. + +And Breitmann, dropping occasionally the ash of his cigarette on the +tray, he, too, was pondering. But his German strain did not make it so +easy for him as for Fitzgerald to give concrete form to his thought. +The star, as he saw it, had a nebulous appearance. + +M. Ferraud chatted gaily. Usually a man who holds his audience is of +single purpose. The little Frenchman had two aims: one, to keep the +conversation on subjects of his own selection, and the other, to study +without being observed. Among one of his own tales (butterflies) he +told of a chase he once had made in the mountains of the Moors, in +Abyssinia. To illustrate it he took up one of the nets standing in the +corner. In his excitable way he was a very good actor. And when he +swooped down the net to demonstrate the end of the story, it caught on +a button on Breitmann's coat. + +"Pardon!" said M. Ferraud, with a blithe laugh. "The butterfly I was +describing was not so big." + +Breitmann freed himself amid general laughter. And with Laura's rising +the little after-dinner party became disorganized. + +It was yet early; but perhaps she had some thought she wished to be +alone with. This consideration was the veriest bud in growth; still, +it was such that she desired the seclusion of her room. She swung +across her shoulders the sleepy Angora and wished the men good night. + + +The wire bell in the hall clock vibrated twice; two o'clock of the +morning. A streak of moon-shine fell aslant the floor and broke off +abruptly. Before the safe in the library stood Breitmann, a small tape +in his hand. For several minutes he contemplated somberly the nickel +combination wheel. He could open it for he knew the combination. To +open it would be the work of a moment. Why, then, did he hesitate? +Why not pluck it forth and disappear on the morrow? The admiral had +not made a copy, and without the key he might dig up Corsica till the +crack of doom. The flame on the taper crept down. The man gave a +quick movement to his shoulders; it was the shrug, not of impatience +but of resignation. He saw the lock through the haze of a conjured +face. He shut his eyes, but the vision remained. Slowly he drew his +fingers over the flame. + +Yet, before the flame died wholly it touched two points of light in the +doorway, the round crystals of a pair of spectacles. + +"Two souls with but a single thought!" the secret agent murmured. +"Poor devil! why does he hesitate? Why does he not take it and be +gone? Is he still honest? _Peste_! I must be growing old. I shall +not ruin him, I shall save him. It is not goot politics, but it is +good Christianity. _Schlafen Sie wohl, Hochwohl geboren_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE WOMAN WHO KNEW + +"Don't you sometimes grow weary for an abiding place?" Laura pulled +off her gauntlets and laid her hot hands on the cool lichen-grown +stones of the field-wall. The bridle-rein hung over her arm. +Fitzgerald had drawn his through a stirrup. "Think of wandering here +and there, with never a place to come back to." + +"I have thought of it often in the few days I have been here. I have a +home in New York, but I could not possibly afford to live in it; so I +rent it; and when I want to go fishing there's enough under hand to pay +the expenses. My poor old dad! He was always indorsing notes for his +friends, or carrying stock for them; and nothing ever came back. I am +afraid the disillusions broke his heart. And then, perhaps I was a +bitter disappointment. I was expelled from college in my junior year. +I had no head for figures other than that kind which inhabit the Louvre +and the Vatican." + +Her face became momentarily mirthful. + +"So I couldn't take hold of the firm for him," he continued. "And I +suppose the last straw was when I tried my hand at reporting on one of +the newspapers. He knew that the gathering of riches, so far as I was +concerned, was a closed door. But I found my level; the business was +and is the only one that ever interested me or fused my energy with +real work." + +"But it is real work. You are one of those men who have done +something. Most men these days rest on their fathers' laurels." + +"It's the line of the least resistance. I never knew that the Jersey +coast was so picturesque. What a sweep! Do you know, your house on +that pine-grown crest reminds me of the Villa Serbelloni, only yonder +is the sea instead of Como?" + +"Como." Her eyes became dreamily half-shut. Recollection put on its +seven-league boots and annihilated the space between the wall under her +elbows and the gardens of Serbelloni. Fitzgerald half understood the +thought. "Isn't Mr. Breitmann just a bit of a mystery to you?" she +asked. The seven-league boots had returned at a bound. + +"In some ways, yes." He rather resented the abrupt angle; it was not +in poetic touch with the time being. + +"He is inclined to be too much reserved. But last night Mr. Ferraud +succeeded in tearing down some of it. If I could put in a book what +all you men have seen and taken part in! Mr. Breitmann would be almost +handsome but for those scars." + +He kicked the turf at the foot of the wall. "In Germany they are +considered beauty-spots." + +"I am not in sympathy with that custom." + +"Still, it requires courage of a kind." + +"The noblest wounds are those that are carried unseen. Student scars +are merely patches of vanity." + +"He has others besides those. He was nearly killed in the Soudan." +Fitzgerald was compelled to offer some defense for the absent. That +Breitmann had lied to him, that his appearance here had been in the +regular order of things, did not take away the fact that the Bavarian +was a man and a brave one. Closely as he had watched, up to the +present he had learned absolutely nothing; and to have shown Breitmann +the telegram would have accomplished nothing further than to have put +him wholly on guard. + +"Have you no scars?" mischief in her eyes. + +"Not yet;" and the force of his gaze turned hers aside. "Yet I must +not forget my conscience; 'tis pretty well battered up." + +She greeted this with laughter. She had heard men talk like this +before. "You have probably never done a mean or petty thing in all +your life." + +"Mean and petty things never disturb a man's conscience. It's the big +things that scar." + +"That's a platitude." + +"Then my end of the conversation is becoming flat." + +"Confess that you are eager to return to the great highways once more." + +"I shall confess nothing of the sort. I should like to stay here for a +hundred years." + +"You would miss us all very much then," merrily. "And Napoleon's +treasure would have gone in and out of innumerable pockets!" + +"Do you really and truly believe that we shall bring home a single +franc of it?" facing her with incredulous eyes. + +"Really and truly. And why not? Treasures have been found before. +Fie on you for a Doubting Thomas!" + +"We sometimes go many miles to find, in the end, that the treasure was +all the time under our very eyes." + +"Hyperbole!" But she looked down at the lichen again and began pealing +it off the stone. She thought of a duke she knew. At this instant he +would have been telling her that she was the most beautiful woman since +Helen. What a relief this man at her side was! She was perfectly +aware that he admired her, but he veiled his tributes with half-smiles +and flashes of humor. "What a gay little man that Mr. Ferraud is!" + +"Lively as a cricket. Your father, I understand, is to take him as far +as Marseilles. After to-night everything will be quite formal, I +suppose. Honestly, I feel ill at ease in accepting your splendid +hospitality. I'm an interloper. I haven't even the claim of an +ordinary introduction. It has been very, very kind of you." + +"You know Mrs. Coldfield. I will, if you wish it, ask her to present +you to me." + +"I am really serious." + +"So am I." + +"They will be here to-morrow?" + +"Yes. And in four days we sail. Oh, it is all so beautiful! A real +treasure hunt." + +"It does not seem possible that I have been here a week. It has been a +long time since I enjoyed myself so thoroughly. Have you ever wondered +what has become of the other man?" + +"The other man?" + +"Yes; the other one in or outside the chimney. I've been thinking +about him this long while. Hasn't it occurred to you that he may have +other devices?" + +"If he has he will find that he has waited too long. But I would like +to know how he found out. You see," triumphantly, "he believed that +there is one." She shook the rein, for the sleek mare was nozzling her +shoulder and pawing slightly, "Let us be off." + +She put her small booted foot on his palm and vaulted into the saddle, +and he swung on to his mount. He stuffed his cap into a pocket, for he +was no fair-weather horseman, but loved the tingle of the wind rushing +through his hair; and the two cantered down the clear sandy road. + +"_En avant_!" she cried joyously, with a light stroke of her whip. + +For half a mile they ran and drew in at the fork in the road. +Exhilaration was in the eyes of both of them. + +"There's nothing equal to it. You feel alive. And off there," with a +wave of the whip toward the sea, "off there lies our fortunes. O happy +day! to take part in a really truly adventure, without the assistance +of a romancer!" + +"I think you are one of the most charming women I have ever met," he +replied. + +"Some women would object to the modification, but I rather like it." + +"I withdraw the modification." The smile on his lips was not reflected +in his eyes. + +The antithesis of the one expression to the other did not annoy her; +rather she was sensitive to a tender exultance the recurrence of which, +later in the day, subdued her: for Breitmann at tea turned a few +phrases of a similar character. Fitzgerald was light-hearted and +boyish, Breitmann was grave and dignified; but in the eyes of each +there was a force she had encountered so seldom as to forget its being. +Breitmann, in his capacity of secretary, was not so often in her +company as Fitzgerald; nevertheless she was subtly attracted toward +him. When he was of the mind he could invent a happy compliment with a +felicity no less facile than Fitzgerald. And the puzzling thing of it +all was, both men she knew from their histories had never been +ornaments at garden-parties where compliments are current coin. She +liked Fitzgerald, but she admired Breitmann, a differentiation which +she had no inclination to resolve into first principles. That +Breitmann was a secretary for hire drew no barrier in her mind. She +had known many gentlemen of fine families who had served in like +situations. There were no social distinctions. On the other hand, she +never felt wholly comfortable with Breitmann. There was not the least +mistrust in this feeling. It was rather because she instinctively felt +that he was above his occupation. To sum it up briefly, Breitmann was +difficult to understand and Fitzgerald wasn't. + +Fitzgerald had an idea; boldly put, it was a grave suspicion. Not once +had he forgotten the man in the chimney. Once the finger had pointed +at Breitmann or some one with whom he was in understanding. This had +proved to be groundless. But he kept turning over the incident and +inspecting it from all sides. There were others a-treasure hunting; +persons unknown; and a man might easily become desperate in the pursuit +of two-million francs, almost half a million of American money, more, +for some of these coins would be rare. He had thoroughly searched the +ground outside the cellar-window, but the sea gravel held its secret +with a tenacity as baffling as the mother-sea herself. There was a new +under-groom, or rather there had been. He had left, and where he had +gone no one knew. Fitzgerald dismissed the thought of him; at the most +he could have been but an accomplice, one to unlock the cellar-window. + +While Breitmann lingered near Laura, offering what signs of admiration +he dared, and while the admiral chatted to his country neighbors who +were gathered round the tea-table, Fitzgerald and M. Ferraud were +braced against the terrace wall, a few yards farther on, and exchanged +views on various peoples. + +"America is a wonderful country," said M. Ferraud, when they had +exhausted half a dozen topics. He spread out his hands, Frenchman-wise. + +"So it is." Fitzgerald threw away his cigarette. + +"And how foolish England was over a pound of tea." + +"Something like that." + +"But see what she lost!" with a second gesture. + +"In one way it would not have mattered. She would patronize us as she +still does." + +"Do you not resent it, this patronizing attitude?" + +"Oh, no--we are very proud to be patronized by England," cynically. +"It's a fine thing to have a lord tell you that you wear your clothes +jolly well." + +"I wonder if you are serious or jesting." + +"I am very serious at this moment," said Fitzgerald quietly catching +the other by the wrist and turning the palm. + +M. Ferraud looked into his face with an astonishment on his own, most +genuine. But he did not struggle. "Why do you do that?" + +"I am curious, Mr. Ferraud, when I see a hand like this. Would you +mind letting me see the other?" + +"Not in the least." M. Ferraud offered the other hand. + +Fitzgerald let go. "What was your object?" + +"Mon dieu! what object?" + +Fitzgerald lowered his voice. "What was your object in digging holes +in yonder chimney? Did you know what was there? And what do you +propose to do now?" + +M. Ferraud coolly, took off his spectacles and polished the lenses. It +needed but a moment to adjust them. "What are you talking about?" + +"You are really M. Ferraud?" said the young man coldly. + +The Frenchman produced a wallet and took out a letter. It was written +by the president of France, introducing M. Ferraud to the ambassador at +Washington. Next, there was a passport, and far more important than +either of these was the Legion of Honor. "Yes, I am Anatole Ferraud." + +"That is all I desire to know." + +"Shall we return to the ladies?" asked M. Ferraud, restoring his +treasures. + +"Since there is nothing more to be said at present. It seems strange +to me that foreign politics should find its way here." + +"Politics? I am only a butterfly hunter." + +"There are varieties. But you are the man. I shall find out!" + +"Possibly," returned M. Ferraud thinking hard. + +"I give you fair warning that if anything is missing--" + +"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald!" + +"I shall know where to look for it," with a smile which had no humor in +it. + +"Why not denounce me now?" + +"Would it serve your purpose?" + +"No," with deeper gravity. "It would be a great disaster; how great, I +can not tell you." + +"Then, I shall say nothing." + +"About what?" dryly, even whimsically. + +"About your being a secret agent from France." + +This time M. Ferraud's glance proved that he was truly startled. Only +three times in his career had his second life been questioned or +suspected. He eyed his hands accusingly; they had betrayed him. This +young man was clever, cleverer than he had thought. He had been too +confident and had committed a blunder. Should he trust him? With that +swift unerring instinct which makes the perfect student of character, +he said: "You will do me a great favor not to impart this suspicion to +any one else." + +"Suspicion?" + +"It is true: I am a secret agent;" and he said it proudly. + +"You wish harm to none here?" + +"_Mon dieu_! No. I am here for the very purpose of saving you all +from heartaches and misfortune and disillusion. And had I set to work +earlier I should have accomplished all this without a single one of you +knowing it. Now the matter will have to go on to its end." + +"Can you tell me anything?" + +"Not now. I trust you; will you trust me?" + +Fitzgerald hesitated for a space. "Yes." + +"For that, thanks," and M. Ferraud put out a hand. "It is clean, Mr. +Fitzgerald, for all that the skin is broken." + +"Of that I have no doubt." + +"Before we reach Corsica you will know." + +And so temporarily that ended the matter. But as Fitzgerald went over +to the chair just vacated by the secretary, he found that there was a +double zest to life now. This would be far more exciting than dodging +ice-floes and freezing one's toes. + +Laura told him the news. Their guests would arrive that evening in +time for dinner. + + +It was Breitmann's habit to come down first. He would thrum a little +on the piano or take down some old volume. To-night it was Heine. He +had not met any of the guests yet, which he considered a piece of good +fortune. But God only knew what would happen when _she_ saw him. He +dreaded the moment, dreaded it with anguish. She was a woman, schooled +in acting, but a time comes when the best acting is not sufficient. If +only in some way he might have warned her; but no way had opened. She +would find him ready, however, ready with his eyes, his lips, his +nerves. What would the others think or say if she lost her presence of +mind? His teeth snapped. He read on. The lamp threw the light on the +scarred side of his face. + +He heard some one enter, and his gaze stole over the top of his book. +This person was a woman, and her eyes traveled from object to object +with a curiosity tinged with that incertitude which attacks us all when +we enter an unfamiliar room. She was dressed in black, showing the +white arms and neck. Her hair was like ripe wheat after a rain-storm: +oh, but he knew well the color of her eyes, blue as the Adriatic. She +was a woman of perhaps thirty, matured, graceful, handsome. The sight +of her excited a thrill in his veins, deny it how he would. + +She scanned the long rows of books, the strange weapons, the heroic and +sinister flags, the cases of butterflies. With each inspection she +stepped nearer and nearer, till by reaching out his hand he might have +touched her. Quietly he rose. It was a critical moment. + +She was startled. She had thought she was alone. + +"Pardon me," she said, in a low, musical voice; "I did not know that +any one was here." And then she saw his face. Her own blanched and +her hands went to her heart. "Karl?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE DRAMA BEGINS + +She swayed a little, but recovered as the pain of the shock was +succeeded by numbness. That out of the dark of this room, into the +light of that lamp, in this house so far removed from cities that it +seemed not a part of the world . . . there should step this man! Why +had there been no hint of his presence? Why had not the clairvoyance +of despair warned her? One of her hands rose and pressed over her +eyes, as if to sponge out this phantom. It was useless; it was no +dream; he was still there, this man she had neither seen nor heard of +for five years because her will was stronger than her desire, this man +who had broken her heart as children break toys! And deep below all +this present terror was the abiding truth that she still loved him and +always would love him. The shame of this knowledge did more than all +else to rouse and to nerve her. + +"Karl?" It was like an echo. + +"Yes." There was war in his voice and attitude and not without reason. +He had wronged this woman, not with direct intention it was true, but +nevertheless he had wronged her; and her presence here could mean +nothing less than that fate had selected this spot for the reckoning. +She could topple down his carefully reared schemes with the same ease +with which he had blown over hers. And to him these schemes were life +to his breath and salt to his blood, everything. What was one woman? +cynically. "Yes, it is I," in the tongue native to them both. + +"And what do you here?" + +"I am Admiral Killigrew's private secretary." He wet his lips. He was +not so strong before this woman as he had expected to be. The glamour +of the old days was faintly rekindled at the sight of her. And she +_was_ beautiful. + +"Then, this is the house?" in a whisper. + +"It is." + +"You terrify me!" + +"Hildegarde, this is your scheme," shrugging. "Tell them all you know; +break me, ruin me. Here is a fair opportunity for revenge." + +"God forbid!" she cried with a shiver. "Were you guilty of all crimes, +I could only remember that once I loved you." + +"You shame me," he replied frankly, but with infinite relief. "You +have outdone me in magnanimity. Will you forgive me?" + +"Oh, yes. Forgiveness is one of the few things you men can not rob us +of." She spoke without bitterness, but her eyes were dim and her lips +dropped. "What shall we do? They must not know that we have met." + +"Cathewe knows," moodily. + +"I had forgotten!" + +"I leave all in your hands. Do what you will. If you break me--and +God knows well that you can do it--it would be only an act of justice. +I have been a damned scoundrel; I am man enough to admit of that." + +She saw his face more clearly now. Time had marked it. There were new +lines at the corners of his eyes and the cheek-bones were more +prominent. Perhaps he had suffered too. "You will always have the +courage to do," she said, "right or wrong in a great manner." + +"Am I wrong to seek--" + +"Hush! I know. It is what you must thrust aside or break to reach it, +Karl. The thing itself is not wrong, but you will go about it wrongly. +You can not help that." + +He did not reply. Perhaps she was right. Indeed, was she not herself +an example of it? If there was one thing in his complex career that he +regretted more than another it was the deception of this woman. He did +not possess the usual vanity of the sex; there was nothing here to be +proud of; his dream of conquest was not over the kingdom of women. + +"Some one is coming," he said, listening. + +"Leave it all to me." + +"Ah! . . ." with a hand toward her. + +"Do not say it. I understand the thought. If only you loved me, you +would say!" the iron in her voice unmistakable. + +He let his hand fall. He was sorry. + +Presently the others made their entrance upon the scene, a singular +anticlimax. The admiral rang for the cocktails. Introductions +followed. + +"Is it not strange?" said the singer to Laura. "I stole in here to +look at the trophies, when I discovered Mr. Breitmann whom I once knew +in Munich." + +"Mr. Cathewe," said the young hostess, "this is Mr. Breitmann, who is +aiding father in the compilation of his book." + +"Mr. Breitmann and I have met before," said Cathewe soberly. + +The two men bowed. Cathewe never gave his hand to any but his +intimates. But Laura, who was not aware of this ancient reserve, +thought that both of them showed a lack of warmth. And Fitzgerald, who +was watching all comers now, was sure that the past of his friend and +Breitmann interlaced in some way. + +"So, young man," said Mrs. Coldfield, a handsome motherly woman, "you +have had the impudence to let five years pass without darkening my +doors. What excuse have you?" + +"I'm guilty of anything you say," Fitzgerald answered humbly. "What +shall be my punishment?" + +"You shall take Miss Laura in and I shall sit at your left." + +"For my sins it shall be as you say. But, really, I have been so +little in New York," he added. + +"I forgive you simply because you have not made a failure of your +mother's son. And you look like her, too." It is one of the +privileges of old persons to compare the young with this or that parent. + +"You are flattering me. Dad used to say that I was as homely as a +hedge-fence." + +"Now you're fishing, and I'm too old a fish to rise to such a cast." + +"I heard you sing in Paris a few years ago," said M. Ferraud. + +"Yes?" Hildegarde von Mitter wondered who this little man could be. + +"And you sing no more?" + +"No. The bird has flown; only the woman remains." They were at the +table now, and she absently plucked the flowers beside her plate. + +"Ah, to sing as you did, and then to disappear, to vanish! You had no +right to do so. You belonged to the public," animatedly. + +"The public is always selfish; it always demands more than any single +person can give to it. Pardon?" she said as Cathewe leaned to speak to +her. "I did not hear." + +M. Ferraud nibbled his crisp celery. + +"I asked, what will you do?" repeated Cathewe for her ear only. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Did you know that he was here?" + +"I should not have been seated at this table had I known." + +"Some day you are going to tell me all about it," he asserted; "and you +are going to smile when you answer me." + +"Thank you. I forgot. My dear friend, I am never going to tell you +all about it. Why did you not come first?" her voice vibrating. + +"You still love him." + +"That is not kind," striving hard to keep the smile on her trembling +lips. "Oh, I beg of you, do not make this friendship impossible. Do +not rob me of the one man I trust." + +Cathewe motioned aside the fish and reached for his sauterne. "I have +loved you faithfully and loyally for seven years. I have tried to win +you by all those roads a man may honorably traverse in quest of the one +woman. For seven years; and for something like three I have stayed +away at your command. Will you believe it? Sometimes my hands ache +for his throat . . . Smile, they are looking." + +It was a crooked smile. "Why did I ever tell you?" + +"Why did you ever tell me . . . only part? It is the other part I wish +to know. Till I learn what that is I shall never leave you. You will +find that there is a difference between love and infatuation." + +"As I have never known infatuation I can not tell the difference. Now, +no more, unless you care to see me break down before them. For if you +tell me that you have loved me seven years, I have loved him eight," +cruelly, for Cathewe was pressing her cruelly. + +"Devil take him! What do you find in the man?" + +"What do you find in me?" her eyes filled with anger. + +"Forgive me, Hildegarde; I am blind and mad to-night. I did not expect +to find him here either." + +Breitmann had tried ineffectually to read their lips. She had given +her word, and once given, he knew of old that she never broke it; but +he was keenly alive that in some way he was the topic of the inaudible +conversation. As he sat here to-night he knew why he had never loved +Hildegarde, why in fact, he had never loved any woman. The one great +passion which comes in the span of life was centered in the girl beside +him, dividing her moments between him and Fitzgerald. Strange, but he +had not known it till he saw the two women together. For once his nice +calculations had ceased to run smoothly; there appeared now a knot in +the thread for which he saw no untying. + +"You do not sing now?" asked Laura across the table. + +"No," Hildegarde answered, "my voice is gone." + +"Oh, I am so sorry." + +"It does not matter. I can hum a little to myself; there is yet some +pleasure in that. But in opera, no, never again. Has not Mrs. +Coldfield told you? No? Imagine! One night in Dresden, in the middle +of the aria, my voice broke miserably and I could not go on." + +"And her heart nearly broke with it," interposed Mrs. Coldfield, with +the best intentions, nearer the truth than she knew. "I am sorry, +Laura, that I never told you before." + +Hildegarde laughed. "Sooner or later this must happen. I worked too +hard, perhaps. At any rate, the opera will know me no more." + +There was the hard blue of flint in Cathewe's eyes as they met and held +Breitmann's. There was a duel, and the latter was routed. But hate +burned fiercely in the breast against the man who could compel him to +lower his eyes. Some day he would pay back that glance. + +Now, M. Ferraud had missed nothing. He twisted the talk into other +channels with his usual adroitness, but all the while there was +bubbling in his mind the news that these two men had met before. The +history of Hildegarde von Mitter was known to him. But how much did +she know, or this man Cathewe? The woman was a thoroughbred. He, +Anatole Ferraud, knew; it was his business to know; and that she should +happen upon the scene he considered as one of these rare good pieces of +luck that fall to the lot of few. There would be something more than +treasure hunting here; an intricate comedy-drama, with as many +well-defined sides as a diamond. He ate his endive with pleasure and +sipped the old yellow _Pol Roger_ with his eyes beaming toward the +gods. To be, after a fashion, the prompter behind the scenes; to be +able to read the final line before the curtain! Butterflies and +butterflies and pins and pins. + +Did Laura note any of the portentous glances, those exchanged between +the singer and Cathewe and Breitmann? Perhaps. At all events she felt +a curiosity to know how long Hildegarde von Mitter had known her +father's secretary. There was no envy in her heart as again she +acknowledged the beauty of the other woman; moreover, she liked her and +was going to like her more. Impressions were made upon her almost +instantly, for good or bad, and rarely changed. + +She turned oftenest to Fitzgerald, for he made particular effort to +entertain, and he succeeded better than he dreamed. It kept turning +over in her mind what a whimsical, capricious, whirligig was at work. +It was droll, this man at her side, chatting to her as if he had known +her for years, when, seven or eight days ago, he had stood, a man all +unknown to her, on a city corner, selling plaster of Paris statuettes +on a wager; and but for Mrs. Coldfield, she had passed him for ever. +Out upon the prude who would look askance at her for harmless daring! + +"Drop into my room before you turn in," urged Fitzgerald to Cathewe. + +"That I shall, my boy. I've some questions to ask of you." + +But a singular idea came into creation, and this was for him, Cathewe, +to pay Breitmann a visit on the way to Fitzgerald's room. Not one man +in a thousand would have dared put this idea into a plan of action. +But neither externals nor conventions deterred Cathewe when he sought a +thing. He rapped lightly on the door of the secretary's room. + +"Come in." + +Cathewe did so, gently closing the door behind him. Breitmann was in +his shirt-sleeves. He rose from his chair and laid down his cigarette. +A faint smile broke the thin line of his mouth. He waited for his +guest, or, rather, this intruder, to break the silence. And as Cathewe +did not speak at once, there was a tableau during which each was +speculatively busy with the eyes. + +"The vicissitudes of time," said Cathewe, "have left no distinguishable +marks upon you." + +Breitmann bowed. He remained standing. + +And Cathewe had no wish to sit. "I never expected to see you in this +house." + +"A compliment which I readily return." + +"A private secretary; I never thought of you in that capacity." + +"One must take what one can," tranquilly. + +"A good precept." Cathewe rolled the ends of his mustache, a trifle +perplexed how to put it. "But there should be exceptions. What," and +his voice became crisp and cold, "what was Hildegarde von Mitter to +you?" + +"And what is that to you?" + +"My question first." + +"I choose not to answer it." + +Again they eyed each other like fencers. + +"Were you married?" + +Breitmann laughed. Here was his opportunity to wring this man's heart; +for he knew that Cathewe loved the woman. "You seem to be in her +confidence. Ask her." + +"A poltroon would say as much. There is a phase in your make-up I have +never fully understood. Physically you are a brave man, but morally +you are a cad and a poltroon." + +"Take care!" Breitmann stepped forward menacingly. + +"There will be no fisticuffs," contemptuously. + +"Not if you are careful. I have answered your questions; you had +better leave at once." + +"She is loyal to you. It was not her voice that broke that night; it +was her heart, you have some hold over her." + +"None that she can not throw off at any time." Breitmann's mind was +working strangely. + +"If she would have me I would marry her tomorrow," went on Cathewe, +playing openly, "I would marry her to-morrow, priest or protestant, for +her religion would be mine." + +There was a spark of admiration in Breitmann's eyes. This man Cathewe +was out of the ordinary. Well, as for that, so was he himself. He +walked silently to the door and opened it, standing aside for the other +to pass. "She is perfectly free. Marry her. She is all and more than +you wish her to be. Will you go now?" + +Cathewe bowed and turned on his heel. Breitmann had really got the +better of him. + +A peculiar interview, and only two strong men could have handled it in +so few words. Not a word above normal tones; once or twice only, in +the flutter of the eyelids or in the gesture of the hands, was there +any sign that had these been primitive times the two would have gone +joyously at each other's throats. + +"I owed her that much," said Breitmann as he locked the door. + +"It did not matter at all to me," was Cathewe's thought, as he knocked +on Fitzgerald's door and heard his cheery call, "I only wanted to know +what sort of man he is." + + +"Oh, I really don't know whether I like him or not," declared +Fitzgerald. "I have run across him two or three times, but we were +both busy. He has told me a little about himself. He's been knocked +about a good deal. Has a title, but doesn't use it." + +"A title? That is news to me. Probably it is true." + +"I was surprised to learn that you knew him at all." + +"Not very well. Met him in Munich mostly." + +A long pause. + +"Isn't Miss Killigrew just rippin'? There's a comrade for some man. +Lucky devil, who gets her! She is new to me every day." + +"I think I warned you." + +"You were a nice one, never to say a word that you knew the admiral!" + +"Are you complaining?" + +Fitzgerald laughed; no not exactly; he wasn't complaining. + +"You remember the caravan trails in the Lybian desert; the old ones on +the way to Khartoum? The pathway behind her is like that, marked with +the bleached bones of princely and ducal and common hopes." Cathewe +stretched out in his chair. "Since she was eighteen, Jack, she has +crossed the man-trail like a sandstorm, and quite as innocently, too." + +"Oh, rot! I'm no green and salad youth." + +"Your bones will be only the tougher, that's all." + +Another pause. + +"But what's your opinion regarding Breitmann?" + +Cathewe laced his fingers and bent his chin on them. "There's a great +rascal or a great hero somewhere under his skin." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THEY GO A-SAILING + +Five o'clock in the afternoon, and a mild blue sea flashing under the +ever-deepening orange of the falling sun. Golden castles and gray +castles and castles of shadowed-white billowed in the east; turrets +rose and subsided and spires of cloud-cities formed and re-formed. The +yacht _Laura_, sleek and swan-white, her ensign and colors folding and +unfolding, lifting and sinking, as the shore breeze stirred them, was +making ready for sea; and many of the villagers had come down to the +water front to see her off. Very few sea-going vessels, outside of +freighters, ever stopped in this harbor; and naturally the departures +of the yacht were events equalled only by her arrivals. The railroad +station was close to the wharves, and the old sailors hated the sight +of the bright rails; for the locomotive had robbed them of the +excitement of the semi-weekly packets that used to coast up and down +between New York and Philadelphia. + +"Wonder what poor devil of a pirate is going to have his bones turned +over this trip?" said the station-agent to Mr. Donovan, who, among +others on the station platform, watched the drab anchor as it clanked +jerkily upward to the bows, leaving a swivel and a boil on the waters +which had released it so grudgingly. + +"I guess it ain't goin' t' be any ol' pirate this time," replied Mr. +Donovan, with a pleasurable squeeze of the pocket-book over his heart. + +"Well, I hope he finds what he's going after," generously. "He is the +mainstay of this old one-horse town. Say, she's a beauty, isn't she? +Why, man, that anchor alone is worth more than we make in four months. +And think of the good things to eat and drink. If I had a million, no +pirates or butterflies for mine. I'd hie me to Monte Carlo and bat the +tiger all over the place." + +Mr. Donovan knew nothing definite about Monte Carlo, but he would have +liked to back up against some of those New York contractors on their +own grounds. + +"Hi! There she goes. Good luck!" cried the station-agent, swinging +his hat with gusto. + +The yacht swam out gracefully. There was a freshening blow from the +southwest, but it would take the yacht half an hour to reach the +deep-sea swells outside. Her whistle blew cheerily and was answered by +the single tug-boat moored to the railroad wharf. And after that the +villagers straggled back to their various daily concerns. Even the +landlord of Swan's Hotel sighed as he balanced up his books. Business +would be slack for some days to come. + + +The voyagers were gathered about the stern-rail and a handkerchief or +two fluttered in the wind. For an hour they tarried there, keeping in +view the green-wooded hills and the white cottages nestling at their +base. And turn by turn there were glimpses of the noble old house at +the top of the hill. And some looked upon it for the last time. + +"I've had a jolly time up there," said Fitzgerald. The gulls swooped, +as they crossed and recrossed the milky wake. "Better time than I +deserved." + +"Are you still worried about that adventure?" Laura demanded. "Dismiss +it from your mind and let it be as if we had known each other for many +years." + +"Do you really mean that?" + +"To be sure I do," promptly. "I have stepped to the time of convention +so much that a lapse once in a while is a positive luxury. But Mrs. +Coldfield had given me a guaranty before I addressed you, so the +adventure was only a make-believe one after all." + +There never was a girl quite like this one. He purloined a sidelong +glance at her which embraced her wholly, from the chic gray cap on the +top of her shapely head to the sensible little boots on her feet. She +wore a heavy, plaid coat, with deep pockets into which her hands were +snugly buried; and she stood braced against the swell and the wind +which was turning out strong and cold. The rich pigment in the blood +mantled her cheeks and in her eyes there was still a bit of captive +sunshine. He knew now that what had been only a possibility was an +assured fact. Never before had he cursed his father's friends, but he +did so now, silently and earnestly; for their pilfering fingers and +their plausible lies had robbed his father's son of a fine inheritance. +Money. Never had he desired it so keenly. A few weeks ago it had +meant the wherewithal to pay his club-dues and to support a decent +table when he traveled. Now it was everything; for without it he never +could dare lift his eyes seriously to this lovely picture so close to +him, let alone dream of winning her. He recalled Cathewe's light +warning about the bones of ducal hopes. What earthly chance had he? +Unconsciously he shrugged. + +"You are shrugging!" she cried, noting the expression; for, if he was +secretly observing her, she was surreptitiously contemplating his own +advantages. + +"Did I shrug?" + +"You certainly did." + +"Well," candidly, "it was the thought of money that made me do it." + +"I detest it, too." + +"Good heavens, I didn't say I detested it! What I shrugged about was +my own dreary lack of it." + +"Bachelors do not require much." + +"That's true; but I no longer desire to remain a bachelor." The very +thing that saved him was the added laughter, forced, miserably forced. +Fool! The words had slipped without his thinking. + +"Gracious! That sounds horribly like a proposal." She beamed upon him +merrily. + +And his heart sank, for he had been earnest enough, for all his +blunder. Manlike, he did not grasp the fact that under the +circumstance merriment was all she could offer him, if she would save +him from his own stupidity. + +"But I do hate money," she reaffirmed. + +"I shouldn't. Think of what it brings." + +"I do; begging letters, impostures, battle-scarred titles, humbugging +shop-keepers, and perhaps one honest friend in a thousand. And if I +married a title, what equivalent would I get for my money, to put it +brutally? A chateau, which I should have to patch up, and tolerance +from my husband's noble friends. Not an engaging prospect." + +She threw a handful of biscuit to the gulls, and there was fighting and +screaming almost in touch of the hands. Then of a sudden the red rim +of the sun vanished behind the settling landscape, and all the grim +loneliness of the sea rose up to greet them. + +"It is lonely; let us go and prepare for dinner. Look!" pointing to a +bright star far down the east. "And Corsica lies that way." + +"And also madness!" was his thought. + +"Oh, it seems not quite true that we are all going a-venturing as they +do in the story-books. The others think we are just going to Funchal. +Remember, you must not tell. Think of it; a real treasure, every franc +of which must tell a story of its own; love, heroism and devotion." + +"Beautiful! But there must be a rescuing of princesses and fighting +and all that. I choose the part of remaining by the princess." + +"It is yours." She tilted back her head and breathed and breathed. +She knew the love of living. + +"Lucky we are all good sailors," he said. "There will be a fair sea on +all night. But how well she rides!" + +"I love every beam and bolt of her." + +Shoulder to shoulder they bore forward to the companionway, and +immediately the door banged after them. + +Breitmann came out from behind the funnel and walked the deck for a +time. He had studied the two from his shelter. What were they saying? +Oh, Fitzgerald was clever and strong and good to look at, but . . . ! +Breitmann straightened his arms before him, opened and shut his hands +violently. Like that he would break him if he interfered with any of +his desires. It would be fully twenty days before they made Ajaccio. +Many things might happen before that time. + +Two or three of the crew were lashing on the rail-canvas, and the snap +and flap of it jarred on Breitmann's nerves. For a week or more his +nerves had been very close to the surface, so close that it had +required all his will to keep his voice and hands from shaking. As he +passed, one of the sailors doffed his cap and bowed with great respect. + +"That's not the admiral, Alphonse," whispered another of the crew, +chuckling. "It's only his privit secretary." + +"Ah, I haf meestake!" + +But Alphonse had made no mistake. He knew who it was. His mates did +not see the smile of irony, of sly ridicule, which stirred his lips as +he bowed to the passer. Immediately his rather handsome effeminate +face resumed a stolid vacuity. + +His name was not Alphonse; it was a captious offering by the crew, +which, on this yacht, never went further than to tolerate the addition +of a foreigner to their mess. He had signed a day or two before +sailing; he had even begged for the honor to ship with Captain +Flanagan; and he gave his name as Pierre Picard, to which he had no +more right than to Alphonse. As Captain Flanagan was too good a sailor +himself to draw distinctions, he was always glad to add a foreign +tongue to his crew. You never could tell when its use might come in +handy. That is why Pierre Picard was allowed to drink his soup in the +forecastle mess. + +Breitmann continued on, oblivious to all things save his cogitations. +He swung round the bridge. He believed that he and Cathewe could +henceforth proceed on parallel lines, and there was much to be grateful +for. Cathewe was quiet but deep; and he, Breitmann, had knocked about +among that sort and knew that they were to be respected. In all, he +had made only one serious blunder. He should never have permitted the +vision of a face to deter him. He should have taken the things from +the safe and vanished. It had not been, a matter of compunction. And +yet . . . Ah, he was human, whatever his dream might be; and he loved +this American girl with all his heart and mind. It was not lawless +love, but it was ruthless. When the time was ripe he would speak. +Only a little while now to wait. The course had smoothed out, the +sailing was easy. The man in the chimney no longer bothered him. +Whoever and whatever he was, he had not shot his bolt soon enough. + +Hildegarde von Mitter. He stopped against the rail. The yacht was +burying her nose now, and the white drift from her cut-water seemed +strangely luminous as it swirled obliquely away in the fading twilight. +Hildegarde von Mitter. Was she to be the flaw in the chain? No, no; +there should be no regret; he had steeled his heart against any such +weakness. She had been necessary, and he would be a fool to pause over +a bit of sentimentality. Her appearance had disorganized his nerves, +that was all. Peering into his watch he found that he had only half an +hour before dinner. And it may be added that he dressed with singular +care. + +So did Fitzgerald, for that matter. + +It took Cathewe just as long, but he did not make two or three +selections of this or that before finding what he wanted. He was +engrossed most of the time in the sober contemplation of the rubber +flooring or the running sea outside the port-hole. + +And this night Hildegarde von Mitter was meditating on the last throw +for her hopes. She determined to cast once more the full sun of her +beauty into the face of the man she loved; and if she failed to win, +the fault would not be hers. Why could she not tear out this maddening +heart of hers and fling it to the sea? Why could she not turn it +toward the man who loved her? Why, why? Why should God make her so +unhappy? Why such injustice? Why this twisted interlacing of lives? +And yet, amid all these futile seekings, with subconscious deftness her +hands went on with their appointed work. Never again would the +splendor of her beauty burn as it did this night. + +Laura, alone among them all, went serenely about her toilet. She was +young, and love had not yet spread its puzzle before her feet. + +As for the others, they were on the far side of the hill, whence the +paths are smooth and gentle and the prospect is peacefulness and the +retrospect is dimly rosal. They dressed as they had done those twenty +odd years, plainly. + +On the bridge the first officer was standing at the captain's side. + +"Captain," he shouted, "where did you get that Frenchman?" + +"Picked him up day before yestiddy. Speaks fair English an' a bit o' +Dago. They're allus handy on a pleasure-boat. He c'n keep off th' +riffraff boatmen. An' _you_ know what persistent cusses they be in the +Med'terranean. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing, if he's a good sailor. Notice his hands?" + +"Why, no!" + +"Soft as a woman's." + +"Y' don't say! Well, we'll see 'em tough enough before we sight +Funchal. Smells good up here; huh?" + +"Yes; but I don't mind three months on land, full pay. Not me. But +this Frenchman?" + +"Oh, he had good papers from a White Star liner; an' you can leave it +to me regardin' his lily-white hands. By th' way, George, will you +have them bring up my other leg? Th' salt takes th' color out o' this +here brass ferrule, an' rubber's safer." + +"Yes, sir." + +There was one vacant chair in the dining-salon. M. Ferraud was +indisposed. He could climb the highest peak, he could cross +ice-ridges, with a sheer mile on either side of him, with never an +attack of vertigo; but this heaving mystery under his feet always got +the better of him the first day out. He considered it the one flaw in +an otherwise perfect system. Thus, he misled the comedy and the +tragedy of the eyes at dinner, nor saw a woman throw her all and lose +it. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +CROSS-PURPOSES + +"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Fitzgerald, venturing his +head into M. Ferraud's cabin. + +"Nothing; to-morrow it will all be gone. I am always so. The +miserable water!" M. Ferraud drew the blanket under his chin. + +"When you are better I should like to ask you some questions." + +"My friend, you have been very good. I promise to tell you all when +the time comes. It will interest you." + +"Breitmann?" + +"What makes you think I am interested in Mr. Breitmann?" + +Fitzgerald could not exactly tell. "Perhaps I have noticed you +watching him." + +"Ah, you have good eyes, Mr. Fitzgerald. Have you observed that I have +been watching you also?" + +"Yes. You haven't been quite sure of me." Fitzgerald smiled a little. +"But you may rest your mind. I never break my word." + +"Nor do I, my friend. Have patience. Satan take these small boats!" +He stifled a groan. + +"A little champagne?" + +"Nothing, nothing; thank you." + +"As you will. Good night." + +Fitzgerald shut the door and returned to the smoking-room. Something +or other, concerning Breitmann; he was sure of it. What had he done, +or what was he going to do, that France should watch him? There was no +doubt in his mind now; Breitmann had known of this treasure and had +come to The Pines simply to put his hands on the casket. M. Ferraud +had tried to forestall him. This much of the riddle was plain. But +the pivots upon which these things turned! There was something more +than a treasure in the balance. Well, M. Ferraud had told him to wait. +There was nothing else for him to do. + +A little rubber at bridge was in progress. The admiral was playing +with Mrs. Coldfield and Cathewe sat opposite Hildegarde. The latter +two were losing. She was ordinarily a skilful player, as Cathewe knew; +but to-night she lost constantly, was reckless with her leads, and +played carelessly into her opponents' hands. Cathewe watched her +gravely. Never had he seen her more beautiful; and the apprehension +that she would never be his was like a hand straining over his heart. + +Yes, she was beautiful; but he did not know that there was death in her +eyes and death in her smile. Once upon a time he had believed that her +heart had broken; but she was learning that the heart breaks, rebreaks, +and breaks again. + +How many times he stood on the precipice during the dinner hour, +Breitmann doubtless would never be told. A woman scorned is an old +story; still, the story goes on, retold each day. Education may smooth +the externals, but underneath the fire burns just as furiously as of +old. To this affront the average woman's mind leaps at once to +revenge; and that she does not always take it depends upon two things; +opportunity, and love, which is more powerful than revenge. Sometimes, +on hot summer nights, clouds form angrily in the distance; vivid +flashes dartle hither and about, which serve to intensify the evening +darkness. Thus, a similar phenomenon was taking place in Hildegarde +von Mitter's mind. The red fires of revenge danced before her eyes, +blurring the spots, on the cards, the blackness of despair crowding +upon each flash. Let him beware! With a word she could shatter his +dream; ay, and so she would. What! sit there and let him turn the +knife in her heart and receive the pain meekly? No! It was the +thoughtless brutality with which he went about this new affair that bit +so poignantly. To show her, so indurately, that she was nothing, that, +despite her magnificent sacrifice, she had never been more than a +convenience, was maddening. There was no spontaneity in his heart; his +life was a calculation to which various sums were added or subtracted. +With all her beauty, intellect, genius and generosity, she had not been +able to stir him as this young girl was unconsciously doing. She held +no animosity for the daughter of her host; she was clear-visioned +enough to put the wrong where it belonged. + +"It is your lead," said the admiral patiently. + +"Pardon me!" contritely. The gentle reproach brought her back to the +surroundings. + +"It is the motion of the boat," hazarded Cathewe, as he saw her lead +the ace. "I often find myself losing count in waiting for the next +roll." + +"Mr. Cathewe is very kind," she replied. "The truth is, however, I am +simply stupid to-night." + +Breitmann continued to speak lowly to Laura. He was evidently amusing, +for she smiled frequently. Nevertheless, she smiled as often upon +Fitzgerald. Never a glance toward the woman who held his fortunes, as +they both believed, in the hollow of her hand. Breitmann appeared to +have forgotten her existence. + +When the rubber was finished Cathewe came into the breach by suggesting +that they two, he and his partner, should take the air for a while; and +Hildegarde thanked him with her eyes. They tramped the port side, +saying nothing but thinking much. His arm was under hers to steady +her, and he could feel the catch each time she breathed, as when one +stifles sobs that are tearless. Ah, to hold her close and to shield +her; but a thousand arms may not intervene between the heart and the +pain that stabs it. He knew; he knew all about it, and there was +murder in his thought whenever his thought was of Breitmann. To be +alone with him somewhere, and to fight it out with their bare hands. + +She had been schooled in the art of acting, but not in the art of +dissimulation; she had been of the world without having been worldly; +and sometimes she was as frank and simple as a child. And worldliness +makes a buffer in times like these. Cathewe thanked God for his own +shell, toughened as it had been in the war of life. + +"Look!" he exclaimed, thankful for the diversion. "There goes a big +liner for Sandy Hook. How cheerful she looks with all her lights! +Everybody's busy there. There will be greetings to-morrow, among the +sundry curses of those who have not declared their Parisian models." + +They paused by the rail and followed the great ship till all the lights +had narrowed and melted into one; and then, almost at once, the +limitless circle of pitching black water seemed tenanted by themselves +alone. + +Without warning she bent swiftly and kissed the hand which lay upon the +rail. "How kind you are to me!" + +"Oh, pshaw!" But the touch of her lips shook his soul. + +Cathewe was one of those sure, quiet men, a staff to lean on, that a +woman may find once in a life-time. They are, as a usual thing, always +loving deeply and without success, but always invariably cheerful and +buoyant, genuine philosophers. They are not given much to writing +sonnets or posing; and they can stand aside with a brave heart as the +other man takes the dream out of their lives. This is not to affirm +that they do not fight stoutly to hold this dream; simply, that they +accept defeat like good soldiers. There are many heroes who have never +heard war's alarms. He knew that the whole heart of Hildegarde von +Mitter had yielded to another. But it had been thrown, as it were, +against a wall; there was this one hope, dimly burning, that some day +he might catch it on the rebound. + +"Why are not all men like you?" she asked. + +"The world would not be half so interesting. Some men shall be +fortunate and others shall not; everything has to balance in some way. +I am necessary to one side of the scales, as a weight." He spoke with +a levity he by no means felt. + +"You are always making sport of yourself." + +"Would it be wise to weep? Not at all. I laugh because I enjoy it, +just the same as I enjoy hunting or going on voyages of discovery." + +"To have met _you_!" childishly. + +"Don't talk like that. It always makes me less sad than furious. And +how do you know? If it had been written that you should care for me, +would any one else have mattered? No. It just is, that's all. So +we'll go on as we have done in the past, good friends. Call me when +you need me, and wherever I am I shall come." + +"How pitifully weak I must seem to you!" + +"You would be no happier if you wore a mask. Hildegarde, what has +happened? What power has this adventurer over you? I can not +understand. He was man enough to say that you were guiltless of any +wrong." + +"He said that?" turning upon him sharply. She could forgive much. + +He could not see her face, but by the tone of her voice he knew it had +brightened. "Yes. I did a freakish thing the night we arrived at the +Killigrews'. I forced him into a corner, but it did not pan out as I +hoped. So far as it touched me, it wasn't necessary, as I have told +you a thousand times. Your past is nothing to me; your future is +everything, and I want it. God knows how I want it! Well, I wished to +find out what kind of man he is, but I wasn't very successful. +Hildegarde," and he pressed his hand down hard over hers, "I could find +a priest the day we land if you would love me. You will always +remember that." + +"As if I could ever forget your kindness! But you forced him; there is +no merit in such a confession. And I wonder how you forced him. It +was not by fear. Much as I know him there are still some unfilled +pages. I would call him a scoundrel did I not know that in parts he +has been a hero. What sacrifices the man has made, and with what +patience!" + +"To what end?" quietly. + +"No, no, Arthur! I have promised him." + +He took her by the arm roughly. "Let us make two or three rounds and +go back. We shan't grow any more cheerful talking this way." + +"He loves her. I saw it in his eyes; and I must stand aside and watch!" + +"So must I," he said. "Aren't you just a little selfish, Hildegarde?" + +"I am wretched, Arthur; and I am a fool, besides. Oh, that I were +cold-blooded like your women, that I could eat out my heart in secret; +but I can't, I can't!" + +"But you have courage; only use it. If what you say of him is true, +rest easy. She is not in his orbit. She will not be impressed by an +adventurer of his breed." + +"Thank you!" with a broken laugh. "I am only an opera-singer, here on +suffrance." + +"Oh, good Lord! I did not mean it that way. Let us finish the walk," +savagely. + + +On the afternoon of the second day out, tea was served under the +awning, and Captain Flanagan condescended to leave his bridge for half +an hour. Through a previous hint dropped by the admiral they lured the +captain into spinning yarns; and well-salted hair-breadth escapes they +were. He understood that the admiral's guests always expected these +flights, and he was in nowise niggard. An ordinary sailor would have +been dead these twenty years, under any one of the exploits. + +"Marvelous!" said M. Ferraud from the depths of his rugs. "And he +still lives to tell it?" + +"It's the easiest thing in the world, sir, if y' know how," the captain +declared complacently. Indeed, he had recounted these yarns so many +times that he was beginning to regard them as facts. His statement, +ambiguous as it was, passed unchallenged, however; for not one had the +daring to inquire whether he referred to the telling or the living of +them. So he believed that he was looked upon as an apostle of truth. +Only the admiral had the temerity to look his captain squarely in the +eye and wink. + +"Captain, would you mind if I put these tales in a book?" Fitzgerald +put this question with a seriousness which fooled no one but the +captain. + +"You come up t' the bridge some afternoon, when we've got a smooth sea, +and I'll give y' some _real_ ones." The captain's vanity was soothed, +but he was not aware that he had put doubt upon his own veracity. + +"That's kind of you." + +"An' say!" went on the captain, drinking his tea, not because he liked +it but because it was customary, "I've got a character forwards. I'm +allus shippin' odds and ends. Got a Frenchman; hands like a lady." + +Breitmann leaned forward, and M. Ferraud sat up. + +"Yessir," continued the captain; "speaks I-talyan an' English. An' if +I ever meets a lady with long soft hands like his'n, I'm for a pert +talk, straightway." + +"What's the matter with his hands?" asked the admiral. + +"Why, Commodore, they're as soft as Miss Laura's here, an' yet when th' +big Swede who handles th' baggage was a-foolin' with him this mornin', +it was the Swede who begs off. Nary a callous, an' yet he bowls the +big one round the deck like he was a liner being pierced by a sassy +tug. An' what gets me is, he knows every bolt from stem to stern, sir, +an' an all-round good sailor int' th' bargain; an' it don' take me +more'n twelve hours t' find that out. Well, I'm off t' th' bridge. +Good day, ladies." + +When he was out of earshot the admiral roared. "He's the dearest old +liar since Muenchhausen." + +"Aren't they true stories?" asked Hildegarde. + +"Bless you, no! And he knows we know it, too. But he tells them so +well that I've never had the courage to sheer him off." + +"It's amusing," said Laura; "but I do not think that it's always fair +to him." + +"Why, Laura, you're as good a listener as any I know. Read him a +tract, if you wish." + +Breitmann rose presently and sauntered forward, while M. Ferraud +snuggled down in his rugs again. The others entered into a game of +deck-cricket. + +But M. Ferraud was not so ill that he was unable to steal from his +cabin at half after nine, at night, without even the steward being +aware of his departure. It can not be said that he roamed about the +deck, for whenever he moved it was in the shadow, and always forward. +By and by voices drifted down the wind. One he knew and expected, +Breitmann's; of the other he was not sure, though the French he spoke +was of classic smoothness. M. Ferraud was exceedingly interested. He +had been waiting for this meeting. Only a phrase or two could be heard +distinctly. But words were not necessary. What he desired above all +things was a glimpse of this Frenchman's face. After several minutes +Breitmann went aft. M. Ferraud stepped out cautiously, and luck was +with him. The sailor to whom Breitmann had spoken so earnestly was +lolling against the rail, in the act of lighting a cigarette. The +light from the match was feeble, but it sufficed the keen eyes of the +watcher. He gasped a little. Strong hands indeed! Here in the garb +of a common sailor, was one of the foremost Orleanists in France! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A QUESTION FROM KEATS + +Breitmann and the admiral usually worked from ten till luncheon, unless +it was too stormy; and then the admiral took the day off. The business +under hand was of no great moment; it was rather an outlet for the +admiral's energy, and gave him something to look forward to as each day +came round. Many a morning he longed for the quarter-deck of his old +battle-ship; the trig crew and marines lined up for inspection; the +revelries of the foreign ports; the great manoeuvres; the target +practice. Never would his old heart swell again under the full-dress +uniform nor his eyes sparkle under the plume of his rank. He was +retired on half-pay. Only a few close friends knew how his half-pay +was invested. There remained perhaps ten of the old war-crew, and +among them every Christmas the admiral's half-pay was divided. This +and his daughter were the two unalloyed joys of his life. + +Since his country had no further use for him, and as it was as +necessary as air to his lungs that he tread the deck of a ship, he had +purchased the _Laura_; and, when he was not stirring up the bones of +dead pirates, he was at Cowes or at Brest or at Keil or on the Hudson, +wherever the big fellows indulged in mimic warfare. + +"That will be all this morning, Mr. Breitmann," he said, rising and +looking out of the port-hole. + +"Very well, sir. I believe that by the time we make Corsica we shall +have the book ready for the printers. It is very interesting." + +"Much obliged. You have been a good aid. As you know, I am writing +this rubbish only because it is play and passable mental exercise." + +"I do not agree with you there," returned the secretary, with his +pleasant smile. "The book will be really a treasure of itself. It is +far more interesting than any romance." + +The admiral shook his head dubiously. + +"No, no," Breitmann averred. "There is no flattery in what I say. +Flattery was not in our agreement. And," with a slight lift of the +jaw, "I never say what I do not honestly mean. It will be a good book, +and I am proud to have had a hand, however light, in the making." + +The admiral chuckled. "That is the kind of flattery no man may shut +his ears to. It has been a great pleasure to me; it has kept me +out-of-doors, in the open, where I belong. Come in, Laura, come in." + +The girl stood framed in the low doorway, a charming picture to the old +man and a lovely one to the secretary. She balanced herself with a +hand on each side of the jam. + +"Father, how can you work when the sun is so beautiful outside? Good +morning, Mr. Breitmann," cordially. + +"Good morning." + +"Work is over, Laura. Come in." The admiral reached forth an arm and +caught her, drawing her gently in and finally to his breast. + +Breitmann would have given an eye for that right. The picture set his +nerves twitching. + +"I am not in the way?" + +"Not at all," answered the secretary. "I was just leaving." And with +good foresight he passed out. + +"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever," murmured the admiral. + +"Fudge!" and she laughed. + +"We are having a fine voyage." + +"Splendid! Why is it that I am always happy?" + +"It is because you do not depend upon others for it, my dear. I am +happy, too. I am as happy as a boy with his first boat. But never has +a ship gone slower than this one of mine. I am simply crazy to drop +anchor in the Gulf of Ajaccio. I find it on the tip of my tongue, +every night at dinner, to tell the others where we are bound." + +"Why not? Where's the harm now?" + +"I don't know, but something keeps it back. Laura," looking into her +eyes, "did we ever cruise with brighter men on board?" + +"What is it you wish to know, father?" merrily. "You dear old sailor, +don't you understand that these men are different? They are men who +accomplish things; they haven't time to bother about young women." + +"You don't say!" pinching the ear nearest. + +"This is the seventh day out, and not one of them has ceased to be +interesting yet." + +"Would they cease to be interesting if they proposed?" quizzing. + +These two had no unshared secrets. They were sure of each other. He +knew that when this child of his divided her affection with another +man, that man would be deserving. + +"I would rather have them all as they are. They make fine comrades." + +He sighed thankfully. "Arthur seems to be out of the race." + +"Rather say I am!" with laughter. "Why, a child could read Arthur +Cathewe's face when he looks at her. Isn't she simply beautiful?" + +"Very. But there are types and types." + +"Am I really pretty?" Sometimes she grew shy under her father's open +admiration. She was afraid it was his love rather than his judgment +that made her beautiful in his eyes. + +"My child, there's more than one man who will agree with me when I say +that there is no one to compare with you. You are the living quotation +from Keats." + +"I shall kiss you for that." And straightway she did. + +"What do you think of Mr. Breitmann?" soberly. + +"He is charming sometimes; but he has a little too much reserve. +Doubtless he sees his position too keenly. He should not." + +"Do you like him?" + +"Yes," frankly. + +"So do I; and yet there are moments when I do not." The admiral filled +his pipe carefully. + +"But your reason?" surprised. + +"That's just the trouble. I haven't any tangible reason. The doubt +exists, and I can't explain it. The sea often looks smooth and mild, +and the sky is cloudless; yet an old sailor will suddenly grow +suspicious; he will see a storm, a heavy blow. And why, he couldn't +say for the life of him. Flanagan will tell you." + +The girl grew studious and grave. Had there not been an echo of this +doubt in her own mind? Immediately she smiled. + +"We are talking nonsense and wasting the sunshine." + +"How about Fitzgerald?" + +"Oh, he's the most sensible of them all. He proposed to me the first +night out." + +"What?" The admiral dropped his pipe. + +"Not so loud!" she warned. And then the clear music of her laughter +penetrated beyond the cabin; and Fitzgerald, wandering about without +purpose, heard it and paused. + +"You minx!" growled the admiral; "to scare your old father like that!" + +"Dearest, weren't you fishing to be scared?" + +"Let's get out into the sunshine. I never could get the best of you. +But you really don't mean--" + +"I really do not. He's too busy telling me the plot of this novel he +is going to write to make love to a girl who doesn't want more than one +man in the family, and that's her foolish old father." + +And they went outside, arm in arm, laughing together like the good +comrades they were. M. Ferraud joined them. + +"I wish," said he, "that I was a poet." + +"What would you do?" she asked. + +"I should write a sonnet to your eyebrows this morning, is it not?" + +"Mercy, no! That kind of poetry has long been _passe_." + +"_Helas_!" mournfully. + +It was a beautiful morning, a sharp blue sky and a sea of running +silver; warm, too, for they were bearing away into the southern seas +now. Every one had sea-legs by this time, and the larder dwindled in a +respectable manner. + +Fitzgerald viewed his case dispassionately. But what to do? A +thousand times he had argued out the question, with a single result, +that he was a fool for his pains. He became possessed with sudden +inexplicable longings for land. He could not get away from this yacht; +on land there would have been a hundred straight lines to the woods and +the fisherman's philosophy. Things were going directly to one end, and +presently he would have no more power to stem the words. At least one +thing was certain, the admiral could not drop him overboard. + +"The villain?" + +He was moved suddenly out of his dream, for the object of it stood +smiling at his side. A wisp of hair was blowing across her eyes and +she was endeavoring to adjust it under her cap. + +"The villain?" making a fine effort to remarshal his thoughts. + +"Yes. We were talking about him last night. Where did you leave him?" + +"He was still pursuing, I believe." + +"Why don't you make him a real villain, a man who never kills any one, +but who makes every one unhappy?" + +"But that's a problem-villain; what we must have is a romance-villain, +the kind every one is sorry for. Look at that old Portuguese +man-o'-war," pointing to the crest of a near-by wave. "Funny little +codger!" + +"When do you expect to begin the story on paper?" + +"When I have _all_ the material," not afraid of her eyes at that moment. + +She propped her elbows on the rail. It was a seductive pose, and came +very near being the young man's undoing. + +"Does it seem impossible to you," she said, "that in these prosaic +times we are treasure hunting? Must we not wake up and find it a +dream?" + +"Most dreams are perishable, but in this case we have the dream tightly +bound. But what are we going to do with all this money when we find +it?" + +"Divide it or start a soldiers' home. I've never thought of it as +money." + +"Heaven knows, I have!" + +"Why?" + +"Do you really wish to know?" in a voice new to her ear. "Do you wish +to know why I want money, lots and lots of it?" + +She dropped her arms and turned. The tone agitated and alarmed her +strangely. "Why, yes. With plenty of money you could devote all your +time to writing; and I am sure you could write splendid stories." + +"That was not my exact thought," he replied, resolutely pulling himself +together. "But it will serve." By George! he thought, that was close +enough. + +She did not ask him what his exact thought was, but she suspected it. +There was a little shock of pleasure and disappointment; the one rising +from the fact that he had stopped where he did and the other that he +had not gone on. And she grew angry over this second expression. She +liked him; she had never met a young man whom she liked more. But +liking is never loving, and her heart was as free and unburdened as the +wind. As once remarked, many of the men with whom she had come into +contact had been bred in idleness, and her interest in them had never +gone above friendly tolerance. Her admiration was for men, young or +old, who cut their way roughly through the world's great obstacles, who +achieved things in pioneering, in history, in science; and she admired +them because they were rather difficult to draw out, being more +familiar with startling journeys, wildernesses, strange peoples, than +with the gilded metaphors of the drawing-room. + +And here were three of them to meet daily, to study and to ponder over. +And types as far apart as the three points of a triangle; the man at +her side, young, witty, agreeable; Cathewe, grave, kindly, and +sometimes rather saturnine; Breitmann, proud and reserved; and each of +them having rung true in some great crisis. If ever she loved a +man . . . The thought remained unfinished and she glanced up and met +Fitzgerald's eyes. They were sad, with the line of a frown above them. +How was she to keep him under hand, and still erect an impassable +barrier! It was the first time she had given the matter serious +thought. The joy of the sea underfoot, the tang of the rushing air, +the journey's end, these had occupied her volatile young mind. But now! + +"I am dull," said he gloomily. + +"Thank you!" + +"I mean that I am stupid, doubly stupid," he corrected. + +"Cricket will be a cure for that." + +"I doubt it," approaching dangerous ground once more. + +"Let's go and talk to Captain Flanagan, then." + +"There!" with sudden spirit, "the very thing I've been wanting!"' + +It was of no importance that they both knew this to be a prevarication +about which St. Peter would not trouble his hoary head nor take the +pains to indite in his great book of demerits. + +But all through that bright day the girl thought, and there were times +when the others had to speak to her twice; not at all a reassuring sign. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +CATHEWE ADVISES AND THE ADMIRAL DISCLOSES + +One day they dropped anchor in the sapphire bay of Funchal, in the +summer calm, hot and glaring; Funchal, with its dense tropical growth, +its cloud-wreathed mountains, its amethystine sisters in the faded +southeast. And for two days, while Captain Flanagan recoaled, they +played like children, jolting round in the low bullock-carts, climbing +the mountains or bumping down the corduroy road. It was the strangest +treasure hunt that ever left a home port. It was more like a page out +of a boy's frolic than a sober quest by grown-ups. That danger, menace +and death hid in covert would have appealed to them (those who knew) as +ridiculous, impossible, obsolete. The story of cutlass and pistol and +highboots had been molding in archives these eighty-odd years. +Dangers? From whom, from what direction? No one suggested the +possibility, even in jest; and the only man who could have advanced, +with reasonable assurance, that danger, real and serious, existed, was +too busy apparently with his butterfly-net. Still, he had not yet been +consulted; he was not supposed to know that this cruise was weighted +with something more than pleasure. + +Fitzgerald waited with an impatience which often choked him. A secret +agent had not so adroitly joined this expedition for the pleasure of +seeing a treasure dug up from some reluctant grave. What was he after? +If indeed Breitmann was directly concerned, if he knew of the +treasure's existence, of what benefit now would be his knowledge? A +share in the finding at most. And was Breitmann one who was +conditioned of such easy stuff that he would rather be sure and share +than to strike out for all the treasure and all the risks? The more he +gave his thought to Breitmann the more that gentleman retracted into +the fog, as it were. On several occasions he had noticed signs of a +preoccupation, of suppressed excitement, of silence and moroseness. +Fitzgerald could join certain squares of the puzzle, but this led +forward scarce a step. Breitmann had entered the employ of the admiral +for the very purpose for which M. Ferraud had journeyed sundrily into +the cellar and beaten futilely on the chimney. It resolved to one +thing, and that was the secretary had arrived too late. He was sure +that Breitmann had no suspicion regarding M. Ferraud. But for a casual +glance at the little man's hands, neither would he have had any. He +determined to prod M. Ferraud. He was well trained in repression; so, +while he often lost patience, there was never any external sign of it. +Besides, there was another affair which over-shadowed it and at times +engulfed it. + +Love. The cross-tides of sense and sentiment made a pretty +disturbance. And still further, there was another counter-tide. Love +does not necessarily make a young man keen-sighted, but it generally +highly develops his talent for suspicion. By subtle gradations, +Breitmann had shifted in Fitzgerald's mind from a possible friend to a +probable rival. Breitmann did not now court his society when the +smoking bouts came round, or when the steward brought the whisky and +soda after the ladies had retired. Breitmann was moody, and whatever +variance his moods had, they retained the gray tone. This Fitzgerald +saw and dilated upon; and it rankled when he thought that this +hypothetical adventurer had rights, level and equal to his, always +supposing he had any. + +In this state of mind he drooped idly over the rail as the yacht drew +out of the bay, the evening of the second day. The glories of the +southern sunset lingered and vanished, a-begging, without his senses +being roused by them; and long after the sea, chameleon-like, changed +from rose to lavender, from lavender to gray, the mountains yet +jealously clung to their vivid aureolas of phantom gold. Fitzgerald +saw nothing but writing on the water. + +"Well, my boy," said Cathewe, lounging affectionately against +Fitzgerald, "here we are, rolled over again." + +"What?" + +Cathewe described a circle with his finger lazily. + +"Oh!" said Fitzgerald, listless. "Another day more or less, crowded +into the past, doesn't matter." + +"Maybe. If we could only have the full days and deposit the others and +draw as we need them; but we can't do it. And yet each day means +something; there ought always to be a little of it worth remembering." + +"Old parson!" cried Fitzgerald, with a jab of his elbow. + +"All bally rot, eh? I wish I could look at it that way. Yet, when a +man mopes as you are doing, when this sunset. . ." + +"New one every day." + +"What's the difficulty, Jack?" + +"Am I walking around with a sign on my back?" testily. + +"Of a kind, yes." + +Cathewe spoke so solemnly that Fitzgerald looked round, and saw that +which set his ears burning. Immediately he lowered his gaze and sought +the water again. + +"Have I been making an ass of myself, Arthur?" + +"No, Jack; but you are laying yourself open to some wonder. For three +or four days now, except for the forty-eight hours on land there, +you've been a sort of killjoy. Even the admiral has remarked it." + +"Tell him it's my liver," with a laugh not wholly free of +embarrassment. "Suppose," he continued, in a low voice; "suppose--" +But he couldn't go on. + +"Yes, suppose," said Cathewe, taking up the broken thread; "suppose +there was a person who had a heap of money, or will have some day; and +suppose there's another person who has but little and may have less in +days to come. Is that the supposition, Jack? The presumption of an +old friend, a right that ought never to be abrogated." Cathewe laid a +hand on his young friend's shoulder; there was a silent speech of +knowledge and brotherhood in it such as Fitzgerald could not mistake. + +"That's the supposition," he admitted generously. + +"Well, money counts only when you buy horses and yachts and houses, it +never really matters in anything else." + +"It is easy to say that." + +"It is also easy to learn that it is true." + +"Isn't there a good deal of buying these days where there should be +giving?" + +"Not among real people. You have had enough experience with both types +to be competent to distinguish the one from the other. You have birth +and brains and industry; you're a decent sort of chap besides," +genially. "Can money buy these things when grounded on self-respect as +they are in you? Come along now; for the admiral sent me after you. +It's the steward's champagne cocktail; and you know how good they are. +And remember, if you will put your head into the clouds, don't take +your feet off the deck." + +Fitzgerald expanded under his tactful interpretation. A long breath of +relief issued from his heart, and the rending doubt was dissipated: the +vulture-shadow spread its dark pennons and wheeled down the west. A +priceless thing is that friend upon whom one may shift the part of a +burden. It seemed to be one of Cathewe's occupations in life to +absorb, in a kindly, unemotional manner, other people's troubles. It +is this type of man, too, who rarely shares his own. + +It would be rather graceless to say that after drinking the cocktail +Fitzgerald resumed his aforetime rosal lenses. He was naturally at +heart an optimist, as are all men of action. And so the admiral, who +had begun to look upon him with puzzled commiseration, came to the +conclusion that the young man's liver had resumed its normal functions. +An old woman would have diagnosed the case as one of heart (as Mrs. +Coldfield secretly and readily and happily did); but an old fellow like +the admiral generally compromises on the liver. + +When one has journeyed for days on the unquiet sea, a touch of land +underfoot renews, Antaeus-wise, one's strength and mental activity; so +a festive spirit presided at the dinner table. The admiral determined +to vault the enforced repression of his secret. Inasmuch as it must be +told, the present seemed a propitious moment. He signed for the +attendants to leave the salon, and then rapped on the table for +silence. He obtained it easily enough. + +"My friends," he began, "where do you think this boat is really going?" + +"Marseilles," answered Coldfield. + +"Where else?" cried M. Ferraud, as if diversion from that course was +something of an improbability. + +"Corsica. We can leave you at Marseilles, Mr. Ferraud, if you wish; +but I advise you to remain with us. It will be something to tell in +your old age." + +Cathewe glanced across to Fitzgerald, as if to ask: "Do you know +anything about this?" Fitzgerald, catching the sense of this mute +inquiry, nodded affirmatively. + +"Corsica is a beautiful place," said Hildegarde. "I spent a spring in +Ajaccio." + +"Well, that is our port," confessed the admiral, laying his precious +documents on the table. "The fact is, we are going to dig up a +treasure," with a flourish. + +Laughter and incredulous exclamations followed this statement. + +"Pirates?" cried Coldfield, with a good-natured jeer. He had cruised +with the admiral before. "Where's the cutlass and jolly-roger? Yo-ho! +and a bottle o' rum!" + +"Yes. And where's the other ship following at our heels, as they +always do in treasure hunts, the rival pirates who will cut our throats +when we have dug up the treasure?"--from Cathewe. + +"Treasures!" mumbled M. Ferraud from behind his pineapple. Carefully +he avoided Fitzgerald's gaze, but he noted the expression on +Breitmann's face. It was not pleasant. + +"Just a moment," the admiral requested patiently. "I know it smells +fishy. Laura, go ahead and read the documents to the unbelieving +giaours. Mr. Fitzgerald knows and so does Mr. Breitmann." + +"Tell us about it, Laura. No joking, now," said Coldfield, +surrendering his incredulity with some hesitance. "And if the treasure +involves no fighting or diplomatic tangle, count me in. Think of it, +Jane," turning to his wife; "two old church-goers like you and me, +a-going after a pirate's treasure! Doesn't it make you laugh?" + +Laura unfolded the story, and when she came to the end, the excitement +was hot and Babylonic. Napoleon! What a word! A treasure put +together to rescue him from St. Helena! Gold, French gold, English +gold, Spanish and Austrian gold, all mildewing in a rotting chest +somewhere back of Ajaccio! It was unbelievable, fantastic as one of +those cinematograph pictures, running backward. + +"But what are you going to do with it when you find it?" + +"Findings is keepings," quoted the admiral. "Perhaps divide it, +perhaps turn it over to France, providing France agrees to use it for +charitable purposes." + +"A fine plan, is it not, Mr. Breitmann?" said M. Ferraud. + +"Findings is keepings," repeated Breitmann, with a pale smile. + +The eyes of Hildegarde von Mitter burned and burned. Could she but +read what lay behind that impassive face! And he took it all with a +smile! What would he do? what would he do now? kept recurring in her +mind. She knew the man, or at least she thought she did; and she was +aware that there existed in his soul dark caverns which she had never +dared to explore. Yes, what would he do now? How would he put his +hand upon this gold? She trembled with apprehension. + +And later, when she found the courage to put the question boldly, he +answered with a laugh, so low and yet so wild with fury that she drew +away from him in dumb terror. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER + +The secretary nerved himself and waited; and yet he knew what her reply +would be, even before she framed it, knew it with that indescribable +certainty which prescience occasionally grants in the space of a +moment. Before he had spoken there had been hope to stand upon, for +she had always been gentle and kindly toward him, not a whit less than +she had been to the others. + +"Mr. Breitmann, I am sorry. I never dreamed of this;" nor had she. +She had forgotten Europeans seldom understand the American girl as she +is or believe that the natural buoyancy of spirit is as free from +purpose or intent as the play of a child. But in this moment she +remembered her little and perfectly inconsequent attentions toward this +man, and seeing them from his viewpoint she readily forgave him. +Abroad, she was always on guard; but here, among her own compatriots +who accepted her as she was, she had excusably forgotten. "I am sorry +if you have misunderstood me in any way." + +"I could no more help loving you than that those stars should cease to +shine to-night," his voice heavy with emotion. + +"I am sorry," she could only repeat. Men had spoken to her like this +before, and always had the speech been new to her and always had a +great and tender pity charged her heart. And perhaps her pity for this +one was greater than any she had previously known; he seemed so lonely. + +"Sorry, sorry! Does that mean there is no hope?" + +"None, Mr. Breitmann, none." + +"Is there another?" his throat swelling. But before she could answer: +"Pardon me; I did not mean that. I have no right to ask such a +question." + +"And I should not have answered it to any but my father, Mr. +Breitmann." She extended her hand. "Let us forget that you have +spoken. I should like you for a friend." + +Without a word he took the hand and kissed it. He made no effort to +hold it, and it slipped from his clasp easily. + +"Goodnight." + +"Good night." And he never lost sight of her till she entered the +salon-cabin. He saw a star fall out of nothing into nothing. She was +sorry! The moment brewed a thousand wild suggestions. To abduct her, +to carry her away into the mountains, to cast his dream to the four +winds, to take her in spite of herself. He laid his hand on the teak +railing, wondering at the sudden wracking pain, a pain which unlinked +coherent thought and left his mind stagnant and inert. For the first +time he realized that his pain was a recurrence of former ones similar. +Why? He did not know. He only remembered that he had had the pain at +the back of his head and that it was generally followed by a burning +fury, a rage to rend and destroy things. What was the matter? + +The damp rail was cool and refreshing, and after a spell the pain +diminished. He shook himself free and stood straight, his jaws hard +and his eyes, absorbing what light there was from the stars, chatoyant. +Sorry! So be it. To have humbled himself before this American girl +and to be snubbed for his pains! But, patience! Two million francs +and his friends awaiting the word from him. She was sorry! He +laughed, and the laughter was not unlike that which a few nights gone +had startled the ears of the other woman to whom he had once appealed +in passionate tones and not without success. + +"Karl!" + +The sight of Hildegarde at this moment neither angered nor pleased him. +He permitted her hand to lay upon his arm. + +"My head aches," he said, as if replying to the unspoken question in +her eyes. + +"Karl, why not give it up?" she pleaded. + +"Give it up? What! when I have come this far, when I have gone through +what I have? Oh, no! Do not think so little of me as that." + +"But it is a dream!" + +He shook off her hand angrily. "If there is to be any reckoning I +shall pay, never fear. But it will not, _shall_ not fail!" + +She would have liked to weep for him. "I would gladly give you my +eyes, Karl, if you might see it all as I see it. Ruin, ruin! Can you +touch this money without violence? Ah, my God, what has blinded you to +the real issues?" + +"I have not asked you to share the difficulties." + +"No. You have not been that kind to me." + +To-night there were no places in his armor for any sentiment but his +own. "I want nothing but revenge." + +"I think I can read," her own bitterness getting the better of her +tongue. "Miss Killigrew has declined." + +"You have been listening?" with a snarl. + +"It has not been necessary to listen; I needed only to watch." + +"Well, what is it to you?" + +"Take care, Karl! You can not talk to me like that." + +"Don't drive me, then. Oh," with a sudden turn of mind, "I am sorry +that you can not understand." + +"If I hadn't I should never have given you my promise not to speak. +There was a time when you had right on your side, but that time ceased +to be when you lied to me. How little you understood me! Had you +spoken frankly and generously at the start, God knows I shouldn't have +refused you. But you set out to walk over my heart to get that +miserable slip of paper. Ah! had I but known! I say to you, you will +fail utterly and miserably. You are either blind or mad!" + +Without a word in reply to this prophecy he turned and left her; and as +soon as he had vanished she kissed the spot on the rail where his hand +had rested and laid her own there. When at last she raised it, the +rail was no longer merely damp, it was wet. + + +"Now there," began Fitzgerald, taking M. Ferraud firmly by the sleeve, +"I have come to the end of my patience. What has Breitmann to do with +all this business?" + +"Will you permit me to polish my spectacles?" mildly asked M. Ferraud. + +"It's the deuce of a job to get you into a corner," Fitzgerald +declared. "But I have your promise, and you should recollect that I +know things which might interest Mr. Breitmann." + +"_Croyez-vous qu'il pleuve? Il fait bien du vent_," adjusting his +spectacles and viewing the clear sky and the serene bosom of the +Mediterranean. Then M. Ferraud turned round with: "Ah, Mr. Fitzgerald, +this man Breitmann is what you call 'poor devil,' is it not? At dinner +to-night I shall tell a story, at once marvelous past belief and +pathetic. I shall tell this story against my best convictions because +I wish him no harm, because I should like to save him from black ruin. +But, attend me; my efforts shall be as wind blowing upon stone; and I +shall not save him. An alienist would tell you better than I can. +Listen. You have watched him, have you not? To you he seems like any +other man? Yes? Keen-witted, gifted, a bit of a musician, a good deal +of a scholar? Well, had I found that paper first, there would have +been no treasure hunt. I should have torn it into one thousand pieces; +I should have saved him in spite of himself and have done my duty also. +He is mad, mad as a whirlwind, as a tempest, as a fire, as a sandstorm." + +"About what?" + +"To-night, to-night!" + +And the wiry little man released himself and bustled away to his chair +where he became buried in rugs and magazines. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +AN OLD SCANDAL + +"Corsica to-morrow," said the admiral. + +"Napoleon," said Laura. + +"Romance," said Cathewe. + +"Treasures," said M. Ferraud. + +Hildegarde felt uneasy. Breitmann toyed with the bread crumbs. He was +inattentive besides. + +"Napoleon. There is an old scandal," mused M. Ferraud. "I don't think +that any of you have heard it." + +"That will interest me," Fitzgerald cried. "Tell it." + +M. Ferraud cleared his throat with a sharp ahem and proceeded to +burnish his crystals. Specks and motes were ever adhering to them. He +held them up to the light and pretended to look through them: he saw +nothing but the secretary's abstraction. + +"We were talking about treasures the other night," began the Frenchman, +"and I came near telling it then. It is a story of Napoleon." + +"Never a better moment to tell it," said the admiral, rubbing his hands +in pleasurable anticipation. + +"I say to you at once that the tale is known to few, and has never had +any publicity, and must never have any. Remember that, if you please, +Mr. Fitzgerald, and you also, Mr. Breitmann." + +"I beg your pardon," said Breitmann. "I was not listening." + +M. Ferraud repeated his request clearly. + +"I am no longer a newspaper writer," Breitmann affirmed, clearing the +fog out of his head. "A story about Napoleon; will it be true?" + +"Every word of it." M. Ferraud folded his arms and sat back. + +During the pause Hildegarde shivered. Something made her desire madly +to thrust a hand out and cover M. Ferraud's mouth. + +"We have all read much about Napoleon. I can not recall how many lives +range shoulder to shoulder on the booksellers' shelves. There have +been letters and memoirs, anecdotes by celebrated men and women who +were his contemporaries. But there is one thing upon which we shall +all agree, and that is that the emperor was in private life something +of a beast. As a soldier he was the peer of all the Caesars; as a +husband he was vastly inferior to any of them. This story does not +concern him as emperor. If in my narrative there occurs anything +offensive, correct me instantly. I speak English fluently, but there +are still some idioms I trip on." + +"I'll trust you to steer straight enough," said the admiral. + +"Thank you. Well, then, once upon a time Napoleon was in Bavaria. The +country was at that time his ablest ally. There was a pretty peasant +girl." + +A knife clattered to the floor. "Pardon!" whispered Hildegarde to +Cathewe. "I am clumsy." She was as white as the linen. + +Breitmann went on with his crumbs. + +"I believe," continued M. Ferraud, "that it was in the year 1813 that +the emperor received a peculiar letter. It begged that a title be +conferred upon a pretty little peasant boy. The emperor was a grim +humorist, I may say in passing; and for this infant he created a +baronetcy, threw in a parcel of land, and a purse. That was the end of +it, as far as it related to the emperor. Waterloo came and with it +vanished the empire; and it would be a long time before a baron of the +empire returned to any degree of popularity. For years the matter was +forgotten. The documents in the case, the letters of patent, the deeds +and titles to the land, and a single Napoleonic scrawl, these gathered +dust in the loft. When I heard this tale the thing which appealed to +me most keenly was the thought that over in Bavaria there exists the +only real direct strain of Napoleonic blood: a Teuton, one of those who +had brought about the downfall of the empire." + +"You say exists?" interjected Cathewe. + +"Exists," laconically. + +"You have proofs?" demanded Fitzgerald. + +"The very best in the world. I have not only seen those patents, but I +have seen the man." + +"Very interesting," agreed Breitmann, brushing the crumbs into his hand +and dropping them on his plate. "But, go on." + +"What a man!" breathed Fitzgerald, who began to see the drift of things. + +"I proceed, then. Two generations passed. I doubt if the third +generation of this family has ever heard of the affair. One day the +last of his race, in clearing up the salable things in his house--for +he had decided to lease it--stumbled on the scant history of his +forebears. He was at school then; a promising youngster, brave, +cheerful, full of adventure and curiosity. Contrary to the natural +sequence of events, he chose the navy, where he did very well. But in +some way Germany found out what France already knew. Here was a fine +chance for a stroke of politics. France had always watched; without +fear, however, but with half-formed wonder. Germany considered the +case: why not turn this young fellow loose on France, to worry and to +harry her? So, quietly Germany bore on the youth in that cold-blooded, +Teutonic way she has, and forced him out of the navy. + +"He was poor, and poverty among German officers, in either branch, is a +bad thing. Our young friend did not penetrate the cause of this at +first; for he had no intention of utilizing his papers, save to dream +over them. The blood of his great forebear refused to let him bow +under this unjust stroke. He sought a craft, an interesting one. The +net again closed in on him. He began to grow desperate, and +desperation was what Germany desired. Desperation would make a tool of +the young fellow. But our young Napoleon was not without wit. He +plotted, but so cleverly and secretly that never a hand could reach out +to stay him. Germany finally offered him an immense bribe. He threw +it back, for now he hated Germany more than he hated France. You +wonder why he hated France? If France had not discarded her empire--I +do not refer to the second empire--he would have been a great personage +to-day. At least this must be one of his ideas. + +"And there you are," abruptly. "Here we have a Napoleon, indeed with +all the patience of his great forebear. If Germany had left him alone +he would to-day have been a good citizen, who would never have +permitted futile dreams to enter his head, and who would have +contemplated his greatness with the smile of a philosopher. And who +can say where this will end? It is pitiful." + +"Pitiful?" repeated Breitmann. "Why that?" calmly. + +M. Ferraud repressed the admiration in his eyes. It was a singular +duel. "When we see a madman rushing blindly over a precipice it is a +human instinct to reach out a hand to save him." + +"But how do you know he is rushing blindly?" Breitmann smiled this +question. + +Hildegarde sent him a terrified glance. But for the stiff back of her +chair she must have fallen. + +M. Ferraud demolished an olive before he answered the question. "He +has allied himself with some of the noblest houses in France; that is +to say, with the most heartless spendthrifts in Europe. Napoleon IV? +They are laughing behind his back this very minute. They are making a +cat's-paw of his really magnificent fight for their own ignoble ends, +the Orleanist party. To wreak petty vengeance on France, for which +none of them has any love; to embroil the government and the army that +they may tell of it in the boudoirs. This is the aim they have in +view. What is it to them that they break a strong man's heart? What +is it to them if he be given over to perpetual imprisonment? Did a +Bourbon ever love France as a country? Has not France always +represented to them a purse into which they might thrust their +dishonest hands to pay for their base pleasures? Oh, beware of the +conspirator whose sole portion in life is that of pleasure! I wish +that I could see this young man and tell him all I know. If I could +only warn him." + +Breitmann brushed his sleeve. "I am really disappointed in your +climax, Mr. Ferraud." + +"I said nothing about a climax," returned M. Ferraud. "That has yet to +be enacted." + +"Ah!" + +"A descendant of Napoleon, direct! Poor devil!" The admiral was +thunderstruck. "Why, the very spirit of Napoleon is dead. Nothing +could ever revive it. It would not live even a hundred days." + +"Less than that many hours," said M. Ferraud. "He will be arrested the +moment he touches a French port." + +"Father," cried Laura, with a burst of generosity which not only warmed +her heart but her cheeks, "why not find this poor, deluded young man +and give him the treasure?" + +"What, and ruin him morally as well as politically? No, Laura; with +money he might become a menace." + +"On the contrary," put in M. Ferraud; "with money he might be made to +put away his mad dream. But I'm afraid that my story has made you all +gloomy." + +"It has made me sad," Laura admitted. "Think of the struggle, the +self-denial, and never a soul to tell him he is mad." + +The scars faded a little, but Breitmann's eyes never wavered. + +"The man hasn't a ghost of a chance." To Fitzgerald it was now no +puzzle why Breitmann's resemblance to some one else had haunted him. +He was rather bewildered, for he had not expected so large an order +upon M. Ferraud's promise. "Fifty years ago. . ." + +"Ah! Fifty years ago," interrupted M. Ferraud eagerly, "I should have +thrown my little to the cause. Men and times were different then; the +world was less sordid and more romantic." + +"Well, I shall always hold that we have no right to that treasure." + +"Fiddlesticks, Laura! This is no time for sentiment. The questions +buzzing in my head are: Does this man know of the treasure's existence? +Might he not already have put his hand upon it?" + +"Your own papers discredit that supposition," replied Cathewe. "A +stunning yarn, and rather hard to believe in these skeptical times. +What is it?" he asked softly, noting the dead white on Hildegarde's +cheeks. + +"Perhaps it is the smoke," she answered with a brave attempt at a smile. + +The admiral in his excitement had lighted a heavy cigar and was +consuming it with jerky puffs, a bit of thoughtlessness rather +pardonable under the stress of the moment. For he was beginning to +entertain doubts. It was not impossible for this Napoleonic chap to +have a chart, to know of the treasure's existence. He wished he had +heard this story before. He would have left the women at home. +Corsica was not wholly civilized, and who could tell what might happen +there? Yes, the admiral had his doubts. + +"I should like to know the end of the story," said Breitmann musingly. + +"There is time," replied M. Ferraud; and of them all, only Fitzgerald +caught the sinister undercurrent. + +"So, Miss Killigrew, you believe that this treasure should be handed +over to its legal owner?" Breitmann looked into her eyes for the first +time that evening. + +"I have some doubt about the legal ownership, but the sentimental and +moral ownership is his. A romance should always have a pleasant +ending." + +"You are thinking of books," was Cathewe's comment. "In life there is +more adventure than romance, and there is seldom anything more +incomplete in every-day life than romance." + +"That would be my own exposition, Mr. Cathewe," said Breitmann. + +The two fenced briefly. They understood each other tolerably well; +only, Cathewe as yet did not know the manner of the man with whom he +was matched. + +The dinner came to an end, or, rather, the diners rose, the dinner +having this hour or more been cleared from the table; and each went to +his or her state-room mastered by various degrees of astonishment. +Fitzgerald moved in a kind of waking sleep. Napoleon IV! That there +was a bar sinister did not matter. The dazzle radiated from a single +point: a dream of empire! M. Ferraud had not jested; Breitmann was +mad, obsessed, a monomaniac. It was grotesque; it troubled the senses +as a Harlequin's dance troubles the eyes. A great-grandson of +Napoleon, and plotting to enter France! And, good Lord! with what? +Two million francs and half a dozen spendthrifts. Never had there been +a wilder, more hopeless dreamer than this! Whatever antagonism or +anger he had harbored against Breitmann evaporated. Poor devil, indeed! + +He understood M. Ferraud now. Breitmann was mad; but till he made a +decisive stroke no man could stay him. So many things were clear now. +He was after the treasure, and he meant to lay his hands upon it, +peacefully if he could, violently if no other way opened. That day in +the Invalides, the old days in the field, his unaccountable appearance +on the Jersey coast; each of these things squared themselves in what +had been a puzzle. But, like the admiral, he wished that there were no +women on board. There would be a contest of some order, going forward, +where only men would be needed. Pirates! He rolled into his bunk with +a dry laugh. + +Meantime M. Ferraud walked the deck alone, and finally when Breitmann +approached him, it was no more than he had been expecting. + +"Among other things," began the secretary, with ominous calm, "I should +like to see the impression of your thumb." + +"That lock was an ingenious contrivance. It was only by the merest +accident I discovered it." + +"It must be a vile business." + +"Serving one's country? I do not agree with you. Wait a moment, Mr. +Breitmann; let us not misunderstand each other. I do not know what +fear is; but I do know that I am one of the few living who put above +all other things in the world, France: France with her wide and +beautiful valleys, her splendid mountains, her present peace and +prosperity. And my life is nothing if in giving it I may confer a +benefit." + +"Why did you not tell the whole story? A Frenchman, and to deny +oneself a climax like this?" + +M. Ferraud remained silent. + +"If you had not meddled! Well, you have, and these others must bear +the brunt with you, should anything serious happen." + +"Without my permission you will not remain in Ajaccio a single hour. +But that would not satisfy me. I wish to prove to you your blindness. +I will make you a proposition. Tear up those papers, erase the memory +from your mind, and I will place in your hands every franc of those two +millions." + +Breitmann laughed harshly. "You have said that I am mad; very well, I +am. But I know what I know, and I shall go on to the end. You are +clever. I do not know who you are nor why you are here with your +warnings; but this will I say to you: to-morrow we land, and every hour +you are there, death shall lurk at your elbow. Do you understand me?" + +"Perfectly. So well, that I shall let you go freely." + +"A warning for each, then; only mine has death in it." + +"And mine, nothing but good-will and peace." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +CAPTAIN FLANAGAN MEETS A DUKE + +The isle of Corsica, for all its fame in romance and history, is yet +singularly isolated and unknown. It is an island whose people have +stood still for a century, indolent, unobserving, thriftless. No +smoke, that ensign of progress, hangs over her towns, which are squalid +and unpicturesque, save they lie back among the mountains. But the +country itself is wildly and magnificently beautiful: great mountains +of granite as varied in colors as the palette of a painter, emerald +streams that plunge over porphyry and marble, splendid forests of pine +and birch and chestnut. + +The password was, is, and ever will be, Napoleon. Speak that name and +the native's eye will fire and his patois will rattle forth and tingle +the ear like a snare-drum. Though he pays his tithe to France, he is +Italian; but unlike the Italian of Italy, his predilection is neither +for gardening, nor agriculture, nor horticulture. Nature gave him a +few chestnuts, and he considers that sufficient. For the most part he +subsists upon chestnut-bread, stringy mutton, sinister cheeses, and a +horrid sour wine. As a variety he will shoot small birds and in the +winter a wild pig or two; his toil extends no further, for his wife is +the day-laborer. Viewing him as he is to-day, it does not seem +possible that his ancestors came from Genoa la Superba. + +Napoleon was born in Ajaccio, but the blood in his veins was Tuscan, +and his mind Florentine. + +These days the world takes little or no interest in the island, save +for its wool, lumber and an inferior cork. Great ships pass it on the +north and south, on the east and west, but only cranky packets and +dismal freighters drop anchor in her ports. + +The Gulf of Ajaccio lies at the southwest of the island and is +half-moon in shape, with reaches of white sands, red crags, and brush +covered dunes, and immediately back of these, an embracing range of +bald mountains. + +A little before sunrise the yacht _Laura_ swam into the gulf. The +mountains, their bulks in shadowy gray, their undulating crests +threaded with yellow fire, cast their images upon the smooth tideless +silver-dulled waters. Forward a blur of white and red marked the town. + +"Isn't it glorious?" said Laura, rubbing the dew from the teak rail. +"And oh! what a time we people waste in not getting up in the mornings +with the sun." + +"I don't know," replied Fitzgerald. "Scenery and sleep; of the two I +prefer the latter. I have always been routed out at dawn and never +allowed to turn in till midnight. You can always find scenery, but +sleep is a coy thing." + +"There's a drop of commercial blood in your veins somewhere, the blood +of the unromantic. But this morning?" + +"Oh, sleep doesn't count at all this morning. The scenery is +everything." + +And as he looked into her clear bright eyes he knew that before this +quest came to its end he was going to tell this enchanting girl that he +loved her "better than all the world"; and moreover, he intended to +tell it to her with the daring hope of winning her, money or no money. +Had not some poet written--some worldly wise poet who rather had the +hang of things-- + + "He either fears his fate too much, + Or his deserts are small, + Who dares not put it to the touch + To win or lose it all." + +Money wasn't everything; she herself had made that statement the first +night out. He had been afraid of Breitmann, but somehow that fear was +all gone now. Did she care, if ever so little? + +He veered his gaze round and wondered where Breitmann was. Could the +man be asleep on a morn so vital as this? No, there he was, on the +very bowsprit itself. The crew was busy about him, some getting the +motor-boat in trim, others yanking away at pulleys, all the +preparations of landing. A sharp order rose now and then; a servant +passed, carrying Captain Flanagan's breakfast to the pilot-house. To +all this subdued turmoil Breitmann seemed apparently oblivious. What +mad dream was working in that brain? Did the poor devil believe in +himself; or did he have some ulterior purpose, unknown to any but +himself? Fitzgerald determined, once they touched land, never to let +him go beyond sight. It would not be human for him to surrender any +part of the treasure without making some kind of a fight for it, +cunning or desperate. If only the women-folk remained on board! + +Breitmann gazed toward the town motionless. It was difficult for +Fitzgerald not to tell the great secret then and there; but his caution +whispered warningly. There was no knowing what effect it would have +upon the impulsive girl at his side. And besides, there might have +been a grain of selfishness in the repression. All is fair in love or +war; and it would not have been politic to make a hero out of Breitmann. + +"You haven't said a word for five minutes," she declared. How boyish +he looked for a man of his experience! + +"Silence is sometimes good for the soul," sententiously. + +"Of what were you thinking?" + +His heart struck hard against his breast. What an opening, what a +moment in which to declare himself! But he said: "Perhaps I was +thinking of breakfast. This getting up early always makes me ravenous. +The smell of the captain's coffee may have had something to do with it." + +"You were thinking of nothing of the sort," she cried. "I know. It +was the treasure and this great-grandson of Napoleon. Sometimes I feel +I only dreamed these things. Why? Because, whoever started out on a +treasure quest without having thrilling adventures, shots in the dark, +footsteps outside the room, villains, and all the rest of the +paraphernalia? I never read nor heard of such a thing." + +"Nor I. But there's land yonder," he said, without an answering smile. + +"Then," in an awed whisper, "you believe something is going to happen +there?" + +"One thing I am certain of, but I can not tell you just at this moment." + +A bit of color came to her cheeks. As if, reading his eyes, she did +not know this thing he was so certain of! Should she let him tell her? +Not a real eddy in the current, unless it was his fear of money. If +only she could lose her money, temporarily! If only she had an ogre +for a parent, now! But she hadn't. He was so dear and so kind and so +proud of her that if she told him she was going to be married that +morning, his only questions would have been: At what time? Why, this +sort of romance was against all accepted rules. She was inordinately +happy. + +"There is only one thing lacking; this great-grandson himself. He will +be yonder somewhere. For the man in the chimney was he or his agent." + +"And aren't you afraid?" + +"Of what?" proudly. + +"It will not be a comedy. It is in the blood of these Napoleons that +nothing shall stand in the path of their desires, neither men's lives +nor woman's honor." + +"I am not afraid. There is the sun at last What a picture! And the +shame of it! I am hungry!" + +At half after six the yacht let go her anchor a few hundred yards from +the quay. Every one was astir by now; but at the breakfast table there +was one vacant chair--Breitmann's. M. Ferraud and Fitzgerald exchanged +significant glances. In fact, the Frenchman drank his coffee hurriedly +and excused himself. Breitmann was not on deck; neither was he in his +state-room. The door was open. M. Ferraud, without any unnecessary +qualms of conscience, went in. One glance at the trunk was sufficient. +The lock hung down, disclosing the secret hollow. For once the little +man's suavity forsook him, and he swore like a sailor, but softly. He +rushed again to the deck and sought Captain Flanagan, who was enjoying +a pipe forward. + +"Captain, where is Mr. Breitmann?" + +"Breitmann? Oh, he went ashore in one of the fruit-boats. Missed th' +motor." + +"Did he take any luggage?" + +"Baggage?" corrected Captain Flanagan. "Nothin' but his hat, sir. +Anythin' wrong?" + +"Oh, no! We missed him at breakfast." M. Ferraud turned about, +painfully conscious that he had been careless. + +Fitzgerald hove in sight. "Find him?" + +"Ashore!" said M. Ferraud, with a violent gesture. + +"Isn't it time to make known who he is?" + +"Not yet. It would start too many complications. Besides, I doubt if +he has the true measurements." + +"There was ample time for him to make a copy." + +"Perhaps." + +"Mr. Ferraud?" + +"Well?" + +"I've an idea, and I have had it for some time, that you wouldn't feel +horribly disappointed if our friend made away with the money." + +M. Ferraud shrugged; then he laughed quietly. + +"Well, neither would I," Fitzgerald added. + +"My son, you are a man after my own heart. I was furious for the +moment to think that he had outwitted me the first move. I did not +want him to meet his confederates without my eyes on him. And there +you have it. It is not the money, which is morally his; it is his +friends, his lying, mocking friends." + +"Are we fair to the admiral? He has set his heart on this thing." + +"And shall we spoil his pleasure? Let him find it out later." + +"Do you know Corsica?" + +"As the palm of my hand." + +"But the women?" + +"They will never be in the danger zone. No blood will be spilled, +unless it be mine. He has no love for me, and I am his only friend, +save one." + +"Suppose this persecution of Germany's was only a blind?" + +"My admiration for you grows, Mr. Fitzgerald. But I have dug too +deeply into that end of it not to be certain that Germany has tossed +this bombshell into France without holding a string to it. Did you +know that Breitmann had once been hit by a spent bullet? Here," +pointing to the side of his head. "He is always conscious of what he +does but not of the force that makes him do it. Do you understand me? +He is living in a dream, and I must wake him." + +The adventurers were now ready to disembark. They took nothing but +rugs and hand-bags, for there would be no preening of fine feathers on +hotel verandas. With the exception of Hildegarde all were eager and +excited. Her breast was heavy with forebodings. Who and what was this +man Ferraud? One thing she knew; he was a menace to the man she loved, +aye, with every throb of her heart and every thought of her mind. + +The admiral was like a boy starting out upon his first +fishing-excursion. To him there existed nothing else in the world +beyond a chest of money hidden somewhere in the pine forest of Aitone. +He talked and laughed, pinched Laura's ears, shook Fitzgerald's +shoulder, prodded Coldfield, and fussed because the motor wasn't +sixty-horse power. + +"Father," Laura asked suddenly, "where is Mr. Breitmann?" + +"Oh, I told him last night to go ashore early, if he would, and arrange +for rooms at the Grand Hotel d'Ajaccio. He knows all about the place." + +M. Ferraud turned an empty face toward Fitzgerald, who laughed. The +great-grandson of Napoleon, applying for hotel accommodations, as a +gentleman's gentleman, and within a few blocks of the house in which +the self-same historic forebear was born! It had its comic side. + +"Are there any brigands?" inquired Mrs. Coldfield. She was beginning +to doubt this expedition. + +"Brigands? Plenty," said the admiral, "but they are all hotel +proprietors these times, those that aren't conveniently buried. From +here we go to Carghese, where we spend the night, then on to Evisa, and +another night. The next morning we shall be on the ground. Isn't that +the itinerary, Fitzgerald?" + +"Yes." + +"And be sure to take an empty carriage to carry canned food and bottled +water," supplemented Cathewe. "The native food is frightful. The +first time I took the journey I was ignorant. Happily it was in the +autumn, when the chestnuts were ripe. Otherwise I should have starved." + +"And you spent a winter or spring here, Hildegarde?" said Mrs. +Coldfield. + +"It was lovely then." There was a dream in Hildegarde's eyes. + +The hotel omnibus was out of service, and they rode up in carriages. +The season was over, and under ordinary circumstances the hotel would +have been closed. A certain royal family had not yet left, and this +fact made the arrangements possible. It was now very warm. Dust lay +everywhere, on the huge palms, on the withered plants, on the chairs +and railings, and swam palpable in the air. Breitmann was nowhere to +be found, but he had seen the manager of the hotel and secured rooms +facing the bay. Later, perhaps two hours after the arrival, he +appeared. In this short time he had completed his plans. As he viewed +them he could see no flaw. + +Now it came about that Captain Flanagan, who had not left the ship once +during the journey, found his one foot aching for a touch and feel of +the land. So he and Holleran, the chief-engineer, came ashore a little +before noon and decided to have a bite of maccaroni under the shade of +the palms in the _Place des Palmiers_. A bottle of warm beer was +divided between them. The captain said Faugh! as he drank it. + +"Try th' native wine, Capt'n," suggested the chief-engineer. + +"I have a picture of Cap'n Flanagan drinkin' the misnamed vinegar. No +Dago's bare fut on the top o' mine, when I'm takin' a glass. An' +that's th' way they make ut. This Napoleyun wus a fine man. He pushed +'em round some." + +"Sure, he had Irish blood in 'im, somewheres," Holleran assented. "But +I say," suddenly stretching his lean neck, "will ye look t' see who's +comin' along!" + +Flanagan stared. "If ut ain't that son-of-a-gun ov a Picard, I'll eat +my hat!" The captain grew purple. "An' leavin' th' ship without +orders!" + +"An' the togs!" murmured Holleran. + +"Watch me!" said Flanagan, rising and squaring his peg. + +Picard, arrayed in clean white flannels, white shoes, a panama set +rakishly on his handsome head, his fingers twirling a cane, came +head-on into the storm. The very jauntiness of his stride was as a red +rag to the captain. So then, a hand, heavy and charged with righteous +anger, descended upon Picard's shoulder. + +"Right about face an' back to th' ship, fast as yer legs c'n make ut!" + +Picard calmly shook off the hand, and, adding a vigorous push which +sent the captain staggering among the little iron-tables, proceeded +nonchalantly. Holleran leaped to his feet, but there was a glitter in +Picard's eye that did not promise well for any rough-and-tumble fight. +Picard's muscular shoulders moved off toward the vanishing point. +Holleran turned to the captain, and with the assistance of a waiter, +the two righted the old man. + +"Do you speak English?" roared the old sailor. + +"Yes, sir," respectfully. + +"Who wus that?" + +The waiter, in reverent tones, declared that the gentleman referred to +was well known in Ajaccio, that he had spent the previous winter there, +and that he was no less a person than the Duke of--But the waiter never +completed the sentence. The title was enough for the irascible +Flanagan. + +"Th'--hell--he--is!" The captain subsided into the nearest chair, +bereft of future speech, which is a deal of emphasis to put on the +phrase. Picard, a duke, and only that morning his hands had been +yellow with the stains of the donkey-engine oil! And by and by the +question set alive his benumbed brain; what was a duke doing on the +yacht _Laura_? "Holleran, we go t' the commodore. The devil's t' pay. +What's a dook doin' on th' ship, and we expectin' to dig up gold in +yonder mountains? Look alive, man; they's villany afoot!" + +Holleran's jaw sagged. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT + +"What's this you're telling me, Flanagan?" said the admiral perturbed. + +"Ask Holleran here, sir; he wus with me when th' waiter said Picard wus +a dook. I've suspicioned his han's this long while, sir." + +"Yes, sir; Picard it was," averred Holleran. + +"Bah! Mistaken identity." + +"I'm sure, sir," insisted Holleran. "Picard has a whisker-mole on his +chin, sir, like these forriners grow, sir. Picard, sir, an' no +mistake." + +"But what would a duke . . ." + +"Ay, sir; that's the question," interrupted Flanagan; and added in a +whisper: "Y' c'n buy a dozen dooks for a couple o' million francs, sir. +Th' first-officer, Holleran here, an' me; nobody else knows what we're +after, sir; unless you gentlemen abaft, sir, talked careless. I say +'tis serious, Commodore. _He_ knows what we're lookin' fer." + +Holleran nudged his chief. "Tell th' commodore what we saw on th' way +here." + +"Picard hobnobbin' with Mr. Breitmann, sir." + +Breitmann? The admiral's smile thinned and disappeared. There might +be something in this. Two million francs did not appeal to him, but he +realized that to others they stood for a great fortune, one worthy of +hazards. He would talk this over with Cathewe and Fitzgerald and learn +what they thought about the matter. If this fellow Picard was a duke +and had shipped as an ordinary hand foreward . . . Peace went out of +the admiral's jaw and Flanagan's heart beat high as he saw the old +war-knots gather. Oh, for a row like old times! For twenty years he +had fought nothing bigger than a drunken stevedore. Suppose this was +the beginning of a fine rumpus? He grinned, and the admiral, noting +the same, frowned. He wished he had left the women at Marseilles. + +"Say nothing to any one," he warned. "But if this man Picard comes +aboard again, keep him there." + +"Yessir." + +"That'll be all." + +"What d' y' think?" asked Holleran, on the return to the _Place des +Palmiers_, for the two were still hungry. + +"Think? There's a fight, bucko!" jubilantly. + +"These pleasure-boats sure become monotonous." Holleran rubbed his +dark hands. "When d' y' think it'll begin?" + +"I wish ut wus t'day." + +"I've seen y' do some fine work with th' peg." + +They had really seen Picard and Breitmann talking together. The +acquaintanceship might have dated from the sailing of the _Laura_, and +again it mightn't. At least, M. Ferraud, who overheard the major part +of the conversation, later in the day, was convinced that Picard had +joined the crew of the _Laura_ for no other purpose than to be in touch +with Breitmann. There were some details, however, which would be +acceptable. He followed them to the Rue Fesch, to a _trattoria_, but +entered from the rear. M. Ferraud never assumed any disguises, but +depended solely upon his adroitness in occupying the smallest space +possible. So, while the two conspirators sat at a table on the +sidewalk, M. Ferraud chose his inside, under the grilled window which +was directly above them. + +"Everything is in readiness," said Picard. + +"Thanks to you, duke." + +"To-night you and your old boatman Pietro will leave for Aitone. The +admiral and his party will start early to-morrow morning. No matter +what may happen, he will find no drivers till morning. The drivers all +understand what they are to do on the way back from Evisa. I almost +came to blows with that man Flanagan. I wasn't expecting him ashore. +And I could not stand the grime and jeans a minute longer. Perhaps he +will believe it a case of mistaken identity. At any rate he will not +find out the truth till it's too late for him to make a disturbance. +We have had wonderful luck!" + +A cart rumbled past, and the listener missed a few sentences. What did +the drivers understand? What was going to happen on the way back from +Evisa? Surely, Breitmann did not intend that the admiral should do the +work and then be held up later. The old American sailor wasn't afraid +of any one, and he would shoot to kill. No, no; Breitmann meant to +secure the gold alone. But the drivers worried M. Ferraud. He might +be forced to change his plans on their account. He wanted full +details, not puzzling components. Quiet prevailed once more. + +"Women in affairs of this sort are always in the way," said Picard. + +M. Ferraud did not hear what Breitmann replied. + +"Take my word for it," pursued Picard, "this one will trip you; and you +can not afford to trip at this stage. We are all ready to strike, man. +All we want is the money. Every ten francs of it will buy a man. We +leave Marseilles in your care; the rest of us will carry the word on to +Lyons, Dijon and Paris. With this unrest in the government, the army +scandals, the dissatisfied employees, and the idle, we shall raise a +whirlwind greater than '50 or '71. We shall reach Paris with half a +million men." + +Again Breitmann said something lowly. M. Ferraud would have liked to +see his face. + +"But what are you going to do with the other woman?" + +Two women: M. Ferraud saw the ripple widen and draw near. One woman he +could not understand, but two simplified everything. The drivers and +two women. + +"The other?" said Breitmann. "She is of no importance." + +M. Ferraud shook his head. + +"Oh, well; this will be, your private affair. Captain Grasset will +arrive from Nice to-morrow night. Two nights later we all should be on +board and under way. Do you know, we have been very clever. Not a +suspicion anywhere of what we are about." + +"Do you recollect M. Ferraud?" inquired Breitmann. + +"That little fool of a butterfly-hunter?" the duke asked. + +M. Ferraud smiled and gazed laughingly up at the grill. + +"He is no fool," abruptly. "He is a secret agent, and not one move +have we made that is unknown to him." + +"Impossible!" + +M. Ferraud could not tell whether the consternation in Picard's voice +was real or assumed. He chose to believe the latter. + +"And why hasn't he shown his hand?" + +"He is waiting for us to show ours. But don't worry," went on +Breitmann. "I have arranged to suppress him neatly." + +And the possible victim murmured: "I wonder how?" + +"Then we must not meet again until you return; and then only at the +little house in the Rue St. Charles." + +"Agreed. Now I must be off." + +"Good luck!" + +M. Ferraud heard the stir of a single chair and knew that the +great-grandson was leaving. The wall might have been transparent, so +sure was he of the smile upon Picard's face, a sinister speculating +smile. But his imagination did not pursue Breitmann, whose lips also +wore a smile, one of irony and bitterness. Neither did he hear Picard +murmur "Dupe!" nor Breitmann mutter "Fools!" + +When Breitmann saw Hildegarde in the hotel gardens he did not avoid her +but stopped by her chair. She rose. She had been waiting all day for +this moment. She must speak out or suffocate with anxiety. + +"Karl, what are you going to do?" + +"Nothing," unsmilingly. + +"You will let the admiral find and keep this money which is yours?" + +Breitmann shrugged. + +"You are killing me with suspense!" + +"Nonsense!" briskly. + +"You are contemplating violence of some order. I know it, I feel it!" + +"Not so loud!" impatiently. + +"You are!" she repeated, crushing her hands together. + +"Well, all there remains to do is to tell the admiral. He will, +perhaps, divide with me." + +"How can you be so cruel to me? It is your safety; that is all I wish +to be assured of. Oh, I am pitifully weak! I should despise you. +Take this chest of money; it is yours. Go to England, to America, and +be happy." + +"Happy? Do you wish me to be happy?" + +"God knows!" + +"And you?" curiously. + +"I have no time to ask you to consider me," with a clear pride. "I do +not wish to see you hurt. You are courting death, Karl, death." + +"Who cares?" + +"I care!" with a sob. + +The bitterness in his face died for a space. "Hildegarde, I'm not +worth it. Forget me as some bad dream; for that is all I am or ever +shall be. Marry Cathewe; I'm not blind. He will make you happy. I +have made my bed, or rather certain statesmen have, and I must lie in +it. If I had known what I know now," with regret, "this would not have +been. But I distrusted every one, myself, too." + +She understood. "Karl, had you told me all in the first place, I +should have given you that diagram without question, gladly." + +"Well, I am sorry. I have been a beast. Have we not always been such, +from the first of us, down to me? Forget me!" + +And with that he left her standing by the side of her chair and walked +swiftly toward the hotel. When next she realized or sensed anything +she was lying on her bed, her eyes dry and wide open. And she did not +go down to dinner, nor did she answer the various calls on her door. + +Night rolled over the world, with a cool breeze driving under her +million planets. The lights in the hotel flickered out one by one, and +in the third corridor, where the adventurers were housed, only a wick, +floating in a tumbler of oil, burned dimly. + +Fitzgerald had waited in the shadow for nearly an hour, and he was +growing restless and tired. All day long he had been obsessed with the +conviction that if Breitmann ever made a start it would be some time +that night. Distinctly he heard the light rattle of a carriage. It +stopped outside the gardens. He pressed closer against the wall. The +door to Breitmann's room opened gently and the man himself stepped out +cautiously. + +"So," began Fitzgerald lightly, "your majesty goes forth to-night?" + +But he overreached himself. Breitmann whirled, and all the hate in his +breast went into his arm as he struck. Fitzgerald threw up his guard, +but not soon enough. The blow hit him full on the side of the head and +toppled him over; and as the back of his head bumped the floor, the +world came to an end. When he regained his senses his head was +pillowed on a woman's knees and the scared white face of a woman bent +over his. + +"What's happened?" he whispered. There were a thousand wicks where +there had been one and these went round and round in a circle. +Presently the effect wore away, and he recognized Laura. Then he +remembered. "By George!" + +"What is it?" she cried, the bands of terror about her heart loosening. + +"As a hero I'm a picture," he answered. "Why, I had an idea that +Breitmann was off to-night to dig up the treasure himself. Gone! And +only one blow struck, and I in front of it!" + +"Breitmann?" exclaimed Laura. She caught her dressing-gown closer +about her throat. + +"Yes. The temptation was too great. How did you get here?" He ought +to have struggled to his feet at once, but it was very comfortable to +feel her breath upon his forehead. + +"I heard a fall and then some one running. Are you badly hurt?" + +The anguish in her voice was as music to his ears. + +"Dizzy, that's all. Better tell your father immediately. No, no; I +can get up alone. I'm all right. Fine rescuer of princesses, eh?" +with an unsteady laugh. + +"You might have been killed!" + +"Scarcely that. I tried to talk like they do in stories, with this +result. The maxim is, always strike first and question afterward. You +warn your father quietly while I hunt up Ferraud and Cathewe." + +Seeing that he was really uninjured she turned and flew down the dark +corridor and knocked at her father's door. + +Fitzgerald stumbled along toward M. Ferraud's room, murmuring: "All +right, Mr. Breitmann; all right. But hang me if I don't hand you back +that one with interest. Where the devil is that Frenchman?" as he +hammered on Ferraud's door and obtained no response. He tried the +knob. The door opened. The room was black, and he struck a match. M. +Ferraud, fully dressed, lay upon his bed. There was a handkerchief +over his mouth and his hands and feet were securely bound. His eyes +were open. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +CATHEWE ASKS QUESTIONS + +The hunter of butterflies rubbed his released wrists and ankles, tried +his collar, coughed, and dropped his legs to the floor. + +"I am getting old," he cried in self-communion; "near-sighted and old. +I've worn spectacles so long in jest that now I must wear them in +earnest." + +"How long have you been here?" asked Fitzgerald. + +"I should say about two hours. It was very simple. He came to the +door. I opened it. He came in. _Zut_! He is as powerful as a lion." + +"Why didn't you call?" + +"I was too busy, and suddenly it became too late. Gone?" + +"Yes." And Fitzgerald swore as he rubbed the side of his head. +Briefly he related what had befallen him. + +"You have never hunted butterflies?" + +"No," sharply. "Shall we start for him while his heels are hot?" + +"It is very exciting. It is the one thing I really care for. There is +often danger, but it is the kind that does not steal round your back. +Hereafter I shall devote my time to butterflies. You can make +believe--is that what you call it?--each butterfly is a great rascal. +The more difficult the netting, the more cunning the rascal . . . What +did you say?" + +"Look here, Ferraud," cried Fitzgerald angrily; "do you want to catch +him or not? He's gone, and that means he has got the odd trick." + +"But not the rubber, my son. Listen. When you set a trap for a rat or +a lion, do you scare the animal into it, or do you lure him with a +tempting bait? I have laid the trap; he and his friend will walk into +it. I am not a police officer. I make no arrests. My business is to +avert political calamities, without any one knowing that these +calamities exist. That is the real business of a secret agent. Let +him dig up his fortune. Who has a better right? _Peste_! The pope +will not crown him in the gardens of the Tuileries. What!" with a ring +in his voice Fitzgerald had never heard before; "am I one to be +overcome without a struggle, without a call for help? The trap is set, +and in forty-eight hours it will be sprung. Be calm, my son. Tonight +we should not find a horse or carriage in the whole town of Ajaccio." + +"But what are you going to do?" + +"Go to Aitone, to find a hole in the ground." + +"But the admiral!" + +"Let him gaze into the hole, and then tell him what you will. I owe +him that much. Come on!" + +"Where?" + +"To the admiral, to tell him his secretary is a fine rogue and that he +has stolen the march on us. A good chase will soften his final +disappointment." + +"You're a strange man." + +"No; only what you English and Americans call a game sport. To start +on even terms with a man, to give him the odds, if necessary. What! +have beaters for my rabbits, shoot pigeons from traps? _Fi donc_!" + +"Hang it!" growled the young man, undecided. + +"My son, give me my way. Some day you will be glad. I will tell you +this: I am playing against desperate men; and the liberty, perhaps +honor, of one you love is menaced." + +"My God!" + +"Sh! Ask me nothing; leave it all to me. There! They are coming. +Not a word." + +The admiral's fury was boundless, and his utterances were touched here +and there by strong sailor expressions. The scoundrel! The black-leg! +And he had trusted him without reservation. He wanted to start at +once. Laura finally succeeded in calming him, and the cold reason of +M. Ferraud convinced him of the folly of haste. There was a comic side +to the picture, too, but they were all too serious to note it; the +varied tints of the dressing-gowns, the bath-slippers and bare feet, +the uncovered throats, the tousled hair, the eyes still heavy with +sleep. Every one of the party was in Ferraud's room, and their voices +hummed and murmured and their arms waved. Only one of them did Ferraud +watch keenly; Hildegarde. How would she act now? + +Fitzgerald's head still rang, and now his mind was being tortured. +Laura in danger from this madman? No, over his body first, over his +dead body. How often had he smiled at that phrase; but there was no +melodrama in it now. Her liberty and perhaps her honor! His strong +fingers worked convulsively; to put them round the blackguard's throat! +And to do nothing himself, to wait upon this Frenchman's own good time, +was maddening. + +"Your head is all right now?" as she turned to follow the others from +the room. + +"It was nothing." He forced a smile to his lips. "I'm as fit as a +fiddle now; only, I'll never forgive myself for letting him go. Will +you tell me one thing? Did he ever offend you in any way?" + +"A woman would not call it an offense," a glint of humor in her eyes. +"Real offense, no." + +"He proposed to you?" + +The suppressed rage in his tone would have amused if it hadn't thrilled +her strangely. "It would have been a proposal if I had not stopped it. +Good night." + +He could not see her eyes very well; there was only one candle burning. +Impulsively he snatched at her hand and kissed it. With his life, if +need be; ay, and gladly. And even as she disappeared into the corridor +the thought intruded: Where was the past, the days of wandering, the +active and passive adventures, he had contemplated treasuring up for a +club career in his old age? Why, they had vanished from his mind as +thin ice vanishes in the spring sunshine. To love is to be borne again. + +And Laura? She possessed a secret that terrified her one moment and +enraptured her the next. And she marveled that there was no shame in +her heart. Never in all her life before had she done such a thing; +she, who had gone so calmly through her young years, wondering what it +was that had made men turn away from her with agony written on their +faces! She would never be the same again, and the hand she held softly +against her cheek would never be the same hand. Where was the +tranquillity of that morning? + +Fitzgerald found himself alone with Ferraud again. There was going to +be no dissembling; he was going to speak frankly. + +"You have evidently discovered it. Yes, I love Miss Killigrew, well +enough to die for her." + +"_Zut_! She will be as safe as in her own house. Had Breitmann not +gone to-night, had any of us stopped him, I could not say. Unless you +tell her, she will never know that she stood in danger. Don't you +understand? If I marred one move these men intend to make, if I showed +a single card, they would defeat me for the time; for they would make +new plans of which I should not have the least idea. You comprehend?" + +Fitzgerald nodded. + +"It all lies in the hollow of my hand. Breitmann made one mistake; he +should have pushed me off the boat, into the dark. _He_ knows that I +know. And there he confuses me. But, I repeat, he is not vicious, +only mad." + +"Where will it be?" + +"It will _not_ be;" and M. Ferraud smiled as he livened up the burnt +wick of his candle. + +"Treachery on the part of the drivers? Oh, don't you see that you can +trust me wholly?" + +"Well, it will be like this;" and reluctantly the secret agent outlined +his plan. "Now, go to bed and sleep, for you and I shall need some to +draw upon during the next three or four days. Hunting for buried +treasures was never a junketing. The admiral will tell you that. At +dawn!" Then he added whimsically: "I trust we haven't disturbed the +royal family below." + +"Hang the royal family!" + +"Their own parliament, or Reichstag, will arrange for that!" and the +little man laughed. + +Dawn came soon enough, yellow and airless. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Coldfield, "I really wish you wouldn't go." + +"But Laura and Miss von Mitter insist on going. I can't back out now," +protested Coldfield. "What are you worried about? Brigands, +gun-shots, and all that?" + +"He will be a desperate man." + +"To steal a chest full of money is one thing; to shoot a man is +another. Besides, the admiral will go if he has to go alone; and I +can't desert him." + +"Very well. You will have to take me to Baden for nervous prostration." + +"Humph! Baden; that'll mean about two-thousand in fresh gowns from +Vienna or Paris. All right; I'm game. But, no nerves, no Baden." + +"Go, if you will; but _do_ take care of yourself; and let the admiral +go _first_, when there's any sign of danger." + +Coldfield chuckled. "I'll get behind him every time I think of it." + +"Kiss me. They are waiting for you. And be careful." + +It was only a little brave comedy. She knew this husband and partner +of hers, hard-headed at times, but full of loyalty and courage; and she +was confident that if danger arose the chances were he would be getting +in front instead of behind the admiral. A pang touched her heart as +she saw him spring into the carriage. + +The admiral had argued himself hoarse about Laura's going; but he had +to give in when she threatened to hire a carriage on her own account +and follow. Thus, Coldfield went because he was loyal to his friends; +Laura, because she would not leave her father; Hildegarde, because to +remain without knowing what was happening would have driven her mad; M. +Ferraud, because it was a trick in the game; and Cathewe and +Fitzgerald, because they loved hazard, because they were going with the +women they loved. The admiral alone went for the motive apparent to +all: to lay hands on the scoundrel who had betrayed his confidence. + +So the journey into the mountains began. In none of the admiral's +documents was it explained why the old Frenchman had hidden the +treasure so far inland, when at any moment a call might have been made +on it. Ferraud put forward the supposition that they had been watched. +As for hiding it in Corsica at all, every one understood that it was a +matter of sentiment. + +Fitzgerald keenly inspected the drivers, but found them of the ordinary +breed, in velveteens, red-sashes, and soft felt hats. As they made the +noon stop, one thing struck him as peculiar. The driver of the +provision carriage had little or nothing to do with his companions. +"That is because _he_ is mine," explained M. Ferraud in a whisper. +They were all capable horsemen, and on this journey spared their horses +only when absolutely necessary. The great American _signori_ were in a +hurry. They arrived at Carghese at five in the afternoon. The admiral +was for pushing on, driving all night. He stormed, but the drivers +were obdurate. At Carghese they would remain till sunrise; that was +final. Besides, it was not safe at night, without moonshine, for many +a mile of the road lipping tremendous precipices was without curb or +parapet. Not a foot till dawn. + +In the little _auberge_, dignified but not improved by the name of +Hotel de France, there was room only for the two women and the older +men. Fitzgerald and Cathewe had to bunk the best they could in a +tenement at the upper end of the town; two cots in a single room, +carpetless and ovenlike for the heat. + +Cathewe opened his rug-bag and spread out a rug in front of his cot, +for he wasn't fond at any time of dirty, bare boards under his feet. +He began to undress, silently, puffing his pipe as one unconscious of +the deed. Cathewe looked old. Fitzgerald hadn't noticed the change +before; but it certainly was a fact that his face was thinner than when +they put out to sea. Cathewe, his pipe still between his teeth, +absently drew his shirt over his head. The pipe fell to the rug and he +stamped out the coals, grumbling. + +"You'll set yourself afire one of these fine days," laughed Fitzgerald +from his side of the room. + +"I'm safe enough, Jack, you can't set fire to ashes, and that's about +all I amount to." Cathewe got into his pajamas and sat upon the bed. +"Jack, I thought I knew something about this fellow Breitmann; but it +seems I've something to learn." + +The younger man said nothing. + +"Was that yarn of Ferraud's fact or tommy-rot?" + +"Fact." + +"The great-grandson of Napoleon! Here! Nothing will ever surprise me +again. But why didn't he lay the matter before Killigrew, like a man?" + +Fitzgerald patted and poked the wool-filled pillow, but without +success. It remained as hard and as uninviting as ever. "I've thought +it over, Arthur. I'd have done the same as Breitmann," as if reluctant +to give his due to the missing man. + +"But why didn't this butterfly man tell the admiral all?" + +"He had excellent reasons. He's a secret agent, and has the idea that +Breitmann wants to go into France and make an emperor of himself." + +"Do men dream of such things to-day, let alone try to enact them?" +incredulously. + +"Breitmann's an example." + +"Are you taking his part?" + +"No, damn him! May I ask you a pertinent question?" + +"Yes." + +"Did he know Miss von Mitter very well in Munich?" + +"He did." + +"Was he quite square?" + +"I am beginning to believe that he was something between a cad and a +scoundrel." + +"Did you know that among her forebears on her mother's side was the +Abbe Fanu, who left among other things the diagram of the chimney?" + +"So that was it?" Cathewe's jaws hardened. + +Fitzgerald understood. Poor old Cathewe! + +"Most women are fools!" said Cathewe, as if reading his friend's +thought. "Pick out all the brutes in history; they were always better +loved than decent men. Why? God knows! Well, good night;" and +Cathewe blew out his candle. + +So did Fitzgerald; but it was long before he fell asleep. He was +straining his ears for the sound of a carriage coming down from Evisa. +But none came. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE PINES OF AITONE + +Before sun-up they were on the way again. They circled through +magnificent gorges now, of deep red and salmon tinted granite, +storm-worn, strangely hollowed out, as if some Titan's hand had been at +work; and always the sudden disappearance and reappearance of the blue +Mediterranean. + +The two young women rode in the same carriage. Occasionally the men +got down out of theirs and walked on either side of them. Whenever an +abrupt turn showed forward, Fitzgerald put his hand in his pocket. +From whichever way it came, he, at least, was not going to be found +unprepared. Sometimes, when he heard M. Ferraud's laughter drift back +from the admiral's carriage, he longed to throttle the aggravating +little man. Yet, his admiration of him was genuine. What a chap to +have wandered round with, in the old days! He began to realize what +Frenchmen must have been a hundred years gone. And the strongest point +in his armor was his humanity; he wished no one ill. Gradually the +weight on Fitzgerald's shoulders lightened. If M. Ferraud could laugh, +why not he? + +"Isn't that view lovely!" exclaimed Laura, as the _Capo di Rosso_ +glowed in the sun with all the beauty of a fabulous ruby. "Are you +afraid at all, Hildegarde?" + +"No, Laura; I am only sad. I wish we were safely on the yacht. Yes, +yes; I _am_ afraid, of something I know not what." + +"I never dreamed that he could be dishonest. He was a gentleman, +somewhere in his past. I do not quite understand it all. The money +does not interest my father so much as the mere sport of finding it. +You know it was agreed to divide, his share among the officers and +seamen, and the balance to our guests. It would have been such fun." + +And the woman who knew everything must perforce remain silent. With +what eloquence she could have defended him! + +"Do you think we shall find it?" wistfully. + +"No, Laura." + +"How can he find his way back without passing us?" + +"For a desperate man who has thrown his all on this one chance, he will +find a hundred ways of returning." + +A carriage came round one of the pinnacled _calenches_. It was empty. +M. Ferraud casually noted the number. He was not surprised. He had +been waiting for this same vehicle. It was Breitmann's, but the man +driving it was not the man who had driven it out of Ajaccio. He was an +Evisan. A small butterfly fluttered alongside. M. Ferraud jumped out +and swooped with his hat. He decided not to impart his discovery to +the others. He was assured that the man from Evisa knew absolutely +nothing, and that to question him would be a waste of time. At this +very moment it was not unlikely that Breitmann and his confederate were +crossing the mountains; perhaps with three or four sturdy donkeys, +their panniers packed with precious metal. And the dupe would go +straight to his fellow-conspirators and share his millions. Curious +old world! + +They saw Evisa at sunset, one of the seven glories of the earth. The +little village rests on the side of a mountain, nearly three-thousand +feet above the sea, the sea itself lying miles away to the west, +V-shaped between two enormous shafts of burning granite. Even the +admiral forgot his smoldering wrath. + +The hotel was neat and cool, and all the cook had to do was to furnish +dishes and hot water for tea. There was very little jesting, and what +there was of it fell to the lot of Coldfield and the Frenchman. The +spirit in them all was tense. Given his way, the admiral would have +gone out that very night with lanterns. + +"Folly! To find a given point in an unknown forest at night; +impossible! Am I not right, Mr. Cathewe? Of course. Breitmann's man +knew Aitone from his youth. Suppose," continued M. Ferraud, "that we +spend two days here?" + +"What? Give him all the leeway?" The admiral was amazed that M. +Ferraud could suggest such a stupidity. "No. In the morning we make +the search. If there's nothing there we'll return at once." + +M. Ferraud spoke to the young woman who waited on the table. "Please +find Carlo, the driver, and bring him here." + +Ten minutes later Carlo came in, hat in hand, curious. + +"Carlo," began the Frenchman, leaning on his elbows, his sharp eyes +boring into the mild brown ones of the Corsican, "we shall not return +to Carghese to-morrow but the day after." + +"Not return to-morrow?" cried Carlo dismayed. + +"Ah, but the _signore_ does not understand. We are engaged day after +to-morrow to carry a party to Bonifacio. We have promised. We must +return to-morrow." + +Fitzgerald saw the drift and bent forward. The admiral fumed because +his Italian was an indifferent article. + +"But," pursued M. Ferraud, "we will pay you twenty francs the day, just +the same." + +"We are promised." Carlo shrugged and spread his hands, but the glitter +in his questioner's eyes disquieted him. + +"What's this about?" growled the admiral. + +"The man says he must take us back to-morrow, or leave us, as he has +promised to return to Ajaccio to carry a party to Bonifacio," M. +Ferraud explained. + +"Then, if we don't go to-morrow it means a week in this forsaken hole?" + +"It is possible." M. Ferraud turned to Carlo once more. "We will make +it fifty francs per day." + +"Impossible, _signore_!" + +"Then you will return to-morrow without us." + +Carlo's face hardened. "But--" + +"Come outside with me," said M. Ferraud in a tone which brooked no +further argument. + +The two stepped out into the hall, and when the Frenchman came back his +face was animated. + +"Mr. Ferraud," said the admiral icily, "my daughter has informed me +what passed between you. I must say that you have taken a deal upon +yourself." + +"Mr. Ferraud is right," put in Fitzgerald. + +"You, too?" + +"Yes. I think the time has come, for Mr. Ferraud to offer full +explanations." + +The butterfly-hunter resumed his chair. "They will remain or carry us +on to Corte. From there we can take the train back to Ajaccio, saving +a day and a half. Admiral, I have a confession to make. It will +surprise you, and I offer you my apologies at once." He paused. He +loved moments like this, when he could resort to the dramatic in +perfect security. "_I_ was the man in the chimney." + +The admiral gasped. Laura dropped her hands to the table. Cathewe sat +back stiffly. Coldfield stared. Hildegarde shaded her face with the +newspaper through which she had been idly glancing. + +"Patience!" as the admiral made as though to press back his chair. +"Mr. Fitzgerald knew from the beginning. Is that not true?" + +"It is, Mr. Ferraud. Go on." + +"Breitmann is the great-grandson of Napoleon. By this time he is +traveling over some mountain pass, with his inheritance snug under his +hand. You will ask, why all these subterfuges, this dodging in and +out? Thus. Could I have found the secret of the chimney--I worked +from memory--none of us would be here, and one of the great +conspiracies of the time would have been nipped in the bud. What do +you think? Breitmann proposes to go into France with the torch of +anarchy in his hand; and if he does, he will be shot. He proposes to +divide this money among his companions, who, with their pockets full of +gold, will desert him the day he touches France. Do you recollect the +scar on his temple? It was not made by a saber; it is the mark of a +bullet. He received it while a correspondent in the Balkans. Well, it +left a mark on his brain also. That is to say, he is conscious of what +he does but not why he does it. He is a sane man with an obsession. +This wound, together with the result of Germany's brutal policy toward +him and France's indifference, has made him a kind of monomaniac. You +will ask why I, an accredited agent in the employ of France, have not +stepped in and arrested him. My evidence might bring him to trial, but +it would never convict him. Once liberated, he would begin all over +again, meaning that I also would have to start in at a new beginning. +So I have let him proceed to the end, and in doing so I shall save him +in spite of himself. You see, I have a bit of sentiment." + +Hildegarde could have reached over and kissed his hand. + +"Why didn't he tell this to me?" cried the admiral. "Why didn't he +tell me? I would have helped him." + +"To his death, perhaps," grimly. "For the money was only a means, not +an end. The great-grandson of Napoleon: well, he will never rise from +his obscurity. And sometime, when the clouds lift from his brain, he +will remember me. I have seen in your American cottages the motto +hanging on the walls--_God Bless Our Home_. Mr. Breitmann will place +my photograph beside it and smoke his cigarette in peace." + +And this whimsical turn caused even the admiral to struggle with a +smile. He was a square, generous old sailor. He stretched his hand +across the table. M. Ferraud took it, but with a shade of doubt. + +"You are a good man, Mr. Ferraud. I'm terribly disappointed. All my +life I have been goose-chasing for treasures, and this one I had set my +heart on. You've gone about it the best you could. If you had told me +from the start there wouldn't have been any fun." + +"That is it," eagerly assented M. Ferraud. "Why should I spoil your +innocent pleasure? For a month you have lived in a fine adventure, and +no harm has befallen. And when you return to America, you will have an +unrivaled story to tell; but, I do not think you will ever tell all of +it. He will have paid in wretchedness and humiliation for his +inheritance. And who has a better right to it? Every coin may +represent a sacrifice, a deprivation, and those who gave it freely, +gave it to the blood. Is it sometimes that you laugh at French +sentiment?" + +"Not in Frenchmen like you," said the admiral gravely. + +"Good! To men of heart what matters the tongue?" + +"Poor young man!" sighed Laura. "I am glad he has found it. Didn't I +wish him to have it?" + +"And you knew all this?" said Cathewe into the ear of the woman he +loved. + +Thinly the word came through her lips: "Yes." + +Cathewe's chin sank into his collar and he stared at the crumbs on the +cloth. + +"But what meant this argument with the drivers?" asked Coldfield. + +"Yes! I had forgotten that," supplemented the sailor. + +"On the way back to Carghese, we should have been stopped. We were to +be quietly but effectively suppressed till our Napoleon set sail for +Marseilles." M. Ferraud bowed. He had no more to add. + +The admiral shook his head. He had come to Corsica as one might go to +a picnic; and here he had almost toppled over into a gulf! + +The significance of the swift glance which was exchanged between M. +Ferraud and Fitzgerald was not translatable to Laura, who alone caught +it in its transit. An idea took possession of her, but this idea had +nothing to do with the glance, which she forgot almost instantly. +Woman has a way with a man; she leads him whither she desires, and +never is he any the wiser. She will throw obstacles in his way, or she +will tear down walls that rise up before him; she will make a mile out +of a rod, or turn a mountain into a mole-hill: and none but the Cumaean +Sibyl could tell why. And as Laura was of the disposition to walk down +by the cemetery, to take a final view of the sea before it melted into +the sky, what was more natural than that Fitzgerald should follow her? +They walked on in the peace of twilight, unmindful of the curiosity of +the villagers or of the play of children about their feet. The two +were strangely silent; but to him it seemed that she must presently +hear the thunder of his insurgent heart. At length she paused, gazing +toward the sea upon which the purples of night were rapidly deepening. + +"And if I had not made that wager!" he said, following aloud his train +of thought. + +"And if I had not bought that statuette!" picking up the thread. If +she had laughed, nothing might have happened. But her voice was low +and sweet and ruminating. + +The dam of his reserve broke, and the great current of life rushed over +his lips, to happiness or to misery, whichever it was to be. + +"I love you, and I can no more help telling you than I can help +breathing. I have tried not to speak, I have so little to offer. I +have been lonely so long. I did not mean to tell you here; but I've +done it." He ceased, terrified. His voice had diminished down to a +mere whisper, and finally refused to work at all. + +Still she stared out to sea. + +He found his voice again. "So there isn't any hope? There is some one +else?" He was very miserable. + +"Had there been, I should have stopped you at once." + +"But . . . !" + +"Do you wish a more definite answer . . . John?" And only then did she +turn her head. + +"Yes!" his courage coming back full and strong. "I want you to tell me +you love me, and while my arms are round you like this! May I kiss +you?" + +"No other man save my father shall." + +"Ah, I haven't done anything to deserve this!" + +"No?" + +"I'm not even a third-rate hero." + +"No?" with gentle raillery. + +"Say you love me!" + +"_Amo, ama, amiamo_ . . ." + +"In English; I have never heard it in English." + +"So," pushing back from him, "you have heard it in Italian?" + +"Laura, I didn't mean that! There was never any one else. Say it!" + +So she said it softly; she repeated it, as though the utterance was as +sweet to her lips as it was to his ears. And then, for the first time, +she became supine in his arms. With his cheek touching the hair on her +brow, they together watched but did not see the final conquest of the +day. + +"And I have had the courage to ask you to be my wife?" It was +wonderful. + +Napoleon, his hunted great-grandson, the treasure, all these had ceased +to exist. + +"John, when you lay in the corridor the other night, and I thought you +were dying, I kissed you." Her arm tightened as did his. "Will you +promise never to tell if I confess a secret?" + +"I promise." + +"You never would have had the courage to propose if I hadn't +deliberately brought you here for that purpose. It was I who proposed +to you." + +"I'm afraid I don't quite get that," doubtfully. + +"Then we'll let the subject rest where it is. You might bring it up in +after years." Her laughter was happy. + +He raised his eyes reverently toward heaven. She would never know that +she had stood in danger. + +"But your father!" with a note of sudden alarm. And all the worldly +sides to the dream burst upon him. + +"Father is only the 'company,' John." + +And so the admiral himself admitted when, an hour later, Fitzgerald put +the affair before him, briefly and frankly. + +"It is all her concern, my son, and only part of mine. My part is to +see that you keep in order. I don't know; I rather expected it. Of +course," said the admiral, shifting his cigar, "there's a business end +to it. I'm a rich man, but Laura isn't worth a cent, in money. Young +men generally get the wrong idea, that daughters of wealthy parents +must also be wealthy." He was glad to hear the young man laugh. It +was a good sign. + +"My earnings and my income amount to about seven-thousand a year; and +with an object in view I can earn more. She says that will be plenty." + +"She's a sensible girl; that ought to do to start on. But let there be +no nonsense about money. Laura's happiness; that's the only thing +worth considering. I used to be afraid that she might bring a duke +home." It was too dark for Fitzgerald to see the twinkle in the eyes +of his future father-in-law. "If worst comes to worst, why, you can be +my private secretary. The job is open at present," dryly. "I've been +watching you; and I'm not afraid of your father's son. Where's it to +be?" + +"We haven't talked that over yet." + +The admiral drew him down to the space beside him on the parapet and +offered the second greatest gift in his possession: one of his selected +perfectos. + +The course of true love does not always run so smoothly. A short +distance up the road Cathewe was grimly fighting for his happiness. + +"Hildegarde, forget him. Must he spoil both our lives? Come with me, +be my wife. I will make any and all sacrifices toward your +contentment." + +"Have we not threshed this all out before, my friend?" sadly. "Do not +ask me to forget him rather let me ask you to forget me." + +"He will never be loyal to any one but himself. He is selfish to the +core. Has he not proved it?" Where were the words he needed for this +last defense? Where his arguments to convince her? He was losing; in +his soul he knew it. If his love for her was strong, hers for this +outcast was no less. "I have never wished the death of any man, but if +he should die . . . !" + +She interrupted him, her hands extended as in pleading. Never had he +seen a woman's face so sad, "Arthur, I have more faith in you than in +any other man, and I prize your friendship above all other things. But +who can say _must_ to the heart? Not you, not I! Have I not fought +it? Have I not striven to forget, to trample out this fire? Have you +yourself not tried to banish me from your heart? Have you succeeded? +Do you remember that night in Munich? My voice broke, miserably, and +my public career was ruined. What caused it? A note from him, saying +that he had tired of the role and was leaving. It was not my love he +wanted after all; a slip of paper, which at any time would have been +his for the asking. Arthur, my friend, when you go from me presently +it will be with loathing. That night you went to his room . . . he +lied to you." + +"About what?" + +"I mean, if I can not be his wife, I can not in honor be any man's. +God pity me, but must I make it plainer?" + +Here, he believed, was his last throw. "Have I not told you that +nothing mattered, nothing at all save that I love you?" + +"I can not argue more," wearily. + +"He will tire of you again," desperately. + +"I know it. But in my heart something speaks that he will need me; and +when he does I shall go to him." + +"God in heaven! to be loved like that!" + +Scarcely realizing the violence of his action, he crushed her to his +heart, roughly, and kissed her face, her eyes, her hair. She did not +struggle. It was all over in a moment. Then he released her and +turned away toward the dusty road. She was not angry. She understood. +It was the farewell of the one man who had loved her in honor. +Presently he seemed to dissolve into the shadows, and she knew that out +of her life he had gone for ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE DUPE + +The next morning Fitzgerald found Cathewe's note under his plate. He +opened it with a sense of disaster. + + +"MY DEAR OLD JACK: + +I'm off. Found a pony and shall jog to Ajaccio by the route we came. +Please take my luggage back to the Grand Hotel, and I'll pick it up. +And have my trunk sent ashore, too. I shan't go back to America with +the admiral, bless his kindly old heart! I'm off to Mombassa. Always +keep a shooting-kit there for emergencies. I suppose you'll +understand. Be kind to her, and help her in any way you can. I hope I +shan't run into Breitmann. I should kill him out of hand. Happiness +to you, my boy. And maybe I'll ship you a trophy for the wedding. +Explain my departure in any way you please. + + "CATHEWE." + + +The reader folded the note and stowed it away. Somehow, the bloom was +gone from things. He was very fond of Cathewe, kindly, gentle, brave, +and chivalrous. What was the matter with the woman, anyhow? How to +explain? The simplest way would be to state that Cathewe had gone back +to Ajaccio. The why and wherefore should be left to the imagination. +But, oddly enough, no one asked a second question. They accepted +Cathewe's defection without verbal comment. What they thought was of +no immediate consequence. Fitzgerald was gloomy till that moment when +Laura joined him. To her, of course, he explained the situation. + +Neither she nor Hildegarde cared to go up to the forest. They would +find nothing but a hole. And indeed, when the men returned from the +pines, weary, dusty, and dissatisfied, they declared that they had +gone, not with the expectation of finding anything, but to certify a +fact. + +M. Ferraud was now in a great hurry. Forty miles to Corte; night or +not, they _must_ make the town. There was no dissention; the spell of +the little man was upon them all. + +Hildegarde rode alone, in the middle carriage. Such had been her +desire. She did not touch her supper. And when, late at night, they +entered the gates of Corte and stepped down before the hotel lights, +Laura observed that Hildegarde's face was streaked by the passage of +many burning tears. She longed to comfort her, but the older woman +held aloof. + +Men rarely note these things, and when they do it has to be forced upon +them. Fitzgerald, genuine in his regret for Cathewe, was otherwise at +peace with the world. He alone of them all had found a treasure, the +incomparable treasure of a woman's love. + + +Racing his horses all through the night, scouring for fresh ones at +dawn and finding them, and away again, climbing, turning, climbing +round this pass, over that bridge, through this cut, thus flew +Breitmann, the passion of haste upon him. By this tremendous pace he +succeeded in arriving at Evisa before the admiral had covered half the +distance to Carghese. + +How clear and keen his mind was as on he rolled! A thousand places +wove themselves to the parent-stem. He even laughed aloud, sending a +shiver up the spine of the driver, who was certain his old _padrone_ +was mad. The face of Laura drifted past him as in a dream, and then +again, that of the other woman. No, no; he regretted nothing, +absolutely nothing. But he had been a fool there; he had wasted time +and lent himself to a despicable intrigue. For all that he outcried +it, there was a touch of shame on his cheeks when he remembered that, +had he asked, she would have given him that scrap of paper the first +hour of their meeting. Somewhere in Hildegarde von Mitter lay dormant +the spirit of heroes. He had made a mistake. + +Two millions of shining money, gold, silver, and English notes! And he +laughed again as he recalled M. Ferraud, caught in a trap. He was +clever, but not clever enough. What a stroke! To make prisoners of +the party on their return, to carry the girl away into the mountains! +Would any of them think of treasures, of conspiracies, with her as a +hostage? He thought not. In the hue and cry for her, these elements +in the game would fall to a minor place. Well he knew M. Ferraud: he +would call to heaven for the safety of Laura. Love her? Yes! She was +the one woman. But men did not make captives of women and obtain their +love. He knew the futility of such coercion. He had committed two or +three scoundrelly acts, but never would he or could he sink to such a +level. No. He meant no harm at all. Frighten her, perhaps, and +terrorize the others; and mayhap take a kiss as he left her to the +coming of her friends. Nothing more serious than that. + +Two millions in gold and silver and English notes! He would have his +revenge, for all these years of struggle and failure; for the cold and +callous policies of state which had driven him to this piece of +roguery, on their heads be it. Two thousand in Marseilles, ready at +his beck and call, a thousand more in Avignon, in Lyons, in Dijon, and +so on up to Paris, the Paris he had cursed one night from under his +mansard. In a week he would have them shaking in their boots. The +unemployed, the idlers, thieves, his to a man. If he saw his own death +at the end, little he cared. He would have one great moment, pay off +the score, France as well as Germany. He would at least live to see +them harrying each other's throats. To declare to France that he was +only Germany's tool, put forward for the sole purpose of destroying +peace in the midst of a great military crisis. He had other papers, +and the prying little Frenchman had never seen those; clever forgeries, +bearing the signature of certain great German personages. These should +they find at the selected moment. Let them rip one another's throats, +the dogs! Two million of francs, enough to purchase a hundred thousand +men. + +"Ah, my great-grandsire, if spirits have eyes, yours will see something +presently. And that poor little devil of a secret agent thinks I want +a crown on my head! There was a time . . . Curse these infernal +headaches!" + +On, on; hurry, hurry. The driver was faithful, a sometime brigand and +later a harbor boatman; and of all his confederates this one was the +only man he dared trust on an errand of this kind. + +Evisa. They did not pause. They ate their supper on the way. With +three Sardinian donkeys, strong and patient little brutes, with +lanterns and shovels and sacks, the two fared into the pines. Aitone +was all familiar ground to the Corsican who, in younger days, had taken +his illegal tithe from these hills. They found the range soon enough, +but made a dozen mistakes in measurements; and it was long toward +midnight, when the oil of the lanterns ran low, that their shovels bore +down into the precious pocket. The earth flew. They worked like +madmen, with nervous energy and power of will; and when the chest +finally came into sight, rotten with age and the soak of earth, they +fell back against a tree, on the verge of collapse. The hair was damp +on their foreheads, their breath came harshly, almost in sobs. + +Suddenly Breitmann fell upon his knees and laughed hysterically, +plunged his blistered hands into the shining heap. It played through +his fingers in little musical cascades. He rose. + +"Pietro, you have been faithful to me. Put your two hands in there." + +"I, _padrone_?" stupefied. + +"Go on! Go on! As much as your two hands can hold is yours. Dig them +in deep, man, dig them in deep!" + +With a cry Pietro dropped and burrowed into the gold and silver. A +dozen times he started to withdraw his hands, but they trembled so that +some of the coins would slip and fall. At last, with one desperate +plunge, the money running down toward his elbows, he turned aside and +let fall his burden on the new earth outside the shallow pit. He +rolled beside it, done for, in a fainting state. Breitmann laughed +wildly. + +"Come, come; we have no time. Put it into your pockets." + +"But, _padrone_, I have not counted it!" naively. + +"To-morrow, when we make camp for breakfast. Let us hurry." + +Quickly Pietro stuffed his pockets. Jabbering in his patois, swearing +so many candles to the Virgin for this night's work. Then began the +loading of the sacks, and these were finally dumped into the +donkey-panniers. + +"Now, Pietro, the shortest cut to Ajaccio. First, your hand on your +amulet, and oath never to reveal what has happened." + +Pietro swore solemnly. "I am ready now, _padrone_!" + +"Lead on, then," replied Breitmann. Impulsively he raised his hands +high above his head. "Mine, all mine!" + +He wiped his face and hands, pulled his cap down firmly, lighted a +cigarette, struck the rear donkey, and the hazardous journey began. + + +Seven men, more or less young, with a genial air of dissipation about +their eyes and a varied degree of recklessness lurking at the corners of +their mouths; seven men sat round a table in a house in the Rue St. +Charles. They had been eating and drinking rather luxuriously for +Ajaccio. The Rue St. Charles is neither spacious nor elegant as a +thoroughfare, but at that point where it turns into the _Place Letitia_ +it is quiet and unfrequented at night. A film of tobacco smoke wavered +in and out among the guttering candles and streamed round the empty and +part empty champagne bottles. At the head of the table sat Breitmann, +still pale and weary from his Herculean labors. His face was immobile, +but his eyes were lively. + +"To-morrow," said Breitmann, "we leave for France. On board the moneys +will be equally divided. Then, for the work." His voice was cold, +authoritative. + +"Two millions!" mused Picard, from behind a fresh cloud of smoke. He +picked up a bottle and gravely filled his glass, beckoning to the +others to follow his example. At another sign all rose to their feet, +Breitmann alone remaining seated, "To the Day!" + +Breitmann's lips grew thinner; that was the only sign. + +Outside, glancing obliquely through the grilled window, stood M. +Ferraud. He had not seen these worthies together before. He knew all +of them. There was not a shoulder among them that he could not lay a +hand upon and voice with surety the order of the law. Courage of a +kind they all had, names once written gloriously in history but now +merely passports into dubious traffics. Heroes of boulevard exploits, +duelists, card-players; could it be possible that any sane man should +be their dupe? After the strange toast he heard many things, some he +had known, some he had guessed at, and some which surprised him. Only +loyalty was lacking to make them feared indeed. Presently he saw +Breitmann rise. He was tired; he needed sleep. On the morrow, then; +and in a week the first blow of the new terror. They all bowed +respectfully as he passed out. + +The secret agent followed him till he reached the _Place des Palmiers_. +He put a hand on Breitmann's arm. The latter, highly keyed, swung +quickly. And seeing who it was (the man he believed to be at that +moment a prisoner in the middle country!), he made a sinister move +toward his hip. M. Ferraud was in peril, and he realized it. + +"Wait a moment, Monsieur; there is no need of that. I repeat, I wish +you well, and this night I will prove it. What? do you not know that I +could have put my hand on you at any moment? Attend. Return with me +to the little house in Rue St. Charles." + +Breitmann's hand again stole toward his hip. + +"You were listening?" + +"Yes. Be careful. My death would not change anything. I wish to +disillusion you; I wish to prove to you how deeply you are the dupe of +those men. All your plans have been remarkable, but not one of them +has remained unknown to me. You clasp the hand of this duke who plays +the sailor under the name of Picard, who hails you as a future emperor, +and stabs you behind your back? How? Double-face that he is, have I +not proof that he has written detail after detail of this conspiracy to +the _Quai d'Orsay_, and that he has clung to you only to gain his share +of what is yours? _Zut_! Come back with me and let your own ears +testify. The fact that I am not in the mountains should convince you +how strong I am." + +Breitmann hesitated, wondering whether he had best shoot this meddler +then and there and cut for it, or follow him. + +"I will go with you. But I give you this warning: if what I hear is +not what you expect me to hear, I promise to put a bullet into your +meddling head." + +"I agree to that," replied the other. He did not underestimate his +danger; neither did he undervalue his intimate knowledge of human +nature. + +With what emotions Breitmann returned to the scene of his triumph, his +self-appointed companion could only surmise. He had determined to save +this young fool in spite of his madness, and never had he failed to +bring his enterprises to their fore-arranged end. And there was +sentiment between all this, sentiment he would not have been ashamed to +avow. Upon chance, then, fickle inconstant chance, depended the +success of the seven years' labor. If by this time the wine had not +loosened their tongues, or if they had disappeared! + +But fortune favors the persistent no less than the brave. The +profligates were still at the table, and there were fresh bottles of +wine. They were laughing and talking. In all, not more than fifteen +minutes had elapsed since Breitmann's departure. M. Ferraud stationed +him by the window and kept a hand lightly upon his arm, as one might +place a finger on a pulse. + +Of what were they talking? Ostend. The ballet-dancers. The races in +May. The shooting at Monte Carlo. Gaming-tables, empty purses. And +again ballet-dancers. + +"To divide two millions!" cried one. "That will clear my debts, with a +little for Dieppe." + +"Two hundred and fifty thousand francs! Princely!" + +And then the voice of the master-spirit, pitiless, ironical; Picard's. +"Was there ever such a dupe? And not to laugh in his face is penance +for my sins. A Dutchman, a bullet-headed clod from Bavaria, the land +of sausage, beer, and daschunds; and this shall be written Napoleon IV! +Ye gods, what farce, comedy, vaudeville! But, there was always that +hope: if he found the money he would divide it. So, kowtow, kowtow! +Opera bouffe!" + +Breitmann shuddered. M. Ferraud, feeling that shudder under his hand, +relaxed his shoulders. He had won! + +"An empire! Will you believe it?" + +"I suggest the eagle rampant on a sausage!" + +"No, no; the lily on the beer-pot!" + +The scene went on. The butt of it heard jest and ridicule. They were +pillorying him with the light and matchless cruelty of wits. And he, +poor fool, had believed them to be _his_ dupes, whereas he was +_theirs_! Gently he disengaged himself from M. Ferraud's grasp. + +"What are you going to do?" whispered the hunter of butterflies. + +"Watch and see." + +Breitmann walked noiselessly round to the entrance, and M. Ferraud lost +sight of him for a few moments. Picard was on his feet, mimicking his +dupe by assuming a Napoleonic pose. The door opened and Breitmann +stood quietly on the threshold. A hush fell on the revelers. There +was something kingly in the contempt with which Breitmann swept the +startled faces. He stepped up to the table, took up a full glass of +wine and threw it into Picard's face. + +"Only one of us shall leave Corsica," said the dupe. + +"Certainly it will not be your majesty," replied Picard, wiping his +face with a serviette. "His majesty will waive his rights to meet me. +To-morrow morning I shall have the pleasure of writing finis to this +Napoleonic phase. You fool, you shall die for that!" + +"That," returned Breitmann, still unruffled as he went to the door, +"remains to be seen. Gentlemen, I regret to say that your monetary +difficulties must continue unchanged." + +"Oh, for fifty years ago!" murmured the little scene-shifter from the +dark of his shelter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE END OF THE DREAM + +It took place on the road which runs from Ajaccio to the _Cap de la +Parata_, not far from _Iles Sanguinaires_; not a main-traveled road. +The sun had not yet crossed the mountains, but a crisp gray light lay +over land and sea. They fired at the same time. The duke lowered his +pistol, and through the smoke he saw Breitmann pitch headforemost into +the thick white dust. Presently, nay almost instantly, the dust at the +left side of the stricken man became a creeping blackness. The surgeon +sprang forward. + +"Dead?" asked Picard. + +"No! through the shoulder. He has a fighting chance." + +"The wine last night; my hand wasn't steady enough. Some day the fool +will curse me as a poor shot. The devil take the business! Not a sou +for my pocket, out of all the trouble I have had. But for the want of +a clear head I should be a rich man to-day. Who thought he would come +back?" + +"I did," answered M. Ferraud. + +"You?" + +"With pleasure! I brought him back; thank me for your empty pockets, +Monsieur. If I were you I should not land at Marseilles. Try Livarno, +by all means, Livarno." + +"For this?" asked Picard, with a jerk of his head toward Breitmann, who +was being carefully lifted on to the carriage seat. + +"No, for certain letters you have _not_ sent to the _Quai d'Orsay_. +You comprehend?" + +"What do you mean?" truculently; for Picard was not in a kindly mood +this morning. + +But the little Bayard of the _Quai_ laughed. "Shall I explain here, +Monsieur? Be wise. Go to Italy, all of you. This time you +overreached, _Monsieur le Duc_. Your ballet-dancers must wait!" And +with rare insolence, M. Ferraud showed his back to his audience, +climbed to the seat by the driver, and bade him return slowly to the +Grand Hotel. + +Hildegarde refused to see any one but M. Ferraud. Hour after hour she +sat by the bed of the injured man. Knowing that in all probability he +would live, she was happy for the first time in years. He needed her; +alone, broken, wrecked among his dreams, he needed her. He had +recovered consciousness almost at once, and his first words were a +curse on the man who had aimed so badly. He could talk but little, but +he declared that he would rip the bandages if they did not prop his +pillows so he could see the bay. The second time he woke he saw +Hildegarde. She smiled brokenly, but he turned his head aside. + +"Has the yacht gone yet?" + +"No." + +"When will it sail?" + +"To-morrow." Her heart swelled with bitter pain. The woman he loved +would be on that yacht. But toward Laura she held nothing but kindness +tinged with a wondering envy. Was not she, Hildegarde, as beautiful? +Had Laura more talents than she, more accomplishments? Alas, yes; one! +She had had the unconscious power of making this man love her. + +To and fro she waved the fan. For a while, at any rate, he would be +hers. And when M. Ferraud said that the others wished to say farewell, +she declined. She could look none of them in the face again, nor did +she care. She was sorry for Cathewe. His life would be as broken as +hers; but a man has the world under his feet, scenes of action, changes +to soothe his hurt: a woman has little else but her needle. + +All through the day and all through the night she remained on guard, +surrendering her vigil only to M. Ferraud. With cold cloths she kept +down the fever, wiping the hot face and hands. He would pull through, +the surgeon said, but he would have his nurse to thank. There was +something about the man the doctor did not understand: he acted as if +he did not care to live. + +The morning found her still at her post. Breitmann awoke early, and +appeared to take little interest in his surroundings. + +"Why do you waste your time?" his voice was colorless. + +"I am not wasting my time, Karl." + +His head rolled slowly over on the pillow till he could see outside. +Only two or three fishing-boats were visible. + +"When will the yacht sail?" + +Always that question! "Go to sleep. I will wake you when I see it." + +"I've been a scoundrel, Hildegarde;" and he closed his eyes. + +Where would she go when he left this room? For the future was always +rising up with this question. What would she do, how would she live? +She too shut her eyes. + +The door opened. The visitor was M. Ferraud. He touched his lips with +a finger and stole toward the bed. + +"Better?" + +She nodded. + +"Are you not dead for sleep?" + +"It does not matter." + +Breitmann's eyes opened, for his brain was wide awake. "Ferraud?" + +"Yes. They wished me to say good-by for them." + +"To me?" incredulously. + +"They have none but good wishes." + +"She will never know?" + +"Not unless Mr. Fitzgerald tells her." + +"Hildegarde, I had planned her abduction. Don't misunderstand. I have +sunk low indeed, but not so low as that. I wanted to harry them. They +would have left me free. She was to be a pawn. I shouldn't have hurt +her." + +"You do not care to return to Germany?" + +"Nor to France, M. Ferraud." + +"There's a wide world outside. You will find room enough," diffidently. + +"An outlaw?" + +"Of a kind." + +"Be easy. I haven't even the wish to be buried there. There is more +to the story, more than you know. My name is Herman Stueler . . . if I +live. There is not a drop of French blood in my veins. Breitmann died +on the field in the Soudan, and I took his papers." His eyes burned +into Ferraud's. + +"Perhaps that would be the best way," replied M. Ferraud pensively. + +"What shall I do with the money? It is under the bed." + +"Keep it. No one will contest your right to it, Herman Stueler; and +besides, your French, fluent as it is, still possesses the Teutonic +burr. Yes, Herman Stueler; very good, indeed." + +Hildegarde eyed them in wonder. Were they both mad? + +"Will you be sure always to remember?" said M. Ferraud to the +bewildered woman. "Herman Stueler; Karl Breitmann, who was the great +grandson of Napoleon, died of a gunshot in Africa. If you will always +remember that, why even Paris will be possible some day." + +Hildegarde was beginning to understand. She was coming to bless this +little man. + +"I do not believe that the money under the bed is safe there. I shall, +if you wish, make arrangements with the local agents of the Credit +Legonnais to take over the sum, _without question_, and to issue you +two drafts, one on London and the other on New York, or in two letters +of credit. Two millions; it is a big sum to let repose under one's +bed, anywhere, let alone Corsica, where the amount might purchase half +the island." + +"I am, then, a rich man; no more crusades, no more stale bread and +cheap tobacco, no more turning my cuffs and collars and clipping the +frayed edges of my trousers. I am fortunate. There is a joke, too. +Picard and his friends advanced me five thousand francs for the +enterprise." + +"I marvel where they got it!" + +"I am sorry that I was rough with you." + +"I bear you not the slightest ill-will. I never have. Herman Stueler; +I must remember to have them make out the drafts in that name." + +Breitmann appeared to be sleeping again. After waiting a moment or +two, his guardian-angel tiptoed out. + +An hour went by. + +"Hildegarde, have you any money?" + +"Enough for my needs." + +"Will you take half of it?" + +"Karl!" + +"Will you?" + +"No!" + +He accepted this as final. And immediately his gaze became fixed on +the bay. A sleek white ship was putting out to sea. + +"They are leaving, Karl," she said, and the courage in her eyes beat +down the pain in her heart. + +"In my coat, inside; bring them to me." As he could move only his +right arm and that but painfully, he bade her open each paper and hold +it so that he could read plainly. The scrawl of the Great Captain; a +deed and title; some dust dropping from the worn folds: how he strained +his eyes upon them. He could not help the swift intake of air, and the +stab which pierced his shoulder made him faint. She began to refold +them. "No," he whispered. "Tear them up, tear them up!" + +"Why, Karl." + +"Tear them up, now, at once. I shall never look at them again. Do it. +What does it matter? I am only Herman Stueler. Now!" + +With shaking fingers she tipped the tattered sheets, and the tears ran +over and down her cheeks. It would not have hurt her more had she torn +the man's heart in twain. He watched her with fevered eyes till the +last scrap floated into her lap. + +"Now, toss them into the grate and light a match." + +And when he saw the reflected glare on the opposite wall, he sank +deeper into the pillow. The woman was openly sobbing. She came back +to his side, knelt, and laid her lips upon his hand. There was now +only a dim white speck on the horizon, and with that strange sea-magic +the hull suddenly dipped down, and naught but a trail of smoke +remained. Then this too vanished. Breitmann withdrew his hand, but he +laid it upon her head. + +"I am a broken man, Hildegarde; and in my madness I have been something +of a rascal. But for all that, I had big dreams, but thus they go, the +one in flames and the other out to sea." He stroked her hair. "Will +you take what is left? Will you share with me the outlaw, be the wife +of a disappointed outcast? Will you?" + +"Would I not follow you to any land? Would I not share with you any +miseries? Have you ever doubted the strength of my love?" + +"Knowing that there was another?" + +"Knowing even that." + +"It is I who am little and you who are great. Hildegarde, we'll have +our friend Ferraud seek a priest this afternoon and square accounts." + +Her head dropped to the coverlet. + +After that there was no sound except the crisp metallic rattle of the +palms in the freshening breeze. + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Splendid Hazard, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPLENDID HAZARD *** + +***** This file should be named 15671.txt or 15671.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/6/7/15671/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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