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diff --git a/28440-h/28440-h.htm b/28440-h/28440-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2891c36 --- /dev/null +++ b/28440-h/28440-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15418 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Dark Star, by Robert W. Chambers. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.2em;} + hr.song {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 15%;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + p.c {text-align:center} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + hr.tb {border:none; margin-top: 2em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + h1 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.6em;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dark Star, by Robert W. Chambers + +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: The Dark Star + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + +Illustrator: W. D. Stevens + +Release Date: March 29, 2009 [EBook #28440] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DARK STAR *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THE DARK STAR</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 364px; height: 560px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 364px;'> +“My darling Rue—my little Rue Carew––”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table style='margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr><td> + + <table style='width:22em; margin: 0 auto 3px auto; border-collapse: collapse; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr> + <td style='text-align:center; height: 60px;font-size: 2em'>The Dark Star</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <table style='width:22em; margin: 0 auto 3px auto; border-collapse: collapse; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr> + <td style="text-align:center; padding-top:20px;">By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</td> + </tr> + + <tr><td><hr /></td></tr> + + <tr> + <td style="text-align:center; font-size:0.8em; padding-bottom:40px;"> + Author of “The Girl Philippa,” “Who Goes There,”<br />“The Hidden Children,” Etc.</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td style='text-align:center; height: 9em;'><img src="images/illus-emb.png" alt='emblem' /></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td style="text-align:center; font-size:0.8em; padding-bottom:20px; padding-top:30px;">WITH FRONTISPIECE<br />By W. D. STEVENS</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <table style='width:22em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; border-collapse: collapse; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr><td style='text-align: center; padding-top:10px;' colspan="2">A. L. BURT COMPANY</td></tr> + <tr><td align="left" style='padding-left:1em;'>Publishers</td><td align="right" style='padding-right:1em;'>New York</td></tr> + <tr><td style='text-align:center; font-size:0.8em; padding-bottom:0.5em;' colspan="2">Published by Arrangement with <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>D. Appleton & Company</span></td></tr> + </table> + + </td></tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center; font-variant:small-caps; font-size:0.8em'> +Copyright, 1917, by<br /> +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS</p> + +<hr style='border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:2em;' /> + +<p style='text-align:center; font-variant:small-caps; font-size:0.8em'> +Copyright, 1916, 1917, by the International Magazine Company</p> + +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:3em; font-size:0.8em'>Printed in the United States of America</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center'> +<span style='font-size:0.8em'>TO MY FRIEND</span><br /> +EDGAR SISSON</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +Dans c’métier-là, faut<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 0.78125em;'>rien chercher à comprendre. </span><br /> +</p> +<p style='text-align:right; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>René Benjamin</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_vii' name='page_vii'></a>vii</span></div> +<table summary='poem'> +<tr><td align='center'>ALAK’S SONG</td></tr> + +<tr><td><p> +Where are you going,<br /> + Naļa?<br /> +Through the still noon—<br /> +Where are you going?<br /> +<br /> +To hear the thunder of the sea<br /> +And the wind blowing!—<br /> +To find a stormy moon to comfort me<br /> + Across the dune! +</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='song' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p> +Why are you weeping,<br /> + Naļa?<br /> +Through the still noon—<br /> +Why are you weeping?<br /> +<br /> +Because I found no wind, no sea,<br /> +No white surf leaping,<br /> +Nor any flying moon to comfort me<br /> + Upon the dune. +</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='song' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p> +What did you see there,<br /> + Naļa?<br /> +In the still noon—<br /> +What did you see there?<br /> +<br /> +Only the parched world drowsed in drought,<br /> +And a fat bee, there,<br /> +Prying and probing at a poppy’s mouth<br /> + That drooped a-swoon. +</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='song' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_viii' name='page_viii'></a>viii</span></div> +<p>What did you hear there,<br /> + Naļa?<br /> +In the still noon—<br /> +What did you hear there?<br /> +<br /> +Only a kestrel’s lonely cry<br /> +From the wood near there—<br /> +A rustle in the wheat as I passed by—<br /> + A cricket’s rune.<br /> +</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='song' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p> +Who led you homeward,<br /> + Naļa?<br /> +Through the still noon—<br /> +Who led you homeward?<br /> +<br /> +My soul within me sought the sea,<br /> +Leading me foam-ward:<br /> +But the lost moon’s ghost returned with me<br /> + Through the high noon.<br /> +</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td><hr class='song' /></td></tr> + +<tr><td><p> +Where is your soul then,<br /> + Naļa?<br /> +Lost at high noon—<br /> +Where is your soul then?<br /> +<br /> +It wanders East—or West—I think—<br /> +Or near the Pole, then—<br /> +Or died—perhaps there on the dune’s dry brink<br /> + Seeking the moon. +</p></td></tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>THE DARK STAR</h3> +<p>“The dying star grew dark; the last light faded from it; +went out. Prince Erlik laughed.</p> +<p>“And suddenly the old order of things began to pass +away more swiftly.</p> +<p>“Between earth and outer space—between Creator and +created, confusing and confounding their identities,—a rushing +darkness grew—the hurrying wrack of immemorial +storms heralding whirlwinds through which Truth alone +survives.</p> +<p>“Awaiting the inevitable reëstablishment of such temporary +conventions as render the incident of human existence +possible, the brooding Demon which men call Truth +stares steadily at Tengri under the high stars which are +passing too, and which at last shall pass away and leave +the Demon watching all alone amid the ruins of eternity.”</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Prophet of the Kiot Bordjiguen</span><br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.6em; margin-bottom:1em;'>CONTENTS</p> +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.6em; margin-bottom:1em; font-variant:small-caps'>Preface. Children of the Star</p> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Wonder-Box</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_WONDERBOX'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Brookhollow</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_BROOKHOLLOW'>18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>In Embryo</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_IN_EMBRYO'>30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Trodden Way</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_THE_TRODDEN_WAY'>38</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Ex Machina</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_EX_MACHINA'>47</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The End of Solitude</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_THE_END_OF_SOLITUDE'>60</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Obsession</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_OBSESSION'>71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Change Impends</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_A_CHANGE_IMPENDS'>80</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Nonresistance</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_NONRESISTANCE'>88</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Driving Head-on</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_DRIVING_HEADON'>102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Breakers</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_THE_BREAKERS'>112</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Life Line</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_A_LIFE_LINE'>122</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Letters from a Little Girl</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_LETTERS_FROM_A_LITTLE_GIRL'>137</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Journey Begins</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_A_JOURNEY_BEGINS'>157</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Locked House</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_THE_LOCKED_HOUSE'>162</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Scheherazade</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_SCHEHERAZADE'>180</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A White Skirt</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_A_WHITE_SKIRT'>193</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>By Radio</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_BY_RADIO'>202</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Captain of the Volhynia</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_THE_CAPTAIN_OF_THE_VOLHYNIA'>216</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Drop of Irish</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XX_THE_DROP_OF_IRISH'>223</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Method and Foresight</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXI_METHOD_AND_FORESIGHT'>239</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Two Thirteen</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXII_TWO_THIRTEEN'>246</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>On His Way</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII_ON_HIS_WAY'>253</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Road to Paris</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV_THE_ROAD_TO_PARIS'>261</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Cup and Lip</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXV_CUP_AND_LIP'>280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Rue Soleil d’Or</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVI_RUE_SOLEIL_DOR'>290</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>From Four to Five</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVII_FROM_FOUR_TO_FIVE'>305</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Together</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVIII_TOGETHER'>312</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>En Famille</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIX_EN_FAMILLE'>325</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Jardin Russe</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXX_JARDIN_RUSSE'>337</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Café des Bulgars</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXI_THE_CAF_DES_BULGARS'>347</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Cercle Extranationale</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXII_THE_CERCLE_EXTRANATIONALE'>358</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>A Rat Hunt</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXIII_A_RAT_HUNT'>377</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Sunrise</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXIV_SUNRISE'>395</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The First Day</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXXV_THE_FIRST_DAY'>410</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h2>THE DARK STAR</h2> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xviii' name='page_xviii'></a>xviii</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.4em;'>THE DARK STAR</p> +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em;'>PREFACE</p> +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.1em;'>CHILDREN OF THE STAR</p> +<p>Not the dark companion of Sirius, brightest of all +stars—not our own chill and spectral planet rushing +toward Vega in the constellation of Lyra—presided at +the birth of millions born to corroborate a bloody +horoscope.</p> +<p>But a Dark Star, speeding unseen through space, +known to the ancients, by them called Erlik, after the +Prince of Darkness, ruled at the birth of those myriad +souls destined to be engulfed in the earthquake of the +ages, or flung by it out of the ordered pathway of their +lives into strange byways, stranger highways—into +deeps and deserts never dreamed of.</p> +<p>Also one of the dozen odd temporary stars on record +blazed up on that day, flared for a month or two, dwindled +to a cinder, and went out.</p> +<p>But the Dark Star Erlik, terribly immortal, sped on +through space to complete a two-hundred-thousand-year +circuit of the heavens, and begin anew an immemorial +journey by the will of the Most High.</p> +<p>What spectroscope is to horoscope, destiny is to +chance. The black star Erlik rushed through interstellar +darkness unseen; those born under its violent +augury squalled in their cradles, or, thumb in mouth, +slumbered the dreamless slumber of the newly born. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xix' name='page_xix'></a>xix</span></p> +<p>One of these, a tiny girl baby, fussed and fidgeted in +her mother’s arms, tortured by prickly heat when the +hot winds blew through Trebizond.</p> +<p>Overhead vultures circled; a <i>stein-adler</i>, cleaving the +blue, looked down where the surf made a thin white +line along the coast, then set his lofty course for +China.</p> +<p>Thousands of miles to the westward, a little boy of +eight gazed out across the ruffled waters of the mill +pond at Neeland’s Mills, and wondered whether the +ocean might not look that way.</p> +<p>And, wondering, with the salt sea effervescence working +in his inland-born body, he fitted a cork to his fishing +line and flung the baited hook far out across the +ripples. Then he seated himself on the parapet of the +stone bridge and waited for monsters of the deep to +come.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And again, off Seraglio Point, men were rowing in a +boat; and a corded sack lay in the stern, horridly and +limply heavy.</p> +<p>There was also a box lying in the boat, oddly bound +and clamped with metal which glistened like silver under +the Eastern stars when the waves of the Bosporus +dashed high, and the flying scud rained down on box +and sack and the red-capped rowers.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In Petrograd a little girl of twelve was learning to +eat other things than sour milk and cheese; learning to +ride otherwise than like a demon on a Cossack saddle; +learning deportment, too, and languages, and social +graces and the fine arts. And, most thoroughly of all, +the little girl was learning how deathless should be her +hatred for the Turkish Empire and all its works; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xx' name='page_xx'></a>xx</span> +how only less perfect than our Lord in Paradise was +the Czar on his throne amid that earthly paradise +known as “All the Russias.”</p> +<p>Her little brother was learning these things, too, in +the Corps of Officers. Also he was already proficient +on the balalaika.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And again, in the mountains of a conquered province, +the little daughter of a gamekeeper to nobility was +preparing to emigrate with her father to a new home +in the Western world, where she would learn to perform +miracles with rifle and revolver, and where the +beauty of the hermit thrush’s song would startle +her into comparing it to the beauty of her own untried +voice. But to her father, and to her, the most +beautiful thing in all the world was love of Fatherland.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Over these, and millions of others, brooded the spell +of the Dark Star. Even the world itself lay under it, +vaguely uneasy, sometimes startled to momentary seismic +panic. Then, ere mundane self-control restored +terrestrial equilibrium, a few mountains exploded, an +island or two lay shattered by earthquake, boiling mud +and pumice blotted out one city; earth-shock and fire +another; a tidal wave a third.</p> +<p>But the world settled down and balanced itself once +more on the edge of the perpetual abyss into which it +must fall some day; the invisible shadow of the Dark +Star swept it at intervals when some far and nameless +sun blazed out unseen; days dawned; the sun of the +solar system rose furtively each day and hung around +the heavens until that dusky huntress, Night, chased +him once more beyond the earth’s horizon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxi' name='page_xxi'></a>xxi</span></p> +<p>The shadow of the Dark Star was always there, +though none saw it in sunshine or in moonlight, or in +the silvery lustre of the planets.</p> +<p>A boy, born under it, stood outside the fringe of +willow and alder, through which moved two English +setters followed and controlled by the boy’s father.</p> +<p>“Mark!” called the father.</p> +<p>Out of the willows like a feathered bomb burst a big +grouse, and the green foliage that barred its flight +seemed to explode as the strong bird sheered out into +the sunshine.</p> +<p>The boy’s gun, slanting upward at thirty degrees, +glittered in the sun an instant, then the left barrel +spoke; and the grouse, as though struck by lightning +in mid-air, stopped with a jerk, then slanted swiftly +and struck the ground.</p> +<p>“Dead!” cried the boy, as a setter appeared, leading +on straight to the heavy mass of feathers lying on the +pasture grass.</p> +<p>“Clean work, Jim,” said his father, strolling out of +the willows. “But wasn’t it a bit risky, considering the +little girl yonder?”</p> +<p>“Father!” exclaimed the boy, very red. “I never even +saw her. I’m ashamed.”</p> +<p>They stood looking across the pasture, where a little +girl in a pink gingham dress lingered watching them, +evidently lured by her curiosity from the old house at +the crossroads just beyond.</p> +<p>Jim Neeland, still red with mortification, took the +big cock-grouse from the dog which brought it—a +tender-mouthed, beautifully trained Belton, who stood +with his feathered offering in his jaws, very serious, +very proud, awaiting praise from the Neelands, father +and son. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxii' name='page_xxii'></a>xxii</span></p> +<p>Neeland senior “drew” the bird and distributed the +sacrifice impartially between both dogs—it being the +custom of the country.</p> +<p>Neeland junior broke his gun, replaced the exploded +shell, content indeed with his one hundred per cent performance.</p> +<p>“Better run over and speak to the little girl, Jim,” +suggested old Dick Neeland, as he motioned the dogs +into covert again.</p> +<p>So Jim ran lightly across the stony, clover-set +ground to where the little girl roamed along the old +snake fence, picking berries sometimes, sometimes +watching the sportsmen out of shy, golden-grey +eyes.</p> +<p>“Little girl,” he said, “I’m afraid the shot from my +gun came rattling rather close to you that time. +You’ll have to be careful. I’ve noticed you here before. +It won’t do; you’ll have to keep out of range +of those bushes, because when we’re inside we can’t see +exactly where we’re firing.”</p> +<p>The child said nothing. She looked up at the boy, +smiled shyly, then, with much composure, began her +retreat, not neglecting any tempting blackberry on the +way.</p> +<p>The sun hung low over the hazy Gayfield hills; the +beeches and oaks of Mohawk County burned brown and +crimson; silver birches supported their delicate canopies +of burnt gold; and imperial white pines clothed +hill and vale in a stately robe of green.</p> +<p>Jim Neeland forgot the child—or remembered her +only to exercise caution in the Brookhollow covert.</p> +<p>The little girl Ruhannah, who had once fidgeted with +prickly heat in her mother’s arms outside the walls of +Trebizond, did not forget this easily smiling, tall young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxiii' name='page_xxiii'></a>xxiii</span> +fellow—a grown man to her—who had come across the +pasture lot to warn her.</p> +<p>But it was many a day before they met again, though +these two also had been born under the invisible shadow +of the Dark Star. But the shadow of Erlik is always +passing like swift lightning across the Phantom Planet +which has fled the other way since Time was born.</p> +<p><i>Allahou Ekber, O Tchinguiz Khagan!</i></p> +<p>A native Mongol missionary said to Ruhannah’s +father:</p> +<p>“As the chronicles of the Eighurs have it, long ago +there fell metal from the Black Racer of the skies; the +first dagger was made of it; and the first image of the +Prince of Darkness. These pass from Kurd to Cossack +by theft, by gift, by loss; they pass from nation to +nation by accident, which is Divine design.</p> +<p>“And where they remain, war is. And lasts until +image and dagger are carried to another land where +war shall be. But where there is war, only the predestined +suffer—those born under Erlik—children of the +Dark Star.”</p> +<p>“I thought,” said the Reverend Wilbour Carew, “that +my brother had confessed Christ.”</p> +<p>“I am but repeating to you what my father believed; +and Temujin before him,” replied the native +convert, his remote gaze lost in reflection.</p> +<p>His eyes were quite little and coloured like a lion’s; +and sometimes, in deep reverie, the corners of his upper +lip twitched.</p> +<p>This happened when Ruhannah lay fretting in her +mother’s arms, and the hot wind blew on Trebizond.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Under the Dark Star, too, a boy grew up in Minetta +Lane, not less combative than other ragged boys about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxiv' name='page_xxiv'></a>xxiv</span> +him, but he was inclined to arrange and superintend +fist fights rather than to participate in battle, except +with his wits.</p> +<p>His name was Eddie Brandes; his first fortune of +three dollars was amassed at craps; he became a hanger-on +in ward politics, at race-tracks, stable, club, +squared ring, vaudeville, burlesque. Long Acre attracted +him—but always the gambling end of the operation.</p> +<p>Which predilection, with its years of ups and downs, +landed him one day in Western Canada with an “Unknown” +to match against an Athabasca blacksmith, +and a training camp as the prospect for the next six +weeks.</p> +<p>There lived there, gradually dying, one Albrecht Dumont, +lately head gamekeeper to nobility in the mountains +of a Lost Province, and wearing the Iron Cross +of 1870 on the ruins of a gigantic and bony chest, now +as hollow as a Gothic ruin.</p> +<p>And if, like a thousand fellow patriots, he had been +ordered to the Western World to watch and report to +his Government the trend and tendency of that Western, +English-speaking world, only his Government and +his daughter knew it—a child of the Dark Star now +grown to early womanhood, with a voice like a hermit +thrush and the skill of a sorceress with anything that +sped a bullet.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Before the Unknown was quite ready to meet the +Athabasca blacksmith, Albrecht Dumont, dying faster +now, signed his last report to the Government at Berlin, +which his daughter Ilse had written for him—something +about Canadian canals and stupid Yankees and +their greed, indifference, cowardice, and sloth. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxv' name='page_xxv'></a>xxv</span></p> +<p>Dumont’s mind wandered:</p> +<p>“After the well-born Herr Gott relieves me at my +post,” he whispered, “do thou pick up my burden and +stand guard, little Ilse.”</p> +<p>“Yes, father.”</p> +<p>“Thy sacred promise?”</p> +<p>“My promise.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The next day Dumont felt better than he had felt +for a year.</p> +<p>“Ilse, who is the short and broadly constructed +American who comes now already every day to see thee +and to hear thee sing?”</p> +<p>“His name is Eddie Brandes.”</p> +<p>“He is of the fight <i>gesellschaft</i>, not?”</p> +<p>“He should gain much money by the fight. A theatre +in Chicago may he willingly control, in which light +opera shall be given.”</p> +<p>“Is it for that he hears so willingly thy voice?”</p> +<p>“It is for that.... And love.”</p> +<p>“And what of Herr Max Venem, who has asked of +me thy little hand in marriage?”</p> +<p>The girl was silent.</p> +<p>“Thou dost not love him?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Toward sunset, Dumont, lying by the window, opened +his eyes of a dying <i>Lämmergeier</i>:</p> +<p>“My Ilse.”</p> +<p>“Father?”</p> +<p>“What has thou to this man said?”</p> +<p>“That I will be engaged to him if thou approve.”</p> +<p>“He has gained the fight?”</p> +<p>“Today.... And many thousand dollars. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxvi' name='page_xxvi'></a>xxvi</span> +theatre in Chicago is his when he desires. Riches, leisure, +opportunity to study for a career upon his stage, +are mine if I desire.”</p> +<p>“Dost thou desire this, little Ilse?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And the man Venem who has followed thee so long?”</p> +<p>“I cannot be what he would have me—a <i>Hausfrau</i>—to +mend his linen for my board and lodging.”</p> +<p>“And the Fatherland which placed me here on outpost?”</p> +<p>“I take thy place when God relieves thee.”</p> +<p>“<i>So ist’s recht!... Grüs Gott</i>—Ilse––”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Among the German settlers a five-piece brass band +had been organised the year before.</p> +<p>It marched at the funeral of Albrecht Dumont, lately +head gamekeeper to nobility in the mountains of a +long-lost province.</p> +<p>Three months later Ilse Dumont arrived in Chicago +to marry Eddie Brandes. One Benjamin Stull was +best man. Others present included “Captain” Quint, +“Doc” Curfoot, “Parson” Smawley, Abe Gordon—friends +of the bridegroom.</p> +<p>Invited by the bride, among others were Theodor +Weishelm, the Hon. Charles Wilson, M. P., and Herr +Johann Kestner, a wealthy gentleman from Leipsic +seeking safe and promising investments in Canada and +the United States.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>A year later Ilse Dumont Brandes, assuming the +stage name of Minna Minti, sang the rôle of <i>Bettina</i> +in “The Mascotte,” at the Brandes Theatre in Chicago.</p> +<p>A year later, when she created the part of <i>Kathi</i> in +“The White Horse,” Max Venem sent word to her that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_xxvii' name='page_xxvii'></a>xxvii</span> +she would live to see her husband lying in the gutter +under his heel. Which made the girl unhappy in her +triumph.</p> +<p>But Venem hunted up Abe Grittlefeld and told him +very coolly that he meant to ruin Brandes.</p> +<p>And within a month the latest public favourite, Minna +Minti, sat in her dressing-room, wet-eyed, enraged, with +the reports of Venem’s private detectives locked in the +drawer of her dressing table, and the curtain waiting.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>So complex was life already becoming to these few +among the million children of the Dark Star Erlik—to +everyone, from the child that fretted in its mother’s +arms under the hot wind near Trebizond, to a deposed +Sultan, cowering behind the ivory screen in his zenana, +weeping tears that rolled like oil over his fat jowl to +which still adhered the powdered sugar of a Turkish +sweetmeat.</p> +<p>Allahou Ekber, <i>Khodja</i>; God is great. Great also, +<i>Ande</i>, is Ali, the Fourth Caliph, cousin-companion of +Mahomet the Prophet. But, <i>O tougtchi</i>, be thy name +Niaz and thy surname Baï, for Prince Erlik speeds on +his Dark Star, and beneath the end of the argument between +those two last survivors of a burnt-out world—behold! +The sword!</p> +<hr style='border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width:80%; margin:20px auto;' /> +<h2>THE DARK STAR</h2> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_WONDERBOX' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_WONDERBOX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE WONDER-BOX</h3> +</div> +<p>As long as she could remember she had been permitted +to play with the contents of the late Herr +Conrad Wilner’s wonder-box. The programme on +such occasions varied little; the child was permitted +to rummage among the treasures in the box until she +had satisfied her perennial curiosity; conversation with +her absent-minded father ensued, which ultimately included +a personal narrative, dragged out piecemeal from +the reticent, dreamy invalid. Then always a few pages +of the diary kept by the late Herr Wilner were read as +a bedtime story. And bath and bed and dreamland followed. +That was the invariable routine, now once more +in full swing.</p> +<p>Her father lay on his invalid’s chair, reading; his +rubber-shod crutches rested against the wall, within +easy reach. By him, beside the kerosene lamp, her +mother sat, mending her child’s stockings and underwear.</p> +<p>Outside the circle of lamplight the incandescent eyes +of the stove glowed steadily through the semi-dusk; and +the child, always fascinated by anything that aroused +her imagination, lifted her gaze furtively from time to +time to convince herself that it really was the big, familiar +stove which glared redly back at her, and not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +a dragon into which her creative fancy had so often +transformed it.</p> +<p>Reassured, she continued to explore the contents of +the wonder-box—a toy she preferred to her doll, but +not to her beloved set of water-colours and crayon pencils.</p> +<p>Some centuries ago Pandora’s box let loose a world +of troubles; Herr Wilner’s box apparently contained +only pleasure for a little child whose pleasures were +mostly of her own invention.</p> +<p>It was a curious old box, made of olive wood and +bound with bands of some lacquered silvery metal to +make it strong—rupee silver, perhaps—strangely +wrought with Arabic characters engraved and in shallow +relief. It had handles on either side, like a sea-chest; +a silver-lacquered lock and hasp which retained +traces of violent usage; and six heavy strap hinges of +the same lacquered metal.</p> +<p>Within it the little child knew that a most fascinating +collection of articles was to be discovered, taken out +one by one with greatest care, played with discreetly, +and, at her mother’s command, returned to their several +places in Herr Wilner’s box.</p> +<p>There were, in this box, two rather murderous-looking +Kurdish daggers in sheaths of fretted silver—never +to be unsheathed, it was solemnly understood, except +by the child’s father.</p> +<p>There was a pair of German army revolvers of the +pattern of 1900, the unexploded cartridges of which +had long since been extracted and cautiously thrown +into the mill pond by the child’s mother, much to the +surprise, no doubt, of the pickerel and sunfish.</p> +<p>There were writing materials of sandalwood, a few +sea shells, a dozen books in German with many steel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +plate engravings; also a red Turkish fez with a dark +blue tassel; two pairs of gold-rimmed spectacles; several +tobacco pipes of Dresden porcelain, a case full of +instruments for mechanical drawing, a thick blank book +bound in calf and containing the diary of the late +Herr Wilner down to within a few minutes before his +death.</p> +<p>Also there was a figure in bronze, encrusted with tarnished +gold and faded traces of polychrome decoration.</p> +<p>Erlik, the Yellow Devil, as Herr Wilner called it, +seemed too heavy to be a hollow casting, and yet, when +shaken, something within rattled faintly, as though +when the molten metal was cooling a fissure formed +inside, into which a few loose fragments of bronze had +fallen.</p> +<p>It apparently had not been made to represent any +benign Chinese god; the aspect of the yellow figure was +anything but benevolent. The features were terrific; +scowls infested its grotesque countenance; threatening +brows bent inward; angry eyes rolled in apparent fury; +its double gesture with sword and javelin was violent +and almost humorously menacing. And Ruhannah +adored it.</p> +<p>For a little while the child played her usual game of +frightening her doll with the Yellow Devil and then +rescuing her by the aid of a fairy prince which she herself +had designed, smeared with water-colours, and cut +out with scissors from a piece of cardboard.</p> +<p>After a time she turned to the remaining treasures +in the wonder-box. These consisted of several volumes +containing photographs, others full of sketches in pencil +and water-colour, and a thick roll of glazed linen +scrolls covered with designs in India ink.</p> +<p>The photographs were of all sorts—landscapes, rivers, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +ships in dock, dry dock, and at sea; lighthouses, +forts, horses carrying soldiers armed with lances and +wearing the red fez; artillery on the march, infantry, +groups of officers, all wearing the same sort of fez +which lay there in Herr Wilner’s box of olive wood.</p> +<p>There were drawings, too—sketches of cannon, of +rifles, of swords; drawings of soldiers in various gay +uniforms, all carefully coloured by hand. There were +pictures of ships, from the sterns of which the crescent +flag floated lazily; sketches of great, ugly-looking objects +which her father explained were Turkish ironclads. +The name “ironclad” always sounded menacing +and formidable to the child, and the forbidding pictures +fascinated her.</p> +<p>Then there were scores and scores of scrolls made +out of slippery white linen, on which had been drawn +all sorts of most amazing geometrical designs in ink.</p> +<p>“Plans,” her father explained vaguely. And, when +pressed by reiterated questions: “Plans for military +works, I believe—forts, docks, barracks, fortified cuts +and bridges. You are not yet quite old enough to understand, +Ruhannah.”</p> +<p>“Who did draw them, daddy?”</p> +<p>“A German friend of mine, Herr Conrad Wilner.”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>“I think his master sent him to Turkey to make those +pictures.”</p> +<p>“For the Sultan?”</p> +<p>“No; for his Emperor.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“I don’t exactly know, Rue.”</p> +<p>At this stage of the conversation her father usually +laid aside his book and composed himself for the inevitable +narrative soon to be demanded of him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></p> +<p>Then, although having heard the story many times +from her crippled father’s lips, but never weary of the +repetition, the child’s eyes would grow round and very +solemn in preparation for her next and inevitable question:</p> +<p>“And did Herr Wilner <i>die</i>, daddy?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>“Tell me!”</p> +<p>“Well, it was when I was a missionary in the +Trebizond district, and your mother and I +went––”</p> +<p>“And <i>me</i>, daddy? And <i>me</i>, too!”</p> +<p>“Yes; you were a little baby in arms. And we all +went to Gallipoli to attend the opening of a beautiful +new school which was built for little Mohammedan converts +to Christianity––”</p> +<p>“Did I see those little Christian children, daddy?”</p> +<p>“Yes, you saw them. But you are too young to remember.”</p> +<p>“Tell me. Don’t stop!”</p> +<p>“Then listen attentively without interrupting, Rue: +Your mother and you and I went to Gallipoli; and my +friend, Herr Wilner, who had been staying with us at +a town called Tchardak, came along with us to attend +the opening of the American school.</p> +<p>“And the night we arrived there was trouble. The +Turkish people, urged on by some bad officials in the +Sanjak, came with guns and swords and spears and +set fire to the mission school.</p> +<p>“They did not offer to harm us. We had already +collected our converts and our personal baggage. Our +caravan was starting. The mob might not have done +anything worse than burn the school if Herr Wilner +had not lost his temper and threatened them with a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +dog whip. Then they killed him with stones, there in +the walled yard.”</p> +<p>At this point in the tragedy, the eagerly awaited +and ardently desired shivers passed up and down the +child’s back.</p> +<p>“O—oh! Did they kill him <i>dead</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>“Was he a martyr?”</p> +<p>“In a way he was a martyr to his duty, I suppose. +At least I gather so from his diary and from what he +once told me of his life.”</p> +<p>“And then what happened? Tell me, daddy.”</p> +<p>“A Greek steamer took us and our baggage to Trebizond.”</p> +<p>“And what then?”</p> +<p>“And then, a year later, the terrible massacre at our +Trebizond mission occurred––”</p> +<p>That was what the child was waiting for.</p> +<p>“I know!” she interrupted eagerly. “The wicked +Turks and the cruel Kurds did come galloping and +shouting ‘Allah!’ And all the poor, converted people +became martyrs. And God loves martyrs, doesn’t +He?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear––”</p> +<p>“And then they did kill all the poor little Christian +children!” exclaimed the child excitedly. “And they +did cut you with swords and guns! And then the kind +sailors with the American flag took you and mamma and +me to a ship and saved us by the grace of our Lord +Jesus!”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear––”</p> +<p>“Tell me!”</p> +<p>“That is all––”</p> +<p>“No; you walk on two crutches, and you cannot be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +a missionary any more because you are sick all the time! +Tell me, daddy!”</p> +<p>“Yes. And that is all, Rue––”</p> +<p>“Oh, no! Please! Tell me!... And then, don’t +you remember how the brave British sailors and our +brave American sailors pointed their cannon at the +<i>I</i>-ronclads, and they said, ‘Do not shoot or we shall +shoot you to pieces.’ And then the brave American +sailors went on shore and brought back some poor little +wounded converted children, and your baggage and the +magic box of Herr Wilner!”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear. And now that is enough tonight––”</p> +<p>“Oh, daddy, you must first read in the di-a-ry which +Herr Wilner made!”</p> +<p>“Bring me the book, Rue.”</p> +<p>With an interest forever new, the Carew family prepared +to listen to the words written by a strange man +who had died only a few moments after he had made the +last entry in the book—before even the ink was entirely +dry on the pages.</p> +<p>The child, sitting cross-legged on the floor, clasped +her little hands tightly; her mother laid aside her sewing, +folded it, and placed it in her lap; her father +searched through the pencilled translation which he had +written in between the lines of German script, found +where he had left off the time before, then continued +the diary of Herr Conrad Wilner, deceased:</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 3.</i> My original plans have been sent to the Yildiz +Palace. My duplicates are to go to Berlin when a +messenger from our Embassy arrives. Murad Bey +knows this. I am sorry he knows it. But nobody +except myself is aware that I have a third set of +plans carefully hidden.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 4.</i> All day with Murad’s men setting wire +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +entanglements under water; two Turkish destroyers +patrolling the entrance to the bay, and cavalry patrols +on the heights to warn away the curious.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 6.</i> Forts Alamout and Shah Abbas are being reconstructed +from the new plans. Wired areas under +water and along the coves and shoals are being plotted. +Murad Bey is unusually polite and effusive, conversing +with me in German and French. A spidery +man and very dangerous.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 7.</i> A strange and tragic affair last night. The +heat being severe, I left my tent about midnight +and went down to the dock where my little sailboat +lay, with the object of cooling myself on the +water. There was a hot land breeze; I sailed out +into the bay and cruised north along the coves which +I have wired. As I rounded a little rocky point I +was surprised to see in the moonlight, very near, +a steam yacht at anchor, carrying no lights. The +longer I looked at her the more certain I became +that I was gazing at the Imperial yacht. I had no +idea what the yacht might be doing here; I ran my +sailboat close under the overhanging rocks and anchored. +Then I saw a small boat in the moonlight, +pulling from the yacht toward shore, where the +crescent cove had already been thoroughly staked and +the bottom closely covered with barbed wire as far +as the edge of the deep channel which curves in +here like a scimitar.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>It must have been that the people in the boat miscalculated +the location of the channel, for they were +well over the sunken barbed wire when they lifted +and threw overboard what they had come there to get +rid of—two dark bulks that splashed.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>I watched the boat pull back to the Imperial yacht. +A little later the yacht weighed anchor and steamed +northward, burning no lights. Only the red reflection +tingeing the smoke from her stacks was visible. +I watched her until she was lost in the moonlight, +thinking all the while of those weighted sacks so often +dropped overboard along the Bosporus and off Seraglio +Point from that same Imperial yacht. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>When the steamer had disappeared, I got out my +sweeps and rowed for the place where the dark +objects had been dropped overboard. I knew that +they must be resting somewhere on the closely criss-crossed +mesh of wires just below the surface of the +water; but I probed for an hour before I located anything. +Another hour passed in trying to hook into +the object with the little three-fluked grapnel which +I used as an anchor. I got hold of something +finally; a heavy chest of olive wood bound with metal; +but I had to rig a tackle before I could hoist it +aboard.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Then I cast out again; and very soon my grapnel +hooked into what I expected—a canvas sack, weighted +with a round shot. When I got it aboard, I hesitated +a long while before opening it. Finally I made a long +slit in the canvas with my knife....</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>She was very young—not over sixteen, I think, and +she was really beautiful, even under her wet, dark +hair. She seemed to be a Caucasian girl—maybe a +Georgian. She wore a small gold cross which hung +from a gold cord around her neck. There was another, +and tighter, cord around her neck, too. I cut +the silk bowstring and closed and bound her eyes +with my handkerchief before I rowed out a little +farther and lowered her into the deep channel which +cuts eastward here like the scimitar of that true believer, +Abdul Hamid.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Then I hoisted sail and beat up slowly toward my +little dock under a moon which had become ghastly +under the pallid aura of a gathering storm––</p> +<p>“A poor dead young lady!” interrupted the child, +clasping her hands more tightly. “Did the Sultan kill +her, daddy?”</p> +<p>“It seems so, Ruhannah.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. He was a very cruel and wicked Sultan.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span></p> +<p>“I don’t see why he killed the beautiful poor dead +lady.”</p> +<p>“If you will listen and not interrupt, you shall learn +why.”</p> +<p>“And was the chest that Herr Wilner pulled up the +very same chest that is here on the floor beside me?” +insisted the child.</p> +<p>“The very same. Now listen, Rue, and I shall read +a little more in Herr Wilner’s diary, and then you must +have your bath and be put to bed––”</p> +<p>“Please read, daddy!”</p> +<p>The Reverend Wilbour Carew turned the page and +quietly continued:</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 20.</i> In my own quarters at Trebizond again, and +rid of Murad for a while.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>A canvas cover and rope handles concealed the +character of my olive wood chest. I do not believe +anybody suspects it to be anything except one of +the various boxes containing my own personal effects. +I shall open it tonight with a file and chisel, if +possible.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 21.</i> The contents of the chest reveal something +of the tragedy. The box is full of letters written +in Russian, and full of stones which weigh collectively +a hundred pounds at least. There is nothing +else in the chest except a broken Ikon and a bronze +figure of Erlik, a Yildiz relic, no doubt, of some +Kurdish raid into Mongolia, and probably placed beside +the dead girl by her murderers in derision. I +am translating the letters and arranging them in +sequence.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 25.</i> I have translated the letters. The dead girl’s +name was evidently Tatyana, one of several children +of some Cossack chief or petty prince, and on the +eve of her marriage to a young officer named Mitya +the Kurds raided the town. They carried poor Tatyana +off along with her wedding chest—the chest +fished up with my grapnel. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>In brief, the chest and the girl found their way +into Abdul’s seraglio. The letters of the dead girl—which +were written and entrusted probably to a faithless +slave, but which evidently never left the seraglio—throw +some light on the tragedy, for they breathe +indignation and contempt of Islam, and call on her +affianced, on her parents, and on her people to rescue +her and avenge her.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>And after a while, no doubt Abdul tired of reading +fierce, unreconciled little Tatyana’s stolen letters, +and simply ended the matter by having her bowstrung +and dumped overboard in a sack, together with +her marriage chest, her letters, and the Yellow Devil +in bronze as a final insult.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>She seems to have had a sister, Naïa, thirteen years +old, betrothed to a Prince Mistchenka, a cavalry officer +in the Terek Cossacks. Her father had been Hetman +of the Don Cossacks before the Emperor Nicholas reserved +that title for Imperial use. And <i>she</i> ended in +a sack off Gallipoli! That is the story of Tatyana and +her wedding chest.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>March 29.</i> Murad arrived, murderously bland and assiduous +in his solicitude for my health and comfort. I +am almost positive he knows that I fished up something +from Cove No. 37 under the theoretical guns +of theoretical Fort Osman, both long plotted out but +long delayed.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>April 5.</i> My duplicate plans for Gallipoli have been +stolen. I have a third set still. Colonel Murad Bey +is not to be trusted. My position is awkward and is +becoming serious. There is no faith to be placed in +Abdul Hamid. My credentials, the secret agreement +with my Government, are no longer regarded even +with toleration in the Yildiz Kiosque. A hundred +insignificant incidents prove it every day. And if +Abdul dare not break with Germany it is only because +he is not yet ready to defy the Young Turk +party. The British Embassy is very active and +bothers me a great deal.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>April 10.</i> My secret correspondence with Enver Bey has +been discovered, and my letters opened. This is a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +very bad business. I have notified my Government +that the Turkish Government does not want me here; +that the plan of a Germanised Turkish army is becoming +objectionable to the Porte; that the duplicate +plans of our engineers for the Dardanelles and the +Gallipoli Peninsula have been stolen.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>April 13.</i> A secret interview with Enver Bey, who +promises that our ideas shall be carried out when +his party comes into power. Evidently he does not +know that my duplicates have been stolen.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Troubles threaten in the Vilayet of Trebizond, +where is an American Mission. I fear that our emissaries +and the emissaries of Enver Bey are deliberately +fomenting disorders because Americans are +not desired by our Government. Enver denies this; +but it is idle to believe anyone in this country.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>April 16.</i> Another interview with Enver Bey. His scheme +is flatly revolutionary, namely, the deposition of Abdul, +a secret alliance, offensive and defensive, with us; +the Germanisation of the Turkish army and navy; +the fortification of the Gallipoli district according +to our plans; a steadily increasing pressure on Serbia; +a final reckoning with Russia which is definitely to +settle the status of Albania and Serbia and leave the +Balkan grouping to be settled between Austria, Germany, +and Turkey.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>I spoke several times about India and Egypt, but +he does not desire to arouse England unless she interferes.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>I spoke also of Abdul Hamid’s secret and growing +fear of Germany, and his increasing inclination +toward England once more.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>No trace of my stolen plans. The originals are +in the Yildiz Palace. I have a third set secreted, +about which nobody knows.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>April 21.</i> I have been summoned to the Yildiz Palace. It +possibly means my assassination. I have confided my +box of data, photographs, and plans, to the Reverend +Wilbour Carew, an American missionary in the +Trebizond sanjak.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>There are rumours that Abdul has become mentally +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +unhinged through dread of assassination. One of +his own aides-de-camp, while being granted an audience +in the Yildiz, made a sudden and abrupt movement +to find his handkerchief; and Abdul Hamid +whipped out a pistol and shot him dead. This is +authentic.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>April 30.</i> Back at Tchardak with my good missionary and +his wife. A strange interview with Abdul. There +were twenty French clocks in the room, all going and +all striking at various intervals. The walls were set +with French mirrors.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Abdul’s cordiality was terrifying; the full original +set of my Gallipoli plans was brought in. After a +while, the Sultan reminded me that the plans were +in duplicate, and asked me where were these duplicates. +What duplicity! But I said pleasantly that +they were to be sent to General Staff Headquarters +in Berlin.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>He pretended to understand that this was contrary +to the agreement, and insisted that the plans +should first be sent to him for comparison. I merely +referred him to his agreement with my Government. +But all the while we were talking I was absolutely +convinced that the stolen duplicates were at that moment +in the Yildiz Kiosque. Abdul must have known +that I believed it. Yet we both merely smiled our +confidence in each other.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>He seemed to be unusually good-natured and +gracious, saying that no doubt I was quite right in +sending the plans to Berlin. He spoke of Enver Bey +cordially, and said he hoped to be reconciled to him +and his friends very soon. When Abdul Hamid becomes +reconciled to anybody who disagrees with him, +the latter is <i>always</i> dead.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>He asked me where I was going. I told him about +the plans I was preparing for the Trebizond district. +He offered me an escort of Kurdish cavalry, saying +that he had been told the district was not very safe. +I thanked him and declined his escort of assassins.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>I saw it all very plainly. Like a pirate captain, +Abdul orders his crew to dig a secret hole for his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +treasure, and when the hole is dug and the treasure +hidden, he murders the men who hid it for him, +so that they shall never betray its location. I am +one of those men. That is what he means for me, +who have given him his Gallipoli plans. No wonder +that in England they call him Abdul the Damned!</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 3.</i> In the Bazaar at Tchardak yesterday two men +tried to stab me. I got their daggers, but they escaped +in the confusion. Murad called to express horror +and regret. Yes; regret that I had not been +murdered.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 5.</i> I have written to my Government that my usefulness +here seems to be ended; that my life is in +hourly danger; that I desire to be more thoroughly +informed concerning the relations between Berlin and +the Yildiz Palace.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 6.</i> I am in disgrace. My Government is furious because +my correspondence with Enver Bey has been +stolen. The Porte has complained about me to Berlin; +Berlin disowns me, disclaims all knowledge of +my political activities outside of my engineering work.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>This is what failure to carry out secret instructions +invariably brings—desertion by the Government from +which such instructions are received. In diplomacy, +failure is a crime never forgiven. Abandoned by my +Government I am now little better than an outlaw +here. Two courses remain open to me—to go back +in disgrace and live obscurely for the remainder of +my life, or to risk my life by hanging on desperately +here with an almost hopeless possibility before me of +accomplishing something to serve my Government and +rehabilitate myself.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>The matter of the stolen plans is being taken up +by our Ambassador at the Sublime Porte. The British +Embassy is suspected. What folly! I possess a third +set of plans. Our Embassy ought to send to Trebizond +for them. I don’t know what to do.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 12.</i> A letter I wrote May 10 to the German Embassy +has been stolen. I am now greatly worried about +the third set of plans. It seems safest to include +the box containing them among the baggage of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +American missionary, the Reverend Wilbour Carew; +and, too, for me to seek shelter with him.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>As I am now afraid that an enemy may impersonate +an official of the German Embassy, I have the +missionary’s promise that he will retain and conceal +the contents of my box until I instruct him otherwise. +I am practically in hiding at his house, and +in actual fear of my life.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 15.</i> The missionary and his wife and baby travel +to Gallipoli, where an American school for girls is +about to be opened.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>Today, in a café, I noticed that the flies, swarming +on the edge of my coffee cup, fell into the saucer +dead. I did not taste my coffee.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 16.</i> Last night a shot was fired through my door. +I have decided to travel to Gallipoli with the missionary.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 18.</i> My groom stole and ate an orange from my +breakfast tray. He is dead.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 20.</i> The Reverend Mr. Carew and his wife are most +kind and sympathetic. They are good people, simple, +kindly, brave, faithful, and fearlessly devoted to God’s +service in this vile land of treachery and lies.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 21.</i> I have confessed to the Reverend Mr. Carew as +I would confess to a priest in holy orders. I have +told him all under pledge of secrecy. I told him +also that the sanctuary he offers might be violated +with evil consequences to him; and that I would travel +as far as Gallipoli with him and then leave. But +the kind, courageous missionary and his wife insist +that I remain under the protection which he says the +flag of his country affords me. If I could only get +my third set of plans out of the country!</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 22.</i> Today my coffee was again poisoned. I don’t +know what prevented me from tasting it—some vague +premonition. A pariah dog ate the bread I soaked +in it, and died before he could yelp.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; '>It looks to me as though my end were inevitable. +Today I gave my bronze figure of Erlik, the Yellow +Devil, to Mrs. Carew to keep as a dowry for her +little daughter, now a baby in arms. If it is hollow, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +as I feel sure, there are certain to be one or two +jewels in it. And the figure itself might bring five +hundred marks at an antiquary’s.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>May 30.</i> Arrived at the Gallipoli mission. Three Turkish +ironclads lying close inshore. A British cruiser, the +<i>Cobra</i>, and an American cruiser, the <i>Oneida</i>, appeared +about sunset and anchored near the ironclads. +The bugles on deck were plainly audible. If a German +warship appears I shall carry my box on board. +My only chance to rehabilitate myself is to get the +third set of plans to Berlin.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-indent: -2.0em;'><i>June 1.</i> In the middle of the religious exercises with +which the new school is being inaugurated, cries of +“Allah” come from a great crowd which has gathered. +From my window where I am writing I can see how +insolent the attitude of this Mohammedan riffraff is +becoming. They spit upon the ground—a pebble is +tossed at a convert—a sudden shout of “Allah”—pushing +and jostling—a lighted torch blazes! I take +my whip of rhinoceros hide and go down into the +court to put a stop to this insolence––</p> +<p>Her father slowly closed the book.</p> +<p>“Daddy! Is that where poor Herr Wilner died?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>After a silence his wife said thoughtfully:</p> +<p>“I have always considered it very strange that the +German Government did not send for Herr Wilner’s +papers.”</p> +<p>“Probably they did, Mary. And very probably Murad +Bey told them that the papers had been destroyed.”</p> +<p>“And you never believed it to be your duty to send +the papers to the German Government?”</p> +<p>“No. It was an unholy alliance that Germany sought +with that monster Abdul. And when Enver Pasha seized +the reins of government such an alliance would have +been none the less unholy. You know and so do I that +if Germany did not actually incite the Armenian massacres +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +she at least was cognisant of preparations made +to begin them. Germany is still hostile to all British +or American missions, all Anglo-Saxon influence in +Turkey.</p> +<p>“No; I did not send Herr Wilner’s papers to Berlin; +and the events of the last fifteen years have demonstrated +that I was right in withholding them.”</p> +<p>His wife nodded, laid aside her work basket, and +rose.</p> +<p>“Come, Ruhannah,” she said with decision; “put +everything back into the wonder-box.”</p> +<p>And, stooping, she lifted and laid away in it the +scowling, menacing Yellow Devil.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And so, every month or two, the wonder-box was +opened for the child to play with, the same story told, +extracts from the diary read; but these ceremonies, +after a while, began to recur at lengthening intervals as +the years passed and the child grew older.</p> +<p>And finally it was left to her to open the box when +she desired, and to read for herself the pencilled translation +of the diary, which her father had made during +some of the idle and trying moments of his isolated and +restricted life. And, when she had been going to school +for some years, other and more vivid interests replaced +her dolls and her wonder-box; but not her beloved case +of water-colours and crayon pencils.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_BROOKHOLLOW' id='CHAPTER_II_BROOKHOLLOW'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>BROOKHOLLOW</h3> +</div> +<p>The mother, shading the candle with her work-worn +hand, looked down at the child in silence. The subdued +light fell on a freckled cheek where dark lashes rested, +on a slim neck and thin shoulders framed by a mass of +short, curly chestnut hair.</p> +<p>Though it was still dark, the mill whistle was blowing +for six o’clock. Like a goblin horn it sounded ominously +through Ruhannah’s dream. She stirred in her +sleep; her mother stole across the room, closed the +window, and went away carrying the candle with her.</p> +<p>At seven the whistle blew again; the child turned over +and unclosed her eyes. A brassy light glimmered between +leafless apple branches outside her window. +Through the frosty radiance of sunrise a blue jay +screamed.</p> +<p>Ruhannah cuddled deeper among the blankets and +buried the tip of her chilly nose. But the grey eyes +remained wide open and, under the faded quilt, her little +ears were listening intently.</p> +<p>Presently from the floor below came the expected +summons:</p> +<p>“Ruhannah!”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>please</i>, mother!”</p> +<p>“It’s after seven––”</p> +<p>“I know: I’ll be ready in time!”</p> +<p>“It’s after seven, Rue!”</p> +<p>“I’m so cold, mother dear!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></p> +<p>“I closed your window. You may bathe and dress +down here.”</p> +<p>“B-r-r-r! I can see my own breath when I breathe!”</p> +<p>“Come down and dress by the kitchen range,” repeated +her mother. “I’ve warm water all ready for +you.”</p> +<p>The brassy light behind the trees was becoming +golden; slim bluish shadows already stretched from the +base of every tree across frozen fields dusted with +snow.</p> +<p>As usual, the lank black cat came walking into the +room, its mysterious crystal-green eyes brilliant in the +glowing light.</p> +<p>Listening, the child heard her father moving heavily +about in the adjoining room.</p> +<p>Then, from below again:</p> +<p>“Ruhannah!”</p> +<p>“I’m going to get up, mother!”</p> +<p>“Rue! Obey me!”</p> +<p>“I’m <i>up</i>! I’m on my way!” She sprang out amid a +tempest of bedclothes, hopped gingerly across the +chilly carpet, seized her garments in one hand, comb +and toothbrush in the other, ran into the hallway and +pattered downstairs.</p> +<p>The cat followed leisurely, twitching a coal-black +tail.</p> +<p>“Mother, could I have my breakfast first? I’m so +hungry––”</p> +<p>Her mother turned from the range and kissed her as +she huddled close to it. The sheet of zinc underneath +warmed her bare feet delightfully. She sighed with +satisfaction, looked wistfully at the coffeepot simmering, +sniffed at the biscuits and sizzling ham.</p> +<p>“Could I have one little taste before I––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></p> +<p>“Come, dear. There’s the basin. Bathe quickly, +now.”</p> +<p>Ruhannah frowned and cast a tragic glance upon the +tin washtub on the kitchen floor. Presently she stole +over, tested the water with her finger-tip, found it not +unreasonably cold, dropped the night-dress from her +frail shoulders, and stepped into the tub with a perfunctory +shiver—a thin, overgrown child of fifteen, with +pipestem limbs and every rib anatomically apparent.</p> +<p>Her hair, which had been cropped to shoulder length, +seemed to turn from chestnut to bronze fire, gleaming +and crackling under the comb which she hastily passed +through it before twisting it up.</p> +<p>“Quickly but thoroughly,” said her mother. +“Hasten, Rue.”</p> +<p>Ruhannah seized soap and sponge, gasped, shut her +grey eyes tightly, and fell to scrubbing with the fury +of despair.</p> +<p>“Don’t splash, dear––”</p> +<p>“Did you warm my towel, mother?”—blindly stretching +out one thin and dripping arm.</p> +<p>Her mother wrapped her in a big crash towel from +head to foot.</p> +<p>Later, pulling on stockings and shoes by the range, +she managed to achieve a buttered biscuit at the same +time, and was already betraying further designs upon +another one when her mother sent her to set the table +in the sitting-room.</p> +<p>Thither sauntered Ruhannah, partly dressed, still +dressing.</p> +<p>By the nickel-trimmed stove she completed her toilet, +then hastily laid the breakfast cloth and arranged the +china and plated tableware, and filled the water pitcher.</p> +<p>Her father came in on his crutches; she hurried from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +the table, syrup jug in one hand, cruet in the other, and +lifted her face to be kissed; then she brought hot plates, +coffeepot, and platters, and seated herself at the +table where her father and mother were waiting in +silence.</p> +<p>When she was seated her father folded his large, pallid, +bony hands; her mother clasped hers on the edge of +the table, bowing her head; and Ruhannah imitated +them. Between her fingers she could see the cat under +the table, and she watched it arch its back and gently +rub against her chair.</p> +<p>“For what we are about to receive, make us grateful, +Eternal Father. This day we should go hungry except +for Thy bounty. Without presuming to importune +Thee, may we ask Thee to remember all who awake +hungry on this winter day.... Amen.”</p> +<p>Ruhannah instantly became very busy with her +breakfast. The cat beside her chair purred loudly and +rose at intervals on its hind legs to twitch her dress; and +Ruhannah occasionally bestowed alms and conversation +upon it.</p> +<p>“Rue,” said her mother, “you should try to do better +with your algebra this week.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do really mean to.”</p> +<p>“Have you had any more bad-conduct marks?”</p> +<p>“Yes, mother.”</p> +<p>Her father lifted his mild, dreamy eyes of an invalid. +Her mother asked:</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>“For wasting my time in study hour,” said the girl +truthfully.</p> +<p>“Were you drawing?”</p> +<p>“Yes, mother.”</p> +<p>“Rue! Again! Why do you persist in drawing pictures +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +in your copy books when you have an hour’s lesson +in drawing every week? Besides, you may draw +pictures at home whenever you wish.”</p> +<p>“I don’t exactly know why,” replied the girl slowly. +“It just happens before I notice what I am doing.... +Of course,” she explained, “I do recollect that I +oughtn’t to be drawing in study hour. But that’s after +I’ve begun, and then it seems a pity not to finish.”</p> +<p>Her mother looked across the table at her husband:</p> +<p>“Speak to her seriously, Wilbour.”</p> +<p>The Reverend Mr. Carew looked solemnly at his long-legged +and rapidly growing daughter, whose grey eyes +gazed back into her father’s sallow visage.</p> +<p>“Rue,” he said in his colourless voice, “try to get all +you can out of your school. I haven’t sufficient means +to educate you in drawing and in similar accomplishments. +So get all you can out of your school. Because, +some day, you will have to help yourself, and perhaps +help us a little.”</p> +<p>He bent his head with a detached air and sat gazing +mildly at vacancy—already, perhaps, forgetting what +the conversation was about.</p> +<p>“Mother?”</p> +<p>“What, Rue?”</p> +<p>“What am I going to do to earn my living?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean I must go into the mill like everybody +else?”</p> +<p>“There are other things. Girls work at many things +in these days.”</p> +<p>“What kind of things?”</p> +<p>“They may learn to keep accounts, help in +shops––”</p> +<p>“If father could afford it, couldn’t I learn to do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +something more interesting? What do girls work at +whose fathers can afford to let them learn how to +work?”</p> +<p>“They may become teachers, learn stenography and +typewriting; they can, of course, become dressmakers; +they can nurse––”</p> +<p>“Mother!”</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<p>“Could I choose the business of drawing pictures? I +know how!”</p> +<p>“Dear, I don’t believe it is practical to––”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t I draw pictures for books and magazines? +Everybody says I draw very nicely. You say so, too. +Couldn’t I earn enough money to live on and to take +care of you and father?”</p> +<p>Wilbour Carew looked up from his reverie:</p> +<p>“To learn to draw correctly and with taste,” he said +in his gentle, pedantic voice, “requires a special training +which we cannot afford to give you, Ruhannah.”</p> +<p>“Must I wait till I’m twenty-five before I can have +my money?” she asked for the hundredth time. “I do +so need it to educate myself. Why did grandma do +such a thing, mother?”</p> +<p>“Your grandmother never supposed you would need +the money until you were a grown woman, dear. Your +father and I were young, vigorous, full of energy; your +father’s income was ample for us then.”</p> +<p>“Have I got to marry a man before I can get enough +money to take lessons in drawing with?”</p> +<p>Her mother’s drawn smile was not very genuine. +When a child asks such questions no mother finds it +easy to smile.</p> +<p>“If you marry, dear, it is not likely you’ll marry in +order to take lessons in drawing. Twenty-five is not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +old. If you still desire to study art you will be able +to do so.”</p> +<p>“Twenty-five!” repeated Rue, aghast. “I’ll be an +old woman.”</p> +<p>“Many begin their life’s work at an older age––”</p> +<p>“Mother! I’d rather marry somebody and begin to +study art. Oh, <i>don’t</i> you think that even now I could +support myself by making pictures for magazines? +Don’t you, mother dear?”</p> +<p>“Rue, as your father explained, a special course of +instruction is necessary before one can become an artist––”</p> +<p>“But I <i>do</i> draw very nicely!” She slipped from her +chair, ran to the old secretary where the accumulated +masterpieces of her brief career were treasured, and +brought them for her parents’ inspection, as she had +brought them many times before.</p> +<p>Her father looked at them listlessly; he did not understand +such things. Her mother took them one by +one from Ruhannah’s eager hands and examined these +grimy Records of her daughter’s childhood.</p> +<p>There were drawings of every description in pencil, +in crayon, in mussy water-colours, done on scraps of +paper of every shape and size. The mother knew them +all by heart, every single one, but she examined each +with a devotion and an interest forever new.</p> +<p>There were many pictures of the cat; many of her +parents, too—odd, shaky, smeared portraits all out of +proportion, but usually recognisable.</p> +<p>A few landscapes varied the collection—a view or +two of the stone bridge opposite, a careful drawing of +the ruined paper mill. But the majority of the subjects +were purely imaginary; pictures of demons and +angels, of damsels and fairy princes—paragons of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +beauty—with castles on adjacent crags and swans +adorning convenient ponds.</p> +<p>Her mother rose after a few moments, laid aside the +pile of drawings, went to the kitchen and returned with +her daughter’s schoolbooks and lunch basket.</p> +<p>“Rue, you’ll be late again. Get on your rubbers +immediately.”</p> +<p>The child’s shabby winter coat was already too short +in skirt and sleeve, and could be lengthened no further. +She pulled the blue toboggan cap over her head, took a +hasty osculatory leave of her father, seized books and +lunch basket, and followed her mother to the door.</p> +<p>Below the house the Brookhollow road ran south +across an old stone bridge and around a hill to Gayfield, +half a mile away.</p> +<p>Rue, drawing on her woollen gloves, looked up at her +mother. Her lip trembled very slightly. She said:</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t know what to do if I couldn’t draw +pictures.... When I draw a princess I mean her for +myself.... It is pleasant—to pretend to live with +swans.”</p> +<p>She opened the door, paused on the step; the frosty +breath drifted from her lips. Then she looked back +over her shoulder; her mother kissed her, held her +tightly for a moment.</p> +<p>“If I’m to be forbidden to draw pictures,” repeated +the girl, “I don’t know what will become of me. Because +I really live there—in the pictures I make.”</p> +<p>“We’ll talk it over this evening, darling. Don’t draw +in study hour any more, will you?”</p> +<p>“I’ll try to remember, mother.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When the spindle-limbed, boyish figure had sped away +beyond sight, Mrs. Carew shut the door, drew her wool +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +shawl closer, and returned slowly to the sitting-room. +Her husband, deep in a padded rocking-chair by the +window, was already absorbed in the volume which lay +open on his knees—the life of the Reverend Adoniram +Judson—one of the world’s good men. Ruhannah had +named her cat after him.</p> +<p>His wife seated herself. She had dishes to do, two +bedrooms, preparations for noonday dinner—the usual +and unchangeable routine. She turned and looked out +of the window across brown fields thinly powdered with +snow. Along a brawling, wintry-dark stream, fringed +with grey alders, ran the Brookhollow road. Clumps +of pines and elms bordered it. There was nothing else +to see except a distant crow in a ten-acre lot, walking +solemnly about all by himself.</p> +<p>... Like the vultures that wandered through the +compound that dreadful day in May ... she thought +involuntarily.</p> +<p>But it was a far cry from Trebizond to Brookhollow. +And her husband had been obliged to give up after +the last massacre, when every convert had been dragged +out and killed in the floating shadow of the Stars and +Stripes, languidly brilliant overhead.</p> +<p>For the Sublime Porte and the Kurds had had their +usual way at last; there was nothing left of the Mission; +school and converts were gone; her wounded husband, +her baby, and herself refugees in a foreign consulate; +and the Turkish Government making apologies +with its fat tongue in its greasy cheek.</p> +<p>The Koran says: “Woe to those who pray, and in +their prayers are careless.”</p> +<p>The Koran also says: “In the name of God the Compassionate, +the Merciful: What thinkest thou of him +who treateth our religion as a lie?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>Mrs. Carew and her crippled husband knew, now, +what the Sublime Porte thought about it, and what +was the opinion of the Kurdish cavalry concerning +missionaries and converts who treated the Moslem religion +as a lie.</p> +<p>She looked at her pallid and crippled husband; he +was still reading; his crutches lay beside him on the +floor. She turned her eyes to the window. Out there +the solitary crow was still walking busily about in the +frozen pasture. And again she remembered the vultures +that hulked and waddled amid the débris of the burned +Mission.</p> +<p>Only that had been in May; and above the sunny +silence in that place of death had sounded the unbroken +and awful humming of a million million flies....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And so, her husband being now hopelessly broken +and useless, they had come back with their child, Ruhannah, +to their home in Brookhollow.</p> +<p>Here they had lived ever since; here her grey life +was passing; here her daughter was already emerging +into womanhood amid the stark, unlovely environments +of a country crossroads, arid in summer, iron naked +in winter, with no horizon except the Gayfield hills, no +outlook save the Brookhollow road. And that led to +the mill.</p> +<p>She had done what she could—was still doing it. +But there was nothing to save. Her child’s destiny +seemed to be fixed.</p> +<p>Her husband corresponded with the Board of Missions, +wrote now and then for the <i>Christian Pioneer</i>, +and lived on the scanty pension allowed to those who, +like himself, had become incapacitated in line of duty. +There was no other income. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></p> +<p>There was, however, the six thousand dollars left to +Ruhannah by her grandmother, slowly accumulating +interest in the Mohawk Bank at Orangeville, the county +seat, and not to be withdrawn, under the terms of the +will, until the day Ruhannah married or attained, unmarried, +her twenty-fifth year.</p> +<p>Neither principal nor interest of this legacy was +available at present. Life in the Carew family at +Brookhollow was hard sledding, and bid fair to continue +so indefinitely.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The life of Ruhannah’s father was passed in reading +or in gazing silently from the window—a tall, sallow, +bearded man with the eyes of a dreaming martyr +and the hands of an invalid—who still saw in the +winter sky, across brown, snow-powdered fields, the +minarets of Trebizond.</p> +<p>In reading, in reflection, in dreaming, in spiritual +acquiescence, life was passing in sombre shadows for +this middle-aged man who had been hopelessly crushed +in Christ’s service; and who had never regretted that +service, never complained, never doubted the wisdom +and the mercy of his Leader’s inscrutable manœuvres +with the soldiers who enlist to follow Him. As far as +that is concerned, the Reverend Wilbour Carew had +been born with a believing mind; doubt of divine goodness +in Deity was impossible for him; doubt of human +goodness almost as difficult.</p> +<p>Such men have little chance in a brisk, busy, and +jaunty world; but they prefer it should be that way +with them. And of these few believers in the goodness +of God and man are our fools and gentlemen composed.</p> +<p>On that dreadful day, the Kurd who had mangled +him so frightfully that he recovered only to limp +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +through life on crutches bent over him and shouted +in his face:</p> +<p>“Now, you Christian dog, before I cut your throat +show me how this Christ of yours can be a god!”</p> +<p>“Is it necessary,” replied the missionary faintly, “to +light a candle in order to show a man the midday sun?”</p> +<p>Which was possibly what saved his life, and the lives +of his wife and child. Your Moslem adores and understands +such figurative answers. So he left the Reverend +Mr. Carew lying half dead in the blackened doorway +and started cheerfully after a frightened convert praying +under the compound wall.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_IN_EMBRYO' id='CHAPTER_III_IN_EMBRYO'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>IN EMBRYO</h3> +</div> +<p>A child on the floor, flat on her stomach in the red +light of the stove, drawing pictures; her mother by +the shaded lamp mending stockings; her father reading; +a faint odour of kerosene from the glass lamp in +the room, and the rattle of sleet on roof and window; +this was one of her childhood memories which never +faded through all the years of Ruhannah’s life.</p> +<p>Of her waking hours she preferred that hour after +supper when, lying prone on the worn carpet, with +pencil and paper, just outside the lamp’s yellow circle +of light, her youthful imagination kindled and caught +fire.</p> +<p>For at that hour the magic of the stove’s glowing +eyes transformed the sitting-room chairs to furtive +watchers of herself, made of her mother’s work-table a +sly and spidery thing on legs, crouching in ambush; bewitched +the ancient cottage piano so that its ivory keys +menaced her like a row of monstrous teeth.</p> +<p>She adored it all. The tall secretary stared at her +with owlish significance. Through that neutral veil +where lamplight and shadow meet upon the wall, the +engraved portrait of a famous and godly missionary +peered down at her out of altered and malicious eyes; +the claw-footed, haircloth sofa was a stealthy creature +offering to entrap her with wide, inviting arms; three +folded umbrellas leaned over the edge of their shadowy +stand, looking down at her like scrawny and baleful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +birds, ready to peck at her with crooked handles. And +as for Adoniram, her lank black cat, the child’s restless +creative fancy was ever transforming him from goblin +into warlock, from hydra to hippogriff, until the earnestness +of pretence sent agreeable shivers down her +back, and she edged a trifle nearer to her mother.</p> +<p>But when pretence became a bit too real and too +grotesque she had always a perfect antidote. It was +merely necessary to make a quick picture of an angel +or two, a fairy prince, a swan, and she felt herself in +their company, and delightfully protected.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There was a night when the flowing roar of the gale +outside filled the lamplit silence; when the snow was +drifting level with the window sills; when Adoniram, +unable to prowl abroad, lay curled up tight and sound +asleep beside her where she sat on the carpet in the +stove radiance. Wearied of drawing castles and swans, +she had been listening to her father reading passages +aloud from the book on his knees to her mother who +was sewing by the lamp.</p> +<p>Presently he continued his reading:</p> +<p>“I asked Alaro the angel: ‘Which place is this, and +which people are these?’</p> +<p>“And he answered: ‘This place is the star-track; and +these are they who in the world offered no prayers +and chanted no liturgies. Through other works they +have attained felicity.’”</p> +<p>Her mother nodded, continuing to sew. Ruhannah +considered what her father had read, then:</p> +<p>“Father?”</p> +<p>“Yes––” He looked down at her absently.</p> +<p>“What were you reading?”</p> +<p>“A quotation from the Sacred Anthology.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></p> +<p>“Isn’t prayer really necessary?”</p> +<p>Her mother said:</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>“Then how did those people who offered no prayers +go to Heaven?”</p> +<p>Her father said:</p> +<p>“Eternal life is not attained by praise or prayer +alone, Ruhannah. Those things which alone justify +prayer are also necessary.”</p> +<p>“What are they?”</p> +<p>“What we really <i>think</i> and what we <i>do</i>—both only in +Christ’s name. Without these nothing else counts very +much—neither form nor convention nor those individual +garments called creed and denomination, which +belief usually wears throughout the world.”</p> +<p>Her mother, sewing, glanced gravely down at her +daughter:</p> +<p>“Your father is very tolerant of what other people +believe—as long as they really do believe. Your father +thinks that Christ would have found friends in Buddha +and Mahomet.”</p> +<p>“Do such people go to Heaven?” asked Ruhannah, +astonished.</p> +<p>“Listen,” said her father, reading again:</p> +<p>“‘I came to a place and I saw the souls of the liberal, +adorned above all other souls in splendour. And it +seemed to me sublime.</p> +<p>“‘I saw the souls of the truthful who walked in lofty +splendour. And it seemed to me sublime.</p> +<p>“‘I saw the souls of teachers and inquirers; I saw +the friendly souls of interceders and peacemakers; and +these walked brilliantly in the light. And it seemed +to me sublime––’”</p> +<p>He turned to his wife: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></p> +<p>“To see and know <i>is</i> sublime. We know, Mary; and +Ruhannah is intelligent. But in spite of her faith in +what she has learned from us, like us she must one day +travel the common way, seeking for herself the reasons +and the evidences of immortality.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps her faith, Wilbour––”</p> +<p>“Perhaps. But with the intelligent, faith, which is +emotional, usually follows belief; and belief comes only +from reasoning. I think that Ruhannah is destined +to travel the way of all intelligence when she is ready +to think for herself.”</p> +<p>“I am ready now,” said the girl. “I have faith in +our Lord Jesus, and in my father and mother.”</p> +<p>Her father looked at her:</p> +<p>“It is good building material. Some day, God willing, +you shall build a very lofty temple with it. But +the foundation of the temple must first be certain. Intelligence +ultimately requires reasons for belief. You +will have to seek them for yourself, Ruhannah. Then, +on them build your shrine of faith; and nothing shall +shake it down.”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand.”</p> +<p>“And I cannot explain. Only this; as you grow +older, all around you in the world you will become aware +of people, countless millions and millions of people, asking +themselves—ready with the slightest encouragement, +or without it, to ask you the question which is +the most vital of all questions to them. And whatever +way it is answered always they ask for evidence. You, +too, will one day ask for evidence. All the world asks +for it. But few recognise it as evidence when it is +offered.”</p> +<p>He closed his book and dropped a heavy hand +upon it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></p> +<p>“Amid the myriad pursuits and interests and trades +and professions of the human race, amid their multitudinous +aspirations, perplexities, doubts, passions, endeavours, +deep within every intelligent man remains one +dominant desire, one persistent question to be answered +if possible.”</p> +<p>“What desire, father?”</p> +<p>“The universal desire for another chance—for immortality. +Man’s never-ending demand for evidence of +an immortality which shall terminate for him the most +tremendous of all uncertainties, which shall solve for +him the most vital of all questions: What is to become +of him after physical death? Is he to live again? Is +he to see once more those whom he loved the best?”</p> +<p>Ruhannah sat thinking in the red stove light, cross-legged, +her slim ankles clasped in either hand.</p> +<p>“But our souls are immortal,” she said at last.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Our Lord Jesus has said it.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then why should anybody not believe it?”</p> +<p>“Try to believe it always. Particularly after your +mother and I are no longer here, try to believe it.... +You are unusually intelligent; and if some day your +intelligence discovers that it requires evidence for belief +seek for that evidence. It is obtainable. Try to +recognise it when you encounter it.... Only, in any +event, remember this: never alter your early faith, never +destroy your childhood’s belief until evidence to prove +the contrary convinces you.”</p> +<p>“No.... There is no such evidence, is there, +father?”</p> +<p>“I know of none.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said the girl calmly, “I shall take Christ’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +evidence that I shall live again if I do no evil.... +Father?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Is there any evidence that Adoniram has no soul?”</p> +<p>“I know of none.”</p> +<p>“Is there any that he has a soul?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I think there is.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure?”</p> +<p>“Not entirely.”</p> +<p>“I wonder,” mused the girl, looking gravely at the +sleeping cat.</p> +<p>It was the first serious doubt that Ruhannah had +ever entertained in her brief career.</p> +<p>That night she dreamed of the Yellow Devil in Herr +Wilner’s box, and, awaking, remembered her dream. +It seemed odd, too, because she had not even thought +of the Yellow Devil for over a year.</p> +<p>But the menacing Mongol figure seemed bound to +intrude into her life once more and demand her attention +as though resentful of long oblivion and neglect; +for, a week later, an old missionary from Indo-China—a +native Chinese—who had lectured at the Baptist +Church in Gayfield the evening previous, came to pay +his respects to the Reverend Wilbour Carew. And Rue +had taken the Yellow Devil from the olive-wood box +that day and was busily making a pencil drawing of it.</p> +<p>At sight of the figure the native missionary’s narrow +almond eyes opened extremely wide, and he leaned on +the table and regarded the bronze demon very intently.</p> +<p>Then he took from his pocket and adjusted to his +button nose a pair of large, horn spectacles; and he +carefully examined the Chinese characters engraved on +the base of the ancient bronze, following them slowly +with a yellow and clawlike forefinger. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span></p> +<p>“Can you read what is written there?” inquired the +Reverend Mr. Carew.</p> +<p>“Yes, brother. This is what is written: ‘I am Erlik, +Ruler of Chaos and of All that Was. The old order +passes when I arrive. I bring confusion among the +peoples; I hurl down emperors; kingdoms crumble where +I pass; the world begins to rock and tip, spilling nations +into outer darkness. When there are no more +kingdoms and no more kings; no more empires and no +emperors; and when only the humble till, the blameless +sow, the pure reap; and when only the teachers teach +in the shadow of the Tree, and when the Thinker sits +unstirring under the high stars, then, from the dark +edges of the world I let go my grasp and drop into +those immeasurable deeps from which I came—I, Erlik, +Ruler of All that Was.’”</p> +<p>After a silence the Reverend Mr. Carew asked +whether the figure was a very old one.</p> +<p>“It is before the period called ‘Han’—a dynasty +during which the Mongols were a mighty people. This +inscription is Mongol. Erlik was the Yellow Devil of +the Mongols.”</p> +<p>“Not a heathen god, then?”</p> +<p>“No, a heathen devil. Their Prince of Darkness.”</p> +<p>Ruhannah, pencil in hand, looked curiously at this +heathen Prince of Darkness, arrived out of the dark +ages to sit to her for his scowling portrait.</p> +<p>“I wonder what he thinks of America,” she said, +partly to herself.</p> +<p>The native missionary smiled, picked up the Yellow +Devil, shook the figure, listening.</p> +<p>“There is something inside,” he said; “perhaps +jewels. If you drilled a hole in him you could find out.”</p> +<p>The Reverend Mr. Carew nodded absently: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></p> +<p>“Yes; it might be worth while,” he said.</p> +<p>“If there is a jewel,” repeated the missionary, “you +had better take it, then cast away the figure. Erlik +brings disaster to the land where his image is set up.”</p> +<p>The Reverend Mr. Carew smiled at his Chinese and +Christian confrère’s ineradicable vein of superstition.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_THE_TRODDEN_WAY' id='CHAPTER_IV_THE_TRODDEN_WAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>THE TRODDEN WAY</h3> +</div> +<p>There came the indeterminate year when Ruhannah +finished school and there was no money available to send +her elsewhere for further embellishment, no farther +horizon than the sky over the Gayfield hills, no other +perspective than the main street of Gayfield with the +knitting mill at the end of it.</p> +<p>So into Gayfield Mill the girl walked, and found a +place immediately among the unskilled. And her career +appeared to be predetermined now, and her destiny a +simple one—to work, to share the toil and the gaieties +of Gayfield with the majority of the other girls she +knew; to marry, ultimately, some boy, some clerk in +one of the Gayfield stores, some farmer lad, perhaps, +possibly a school teacher or a local lawyer or physician, +or possibly the head of some department in the mill, +or maybe a minister—she was sufficiently well bred and +educated for any one of these.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The winter of her seventeenth year found her still +very much a child at heart, physically backward, a late +adolescent, a little shy, inclined to silences, romantic, +sensitive to all beauty, and passionately expressing +herself only when curled up by the stove with her pencil +and the red light of the coals falling athwart the +slim hand that guided it.</p> +<p>She went sometimes to village parties, learned very +easily to dance, had no preferences among the youths +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +of Gayfield, no romances. For that matter, while she +was liked and even furtively admired, her slight shyness, +reticence, and a vague, indefinite something about +her seemed to discourage familiar rustic gallantry. +Also, she was as thin and awkward as an overgrown lad, +not thought to be pretty, known to be poor. But for +all that more than one young man was vaguely haunted +at intervals by some memory of her grey eyes and the +peculiar sweetness of her mouth, forgetting for the +moment several freckles on the delicate bridge of her +nose and several more on her sun-tanned cheeks.</p> +<p>She had an agreeable time that winter, enchanted +to learn dancing, happy at “showers” and parties, at +sleigh rides and “chicken suppers,” and the various species +of village gaiety which ranged from moving pictures +every Thursday and Saturday nights to church +entertainments, amateur theatricals at the town hall, +and lectures under the auspices of the aristocratic +D. O. F.—Daughters of the Old Frontier.</p> +<p>But she never saw any boy she preferred to any +other, never was conscious of being preferred, excepting +once—and she was not quite certain about that.</p> +<p>It was old Dick Neeland’s son, Jim—vaguely understood +to have been for several years in Paris studying +art—and who now turned up in Gayfield during Christmas +week.</p> +<p>Ruhannah remembered seeing him on several occasions +when she was a little child. He was usually +tramping across country with his sturdy father, Dick +Neeland of Neeland’s Mills—an odd, picturesque pair +with their setter dogs and burnished guns, and old +Dick’s face as red as a wrinkled winter apple, and his +hair snow-white.</p> +<p>There was six years’ difference between their ages, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +Jim Neeland’s and hers, and she had always considered +him a grown and formidable man in those days. +But that winter, when somebody at the movies pointed +him out to her, she was surprised to find him no older +than the other youths she skated with and danced with.</p> +<p>Afterward, at a noisy village party, she saw him +dancing with every girl in town, and the drop of Irish +blood in this handsome, careless young fellow established +him at once as a fascinating favourite.</p> +<p>Rue became quite tremulous over the prospect of +dancing with him. Presently her turn came; she rose +with a sudden odd loss of self-possession as he was presented, +stood dumb, shy, unresponsive, suffered him to +lead her out, became slowly conscious that he danced +rather badly. But awe of him persisted even when he +trod on her slender foot.</p> +<p>He brought her an ice afterward, and seated himself +beside her.</p> +<p>“I’m a clumsy dancer,” he said. “How many times +did I spike you?”</p> +<p>She flushed and would have found a pleasant word +to reassure him, but discovered nothing to say, it being +perfectly patent to them both that she had retired +from the floor with a slight limp.</p> +<p>“I’m a steam roller,” he repeated carelessly. “But +you dance very well, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“I have only learned to dance this winter.”</p> +<p>“I thought you an expert. Do you live here?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... I mean I live at Brookhollow.”</p> +<p>“Funny. I don’t remember you. Besides, I don’t +know your name—people mumble so when they introduce +a man.”</p> +<p>“I’m Ruhannah Carew.”</p> +<p>“Carew,” he repeated, while a crease came between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +his eyebrows. “Of Brookhollow–– Oh, I know! +Your father is the retired missionary—red house facing +the bridge.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he said, taking another look at her; +“you’re the little girl daddy and I used to see across +the fields when we were shooting woodcock in the +willows.”</p> +<p>“I remember you,” she said.</p> +<p>“I remember <i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>She coloured gratefully.</p> +<p>“Because,” he added, “dad and I were always afraid +you’d wander into range and we’d pepper you from +the bushes. You’ve grown a lot, haven’t you?” He +had a nice, direct smile though his speech and manners +were a trifle breezy, confident, and <i>sans façon</i>. +But he was at that age—which succeeds the age of +bumptiousness—with life and career before him, attainment, +realisation, success, everything the mystery +of life holds for a young man who has just flung open +the gates and who takes the magic road to the future +with a stride instead of his accustomed pace.</p> +<p>He was already a man with a profession, and meant +that she should become aware of it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Later in the evening somebody told her what a <i>personage</i> +he had become, and she became even more deeply +thrilled, impressed, and tremulously desirous that he +should seek her out again, not venturing to seek him, +not dreaming of encouraging him to notice her by +glance or attitude—not even knowing, as yet, how to +do such things. She thought he had already forgotten +her existence.</p> +<p>But that this thin, freckled young thing with grey +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +eyes ought to learn how much of a man he was remained +somewhere in the back of Neeland’s head; and when he +heard his hostess say that somebody would have to +see Rue Carew home, he offered to do it. And presently +went over and asked the girl if he might—not too +patronisingly.</p> +<p>In the cutter, under fur, with the moonlight electrically +brilliant and the world buried in white, she ventured +to speak of his art, timidly, as in the presence of +the very great.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” he said. “I studied in Paris. Wish I +were back there. But I’ve got to draw for magazines +and illustrated papers; got to make a living, you see. +I teach at the Art League, too.”</p> +<p>“How happy you must be in your career!” she said, +devoutly meaning it, knowing no better than to say +it.</p> +<p>“It’s a business,” he corrected her, kindly.</p> +<p>“But—yes—but it is art, too.”</p> +<p>“Oh, art!” he laughed. It was the fashion that year +to shrug when art was mentioned—reaction from too +much gabble.</p> +<p>“We don’t busy ourselves with art; we busy ourselves +with business. When they use my stuff I feel I’m getting +on. You see,” he admitted with reluctant honesty, +“I’m young at it yet—I haven’t had very much +of my stuff in magazines yet.”</p> +<p>After a silence, cursed by an instinctive truthfulness +which always spoiled any little plan to swagger:</p> +<p>“I’ve had several—well, about a dozen pictures reproduced.”</p> +<p>One picture accepted by any magazine would have +awed her sufficiently. The mere fact that he was an +artist had been enough to impress her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>“Do you care for that sort of thing—drawing, painting, +I mean?” he inquired kindly.</p> +<p>She drew a quick breath, steadied her voice, and said +she did.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you may turn out stuff yourself some +day.”</p> +<p>She scarcely knew how to take the word “stuff.” +Vaguely she surmised it to be professional vernacular.</p> +<p>She admitted shyly that she cared for nothing so +much as drawing, that she longed for instruction, but +that such a dream was hopeless.</p> +<p>At first he did not comprehend that poverty barred +the way to her; he urged her to cultivate her talent, +bestowed advice concerning the Art League, boarding +houses, studios, ways, means, and ends, until she felt +obliged to tell him how far beyond her means such +magic splendours lay.</p> +<p>He remained silent, sorry for her, thinking also that +the chances were against her having any particular +talent, consoling a heart that was unusually sympathetic +and tender with the conclusion that this girl +would be happier here in Brookhollow than scratching +around the purlieus of New York to make both ends +meet.</p> +<p>“It’s a tough deal,” he remarked abruptly. “—I +mean this art stuff. You work like the dickens and kick +your heels in ante-rooms. If they take your stuff they +send you back to alter it or redraw it. <i>I</i> don’t know +how anybody makes a living at it—in the beginning.”</p> +<p>“Don’t <i>you</i>?”</p> +<p>“I? No.” He reddened; but she could not notice +it in the moonlight. “No,” he repeated; “I have an +allowance from my father. I’m new at it yet.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t a man—a girl—support herself by drawing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +pictures for magazines?” she inquired tremulously.</p> +<p>“Oh, well, of course there are some who have arrived—and +they manage to get on. Some even make wads, +you know.”</p> +<p>“W-wads?” she repeated, mystified.</p> +<p>“I mean a lot of money. There’s that girl on the +<i>Star</i>, Jean Throssel, who makes all kinds of wealth, +they say, out of her spidery, filmy girls in ringlets and +cheesecloth dinner gowns.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“Yes, Jean Throssel, and that Waythorne girl, Belinda +Waythorne, you know—does all that stuff for +<i>The Looking Glass</i>—futurist graft, no mouths on her +people—she makes <i>hers</i>, I understand.”</p> +<p>It was rather difficult for Rue to follow him amid +the vernacular mazes.</p> +<p>“Then, of course,” he continued, “men like Alexander +Fairless and Philip Lightwood who imitates him, make +fortunes out of their drawing. I could name a dozen, +perhaps. But the rest—hard sledding, Miss Carew!”</p> +<p>“Is it <i>very</i> hard?”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know what on earth I’d do if dad +didn’t back me as his fancy.”</p> +<p>“A father ought to, if he can afford it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ll pay my way some day. It’s in me. I feel +it; I know it. I’ll make plenty of money,” he assured +her confidently.</p> +<p>“I’m sure you will.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he smiled. “My friends tell me I’ve +got it in me. I have one friend in particular—the Princess +Mistchenka—who has all kinds of confidence in my +future. When I’m blue she bolsters me up. She’s quite +wonderful. I owe her a lot for asking me to her Sunday +nights and for giving me her friendship.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></p> +<p>“A—a princess?” whispered the girl, who had drawn +pictures of thousands but was a little startled to realise +that such fabled creatures really exist.</p> +<p>“Is she <i>very</i> beautiful?” she added.</p> +<p>“She’s tremendously pretty.”</p> +<p>“Her—clothes are very beautiful, I suppose,” ventured +Rue.</p> +<p>“Well—they’re very—smart. Everything about her +is smart. Her Sunday night suppers are wonderful. +You meet people who do things—all sorts—everybody +who is somebody.”</p> +<p>He turned to her frankly:</p> +<p>“I think myself very lucky that the Princess Mistchenka +should be my friend, because, honestly, Miss +Carew, I don’t see what there is in me to interest such a +woman.”</p> +<p>Rue thought she could see, but remained silent.</p> +<p>“If I had my way,” said Neeland, a few moments +later, “I’d drop illustrating and paint battle scenes. +But it wouldn’t pay, you see.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you support yourself by painting battles?”</p> +<p>“Not yet,” he said honestly. “Of course I have +hopes—intentions––” he laughed, drew his reins; the +silvery chimes clashed and jingled and flashed in the +moonlight; they had arrived.</p> +<p>At the door he said:</p> +<p>“I hope some day you’ll have a chance to take lessons. +Thank you for dancing with me.... If you ever do +come to New York to study, I hope you’ll let me +know.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “I will.”</p> +<p>He was halfway to his sleigh, looked back, saw her +looking back as she entered the lighted doorway. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></p> +<p>“Good night, Rue,” he said impulsively, warmly sorry +for her.</p> +<p>“Good night,” she said.</p> +<p>The drop of Irish blood in him prompted him to go +back to where she stood framed in the lighted doorway. +And the same drop was no doubt responsible for his +taking her by the waist and tilting back her head in its +fur hood and kissing her soft, warm lips.</p> +<p>She looked up at him in a flushed, bewildered sort of +way, not resisting; but his eyes were so gay and mischievous, +and his quick smile so engaging that a breathless, +uncertain smile began to edge her lips; and it remained +stamped there, stiffening even after he had +jumped into his cutter and had driven away, jingling +joyously out into the dazzling moonshine.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In bed, the window open, and the covers pulled to her +chin, Rue lay wakeful, living over again the pleasures +of the evening; and Neeland’s face was always before +her open eyes, and his pleasant voice seemed to be +sounding in her ears. As for the kiss, it did not trouble +her. Girls she went with were not infrequently so saluted +by boys. That, being her own first experience, +was important only in that degree. And she shyly +thought the experience agreeable. And, as she recalled, +revived, and considered all that Neeland had said, it +seemed to her that this young man led an enchanted +life and that such as he were indeed companions fit +for princesses.</p> +<p>“Princess Mistchenka,” she repeated aloud to herself. +And somehow it sounded vaguely familiar to the +girl, as though somewhere, long ago, she had heard +another voice pronounce the name.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_EX_MACHINA' id='CHAPTER_V_EX_MACHINA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>EX MACHINA</h3> +</div> +<p>After she had become accustomed to the smell of +rancid oil and dyestuffs and the interminable racket of +machinery she did not find her work at the knitting +mill disagreeable. It was like any work, she imagined, +an uninteresting task which had to be done.</p> +<p>The majority of the girls and young men of the +village worked there in various capacities; wages were +fair, salaries better, union regulations prevailed. There +was nothing to complain of.</p> +<p>And nothing to expect except possible increase in +wages, holidays, and a disquieting chance of getting +caught in the machinery, which familiarity soon discounted.</p> +<p>As for the social status of the mill workers, the mill +<i>was</i> Gayfield; and Gayfield was a village where the +simpler traditions of the Republic still survived; where +there existed no invidious distinction in vocations; a +typical old-time community harbouring the remains of +a Grand Army Post and too many churches of too +many denominations; where the chance metropolitan +stranger was systematically “done”; where distrust of +all cities and desire to live in them was equalled only by +a passion for moving pictures and automobiles; where +the school trustees used double negatives and traced +their ancestry to Colonial considerables—who, however, +had signed their names in “lower case” or with a +Maltese cross—the world in miniature, with its due +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +proportion of petty graft, petty squabbles, envy, kindness, +jealousy, generosity, laziness, ambition, stupidity, +intelligence, honesty, hypocrisy, hatred, affection, badness +and goodness, as standardised by the code established +according to folk-ways on earth—in brief, a perfectly +human community composed of the usual ingredients, +worthy and unworthy—that was Gayfield, Mohawk +County, New York.</p> +<p>Before spring came—before the first robin appeared, +and while icy roads still lay icy under sunlit pools of +snow-water—a whole winter indoors, and a sedentary +one, had changed the smoothly tanned and slightly +freckled cheeks of Rue Carew to a thinner and paler +oval. Under her transparent skin a tea-rose pink +came and went; under her grey eyes lay bluish shadows. +Also, floating particles of dust, fleecy and microscopic +motes of cotton and wool filling the air in the room +where Ruhannah worked, had begun to irritate her +throat and bronchial tubes; and the girl developed an +intermittent cough.</p> +<p>When the first bluebird arrived in Gayfield the cough +was no longer intermittent; and her mother sent her +to the village doctor. So Rue Carew was transferred +to the box factory adjoining, in which the mill made +its own paper boxes, where young women sat all day +at intelligent machines and fed them with squares of +pasteboard and strips of gilt paper; and the intelligent +and grateful machines responded by turning out hundreds +and hundreds of complete boxes, all neatly gilded, +pasted, and labelled. And after a little while Ruhannah +was able to nourish one of these obliging and responsive +machines. And by July her cough had left +her, and two delicate freckles adorned the bridge of +her nose. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p> +<p>The half-mile walk from and to Brookhollow twice +a day was keeping her from rapid physical degeneration. +Yet, like all northern American summers, the +weather became fearfully hot in July and August, and +the half-mile even in early morning and at six in the +evening left her listless, nervously dreading the great +concrete-lined room, the reek of glue and oil, the +sweaty propinquity of her neighbours, and the monotonous +appetite of the sprawling machine which she fed +all day long with pasteboard squares.</p> +<p>She went to her work in early morning, bareheaded, +in a limp pink dress very much open at the throat, +which happened to be the merciful mode of the moment—a +slender, sweet-lipped thing, beginning to move with +grace now—and her chestnut hair burned gold-pale by +the sun.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There came that movable holiday in August, when +the annual shutdown for repairs closed the mill and +box factory during forty-eight hours—a matter of +prescribing oil and new bearings for the overfed machines +so that their digestions should remain unimpaired +and their dispositions amiable.</p> +<p>It was a hot August morning, intensely blue and +still, with that slow, subtle concentration of suspended +power in the sky, ominous of thunder brooding somewhere +beyond the western edges of the world.</p> +<p>Ruhannah aided her mother with the housework, +picked peas and a squash and a saucer full of yellow +pansies in the weedy little garden, and, at noon, dined +on the trophies of her husbandry, physically and +æsthetically.</p> +<p>After dinner, dishes washed and room tidied, she sat +down on the narrow, woodbine-infested verandah with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +pencil and paper, and attempted to draw the stone +bridge and the little river where it spread in deeps +and shallows above the broken dam.</p> +<p>Perspective was unknown to her; of classic composition +she was also serenely ignorant, so the absence of +these in her picture did not annoy her. On the contrary, +there was something hideously modern and recessional +in her vigorous endeavour to include in her +drawing everything her grey eyes chanced to rest on. +She even arose and gently urged a cow into the already +overcrowded composition, and, having accomplished its +portrait with Cezanne-like fidelity, was beginning to +look about for Adoniram to include him also, when her +mother called to her, holding out a pair of old gloves.</p> +<p>“Dear, we are going to save a little money this year. +Do you think you could catch a few fish for supper?”</p> +<p>The girl nodded, took the gloves, laid aside her pencil +and paper, picked up the long bamboo pole from the +verandah floor, and walked slowly out into the garden.</p> +<p>A trowel was sticking in the dry earth near the +flower bed, where poppies, and pansies, and petunias, +and phlox bordered the walk.</p> +<p>Under a lilac the ground seemed moister and more +promising for vermicular investigation; she drew on her +gloves, dug a few holes with the trowel, extracted an +angleworm, frowned slightly, holding it between gloved +fingers, regarding its contortions with pity and +aversion.</p> +<p>To bait a hook was not agreeable to the girl; she +managed to do it, however, then shouldering her pole +she walked across the road and down to the left, +through rank grasses and patches of milkweed, bergamot, +and queen’s lace, scattering a cloud of brown +and silver-spotted butterflies. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>Alder, elder, and Indian willow barred her way; rank +thickets of jewelweed hung vivid blossoming drops +across her path; woodbine and clematis trailed dainty +snares to catch her in their fairy nets; a rabbit scurried +out from behind the ruined paper mill as she came +to the swift, shallow water below the dam.</p> +<p>Into this she presently plumped her line, and the next +instant jerked it out again with a wriggling, silvery +minnow flashing on the hook.</p> +<p>Carrying her pole with its tiny, glittering victim +dangling aloft, Rue hastily retraced her steps to the +road, crossed the bridge to the further end, seated +herself on the limestone parapet, and, swinging her pole +with both hands, cast line and hook and minnow far +out into the pond. It was a business she did not care +for—this extinguishing of the life-spark in anything. +But, like her mill work, it appeared to be a necessary +business, and, so regarding it, she went about it.</p> +<p>The pond above the half-ruined dam lay very still; +her captive minnow swam about with apparently no discomfort, +trailing on the surface of the pond above him +the cork which buoyed the hook.</p> +<p>Rue, her pole clasped in both hands between her +knees, gazed with preoccupied eyes out across the water. +On the sandy shore, a pair of speckled tip-ups ran +busily about, dipping and bobbing, or spread their +white, striped wings to sheer the still surface of the +pond, swing shoreward with bowed wings again, and +resume their formal, quaint, and busy manners.</p> +<p>From the interstices of the limestone parapet grew a +white bluebell—the only one Rue had ever seen. As +long as she could remember it had come up there every +year and bloomed, snow-white amid a world of its blue +comrades in the grass below. She looked for it now, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +saw it in bud—three sturdy stalks sprouting at right +angles from the wall and curving up parallel to it. +Somehow or other she had come to associate this white +freak of nature with herself—she scarcely knew why. +It comforted her, oddly, to see it again, still surviving, +still delicately vigorous, though where among those +stone slabs it found its nourishment she never could +imagine.</p> +<p>The intense blue of the sky had altered since noon; +the west became gradually duller and the air stiller; +and now, over the Gayfield hills, a tall cloud thrust up +silvery-edged convolutions toward a zenith still royally +and magnificently blue.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She had been sitting there watching her swimming +cork for over an hour when the first light western +breeze arrived, spreading a dainty ripple across the +pond. Her cork danced, drifted; beneath it she caught +the momentary glimmer of the minnow; then the cork +was jerked under; she clasped the pole with all her +strength, struck upward; and a heavy pickerel, all +gold and green, sprang furiously from the water and +fell back with a sharp splash.</p> +<p>Under the sudden strain of the fish she nearly lost +her balance, scrambled hastily down from the parapet, +propping the pole desperately against her body, and +stood so, unbending, unyielding, her eyes fixed on the +water where the taut line cut it at forty-five degrees.</p> +<p>At the same time two men in a red runabout speeding +westward caught sight of the sharp turn by the bridge +which the ruins of the paper mill had hidden. The man +driving the car might have made it even then had he not +seen Ruhannah in the centre of the bridge. It was +instantly all off; so were both mud-guards and one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +wheel. So were driver and passenger, floundering on +their backs among the rank grass and wild flowers. +Ruhannah, petrified, still fast to her fish, gazed at the +catastrophe over her right shoulder.</p> +<p>A broad, short, squarely built man of forty emerged +from the weeds, went hastily to the car and did something +to it. Noise ceased; clouds of steam continued +to ascend from the crumpled hood.</p> +<p>The other man, even shorter, but slimmer, sauntered +out of a bed of milkweed whither he had been catapulted. +He dusted with his elbow a grey felt hat as +he stood looking at the wrecked runabout; his comrade, +still clutching a cigar between his teeth, continued +to examine the car.</p> +<p>“Hell!” remarked the short, thickset man.</p> +<p>“It’s going to rain like it, too,” added the other. The +thunder boomed again beyond Gayfield hills.</p> +<p>“What do you know about this!” growled the thickset +man, in utter disgust. “Do we hunt for a garage, +or what?”</p> +<p>“It’s up to you, Eddie. And say! What was the +matter with you? Don’t you know a bridge when you +see one?”</p> +<p>“That damn girl––” He turned and looked at +Ruhannah, who was dragging the big flapping pickerel +over the parapet by main strength.</p> +<p>The men scowled at her in silence, then the one addressed +as Eddie rolled his cigar grimly into the left +corner of his jaw.</p> +<p>“Damn little skirt,” he observed briefly. “It seems +to worry her a lot what she’s done to us.”</p> +<p>“I wonder does she know she wrecked us,” suggested +the other. He was a stunted, wiry little man of thirty-five. +His head seemed slightly too large; he had a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +pasty face with the sloe-black eyes, button nose, and +the widely chiselled mouth of a circus clown.</p> +<p>The eyes of the short, thickset man were narrow and +greyish green in a round, smoothly shaven face. They +narrowed still more as the thunder broke louder from +the west.</p> +<p>Ruhannah, dragging her fish over the grass, was +coming toward them; and the man called Eddie stepped +forward to bar her progress.</p> +<p>“Say, girlie,” he began, the cigar still tightly +screwed into his cheek, “is there a juice mill anywhere +near us, d’y’know?”</p> +<p>“What?” said Rue.</p> +<p>“A garage.”</p> +<p>“Yes; there is one at Gayfield.”</p> +<p>“How far, girlie?”</p> +<p>Rue flushed, but answered:</p> +<p>“It is half a mile to Gayfield.”</p> +<p>The other man, noticing the colour in Ruhannah’s +face, took off his pearl-grey hat. His language was +less grammatical than his friend’s, but his instincts +were better.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said—his companion staring all the +while at the girl without the slightest expression. “Is +there a telephone in any of them houses, miss?”—glancing +around behind him at the three edifices which +composed the crossroads called Brookhollow.</p> +<p>“No,” said Rue.</p> +<p>It thundered again; the world around had become +very dusky and silent and the flash veined a rapidly +blackening west.</p> +<p>“It’s going to rain buckets,” said the man called +Eddie. “If you live around here, can you let us come +into your house till it’s over, gir—er—miss?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I’m Mr. Brandes—Ed Brandes of New York––” +speaking through cigar-clutching teeth. “This is Mr. +Ben Stull, of the same.... It’s raining already. Is +that your house?”</p> +<p>“I live <i>there</i>,” said Rue, nodding across the bridge. +“You may go in.”</p> +<p>She walked ahead, dragging the fish; Stull went to +the car, took two suitcases from the boot; Brandes +threw both overcoats over his arm, and followed in the +wake of Ruhannah and her fish.</p> +<p>“No Saratoga and no races today, Eddie,” remarked +Stull. But Brandes’ narrow, grey-green eyes were following +Ruhannah.</p> +<p>“It’s a pity,” continued Stull, “somebody didn’t +learn you to drive a car before you ask your friends +joy-riding.”</p> +<p>“Aw—shut up,” returned Brandes slowly, between +his teeth.</p> +<p>They climbed the flight of steps to the verandah, +through a rapidly thickening gloom which was ripped +wide open at intervals by lightning.</p> +<p>So Brandes and his shadow, Bennie Stull, came into +the home of Ruhannah Carew.</p> +<p>Her mother, who had observed their approach from +the window, opened the door.</p> +<p>“Mother,” said Ruhannah, “here is the fish I caught—and +two gentlemen.”</p> +<p>With which dubious but innocent explanation she +continued on toward the kitchen, carrying her fish.</p> +<p>Stull offered a brief explanation to account for their +plight and presence; Brandes, listening and watching +the mother out of greenish, sleepy eyes, made up his +mind concerning her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></p> +<p>While the spare room was being prepared by mother +and daughter, he and Stull, seated in the sitting-room, +their hats upon their knees, exchanged solemn commonplaces +with the Reverend Mr. Carew.</p> +<p>Brandes, always the gambler, always wary and +reticent by nature, did all the listening before he came +to conclusions that relaxed the stiffness of his attitude +and the immobility of his large, round face.</p> +<p>Then, at ease under circumstances and conditions +which he began to comprehend and have an amiable +contempt for, he became urbane and conversational, +and a little amused to find navigation so simple, even +when out of his proper element.</p> +<p>From the book on the invalid’s knees, Brandes took +his cue; and the conversation developed into a monologue +on the present condition of foreign missions—skilfully +inspired by the respectful attention and the +brief and ingenious questions of Brandes.</p> +<p>“Doubtless,” concluded the Reverend Mr. Carew, +“you are familiar with the life of the Reverend +Adoniram Judson, Mr. Brandes.”</p> +<p>It turned out to be Brandes’ favourite book.</p> +<p>“You will recollect, then, the amazing conditions in +India which confronted Dr. Judson and his wife.”</p> +<p>Brandes recollected perfectly—with a slow glance at +Stull.</p> +<p>“All that is changed,” said the invalid. “—God be +thanked. And conditions in Armenia are changing for +the better, I hope.”</p> +<p>“Let us hope so,” returned Brandes solemnly.</p> +<p>“To doubt it is to doubt the goodness of the Almighty,” +said the Reverend Mr. Carew. His dreamy +eyes became fixed on the rain-splashed window, burned +a little with sombre inward light. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>“In Trebizond,” he began, “in my time––”</p> +<p>His wife came into the room, saying that the spare +bedchamber was ready and that the gentlemen might +wish to wash before supper, which would be ready in a +little while.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>On their way upstairs they encountered Ruhannah +coming down. Stull passed with a polite grunt; +Brandes ranged himself for the girl to pass him.</p> +<p>“Ever so much obliged to you, Miss Carew,” he +said. “We have put you to a great deal of trouble, +I am sure.”</p> +<p>Rue looked up surprised, shy, not quite understanding +how to reconcile his polite words and pleasant voice +with the voice and manner in which he had addressed +her on the bridge.</p> +<p>“It is no trouble,” she said, flushing slightly. “I +hope you will be comfortable.”</p> +<p>And she continued to descend the stairs a trifle more +hastily, not quite sure she cared very much to talk +to that kind of man.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In the spare bedroom, whither Stull and Brandes had +been conducted, the latter was seated on the big and +rather shaky maple bed, buttoning a fresh shirt and +collar, while Stull took his turn at the basin. Rain beat +heavily on the windows.</p> +<p>“Say, Ben,” remarked Brandes, “you want to be +careful when we go downstairs that the old guy don’t +spot us for sporting men. He’s a minister, or something.”</p> +<p>Stull lifted his dripping face of a circus clown from +the basin.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p> +<p>“I say we don’t want to give the old people a shock. +You know what they’d think of us.”</p> +<p>“What do I care what they think?”</p> +<p>“Can’t you be polite?”</p> +<p>“I can be better than that; I can be honest,” said +Stull, drying his sour visage with a flimsy towel.</p> +<p>After Brandes had tied his polka-dotted tie carefully +before the blurred mirror:</p> +<p>“What do you mean by that?” he asked stolidly.</p> +<p>“Ah—I know what I mean, Eddie. So do you. +You’re a smooth talker, all right. You can listen and +look wise, too, when there’s anything in it for you. +Just see the way you got Stein to put up good money +for you! And all you done was to listen to him and +keep your mouth shut.”</p> +<p>Brandes rose with an air almost jocular and smote +Stull upon the back.</p> +<p>“Stein thinks he’s the greatest manager on earth. +Let him tell you so if you want anything out of him,” +he said, walking to the window.</p> +<p>The volleys of rain splashing on the panes obscured +the outlook; Brandes flattened his nose against the +glass and stood as though lost in thought.</p> +<p>Behind him Stull dried his features, rummaged in the +suitcase, produced a bathrobe and slippers, put them +on, and stretched himself out on the bed.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you coming down to buzz the preacher?” +demanded Brandes, turning from the drenched window.</p> +<p>“So you can talk phony to the little kid? No.”</p> +<p>“Ah, get it out of your head that I mean phony.”</p> +<p>“Well, what do you mean?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>Stull gave him a contemptuous glance and turned +over on the pillow. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></p> +<p>“Are you coming down?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>So Brandes took another survey of himself in the +glass, used his comb and brushes again, added a studied +twist to his tie, shot his cuffs, and walked out of the +room with the solid deliberation which characterised +his carriage at all times.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_THE_END_OF_SOLITUDE' id='CHAPTER_VI_THE_END_OF_SOLITUDE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>THE END OF SOLITUDE</h3> +</div> +<p>A rain-washed world, smelling sweet as a wet rose, +a cloudless sky delicately blue, and a swollen stream +tumbling and foaming under the bridge—of these Mr. +Eddie Brandes was agreeably conscious as he stepped +out on the verandah after breakfast, and, unclasping a +large gold cigar case, inserted a cigar between his teeth.</p> +<p>He always had the appearance of having just come +out of a Broadway barber shop with the visible traces +of shave, shampoo, massage, and manicure patent upon +his person.</p> +<p>His short, square figure was clothed in well-cut blue +serge; a smart straw hat embellished his head, polished +russet shoes his remarkably small feet. On his small +fat fingers several heavy rings were conspicuous. And +the odour of cologne exhaled from and subtly pervaded +the ensemble.</p> +<p>Across the road, hub-deep in wet grass and weeds, +he could see his wrecked runabout, glistening with raindrops.</p> +<p>He stood for a while on the verandah, both hands +shoved deep into his pockets, his cigar screwed into his +cheek. From time to time he jingled keys and loose +coins in his pockets. Finally he sauntered down the +steps and across the wet road to inspect the machine at +closer view.</p> +<p>Contemplating it tranquilly, head on one side and +his left eye closed to avoid the drifting cigar smoke, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +he presently became aware of a girl in a pink print +dress leaning over the grey parapet of the bridge. And, +picking his way among the puddles, he went toward +her.</p> +<p>“Good morning, Miss Carew,” he said, taking off his +straw hat.</p> +<p>She turned her head over her shoulder; the early +sun glistened on his shiny, carefully parted hair and +lingered in glory on a diamond scarf pin.</p> +<p>“Good morning,” she said, a little uncertainly, for +the memory of their first meeting on the bridge had not +entirely been forgotten.</p> +<p>“You had breakfast early,” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He kept his hat off; such little courtesies have their +effect; also it was good for his hair which, he feared, +had become a trifle thinner recently.</p> +<p>“It is beautiful weather,” said Mr. Brandes, squinting +at her through his cigar smoke.</p> +<p>“Yes.” She looked down into the tumbling water.</p> +<p>“This is a beautiful country, isn’t it, Miss Carew?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>With his head a little on one side he inspected her. +There was only the fine curve of her cheek visible, and +a white neck under the chestnut hair; and one slim, +tanned hand resting on the stone parapet.</p> +<p>“Do you like motoring?” he asked.</p> +<p>She looked up:</p> +<p>“Yes.... I have only been out a few times.”</p> +<p>“I’ll have another car up here in a few days. I’d like +to take you out.”</p> +<p>She was silent.</p> +<p>“Ever go to Saratoga?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“No.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<p>“I’ll take you to the races—with your mother. +Would you like to go?”</p> +<p>She remained silent so long that he became a trifle +uneasy.</p> +<p>“With your mother,” he repeated, moving so he could +see a little more of her face.</p> +<p>“I don’t think mother would go,” she said.</p> +<p>“Would she let you go?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing wrong with racing,” he said, “if +you don’t bet money on the horses.”</p> +<p>But Rue knew nothing about sport, and her ignorance +as well as the suggested combination of Saratoga, +automobile, and horse racing left her silent again.</p> +<p>Brandes sat down on the parapet of the bridge and +held his straw hat on his fat knees.</p> +<p>“Then we’ll make it a family party,” he said, “your +father and mother and you, shall we? And we’ll just +go off for the day.”</p> +<p>“Thank you.”</p> +<p>“Would you like it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Will you go?”</p> +<p>“I—work in the mill.”</p> +<p>“Every day?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“How about Sunday?”</p> +<p>“We go to church.... I don’t know.... Perhaps +we might go in the afternoon.”</p> +<p>“I’ll ask your father,” he said, watching the delicately +flushed face with odd, almost sluggish persistency.</p> +<p>His grey-green eyes seemed hypnotised; he appeared +unable to turn them elsewhere; and she, gradually +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +becoming conscious of his scrutiny, kept her own +eyes averted.</p> +<p>“What were you looking at in the water?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I was looking for our boat. It isn’t there. I’m +afraid it has gone over the dam.”</p> +<p>“I’ll help you search for it,” he said, “when I come +back from the village. I’m going to walk over and find +somebody who’ll cart that runabout to the railroad +station.... You’re not going that way, are you?” he +added, rising.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Then––” he lifted his hat high and put it on with +care—“until a little later, Miss Carew.... And I +want to apologise for speaking so familiarly to you +yesterday. I’m sorry. It’s a way we get into in New +York. Broadway isn’t good for a man’s manners.... +Will you forgive me, Miss Carew?”</p> +<p>Embarrassment kept her silent; she nodded her head, +and finally turned and looked at him. His smile was +agreeable.</p> +<p>She smiled faintly, too, and rose.</p> +<p>“Until later, then,” he said. “This is the Gayfield +road, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>She turned and walked toward the house; and as +though he could not help himself he walked beside her, +his hat in his hand once more.</p> +<p>“I like this place,” he said. “I wonder if there is a +hotel in Gayfield.”</p> +<p>“The Gayfield House.”</p> +<p>“Is it <i>very</i> bad?” he asked jocosely.</p> +<p>She seemed surprised. It was considered good, she +thought.</p> +<p>With a slight, silent nod of dismissal she crossed the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +road and went into the house, leaving him standing +beside his wrecked machine once more, looking after +her out of sluggish eyes.</p> +<p>Presently, from the house, emerged Stull, his pasty +face startling in its pallor under the cloudless sky, and +walked slowly over to Brandes.</p> +<p>“Well, Ben,” said the latter pleasantly, “I’m going +to Gayfield to telegraph for another car.”</p> +<p>“How soon can they get one up?” inquired Stull, inserting +a large cigar into his slitted mouth and lighting +it.</p> +<p>“Oh, in a couple of days, I guess. I don’t know. +I don’t care much, either.”</p> +<p>“We can go on to Saratoga by train,” suggested +Stull complacently.</p> +<p>“We can stay here, too.”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>Brandes said in his tight-lipped, even voice:</p> +<p>“The fishing’s good. I guess I’ll try it.” He continued +to contemplate the machine, but Stull’s black +eyes were turned on him intently.</p> +<p>“How about the races?” he asked. “Do we go or +not?”</p> +<p>“Certainly.”</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“When they send us a car to go in.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t the train good enough?”</p> +<p>“The fishing here is better.”</p> +<p>Stull’s pasty visage turned sourer:</p> +<p>“Do you mean we lose a couple of days in this God-forsaken +dump because you’d rather go to Saratoga +in a runabout than in a train?”</p> +<p>“I tell you I’m going to stick around for a while.”</p> +<p>“For how long?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. When we get our car we can talk +it over and––”</p> +<p>“Ah,” ejaculated Stull in disgust, “what the hell’s +the matter with you? Is it that little skirt you was +buzzing out here like you never seen one before?”</p> +<p>“How did you guess, Ben?” returned Brandes with +the almost expressionless jocularity that characterised +him at times.</p> +<p>“<i>That</i> little red-headed, spindling, freckled, milk-fed +mill-hand––”</p> +<p>“Funny, ain’t it? But there’s no telling what will +catch the tired business man, is there, Ben?”</p> +<p>“Well, what does catch him?” demanded Stull angrily. +“What’s the answer?”</p> +<p>“I guess she’s the answer, Ben.”</p> +<p>“Ah, leave the kid alone––”</p> +<p>“I’m going to have the car sent up here. I’m going +to take her out. Go on to Saratoga if you want to. +I’ll meet you there––”</p> +<p>“When?”</p> +<p>“When I’m ready,” replied Brandes evenly. But he +smiled.</p> +<p>Stull looked at him, and his white face, soured by +dyspepsia, became sullen with wrath. At such times, +too, his grammar suffered from indigestion.</p> +<p>“Say, Eddie,” he began, “can’t no one learn you +nothin’ at all? How many times would you have been +better off if you’d listened to me? Every time you +throw me you hand yourself one. Now that you got a +little money again and a little backing, don’t do anything +like <i>that</i>––”</p> +<p>“Like what?”</p> +<p>“Like chasin’ dames! Don’t act foolish like you done +in Chicago last summer! You wouldn’t listen to me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +then, would you? And that Denver business, too! +Say, look at all the foolish things you done against all +I could say to save you—like backing that cowboy plug +against Battling Jensen!—Like taking that big hunk o’ +beef, Walstein, to San Antonio, where Kid O’Rourke +put him out in the first! And everybody’s laughing at +you yet! Ah––” he exclaimed angrily, “somebody +tell me why I don’t quit you, you big dill pickle! I +wish someone would tell me why I stand for you, because +I don’t know.... And look what you’re doing now; +you got some money of your own and plenty of syndicate +money to put on the races and a big comish! You +got a good theayter in town with Morris Stein to back +you and everything—and look what you’re doing!” he +ended bitterly.</p> +<p>Brandes tightened his dental grip on his cigar and +squinted at him good-humouredly.</p> +<p>“Say, Ben,” he said, “would you believe it if I told +you I’m stuck on her?”</p> +<p>“Ah, you’d fall for anything. I never seen a skirt +you wouldn’t chase.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean that kind.”</p> +<p>“What kind, then?”</p> +<p>“This is on the level, Ben.”</p> +<p>“What! Ah, go on! <i>You</i> on the level?”</p> +<p>“All the same, I am.”</p> +<p>“You can’t be on the level! You don’t know how.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“You got a wife, and you know damn well you have.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and she’s getting her divorce.”</p> +<p>Stull regarded him with habitual and sullen distrust.</p> +<p>“She hasn’t got it yet.”</p> +<p>“She’ll get it. Don’t worry.”</p> +<p>“I thought you was for fighting it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></p> +<p>“I was going to fight it; but––” His slow, narrow, +greenish eyes stole toward the house across the road.</p> +<p>“Just like that,” he said, after a slight pause; “that’s +the way the little girl hit me. I’m on the level, Ben. +First skirt I ever saw that I wanted to find waiting +dinner for me when I come home. Get me?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know whether I do or not.”</p> +<p>“Get this, then; she isn’t all over paint; she’s got +freckles, thank God, and she smells sweet as a daisy +field. Ah, what the hell––” he burst out between his +parted teeth “—when every woman in New York smells +like a chorus girl! Don’t I get it all day? The whole +city stinks like a star’s dressing room. And I married +one! And I’m through. I want to get my breath and +I’m getting it.”</p> +<p>Stull’s white features betrayed merely the morbid +suffering of indigestion; he said nothing and sucked +his cigar.</p> +<p>“I’m through,” repeated Brandes. “I want a home +and a wife—the kind that even a fly cop won’t pinch +on sight—the kind of little thing that’s over there in +that old shack. Whatever I am, I don’t want a wife +like me—nor kids, either.”</p> +<p>Stull remained sullenly unresponsive.</p> +<p>“Call her a hick if you like. All right, I want that +kind.”</p> +<p>No comment from Stull, who was looking at the +wrecked car.</p> +<p>“Understand, Ben?”</p> +<p>“I tell you I don’t know whether I do or not!”</p> +<p>“Well, what don’t you understand?”</p> +<p>“Nothin’.... Well, then, your falling for a kid +like that, first crack out o’ the box. I’m honest; I +don’t understand it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></p> +<p>“She hit me that way—so help me God!”</p> +<p>“And you’re on the level?”</p> +<p>“Absolutely, Ben.”</p> +<p>“What about the old guy and the mother? Take ’em +to live with you?”</p> +<p>“If she wants ’em.”</p> +<p>Stull stared at him in uneasy astonishment:</p> +<p>“All right, Eddie. Only don’t act foolish till Minna +passes you up. And get out of here or you will. If +you’re on the level, as you say you are, you’ve got to +mark time for a good long while yet––”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“You don’t have to ask me that, do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do. Why? I want to marry her, I tell you. +I mean to. I’m taking no chances that some hick +will do it while I’m away. I’m going to stay right +here.”</p> +<p>“And when the new car comes?”</p> +<p>“I’ll keep her humming between here and Saratoga.”</p> +<p>“And then what?”</p> +<p>Brandes’ greenish eyes rested on the car and he +smoked in silence for a while. Then:</p> +<p>“Listen, Ben. I’m a busy man. I got to be back in +town and I got to have a wedding trip too. You know +me, Ben. You know what I mean. That’s me. When +I do a thing I do it. Maybe I make plenty of mistakes. +Hell! I’d rather make ’em than sit pat and do +nothing!”</p> +<p>“You’re crazy.”</p> +<p>“Don’t bet on it, Ben. I know what I want. I’m +going to make money. Things are going big with +me––”</p> +<p>“You tinhorn! You always say that!”</p> +<p>“Watch me. I bet you I make a killing at Saratoga! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +I bet you I make good with Morris Stein! I bet you +the first show I put on goes big! I bet––”</p> +<p>“Ah, can it!”</p> +<p>“Wait! I bet you I marry that little girl in two +weeks and she stands for it when I tell her later we’d +better get married again!”</p> +<p>“Say! Talk sense!”</p> +<p>“I am.”</p> +<p>“What’ll they do to you if your wife makes a holler?”</p> +<p>“Who ever heard of her or me in the East?”</p> +<p>“You want to take a chance like that?”</p> +<p>“I’ll fix it. I haven’t got time to wait for Minna +to shake me loose. Besides, she’s in Seattle. I’ll fix it +so she doesn’t hear until she gets her freedom. I’ll get +a license right here. I guess I’ll use your name––”</p> +<p>“What!” yelled Stull.</p> +<p>“Shut your face!” retorted Brandes. “What do you +think you’re going to do, squeal?”</p> +<p>“You think I’m going to stand for that?”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I won’t use your name. I’ll use my own. +Why not? I mean honest. It’s dead level. I’ll remarry +her. I want her, I tell you. I want a wedding +trip, too, before I go back––”</p> +<p>“With the first rehearsal called for September fifteenth! +What’s the matter with you? Do you think +Stein is going to stand for––”</p> +<p>“<i>You’ll</i> be on hand,” said Brandes pleasantly. “I’m +going to Paris for four weeks—two weeks there, two +on the ocean––”</p> +<p>“You––”</p> +<p>“Save your voice, Ben. That’s settled.”</p> +<p>Stull turned upon him a dead white visage distorted +with fury:</p> +<p>“I hope she throws you out!” he said breathlessly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +“You talk about being on the level! Every level’s +crooked with you. You don’t know what square means; +a square has got more than four corners for you! Go +on! Stick around. I don’t give a damn what you do. +Go on and do it. But I quit right here.”</p> +<p>Both knew that the threat was empty. As a shadow +clings to a man’s heels, as a lost soul haunts its slayer, +as damnation stalks the damned, so had Stull followed +Brandes; and would follow to the end. Why? Neither +knew. It seemed to be their destiny, surviving everything—their +bitter quarrels, the injustice and tyranny +of Brandes, his contempt and ridicule sometimes—enduring +through adversity, even penury, through good +and bad days, through abundance and through want, +through shame and disgrace, through trickery, treachery, +and triumph—nothing had ever broken the occult +bond which linked these two. And neither understood +why, but both seemed to be vaguely conscious that +neither was entirely complete without the other.</p> +<p>“Ben,” said Brandes affably, “I’m going to walk +over to Gayfield. Want to come?”</p> +<p>They went off, together.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_OBSESSION' id='CHAPTER_VII_OBSESSION'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>OBSESSION</h3> +</div> +<p>By the end of the week Brandes had done much to +efface any unpleasant impression he had made on Ruhannah +Carew.</p> +<p>The girl had never before had to do with any mature +man. She was therefore at a disadvantage in every +way, and her total lack of experience emphasised the +odds.</p> +<p>Nobody had ever before pointedly preferred her, +paid her undivided attention; no man had ever sought +her, conversed with her, deferred to her, interested himself +in her. It was entirely new to her, this attention +which Brandes paid her. Nor could she make any comparisons +between this man and other men, because she +knew no other men. He was an entirely novel experience +to her; he had made himself interesting, had +proved amusing, considerate, kind, generous, and apparently +interested in what interested her. And if his +unfeigned preference for her society disturbed and perplexed +her, his assiduous civilities toward her father +and mother were gradually winning from her far more +than anything he had done for her.</p> +<p>His white-faced, odd little friend had gone; he himself +had taken quarters at the Gayfield House, where a +car like the wrecked one was stabled for his use.</p> +<p>He had already taken her father and mother and +herself everywhere within motoring distance; he had +accompanied them to church; he escorted her to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +movies; he walked with her in the August evenings after +supper, rowed her about on the pond, fished from the +bridge, told her strange stories in the moonlight on the +verandah, her father and mother interested and attentive.</p> +<p>For the career of Mr. Eddie Brandes was capable of +furnishing material for interesting stories if carefully +edited, and related with discretion and circumspection. +He had been many things to many men—and to several +women—he had been a tinhorn gambler in the Southwest, +a miner in Alaska, a saloon keeper in Wyoming, a +fight promoter in Arizona. He had travelled profitably +on popular ocean liners until requested to desist; +Auteuil, Neuilly, Vincennes, and Longchamps knew him +as tout, bookie, and, when fitfully prosperous, as a +plunger. Epsom knew him once as a welcher; and +knew him no more.</p> +<p>He had taken a comic opera company through the +wheat-belt—one way; he had led a burlesque troupe into +Arizona and had traded it there for a hotel.</p> +<p>“When Eddie <i>wants</i> to talk,” Stull used to say, “that +smoke, <i>Othello</i>, hasn’t got nothing on him.”</p> +<p>However, Brandes seldom chose to talk. This was +one of his rare garrulous occasions; and, with careful +self-censorship, he was making an endless series of wonder-tales +out of the episodes and <i>faits divers</i> common +to the experience of such as he.</p> +<p>So, of moving accidents by flood and field this man +had a store, and he contrived to make them artistically +innocuous and perfectly fit for family consumption.</p> +<p>Further, two of his friends motored over from Saratoga +to see him, were brought to supper at the Carews’; +and they gave him a clean bill of moral health. They +were, respectively, “Doc” Curfoot—suave haunter of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +Peacock Alley and gentleman “capper”—whom Brandes +introduced as the celebrated specialist, Doctor Elbert +Curfoot—and Captain Harman Quint, partner in +“Quint’s” celebrated temple of chance—introduced as +the distinguished navigating officer which he appeared +to be. The steering for their common craft, however, +was the duty of the eminent Doc.</p> +<p>They spent the evening on the verandah with the +family; and it was quite wonderful what a fine fellow +each turned out to be—information confidentially +imparted to the Reverend Mr. Carew by each of the +three distinguished gentlemen in turn.</p> +<p>Doc Curfoot, whose business included the ability to +talk convincingly on any topic, took the Reverend Mr. +Carew’s measure and chose literature; and his suave +critique presently became an interesting monologue +listened to in silence by those around him.</p> +<p>Brandes had said, “Put me in right, Doc,” and Doc +was accomplishing it, partly to oblige Brandes, partly +for practice. His agreeable voice so nicely pitched, so +delightfully persuasive, recapitulating all the commonplaces +and cant phrases concerning the literature of +the day, penetrated gratefully the intellectual isolation +of these humble gentlepeople, and won very easily their +innocent esteem. With the Reverend Mr. Carew Doc +discussed such topics as the influence on fiction of the +ethical ideal. With Mrs. Carew Captain Quint exchanged +reminiscences of travel on distant seas. +Brandes attempted to maintain low-voiced conversation +with Rue, who responded in diffident monosyllables to +his advances.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Brandes walked down to their car with them after +they had taken their leave. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>“What’s the idea, Eddie?” inquired Doc Curfoot, +pausing before the smart little speeder.</p> +<p>“It’s straight.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Doc, softly, betraying no surprise—about +the only thing he never betrayed. “Anything in it for +you, Eddie?”</p> +<p>“Yes. A good girl. The kind you read about. Isn’t +that enough?”</p> +<p>“Minna chucked you?” inquired Captain Quint.</p> +<p>“She’ll get her decree in two or three months. Then +I’ll have a home. And everything that you and I are +keeps out of that home, Cap. See?”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said Quint. “Quite right, Eddie.”</p> +<p>Doc Curfoot climbed in and took the wheel; Quint +followed him.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said in his pleasant, guarded voice, “watch +out that Minna don’t double-cross you, Eddie.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“—Or shoot you up. She’s some <i>schutzen-fest</i>, you +know, when she turns loose––”</p> +<p>“Ah, I tell you she <i>wants</i> the divorce. Abe Grittlefeld’s +crazy about her. He’ll get Abe Gordon to star +her on Broadway; and that’s enough for her. Besides, +she’ll marry Maxy Venem when she can afford to keep +him.”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> never understood Minna Minti.”</p> +<p>“Well, who ever understood any German?” demanded +Brandes. “She’s one of those sour-blooded, silent +Dutch women that make me ache.”</p> +<p>Doc pushed the self-starter; there came a click, a +low humming. Brandes’ face cleared and he held out +his square-shaped hand:</p> +<p>“You fellows,” he said, “have put me right with the +old folks here. I’ll do the same for you some day. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +Don’t talk about this little girl and me, that’s +all.”</p> +<p>“All the same,” repeated Doc, “don’t take any +chances with Minna. She’s on to you, and she’s got a +rotten Dutch disposition.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, Doc. And say, Harman,”—to Quint—“tell +Ben he’s doing fine. Tell him to send me what’s +mine, because I’ll want it very soon now. I’m going +to take a month off and then I’m going to show Stein +how a theatre can be run.”</p> +<p>“Eddie,” said Quint, “it’s a good thing to think big, +but it’s a damn poor thing to talk big. Cut out the +talk and you’ll be a big man some day.”</p> +<p>The graceful car moved forward into the moonlight; +his two friends waved an airy adieu; and Brandes went +slowly back to the dark verandah where sat a young +girl, pitifully immature in mind and body—and two +old people little less innocent for all their experience in +the ranks of Christ, for all the wounds that scarred +them both in the over-sea service which had broken them +forever.</p> +<p>“A very handsome and distinguished gentleman, your +friend Dr. Curfoot,” said the Reverend Mr. Carew. “I +imagine his practice in New York is not only fashionable +but extensive.”</p> +<p>“Both,” said Brandes.</p> +<p>“I assume so. He seems to be intimately acquainted +with people whose names for generations have figured +prominently in the social columns of the New York +press.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, Curfoot and Quint know them all.”</p> +<p>Which was true enough. They had to. One must +know people from whom one accepts promissory notes +to liquidate those little affairs peculiar to the temple +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +of chance. And New York’s best furnished the neophytes +for these rites.</p> +<p>“I thought Captain Quint very interesting,” ventured +Ruhannah. “He seems to have sailed over the +entire globe.”</p> +<p>“Naval men are always delightful,” said her mother. +And, laying her hand on her husband’s arm in the dark: +“Do you remember, Wilbour, how kind the officers from +the cruiser <i>Oneida</i> were when the rescue party took us +aboard?”</p> +<p>“God sent the <i>Oneida</i> to us,” said her husband +dreamily. “I thought it was the end of the world for +us—for you and me and baby Rue—that dreadful +flight from the mission to the sea.”</p> +<p>His bony fingers tightened over his wife’s toilworn +hand. In the long grass along the creek fireflies +sparkled, and their elfin lanterns, waning, glowing, +drifted high in the calm August night.</p> +<p>The Reverend Mr. Carew gathered his crutches; the +night was a trifle damp for him; besides, he desired to +read. Brandes, as always, rose to aid him. His wife +followed.</p> +<p>“Don’t stay out long, Rue,” she said in the doorway.</p> +<p>“No, mother.”</p> +<p>Brandes came back. Departing from his custom, he +did not light a cigar, but sat in silence, his narrow eyes +trying to see Ruhannah in the darkness. But she was +only a delicate shadow shape to him, scarcely detached +from the darkness that enveloped her.</p> +<p>He meant to speak to her then. And suddenly found +he could not, realised, all at once, that he lacked the +courage.</p> +<p>This was the more amazing and disturbing to him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +because he could not remember the time or occasion +when the knack of fluent speech had ever failed +him.</p> +<p>He had never foreseen such a situation; it had never +occurred to him that he would find the slightest difficulty +in saying easily and gracefully what he had determined +to say to this young girl.</p> +<p>Now he sat there silent, disturbed, nervous, and +tongue-tied. At first he did not quite comprehend what +was making him afraid. After a long while he understood +that it was some sort of fear of her—fear of her +refusal, fear of losing her, fear that she might have—in +some occult way—divined what he really was, that +she might have heard things concerning him, his wife, +his career. The idea turned him cold.</p> +<p>And all at once he realised how terribly in earnest +he had become; how deeply involved; how vital this +young girl had become to him.</p> +<p>Never before had he really wanted anything as compared +to this desire of his for her. He was understanding, +too, in a confused way, that such a girl and such +a home for him as she could make was going not only +to give him the happiness he expected, but that it also +meant betterment for himself—straighter living, perhaps +straighter thinking—the birth of something resembling +self-respect, perhaps even aspiration—or at +least the aspiration toward that respect from others +which honest living dare demand.</p> +<p>He wanted her; he wanted her now; he wanted to +marry her whether or not he had the legal right; he +wanted to go away for a month with her, and then return +and work for her, for them both—build up a fortune +and a good reputation with Stein’s backing and +Stein’s theatre—stand well with honest men, stand well +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +with himself, stand always, with her, for everything a +man should be.</p> +<p>If she loved him she would forgive him and quietly +remarry him as soon as Minna kicked him loose. He +was confident he could make her happy, make her love +him if once he could find courage to speak—if once he +could win her. And suddenly the only possible way to +go about it occurred to him.</p> +<p>His voice was a trifle husky and unsteady from the +nervous tension when he at last broke the silence:</p> +<p>“Miss Rue,” he said, “I have a word to say to your +father and mother. Would you wait here until I come +back?”</p> +<p>“I think I had better go in, too––”</p> +<p>“Please don’t.”</p> +<p>“Why?” She stopped short, instinctively, but not +surmising.</p> +<p>“You will wait, then?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I was going in.... But I’ll sit here a little while.”</p> +<p>He rose and went in, rather blindly.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Ruhannah, dreaming there deep in her splint armchair, +slim feet crossed, watched the fireflies sailing over +the alders. Sometimes she thought of Brandes, pleasantly, +sometimes of other matters. Once the memory +of her drive home through the wintry moonlight with +young Neeland occurred to her, and the reminiscence +was vaguely agreeable.</p> +<p>Listless, a trifle sleepy, dreamily watching the fireflies, +the ceaseless noise of the creek in her ears, inconsequential +thoughts flitted through her brain—the vague, aimless, +guiltless thoughts of a young and unstained +mind.</p> +<p>She was nearly asleep when Brandes came back, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +she looked up at him where he stood beside her porch +chair in the darkness.</p> +<p>“Miss Rue,” he said, “I have told your father and +mother that I am in love with you and want to make +you my wife.”</p> +<p>The girl lay there speechless, astounded.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_A_CHANGE_IMPENDS' id='CHAPTER_VIII_A_CHANGE_IMPENDS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>A CHANGE IMPENDS</h3> +</div> +<p>The racing season at Saratoga drew toward its close, +and Brandes had appeared there only twice in person, +both times with a very young girl.</p> +<p>“If you got to bring her here to the races, can’t you +get her some clothes?” whispered Stull in his ear. “That +get-up of hers is something fierce.”</p> +<p>Late hours, hot weather, indiscreet nourishment, and +the feverish anxiety incident to betting other people’s +money had told on Stull. His eyes were like two smears +of charcoal on his pasty face; sourly he went about the +business which Brandes should have attended to, nursing +resentment—although he was doing better than +Brandes had hoped to do.</p> +<p>Their joint commission from his winnings began to +assume considerable proportions; at track and club and +hotel people were beginning to turn and stare when the +little man with the face of a sick circus clown appeared, +always alone, greeting with pallid indifference +his acquaintances, ignoring overtures, noticing neither +sport, nor fashion, nor political importance, nor yet +the fair and frail whose curiosity and envy he was gradually +arousing.</p> +<p>Obsequiousness from club, hotel, and racing officials +made no impression on him; he went about his business +alone, sullen, preoccupied, deathly pale, asking no information, +requesting no favours, conferring with nobody, +doing no whispering and enduring none. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></p> +<p>After a little study of that white, sardonic, impossible +face, people who would have been glad to make use +of him became discouraged. And those who first had +recognised him in Saratoga found, at the end of the +racing month, nothing to add to their general identification +of him as “Ben Stull, partner of Eddie Brandes—Western +sports.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Stull, whispering in Brandes’ ear again, where he sat +beside him in the grand stand, added to his earlier comment +on Ruhannah’s appearance:</p> +<p>“Why don’t you fix her up, Eddie? It looks like you +been robbing a country school.”</p> +<p>Brandes’ slow, greenish eyes marked sleepily the distant +dust, where Mr. Sanford’s Nick Stoner was leading +a brilliant field, steadily overhauling the favourite, +Deborah Glenn.</p> +<p>“When the time comes for me to fix her up,” he said +between thin lips which scarcely moved, “she’ll look +like Washington Square in May—not like Fifth Avenue +and Broadway.”</p> +<p>Nick Stoner continued to lead. Stull’s eyes resembled +two holes burnt in a sheet; Brandes yawned. +They were plunging the limit on the Sanford favourite.</p> +<p>As for Ruhannah, she sat with slender gloved hands +tightly clasped, lips parted, intent, fascinated with the +sunlit beauty of the scene.</p> +<p>Brandes looked at her, and his heavy, expressionless +features altered subtly:</p> +<p>“Some running!” he said.</p> +<p>A breathless nod was her response. All around them +repressed excitement was breaking out; men stood up +and shouted; women rose, and the club house seemed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +suddenly to blossom like a magic garden of wind-tossed +flowers.</p> +<p>Through the increasing cheering Stull looked on +without a sign of emotion, although affluence or ruin, in +the Sanford colours, sat astride the golden roan.</p> +<p>Suddenly Ruhannah stood up, one hand pressed to +the ill-fitting blue serge over her wildly beating heart. +Brandes rose beside her. Not a muscle in his features +moved.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Gawd!” whispered Stull in his ear, as they were +leaving.</p> +<p>“Some killing, Ben!” nodded Brandes in his low, deliberate +voice. His heavy, round face was deeply +flushed; Fortune, the noisy wanton, had flung both +arms around his neck. But his slow eyes were continually +turned on the slim young girl whom he was teaching +to walk beside him without taking his arm.</p> +<p>“Ain’t she on to us?” Stull had enquired. And +Brandes’ reply was correct; Ruhannah never dreamed +that it made a penny’s difference to Brandes whether +Nick Stoner won or whether it was Deborah Glenn +which the wild-voiced throng saluted.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They did not remain in Saratoga for dinner. They +took Stull back to his hotel on the rumble of the runabout, +Brandes remarking that he thought he should +need a chauffeur before long and suggesting that Stull +look about Saratoga for a likely one.</p> +<p>Halted in the crush before the United States Hotel, +Stull decided to descend there. Several men in the +passing crowds bowed to Brandes; one, Norton Smawley, +known to the fraternity as “Parson” Smawley, +came out to the curb to shake hands. Brandes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +introduced him to Rue as “Parson” Smawley—whether with +some sinister future purpose already beginning to take +shape in his round, heavy head, or whether a perverted +sense of humour prompted him to give Rue the idea that +she had been in godly company, it is difficult to determine.</p> +<p>He added that Miss Carew was the daughter of a +clergyman and a missionary. And the Parson took his +cue. At any rate Rue, leaning from her seat, listened +to the persuasive and finely modulated voice of Parson +Smawley with pleasure, and found his sleek, graceful +presence and courtly manners most agreeable. There +were no such persons in Gayfield.</p> +<p>She hoped, shyly, that if he were in Gayfield he would +call on her father. Once in a very long while clergymen +called on her father, and their rare visits remained +a pleasure to the lonely invalid for months.</p> +<p>The Parson promised to call, very gravely. It would +not have embarrassed him to do so; it was his business +in life to have a sufficient knowledge of every man’s business +to enable him to converse convincingly with anybody.</p> +<p>He took polished leave of her; took leave of Brandes +with the faintest flutter of one eyelid, as though he understood +Brandes’ game. Which he did not; nor did +Brandes himself, entirely.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They had thirty miles to go in the runabout. So +they would not remain to dinner. Besides, Brandes did +not care to make himself conspicuous in public just +then. Too many people knew more or less about him—the +sort of people who might possibly be in communication +with his wife. There was no use slapping chance +in the face. Two quiet visits to the races with Ruhannah +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +was enough for the present. Even those two visits +were scarcely discreet. It was time to go.</p> +<p>Stull and Brandes stood consulting together beside +the runabout; Rue sat in the machine watching the +press of carriages and automobiles on Broadway, and +the thronged sidewalks along which brilliant, animated +crowds were pouring.</p> +<p>“I’m not coming again, Ben,” said Brandes, dropping +his voice. “No use to hunt the limelight just now. +You can’t tell what some of these people might do. I’ll +take no chances that some fresh guy might try to start +something.”</p> +<p>“Stir up Minna?” Stull’s lips merely formed the +question, and his eyes watched Ruhannah.</p> +<p>“They couldn’t. What would she care? All the +same, I play safe, Ben. Well, be good. Better send me +mine on pay day. I’ll need it.”</p> +<p>Stull’s face grew sourer:</p> +<p>“Can’t you wait till she gets her decree?”</p> +<p>“And lose a month off? No.”</p> +<p>“It’s all coming your way, Eddie. Stay wise and +play safe. Don’t start anything now––”</p> +<p>“It’s safe. If I don’t take September off I wait a +year for my—honeymoon. And I won’t. See?”</p> +<p>They both looked cautiously at Ruhannah, who sat +motionless, absorbed in the turmoil of vehicles and +people.</p> +<p>Brandes’ face slowly reddened; he dropped one hand +on Stull’s shoulder and said, between thin lips that +scarcely moved:</p> +<p>“She’s all I’m interested in. You don’t think much +of her, Ben. She isn’t painted. She isn’t dolled up the +way you like ’em. But there isn’t anything else that +matters very much to me. All I want in the world is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +sitting in that runabout, looking out of her kid eyes at +a thousand or two people who ain’t worth the pair of +run-down shoes she’s wearing.”</p> +<p>But Stull’s expression remained sardonic and unconvinced.</p> +<p>So Brandes got into his car and took the wheel; and +Stull watched them threading a tortuous path through +the traffic tangle of Broadway.</p> +<p>They sped past the great hotels, along crowded +sidewalks, along the park, and out into an endless +stretch of highway where hundreds of other cars were +travelling in the same direction.</p> +<p>“Did you have a good time?” he inquired, shifting +his cigar and keeping his narrow eyes on the road.</p> +<p>“Yes; it was beautiful—exciting.”</p> +<p>“Some horse, Nick Stoner! Some race, eh?”</p> +<p>“I was so excited—with everybody standing up and +shouting. And such beautiful horses—and such pretty +women in their wonderful dresses! I—I never knew +there were such things.”</p> +<p>He swung the car, sent it rushing past a lumbering +limousine, slowed a little, gripped his cigar between his +teeth, and watched the road, both hands on the wheel.</p> +<p>Yes, things were coming his way—coming faster and +faster all the while. He had waited many years for +this—for material fortune—for that chance which +every gambler waits to seize when the psychological second +ticks out. But he never had expected that the +chance was to include a very young girl in a country-made +dress and hat.</p> +<p>As they sped westward the freshening wind from distant +pine woods whipped their cheeks; north, blue hills +and bluer mountains beyond took fairy shape against +the sky; and over all spread the tremendous heavens +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +where fleets of white clouds sailed the uncharted wastes, +and other fleets glimmered beyond the edges of the +world, hull down, on vast horizons.</p> +<p>“I want to make you happy,” said Brandes in his +low, even voice. It was, perhaps, the most honest statement +he had ever uttered.</p> +<p>Ruhannah remained silent, her eyes riveted on the +far horizon.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was a week later, one hot evening, that he telegraphed +to Stull in Saratoga:</p> +<p>“Find me a chauffeur who will be willing to go +abroad. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get him +here.”</p> +<p>The next morning he called up Stull on the telephone +from the drug store in Gayfield:</p> +<p>“Get my wire, Ben?”</p> +<p>“Yes. But I––”</p> +<p>“Wait. Here’s a postscript. I also want Parson +Smawley. I want him to get a car and come over to +the Gayfield House. Tell him I count on him. And +he’s to wear black and a white tie.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But about that chauffeur you want––”</p> +<p>“Don’t argue. Have him here. Have the Parson, +also. Tell him to bring a white tie. Understand?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I understand you, Eddie! You don’t want +anything of me, do you! Go out and get that combination? +Just like that! What’ll I do? Step into the +street and whistle?”</p> +<p>“It’s up to you. Get busy.”</p> +<p>“<i>As</i> usual,” retorted Stull in an acrid voice. “All +the same. I’m telling you there ain’t a chauffeur you’d +have in Saratoga. Who handed you that dope?”</p> +<p>“Try. I need the chauffeur part of the combine, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +anyway. If he won’t go abroad, I’ll leave him in town. Get +a wiggle on, Ben. How’s things?”</p> +<p>“All right. We had War-axe and Lady Johnson. +Some killing, eh? That stable is winning all along. +We’ve got Adriutha and Queen Esther today. The +Ocean Belle skate is scratched. Doc and Cap and me +is thick with the Legislature outfit. We’ll trim ’em tonight. +How are you feeling, Eddie?”</p> +<p>“Never better. I’ll call you up in the morning. +Ding-dong!”</p> +<p>“Wait! Are you really going abroad?” shouted +Stull.</p> +<p>But Brandes had already hung up.</p> +<p>He walked leisurely back to Brookhollow through the +sunshine. He had never been as happy in all his life.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_NONRESISTANCE' id='CHAPTER_IX_NONRESISTANCE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>NONRESISTANCE</h3> +</div> +<p>“Long distance calling you, Mr. Stull. One moment, +please.... Here’s your party,” concluded the operator.</p> +<p>Stull, huddled sleepily on his bed, picked up the transmitter +from the table beside him with a frightful yawn.</p> +<p>“Who is it?” he inquired sourly.</p> +<p>“It’s me—Ben!”</p> +<p>“Say, Eddie, have a heart, will you! I need the +sleep––”</p> +<p>Brandes’ voice was almost jovial:</p> +<p>“Wake up, you poor tout! It’s nearly noon––”</p> +<p>“Well, wasn’t I singing hymns with Doc and Cap +till breakfast time? And believe <i>me</i>, we trimmed the +Senator’s bunch! They’ve got their transportation +back to Albany, and that’s about all––”</p> +<p>“Careful what you say. I’m talking from the Gayfield +House. The Parson got here all right. He’s just +left. He’ll tell you about things. Listen, Ben, the +chauffeur you sent me from Saratoga got here last +evening, too. I went out with him and he drives all +right. Did you look him up?”</p> +<p>“Now, how could I look him up when you gave me +only a day to get him for you?”</p> +<p>“Did he have references?”</p> +<p>“Sure, a wad of them. But I couldn’t verify them.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?”</p> +<p>“I forget his name. You ought to know it by now.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></p> +<p>“How did you get him?”</p> +<p>“Left word at the desk. An hour later he came to +my room with a couple of bums. I told him about the +job. I told him you wanted a chauffeur willing to go +abroad. He said he was all that and then some. So +I sent him on. Anything you don’t fancy about +him?”</p> +<p>“Nothing, I guess. He seems all right. Only I like +to know about a man––”</p> +<p>“How can I find out if you don’t give me time?”</p> +<p>“All right, Ben. I guess he’ll do. By the way, I’m +starting for town in ten minutes.”</p> +<p>“What’s the idea?”</p> +<p>“Ask the Parson. Have you any other news except +that you killed that Albany bunch of grafters?”</p> +<p>“No.... <i>Yes</i>! But it ain’t good news. I was going +to call you soon as I waked up––”</p> +<p>“What’s the trouble?”</p> +<p>“There ain’t any trouble—<i>yet</i>. But a certain party +has showed up here—a very smooth young man whose +business is hunting trouble. Get me?”</p> +<p>After a silence Stull repeated:</p> +<p>“Get me, Eddie?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Listen. A certain slippery party––”</p> +<p>“Who, damn it? Talk out. I’m in a hurry.”</p> +<p>“Very well, then. Maxy Venem is here!”</p> +<p>The name of his wife’s disbarred attorney sent a chill +over Brandes.</p> +<p>“What’s he doing in Saratoga?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“I’m trying to find out. He was to the races yesterday. +He seen Doc. Of course Doc hadn’t laid eyes on +you for a year. Oh, no, indeed! Heard you was somewhere +South, down and out. I don’t guess Maxy was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +fooled none. What we done here in Saratoga is growing +too big to hush up––”</p> +<p>“What <i>we’ve</i> done? Whad’ye mean, <i>we</i>? I told you +to work by yourself quietly, Ben, and keep me out of +it.”</p> +<p>“That’s what I done. Didn’t I circulate the news +that you and me had quit partnership? And even then +you wouldn’t take my advice. Oh, no. You must show +up here at the track with a young lady––”</p> +<p>“How long has Maxy Venem been in Saratoga?” +snapped Brandes.</p> +<p>“He told Doc he just come, but Cap found out he’d +been here a week. All I hope is he didn’t see you with +the Brookhollow party––”</p> +<p>“Do you think he <i>did</i>?”</p> +<p>“Listen, Eddie. Max is a smooth guy––”</p> +<p>“Find out what he knows! Do you hear?”</p> +<p>“Who? Me? Me try to make Maxy Venem talk? +That snake? If he isn’t on to you now, that would be +enough to put him wise. Act like you had sense, Eddie. +Call that <i>other matter</i> off and slide for town––”</p> +<p>“I can’t, Ben.”</p> +<p>“You got to!”</p> +<p>“I <i>can’t</i>, I tell you.”</p> +<p>“You’re nutty in the head! Don’t you suppose that +Max is wise to what I’ve been doing here? And don’t +you suppose he knows damn well that you’re back of +whatever I do? If you ain’t crazy you’ll call that party +off for a while.”</p> +<p>Brandes’ even voice over the telephone sounded a +trifle unnatural, almost hoarse:</p> +<p>“I can’t call it off. <i>It’s done.</i>”</p> +<p>“What’s done?”</p> +<p>“What I told you I was going to do.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p> +<p>“<i>That!</i>”</p> +<p>“The Parson married us.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“Wait! Parson Smawley married us, in church, assisted +by the local dominie. I didn’t count on the +dominie. It was her father’s idea. He butted in.”</p> +<p>“Then is it—is it––?”</p> +<p>“That’s what I’m not sure about. You see, the +Parson did it, but the dominie stuck around. Whether +he got a half nelson on me I don’t know till I ask. Anyway, +I expected to clinch things—later—so it doesn’t +really matter, unless Max Venem means bad. Does +he, do you think?”</p> +<p>“He <i>always</i> does, Eddie.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know. Well, then, I’ll wait for a cable +from you. And if I’ve got to take three months off +in Paris, why I’ve got to—that’s all.”</p> +<p>“Good God! What about Stein? What about the +theaytre?”</p> +<p>“<i>You’ll</i> handle it for the first three months.... +Say, I’ve got to go, now. I think she’s waiting––”</p> +<p>“Who?”</p> +<p>“My—wife.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“Yes. The chauffeur took her back to the house +in the car to put something in her suitcase that she +forgot. I’m waiting for her here at the Gayfield +House. We’re on our way to town. Going to motor +in. Our trunks have gone by rail.”</p> +<p>After a silence, Stull’s voice sounded again, tense, +constrained:</p> +<p>“You better go aboard tonight.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, too.”</p> +<p>“What’s your ship?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>“<i>Lusitania.</i>”</p> +<p>“What’ll I tell Stein?”</p> +<p>“Tell him I’ll be back in a month. You look out for +my end. I’ll be back in time.”</p> +<p>“Will you cable me?”</p> +<p>“Sure. And if you get any later information about +Max today, call me at the Knickerbocker. We’ll dine +there and then go aboard.”</p> +<p>“I get you.... Say, Eddie, I’m that worried! If +this break of yours don’t kill our luck––”</p> +<p>“Don’t you believe it! I’m going to fight for what +I got till someone hands me the count. She’s the first +thing I ever wanted. I’ve got her and I guess I can +keep her.... And listen: there’s nothing like her in +all God’s world!”</p> +<p>“When did you do—it?” demanded Stull, coldly.</p> +<p>“This morning at eleven. I just stepped over here +to the garage. I’m talking to you from the bar. She’s +back by this time and waiting, I guess. So take care +of yourself till I see you.”</p> +<p>“Same to you, Eddie. And be leery of Max. He’s +<i>bad</i>. When they disbar a man like that he’s twice as +dangerous as he was. His ex-partner, Abe Grittlefeld, +is a certain party’s attorney of record. Ask yourself +what you’d be up against if that pair of wolves +get started after you! You know what Max would +do to you if he could. And Minna, too!”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry.”</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> worrying! And you ought to. You know +what you done to Max. Don’t think he ever forgets. +He’ll do you if he can, same as Minna will.”</p> +<p>Brandes’ stolid face lost a little of its sanguine colour, +where he stood in the telephone box behind the +bar of the Gayfield House. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></p> +<p>Yes, he knew well enough what he had once done +to the disbarred lawyer out in Athabasca when he was +handling the Unknown and Venem, the disbarred, was +busy looking out for the Athabasca Blacksmith, furnishing +the corrupt brains for the firm of Venem and Grittlefeld, +and paying steady court to the prettiest girl +in Athabasca, Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>And Brandes’ Unknown had almost killed Max Venem’s +blacksmith; Brandes had taken all Venem’s money, +and then his girl; more than that, he had “made” this +girl, in the theatrical sense of the word; and he had +gambled on her beauty and her voice and had won out +with both.</p> +<p>Then, while still banking her salary to reimburse +himself for his trouble with her, he had tired of her +sufficiently to prove unfaithful to his marriage vows +at every opportunity. And opportunities were many. +Venem had never forgiven him; Ilse Dumont could not +understand treachery; and Venem’s detectives furnished +her with food for thought that presently infuriated her.</p> +<p>And now she was employing Max Venem, once senior +partner in the firm of Venem and Grittlefeld, to guide +her with his legal advice. She wanted Brandes’ ruin, +if that could be accomplished; she wanted her freedom +anyway.</p> +<p>Until he had met Rue Carew he had taken measures +to fight the statutory charges, hoping to involve Venem +and escape alimony. Then he met Ruhannah, and became +willing to pay for his freedom. And he was still +swamped in the vile bog of charges and countercharges, +not yet free from it, not yet on solid ground, when the +eternal gambler in him suggested to him that he take +the chance of marrying this young girl before he was +legally free to do so. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></p> +<p>Why on earth did he want to take such a chance? +He had only a few months to wait. He had never before +really cared for any woman. He loved her—as he +understood love—as much as he was capable of loving. +If in all the world there was anything sacred to him, +it was his sentiment regarding Rue Carew. Yet, he +was tempted to take the chance. Even she could not +escape his ruling passion; at the last analysis, even +she represented to him a gambler’s chance. But in +Brandes there was another streak. He wanted to take +the chance that he could marry her before he had a +right to, and get away with it. But his nerve failed. +And, at the last moment, he had hedged, engaging Parson +Smawley to play the lead instead of an ordained +clergyman.</p> +<p>All these things he now thought of as he stood undecided, +worried, in the telephone booth behind the bar +at the Gayfield House. Twice Stull had spoken, and +had been bidden to wait and to hold the wire.</p> +<p>Finally, shaking off the premonition of coming trouble, +Brandes called again:</p> +<p>“Ben?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m listening.”</p> +<p>“I’ll stay in Paris if there’s trouble.”</p> +<p>“And throw Stein down?”</p> +<p>“What else is there to do?”</p> +<p>“Well, you can wait, can’t you? You don’t seem to +be able to do that any more, but you better learn.”</p> +<p>“All right. What next?”</p> +<p>“Make a quick getaway. <i>Now!</i>”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’m going at once. Keep me posted, Ben. Be +good!”</p> +<p>He hung up and went out to the wide, tree-shaded +street where Ruhannah sat in the runabout +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +awaiting him, and the new chauffeur stood by the car.</p> +<p>He took off his straw hat, pulled a cap and goggles +from his pocket. His man placed the straw hat in the +boot.</p> +<p>“Get what you wanted, Rue?”</p> +<p>“Yes, thank you.”</p> +<p>“Been waiting long?”</p> +<p>“I—don’t think so.”</p> +<p>“All right,” he said cheerily, climbing in beside her. +“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Had a business matter +to settle. Hungry?”</p> +<p>Rue, very still and colourless, said no, with a mechanical +smile. The chauffeur climbed to the rumble.</p> +<p>“I’ll jam her through,” nodded Brandes as the car +moved swiftly westward. “We’ll lunch in Albany on +time.”</p> +<p>Half a mile, and they passed Neeland’s Mills, where +old Dick Neeland stood in his boat out on the pond and +cast a glittering lure for pickerel.</p> +<p>She caught a glimpse of him—his sturdy frame, +white hair, and ruddy visage—and a swift, almost wistful +memory of young Jim Neeland passed through her +mind.</p> +<p>But it was a very confused mind—only the bewildered +mind of a very young girl—and the memory of the boy +flashed into its confusion and out again as rapidly as +the landscape sped away behind the flying car.</p> +<p>Dully she was aware that she was leaving familiar +and beloved things, but could not seem to realise it—childhood, +girlhood, father and mother, Brookhollow, +the mill, Gayfield, her friends, all were vanishing in +the flying dust behind her, dwindling, dissolving into an +infinitely growing distance.</p> +<p>They took the gradual slope of a mile-long hill as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +swallows take the air; houses, barns, woods, orchards, +grain fields, flew by on either side; other cars approaching +passed them like cannon balls; the sunlit, undulating +world flowed glittering away behind; only the stainless +blue ahead confronted them immovably—a vast, magnificent +goal, vague with the mystery of promise.</p> +<p>“On this trip,” said Brandes, “we may only have +time to see the Loove and the palaces and all +like that. Next year we’ll fix it so we can stay in Paris and you +can study art.”</p> +<p>Ruhannah’s lips formed the words, “Thank you.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you learn to call +me Eddie?” he urged.</p> +<p>The girl was silent.</p> +<p>“You’re everything in the world to me, Rue.”</p> +<p>The same little mechanical smile fixed itself on her +lips, and she looked straight ahead of her.</p> +<p>“Haven’t you begun to love me just a little bit, Rue?”</p> +<p>“I like you. You are very kind to us.”</p> +<p>“Don’t your affection seem to grow a little stronger +now?” he urged.</p> +<p>“You are so kind to us,” she repeated gratefully; “I +like you for it.”</p> +<p>The utterly unawakened youth of her had always +alternately fascinated and troubled him. Gambler that +he was, he had once understood that patience is a +gambler’s only stock in trade. But now for the first +time in his career he found himself without it.</p> +<p>“You said,” he insisted, “that you’d love me when +we were married.”</p> +<p>She turned her child’s eyes on him in faint surprise:</p> +<p>“A wife loves her husband always, doesn’t she?”</p> +<p>“Do <i>you</i>?”</p> +<p>“I suppose I shall.... I haven’t been married very +long—long enough to feel as though I am really +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +married. When I begin to realise it I shall understand, of +course, that I love you.”</p> +<p>It was the calm and immature reply of a little girl +playing house. He knew it. He looked at her pure, +perplexed profile of a child and knew that what he had +said was futile—understood that it was meaningless +to her, that it was only confusing a mind already dazed—a +mind of which too much had been expected, too +much demanded.</p> +<p>He leaned over and kissed the cold, almost colourless +cheek; her little mechanical smile came back. Then +they remembered the chauffeur behind them and Brandes +reddened. He was unaccustomed to a man on the +rumble.</p> +<p>“Could I talk to mother on the telephone when we +get to New York?” she asked presently, still painfully +flushed.</p> +<p>“Yes, darling, of course.”</p> +<p>“I just want to hear her voice,” murmured Rue.</p> +<p>“Certainly. We can send her a wireless, too, when +we’re at sea.”</p> +<p>That interested her. She enquired curiously in regard +to wireless telegraphy and other matters concerning +ocean steamers.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In Albany her first wave of loneliness came over her +in the stuffy dining-room of the big, pretentious hotel, +when she found herself seated at a small table alone +with this man whom she seemed, somehow or other, to +have married.</p> +<p>As she did not appear inclined to eat, Brandes began +to search the card for something to tempt her. And, +glancing up presently, saw tears glimmering in her eyes.</p> +<p>For a moment he remained dumb as though stunned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +by some sudden and terrible accusation—for a moment +only. Then, in an unsteady voice:</p> +<p>“Rue, darling. You must not feel lonely and frightened. +I’ll do anything in the world for you. Don’t +you know it?”</p> +<p>She nodded.</p> +<p>“I tell you,” he said in that even, concentrated voice +of his which scarcely moved his narrow lips, “I’m just +crazy about you. You’re my own little wife. You’re +all I care about. If I can’t make you happy somebody +ought to shoot me.”</p> +<p>She tried to smile; her full lips trembled; a single +tear, brimming, fell on the cloth.</p> +<p>“I—don’t mean to be silly.... But—Brookhollow +seems—ended—forever....”</p> +<p>“It’s only forty miles,” he said with heavy joviality. +“Shall we turn around and go back?”</p> +<p>She glanced up at him with an odd expression, as +though she hoped he meant it; then her little mechanical +smile returned, and she dried her eyes naïvely.</p> +<p>“I don’t know why I cannot seem to get used to being +married,” she said. “I never thought that getting +married would make me so—so—lonely.”</p> +<p>“Let’s talk about art,” he suggested. “You’re crazy +about art and you’re going to Paris. Isn’t that fine.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes––”</p> +<p>“Sure, it’s fine. That’s where art grows. Artville +is Paris’ other name. It’s all there, Rue—the Loove, +the palaces, the Latin Quarter, the statues, the +churches, and all like that.”</p> +<p>“What is the Louvre like?” she asked, tremulously, +determined to be brave.</p> +<p>As he had seen the Louvre only from the outside, his +imaginary description was cautious, general, and brief. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>After a silence, Rue asked whether he thought that +their suitcases were quite safe.</p> +<p>“Certainly,” he smiled. “I checked them.”</p> +<p>“And you’re sure they are safe?”</p> +<p>“Of course, darling. What worries you?”</p> +<p>And, as she hesitated, he remembered that she had +forgotten to put something into her suitcase and that +the chauffeur had driven her back to the house to get +it while he himself went into the Gayfield House to +telephone Stull.</p> +<p>“What was it you went back for, Rue?” he asked.</p> +<p>“One thing I went back for was my money.”</p> +<p>“Money? What money?”</p> +<p>“Money my grandmother left me. I was to have it +when I married—six thousand dollars.”</p> +<p>“You mean you have it in your suitcase?” he asked, +astonished.</p> +<p>“Yes, half of it.”</p> +<p>“A cheque?”</p> +<p>“No, in hundreds.”</p> +<p>“Bills?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I gave father three thousand. I kept three +thousand.”</p> +<p>“In bills,” he repeated, laughing. “Is your suitcase +locked?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I insisted on having my money in cash. So +Mr. Wexall, of the Mohawk Bank, sent a messenger +with it last evening.”</p> +<p>“But,” he asked, still immensely amused, “why do +you want to travel about with three thousand dollars +in bills in your suitcase?”</p> +<p>She flushed a little, tried to smile:</p> +<p>“I don’t know why. I never before had any money. +It is—pleasant to know I have it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></p> +<p>“But I’ll give you all you want, Rue.”</p> +<p>“Thank you.... I have my own, you see.”</p> +<p>“Of course. Put it away in some bank. When you +want pin money, ask me.”</p> +<p>She shook her head with a troubled smile.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t ask anybody for money,” she explained.</p> +<p>“Then you don’t have to. We’ll fix your allowance.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, but I have my money, and I don’t +need it.”</p> +<p>This seemed to amuse him tremendously; and even +Rue laughed a little.</p> +<p>“You are going to take your money to Paris?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“To buy things?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no. Just to have it with me.”</p> +<p>His rather agreeable laughter sounded again.</p> +<p>“So <i>that</i> was what you forgot to put in your suitcase,” +he said. “No wonder you went back for it.”</p> +<p>“There was something else very important, too.”</p> +<p>“What, darling?”</p> +<p>“My drawings,” she explained innocently.</p> +<p>“Your drawings! Do you mean you’ve got them, +too?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I want to take them to Paris and compare +them with the pictures I shall see there. It ought to +teach me a great deal. Don’t you think so?”</p> +<p>“Are you crazy to study?” he asked, touched to the +quick by her utter ignorance.</p> +<p>“It’s all I dream about. If I could work that way +and support myself and my father and mother––”</p> +<p>“But, Rue! Wake up! We’re married, little girl. +You don’t have to work to support anybody!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></p> +<p>“I—forgot,” said the girl vaguely, her confused +grey eyes resting on his laughing, greenish ones.</p> +<p>Still laughing, he summoned the waiter, paid the +reckoning; Ruhannah rose as he did; they went slowly +out together.</p> +<p>On the sidewalk beside their car stood the new chauffeur, +smoking a cigarette which he threw away without +haste when he caught sight of them. However, he +touched the peak of his cap civilly, with his forefinger.</p> +<p>Brandes, lighting a cigar, let his slow eyes rest on +the new man for a moment. Then he helped Rue into +the tonneau, got in after her, and thoughtfully took the +wheel, conscious that there was something or other +about his new chauffeur that he did not find entirely to +his liking.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_DRIVING_HEADON' id='CHAPTER_X_DRIVING_HEADON'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>DRIVING HEAD-ON</h3> +</div> +<p>It was mid-afternoon when they began to pass +through that series of suburbs which the city has flung +like a single tentacle northward for a hundred miles +along the eastern banks of the Hudson.</p> +<p>A smooth road of bluestone with a surface like velvet, +rarely broken by badly paved or badly worn sections, +ran straight south. Past mansions standing amid spacious +lawns all ablaze with late summer and early autumn +flowers they sped; past parks, long stretches of +walls, high fences of wrought iron through which brief +glimpses of woodlands and splendid gardens caught +Rue’s eye. And, every now and then, slowing down +to traverse some village square and emerging from +the further limits, the great river flashed into view, +sometimes glassy still under high headlands or along +towering parapets of mountains, sometimes ruffled +and silvery where it widened into bay or inland sea, +with a glimmer of distant villages on the further +shore.</p> +<p>Over the western bank a blinding sun hung in a sky +without a cloud—a sky of undiluted azure; but farther +south, and as the sun declined, traces of vapours from +the huge but still distant city stained the heavens. +Gradually the increasing haze changed from palest lavender +and lemon-gold to violet and rose with smouldering +undertones of fire. Beneath it the river caught the +stains in deeper tones, flowing in sombre washes of flame +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +or spreading wide under pastel tints of turquoise set +with purple.</p> +<p>Now, as the sun hung lower, the smoke of every river +boat, every locomotive speeding along the shores below, +lay almost motionless above the water, tinged with the +delicate enchantment of declining day.</p> +<p>And into this magic veil Rue was passing already +through the calm of a late August afternoon, through +tree-embowered villages and towns, the names of which +she did not know—swiftly, inexorably passing into the +iris-grey obscurity where already the silvery points of +arc-lights stretched away into intricate geometrical designs—faint +traceries as yet sparkling with subdued +lustre under the sunset heavens.</p> +<p>Vast shadowy shapes towered up ahead—outlying +public buildings, private institutions, industrial plants, +bridges of iron and steel, the ponderous bowed spans of +which crossed wildernesses of railroad tracks or craft-crowded +waters.</p> +<p>Two enormous arched viaducts of granite stretched +away through sparkling semi-obscurity—High Bridge +and Washington Bridge. Then it became an increasing +confusion of phantom masses against a fading sky—bridges, +towers, skyscrapers, viaducts, boulevards, +a wilderness of streets outlined by the growing brilliancy +of electric lamps.</p> +<p>Brandes, deftly steering through the swarming maze +of twilight avenues, turned east across the island, then +swung south along the curved parapets and spreading +gardens of Riverside Drive.</p> +<p>Perhaps Brandes was tired; he had become uncommunicative, +inclined to silence. He did point out to +her the squat, truncated mass where the great General +slept; called her attention to the river below, where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +three grey battleships lay. A bugle call from the decks +came faintly to her ears.</p> +<p>If Rue was tired she did not know it as the car swept +her steadily deeper amid the city’s wonders.</p> +<p>On her left, beyond the trees, the great dwellings +and apartments of the Drive were already glimmering +with light in every window; to the right, under the +foliage of this endless necklace of parks and circles, a +summer-clad throng strolled and idled along the river +wall; and past them moved an unbroken column of +automobiles, taxicabs, and omnibuses.</p> +<p>At Seventy-second Street they turned to the east +across the park, then into Fifth Avenue south once +more. She saw the name of the celebrated avenue on +the street corner, turned to glance excitedly at Brandes; +but his preoccupied face was expressionless, almost forbidding, +so she turned again in quest of other delightful +discoveries. But there was nothing to identify for +her the houses, churches, hotels, shops, on this endless +and bewildering avenue of grey stone; as they swung +west into Forty-second Street, she caught sight of the +great marble mass of the Library, but had no idea what +it was.</p> +<p>Into this dusky cañon, aflame with light, they rolled, +where street lamps, the lamps of vehicles, and electric +signs dazzled her unaccustomed eyes so that she saw +nothing except a fiery vista filled with the rush and +roar of traffic.</p> +<p>When they stopped, the chauffeur dropped from the +rumble and came around to where a tall head porter +in blue and silver uniform was opening the tonneau +door.</p> +<p>Brandes said to his chauffeur:</p> +<p>“Here are the checks. Our trunks are at the Grand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +Central. Get them aboard, then come back here for us +at ten o’clock.”</p> +<p>The chauffeur lifted his hand to his cap, and looked +stealthily between his fingers at Brandes.</p> +<p>“Ten o’clock,” he repeated; “very good, sir.”</p> +<p>Rue instinctively sought Brandes’ arm as they entered +the crowded lobby, then remembered, blushed, and +withdrew her hand.</p> +<p>Brandes had started toward the desk with the intention +of registering and securing a room for the few +hours before going aboard the steamer; but something +halted him—some instinct of caution. No, he would +not register. He sent their luggage to the parcels +room, found a maid who took Rue away, then went on +through into the bar, where he took a stiff whisky and +soda, a thing he seldom did.</p> +<p>In the toilet he washed and had himself brushed. +Then, emerging, he took another drink <i>en passant</i>, +conscious of an odd, dull sense of apprehension for +which he could not account.</p> +<p>At the desk they told him there was no telephone message +for him. He sauntered over to the news stand, +stared at the display of periodicals, but had not sufficient +interest to buy even an evening paper.</p> +<p>So he idled about the marble-columned lobby, now +crowded with a typical early-autumn throng in quest +of dinner and the various nocturnal amusements which +the city offers at all times to the frequenters of its +thousand temples.</p> +<p>Rue came out of the ladies’ dressing room, and he +went to her and guided her into the dining-room on the +left, where an orchestra was playing. In her blue, provincial +travelling gown the slender girl looked oddly out +of place amid lace and jewels and the delicate tints +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +of frail evening gowns, but her cheeks were bright with +colour and her grey eyes brilliant, and the lights touched +her thick chestnut hair with a ruddy glory, so that more +than one man turned to watch her pass, and the idly +contemptuous indifference of more than one woman +ended at her neck and chin.</p> +<p>What Rue ate she never afterward remembered. It +was all merely a succession of delicious sensations for +the palate, for the eye, for the ear when the excellent +orchestra was playing some gay overture from one of +the newer musical comedies or comic operas.</p> +<p>Brandes at times seemed to shake off a growing depression +and rouse himself to talk to her, even jest with +her. He smoked cigarettes occasionally during dinner, +a thing he seldom did, and, when coffee was served, +he lighted one of his large cigars.</p> +<p>Rue, excited under an almost childishly timid manner, +leaned on the table with both elbows and linked +fingers, listening, watching everything with an almost +breathless intelligence which strove to comprehend.</p> +<p>People left; others arrived; the music continued. +Several times people passing caught Brandes’ eye, and +bowed and smiled. He either acknowledged such salutes +with a slight and almost surly nod, or ignored them +altogether.</p> +<p>One of his short, heavy arms lay carelessly along the +back of his chair, where he was sitting sideways looking +at the people in the lobby—watching with that same +odd sensation of foreboding of which he had been +conscious from the first moment he had entered the +city line.</p> +<p>What reason for apprehension he had he could not +understand. Only an hour lay between him and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +seclusion of the big liner; a few hours and he and this +girl beside him would be at sea.</p> +<p>Once he excused himself, went out to the desk, and +made an inquiry. But there was no telephone or telegraph +message for him; and he came back chewing his +cigar.</p> +<p>Finally his uneasiness drew him to his feet again:</p> +<p>“Rue,” he said, “I’m going out to telephone to Mr. +Stull. It may take some little time. You don’t mind +waiting, do you?”</p> +<p>“No,” she said.</p> +<p>“Don’t you want another ice or something?”</p> +<p>She confessed that she did.</p> +<p>So he ordered it and went away.</p> +<p>As she sat leisurely tasting her ice and watching with +unflagging interest the people around her, she noticed +that the dining-room was already three-quarters empty. +People were leaving for café, theatre, or dance; few +remained.</p> +<p>Of these few, two young men in evening dress now +arose and walked toward the lobby, one ahead of the +other. One went out; the other, in the act of going, +glanced casually at her as he passed, hesitated, halted, +then, half smiling, half inquiringly, came toward her.</p> +<p>“Jim Neeland!” she exclaimed impulsively. “—I +mean <i>Mr.</i> Neeland––” a riot of colour flooding her +face. But her eager hand remained outstretched. He +took it, pressed it lightly, ceremoniously, and, still +standing, continued to smile down at her.</p> +<p>Amid all this strange, infernal glitter; amid a city +of six million strangers, suddenly to encounter a familiar +face—to see somebody—anybody—from Gayfield—seemed +a miracle too delightful to be true.</p> +<p>“You are Rue Carew,” he said. “I was not certain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +for a moment. You know we met only once before.”</p> +<p>Rue, conscious of the startled intimacy of her first +greeting, blushed with the memory. But Neeland was +a tactful young man; he said easily, with his very engaging +smile:</p> +<p>“It was nice of you to remember me so frankly and +warmly. You have no idea how pleasant it was to +hear a Gayfield voice greet me as ‘Jim.’”</p> +<p>“I—didn’t intend to––”</p> +<p>“Please intend it in future, Rue. You don’t mind, +do you?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“And will you ever forget that magnificent winter +night when we drove to Brookhollow after the party?”</p> +<p>“I have—remembered it.”</p> +<p>“So have I.... Are you waiting for somebody? Of +course you are,” he added, laughing. “But may I sit +down for a moment?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I wish you would.”</p> +<p>So he seated himself, lighted a cigarette, glanced up +at her and smiled.</p> +<p>“When did you come to New York?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Tonight.”</p> +<p>“Well, isn’t that a bit of luck to run into you like +this! Have you come here to study art?”</p> +<p>“No.... Yes, I think, later, I am to study art +here.”</p> +<p>“At the League?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Better go to the League,” he said. “Begin there +anyway. Do you know where it is?”</p> +<p>“No,” she said.</p> +<p>He called a waiter, borrowed pencil and pad, and +wrote down the address of the Art Students’ League. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +He had begun to fold the paper when a second thought +seemed to strike him, and he added his own address.</p> +<p>“In case I can do anything for you in any way,” +he explained.</p> +<p>Rue thanked him, opened her reticule, and placed +the folded paper there beside her purse.</p> +<p>“I do hope I shall see you soon again,” he said, looking +gaily, almost mischievously into her grey eyes. +“This certainly resembles fate. Don’t you think so, +Rue—this reunion of ours?”</p> +<p>“Fate?” she repeated.</p> +<p>“Yes. I should even call it romantic. Don’t you +think our meeting this way resembles something very +much like romance?”</p> +<p>She felt herself flushing, tried to smile:</p> +<p>“It couldn’t resemble anything,” she explained with +quaint honesty, “because I am sailing for Europe tomorrow +morning; I am going on board in less than an +hour. And also—also, I––”</p> +<p>“Also?”—he prompted her, amused, yet oddly +touched by her childishly literal reply.</p> +<p>“I am—married.”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” he said.</p> +<p>“This morning,” she added, tasting her ice.</p> +<p>“And you’re sailing for Europe on your honeymoon!” +he exclaimed. “Well, upon my word! And +what is your ship?”</p> +<p>“The <i>Lusitania</i>.”</p> +<p>“Really! I have a friend who is sailing on her—a +most charming woman. I sent flowers to her only an +hour ago.”</p> +<p>“Did you?” asked Rue, interested.</p> +<p>“Yes. She is a widow—the Princess Mistchenka—a +delightful and pretty woman. I am going to send a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +note to the steamer tonight saying that—that my very +<i>particular</i> friend, Ruhannah Carew, is on board, and +won’t she ask you to tea. You’d love her, Rue. She’s a +regular woman.”</p> +<p>“But—oh, dear!—a Princess!”</p> +<p>“You won’t even notice it,” he said reassuringly. +“She’s a corker; she’s an artist, too. I couldn’t begin +to tell you how nice she has been to me. By the way, +Rue, whom did you marry?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Brandes.”</p> +<p>“Brandes? I don’t remember—was he from up-state?”</p> +<p>“No; New York—I think––”</p> +<p>As she bent forward to taste her ice again he noticed +for the first time the childlike loveliness of her throat +and profile; looked at her with increasing interest, +realising that she had grown into a most engaging creature +since he had seen her.</p> +<p>Looking up, and beyond him toward the door, she +said:</p> +<p>“I think your friend is waiting for you. Had you +forgotten him?”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s so!” he exclaimed. Then rising and +offering his hand: “I wish you happiness, Rue. You +have my address. When you return, won’t you let me +know where you are? Won’t you let me know your +husband?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Please do. You see you and I have a common bond +in art, another in our birthplace. Gayfield folk are +your own people and mine. Don’t forget me, Rue.”</p> +<p>“No, I won’t.”</p> +<p>So he took his leave gracefully and went away +through the enthralling, glittering unreality of it all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +leaving a young girl thrilled, excited, and deeply impressed +with his ease and bearing amid awe-inspiring +scenes in which she, too, desired most ardently to find +herself at ease.</p> +<p>Also she thought of his friend, the Princess Mistchenka. +And again, as before, the name seemed to +evoke within her mind a recollection of having heard +it before, very long ago.</p> +<p>She wondered whether Neeland would remember to +write, and if he did she wondered whether a real princess +would actually condescend to invite her to take tea.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_THE_BREAKERS' id='CHAPTER_XI_THE_BREAKERS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>THE BREAKERS</h3> +</div> +<p>The east dining-room was almost empty now, though +the lobby and the café beyond still swarmed with people +arriving and departing. Brandes, chafing at the telephone, +had finally succeeded in getting Stull on the wire, +only to learn that the news from Saratoga was not +agreeable; that they had lost on every horse. Also, +Stull had another disquieting item to detail; it seemed +that Maxy Venem had been seen that morning in the act +of departing for New York on the fast express; and +with him was a woman resembling Brandes’ wife.</p> +<p>“Who saw her?” demanded Brandes.</p> +<p>“Doc. He didn’t get a good square look at her. You +know the hats women wear.”</p> +<p>“All right. I’m off, Ben. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>The haunting uneasiness which had driven him to +the telephone persisted when he came out of the booth. +He cast a slow, almost sleepy glance around him, saw +no familiar face in the thronged lobby, then he looked +at his watch.</p> +<p>The car had been ordered for ten; it lacked half an +hour of the time; he wished he had ordered the car +earlier.</p> +<p>For now his uneasiness was verging on that species +of superstitious inquietude which at times obsesses all +gamblers, and which is known as a “hunch.” He had +a hunch that he was “in wrong” somehow or other; +an overpowering longing to get on board the steamer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +assailed him—a desire to get out of the city, get away +quick.</p> +<p>The risk he had taken was beginning to appear to +him as an unwarranted piece of recklessness; he was +amazed with himself for taking such a chance—disgusted +at his foolish and totally unnecessary course +with this young girl. All he had had to do was to wait +a few months. He could have married in safety then. +And even now he didn’t know whether or not the ceremony +performed by Parson Smawley had been an illegally +legal one; whether it made him a bigamist for the +next three months or only something worse. What on +earth had possessed him to take such a risk—the terrible +hazard of discovery, of losing the only woman he +had ever really cared for—the only one he probably +could ever care for? Of course, had he been free he +would have married her. When he got his freedom he +would insist on another ceremony. He could persuade +her to that on some excuse or other. But in the meanwhile!</p> +<p>He entered the deserted dining-room, came over to +where Rue was waiting, and sat down, heavily, holding +an unlighted cigar between his stubby fingers.</p> +<p>“Well, little girl,” he said with forced cheerfulness, +“was I away very long?”</p> +<p>“Not very.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t miss me?” he inquired, ponderously +playful.</p> +<p>His heavy pleasantries usually left her just a little +doubtful and confused, for he seldom smiled when he +delivered himself of them.</p> +<p>He leaned across the cloth and laid a hot, cushiony +hand over both of hers, where they lay primly clasped +on the table edge: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>“Don’t you ever miss me when I’m away from you, +Rue?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I think—it is nice to be with you,” she said, hotly +embarrassed by the publicity of his caress.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe you mean it.” But he smiled this +time. At which the little rigid smile stamped itself +on her lips; but she timidly withdrew her hands from +his.</p> +<p>“Rue, I don’t believe you love me.” This time there +was no smile.</p> +<p>She found nothing to answer, being without any +experience in give-and-take conversation, which left her +always uncertain and uncomfortable.</p> +<p>For the girl was merely a creature still in the making—a +soft, pliable thing to be shaped to perfection +only by the light touch of some steady, patient hand +that understood—or to be marred and ruined by a +heavy hand which wrought at random or in brutal haste.</p> +<p>Brandes watched her for a moment out of sleepy, +greenish eyes. Then he consulted his watch again, +summoned a waiter, gave him the parcels-room checks, +and bade him have a boy carry their luggage into the +lobby.</p> +<p>As they rose from the table, a man and a woman +entering the lobby caught sight of them, halted, then +turned and walked back toward the street door which +they had just entered.</p> +<p>Brandes had not noticed them where he stood by the +desk, scratching off a telegram to Stull:</p> +<p>“All O. K. Just going aboard. Fix it with Stein.”</p> +<p>He rejoined Rue as the boy appeared with their luggage; +an under porter took the bags and preceded them +toward the street.</p> +<p>“There’s the car!” said Brandes, with a deep breath +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +of relief. “He knows his business, that chauffeur of +mine.”</p> +<p>Their chauffeur was standing beside the car as they +emerged from the hotel and started to cross the sidewalk; +the porter, following, set their luggage on the +curbstone; and at the same instant a young and pretty +woman stepped lightly between Rue and Brandes.</p> +<p>“Good evening, Eddie,” she said, and struck him a +staggering blow in the face with her white-gloved hand.</p> +<p>Brandes lost his balance, stumbled sideways, recovered +himself, turned swiftly and encountered the full, +protruding black eyes of Maxy Venem staring close +and menacingly into his.</p> +<p>From Brandes’ cut lip blood was running down over +his chin and collar; his face remained absolutely expressionless. +The next moment his eyes shifted, met +Ruhannah’s stupefied gaze.</p> +<p>“Go into the hotel,” he said calmly. “Quick––”</p> +<p>“Stay where you are!” interrupted Maxy Venem, +and caught the speechless and bewildered girl by the +elbow.</p> +<p>Like lightning Brandes’ hand flew to his hip pocket, +and at the same instant his own chauffeur seized both +his heavy, short arms and held them rigid, pinned behind +his back.</p> +<p>“Frisk him!” he panted; Venem nimbly relieved him +of the dull black weapon.</p> +<p>“Can the fake gun-play, Eddie,” he said, coolly shoving +aside the porter who attempted to interfere. +“You’re double-crossed. We got the goods on you; +come on; who’s the girl?”</p> +<p>The woman who had struck Brandes now came up +again beside Venem. She was young, very pretty, but +deathly white except for the patches of cosmetic on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +either cheek. She pointed at Brandes. There was +blood on her soiled and split glove:</p> +<p>“You dirty dog!” she said unsteadily. “You’ll marry +this girl before I’ve divorced you, will you? And you +think you are going to get away with it! You dog! +You dirty dog!”</p> +<p>The porter attempted to interfere again, but Venem +shoved him out of the way. Brandes, still silently +struggling to free his imprisoned arms, ceased twisting +suddenly and swung his heavy head toward Venem. His +hat had fallen off; his face, deeply flushed with exertion, +was smeared with blood and sweat.</p> +<p>“What’s the idea, you fool!” he said in a low voice. +“I’m not married to her.”</p> +<p>But Ruhannah heard him say it.</p> +<p>“You claim that you haven’t married this girl?” demanded +Venem loudly, motioning toward Rue, who +stood swaying, half dead, held fast by the gathering +crowd which pushed around them from every side.</p> +<p>“Did you marry her or did you fake it?” repeated +Venem in a louder voice. “It’s jail one way; maybe +both!”</p> +<p>“He married her in Gayfield at eleven this morning!” +said the chauffeur. “Parson Smawley turned the +trick.”</p> +<p>Brandes’ narrow eyes glittered; he struggled for a +moment, gave it up, shot a deadly glance at Maxy +Venem, at his wife, at the increasing throng crowding +closely about him. Then his infuriated eyes met Rue’s, +and the expression of her face apparently crazed him.</p> +<p>Frantic, he hurled himself backward, jerking one arm +free, tripped, fell heavily with the chauffeur on top, +twisting, panting, struggling convulsively, while all +around him surged the excited crowd, shouting, pressing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +closer, trampling one another in eagerness to see.</p> +<p>Rue, almost swooning with fear, was pushed, jostled, +flung aside. Stumbling over her own suitcase, she fell +to her knees, rose, and, scarce conscious of what she +was about, caught up her suitcase and reeled away +into the light-shot darkness.</p> +<p>She had no idea of what she was doing or where she +was going; the terror of the scene still remained luridly +before her eyes; the shouting of the crowd was in her +ears; an indescribable fear of Brandes filled her—a +growing horror of this man who had denied that he had +married her. And the instinct of a frightened and bewildered +child drove her into blind flight, anywhere to +escape this hideous, incomprehensible scene behind her.</p> +<p>Hurrying on, alternately confused and dazzled in the +patches of darkness and flaring light, clutched at and +followed by a terrible fear, she found herself halted on +the curbstone of an avenue through which lighted tramcars +were passing. A man spoke to her, came closer; +and she turned desperately and hurried across a street +where other people were crossing.</p> +<p>From overhead sounded the roaring dissonance of +an elevated train; on either side of her phantom shapes +swarmed—figures which moved everywhere around her, +now illumined by shop windows, now silhouetted against +them. And always through the deafening confusion in +her brain, the dismay, the stupefaction, one dreadful +fear dominated—the fear of Brandes—the dread and +horror of this Judas who had denied her.</p> +<p>She could not drive the scene from her mind—the +never-to-be forgotten picture where he stood with blood +from his cut lip striping his fat chin. She heard his +voice denying her through swollen lips that scarcely +moved—denying that he had married her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>And in her ears still sounded the other voice—the +terrible words of the woman who had struck him—an +unsteady, unreal voice accusing him; and her brain +throbbed with the horrible repetition: “Dirty dog—dirty +dog—dirty dog––” until, almost out of her +mind, she dropped her bag and clapped both hands +over her ears.</p> +<p>One or two men stared at her. A taxi driver came +from beside his car and asked her if she was ill. But +she caught up her suitcase and hurried on without +answering.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She was very tired. She had come to the end of the +lighted avenue. There was darkness ahead, a wall, +trees, and electric lights sparkling among the foliage.</p> +<p>Perhaps the sudden glimpse of a wide and star-set +sky quieted her, calmed her. Freed suddenly from the +cañon of the city’s streets, the unreasoning panic of +a trapped thing subsided a little.</p> +<p>Her arm ached; she shifted the suitcase to her other +hand and looked across at the trees and at the high +stars above, striving desperately for self-command.</p> +<p>Something had to be done. She must find some place +where she could sit down. Where was she to find it?</p> +<p>For a while she could feel her limbs trembling; but +gradually the heavy thudding of her pulses quieted; +nobody molested her; nobody had followed her. That +she was quite lost did not matter; she had also lost this +man who had denied her, somewhere in the depths of +the confusion behind her. That was all that mattered—escape +from him, from the terrible woman who had +struck him and reviled him.</p> +<p>With an effort she checked her thoughts and struggled +for self-command. Somewhere in the city there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +must be a railroad station from which a train would +take her home.</p> +<p>With the thought came the desperate longing for +flight, and a rush of tears that almost choked her. +Nothing mattered now except her mother’s arms; the +rest was a nightmare, the horror of a dream which still +threatened, still clutched at her with shadowy and +spectral menace.</p> +<p>For a moment or two she stood there on the curb, +her eyes closed, fighting for self-control, forcing her +disorganized brain to duty.</p> +<p>Somebody must help her to find a railroad station +and a train. That gradually became clear to her. But +when she realised that, a young man sauntered up beside +her and looked at her so intently that her calmness +gave way and she turned her head sharply to conceal +the starting tears.</p> +<p>“Hello, girlie,” he said. “Got anythin’ on tonight?”</p> +<p>With head averted, she stood there, rigid, dumb, her +tear-drenched eyes fixed on the park; and after one or +two jocose observations the young man became discouraged +and went away. But he had thrust the fear +of strangers deep into her heart; and now she dared +not ask any man for information. However, when two +young women passed she found sufficient courage to +accost them, asking the direction of the railroad station +from which trains departed for Gayfield.</p> +<p>The women, who were young and brightly coloured +in plumage, displayed a sympathetic interest at once.</p> +<p>“Gayfield?” repeated the blonder of the two. “Gee, +dearie, I never heard of that place.”</p> +<p>“Is it on Long Island?” inquired the other.</p> +<p>“No. It is in Mohawk County.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>“That’s a new one, too. Mohawk County? Never +heard of it; did you, Lil?”</p> +<p>“Search me!”</p> +<p>“Is it up-state, dearie?” asked the other. “You better +go over to Madison Avenue and take a car to the +Grand Central––”</p> +<p>“Wait,” interrupted her friend; “she better take a +taxi––”</p> +<p>“Nix on a taxi you pick up on Sixth Avenue!” And +to Rue, curiously sympathetic: “Say, you’ve got friends +here, haven’t you, little one?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“What! You don’t know anyone in New York!”</p> +<p>Rue looked at her dumbly; then, of a sudden, she +remembered Neeland.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “I know one person.”</p> +<p>“Where does your friend live?”</p> +<p>In her reticule was the paper on which he had written +the address of the Art Students’ League, and, as +an afterthought, his own address.</p> +<p>Rue lifted the blue silk bag, opened it, took out her +purse and found the paper.</p> +<p>“One Hundred and Six, West Fifty-fifth Street,” she +read; “Studio No. 10.”</p> +<p>“Why, that isn’t far!” said the blonder of the two. +“We are going that way. We’ll take you there.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know—I don’t know him very well––”</p> +<p>“Is it a man?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He comes from my town, Gayfield.”</p> +<p>“Oh! I guess that’s all right,” said the other woman, +laughing. “You got to be leery of these men, little one. +Come on; we’ll show you.”</p> +<p>It was only four blocks; Ruhannah presently found +herself on the steps of a house from which dangled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +a sign, “Studios and Bachelor Apartments to +Let.”</p> +<p>“What’s his name?” said the woman addressed as Lil.</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>By the light of the vestibule lantern they inspected +the letter boxes, found Neeland’s name, and pushed +the electric button.</p> +<p>After a few seconds the door clicked and opened.</p> +<p>“Now, you’re all right!” said Lil, peering into the +lighted hallway. “It’s on the fourth floor and there +isn’t any elevator that I can see, so you keep on going +upstairs till your friend meets you.”</p> +<p>“Thank you so much for your great kindness––”</p> +<p>“Don’t mention it. Good luck, dearie!”</p> +<p>The door clicked behind her, and Rue found herself +alone.</p> +<p>The stairs, flanked by a massive balustrade of some +dark, polished wood, ascended in spirals by a short +series of flights and landings. Twice she rested, her +knees almost giving way, for the climb upward seemed +interminable. But at last, just above her, she saw a +skylight, and a great stair-window giving on a court; +and, as she toiled up and stood clinging, breathless, to +the banisters on the top landing, out of an open door +stepped Neeland’s shadowy figure, dark against the +hall light behind him.</p> +<p>“For heaven’s sake!” he said. “What on earth––”</p> +<p>The suitcase fell from her nerveless hand; she swayed +a little where she stood.</p> +<p>The next moment he had passed his arm around her, +and was half leading, half carrying her through a +short hallway into a big, brilliantly lighted studio.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_A_LIFE_LINE' id='CHAPTER_XII_A_LIFE_LINE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>A LIFE LINE</h3> +</div> +<p>She had told him her story from beginning to end, +as far as she herself comprehended it. She was lying +sideways now, in the depths of a large armchair, her +cheek cushioned on the upholstered wings.</p> +<p>Her hat, with its cheap blue enamel pins sticking in +the crown, lay on his desk; her hair, partly loosened, +shadowed a young face grown pinched with weariness; +and the reaction from shock was already making her +grey eyes heavy and edging the under lids with bluish +shadows.</p> +<p>She had not come there with the intention of telling +him anything. All she had wanted was a place in which +to rest, a glass of water, and somebody to help her find +the train to Gayfield. She told him this; remained reticent +under his questioning; finally turned her haggard +face to the chairback and refused to answer.</p> +<p>For an hour or more she remained obstinately dumb, +motionless except for the uncontrollable trembling of +her body; he brought her a glass of water, sat watching +her at intervals; rose once or twice to pace the studio, +his well-shaped head bent, his hands clasped behind +his back, always returning to the corner-chair before +the desk to sit there, eyeing her askance, waiting for +some decision.</p> +<p>But it was not the recurrent waves of terror, the ever +latent fear of Brandes, or even her appalling loneliness +that broke her down; it was sheer fatigue—nature’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +merciless third degree—under which mental and physical +resolution disintegrated—went all to pieces.</p> +<p>And when at length she finally succeeded in reconquering +self-possession, she had already stammered out +answers to his gently persuasive questions—had told +him enough to start the fuller confession to which he +listened in utter silence.</p> +<p>And now she had told him everything, as far as she +understood the situation. She lay sideways, deep in the +armchair, tired, yet vaguely conscious that she was resting +mind and body, and that calm was gradually possessing +the one, and the nerves of the other were growing +quiet.</p> +<p>Listlessly her grey eyes wandered around the big +studio where shadowy and strangely beautiful but incomprehensible +things met her gaze, like iridescent, indefinite +objects seen in dreams.</p> +<p>These radiantly unreal splendours were only Neeland’s +rejected Academy pictures and studies; a few +cheap Japanese hangings, cheaper Nippon porcelains, +and several shaky, broken-down antiques picked up for +a song here and there. All the trash and truck and +dust and junk characteristic of the conventional artist’s +habitation were there.</p> +<p>But to Ruhannah this studio embodied all the wonders +and beauties of that magic temple to which, from +her earliest memory, her very soul had aspired—the +temple of the unknown God of Art.</p> +<p>Vaguely she endeavoured to realise that she was now +inside one of its myriad sanctuaries; that here under +her very tired and youthful eyes stood one of its countless +altars; that here, also, near by, sat one of those +blessed acolytes who aided in the mysteries of its wondrous +service. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></p> +<p>“Ruhannah,” he said, “are you calm enough to let +me tell you what I think about this matter?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I am feeling better.”</p> +<p>“Good work! There’s no occasion for panic. What +you need is a cool head and a clear mind.”</p> +<p>She said, without stirring from where she lay resting +her cheek on the chairback:</p> +<p>“My mind has become quite clear again.”</p> +<p>“That’s fine! Well, then, I think the thing for you +to do is––” He took out his watch, examined it, replaced +it—“Good Lord!” he said. “It is three o’clock!”</p> +<p>She watched him but offered no comment. He went +to the telephone, called the New York Central Station, +got General Information, inquired concerning trains, +hung up, and came back to the desk where he had been +sitting.</p> +<p>“The first train out leaves at six three,” he said. “I +think you’d better go into my bedroom and lie down. +I’m not tired; I’ll call you in time, and I’ll get a taxi +and take you to your train. Does that suit you, Ruhannah?”</p> +<p>She shook her head slightly.</p> +<p>“Why not?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I’ve been thinking. I can’t go back.”</p> +<p>“Can’t go back! Why not?”</p> +<p>“I can’t.”</p> +<p>“You mean you’d feel too deeply humiliated?”</p> +<p>“I wasn’t thinking of my own disgrace. I was thinking +of mother and father.” There was no trace of emotion +in her voice; she stated the fact calmly.</p> +<p>“I can’t go back to Brookhollow. It’s ended. I +couldn’t bear to let them know what has happened to +me.”</p> +<p>“What did you think of doing?” he asked uneasily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></p> +<p>“I must think of mother—I must keep my disgrace +from touching them—spare them the sorrow—humiliation––” +Her voice became tremulous, but she turned +around and sat up in her chair, meeting his gaze +squarely. “That’s as far as I have thought,” she said.</p> +<p>Both remained silent for a long while. Then Ruhannah +looked up from her pale preoccupation:</p> +<p>“I told you I had three thousand dollars. Why +can’t I educate myself in art with that? Why can’t +I learn how to support myself by art?”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Here.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But what are you going to say to your parents +when you write? They suppose you are on your +way to Paris.”</p> +<p>She nodded, looking at him thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“By the way,” he added, “is your trunk on board +the <i>Lusitania</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“That won’t do! Have you the check for it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, in my purse.”</p> +<p>“We’ve got to get that trunk off the ship,” he said. +“There’s only one sure way. I’d better go down now, +to the pier. Where’s your steamer ticket?”</p> +<p>“I—I have <i>both</i> tickets and both checks in my bag. +He—let me have the p-pleasure of carrying them––” +Again her voice broke childishly, but the threatened +emotion was strangled and resolutely choked back.</p> +<p>“Give me the tickets and checks,” he said. “I’ll go +down to the dock now.”</p> +<p>She drew out the papers, sat holding them for a few +moments without relinquishing them. Then she raised +her eyes to his, and a bright flush stained her +face: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></p> +<p>“Why should I not go to Paris by myself?” she +demanded.</p> +<p>“You mean now? On this ship?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Why not? I have enough money to go there +and study, haven’t I?”</p> +<p>“Yes. But––”</p> +<p>“Why not!” she repeated feverishly, her grey eyes +sparkling. “I have three thousand dollars; I can’t +go back to Brookhollow and disgrace them. What +does it matter where I go?”</p> +<p>“It would be all right,” he said, “if you’d ever had +any experience––”</p> +<p>“Experience! What do you call what I’ve had today!” +She exclaimed excitedly. “To lose in a single +day my mother, my home—to go through in this city +what I have gone through—what I am going through +now—is not that enough experience? Isn’t it?”</p> +<p>He said:</p> +<p>“You’ve had a rotten awakening, Rue—a perfectly +devilish experience. Only—you’ve never travelled +alone––” Suddenly it occurred to him that his lively +friend, the Princess Mistchenka, was sailing on the +<i>Lusitania</i>; and he remained silent, uncertain, looking +with vague misgivings at this girl in the armchair opposite—this +thin, unformed, inexperienced child who +had attained neither mental nor physical maturity.</p> +<p>“I think,” he said at length, “that I told you I had +a friend sailing on the <i>Lusitania</i> tomorrow.”</p> +<p>She remembered and nodded.</p> +<p>“But wait a moment,” he added. “How do you +know that this—this fellow Brandes will not attempt to +sail on her, also––” Something checked him, for in +the girl’s golden-grey eyes he saw a flame glimmer; +something almost terrible came into the child’s still +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +gaze; and slowly died out like the afterglow of lightning.</p> +<p>And Neeland knew that in her soul something had +been born under his very eyes—the first emotion of +maturity bursting from the chrysalis—the flaming consciousness +of outrage, and the first, fierce assumption +of womanhood to resent it.</p> +<p>She had lost her colour now; her grey eyes still remained +fixed on his, but the golden tinge had left them.</p> +<p>“<i>I</i> don’t know why you shouldn’t go,” he said +abruptly.</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> going.”</p> +<p>“All right! And if <i>he</i> has the nerve to go—if he +bothers you—appeal to the captain.”</p> +<p>She nodded absently.</p> +<p>“But I don’t believe he’ll try to sail. I don’t believe +he’d dare, mixed up as he is in a dirty mess. He’s +afraid of the law, I tell you. That’s why he denied marrying +you. It meant bigamy to admit it. Anyway, I +don’t think a fake ceremony like that is binding; I mean +that it isn’t even real enough to put him in jail. Which +means that you’re not married, Rue.”</p> +<p>“Does it?”</p> +<p>“I think so. Ask a lawyer, anyway. There may be +steps to take—I don’t know. All the same—do you +really want to go to France and study art? Do you +really mean to sail on this ship?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You feel confidence in yourself? You feel sure of +yourself?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You’ve got the backbone to see it through?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It’s got to be done.”</p> +<p>“All right, if you feel that way.” He made no move, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +however, but sat there watching her. After a while he +looked at his watch again:</p> +<p>“I’m going to ring up a taxi,” he said. “You might +as well go on board and get some sleep. What time +does she sail?”</p> +<p>“At five thirty, I believe.”</p> +<p>“Well, we haven’t so very long, then. There’s my +bedroom—if you want to fix up.”</p> +<p>She rose wearily.</p> +<p>When she emerged from his room with her hat and +gloves on, the taxicab was audible in the street below.</p> +<p>Together they descended the dark stairway up which +she had toiled with trembling knees. He carried her +suitcase, aided her into the taxi.</p> +<p>“Cunard Line,” he said briefly, and entered the cab.</p> +<p>Already in the darkness of early morning the city +was awake; workmen were abroad; lighted tramcars +passed with passengers; great wains, trucks, and country +wagons moved slowly toward markets and ferries.</p> +<p>He had begun to tell her almost immediately all that +he knew about Paris, the life there in the students’ +quarters, methods of living economically, what to seek +and what to avoid—a homily rather hurried and condensed, +as they sped toward the pier.</p> +<p>She seemed to be listening; he could not be sure that +she understood or that her mind was fixed at all on +what he was saying. Even while speaking, numberless +objections to her going occurred to him, but as he had +no better alternatives to suggest he did not voice them.</p> +<p>In his heart he really believed she ought to go back +to Brookhollow. It was perfectly evident she would +not consent to go there. As for her remaining in New +York, perhaps the reasons for her going to Paris were +as good. He was utterly unable to judge; he only knew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +that she ought to have the protection of experience, +and that was lacking.</p> +<p>“I’m going to remain on board with you,” he said, +“until she sails. I’m going to try to find my very good +friend, the Princess Mistchenka, and have you meet +her. She has been very kind to me, and I shall ask her +to keep an eye on you while you are crossing, and to +give you a lot of good advice.”</p> +<p>“A—princess,” said Rue in a tired, discouraged +voice, “is not very likely to pay any attention to me, I +think.”</p> +<p>“She’s one of those Russian or Caucasian princesses. +You know they don’t rank very high. She told me herself. +She’s great fun—full of life and wit and intelligence +and wide experience. She knows a lot about +everything and everybody; she’s been everywhere, travelled +all over the globe.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think,” repeated Rue, “that she would care +for me at all.”</p> +<p>“Yes, she would. She’s young and warm-hearted and +human. Besides, she is interested in art—knows a lot +about it—even paints very well herself.”</p> +<p>“She must be wonderful.”</p> +<p>“No—she’s just a regular woman. It was because +she was interested in art that she came to the League, +and I was introduced to her. That is how I came to +know her. She comes sometimes to my studio.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but you are already an artist, and an interesting +man––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Rue, I’m just beginning. She’s kind, that’s +all—an energetic, intelligent woman, full of interest in +life. I <i>know</i> she’ll give you some splendid advice—tell +you how to get settled in Paris—Lord! You don’t +even know French, do you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Not a word?”</p> +<p>“No.... I don’t know anything, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>He tried to laugh reassuringly:</p> +<p>“I thought it was to be Jim, not Mister,” he reminded +her.</p> +<p>But she only looked at him out of troubled eyes.</p> +<p>In the glare of the pier’s headlights they descended. +Passengers were entering the vast, damp enclosure; +porters, pier officers, ship’s officers, sailors, passed to +and fro as they moved toward the gangway where, in +the electric glare of lamps, the clifflike side of the +gigantic liner loomed up.</p> +<p>At sight of the monster ship Rue’s heart leaped, +quailed, leaped again. As she set one slender foot on +the gangway such an indescribable sensation seized her +that she caught at Neeland’s arm and held to it, almost +faint with the violence of her emotion.</p> +<p>A steward took the suitcase, preceded them down +abysmal and gorgeous stairways, through salons, deep +into the dimly magnificent bowels of the ocean giant, +then through an endless white corridor twinkling with +lights, to a stateroom, where a stewardess ushered +them in.</p> +<p>There was nobody there; nobody had been there.</p> +<p>“He dare not come,” whispered Neeland in Ruhannah’s +ear.</p> +<p>The girl stood in the centre of the stateroom looking +silently about her.</p> +<p>“Have you any English and French money?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Give me—well, say two hundred dollars, and I’ll +have the purser change it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></p> +<p>She went to her suitcase, where it stood on the +lounge; he unstrapped it for her; she found the big +packet of treasury notes and handed them to him.</p> +<p>“Good heavens!” he muttered. “This won’t do. I’m +going to have the purser lock them in the safe and give +me a receipt. Then when you meet the Princess Mistchenka, +tell her what I’ve done and ask her advice. Will +you, Rue?”</p> +<p>“Yes, thank you.”</p> +<p>“You’ll wait here for me, won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>So he noted the door number and went away hastily +in search of the purser, to do what he could in the +matter of foreign money for the girl. And on the +upper companionway he met the Princess Mistchenka +descending, preceded by porters with her luggage.</p> +<p>“James!” she exclaimed. “Have you come aboard +to elope with me? Otherwise, what are you doing on +the <i>Lusitania</i> at this very ghastly hour in the morning?”</p> +<p>She was smiling into his face and her daintily gloved +hand retained his for a moment; then she passed her +arm through his.</p> +<p>“Follow the porter,” she said, “and tell me what +brings you here, my gay young friend. You see I am +wearing the orchids you sent me. Do you really mean +to add yourself to this charming gift?”</p> +<p>He told her the story of Ruhannah Carew as briefly +as he could; at her stateroom door they paused while +he continued the story, the Princess Mistchenka looking +at him very intently while she listened, and never uttering +a word.</p> +<p>She was a pretty woman, not tall, rather below middle +stature, perhaps, beautifully proportioned and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +perfectly gowned. Hair and eyes were dark as velvet; her +skin was old ivory and rose; and always her lips seemed +about to part a little in the faint and provocative +smile which lay latent in the depths of her brown eyes.</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” she said, “what a history of woe you +are telling me, my friend James! What a tale of innocence +and of deception and outraged trust is this that +you relate to me! <i>Allons! Vite!</i> Let us find this poor, +abandoned infant—this unhappy victim of your sex’s +well-known duplicity!”</p> +<p>“She isn’t a victim, you know,” he explained.</p> +<p>“I see. Only almost—a—victim. Yes? Where is +this child, then?”</p> +<p>“May I bring her to you, Princess?”</p> +<p>“But of course! Bring her. I am not afraid—so +far—to look any woman in the face at five o’clock in +the morning.” And the threatened smile flashed out +in her fresh, pretty face.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When he came back with Rue Carew, the Princess +Mistchenka was conferring with her maid and with her +stewardess. She turned to look at Rue as Neeland came +up—continued to scrutinise her intently while he was +presenting her.</p> +<p>There ensued a brief silence; the Princess glanced at +Neeland, then her dark eyes returned directly to the +young girl before her, and she held out her hand, +smilingly:</p> +<p>“Miss Carew—I believe I know exactly what your +voice is going to be like. I think I have heard, in +America, such a voice once or twice. Speak to me and +prove me right.”</p> +<p>Rue flushed:</p> +<p>“What am I to say?” she asked naïvely. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></p> +<p>“I knew I was right,” exclaimed the Princess Mistchenka +gaily. “Come into my stateroom and let each +one of us discover how agreeable is the other. Shall +we—my dear child?”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When Neeland returned from a visit to the purser +with a pocket full of British and French gold and silver +for Ruhannah, he knocked at the stateroom door of +the Princess Mistchenka.</p> +<p>That lively personage opened it, came out into the +corridor holding the door partly closed behind her.</p> +<p>“She’s almost dead with fatigue and grief. I undressed +her myself. She’s in my bed. She has been +crying.”</p> +<p>“Poor little thing,” said Neeland.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Here’s her money,” he said, a little awkwardly.</p> +<p>The Princess opened her wrist bag and he dumped +in the shining torrent.</p> +<p>“Shall I—call good-bye to her?” he asked.</p> +<p>“You may go in, James.”</p> +<p>They entered together; and he was startled to see +how young she seemed there on the pillows—how pitifully +immature the childish throat, the tear-flushed face +lying in its mass of chestnut hair.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Rue,” he said, still awkward, offering his +hand.</p> +<p>Slowly she held out one slim hand from the covers.</p> +<p>“Good voyage, good luck,” he said. “I wish you +would write a line to me.”</p> +<p>“I will.”</p> +<p>“Then––” He smiled; released her hand.</p> +<p>“Thank you for—for all you have done,” she said. +“I shall not forget.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>Something choked him slightly; he forced a laugh:</p> +<p>“Come back a famous painter, Rue. Keep your head +clear and your heart full of courage. And let me know +how you’re getting on, won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.... Good-bye.”</p> +<p>So he went out, and at the door exchanged adieux +with the smiling Princess.</p> +<p>“Do you—like her a little?” he whispered.</p> +<p>“I do, my friend. Also—I like you. I am old enough +to say it safely, am I not?”</p> +<p>“If you think so,” he said, a funny little laugh in +his eyes, “you are old enough to let me kiss you good-bye.”</p> +<p>But she backed away, still smiling:</p> +<p>“On the brow—the hair—yes; if you promise discretion, +James.”</p> +<p>“What has tottering age like yours to do with discretion, +Princess Naïa?” he retorted impudently. “A +kiss on the mouth must of itself be discreet when bestowed +on youth by such venerable years as are yours.”</p> +<p>But the Princess, the singularly provocative smile +still edging her lips, merely looked at him out of dark +and slightly humorous eyes, gave him her hand, withdrew +it with decision, and entered her stateroom, closing +the door rather sharply behind her.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When Neeland got back to the studio he took a couple +of hours’ sleep, and, being young, perfectly healthy, +and perhaps not unaccustomed to the habits of the +owl family, felt pretty well when he went out to breakfast.</p> +<p>Over his coffee cup he propped up his newspaper +against a carafe; and the heading on one of the columns +immediately attracted his attention. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>ROW BETWEEN SPORTING MEN<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>EDDIE BRANDES, FIGHT PROMOTER AND<br /> +THEATRICAL MAN, MIXES IT WITH<br /> +MAXY VENEM<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>A WOMAN SAID TO BE THE CAUSE: AFFRAY DRAWS<br /> +A BIG CROWD IN FRONT OF THE HOTEL<br /> +KNICKERBOCKER<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>BOTH MEN, BADLY BATTERED, GET AWAY BEFORE THE<br /> +POLICE ARRIVE<br /></p> +<p>Breakfasting leisurely, he read the partly humorous, +partly contemptuous account of the sordid affair. +Afterward he sent for all the morning papers. But +in none of them was Ruhannah Carew mentioned at all, +nobody, apparently, having noticed her in the exciting +affair between Venem, Brandes, the latter’s wife, and +the chauffeur.</p> +<p>Nor did the evening papers add anything material +to the account, except to say that Brandes had been +interviewed in his office at the Silhouette Theatre and +that he stated that he had not engaged in any personal +encounter with anybody, had not seen Max Venem in +months, had not been near the Hotel Knickerbocker, +and knew nothing about the affair in question.</p> +<p>He also permitted a dark hint or two to escape him +concerning possible suits for defamation of character +against irresponsible newspapers.</p> +<p>The accounts in the various evening editions agreed, +however, that when interviewed, Mr. Brandes was nursing +a black eye and a badly swollen lip, which, according +to him, he had acquired in a playful sparring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +encounter with his business manager, Mr. Benjamin Stull.</p> +<p>And that was all; the big town had neither time nor +inclination to notice either Brandes or Venem any +further; Broadway completed the story for its own +edification, and, by degrees, arrived at its own conclusions. +Only nobody could discover who was the +young girl concerned, or where she came from or what +might be her name. And, after a few days, Broadway, +also, forgot the matter amid the tarnished tinsel and +raucous noises of its own mean and multifarious preoccupations.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_LETTERS_FROM_A_LITTLE_GIRL' id='CHAPTER_XIII_LETTERS_FROM_A_LITTLE_GIRL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GIRL</h3> +</div> +<p>Neeland had several letters from Ruhannah Carew +that autumn and winter. The first one was written a +few weeks after her arrival in Paris:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dear Mr. Neeland</span>:</p> +<p>Please forgive me for writing to you, but I am homesick.</p> +<p>I have written every week to mother and have made +my letters read as though I were still married, because +it would almost kill her if she knew the truth.</p> +<p>Some day I shall have to tell her, but not yet. Could +you tell me how you think the news ought to be broken +to her and father?</p> +<p><i>That man</i> was not on the steamer. I was quite ill crossing +the ocean. But the last two days I went on deck with +the Princess Mistchenka and her maid, and I enjoyed the +sea.</p> +<p>The Princess has been so friendly. I should have died, +I think, without her, what with my seasickness and homesickness, +and brooding over my terrible fall. I know it +is immoral to say so, but I did not want to live any longer, +truly I didn’t. I even asked to be taken. I am sorry now +that I prayed that way.</p> +<p>Well, I have passed through the most awful part of my +life, I think. I feel strange and different, as though I +had been very sick, and had died, and as though it were +another girl sitting here writing to you, and not the girl +who was in your studio last August.</p> +<p>I had always expected happiness some day. Now I +know I shall never have it. Girls dream many foolish +things about the future. They have such dear, silly hopes.</p> +<p>All dreams are ended for me; all that remains in life +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +for me is to work very hard so that I can learn to support +myself and my parents. I should like to make a +great deal of money so that when I die I can leave it to +charity. I desire to be remembered for my good works. +But of course I shall first have to learn how to take care +of myself and mother and father before I can aid the +poor. I often think of becoming a nun and going out to +nurse lepers. Only I don’t know where there are any. +Do you?</p> +<p>Paris is very large and a sort of silvery grey colour, +full of trees with yellowing leaves—but Oh, it is <i>so</i> lonely, +Mr. Neeland! I am determined not to cry every day, +but it is quite difficult not to. And then there are so +many, many people, and they all talk French! They talk +very fast, too, even the little children.</p> +<p>This seems such an ungrateful letter to write you, who +were so good and kind to me in my dreadful hour of trial +and disgrace. I am afraid you won’t understand how full +of gratitude I am, to you and to the Princess Mistchenka.</p> +<p>I have the prettiest little bedroom in her house. +There is a pink shade on my night lamp. She insisted +that I go home with her, and I had to, because I didn’t +know where else to go, and she wouldn’t tell me. In +fact, I can’t go anywhere or find any place because I +speak no French at all. It’s humiliating, isn’t it, for +even the very little children speak French in Paris.</p> +<p>But I have begun to learn; a cheerful old lady comes +for an hour every day to teach me. Only it is very hard +for me, because she speaks no English and I am forbidden +to utter one word of my own language. And so far I +understand nothing that she says, which makes me more +lonely than I ever was in all my life. But sometimes it +is so absurd that we both laugh.</p> +<p>I am to study drawing and painting at a studio for +women. The kind Princess has arranged it. I am also +to study piano and voice culture. This I did not suppose +would be possible with the money I have, but the Princess +Mistchenka, who has asked me to let her take charge of +my money and my expenses, says that I can easily afford +it. She knows, of course, what things cost, and what I +am able to afford; and I trust her willingly because she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +is so dear and sweet to me, but I am a little frightened +at the dresses she is having made for me. They <i>can’t</i> +be inexpensive!—Such lovely clothes and shoes and hats—and +other things about which I never even heard in Brookhollow.</p> +<p>I ought to be happy, Mr. Neeland, but everything is so +new and strange—even Sunday is not restful; and how +different is Nôtre Dame de Paris and Saint Eustache from +our church at Gayfield! The high arches and jewelled +windows and the candles and the dull roar of the organ +drove from my mind those quiet and solemn thoughts of +God which always filled my mind so naturally and peacefully +in our church at home. I couldn’t think of Him; +I couldn’t even try to pray; it was as though an ocean were +rolling and thundering over me where I lay drowned in a +most deep place.</p> +<p>Well, I must close, because <i>déjeuner</i> is ready—you see +I know <i>one</i> French word, after all! And one other—“<i>Bonjour, +monsieur!</i>”—which counts <i>two</i>, doesn’t it?—or +three in all.</p> +<p>It has made me feel better to write to you. I hope you +will not think it a presumption.</p> +<p>And now I shall say thank you for your great kindness +to me in your studio on that most frightful night of +my life. It is one of those things that a girl can never, +never forget—your aid in my hour of need. Through all +my shame and distress it was your help that sustained me; +for I was so stunned by my disgrace that I even forgot +God himself.</p> +<p>But I <i>will</i> prove that I am thankful to Him, and worthy +of your goodness to me; I <i>will</i> profit by this dreadful +humiliation and devote my life to a more worthy and lofty +purpose than merely getting married just because a man +asked me so persistently and I was too young and ignorant +to continue saying no! Also, I <i>did</i> want to study art. +How stupid, how immoral I was!</p> +<p>And now nobody would ever want to marry me again +after this—and also it’s against the law, I imagine. But +I don’t care; I never, never desire to marry another man. +All I want is to learn how to support myself by art; +and some day perhaps I shall forget what has happened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +to me and perhaps find a little pleasure in life when I +am very old.</p> +<p>With every wish and prayer for your happiness and +success in this world of sorrow, believe me your grateful +friend,</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Rue Carew</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<p>Every naïve and laboured line of the stilted letter +touched and amused and also flattered Neeland; for +no young man is entirely insensible to a young girl’s +gratitude. An agreeable warmth suffused him; it +pleased him to remember that he had been associated +in the moral and social rehabilitation of Rue Carew.</p> +<p>He meant to write her some kind, encouraging advice; +he had every intention of answering her letter. But in +New York young men are very busy; or think they are. +For youth days dawn and vanish in the space of a fire-fly’s +lingering flash; and the moments swarm by like +a flight of distracted golden butterflies; and a young +man is ever at their heels in breathless chase with as +much chance of catching up with the elusive moment as +a squirrel has of outstripping the wheel in which he +whirls.</p> +<p>So he neglected to reply—waited a little too long. +Because, while her childish letter still remained unanswered, +came a note from the Princess Mistchenka, +enclosing a tremulous line from Rue:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p><i>Mon cher</i> <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>James</span>:</p> +<p>Doubtless you have already heard of the sad death of +Ruhannah’s parents—within a few hours of each other—both +stricken with pneumonia within the same week. The +local minister cabled her as Mrs. Brandes in my care. +Then he wrote to the child; the letter has just arrived.</p> +<p>My poor little <i>protégée</i> is prostrated—talks wildly of +going back at once. But to what purpose now, <i>mon ami</i>? +Her loved ones will have been in their graves for days before +Ruhannah could arrive. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>No; I shall keep her here. She is young; she shall +be kept busy every instant of the day. That is the only +antidote for grief; youth and time its only cure.</p> +<p>Please write to the Baptist minister at Gayfield, James, +and find out what is to be done; and have it done. Judge +Gary, at Orangeville, had charge of the Reverend Mr. +Carew’s affairs. Let him send the necessary papers to +Ruhannah here. I enclose a paper which she has executed, +conferring power of attorney. If a guardian is to be +appointed, I shall take steps to qualify through the good +offices of Lejeune Brothers, the international lawyers +whom I have put into communication with Judge Gary +through the New York representatives of the firm.</p> +<p>There are bound to be complications, I fear, in regard +to this mock marriage of hers. I have consulted my attorneys +here and they are not very certain that the ceremony +was not genuine enough to require further legal +steps to free her entirely. A suit for annulment is possible.</p> +<p>Please have the house at Brookhollow locked up and +keep the keys in your possession for the present. Judge +Gary will have the keys sent to you.</p> +<p>James, dear, I am very deeply indebted to you for +giving to me my little friend, Ruhannah Carew. Now, I +wish to make her entirely mine by law until the inevitable +day arrives when some man shall take her from me.</p> +<p>Write to her, James; don’t be selfish.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 3.125em;'>Yours always,</span><br /> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Naïa</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<p>The line enclosed from Ruhannah touched him deeply:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p>I cannot speak of it yet. Please, when you go to Brookhollow, +have flowers planted. You know where our plot +is. Have it made pretty for them.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Rue</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<p>He wrote at once exactly the sort of letter that an +impulsive, warm-hearted young man might take time +to write to a bereaved friend. He was genuinely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +grieved and sorry for her, but he was glad when his +letter was finished and mailed, and he could turn his +thoughts into other and gayer channels.</p> +<p>To this letter she replied, thanking him for what +he had written and for what he had done to make the +plot in the local cemetery “pretty.”</p> +<p>She asked him to keep the keys to the house in Brookhollow. +Then followed a simple report of her quiet +and studious daily life in the home of the Princess +Mistchenka; of her progress in her studies; of her hopes +that in due time she might become sufficiently educated +to take care of herself.</p> +<p>It was a slightly dull, laboured, almost emotionless +letter. Always willing to shirk correspondence, he persuaded +himself that the letter called for no immediate +answer. After all, it was not to be expected that a very +young girl whom a man had met only twice in his life +could hold his interest very long, when absent. However, +he meant to write her again; thought of doing so +several times during the next twelve months.</p> +<p>It was a year before another letter came from her. +And, reading it, he was a little surprised to discover +how rapidly immaturity can mature under the shock +of circumstances and exotic conditions which tend toward +forced growth.</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Mon cher ami</span>:</p> +<p>I was silly enough to hope you might write to me. But I +suppose you have far more interesting and important matters +to occupy you.</p> +<p>Still, don’t you sometimes remember the girl you drove +home with in a sleigh one winter night, ages ago? Don’t +you sometimes think of the girl who came creeping upstairs, +half dead, to your studio door? And don’t you +sometimes wonder what has become of her?</p> +<p>Why is it that a girl is always more loyal to past +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +memories than a man ever is? Don’t answer that it is because +she has less to occupy her than a man has. You have no +idea how busy I have been during this long year in which +you have forgotten me.</p> +<p>Among other things I have been busy growing. I am +taller by two inches than when last I saw you. Please be +impressed by my five feet eight inches.</p> +<p>Also, I am happy. The greatest happiness in the world +is to have the opportunity to learn about that same world.</p> +<p>I am happy because I now have that opportunity. +During these many months since I wrote to you I have +learned a little French; I read some, write some, understand +pretty well, and speak a little. What a pleasure, +<i>mon ami</i>!</p> +<p>Piano and vocal music, too, occupy me; I love both, and +I am told encouraging things. But best and most delightful +of all I am learning to draw and compose and paint +from life in the Académie Julian! Think of it! It is +difficult, it is absorbing, it requires energy, persistence, self-denial; +but it is fascinating, satisfying, glorious.</p> +<p>Also, it is very trying, <i>mon ami</i>; and I descend into +depths of despair and I presently soar up out of those +depressing depths into intoxicating altitudes of aspiration +and self-confidence.</p> +<p>You yourself know how it is, of course. At the criticism +today I was lifted to the seventh heaven. “<i>Pas mal</i>,” he +said; “<i>continuez, mademoiselle</i>.” Which is wonderful for +him. Also my weekly sketch was chosen from among all +the others, and I was given number one. That means my +choice of <i>tabourets</i> on Monday morning, <i>voyez vous</i>? So +do you wonder that I came home with Suzanne, walking +on air, and that as soon as <i>déjeuner</i> was finished I flew in +here to write to you about it?</p> +<p>Suzanne is our maid—the maid of Princess Naïa, of +course—who walks to and from school with me. I didn’t +wish her to follow me about at first, but the Princess insisted, +and I’m resigned to it now.</p> +<p>The Princess Mistchenka is such a darling! I owe her +more than I owe anybody except mother and father. She +simply took me as I was, a young, stupid, ignorant, awkward +country girl with no experience, no <i>savoir-faire</i>, no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +clothes, and even no knowledge of how to wear them; +and she is trying to make out of me a fairly intelligent +and presentable human being who will not offend her by +<i>gaucheries</i> when with her, and who will not disgrace her +when in the circle of her friends.</p> +<p>Oh, of course I still make a <i>faux pas</i> now and then, +<i>mon ami</i>; there are dreadful pitfalls in the French +language into which I have fallen more than once. And +at times I have almost died of mortification. But everybody +is so amiable and patient, so polite, so gay about my +mistakes. I am beginning to love the French. And I am +learning so much! I had no idea what a capacity I had +for learning things. But then, with Princess Naïa, and +with my kind and patient teachers and my golden opportunities, +even a very stupid girl must learn <i>something</i>. +And I am not really very stupid; I’ve discovered that. On +the contrary, I really seem to learn quite rapidly; and +all that annoys me is that there is so much to learn and +the days are not long enough, so anxious am I, so ambitious, +so determined to get out of this wonderful opportunity +everything I possibly can extract.</p> +<p>I have lived in these few months more years than my +own age adds up! I am growing old and wise very fast. +Please hasten to write to me before I have grown so old +that you would not recognize me if you met me.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 3.125em;'>Your friend,</span><br /> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Ruhannah</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<p>The letter flattered him. He was rather glad he had +once kissed the girl who could write such a letter.</p> +<p>He happened to be engaged, at that time, in drawing +several illustrations for a paper called the <i>Midweek +Magazine</i>. There was a heroine, of course, in the story +he was illustrating. And, from memory, and in spite +of the model posing for him, he made the face like the +face of Ruhannah Carew.</p> +<p>But the days passed, and he did not reply to her +letter. Then there came still another letter from her: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></p> +<p>Why don’t you write me just one line? Have you +<i>really</i> forgotten me? You’d like me if you knew me +now, I think. I am really quite grown up. And I am <i>so</i> +happy!</p> +<p>The Princess is simply adorable. Always we are busy, +Princess Naïa and I; and now, since I have laid aside +mourning, we go to concerts; we go to plays; we have +been six times to the opera, and as many more to the +Théâtre Français; we have been to the Louvre and the +Luxembourg many times; to St. Cloud, Versailles, Fontainebleau.</p> +<p>Always, when my studies are over, we do something interesting; +and I am beginning to know Paris, and to care +for it with real affection; to feel secure and happy and at +home in this dear, glittering, silvery-grey city—full of +naked trees and bridges and palaces. And, sometimes +when I feel homesick, and lonely, and when Brookhollow +seems very, very far away, it troubles me a little to find +that I am not nearly so homesick as I think I ought to be. +But I think it must be like seasickness; it is too frightful +to last.</p> +<p>The Princess Mistchenka has nursed me through the +worst. All I can say is that she is very wonderful.</p> +<p>On her day, which is Thursday, her pretty <i>salon</i> is +thronged. At first I was too shy and embarrassed to be +anything but frightened and self-conscious and very miserable +when I sat beside her on her Thursdays. Besides, +I was in mourning and did not appear on formal occasions.</p> +<p>Now it is different; I take my place beside her; I am +not self-conscious; I am interested; I find pleasure in +knowing people who are so courteous, so considerate, so +gay and entertaining.</p> +<p>Everybody is agreeable and gay, and I am sorry that +I miss so much that is witty in what is said; but I am +learning French very rapidly.</p> +<p>The men are polite to me! At first I was so <i>gauche</i>, +so stupid and provincial, that I could not bear to have anybody +kiss my hand and pay me compliments. I’ve made +a lot of other mistakes, too, but I never make the same +mistake twice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></p> +<p>So many interesting men come to our Thursdays; and +some women. I prefer the men, I think. There is one +old French General who is a dear; and there are young +officers, too; and yesterday two cabinet ministers and several +people from the British and Russian embassies. And +the Turkish Chargé, whom I dislike.</p> +<p>The women seem to be agreeable, and they all are most +beautifully gowned. Some have titles. But all seem to be +a little too much made up. I don’t know any of them except +formally. But I feel that I know some of the men +better—especially the old General and a young military +attaché of the Russian Embassy, whom everybody likes +and pets, and whom everybody calls Prince Erlik—such +a handsome boy! And his real name is Alak, and I think +he is very much in love with Princess Naïa.</p> +<p>Now, something very odd has happened which I wish +to tell you about. My father, as you know, was missionary +in the Vilayet of Trebizond many years ago. +While there he came into possession of a curious sea chest +belonging to a German named Conrad Wilner, who was +killed in a riot near Gallipoli.</p> +<p>In this chest were, and still are, two very interesting +things—an old bronze Chinese figure which I used to play +with when I was a child. It was called the Yellow Devil; +and a native Chinese missionary once read for us the +inscription on the figure which identified it as a Mongol +demon called Erlik, the Prince of Darkness.</p> +<p>The other object of interest in the box was the manuscript +diary kept by this Herr Wilner to within a few +moments of his death. This I have often heard read +aloud by my father, but I forget much of it now, and I +never understood it all, because I was too young. Now, +here is the curious thing about it all. The first time you +spoke to me of the Princess Naïa Mistchenka, I had a +hazy idea that her name seemed familiar to me. And ever +since I have known her, now and then I found myself trying +to recollect where I had heard that name, even before +I heard it from you.</p> +<p>Suddenly, one evening about a week ago, it came to me +that I had heard both the names, Naïa and Mistchenka, +when I was a child. Also the name Erlik. The two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +former names occur in Herr Wilner’s diary; the latter +I heard from the Chinese missionary years ago; and that +is why they seemed so familiar to me.</p> +<p>It is so long since I have read the diary that I can’t +remember the story in which the names Naïa and Mistchenka +are concerned. As I recollect, it was a tragic story +that used to thrill me.</p> +<p>At any rate, I didn’t speak of this to Princess Naïa; but +about a week ago there were a few people dining here +with us—among others an old Turkish Admiral, Murad +Pasha, who took me out. And as soon as I heard <i>his</i> name +I thought of that diary; and I am sure it was mentioned +in it.</p> +<p>Anyway, he happened to speak of Trebizond; and, +naturally, I said that my father had been a missionary +there many years ago.</p> +<p>As this seemed to interest him, and because he questioned +me, I told him my father’s name and all that I +knew in regard to his career as a missionary in the Trebizond +district. And, somehow—I don’t exactly recollect +how it came about—I spoke of Herr Wilner, and his death +at Gallipoli, and how his effects came into my father’s +possession.</p> +<p>And because the old, sleepy-eyed Admiral seemed so +interested and amused, I told him about Herr Wilner’s +box and his diary and the plans and maps and photographs +with which I used to play as a little child.</p> +<p>After dinner, Princess Naïa asked me what it was I +had been telling Murad Pasha to wake him up so completely +and to keep him so amused. So I merely said that +I had been telling the Admiral about my childhood in +Brookhollow.</p> +<p>Naturally neither she nor I thought about the incident +any further. Murad did not come again; but a few days +later the Turkish Chargé d’Affaires was present at a very +large dinner given by Princess Naïa.</p> +<p>And two curious conversations occurred at that dinner:</p> +<p>The Turkish Chargé suddenly turned to me and asked +me in English whether I were not the daughter of the +Reverend Wilbour Carew who once was in charge of the +American Mission near Trebizond. I was so surprised +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +at the question; but I answered yes, remembering that +Murad must have mentioned me to him.</p> +<p>He continued to ask me about my father, and spoke of +his efforts to establish a girls’ school, first at Brusa, then +at Tchardak, and finally near Gallipoli. I told him I had +often heard my father speak of these matters with my +mother, but that I was too young to remember anything +about my own life in Turkey.</p> +<p>All the while we were conversing, I noticed that the +Princess kept looking across the table at us as though +some chance word had attracted her attention.</p> +<p>After dinner, when the gentlemen had retired to the +smoking room, the Princess took me aside and made me +repeat everything that Ahmed Mirka had asked me.</p> +<p>I told her. She said that the Turkish Chargé was an +old busybody, always sniffing about for all sorts of information; +that it was safer to be reticent and let him do the +talking; and that almost every scrap of conversation with +him was mentally noted and later transcribed for the +edification of the Turkish Secret Service.</p> +<p>I thought this very humorous; but going into the little +<i>salon</i> where the piano was and where the music was kept, +while I was looking for an old song by Messager, from +“La Basoche,” called “Je suis aimé de la plus belle—” +Ahmed Mirka’s handsome attaché, Colonel Izzet Bey, came +up to where I was rummaging in the music cabinet.</p> +<p>He talked nonsense in French and in English for a +while, but somehow the conversation led again toward my +father and the girls’ school at Gallipoli which had been +attacked and burned by a mob during the first month after +it had been opened, and where the German, Herr Wilner, +had been killed.</p> +<p>“Monsieur, your reverend father, must surely have told +you stories about the destruction of the Gallipoli school, +mademoiselle,” he insisted.</p> +<p>“Yes. It happened a year before the mission at +Trebizond was destroyed by the Turks.” I said maliciously.</p> +<p>“So I have heard. What a pity! Our Osmanli—our +peasantry are so stupid! And it was such a fine school. A +German engineer was killed there, I believe.”</p> +<p>“Yes, my father said so.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p> +<p>“A certain Herr Conrad Wilner, was it not?”</p> +<p>“Yes. How did you hear of him, Colonel Izzet?”</p> +<p>“It was known in Stamboul. He perished by mistake, +I believe—at Gallipoli.”</p> +<p>“Yes; my father said that Herr Wilner was the only +man hurt. He went out all alone into the mob and began +to cut them with his riding whip. My father tried to +save him, but they killed Herr Wilner with stones.”</p> +<p>“Exactly.” He spread his beautifully jewelled hands +deprecatingly and seemed greatly grieved.</p> +<p>“And Herr Wilner’s—property?” he inquired. “Did +you ever hear what became of it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” I said. “My father took charge of it.”</p> +<p>“Oh! It was supposed at the time that all of Herr +Wilner’s personal property was destroyed when the school +and compound burned. Do you happen to know just what +was saved, mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>Of course I immediately thought of the bronze demon, +the box of instruments, and the photographs and papers +at home with which I used to play as a child. I remembered +my father had said that these things were taken on +board the <i>Oneida</i> when he, my mother, and I were rescued +by marines and sailors from our guard vessel which came +through the Bosporus to the Black Sea, and which escorted +us to the <i>Oneida</i>. And I was just going to tell this +to Izzet Bey when I also remembered what the Princess +had just told me about giving any information to Ahmed +Pasha. So I merely opened my eyes very innocently and +gazed at Colonel Izzet and shook my head as though I +did not understand his question.</p> +<p>The next instant the Princess came in to see what I was +about so long, and she looked at Izzet Bey with a funny +sort of smile, as though she had surprised him in mischief +and was not angry, only amused. And when Colonel +Izzet bowed, I saw how red his face had grown—as red +as his fez.</p> +<p>The Princess laughed and said in French: “That is the +difference between professional and amateur—between +Nizam and Redif—between Ahmed Pasha and our esteemed +but very youthful attaché—who has much yet to learn +about that endless war called Peace!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></p> +<p>I didn’t know what she meant, but Izzet Bey turned a +bright scarlet, bowed again, and returned to the smoking +room.</p> +<p>And that night, while Suzanne was unhooking me, +Princess Naïa came into my bedroom and asked me some +questions, and I told her about the box of instruments and +the diary, and the slippery linen papers covered with drawings +and German writing, with which I used to play.</p> +<p>She said never to mention them to anybody, and that I +should never permit anybody to examine those military +papers, because it might be harmful to America.</p> +<p>How odd and how thrilling! I am most curious to know +what all this means. It seems like an exciting story just +beginning, and I wonder what such a girl as I has to do +with secrets which concern the Turkish Chargé in Paris.</p> +<p>Don’t you think it promises to be romantic? Do you +suppose it has anything to do with spies and diplomacy +and kings and thrones, and terrible military secrets? One +hears a great deal about the embassies here being hotbeds +of political intrigue. And of course France is always +thinking of Alsace and Lorraine, and there is an ever-present +danger of war in Europe.</p> +<p>Mr. Neeland, it thrills me to pretend to myself that +I am actually living in the plot of a romance full of mystery +and diplomacy and dangerous possibilities. I <i>hope</i> +something will develop, as something always does in +novels.</p> +<p>And alas, my imagination, which always has been vivid, +needed almost nothing to blaze into flame. It is on fire +now; I dream of courts and armies, and ambassadors, +and spies; I construct stories in which I am the heroine +always—sometimes the interesting and temporary victim +of wicked plots; sometimes the all-powerful, dauntless, +and adroit champion of honour and righteousness against +treachery and evil!</p> +<p>Did you ever suppose that I still could remain such a +very little girl? But I fear that I shall never outgrow +my imagination. And it needs almost nothing to set me +dreaming out stories or drawing pictures of castles and +princes and swans and fairies. And even this letter seems +a part of some breathlessly interesting plot which I am +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +not only creating but actually a living part of and destined +to act in.</p> +<p>Do you want a part in it? Shall I include you? Rather +late to ask your permission, for I have already included +you. And, somehow, I think the Yellow Devil ought to +be included, too.</p> +<p>Please write to me, just once. But don’t speak of the +papers which father had, and don’t mention Herr Conrad +Wilner’s box if you write. The Princess says your letter +might be stolen.</p> +<p>I am very happy. It is rather cold tonight, and presently +Suzanne will unhook me and I shall put on such +a pretty negligée, and then curl up in bed, turn on my +reading light with the pink shade, and continue to read the +new novel recommended to me by Princess Naïa, called +“Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard.” It is a perfectly +darling story, and Anatole France, who wrote it, must be a +darling, too. The Princess knows him and promises that +he shall dine with us some day. I expect to fall in love +with him immediately.</p> +<p>Good night, dear Mr. Neeland. I <i>hope</i> you will write +to me.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 2.34375em;'>Your little Gayfield friend grown up,</span><br /> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Ruhannah Carew</span>.<br /></p> +<p>This letter he finally did answer, not voluminously, +but with all cordiality. And, in a few days, forgot +about it and about the girl to whom it was written. +And there was nothing more from her until early +summer.</p> +<p>Then came the last of her letters—an entirely mature +missive, firm in writing, decisive, concise, self-possessed, +eloquent with an indefinite something which +betrayed a calmly ordered mind already being moulded +by discipline <i>mondaine</i>:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>My dear Mr. Neeland</span>:</p> +<p>I had your very kind and charming letter in reply to +mine written last January. My neglect to answer it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +during all these months, involves me in explanations which, if +you like, are perhaps due you. But if you require them +at all, I had rather surrender them to you personally when +we meet.</p> +<p>Possibly that encounter, so happily anticipated on my +part, may occur sooner than you believe likely. I permit +myself to hope so. The note which I enclose to you from +the lady whom I love very dearly should explain why I +venture to entertain a hope that you and I are to see +each other again in the near future.</p> +<p>As you were kind enough to inquire about myself and +what you describe so flatteringly as my “amazing progress +in artistic and worldly wisdom,” I venture to reply to your +questions in order:</p> +<p>They seem to be pleased with me at the school. I have +a life-drawing “on the wall,” a composition sketch, and a +“<i>concours</i>” study in oil. That I have not burst to atoms +with pride is a miracle inexplicable.</p> +<p>I have been told that my progress at the piano is fair. +But I am very certain I shall do no more with vocal and +instrumental music than to play and sing acceptably for +such kind and uncritical friends as do not demand much +of an amateur. Without any unusual gifts, with a rather +sensitive ear, and with a very slightly cultivated and +perfectly childish voice—please do not expect anything +from me to please you.</p> +<p>In French I am already becoming fluent. You see, except +for certain lessons in it, I have scarcely heard a word +of English since I came here; the Princess will not use it +to me nor permit its use by me. And therefore, my ear +being a musical one and rather accurate, I find—now that +I look back upon my abysmal ignorance—a very decided +progress.</p> +<p>Also let me admit to you—and I have already done so, +I see—that, since I have been here, I have had daily lessons +in English with a cultivated English woman; and in +consequence I have been learning to enlarge a very meagre +vocabulary, and have begun to appreciate possibilities in +my own language of which I never dreamed.</p> +<p>About my personal appearance—as long as you ask me—I +think perhaps that, were I less thin, I might be rather +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +pretty. Dress makes such a vast difference in a plain +girl. Also, intelligent care of one’s person improves +mediocrity. Of course everybody says such gracious +things to a girl over here that it would not do to accept +any pretty compliment very literally. But I really believe +that you might think me rather nice to look at.</p> +<p>As for the future, the truth is that I feel much encouraged. +I made some drawings in wash and in pen and +ink—just ideas of mine. And Monsieur Bonvard, who is +editor of <i>The Grey Cat</i>—a very clever weekly—has accepted +them and has paid me twenty-five francs each for +them! I was so astonished that I could not believe it. +One has been reproduced in last week’s paper. I have +cut it out and pasted it in my scrapbook.</p> +<p>I think, take it all in all, that seeing my first illustrations +printed has given me greater joy than I shall ever +again experience on earth.</p> +<p>My daily intercourse with the Princess Mistchenka continues +to comfort me, inspire me, and fill me with determination +so to educate myself that when the time comes +I shall be ready and able to support myself with pen and +pencil.</p> +<p>And now I must bring my letter to its end. The prospect +of seeing you very soon is agreeable beyond words. +You have been very kind to me. I do not forget it.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 3.125em;'>Yours very sincerely,</span><br /> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Ruhannah Carew.</span><br /></p> +</div> +<p>The enclosure was a note from the Princess Mistchenka:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dear Jim</span>:</p> +<p>If in the past it has been my good fortune to add anything +to yours, may I now invoke in you the memory of +our very frank and delightful friendship?</p> +<p>When you first returned to America from Paris I found +it possible to do for you a few favours in the way of making +you known to certain editors. It was, I assure you, +merely because I liked you and believed in your work, +not because I ever expected to ask from you any favour in +return. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></p> +<p>Now, Fate has thrown an odd combination from her +dice-box; and Destiny has veiled herself so impenetrably +that nobody can read that awful visage to guess what +thoughts possess her.</p> +<p>You, in America, have heard of the murder of the +Austrian Archduke, of course. But—have you, in America, +any idea what the consequences of that murder may lead +to?</p> +<p>Enough of that. Now for the favour I ask.</p> +<p>Will you go <i>at once</i> to Brookhollow, go to Ruhannah’s +house, open it, take from it a chest made of olive wood +and bound with some metal which looks like silver, lock +the box, take it to New York, place it in a safe deposit +vault until you can sail for Paris on the first steamer that +leaves New York?</p> +<p>Will you do this—get the box I have described and +bring it to me yourself on the first steamer that sails?</p> +<p>And, Jim, keep your eye on the box. Don’t trust anybody +near it. Rue says that, as she recollects, the box is +about the size and shape of a suitcase and that it has a +canvas and leather cover with a handle which buttons +over it.</p> +<p>Therefore, you can carry it yourself exactly as though +it were your suitcase, keep it with you in the train and +on shipboard.</p> +<p>Will you do this, Jim? It is much to ask of you. I +break in upon your work and cause you great inconvenience +and trouble and expense. But—will you do it for +me?</p> +<p>Much depends upon your doing this. I think that possibly +the welfare of your own country might depend on +your doing this for me.</p> +<p>If you find yourself embarrassed financially, cable me +just one word, “Black,” and I shall arrange matters +through a New York bank.</p> +<p>If you feel that you do not care to do me this favour, +cable the single word, “White.”</p> +<p>If you have sufficient funds, and are willing to bring the +box to me yourself, cable the word, “Blue.”</p> +<p>In case that you undertake this business for me, be +careful of the contents of the box. Let nobody see it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +open. Be certain that the contents are absolutely secure. +I dare not tell you how vitally important to civilisation +these papers already are—how much they may mean to +the world; what powers of evil they might encourage if +in any way they fall into other hands than the right ones.</p> +<p>Jim, I have seldom taken a very serious tone with you +since we have known each other. I am very serious now. +And if our friendship means anything to you, prove it!</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 3.125em;'>Yours,</span><br /> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Naïa</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<p>As he sat there in his studio, perplexed, amazed, annoyed, +yet curious, trying to think out what he ought +to do—what, in fact, must be done somehow or other—there +came a ring at his door bell. A messenger with +a cable despatch stood there; Neeland signed, tore open +the envelope, and read:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p>Please go at once to Brookhollow and secure an olive-wood +box bound with silver, containing military maps, +plans, photographs, and papers written in German, property +of Ruhannah Carew. Lose no time, I implore you, as +an attempt to rob the house and steal the papers is likely. +Beware of anybody resembling a German. Have written, +but beg you not to wait for letter.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Naïa</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<p>Twice he reread the cablegram. Then, with a half-bewildered, +half-disgusted glance around at his studio, +his belongings, the unfinished work on his easel, he +went to the telephone.</p> +<p>It being July he had little difficulty in reserving a +good stateroom on the Cunarder <i>Volhynia</i>, sailing the +following day. Then, summoning the janitor, he +packed a steamer trunk and gave order to have it taken +aboard that evening.</p> +<p>On his way downtown to his bank he stopped at a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +telegraph and cable office and sent a cable message to +the Princess Mistchenka. The text consisted of only +one word: “Blue.”</p> +<p>He departed for Gayfield on the five o’clock afternoon +train, carrying with him a suitcase and an automatic +pistol in his breast pocket.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_A_JOURNEY_BEGINS' id='CHAPTER_XIV_A_JOURNEY_BEGINS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>A JOURNEY BEGINS</h3> +</div> +<p>It was a five-hour trip. He dined aboard the train +with little desire for food, the July evening being oppressive, +and a thunder storm brewing over the Hudson. +It burst in the vicinity of Fishkill with a lively display +of lightning, deluging the Catskills with rain. And +when he changed to a train on the Mohawk division the +cooler air was agreeably noticeable.</p> +<p>He changed trains again at Orangeville, and here +the night breeze was delightful and the scent of rain-soaked +meadows came through the open car window.</p> +<p>It was nearly ten o’clock and already, ahead, he +caught sight of the lights of Neeland’s Mills. Always +the homecoming was a keen delight to him; and now, as +he stepped off the train, the old familiar odours were +in his nostrils—the unique composite perfume of the +native place which never can be duplicated elsewhere.</p> +<p>All the sweet and aromatic and homely smells of +earth and land and water came to him with his first +deep-drawn breath. The rank growth of wild flowers +and weeds were part of it—the flat atmosphere of the +mill pond, always redolent of water weed and lily pads, +tinctured it; distant fields of buckwheat added heavier +perfume.</p> +<p>Neither in the quaint brick feed mill nor in the lumber +mill were there any lights, but in his own home, +almost buried among tall trees and vines, the light +streamed from the sitting-room windows. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>From the dark yard two or three dogs barked at +him, then barked again in a different key, voicing an +excited welcome; and he opened the picket gate and +went up the path surrounded by demonstrative setters +and pointers, leaping and wagging about him and making +a vast amount of noise on the vine-covered verandah +as he opened the door, let himself into the house, +and shut them out.</p> +<p>“Hello, dad!” he said, crossing swiftly to where his +father sat by the reading lamp.</p> +<p>Their powerful grip lingered. Old Dick Neeland, +ruddy, white-haired, straight as a pine, stood up in his +old slippers and quilted smoking coat, his brier pipe +poised in his left hand.</p> +<p>“Splendid, Jim. I’ve been thinking about you this +evening.” He might have added that there were few +moments when his son was not in his thoughts.</p> +<p>“Are you all right, dad?”</p> +<p>“Absolutely. You are, too, I see.”</p> +<p>They seated themselves.</p> +<p>“Hungry, Jim?”</p> +<p>“No; I dined aboard.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t telegraph me.”</p> +<p>“No; I came at short notice.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you stay?”</p> +<p>“Dad, I have a drawing-room reserved for the midnight +tonight, and I am sailing on the <i>Volhynia</i> tomorrow +at nine in the morning!”</p> +<p>“God bless me! Why, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Dad, I’ll tell you all I know about it.”</p> +<p>His father sat with brier pipe suspended and keen +blue eyes fixed on his son, while the son told everything +he knew about the reason for his flying trip to Paris.</p> +<p>“You see how it is, don’t you, dad?” he ended. “The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +Princess has been a good and loyal friend to me. She +has used her influence; I have met, through her, the +people I ought to know, and they have given me work +to do. I’m in her debt; I’m under real obligation to +her. And I’ve got to go, that’s all.”</p> +<p>Old Dick Neeland’s clear eyes of a sportsman continued +to study his son’s face.</p> +<p>“Yes, you’ve got to go,” he said. He smoked for a +few moments, then: “What the devil does it mean, anyway? +Have you any notion, Jim?”</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t. There seems to be some military +papers in this box that is mentioned. Evidently they +are of value to somebody. Evidently other people have +got wind of that fact and desire to obtain them for +themselves. It almost seems as though something is +brewing over there—trouble of some sort between Germany +and some other nation. But I haven’t heard of +anything.”</p> +<p>His father continued to smoke for a while, then:</p> +<p>“There <i>is</i> something brewing over there, Jim.”</p> +<p>“I hadn’t heard,” repeated the young man.</p> +<p>“I haven’t either, directly. But in my business +some unusual orders have come through—from abroad. +Both France and Germany have been making inquiries +through agents in regard to shipments of grain and +feed and lumber. I’ve heard of several very heavy rush +orders.”</p> +<p>“What on earth could cause war?”</p> +<p>“I can’t see, Jim. Of course Austria’s attitude +toward Servia is very sullen. But outside of that I +can see no trouble threatening.</p> +<p>“And yet, the Gayfield woollen mill has just received +an enormous order for socks and underwear from the +French Government. They’re running all night now. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +And another thing struck me: there has been a man +in this section buying horses for the British Government. +Of course it’s done now and then, but, taking +this incident with the others which have come to my +personal knowledge, it would seem as though something +were brewing over in Europe.”</p> +<p>Jim’s perplexed eyes rested on his father; he shook +his youthful head slightly:</p> +<p>“I can’t see why,” he said. “But if it’s to be France +and Germany again, why my sympathy is entirely for +France.”</p> +<p>“Naturally,” nodded his father.</p> +<p>Their Irish ancestors had fought for Bonaparte, and +for the Bourbons before him. And, cursed with cousins, +like all Irish, they were aware of plenty of Neelands +in France who spoke no English.</p> +<p>Jim rose, glanced at his watch:</p> +<p>“Dad, I’ll just be running over to Brookhollow to +get that box. I haven’t such a lot of time, if I’m to +catch the midnight train at Orangeville.”</p> +<p>“I should say you hadn’t,” said his father.</p> +<p>He was disappointed, but he smiled as he exchanged +a handclasp with his only son.</p> +<p>“You’re coming right back from Paris?”</p> +<p>“Next steamer. I’ve a lot of work on hand, thank +goodness! But that only puts me under heavier obligations +to the Princess Mistchenka.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose so. Anything but ingratitude, Jim. +It’s the vilest vice of ’em all. They say it’s in the Irish +blood—ingratitude. They must never prove it by a +Neeland. Well, my boy—I’m not lonesome, you understand; +busy men have no time to be lonesome—but +run up, will you, when you get back?”</p> +<p>“You bet I will.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></p> +<p>“I’ll show you a brace of promising pups. They +stand rabbits, still, but they won’t when the season is +over.”</p> +<p>“Blue Bird’s pups?”</p> +<p>“Yes. They take after her.”</p> +<p>“Fine! I’ll be back for the shooting, anyway. Many +broods this season?”</p> +<p>“A fair number. It was not too wet.”</p> +<p>For a moment they lingered, smiling at each other, +then Jim gave his father’s hand a quick shake, picked +up his suitcase, turned.</p> +<p>“I’ll take the runabout, dad. Someone from the +Orangeville garage will bring it over in the morning.”</p> +<p>He went out, pushed his way among the leaping dogs +to the garage, threw open the doors, and turned on +the electric light.</p> +<p>A slim and trim Snapper runabout stood glistening +beside a larger car and two automobile trucks. He exchanged +his straw hat for a cap; placed hat and suitcase +in the boot; picked up a flash light from the work-table, +and put it into his pocket, cranked the Snapper, +jumped in, ran it to the service entrance, where his +father stood ready to check the dogs and close the +gates after him.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, dad!” he called out gaily.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, my son.”</p> +<p>The next instant he was speeding through the starry +darkness, following the dazzling path blazed out for +him by his headlights.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV_THE_LOCKED_HOUSE' id='CHAPTER_XV_THE_LOCKED_HOUSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>THE LOCKED HOUSE</h3> +</div> +<p>From the road, just before he descended to cross the bridge into Brookhollow, he caught a gleam of light +straight ahead. For a moment it did not occur to him +that there was anything strange in his seeing a light +in the old Carew house. Then, suddenly, he realised +that a light ought not to be burning behind the lowered +shades of a house which was supposed to be empty and +locked.</p> +<p>His instant impulse was to put on his brakes then +and there, but the next moment he realised that his car +must already have been heard and seen by whoever had +lighted that shaded lamp. The car was already on +the old stone bridge; the Carew house stood directly +behind the crossroads ahead; and he swung to the right +into the creek road and sped along it until he judged +that neither his lights nor the sound of his motor could +be distinguished by the unknown occupant of the Carew +house.</p> +<p>Then he ran his car out among the tall weeds close +to the line of scrub willows edging the creek; extinguished +his lights, including the tail-lamp; left his engine +running; stood listening a moment to the whispering +whirr of his motor; then, taking the flash light from +his pocket, he climbed over the roadside wall and ran +back across the pasture toward the house.</p> +<p>As he approached the old house from the rear, no +crack of light was visible, and he began to think he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +might have been mistaken—that perhaps the dancing +glare of his own acetylenes on the windows had made +it seem as though they were illuminated from within.</p> +<p>Cautiously he prowled along the rear under the +kitchen windows, turned the corner, and went to the +front porch.</p> +<p>He had made no mistake; a glimmer was visible between +the edge of the lowered shade and the window +casing.</p> +<p>Was it some impudent tramp who had preëmpted this +lonely house for a night’s lodging? Was it, possibly, +a neighbour who had taken charge in return for a garden +to cultivate and a place to sleep in? Yet, how could +it be the latter when he himself had the keys to the +house? Moreover, such an arrangement could scarcely +have been made by Rue Carew without his being told +of it.</p> +<p>Then he remembered what the Princess Mistchenka +had said in her cable message, that somebody might +break into the house and steal the olive-wood box unless +he hastened to Brookhollow and secured it immediately.</p> +<p>Was this what was being done now? Had somebody +broken in for that purpose? And who might it be?</p> +<p>A slight chill, not entirely agreeable, passed over +Neeland. A rather warm sensation of irritation succeeded +it; he mounted the steps, crossed the verandah, +went to the door and tried the knob very cautiously. +The door was locked; whoever might be inside either +possessed a key that fitted or else must have entered by +forcing a window.</p> +<p>But Neeland had neither time nor inclination to prowl +around and investigate; he had a duty to fulfil, a train +to catch, and a steamer to connect with the next morning. +Besides, he was getting madder every second. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p> +<p>So he fitted his key to the door, careless of what +noise he made, unlocked and pushed it open, and started +to cross the threshold.</p> +<p>Instantly the light in the adjoining room grew dim. +At the same moment his quick ear caught a sound as +though somebody had blown out the turned-down flame; +and he found himself facing total darkness.</p> +<p>“Who the devil’s in there!” he called, flashing his +electric pocket lamp. “Come out, whoever you are. +You’ve no business in this house, and you know it!” +And he entered the silent room.</p> +<p>His flash light revealed nothing except dining-room +furniture in disorder, the doors of a cupboard standing +open—one door still gently swinging on its hinges.</p> +<p>The invisible hand that had moved it could not be +far away. Neeland, throwing his light right and left, +caught a glimpse of another door closing stealthily, +ran forward and jerked it open. His lamp illuminated +an empty passageway; he hurried through it to the +door that closed the farther end, tore it open, and +deluged the sitting-room with his blinding light.</p> +<p>Full in the glare, her face as white as the light itself, +stood a woman. And just in time his eyes caught the +glitter of a weapon in her stiffly extended hand; and he +snapped off his light and ducked as the level pistol-flame +darted through the darkness.</p> +<p>The next second he had her in his grasp; held her +writhing and twisting; and, through the confused trample +and heavy breathing, he noticed a curious crackling +noise as though the clothing she wore were made of +paper.</p> +<p>The struggle in pitch darkness was violent but brief; +she managed to fire again as he caught her right arm +and felt along it until he touched the desperately +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +clenched pistol. Then, still clutching her closed fingers, +he pulled the flash light from his side pocket and threw +its full radiance straight into her face.</p> +<p>“Let go your pistol,” he breathed.</p> +<p>She strove doggedly to retain it, but her slender fingers +slowly relaxed under his merciless grip; the pistol +fell; and he kicked the pearl-handled, nickel-plated +weapon across the dusty board floor.</p> +<p>They both were panting; her right arm, rigid, still +remained in his powerful clutch. He released it presently, +stepped back, and played the light over her from +head to foot.</p> +<p>She was deathly white. Under her smart straw hat, +which had been pushed awry, the contrast between her +black hair and eyes and her chalky skin was startling.</p> +<p>“What are you doing in this house?” he demanded, +still breathing heavily from exertion and excitement.</p> +<p>She made an effort:</p> +<p>“Is it your house?” she gasped.</p> +<p>“It isn’t yours, is it?” he retorted.</p> +<p>She made no answer.</p> +<p>“Why did you shoot at me?”</p> +<p>She lifted her black eyes and stared at him. Her +breast rose and fell with her rapid breathing, and she +placed both hands over it as though to quiet it.</p> +<p>“Come,” he said, “I’m in a hurry. I want an explanation +from you––”</p> +<p>The words died on his lips as she whipped a knife +out of her bosom and flew at him. Through the confusion +of flash light and darkness they reeled, locked together, +but he caught her arm again, jerking it so violently +into the air that he lifted her off her feet.</p> +<p>“That’s about all for tonight,” he panted, twisting +the knife out of her helpless hand and flinging it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +behind him. Without further ceremony, he pulled out his +handkerchief, caught her firmly, reached for her other +arm, jerked it behind her back, and tied both wrists. +Then he dragged a chair up and pushed her on it.</p> +<p>Her hat had fallen off, and her hair sagged to her +neck. The frail stuff of which her waist was made had +been badly torn, too, and hung in rags from her right +shoulder.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” he demanded.</p> +<p>As she made no reply, he went over and picked up the +knife and the pistol. The knife was a silver-mounted +Kurdish dagger; the engraved and inlaid blade appeared +to be dull and rusty. He examined it for a few moments, +glanced inquiringly at her where she sat, pale +and mute on the chair, with both wrists tied behind +her.</p> +<p>“You seem to be a connoisseur of antiques,” he said. +“Your dagger is certainly a collector’s gem, and your +revolver is equally out of date. I recommend an automatic +the next time you contemplate doing murder.”</p> +<p>Walking up to her he looked curiously into her dark +eyes, but he could detect no expression in them.</p> +<p>“Why did you come here?” he demanded.</p> +<p>No answer.</p> +<p>“Did you come to get an olive-wood box bound with +silver?”</p> +<p>A slight colour tinted the ashy pallor under her +eyes.</p> +<p>He turned abruptly and swept the furniture with his +searchlight, and saw on a table her coat, gloves, wrist +bag, and furled umbrella; and beside them what appeared +to be her suitcase, open. It had a canvas and +leather cover: he walked over to the table, turned back +the cover of the suitcase and revealed a polished box +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +of olive wood, heavily banded by some metal resembling +silver.</p> +<p>Inside the box were books, photographs, a bronze +Chinese figure, which he recognised as the Yellow Devil, +a pair of revolvers, a dagger very much like the one +he had wrested from her. <i>But there were no military +plans there.</i></p> +<p>He turned to his prisoner:</p> +<p>“Is everything here?” he asked sharply.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He picked up her wrist bag and opened it, but discovered +only some money, a handkerchief, a spool of +thread and packet of needles.</p> +<p>There was a glass lamp on the table. He managed +to light it finally; turned off his flash light, and examined +the contents of the box again thoroughly. Then +he came back to where she was seated.</p> +<p>“Get up,” he said.</p> +<p>She looked at him sullenly without moving.</p> +<p>“I’m in a hurry,” he repeated; “get up. I’m going +to search you.”</p> +<p>At that she bounded to her feet.</p> +<p>“What!” she exclaimed furiously.</p> +<p>But he caught hold of her, held her, untied the handkerchief, +freeing her wrists.</p> +<p>“Now, pull out those papers you have concealed +under your clothing,” he said impatiently. And, as +she made no motion to comply: “If you don’t, I’ll do +it for you!”</p> +<p>“You dare lay your hand on me!” she flamed.</p> +<p>“You treacherous little cat, do you think I’ll hesitate?” +he retorted. “Do you imagine I retain any respect +for you or your person? Give me those papers!”</p> +<p>“I have no papers!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></p> +<p>“You are lying. Listen to me once for all; I’ve a +train to catch and a steamer to catch, and I’m going +to do both. And if you don’t instantly hand out those +papers you’ve concealed I’ll have no more compunction +in taking them by force than I’d have in stripping an +ear of corn! Make up your mind and make it up +quick!”</p> +<p>“You mean you’d strip—<i>me</i>!” she stammered, scarlet +to her hair.</p> +<p>“That’s what I mean, you lying little thief. That’s +just what I mean. Kick and squall as you like, I’ll take +those papers with me if I have to take your clothing +too!”</p> +<p>Breathless, infuriated, she looked desperately around +her, caught sight of the Kurdish dagger, leaped at it; +and for the third time found herself struggling in his +arms.</p> +<p>“Don’t!” she gasped. “Let me go! I—I’ll give you +what you want––”</p> +<p>“Do you mean it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He released the dishevelled girl, who shrank away +from him. But the devil himself glowed in her black +eyes.</p> +<p>“Go out of the room,” she said, “if I’m to get the +papers for you!”</p> +<p>“I can’t trust you,” he answered. “I’ll turn my +back.” And he walked over to the olive-wood box, +where the weapons lay.</p> +<p>Standing there he heard, presently, the rustle of +crumpling papers, heard a half-smothered sob, +waited, listening, alert for further treachery on her +part.</p> +<p>“Hurry!” he said. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></p> +<p>A board creaked.</p> +<p>“Don’t move again!” he cried. The floor boards +creaked once more; and he turned like a flash to find +her in her stocking feet, already halfway to where he +stood. In either hand she held out a bundle of papers; +and, as they faced each other, she took another step +toward him.</p> +<p>“Stand where you are,” he warned her. “Throw +those papers on the floor!”</p> +<p>“I––”</p> +<p>“Do you hear!”</p> +<p>Looking him straight in the eyes she opened both +hands; the papers fell at her feet, and with them +dropped the two dagger-like steel pins which had held +her hat.</p> +<p>“Now, go and put on your shoes,” he said contemptuously, +picking up the papers and running over them. +When he had counted them, he came back to where +she was standing.</p> +<p>“Where are the others?”</p> +<p>“What others?”</p> +<p>“The remainder of the papers! You little devil, +they’re wrapped around your body! Go into that pantry! +Go quick! Undress and throw out every rag +you wear!”</p> +<p>She drew a deep, quivering breath, turned, entered +the pantry and closed the door. Presently the door +opened a little and her clothing dropped outside in a +heap.</p> +<p>There were papers in her stockings, papers stitched +to her stays, basted inside her skirts. A roll of drawings +traced on linen lay on the floor, still retaining +the warmth of her body around which they had been +wrapped. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></p> +<p>He pulled the faded embroidered cover from the old +piano and knocked at the pantry door.</p> +<p>“Put that on,” he said, “and come out.”</p> +<p>She emerged, swathed from ankle to chin, her flushed +face shadowed by her fallen mass of dark hair. He +turned his flash light on the cupboard, but discovered +nothing more. Then he picked up her hat, clothes, and +shoes, laid them on the pantry shelf, and curtly bade +her go back and dress.</p> +<p>“May I have the lamp and that looking glass?”</p> +<p>“If you like,” he said, preoccupied with the papers.</p> +<p>While she was dressing, he repacked the olive-wood +box. She emerged presently, carrying the lamp, and +he took it from her hurriedly, not knowing whether she +might elect to throw it at his head.</p> +<p>While she was putting on her jacket he stood watching +her with perplexed and sombre gaze.</p> +<p>“I think,” he remarked, “that I’ll take you with me +and drop you at the Orangeville jail on my way to +town. Be kind enough to start toward the door.”</p> +<p>As she evinced no inclination to stir he passed one +arm around her and lifted her along a few feet; and she +turned on him, struggling, her face convulsed with +fury.</p> +<p>“Keep your insolent hands off me,” she said. “Do +you hear?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I hear.” He nodded again toward the door. +“Come,” he repeated impatiently; “move on!”</p> +<p>She hesitated; he picked up the olive-wood box, extinguished +the lamp, opened his flash, and motioned +with his head, significantly. She walked ahead of him, +face lowered.</p> +<p>Outside he closed and locked the door of the house.</p> +<p>“This way,” he said coldly. “If you refuse, I’ll pick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +you up and carry you under my arm. I think by this +time you realise I can do it, too.”</p> +<p>Halfway across the dark pasture she stopped short +in her tracks.</p> +<p>“Have I <i>got</i> to carry you?” he demanded sharply.</p> +<p>“Don’t have me locked up.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“I’m not a—a thief.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Excuse me. What are you?”</p> +<p>“You know. Don’t humiliate me.”</p> +<p>“Answer my question! What are you if you’re not a +lady crook?”</p> +<p>“I’m employed—as <i>you</i> are! Play the game fairly.” +She halted in the dark pasture, but he motioned her to +go forward.</p> +<p>“If you don’t keep on walking,” he said, “I’ll pick +you up as I would a pet cat and carry you. Now, then, +once more, who are you working for? By whom are +you employed, if you’re not a plain thief?”</p> +<p>“The—Turkish Embassy.”</p> +<p>“What!”</p> +<p>“You knew it,” she said in a low voice, walking +through the darkness beside him.</p> +<p>“What is your name?” he insisted.</p> +<p>“Dumont.”</p> +<p>“What else?”</p> +<p>“Ilse Dumont.”</p> +<p>“That’s French.”</p> +<p>“It’s Alsatian German.”</p> +<p>“All right. Now, why did you break into that +house?”</p> +<p>“To take what you took.”</p> +<p>“To steal these papers for the Turkish Embassy?”</p> +<p>“To <i>take</i> them.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>“For the Turkish Ambassador!” he repeated incredulously.</p> +<p>“No; for his military attaché.”</p> +<p>“What are you, a spy?”</p> +<p>“You knew it well enough. You are one, also. But +you have treated me as though I were a thief. You’ll +be killed for it, I hope.”</p> +<p>“You think I’m a spy?” he asked, astonished.</p> +<p>“What else are you?”</p> +<p>“A spy?” he repeated. “Is <i>that</i> what <i>you</i> are? And +you suppose me to be one, too? That’s funny. That’s +extremely––” He checked himself, looked around at +her. “What are you about?” he demanded. “What’s +that in your hand?”</p> +<p>“A cigarette.”</p> +<p>They had arrived at the road. He got over the wall +with the box; she vaulted it lightly.</p> +<p>In the darkness he caught the low, steady throbbing +of his engine, and presently distinguished the car standing +where he had left it.</p> +<p>“Get in,” he said briefly.</p> +<p>“I am not a thief! Are you going to lay that charge +against me?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Is it worse than charging you with +three separate attempts to murder me?”</p> +<p>“Are you going to take me to jail?”</p> +<p>“I’ll see. You’ll go as far as Orangeville with me, +anyhow.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care to go.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care whether you want to go or not. Get +into the car!”</p> +<p>She climbed to the seat beside the wheel; he tossed +in the olive-wood box, turned on his lamps, and took +the wheel. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p> +<p>“May I have a match for my cigarette?” she asked +meekly.</p> +<p>He found one, scratched it; she placed a very thick +and long cigarette between her lips and he lighted it +for her.</p> +<p>Just as he threw in the clutch and the car started, +the girl blew a shower of sparks from the end of her +cigarette, rose in her seat, and flung the lighted cigarette +high into the air. Instantly it burst into a flare +of crimson fire, hanging aloft as though it were a fire +balloon, and lighting up road and creek and bushes and +fields with a brilliant strontium glare.</p> +<p>Then, far in the night, he heard a motor horn screech +three times.</p> +<p>“You young devil!” he said, increasing the speed. +“I ought to have remembered that every snake has its +mate.... If you offer to touch me—if you move—if +you as much as lift a finger, I’ll throw you into the +creek!”</p> +<p>The car was flying now, reeling over the dirt road +like a drunken thing. He hung grimly to the wheel, his +strained gaze fixed on the shaft of light ahead, through +which the road streamed like a torrent.</p> +<p>A great wind roared in his ears; his cap was gone. +The car hurled itself forward through an endless tunnel +of darkness lined with silver. Presently he began to +slow down; the furious wind died away; the streaking +darkness sped by less swiftly.</p> +<p>“Have you gone mad?” she cried in his ear. “You’ll +kill us both!”</p> +<p>“Wait,” he shouted back; “I’ll show you and your +friends behind us what speed really is.”</p> +<p>The car was still slowing down as they passed over a +wooden bridge where a narrow road, partly washed out, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +turned to the left and ran along a hillside. Into this +he steered.</p> +<p>“Who is it chasing us?” he asked curiously, still incredulous +that any embassy whatever was involved in +this amazing affair.</p> +<p>“Friends.”</p> +<p>“More Turks?”</p> +<p>She did not reply.</p> +<p>He sat still, listening for a few moments, then hastily +started his car down the hill.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said, “I’ll show you what this car of mine +really can do! Are you afraid?”</p> +<p>She said between her teeth:</p> +<p>“I’d be a fool if I were not. All I pray for is that +you’ll kill yourself, too.”</p> +<p>“We’ll chance it together, my murderous little +friend.”</p> +<p>The wind began to roar again as they rushed downward +over a hill that seemed endless. She clung to her +seat and he hung to his wheel like grim death; and, for +one terrible instant, she almost lost consciousness.</p> +<p>Then the terrific pace slackened; the car, running +swiftly, was now speeding over a macadam road; and +Neeland laughed and cried in her ear:</p> +<p>“Better light another of your hell’s own cigarettes if +you want your friends to follow us!”</p> +<p>Slowing, he drove with one hand on the wheel.</p> +<p>“Look up there!” he said, pointing high at a dark +hillside. “See their lights? They’re on the worst road +in the Gayfield hills. We cut off three miles this way.”</p> +<p>Still driving with one hand, he looked at his watch, +laughed contentedly, and turned to her with the sudden +and almost friendly toleration born of success and a +danger shared in common. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></p> +<p>“That was rather a reckless bit of driving,” he admitted. +“Were you frightened?”</p> +<p>“Ask yourself how you’d feel with a fool at the +wheel.”</p> +<p>“We’re all fools at times,” he retorted, laughing. +“You were when you shot at me. Suppose I’d been +seized with panic. I might have turned loose on you, +too.”</p> +<p>For a while she remained silent, then she looked at +him curiously:</p> +<p>“Were you armed?”</p> +<p>“I carry an automatic pistol in my portfolio pocket.”</p> +<p>She shrugged.</p> +<p>“You were a fool to come into that house without +carrying it in your hand.”</p> +<p>“Where would you be now if I had done that?”</p> +<p>“Dead, I suppose,” she said carelessly.... “What +<i>are</i> you going to do with me?”</p> +<p>He was in excellent humour with himself; exhilaration +and excitement still possessed him, keyed him up.</p> +<p>“Fancy,” he said, “a foreign embassy being mixed +up in a plain case of grand larceny!—robbing with attempt +to murder! My dear but bloodthirsty young +lady, I can hardly comprehend it.”</p> +<p>She remained silent, looking straight in front of her.</p> +<p>“You know,” he said, “I’m rather glad you’re not a +common thief. You’ve lots of pluck—plenty. You’re +as clever as a cobra. It isn’t every poisonous snake +that is clever,” he added, laughing.</p> +<p>“What do you intend to do with me?” she repeated +coolly.</p> +<p>“I don’t know. You are certainly an interesting +companion. Maybe I’ll take you to New York with me. +You see I’m beginning to like you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></p> +<p>She was silent.</p> +<p>He said:</p> +<p>“I never before met a real spy. I scarcely believed +they existed in time of peace, except in novels. Really, +I never imagined there were any spies working for embassies, +except in Europe. You are, to me, such a rare +specimen,” he added gaily, “that I rather dread parting +with you. Won’t you come to Paris with me?”</p> +<p>“Does what you say amuse you?”</p> +<p>“What <i>you</i> say does. Yes, I think I’ll take you to +New York, anyway. And as we journey toward that +great metropolis together you shall tell me all about +your delightful profession. You shall be a Scheherazade +to me! Is it a bargain?”</p> +<p>She said in a pleasant, even voice:</p> +<p>“I might as well tell you now that what you’ve been +stupid enough to do tonight is going to cost you your +life.”</p> +<p>“What!” he exclaimed laughingly. “More murder? +Oh, Scheherazade! Shame on your naughty, naughty +behaviour!”</p> +<p>“Do you expect to reach Paris with those papers?”</p> +<p>“I do, fair houri! I do, Rose of Stamboul!”</p> +<p>“You never will.”</p> +<p>“No?”</p> +<p>“No.” She sat staring ahead of her for a few moments, +then turned on him with restrained impatience:</p> +<p>“Listen to me, now! I don’t know who you are. If +you’re employed by any government you are a novice––”</p> +<p>“Or an artist!”</p> +<p>“Or a consummate artist,” she admitted, looking at +him uncertainly.</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> an artist,” he said. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p> +<p>“You have an excellent opinion of yourself.”</p> +<p>“No. I’m telling you the truth. My name is Neeland—James +Neeland. I draw little pictures for a living—nice +little pictures for newspapers and magazines.”</p> +<p>His frankness evidently perplexed her.</p> +<p>“If that is so,” she said, “what interests you in the +papers you took from me?”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all, my dear young lady! <i>I’m</i> not interested +in them. But friends of mine are.”</p> +<p>“Who?”</p> +<p>He merely laughed at her.</p> +<p>“<i>Are</i> you an agent for any government?”</p> +<p>“Not that I know of.”</p> +<p>She said very quietly:</p> +<p>“You make a terrible mistake to involve yourself in +this affair. If you are not paid to do it—if you are +not interested from patriotic motives—you had better +keep aloof.”</p> +<p>“But it’s too late. I <i>am</i> mixed up in it—whatever +it may mean. Why not tell me, Scheherazade?”</p> +<p>His humorous badinage seemed only to make her +more serious.</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland,” she said quietly, “if you really are +what you say you are, it is a dangerous and silly thing +that you have done tonight.”</p> +<p>“Don’t say that! Don’t consider it so tragically. +I’m enjoying it all immensely.”</p> +<p>“Do you consider it a comedy when a woman tries to +kill you?”</p> +<p>“Maybe you are fond of murder, gentle lady.”</p> +<p>“Your sense of humour seems a trifle perverted. I +am more serious than I ever was in my life. And I tell +you very solemnly that you’ll be killed if you try to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +take those papers to Paris. Listen!”—she laid one +hand lightly on his arm—“Why should you involve +yourself—you, an American? This matter is no concern +of yours––”</p> +<p>“What matter?”</p> +<p>“The matter concerning those papers. I tell you it +does not concern you; it is none of your business. Let +me be frank with you: the papers are of importance to +a foreign government—to the German Government. +And in no way do they threaten your people or your +country’s welfare. Why, then, do you interfere? Why +do you use violence toward an agent of a foreign and +friendly government?”</p> +<p>“Why does a foreign and friendly government employ +spies in a friendly country?”</p> +<p>“All governments do.”</p> +<p>“Is that so?”</p> +<p>“It is. America swarms with British and French +agents.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“It’s my business to know, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>“Then that <i>is</i> your profession! You really are a +spy?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And you pursue this ennobling profession with an +enthusiasm which does not stop short of murder!”</p> +<p>“I had no choice.”</p> +<p>“Hadn’t you? Your business seems to be rather a +deadly one, doesn’t it, Scheherazade?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it might become so.... Mr. Neeland, I have +no personal feeling of anger for you. You offered me +violence; you behaved brutally, indecently. But I want +you to understand that no petty personal feeling incites +me. The wrong you have done me is nothing; the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +injury you threaten to do my country is very grave. I +ask you to believe that I speak the truth. It is in the +service of my country that I have acted. Nothing +matters to me except my country’s welfare. Individuals +are nothing; the Fatherland everything.... Will +you give me back my papers?”</p> +<p>“No. I shall return them to their owner.”</p> +<p>“Is that final?”</p> +<p>“It is.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” she said.</p> +<p>A moment later the lights of Orangeville came into +distant view across the dark and rolling country.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_SCHEHERAZADE' id='CHAPTER_XVI_SCHEHERAZADE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>SCHEHERAZADE</h3> +</div> +<p>At the Orangeville garage Neeland stopped his car, +put on his straw hat, got out carrying suitcase and box, +entered the office, and turned over the care of the machine +to an employee with orders to drive it back to +Neeland’s Mills the next morning.</p> +<p>Then he leisurely returned to his prisoner who had +given him her name as Ilse Dumont and who was standing +on the sidewalk beside the car.</p> +<p>“Well, Scheherazade,” he said, smiling, “teller of +marvellous tales, I don’t quite believe your stories, but +they were extremely entertaining. So I won’t bowstring +you or cut off your unusually attractive head! +No! On the contrary, I thank you for your wonder-tales, +and for not murdering me. And, furthermore, +I bestow upon you your liberty. Have you sufficient +cash to take you where you desire to waft yourself?”</p> +<p>All the time her dark, unsmiling eyes remained fixed +on him, calmly unresponsive to his badinage.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I had to be rough with you, Scheherazade,” +he continued, “but when a young lady sews her +clothes full of papers which don’t belong to her, what, +I ask you, is a modest young man to do?”</p> +<p>She said nothing.</p> +<p>“It becomes necessary for that modest young man +to can his modesty—and the young lady’s. Is there +anything else he could do?” he repeated gaily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p> +<p>“He had better return those papers,” she replied in +a low voice.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, Scheherazade, but it isn’t done in ultra-crooked +circles. Are you sure you have enough money +to go where destiny and booty call you?”</p> +<p>“I have what I require,” she answered dryly.</p> +<p>“Then good-bye, Pearl of the Harem! Without rancour, +I offer you the hand that reluctantly chastened +you.”</p> +<p>They remained facing each other in silence for a moment; +his expression was mischievously amused; hers +inscrutable. Then, as he patiently and good-humouredly +continued to offer her his hand, very slowly she +laid her own in it, still looking him directly in the eyes.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice.</p> +<p>“For what? For not shooting me?”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry for <i>you</i>, Mr. Neeland.... You’re only +a boy, after all. You know nothing. And you refuse +to learn.... I’m sorry.... Good-bye.”</p> +<p>“Could I take you anywhere? To the Hotel Orange? +I’ve time. The station is across the street.”</p> +<p>“No,” she said.</p> +<p>She walked leisurely along the poorly lighted street +and turned the first corner as though at hazard. The +next moment her trim and graceful figure had disappeared.</p> +<p>With his heart still gay from the night’s excitement, +and the drop of Irish blood in him lively as champagne, +he crossed the square briskly, entered the stuffy station, +bought a ticket, and went out to the wooden platform +beside the rails.</p> +<p>Placing box and suitcase side by side, he seated himself +upon them and lighted a cigarette.</p> +<p>Here was an adventure! Whether or not he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +understood it, here certainly was a real, story-book adventure +at last. And he began to entertain a little more respect +for those writers of romance who have so persistently +attempted to convince an incredulous world +that adventures are to be had anywhere and at any time +for the mere effort entailed in seeking them.</p> +<p>In his case, however, he had not sought adventure. +It had been thrust upon him by cable.</p> +<p>And now the drop of Irish in him gratefully responded. +He was much obliged to Fate for his evening’s +entertainment; he modestly ventured to hope for +favours to come. And, considering the coolly veiled +threats of this young woman whom he had treated with +scant ceremony, he had some reason to expect a sequel +to the night’s adventure.</p> +<p>“She,” he thought to himself, “had nothing on Godiva—except +a piano cover!”</p> +<p>Recollection of the absurd situation incited his reprehensible +merriment to the point of unrestrained laughter; +and he clasped his knees and rocked to and fro, +where he sat on his suitcase, all alone under the stars.</p> +<p>The midnight express was usually from five to forty +minutes late at Orangeville; but from there east it +made up time on the down grade to Albany.</p> +<p>And now, as he sat watching, far away along the +riverside a star came gliding into view around an unseen +curve—the headlight of a distant locomotive.</p> +<p>A few moments later he was in his drawing-room, +seated on the edge of the couch, his door locked, the +shade over the window looking on the corridor drawn +down as far as it would go; and the train rushing +through the starry night on the down grade toward +Albany.</p> +<p>He could not screen the corridor window entirely; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +the shade seemed to be too short; but it was late, the +corridor dark, all the curtains in the car closed tightly +over the berths, and his privacy was not likely to be +disturbed. And when the conductor had taken both +tickets and the porter had brought him a bottle of +mineral water and gone away, he settled down with +great content.</p> +<p>Neeland was in excellent humour. He had not the +slightest inclination to sleep. He sat on the side of his +bed, smoking, the olive-wood box lying open beside him, +and its curious contents revealed.</p> +<p>But now, as he carefully examined the papers, photographs, +and drawings, he began to take the affair a +little more seriously. And the possibility of further +trouble raised his already high spirits and caused that +little drop of Irish blood to sing agreeably in his +veins.</p> +<p>Dipping into Herr Wilner’s diary added a fillip to +the increasing fascination that was possessing him.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m damned,” he thought, “if it doesn’t really +look as though the plans of these Turkish forts might +be important! I’m not very much astonished that the +Kaiser and the Sultan desire to keep for themselves the +secrets of these fortifications. They really belong to +them, too. They were drawn and planned by a German.” +He shrugged. “A rotten alliance!” he muttered, +and picked up the bronze Chinese figure to examine +it.</p> +<p>“So you’re the Yellow Devil I’ve heard about!” he +said. “Well, you certainly are a pippin!”</p> +<p>Inspecting him with careless curiosity, he turned the +bronze over and over between his hands, noticing a +slight rattling sound that seemed to come from within +but discovering no reason for it. And, as he curiously +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +considered the scowling demon, he hummed an old song +of his father’s under his breath:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“Wan balmy day in May<br /> +Th’ ould Nick come to the dure;<br /> +Sez I ‘The divil’s to pay,<br /> +An’ the debt comes harrd on the poor!’<br /> +His eyes they shone like fire<br /> +An’ he gave a horrid groan;<br /> +Sez I to me sister Suke,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 6.25em;'>‘Suke!!!!</span><br /> +Tell him I ain’t at home!’<br /> + <br /> +“He stood forninst the dure,<br /> +His wings were wings of a bat,<br /> +An’ he raised his voice to a roar,<br /> +An’ the tail of him switched like a cat,<br /> +‘O wirra the day!’ sez I,<br /> +‘Ochone I’ll no more roam!’<br /> +Sez I to me brother Luke,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 6.25em;'>‘Luke!!!!</span><br /> +Tell him I ain’t at home!’”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>As he laid the bronze figure away and closed, locked +and strapped the olive-wood box, an odd sensation crept +over him as though somebody were overlooking what he +was doing. Of course it could not be true, but so sudden +and so vivid was the impression that he rose, opened +the door, and glanced into the private washroom—even +poked under the bed and the opposite sofa; and of +course discovered that only a living skeleton could lie +concealed in such spaces.</p> +<p>His courage, except moral courage, had never been +particularly tested. He was naturally quite fearless, +even carelessly so, and whether it was the courage of +ignorance or a constitutional inability to be afraid +never bothered his mind because he never thought about +it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></p> +<p>Now, amused at his unusual fit of caution, he +stretched himself out on his bed, still dressed, debating +in his mind whether he should undress and try to sleep, +or whether it were really worth while before he boarded +the steamer.</p> +<p>And, as he lay there, a cigarette between his lips, +wakeful, his restless gaze wandering, he suddenly +caught a glimpse of something moving—a human face +pressed to the dark glass of the corridor window +between the partly lowered shade and the cherry-wood +sill.</p> +<p>So amazed was he that the face had disappeared +before he realised that it resembled the face of Ilse Dumont. +The next instant he was on his feet and opening +the door of the drawing-room; but the corridor between +the curtained berths was empty and dark and still; not +a curtain fluttered.</p> +<p>He did not care to leave his doorway, either, with +the box lying there on his bed; he stood with one hand +on the knob, listening, peering into the dusk, still excited +by the surprise of seeing her on the same train +that he had taken.</p> +<p>However, on reflection, he quite understood that she +could have had no difficulty in boarding the midnight +train for New York without being noticed by him; because +he was not expecting her to do such a thing and +he had paid no attention to the group of passengers +emerging from the waiting room when the express rolled +in.</p> +<p>“This is rather funny,” he thought. “I wish I could +find her. I wish she’d be friendly enough to pay me a +visit. Scheherazade is certainly an entertaining girl. +And it’s several hours to New York.”</p> +<p>He lingered a while longer, but seeing and hearing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +nothing except darkness and assorted snores, he stepped +into his stateroom and locked the door again.</p> +<p>Sleep was now impossible; the idea of Scheherazade +prowling in the dark corridor outside amused him intensely, +and aroused every atom of his curiosity. Did +the girl really expect an opportunity to steal the box? +Or was she keeping a sinister eye on him with a view to +summoning accomplices from vasty metropolitan deeps +as soon as the train arrived? Or, having failed at +Brookhollow, was she merely going back to town to +report “progress backward”?</p> +<p>He finished his mineral water, and, still feeling +thirsty, rang, on the chance that the porter might still +be awake and obliging.</p> +<p>Something about the entire affair was beginning to +strike him as intensely funny, and the idea of foreign +spies slinking about Brookhollow; the seriousness with +which this young girl took herself and her mission; her +amateur attempts at murder; her solemn mention of +the Turkish Embassy—all these excited his sense of the +humorous. And again incredulity crept in; and presently +he found himself humming Irwin’s immortal Kaiser +refrain:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +<span style='margin-left: 2.34375em;'>“Hi-lee! Hi-lo!</span><br /> +Der vinds dey blow<br /> +Joost like die wacht am Rhine!<br /> +Und vot iss mine belongs to me,<br /> +Und vot iss yours iss mine!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>There came a knock at his door; he rose and opened +it, supposing it to be the porter; and was seized in the +powerful grasp of two men and jerked into the dark +corridor.</p> +<p>One of them had closed his mouth with a gloved hand, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +crushing him with an iron grip around the neck; the +other caught his legs and lifted him bodily; and, as they +slung him between them, his startled eyes caught sight +of Ilse Dumont entering his drawing-room.</p> +<p>It was a silent, fierce struggle through the corridor +to the front platform of the vestibule train; it took +both men to hold, overpower, and completely master +him; but they tried to do this and, at the same time, +lift the trap that discloses the car steps. And could +not manage it.</p> +<p>The instant Neeland realised what they were trying +to do, he divined their shocking intention in regard to +himself, and the struggle became terrible there in the +swaying vestibule. Twice he nearly got at the automatic +pistol in his breast pocket, but could not quite +grasp it. They slammed him and thrashed him around +between them, apparently determined to open the trap, +fling him from the train, and let him take his chances +with the wheels.</p> +<p>Then, of a sudden, came a change in the fortunes of +war; they were trying to drag him over the chain sagging +between the forward mail-car and the Pullman, +when one of them caught his foot on it and stumbled +backward, releasing Neeland’s right arm. In the same +instant he drove his fist into the face of his other assailant +so hard that the man’s head jerked backward as +though his neck were broken, and he fell flat on his +back.</p> +<p>Already the train was slowing down for the single +stop between Albany and New York—Hudson. Neeland +got out his pistol and pointed it shakily at the man +who had fallen backward over the chain.</p> +<p>“Jump!” he panted. “Jump quick!”</p> +<p>The man needed no other warning; he opened the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +trap, scrambled and wriggled down the mail-car steps, +and was off the train like a snake from a sack.</p> +<p>The other man, bloody and ghastly white, crept under +the chain after his companion. He was a well-built, +good-looking man of forty, with blue eyes and a +golden beard all over blood. He seemed sick from the +terrific blow dealt him; but as the train had almost +stopped, Neeland pushed him off with the flat of his +foot.</p> +<p>Drenched in perspiration, dishevelled, bruised, he +slammed both traps and ran back into the dark corridor, +and met Ilse Dumont coming out of his stateroom +carrying the olive-wood box.</p> +<p>His appearance appeared to stupefy her; he took the +box from her without resistance, and, pushing her back +into the stateroom, locked the door.</p> +<p>Then, still savagely excited, and the hot blood of +battle still seething in his veins, he stood staring wickedly +into her dazed eyes, the automatic pistol hanging +from his right fist.</p> +<p>But after a few moments something in her naïve astonishment—her +amazement to see him alive and standing +there before her—appealed to him as intensely ludicrous; +he dropped on the edge of the bed and burst into +laughter uncontrolled.</p> +<p>“Scheherazade! Oh, Scheherazade!” he said, weak +with laughter, “if you could only see your face! If you +could only <i>see</i> it, my dear child! It’s too funny to be +true! It’s too funny to be a real face! Oh, dear, I’ll +die if I laugh any more. You’ll assassinate me with +your face!”</p> +<p>She seated herself on the lounge opposite, still gazing +blankly at him in his uncontrollable mirth.</p> +<p>After a while he put back the automatic into his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +breast pocket, took off coat and waistcoat, without paying +the slightest heed to her or to convention; opened +his own suitcase, selected a fresh shirt, tie, and collar, +and, taking with him his coat and the olive-wood box, +went into the little washroom.</p> +<p>He scarcely expected to find her there when he +emerged, cooled and refreshed; but she was still there, +seated as he had left her on the lounge.</p> +<p>“I wanted to ask you,” she said in a low voice, “did +you <i>kill</i> them?”</p> +<p>“Not at all, Scheherazade,” he replied gaily. “The +Irish don’t kill; they beat up their friends; that’s all. +Fist and blackthorn, my pretty lass, but nix for the +knife and gun.”</p> +<p>“How—did you do it?”</p> +<p>“Well, I got tired having a ham-fisted Dutchman +pawing me and closing my mouth with his big splay +fingers. So I asked him to slide overboard and shoved +his friend after him.”</p> +<p>“Did you shoot them?”</p> +<p>“No, I tell you!” he said disgustedly. “I hadn’t a +chance in hot blood, and I couldn’t do it in cold. No, +Scheherazade, I didn’t shoot. I pulled a gun for dramatic +effect, that’s all.”</p> +<p>After a silence she asked him in a low voice what he +intended to do with her.</p> +<p>“Do? Nothing! Chat affably with you until we +reach town, if you don’t mind. Nothing more violent +than that, Scheherazade.”</p> +<p>The girl, sitting sideways on the sofa, leaned her +head against the velvet corner as though very tired. +Her small hands lay in her lap listlessly, palms up-turned.</p> +<p>“Are you really tired?” he asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></p> +<p>“Yes, a little.”</p> +<p>He took the two pillows from his bed and placed +them on the sofa.</p> +<p>“You may lie down if you like, Scheherazade.”</p> +<p>“Won’t you need them?”</p> +<p>“Sunburst of my soul, if I pillow my head on anything +while you are in the vicinity, it will be on that +olive-wood box!”</p> +<p>For the first time the faintest trace of a smile +touched her lips. She turned, settled the pillows to her +liking, and stretched out her supple figure on the sofa +with a slight sigh.</p> +<p>“Shall I talk to you, Scheherazade, or let you snuggle +into the chaste arms of Morpheus?”</p> +<p>“I can’t sleep.”</p> +<p>“Is it a talk-fest, then?”</p> +<p>“I am listening.”</p> +<p>“Then, were the two recent gentlemen who so rudely +pounced upon me the same gentlemen who so cheerfully +chased me in an automobile when you made red fire?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I was betting on it. Nice-looking man—the one +with the classical map and the golden Frick.”</p> +<p>She said nothing.</p> +<p>“Scheherazade,” he continued with smiling malice, +“do you realise that you are both ornamental and +young? Why so young and murderous, fair houri? +Why delight in manslaughter in any degree? Why cultivate +assault and battery? Why swipe the property +of others?”</p> +<p>She closed her eyes on the pillow, but, as he remained +silent, presently opened them again.</p> +<p>“I asked them not to hurt you,” she said irrelevantly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></p> +<p>“Who? Oh, your strenuous friends with the footpad +technique? Well, they obeyed you unwillingly.”</p> +<p>“Did they hurt you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no. But the car-wheels might have.”</p> +<p>“The car-wheels?”</p> +<p>“Yes. They were all for dumping me down the steps +of the vestibule. But I’ve got a nasty disposition, Scheherazade, +and I kicked and bit and screamed so lustily +that I disgusted them and they simply left the train +and concluded to cut my acquaintance.”</p> +<p>It was evident that his good-humoured mockery +perplexed her. Once or twice the shadow of a smile +passed over her dark eyes, but they remained uncertain +and watchful.</p> +<p>“You really were astonished to see me alive again, +weren’t you?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I was surprised to see you, of course.”</p> +<p>“Alive?”</p> +<p>“I told you that I asked them not to really hurt +you.”</p> +<p>“Do you suppose I believe <i>that</i>, after your pistol +practice on me?”</p> +<p>“It is true,” she replied, her eyes resting on him.</p> +<p>“You wished to reserve me for more pistol practice?”</p> +<p>“I have no—enmity—for you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Scheherazade!” he protested, laughing.</p> +<p>“You are wrong, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>“After all I did to you?”</p> +<p>To his surprise a bright blush spread over her face +where it lay framed by the pillows; she turned her head +abruptly and lay without speaking.</p> +<p>He sat thinking for a few minutes, then leaning forward +from where he sat on the bed’s edge:</p> +<p>“After a man’s been shot at and further intimidated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +with a large, unpleasantly rusty Kurdish dagger, he is +likely to proceed without ceremony. All the same, I +am sorry I had to humiliate you, Scheherazade.”</p> +<p>She lay silent, unstirring.</p> +<p>“A girl would never forgive that, I know,” he said. +“So I shall look for a short shrift from you if your +opportunity ever comes.”</p> +<p>The girl appeared to be asleep. He stood up and +looked down at her. The colour had faded from the +one cheek visible. For a while he listened to her quiet +breathing, then, the imp of perversity seizing him, and +intensely diverted by the situation, he bent over her, +touched her cheek with his lips, put on his hat, took +box and suitcase, and went out to spend the remaining +hour or two in the smoking room, leaving her to sleep +in peace.</p> +<p>But no sooner had he closed the door on her than +the girl sat straight up on the sofa, her face surging in +colour, and her eyes brilliant with starting tears.</p> +<p>When the train arrived at the Grand Central Station, +in the grey of a July morning, Neeland, finding the +stateroom empty, lingered to watch for her among the +departing passengers.</p> +<p>But he lingered in vain; and presently a taxicab took +him and his box to the Cunard docks, and deposited him +there. And an hour later he was in his cabin on board +that vast ensemble of machinery and luxury, the Cunarder +<i>Volhynia</i>, outward bound, and headed straight +at the dazzling disc of the rising sun.</p> +<p>And thought of Scheherazade faded from his mind as +a tale that is told.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_A_WHITE_SKIRT' id='CHAPTER_XVII_A_WHITE_SKIRT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>A WHITE SKIRT</h3> +</div> +<p>It was in mid-ocean that Neeland finally came to the +conclusion that nobody on board the <i>Volhynia</i> was +likely to bother him or his box.</p> +<p>The July weather had been magnificent—blue skies, +a gentle wind, and a sea scarcely silvered by a comber.</p> +<p>Assorted denizens of the Atlantic took part in the +traditional vaudeville performance for the benefit of the +<i>Volhynia</i> passengers; gulls followed the wake to mid-ocean; +Mother Carey’s chickens skimmed the baby billows; +dolphins turned watery flip-flaps under the bows; +and even a distant whale consented to oblige.</p> +<p>Everybody pervaded the decks morning, noon, and +evening; the most squeamish recovered confidence in +twenty-four hours; and every constitutional lubber +concluded he was a born sailor.</p> +<p>Neeland really was one; no nausea born from the bad +adjustment of that anatomical auricular gyroscope recently +discovered in man ever disturbed his abdominal +nerves. Short of shipwreck, he enjoyed any entertainment +the Atlantic offered him.</p> +<p>So he was always on deck, tranquilly happy and with +nothing in the world to disturb him except his responsibility +for the olive-wood box.</p> +<p>He dared not leave it in his locked cabin; he dared +not entrust it to anybody; he lugged it about with him +wherever he went. On deck it stood beside his steamer +chair; it dangled from his hand when he promenaded, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +exciting the amazement and curiosity of others; it reposed +on the floor under the table and beneath his attentive +feet when he was at meals.</p> +<p>These elaborate precautions indicated his wholesome +respect for the persistence of Scheherazade and her +friends; he was forever scanning his fellow-voyagers +at table, in the smoking room, and as they strolled to +and fro in front of his steamer chair, trying to make +up his mind concerning them.</p> +<p>But Neeland, a clever observer of externals, was no +reader of character. The passenger list never seemed +to confirm any conclusions he arrived at concerning any +of the passengers on the <i>Volhynia</i>. A gentleman he +mistook for an overfed broker turned out to be a popular +clergyman with outdoor proclivities; a slim, poetic-looking +youth who carried a copy of “Words and +Wind” about the deck travelled for the Gold Leaf Lard +Company.</p> +<p>Taking them all in all, Neeland concluded that they +were as harmless a collection of <i>reconcentrados</i> as he +had ever observed; and he was strongly tempted to +leave the box in his locked stateroom.</p> +<p>He decided to do so one afternoon after luncheon, +and, lugging his box, started to return to his stateroom +with that intention, instead of going on deck, as usual, +for a postprandial cigarette.</p> +<p>There was nobody in the main corridor as he passed, +but in the short, carpeted passage leading to his stateroom +he caught a glimpse of a white serge skirt vanishing +into the stateroom opposite to his, and heard the +door close and the noise of a key turned quickly.</p> +<p>His steward, being questioned on the first day out, +had told him that this stateroom was occupied by an +invalid gentleman travelling alone, who preferred to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +remain there instead of trusting to his crutches on a +temperamental deck.</p> +<p>Neeland, passing the closed and curtained door, wondered +whether the invalid had made a hit, or whether +he had a relative aboard who wore a white serge skirt, +white stockings and shoes, and was further endowed +with agreeable ankles.</p> +<p>He fitted his key to his door, turned it, withdrew the +key to pocket it; and immediately became aware that +the end of the key was sticky.</p> +<p>He entered the stateroom, however, and bolted the +door, then he sat down on his sofa and examined his +fingers and his door key attentively. There was wax +sticking to both.</p> +<p>When he had fully digested this fact he wiped and +pocketed his key and cast a rather vacant look around +the little stateroom. And immediately his eye was +arrested by a white object lying on the carpet between +the bed and the sofa—a woman’s handkerchief, without +crest or initials, but faintly scented.</p> +<p>After he became tired of alternately examining it +and sniffing it, he put it in his pocket and began an uneasy +tour of his room.</p> +<p>If it had been entered and ransacked, everything had +been replaced exactly as he had left it, as well as he +could remember. Nothing excepting this handkerchief +and the wax on the key indicated intrusion; nothing, +apparently, had been disturbed; and yet there was the +handkerchief; and there was the wax on the end of his +door key.</p> +<p>“Here’s a fine business!” he muttered to himself; and +rang for his steward.</p> +<p>The man came—a cockney, dense as his native fog—who +maintained that nobody could have entered the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +stateroom without his knowledge or the knowledge of +the stewardess.</p> +<p>“Do you think <i>she’s</i> been in my cabin?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Call her.”</p> +<p>The stewardess, an alert, intelligent little woman +with a trace of West Indian blood in her, denied entering +his stateroom. Shown the handkerchief and invited +to sniff it, she professed utter ignorance concerning +it, assured him that no lady in her section used that +perfume, and offered to show it to the stewardesses of +other sections on the chance of their identifying the +perfume or the handkerchief.</p> +<p>“All right,” said Neeland; “take it. But bring it +back. And here’s a sovereign. And—one thing more. +If anybody pays you to deceive me, come to me and +I’ll outbid them. Is that a bargain?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” she said unblushingly.</p> +<p>When she had gone away with the handkerchief, Neeland +closed the door again and said to the steward:</p> +<p>“Keep an eye on my door. I am positive that somebody +has taken a wax impression of the keyhole. What +I said to that stewardess also holds good with you. I’ll +outbid anybody who bribes you.”</p> +<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> +<p>“Sure it’s good! It’s devilish good. Here’s a beautiful +and newly minted gold sovereign. Isn’t it artistic? +It’s yours, steward.”</p> +<p>“Thanky, sir.”</p> +<p>“Not at all. And, by the way, what’s that invalid +gentleman’s name?”</p> +<p>“’Awks, sir.”</p> +<p>“Hawks?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir; Mr. ’Erbert ’Awks.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></p> +<p>“American?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, sir.”</p> +<p>“British?”</p> +<p>“Shall I inquire, sir?” starting to go.</p> +<p>“Not of <i>him</i>! Don’t be a lunatic, steward! Please +try to understand that I want nothing said about this +matter or about my inquiries.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“Very well, then! Find out, if you can, who Mr. +Herbert Hawks is. Find out all you can concerning +him. It’s easy money, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, sir––”</p> +<p>“Wait a moment. Has he any friends or relatives +on board?”</p> +<p>“Not that I know, sir.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no friends, eh? No ladies who wear white serge +skirts and white shoes and stockings?”</p> +<p>“No, sir, not as I knows of.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Suppose you step across to his door, knock, +and ask him if he rang. And, if the door is opened, +take a quick slant at the room.”</p> +<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> +<p>Neeland, his door at the crack, watched the steward +cross the corridor and knock at the door of Mr. Herbert +Hawks.</p> +<p>“Well, what iss it?” came a heavy voice from within.</p> +<p>“Mr. ’Awks, sir, did you ring?”</p> +<p>“No, I did not.”</p> +<p>“Oh, beg pardon, sir––”</p> +<p>The steward was starting to return to Neeland, but +that young man motioned him violently away from his +door and closed it. Then, listening, his ear against +the panel, he presently heard a door in the passage +creak open a little way, then close again, stealthily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></p> +<p>He possessed his soul in patience, believing that Mr. +Hawks or his fair friend in the white skirt had merely +taken a preliminary survey of the passage and perhaps +also of his closed door. But the vigil was vain; the door +did not reopen; no sound came from the stateroom +across the passageway.</p> +<p>To make certain that the owner of the white shoes +and stockings did not leave that stateroom without his +knowledge, he opened his door with many precautions +and left it on the crack, stretching a rubber band from +knob to bolt, so that the wind from the open port in +the passage should not blow it shut. Then, drawing his +curtain, he sat down to wait.</p> +<p>He had a book, one of those slobbering American +novels which serve up falsehood thickly buttered with +righteousness and are consumed by the morally sterilised.</p> +<p>And, as he smoked he read; and, as he read he listened. +One eye always remained on duty; one ear was +alert; he meant to see who was the owner of the +white shoes if it took the remainder of the voyage to +find out.</p> +<p>The book aided him as a commonplace accompaniment +aids a soloist—alternately boring and exasperating +him.</p> +<p>It was an “uplift” book, where the heroine receives +whacks with patient smiles. Fate boots her from pillar +to post and she blesses Fate and is much obliged. That +most deadly reproach to degenerate human nature—the +accidental fact of sex—had been so skilfully extirpated +from those pages that, like chaste amœbæ, the +characters merely multiplied by immaculate subdivision; +and millions of lineal descendants of the American Dodo +were made gleeful for $1.50 net. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></p> +<p>It was hard work waiting, harder work reading, but +between the two and a cigarette now and then Neeland +managed to do his sentry go until dinner time approached +and the corridors resounded with the trample +of the hungry.</p> +<p>The stewardess reappeared a little later and returned +to him his handkerchief and the following information:</p> +<p>Mr. Hawks, it appeared, travelled with a trained +nurse, whose stateroom was on another deck. That +nurse was not in her stateroom, but a similar handkerchief +was, scented with similar perfume.</p> +<p>“You’re a wonder,” said Neeland, placing some more +sovereigns in her palm and closing her fingers over +them. “What is the nurse’s name?”</p> +<p>“Miss White.”</p> +<p>“Very suitable name. Has she ever before visited +Herr—I mean <i>Mr.</i>—Hawks in his stateroom?”</p> +<p>“Her stewardess says she has been indisposed since +we left New York.”</p> +<p>“Hasn’t been out of her cabin?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“I see. Did you inquire what she looked like?”</p> +<p>“Her stewardess couldn’t be certain. The stateroom +was kept dark and the tray containing her meals was +left at the bedside. Miss White smokes.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Neeland reflectively, “she smokes Red +Light cigarettes, I believe. Thank you, very much. +More sovereigns if you are discreet. And say to my +steward that I’ll dine in my stateroom. Soup, fish, +meat, any old thing you can think of. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly, sir.”</p> +<p>When she had withdrawn he kneeled down on his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +sofa and looked out through the port at the sunset +sea.</p> +<p>There was a possibility that Scheherazade and her +friends might be on board the <i>Volhynia</i>. Who else +would be likely to take wax impressions of his keyhole +and leave a scented scrap of a handkerchief on his +stateroom floor?</p> +<p>That they had kept themselves not only out of sight +but off the passenger list merely corroborated suspicion. +That’s what they’d be likely to do.</p> +<p>And now there was no question in his mind of leaving +the box in his cabin. He’d cling to it like a good +woman to alimony. Death alone could separate his box +from him.</p> +<p>As he knelt there, sniffing the salt perfume of the sea, +his ears on duty detected the sound of a tray in the +corridor.</p> +<p>“Leave it on the camp-table outside my door!” he +said over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Very good, sir.”</p> +<p>He was not hungry; he was thinking too hard.</p> +<p>“Confound it,” he thought to himself, “am I to squat +here in ambush for the rest of the trip?”</p> +<p>The prospect was not agreeable for a man who loved +the sea. All day and most of the starry night the hurricane +deck called to him, and his whole anatomy responded. +And now to sit hunched up here like a rat in +the hold was not to his taste. Suppose he should continue +to frequent the deck, carrying with him his box, +of course. He might never discover who owned the +white serge skirt or who owned the voice which pronounced +is as “iss.”</p> +<p>Meanwhile, it occurred to him that for a quarter of +an hour or more his dinner outside his door had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +growing colder and colder. So he slid from the sofa, +unstrapped the rubber band, opened the door, lifted +table and tray into his stateroom with a sharp glance +at the opposite door, and, readjusting the rubber band, +composed himself to eat.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_BY_RADIO' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_BY_RADIO'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>BY RADIO</h3> +</div> +<p>Perhaps it was because he did not feel particularly hungry that his dinner appeared unappetising; possibly +because it had been standing in the corridor outside +his door for twenty minutes, which did not add to its +desirability.</p> +<p>The sun had set and the air in the room had grown +cold. He felt chilly; and, when he uncovered the silver +tureen and discovered that the soup was still piping hot, +he drank some of it to warm himself.</p> +<p>He had swallowed about half a cupful before he discovered +that the seasoning was not agreeable to his +palate. In fact, the flavour of the hot broth was so +decidedly unpleasant that he pushed aside the cup and +sat down on the edge of his bunk without any further +desire to eat anything.</p> +<p>A glass of water from the carafe did not seem to rid +him of the subtle, disagreeable taste lingering in his +mouth—in fact, the water itself seemed to be tainted +with it.</p> +<p>He sat for a few moments fumbling for his cigarette +case, feeling curiously uncomfortable, as though the +slight motion of the ship were affecting his head.</p> +<p>As he sat there looking at the unlighted cigarette in +his hand, it fell to the carpet at his feet. He started +to stoop for it, caught himself in time, pulled himself +erect with an effort.</p> +<p>Something was wrong with him—very wrong. Every +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +uneven breath he drew seemed to fill his lungs with the +odour of that strange and volatile flavour he had noticed. +It was beginning to make him giddy; it seemed +to affect his vision, too.</p> +<p>Suddenly a terrible comprehension flashed through +his confused mind, clearing it for a moment.</p> +<p>He tried to stand up and reach the electric bell; his +knees seem incapable of sustaining him. Sliding to the +floor, he attempted to crawl toward the olive-wood box; +managed to get one arm around it, grip the handle. +Then, with a last desperate effort, he groped in his +breast pocket for the automatic pistol, freed it, tried +to fire it. But the weapon and the unnerved hand that +held it fell on the carpet. A muscular paralysis set in +like the terrible rigidity of death; he could still see and +hear as in a thickening dream.</p> +<p>A moment later, from the corridor, a slim hand was +inserted between the door and jamb; the supple fingers +became busy with the rubber band for a moment, released +it. The door opened very slowly.</p> +<p>For a few seconds two dark eyes were visible between +door and curtain, regarding intently the figure lying +prone upon the floor. Then the curtain was twitched +noiselessly aside; a young woman in the garb of a +trained nurse stepped swiftly into the stateroom on tip-toe, +followed by a big, good-looking, blue-eyed man +wearing a square golden beard.</p> +<p>The man, who carried with him a pair of crutches, +but who did not appear to require their aid, hastily set +the dinner-tray and camp-table outside in the corridor, +then closed and bolted the door.</p> +<p>Already the nurse was down on her knees beside the +fallen man, trying to loosen his grasp on the box. Then +her face blanched. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></p> +<p>“It’s like the rigor of death itself,” she whispered +fearfully over her shoulder. “Could I have given him +enough to kill him?”</p> +<p>“He took only half a cup and a swallow of water. +No.”</p> +<p>“I can’t get his hand free––”</p> +<p>“Wait! I try!” He pulled a big, horn-handled +clasp-knife from his pocket and deliberately opened the +eight-inch blade.</p> +<p>“What are you doing?” she whispered, seizing his +wrist. “Don’t do that!”</p> +<p>The man with the golden beard hesitated, then +shrugged, pocketed his knife, and seized Neeland’s +rigidly clenched hand.</p> +<p>“You are right. It makes too much muss!” tugging +savagely at the clenched and unconscious hand. “Sacreminton! +What for a death-grip is this <i>Kerls</i>? If I +cut his hand off so iss there blood and gossip right +away already. No—too much muss. Wait! I try another +way––”</p> +<p>Neeland groaned.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t! Don’t!” faltered the girl. “You’re +breaking his wrist––”</p> +<p>“Ugh!” grunted her companion; “I try; I can it not +accomplish. See once if the box opens!”</p> +<p>“It is locked.”</p> +<p>“Search this pig-dog for the key!”</p> +<p>She began a hurried search of Neeland’s clothing; +presently discovered her own handkerchief; thrust it +into her apron pocket, and continued rummaging while +the bearded man turned his attention to the automatic +pistol. This he finally succeeded in disengaging, and +he laid it on the wash basin.</p> +<p>“Here are his keys,” whispered the nurse feverishly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +holding them up against the dim circle of evening sky +framed by the open port. “You had better light the +stateroom; I can’t see. Hurry! I think he is beginning +to recover.”</p> +<p>When the bearded man had switched on the electric +light he returned to kneel once more beside the inert +body on the floor, and began to pull and haul and tug +at the box and attempt to insert the key in the lock. +But the stiffened clutch of the drugged man made it +impossible either to release the box or get at the keyhole.</p> +<p>“<i>Ach, was! Verflüchtete’ schwein-hund––!</i>” He +seized the rigid hand and, exerting all the strength of +a brutally inflamed fury, fairly ripped loose the fingers.</p> +<p>“<i>Also!</i>” he panted, seizing the stiffened body from +the floor and lifting it. “Hold you him by the long +and Yankee legs once, <i>und</i> I push him out––”</p> +<p>“Out of the port?”</p> +<p>“<i>Gewiss!</i> Otherwise he recovers to raise some hell!”</p> +<p>“It is not necessary. How shall this man know?”</p> +<p>“You left your handkerchief. He iss no fool. He +makes a noise. No, it iss safer we push him overboard.”</p> +<p>“I’ll take the papers to Karl, and then I can remain +in my stateroom––”</p> +<p>“<i>No!</i> Lift his legs, I tell you! You want I hold him +in my arms all day while you talk, talk, talk! You take +his legs right away quick––!”</p> +<p>He staggered a few paces forward with his unwieldy +burden and, setting one knee on the sofa, attempted to +force Neeland’s head and shoulders through the open +port. At the same moment a rapid knocking sounded +outside the stateroom door.</p> +<p>“Quick!” breathed the nurse. “Throw him on his +bed!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></p> +<p>The blue-eyed, golden-bearded man hesitated, then +as the knocking sounded again, imperative, persistent, +he staggered to the bed with his burden, laid it on the +pillows, seized his crutches, rested on them, breathing +heavily, and listening to the loud and rapid knocking +outside the door.</p> +<p>“We’ve got to open,” she whispered. “Don’t forget +that we found him unconscious in the corridor!” And +she slid the bolt noiselessly, opened the stateroom door, +and stepped outside the curtain into the corridor.</p> +<p>The cockney steward stood there with a messenger.</p> +<p>“Wireless for Mr. Neeland––” he began; but his +speech failed and his jaw fell at sight of the nurse in +her cap and uniform. And when, on his crutches, the +bearded man emerged from behind the curtain, the steward’s +eyes fairly protruded.</p> +<p>“The young gentleman is ill,” explained the nurse +coolly. “Mr. Hawks heard him fall in the corridor and +came out on his crutches to see what had happened. I +chanced to be passing through the main corridor, fortunately. +I am doing what I can for the young gentleman.”</p> +<p>“Ow,” said the steward, staring over her shoulder +at the bearded man on crutches.</p> +<p>“There iss no need of calling the ship’s doctor,” said +the man on crutches. “This young woman iss a hospital +nurse <i>und</i> she iss so polite and obliging to volunteer +her service for the poor young gentleman.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said carelessly, “I can remain here for +an hour or two with him. He requires only a few simple +remedies—I’ve already given him a sedative, and he is +sleeping very nicely.”</p> +<p>“Yess, yess; it iss not grave. Pooh! It is notting. +He slip and knock his head. Maybe too much +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +tchampagne. He sleep, and by and by he feel better. It iss +not advisable to make a fuss. So! We are not longer +needed, steward. I return to my room.”</p> +<p>And, nodding pleasantly, the bearded man hobbled +out on his crutches and entered his own stateroom +across the passage.</p> +<p>“Steward,” said the nurse pleasantly, “you may leave +the wireless telegram with me. When Mr. Neeland +wakes I’ll read it to him––”</p> +<p>“Give that telegram to <i>me</i>!” burst out a ghostly +voice from the curtained room behind her.</p> +<p>Every atom of colour left her face, and she stood +there as though stiffened into marble. The steward +stared at her. Still staring, he passed gingerly in front +of her and entered the curtained room.</p> +<p>Neeland was lying on his bed as white as death; +but his eyes fluttered open in a dazed way:</p> +<p>“Steward,” he whispered.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>“My—box.” His eyes closed.</p> +<p>“Box, sir?”</p> +<p>“Where—is—it?”</p> +<p>“Which box, sir? Is it this one here on the floor?”—lifting +the olive-wood box in its case. The key was in +the lock; the other keys hung from it, dangling on a +steel ring.</p> +<p>The nurse stepped calmly into the room.</p> +<p>“Steward,” she said in her low, pleasant voice, “the +sedative I gave him has probably confused his mind a +little––”</p> +<p>“Put that box—under—my head,” interrupted Neeland’s +voice like a groan.</p> +<p>“I tell you,” whispered the nurse, “he doesn’t know +what he is saying.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></p> +<p>“I got to obey him, ma’am––”</p> +<p>“I forbid you––”</p> +<p>“Steward!” gasped Neeland.</p> +<p>“Sir?”</p> +<p>“My box. I—want it.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, sir––”</p> +<p>“Here, beside my—pillow.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.” He laid the box beside the sick man.</p> +<p>“Is it locked, steward?”</p> +<p>“Key sticking in it, sir. Yes, it’s locked, sir.”</p> +<p>“Open.”</p> +<p>The nurse, calm, pale, tight-lipped, stood by the curtain +looking at the bed over which the steward leaned, +opening the box.</p> +<p>“’Ere you are, sir,” he said, lifting the cover. “I +say, nurse, give ’im a lift, won’t you?”</p> +<p>The nurse coolly stepped to the bedside, stooped, +raised the head and shoulders of the prostrate man. +After a moment his eyes unclosed; he looked at the contents +of the box with a perceptible effort.</p> +<p>“Lock it, steward. Place it beside me.... Next +the wall.... So.... Place the keys in my pocket.... +Thank you.... I had a—pistol.”</p> +<p>“Sir?”</p> +<p>“A pistol. Where is it?”</p> +<p>The steward’s roving glance fell finally upon the +washbasin. He walked over, picked up the automatic, +and, with an indescribable glance at the nurse, laid it +across Neeland’s up-turned palm.</p> +<p>The young man’s fingers fumbled it, closed over the +handle; and a ghost of a smile touched his ashen face.</p> +<p>“Do you feel better, sir?”</p> +<p>“I’m tired.... Yes, I feel—better.”</p> +<p>“Can I do anything for you, Mr. Neeland?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>“Stay outside—my door.”</p> +<p>“Do you wish the doctor, sir?”</p> +<p>“No.... No!... Don’t call him; do you hear?”</p> +<p>“I won’t call him, sir.”</p> +<p>“No, don’t call him.”</p> +<p>“No, sir.... Mr. Neeland, there is a—a trained +nurse here. You will not want her, will you, sir?”</p> +<p>Again the shadow of a smile crept over Neeland’s +face.</p> +<p>“Did she come for—her handkerchief?”</p> +<p>There was a silence; the steward looked steadily at +the nurse; the nurse’s dark eyes were fixed on the man +lying there before her.</p> +<p>“You shan’t be wanting her any more, shall you, +sir?” repeated the steward, not shifting his gaze.</p> +<p>“Yes; I think I shall want her—for a little while.”... +Neeland slowly opened his eyes, smiled up at the +motionless nurse: “How are you, Scheherazade?” he +said weakly. And, to the steward, with an effort: “Miss +White and I are—old friends.... However—kindly +remain outside—my door.... And throw what remains +of my dinner—out of—the port.... And be +ready—at all times—to look after the—gentleman on +crutches.... I’m—fond of him.... Thank you, +steward.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Long after the steward had closed the stateroom +door, Ilse Dumont stood beside Neeland’s bed without +stirring. Once or twice he opened his eyes and looked +at her humorously. After a while he said:</p> +<p>“Please be seated, Scheherazade.”</p> +<p>She calmly seated herself on the edge of his couch.</p> +<p>“Horrid soup,” he murmured. “You should attend +a cooking school, my dear.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></p> +<p>She regarded him absently, as though other matters +absorbed her.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he repeated, “as a cook you’re a failure, +Scheherazade. That broth which you seasoned for me +has done funny things to my eyes, too. But they’re +recovering. I see much better already. My vision is +becoming sufficiently clear to observe how pretty you +are in your nurse’s cap and apron.”</p> +<p>A slow colour came into her face and he saw her +eyebrows bend inward as though she were annoyed.</p> +<p>“You <i>are</i> pretty, Scheherazade,” he repeated. “You +know you are, don’t you? But you’re a poor cook +and a rotten shot. You can’t be perfection, you know. +Cheer up!”</p> +<p>She ignored the suggestion, her dark eyes brooding +and remote again; and he lay watching her with placid +interest in which no rancour remained. He was feeling +decidedly better every minute now. He lifted the +automatic pistol and shoved it under his pillow, then +cautiously flexed his fingers, his arms, and finally his +knees, with increasing pleasure and content.</p> +<p>“Such dreadful soup,” he said. “But I’m a lot better, +thank you. Was it to have been murder this time, +too, Scheherazade? Would the entire cupful have made +a pretty angel of me? Oh, fie! Naughty Scheherazade!”</p> +<p>She remained mute.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you mean manslaughter with intent to exterminate?” +he insisted, watching her.</p> +<p>Perhaps she was thinking of her blond and bearded +companion, and the open port, for she made no +reply.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you let him heave me out?” inquired +Neeland. “Why did you object?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>At that she reddened to the roots of her hair, understanding +that what she feared had been true—that +Neeland, while physically helpless, had retained sufficient +consciousness to be aware of what was happening +to him and to understand at least a part of the conversation.</p> +<p>“What was the stuff with which you flavoured that +soup, Scheherazade?”</p> +<p>He was merely baiting her; he did not expect any +reply; but, to his surprise, she answered him:</p> +<p>“Threlanium—Speyer’s solution is what I used,” she +said with a sort of listless effrontery.</p> +<p>“Don’t know it. Don’t like it, either. Prefer other +condiments.”</p> +<p>He lifted himself on one elbow, remained propped so, +tore open his wireless telegram, and, after a while, +contrived to read it:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>James Neeland</span>,<br /> +“S. S. <i>Volhynia</i>.<br /></p> +<p>“Spies aboard. Be careful. If trouble threatens captain +has instructions British Government to protect you +and order arrests on your complaint.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'>“<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Naïa</span>.”<br /></p> +</div> +<p>With a smile that was almost a grin, Neeland handed +the telegram to Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>“Scheherazade,” he said, “you’ll be a good little girl, +now, won’t you? Because it would be a shocking thing +for you and your friend across the way to land in +England wearing funny bangles on your wrists and +keeping step with each other, wouldn’t it?”</p> +<p>She continued to hold the slip of paper and stare at +it long after she had finished reading it and the words +became a series of parallel blurs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></p> +<p>“Scheherazade,” he said lightly, “what on earth am +I going to do with you?”</p> +<p>“I suppose you will lodge a charge with the captain +against me,” she replied in even tones.</p> +<p>“Why not? You deserve it, don’t you? You and +your humorous friend with the yellow beard?”</p> +<p>She looked at him with a vague smile.</p> +<p>“What can you prove?” said she.</p> +<p>“Perfectly true, dear child. Nothing. I don’t want +to prove anything, either.”</p> +<p>She smiled incredulously.</p> +<p>“It’s quite true, Scheherazade. Otherwise, I shouldn’t +have ordered my steward to throw the remains of my +dinner out of the corridor porthole. No, dear child. +I should have had it analysed, had your stateroom +searched for more of that elusive seasoning you used +to flavour my dinner; had a further search made for +a certain sort of handkerchief and perfume. Also, +just imagine the delightful evidence which a thorough +search of your papers might reveal!” He laughed. +“No, Scheherazade; I did not care to prove you anything +resembling a menace to society. Because, in the +first place, I am absurdly grateful to you.”</p> +<p>Her face became expressionless under the slow flush +mounting.</p> +<p>“I’m not teasing you,” he insisted. “What I say is +true. I’m grateful to you for violently injecting romance +into my perfectly commonplace existence. You +have taken the book of my life and not only extra +illustrated it with vivid and chromatic pictures, but you +have unbound it, sewed into its prosaic pages several +chapters ripped bodily from a penny-dreadful, and +you have then rebound the whole thing and pasted your +own pretty picture on the cover! Come, now! Ought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +not a man to be grateful to any philanthropic girl who +so gratuitously obliges him?”</p> +<p>Her face burned under his ridicule; her clasped +hands in her lap were twisted tight as though to maintain +her self-control.</p> +<p>“What do you want of me?” she asked between lips +that scarcely moved.</p> +<p>He laughed, sat up, stretched out both arms with a +sigh of satisfaction. The colour came back to his +face; he dropped one leg over the bed’s edge; and she +stood erect and stepped aside for him to rise.</p> +<p>No dizziness remained; he tried both feet on the floor, +straightened himself, cast a gaily malicious glance at +her, and slowly rose to his feet.</p> +<p>“Scheherazade,” he said, “<i>isn’t</i> it funny? I ask you, +did you ever hear of a would-be murderess and her +escaped victim being on such cordial terms? Did you?”</p> +<p>He was going through a few calisthenics, gingerly +but with increasing abandon, while he spoke.</p> +<p>“I feel fine, thank you. I am enjoying the situation +extremely, too. It’s a delightful paradox, this situation. +It’s absurd, it’s enchanting, it’s incredible! +There is only one more thing that could make it perfectly +impossible. And I’m going to do it!” And he +deliberately encircled her waist and kissed her.</p> +<p>She turned white at that, and, as he released her, +laughing, took a step or two blindly, toward the door; +stood there with one hand against it as though supporting +herself.</p> +<p>After a few moments, and very slowly, she turned +and looked at him; and that young man was scared for +the first time since their encounter in the locked house +in Brookhollow.</p> +<p>Yet in her face there was no anger, no menace, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +nothing he had ever before seen in any woman’s face, nothing +that he now comprehended. Only, for the moment, +it seemed to him that something terrible was gazing +at him out of this girl’s fixed eyes—something that +he did not recognise as part of her—another being +hidden within her, staring out through her eyes at +him.</p> +<p>“For heaven’s sake, Scheherazade––” he faltered.</p> +<p>She opened the door, still watching him over her +shoulder, shrank through it, and was gone.</p> +<p>He stood for a full five minutes as though stupefied, +then walked to the door and flung it open. And met +a ship’s officer face to face, already lifting his hand +to knock for admittance.</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Captain West’s compliments, and he would be glad +to see you in his cabin.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. My compliments and thanks to Captain +West, and I shall call on him immediately.”</p> +<p>They exchanged bows; the officer turned, hesitated, +glanced at the steward who stood by the port.</p> +<p>“Did you bring a radio message to Mr. Neeland?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I received the message,” said Neeland.</p> +<p>“The captain requests you to bring the message with +you.”</p> +<p>“With pleasure,” said Neeland.</p> +<p>So the officer went away down the corridor, and +Neeland sat down on his bed, opened the box, went over +carefully every item of its contents, relocked it with +a grin of satisfaction, and, taking it with him, went +off to pay a visit to the captain of the <i>Volhynia</i>.</p> +<p>The bearded gentleman in the stateroom across the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +passage had been listening intently to the conversation, +with his ear flat against his keyhole.</p> +<p>And now, without hesitating, he went to a satchel +which stood on the sofa in his stateroom, opened it, +took from it a large bundle of papers and a ten-pound +iron scale-weight.</p> +<p>Attaching the weight to the papers by means of a +heavy strand of copper wire, he mounted the sofa and +hurled the weighted package into the Atlantic Ocean.</p> +<p>“Pig-dogs of British,” he muttered in his golden +beard, “you may go and dive for them when The Day +dawns.”</p> +<p>Then he filled and lighted a handsome porcelain pipe, +and puffed it with stolid satisfaction, leaving the +pepper-box silver cover open.</p> +<p>“<i>Der Tag</i>,” he muttered in his golden beard; and his +clear eyes swept the starlit ocean with the pensive and +terrifying scrutiny of a waiting eagle.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_CAPTAIN_OF_THE_VOLHYNIA' id='CHAPTER_XIX_THE_CAPTAIN_OF_THE_VOLHYNIA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>THE CAPTAIN OF THE VOLHYNIA</h3> +</div> +<p>The captain of the <i>Volhynia</i> had just come from the +bridge and was taking a bite of late supper in his cabin +when the orderly announced Neeland. He rose at once, +offering a friendly hand:</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, I am very glad to see you. I know +you by name and reputation already. There were some +excellent pictures by you in the latest number of the +<i>Midweek Magazine</i>.”</p> +<p>“I’m so glad you liked them, Captain West.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I did. There was a breeze in them—a gaiety. +And such a fetching girl you drew for your heroine!”</p> +<p>“You think so! It’s rather interesting. I met a +young girl once—she comes from up-state where I +come from. There was a peculiar and rather subtle +attraction about her face. So I altered the features +of the study I was making from my model, and put +in hers as I remembered them.”</p> +<p>“She must be beautiful, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>“It hadn’t struck me so until I drew her from memory. +And there’s more to the story. I never met her +but twice in my life—the second time under exceedingly +dramatic circumstances. And now I’m crossing +the Atlantic at a day’s notice to oblige her. It’s an +amusing story, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, I think it is going to be what you +call a ‘continued’ story.”</p> +<p>“No. Oh, no. It ought to be, considering its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +elements. But it isn’t. There’s no further romance in +it, Captain West.”</p> +<p>The captain’s smile was pleasant but sceptical.</p> +<p>They seated themselves, Neeland declining an invitation +to supper, and the captain asking his indulgence +if he talked while eating.</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland,” he said, “I’m about to talk rather +frankly with you. I have had several messages by +wireless today from British sources, concerning you.”</p> +<p>Neeland, surprised, said nothing. Captain West finished +his bite of supper; the steward removed the dishes +and went out, closing the door. The captain glanced +at the box which Neeland had set on the floor by his +chair.</p> +<p>“May I ask,” he said, “why you brought your suitcase +with you?”</p> +<p>“It’s valuable.”</p> +<p>The captain’s keen eyes were on his.</p> +<p>“Why are you followed by spies?” he asked.</p> +<p>Neeland reddened.</p> +<p>“Yes,” continued the captain of the <i>Volhynia</i>, “my +Government instructs me, by wireless, to offer you any +aid and protection you may desire. I am informed +that you carry papers of military importance to a certain +foreign nation with which neither England nor +France are on what might be called cordial terms. I +am told it is likely that agents of this foreign country +have followed you aboard my ship for the purpose of +robbing you of these papers. Now, Mr. Neeland, what +do you know about this business?”</p> +<p>“Very little,” said Neeland.</p> +<p>“Have you had any trouble?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> +<p>The captain smiled: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></p> +<p>“Evidently you have wriggled out of it,” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes, wriggled is the literal word.”</p> +<p>“Then you do not think that you require any protection +from me?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I do. I’ve been a singularly innocent and +lucky ass. It’s merely chance that my papers have +not been stolen, even before I started in quest of them.”</p> +<p>“Have you been troubled aboard my ship?”</p> +<p>Neeland waved his hand carelessly:</p> +<p>“Nothing to speak of, thank you.”</p> +<p>“If you have any charge to make––”</p> +<p>“Oh, no.”</p> +<p>The captain regarded him intently:</p> +<p>“Let me tell you something,” he said. “Since we +sailed, have you noticed the bulletins posted containing +our wireless news?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ve read them.”</p> +<p>“Did they interest you?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You mean that row between Austria and +Servia over the Archduke’s murder?”</p> +<p>“I mean exactly that, Mr. Neeland. And now I am +going to tell you something else. Tonight I had a +radio message which I shall not post on the bulletins +for various reasons. But I shall tell you under the seal +of confidence.”</p> +<p>“I give you my word of honour,” said Neeland +quietly.</p> +<p>“I accept it, Mr. Neeland. And this is what has happened: +Austria has decided on an ultimatum to Servia. +And probably will send it.”</p> +<p>They remained silent for a moment, then the captain +continued:</p> +<p>“Why should we deceive ourselves? This is the most +serious thing that has happened since the Hohenzollern +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +incident which brought on the Franco-Prussian War.”</p> +<p>Neeland nodded.</p> +<p>“You see?” insisted the captain. “Suppose the +humiliation is too severe for Servia to endure? Suppose +she refuses the Austrian terms? Suppose Austria +mobilises against her? What remains for Russia to +do except to mobilise? And, if Russia does that, what +is going to happen in Germany? And then, instantly +and automatically, what will follow in France?” His +mouth tightened grimly. “England,” he said, “is the +ally of France. Ask yourself, Mr. Neeland, what are +the prospects of this deadly combination and deadlier +situation.”</p> +<p>After a few moments the young man looked up from +his brown study:</p> +<p>“I’d like to ask you a question—perhaps not germane +to the subject. May I?”</p> +<p>“Ask it.”</p> +<p>“Then, of what interest are Turkish forts to any of +the various allied nations—to the Triple Entente or +the Triple Alliance?”</p> +<p>“Turkish fortifications?”</p> +<p>“Yes—plans for them.”</p> +<p>The captain glanced instinctively at the box beside +Neeland’s chair, but his features remained incurious.</p> +<p>“Turkey is supposed to be the ally of Germany,” +he said.</p> +<p>“I’ve heard so. I know that the Turkish army is +under German officers. But—if war should happen, +is it likely that this ramshackle nation which was fought +to a standstill by the Balkan Alliance only a few months +ago would be likely to take active sides?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, it is not only likely, it is absolutely +certain.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></p> +<p>“You believe Germany would count on her?”</p> +<p>“There is not a doubt of it. Enver Pasha holds the +country in his right hand; Enver Pasha is the Kaiser’s +jackal.”</p> +<p>“But Turkey is a beaten, discredited nation. She +has no modern guns. Her fleet is rusting in the Bosporus.”</p> +<p>“The Dardanelles bristle with Krupp cannon, Mr. +Neeland, manned by German gunners. Von der Goltz +Pasha has made of a brave people a splendid army. +As for ships, the ironclads and gunboats off Seraglio +Point are rusting at anchor, as you say; but there are +today enough German and Austrian armored ships +within running distance of the Dardanelles to make +for Turkey a powerful defensive squadron. Didn’t you +know any of these facts?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, they <i>are</i> facts.... You see, Mr. Neeland, +we English sailors of the merchant marine are also +part of the naval reserve. And we are supposed to +know these things.”</p> +<p>Neeland was silent.</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland,” he said, “in case of war between the +various powers of Europe as aligned today, where do +you imagine your sympathy would lie—and the sympathies +of America?”</p> +<p>“Both with France and England,” said Neeland +bluntly.</p> +<p>“You think so?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do—unless they are the aggressors.”</p> +<p>The captain nodded:</p> +<p>“I feel rather that way myself. I feel very sure of +the friendliness of your country. Because of course we—France +and England—never would dream of attacking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +the Central Powers unless first assailed.” He +smiled, nodded toward the box on the floor: “Don’t +you think, Mr. Neeland, that it might be safer to entrust +those—that box, I mean—to the captain of the +Royal Mail steamer, <i>Volhynia</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” said Neeland quietly.</p> +<p>“And—about these spies. Do you happen to entertain +any particular suspicions concerning any of the +passengers on my ship?” urged the captain.</p> +<p>“Indeed, I entertain lively suspicions, and even a few +certainties,” replied the young fellow, laughing.</p> +<p>“You appear to enjoy the affair?”</p> +<p>“I do. I’ve never had such a good time. I’m not +going to spoil it by suggesting that you lock up anybody, +either.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said the captain +seriously.</p> +<p>“But I do. They’re friends of mine. They’ve given +me the time of my life. A dirty trick I’d be serving +myself as well as them if I came to you and preferred +charges against them!”</p> +<p>The captain inspected him curiously for a few moments, +then, in a soft voice:</p> +<p>“By any chance, Mr. Neeland, have you any Irish +blood in your veins?”</p> +<p>“Yes, thank God!” returned the young fellow, unable +to control his laughter. “And I’ll bet there isn’t a +drop in you, Captain West.”</p> +<p>“Not a drop, thank G—I’m sorry!—I ask your pardon, +Mr. Neeland!” added the captain, very red in the +face.</p> +<p>But Neeland laughed so hard that, after a moment, +the red died out in the captain’s face and a faint grin +came into it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>So they shook hands and said good night; and Neeland +went away, leaving his box on the floor of the captain’s +cabin as certain of its inviolability as he was of +the Bank of England.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX_THE_DROP_OF_IRISH' id='CHAPTER_XX_THE_DROP_OF_IRISH'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>THE DROP OF IRISH</h3> +</div> +<p>The usual signs of land greeted Neeland when he +rose early next morning and went out on deck for the +first time without his olive-wood box—first a few gulls, +then puffins, terns, and other sea fowl in increasing +numbers, weed floating, fishing smacks, trawlers tossing +on the rougher coast waters.</p> +<p>After breakfast he noticed two British torpedo boat +destroyers, one to starboard, the other on the port bow, +apparently keeping pace with the <i>Volhynia</i>. They +were still there at noon, subjects of speculation among +the passengers; and at tea-time their number was increased +to five, the three new destroyers appearing +suddenly out of nowhere, dead ahead, dashing forward +through a lively sea under a swirling vortex of +gulls.</p> +<p>The curiosity of the passengers, always easily +aroused, became more thoroughly stirred up by the bulletins +posted late that afternoon, indicating that the +tension between the several European chancelleries was +becoming acute, and that emperors and kings were exchanging +personal telegrams.</p> +<p>There was all sorts of talk on deck and at the dinner +table, wild talk, speculative talk, imaginative discussions, +logical and illogical. But, boiled down to its +basic ingredients, the wildest imagination on board +the <i>Volhynia</i> admitted war to be an impossibility of +modern times, and that, ultimately, diplomacy would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +settle what certainly appeared to be the ugliest international +situation in a hundred years.</p> +<p>At the bottom of his heart Neeland believed this, too; +wished for it when his higher and more educated spiritual +self was flatly interrogated; and yet, in the everyday, +impulsive ego of James Neeland, the drop of Irish +had begun to sing and seethe with the atavistic instinct +for a row.</p> +<p>War? He didn’t know what it meant, of course. It +made good poetry and interesting fiction; it rendered +history amusing; made dry facts succulent.</p> +<p>Preparations for war in Europe, which had been +going on for fifty years, were most valuable, too, in +contributing the brilliant hues of uniforms to an otherwise +sombre civilian world, and investing commonplace +and sober cities with the omnipresent looming mystery +of fortifications.</p> +<p>To a painter, war seemed to be a dramatic and gorgeous +affair; to a young man it appealed as all excitement +appeals. The sportsman in him desired to witness +a scrap; his artist’s imagination was aroused; the +gambler in him speculated as to the outcome of such +a war. And the seething, surging drop of Irish fizzed +and purred and coaxed for a chance to edge sideways +into any fight which God in His mercy might provide +for a decent gossoon who had never yet had the pleasure +of a broken head.</p> +<p>“Not,” thought Neeland to himself, “that I’ll go +trailing my coat tails. I’ll go about my own business, +of course—but somebody may hit me a crack at +that!”</p> +<p>He thought of Ilse Dumont and of the man with +the golden beard, realising that he had had a wonderful +time, after all; sorry in his heart that it was all over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +and that the <i>Volhynia</i> was due to let go her mudhooks +in the Mersey about three o’clock the next morning.</p> +<p>As he leaned on the deck rail in the soft July darkness, +he could see the lights of the destroyers to port +and starboard, see strings of jewel-like signals flash, +twinkle, fade, and flash again.</p> +<p>All around him along the deck passengers were +promenading, girls in evening gowns or in summer +white; men in evening dress or reefed in blue as nautically +as possible; old ladies toddling, swathed in veils, +old gentlemen in dinner coats and sporting headgear—every +weird or conventional combination infested the +decks of the <i>Volhynia</i>.</p> +<p>Now, for the first time during the voyage, Neeland +felt free to lounge about where he listed, saunter wherever +the whim of the moment directed his casual steps. +The safety of the olive-wood box was no longer on his +mind, the handle no longer in his physical clutch. He +was at liberty to stroll as carelessly as any boulevard +<i>flâneur</i>; and he did so, scanning the passing throng for +a glimpse of Ilse Dumont or of the golden-bearded one, +but not seeing either of them.</p> +<p>In fact, he had not laid eyes on them since he had +supped not wisely but too well on the soup that Scheherazade +had flavoured for him.</p> +<p>The stateroom door of the golden-bearded man had +remained closed. His own little cockney steward, who +also looked out for Golden Beard, reported that gentleman +as requiring five meals a day, with beer in +proportion, and the porcelain pipe steaming like Ætna +all day long.</p> +<p>His little West Indian stewardess also reported the +gossip from her friend on another corridor, which was, +in effect, that Miss White, the trained nurse, took all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +meals in her room and had not been observed to leave +that somewhat monotonous sanctuary.</p> +<p>How many more of the band there might be Neeland +did not know. He remembered vaguely, while lying +rigid under the grip of the drug, that he had heard Ilse +Dumont’s voice mention somebody called Karl. And +he had an idea that this Karl might easily be the big, +ham-fisted German who had tried so earnestly to stifle +him and throw him from the vestibule of the midnight +express.</p> +<p>However, it did not matter now. The box was safe +in the captain’s care; the <i>Volhynia</i> would be lying at +anchor off Liverpool before daylight; the whole exciting +and romantic business was ended.</p> +<p>With an unconscious sigh, not entirely of relief, +Neeland opened his cigarette case, found it empty, +turned and went slowly below with the idea of refilling +it.</p> +<p>They were dancing somewhere on deck; the music +of the ship’s orchestra came to his ears. He paused +a moment on the next deck to lean on the rail in the +darkness and listen.</p> +<p>Far beneath him, through a sea as black as onyx, +swept the reflections of the lighted ports; and he could +hear the faint hiss of foam from the curling flow +below.</p> +<p>As he turned to resume his quest for cigarettes, he +was startled to see directly in front of him the heavy +figure of a man—so close to him, in fact, that Neeland +instinctively threw up his arm, elbow out, to avoid +contact.</p> +<p>But the man, halting, merely lifted his hat, saying +that in the dim light he had mistaken Neeland for a +friend; and they passed each other on the almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +deserted deck, saluting formally in the European fashion, +with lifted hats.</p> +<p>His spirits a trifle subdued, but still tingling with +the shock of discovering a stranger so close behind him +where he had stood leaning over the ship’s rail, Neeland +continued on his way below.</p> +<p>Probably the big man had made a mistake in good +faith; but the man certainly had approached very +silently; was almost at his very elbow when discovered. +And Neeland remembered the light-shot depths over +which, at that moment, he had been leaning; and +he realised that it would have been very easy for a +man as big as that to have flung him overboard +before he had wit to realise what had been done to +him.</p> +<p>Neither could he forget the curious gleam in the +stranger’s eyes when a ray from a deck light fell across +his shadowy face—unusually small eyes set a little too +close together to inspire confidence. Nor had the man’s +slight accent escaped him—not a Teutonic accent, he +thought, but something fuller and softer—something +that originated east of Scutari, suggesting the Eurasian, +perhaps.</p> +<p>But Neeland’s soberness was of volatile quality; before +he arrived at his stateroom he had recovered his +gaiety of spirit. He glanced ironically at the closed +door of Golden Beard as he fitted his key into his own +door.</p> +<p>“A lively lot,” he thought to himself, “what with +Scheherazade, Golden Beard, and now Ali Baba—by +jinx!—he certainly did have an Oriental voice!—and +he looked the part, too, with a beak for a nose and a +black moustache à la Enver Pasha!”</p> +<p>Much diverted by his own waxing imagination, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +turned on the light in his stateroom, filled the cigarette +case, turned to go out, and saw on the carpet just inside +his door a bit of white paper folded cocked-hat +fashion and addressed to him.</p> +<p>Picking it up and unfolding it, he read:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p>May I see you this evening at eleven? My stateroom +is 623. If there is anybody in the corridor, knock; if +not, come in without knocking.</p> +<p>I mean no harm to you. I give my word of honour. +Please accept it for as much as your personal courage +makes it worth to you—its face value, or nothing.</p> +<p>Knowing you, I may say without flattery that I expect +you. If I am disappointed, I still must bear witness +to your courage and to a generosity not characteristic of +your sex.</p> +<p>You have had both power and provocation to make my +voyage on this ship embarrassing. You have not done +so. And self-restraint in a man is a very deadly weapon +to use on a woman.</p> +<p>I hope you will come. I desire to be generous on my +part. Ask yourself whether you are able to believe this. +You don’t know women, Mr. Neeland. Your conclusion +probably will be a wrong one.</p> +<p>But I think you’ll come, all the same. And you will be +right in coming, whatever you believe.</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Ilse Dumont</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<p>It was a foregone conclusion that he would go. He +knew it before he had read half the note. And when he +finished it he was certain.</p> +<p>Amused, his curiosity excited, grateful that the adventure +had not yet entirely ended, he lighted a cigarette +and looked impatiently at his watch.</p> +<p>It lacked half an hour of the appointed time and his +exhilaration was steadily increasing.</p> +<p>He stuck the note into the frame of his mirror over +the washstand with a vague idea that if anything +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +happened to him this would furnish a clue to his whereabouts.</p> +<p>Then he thought of the steward, but, although he +had no reason to believe the girl who had written him, +something within him made him ashamed to notify the +steward as to where he was going. He ought to have +done it; common prudence born of experience with Ilse +Dumont suggested it. And yet he could not bring +himself to do it; and exactly why, he did not understand.</p> +<p>One thing, however, he could do; and he did. He +wrote a note to Captain West giving the Paris address +of the Princess Mistchenka, and asked that the olive-wood +box be delivered to her in case any accident befell +him. This note he dropped into the mailbox at the end +of the main corridor as he went out. A few minutes +later he stood in an empty passageway outside a door +numbered 623. He had a loaded automatic in his breast +pocket, a cigarette between his fingers, and, on his +agreeable features, a smile of anticipation—a smile in +which amusement, incredulity, reckless humour, and a +spice of malice were blended—the smile born of the drop +of Irish sparkling like champagne in his singing veins.</p> +<p>And he turned the knob of door No. 623 and went in.</p> +<p>She was reading, curled up on her sofa under the +electric bulb, a cigarette in one hand, a box of bonbons +beside her.</p> +<p>She looked up leisurely as he entered, gave him a +friendly nod, and, when he held out his hand, placed +her own in it. With delighted gravity he bent and +saluted her finger tips with lips that twitched to control +a smile.</p> +<p>“Will you be seated, please?” she said gently.</p> +<p>The softness of her agreeable voice struck him as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +he looked around for a seat, then directly at her; and +saw that she meant him to find a seat on the lounge +beside her.</p> +<p>“Now, indeed you are Scheherazade of the Thousand +and One Nights,” he said gaily, “with your cigarette +and your bonbons, and cross-legged on your +divan––”</p> +<p>“Did Scheherazade smoke cigarettes, Mr. Neeland?”</p> +<p>“No,” he admitted; “that is an anachronism, I suppose. +Tell me, how are you, dear lady?”</p> +<p>“Thank you, quite well.”</p> +<p>“And—busy?” His lips struggled again to maintain +their gravity.</p> +<p>“Yes, I have been busy.”</p> +<p>“Cooking something up?—I mean soup, of course,” +he added.</p> +<p>She forced a smile, but reddened as though it were +difficult for her to accustom herself to his half jesting +sarcasms.</p> +<p>“So you’ve been busy,” he resumed tormentingly, +“but not with cooking lessons! Perhaps you’ve been +practising with your pretty little pistol. You know +you really need a bit of small arms practice, Scheherazade.”</p> +<p>“Because I once missed you?” she inquired serenely.</p> +<p>“Why so you did, didn’t you?” he exclaimed, delighted +to goad her into replying.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “I missed you. I needn’t have. I +am really a dead shot, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Scheherazade!” he protested.</p> +<p>She shrugged:</p> +<p>“I am not bragging; I could have killed you. I supposed +it was necessary only to frighten you. It was +my mistake and a bad one.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></p> +<p>“My dear child,” he expostulated, “you meant murder +and you know it. Do you suppose I believe that +you know how to shoot?”</p> +<p>“But I do, Mr. Neeland,” she returned with good-humoured +indifference. “My father was head <i>jäger</i> to +Count Geier von Sturmspitz, and I was already a dead +shot with a rifle when we emigrated to Canada. And +when he became an Athabasca trader, and I was only +twelve years old, I could set a moose-hide shoe-lace +swinging and cut it in two with a revolver at thirty +yards. And I can drive a shingle nail at that distance +and drive the bullet that drove it, and the next and +the next, until my revolver is empty. You don’t believe +me, do you?”</p> +<p>“You know that the beautiful Scheherazade––”</p> +<p>“Was famous for her fantastic stories? Yes, I know +that, Mr. Neeland. I’m sorry you don’t believe I fired +only to frighten you.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I don’t,” he admitted, laughing, “but +I’ll practise trying, and maybe I shall attain perfect +credulity some day. Tell me,” he added, “what <i>have</i> +you been doing to amuse yourself?”</p> +<p>“I’ve been amusing myself by wondering whether you +would come here to see me tonight.”</p> +<p>“But your note said you were sure I’d come.”</p> +<p>“You <i>have</i> come, haven’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Scheherazade, I’m here at your bidding, spirit +and flesh. But I forgot to bring one thing.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“The box which—you have promised yourself.”</p> +<p>“Yes, the captain has it, I believe,” she returned +serenely.</p> +<p>“Oh, Lord! Have you even found out <i>that</i>? I don’t +know whether I’m much flattered by this surveillance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +you and your friends maintain over me. I suppose you +even know what I had for dinner. Do you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Come, I’ll call that bluff, dear lady! What did I +have?”</p> +<p>When she told him, carelessly, and without humour, +mentioning accurately every detail of his dinner, he +lost his gaiety of countenance a little.</p> +<p>“Oh, I say, you know,” he protested, “that’s going +it a trifle too strong. Now, why the devil should your +people keep tabs on me to that extent?”</p> +<p>She looked up directly into his eyes:</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, I want to tell you why. I asked you +here so that I may tell you. The people associated with +me are absolutely pledged that neither the French +nor the British Government shall have access to the +contents of your box. That is why nothing that +you do escapes our scrutiny. We are determined to +have the papers in that box, and we shall have +them.”</p> +<p>“You have come to that determination too late,” he +began; but she stopped him with a slight gesture of +protest:</p> +<p>“Please don’t interrupt me, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>“I won’t; go on, dear lady!”</p> +<p>“Then, I’m trying to tell you all I may. I am trying +to tell you enough of the truth to make you reflect +very seriously.</p> +<p>“This is no ordinary private matter, no vulgar attempt +at robbery and crime as you think—or pretend +to think—for you are very intelligent, Mr. Neeland, +and you know that the contrary is true.</p> +<p>“This affair concerns the secret police, the embassies, +the chancelleries, the rulers themselves of nations long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +since grouped into two formidable alliances radically +hostile to one another.</p> +<p>“I don’t think you have understood—perhaps even +yet you do not understand why the papers you carry +are so important to certain governments—why it is +impossible that you be permitted to deliver them to +the Princess Mistchenka––”</p> +<p>“Where did <i>you</i> ever hear of <i>her</i>!” he demanded in +astonishment.</p> +<p>The girl smiled:</p> +<p>“Dear Mr. Neeland, I know the Princess Mistchenka +better, perhaps, than you do.”</p> +<p>“Do you?”</p> +<p>“Indeed I do. What do you know about her? Nothing +at all except that she is handsome, attractive, cultivated, +amusing, and apparently wealthy.</p> +<p>“You know her as a traveller, a patroness of music +and the fine arts—as a devotee of literature, as a graceful +hostess, and an amiable friend who gives promising +young artists letters of introduction to publishers who +are in a position to offer them employment.”</p> +<p>That this girl should know so much about the Princess +Mistchenka and about his own relations with her +amazed Neeland. He did not pretend to account for +it; he did not try; he sat silent, serious, and surprised, +looking into the pretty and almost smiling face of a +girl who apparently had been responsible for three +separate attempts to kill him—perhaps even a fourth +attempt; and who now sat beside him talking in a soft +and agreeable voice about matters concerning which +he had never dreamed she had heard.</p> +<p>For a few moments she sat silent, observing in his +changing expression the effects of what she had said +to him. Then, with a smile: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span></p> +<p>“Ask me whatever questions you desire to ask, Mr. +Neeland. I shall do my best to answer them.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said bluntly; “how do you happen to +know so much about me?”</p> +<p>“I know something about the friends of the Princess +Mistchenka. I have to.”</p> +<p>“Did you know who I was there in the house at +Brookhollow?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“When, then?”</p> +<p>“When you yourself told me your name, I recognised +it.”</p> +<p>“I surprised you by interrupting you in Brookhollow?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You expected no interruption?”</p> +<p>“None.”</p> +<p>“How did you happen to go there? Where did you +ever hear of the olive-wood box?”</p> +<p>“I had advices by cable from abroad—directions +to go to Brookhollow and secure the box.”</p> +<p>“Then somebody must be watching the Princess Mistchenka.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” she said simply.</p> +<p>“Why ‘of course’?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, the Princess Mistchenka and her +youthful <i>protégée</i>, Miss Carew––”</p> +<p>“<i>What!!!</i>”</p> +<p>The girl smiled wearily:</p> +<p>“Really,” she said, “you are such a boy to be mixed +in with matters of this colour. I think that’s the reason +you have defeated us—the trained fencer dreads a left-handed +novice more than any classic master of the +foils. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></p> +<p>“And that is what you have done to us—blundered—if +you’ll forgive me—into momentary victory.</p> +<p>“But such victories are only momentary, Mr. Neeland. +Please believe it. Please try to understand, too, +that this is no battle with masks and plastrons and +nicely padded buttons. No; it is no comedy, but a +grave and serious affair that must inevitably end in +tragedy—for somebody.”</p> +<p>“For me?” he asked without smiling.</p> +<p>She turned on him abruptly and laid one hand lightly +on his arm with a pretty gesture, at once warning, +appealing, and protective.</p> +<p>“I asked you to come here,” she said, “because—because +I want you to escape the tragedy.”</p> +<p>“You want <i>me</i> to escape?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“I—am sorry for you.”</p> +<p>He said nothing.</p> +<p>“And—I like you, Mr. Neeland.”</p> +<p>The avowal in the soft, prettily modulated voice, lost +none of its charm and surprise because the voice was a +trifle tremulous, and the girl’s face was tinted with a +delicate colour.</p> +<p>“I like to believe what you say, Scheherazade,” he +said pleasantly. “Somehow or other I never did think +you hated me personally—except once––”</p> +<p>She flushed, and he was silent, remembering her humiliation +in the Brookhollow house.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she said in a colder tone, “why I +should feel at all friendly toward you, Mr. Neeland, +except that you are personally courageous, and you +have shown yourself generous under a severe temptation +to be otherwise. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></p> +<p>“As for—any personal humiliation—inflicted upon +me––” She looked down thoughtfully and pretended +to sort out a bonbon to her taste, while the hot colour +cooled in her cheeks.</p> +<p>“I know,” he said, “I’ve also jeered at you, jested, +nagged you, taunted you, kiss––” He checked himself +and he smiled and ostentatiously lighted a cigarette.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, blowing a cloud of aromatic smoke +toward the ceiling, “I believe that this is as strange a +week as any man ever lived. It’s like a story book—like +one of your wonderful stories, Scheherazade. It +doesn’t seem real, now that it is ended––”</p> +<p>“<i>It is not ended</i>,” she interrupted in a low voice.</p> +<p>He smiled.</p> +<p>“You know,” he said, “there’s no use trying to +frighten such an idiot as I am.”</p> +<p>She lifted her troubled eyes:</p> +<p>“That is what frightens <i>me</i>,” she said. “I am afraid +you don’t know enough to be afraid.”</p> +<p>He laughed.</p> +<p>“But I want you to be afraid. A really brave man +knows what fear is. I want <i>you</i> to know.”</p> +<p>“What do you wish me to do, Scheherazade?”</p> +<p>“Keep away from that box.”</p> +<p>“I can’t do that.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you can. You can leave it in charge of the +captain of this ship and let him see that an attempt +is made to deliver it to the Princess Mistchenka.”</p> +<p>She was in deadly earnest; he saw that. And, in +spite of himself, a slight thrill that was almost a chill +passed over him, checked instantly by the hot wave +of sheer exhilaration at the hint of actual danger.</p> +<p>“Oho!” he said gaily. “Then you and your friends +are not yet finished with me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></p> +<p>“Yes, if you will consider your mission accomplished.”</p> +<p>“And leave the rest to the captain of the <i>Volhynia</i>?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Scheherazade,” he said, “did you suppose me to be +a coward?”</p> +<p>“No. You have done all that you can. A reserve +officer of the British Navy has the box in his charge. +Let him, protected by his Government, send it toward +its destination.”</p> +<p>In her even voice the implied menace was the more +sinister for her calmness.</p> +<p>He looked at her, perplexed, and shook his head.</p> +<p>“I ask you,” she went on, “to keep out of this affair—to +disassociate yourself from it. I ask it because +you have been considerate and brave, and because +I do not wish you harm.”</p> +<p>He turned toward her, leaning a little forward on the +lounge:</p> +<p>“No use,” he said, smiling. “I’m in it until it +ends––”</p> +<p>“Let it end then!” said a soft, thick voice directly +behind him. And Neeland turned and found the man +he had seen on deck standing beside him. One of his +fat white hands held an automatic pistol, covering him; +the other was carefully closing the door which he had +noiselessly opened to admit him.</p> +<p>“Karl!” exclaimed Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>“It is safaire that you do not stir, either, to interfere,” +he said, squinting for a second at her out of his +eyes set too near together.</p> +<p>“Karl!” she cried. “I asked him to come in order +to persuade him! I gave him my word of honour!”</p> +<p>“Did you do so? Then all the bettaire. I think we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +shall persuade him. Do not venture to move, young +man; I shoot veree willingly.”</p> +<p>And Neeland, looking at him along the blunt barrel +of the automatic pistol, was inclined to believe him.</p> +<p>His sensations were not agreeable; he managed to +maintain a calm exterior; choke back the hot chagrin +that reddened his face to the temples; and cast a half +humorous, half contemptuous glance at Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>“You prove true, don’t you?” he said coolly. +“—True to your trade of story-telling, Scheherazade!”</p> +<p>“I knew—nothing—of this!” she stammered.</p> +<p>But Neeland only laughed disagreeably.</p> +<p>Then the door opened again softly, and Golden Beard +came in without his crutches.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI_METHOD_AND_FORESIGHT' id='CHAPTER_XXI_METHOD_AND_FORESIGHT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>METHOD AND FORESIGHT</h3> +</div> +<p>Without a word—with merely a careless glance at +Neeland, who remained seated under the level threat of +Ali Baba’s pistol, the big, handsome German removed +his overcoat. Under it was another coat. He threw +this off in a brisk, businesslike manner, unbuckled a +brace of pistols, laid them aside, unwound from his +body a long silk rope ladder which dropped to the floor +at Ilse Dumont’s feet.</p> +<p>The girl had turned very pale. She stooped, picked +up the silk ladder, and, holding it in both hands, looked +hard at Golden Beard.</p> +<p>“Johann,” she said, “I gave my word of honour to +this young man that if he came here no harm would +happen to him.”</p> +<p>“I read the note you have shoved under his door,” +said Golden Beard. “That iss why we are here, Karl +and I.”</p> +<p>Neeland remembered the wax in the keyhole then. He +turned his eyes on Ilse Dumont, curiously, less certain +of her treachery now.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Golden Beard continued busily unwinding +things from his apparently too stout person, and +presently disengaged three life-belts.</p> +<p>One of these he adjusted to his own person, then, putting +on his voluminous overcoat, took the pistol from +Ali Baba, who, in turn, adjusted one of the remaining +life-belts to his body. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></p> +<p>Neeland, deeply perplexed and uncomfortable, +watched these operations in silence, trying to divine +some reason for them.</p> +<p>“Now, then!” said Golden Beard to the girl; and +his voice sounded cold and incisive in the silence.</p> +<p>“This is not the way to do it,” she said in a low +tone. “I gave him my word of honour.”</p> +<p>“You will be good enough to buckle on that belt,” +returned Golden Beard, staring at her.</p> +<p>Slowly she bent over, picked up the life-belt, and, +looping the silk rope over her arm, began to put on +the belt. Golden Beard, impatient, presently came to +her assistance; then he unhooked from the wall a cloak +and threw it over her shoulders.</p> +<p>“Now, Karl!” he said. “Shoot him dead if he stirs!” +And he snatched a sheet from the bed, tore it into +strips, walked over to Neeland, and deftly tied him hand +and foot and gagged him.</p> +<p>Then Golden Beard and Ali Baba, between them, +lifted the young man and seated him on the iron bed +and tied him fast to it.</p> +<p>“Go out on deck!” said Golden Beard to Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>“Let me stay––”</p> +<p>“No! You have acted like a fool. Go to the lower +deck where is our accustomed rendezvous.”</p> +<p>“I wish to remain, Johann. I shall not interfere––”</p> +<p>“Go to the lower deck, I tell you, and be ready to +tie that rope ladder!”</p> +<p>Ali Baba, down on his knees, had pulled out a steamer +trunk from under the bed, opened it, and was lifting out +three big steel cylinders.</p> +<p>These he laid on the bed in a row beside the tied +man; and Golden Beard, still facing Ilse Dumont, +turned his head to look. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p> +<p>The instant his head was turned the girl snatched +a pistol from the brace of weapons on the washstand +and thrust it under her cloak. Neither Golden Beard +nor Ali Baba noticed the incident; the latter was busy +connecting the three cylinders with coils of wire; the +former, deeply interested, followed the operation for +a moment or two, then walking over to the trunk, +he lifted from it a curious little clock with two dials +and set it on the railed shelf of glass above the washstand.</p> +<p>“Karl, haf you ship’s time?”</p> +<p>Ali Baba paused to fish out his watch, and the two +compared timepieces. Then Golden Beard wound the +clock, set the hands of one dial at the time indicated +by their watches; set the hands of the other dial at +2:13; and Ali Baba, carrying a reel of copper wire +from the bed to the washstand, fastened one end of +it to the mechanism of the clock.</p> +<p>Golden Beard turned sharply on Ilse Dumont:</p> +<p>“I said go on deck! Did you not understand?”</p> +<p>The girl replied steadily:</p> +<p>“I understood that we had abandoned this idea for +a better one.”</p> +<p>“There iss no better one!”</p> +<p>“There <i>is</i>! Of what advantage would it be to blow +up the captain’s cabin and the bridge when it is not +certain that the papers will be destroyed?”</p> +<p>“Listen once!” returned Golden Beard, wagging his +finger in her face:</p> +<p>“Cabin and bridge are directly above us and there +remains not a splinter large like a pin! I know. I +know my bombs! I know––”</p> +<p>The soft voice of Ali Baba interrupted, and his shallow, +lightish eyes peered around at them: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></p> +<p>“Eet ees veree excellent plan, Johann. We do not +require these papers; eet ees to destroy them we are +mooch anxious”—he bent a deathly stare on Neeland—“and +this yoong gentleman who may again annoy +us.” He nodded confidently to himself and continued +to connect the wires. “Yes, yes,” he murmured absently, +“eet ees veree good plan—veree good plan to +blow him into leetle pieces so beeg as a pin.”</p> +<p>“It is a clumsy plan!” said the girl, desperately. +“There is no need for wanton killing like this, when we +can––”</p> +<p>“Killing?” repeated Golden Beard. “That makes +nothing. This English captain he iss of the naval reserve. +<i>Und</i> this young man”—nodding coolly toward +Neeland—“knows too much already. That iss not +wanton killing. <i>Also!</i> You talk too much. Do you +hear? We are due to drop anchor about 2:30. God +knows there will be enough rushing to and fro at 2:13.</p> +<p>“Go on deck, I say, and fasten that rope ladder! +Weishelm’s fishing smack will be watching; <i>und</i> if we +do not swim for it we are caught on board! <i>Und</i> that +iss the end of it all for us!”</p> +<p>“Johann,” she began tremulously, “listen to me––”</p> +<p>“<i>Nein! Nein!</i> What for a <i>Frauenzimmer</i> haff we +here!” retorted Golden Beard, losing his patience and +catching her by the arm. “Go out und fix for us our +ladder und keep it coiled on the rail und lean ofer it +like you was looking at those stars once!”</p> +<p>He forced her toward the door; she turned, struggling, +to confront him:</p> +<p>“Then for God’s sake, give this man a chance! Don’t +leave him tied here to be blown to atoms! Give him a +chance—anything except this! Throw him out of the +port, there!” She pointed at the closed port, evaded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +Golden Beard, sprang upon the sofa, unscrewed the +glass cover, and swung it open.</p> +<p>The port was too small even to admit the passage of +her own body; she realised it; Golden Beard laughed +and turned to examine the result of Ali Baba’s wiring.</p> +<p>For a second the girl gazed wildly around her, as +though seeking some help in her terrible dilemma, then +she snatched up a bit of the torn sheeting, tied it to +the screw of the porthole cover, and flung the end out +where it fluttered in the darkness.</p> +<p>As she sprang to the floor Golden Beard swung round +in renewed anger at her for still loitering.</p> +<p>“Sacreminton!” he exclaimed. “It is time you do +your part! Go to your post then! We remain here +until five minutes is left us. Then we join you.”</p> +<p>The girl nodded, turned to the door.</p> +<p>“Wait! You understand the plan?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You understand that you do not go overboard until +we arrive, no matter what happens?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>He stood looking at her for a moment, then with a +shrug he went over and patted her shoulder.</p> +<p>“That’s my brave girl! I also do not desire to kill +anybody. But when the Fatherland is in danger, then +killing signifies nothing—is of no consequence—pouf!—no +lives are of importance then—not even our own!” +He laughed in a fashion almost kindly and clapped her +lightly once more on her shoulder: “Go, my child. The +Fatherland is in danger!”</p> +<p>She went, not looking back. He closed and locked +the door behind her and calmly turned to aid Ali Baba +who was still fussing with the wires. Presently, however, +he mounted the bed where Neeland sat tied and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +gagged; pulled from his pockets an auger with its bit, +a screw-eye, and block and tackle; and, standing on +the bed, began to bore a hole in the ceiling.</p> +<p>In a few moments he had fastened the screw-eye, +rigged his block, made a sling for his bombs out of a +blanket, and had hoisted the three cylinders up flat +against the ceiling from whence the connecting wires +sagged over the foot of the bedstead to the alarm clock +on the washstand.</p> +<p>To give the clock more room on the glass shelf, Ali +Baba removed the toilet accessories and set them on +the washstand; but he had no room for a large jug +of water, and, casting about for a place to set it, noticed +a railed bracket over the head of the bed, and +placed it there.</p> +<p>Then, apparently satisfied with his labours, he sat +down Turk fashion on the sofa, lighted a cigarette, +selected a bonbon from the box beside him, and calmly +regaled himself.</p> +<p>Presently Golden Beard tied the cord which held up +the sling in which the bombs were slung against the +ceiling. He fastened it tightly to the iron frame of +the bed, stepped back to view the effect, then leisurely +pulled out and filled his porcelain pipe, and seated himself +on the sofa beside Ali Baba.</p> +<p>Neither spoke; twice Golden Beard drew his watch +from his waistcoat pocket and compared it carefully +with the dial of the alarm clock on the washstand shelf. +The third time he did this he tapped Ali Baba on the +shoulder, rose, knocked out his pipe and flung it out +of the open port.</p> +<p>Together they walked over to Neeland, examined +the gag and ligatures as impersonally as though the +prisoner were not there, nodded their satisfaction, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +turned off the electric light, and, letting themselves out, +locked the door on the outside.</p> +<p>It lacked five minutes of the time indicated on the +alarm dial.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII_TWO_THIRTEEN' id='CHAPTER_XXII_TWO_THIRTEEN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>TWO THIRTEEN</h3> +</div> +<p>To Neeland, the entire affair had seemed as though +it were some rather obvious screen-picture at which he +was looking—some photo-play too crudely staged, and +in which he himself was no more concerned than any +casual spectator.</p> +<p>Until now, Neeland had not been scared; Ali Baba +and his automatic pistol were only part of this unreality; +his appearance on the scene had been fantastically +classical; he entered when his cue was given +by Scheherazade—this oily, hawk-nosed Eurasian with +his pale eyes set too closely and his moustache hiding +under his nose à la Enver Pasha—a faultless make-up, +an entry properly timed and prepared. And then, always +well-timed for dramatic effect, Golden Beard had +appeared. Everything was <i>en règle</i>, every unity nicely +preserved. Scheherazade had protested; and her protest +sounded genuine. Also entirely convincing was the +binding and gagging of himself at the point of an automatic +pistol; and, as for the rest of the business, it was +practically all action and little dialogue—an achievement +really in these days of dissertation.</p> +<p>All, as he looked on at it over the bandage which +closed his mouth, had seemed unreal, impersonal, even +when his forced attitude had caused him inconvenience +and finally pain.</p> +<p>But now, with the light extinguished and the closing +of the door behind Golden Beard and Ali Baba, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +experienced a shock which began to awaken him to the +almost incredible and instant reality of things.</p> +<p>It actually began to look as though these story-book +conspirators—these hirelings of a foreign government +who had not been convincing because they were too obvious, +too well done—actually intended to expose him +to serious injury.</p> +<p>In spite of their sinister intentions in regard to him, +in spite of their attempts to harm him, he had not, +so far, been able to take them seriously or even to +reconcile them and their behaviour with the commonplaces +of the twentieth century in which he lived.</p> +<p>But now, in the darkness, with the clock on the washstand +shelf ticking steadily, he began to take the matter +very seriously. The gag in his mouth hurt him cruelly; +the bands of linen that held it in began to stifle him so +that his breath came in quick gasps through his nostrils; +sweat started at the roots of his hair; his heart leaped, +beat madly, stood still, and leaped again; and he threw +himself against the strips that held him and twisted and +writhed with all his strength.</p> +<p>Suddenly fear pierced him like a poignard; for a +moment panic seized him and chaos reigned in his +bursting brain. He swayed and strained convulsively; +he strove to hurl all the inward and inert reserve of +strength against the bonds that held him.</p> +<p>After what seemed an age of terrible effort he found +himself breathing fast and heavily as though his lungs +would burst through his straining, dilating nostrils, +seated exactly as he had been without a band loosened, +and the icy sweat pouring over his twitching face.</p> +<p>He heard himself trying to shout—heard the imprisoned +groan shattered in his own throat, dying there +within him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></p> +<p>Suddenly a key rattled; the door was torn open; the +light switched on. Golden Beard stood there, his blue +eyes glaring furious inquiry. He gave one glance +around the room, caught sight of the clock, recoiled, +shut off the light again, and slammed and locked the +door.</p> +<p>But in that instant Neeland’s starting eyes had seen +the clock. The fixed hands on one of the dials still +pointed to 2:13; the moving hands on the other lacked +three minutes of that hour.</p> +<p>And, seated there in the pitch darkness, he suddenly +realised that he had only three minutes more of life on +earth.</p> +<p>All panic was gone; his mind was quite clear. He +heard every tick of the clock and knew what each one +meant.</p> +<p>Also he heard a sudden sound across the room, as +though outside the port something was rustling against +the ship’s side.</p> +<p>Suddenly there came a click and the room sprang +into full light; an arm, entering the open port from +the darkness outside, let go the electric button, was +withdrawn, only to reappear immediately clutching an +automatic pistol. And the next instant the arm and +the head of Ilse Dumont were thrust through the port +into the room.</p> +<p>Her face was pale as death as her eyes fell on the +dial of the clock. With a gasp she stretched out her +arm and fired straight at the clock, shattering both +dials and knocking the timepiece into the washbasin +below.</p> +<p>For a moment she struggled to force her other shoulder +and her body through the port, but it was too +narrow. Then she called across to the bound figure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +seated on the bed and staring at her with eyes that +fairly started from their sockets:</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, can’t you move? Try! Try to break +loose––”</p> +<p>Her voice died away in a whisper as a flash of bluish +flame broke out close to the ceiling overhead, where the +three bombs were slung.</p> +<p>“Oh, God!” she faltered. “The fuses are afire!”</p> +<p>For an instant her brain reeled; she instinctively recoiled +as though to fling herself out into the darkness. +Then, in a second, her extended arm grew rigid, slanted +upward; the pistol exploded once, twice, the third time; +the lighted bombs in their sling, released by the severed +rope, fell to the bed, the fuses sputtering and fizzling.</p> +<p>Instantly the girl fired again at the big jug of water +on the bracket over the head of the bed; a deluge +drenched the bed underneath; two fuses were out; one +still snapped and glimmered and sent up little jets and +rings of vapour; but as the water soaked into the match +the cinder slowly died until the last spark fell from +the charred wet end and went out on the drenched +blanket.</p> +<p>She waited a little longer, then with an indescribable +look at the helpless man below, she withdrew her head, +pushed herself free, hung to the invisible rope ladder +for a moment, swaying against the open port. His eyes +were fastened on her where she dangled there against +the darkness betwixt sky and sea, oscillating with the +movement of the ship, her pendant figure now gilded by +the light from the room, now phantom dim as she swung +outward.</p> +<p>As the roll of the ship brought her head to the level +of the port once more, she held up her pistol, shook it, +and laughed at him: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p> +<p>“Now do you believe that I can shoot?” she called +out. “Answer me some time when that mocking tongue +of yours is free!”</p> +<p>Then, climbing slowly upward into darkness, the +light, falling now across her body, now athwart her +skirt, gilded at last the heels of her shoes; suddenly she +was gone; then stars glittered through the meshes of +the shadowy, twitching ladder which still barred the +open port. And finally the ladder was pulled upward +out of sight.</p> +<p>He waited. After a little while—an interminable +interval to him—he heard somebody stealthily trying +the handle of the door; then came a pause, silence, followed +by a metallic noise as though the lock were being +explored or picked.</p> +<p>For a while the scraping, metallic sounds continued +steadily, then abruptly ceased as though the unseen +meddler had been interrupted.</p> +<p>A voice—evidently the voice of the lock-picker—pitched +to a cautious key, was heard in protest as +though objecting to some intentions evident in the +new arrival. Whispered expostulations continued for +a while, then the voices became quarrelsome and +louder; and somebody suddenly rapped on the door.</p> +<p>Then a thick, soft voice that he recognised with a +chill, grew angrily audible:</p> +<p>“I say to you, steward, that I forbid you to entaire +that room. I forbid you to disturb thees yoong lady. +Do you know who I am?”</p> +<p>“I don’t care who you are––”</p> +<p>“I have authority. I shall employ it. You shall lose +your berth! Thees yoong lady within thees room ees +my fiancée! I forbid you to enter forcibly––”</p> +<p>“Haven’t I knocked? Wot’s spilin’ you? I am +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +doing my duty. Back away from this ’ere door, I tell +you!”</p> +<p>“You spik thees-a-way, so impolite––”</p> +<p>“Get out o’ my way! Blime d’you think I’ll stand +’ere jawin’ any longer?”</p> +<p>“I am membaire of Parliament––”</p> +<p>And the defiant voice of Jim’s own little cockney +steward retorted, interrupting:</p> +<p>“Ahr, stow it! Don’t I tell you as how a lydy telephones +me just now that my young gentleman is in +there? Get away from that door, you blighter, or I’ll +bash your beak in!”</p> +<p>The door trembled under a sudden and terrific kick; +the wordy quarrel ceased; hurried steps retreated along +the corridor; a pass key rattled in the lock, and the +door was flung wide open:</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, sir—oh, my Gawd, wot ever ’ave they +gone and done, sir, to find you ’ere in such a ’orrid +state!”</p> +<p>But the little cockney lost no time; fingers and pen-knife +flew; Neeland, his arms free, tore the bandage +from his mouth and spat out the wad of cloth.</p> +<p>“I’ll do the rest,” he gasped, forcing the words from +his bruised and distorted lips; “follow that man who +was outside talking to you! Find him if you can. He +had been planning to blow up this ship!”</p> +<p>“<i>That</i> man, sir!”</p> +<p>“Yes! Did you know him?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir; but I darsn’t let on to him I knew him—what +with ’earing that you was in here––”</p> +<p>“You <i>did</i> know him?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland, sir, that there cove is wot he says +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +he is, a member of Parliament, and his name is Wilson––”</p> +<p>“You’re mad! He’s an Eurasian, a spy; his name +is Karl Breslau—I heard it from the others—and he +tried to blow up the captain’s cabin and the bridge with +those three bombs lying there on the bed!”</p> +<p>“My God, sir—what you tell me may be so, but what +I say is true, sir; that gentleman you heard talking +outside the door to me is Charles Wilson, member of +Parliament, representing Glebe and Wotherness; and +I knew it w’en I ’anded ’im the ’ot stuff!—’strewth I +did, sir—and took my chance you’d ’elp me out if I +got in too rotten with the company!”</p> +<p>Neeland said:</p> +<p>“Certainly you may count on me. You’re a brick!” +He continued to rub and slap and pinch his arms and +legs to restore the circulation, and finally ventured to +rise to his shaky feet. The steward offered an arm; +together they hobbled to the door, summoned another +steward, placed him in charge of the room, and went +on in quest of Captain West, to whom an immediate +report was now imperative.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII_ON_HIS_WAY' id='CHAPTER_XXIII_ON_HIS_WAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>ON HIS WAY</h3> +</div> +<p>The sun hung well above the river mists and threw +long, cherry-red beams across the choppy channel where +clotted jets of steam and smoke from tug and steamer +drifted with the fog; and still the captain of the <i>Volhynia</i> +and young Neeland sat together in low-voiced +conference in the captain’s cabin; and a sailor, armed +with cutlass and pistol, stood outside the locked and +bolted door.</p> +<p>Off the port bow, Liverpool spread as far as the eye +could see through the shredded fog; to starboard, off +Birkenhead, through a haze of pearl and lavender, the +tall phantom of an old-time battleship loomed. She +was probably one of Nelson’s ships, now only an apparition; +but to Neeland, as he caught sight of her dimly +revealed, still dominating the water, the old ship seemed +like a menacing ghost, never to be laid until the sceptre +of sea power fell from an enervated empire and the +glory of Great Britain departed for all time. And in +his Yankee heart he hoped devoutly that such disaster +to the world might never come upon it.</p> +<p>Few passengers were yet astir; the tender had not +yet come alongside; the monstrous city beyond had +not awakened.</p> +<p>But a boat manned by Liverpool police lay off the +<i>Volhynia’s</i> port; Neeland’s steamer trunk was already +in it; and now the captain accompanied him to the +ladder, where a sailor took his suitcase and the olive-wood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +box and ran down the landing stairs like a monkey.</p> +<p>“Good luck,” said the captain of the <i>Volhynia</i>. “And +keep it in your mind every minute that those two men +and that woman probably are at this moment aboard +some German fishing craft, and headed for France.</p> +<p>“Remember, too, that they are merely units in a vast +system; that they are certain to communicate with +other units; that between you and Paris are people +who will be notified to watch for you, follow you, rob +you.”</p> +<p>Neeland nodded thoughtfully.</p> +<p>The captain said again:</p> +<p>“Good luck! I wish you were free to turn over that +box to us. But if you’ve given your word to deliver it +in person, the whole matter involves, naturally, a point +of honour.”</p> +<p>“Yes. I have no discretion in the matter, you see.” +He laughed. “You’re thinking, Captain West, that I +haven’t much discretion anyway.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think you have very much,” admitted the +captain, smiling and shaking the hand which Neeland +offered. “Well, this is merely one symptom of a very +serious business, Mr. Neeland. That an attempt should +actually have been made to murder you and to blow +me to pieces in my cabin is a slight indication of what +a cataclysmic explosion may shatter the peace of the +entire world at any moment now.... Good-bye. And +I warn you very solemnly to take this affair as a deadly +serious one and not as a lark.”</p> +<p>They exchanged a firm clasp; then Neeland descended +and entered the boat; the Inspector of Police took the +tiller; the policemen bent to the oars, and the boat shot +away through a mist which was turning to a golden +vapour. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p> +<p>It was within a few boat-lengths of the landing stairs +that Neeland, turning for a last look into the steaming +golden glory behind him, saw the most splendid sight +of his life. And that sight was the British Empire +assuming sovereignty.</p> +<p>For there, before his eyes, militant, magnificent, the +British fleet was taking the sea, gliding out to accept +its fealty, moving majestically in mass after mass of +steel under flowing torrents of smoke, with the phantom +battle flags whipping aloft in the blinding smother of +mist and sun and the fawning cut-water hurrying too, +as though even every littlest wave were mobilised and +hastening seaward in the service of its mistress, Ruler +of all Waters, untroubled by a man-made Kiel.</p> +<p>And now there was no more time to be lost; no more +stops until he arrived in Paris. A taxicab rushed him +and his luggage across the almost empty city; a train, +hours earlier than the regular steamer train, carried +him to London where, as he drove through the crowded, +sunlit streets, in a hansom cab, he could see news-venders +holding up strips of paper on which was printed +in great, black letters:</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>THE BRITISH FLEET SAILS<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>SPY IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>CHARLES WILSON, M. P., ACCUSED<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'>MISSING MEMBER SUPPOSED TO BE KARL BRESLAU,<br /> +INTERNATIONAL SPY<br /></p> +<p>And he noticed knots of people pausing to buy the +latest editions of the papers offered.</p> +<p>But Neeland had no time to see much more of London +than that—glimpses of stately grey buildings and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +green trees; of monuments and palaces where soldiers +in red tunics stood guard; the crush of traffic in the +city; trim, efficient police, their helmets strapped to +their heads, disentangling the streams of vehicles, halting, +directing everything with calm and undisturbed +precision; a squadron of cavalry in brilliant uniforms +leisurely emerging from some park between iron railings +under stately trees; then the crowded confusion +of a railroad station, but not the usual incidents of +booking and departure, because he was to travel by a +fast goods train under telegraphed authority of the +British Government.</p> +<p>And that is about all that Neeland saw of the mightiest +city in the world on the eve of the greatest conflict +among the human races that the earth has ever witnessed, +or ever shall, D. V.</p> +<p>The flying goods train that took him to the Channel +port whence a freight packet was departing, offered +him the luxury of a leather padded armchair in a +sealed and grated mail van.</p> +<p>Nobody disturbed him; nobody questioned him; the +train officials were civil and incurious, and went calmly +about their business with all the traditional stolidity +of official John Bull.</p> +<p>Neeland had plenty of leisure to think as he sat there +in his heavy chair which vibrated but did not sway very +much; and his mind was fully occupied with his reflections, +for, so far, he had not had time to catalogue, +index, and arrange them in proper order, so rapid and +so startling had been the sequence of events since he +had left his studio in New York for Paris, via Brookhollow, +London, and other points east.</p> +<p>One thing in particular continued to perplex and +astonish him: the identity of a member of Parliament, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +known as Charles Wilson, suddenly revealed as Karl +Breslau, an international spy.</p> +<p>The wildest flight of fancy of an irresponsible novelist +had never created such a character in penny-dreadful +fiction. It remained incomprehensible, almost incredible +to Neeland that such a thing could be true.</p> +<p>Also, the young man had plenty of food for reflection, +if not for luncheon, in trying to imagine exactly +how Golden Beard and Ali Baba, and that strange, +illogical young girl, Ilse Dumont, had escaped from +the <i>Volhynia</i>.</p> +<p>Probably, in the darkness, the fishing boat which +they expected had signalled in some way or other. No +doubt the precious trio had taken to the water in their +life-jackets and had been picked up even before armed +sailors on the <i>Volhynia</i> descended to their empty state-rooms +and took possession of what luggage could be +discovered, and of the three bombs with their charred +wicks still soaking on the sopping bed.</p> +<p>And now the affair had finally ended, Neeland believed, +in spite of Captain West’s warnings. For how +could three industrious conspirators in a fishing smack +off the Lizard do him any further damage?</p> +<p>If they had managed to relay information concerning +him to their friends ashore by some set of preconcerted +signals, possibly the regular steamer train to and +out of London might be watched.</p> +<p>Thinking of this, it presently occurred to Neeland +that friends in France, also, might be stirred up in time +to offer him their marked attentions. This, no doubt, +was what Captain West meant; and Neeland considered +the possibility as the flying train whirled him toward +the Channel.</p> +<p>He asked if he might smoke, and was informed that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +he might; and he lighted a cigarette and stretched out +on his chair, a little hungry from lack of luncheon, a +trifle tired from lack of sleep, but, in virtue of his vigorous +and youthful years, comfortable, contented, and +happy.</p> +<p>Never, he admitted, had he had such a good time in +all his life, despite the fact that chance alone, and not +his own skill and alertness and perspicacity, had saved +his neck.</p> +<p>No, he could not congratulate himself on his cleverness +and wisdom; sheer accident had saved his skin—and +once the complex and unaccountable vagary of a +feminine mind had saved him from annihilation so utter +that it slightly sickened him to remember his position +in Ilse Dumont’s stateroom as she lifted her pistol and +coolly made good her boast as a dead-shot. But he +forced himself to take it lightly.</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” he thought to himself. “Was ever a +man in such a hellish position, except in melodrama? +And <i>what</i> a movie that would have made! And what +a shot that girl proved herself to be! Certainly she +could have killed me there at Brookhollow! She could +have riddled me before I ducked, even with that nickel-plated +affair about which I was ass enough to taunt +her!”</p> +<p>Lying in his chair, cheek on arm, he continued to +ponder on what had happened, until the monotonous +vibration no longer interfered with his inclination for +a nap. On the contrary, the slight, rhythmic jolting +soothed him and gradually induced slumber; and he +slept there on the rushing train, his feet crossed and +resting on the olive-wood box.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>A hand on his arm aroused him; the sea wind blowing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +through the open doors of the mail-van dashed in his +face like a splash of cool water as he sat up and looked +around him.</p> +<p>As he descended from the van an officer of the freight +packet greeted him by name; a sailor piled his luggage +on a barrow; and Neeland walked through the vista of +covered docks to the pier.</p> +<p>There was a lively wind whipping that notoriously +bad-mannered streak of water known as the English +Channel. Possibly, had it been christened the French +Channel its manners might have been more polite. But +there was now nothing visible about it to justify its sentimental +pseudonym of Silver Streak.</p> +<p>It was a dirty colour, ominous of ill-temper beyond +the great breakwater to the northward; and it fretted +and fumed inshore and made white and ghastly faces +from the open sea.</p> +<p>But Neeland, dining from a tray in a portholed pit +consecrated to the use of a casual supercargo, rejoiced +because he adored the sea, inland lubber that he had +been born and where the tides of fate had stranded him. +For, to a New Yorker, the sea seems far away—as far +as it seems to the Parisian. And only when chance +business takes him to the Battery does a New Yorker +realise the nearness of the ocean to that vast volume of +ceaseless dissonance called New York.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Neeland ate cold meat and bread and cheese, and +washed it down with bitters.</p> +<p>He was nearly asleep on his sofa when the packet +cast off.</p> +<p>He was sound asleep when, somewhere in the raging +darkness of the Channel, he was hurled from the +sofa against the bunk opposite—into which he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +presently crawled and lay, still half asleep, mechanically +rubbing a maltreated shin.</p> +<p>Twice more the bad-mannered British Channel was +violently rude to him; each time he crawled back to +stick like a limpet in the depths of his bunk.</p> +<p>Except when the Channel was too discourteous, he +slept as a sea bird sleeps afloat, tossing outside thundering +combers which batter basalt rocks.</p> +<p>Even in his deep, refreshing sea sleep, the subtle sense +of exhilaration—of well-being—which contact with the +sea always brought to him, possessed him. And, deep +within him, the drop of Irish seethed and purred as a +kettle purrs through the watches of the night over a +banked but steady fire.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV_THE_ROAD_TO_PARIS' id='CHAPTER_XXIV_THE_ROAD_TO_PARIS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>THE ROAD TO PARIS</h3> +</div> +<p>Over the drenched sea wall gulls whirled and eddied +above the spouting spray; the grey breakwater was +smothered under exploding combers; <i>quai</i>, docks, white-washed +lighthouse, swept with spindrift, appeared and +disappeared through the stormy obscurity as the tender +from the Channel packet fought its way shoreward +with Neeland’s luggage lashed in the cabin, and +Neeland himself sticking to the deck like a fly to a +frantic mustang, enchanted with the whole business.</p> +<p>For the sea, at last, was satisfying this young man; +he savoured now what he had longed for as a little boy, +guiding a home-made raft on the waters of Neeland’s +mill pond in the teeth of a summer breeze. Before he +had ever seen the ocean he wanted all it had to give +short of shipwreck and early decease. He had experienced +it on the Channel during the night.</p> +<p>There was only one other passenger aboard—a tall, +lean, immaculately dressed man with a ghastly pallor, +a fox face, and ratty eyes, who looked like an American +and who had been dreadfully sick. Not caring for +his appearance, Neeland did not speak to him. Besides, +he was having too good a time to pay attention to anybody +or anything except the sea.</p> +<p>A sailor had lent Neeland some oilskins and a sou’-wester; +and he hated to put them off—hated the calmer +waters inside the basin where the tender now lay +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +rocking; longed for the gale and the heavy seas again, sorry +the crossing was ended.</p> +<p>He cast a last glance of regret at the white fury +raging beyond the breakwater as he disembarked among +a crowd of porters, <i>gendarmes</i>, soldiers, and assorted +officials; then, following his porter to the customs, he +prepared to submit to the unvarying indignities incident +to luggage examination in France.</p> +<p>He had leisure, while awaiting his turn, to buy a +novel, “Les Bizarettes,” of Maurice Bertrand; time, +also, to telegraph to the Princess Mistchenka. The +fox-faced man, who looked like an American, was now +speaking French like one to a perplexed official, inquiring +where the Paris train was to be found. Neeland +listened to the fluent information on his own account, +then returned to the customs bench.</p> +<p>But the unusually minute search among his effects +did not trouble him; the papers from the olive-wood +box were buttoned in his breast pocket; and after a +while the customs officials let him go to the train which +stood beside an uncovered concrete platform beyond +the <i>quai</i>, and toward which the fox-faced American +had preceded him on legs that still wobbled with seasickness.</p> +<p>There were no Pullmans attached to the train, only +the usual first, second, and third class carriages with +compartments; and a new style corridor car with central +aisle and lettered doors to compartments holding +four.</p> +<p>Into one of these compartments Neeland stepped, +hoping for seclusion, but backed out again, the place +being full of artillery officers playing cards.</p> +<p>In vain he bribed the guard, who offered to do his +best; but the human contents of a Channel passenger +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +steamer had unwillingly spent the night in the quaint +French port, and the Paris-bound train was already +full.</p> +<p>The best Neeland could do was to find a seat in a +compartment where he interrupted conversation between +three men who turned sullen heads to look at +him, resenting in silence the intrusion. One of them +was the fox-faced man he had already noticed on the +packet, tender, and customs dock.</p> +<p>But Neeland, whose sojourn in a raw and mannerless +metropolis had not blotted out all memory of gentler +cosmopolitan conventions, lifted his hat and smilingly +excused his intrusion in the fluent and agreeable French +of student days, before he noticed that he had to do +with men of his own race.</p> +<p>None of the men returned his salute; one of them +merely emitted an irritated grunt; and Neeland recognised +that they all must be his own delightful country-men—for +even the British are more dignified in their +stolidity.</p> +<p>A second glance satisfied him that all three were undoubtedly +Americans; the cut of their straw hats and +apparel distinguished them as such; the nameless grace +of Mart, Haffner and Sharx marked the tailoring of +the three; only Honest Werner could have manufactured +such headgear; only New York such footwear.</p> +<p>And Neeland looked at them once more and understood +that Broadway itself sat there in front of him, +pasty, close-shaven, furtive, sullen-eyed, the <i>New York +Paris Herald</i> in its seal-ringed fingers; its fancy waistcoat +pockets bulging with cigars.</p> +<p>“Sports,” he thought to himself; and decided to +maintain incognito and pass as a Frenchman, if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +necessary, to escape conversation with the three tired-eyed +ones.</p> +<p>So he hung up his hat, opened his novel, and settled +back to endure the trip through the rain, now beginning +to fall from a low-sagging cloud of watery +grey.</p> +<p>After a few minutes the train moved. Later the +guard passed and accomplished his duties. Neeland +inquired politely of him in French whether there was +any political news, and the guard replied politely that +he knew of none. But he looked very serious when he +said it.</p> +<p>Half an hour from the coast the rain dwindled to a +rainbow and ceased; and presently a hot sun was gilding +wet green fields and hedges and glistening roofs +which steamed vapour from every wet tile.</p> +<p>Without asking anybody’s opinion, one of the men +opposite raised the window. But Neeland did not object; +the rain-washed air was deliciously fragrant; and +he leaned his elbow on his chair arm and looked out +across the loveliest land in Europe.</p> +<p>“Say, friend,” said an East Side voice at his elbow, +“does smoking go?”</p> +<p>He glanced back over his shoulder at the speaker—a +little, pallid, sour-faced man with the features of a +sick circus clown and eyes like two holes burnt in a +lump of dough.</p> +<p>“<i>Pardon, monsieur?</i>” he said politely.</p> +<p>“Can’t you even pick a Frenchman, Ben?” sneered +one of the men opposite—a square, smoothly shaven +man with slow, heavy-lidded eyes of a greenish tinge.</p> +<p>The fox-faced man said:</p> +<p>“He had me fooled, too, Eddie. If Ben Stull didn’t +get his number it don’t surprise me none, becuz he was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +on the damn boat I crossed in, and I certainly picked +him for New York.”</p> +<p>“Aw,” said the pasty-faced little man referred to as +Ben Stull, “Eddie knows it all. He never makes no +breaks, of course. You make ’em, Doc, but he doesn’t. +That’s why me and him and you is travelling here—this +minute—because the great Eddie Brandes never +makes no breaks––”</p> +<p>“Go on and smoke and shut up,” said Brandes, with +a slow, sidewise glance at Neeland, whose eyes remained +fastened on the pages of “Les Bizarettes,” but whose +ears were now very wide open.</p> +<p>“Smoke,” repeated Stull, “when this here Frenchman +may make a holler?”</p> +<p>“Wait till I ask him,” said the man addressed as +Doc, with dignity. And to Neeland:</p> +<p>“<i>Pardong, musseer, permitty vous moi de fumy ung +cigar?</i>”</p> +<p>“<i>Mais comment, donc, monsieur! Je vous en +prie––</i>”</p> +<p>“He says politely,” translated Doc, “that we can +smoke and be damned to us.”</p> +<p>They lighted three obese cigars; Neeland, his eyes on +his page, listened attentively and stole a glance at the +man they called Brandes.</p> +<p>So this was the scoundrel who had attempted to deceive +the young girl who had come to him that night in +his studio, bewildered with what she believed to be her +hopeless disgrace!</p> +<p>This was the man—this short, square, round-faced +individual with his minutely shaven face and slow greenish +eyes, and his hair combed back and still reeking with +perfumed tonic—this shiny, scented, and overgroomed +sport with rings on his fat, blunt fingers and the silk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +laces on his tan oxfords as fastidiously tied as though +a valet had done it!</p> +<p>Ben Stull began to speak; and presently Neeland +discovered that the fox-faced man’s name was Doc Curfoot; +that he had just arrived from London on receipt +of a telegram from them; and that they themselves +had landed the night before from a transatlantic liner +to await him here.</p> +<p>Doc Curfoot checked the conversation, which was +becoming general now, saying that they’d better be very +sure that the man opposite understood no English before +they became careless.</p> +<p>“<i>Musseer</i>,” he added suavely to Neeland, who looked +up with a polite smile, “<i>parly voo Anglay</i>?”</p> +<p>“<i>Je parle Français, monsieur.</i>”</p> +<p>“I get him,” said Stull, sourly. “I knew it anyway. +He’s got the sissy manners of a Frenchy, even if he +don’t look the part. No white man tips his lid to nobody +except a swell skirt.”</p> +<p>“I seen two dudes do it to each other on Fifth +Avenue,” remarked Curfoot, and spat from the window.</p> +<p>Brandes, imperturbable, rolled his cigar into the corner +of his mouth and screwed his greenish eyes to narrow +slits.</p> +<p>“You got our wire, Doc?”</p> +<p>“Why am I here if I didn’t!”</p> +<p>“Sure. Have an easy passage?”</p> +<p>Doc Curfoot’s foxy visage still wore traces of the +greenish pallor; he looked pityingly at Brandes—<i>self</i>-pityingly:</p> +<p>“Say, Eddie, that was the worst I ever seen. A +freight boat, too. God! I was that sick I hoped she’d +turn turtle! And nab it from me; if you hadn’t wired +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +me S O S, I’d have waited over for the steamer train +and the regular boat!”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s S O S all right, Doc. I got a cable +from Quint this morning saying our place in Paris is +ready, and we’re to be there and open up tonight––”</p> +<p>“<i>What</i> place?” demanded Curfoot.</p> +<p>“Sure, I forgot. You don’t know anything yet, do +you?”</p> +<p>“Eddie,” interrupted Stull, “let me do the talking +<i>this</i> time, if <i>you</i> please.”</p> +<p>And, to Curfoot:</p> +<p>“Listen, Doc. We was up against it. You heard. +Every little thing has went wrong since Eddie done +what he done—every damn thing! Look what’s happened +since Maxy Venem got sore and he and Minna +started out to get him! Morris Stein takes away the +Silhouette Theatre from us and we can’t get no time +for ‘Lilith’ on Broadway. We go on the road and bust. +All our Saratoga winnings goes, also what we got invested +with Parson Smawley when the bulls pulled +Quint’s––!”</p> +<p>“Ah, f’r the lov’ o’ Mike!” began Brandes. “Can +that stuff!”</p> +<p>“All right, Eddie. I’m tellin’ Doc, that’s all. I ain’t +aiming to be no crape-hanger; I only want you both to +listen to me <i>this</i> time. If <i>you’d</i> listened to me before, +we’d have been in Saratoga today in our own machines. +But no; you done what you done—God! Did anyone +ever hear of such a thing!—taking chances with that +little rube from Brookhollow—that freckled-faced mill-hand—that +yap-skirt! And Minna and Max having +you watched all the time! You big boob! No—don’t +interrupt! Listen to <i>me</i>! Where are you now? You +had good money; you had a theaytre, you had backing! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +Quint was doing elegant; Doc and Parson and you and +me had it all our way and comin’ faster every day. +Wait, I tell you! This ain’t a autopsy. This is business. +I’m tellin’ you two guys all this becuz I want you +to realise that what Eddie done was against my advice. +Come on, now; wasn’t it?”</p> +<p>“It sure was,” admitted Curfoot, removing his cigar +from his lean, pointed visage of a greyhound, and +squinting thoughtfully at the smoke eddying in the +draught from the open window.</p> +<p>“Am I right, Eddie?” demanded Stull, fixing his +black, smeary eyes on Brandes.</p> +<p>“Well, go on,” returned the latter between thin lips +that scarcely moved.</p> +<p>“All right, then. Here’s the situation, Doc. We’re +broke. If Quint hadn’t staked us to this here new game +we’re playin’, where’d we be, I ask you?</p> +<p>“We got no income now. Quint’s is shut up; Maxy +Venem and Minna Minti fixed us at Saratoga so we +can’t go back there for a while. They won’t let us +touch a card on the liners. Every pug is leery of us +since Eddie flimflammed that Battling Smoke; and I +told you he’d holler, too! Didn’t I?” turning on +Brandes, who merely let his slow eyes rest on him +without replying.</p> +<p>“Go on, Ben,” said Curfoot.</p> +<p>“I’m going on. We guys gotta do something––”</p> +<p>“We ought to have fixed Max Venem,” said Curfoot +coolly.</p> +<p>There was a silence; all three men glanced stealthily +at Neeland, who quietly turned the page of his book as +though absorbed in his story.</p> +<p>“That squealer, Max,” continued Curfoot with placid +ferocity blazing in his eyes, “ought to have been put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +away. Quint and Parson wanted us to have it done. +Was it any stunt to get that dirty little shyster in +some roadhouse last May?”</p> +<p>Brandes said:</p> +<p>“I’m not mixing with any gunmen after the Rosenthal +business.”</p> +<p>“Becuz a lot of squealers done a amateur job like +that, does it say that a honest job can’t be pulled?” +demanded Curfoot. “Did Quint and me ask you to go +to Dopey or Clabber or Pete the Wop, or any of them +cheap gangsters?”</p> +<p>“Ah, can the gun-stuff,” said Brandes. “I’m not for +it. It’s punk.”</p> +<p>“What’s punk?”</p> +<p>“Gun-play.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you pull a pop on Maxy Venem the night +him and Hyman Adams and Minna beat you up in front +of the Knickerbocker?”</p> +<p>“Eddie was stalling,” interrupted Stull, as Brandes’ +face turned a dull beef-red. “You talk like a bad actor, +Doc. There’s other ways of getting Max in wrong. +Guns ain’t what they was once. Gun-play is old stuff. +But listen, now. Quint has staked us and we gotta +make good. And this is a big thing, though it looks +like it was out of our line.”</p> +<p>“Go on; what’s the idea?” inquired Curfoot, interested.</p> +<p>Brandes, the dull red still staining his heavy face, +watched the flying landscape from the open window.</p> +<p>Stull leaned forward; Curfoot bent his lean, narrow +head nearer; Neeland, staring fixedly at his open book, +pricked up his ears.</p> +<p>“Now,” said Stull in a low voice, “I’ll tell you guys +all Eddie and I know about this here business of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +Captain Quint’s. It’s like this, Doc: Some big feller comes +to Quint after they close him up—he won’t tell who—and +puts up this here proposition: Quint is to open a +elegant place in Paris on the Q. T. In fact, it’s ready +now. There’ll be all the backing Quint needs. He’s +to send over three men he can trust—three men who +can shoot at a pinch! He picks us three and stakes us. +Get me?”</p> +<p>Doc nodded.</p> +<p>Brandes said in his narrow-eyed, sleepy way:</p> +<p>“There was a time when they called us gunmen—Ben +and me. But, so help me God, Doc, we never did +any work like that ourselves. We never fired a shot to +croak any living guy. Did we, Ben?”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Stull impatiently. And, to Curfoot: +“Eddie and I know what we’re to do. If it’s on +the cards that we shoot—well, then, we’ll shoot. The +place is to be small, select, private, and first class. Doc, +you act as capper. You deal, too. Eddie sets ’em up. +I deal or spin. All right. We three guys attend to +anything American that blows our way. Get that?”</p> +<p>Curfoot nodded.</p> +<p>“Then for the foreigners, there’s to be a guy called +Karl Breslau.”</p> +<p>Neeland managed to repress a start, but the blood +tingled in his cheeks, and he turned his head a trifle as +though seeking better light on the open pages in his +hands.</p> +<p>“This here man Breslau,” continued Stull, “speaks +all kinds of languages. He is to have two friends with +him, a fellow named Kestner and one called Weishelm. +They trim the foreigners, they do; and––”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t see nothing new about this––” began +Curfoot; but Stull interrupted: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>“Wait, can’t you! This ain’t the usual. We run a +place for Quint. The place is like Quint’s. We trim +guys same as he does—or did. <i>But there’s more to it.</i>”</p> +<p>He let his eyes rest on Neeland, obliquely, for a full +minute. The others watched him, too. Presently the +young man cut another page of his book with his pen-knife +and turned it with eager impatience, as though +the story absorbed him.</p> +<p>“Don’t worry about Frenchy,” murmured Brandes +with a shrug. “Go ahead, Ben.”</p> +<p>Stull laid one hand on Curfoot’s shoulder, drawing +that gentleman a trifle nearer and sinking his voice:</p> +<p>“Here’s the new stuff, Doc,” he said. “And it’s +brand new to us, too. There’s big money into it. Quint +swore we’d get ours. And as we was on our uppers we +went in. It’s like this: We lay for Americans from +the Embassy or from any of the Consulates. They are +our special game. It ain’t so much that we trim them; +we also get next to them; we make ’em talk right out +in church. Any political dope they have we try to get. +We get it any way we can. If they’ll accelerate we accelerate +’em; if not, we dope ’em and take their papers. +The main idee is to get a holt on ’em!</p> +<p>“That’s what Quint wants; that’s what he’s payin’ +for and gettin’ paid for—inside information from the +Embassy and Consulates––”</p> +<p>“What does Quint want of that?” demanded Curfoot, +astonished.</p> +<p>“How do I know? Blackmail? Graft? I can’t call +the dope. But listen here! Don’t forget that it ain’t +Quint who wants it. It’s the big feller behind him +who’s backin’ him. It’s some swell guy higher up who’s +payin’ Quint. And Quint, he pays us. So where’s the +squeal coming?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></p> +<p>“Yes, but––”</p> +<p>“Where’s the holler?” insisted Stull.</p> +<p>“I ain’t hollerin’, am I? Only this here is new stuff +to me––”</p> +<p>“Listen, Doc. I don’t know what it is, but all these +here European kings is settin’ watchin’ one another like +toms in a back alley. I think that some foreign political +high-upper wants dope on what our people are finding +out over here. Like this, he says to himself: ‘I +hear this Kink is building ten sooper ferry boats. If +that’s right, I oughta know. And I hear that the Queen +of Marmora has ordered a million new nifty fifty-shot +bean-shooters for the boy scouts! That is indeed serious +news!’ So he goes to his broker, who goes to a +big feller, who goes to Quint, who goes to us. Flag +me?”</p> +<p>“Sure.”</p> +<p>“That’s all. There’s nothing to it, Doc. Says Quint +to us: ‘Trim a few guys for me and get their letters,’ +says Quint; ‘and there’s somethin’ in it for me and you!’ +And <i>that’s</i> the new stuff, Doc.”</p> +<p>“You mean we’re spies?”</p> +<p>“Spies? I don’t know. We’re on a salary. We get +a big bonus for every letter we find on the carpet––” +He winked at Curfoot and relighted his cigar.</p> +<p>“Say,” said the latter, “it’s like a creeping joint. +It’s a panel game, Ben––”</p> +<p>“It’s politics like they play ’em in Albany, only it’s +ambassadors and kinks we trim, not corporations.”</p> +<p>“<i>We</i> can’t do it! What the hell do we know about +kinks and attachés?”</p> +<p>“No; Weishelm, Breslau and Kestner do that. We +lay for the attachés or spin or deal or act handy at the +bar and buffet with homesick Americans. No; the fine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +work—the high-up stuff, is done by Breslau and Weishelm. +And I guess there’s some fancy skirts somewhere +in the game. But they’re silent partners; and anyway +Weishelm manages that part.”</p> +<p>Curfoot, one lank knee over the other, swung his +foot thoughtfully to and fro, his ratty eyes lost in +dreamy revery. Brandes tossed his half-consumed cigar +out of the open window and set fire to another. Stull +waited for Curfoot to make up his mind. After several +minutes the latter looked up from his cunning abstraction:</p> +<p>“Well, Ben, put it any way you like, but we’re just +plain political spies. And what the hell do they hand +us over here if we’re pinched?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. What of it?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. If there’s good money in it, I’ll take a +chance.”</p> +<p>“There is. Quint backs us. When we get ’em coming––”</p> +<p>“Ah,” said Doc with a wry face, “that’s all right for +the cards or the wheel. But this pocket picking––”</p> +<p>“Say; that ain’t what I mean. It’s like this: Young +Fitznoodle of the Embassy staff gets soused and starts +out lookin’ for a quiet game. We furnish the game. +We don’t go through his pockets; we just pick up whatever +falls out and take shorthand copies. Then back +go the letters into Fitznoodle’s pocket––”</p> +<p>“Yes. Who reads ’em first?”</p> +<p>“Breslau. Or some skirt, maybe.”</p> +<p>“What’s Breslau?”</p> +<p>“Search <i>me</i>. He’s a Dutchman or a Rooshian or +some sort of Dodo. What do you care?”</p> +<p>“I don’t. All right, Ben. You’ve got to show me; +that’s all.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></p> +<p>“Show you what?”</p> +<p>“Spot cash!”</p> +<p>“You’re in when you handle it?”</p> +<p>“If you show me real money—yes.”</p> +<p>“You’re on. I’ll cash a cheque of Quint’s for you at +Monroe’s soon as we hit the asphalt! And when you +finish counting out your gold nickels put ’em in your +pants and play the game! Is that right?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>They exchanged a wary handshake; then, one after +another, they leaned back in their seats with the air +of honest men who had done their day’s work.</p> +<p>Curfoot blinked at Brandes, at his excessively +groomed person, at his rings.</p> +<p>“You <i>look</i> prosperous, Eddie.”</p> +<p>“It’s his business to,” remarked Stull.</p> +<p>Brandes yawned:</p> +<p>“It would be a raw deal if there’s a war over here,” +he said listlessly.</p> +<p>“Ah,” said Curfoot, “there won’t be none.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“The Jews and bankers won’t let these kinks mix +it.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, too,” nodded Brandes.</p> +<p>But Stull said nothing and his sour, pasty visage +turned sourer. It was the one possibility that disturbed +him—the only fly in the amber—the only mote that +troubled his clairvoyance. Also, he was the only man +among the three who didn’t think a thing was certain to +happen merely because he wanted it to happen.</p> +<p>There was another matter, too, which troubled him. +Brandes was unreliable. And who but little Stull should +know how unreliable?</p> +<p>For Brandes had always been that. And now Stull +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +knew him to be more than that—knew him to be treacherous.</p> +<p>Whatever in Brandes had been decent, or had, blindly +perhaps, aspired toward decency, was now in abeyance. +Something within him had gone to smash since Minna +Minti had struck him that night in the frightened +presence of Rue Carew.</p> +<p>And from that night, when he had lost the only +woman who had ever stirred in him the faintest aspiration +to better things, the man had gradually +changed. Whatever in his nature had been unreliable +became treacherous; his stolidity became sullenness. A +slow ferocity burned within him; embers of a rage which +no brooding ever quenched slumbered red in his brain +until his endless meditation became a monomania. And +his monomania was the ruin of this woman who had +taken from him in the very moment of consummation +all that he had ever really loved in the world—a thin, +awkward, freckled, red-haired country girl, in whom, +for the first and only time in all his life, he saw the +vague and phantom promise of that trinity which he +had never known—a wife, a child, and a home.</p> +<p>He sat there by the car window glaring out of his +dull green eyes at the pleasant countryside, his thin lips +tightening and relaxing on his cigar.</p> +<p>Curfoot, still pondering over the “new stuff” offered +him, brooded silently in his corner, watching the others +out of his tiny, bright eyes.</p> +<p>“Do anything in London?” inquired Stull.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Who was you working for?”</p> +<p>“A jock and a swell skirt. But Scotland Yard got +next and chased the main guy over the water.”</p> +<p>“What was your lay?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span></p> +<p>“Same thing. I dealt for the jock and the skirt +trimmed the squabs.”</p> +<p>“Anybody holler?”</p> +<p>“Aw—the kind we squeezed was too high up to holler. +Them young lords take their medicine like they +wanted it. They ain’t like the home bunch that is +named after swell hotels.”</p> +<p>After a silence he looked up at Brandes:</p> +<p>“What ever become of Minna Minti?” he asked.</p> +<p>Brandes’ heavy features remained stolid.</p> +<p>“She got her divorce, didn’t she?” insisted Curfoot.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Alimony?”</p> +<p>“No. She didn’t ask any.”</p> +<p>“How about Venem?”</p> +<p>Brandes remained silent, but Stull said:</p> +<p>“I guess she chucked him. She wouldn’t stand for +that snake. I got to hand it to her; she ain’t that +kind.”</p> +<p>“What kind is she?”</p> +<p>“I tell you I got to hand it to her. I can’t complain +of her. She acted white all right until Venem stirred +her up. Eddie’s got himself to blame; he got in wrong +and Venem had him followed and showed him up to +Minna.”</p> +<p>“You got tired of her, didn’t you?” said Curfoot to +Brandes. But Stull answered for him again:</p> +<p>“Like any man, Eddie needed a vacation now and +then. But no skirt understands.”</p> +<p>Brandes said slowly:</p> +<p>“I’ll live to fix Minna yet.”</p> +<p>“What fixed you,” snapped Stull, “was that there +Brookhollow stuff––”</p> +<p>“Can it!” retorted Brandes, turning a deep red. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p> +<p>“Aw—don’t hand me the true-love stuff, Eddie! If +you’d meant it with that little haymaker you’d have +respected her––”</p> +<p>Brandes’ large face became crimson with rage:</p> +<p>“You say another word about her and I’ll push your +block off—you little dough-faced kike!”</p> +<p>Stull shrugged and presently whispered to Curfoot:</p> +<p>“That’s the play he always makes. I’ve waited two +years, but he won’t ring down on the love stuff. I guess +he was hit hard that trip. It took a little red-headed, +freckled country girl to stop him. But it was comin’ +to Eddie Brandes, and it certainly looks like it was +there to stay a while.”</p> +<p>“He’s still stuck on her?”</p> +<p>“I guess she’s still the fly paper,” nodded Stull.</p> +<p>Suddenly Brandes turned on Stull such a look of concentrated +hatred that the little gambler’s pallid features +stiffened with surprise:</p> +<p>“Ben,” said Brandes in a low voice, which was too indistinct +for Neeland to catch, “I’ll tell you something +now that you don’t know. I saw Quint alone; I talked +with him. Do you know who is handling the big stuff +in this deal?”</p> +<p>“Who?” asked Stull, amazed.</p> +<p>“The Turkish Embassy in Paris. And do you know +who plays the fine Italian hand for that bunch of +Turks?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Minna!”</p> +<p>“You’re crazy!”</p> +<p>Brandes took no notice, but went on with a sort of +hushed ferocity that silenced both Stull and Curfoot:</p> +<p>“That’s why I went in. To get Minna. And I’ll get +her if it costs every cent I’ve got or ever hope to get. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +That’s why I’m in this deal; that’s why I came; that’s +why I’m here telling you this. I’m in it to get Minna, +not for the money, not for anything in all God’s world +except to get the woman who has done what Minna did +to me.”</p> +<p>Neeland listened in vain to the murmuring voice; he +could not catch a word.</p> +<p>Stull whispered:</p> +<p>“Aw, f’r God’s sake, Eddie, that ain’t the game. Do +you want to double-cross Quint?”</p> +<p>“I <i>have</i> double-crossed him.”</p> +<p>“What! Do you mean to sell him out?”</p> +<p>“I <i>have</i> sold him out.”</p> +<p>“Jesus! Who to?”</p> +<p>“To the British Secret Service. And there’s to be +one hundred thousand dollars in it, Doc, for you and me +to divide. And fifty thousand more when we put the +French bulls on to Minna and Breslau. Now, how does +one hundred and fifty thousand dollars against five +thousand apiece strike you two poor, cheap guys?”</p> +<p>But the magnitude of Brandes’ treachery and the +splendour of the deal left the two gamblers stunned.</p> +<p>Only by their expressions could Neeland judge that +they were discussing matters of vital importance to +themselves and probably to him. He listened; he could +not hear what they were whispering. And only at intervals +he dared glance over his book in their direction.</p> +<p>“Well,” said Brandes under his breath, “go on. Spit +it out. What’s the squeal?”</p> +<p>“My God!” whispered Stull. “Quint will kill you.”</p> +<p>Brandes laughed unpleasantly:</p> +<p>“Not me, Ben. I’ve got that geezer where I want him +on a dirty deal he pulled off with the police.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></p> +<p>Curfoot turned his pointed muzzle toward the window +and sneered at the sunny landscape.</p> +<p>A few minutes later, far across the rolling plain set +with villas and farms, and green with hedgerows, gardens, +bouquets of trees and cultivated fields, he caught +sight of a fairy structure outlined against the sky. +Turning to Brandes:</p> +<p>“There’s the Eiffel Tower,” remarked Curfoot. +“Where are we stopping, Eddie?”</p> +<p>“Caffy des Bulgars.”</p> +<p>“Where’s that?”</p> +<p>“It’s where we go to work—Roo Vilna.”</p> +<p>Stull’s smile was ghastly, but Curfoot winked at +Brandes.</p> +<p>Neeland listened, his eyes following the printed pages +of his book.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXV_CUP_AND_LIP' id='CHAPTER_XXV_CUP_AND_LIP'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>CUP AND LIP</h3> +</div> +<p>Through the crowded Paris terminal Neeland pushed +his way, carrying the olive-wood box in his hand and +keeping an eye on his porter, who preceded him carrying +the remainder of his luggage and repeating:</p> +<p>“<i>Place, s’il vous plaît, m’sieu’, dames!</i>”</p> +<p>To Neeland it was like a homecoming after many +years’ exile; the subtle but perfectly specific odour of +Paris assailed his nostrils once again; the rapid, emphatic, +lively language of France sounded once more +delightfully in his eager ears; vivacity and intelligence +sparkled in every eye that met his own. It was a throng +of rapid movement, of animated speech, of gesticulation. +And, as it was in the beginning when he first arrived +there as a student, he fell in love with it at first sight +and contact.</p> +<p>All around him moved porters, passengers, railroad +officials; the red <i>képis</i> of soldiers dotted the crowd; a +priest or two in shovel hat and buckled shoes, a Sister +of Charity from the Rue de Bac lent graver accents to +the throng; and everywhere were the pretty bourgeois +women of the capital gathered to welcome relatives or +friends, or themselves starting on some brief summer +voyage so dear to those who seldom find it in their +hearts to leave Paris for longer than a fortnight at a +time.</p> +<p>As he pressed onward he witnessed characteristic reunions +between voyagers and friends who awaited +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +them—animated, cordial, gay scenes complicated by many +embraces on both cheeks.</p> +<p>And, of a sudden, he noticed the prettiest girl he had +ever seen in his life. She was in white, with a black +straw hat, and her face and figure were lovely beyond +words. Evidently she was awaiting friends; there was +a charming expectancy on her fresh young face, a slight +forward inclination of her body, as though expectancy +and happy impatience alone controlled her.</p> +<p>Her beauty almost took his breath away.</p> +<p>“Lord!” he thought to himself. “If such a girl as +that ever stood waiting for me––”</p> +<p>At the same moment her golden-grey eyes, sweeping +the passing crowd, met his; a sharp thrill of amazement +passed through him as she held out both gloved +hands with a soft exclamation of recognition:</p> +<p>“Jim! Jim Neeland!”</p> +<p>“Rue Carew!” He could scarcely credit his eyesight, +where he stood, hat in hand, holding both her +little hands in one of his.</p> +<p>No, there was no use in trying to disguise his astonishment. +He looked into the face of this tall young +girl, searched it for familiar features, recognised a +lovely paraphrase of the freckled face and thin figure +he remembered, and remained dumb before this radiant +reincarnation of that other unhappy, shabby, and +meagre child he had known two years ago.</p> +<p>Ruhannah, laughing and flushed, withdrew her hands.</p> +<p>“Have I changed? You haven’t. And I always +thought you the most wonderful and ornamental young +man on this planet. I knew you at once, Jim Neeland. +Would you have passed without recognising me?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I wouldn’t have passed after seeing +you––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p> +<p>“Jim Neeland! What a remark!” She laughed. +“Anyway, it’s nice to believe myself attractive enough +to be noticed. And I’m <i>so</i> glad to see you. Naïa is +here, somewhere, watching for you”—turning her +pretty, eager head to search for the Princess Mistchenka. +“Oh, there she is! She doesn’t see us––”</p> +<p>They made their way between the passing ranks of +passengers and porters; the Princess caught sight of +them, came hastily toward them.</p> +<p>“Jim! It’s nice to see you. Thank you for coming! +So <i>you</i>, found him, Rue? How are you, Jim? And +where is the olive-wood box?”</p> +<p>“I’m well, and there’s that devilish box!” he replied, +laughing and lifting it in his hand to exhibit it. “Naïa, +the next time you want it, send an escort of artillery +and two battleships!”</p> +<p>“Did you have trouble?”</p> +<p>“Trouble? I had the time of my life. No moving +picture can ever again excite me; no best seller. I’ve +been both since I had your cable to get this box and +bring it to you.”</p> +<p>He laughed as he spoke, but the Princess continued +to regard him very seriously, and Rue Carew’s smile +came and waned like sunlight in a wood, for she was +not quite sure whether he had really encountered any +dangers on this mission which he had fulfilled so well.</p> +<p>“Our car is waiting outside,” said the Princess. +“Where is your porter, Jim?”</p> +<p>Neeland glanced about him, discovered the porter, +made a sign for him to follow, and they moved together +toward the entrance to the huge terminal.</p> +<p>“I haven’t decided where to stop yet,” began Neeland, +but the Princess checked him with a pretty gesture:</p> +<p>“You stop with us, Jim.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></p> +<p>“Thank you so much, but––”</p> +<p>“Please. Must I beg of you?”</p> +<p>“Do you really wish it?”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” she replied absently, glancing about her. +She added: “I don’t see my car. I don’t see my footman. +I told him to wait here. Rue, do you see him +anywhere?”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t,” said the girl.</p> +<p>“How annoying!” said the Princess. “He’s a new +man. My own footman was set upon and almost killed +by Apaches a week ago. So I had to find a substitute. +How stupid of him! Where on earth can he be waiting?”</p> +<p>They traversed the court of the terminal. Many +automobiles were parked there or just leaving; liveried +footmen stood awaiting masters and mistresses; but +nowhere was the car of the Princess Mistchenka in +sight.</p> +<p>They stood there, Neeland’s porter behind with his +suitcase and luggage, not knowing whether to wait +longer or summon a taxicab.</p> +<p>“I don’t understand,” repeated the Princess impatiently. +“I explained very carefully what I desired. +That new groom is stupid. Caron, my chauffeur, would +never have made a mistake unless that idiot groom misunderstood +his instructions.”</p> +<p>“Let me go and make some inquiries,” said Neeland. +“Do you mind waiting here? I’ll not be long––”</p> +<p>He went off, carrying the olive-wood box, which his +grasp never quitted now; and presently the Princess +and Ruhannah saw him disappear among the ranks of +automobiles and cabs.</p> +<p>“I don’t like it, Rue,” repeated the Princess in a low +voice. “I neither understand nor relish this situation.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></p> +<p>“Have you any idea––”</p> +<p>“Hush, child! I don’t know. That new groom, Verdier, +was recommended by the Russian Embassy. I +don’t know what to think of this.”</p> +<p>“It <i>can’t</i> be anything—queer, can it, dear?” asked +Rue.</p> +<p>“Anything <i>can</i> have happened. Nothing is likely to +have occurred, however—unless—unless those Apaches +were––”</p> +<p>“Naïa!”</p> +<p>“It’s possible, I suppose. They may have attacked +Picard as part of a conspiracy. The Russian Embassy +may have been deceived in Verdier. All this may be +part of a plan. But—I scarcely believe it.... All +the same, I dislike to take a taxicab––”</p> +<p>She caught sight of Neeland returning; both women +moved forward to meet him.</p> +<p>“I’ve solved the mystery,” he said. “Naïa, your car +was run into outside the station a few minutes after +you left it. And I’m sorry to say that your chauffeur +was badly enough hurt to require an ambulance.”</p> +<p>“Where on earth did you learn that?”</p> +<p>“The official at the taxicab control told me. I went +to him because that is where one is likely to receive information.”</p> +<p>“Caron hurt!” murmured the Princess. “What a +shame! Where did they take him, Jim?”</p> +<p>“To the Charité.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go this afternoon. But where is that imbecile +groom of mine?”</p> +<p>“It appears that he and a policeman went to a garage +on the repair truck that took your car.”</p> +<p>“Was he arrested?”</p> +<p>“I believe so.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span></p> +<p>“What a <i>contretemps</i>!” exclaimed the Princess Mistchenka. +“We shall have to take a taxicab after +all!”</p> +<p>“I’ve ordered one from the control. There it comes +now,” said Neeland, as a brand new taxicab, which +looked like a private car, drew up at the curb, and a +smiling and very spick and span chauffeur saluted.</p> +<p>Neeland’s porter hoisted trunk and suitcase on top; +the Princess stepped into the limousine, followed by +Rue and Neeland; the chauffeur took the order, started +his car, wheeled out into the square, circled the traffic +policeman, and whizzed away into the depths of the +most beautiful city in the world.</p> +<p>Neeland, seated with his back to the driver, laid the +olive-wood box on his knees, unlocked it, drew from his +breast pocket the papers he carried; locked them in the +box once more, and looked up laughingly at the +Princess and Ruhannah as he placed it at his feet.</p> +<p>“There you are!” he said. “Thank heaven my task +and your affair have been accomplished. All the papers +are there—and,” to Ruhannah, “that pretty gentleman +you call the Yellow Devil is inside, along with some +assorted firearms, drawing instruments, and photographs. +The whole business is here, intact—and so am +I—if that irrelevant detail should interest you.”</p> +<p>Rue smiled her answer; the Princess scrutinised him +keenly:</p> +<p>“Did you have trouble, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I did.”</p> +<p>“Serious trouble?”</p> +<p>“I tell you it was like a movie in five reels. Never +before did I believe such things happened outside a +Yonkers studio. But they do, Naïa. And I’ve learned +that the world is full of more excitingly melodramatic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +possibilities than any novel or scenario ever contained.”</p> +<p>“You’re not serious, of course,” began Rue Carew, +watching the varying expressions on his animated features; +but the Princess Mistchenka said, unsmiling:</p> +<p>“A film melodrama is a crude and tawdry thing compared +to the real drama so many of us play in every +moment of our lives.”</p> +<p>Neeland said to Rue, lightly:</p> +<p>“That is true as far as I have been concerned with +that amazing box. It’s full of the very devil—of that +Yellow Devil! When I pick it up now I seem to feel a +premonitory tingling all over me—not entirely disagreeable,” +he added to the Princess, “but the sort of half-scared +exhilaration a man feels who takes a chance and +is quite sure he’ll not have another chance if he loses. +Do you understand what I mean?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Princess unsmilingly, her clear, pleasant +eyes fixed on him.</p> +<p>In her tranquil, indefinite expression there was something +which made him wonder how many such chances +this pretty woman had taken in her life of intellectual +pleasure and bodily ease.</p> +<p>And now he remembered that Ilse Dumont apparently +knew about her—about Ruhannah, too. And Ilse Dumont +was the agent of a foreign government.</p> +<p>Was the Princess Mistchenka, patron and amateur +of the arts, another such agent? If not, why had he +taken this journey for her with this box of papers?</p> +<p>The passage of the Boulevard was slow; at every +square traffic was halted; all Paris crowded the streets +in the early afternoon sunshine, and the taxicab in +which they sat made little speed until the Place de la +Concorde opened out and the great Arc—a tiny phantom +of lavender and pearl—spanned the vanishing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +point of a fairy perspective between parallel and endless +ramparts of tender green.</p> +<p>“There was a lot of war talk on the <i>Volhynia</i>,” said +Neeland, “but I haven’t heard any since I landed, nor +have I seen a paper. I suppose the Chancelleries have +come to some agreement.”</p> +<p>“No,” said the Princess.</p> +<p>“You don’t expect trouble, do you? I mean a general +European free-for-all fight?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, Jim.”</p> +<p>“Haven’t you,” he asked blandly, “any means of acquiring +inside information?”</p> +<p>She did not even pretend to evade the good-humoured +malice of his smile and question:</p> +<p>“Yes; I have sources of private information. I have +learned nothing, so far.”</p> +<p>He looked at Rue, but the smile had faded from her +face and she returned his questioning gaze gravely.</p> +<p>“There is great anxiety in Europe,” she said in a +low voice, “and the tension is increasing. When we +arrive home we shall have a chance to converse more +freely.” She made the slightest gesture with her head +toward the chauffeur—a silent reminder and a caution.</p> +<p>The Princess nodded slightly:</p> +<p>“One never knows,” she remarked. “We shall have +much to say to one another when we are safely home.”</p> +<p>But Neeland could not take it very seriously here in +the sunshine, with two pretty women facing him—here +speeding up the Champs Elysées between the endless +green of chestnut trees and the exquisite silvery-grey +façades of the wealthy—with motors flashing by on +every side and the cool, leafy alleys thronged with children +and nurse-maids, and Monsieur Guignol squeaking +and drumming in his red-curtained box! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></p> +<p>How could a young man believe in a sequel to the +almost incredible melodrama in which he had figured, +with such a sane and delightful setting, here in the familiar +company of two charming women he had known?</p> +<p>Besides, all Paris and her police were at his elbow; +the olive-wood box stood between his knees; a smartly +respectable taxi and its driver drove them with the +quiet <i>éclat</i> and precision of a private <i>employé</i>; the Arc +de Triomphe already rose splendidly above them, and +everything that had once been familiar and reassuring +and delightful lay under his grateful eyes on every +side.</p> +<p>And now the taxicab turned into the rue Soleil d’Or—a +new street to Neeland, opened since his student +days, and only one square long, with a fountain in the +middle and young chestnut trees already thickly +crowned with foliage lining both sides of the street.</p> +<p>But although the rue Soleil d’Or was a new street to +him, Paris construction is also a rapid affair. The +street was faced by charming private houses built of +grey Caen stone; the fountain with its golden sun-dial, +with the seated figure—a life-size replica of Manship’s +original in the Metropolitan Museum—serenely and +beautifully holding its place between the Renaissance +façades and rows of slender trees.</p> +<p>Summer had not yet burned foliage or flowers; the +freshness of spring itself seemed still to reign there.</p> +<p>Three blue-bloused street-sweepers with hose and +broom were washing the asphalt as their cab slowed +down, sounding its horn to warn them out of the way. +And, the spouting hose still in their hands, the street-cleaners +stepped out of the gutter before the pretty +private hotel of Madame la Princesse.</p> +<p>Already a butler was opening the <i>grille</i>; already the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +chauffeur had swung Neeland’s steamer trunk and suitcase +to the sidewalk; already the Princess and Rue were +advancing to the house, while Neeland fumbled in his +pocket for the fare.</p> +<p>The butler, bowing, relieved him of the olive-wood +box. At the same instant the blue-bloused man with the +hose turned the powerful stream of water directly into +the butler’s face, knocking him flat on the sidewalk; and +his two comrades tripped up Neeland, passed a red +sash over his head, and hurled him aside, blinded, half +strangled, staggering at random, tearing furiously at +the wide band of woollen cloth which seemed to suffocate +him.</p> +<p>Already the chauffeur had tossed the olive-wood box +into the cab; the three blue-bloused men sprang in after +it; the chauffeur slipped into his seat, threw in the +clutch, and, driving with one hand, turned a pistol on +the half drowned butler, who had reeled to his feet and +was lurching forward to seize the steering wheel.</p> +<p>The taxicab, gathering speed, was already turning +the corner of the rue de la Lune when Neeland managed +to free throat and eyes from the swathe of woollen.</p> +<p>The butler, checked by the levelled pistol, stood dripping, +still almost blinded by the force of the water from +the hose; but he had plenty of pluck, and he followed +Neeland on a run to the corner of the street.</p> +<p>The street was absolutely empty, except for the sparrows, +and the big, fat, slate-coloured pigeons that strutted +and coo-cooed under the shadow of the chestnut +trees.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVI_RUE_SOLEIL_DOR' id='CHAPTER_XXVI_RUE_SOLEIL_DOR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>RUE SOLEIL D’OR</h3> +</div> +<p>Marotte, the butler, in dry clothes, had served +luncheon—a silent, respectable, self-respecting man, +calm in his fury at the incredible outrage perpetrated +upon his person.</p> +<p>And now luncheon was over; the Princess at the telephone +in her boudoir; Rue in the music-room with Neeland, +still excited, anxious, confused.</p> +<p>Astonishment, mortification, anger, had left Neeland +silent; and the convention known as luncheon had not +appealed to him.</p> +<p>But very little was said during that formality; and +in the silence the serious nature of the episode which so +suddenly had deprived the Princess of the olive-wood +box and the papers it contained impressed Neeland +more and more deeply.</p> +<p>The utter unexpectedness of the outrage—the helpless +figure he had cut—infuriated him. And the more +he reflected the madder he grew when he realised that +all he had gone through meant nothing now—that every +effort had been sterile, every hour wasted, every step +he had taken from Brookhollow to Paris—to the very +doorstep where his duty ended—had been taken in +vain.</p> +<p>It seemed to him in his anger and humiliation that +never had any man been so derided, so heartlessly +mocked by the gods.</p> +<p>And now, as he sat there behind lowered blinds in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +cool half-light of the music-room, he could feel the hot +blood of resentment and chagrin in his cheeks.</p> +<p>“Nobody could have foreseen it,” repeated Rue Carew +in a pretty, bewildered voice. “And if the Princess +Naïa had no suspicions, how could I harbour any—or +how could you?”</p> +<p>“I’ve been sufficiently tricked—or I thought I had +been—to be on my guard. But it seems not. I ought +never to have been caught in such a disgusting trap—such +a simple, silly, idiotic cage! But—good Lord! +How on earth was a man to suspect anything so—so +naturally planned and executed—so simply done. It +was an infernal masterpiece, Rue. But—that is no consolation +to a man who has been made to appear like a +monkey!”</p> +<p>The Princess, entering, overheard; and she seated +herself and looked tranquilly at Neeland as he resumed +his place on the sofa.</p> +<p>“You were not to blame, Jim,” she said. “It was my +fault. I had warning enough at the railroad terminal +when an accident to my car was reported to me by the +control through you.” She added, calmly: “There was +no accident.”</p> +<p>“No accident?” exclaimed Neeland, astonished.</p> +<p>“None at all. My new footman, who followed us to +the waiting salon for incoming trains, returned to my +chauffeur, Caron, saying that he was to go back to +the garage and await orders. I have just called the +garage and I had Caron on the wire. There was no +accident; he has not been injured; and—the new footman +has disappeared!”</p> +<p>“It was a clear case of treachery?” exclaimed Neeland.</p> +<p>“Absolutely a plot. The pretended official at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +terminal control was an accomplice of my footman, of +the taxicab driver, of the pretended street-cleaners—and +of whom else I can, perhaps, imagine.”</p> +<p>“Did you call the terminal control?”</p> +<p>“I did. The official in charge and the starter had +seen no such accident; had given no such information. +Some masquerader in uniform must have intercepted +you, Jim.”</p> +<p>“I found him coming toward me on the sidewalk not +far from the kiosque. He was in uniform; I never +dreamed he was not the genuine thing.”</p> +<p>“There is no blame attached to you––”</p> +<p>“Naïa, it actually sickens me to discover how little +sense I possess. I’ve been through enough to drive +both suspicion and caution into this wooden head of +mine––”</p> +<p>“What have you been through, Jim?” asked the +Princess calmly.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you. I didn’t play a brilliant rôle, I’m sorry +to admit. Not common sense but sheer luck pulled me +through as far as your own doorstep. And there,” he +added disgustedly, “the gods no doubt grew tired of +such an idiot, and they handed me what was coming to +me.”</p> +<p>He was so thoroughly and so boyishly ashamed and +angry with himself that a faint smile flitted over the +Princess Naïa’s lips.</p> +<p>“Proceed, James,” she said.</p> +<p>“All right. Only first may I ask—who is Ilse Dumont?”</p> +<p>For a moment the Princess sat silent, expressionless, +intent on the man whose clear, inquiring eyes still questioned +her.</p> +<p>The Princess finally answered with a question: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></p> +<p>“Did <i>she</i> cause you any trouble, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Every bit I had was due to her. Also—and here’s +a paradox—I shouldn’t be here now if Ilse Dumont had +not played square with me. Who is she?”</p> +<p>The Princess Naïa did not reply immediately. Instead, +she dropped one silken knee over the other, +lighted a cigarette, and sat for a few moments gazing +into space. Then:</p> +<p>“Ilse Dumont,” she said, “is a talented and exceedingly +pretty young woman who was born in Alsace of +one German and one thoroughly Germanised parent.</p> +<p>“She played two seasons in Chicago in light opera +under another name. She had much talent, an acceptable +voice and she became a local favourite.”</p> +<p>The Princess looked at her cigarette; continued +speaking as though addressing it:</p> +<p>“She sang at the Opéra Comique here in Paris the +year before last and last year. Her rôles were minor +ones. Early this spring she abruptly broke her contract +with the management and went to New York.”</p> +<p>Neeland said bluntly:</p> +<p>“Ilse Dumont is an agent in the service of the Turkish +Government.”</p> +<p>The Princess nodded.</p> +<p>“Did you know it, Naïa?”</p> +<p>“I began to suspect it recently.”</p> +<p>“May I ask how?”</p> +<p>The Princess glanced at Rue and smiled:</p> +<p>“Ruhannah’s friend, Colonel Izzet Bey, was very devoted +to Minna Minti––”</p> +<p>“To <i>whom</i>!” exclaimed Neeland, astounded.</p> +<p>“To Ilse Dumont. Minna Minti is her stage name,” +said the Princess.</p> +<p>Neeland turned and looked at Rue, who, conscious +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +of his excitement, flushed brightly, yet never suspecting +what he was about to say.</p> +<p>The Princess said quietly:</p> +<p>“Yes, tell her, Jim. It is better she should know. +Until now it has not been necessary to mention the matter, +or I should have done so.”</p> +<p>Rue, surprised, still prettily flushed with expectancy, +looked with new curiosity from one to the other.</p> +<p>Neeland said:</p> +<p>“Ilse Dumont, known on the stage as Minna Minti, +is the divorced wife of Eddie Brandes.”</p> +<p>At the mention of a name so long hidden away, buried +in her memory, and almost forgotten, the girl quivered +and straightened up, as though an electric shock had +passed through her body.</p> +<p>Then a burning colour flooded her face as at the +swift stroke of a lash, and her grey eyes glimmered with +the starting tears.</p> +<p>“You’ll have to know it, darling,” said the Princess +in a low voice. “There is no reason why you should +not; it no longer can touch you. Don’t you know +that?”</p> +<p>“Y-yes––” Ruhannah’s slowly drooping head +was lifted again; held high; and the wet brilliancy +slowly dried in her steady eyes.</p> +<p>“Before I tell you,” continued Neeland, “what happened +to me through Ilse Dumont, I must tell you what +occurred in the train on my way to Paris.... May I +have a cigarette, Princess Naïa?”</p> +<p>“At your elbow in that silver box.”</p> +<p>Rue Carew lighted it for him with a smile, but her +hand still trembled.</p> +<p>“First,” he said, “tell me what particular significance +those papers in the olive-wood box have. Then I can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +tell you more intelligently what happened to me since I +went to Brookhollow to find them.”</p> +<p>“They are the German plans for the fortification of +the mainland commanding the Dardanelles, and for the +forts dominating the Gallipoli peninsula.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know that. But of what interest to England +or France or Russia––”</p> +<p>“If there is to be war, can’t you understand the importance +to us of those plans?” asked the Princess in +a low, quiet voice.</p> +<p>“To—‘us’?” he repeated.</p> +<p>“Yes, to <i>us</i>. I am Russian, am I not?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I now understand how very Russian you are, +Princess. But what has Turkey––”</p> +<p>“What <i>is</i> Turkey?”</p> +<p>“An empire––”</p> +<p>“No. A German province.”</p> +<p>“I did not know––”</p> +<p>“That is what the Ottoman Empire is today,” continued +the Princess Mistchenka, “a Turkish province +fortified by Berlin, governed from Berlin through a +Germanised Turk, Enver Pasha; the army organised, +drilled, equipped, officered, and paid by the Kaiser Wilhelm; +every internal resource and revenue and development +and projected development mortgaged to Germany +and under German control; and the Sultan a nobody!”</p> +<p>“I did not know it,” repeated Neeland.</p> +<p>“It is the truth, <i>mon ami</i>. It is inevitable that Turkey +fights if Germany goes to war. England, France, +Russia know it. Ask yourself, then, how enormous to +us the value of those plans—tentative, sketchy, perhaps, +yet the inception and foundation of those German-made +and German-armed fortifications which today +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +line the Dardanelles and the adjacent waters within the +sphere of Ottoman influence!”</p> +<p>“So <i>that</i> is why you wanted them,” he said with an +unhappy glance at Rue. “What idiotic impulse +prompted me to put them back in the box I can’t imagine. +You saw me do it, there in the taxicab.”</p> +<p>Ruhannah said:</p> +<p>“The chauffeur saw you, too. He was looking at +you in his steering mirror; I saw his face. But it never +entered my mind that anything except idle curiosity +possessed him.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” said the Princess to Neeland, “what you +did with the papers saved your life. Had that chauffeur +not seen you place them in the box, he might +have shot and robbed you as you left the cab, merely +on the chance of your having them on your person.”</p> +<p>There was a silence; then Neeland said:</p> +<p>“This is a fine business! As far as I can see murder +seems to be the essence of the contract.”</p> +<p>“It is often incidental to it,” said the Princess Mistchenka +serenely. “But you and Ruhannah will soon +be out of this affair.”</p> +<p>“I?” said the girl, surprised.</p> +<p>“I think so.”</p> +<p>“Why, dear?”</p> +<p>“I think there is going to be war. And if there is, +France will be concerned. And that means that you +and Ruhannah, too, will have to leave France.”</p> +<p>“But you?” asked the girl, anxiously.</p> +<p>“I expect to remain. How long can you stay here, +Jim?”</p> +<p>Neeland cast an involuntary glance at Rue as he +replied: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></p> +<p>“I intended to take the next steamer. Why? Can I +be of any service to you, Princess Naïa?”</p> +<p>The Princess Mistchenka let her dark eyes rest on +him for a second, then on Rue Carew.</p> +<p>“I was thinking,” she said, “that you might take +Ruhannah back with you if war is declared.”</p> +<p>“Back to America!” exclaimed the girl. “But where +am I to go in America? What am I to do there? I—I +didn’t think I was quite ready to earn my own living”—looking +anxiously at the Princess Naïa—“do you think +so, dear?”</p> +<p>The Princess said:</p> +<p>“I wanted you to remain. And you must not worry, +darling. Some day I shall want you back–– But if +there is to be war in Europe you cannot remain here.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“In the first place, only useful people would be wanted +in Paris––”</p> +<p>“But, Naïa, darling! Couldn’t I be useful to you?” +The girl jumped up from the sofa and came and knelt +down by the Princess Mistchenka, looking up into her +face.</p> +<p>The Princess laid aside her cigarette and put both +hands on Rue’s shoulders, looking her gravely, tenderly +in the eyes.</p> +<p>“Dear,” she said, “I want James Neeland to hear +this, too. For it is partly a confession.</p> +<p>“When I first saw you, Rue, I was merely sorry for +you, and willing to oblige Jim Neeland by keeping an +eye on you until you were settled somewhere here in +Paris.</p> +<p>“Before we landed I liked you. And, because I saw +wonderful possibilities in the little country girl who +shared my stateroom, I deliberately made up my mind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +to develop you, make use of your excellent mind, your +quick intelligence, your amazing capacity for absorbing +everything that is best, and your very unusual attractions +for my own purposes. I meant—to train you—educate +you—to aid me.”</p> +<p>There was a silence; the girl looked up at her, flushed, +intent, perplexed; the Princess Mistchenka, her hands +on the girl’s shoulders, looked back at her out of grave +and beautiful dark eyes.</p> +<p>“That is the truth,” said the Princess. “My intention +was to develop you along the lines which I follow +as a—profession; teach you to extract desirable information +through your wit, intelligence, and beauty—using +your youth as a mask. But I—I can’t do it––” +She shook her head slightly. “Because I’ve lost my +heart to you.... And the business I follow is a—a +rotten game.”</p> +<p>Again silence fell among those three; Rue, kneeling +at the elder woman’s feet, looked up into her face in +silence; Neeland, his elbows resting on his knees, leaned +slightly forward from the sofa, watching them.</p> +<p>“I’ll help you, if you wish,” said Rue Carew.</p> +<p>“Thank you, dear. No.”</p> +<p>“Let me. I owe you everything since I have been +here––”</p> +<p>“No, dear. What I said to you—and to James—is +true. It’s a merciless, stealthy, treacherous business; +it’s dangerous to a woman, body and soul. It is one +long lifetime of experience with treachery, with greed, +with baser passions, with all that is ignoble in mankind.</p> +<p>“There is no reason for you to enter such a circle; +no excuse for it; no duty urges you; no patriotism +incites you to such self-sacrifice; no memory of wrong +done to your nearest and dearest inspires you to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +dedicate your life to aiding—if only a little, in the downfall +and destruction of the nation and the people who encompassed +it!”</p> +<p>The Princess Mistchenka’s dark eyes began to gleam, +and her beautiful face lost its colour; and she took Rue’s +little hands in both of hers and held them tightly +against her breast.</p> +<p>“Had I not lost my heart to you, perhaps I should +not have hesitated to develop and make use of you.</p> +<p>“You are fitted for the rôle I might wish you to play. +Men are fascinated by you; your intelligence charms; +your youth and innocence, worn as a mask, might make +you invaluable to the Chancellerie which is interested +in the information I provide for it.</p> +<p>“But, Rue, I have come to understand that I cannot +do this thing. No. Go back to your painting and your +clever drawing and your music; any one of these is certain +to give you a living in time. And in that direction +alone your happiness lies.”</p> +<p>She leaned forward and kissed the girl’s hair where it +was fine and blond, close to the snowy forehead.</p> +<p>“If war comes,” she said, “you and James will have +to go home, like two good children when the curfew +rings.”</p> +<p>She laughed, pushed Rue away, lighted another cigarette, +and, casting a glance partly ironical, partly +provocative, at the good-looking young man on the +sofa, said:</p> +<p>“As for you, James, I don’t worry about you. Impudence +will always carry you through where diplomacy +fails you. Now, tell me all about these three +unpleasant sporting characters who occupied the train +with you.”</p> +<p>Neeland laughed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></p> +<p>“It seems that a well-known gambler in New York, +called Captain Quint, is backing them; and somebody +higher up is backing Quint––”</p> +<p>“Probably the Turkish Embassy at Washington,” +interposed the Princess, coolly. “I’m sorry, Jim; pray +go on.”</p> +<p>“The Turkish Embassy?” he repeated, surprised +that she should guess.</p> +<p>“Yes; and the German Embassy is backing that. +There you are, Jim. That is the sequence as far as +your friend, Captain Quint. Now, who comes next in +the scale?”</p> +<p>“This man—Brandes—and the little chalk-faced +creature, Stull; and the other one, with the fox face—Doc +Curfoot.”</p> +<p>“I see. And then?”</p> +<p>“Then, as I gathered, there are several gentlemen +wearing Teutonic names—who are to go into partnership +with them—one named Kestner, one called Theodore +Weishelm, and an exceedingly oily Eurasian gentleman +with whom I became acquainted on the <i>Volhynia</i>—one Karl Breslau––”</p> +<p>“Breslau!” exclaimed the Princess. “<i>Now</i> I understand.”</p> +<p>“Who is he, Princess?”</p> +<p>“He is the most notorious international spy in the +world—a protean individual with aliases, professions, +and experiences sufficient for an entire jail full of criminals. +His father was a German Jew; his mother a +Circassian girl; he was educated in Germany, France, +Italy, and England. He has been a member of the socialist +group in the Reichstag under one name, a member +of the British Parliament under another; he did +dirty work for Abdul Hamid; dirtier for Enver Bey.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div> +<p>“He is here, there, everywhere; he turns up in Brazil +one day, and is next in evidence in Moscow. What +he is so eternally about God only knows: what +Chancellery he serves, which he betrays, is a question +that occupies many uneasy minds this very hour, I +fancy.</p> +<p>“But of this I, personally, am now satisfied; Karl +Breslau is responsible for the robbery of your papers +today, and the entire affair was accomplished under +his direction!”</p> +<p>“And yet I know,” said Neeland, “that after he and +Kestner tried to blow up the captain’s cabin and the +bridge aboard the <i>Volhynia</i> yesterday morning at a +little after two o’clock, he and Kestner must have +jumped overboard in the Mersey River off Liverpool.”</p> +<p>“Without doubt a boat was watching your ship.”</p> +<p>“Yes; Weishelm had a fishing smack to pick them +up. Ilse Dumont must have gone with them, too.”</p> +<p>“All they had to do was to touch at some dock, go +ashore, and telegraph to their men here,” said the Princess.</p> +<p>“That, evidently, is what they did,” admitted Neeland +ruefully.</p> +<p>“Certainly. And by <i>this</i> time they may be here, +too. They could do it. I haven’t any doubt that Breslau, +Kestner, and Ilse Dumont are here in Paris at this +moment.”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll wager I know where they are!”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“In the Hôtel des Bulgars, rue Vilna. That’s where +they are to operate a gaming house. That is where +they expect to pluck and fleece the callow and the aged +who may have anything of political importance about +them worth stealing. That is their plan. Agents, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +officials, employees of all consulates, legations, and embassies +are what they’re really after. I heard them +discussing it there in the train today.”</p> +<p>The Princess had fallen very silent, musing, watching +Neeland’s animated face as he detailed his knowledge +of what had occurred.</p> +<p>“Why not notify the police?” he added. “There +might be a chance to recover the box and the papers.”</p> +<p>The Princess shook her pretty head.</p> +<p>“We have to be very careful how we use the police, +James. It seems simple, but it is not. I can’t explain +the reasons, but we usually pit spy against spy, and +keep very clear of the police. Otherwise,” she added, +smiling, “there would be the deuce to pay among the +embassies and legations.” She added: “It’s a most +depressing situation; I don’t exactly know what to do.... +I have letters to write, anyway––”</p> +<p>She rose, turned to Rue and took both her hands:</p> +<p>“No; you must go back to New York and to your +painting and music if there is to be war in Europe. +But you have had a taste of what goes on in certain +circles here; you have seen what a chain of consequences +ensue from a chance remark of a young girl at +a dinner table.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“It’s amusing, isn’t it? A careless and innocent +word to that old busybody, Ahmed Mirka Pasha, at my +table—that began it. Then another word to Izzet +Bey. And I had scarcely time to realise what had +happened—barely time to telegraph James in New +York—before their entire underground machinery was +set in motion to seize those wretched papers in Brookhollow!”</p> +<p>Neeland said: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span></p> +<p>“You don’t know even yet, Princess, how amazingly +fast that machinery worked.”</p> +<p>“Tell me now, James. I have time enough to write +my warning since it is already too late.” And she +seated herself on the sofa and drew Ruhannah down +beside her.</p> +<p>“Listen, dear,” she said with pretty mockery, “here +is a most worthy young man who is simply dying to +let us know how picturesque a man can be when he +tries to.”</p> +<p>Neeland laughed:</p> +<p>“The only trouble with me,” he retorted, “is that +I’ve a rather hopeless habit of telling the truth. Otherwise +there’d be some chance for me as a hero in what +I’m going to tell you.”</p> +<p>And he began with his first encounter with Ilse Dumont +in Rue Carew’s house at Brookhollow. After +he had been speaking for less than a minute, Rue Carew’s +hands tightened in the clasp of the Princess Naïa, +who glanced at the girl and noticed that she had lost +her colour.</p> +<p>And Neeland continued his partly playful, partly +serious narrative of “moving accidents by flood and +field,” aware of the girl’s deep, breathless interest, +moved by it, and, conscious of it, the more inclined to +avoid the picturesque and heroic, and almost ashamed +to talk of himself at all under the serious beauty of +the girl’s clear eyes.</p> +<p>But he could scarcely tell his tale and avoid mentioning +himself; he was the centre of it all, the focus +of the darts of Fate, and there was no getting away +from what happened to himself.</p> +<p>So he made the melodrama a comedy, and the moments +of deadly peril he treated lightly. And one thing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +he avoided altogether, and that was how he had kissed +Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>When he finished his account of his dreadful situation +in the stateroom of Ilse Dumont, and how at the +last second her unerring shots had shattered the bomb +clock, cut the guy-rope, and smashed the water-jug +which deluged the burning fuses, he added with a very +genuine laugh:</p> +<p>“If only some photographer had taken a few hundred +feet of film for me I could retire on an income +in a year and never do another stroke of honest +work!”</p> +<p>The Princess smiled, mechanically, but Rue Carew +dropped her white face on the Princess Naïa’s shoulder +as though suddenly fatigued.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVII_FROM_FOUR_TO_FIVE' id='CHAPTER_XXVII_FROM_FOUR_TO_FIVE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>FROM FOUR TO FIVE</h3> +</div> +<p>The Princess Mistchenka and Rue Carew had retired +to their respective rooms for that hour between +four and five in the afternoon, which the average woman +devotes to cat-naps or to that aimless feminine fussing +which must ever remain a mystery to man.</p> +<p>The afternoon had turned very warm; Neeland, in +his room, lay on the lounge in his undershirt and trousers, +having arrived so far toward bathing and changing +his attire.</p> +<p>No breeze stirred the lattice blinds hanging over +both open windows; the semi-dusk of the room was +pierced here and there by slender shafts of sunlight +which lay almost white across the carpet and striped +the opposite wall; the rue Soleil d’Or was very silent in +the July afternoon.</p> +<p>And Neeland lay there thinking about all that had +happened to him and trying to bring it home to himself +and make it seem plausible and real; and could not.</p> +<p>For even now the last ten days of his life seemed +like a story he had read concerning someone else. +Nor did it seem to him that he personally had known +all those people concerned in this wild, exaggerated, +grotesque story. They, too, took their places on the +printed page, appearing, lingering, disappearing, reappearing, +as chapter succeeded chapter in a romance +too obvious, too palpably sensational to win the confidence +and credulity of a young man of today. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></p> +<p>Fed to repletion on noisy contemporary fiction, his +finer perception blunted by the daily and raucous yell +of the New York press, his imagination too long over-strained +by Broadway drama and now flaccid and incapable +of further response to its leering or shrieking +appeal, the din of twentieth-century art fell on nerveless +ears and on a brain benumbed and sceptical.</p> +<p>And so when everything that he had found grotesque, +illogical, laboured, obvious, and clamorously redundant +in literature and the drama began to happen and continued +to happen in real life to him—and went on happening +and involving himself and others all around +him in the pleasant July sunshine of 1914, this young +man, made intellectually <i>blasé</i>, found himself without +sufficient capacity to comprehend it.</p> +<p>There was another matter with which his mind was +struggling as he lay there, his head cradled on one +elbow, watching the thin blue spirals from his cigarette +mount straight to the ceiling, and that was the +metamorphosis of Rue Carew.</p> +<p>Where was the thin girl he remembered—with her +untidy chestnut hair and freckles, and a rather sweet +mouth—dressed in garments the only mission of which +was to cover a flat chest and frail body and limbs +whose too rapid growth had outstripped maturity?</p> +<p>To search for her he went back to the beginning, +where a little girl in a pink print dress, bare-legged +and hatless, loitered along an ancient rail fence and +looked up shyly at him as he warned her to keep out +of range of the fusillade from the bushes across the +pasture.</p> +<p>He thought of her again at the noisy party in Gayfield +on that white night in winter; visualised the tall, +shy, overgrown girl who danced with him and made no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +complaint when her slim foot was trodden on. And +again he remembered the sleigh and the sleighbells +clashing and tinkling under the moon; the light from +her doorway, and how she stood looking back at him; +and how, on the mischievous impulse of the moment, he +had gone back and kissed her––</p> +<p>At the memory an odd sensation came over him, scaring +him a little. How on earth had he ever had the +temerity to do such a thing to her!</p> +<p>And, as he thought of this exquisite, slender, clear-eyed +young girl who had greeted him at the Paris terminal—this +charming embodiment of all that is fresh +and sweet and fearless—in her perfect hat and gown +of <i>mondaine</i> youth and fashion, the memory of his +temerity appalled him.</p> +<p>Imagine his taking an unencouraged liberty now!</p> +<p>Nor could he dare imagine encouragement from the +Rue Carew so amazingly revealed to him.</p> +<p>Out of what, in heaven’s name, had this lovely +girl developed? Out of a shy, ragged, bare-legged +child, haunting the wild blackberry tangles in Brookhollow?</p> +<p>Out of the frail, charmingly awkward, pathetic, +freckled mill-hand in her home-made party clothes, the +rather sweet expression of whose mouth once led him +to impudent indiscretion?</p> +<p>Out of what had she been evolved—this young girl +whom he had left just now standing beside her boudoir +door with the Princess Naïa’s arm around her waist? +Out of the frightened, white-lipped, shabby girl who +had come dragging her trembling limbs and her suitcase +up the dark stairway outside his studio? Out +of the young thing with sagging hair, crouched in an +armchair beside his desk, where her cheap hat lay with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +two cheap hatpins sticking in the crown? Out of the +fragile figure buried in the bedclothes of a stateroom +berth, holding out to him a thin, bare arm in voiceless +adieu?</p> +<p>And Neeland lay there thinking, his head on his elbow, +the other arm extended—from the fingers of which +the burnt-out cigarette presently fell to the floor.</p> +<p>He thought to himself:</p> +<p>“She is absolutely beautiful; there’s no denying that. +It’s not her clothes or the way she does her hair, or +her voice, or the way she moves, or how she looks at +a man; it’s the whole business. And the whole bally +business is a miracle, that’s all. Good Lord! And to +think I ever had the nerve—the <i>nerve</i>!”</p> +<p>He swung himself to a sitting posture, sat gazing +into space for a few moments, then continued to undress +by pulling off one shoe, lighting a cigarette, and regarding +his other foot fixedly.</p> +<p>That is the manner in which the vast majority of +young men do their deepest thinking.</p> +<p>However, before five o’clock he had scrubbed himself +and arrayed his well constructed person in fresh linen +and outer clothing; and now he sauntered out through +the hallway and down the stairs to the rear drawing-room, +where a tea-table had been brought in and tea +paraphernalia arranged. Although the lamp under the +kettle had been lighted, nobody was in the room except +a West Highland terrier curled up on a lounge, +who, without lifting his snow-white head, regarded Neeland +out of the wisest and most penetrating eyes the +young man had ever encountered.</p> +<p>Here was a personality! Here was a dog not to be +approached lightly or with flippant familiarity. No! +That small, long, short-legged body with its thatch of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +wiry white hair was fairly instinct with dignity, wisdom, +and uncompromising self-respect.</p> +<p>“That dog,” thought Neeland, venturing to seat +himself on a chair opposite, “is a Presbyterian if ever +there was one. And I, for one, haven’t the courage +to address him until he deigns to speak to me.”</p> +<p>He looked respectfully at the dog, glanced at the +kettle which had begun to sizzle a little, then looked +out of the long windows into the little walled garden +where a few slender fruit trees grew along the walls +in the rear of well-kept flower beds, now gay with +phlox, larkspur, poppies, and heliotrope, and edged +with the biggest and bluest pansies he had ever beheld.</p> +<p>On the wall a Peacock butterfly spread its brown +velvet and gorgeously eyed wings to the sun’s warmth; +a blackbird with brilliant yellow bill stood astride a +peach twig and poured out a bubbling and incessant +melody full of fluted grace notes. And on the grass +oval a kitten frisked with the ghosts of last month’s +dandelions, racing after the drifting fluff and occasionally +keeling over to attack its own tail, after the +enchanting manner of all kittens.</p> +<p>A step behind him and Neeland turned. It was +Marotte, the butler, who presented a thick, sealed envelope +to him on his salver, bent to turn down the flame +under the singing silver kettle, and withdrew without a +sound.</p> +<p>Neeland glanced at the letter in perplexity, opened +the envelope and the twice-folded sheets of letter paper +inside, and read this odd communication:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p>Have I been fair to you? Did I keep my word? Surely +you must now, in your heart, acquit me of treachery—of +any premeditated violence toward you.</p> +<p>I never dreamed that those men would come to my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +stateroom. That plan <i>had</i> been discussed, but was abandoned +because it appeared impossible to get hold of you.</p> +<p>And also—may I admit it without being misunderstood?—I +absolutely refused to permit any attempt involving +your death.</p> +<p>When the trap shut on you, there in my stateroom, it +shut also on me. I was totally unprepared; I was averse +to murder; and also I had given you my word of honour.</p> +<p>Judge, then, of my shame and desperation—my anger +at being entrapped in a false position involving the loss +in your eyes of my personal honour!</p> +<p>It was unbearable: and I did what I could to make it +clear to you that I had not betrayed you. But my comrades +do not yet know that I had any part in it; do not +yet understand why the ship was not blown to splinters. +They are satisfied that I made a mistake in the rendezvous. +And, so far, no suspicion attaches to me; they believe the +mechanism of the clock failed them. And perhaps it is +well for me that they believe this.</p> +<p>It is, no doubt, a matter of indifference to you how the +others and I reached safety. I have no delusions concerning +any personal and kindly feeling on your part toward +me. But one thing you can not—dare not—believe, and +that is that I proved treacherous to you and false to my +own ideas of honour.</p> +<p>And now let me say one more thing to you—let me say +it out of a—friendship—for which you care nothing—could +not care anything. And that is this: your task is +accomplished. You could not possibly have succeeded. +There is no chance for recovery of those papers. Your +mission is definitely ended.</p> +<p>Now, I beg of you to return to America. Keep clear +of entanglement in these events which are beginning to +happen in such rapid succession in Europe. They do not +concern you; you have nothing to do with them, no interest +in them. Your entry into affairs which can not concern +you would be insulting effrontery and foolish bravado.</p> +<p>I beg you to heed this warning. I know you to be +personally courageous; I suppose that fear of consequences +would not deter you from intrusion into any affair, +however dangerous; but I dare hope that perhaps +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +in your heart there may have been born a little spark of +friendliness—a faint warmth of recognition for a woman +who took some slight chance with death to prove to you +that her word of honour is not lightly given or lightly +broken.</p> +<p>So, if you please, our ways part here with this letter +sent to you by hand.</p> +<p>I shall not forget the rash but generous boy I knew +who called me</p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Scheherazade</span>.<br /></p> +</div> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVIII_TOGETHER' id='CHAPTER_XXVIII_TOGETHER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>TOGETHER</h3> +</div> +<p>He sat there, holding the letter and looking absently +over it at the little dog who had gone to sleep again. +There was no sound in the room save the faint whisper +of the tea-kettle. The sunny garden outside was very +still, too; the blackbird appeared to doze on his peach +twig; the kitten had settled down with eyes half closed +and tail tucked under flank.</p> +<p>The young man sat there with his letter in his hand +and eyes lost in retrospection for a while.</p> +<p>In his hand lay evidence that the gang which had +followed him, and through which he no longer doubted +that he had been robbed, was now in Paris.</p> +<p>And yet he could not give this information to the +Princess Naïa. Here was a letter which he could not +show. Something within him forbade it, some instinct +which he did not trouble to analyse.</p> +<p>And this instinct sent the letter into his breast +pocket as a light sound came to his ears; and the +next instant Rue Carew entered the further drawing-room.</p> +<p>The little West Highland terrier looked up, wagged +that section of him which did duty as a tail, and watched +her as Neeland rose to seat her at the tea-table.</p> +<p>“Sandy,” she said to the little dog, “if you care to +say ‘Down with the Sultan,’ I shall bestow one lump +of sugar upon you.”</p> +<p>“Yap-yap!” said the little dog. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span></p> +<p>“Give it to him, please––” Rue handed the sugar +to Neeland, who delivered it gravely.</p> +<p>“That’s because I want Sandy to like you,” she +added.</p> +<p>Neeland regarded the little dog and addressed him +politely:</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t dare call you Sandy on such brief acquaintance,” +he said; “but may I salute you as Alexander? +Thank you, Alexander.”</p> +<p>He patted the dog, whose tail made a slight, sketchy +motion of approval.</p> +<p>“Now,” said Rue Carew, “you are friends, and we +shall all be very happy together, I’m sure.... Princess +Naïa said we were not to wait. Tell me how to +fix your tea.”</p> +<p>He explained. About to begin on a buttered <i>croissant</i>, +he desisted abruptly and rose to receive the +Princess, who entered with the light, springy step characteristic +of her, gowned in one of those Parisian afternoon +creations which never are seen outside that capital, +and never will be.</p> +<p>“Far too charming to be real,” commented Neeland. +“You are a pretty fairy story, Princess Naïa, and your +gown is a miracle tale which never was true.”</p> +<p>He had not dared any such flippancy with Rue +Carew, and the girl, who knew she was exquisitely +gowned, felt an odd little pang in her heart as this +young man’s praise of the Princess Mistchenka fell so +easily and gaily from his lips. He might have noticed +her gown, as it had been chosen with many doubts, much +hesitation, and anxious consideration, for him.</p> +<p>She flushed a little at the momentary trace of envy:</p> +<p>“You <i>are</i> too lovely for words,” she said, rising. But +the Princess gently forced her to resume her seat. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></p> +<p>“If this young man has any discrimination,” she said, +“he won’t hesitate with the golden apple, Ruhannah.”</p> +<p>Rue laughed and flushed:</p> +<p>“He hasn’t noticed my gown, and I wore it for him +to notice,” she said. “But he was too deeply interested +in Sandy and in tea and <i>croissants</i>––”</p> +<p>“I <i>did</i> notice it!” said Neeland. And, to that young +man’s surprise and annoyance, his face grew hot with +embarrassment. What on earth possessed him to blush +like a plow-boy! He suddenly felt like one, too, and +turned sharply to the little dog, perplexed, irritated +with himself and his behaviour.</p> +<p>Behind him the Princess was saying:</p> +<p>“The car is here. I shan’t stop for tea, dear. In +case anything happens, I am at the Embassy.”</p> +<p>“The Russian Embassy,” repeated Rue.</p> +<p>“Yes. I may be a little late. We are to dine here +<i>en famille</i> at eight. You will entertain James––</p> +<p>“James!” she repeated, addressing him. “Do you +think Ruhannah sufficiently interesting to entertain +you while I am absent?”</p> +<p>But all his aplomb, his lack of self-consciousness, +seemed to be gone; and Neeland made some reply which +seemed to him both obvious and dull. And hated himself +because he found himself so unaccountably abashed, +realising that he was afraid of the opinions that this +young girl might entertain concerning him.</p> +<p>“I’m going,” said the Princess. “<i>Au revoir</i>, dear; +good-bye, James––”</p> +<p>She looked at him keenly when he turned to face her, +smiled, still considering him as though she had unexpectedly +discovered a new feature in his expressive face.</p> +<p>Whatever it was she discovered seemed to make her +smile a trifle more mechanical; she turned slowly to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +Rue Carew, hesitated, then, nodding a gay adieu, +turned and left the room with Neeland at her elbow.</p> +<p>“I’ll tuck you in,” he began; but she said:</p> +<p>“Thanks; Marotte will do that.” And left him at +the door.</p> +<p>When the car had driven away down the rue Soleil +d’Or, Neeland returned to the little drawing-room +where Rue was indulging Sandy with small bits of +sugar.</p> +<p>He took up cup and buttered <i>croissant</i>, and for a +little while nothing was said, except to Sandy who, +upon invitation, repeated his opinion of the Sultan and +snapped in the offered emolument with unsatiated satisfaction.</p> +<p>To Rue Carew as well as to Neeland there seemed to +be a slight constraint between them—something not entirely +new to her since they had met again after two +years.</p> +<p>In the two years of her absence she had been very +faithful to the memory of his kindness; constant in the +friendship which she had given him unasked—given him +first, she sometimes thought, when she was a little child +in a ragged pink frock, and he was a wonderful young +man who had taken the trouble to cross the pasture +and warn her out of range of the guns.</p> +<p>He had always held his unique place in her memory +and in her innocent affections; she had written to him +again and again, in spite of his evident lack of interest +in the girl to whom he had been kind. Rare, brief +letters from him were read and reread, and laid away +with her best-loved treasures. And when the prospect +of actually seeing him again presented itself, she had +been so frankly excited and happy that the Princess +Mistchenka could find in the girl’s unfeigned delight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +nothing except a young girl’s touching and slightly +amusing hero-worship.</p> +<p>But with her first exclamation when she caught sight +of him at the terminal, something about her preconceived +ideas of him, and her memory of him, was suddenly +and subtly altered, even while his name fell from +her excited lips.</p> +<p>Because she had suddenly realised that he was even +more wonderful than she had expected or remembered, +and that she did not know him at all—that she had no +knowledge of this tall, handsome, well-built young fellow +with his sunburnt features and his air of smiling +aloofness and of graceful assurance, almost fascinating +and a trifle disturbing.</p> +<p>Which had made the girl rather grave and timid, +uncertain of the estimation in which he might hold her; +no longer so sure of any encouragement from him in +her perfectly obvious attitude of a friend of former +days.</p> +<p>And so, shyly admiring, uncertain, inclined to warm +response at any advance from this wonderful young +man, the girl had been trying to adjust herself to this +new incarnation of a certain James Neeland who had +won her gratitude and who had awed her, too, from +the time when, as a little girl, she had first beheld him.</p> +<p>She lifted her golden-grey eyes to him; a little unexpected +sensation not wholly unpleasant checked her +speech for a moment.</p> +<p>This was odd, even unaccountable. Such awkwardness, +such disquieting and provincial timidity wouldn’t +do.</p> +<p>“Would you mind telling me a little about Brookhollow?” +she ventured.</p> +<p>Certainly he would tell her. He laid aside his plate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +and tea cup and told her of his visits there when he +had walked over from Neeland’s Mills in the pleasant +summer weather.</p> +<p>Nothing had changed, he assured her; mill-dam and +pond and bridge, and the rushing creek below were +exactly as she knew them; her house stood there at the +crossroads, silent and closed in the sunshine, and under +the high moon; pickerel and sunfish still haunted the +shallow pond; partridges still frequented the alders +and willows across her pasture; fireflies sailed through +the summer night; and the crows congregated in the +evening woods and talked over the events of the +day.</p> +<p>“And my cat? You wrote that you would take care +of Adoniram.”</p> +<p>“Adoniram is an aged patriarch and occupies the +place of honour in my father’s house,” he said.</p> +<p>“He is well?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. He prefers his food cut finely, that is all.”</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose he will live very long.”</p> +<p>“He’s pretty old,” admitted Neeland.</p> +<p>She sighed and looked out of the window at the kitten +in the garden. And, after an interval of silence:</p> +<p>“Our plot in the cemetery—is it—pretty?”</p> +<p>“It is beautiful,” he said, “under the great trees. It +is well cared for. I had them plant the shrubs and +flowers you mentioned in the list you sent me.”</p> +<p>“Thank you.” She lifted her eyes again to him. “I +wonder if you realise how—how splendid you have always +been to me.”</p> +<p>Surprised, he reddened, and said awkwardly that he +had done nothing. Where was the easy, gay and debonaire +assurance of this fluent young man? He was +finding nothing to say to Rue Carew, or saying what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +he said as crudely and uncouthly as any haymaker in +Gayfield.</p> +<p>He looked up, exasperated, and met her eyes +squarely. And Rue Carew blushed.</p> +<p>They both looked elsewhere at once, but in the girl’s +breast a new pulse beat; a new instinct stirred, blindly +importuning her for recognition; a new confusion +threatened the ordered serenity of her mind, vaguely +menacing it with unaccustomed questions.</p> +<p>Then the instinct of self-command returned; she +found composure with an effort.</p> +<p>“You haven’t asked me,” she said, “about my work. +Would you like to know?”</p> +<p>He said he would; and she told him—chary of self-praise, +yet eager that he should know that her masters +had spoken well of her.</p> +<p>“And you know,” she said, “every week, now, I contribute +a drawing to the illustrated paper I wrote to +you about. I sent one off yesterday. But,” and she +laughed shyly, “my nostrils are no longer filled with +pride, because I am not contented with myself any +more. I wish to do—oh, so much better work!”</p> +<p>“Of course. Contentment in creative work means +that we have nothing more to create.”</p> +<p>She nodded and smiled:</p> +<p>“The youngest born is the most tenderly cherished—until +a new one comes. It is that way with me; I am +all love and devotion and tenderness and self-sacrifice +while fussing over my youngest. Then a still younger +comes, and I become like a heartless cat and drive away +all progeny except the newly born.”</p> +<p>She sighed and smiled and looked up at him:</p> +<p>“It can’t be helped, I suppose—that is, if one’s going +to have more progeny.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span></p> +<p>“It’s our penalty for producing. Only the newest +counts. And those to come are to be miracles. But +they never are.”</p> +<p>She nodded seriously.</p> +<p>“When there is a better light I should like to show +you some of my studies,” she ventured. “No, not now. +I am too vain to risk anything except the kindest of +morning lights. Because I do hope for your approval––”</p> +<p>“I know they’re good,” he said. And, half laughingly: +“I’m beginning to find out that you’re a rather +wonderful and formidable and overpowering girl, Ruhannah.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think so!” she exclaimed, enchanted. +“<i>Do</i> you? Oh, dear! Then I feel that I ought to show +you my pictures and set you right immediately––” She +sprang to her feet. “I’ll get them; I’ll be only a +moment––”</p> +<p>She was gone before he discovered anything to say, +leaving him to walk up and down the deserted room +and think about her as clearly as his somewhat dislocated +thoughts permitted, until she returned with both +arms full of portfolios, boards, and panels.</p> +<p>“Now,” she said with a breathless smile, “you may +mortify my pride and rebuke my vanity. I deserve it; +I need it; but Oh!—don’t be too severe––”</p> +<p>“Are you serious?” he asked, looking up in astonishment +from the first astonishing drawing in colour which +he held between his hands.</p> +<p>“Serious? Of course––” She met his eyes anxiously, +then her own became incredulous and the swift +colour dyed her face.</p> +<p>“Do you <i>like</i> my work?” she asked in a fainter +voice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></p> +<p>“<i>Like</i> it!” He continued to stare at the bewildering +grace and colour of the work, turned to another and +lifted it to the light:</p> +<p>“What’s this?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“A monotype.”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> did it?”</p> +<p>“Y-yes.”</p> +<p>He seemed unable to take his eyes from it—from the +exquisite figures there in the sun on the bank of the +brimming river under an iris-tinted April sky.</p> +<p>“What do you call it, Rue?”</p> +<p>“Baroque.”</p> +<p>He continued to scrutinise it in silence, then drew +another carton prepared for oil from the sheaf on the +sofa.</p> +<p>Over autumn woods, in a windy sky, high-flying crows +were buffeted and blown about. From the stark trees +a few phantom leaves clung, fluttering; and the whole +scene was possessed by sinuous, whirling forms—mere +glimpses of supple, exquisite shapes tossing, curling, +flowing through the naked woodland. A delicate finger +caught at a dead leaf here; there frail arms clutched +at a bending, wind-tossed bough; grey sky and ghostly +forest were obsessed, bewitched by the winnowing, driving +torrent of airy, half seen spirits.</p> +<p>“The Winds,” he said mechanically.</p> +<p>He looked at another—a sketch of the Princess Naïa. +And somehow it made him think of vast skies and endless +plains and the tumult of surging men and rattling +lances.</p> +<p>“A Cossack,” he said, half to himself. “I never before +realised it.” And he laid it aside and turned to +the next.</p> +<p>“I haven’t brought any life studies or school +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +drawings,” she said. “I thought I’d just show you the—the +results of them and of—of whatever is in me.”</p> +<p>“I’m just beginning to understand what is in you,” +he said.</p> +<p>“Tell me—what is it?” she asked, almost timidly.</p> +<p>“Tell <i>you</i>?” He rose, stood by the window looking +out, then turned to her:</p> +<p>“What can <i>I</i> tell you?” he added with a short laugh. +“What have I to say to a girl who can do—<i>these</i>—after +two years abroad?”</p> +<p>Sheer happiness kept her silent. She had not dared +hope for such approval. Even now she dared not permit +herself to accept it.</p> +<p>“I have so much to say,” she ventured, “and such an +appalling amount of work before I can learn to say +it––”</p> +<p>“Your work is—stunning!” he said bluntly.</p> +<p>“You don’t think so!” she exclaimed incredulously.</p> +<p>“Indeed I do! Look at what you have done in two +years. Yes, grant all your aptitude and talents, just +look what you’ve <i>accomplished</i> and where you <i>are</i>! +Look at you yourself, too—what a stunning, bewildering +sort of girl you’ve developed into!”</p> +<p>“Jim Neeland!”</p> +<p>“Certainly, Jim Neeland, of Neeland’s Mills, who +has had years more study than you have, more years +of advantage, and who now is an illustrator without +anything in particular to distinguish him from the several +thousand other American illustrators––”</p> +<p>“Jim! Your work is charming!”</p> +<p>“How do <i>you</i> know?”</p> +<p>“Because I have everything you ever did! I sent for +the magazines and cut them out; and they are in my +scrapbook––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></p> +<p>She hesitated, breathless, smiling back at him out of +her beautiful golden-grey eyes as though challenging +him to doubt her loyalty or her belief in him.</p> +<p>It was rather curious, too, for the girl was unusually +intelligent and discriminating; and Neeland’s work was +very, very commonplace.</p> +<p>His face had become rather sober, but the smile still +lurked on his lips.</p> +<p>“Rue,” he said, “you are wonderfully kind. But I’m +afraid I know about my work. I can draw pretty well, +according to school standards; and I approach pretty +nearly the same standards in painting. Probably that +is why I became an instructor at the Art League. But, +so far, I haven’t done anything better than what is +called ‘acceptable.’”</p> +<p>“I don’t agree with you,” she said warmly.</p> +<p>“It’s very kind of you not to.” He laughed and +walked to the window again, and stood there looking out +across the sunny garden. “Of course,” he added over +his shoulder, “I expect to get along all right. Mediocrity +has the best of chances, you know.”</p> +<p>“You are <i>not</i> mediocre!”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t think I am. But my work is. And, do +you know,” he continued thoughtfully, “that is very +often the case with a man who is better equipped to act +than to tell with pen or pencil how others act. I’m +beginning to be afraid that I’m that sort, because I’m +afraid that I get more enjoyment out of doing things +than in explaining with pencil and paint how they are +done.”</p> +<p>But Rue Carew, seated on the arm of her chair, slowly +shook her head:</p> +<p>“I don’t think that those are the only alternatives; +do you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span></p> +<p>“What other is there?”</p> +<p>She said, a little shyly:</p> +<p>“I think it is all right to <i>do</i> things if you like; make +exact pictures of how things are done if you choose; +but it seems to me that if one really has anything to +say, one should show in one’s pictures how things <i>might</i> +be or <i>ought</i> to be. Don’t you?”</p> +<p>He seemed surprised and interested in her logic, and +she took courage to speak again in her pretty, deprecating +way:</p> +<p>“If the function of painting and literature is to reflect +reality, a mirror would do as well, wouldn’t it? +But to reflect what might be or what ought to be requires +something more, doesn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Imagination. Yes.”</p> +<p>“A mind, anyway.... That is what I have thought; +but I’m not at all sure I am right.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. The mind ought to be a mirror reflecting +only the essentials of reality.”</p> +<p>“And <i>that</i> requires imagination, doesn’t it?” she +asked. “You see you have put it much better than I +have.”</p> +<p>“Have I?” he returned, smiling. “After a while +you’ll persuade me that I possess your imagination, +Rue. But I don’t.”</p> +<p>“You do, Jim––”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry; I don’t. You construct, I copy; you +create, I ring changes on what already is; you dissect, +I skate over the surface of things—Oh, Lord! I don’t +know what’s lacking in me!” he added with gay pretence +of despair which possibly was less feigned than +real. “But I know this, Rue Carew! I’d rather experience +something interesting than make a picture of +it. And I suppose that confession is fatal.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span></p> +<p>“Why, Jim?”</p> +<p>“Because with me the pleasures of reality are substituted +for the pleasures of imagination. Not that I +don’t like to draw and paint. But my ambition in +painting is and always has been bounded by the visible. +And, although that does not prevent me from appreciation—from +understanding and admiring your work, for +example—it sets an impregnable limit to any such +aspiration on my part––”</p> +<p>His mobile and youthful features had become very +grave; he stood a moment with lowered head as though +what he was thinking of depressed him; then the quick +smile came into his face and cleared it, and he said +gaily:</p> +<p>“I’m an artistic <i>Dobbin</i>; a reliable, respectable sort +of Fido on whom editors can depend; that’s all. Don’t +feel sorry for me,” he added, laughing; “my work will +be very much in demand.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIX_EN_FAMILLE' id='CHAPTER_XXIX_EN_FAMILLE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<h3>EN FAMILLE</h3> +</div> +<p>The Princess Mistchenka came leisurely and gracefully +downstairs a little before eight that evening, much +pleased with her hair, complexion, and gown.</p> +<p>She found Neeland alone in the music-room, standing +in the attitude of the conventional Englishman with his +back to the fireless grate and his hands clasped loosely +behind him, waiting to be led out and fed.</p> +<p>The direct glance of undisguised admiration with +which he greeted the Princess Naïa confirmed the impression +she herself had received from her mirror, and +brought an additional dash of colour into her delicate +brunette face.</p> +<p>“Is there any doubt that you are quite the prettiest +<i>objet d’art</i> in Paris?” he enquired anxiously, taking her +hand; and her dark eyes were very friendly as he saluted +her finger-tips with the reverent and slightly exaggerated +appreciation of a connoisseur in sculpture.</p> +<p>“You hopeless Irishman,” she laughed. “It’s fortunate +for women that you’re never serious, even with +yourself.”</p> +<p>“Princess Naïa,” he remonstrated, “can nothing +short of kissing you convince you of my sincerity +and––”</p> +<p>“Impudence?” she interrupted smilingly. “Oh, yes, +I’m convinced, James, that, lacking other material, +you’d make love to a hitching post.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span></p> +<p>His hurt expression and protesting gesture appealed +to the universe against misinterpretation, but the +Princess Mistchenka laughed again unfeelingly, and +seated herself at the piano.</p> +<p>“Some day,” she said, striking a lively chord or two, +“I hope you’ll catch it, young man. You’re altogether +too free and easy with your feminine friends.... +What do you think of Rue Carew?”</p> +<p>“An astounding and enchanting transformation. I +haven’t yet recovered my breath.”</p> +<p>“When you do, you’ll talk nonsense to the child, I +suppose.”</p> +<p>“Princess! Have I ever––”</p> +<p>“You talk little else, dear friend, when God sends a +pretty fool to listen!” She looked up at him from the +keyboard over which her hands were nervously wandering. +“I ought to know,” she said; “<i>I</i> also have listened.” +She laughed carelessly, but her glance lingered +for an instant on his face, and her mirth did not sound +quite spontaneous to either of them.</p> +<p>Two years ago there had been an April evening after +the opera, when, in taking leave of her in her little +<i>salon</i>, her hand had perhaps retained his a fraction +of a second longer than she quite intended; and he had, +inadvertently, kissed her.</p> +<p>He had thought of it as a charming and agreeable +incident; what the Princess Naïa Mistchenka thought +of it she never volunteered. But she so managed that +he never again was presented with a similar opportunity.</p> +<p>Perhaps they both were thinking of this rather ancient +episode now, for his face was touched with a mischievously +reminiscent smile, and she had lowered her +head a trifle over the keyboard where her slim, ivory-tinted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +hands still idly searched after elusive harmonies +in the subdued light of the single lamp.</p> +<p>“There’s a man dining with us,” she remarked, “who +has the same irresponsible and casual views on life and +manners which you entertain. No doubt you’ll get +along very well together.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?”</p> +<p>“A Captain Sengoun, one of our attachés. It’s likely +you’ll find a congenial soul in this same Cossack whom +we all call Alak.” She added maliciously: “His only +logic is the impulse of the moment, and he is known as +Prince Erlik among his familiars. Erlik was the Devil, +you know––”</p> +<p>He was announced at that moment, and came marching +in—a dark, handsome, wiry young man with winning +black eyes and a little black moustache just shadowing +his short upper lip—and a head shaped to contain +the devil himself—the most reckless looking head, +Neeland thought, that he ever had beheld in all his life.</p> +<p>But the young fellow’s frank smile was utterly irresistible, +and his straight manner of facing one, and of +looking directly into the eyes of the person he addressed +in his almost too perfect English, won any listener immediately.</p> +<p>He bowed formally over Princess Naïa’s hand, turned +squarely on Neeland when he was named to the American, +and exchanged a firm clasp with him. Then, to +the Princess:</p> +<p>“I am late? No? Fancy, Princess—that great +booby, Izzet Bey, must stop me at the club, and I exceedingly +pressed to dress and entirely out of humour +with all Turks. ‘<i>Eh bien, mon vieux!</i>’ said he in his +mincing manner of a nervous pelican, ‘they’re warming +up the Balkan boilers with Austrian pine. But I hear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +they’re full of snow.’ And I said to him: ‘Snow boils +very nicely if the fire is sufficiently persistent!’ And I +think Izzet Bey will find it so!”—with a quick laugh of +explanation to Neeland: “He meant Russian snow, +you see; and that boils beautifully if they keep on +stoking the boiler with Austrian fuel.”</p> +<p>The Princess shrugged:</p> +<p>“What schoolboy repartée! Why did you answer +him at all, Alak?”</p> +<p>“Well,” explained the attaché, “as I was due here at +eight I hadn’t time to take him by the nose, had I?”</p> +<p>Rue Carew entered and went to the Princess to make +amends:</p> +<p>“I’m so sorry to be late!”—turned to smile at Neeland, +then offered her hand to the Russian. “How do +you do, Prince Erlik?” she said with the careless and +gay cordiality of old acquaintance. “I heard you say +something about Colonel Izzet Bey’s nose as I came +in.”</p> +<p>Captain Sengoun bowed over her slender white hand:</p> +<p>“The Mohammedan nose of Izzet Bey is an admirable +bit of Oriental architecture, Miss Carew. Why should +it surprise you to hear me extol its bizarre beauty?”</p> +<p>“Anyway,” said the girl, “I’m contented that you left +devilry for revelry.” And, Marotte announcing dinner, +she took the arm of Captain Sengoun as the +Princess took Neeland’s.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Like all Russians and some Cossacks, Prince Alak ate +and drank as though it were the most delightful experience +in life; and he did it with a whole-souled heartiness +and satisfaction that was flattering to any hostess and +almost fascinating to anybody observing him.</p> +<p>His teeth were even and very white; his appetite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +splendid: when he did his goblet the honour of noticing +it at all, it was to drain it; when he resumed knife and +fork he used them as gaily, as gracefully, and as thoroughly +as he used his sabre on various occasions.</p> +<p>He had taken an instant liking to Neeland, who +seemed entirely inclined to return it; and he talked a +great deal to the American but with a nice division of +attention for the two ladies on either side.</p> +<p>“You know, Alak,” said the Princess, “you need not +torture yourself by trying to converse with discretion; +because Mr. Neeland knows about many matters which +concern us all.”</p> +<p>“Ah! That is delightful! And indeed I was already +quite assured of Mr. Neeland’s intelligent sympathy in +the present state of European affairs.”</p> +<p>“He’s done a little more than express sympathy,” +remarked the Princess; and she gave a humorous outline +of Neeland’s part in the affair of the olive-wood +box.</p> +<p>“Fancy!” exclaimed Captain Sengoun. “That impudent +<i>canaille</i>! Yes; I heard at the Embassy what +happened to that accursed box this morning. Of course +it is a misfortune, but as for me, personally, I don’t +care––”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t happen to concern you personally, Prince +Erlik,” said Princess Naïa dryly.</p> +<p>“No,” he admitted, unabashed by the snub, “it does +not touch me. Cavalry cannot operate on the Gallipoli +Peninsula. Therefore, God be thanked, I shall be +elsewhere when the snow boils.”</p> +<p>Rue tuned to Neeland:</p> +<p>“His one idea of diplomacy and war is a thousand +Kuban Cossacks at full speed.”</p> +<p>“And that is an excellent idea, is it not, Kazatchka?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +he said, smiling impudently at the Princess, who only +laughed at the familiarity.</p> +<p>“I hope,” added Captain Sengoun, “that I may live +to gallop through a few miles of diplomacy at full +speed before they consign me to the Opolchina.” Turning +to Neeland, “The reserve—the old man’s home, you +know. God forbid!” And he drained his goblet and +looked defiantly at Rue Carew.</p> +<p>“A Cossack is a Cossack,” said the Princess, “be he +Terek or Kuban, Don or Astrachan, and they all know +as much about diplomacy as Prince Erlik—or Izzet +Bey’s nose.... James, you are unusually silent, dear +friend. Are you regretting those papers?”</p> +<p>“It’s a pity,” he said. But he had not been thinking +of the lost papers; Rue Carew’s beauty preoccupied +him. The girl was in black, which made her skin dazzling, +and reddened the chestnut colour of her hair.</p> +<p>Her superb young figure revealed an unsuspected +loveliness where the snowy symmetry of neck and shoulders +and arms was delicately accented by the filmy +black of her gown.</p> +<p>He had never seen such a beautiful girl; she seemed +more wonderful, more strange, more aloof than ever. +And this was what preoccupied and entirely engaged his +mind, and troubled it, so that his smile had a tendency +to become indefinite and his conversation mechanical at +times.</p> +<p>Captain Sengoun drained one more of numerous goblets; +gazed sentimentally at the Princess, then with +equal sentiment at Rue Carew.</p> +<p>“As for me,” he said, with a carelessly happy gesture +toward the infinite, “plans are plans, and if they’re +stolen, <i>tant pis</i>! But there are always Tartars in Tartary +and Turks in Turkey. And, while there are, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +there’s hope for a poor devil of a Cossack who wants to +say a prayer in St. Sophia before he’s gathered to his +ancestors.”</p> +<p>“Have any measures been taken at your Embassy to +trace the plans?” asked Neeland of the Princess.</p> +<p>“Of course,” she said simply.</p> +<p>“Plans,” remarked Sengoun, “are not worth the +<i>tcherkeske</i> of an honest Caucasian! A Khirgize pony +knows more than any diplomat; and my <i>magaika</i> is better +than both!”</p> +<p>“All the same,” said Rue Carew, “with those stolen +plans in your Embassy, Prince Erlik, you might even +gallop a <i>sotnia</i> of your Cossacks to the top of Achi-Baba.”</p> +<p>“By heaven! I’d like to try!” he exclaimed, his black +eyes ablaze.</p> +<p>“There are <i>dongas</i>,” observed the Princess dryly.</p> +<p>“I know it. There are <i>dongas</i> every twenty yards; +and Turkish gorse that would stop a charging bull! +My answer is, mount! trot! gallop! and hurrah for +Achi-Baba!”</p> +<p>“Very picturesque, Alak. But wouldn’t it be nicer to +be able to come back again and tell us all about it?”</p> +<p>“As for that,” he said with his full-throated, engaging +laugh, “no need to worry, Princess, for the newspapers +would tell the story. What is this Gallipoli +country, anyway, that makes our Chancellery wag its +respected head and frown and whisper in corners and +take little notes on its newly laundered cuffs?</p> +<p>“I know the European and Asiatic shores with their +forts—Kilid Bahr, Chimilik, Kum Kale, Dardanos. I +know what those Germans have been about with their +barbed wire and mobile mortar batteries. What do we +want of their plans, then––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span></p> +<p>“Nothing, Prince Erlik!” said Rue, laughing. “It +suffices that you be appointed adviser in general to his +majesty the Czar.”</p> +<p>Sengoun laughed with all his might.</p> +<p>“And an excellent thing that would be, Miss Carew. +What we need in Russia,” he added with a bow to the +Princess, “are, first of all, more Kazatchkee, then myself +to execute any commands with which my incomparable +Princess might deign to honour me.”</p> +<p>“Then I command you to go and smoke cigarettes in +the music-room and play some of your Cossack songs +on the piano for Mr. Neeland until Miss Carew and I +rejoin you,” said the Princess, rising.</p> +<p>At the door there was a moment of ceremony; then +Sengoun, passing his arm through Neeland’s with boyish +confidence that his quickly given friendship was welcome, +sauntered off to the music-room where presently +he was playing the piano and singing some of the entrancing +songs of his own people in a voice that, cultivated, +might have made a fortune for him:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“We are but horsemen,<br /> +And God is great.<br /> +We hunt on hill and fen<br /> +The fierce Kerait,<br /> +Naiman and Eighur,<br /> +Tartar and Khiounnou,<br /> +Leopard and Tiger<br /> +Flee at our view-halloo;<br /> +We are but horsemen<br /> +Cleansing the hill and fen<br /> +Where wild men hide—<br /> +Wild beasts abide,<br /> +Mongol and Baïaghod,<br /> +Turkoman, Taïdjigod,<br /> +Each in his den.<br /> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +The skies are blue,<br /> +The plains are wide,<br /> +Over the fens the horsemen ride!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Still echoing the wild air, and playing with both +hands in spite of the lighted cigarette between his fingers, +he glanced over his shoulder at Neeland:</p> +<p>“A very old, old song,” he explained, “made in the +days of the great invasion when all the world was fighting +anybody who would fight back. I made it into English. +It’s quite nice, I think.”</p> +<p>His naïve pleasure in his own translation amused +Neeland immensely, and he said that he considered it a +fine piece of verse.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Sengoun, “but you ought to hear a love +song I made out of odd fragments I picked up here and +there. I call it ‘<i>Samarcand</i>’; or rather ‘<i>Samarcand +Mahfouzeh</i>,’ which means, ‘Samarcand the Well +Guarded’:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“‘Outside my guarded door<br /> +Whose voice repeats my name?’<br /> +‘The voice thou hast heard before<br /> +Under the white moon’s flame!<br /> +And thy name is my song; and my song is ever the same!’<br /> + <br /> +“‘How many warriors, dead,<br /> +Have sung the song you sing?<br /> +Some by an arrow were sped;<br /> +Some by a dagger’s sting.’<br /> +‘Like a bird in the night is my song—a bird on the wing!’<br /> + <br /> +“‘Ahmed and Yucouf bled!<br /> +A dead king blocks my door!’<br /> +‘If thy halls and walls be red,<br /> +Shall Samarcand ask more?<br /> +Or my song shall cleanse thy house or my heart’s blood foul thy floor!’<br /> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> + <br /> +“‘Now hast thou conquered me!<br /> +Humbly thy captive, I.<br /> +My soul escapes to thee;<br /> +My body here must lie;<br /> +Ride!—with thy song, and my soul in thy arms; and let me die.’”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Sengoun, still playing, flung over his shoulder:</p> +<p>“A Tartar song from the Turcoman. I borrowed it +and put new clothes on it. Nice, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Enchanting!” replied Neeland, laughing in spite of +himself.</p> +<p>Rue Carew, with her snowy shoulders and red-gold +hair, came drifting in, consigning them to their seats +with a gesture, and giving them to understand that she +had come to hear the singing.</p> +<p>So Sengoun continued his sketchy, haphazard recital, +waving his cigarette now and then for emphasis, and +conversing frequently over his shoulder while Rue Carew +leaned on the piano and gravely watched his +nimble fingers alternately punish and caress the keyboard.</p> +<p>After a little while the Princess Mistchenka came in +saying that she had letters to write. They conversed, +however, for nearly an hour before she rose, and Captain +Sengoun gracefully accepted his <i>congé</i>.</p> +<p>“I’ll walk with you, if you like,” suggested Neeland.</p> +<p>“With pleasure, my dear fellow! The night is beautiful, +and I am just beginning to wake up.”</p> +<p>“Ask Marotte to give you a key, then,” suggested the +Princess, going. At the foot of the stairs, however, she +paused to exchange a few words with Captain Sengoun +in a low voice; and Neeland, returning with his latchkey, +went over to where Rue stood by the lamplit table +absently looking over an evening paper. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span></p> +<p>As he came up beside her, the girl lifted her beautiful, +golden-grey eyes.</p> +<p>“Are you going out?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I thought I’d walk a bit with Captain Sengoun.”</p> +<p>“It’s rather a long distance to the Russian Embassy. +Besides––” She hesitated, and he waited. She +glanced absently over the paper for a moment, then, +not raising her eyes: “I’m—I—the theft of that box +today—perhaps my nerves have suffered a little—but +do you think it quite prudent for you to go out alone +at night?”</p> +<p>“Why, I am going out with Captain Sengoun!” he +said, surprised at her troubled face.</p> +<p>“But you will have to return alone.”</p> +<p>He laughed, but they both had flushed a little.</p> +<p>Had it been any other woman in the world, he had +not hesitated gaily to challenge the shy and charming +solicitude expressed in his behalf—make of it his capital, +his argument to force that pretty duel to which +one day, all youth is destined.</p> +<p>He found himself now without a word to say, nor +daring to entertain any assumption concerning the +words she had uttered.</p> +<p>Dumb, awkward, afraid, he became conscious that +something in this young girl had silenced within him +any inclination to gay effrontery, any talent for casual +gallantry. Her lifted eyes, with their clear, half shy +regard, had killed all fluency of tongue in him—slain +utterly that light good-humour with which he had encountered +women heretofore.</p> +<p>He said:</p> +<p>“I hadn’t thought myself in any danger whatever. +Is there any reason for me to expect further trouble?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></p> +<p>Rue raised her troubled eyes:</p> +<p>“Has it occurred to you that <i>they</i> might think you +capable of redrawing parts of the stolen plans from +memory?”</p> +<p>“It had never occurred to me,” he admitted, surprised. +“But I believe I could remember a little about +one or two of the more general maps.”</p> +<p>“The Princess means to ask you, tomorrow, to draw +for her what you can remember. And that made me +think about you now—whether the <i>others</i> might not +suspect you capable of remembering enough to do them +harm.... And so—do you think it prudent to go +out tonight?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied, quite sincerely, “it is all right. +You see I know Paris very well.”</p> +<p>She did not look convinced, but Sengoun came up +and she bade them both good night and went away with +the Princess Mistchenka.</p> +<p>As, arm in arm, the two young men sauntered around +the corner of the rue Soleil d’Or, two men who had been +sitting on a marble bench beside the sun-dial fountain +rose and strolled after them.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXX_JARDIN_RUSSE' id='CHAPTER_XXX_JARDIN_RUSSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<h3>JARDIN RUSSE</h3> +</div> +<p>At midnight the two young men had not yet parted. +For, as Sengoun explained, the hour for parting was +already past, and it was too late to consider it now. +And Neeland thought so, too, what with the laughter +and the music, and the soft night breezes to counsel +folly, and the city’s haunting brilliancy stretching away +in bewitching perspectives still unexplored.</p> +<p>From every fairy lamp the lustrous capital signalled +to youth her invitation, her challenge, and her menace. +Like some jewelled sorceress—some dreaming Circe by +the river bank, pondering new spells—so Paris lay in +all her mystery and beauty under the July stars.</p> +<p>Sengoun, his arm through Neeland’s, had become affectionately +confidential. He explained that he really +was a nocturnal creature; that now he had completely +waked up; that his habits were due to a passion for +astronomy, and that the stars he had discovered at odd +hours of the early morning were more amazing than +any celestial bodies ever before identified.</p> +<p>But Neeland, whose head and heart were already +occupied, declined to study any constellations; and they +drifted through the bluish lustre of white arc-lights +and the clustered yellow glare of incandescent lamps +toward a splash of iridescent glory among the chestnut +trees, where music sounded and tables stood amid flowers +and grass and little slender fountains which balanced +silver globes upon their jets. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span></p> +<p>The waiters were in Russian peasant dress; the orchestra +was Russian gipsy; the bill of fare was Russian; +and there was only champagne to be had.</p> +<p>Balalaika orchestra and spectators were singing some +evidently familiar song—one of those rushing, clattering, +clashing choruses of the Steppes; and Sengoun +sang too, with all his might, when he and Neeland were +seated, which was thirsty work.</p> +<p>Two fascinating Russian gipsy girls were dancing—slim, +tawny, supple creatures in their scarlet and their +jingling bangles. After a deafening storm of applause, +their flashing smiles swept the audience, and, linking +arms, they sauntered off between the tables under the +trees.</p> +<p>“I wish to dance,” remarked Sengoun. “My legs +will kick over something if I don’t.”</p> +<p>They were playing an American dance—a sort of +skating step; people rose; couple after couple took the +floor; and Sengoun looked around for a partner. He +discovered no eligible partner likely to favour him without +a quarrel with her escort; and he was debating with +Neeland whether a row would be worth while, when the +gipsy girls sauntered by.</p> +<p>“Oh,” he said gaily, “a pretty Tzigane can save my +life if she will!”</p> +<p>And the girls laughed and Sengoun led one of them +out at a reckless pace.</p> +<p>The other smiled and looked at Neeland, and, seating +herself, leaned on the table watching the whirl on the +floor.</p> +<p>“Don’t you dance?” she asked, with a sidelong glance +out of her splendid black eyes.</p> +<p>“Yes; but I’m likely to do most of my dancing on +your pretty feet.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span></p> +<p>“<i>Merci!</i> In that case I prefer a cigarette.”</p> +<p>She selected one from his case, lighted it, folded her +arms on the table, and continued to gaze at the dancers.</p> +<p>“I’m tired tonight,” she remarked.</p> +<p>“You dance beautifully.”</p> +<p>“Thank you.”</p> +<p>Sengoun, flushed and satisfied, came back with his +gipsy partner when the music ceased.</p> +<p>“Now I hope we may have some more singing!” he +exclaimed, as they seated themselves and a waiter filled +their great, bubble-shaped glasses.</p> +<p>And he did sing at the top of his delightful voice +when the balalaikas swept out into a ringing and familiar +song, and the two gipsy girls sang, too—laughed +and sang, holding the frosty goblets high in the sparkling +light.</p> +<p>It was evident to Neeland that the song was a favourite +one with Russians. Sengoun was quite overcome; +they all touched goblets.</p> +<p>“Brava, my little Tziganes!” he said with happy emotion. +“My little compatriots! My little tawny panthers +of the Caucasus! What do you call yourselves +in this bandbox of a country where two steps backward +take you across any frontier?”</p> +<p>His dancing partner laughed till her sequins jingled +from throat to ankle:</p> +<p>“They call us Fifi and Nini,” she replied. “Ask yourself +why!”</p> +<p>“For example,” added the other girl, “we rise from +this table and thank you. There is nothing further. +<i>C’est fini—c’est Fifi—Nini—comprenez-vous, Prince +Erlik?</i>”</p> +<p>“Hi! What?” exclaimed Sengoun. “I’m known, it +appears, even to that devilish name of mine!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span></p> +<p>Everybody laughed.</p> +<p>“After all,” he said, more soberly, “it’s a gipsy’s +trade to know everybody and everything. <i>Tiens!</i>” +He slapped a goldpiece on the table. “A kiss apiece +against a louis that you don’t know my comrade’s name +and nation!”</p> +<p>The girl called Nini laughed:</p> +<p>“We’re quite willing to kiss you, Prince Erlik, but +a <i>louis d’or</i> is not a copper penny. And your comrade +is American and his name is Tchames.”</p> +<p>“James!” exclaimed Sengoun.</p> +<p>“I said so—Tchames.”</p> +<p>“What else?”</p> +<p>“Nilan.”</p> +<p>“Neeland?”</p> +<p>“I said so.”</p> +<p>Sengoun placed the goldpiece in Nini’s hand and +looked at Neeland with an uncomfortable laugh.</p> +<p>“I ought to know a gipsy, but they always astonish +me, these Tziganes. Tell us some more, Nini––” +He beckoned a waiter and pointed indignantly at the +empty goblets.</p> +<p>The girls, resting their elbows on the tables, framed +their faces with slim and dusky hands, and gazed at +Sengoun out of humorous, half-veiled eyes.</p> +<p>“What do you wish to know, Prince Erlik?” they +asked mockingly.</p> +<p>“Well, for example, is my country really mobilising?”</p> +<p>“Since the twenty-fifth.”</p> +<p>“<i>Tiens!</i> And old Papa Kaiser and the Clown Prince +Footit—what do they say to that?”</p> +<p>“It must be stopped.”</p> +<p>“What! <i>Sang dieu!</i> We must stop mobilising +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +against the Austrians? But we are not going to stop, +you know, while Francis Joseph continues to pull faces +at poor old Servian Peter!”</p> +<p>Neeland said:</p> +<p>“The evening paper has it that Austria is more reasonable +and that the Servian affair can be arranged. +There will be no war,” he added confidently.</p> +<p>“There will be war,” remarked Nini with a shrug of +her bare, brown shoulders over which her hair and her +gilded sequins fell in a bright mass.</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Neeland, smiling.</p> +<p>“Why? Because, for one thing, you have brought +war into Europe!”</p> +<p>“Come, now! No mystery!” said Sengoun gaily. +“Explain how my comrade has brought war into Europe, +you little fraud!”</p> +<p>Nini looked at Neeland:</p> +<p>“What else except papers was in the box you lost?” +she asked coolly.</p> +<p>Neeland, very red and uncomfortable, gazed back at +the girl without replying; and she laughed at him, +showing her white teeth.</p> +<p>“You brought the Yellow Devil into Europe, M’sieu +Nilan! Erlik, the Yellow Demon. When he travels +there is unrest. Where he rests there is war!”</p> +<p>“You’re very clever,” retorted Neeland, quite out of +countenance.</p> +<p>“Yes, we are,” said Fifi, with her quick smile. “And +who but M’sieu Nilan should admit it?”</p> +<p>“Very clever,” repeated Neeland, still amazed and +profoundly uneasy. “But this Yellow Devil you say I +brought into Europe must have been resting in +America, then. And, if so, why is there no war +there?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></p> +<p>“There would have been—with Mexico. You brought +the Yellow Demon here, but just in time!”</p> +<p>“All right. Grant that, then. But—perhaps he was +a long time resting in America. What about that, +pretty gipsy?”</p> +<p>The girl shrugged again:</p> +<p>“Is your memory so poor, M’sieu Nilan? What has +your country done but fight since Erlik rested among +your people? You fought in Samoa; in Hawaii; your +warships went to Chile, to Brazil, to San Domingo; +the blood of your soldiers and sailors was shed in Hayti, +in Cuba, in the Philippines, in China––”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” exclaimed Neeland. “That girl is +dead right!”</p> +<p>Sengoun threw back his handsome head and laughed +without restraint; and the gipsies laughed, too, their +beautiful eyes and teeth flashing under their black cascades +of unbound hair.</p> +<p>“Show me your palms,” said Nini, and drew Sengoun’s +and Neeland’s hands across the table, holding +them in both of hers.</p> +<p>“See,” she added, nudging Fifi with her shoulder, +“both of them born under the Dark Star! It is war +they shall live to see—war!”</p> +<p>“Under the Dark Star, Erlik,” repeated the other +girl, looking closely into the two palms, “and there is +war there!”</p> +<p>“And death?” inquired Sengoun gaily. “I don’t +care, if I can lead a <i>sotnia</i> up Achi-Baba and twist the +gullet of the Padisha before I say Fifi—Nini!”</p> +<p>The gipsies searched his palm with intent and brilliant +gaze.</p> +<p>“<i>Zut!</i>” said Fifi. “<i>Je ne vois rien que d’l’amour et +la guerre aux dames!</i>” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span></p> +<p>“<i>T’en fais pas!</i>” laughed Sengoun. “I ask no further +favour of Fortune; I’ll manage my regiment myself. +And, listen to me, Fifi,” he added with a frightful +frown, “if the war you predict doesn’t arrive, I’ll come +back and beat you as though you were married to a +Turk!”</p> +<p>While they still explored his palm, whispering together +at intervals, Sengoun caught the chorus of the +air which the orchestra was playing, and sang it lustily +and with intense pleasure to himself.</p> +<p>Neeland, unquiet to discover how much these casual +strangers knew about his own and intimate affairs, had +become silent and almost glum.</p> +<p>But the slight gloom which invaded him came from +resentment toward those people who had followed him +from Brookhollow to Paris, and who, in the very moment +of victory, had snatched that satisfaction from +him.</p> +<p>He thought of Kestner and of Breslau—of Scheherazade, +and the terrible episode in her stateroom.</p> +<p>Except that he had seized the box in the Brookhollow +house, there was nothing in his subsequent conduct on +which he could plume himself. He could not congratulate +himself on his wisdom; sheer luck had carried him +through as far as the rue Soleil d’Or—mere chance, and +that capricious fortune which sometimes convoys the +stupid, fatuous, and astigmatic.</p> +<p>Then he thought of Rue Carew. And, in his bosom, +an intense desire to distinguish himself began to burn.</p> +<p>If there were any way on earth to trace that accursed +box––</p> +<p>He turned abruptly and looked at the two gipsies, +who had relinquished Sangoun’s hand and who were +still conversing together in low tones while Sangoun +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +beat time on the jingling table top and sang joyously +at the top of his baritone voice:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +<span style='margin-left: 3.125em;'>“Eh, zoum—zoum—zoum!</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.125em;'>Boum—boum—boum!</span><br /> +Here’s to the Artillery<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 0.78125em;'>Gaily riding by!</span><br /> +Fetch me a distillery,<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 0.78125em;'>Let me drink it dry—</span><br /> +Fill me full of sillery!<br /> +Here’s to the artillery!<br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.125em;'>Zoum—zoum—zoum!</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3.125em;'>Boum—boum—boum!”</span></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Fifi!”</p> +<p>“<i>M’sieu?</i>”</p> +<p>“You’re so clever! Where is that Yellow Devil now?”</p> +<p>“Pouf!” giggled Fifi. “On its way to Berlin, <i>pardie</i>!”</p> +<p>“That’s easy to say. Tell me something else more +expensive.”</p> +<p>Nini said, surprised:</p> +<p>“What we know is free to Prince Erlik’s friend. Did +you think we sell to Russians?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know anything about you or where you get +your information,” said Neeland. “I suppose you’re +in the Secret Service of the Russian Government.”</p> +<p>“<i>Mon ami</i>, Nilan,” said Fifi, smiling, “we should feel +lonely <i>outside</i> the Secret Service. Few in Europe are +outside—few in the world, fewer in the half-world. As +for us Tziganes, who belong to neither, the business of +everybody becomes our secret to sell for a silver piece—but +<i>not</i> to Russians in the moment of peril!... +Nor to their comrades.... What do you desire to +know, <i>comrade</i>?”</p> +<p>“Anything,” he said simply, “that might help me to +regain what I have lost.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span></p> +<p>“And what do you suppose!” exclaimed Fifi, opening +her magnificent black eyes very wide. “Did you imagine +that nobody was paying any attention to what +happened in the rue Soleil d’Or this noon?”</p> +<p>Nini laughed.</p> +<p>“The word flew as fast as the robber’s taxicab. How +many thousand secret friends to the Triple Entente do +you suppose knew of it half an hour after it happened? +From the Trocadero to Montparnasse, from the Point +du Jour to Charenton, from the Bois to the Bièvre, the +word flew. Every taxicab, omnibus, <i>sapin</i>, every <i>bateau-mouche</i>, +every train that left any terminal was +watched.</p> +<p>“Five embassies and legations were instantly under +redoubled surveillance; hundreds of cafés, bars, restaurants, +<i>hôtels</i>; all the theatres, gardens, cabarets, <i>brasseries</i>.</p> +<p>“Your pigs of Apaches are not neglected, <i>va</i>! But, +to my idea, they got out of Paris before we watchers +knew of the affair at all—in an automobile, perhaps—perhaps +by rail. God knows,” said the girl, looking +absently at the dancing which had begun again. “But +if we ever lay our eyes on Minna Minti, we wear toys +in our garters which will certainly persuade her to take +a little stroll with us.”</p> +<p>After a silence, Neeland said:</p> +<p>“Is Minna Minti then so well known?”</p> +<p>“Not at the Opéra Comique,” replied Fifi with a +shrug, “but <i>since</i> then.”</p> +<p>“An <i>artiste</i>, that woman!” added Nini. “Why deny +it? It appears that she has twisted more than one red +button out of a broadcloth coat.”</p> +<p>“She’ll get the Seraglio medal for this day’s work,” +said Fifi. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span></p> +<p>“Or the <i>croix-de-fer</i>,” added Nini. “Ah, <i>zut</i>! She +annoys me.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever hear of a place called the Café des +Bulgars?” asked Neeland, carelessly.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“What sort of place is it?”</p> +<p>“Like any other.”</p> +<p>“Quite respectable?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly,” said Nini, smiling. “One drinks good +beer there.”</p> +<p>“Munich beer,” added Fifi.</p> +<p>“Then it is watched?” asked Neeland.</p> +<p>“All German cafés are watched. Otherwise, it is not +suspected.”</p> +<p>Sengoun, who had been listening, shook his head. +“There’s nothing to interest us at the Café des Bulgars,” +he said. Then he summoned a waiter and pointed +tragically at the empty goblets.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXI_THE_CAF_DES_BULGARS' id='CHAPTER_XXXI_THE_CAF_DES_BULGARS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<h3>THE CAFÉ DES BULGARS</h3> +</div> +<p>Their adieux to Fifi and Nini were elaborate and +complicated by bursts of laughter. The Tziganes recommended +Captain Sengoun to go home and seek further +adventures on his pillow; and had it not been for +the gay babble of the fountain and the persistent perfume +of flowers, he might have followed their advice.</p> +<p>It was after the two young men had left the Jardin +Russe that Captain Sengoun positively but affectionately +refused to relinquish possession of Neeland’s arm.</p> +<p>“Dear friend,” he explained, “I am just waking up +and I do not wish to go to bed for days and days.”</p> +<p>“But I do,” returned Neeland, laughing. “Where do +you want to go now, Prince Erlik?”</p> +<p>The champagne was singing loudly in the Cossack’s +handsome head; the distant brilliancy beyond the Place +de la Concorde riveted his roving eyes.</p> +<p>“Over there,” he said joyously. “Listen, old fellow, +I’ll teach you the skating step as we cross the Place! +Then, in the first <i>Bal</i>, you shall try it on the fairest +form since Helen fell and Troy burned—or Troy fell +and Helen burned—it’s all the same, old fellow—what +you call fifty-fifty, eh?”</p> +<p>Neeland tried to free his arm—to excuse himself; +two policemen laughed; but Sengoun, linking his arm +more firmly in Neeland’s, crossed the Place in a series +of Dutch rolls and outer edges, in which Neeland was +compelled to join. The Russian was as light and graceful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +on his feet as one of the dancers of his own country; +Neeland’s knowledge of skating aided his own less agile +steps. There was sympathetic applause from passing +taxis and <i>fiacres</i>; and they might, apparently, have had +any number of fair partners for the asking, along the +way, except for Sengoun’s headlong dive toward the +brightest of the boulevard lights beyond.</p> +<p>In the rue Royal, however, Sengoun desisted with +sudden access of dignity, remarking that such gambols +were not worthy of the best traditions of his Embassy; +and he attempted to bribe the drivers of a couple of +hansom cabs to permit him and his comrade to take +the reins and race to the Arc de Triomphe.</p> +<p>Failing in this, he became profusely autobiographical, +informing Neeland of his birth, education, aims, +aspirations.</p> +<p>“When I was twelve,” he said, “I had known already +the happiness of the battle-shock against Kurd, Mongol, +and Tartar. At eighteen my ambition was to slap +the faces of three human monsters. I told everybody +that I was making arrangements to do this, and I +started for Brusa after my first monster—Fehim Effendi—but +the Vali telegraphed to the Grand Vizier, +and the Grand Vizier ran to Abdul the Damned, and +Abdul yelled for Sir Nicholas O’Connor; and they +caught me in the Pera Palace and handed me over to +my Embassy.”</p> +<p>Neeland shouted with laughter:</p> +<p>“Who were the other monsters?” he asked.</p> +<p>“The other two whose countenances I desired to slap? +Oh, one was Abdul Houda, the Sultan’s star-reader, +who chattered about my Dark Star horoscope in the +Yildiz. And the other was the Sultan.”</p> +<p>“Who?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span></p> +<p>“Abdul Hamid.”</p> +<p>“What? You wished to slap <i>his</i> face?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. But Kutchuk Saïd and Kiamil Pasha +requested me not to—accompanied by gendarmes.”</p> +<p>“You’d have lost your life,” remarked Neeland.</p> +<p>“Yes. But then war would surely have come, and +today my Emperor would have held the Dardanelles +where the Turkish flag is now flying over German guns +and German gunners.”</p> +<p>He shook his head:</p> +<p>“Great mistake on my part,” he muttered. “Should +have pulled Abdul’s lop ears. Now, everything in Turkey +is ‘Yasak’ except what Germans do and say; and +God knows we are farther than ever from St. Sophia.... +I’m very thirsty with thinking so much, old fellow. +Did you ever drink German champagne?”</p> +<p>“I believe not––”</p> +<p>“Come on, then. You shall drink several gallons and +never feel it. It’s the only thing German I could ever +swallow.”</p> +<p>“Prince Erlik, you have had considerable refreshment +already.”</p> +<p>“<i>Copain, t’en fais pas!</i>”</p> +<p>The spectacle of two young fellows in evening dress, +in a friendly tug-of-war under the lamp-posts of the +Boulevard, amused the passing populace; and Sengoun, +noticing this, was inclined to mount a boulevard bench +and address the wayfarers, but Neeland pulled him +down and persuaded him into a quieter street, the rue +Vilna.</p> +<p>“There’s a German place, now!” exclaimed Sengoun, +delighted.</p> +<p>And Neeland, turning to look, perceived the illuminated +sign of the Café des Bulgars. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span></p> +<p>German champagne had now become Sengoun’s fixed +idea; nothing could dissuade him from it, nothing persuade +him into a homeward bound taxi. So Neeland, +with a rather hazy idea that he ought not to do it, entered +the café with Senguon; and they seated themselves +on a leather wall-lounge before one of the numerous +marble-topped tables.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he said in a low voice to his companion, +“this is a German café, and we must be careful what +we say. I’m not any too prudent and I may forget this; +but don’t <i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>“Quite right, old fellow!” replied Sengoun, giving +him an owlish look. “I must never forget I’m a diplomat +among these <i>sales Boches</i>––”</p> +<p>“Be careful, Sengoun! That expression is not diplomatic.”</p> +<p>“Careful is the word, <i>mon vieux</i>,” returned the other +loudly and cheerfully. “I’ll bet you a dollar, three +kopeks, and two sous that I go over there and kiss the +cashier––”</p> +<p>“No! Be a real diplomat, Sengoun!”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry you feel that way, Neeland, because she’s +unusually pretty. And we might establish a triple entente +until you find some Argive Helen to quadruple it. +Aha! Here is our German champagne! Positively the +only thing German a Russian can––”</p> +<p>“Listen! This won’t do. People are looking at +us––”</p> +<p>“Right, old fellow—always right! You know, Neeland, +this friendship of ours is the most precious, most +delightful, and most inspiring experience of my life. +Here’s a full goblet to our friendship! Hurrah! As +for Enver Pasha, may Erlik seize him!”</p> +<p>After they had honoured the toast, Sengoun looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +about him pleasantly, receptive, ready for any eventuality. +And observing no symptoms of any eventuality +whatever, he suggested creating one.</p> +<p>“Dear comrade,” he said, “I think I shall arise and +make an incendiary address––”</p> +<p>“No!”</p> +<p>“Very well, if you feel that way about it. But there +is another way to render the evening agreeable. You +see that sideboard?” he continued, pointing to a huge +carved buffet piled to the ceiling with porcelain and +crystal. “What will you wager that I can not push it +over with one hand?”</p> +<p>But Neeland declined the wager with an impatient +gesture, and kept his eyes riveted on a man who had +just entered the café. He could see only the stranger’s +well-groomed back, but when, a moment later, the man +turned to seat himself, Neeland was not surprised to +find himself looking at Doc Curfoot.</p> +<p>“Sengoun,” he said under his breath, “that <i>type</i> who +just came in is an American gambler named Doc Curfoot; +and he is here with other gamblers for the purpose +of obtaining political information for some government +other than my own.”</p> +<p>Sengoun regarded the new arrival with amiable curiosity:</p> +<p>“That worm? Oh, well, every city in Europe swarms +with such maggots, you know. It would be quite funny +if he tries any blandishments on us, wouldn’t it?”</p> +<p>“He may. He’s a capper. He’s looking at us now. +I believe he remembers having seen me in the train.”</p> +<p>“As for an hour or two at chemin-de-fer, baccarat, +or roulette,” remarked Sengoun, “I am not averse to +a––”</p> +<p>“Watch him! The waiter who is taking his order +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +may know who you are—may be telling that gambler.... +I believe he <i>did</i>! Now, let us see what happens....”</p> +<p>Sengoun, delighted at the prospect of an eventuality, +blandly emptied his goblet and smiled generally upon +everybody.</p> +<p>“I hope he will make our acquaintance and ask us to +play,” he said. “I’m very lucky at chemin-de-fer. And +if I lose I shall conclude that there is trickery. Which +would make it very lively for everybody,” he added +with a boyish smile. But his dark eyes began to glitter +and he showed his beautiful, even teeth when he +laughed.</p> +<p>“Ha!” he said. “A little what you call a mix-up +might not come amiss! That gives one an appetite; +that permits one to perspire; that does good to everybody +and makes one sleep soundly! Shall we, as you +say in America, start something?”</p> +<p>Neeland, thinking of Ali-Baba and Golden Beard and +of their undoubted instigation by telegraph of the +morning’s robbery, wondered whether the rendezvous +of the robbers might not possibly be here in the Café +des Bulgars.</p> +<p>The gang of Americans in the train had named Kestner, +Breslau, and Weishelm—the one man of the gang +whom he had never seen—as prospective partners in +this enterprise.</p> +<p>Here, somewhere in this building, were their gambling +headquarters. Was there any possible chance that the +stolen box and its contents might have been brought +here for temporary safety?</p> +<p>Might it not now be hidden somewhere in this very +building by men too cunning to risk leaving the city +when every train and every road would be watched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +within an hour of the time that the robbery was committed?</p> +<p>Leaning back carelessly on the lounge and keeping +his eyes on the people in the café, Neeland imparted +these ideas to Sengoun in a low voice—told him everything +he knew in regard to the affair, and asked his +opinion.</p> +<p>“My opinion,” said Sengoun, who was enchanted at +any prospect of trouble, “is that this house is ‘suspect’ +and is worth searching. Of course the Prefect could +be notified, arrangements made, and a search by the +secret police managed. But, Neeland, my friend, think +of what pleasure <i>we</i> should be deprived!”</p> +<p>“How do you mean?”</p> +<p>“Why not search the place ourselves?”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“Well, of course, we could be picturesque, go to my +Embassy, and fill our pockets with automatic pistols, +and come back here and—well, make them stand around +and see how high they could reach with both hands.”</p> +<p>Neeland laughed.</p> +<p>“That would be a funny jest, wouldn’t it?” said +Sengoun.</p> +<p>“Very funny. But––” He nudged Sengoun and +directed his attention toward the terrace outside, where +waiters were already removing the little iron tables +and the chairs, and the few lingering guests were coming +inside the café.</p> +<p>“I see,” muttered Sengoun; “it is already Sunday +morning, and they’re closing. It’s too late to go to the +Embassy. They’d not let us in here when we returned.”</p> +<p>Neeland summoned a waiter with a nod:</p> +<p>“When do you close up inside here?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span></p> +<p>“Tomorrow being Sunday, the terrace closes now, +monsieur; but the café remains open all night,” explained +the waiter with a noticeable German accent.</p> +<p>“Thank you.” And, to Sengoun: “I’d certainly +like to go upstairs. I’d like to see what it looks like up +there—take a glance around.”</p> +<p>“Very well, let us go up––”</p> +<p>“We ought to have some excuse––”</p> +<p>“We’ll think of several on the way,” rising with alacrity, +but Neeland pulled him back.</p> +<p>“Wait a moment! It would only mean a fight––”</p> +<p>“All fights,” explained Sengoun seriously, “are agreeable—some +more so. So if you are ready, dear comrade––”</p> +<p>“But a row will do us no good––”</p> +<p>“Pardon, dear friend, I have been in serious need of +one for an hour or two––”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean that sort of ‘good,’” explained Neeland, +laughing. “I mean that I wish to look about up +there—explore––”</p> +<p>“Quite right, old fellow—always right! But—here’s +an idea! I could stand at the head of the stairs and +throw them down as they mounted, while you had leisure +to look around for your stolen box––”</p> +<p>“My dear Prince Erlik, we’ve nothing to shoot with, +and it’s likely they have. There’s only one way to get +upstairs with any chance of learning anything useful. +And that is to start a row between ourselves.” And, +raising his voice as though irritated, he called for the +reckoning, adding in a tone perfectly audible to anybody +in the vicinity that he knew where roulette was +played, and that he was going whether or not his friend +accompanied him.</p> +<p>Sengoun, delighted, recognised his cue and protested +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +in loud, nasal tones that the house to which his comrade +referred was suspected of unfair play; and a noisy +dispute began, listened to attentively by the pretty but +brightly painted cashier, the waiters, the <i>gérant</i>, and +every guest in the neighbourhood.</p> +<p>“As for me,” cried Sengoun, feigning to lose his +temper, “I have no intention of being tricked. I was +not born yesterday—not I! If there is to be found an +honest wheel in Paris that would suit me. Otherwise, +I go home to bed!”</p> +<p>“It <i>is</i> an honest wheel, I tell you––”</p> +<p>“It is not! I know that place!”</p> +<p>“Be reasonable––”</p> +<p>“Reasonable!” repeated Sengoun appealingly to the +people around them. “Permit me to ask these unusually +intelligent gentlemen whether it is reasonable +to play roulette in a place where the wheel is notoriously +controlled and the management a dishonest one! +Could a gentleman be expected to frequent or even to +countenance places of evil repute? <i>Messieurs</i>, I await +your verdict!” And he folded his arms dramatically.</p> +<p>Somebody said, from a neighbouring table:</p> +<p>“<i>Vous avez parfaitement raison, monsieur!</i>”</p> +<p>“I thank you,” cried Sengoun, with an admirably +dramatic bow. “Therefore, I shall now go home to +bed!”</p> +<p>Neeland, maintaining his gravity with difficulty, followed +Sengoun toward the door, still pretending to +plead with him; and the <i>gérant</i>, a tall, blond, rosy and +unmistakable German, stepped forward to unlock the +door.</p> +<p>As he laid his hand on the bolt he said in a +whisper:</p> +<p>“If the gentlemen desire the privilege of an exclusive +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +club where everything is unquestionably conducted––”</p> +<p>“Where?” demanded Neeland, abruptly.</p> +<p>“On the third floor, <i>monsieur</i>.”</p> +<p>“Here?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, sir. If the gentlemen will honour me +with their names, and will be seated for one little moment, +I shall see what can be accomplished.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Sengoun, with a short, incredulous +laugh. “I’m Prince Erlik, of the Mongol Embassy, +and my comrade is Mr. Neeland, Consul General of the +United States of America in the Grand Duchy of Gerolstein!”</p> +<p>The <i>gérant</i> smiled. After he had gone away toward +the further room in the café, Neeland remarked to Sengoun +that doubtless their real names were perfectly well +known, and Sengoun disdainfully shrugged his indifference:</p> +<p>“What can one expect in this dirty rat-nest of Europe? +Abdul the Damned employed one hundred thousand +spies in Constantinople alone! And William the +Sudden admired him. Why, Neeland, <i>mon ami</i>, I never +take a step in the streets without being absolutely certain +that I am watched and followed. What do I care! +Except that towns make me sick. But the only cure +is a Khirgiz horse and a thousand lances. God send +them. I’m sick of cities.”</p> +<p>A few moments later the <i>gérant</i> returned and, in a +low voice, requested them to accompany him.</p> +<p>They passed leisurely through the café, between +tables where lowered eyes seemed to deny any curiosity; +but guests and waiters looked after them after they had +passed, and here and there people whispered together—particularly +two men who had followed them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +from the sun-dial fountain in the rue Soleil d’Or to the +Jardin Russe, across the Place de la Concorde, and into +the Café des Bulgars in the rue Vilna.</p> +<p>On the stairs Neeland heard Sengoun still muttering +to himself:</p> +<p>“Certainly I am sick of cities and narrow strips of +sky. What I need is a thousand lances at a gallop, +and a little Kirghiz horse between my knees.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXII_THE_CERCLE_EXTRANATIONALE' id='CHAPTER_XXXII_THE_CERCLE_EXTRANATIONALE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<h3>THE CERCLE EXTRANATIONALE</h3> +</div> +<p>The suite of rooms into which they were ushered appeared +to be furnished in irreproachable taste. Except +for the <i>salon</i> at the further end of the suite, where play +was in progress, the charming apartment might have +been a private one; and the homelike simplicity of the +room, where books, flowers, and even a big, grey cat +confirmed the first agreeable impression, accented the +lurking smile on Sengoun’s lips.</p> +<p>Doc Curfoot, in evening dress, came forward to receive +them, in company with another man, young, nice-looking, +very straight, and with the high, square shoulders +of a Prussian.</p> +<p>“<i>Bong soire, mussoors</i>,” said Curfoot genially. “<i>J’ai +l’honnoor de vous faire connaitre mong ami, Mussoor +Weishelm.</i>”</p> +<p>They exchanged very serious bows with “Mussoor” +Weishelm, and Curfoot retired.</p> +<p>In excellent French Weishelm inquired whether they +desired supper; and learning that they did not, bowed +smilingly and bade them welcome:</p> +<p>“You are at home, gentlemen; the house is yours. +If it pleases you to sup, we offer you our hospitality; +if you care to play, the <i>salon</i> is at your disposal, or, if +you prefer, a private room. Yonder is the buffet; there +are electric bells at your elbow. You are at home,” he +repeated, clicked his heels together, bowed, and took +his leave. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span></p> +<p>Sengoun dropped into a comfortable chair and sent +a waiter for caviar, toast, and German champagne.</p> +<p>Neeland lighted a cigarette, seated himself, and +looked about him curiously.</p> +<p>Over in a corner on a sofa a rather pretty woman, +a cigarette between her jewelled fingers, was reading an +evening newspaper. Two others in the adjoining room, +young and attractive, their feet on the fireplace fender, +conversed together over a sandwich, a glass of the +widely advertised Dubonnet, and another of the equally +advertised Bon Lait Maggi—as serenely and as comfortably +as though they were by their own firesides.</p> +<p>“Perhaps they are,” remarked Sengoun, plastering +an oblong of hot toast with caviar. “Birds of this kind +nest easily anywhere.”</p> +<p>Neeland continued to gaze toward the <i>salon</i> where +play was in progress. There did not seem to be many +people there. At a small table he recognised Brandes +and Stull playing what appeared to be bridge whist +with two men whom he had never before seen. There +were no women playing.</p> +<p>As he watched the round, expressionless face of +Brandes, who was puffing a long cigar screwed tightly +into the corner of his thin-lipped mouth, it occurred +to him somewhat tardily what Rue Carew had said concerning +personal danger to himself if any of these people +believed him capable of reconstructing from memory +any of the stolen plans.</p> +<p>He had not thought about that specific contingency; +instinct alone had troubled him a little when he first +entered the Café des Bulgars.</p> +<p>However, his unquiet eyes could discover nothing of +either Kestner or Breslau; and, somehow, he did not +even think of encountering Ilse Dumont in such a place. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span> +As for Brandes and Stull, they did not recognise him at +all.</p> +<p>So, entirely reassured once more by the absence of +Ali-Baba and Golden Beard, and of Scheherazade whom +he had no fear of meeting, Neeland ate his caviar with +a relish and examined his surroundings.</p> +<p>Of course it was perfectly possible that the stolen +papers had been brought here. There were three other +floors in the building, too, and he wondered what they +were used for.</p> +<p>Sengoun’s appetite for conflict waned as he ate and +drank; and a violent desire to gamble replaced it.</p> +<p>“You poke about a bit,” he said to Neeland. “Talk +to that girl over there and see what you can learn. As +for me, I mean to start a little flirtation with Mademoiselle +Fortuna. Does that suit you?”</p> +<p>If Sengoun wished to play it was none of Neeland’s +business.</p> +<p>“Do you think it an honest game?” he asked, doubtfully.</p> +<p>“With negligible stakes all first-class gamblers are +honest.”</p> +<p>“If I were you, Sengoun, I wouldn’t drink anything +more.”</p> +<p>“Excellent advice, old fellow!” emptying his goblet +with satisfaction. And, rising to his firm and graceful +height, he strolled away toward the <i>salon</i> where +play progressed amid the most decorous and edifying +of atmospheres.</p> +<p>Neeland watched him disappear, then he glanced curiously +at the girl on the sofa who was still preoccupied +with her newspaper.</p> +<p>So he rose, sauntered about the room examining the +few pictures and bronzes, modern but excellent. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +carpet under foot was thick and soft, but, as he strolled +past the girl who seemed to be so intently reading, she +looked up over her paper and returned his civil recognition +of her presence with a slight smile.</p> +<p>As he appeared inclined to linger, she said with pleasant +self-possession:</p> +<p>“These newspaper rumours, monsieur, are becoming +too persistent to amuse us much longer. War talk is +becoming <i>vieux jeu</i>.”</p> +<p>“Why read them?” inquired Neeland with a smile.</p> +<p>“Why?” She made a slight gesture. “One reads +what is printed, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Written and printed by people who know no more +about the matter in question than you and I, mademoiselle,” +he remarked, still smiling.</p> +<p>“That is perfectly true. Why is it worth while for +anyone to search for truth in these days when everyone +is paid to conceal it?”</p> +<p>“Oh,” he said, “not everyone.”</p> +<p>“No; some lie naturally and without pay,” she admitted +indifferently.</p> +<p>“But there are still others. For example, mademoiselle, +yourself.”</p> +<p>“I?” She laughed, not troubling to refute the suggestion +of her possible truthfulness.</p> +<p>He said:</p> +<p>“This—club—is furnished in excellent taste.”</p> +<p>“Yes; it is quite new.”</p> +<p>“Has it a name?”</p> +<p>“I believe it is called the Cercle Extranationale. +Would monsieur also like to know the name of the club +cat?”</p> +<p>They both laughed easily, but he could make nothing +of her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span></p> +<p>“Thank you,” he said; “and I fear I have interrupted +your reading––”</p> +<p>“I have read enough lies; I am quite ready to tell you +a few. Shall I?”</p> +<p>“You are most amiable. I have been wondering what +the other floors in this building are used for.”</p> +<p>“Private apartments,” she replied smiling, looking +him straight in the eyes. “Now you don’t know +whether I’ve told you the truth or not; do you?”</p> +<p>“Of course I know.”</p> +<p>“Which, then?”</p> +<p>“The truth.”</p> +<p>She laughed and indicated a chair; and he seated +himself.</p> +<p>“Who is the dark, nice-looking gentleman accompanying +you?” she enquired.</p> +<p>“How could you see him at all through your newspaper?”</p> +<p>“I poked a hole, of course.”</p> +<p>“To look at him or at me?”</p> +<p>“Your mirror ought to reassure you. However, as +an afterthought, who is he?”</p> +<p>“Prince Erlik, of Mongolia,” replied Neeland solemnly.</p> +<p>“I supposed so. We of the infernal aristocracy belong +together. I am the Contessa Diabletta d’Enfer.”</p> +<p>He inclined gravely:</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t belong here,” he said. “I’m only +a Yankee.”</p> +<p>“Hell is full of them,” she said, smiling. “All Yankees +belong where Prince Erlik and I are at home.... +Do you play?”</p> +<p>“No. Do you?”</p> +<p>“It depends on chance.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span></p> +<p>“It would give me much pleasure––”</p> +<p>“Thank you, not tonight.” And in the same, level, +pleasant voice: “Don’t look immediately, but from +where you sit you can see in the mirror opposite two +women seated in the next room.”</p> +<p>After a moment he nodded.</p> +<p>“Are they watching us?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Neeland?”</p> +<p>He reddened with surprise.</p> +<p>“Get Captain Sengoun and leave,” she said, still smiling. +“Do it carelessly, convincingly. Neither of you +needs courage; both of you lack common sense. Get +up, take leave of me nicely but regretfully, as though I +had denied you a rendezvous. You will be killed if +you remain here.”</p> +<p>For a moment Neeland hesitated, but curiosity won:</p> +<p>“Who is likely to try anything of that sort?” he +asked. And a tingling sensation, not wholly unpleasant, +passed over him.</p> +<p>“Almost anyone here, if you are recognised,” she +said, as gaily as though she were imparting delightful +information.</p> +<p>“But <i>you</i> recognise us. And I’m certainly not dead +yet.”</p> +<p>“Which ought to tell you more about me than I +am likely to tell anybody. Now, when I smile at you +and shake my head, make your adieux to me, find Captain +Sengoun, and take your departure. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Are you really serious?”</p> +<p>“It is you who should be serious. Now, I give you +your signal, Monsieur Neeland––”</p> +<p>But the smile stiffened on her pretty face, and at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span> +the same moment he was aware that somebody had entered +the room and was standing directly behind him.</p> +<p>He turned on his chair and looked up into the face +of Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>There was a second’s hesitation, then he was on his +feet, greeting her cordially, apparently entirely at +ease and with nothing on his mind except the agreeable +surprise of the encounter.</p> +<p>“I had your note,” he said. “It was charming of +you to write, but very neglectful of you not to include +your address. Tell me, how have you been since I last +saw you?”</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont’s red lips seemed to be dry, for she +moistened them without speaking. In her eyes he saw +peril—knowledge of something terrible—some instant +menace.</p> +<p>Then her eyes, charged with lightning, slowly turned +from him to the girl on the sofa who had not moved. +But in her eyes, too, a little flame began to flicker and +play, and the fixed smile relaxed into an expression of +cool self-possession.</p> +<p>Neeland’s pleasant, careless voice broke the occult +tension:</p> +<p>“This is a pretty club,” he said; “everything here is +in such excellent taste. You might have told me about +it,” he added to Ilse with smiling reproach; “but you +never even mentioned it, and I discovered it quite by +accident.”</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont seemed to find her voice with an effort:</p> +<p>“May I have a word with you, Mr. Neeland?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Always,” he assured her promptly. “I am always +more than happy to listen to you––”</p> +<p>“Please follow me!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span></p> +<p>He turned to the girl on the sofa and made his adieux +with conventional ceremony and a reckless smile which +said:</p> +<p>“You were quite right, mademoiselle; I’m in trouble +already.”</p> +<p>Then he followed Ilse Dumont into the adjoining +room, which was lined with filled bookcases and where +the lounges and deep chairs were covered with +leather.</p> +<p>Halting by the library table, Ilse Dumont turned to +him—turned on him a look such as he never before +had encountered in any living woman’s eyes—a dead +gaze, dreadful, glazed, as impersonal as the fixed regard +of a corpse.</p> +<p>She said:</p> +<p>“I came.... They sent for me.... I did not +believe they had the right man.... I could not believe +it, Neeland.”</p> +<p>A trifle shaken, he said in tones which sounded steady +enough:</p> +<p>“What frightens you so, Scheherazade?”</p> +<p>“Why did you come? Are you absolutely mad?”</p> +<p>“Mad? No, I don’t think so,” he replied with a +forced smile. “What threatens me here, Scheherazade?”—regarding +her pallid face attentively.</p> +<p>“Death.... You must have known it when you +came.”</p> +<p>“Death? No, I didn’t know it.”</p> +<p>“Did you suppose that if they could get hold of +you they’d let you go?—A man who might carry in his +memory the plans for which they tried to kill you? I +wrote to you—I wrote to you to go back to America! +And—<i>this</i> is what you have done instead!”</p> +<p>“Well,” he said in a pleasant but rather serious +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +voice, “if you really believe there is danger for me if I +remain here, perhaps I’d better go.”</p> +<p>“You <i>can’t</i> go!”</p> +<p>“You think I’ll be stopped?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Who is your crazy companion? I heard that +he is Alak Sengoun—the headlong fool—they call +Prince Erlik. Is it true?”</p> +<p>“Where did you hear all these things?” he demanded. +“Where were you when you heard them?”</p> +<p>“At the Turkish Embassy. Word came that they +had caught you. I did not believe it; others present +doubted it.... But as the rumour concerned <i>you</i>, I +took no chances; I came instantly. I—I had rather +be dead than see you here––” Her voice became unsteady, +but she controlled it at once:</p> +<p>“Neeland! Neeland! Why did you come? Why have +you undone all I tried to do for you––?”</p> +<p>He looked intently at Ilse Dumont, then his gaze +swept the handsome suite of rooms. No one seemed to +notice him; in perspective, men moved leisurely about +the further <i>salon</i>, where play was going on; and +there seemed to be no one else in sight. And, as he +stood there, free, in full pride and vigour of youth +and strength, he became incredulous that anything +could threaten him which he could not take care +of.</p> +<p>A smile grew in his eyes, confident, humorous, a little +hint of tenderness in it:</p> +<p>“Scheherazade,” he said, “you are a dear. You +pulled me out of a dreadful mess on the <i>Volhynia</i>. I +offer you gratitude, respect, and the very warm regard +for you which I really cherish in my heart.”</p> +<p>He took her hands, kissed them, looked up half laughing, +half in earnest. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span></p> +<p>“If you’re worried,” he said, “I’ll find Captain Sengoun +and we’ll depart––”</p> +<p>She retained his hands in a convulsive clasp:</p> +<p>“Oh, Neeland! Neeland! There are men below who +will never let you pass! And Breslau and Kestner are +coming here later. And that devil, Damat Mahmud +Bey!”</p> +<p>“Golden Beard and Ali Baba and the whole Arabian +Nights!” exclaimed Neeland. “Who is Damat Mahmud +Bey, Scheherazade dear?”</p> +<p>“The shadow of Abdul Hamid.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear child, but Abdul the Damned is shut up +tight in a fortress!”</p> +<p>“His shadow dogs the spurred heels of Enver Pasha,” +she said, striving to maintain her composure. “Oh, +Neeland!—A hundred thousand Armenians are yet to +die in that accursed shadow! And do you think Mahmud +Damat will hesitate in regard to <i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! Does a murderous Moslem go about +Paris killing people he doesn’t happen to fancy? Those +things aren’t done––”</p> +<p>“Have you and Sengoun any weapons at all?” +she interrupted desperately, “Anything!—A sword +cane––?”</p> +<p>“No. What the devil does all this business mean?” +he broke out impatiently. “What’s all this menace of +lawlessness—this impudent threat of interference––”</p> +<p>“It is <i>war</i>!”</p> +<p>“War?” he repeated, not quite understanding her.</p> +<p>She caught him by the arm:</p> +<p>“War!” she whispered; “War! Do you understand? +They don’t care what they do now! They mean to kill +you here in this place. They’ll be out of France before +anybody finds you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span></p> +<p>“Has war actually been declared?” he asked, +astounded.</p> +<p>“Tomorrow! It is known in certain circles!” She +dropped his arm and clasped her hands and stood there +twisting them, white, desperate, looking about her like +a hunted thing.</p> +<p>“Why did you do this?” she repeated in an agonised +voice. “What can I do? I’m no traitor!... But I’d +give you a pistol if I had one––” She checked herself +as the girl who had been reading an evening newspaper +on a sofa, and to whom Neeland had been talking +when Ilse Dumont entered, came sauntering into the +room.</p> +<p>The eyes of both women met; both turned a trifle +paler. Then Ilse Dumont walked slowly up to the other:</p> +<p>“I overheard your warning,” she said with a deadly +stare.</p> +<p>“Really?”</p> +<p>Ilse stretched out her bare arm, palm upward, and +closed the fingers tightly:</p> +<p>“I hold your life in my hand. I have only to speak. +Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“You are lying. You <i>do</i> understand. You take +double wages; but it is not France you betray! Nor +Russia!”</p> +<p>“Are you insane?”</p> +<p>“Almost. <i>Where do you carry them?</i>”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Answer quickly. <i>Where?</i> I tell you, I’ll expose you +in another moment if you don’t answer me! Speak +quickly!”</p> +<p>The other woman had turned a ghastly white; for a +second or two she remained dumb, then, dry-lipped: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span></p> +<p>“Above—the knee,” she stammered; but there was +scarcely a sound from the blanched lips that formed +the words.</p> +<p>“Pistols?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Loaded? Both of them?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Clips?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Unstrap them!”</p> +<p>The woman turned, bent almost double, twisting +her supple body entirely around; but Ilse Dumont +was at her side like a flash and caught her wrist as +she withdrew her hand from the hem of her fluffy +skirt.</p> +<p>“Now—<i>take</i> your life!” said Ilse Dumont between +her teeth. “There’s the door! Go out!”—following +her with blazing eyes—“Stop! Stand where you are +until I come!”</p> +<p>Then she came quickly to where Neeland stood, +astonished; and thrust two automatic pistols into his +hands.</p> +<p>“Get Sengoun,” she whispered. “Don’t go <i>down</i>-stairs, +for God’s sake. Get to the roof, if you can. +Try—oh, try, try, Neeland, my friend!” Her voice +trembled; she looked into his eyes—gave him, in that +swift regard, all that a woman withholds until the right +man asks.</p> +<p>Her lips quivered; she turned sharply on her heel, +went to the outer hallway, where the other woman stood +motionless.</p> +<p>“What am I to do with <i>you</i>?” demanded Ilse Dumont. +“Do you think you are going out of here to +summon the police? Mount those stairs!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span></p> +<p>The woman dropped her hand on the banisters, +heavily, set foot on the first stair, then slowly mounted +as though her little feet in their dainty evening slippers +were weighted with ball and chain.</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont followed her, opened a door in the passage, +motioned her to enter. It was a bedroom that +the electric light revealed. The woman entered and +stood by the bed as though stupefied.</p> +<p>“I’ll keep my word to you,” said Ilse Dumont. +“When it becomes too late for you to do us any mischief, +I’ll return and let you go.”</p> +<p>And she stepped back across the threshold and +locked the door on the outside.</p> +<p>As she did so, Neeland and Sengoun came swiftly +up the stairs, and she beckoned them to follow, gathered +the skirts of her evening gown into one hand, +and ran up the stairs ahead of them to the fifth +floor.</p> +<p>In the dim light Neeland saw that the top floor was +merely a vast attic full of débris from the café on the +ground floor—iron tables which required mending or +repainting, iron chairs, great jars of artificial stone +with dead baytrees standing in them, parts of rusty +stoves and kitchen ranges, broken cutlery in boxes, +cracked table china and heavier kitchen crockery in +tubs which once had held flowers.</p> +<p>The only windows gave on a court. Through their +dirty panes already the grey light of that early Sunday +morning glimmered, revealing the contents of the +shadowy place, and the position of an iron ladder +hooked to two rings under the scuttle overhead.</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont laid her finger on her lips, conjuring +silence, then, clutching her silken skirts, she started up +the iron ladder, reached the top, and, exerting all her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span> +strength, lifted the hinged scuttle leading to the leads +outside.</p> +<p>Instantly somebody challenged her in a guttural +voice. She stood there a few moments in whispered conversation, +then, from outside, somebody lowered the +scuttle cover; the girl locked it, descended the iron +ladder backwards, and came swiftly across to where +Neeland and Sengoun were standing, pistols lifted.</p> +<p>“They’re guarding the roof,” she whispered, “—two +men. It is hopeless, that way.”</p> +<p>“The proper way,” said Sengoun calmly, “is for us +to shoot our way out of this!”</p> +<p>The girl turned on him in a passion:</p> +<p>“Do you suppose I care what happens to <i>you</i>?” she +said. “If there were no one else to consider you might +do as you pleased, for all it concerns me!”</p> +<p>Sengoun reddened:</p> +<p>“Be silent, you treacherous little cat!” he retorted. +“Do you imagine your riffraff are going to hold <i>me</i> +here when I’m ready to depart! <i>Me!</i> A free Cossack! +Bah!”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk that way, Sengoun,” said Neeland +sharply. “We owe these pistols to her.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” muttered Sengoun, shooting a menacing glance +at her. “I didn’t understand that.” Then his scowl +softened and a sudden laugh cleared his face.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, mademoiselle,” he said. “You’re quite +welcome to your low opinion of me. But if anyone +should ask me, I’d say that I don’t understand what is +happening to us. And after a while I’ll become angry +and go downstairs for information.”</p> +<p>“They know nothing about you in the <i>salle de jeu</i>,” +she said, “but on the floor below they’re waiting to +kill you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span></p> +<p>Neeland, astonished, asked her whether the American +gamblers in the <i>salon</i> where Sengoun had been playing +were ignorant of what was going on in the house.</p> +<p>“What Americans?” she demanded, incredulously. +“Do you mean Weishelm?”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you know there were Americans employed +in the <i>salle de jeu</i>?” asked Neeland, surprised.</p> +<p>“No. I have not been in this house for a year until +I came tonight. This place is maintained by the Turkish +Government—” She flashed a glance at Sengoun—“<i>you’re</i> +welcome to the information now,” she added +contemptuously. And then, to Neeland: “There was, I +believe, some talk in New York about adding one or +two Americans to the personnel, but I opposed it.”</p> +<p>“They’re here,” said Neeland drily.</p> +<p>“Do you know who they are?”</p> +<p>“Yes. There’s a man called Doc Curfoot––”</p> +<p>“<i>Who!!</i>”</p> +<p>And suddenly, for the first time, Neeland remembered +that she had been the wife of one of the men below.</p> +<p>“Brandes and Stull are the others,” he said mechanically.</p> +<p>The girl stared at him as though she did not comprehend, +and she passed one hand slowly across her forehead +and eyes.</p> +<p>“Eddie Brandes? <i>Here?</i> And Stull? Curfoot? +<i>Here in this house!</i>”</p> +<p>“In the <i>salon</i> below.”</p> +<p>“They <i>can’t</i> be!” she protested in an odd, colourless +voice. “They were bought soul and body by the British +Secret Service!”</p> +<p>All three stood staring at one another; the girl +flushed, clenched her hand, then let it fall by her side as +though utterly overcome. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span></p> +<p>“All this espionage!” cried Sengoun, furiously. +“—It makes me sick, I tell you! Where everybody +betrays everybody is no place for a free Cossack!––”</p> +<p>The terrible expression on the girl’s face checked +him; she said, slowly:</p> +<p>“It is we others who have been betrayed, it seems. +It is <i>we</i> who are trapped here. They’ve got us all—every +one of us. Oh, my God!—every one of us—at +last!”</p> +<p>She lifted her haggard face and stared at the increasing +light which was turning the window panes a sickly +yellow.</p> +<p>“With sunrise comes war,” she said in a stunned +voice, as though to convince herself. “We are caught +here in this house. And Kestner and Weishelm and +Breslau and I––” she trembled, framing her burning +face in slim hands that were like ice. “Do you understand +that Brandes and Curfoot, bought by England, +have contracted to deliver us to a French court martial?”</p> +<p>The men looked at her in silence.</p> +<p>“Kestner and Breslau knew they had been bought. +One of our own people witnessed that treachery. But +we never dreamed that these traitors would venture into +this house tonight. We should have come here ourselves +instead of going to the Turkish Embassy. That was +Mahmud Damat’s meddling! His messenger insisted. +God! What a mistake! What a deathly mistake for +all of us!”</p> +<p>She leaned for a moment against one of the iron +pillars which supported the attic roof, and covered her +face with her hands.</p> +<p>After a moment, Neeland said:</p> +<p>“I don’t understand why you can’t leave this house +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span> +if you are in danger. You say that there are men +downstairs who are waiting to kill us—waiting only +for Kestner and Breslau and Mahmud Damat to arrive.”</p> +<p>She said faintly:</p> +<p>“I did not before understand Mahmud’s delay. Now, +I understand. He has been warned. Breslau and Kestner +will not come. Otherwise, you now would be barricaded +behind that breastwork of rubbish, fighting for +your lives.”</p> +<p>“But you say there are men on the stairs below who +are ready to kill us if we try to leave the house.”</p> +<p>“They, too, are trapped without knowing it. War +will come with sunrise. This house has been under surveillance +since yesterday afternoon. They have not +closed in on us yet, because they are leaving the trap +open in hopes of catching us all. They are waiting for +Breslau and Kestner and Mahmud Damat.... But +they’ll never come, now.... They are out of the city +by this time.... I know them. They are running for +their lives at this hour.... And we—we lesser ones—caught +here—trapped—reserved for a French court +martial and a firing squad in a barrack square!”</p> +<p>She shuddered and pressed her hands over her temples.</p> +<p>Neeland said:</p> +<p>“I am going to stand by you. Captain Sengoun will +do the same.”</p> +<p>She shook her head:</p> +<p>“No use,” she said with a shiver. “I am too well +known. They have my <i>dossier</i> almost complete. My +<i>procès</i> will be a brief one.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you get away by the roof? There are two +of your men up there.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span></p> +<p>“They themselves are caught, and do not even know +it. They too will face a squad of execution before the +sun rises tomorrow. And they never dream of it up +there––”</p> +<p>She made a hopeless gesture:</p> +<p>“What is the use! When I came here from the +Turkish Embassy, hearing that you were here but believing +the information false, I discovered you conversing +with a Russian spy—overheard her warn you to +leave this house.</p> +<p>“And there, all the while, unknown to me, in the +<i>salle de jeu</i> were Curfoot and that unspeakable scoundrel +Brandes! Why, the place was swarming with enemies—and +I never dreamed it!... Yet—I might have +feared some such thing—I might have feared that the +man, Brandes, who had betrayed me once, would do it +again if he ever had the chance.... And he’s done +it.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence. Ilse stood staring at the +melancholy greyish light on the window panes.</p> +<p>She said as though to herself:</p> +<p>“I shall never see another daybreak.”... After +a moment she turned and began to pace the attic, a +strange, terrible figure of haggard youth in the shadowy +light. “How horribly still it is at daybreak!” she +breathed, halting before Neeland. “How deathly +quiet––”</p> +<p>The dry crack of a pistol cut her short. Then, instantly, +in the dim depths of the house, shot followed +shot in bewildering succession, faster, faster, filling the +place with a distracting tumult.</p> +<p>Neeland jerked up his pistol as a nearer volley rattled +out on the landing directly underneath.</p> +<p>Sengoun, exasperated, shouted: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span></p> +<p>“Well, what the devil is all this!” and ran toward +the head of the stairs, his pistol lifted for action.</p> +<p>Then, in the garret doorway, Weishelm appeared, his +handsome face streaming blood. He staggered, turned +mechanically toward the stairs again with wavering +revolver; but a shot drove him blindly backward and +another hurled him full length across the floor, where +he lay with both arms spread out, and the last tremors, +running from his feet to his twitching face.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIII_A_RAT_HUNT' id='CHAPTER_XXXIII_A_RAT_HUNT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<h3>A RAT HUNT</h3> +</div> +<p>The interior of the entire house was now in an uproar; +shots came fast from every landing; the semi-dusk +of stair-well and corridor was lighted by incessant +pistol flashes and the whole building echoed the deafening +racket.</p> +<p>“What do you make of it?” shouted Sengoun furiously, +standing like a baited and perplexed bull. +“Who’s fighting who in this fool of a place? By Erlik! +I’d like to know whom I’m to fire at!”</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont, creeping along the wall, looked fearfully +down at Weishelm who no longer moved where he +lay on the dusty floor, with eyes and mouth open and +his distorted face already half covered by a wet and +crawling scarlet mask.</p> +<p>“Brandes and Stull are betraying us,” she whispered. +“They are killing my comrades—on the stairs down +there––”</p> +<p>“If that is true,” called out Neeland in a low, cautious +voice, “you’d better wait a moment, Sengoun!”</p> +<p>But Sengoun’s rage for combat had already filled +him to overflowing, and the last rag of patience left +him.</p> +<p>“I don’t care who is fighting!” he bellowed. “It’s all +one to me! Now is the time to shoot our way out of +this. Come on, Neeland! Hurrah for the Terek Cossacks! +Another town taken! Hurrah!”</p> +<p>Neeland caught Ilse by the wrist: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span></p> +<p>“You’d better get free of this house while you can!” +he said, dragging her with him after Sengoun, who had +already reached the head of the stairs and was starting +down, peering about for a target.</p> +<p>Suddenly, on the landing below, Golden Beard and +Ali Baba appeared, caught sight of Sengoun and Neeland +above, and opened fire on them instantly, driving +them back from the head of the staircase flat against +the corridor wall. But Golden Beard, seeming to realise +now that the garret landing was held and the way +to the roof cut off, began to retreat from the foot of +the garret stairs with Ali Baba following, their restless, +upward-pointed pistols searching for the slightest +movement in the semi-obscurity of the hallway +above.</p> +<p>Sengoun, fuming and fretting, had begun to creep +toward the head of the stairs again, when there came +a rattling hail of shots from below, a rush, the trample +of feet, the crash of furniture and startling slam of +a door.</p> +<p>Downstairs straight toward the uproar ran Sengoun +with Neeland beside him. The halls were swimming in +acrid fumes; the floors trembled and shook under the +shock as a struggling, fighting knot of men went tumbling +down the stairway below, reached the landing +and burst into the rooms of the Cercle Extranationale.</p> +<p>Leaning over the banisters, Neeland saw Golden +Beard turn on Doc Curfoot, raging, magnificent as a +Viking, his blue eyes ablaze. He hurled his empty pistol +at the American; seized chairs, bronzes, andirons, the +clock from the mantel, and sent a storm of heavy missiles +through the doorway among the knot of men who +were pressing him and who had already seized Ali Baba.</p> +<p>Then, from the banisters above, Neeland and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span> +Sengoun saw Brandes, moving stealthily, swiftly, edge his +way to a further door.</p> +<p>Steadying the elbow of his pistol hand in the hollow +cup of his left palm, his weapon level, swerving as his +quarry moved, he presently fired at Golden Beard and +got him through the back. And then he shot him again +deliberately, through the body, as the giant turned, +made a menacing gesture toward him; took an uncertain +step in his direction; another step, wavering, +blindly grotesque; then stood swaying there under the +glare of the partly shattered chandelier from which +hung long shreds of crystal prisms.</p> +<p>And Brandes, aiming once more with methodical and +merciless precision, and taking what time he required to +make a bull’s-eye on this great, reeling, golden-crowned +bull, fired the third shot at his magnificent head.</p> +<p>The bronze Barye lion dropped from Golden Beard’s +nerveless fist; the towering figure, stiffening, fell over +rather slowly and lay across the velvet carpet as rigid +as a great tree.</p> +<p>Brandes went into the room, leaned over the dying +man and fired into his body until his pistol was empty. +Then he replaced the exhausted clip leisurely, leering +down at his victim.</p> +<p>There was a horrid sound from the stairs, where Curfoot +and another man were killing a waiter. Strange, +sinister faces appeared everywhere from the smoke-filled +club rooms; Stull came out into the hallway below +and shouted up through the stair-well:</p> +<p>“Say, Eddie! For Christ’s sake come down here! +There’s a mob outside on the street and they’re tearing +the iron shutters off the café!”</p> +<p>Curfoot immediately started downstairs; Brandes, +pistol in hand, came slowly out of the club rooms, still +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span> +leering, his slitted, greenish eyes almost phosphorescent +in the semi-obscurity.</p> +<p>Suddenly he caught sight of Ilse Dumont standing +close behind Sengoun and Neeland on the landing above.</p> +<p>“By God!” he shouted to Curfoot. “Here she is, +Doc! Tell your men! Tell them she’s up here on the +next floor!”</p> +<p>Sengoun immediately fired at Brandes, who did not +return the shot but went plunging downstairs into the +smoky obscurity below.</p> +<p>“Come on!” roared Sengoun to Neeland, starting +forward with levelled weapon. “They’ve all gone crazy +and it’s time we were getting out of this!”</p> +<p>“Quick!” whispered Neeland to Ilse Dumont. “Follow +me downstairs! It’s the only chance for you now!”</p> +<p>But the passageway was blocked by a struggling, +cursing, panting crowd, and they were obliged to retreat +into the club rooms.</p> +<p>In the <i>salle de jeu</i>, Ali Baba, held fast by three men +dressed as waiters, suddenly tripped up two of them, +turned, and leaped for the doorway. The two men who +had been tripped scrambled to their feet and tore after +him. When they reached the hallway the Eurasian +was gone; but all of a sudden there came the crash of +a splintered door from the landing above; and the dim +corridor rang with the frightful screaming of a woman.</p> +<p>“It’s—that—that—Russian girl!” stammered Ilse +Dumont; “—The girl I locked in! Oh, my God!—my +God! Karl Breslau is killing her!”</p> +<p>Neeland sprang into the hall and leaped up the +stairs; but the three men disguised as waiters had +arrived before him.</p> +<p>And there, across the threshold of the bedroom, +backed up flat against the shattered door, Ali Baba +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span> +was already fighting for his life; and the frightened +Russian girl crept out from the bedroom behind him +and ran to Neeland for protection.</p> +<p>Twice Neeland aimed at Ali Baba, but could not +bring himself to fire at the bleeding, rabid object which +snarled and slavered and bit and kicked, regardless of +the blows raining on him. At last one of his assailants +broke the half demented creature’s arm with a chair; +and the bloody, battered thing squeaked like a crippled +rat and darted away amid the storm of blows +descending, limping and floundering up the attic +stairs, his broken arm flapping with every gasping +bound.</p> +<p>After him staggered his sweating and exhausted assailants, +reeling past Neeland and Ilse Dumont and +the terrified Russian girl who crouched behind them. +But, halfway up the stairs all three halted and stood +clinging to the banisters as though listening to something +on the floor above them.</p> +<p>Neeland heard it, too: from the roof came a ripping, +splintering sound, as though people on the slates were +prying up the bolted scuttle. The three men on the +stairs hesitated a moment longer; then turned to flee, +too late; a hail of pistol shots swept the attic stairs; +all three men came pitching and tumbling down to the +landing.</p> +<p>Two of them lay still; one rose immediately and +limped on again down the hallway, calling over the +banisters to those below:</p> +<p>“The Germans on the leads ’ave busted into the garret! +Breslau is up ’ere! Send along those American +gunmen, or somebody what can shoot!”</p> +<p>He was a grey-haired Englishman, smooth shaven +and grim; and, as he stood there at the head of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span> +further stairs, breathing heavily, awaiting aid from +below, he said to Neeland coolly enough:</p> +<p>“You’d better go below, sir. We ’ad our orders to +take this Breslau rat alive, but we can’t do it now, and +there’s like to be a ’orrid mess ’ere directly.”</p> +<p>“Can we get through below?”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> can,” said the man significantly, “but they’ll +be detaining one o’ them ladies at the door.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean me?” said Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am, I do––”</p> +<p>She sprang toward the attic stairway, but the British +agent whipped out a pistol and covered her.</p> +<p>“No,” he said grimly. “You’re wanted below. Go +down!”</p> +<p>She came slowly back to where Neeland was standing.</p> +<p>“You’ll have to take your chance below,” he said +under his breath. “I’ll stand by you to the end.”</p> +<p>She smiled and continued on toward the stairs where +the English agent stood. Neeland and the Russian girl +followed her.</p> +<p>The agent said:</p> +<p>“There’s ’ell to pay below, sir.”</p> +<p>The depths of the house rang with the infernal din +of blows falling on iron shutters. A deeper, more sinister +roar rose from the mob outside. There was a +struggle going on inside the building, too; Neeland +could hear the trampling and surging of men on every +floor—voices calling from room to room, shouts of +anger, the terrible outcry of a man in agony.</p> +<p>“Wot a rat’s nest, then, there was in this here blessed +’ouse, sir!” said the British agent, coolly. “If we get +Breslau and the others on the roof we’ve bagged ’em +all.”</p> +<p>The Russian girl was trembling so violently that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span> +Neeland took her by the arm. But Ilse Dumont, giving +her a glance of contempt, moved calmly past the British +agent to the head of the stairway.</p> +<p>“Come,” she said to Neeland.</p> +<p>The agent, leaning over the banisters, shouted to a +man on the next floor:</p> +<p>“Look sharp below there! I’m sendin’ Miss Dumont +down with Mr. Neeland, the American! Take her in +charge, Bill!”</p> +<p>“Send her along!” bawled the man, framing his face +with both hands. “Keep Breslau on the roof a bit and +we’ll ’ave the beggar in a few moments!”</p> +<p>Somebody else shouted up from the tumult below:</p> +<p>“It’s war, ’Arry! ’Ave you ’eard? It’s war this +morning! Them ’Uns ’as declared war! And the perlice +is a-killin’ of the Apaches all over Paris!”</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont looked curiously at the agent, calmly at +Neeland, then, dropping one hand on the banisters, she +went lightly down the stairs toward the uproar below, +followed by Neeland and the Russian girl clinging to +his arm with both desperate little hands.</p> +<p>The British agent hung far over the banisters until +he saw his colleague join them on the floor below; then, +reassured, and on guard again, he leaned back against +the corridor wall, his pistol resting on his thigh, and +fixed his cold grey eyes on the attic stairs once more.</p> +<p>The secret agent who now joined Neeland and Ilse +Dumont on the fourth floor had evidently been constructing +a barricade across the hallway as a precaution +in case of a rush from the Germans on the roof.</p> +<p>Chairs and mattresses, piled shoulder high, obstructed +the passageway, blocking the stairs; and the +secret agent—a very young man with red hair and in +the garb of a waiter—clambered over it, revolver in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span> +one hand, a pair of handcuffs in the other. He lost his +balance on top of the shaky heap; strove desperately +to recover it, scrambled like a cat in a tub, stumbled, +rolled over on a mattress.</p> +<p>And there Neeland pinned him, closing his mouth +with one hand and his throat with the other, while Ilse +Dumont tore weapon and handcuffs from his grasp, +snapped the latter over his wrists, snatched the case +from a bedroom pillow lying among the mattresses, and, +with Neeland’s aid, swathed the struggling man’s head +in it.</p> +<p>“Into that clothes-press!” whispered Ilse, pointing +along the hallway where a door swung open.</p> +<p>“Help me lift him!” motioned Neeland.</p> +<p>Together they got him clear of the shaky barricade +and, lugging him between them, deposited him on the +floor of the clothes-press and locked the door.</p> +<p>So silent had they been that, listening, they heard +no movement from the watcher on the floor above, who +stood guard at the attic stairs. And it was evident +he had heard nothing to make him suspicious.</p> +<p>The Russian girl, dreadfully pale, leaned against the +wall as though her limbs scarcely supported her. Neeland +passed his arm under hers, nodded to Ilse Dumont, +and started cautiously down the carpeted stairs, his +automatic pistol in one hand, and the revolver taken +from the imprisoned secret agent clutched tightly in +the other.</p> +<p>Down the stairs they crept, straight toward the +frightful tumult still raging below—down past the +wrecked club rooms; past a dead man sprawling on +the landing across the blood-soaked carpet—down into +the depths of the dusky building toward the lighted café +floor whence came the uproar of excited men, while, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span> +from the street outside, rose the frantic yelling of the +mob mingled with the crash of glass and the clanging +dissonance of iron grilles and shutters which were being +battered into fragments.</p> +<p>“It’s my chance, now!” whispered Ilse Dumont, slipping +past him like a shadow.</p> +<p>For a moment he saw her silhouetted against the yellow +electric glare on the stairs below, then, half carrying +the almost helpless Russian girl, he stumbled down +the last flight of stairs and pushed his way through +a hurrying group of men who seemed to be searching +for something, for they were tearing open cupboards +and buffets, dragging out table drawers and tumbling +linen, crockery, and glassware all over the black and +white marble floor.</p> +<p>The whole place was ankle deep in shattered glass +and broken bottles, and the place reeked with smoke +and the odour of wine and spirits.</p> +<p>Neeland forced his way forward into the café, +looked around for Sengoun, and saw him almost immediately.</p> +<p>The young Russian, flushed, infuriated, his collar +gone and his coat in tatters, was struggling with some +men who held both his arms but did not offer to strike +him.</p> +<p>Behind him, crowded back into a corner near the +cashier’s steel-grilled desk, stood Ilse Dumont, calm, +disdainful, confronted by Brandes, whose swollen, +greenish eyes, injected with blood, glared redly at her. +Stull had hold of him and was trying to drag him +away:</p> +<p>“For God’s sake, Eddie, shut your mouth,” he pleaded +in English. “You can’t do <i>that</i> to her, whatever she +done to you!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span></p> +<p>But Brandes, disengaging himself with a jerk, pushed +his way past Sengoun to where Ilse stood.</p> +<p>“I’ve got the goods on <i>you</i>!” he said in a ferocious +voice that neither Stull nor Curfoot recognised. “You +know what you did to me, don’t you! You took my wife +from me! Yes, my <i>wife</i>! She <i>was</i> my wife! She <i>is</i> my +wife!—For all you did, you lying, treacherous slut!—For +all you’ve done to break me, double-cross me, ruin +me, drive me out of every place I went! And now I’ve +got you! I’ve sold you out! Get that? And you know +what they’ll do to you, don’t you? Well, you’ll see +when––”</p> +<p>Curfoot and Stull threw themselves against him, but +Brandes, his round face pasty with fury, struggled +back again to confront Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>“Ruined me!” he repeated. “Took away from me +the only thing God ever gave me for my own! Took my +wife!”</p> +<p>“You dog!” said Ilse Dumont very slowly. “You +dirty dog!”</p> +<p>A frightful spasm crossed Brandes’ features, and +Stull snatched at the pistol he had whipped out. There +was a struggle; Brandes wrenched the weapon free; but +Neeland tore his way past Curfoot and struck Brandes +in the face with the butt of his heavy revolver.</p> +<p>Instantly the group parted right and left; Sengoun +suddenly twisted out of the clutches of the men who +held him, sprang upon Curfoot, and jerked the pistol +from his fist. At the same moment the entire front of +the café gave way and the mob crashed inward with a +roar amid the deafening din of shattered metal and the +clash of splintering glass.</p> +<p>Through the dust and falling shower of débris, Brandes +fired at Ilse Dumont, reeled about in the whirl of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span> +the inrushing throng engulfing him, still firing blindly +at the woman who had been his wife.</p> +<p>Neeland put a bullet into his pistol arm, and it fell. +But Brandes stretched it out again with a supreme +effort, pointing at Ilse Dumont with jewelled and +bloody fingers:</p> +<p>“That woman is a German spy! A spy!” he +screamed. “You damn French mutts, do you understand +what I say! Oh, my God! Will someone who +speaks French tell them! Will somebody tell them +she’s a spy! <i>La femme! Cette femme!</i>” he shrieked. +“<i>Elle est espion! Esp––!</i>” He fired again, with his +left hand. Then Sengoun shot him through the head; +and at the same moment somebody stabbed Curfoot in +the neck; and the lank American gambler turned and +cried out to Stull in a voice half strangled with pain +and fury:</p> +<p>“Look out, Ben. There are apaches in this mob! +That one in the striped jersey knifed me––”</p> +<p>“<i>Tiens, v’la pour toi, sale mec de malheur!</i>” muttered +a voice at his elbow, and a blow from a slung-shot +crushed the base of his skull.</p> +<p>As Curfoot crumpled up, Stull caught him; but the +tall gambler’s dead weight bore Stull to his knees among +the fierce apaches.</p> +<p>And there, fighting in silence to the end, his chalky +face of a sick clown meeting undaunted the overwhelming +odds against him, Stull was set upon by the apaches +and stabbed and stabbed until his clothing was a heap +of ribbons and the watch and packet of French bank-notes +which the assassins tore from his body were dripping +with his blood.</p> +<p>Sengoun and Neeland, their evening clothes in tatters, +hatless, dishevelled, began shooting their way out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span> +of the hell of murder and destruction raging around +them.</p> +<p>Behind them crept Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl: +dust and smoke obscured the place where the mob raged +from floor to floor in a frenzy of destruction, tearing +out fixtures, telephones, window-sashes, smashing tables, +bar fixtures, mirrors, ripping the curtains from the +windows and the very carpets from the floor in their +overwhelming rage against this German café.</p> +<p>That apaches had entered with them the mob cared +nothing; the red lust of destruction blinded them to +everything except their terrible necessity for the annihilation +of this place.</p> +<p>If they saw murder done, and robbery—if they heard +shots in the tumult and saw pistol flashes through the +dust and grey light of daybreak, they never turned +from their raging work.</p> +<p>Out of the frightful turmoil stormed Neeland and +Sengoun, their pistols spitting flame, the two women +clinging to their ragged sleeves. Twice the apaches +barred their way with bared knives, crouching for a +rush; but Sengoun fired into them and Neeland’s bullets +dropped the ruffian in the striped jersey where he stood +over Stull’s twitching body; and the sinister creatures +leaped back from the levelled weapons, turned, and ran.</p> +<p>Through the gaping doorway sprang Sengoun, his +empty pistol menacing the crowd that choked the +shadowy street; Neeland flung away his pistol and +turned his revolver on those in the café behind him, as +Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl crept through and +out into the street.</p> +<p>The crowd was cheering and shouting:</p> +<p>“Down with the Germans! To the Brasserie +Schwarz!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389' name='page_389'></a>389</span></p> +<p>An immense wave of people surged suddenly across +the rue Vilna, headed toward the German cafés on the +Boulevard; and then, for the first time, Neeland +caught sight of policemen standing in little groups, +coolly watching the destruction of the Café des +Bulgars.</p> +<p>Either they were too few to cope with the mob, or +they were indifferent as to what was being done to a +German café, but one thing was plain; the police had +not the faintest idea that murder had been rampant in +the place. For, when suddenly a dead body was thrown +from the door out on the sidewalk, their police whistles +shrilled through the street, and they started for the +mob, resolutely, pushing, striking with white-gloved +fists, shouting for right of way.</p> +<p>Other police came running, showing that they had +been perfectly aware that German cafés were being attacked +and wrecked. A mounted inspector forced his +horse along the swarming sidewalk, crying:</p> +<p>“<i>Allons! Circulez! C’est défendu de s’attrouper +dans la rue! Mais fichez-moi le camp, nom de Dieu! Les +Allemands ne sont pas encore dans la place!</i>”</p> +<p>Along the street and on the Boulevard mobs were +forming and already storming three other German +cafés; a squadron of Republican Guard cavalry arrived +at a trot, their helmets glittering in the increasing daylight, +driving before them a mob which had begun to +attack a café on the corner.</p> +<p>A captain, superbly mounted, rode ahead of the advancing +line of horses, warning the throng back into +the rue Vilna, up which the mob now recoiled, sullenly +protesting.</p> +<p>Neeland and Sengoun and the two women were forced +back with the crowd as a double rank of steel-helmeted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390' name='page_390'></a>390</span> +horsemen advanced, sweeping everybody into the rue +Vilna.</p> +<p>Up the street, through the vague morning light, they +retired between ranks of closed and silent houses, past +narrow, evil-looking streets and stony alleys still dark +with the shadows of the night.</p> +<p>Into one of these Neeland started with Ilse Dumont, +but Sengoun drew him back with a sharp exclamation +of warning. At the same time the crowd all around +them became aware of what was going on in the maze +of dusky lanes and alleys past which they were being +driven by the cavalry; and the people broke and scattered +like rabbits, darting through the cavalry, dodging, +scuttling under the very legs of the horses.</p> +<p>The troop, thrown into disorder, tried to check the +panic-stricken flight; a brigadier, spurring forward to +learn the cause of the hysterical stampede, drew bridle +sharply, then whipped his pistol out of the saddle-holster, +and galloped into an <i>impasse</i>.</p> +<p>The troop captain, pushing his horse, caught sight +of Sengoun and Neeland in the remains of their evening +dress; and he glanced curiously at them, and at +the two young women clad in the rags of evening +gowns.</p> +<p>“<i>Nom de Dieu!</i>” he cried. “What are such people as +you doing here? Go back! This is no quarter for +honest folk!”</p> +<p>“What are those police doing in the alleys?” demanded +Sengoun; but the captain cantered his horse up +the street, pistol lifted; and they saw him fire from his +saddle at a man who darted out of an alley and who +started to run across the street.</p> +<p>The captain missed every shot, but a trooper, whose +horse had come up on the sidewalk beside Neeland, fired +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391' name='page_391'></a>391</span> +twice more after the running man, and dropped him at +the second shot.</p> +<p>“A good business, too,” he said calmly, winking at +Neeland. “You <i>bourgeois</i> ought to be glad that we’re +ordered to clean up Paris for you. And now is the time +to do it,” he added, reloading his weapon.</p> +<p>Sengoun said in a low voice to Neeland:</p> +<p>“They’re ridding the city of apaches. It’s plain +enough that they have orders to kill them where they +find them! Look!” he added, pointing to the dead wall +across the street; “It’s here at last, and Paris is cleaning +house and getting ready for it! This is war, Neeland—war +at last!”</p> +<p>Neeland looked across the street where, under a gas +lamp on a rusty iron bracket, was pasted the order for +general mobilisation. And on the sidewalk at the base +of the wall lay a man, face downward, his dusty shoes +crossed under the wide flaring trousers, the greasy +<i>casquet</i> still crowding out his lop ears; his hand +clenched beside a stiletto which lay on the stone flagging +beside him.</p> +<p>“An apache,” said Sengoun coolly. “That’s right, +too. It’s the way we do in Russia when we clean house +for war––”</p> +<p>His face reddened and lighted joyously.</p> +<p>“Thank God for my thousand lances!” he said, lifting +his eyes to the yellowing sky between the houses in the +narrow street. “Thank God! Thank God!”</p> +<p>Now, across the intersections of streets and alleys +beyond where they stood, policemen and Garde cavalry +were shooting into doorways, basements, and up the +sombre, dusky lanes, the dry crack of their service revolvers +re-echoing noisily through the street.</p> +<p>Toward the Boulevard below, a line of police and of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392' name='page_392'></a>392</span> +cavalrymen blocked the rue Vilna; and, beyond them, +the last of the mob was being driven from the Café des +Bulgars, where the first ambulances were arriving and +the police, guarding the ruins, were already looking +out of windows on the upper floors.</p> +<p>A cavalryman came clattering down the rue Vilna, +gesticulating and calling out to Sengoun and Neeland +to take their ladies and depart.</p> +<p>“Get us a taxicab—there’s a good fellow!” cried Sengoun +in high spirits; and the cavalryman, looking at +their dishevelled attire, laughed and nodded as he rode +ahead of them down the rue Vilna.</p> +<p>There were several taxicabs on the Boulevard, their +drivers staring up at the wrecked café. As Neeland +spoke to the driver of one of the cabs, Ilse Dumont +stepped back beside the silent girl whom she had locked +in the bedroom.</p> +<p>“I gave <i>you</i> a chance,” she said under her breath. +“What may I expect from you? Answer me quickly!—What +am I to expect?”</p> +<p>The girl seemed dazed:</p> +<p>“N-nothing,” she stammered. “The—the horror of +that place—the killing—has sickened me. I—I want +to go home––”</p> +<p>“You do not intend to denounce me?”</p> +<p>“No—Oh, God! No!”</p> +<p>“Is that the truth? If you are lying to me it means +my death.”</p> +<p>The girl gazed at her in horror; tears sprang to her +eyes:</p> +<p>“I couldn’t—I couldn’t!” she stammered in a choking +voice. “I’ve never before seen death—never seen +how it came—how men die! This—this killing is horrible, +revolting!” She had laid one trembling little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393' name='page_393'></a>393</span> +hand on Ilse Dumont’s bare shoulder. “I don’t want to +have you killed; the idea of death makes me ill! I’m +going home—that is all I ask for—to go home––”</p> +<p>She dropped her pretty head and began to sob hysterically, +standing there under the growing daylight of +the Boulevard, in her tattered evening gown.</p> +<p>Suddenly Ilse Dumont threw both arms around her +and kissed the feverish, tear-wet face:</p> +<p>“You weren’t meant for this!” she whispered. “You +do it for money. Go home. Do anything else for wages—anything +except this!—<i>Anything</i>, I tell you––”</p> +<p>Neeland’s hand touched her arm:</p> +<p>“I have a cab. Are you going home with her?”</p> +<p>“I dare not,” she said.</p> +<p>“Then will you take this Russian girl to her home, +Sengoun?” he asked. And added in a low voice: “She +is one of your own people, you know.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Sengoun blissfully. “I’d take the +devil home if you asked me! Besides, I can talk to her +about my regiment on the way. That will be wonderful, +Neeland! That will be quite wonderful! I can talk +to her in Russian about my regiment all the way home!”</p> +<p>He laughed and looked at his friend, at Ilse Dumont, +at the drooping figure he was to take under his escort. +He glanced down at his own ragged attire where he +stood hatless, collarless, one sleeve of his evening coat +ripped open to the shoulder.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it wonderful!” he cried, bursting out into uncontrollable +laughter. “Neeland, my dear comrade, +this has been the most delightfully wonderful night of +my entire life! But the great miracle is still to come! +Hurrah for a thousand lances! Hurrah! Town taken +by Prince Erlik! Hurrah!”</p> +<p>And he seized the young girl whom he was to escort +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394' name='page_394'></a>394</span> +to her home—wherever that hazy locality might be—and +carried her in his arms to the taxicab, amid encouraging +shouts of laughter from the line of cavalrymen +who had been watching the proceedings from the +corner of the rue Vilna.</p> +<p>That shout of Gallic appreciation inflamed Sengoun: +he reached for his hat, to lift and wave it, but found no +hat on his head. So he waved his tattered sleeve instead:</p> +<p>“Hurrah for France!” he shouted. “Hurrah for +Russia! I’m Sengoun, of the Terek!—And I am to +have a thousand lances with which to explain to the +Germans my opinion of them and of their Emperor!”</p> +<p>The troopers cheered him from their stirrups, in spite +of their officers, who pretended to check their men.</p> +<p>“<i>Vive la France! Vive la Russie!</i>” they roared. +“Forward the Terek Cossacks!”</p> +<p>Sengoun turned to Ilse Dumont:</p> +<p>“Madame,” he said, “in gratitude and admiration!”—and +he gracefully saluted her hand. Then, to his +comrade: “Neeland!”—seizing both the American’s +hands. “Such a night and such a comrade I shall never +forget! I adore our night together; I love you as a +brother. I shall see you before I go?”</p> +<p>“Surely, Sengoun, my dear comrade!”</p> +<p>“<i>Alors—au revoir!</i>” He sprang into the taxicab. +“To the Russian Embassy!” he called out; and turned +to the half fainting girl on the seat beside him.</p> +<p>“Where do you live, my dear?” he asked very gently, +taking her icy hand in his.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395' name='page_395'></a>395</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIV_SUNRISE' id='CHAPTER_XXXIV_SUNRISE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<h3>SUNRISE</h3> +</div> +<p>When the taxicab carrying Captain Sengoun and +the unknown Russian girl had finally disappeared far +away down the Boulevard in the thin grey haze of early +morning, Neeland looked around him; and it was a +scene unfamiliar, unreal, that met his anxious eyes.</p> +<p>The sun had not yet gilded the chimney tops; east +and west, as far as he could see, the Boulevard stretched +away under its double line of trees between ranks of +closed and silent houses, lying still and mysterious in +the misty, bluish-grey light.</p> +<p>Except for police and municipal guards, and two +ambulances moving slowly away from the ruined café, +across the street, the vast Boulevard was deserted; no +taxicabs remained; no omnibuses moved; no early workmen +passed, no slow-moving farm wagons and milk wains +from the suburbs; no <i>chiffoniers</i> with scrap-filled sacks +on their curved backs, and steel-hooked staves, furtively +sorting and picking among the night’s débris on sidewalk +and in gutter.</p> +<p>Here and there in front of half a dozen wrecked cafés +little knots of policemen stood on the glass-littered +sidewalk, in low-voiced consultation; far down the +Boulevard, helmets gleamed dully through the haze +where municipal cavalry were quietly riding off the +mobs and gradually pushing them back toward the +Montmartre and Villette quarters, whence they had +arrived. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396' name='page_396'></a>396</span></p> +<p>Mounted Municipals still sat their beautiful horses in +double line across the corner of the rue Vilna and parallel +streets, closing that entire quarter where, to judge +from a few fitful and far-away pistol shots, the methodical +apache hunt was still in progress.</p> +<p>And it was a strange and sinister phase of Paris that +Neeland now gazed upon through the misty stillness of +early morning. For there was something terrible in +the sudden quiet, where the swift and shadowy fury of +earliest dawn had passed: and the wrecked buildings +sagged like corpses, stark and disembowelled, spilling +out their dead intestines indecently under the whitening +sky.</p> +<p>Save for the echoes of distant shots, no louder than +the breaking of a splinter—save for the deadened +stamp and stir of horses, a low-voiced order, the fainter +clash of spurs and scabbards—an intense stillness +brooded now over the city, ominously prophetic of what +fateful awakening the coming sunrise threatened for +the sleeping capital.</p> +<p>Neeland turned and looked at Ilse Dumont. She +stood motionless on the sidewalk, in the clear, colourless +light, staring fixedly across the street at the +débris of the gaping, shattered Café des Bulgars. Her +evening gown hung in filmy tinted shreds; her thick, +dark hair in lustrous disorder shadowed her white shoulders; +a streak of dry blood striped one delicate bare +arm.</p> +<p>To see her standing there on the sidewalk in the full, +unshadowed morning light, silent, dishevelled, scarcely +clothed, seemed to him part of the ghastly unreality of +this sombre and menacing vision, from which he ought +to rouse himself.</p> +<p>She turned her head slowly; her haggard eyes met his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397' name='page_397'></a>397</span> +without expression; and he found his tongue with the +effort of a man who strives for utterance through a +threatening dream:</p> +<p>“We can’t stay here,” he said. The sound of his +own voice steadied and cleared his senses. He glanced +down at his own attire, blood-stained, and ragged; felt +for the loose end of his collar, rebuttoned it, and knotted +the draggled white tie with the unconscious indifference +of habit.</p> +<p>“What a nightmare!” he muttered to himself. “The +world has been turned upside down over night.” He +looked up at her: “We can’t stay here,” he repeated. +“Where do you live?”</p> +<p>She did not appear to hear him. She had already +started to move toward the rue Vilna, where the troopers +barring that street still sat their restive horses. +They were watching her and her dishevelled companion +with the sophisticated amusement of men who, by clean +daylight, encounter fagged-out revellers of a riotous +night.</p> +<p>Neeland spoke to her again, then followed her and +took her arm.</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” he repeated, uneasily.</p> +<p>“I shall give myself up,” she replied in a dull +voice.</p> +<p>“To whom?”</p> +<p>“To the Municipals over there.”</p> +<p>“Give yourself up!” he repeated. “Why?”</p> +<p>She passed a slender hand over her eyes as though +unutterably weary:</p> +<p>“Neeland,” she said, “I am lost already.... And +I am very tired.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” he demanded, drawing her +back under a <i>porte-cochère</i>. “You live somewhere, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398' name='page_398'></a>398</span> +don’t you? If it’s safe for you to go back to your +lodgings, I’ll take you there. Is it?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, I’ll take you somewhere else. I’ll find +somewhere to take you––”</p> +<p>She shook her head:</p> +<p>“It is useless, Neeland. There is no chance of my +leaving the city now—no chance left—no hope. It is +simpler for me to end the matter this way––”</p> +<p>“Can’t you go to the Turkish Embassy!”</p> +<p>She looked up at him in a surprised, hopeless +way:</p> +<p>“Do you suppose that any Embassy ever receives a +spy in trouble? Do you really imagine that any government +ever admits employing secret agents, or stirs +a finger to aid them when they are in need?”</p> +<p>“I told you I’d stand by you,” he reminded her +bluntly.</p> +<p>“You have been—kind—Neeland.”</p> +<p>“And you have been very loyal to me, Scheherazade. +I shall not abandon you.”</p> +<p>“How can you help me? I can’t get out of this +city. Wherever I go, now, it will be only a matter +of a few hours before I am arrested.”</p> +<p>“The American Embassy. There is a <i>man</i> there,” +he reminded her.</p> +<p>She shrugged her naked shoulders:</p> +<p>“I cannot get within sight of the Trocadero before +the secret police arrest me. Where shall I go? I have +no passport, no papers, not even false ones. If I go +to the lodgings where I expected to find shelter it means +my arrest, court martial, and execution in a <i>caserne</i> +within twenty-four hours. And it would involve others +who trust me—condemn them instantly to a firing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399' name='page_399'></a>399</span> +squad—if I am found by the police in their company!... +No, Neeland. There’s no hope for me. Too many know +me in Paris. I took a risk in coming here when war +was almost certain. I took my chances, and lost. It’s +too late to whimper now.”</p> +<p>As he stared at her something suddenly brightened +above them; and he looked up and saw the first sunbeam +painting a chimney top with palest gold.</p> +<p>“Come,” he said, “we’ve got to get out of this! +We’ve got to go somewhere—find a taxicab and get +under shelter––”</p> +<p>She yielded to the pressure of his arm and moved forward +beside him. He halted for a moment on the curb, +looking up and down the empty streets for a cab of any +sort, then, with the instinct of a man for whom the +Latin Quarter had once been a refuge and a home, +he started across the Boulevard, his arm clasping +hers.</p> +<p>All the housetops were glittering with the sun as +they passed the ranks of the Municipal cavalry.</p> +<p>A young officer looked down mischievously as they +traversed the Boulevard—the only moving objects in +that vast and still perspective.</p> +<p>“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” he murmured. “A night like that is +something to remember in the winter of old age!”</p> +<p>Neeland heard him. The gay, bantering, irresponsible +Gallic wit awoke him to himself; the rising sun, +tipping the city’s spires with fire, seemed to relight a +little, long-forgotten flame within him. His sombre features +cleared; he said confidently to the girl beside +him:</p> +<p>“Don’t worry; we’ll get you out of it somehow or +other. It’s been a rather frightful dream, Scheherazade, +nothing worse––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400' name='page_400'></a>400</span></p> +<p>Her arm suddenly tightened against his and he turned +to look at the shattered Café des Bulgars which they +were passing, where two policemen stood looking at a +cat which was picking its way over the mass of débris, +mewing dismally.</p> +<p>One of the policemen, noticing them, smiled sympathetically +at their battered appearance.</p> +<p>“Would you like to have a cat for your lively +<i>ménage</i>?” he said, pointing to the melancholy animal +which Neeland recognised as the dignified property of +the Cercle Extranationale.</p> +<p>The other policeman, more suspicious, eyed Ilse Dumont +closely as she knelt impulsively and picked up +the homeless cat.</p> +<p>“Where are you going in such a state?” he asked, +moving over the heaps of splintered glass toward her.</p> +<p>“Back to the Latin Quarter,” said Neeland, so cheerfully +that suspicion vanished and a faint grin replaced +the official frown.</p> +<p>“<i>Allons, mes enfants</i>,” he muttered. “<i>Faut pas +s’attrouper dans la rue</i>. Also you both are a scandal. +<i>Allons! Filez! Houp!</i> The sun is up already!”</p> +<p>They went out across the rue Royale toward the +Place de la Concorde, which spread away before them +in deserted immensity and beauty.</p> +<p>There were no taxicabs in sight. Ilse, carrying the +cat in her arms, moved beside Neeland through the +deathly stillness of the city, as though she were walking +in a dream. Everywhere in the pale blue sky above +them steeple and dome glittered with the sun; there +were no sounds from <i>quai</i> or river; no breeze stirred +the trees; nothing moved on esplanade or bridge; the +pale blue August sky grew bluer; the gilded tip of the +obelisk glittered like a living flame. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401' name='page_401'></a>401</span></p> +<p>Neeland turned and looked up the Champs Elysées.</p> +<p>Far away on the surface of the immense avenue a +tiny dark speck was speeding—increasing in size, coming +nearer.</p> +<p>“A taxi,” he said with a quick breath of relief. +“We’ll be all right now.”</p> +<p>Nearer and nearer came the speeding vehicle, rushing +toward them between the motionless green ranks of +trees. Neeland walked forward across the square to +signal it, waited, watching its approach with a slight +uneasiness.</p> +<p>Now it sped between the rearing stone horses, and +now, swerving, swung to the left toward the rue Royale. +And to his disgust and disappointment he saw it was +a private automobile.</p> +<p>“The devil!” he muttered, turning on his heel.</p> +<p>At the same moment, as though the chauffeur had +suddenly caught an order from within the limousine, +the car swung directly toward him once more.</p> +<p>As he rejoined Ilse, who stood clasping the homeless +cat to her breast, listlessly regarding the approaching +automobile, the car swept in a swift circle around the +fountain where they stood, stopped short beside them; +and a woman flung open the door and sprang out to +the pavement.</p> +<p>And Ilse Dumont, standing there in the rags of her +frail gown, cuddling to her breast the purring cat, +looked up to meet her doom in the steady gaze of the +Princess Naïa Mistchenka.</p> +<p>Every atom of colour left her face, and her ashy +lips parted. Otherwise, she made no sign of fear, no +movement.</p> +<p>There was a second’s absolute silence; then the dark +eyes of the Princess turned on Neeland. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402' name='page_402'></a>402</span></p> +<p>“Good heavens, James!” she said. “What has happened +to you?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” he said gaily, “thanks to Miss Dumont––”</p> +<p>“To <i>whom</i>?” interrupted the Princess sharply.</p> +<p>“To Miss Dumont. We got into a silly place where +it began to look as though we’d get our heads knocked +off, Sengoun and I. I’m really quite serious, Princess. +If it hadn’t been for Miss Dumont—” he shrugged; “—and +that is twice she has saved my idiotic head for +me,” he added cheerfully.</p> +<p>The Princess Naïa’s dark eyes reverted to Ilse Dumont, +and the pallid girl met them steadily enough. +There was no supplication in her own eyes, no shrinking, +only the hopeless tranquillity that looks Destiny +in the face—the gaze riveted unflinchingly upon the +descending blow.</p> +<p>“What are <i>you</i> doing in Paris at such a time as +this?” said the Princess.</p> +<p>The girl’s white lips parted stiffly:</p> +<p>“Do you need to ask?”</p> +<p>For a full minute the Princess bent a menacing gaze +on her in silence; then:</p> +<p>“What do you expect from <i>me</i>?” she demanded in a +low voice. And, stepping nearer: “What have you to +expect from anyone in France on such a day as this?”</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont did not answer. After a moment she +dropped her head and fumbled with the rags of her +bodice, as though trying to cover the delicately rounded +shoulders. A shaft of sunlight, reflected from the obelisk +to the fountain, played in golden ripples across her +hair.</p> +<p>Neeland looked at the Princess Naïa:</p> +<p>“What you do is none of my business,” he said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403' name='page_403'></a>403</span> +pleasantly, “but—” he smiled at her and stepped back beside +Ilse Dumont, and passed his arm through hers: +“I’m a grateful beast,” he added lightly, “and if I’ve +nine lives to lose, perhaps Miss Dumont will save seven +more of them before I’m entirely done for.”</p> +<p>The girl gently disengaged his arm.</p> +<p>“You’ll only get yourself into serious trouble,” she +murmured, “and you can’t help me, dear Neeland.”</p> +<p>The Princess Naïa, flushed and exasperated, bit her +lip.</p> +<p>“James,” she said, “you are behaving absurdly. That +woman has nothing to fear from me now, and she ought +to know it!” And, as Ilse lifted her head and stared +at her: “Yes, you ought to know it!” she repeated. +“Your work is ended. It ended today at sunrise. And +so did mine. War is here. There is nothing further +for you to do; nothing for me. The end of everything +is beginning. What would your death or mine signify +now, when the dawn of such a day as this is the death +warrant for millions? What do we count for now, +Mademoiselle Minna Minti?”</p> +<p>“Do you not mean to give me up, madame?”</p> +<p>“Give you up? No. I mean to get you out of Paris +if I can. Give me your cat, mademoiselle. Please help +her, James––”</p> +<p>“You—offer me your limousine?” stammered Ilse.</p> +<p>“Give that cat to me. Of course I do! Do you +suppose I mean to leave you in rags with your cat on +the pavement here?” And, to Neeland: “Where is +Alak?”</p> +<p>“Gone home as fit as a fiddle. Am I to receive the +hospitality of your limousine also, dear lady? Look at +the state I’m in to travel with two ladies!”</p> +<p>The Princess Naïa’s dark eyes glimmered; she tucked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404' name='page_404'></a>404</span> +the cat comfortably against her shoulder and motioned +Ilse into the car.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I’ll have to take you, James. What on +earth has happened to you?” she added, as he put her +into the car, nodded to the chauffeur, and, springing +in beside her, slammed the door.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you in two words,” he explained gaily. +“Prince Erlik and I started for a stroll and landed, +ultimately, in the Café des Bulgars. And presently a +number of gentlemen began to shoot up the place, and +Miss Dumont stood by us like a brick.”</p> +<p>The Princess Mistchenka lifted the cat from her lap +and placed it in the arms of Ilse Dumont.</p> +<p>“That ought to win our gratitude, I’m sure,” she +said politely to the girl. “We Russians never forget +such pleasant obligations. There is a Cossack jingle:</p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +“To those who befriend our friends<br /> +Our duty never ends.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Ilse Dumont bent low over the purring cat in her +lap; the Princess watched her askance from moment +to moment, and Neeland furtively noted the contrast +between these women—one in rags and haggard disorder; +the other so trim, pretty, and fresh in her morning +walking suit.</p> +<p>“James,” she said abruptly, “we’ve had a most horrid +night, Ruhannah and I. The child waited up for you, +it seems—I thought she’d gone to bed—and she came +to my room about two in the morning—the little goose—as +though men didn’t stay out all night!”</p> +<p>“I’m terribly sorry,” he said contritely.</p> +<p>“You ought to be.... And Ruhannah was so +disturbed that I put on something and got out of bed. +And after a while”—the Princess glanced sardonically +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_405' name='page_405'></a>405</span> +at Ilse Dumont—“I telephoned to various sources of +information and was informed concerning the rather +lively episodes of your nocturnal career with Sengoun. +And when I learned that you and he had been seen +to enter the Café des Bulgars, I became sufficiently +alarmed to notify several people who might be interested +in the matter.”</p> +<p>“One of those people,” said Neeland, smiling, “was +escorted to her home by Captain Sengoun, I think.”</p> +<p>The Princess glanced out of the window where the +early morning sun glimmered on the trees as the car +flew swiftly through the Champs Elysées.</p> +<p>“I heard that there were some men killed there last +night,” she said without turning.</p> +<p>“Several, I believe,” admitted Neeland.</p> +<p>“Were <i>you</i> there, then?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied, uncomfortably.</p> +<p>“Did you know anybody who was killed, James?”</p> +<p>“Yes, by sight.”</p> +<p>She turned to him:</p> +<p>“Who?”</p> +<p>“There was a man named Kestner; another named +Weishelm. Three American gamblers were killed also.”</p> +<p>“And Karl Breslau?” inquired the Princess coolly.</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence.</p> +<p>“No. I think he got away across the roofs of the +houses,” replied Neeland.</p> +<p>Ilse Dumont, bent over the cat in her lap, stared absently +into its green eyes where it lay playfully patting +the rags that hung from her torn bodice.</p> +<p>Perhaps she was thinking of the dead man where he +lay in the crowded café—the dead man who had confronted +her with bloodshot eyes and lifted pistol—whose +voice, thick with rage, had denounced her—whose +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_406' name='page_406'></a>406</span> +stammering, untaught tongue stumbled over the foreign +words with which he meant to send her to her death—this +dead man who once had been <i>her</i> man—long ago—very, +very long ago when there was no bitterness in +life, no pain, no treachery—when life was young in +the Western World, and Fate gaily beckoned her, wearing +a smiling mask and crowned with flowers.</p> +<p>“I hope,” remarked the Princess Mistchenka, “that +it is sufficiently early in the morning for you to escape +observation, James.”</p> +<p>“I’m a scandal; I know it,” he admitted, as the car +swung into the rue Soleil d’Or.</p> +<p>The Princess turned to the drooping girl beside her +and laid a gloved hand lightly on her shoulder.</p> +<p>“My dear,” she said gently, “there is only one chance +for you, and if we let it pass it will not come again—under +military law.”</p> +<p>Ilse lifted her head, held it high, even tilted back a +little.</p> +<p>The Princess said:</p> +<p>“Twenty-four hours will be given for all Germans to +leave France. But—you took your nationality from +the man you married. You are American.”</p> +<p>The girl flushed painfully:</p> +<p>“I do not care to take shelter under his name,” she +said.</p> +<p>“It is the only way. And you must get to the coast +in my car. There is no time to lose. Every vehicle, +private and public, will be seized for military uses this +morning. Every train will be crowded; every foot of +room occupied on the Channel boats. There is only +one thing for you to do—travel with me to Havre as +my American maid.”</p> +<p>“Madame—would you do that—for me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_407' name='page_407'></a>407</span></p> +<p>“Why, I’ve got to,” said the Princess Mistchenka +with a shrug. “I am not a barbarian to leave you to a +firing squad, I hope.”</p> +<p>The car had stopped; the chauffeur descended and +came around to open the door.</p> +<p>“Caron,” said the Princess, “no servants are stirring +yet. Take my key, find a cloak and bring it out—and +a coat for Monsieur Neeland—the one that Captain +Sengoun left the other evening. Have you plenty of +gasoline?”</p> +<p>“Plenty, madame.”</p> +<p>“Good. We leave for Havre in five minutes. Bring +the cloak and coat quickly.”</p> +<p>The chauffeur hastened to the door, unlocked it, disappeared, +then came out carrying a voluminous wrap +and a man’s opera cloak. The Princess threw the one +over Ilse Dumont; Neeland enveloped himself in the +other.</p> +<p>“Now,” murmured the Princess Naïa, “it will look +more like a late automobile party than an ambulance +after a free fight—if any early servants are watching +us.”</p> +<p>She descended from the car; Ilse Dumont followed, +still clasping the cat under her cloak; and Neeland followed +her.</p> +<p>“Be very quiet,” whispered the Princess. “There is +no necessity for servants to observe what we do––”</p> +<p>A small and tremulous voice from the head of the +stairs interrupted her:</p> +<p>“Naïa! Is it you?”</p> +<p>“Hush, Ruhannah! Yes, darling, it is I. Everything +is all right and you may go back to bed––”</p> +<p>“Naïa! Where is Mr. Neeland?” continued the voice, +fearfully. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_408' name='page_408'></a>408</span></p> +<p>“He is here, Rue! He is all right. Go back to your +room, dear. I have a reason for asking you.”</p> +<p>Listening, she heard a door close above; then she +touched Ilse on the shoulder and motioned her to follow +up the stairs. Halfway up the Princess halted, bent +swiftly over the banisters:</p> +<p>“James!” she called softly.</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<p>“Go into the pantry and find a fruit basket and fill +it with whatever food you can find. Hurry, please.”</p> +<p>He discovered the pantry presently, and a basket of +fruit there. Poking about he contrived to disinter from +various tins and ice-boxes some cold chicken and biscuits +and a bottle of claret. These he wrapped hastily +in a napkin which he found there, placed them in the +basket of fruit, and came out into the hall just as Ilse +Dumont, in the collar and cuffs and travelling coat of +a servant, descended, carrying a satchel and a suitcase.</p> +<p>“Good business!” he whispered, delighted. “You’re +all right now, Scheherazade! And for heaven’s sake, +keep out of France hereafter. Do you promise?”</p> +<p>He had taken the satchel and bag from her and +handed both, and the fruit basket, to Caron, who stood +outside the door.</p> +<p>In the shadowy hall those two confronted each other +now, probably for the last time. He took both her +hands in his.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Scheherazade dear,” he said, with a +new seriousness in his voice which made the tone of it +almost tender.</p> +<p>“G-good-bye––” The girl’s voice choked; she bent +her head and rested her face on the hands he held +clasped in his.</p> +<p>He felt her hot tears falling, felt the slender fingers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_409' name='page_409'></a>409</span> +within his own tighten convulsively; felt her lips against +his hand—an instant only; then she turned and slipped +through the open door.</p> +<p>A moment later the Princess Naïa appeared on the +stairs, descending lightly and swiftly, her motor coat +over her arm.</p> +<p>“Jim,” she said in a low voice, “it’s the wretched +girl’s only chance. They know about her; they’re looking +for her now. But I am trusted by my Ambassador; +I shall have what papers I ask for; I shall get her +through to an American steamer.”</p> +<p>“Princess Naïa, you are splendid!”</p> +<p>“You don’t think so, Jim; you never did.... Be +nice to Rue. The child has been dreadfully frightened +about you.... And,” added the Princess Mistchenka +with a gaily forced smile, resting her hand on Neeland’s +shoulder for an instant, “don’t ever kiss Rue +Carew unless you mean it with every atom of your +heart and soul.... I know the child.... And I +know you. Be generous to her, James. All women +need it, I think, from such men as you—such men as +you,” she added laughingly, “who know not what +they do.”</p> +<p>If there was a subtle constraint in her pretty laughter, +if her gay gesture lacked spontaneity, he did not +perceive it. His face had flushed a trifle under her +sudden badinage.</p> +<p>“Good-bye,” he said. “You <i>are</i> splendid, and I <i>do</i> +think so. I know you’ll win through.”</p> +<p>“I shall. I always do—except with you,” she added +audaciously. And “Look for me tomorrow!” she +called back to him through the open door; and slammed +it behind her, leaving him standing there alone in the +dark and curtained house.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_410' name='page_410'></a>410</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXV_THE_FIRST_DAY' id='CHAPTER_XXXV_THE_FIRST_DAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<h3>THE FIRST DAY</h3> +</div> +<p>Neeland had undressed, bathed his somewhat battered +body, and had then thrown himself on the bed, +fully intending to rise in a few moments and await +breakfast.</p> +<p>But it was a very weary young man who stretched +himself out for ten minutes’ repose. And, when again +he unclosed his eyes, the austere clock on the mantel +informed him that it was five—not five in the morning +either.</p> +<p>He had slept through the first day of general mobilisation.</p> +<p>Across the lowered latticed blinds late afternoon sunshine +struck red. The crests of the chestnut trees in +the rue Soleil d’Or had turned rosy; and a delicate +mauve sky, so characteristic of Paris in early autumn, +already stretched above the city like a frail tent of silk +from which fragile cobweb clouds hung, tinted with +saffron and palest rose.</p> +<p>Hoisting the latteen shades, he looked out through +lace curtains into the most silent city he had ever beheld. +Not that the streets and avenues were deserted: +they swarmed with hurrying, silent people and with +taxicabs.</p> +<p>Never had he seen so many taxicabs; they streamed +by everywhere, rushing at high speed. They passed +through the rue Soleil d’Or; the rue de la Lune fairly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_411' name='page_411'></a>411</span> +whizzed with them; the splendid avenue was merely a +vista of flying taxis; and in every one of them there +was a soldier.</p> +<p>Otherwise, except for cyclists, there seemed to be very +few soldiers in Paris—an odd fact immediately noticeable.</p> +<p>Also there were no omnibuses to be seen, no private +automobiles, no electric vehicles of any sort except +great grey army trucks trundling by with a sapper at +the wheel.</p> +<p>And, except for the whiz and rush of the motors and +the melancholy siren blasts from their horns, an immense +silence reigned in the streets.</p> +<p>There was no laughter to be heard, no loud calling, +no gay and animated badinage. People who met and +stopped conversed in undertones; gestures were sober +and rare.</p> +<p>And everywhere, in the intense stillness, Red Cross +flags hung motionless in the late afternoon sunshine; +everywhere were posted notices warning the Republic of +general mobilisation—on dead walls, on tree-boxes, on +kiosques, on bulletin boards, on the façades of public +and ecclesiastical buildings.</p> +<p>Another ordinance which Neeland could read from +where he stood at the window warned all citizens from +the streets after eight o’clock in the evening; and on +the closed iron shutters of every shop in sight of his +window were pasted white strips of paper bearing, in +black letters, the same explanation:</p> +<p>“<i>Fermé à cause de la mobilisation.</i>”</p> +<p>Nowhere could he see the word “war” printed or +otherwise displayed. The conspiracy of silence concerning +it seemed the more ominous.</p> +<p>Nor, listening, could he hear the sinister voices of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_412' name='page_412'></a>412</span> +men and boys calling extra editions of the papers. +There seemed to be no need for the raising of hoarse +and threatening voices in the soundless capital. Men +and youths of all ages traversed the avenues and streets +with sheafs of fresh, damp newspapers over their ragged +arms, but it was the populace who crowded after and +importuned them, not they the people; and no sooner +did a paper-seller appear than he was stripped of his +wares and was counting his coppers under the trees +before hurrying away for a fresh supply.</p> +<p>Neeland dressed himself in sections, always returning +to the window to look out; and in this manner he +achieved his toilet.</p> +<p>Marotte, the old butler, was on the floor below, carrying +a tea tray into the wide, sunny sitting-room as +Neeland descended.</p> +<p>“I overslept,” explained the young American, “and +I’m nearly starved. Is Mademoiselle Carew having +tea?”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle requested tea for two, sir, in case you +should awake,” said the old man solemnly.</p> +<p>Neeland watched him fussing about with cloth and +table and silver.</p> +<p>“Have you any news?” he asked after a moment.</p> +<p>“Very little, Monsieur Neeland. The police have +ordered all Germans into detention camps—men, +women, and children. It is said that there are to be +twelve great camps for these unfortunates who are to +assemble in the Lycée Condorcet for immediate transportation.”</p> +<p>Neeland thought of Ilse Dumont. Presently he asked +whether any message had been received from the +Princess Mistchenka.</p> +<p>“Madame the Princess telephoned from Havre at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_413' name='page_413'></a>413</span> +four o’clock this afternoon. Mademoiselle Carew has +the message.”</p> +<p>Neeland, reassured, nodded:</p> +<p>“No other news, Marotte?”</p> +<p>“The military have taken our automobiles from the +garage, and have requisitioned the car which Madame la +Princess is now using, ordering us to place it at their +disposal as soon as it returns from Havre. Also, Monsieur +le Capitaine Sengoun has telephoned from the +Russian Embassy, but Mademoiselle Carew would not +permit Monsieur to be awakened.”</p> +<p>“What did Captain Sengoun say?”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle Carew received the message.”</p> +<p>“And did anyone else call me up?” asked Neeland, +smiling.</p> +<p>“<i>Il y avait une fe—une espèce de dame</i>,” replied the +old man doubtfully, “—who named herself Fifi la Tzigane. +I permitted myself to observe to her,” added the +butler with dignity, “that she had the liberty of writing +to you what she thought necessary to communicate.”</p> +<p>He had arranged the tea-table. Now he retired, but +returned almost immediately to decorate the table with +Cloth of Gold roses.</p> +<p>Fussing and pottering about until the mass of +lovely blossoms suited him, he finally presented himself +to Neeland for further orders, and, learning that there +were none, started to retire with a self-respecting dignity +that was not at all impaired by the tears which +kept welling up in his aged eyes, and which he always +winked away with a <i>demi-tour</i> and a discreet cough correctly +stifled by his dry and wrinkled hand.</p> +<p>As he passed out the door Neeland said:</p> +<p>“Are you in trouble, Marotte?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_414' name='page_414'></a>414</span></p> +<p>The old man straightened up, and a fierce pride +blazed for a moment from his faded eyes:</p> +<p>“Not trouble, monsieur; but—when one has three +sons departing for the front—<i>dame!</i>—that makes one +reflect a little––”</p> +<p>He bowed with the unconscious dignity of a wider +liberty, a subtler equality which, for a moment, left +such as he indifferent to circumstances of station.</p> +<p>Neeland stepped forward extending his hand:</p> +<p>“<i>Bonne chance!</i> God be with France—and with us +all who love our liberty. Luck to your three sons!”</p> +<p>“I thank monsieur––” He steadied his voice, bowed +in the faultless garments which were his badge of service, +and went his way through the silence in the house.</p> +<p>Neeland had walked to the long windows giving on +the pretty balcony with its delicate, wrought-iron rails +and its brilliant masses of geraniums.</p> +<p>Outside, along the Avenue, in absolute silence, a regiment +of cuirassiers was passing, the level sun blazing +like sheets of crimson fire across their helmets and +breastplates. And now, listening, the far clatter of +their horses came to his ears in an immense, unbroken, +rattling resonance.</p> +<p>Their gold-fringed standard passed, and the sunlight +on the naked sabres ran from point to hilt like liquid +blood. Sons of the Cuirassiers of Morsbronn, grandsons +of the Cuirassiers of Waterloo—what was their +magnificent fate to be?—For splendid it could not fail +to be, whether tragic or fortunate.</p> +<p>The American’s heart began to hammer in his breast +and throb in his throat, closing it with a sudden spasm +that seemed to confuse his vision for a moment and turn +the distant passing regiment to a glittering stream of +steel and flame. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_415' name='page_415'></a>415</span></p> +<p>Then it had passed; the darkly speeding torrent of +motor cars alone possessed the Avenue; and Neeland +turned away into the room again.</p> +<p>And there, before him, stood Rue Carew.</p> +<p>A confused sense of unreasoning, immeasurable happiness +rushed over him, and, in that sudden, astounding +instant of self-revelation, self-amazement left him +dumb.</p> +<p>She had given him both her slim white hands, and he +held to them as though to find his bearings. Both were +a trifle irrelevant and fragmentary.</p> +<p>“Do you c-care for tea, Jim?... What a night! +What a fright you gave us.... There are <i>croissants</i>, +too, and caviar.... I would not permit anybody to +awaken you; and I was dying to see you––”</p> +<p>“I am so sorry you were anxious about me. And I’m +tremendously hungry.... You see, Sengoun and I +did not mean to remain out all night.... I’ll help you +with that tea; shall I?...”</p> +<p>He still retained her hands in his; she smiled and +flushed in a breathless sort of way, and looked sometimes +at the tea-kettle as though she never before had +seen such an object; and looked up at him as though +she had never until that moment beheld any man like +him.</p> +<p>“The Princess Naïa has left us quite alone,” she said, +“so I must give you some tea.” She was nervous and +smiling and a little frightened and confused with the +sense of their contact.</p> +<p>“So—I shall give you your tea, now,” she repeated.</p> +<p>She did not mention her manual inability to perform +her promise, but presently it occurred to him to release +her hands, and she slid gracefully into her chair and +took hold of the silver kettle with fingers that trembled. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_416' name='page_416'></a>416</span></p> +<p>He ate everything offered him, and then took the +initiative. And he talked—Oh, heaven! How he talked! +Everything that had happened to him and to Sengoun +from the moment they left the rue Soleil d’Or the night +before, this garrulous young man detailed with a relish +for humorous circumstance and a disregard for anything +approaching the tragic, which left her with an +impression that it had all been a tremendous lark—indiscreet, +certainly, and probably reprehensible—but +a lark, for all that.</p> +<p>Fireworks, shooting, noise, and architectural destruction +he admitted, but casualties he skimmed over, and +of death he never said a word. Why should he? The +dead were dead. None concerned this young girl now—and, +save one, no death that any man had died there +in the shambles of the Café des Bulgars could ever mean +anything to Rue Carew.</p> +<p>Some day, perhaps, he might tell her that Brandes +was dead—not where or how he had died—but merely +the dry detail. And she might docket it, if she cared +to, and lay it away among the old, scarcely remembered, +painful things that had been lived, and now were to be +forgotten forever.</p> +<p>The silence of intensest interest, shy or excited questions, +and the grey eyes never leaving his—this was her +tribute.</p> +<p>Grey eyes tinged with golden lights, now clear with +suspense, now brilliant at a crisis, now gentle, wondering, +troubled, as he spoke of Ilse Dumont and the Russian +girl, now charmingly vague as her mind outstripped +his tongue and she divined something of the sturdy part +he had played—golden-grey eyes that grew exquisite +with her pride in him, tender with solicitude for him +in dangers already passed away—this was her tribute +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_417' name='page_417'></a>417</span></p> +<p>Engaging grey eyes of a girl with the splendour and +mystery of womanhood possessing her—attracting him, +too, fascinating him, threatening, conquering, possessing +him—this, the Greek gift of Rue Carew, her tribute.</p> +<p>And he took all, forgetting that the Greeks bore +gifts; or, perhaps, remembering, rejoicing, happy in +his servitude, he took into his heart and soul the tribute +this young girl offered, a grateful, thankful captive.</p> +<p>The terrible cataclysm impending, menacing the +world, they seemed powerless, yet, to grasp and comprehend +and understand.</p> +<p>Outside, the street rippled and roared with the interminable +clatter of passing cavalry: the girl looked +into the eyes of the boy across the tea-table, and her +young eyes, half fearful yet enchanted, scarce dared +divine what his eyes were telling her while his hurrying +tongue chattered irrelevancies.</p> +<p>Three empires, two kingdoms, and a great republic +resounded with the hellish din of arming twenty million +men. Her soft lips were touched with the smile of youth +that learns for the first time it is beloved; her eyes of +a child, exquisite, brooding, rested with a little more +courage now on his—were learning, little by little, to +sustain his gaze, endure the ardour that no careless, +laughing speech of his could hide or dim or quench.</p> +<p>In the twilight of the streets there was silence, save +for the rush of motors and the recurrent trample of +armed men. But the heart of Rue Carew was afire with +song—and every delicate vein in her ran singing to her +heart.</p> +<p>There was war in the Eastern world; and palace +and chancellery were ablaze. But they spoke of the +West—of humble places and lowly homes; of still +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_418' name='page_418'></a>418</span> +woodlands where mosses edged the brooks; of peaceful villages +they both had known, where long, tree-shaded +streets slept in the dappled shadow under the sun of +noon.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Marotte came, silent, self-respecting, very grey and +tranquil in his hour of trial.</p> +<p>There were two letters for Neeland, left by hand. +And, when the old man had gone away bearing his silver +tray among his heavier burdens:</p> +<p>“Read them,” nodded Rue Carew.</p> +<p>He read them both aloud to her: the first amused +them a little—not without troubling them a little, too:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Monsieur Neeland</span>:</p> +<p>It is the Tzigane, Fifi, who permits herself the honour +of addressing you.</p> +<p>Breslau escaped. With him went the plans, it seems. +You behaved admirably in the Café des Bulgars. A Russian +comrade has you and Prince Erlik to remember in +her prayers.</p> +<p>You have done well, monsieur. Now, your task is ended. +Go back to the Western World and leave us to end this +battle between ourselves.</p> +<p>It is written and confirmed by the stars that what the +Eastern World has sown it shall now reap all alone.</p> +<p>We Tziganes know. You should not mock at our knowledge. +For there is a dark star, Erlik, named from the +Prince of Hell. And last night it was in conjunction +with the red star, Mars. None saw it; none has ever beheld +the dark star, Erlik.</p> +<p>But we Tziganes know. We have known for five thousand +years that Erlik hung aloft, followed by ten black +moons. Ask your astronomers. But we Tziganes knew +this before there ever were astronomers!</p> +<p>Therefore, go home to your own land, monsieur. The +Prince of Hell is in the heavens. The Yellow Devil shall +see the Golden Horn again. Empires shall totter and fall. +Little American, stand from under. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_419' name='page_419'></a>419</span></p> +<p>Adieu! We Tziganes wish you well—Fifi and Nini of +the Jardin Russe.</p> +<p>“Adieu, <i>beau jeune homme</i>! And—<i>to her whom you +shall take with you</i>—homage, good wishes, good augury, +and adieux!”</p> +</div> +<p>“‘To her whom you shall take with you,’” he repeated, +looking at Rue Carew.</p> +<p>The girl blushed furiously and bent her head, and +her slender fingers grew desperately busy with her handkerchief.</p> +<p>Neeland, as nervous as she, fumbled with the seal of +the remaining letter, managed finally to break it, +glanced at the writing, then laughed and read:</p> +<div style='font-size:0.9em;'> +<p><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>My dear Comrade Neeland</span>:</p> +<p>I get my thousand lances! Congratulate me! Were +you much battered by that <i>canaille</i> last night? I laugh +until I nearly burst when I think of that absurd <i>bousculade</i>!</p> +<p>That girl I took with me is all right. I’m going to +Petrograd! I’m going on the first opportunity by way +of Switzerland.</p> +<p>What happiness, Neeland! No more towns for me, except +those I take. No more politics, no more diplomacy! +I shall have a thousand lances to do my talking for me. +Hurrah!</p> +<p>Neeland, I love you as a brother. Come to the East with +me. You shall make a splendid trooper! Not, of course, +a Terek Cossack. A Cossack is God’s work. A Terek +Cossack is born, not made.</p> +<p>But, good heavens! There is other most excellent +cavalry in the world, I hope! Come with me to Russia. +Say that you will come, my dear comrade Neeland, and +I promise you we shall amuse ourselves when the world’s +dance begins––</p> +</div> +<p>“Oh!” breathed the girl, exasperated. “Sengoun is +a fool!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_420' name='page_420'></a>420</span></p> +<p>Neeland looked up quickly from his letter; then his +face altered, and he rose; but Rue Carew was already +on her feet; and she had lost most of her colour—and +her presence of mind, too, it seemed, for Neeland’s arms +were half around her, and her hands were against his +shoulders.</p> +<p>Neither of them spoke; and he was already amazed +and rather scared at his own incredible daring—already +terribly afraid of this slender, fragrant creature who +stood rigid and silent within the circle of his arm, her +head lowered, her little, resisting hands pressed convulsively +against his breast.</p> +<p>And after a long time the pressure against his breast +slowly relaxed; her restless fingers moved nervously +against his shoulders, picked at the lapels of his coat, +clung there as he drew her head against his breast.</p> +<p>The absurd beating of his heart choked him as he +stammered her name; he dropped his head beside her +hot and half hidden cheek. And, after a long, long +time, her face stirred on his breast, turned a very +little toward him, and her young lips melted against +his.</p> +<p>So they stood through the throbbing silence in the +slowly darkening room, while the street outside echoed +with the interminable trample of passing cavalry, and +the dim capital lay like a phantom city under the +ghostly lances of the searchlights as though probing +all Heaven to the very feet of God in search of reasons +for the hellish crime now launched against the guiltless +Motherland.</p> +<p>And high among the planets sped the dark star, Erlik, +unseen by men, rushing through viewless interstellar +space, hurled out of nothing by the Prince of Hell into +the nothing toward which all Hell is speeding, too; and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_421' name='page_421'></a>421</span> +whither it shall one day fade and disappear and pass +away forever.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“My darling––”</p> +<p>“Oh, Jim—I have loved you all my life,” she whispered. +And her young arms crept up and clung around +his neck.</p> +<p>“My darling Rue—my little Rue Carew––”</p> +<p>Outside the window an officer also spoke through the +unbroken clatter of passing horsemen which filled the +whole house with a hollow roar. But she heard her +lover’s voice alone as in a hushed and magic world; and +in her girl’s enchanted ears his words were the only +sounds that stirred a heavenly quiet that reigned between +the earth and stars.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='c'> +<span style='font-size:1.6em;'>Popular Copyright Novels</span><br /> +<span style='font-style:italic;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</span><br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br /> +A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</span></p> + +<hr style='height:3px; border:none; border-top:2px solid black; border-bottom:1px solid black' /> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><span style='font-weight:bold'>Abner Daniel.</span> By Will N. Harben.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Adventures of Gerard.</span> By A. Conan Doyle.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Adventures of a Modest Man.</span> By Robert W. Chambers.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</span> By A. Conan Doyle.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.</span> By Frank L. Packard.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>After House, The.</span> By Mary Roberts Rinehart.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Alisa Paige.</span> By Robert W. Chambers.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Alton of Somasco.</span> By Harold Bindloss.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>A Man’s Man.</span> By Ian Hay.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Amateur Gentleman, The.</span> By Jeffery Farnol.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Andrew The Glad.</span> By Maria Thompson Daviess.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Ann Boyd.</span> By Will N. Harben.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Anna the Adventuress.</span> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Another Man’s Shoes.</span> By Victor Bridges.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Ariadne of Allan Water.</span> By Sidney McCall.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Armchair at the Inn, The.</span> By F. Hopkinson Smith.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Around Old Chester.</span> By Margaret Deland.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Athalie.</span> By Robert W. Chambers.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</span> By Augusta Evans Wilson.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Auction Block, The.</span> By Rex Beach.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Aunt Jane.</span> By Jeanette Lee.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Aunt Jane of Kentucky.</span> By Eliza C. Hall.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Awakening of Helena Richie.</span> By Margaret Deland.<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><span style='font-weight:bold'>Bambi.</span> By Marjorie Benton Cooke.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bandbox, The.</span> By Louis Joseph Vance.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Barbara of the Snows.</span> By Harry Irving Green.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bar 20.</span> By Clarence E. Mulford.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bar 20 Days.</span> By Clarence E. Mulford.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Barrier, The.</span> By Rex Beach.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Beasts of Tarzan, The.</span> By Edgar Rice Burroughs.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Beechy.</span> By Bettina Von Hutten.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bella Donna.</span> By Robert Hichens.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Beloved Vagabond, The.</span> By Wm. J. Locke.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Beltane the Smith.</span> By Jeffery Farnol.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Ben Blair.</span> By Will Lillibridge.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Betrayal, The.</span> By E. Phillips Oppenheim.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Better Man, The.</span> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Beulah.</span> (Ill. Ed.) By Augusta J. Evans.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Beyond the Frontier.</span> By Randall Parrish.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Black Is White.</span> By George Barr McCutcheon.<br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='c'> +<span style='font-size:1.6em;'>Popular Copyright Novels</span><br /> +<span style='font-style:italic;'>AT MODERATE PRICES</span><br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller;'>Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of<br /> +A. L. Burt Company’s Popular Copyright Fiction</span></p> + +<hr style='height:3px; border:none; border-top:2px solid black; border-bottom:1px solid black' /> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><span style='font-weight:bold'>Blind Man’s Eyes, The.</span> By Wm. MacHarg & Edwin Balmer.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bob Hampton of Placer.</span> By Randall Parrish.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bob, Son of Battle.</span> By Alfred Ollivant.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Britton of the Seventh.</span> By Cyrus Townsend Brady.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Broad Highway, The.</span> By Jeffery Farnol.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bronze Bell, The.</span> By Louis Joseph Vance.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Bronze Eagle, The.</span> By Baroness Orczy.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Buck Peters, Ranchman.</span> By Clarence E. Mulford.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Business of Life, The.</span> By Robert W. Chambers.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>By Right of Purchase.</span> By Harold Bindloss.<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><span style='font-weight:bold'>Cabbages and Kings.</span> By O. Henry.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Calling of Dan Matthews, The.</span> By Harold Bell Wright.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cape Cod Stories.</span> By Joseph C. Lincoln.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cap’n Dan’s Daughter.</span> By Joseph C. Lincoln.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cap’n Eri.</span> By Joseph C. Lincoln.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cap’n Warren’s Wards.</span> By Joseph C. Lincoln.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cardigan.</span> By Robert W. Chambers.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Carpet From Bagdad, The.</span> By Harold MacGrath.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cease Firing.</span> By Mary Johnson.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Chain of Evidence, A.</span> By Carolyn Wells.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Chief Legatee, The.</span> By Anna Katharine Green.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cleek of Scotland Yard.</span> By T. W. Hanshew.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Clipped Wings.</span> By Rupert Hughes.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Coast of Adventure, The.</span> By Harold Bindloss.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Colonial Free Lance, A.</span> By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Coming of Cassidy, The.</span> By Clarence E. Mulford.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Coming of the Law, The.</span> By Chas. A. Seltzer.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Conquest of Canaan, The.</span> By Booth Tarkington.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Conspirators, The.</span> By Robt. W. Chambers.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Counsel for the Defense.</span> By Leroy Scott.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Court of Inquiry, A.</span> By Grace S. Richmond.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Crime Doctor, The.</span> By E. W. Hornung.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.</span> By Rex Beach.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cross Currents.</span> By Eleanor H. Porter.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cry in the Wilderness, A.</span> By Mary E. Waller.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Cynthia of the Minute.</span> By Louis Jos. Vance.<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:left'><span style='font-weight:bold'>Dark Hollow, The.</span> By Anna Katharine Green.<br /> +<span style='font-weight:bold'>Dave’s Daughter.</span> By Patience Bevier Cole.<br /></p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 0.21 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Mar 28 20:56:21 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dark Star, by Robert W. 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