diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:06 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:22:06 -0700 |
| commit | 4530129cd9520a7ddf7a001e6cc93cc0156a459f (patch) | |
| tree | 3283f66e672a3ea30cd07843f5f1607cc096675f /3676-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '3676-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 3676-h/3676-h.htm | 8584 |
1 files changed, 8584 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/3676-h/3676-h.htm b/3676-h/3676-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b15412c --- /dev/null +++ b/3676-h/3676-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8584 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!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" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Firefly of France, by Marion Polk Angellotti + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's The Firefly Of France, by Marion Polk Angellotti + +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 Firefly Of France + +Author: Marion Polk Angellotti + +Release Date: April 11, 2006 [EBook #3676] +Last Updated: October 31, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Marion Polk Angellotti + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE</b></big> + </a><br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <h2> + TO + </h2> + <h3> + THE MEMORY OF <br /> THE HEROIC GUYNEMER <br /> “THE ACE OF THE ACES” + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PREPARER’S NOTE + + This text was prepared from a 1918 edition, + published by The Century Co., New York. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS + </h3> + <p> + The restaurant of the Hotel St. Ives seems, as I look back on it, an odd + spot to have served as stage wings for a melodrama, pure and simple. Yet a + melodrama did begin there. No other word fits the case. The inns of the + Middle Ages, which, I believe, reeked with trap-doors and cutthroats, + pistols and poisoned daggers, offered nothing weirder than my experience, + with its first scene set beneath this roof. The food there is + superperfect, every luxury surrounds you, millionaires and traveling + princes are your fellow-guests. Still, sooner than pass another night + there, I would sleep airily in Central Park, and if I had a friend seeking + New York quarters, I would guide him toward some other place. + </p> + <p> + It was pure chance that sent me to the St. Ives for the night before my + steamer sailed. Closing the doors of my apartment the previous week and + bidding good-bye to the servants who maintained me there in bachelor state + and comfort, I had accompanied my friend Dick Forrest on a farewell yacht + cruise from which I returned to find the first two hotels of my seeking + packed from cellar to roof. But the third had a free room, and I took it + without the ghost of a presentiment. What would or would not have happened + if I had not taken it is a thing I like to speculate on. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, I should in due course have joined an ambulance section + somewhere in France. I should not have gone hobbling on crutches for a + painful three months or more. I should not have in my possession four + shell fragments, carefully extracted by a French surgeon from my + fortunately hard head. Nor should I have lived through the dreadful moment + when that British officer at Gibraltar held up those papers, neatly folded + and sealed and bound with bright, inappropriately cheerful red tape, and + with an icy eye demanded an explanation beyond human power to afford. + </p> + <p> + All this would have been spared me. But, on the other hand, I could not + now look back to that dinner on the Turin-Paris <i>rapide</i>. I should + never have seen that little, ruined French village, with guns booming in + the distance and the nearer sound of water running through tall reeds and + over green stones and between great mossy trees. Indeed, my life would now + be, comparatively speaking, a cheerless desert, because I should never + have met the most beautiful—Well, all clouds have silver linings; + some have golden ones with rainbow edges. No; I am not sorry I stopped at + the St. Ives; not in the least! + </p> + <p> + At any rate, there I was at eight o’clock of a Wednesday evening in a + restaurant full of the usual lights and buzz and glitter, among women in + soft-hued gowns, and men in their hideous substitute for the same. Across + the table sat my one-time guardian, dear old Peter Dunstan,—Dunny to + me since the night when I first came to him, a very tearful, lonesome, + small boy whose loneliness went away forever with his welcoming hug,—just + arrived from home in Washington to eat a farewell dinner with me and to + impress upon me for the hundredth time that I had better not go. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a wild-goose chase,” he snapped, attacking his entree savagely. + Heaven knows it was to prove so, even wilder than his dreams could paint; + but if there were geese in it, myself included, there was also to be a + swan. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t really mean that, Dunny,” I said firmly, continuing my dinner. + It was a good dinner; we had consulted over each item from cocktails to + liqueurs, and we are both distinctly fussy about food. + </p> + <p> + “I do mean it!” insisted my guardian. Dunny has the biggest heart in the + world, with a cayenne layer over it, and this layer is always thickest + when I am bound for distant parts. “I mean every word of it, I tell you, + Dev.” Dev, like Dunny, is a misnomer; my name is Devereux—Devereux + Bayne. “Don’t you risk your bones enough with the confounded games you + play? What’s the use of hunting shells and shrapnel like a hero in a movie + reel? We’re not in this war yet, though we soon will be, praise the Lord! + And till we are, I believe in neutrality—upon my soul I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Here’s news, then!” I exclaimed. “I never heard of it before. Well, your + new life begins too late, Dunny. You brought me up the other way. The + modern system, you know, makes the parent or guardian responsible for the + child. So thank yourself for my unneutral nature and for the war medals + I’m going to win!” + </p> + <p> + Muttering something about impertinence, he veered to another tack. + </p> + <p> + “If you must do it,” he croaked, “why sail for Naples instead of for + Bordeaux? The Mediterranean is full of those pirate fellows. You read the + papers—the headlines anyway; you know it as well as I. It’s suicide, + no less! Those Huns sank the <i>San Pietro</i> last week. I say, young + man, are you listening? Do you hear what I’m telling you?” + </p> + <p> + It was true that my gaze had wandered near the close of his harangue. I + like to look at my guardian; the fine old chap, with his height and + straightness, his bright blue eyes and proud silver head, is a sight for + sore eyes, as they say. But just then I had glimpsed something that was + even better worth seeing. I am not impressionable, but I must confess that + I was impressed by this girl. + </p> + <p> + She sat far down the room from me. Only her back was visible and a + somewhat blurred side-view reflected in the mirror on the wall. Even so + much was, however, more than welcome, including as it did a smooth white + neck, a small shell-like ear, and a mass of warm, crinkly, red-brown hair. + She wore a rose-colored gown, I noticed, cut low, with a string of pearls; + and her sole escort was a staid, elderly, precise being, rather of the + trusted family-lawyer type. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t missed a word, Dunny,” I assured my vis-a-vis. “I was just + wondering if Huns and pirates had quite a neutral sound. You know I have + to go via Rome to spend a week with Jack Herriott. He has been pestering + me for a good two years—ever since he’s been secretary there.” + </p> + <p> + Grumbling unintelligible things, my guardian sampled his Chablis; and I, + crumbling bread, lazily wishing I could get a front view of the girl in + rose-color, filled the pause by rambling on. + </p> + <p> + “Duty calls me,” I declared. “You see, I was born in France. Shabby + treatment on my parents’ part I’ve always thought it; if they had hurried + home before the event I might have been President and declared war here + instead of hunting one across the seas. In that case, Dunny, I should have + heeded your plea and stayed; but since I’m ineligible for chief executive, + why linger on this side?” + </p> + <p> + He scowled blackly. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what it is, my boy,” he accused, with lifted forefinger. + “You like to pose—that’s what is the matter with you! You like to + act stolid, matter-of-fact, correct; you want to sit in your ambulance and + smoke cigarettes indifferently and raise your eyebrows superciliously when + shrapnel bursts round. And it’s all very well now; it looks picturesque; + it looks good form, very. But how old are you, eh, Dev? Twenty-eight is + it? Twenty-nine?” + </p> + <p> + “You should know—none better—that I am thirty,” I responded. + “Haven’t you remembered each anniversary since I was five, beginning with + a hobby-horse and working up through knives and rifles and ponies to the + latest thing in cars?” + </p> + <p> + Dunny lowered his accusing finger and tapped it on the cloth. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty,” he repeated fatefully. “All right, Dev. Strong and fit as an ox, + and a crack polo-player and a fair shot and boxer and not bad with boats + and cars and horses and pretty well off, too. So when you look bored, it’s + picturesque; but wait! Wait ten years, till you take on flesh, and the + doctor puts you on diet, and you stop hunting chances to kill yourself, + but play golf like me. Then, my boy, when you look stolid you won’t be + romantic. You’ll be stodgy, my boy. That’s what you’ll be!” + </p> + <p> + Of all words in the dictionary there is surely none worse than this one. + The suggestions of stodginess are appalling, including, even at best, + hints of overweight, general uninterestingness, and a disposition to sit + at home in smoking-jacket and slippers after one’s evening meal. As my + guardian suggested, my first youth was over. I held up both my hands in + token that I asked for grace. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Kamerad</i>!” I begged pathetically. “Come, Dunny, let’s be sociable. + After all, you know, it’s my last evening; and if you call me such names, + you will be sorry when I am gone. By the way, speaking of Huns—it + was you, the neutral, who mentioned them,—does it strike you there + are quite a few of them on the staff of this hotel? I hope they won’t + poison me. Look at the head waiter, look at half the waiters round, and + see that blond-haired, blue-eyed menial. Do you think he saw his first + daylight in these United States?” + </p> + <p> + The menial in question was a uniformed bellboy winding in and out among + tables and paging some elusive guest. As he approached, his chant grew + plainer. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne,” he was droning. “Room four hundred and three.” + </p> + <p> + I raised a hand in summons, and he paused beside my seat. + </p> + <p> + “Telephone call for you, sir,” he informed me. + </p> + <p> + With a word to my guardian, I pushed my chair back and crossed the room. + But at the door I found my path barred by the <i>maitre d’hotel</i>, who, + at the sight of my progress, had sprung forward, like an arrow from a bow. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir. You’re not leaving, are you?” The man was actually + breathing hard. Deferential as his bearing was, I saw no cause for the + inquiry, and with some amusement and more annoyance, I wondered if he + suspected me of slipping out to evade my bill. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, staring him up and down; “I’m not!” I passed down the hall + to the entrance of the telephone booths. Glancing back, I could see him + still standing there gazing after me; his face, I thought, wore a relieved + expression as he saw whither I was bound. + </p> + <p> + The queer incident left my mind as I secluded myself, got my connection, + and heard across the wire the indignant accents of Dick Forrest, my former + college chum. Upon leaving his yacht that morning, I had promised him a + certain power of attorney—Dick is a lawyer and is called a good one, + though I can never quite credit it—and he now demanded in unjudicial + heat why it had not been sent round. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, man,” I cut in remorsefully, “I forgot it! The thing is in + my room now. Where are you? That’s all right. You’ll have it by messenger + within ten minutes.” Hastily rehooking the receiver, I bolted from my + booth. + </p> + <p> + In the restaurant door against a background of paneled walls the <i>maitre + d’hotel</i> still stood, as if watching for my return. I sprang into an + elevator just about to start its ascent, and saw his mouth fall open and + his feet bring him several quick steps forward. + </p> + <p> + “The man is crazy,” I told myself with conviction as I shot up four + stories in as many seconds and was deposited in my hall. + </p> + <p> + There was no one at the desk where the floor clerk usually kept vigil, + gossiping affably with such employees as passed. The place seemed + deserted; no doubt all the guests were downstairs. Treading lightly on the + thick carpet, I went down the hall to Room four hundred and three, and + found the door ajar and a light visible inside. + </p> + <p> + My bed, I supposed, was being turned down. I swung the door open, and + halted in my tracks. With his back to me, bent over a wide-open trunk that + I had left locked, was a man. + </p> + <p> + Stepping inside, I closed the door quietly, meanwhile scrutinizing my + unconscious visitor from head to foot. He wore no hotel insignia—was + neither porter, waiter, nor valet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how about it? Anything there suit you?” I inquired affably, with my + back against the door. + </p> + <p> + Exclaiming gutturally, he whisked about and faced me where I stood quite + prepared for a rough-and-tumble. Instead of a typical housebreaker of + fiction, I saw a pale, rabbit-like, decent-appearing little soul. He was + neatly dressed; he seemed unarmed save for a great ring of assorted keys; + and his manner was as propitiatory and mild-eyed as that of any mouse. + There must be some mistake. He was some sober mechanic, not a robber. But + on the other hand, he looked ready to faint with fright. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mein Gott</i>!” he murmured in a sort of fishlike gasp. + </p> + <p> + This illuminating remark was my first clue. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! <i>Mein Herr</i> is German?” I inquired, not stirring from my place. + </p> + <p> + The demand wrought an instant change in him—he drew himself up, + perhaps to five feet five. + </p> + <p> + “Vat you got against the Germans?” he asked me, almost with menace. It was + the voice of a fanatic intoning “Die Wacht am Rhein”—of a zealot + speaking for the whole embattled <i>Vaterland</i>. + </p> + <p> + The situation was becoming farcical. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing in the world, I assure you,” I replied. “They are a simple, + kindly people. They are musical. They have given the world Schiller, + Goethe, the famous <i>Kultur</i>, and a new conception of the + possibilities of war. But I think they should have kept out of Belgium, + and I feel the same way about my room—and don’t you try to pull a + pistol or I may feel more strongly still.” + </p> + <p> + “I ain’t got no pistol, <i>nein</i>,” declared my visitor, sulkily. His + resentment had already left him; he had shrunk back to five feet three. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have, but I’ll worry along without it,” I remarked, with a glance + at the nearest bag. As targets, I don’t regard my fellow-creatures with + great enthusiasm and, moreover, I could easily have made two of this mousy + champion of a warlike race. Illogically, I was feeling that to bully him + was sheer brutality. Besides this, my dinner was not being improved by the + delay. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” I said amiably, “I can’t see that you’ve taken anything. + Speak up lively now; I’ll give you just one chance. If you care to tell me + how you got through a locked door and what you were after, I’ll let you + go. I’m off to the firing line, and it may bring me luck!” + </p> + <p> + Hope glimmered in his eyes. In broken English, with a childlike + ingenuousness of demeanor, he informed me that he was a first-class + locksmith—first-glass he called it—who had been sent by the + management to open a reluctant trunk. He had entered my room, I was led to + infer, by a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “I go now, <i>ja</i>?” he concluded, as postscript to the likely tale. + </p> + <p> + “The devil you do! Do you take me for an utter fool?” I asked, excusably + nettled, and stepping to the telephone, I took the receiver from its hook. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the manager’s office, please,” I requested, watching my visitor. + “Is this the manager? This is Mr. Bayne speaking, Room four hundred and + three. I’ve found a man investigating my trunk—a foreigner, a + German.” An exclamation from the manager, and from the listening + telephone-girl a shriek! “Yes; I have him. Yes; of course I can hold him. + Send up your house detective and be quick! My dinner is spoiling—” + </p> + <p> + The receiver dropped from my hand and clattered against the wall. The + little German, suddenly galvanized, had leaped away from the trunk, not + toward me and the door beyond me, but toward the electric switch. His + fingers found and turned it, plunging the room into the darkness of the + grave. Taken unaware, I barred his path to the hall, only to hear him + fling up the window across the room. Against the faint square of light + thus revealed, I saw him hang poised a moment. Then with a desperate + noise, a moan of mixed resolve and terror, he disappeared. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + DEUTSCHLAND UBER ALLES + </h3> + <p> + Standing there staring after him, I felt like a murderer of the deepest + dye. It is one thing to hand over to the police their natural prey, a + thief taken red-handed, but quite another, and a much more harrowing one, + to have him slip through your fingers, precipitate himself into mid-air, + and drop four stories to the pavement, scattering his brains far and wide. + There was not a vestige of hope for the poor wretch. + </p> + <p> + Unnerved, I groped to the window and peered downward for his remains. My + first glance proved my regrets to be superfluous. Beneath my window, + which, owing to the crowded condition of the hotel, opened on a side + street, a fire-escape descended jaggedly; and upon it, just out of arm’s + reach, my recent guest clung and wobbled, struggling with an attack of + natural vertigo before proceeding toward the earth. + </p> + <p> + By this time my rage was such that I would have followed that little thief + almost anywhere. It was not the dizziness of the yawning void that stayed + me. I should have climbed the Matterhorn with all cheerfulness to catch + him at the top. But sundry visions of the figure I would cut, the crowd + that might gather, and the probable ragging in the morning papers, were + too much for me, and I sorrowfully admitted that the game was not worth + the price. + </p> + <p> + The little man’s nerves, meanwhile, seemed to be steadying. Feeling each + step, he began cautiously to work his way down. To my wrath he even looked + up at me and indulged in a grimace—but his triumph was ill-timed, + for at that very instant I beheld, strolling along the street below, + humming and swinging his night-stick, as leisurely, complacent, and + stalwart a representative of the law as one could wish to see. + </p> + <p> + “Hi, there! Officer!” I shouted lustily. My hail, if not my words, reached + him; he glanced up, saw the figure on the ladder, and was seized + instantaneously with the spirit of the chase. + </p> + <p> + Yelling something reassuring, the gist of which escaped me, he constituted + himself a reception committee of one and started for the ladder’s foot. + But our doughty Teuton was a resourceful person. Roused to the urgency of + his plight, he looked wildly up at me, down at the officer, and, hastily + pushing up the nearest window, hoisted himself across its sill, and again + took refuge in the St. Ives Hotel. + </p> + <p> + With a bellow of rage, the policeman dashed toward the porte-cochere, + while I ducked back into the room, rapidly revolving my chances of cutting + off the man’s retreat below. If the system of numbering was the same on + every floor, my thief must, of course, emerge from Room 303. But this + similarity was problematical, and to invade apartments at random, + disturbing women at their opera toilets and maybe even waking babies, was + too desperate a shift to try. + </p> + <p> + It reminded me to wait with what patience I could summon for the house + detective. And where was he, by the way? I had turned in my alarm a good + five minutes before. + </p> + <p> + In an unenviable humor I stumbled across the room, tripping and barking my + shins over various malignant hassocks, tables, and chairs. Finding the + switch at last, I flooded the room with light, and saw myself in the + mirror, with tie and coat askew. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” I muttered, straightening them viciously, “we’ll see what he took + away.” But the trunk seemed undisturbed when I examined it, and my various + bags and suitcases were securely locked. I had found Forrest’s power of + attorney and was storing it in my pocket when voices rose outside. + </p> + <p> + A group of four was approaching, comprised of a spruce, dress-coated + manager; a short thick-set, broad-faced man who was doubtless the + long-overdue detective; a professional-appearing gentleman with a black + bag, obviously the house-physician; and the policeman that I had summoned + from his stroll below. The latter, in an excited brogue, was recounting + his late vision of the thief, “hangin’ between hivin and earth, no less,” + while the detective scornfully accused him of having been asleep or + jingled, on the ground of my late telephone to the effect that I was + holding the man. + </p> + <p> + The manager, as was natural, took the initiative, bustling past me into my + room and peering eagerly around. + </p> + <p> + “I needn’t say, Mr. Bayne,” he orated fluently, “how sorry I am that this + has happened—especially beneath our roof. It is our first case, I + assure you, of anything so regrettable. If it gets into the papers it + won’t do us any good. Now the important thing is to take the fellow out by + the rear without courting notice. Why, where is he?” he asked hopefully. + “Surely he isn’t gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, and didn’t I tell ye? ‘Tis without eyes ye think me!” The policeman + was resentful, and so, to tell the truth, was I. The whole maddening + affair seemed bent on turning to farce at every angle; the doctor, as a + final straw, had just offered <i>sotto voce</i> to mix me a soothing + draft! + </p> + <p> + “Gone! Of course he’s gone, man!” I exclaimed with some natural temper. + “Did you expect him to sit here waiting all this time? What on earth have + you been doing—reading the papers—playing bridge? A dozen + thieves could have escaped since I telephoned downstairs!” + </p> + <p> + “But you said,” he murmured, apparently dazed, “that you could hold him.” + A tactless remark, which failed to assuage my wrath! + </p> + <p> + “So I could,” I responded savagely. “But I didn’t expect him to turn into + a conjuring trick, which is what he did. He went out that window head + foremost, down the ladder, and into the room below. Let’s be after him—though + we stand as much chance of catching him as we do of finding the King of + England!” and I turned toward the doorway, where the manager, the doctor + and the detective were massed. + </p> + <p> + The manager put his hand upon my arm. I looked down at it with raised + eyebrows, and he took it away. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir,” he said, adopting a manner of appeal, “but if you’ll + reflect for a moment you’ll see how it is, I know. People don’t care for + houses where burglars fly in and out of windows; it makes them nervous; + you wouldn’t believe how easily a hotel can get a bad name and lose its + clientele. Besides, from what you tell me, the fellow must be well away by + this time. You’d do me a favor—a big one—by dropping the + matter here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t!” I snapped indignantly. “I’ll see it through—or + start something still livelier. Are you coming down with me to investigate + the room beneath us or do you want me to ring up police headquarters and + find out why?” + </p> + <p> + In the hall the policeman looked at me across the intervening heads and + dropped one slow, approving eyelid. “If the gintleman says so—” he + remarked in heavy tones fraught with meaning, and fixed a cold, blue, + appraising gaze on the detective, who thereupon yielded with unexpectedly + good grace. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, what’s eating you?” was his amiable demand. “Sure, we was going right + down there anyhow—soon’s we found out how the land lay up here.” + </p> + <p> + The five of us took the elevator to the lower floor. An unfriendly + atmosphere surrounded me. I was held a hotel wrecker without reason. We + found the corridor empty, the floor desk abandoned—a state of things + rather strikingly the duplicate of that reigning overhead—and in due + course paused before Room 303, where the manager, figuratively speaking, + washed his hands of the affair. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the room, Mr. Bayne, for which you ask.” If I would persist in my + nefarious course, added his tone. + </p> + <p> + The detective, obeying the hypnotic eye of the policeman, knocked. There + was silence. The bluecoat, my one ally, was crouching for a spring. Then + light steps crossed the room, and the door was opened. There stood a girl,—a + most attractive girl, the girl that I had seen downstairs. Straight and + slender, spiritedly gracious in bearing, with gray eyes questioning us + from beneath lashes of crinkly black, she was a radiant figure as she + stood facing us, with a coat of bright-blue velvet thrown over her rosy + gown. + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon, miss,” said the policeman, brightly, “this gintleman’s been + robbed.” + </p> + <p> + As her eyebrows went up a fraction, I could have murdered him, for how + else could she read his statement save that I took her for the thief? + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” I explained, bowing formally, “to disturb you. We are + hunting a thief who took French leave by my fire-escape. I must have been + mistaken—I thought that he dodged in again by this window. You have + not seen or heard anything of him, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t. But then, I just this instant came up from dinner,” she + replied. Her low, contralto tones, quite impersonal, were yet delightful; + I could have stood there talking burglars with her till dawn. “Do you wish + to come in and make sure that he is not in hiding?” With a half smile for + which I didn’t blame her, she moved a step aside. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not!” I said firmly, ignoring a nudge from the policeman. “He + left before you came—there was ample time. It is not of the least + consequence, anyhow. Again I beg your pardon.” As she inclined her head, I + bowed, and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “I trust Mr. Bayne, that you are satisfied at last.” This was the St. Ives + manager, and I did not like his tone. + </p> + <p> + “I am satisfied of several things,” I retorted sharply, “but before I + share them with you, will you kindly tell me your name?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Ritter,” he said with dignity. “I confess I fail to see what + bearing—” + </p> + <p> + “Call it curiosity,” I interrupted. “Doctor, favor me with yours.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor peered at me over his glasses, hesitated, and then revealed his + patronym. It was Swanburger, he informed me. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear sir, what on earth—” + </p> + <p> + “Merely,” said I, with conviction, “that this isn’t an Allies’ night. It + is <i>Deutschland uber Alles</i>; the stars are fighting for the Teuton + race. Now, let’s hear how you were christened,” I added, turning to the + house detective, who looked even less sunny than before if that could be. + </p> + <p> + “See here, whatcher giving us?” snarled that somewhat unpolished worthy. + “My name’s Zeitfeld; but I was born in this country, don’t you forget it, + same as you.” + </p> + <p> + “A great American personality,” I remarked dreamily, “has declared that in + the hyphenate lies the chief menace to the United States. And what’s your + name?” I asked the representative of law and order. “Is it Schmidt?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” he responded, grinning; “it’s O’Reilly, sorr.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank heaven for that! You’ve saved my reason,” I assured him as I leaned + against the wall and scanned the Germanic hordes. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ritter,” said I, addressing that gentleman coldly, “when I am next in + New York I don’t think I shall stop with you. The atmosphere here is too + hectic; you answer calls for help too slowly—calls, at least, in + which a guest indiscreetly tells you that he has caught a German thief. It + looks extremely queer, gentlemen. And there are some other points as well—” + </p> + <p> + But there I paused. I lacked the necessary conviction. After all I was the + average citizen, with the average incredulity of the far-fetched, the + melodramatic, the absurd. To connect the head waiter’s panic at my + departure with the episode in my room, to declare that the floor clerks + had been called from their posts for a set purpose, and the halls + deliberately cleared for the thief, were flights of fancy that were beyond + me. The more fool I! + </p> + <p> + By the time I saw the last of the adventure I began that night—it + was all written in the nth power, and introduced in more or less important + roles the most charming girl in the world, the most spectacular hero of + France, the cleverest secret-service agent in the pay of the fatherland, + and I sometimes ruefully suspected, the biggest imbecile of the United + States in the person of myself—I knew better than to call any idea + impossible simply because it might sound wild. But at the moment my + education was in its initial stages, and turning with a shrug from three + scowling faces, I led my friendly bluecoat a little aside. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve no more time to-night to spend thief-catching, Officer,” I told him. + I had just recalled my dinner, now utterly ruined, and Dunny, probably at + this instant cracking walnuts as fiercely as if each one were the kaiser’s + head. “But I’m an amateur in these affairs, and you are a master. Before I + go, as man to man, what the dickens do you make of this?” + </p> + <p> + Flattered, he looked profound. + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking, sorr,” he gave judgment, “ye had the rights of it. Seein’ + as how th’ thafe is German, ye’ll not set eyes on him more—for divil + a wan here but’s of that counthry, and they stick together something + fierce!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I admitted, “our thoughts run parallel. Here is something to drink + confusion to them all. And, O’Reilly, I am glad I’m going to sail + to-morrow. I’d rather live on a sea full of submarines than in this hotel, + wouldn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Touching his forehead, he assented, and wished me good-night and a good + journey; part of his hope went unfulfilled, by the way. That ocean voyage + of mine was to take rank, in part at least, as a first-class nightmare. + The Central powers could scarcely have improved on it by torpedoing us in + mid-ocean or by speeding us upon our trip with a cargo of clock-work + bombs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + ON THE RE D’ITALIA + </h3> + <p> + The sailing of the <i>Re d’Italia</i> was scheduled for 3 P.M. promptly, + but being well acquainted with the ways of steamers at most times, above + all in these piping times of war, it was not until an hour later than I + left the St. Ives, where the manager, by the way, did not appear to bid me + farewell. + </p> + <p> + The thermometer had been falling, and the day was crisp and snappy, with a + light powdering of snow underfoot and a blue tang and sparkle in the air. + Dunny accompanied me in the taxicab, but was less talkative than usual. + Indeed, he spoke only two or three times between the hotel and the pier. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Dev,” was his first contribution to the conversation, “d’ you + remember it was at a dock that you and I first met? It was night, blacker + than Tophet, and raining, and you came ashore wet as a rag. You were the + lonesomest, chilliest, most forlorn little tike I ever saw; but, by the + eternal, you were trying not to cry!” + </p> + <p> + “Lonesome? I rather think so!” I echoed with conviction. “Wynne and his + wife brought me over; he played poker all the way, and she read novels in + her berth. And I heard every one say that I was an orphan, and it was + very, very sad. Well, I was never lonely after that, Dunny.” My hand met + his half-way. + </p> + <p> + The next time that he broke silence was upon the ferry, when he urged on + me a fat wallet stuffed with plutocratic-looking notes. + </p> + <p> + “In case anything should happen,” ran his muttered explanation. I have + never needed Dunny’s money,—his affection is another matter,—but + he can spare it, and this time I took it because I saw he wanted me to. + </p> + <p> + As we approached the Jersey City piers, he seemed to shrink and grow + tired, to take on a good ten years beyond his hale and hearty age. With + every glance I stole at him a lump in my throat grew bigger, and in the + end, bending forward, I laid a hand on his knee. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Dunny,” I demanded, not looking at him, “do you mean half of + what you were saying last evening—or the hundredth part? After all, + there’ll be a chance to fight here before we’re many months older. If you + just say the word, old fellow, I’ll be with you to-night—and hang + the trip!” + </p> + <p> + But Dunny, though he wrung my hand gratefully and choked and glared out of + the window, would hear of no such arrangement, repudiated it, indeed, with + scorn. + </p> + <p> + “No, my boy,” he declared. “I don’t say it for a minute. I like your + going. I wouldn’t give a tinker’s dam for you, whatever that is, if you + didn’t want to do something for those fellows over there. I won’t even say + to be careful, for you can’t if you do your duty—only, don’t you be + too all-fired foolhardy, even for war medals, Dev.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I was born to be hanged, not shot,” I assured him, almost + prophetically. “I’ll take care of myself, and I’ll write you now and then—” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won’t!” he snorted, with a skepticism amply justified by the + past. “And if you did, I shouldn’t answer; I hate letters, always did. But + you cable me once a fortnight to let me know you’re living—and send + an extra cable if you want anything on earth!” + </p> + <p> + The taxi, which had been crawling, came to a final halt, and a hungry + horde, falling on my impedimenta, lowered them from the driver’s seat. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’ll not come on board, Dev,” said my guardian. “I—I couldn’t + stand it. Good-by, my dear boy.” + </p> + <p> + We clasped hands again; then I felt his arm resting on my shoulder, and + flung both of mine about him in an old-time, boyish hug. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Au revoir</i>, Dunny. Back next year,” I shouted cheerily as the + driver threw in his clutch and the car glided on its way. + </p> + <p> + Preceded by various porters, I threaded my way at a snail’s pace through + the dense crowd of waiting passengers, swarthy-faced sons of Italy, + apparently bound for the steerage. The great gray bulk of the <i>Re + d’Italia</i> loomed before me, floating proudly at her stern the green, + white, and red flag blazoned with the Savoyard shield. + </p> + <p> + “Wave while they let you,” I apostrophized it, saluting. “When we get + outside the three-mile limit and stop courting notice, you’ll not fly + long.” + </p> + <p> + At the gang-plank I was halted, and I produced my passport and exhibited + the <i>vise</i> of his excellency, the Italian consul-general in New York. + I strolled aboard, was assigned to Cabin D, and informed by my steward + that there were in all but five first-class passengers, a piece of news + that left me calm. Stodgy I may be,—it was odd how that term of + Dunny’s rankled,—but I confess that I find chance traveling + acquaintances boring and avoid them when I can. Unlike most of my + countrymen, I suppose I am not gregarious, though I dine and week-end + punctiliously, send flowers and leave cards at decorous intervals, and + know people all the way from New York to Tokio. + </p> + <p> + My carefully limited baggage looked lonely in my cabin; I missed the + paraphernalia with which one usually begins a trip. Also, as I rummaged + through two bags to find the cap I wanted, I longed for Peters, my + faithful man, who could be backed to produce any desired thing at a + moment’s notice. When bound for Flanders or the Vosges, however, one must + be a Spartan. I found what I sought at last and went on deck. + </p> + <p> + The scene, though cheerful, was not lacking in wartime features: A row of + life-boats hung invitingly ready; a gun, highly dramatic in appearance, + was mounted astern, with every air of meaning business should the kaiser + meddle with us en route. Down below, the Italians, talking, gesticulating, + showing their white teeth in flashing, boyish smiles, were being herded + docilely on board, while at intervals one or another of the few + promenade-deck passengers appeared. + </p> + <p> + The first of these, a shrewd-faced, nervous little man, borrowed an + unneeded match of me and remarked that it was cold weather for spring. The + next, a good-looking young foreigner,—a reservist, I surmised, + recalled to the Italian colors in this hour of his country’s need,—rather + harrowed my feelings by coming on board with a family party, gray-haired + father, anxious mother, slim bride-like wife, and two brothers or cousins, + all making pathetic pretense at good cheer. Soon after came a third man, + dark, quiet, watchful-looking, and personable enough, although his shoes + were a little too gleamingly polished, his watch and chain a little too + luminously golden, the color scheme of his hose and tie selected with + almost too much care. + </p> + <p> + “This,” I reflected resignedly, “is going to be a ghastly trip. By Jove, + here comes another! Now where have I seen her before?” + </p> + <p> + The new arrival, as indicated by the pronoun, was a woman; though why one + should tempt Providence by traveling on this route at this juncture, I + found it hard to guess. Standing with her back to me, enveloped in a coat + of sealskin with a broad collar of darker fur, well gloved, smartly shod, + crowned by a fur hat with a gold cockade, she made a delightful picture as + she rummaged in a bag which reposed upon a steamer-chair, and which, thus + opened, revealed a profusion of gold mountings, bottles and brushes, + hand-chased and initialed in an opulent way. + </p> + <p> + There was a haunting familiarity about her. She teased my memory as I + strolled up the deck. Then, snapping the bag shut, she turned and + straightened, and I recognized the girl to whose door my thief-chase had + led me at the St. Ives. + </p> + <p> + It seemed rather a coincidence my meeting her again. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t mind talking to you on this trip,” I reflected, mollified. + “The mischief of it is you’ll notice me about as much as you notice the + ship’s stokers. You’re not the sort to scrape acquaintance, or else I miss + my shot!” + </p> + <p> + I did not miss it. So much was instantly proved. As I passed her, on the + mere chance that she might elect to acknowledge our encounter, I let my + gaze impersonally meet hers. She started slightly. Evidently she + remembered. But she turned toward the nearest door without a bow. + </p> + <p> + The dark, too-well-groomed man was emerging as she advanced. Instead of + moving back, he blocked her path, looking—was it appraisingly, + expectantly?—into her eyes. There was a pause while she waited + rather haughtily for passage; then he effaced himself, and she + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Striking a match viciously, I lit a cigarette and strolled forward. Either + the fellow had fancied that he knew her or he had behaved in a + confoundedly impertinent way. The latter hypothesis seemed, on the whole, + the more likely, and I felt a lively desire to drop him over the rail. + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t know what a girl of your looks expects, I’m sure,” I + grumbled, “setting off on your travels with no chaperon and no companion + and no maid! Where are your father and mother? Where are your brothers? + Where’s the old friend of the family who dined with you last night? If + chaps who have no right to walk the same earth with you get insolent, who + is going to teach them their place, and who is going to take care of you + if a U-boat pops out of the sea? Oh, well, never mind. It isn’t any of my + business. But just the same if you need my services, I think I’ll tackle + the job.” + </p> + <p> + Time was passing; night had fallen. Consulting my watch, I found that it + was seven o’clock. I had been aboard more than two hours. An afternoon + sailing, quotha! At this rate we would be lucky if we got off by dawn. + </p> + <p> + The dinner gong, a welcome diversion, summoned us below to lights and + warmth. At one table the young Italian entertained his relatives, and at + another the captain, a short, swart-faced, taciturn being, had grouped his + officers and various officials of the steamship company at a farewell + feast. The little sharp-faced passenger was throned elsewhere in lonely + splendor, but when I selected a fourth table, he jumped up, crossed over + and installed himself as my vis-a-vis. Passing me the salt, which I did + not require, he supplied with it some personal data of which I felt no + greater need. His name was McGuntrie, he announced; he was sales agent for + the famous Phillipson Rifles and was being dispatched to secure a gigantic + contract on the other side. + </p> + <p> + “And if inside six months you don’t see three hundred thousand Italian + soldiers carrying Phillipson’s best,” he informed me, “I’ll take a back + seat and let young Jim Furman, who thinks I’m a has-been and he’s the one + white hope, begin to draw my pay. You can’t beat those rifles. When the + boys get to carrying them, old Francis Joseph’s ghost’ll weep. Pity, ain’t + it, we didn’t get on board by noon?” he digressed sociably. “I could’ve + found something to do ashore the four hours I’ve been twiddling my thumbs + here, and I guess you could too. Hardest, though, on our friends the + newspaper boys. Did you know they were out there waiting to take a + flashlight film? Fact. They do it nowadays every time a big liner leaves. + Then if we sink, all they have to do is run it, with ‘Doomed Ship Leaving + New York Harbor’ underneath.” + </p> + <p> + To his shocked surprise I laughed at the information. My appetite was + unimpaired as I pursued my meal. Trains in which others ride may telescope + and steamers may take one’s acquaintances to watery graves, but to normal + people the chance of any catastrophe overtaking them personally must + always seem gratifyingly far-fetched and vague. + </p> + <p> + “Think it’s funny, do you?” my new friend reproached me. “Well, I don’t; + and neither did the folks who had cabins taken and who threw them up last + week when they heard how the <i>San Pietro</i> went down on this same + route. We’re five plumb idiots—that’s what we are—five crazy + lunatics! I’d never have come a step, not with wild horses dragging me if + it hadn’t been for Jim Furman being pretty near popeyed, looking for a + chance to cut me out and sail. We’ve got fifteen hundred reservists + downstairs, and a cargo of contraband. What do you know about that as a + prize for a submarine?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said vaingloriously. “I can swim.” + </p> + <p> + My eyes were wandering, for the girl in the fur coat had entered, with the + dark, watchful-eyed man—was it pure coincidence?—close behind. + The steward ushered her to a table; the man followed at her heels. I dare + say I glared. I know my muscles stiffened. The fellow was going to speak + to her. What in blazes did he mean by stalking her in this way? + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” he was saying, “but haven’t we met before?” + </p> + <p> + The girl straightened into rigidness, looking him over. Her manner was + haughty, her ruddy head poised stiffly, as she answered in a cold tone: + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + He was watching her keenly. + </p> + <p> + “My name’s John Van Blarcom,” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + Again she gave him that sweeping glance. + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” she said indifferently. “I have not seen you before.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded curtly. + </p> + <p> + “My mistake,” he admitted. “I thought I knew you,” and turning from her, + he sat down at the one table still unoccupied. + </p> + <p> + “So his name’s Van Blarcom,” whispered my ubiquitous neighbor. “And the + Italian chap over there is Pietro Ricci. The steward told me so. And the + captain’s name is Cecchi; get it? And I know your name, too, Mr. Bayne,” + he added with a grin. “The steward didn’t know what was taking you over, + but I guess I’ve got your number all right. Say, ain’t you a flying man or + else one of the American-Ambulance boys?” + </p> + <p> + I mustered the feeble parry that I had stopped being a boy of any sort + some time ago. Then lest he wring from me my age, birthplace, and the + amount of my income tax, I made an end of my meal. + </p> + <p> + On deck again I wondered at my irritation, my sense of restlessness. The + little salesman was not responsible, though he had fretted me like a + buzzing fly. It was rather that I had taken an intense dislike to the man + calling himself Van Blarcom; that the girl, despite her haughtiness, had + somehow given me an impression of uneasiness—of fear almost—as + she saw him approach and heard him speak; and above all, that I should + have liked to flay alive the person or persons who had let her sail + unaccompanied for a zone which at this moment was the danger point of the + seas. + </p> + <p> + My matter-of-fact, conservatively ordered life had been given a crazy + twist at the St. Ives. As an aftermath of that episode I was probably + scenting mysteries where there were none. Nevertheless, I wondered—though + I called myself a fool for it—if any more queer things would happen + before this ship on which we five bold voyagers were confined should reach + the other side. + </p> + <p> + They did. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + “EXTRA” + </h3> + <p> + Toward nine o’clock to my relief it became obvious that the <i>Re d’Italia</i> + was really going to sail at last. The first and second whistles, sounding + raucously, sent the company officials and the family of the young officer + of reserves ashore. The plank was lowered; between the ship and the + looming pier a thread of black water appeared and grew; a flash and an + explosion indicated that the possibly doomed liner had been filmed + according to schedule. “<i>Evviva l’Italia</i>!” yelled the returning + braves in the steerage—a very decent set of fellows, it struck me, + to leave so cheerfully their vocations of teamster, waiter, fruit vender, + and the like, and go, unforced, to wear the gray-green coats of Italy, the + short feathers of the mountain climbers, the bersagliere’s bunch of + plumes, and to stand against their hereditary foes the Austrians, up in + the snowy Alps. + </p> + <p> + The details of departure were an old tale to me. As we swung farther and + farther out, I turned to a newspaper, a twentieth extra probably, which I + had heard a newsboy crying along the dock a little earlier, and had bribed + a steward to secure. Moon and stars were lacking to-night, but the deck + lights were good reading-lamps. Moving up the rail to one of them, I + investigated the world’s affairs. + </p> + <p> + From the first sheet the usual staring headlines leaped at me. There were + the inevitable peace rumor, the double denial, the eternal bulletin of a + trench taken here, a hill recaptured there. A sensational rumor was + exploited to the effect that Franz von Blenheim, one of the star secret + agents of the German Empire, was at present incognito at Washington, + having spent the past month in putting his finger in the Mexican pie much + to our disadvantage. On the last column of the page was the photograph of + a distinguished-looking young man in uniform, with an announcement that + promised some interest, I thought. + </p> + <p> + “War Scandal Bursts in France,” “Scion of Oldest Noblesse Implicated,” + “Duke Mysteriously Missing,” I read in the diminishing degrees of the + scare-head type. Then came the picture, with a mien attractively debonair, + a pleasantly smiling mouth, and a sympathetic pair of eyes, and in due + course, the tale. I clutched at the flapping ends of the paper and read + on: + </p> + <p> + Of all the scandals to which the present war has given birth, none has + stirred France more profoundly than that implicating + Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier, Count of Druyes, Marquis of Beuil and Santenay, + and Duke of Raincy-la-Tour. This young nobleman, head of a family that has + played its part in French history since the days of the Northmen and the + crusaders, bears in his veins the bluest blood of the old regime, and + numbers among his ancestors no fewer than seven marshals and five + constables of France. + </p> + <p> + A noted figure not only by his birth, his wealth, and his various historic + chateaux, but also by his sporting proclivities, his daring automobile + racing, his marvelous fencing, and his spectacular hunting trips, the Duke + of Raincy-la-Tour has long been in addition an amateur aviator of + considerable fame, and it was to the French Flying Corps that he was + attached when hostilities began. Here he distinguished himself from the + first by his coolness, his extraordinary resource, and his utter contempt + for danger, and became one of the idols of the French army and a proverb + for success and audacity, besides attaining to the rank of lieutenant, + gaining, after his famous night flight across Mulhausen for bomb-dropping + purposes, the affectionate sobriquet of the Firefly of France, and winning + in rapid succession the military Medal, the ribbon of the Legion of Honor, + and the Cross of War with palms. + </p> + <p> + According to rumor, the duke was lately intrusted with a mission of + exceptional peril, involving a flight into hostile territory and the + capture of certain photographs of defenses much needed for the plans of + the supreme command. With his wonted brilliancy, he is said to have + accomplished the errand and to have returned in safety as far as the + French lines. Here, however, we enter the realm of conjecture. The duke + has disappeared; the plans he bore have never reached the generalissimo; + and rumor persistently declares that at some point upon his return journey + he was intercepted by German agents and induced by bribes or coercion to + deliver up his spoils. By one version he was later captured and summarily + executed by the French; while his friends, denying this, pin their hopes + to his death at the hands of the enemy, as offering the best outcome of + the unsavory event. + </p> + <p> + The family of the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour has been noted in the past for + its pronouncedly Royalist tendencies, the attitude of his father and + grandfather toward the republic having been hostile in the extreme. It is + believed that this fact may have its significance in the present episode. + The occurrence is of special interest to the United States in view of the + recent (Continued on Page Three) + </p> + <p> + Before proceeding, I glanced at the pictured face. The Duke of + Raincy-la-tour looked back at me with cool, clear eyes, smiling half + aloofly, a little scornfully, as in the presence of danger the true + Frenchman is apt to smile. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think, Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier,” I reflected, “that you ever + talked to the Germans except with bombs. They probably got you, poor chap, + and you’re lying buried somewhere while the gossips make a holiday of the + fact that you don’t come home. Confound ‘current rumors’ anyhow, and + yellow papers too!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said a low contralto voice. + </p> + <p> + The girl in the fur coat was standing at my shoulder. I turned, lifting my + cap, wondering what under heaven she could want. I was not much pleased to + tell the truth; a goddess shouldn’t step from her pedestal to chat with + strangers. Then suddenly I recognized a distinct oddness in her air. + </p> + <p> + “Would you lend me your paper,” she was asking, “for just a moment? I + haven’t seen one since morning; the evening editions were not out when I + came on board.” + </p> + <p> + Her manner was proud, spirited, gracious; she even smiled; but she was + frightened. I could read it in her slight pallor, in the quickening of her + breath. + </p> + <p> + My extra! What was there in the day’s news that could upset her? I was + nonplussed, but of course I at once extended the sheet. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” I replied politely. “Pray keep it.” Lifting my cap a second + time, I turned to go. + </p> + <p> + Her fingers touched my arm. + </p> + <p> + “Wait! Please wait!” she was urging. There was a half-imperious, + half-appealing note in her hushed voice. + </p> + <p> + I stared. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid,” I said blankly, “that I don’t quite—” + </p> + <p> + “Some one may suspect. Some one may come,” urged this most astonishing + young woman. “Don’t you see that—that I’m trusting you to help me? + Won’t you stay?” + </p> + <p> + Wondering if I by any chance looked as stunned as I felt, I bowed + formally, faced about, and waited, both arms on the rail. My ideas as to + my companion had been revolutionized in sixty seconds. I had believed her + a girl with whom I might have grown up, a girl whose brother and cousins I + had probably known at college, a girl that I might have met at a friend’s + dinner or at the opera or on a country-club porch if I had had my luck + with me. Now what was I to think her—an escaped lunatic or something + more accountable and therefore worse? If I detest anything, it is the + unconventional, the stagy, the mysterious. Setting my teeth, I resolved to + wait until she concluded her researches; after that, politely but firmly, + I would depart. + </p> + <p> + And then, beside me, the paper rustled. I heard a little gasp, a tiny + low-drawn sigh. Stealing a glance down, I saw the girl’s face shining + whitely in the deck light. Her black lashes fringed her cheeks as her head + bent backward; her eyes were as dark as the water we were slipping + through. I had no idea of speaking, and yet I did speak. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” I heard myself saying, “that you have had bad news.” + </p> + <p> + She was struggling for self-control, but her voice wavered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she agreed; “I am afraid I have.” + </p> + <p> + “If there is anything I can do—” I was correct, but reluctant. How I + would bless her if she would go away! + </p> + <p> + But obviously she did not intend to. Quite the contrary! + </p> + <p> + “There is something,” she was murmuring, “that would help me very much.” + </p> + <p> + There, I had done it! I was an ass of the common or garden variety, who + first resolved to keep out of a queer business and then, because a girl + looked bothered, plunged into it up to my ears. I succeeded in hiding my + feelings, in looking wooden. + </p> + <p> + “Please tell me,” I responded, “what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “But—I can’t explain it.” Her gloved hands tightened on the railing. + “And if I ask without explaining, it will seem so—so strange.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless,” I reflected grimly. But I had to see the thing through now. + “That doesn’t matter at all,” I assured her civilly through clenched + teeth. + </p> + <p> + She came closer—so close that her fur coat brushed me, and her + breath touched my cheek; her eyes, like gray stars now that they were less + anxious, went to my head a little, I suppose. Oh, yes, she was lovely. Of + course that was a factor. If she had been past her first youth and skimpy + as to hair, and dowdy, I don’t pretend that I should ever have mixed + myself up in the preposterous coil. + </p> + <p> + “This paper,” she whispered, holding out the sheet, “has something in it. + It is not about me; it is not even true. But if it stays aboard the ship,—if + some one sees it, it may make trouble. Oh, you see how it sounds; I knew + you would think me mad!” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least.” What an absurd rigmarole she was uttering! Yet such + was the spell of her eyes, her voice, her nearness that I merely felt like + saying, “Tell me some more.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t destroy it myself,” she went on anxiously. “He—they—mustn’t + see me do anything that might lead them to—to guess. But no one will + think of you, nobody will be watching you; so by and by will you weight + the paper with something heavy and drop it across the rail?” + </p> + <p> + My head was whirling, but a graven image might have envied me my + impassivity. I bowed. “I shall be delighted,” I announced banally, “to do + as you say.” + </p> + <p> + Her face flushed to a warm wild-rose tint as she heard me promise it, and + her red lips, parting, took on a tremulous smile. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she murmured in frank gratitude. “I thought—I knew you + would help me!” Then she was gone. + </p> + <p> + My trance broken I woke to hear myself softly swearing. I consigned myself + to my proper home, an asylum; I wished the girl at Timbuktu, Kamchatka, + Land’s End—anywhere except on this ship. As I had told the agent of + the Phillipson Rifles, I am no boy. One can scarcely knock about the world + for thirty years without gaining some of its wisdom; and of all the + appropriate truisms I spared myself not one. + </p> + <p> + Resentfully I reminded myself that mysteries were suspicious, that honest + people seldom had need of secrecy, that idiots who, like me, consented to + act blindfold would probably repent their blindness in sackcloth and ashes + before long. But what use were these sage reflections? I had given my word + to her. I was in for the consequences, however unpleasant they proved. + </p> + <p> + Without further mental parley I went down to my cabin, where I routed out + from among my traps a bronze paper-weight as heavy as lead. Wrapping the + mysterious sheet about it, I brought the package back on deck. There was + not a soul in sight; it was a propitious hour. + </p> + <p> + To right and to left the coast lights were slipping past, making golden + paths on the black water as our tug pulled us out to sea. The reservists + down below were singing “<i>Va fuori, o stranier</i>!” I dropped my + package overboard, watched it vanish, and turned to behold the sphinx-like + Van Blarcom, sprung up as if by magic, regarding me placidly from the + shelter of the smoking-room door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + MR. VAN BLARCOM. U. S. A. + </h3> + <p> + For a trip that had begun with such rich promise of the unusual, my voyage + on the <i>Re d’Italia</i> proved a gratifying anticlimax during its first + few days. The weather was bad. We plowed forward monotonously, flagless, + running between dark-gray water and a lowering, leaden sky. Screws + throbbed, timbers creaked, and dishes crashed as the Gulf Stream took us, + and great waves reared themselves round us like myriads of threatening + Alps. + </p> + <p> + After that first night the girl kept discreetly to her stateroom. I was + relieved; but I thought of her a good deal. I had little else to do. + Pacing a drunken deck and smoking, I wove unsatisfactory theories, asking + myself what was her need of secrecy, what the item she wanted hidden, what + the errand that had made her sail on the vessel a week after the + spectacular torpedoing of a sister-ship? Did she know this Van Blarcom or + did she merely dread any notice? And above all, who was the man and had he + been watching when I tossed that wretched extra across the rail? + </p> + <p> + I saw something of him, of course, as time went on. Naturally we four bold + spirits, the ubiquitous McGuntrie, Van Blarcom, the young reservist Pietro + Ricci,—a very good sort of fellow,—and I were herded together + beyond escape. Also, a foursome at bridge seemed divinely indicated by our + number, and to avert a sheer paralysis of ennui we formed the habit of + winning each other’s money at that game. + </p> + <p> + As we played I studied Van Blarcom, but without results. It was ruffling; + I should have absorbed in so much intercourse a fairly definite impression + of his personality, profession, and social grade. But he was baffling; + reticent, but self-assured, authoritative even, and, in a quiet way, + watchful. He smoked a good cigar, mixed a good drink, seemed used to + travel, but produced a coarse-grained effect, made grammatical errors, and + on the whole was a person from whom, once ashore, I should flee. + </p> + <p> + At six o’clock on the seventh night out our voyage entered its second lap; + all the electric lights were simultaneously extinguished as we entered the + danger zone. We made a sketchy toilet by means of tapers, groped like + wandering ghosts down a dim corridor, and dined by the faint rays of + candles thrust into bottles and placed at intervals along the festive + board. I went on deck afterward to find the ship plunging through + blackness on forced draft, with port-holes shrouded and with not even a + riding-light. If not in Davy Jones’s locker by that time, we should reach + Gibraltar the next evening; afterward we should head for Naples, a two + days’ trip. + </p> + <p> + The following morning found our stormy weather over. The sea through which + we were speeding had a magic color, the dark, rich, Mediterranean blue. + Ascending late, I saw gulls flying round us and seaweed drifting by, and + Mr. McGuntrie in a state of nerves, with a life belt about him, walking + wildly to and fro. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Bayne,” he greeted me, “never again for mine! If I ever see the + end of this trip,—if you call it a trip; I call it merry hades,—believe + me, I’ll sell something hereafter that I can sell on land. I’m a + crackerjack of a salesman, if I do say it myself. Once I got started + talking I could get a man down below to buy a hot toddy and a set of + flannels—and I wish I’d gone down there and done it before I ever + saw this boat.” + </p> + <p> + Unmoved, I leaned on the railing and watched the blue swells break. + McGuntrie took a turn or two. In the ship’s library he had discovered a + manual entitled “How to Swim,” and he was now attempting between laments + to memorize its salient points. + </p> + <p> + “The first essay is best made in water of not less than fifty degrees + Fahrenheit, and not more than four feet in depth,” he gabbled, and then + broke off to gaze at the sea about us, chilly in temperature, and + countless fathoms deep. “Oh, what’s the use? What the blue blazes does it + matter?” he cried hysterically. “I tell you that U-boat that sank the <i>San + Pietro</i> is laying for us. In about an hour you’ll see a periscope bob + up out there. Then we’ll send out an S.O.S., and the next thing you know + we’ll sink with all on board.” + </p> + <p> + We had as yet escaped this doom when toward six o’clock we approached + Gibraltar, running beneath a crimson sunset and between misty purple + shores. On one hand lay Africa, on the other the Moorish country, both + shrouded in a soft haze and edged with snowy foam. Down below the soldiers + of Italy were singing. A merchantman of belligerent nationality, our ship + proudly flew its flag again. Indeed, had it failed to do so, the British + patrol-boats would long since have known the reason why. + </p> + <p> + It was growing dark when I turned to find Van Blarcom at my elbow. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t see you,” I commented rather shortly. I don’t like people to + creep up beside me like cats. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he responded. “I’ve been waiting quite a while. I didn’t want to + disturb you, but the fact is I’d like a word with you, Mr. Bayne.” + </p> + <p> + I eyed him with curiosity. He was inscrutable, this quiet, alert, + efficient-looking man. Take, for instance, his present manner, half + self-assured, half respectfully apologetic—what grade in life did it + fit? + </p> + <p> + “Well, here I am,” I said briefly as I struck a match. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought it over a good bit,” he went on, apparently in + self-justification. “I don’t know how you will take it, but I’ll chance it + just the same. If I don’t give you a hint, you don’t get a square deal. + That’s my attitude. Did you ever hear of Franz von Blenheim, Mr. Bayne?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” The question seemed distinctly irrelevant—and yet where had I + heard that name, not very long ago? + </p> + <p> + “The German secret-service agent. The best in the world, they say.” A sort + of reluctant admiration showed in Van Blarcom’s face. “There isn’t any one + that can get him; he does what he wants, goes where he likes—the + United States, England, France, Russia—and always gets away safe. + You’d think he was a conjurer to read what he does sometimes. A whole + country will be looking for him, and he takes some one else’s passport, + puts on a disguise, and good-by—he’s gone! That’s Franz von + Blenheim. No; that’s just an outline of him. And on pretty good authority, + he’s in Washington now.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Van Blarcom, I reflected, was surely coming out of his shell; this was + quite a monologue with which he was favoring me. It was dark now; our + lights were flaring. Being in a friendly port’s shelter, we burned + electricity to-night. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know a whole lot about this fellow,” I remarked idly in the + pause. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” He smiled a trifle grimly. “In fact, I once came near getting + him; it would have made my fortune, too. But he slipped through my fingers + at the last minute, and if I ever—You see, I’m in the secret-service + myself, Mr. Bayne.” + </p> + <p> + I turned to stare at him. + </p> + <p> + “The United States service?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. All that had puzzled me was fairly clear in this new light. Not + at all the type of the star agents, those marvelous beings who figure so + romantically in fiction and on the boards, he was yet, I fancied, a good + example of the ruck of his profession, those who did the every-day + detective work which in such a business must be done. But—Franz von + Blenheim? What was my association with the name? Then I recalled that in + the extra I had read as we left harbor there had been some account of the + man’s activities in Mexico. + </p> + <p> + “What I wanted to say was this,” Van Blarcom continued in his usual manner—the + manner that I now recognized to be a subtler form of the policeman’s, + respectful to those he held for law-abiding, alert and watchful to detect + gentry of any other kind. “This line we’re traveling on now is one the + spies use quite a bit. They used to go to London straight or else to + Bordeaux and Paris; but the English and French got a pretty strict watch + going, and now it’s easier for them to slip into France through Italy, by + Modane. They sail for Naples mostly, do you see? And—you won’t + repeat this?—it’s fairly sure that when Franz von Blenheim sends his + government a report of what he’s done in Mexico against us, he’ll send it + by an agent who travels on this line and lands in Italy and then slips + into Germany by way of Switzerland.” + </p> + <p> + We were drifting slowly into the harbor of Gibraltar, the rock looming + over us through the blackness, a gigantic mountain, a mass of tiered and + serried lights. Search-lights, too, shot out like swords, focused on us, + and swept us as we crept forward between dimly visible, anchored craft. + The throbbing of our engines ceased. A launch chugged toward us, bringing + the officers of the port. I watched, pleased with the scene, and rather + taken with my companion’s discourse. It was not unlike a dime novel of my + youth. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean you’ve been sent on this line to watch for one of Blenheim’s + agents?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No. I’m sent for some work on the other side—and I’m not telling + you what it is, either,” he rejoined. “What I meant was that a man has to + be careful, traveling on these ships. They watch close. They have to. + Haven’t you noticed that whenever two or three of us get to talking, a + steward comes snooping round? Well, I suppose you wouldn’t, it not being + your business; but I have. We’re watched all the time; and if we’re wise, + we’ll mind our step. Take you, for instance. You’re a good American, eh? + And yet some spy might fool you with a cute story and get your help and + maybe play you for a sucker on the other side. I saw that happen once. It + was a nice young chap, and a pretty girl fooled him—got him into a + peck of trouble. What you want to remember is that good spies never seem + like spies.” + </p> + <p> + If I looked as I felt just then, the search-light that swept me must have + startled him. I could feel my face flushing, my hands clenching as I + caught his drift. I swung round. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this about?” I demanded sharply. But I knew. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the secret-service man discreetly, “I saw something pretty + funny the first night out, Mr. Bayne. It was safe enough with me; I can + tell a gentleman from a spy; but if an officer had seen it, the thing + wouldn’t have been a joke. Suppose we put it this way. There’s a person on + board I think I know. I haven’t got the goods, I’ll own, but I don’t often + make mistakes. My advice to you, sir, is to steer clear of strangers. And + if I were you, I—” + </p> + <p> + “That’ll do, thanks!” I cut him short. “I can take care of myself. I don’t + say your motives are bad,—you may think this is a favor,—but I + call it a confounded piece of meddling, and I’ll trouble you to let it + end.” + </p> + <p> + He looked hurt and indignant. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here,” he remonstrated, “what have I done but give you a + friendly hint not to get in bad? But maybe I was too vague about it; you + just listen to a few facts. I’ll tell you who that young lady is and who + her people are and what she wants on the other side—” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won’t!” I declared. My voice sounded savage. I was recalling how + she had begged the extra of me, and how it had contained a full account of + Franz von Blenheim, the kaiser’s man. “The young lady’s name and affairs + are no concern of mine. If you know anything you can keep it to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + As we glared at each other like two hostile catamounts, a steward relieved + the tension by running toward us down the deck. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Signori, un momento, per piacere</i>!” he called as he came. The + British officers were on board, he forthwith informed us, and were + demanding, in accordance with the martial law now reigning at Gibraltar, a + sight of each passenger and his passport before the ship should proceed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + THUMBSCREWS + </h3> + <p> + The salon of conversation, as the mirrored, gilded, and highly varnished + apartment was grandiloquently termed, had been the very spot chosen for + our presumably not very terrible ordeal. Things were well under way. At + the desk in the corner one officer was jotting down notes as to the + clearance papers and the cargo; while at a table in the foreground sat his + comrade, in a lieutenant’s uniform, with the captain of the <i>Re d’Italia</i> + at his right, swart-faced and silent, and the list of the passengers lying + before the pair. + </p> + <p> + As I entered a few moments behind Van Blarcom, I perceived that the + interrogation had already run a partial course. Pietro Ricci, the + reservist, had, no doubt, emerged with flying colors and now stood against + the wall beside the doughty agent of the Phillipson Rifles, who had + apparently satisfied his inquisitor, too. Near the door a group of + stewards had clustered to watch with interest; and as I stood waiting, the + girl in furs came in. + </p> + <p> + I put myself a hypothetical query. + </p> + <p> + “If a girl,” I thought, “materializes from the void, asks an incriminating + favor, and vanishes, does that put one on bowing terms with her when one + meets her again?” Evidently it did, for she smiled brightly and graciously + and bent her ruddy head. But she was pale, I noticed critically; there was + apprehension in her eyes. Wasn’t it odd that the prospect of a few simple + questions from an officer should disconcert her when she had possessed the + courage, or the foolhardiness, to sail on this line at this time? + </p> + <p> + Really I could not deny that all I had seen of her was most suspicious. + For aught I knew, the secret-service man might be absolutely right. I had + treated him outrageously. I owed him an apology, doubtless. But I still + felt furious with him, and when she looked anxiously at those officers, I + felt furious with them too. + </p> + <p> + Van Blarcom, his brief questioning ended, was turning from the table. As + he passed, I made a point of smiling companionably at the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Now for the rack, the cord, and the thumbscrews,” I murmured to her, + making way. + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant was a tall, lean, muscular young man with a shrewd tanned + face in which his eyes showed oddly blue, and he half rose, civilly + enough, as the girl advanced. + </p> + <p> + “Please sit down,” he said with a strong English accent. “I’ll have to see + your passport if you will be so good.” She took it from the bag she + carried, and he glanced at it perfunctorily. + </p> + <p> + “Your name is Esme Falconer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + It was the name of the little Stuart princess, the daughter of Charles the + First, whose quaint, coiffed, blue-gowned portrait hangs in a dark, gloomy + gallery at Rome. I was subconsciously aware that I liked it despite its + strangeness, the while I wondered more actively if that Paul Pry of a Van + Blarcom had imparted to the ship’s authorities the suspicions he had + shared with me. + </p> + <p> + “You are an American, Miss Falconer? You were born in the States? You are + going to Italy—and then home again?” The questions came in a + reassuringly mechanical fashion; the man was doing his duty, nothing more. + </p> + <p> + “I may go also to France.” Her voice was steady, but I saw that she had + clenched her hands beneath the table. + </p> + <p> + I glanced at Van Blarcom, to find him listening intently, his neck thrust + forward, his eyes almost protruding in his eagerness not to miss a word. + But there was to be nothing more. + </p> + <p> + “That is satisfactory, Miss Falconer,” announced the Englishman; with a + little sigh of relief, she stood back against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “If you please,” said the officer to me in another tone. + </p> + <p> + As I came forward, his eyes ran over me from head to foot. So did Captain + Cecchi’s; but I hardly noticed; these uniforms, these formalities, these + war precautions, were like a dash of comic opera. I was not taking them + seriously in the least. The Britisher gestured me toward a seat, but it + seemed superfluous for so brief an interview, and I remained standing with + my hands resting on a chair. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have your passport!” There was something curt in his manner. “Ah! + And your name is—?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Devereux Bayne.” + </p> + <p> + “How old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you live?” + </p> + <p> + “In New York and Washington.” If he could be laconic, so could I. + </p> + <p> + “You were born in America?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I was born in Paris.” By this time questions and answers were like + the pop of rifle-shots. + </p> + <p> + “That was a long way from home. Lucky you chose the country of one of our + Allies.” Was this sarcasm or would-be humor? It had an unpleasant ring. + </p> + <p> + “Glad you like it,” I responded, with a cold stare, “but I didn’t pick + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you weren’t born in the States, are you an American citizen?” he + imperturbably pursued. + </p> + <p> + “If you’ll consult my passport, you’ll see that I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Did either your father or your mother have any German blood?” + </p> + <p> + I could hear a slight rustle back of me among the passengers, none of + whom, it was plain, had been subjected to such cross-questioning. I was + growing restive, but I couldn’t tell him it was not his business; of + course it was. + </p> + <p> + “No; they didn’t,” I briefly replied. + </p> + <p> + “About your destination now.” He was making notes of all my answers. “You + are going to Italy, and then—” + </p> + <p> + “To France.” + </p> + <p> + “Roundabout trip, rather. The Bordeaux route is safer just now and + quicker, too. Why not have gone that way? And how long are you planning to + stop over on this side?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends upon circumstances.” What on earth ailed the fellow? He was as + annoying as a mosquito or a gnat. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, but your plans seem rather at loose ends, don’t they? + What are you crossing for?” + </p> + <p> + “To drive an ambulance!” I answered as curtly as the words could be said. + </p> + <p> + I saw his face soften and humanize at the information. For once I had made + a satisfactory response, it seemed. But on the heels of my answer there + rose the voice of Mr. McGuntrie, sensational, accusing, pitched almost at + a shriek. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, lieutenant,” he was crying, “don’t you let that fellow fool + you. I asked him the first night out if he was an ambulance boy, and he + denied it to me, up and down. I thought all along he was too smart, + hooting like he did at submarines. Guess he knew one would pick him up all + right if the rest of us did sink.” + </p> + <p> + “How about that, Mr. Bayne?” asked the Englishman, his uncordial self once + more. + </p> + <p> + It was maddening. One would have thought them all in league to prove me an + atrocious criminal. + </p> + <p> + “Simply this,” I replied with the iciness of restrained fury, “that this + gentleman has been the steamer’s pest ever since the night we sailed. If I + had answered his questions, every one, down to the ship’s cat, would have + shared his knowledge within the hour. I did not deny anything; I simply + did not assent. You are an officer in authority; I am answering you, + though I protest strongly at your manner; but I don’t tell my affairs to + prying strangers because we are cooped up on the same boat.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m. If I were you I would keep my temper.” He regarded me thoughtfully, + and then with rapier-like rapidity shot two questions at my head. “I say, + Mr. Bayne, you’re positive about your parents not having German blood, are + you? And you are quite sure you were born in Paris, not in—well, + Prussia, suppose we say?” + </p> + <p> + “What the—” I opportunely remembered the presence of Miss Esme + Falconer. “What do you mean?” I substituted less sulphurously, but with a + glare. + </p> + <p> + He bent forward, tapping his forefinger against the desk, and his eyes + were like gimlets boring into mine. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” he enlightened me, his voice very hard of a sudden, “that a + German agent is due to sail on this line, about this time, with certain + papers, and that from one or two indications I’m not at all sure you are + not the man.” + </p> + <p> + With sudden perspicacity, I realized that he took me for an emissary of + the great Blenheim. Exasperation overwhelmed me; would these farcical + complications never cease? + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, man,” I exclaimed with conviction, “you are crazy! Look at + me! Use your common-sense! What on earth is there about me to suggest a + spy?” + </p> + <p> + “In a good spy there never is anything suggestive.” + </p> + <p> + By Jove, that was the very thing the secret-service man had said! + </p> + <p> + “You admit you were born abroad. You claim to be bound for France, but you + sail for Italy. And you are rather a soldier’s type, tall, well set-up, + good military carriage. You’d make quite a showing in a field uniform, I + should say.” + </p> + <p> + “In a fiddlestick!” I snapped, weary of the situation. “So would you—so + would our friend the Italian reservist there. I’m an average American, + free, white, and twenty-one, with strong pro-Ally sympathies and a + passport in perfect shape. This is all nonsense, but of course there is + something back of it. What has been your real reason for deviling me ever + since I entered this room?” + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant was studying my face. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne,” he said slowly, “do you care to tell me the nature of the + package you threw across the rail the first night out?” + </p> + <p> + I heard a gasp from the group behind me, a squeal of joy from McGuntrie, a + quick, low-drawn breath that surely came from the girl. Preternaturally + cool, I thought rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you say? Package?” I repeated, trying to gain time. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, package!” said the Englishman, sharply. “And we’ll dispense with + pretense, please. These are war-times, and from common prudence the Allies + keep an eye on all passengers who choose to sail instead of staying at + home as we prefer they should. Captain Cecchi here reports to me that one + of his stewards saw you drop a small weighted object overboard. He has + asked me to interrogate you, instead of doing it himself, so that you may + have the chance to defend yourself in English, which he doesn’t speak.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>E vero</i>. It ees the truth,” confirmed the captain of the <i>Re + d’Italia</i>—the one remark, by the way, that he ever addressed to + me. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” It was the Englishman’s cold voice. “We are waiting, Mr. Bayne! + What was this object you were so anxious to dispose of? A message from + some confederate, too compromising to keep?” + </p> + <p> + Heretofore I had carefully avoided looking at Miss Falconer, but at this + point, turning my head a trifle, I gave her a casual glance. Her eyes had + blackened as they had done that night on the deck; her face had paled, and + her breath was coming fast. But as I looked, her gaze fell, and her lashes + wavered; and I knew that whatever came she did not mean to speak. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + THE TIGHTENING WEB + </h3> + <p> + I did not, of course, want her to. I was no “Injun giver,” and having once + pledged my word to help her, I was prepared to keep it till all was blue + or any other final shade. Still, it was not to be denied that my position + looked incriminating. She might be as honest as the daylight,—I + believed she was; I had to or else abandon her,—but she had managed + to plunge me into a confounded mess. + </p> + <p> + Naturally I was exasperated at the net results of my piece of gallantry. I + didn’t care to be suspected; I wasn’t anxious to have to lie. All the + same, a plausible explanation, offered without delay, appeared essential. + I should have wanted as much myself had I been guarding Gibraltar port. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Bayne?” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” I retorted coolly. “I was just wondering if I should answer. This + is an infernal outrage, you know. You don’t really think I’m a spy. What + you are doing is to give me a third degree on general principles. If + you’ll excuse my saying so I think you ought to have more sense!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course we ought to take you on trust,” he agreed sardonically. + “But we can’t I’m afraid. The fact is, we have had an experience or two to + shake our faith. The last time this steamer stopped here we caught a pair + of spies who didn’t look the part any more than you do; and since then we + have rather stopped taking appearances as guarantees.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, then,” I responded. “I’ll stretch a point since it is + war-time. I give you my word that I threw overboard a small bronze + paper-weight that was cluttering up my traps. There was nothing + surreptitious about it; the whole steamer might have seen me. Do you care + to take the responsibility of having me shot for that?” + </p> + <p> + “And I want to say, sir, that the gentleman is giving it to you straight.” + An unexpected voice addressed the lieutenant at my back. “I was standing + at the door behind him that night, though he didn’t know it, and I can + take my oath that what he says is gospel truth.” + </p> + <p> + My unlooked-for champion was Mr. John Van Blarcom. I stared at him, at a + loss to know why, on the heels of our row on deck and my rejection of his + friendly warning, he should perjure himself for me in so obliging a + fashion. He had, I was aware, been too far off that night to know whether + I had thrown away a paper-weight or a sand-bag. Moreover, the object had + been swathed beyond recognition in the extra that was primarily + responsible for all this fuss. “He is sorry for me,” I decided. “He thinks + the girl has made a fool of me.” Instead of experiencing gratitude, I felt + more galled and wrathful than before. + </p> + <p> + “Is that so? How close were you?” the lieutenant asked alertly. “About ten + feet? You are quite sure? Well—it’s all right, I suppose, then,” he + admitted in a very grudging tone. + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn’t,” I declared tartly. I was by no means satisfied with so + half-hearted a vindication; nor did I care to owe my immunity to a + patronizing lie on Mr. Van Blarcom’s part. “You have accused me of spying. + Do you think I’ll let it go at that? I insist that you have my baggage + brought up here and that you search it and search me.” + </p> + <p> + The face of the Englishman really relaxed for once. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a good idea. And it’s what any honest man would want, Mr. Bayne,” + he approved. “Since you demand it—certainly, we’ll do it,” and he + glanced at the captain, who promptly ordered two stewards to fetch my + traps from below. + </p> + <p> + Things move rapidly on shipboard. My traveling impedimenta appeared in the + salon almost before I could have uttered the potent name of Jack Robinson, + had I cared to try. With cold aloofness I offered my keys, and the head + steward knelt to officiate, while the crowd gaped and the second English + officer abandoned his corner and his papers, standing forth to watch with + the lieutenant and the captain, thus forming an intent and highly + interested committee of three. + </p> + <p> + The investigation began, very thorough, slightly harrowing. I had not + realized the embarrassing detail of such a search. An extended store of + collars suitable for different occasions; neat and glossy piles of shirts, + both dress and plain; black silk hose mountain high, and neckties as + numerous as the sea sands. Noting the rapt attention that McGuntrie in + particular gave to these disclosures, I felt that to deserve so inhuman a + punishment my crime must have been black indeed. Shoes on their trees; + articles of silk underwear; brushes, combs, gloves, cards, boxes of + cigarettes, an extra flask; some light literature. And so on and so on, ad + nauseam, till I grew dully apathetic, and roused only to praise Allah when + we left the boxes for the trunk. + </p> + <p> + Hardened by this time, I brazenly endured the exhibition of my pajamas, + not turning a hair when they were held up and shaken out before the + attentive crowd. In a similar spirit I bore the examination of my coats + and trousers, the rummaging of my vests, the investigation of my hats. + “Courage!” I told myself. “Nothing in the world is endless.” Indeed, the + last garment was now being lifted, revealing nothing beneath it save a + leather wallet carefully tied. + </p> + <p> + “Just look through that, will you?” I requested with chilling sarcasm. + “Otherwise you may get to thinking later that I had a note for the kaiser + there. In point of fact, those are simply some letters of introduction + that I am taking to—” I broke off abruptly. “Good Lord deliver us!” + I blankly exclaimed. “What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant, complying with my request, had unbound the wallet and was + flirting out its contents in fan-like fashion like a hand of cards. I saw + the imposing army of letters presented me by Dunny, who knows everybody, + headed by one to his old friend, the American ambassador to France. So + far, so good. But beneath them, with a sickening sense of being in a bad + dream, I beheld a thin sheaf of papers, neatly folded, bound with red tape + and sealed with bright red wax,—an object which, to my certain + knowledge, had no more business among my belongings than the knives and + plates that the conjurer snatches from the surrounding atmosphere, or the + hen which he evolves, clucking, from an erstwhile empty sleeve. + </p> + <p> + Standing there with the impersonal calm of utter helplessness, I watched + the Britisher break the seal and unfold the sheets. They were thin and + they were many and they were covered with closely jotted hieroglyphics, + row upon row. But the sphinx-like quality of the contents afforded me no + gleam of hope. If they had proclaimed as much in the plainest English + printing, I could have been no surer that they were the papers of Franz + von Blenheim; nor, as I learned a good while afterward, was I mistaken in + the belief. + </p> + <p> + I was vaguely aware that the spectators were being ordered from the salon. + Captain Cecchi’s eyes were dark stilettos; the gaze of the Englishman was + like a narrow flash of blue steel. He was going to say something. I waited + apathetically. Then the words came, falling like icicles in the deadness + of the hush. + </p> + <p> + “If you wish, sir,” he stated, “to explain why you are traveling with + cipher papers, Captain Cecchi and I will hear what you have to say.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT A THIEF CAN DO + </h3> + <p> + In sheer desperation I achieved a ghastly levity of demeanor. + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t shoot me yet,” I managed to request. “And if I sit down and + think for a moment, don’t take it for a confession. Any innocent man would + be shocked dumb temporarily if his traps gave up such loot.” + </p> + <p> + I sat down in dizzy fashion, my judges watching me. Through my mind, in a + mad phantasmagoria, danced the series of events that had begun in the St. + Ives restaurant and was ending so dramatically in the salon of this ship. + Or perhaps the end had not yet arrived, I thought ironically. By a slight + effort of imagination I could conjure up a scene of the sort rendered + familiar by countless movie dramas—a lowering fortress wall, myself + standing against it, scornfully waving away a bandage, and drawn up before + me a highly efficient firing-squad. + </p> + <p> + To all intents and purposes I was a spy, caught red-handed; but with due + respect for circumstantial evidence, I did not mean to remain one long. + That part of it was too absurd. There must be a dozen ways out of it. + Come! The fact that so strange an experience had befallen me in a New York + hotel on the eve of my sailing could not be pure coincidence. There lay + the clue to the mystery. Let me work it out. + </p> + <p> + And then, as my wits began groping, comprehension came to me—a + sudden comprehension that left me stunned and dazed: The open trunk, the + thief, the descent by the fire-escape, the girl’s calm denial, turning us + from the suspected floor. Yes, the girl! Heavens, what a blind dolt I had + been! No wonder that Van Blarcom had felt moved to say a helping word for + me, as for a congenital idiot not responsible for his acts! + </p> + <p> + “When you are ready—” the lieutenant was remarking. I pulled myself + together as hastily as I could. + </p> + <p> + “First,” I began, with all the resolution I could muster, “I want to say + that I am as much at a loss as you are about this thing. I never set eyes + upon those papers until this evening. Why, man alive, I insisted on the + search! I asked you to examine the wallet! Do you think I did all that to + establish my own guilt?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll keep to the point, please.” His very politeness was ill omened. + “The papers were in your baggage. Can you explain how they came there?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to try,” I answered coolly. “To begin with, I can vouch for it + that they were not there two weeks ago when my man packed the trunk. That + I can swear to, for I glanced through the letters before handing him the + wallet; and when he had finished packing I locked the trunk and went + yachting for five days.” + </p> + <p> + “And your luggage? Did it go with you?” queried the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “No; it didn’t. It remained in the baggage-room of my apartment house; but + when I landed and found hotel quarters, I had it sent to me at the St. + Ives.” + </p> + <p> + “So you stayed there!” He was eyeing me with ever-growing disfavor. “You + didn’t know, of course, that it was a nest of agents, a sort of rendezvous + for hyphenates, and that the last spy we caught on this line had made it + his headquarters in New York?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not,” I replied stiffly. “But I can believe the worst of it. Now, + here’s what befell me there.” I recounted my adventure briefly, beginning + with the summons from restaurant to telephone. + </p> + <p> + It was strange how, as I talked, each detail fell into its place, how each + little circumstance, formerly so mystifying, grew clear. The alarm of the + <i>maitre d’hotel</i> over my sudden departure, his relief when I entered + the booths, his corresponding horror when, emerging, I took the elevator + for my room, puzzled me no longer. The deserted halls, the flight of the + little German intruder, the determined lack of interest of the hotel + management, were merely links in the chain. + </p> + <p> + I told a straight, unvarnished story with one exception. When I came to + the point I couldn’t bring in Miss Esme Falconer’s name. I said + non-committally that a lady had occupied the room where the thief took + refuge; and I left it to be inferred that I had never seen her before or + since. + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant heard my tale out with impassivity. “Is that all, Mr. + Bayne?” he asked shortly, as I paused. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I lied doggedly. “And if you want more, I call you insatiable. I’ve + told you enough to satisfy any man’s appetite for the abnormal, haven’t + I?” + </p> + <p> + “Your defense, then,” he summed it up, “is that under the protection of a + German management a German agent entered your room, opened your trunk, + concealed these papers in it, and repacked it. You believe that, eh?” + </p> + <p> + It sounded wild enough, I acknowledged gloomily as I sat staring at the + carpet with my elbows on my knees. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been a pretty fool, a pretty fool, a pretty fool!” the refrain + sang itself unceasingly in my ears. I was disgusted with the episode, more + disgusted yet with my own role. Why was I lying, why making myself by my + present silence as well as by my former density the flagrant confederate + of a clever spy? + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what’s the use?” I muttered. “No, of course I don’t believe it, and + you won’t either if you are sane. It is too ridiculous. I might as well + suggest that if the thief hadn’t been gone when they arrived, the manager + and the detective would have shanghaied me, or the house doctor drugged me + with a hypodermic till the fellow could get away. Let’s end all this! I’m + ready to go ashore if you want to take me. In your place I know I should + laugh at such a story; and I think that on general principles I should + order the man who told it shot.” + </p> + <p> + “Not necessarily, Mr. Bayne,” was the cool response of the Englishman. + “The trouble with you neutrals is that you laugh too much at German spies. + We warn you sometimes, and then you grin and say that it’s hysteria. But + by and by you’ll change your minds, as we did, and know the German secret + service for what it is—the most competent thing, the most widely + spread, and pretty much the most dangerous, that the world has to fight + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean,” I inquired blankly, “that you believe me?” + </p> + <p> + It looks odd enough as I set it down. Ordinarily I expect my word to be + accepted; but then, as a general thing I don’t suddenly discover that I + have been chaperoning a set of German code-dispatches across the seas. + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” he corrected with truly British phlegm, “that I can’t say + positively your story is untrue. Here’s the case: Some one—probably + Franz von Blenheim—wants to send these papers home by way of Italy + and Switzerland. Your hotel manager tells him you are going to sail for + Naples; you are an American on your way to help the Allies; it’s ten to + one that nobody will suspect you and that your baggage will go through + untouched. What does he do? He has the papers slipped into your wallet. + Then he sends a cable to some friend in Naples about a sick aunt, or + candles, or soap. And the friend translates the cable by a private code + and reads that you are coming and that he is to shadow you and learn where + you are stopping and loot your trunk the first night you spend ashore!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t grasp,” I commented dazedly; “why they should weave such circles. + Why not let one of their own agents bring over the papers?” + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant smiled a faint, cold, wintry smile. + </p> + <p> + “Spies,” he informed me, “always think they are watched, and generally + they’re not wrong in thinking so. If they can send their documents by an + innocent person, they had better. For my part, I call it a very clever + scheme.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I am dreaming,” I muttered. “Somebody ought to pinch me. You + found those infernal things nestling among my coats and hose and trousers—and + you don’t think I put them there?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t say that,” he denied as unresponsively as a brazen Vishnu. “I + simply say that I wouldn’t care to order you shot as things stand now. But + you’ll remember that I have only your word that all this happened or that + you are really an American or even that this passport is yours and that + your name is—ah—Devereux Bayne. We’ll have to know quite a bit + more before we call this thing settled. How are you going to satisfy his + Majesty the King?” + </p> + <p> + I plucked up spirit. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I suggested, “how will this suit you? I’ll go down to my stateroom + and stop there until we land in Italy; and, if you like, just to be on the + safe side with such a desperado as I am, you can put a guard outside my + door. But first, you’ll send a sheaf of marconigrams for me in both + directions. You’re welcome to read them, of course, before they go. Then + when we get to Naples, my friend, Mr. Herriott, will meet the steamer. He + is second secretary at the United States embassy, and his identification + will be sufficient, I suppose. Anyhow, if it isn’t, I dare say the + ambassador will say a word for me. I have known him for years, though not + so well.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be quite sufficient as to identification.” He stressed the + last word significantly, and I thanked heaven for Dunny and the forces + which I knew that rather important old personage could set to work. + </p> + <p> + “Also,” I continued coolly, “there will be various cablegrams from United + States officials awaiting us, which will convince you, I hope, that I am + not likely to be a spy. There will be a statement from the friend who + dined with me at the St. Ives. There will be the declaration of the + policeman who saw the German climb down the fire-escape and bolt into the + room beneath.” “And hang the expense!” I added inwardly, computing cable + rates, but assuming a lordly indifference to them which only a + multimillionaire could really feel. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman and the captain consulted a moment. Then the former spoke: + </p> + <p> + “That will be satisfactory, sir, to Captain Cecchi and to me. Write out + your cables, if you please. They shall be sent. And I say, Mr. Bayne,—I + hope you drive that ambulance. I’m not stationed here to be a partizan, + but you’ve stood up to us like a man.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later as I finished my solitary dinner, the electric lights + flickered and died, and the engines began their throb. Under cover of the + darkness we were slipping out of Gibraltar. I leaned my arms on the table + and scanned the remains of my feast by the light of my one sad candle, not + thinking of what I saw, or of the various calls for help I had been + dispatching, or of the sailor grimly mounting guard outside my door. I was + remembering a girl, a girl with ruddy hair and a wild-rose flush and + great, gray, starry eyes, a girl that by all the rules of the game I + should have handed over to those who represented the countries she was + duping, a girl that I had found I had to shield when I came face to face + with the issue. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + THE BLACK BUTTERFLIES + </h3> + <p> + The Turin-Paris express—the most direct, the Italians call it—was + too popular by half to suit the taste of morose beings who wished for + solitude. With great trouble and pains I had ferreted out a single vacant + compartment; but as four o’clock sounded and the whistle blew for + departure, a belated traveler joined me—worse still, an acquaintance + who could not be quite ignored. + </p> + <p> + The unwelcome intruder was Mr. John Van Blarcom, my late fellow-voyager, + and he accepted the encounter with a better grace than I. + </p> + <p> + “Why, hello!” he greeted me cheerfully. “Going through to France? Glad to + see you—but you’re about the last man that I was looking for. I got + the idea somehow you were planning to stop a while in Rome.” + </p> + <p> + I returned his nod with a curtness I was at no pains to dissemble. Then I + reproached myself, for it was undeniable that on the <i>Re d’Italia</i> he + had more than once stood my friend. He had offered me a timely warning, + which I had flouted; he had obligingly confirmed my statement in my + grueling third degree. Yet despite this, or because of it, I didn’t like + him; nor did I like his patronizing, complacent manner, which seemed + fairly to shriek at me, “I told you so!” + </p> + <p> + “Changed my plans,” I acknowledged with a lack of cordiality that failed + to ruffle him. He had hung up his overcoat and installed himself facing + me, and was now making preparations for lighting a fat cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he commented, with a chuckle of raillery, after this operation, + “the last time I saw you you were in a pretty tight corner, eh? You can’t + say it was my fault, either; I’d have put you wise if you’d listened. But + you weren’t taking any—you knew better than I did—and you + strafed me, as the Dutchies say, to the kaiser’s taste.” + </p> + <p> + “Good advice seldom gets much thanks, I believe,” was my grumpy comment, + which he unexpectedly chose to accept as an apology and with a large, + fine, generous gesture to blow away. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” he declared. “I’m not holding it against you. We’ve + all got to learn. Next time you won’t be so easy caught, I guess. It makes + a man do some thinking when he gets a dose like you did; and those chaps + at Gibraltar certainly gave you a rough deal!” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” I differed shortly,—I wasn’t hunting sympathy,—“considering + all the circumstances, I think they were extremely fair.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to shoot you on sight? Well, maybe.” He was grinning. “But I guess + you weren’t hunting for a chance to spend two days cooped up in a cabin + that measured six feet by five.” + </p> + <p> + “It had advantages. One of them was solitude,” I responded dryly. “And it + was less unpleasant than being relegated to a six-by-three grave. See + here, I don’t enjoy this subject! Suppose we drop it. The fact is, I’ve + never understood why you came to my rescue on that occasion, you didn’t + owe me any civility, you know, and you had to—well—we’ll say + draw on your imagination when you claimed you saw what I threw overboard + that night.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, I lied like a trooper,” he admitted placidly. “Glad to do it. You + didn’t break any bones when you strafed me, and anyhow, I felt sorry for + you. It always goes against me to see a fellow being played!” + </p> + <p> + Thanks to my determined coolness, the conversation lapsed. I buried myself + in the Paris “Herald,” but found I could not read. Simmering with wrath, I + lived again the ill-starred voyage his words recalled to me, breathed the + close smothering air of the cabin that had held me prisoner, tasted the + knowledge that I was watched like any thief. An armed sailor had stood + outside my door by day and by night; and a dozen times I had longed to + fling open that frail partition, seize the man by the collar, and hurl him + far away. + </p> + <p> + Glancing out at the landscape, I saw that Turin lay back of us and that + our track was winding through dark chestnut forests toward the heights. + Confound Van Blarcom’s reminiscences and the thoughts they had set + stirring! In ambush behind my paper I gloomily relived the past. + </p> + <p> + Our ship, following sealed instructions, had changed her course at + Gibraltar, conveying us by way of the Spanish coast to Genoa instead of + Naples. From my port-hole I had gazed glumly on blue skies and bright, + blue waters, purple hills, and white-walled cities, and fishing boats with + patched, gaudy sails and dark-complexioned crews. Then Genoa rose from the + sea, tier after tier of pink and green and orange houses and shimmering + groves of olive trees; and I was summoned to the salon, to face the + captain of the port, the chief of the police of the city, and their + bedizened suites. + </p> + <p> + Surrounded by plumes and swords and gold lace, I maintained my innocence + and heard Jack Herriott, on his opportune arrival, pour forth in weird, + but fluent, Italian an account of me that must have surrounded me in the + eyes of all present with a golden halo, and that firmly established me in + their minds as the probable next President of the United States. Thanks to + these exaggerations and to various confirmatory cablegrams—Dunny had + plainly set the wires humming on receiving my S.O.S.,—I found myself + a free man, at price of putting my signature to a statement of it all. I + shook the hand of the ever non-committal Captain Cecchi, and left the + ship. And an hour after good old Jack was gazing at me in wrath + unconcealed as I informed him that I was in the mood for neither gadding, + nor social intercourse, and had made up my mind to proceed immediately to + duty at the Front. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been seasick; that’s what ails you,” he said, diagnosing my + condition. “Oh, I don’t expect you to admit it—no man ever did that. + But you wait and see how you feel when we’ve had a few meals at the Grand + Hotel in Rome!” + </p> + <p> + This culinary bait leaving me cold, he lost his temper, expressed a hope + that the Germans would blow my ambulance to smithereens, and assured me + that the next time I brought the Huns’ papers across the ocean I might + extricate myself without his assistance from what might ensue. However, + though he has a bark, Jack possesses no bite worth mentioning. He even saw + me off when I left by the north-bound train. + </p> + <p> + Leaning moodily forward, I looked again from the window and wished I might + hurry the creaking, grinding revolution of the wheels. We were climbing + higher and higher among the mountains. The chestnuts, growing scanter, + were replaced by dark firs and pines. Streams came winding down like icy + crystal threads; the little rivers we crossed looked blue and glacial; + pale-pink roses and mountain flowers showed themselves as we approached + the peaks. A polite official, entering, examined our papers; and with snow + surrounding us and cold clear air blowing in at the window, we left + Bardonnecchia, the last of the frontier towns. + </p> + <p> + I was speeding toward France; but where was the girl of the <i>Re d’Italia</i>? + To what dubious rendezvous, what haunt of spies, had she hurried, once + ashore? The thought of her stung my vanity almost beyond endurance. She + had pleaded with me that night, swayed against me trustingly, appealed to + me as to a chivalrous gentleman and, having competently pulled the wool + over my eyes, had laughed at me in her sleeve. + </p> + <p> + I had held myself a canny fellow, not an easy prey to adventurers; a + fairly decent one, too, who didn’t lie to a king’s officer or help + treasonable plots. Yet had I not done just those things by my silence on + the steamer? And for what reason? Upon my soul I didn’t know, unless + because she had gray eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it all!” I exclaimed, flinging my unlucky paper into a corner, and + becoming aware too late that Van Blarcom was observing me with a grin. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got the black butterflies, as the French say,” I explained savagely. + “This mountain travel is maddening; one might as well be a snail.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, a slow train’s tiresome,” agreed Van Blarcom. “Specially if you’re + not feeling overpleased with life anyway,” he added, with a knowing smile. + </p> + <p> + An angry answer rose to my lips, but the Mont Cenis tunnel opportunely + enveloped us, and in the dark half-hour transit that followed I regained + my self-control. It was not worth while, I decided, to quarrel with the + fellow, to break his head or to give him the chance of breaking mine. + After all, I thought low-spiritedly, what right had I to look down on him? + We were pot and kettle, indistinguishably black. It was true that he had + perjured himself upon the liner; but so, in spirit if not in words, had I! + </p> + <p> + Thus reflecting, I saw the train emerge from the tunnel, felt it jar to a + standstill in the station of Modane, and, in obedience to staccato French + outcries on the platform, alighted in the frontier town. Followed by Van + Blarcom and preceded by our porters, I strolled in leisurely fashion + towards the customs shed. The air was clear, chilly, invigorating; snowy + peaks were thick and near. And the scene was picturesque, dotted as it was + with mounted bayonets and blue territorial uniforms—reminders that + boundary lines were no longer jests and that strangers might not enter + France unchallenged in time of war. + </p> + <p> + Van Blarcom’s elbow at this juncture nudged me sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Mr. Bayne,” he was whispering, “look over there, will you? What do + you know about that?” + </p> + <p> + I looked indifferently. Then blank dismay took possession of me. Across + the shed, just visible between rows of trunks piled mountain high, stood + Miss Esme Falconer, as usual only too well worth seeing from fur hat to + modish shoe. + </p> + <p> + “Ain’t that the limit,” commented the grinning Van Blarcom; “us three + turning up again, all together like this? Well, I guess she won’t have to + call a policeman to stop you talking to her. You know enough this time to + steer pretty clear of her. Isn’t that so?” + </p> + <p> + But I had wheeled upon him; the coincidence was too striking! + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” I demanded, “are you following that young lady? Is that your + business on this side?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” he denied disgustedly, retreating a step. “Never saw her from the + time we docked till this minute; never wanted to see her! Anyhow, what’s + the glare for? Suppose I was?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s rather strange, you’ll admit.” I was regarding him fixedly. “You + seemed to have a good deal of information about her on the ship. Yet when + that affair occurred at Gibraltar, you were as dumb as an oyster. Why + didn’t you tell the captain and the English officers the things you knew?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I had my reasons,” he replied defiantly. “And at that, I don’t see + as you’ve got anything on me, Mr. Bayne. You’re no fool. You put two and + two together quick enough to know darned well who planted those papers in + your baggage; so if you thought it needed telling, why didn’t you tell it + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know who put them there,” I denied hastily, “except that he was a + pale little runt of a German, pretending to be a thief, who will wish he + had died young if I ever see him again.” + </p> + <p> + An inspector had just passed my traps through with bored indifference. I + turned a huffy back on Van Blarcom and went to stand in line before a door + which harbored, I was told, a special commission for the examination of + passports and the admission of travelers into France. + </p> + <p> + Reaching the inner room in due course, I saluted three uniformed men who + sat round an unimposing wooden table, exhibited the <i>vise</i> that Jack + Herriott had secured for me at Genoa, and was welcomed to the land. Then I + stepped forth on the platform, retrieved my porter and my baggage, and + placed myself near the door to wait until the girl should come. + </p> + <p> + I must have been a grim sort of sentinel as I stood there watching. I knew + what I had to do, but I detested it with all my heart. There was one thing + to be said for this Miss Falconer—she had courage. She was pressing + on to French soil without lingering a day in Italy, though she must be + aware that by so swift a move she was risking suspicion, discovery, death. + </p> + <p> + As moment after moment dragged past, I grew uneasy. Would she come out at + all? Could she win past those trained, keen-eyed men? The more I thought + of it, the more desperate seemed the game she was playing. This little + Alpine town, high among the peaks, surrounded by pines and snow, had been + a setting for tragedies since the war began. These territorials with their + muskets were not mere supers, either. But no! She was emerging; she was + starting toward the <i>rapide</i>. There, no doubt, a reserved compartment + was awaiting her, and once inside its shelter, she would not appear again. + </p> + <p> + I drew a deep breath in which resolve and distaste were mingled. She had + crossed the frontier, but she was not in Paris yet. I couldn’t shirk the + thing twice, knowing as I did her charm, her beauty, her air of proud, + spirited graciousness—all the tools that equipped her. I couldn’t, + if I was ever again to hold my head before a Frenchman, let her pass on, + so daring and dangerous and resourceful, to do her work in France. + </p> + <p> + As she approached, I stepped in front of her, lifting my hat. + </p> + <p> + “This is a great surprise, Miss Falconer,” said I. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + DINNER FOR TWO + </h3> + <p> + I was prepared for fear, for distress, for pleading as I confronted Miss + Falconer; the one thing I hadn’t expected was that she should seem pleased + at the meeting, but she did. She flushed a little, smiled brightly, and + held out her gloved hand to me. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Bayne! I am so glad!” she exclaimed in frankly cordial tones. + </p> + <p> + The crass coolness of her tactics, with its implied rating of my + intelligence, was the very bracer I needed for a most unpleasant task. I + accepted her hand, bowed over it formally, and released it. Then I spoke + with the most impersonal courtesy in the world. + </p> + <p> + “And I,” I declared coolly, “am delighted, I assure you. It is great luck + meeting you like this; and I will not let you slip away. I suppose that + when we board the train they will serve us a meal of some sort. Won’t you + give me the pleasure of having you for my guest?” + </p> + <p> + The brightness had left her face as she sensed my attitude. She drew back, + regarding me in a rebuffed, bewildered way. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, no. I am not hungry.” + </p> + <p> + By Jove, but she was an actress! I should have sworn I had hurt her if I + hadn’t known the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that!” I protested. “Of course it is unconventional to dine + with a stranger; but then so is almost everything that is happening to you + and me. Think of those lord high executioners in there round the table. + See this platform with its guards and bayonets and guns. And then remember + our odd experiences on the <i>Re d’Italia</i>. Won’t you risk one more + informality and come and dine?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated a moment, watching me steadily; then, with proud reluctance, + she walked beside me toward the train. + </p> + <p> + “You helped me once,” she said, her eyes averted now, “and I haven’t + forgotten. I don’t understand at all,—but I shall do as you say.” + </p> + <p> + The passengers were being herded aboard by eager, bustling officials. I + saw my baggage and the girl’s installed, disposed of the porters, and + guided my companion to the <i>wagon</i> restaurant. The horn was sounding + as we entered, and at six-thirty promptly, just as I put Miss Falconer in + her chair, we pulled out of the snowy station of Modane. + </p> + <p> + As I studied the menu, the girl sat with lowered lashes, all things about + her, from her darkened eyes and high head to her pallor, proclaiming her + feeling of offense, her sense of hurt. She knew her game, I admitted, and + she had first-class weapons. Though she could not weaken my resolution, + she made my beginning hard. + </p> + <p> + “We are going to have a discouraging meal,” I gossiped procrastinatingly. + “But, since we are in France, it will be a little less horrible than the + usual dining-car. The wine is probably hopeless; I suggest Evian or Vichy. + These radishes look promising. Will you have some?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I am not hungry,” she repeated briefly. “Won’t you please tell me + what you have to say?” + </p> + <p> + Though I didn’t in the least want them, I ate a few of the radishes just + to show that I was not abashed by her haughty, reproachful air. Other + passengers were strolling in. Here was Mr. John Van Blarcom, who, at the + sight of Miss Falconer and myself to all appearances cozily established + for a tete-a-tete meal, stopped in his tracks and fastened on me the hard, + appraising scrutiny that a policeman might turn on a hitherto respectable + acquaintance discovered in converse with some notorious crook. For an + instant he seemed disposed to buttonhole me and remonstrate. Then he + shrugged his stocky shoulders, the gesture indicating that one can’t save + a fool from his folly, and established himself at a near-by table, from + which coign of vantage he kept us under steady watch. + </p> + <p> + Given such an audience, my outward mien must be impeccable. + </p> + <p> + “There is something,” I admitted cautiously, “that I want to say to you. + But I wish you would eat something first. People are watching us,” I added + beneath my breath as the soup appeared. + </p> + <p> + She took a sip under protest, and then replaced her spoon and sat with + fingers twisting her gloves and eyes fixed smolderingly on mine. I shifted + furtively in my seat. This was a charming experience. I was being, from my + point of view, almost quixotically generous; yet with one glance she could + make me feel like a bully and a brute. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure,” I stumbled, fumbling desperately with my serviette, “that you + came over without realizing what war conditions are. Strangers aren’t + wanted just now. Travel is dangerous for women. You may think me all kinds + of a presumptuous idiot,—I shan’t blame you,—but I am going to + urge you most strongly to go home.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever she had looked for, obviously it was not that. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne,” she exclaimed, regarding me wonderingly, “what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Just this, Miss Falconer,” I answered with almost Teutonic ruthlessness. + Confound it! I couldn’t sit here forever bullying her; sheer desperation + lent me strength. “The <i>Espagne</i> sails from Bordeaux on Saturday, I + see by the Herald, and if I were you, I should most certainly be on board. + In fact, if you lose the chance, I am sure you’ll regret it later. The + French police authorities are—er—very inquisitive about + foreigners; and if you stop in France in these anxious times, I think it + likely that they may—well—” + </p> + <p> + She drew a quick, hard breath as I trailed off into silence. Her eyes, + darkened, horrified, were gazing full into mine. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t tell them about me! You couldn’t be so cruel!” The words + came almost fiercely, yet with a sound like a stifled sob. + </p> + <p> + By its sheer preposterousness the speech left me dumb a moment, and then + gave me back the self-possession I had been clutching at throughout the + meal. For the first time since entering I sat erect and squared my + shoulders. I even confronted her with a rather glittering smile. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” I said, with a cool stare, “if I appear so; but I am + consideration itself compared with the people you would meet in Paris, + say. That’s the very point I’m making—that you can’t travel now in + comfort. I’m simply trying to spare you future contretemps, Miss Falconer; + such as I had on the <i>Re d’Italia</i>, you may recall.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned impulsively across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Bayne, I knew it! You are angry about that wretched extra, and + you have a right to be. Of course you thought it cowardly of me—yes, + and ungrateful—to stand there without a word and let those officers + question you. Mr. Bayne, if the worst had come to the worst, I should have + spoken, I should, indeed; but I had to wait. I had to give myself every + chance. It meant so much, so much! You had nothing to hide from them. You + were certain to win through. And then, you seemed so undisturbed, so + unruffled, so able to take care of yourself; I knew you were not afraid. + It was different with me. If they began to suspect, if they learned who I + was, I could never have entered France. This route through Italy was my + one hope! I am so sorry. But still—” + </p> + <p> + Hitherto she had been appealing; but now she defied frankly. That tint of + hers, like nothing but a wild rose, drove away her pallor; her gray eyes + flamed. + </p> + <p> + “But still,” she flashed at me, “you won’t inform on me just for that? I + asked you to help me; you were free to refuse—and you agreed! + Because it inconvenienced you a little, are you going to turn police + agent?” Her red lips twisted proudly, scornfully. “I don’t believe it, Mr. + Bayne!” + </p> + <p> + I laughed shortly. She was indeed an artist. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t thinking of that particular episode—” I began. + </p> + <p> + “But you did resent it. I saw it when you first joined me. And I was so + glad to see you—to have the chance of thanking you!” she broke in, + smoldering still. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t resent it. I didn’t even blame you. If I blamed any one, + Miss Falconer, it would certainly be myself. I’ve concluded I ought not to + go about without a keeper. My gullibility must have amused you + tremendously.” I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought you gullible,” she denied, suddenly wistful. “I thought + you very generous and very chivalrous, Mr. Bayne.” + </p> + <p> + This was carrying mockery too far. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” I said meaningly, “that the authorities at Gibraltar would + take a less flattering view. For instance, if those Englishmen learned + that I had refrained from telling them of our meeting at the St. Ives, I + should hear from them, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + Again her eyes were widening. What attractive eyes she had! + </p> + <p> + “The St. Ives?” she repeated wonderingly. “Why should that interest them? + What do you mean?” Then, suddenly, she bent forward, propped her elbows on + the table, and amazed me with a slow, astonished, comprehending smile. “I + see!” she murmured, studying me intently. “You thought that I screened the + man who hid those papers, that I crossed the ocean on—similar + business, perhaps even that on this side I was to take the documents from + your trunk?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally,” I rejoined stiffly. “And I congratulate you. It was a + brilliant piece of work; though, as its victim, I fail to see it in the + rosiest light.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she went on, still smiling faintly. “You thought I was—well—Look + over yonder.” + </p> + <p> + Her glance, seeking the opposite wall unostentatiously, directed my + attention to a black-lettered, conspicuously posted sign: + </p> + <p> + BE SILENT! BE MISTRUSTFUL! THE EARS OF THE ENEMY ARE LISTENING! + </p> + <p> + Thus it shouted its warning, like the thousands of its kind that are + scattered about the trains, the boats, the railroad stations, and all the + public places of France. + </p> + <p> + “You thought I was the ears of the enemy, didn’t you?” the girl was + asking. “You thought I was a German agent. I might have guessed! Well, in + that case it was kind of you not to hand me over to the Modane gendarmes. + I ought to thank you. But I wasn’t so suspicious when they searched your + trunk and found the papers—I simply felt that they must be crazy to + think you could be a spy.” + </p> + <p> + I achieved a shrug of my shoulders, a polite air of incredulity; but, to + tell the truth, I was a little less skeptical than I appeared. There was + something in her manner that by no means suggested pretense. And she had + said a true word about the occurrences on the <i>Re d’Italia</i>. If + appearances meant facts, I myself had been proved guilty up to the hilt. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne,” she was saying soberly, “I should like you to believe me—please! + I am an American, and I have had cause lately to hate the Germans; all my + bonds are with our own country and with France. There is some one very + dear to me to whom this war has worked a cruel injustice. I have come to + try to help that person; and for certain reasons—I can’t explain + them—I had to come in secret or not at all. But I have done nothing + wrong, nothing dishonorable. And so”—again her eyes challenged me—“I + shall not sail from Bordeaux on the <i>Espagne</i> on Saturday; and you + shall choose for yourself whether you will speak of me to the French + police.” + </p> + <p> + It was not much of an argument, regarded dispassionately; yet it shook me. + With sudden craftiness I resolved to trap her if I could. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to tell them on the mere chance that they would send you home,” I + grumbled irritably. “You have no business here, you know, helping people + and being suspected and pursued and outrageously annoyed by fools like me. + Yes, and by other fools—and worse,” I added with feigned + sulphurousness, indicated Van Blarcom. “Miss Falconer, would you mind + glancing at the third man on the right—the dark man who is staring + at us—and telling me whether or not you ever saw him before you + sailed?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I never did,” she declared, knitting puzzled brows; “and yet on + the <i>Re d’Italia</i> he insisted that we had met. It frightened me a + little. I wondered whether or not he suspected something. And every time I + see him he watches me in that same way.” + </p> + <p> + I was thawing, despite myself. + </p> + <p> + “There’s one other thing,” I ventured, “if you won’t think me too + impertinent: Did you ever hear of a man named Franz von Blenheim?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said blankly; “I never did. Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + No birds out of that covert! If this was acting it was marvelous; there + had not been the slightest flicker of confusion in her face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he isn’t anybody of importance—just a man,” I evaded. “Look + here, Miss Falconer, you’ll have to forgive me if you can. You shall stay + in Paris, and I’ll be as silent as the grave concerning you; but I’d like + to do more than that. Won’t you let me come and call? Really, you know, + I’m not such a duffer as you have cause to think me. After we got + acquainted you might be willing to trust me with this business, whatever + it is. And then, if it’s not too desperate, I have friends who could be of + help to you.” Such was the sop I threw to conscience, the bargain I struck + between sober reason and the instinct that made me trust her against all + odds. My theories must have been moonshine. Everything was all right, + probably. But for the sake of prudence I ought to keep track of her. + Besides, I wanted to. + </p> + <p> + Gratitude and consternation, a most becoming mixture, were in her eyes. + She drew back a little. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you, but that’s impossible,” she said uncertainly. “I have + friends, too; but they can’t help me. Nobody can.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I admitted sadly, “I know the rudiments of manners. I can + recognize a conge, but consider me a persistent boor. Come, Miss Falconer, + why mayn’t I call? Because we are strangers? If that’s it, you can assure + yourself at the embassy that I am perfectly respectable; and you see I + don’t eat with my knife or tuck my napkin under my chin or spill my soup.” + </p> + <p> + Again that warm flush. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne!” she exclaimed indignantly. “Did I need an introduction to + speak to you on the ship, to ask unreasonable favors of you, to make + people think you a spy? If you are going to imagine such absurd things, I + shall have to—” + </p> + <p> + “To consent? I hoped you might see it that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she pondered aloud, “I may find good news waiting. If I do, + it will change everything. I could see you once, at least, and let you + know. I really owe you that, I think, when you’ve been so kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I agreed bitterly, with a pang of conscience, “I’ve been very kind—particularly + to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps to-night you were just a little difficult.” She was + smiling, but I didn’t mind; I rather liked her mockery now. “Still, even + when you thought the worst of me, Mr. Bayne, you kept my secret. And—do + you really wish to come to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “I most emphatically do.” + </p> + <p> + She drew a card from her beaded bag, rummaged vainly for a pencil, ended + by accepting mine, and scribbled a brief address. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she commanded, handing me the bit of pasteboard, “come to this + number at noon to-morrow and ask for me. And now, since I’m not to go to + prison, Mr. Bayne, I believe I am hungry. This is war bread, I suppose; + but it tastes delicious. And isn’t the saltless butter nice?” + </p> + <p> + “And here are the chicken and the salad arriving!” I exclaimed hopefully. + “And there never was a French cook yet, however unspeakable otherwise, who + failed at those.” + </p> + <p> + What had come to pass I could not have told; but we were eating celestial + viands, and my black butterflies having fled away, a swarm of their + gorgeous-tinted kindred were fluttering radiantly over Miss Esme + Falconer’s plate and mine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE RUE ST.-DOMINIQUE + </h3> + <p> + Arriving in Paris at the highly inconvenient hour of 8 A.M., our <i>rapide</i> + deposited its breakfastless and grumpy passengers on the platform of the + Gare de Lyon, washed its hands of us with the final formality of + collecting our tickets, and turned us forth into a gray, foggy morning to + seek the food and shelter adapted to our purses and tastes. Every one, of + course, emerged from seclusion only at the ultimate moment; and, far from + holding any lengthy conversation with Miss Falconer, I was lucky to + stumble upon her in the vestibule, help her descend, find a taxi for her + at the exit, and see her smile back at me where I stood hatless as she + drove away. + </p> + <p> + While I waited for my own cab I found myself beside Mr. John Van Blarcom, + who eyed me with mingled hostility and pity, as if I were a cross between + a lunatic and a thief. I returned his stare coolly; indeed, I found it + braced me. Left to myself, I had experienced a creeping doubt as to the + girl’s activities and my own intelligence; but as soon as this fellow + glared at me, all my confidence returned. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Bayne,” he remarked sardonically, breaking the silence, “I + suppose you’re worrying for fear I’ll give you another piece of good + advice. Don’t you fret! From now on you can hang yourself any way you want + to. I’d as soon talk to a man in a padded cell and a strait-jacket. Only + don’t blame me when the gendarmes come for you next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go to the devil!” I retorted curtly. It was a relief; I had been + wanting to say it ever since we had first met. His jaw shot out + menacingly, and for an instant he squared off from me with the look of the + professional boxer; but, rather to my disappointment, he thought better of + it and turned a contemptuous back. + </p> + <p> + Upon leaving Genoa I had reserved a room at the Ritz by telegraph. I drove + there now, and refreshed myself with a bath and breakfast, casting about + me meanwhile for some mode of occupying the hours till noon. There were + various tasks, I knew, that should have claimed me; a visit to the police + to secure a <i>carte de sejour</i>, the presentation of my credentials as + an ambulance-driver, a polite notification to friends that I had arrived. + These things should have been my duty and pleasure, but somehow they were + uninviting. Nothing appealed to me, I realized with sudden enlightenment, + except a certain appointment that I had already made. + </p> + <p> + I went out, to find that the fog was lifting and spring was in the air. + Since my dinner the previous night I had felt an odd exhilaration, a + pleasure quickened by the staccato sparkle of the French tongue against my + ears, the pale-blue uniforms, and gay French faces glimpsed as the train + had stopped at various lighted stations. Saluting Napoleon’s statue, I + strolled up the rue de la Paix, took a table on a cafe pavement, and, + ordering a glass of something fizzy for the form of it, sat content and + happy, watching the whole gigantic pageant of Paris in war-time defile + before my eyes. + </p> + <p> + The Cook’s tourists and their like, bane of the past, had disappeared; but + all nationalities that the world holds seemed to be about. At the next + table two Russian officers, with high cheek-bones and wide-set eyes, were + drinking, chatting together in their purring, unintelligible tongue. + Beyond them a party of Englishmen in khaki, cool-mannered, clear of gaze, + were talking in low tones of the spring offensive. The uniforms of France + swarmed round me in all their variety, and close at hand a general, + gorgeous in red and blue and gold, sat with his hand resting + affectionately on the knee of a lad in the horizon blue of a simple poilu, + who was so like him that I guessed them at a glance for father and son. + </p> + <p> + A cab drew up before me, and a Belgian officer with crutches was helped + out by the cafe starter, who himself limped slightly and wore two medals + on his breast. First one troop and then another defiled across the Place + l’Opera: a company of infantry with bayonets mounted, a picturesque + regiment of Moroccans, turbaned, of magnificently impassive bearing, + sitting their horses like images of bronze. Men of the Flying Corps, in + dark blue with wings on their sleeves, strolled past me; and once, roused + by exclamations and pointing fingers, I looked up to see a monoplane, + light and graceful as a darting bird, skimming above our heads. + </p> + <p> + Even the faces had a different look, the voices a different ring. It was + another country from that of the days of peace. Superb and dauntless, + tried by the most searing of fires and not found wanting, France was + standing girt with her shining armor, barring the invader from her cities, + her villages, her homes. + </p> + <p> + Deep in my heart—too deep to be talked of often—there had lain + always a tenderness for this heroic France. “A man’s other country,” some + wise person had christened it; and so it was for me, since by a chance I + had been born here, and since here my father and then my mother had died. + I was glad I had run the gauntlet and had reached Paris to do my part in a + mighty work. An ambulance drove heavily past me, and with a thrill I + wondered how soon I should bend over such a steering wheel, within sound + of the great guns. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the cafe at last, I beckoned a taxi and settled myself on its + cushions for a drive. Each new vista that greeted me was enchanting. The + pavements, the river, the buildings, the stately bridges,—all held + the same soft, silvery tint of pale French gray. In the Place de la + Concorde the fountains played as always, but—heart-warming change—the + Strasburg statue, symbol of the lost Lorraine and Alsace, no longer + drooped under wreaths of mourning, but sat crowned and garlanded with + triumphant flowers. + </p> + <p> + Like diminishing flies, the same eternal swarm of cabs and motors filled + the long vista of the Champs-Elysees between the green branches of the + chestnut trees. At the end loomed the Arc de Triomphe, beneath which the + hordes of the kaiser, in their first madness of conquest, had sworn to + march. Farther on, in the Bois, along the shady paths and about the lakes, + the French still walked in safety, because on the frontier their soldiers + had cried to the Teutons the famous watchword, “You do not pass!” Noon was + approaching, and at the Porte Maillot I consulted Miss Falconer’s card. + </p> + <p> + “Number 630, rue St.-Dominique,” I bade the driver, the address falling + comfortably on my ears. I knew the neighborhood. Deep in the Faubourg + St.-Germain, it was a stronghold of the old noblesse, suggesting eminent + respectability, ancient and honorable customs, and family connections of a + highly desirable kind. It would be a point in Miss Falconer’s favor if I + found her conventionally established—a decided point. Along most + lines I was in the dark concerning her, but to one dictum I dared to hold: + no girl of twenty-two or thereabouts, more than ordinarily attractive, + ought to be traveling unchaperoned about this wicked world. + </p> + <p> + I felt very cheerful, very contented, as my taxi bore me into old Paris. + The ancient streets, had a decided lure and charm. Now we passed a quaint + church, now a dim and winding alley, now a house with mansard windows or a + portal of carved stone. On all sides were buildings that in the old days + had been the <i>hotels</i> of famous gentry, this one sheltering a + Montmorency, that one a Clisson or Soubise. It was just the setting for a + romance by Dumas. And, with a chuckle, I felt myself in sudden sympathy + with that writer’s heroes, none of whom had, it seemed to me, been + enmeshed in a mystery more baffling or involved than mine. + </p> + <p> + “They’ve got nothing on my affair,” I decided, “with their masks and + poisoned drinks and swords. For a fellow who leads a cut-and-dried + existence generally, I’ve been having quite a lively time. And now, to cap + the climax, I’m going to call on a girl about whom I know just one thing—her + name. By Jove, it’s exactly like a story! I’ve got the data. If I had any + gray matter I could probably work out the facts. + </p> + <p> + “Take the St. Ives business. It’s plain enough that some one wished those + papers on me, intending to unwish them in short order once we got across. + The logical suspect, judging by appearances, was Miss Falconer. The little + German went out through her room; she was the one person I saw both at the + hotel and on the <i>Re d’Italia</i>; and she acted in a suspicious manner + that first night aboard the ship. But she says she didn’t do it, and + probably she didn’t; it seemed infernally odd, all along, for her to be a + spy. + </p> + <p> + “Still, if she is innocent, who can be responsible? And if that affair + didn’t bring her over here, what the dickens did? Something mysterious, + something dangerous, something that the French police wouldn’t appreciate, + but that her conscience sanctions—that is all she deigns to say. And + why on earth did she ask me to destroy that extra? I thought it was + because she was Franz von Blenheim’s agent and the paper had an account of + him that might have served as a clue to her. She says, though, that she + never heard of him. And I may be all kinds of a fool, but it sounded + straight. + </p> + <p> + “Then, there’s Van Blarcom, hang him! He seemed to take a fancy to me. He + warned me about the girl, but he kept a still tongue to Captain Cecchi and + the rest. He lied deliberately, for no earthly reason, to shield me in + that interrogation; yet when those papers materialized in my trunk, though + he must have thought just what I thought as to Miss Falconer’s share in + it, he didn’t breathe a word. He claimed that he had met her. She said she + had never seen him. And then—rather strong for a coincidence—we + all three met again on the express. What is he doing on this side? + Shadowing her? Nonsense? And yet he seemed almighty keen about her—Oh, + hang it! I’m no Sherlock Holmes!” + </p> + <p> + The taxi pausing at this juncture, I willingly abandoned my attempt at + sleuthing and got out in the highest spirits compatible with a strictly + correct mien. I dismissed my driver. If asked to remain to <i>dejeuner</i>, + I should certainly do so. Then, with feelings of natural interest, I gazed + at the house before which I stood. + </p> + <p> + In the outward seeming, at least, it was all that the most fastidious + could have required; a gem of Renaissance architecture in its turrets, its + quaint, scrolled windows, and the carving of its stone facade. Age and + romance breathed from every inch of it. For not less than four hundred + years it had watched the changing life of Paris; and even to a lay person + like myself a glance proclaimed it one of those ancestral <i>hotels</i>, + the pride of noble French families, about which many romantic stories + cling. + </p> + <p> + At another time it would have charmed me hugely, but to-day, as I stood + gazing, somehow, my spirits fell. Was it the almost sepulchral silence of + the place, the careful drawing of every shutter, the fact that the grilled + gateway leading to the court of honor was locked? I did not know; I don’t + know yet; but I had an odd, eerie feeling. It seemed like a place of + waiting, of watching, and of gloom. + </p> + <p> + This was unreasonable; it was even down-right ridiculous. I began to think + that late events were throwing me off my base. “It’s a house like any + other, and a jolly fine old one!” I assured myself, approaching the + grilled entrance and producing one of my cards. + </p> + <p> + An entirely modern electric button was installed there, beneath a now + merely ornamental knocker in grotesque gargoyle form. I pressed it, + peering through the iron latticework at the stately court. The answer was + prompt. Down the steps of the hotel came a white-headed majordomo, + gorgeously arrayed, and so pictorial that he might have been a family + retainer stepping from the pages of an old tale. + </p> + <p> + There was something queer about him, I thought, as he crossed the + courtyard; just as there was about the house, I appended doggedly, with + growing belief. His air was tremulous, his step slow, his gaze far-off and + anxious. + </p> + <p> + “For Miss Falconer, who waits for me,” I announced in French, offering him + my card through the grille. + </p> + <p> + He bowed to me with the deference of a Latin, the grand manner of an + ambassador; but he made no motion to let me in. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he replied, “sends all her excuses, all her regrets to + monsieur, but she leaves Paris within the hour and, therefore may not + receive.” + </p> + <p> + I had feared it for a good sixty seconds. None the less, it was a blow to + me. My suspicions, never more than half laid, promptly raised their heads + again. + </p> + <p> + “Have the kindness,” I requested, with a calm air of command that I had + known to prove hypnotic, “to convey my card to mademoiselle, and to say + that I beg of her, before her departure, one little instant of speech.” + </p> + <p> + But the old fellow’s faded blue eyes were gazing past me, hopelessly sad, + supremely mournful. What the deuce ailed him? I wondered angrily. The + thing was almost weird. Of a sudden, with irritation, yet with dread, too, + I felt myself on the threshold of a house of tragedy. The man might, from + the look of him, have been watching some loved young master’s bier. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle regrets greatly,” he intoned, “but she may not receive. + Mademoiselle sends this letter to monsieur that he may understand.” He + passed me, through the locked grille, a slender missive; then he saluted + me once more and, still staring before him with that fixed, uncanny look, + withdrew. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + THE GRAY CAR + </h3> + <p> + I was divided between exasperation and pity. The old fellow was in a bad + way; I felt sorry for him. Dunny had an ancient butler, a household + institution, who had presided over our destinies since my childhood and + would, I fancied, look something like this if he should hear that I was + dead. But in heaven’s name, what was wrong here, and was nothing in the + world clear and aboveboard any longer? On the chance that the letter might + enlighten me I tore open the envelope and read with mixed feelings the + following note: + </p> + <p> + DEAR Mr. BAYNE: + </p> + <p> + The news that I found waiting for me was not good, as I had hoped. It was + bad, very bad—as bad as news can be. I must leave Paris at once, and + I can see no one, talk to no one, before I go. Please believe that I am + sorry, and that I shall never forget the kindness you showed me on the + ship. + </p> + <p> + Sincerely yours, + </p> + <p> + ESME FALCONER. + </p> + <p> + That was all. Well, the episode was ended—ended, moreover, with a + good deal of cavalierness. She had treated me like a meddlesome, + pertinacious idiot who had insisted on calling and had to be taught his + place. This was a Christian country where the formalities of life + prevailed; I could not—unless escorted and countenanced by gendarmes—seize + upon a club and batter down that grille. + </p> + <p> + I was resentful, wrathful, in the very deuce of a humor. Black gloom + settled over me. I admitted that Van Blarcom had been right. I recalled + the girl’s vague explanations as we sat over our dinner; her denials, + unbolstered save by my willingness to accept them; all the chain of + incriminating circumstances that I had pondered over in the cab. Her charm + and the mystery that enveloped her had thrilled and stirred me; she had + seen it. To gain a few hours’ leeway she had once again duped me; and this + hotel, with its deceptive air of family and respectability, was a blind, a + rendezvous, another such setting for intrigue as the St. Ives. + </p> + <p> + Her work might be already accomplished. Perhaps she had left Paris. I told + myself with some savageness that I did not know and did not care. From the + first my presence in this luridly adventurous galley had been incongruous; + I would get back with all despatch to the Ritz and the orderly world it + typified. + </p> + <p> + I had gone perhaps twenty feet when a grating noise attracted me. Glancing + back across my shoulder, I saw that the old majordomo was unlocking and + setting wide the gate. The hum of a self-starter reached me faintly, and a + moment later there rolled slowly forth a dark-blue touring-car of + luxurious aspect, driven by a chauffeur whose coat and cap and goggles + gave him rather the appearance of a leather brownie, and bearing in the + tonneau Miss Falconer, elaborately coated and veiled. + </p> + <p> + She was turning to the right, not the left; she would not pass me. I stood + transfixed, watching from my post against the wall. As the car crept by + the old majordomo, he saluted, and she spoke to him, bending forward for a + moment to rest her fingers on his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Be of courage, Marcel, my friend! All will be well if <i>le bon Dieu</i> + wills it,” I heard her say. Then to the chauffeur she added: “<i>En avant, + Georges! Vite, a</i> Bleau!” The motor snorted as the car gained speed, + and they were gone. + </p> + <p> + The ancient Marcel, reentering, locked the grille behind him. I was left + alone, more astounded than before. The girl’s kind speech to the old + servant, her gentle tones, her womanly gesture, had been bewildering. + Despite all the accusing features her case offered, I should have said + just then, as I watched Miss Esme Falconer, that she was nothing more or + less than a superlatively nice girl. + </p> + <p> + “Honk! Honk! Honk!” + </p> + <p> + I swung round, startled. A moment earlier the length and breadth of the + street had stretched before me, empty; yet now I saw, sprung apparently + out of nowhere, a long, lean, gray car, low-built like a racer, carrying + four masked and goggled men. Steadily gaining speed as it came, it bore + down upon me and, after grazing me with its running-board and nearly + deafening me with the powerful blast of its horn, flew on down the street + and vanished in Miss Falconer’s wake. + </p> + <p> + Trying to clarify my emotions, I stared after this Juggernaut. Was it + merely the sudden appearance of the thing, its look, so lean and + snake-like and somber-colored, and the muffled air of its occupants that + had struck me as sinister when it went flashing by? I wasn’t sure, but I + had formed the impression that these men were following Miss Falconer. A + patently foolish idea! And yet, and yet— + </p> + <p> + My experiences at the St. Ives and on the <i>Re d’Italia</i> had + contributed to my education. I could no longer deny that melodrama, + however unwelcome, did sometimes intrude itself into the most unlikely + lives. The girl was bound somewhere on a secret purpose. Could these four + men be her accomplices? Were they going too? + </p> + <p> + “<i>A</i> Bleau!” + </p> + <p> + Those had been her words to the chauffeur; for Bleau, then, she was bound. + But where did such a place exist? I had never heard of it; and yet I + possessed, I flattered myself, through the medium of motor-touring, a + fairly comprehensive knowledge of the map of France. + </p> + <p> + The affair was becoming a veritable nightmare. It seemed incredible that a + few minutes earlier I had resolved to wash my hands of it all. If the girl + had a disloyal mission, it was my plain duty to intercept her. I could not + denounce her to the police. I didn’t analyze the why and wherefore of my + inability to take this step; I simply knew and accepted it. If I + interfered with what she was doing, I must interfere quietly, alone. + </p> + <p> + Ordinarily I have as much imagination as a turnip, but now I indulged in a + sudden and surprising flight of fancy. Might it be, I found myself + wondering, that the men in the gray care were not Miss Falconer’s + accomplices, but her pursuers? In that case, high as was her courage, keen + as were her wits,—I found myself thinking of them with a sort of + pride,—she was laboring under a handicap of which she could not + dream. + </p> + <p> + Again, where had that long, lean, pursuing streak sprung from? Could it + have lurked somewhere in the neighborhood, spying on the hotel that Miss + Falconer had just left, waiting for her to emerge? I was aware of my + absurdity, but I couldn’t put an end to it; with each instant that went by + my uneasiness seemed to grow. So I yielded, not without qualms as to + whether the quarter would take me for a gibbering idiot. Grimly and + doggedly I stalked the length of the rue St.-Dominique, and the stately + houses on both sides seemed to scorn me, their shutters to eye me + pityingly, as I peered to right and left for the possible cache of the + car. + </p> + <p> + And within four hundred feet I found it. Against all reason and + probability, there it was. At my left there opened unostentatiously one of + those short, dark, neglected blind alleys so common in the older part of + Paris, with the houses meeting over it and forming an arched roof. Running + back twenty feet or so, it ended in a blank wall of stone; and, amid the + dust and debris that covered its rough paving, I distinctly made out the + tracks of tires, with between them, freshly spilt, a tiny, gleaming pool + of oil. + </p> + <p> + At this psychological moment a taxicab came meandering up the street. It + was unoccupied, but its red flag was turned down. The driver shook his + head vigorously as I signaled him. + </p> + <p> + “I go to my <i>dejeuner</i>, Monsieur!” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” said I fiercely, “you go to the tourist bureau of + Monsieur Cook in the Place de l’Opera, at the greatest speed the <i>sergents + de ville</i> allow!” + </p> + <p> + I must have mesmerized him, for he took me there obediently, casting + hunted glances back at me from time to time when the traffic momentarily + halted us, as if fearing to find that I was leveling a pistol at his head. + </p> + <p> + It being noon, the office of the tourist bureau was almost deserted, a + single, bored-looking, young French clerk keeping vigil behind the + travelers’ counter. With the sociable instinct of his nation he brightened + up at my appearance. + </p> + <p> + “I want,” I announced, “to ask about trains to Bleau.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment he looked blank; then he smiled in understanding. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is without doubt an artist,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + I was not, decidedly; but the words had been an affirmation and not a + question. It seemed clear that for some cryptic reason I ought to have + been an artist. Accordingly, I thought it best to bow. + </p> + <p> + He seemed childishly pleased with his acumen. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur will understand,” he explained, “that before the war we sold + tickets to many artists, who, like monsieur, desired to paint the old mill + on the stream near Bleau. It has appeared at the Salon many times, that + mill! Also, we have furnished tickets to archaeologists who desired to see + the ruins of the antique chapel, a veritable gem! But monsieur has not an + archaeologist’s aspect. Therefore, monsieur is an artist.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + “As to the trains,” he continued contentedly, “there is but one a day. It + departs at two and a half hours, upon the Le Moreau route. Monsieur will + be wise to secure, before leaving Paris, a safe-conduct from the <i>prefecture</i>; + for the village is, as one might say, on the edge of the zone of war. With + such a permit monsieur will find his visit charming; regrettable incidents + will not occur; undesirable conjectures about monsieur’s identity will not + be roused. I should strongly advise that monsieur provide himself with + such a credential, though it is not, perhaps, absolutely <i>de rigueur</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Back in my room at the Ritz, I consulted my watch. It was a quarter of + two; certainly time had marched apace. Should I, like a sensible man, + descend to the restaurant and enjoy a sample of the justly famous cuisine + of the hotel? Or should I throw all reason overboard and post off on—what + was it Dunny had called my mission—a wild-goose chase? + </p> + <p> + I glanced at myself in the mirror and shook a disapproving head. “You’re + no knight-errant,” I told my impassive image. “You’re too correct, too + indifferent-looking altogether. Better not get beyond your depth!” I + decided for luncheon, followed by a leisurely knotting of the threads of + my Parisian acquaintance. Then, as if some malign hypnotist had projected + it before me, I saw again a vision of that flashing, lean, gray car. + </p> + <p> + “I’m hanged if I don’t have a shot at this thing!” + </p> + <p> + The words seemed to pop out of my mouth entirely of their own accord. By + no conscious agency of my own, I found myself madly hurling collars, + handkerchiefs, toilet articles, whatever I seemed likeliest to need in a + brief journey, into a bag. Lastly I realized that I was standing, hat in + hand, overcoat across my arm, considering my revolver, and wondering + whether taking it with me would be too stagy and absurd. + </p> + <p> + “No more so than all the rest of it,” I decided, shrugging. Dropping the + thing into my pocket, I made for the <i>ascenseur</i>. + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t be back to-night,” I informed the hall porter woodenly. “Or + perhaps to-morrow night. But, of course, I’m keeping my room.” + </p> + <p> + With his wish for a charming trip to speed me, I left the Ritz, and + luckily no vision was vouchsafed me of the condition in which I should + return: Two crutches, a bandaged head, an utterly disreputable aspect; my + bedraggled state equaled—and this I would maintain with swords and + pistols if necessary—that of any poilu of them all. + </p> + <p> + As I drove toward the station, various headlines stared at me from the + kiosks. “Franz von Blenheim Rumored on Way to France,” ran one of them. + Hang Franz. I had had enough of him to last the rest of my life. “Duke of + Raincy-la-Tour Still Missing,” proclaimed another. I knew something about + him, too; but what? Ah, to be sure, he was the Firefly of France, the hero + of the Flying Corps, the young nobleman of whose suspected treason I had + read in that extra on the ship. In that damned extra, I amended, with + natural feeling. For it was like Rome; everything seemed to lead its way. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + AT THE THREE KINGS + </h3> + <p> + “What’s the best hotel in the place?” I inquired somewhat dubiously. The + man in the blouse, who had performed the three functions of opening my + compartment-door, carrying my bag to the gate, and relieving me of my + ticket, achieved a thoroughly Gallic shrug. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said he, “what shall I tell you? The best hotel, the worst + hotel—these are one. There is only the Hotel des Trois Rois in the + town of Bleau. Let monsieur proceed by the street of the Three Kings and + he will reach it. Formerly there was an omnibus, but now the horses are + taken. And if they remained, who could drive them with all the men at the + war?” + </p> + <p> + Carrying my bag and feeling none too amiable, I set off along the + indicated route. In Paris, rushing from the rue St.-Dominique to Cook’s + office, from that office to the hotel, from the hotel to the <i>gare</i>, + I had been a sort of whirling dervish with no time for sober thought. My + trip of four hours on a slow, stuffy, crowded train had, however, afforded + me ample leisure; and I had spent the time in grimly envisaging the + possibilities that, I decided, were most likely to befall. + </p> + <p> + First and foremost disagreeable; that the men in the gray automobile were + helping Miss Falconer in some nefarious business. In this case, it would + be up to me to fight the gentlemen single-handed, rescue the girl, and + escort her back to Paris, all without scandal. Easier said than done! + </p> + <p> + Second possibility: that Miss falconer, pausing at Bleau only en route, + might already have departed, and that I would be left with my journey for + my pains. + </p> + <p> + Third: that the gray car had no connection with her; that she had some + entirely blameless errand. I hoped so, I was sure. If this proved true, I + was bound to stand branded as a meddling, officious idiot, one who, in + defiance of the most elementary social rules, persisted in trailing her + against her will. Vastly pleasant, indeed! + </p> + <p> + Fuming, I shifted my bag from one hand to the other and walked faster. + Night was falling, but it was not yet really dark, and I formed a clear + enough notion of the village as I traversed it. It was one of the hundreds + of its kind which make an artists’ paradise of France. Entirely + unmodernized, it was the more picturesque for that. If I tripped sometimes + on the roughly paved street I could console myself with the knowledge that + these cobbles, like the odd, jutting houses rising on both sides of them, + were at least three hundred years old. Green woods, clear against a + background of rosy sunset, ran up to the very borders of the town. I + passed a little, gray old church. I crossed a quaint bridge built over a + winding stream lined with dwellings and broken by mossy washing-stones. It + was all very peaceful, very simple, and very rustic. Without second sight + I could not possibly have visioned the grim little drama for which it was + to serve as setting. + </p> + <p> + A blue sign with gilded letters beckoned me, and I paused to read it. The + Touring Club of France recommended to the passing stranger the Hotel of + the Three Kings. Here I was, then. From the street a dark, arched, stone + passage of distinctly <i>moyen-age</i> flavor led me into a courtyard + paved with great square cobbles, round the four sides of which were built + the walls of the inn. Winding, somewhat crazy-looking, stone staircases + ran up to the galleries from which the bedroom doors informally opened; + vines, as yet leafless, wreathed the gray walls and framed the shuttered + windows; before me I glimpsed a kitchen with a magnificent oaken ceiling + and a medieval fireplace in which a fire roared redly; and at my right + yawned what had doubtless been a stable once upon a time, but with the + advent of the motor, had become a primitive garage. + </p> + <p> + I took the liberty of peering inside. Eureka! There, resting comfortably + from its day’s labors, stood a dark-blue automobile. If this was not the + motor that had brought Miss Falconer from the rue St.-Dominique, it was + its twin. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll notice it’s alone, though,” I told myself. “Where’s the gray car?” + </p> + <p> + My mood was grumpy in the extreme. The inn was charming, but I knew from + sad experience that no place combines all attractions, and that a spot so + picturesque as this would probably lack running water and electric light. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bonsoir, Monsieur!</i>” + </p> + <p> + A buxom, smiling, bare-armed woman had emerged from the kitchen door. She + was plainly the hostess. I set down my bag and removed my hat. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” I responded, “I wish you a good evening. I desire a room for the + night in the Hotel of the Three Kings.” + </p> + <p> + “To accommodate monsieur,” she assured me warmly, “will be a pleasure. + Monsieur is an artist without doubt?” + </p> + <p> + I wanted to say “<i>Et tu, Brute!</i>” but I didn’t. When one came to + think of it, I had no very good reason to advance for having appeared at + Bleau. It wasn’t the sort of place into which one would drop from the + skies by pure chance, either. I was lucky to find a ready-made + explanation. + </p> + <p> + “But assuredly,” said I. + </p> + <p> + She disappeared into the kitchen, returned immediately with a candle, and + led me up the stone staircase on the left of the courtyard, talking + volubly all the while. + </p> + <p> + “We have had many artists here,” she declared; “many friends of monsieur, + doubtless. Since monsieur is of that fine profession, his room will be but + four francs daily; his dinner, three francs; his little breakfast, a franc + alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” I responded, “it is plain that the high cost of living, which + terrorizes my country, does not exist at Bleau.” + </p> + <p> + Equally plain, I thought pessimistically, was the explanation. My saddest + forebodings were realized; if the name of the hotel meant anything and + three kings ever tarried here, that conjunction of sovereigns had put up + with housing of a distinctly primitive sort. My room was clean, I + acknowledged thankfully, but that was all I could say for it. I eyed the + bowl and pitcher gloomily, the hard-looking bed, the tiny square of + carpeting in the center of the stone floor. + </p> + <p> + “Your house, Madame,” I suggested craftily, with a view to reconnoissance, + “is, of course, full?” + </p> + <p> + She heaved a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “It is war-time, Monsieur,” she lamented. “None travel now. Yet why should + I mourn, since I make enough to keep me till the war is ended and my man + comes home? There are those who eat here daily at the noon hour—the + cure, the mayor, the mayor’s secretary, sometimes the notary of the town, + as well. And to-night I have two guests, monsieur and the young lady—the + nurse who goes to the hospital at Carrefonds with the great new remedy for + burns and scars. <i>Au revoir, Monsieur</i>. In one little moment I will + send the hot water, and in half an hour monsieur shall dine.” + </p> + <p> + I closed the door behind her and flung down my bag, fuming. So Miss + Falconer was a nurse, carrying a panacea to the wounded, doubtless a + specimen of the sensational new remedy just recognized by the medical + authorities, of which the one newspaper I had glanced through in Paris had + been full. The masquerade was too preposterous to gain an instant’s + credence. It gave me, as the French say, furiously to think; it resolved + all doubts. + </p> + <p> + I felt inexplicably angry, then preternaturally cool and competent. For + the first time since the Modane episode I was my clear-sighted self. I had + been trying futilely to blindfold my eyes, to explain the inexplicable, to + be unaware of the obvious. Now with a sort of grim relief I looked the + facts in the face. + </p> + <p> + My hot water appearing, I made a sketchy toilet, and then descended to the + courtyard where I lounged and smoked. My state of mind was peculiar. As I + struck a match I noticed with a queer pride that my hand was steady. With + a cold, almost sardonic clarity, I thought of Miss Falconer. First a + prosperous tourist, next a dweller in an aristocratic French mansion, then + a nurse. She equaled, I told myself, certain heroines of our Sunday + supplements, queens of the smugglers, moving spirits of the diamond ring. + </p> + <p> + Upstairs in the right-hand gallery a door opened. A light footstep sounded + on the winding stairs. The critical moment was upon me; she was coming. I + threw away my cigarette and advanced. + </p> + <p> + She was playing her part, I saw, with due regard for detail. Now that her + furs were off she stood forth in the white costume, the flowing + head-dress, the red cross—all the panoply of the <i>infirmiere</i>. + She came half-way down the stairs before perceiving me; then, with a low + exclamation, grasping the balustrade, she stood still. + </p> + <p> + I didn’t even pretend surprise. What was the use of it? + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Miss Falconer,” was all I said. + </p> + <p> + It seemed a long time before she answered. Rigid, uncompromising, she + faced me; and I read storm signals in the deep flush of her cheeks, the + gray flash of her eyes, the stiffness of her white-draped head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord!” I groaned to myself in cold compassion, “she means to bluff + it! Can’t she see that the game’s played out?” + </p> + <p> + “This is very strange, Mr. Bayne,” she was saying idly. “I understood that + you were to drive an ambulance at the Front.” + </p> + <p> + How young, how lovely, how glowing she looked as she stood there in her + snowy dress. I found myself wondering impersonally what had led her to + these devious paths. + </p> + <p> + “So I am,” I responded with accentuated coolness. “My time is valuable; it + was a sacrifice to come to Bleau; but I had no choice. What’s wrong, Miss + Falconer? You don’t object to my presence surely? If you go on freezing me + like this, I shall think there’s something about my turning up here that + worries you—upon my soul I shall!” + </p> + <p> + She should by rights have been trembling, but her eyes blazed at me + disdainfully. I felt almost like a caitiff, whatever that may be. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t worry me,” she denied, with the same crisp iciness, “but it + does surprise me. Will you tell me, please, what you are doing here?” + </p> + <p> + Should I return, “And you?” in a voice of obvious meaning? Should I take a + leaf from the book of my hostess and say: “I’m a bit of an artist. I’ve + sketched all over Europe, and I’ve come to have a go at the old mill that + so many fellows try?” Such a claim would just match the assumption of her + costume. But no. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” I said serenely, “I came straight from the rue St. + Dominique to keep the appointment you forgot.” + </p> + <p> + The announcement, it was plain, exasperated her, for slightly, but + undeniably, she stamped one arched, slender, attractively shod foot. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne,” she demanded, “are you a secret-service agent?” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” I exclaimed, startled. “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’m sorry. That would have been a better reason for following me + than—than the only one there is,” she swept on stormily. “You knew I + didn’t wish to see any one at present. I said so in the note I left. Yet + you spied on me and you tracked me deliberately, when I had trusted you + with my address. It’s outrageous of you. You ought to be ashamed of doing + it, Mr. Bayne.” + </p> + <p> + A stunned realization burst on me of the line that she was taking, the + position into which, willy-nilly, she was crowding me. I had trailed her + here, she assumed, to thrust my company on her; and, upon the surface, I + had to own that my behavior really had that air. If I had followed her + with equal brazenness along Fifth Avenue, I should have had a chance to + explain my conduct to the first police officer who noticed it, later to an + indignant magistrate. But, heavens and earth! She knew why I had come. And + knowing, how did she dare defy me? I retained just sufficient presence of + mind to stare back impassively and to mumble with feeble sarcasm: + </p> + <p> + “I’m very sorry you think so.” + </p> + <p> + She came down a step. + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” she asked imperiously. “Then—will you prove it? Will you + go back to Paris by to-night’s train?” + </p> + <p> + I had recovered myself. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t any train to-night,” I protested, civil, but adamant. “And—I’m + sorry, but if there was I wouldn’t take it—not until I’ve + accomplished what I came to do!” + </p> + <p> + The girl seemed to concentrate all the world’s disdain in the look that + measured me, running from my head to my unoffending feet, from my feet + back to my head. + </p> + <p> + “Most men would go, Mr. Bayne,” she flung at me, her red lips scornful. + “But then, most men wouldn’t have come, of course. And all you will + accomplish is to make me dine up here in this—this wretched, stuffy + room.” Before I could lift a hand in protest, she had turned, mounted the + stairs again, and vanished. The door—shall I own it?—slammed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE PLOT THICKENS + </h3> + <p> + Presently, summoned by the hostess, I went to my lonely meal in a mood + that nobody on earth had cause to envy me. One thing was certain: Should + it ever be disclosed that Miss Esme Falconer was not a spy, I should lack + courage to go on living. Remembering the coolly brazen line I had taken + and the assumptions she had drawn from it, I could think of no desert wide + enough to hide my confusion, no pit sufficiently deep to shelter my + utterly crestfallen head. + </p> + <p> + In any case, I had not managed my attack at all triumphantly. From the + first skirmish the adversary had retired with all the honors on her side. + Carrying the matter with a high hand, she had dazed me into brief + inaction, and then, as I gave signs of rally, had retreated in what to say + the least was a highly strategic way. Well, let her go for the moment! She + could scarcely escape me. I would see the thing through, I told myself + with growing stubbornness; but I didn’t feel that the doing of a civic + duty was what it is cracked up to be. Not at all! + </p> + <p> + I felt the need of a cocktail with a kick to it. But I did not get one. + However, the cabbage soup was eatable, if primitive; and, in fact, no part + of the dinner could be called distinctly bad. + </p> + <p> + Having finished my coffee, I went outside feeling more cheerful. It was + dark now. A lantern swinging from the entrance cast flickering darts of + light about the courtyard, the rough paving-stones, the odd old galleries + and stairs. Upstairs a candle shone through the window of Miss Falconer’s + room. In the kitchen by the great chimney place I could see a leather-clad + chauffeur eating, the same fellow that had driven the blue car from the + rue St.-Dominique; and while I watched, madame emerged, bearing the girl’s + dinner tray, which with much groaning and panting she carried up the + winding stairs. + </p> + <p> + It was foolish of Miss Falconer, I thought, to insist on this comedy. She + might better have dined with me, heard what I had to say, and yielded with + a good grace. However, let her have her dinner in peace and solitude, I + resolved magnanimously. The moon had come out, the stars too; I would take + a stroll and mature my plans. + </p> + <p> + Lighting a cigarette, I lounged into the street and addressed myself + forthwith to an unhurried tour of Bleau. I was gone perhaps an hour, not a + very lengthy interval, but one in which a variety of things can occur, as + I was to learn. My walk led me outside the village, down a water path + between trees, and even to the famous mill, which was charming. Had I been + of the fraternity of artists, as I had claimed, I should have asked no + better fate than to come there with canvas and brushes and immortalize the + quiet beauty of the scene. + </p> + <p> + A rustic bridge invited me, and I stood and smoked upon it, listening to + the ripple of the half-golden, half-shadowy water, watching the + revolutions of the green old wheel. I had laid out my plan of action. On + my return to the inn I would insist on an interview with Miss Falconer, + and would tell her that either she must return with me to Paris or that + the police of Bleau—I supposed it had police—must take a hand. + </p> + <p> + My metamorphosis into a hero of adventure, racing about the country, + visiting places I had never heard of, coolly assuming the control of + international spy plots, brutally determining to kidnap women if + necessary, was astounding to say the least. That dinner in the St. Ives + restaurant rose before me, and I heard again Dunny’s charge that I was + growing stodgy with advancing years. Suppose he should see me now, + involved in these insane developments? He might call me various + unflattering things, but not stodgy—not with truth. I chuckled + half-heartedly, my last chuckle, by the by, for a long time. Unknown to me + and unsuspected, the darker, more deadly side of the adventure was + steadily drawing near. + </p> + <p> + When I entered the courtyard of the Three Kings, the door of the garage + stood open, and the first object my eyes met within it was the pursuing + gray car. I stared at the thing, transfixed. In the march of events I had + forgotten it. I was still gaping at it when madame came hurrying forth. + </p> + <p> + “I have been watching,” she informed me, “for monsieur’s return. Friends + of his arrived here soon after he left the house.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce they did!” I thought, dumb-founded. I judged prudence + advisable. + </p> + <p> + “They have names, these friends?” I inquired warily. + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt, Monsieur,” she agreed, “but they did not offer them; and + who am I to ask questions of the officers of France? They are bound on a + mission, plainly. In time of war those so engaged talk little. They have + eaten, and they have gone to their rooms, off the gallery to the west. And + the fourth of their party—he alone wears no uniform; he is doubtless + of monsieur’s land—asked of me a description of my guests, and + exclaimed in great delight, saying that monsieur was his old friend, whom + he had hoped to find here and with whom he must have speech the very + moment that monsieur should return. I know no more.” + </p> + <p> + It was enough. + </p> + <p> + “He’s mistaken,” I said shortly. For the moment I really thought that this + must be the case. + </p> + <p> + Her broad, good-natured face was all astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “But, Monsieur,” she burst forth, “he even told me, this gentleman, that + such might be monsieur’s reply! And in that event he commanded me to beg + monsieur to walk upstairs, since he had a thing of importance to reveal to + monsieur—one best said behind closed doors!” + </p> + <p> + I stared at her, my head humming like a top. Then, scrutinizingly, I + looked about the court. The light in Miss Falconer’s room had been + extinguished. Did that have some significance? Was she lying perdue + because these people had come? In the rooms opening from the west gallery + above the street entrance I could see moving shadows. The gray car had + arrived, and it bore three officers of France for passengers. What could + this mean? + </p> + <p> + Of course, whoever had left the message had mistaken me for a confederate. + I could not know any of the new arrivals; it was equally impossible that + they could know me. None the less, with a slight, unaccustomed thrill of + excitement, I resolved to accept the invitation as if in absolute good + faith. It was a first-class chance to get inside those rooms, to use my + eyes, to sound this affair a little, to learn whether these men were the + girl’s pursuers. As army officers they could scarcely be her accomplices. + Would they forestall me by arresting her, by taking her back to Paris? It + was astonishing how distasteful I found the idea of that. + </p> + <p> + I told madame that I thought I knew, now, who the gentlemen were. I + climbed the west staircase with determination and knocked on the door of + the first room that had a light. A voice from within, vaguely familiar, + bade me enter, I did so immediately and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + Through an inner entrance I saw three men grouped about a table in the + next room, all smoking cigarettes, all clad in horizon blue. They glanced + up at me for a moment, and then, politely, they looked away. But a fourth + man, who had stood beside them, came striding out to meet me, and I + confronted Mr. John Van Blarcom face to face. + </p> + <p> + Officers fresh from the trenches have told me that one can lose through + sheer accustomedness all horror at the grim sights of warfare, all + consciousness of ear-splitting noises, all interest in gas and shrapnel + and bursting shells. In the same way one can lose all capacity for + astonishment, I suppose. I don’t think I manifested much surprise at this + unexpected meeting; and I heard myself remarking quite coolly that there + had been a mistake, that I had been told downstairs that a friend of mine + was here. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, Mr. Bayne,” cut in Van Blarcom shortly. “I’ve been a friend + of yours clear through, and I’m acting as one now. Just a minute, sir, + please!” + </p> + <p> + He had shut the door between ourselves and the officers, and now he was + drawing the shutters close. Coming back into the room, he seated himself, + and motioned me toward a chair, which I didn’t take. His authoritative + manner was, I must say, not unimpressive. And he knew how to arrange a + rather crude stage-setting; the room, with all air and sound excluded, + seemed tense and breathless; the one dim candle on the table lent a + certain solemnity to the scene. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Mr. Bayne,” he began bluffly, “last time you spoke to me you + told me to—Well, we’ll let bygones by bygones; I guess you remember + what you said. You don’t like me, and I’m not wasting any love on you; as + far as you’re personally concerned, I’d just as soon see you hang! But + I’ve got to think of the United States. I’m in the service, and it doesn’t + do her any good to have her citizens get in bad with France.” + </p> + <p> + Standing there, gazing at him with an air of bored inquiry, behind my mask + of indifference I racked my brain. What did he want of me? What did he + want of Miss Falconer? What was he doing in this military galley? Hopeless + queries, without the key to the puzzle! + </p> + <p> + “Well?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t ask you,” he went on crisply, “what you’re doing here—” + </p> + <p> + “You had better not!” I snapped. “What tomfoolery is this? Do you think + you are a police officer heckling a crook? And why should you ask me such + a question any more than I should ask you?” + </p> + <p> + He grinned meaningly. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he commented, “there might be reasons. I’m here on business, with + papers in order, and three French officers to answer for me; but you’re a + kind of a funny person to make a bee-line for a place like Bleau. An inn + like this doesn’t seem your style, somehow. I’d say the Ritz was more your + type. And while we’re at it, did you go to the Paris <i>Prefecture</i> + this morning, like all foreigners are told to, and show your passport, and + get your police card? Have you got it with you? If you have you stepped + pretty lively, considering you left Paris by three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “If any one in authority asks me that,” I said, “I’ll answer him. I + certainly don’t propose to answer you.” My arms were folded; I looked + haughtily indifferent; but it was pure bluff. The only paper I had with me + was my passport. What the dickens could I do if he turned nasty along such + lines. + </p> + <p> + “As I was saying,” he resumed, unruffled, “I’m not asking you why you’re + here—because I know. I’ve got to hand it to you that you’re a + dead-game sport. Most men’s hair would have turned white at Gibraltar + after the fuss you had. And here you are again—in the ring for all + you’re worth!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean something,” I said wearily, “but it’s too subtle and + cryptic. Please use words of one syllable.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded tolerantly. Leaning back, thumbs in his waistcoat-pockets, + swelling visibly, he was an offensive picture of self-satisfaction and + content. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t get away with it, Mr. Bayne,” he declared impressively. “You’ve + taken on too much; I’m giving it to you straight. You can do a lot with + money and good clothes, and being born a gentleman and acting like one, + and having friends to help you; but you can’t buck the French Government + and the French army and the French police. In a little affair of this sort + you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Even your ambassador would turn you + down cold. He wouldn’t dare do anything else. This is the last call for + dinner in the dining-car, for you. Last time I wanted to tell you the + facts of the case you wouldn’t listen. Will you listen now?” + </p> + <p> + I considered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “I’ll listen. Go ahead!” + </p> + <p> + He foundered for a moment, and then plunged in boldly. + </p> + <p> + “About this young lady who’s brought you and me to Bleau. Oh, you needn’t + lift your eyebrows, much as to say, ‘What young lady?’ You know she’s + here, and I know it; and she knows I’ve come and has put her light out and + is shaking in her shoes over there. I can swear to that. Well, I want to + tell you I never started out to get her; I just stumbled across her on the + steamer by a fluke. But I kept my eyes open and I saw a lot of things; and + when I got to Paris to-day I told them at the <i>Prefecture</i>. You can + see what they thought of the business by my being here. I wasn’t keen to + come. I’ve got my own work to do. But they want me to identify her; and + they’ve sent three officers with me—not policemen, you’ll notice, + because this is an army matter, and before we make an end of it we’ll be + in the army zone.” + </p> + <p> + I don’t know just what he saw in my eyes; but it seemed to bother him. He + fidgeted a little; as he approached the crucial point, his gaze evaded + mine. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, we’ll come down to brass tacks, Mr. Bayne,” said he. “I don’t + know what kind of story the girl told you; but I know it wasn’t the truth + or you wouldn’t be here. That’s sure. She’s a German agent; she’s come to + get the Germans some papers that they want about as bad as anything under + heaven. There’s one man who tried the job already. He got killed for his + pains; but he hid the papers before he died, and she knows where; and + she’s on her way to get them and carry the business through. I don’t say + she hasn’t plenty of courage. Why, she’s gone up against the whole of + France; but I guess you’re not very anxious to be mixed up in this + underhand, spying sort of matter, eh?” + </p> + <p> + My hands were doubling themselves with automatic vigor. I wanted—consumedly—to + knock the fellow down. However, I controlled myself. + </p> + <p> + “What’s your offer?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It’s this.” He was obviously relieved, positively swelling in his + tolerant, good-humored patronage. “I said once before I was sorry for you, + and that still goes; we won’t be hard on you if we have got the whip-hand, + Mr. Bayne. You just stay in your room to-morrow until she’s gone and we’re + gone, and you needn’t be afraid your name will ever figure in this thing. + I’ve made it all right with my friends in the next room. They know a + pretty girl can fool a man sometimes, and they’ve got a soft spot for + Americans, like all the Frenchies here. Take it from me, you’d better draw + out quietly, instead of being arrested, tried, shot, or imprisoned maybe—or + being sent home with an unproved charge hanging over you, and having all + your friends fight shy of you as a suspected pro-German. Isn’t that so?” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly,” I agreed, “draw a most uninviting picture. I’ll have to + consider this, Mr. Van Blarcom, if you’ll give me time?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure!” with his hearty response. “Take as long as you like to think it + over; I know how you’ll decide. You don’t belong in a thing like this + anyhow; you never did. It’s bound to end in a nasty mess for all + concerned. There’s a train goes to Paris to-morrow morning at eleven. You + just take it, sir, and forget this business, and you’ll thank me all your + life.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + GEORGES THE CHAUFFEUR + </h3> + <p> + Upon descending to the courtyard, I took a seat on a bench beneath a + vine-covered trellis. To stop here for a time, smoking, would seem a + natural proceeding, and while I held such a post of recognizance nothing + overt could transpire in the environs without my taking note of the fact. + Enough had developed already, though, heaven was witness! I lit a + cigarette and prepared for a resume. + </p> + <p> + Like a sleuth noting salient points, I glanced round the rectangular + court. At my right, off the gallery, was Miss Falconer’s room shrouded in + darkness; at the left, up another flight of stairs, my own uninviting + domain. The quarters of Van Blarcom and his uniformed friends opened from + the gallery above the street passage, facing the main portion of the inn + which sheltered the kitchen and <i>salle a manger</i>. Such was the + simple, homely stage-setting. What of the play? + </p> + <p> + Bleau, I now felt tolerably sure, was merely a mile-stone on the route of + Miss Falconer. Next morning, at sunrise probably, she would resume her + journey for parts unknown. Would they arrest her before she left the inn + or merely follow her? The latter, doubtless, since they asserted that she + was on her way to get the papers that they wanted for France. + </p> + <p> + Upstairs in the room where Van Blarcom and I had held our conference the + shutters had been reopened. There was just one light to be seen, a glowing + point, which was obviously the tip of a cigar. If I was keeping vigil + below, from above he returned the compliment; nor did he mean that I + should hold any secret colloquy with the girl that night. I swore softly, + but earnestly. Considering his rather decent attitude, his efforts from + the very first to enlighten me as to the dangers I was running, it was odd + that my detestation of the man was so thoroughly ingrained and so + profound. + </p> + <p> + The mystery of the gray car had been solved with a vengeance. Instead of + being freighted with accomplices, as I had at first thought possible, it + had carried the representatives of justice, in the persons of three + officers and my secret-service friend. A queer conjunction, that; but + then, my ignorance of French methods was abysmal. Perhaps this was the + usual mode of doing things in time of war. + </p> + <p> + Van Blarcom’s explanation, though it made me furious, had brought + conviction. There was a certain grim appositeness about it all. The night + in New York, the events of the steamer, the unsatisfactory character of + the girl’s actions, all fitted neatly into the plan; and the mere + personnel of the pursuing party was sufficient assurance, for French + officers, as I well knew, were neither liars nor fools. Neither, I + patriotically assumed, were the men of my country’s secret-service, + however humble their part as cogs in that great machinery, or however + distasteful Mr. Van Blarcom, personally, might be to me. And finally, I + could not deny that women, clever, well-born, and beautiful, had served as + spies a thousand times in the world’s history, urged to it by some sense + of duty, some tie of blood. + </p> + <p> + Yes, that was it, I told myself in sudden pity, recalling how Miss + Falconer had stood on the steps in her nurse’s costume, straight and + slender, her gray eyes full of fire, her face glowing like a rose. Perhaps + she was of the enemy’s country. Perhaps those she loved, those who made up + her life, had set her feet in this path that she was treading. If she was + a spy,—Lord! How the mere word hurt one!—it wasn’t for ignoble + motives; it wasn’t for pay. + </p> + <p> + I came impulsively to the conclusion that there was just one course for my + taking: to see her and to beg, bully, or wheedle from her the unvarnished + truth. Then, if it was as I feared, she should go back to Paris if I had + to carry her; she should accompany me to Bordeaux, and on the first + steamer she should sail from France. Yes; and the army should have its + papers, for she should tell me where they were hidden. Her work should + end; but these men upstairs should not track her and trap her and drag her + off to prison, perhaps to death. + </p> + <p> + There was danger in the plan, even if I should accomplish it. I should get + myself into trouble, dark and deep. Well, if I had to languish behind bars + for a while I could survive it. But she might not. As I thought of this I + knew that I had made up my mind irrevocably. + </p> + <p> + It was a problem, nevertheless, to arrange an interview, with Van Blarcom + sitting at his window, watching me like a lynx. I couldn’t go up the + stairs and batter on her door till she opened it; apart from the reception + she would give me it would simply amount to making a present of my + intentions to the men across the way. Yet who knew how long they would + keep up their surveillance? Till I retired, probably! “I’d give something + to choke you and be done with it!” was the benediction I wafted toward the + sentinel above. + </p> + <p> + I was owning myself at my wit’s end when a ray of hope was vouchsafed me. + The kitchen door opened and let out a leather-clad figure which strode + across the courtyard, lantern in hand, and let itself into the garage. + Despite the dimness, I recognized Miss Falconer’s chauffeur, the man she + had addressed as Georges when they left the rue St. Dominique. The very + link I needed, provided I could get into communication with him in some + unostentatious way. + </p> + <p> + I rose, stretched myself lazily, and began to pace the court. Perhaps a + dozen times I crossed and recrossed it, each turn taking me past the + garage and affording me a brief glance within. The chauffeur, coat flung + aside, sleeves rolled up, was hard at work overhauling his engine, with an + obvious view to efficiency upon the morrow. Up at the window I could see + the glowing cigar-tip move now to this side, now to that. Not for an + instant was Van Blarcom allowing me to escape from sight. + </p> + <p> + After taking one more turn I halted, yawned audibly for the sentry’s + benefit, and seated myself once more, this time on a bench by the door of + the garage. Van Blarcom’s cigar became stationary again. The chauffeur, + who had satisfied himself as to the engine and was now passing critical + fingers over the gashes in the tires, looked up at me casually and then + resumed his work. Kneeling there, his tools about him, he was plainly + visible in the light of the smoky lantern. He was a young man, + twenty-three or-four perhaps, strongly built and obviously of + French-peasant stock, with honest blue eyes and a face not unduly + intelligent, but thoroughly frank and open in the cast. The actors in my + drama, I had to own, were puzzling. This lad looked no more fitted than + Miss Falconer for a treacherous role. + </p> + <p> + How theatrical it all was! And yet it had its zest. I confess I + experienced a certain thrill, entirely new to me, as I bent forward with + my arms on my knees and my head lowered to hide my face. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Attention, Georges!</i>” I muttered beneath my breath. + </p> + <p> + The chauffeur started, knocking a tool from the running-board beside him. + His eyes, half-startled, half-fierce, fixed themselves on me; his hand + went toward his pocket in a most significant way. In a minute he would be + shooting me, I reflected grimly. And upstairs the very stillness of Van + Blarcom shrieked suspicion; he could not have helped hearing the clatter + that the falling tool had made. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be a fool,” I muttered, low, but sharply. “I know where you and + mademoiselle come from; I know she is upstairs now; if I wished you any + harm I could have had the mayor and the gendarmes here an hour ago! Keep + your head—we are being watched. Have a good look at me first if you + feel you want to. Then take your hand off that revolver and pretend to go + to work.” + </p> + <p> + Throwing my head back, I began blowing clouds of smoke, wondering every + instant whether a bullet would whiz through my brain. I could feel + Georges’ gaze upon me; I knew it was a critical moment. But as his kind + are quick, shrewd judges of caste and character, I had my hopes. + </p> + <p> + They were justified; for presently I heard him draw a breath of relief. + His hand came out of his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, Monsieur,” he whispered, and began a vigorous pretense of + polishing the car. + </p> + <p> + Again I leaned forward to hide the fact that my lips were moving. + </p> + <p> + “When you speak to me, keep your head bent as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Now listen. Men of the French army are here, with powers from the police. + They accuse mademoiselle of serious things, of acts of treason, of being + on her way to secure papers for the foes of France. They are watching. + To-morrow, if she departs, they mean to follow and to arrest her when they + have gained proof of what she is hunting.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu, Monsieur!</i> What shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + There was appeal in his voice. Convinced of my good faith, he was quite + simply shifting the business to my shoulders—the French peasant + trusting the man he ranked as of his master’s class. And oddly enough I + found myself responding as if to a trusted person. I smoked a little, + wondering whether Van Blarcom could catch the faint mutter of our voices. + Then I gave my orders in the same muffled tones: + </p> + <p> + “You will tell the servants that you wish to sleep here to-night, to watch + the car. You will stay here very quietly until it is nearly dawn. Then you + will creep to mademoiselle’s door and whisper what I have told you and say + that I beg her to meet me before those others have awakened at five + o’clock in—” + </p> + <p> + Pondering a rendezvous, I hesitated. The room where I had dined, with its + stone floor, its beamed ceiling, and dark panels, came first to my mind. I + fancied, though, that some outdoor spot might be safer. I remembered + opportunely that a passage led past this room, and that at its end I had + glimpsed a little garden behind the inn. + </p> + <p> + “In the garden,” I finished, and risked one straight look at him. “I can + trust you, Georges?” + </p> + <p> + The young man’s throat seemed to close. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Monsieur le duc</i> was my foster-brother, <i>Monsieur</i>,” he + whispered. “I would die for him.” + </p> + <p> + Who the deuce <i>monsieur le duc</i> might be I did not tarry to discover. + I had done all I could; the future was on the knees of the gods. Having + smoked one more cigarette for the sake of verisimilitude, I rose, + stretched myself ostentatiously, and crossed the courtyard to the stairs, + where madame was descending. She had, she informed me, been preparing my + bed. + </p> + <p> + “And I wish monsieur good repose,” she ended volubly. “Hitherto, no + Zeppelins have come to Bleau to disturb our dreams. Though, alas, who + knows what they will do, now that we have lost our most gallant hero? + Monsieur has heard of the Firefly of France, he who is missing?” + </p> + <p> + That name again! Odd how it seemed to pursue me. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I shall meet that fellow sometime if he’s living,” I reflected + as I climbed the stairs. + </p> + <p> + In my room, my candle lighted, I resigned myself to a ghastly night. I + don’t like discomfort, though I can put up with it when I must. The bed + looked as hard as nails; the bowl made cleanliness a duty, not a pleasure. + And to think that I might have been sleeping in comfort at the Ritz! + </p> + <p> + Tossing from side to side, pounding a cast-iron pillow, I dozed through + uneasy intervals, and woke with groans and starts. I could not rid myself + of the sense of something ominous hanging over me. The gray car ramped + through my dreams; so did Van Blarcom; and between sleeping and waking, I + pictured my coming interview with the girl, her probable terror, the force + and menaces I should have to use, our hurried flight. + </p> + <p> + At length I fell into a heavy, exhausted slumber, from which, toward + morning I fancied, I sat up suddenly with the dazed impression of some + sound echoing in my ears. Springing out of bed, I groped my way to the + window. The galleries lay peaceful and empty in the moonlight, and down in + the courtyard there was not the slightest sign of life. + </p> + <p> + I went back to bed in a state of jangled nerves. Again I dozed, and a dim + light was creeping through the window when I woke. I looked out again. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” I muttered, for though the hotel seemed wrapped in slumber, the + door of the garage now stood ajar. Was it possible that Miss Falconer had + stolen a march on me, that the automobile could have left the premises + without my being roused? It was only four o’clock, but all wish for sleep + had left me. I decided to investigate without any more ado. + </p> + <p> + I made the best toilet that cold water and a cracked mirror permitted, + longing the while for a bath, for a breakfast tray, for a hundred + civilized things. Taking my hat and coat, I went quietly down the + staircase. The garage door beckoned me, and all unprepared, I walked into + the tragedy of the affair. + </p> + <p> + In the dim place there were signs of a desperate struggle. The rugs and + cushions of Miss Falconer’s automobile were scattered far and wide. The + gray car had vanished; and in the center of the floor was Georges, the + chauffeur, lying on his back with arms extended, staring up at the ceiling + with wide, unseeing blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + “I MUST GO ON” + </h3> + <p> + Kneeling by the young man’s side, I felt for his pulse; but the moment + that my fingers touched his cold wrist I knew the truth. There flashed + into my mind queerly, as things do at grim moments, an often-heard + expression about rigor mortis setting in. With this poor fellow it had not + started, but he was dead for all that. The most skilful surgeon in Europe + could not have helped him now. + </p> + <p> + I never doubted that it was murder. The confusion of the garage was proof + of it; and the instrument, once I looked about me, was not far to seek. + Divided between rage, horror, and pity, I saw a sort of sharp stiletto + suitable for use as a penknife or letter opener, which, after doing its + work, had been cast upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + I remained on my knees beside the lad, smitten with a keen remorse. I knew + no good of him; I had even suspected him; but he had an honest face. Why + had I not kept watch all night? The instructions I had given, the plan I + had thought so clever, might be responsible for the killing; it must have + been some echo of the struggle that had roused me when I had wakened and + glanced out and gone placidly back to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Had Van Blarcom caught our whispered colloquy, or surmised it? Helped by + his precious colleagues, he must have taken Georges unprepared, throttled + him to prevent his shouting, and ended his frantic struggles with one + swift, ruthless blow. But why? What sort of soldiers could these be who + wore the uniform of a brave, chivalrous country and yet did murder? What + sort of mission were they bound upon that for no visible gain or motive + they risked desperate work like this? + </p> + <p> + And the girl upstairs? The thought was like a knife thrust; it brought me + to my feet, my heart pounding, my forehead cold and wet. I told myself + that she must be safe, that wholesale killing could not be the aim of + these wretches, that the gray automobile was not what our one-cent sheets + in their tales of gunmen like to call a “murder car.” But what did I know + about it? I was in a funk, a funk of the bluest variety. In that one + age-long moment I learned what sheer fright meant. + </p> + <p> + Without knowing how I got there, I found myself in the gallery. The doors + that lined it were rickety and worm-eaten; I stared weakly at them. A mere + twist of practised fingers, and they could be forced open by any one who + cared to try. I thought I heard a faint breathing inside the girl’s room, + but I was not sure; I was too rattled. Very guardedly I knocked and got no + answer. Then, in utter panic, I knocked louder, at risk of disturbing the + whole house. + </p> + <p> + “Georges, <i>c’est vous</i>?” It was the drowsiest of murmurs, but few + things have been so welcome to me in all my life. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mademoiselle.” Though my knees were wobbling under me I summoned + presence of mind to impersonate the poor huddled mass of flesh in the + garage. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Attendez donc!</i>” + </p> + <p> + I could hear her stirring; she believed I had come with some summons, with + some news. Well, it was imperative that I should see her. I waited + obediently until the door swung open and revealed her in a loose robe of + blue, with her hair in a ruddy mass about her shoulders and the sleep + still lingering in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne!” + </p> + <p> + Such was my relief at finding my fears uncalled for that I could have + danced a breakdown on that crazy gallery, snapping my fingers in castanet + fashion above my head. I had forgotten entirely the strained terms of our + parting; but she remembered. A bright wave of scarlet ran over her face, + her neck, her forehead. She gasped, clutched her robe about her, would + have shut the door if I had not foreseen the strategic movement and + inserted a foot in the diminishing crack, just in time. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” I began hastily. “I am really extremely sorry. But + something has occurred that forces me to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be nothing that forces you to come here—nothing!” Her + lips were trembling; her voice wavered; the apparent shamelessness of my + behavior was driving her to the verge of tears. “Is there no place where I + am safe from you? Mr. Bayne, how can you? I shan’t listen to a single word + while you keep your foot in the door!” + </p> + <p> + “And I can’t take it away until you listen,” I protested. “It is perfectly + obvious that if I did, you would shut me out. But you can see for yourself + that I’m not trying to force an entrance—and I wish that you would + speak lower; if we waken anybody, there will be the mischief to pay.” + </p> + <p> + My voice, I suppose, had an impatient note that was reassuring, or perhaps + I looked encouragingly respectable, viewed at closer range. At any rate, + she spoke less angrily, though she still stood erect and haughty. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” she asked, barring the opening with one slender arm. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask if you have had a message from me, Miss Falconer?” + </p> + <p> + “A message? Certainly not!” There was renewed suspicion in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “H’m.” Then they had intercepted the man before he reached her. “I’m going + to ask you to dress as quickly and quietly as possible and come + downstairs. Don’t stop in the court, and don’t go near the garage, I beg + of you. Just walk on past the <i>salle a manger</i> to the garden, and + wait for me.” + </p> + <p> + I expected exclamations, questions, indignant protests, anything but the + sudden white calm that fell on her at my request. + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” she whispered, “that something dreadful has happened. Is it + about the—the men who came last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But please don’t worry,” I urged with false heartiness. “I’ll + explain when you come down.” To cut the discussion short, I turned to go. + </p> + <p> + Once her door had closed, however, I halted at the staircase, retraced my + steps, and, without hesitation, circled the gallery to the rooms of Mr. + John Van Blarcom and his friends. I had had enough of uncertainties; + henceforth I meant to deal with facts. It was barely possible that I was + unjustly anathematizing these gentlemen, that, while they were peacefully + sleeping, thieves had broken in below. + </p> + <p> + Two knocks, the first rather tentative, the second brisker, netting no + response, I deliberately tried the knob and felt the door promptly yield + to me; then, with equal deliberation, I dropped my hand into my pocket + where my revolver lay. If some one sprang at me and tried to crack my head + or stab me,—stabbing was popular hereabouts,—I was in a state + of armed preparedness. But when I stepped inside I found an empty room, a + bed in which no one had slept. + </p> + <p> + Grown brazen, I strode across to the inner door and opened it. More + emptiness greeted me; the four men had plainly taken French leave in their + gray car. It was strange that the hum of their departure had not roused + me; they must, before starting the motor, have pushed their automobile + from the courtyard and out of ear-shot down the street. + </p> + <p> + For a moment I stood in the deserted room, reflecting swiftly. The + situation was desperate; in another hour the inn would be stirring, and + Miss Falconer, I felt sure, could not afford to be found here when that + came to pass. Murder investigations are searching things. All strangers + beneath this roof would be interrogated narrowly. If any one had a secret,—and + she certainly had several,—the chances were heavy that it would be + dragged to light. + </p> + <p> + For some reason this prospect was unspeakably frightful to me. Under its + spur I hatched the craziest scheme that man ever thought of, and took + steps which, as I look back at them, seem almost beyond belief. I must get + Miss Falconer off for Paris, I determined. And since it was possible that + the villagers would see us leaving, she must appear to go, as she had + come, with her chauffeur. + </p> + <p> + I descended, forthwith, to the garage where the murdered man was lying, + shook out and folded the rugs that had been scattered in the struggle, + picked up the cushions, and replaced them in the car. Then, borrowing a + ruse from the enemy, I set the door wide open, and, puffing and panting, + pushed the blue automobile into the courtyard, through the passage, and a + considerable distance down the street. + </p> + <p> + What comes next, I ask no one to credit. Retrospectively, I myself have + doubted it. It lives in my memory as a grisly nightmare rather than as a + fact. To be brief, I returned to the scene of the crime, shut out any + possible audience by closing the door, and disrobed hastily. Then I + removed the leather costume of the victim, donned it, laced on his boots, + which by good fortune were loose instead of tight, and, picking up his + visored cap from the floor where it had fallen, stood forth to all seeming + as genuine a member of the proletariate as ever wore goggles and held a + wheel. + </p> + <p> + By this time my teeth were clenched as if in the throes of lockjaw. Had I + paused to think for a single instant, all my nerve would have oozed away. + But I had no time to spend on thought; I had to work on, to save Miss + Falconer. The whole ghoulish business would be futile if the inn servants + found the body. The mere flight of all the guests would certainly stir + suspicion; let the murder transpire as well, and at once we should be + pursued. + </p> + <p> + The garage, from the looks of it, was not often put to service. A dusty + spot, festooned with cobwebs, it cried to the skies for brooms and mops. + In the background, apparently undisturbed since the days of the First + Empire, a great pile of straw mixed with junk of various kinds lay against + the wall; and most reluctantly, my every fiber shrieking protest, I saw + what use I might make of this debris—if I could. + </p> + <p> + “Go for it!” I told myself inexorably, but miserably. “It’s not a question + of liking it, you know. You’ve got to do it.” Grimly I wrapped my + discarded clothes about the poor chap’s body, dragged it to the straw, and + covered it from head to foot. By this action, I surmised, I was rendering + myself a probable accessory and a certain suspect; but the one thing I + really cared about was my last glimpse of that patient face. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, old man,” was all the apology I could muster. “And if I ever get a + chance at the people who did it, you can count on me!” + </p> + <p> + With a sigh of complete exhaustion, I rose and looked about. All signs of + the crime had been obliterated from the garage. “I must be crazy!” I + thought, as the enormity of the thing rushed on me. “I wonder why I did + it? And I wonder whether I can forget it some day—maybe after twenty + years?” + </p> + <p> + As I opened the door to the garden the dim light was growing clearer. I + was late; the girl, coated and hatted, ready for flitting, was already at + the rendezvous. At sight of me in my leather togs she started backward; + then, resolutely controlled, she drew herself up and faced me silently, + her hands clutching at her furs, her lips a little apart. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you sit down?” I began lamely, indicating an iron bench. It was all + so different from the interview I had planned last night! “I want to speak + to you about your chauffeur, Miss Falconer. This morning I found him hurt—very + badly hurt—” + </p> + <p> + She drove straight through my pretense. + </p> + <p> + “Not dead? Oh, Mr. Bayne, not dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said gently. “He had been dead some time. I would have liked to + take my chances with him; but I came too late. No, please!” She had moved + forward, and I was barring her passage. “You mustn’t go. You can’t help + him, and you wouldn’t like the sight.” + </p> + <p> + How black her eyes were in her white face! + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” she faltered. “You mean that he was murdered? But + who would have killed Georges?” + </p> + <p> + “The men who came last night—if you can call them men. At least, + appearances point that way,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “The men in the gray car?” She swayed a little. “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.” My tone was grim; there were so many + things about this matter that I couldn’t tell. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes flashed for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “But how cowardly, how cruel! He never hurt anyone; he was just like a + good watchdog, the truest, most faithful soul! If they killed him they did + it for some deliberate purpose. And when I think that I brought him here—oh, + oh, Mr. Bayne—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I broke in hastily; “I should like to see them boil in oil or fry + on gridirons or something of the sort, myself. But this is very serious; + we must keep calm, Miss Falconer. And I know you are going to help me. You + have such splendid self-control.” + </p> + <p> + Though there were sobs in her throat, she pressed her hands to her lips + and stifled them. Only her pallor and her wet lashes showed the horror and + grief she felt. I wanted desperately to comfort her, but there was no time + for it; and besides, who ever heard of a leather-coated comforter in a + kitchen garden at 5 A.M.? + </p> + <p> + “What I wanted to speak about,” I went on rapidly, “was our plans. This + may prove a rather nasty mess, I’m sorry to say. The French police, you + know, are—well, they’re capable and very thorough; and since you are + here at the scene of a murder in an <i>infirmiere’s</i> costume, they will + never rest till they have seen your papers, learned your errand, asked you + a hundred things. Unless your replies are absolutely satisfactory, the + whole business will be—er—awkward for you. That is why I put + on these togs. Yes, I know it is ghastly,” I owned as she shuddered. “And + that is why I want to beg you, very seriously indeed, to let me drive you + back to Paris and put you under your friends’ protection. After that, of + course, I’ll return here to see the thing through and give my testimony + about it all.” + </p> + <p> + It was not going to be so simple, the course I had outlined airily. When I + visioned myself explaining to a French <i>commissaire</i> why I had come + to Bleau at all; why I had set up a false claim to be an artist,—for + that circumstance was sure to leak out and look darkly incriminating,—and + what had inspired me to take a murdered man’s clothes and conceal his + body, I can’t pretend that I felt much zest. Still, if the police and the + girl came together, worse would follow, I was certain; and it seemed like + a real catastrophe when she slowly shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” she murmured. “Oh, it’s kind of you, and I’m sorry; but I can’t + go back to Paris—not yet, Mr. Bayne. You won’t understand, of + course, but I left there to—to accomplish something. And since poor + Georges can’t help me now, I must go on—alone.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + I BURN MY BRIDGES + </h3> + <p> + If I live to be a hundred, and it is not improbable since I am healthy, I + shall never forget that little garden at the inn at Bleau. It was a + vegetable garden too, which is not in itself romantic. I recall vaguely + that there were beds all about us, which in due course would doubtless + sprout into rows of pale green objects—peas and artichokes, or beans + and cabbages maybe; I don’t know, I am sure. But then, there was the + stream running just outside the wall of masonry; there was the sky, + flushing with that faint, very delicate, very lovely pink that an early + spring morning brings in France; there was the quaint building, wrapped up + in slumber, beside us; and in the air a silent, fragrant dimness, the + promise of the dawn. + </p> + <p> + And then there was the girl. I suppose that was the main thing. Not that I + felt sentimental. I should have scouted the notion. If I meant to fall in + love,—which, I should have said, I had no idea of doing,—I + would certainly not begin the process in this unheard-of spot. No; it was + simply that the whole business of caring for Miss Esme Falconer had + suddenly devolved upon my shoulders; and that instead of my feeling bored, + or annoyed, or exasperated at the prospect, my spirits rose inexplicably + to face the need. + </p> + <p> + Here, if ever, was the time for the questions I had planned last evening. + But I didn’t ask them; I knew I should never ask them. In those few long + unforgetable moments when I stood in the gallery and wondered whether she + were living, my point of view had altered. I was through with suspecting + her; I was prepared to laugh at evidence, however damning. As for the men + in the gray car and their detailed accusations, I didn’t give—well, + a loud outcry in the infernal regions for them. I knew the standards of + the land they served, and I had seen their work this morning. If they were + French officers, I would do France a service by going after them with a + gun. + </p> + <p> + The girl had sunk down on the ancient bench beside me. Her eyes, wide and + distressed, yet resolute, went to my heart. Not a figure, I thought again, + for this atmosphere of intrigue and secrecy and danger. Rather a girl, + beautiful, brilliant, spirited, to be shielded from every jostle of + existence; the sort of girl whom men hold it a test of manhood to protect + from even the most passing discomfiture! + </p> + <p> + But time was moving apace. We must settle on something in short order. I + spoke in the most matter-of-fact tones that I could summon, not, heaven + knows, out of a feeling of levity concerning what had happened, but to try + to lighten the grim business a degree or so and keep us sane. + </p> + <p> + “I think, Miss Falconer,” I began, standing before her, “that we have got + to thrash this matter out at last. You think I’ve behaved unspeakably, + trailing you everywhere, and I don’t deny I have, according to your point + of view. But the fact is, I didn’t follow you to annoy you; I’m a half-way + decent fellow. You have simply got to trust me until I’ve seen you through + this tangle. After that, if you like you need never look at me again.” + </p> + <p> + Her troubled eyes rested on me, half bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I’d forgotten all that,” she murmured. “I do trust you, Mr. Bayne. + Of course I must have misunderstood you to some way last evening, and I’m + afraid I was disagreeable.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. You had to be. Now, if that’s all right and I’m forgiven, may + I ask a question? About those men who arrived last night and apparently + killed your chauffeur—can you guess who they are?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she faltered, looking down at the pebbled walk. “They must have + been sent by the Government or the army or the police. If the French knew + what I was doing, they wouldn’t understand my motives. I’ve been afraid + from the first that they would learn.” + </p> + <p> + Another of my precious theories was going up in smoke. Not seeing why a + set of bonafide officers should gratuitously murder a chauffeur, I had + been wondering whether the quartet might not be impostors, tricked out in + uniforms to which they had no claim. Still, of course, I couldn’t judge. + If she would only confide in me! I was fairly aching to help her; yet how + could I, in this blindfold way? + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to be impertinent,” I ventured at length, meekly, “and I + give you my word I’m not trying to find out anything you don’t want me to. + Only, assuming I’ve got some sense,—in case you care to be so + amiable,—I’d like to put it at your service. Do you think you could + give me just a vague outline of your plans?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me in a piteous, uncertain manner. I braced myself for a + “No.” Then, suddenly, she seemed to decide to trust me—in sheer + desperate loneliness, I dare say. + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” she whispered, “to a village in the war zone—where + there is a chateau. There are things in it—some papers; at least I + believe there are. It is just a chance, just a forlorn hope; but it means + all the world to certain people. I have to act in secret till I have + succeeded, and then every one in France, every one on earth may know all + that I have done!” + </p> + <p> + If I had not burned my bridges, this announcement might have worried me; + it was too vague, and what little I grasped tallied startlingly with Van + Blarcom’s rigmarole. However, having bowed allegiance, I didn’t blink an + eyelid. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said encouragingly. “Is it very far?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes went past me anxiously, watching the inn and its blank windows, + as she fumbled in her coat and brought forth a motor map. + </p> + <p> + “Take it,” she breathed, thrusting it toward me. “Look at it. Do you see? + The route in red!” + </p> + <p> + As I realized the astounding thing I choked down an exclamation. There, + beneath my finger, lay the village of Bleau, a tiny dot; and from it, + straight into the war zone, the traced line ran through Le Moreau and + Croix-le-Valois and St. Remilly; ran to—what was the name? I spelled + it out: P-r-e-z-e-l-a-y. + </p> + <p> + Though it was early in the game to be a wet blanket, I found myself + gasping. + </p> + <p> + “But,” I protested weakly, “you can’t do that! It’s in the war country; + it’s forbidden territory. One has to have safe-conducts, <i>laissez-passers</i>, + all sorts of documents to get into that part of France.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t come unprepared,” she answered stubbornly. “Before I started I + knew just what I should need. I can get as far as the hospital at + Carrefonds; and Carrefonds is beyond Prezelay, ten miles nearer to the + Front!” + </p> + <p> + “But—” The monosyllable was distinctly tactless. + </p> + <p> + She straightened, challenging me with brave, defiant eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” she flashed. “You mean it looks suspicious. Well, it does; and + if I told you everything, it would look more suspicious still. You + shouldn’t have followed me; when they learn that we both spent the night + here they will think you are my—my accomplice. The best advice I can + give you, Mr. Bayne, is to go away.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we had better,” I agreed stolidly. I had deserved the outburst. + “Shall we be off at once, before the servants come downstairs?” + </p> + <p> + She drew back, her eyes widening. + </p> + <p> + “We?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally!” I replied, with some temper. “I <i>must</i> have disgusted + you last night. What sort of a miserable, spineless, cowardly, caddish + travesty of a man do you take me for, to think I would let you go alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t joke,” she urged. “It simply isn’t possible. You would get + into trouble with the French Government, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” I grinned, “it is rather exhilarating to snap one’s fingers + at governments? Just see what success I made of it with Great Britain and + Italy, on the ship!” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t realize what you are laughing at,” she pleaded. “It is + dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t disgrace you. I seldom tremble visibly, Miss Falconer, though I + often shake inside.” + </p> + <p> + Her great gray eyes were glowing mistily. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne, this is splendid of you. I—I shall go on more bravely + because you have been so kind. But I won’t let you make such a sacrifice + or mix in a thing that others may think disloyal, treacherous. You know + how it looks. Why, on the steamer and on the way up to France and even + last evening—you see I’ve guessed now why you followed me—you + didn’t trust me yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” I confessed humbly. “I can’t believe I was such an idiot. + Somebody ought to perform a surgical operation on my brain. I apologize; + I’m down in the dust; I feel like groveling. Won’t you forgive me? I + promise you won’t have to do it twice.” + </p> + <p> + This time it was she who said: “But—” and paused uncertainly. I + could see she was wavering, and I massed my horse, foot, and dragoons for + the attack. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll please consider me,” I proclaimed firmly, “to be a tyrant. I am so + much bigger than you are that you can’t possibly drive me off. I don’t + mean to interfere or to ask questions, or to bother you. But I vow I’m + coming with you if I cling to the running-board!” + </p> + <p> + Her lashes fluttered as she racked her brains for new protests. + </p> + <p> + “The car is a French make,” she urged,—“which you couldn’t drive—” + </p> + <p> + “I can drive any car with four wheels!” I exclaimed vaingloriously. “It’s + kismet, Miss Falconer; it’s the hand of Providence, no less. Now, we’ll + leave these notes in the <i>salle a manger</i> to pay for our lodging, + which would have been dear at twopence, and be off, if you please, for + Prezelay.” + </p> + <p> + She had yielded. We were standing side by side in the silence of the + morning, the dimness fading round us, the air taking a golden tinge. My + surroundings were plebeian; my costume was comic; yet I felt oddly + uplifted. + </p> + <p> + “Jolly old garden, isn’t it?” said I. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE HIGH GEAR + </h3> + <p> + To pass straight from a humdrum, comfortable, conventionally ordered life + into a career of insane adventure is a step that is radical; but it can be + exhilarating, and I proved the fact that day. To dwell on present danger + was to forget the past hour in the garage, which I had to forget or begin + gibbering. Once committed to the adventure and away from the scene of the + murder, I found a positive relief in facing the madness of the affair. + </p> + <p> + While the girl sat silent and listless, blotted against the cushions, + rousing from her thoughts only to indicate the turns of the road, I had + time for cogitation; and I began to feel like a man who has drunk freely + of champagne. Hitherto I had been a law-abiding citizen. Now I had kicked + over the traces. Like the distinguished fraternity that includes Raffles + and Arsene Lupin, I should be “wanted” by the police, those good-natured, + deferential beings so given to saluting and grinning, with whom, save for + occasional episodes not unconnected with the speed laws,—Dunny says + libelously that my progress in an automobile resembles a fabulous monster + with a flying car for the head, a cloud of smoke and gasoline for the + body, and a cohort of incensed motor-cycle men for the tail,—I had + lived on the most cordial terms. + </p> + <p> + I was not certain whether they would accuse me of murder or espionage. + There were pegs enough, undeniably, on which to hang either charge. + Myself, I rather inclined to the latter; the case was so clear, so + detailed! My rush from Paris to Bleau,—in order, no doubt, that I + might at an unostentatious spot join forces with my confederate, Miss + Falconer, whom I had been meeting at intervals ever since we left New York + in company,—my behavior there, and the fashion in which we were + vanishing should suffice to doom me as a spy. + </p> + <p> + When the French began tracing my movements, when they joined my present + activities to the fact that only by the skin of my teeth had I escaped a + charge of bringing German papers into Italy, there would be the devil to + pay. I acknowledged it; then—really, this brand-new, unfounded, + cast-iron trust of mine in Miss Falconer was changing me beyond + recognition—I recalled the old recipe for the preparation of Welsh + rabbit, and light-heartedly challenged the authorities to “catch me + first.” I had a disguise; if I bore any superior earmarks my leather coat + obliterated them; and I could drive; even Dario Resta could not have + sniffed at my technic. Better still, my French, learned even before my + English, would not betray me. As nurse and as <i>mecanicien</i>, we stood + a fair chance in our masquerade. + </p> + <p> + I might have to pay my shot, but I was enjoying it. This was a good world + through which we were speeding; life was in the high gear to-day. The car + purred beneath us like a splendid, harnessed tiger; the spring air was + fresh and fragrant, the country charming, with here a forest, there a + valley, farther off the tiled, colored roofs of some little town. Our + road, like a white ribbon, wound itself out endlessly between stone walls + or brown fields. In my content I forgot food and such prosaic details till + I noticed that the girl looked pale. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” I exclaimed remorsefully: “we’ve been omitting rolls and coffee! + I’m going to get you some at the first town we pass.” + </p> + <p> + “We are coming to a town now, to Le Moreau.” She was looking anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Yes? I’m afraid I don’t place it exactly. Ought I to?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the first town in the war zone. And—and our road passes + through it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” I was enlightened. “Then they will probably ask to see our papers at + the <i>octroi</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The car was eating up the smooth white road; I could see the little <i>octroi</i> + building at the town boundary-line, and a group of gendarmes in readiness + close by. It was a critical moment. Miss Falconer, I recalled, had said + she could get through to Carrefonds; but glittering generalities were not + likely to convince these sentries; one needed safe-conducts, passes, + identity cards, and such concrete aids. She couldn’t give a reasonable + account of herself, I felt quite certain; and even if she did, how was she + to account for me? + </p> + <p> + As I brought the car to a standstill, my conscience clamored, and my + costume seemed to shriek incongruity from every seam. In this dilemma I + trusted to sheer blind luck—a rather thrilling business. As a + gray-headed sergeant stepped forward to welcome us, I looked him + unfalteringly in the eye, though I wondered if he would not say: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, kindly remove that childish travesty with which you are trying + to impose on justice. We know all about you. Your name is Devereux Bayne. + You are a German agent and intriguer; you have smuggled papers; you have + murdered a man and concealed his body. Unless you can give a satisfactory + explanation of all your actions since leaving New York, your last hour has + arrived!” + </p> + <p> + What he really said was: + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle’s papers?” He spoke quite amiably, a catlike pretense, no + doubt. + </p> + <p> + Miss Falconer was no longer looking anxious. Her hands were steady; she + was even smiling as she produced two neat little packets that, on being + unfolded, proved to have all the air of permits, <i>laissez-passers</i>, + and police cards. Two nondescript photographs, which might have + represented almost any one, adorned them, and of these our sergeant made a + perfunctory survey. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle’s name,” he recited in a high singsong, “is Marie Le Clair. + She is a nurse, on her way to the hospital at Carrefonds. And this is + Jacques Carton, who is her chauffeur?” + </p> + <p> + A singularly stupid person, on the whole, he must have thought me, hardly + fit to be trusted with so superb a car. My mouth, I fancy, was wide open; + I can’t swear that I wasn’t pop-eyed. This last development had complete + addled me. Marie Le Clair! Jacques Carton! Who were they? + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” I remarked into the air as we drove on, “that some one would + pinch me—hard.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled faintly. Now it was over, she looked a little tremulous. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she answered, “we were not dreaming. Poor Georges! I wish we + were!” + </p> + <p> + Such was the incredible beginning of our adventure. And as it began, so it + continued. We breakfasted at Le Moreau. Miss Falconer ate in the + dining-room of the small hotel; I sought the kitchen and, warmed by our + late success, I did not shrink from playing my role. Then we resumed our + journey, and though we showed our papers twenty times at least as the + control grew stricter, they were never challenged. I rubbed my eyes + sometimes. Surely I should wake up presently! We couldn’t be here in the + forbidden region, in the war zone, plunging deeper every instant, in peril + of our lives. + </p> + <p> + Yet the proof was thick about us. In the towns we passed we saw troops + alight from the trains and enter them; we saw farewells and reunions, the + latter sometimes tearful, but the former invariably brave. We saw <i>depots</i> + where trucks and ambulances and commissary carts were filled, and canteens + and soup kitchens where soldiers were being fed. At Croix-le-Valois we saw + the air turn black with the smoke of the munition factories that were + working day and night. At St. Remilly above the towers of the old chateau + we saw the Red Cross flying, and on the terraces the reclining figures of + wounded men. It seemed impossible that sight-seers and pleasure-seekers + had thronged along this road so lately. The signs of the Touring Club of + France, posted at intervals, were survivals of an era that was now utterly + gone. + </p> + <p> + With the coming of afternoon, the country grew still more beautiful. + Orchards were thick about us, though the trees were leafless now. The + little thatched cottages had odd fungi sprouting from their roofs like + rosy mushrooms; the trees and streams had a silvery shimmer, like a Corot + fairy-land. + </p> + <p> + Then, set like sign-posts of desolation in this loveliness, came the + ravaged villages. We were on the soil where in the first month of the war + the Germans had trod as conquerors, and where, step by step, the French + had driven them back. We passed Cormizy, burnt to the ground to celebrate + its taking; Le Remy, where the heroic mayor had died, transfixed by twenty + bayonets; Bar-Villers, a group of ruined houses about a mourning, + shattered church. It was the region where the Hun triumph had spoken + aloud, unbridled. Miss Falconer sat white and silent as we drove through + it; my hands tightened on the wheel. + </p> + <p> + We had lunched at Tolbiac, late and abominably. Then, leaving the highway, + we had taken a country road. Two punctures befell us; once our carburetor + betrayed the trust we placed in it. By the time these deficiencies were + remedied I had collected dust and grease enough to look my part. + </p> + <p> + It had been, by and large, a singularly speechless day, which my spasmodic + efforts at entertainment had failed to cheer. The girl tried to respond, + but her eyes were strained, eager, shadowed; her answers came at random. + My talk, I suppose, teased her ears like the troublesome buzzing of a fly. + </p> + <p> + “She is thinking,” I decided at last, “about those papers. Lord, if she + doesn’t find them she is going to take it hard!” + </p> + <p> + I left her in peace after that and drove the faster. Luck was with us! At + the end of our journey everything would be all right. + </p> + <p> + As evening settled down on us the road grew increasingly lonely. Woods of + oak-trees were about us, their trunks mossy, their branches lacing; on our + left was a narrow river thick with rushes and smooth green stones. So + rutty was the earth that our wheels sank into it and our engine labored. + There was a charming sylvan look about the scenery; we seemed to be alone + in the universe: I could not recall when we had last seen a peasant or + passed a hut. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I realized that there was a sound in the distance, not + continuous, but steadily recurrent, a faint booming, I thought. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that noise off yonder?” I asked, with one ear cocked toward the + east. + </p> + <p> + Miss Falconer roused herself. + </p> + <p> + “It is the cannonading,” she answered. “We have come a long way, Mr. + Bayne. In two hours—in less than that—we could drive to the + Front. And see!” + </p> + <p> + The dark was coming fast; a crimson sunset was reddening the river. A + little below us on the opposite bank, I saw what had been a village once + upon a time. But some agency of destruction had done its work there; + blackened spaces and heaped stones and the shells of dwellings rose tier + on tier among trees that seemed trying to hide them; only on the crest of + the bank, overlooking the wreck like a gloomy sentinel, one building + loomed intact, a dark, scarred, frowning castle with medieval walls and + towers. I stared at the scene of desolation. + </p> + <p> + “The Germans again!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the girl assented, gazing across the water. “They came here at the + beginning of the war. They burned the houses and the huts and the little + church with the image of the Virgin and the tomb of the old constable—all + Prezelay except the chateau; and they only left that standing to give + their officers a home.” + </p> + <p> + With an automatic action of feet and fingers, I stopped the car. Here was + the town that she had shown me on the map that morning when we sat like a + pair of whispering conspirators in the garden of the Three Kings. The + obstacles which had seemed so great had melted away before us. This ruined + village, this heap of stones cross the river, was our goal, the key to our + mystery, the last scene of our drama—Prezelay. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + THE CASTLE AT PREZELAY + </h3> + <p> + In the midst of my triumph, which was as intense as if I myself, instead + of pure luck, had engineered our journey, I became aware of a tiny qualm + as I sat gazing across the stream. Perhaps the gathering night affected + me, or the air, which was growing chilly, or the remnants of the village, + which were cheerless, to say the least. But that castle, perched so darkly + on its crag, with a strip of blood-red sky framing it, was at the heart of + my feeling. If it had been a nice, worldly-looking, well-kept chateau, + with poplared walks and a formal garden, I should have welcomed it with + open arms; but it wasn’t, decidedly! It was the threatening age-blackened + sort of place that inevitably suggests Fulc of Anjou, strongholds on the + Loire, marauding barons, and the good old days with their concomitants of + rapine and robbery and death. + </p> + <p> + It was picturesque, but it was intensely gloomy; the proper spot for a + catastrophe rather than a happy denouement. I was not impressionable, of + course; but now that I thought of it, our jaunt had been going with a + smoothness almost ominous. Could one expect such clock-like regularity to + run forever without a break? + </p> + <p> + Take the utter disappearance of the gray car, for instance. That had + seemed to me reassuring; but was it? Those four men had cared enough about + Miss Falconer’s movements to involve themselves in a murder. Why, then, + should they have given up the chase in so mysterious a way? + </p> + <p> + And the girl herself! When I looked at her I felt horribly worried. She + was shivering through her furs; yet it was not with the cold, I felt quite + sure. With her hands clasped, she sat staring at that confounded castle + with a look of actual hunger. She cared too much about this thing; she + couldn’t stand a great deal more. + </p> + <p> + Well, she wouldn’t have to, I concluded, my brief misgivings fading. We + were out of the woods; another hour would see the business closed. As for + the men in the car, they were victims of their guilty consciences, were no + doubt in full flight or hiding somewhere in terror of the law. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, there was no point in my sitting here like a graven image; so + I roused myself and wrapped the rugs closer about the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I’m to drive to the chateau?” I inquired with recovered cheerfulness. I + had to repeat the words before they broke her trance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. Suddenly, impulsively, she turned toward me, her face + almost feverish, her eyes astonishingly large and bright. “I haven’t told + you much,” she acknowledged tremulously; “but you won’t think that I don’t + trust you. It is only that I couldn’t talk of it and keep my courage; and + I must keep it a little longer—until we know the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s quite all right, Miss Falconer.” I was switching on the lamps. + Then I extinguished them; their clear acetylene glare seemed almost + weirdly out of place. “We can muddle along without any lights. Not much + traffic here,” I muttered. I had a feeling, anyhow, that + unostentatiousness of approach might not be bad. + </p> + <p> + There was intense silence about us; not even a breeze was stirring. A thin + crescent moon was out, silvering the river and the trees. The road was + atrocious; on one dark stretch the car, rocking into a rut, jolted us + viciously and brought my teeth together on the tip of my tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry,” I gasped, between humiliation and pain. + </p> + <p> + With the silence and the dimness, we were like ghosts, the car like a + phantom. An old stone bridge seemed to beckon us, and we crossed to the + other side. There, at Miss Falconer’s gesture, I drew the automobile off + the road at the edge of the town, halted it beneath some trees, and helped + her to alight. We started up the hill together without a word. + </p> + <p> + Two ghosts! More and more, as we climbed through the wreck and desolation, + that was what we seemed. The road was choked with stones between which the + grass was sprouting; there was nothing left of the little church save a + single pointed shaft. We climbed rapidly, the girl always gazing up at the + castle with that same feverish eagerness. She had forgotten, I think, that + I was there. + </p> + <p> + At last we were coming to the hilltop and the chateau. Rather breathless, + I studied its looming walls, its turrets, its three round towers. It + looked dark and inexplicably menacing, but I had recovered my form and + could defy it. When we halted at a great iron-studded oak gate and Miss + Falconer pulled the bell-rope, I was astonished. It had not occurred to me + that the castle would be more inhabited than the town. + </p> + <p> + Nor was it, apparently; for no one answered its summons, though I could + hear the bell jingling faintly somewhere within. Miss Falconer rang a + second time, then a third; her face shone white in the moonlight; she was + growing anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think,” I ventured finally, “that there was some one here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Marie-Jeanne,” she answered, listening intently. Then she roused + herself. “I mean the <i>gardienne</i>. She never left, not even when the + Germans came. They made her cook for them; she said she had been born in + the keeper’s lodge, and her grandfather before her, and that she would + rather die at Prezelay than go to any other place. But of course she may + have walked down the river for the evening. Her son’s wife is at + Santierre, two miles off. She may be there.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it,” I agreed hastily, the more hastily because I doubted. “She’s + sitting over a fire, toasting her toes, and gossiping and having a cup of + tea, or whatever people like that use for an equivalent in these parts.” I + suppressed the unwelcome thought that a woman living here alone ran a + first-rate chance of getting her throat cut by strolling vagrants. “Shall + we have to wait until she comes back?” I asked. “Then let’s sit down. I + choose this stone!” + </p> + <p> + On my last word, however, something surprising happened. Miss Falconer, in + her impatience, put a hand on the bolt of the gate, shook it, and raised + it, and, lo and behold! the oak frame swung open. Before I quite realized + the situation, we were inside, in a square courtyard, with the <i>gardienne’s</i> + lodge at the right of us, impenetrably barred and shuttered, and before us + the portal of the castle, surmounted with quaint stone carvings of men in + armor riding prancing steeds. The court, as revealed by the moonlight, was + intact, but neglected. Weeds were sprouting between the square blocks of + stone that paved it, and in the center a wide circular space, charred and + blackened, showed where the German sentries had built their fires. It was + not cheerful, nor was it homey. I scarcely blamed Marie-Jeanne for + flitting. The faint sound of the cannonading had begun again in the + distance, but otherwise the place was as silent as a tomb. + </p> + <p> + “It seems strange!” Miss Falconer murmured, looking about in puzzled + fashion. “Why in the world should she have left the gate open in this + careless way? Of course there is nothing here for thieves; the Germans saw + to that; but still, as keeper—Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. It saves + us from waiting till she comes home.” + </p> + <p> + As I followed her toward the castle entrance, she opened the bag she + carried, and produced a candle, which I hastened to take and light. I + nearly said, “The latest thing in the housebreaking line, madame, is + electric torches, not tapers;” but I decided not to. After all, perhaps we + were housebreakers. How could I tell? + </p> + <p> + Hot candle wax splashed my fingers and scorched them, but I scarcely + noticed. My sense of high-gear adventure had reached its zenith now. There + was something thrilling, something stimulating in this stealthy night + entrance into a deserted castle. It was an experience, at all events; + there was no <i>concierge</i> to stump before one through dim passages and + up winding staircases; no flood of dates and names and anecdotes poured + inexorably into one’s bored ears to insure a <i>douceur</i> when the tour + of the chateau should be done. + </p> + <p> + The door—faithless Marie-Jeanne!—opened as readily as the + outer gate. We were entering. I glimpsed in a dim vista a superb Gothic + hall of magnificent architecture and most imposing proportions, arched and + carved and stretching off with apparent endlessness into the gloom. + Holding up my light, I scanned the place with growing interest. It had not + been demolished, but neither had it been spared. The furniture was gone, + save for a few scattered chairs and a table; the walls were defaced with + cartoons and scrawled inscriptions; the floor was stained, and littered + with empty bottles and broken plates. From the chimney-place—a + medieval-art jewel topped with carved and colored enamels—pieces had + been hacked away by some deliberately destructive hand. I glanced at Miss + Falconer, whose eyes had been following mine. + </p> + <p> + “They tore down the tapestries,” she said beneath her breath. “They + slashed the old portraits with their swords and broke the windows and took + away the statues and candlesticks and plate. They cut up the furniture and + had it used for fire-wood; and the German captain and his officers had a + feast here and drank to the fall of Paris and ordered their soldiers to + burn the village to the ground. Oh, I don’t like the place any more; too + much has happened. And—and I don’t like Marie-Jeanne’s not being + here, Mr. Bayne. I feel as if there were something wrong about it. I + believe I am a little—just a little afraid!” + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” I countered + promptly. “Because I won’t. Why, it’s your pluck that has kept me up all + day. Just the same, on general principles, I’ll take a look round if + you’ll allow me. Here’s a chair, and if you will rest a minute, I’ll + guarantee to find out.” + </p> + <p> + The chair I mentioned was standing near the chimney, and as I spoke I + walked over to it and started to spin it round. It resisted me heavily; I + bent over it, lifting my candle. Then I uttered an exclamation, stood + petrified, and stared. + </p> + <p> + In the chair, concealed from us until now by the high carved back of wood, + was something which at first looked like a huddled mass of garments, but + which on closer scrutiny resolved itself into a woman in a striped dress, + an apron, and a pair of heavy shoes. There was a cut on her cheek, a + bruise on her forehead. Locks of graying hair straggled from beneath her + disarranged white cap, and she glared at me from a lean, sallow face with + a pair of terrified eyes. + </p> + <p> + She must be dead, I thought. No living woman could sit so still and stare + so wildly. The scene in the inn garage rushed back upon me, and I must say + that my blood turned cold. But she was alive, I saw now; she was certainly + breathing. And an instant later I realized why she stayed so immobile; she + was bound hand and foot to the chair she sat in, and a colored + handkerchief, her own doubtless, had been twisted across her mouth to form + a gag. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” I head myself saying, “that we have been maligning + Marie-Jeanne.” + </p> + <p> + A choked, frightened cry from Miss Falconer made me wheel about sharply, + to find her staring not a me, but at the further wall. Prepared now for + anything under heaven, I followed her gaze. Above us, circling the whole + hall, there ran a gallery from which at a distance of some fifteen feet + from where we stood a wide stone staircase descended; and half-way down + this, as motionless as statues, as indistinct as shadows, I saw four men + in the uniform of officers of France. + </p> + <p> + For an uncanny moment I wondered whether they were specters. For a stupid + one, I thought they might be people whom the girl had come here to meet. + Still, if they were, she wouldn’t be looking at them in this paralyzed + fashion. I could not see them plainly,—but they must be the men from + Bleau. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Bayne,” the foremost was asking, “did you think we had deserted + you? Not a bit of it! We came on ahead and rang up the old woman there and + commandeered her keys. We’ve been killing time here for a good half hour, + waiting for you. You must have had tire trouble. And you don’t seem very + pleased to see us now that you’ve come—eh, what?” + </p> + <p> + At Bleau the previous night, I was recalling dazedly, there had been only + three men wearing the horizon blue. Who was this fourth figure, who knew + my name and spoke such colloquial English? I raised my candle as high as + possible and scanned him. Then I stood transfixed. + </p> + <p> + “Van Blarcom!” I gasped. “And in a uniform, by all that’s holy!” + </p> + <p> + He grinned. + </p> + <p> + “No. You haven’t got that quite right,” he told me. “What’s the use + keeping up the game now that we’re here, all friends together? My name + isn’t Van Blarcom. It’s Franz von Blenheim, Mr. Bayne.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + INTRODUCING HERR FRANZ VON BLENHEIM + </h3> + <p> + The words of Franz von Blenheim seemed to fill the hall and reecho from + the walls and arches, deafening me, leaving me stunned as if by an + earthquake or by a flash of lightning from clear skies. Yet I never though + of doubting them. Comatose as my state was, slowly as my brain was + working, I recognized vaguely how many features of the mystery, both past + and present, these words explained. + </p> + <p> + It was odd, but never once had it occurred to me that Van Blarcom might be + a German. He himself, I began to realize, had taken care of that. With + considerable acumen he had filled every one of our brief interviews with + vigorous denunciations of somebody else, dark hints as to intrigues that + surrounded me and might enmesh me, and solemn warnings and prudent + counsels, which had brilliantly served his turn. He had kept me so busy + suspecting Miss Falconer—at the thought I could have beaten my head + against the wall in token of my abject shame—that my doubts had + never glanced in his direction; a most humiliating confession, since I + couldn’t deny, reviewing the past in this new light, that circumstances + had afforded me every opportunity to guess the truth. + </p> + <p> + There was no time, however, for dwelling on my deficiencies. The next half + hour would be an uncommonly lively one, I felt quite sure. I might call + the thing bizarre, fantastic; I might dub it an extravaganza; the fact + remained that I was shut up in this lonely spot with four entirely + able-bodied Germans and must match wits with them over some affair that + apparently was of international consequence; for if it had been a twopenny + business, Herr von Blenheim, the star agent of the kaiser, would never + have thought it worth his pains. + </p> + <p> + With all my fighting spirit rising to meet the odds against us, I cast a + speculative eye over the Teutons, who had now dissolved their group. Van + Blarcom himself—Blenheim, rather—descended in a leisurely + fashion while one of his friends, remaining on the staircase, fixed me + with a look of intentness almost ominous and the other two placed + themselves as if casually before the door. They were stalwart, well set-up + men, I acknowledged as I surveyed them. Though not bad at what our French + friends call <i>la boxe</i>, I was outnumbered. It was obviously a case of + strategy—but of what sort? + </p> + <p> + A much defaced table, flanked with a few battered chairs, stood near me, + and with a premonition that I should want two hands presently, I set my + candle there. Then I drew a chair forward and turned to the girl with + outward coolness. + </p> + <p> + “Please sit down, Miss Falconer,” I invited. I wanted time. + </p> + <p> + She inclined her head and obeyed me very quietly. She was not afraid; I + saw it with a rush of pride. As she sat erect, her head thrown back, on + gloved hand resting on the table, she was a picture of spirit and + steadiness and courage. If I had needed strength I should have found it in + the fact that her eyes, oddly darkened as always when her errand was + threatened did not rest on our captors, but turned toward me. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll all sit down,” Franz von Blenheim agreed most amiably. It evidently + amused him to retain the late Mr. Van Blarcom’s dialect and air. “We can + fix this business up in no time; so why not be sociable?” He strolled to a + chair and sank into it and motioned me to do the same. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” I returned, not complying. “If you don’t mind, I’d like first to + untie that woman. I confess to a queer sort of prejudice against seeing + women bound and gagged. In fact I feel so strongly on the subject that it + might spoil our whole conference for me.” I took a step toward the shadowy + figure of Marie-Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + Blenheim did not move, but his eyes seemed to narrow and darken. + </p> + <p> + “Just leave her alone for the present. She is too fond of shrieking—might + interrupt our argument,” he declared. “And see here, Mr. Bayne,” he added, + warned by my manner, “I want to call your attention to the gentleman on + the stairs, my friend Schwartzmann. He’s a crack shot, none better, and he + has got you covered. Hadn’t you better sit down and have a friendly chat?” + </p> + <p> + Though the stairs were dim, I could see something glittering in the hand + of the person mentioned, who was impersonating for the evening a dashing + young captain of the general staff. My fingers strayed toward my pocket + and my own revolver. Then I pried them away, temporarily, and took a + provisional seat. + </p> + <p> + “That’s sensible,” Franz von Blenheim approved me blandly. “Now, Miss + Falconer, you know what I’m here for, isn’t that so? Just hand me those + papers and you’ll be as free as air. I’ll take myself off; you’ll never + see me again probably. That’s a fair bargain, isn’t it? What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + I was sitting close to the girl, so close that her soft furs brushed me + and I could feel the flutter of her breath against my cheek. At Blenheim’s + proposition I glanced at her. She was measuring him steadily. Then she + looked at me, and her eyes seemed to hold some message that I could not + read. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, Miss Falconer,” I interposed, “you have not quite grasped the + situation.” I was sparring for time; she wanted to convey something to me, + I was sure. “It is rather complicated. This gentleman has turned out to be + a well-known agent of the kaiser. He was traveling on the <i>Re d’Italia</i>, + I gather, on a forged passport, and had helped himself to my baggage as + the most convenient way of smuggling some papers to the other side.” + </p> + <p> + He grinned assentingly. + </p> + <p> + “You owe me one for that,” he owned. “You see, it was my second trip on + that line, and I thought they might have me spotted; I had a lot of things + to carry home,—reports, information, confidential letters, and I + concluded they would be safer with a nice, innocent young man like you. It + didn’t work, as things went. It was just a little too clever. But if you + hadn’t mixed yourself up with this young lady, and tossed packages + overboard for her under the noses of the stewards, and got yourself + suspected and your baggage searched, I should have turned the trick!” + </p> + <p> + His share in the tangled episode on board the steamer was unfolding. I + understood now why he had sprung to my rescue in the salon when I was + accused. Naturally he had not wanted my traps searched, considering what + was in them. + </p> + <p> + “As you say, you were a little too clever,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + His eyes glinted viciously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk,” he retorted; “and besides, the + papers you are going to hand me to-night will even up the score. It was a + piece of luck, my running across Miss Falconer on the liner. Of course the + minute I heard her name I knew what she was crossing for.” The dickens he + did! “All I had to do was to follow her, and by the time we reached Bleau + I had guessed enough to come ahead of her. But I’ll admit, Mr. Bayne, now + it’s all over, it made me nervous to have you popping up at every turn! I + began to think that you suspected me—that you were trailing me. If + you had, you know, I shouldn’t have stood a chance on earth. You could + have said a word to the first gendarme you met and had me laid by the + heels and ended it. That was why I kept warning you off. But I needn’t + have worried. You drank in everything I told you as innocent as a babe!” + </p> + <p> + If he wanted revenge for my last remark, he had it. I looked at the girl + beside me, so watchfully composed and fearless, then at the fixed, + terrified glare of the motionless Marie-Jeanne. With a little rudimentary + intelligence on my part this situation would have been spared us. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I acknowledged bitterly; “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Except for that,” he grinned, “it went like clockwork. There wasn’t even + enough danger in the thing to give it spice. Do you know, there isn’t a + capital in Europe where I can’t get disguises, money, passports within + twelve hours if I want them. Oh, you have a bit to learn about us, you + people on the other side! I’ve crossed the ocean four times since the war + started; I’ve been in London, Rome, Paris, Petrograd—pretty much + everywhere. I’m getting homesick, though. The <i>laissez-passer</i> I’ve + picked up, or forged, no matter which, takes me straight through to the + Front; and I’ve got friends even in the trenches. Before the Frenchies + know it I’ll be across no-man’s-land and inside the German lines!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment, as I listened, I was dangerously near admiring him. He was + certainly exaggerating; but it couldn’t all be brag. The life of this spy + of the first water, of international fame, must be rather marvelous; to + defy one’s enemies with success, to journey calmly through their capitals, + to stroll undetected among their agents of justice—were not things + any fool could do. He carried his life in his hand, this Franz von + Blenheim. He had courage; he even had genius along his special lines. His + impersonation on the liner, shrewd, slangy, coarse-grained, patronizing, + had been a triumph. Then, suddenly, I remembered a murdered boy beside + whom I had knelt that morning, and my brief flicker of homage died. + </p> + <p> + “You think I can’t do it, eh?” He had misinterpreted my expression. “Well, + let me tell you I did just a year ago and got over without a scratch. To + get across no-man’s-land you have to play dead, as you Yankees put it; you + lie flat on the ground and pull yourself forward a foot at a time and keep + your eye on the search-lights so that when they come your way you can drop + on your face and lie like a corpse until they move on. It’s not pleasant, + of course; but in this game we take our chances. And now I think I’ll be + claiming my winnings if you please.” + </p> + <p> + I straightened in my chair, recognizing a crisis. With his last phrase he + had shed the bearing of Mr. John Van Blarcom, and from the disguise all in + an instant there emerged the Prussian, insolent, overbearing, fixing us + with a look of challenge, and addressing us with crisp command. No; the + kaiser’s agent was not a figure of romance or of adventure. He was a force + as able, as ruthless, as cruel as the land he served. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Falconer,” he demanded briefly, “where are those papers? I am not to + be played with, I assure you. If you think I am, just recall this morning, + and your chauffeur. We didn’t kill him for the pleasure of it; he had his + chance as you have. But when we went for our car he was there in the + garage, sleeping; he seemed to think we had designs on him, and tried to + rouse the inn.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call that an excuse for a murder?” I exclaimed. “You cold-blooded + villain!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t make excuses.” His voice was hard and arrogant. “I am calling the + matter to your notice as a kind warning, Mr. Bayne. You said a little + while ago that to see a woman gagged and bound distressed you. Well, + unless I have those papers within five minutes, you will see something + worse than that!” + </p> + <p> + At the moment what I saw was red. There was something beating in my + throat, choking me; I knew neither myself nor the primitive impulses I + felt. + </p> + <p> + “If you lay a finger on Miss Falconer,” I heard myself saying slowly, “I + swear I’ll kill you.” + </p> + <p> + Then through the crimson mist that enveloped me I saw Blenheim laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. Bayne,” he taunted me, “remember our friend Schwartzmann. This + is your business, Miss Falconer, I take it. What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + The girl flung her head back, and her eyes blazed as she answered him. + </p> + <p> + “You can torture me,” she said scornfully. “You can kill me. But I will + never give you the papers; you may be sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE DARK + </h3> + <p> + I thought of a number of things in the ensuing thirty seconds, but they + all narrowed down swiftly to a mere thankfulness that I had been born. + Suppose I hadn’t; or suppose I had not happened to stop at the St. Ives + Hotel and sail on the <i>Re d’Italia</i>; or that I had remained in Rome + with Jack Herriott instead of hurrying on to Paris; or had let my quest of + the girl end in the rue St.-Dominique instead of trailing her to Bleau. If + one of these links had been omitted, the chain of circumstance would have + been broken, and Miss Falconer would have sat here confronting these four + men alone. + </p> + <p> + It was extremely hard for me to believe that the scene was genuine. The + dark hall, the one wavering, flickering candle lighting only the immediate + area of our conference, the bound woman in the chair, the watchful + attitude of our captors. Mr. Schwartzmann’s ready weapon—all were + the sort of thing that does not happen to people in our prosaic day and + age. It was like an old-time romantic drama; I felt inadequate, cast for + the hero. I might have been Francois Villon, or some such Sothern-like + incarnation, for all the civilized resources that I could summon. There + were no bells here to be rung for servants, no telephones to be utilized, + no police station round the corner from which to commandeer prompt aid. + </p> + <p> + The most alarming feature of the affair, however, was the manner of Franz + von Blenheim, which was not so much melodramatic as businesslike and hard. + At Miss Falconer’s defiance he looked her up and down quite coolly. Then, + turning in his seat, he began giving orders to his men. + </p> + <p> + “Schwartzmann,” ran the first of these, “I want you to watch this + gentleman. He will probably make some movement presently; if he does, you + are to fire, and not to miss. And you”—he turned to the men by the + door—“pile some wood in the chimney-place and light it. There are + some sticks over yonder,—but if you don’t find enough, break up a + chair. Then when you get a good blaze, heat me one of the fire-irons. Heat + it red-hot. And be quick! We are wasting time!” + </p> + <p> + The color was leaving the girl’s cheeks, but she sat even straighter, + prouder. As for me, for one instant I experienced a blessed relief. I had + been right; it was all impossible. One didn’t talk seriously of red-hot + irons. + </p> + <p> + “You must think you are King John,” I laughed. “But you’re overplaying. + Don’t worry, Miss Falconer; he won’t touch you. There are things that men + don’t do.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me, not angrily, not in resentment, but in pure contempt; and + I remembered. There were people, hundreds of them, in the burning villages + of Belgium, in the ravaged lands of northern France, who had once felt the + same assurance that certain things couldn’t be done and had learned that + they could. I glanced at the men who were piling wood on the hearth, at + their sullen blue eyes, their air of rather stupid arrogance. I had + walked, it seemed, into a nightmare; but then, so had the world. + </p> + <p> + “This isn’t a tea party, Mr. Bayne,” said Franz von Blenheim. “It is war. + Those papers belong to my government and they are going back. I shall stop + at nothing, nothing on earth, to get them; so if you have any influence + with this young lady, you had better use it now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not afraid.” The girl’s voice was unshaken, bless her. “I said you + could kill me—and I meant it. But I will not tell.” + </p> + <p> + “And I will not kill you, Miss Falconer.” The German’s tones were level, + and his eyes, as they dwelt steadily on her, were as hard and cold as + steel. “I don’t want you dead; I want you living, with a tongue and using + it; and you will use it. You talk bravely, but you have no conception—how + should you have?—of physical pain. When that iron is red-hot, if you + have not spoken, I shall hold it to your arm and press it—” + </p> + <p> + “Damn you!” The cry was wrenched out of me. “Not while I am here!” + </p> + <p> + “You will be here, Mr. Bayne, just so long as it suits me.” A sort of cold + ferocity was growing in Blenheim’s tones. “And you have yourself to thank + for your position, let me remind you; you would thrust yourself in. I + don’t know what you are doing in the business—a ridiculous + mountebank in a leather cap and coat! It’s a way you Yankees have, + meddling in things that don’t concern you. You seem to think that you have + special rights under Providence, that you own everything in the universe, + even to the high seas. Well, we’ll settle with your country for its + munitions and its notes and its driveling talk about atrocities a little + later, when we have finished up the Allies. And I’ll deal with you + to-night if you dare to lift a hand.” + </p> + <p> + There seemed only one answer possible, and my muscles were stiffening for + it when suddenly Miss Falconer’s handkerchief, a mere wisp of linen which + she had been clenching between her fingers, dropped to the floor. With a + purely automatic movement, I bent to recover it for her; she leaned down + to receive it. Her pale face and lovely dilated eyes were close to me for + a fleeting second, and though her lips did not move, I seemed to catch the + merest breath, the faintest gossamer whisper that said: + </p> + <p> + “The stairs!” + </p> + <p> + Blenheim’s gaze, full of suspicion, was upon us as we straightened, but he + could not possibly have heard anything; I had barely heard myself. I + racked my brains. The stairs! But the man Schwartzmann was guarding them + with his revolver. I couldn’t imagine what she meant; and then suddenly I + knew. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the entire scene, whenever I had glanced at her, I had noticed + the steady way in which her look met mine and then turned aside. It had + seemed almost like a signal or a message she was trying to give me. And + which way had her eyes always gone? Why, down the hall! + </p> + <p> + I looked in that direction and felt my heart leap up exultantly. Perhaps + twenty feet from us, just where the radius of the candle-light merged off + into the darkness, I glimpsed what seemed the merest ghost of a circular + stone staircase, carved and sculptured cunningly, like lacy foam. Up into + the dusk it wound, to the gallery, and to a door. Behold our objective! I + wasted no precious time in pondering the whys and the wherefores. At any + rate, once inside with the bolts shot we could count on a breathing-space. + </p> + <p> + I cast a final glance at Blenheim where he lolled across the table, and at + the shadowy menacing figure of the armed sentinel on the stairs. The men + at the hearth had piled their wood and were bending forward to light it. + </p> + <p> + “Be ready, please!” I said to the girl, aloud. + </p> + <p> + As I spoke I bent forward, seized the table by its legs, and raised it, + and concentrated all the wrath, resentment and detestation that had boiled + in me for half an hour into the force with which I dashed it forward + against Blenheim’s face. He grunted profoundly as it struck him. Toppling + over with a crash, he rolled upon the floor. The candle, falling, + extinguished itself promptly, and we were left standing in a hall as black + as ink. + </p> + <p> + Simultaneously with the blow I had struck there came a spit of flame from + the staircase, a sharp crack, and as I ducked hastily a bullet spurted + past me, within three inches of my head. Miss Falconer was beside me. + Together we retreated, while a second shot, which this time went wide, + struck the wall beyond us and proved that Schwartzmann, though + handicapped, was not giving up the fight. + </p> + <p> + So far things had gone better than I had dared to think was possible. Now, + however, they took a sudden and most unwelcome turn. One of the men by the + chimney-place must have wasted no time in leaping for me; for at this + instant, quite without warning, he catapulted on me through the darkness + with the force of a battering-ram. + </p> + <p> + The table, which I still held clutched with a view to emergencies, broke + the force of his onslaught. He reeled, stumbled, and collapsed on his + knees. However, he was lacking neither in Teutonic efficiency nor in + resource. Putting out a prompt hand, he seized my ankle and jerked my foot + from under me; the table dropped from my grasp with a splintering uproar, + and I fell. + </p> + <p> + Before I could recover myself my enemy had rolled on top of me, and I felt + his fingers at my throat as he clamored in German for a light. He was a + heavy man; his bulk was paralyzing; but I stiffened every muscle. With a + mighty heave I turned half over, rose on my elbow, and delivered a blow at + what, I fondly hoped, might prove the point of his chin. + </p> + <p> + Dark as it was, I had made no miscalculation. He dropped on me once again, + but this time as an inert mass. Burrowing out from under him, I sprang to + my feet aglow with triumph—and found myself in the clutch of the + second gentleman from the chimney-place, who apparently had come hotfoot + to his comrade’s aid. + </p> + <p> + I was fairly caught. His arms went round me like steel girders, pinioning + mine to my sides before I knew what he was about. In sheer desperation I + summoned all the strength I possessed and a little more. Ah! I had + wrenched my right arm loose; now we should see! I raised it and managed, + despite the close quarters at which we were contending, to plant a series + of crashing blows on my adversary’s face. + </p> + <p> + The fellow, I must say, bore up pluckily beneath the punishment. He hung + on. There would be a light in a moment, he was doubtless thinking, and + when once that came to pass, it would be all over with me. But at my fifth + blow he wavered groggily, and at my sixth, endurance failed him. He + groaned softly. Then his grasp relaxed, and he collapsed quietly on the + floor. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the swift march of these events we had heard nothing of Herr + von Blenheim, a fact from which I deduced with thankfulness that he was + temporarily stunned. Unluckily, he now recovered. As I stood victorious, + but breathless, my cap lost in the scuffle and my coat torn, I heard him + stirring, and an instant later he pulled himself to his feet and flashed + on an electric torch. + </p> + <p> + By its weird beam I saw that Miss Falconer was close beside me. Good + heavens! Why, I though in anguish, wasn’t she already upstairs? But I knew + only too well; she wouldn’t desert her champion. It was probably too late + now. Blenheim, much congested as to countenance, seemed on the point of + springing; his battered aids were struggling up in menacing, if unsteady, + fashion; and Mr. Schwartzmann, at length provided with the light he + wanted, was aiming at me with ominous deliberation from his coign of + vantage above. + </p> + <p> + However, we were at the circular staircase. Again I caught up the table + and held it before us as a shield while we climbed upward, side by side. + In the distance my friend Schwartzmann was hopefully potting at us. A + bullet, with a sharp ping, embedded itself in the thick wood in harmless + fashion; another struck the shaft beside me, splintering its stone. We + were at the last turn—but our pursuers were climbing also. I bent + forward and let them have the table, hurling it with all possible force. + </p> + <p> + As it catapulted down upon them it knocked Blenheim off his balance, and + he in his unforeseen descent swept the others from their feet. A swearing, + groaning mass, a conglomeration of helplessly waving arms and legs, they + rolled downward. Victory! I was about to join Miss Falconer in the doorway + when there came a final flash from the opposite staircase, and I felt a + stinging sensation across my forehead and a spurt of blood into my eyes. + </p> + <p> + The pain of the slight wound promptly altered my intentions. Instead of + leaving the gallery, I sprang forward to the balustrade. Whipping my + revolver out at last, I aimed deliberately and fired; whereupon I had the + pleasure of seeing Mr. Schwartzmann rock, struggle, apparently regain his + equilibrium, and then suddenly crumple up and pitch headlong down the + stairs. + </p> + <p> + Below, Blenheim and his friend were extricating themselves from that + blessed table. I passed through the door and thrust it shut and shot the + bolts. We were safe for the present. I could not see Miss Falconer, nor + did she speak to me; but her hand groped for my arm and rested there, and + I covered it with one of mine. + </p> + <p> + Then, as we stood contentedly drawing breath, we heard steps mounting the + staircase. Some one struck a vicious blow against the heavy door. + Blenheim’s voice, hoarse and muffled, reached us through the panels. + </p> + <p> + “Can you hear me there?” it asked. + </p> + <p> + If tones could kill! I summoned breath enough to answer with cheerful + coolness. + </p> + <p> + “Every syllable,” I responded. “What did you wish to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Just this.” He was panting, either with exhaustion or fury, and there + were slow, labored pauses between his words. “I will give you half an + hour, exactly, to come out—with the papers. After that we will break + the door down. And then you can say your prayers.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + THE GUEST OF PREZELAY + </h3> + <p> + The sanctuary into which we had stumbled was as black as Erebus save for + one dimly grayish patch, which, I surmised, meant a window. When those + heavy feet had clumped down the staircase, silence enveloped us again, + beatific silence. Instantly I banished the late Mr. Van Blarcom from my + consciousness. With a good stout door between us what importance had his + threats? + </p> + <p> + The truth was that my blood was singing through my veins and my spirits + were soaring. I would gladly have stood there forever, triumphant in the + dark, with Miss Falconer’s soft, warm fingers trembling a little, but + lying in contented, almost cosy, fashion under mine. Had there ever been + such a girl, at once so sweet and so daring? To think how she had waited + for me all through that battle below! + </p> + <p> + A little breathless murmur came to me through the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Bayne! You were so wonderful! How am I ever going to thank you?” + was what it said. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t. Let me thank you for letting me in on it!” I exulted + happily. “I give you my word, I haven’t enjoyed anything so much in years. + It was all a hallucination, of course; but it was jolly while it lasted. I + was only worried every instant for fear the hall and the men would vanish, + like an Arabian Nights’ palace or the Great Horn Spoon or Aladdin’s jinn!” + </p> + <p> + Very gently she withdrew her fingers, and my mood toppled ludicrously. Why + had I been rejoicing? We were in the deuce of a mess! So far I had simply + won a half hour’s respite to be followed by the deluge; for if Blenheim + had been ruthless before, what were his probable intentions now? + </p> + <p> + “We have lost our candle in the fracas,” I muttered lamely. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter. I have another,” she answered in a soft, unsteady + voice. + </p> + <p> + As she coaxed the light into being, I made a rapid survey. We were in a + room of gray stone, of no great size and quite bare of furnishing, save + for a few stone benches built into alcoves in the wall. The bareness of + the scene emphasized our lack of resources. As a sole ray of hope, I + perceived a possible line of retreat if things should grow too warm for + us, a door facing the one by which we had come in. + </p> + <p> + With all the excitement, I had forgotten Mr. Schwartzmann’s bullet, which, + I have no doubt, had left me a gory spectacle. At any rate, I frightened + Miss Falconer when the candle-light revealed me. In an instant she was + bending over me, forcing me gently down upon a particularly cold, hard + bench. + </p> + <p> + “They shot you!” she was exclaiming. Her voice was low, but it held an + astonishing protective fierceness. “They—they dared to hurt you! Oh, + why didn’t you tell me? Is it very bad?” + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” I protested, dabbing futilely at my forehead. “It isn’t of the + least importance. I assure you it is only a scratch. In fact,” I groaned, + “nobody could hurt my head; it is too solid. It must be ivory. If I had + had a vestige of intelligence, an iota of it, the palest glimmer, I should + have known from the beginning exactly who these fellows were!” + </p> + <p> + She was sitting beside me now, bending forward, all consoling eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “That is ridiculous!” she declared. “How could you guess?” + </p> + <p> + “Easily enough,” I murmured. “I had all the clues at Gibraltar. Why, + yesterday, on my way to your house in the rue St.-Dominique, I went over + the whole case in the taxi, and still I didn’t see. I let the fellow + confide in me on the ship and warn me on the train and give me a final + solemn ultimatum at the inn last night and come on here to frighten you + and threaten you—when just a word to the police would have settled + him forever. By George, I can’t believe it! I should take a prize at an + idiot show.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see that,” she answered. “Why should you have suspected him when + even the authorities didn’t guess? You are not a detective. You are a—a + very brave, generous gentleman, who trusted a girl against all the + evidence and helped her and protected her and risked your life for hers. + Isn’t that enough? And about their frightening me downstairs—they + didn’t. You see, Mr. Bayne—you were there.” + </p> + <p> + A wisp of red-brown hair had come loose across her forehead. Her face, + flushed and royally grateful, was smiling into mine. Till that moment I + had never dreamed that eyes could be so dazzling. I thrust my hands deep + into my pockets; I felt they were safer so. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she faltered, a little startled, as I rose. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—now,” I replied firmly. “I’ll tell you later, to-morrow + maybe, when we have seen this thing through. And in the meantime, whatever + happens, I don’t want you to give a thought to it. The German doesn’t live + who can get the better of me—not after what you have said.” + </p> + <p> + The situation suddenly presented itself in rosy colors. I saw how strong + the door was, what a lot of breaking it would take. And if they did force + a way in, then I could try some sharp-shooting. But Miss Falconer was + getting up slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Now the papers, Mr. Bayne,” said she. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, the papers! I had temporarily forgotten them. + </p> + <p> + “They can’t be here,” I said blankly, gazing about the room. + </p> + <p> + “No, not here. In there.” She motioned toward the inner door. “This is the + old suite of the lords of Prezelay. We are in the room of the guards, + where the armed retainers used to lie all night before the fire, watching. + Then comes the antechamber and then the room of the squires and then the + bedchamber of the lord.” Her voice had fallen now as if she thought that + the walls were listening. “In the lord’s room there is a secret + hiding-place behind a panel; and if the papers are at Prezelay, they will + be there.” + </p> + <p> + I took the candle from her, turned to the door, and opened it. + </p> + <p> + “I hope they are,” I said. “Let us go and see.” + </p> + <p> + The antechamber, the room of the squires, the bedchamber of the lord. Such + terms were fascinating; they called up before me a whole picture of feudal + life. Thanks to the attentions of the Germans, the rooms were mere empty + shells, however, though they must have been rather splendid when decked + out with furniture and portraits and tapestries before the war. + </p> + <p> + Our steps echoed on the stone as we traversed the antechamber, a quaint + round place, lined with bull’s-eye windows and presided over by the + statues of four armed men. Another door gave us entrance to the quarter of + the squires. We started across it, but in the center of the floor I + stopped. In all the other rooms of the castle dust had lain thick, but + there was none here. Elsewhere the windows had been closed and the air + heavy and musty, but here the soft night breeze was drifting in. On a + table, in odd conjunction, stood the remains of a meal, a roll of + bandages, and a half-burned candle; and finally, against the wall lay a + bed of a sort, a mattress piled with tumbled sheets. + </p> + <p> + Were these Marie-Jeanne’s quarters? I did not know, but I doubted. I + turned to the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Falconer,” I said, attempting naturalness, “will you go back to the + guard-room and wait there a few minutes, please? I think—that is, it + seems just possible that some one is hiding in yonder. I’d prefer to + investigate alone if you don’t mind.” + </p> + <p> + I broke off, suddenly aware of the look she was casting round her. It did + not mean fear; it could mean nothing but an incredulous, dawning hope. + These signs of occupancy suggested to her something so wonderful, so + desirable that she simply dared not credit them; she was dreading that + they might slip through her fingers and fade away! I made a valiant effort + at understanding. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” I said, “you’re expecting some one. Did you think that a—a + friend of yours might have arrived here before we came?” She did not + glance at me, but she bent her head, assenting. All her attention was + focused raptly on that bed beside the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered; “a long time before us. A month ago at least.” Her + eyes had begun to shine. “Oh, I don’t dare to believe it; I’ve hardly + dared to hope for it. But if it is true, I am going to be happier than I + ever thought I could be again.” + </p> + <p> + She made a swift movement toward the door, but I forestalled her. Whatever + that room held, I must have a look at it before she went. I flung the door + open, blocked her passage, and stopped in my tracks, for the best of + reasons. A young man was sitting on a battered oak chest beneath a window, + facing me, and in his right hand, propped on his knees, there glittered a + revolver that was pointed straight at my heart. + </p> + <p> + I stood petrified, measuring him. He was lightly built and slender. He had + a manner as glittering as his weapon, and a pair of remarkably cool and + clear gray eyes. His picturesqueness seemed wasted on mere flesh and blood + it was so perfect. Coatless, but wearing a shirt of the finest linen, he + looked like some old French duelist and ought, I felt, to be gazing at me, + rapier in hand, from a gilt-framed canvas on the wall. + </p> + <p> + In the brief pause before he spoke I gathered some further data. He was a + sick man and he had recently been wounded; at present he was keeping up by + sheer courage, not by strength. His lips were pressed in a straight line, + his eyes were shadowed, and his pallor was ghastly. Finally, he was + wearing his left arm in a sling across his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he now enunciated clearly, “will raise both hands and keep + them lifted. Monsieur sees, doubtless, that I am in no state for a + wrestling-match. For that very reason he must take all pains not to forget + himself—for should he stir, however slightly, I grieve to say that I + must shoot.” + </p> + <p> + The casualness of his tones made Blenheim’s menaces seem childish and + futile. I had not the slightest doubt that he would keep his word. Yet, + without any reason whatever, I liked him and I had no fear of him; I did + not feel for a single instant that Miss Falconer was in danger; she was as + safe with him, I knew instinctively, as she was with me. + </p> + <p> + I opened my lips to parley, but found myself interrupted. A cry came from + behind me, a low, utterly rapturous cry. I was thrust aside, and saw the + girl spring past me. An instant later she was by the stranger, kneeling, + with her arms about him and her bright head against his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Jean! Dear Jean!” she was crying between tears and laughter. “We thought + you were dead! We thought you were never coming back to Raincy-la-Tour!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that some one had struck my head a stunning blow. For an + interval I stood dazed; then, painfully, my brain stirred. Things went + dancing across it like sharp, stabbing little flames, guesses, memories, + scraps of talk I had heard, items I had read; but they were scattered, + without cohesion; like will-o’-the-wisps, they could not be seized. + </p> + <p> + There was a young man, a noble of France, who had been a hero. I had read + of him in a certain extra, as my steamer left New York. He had + disappeared. Certain papers had vanished with him. He had been suspected, + because it was known that the Germans wanted those special documents. All + the world, I thought dully, seemed to be hunting papers; the French, the + Germans, Miss Falconer, and I. + </p> + <p> + Once more I looked at the man on the chest. He had dropped his pistol and + was clasping the girl to him, soothing her, stroking her hair. My brain + began to work more rapidly. The little flashes of light seemed to run + together, to crystallize into a whole. I knew. + </p> + <p> + Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier, the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour, the Firefly of + France. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE + </h3> + <p> + He was very weak indeed; it seemed a miracle that, at the sounds below, he + had found strength to drag himself from his bed and crawl inch by inch to + the room of the secret panel to mount guard there; and no sooner had he + soothed Miss Falconer than he collapsed in a sort of swoon. We laid him on + the chest, and I fetched a pillow for his head and stripped off my coat + and spread it over him. I took out my pocket-flask, too, and forced a few + drops between his teeth. In short I tried to play the game. + </p> + <p> + When his eyes opened, however, my endurance had reached its limits. With a + muttered excuse,—not that I flattered myself they wanted me to stay!—I + left them and stumbled into the room of the squires, taking refuge in the + grateful dark. I don’t know how long I sat there, elbows on knees, hands + propping my head; but it was a ghastly vigil. In this round, unlike the + battle in the hall, I had not been victor. Instead, I had taken the count. + </p> + <p> + I knew now, of course, that I was in love with Esme Falconer. Judging from + the violence of the sensation, I must have loved her for quite a while. + Probably it had begun that night in the St. Ives restaurant; for when + before had I watched any girl with such special, ecstatic, almost + proprietary rapture? Yes, that was why, ever since, I had been cutting + such crazy capers. From first to last they were the natural thing, the + prerogative of a man in my state of mind or heart. + </p> + <p> + Many threads of the affair still remained to be unraveled. I didn’t know + what the duke was doing here, what he had been about for a month past, how + the girl, far off in America, had guessed his whereabouts and his need; + nor did I care. His mere existence was enough—that and Esme’s love + for him. All my interest in my Chinese puzzle had come to a wretched end. + </p> + <p> + “Confound him!” I thought savagely. “We could have spared him perfectly. + What business has he turning up at the eleventh hour? He didn’t cross the + ocean with her. He didn’t suspect her unforgivably. He didn’t help her, + and disguise himself as a chauffeur for her, and wing Schwartzmann, and + bruise up the other chaps and send them rolling in a heap. This is my + adventure. He must have had a hundred. Why couldn’t he stick to his + high-flying and dazzling and let me alone?” + </p> + <p> + The murmur of voices drifted from the lord’s bedchamber. I could guess + what they had to say to each other, Miss Falconer and her duke. The + Firefly of France! Even I, a benighted foreigner, knew the things that + title stood for: heroism, in a land where every soldier was a hero; praise + and medals and glory; thirty conquered aeroplanes—a record over + which his ancestors, those old marshals and constables lying effigied on + their tombs of marble with their feet resting on carved lions, must nod + their heads with pride. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne!” + </p> + <p> + It was Miss Falconer’s voice. I rose reluctantly and obeyed the summons. + The Firefly was sitting propped on the chest, white, but steadier, while + Esme still knelt beside him, holding his hand in hers. + </p> + <p> + “I have been telling Jean, Mr. Bayne, how you have helped us.” The + radiance of her face, the lilt of her voice, stabbed me with a jealous + pang. I wanted to see her happy, Heaven knew, but not quite in this + manner. “And he wants to thank you for all that you have done.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke of Raincy-la-Tour spoke to me in English that was correct, but + quaintly formal, of a decided charm. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said, “I offer you my gratitude. And if you will touch the + hand of one concerning whom, I fear, very evil things are believed—” + </p> + <p> + I forced a smile and a hearty pressure. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll risk it,” I assured him. “The chain of evidence against you seemed + far-fetched to say the least. They pointed out accusingly that your father + and your grandfather had been royalists, and that therefore—” + </p> + <p> + He made a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “May their souls find repose! Monsieur, it is true that they were. But if + they lived to-day, my father and grandfather, they would not be traitors. + They would wear, like me, the uniform of France.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled, and I knew once for all that I could never hate him; that mere + envy and a shame of it were the worst that I could feel. Everything about + him won me, his simplicity, his fine pride, his clearness of eye and + voice, his look of a swift, polished sword blade. I had never seen a man + like him. The Duchess of Raincy-la-Tour would be a lucky woman; so much + was plain. + </p> + <p> + I found a seat on the window ledge, the girl remained kneeling by him, and + he told us his story, always in that quaint, formal speech. As it went on + it absorbed me. I even forgot those clasped hands for an occasional + instant. In every detail, in every quiet sentence, there was some note + that brought before me the Firefly’s achievements, the marauding airships + he had climbed into the air to meet, the foes he had swooped from the blue + to conquer, his darts into the land of his enemies where there was a price + upon his head. + </p> + <p> + The story had to do with a night when he had left the French lines behind + him. His commander had been quite frank. The mission meant his probable + death. He was to wear a German uniform; to land inside the lines of the + kaiser, to conceal his plane, if luck favored him, among the trees in the + grounds of the old chateau of Ranceville; to get what knowledge and sketch + what plans he could of defenses against which the French attacks had + hitherto broken vainly, and to bring them home. + </p> + <p> + All had gone well at first. His gallant little plane had winged its way + into the unknown like a darting swallow; he had landed safely; and after + he had walked for hours with the Germans about him and death beside him, + he had gained his spoils. It was as he rose for the return flight that the + alarm was given. He got away; but he had five hostile aircraft after him. + Could he hope to elude them and to land safely at the French lines? + </p> + <p> + It was in that hour, while the night lingered and the stars still shone + and the cannon of the two armies challenged each other steadily, that the + Firefly of France fought his greatest battle in the air. Since his whole + aim was escape, it was bloodless; he had to trust to skill and cunning; he + dared manoeuvers that appalled others, dropped plummet-like, looped + dizzily, soared to the sheerest heights. He had been wounded. The + framework of his plane was damaged. Still he gained on his foes and won + through to the lines of France. + </p> + <p> + “But I might not land there,” he explained. “The Germans followed. A mist + had closed about us, hiding us from my friends below. I heard only my + propeller; and that, by now, sounded faint to me, for I was weakening; one + shot had hit my shoulder and another had wounded my left arm.” + </p> + <p> + The girl swayed closer against him, watching him with eyes of worship. + Well, I didn’t wonder, though it cut me to the heart. Even a fairy prince + could have been no worthier of her than this Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier; of + that at least, I told myself dourly, I must be glad. + </p> + <p> + “As I raced on,” said the duke, “there came a certain thought to me. We + had traveled far; we were in the country near Prezelay, my cousin’s house. + The village, I knew, was ruined, but the chateau stood; and if I could + reach it, old Marie-Jeanne would help me. You comprehend, my weakness was + growing. I knew I had little more time.” + </p> + <p> + The shrouding mist had aided him to lose those pursuing vultures. The last + of them fell off, baffled,—or afraid to go deeper into France. Now + he emerged again into the clear air and the starlight. The land beneath + him was a scudding blur, with a dark-green mass in its center, the forest + of La Fay. + </p> + <p> + And then, suddenly, he knew he must land if he were not to lose + consciousness and hurtle down blindly; and with set teeth and sweat + beading his forehead, he began the descent. At the end his strength failed + him. The plane crashed among the trees. “But Saint Denis, who helps all + Frenchmen, helped me,”—he smiled—“and I was thrown clear.” + </p> + <p> + From that thicket where his machine lay hidden it was a mile to Prezelay. + He dragged himself over this distance, sometimes on his hands and knees. + Soon after dawn Marie-Jeanne, answering a discordant ringing, found a man + lying outside the gate and babbling deliriously, her master’s cousin, in a + blood-soaked uniform, holding out a bundle of papers, and begging her by + the soul of her mother to put them in the castle’s secret hiding-place. + </p> + <p> + She did it. Then she coaxed the wounded man to the rooms opening from the + gallery and tended him day and night through the weeks of fever that + ensued. From his ravings she learned that he was in danger and feared + pursuers; and with the peasant’s instinct for caution, she had not dared + to send for help. + </p> + <p> + “It was yesterday,” the duke told us, “that my mind came back. I knew then + what must be thought of me, what must be said of me, all over France.” He + was leaning on the wall now, exhausted and white, but dauntless. “No + matter for that—I have the papers. You recall the hiding-place?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled as he asked the question, and Miss Falconer smiled back at him. + Getting to her feet, she ran her fingers across the oak panel over his + head, where for centuries a huntsman had been riding across a forest glade + and blowing his horn. The bundle of his hunting-knife protruded just a + little; and as the girl pressed it, the panel glided silently open, + revealing a space, square and dark and cobwebby. + </p> + <p> + Something was lying there, a thin, wafer-like packet of papers, the papers + for which the Firefly of France had shed his blood. She held them up in + triumph. But the duke was still smiling faintly. He thrust one hand into + his shirt and drew out a duplicate package, which he raised for us to see. + </p> + <p> + “Behold!” he said. “They are copies. All that I sketched that night near + Ranceville, all that I wrote—I did not once, but twice. These I + carried openly, to be found if I were captured. But those you hold went + hidden in the sole of my boot, which was hollowed for them, so that if I + were taken and then escaped, they might go too!” + </p> + <p> + I had read of such devices, I remembered vaguely. There was a story of a + young French captain who had tried the trick in Champagne and succeeded + with it, a rather famous exploit. Then I thought of something else. I got + up slowly. + </p> + <p> + “You have two sets of papers?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “As you see, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll take one of them,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Miss Falconer was looking at me in a puzzled fashion. As for the duke, his + brows drew together; his figure straightened; the cool glint grew in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he stated somewhat icily, “such things as these are not + souvenirs. When they leave my possession they will go to the supreme + command.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” I agreed, unruffled. “That will do admirably for the first + package; but about the second—no doubt Miss Falconer told you that + we have German guests downstairs? Perhaps she forgot to mention the + leader’s name, though. It is Franz von Blenheim. And I don’t care to have + him break down the door and burst in on us, on her specially; I would + rather, all things considered, interview him in the hall.” + </p> + <p> + The Firefly’s face had altered at the name of the secret agent; he was now + regarding me with intentness, but without a frown. As for Miss Falconer, + the trouble in her eyes was growing. I should have to be careful. + Accordingly I summoned a debonair manner as I went on. + </p> + <p> + “If you’ll allow me,” I said, “I will take the papers down to him. He + won’t know that they are copies; he will snatch at them, glad of the + chance. And since he is in a hurry, he probably won’t stop to parley. He + will simply be off at top speed, and leave us safe. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, that is the one unpleasant feature of the affair, his going.” + At this point I glanced in a casual manner at the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour. + “It seems a pity to let him walk off scot-free, to plan more trouble for + France; but that is past praying for. I could hardly hope to stop him, + except by a miracle. If there is one, I’ll be on hand.” + </p> + <p> + Would the duke guess the hope with which I was going downstairs, I + wondered. I thought he did, for his eyes flashed slightly, and he stirred + a little on the chest. + </p> + <p> + “Such a miracle, Monsieur,” he remarked, “would serve France greatly. As a + good son of the Church, I will pray for it with all my heart!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope to come back,” I went on, “and rejoin you. But if I shouldn’t for + any reason,”—with careful vagueness,—“you must stay here, + barricaded, till they are gone. Then Miss Falconer can drive her car to + the nearest town and bring back help for you. You see, it will be entirely + simple, either way.” + </p> + <p> + The girl, very white now, took a swift step toward me. + </p> + <p> + “Simple?” she cried. “They will kill you! They hate you, Mr. Bayne, and + they are four to one. You mustn’t go.” + </p> + <p> + But the duke’s hand was on her arm. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” he said, “he has reason. This friend of yours, I perceive, is a + gallant gentleman. Believe me, if I had strength to stand, he would not go + alone.” + </p> + <p> + He held out the papers to me, and I took them. Then we clasped hands, the + Firefly and I. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bonne chance, Monsieur</i>,” he bade me with the pressure. + </p> + <p> + “Good luck and good-bye,” I answered. “Miss Falconer, will you come to the + door?” + </p> + <p> + She took up the candle and came forward to light me, and we went in + silence through the room of the squires and through the ante-chamber and + into the room of the guards. She walked close beside me; her eyes shone + wet; her lips trembled. There were things I would have given the world to + say, but I suppressed them. To the very end, I had resolved, I would play + fair. We were at the outer door. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Miss Falconer,” I said, halting. “You mustn’t worry; everything + is going to turn out splendidly, I am sure. Only, now that we have the + papers, it ends our little adventure, doesn’t it? So before I go I want to + thank you for our day together. It has been wonderful. There never was + another like it. I shall always be thankful for it, no matter what I have + to pay.” + </p> + <p> + I stopped abruptly, realizing that this was not cricket. To make up, I put + out my hand quite coolly; but she grasped it in both of hers and held it + in a soft, warm clasp. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never forget,” she whispered. “Come back to us, Mr. Bayne!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment I looked at her in the light of the candle, at her lovely + face, at the ruddy hair framing it, at the tears heavy on her lashes. Then + I drew the bolt and went out and heard her fasten the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE OBUS + </h3> + <p> + I stood in the gallery for an instant, indulging in a reconnoissance. The + hall was now illuminated by an electric torch and three guttering candles; + at the foot of the staircase lay the table which had done such yeoman’s + service, split in two. As for the besiegers, they were gathered near the + chimney-place in a worse-for-wear group, one nursing a nosebleed; another + feeling gingerly of a loose tooth; Blenheim himself frankly raging, and + decorated with a broad cut across his forehead and a cheek that was + rapidly taking on assorted shades of blue, green, and black; and the + redoubtable Mr. Schwartzmann, worst off of all, lying in a heap, groaning + at intervals, but apparently quite unaware of what was going on. + </p> + <p> + My abrupt sally seemed transfixing. I might have been Medusa. I had a + welcome minute in which to contemplate the victims of my prowess and to + exult unchristianly in their scars. Then the tableau dissolved, the three + men sprang up, and I took action. As I emerged I had drawn out a + handkerchief and I now proceeded to raise and wave it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Herr von Blenheim, I have come to parley with you,” I announced, + “white flag and all.” + </p> + <p> + He tried to look as if he had expected me, though it was obvious that he + hadn’t. To give verisimilitude to the pretense, he even pulled out his + watch. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would. You had just two minutes’ grace,” he commented, + watching me narrowly. “Suppose you come down. You have brought the papers, + I hope—for your own sake?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” I assured him with all possible blandness. “I have brought + them. What else was there to do? You had us in the palm of your hand. That + door is old and worm-eaten; you could have crumpled it up like paper. When + we thought the situation over we saw its hopelessness at once; so here I + am.” + </p> + <p> + “That is sensible,” he agreed curtly, though I could see that he was + puzzled. Casting a baffled glance beyond me, he scanned the gallery door. + It by no means merited my description, being heavy, solid, almost + immovable in aspect. “Well, let’s have the papers!” he said, with + suspicion in his tone. + </p> + <p> + I descended in a deliberate manner, casting alert eyes about me, for, to + use an expressive idiom, I was not doing this for my health. On the + contrary I had two very definite purposes; the first, which I could + probably compass, was to save Miss Falconer from further intercourse with + Blenheim and to conceal the presence of the wounded, helpless Firefly from + his enemies; the second, surprisingly modest, was to make the four Germans + prisoners and hand them over in triumph to the gendarmes of the nearest + town, Santierre. + </p> + <p> + I was perfectly aware of the absurdity of this ambition. I lacked the ghost + of an idea of how to set about the thing. But the general craziness of + events had unhinged me. I was forming the habit of trusting to pure luck + and <i>vogue la galere</i>! I can’t swear that I hadn’t visions of + conquering all my adversaries in some miraculous single-handed fashion, + disarming them, and, as a final sweet touch of revenge, tying them up in + chairs, to keep Marie-Jeanne company and meditate on the turns of fate. + </p> + <p> + “Here they are,” I said, obligingly offering the package. “We found them + nestling behind a panel—old family hiding place, you know. I can’t + vouch for their contents, not being an expert, but Miss Falconer was + satisfied. How about it, now you look at them? Do they seem all right?” + </p> + <p> + Not paying the slightest attention to my conversational efforts, Blenheim + had snatched the papers, torn them hungrily open, and run them through. He + was bristling with suspicion; but he evidently knew his business. It did + not take him long to conclude that he really had his spoils. + </p> + <p> + Folding them up carefully, he thrust them into his coat and stored them, + displaying, however, less triumph than I had thought he would. The truth + was that he looked preoccupied, and I wondered why. For the first time in + all the hair-trigger situations that I had seen him face I sensed a strain + in him. + </p> + <p> + “So much for that. Now, Mr. Bayne, what do you think we mean to do to + you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, I am sure,” I answered rather absently; I was weighing the + relative merits of jiu-jitsu and my five remaining revolver-shots. “Is + there anything sufficiently lingering? Let me suggest boiling oil; or I + understand that roasting over a slow fire is considered tasty. Either of + those methods would appeal to you, wouldn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t deny it!” Blenheim answered in a tone that was convincing. “You + haven’t endeared yourself to us, my friend, in the last hour. But we can’t + spare you yet; our plans for the evening are lively ones and they include + you. I told you, didn’t I, that we were going to no man’s-land via the + trenches, when we finished this affair?” + </p> + <p> + “You told me many interesting things. I’ve forgotten some of the details.” + I was aware of a thrill of excitement. The man was worried; so much was + sure. + </p> + <p> + “You will recall them presently, or if you don’t, I’ll refresh your + memory. The fact is, Mr. Bayne, you have put a pretty spoke in our wheel. + It stands this way: our papers are made out for a party of four officers, + and you have eliminated Schwartzmann. Don’t you owe us some amends for + that? You like disguises, I gather from your costume. What do you say to + putting on a new one, a pale-blue uniform, and seeing us through the + lines?” + </p> + <p> + He looked, while uttering this wild pleasantry, about as humorous as King + Attila. Could he possibly be in earnest? After all, perhaps he was! War + rules were cast-iron things; if his pass called for four men, four he must + have or rouse suspicion; and it was certain that Herr Schwartzmann would + do no gadding to-night or for many nights to come. That shot of mine from + the gallery had upset Blenheim’s plans very neatly. I stared at him, + fascinated. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said he. “Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” I exclaimed indignantly, “that this is too much! It is, + really. I was getting hardened; I could stand a mere impossibility or two + and not blink; but this! It is beyond the bounds. I shall begin to see + green snakes presently or writhing sea-serpents—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Blenheim cut me short savagely, “you are underestimating. Unless you + oblige us what you will see is the hereafter, Mr. Bayne!” + </p> + <p> + Yes, he meant it. His very fierceness, eloquent of frazzled nerves, was + proof conclusive. With another thrill, triumphant this time, I recognized + my chance. His campaign, instead of going according to specifications, had + been interfered with; his position was dangerous; he had no time to lose; + for all he knew, at any point along the road his masquerade might have + been suspected, the authorities notified, vengeance put on his track. In + desperation he meant to risk my denouncing him, use me till he reached the + Front trenches and his friends there, and then, no doubt, get rid of me. + What he couldn’t guess was that I would have turned the earth upside down + to make this opportunity that he was offering me on a silver tray. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll oblige you,” I assured him with what must have seemed insane + cheerfulness. “I’ll oblige you, Her von Blenheim, with all the pleasure in + the world. If you really want me, that is. If my presence won’t make you + nervous. Aren’t you afraid, for instance, that I might be tempted to share + my knowledge of your name and your profession with the first French + soldiers we meet?” + </p> + <p> + “As to that, we will take our chances.” Blenheim’s face was adamant, + though my suggestion had produced a not entirely enlivening effect on his + two friends. “You see, Mr. Bayne, in this business the risks will be + mostly yours. There will be no flights of stairs to dart up and no tables + to over turn and no candles to extinguish; you will sit in the tonneau + with a man beside you, a very watchful man, and a pistol against your + side. You don’t want to die, do you? I thought not, since you surrendered + those papers. Well, then, you’ll be wise not to say a word or stir a + muscle. And now we are in a hurry. Will you make your toilet, please?” + </p> + <p> + It was the bizarre curtain scene of what I had called an extravaganza. + Blenheim’s confederates, taking no special pains for gentleness, stripped + off the outer garments of the prostrate Schwartzmann, who moaned and + groaned throughout the process, though he never opened his eyes. Blenheim + urged haste upon us; he was getting more fidgety every instant; he bit his + lip, drummed with his fingers, kept an ear cocked, as if expecting to hear + pursuers at the door. Still, he neglected no precautions. He demanded my + revolver. I surrendered it amiably, and then doffed my chauffeur’s outfit + and took, from a social standpoint, a gratifying step upward, donning one + by one the insignia of France. + </p> + <p> + The fit was not perfect by any means. Schwartzmann was a giant, a + mountain. My feet swished aloud groggily in his burnished putties; his + garments hung round me in ample, rather than graceful, folds. However, the + loose cape of horizon blue resembled charity in covering defects. As a + dummy, sitting motionless in the rear of the automobile, my captors felt + that I would pass. + </p> + <p> + By this time I was enchanted with the plans I was concocting. I might look + like an opera-bouffe hero,—no doubt I did,—but my hour would + come. Meanwhile events were marching. My transformation being complete, + Blenheim gave a curt order in German, the candles were blown out, and + lighted only by the torch, we turned toward the door. There was an + inarticulate cry from Schwartzmann, just conscious enough, poor beggar, to + grasp the fact of his abandonment in the strategic retreat his friends + were beating. Then we were out in the courtyard, beneath the stars. + </p> + <p> + Down the hill, sheltered behind the stones of a ruined house, the gray car + was waiting, and Blenheim climbed into the driver’s seat, meanwhile giving + brief directions. There was no noise, no flurry; the affair, I must say, + went with an efficiency in keeping with the proudest Prussian traditions. + I was installed in the tonneau, and I was hardly seated before the motor + hummed into life, and we jolted into the moonlit road. + </p> + <p> + For perhaps the hundredth time I asked myself if I was dreaming; if this + person in a French disguise, speeding through the night with a blue-clad + German beside him,—a German suffering, by the way, from a headache, + the last stages of a nosebleed, and a pronounced dislike for me as the + agency responsible for his ailments,—was really Devereux Bayne. But + the air was cold on my face; a revolver pressed my side; I saw three set, + hard profiles. It was not a dream; it was a dash for safety. And it was + engineered by anxious, desperate men. + </p> + <p> + Blenheim, hunched over the steering wheel, had settled to his business. + Certainly his nerve was going; the mania for escape had caught him; he + took startling chances on his curves and turns. Still, he knew the + country, it seemed. We drove on, fast and furiously, by lanes, by mere + paths set among thickets, by narrow brushwood roads. Sometimes we skirted + the river, which shone silver in the moonlight, lined with rushes. Again, + we could see nothing but a roof of trees overhead. + </p> + <p> + We emerged into a wider road, and I became award of various noises; a + booming, clear and regular; the sound of voices; the rumbling of many + wheels. We must be nearing the Front; we were rejoining the main highroad. + My guess was proved correct at the next turning, where a sentry barred our + path. + </p> + <p> + The sight of his honest French face was like a tonic to me. In some + welcome way it seemed to hearten me for my task. The pistol of my friend + in the tonneau bored through his cape into my side; I sat very quiet. If I + did this four, five, perhaps six times, they might think me cowed and + relax their vigilance. Their suspicions would be lulled by my tractability + and their contempt. Then my hour would strike. + </p> + <p> + Satisfied with the safe-conducts, the sentry gestured us forward, and his + figure slipped out of my vision as the gray car purred on. The man beside + me chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “Behold this Yankee! He is as good as gold, my captain. He sits like a + mouse,” he announced in his own tongue. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be wise,” Blenheim announced, “to go on doing so.” The threat was + in English for my benefit and came from between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + In front of us the noise was growing. With our next turn we entered the + highroad, taking our place in a long rumbling line of ambulances and + supply-carts and laboring camions, or trucks. We glimpsed faces, heard + voices all about us. The change from solitude to this unbroken procession + was bewildering. But we did not long remain a part of it; we turned again + into narrower lanes. + </p> + <p> + The control was growing stricter. Four separate times we were halted, and + always I sat hunched in my corner as impassive as a stone. The more deeply + we penetrated toward the Front, the more uneasy grew my companions. Each + time that a sentry halted us they waited in more anxiety for his verdict. + The man beside me, it was true, still menaced me with his pistol point; + but the gesture had grown perfunctory. He did not think I would attempt + anything. He believed now that I was afraid. + </p> + <p> + Our road crossed a hilltop, and I saw beneath us a valley, streaked at + intervals with blinding signal-flashes of red and green. In my ears the + thunder of the guns was growing steadily. When we were stopped again, the + sentry warned us. The road we were traveling, he said, had been + intermittently under fire for two days. + </p> + <p> + It looked, indeed, as if devils had used it for a playground; the trees + were mere blackened stumps; the fields on each side stretched burnt and + bare. And then came the climax: something passed us,—high above our + heads, I fancy, though its frightful winds seemed brushing us,—a + ghost of the night, an aerial demon, a shrieking thing that made the man + beside me cringe and shudder. It was new to me, but I could not mistake + it. It was what the French call an <i>obus</i>, a word that in some subtle + manner seems more menacing and dreadful than our own term of shell. + </p> + <p> + As we sped on I leaned against the cushions, outwardly quiet. Inwardly, I + was gathering myself together for my attempt. I had not thought I would + first approach the Front this way; but it was a good way, I had a good + object. At the next stop, whatever it was, I meant to make the venture. I + did not doubt I should succeed in it. But I could not hope to keep my + life. + </p> + <p> + Another <i>obus</i> hurtled over us and shrieked away into the distance; + and again the man beside me flinched, but I did not. I was thinking, with + odd lucidity, of many things, among them Dunny and his old house in + Washington, into which I should never again let myself with my latch-key, + sure of a welcome at any hour of the day or night. My guardian’s gray head + rose before me. My heart tightened. The finest, straightest old chap who + ever took a forlorn little tike in out of the wet, and petted him, and + frolicked with him, and filled his stocking all the year round, and made + his holidays things of rapture, and taught him how to ride and shoot and + fish and swim and cut his losses and do pretty much everything that makes + life worth living—that was Dunny. + </p> + <p> + “This will be a hard jolt for the old chap,” I thought, “but he’ll say + that I played the game.” + </p> + <p> + And Esme Falconer, my own brave, lovely Esme! “She has come down the + staircase now,” I told myself. “She has untied Marie-Jeanne. She has gone + out and started the car.” What would she think of my disappearance? Well, + she wouldn’t misjudge me, I felt sure; and neither would + Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier. He would know that I was acting as, in my place, + he would have acted, that I didn’t mean to let Franz von Blenheim defy + France and go off untouched. + </p> + <p> + The whole world seemed mysteriously to have narrowed to one girl, Esme. + How I had lived before I saw her; how, having seen her, I could ever have + lived without her,—I didn’t know. But the sound of grinding brakes + roused me. We were slowing up in obedience to a signal from a + canvas-covered, half-demolished shelter filled with men in blue uniforms; + we were coming to a standstill. Blenheim leaned out, and for a moment I + saw his face in the beam of light from the sentry’s lantern. It looked + thin and set. He was giving beneath the strain. + </p> + <p> + “Behold my comrade!” He thrust our papers into the hands of the sentry. + “And make haste, for the love of heaven! We are waited for <i>la-bas</i>.” + </p> + <p> + I cast a quick glance at my body-guard, whose anxious eyes were on the + sentinel. His pistol still lay against my side, but his thoughts were far + away. It was the moment. With the rapidity of lightning I knocked his arm + up, caught his wrist, and clung to it, calling out simultaneously in a + voice of crisp command. + </p> + <p> + “My friends,” I cried in French, “I order you to arrest these persons! + They are agents of the kaiser! They are German spies!” + </p> + <p> + The pistol, clutched between us, exploded harmlessly into the air. I head + shouts, saw men running toward us. Then I caught sight of Blenheim’s face, + dark and oddly contorted; he had turned and was leveling his revolver at + me, resting one knee on the driver’s seat as he took deliberate aim. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” I cried again, struggling for the weapon, “that this is Franz von + Blenheim, that these are men of the kaiser, spying, in disguise—” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that some one caught Blenheim’s arm from behind just as he + fired; but I was not certain. For suddenly that same whistling shriek + sounded over us, nearer this time, more ominous; the earth seemed to rock + and then to end in a mighty shock and cataclysm. Blackness enveloped me, + and I dropped into a bottomless pit. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + AT RAINCY-LA-TOUR + </h3> + <p> + When I opened my eyes it was with a peculiarly reluctant feeling, for my + eyelids were so heavy that they seemed to weigh a ton. My head was + unspeakably groggy, and I had quite lost my memory. I couldn’t, if + suddenly interrogated, have replied with one intelligent bit of + information about myself, not even with my name. + </p> + <p> + Flat on my back I was lying, gazing up at what, surprisingly, seemed to be + a ceiling festooned with garlands of roses and painted with ladies and + cavaliers, idling about a stretch of greensward, decidedly in the Watteau + style. Where was I? What had happened to make me feel so helpless? It + reminded me of an episode of my childhood, a day when my pony had fallen + and rolled upon me, and I had been carried home with two crushed ribs and + a broken arm. + </p> + <p> + Coming out at that time from the influence of the ether, I had found Dunny + at my bedside. If only he were here now! I looked round. Why, there he + was, sitting in a brocaded chair by the window, his dear old silver head + thrown back, dozing beyond a doubt. + </p> + <p> + To see him gave me a warm, comforted, homelike feeling. Nor did it + surprise me, but my surroundings did. The room, a veritable Louis Quinze + jewel in its paneling, carving, and gilding, might have come direct from + Versailles by parcel post; my bed was garlanded and curtained in + rose-color. Where I had gone to sleep last night I couldn’t remember; but + it hadn’t, I was obstinately sure, been here. + </p> + <p> + What ailed me, anyhow? I began a series of cautious experiments, designed + to discover the trouble. My arms were weak and of a strange, flabby + limpness, but they moved. So did my left leg; but when I came to the right + one I was baffled. It wouldn’t stir; it was heavily encased in something. + Good heavens! now I knew! It was in a plaster cast. + </p> + <p> + The shock of the discovery taught me something further, namely, that my + head was liable to excruciating little throbs of pain. I raised a hand to + it. My forehead was swathed in bandages, like a turbaned Turk’s. Oh, to be + sure, in the castle at Prezelay, as we were retreating up the staircase, + Schwartzmann had fired at me; but, then, hadn’t that been a pin prick, the + merest scratch? + </p> + <p> + The name Prezelay served as a key to solve the puzzle. The whole + fantastic, incredible chain of happenings came back to me in a rush; the + gray car, the inn, the murder, the night in the castle, + Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier. + </p> + <p> + “Dunny!” I heard myself quavering in a voice utterly unlike my own. + </p> + <p> + The figure in the chair started up and hurried toward me, and then Dunny’s + hands were holding my hands, his eyes looking into mine. + </p> + <p> + “There, Dev, there! Take it easy,” the familiar voice was soothing me. + “Hold on to me, my boy, You are safe now. You’re all right!” + </p> + <p> + My safety, however, seemed of small importance for the time being. + </p> + <p> + “Dunny,” I implored, “listen! You have got to find out for me about a + girl. How am I to tell you, though? If I start the story, you’ll think I’m + raving.” + </p> + <p> + “I know all about it, Dev,” my guardian reassured me. “I’ve seen Miss + Falconer. She’s absolutely safe.” + </p> + <p> + If that were so, I could relax, and I did with fervent thankfulness. Not + for long, however; my brain had begun to work. + </p> + <p> + “See here! I want to know who has been playing football with me,” was my + next demand, which Dunny answered obligingly, if with a slightly dubious + face. + </p> + <p> + “That French doctor, nice young chap, said you weren’t to talk,” he + muttered, “but if I were in your place I’d want to know a few things + myself. It was this way, Dev. A fragment of a shell struck you—” + </p> + <p> + “A fragment!” I raised weak eyebrows. “I know better. Twenty shells at + least, and whole!” + </p> + <p> + “—and didn’t strike your Teuton friends,” he charged on, suddenly + purple of visage. “It was a true German shell, my boy, the devil looking + after his own. The man in the seat with you was cut up a bit; the other + two were thrown clear of the motor. If you hadn’t already given the alarm, + they would probably have got off scot-free. As it was, the French held a + drumhead court martial a little later, and all three of the fellows—well, + you can fill in the rest.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent for a minute while a picture rose before me: a dank, gray + dawn; a firing-squad, and Franz von Blenheim’s dark, grim face. No doubt + he had died bravely; but I could not pity him; I had too clear a + recollection of the hall at Prezelay. + </p> + <p> + “As for you,” Dunny was continuing, “you seem to have puzzled them finely. + There you were in a French uniform, at your last gasp apparently, and with + an American passport, that you seem to have clung to through thick and + thin, inside your coat. They took a chance on you, though, because you had + made them a present of the Franz von Blenheim; and by the next day, thanks + to Miss Falconer and the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour, you were being looked for + all over France. + </p> + <p> + “So that’s how it stands. You’re at Raincy-la-Tour now, at the duke’s + chateau. The place has been a hospital ever since the war began. Only + you’re not with the other wounded. You are—well—a rather + special patient in the pavilion across the lake; and you’re by way of + being a hero. The day I landed, the first paper I saw shrieked at me how + you had tracked the kaiser’s star agent and outwitted him and handed him + over to justice.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce it did!” I exclaimed. “You must have been puffed up with + pride.” + </p> + <p> + My guardian’s jaw set itself rigidly. “I was too busy,” was his grim + answer. “You see, the end of the statement said there was no hope that you + could survive. And when I got here I found you with fever, delirium, one + leg shot up, four bits of shell in your head, a fine case of brain + concussion. That was nearly three weeks ago, and it seems more like three + years!” + </p> + <p> + An idea, at this point, made me fix a searching gaze on him. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” I asked accusingly, “how did you happen to arrive so + opportunely on this side? It seemed as natural as possible to find you + settled here waiting for my eyes to open; but on second thoughts I suppose + you didn’t fly?” + </p> + <p> + He looked extraordinarily embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he growled at length, “I had business. I got a cablegram soon after + you left New York. The thing was confoundedly inconvenient, but I had no + choice about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Dunny,” I said weakly, but sternly, “you didn’t bring me up to tell + whoppers, not bare-faced ones like that, anyhow, that wouldn’t deceive the + veriest child. What earthly business could you have over here in war-time? + Own up, now, and take your medicine like a man.” + </p> + <p> + His guilty air was sufficient answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Dev,” he acknowledged, “it was your cable. That Gibraltar mess was + a nasty one, and I didn’t like its looks. I’m getting old, and you’re all + I’ve got; so I took a passport and caught the <i>Rochambeau</i>. Not, of + course, that I doubted your ability to take care of yourself, my boy—” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you? You might have,” I admitted with some ruefulness, “if you had + known I was bucking both the Allied governments and the picked talent of + the Central powers. It was too much. I was riding for a fall, and I got + it. But I don’t mind saying, Dunny, I’m infernally glad you came.” + </p> + <p> + He wiped his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you go to sleep now,” he counseled gruffly. “You’ve got to get well + in a hurry; there’s work for you to do! All sorts of things have been + happening since that <i>obus</i> knocked you out. Just a week ago, for + instance, the President went before Congress and—” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you say? Not war?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, war, young man! We’re in it at last, up to our necks; in it with men + and ships and munitions and foodstuffs and everything else we have to help + with, praise the Lord! You’ll fight beneath the Stars and Stripes, instead + of under the Tricolor. I say, Dev, that’s positively the last word I’ll + utter. You’ve got to rest!” + </p> + <p> + In a weak, quavering fashion, but with sincere enthusiasm, I tried to + celebrate by singing a few bars of the “Star-Spangled Banner” and a little + of the “Marseillaise.” Dunny was right, however; the conversation had + exhausted me. In the midst of my patriotic demonstration I fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + My convalescence was a marvel, I learned from young Dr. Raimbault, the + surgeon from the chateau who came to see me every day. According to him, I + was a patient in a hundred, in a thousand; he never wearied of admiring my + constitution, which he described by the various French equivalents of “as + hard as nails.” Not a set-back attended the course of my recovery. First, + I sat propped up in bed; then I attained the dignity of an arm-chair; + later, slowly and painfully, I began to drag myself about the room. But + the day on which my physician’s rapture burst all bounds was the great one + when I crawled from the pavilion, gained a bench beneath the trees, and + sat enthroned, glaring at my crutches. They were detestable implements; I + longed to smash them. And they would, the doctor airily informed me, be my + portion for three months. + </p> + <p> + To feel grumpy in such surroundings was certainly black ingratitude. It + was an idyllic place. My pavilion was a sort of Trianon, a Marie + Antoinette bower, all flowers and gold. Fresh green woods grew about it; a + lake stretched before it; swans dotted the water where trees were + mirrored, and there were marble steps and balustrades. Across this + glittering expanse rose Raincy-la-Tour, proud and stately, with its formal + gardens and its fountains and its Versailles-like front. In the afternoons + I could see the wounded soldiers walking there or being pushed to and fro + in wheel-chairs; legless and armless, some of them; wreckage of the mighty + battle-fields; timely reminders, poor heroic fellows, that there were + people in the world a great deal worse off than I. + </p> + <p> + Yet, instead of being thankful, I was profoundly wretched. I moped and + sulked; I fell each day into a deeper, more consistent gloom. I tried + grimly to regain my strength, with a view to seeking other quarters. While + I stayed here I was the guest of the Firefly of France; and though I + admired him,—I should have been a cad, a quitter, a poor loser, + everything I had ever held anathema in days gone by, not to do so,—still + I couldn’t feel toward him as a man should feel toward his host; not in + the least! + </p> + <p> + On three separate occasions Dunny motored up to Paris, bringing back as + the fruits of his first excursion my baggage from the Ritz. I was clothed + again, in my right mind; except for my swathed head, I looked highly + civilized. The day when I had raced hither and yon, and fought an + unbelievable battle in a dark hall, and insanely masqueraded first in a + leather coat, then in a pale-blue uniform, seemed dim and far-off indeed. + </p> + <p> + “It was a nice hashish dream,” I told my mirrored image. “But it wasn’t + real, my lad, for a moment; such things don’t happen to folks like you. + You’re not the romantic type; you don’t look like some one in an old + picture; you haven’t brought down thirty German aeroplanes or thereabouts, + and won every war medal the French can give and the name of Ace. No; you + look like a—a correct bulldog; and winning an occasional polo cup is + about your limit. Even if it hadn’t been settled before you met her, you + wouldn’t have stood a chance.” + </p> + <p> + There were times when I prayed never to see Esme Falconer again. There + were other times when I knew I would drag myself round the world—yes, + on my crutches!—if at the end of the journey I could see her for an + instant, a long way off. I could see that my despondency was driving Dunny + to distraction. He evolved the theory that I was going into a decline. + </p> + <p> + Then came the afternoon that made history. I was sitting at my window. The + trees seemed specially green, the sky specially blue, the lake specially + bright. I was feeling stronger and was glumly planning a move to Paris + when I saw an automobile speed up the poplared walk toward Raincy-la-Tour. + </p> + <p> + Rip-snorting and chugging, the thing executed a curve before the chateau, + and then, hugging the side of the lake, advanced, obviously toward my + humble abode. My heart seemed to turn a somersault. I should have known + that car if I had met it in Bagdad. It was a long blue motor, polished to + the last notch, deeply cushioned, luxurious, poignantly familiar, the car, + in short, that I had pursued to Bleau, and that later, in flat defiance of + President Poincare or the Generalissimo of France, or whoever makes army + rules and regulations, I had guided through the war zone to the castle of + Prezelay. + </p> + <p> + As the chauffeur halted it near the pavilion, it disgorged three + occupants, one of who, a young officer, slender of form and gracefully + alert of movement, wore the dark-blue uniform of the French Flying Corps. + I knew him only too well. It was Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier. But the glance + I gave him was most cursory; my attention was focused hungrily on the two + ladies in the tonneau. They had risen and were divesting themselves in + leisurely fashion of a most complicated arrangement of motor coats and + veils. + </p> + <p> + From these swathing disguises there first emerged, as if from a chrysalis, + a black-clad, distinguished-looking young woman whom I had never seen + before. However, it was the second figure, the one in the rosy veils and + the tan mantle, that was exciting me. Off came her wrappings, and I saw a + girl in a white gown and a flowered hat—the loveliest girl on earth. + </p> + <p> + I did not stand on the order of my going. I rocked perilously, and my + crutches made a furious clatter, but I was outside in a truly + infinitesimal space of time. Yes; there they were, chatting with Dunny, + who had hurried to meet them. And at sight of me the Firefly of France ran + forward with hands extended, greeting me as if I were his oldest friend, + his brother, his dearest comrade in arms. + </p> + <p> + I took his hands and I pressed them with what show of warmth I could + summon. It was as peasant as a bit of torture, but it had to be gone + through. Then I stared past him toward the ladies, who were coming up with + Dunny; and except for that girl in white, I saw nothing in all the world. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” the duke was saying, “I pay you my first visit. Only my + weakness has prevented me from sooner welcoming to Raincy-la-Tour so + honored a guest.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the lady who stood beside Miss Falconer, a slender, + dark-eyed, gracious young woman wearing a simple black gown and a black + hat and a string of pearls. + </p> + <p> + “Here is another,” said the Firefly, “who has come to welcome you. Oh, + yes, Monsieur, you must know, and you must count henceforth as your + friends in any need, even to the death, all those who bear the name of + Raincy-la-Tour. Permit that I present you to my wife, who is of your + country.” + </p> + <p> + “Jean’s wife is my sister, Mr. Bayne,” Miss Falconer said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + AN UNEXPECTED VISIT + </h3> + <p> + I don’t know what they thought of me, probably that I was crazy. For a + good minute, a long sixty seconds, I simply stood and stared. The duke’s + blue uniform, his wife’s black-gowned figure, and the white, radiant blur + that was Miss Falconer revolved about me in spinning, starry circles. I + gasped, put out a hand, fortunately encountered Dunny’s shoulder, and, + leaning heavily on that perplexed person, at last got back my intelligence + and my breath. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you shake hands with me, Mr. Bayne?” smiled the Duchess of + Raincy-la-Tour. + </p> + <p> + I was virtually sane again. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope,” I said, “that you will forgive me. Not that I see the + slightest reason why you should, I am sure. Life is too short to wipe out + such a bad impression. I know how you’ll remember me all your days; as an + idiot with a head done up in layers of toweling, wobbling on two crutches + and gaping at you like a fish.” + </p> + <p> + But the duchess was still holding my hand in both of hers and smiling up + at me from a pair of great, dark, tender eyes, the loveliest pair of eyes + in the world, bar one. No, bar none, to be quite fair. The Firefly’s wife, + most people would have said, was more beautiful than her sister; but then, + beauty is what pleases you, as some wise man remarked long ago. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe, Mr. Bayne,” she was saying gently, “that I shall ever + remember you in any unpleasant way. You see, I know about those bandages, + and I know why you need those crutches. Even if you were vain, you + wouldn’t mind the things I think of you—not at all.” + </p> + <p> + I lack any clear recollection of the quarter of an hour that followed. I + know that we talked and laughed and were very friendly and very cheerful, + and that Dunny’s eyes, as they studied me, began to hold a gleam of + intelligence, as if he were guessing something about the reasons for my + former black despondency. I recall that the duke’s hand was on my + shoulder, and that—odd how one’s attitude can change!—I liked + to feel it. We were going to be great friends, tremendous pals, I + suspected. And every time I looked at the duchess she seemed lovelier, + more gracious; she was the very wife I would have chosen for such a + corking chap. + </p> + <p> + This, however, was by the way. None of it really mattered. While I paid + compliments and supplied details as to my convalescence and answered + Dunny’s chaffing, I saw only one member of the party, the girl in white. + She was rather silent; she gave me only fugitive glances. But she wasn’t + engaged, at least not to the Firefly. Hurrah! + </p> + <p> + What an agonizing, heart-rending, utterly unnecessary experience I had + endured, now that I thought of it! I had jumped to conclusions with the + agility of a kangaroo. He had kissed her; she had allowed it. Did that + prove that he was her fiance? He might have been anything—her cousin + or an old friend of her childhood, or her sister’s husband’s nephew. But + brother-in-law was best of all, not too remote or yet too close. In that + relationship, I decided, he was ideal. + </p> + <p> + By this time I was wondering how long we were to stand here exchanging + ideas and persiflage, an animated group of five. The duke and duchess were + charming, but I had had enough of them; I could have spared even good old + Dunny; what I wanted, and wanted frantically, was a tete-a-tete; just Esme + Falconer and myself. When I saw two automobiles, packed imposingly with + uniformed figures, speed up the drive to the chateau, hope stirred in me. + With suppressed joy,—I trust it was suppressed,—I heard the + duke exclaim that this was General Le Cazeau, due to visit the hospital + with his staff and greet the wounded and bestow on certain lucky beings + the reward of their valor in the shape of medals of war. Obviously, it + would have been inexcusable for the master and mistress of Raincy-la-Tour + to ignore a visitor so distinguished. I made no protest whatever as they + turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “But, Miss Falconer,” I implored fervently, “you won’t desert me, will + you? Pity a poor <i>blesse</i> that no general cares two straws to see!” + </p> + <p> + She smiled, an omen that encouraged me to send Dunny a look of meaning; + but my guardian, bless him, had grasped the situation; he was already + gone. + </p> + <p> + Down by the water among the trees there was a marble bench, and with one + accord we turned our steps that way. I emphasized my game leg shamelessly; + I positively flourished my crutches. My battle scars, I guessed from the + girl’s kind eyes, appealed to her compassion, and as soon as I suspected + this I thanked my stars for that German shell. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t there anything,” she said as we sat down, “that you want to ask me? + I think I should be curious if I were you. After all we have done together + there isn’t much beyond my name that you know of me, and you knew that in + Jersey City the night the <i>Re d’Italia</i> sailed.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. + </p> + <p> + “There is just one thing I wanted to know,” I answered cryptically, “and I + learned that when your brother-in-law presented me to his wife. Still, + there is nothing on earth you can tell me that I shan’t be glad to listen + to. Say the multiplication table if you like, or recite cook-book recipes. + Anything—if you’ll only stay!” + </p> + <p> + Little golden flickers of sunshine came stealing through the branches, + dancing, as the girl talked, on her gown and in her hair. I looked more + than I listened. I had been starved for a sight of her. And my eyes must + have told my thoughts; for a flush crept into her cheeks, and her lashes + fluttered, and she looked not at me, but across the swan-dotted lake + toward the towers of Raincy-la-Tour. + </p> + <p> + After all there was little that I had not guessed already; but each detail + held its magic, because it was she who spoke. If she had said “I like + oranges and lemons,” the statement would have held me spellbound. I sat + raptly gazing while she told me of herself and her sister Enid; of their + life, after the death of their parents, with an aunt whose home was in + Pittsburgh, of their travels; and of a winter at Nice, four years ago, + when the blue of the skies and seas and the whiteness of the sands and the + green of the palms had all seemed created to frame the meeting and the + love affair of Enid Falconer and the young nobleman who was now known to + the world as the Firefly of France. + </p> + <p> + Their marriage had proved an ideal one, as happy as it was brilliant. + Esme, thereafter had spent half her time in Europe with her sister, half + in America with her aunt, who was growing old. Then had come the war. At + first it had covered the duke with laurels. But a certain dark day had + brought a cable from the duchess, telling of his disappearance and the + suspicion that surrounded it; and Esme, despite her aunt’s entreaties, had + promptly taken passage on the next ship that sailed. + </p> + <p> + “I had meant to go within a month, as a Red Cross nurse,” she told me. “I + had my passport, and I had taken a course. Well, I came on to New York and + spent the night there. Aunt Alice telegraphed to her lawyer, the dearest, + primmest old fellow, and he dined with me, protesting all the time against + my sailing. I saw you in the St. Ives restaurant. Did you see us?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me think.” I pretended to rack my brains. “I believe I do recall + something, in a hazy sort of way. You had on a rose-colored gown that was + distinctly wonderful, and when we tracked the German to the door of your + room, you were wearing an evening coat, bright blue. But the main thing + was your hair!” Here I became lyric. “An oak-leaf in the sunlight, Miss + Falconer! Threads of gold!” + </p> + <p> + But she ignored me, very properly, and shifted the scene from hotel to + steamer, where Franz von Blenheim, in the guise of Van Blarcom, had given + her a fright. As she exhibited her passport at the gang-plank, he had read + her name across her shoulder; then he had claimed acquaintance with her, a + claim that she knew was false. + </p> + <p> + “And he wasn’t impertinent. That was the worst of it,” she faltered. “He + did it—well—accusingly. I had known all along that any one who + knew of Jean’s marriage would recognize my name. And Jean was suspected, + and the French are strict; if they were warned, they would not let me + enter France; they would think I had come spying. I was afraid. Then, + after dinner, I went on deck and found you standing by the railing reading + that paper with its staring headlines about Jean.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” I exclaimed. At last I fathomed that puzzling episode. “You + thought the paper might speak of the duke’s marriage, that it might + mention your sister’s name. In that case, if it stayed on board, it might + be seen by the captain or by an officer, and they would guess who you were + and warn the authorities when we got to shore.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That was why I borrowed it. And I was right, I discovered; just at + the end the account said that Jean had married an American, a Miss Enid + Falconer, four years ago. Then I asked you to throw it overboard, Mr. + Bayne; and you were wonderful. You must have thought I was mad, but you + didn’t flutter an eyelid or even smile. I have never forgotten—and + I’ve never forgiven myself either. When I think of how the steward saw you + and told the captain, and of how they searched your baggage that dreadful + day—” + </p> + <p> + “It didn’t matter a brass farden!” I hastened to assure her, for she had + paused and was gazing at me, large-eyed and pale. “Don’t think of that any + more. Suppose we skip to Paris! Blenheim followed you there, hoping he was + on the scent of the vanished papers; and when you arrived at the rue + St.-Dominique, there was still no news of the duke.” + </p> + <p> + “No news,” she mourned; “not a word. And Enid was ill and hopeless; from + the very first she had felt sure that Jean was dead. But I wouldn’t admit + it. I said we must try to find him. All the way over in the steamer I had + been making a sort of plan. + </p> + <p> + “You see, one of the papers had described how the French had found Jean’s + airship lying in the forest of La Fay, as if he had abandoned it from + choice. That was considered proof of his treason; but of course I knew + that it wasn’t. I remembered that the Marquis of Prezelay, Jean’s cousin, + had a castle on the forest outskirts; I had been to visit it with Jean and + Enid. I wondered if he might be there. + </p> + <p> + “The more I thought of it, the likelier it seemed. If he had been wounded + and had wanted to hide his papers, he would have remembered the castle and + the secret panel in the wall. Even if he were—dead, which I wouldn’t + believe, it would clear his name if I found the proof of it. So I told + Enid I would go to Prezelay.” + </p> + <p> + I was resting my arms on my knees and groaning softly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord!” I murmured, wishing I could stop my ears. When I + thought of that brave venture of the girl’s and its perils and what had + nearly come of it I found myself shuddering; and yet I was growing prouder + of her with every word. + </p> + <p> + “What comes next,” she confessed, “is terrible. I can hardly believe it. + As I look back, it seems to me that we were all a little mad. To get + through the war zone to Prezelay I had to have certain papers; and I got + them from an American girl, an old friend of Enid’s and of mine, Marie Le + Clair. The morning I arrived in Paris she came to say good-bye to Enid. + She was acting as a Red Cross nurse, and they were sending her to the + hospital at Carrefonds to take the first consignment of the great new + remedy for burns and scars. Carrefonds is very near Prezelay. It all came + to me in a moment. I told her how matters stood and how Enid was dying + little by little, just for lack of any sure knowledge. She gave me the + papers she had for herself and her chauffeur, Jacques Carton, and I used + them for myself and for Georges, Jean’s foster-brother, who was at home + from the Front on leave and was staying in his old room at the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Caesar’s ghost!” I sputtered. “You didn’t—you don’t mean to + say that—Why, good heavens, didn’t you know—?” + </p> + <p> + Then I petered off into silence; words were too weak for my emotions. She + had seen the risk of course, and so had the girl who had helped her; but + with the incredible bravery of women, they had acted with open eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she faltered; “I told you I felt mad, looking back at it. But Marie + is safe now; Jean has worked for her, and his relatives and friends have + helped, and the minister of war. It was the only way. Under my own name I + could never have got leave to enter the war zone while Jean was missing + and suspected—What is the matter, Mr. Bayne?” For once more I had + groaned aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Simply,” I cried stormily, “that I can’t bear thinking of it! The idea of + your taking risks, of your daring the police and the Germans—you who + oughtn’t to know what the word danger means! I tell you I can’t stand it. + Wasn’t there some man to do it for you? Well, it’s over now; and in the + future—See here, Miss Falconer, I can’t wait any longer. There is + something I’ve got to say.” + </p> + <p> + But I was not to say it yet, for, behold! just as my tongue was loosened, + I became aware of a most distinguished galaxy approaching us round the + lake. All save one of its members—Dunny, to be exact—were in + uniform; and the personage in the lead, walking between my guardian and + the duke of Raincy-la-Tour, was truly dazzling, being arrayed in a blue + coat and spectacularly red trousers and wearing as a finishing touch a red + cap freely braided with gold. Miss Falconer had risen. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” she exclaimed, “it is General Le Cazeau!” + </p> + <p> + “Then confound General Le Cazeau!” was my inhospitably cry. + </p> + <p> + He was, I saw when he drew close, a person of stately dignity, as indeed + the hero who had saved Merlancourt and broken that last furious, + desperate, senseless onslaught of the Boches ought by rights to be. + Perhaps his splendor made me nervous. At any rate, my conscience smote me. + I remembered with sudden panic all my manifold transgressions, beginning + with the hour when I had chucked reason overboard and had deliberately + concealed a murdered man’s body beneath a heap of straw. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” I gasped, “that this is an informal court martial. Nobody + could do the things I have done and be allowed to live. Still, I don’t see + why they cured me if they were going to hang or shoot me.” + </p> + <p> + I struggled up with the help of my crutches and stood waiting my doom. + </p> + <p> + The group had paused before us, and presentations followed, throughout + which the master of ceremonies was the Firefly of France. Then the + gray-headed general fixed me with a keen, stern gaze rather like an + eagle’s. + </p> + <p> + “Your affair, Monsieur, has been of an irregularity,” he said. + </p> + <p> + As with kaleidoscopic swiftness the details of my “affair” passed through + my memory, it was only by an effort that I restrained an indecorous shout. + He was correct. I could call to mind no single feature that had been + “regular,” from the thief who was not a thief and had flown out of my + window like a conjurer, to the fight in Prezelay castle where I had + vanquished four husky Germans, mostly by the aid of a wooden table, of all + implements on earth. + </p> + <p> + “It is too true, <i>Monsieur le General</i>,” I assented promptly. My + humility seemed to soften him; he relaxed; he even approached a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Of an irregularity,” he repeated. “But also it was of a gallantry. With a + boldness and a resource and a scorn for danger that, permit me to say, + mark your compatriots, you have unmasked and handed over to us one of our + most dangerous foes. For such service as you have rendered France is never + ungrateful. And, moreover, there have been friends to plead your cause and + to plead it well.” + </p> + <p> + As he ended he cast a glance at the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour and one at + Dunny, whereupon I was enlightened as to the purpose of my guardian’s + three trips to Paris the preceding week. I believe I have said before that + Dunny knows every one, everywhere; in fact, I have always felt that should + circumstances conspire to make me temporarily adopt a life of crime, he + could manage to pull such wires as would reinstate me in the public eye. + But the general was stepping close to me. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he was saying, “we are now allies, my country and the great + nation of which you are a son. Very soon your troops are coming. You will + fight on our soil, beneath your own banner. But your first blood was shed + for France, your first wounds borne for her, Monsieur; and in gratitude + she offers you this medal of her brave.” + </p> + <p> + He was pinning something to my coat, a bronze-colored, cross-shaped + something, a decoration that swung proudly from a ribbon of red and green. + I knew it well; I had seen it on the breasts of generals, captains, simple + poilus, all the picked flower of the French nation. With a thrill I looked + down upon it. It was the Cross of War. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + A THUNDERBOLT OF WAR + </h3> + <p> + The great moment had arrived. General Le Cazeau and his staff were on + their way back to Paris. The duke and duchess were at the chateau talking + with the <i>blesses</i>; for the second time Dunny had tactfully + disappeared. The approach of evening had spurred my faltering courage. As + the first rosiness of sunset touched the skies beyond Raincy-la-Tour and + lay across the water, I sat at the side of the only girl in the world and + poured out my plea. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t fair, you know,” I mourned. “I’ve only a few minutes. I + shouldn’t wonder if we heard your car honking for you in half an hour. To + make a girl like you look at a man like me would take days of eloquence, + and, besides, who would think of marrying any one with his head bound up + Turkish fashion as mine is now?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, and at the silvery sound of it I plucked up a hint of + courage; for surely, I thought, she wasn’t cruel enough to make game of me + as she turned me down. Still, I couldn’t really hope. She was too + wonderful, and my courtship had been too inadequate. Despondent, arms on + my knees, I harped upon the same string. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never had a chance to show you,” I lamented, “that I am civilized; + that I know how to take care of you and put cushions behind you and slide + footstools under your feet, and—er—all that. We’ve been too + busy eluding Germans and racing through forbidden zones and rescuing + papers from behind secret panels, for me to wait on you. Good heavens! To + think how I’ve done my duty by a hundred girls I shouldn’t know from Eve + if they happened along this moment! And I’ve never even sent you a box of + <i>marrons glaces</i> or flowers.” + </p> + <p> + She shot a fleeting glance at me. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she agreed, “you haven’t! If you don’t mind my saying so, I think + they would have been out of place. At Bleau, for instance, and at Prezelay + I hadn’t much time for eating bonbons; but after all you did me one or two + more practical services, Mr. Bayne.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” I maintained, my gloom unabated, “that amounted to a row of + pins. Though I might have shone, I’ll admit; I can see that, looking back. + The opportunity was there, but the man was lacking. I might have been a + real movie hero, cool, resourceful, dependable, clear-sighted, a tower of + strength; and what I did was to muddle things up hopelessly and waste time + in suspecting you and seize every opportunity of trusting people who + positively spread their guilt before my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” She was looking at the lake, not at me, and she was + smiling. “There were one or two little matters that have slipped your + mind, perhaps. Take the very first night we met, when you tracked your + thief to my room and wouldn’t let the hotel people come in to search it. + Don’t you think, on the whole, that you were rather kind?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t have driven them in,” I declared stubbornly, “with a + pitchfork. I couldn’t have persuaded them to make a search if I had prayed + them on my bended knees. Their one idea was to help the fellow in what the + best criminal circles call a getaway; and when I think how I must have + been wool-gathering, not to guess—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, even so,”—Miss Falconer was still smiling—“weren’t you + very nice on the steamer? About the extra, I mean. And at Gibraltar, too, + when they asked you what you had thrown overboard—do you remember + how you kept silent and never even glanced my way?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I groaned, “I don’t; but I remember our trip to Paris. I remember + marching you into the wagon-restaurant like a hand-cuffed criminal, and + sitting you down at a table, and bullying you like a Russian czar. I gave + you three days to leave France. Have you forgotten? I haven’t. The one + thing I omitted—and I don’t see how I missed it—was to call + the gendarmes there at Modane and denounce you to them. It’s more than + kind of you to glide over my imbecilities; I appreciate it. But when I + think of that evening I want a nice, deep, dark dungeon, somewhere + underground, to hide.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she murmured consolingly, “that you made amends to me later.” + Her face was averted, but I could see a distracting dimple in her cheek. + “You mustn’t forget that I haven’t been perfect, either. When you followed + me to Bleau, and I came down the stairs and saw you, I misunderstood the + situation entirely and was as unpleasant as I could be.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally,” I acquiesced with dark meaning. “How could you have + understood it? How could any human being have fathomed the mental + processes that sent me there? I only wonder that instead of giving me + what-for, you didn’t murder me. Any United States jury would have + acquitted you with the highest praise.” + </p> + <p> + She turned upon me, flushed and spirited. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bayne, you are incorrigible! Why will you insist on belittling + everything that you have done? I suppose you will claim next that you + didn’t risk imprisonment or death every minute of a whole day, just to + help me, and that at Prezelay you didn’t fight like a—a—yes, + like a paladin!—to save me from being tortured by Herr von Blenheim + and his men!” + </p> + <p> + I started up and then sank back. + </p> + <p> + “As a special favor,” I begged her, “would you mind not mentioning that + last phase of the affair? When you do, I go berserker; I’m a crazy man, + seeing red; I’m honestly not responsible. It was when our friend Blenheim + developed those plans of his that I swore in my soul I’d get him; and I + thank the Lord that I did and that he’ll never trouble you or any other + woman again. + </p> + <p> + “Still, Miss Falconer, what does all that amount to? Any man would have + helped you, wouldn’t he? A nice sort of fellow I should have been to do + any less! Whereas for a girl like you I ought to have accomplished + miracles. I ought to have made the sun stop moving, or got you the stars + to play with, or whisked the moon out of the skies.” + </p> + <p> + She was laughing again. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” she exclaimed. “What fervor! Can this be my Mr. Bayne, the Mr. + Bayne of our adventure, who never turned a hair no matter what mad things + happened, and who was always so correct and conventional and so + immaculately dressed, and so—” + </p> + <p> + “Stodgy! Say it!” I cried with utter recklessness. “I know I was; Dunny + told me so that evening at the St. Ives. Have as many cracks at me as you + like. I was getting fat; I was beginning to think that the most important + thing in the universe was dinner. Well, I’m not stodgy any longer, Esme + Falconer; you’ve reformed me. But of all the men in all the ages who were + ever desperately, consumedly, imbecilely in love—” + </p> + <p> + In the distance two figures were strolling toward the blue car, the duke + and the duchess. When they reached it, the Firefly cast a glance in our + direction and sounded a warning, most unwelcome honk upon the horn. They + were going, stony-hearted creatures that they were! They were taking Esme + back to Paris. At the thought I abandoned my last pretense at + self-command. + </p> + <p> + “Esme, dearest,” I implored, “do you think you could put up with me? Could + you marry me when I’ve done my part over here—or even sooner—right + away? A dozen better men may love you, but mine is a special brand of love—unique, + incomparable! Are you going to have me—or shall I jump into the + lake?” + </p> + <p> + The sunset light was in her hair and in the gray, starry eyes she turned + to me—those eyes that, because their lashes were so long and + crinkled so maddeningly, were only half revealed. Her lips curved in a + fleeting smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you dear, blind, silly man! Do you think any girl could help loving + you—after all that has happened to you and me?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Then I caught her to me; and despite my crutches and my bandaged head and + that atrocious horn in the distance honking the signal for our parting, I + was the happiest being in France—or in the world. + </p> + <p> + “I knew all along it was a dream, and it is! Such things don’t really + happen. No such luck!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Firefly Of France, by Marion Polk Angellotti + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIREFLY OF FRANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 3676-h.htm or 3676-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/3676/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> |