Chapter XIII
A pale streak of daybreak along the eastern hills, a blackbird piping, then that intense stillness which heralds the sun.
In mid-heaven the last star-drops melted, washed out in the grey silver of the sky; a light breeze sighed through the trees, and, sighing, died.
Then, above earth, a sudden misty glory of gold and rose; and through it, as through a veil, the sword-edge of the celestial scimitar curved up, glittering.
Thus dawned the year of war on Saïs.
But the awakening world of summer did not seem to comprehend; the yellow-haired lad who drove his cows to pasture halted to read the placard on the door of the inn, then, whistling his dog to heel, ran forward after his slowly moving herd.
The miller of Saïs drove by on his way to the mill, drew rein to read the placard, looked up at the bullet-shattered window above, then jogged on, his furrowed features unaltered, his aged eyes fixed on his horse’s ears.
One or two washerwomen on the way to the meadow pool stood gracefully regarding the poster, flat baskets of clothes balanced on their heads; then moved on through the golden sunrise, still graceful, unhurried, exchanging leisurely comments on life and death as they walked.
In the kitchen of the Golden Peach, Magda was astir, and presently Linette appeared, very sleepy. As they went about the routine business to which they had been bred, they too exchanged tranquil views concerning emperors and kings and the mortality of all flesh. Also they took counsel together regarding the return of Madame Arlon, the ultimate necessity of summoning a glazier from Ausone, the damage done in the garden by the ladder.
The door of Philippa’s bedroom remained closed; Warner’s door also. But Halkett, his hands in his pockets, was out at sunrise, pacing the road in front of the inn, sometimes looking up at the shot-riddled windows, or at the placard on the front door, or along the road at the telephone wires which appeared to be intact as far as he could see.
But somewhere they had been cut, and communication still remained interrupted.
Deeply worried over the non-appearance of Gray, the cutting of the telephone wires now became a matter of serious concern to him. He scarcely knew how to act in his sudden isolation, and, though his instructions held him at Saïs until further orders, the decree for general mobilization would have started him off for Paris except for one thing. That was the continued absence of Gray and the possibility that something alarming had happened to him.
He could not take his envelope and start for England until he had met Gray or some authorized messenger from Gray. He had not explained this to Warner.
But the truth was that what plans he carried were useless without the interlocking plans carried by Gray. All the eggs had not been trusted to a single basket. And, vice versa, the information carried by Gray was of no practical account until supplemented by the contents of the long, thin envelope.
Gray’s papers and his, taken together, were of vital importance to England or to any enemy of England; separate they could be of no use to anybody, enemy or ally.
The determined attack on him the night before proved that others besides himself understood this. And it also made him realize the more clearly that since he had parted from Gray in Antwerp, the latter had been as open to such attacks as had he. The question now was: had they caught Gray? If so, it must have occurred within the last thirty-six hours, because he had talked over the telephone to Gray the evening of his own arrival at Saïs.
But since that conversation, which ended with the understanding that Gray should set out on his motor cycle for Saïs, not a word had he heard concerning his colleague, except that his cap had been found on the road south of Saïs, and that the condition of the roadside bank, and a few drops of blood, gave evidence of an accident—if, indeed, it had been an accident.
Nor had Halkett any idea who it was that had called him up on the telephone to tell him this.
As he stood there, looking down the road, terribly perplexed and filled with keenest apprehensions concerning his colleague, far away through the vista of poplars and telephone poles something white glimmered in the sunlit road.
It was the white cornette of a Sister of Charity; after a few minutes Halkett recognized the advancing figure and walked forward to meet her.
The color of early morning freshened her youthful cheeks, framed by the snowy wimple. She extended a friendly hand to him in salutation, as he came up and uncovered.
“At such an hour, Monsieur, only birds and Sisters of Charity are supposed to be on the wing. Is it curiosity that has awakened you to see how the sun really looks when it rises?”
But as she spoke she detected the deep anxiety which his smile masked, and her own face became responsively serious.
“Have you had bad news?” she asked gently.
“Worse—I have had no news at all. Are you going to the inn?”
“Yes.”
“May I help you gather your flowers?” he asked.
“Thank you—if you care to.”
They walked on in silence, skirted the garden wall westward, then north to the bullet-splintered green door.
Immediately she noticed the scars of the fusillade, gazed at them curiously for a moment, then laid a questioning forefinger across a bullet hole.
And while she stood so, he told her in a few words what had occurred the night before—told her everything, including the posting of the notice ordering a general mobilization.
She listened, her finger still resting over the shot hole, her calm face raised to his. And, when he ended:
“Then it is war already,” she said quietly.
“War has not been declared.... Yes, it is virtually war. Why not say so?”
She nodded; he pushed open the heavy little door, and Sister Eila bent her white-coiffed head and stepped lightly into the garden.
For a while she moved slowly along the flower-bordered paths, as though uncertain what to choose from among the perfumed thickets, then, setting her ozier basket on the edge of the walk, she knelt down before the white clove pinks; and Halkett dropped on his knees beside her.
They worked there together, exchanging scarcely a word, slowly filling the basket which lay between them.
Ariadne came up with a cheery mew of greeting, and after marching around and rubbing herself against Halkett, mounted to his shoulders and settled down, purring like a teakettle beside his ear.
When the basket was filled, Sister Eila stood up and straightened her shoulders, and Halkett rose too, the cat still perched on his shoulder.
He lifted the flower-heaped basket and set it in the shade of the arbor; Sister Eila seated herself and Halkett sat down on the stone steps at her feet.
After a silence, made resonant with Ariadne’s loudly cadenced purring, Sister Eila clasped her hands in her lap and looked steadily down at the heap of flowers in the green ozier basket.
“What is going to happen?” she asked in a low voice. “If there is to be a war, it will come here, I suppose.”
“I am afraid so.”
“Yes; Saïs cannot escape.”
“The Vosges are too near,” he nodded. “So is Ausone. So is the Rhine, for that matter.” He glanced up at her from where he sat caressing Ariadne. “Belgium also is too near, Sister Eila.”
“You believe they will arrive that way?”
“I feel very certain of it. And this means that England moves.”
“Where?”
“To the firing line.”
“With France?”
“Yes, Sister.”
She said quietly:
“That is as it should be, Mr. Halkett. The two great wardens of European liberty should stand together in its defense.”
“They’ve got to stand for each other,” he said, “—whatever else they stand for.”
“Alsace—Lorraine—I think this is to be a very holy war—for France,” she murmured to herself.
He said nothing. He was not very clear concerning the exact amount of holiness involved, but he knew that war had now become a necessity to England, if she meant to retain the autocracy of the seas.
“We’re bound to go in,” he remarked, stroking Ariadne; “there’s nothing else left for us to do. And if they don’t give us an excuse by invading Belgium, we’ll go in anyway. That’s the meaning of all this! It has only one real meaning. The ‘Day’ they’ve been drinking to so long is—Today! This entire matter has got to be settled once and for all. And that’s the truth, Sister Eila.”
He sat for a while silent, gazing out across the quiet garden. Then, again:
“As for Saïs, if there is an invasion of France, it must pass this way: if the Vosges are to be defended, Saïs will see war.”
“That will be very sad for us,” she said. “It seems as though there were already enough violence and misery in the quarries—enough of wretchedness and poverty. If the quarrymen are called to the colors with their classes, and if the quarries and cement works close, I don’t know what is to become of our school.”
“You said that it is a free school.”
“Yes, but the children live elsewhere, and are clothed and fed elsewhere. Except at noontime, we do not feed them. If we had money to provide beds and food, the school is large enough to shelter the children. However, I suppose we shall hear from the rue de Bac—the mother house, you know?”
She rose, picked up her basket of flowers, and Halkett also stood up.
“Good-by,” she said. “Thank you for helping.... I—I suppose you do not remain very long in Saïs?”
“I don’t know how long.”
She inclined her young head gravely.
They walked together to the green door in the wall, and again her eyes became riveted on the bullet marks.
“Perhaps,” she said, “you will have time to—to come to the school again before you leave Saïs?... Unless you think it dangerous——”
He looked up, then away from her.
“I’ll come—to the school.”
“Then—it is au revoir, I hope.”
He stood uncovered, holding open the door, and, as she passed in front of him, he took from her basket a white clove pink. She saw what he did, and halted instinctively to give him his choice. Suddenly, without any reason, her cheeks flushed brightly; she bent her head and stepped quickly through the archway, leaving him standing there with the dull color deepening in his sun-tanned face.
Warner discovered him still standing where she had left him, the white blossom hanging from his clenched fist.
“Well,” he said, “how did you sleep after that villainous business of last night?”
“Thanks, I slept,” replied Halkett, rousing himself.
They went into the arbor together, and presently Linette came out of the house carrying their coffee.
“Where is your little friend Philippa?” inquired the Englishman with an effort.
“In bed, I fancy. Linette has just taken up her café-au-lait. I think the child is feeling the reaction.”
“No wonder. Plucky little thing!”
“Yes. But what on earth am I going to do with her, Halkett? Ought I to wait until that old scoundrel Wildresse comes here or telephones? Ought I to try to persuade her to go back to that cabaret? Ought I to telephone that she is safe here?”
“The wires are cut.”
“I know. Somebody will fix them, though. Do you think I’d better try to persuade Philippa to let me drive her over to Ausone in the trap? If I’m to keep her, I ought to have an interview with Wildresse, or she and I will get into trouble.”
“Oh, Lord!” said Halkett. “That’s your affair. Listen, Warner, I’m so worried about Gray I can’t think of anything else. Something serious certainly has happened to him. And until those wires are repaired, I shan’t know what to do. Is there any other way we can communicate with Ausone?”
“None that I know of, unless somebody goes over to Ausone. I can do that if you like. I can drive over in the trap. Of course the telephone people already know that there’s a break on the line, and no doubt they’re out now looking for it. We’ll be in communication with Ausone by noon, I expect.”
For a little while they exchanged views concerning the attack of the previous night, and Halkett was of the opinion that the order for mobilization would now restrain any further violence on the part of those who had been following him, if, indeed, it did not entirely clear them out of France. And he expressed a desire for the envelope.
So Warner went into the house, lifted the partly hardened skin of white lead from the canvas, disinterred the envelope, wiped it clean, and brought it out to Halkett. The Englishman put it into his breast pocket.
“It was perfectly safe where it was,” remarked the other. “It’s an invitation to murder where it is now.”
“Yes, but it’s no good to anybody unless Gray turns up. I wish I knew what had become of that man. I think I’ll try the telephone again——”
He rose and walked swiftly toward the house, Ariadne trotting at his heels. Even as he approached, he heard the telephone bell ringing, and hastened his steps toward the house.
But as he entered, the girl Philippa stepped into the hallway, and he caught a glimpse of a slim, barefooted figure, holding with one hand the folds of a shabby chamber robe around her, and with the other the receiver.
“What?” she cried in answer to a question. “Yes, I am Philippa.... Oh! It’s you. I thought so.... What do you desire of me?”
What Wildresse desired of the girl Philippa intimately concerned Halkett. He coolly remained to listen.
“No!” she said in her clear, emotionless voice. “I shall not come back!... Very well; if the Government agents want me, they can find me here.... You may threaten me with arrest by the Government if you choose, but I know that you are more afraid of the Government than I am.... Why shouldn’t I say it! Yes, I know quite well that we are going to have war.... You say that the Germans are already across the Duchy? Skirmishing before Longwy? Very well; why don’t you inform one of your Governments?... No, I won’t keep quiet! No, no, no!... What you say does not frighten me.... I refuse to return!... Because I am now in an honest business for myself.... Yes, it is an honest business. I am permitted to pose for an artist of great distinction.... What you say does not frighten me; but what you are does cause me some apprehension. And knowing as much as I do know about you, I seriously advise you to leave France.... No, I haven’t said such a thing to anybody else, but I am likely to, so you had better hasten to leave for America. Yes, I will tell you why, if you wish. It is because there are always two millstones when anything is to be crushed. War is now beginning to bring those two stones together. The mill wheel already is turning! When the two millstones meet, the little meal worm that has remained between them so long in safety is going to be crushed.... Oh, yes, you do know what I mean! You also know whom I mean. Very well, then, if you don’t I’ll tell you this much: double wages never are paid by a single master. I learned that yesterday when you gave me the wrong paper to forward to Paris with the others. Fortunately for you, I read it. I then burnt it to ashes and took my clothes and my punt and my departure! I might have continued to endure what you had accustomed me to. But two masters! Faugh! The horror of it!... Fear? If you really think that of me, then you have never really known me. It was disgust and shame that drove me toward liberty.... Yes, this that I say is final.... You dare not interfere!... Then I’ll say this: if you do not leave France now, at once, in this moment of her peril, I will tell what I know to the first soldier of France who crosses my path!... I am not afraid of you, I tell you.... Believe me, you are well rid of me.... I warn you, in God’s name, to let me alone!”
She hung up the receiver, turned, and mounted the stairs with flying feet, but at the top landing Halkett’s quiet voice halted her.
“I was listening, Philippa. What that man says or does may cost me dear. What did he want of you?”
“Mr. Halkett,” leaning swiftly toward him over the handrail above—“he is the most ignoble of creatures! And after five years I learned only yesterday that he sells his filthy secrets in two markets!—Three, perhaps; I don’t know how many! And I no longer care! It ceases to interest me!”
“Wait! It interests me!”
“But I can’t say any more to you than I have——”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Can I? You know better than I. But I don’t wish to betray anybody, even such a man as—as——”
“Wildresse?”
“Yes.”
“Is he also betraying France?”
“I—I don’t know. I suppose it is that. I haven’t yet tried to comprehend it——”
“What was the paper you started to forward, then read, and finally burned?”
“It was a letter directed to a Mr. Esser. He is a German.”
“The head of the Esser Cement Works?”
“Yes.”
“What was in the letter?”
“A list of the guns in the Ausone Fort and a plan of the emplacements on tissue paper.... Perhaps I am stupid, but I could guess what a German wanted with a plan of a French fort! It was enough for me! I took my punt and my effects and I departed!”
“You burnt the letter?”
“In my candle. Also, I wrote on a piece of paper, ‘You damned traitor!’ and I pinned it on his door. Then I went out by the garden door with my leather trunk on my head!”
“Come down when you are dressed,” said Halkett, and walked back through the hallway to the garden.
“Warner,” he said, “this old spider, Wildresse, is certainly a bad lot. I’d have him arrested by French gendarmes if I were certain that England is going in. But I dare not chance it until I’m sure. Perhaps I dare not chance it at all, because if he has had anything to do with Gray’s disappearance, as I am beginning to suspect, it would not do to have the French authorities examine my papers.”
“Why?”
“Because—if they have already seized Gray’s papers, they will secure military information which perhaps my Government might not care to have even an ally possess. I don’t know whether Gray is living or dead; I don’t know who has Gray’s papers at this instant. That’s the trouble. And I’m hanged if I know what to do! I’m stumped, and that’s the devilish truth!”
He took a few quick, uncertain steps along the flower beds, turned, came back to the arbor where Warner was seated:
“It’s a mess!” he said. “Even if agents employed by Wildresse have robbed Gray—murdered him, perhaps, to do it—I don’t know what Wildresse means to do with Gray’s papers.”
“What!”
Halkett nodded:
“Yes, he’s that kind! Pleasant, isn’t it? If he has Gray’s papers, it may be France that will pay him for them; it may be that Germany has already bought and paid for them. In either case, carrying the papers I carry, I hesitate to ask for his arrest. Do you understand?”
“Very clearly. If there is any way you can think of to get hold of this scoundrel, I’ll be glad to help. Shall we drive over to Ausone and try?”
“You’re very kind, Warner. I don’t know; I want to think it over——” He turned and walked back to the house, entered the hallway, unhooked the telephone, and finally was given a connection—not the one he had asked for.
A voice said curtly:
“During mobilization no private messages are transmitted.” Click! And the connection was severed. Again and again he made the attempt; no further attention was paid to his ringing. Finally he hung up the receiver and started to go out through the front doorway.
As he crossed the threshold, a young man in tweeds rode up on a bicycle, stepped off, and, lifting his cap to Halkett, said politely:
“Monsieur Halkett, if you please? Is he still residing here at the Golden Peach?”
Halkett’s right hand dropped carelessly into the side pocket of his coat. When he had cocked his automatic, he said pleasantly:
“I am Mr. Halkett.”
The young man said smilingly, in perfect English:
“Do you expect a friend, Mr. Halkett?”
“Perhaps.”
“Possibly you expect a Mr. Reginald Gray?”
“Possibly.”
“He has been injured.”
“Really?”
“Yes, rather seriously. He lost control of his motor cycle two nights ago. He was on his way to join you here.”
“Indeed?”
“So he told me before he became unconscious.”
“Is he still unconscious?”
“No, but he is too weak to move.”
“Where is he?”
“At my house, in Bois d’Avril. I was motoring that evening, and I found him in the road, insensible. So I lifted him into my car, slung his motor cycle on behind, and went top speed for home. He’s in my own house in Bois d’Avril. The physician thinks he will recover.”
“What is your telephone number?” asked Halkett bluntly.
The young man gave it, adding that the transmission of private messages had, unfortunately, been suspended during mobilization. Which Halkett knew to be true.
“Very well,” he said, “I shall go to Bois d’Avril at once——”
“It is not necessary; I have a message for you, and some papers from Mr. Gray.”
“Really?”
The young man smiled, drew from his inner pocket a long, thin envelope, and handed it to Halkett. The latter held it in his hand, looking steadily into the stranger’s pleasant face for a full minute, then he coolly opened the envelope.
Inside were the missing papers concerning the Harkness shell, complete.
There could be no doubt concerning their identity; he recognized them at a glance. A deep sigh of relief escaped him.
He said:
“There’s no use trying to thank you——”
“It’s quite all right,” interrupted the young man smilingly. “If you don’t mind offering me a drink—the road over was rather dusty——”
“Leave your wheel there and come in!” exclaimed Halkett cordially, stepping aside in the doorway.
The young man laid his bicycle against the steps, turned with a smile, and entered the doorway.
As he passed, he turned like lightning and struck Halkett full between the eyes with his clenched fist.