CHAPTER XI. THE THIRTEENTH ENCOUNTER
The Marquis de Sogrange arrived in Berkeley Square with the gray dawn ofan October morning, showing in his appearance and dress few enough signsof his night journey. Yet he had traveled without stopping from Paris,by fast motor car and the mail boat.
"They telephoned me from Charing Cross," Peter said, "that you could notpossibly arrive until midday. The clerk assured me that no train had yetreached Calais."
"They had reason in what they told you," Sogrange remarked, as he leanedback in a chair and sipped the coffee which had been waiting for him inthe Baron de Grost's study. "The train itself never got more than a mileaway from the Gare du Nord. The engine-driver was shot through the headand the metals were torn from the way. Paris is within a year now of asecond and more terrible revolution."
"You really believe this?" Peter asked, gravely.
"It is a certainty," Sogrange replied. "Not I alone but many others cansee this clearly. Everywhere the Socialists have wormed themselves intoplaces of trust. They are to be met with in every rank of life, underevery form of disguise. The post-office strike has already shown us whatdeplorable disasters even a skirmish can bring about. To-day the railwaystrike has paralyzed France. To-day our country lies absolutely at themercy of any invader. As it happens, none is, for the moment, prepared.Who can tell how it may be next time?"
"This is had news," Peter declared. "If this is really the position ofaffairs, the matter is much more serious than the newspapers would haveus believe."
"The newspapers," Sogrange muttered, "ignore what lies behind. Some ofthem, I think, are paid to do it. As for the rest, our Press had alwaysan ostrich-like tendency. The Frenchman of the cafe does not buy hisjournal to be made sad."
"You believe, then," Peter asked, "that these strikes have some definitetendency?"
Sogrange set down his cup and smiled bitterly. In the early sunlight,still a little cold and unloving, Peter could see that there was achange in the man. He was no longer the debonair aristocrat of therace-courses and the boulevards. The shadows under his eyes were deeper,his cheeks more sunken. He had lost something of the sprightliness ofhis bearing. His attitude, indeed, was almost dejected. He was likea man who sees into the future and finds there strange and gruesomethings.
"I do more than believe that," he declared. "I know it. It has fallento my lot to make a very definite discovery concerning them. Listen,my friend. For more than six months the government has been trying todiscover the source of this stream of vile socialistic literature whichhas contaminated the French working classes. The pamphlets have beendistributed with devilish ingenuity among all national operatives,the army and the navy. The government has failed. The Double-Four hassucceeded."
"You have really discovered their source?" Peter exclaimed.
"Without a doubt," Sogrange assented. "The government appealed tous first some months ago when I was in America. For a time we had nosuccess. Then a clue, and the rest was easy. The navy, the army, thepost-office employees, the telegraph and telephone operators and therailway men, have been the chief recipients of this incessant streamof foul literature. To-day one cannot tell how much mischief has beenactually done. The strikes which have already occurred are only themutterings of the coming storm. But mark you, wherever those pamphletshave gone, trouble has followed. What men may do the government isdoing, but all the time the poison is at work, the seed has been sown.Two millions of money have been spent to corrupt that very class whichshould be the backbone of France. Through the fingers of one man hascome this shower of gold, one man alone has stood at the head of thegreat organization which has disseminated this loathsome disease. Behindhim--well, we know."
"The man?"
"It is fitting that you should ask that question," Sogrange replied."The name of that man is Bernadine, Count von Hern."
Peter remained speechless. There was something almost terrible in theslow preciseness with which Sogrange had uttered the name of his enemy,something unspeakably threatening in the cold glitter of his angry eyes.
"Up to the present," Sogrange continued, "I havewatched--sympathetically, of course, but with a certain amount ofamusement--the duel between you and Bernadine. It has been against yourcountry and your country's welfare that most of his efforts have beendirected, which perhaps accounts for the equanimity with which I havebeen contented to remain a looker-on. It is apparent, my dear Baron,that in most of your encounters the honors have remained with you.Yet, as it has chanced, never once has Bernadine been struck a real andcrushing blow. The time has come when this and more must happen. It isno longer a matter of polite exchanges. It is a duel a outrance."
"You mean," Peter began--
"I mean that Bernadine must die," Sogrange declared.
There was a brief silence. Outside, the early morning street noises wereincreasing in volume as the great army of workers, streaming towards theheart of the city from a hundred suburbs, passed on to their tasks.A streak of sunshine had found its way into the room, lay across thecarpet and touched Sogrange's still, waxen features. Peter glancedhalf fearfully at his friend and visitor. He himself was no coward, noshrinker from the great issues. He, too, had dealt in life and death.Yet there was something in the deliberate preciseness of Sogrange'swords, as he sat there only a few feet away, unspeakably thrilling.It was like a death sentence pronounced in all solemnity upon someshivering criminal. There was something inevitable and tragical aboutthe whole affair. A pronouncement had been made from which there was noappeal--Bernadine was to die!
"Isn't this a little exceeding the usual exercise of our powers?" Peterasked, slowly.
"No such occasion as this has ever yet arisen," Sogrange reminded him."Bernadine has fled to this country with barely an hour to spare. Hisoffense is extraditable by a law of the last century which has neverbeen repealed. He is guilty of treason against the Republic of France.Yet they do not want him back, they do not want a trial. I have papersupon my person which, if I took them into an English court, wouldprocure for me a warrant for Bernadine's arrest. It is not this wedesire. Bernadine must die. No fate could be too terrible for a man whohas striven to corrupt the soul of a nation. It is not war, this. Itis not honest conspiracy. Is it war, I ask you, to seek to poison thedrinking water of an enemy, to send stalking into their midst someloathsome disease? Such things belong to the ages of barbarity.Bernadine has striven to revive them and Bernadine shall die."
"It is justice," Peter admitted.
"The question remains," Sogrange continued, "by whose hand--yours ormine?"
Peter started uneasily.
"Is that necessary?" he asked.
"I fear that it is," Sogrange replied. "We had a brief meeting of theexecutive council last night, and it was decided, for certain reasons,to entrust this task into no other hands. You will smile when I tell youthat these accursed pamphlets have found their way into the possessionof many of the rank and file of our own order. There is a markeddisinclination on the part of those who have been our slaves, to acceptorders from any one. Espionage we can still command--the best, perhaps,in Europe--because here we use a different class of material. But ofthose underneath, we are, for the moment, doubtful. Paris is all in aferment. Under its outward seemliness a million throats are ready totake up the brazen cry of revolution. One trusts nobody. One fears allthe time."
"You or I!" Peter repeated, slowly. "It will not be sufficient, then,that we find Bernadine and deliver him over to your country's laws?"
"It will not be sufficient," Sogrange answered, sternly. "From those hemay escape. For him there must be no escape."
"Sogrange," Peter said, speaking in a low tone, "I have never yet killeda human being."
"Nor I," Sogrange admitted. "Nor have I yet set my heel upon its headand stamped the life from a rat upon the pavement. But one lives and onemoves on. Bernadine is the enemy of your country and mine. He makeswar after the fashion of vermin. No ordinary cut-throat would succeedagainst him. It must be you or I."
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"How shall we decide?" Peter asked.
"The spin of a coin," Sogrange replied. "It is best that way. It isbest, too, done quickly."
Peter produced a sovereign from his pocket and balanced it on the palmof his hand.
"Let it be understood," Sogrange continued, "that this is a dualundertaking. We toss only for the final honor--for the last stroke. Ifthe choice falls upon me, I shall count upon you to help me to the end.If it falls upon you, I shall be at your right hand even when you strikethe blow."
"It is agreed," Peter said. "See, it is for you to call."
He threw the coin high into the air.
"I call heads," Sogrange decided.
It fell upon the table. Peter covered it with his hand and then slowlywithdrew the fingers. A little shiver ran through his veins. Theharmless head that looked up at him was like the figure of death. It wasfor him to strike the blow!
"Where is Bernadine now?" he asked.
"Get me a morning paper and I will tell you," Sogrange declared, rising."He was in the train which was stopped outside the Gare du Nord, on hisway to England. What became of the passengers I have not heard. I knewwhat was likely to happen, and I left an hour before in a 100 H. P.Charron."
Peter rang the bell and ordered the servant who answered it to procurethe Daily Telegraph. As soon as it arrived, he spread it open upon thetable and Sogrange looked over his shoulder. These are the headingswhich they saw in large black characters:
RENEWED RIOTS IN PARIS
THE GARE DU NORD IN FLAMES
TERRIBLE ACCIDENT TO THE CALAIS-DOUVRES EXPRESS
MANY DEATHS
Peter's forefinger traveled down the page swiftly. It paused at thefollowing paragraph:
The 8.55 train from the Gare du Nord, carrying many passengers forLondon, after being detained within a mile of Paris for over an hourowing to the murder of the engine-driver, made an attempt last nightto proceed, with terrible results. Near Chantilly, whilst travellingat over fifty miles an hour, the switches were tampered with andthe express dashed into a goods train laden with minerals. Very fewparticulars are yet to hand, but the express was completely wrecked andmany lives have been lost.
Among the dead are the following:
One by one Peter read out the names. Then he stopped short. A littleexclamation broke from Sogrange's lips. The thirteenth name upon thatlist of dead was that of Bernadine, Count von Hern.
"Bernadine!" Peter faltered. "Bernadine is dead!"
"Killed by the strikers!" Sogrange echoed! "It is a just thing, this."
The two men looked down at the paper and then up at one another. Astrange silence seemed to have found its way into the room. The shadowof death lay between them. Peter touched his forehead and found it wet.
"It is a just thing, indeed," he repeated, "but justice and death arealike terrible."...
Late in the afternoon of the same day, a motor car, splashed with mud,drew up before the door of the house in Berkeley Square. Sogrange, whowas standing talking to Peter before the library window, suddenly brokeoff in the middle of a sentence. He stepped back into the room andgripped his friend's shoulder.
"It is the Baroness!" he exclaimed, quickly. "What does she want here?"
"The Baroness who? Peter demanded.
"The Baroness von Ratten. You must have heard of her--she is the friendof Bernadine."
The two men had been out to lunch at the Ritz with Violet and had walkedacross the Park home. Sogrange had been drawing on his gloves in the actof starting out for a call at the Embassy.
"Does your wife know this woman?" he asked. Peter shook his head.
"I think not," he replied.
"Then she has come to see you," Sogrange continued. "What does it mean,I wonder?"
Peter shrugged his shoulders.
"We shall know in a minute."
There was a knock at the door and his servant entered, bearing a card.
"This lady would like to see you, sir, on important business," he said.
"You can show her in here," Peter directed.
There was a very short delay. The two men had no time to exchangea word. They heard the rustling of a woman's gown, and immediatelyafterwards the perfume of violets seemed to fill the room.
"The Baroness von Ratten!" the butler announced.
The door was closed behind her. The servant had disappeared. Peteradvanced to meet his guest. She was a little above medium height, veryslim, with extraordinarily fair hair, colorless face, and strange eyes.She was not strictly beautiful and yet there was no man upon whom herpresence was without its effect. Her voice was like her movements, slowand with a grace of its own.
"You do not mind that I have come to see you?" she asked, raising hereyes to Peter's. "I believe before I go that you will think terriblethings of me, but you must not begin before I have told you my errand.It has been a great struggle with me before I made up my mind to comehere."
"Won't you sit down, Baroness?" Peter invited.
She saw Sogrange and hesitated.
"You are not alone," she said, softly. "I wish to speak with you alone."
"Permit me to present to you the Marquis de Sogrange," Peter begged. "Heis my oldest friend, Baroness. I think that whatever you might have tosay to me you might very well say before him."
"It is--of a private nature," she murmured.
"The Marquis and I have no secrets," Peter declared, "either politicalor private."
She sat down and motioned Peter to take a place by her side upon thesofa.
"You will forgive me if I am a little incoherent," she implored. "To-dayI have had a shock. You, too, have read the news? You must know that theCount von Hern is dead--killed in the railway accident last night?"
"We read it in the Daily Telegraph," Peter replied.
"It is in all the papers," she continued. "You know that he was a verydear friend of mine?"
"I have heard so," Peter admitted.
"Yet there was one subject," she insisted, earnestly, "upon which wenever agreed. He hated England. I have always loved it. England was kindto me when my own country drove me out. I have always felt grateful. Ithas been a sorrow to me that in so many of his schemes, in so much ofhis work, Bernadine should consider his own country at the expense ofyours."
Sogrange drew a little nearer. It began to be interesting, this.
"I heard the news early this morning by telegram," she went on. "Fora long time I was prostrated. Then early this afternoon I began tothink--one must always think. Bernadine was a dear friend, but thingsbetween us lately have been different, a little strained. Was it hisfault or mine--who can say? Does one tire with the years, I wonder? Iwonder!"
Her eyes were lifted to his and Peter was conscious of the fact thatshe wished him to know that they were beautiful. She looked slowly awayagain.
"This afternoon, as I sat alone," she proceeded, "I remembered thatin my keeping were many boxes of papers and many letters which haverecently arrived, all belonging to Bernadine. I reflected that therewere certainly some who were in his confidence, and that very soonthey would come from his country and take them all away. And then Iremembered what I owed to England, and how opposed I always was toBernadine's schemes, and I thought that the best thing I could do toshow my gratitude would be to place his papers all in the hands of someEnglishman, so that they might do no more harm to the country which hasbeen kind to me. So I came to you."
Again her eyes were lifted to his and Peter was very sure indeed thatthey were wonderfully beautiful. He began to realize the fascination ofthis woman, of whom he had heard so much. Her very absence of coloringwas a charm.
"You mean that you have brought me these papers?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly.
"No," she said, "I could not do that. There were too many of them--theyare too heavy, and there are piles of pamphlets--revolutionarypamphlets, I am afraid--all in French, which I do not understand.
No, Icould not bring them to you. But I ordered my motor car and I droveup here to tell you that if you like to come down to the house in thecountry where I have been living, to which Bernadine was to have cometo-night--yes, and bring your friend, too, if you will--you shall lookthrough them before any one else can arrive."
"You are very kind," Peter murmured. "Tell me where it is that youlive."
"It is beyond Hitchin," she told him, "up the Great North Road. I tellyou at once, it is a horrible house in a horrible lonely spot. Withina day or two I shall leave it myself forever. I hate it--it gets onmy nerves. I dream of all the terrible things which perhaps have takenplace there. Who can tell? It was Bernadine's long before I came toEngland."
"When are we to come?" Peter asked.
"You must come back with me now, at once," the Baroness insisted. "Icannot tell how soon some one in his confidence may arrive."
"I will order my car," Peter declared.
She laid her hand upon his arm.
"Do you mind coming in mine?" she begged. "It is of no consequence, ifyou object, but every servant in Bernadine's house is a German and aspy. There are no women except my own maid. Your car is likely enoughknown to them and there might be trouble. If you will come with menow, you and your friend, if you like, I will send you to the stationto-night in time to catch the train home. I feel that I must have thisthing off my mind. You will come? Yes?"
Peter rang the bell and ordered his coat.
"Without a doubt," he answered. "May we not offer you some tea first?"
She shook her head.
"To-day I cannot think of eating or drinking," she replied. "Bernadineand I were no longer what we had been, but the shock of his death seemsnone the less terrible. I feel like a traitor to him for coming here,yet I believe that I am doing what is right," she added, softly.
"If you will excuse me for one moment," Peter said, "while I take leaveof my wife, I will rejoin you presently."
Peter was absent for only a few minutes. Sogrange and the Baronessexchanged the merest commonplaces. As they all passed down the hall,Sogrange lingered behind.
"If you will take the Baroness out to the car," he suggested, "I willtelephone to the Embassy and tell them not to expect me."
Peter offered his arm to his companion. She seemed, indeed, to needsupport. Her fingers clutched at his coat-sleeve as they passed on tothe pavement.
"I am so glad to be no longer quite alone," she whispered. "Almost Iwish that your friend were not coming. I know that Bernadine and youwere enemies, but then you were enemies not personally, but politically.After all, it is you who stand for the things which have become so dearto me."
"It is true that Bernadine and I were bitter antagonists," Peteradmitted, gravely. "Death, however, ends all that. I wish him no furtherharm."
She sighed.
"As for me," she said, "I am growing used to being friendless. I wasfriendless before Bernadine came, and latterly we have been nothing toone another. Now, I suppose, I shall know what it is to be an outcastonce more. Did you ever hear my history, I wonder?"
Peter shook his head.
"Never, Baroness," he replied. "I understood, I believe, that yourmarriage--"
"My husband divorced me," she confessed, simply. "He was quite withinhis rights. He was impossible. I was very young and very sentimental.They say that Englishwomen are cold," she added. "Perhaps that is so.People think that I look cold. Do you?"
Sogrange suddenly opened the door of the car in which they were alreadyseated. She leaned back and half closed her eyes.
"It is rather a long ride," she said, "and I am worn out. I hope youwill not mind, but for myself I cannot talk when motoring. Smoke, if itpleases you."
"Might one inquire as to our exact destination?" Sogrange asked.
"We go beyond Hitchin, up the Great North Road," she told him again."The house is called the High House. It stands in the middle of a heathand I think it is the loneliest and most miserable place that was everbuilt. I hate it and I am frightened in it. For some reason or other, itsuited Bernadine, but that is all over now."
The little party of three relapsed into silence. The car, drivencarefully enough through the busy streets, gradually increased itspace as they drew clear of the suburbs. Peter leaned back in his place,thinking. Bernadine was dead! Nothing else would have convinced himso utterly of the fact as that simple sentence in the Daily Telegraph,which had been followed up by a confirmation and a brief obituary noticein all the evening papers. Curiously enough, the fact seemed to havedrawn a certain spice out of even this adventure; to point, indeed, toa certain monotony in the future. Their present enterprise, importantthough it might turn out to be, was nothing to be proud of. A woman,greedy for gold, was selling her lover's secrets before the breath wasout of his body. Peter turned in his cushioned seat to look at her.Without doubt, she was beautiful to one who understood, beautiful ina strange, colorless, feline fashion, the beauty of soft limbs, softmovements, a caressing voice, with always the promise beyond of morethan the actual words. Her eyes now were closed, her face was a littleweary. Did she really rest, Peter wondered? He watched the rising andfalling of her bosom, the quivering now and then of her eyelids. She hadindeed the appearance of a woman who had suffered.
The car rushed on into the darkness. Behind them lay that restlessphantasmagoria of lights streaming to the sky. In front, blank space.Peter, through half-closed eyes, watched the woman by his side. Fromthe moment of her entrance into his library, he had summed her up inhis mind with a single word. She was, beyond a doubt, an adventuress. Nowoman could have proposed the things which she had proposed, who wasnot of that ilk. Yet for that reason it behooved them to have a care intheir dealings with her. At her instigation they had set out upon thisadventure, which might well turn out according to any fashion that shechose. Yet without Bernadine what could she do? She was not the womanto carry on the work which he had left behind, for the love of him. Herwords had been frank, her action shameful but natural. Bernadinewas dead and she had realized quickly enough the best market for hissecrets. In a few days' time his friends would have come and she wouldhave received nothing. He told himself that he was foolish to doubt her.There was not a flaw in the sequence of events, no possible reason forthe suspicions which yet lingered at the back of his brain. Intrigue,it was certain, was to her as the breath of her body. He was perfectlywilling to believe that the death of Bernadine would have affected herlittle more than the sweeping aside of a fly. His very common sense badehim accept her story.
By degrees he became drowsy. Suddenly he was startled into a verywide-awake state. Through half-closed eyes he had seen Sogrange drawa sheet of paper from his pocket, a gold pencil from his chain, andcommence to write. In the middle of a sentence, his eyes were abruptlylifted. He was looking at the Baroness. Peter, too, turned his head;he, also, looked at the Baroness. Without a doubt, she had been watchingboth of them. Sogrange's pencil continued its task, only he tracedno more characters. Instead, he seemed to be sketching a face, whichpresently he tore carefully up into small pieces and destroyed. He didnot even glance towards Peter, but Peter understood very well what hadhappened. He had been about to send him a message, but had foundthe Baroness watching. Peter was fully awake now. His faint sense ofsuspicion had deepened into a positive foreboding. He had a recklessdesire to stop the car, to descend upon the road and let the secrets ofBernadine go where they would. Then his natural love of adventure blazedup once more. His moment of weakness had passed. The thrill was in hisblood, his nerves were tightened. He was ready for what might come,seemingly still half asleep, yet, indeed, with every sense of intuitionand observation keenly alert.
Sogrange leaned over from his place.
"It is a lonely country, this, into which we are coming, madame," heremarked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Indeed, it is not so lonely here as you will think it when we arriveat our destination," she replied. "There are houses here, but they arehidden by the tree
s. There are no houses near us."
She rubbed the pane with her hand.
"We are, I believe, very nearly there," she said. "This is the nearestvillage. Afterwards, we just climb a hill and about half a mile alongthe top of it is the High House."
"And the name of the village," Sogrange inquired.
"St Mary's," she told him, "In the summer people call it beautifularound here. To me it is the most melancholy spot I ever saw. Thereis so much rain, and one hears the drip, drip in the trees all the daylong. Alone I could not bear it. To-morrow or the next day I shall packup my belongings and come to London. I am, unfortunately," she added,with a little sigh, "very, very poor, but it is my hope that you mayfind the papers, of which I have spoken to you, valuable."
Sogrange smiled faintly. Peter and he could scarcely forbear to exchangea single glance. The woman's candor was almost brutal. She read theirthoughts.
"We ascend the hill," she continued. "We draw now very near to the endof our journey. There is still one thing I would say to you. Do notthink too badly of me for what I am about to do. To Bernadine, while helived, I was faithful. Many a time I could have told you of his plansand demanded a great sum of money, and you would have given it mewillingly, but my lips were sealed because, in a way, I loved him. Whilehe lived I gave him what I owed. To-day he is dead, and, whatever I do,it cannot concern him any more. To-day I am a free woman and I take theside I choose."
"Dear madame," he replied, "what you have proposed to us is, after all,quite natural and very gracious. If one has a fear at all about thematter, it is as to the importance of these documents you speak of.Bernadine, I know, has dealt in great affairs; but he was a diplomat byinstinct, experienced and calculating. One does not keep incriminatingpapers."
She leaned a little forward. The car had swung round a corner now andwas making its way up an avenue as dark as pitch.
"The wisest of us, Monsieur le Marquis," she whispered, "reckonsometimes without that one element of sudden death. What should you say,I wonder, to a list of agents in France pledged to circulate in certainplaces literature of an infamous sort? What should you say, monsieur, toa copy of a secret report of your late maneuvers, franked with the nameof one of your own staff officers? What should you say," she wenton, "to a list of Socialist deputies with amounts against their name,amounts paid in hard cash? Are these of no importance to you?"
"Madame," Sogrange answered, simply, "for such information, if it weregenuine, it would be hard to mention a price which we should not beprepared to pay."
The car came to a sudden standstill. The first impression of the two menwas that the Baroness had exaggerated the loneliness and desolation ofthe place. There was nothing mysterious or forbidding about the plain,brownstone house before which they had stopped. The windows werestreaming with light; the hall door, already thrown open, disclosed avery comfortable hall, brilliantly illuminated. A man-servant assistedhis mistress to alight, another ushered them in. In the background wereother servants. The Baroness glanced at the clock.
"About dinner, Carl?" she asked.
"It waits for madame," the man answered.
She nodded.
"Take care of these gentlemen till I descend," she ordered. "You willnot mind?" she added, turning pleadingly to Sogrange. "To-day I haveeaten nothing. I am faint with hunger. Afterwards, it will be a matterbut of half an hour. You can be in London again by ten o'clock."
"As you will, madame," Sogrange replied. "We are greatly indebted to youfor your hospitality. But for costume, you understand that we are as weare?"
"It is perfectly understood," she assured him. "For myself, I rejoin youin ten minutes. A loose gown, that is all."
Sogrange and Peter were shown into a modern bathroom by a servant whowas so anxious to wait upon them that they had difficulty in sending himaway. As soon as he was gone and the door closed behind him, Peter puthis foot against it and turned the key.
"You were going to write something to me in the car?"
Sogrange nodded.
"There was a moment," he admitted, "when I had a suspicion. It haspassed. This woman is no Roman. She sells the secrets of Bernadine asshe would sell herself. Nevertheless, it is well always to be prepared.There were probably others beside Bernadine who had the entree here."
"The only suspicious circumstance which I have noticed," Peter remarked,"is the number of men-servants. I have seen five already."
"It is only fair to remember," Sogrange reminded him, "that the Baronessherself told us that there were no other save men-servants here andthat they were all spies. Without a master, I cannot see that they aredangerous. One needs, however, to watch all the time."
"If you see anything suspicious," Peter said, "tap the table with yourforefinger. Personally, I will admit that I have had my doubts of theBaroness, but on the whole I have come to the conclusion that theywere groundless. She is not the sort of woman to take up a vendetta,especially an unprofitable one."
"She is an exceedingly dangerous person for an impressionable man likemyself," Sogrange remarked, arranging his tie.
The butler fetched them in a very few moments and showed them into apleasantly-furnished library, where he mixed cocktails for them froma collection of bottles upon the sideboard. He was quite friendly andinclined to be loquacious, although he spoke with a slight foreignaccent. The house belonged to an English gentleman from whom the honoredCount had taken it, furnished. They were two miles from a station anda mile from the village. It was a lonely part, but there were alwayspeople coming or going. With one's work one scarcely noticed it. He wasgratified that the gentlemen found his cocktails so excellent. Perhapshe might be permitted the high honor of mixing them another? It was aday, this, of deep sadness and gloom. One needed to drink something,indeed, to forget the terrible thing which had happened. The Count hadbeen a good master, a little impatient sometimes, but kind-hearted. Thenews had been a shock to them all.
Then, before they had expected her, the Baroness reappeared. She worea wonderful gray gown which seemed to be made in a single piece, a gownwhich fitted her tightly, and yet gave her the curious appearance of awoman walking without the burden of clothes. Sogrange, Parisian to thefinger-tips, watched her with admiring approval. She laid her fingersupon his arm, although it was towards Peter that her eyes traveled.
"Will you take me in, Marquis?" she begged. "It is the only formality wewill allow ourselves."
They entered a long, low dining-room, paneled with oak, and with thefamily portraits of the owner of the house still left upon the wall.Dinner was served upon a round table and was laid for four. There wasa profusion of silver, very beautiful glass, and a wonderful clusterof orchids. The Marquis, as he handed his hostess to her chair, glancedtowards the vacant place.
"It is for my companion, an Austrian lady," she explained. "To-night,however, I think that she will not come. She was a distant connection ofBernadine's and she is much upset. We leave her place and see. You willsit on my other side, Baron."
The fingers which touched Peter's arm brushed his hand, and werewithdrawn as though with reluctance. She sank into her chair with alittle sigh.
"It is charming of you two, this," she declared, softly. "You help methrough this night of solitude and sadness. What I should do if I werealone, I cannot tell. You must drink with me a toast, if you will. Willyou make it to our better acquaintance?"
No soup had been offered and champagne was served with the horsd'oeuvre. Peter raised his glass and looked into the eyes of the womanwho was leaning so closely towards him that her soft breath fell uponhis cheek. She whispered something in his ear. For a moment, perhaps, hewas carried away, but for a moment only. Then Sogrange's voice andthe beat of his forefinger upon the table stiffened him into suddenalertness. They heard a motor car draw up outside.
"Who can it be?" the Baroness exclaimed, setting her glass downabruptly.
"It is, perhaps, our fourth guest who arrives," Sogrange remarked.
They all three listened, Peter
and Sogrange with their glasses stillsuspended in the air.
"Our fourth guest?" the Baroness repeated. "Madame von Estenier isupstairs, lying down. I cannot tell who this may be."
Her lips were parted. The lines of her forehead had suddenly appeared.Her eyes were turned toward the door, hard and bright. Then the glasswhich she had nervously picked up again and was holding between herfingers, fell on to the tablecloth with a little crash, and the yellowwine ran bubbling on to her plate. Her scream echoed to the roof andrang through the room. It was Bernadine who stood there in the doorway,Bernadine in a long traveling ulster and the air of one newly arrivedfrom a journey. They all three looked at him, but there was not one whospoke. The Baroness, after her one wild cry, was dumb.
"I am indeed fortunate," Bernadine said. "You have as yet, I see,scarcely commenced. You probably expected me. I am charmed to find soagreeable a party awaiting my arrival."
He divested himself of his ulster and threw it across the arm of thebutler, who stood behind him.
"Come," he continued; "for a man who has just been killed in a railwayaccident, I find myself with an appetite. A glass of wine, Carl. Ido not know what that toast was, the drinking of which my cominginterrupted, but let us all drink it together. Aimee, my love to you,dear. Let me congratulate you upon the fortitude and courage with whichyou ignored those lying reports of my death. I had fears that I mightfind you alone in a darkened room, with tear-stained eyes and salvolatile by your side. This is infinitely better. Gentlemen, you arewelcome."
Sogrange lifted his glass and bowed courteously. Peter followed suit.
"Really," Sogrange murmured, "the Press nowadays becomes more unreliableevery day. It is apparent, my dear Von Hern, that this account of yourdeath was, to say the least of it, exaggerated."
Peter said nothing. His eyes were fixed upon the Baroness. She sat inher chair quite motionless, but her face had become like the face ofsome graven image. She looked at Bernadine, but her eyes said nothing.Every glint of expression seemed to have left her features. Since thatone wild shriek she had remained voiceless. Encompassed by danger thoughhe knew they now must be, Peter found himself possessed by one thoughtonly. Was this a trap into which they had fallen, or was the woman, too,deceived?
"You bring later news from Paris than I myself," Sogrange proceeded,helping himself to one of the dishes which a footman was passing round."How did you reach the coast? The evening papers stated distinctly thatsince the accident no attempt had been made to run trains."
"By motor car from Chantilly," Bernadine replied. "I had the misfortuneto lose my servant, who was wearing my coat, and who, I gather from thenewspaper reports, was mistaken for me. I myself was unhurt. I hired amotor car and drove to Boulogne--not the best of journeys, let me tellyou, for we broke down three times. There was no steamer there, but Ihired a fishing boat, which brought me across the Channel in somethingunder eight hours. From the coast I motored direct here. I was soanxious," he added, raising his eyes, "to see how my dear friend--mydear Aimee--was bearing the terrible news."
She fluttered for a moment like a bird in a trap. Peter drew a littlesigh of relief. His self-respect was reinstated. He had decided that shewas innocent. Upon them, at least, would not fall the ignominy of havingbeen led into the simplest of traps by this white-faced Delilah. Thebutler had brought her another glass, which she raised to her lips. Shedrained its contents, but the ghastliness of her appearance remainedunchanged. Peter, watching her, knew the signs. She was sick withterror.
"The conditions throughout France are indeed awful," Sogrange remarked."They say, too, that this railway strike is only the beginning of worsethings."
Bernadine smiled.
"Your country, dear Marquis," he said, "is on its last legs. No oneknows better than I that it is, at the present moment, honeycombed withsedition and anarchical impulses. The people are rotten. For years thewhole tone of France has been decadent. Its fall must even now be closeat hand."
"You take a gloomy view of my country's future," Sogrange declared.
"Why should one refuse to face facts?" Bernadine replied. "One does notoften talk so frankly, but we three are met together this evening undersomewhat peculiar circumstances. The days of the glory of France arepast. England has laid out her neck for the yoke of the conqueror. Bothare doomed to fall. Both are ripe for the great humiliation. You twogentlemen whom I have the honor to receive as my guests," he concluded,filling his glass and bowing towards them, "in your present unfortunatepredicament represent precisely the position of your two countries."
"Ave Caesar!" Peter muttered grimly, raising his glass to his lips.
Bernadine accepted the challenge.
"It is not I, alas! who may call myself Caesar," he replied, "althoughit is certainly you who are about to die."
Sogrange turned to the man who stood behind his chair.
"If I might trouble you for a little dry toast?" he inquired. "A modernbut very uncomfortable ailment," he added, with a sigh. "One's digestionmust march with the years, I suppose."
Bernadine smiled.
"Your toast you shall have, with pleasure, Marquis," he said, "but asfor your indigestion, do not let that trouble you any longer. I thinkthat I can promise you immunity from that annoying complaint for therest of your life."
"You are doing your best," Peter declared, leaning back in his chair,"to take away my appetite."
Bernadine looked searchingly from one to the other of his two guests.
"Yes," he admitted, "you are brave men. I do not know why I should everhave doubted it. Your pose is excellent. I have no wish, however, to seeyou buoyed up by a baseless optimism. A somewhat remarkable chance hasdelivered you into my hands. You are my prisoners. You, Peter, Baronde Grost, I have hated all my days. You have stood between me and theachievement of some of my most dearly-cherished tasks. Always I havesaid to myself that the day of reckoning must come. It has arrived. Asfor you, Marquis de Sogrange, if my personal feelings towards you areless violent, you still represent the things absolutely inimical tome and my interests. The departure of you two men was the one thingnecessary for the successful completion of certain tasks which I have inhand at the present moment."
Peter pushed away his plate.
"You have succeeded in destroying my appetite, Count," he declared. "Nowthat you have gone so far in expounding your amiable resolutions towardsus, perhaps you will go a little further and explain exactly how,in this eminently respectable house, situated, I understand, in aneminently respectable neighborhood, with a police station within a mile,and a dozen or so witnesses as to our present whereabouts, you intend toexpedite our removal?"
Bernadine pointed toward the woman who sat facing him.
"Ask the Baroness how these things are arranged."
They turned towards her. She fell back in her chair with a little gasp.She had fainted. Bernadine shrugged his shoulders. The butler and oneof the footmen, who during the whole of the conversation had stolidlyproceeded with their duties, in obedience to a gesture from their mastertook her up in their arms and carried her from the room.
"The fear has come to her, too," Bernadine murmured, softly. "It maycome to you, my brave friends, before morning."
"It is possible," Peter answered, his hand stealing around to his hippocket, "but in the meantime, what is to prevent--"
The hip pocket was empty. Peter's sentence ended abruptly. Bernadinemocked him.
"To prevent your shooting me in cold blood, I suppose," he remarked."Nothing except that my servants are too clever. No one save myself isallowed to remain under this roof with arms in their possession.Your pocket was probably picked before you had been in the place fiveminutes. No, my dear Baron, let me assure you that escape will not be soeasy! You were always just a little inclined to be led away by the fairsex. The best men in the world, you know, have shared that failing, andthe Baroness, alone and unprotected, had her attractions, eh?"
Then something happened to Peter which had happened to him
barely adozen times in his life. He lost his temper and lost it rather badly.Without an instant's hesitation, he caught up the decanter which stoodby his side and flung it in his host's face. Bernadine only partlyavoided it by thrusting out his arms. The neck caught his forehead andthe blood came streaming over his tie and collar. Peter had followed thedecanter with a sudden spring. His fingers were upon Bernadine's throatand he thrust his head back. Sogrange sprang to the door to lock it, buthe was too late. The room seemed full of men-servants. Peter was draggedaway, still struggling fiercely.
"Tie them up!" Bernadine gasped, swaying in his chair. "Tie them up, doyou hear? Carl, give me brandy."
He swallowed half a wineglassful of the raw spirit. His eyes were redwith fury.
"Take them to the gun room," he ordered, "three of you to each of them,mind. I'll shoot the man who lets either escape."
But Peter and Sogrange were both of them too wise to expend any moreof their strength in a useless struggle. They suffered themselves to beconducted without resistance across the white stone hall, down a longpassage, and into a room at the end, the window and fireplace ofwhich were both blocked up. The floor was of red flags and the wallswhitewashed. The only furniture was a couple of kitchen chairs and along table. The door was of stout oak and fitted with a double lock. Thesole outlet, so far as they could see, was a small round hole at the topof the roof. The door was locked behind them. They were alone.
"The odd trick to Bernadine!" Peter exclaimed hoarsely, wiping a spotof blood from his forehead. "My dear Marquis, I scarcely know how toapologize. It is not often that I lose my temper so completely."
"The matter seems to be of very little consequence," Sogrange answered."This was probably our intended destination in any case. Seems to berather an unfortunate expedition of ours, I am afraid."
"One cannot reckon upon men coming back from the dead," Peter declared."It isn't often that you find every morning and every evening papermistaken. As for the woman, I believe in her. She honestly meant to sellus those papers of Bernadine's. I believe that she, too, will have toface a day of reckoning."
Sogrange strolled around the room, subjecting it everywhere to a closescrutiny. The result was hopeless. There was no method of escape savethrough the door.
"There is certainly something strange about this apartment," Peterremarked. "It is, to say the least of it, unusual to have windows in theroof and a door of such proportions. All the same, I think that thosethreats of Bernadine's were a little strained. One cannot get ridof one's enemies, nowadays, in the old-fashioned, melodramatic way.Bernadine must know quite well that you and I are not the sort of men towalk into a trap of any one's setting, just as I am quite sure that heis not the man to risk even a scandal by breaking the law openly."
"You interest me," Sogrange said. "I begin to suspect that you, too,have made some plans."
"But naturally," Peter replied. "Once before Bernadine set a trap for meand he nearly had a chance of sending me for a swim in the Thames. Sincethen one takes precautions as a matter of course. We were followed downhere, and by this time I should imagine that the alarm is given. If allwas well, I was to have telephoned an hour ago."
"You are really," Sogrange declared, "quite an agreeable companion, mydear Baron. You think of everything."
The door was suddenly opened. Bernadine stood upon the threshold andbehind him several of the servants.
"You will oblige me by stepping back into the study, my friends," heordered.
"With great pleasure," Sogrange answered, with alacrity. "We have nofancy for this room, I can assure you."
Once more they crossed the stone hall and entered the room into whichthey had first been shown. On the threshold, Peter stopped short andlistened. It seemed to him that from somewhere upstairs he could hearthe sound of a woman's sobs. He turned to Bernadine.
"The Baroness is not unwell, I trust?" he asked.
"The Baroness is as well as she is likely to be for some time,"Bernadine replied, grimly.
They were all in the study now. Upon a table stood a telephoneinstrument. Bernadine drew a small revolver from his pocket.
"Baron de Grost," he said, "I find that you are not quite such a fool asI thought you. Some one is ringing up for you on the telephone. You willreply that you are well and safe and that you will be home as soon asyour business here is finished. Your wife is at the other end. If youbreathe a single word to her of your approaching end, she shall hearthrough the telephone the sound of the revolver shot that sends you toHell."
"Dear me," Peter protested, "I find this most unpleasant. If you willexcuse me, I don't think I'll answer the call at all."
"You will answer it as I have directed," Bernadine insisted. "Onlyremember this--if you speak a single ill-advised word, the end will beas I have said."
Peter picked up the receiver and held it to his ear.
"Who is there?" he asked.
It was Violet whose voice he heard. He listened for a moment to heranxious flood of questions.
"There is not the slightest cause to be alarmed, dear," he said. "Yes, Iam down at the High House, near St. Mary's. Bernadine is here. It seemsthat those reports of his death were absolutely unfounded.... Danger?Unprotected? Why, my dear Violet, you know how careful I always am.Simply because Bernadine used once to live here, and because theBaroness was his friend, I spoke to Sir John Dory over the telephonebefore we left, and an escort of half-a-dozen police followed us. Theyare about the place now, I have no doubt, but their presence is quiteunnecessary. I shall be home before long, dear.... Yes, perhaps itwould be as well to send the car down. Any one will direct him to thehouse--the High House, St. Mary's, remember. Good-by!"
Peter replaced the receiver and turned slowly round. Bernadine wassmiling.
"You did well to reassure your wife, even though it was a pack of liesyou told her," he remarked.
Peter shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"My dear Bernadine," he said, "up till now I have tried to take youseriously. You are really passing the limit. I must positively ask youto reflect a little. Do men who live the life that you and I live, trustany one? Am I--is the Marquis de Sogrange here--after a lifetime ofexperience, likely to leave the safety of our homes in company with alady of whom we knew nothing except that she was your companion,without precautions? I do you the justice to believe you a person ofcommonsense. I know that we are as safe in this house as we should be inour own. War cannot be made in this fashion in an over-policed countrylike England."
"Do not be too sure," Bernadine replied. "There are secrets about thishouse which have not yet been disclosed to you. There are means, my dearBaron, of transporting you into a world where you are likely to do muchless harm than here, means ready at hand, and which would leave no moretrace behind than those crumbling ashes can tell of the coal mine fromwhich they came."
Peter preserved his attitude of bland incredulity.
"Listen," he said, drawing a whistle from his pocket, "it is justpossible that you are in earnest. I will bet you, then, if you like, ahundred pounds, that if I blow this whistle you will either have to openyour door within five minutes or find your house invaded by the police."
No one spoke for several moments. The veins were standing out uponBernadine's forehead.
"We have had enough of this folly," he cried. "If you refuse to realizeyour position, so much the worse for you. Blow your whistle, if youwill. I am content."
Peter waited for no second bidding. He raised the whistle to his lipsand blew it, loudly and persistently. Again there was silence. Bernadinemocked him.
"Try once more, dear Baron," he advised. "Your friends are perhaps alittle hard of hearing. Try once more, and when you have finished, youand I and the Marquis de Sogrange will find our way once more to thegun room and conclude that trifling matter of business which brought youhere."
Again Peter blew his whistle and again the silence was broken only byBernadine's laugh. Suddenly, however, that laugh was checked. Every onehad tu
rned toward the door, listening. A bell was ringing throughout thehouse.
"It is the front door!" one of the servants exclaimed.
No one moved. As though to put the matter beyond doubt, there was asteady knocking to be heard from the same direction.
"It is a telegram or some late caller," Bernadine declared, hoarsely."Answer it, Carl. If any one would speak with the Baroness, she isindisposed and unable to receive. If any one desires me, I am here."
The man left the room. They heard him withdraw the chain from the door.Bernadine wiped the sweat from his forehead as he listened. He stillgripped the revolver in his hand. Peter had changed his position alittle and was standing now behind a high-backed chair. They heardthe door creak open, a voice outside, and presently the tramp of heavyfootsteps. Peter nodded understandingly.
"It is exactly as I told you," he said. "You were wise not to bet, myfriend."
Again the tramp of feet in the hall. There was something unmistakableabout the sound, something final and terrifying. Bernadine saw histriumph slipping away. Once more this man who had defied him sopersistently, was to taste the sweets of victory. With a roar of furyhe sprang across the room. He fired his revolver twice before Sogrange,with a terrible blow, knocked his arm upwards and sent the weaponspinning to the ceiling. Peter struck his assailant in the mouth,but the blow seemed scarcely to check him. They rolled on the floortogether, their arms around one another's necks. It was an affair, that,but of a moment. Peter, as lithe as a cat, was on his feet again almostat once, with a torn collar and an ugly mark on his face. There werestrangers in the room now and the servants had mostly slipped awayduring the confusion. It was Sir John Dory himself who locked the door.Bernadine struggled slowly to his feet. He was face to face with half adozen police constables in plain clothes.
"You have a charge against this man, Baron?" the police commissionerasked.
Peter shook his head.
"The quarrel between us," he replied, "is not for the police courts,although I will confess, Sir John, that your intervention wasopportune."
"I, on the other hand," Sogrange put in, "demand the arrest of the Countvon Hern and the seizure of all papers in this house. I am the bearer ofan autograph letter from the President of France in connection with thismatter. The Count von Hern has committed extraditable offenses againstmy country. I am prepared to swear an information to that effect."
The police commissioner turned to Peter.
"Your friend's name?" he demanded.
"The Marquis de Sogrange," Peter told him.
"He is a person of authority?"
"To my certain knowledge," Peter replied, "he has the implicitconfidence of the French Government."
Sir John Dory made a sign. In another moment Bernadine would have beenarrested. It seemed, indeed, as though nothing could save him now fromthis crowning humiliation. He himself, white and furious, was at a losshow to deal with an unexpected situation. Suddenly a thing happenedstranger than any one of them there had ever dreamed of, so strange thateven men such as Peter, Sogrange and Dory, whose nerves were of iron,faced one another, doubting and amazed. The floor beneath them rockedand billowed like the waves of a canvas sea. The windows were filledwith flashes of red light, a great fissure parted the wall, the picturesand book-cases came crashing down beneath a shower of masonry. It wasthe affair of a second. Above them shone the stars and around them anoise like thunder. Bernadine, who alone understood, was the first torecover himself. He stood in the midst of them, his hands above hishead, laughing as he looked around at the strange storm, laughing like amadman.
"The wonderful Carl," he cried. "Oh, matchless servant. Arrest me now,if you will, you dogs of the police. Rout out my secrets, dear Baron deGrost. Tuck them under your arm and hurry to Downing Street. This isthe hospitality of the High House, my friends. It loves you so well thatonly your ashes shall leave it."
His mouth was open for another sentence when he was struck. A wholepillar of marble from one of the rooms above came crashing through andburied him underneath a falling shower of masonry. Peter escaped by afew inches. Those who were left unhurt sprang through the yawning wallout into the garden. Sir John, Sogrange and Peter, three of the men--onelimping badly, came to a standstill in the middle of the lawn. Beforethem, the house was crumbling like a pack of cards, and louder even thanthe thunder of the falling structure was the roar of the red flames.
"The Baroness!" Peter cried, and took one leap forward.
"I am here," she sobbed, running to them from out of the shadows. "Ihave lost everything--my jewels, my clothes, all except what I have on.They gave me but a moment's warning."
"Is there any one else in the house?" Peter demanded.
"No one but you who were in that room," she answered.
"Your companion!"
She shook her head.
"There was no companion," she faltered. "I thought it sounded betterto speak of her. I had her place laid at table, but she never evenexisted."
Peter tore off his coat.
"There are the others in the room!" he exclaimed. "We must go back."
Sogrange caught him by the shoulder and pointed to a shadowy group somedistance away.
"We are all out but Bernadine," he said. "For him were is no hope.Quick!"
They sprang back only just in time. The outside wall of the house fellwith a terrible crash. The room which they had quitted was blottednow out of existence. From right and left, in all directions along thecountry road, came the flashing of lights and little knots of hurryingpeople.
"It is the end!" Peter muttered. "Yesterday I should have regretted thepassing of a brave enemy. To-day I hail with joy the death of a brute."
The Baroness, who had been sitting upon a garden seat, sobbing, camesoftly up to them. She laid her fingers upon Peter's arm imploringly.
"You will not leave me friendless?" she begged. "The papers I promisedyou are destroyed, but many of his secrets are here."
She tapped her forehead.
"Madame," Peter answered, "I have no wish to know them. Years ago Iswore that the passing of Bernadine should mark my own retirementfrom the world in which we both lived. I shall keep my word. To-nightBernadine is dead. To-night, Sogrange, my work is finished." TheBaroness began to sob again.
"And I thought that you were a man," she moaned, "so gallant, sohonorable--"
"Madame," Sogrange intervened, "I shall commend you to the pension listof the Double-Four."
She dried her eyes.
"It is not money only I want," she whispered, her eyes following Peter.
Sogrange shook his head.
"You have never seen the Baroness de Grost?" he asked her.
"But no!"
"Ah!" Sogrange murmured.... "Our escort, madame, is at your service--asfar as London."
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