XII
THE LAST MAIL
The last mail had not yet arrived at Dragon Court.
Five people awaited it--Dulcie Soane, behind the desk in the entrancehall, already wandering drowsily with Barres along the fairyborderland of sleep; Thessalie Dunois in Barres' studio, herrose-coloured evening cloak over her shoulders, her slippered foottapping the dance-scarred parquet; Barres opposite, deep in hisfavourite armchair, chatting with her; Soane on the roof, half stupidwith drink, watching them through the ventilator; and, lurking in themoonlit court, outside the office window, the dimly sinister figure ofthe one-eyed man. He wore a white handkerchief over his face, with asingle hole cut in it. Through this hole his solitary optic was nowfixed upon the back of Dulcie's drowsy head.
As for the Prophet, perched on the desk top, he continued to gaze uponshapes invisible to all things mortal save only such as he.
* * * * *
The postman's lively whistle aroused Dulcie. The Prophet, knowing him,observed his advent with indifference.
"Hello, girlie," he said;--he was a fresh-faced and flippant youngman. "Where's Pop?" he added, depositing a loose sheaf of letters onthe desk before her and sketching in a few jig steps with his feet.
"I don't know," she murmured, patting with one slim hand her pink andyawning lips, and watching him unlock the post-box and collect theoutgoing mail. He lingered a moment to caress the Prophet, who enduredit without gratitude.
"You better go to bed if you want to grow up to be a big, sassy girlsome day," he advised Dulcie. "And hurry up about it, too, because I'mgoing to marry you if you behave." And, with a last affable caress forthe Prophet, the young man went his way, singing to himself, andslamming the iron grille smartly behind him.
Dulcie, rising from her chair, sorted the mail, sleepily tucking eachletter and parcel into its proper pigeon-hole. There was a thickletter for Barres. This she held in her left hand, remembering hisrequest that she call him up when the last mail arrived.
This she now prepared to do--had already reseated herself, her righthand extended toward the telephone, when a shadow fell across thedesk, and the Prophet turned, snarled, struck, and fled.
At the same instant grimy fingers snatched at the letter which shestill held in her left hand, twisted it almost free of her desperateclutch, tore it clean in two at one violent jerk, leaving her withhalf the letter still gripped in her clenched fist.
She had not uttered a sound during the second's struggle. Butinstantly an ungovernable rage blazed up in her at the outrage, andshe leaped clean over the desk and sprang at the throat of theone-eyed man.
His neck was bony and muscular; she could not compass it with herslender hands, but she struck at it furiously, driving a sound out ofhis throat, half roar, half cough.
"Give me my letter!" she breathed. "I'll kill you if you don't!" Herfurious little hands caught his clenched fist, where the torn letterprotruded, and she tore at it and beat upon it, her teeth set and hergrey Irish eyes afire.
Twice the one-eyed man flung her to her knees on the pavement, but shewas up again and clinging to him before he could tear free of her.
"My letter!" she gasped. "I shall kill you, I tell you--unless youreturn it!"
His solitary yellow eye began to glare and glitter as he wrenched anddragged at her wrists and arms about him.
"Schweinstueck!" he panted. "Let los, mioche de malheur! Eh! Los!--or Istrike! No? Also! Attrape!--sale gallopin!----"
His blow knocked her reeling across the hall. Against the whitewashedwall she collapsed to her knees, got up half stunned, the clang of theouter grille ringing in her very brain.
With dazed eyes she gazed at the remnants of the torn letter, stillcrushed in her rigid fingers. Bright drops of blood from her mouthdripped slowly to the tessellated pavement.
Reeling still from the shock of the blow, she managed to reach theouter door, and stood swaying there, striving to pierce with confusedeyes the lamplit darkness of the street. There was no sign of theone-eyed man. Then she turned and made her way back to the desk,supporting herself with a hand along the wall.
Waiting a few moments to control her breathing and her shaky limbs,she contrived finally to detach the receiver and call Barres. Over thewire she could hear the gramophone playing again in the studio.
"Please may I come up?" she whispered.
"Has the last mail come? Is there a letter for me?" he asked.
"Yes ... I'll bring you w-what there is--if you'll let me?"
"Thanks, Sweetness! Come right up!" And she heard him say: "It'sprobably your letter, Thessa. Dulcie is bringing it up."
Her limbs and body were still quivering, and she felt very weak andtearful as she climbed the stairway to the corridor above.
The nearer door of his apartment was open. Through it the music of thegramophone came gaily; and she went toward it and entered thebrilliantly illuminated studio.
Soane, who still lay flat on the roof overhead, peeping through theventilator, saw her enter, all dishevelled, grasping in one hand thefragments of a letter. And the sight instantly sobered him. He tuckedhis shoes under one arm, got to his stockinged feet, made nimbly forthe scuttle, and from there, descending by the service stair, ranthrough the courtyard into the empty hall.
"Be gorry," he muttered, "thot dommed Dootchman has done it now!" Andhe pulled on his shoes, crammed his hat over his ears, and startedeast, on a run, for Grogan's.
Grogan's was still the name of the Third Avenue saloon, though Groganhad been dead some years, and one Franz Lehr now presided within thatpalace of cherrywood, brass and pretzels.
Into the family entrance fled Soane, down a dim hallway past severaldoors, from behind which sounded voices joining in guttural song; andcame into a rear room.
The one-eyed man sat there at a small table, piecing togetherfragments of a letter.
"Arrah, then," cried Soane, "phwat th' devil did ye do, Max?"
The man barely glanced at him.
"Vy iss it," he enquired tranquilly, "you don'd vatch Nihla Quellen bydot wentilator some more?"
"I axe ye," shouted Soane, "what t'hell ye done to Dulcie!"
"Vat I haff done already yet?" queried the one-eyed man, not lookingup, and continuing to piece together the torn letter. "Vell, I tellyou, Soane; dot kid she keep dot letter in her handt, und I haff tograb it. Sacre saligaud de malheur! Dot letter she tear herself intwo. Pas de chance! Your kid she iss mad like tigers! Voici--all zatrests me de la sacre-nom-de sacreminton de lettre----"
"Ah, shut up, y'r Dootch head-cheese!--wid y'r gillipin' gallopin'gabble!" cut in Soane wrathfully. "D'ye mind phwat ye done? It's notpetty larceny, ye omadhoun!--it's highway robbery ye done--bad cess toye!"
The one-eyed man shrugged:
"Pourtant, I must haff dot letter----" he observed, undisturbed bySoane's anger; but Soane cut him short again fiercely:
"You an' y'r dommed letter! Phwat do you care if I'm fired f'r thisnight's wurruk? Y'r letter, is it? An' what about highway robbery, mebucko! An' me off me post! How'll I be explaining that? Ah, ye sickenme entirely, ye Dootch square-head! Now, phwat'll I say to them? Tellme that, Max Freund! Phwat'll I tell th' aygent whin he comes runnin'?Phwat'll I tell th' po-lice? Arrah, phwat't'hell do you care,anyway?" he shouted. "I've a mind f'r to knock the block off ye----"
"You shall say to dot agent you haff gone out to smell," remarked MaxFreund placidly.
"Smell, is it? Smell what, ye dom----"
"You smell some smoke. You haff fear of fire. You go out to see. Dasiss so simble, ach! Take shame, you Irish Sinn Fein! You behave likerabbits!" He pointed to his arrangement of the torn letter on thetable: "Here iss sufficient already--regardez! Look once!" He laid onelong, soiled and bony finger on the fragments: "Read it vat isswritten!"
"G'wan, now!"
"I tell you, read!"
Soane, still cursing under his breath, bent over the table, reading asFreund's soiled finger moved:
"F
ein plots," he read. "German agents ... disloyal propa ... explo ...bomb fac ... shipping munitions to ... arms for Ireland can be ...destruction of interned German li ... disloyal newspapers which ...controlled by us in Pari ... Ferez Bey ... bankers are duped.... Ineed your advi ... hounded day and ni ... d'Eblis or Govern ... notafraid of death but indignant ... Sinn Fei----"
Soane's scowl had altered, and a deeper red stained his brow andneck.
"Well, by God!" he muttered, jerking up a chair from behind him andseating himself at the table, but never taking his fascinated eyes offthe torn bits of written paper.
Presently Freund got up and went out. He returned in a few momentswith a large sheet of wrapping paper and a pot of mucilage. On thispaper, with great care, he arranged the pieces of the torn letter,neatly gumming each bit and leaving a space between it and the nextfragment.
"To fill in iss the job of Louis Sendelbeck," remarked Freund, pastingaway industriously. "Is it not time we learn how much she knows--thisNihla Quellen? Iss she sly like mice? I ask it."
Soane scratched his curly head.
"Be gorry," he said, "av that purty girrl is a Frinch spy she don'tlook the parrt, Max."
Freund waved one unclean hand:
"Vas iss it to look like somedings? Nodding! Also, you Sinn Fein Irishtalk too much. Why iss it in Belfast you march mit drums und music? Tohold our tongues und vatch vat iss we Germans learn already first!Also! Sendelbeck shall haff his letter."
"An' phwat d'ye mean to do with that girrl, Max?"
"Vatch her! Vy you don'd go back by dot wentilator already?"
"Me? Faith, I'm done f'r th' evenin', an' I thank God I wasn't pinchedon the leads!"
"Vait I catch dot Nihla somevares," muttered Freund, regarding hishandiwork.
"Ye'll do no dirty thrick to her? Th' Sinn Fein will shtand f'r noburkin', mind that!"
"Ach, wass!" grunted Freund; "iss it your business vat iss done tosomebody by Ferez? If you Irish vant your rifles und machine guns,leaf it to us Germans und dond speak nonsense aboud nodding!" Heleaned over and pushed a greasy electric button: "Now ve drink a glassbier. Und after, you go home und vatch dot girl some more."
"Av Misther Barres an' th' yoong lady makes a holler, they'll fire mef'r this," snarled Soane.
"Sei ruhig, mon vieux! Nihla Quellen keeps like a mouse quiet! Und shekeeps dot yoong man quiet! You see! No, no! Not for Nihla to makesome foolishness und publicity. French agents iss vatching for hertoo--l'affaire du _Mot d'Ordre_. She iss vat you say, 'in Dutch'! Issshe, vielleicht, a German spy? In France they believe it. Iss she aFrench spy? Ach! Possibly some day; not yet! And it iss for us Germansto know always vat she iss about. Dot iss my affair, not yours,Soane."
A heavy jowled man in a soiled apron brought two big mugs of beer andretired on felt-slippered feet.
"Hoch!" grunted Freund, burying his nose in his frothing mug.
Soane, wasting no words, drank thirstily. After a long pull he shovedaside his sloppy stein, rose, cautiously unlatched the shutter of atiny peep-hole in the wall, and applied one eye to it.
"Bad luck!" he muttered, "there do be wan av thim secret service ladsdrinkin' at the bar! I'll not go home yet, Max."
"Dot big vone?" inquired Freund, mildly interested.
"That's the buck! Him wid th' phony whiskers an' th' Dootch get-up!"
"Vell, vot off it? Can he do somedings?"
"And how should I know phwat that lad can do to th' likes o' me, orphwat the divil brings him here at all, at all! Sure, he's been aroundthese three nights running----"
Freund laughed his contempt for all things American, including policeand secret service, and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
"Look, once, Soane! Do these Yankees know vat it iss a police, agendarme, a military intelligence? Vat they call secret service, wassiss it? I ask it? Schweinerei! Dummheit? Fantoches! Imbeciles! Of theTreasury they haff a secret service; of the Justice Department alsoanother; and another of the Army, and yet another of the Posts! Votkind of foolish system iss it?--mitout no minister, no chef, nocentre, no head, no organisation--und everybody interfering in votefferybody iss doing und nobody knowing vot nobody is doing--ach wass!Je m'en moque--I make mock myself at dot secret service which iss toodam dumm!" He yawned. "Trop bete," he added indistinctly.
Soane, reassured, lowered the shutter, came back to the table, andfinished his beer with loud gulps.
"Lave us go up to the lodge till he goes out," he suggested. "Maybeth' boys have news o' thim rifles."
Freund yawned again, nodded, and rose, and they went out to anunlighted and ill-smelling back stairway. It was so narrow that theyhad to ascend in single file.
Half way up they set off a hidden bell, by treading on some concealedbutton under foot; and a man, dressed only in undershirt and trousers,appeared at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against a bright lightburning on the wall behind him.
"Oh, all right," he said, recognising them, and turned on his heelcarelessly, pocketing a black-jack.
They followed to a closed door, which was made out of iron and paintedlike quartered oak. In the wall on their right a small shutter slidback noiselessly, then was closed without a sound; and the iron dooropened very gently in their faces.
The room they entered was stifling--all windows being closed--inspite of a pair of electric fans whirling and droning on shelves. Someperspiring Germans were playing skat over in a corner. One or twoother men lounged about a centre table, reading Irish and Germannewspapers published in New York, Chicago, and Milwaukee. Therewere also on file there copies of the _Evening Mail_, the _EveningPost_, a Chicago paper, and a pile of magazines, including numbersof _Pearson's_, _The Fatherland_, _The Masses_, and similarpublications.
Two lithograph portraits hung side by side over the fireplace--RobertEmmet and Kaiser Wilhelm II. Otherwise, the art gallery includedphotographs of Von Hindenburg, Von Bissing, and the King of Greece.
A large map, on which the battle-line in Europe had been pricked outin red pins, hung on the wall. Also a map of New York City, on a verylarge scale; another map of New York State; and a map of Ireland. Adumb-waiter, on duty and astonishingly noiseless, slid into sight,carrying half a dozen steins of beer and some cheese sandwiches, justas Soane and Freund entered the room, and the silent iron door closedbehind them of its own accord and without any audible click.
The man who had met them on the stairs, in undershirt and trousers,went over to the dumb-waiter, scribbled something on a slate whichhung inside the shelf, set the beer and sandwiches beside the skatplayers, and returned to seat himself at the table to which Freund andSoane had pulled up cane-bottomed chairs.
"Well," he said, in rather a pleasant voice, "did you get that letter,Max?"
Freund nodded and leisurely sketched in the episode at Dragon Court.
The man, whose name was Franz Lehr, and who had been born in New Yorkof German parents, listened with lively interest to the narrative. Buthe whistled softly when it ended:
"You took a few chances, Max," he remarked. "It's all right, ofcourse, because you got away with it, but----" He whistled again,thoughtfully.
"Sendelbeck must haff his letter. Yess? Also!"
"Certainly. I guess that was the only way--if she was really going totake it up to young Barres. And I guess you're right when you concludethat Nihla won't make any noise about it and won't let her friend,Barres, either."
"Sure, I'm right," grunted Freund. "We got the goots on her now. Youbet she's scared. You tell Ferez--yess?"
"Don't worry; he'll hear it all. You got that letter on you?"
Freund nodded.
"Hand it to Hochstein"--he half turned on his rickety chair andaddressed a squat, bushy-haired man with very black eyebrows andlarge, angry blue eyes--"Louis, Max got that letter you saw Nihlawriting in the Hotel Astor. Here it is----" taking the pastedfragments from Freund and passing them over to Hochstein. "Give it toSendelbeck, along with the blotter you swiped after she left thewriting room. Dave Sende
lbeck ought to fix it up all right for FerezBey."
Hochstein nodded, shoved the folded brown paper into his pocket, andresumed his cards.
"Is thim rifles----" began Soane; but Lehr laid a hand on hisshoulder:
"Now, listen! They're on the way to Ireland now. I told you that. WhenI hear they're landed I'll let you know. You Sinn Feiners don'tunderstand how to wait. If things don't happen the way you want andwhen you want, you all go up in the air!"
"An' how manny hundred years would ye have us wait f'r to free th'ould sod!" retorted Soane.
"You'll not free it with your mouth," retorted Lehr. "No, nor bydrilling with banners and arms in Cork and Belfast, and parading allover the place!"
"Is--that--so!"
"You bet it's so! The way to make England sick is to stick her in theback, not make faces at her across the Irish Channel. If your friendsin the Clan-na-Gael, and your poets and professors who call themselvesSinn Feiners, will quit their childish circus playing and trust us,we'll show you how to make the Lion yowl."
"Ah, bombs an' fires an' shtrikes is all right, too. An' proppygandyis fine as far as it goes. But the Clan-na-Gael is all afire f'r tostart the shindy in Ireland----"
"You start it," interrupted Lehr, "before you're really ready, andyou'll see where it lands the Clan-na-Gael and the Sinn Fein! I tellyou to leave it to Berlin!"
"An' I tell ye lave it to the Clan-na-Gael!" retorted Soane,excitedly. "Musha----"
"For why you yell?" yawned Freund, displaying a very yellow fang. "Dotbig secret service slob, he iss in the bar hinunter. Perhaps he hearyou if like a pig you push forth cries."
Lehr raised his eyebrows; then, carelessly:
"He's only a State agent. Johnny Klein is keeping an eye on him. Whatdoes that big piece of cheese expect to get by hanging out in mybar?"
Freund yawned again, appallingly; Soane said:
"I wonder is that purty Frinch girrl agin us Irish?"
"What does she care about the Irish?" replied Lehr. "Her danger to uslies in the fact that she may blab about Ferez to some Frenchman, andthat he may believe her in spite of all the proof they have in Parisagainst her. Max," he added, turning to Freund, "it's funny that Ferezdoesn't do something to her."
"I haff no orders."
"Maybe you'll get 'em when Ferez reads that letter. He's certainlynot going to let that girl go about blabbing and writing letters----"
Soane struck the table with doubled fist:
"Ye'll do no vi'lence to anny wan!" he cut in. "The Sinn Fein willshtand for no dirrty wurruk in America! Av you set fires an' blow upplants, an' kidnap ladies, an' do murther, g'wan, ye Dootchscuts!--it's your business, God help us!--not ours.
"All we axe of ye is machine-goons, an' rifles, an' ships to landthem; an' av ye don't like it, phway th' divil d'ye come botherin' th'likes of us Irish wid y'r proppygandy! Sorra the day," he added, "Ituk up wid anny Dootchman at all at all----"
Lehr and Freund exchanged expressionless glances. The former dropped apropitiating hand on Soane's shoulder.
"Can it," he said good-humouredly. "We're trying to help you Irish towhat you want. You want Irish independence, don't you? All right.We're going to help you get it----"
A bell rang; Lehr sprang to his feet and hastened out through the irondoor, drawing his black-jack from his hip pocket as he went.
He returned in a few moments, followed by a very good-looking butpallid man in rather careless evening dress, who had the dark eyes ofa dreamer and the delicate features of a youthful acolyte.
He saluted the company with a peculiarly graceful gesture, whichrecognition even the gross creatures at the skat table returned withvisible respect.
Soane, always deeply impressed by the presence of Murtagh Skeel,offered his chair and drew another one to the table.
Skeel accepted with a gently preoccupied smile, and seated himselfgracefully. All that is chivalrous, romantic, courteous, and brave inan Irishman seemed to be visibly embodied in this pale man.
"I have just come," he said, "from a dinner at Sherry's. A commonhatred of England brought together the dozen odd men with whom I havebeen in conference. Ferez Bey was there, the military attaches of theGerman, Austrian, and Turkish embassies, one or two bankers, officialsof certain steamship lines, and a United States senator."
He sipped a glass of plain water which Lehr had brought him, thankedhim, then turning from Soane to Lehr:
"To get arms and munitions into Ireland in substantial quantitiesrequires something besides the U-boats which Germany seems willing tooffer.
"That was fully discussed to-night. Not that I have any doubt at allthat Sir Roger will do his part skilfully and fearlessly----"
"He will that!" exclaimed Soane, "God bless him!"
"Amen, Soane," said Murtagh Skeel, with a wistful and involuntaryupward glance from his dark eyes. Then he laid his hand of anaristocrat on Soane's shoulder. "What I came here to tell you is this:I want a ship's crew."
"Sorr?"
"I want a crew ready to mutiny at a signal from me and take over theirown ship on the high seas."
"Their own ship, sorr?"
"Their own ship. That is what has been decided. The ship to beselected will be a fast steamer loaded with arms and munitions for theBritish Government. The Sinn Fein and the Clan-na-Gael, between them,are to assemble the crew. I shall be one of that crew. Throughpowerful friends, enemies to England, it will be made possible tosign such a crew and put it aboard the steamer to be seized.
"Her officers will, of course, be British. And I am afraid there maybe a gun crew aboard. But that is nothing. We shall take her over whenthe time comes--probably off the Irish coast at night. Now, Soane, andyou, Lehr, I want you to help recruit a picked crew, all Irish, allSinn Feiners or members of the Clan-na-Gael.
"You know the sort. Absolutely reliable, fearless, and skilled mendevoted soul and body to the cause for which we all would socheerfully die.... Will you do it?"
There was a silence. Soane moistened his lips reflectively. Lehr,intelligent, profoundly interested, kept his keen, pleasant eyes onMurtagh Skeel. Only the droning electric fans, the rattle of anewspaper, the slap of greasy cards at the skat table, the slobberinggulp of some Teuton, guzzling beer, interrupted the sweltering quietof the room.
"Misther Murtagh, sorr," said Soane with a light, careless laugh,"I've wan recruit f'r to bring ye."
"Who is he?"
"Sure, it's meself, sorr--av ye'll sign the likes o' me."
"Thanks; of course," said Skeel, with one of his rare smiles, andtaking Soane's hand in comradeship.
"I'll go," said Lehr, coolly; "but my name won't do. Call me Grogan,if you like, and I'll sign with you, Mr. Skeel."
Skeel pressed the offered hand:
"A splendid beginning," he said. "I wanted you both. Now, see what youcan do in the Sinn Fein and Clan-na-Gael for a crew which, please God,we shall require very soon!"