XVI
THE WATCHER
"The Watcher," repeated Barres, studying the typewritten signature fora moment longer. Then he looked at Westmore: "What do you think ofthat, Jim?"
Westmore, naturally short tempered, became very red, got to his feet,and began striding about the studio as though some sudden blaze ofinward anger were driving him into violent motion.
"The thing to do," he said, "is to catch this 'Watcher' fellow andbeat him up. That's the way to deal with blackmailers--catch 'em andbeat 'em up--vermin of this sort--this blackmailing fraternity!--Ihaven't anything to do; I'll take the job!"
"We'd better talk it over first," suggested Barres. "There seem to beseveral ways of going about it. One way, of course, is to turndetective and follow Thessa around town. And, as you say, spot any manwho dogs her and beat him up very thoroughly. That's your way, Jim.But Thessa, unfortunately, doesn't desire to be featured, and youcan't go about beating up people in the streets of New York withoutinviting publicity."
Westmore came back and stood near Thessalie, who looked up at him fromher seat on the Chinese couch with visible interest:
"Mr. Westmore?"
"Yes?"
"Garry is quite right about the way I feel. I don't want notoriety. Ican't afford it. It would mean stirring up every French Governmentagent here in New York. And if America should ever declare war onGermany and become an ally of France, then your own Secret Servicehere would instantly arrest me and probably send me to France to standtrial."
She bent her pretty head, adding in a quiet voice:
"Extradition would bring a very swift end to my career. With the lyingevidence against me and a Senator of France to corroborate it byperjury--ask yourselves, gentlemen, how long it would take a militarycourt to send me to the parade in the nearest caserne!"
"Do you mean they'd shoot you?" demanded Westmore, aghast.
"Any court-martial to-day would turn me over to a firing squad!"
"You see," said Barres, turning to Westmore, "this is a much moreserious matter than a case of ordinary blackmail."
"Why not go to our own Secret Service authorities and lay the entirebusiness before them?" asked Westmore excitedly.
But Thessalie shook her head:
"The evidence against me in Paris is overwhelming. My dossier alone,as it now stands, would surely condemn me without corroborativeevidence. Your people here would never believe in me if the FrenchGovernment forwarded to them a copy of my dossier from the secretarchives in Paris. As for my own Government----" She merely shrugged.
Barres, much troubled, glanced from Thessalie to Westmore.
"It's rather a rotten situation," he said. "There must be, of course,some sensible way to tackle it, though I don't quite see it yet. Butone thing is very plain to me: Thessa ought to remain here with us forthe present. Don't you think so, Jim?"
"How can I, Garry?" she asked. "You have only one room, and I couldn'tturn you out----"
"I can arrange that," interposed Westmore, turning eagerly to Barreswith a significant gesture toward the door at the end of the studio."There's the solution, isn't it?"
"Certainly," agreed Barres; and to Thessalie, in explanation:"Westmore's two bedrooms adjoin my studio--beyond that wall. We havemerely to unlock those folding doors and throw his apartment intomine, making one long suite of rooms. Then you may have my room andI'll take his spare room."
She still hesitated.
"I am very grateful, Garry, and I admit that I am becoming almostafraid to remain entirely alone, but----"
"Send for your effects," he insisted cheerfully. "Aristocrates willmove my stuff into Westmore's spare room. Then you shall take myquarters and be comfortable and well guarded with Aristocrates andSelinda on one side of you, and Jim and myself just across thestudio." He cast a sombre glance at Westmore: "I suppose those ratswill ultimately trail her to this place."
Westmore turned to Thessalie:
"Where are your effects?" he asked.
She smiled forlornly:
"I gave up my lodgings this morning, packed everything, and came here,rather scared." A little flush came over her face and she lifted herdark eyes and met Westmore's intent gaze. "You are very kind," shesaid. "My trunks are at the Grand Central Station--if you desire tomake up my disconcerted mind for me. Do you really want me to comehere and stay a few days?"
Westmore suppressed himself no longer:
"I won't _let_ you go!" he said. "I'm worried sick about you!" And toBarres, who sat slightly amazed at his friend's warmth:
"Do you suppose any of those dirty dogs have traced the trunks?"
Thessalie said:
"I've never yet been able to conceal anything from them."
"Probably, then," said Barres, "they have traced your luggage and arewatching it."
"Give me your checks, anyway," said Westmore. "I'll go at once and getyour baggage and bring it here. If they're watching for you it willjolt them to see a man on the job."
Barres nodded approval; Thessalie opened her purse and handed Westmorethe checks.
"You both are so kind," she murmured. "I have not felt so sheltered,so secure in many, many months."
Westmore, extremely red again, controlled his emotions--whatever theywere--with a visible effort:
"Don't worry for one moment," he said. "Garry and I are going tosettle this outrageous business for you. Now, I'm off to find yourtrunks. And if you could give me a description of any of these fellowswho follow you about----"
"Please--you are not to beat up anybody!" she reminded him, with atroubled smile.
"I'll remember. I promise you not to."
Barres said:
"I think one of them is a tall, bony, one-eyed man, who has beenhanging around here pretending to peddle artists' materials."
Thessalie made a quick gesture of assent and of caution:
"Yes! His name is Max Freund. I have found it impossible to conceal mywhereabouts from him. This man, with only one eye, appears to be afriend of the superintendent, Soane. I am not certain that Soanehimself is employed by this gang of blackmailers, but I believe thathis one-eyed friend may pay him for any scraps of informationconcerning me."
"Then we had better keep an eye on Soane," growled Westmore. "He's nogood; he'll take graft from anybody."
"Where is his daughter, Dulcie?" asked Thessalie. "Is she not yourmodel, Garry?"
"Yes. She's in my room now, lying down. This morning it was pretty hotin here, and Dulcie fainted on the model stand."
"The poor child!" exclaimed Thessalie impulsively. "Could I go in andsee her?"
"Why, yes, if you like," he replied, surprised at her warm-heartedinterest. He added, as Thessalie rose: "She is really all right again.But go in if you like. And you might tell Dulcie she can have herlunch in there if she wants it; but if she's going to dress she oughtto be about it, because it's getting on toward the luncheon hour."
So Thessalie went swiftly away down the corridor to knock at the doorof the bedroom, and Barres walked out with Westmore as far as thestairs.
"Jim," he said very soberly, "this whole business looks ugly to me.Thessa seems to be seriously entangled in the meshes of someblackmailing spider who is sewing her up tight."
"It's probably a tighter web than we realise," growled Westmore. "Itlooks to me as though Miss Dunois has been caught in the main net ofGerman intrigue. And that the big spider in Berlin did the spinning."
"That's certainly what it looks like," admitted the other in a gravevoice. "I don't believe that this is merely a local matter--an affairof petty, personal vengeance: I believe that the Hun is actuallyafraid of her--afraid of the evidence she might be able to furnishagainst certain traitors in Paris."
Westmore nodded gloomily:
"I'm pretty sure of it, too. They've tried, apparently, to win herover. They've tried, also, to drive her out of this country. Now, theymean to force her out, or perhaps kill her! Good God! Garry, did youever hear of such filthy impudence as this entire German
propaganda inAmerica?"
"Go and get her trunks," said Barres, deeply worried. "By the time youfetch 'em back here, lunch will be ready. Afterward, we'd all betterget together and talk over this unpleasant situation."
Westmore glanced at his watch, turned and went swinging away in hisquick, energetic stride. Barres walked slowly back to the studio.
There was nobody there. Thessalie had not yet returned from her visitto Dulcie Soane.
The Prophet, however, came in presently, his tail politely hoisted. Anagreeable aroma from the kitchen had doubtless allured him; he made anamicable remark to Barres, suffered himself to be caressed, thensprang to the carved table--his favourite vantage point forobservation--and gazed solemnly toward the dining-room.
For half an hour or more, Barres fussed and pottered about in therather aimless manner of all artists, shifting canvases and stackingthem against the wall, twirling his wax Arethusa around to inspect herfrom every possible and impossible angle, using clouds of fixitive onsuch charcoal studies as required it, scraping away meditatively at atoo long neglected palette.
He was already frankly concerned about Thessalie, and the more heconsidered her situation the keener grew his apprehension.
Yet he, like all his fellow Americans, had not yet actually persuadedhimself to believe in spies.
Of course he read about them and their machinations in the dailypapers; the spy scare was already well developed in New York; yet, tohim and to the great majority of his fellow countrymen, people whomade a profession of such a dramatic business seemed unreal--abstracttypes, not concrete examples of the human race--and he could notbelieve in them--could neither visualise such people nor realise thatthey existed outside melodrama or the covers of a best-seller.
There is an incredulity which knows yet refuses to believe in its ownknowledge. It is very American and it represented the paradoxicalstate of mind of this deeply worried young man, as he stood there inthe studio, scraping away mechanically at his crusted palette.
Then, as he turned to lay it aside, through the open studio door hesaw a strange, bespectacled man looking in at him intently.
An unpleasant shock passed through him, and his instinct started himtoward the open door to close it.
"Excuse," said he of the thick spectacles; and Barres stopped short:
"Well, what is it?" he asked sharply.
The man, who was well dressed and powerfully built, squinted throughhis spectacles out of little, inflamed and pig-like eyes.
"Miss Dunois iss here?" he enquired politely. "I haff a message----"
"What is your name?"
"Excuse, please. My name iss not personally known to Miss Dunois----"
"Then what is your business with Miss Dunois?"
"Excuse, please. It iss of a delicacy--of a nature quite private, iffyou please."
Barres inspected him in hostile silence for a moment, then came to aswift conclusion.
"Very well. Step inside," he said briefly.
"I thank you, I will wait here----"
"Step inside!" snapped Barres.
Startled into silence, the man only blinked at him. Under the other'ssearching, suspicious gaze, the small, pig-like eyes were now shiftinguneasily; then, as Barres took an abrupt step forward, the man shrankaway and stammered out something about a letter which he was todeliver to Miss Dunois in private.
"You say you have a letter for Miss Dunois?" demanded Barres, nowdetermined to get hold of him.
"I am instructed to giff it myself to her in private, all alone----"
"Give it to _me_!"
"I am instruc----"
"Give it to me, I tell you!--and come inside here! Do you hear whatI'm saying to you?"
The spectacled man lost most of his colour as Barres started towardhim.
"Excuse!" he faltered, backing off down the corridor. "I giff you theletter!" And he hastily thrust his hand into the side pocket of hiscoat. But it was a pistol he poked under the other's nose--a shiny,lumpy weapon, clutched most unsteadily.
"Hands up and turn me once around your back!" whispered the manhoarsely. "Quick!--or I shoot you!"--as the other, astounded, merelygazed at him. The man had already begun to back away again, but asBarres moved he stopped and cursed him:
"Put them up your hands!" snarled the spectacled man, with a finaloath. "Keep your distance or I kill you!"
Barres heard himself saying, in a voice not much like his own:
"You can't do this to me and get away with it! It's nonsense! Thissort of thing doesn't go in New York!"
Suddenly his mind grew coldly, terrible clear:
"No, you _can't_ get away with it!" he concluded aloud, in the calm,natural voice of conviction. "Your stunt is scaring women! You try tokeep clear of men--you dirty, blackmailing German crook! I've got yournumber! You're the 'Watcher'!--you murderous rat! You're afraid toshoot!"
It was plain that the spectacled man had not discounted anything ofthis sort--plain now, to Barres, that if, indeed, murder actually hadbeen meant, it was not his own murder that had been planned with thatbig, blunt, silver-plated pistol, now wavering wildly before hiseyes.
"I blow your face off!" whispered the stranger, beginning to back awayagain, and ghastly pale.
"Keep out of thiss! I am not looking for you. Get you back; step onceagain inside that door away!----"
But Barres had already jumped for him, had almost caught him, wasreaching for him--when the man hurled the pistol straight at his face.The terrific impact of the heavy weapon striking him between the eyesdazed him; he stumbled sideways, colliding with the wall, and hereeled around there a second.
But that second's leeway was enough for the bespectacled stranger. Heturned and ran like a deer. And when Barres reached the staircase thewhitewashed hall below was still echoing with the slam of the streetgrille.
Nevertheless, he hurried down, but found the desk-chair empty andSoane nowhere visible, and continued on to the outer door, more orless confused by the terrific blow on the head.
Of course the bespectacled man had disappeared amid the noondayfoot-farers now crowding both sidewalks east and west, on their way tolunch.
Barres walked slowly back to the desk, still dazed, but now thoroughlyenraged and painfully conscious of a heavy swelling where the blow hadfallen on his forehead.
In the superintendent's quarters he found Soane, evidently justawakened after a sodden night at Grogan's, trying to dress.
Barres said:
"There is nobody at the desk. Either you or Miss Kurtz should be onduty. That is the rule. Now, I'm going to tell you something: If Iever again find that desk without anybody behind it, I shall go to theowners of this building and tell them what sort of superintendent youare! And maybe I'll tell the police, also!"
"Arrah, then, Misther Barres----"
"That's all!" said Barres, turning on his heel. "Anything more fromyou and you'll find yourself in trouble!"
And he went up stairs.
The lumpy pistol still lay there in the corridor; he picked it up andtook it into the studio. The weapon was fully loaded. It seemed to beof some foreign make--German or Austrian, he judged by the markingwhich had been almost erased, deliberately obliterated, it appeared tohim.
He placed it in his desk, seated himself, explored his bruisesgingerly with cautious finger-tips, concluded that the bridge of hisnose was not broken, then threw himself back in his armchair for somegrim and concentrated thinking.