XVII
A CONFERENCE
The elegantly modulated accents of Aristocrates, announcing theimminence of luncheon, aroused Barres from disconcerted but wrathfulreflections.
As he sat up and tenderly caressed his battered head, Thessalie andDulcie came slowly into the studio together, their arms interlaced.
Both exclaimed at the sight of the young man's swollen face, but hechecked their sympathetic enquiries drily:
"Bumped into something. It's nothing. How are you, Dulcie? All rightagain?"
She nodded, evidently much concerned about his disfigured forehead; soto terminate sympathetic advice he went away to bathe his bruises inwitch hazel, and presently returned smelling strongly of thattime-honoured panacea, and with a saturated handkerchief adorning hisbrow.
At the same time, there came a considerable thumping and bumping fromthe corridor; the bell rang, and Westmore appeared with thetrunks--five of them. These a pair of brawny expressmen rolled intothe studio and carried thence to the storeroom which separated thebedroom and bath from the kitchen.
"Any trouble?" enquired Barres of Westmore, when the expressmen hadgone.
"None at all. Nobody looked at me twice. What's happened to yournoddle?"
"Bumped it. Lunch is ready."
Thessalie came over to him:
"I have included Dulcie among my confidants," she said in a lowvoice.
"You mean you've told her----"
"Everything. And I am glad I did."
Barres was silent; Thessalie passed her arm around Dulcie's waist; thetwo men walked behind together.
The table was a mass of flowers, over which netted sunlight played.Three cats assisted--the Prophet, always dignified, blinked pleasantlyfrom a window ledge; the blond Houri, beside him, purred loudly. OnlyStrindberg was impossible, chasing her own tail under the patient feetof Aristocrates, or rolling over and over beneath the table in amindless assault upon her own hind toes.
Seated there in the quiet peace and security of the pleasant room,amid familiar things, with Aristocrates moving noiselessly about,sunlight lacing wall and ceiling, and the air aromatic with the scentof brilliant flowers, Barres tried in vain to realise that murdercould throw its shadow over such a place--that its terrible menacecould have touched his threshold, even for an instant.
No, it was impossible. The fellow could not have intended murder. Hewas merely a blackmailer, suddenly detected and instantly frightened,pulling a gun in a panic, and even then failing in the courage toshoot.
It enraged Barres to even think about it, but he could not bringhimself to attach any darker significance to the incident than justthat--a blackmailer, ready to display a gun, but not to use it, hadcome to bully a woman; had found himself unexpectedly trapped, and hadbehaved according to his kind.
Barres had meant to catch him. But he admitted to himself that he hadgone about it very unskilfully. This added disgust to his smoulderingwrath, but he realised that he ought to tell the story.
And after the rather subdued luncheon was ended, and everybody hadgone out to the studio, he did tell it, deliberately including Dulciein his audience, because he felt that she also ought to know.
"And this is the present state of affairs," he concluded, lighting acigarette and flinging one knee across the other, "----that my friend,Thessalie Dunois, who came here to escape the outrageous annoyance ofa gang of blackmailers, is followed immediately and menaced withfurther insult on my very threshold.
"This thing must stop. It's going to be stopped. And I suggest that wediscuss the matter now and decide how it ought to be handled."
After a silence, Westmore said:
"You had your nerve, Garry. I'm wondering what I might have done underthe muzzle of that pistol."
Dulcie's grey eyes had never left Barres. He encountered her gaze now;smiled at its anxious intensity.
"I made a botch of it, Sweetness, didn't I?" he said lightly. And, toWestmore: "The moment I suspected him he was aware of it. Then, when Itried to figure out how to get him into the studio, it was too late. Imade a mess of it, that's all. And it's too bad, Thessa, that Ihaven't more sense."
She gently shook her head:
"You haven't any sense, Garry. That man might easily have killed you,in spite of your coolness and courage----"
"No. He was just a rat----"
"In a corner! You couldn't tell what he'd do----"
"Yes, I could. He _didn't_ shoot. Moreover, he legged it, which wasexactly what I was certain he meant to do. Don't worry about me,Thessa; if I didn't have brains enough to catch him, at least I wasclever enough to know it was safe to try." He laughed. "There'snothing of the hero about me; don't think it!"
"I think that Dulcie and I know what to call your behaviour," she saidquietly, taking the silent girl's hand in hers and resting it in herlap.
"Sure; it was bull-headed pluck," growled Westmore. "The drop is thedrop, Garry, and you're no mind-reader."
But Barres persisted in taking it humorously:
"I read that gentleman's mind correctly, and his character, too."Then, to Thessalie: "You say you don't recognise him from mydescription?"
She shook her head thoughtfully.
"Garry," said Westmore impatiently, "if we're going to discuss variousways of putting an end to this business, what way do you suggest?"
Barres lighted another cigarette:
"I've been thinking. And I haven't a notion how to go about it, unlesswe turn over the matter to the police. But Thessa doesn't wishpublicity," he added, "so whatever is to be done we must do byourselves."
Thessalie leaned forward from her seat on the lounge by Dulcie:
"I don't ask that of you," she remonstrated earnestly. "I only wantedto stay here for a little while----"
"You shall do that too," said Westmore, "but this matter seems toinvolve something more than annoyance and danger to you. Thosemiserable rascals are Germans and they are carrying on their impudentintrigues, regardless of American laws and probably to the country'sdetriment. How do we know what they are about? What else may they beup to? It seems to me that somebody had better investigate theiractivities--this one-eyed man, Freund--this handy gunman inspectacles--and whoever it was who took a shot at you the otherday----"
"Certainly," said Barres, "and you and I are going to investigate. Buthow?"
"What about Grogan's?"
"It's a German joint now," nodded Barres. "One of us might drop inthere and look it over. Thessa, how do you think we ought to go aboutthis affair?"
Thessalie, who sat on the sofa with Dulcie's hand clasped in bothof hers--a new intimacy which still surprised and pleasantlyperplexed Barres--said that she could not see that there wasanything in particular for them to do, but that she herself intendedto cease living alone for a while and refrain from going about townunaccompanied.
Then it suddenly occurred to Barres that if he and Dulcie went toForeland Farms, Thessalie should be invited also; otherwise, she'd bealone again, except for the servants, and possibly Westmore. And hesaid so.
"This won't do," he insisted. "We four ought to remain in touch withone another for the present. If Dulcie and I go to Foreland Farms, youmust come, too, Thessa; and you, Jim, ought to be there, too."
Nobody demurred; Barres, elated at the prospect, gave Thessalie abrief sketch of his family and their home.
"There's room for a regiment in the house," he added, "and you willfeel welcome and entirely at home. I'll write my people to-night, ifit's settled. Is it, Thessa?"
"I'd adore it, Garry. I haven't been in the country since I leftFrance."
"And you, Jim?"
"You bet. I always have a wonderful time at Foreland."
"Now, this is splendid!" exclaimed Barres, delighted. "If youdisappear, Thessa, those German rats may become discouraged and giveup hounding you. Anyway, you'll have a quiet six weeks and a completerest; and by that time Jim and I ought to devise some method ofhandling these vermin."
"Nobody," said Thessalie
, smiling, "has asked Dulcie's opinion as tohow this matter ought to be handled."
Barres turned to meet Dulcie's shy gaze.
"Tell us what to do, Sweetness!" he said gaily. "It was stupid of menot to ask for your views."
For a few moments the girl remained silent, then, the lovely tintdeepening in her cheeks, she suggested diffidently that the people whowere annoying Thessalie had been hired to do it by others more easy tohandle, if discovered.
There was a moment's silence, then Barres struck his palm with doubledfist:
"_That_," he said with emphasis, "is the right way to approach thisbusiness! Hired thugs can be handled in only two ways--beat 'em up orcall in the police. And we can do neither.
"But the men higher up--the men who inspire and hire these rats--theycan be dealt with in other ways. You're right, Dulcie! You've startedus on the only proper path!"
Considerably excited, now, as vague ideas crowded in upon him, he satsmiting his knees, his brows knit in concentrated thought, aware thatthey were on the right track, but that the track was but a blind trailso far.
Dulcie ventured to interrupt his frowning cogitation:
"People of position and influence who hire men to do unworthy thingsare cowards at heart. To discover them is to end the whole matter, Ithink."
"You're absolutely right, Sweetness! Wait! I begin to see--to seethings--see something--interesting----"
He looked up at Thessalie:
"D'Eblis, Ferez Bey, Von-der-Goltz Pasha, Excellenz, Berlin--all thesewere mixed up with this German-American banker, Adolf Gerhardt, werethey not?"
"It was Gerhardt's money, I am sure, that bought the _Mot d'Ordre_from d'Eblis for Ferez--that is, for Berlin," she said.
"Do you mean," asked Westmore, "the New York banker, Adolf Gerhardt,of Gerhardt, Klein & Schwartzmeyer, who has that big show place atNorthbrook?"
Barres smiled at him significantly:
"What do you know about that, Jim! If we go to Foreland we're certainto be asked to the Gerhardt's! They're part of the Northbrook set;they're received everywhere. They entertain the personnel of theGerman and Austrian Embassies. Probably their place, Hohenlinden, is ahotbed of German intrigue and propaganda! Thessa, how about you? Wouldyou care to risk recognition in Gerhardt's drawing-room, and see whatinformation you could pick up?"
Thessalie's cheeks grew bright pink, and her dark eyes were full ofdancing light:
"Garry, I'd adore it! I told you I had never been a spy. And that isabsolutely true. But if you think I am sufficiently intelligent to doanything to help my country, I'll try. And I don't care how I do it,"she added, with her sweet, reckless little laugh, and squeezedDulcie's hand tightly between her fingers.
"Do you suppose Gerhardt would remember you?" asked Westmore.
"I don't think so. I don't believe anybody would recollect me. Ifanybody there ever saw Nihla Quellen, it wouldn't worry me, becauseNihla Quellen is merely a memory if anything, and only Ferez andd'Eblis know I am alive and here----"
"And their hired agents," added Westmore.
"Yes. But such people would not be guests of Adolf Gerhardt atNorthbrook."
"Ferez Bey might be his guest."
"What of it!" she laughed. "I was never afraid of Ferez--never! He isa jackal always. A threatening gesture and he flees! No, I do notfear Ferez Bey, but I think he is horribly afraid of me.... Ithink, perhaps, he has orders to do me very serious harm--and daresnot. No, Ferez Bey comes sniffing around after the fight is over. Hedoes no fighting, not Ferez! He slinks outside the smoke. When itclears away and night comes he ventures forth to feed furtively onwhat is left. That is Ferez--my Ferez on whom I would not use adog-whip--no!--merely a slight gesture--and he is gone like a swiftshadow in the dark!"
Fascinated by the transformation in her, the other three sat gazing atThessalie in silence. Her colour was high, her dark eyes sparkled, herlips glowed. And the superb young figure so celebrated in Europe, sostraight and virile, seemed instinct with the reckless gaity andcourage which rang out in her full-throated laughter as she ended witha gesture and a snap of her white fingers.
"For my country--for France, whose generous mind has been poisonedagainst me--I would do anything--anything!" she said. "If you think,Garry, that I have wit enough to balk d'Eblis, check Ferez, confusethe plotters in Berlin--well, then!--I shall try. If you say it isright, then I shall become what I never have been--a spy!"
She sat for a moment smiling in her flushed excitement. Nobody spoke.Then her expression altered, subtlely, and her dark eyes grewpensive.
"Perhaps," she said wistfully, "if I could serve my country in somelittle way, France might believe me loyal.... I have sometimes wishedI might have a chance to prove it. There is nothing I would not riskif only France would come to believe in me.... But there seemed to beno chance for me. It is death for me to go there now, with thatdossier in the secret archives and a Senator of France to swear mylife away----"
"If you like," said Westmore, very red again, "I'll go into thebusiness, too, and help you nail some of these Hun plotters. I'venothing better to do; I'd be delighted to help you land a Hun ortwo."
"I'm with you both, heart and soul!" said Barres. "The whole countryis rotten with Boche intrigue. Who knows what we may uncover atNorthbrook?"
Dulcie rose and came over to where Barres sat, and he reached upwithout turning around, and gave her hand a friendly little squeeze.
She bent over beside him:
"Could I help?" she asked in a low voice.
"You bet, Sweetness! Did you think you were being left out?" And hedrew her closer and passed one arm absently around her as he beganspeaking again to Westmore:
"It seems to me that we ought to stumble on something at Northbrookworth following up, if we go about it circumspectly, Jim--with allthat Austrian and German Embassy gang coming and going during thesummer, and this picturesque fellow, Murtagh Skeel, being lionisedby----"
Dulcie's sudden start checked him and he looked up at her.
"Murtagh Skeel, the Irish poet and patriot," he repeated, "who wantsto lead a Clan-na-Gael raid into Canada or head a death-battalion tofree Ireland. You've read about him in the papers, Dulcie?"
"Yes ... I want to talk to you alone----" She blushed and dropped aconfused little curtsey to Thessalie: "Would you please pardon myrudeness----"
"You darling!" said Thessalie, blowing her a swift, gay kiss. "Go andtalk to your best friend in peace!"
Barres rose and walked away slowly beside Dulcie. They stood stillwhen out of earshot. She said:
"I have a few of my mother's letters.... She knew a young man whosename was Murtagh Skeel.... He was her dear friend. But only in secret.Because I think her father and mother disliked him.... It would seemso from her letters and his.... And she was--in love with him.... Andhe with mother.... Then--I don't know.... But she came to America withfather. That is all I know. Do you believe he can be the same man?"
"Murtagh Skeel," repeated Barres. "It's an unusual name. Possibly heis the same man whom your mother knew. I should say he might have beenabout your mother's age, Dulcie. He is a romantic figure now--one ofthose dreamy, graceful, impractical patriots--an enthusiast with oneidea and that an impossible one!--the freedom of Ireland wrenched byforce from the traditional tyrant, England."
He thought a moment, then:
"Whatever the fault, and wherever lies the blame for Ireland's unrestto-day, this is no time to start rebellion. Who strikes at England nowstrikes at all Freedom in the world. Who conspires against Englandto-day conspires with barbarism against civilisation.
"My outspoken sympathy of yesterday must remain unspoken to-day. Andif it be insisted on, then it will surely change and become hostility.No, Dulcie; the line of cleavage is clean: it is Light againstDarkness, Right against Might, Truth against Falsehood, and Christagainst Baal!
"This man, Murtagh Skeel, is a dreamer, a monomaniac, and a dangerousfanatic, for all his winning and cultivated personality and thepersonal purity of his c
haracter.... It is an odd coincidence if hewas once your mother's friend--and her suitor, too."
Dulcie stood before him, her head a trifle lowered, listening to whathe said. When he ended, she looked up at him, then across the studiowhere Westmore had taken her place on the sofa beside Thessalie. Theyboth seemed to be absorbed in a conversation which interested themimmensely.
Dulcie hesitated, then ventured to take possession of Barres' arm:
"Could you and I sit down over here by ourselves?" she asked.
He smiled, always amused by her increasing confidence and affection,and always a little touched by it, so plainly she revealed herself, soquaintly--sometimes very quietly and shyly, sometimes with an ardentimpulse too swift for self-conscious second thoughts which might havechecked her.
So they seated themselves in the carved compartments of an ancientchoir-stall and she rested one elbow on the partition between themand set her rounded chin in her palm.
"You pretty thing," he said lightly.
At that she blushed and smiled in the confused way she had whenteased. And at such times she never looked at him--never evenpretended to sustain his laughing gaze or brave out her ownembarrassment.
"I won't torment you, Sweetness," he said. "Only you ought not to letme, you know. It's a temptation to make you blush; you do it soprettily."
"Please----" she said, still smiling but vividly disconcerted again.
"There, dear! I won't. I'm a brute and a bully. But honestly, youought not to let me."
"I don't know how to stop you," she admitted, laughing. "I could killmyself for being so silly. Why is it, do you suppose, that I blu----"
She checked herself, scarlet now, and sat motionless with her headbent over her clenched palm, and her lip bitten till it quivered.Perhaps a flash of sudden insight had answered her own question beforeshe had even finished asking it. And the answer had left her silent,rigid, as though not daring to move. But her bitten lip trembled, andher breath, which had stopped, came swiftly now, desperatelycontrolled. But there seemed to be no control for her violent littleheart, which was racing away and setting every pulse a faster pace.
Barres, more uneasy than amused, now, and having before this veryunwillingly suspected Dulcie of an exaggerated sentiment concerninghim, inspected her furtively and sideways.
"I won't tease you any more," he repeated. "I'm sorry. But youunderstand, Sweetness; it's just a friendly tease--just because we'resuch good friends."
"Yes," she nodded breathlessly. "Don't notice me, please. I don't seemto know how to behave myself when I'm with you----"
"What nonsense, Dulcie! You're a wonderful comrade. We have bullytimes when we're together. Don't we?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, for the love of Mike! What's a little teasing betweenfriends? Buck up, Sweetness, and don't ever let me upset you again."
"No." She turned and looked at him, laughed. But there was a wonderfulbeauty in her grey eyes and he noticed it.
"You little kiddie," he said, "your eyes are all starry like a baby's!You are not growing up as fast as you think you are!"
She laughed again deliciously:
"How wise you are," she said.
"Aha! So you're joshing me, now!"
"But aren't you very, very wise?" she asked demurely.
"You bet I am. And I'm going to prove it."
"How, please?"
"Listen, irreverent youngster! If you are going to Foreland Farms withme, you will require various species of clothes and accessories."
At that she was frankly dismayed:
"But I can't afford----"
"Piffle! I advance you sufficient salary. Thessalie had better adviseyou in your shopping----" He hesitated, then: "You and Thessa seem tohave become excellent friends rather suddenly."
"She was so sweet to me," explained Dulcie. "I hadn't cared for hervery much--that evening of the party--but to-day she came into yourroom, where I was lying on the bed, and she stood looking at me for amoment and then she said, 'Oh, you darling!' and dropped on her kneesand drew me into her arms.... Wasn't that a curious thing to happen?I--I was too surprised to speak for a minute; then the loveliestshiver came over me and I--I cuddled up close to her--because I hadnever remembered being in mother's arms--and it seemed wonderful--Ihad wanted it so--dreamed sometimes--and awoke and cried myself tosleep again.... She was so sweet to me.... We talked.... She told me,finally, about the reason of her visit to you. Then she told me aboutherself.... So I became her friend very quickly. And I am sure that Iam going to love her dearly.... And when I love"--she looked steadilyaway from him--"I would die to serve--my friend."
The girl's quiet ardour, her simplicity and candour, attracted andinterested him. Always he had seemed to be aware, in her, of hiddenforces--of something fresh and charmingly impetuous held in leash--ofcontrolled impulses, restless, uneasy, bitted, curbed, and reined in.
Pride, perhaps, a natural reticence in the opposite sex--perhaps thehabit of control in a girl whose childhood had had no outlet--some ofthese, he concluded, accounted for her subdued air, her restraint fromdemonstration. Save for the impulsive little hand on his arm at times,the slightest quiver of lip and voice, there was no sign of thehigh-strung, fresh young force that he vaguely divined within her.
"Dulcie," he said, "how much do you know about the romance of yourmother?"
She lifted her grey eyes to his:
"What romance?"
"Why, her marriage."
"Was that a romance?"
"I gather, from your father, that your mother was very much above himin station."
"Yes. He was a gamekeeper for my grandfather."
"What was your mother's name?"
"Eileen."
"I mean her family name."
"Fane."
He was silent. She remained thoughtful, her chin resting between twofingers.
"Once," she murmured, as though speaking to herself, "when my fatherwas intoxicated, he said that Fane is my name, not Soane.... Do youknow what he meant?"
"No.... His name is Soane, isn't it?"
"I suppose so."
"Well, what do you suppose he meant, if he meant anything?"
"I don't quite know."
"He _is_ your father, isn't he?"
She shook her head slowly:
"Sometimes, when he is intoxicated, he says that he isn't. And once headded that my name is not Soane but Fane."
"Did you question him?"
"No. He only cries when he is that way.... Or talks about Ireland'swrongs."
"Ask him some time."
"I have asked him when he was sober. But he denied ever saying it."
"Then ask him when he's the other way. I--well, to be frank, Dulcie,you haven't the slightest resemblance to your father--not theslightest--not in any mental or physical particular."
"He says I'm like mother."
"And her name was Eileen Fane," murmured Barres. "She must have beenbeautiful, Dulcie."
"She was----" A bright blush stained her face, but this time shelooked steadily at Barres and neither of them smiled.
"She was in love with Murtagh Skeel," said Dulcie. "I wonder why shedid not marry him."
"You say her family objected."
"Yes, but what of that, if she loved him?"
"But even in those days he may have been a troublemaker andrevolutionist----"
"Does that matter if a girl is in love?"
In Dulcie's voice there was again that breathless tone through whichsomething rang faintly--something curbed back, held in restraint.
"I suppose," he said, smiling, "that if one is in love nothing elsematters."
"Nothing matters," she said, half to herself. And he looked askance ather, and looked again with increasing curiosity.
Westmore called across the room:
"Thessalie and I are going shopping! Any objections?"
A sudden and totally unexpected dart seemed to penetrate the heartregion of Garret Barres. It was jealousy and it hu
rt.
"No objection at all," he said, wondering how the devil Westmore hadbecome so familiar with her name in such a very brief encounter.
Thessalie rose and came over:
"Dulcie, will you come with us?" she asked gaily.
"That's a first rate idea," said Barres, cheering up. "Dulcie, tellher what things you have and she'll tell you what you need forForeland Farms."
"Indeed I will," cried Thessalie. "We'll make her perfectly adorablein a most economical manner. Shall we, dear?"
And she held out her hand to Dulcie, and, smiling, turned her head andlooked across the room at Westmore.
Which troubled Barres and left him rather silent there in the studioafter they had gone away. For he had rather fancied himself as theromance in Thessalie's life, and, at times, was inclined tosentimentalise a little about her.
And now he permitted himself to wonder how much there really might beto that agreeable sentiment he entertained for, perhaps, the prettiestgirl he had ever met in his life, and, possibly, the most delightful.