XIX
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
A single shaded lamp illuminated the studio, making the shapes ofthings vague where outline and colour were lost in the golden dusk.Dulcie, alone at the piano, accompanied her own voice with soft,scarcely heard harmonies, as she hummed, one after another, oldmelodies she had learned from the Sisters so long ago--"The Harp,""Shandon Bells," "The Exile," "Shannon Water"--songs of that sort andperiod:
"_The Bells of Shandon, Then sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee._"
Thessalie sat by the open window and Westmore squatted at her feet onthe sill of the little balcony, doing, as usual, all the talking whileshe lay deep in her armchair waving her fan, listening, respondingwith a low-voiced laugh or word now and again.
Dulcie sang:
"_On the banks of the Shannon When Mary was nigh._"
From that she changed to a haunting, poignant little song; and Barreslooked up from his desk under the lamp. Then he sealed and stamped thethree letters which he had written to his Foreland kinfolk, and,holding them in one hand, took his hat from the table with the other,as though preparing to rise. Dulcie half turned her head, her handsstill idling over the shadowy keys:
"Are you going out?"
"Just to the corner."
"Why don't you mail your letters down stairs?"
"I'll step around to the branch post office; they'll go quicker....What was that air you were playing just now?"
"It is called 'Mea Culpa.'"
"Play it again."
She turned to the keys, recommenced the Celtic air, and sang in aclear, childish voice:
"Wake, little maid! Red dawns the morn, The last stars fade, The day is born; Now the first lark wings high in air, And sings the Virgin's praises there!
"I am afraid To see the morn; I lie dismayed Beside the thorn. Gazing at God with frightened eyes, Where larks are singing in the skies.
II
"Why, mourn, dear maid, Alone, forlorn, White and afraid Beside the thorn, With weeping eyes and sobbing breath And fair sweet face as pale as death?
"For love repayed By Mary's scorn, I weep, betrayed By one unborn! Where can a poor lass hide her head Till day be done and she be dead!"
The voice and playing lingered among the golden shadows, hushed to awhisper, ceased.
"Is it very old, that sad little song?" he asked at last.
"My mother wrote it.... There is the _Mea Culpa_, still, which endsit. Shall I sing it?"
"Go on," he nodded.
So she sang the _Mea Culpa_:
III
"Winds in the whinns Shall kene for me-- (_For Love is Love though men be men!_) Till all my sins Forgiven be-- (_Maxima culpa, Lord. Amen._) And Mary's grace my fault shall purge, While skylarks plead my cause above, And breezy rivers sing my dirge, Because I loved and died of Love. (_I love, and die of Love!_) Amen."
When the soft cadence of the last notes was stilled, Dulcie turnedonce more toward him in the uncertain light.
"It's very lovely," he said, "and dreadfully triste. The air alone isenough to break your heart."
"My mother, when she wrote it, was unhappy, I imagine----" She swungslowly around to face the keys again.
"Do you know why she was so unhappy?"
"She fell in love," said the girl over her shoulder. "And it saddenedher life, I think."
He sat motionless for a while. Dulcie did not turn again. Presently herose and walked slowly out and down stairs, carrying his letters withhim.
The stolid, mottled-faced German girl was on duty at the desk, and shefavoured him with a sour look, as usual.
"There was a gen'l'man to see you," she mumbled.
"When?"
"Just now. I didn't know you was in."
"Well, why didn't you ring up the apartment and find out?" hedemanded.
She gave him a sullen look:
"Here's his card," she said, shoving it across the desk.
Barres picked up the card. "Georges Renoux, Architect," he read."Hotel Astor" was pencilled in the corner.
Barres knit his brows, trying to evoke in his memory a physiognomy tofit a name which seemed hazily familiar.
"Did the gentleman leave any message?" he asked.
"No."
"Well, please don't make another mistake of this kind," he said.
She stared at him like a sulky sow, her little eyes red with malice.
"Where is Soane?" he inquired.
"Out."
"Where did he go?"
"I didn't ask him," she replied, with a slight sneer.
"I wish to see him," continued Barres patiently. "Could you tell mewhether he was likely to go to Grogans?"
"What's Grogan's?"
"Grogan's Cafe on Third Avenue--where Soane hangs out," he managed toexplain calmly. "You know where it is. You have called him up there."
"I don't know nothin' about it," she grunted, resuming the greasynovel she had been reading.
But when Barres, now thoroughly incensed, turned to leave, her small,pig-like eyes peeped slyly after him. And after he had disappearedthrough the corridor into the street she hastily unhooked thetransmitter and called Grogan's.
"This is Martha.... Martha Kurtz. Yes, I want Frank Lehr.... Is thatyou, Frank?... The artist, Barres, who was pumping Soane the othernight, is after him again. I told you how I listened at the door, andhow I heard that Irish souse blabbing and bragging.... What?...Sure!... Barres was at the desk just now inquiring if Soane had goneto Grogan's.... You bet!... Barres is leery since _K17_ hit him with agun. Sure; he's stickin' his nose into everything.... Look out forhim, if he comes around Grogan's askin' for Soane.... And say; therewas a French guy here callin' on Barres. I knew he was in, but I saidhe was out. I was just goin' to call you when Barres came down....Yes, I got his name.... Wait, I copied it out.... Here it is, 'GeorgesRenoux, Architect.' And he wrote 'Hotel Astor' in the corner.
"Yes, he said tell Barres to call him up. Naw, I didn't give him themessage.... You don't say! Is that right? He's one o' them noseyFrenchman? _A captain_?... Gee!... What's his lay?... In New York?Well, you better watch out then.... Sure, I'll ring you if he comesback!... No, there ain't no news.... Yes, I was to the Astor grillelast night, and I talked to _K17_.... There was a guy higher up there.I don't know who. He looked like he was a dark complected Jew...._Ferez Bey_?... Gee!... You expect Skeel? To-night? Doin' _what_? Youthink this man Renoux is watchin' the Clan-na-Gael? Well, you bettertell Soane to shut his mouth then.
"Yes, that Dunois girl is here still. It's a pity _K17_ lost hisnerve.... Well, you better look out for her and for Barres, too.They're as thick as last year honey!
"All right, I'll let you know anything. Bye-bye."
* * * * *
Barres, walking leisurely up the street, kept watching for Soanesomewhere along the block; but could see nobody in the darkness,resembling him.
Outdoors the July night was cooler; young girls, hatless, in summerfrocks, gathered on stoops or strolled through the lamplit dark.Somewhere a piano sounded, not unpleasantly.
In the branch post office he mailed his letters, turned to go out, andcaught sight of Soane passing along the sidewalk just outside.
And with him was the one-eyed man, Max Freund--the man who, perhaps,had robbed Dulcie of half the letter.
His first emotion was sheer anger, and it started him toward the door,bent on swift but unconsidered vengeance.
But before this impulse culminated in his collaring the one-eyed man,sufficient common sense came to the rescue. A row meant publicity, andan inquiry by authority would certainly involve the writer of thepartly stolen letter--Thessalie Dunois.
Cool and collected now, but mad all through, Barres continued tofollow Soane and Freund, dropping back several yards to keep out ofsight, and trying to make up his mind what he ought to do.
The cross street wa
s fairly well lighted; there seemed to be plenty ofevening strollers abroad, so that he was not particularly conspicuouson the long block between Sixth and Fifth Avenues.
The precious pair, arriving at Fifth Avenue, halted, blocked by thenormal rush of automobiles, unchecked now by a traffic policeman.
So Barres halted, too, and drew back alongside a shop window.
And, as he stopped and stepped aside, he saw a man pause on thesidewalk across the street and move back cautiously into the shadow ofa facade opposite.
There was nothing significant in the occurrence; Barres merelyhappened to notice it; then he turned his eyes toward Soane andFreund, who now were crossing Fifth Avenue. And he went after them,with no definite idea in his head.
Soane and Freund walked on eastward; a tramcar on Madison Avenuestopped them once more; and, as Barres also halted behind them andstepped aside into the shadows, there, just across the street, he sawthe same man again halt, retire, and stand motionless in a recessbetween two shop windows.
Barres tried to keep one eye on him and the other on Soane and Freund.The two latter were crossing Madison Avenue; and as soon as they hadcrossed, still headed east, the man on the other side of the streetcame out of his shadowy recess and started eastward, too.
Then Barres also started, but now he was watching the man across thestreet as well as keeping Soane and Freund in view--watching theformer solitary individual with increasing curiosity.
Was that man keeping an eye on him? Was he following Soane and Freund?Was he, in fact, following anybody, and had the lively imagination ofBarres begun to make something out of nothing?
At Park Avenue Freund and Soane paused, not apparently because of anyvehicular congestion impeding their progress, but they seemed to beengaged in vehement conversation, Soane's excitable tones reachingBarres, where he had halted again beside the tradesmen's gate of ahandsome private house.
And once more, across the street the solitary figure also halted andstood unstirring under a porte-cochere.
Barres, straining his eyes, strove to make out details of his featuresand dress. And presently he concluded that, though the man did turnand glance in his direction occasionally, his attention wasprincipally fixed on Soane and Freund.
His movements, too, seemed to corroborate this idea, because as soonas they started across Park Avenue the man on the opposite side of thestreet was in instant motion. And Barres, now intensely curious,walked eastward once more, following all three.
At Lexington Avenue Soane sheered off and, despite the clutch ofFreund, went into a saloon. Freund finally followed.
As usual, across the street the solitary figure had stopped. Barres,also immobile, kept him in view. Evidently he, too, was awaiting thereappearance of Soane and Freund.
Suddenly Barres made up his mind to have a good look at him. He walkedto the corner, walked over to the south side of the street, turnedwest, and slowly sauntered past the man, looking him deliberately inthe face.
As for the stranger, far from shrinking or avoiding the scrutiny, heon his part betrayed a very lively interest in the physiognomy ofBarres; and as that young man approached he found himself scanned by abrilliant and alert pair of eyes, as keen as a fox-terrier's.
In frank but subtly hostile curiosity their glances met and crossed.Then, in an instant, a rather odd smile glimmered in the stranger'seyes, twitched at his pleasant mouth, just shaded by a tinymoustache:
"If you please, sir," he said in a low, amused voice, "you willnot--as they say in New York--butt in."
Barres, astonished, stood quite still. The young man continued toregard him with a very intelligent and slightly ironical expression:
"I do not know, of course," he said, "whether you are of the citypolice, the State service, the Post Office, the Department of Justice,the Federal Secret Service"--he shrugged expressive shoulders--"butthis I do know very well, that through lack of proper coordination inthe branches of all your departments of City, State, and Federalsurety, there is much bungling, much working at cross purposes, muchinterference, and many blunders.
"Therefore, I beg of you not to do anything further in the matterwhich very evidently occupies you." And he bowed and glanced across atthe saloon into which Soane and Freund had disappeared.
Barres was thinking hard. He drew out his cigarette case, lighted acigarette, came to his conclusions:
"You are watching Freund and Soane?" he asked bluntly.
"And you, sir? Are you observing the stars?" inquired the young man,evidently amused at something or other unperceived by Barres.
The latter said, frankly and pleasantly:
"I _am_ following those two men. It is evident that you are, also. Somay I ask, have you any idea where they are going?"
"I can guess, perhaps."
"To Grogan's?"
"Of course."
"Suppose," said Barres quietly, "I put myself under your orders and goalong with you."
The strange young man was much diverted:
"In your kind suggestion there appears to be concealed a germ ofcommon sense," he said. "In which particular service are you employed,sir?"
"And you?" inquired Barres, smilingly.
"I imagine you may have guessed," said the young man, evidentlygreatly amused at something or other.
Sheer intuition prompted Barres, and he took a chance.
"Yes, I have ventured to guess that you are an Intelligence Officer inthe French service, and secretly on duty in the United States."
The young man winced but forced a very bland smile.
"My compliments, whether your guess is born of certainty or not. Andyou, sir? May I inquire your status?"
"I'm merely a civilian with a season's Plattsburg training as my onlyprofessional experience. I'm afraid you won't believe this, but it'squite true. I'm not in either Municipal, State, or Federal service.But I don't believe I can stand this Hun business much longer withoutenlisting with the Canadians."
"Oh. May I ask, then, why you follow that pair yonder?"
"I'll tell you why. I am a painter. I live at Dragon Court. Soane, anIrishman, is superintendent of the building. I have reason to believethat German propagandists have been teaching him disloyalty underpromise of aiding Ireland to secure political independence.
"Coming out of the branch post office this evening, where I had takensome letters, I saw Soane and that fellow, Freund. I really couldn'ttell you exactly what my object was in following them, except that Iitched to beat up the German and refrained because of the inevitablenotoriety that must follow.
"Perhaps I had a vague idea of following them to Grogan's, where Iknew they were bound, just to look over the place and see for myselfwhat that German rendezvous is like.
"Anyway, what kept me on their trail was noticing _you_; and yourbehaviour aroused my curiosity. That is the entire truth concerningmyself and this affair. And if you believe me, and if you think I canbe of any service to you, take me along with you. If not, then I shallcertainly not interfere with whatever you are engaged in."
For a few moments the young Intelligence Officer looked intently atBarres, the same amused, inexplicable smile on his face. Then:
"Your name," he said, with malicious gaiety, "is Garret Barres."
At that Barres completely lost countenance, but the other man began tolaugh:
"Certainly you are Garry Barres, a painter, a celebrated Beaux Artsman of----"
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Barres, "_you_ are Renoux! You are littleGeorges Renoux, of the atelier Ledoux!--on the architect's side!--youare that man who left his card for me this evening! I've seen youoften! You were a little devil of a nouveau!--but you were always thecentre of every bit of mischief in the rue Bonaparte! You put thewhole Quarter en charette! I saw you do it."
"I saw _you_," laughed Renoux, "on one notorious occasion, teachingjiu-jitsu to a policeman! Don't talk to me about my escapades!"
Cordially, firmly, in grinning silence, they shook hands. And for amoment the intervening years s
eemed to melt away; the golden pastbecame the present; and Renoux even thrilled a little at thecondescension of Barres in shaking hands with him--the _nouveau_honoured by the _ancien_!--the reverence never entirely forgotten.
"What are you, anyway, Renoux?" asked Barres, still astonished at theencounter, but immensely interested.
"My friend, you have already guessed. I am Captain: MilitaryIntelligence Department. You know? There are no longer architects orbutchers or bakers in France, only soldiers. And of those soldiers Iam a very humble one."
"On secret duty here," nodded Barres.
"I need not ask an old Beaux Arts comrade to be discreet and loyal."
"My dear fellow, France is next in my heart after my own country. Tellme, you are following that Irishman, Soane, and his boche friend, MaxFreund, are you not?"
"It happens to be as you say," admitted Renoux, smilingly. "A job fora 'flic,' is it not?"
"Shall I tell you what I know about those two men?--what I suspect?"
"I should be very glad----" But at that moment Soane came out of thesaloon across the way, and Freund followed.
"May I come with you?" whispered Barres.
"If you care to. Yes, come," nodded Renoux, keeping his clear,intelligent eyes on the two across the street, who now stood under alamp-post, engaged in some sort of drunken altercation.
Renoux, watching them all the while, continued in a low voice:
"Remember, Barres, if we chance to meet again here in America, I ammerely Georges Renoux, an architect and a fellow Beaux Arts man."
"Certainly.... Look! They're starting on, those two!"
"Come," whispered Renoux.
Soane, unsteady of leg and talkative, was now making for Third Avenuebeside Freund, who had taken him by the arm, in hopes, apparently, ofsteadying them both.
As Renoux and Barres followed, the latter cautiously requested anyinstructions which Renoux might think fit to give.
Renoux said in his cool, agreeable voice:
"You know it's rather unusual for an officer to bother personally withthis sort of thing. But my people--even the renegade Germans in ourservice--have been unable to obtain necessary information for us inregard to Grogan's.
"It happened this afternoon that certain information was brought to mewhich suggested that I myself take a look at Grogan's. And that iswhat I was going to do when I saw you on the street, carefullystalking two well-known suspects."
They both laughed cautiously.
Grogan's was now in sight on the corner, its cherrywood magnificenceand its bilious imitation of stained glass aglow with electricity. Andinto its "Family Entrance" swaggered Soane, followed by the lankfigure of Max Freund.
Renoux and Barres had halted fifty yards away. Neither spoke. Andpresently came to them a short, dark, powerfully built man, whostrolled up casually, puffing a large, rank cigar.
Renoux named him to Barres:
"Emile Souchez, one of my men." He added: "Anybody gone in yet?"
"Otto Klein, of Gerhardt, Klein & Schwartzmeyer went in an hour ago,"replied Souchez.
"Oho," nodded Renoux softly. "That signifies something reallyinteresting. Who else went in?"
"Small fry--Dave Sendelbeck, Louis Hochstein, Terry Madigan, Dolan,McBride, Clancy--all Clan-na-Gael men."
"Skeel?"
"No. He's still at the Astor. Franz Lehr came out about half an hourago and took a taxi west. Jacques Alost is following in another."
Renoux thought a moment:
"Lehr has probably gone to see Skeel at the Hotel Astor," heconcluded. "We're going to have our chance, I think."
Then, turning to Barres:
"We've decided to take a sport-chance to-night. We have most reliableinformation that this man Lehr, who now owns Grogan's, will carry hereupon his person papers of importance to my Government--and to yours,too, Barres.
"The man from whom he shall procure these papers is an Irish gentlemannamed Murtagh Skeel, just arrived from Buffalo and stopping overnightat the Hotel Astor.
"Lehr, we were informed, was to go personally and get those papers....Do you really wish to help us?"
"Certainly."
"Very well. I expect we shall have what you call a mix-up. You willplease, therefore, walk into Grogan's--not by the family entrance, butby the swinging doors on Lexington Avenue. Kindly refresh yourselfthere with some Munich beer; also eat a sandwich at my expense, if youcare to. Then you will give yourself the pains to inquire the way tothe wash-room. And there you will possess your soul in amiablepatience until you shall hear me speak your name in a very quiet,polite tone."
Barres, recognising the familiar mock seriousness of student days inParis, began to smile. Renoux frowned and continued his instructions:
"When you hear me politely pronounce your name, mon vieux, then youshall precipitate yourself valiantly to the aid of Monsieur Souchezand myself--and perhaps Monsieur Alost--and help us to hold, gag andsearch the somewhat violent German animal whom we corner inside thefamily entrance of Herr Grogan!"
Barres had difficulty in restraining his laughter. Renoux was veryserious, with the delightful mock gravity of a witty and perfectlyfearless Frenchman.
"Lehr?" inquired Barres, still laughing.
"That is the animal under discussion. There will be a taxicab awaitingus----" He turned to Souchez: "Dis, donc, Emile, faut employer toncoup du Pere Francois pour nous assurer de cet animal la."
"B'en sure," nodded Souchez, fishing furtively in the side pocket ofhis coat and displaying the corner of a red silk handkerchief. Hestuffed it into his pocket again; Renoux smiled carelessly at Barres.
"Mon vieux," he said, "I hope it will be like a good fight in theQuarter--what with all those Irish in there. You desire to get yourhead broken?"
"You bet I do, Renoux!"
"Bien! So now, if you are quite ready?" he suggested. "Merci,monsieur, et a bientot!" He bowed profoundly.
Barres, still laughing, walked to Lexington Avenue, crossed northward,and entered the swinging doors of Grogan's, perfectly enchanted tohave his finger in the pie at last, and aching for an old-fashionedLatin Quarter row, the pleasures of which he had not known for severaltoo respectable years.