Gray's papers and his, taken together, were of vital importance to England or to any enemy of England; separate they could be of no use to anybody, enemy or ally.
The determined attack on him the night before proved that others besides himself understood this. And it also made him realize the more clearly that since he had parted from Gray in Antwerp, the latter had been as open to such attacks as had he. The question now was: had they caught Gray? If so, it must have occurred within the last thirty-six hours, because he had talked over the telephone to Gray the evening of his own arrival at Sais.
But since that conversation, which ended with the understanding that Gray should set out on his motor cycle for Sais, not a word had he heard concerning his colleague, except that his cap had been found on the road south of Sais, and that the condition of the roadside bank, and a few drops of blood, gave evidence of an accident--if, indeed, it had been an accident.
Nor had Halkett any idea who it was that had called him up on the telephone to tell him this.
As he stood there, looking down the road, terribly perplexed and filled with keenest apprehensions concerning his colleague, far away through the vista of poplars and telephone poles something white glimmered in the sunlit road.
It was the white cornette of a Sister of Charity; after a few minutes Halkett recognized the advancing figure and walked forward to meet her.
The color of early morning freshened her youthful cheeks, framed by the snowy wimple. She extended a friendly hand to him in salutation, as he came up and uncovered.
"At such an hour, Monsieur, only birds and Sisters of Charity are supposed to be on the wing. Is it curiosity that has awakened you to see how the sun really looks when it rises?"
But as she spoke she detected the deep anxiety which his smile masked, and her own face became responsively serious.
"Have you had bad news?" she asked gently.
"Worse--I have had no news at all. Are you going to the inn?"
"Yes."
"May I help you gather your flowers?" he asked.
"Thank you--if you care to."
They walked on in silence, skirted the garden wall westward, then north to the bullet-splintered green door.
Immediately she noticed the scars of the fusillade, gazed at them curiously for a moment, then laid a questioning forefinger across a bullet hole.
And while she stood so, he told her in a few words what had occurred the night before--told her everything, including the posting of the notice ordering a general mobilization.
She listened, her finger still resting over the shot hole, her calm face raised to his. And, when he ended:
"Then it is war already," she said quietly.
"War has not been declared.... Yes, it is virtually war. Why not say so?"
She nodded; he pushed open the heavy little door, and Sister Eila bent her white-coiffed head and stepped lightly into the garden.
For a while she moved slowly along the flower-bordered paths, as though uncertain what to choose from among the perfumed thickets, then, setting her ozier basket on the edge of the walk, she knelt down before the white clove pinks; and Halkett dropped on his knees beside her.
They worked there together, exchanging scarcely a word, slowly filling the basket which lay between them.
Ariadne came up with a cheery mew of greeting, and after marching around and rubbing herself against Halkett, mounted to his shoulders and settled down, purring like a teakettle beside his ear.
When the basket was filled, Sister Eila stood up and straightened her shoulders, and Halkett rose too, the cat still perched on his shoulder.
He lifted the flower-heaped basket and set it in the shade of the arbor; Sister Eila seated herself and Halkett sat down on the stone steps at her feet.
After a silence, made resonant with Ariadne's loudly cadenced purring, Sister Eila clasped her hands in her lap and looked steadily down at the heap of flowers in the green ozier basket.
"What is going to happen?" she asked in a low voice. "If there is to be a war, it will come here, I suppose."
"I am afraid so."
"Yes; Sais cannot escape."
"The Vosges are too near," he nodded. "So is Ausone. So is the Rhine, for that matter." He glanced up at her from where he sat caressing Ariadne. "Belgium also is too near, Sister Eila."
"You believe they will arrive that way?"
"I feel very certain of it. And this means that England moves."
"Where?"
"To the firing line."
"With France?"
"Yes, Sister."
She said quietly:
"That is as it should be, Mr. Halkett. The two great wardens of European liberty should stand together in its defense."
"They've got to stand for each other," he said, "--whatever else they stand for."
"Alsace--Lorraine--I think this is to be a very holy war--for France," she murmured to herself.
He said nothing. He was not very clear concerning the exact amount of holiness involved, but he knew that war had now become a necessity to England, if she meant to retain the autocracy of the seas.
"We're bound to go in," he remarked, stroking Ariadne; "there's nothing else left for us to do. And if they don't give us an excuse by invading Belgium, we'll go in anyway. That's the meaning of all this! It has only one real meaning. The 'Day' they've been drinking to so long is--Today! This entire matter has got to be settled once and for all. And that's the truth, Sister Eila."
He sat for a while silent, gazing out across the quiet garden. Then, again:
"As for Sais, if there is an invasion of France, it must pass this way: if the Vosges are to be defended, Sais will see war."
"That will be very sad for us," she said. "It seems as though there were already enough violence and misery in the quarries--enough of wretchedness and poverty. If the quarrymen are called to the colors with their classes, and if the quarries and cement works close, I don't know what is to become of our school."
"You said that it is a free school."
"Yes, but the children live elsewhere, and are clothed and fed elsewhere. Except at noontime, we do not feed them. If we had money to provide beds and food, the school is large enough to shelter the children. However, I suppose we shall hear from the rue de Bac--the mother house, you know?"
She rose, picked up her basket of flowers, and Halkett also stood up.
"Good-by," she said. "Thank you for helping.... I--I suppose you do not remain very long in Sais?"
"I don't know how long."
She inclined her young head gravely.
They walked together to the green door in the wall, and again her eyes became riveted on the bullet marks.
"Perhaps," she said, "you will have time to--to come to the school again before you leave Sais? ... Unless you think it dangerous----"
He looked up, then away from her.
"I'll come--to the school."
"Then--it is au revoir, I hope."
He stood uncovered, holding open the door, and, as she passed in front of him, he took from her basket a white clove pink. She saw what he did, and halted instinctively to give him his choice. Suddenly, without any reason, her cheeks flushed brightly; she bent her head and stepped quickly through the archway, leaving him standing there with the dull color deepening in his sun-tanned face.
Warner discovered him still standing where she had left him, the white blossom hanging from his clenched fist.
"Well," he said, "how did you sleep after that villainous business of last night?"
"Thanks, I slept," replied Halkett, rousing himself.
They went into the arbor together, and presently Linette came out of the house carrying their coffee.
"Where is your little friend Philippa?" inquired the Englishman with an effort.
"In bed, I fancy. Linette has just taken up her cafe-au-lait. I think the child is feeling the reaction."
"No wonder. Plucky little thing!"
"Yes. But what on earth am I going to do with her, Halkett? Ought I to wait until that old scoundrel Wildresse comes here or telephones? Ought I to try to persuade her to go back to that cabaret? Ought I to telephone that she is safe here?"
"The wires are cut."
"I know. Somebody will fix them, though. Do you think I'd better try to persuade Philippa to let me drive her over to Ausone in the trap? If I'm to keep her, I ought to have an interview with Wildresse, or she and I will get into trouble."
"Oh, Lord!" said Halkett. "That's your affair. Listen, Warner, I'm so worried about Gray I can't think of anything else. Something serious certainly has happened to him. And until those wires are repaired, I shan't know what to do. Is there any other way we can communicate with Ausone?"
"None that I know of, unless somebody goes over to Ausone. I can do that if you like. I can drive over in the trap. Of course the telephone people already know that there's a break on the line, and no doubt they're out now looking for it. We'll be in communication with Ausone by noon, I expect."
For a little while they exchanged views concerning the attack of the previous night, and Halkett was of the opinion that the order for mobilization would now restrain any further violence on the part of those who had been following him, if, indeed, it did not entirely clear them out of France. And he expressed a desire for the envelope.
So Warner went into the house, lifted the partly hardened skin of white lead from the canvas, disinterred the envelope, wiped it clean, and brought it out to Halkett. The Englishman put it into his breast pocket.
"It was perfectly safe where it was," remarked the other. "It's an invitation to murder where it is now."
"Yes, but it's no good to anybody unless Gray turns up. I wish I knew what had become of that man. I think I'll try the telephone again----"
He rose and walked swiftly toward the house, Ariadne trotting at his heels. Even as he approached, he heard the telephone bell ringing, and hastened his steps toward the house.
But as he entered, the girl Philippa stepped into the hallway, and he caught a glimpse of a slim, barefooted figure, holding with one hand the folds of a shabby chamber robe around her, and with the other the receiver.
"What?" she cried in answer to a question. "Yes, I am Philippa.... Oh! It's you. I thought so.... What do you desire of me?"
What Wildresse desired of the girl Philippa intimately concerned Halkett. He coolly remained to listen.
"No!" she said in her clear, emotionless voice. "I shall not come back! ... Very well; if the Government agents want me, they can find me here.... You may threaten me with arrest by the Government if you choose, but I know that you are more afraid of the Government than I am.... Why shouldn't I say it! Yes, I know quite well that we are going to have war.... You say that the Germans are already across the Duchy? Skirmishing before Longwy? Very well; why don't you inform one of your Governments? ... No, I won't keep quiet! No, no, no! ... What you say does not frighten me.... I refuse to return! ... Because I am now in an honest business for myself.... Yes, it is an honest business. I am permitted to pose for an artist of great distinction.... What you say does not frighten me; but what you are does cause me some apprehension. And knowing as much as I do know about you, I seriously advise you to leave France.... No, I haven't said such a thing to anybody else, but I am likely to, so you had better hasten to leave for America. Yes, I will tell you why, if you wish. It is because there are always two millstones when anything is to be crushed. War is now beginning to bring those two stones together. The mill wheel already is turning! When the two millstones meet, the little meal worm that has remained between them so long in safety is going to be crushed.... Oh, yes, you do know what I mean! You also know whom I mean. Very well, then, if you don't I'll tell you this much: double wages never are paid by a single master. I learned that yesterday when you gave me the wrong paper to forward to Paris with the others. Fortunately for you, I read it. I then burnt it to ashes and took my clothes and my punt and my departure! I might have continued to endure what you had accustomed me to. But two masters! Faugh! The horror of it! ... Fear? If you really think that of me, then you have never really known me. It was disgust and shame that drove me toward liberty.... Yes, this that I say is final.... You dare not interfere! ... Then I'll say this: if you do not leave France now, at once, in this moment of her peril, I will tell what I know to the first soldier of France who crosses my path! ... I am not afraid of you, I tell you.... Believe me, you are well rid of me.... I warn you, in God's name, to let me alone!"
She hung up the receiver, turned, and mounted the stairs with flying feet, but at the top landing Halkett's quiet voice halted her.
"I was listening, Philippa. What that man says or does may cost me dear. What did he want of you?"
"Mr. Halkett," leaning swiftly toward him over the handrail above--"he is the most ignoble of creatures! And after five years I learned only yesterday that he sells his filthy secrets in two markets!--Three, perhaps; I don't know how many! And I no longer care! It ceases to interest me!"
"Wait! It interests me!"
"But I can't say any more to you than I have----"
"Why not?"
"I don't know. Can I? You know better than I. But I don't wish to betray anybody, even such a man as--as----"
"Wildresse?"
"Yes."
"Is he also betraying France?"
"I--I don't know. I suppose it is that. I haven't yet tried to comprehend it----"
"What was the paper you started to forward, then read, and finally burned?"
"It was a letter directed to a Mr. Esser. He is a German."
"The head of the Esser Cement Works?"
"Yes."
"What was in the letter?"
"A list of the guns in the Ausone Fort and a plan of the emplacements on tissue paper.... Perhaps I am stupid, but I could guess what a German wanted with a plan of a French fort! It was enough for me! I took my punt and my effects and I departed!"
"You burnt the letter?"
"In my candle. Also, I wrote on a piece of paper, 'You damned traitor!' and I pinned it on his door. Then I went out by the garden door with my leather trunk on my head!"
"Come down when you are dressed," said Halkett, and walked back through the hallway to the garden.
"Warner," he said, "this old spider, Wildresse, is certainly a bad lot. I'd have him arrested by French gendarmes if I were certain that England is going in. But I dare not chance it until I'm sure. Perhaps I dare not chance it at all, because if he has had anything to do with Gray's disappearance, as I am beginning to suspect, it would not do to have the French authorities examine my papers."
"Why?"
"Because--if they have already seized Gray's papers, they will secure military information which perhaps my Government might not care to have even an ally possess. I don't know whether Gray is living or dead; I don't know who has Gray's papers at this instant. That's the trouble. And I'm hanged if I know what to do! I'm stumped, and that's the devilish truth!"
He took a few quick, uncertain steps along the flower beds, turned, came back to the arbor where Warner was seated:
"It's a mess!" he said. "Even if agents employed by Wildresse have robbed Gray--murdered him, perhaps, to do it--I don't know what Wildresse means to do with Gray's papers."
"What!"
Halkett nodded:
"Yes, he's that kind! Pleasant, isn't it? If he has Gray's papers, it may be France that will pay him for them; it may be that Germany has already bought and paid for them. In either case, carrying the papers I carry, I hesitate to ask for his arrest. Do you understand?"
"Very clearly. If there is any way you can think of to get hold of this scoundrel, I'll be glad to help. Shall we drive over to Ausone and try?"
"You're very kind, Warner. I don't know; I want to think it over----" He turned and walked back to the house, entered the hallway, unhooked the telephone, and finally was given a connection--not the one he had asked for.
A voice said curtly:
"During mobilization no private messages are transmitted." Click! And the connection was severed. Again and again he made the attempt; no further attention was paid to his ringing. Finally he hung up the receiver and started to go out through the front doorway.
As he crossed the threshold, a young man in tweeds rode up on a bicycle, stepped off, and, lifting his cap to Halkett, said politely:
"Monsieur Halkett, if you please? Is he still residing here at the Golden Peach?"
Halkett's right hand dropped carelessly into the side pocket of his coat. When he had cocked his automatic, he said pleasantly:
"I am Mr. Halkett."
The young man said smilingly, in perfect English:
"Do you expect a friend, Mr. Halkett?"
"Perhaps."
"Possibly you expect a Mr. Reginald Gray?"
"Possibly."
"He has been injured."
"Really?"
"Yes, rather seriously. He lost control of his motor cycle two nights ago. He was on his way to join you here."
"Indeed?"
"So he told me before he became unconscious."
"Is he still unconscious?"
"No, but he is too weak to move."
"Where is he?"
"At my house, in Bois d'Avril. I was motoring that evening, and I found him in the road, insensible. So I lifted him into my car, slung his motor cycle on behind, and went top speed for home. He's in my own house in Bois d'Avril. The physician thinks he will recover."
"What is your telephone number?" asked Halkett bluntly.
The young man gave it, adding that the transmission of private messages had, unfortunately, been suspended during mobilization. Which Halkett knew to be true.
"Very well," he said, "I shall go to Bois d'Avril at once----"
"It is not necessary; I have a message for you, and some papers from Mr. Gray."
"Really?"
The young man smiled, drew from his inner pocket a long, thin envelope, and handed it to Halkett. The latter held it in his hand, looking steadily into the stranger's pleasant face for a full minute, then he coolly opened the envelope.
Inside were the missing papers concerning the Harkness shell, complete.
There could be no doubt concerning their identity; he recognized them at a glance. A deep sigh of relief escaped him.
He said:
"There's no use trying to thank you----"
"It's quite all right," interrupted the young man smilingly. "If you don't mind offering me a drink--the road over was rather dusty----"
"Leave your wheel there and come in!" exclaimed Halkett cordially, stepping aside in the doorway.
The young man laid his bicycle against the steps, turned with a smile, and entered the doorway.
As he passed, he turned like lightning and struck Halkett full between the eyes with his clenched fist.
*CHAPTER XIV*
The terrific impact of the blow sent Halkett reeling across the threshold. Partly stunned, he caught at the banisters, groping instinctively for the pistol. And already he had contrived to drag it clear of his side pocket when another blow sent him staggering back against the stair rail; the pistol flew out of his hand and went spinning down the hallway over the polished floor.
As Halkett crashed into the banisters and fell full length, Philippa, in her red skirt and bodice, appeared on the stairs above.
The young man, who had dropped on his knees beside Halkett, and who had already torn open his coat, caught sight of the girl as she flew past him down the stairs; and he leaped to his feet to intercept her.
On the newel-post stood a tall, wrought-iron lamp. As he blocked her way she hesitated an instant, then threw all her weight against the heavy metal standard, pushing with both hands; and the iron lamp swayed forward and fell.
As the young man leaped clear of the falling fixture, Philippa vaulted the stair rail into the hallway below. He saw instantly what she was after; both sprang forward to snatch the pistol.
As she stooped for it and seized it, he caught her arm; and she twisted around on him, beating his head and breast with her free hand while he strove desperately to master the outstretched arm which still clutched Halkett's pistol.
To and fro they swayed over the slippery floor of the hallway, until he forced back her arm to the breaking point. Then the pistol clattered to the floor.
Instantly she kicked it under a tall secretary, where the register was kept. Holding her at arm's length with one hand, he managed to drag the heavy piece of furniture on its casters away from the wall far enough to uncover the pistol.
As he stooped for the weapon, she tore herself free, kicked it away from beneath his fingers, which already touched it, and, wrenching a framed engraving from the wall behind her, hurled it at him with both hands.
He leaped nimbly aside to avoid it, but another picture followed, and then a mantel clock and two vases went smashing against the secretary behind which he had taken shelter. And suddenly she seized the secretary itself, and with one supreme effort tipped it over toward him, driving him again from cover and from the vicinity of the weapon they both were fighting to secure.
As the big oak secretary fell, and the glass doors crashed into splinters, she stooped, snatched Halkett's pistol from the floor, and crept forward along the base of the staircase. But the young man had whipped out a revolver of his own, and was now standing astride of Halkett's body, panting, speechless, but menacing her with gesture and weapon.
She shrank aside and crouched low under the staircase, resting there, disheveled, bleeding, half naked, struggling for breath, but watching his every movement out of brilliant, implacable eyes.
Every time he ventured to bend down over Halkett, or make the slightest motion toward the fallen man's breast pockets, Philippa stopped his operations with leveled pistol, forcing him to spring to his feet again.
Suddenly, behind him in the doorway, appeared Magda and Linette, coming from the meadow across the road, carrying between them a basket of freshly washed linen. Like a flash he turned on them and drove them back and out of doors at the point of his weapon, then whirled about, aimed full at Philippa, slammed and bolted the front door behind him, and, covering her with his revolver, ran forward to the foot of the stairs, where his victim still lay unconscious. Catching the senseless man by the sleeve, he strove desperately to rip the coat from the inert body, while keeping his revolver pointed at Philippa's hiding place under the stairs.
As he stood there, tugging furiously at the fallen man's coat, into the rear of the hallway ran Warner, his automatic lifted. Both men fired at the same instant, and the intruder dropped Halkett's arm. Then he ran for the stairway. Up the stairs he leaped, shooting back at Warner as he mounted to the landing above; and the American sped after him, followed by Philippa, as far as the foot of the stairway.
Here Warner hesitated for a few moments, then he began cautiously to negotiate the stairway, creeping step by step with infinite precaution.
When at last he had disappeared on the landing above, Philippa, listening breathlessly below, heard Halkett stir and then groan.
As she turned, the Englishman lifted himself on one elbow, fumbled instinctively in his breast pockets, and drew out two envelopes.
"Take them to Sister Eila!--Hurry, Philippa----" He passed a shaking hand across his eyes, swayed to a sitting posture, caught at the stair rail, and dragged himself to his feet.
"Give me that pistol," he muttered. She handed it to him; he groped in his pockets for a few moments, found a clip, reloaded, and, reeling slightly, walked with her aid as far as the front door. Philippa opened it for him.
"Where is this man?" he asked vaguely.
"Mr. Warner followed him upstairs."
He pressed his hand over his battered head, nodded, extended the two envelopes to her.
"Sister Eila," he repeated.
Philippa took the papers; he straightened his shoulders with a visible effort; then, steadying himself by the handrail, he started to ascend the stairs.
The girl watched him mount slowly to the landing above, saw him disappear, stood listening a moment longer.
Magda and Linette came stealing into the hallway; Philippa pointed to the telephone.
"Call the gendarmes at Ausone!" she whispered. "I must go to----"
A shot from above cut her short. All three women stood gazing up at the landing in startled silence.
"Quick--the telephone! The gendarmerie!" cried Philippa.
Magda ran to the box; and at the same instant a man climbed over the stair well, dropped to the hallway below, swung around on Magda, pushed her violently from the telephone, and, seizing the receiver, ripped it out by the roots.
Philippa had already turned and slipped through the doorway, both envelopes tightly clutched in her hand. Directly in her path stood the intruder's bicycle; and she seized the handles, righted it, and leaped into the saddle before he could reach the front door.
He ran up the road behind her for a little distance, but she had already found her balance and was increasing her speed over the smooth, white highway. Then the young man halted, carefully leveled his revolver, steadied his aim with his left elbow, and, standing in mid-road, he deliberately directed a stream of lead after the crouching fugitive.
The last bullet from his magazine sent her veering widely from her path; the machine sheered in a half-circle, staggered, slid down into the grassy ditch, flinging the girl off sideways among the weeds.
Philippa got up slowly, as though dazed or hurt. The young man hurried forward, reloading his weapon as he ran, but a shot from behind warned him away from the trail of the limping girl, who was now trying to escape on foot.
Whirling in his tracks, he stood for a second glaring at Halkett and Warner, who were advancing, shooting as they came on; then, with a savage glance at Philippa, he fired at her once more, turned, mounted the roadside bank in a single leap, and ran swiftly along the hedge, evidently looking for an opening into the field beyond.
When he found one, he wriggled through and was off like a hare, across the fields and headed for the river, before Halkett and Warner could discover his avenue of escape. Checked for a few moments, they ranged the thorny hedge up and down, like baffled beagles. They had overrun the trail.
Warner was already within speaking distance of Philippa when the girl hailed him.
"Are you hurt?" he called across to her, where she stood knee-deep among the roadside weeds, trying to draw together the points of her torn bodice, to cover her throat and shoulders.
"The tire burst. I have a few scratches!"
"Did he get the papers?" shouted Halkett.
She drew both envelopes from her bosom, and shook them high with a gesture of defiance. Then, replacing them, she made a funnel of her hands and called out to them:
"He crawled under the hedge by that third telephone pole behind you! You have come too far this way! No--the other pole! Wait a moment, Mr. Warner----"
Still calling out her directions in her clear, calm voice, she started to limp down the road toward them; and Warner glanced back at her for a moment; then he suddenly flung up his arm and shouted:
"Philippa! Look out for that car behind you!"
The girl turned, saw the automobile coming, stepped aside into the ditch as a cloud of white dust obscured her.
Before she realized that the car had stopped, three men had jumped out into the ditch and caught hold of her.
Warner heard her cry out; started to run toward her; saw her flung struggling into the car; saw Wildresse rise and strike her with his great fist and knock her headlong across the back seat, where she lay, her disheveled head hanging down over the rear of the tonneau. Then the car started. As she hung there, blood dripping from her mouth, she reached blindly toward her breast, drew out the envelopes, and dropped them in the wake of the moving car.
They fluttered along behind it for a moment, drawn into the dusty suction, then they were whirled away right and left into the roadside ditches.
Evidently nobody in the car except Philippa knew what she had done, for the car, at top speed, dashed on toward the north.
Halkett ran up and found Warner gazing vacantly after the receding machine, pistol leveled, but not daring to shoot. Then they both saw Wildresse jerk the half senseless girl upright, saw him strike her again with the flat of his huge hand so heavily that she crumpled and dropped back into the corner of the seat.
"God!" whispered Halkett at Warner's elbow. "Did you see that?"
Warner, as white as death, made no reply. The ear had vanished, but he still stood there staring at the distant cloud of dust settling slowly in the highway. Presently Halkett walked forward, picked up the two envelopes, pocketed them, and returned swiftly to where the American still stood, his grim features set, the red stain from his bitten lip streaking his chin.
"Warner?"
"Yes?" he answered steadily.
"We'd better start after that man at once."
"Certainly."
Halkett said:
"Have your horse hooked up as soon as you can.... I think----" His voice trembled, but he controlled it. "I am horribly afraid for that child.... He would cut her throat if he dared."
Warner turned a ghastly visage to his companion:
"Why do you say that?"
"Because she knows enough about him to send him before a firing squad," said Halkett. "That's the trouble, Warner."
They turned and walked rapidly toward the inn.
Warner spoke presently in an altered voice, but with the mechanical precision of a man afraid of emotion and any wavering of self-control.
"I'm going to Ausone at once to find her.... Wherever I find her I shall take her.... It makes no difference to me who objects. She is going to have her chance in life.... I shall see to that."
Halkett drew a deep breath:
"Did you ever hear of such a plucky battle as she gave that rascal after he got me? I never shall forget what she has done."
They entered the front door of the inn, almost running; Warner continued on toward the garden and the stable beyond; Halkett halted at the telephone, gazed grimly at the ruined instrument, realized that he was again isolated, and called impatiently to Linette who, with Magda, was gathering up and sweeping aside the debris of the wrecked furniture.
"Linette," he said, "would you do something to help me?"
"Willingly, Monsieur."
"Go to the school; say to Sister Eila that I am in real need of her. Ask her if she could come here at once, because I cannot go to her."
The girl nodded, turned, and went out rapidly by the front way. Halkett hastened upstairs to his room.
When again he returned, the dogcart had just driven up, and Warner sat waiting in silence, reins and whip in hand.
But Halkett had a letter to write before he could start; and it was slow work, because the letter must be written in a cipher, the key to which was the solar spectrum and the three metallic symbols.
He had scarcely completed his letter when Sister Eila and Linette entered the hallway together.
The Sister of Charity caught sight of him through the doorway as he rose from his seat in the empty dining-room; and she instantly went to him.
He thanked Linette, closed the door, and turned to Sister Eila.
"There's nobody else I can trust," he said. "Will you help me?"
"You know I will."
He drew the two envelopes from his breast pocket and handed them to her in silence. Then he laid on the table the letter which he had just, written.
"I am obliged to go to Ausone," he said. "It will take me several hours, I suppose, to go, attend to my business, and return. Could you remain here at the inn until I can get back?"
"Yes. Sister Felicite is with the children."
"Then this is what you must know and prepare for. If, while I am away, a man should come here and ask for me, you will show him this letter lying on the table, and you will say to him that I left it here for a man whom I have been expecting. You will stand here and watch him while he is reading this letter. If he really can read it, then he will ask for pen and ink, and he will change the punctuation of what I have written on the envelope: 'Ibis, redibis non, morieris in bello.' As I have punctuated it, it means: 'Thou shalt go, thou shalt not return, thou shalt die in battle.'
"So if he can read what is inside the envelope, he will erase the comma after the word non, and insert a comma after the word redibis. And the translation will then read: 'Thou shalt go, thou shalt return, thou shalt not die in battle.' Is all this quite clear to you, Sister?"
"Perfectly."
"Then, if a man comes here and asks for me, and if you see that he really has understood the letter which is written in cipher, then, after he has repunctuated what I have written, give him the other two envelopes which I have entrusted to you.
"Will you do this for--France, Sister Eila?"
"Yes"--she lifted her grave young eyes--"for France."
Through the open dining-room window Sister Eila watched his departure, smiling her adieux as the two men turned toward her and uncovered.
Then she seated herself by the window sill and rested her cheek on her palm, gazing out at the blue sky with vague, enraptured eyes that saw a vision of beatitude perhaps, perhaps the glimmering aura of an earthly martyrdom, in the summer sunshine.
And possibly a vision less holy invaded her tranquil trance, for she suddenly straightened her young shoulders, picked up the crucifix at her girdle, and gazed upon it rather fixedly.
The color slowly cooled in her cheeks till they were as white as the spotless wimple that framed them in its snowy oval.
After a while rosary and crucifix fell between her relaxing hands, and she looked up at the blue foothills of the Vosges with bluer eyes.
The next moment she sprang to her feet, startled. Over the sparkling hills came sailing through the summer sky a gigantic bird--the most enormous winged creature she had ever beheld. A moment later the high clatter of the aeroplane became audible.
*CHAPTER XV*
Wheeling in spirals now above the river meadow, the great, man-made bird of prey turned and turned, hanging aloft in the sky like a giant hawk, sweeping in vast circles through the blinding blue, as though searching every clump and tussock in the fields below for some hidden enemy or victim.
Louder and louder came the rattling clatter from the sky, nearer swooped the great plane on wide-stretched wings, until, close to the earth, it seemed to sheer the very grass blades in the meadow, and the deafening racket of its engines echoed and reechoed, filling the world with outrageous and earsplitting noise.
Sister Eila had gone to the front door; Magda and Linette stood behind her. And they saw the aeroplane alight in the meadow and a hooded figure, masked in glass and leather, step out, turn its goblin head toward the inn, then start rapidly toward them across the fields.
He was a tall thin man, and as he crossed the highroad and came toward them, he lifted the glass and leather mask and drew it back above his closely-fitting hood.
When he saluted Sister Eila's habit, he came to a full halt and his heels clicked together. Then he spoke in French, pleasantly, perfectly:
"Mr. Halkett, if you please, Sister. Is he still residing here?"
"Monsieur Halkett has left."
"Oh, I am sorry. Was not Monsieur Halkett expecting a messenger?"
"Have you a message for Monsieur Halkett?"
The airman twisted his pointed, blond mustache:
"I expected that Monsieur Halkett would have a packet for me. Did he leave none?"
"He left a letter," said Sister Eila.
He bowed ceremoniously:
"Would you be kind enough?"
"Will you not enter?"
"I thank you. If I may be permitted to remain here----" He had kept continually glancing up and down the road while speaking; and it was evident that he preferred to remain where he could watch the highway both ways.
So Sister Eila brought the letter to him, and he bowed again with tight-waisted ceremony, pocketed it, and asked again for the packet.
"Wait, if you please," she said. "The letter was to be read in my presence."
"A thousand pardons! I had not understood----"
He drew the sheets of paper from the unsealed envelope, glanced sharply up and down the highroad, then unfolded the letter.
Sister Eila's eyes were fixed on his face, but his features exhibited no emotion whatever.
Every few moments he looked up and down the road, then bent his pleasantly expressionless face again over the sheets in his gloved hands.
Presently he looked up with a smile:
"I have read it and I understand it. Would you be kind enough to give me the packet which Monsieur Halkett writes that he has left for me?"
"Please read first what is written on the envelope of this letter," said Sister Eila very calmly.
He turned over the envelope, read the inscription in Latin, smiled as he read it.
"Rather an ominous message, is it not, Sister?"
"Do you think so?"
He glanced sharply to right and left, then, still smiling, he read aloud:
"Thou shalt go, thou shalt not return, thou shalt die in battle----"
He turned his head with a jerk and gazed down the road as though suddenly startled; at the same instant Sister Eila snatched the letter from his fingers, sprang inside the house, and slammed the door.
As she bolted it, he threw his weight against it for a moment, then turned and ran for the meadow where the aeroplane stood.
From a window Sister Eila saw him climb aboard; saw the machine move, run over the ground like a great beetle, and rise from the grass, pointing upward and eastward as it took wing and soared low over the river.
And down the highway, pell-mell, galloped a dozen gendarmes in a storm of dust and flying pebbles, wheeled in front of the inn, put their superb horses to the ditch and the cattle gate beyond, and, clearing both, went tearing away across the fields after the rising aeroplane.
Over the river bank they galloped, straight into the water, their big, powerful horses wading, thrashing, swimming across; then they were up the opposite bank and over and away, racing after the ascending aeroplane.
From it was coming a redoubled rattle now; machine and machine gun were both spitting fiercely as the winged thing fought upward toward the blue zone of safety.
The gendarmes drew bridle now and began to shoot upward from their saddles, then spurred on across the fields, taking ditches and hedges as they came, until the strange chase was hidden by a distant rise of ground and the quarry alone remained visible, high winging, still rising, still pointed eastward toward the Rhine.
Then, far away across the hills, a heavier shot set the August air vibrating--another, another, others following.
Faster and faster cracked the high-angle guns on the Barrier Forts, strewing the sky with shrapnel; the aeroplane soared and soared, leaving behind it a wake dotted with clots of fleece which hung for a while quite motionless against the intense blue, then slowly dissolved and vanished in mid-air.
From the Ausone Fort the gunners could hear, far to the southeast, the sky-cannon banging away on the Barrier Forts; and the telescopes on their signal towers swung toward the sky line above the foothills of the Vosges.
But in the town below the fortressed hill no echo of the cannonade penetrated. Ausone, except in the neighborhood of the railroad and the office of the Petit Journal d'Ausone, lay still and almost deserted in the August sunshine: a few children played under the trees by the bridge; a few women sat knitting along the river quay; one or two old men nodded, half asleep, fishing the deeper pools below the bridge; the market square remained empty except for a stray dog, tongue lolling, padding stolidly up the street about his business.
But before the office of the Petit Journal d'Ausone a crowd stood, covering the sidewalks and overflowing beyond the middle of the street. Young men and old, women and young girls, were clustered there quietly watching the bulletin boards.
There was no excitement apparent, no loud talking, no gesticulation: voices were calm, tones were low; there was almost no movement in the crowd except when people joined the throng or silently departed.
On one of these bulletin boards was nailed the order for general mobilization; on the other a terse paragraph announced that on Sunday, August 2, German soldiers had entered the city of Luxembourg, crossed the Grand Duchy, and were already skirmishing with Belgian cavalry around Liege and with French troops before Longwy. In other terms, the Teutonic invasion had begun; German troops were already on French soil; for Longwy is the most northern of the Republic's fortifications.
Another paragraph reported that King Albert of Belgium had appealed to England, and that Sir Edward Grey, in the House of Commons, had prepared his country for an immediate ultimatum to Germany.
Still a third paragraph informed the populace of Ausone that the British battle fleet had mobilized and sailed, and that the Empire's land forces were already preparing to cross the Channel.
And Germany had not yet declared war on either France or Belgium, nor had England declared war on Germany, nor had Austria, as yet, formally declared war on Russia, although Germany had.
But there seemed to be no doubt, no confusion in the minds of the inhabitants of Ausone, concerning what was happening, what had already happened, and what Fate still concealed behind a veil already growing transparent enough to see through--already lighted by the infernal flashes of German rifle fire before Longwy.
Everybody in Ausone knew; everybody in France understood. A great stillness settled over the Republic, as though the entire land had paused to kneel a moment before the long day of work began.
There was no effervescence, no voice raised, no raucous shout from boulevard orators of the psychological moment, no attitudes, no complaints.
Only, amid the vast silence, as the nation rose serenely from its knees, millions of flashing eyes were turned toward Alsace and Lorraine--eyes dimmed for an instant, then instantly clear again--clear and steady as the sound and logical minds controlling them.
There was no sonnerie from the portcullis, no salvo from parapet or bastion, no fanfare blared at midday in square or stony street. No bands of voyous went yelling through boulevards, no seething crowds choked the cafes or formed a sinister maelstrom around embassies or government offices.
Down at the Gare de Chalons another crowd had gathered to watch the young men of Ausone depart. They came alone, or two by two, or in groups--sticks, bundles, suitcases, valises swinging--with serious, unruffled features intent upon the business of the long, long business day that was beginning for them at last.
Some were accompanied by parents, some by wives and children, some by sweethearts: many had said good-by at home and were walking to the station with brother or friend, saluting acquaintances en route.
But the mobilizing youths were undemonstrative, chary of gesture--shy, serious young fellows preoccupied with the business on hand, conscious that their term of service had equipped them for it--and in their bearing was that modesty and self-respect which discounts self-consciousness and self-assertion.
For there was no longer any excuse for France to be either noisy or dramatic when she went about her business--no reason for posturing, for epigrams, for attitudes, or for the loud laugh and the louder boast to bolster faith with mutual and riotous reassurance in the face of an unknown business venture concerning the conduct of which the entire nation was excited, ignorant, and unprepared.
The Republic had been both instructed and prepared for the matter of the business on hand. And was going quietly about it.
In Ausone itself there were few signs of war visible; the exodus of the young men, the crowd before the bulletins, and the throng at the station, and perhaps more mounted officers and gendarmes than usual riding faster than is customary in the peaceful streets of a provincial town.
But on the roads around the fortified hill dominating the rolling green landscape in the heart of which Ausone nestled, cavalry patrols were riding, infantry details tramped through the white dust, military wagons and motor vans passed under dragoon escort; bridges over the Recollette were guarded by line soldiers and gendarmes, while sappers and miners and engineers were busy at every bridge, culvert, and railway cut.
Above the fort slim tentacles of wireless apparatus spread a tracery against the sky, and a signal tower swam high against the blue. From it sparkled blinding flashes in code. Officers up there were talking business to the Barrier Forts, and the heliographs along the Vosges brilliantly discussed the new business deal with other forts far to the south and east, relaying reports, rumors, and quotations as far as Paris, where the directors' meeting was being held; and even as far as London, where stockholders and directors were gathered to add up profit and loss, and balance policy against ethics, and reconcile both with necessity.
In London a King, a Prime Minister, and a First Lord of the Admiralty were listening to a Sirdar who was laying down the law by wireless to a President and his Premier.
In St. Petersburg an Emperor was whispering to a priest while the priest consulted the stars. Signs being favorable, they changed the city's name to Petrograd, which imperial inspiration dealt a violent slap on the Kaiser's wrist.
Led westward by a Grand Duke, marching Russia bent several million reverent heads, awed by this stroke of autocratic genius, and somebody named a brand of caviar after the Czar of all the Russias. Which holy tribute, however, built no strategic railroads in the West.
Meanwhile, the spinning world swung on around its orbit; tides rose and ebbed; the twin sentinels of the skies relieved each other as usual, and a few billion stars waited patiently for eternity.
Ausone, lying in the sun, was waiting, too, amid its still trees and ripening fields.
In the summer world around, no hint of impending change disturbed the calm serenity of that August afternoon--no sense of waiting, no prophecy of gathering storms. But in men's hearts reigned the breathless stillness which heralds tempests.
Silently as a kestrel's shadow gliding over the grass, an ominous shade sped over sunny France, darkening the light in millions of smiling eyes, subduing speech, stilling all pulses, cautioning a nation's ardent heart and conjuring its ears to listen and its lips to silence.
And, as France sat silent, listening, hand lightly resting on her hilt, came the far cry from beyond the Vosges--the voices of her lost children.
Now she had risen to her feet, loosening the blade in its scabbard. But she had not yet drawn it; she still stood listening to the distant shots from Longwy in the north, to the noise of the western winds blowing across the channel; and always she heard, from the east, the lost voices of her best beloved, calling, calling her from beyond the Vosges.
As they approached Ausone, driving full speed, Warner and Halkett encountered the Sais omnibus returning, and drew rein.
In it was the Harem, much annoyed because not permitted to sketch in the Ausone streets.
They had seen nothing of any touring car containing several men and a young girl. That did not interest them. What preoccupied their minds was that they had been sketching in the streets of Ausone, and had been politely requested to desist by several unappreciative policemen. So they had collectively shaken the dust of Ausone from their several and indignant feet, and were now en route to Sais to paint hay stacks.
Requesting to know whether they might still be permitted to paint haystacks at Sais, Warner offered them no encouragement, pointing out that Sais was in the zone of future military operations.
In the face of such an outrageous condition of affairs, there is no doubt that Art shrieked as loudly as did Freedom when her popular hero fell. Anyway, her devotees now protested in chorus; but Warner advised them to pack their trunks and go to Paris while the going was good; and the Sais omnibus rolled away with the Harem still volubly denouncing a government which dared to interfere with Haystack Art on any pretext whatever.
As Warner drove forward Halkett said:
"The chances are that the military will requisition that omnibus before evening. It wouldn't surprise me if they stopped us at the entrance to Ausone and took your horse and cart."
And it happened as he had feared; red-legged soldiers halted them at the town entrance; a polite but resolute young officer refused to argue the matter, but insisted that they descend, accept an official voucher for the temporary loan of their horse and cart, and continue their journey on foot.
As yet, however, punts, rowboats, and skiffs were not subject to requisition by the authorities. Halkett noticed a skiff tied to the shore near a small house on the river bank; so they climbed a stile, crossed the newly mown hayfield, and found an old man fishing from his doorstep in the rear of the house.
For thirty francs they bought the boat outright; the old man shuffled into the house and returned with the home-made oars; Warner took them; Halkett pushed off and sprang in; and they pulled away up the river, breasting a glassy current over which swallows darted and played and dipped, starring the calm surface with a hundred spreading circles.
Rushes swayed inshore where meadows bordered the Recollette, and dragon flies with turquoise bodies sailed glittering into the breeze. Trees swept the surface of the water with tender leaves still untarnished by the ripening world of waning summer; and in shady coves the cattle stood to their knees in the crystal flood, staring with moony eyes at the passing skiff.
Presently Warner sent the skiff inshore, and when it lay floating in the shadow of the trees under the right bank of the stream, he rested on his oars.
"The cafe garden is just ahead, around that next turn," he said. "If you'll take the oars, I'll get out on the bank and look over the situation."
"Don't you want me?"
"I don't know; I'll see what things look like first. Do you mind?"
"I'll wait if you say so. But there's a rough crowd hanging about that cafe, as you know."
"I know it," said Warner grimly.
"Are you armed?"
"I certainly am, Halkett. But I don't count on any trouble, because Wildresse can't afford to make any. If there's a row in that cabaret at such a time as this, the police will make short work of it. I think I'll have no difficulty in finding my little friend Philippa and in taking her out of that miserable place."
Halkett said:
"Don't forget yourself and beat up Wildresse for what we saw him do to Philippa. You can attend to that later: the idea now is to take the child back to Sais."
"I'll try to remember," said Warner with a somber glance at his friend. Then he handed him the oars and, making his way to the stern, leaped lightly to the grassy bank.
*CHAPTER XVI*
Warner entered a paved lane leading up the slope, between two high, stucco walls. It bore the name, "Impasse d'Alcyon," painted under the rusty bracket of a gas lamp projecting from the wall. A few chickens and a pig moved aside to let him pass.
The Impasse d'Alcyon emerged upon the market square of Ausone to the left of the Cabaret de Biribi; and, as Warner came out into the sunny, deserted square, the first thing he caught sight of was a written notice nailed up over the doorway of the Cabaret de Biribi:
AVIS IMPORTANT
The town of Ausone is proclaimed to be in a state of siege. Place and town will remain under government of the military authorities, aided by the municipality. Both are within jurisdiction of military headquarters in charge of the secteur which includes place, town, and environs of Ausone.
BY ORDER OF THE MAYOR.
The Cabaret de Biribi will remain closed until further notice. For the convenience of the public, the Cafe Biribi, adjoining, will remain open between the hours of seven A.M. and nine P.M. until further notice.
The cafe, separated from the cabaret by a clipped privet hedge, formed the southeastern angle of the square.
Under its orange and white awning the tables on the terrace were crowded with people lingering over after-luncheon coffee and cognac--quiet, serious, solid citizens, accustomed to their dejeuner at that time and place, whose habits of long standing had not so far been altered in the sudden and general upheaval in the accustomed order of things.
Waiters came and went as usual; men consulted the files of provincial and Paris papers; one or two were playing dominoes inside the cafe.
Warner, pausing at the entrance to the terrace, summoned a waiter.
"The cabaret is closed, then?" he asked.
"Since last night, Monsieur."
"By the police?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Why?"
The waiter said respectfully:
"It is usual in time of war to close places of amusement. Besides, music and dancing are in questionable taste at such a time as this."
"Certainly. Where is Monsieur Wildresse?"
"The Patron is absent."
"Where can I find him?"
The waiter shrugged:
"The Patron went away this morning. I do not know where. He has not yet returned."
"Are you quite certain?"
"Perhaps Monsieur had better ask the caissiere. Maybe the Patron has returned."
So Warner entered the cafe. In the cool, subdued light of the interior, he saw the cashier behind her counter--a fresh-faced, plump, dark-eyed country girl, who returned his salute with a smile that showed her white teeth.
"Monsieur Wildresse?" he inquired. "May I see him for a moment?"
"The Patron is absent, Monsieur."
"When do you expect him to return?"
"We do not know. Sometimes he goes to Paris and remains a week or two."
"Do you suppose he has gone to Paris?"
"We do not know. He never tells us where he is going."
Warner thought hard for a moment, then:
"It seems that the cabaret is closed," he said.
"Locked up, Monsieur."
"I wonder if you could tell me where I might find the caissiere of the cabaret--Mademoiselle Philippa?"
The girl shook her head:
"I think she went to Paris."
"When?"
"The other day. We understood that she had gone to Paris."
"No," said Warner, "she did not go to Paris. Has she not returned to Ausone?"
The caissiere rapped with her pencil and a waiter hastened to the desk.
"Pierre, didn't you say something about Mademoiselle Philippa this morning?"
"I said that I thought I saw her. It was somebody who resembled her, no doubt."
Warner wheeled around:
"When?"
"It was before noon, some time----"
"Where?"
"Monsieur, they were putting up and locking the shutters of the cabaret, and on the top floor somebody inside was lowering the lateen shades and drawing the blue curtains.
"I thought I saw Mademoiselle Philippa--I thought I saw her face for a moment behind one of the windows in the Patron's apartment."
"And what do you think about it now?"
"Ma foi, Monsieur, if Mademoiselle Philippa has gone to Paris, I could not have seen her at the window."
"But you saw somebody there?"
"I thought I did."
"Could we go to the cabaret and inquire?"
"It is locked up. There is nobody now within."
"How do you know?"
"They locked and padlocked it from the outside. They even removed the geraniums and the three cats. The place is empty, Monsieur. I know, because I helped remove the cats and the potted plants. Everybody and everything was transferred last night to the cafe. And at noon today the police put seals on the doors."
Warner forced a smile:
"That, of course, settles it. I'm sorry. I wanted to see the Patron and Mademoiselle Philippa. Another time will do."
He thanked the waiter, lifted his hat to the caissiere, turned, and walked over to a table by the opposite wall, where he ordered coffee and cognac and a newspaper, as though he had just lunched.
When his coffee was brought, he opened the paper and leaned back against the padded leather seat, pretending to read, but studying the room and everybody in it.
It was a cafe typical of almost any half dead provincial town in France--large, rather dimly lighted, shabbily furnished with marble-topped tables ranged around the walls and two ancient billiard tables occupying the center of the room.
In the corner near the door was the cashier's cage and desk; on the same side of the room, in the further corner, a swinging leather door, much battered, gave exit and entrance to the waiters as they went to or arrived from kitchen and cellar.
And one thing occurred to him immediately: the same kitchen, and perhaps the same cellar, had supplied both cabaret and cafe. Therefore, there must still be some passage of communication between the cabaret--which had been locked and sealed by the authorities--and the cafe which the police had decreed must remain open for the convenience of the public.
Deeply perturbed by what the waiter had said concerning the glimpse he had caught of somebody resembling Philippa, and made doubly anxious by Halkett's sinister remark in regard to the girl's knowledge of secrets which might send Wildresse before a platoon of execution, he studied the gloomy room from behind his newspaper, trying to come to some conclusion.
He did not believe that Wildresse and his companions had dared drive into Ausone by daylight with Philippa in the tonneau, either unconscious or resisting them.
