Читать книгу: «Who Goes There!», страница 7
CHAPTER XI
STRATEGY
As he rose from the sofa, stretching his arms to ease his cramped muscles, Guild became conscious that he was very tired.
He had had little sleep the night before and none at all this night. He glanced at his watch; it was four o'clock in the morning. He went to the port, unscrewed it, and looked out into pitch darkness. There was not a light to be seen on the sea, no flare from any headland, no spark which might indicate a lighthouse, not a star overhead, not a sparkle save for the splintered reflection of the vessel's own lights running over the water alongside, through which foaming, curling waves raced and fled away into the black obscurity astern.
He turned and looked gravely at Karen. The girl still lay unstirring among the pillows on the sofa. One arm covered her head as though to shield it from some blow.
He bent beside her, listening to her breathing. It was quiet and regular, and on her cheek was a flush like the delicate colour of a sleeping child.
He had no mind to disturb her, yet he could not make her more comfortable without awaking her.
All he dared do was to unbutton her spats very cautiously, and slip off the little brown suede shoes.
Over her he laid the blankets from the bed, lightly, then opened wide the port.
His own toilet for the night was even simpler; he folded together the batch of damning papers, originals, his own notes, the forged passports, strapped them with an elastic band, buttoned them inside his breast pocket, reached over and extinguished the electric globe, and, fully dressed, lay down on the stripped bed in darkness.
They had been traveling sixteen hours. Allowing for their detention by the ill-omened Wyvern, they should dock at Amsterdam in five or six hours more.
He tried to sleep; but his nerves were very much alive and his excited brain refused to subscribe to the body's fatigue.
All that had happened since he first saw Karen Girard he now went over and over in his mind in spite of himself. He strove to stop thinking, and could not; and sometimes the lurid horror of the Wyvern possessed him with all its appalling details made plain to his imagination – details not visible from the liner's decks, yet perhaps the more ghastly because hidden by distance and by the infernal glare that fringed the doomed ship like a very nimbus from hell itself.
This obsessed him, and the villainous information which he had wrested from the papers which this young girl had been carrying – information amply sufficient to convict her and to make inevitable the military execution of the man Grätz and the grinning chauffeur, Bush.
And if the wretched maid, Anna, had been arrested with papers similar to these on her person, her case, too, was hopeless. Because the very existence of England depended upon extinguishing forever people who dealt in secret information like that which lay folded and buttoned under his belted coat of tweed.
He knew it, knew what his fate must have been had the satchel been searched on Fresh Wharf – knew what Karen's fate must have been, also, surely, surely!
And had those papers been taken aboard the Wyvern it had not been very long before the simplicity of the cipher had been discovered by anybody trained in code work.
For, in spite of its surface complexity, the cipher was a singularly simple one, even a stupid code, based on simple principles long known and understood in all of their hundreds of variations.
And all such ciphers, granted time and patience, could be solved by the same basic principles. The only function of that kind of code was to so multiply its intricacies and variations that, with a time limit for delivery understood, measures could be taken at the other end to minimize the effect of discovery, the elapsing of the time limit serving as an automatic warning that message or messenger were under forcible detention within the enemy's lines.
Yes, it had been a stupid cipher, and an easy one.
A trained man would have solved it in half the time he had required.
Nothing about the message remained really obscure except the Japanese dancing girl playing with her butterfly and fan, and the lack of information concerning the "fleet" at anchor or cruising near "Lough Swilly" on the Irish coast.
As far as the fleet was concerned, Guild was very confident that he understood. The whereabouts of the British battleship fleet was not known, had been carefully guarded. Without a doubt Lough Swilly was its rendezvous; and the German spy system in England had discovered it and was sending the information to Berlin with a suggestion that submarines "follow the birds," i. e., take that dotted course around the northern Scottish coast, slip south into Lough Swilly, and attack the first line of battle squadron where it had been supposed to lurk in safety, awaiting its call to action. That was as clear as daylight, but the Japanese figure he could not understand.
He was utterly unable to sleep. After an hour's staring into the darkness he rose cautiously, opened the stateroom door and stepped into the lighted corridor.
Here he lighted a cigarette against regulations and began to pace up and down.
Presently the sharp nose of a steward detected the aroma of tobacco, and he came prowling into the corridor.
So Guild nodded and tossed the cigarette out of the open port at the end of the corridor.
"We ought to dock by nine," he said.
"About nine, sir."
"We're lucky to have run afoul of nothing resembling a mine."
"God, sir! Wasn't it awful about the Wyvern! I expect some passenger steamer will get it yet. Mines by the hundreds are coming ashore on the coast of Holland."
"Have you had any news by wireless?" asked Guild.
"A little, sir. They've been fighting all night south of Ostend. Also, we had a wire from London that a German light cruiser, the Schmetterling, is at Valparaiso, and that a Japanese cruiser, the Geisha, and a French one, the Eventail, have been ordered after her."
Guild nodded carelessly, stretched his arms, yawned, and returned to the stateroom, knowing that now, at last, he was in possession of every item in the secret document.
For the Japanese dancing girl was the Geisha, the fan in her hand was the French cruiser Eventail and the butterfly fluttering about her was the German light cruiser Schmetterling– which in that agreeable language means "butterfly," and which no doubt had made an attempt upon the Geisha and had been repulsed.
And this warning was sent that the Schmetterling had better keep her distance, because the Eventail had now joined the Japanese ship, and the two meant mischief.
As for the drawing of the Pike, perhaps on the German naval list there might have been a vessel named the Hecht. He did not know. The symbol of the most ferocious fresh-water fish in Europe was sufficient to indicate the nature of the craft even had the flight of the "birds" not made it unmistakable. There could be no doubt about it that the Hecht with the three little Hechts following had been explicitly invited to cruise in the North Sea and have a look-in at Lough Swilly. And that was quite enough to understand.
He turned on the cabin light, went to Karen's side and looked at her.
She had moved, but only in her sleep apparently. The back of one hand lay across her forehead; her face was turned upward, and on the flushed cheeks there were traces of tears.
But she still slept. He arranged her coverings again, stood gazing at her for a moment more, then he extinguished the light and once more lay down on the bare mattress, using his arm for a pillow.
But sleep eluded him for all his desperate weariness. He thought of Grätz and of Bush and of the wretched woman involved by them and now a prisoner.
The moment he turned over these papers to the British Consul in Amsterdam the death warrant of Grätz and Bush was signed. He knew that. He knew also that the papers in his possession were going to be delivered to British authority. But first he meant to give Grätz and Bush a sporting chance to clear out.
Not because they had aided him. They cared nothing about him. It was Karen they had aided, and their help was given to her because of von Reiter.
No, it was not in him to do the thing that way. Had he been a British officer on duty it had been hard enough to do such a thing.
As it was he must give them their chance and he knew of only one way to do it. This point settled he dismissed it from his mind and, with a slight sigh, permitted his harassed thoughts to lead him where they seemed always now inclined to lead him when permitted – back to the young girl he had known only a few hours, but in whose company it seemed to him that he had already lived a century.
He was not a man given to easy friendships, not a man in whom sensations were easily stirred. Under ordinary circumstances, perhaps, neither the youthful beauty of this girl, nor her talents and accomplishments had stirred him to more than an amiably impersonal interest. He had known many women and had been friends with a few. But on his part the friendships had not been sentimental.
Women of all sorts and conditions he had known: fashionable idlers, professional women, domesticated women; women with ideas, women without them, busy women with leisure for mischief, mischievous women whose business was leisure, happy women, unhappy ones, calm ones, restless ones, clever ones, stupid ones and their even more irritating sisters who promised to amount to something and never did, all these varieties of the species he had known, but never a woman like this.
Usually he could place a woman after seeing her move and hearing her speak. He could only place Karen on a social par with any woman he had ever known, and he was afraid she didn't belong there, because well-born German Mädchens don't interne themselves in nun-like seclusion far from Vaterland, Vater, and maternal apron-strings, with intervals of sallying forth into the world for a few months' diversion as a professional actress on the stage.
At least Guild had never heard of any girls who did such things. But there remained the chance, of course, that Karen Girard was a perfectly new type to him.
One fact was evident; her father was a Prussian officer and belonged to the Prussian aristocracy. But gentlemen of these castes do not permit their daughters the freedom that Karen enjoyed.
There was a mystery about the matter, probably not an agreeable one. Antecedents, conditions and facts did not agree. There was no logic in her situation.
Guild realized this. And at the same time he realized that he had never liked any woman as much – had never come to care for any woman as easily, as naturally, and as quickly as he had come to care for Karen Girard.
It stirred him now to remember that this young girl had responded, frankly, fearlessly, naturally; had even met him more than half-way with a sweet sincerity and confidence that touched him again as he thought of it.
Truly he had never looked into such honest eyes, or into lovelier ones, – two clear, violet wells of light. And Truth, who abides in wells, could not have chosen for her dwelling place habitations more suitable.
She seemed to possess all qualities as well as all accomplishments and graces of mind and body. The quality of courage was hers – a courage adorable in its femininity. But there was nothing hard about it, only firmness – like the white firmness of her skin. And her intuitive generosity was as quick and melting as the exquisite motives which prompted it.
Never could he forget that in the dreadful peril of the moment, she had tried to give him a chance to escape the consequences of his companionship with her, – had tried to send him ashore at the last moment so that she alone might remain to face whatever there was confronting her.
It was a brave thing to do, generous, self-forgetful, merciful, and finely just. For though she had not tried to deceive him she had gradually realized that she herself might be deceived, and that she was in honour bound to warn him concerning her suspicions of the satchel's contents.
And now – in the end – and after danger was practically over, how did they stand, he and she? How had they emerged from the snarl of circumstances?
Had his gentle violence killed forever a very wonderful beginning of what they both had spoken of as friendship? And she – he reddened in the darkness as he remembered – she had begged him in the name of friendship not to violate it – had spoken of it, in the excitement of emotion, as more than friendship.
It had been the most difficult thing he ever had had to do.
Was it true that her friendship had turned to hatred?
He wondered, wondered at the dull unhappiness which the thought brought with it. And, wondering, fell asleep.
In the grey of dawn Karen sat up, wide-eyed, still tremulous from the dream of death that had awakened her.
Through the open port a grey sky glimmered. She rose to her knees and gazed out upon a grey waste of water heaving to the horizon.
Then she turned and looked across at the bed where Guild lay, his blond head cradled on one arm, asleep.
Her eyes rested on him a long while. Then she caught sight of her shoes and spats on the floor – looked down at the blankets and covers that had kept her warm. The next moment her eyes fell on her satchel where it stood open, the key still in the lock, and her silver toilet articles glimmering dully inside.
The vague tenderness in her blue eyes vanished; he had done this, too! – shamefully, by force, treading mercilessly on the frail bud of friendship – ignoring everything, sacrificing everything to a dull, obstinate determination which he had characterized as duty.
She turned and looked at the man who had done all this, her eyes darkly beautiful, her lips stern.
Duty? He had not considered the duty she owed. He had not respected her promise to bring back what had been intrusted to her. And when the discussion had tired him – when her warnings, pleadings – even her appeals in the name of the first friendship she had ever given – had been ignored, he had coolly used violence.
Yes, violence, although, perhaps, the violence had not been very violent. But it was force – and hateful to her who never before had been obliged to endure the arrogance which her caste only knew how to dispense.
"So brauch' Ich Gewalt!" kept ringing in her ears like a very obsession as she knelt there, sitting back on her own supple limbs, and watching the sleeping man out of beautiful hostile eyes.
That man! That American– or Belgian – whatever he was – with his clear grey eyes and his short yellow hair and that mouth of his which could be faintly humorous at times and, at times be so ugly and set – what was there about him that she liked – or rather had liked?
Not his features; they were only passable from an ornamental point of view – not his lean but powerful figure, which resembled many other figures she had seen in England – not his manner particularly – at least she had seen more deferential attitudes, more polish of the courtly and continental sort, more empressement.
What was it she liked, – had once liked in this man? Nothing! Nothing!– the tears suddenly glimmered in her eyes and she winked them dry, angrily.
And to think – to remember in years to come that she —she had pleaded with that man in the name of friendship – and of something more than friendship! – The hot colour mantled face and throat and she covered her eyes in a sudden agony of mortification.
For a few moments she remained so, then her hands fell, helplessly again.
And, as she knelt there looking at him through the increasing daylight, suddenly her eyes narrowed, and her set face grew still and intent.
Crowding out of the shallow breast pocket of his Norfolk where he lay were papers. Her papers!
The next instant, lithely, softly, soundlessly on her unshod feet, she had slipped from the lounge and crossed the stateroom to his side, and her fingers already touched the edges of the packet.
Her papers! And her hand rested on them. But she did not take them. There was something about the stealth of the act that checked her, – something that seemed foreign, repugnant to her nature.
Breathless, her narrow hand poised, she hesitated, trying to remember that the papers were hers – striving to aid herself with the hot and shameful memory of the violence he had offered her.
Why couldn't she take them? This man and she were now at war! War has two phases, violence and strategy. Both are legitimate; he had played his part, and this part was strategy. Why shouldn't she play that part? Why?
But her hand wavered, fell away, and she looked down into his sleeping face and knew that she could not do it.
After a moment his eyes opened and met hers, pleasantly.
She blushed to her hair.
He said: "Why didn't you take them, Karen?"
"You couldn't understand if I told you," she said with youthful bitterness.
He looked very grave at that. She turned, picked up shoes and spats, and seated herself on the sofa.
So he got up, opened the door and went up on deck, leaving her the stateroom to herself.
At the office of the wireless station the operator seemed to have no objection to sending a message for him to the British Consul in Amsterdam, and obligingly looked up the address. So Guild sent his message and prepaid reply.
Then he went into the smoking-room and lit a cigarette.
He was dozing when a steward awoke him with a reply to his wireless message:
Kervyn Guild
On board S. S. Feyenoord
Will call at American Consulate. Many thanks.
Churchill, Consul.
He sat thinking for a few minutes. Then remembering that he did not know where the American Consul was to be found, he went again to the wireless office and procured the address.
Turning, as he was leaving, to thank the boyish operator, he found that youth's shrewd eyes fixed on him intently.
"Look out, sir," said the operator, in perfectly good English. "There's a lot o' talk about you on board."
"What do you mean?"
"Wasn't it you the Wyvern was wanting?"
"Yes."
"You're friendly to us, I take it?"
"Do you mean to England?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, I am."
"I fancied so. Be very careful aboard this boat, sir. Half the crew and most of the stewards are German."
"Thanks," said Guild smilingly.
But as he walked slowly away he realized rather uneasily what an object of interest he had become to the personnel of the ship since the Wyvern had honoured him by her wireless inquiries concerning him.
CHAPTER XII
IN THE RAIN
He went straight to the writing-room. Only one or two of his fellow-passengers were up, and he had the place to himself.
He wrote first:
W. A. Churchill, Esquire,
British Consulate,
Plantage Middenlaan 20,
Amsterdam,
Holland
Sir:
The following items of information should be immediately transmitted to your home Government. The importance of the matters in question admit of no delay.
1st. It has come to my knowledge that German spies in England have discovered the whereabouts of a British fleet – presumably the first line battle fleet – and have attempted to communicate the intelligence to Berlin. One document in cipher embodying this intelligence has been intercepted and translated. But other communications in cipher may get through.
2d. Another document of the same sort advises the Berlin Government to send from Cuxhaven a cruiser (parent ship) as convoy to three submarines for the purpose of attacking the British armoured ships.
The rendezvous of the British ships, as given in the cipher message, is Lough Swilly, North Irish coast.
The route suggested for the German cruiser and submarines is around the north coast of Scotland.
3d. Still a third document in cipher informs the German Government that the light cruiser, Schmetterling, at or off Valparaiso, is being pursued by the Japanese ship Geisha and the French gunboat Eventail.
4th. The fourth and last item of information to be transmitted to your Government concerns an actuality witnessed by myself and by the majority of the passengers of this steamer, now docking at Rotterdam.
Last night, somewhere between eleven o'clock and midnight, and somewhere off the Belgian coast, H. M. S. Wyvern was blown up, whether by mine or torpedo or by a bomb from some unseen air-craft I do not know. She was using her searchlight on the clouds at the time.
The ship was tilted out of the water at an odd angle when the red glare that suddenly enveloped her made her visible. It appears to me as though some submarine convulsion had heaved her up out of the sea.
There was one of her officers aboard our liner when the catastrophe occurred – Lieutenant Jamison. A boat's crew lay alongside of us. With these exceptions it does not seem probable that anybody aboard the Wyvern could have escaped death, although other ships were in the vicinity and their searchlights played upon her, and I saw small boats on the way to her before she finally blew to pieces.
This is the information which both duty and inclination impel me to place at the disposal of the British Government.
Permit me to add that I am leaving in the hands of the United States consul, Henry H. Morgan, Esquire, a separate packet of papers containing full corroboration of the foregoing details.
The packet is addressed to you in his care, but he will be instructed to give you this letter, only, and not to deliver the packet to you until a week from today for reasons which I cannot explain.
The packet contains —
1st. Three pages of cipher and pictographs employed by the German spy system in London.
2d. A key to the cipher.
3d. A key to the pictographs.
4th. A full translation of the cipher.
5th. A translation of the pictographs.
6th. A map.
The German personage to whom the packet was originally addressed, the names and addresses of those who sent it from London, the circumstances under which it was intercepted, will be written out with what detail is necessary, and will be contained in the packet with the original cipher.
In one week from today the American Consul, Mr. Morgan, will deliver to you this packet, but under no circumstances is it to be delivered before a week from today.
I have the honour to be, sir, with great respect,
Your obt. serv't,Kervyn Guild
Union square, New York.
This letter he sealed, addressed, and laid aside.
He then wrote to the American Consulate, addressing the note to the Consul and Vice-Consul, saying that he committed to their care —
1st. A letter to be called for immediately by the British Consul in person, and so marked.
2d. A packet addressed to the British Consul, but not to be delivered until a week had expired.
3d. A letter to be sent to the United States Consul General in London with all speed.
4th. A telegram to be sent to Edmeston Automobile Agency in London.
5th. A letter to the same agency.
He then wrote out his telegram, wondering whether the United States Consul could put it through:
Edmeston Agency,
White Hood Lane,
London, E. C.
Business of instant importance requires you all to leave for Holland immediately. Lose no time.
Signed – Rider.
Holland Line S. S. Feyenoord.
The letter was directed to the Edmeston Agency:
Dear Sirs:
Grätz and Bush must leave at once if they wish to enjoy the fishing here. The pike are biting. Four have been caught. The shooting, also, is excellent. Eight birds were killed yesterday. If Grätz and Bush do not leave within a week business in London is likely to detain them indefinitely and they will miss their holiday with little chance for another.
Tell them to take the urgent advice of a sportsman and clear out while they have the chance.
Yours with good intentions,D. Brown Satchell
While Guild was busy writing and consigning what he had written to separate envelopes, he was aware of considerable movement and noise outside on deck – the passing to and fro of many people, whistle blasts from other craft – in fact, all the various species of bustle and noise which, aboard any steamer, indicate its approach to port.
He raised his head and tried to see, but it was still raining and the air was dull with fog.
Passengers, stewards, and officers came and went, passing through the writing-room where he sat in a corner sorting and sealing his letters. Twice, glancing up over his shoulder, he noticed a steward cleaning up, dusting and arranging the pens, ink, and writing paper on the several tables near by – one of those too busy and officious functionaries whose zeal for tips usually defeats its own ends.
And so it happened this time, for, as Guild, intent on what he was writing, reached out absently for another envelope, a package of them was thrust into his hand with a bustling, obsequious – "Paper, sir! Yes, sir" – Beg pardon, sir! I'm sorry!" – For somehow the inkwell had been upset and the pile of letters scattered over the floor.
"Damn it!" said Guild savagely, springing back to avoid the streaming ink.
The steward appeared to be overwhelmed; down he flopped on his knees to collect the letters, hopping up at intervals to sop the flowing flood of ink from the desk.
Guild took the letters from him grimly, counted the sealed envelopes, then without a word went to the neighbouring desk, and, sitting down there, wrote on the last sealed envelope not yet addressed – the envelope which contained the cipher code, translation, and the information concerning the Edmeston Company. When he had written on it: "To be delivered to the British Consul in a week," he gathered all the letters, placed them in his breast pocket, buttoned his coat, and went out. For half an hour he walked to and fro under the shelter of the roofed deck, glancing absently across the rail where there was nothing to see except grey mist, grey water, and rain.
After he had enough of this he went below.
Karen was not in the cabin, but her luggage stood there beside his own.
He had plenty of time to make a decent toilet; he bathed, shaved, chose fresh linen, brushed his wrinkled tweeds as thoroughly as he could, then, leaving the luggage there he went away in search of Karen with a view to breakfast.
He found her on the starboard deck very comfortably established. The idiot deck steward who had upset his ink-well and scattered his letters was serving her obsequiously with marmalade.
As Guild approached Karen looked up at him coolly enough, though a bright colour surged into her face. The steward bustled away to find more coffee and rolls.
"Do you feel rested at all?" asked Guild pleasantly.
"Yes, thank you."
"May I take the next chair and have breakfast with you?"
"Yes, please."
He seated himself. She said nothing, ate nothing. Suddenly it occurred to him that in her quaint way she was waiting for his breakfast to appear before beginning her own.
"You are not waiting for me, are you?" he asked. "Don't do that; everything will be cold."
With an odd air of old-fashioned obedience, which always seemed to make her more youthful to him, she began her breakfast.
"We'll be docking presently," he remarked, glancing out into the fog and thinly falling rain.
"Yes."
He lay back in his chair, not caring for her monosyllables, but good-humouredly receptive in case she encouraged conversation.
Neither the freshness of her clothes nor of her skin seemed to have suffered from the discomforts of the night; her hair was lustrous and crisply in order. From her hat-crown to the palms of her gloves rolled back over her wrists, she seemed to have just left the hands of a clever maid, so fresh, sweet, fragrant and immaculate she appeared to him, and he became uncomfortably conscious of his knickerbockers and badly wrinkled tweeds.
The same fool of a steward brought his coffee. And as Karen offered no encouragement to conversation he breakfasted beside her in silence.
Afterward he lighted a cigarette, and they both lay back on their steamer chairs watching the fog and the drizzle and the promenading passengers who all appeared to be excited at the approaching process of docking and over the terrible episode of the previous night.
In all languages it was being discussed; Guild could catch fragments of conversation as groups formed, passed, and repassed their chairs.
Another thing was plain to him; Karen had absolutely nothing to say to him, and apparently no further interest in him.
From time to time he looked at the pure profile which never turned in response. Self-possessed, serene, the girl gazed out into the fog as though she were quite alone on deck. Nor did there seem to be any effort in her detached interest from her environment. And Guild wondered in his depressed heart whether he had utterly and hopelessly killed in her the last faint glimmer of friendly interest in him.
The docking of the Feyenoord in the fog interested him very little; here and there a swaying mast or a black and red funnel loomed up in the fog, and the air was full of characteristic noises – that is all he saw or heard where he lay silent, brooding on fate and chance and on the ways of a woman in the pride of her youth.
The idiot steward reappeared and Guild sent him below for their luggage.
On the gang-plank they descended with the throng, shoulder to shoulder in silence. Inspection did not take long; then a porter who had been following took their luggage.
"Karen, do you speak Dutch?" asked Guild, mischievously.
"Yes – a little."
"I supposed you did," he said smilingly. "Please ask him the shortest way to the United States Consulate."
She turned indifferently to the porter: "Wat is de Kortste weg naar – "
She hesitated, then with a dainty malice indescribable – " – Naar the Yankee Consulate?" she added calmly.
Guild reddened and strolled a few steps forward, thoroughly incensed.
The porter smothered a smile: "Mejuffrouw – " he began, "ga recht uit links, en den de derde Straat rechts – "
"Hoe ver is het?"
The porter glanced sideways and cunningly after Guild, then sank his voice: "Freule – " he began, but the girl's haughty amazement silenced him. He touched his cap and muttered in English: "Madam is known to me. The chain is long from London to Trois Fontaines. I am only another link in that chain – at madam's service."
