“Worried?” repeated Francis: “Estelle, I know you can always be relied upon to handle such things. Christopher was anxious, a little. But not I. Nor Emile.”
Agnes said nothing; she smiled a trifle wryly.
Then Estelle began to tell about their adventure. She spoke with strong excitement. “Those two children! And how remarkable it is that we have never known them. Poor lambs. We must make them regret that they didn’t know us sooner.”
Christopher had said not a word. But he had listened. And as he listened a pale bright spark appeared in his eyes.
Just before they all said good night, Agnes was reminded of something. She buttonholed her husband, who grinned down at her with extraordinary amiability.
“We saw the plants tonight, too. All shifts on, eh? So business isn’t so bad, in spite of the complaints? I thought so. So now we can get that Rembrandt before the Metropolitan gets its claws on it.”
Estelle was interested. “But who on earth, these days of peace, is buying all those explosives and things? I thought the war was over.”
Christopher said smoothly, with a peculiar smile: “Well, they still build tunnels and railroads, you know, Estelle. They still have to blow up obstacles in the way of new bridges.”
“Oh, blow up the bridges!” said Hugo.
For some reason the men laughed. The women laughed agreeably, too. Only Adelaide understood.
And only Adelaide did not laugh.
CHAPTER XIV
When they had been left alone in the dining room, Francis had proposed that they, Christopher, Emile and Hugo, go upstairs with him to his private apartments, “where we can be sure of not being interrupted, or over-heard.”
They went upstairs in the small grilled automatic elevator, and settled themselves in Francis’ living room. He ordered a tray of whiskey and soda and a box of cigars.
For a while they smoked genially, and drank, discussing nothing of much importance. Emile had a nose and a passion for scandal. He had no reticence about women, and no natural chivalry. At present he was having an engrossing affair with a certain lady who was one of Agnes’ most intimate friends, and he, he said, found the situation very piquant. Agnes believed that Carol disliked him, and was always trying to “make peace” between them. Carol was a fine actress, and had a most engaging sense of humor, as well as the best legs this side of New York. She also had considerable imagination.
Emile talked at length about his various adventures with the lady, digressing when reminded of some new ribald tale or new and shameful gossip. He had an entertaining way of speaking, and his brother and cousins listened with much amusement. Christopher, especially, laughed almost inordinately, for him. Part of his delight was due to the fact that the lady had previously, and secretly, been his own mistress, and even now she wooed him earnestly, and amused him at every private opportunity with tales about Emile’s love-making.
Francis, who had a kind of cold fastidiousness, and knew a great deal more than anyone suspected, distended his thin nostrils at intervals with distaste. However, he laughed as heartily as the others. But as he laughed, he kept glancing at his wrist watch. His long narrow foot tapped the rug. He looked at Emile, whose big ruddy face appeared swollen and gross. Emile’s eyes, he thought, were those of a pig. But he thought this without rancor. He never wasted time on rancor. He reserved that pleasure for Christopher. Thinking of Christopher, he glanced at him. And listening to that hard toneless laughter, he smiled to himself.
At the end of the laughter following another story, Christopher said: “Now then, shall we get down to business? We did come up here to discuss business, you know.”
Emile still smiled with enjoyment at his last story, and kept chuckling a little under his breath. But his amorous-lidded eyes narrowed.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “That reminds me, just what is your connection with Duval-Bonnet, Chris?”
“Yes. Let us come to the point,” said Hugo, who already knew the point.
Christopher fixed his cold and vitriolic eyes on his brother and said with quiet distinctness: “I am Duval-Bonnet.”
There was a silence while Emile stared, changed color, and stared the more. Then he burst out into prolonged laughter. “You!” he cried when he could catch his breath. “You! Why, you snake in the grass! Where did you get the money, anyway?” He shouted again. “You! Where did you get the money?” But for all his laughter, he was considerably jolted, almost stunned.
Christopher carefully fitted the chilly tips of his fingers together, and over the fleshless tent regarded his brother fixedly.
“I had a little. But you, and Francis, and Hugo, are to supply the rest.”
Emile stopped chuckling. He stared more than ever, his eyeballs bulging. His thick lower lip thrust itself outwards. His whole expression became more piggish than before, and brutal. His shoulders rose massively. “Oh, we are, are we?” he said sullenly. He looked at Francis and Hugo. But their faces were impassive and bland. “What is all this, anyway?” he cried at last in an irate voice. “What is all the secrecy?”
“There is no secrecy,” replied Christopher. He added after a pause: “Between us.”
Emile’s face darkened and coarsened. “So they both know, except me? Afraid to trust me?”
“Let us say, rather, merely being cautious,” answered his brother, looking him full in the eye.
Emile helped himself to another cigar. It fell from his fingers, which were shaking. No one reached for the fallen cigar, nor, when he retrieved it, did Francis offer him a light. He lit it himself, the flame as agitated as though a wind were blowing upon it. Through the smoke he could see them all looking at him, their expressions as smooth and unyielding as marble.
He tried to make his voice casual and disdainful: “Well, go on. That is what you brought me here for, isn’t it? Or have you changed your minds?”
There was another silence. Then Christopher moved slightly on his chair, and said:
“I will make it brief. But first I must ask you a question: How much money, and power, do you want? And how much longer do you want to be Man Friday?”
Emile said nothing. He saw no one but his brother now. Christopher smiled. “Don’t bother to answer! Now, I must digress just a trifle. I will remind you of a tale, and point its moral.
“There was a time when makers of ordnance and explosives and arms went humbly, hat in hand, soliciting orders from governments. This was altered somewhat during the World War. In fact, I recall that Father spoke very gaily of ‘I and Lazarus.’ Our power was rising. However, it was still hampered somewhat, especially in America, where capitalists and industrialists are the most formidable, and at the same time, the most uneasy. The American people still have the illusion that they are potent in government, and to reassure themselves in moments of suspicion, they teach us a lesson. The anti-trust laws are an example, for instance.
“But, through the assistance of government, which has its own reasons for keeping quiet on various matters connected with the last war, we are becoming powerful. Within a few years we shall be the most powerful force in all the world. Our influence is already penetrating into society, industry and politics. Soon we shall control all of these. We shall literally rule the world. And how, in these days of peace? But you know this simplest of all answers. By preparing for war. The war that is to come. The war which will be bred out of the hatred and envy and vegeance of Germany. The hatreds and envies of all the world.”
“You,” said Emile, “are telling me Mother Goose. I learnt all this in the nursery.”
“But my dear Emile. I am merely reminding you. But I am reminding you, too, of many things that are happening in the world, which will be deleterious to us. Unless we hurry. Unless we strike first, and strike to kill.
“Never has there been an administration in America so sympathetic to our interests as the Coolidge Administration. Coolidge, the dunce in cap and gown and eyeglasses! Why, when he was Vice-President, not a senator and hardly a littl
e congressman would speak to him. Don’t you remember that time we met him at Harding’s birthday dinner? A mean little Vermont storekeeper, spiritually counting out pounds of lard and sugar, and trying to cheat on a box of crackers. But he’s a blessing to us, now that he is President. His naïve prattlings about ‘normalcy, the American Way, economy, budget-balancing and sobriety’ earn the tearful gratitude and admiration of a whole nation of spiritual shopkeepers, and small businessmen who want to be capitalists and hate the unions. They think he has brought this post-war prosperity about, with his bacon-measuring bony hands!”
“I,” said Emile, “enjoy these remarks about Coolidge immensely. I remember I wanted to kick him on the backside. But much as I am enjoying all this, I would enjoy, much more, your getting to the point.”
“I am merely reminding you, Emile, of what advantages we are having under Coolidge. But now, to speak of a less pleasant thing, I want to tell you that the happy days of Codidge, and of Robber Baron Mellon, are approaching their lamentable end.
“Our best-beloved friend, Mellon of the harpy eyes, has been very kind to us. He has given us remissions on our income taxes, which is very gratifying. He has coined the phrase: ‘best Secretary of the Treasury since Alexander Hamilton.’ You haven’t heard it yet? You will.
“Yes, everything is just too sweet for anything. Now. Just now. But this is not going to last. The world is approaching the day of reckoning, when it will have to pay for the next war, while it is still paying for the last.
“There is coming a day, and perhaps very soon, when all this glorious prosperity will reach its peak, and then decline. Humpty-Dumpty, to speak again of your nursery Mother Goose, Emile, will have a great fall. The world will crack its foolish eggshell all over the premises. And incidentally, when it does, it is going to bellow for vengeance. On us. And by us, I mean, of course, all industrialists and capitalists. And that is the day for which we must prepare.”
Emile smiled unpleasantly. “And just what is your plan to save our necks in those days? Provided, of course, that you are not opium-smoking just now?”
“My plan? The same plan which Kronk of Germany, and Schultz-Poiret of France, and Robsons-Strong of England, and, Skeda and Bedors, are already working out: the control of government. And how shall we get that control? First of all, through armaments.”
Emile thought for a moment, and then said with a mocking air: “I see, teacher! But this is an old game. Ernest Barbour thought of it before you.”
Christopher smiled. “An old game. But not until today was it the sole game. The nation, my dear brother, that has the biggest and the best armaments is going to rule the world. I propose that the American government, and incidentally ourselves, rule the world. Kronk and Schultz-Poiret and Robsons-Strong also have this idea for themselves. Let them have it. We shall watch their attempts to do it first, and profit by their mistakes. We shall watch them destroy a dangerous democracy in their respective countries, and learn how to do it with dispatch and a minimum of errors.
“For democracy is the only thing that stands in the way of our supremacy. It is the thing which stands in the way of war and nationalism and patriotism. Therefore, it must be destroyed. Before it destroys us.”
Emile was incredulous, and also angry at being made to listen to this absurdity. “Now you are going into metaphysics! You and your calm announcement about destroying democracy! Why, parliamentary government is stronger today in the world than ever before—”
Christopher smiled with disdain. “Do you think so? For instance, you would point out the German Republic to me, wouldn’t you, and say that this was an example of the falling of autocracy? There you reveal your lack of observation, Emile. Look at Germany quickly! For tomorrow, there won’t be parliamentary government in Germany. Communism? No, there won’t be Communism, either.
“In fact, Kronk and his soul-mate, Ebsen of the Steel Company, are doing very nicely. We can learn a lot about constructive or destructive propaganda from the pig-Hun. I have just recently been assured that republicanism in Germany, through the efforts of these two, will soon be destroyed. One of the foremost weapons they have is the Versailles Treaty and its ‘injustices.’ “
Emile laughed contemptuously. “The Versailles Treaty! Why, my God! the provisions of that Treaty have never been enforced, because of British and American sentimentality!”
But Christopher merely raised his eyebrows and smiled again. “Sentimentality? Emile, you don’t do us justice! Not our sentimentality, but our farsightedness, our expediency. Catch a Britisher with an ounce of good will or generosity in him and you catch a freak!
“However, let us get back to the subject: the Versailles Treaty was never enforced. Germany was allowed to survive, and live. British bankers financed her after the war. French banks lent her money. Food after the war was our vengeance on the German population, food for starving children. But all this is carefully soft-pedalled in Germany today, and indeed, throughout the world. The world is being allowed, and encouraged, to forget Alsace-Lorraine and Belgium, and zeppelin air-raids and German prison-camps; it is being helped to forget Hun arrogance and threats and general cowardly ferocity. But the ‘injustices’ of the Versailles Treaty are being brought forcibly to its attention, the Treaty that was never enforced, and never will be enforced.”
Emile had stopped smiling. He regarded his brother intently. “Go on,” he said after a moment “Why was it never enforced?”
Christopher replied gently: “I must repeat, not because of kindheartedness or Christian charity on the part of Britain and France. But just—expediency. Britain, for instance, is afraid that France will grow too strong, and combine withRussia. Britain’s ruling classes desire nothing less than that their working classes acquire a decent living standard and become full of beans.
“So what is Britain to do? She must encourage German strength in Middle Europe, so that Germany once more would be a threat to Britain’s dupe, France, and to Russian Communism. Communism is the biggest bugbear to Britain’s horsy aristocracy today. But Britain never acts directly, and with her bare hands, if she can induce a fool to seize the naked sword for her. So, Britain will make a strong Germany. But a German democracy is in itself a threat to Britain. So Britain will destroy German democracy first of all.”
“Now who,” asked Emile, “has made you their confidant? Or maybe you just have a crystal ball? Or perhaps you know a good spiritualistic medium?”
But Christopher was unoffended. Emile glanced at Hugo and Francis for answering amusement. But to his surprise they did not seem amused at Christopher’s words.
Christopher began to speak again, as though Emile had not asked his nonsensical questions. “I must admit that I am not in possession of the complete plans. In fact, the plans are not complete. They just move on from point to point. However, it is easy to see. Straws are blowing in the wind. We have a few, too. Remember those excellent articles our newspapers have been publishing lately, extolling the new Germany, and absolving the German people from any warguilt? Do you think these are accidental? Just as accidental as the national attack on ‘Reds,’ whatever they are.
“Emile, we now hold cards in the biggest game the world has ever seen. And we Americans can win the biggest stake of them all. Regan knows, and all the rest of Wall. Street. We know. It is just a matter, now, of making the right moves, and profiting by the mistakes of Europe. It is just a matter of watching until the correct European military alignments are made, and then choosing the better. And, in the meantime, as you know, we are helping to bring the day of military alignments nearer, in conjunction with our dear friends Kronk, Schultz-Poiret, Skeda and Robsons-Strong. I don’t need to recall to your memory the various orders we have been filling feverishly for Japan and France and Russia and Britain.
“And so, we are now back where we started. We are now back to Duval-Bonnet.”
“Which, you say, you are,” reminded Emile. He smiled darkly, but his breath quickened.
B
efore replying, Christopher reached over to a table and lifted a thin briefcase from it. He opened this briefcase, and withdrew a sheaf of blueprints, which he handed to Emile. “The new bomber,” he said. “It makes a speed of over three hundred miles an hour by actual test. And we have tested it over the Everglades. Three times the horsepower of present bombers. Observe those gun-mountings. But go on. Study the prints for yourself. And, incidentally, I might inform you that I own all the patents.”
Emile studied the prints. And as he did so his dusky skin paled to a curious clay-color, damp and glistening. Why, Parsons Airplane Company’s latest planes and bombers were 1915 “crates” compared to this! If they were practicable—”If they are practicable,” he said aloud.
“They are, I assure you,” replied Christopher.
And then he gave his brother another sheaf of papers, letters this time, from a certain Russian government agent in New York City, making discreet inquiries about the bomber, and cautiously asking when a certain huge number could be delivered, and at what price.
“That,” said Christopher, “is the reason Parsons hasn’t secured the Russian order. It is practically mine. I need only to secure the necessary funds to start production at once.”
Emile handed back the letters. He seemed loathe to hand back the prints. He let them lie on his knee, and his thick fingers fumbled with them.
“I need not inform you, of course.’ said Christopher, “that Russia is buying these bombers for Germany. And now Japan is avidly interested. Only a week ago we were approached by the Japanese ambassador. The attack on Manchuria is confidently expected by Robsons-Strong within five or six years, or less. Robsons-Strong is already filling huge armaments orders for Japan, and would like to get the plane orders also. But we shall have these orders, and not Robsons. This is making several British bishops, two former Premiers, and three members of the Royal Family, very angry indeed. If Chinamen are going to be killed, they want a share in the proceeds, and the lion’s share, too. The Lion with the jackal’s soul!”
The Eagles Gather Page 13
