“Yes, let’s go,” agreed one of the officers. “Let’s go with Monsieur since there is nothing more to be seen.”
“What did you see?... What did you see?”
“Oh, it was over in a flash... really.... The Chinaman cut out the Professor’s tongue!”
I rush away.... I rush away....
Oh, the horror and monstrosity of it! Curse Captain Hyx.... I write exactly as I feel.... Think of it: Uncle Ulrich has no tongue. Some persons perhaps might find the affair not without humour.... I say that it is abominable.
They will give it back to him perhaps one day if he behaves himself. But in truth it would be a somewhat useless present; a dead souvenir to lock up in a museum, for it will never again wag in his head; that tongue with which Professor von Hahn of Bonn University delivered such beautiful speeches on the hammer of Thor and on the invincible sword of the descendant of Arminius.
CHAPTER XV
I AM INVITED TO LUNCH BY CAPTAIN HYX
NO ONE FORCED me to go to that accursed place in our submarine, and no one prevented me from leaving it; and urged forward as it were by the very horror that was disclosed to me, I found myself again without conscious volition in the supper-room.
My rage against these impassive spectators, the contempt with which they inspired me as well as my fury at my own lack of comprehension, was still further inflamed when after passing through the deserted supper-room, I entered the library and saw some twenty of these gentlemen indulging in the joys of baccarat.
Red-face von Busch held the bank, and the game was in full swing; the table was spread with bank-notes and bottles of champagne. The young men with crutches stood behind the players, making their stakes from time to time with bank-notes and giving their views on the “ draw.” A heated discussion, of course, ensued on the question of a “draw at five” because of a deal in which Von Busch’s bank was broken and taken over by his inseparable friend Von Freemann.
I was quite beside myself. I believe I gave utterance to a hoarse groan, for I was incapable of expressing myself intelligibly. In any case Buldeo came up to me and taking me by the arm led me firmly out of the room.
“Come with me, sir.... Come now.... I was afraid of this....”
“Take me to Frau von Treischke at once,” I cried.
“She does not receive at this hour, sir,” replied Buldeo, who seemed greatly worried. “ And you axe not in a fit condition to call on her. Think for a moment. You had better consult the doctor. He will tell you what to do. You ought not to trouble about what doesn’t concern you. Why did you go to that performance?”
At that moment I passed a partly-opened door and recognised the room in which Amalia had received me. I at once rushed into it calling her by her Christian name as I used to do. In moments of great suffering forms and ceremonies do not exist. But no voice replied to me. I opened the doors of her rooms one after another, but they were all empty. I stared at Buldeo.
“It’s no use looking for Frau von Treischke and her family here,” said the gentle Hindu sadly. “Lieutenant Smith, on behalf of Captain Hyx, came to fetch her...
I did not wait to hear any more. I knew now the hard fate of the unhappy wretches whom Lieutenant Smith came to fetch on behalf of Captain Hyx.
I spun round and Buldeo caught me in his arms as I fell.
I must say that he was lavish of comforting speeches, intended to restore my zest in life. For example, he told me in confidence that from what he knew of the day’s programme, no misfortune had as yet happened to Frau von Treischke, and I could be easy in my mind until the next evening at least.
He imparted this cheering information while leading me to my room. Here I found on the little round table a letter prominently exposed and addressed: “Monsieur Carolus Herbert, of Gutland, Luxemburg. On board the Vengeance.” I tore open the envelope with trembling hands. It contained an invitation from Captain Hyx to lunch with him on the following day.
Next morning on the stroke of noon when the servant opened the door of the famous dining-room for me, my first glance caught the smiling and radiant face of my Amalia. The doleful shadows that had so often beset her since her marriage seemed to have vanished altogether. The change was hardly natural; and I imagined that Amalia was affecting an artificial gaiety in order to make the best of a position which, whatever she might persuade herself, was even in her eyes at least ominous. Had she known of the horrible disaster that had overtaken Uncle Ulrich she must have fallen into the depths of despair. Heavens! she was laughing.... And with whom?... With Dolores.
I at once recognised the delightful figure of our lady of Guadalupe who was bending towards Amalia and returning laugh for laugh. Certainly, they were both good to look upon as they sat in graceful attitudes at one end of the large divan; and so much charm and youth, reflected on both faces, and expressed with such perfect courtesy, might well have tranquillised my agitated mind.
But, alas, I could only shudder.
There were snares... snares... endless snares in that vessel. Had I not seen the small red lips of our languorous and elegant lady of Guadalupe curl round certain words of menace for Frau von Treischke?
As soon as Amalia caught sight of me she rose to her feet and met me with outstretched hands:
“Come and let me introduce you.”
“I know Mademoiselle,” I replied none too cordially, after, however, bowing in due form to Dolores. “It was to her that I appealed in my depression and she handed me over to the tender mercies of the sailors.”
“Como... really?” Dolores returned with an ingenuous look that would have disarmed any one but myself. “How extraordinary!... Why, did they treat you roughly, Senor?”
“They put me in prison,” I said in my iciest and most dignified manner.
“In prison,” echoed Dolores with a burst of laughter. “ But aren’t we all in prison?”
“My friend Herbert of Renich,” interposed Amalia with her most engaging smile, for she wished to make peace between us, “ is a very sensitive mortal. That is quite natural, as he is a neutral. He doesn’t want to hear anything about war, or prisoners, or hostages. None the less, he compromised his neutrality by coming to my rescue. It’s on my account that he placed himself in an unpleasant position, and was roughly treated and imprisoned. I shall never forget it. But really, my dear Carolus, although this is a prison, you must admit that it is a magnificent one.” And she indicated with a sweep of the arm the splendours of the saloon and the rich table service which stood in the centre.
“I would rather see you in a dungeon in Luxemburg,” I replied in a hollow voice, with a frown. Immediately her expression changed.
“You’re not going to make me ill again with your silly tales,” she exclaimed in an outburst of anger that wrung my heart. “ If you’ve come here to take all the courage out of me, you would have done better to leave me to my fate.”
“Frau von Treischke is right,” agreed Dolores, intimating by her grimaces that I had no business to frighten a fragile woman. “She is a prisoner of war, contrary to the laws of war... that’s certain. But I know Captain Hyx. He is too much of a gentleman to treat a hostage like Frau von Treischke with anything but the honour and respect that are due to her.”
“And what about Professor von Hahn?” I blurted out. In spite of my resolution to say nothing of what I knew, I could not contain myself; and Dolores had exasperated me by her reference to Captain Hyx being too much of a gentleman and so forth, and her apparent sweetness to a woman upon whose capture she had expressed such fierce joy. “And what about Professor von Hahn?... Are they treating him with the honour and respect that are due to him?”
“Why not?” asked Amalia with visible alarm.
“Why not?” repeated Dolores with an ingenuousness that finally made a serious impression on me.
I had no time to enter into any explanation, for a manservant announced Captain Hyx; and the Captain entered the room.
CHAPTER XVI
CAPTAIN HYX
CAPTAIN HYX WAS wearing a black velvet mask over his eyes. He was a man slightly above the middle height, of robust and at the same time refined bearing, notwithstanding a tendency to stoutness. The oval of his face was distinguished; his mouth sensitive. In the prime of life the shape of his chin must have been somewhat “masterful,” but its lines were now a little puffed. One could imagine that under the mask there was a straight, firm aesthetic profile. His eyes, which could be seen through the velvet eyelets, had nothing fiery in them. Far from it; they expressed kindliness; at least so I thought at that moment. His abundant hair which was in tiny curls and parted straight in the middle, was scarcely greying. In short, Captain Hyx was still a fine-looking man.
There was nothing about him to suggest the mastermind in the appalling work that was carried on in the Vengeance. I, of course, had pictured in my mind’s eye a sensational meeting — something theatrical! But if this man had not been wearing a mask, he would have seemed to be one of the simplest of hosts.
His first thoughts, after greeting us with every mark of polite attention, turned to the black velvet mask over his eyes, and he apologised for being obliged to wear it; for it gave him, he said, a ridiculous appearance.
“I look like a masked player at a Venetian carnival. But it can’t be helped. I haven’t found anything better with which to conceal my face and to prevent being recognised. That is not the least among the many torments I have suffered,” he added, a quiet melancholy in his voice, “but I haven’t the right to be recognised by anybody.”
He thanked me for being good enough to accept his invitation and regretted having to put me among the ordinary prisoners. But at that moment there was very little “ room” on board the Vengeance. He told me that Senorita Dolores, who was goodness itself descended upon earth, had not hesitated to sacrifice half of her rooms in order that Frau von Treischke might live in them, away from the society of the German officers; “society often embarrassing,” added Captain Hyx affably, “ and sometimes overpowering.”
“Will Uncle Ulrich be allowed to come and see us?” asked Amalia.
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” he answered.
I was watching Captain Hyx. He did not move a muscle; nor did he change colour under his mask, nor show any sign of embarrassment.
He offered Amalia his arm and led her to the table. I gave my arm to Dolores and we sat down to lunch with all due ceremony.
To satisfy myself that I was still capable of putting a few consecutive words together without too much incoherence, I ventured a compliment on the luxury of the saloon in which we were lunching and the arrangement of the submarine. Whereupon Dolores, who seemed to be well informed, broke in that the Vengeance had cost two hundred million francs.
“Two hundred million?”
“Two hundred million!”
“You are very rich, Monsieur,” I said simply.
“Oh;” replied the Captain, turning slightly red and looking down on his plate, “I have a certain amount of income.”
Two hundred million... double the sum which a super-dreadnought costs to-day. If this man sitting opposite me was rich enough to indulge in an engine like this, and if he intended to keep the secret of his distorted and luxurious fancy to himself, he did well to conceal his identity behind a mask, for capitalists on so large a scale are rare enough in the world.
“And do you know one of the reasons why it costs so much?” asked Amalia, who was certainly brimming over with enthusiasm for the Vengeance.
“I confess I do not,” I replied, “but I hope, my dear Amalia, that you will have the kindness to enlighten me.”
“Well, she was built in six months, secretly, and in most difficult circumstances.... In fact,” she went on, turning to Captain Hyx, “it is certain that we knew nothing whatever about it... not even my husband who, however, used to say: ‘We are well informed about everything that is being built for the Allies all over the world... they can’t keep the smallest invention secret from us, and we are able to take advantage of it, before they themselves think of carrying it into effect.’ And my husband was in a position to know... I needn’t tell you that.”
“Have you ever been down in a submarine with your husband?”
“Yes, Captain; so you will understand my impatience to go over this one which is so different from any other.”
“Yes, the Vengeance is twice as big as any of your latest submarines and she is worked almost entirely by electricity.”
“All the same, you must break surface when you want a fresh supply of air.”
“We possess compressed air in considerable quantities and we can manufacture our own air if needs be.”
“Oh, Captain,” exclaimed Amalia, “you don’t know your good fortune. With us, as the air gets warm it deteriorates and mixes with the smell of oil from the machinery. The atmosphere becomes unbearable. An irresistible desire to sleep takes hold of men who have only just come on board, and they have to exercise all their will power to keep awake. Stories that there is no such thing as sea-sickness on submarines are not true. When the weather is rough, or we are in proximity to the enemy, we remain for a long time submerged so that the air becomes vitiated. Every man except the ratings on duty is ordered to lie down, to keep absolutely quiet, to make only necessary movements, for the slightest action causes the lungs to consume oxygen, and oxygen has to be considered. In the same way the thirsty man in the desert strives to put off consuming his last drop of water as long as possible.
“There cannot be a fire because fire burns up oxygen, and the electric power in the accumulators is too precious to be frittered away on cooking. We have to eat cold food when we are at sea. There is no wardroom in our vessels, and some of them have no galley. Oh, life in them is anything but amusing, my dear Captain.”
She called him “my dear Captain.” She considered that life on the Vengeance was “amusing”! For my part, I could hardly sit still in my chair, and I stared in dismay at Amalia who, while letting her tongue run on, did ample justice to some excellent trout with wine sauce, the presence of which on the table was not the least of the mysteries that enveloped us.
“Oh, Madame!” protested the Captain with a smile.... “How long is it since you were on board a submarine with your husband?”
“My last visit to Wilhelmshafen was two months before the war broke out.”
“Really!... Well, Madame, if you will ask your husband, after the war, to let you visit the latest submarines from the dockyards you will no longer recognise them.... I’m sure your naval architects have found space for a galley and a ward-room in the monsters which are now being built. I don’t suppose that life on board is much more pleasant; but that is mainly due to the smell of machinery, and the enormous space occupied by stores and fuel, but, all the same, I should say they can grill a cutlet in them.”
Had I heard aright?— “If you will ask your husband after the war.” These words produced no effect on Amalia, but they dazed me. Could I abandon myself to the immense hope that took possession of me? Was it indeed true that Amalia was in no danger? Or was Captain Hyx cruelly laughing at us, lulling us into a sense of security, and playing with our good faith? These were tremendous questions.... And what dangerous hopes they might raise! After the unique spectacle at which I had been present, and which ended in the removal of Uncle Ulrich’s tongue, I could not consent to be reassured without some solid foundation.
I have tried to express the conflicting emotions that passed through my mind, in succession, in the presence of this curious masked figure who at times was by no means unattractive — not sufficiently unattractive — in spite of his crimes.
For example, I swear that at the moment when he offered Amalia a flaming red rose and she, after smilingly inhaling its perfume, slipped it in her corsage, I could hardly believe that this graceful attention from the Captain veiled some sinister motive. For, after all, nothing compelled him to present roses to her; nothing compelled him to invite us to lunch.
Who and what was this man?
He looked like some distinguished personage who was baffling the curiosity of a lady and her friends whom he had joined at supper after a ball at the opera. Presently he would take off his mask and we should have a good laugh.... Unless he ordered us to be led away to his white operating theatre between the Chinaman, the photographer, and Old Latuile, of whom I still knew nothing except that I remembered his red feet....
Heavens! how will it all end?
To what country and race did Captain Hyx belong? At first I took him for an American; afterwards, upon reflection, for a north-country Englishman; and then for a Spaniard, for he spoke Spanish with an ease and purity that even Dolores might have envied. He had had no occasion as yet to speak French. But later on I should address him in French and we would see how he replied to me.
Amalia, little suspecting the thoughts that were passing through my mind, continued to be interested only in the scientific mysteries of the Vengeance, as if there were no other mysteries, more formidable still, to be fathomed.
“But,” she said, “how do you manage to propel the vessel almost entirely by electricity... if it is not an indiscreet question?”
“Everything is allowed to beautiful women,” answered the Captain. “Still I shall tell you only half the truth. Suffice it to say that in so far as our electricity furnished our speed, our speed furnishes our electricity.”
“Well, then,” continued Amalia, whom I had rarely seen in such a state of restlessness, “ have you discovered the secret of perpetual motion?”
Captain Hyx shook his head and replied by calling our attention to a splendid dish of stewed veal, prepared exactly as in a village inn “by my French cook,” he said.
I imagined that he must have a system by which the contact of the vessel’s sides with the water was utilised; but my thoughts which were only too painful and had nothing in common with the solution of a purely scientific problem, distracted my attention from this secret in mechanics. Moreover, from this standpoint, I decided not to be astonished at anything. And people of my generation who have witnessed the constantly recurring marvels in submarine and aerial navigation — marvels which daily confute the scientific truths of yesterday, or at least of ten years ago — will, I feel sure, be of the same mind as myself.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 344
