“And now — in the light of what happened today — what do you believe those drawings represented?”
“I have no idea — really I haven’t. Only—” She hesitated, troubled, twisting her fingers on her knees.
“Only—” he prompted her.
She said, with a tremulous intake of breath: “I think I had better tell you, Kervyn. This is what frightened me — what the experience of today seemed to suddenly make plain to me — I mean your coming to Westheath, Mr. Grätz telephoning about obeying you, and informing me of the arrest of my maid — these things, and the war, and what I have read about German spies in England — all this flashed up in my mind at the same time when you turned from the telephone and asked me such terrible questions.
“It made clear to me, or seemed to, something else that I had not understood at the time—” She hesitated, her gaze concentrated as though in an effort to recollect and visualize some scene —
“It was last April, in Berlin.... General Baron von Reiter said something to me as I was waiting for his car to take me to the station — I was departing for England again — and he said — he said — —”
“Yes, Karen?”
“He said something about war — the possibility of it. And he said that in case war ever came while I was in England, and if, when it came, I had in my possession any automobile plans from the Edmeston Agency — from Mr. Grätz — that I was to bring them with me to Germany — not to show them to anybody, not to send them by mail, but to bring them back and deliver them to him.”
“Yes, Karen.”
“I promised.... He made me promise again. He was very serious. He said that on my obedience in this matter might depend the lives of many people. I had no idea what he meant by that — until today.... And what I fear has happened is that Anna, who went yesterday to London because Mr. Grätz telephoned, was arrested while in possession of papers delivered to her by Mr. Grätz.... And that these papers were not what I had always supposed. And that is why I was suddenly afraid — afraid — Oh, Kervyn! — I cannot describe the fear that leaped up and seized me when you asked me those dreadful questions! Suddenly everything, every detail in the entire matter seemed to grow clear and terrible to me.... I — I went into my dressing-room — and steadied myself against the wall — feeling faint for a moment.
“Then I took from my dressing-table the papers which I had from Anna’s last visit to Mr. Grätz. They had remained there in the drawer because I had been told not to mail them, and no word had come for me to go back to Berlin. So I had them on my hands. But until you came I gave them no thought — merely conscious that I had promised to take them back with me.
“But — in that terrible moment when I stood there leaning against the wall, I remembered what was said to me about the lives of many people depending upon my keeping my promise. It was a hideous thing to remember at such a time.... But I could not break my word — for the sake of these imperilled people also — could I, Kervyn?... So I took the papers and locked them in my satchel. And afterward I — I asked you to leave—” Her voice quivered; she bent her head and sat twisting her slim fingers on her lap.
“That is all I know,” she faltered— “all I know about it. I have tried to be true to my word, and loyal to — you.”
Her emotion was reflected in his own face; he bent forward, laid his hand over her restless fingers.
“Karen,” he said, “you are the pluckiest, straightest, whitest woman I ever knew.”
“I’m only — honest,” she whispered.... “And I want you to think me so.”
“I do! — Karen, dearest, sincerest, most fearless of women!”
“Do you believe me — that?”
“Karen, I — —”
A sharp knocking at the door cut him short. They looked at each other, startled. At the same moment he realized that the ship had stopped.
“Could it be the stewardess?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.”
He rose, picked up the satchel and went to the open port.
“If a British guard-ship has stopped us to search us, we can’t have this thing found,” he said.
She stared at him in frightened silence.
“They may have found those men we tied up and left in your house at Westheath!” he whispered. “A wireless would set a score of warships ready to intercept us. If they board us they must not find that satchel.”
The sharp, loud rapping came again.
Guild went to the open port, pushed the satchel through it, leaned out himself. As he did so something brushed his head, and, looking up, he saw a rope’s end dangling there.
In an instant he had tied it to the handle of the satchel, stepped back, screwed the heavy glass fast, and then, motioning Karen to fling herself on the bed, he went to the door, opened it, and stood yawning in the face of a ship’s officer.
“Don’t wake my wife,” he said drowsily. “What is the trouble?”
“The trouble is,” replied the officer coldly, “that a British cruiser has signalled us to stop, and has asked whether an American named Guild is aboard.”
CHAPTER IX
H. M. S. WYVERN
“Well,” said Guild coolly, “have you any idea what a casual British cruiser might want of me?”
“I have not,” said the officer, “so perhaps you had better tell me what is wanted of yourself and your wife by the captain of that warship. It might save some argument between him and our own captain. We are due in Amsterdam at noon tomorrow,” he added meaningly.
“Do you mean to say that the officer in command of this British ship desires to speak to my wife?”
“His signals stopped us and his wireless told us to detain you and your wife.”
“What ship is it?” demanded the young man, so nervous now that he scarcely knew what he was saying.
The Dutch officer remained icy and precise: “The ship is the light cruiser Wyvern, of the ‘Monster’ class. Her consorts yonder are the Hippogriff and Basalisk — if this information enlightens you, Mr. Guild.”
“It does not. But I know this much: You can’t detain an American! Neither can that British captain take a neutral from a neutral ship! And that settles the matter.”
“Be good enough to come on deck,” said the Hollander in his correct and fluent English. “The captain desires to speak with you.”
“Very well. I’ll follow you in a moment” — and turning to Karen: “Dearest, are you awake?”
“Yes, dear.”
“The captain wishes to see me. I’ll be back directly.” He stepped out into the corridor, hesitated, excused himself to the officer, and returned to Karen, closing the door and locking it.
She was sitting up on the bed, very still and white, and when he came over to her she instinctively laid both chilled hands in his. He held them in a firm and reassuring clasp; but he was terribly disconcerted.
“Listen, dear. I think a British officer is coming aboard for us. I don’t know whether he has any right to take us off this ship, but I’m afraid that the law in the matter won’t worry him.
“Now listen to me, dear. If I come back and knock and call to you by name, open. If somebody knocks, and there is no voice — or if it is not my voice, go to that port, open it, untie your satchel, which is hanging outside at a rope’s end, take out the papers, and drop them into the sea. And not until you have done this shall you open the door to anybody.”
“Yes, Kervyn.”
“Then,” he said, “if we’ve got to go back to England on a warship, we’ll go clean-handed.”
“Yes.”
“And you had better take these passports, too.” He drew them from his breast pocket. “They’re forged. Throw them out with the other papers.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Then — I’m going.... Don’t worry — dear. Don’t tremble so, Karen — dear Karen — —”
“I’ll try not to. I’ll not be cowardly. It — it has been a long — day.... I’m thinking of A
nna, too. You know, if she had any papers, she was bringing them to me. That will be against me.”
“I forgot that,” he said, appalled. Then he squared his shoulders and forced a smile: “Anyway, whatever faces you faces us both!... Dear — keep every atom of courage you have. I shall stand by you, always. But I must go now. Do you promise me to keep up courage?”
“Yes — dear — —”
They were excited, their every nerve now stretched to the breaking, yet both were striving for self-control in the instant menace of this new peril confronting them. Neither knew just what they said or did; he bent over her; she lifted her face to his, closing her eyes as his lips touched her forehead. Then he went away swiftly, and she sprang to the floor and locked the stateroom door. The next moment the awful flare of a searchlight turned the room to a pit of silvery fire, and she cringed against the bed under the fierce white glory, covering her bloodless face with both hands.
On deck, the Dutch captain, who was awaiting Guild at the companionway, came forward hastily and drew him aside.
“They’ve boarded us already,” he said; “there comes their lieutenant over the side. Tell me, Mr. Guild, are your papers in order and your conscience clear? Can I make a fight over this affair?”
“I have no papers, but my conscience is in order. Don’t let them take us if you can help it.”
“You have no papers?”
“None that can help me or my wife.”
“Then it’s no use fighting.”
“Fight all the same!” whispered Guild, as they both turned to meet the young naval officer who had just stepped aboard. He and the Dutch captain exchanged civilities stiffly, then Guild stepped forward into the lantern light.
“Kervyn Guild!” exclaimed the slim young officer in surprise. “Is it you!”
“Jamison!” ejaculated Guild, astonished. “Well this is lucky! I’m tremendously glad! I am indeed!”
They exchanged a warm impulsive hand-clasp, smiled at each other — then the quick smile on the youthful lieutenant’s features altered, and his face fell.
“Guild,” he said soberly, “I am afraid I shall have to inconvenience you and — your wife. I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to come aboard the Wyvern with me. I’m sorry; I know it must inconvenience you fearfully — —”
“Jamison! We can’t go aboard your ship! What on earth are you thinking of?”
“Orders,” returned the young fellow gravely. “I’ve no discretion, you see.”
As by common consent they had stepped aside from the group of ships’ officers and, standing in the shadow of a lifeboat, they now gazed at each other very seriously.
Guild said: “There must be some mistake about this. I have no wife on board this boat.”
“Did you not board this boat in company with your wife?” asked Jamison in a low voice.
“No.”
“Our information is otherwise.”
“Jamison, you know whether I am likely to lie to you. And I say to you on my word of honour that I did not come aboard this boat with my wife.”
“Is she not on board?”
“She is not.”
Jamison said regretfully: “No good, old fellow. We know she is not your wife. But we want her. I think you had better prepare her to come with us.”
“Jamison, will you listen to me and believe me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then, on my word of honour, the woman you have come to take from this ship is absolutely innocent of any — intentional — crime.”
“I take your word for it, Guild.”
“You can guess my sentiments in regard to this war, can’t you?” insisted Guild.
“I think I can.”
“Then listen, Jamison. I pledge you my word that through this young girl, and through me, nothing shall ever happen that could in any manner be detrimental to your country or its allies. Don’t press this matter, for God’s sake!”
“Guild,” he said quietly, “I believe you absolutely. But — both you and this young lady must come aboard the Wyvern with me. Those are my orders, old fellow. I can’t go back on them; I have no discretion in this matter. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
After a silence, Guild linked his arm in the gold-laced arm of his old-time friend and walked back to where the captain stood fidgeting.
“I won’t go, Jamison,” he said, loudly but pleasantly. “I am not obliged to go aboard your ship. Captain Vandervelde, I claim the protection of your flag for myself and for my wife.”
“Captain Vandervelde knows that it means only trouble for him,” said Jamison, forcing a smile. “He is not likely to defy the Wyvern, I think.”
They all turned in the sudden glitter of the Wyvern’s searchlight and gazed across the darkness where the unseen cruiser was playing on them from stem to stern.
“Will you come with me, Guild?” asked Jamison quietly.
“No, Jamison, I’m hanged if I do.... And that’s too close to the truth to be very funny,” he added, laughingly.
“The Wyvern will merely send a guard for you. It’s no good bluffing, Guild. You know it yourself.”
“International law is no bluff!”
“International law is merely in process of evolution just now. It’s in the making. And we are making it.”
“That remark is very British.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I won’t go aboard the Wyvern, I tell you. I’ve got to stay on this ship! I—” he leaned over and said under his breath— “it may mean death to me, Jamison, to go aboard your ship. Not because of anything I have to fear from your people. On the contrary. But they’ll shoot me in Germany. Can’t you tell your captain I’m trustworthy?”
“What is the use, Guild?” said the young man gently. “I have my orders.”
Guild looked at him, looked about him at the grave faces of the captain and the second officer, looked out across the black void of water where the long beam of the searchlight had shifted skyward, as though supplicating Heaven once more.
Only a miracle could save Karen. He knew that as he stood there, silent, with death in his heart.
And the miracle happened. For, as he stood staring at the heavenward beam of the unseen cruiser’s searchlight, all at once the ship herself became grotesquely visible, tilted up oddly out of the sea in the centre of a dull reddish glow. The next instant a deadened boom sounded across the night as though from infinite depths; a shaft of fire two hundred feet high streamed skyward.
“That ship has been torpedoed! Oh, my God!” said a voice.
“The Wyvern has hit a mine!” roared the Dutch captain. “I’m going to get out of this now!”
Jamison’s youthful face was marble; he swayed slightly where he stood. The next instant he was over the side like a cat, and Guild heard him hailing his boat in an agonized voice which broke with a dry, boyish sob.
From everywhere out of the blackness searchlights stretched out tremulous phantom arms toward the Wyvern, and their slender white beams crossed and recrossed each other, focussing on the stricken warship, which was already down by the stern, her after deck awash, and that infernal red glow surrounding her like the glow of hell around a soul in torment.
Passengers, seamen, stewards crowded and crushed him to the rail, shouting, struggling, crying out in terror or in pity.
Guild caught an officer by his gold sleeve. “We ought to stand by her,” he said mechanically. “Her magazine is afire!”
“There are boats a-plenty to look after her,” returned the officer; “the British destroyers are all around her like chicks about a dying hen. She’s their parent ship; and there go their boats, pulling hell for sweeps! God! If it was a mine, I wish we were at Amsterdam, I do!”
The steamer was already under way; electric signals sparkled from her; signals were sparkling everywhere in the darkness around them. And all the while the cruiser with her mortal wound, enveloped in her red
aura, agonized there in the horrible sombre radiance of her own burning vitals.
Far away in the black void a ship began to fire star-shells.
As the awed throng on the moving liner’s decks gazed out across the night, the doomed cruiser split slowly amidships, visibly, showing the vivid crack of her scarlet, jagged wound. For a second or two she fairly vomited hell-fire; lay there spouting it out in great crimson gouts; then she crashed skyward into incandescent fragments like a single gigantic bomb, and thunderous blackness blotted out sea and sky once more.
CHAPTER X
FORCE
He knocked sharply at the stateroom door and called, “Karen! It is I! Open!”
She flung open the door, satchel in hand, and he entered, closed the door, relocked it, and dropped down on the lounge, staring at space.
“Kervyn! What is it?” she asked faintly, one hand against her breast.
“It is all right,” he said— “as far as we are concerned — for the present, anyway. God! I can’t realize it — I can’t get over it — —”
“What, Kervyn?” she faltered, kneeling on the lounge beside the half dazed man. “What happened? Why are you so ghastly pale? Are we really quite safe? Or are you trying to make it easier for me — —”
“No; you and I are safe enough for the moment,” he said. “But men are dying out yonder. The sea is full of dead men, Karen. And — I saw it all.”
“I heard guns. What has happened?”
“I don’t know. It was a mine perhaps, perhaps a torpedo. A ship has been blown up.” He lifted his head and turned to her: “But you are not to say such a thing to anybody — after I leave you at Trois Fontaines.”
“No, Kervyn.”
“Not to anybody. Not even to your father. Do you understand me, Karen?”
“No. But I won’t tell anybody.”
“Because,” he explained wearily, “the Admiralty may have reasons for concealing it. If they mean to conceal it, this ship of ours will be stopped again and held for a while in some French or British port.”
“Why?”
“So that the passengers cannot talk about what they saw tonight.”
His haunted glance fell on the satchel at their feet. “As for that,” he said, “I’ve had enough of it, and I’ll take no further chances. Where are our passports?”
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 757
