The Zeppelin's Passenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XX

  "My dear man, whatever shall I do with you!" Philippa exclaimedpathetically, as the door closed upon the last of her callers. "TheGuards, indeed!"

  Lessingham smiled as he resumed his place by her side.

  "Well," he said, "I told the dear lady the truth. You will find myname well up in the list of the thirty-first battalion of the PrussianGuards."

  She threw herself back in her chair and laughed. "How amusing it wouldbe if it weren't all so terrible! You really are a perfect politicalRaffles. Do you know that this afternoon you have absolutelyreestablished yourself? Mr. Johnson will probably call on youto-morrow--they may even ask you to dine--the vicar will write and askfor a subscription, and Dolly Fenwick will invite you to play golf withher."

  "Do not turn my head," he begged.

  "All the same," Philippa continued, more gravely, "I shall never havea moment's peace whilst you are in the place. I was thinking about youlast night. I don't believe I have ever realised before how terrible itwould be if you really were discovered. What would they do to you?"

  "Whatever they might do," he replied, a little wearily, "I must obeyorders. My orders are to remain here, but even if I were told that Imight go, I should find it hard."

  "Do you mean that?" she asked.

  "I think you know," he answered.

  "You men are so strange," she went on, after a moment's pause. "You giveus so little time to know you, you show us so little of yourselves andyou expect so much."

  "We offer everything," he reminded her.

  "I want to avoid platitudes," she said thoughtfully, "but is love quitethe same thing for a man as for a woman?"

  "Sometimes it is more," was the prompt reply. "Sometimes love, for awoman, means only shelter; often, for a man, love means the blending ofall knowledge, of all beauty, all ambition, of all that he has learnedfrom books and from life. Sometimes a man can see no further and needsto look no further."

  Philippa suddenly felt that she was in danger. There was something inher heart of which she had never before been conscious, some music, somestrange turn of sentiment in Lessingham's voice or the words themselves.It was madness, she told herself breathlessly. She was in love withher husband, if any one. She could not have lost all feeling for him sosoon. She clasped her hands tightly. Lessingham seemed conscious of hisadvantage, and leaned towards her.

  "If I were not offering you my whole life," he pleaded, "believe me, Iwould not open my lips. If I were thinking of episodes, I would throwmyself into the sea before I asked you to give me even your fingers. Butyou, and you alone, could fill the place in my life which I have alwaysprayed might be filled, not for a year or even a decade of years, butfor eternity."

  "Oh, but you forget!" she faltered.

  "I remember so much," he replied, "that I know it is hard for you tospeak. There are bonds which you have made sacred, and yourfingers shrink from tearing them asunder. If it were not for this,Philippa--hear the speech of a renegade--my mandate should be torn inpieces. My instructions should flutter into the waste-paper basket,To-morrow should see us on our way to a new country and a new life. Butyou must be very sure indeed."

  "Is it because of me that you are staying here?" she asked.

  "Upon my honour, no," he assured her. "I must stay here a little longer,whatever it may mean for me. And so I am content to remain what I am toyou at this minute. I ask from you only that you remain just what youare. But when the moment of my freedom comes, when my task here isfinished and I turn to go, then I must come to you."

  She rose suddenly to her feet, crossed the floor, and threw open thewindow. The breeze swept through the room, flapping the curtains,blowing about loose articles into a strange confusion. She stood therefor several moments, as though in search of some respite from theemotional atmosphere upon which she had turned her back. When shefinally closed the window, her hair was in little strands about herface. Her eyes were soft and her lips quivering.

  "You make me feel," she said, taking his hand for a moment and lookingat him almost piteously, "you make me feel everything except one thing."

  "Except one thing?" he repeated.

  "Can't you understand?" she continued, stretching out her hand with aquick, impulsive little movement. "I am here in Henry's house, his wife,the mistress of his household. All the years we've been married I havenever thought of another man. I have never indulged in even the idlestflirtation. And now suddenly my life seems upside down. I feel asthough, if Henry stood before me now, I would strike him on the cheek. Ifeel sore all over, and ashamed, but I don't know whether I have ceasedto love him. I can't tell. Nothing seems to help me. I close my eyesand I try to think of that new world and that new life, and I know thatthere is nothing repulsive in it. I feel all the joy and the strength ofbeing with you. And then there is Henry in the background. He seems tohave had so much of my love."

  He saw the tears gathering in her eyes, and he smiled at herencouragingly.

  "Remember that at this moment I am asking you for nothing," he said."Just think these things out. It isn't really a matter for sorrow," hecontinued. "Love must always mean happiness--for the one who is loved."

  She leaned back in the corner of the sofa to which he had led her,her eyes dry now but still very soft and sweet. He sat by her side,fingering some of the things in her work basket. Once she held out herhand and seemed to find comfort in his clasp. He raised her fingers tohis lips without any protest from her. She looked at him with a littlesmile.

  "You know, I'm not at all an Ibsen heroine," she declared. "I can't seemy way like those wonderful emancipated women."

  "Yet," he said thoughtfully, "the way to the simple things is so clear."

  Confidences were at an end for a time, broken up by the entrance of Noraand Helen, and some young men from the Depot, who had looked in for agame of billiards. Lessingham rose to leave as soon as the latter hadreturned to their game. His tone and manner now were completely changed.He seemed ill at ease and unhappy.

  "I am going to have a day's fishing to-morrow," he told Philippa, "butI must admit that I have very little faith in this man Oates. They alltell me that your husband has any number of charts of the coast. Do youthink I could borrow one?"

  "Why, of course," she replied, "if we can find it."

  She took him over to her husband's desk, opened such of the drawers aswere not locked, and searched amongst their contents ruthlessly. By thetime they had finished the last drawer, Lessingham had quite a littlecollection of charts, more or less finished, in his hand.

  "I don't know where else to look," she said. "You might go through thoseand see if they are of any use. What is it, Mills?" she added, turningto the door.

  Mills had entered noiselessly, and was watching the proceedings at SirHenry's desk with a distinct lack of favour. He looked away towards hismistress, however, as he replied.

  "The young woman has called with reference to a situation asparlour-maid, your ladyship," he announced. "I have shown her into thesewing room." Lady Cranston glanced at the clock.

  "I sha'n't be more than five or ten minutes," she promised Lessingham."Just look through those till I come back."

  She hurried away, leaving Lessingham alone in the room. He stood for amoment listening. On the left-hand side, through the door which hadbeen left ajar, he could hear the click of billiard balls and occasionalpeals of laughter. On the right-hand side there was silence. He movedswiftly across the room and closed the door leading into the billiardroom, deposited on the sofa the charts which he had been carrying, andhurried back to the secretary. With a sickening feeling of overwhelmingguilt, he drew from his pocket a key and opened, one by one, the drawersthrough which they had not searched. It took him barely five minutes todiscover--nothing. With an air of relief he rearranged everything.When Philippa returned, he was sitting on the lounge, going through thecharts which they had looked out together.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "There is nothing here," he decided, "which will he
lp me very much. Withyour permission I will take this," he added, selecting one at random.

  She nodded and they replaced the others. Then she touched him on thearm.

  "Listen," she said, "are you perfectly certain that there is no onecoming?"

  He listened for a moment.

  "I can't hear any one," he answered. "They've started a four-handed gameof pool in the billiard room."

  She smiled.

  "Then I will disclose to you Henry's dramatic secret. See!"

  She touched the spring in the side of the secretary. The false back,with its little collection of fishing flies, rolled slowly up. The largeand very wonderful chart on which Sir Henry had bestowed so much of histime, was revealed. Lessingham gazed at it eagerly.

  "There!" she said. "That has been a great labour of love with Henry.It is the chart, on a great scale, from which he works. I don't knowa thing about it, and for heaven's sake never tell Henry that you haveseen it."

  He continued to examine the chart earnestly. Not a part of it escapedhim. Then he turned back to Philippa.

  "Is that supposed to be the coast on the other side of the point?" heasked.

  "I don't exactly know where it is," she replied. "Every time Henry findsout anything new, he comes and works at it. I believe that very soon itwill be perfect. Then he will start on another part of the coast."

  "This is not the only one that he has prepared, then?" Lessinghamenquired.

  She shook her head.

  "I believe it is the fifth," she replied. "They all disappear when theyare finished, but I have no idea where to. To me they seem to representa shocking waste of time."

  Lessingham was suddenly taciturn. He held out his hand. "You are diningwith us to-morrow night, remember," she said.

  "I am not likely to forget," he assured her.

  "And don't get drowned," she concluded. "I don't know any of thesefishermen--I hate them all--but I'm told that Oates is the worst."

  "I think that we shall be quite all right," he assured her. "Thanks verymuch for finding me the charts. What I have seen will help me."

  Helen came in for a moment and their farewell was more or lessperfunctory. Lessingham was almost thankful to escape. There was anunusual flush in his cheeks, a sense of bitter humiliation in his heart.All the fervour with which he had started on his perilous quest hadfaded away. No sense of duty or patriotism could revive his droopingspirits. He felt himself suddenly an unclean and dishonoured being.