If they had brought her to Ausone at all, they must have carried her by boat, landed at the foot of the cabaret garden, and smuggled the child into the house through the rear door giving on the river garden.
If they had brought her to Ausone at all, then, she must be at that moment somewhere within the walls of the double building forming the Cafe and Cabaret de Biribi. Otherwise, the grey touring car had never entered Ausone.
To make certain on that point he presently paid his reckoning, bowed to the cashier, and went leisurely out into the deserted square.
First of all he sauntered back to the town entrance, where the red-legged soldiers had taken over his cart and horse. Having been obliged to give particulars concerning himself, the soldiers were perfectly friendly. Inquiry they readily answered; such a touring car as he described had been halted and requisitioned by the guard about two hours before his own horse was stopped and appropriated. There were only two people in the car, both men.
"Friends of yours, Monsieur?" inquired the polite lieutenant in charge.
"Business acquaintances----"
Warner hesitated, then asked for the names of the two men and their addresses. The officer on duty very obligingly looked up the information in his leather-covered book. It appeared that the men were Adolf Meier and Josef Hoffman, commis voyageurs, of Paris, and that they had gone for lodging to the Boule d'Argent in Ausone.
Warner thanked the boyish officer; the officer was happy to have been of service to an American and an artist.
But when Warner turned back into the town, he went directly to the railroad station instead of to the hotel. There he presently discovered and consulted the chef de gare and the ticket agent; and he learned definitely that Monsieur Wildresse, who was perfectly well known to both of them by sight, had not taken any train there.
Travelers who board trains at provincial railway stations cannot escape official observation. Therefore, what the station master and ticket agent told him was sufficient for him.
He went slowly back along the river quay, crossed diagonally in front of the deserted cabaret, entered the Impasse d'Alcyon, and traversed it to the river bank, where Halkett sat under the big willow tree, smoking his pipe and letting the rowboat float by the chain which he held in his hands.
"Halkett," he said, "they're in Ausone or near it. I'm convinced of that. Their car came in with only two men in it. The military confiscated it. The men's names are Adolf Meier and Josef Hoffman, and they inscribed themselves as commercial travelers from Paris. Do you happen to know them?"
"Perfectly."
"What are they; spies?"
"They are--clumsy ones."
"By any chance are they any of the gentlemen who have been following you?"
"Exactly. Both have had several shots at me."
"That is interesting. The address they left with the military authorities is the Boule d'Argent.
"What I have found out is this: the Cabaret de Biribi has been closed and sealed up by the police; the cafe remains open. A waiter in the cafe thought he saw Philippa at the window of her apartment over the cabaret just before noon today.
"But Wildresse, they all say, went away this morning and has not returned. And they have no idea when to expect him.
"Now, my theory is this: Wildresse and his ruffians, realizing that their own necks are in danger, went to Sais to see Philippa, either to bully her into silence or persuade her to return to duty. When they saw her by the roadside they changed their plans and took a chance. I don't believe they saw us. We were on our knees in the grass under the shadow of the hedge. After they caught her they never looked around. I don't believe any of them noticed us at all. Before the car reached Ausone they must have stopped in some deserted place, found a boat somewhere, sent the car on ahead to Ausone with only two men in it, and then Wildresse and the other two men must have dragged or carried Philippa across the fields to the river and forced her into the boat. That was the only way they could have ventured to enter Ausone. They must have gone by boat to the garden behind the cabaret, where nobody could see what was going on, and there they probably let themselves into the house by the rear entrance.
"That's my theory, Halkett. I believe Philippa is there. I believe Wildresse is there. And I feel very sure that those two choice scoundrels of his at the Boule d'Argent will join him wherever he is. So I think we had better tie up our boat and go to the Boule d'Argent and find these fellows, Meier and Hoffman, and never let them out of our sight."
"I think so, too," said Halkett quietly.
He knelt down on the grass, passed the boat chain around the base of the willow tree, linked and padlocked it, sprang to his feet, and walked quickly after Warner, who had already started to enter the Impasse d'Alcyon.
"You're a little flustered, old chap," he said, as he rejoined Warner in the narrow alley. "Don't walk so fast; we ought not to attract attention."
"I'm horribly nervous," admitted the other, slackening his pace.
"We'll have to keep pretty cool about this affair. It won't do to scare those scoundrels."
"Why?"
"Because if they really have her locked up in that cabaret. I'm afraid to guess what they might do to her if they thought their own skins were in danger."
"I know it," said Warner hoarsely. "I'm worried sick, I tell you! Wildresse has the worst face I ever looked at. There is only one word to characterize that countenance of his--bestial!"
"He's a bad lot and he looks it. The military authorities would make short work of him if Philippa should ever hint at what she has found out about his rather complicated business affairs. That's what I am afraid of--that he may take some terrible precaution in order to anticipate any danger from her----"
"What?"
"He is capable of doing anything to prevent her from speaking. Keeping her locked up is the precaution that I dread least. What I'm afraid of is that he may kill her."
Warner turned a bloodless visage to his comrade:
"That's what I'm afraid of, too," he said steadily enough. "I think we had better notify the police at once----"
"It won't do, old chap!"
"Why? On your account?"
"No, no! My papers are safe enough now. But I tell you, Warner, French temper is on a hair trigger, in spite of all this gravity and silence. The very word 'spy' would be the match to the magazine."
"But what of it?"
"Suppose Wildresse denies his treachery and makes a counter-accusation against Philippa?"
"What? How can he?"
"Suppose he declares that she betrayed him? Suppose already he has arranged documents to prove it? Suppose he had long ago taken such a precaution against any chance of her denouncing him? He is an old rat, grown grey in the business. He must have been perfectly aware that Philippa is honest--that it even went against her to do the dirty work that her own Government required of her. He must have known that if she ever discovered his double treachery, she would at least desert him, perhaps denounce him. No, no, Warner; that crafty old sewer rat left nothing to chance.
"If that girl now has an opportunity and the desire to denounce him, you can be absolutely certain that long ago he has foreseen and prepared himself for just such an event!"
"Do you believe that?"
Halkett smiled:
"I am certain of it."
"Why?"
"What does a young girl know about treachery? How many papers has Philippa ignorantly and innocently signed which might exculpate Wildresse and send her before a peloton of execution in the first caserne available? That's the way such rats as he protect themselves!
"No, Warner. It's a filthy business at best, and I admit, sadly enough, that I know more about it than you ever could know.
"Listen, old chap! It's no good stirring up the police until Philippa is outside French territory. Then, and then only, may we dare to let loose the police on this nest of rats in Ausone!"
"Very well," said Warner quietly. "I'll act as you think best, only I'll----" He stopped to regain control of himself. And when he had himself in hand again: "Only--it will be a--a bad mistake if Wildresse--if--if any harm comes to that child."
"Oh, in that event," said Halkett quietly, "we need not scruple to kill him where we find him."
Warner said unsteadily:
"I shall not hesitate a second----" But Halkett suddenly checked him with a touch on his elbow, and drew him back behind the wall of the Impasse d'Alcyon, from which alley they were on the point of emerging into the town.
Two men were crossing the almost empty market square toward the Cafe Biribi, moving without haste over the sunny pavement.
"Hoffman and Meier," whispered Halkett. "There go our promising young rodents straight toward the old rat's nest! It won't do for them to catch sight of me.... Wait a moment! There they go--into the Cafe Biribi! Follow them--they don't know you. Keep your eye on them.
"I'll stroll over to the quay and dangle my legs on the river wall. If you need me, come out on the cafe terrace and beckon."
"Would it do to hand over that pair to the police? They are German spies, are they not?"
"They are. But at present they are likely to be useful. If Wildresse is in the cafe or the cabaret, they are sure to reveal the fact to us. Better go in and keep your eye on them. If you want me, I shall be smoking my pipe on the river wall across the street."
He nodded and strolled over toward the little tree-shaded quay, filling his pipe as he sauntered along. Warner continued on to the cafe, entered, seated himself against the shabby wall, picked up an illustrated journal, ordered bitters, and composed himself to enjoy the preprandial hour sacred to all Frenchmen.
Without looking he was aware that the two men, Meier and Hoffman, seated at a table near the cashier's desk, had noted his arrival and were steadily inspecting him.
But he did not look in their direction; he turned the pages of the illustrated paper, leisurely, until the waiter brought his Amer Picon and a chilled carafe. Then he measured out his water with the unstudied deliberation of an habitue, stirred the brown liquid, sipped it, and, turning to another page of his paper, let his eyes rest absently on the two men opposite.
By that time neither of them was even looking at him. They were drinking beer; their heads were close together and they had turned so that they were facing each other on the padded leather wall settee.
It was impossible to hear what they were saying; they spoke rapidly and in tones so low that only the vibration of their voices was audible in the still room.
Guarded but vigorous gesticulations marked the progress of their conference; now and then both became mute while the waiter replenished their glasses with beer and added another little saucer to the growing pile on the marble table.
For an hour Warner dawdled over the cafe papers and his glass of bitters. The men opposite still faced each other on the leather settee, still conversed with repressed animation, still guzzled beer. Once or twice they had looked up and across the room at him and had taken a swift, comprehensive survey of the few other people in the cafe, but the movement had been wholly instinctive and mechanical. Evidently they felt entirely secure.
The plump, dark-eyed caissiere had caught Warner's eye once or twice. Evidently she remembered him, and her quick smile became almost an invitation to conversation.
It was what he wanted and he hesitated only because he was not sure how the men opposite might regard his approach toward their vicinity.
But he did it very well; and both men, looking up sharply, seemed presently to realize that it was merely a flirtation, and that the young man lounging before the cashier's counter, smiling, and being smiled upon, could safely be ignored.
"To be the prettiest girl in Ausone," Warner was saying, "must be a very great comfort to that girl. Don't you think so, Mademoiselle?"
"To be the most virtuous, Monsieur, would be far more comforting."
"Have you then both prizes, Mademoiselle? I was sure of it!"
"Prizes, Monsieur?"
"The golden apple and the prix de la sagesse?"
She laughed and blushed, detaching from her corsage a rosebud.
"Accept, Monsieur, the prize for eloquence and for impudence!" And she extended the rosebud to Warner.
He took it, lifted it to his lips, looking smilingly at her, and listening with all the concentration he could summon to the murmuring conversation at the neighboring table.
Only a word or two he could catch--perhaps merely a guess at--"Patron," and "nine o'clock," and "cellar"--at least he imagined he could distinguish these words. And all the time he was up to his ears in a breezy flirtation with a girl very willing, very adept, and perfectly capable of appreciating her own desirability as well as the good points of any casual suitor whom Heaven might strand upon her little, isolated island for an hour or two.
Being French, she was clever and amusing and sufficiently grateful to the gods for this bit of masculine flotsam which had drifted her way.
"There are boats," she said, "and the evening will be beautiful." Having made this clear to him, she smiled and let matters shape their course.
"What pleasure is a boat and a beautiful night to me," he said, "if nobody shares both with me?"
"Alas, Monsieur, have you no pretty little friend who could explain to you the planets on a summer night?"
"Alas, Mademoiselle!"
"What a pity.... Because I have studied astronomy a little. And I recommend it to you as a diversion. They are so high, so unattainable, the stars! It is well for a young man to learn what is attainable, and then to address himself to its pursuit. What do you think, Monsieur?"
"That I should very much like to study astronomy if in all the world there could be discovered anybody amiable enough to teach me."
"How pathetic! If I only had time----"
"Have you no time at all?"
"It wouldn't do, mon ami."
"Why?"
"Because I should be seen going to a rendezvous with you."
"Isn't there any way into the cabaret garden except through the cabaret?" he asked.
She shook her head, laughing at him out of her brown eyes.
He waited a moment to control his voice, but there was a tremor in it when he said:
"Is there no way through the cellar?"
She noticed the tremor and liked it. In the lightest and airiest of flirtations the ardent and unsteady note in a man's voice appeals to any woman to continue and finish his subjugation.
"As for the cellar," she said, "it is true that one can get into the cabaret garden that way. But, Monsieur, do you imagine that a dark, damp, ghostly and pitch-black cellar appeals to any woman?"
"Is the cellar so frightful a place, Mademoiselle?"
"Figure it to yourself!--Some twenty stone steps from the pantry yonder"--She nodded her head toward the battered swinging door of leather.--"And then more steps, down, down, down!--Into darkness and dampness where there are only wine casks and kegs and bottles and mushrooms and rats and ghosts----"
"What of it--if, as you say, the stars are shining on the river----"
"Merci! A girl must certainly be in love to venture through that cellar! And a man, too!"
"Try me. I'll go!"
The girl laughed:
"You! Are you, then, in love already?"
"I should like to prove it. Where is that terrible cellar?"
"Behind the door, there." She waved her hand airily. "Try it. Show me how much you are in love! Perhaps then I'll believe you."
"Will the waiters interfere if I go into the cellar?"
"See how you try to avoid the test!"
"Try me!"
"Very well. The washroom is there. If you choose to wash your hands, you are at liberty to do so. And then if you can't slip down into the cellar while the waiters are looking the other way, all I can say is that you are not in love!"
He looked at her smilingly, scarcely trusting himself to speak for a moment, for the face of Philippa rose unbidden before his eyes and a shaft of fear pierced him.
"You are wrong," he said steadily enough. "I am in love.... Very honestly, very innocently.... It just occurred to me. I didn't know how deeply I felt.... I really am in love--as one loves what is fearless, faithful, and devoted."
"A dog is all that, Monsieur."
"Occasionally a human being is, also. Sometimes even a woman."
Her smile became a little troubled.
"Monsieur, are you, then, in love with some woman who possesses these commendable virtues?"
"No. I am in love with her virtues, Mademoiselle."
"Oh! Then she might even be your sister!"
"Exactly. That is the quality of my affection for her."
The pretty caissiere laughed:
"You were beginning to make me sad," she said. "I--I am really willing to teach you astronomy, if you truly desire a knowledge of the stars."
"I do, ardently."
"But I am sincerely afraid of the cellar," she murmured. "It is ten o'clock before I am released from duty, and the knowledge that it is ten o'clock at night makes that cellar doubly dark and terrible. I--I don't want to give you a rendezvous down there; and I certainly don't propose to traverse the cellar alone. Monsieur, what on earth am I to do?"
"To study the stars on the river, and to reach a rendezvous without being noticed, makes it necessary for you to slip out through the cellar, does it not?"
"Alas!"
"Haven't you the courage?"
"I don't--know."
"Yes, you have."
"Have I?" She laughed.
"Certainly. I'll go to the washroom now, and get into the cellar somehow, and make myself acquainted with it.... I suppose I ought to have a candle----"
She said:
"When I walk home alone at night I have a little electric torch with me. Shall I lend it to you?"
She opened the desk drawer, drew it out concealed under her handkerchief, and he managed to transfer it to his pocket. It clinked against the loaded automatic pistol; nobody noticed the sound.
But for a moment he thought the two men, Meier and Hoffman, had noticed it, because they both got up and came over directly toward him.
However, they merely wished to pay their reckoning with a hundred-franc note, and Warner moved aside while they crowded before the pretty cashier's desk, offering hasty pleasantries and ponderous gallantries, while she dimpled at them and made change.
Then, after tipping the waiter, they went out into the late afternoon sunshine.
Warner, looking after them, could see that they were crossing the square toward the Boule d'Argent; and he knew that Halkett must have seen them and that he would manage to keep them in view.
Now was his time to investigate the cellar, and he said so to the brown-eyed girl behind the cage, who had been inspecting him rather pensively.
"I ought not to do this," said the pretty caissiere.
"Of course not. Otherwise we should not find each other agreeable."
She smiled, looking at him a little more seriously and more attentively.
"It is odd, is it not," she said under her breath, "how two people from the opposite ends of the earth chance to meet and--and find each other--agreeable?"
"It is delightful," he admitted smilingly.
"I don't even know your name," she remarked, playing with her pencil.
"James."
"Tchames?"--with a pretty attempt to imitate his English.
"Jim is easier."
"Djeem?"
"Perfect!"
"Djeem," she repeated, looking musingly at the tall, well-built American. "C'est drole, ce nom la! Djeem? It is pleasant, too.... My name is Jeanne." She shrugged her youthful shoulders. "Nothing extraordinary, you see.... Still, I shall try to please you, Monsieur Djeem."
"I dare not hope to please you----"
She laughed:
"You do please me. Do you suppose, otherwise, I should dare enter that frightful cellar?"
Under cover of her desk, she deftly detached a key from the bunch at her belt, covered it with her hand, palm down, and let it rest on the counter before him.
"Do you promise to keep away from the wine bins?" she asked lightly.
"I promise solemnly," he said, and took the key.
"Very well. Then you may go and look at this dreadful cellar at once. And when you behold it, ask yourself how great a goose a girl must be who ventures into it at ten o'clock at night merely because a young man desires to take a lesson in astronomy on the river Recollette."
*CHAPTER XVII*
He had little difficulty in gaining the cellar from the washroom. Both doors opened out of the pantry passage; he had only to watch the moving figures silhouetted through the pantry doorway, and when they were out of sight for the moment, he stepped out, unlocked the cellar door, closed it gently behind him, flashed his electric torch, and started down the broad stone steps.
It was one of the big, old-time cellars not unusual in provincial towns, but built, probably, a century before the cafe and cabaret had been erected on its solid stone foundations.
Two rows of squatty stone pillars supported the low arches of the roof; casks, kegs, bins, empty bottles, broken bottles, and row after row of unsealed wine bottles lined the alleyways leading in every direction through the darkness.
On either side of the main central corridor stood wine casks of every shape and size, some very ancient, to judge from the carving and quality of the wood, some more or less modern, some of today. Almost all were hoisted on skids with bung and bung starter in place and old-time jugs and measures of pewter or glass at hand; a few lay empty amid the cellar debris, where the salts born of darkness and dampness dimly glimmered on wall and pavement, and a rustling in unseen straw betrayed the lurking place of rats.
Warner, playing his flashlight, walked swiftly forward, traversing the three principal alleys in succession. The third round included the little dark runways twisting in and out among the bins, turning sudden angles into obscurity, or curving back in a blind circle to the point of entrance.
And as he stood resting for a moment, trying to get his bearings and shifting his electric torch over the labyrinth within which he had become involved, a slight but distinct sound broke the silence around him.
It came from the cellar steps: somebody had opened the door above.
Instantly he extinguished his torch; the blackness walled him in, closing on him so swiftly that he seemed to feel a palpable pressure upon his body.
Listening, every nerve on edge, he heard footsteps falling cautiously upon the stone stairway; a white radiance spread and grew brighter at the far end of the vaulted place; and in a moment more the blinding star of an electric torch dazzled his eyes, where he stood looking out between the cracks of the piled-up boxes which made of the alley in which he had halted a rampart and an impasse.
Two men were advancing, shining the way before them, turning their heads from side to side with curiosity, but without apparently any suspicion.
They seemed to know the place and to be entirely familiar with every alley, for, just before they passed the runway where he crouched behind the boxes, they turned aside, played their light over the dusty banks of bottles, chose one, coolly knocked off its neck, and leisurely drained it between them.
Then, exchanging a few comments in voices too low to be understood, they resumed their course, passed the entrance to the alley where Warner lay hidden, and continued on a few paces.
He could see them as black shapes against the flare of light; saw them halt a few paces from where he stood, saw them reach up and take hold of a huge tun which blocked their progress.
Their torch was shining full upon it; he could follow minutely everything they were doing.
One of the men stretched his arms out horizontally and grasped the edges of the immense cask. Then he threw his full weight to the right; the cask swung easily outward, leaving a passageway wide enough for a man. And there, full in the blaze of brilliant light, was a door, scarcely ten feet away from where he was standing.
The man who had turned the cask went to the door, slid aside a panel, reached in and unbolted it, and had already opened the door when a big bulk loomed up in front of him; a gross, vibrant voice set the hollow echoes growling under the arches of stone and mortar; Wildresse barred their way.
He stood there, the torchlight falling full on his round, partly bald and smoothly shaven head; his wicked little ratty eyes were two points of black, his wicked mouth was twisted with profanity.
"Sacre tas de bougres!" he roared. "I told you to come at nine o'clock, didn't I? What are you doing here, then? You, Asticot, you are supposed to have more sense than Squelette, there! Why do you interrupt me before the hour I set?"
The man addressed as Asticot--a heavy, bench-legged young man with two favoris pasted over his large wide ears--shuffled his shoes most uncomfortably.
Squelette, tall, frightfully thin, with his long, furrowed neck of an unclean bird swathed in a red handkerchief, stood sullen and motionless while the glare of his torch streamed over Wildresse.
"Nom de Dieu!" shouted the latter. "Aim at my belly and keep that light out of my face, you stupid ass!"
Squelette sulkily shifted his torch; Asticot said in the nasal, whining voice of the outer boulevards:
"Voyons, mon vieux, you have been at it for six hours, and the Skeleton here and I thought you might require our services----"
"Is that so!" snarled Wildresse. "Also, they may require your services in La Roquette!"
"They do," remarked Squelette naively.
"You don't have to tell me that!" retorted Wildresse. "You'll sneeze for them, too, some day!" He turned savagely on Asticot: "I don't want you now! I'm busy! Do you understand?"
"I understand," replied the Maggot. "All the same, if I may be so bold--what's the use of chattering if there's a job to finish? If there's work to do, do it, and talk afterward. That's my idea."
Wildresse glared at him:
"Really! Very commendable. Such notions of industry ought to be encouraged in the young. But the trouble with you, Asticot, is that you haven't anything inside that sucked-out orange you think is a head.
"Whatever mental work is to be done, I shall do. Do you comprehend me, imbecile? And I don't trouble to consult your convenience, either. Is that clear? Now, take your friend, the Skeleton, and take your torch and yourself out of this cellar. Get out, or I'll bash your face in!--You dirty little bandy-legged, blood-lapping cockroach----"
His big, pock-pitted, hairless face became frightful in its concentrated ferocity; both men made simultaneous and involuntary movements to the rear.
"You'll come at nine o'clock, do you hear!" he roared. "And you'll bring a sack with you and enough weight to keep it sunk! You, Maggot; you, Skeleton, do you understand? Very well, clear out!"
The young ruffians made no response; Asticot turned and made his way through the narrow passage; the Skeleton shuffled on his heels, shining his torch ahead.
Halfway down the central corridor they helped themselves to two more bottles of Bordeaux, pocketing them in silence, and continued on their course.
Listening, Warner could hear them ascending the stone stairs, could hear the door click above as they left the cellar. But his eyes remained fixed on Wildresse, who still stood in the door, darkly outlined against the dull gaslight burning somewhere in the room behind him.
Once or twice he looked at the great cask which the two voyous had not troubled to close into its place behind them. And Wildresse did not bother to go out and swing the cask back into place, but, as soon as he caught the sound of the closing cellar door, stepped back and shut his own door.
He must either have forgotten, or carelessly neglected, to close the open panel in it, for the lighted square remained visible, illuminating the narrow passage after Warner heard him bolt the door on the inside.
His retreating footsteps, also, were audible for some distance before the sound of them died away; and Warner knew then that the door belonged to the cabaret, and that behind its bolted shutters and its police seals Wildresse had been lurking since his return from Sais.
There was no need to use his torch as he crept out of his ambush and entered the narrow lane behind the big cask.
With infinite precautions, he thrust his arm through the open panel, felt around until he found the two bolts, slid them noiselessly back.
The door swung open, inward. He went in softly.
The place appeared to be a lumber room littered with odds and ends. Beyond was a passage in which a gas jet burned; at the end of it a stairway leading up.
The floor creaked in spite of him, but the stairs were carpeted. They led up to a large butler's pantry; and, through the sliding door, he peered out into the dim interior of the empty cabaret.
Through cracks in the closed shutters rays from the setting sun pierced the gloom, making objects vaguely distinct--tables and chairs piled one upon the other around the dancing floor, the gaudy decorations pendent from the ceiling, the shrouded music stands, the cashier's desk where he had first set eyes on the girl Philippa----
With the memory his heart almost ceased, then leaped with the resurgence of his fear for her; he looked around him until he discovered a leather swinging door, and when he opened it a wide hallway lay before him and a stairway rose beyond.
Over the thick carpet he hastened, then up the stairs, cautiously, listening at every step.
Somewhere above, coming apparently from behind a closed door, he heard the heavy vibration of a voice, and knew whose it was.
Guided by it along the upper passageway, he passed the open doors of several bedrooms, card rooms, private dining-rooms, all empty and the furniture covered with sheets, until he came to a closed door.
Behind it, the heavy voice of Wildresse sounded menacingly; he waited until it rose to a roar, then tried the door under cover of the noise within. It was locked, and he stood close to it, listening, striving to think out the best way.
Behind the locked door Wildresse was shouting now, and Warner heard every word:
"By God!" he roared in English. "You had better not try to lie to me! Do you want your neck twisted?"
There was no reply.
"I ask you again, what did you do with that paper I gave you by mistake?" he repeated.
Suddenly Warner's heart stood still, as Philippa's voice came to him, low but distinct:
"I burned it!"
"You burned it? You lie!"
"I never lie," came the subdued voice. "I burned it."
"You slut! How dared you touch it at all?"
"You handed it to me," she said wearily.
"And you knew it was a mistake, you treacherous cat! My God! Have I nourished you for this, you little snake, that you turn your poisonous teeth on me?"
"Perhaps.... But not on my country."
"Your country! You miserable foundling, did you suppose yourself French?"
"France is the only country I have known. I refuse to betray her."
"France!" he shouted. "France! A hell of a country to snivel about! You can't tell me anything about France--the dirty kennel full of mongrels that it is! France? To hell with France!
"What has she done for me? What has she done to me? Chased me out of Paris; forced my only son into her filthy army; hunted us both without mercy--finally hunted my son into the Battalions of Biribi--me into this damned pigpen of Ausone! That's what France has done to me and mine!--Blackmailed me into playing the mouchard for her--forcing me to play spy for her by threatening to hunt me into La Nouvelle!
"By God! I break even, though! I sell her every chance I get; and what I sell to her she has to pay for, too--believe me, she pays for it a hundred times over!"
There came a silence, then Wildresse's voice again, rumbling, threatening:
"Who was that type you went to visit in Sais at the Golden Peach?"
No answer.
"Do you hear, you little fool?"
"I hear you," she said in a tired voice.
"You won't tell?"
"No."
"Why? Is he your lover?"
"No."
"Oh, you merely got your wages, eh?"
No answer.
"In other words, you're launched, eh? You aspire to turn cocotte, eh?"
"I am employed by him quite honestly----"
"Very touching. Such a nice young man, isn't he? And how much did you tell him about me, eh?"
No reply.
"Did you inform him that I was a very bad character?" he sneered. "Did you tell him what a hard time you had? Did you explain to him that a pious Christian really could not live any longer with such a man as I am? Did you? And that is the way you feel, isn't it?--That you are too good for the business in which I have taken the trouble to educate you?"
"To be compelled to seek information for my Government has made me very unhappy," she said. "But to betray that Government--that is not in me to do. I had rather die.... I think, anyway, that I had rather not--live--any longer."
"Is that so? Is that all the spirit you have? What are you, anyway--a worm? Have you no anger in you against the country which has kicked you and me out of Paris into this filthy kennel called Ausone? Have you no resentment toward the Government that has attempted to beggar us both--the Government which bullies us, threatens us, blackmails us, forbids us entry into the capital, keeps us tied up here like dogs to watch and bark at strangers and whine away our lives on starvation wages, when we could make our fortunes in Paris?"
"I don't know what you did."
"What of it? Suppose I broke a few of their damned laws! Is that a reason to kick me from place to place and finally tie me up here?"
"I--don't know."
"Oh, 'don't know'!" he mimicked her. "You ungrateful slut, if you had any gratitude in your treacherous little body, you'd stick to me now! You'd rejoice at my vengeance! You'd laugh to know that I am paying back in her own coin the country which insulted me! That's what you'd do, instead of sniveling around about 'treachery' and 'betraying France.'
"And, by God!--now that war has come, you'll see your beloved France torn into pieces by the Bosches! That's what you'll see--France ripped into tatters!
"Yes, and that sight will repay me for all that has been done to me--that revenge I shall have--soon!--just as soon as they sweep up that stable litter of Belgians over there!
"Then we'll see! Then perhaps I'll get my recognition from the Bosches!
"What do I care for France or for them, either? I'm of no nation; I'm nothing; I'm for myself! The Bosches were the kinder to me, and they get what I don't need, voila tout!"
There came a long pause, and then Wildresse's heavy tones once more:
"I'll give you your chance. Yes, in spite of your treachery and your ingratitude, I'll give you your chance!
"You have a brain--such as it is. It's a woman's brain, of course, but it can figure out on which side the bread is buttered.
"Listen: I ought to twist your neck. You've tried to put mine into the lunette. You could have sent me up against a dead wall if you had given that paper you burned to the flics. No, you didn't. You enjoyed a crisis of nerves and you burned it. I know you burned it, because I admit that you tell the truth.
"Bon! Now, therefore, I do not instantly twist your neck. No! On the contrary, I reason with you. I do not turn you over to the sergots. I could! Why? Voyons, let us be reasonable! I was not hatched yesterday. No! Do you suppose I have trusted you all these years without having taken any little precautions? Tiens, you are beginning to look at me, eh?
"Well, then, listen: if in future you have any curiosity concerning lunettes and dead walls, let me inform you that you are qualified to embellish either.
"Tiens! You seem startled. It never occurred to you to ask why I have had certain papers written out by you, or why I have had you affix your pretty signature to so many little documents which you could not read because the ink was invisible.
"No. You have never thought about such matters, have you? But, all the same, I have all I require to make you sneeze into the basket, or to play blindman's buff between a dead wall and a squad of execution.
"And now!--Now that you know enough to hold your tongue, will you hold it in future and be honest and loyal to the hand that picked you out of the gutter and that has fed you ever since?"
There was a silence.
"Will you?" he repeated.
"No!"
A bull-like roar burst from Wildresse:
"I'll twist your neck for you, and I'll do it now!" he bellowed. "I'll snap that white neck of yours----"
*CHAPTER XVIII*
The next instant Warner struck the door such a blow with his doubled fist that the jarring sound silenced the roar of rage that had burst from Wildresse at Philippa's answer, and checked the heavy scuffle of his great feet, too.
Already Warner had drawn back, pistol lifted, gathered together to throw his full weight against the door and hold it the moment it was opened from inside.
The sudden stillness which followed his blow lasted but a few seconds; heavy steps approached the door, halted; approached irresolutely, stopped short. Then ensued another period of quiet; and Warner, listening, could hear the breathing of Wildresse on the other side of the door.
Minute after minute passed; Wildresse, still as a tiger, never stirred, and even his suppressed breathing became inaudible after a while.
Warner, pistol in hand, ready to throw himself against the door the instant it moved on the crack, bent over and placed his ear close against the paneling. After a while he detected the sound of footsteps cautiously retreating, and realized that Wildresse did not intend to open the door.
He knocked again loudly: the steps continued to recede; somewhere another door was unbolted and opened; and the stealthy, retreating footsteps continued on beyond earshot.
Again he knocked heavily with the butt of his pistol; waited, listened, then drew back and fairly hurled himself against the door. It scarcely even creaked; he might as well have attempted to push over the retaining wall of the corridor itself.
"Philippa!" he called. "Philippa!"
A low cry answered him; he heard her stir suddenly.
But as he grasped the door knob and shook it in his excitement and impatience, over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of a gross, hairless face slyly peering around the further corner of the corridor. It disappeared immediately.
"Open the door, Philippa!" he cried. "Open quick!"
"Warner, mon ami, I can't! He took the key----" she called through to him. "Oh, Warner! What am I to do?"
"All right! Wait there!" He turned and ran for the further end of the corridor, sprang around the corner without hesitating, sped forward, now fiercely intent on the destruction of Wildresse. But the Patron had fled. He ran forward, turned another corner in the dim light of locked shutters, but found no trace of the bulky quarry he hunted, heard nothing, halted, breathing fast and hard, trying to establish his bearings.
A stair well plunged downward into shadowy depths just ahead; he stole forward and looked over; carpeted steps vanished into the darkness below.
Doors, all locked, faced him everywhere; he ran along them, trying each as he passed; came to an angle of solid wall, stepped around it, pistol extended; and it was a miracle he was not startled into pulling trigger when a door was torn open in his very face, and a figure, dark against the fiery sunset framed by a window, sprang forward.
"Warner, mon ami! Me voici!" she cried joyously, flinging both arms around his neck; but he stood white and trembling with the nearness of her destruction at his hands, holding the shaking pistol wide from her body and unable to utter a word.
And as he stood there, one arm around her thin body, somewhere below and behind him a door burst open and there came a muffled rush of feet up the stairway from the darkness below.
He pushed her violently away from him, but before he could turn and spring to the stairhead, three men leaped into the passage, their weapons spitting red flashes through the dusky corridor; and he jumped backward dragging Philippa with him into the room behind them, slammed the door, and bolted, chained, and locked it.
Outside, Asticot, Squelette, and Hoffman stood close to the door and poured bullets through it at close range. The stream of lead tore the papered plaster wall, opposite to tatters; but the door was as massive as the one he had tried to force with his shoulder; two great bars of metal bolted it, a heavy chain further secured it, and the key remained in the lock.
But steel-jacketed bullets still pierced the wood, stripping splinters from the inside and mangling the opposite wall until the gay wall paper hung in strips, and the whole room swam in a haze of drifting white dust.
Edging along, his body flattened against the north wall of the empty room, and drawing Philippa after him, he cautiously approached the door which he had tried to force; and heard Wildresse whispering to somebody outside. No wonder he had not been able to force it; the bolts and chains that held it were exactly like those which secured the other door.
He placed his lips close to Philippa's ear:
"Where are we?" he breathed; and bent his head to the child's bruised mouth, which was still swollen and cut from the blow dealt her by Wildresse that morning in the car.
"We are in the Patron's private office, where he used to lock himself in," she whispered. "They've taken out the desk and chairs. His bedroom is next; mine is the next beyond that."
He looked anxiously toward the window and saw tree tops and glimpses of rolling country sparkling in the lilac-tinted haze of approaching twilight.
"Where does that window face?" he whispered, softly.
"On the garden and river."
"How far a drop is it?"
"Too far, mon ami. The stone terrace is below."
"Is it thirty feet?"
"I don't know. The roof and chimneys are above us. We are in the top story of the house."
"There are only two stories above the cellar, as I remember."
"Two, yes."
Still holding himself and her flat against the wall, he turned his head cautiously from side to side, searching the empty room. There was absolutely nothing there except bare floor and walls, and, in the fireplace, a huge iron grate weighted with cannel coal.
Outside, from the two corridors the firing had ceased; but he could distinguish the low vibration of heavy voices, carefully subdued, catch the sound of stealthy movements on the carpeted floor close to both doors. Lifting his pistol he fired through one door, wheeled, and fired through the other. When the deafening racket in the room had ceased, he bent toward her and whispered:
"Philippa, will you obey me?"
"Yes, mon ami."
"Flatten yourself closer against the wall and don't stir."
The girl spread out both arms, palms against the wall, and shrank closer against it with her slim body.
Warner dropped cautiously to the floor, crept across it, dragging himself by his hands, grasped the sill of the window, drew his head up with infinite precaution, and looked out and finally down.
Below lay the flagstones and potted flowers of the garden terrace, not more than twenty-five feet, he thought. Beyond these, the grass sloped down to the Recollette, where rowboats still floated under the trees.
Reconnoitering, he could not discover a soul in sight, and, satisfied, he crept back to where Philippa stood.
As he looked up at her, a faint smile touched the girl's bruised lips, and her steady grey eyes seemed to say: "Me voici, mon ami, toujours a vos ordres!"
"We must try to leave by the window," he whispered. "Both doors are guarded. And this man means murder--for you, anyway----"
"Yes.... It does not matter much now.... Since I have seen you again."
"You dear child--you dear, brave little thing!"
"Oh, mon ami--if you truly are content with me----"
"Little comrade, you have been very wonderful and very true! Halkett has recovered his papers.... Can you imagine how I felt when that murderous brute struck you!"
"It was nothing--I don't care, now----" She looked at his face, extended one finger along the wall, and touched his arm, trying to smile with her disfigured lips.
He looked at her very intently for a moment, unsmiling. Then:
"Little comrade! Listen attentively."
"Yes, Warner."
"It's too far for us to drop. It is twenty feet, anyway, and probably more. You would break your legs on the stones.... How many of your clothes can you spare to make a rope?"
"My--clothing?"
"Yes. You see there is not a thing in this room, not even a shred of carpet. I can spare my coat, waistcoat, shirt, tie, two handkerchiefs, collar, belt--and both shoe laces. I have a heavy, sharp pocketknife with a four-inch blade, which will cut cloth into strips. Help me all you can, Philippa. We shall need every inch of cloth and linen we can spare.... And I think we had better hurry about it, because I don't know what they are planning to do outside those two doors."
She hesitated an instant, then:
"If you wish it.... Will you please turn your head?"
"Of course, you dear child! What can you spare?"
"I can spare my chemisette and underskirt and petticoat, and my velvet hairband and my shoe laces.... And a handkerchief and my stockings.... It leaves me my red velvet bodice, which I can lace tightly, my red velvet skirt, and my shoes.... Will it be enough to give you?"
"I hope so; we must try." He turned, stripped to his undershirt and trousers, opened the long-bladed knife, and began to cut out strips from the materials.
Presently she was ready to contribute to the projected rope, and together they ventured to seat themselves noiselessly at the base of the wall and begin serious work on the business before them.
The sound of linen or of cotton being ripped would certainly have set on the alert the men outside and directed a murderously inclined gentleman or two to the garden.
So they parted the stuffs with every precaution to avoid any noise, using the knife constantly, and easing the various fabrics apart little by little.
Warner was confident that Wildresse, knowing the utter nakedness of the room in which they were locked, and knowing that death or broken bones must result from a drop into the terrace flowerpots, was not concerning himself to guard that quarter. Working steadily, easing, parting, picking out or cutting threads, ripping and tearing with greatest caution, the growing dusk in the room began to impede their operations. But he dared not use his electric torch, lest they be seen from outside.
Already the girl's slender fingers were flying as she picked up strip after strip of fabric and twisted them into the quadruple braid, bending closer over her task as the light became dimmer and dimmer.
Her bare feet in her laceless shoes were extended and crossed in front of her; the slender neck and shoulders and arms were exquisite in the delicate loveliness of immaturity; she worked swiftly, intensely absorbed, unconscious, unembarrassed in her preoccupation.
Now and then she lifted the braided cord and, stretching it, tested it with all her youthful strength. Once she handed it to him and he threw his full strength into the test, nodded, passed it back to her, and went on with his cutting and ripping.
Before the cord was finished, a tremendous crash shook the door on the left; and Warner, seated flat on the floor, fired two shots through the panels.
Then they both went on with their cutting, ripping, knotting, and braiding. The fumes from the cartridges set them coughing, but the smoke filtered out of the open window very soon.
It was dark when the cord was ready--some eighteen feet of it, as far as Warner could judge by measuring it across his outstretched arms.
Everything was in it except his leather belt, and this he buckled around Philippa's body.
There seemed to be no way he could test the cord except, inch by inch, using main strength; and, looking at the slender girl beside him, he concluded that it was going to hold her anyway.
The only light left in the room came from the stars; by this he crept across to the fireplace, lifted the heavy, iron grate with difficulty, set it at the foot of the window, fastened one end of the cord to it, turned and beckoned to Philippa.
She came creeping through the dusk on hands and knees; he pushed the pistol into one hip pocket, the electric torch into the other, fastened the rope to his leather belt which she wore, motioned her to mount the sill.
"But--you?" she whispered.
"Listen! I shall follow. If I fall, try to find Halkett in the square and tell him."
"Warner--I am afraid!"
"I won't let you fall----"
"For you, I mean!"
"Don't be afraid. I could almost drop it without any cord to help me. Now! Are you ready?"
"If you wish it."
"Then sit this way--there! Now, turn and take hold of the sill with both hands--that way! ... Now, you may let go----"
Her full weight on the cord frightened him; he braced his knees and paid out the rope which crushed and threatened to cut his hands in two.
Down, down into the dusk below he lowered her; his arms and back and ribs seemed turned to steel, so terrible was the fear that he might let her drop.
There remained yet a coil or two of rope when the cord in his staggering hands suddenly slackened. A shaft of fright pierced him; he bent shakily over the sill and looked down. She had not fallen; she stood on the terrace, unknotting the rope from her leather belt.
A moment later he drew it up, the belt dangling at the end. With trembling and benumbed hands he tested the knot tied to the grate; then, twisting the cord around both hands, he let himself over the sill, clung there, and lowered the window, hesitated, let his full weight hang, heard the iron grate drag and catch, then, blindly, twisting the cord around his left leg, he let himself down foot by foot, believing every moment that the cord would part or that the iron grate would be dragged up and over the sill, carry away the sash, and crush him.
And the next instant his feet touched the stone flagging and he turned to find Philippa at his side.
"Be silent," she breathed close to his ear. "A boat has just landed."
"Where?"
"At the foot of the garden. Two men are getting out!"
He knew that the rope would be discovered; he seized it and tried to break it loose. It held as though it had been woven of wire.
"There is a way into the cellar," whispered Philippa. "Can you lift this grating? It is only a drop of a foot or two!"
He bent down beside her in the shadows, felt the bars of the narrow grating overgrown with herbage, pulled upward and lifted it easily from its grassy bed. Philippa placed her hand flat on the dewy turf, and vaulted down into darkness. He balanced himself on the edge of the hole, turned and pulled the grating toward him, and dropped. The grating fell with a soft thud on the damp and grassy rim of the manhole. Philippa caught his hand.
"I know my way! Come!" she breathed, and he followed into the pitchy darkness.
How far they had progressed he had no idea, when she halted and drew him close to her.
"I've lost my way; I thought I could find the main corridor. Have you a match?"
"I have a flashlight."
He pulled it from his pocket and drew his pistol also. Then he snapped on the light.
For a moment the girl stood dazzled and perplexed, evidently unfamiliar with what she was gazing at, bewildered.
But Warner knew. There, in front of him, stood the great tun, swung open like a gate, and between it and the next cask ran the secret alley blocked by the door from which Wildresse had driven Asticot and Squelette.
"I know the way now!" he said. "But we'll have to pass through the cafe----"
He sprang back with the words on his lips as the door opened violently and Wildresse lurched out, followed by Asticot and another man.
But the glare of the torch in their eyes checked them and they recoiled, stumbling over each other in the narrow doorway.
Step by step Warner backed away, keeping Philippa behind him and focussing the blinding light on the men huddled in the doorway.
"Who are you?" demanded Wildresse hoarsely. "What are you doing in my cellar?"
He made a motion toward his breast pocket; Asticot was quicker, and he fired full at the flashlight which Warner was holding wide of himself and Philippa.
The bullet struck the light; startling darkness buried them, instantly all a-flicker again with pistol flashes.
"The grating again! Can you find it, Philippa?" he whispered.
She turned her head as she retreated, caught a glimpse of the faint spot of starlight behind, took his hand and drew him around.
Evidently Wildresse dared not use any light; his friends were shooting wildly and at hazard for general results; the racket in the vaulted place was deafening; but the flashes from their own pistols must have obscured their vision, for if they could have distinguished the far, pale spot of light under the manhole, they evidently did not see the dim figures crouching there.
Warner reached up, grasped the iron bars, lifted them, swung them open. Then he dragged himself up and over, and, flat on the grass, held down his arms for Philippa.
Beside him, panting on the grass, she lay flat under the dim luster of the stars, while they searched the dusk for any sign of the two men who had landed from the rowboat.
And all at once the girl's eyes fell upon a ladder leaning against the house, and she silently touched Warner on the arm.
It became plain enough now; the rope was gone; the men had mounted to the room, found it empty, had unbolted both doors, and started Wildresse and his crew toward the cellar--the only egress to the street--where lay their only chance of successful pursuit.
Bending low above the grass, gliding close to the shrubs and bushes, Warner, with Philippa's hand clasped in his, stole down the slope and into the shadow of the shoreward trees.
A boat, with both oars in it, lay there, pulled up into the sedge; the girl stepped in; Warner pushed off and followed her, shipped the oars, swung the boat, and bent to his work.
"You are taking the wrong way!" whispered Philippa.
"Halkett is waiting on the quay."
Already they had rounded the bank in sight of the ancient arch of the bridge; the quay wall rose above them in the starlight. At the foot of the narrow flight of steps he checked the boat; Philippa took the oars, and he sprang out and ran up the stone incline.
"Halkett!" he called sharply.
A figure seated on the wall turned its head, jumped to the pavement, and came striding swiftly.
"Have you discovered her whereabouts? Good heavens! Where are your clothes, Warner?"
"I've found Philippa. She's waiting below in a boat----"
They ran down the steps while they were speaking, and Philippa cried:
"Is it you, Halkett? I am happy again!" And stretched out her slender bare arm to him, excited, trembling a little from the nervous reaction which now suddenly filled her eyes and set her disfigured mouth quivering.
"Awf'lly glad," said Halkett heartily, clasping her offered hand in his firm cool grip; and if he was astonished at her negligee he did not betray it, but took the oars with decision and sent the boat shooting out into mid-current.
"Philippa," he said, pulling downstream with powerful strokes through the darkness, "I don't know what has happened; Warner got you out of the mess, whatever it was; but what I do know is that you behaved like a brick and I shall never forget it! A soldier's thanks, little comrade, for what you did!"
"I--I am--happy----" she faltered; and her voice failed her. She slid from the stern down against Warner's knees, and buried her face in her bare arms against them.
"Do you think you could spare her your coat, old fellow?" asked Warner in a low voice.
"Of course!" Halkett stripped off his coat and passed it over; then he gave his waistcoat to Warner.
"Lucky it's a warm night," he said cheerfully, while Warner spread the coat over Philippa, where she lay exhausted, tremulous, and close to tears. The girl who had never whimpered when fear, timidity, and indecision meant instant disaster, now lay huddled against his knees, shaking in every limb, crushing back the tears that burned her eyes and her throat, striving to master the nerves that clamored for relief.
Warner bent over her, close, touching her disheveled hair:
"It's all right now," he whispered. "I shall not let you go again until you want to.... It's all right now, Philippa. I'll stand your friend always--as long as you need me--as long as you--want me.... Don't worry about a home; I'll see to it. You are going to have your chance."
One of her crossed hands groped blindly for his, closed over it convulsively, and her breath grew hot with tears.
"It's a long way to Tipperary," remarked Halkett cheerily. "Tell me about it when you're ready, old chap."
*CHAPTER XIX*
About seven o'clock the next morning Halkett knocked at Warner's door, awakening him.
"The cavalry are passing, if you'd care to see them," he said.
Warner got out of bed, found his slippers and a bathrobe, and opened the door. Halkett, fully dressed in the field uniform of a British officer, came in.
"Hello!" exclaimed the American in surprise. "What does this mean?"
"It means that we've gone in, old chap."
"England!"
"Yes, we're in it! And I'm off." He made a gesture for silence. "Hark! Do you hear that?"
Warner listened: from the distance came a confused, metallic sound, growing more and more distinct, filling the room with a faint ringing, jarring harmony.
"Come to the window; it's worth seeing," said Halkett.
