A little group of laughing young women came scurrying up the ladder from the promenade, and the Admiral and his companion sat stonily silent until they had passed. Then the Admiral spoke again, still in a whisper, but his voice was under control.
"The most astounding thing has happened," he said. "I cannot understand it. The operator in there has just received a message from Cherbourg, asking if there is not on board, in stateroom 514, a man named Ignace Vard, accompanied by his daughter. It is signed by Lépine, chief of the French secret service."
The younger man drew a quick, sibilant breath, and his face, too, turned pale beneath the tan.
"But how could he know?" he gasped. "How could he suspect?"
"Lépine is the very devil!" growled the other. "Perhaps it was that wireless installation, as you suggested."
"But that could not betray the man's name—the boat—even his stateroom!"
"No; I cannot understand it," and Pachmannmopped his face again. Then he thrust his handkerchief back into his pocket and sprang to his feet. "However it occurred, we must stop it," he said. "Come."
"Stop it—but how?"
"There is only one way. Come!"
The Admiral hurried down the ladder, his companion at his heels. From the upper promenade he descended to the deck below, and then, without hesitating, climbed another ladder and stepped over a low gate which gave entrance to the first-class promenade. The gate, it is true, bore a sign stating that second-class passengers must not pass it; but Pachmann did not even glance at it. He seemed to know the ship, for he pressed on, disregarding the curious glances cast at himself and his companion, mounted again to the boat-deck, and did not pause until he had reached its extreme forward end, just under the bridge. There he stopped at a door just abaft the ladder leading to the bridge and knocked sharply.
"Enter!" cried a voice, and the younger man, following the Admiral, found himself in a large and handsome stateroom, whose windows looked straight forward over the bow. At the desk a bearded man of middle-age was glancing through some papers. He looked up at the intruders with evident astonishment. "Really, gentlemen," he began, and thenhe stopped, his gaze shifting from one face to the other and back again in frank bewilderment.
"Captain Hausmann," said the Admiral, stepping forward, "probably you do not remember me, since we have met but once. But I think you know the Prince."
Captain Hausmann's eyes widened, and he sprang quickly to his feet, his hand at the visor of his cap.
"Your Highness," he began, but the Prince stopped him.
"I am not a Highness at present, Captain," he said, laughing; "only a humble passenger of the second class. I am very glad to see you again," and, holding out his hand, he gave that of the astonished mariner a hearty clasp.
"A passenger of the second class!" stammered the Captain. "But I do not understand!"
"It is not necessary that you should," said the Admiral, curtly, and at the words, the Captain reddened a little.
"Ah, now I know you," he said, quietly. "Admiral Pachmann," and again he saluted.
"Yes," said the Admiral, acknowledging the salute. "We had not intended to betray, even to you, our presence on board, but an unforeseen circumstance has made it necessary. No one else, of course, must suspect it. All that you need to know—indeed, all that we are permitted to tell you—isthat His Highness and myself are at this moment engaged upon an affair of state of the first importance. Here are my credentials."
He took from an inner pocket a long leather pocket-book, extracted from it a heavy envelope sealed with a great black seal, and passed it to the Captain.
The latter took it, glanced at the seal and hesitated, for it bore the Imperial crown.
"Do you intend that I should open this?" he asked.
"I wish you to do so," answered Pachmann.
With fingers that trembled a little, the Captain loosened the seal, lifted the flap, and drew out the sheet of paper which lay within. It was an ivory-finished white, almost as stiff as a card, the entire upper left quarter occupied by the Imperial crown and monogram, the other three quarters covered by writing in a large and rather stiff hand, with a scrawling signature at the bottom. The Captain glanced at this signature, then, his face very grave, read the missive slowly and carefully. Finally he returned the sheet to its envelope, and handed it back to Pachmann, his eyes meeting the Admiral's with a kind of awed wonder.
"I am at your service," he said. "Will you...."
There was a tap at the door. The Captain wentto it and opened it, standing so that his body filled the doorway. He exchanged a word with some one, and then closed the door and turned back into the room, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Will you not sit down?" he asked.
"We shall be but a moment," said Pachmann. "That was the wireless man, was it not?"
"Yes."
"Among the messages you have in your hand is one from Lépine, Prefect of the Paris Service du Surété. He asks whether you have aboard in stateroom 514 a man named Ignace Vard, accompanied by his daughter."
Captain Hausmann, with an admirable composure, glanced through the messages.
"Yes; here it is," he said.
"I will dictate the answer," said the Admiral.
Without a word, the Captain sat down again at his desk and wrote to Pachmann's dictation:
"Lépine, Paris.No record of Ignace Vard and daughter onOttilie. Stateroom 514 unoccupied.Hausmann, Captain."
"Lépine, Paris.
No record of Ignace Vard and daughter onOttilie. Stateroom 514 unoccupied.
Hausmann, Captain."
"It would be well to have the message sent at once," added Pachmann. "You will also see that the name of Vard and his daughter do not appear on your passenger list, and that they are movedfrom the stateroom they now occupy to some other one. The records for the voyage must show that that room was indeed unoccupied. You will also instruct the purser that the tickets surrendered by Vard and his daughter are not to be turned in, but, in case of inquiry, to be reported unused."
The Captain had listened carefully.
"On what pretext will I move these people?" he asked.
"The pretext must be found."
The Captain stroked his beard with a troubled air.
"I fear there is no second-cabin room empty—we are very crowded. Would it matter if I brought them forward?"
Pachmann pondered a moment.
"No," he said at last. "On the whole, that might be better. You will enter them on your passenger list by some other name—or, better still, omit them altogether."
"But the immigration authorities!" protested the Captain. "You have forgotten them!"
"We will think of them at the proper time," said Pachmann, impatiently. "This is not the moment to make objections. I think you understand?"
Hausmann bowed.
"We will say good-bye, then, for the present," added the Admiral, with a touch of irony. "We shall, perhaps, be forced again to call upon you."
A second time Hausmann bowed.
When Miss Vard entered her stateroom, that day, to brush her hair before going to lunch, her nostrils were assaulted by a most unpleasant odour, and, when a cursory inspection of the room failed to disclose its cause, she summoned the steward and asked him to investigate. An hour later, a white-capped official approached Mr. Vard, who was looking vainly through the collection of books in the library for something he cared to read, and informed him, with many apologies, that it would be necessary for him to change his stateroom. Just what was wrong with No. 514 it was impossible to say; but it could not be denied that therewasa bad odour there, whose source had not been discovered, and the only alternative seemed to be to shut it up until the end of the voyage and then to overhaul it thoroughly.
"Very well," said Vard. "I have no objection to changing. But I cannot understand how a cubicle with floor, ceiling and walls of steel, could so suddenly become insanitary."
"It is a mystery to us also, sir, and one which we shall look into very thoroughly. We regret it extremely."
"Not at all," said Vard, somewhat astonished that so much should be made of the matter. "Havethe steward change our baggage to the new quarters, and then come and show me where they are, and let us forget all about it."
"It is most kind of you to take it so good-naturedly," protested the officer. "The embarrassing thing to us is that, as there is no vacant stateroom in the second-cabin, we shall have to transfer you to the first."
Vard looked at him.
"And you expect me to pay the difference?" he asked.
"Oh, no; not at all," the other hastily assured him. "We had not thought of such a thing! But we feared you might have some objection to first-class, and that the change would inconvenience you still more."
Vard smiled grimly.
"As a matter of fact, Ihavean objection to first-class," he said, "but it is largely that of wasting money for which I have a better use. The people one sees there also do not appeal to me. I fear most of them are idle fools. But perhaps the library is better selected."
"Oh, it is much larger than this!" the officer agreed. "I may take it, then, that you consent?"
"Certainly. We can't stay in a stateroom that smells as ours does."
"Then," said the other, "if you will inform yourdaughter, I will myself conduct you to your new quarters."
So Miss Vard was summoned, their steward was loaded with the baggage, and after a glance around No. 514 to assure herself that nothing had been overlooked, Miss Vard found herself following her father and the white-capped German along a narrow passage, past a steel door that was unlocked for them, and up the companion-way to a very handsome suite opening on the upper promenade. It consisted of two bedrooms and a sitting-room, and Kasia, as she glanced about it, could not repress an exclamation of surprise.
"Are we to stay here?" she asked.
"Yes, Madame," and the official smiled. "It is the only thing we have to offer. I am glad that it pleases you. It will help you to forget the inconvenience of changing," and, having waited until the steward had deposited his burden, he motioned him out before him, bowed and withdrew.
Kasia made a quick tour of the room, admiring its elegant furnishings, glanced into the bedrooms, and then came back to her father.
"I don't understand it!" she said. "Why should they give us all this?"
Her father regarded her in some surprise.
"Why, my dear," he said, "you have heard the explanation. I do not for a moment imagine thatthe steamship company would have been so generous if there had been any way to avoid it!"
"No, I suppose not!" Kasia agreed, and set herself to arrange their belongings—it was almost like fitting up a flat! "This suit-case is very heavy, father," she added, after a moment. "Will you put it in your room?"
"Of course," and Vard lifted it, started for the bedroom, and then turned and placed it on the little table which stood between the windows. "I will have a look at it, first," he said, loosened the straps, took a key from a flapped compartment of his pocket-book and put it in the lock. "One would scarcely believe, Kasia," he added, with a smile, "that this little bag contains the destiny of the world!"
"No," she said, and came and stood beside him, one arm about him, her head against his shoulder.
He turned the key and raised the lid. Then he put aside some articles of clothing and lifted from beneath them an oblong box, open at the ends. One saw, on looking closer, that the sides of the box were of glass, partially covered on both sides with tin-foil; and peering in at the open end, one perceived a vague maze of wires and pinions.
Vard gazed at it for some moments without speaking.
"There it is, Kasia," he said, at last, "thewonder-worker, which, properly tuned and connected with its batteries, generates a force which puts an end to armies and to fleets. With it in the world, there can be no more war—and if there is no more war, there is the end of kings and tyrants. It is a great thought, is it not, my daughter?"
"A great thought!" she echoed, but her voice was shaking, and she shivered a little and drew closer to him. "And yet, father, think what an awful force it would be if it fell into unscrupulous hands! It is that which makes me tremble sometimes!"
"You do not fear me, Kasia?" he asked reproachfully.
"No, father; of course not!"
He replaced the mechanism, covered it carefully with clothing, closed the lid, locked it, and returned the key to his pocket. Then he carried the bag to his bedroom and slipped it under the bed. At last he came back to his daughter.
"I will not deny, Kasia," he said, "that I have been tempted, more than once. Not by the prospect of wealth or power—those cannot tempt me; but by the thought that, after subduing the world, I might 're-mould it nearer to the heart's desire.' And yet how vain to fancy that I or any man possesses the wisdom to do that! No; that cannot be. Each nation must shape its own destiny, as friendsand brothers. It is for me to strike the swords from their hands!"
But still Kasia trembled and a shadow lay across her face.
"What is it you fear?" her father asked, looking at her.
"It seems too great a destiny!" she answered, with quivering lips. "There is so great a risk! Suppose some one should steal that instrument...."
"That would do no harm. I can make another—a hundred others! That is my purpose. The whole world must know of it—must possess it. Every nation must know that, the instant it marches to war, it risks annihilation. I see no danger there."
"But suppose," Kasia persisted, "that the man who stole it should kill you—what then? Oh, I have thought of it, father, so much, so closely, all through the night! We must run no risk like that."
Vard took a rapid turn up and down the room. He was deeply perturbed. At last he paused beside her.
"You are right, Kasia," he said. "I do not believe there is any danger—and yet we must run no risk like that! Well, it is easy to avoid it! Wait!"
He disappeared into his bedroom, and Kasia heard him pulling out the bag and opening it. Then the lock snapped again, the bag was pushed back under the bed, and her father rejoined her. Heheld in his hand a little case of polished steel. Within it were three filament-like wires wound peculiarly around a series of tiny pins.
"Here it is," he said, "the very heart of the mechanism. Without this it is useless. Without this, it is merely a transformer. It can do no one any harm—can betray no secret."
Kasia took the little box and looked at it.
"Is this difficult to make, father?" she asked.
"It took me eight years to make that one; but I can make another in two days, or perhaps three."
"You are sure of that?"
"Oh, yes," and he smiled. "It is very intricate, yet very simple when one has the clue. Every convolution of those filaments is photographed on my brain. I can close my eyes and see them winding in and out."
The girl hesitated, the little box still in her hand.
"Then it would be safe to destroy this?" she asked, at last.
"Safe? Yes! That is my meaning! Let us destroy it!"
Still a moment she paused, then she closed her hand.
"Yes," she agreed; "let us destroy it."
Her father nodded his head indifferently. With him the moment of tension had passed.
"Drop it into the sea," he said. "That will endit. Now, I think, I shall go and examine the books in the library."
He went out and closed the door; but Kasia stood for a long time without moving, staring at the little box of polished metal. After all, if hecouldnot reproduce it; if thereshouldbe some convolution he had missed, some accidental conjunction he was not aware of! If to destroy it now would be to destroy it forever! Better that, of course, than run the other risk! But was there no other way? Perhaps, perhaps....
Wherefore it happened that Dan Webster, searching promenade and saloon and library, that afternoon, mounting to the boat-deck, descending to the lower deck, peeping into every nook and corner where passengers of the second-class were permitted to penetrate, looked in vain for Kasia Vard. Nor was her father anywhere to be seen. At last, perceiving the curious glances shot in his direction, and having stumbled for the third time over the same outstretched pair of feet, he mounted gloomily to the boat-deck and sat down to think it out.
The weather continued fine and the sea smooth, so that it was absurd to suppose that either of them was ill; and that they should keep to their stateroom on such an afternoon for any other reason, or even for that one, was more absurd still. Perhaps, if they were working....
The thought brought him sudden relief. That explained it! They had some work they were doing together. Perhaps Kasia acted as her father's secretary, and even now was writing to his dictation.She had said that he was engaged in some gigantic project, the nature of which Dan understood but dimly—a plan for the disarmament of the world, or something like that. As he remembered them here in the cold light of day, her words of the night before seemed more than a little fantastic; but perhaps he had not understood, or perhaps she had spoken figuratively. "The nations of the world in the hollow of his hand"—that, of course, was figurative. And, equally of course, Vard's plan would come to nothing. But it would be interesting to know more of it.
He must have a talk with Vard before the voyage ended. A story like that would make good copy, and a little newspaper propaganda would help the thing along. Meanwhile, there was nothing to do but wait until Miss Vard should choose to reappear. He cast his mind back over the story she had told him—ye gods! what a featurethatwould make, told just as she had told it, simply and earnestly and without embellishment. Perhaps he could persuade her to write it for theRecord. He could picture the shining face of Craftsman, the Sunday editor, as he read it!
Some one, crossing the deck unperceived by him, sat down beside him. He turned quickly; but it was only Chevrial.
"Ah, M. Webster," said the Frenchman, smiling,"you were among the day dreams; and they were not of me. That is apparent from the look with which you regard me!"
Dan flushed a little, and then he laughed. There was no resisting Chevrial's genial humour.
"No," he admitted; "they were of some one quite different."
"Nevertheless, until that 'some one' appears, I trust that I am welcome?"
"Indeed you are. I'm glad you came!"
Dan spoke warmly, and his companion, with a little satisfied nod, settled back into the seat. They had seen very little of each other since the moment of meeting. Dan had gone to bed the previous night before his roommate appeared, and had not even heard him come in. This morning, when he arose, Chevrial was sleeping calmly, and Dan had gathered his clothes together as noiselessly as he could and stolen away to the bathroom. They had passed each other once or twice on the promenade, and had nodded but had not spoken—and then Dan remembered suddenly the flare of light from the near-by bench the night before, as he and Kasia rose to go below. Chevrial smiled again as he met his glance.
"You are thinking of last night?" he said. "Yes? It is concerning that I wish first to speak to you. When I sat down yonder I was notconscious that this bench was occupied. You and the young lady were speaking in very low tones, and the bench itself was in shadow. It was only when she raised her voice that I realised I was hearing what was not intended for me. I was just about to go, when she stopped abruptly, and a moment later you went down together. It was then that you noticed me. I struck the match in order that you might see that it was I, and so have no uneasiness."
Dan stared at his companion in astonishment.
"Uneasiness?" he repeated. "But why should I have any uneasiness?"
"Not on your own account, of course, but on the young lady's account."
"But I don't see why, even for her, I should be uneasy," said Dan perplexedly.
"My dear sir," and Chevrial dropped his voice and spoke very earnestly, "there are always spies on these big boats—this is a most productive field for them—German spies, French spies, English spies, listening to each word, watching each gesture. Suppose one of them had chanced to hear what I did...."
Dan stared a moment longer, then he burst into a laugh.
"Oh, come, M. Chevrial," he protested. "You don't really believe that!"
"Believe what?"
"About the spies."
Chevrial's face grew a little grim.
"I am not one to offer advice where it is not desired," he said; "but I assure you, M. Webster, that what I have told you is true, and furthermore had any one of three or four persons who are on this boat heard what I heard, that girl and her father would have been under espionage for the remainder of their lives."
It was easy to see that Chevrial spoke in deadly earnest, and, in spite of himself, Dan was impressed and sobered.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "perhaps you are right; but to an American the very idea of such a system is laughable—it savours too much of cheap melodrama. But why should the story Miss Vard told me interest any one?"
"My dear sir," answered Chevrial, drily, "when a girl goes about boasting that her father is more powerful than the Czar or Kaiser! Suppose she had stopped there, any hearer would have concluded that he was an anarchist, and therefore to be watched. But she went further: she asserted that he can blow up forts and destroy armies! That he can wreck battleships! Why, M. Webster, it is only four days sinceLa Liberté, the greatest of French battleships, was destroyed in the harbour of Toulon by an agency not yet determined!"
Dan had turned a little pale.
"But you don't imagine," he stammered; "surely you don't think...."
Chevrial flipped away his cigarette-ash negligently.
"ThatLa Libertéwas destroyed by this man? Absurd! But, nevertheless, it is a bad time to make such boasts."
"I can see that," agreed Dan. "I will speak to Miss Vard."
"I would do so, by all means. She seems a most interesting girl, and I should regret to see her involved in an unpleasant situation. Or her father," Chevrial added. "A most interesting enthusiast!"
"You have talked with him?"
"Oh, yes; last night for some time. He has great ideas—too great, I fear, to be practicable."
"Then you don't believe...."
"That he can destroy armies and all that?" and Chevrial laughed lightly. "My dear M. Webster, do you?"
"No," said Dan, slowly, "I don't suppose I do. It's too much to believe—without proof!"
"Assuredly," agreed his companion; "no one would believe it without proof—absolute proof." Then he leaned closer. "To me he made no such absurd claim, but from the way he talked—from his grandiose ideas, his strange philosophy, his fabulous hopes for humanity—I formed the opinionthat the man is mad—not wholly mad, you understand, but touched, in one corner of the brain, by a wild hallucination. His daughter, naturally, believes in him. She is a most attractive girl. Polish women are always attractive, at least when they are young. There is, in their faces, in their eyes, an appearance of tragedy, of mystery, which piques the imagination. And they are all great patriots—it is born in the blood—oh, far greater patriots than the men. I have travelled in Poland," he added, seeing Dan's glance; "my business sometimes calls me there."
"And is there really such oppression as Miss Vard described?"
"I do not know what she told you—it was only at the end she raised her voice; but she could not exaggerate the sufferings of her people. They are little better than slaves. All careers are closed to them, and over them constantly is the shadow of Siberia."
"You mean they are banished sometimes?"
"They are banished often—for one year, two years, three years. And they are compelled to walk to and from the place of banishment. It takes a year sometimes. I knew a man who returned home one day to find a Cossack attacking his daughter. There was a struggle, and the Cossack shot the man in the leg. The wound festered and the leg wasamputated; then the man was sentenced to the mines at Yakutsk. It was I know not how many thousand miles—it took him two years to walk there on his wooden leg—walking, walking every day."
Dan felt a strange weakness running through his veins.
"But is there no way to put an end to such things?" he asked.
Chevrial rolled himself another cigarette.
"Poland has no friends," he answered. "She has been forgotten. The Poles themselves have come to be regarded as fools, as charlatans, as irresponsible children. France was supposed to be the friend of Poland; Napoleon promised to reconstitute her, and the Poles fought by thousands in his armies and won many victories for him. Then came the campaign of Russia and ended all that. To-day, Poland is remembered in France only by a proverb, 'Saoul comme un Polonais,' 'Drunk as a Pole.' It is so we think of them, when we think of them at all, which is not often. This disdain, this forgetfulness, has been carefully fostered by Germany and Russia. No one thinks it worth while to interfere. Besides, Poland's lot is that of every conquered country. In Alsace-Lorraine it is just the same."
"Oh, surely not!" Dan protested. "Germany, at least, has no Siberia!"
"No, she has no Siberia," Chevrial agreed, "butneither has she a sense of humour, and that is worse! The very worst trait in a conqueror, M. Webster, believe me, is an absence of the sense of humour! And Germany has the strongest prisons in the world. Her system of espial is even more minute and irritating than that of Russia. As in Poland, the people of Alsace and Lorraine may not speak their native tongue nor study the history of their fatherland. Nothing escapes suspicion. It is reported that at a certain café the accounts are kept in French; the café is thereupon visited, the books confiscated, and a fine imposed. A certain gentleman goes to Nancy on the fourteenth of July, which happens to be the date of the French national fête; he is reported as suspect and his premises are visited and searched. The police, passing the house of a notary one evening, hear some one singing the Marseillaise; they demand admittance and arrest the notary, although it was a phonograph which had been singing the song. This is adjudged a very serious case."
"Do you mean to tell me," Dan demanded, "that such things actually occur?"
The ghost of a smile flitted across Chevrial's lips.
"Not those precise cases, perhaps," he said; "but cases very like them—cases not a whit less ridiculous. And can you wonder that Germany finds Alsace and Lorraine restless? Do you wonder that our hearts ache for our compatriots? Do youwonder that we dream of the day when we may remove those mourning wreaths from the statue of Strasbourg in the Place de la Concord?"
He fell silent a moment, then shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
"But I grow too serious," he continued. "Perhaps, some day, Poland will be freed, Alsace-Lorraine returned to France; yes," and here he glanced at Dan with a dry smile, "and the people of the Philippines given their independence. Indeed, this M. Vard believes that day to be close at hand. Let us hope so. Which reminds me that I have to-day seen neither him nor his daughter."
"Nor have I," Dan admitted. "I thought perhaps they had some work to do, and so had not come on deck."
"They may be there now," said Chevrial, and led the way to the forward end of the boat-deck, where, leaning against the rail, they could look down upon the promenade below.
Every one was on deck, walking up and down, revelling in the fresh air, with its tang of salt, and in the soft sunshine; but, though Dan and Chevrial stood for some time looking down, neither Miss Vard nor her father passed. Then Chevrial, whose attention had wandered, uttered a little exclamation, and caught Dan by the arm.
"See there!" he said.
He was pointing forward to the first-class promenade, which was also crowded, and Dan, following the direction of his gesture, saw, amid the crowd, a white-haired man and dark-haired girl walking side by side, deep in talk. He looked again, scarcely able to believe his eyes; but there was no mistaking them—they were Miss Vard and her father.
He drew a deep breath of wonder and perplexity. How came they among the first-class passengers? But perhaps they had merely been to see the purser, and were now on their way back. No; they had passed the gangway. In another moment, they turned back along the other side of the promenade and were lost to sight.
Only then did Dan look up. He found Chevrial smiling sardonically.
"But what does it mean?" he asked.
Chevrial pursed his lips.
"I do not know," he answered, with a little shrug, "unless some one beside myself heard Miss Vard's story, last night, and has caused her to be placed where she may be more easily kept under surveillance. Oh, there was some story trumped up, depend upon it, so that she would not suspect. No doubt she will also be given the opportunity to make certain friends among her new shipmates, in whom she may also confide. It will be delicately done; oh, so delicately!"
It might have occurred to Dan that M. Chevrial seemed, for a wine-merchant, surprisingly familiar with affairs of state and the methods of the secret service; but, for the moment, his whole mind was concentrated on Miss Vard's danger.
"I must warn her," he breathed.
"I believe it would be wise," said Chevrial, in the same tone. "She should make friends with no one—confide in no one. Her position is very serious." And then, as Dan started from the rail, he caught his arm. "Not now," he said. "Wait until to-night. It would be too apparent if you were to rush up there in open day. And before you do speak, make sure that there is no one within twenty feet of you—and then speak in a whisper!"
"Thank you," said Dan; "you are right, of course." And he went slowly back to the bench.
When Dan Webster took his seat at the dinner table, that evening, he found a printed copy of the passenger-list beside his plate, and his neighbours were a-flutter with the excitement of seeing their names in type. Dan, turning to the letter V, found that the names of Ignace Vard and his daughter were not there. Doubtless the change from second-class to first was responsible for the omission, and yet, at the back of his mind was a vague feeling of uneasiness which he was wholly unable to explain. Chevrial had impressed him, and yet one objection to that gentleman's misgivings seemed to him unanswerable: if the Vards had been changed from second-class to first with any ulterior object, the authorities in charge of the ship must be in the plot, and that was manifestly absurd.
Yet his determination to seek Miss Vard at the first moment and advise her to be cautious did not waver. He knew, from the printed announcements of the company, that the first-cabin dinner was not a table-d'hôte served at a fixed hour, as in the second-cabin, but an á la carte meal, served from sixto nine, as at a fashionable restaurant; so he loitered restlessly about for half an hour after he left the table; then, deciding that he had waited long enough, he approached the ladder which led to the first-class promenade. But a uniformed figure which stood at the foot of the ladder stopped him.
"Beg pardon, sir," it said, "are you first-class?"
"No; I am second."
"Did you wish to see the purser or some officer of the ship?"
"No; I wished toseeone of the passengers."
"In that case, I fear I cannot let you pass, sir. It is against the rules."
"Oh, is it?" said Dan, all his suspicions revived with double force, and he bit his lip in perplexity.
"I am sorry, sir; but I am here to enforce the rules."
"Oh, I understand," said Dan.
"You might get your stateroom steward to take a message," the man suggested.
"But I want toseethe person."
"The person can come to you. There is no rule against first-class visiting second. First-class has the run of the ship."
"I see," said Dan. "Thank you," and he went away to think it over.
Mechanically he threaded his way through thecrowd on the promenade, climbed up to the boat-deck, and sat down on the well-remembered bench. Some of the others were occupied, but this one was empty; perhaps the others were becoming as dear to other people as this one was to him! He got out his pipe, lighted it, pulled his cap over his eyes, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and began to think.
He could, of course, write Miss Vard a brief warning; but what assurance had he that it would be delivered to her, at least without being opened? If Chevrial was right, if she was really under espionage, any communication addressed to her would certainly be inspected. Even to write merely asking her to meet him would arouse suspicion. There was only one way—he must watch for a chance to steal forward into first-class when no one was looking.
He considered the possible ways of doing this. In the morning, he knew, the folding gate which divided the lower promenade into first and second class was always swung back while the deck was being washed down. It would be easy to pass then; but, he reflected, in the daytime he had never noticed that a guard was stationed at the ladder leading to the upper promenade. Perhaps it was only at night that the prohibition was in force—at night, when the women of the first-cabin had their diamonds on!There must, of course, be some police supervision of the ship; each class must be kept to its own quarters, or, at least, prevented from wandering into quarters higher up. But, just the same, he must get past!
He rose, and, walking to the forward rail, looked across at the other deck. A space of perhaps thirty feet separated it from the one on which he stood. Then he looked down. The man on guard was pacing slowly back and forth, his hands behind him; but suddenly he quickened his step, for two men had approached the foot of the ladder. The guard stopped them with the same formula he had used with Dan.
"Beg pardon, gentlemen," he said, "are you first-class?"
"No; we are second-class," answered one of the men.
"Have you business with the purser or any officer of the ship?"
There was a moment's hesitation.
"Why do you ask?" queried one of the men.
"It is forbidden to pass otherwise."
Again there was a moment's hesitation, and Dan strained his ears to catch the reply.
"We have business with the Commander," said one of the men at last, in a low tone.
The guard was obviously surprised.
"The Commander is very busy," he said, deprecatingly. "Perhaps to-morrow will do."
"To-morrow will not do," was the curt answer.
"I must, at least, announce you," said the guard. "May I have your card?"
A card was produced and handed to him. Without looking at it, he blew a sharp blast on a little whistle which hung about his neck. In a moment another man in uniform appeared at the head of the ladder. The guard mounted and handed him the card.
"For the Captain," he said, and came down again. "I regret that I must detain you, gentlemen," he added, "but I must obey the regulations."
"Certainly," agreed one of the men, and they stepped a little apart and stood talking together in low tones. But almost immediately the messenger appeared again at the top of the ladder.
"The Captain will receive you, gentlemen," he said, and swung open the gate and waited for them to pass. Then he closed the gate and hurried after them. Dan could see them going along the upper promenade; then they passed from sight.
The guard had stared after them as they climbed the ladder, and he stood staring for some little time after they had gone. Plainly he was muchastonished. But at last, with a shake of the head, he turned away and resumed his walk.
Dan was about to turn away, too, when another incident attracted his attention. A barefooted sailor in white duck, coming from the stern of the ship, climbed to the rail, tested the rope holding the canvas windshield, and then, as the guard turned away, grasped a stanchion of the railing above his head and drew himself up quickly to the first promenade. Dan, looking after him, saw him run rapidly up the ladder to the forward boat-deck and disappear behind a life-boat.
That was a way, certainly, to evade the guard. Dan measured the distance from the rail to the upper deck, and wondered if he could pull himself up as quickly as the sailor had. He would have to be quick, or the guard would see him. And it was quite an athletic feat. Besides, he would be handicapped by his shoes; he might easily slip off the rail and over the side. No, that road was too dangerous, except as a last resort. Besides, if he were caught, it would be very awkward.
He returned to his bench and sat down again. After all, was there really any reason why he should warn Miss Vard? The whole thing was, most probably, nothing but a bit of rhodomontade on Chevrial's part. And who was Chevrial, anyway? How didit happen that he was so familiar with spies and secret services and systems of espionage? A most peculiar wine-merchant. Perhaps he was not a wine-merchant; perhaps....
"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Webster," said a low voice, and some one sat down beside him.
He turned with a violent start.
"Kasia!" he cried, and then stopped, stammering. "I beg your pardon, Miss Vard," he said, also lowering his voice. "You startled me so!"
As she met his glance, he saw how bright her eyes were. She had thrown a wrap about her and drawn the hood over her head. Against it, her face looked very white.
"I think you may call me Kasia," she said softly. "You see, I need a friend, and I should hate to have a friend call me anything else. No," she added, as he started to say something, "I shall continue to call you Mr. Webster—that is not quite the same thing. And I am sorry I startled you."
"It was because I was thinking of you. I have been thinking of you all day. I tried to go to you, just now. I had something to tell you. But the guard at the ladder stopped me."
He looked around to make sure that there was no one near.
"He didn't stopme," she said.
"No; first-class passengers have the run of theship. How does it happen that you are first-class, Kasia?"
It was the first time that he had used the word with intention, and his voice trembled a little over it.
She told him rapidly of the odour which had suddenly developed in her former stateroom, and how the ship's people had finally been compelled to transfer her and her father to the first-cabin.
"Oh, to quite sumptuous quarters," she went on; "you should see them. Two bedrooms and a sitting-room and bath—an imperial suite. There are no places left at the tables, so our meals are served in our sitting-room, as though we were royalties. I'm afraid our tips will have to be something enormous! I can't but feel that the steamship company is getting very much the worst of it. Both father and I offered to continue eating second-class, but the Captain wouldn't hear of it. He seems to think, poor man, that the odour has disgraced his boat. He was quite humble about it!"
Dan breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"I'm glad it's so simple," he said. "I had begun to imagine all sorts of things. Last night, when we were talking here, it happened that my roommate, a fellow named Chevrial, was sitting on that bench yonder, and overheard a little of our talk. He was quite solemn with me this afternoon about it."
"In what way?" asked Kasia, quickly.
"He said there are always spies on board these big boats, and that you oughtn't to go around talking about blowing up battleships—not at this time, anyway, since it is only three or four days since a French ship was blown up."
He could hear the startled breath she drew, and the hand she laid on his sleeve was trembling.
"Did he say that?" she gasped. "But he doesn't suspect—"
"That your father blew upLa Liberté?" laughed Dan. "Of course not. He said that was absurd. But, just the same, he thought it unwise to talk about it."
"He is right," Kasia agreed. "What else did he say?"
"He seemed to think your being moved to first-class was part of a plot of some kind, and thought you ought to be warned not to make any acquaintances or confide in any one. But of course that was just his imagination. If the Captain himself moved you why that settles it. He wouldn't be concerned in any plot. The whole thing, anyway, sounds like a bit of ten-twenty-thirty. I told Chevrial so."
"Who is this Chevrial?" asked Miss Vard.
"I don't know. He told me he was a dealer in wine. He seems to have travelled a lot, and he iscertainly a well-educated fellow, and one of the best talkers I ever met. A Frenchman all through, from the way he got worked up over Alsace-Lorraine. He said it was as bad as Poland. But I suspect he was letting his Gallic imagination run away with him when he got on the subject of spies."
"I am not so sure of that," she said, and fell silent for a moment. "I have seen more of spies than have you, Mr. Webster—I know how Europe is honeycombed with them. At any rate, it can do no harm to follow his advice. Please make sure that there is no one near us. I have something most important to say to you."
Dan glanced at her in surprise; then he got up, looked behind the boat in whose shadow the bench stood, and made a careful survey of their surroundings. Then he sat down again.
"There is no one near," he assured her.
"Mr. Webster," she began, leaning so close that a tendril of her hair brushed his cheek, and speaking in a voice that was almost a whisper, "I told you that I had need of a friend. It is a desperate need. I may rely upon you, may I not?"
For answer, he sought her hand, found it and held it fast. It was very cold.
"I was sure of it," she said, and her fingers closed upon his. "I knew, in my first glance at you, that you were to be counted on."
Dan's heart was glowing and he could not trust himself to speak.
"My need is this," she went on rapidly, as though, having nerved herself to speak, she must hurry through with it before her resolution failed. "My father has perfected an invention—oh, a great invention—which he fears some one may try to steal from him. He has many enemies who would stop at nothing to gain possession of it. Even on this boat, perhaps, there are some of them—he does not know; there is no way that he can tell; but he is very anxious. For eight years he laboured at this invention, and at last it is finished. But if some one should steal his model, all this would be for nothing—for worse than nothing. It is not a money loss he fears—this invention will not bring him money—but his whole life would be wrecked—all his plans, all his hopes. To-day he agreed with me that this model should be destroyed; he put it in my hand and he expected me to drop it into the sea. But I was afraid to do that; perhaps he could not make another. It is so complicated, so delicate, perhaps he would go wrong. So I thought and thought—I thought if I had a friend whom I could trust absolutely, whom no one would suspect of possessing it, I might entrust it to him...."
Dan's pressure on her hand grew stronger.
"Give it to me," he said.
Kasia gazed into his eyes for a moment, as though reading his very soul; then her other hand came forward under her cloak and touched his. He felt that it held a package; and he took it quickly and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.
"Now it is safe," he said. "You are not to worry about it any more."
She breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"But you must make me two promises," she said.
"What are they?"
"You must permit no one, under any circumstances, to open that package."
"I promise."
"Rather than do that, rather than permit any one to see it, you must destroy it—throw it overboard, stamp upon it—destroy it in some way."
"I promise."
"No matter who may be trying to get it—the Captain of this ship, an officer of the police—it must make no difference."
"I promise."
She leaned back against the seat, suddenly relaxed as from a great strain, and closed her eyes. But she did not draw her hand away. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him, and her lips were quivering. An immense longing to take her in his arms, to stoop and kiss those lips, to hold her close to him, rushed through the man's veins. But he heldhimself back. To do that would be base; to do that would be asking payment! He could not do that. But sometime, sometime....
She saw the change in his face, sat for an instant very still, then drew her hand away, got out her handkerchief and passed it across her eyes.
"Now we can talk," she said, in another tone. "You may choose the subject."
Dan pulled himself together.
"Oh, any subject will do," he laughed. "Ships or shoes or sealing-wax—just so you do the talking."
And he got out his pipe and filled it with trembling fingers. He was absurdly happy.