In the Captain's cabin, meanwhile, another conference was going forward, and one of a very different character from that on the after boat-deck. The curtains had been carefully drawn, and three men sat facing each other. They were Ignace Vard, Pachmann, and the young man whom he addressed habitually as "Prince." Vard was on the divan in the corner of the room, the others lounged in two luxuriously upholstered chairs which had been wheeled in front of the divan. Their attitudes suggested careless unconcern, but their eyes were glowing with repressed excitement. Cigars and liqueurs were on a table between them, and the air was blue with smoke.
The Captain had been chatting with a group of passengers when Pachmann's card was handed to him, but, after a glance at it, he excused himself at once.
"Show the gentlemen to my cabin," he said to the messenger, and himself hastened to it. There, a moment later, Pachmann and the Prince appeared.
"It is necessary that we have a conferenceto-night," said Pachmann, "with this Ignace Vard. It must be in a room where we cannot by any possibility be overheard."
"It is, I suppose, an affair of state?" asked the Captain.
"Yes; of the first importance."
"My cabin, then, is at your disposal."
"Thank you, sir," said Pachmann. "There could be no better place. I was hoping that you would offer it."
"You will understand, sir," Hausmann went on, stroking his beard nervously, "that an explanation of all this will have to be made to my company."
"I will see that a satisfactory explanation is made, sir," Pachmann assented.
The Captain nodded his relief.
"That is what I desire. I will have Vard brought to you," he said, saluted and withdrew.
He sent a messenger for the inventor, waited until he had entered, and then summoned a sailor and posted him as a sentry outside the door, with instructions to permit no one else to enter or even knock. Then he had another man stretch a rope across the deck some twenty feet abaft the door; and finally mounted thoughtfully to the bridge, considerably to the surprise of his subordinates, and spent the whole evening there, pacing slowly backand forth with an appearance of restlessness the other officers could not understand, for the weather was very fine and the barometer high and steady.
In the cabin below the conference proceeded.
"It is as well, Mr. Vard," Pachmann was saying, "that we should understand each other. The Prince and myself are here as the direct personal representatives of the Emperor, who has given us his fullest confidence and the most complete authority. Any agreement we may make with you, he will recognise as binding. It was a condition of yours, I believe, that you would meet only with persons so empowered."
"I should have preferred to treat with the Emperor himself," said Vard.
"You could scarcely expect him to make this trip to America," Pachmann pointed out, with a smile. "If you had been content to go to Berlin...."
"That was impossible," Vard broke in. "It was stipulated that the treaty should be signed in America, and the Emperor agreed."
"And we are here to carry out that agreement," Pachmann added. "But before we proceed to a consideration of it, I will outline the progress of affairs to the present moment, in order that the Prince may be thoroughly familiar with the matter. If I am mistaken in any detail, please correct me."
Vard nodded, and lay back in his seat, watching the smoke from his cigar, as it wreathed itself toward the ceiling.
"About the middle of July," Pachmann began, "Mr. Vard called on Count Eulenberg, the Chief Marshall of the Imperial Court, and asked for a private audience with the Emperor. The request was so preposterous that the Count was astounded when Mr. Vard persisted in it. After that he was shadowed night and day, his lodgings were searched, his mail opened, and the police authorities were about to expel him from the country as a dangerous person, when something still more astonishing happened. With incredible good fortune, Mr. Vard had in some way managed to secure an audience with Admiral von Tirpitz, Secretary for the Navy; two days later, a secret audience was arranged, at which the Emperor was present. At the request of Admiral von Tirpitz, I was also present, in my capacity as Chief of the Wireless Service.
"At this conference Mr. Vard stated that he had discovered a principle, or invented an apparatus, by which he could explode the magazines of a fort or battleship at any distance up to five miles, and that he believed the perfection of the invention would greatly increase its range. This new principle, which worked in conjunction with the ordinary wireless, was something against which there was no wayto guard, since it penetrated both wood and metal. Every ship, every army, every fort was at the mercy of the man controlling it. If a single nation controlled it, that nation would become mistress of the world; if it was common to all nations, war, as we know it, would be impossible.
"Mr. Vard went on to say that it was not his purpose to make this discovery the property of a single nation. His purpose was to render war so impossible that all nations would consent to universal disarmament, and enter into an agreement for universal peace. He had come to Germany first, he said, because she was the greatest of the armed nations, and if she agreed to his proposal, the example would be very great. His proposal was that he would prove that he was able to do everything he claimed, in any way that Germany might prescribe; in the event of his success, Germany was to sign an agreement to disarm, was to secure the signature of Russia and such other nations as she could influence, and this alliance was then to force the agreement of all other nations; the navies and coast defences of such nations as would not agree to be blown to pieces and their consent compelled."
Pachmann paused for a moment and wiped his glistening forehead.
"Am I stating your proposal correctly, Mr. Vard?" he asked.
The inventor nodded, without lowering his eyes from the ceiling.
"I need not say with what astonishment we listened to this extraordinary proposal," Pachmann continued. "It seemed impossible that any merely human brain should have been able to work out the details of a plan so stupendous. But it impressed the Emperor; it impressed all of us. We held other conferences, and it was finally agreed that, before we went further, Mr. Vard should give us the proof he had suggested. The test to which he finally consented was to be a conclusive one. He was to blow up a French battleship in Toulon harbour. As his funds were limited, we agreed to bear the expense of the experiment and to reimburse him for the apparatus which he would have to leave behind. If he succeeded, we would be ready to treat definitely with him; two commissioners, with full powers from the Emperor, would accompany him to America, where such treaty as might finally be agreed upon would be signed. Am I right so far, Mr. Vard?"
The inventor had lowered his eyes and was looking at the speaker keenly.
"Yes," he said, "except that you should add that it was distinctly understood that the treaty was to be one for universal disarmament, and that Germany was to do everything in her power to secure the consent of all other nations."
"You are right," agreed Pachmann, readily. "That was to be the general purpose of the treaty. It was only its details we were to discuss—the exact manner in which this end could best be accomplished."
The Prince had been listening intently, and at the words, his eyes and Pachmann's met. Vard was again gazing at the ceiling.
"On the twentieth of this month," Pachmann continued, "Admiral von Tirpitz received from Mr. Vard, in a code agreed upon, a telegram stating that the test would occur at daylight on Monday the twenty-fifth." He paused for a moment, then went on more slowly. "At that hour, a companion and myself were on the harbour-front of Toulon; and at that hourLa Libertéwas indeed destroyed."
He stopped, his eyes on the inventor's face. Vard met his glance without flinching.
"Understand," he said, in a low tone, "that I am no monster, that I recognise the sacredness of human life. The test proposed was yours, not mine; I protested against it, and I consented at last because I saw that you would with nothing else be satisfied. But for the destruction of that ship, you will have to atone; to those men who were killed a great monument shall be built; they shall be recognised by all the world as heroes and martyrs; their families shall weep for them, indeed, but with tears of joy andpride. To banish war from the world those men laid down their lives, even as I would lay down mine—even as any brave man would—gladly, eagerly!"
His eyes were shining, and the Prince, looking at him, felt himself shaken by a strange emotion. But across Pachmann's lips flitted an ironical smile, as of one who disdained heroics.
"For the decision as toLa Liberté," he said, "I assume full responsibility. It was I who suggested it; it was I who showed that no other proof could be conclusive; it was I who arranged for it. I have no regrets. You have your part of the bargain accomplished, Mr. Vard," he added. "His Highness and myself are here to accomplish ours. We are ready to discuss the details of the treaty."
"I think that first, perhaps, I should look at your credentials," Vard suggested.
"That is just," and Pachmann, getting out his pocket-book, took from it the envelope sealed with the black seal, and handed it to Vard.
Vard took it, glanced at the seal, and hesitated, just as the captain of theOttiliehad done.
"I am to open it?" he asked.
Pachmann nodded.
"It contains my credentials," he said.
A careful inspection of the seal would have disclosed the fact that the envelope had already beenopened once—perhaps more than once—but Vard made no such inspection. Instead, he broke the seal with nervous fingers, and drew out the stiff sheet blazing with the Royal insignia. This is the English of what he read:
"Herewith do I grant to the bearer of this paper, Admiral H. Pachmann, power extraordinary as my representative, to enter into agreements, to make treaties, and to sign the same; and I do further declare that I shall consider myself bound by such agreements and signatures as though I myself had made them; and, finally, I command all members of my family, all officers of my army and navy, all members of my diplomatic corps, and all good Germans generally, to yield to him the same obedience they would yield to me; all this for the good of my Empire."Signed,"William, R. I."Wilhelmshöhe, September 21, 1911."
"Herewith do I grant to the bearer of this paper, Admiral H. Pachmann, power extraordinary as my representative, to enter into agreements, to make treaties, and to sign the same; and I do further declare that I shall consider myself bound by such agreements and signatures as though I myself had made them; and, finally, I command all members of my family, all officers of my army and navy, all members of my diplomatic corps, and all good Germans generally, to yield to him the same obedience they would yield to me; all this for the good of my Empire.
"Signed,
"William, R. I.
"Wilhelmshöhe, September 21, 1911."
Vard re-read this extraordinary paper, then replaced it in its envelope and silently returned it to its owner. Again that ironical smile flashed across Pachmann's lips, as he restored it to his pocket-book.
"You find it ample, do you not?" he asked.
Vard nodded, and glanced curiously at the Prince, wondering if that young man was aware of the exact wording of this remarkable document, especially of the clause, "all members of my family."
"And now," proceeded Pachmann, adjusting himself to an easier posture, "we shall be glad to hear the further details of your proposal."
Vard paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.
"There is one thing I would understand first," he said. "From that paper, I infer that the Emperor alone is concerned in this—that his cabinet is not aware of it."
"No member of the cabinet except one—whom I will not name," assented Pachmann. "I will not conceal from you that the Emperor is desirous of reaping for himself the full glory of this achievement. He realises that the man who brings about world-peace will be the most famous man in history. He has his ambitions, as you doubtless know."
"Yes, I have heard so," said Vard, with an ironic smile. "Well, let him have the glory—I do not object; besides, he will deserve it. And now for my proposal. It is this: the nations of the world, with Germany and Russia as the first signatories, shall enter into a treaty providing for the immediate disbanding of their armies, dismantling of their forts, and disintegrating of their fleets. Only such troops shall be retained as are needed to provide garrisons for such outposts as may be necessary to protect the Christian world from the incursion of barbarous or nomadic tribes, and only such warships as are needed to assist in this work. Theexact number each nation shall maintain will be decided by a general court of adjudication, and all such troops and warships shall be in common; and all expenditures for what are usually known as military purposes shall be in common, apportioned by the same court of adjudication among the nations which are party to the agreement. Under no circumstances may any nation maintain any force privately or for its own use."
"I am interested to know," put in Pachmann, smoothly, "in what manner you propose to secure the consent of the various nations to this scheme. The smaller ones will doubtless be glad to fall into line; but you surely do not expect England and France, for example, to agree merely because we ask it!"
"To those who do not consent," Vard answered calmly, "we will give a demonstration of the necessity for doing so."
"Some such demonstration as that of Monday?"
"Yes—greater ones, if need be."
Pachmann considered this thoughtfully.
"It might do," he said, at last. "A few such demonstrations would no doubt be convincing. Yet there might be one or two which would be obdurate."
"I think, in the end, we can convince them."
"You will go to any lengths to do so?"
"To any necessary lengths."
Pachmann nodded.
"I was desirous of getting a clear expression from you upon that point," he said. "Pray continue."
"I do not believe there will be many such nations," Vard went on. "You have spoken of France and England. I believe France will consent, for she is a nation of idealists. I should have chosen her to lead the movement, but for the fact that her army and navy are inferior to yours, and so she might seem to be acting from fear or from self-interest. Should you refuse—should we be unable to agree—it will be to France I shall go next. As for England, she also fears you—she will be glad to escape from the burden of her armaments and from the shadow of your great power. In fact all nations in whose governments the people have a voice will be eager for disarmament. And the people everywhere must be allowed to speak. If those in power seek to crush them, to restrain them, we must assist them to throw off the yoke of tyranny and decide for themselves."
"Ah," said Pachmann, very quietly. "Socialism—I see!"
"The rule of the people," said Vard, calmly. "The freedom of the people—call it what you will. That is what I labour for. The people of each nation must be free to choose by whom and in what manner they will be governed. That evolution will,of course, take many years; but it must not be cramped or retarded. At the very outset, it will make two considerable changes in the map of Europe. Poland will be reconstituted and Alsace-Lorraine restored to France."
Pachmann started violently, and a wave of angry red swept over his face.
"Impossible!" he cried. "Impossible! To that we can never consent!"
Vard smiled at his emotion.
"Why not?" he asked, ironically.
"Because," shouted Pachmann, "Elsass and Lorraine are German—they were stolen from Germany by France two centuries ago."
"They were not German—they were independent states; and they are not German now. They are French. However, I am quite willing to leave the final decision to the people of those provinces. You cannot object to that!"
Pachmann shifted his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. His face was livid.
"Beware that you do not attempt too much, my dear sir," he said, and there was in his voice a covert threat not to be disguised. "I warn you. But, in this connection, some other questions occur to me. What of Ireland?"
"The Irish shall decide."
"South Africa?"
"Most of it belongs to the Boers."
"That, at least, is a grain of comfort. But India, Egypt?"
"I cannot answer that. India and Egypt must be made the subjects of careful study and the government given them which will be best for their peoples, and which will not drain them of their wealth, as England does. There will be many such problems, and the best minds of the world must study them. My answers to your questions are but suggestions. All such problems must be settled by an international court, which shall proceed upon the theory that all peoples capable of self-government shall have absolute freedom, and all other peoples shall be made capable of governing themselves as rapidly as possible. Each people shall be free to decide for itself as to its form of government, but shall be required to pledge itself to the principle of universal peace. That pledge will be necessary only at first—after fifty years of peace, no nation will ever think of war! I know that, for a generation or two, there will be difficulties. We have grown suspicious of each other; we have become hardened by hatred and injustice. But time will change all that. Let us lay down our arms, disband our armies, restore what we have stolen, and, instead of hatred, we shall find love in our hearts. Instead of oppression, we shall have justice, tempered withmercy. Each man will have his work to do, and none who works will go hungry; and we will end by becoming citizens, not of Germany, France, or of any other country, but of the world! I tell you, sir, that our great-grandchildren, looking back at us from a world at peace and united in brotherhood, will wonder at us—we shall seem to them blind savages, murderers, lunatics!"
It was evident enough that the Prince was moved. He was young, he had always been something of a dreamer. Rigid training at his father's hands had gone far to dispel the dreams, but they were not quite rooted out. Now, at the words of this supreme idealist, this inspired dreamer, they revived again. He sat regarding the speaker with misty eyes, his mouth a little open, his hands gripped in front of him. Pachmann, glancing at him, passed his hands before his lips to wipe away a sneer.
"All most interesting," commented the Admiral, in his ironical voice. "I think that we understand your proposal fully. There is only one point upon which you have not made yourself quite clear. Should we be unable to agree, what will be your next step?"
"I thought I had already told you," answered Vard, impatiently. "Should we disagree, I shall offer France the same opportunity which I now offer Germany."
"You will find France sceptical."
"Then I shall offer her the same proof I offered you. That will be just, will it not?" and Vard looked straight into Pachmann's eyes.
Pachmann sprang from his chair, his mouth working, his eyes suffused.
"You will destroy one of our ships?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.
"A ship or a fort—it shall be for France to choose."
Pachmann's fingers were twitching visibly to be at the other's throat. But by a mighty effort he controlled himself, flung himself again into his chair and poured himself out a glass of brandy from the bottle at his elbow.
"Will you drink?" he asked, over his shoulder.
"No, thank you," answered Vard.
The Prince sat without moving, still staring at the inventor. Meeting his eyes, Vard smiled slightly.
Pachmann set down his glass, and turned back to them.
"I must ask you to pardon me," he said. "I lost my self-control—a thing I do not often do—but your suggestions seemed to me insupportable. However, I can perceive that there is another side to them. I think we understand your proposal now, most thoroughly. There are certain details which the Prince and I must discuss together, before we cansubmit an answer. In a matter of such moment, we must proceed with the greatest care. This is Thursday. I think we can be ready by Saturday evening."
"Very well," agreed Vard, rising. "The same hour, in this room?"
"If that pleases you."
"It does."
He bowed coldly to Pachmann; then, with a sudden gesture, held out his hand to the Prince. But Pachmann interposed before the Prince could take it.
"That I cannot permit," he said grimly, and he opened the door.
A barefooted sailor, clad in white duck, standing on the deck outside, saluted. Pachmann stood for a moment staring after Vard's retreating figure; then he turned back into the room. The Prince was helping himself to a drink, and Pachmann joined him.
"Yes," he said, "this is what we need, after all that raving."
"Would you call it that?" asked the Prince.
"Raving? Yes, it was precisely that! The man is mad, my Prince; absolutely mad. No one but a madman would speak as he does—of citizens of the world, the brotherhood of man, and all that folly!"
The Prince drained his glass.
"I fear you are right," he said, as he set it down. "Yes, I fear you are right, and that it is only folly!"
"There is one thing you must not forget," added Pachmann, his hand on the door; "since he is mad, it is as a madman he must be treated!" and he led the way out upon the deck.
Somewhere in the dim hours of the night, Dan Webster was awakened by a glare of light in his eyes. He opened them to find that the electric lamp beside the wash-stand was burning. Peering over the edge of his berth, he beheld a curious sight. Chevrial was sitting on his berth, half undressed, examining tenderly one of his toes, and swearing softly to himself. He glanced up, met Dan's astonished eyes, and laughed.
"Man is a ridiculous animal," he said. "The feet with which he has been provided are absurd—no doubt because they were really intended to be hands. They are too sensitive, too undefended. Blundering around here in the darkness, I have injured one of my toes, and it hurts devilishly. Pardon me for awaking you, my friend. Good night!"
He turned off the light, and Dan lay back upon his pillow, with strange thoughts whirling in his head.
Admiral Pachmann turned into his berth, that night, extremely well-satisfied with himself, for he was convinced that the cards were in his hands and the game as good as won. And what a game! For his King, world-empire; for himself—but the Admiral did not permit himself to name the reward. He knew well that he would not be forgotten when the moment came for the distribution of honours. Was not the whole plan his? Had he not worked it out to its minutest detail? Had he not carried it through? And how adroitly, how triumphantly! Even the Emperor would have to acknowledge that!
Let us do the Admiral justice: he loved his country, he was ready at any moment to lay down his life for her, he would have laboured just as earnestly without hope of other reward than the sight of her aggrandisement: but, just the same, when the honours came, he was not one to refuse them! World-empire would mean governorships, suzerainties....
He was lying in his berth next morning, half dozing, smiling to himself as all this passed before hismind in august and glittering procession, when there came a tap at the door. He got up, opened it, and a sealed note was handed in. A glance at the other berth showed that the Prince had already risen. Pachmann tore open the note and read its contents with some astonishment. It was from the Captain, and asked for an immediate conference on a matter of great importance.
Pachmann dressed hastily, and, as he did so, considered whether he should hunt up the Prince and summon him, also, to this conference. He decided against it. He foresaw that in this affair there would be many things which it would be unwise for the Prince to know—he had sat staring like an idiot, last night, while the mad Pole raved about love and mercy and universal brotherhood; he was too young, too easily impressed, too soft of heart. He had agreed that victory must be won at any price, but Pachmann very well knew that he had no idea of how terrible that price was almost certain to be. No; the Prince must be kept as much as possible on the borders of this affair! So, having finished dressing, the Admiral went forward alone to the Captain's cabin.
He found the Captain sitting at his desk, and his face was so grave that it gave Pachmann a little start.
He rose and greeted the Admiral, and thenglanced over the latter's shoulder, as though expecting to see some one else.
"You did not bring the Prince?" he asked.
"Do you think it necessary?" retorted Pachmann, tartly.
Hausmann hesitated.
"I am not, of course, aware of your relative positions in this affair," he said, finally.
"The paper I showed you yesterday should have told you that," said Pachmann quickly. "The affair has been in my hands from the first. The Prince was sent along because his father wished to separate him from a Berlin bar-maid."
"Ah, so," said the Captain, without smiling. "I understand. Be seated." He did not like Pachmann, and also, perhaps, he found the jesting reference to the royal love affairs in bad taste. "A very strange thing has occurred," he continued. "I stationed one of my men outside the door, last night, in order that you might not be interrupted."
"Yes," agreed the Admiral, "and he did his duty very well. We were not interrupted."
"He was found this morning, unconscious, in one of the boats on the upper deck."
Pachmann looked at the speaker in some surprise.
"Well," he asked, "what of it? Some sailor's row."
"I thought so too, at first. But he becameconscious, just now, and declares that he was struck down from behind."
Pachmann shrugged his shoulders.
"He is probably lying. In any event, it is of no concern to me. He was on duty at the door when the conference closed."
The Captain stared at him as though not understanding.
"What is it you say?" he asked.
"I say," repeated Pachmann, impatiently, "that he was on duty when we left your cabin. What happened to him after that is of no importance."
"At what hour did you leave?" asked the Captain, still staring.
"About midnight. Why do you look at me like that?"
"The man swears," said Hausmann, slowly, "that he was struck down soon after you entered the cabin."
Pachmann jumped in his chair.
"He says that!" he gasped. "But that is impossible—he is lying!"
"Perhaps you would wish to interrogate him?" Hausmann suggested.
Pachmann nodded mutely, and the Captain touched a bell.
"Send Schroeder here," he said to the man who answered.
The man saluted and closed the door again, and the Captain and his visitor sat looking at each other in silence. Both were disturbed; but Pachmann was by far the more dismayed of the two. To his companion, it was merely a fracture of the discipline of his ship; but to Pachmann it was the end of the world! Try as he might to maintain his self-composure, he could not stop the nervous trembling of his hands; and from time to time he moistened his lips and swallowed with great effort. He felt himself stricken to the heart; he scarcely dared permit himself to think what it meant for him, for his King, for Germany, if this man spoke the truth.
And then the door opened and the man himself entered—a typical German sailor, with bronzed countenance, and short curly brown beard, and honest blue eyes—not too intelligent, but faithful, strong and dependable. Yes, and honest—one could see that. He was barefooted and clad in a suit of duck, which had been white originally but was now much soiled. About his head was a bandage. He saluted and stood at attention, while Pachmann looked him over.
"Tell us what occurred last night," the Captain ordered. "Think carefully and omit nothing."
"There is not much to tell, sir," the man replied. "You yourself gave me my orders. I was to stand out there, before the door, and prevent any oneknocking. To all who asked for you, I was to say that you were on the bridge."
The Captain nodded.
"That is right," he said. "Continue."
"You then went up to the bridge, and I took the station you had assigned me. I did not know who was in the cabin, but I could hear voices."
"Ah! cried Pachmann, with a frown. "You could hear voices! Could you also hear words?"
"I do not know, sir; I did not listen. I know better than to listen when officers are talking."
"Continue," said the Captain again.
"I stood there for perhaps ten minutes. There were a few passengers strolling about farther down the deck, but you had caused a rope to be stretched across to prevent any one coming as far as your cabin."
Again the Captain nodded.
"Yes, I took that precaution, also," he said.
"Then," concluded Schroeder, "something struck me a great blow on the head, and I knew no more until I awoke to find the doctor working over me."
Pachmann looked at him searchingly for several minutes, but the man met his gaze without flinching.
"Are you sure that is all?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"You do not remember standing at the door,when it was opened, and saluting the gentlemen who came out?"
"No, sir; I remember nothing of that."
"You say you were at the door only ten minutes?"
"It may have been a little longer than that, sir; a very little."
"Have you had a quarrel with any member of the crew?"
"No, sir; I am on good terms with all of them."
"Think carefully; is there not one who might have wished to revenge himself?"
But Schroeder shook his head decidedly.
"It was no member of the crew, sir; not one of them is my enemy."
"Then who was it?" Pachmann demanded.
"That I cannot say, sir."
"You heard nothing before the blow was struck?"
"Nothing, sir; I have told you all I remember."
"And you persist that you have no idea who struck the blow?"
"I have not the slightest idea, sir."
Pachmann looked at Schroeder again, and then turned away.
"That is all," said the Captain; "and remember, you are to speak of this to no one."
"Yes, sir," said Schroeder, and withdrew.
Pachmann took a turn about the cabin, frowning heavily.
"What do you make of it?" he asked, at last.
"It seems plain enough," Hausmann answered. "Some one knocked Schroeder down and took his place at the door."
"Yes, yes," said Pachmann, impatiently. "But who was it, and what was his purpose?"
"His purpose, also, seems clear to me," said the Captain, quietly. "He wished to hear what was going on in my cabin."
"He was a member of your crew," said Pachmann. "I saw him—he was barefooted—he wore a uniform."
"Did you see his face? Would you know him again?"
Pachmann hesitated.
"I fear not. He was standing in the shadow, and I was preoccupied and barely glanced at him. I cannot even say that it was not Schroeder."
"I do not believe it was any member of my crew," said the Captain.
"Then who was it?"
"That, of course, I cannot say. But why should one of my crew do such a thing?"
"There may be a traitor among them."
"We know the history of every man. They areall good Germans. We are very careful. But even if there was a traitor, how would he know of this conference?"
Pachmann threw up his hands with a gesture of despair, and dropped into a chair.
"How would any one know?" he demanded. "I mentioned it to no one but the Prince and yourself. Vard himself did not know of it till I summoned him."
Hausmann looked at the speaker steadily.
"I trust that you are not insinuating that it is I who am the traitor?" he asked.
"No, no," protested Pachmann hastily. "I tell you this in order that you may realise how incredible this is to me. After all, it may have been a member of the crew who knew nothing of the conference—who was there by accident at the moment we came out."
"I do not see," the Captain began, but a knock at the door stopped him. "Come in!" he called, and the wardrobe-steward entered. "Well, what is it?"
"I have to report, sir," answered the steward, "that a suit of white duck has been stolen."
Hausmann could not refrain from casting a glance of triumph at the Admiral.
"When did you discover it?" he asked.
"Only a few minutes ago, sir. I reported to the head-steward, and he told me to come at once to you."
"That was right. Do you know when it was stolen?"
"Sometime during the night, sir. It had been washed and returned to me yesterday evening not quite dry. I hung it before a ventilator and when I went for it this morning, it was no longer there."
"Very well," said the Captain. "I will investigate the matter," and the steward left the cabin. Hausmann looked at his companion. "You see, it was not one of the crew," he said.
Pachmann was out of his chair and striding savagely up and down, his self-control completely broken down. He had fancied himself quite safe, and here he was tottering on the edge of an abyss.
"It is evidently the work of a spy," added Hausmann, who, perhaps, was not wholly displeased that the Admiral should have met with a reverse. "There can be no doubt of it! We know that Lépine suspects something. This is probably one of his men—and a most daring and resourceful one."
"If that is true," said Pachmann, hoarsely, "he must not leave this ship alive! We must find him. And we must watch the wireless. Every message must be most carefully inspected."
"I will see that that is done," Hausmann agreed."But to find the man—how do you propose to accomplish that?"
"When do your officers start their examination of the passengers for the immigration record?"
"They can start at once, if you wish."
"I do wish; and I wish also to be present."
"Very well," agreed the Captain. "We will start immediately after breakfast."
"You could be of very great help, Captain," Pachmann added, "if you would go over the passenger-list and check off the passengers with whom you are personally acquainted. No doubt you know a great many of them?"
"Yes; but the purser knows even more. Shall I ask him also to check the list?"
"If you will. It would save much time."
"You will understand," said Hausmann, slowly, "that I feel I should know more of this affair before I consent to take an active part in it; but I can, at least, save the passengers whom I know, and who are friends of mine, the annoyance of needless questioning. There is one thing more I might do; there are also on board a few men who have crossed with me before, but who, I am convinced, are not the gentlemen of wealth and leisure they pretend to be. They may be only sharpers—or they may be something else. In front of the name of each of them I will place a cross."
"Thank you," said Pachmann.
"On one condition," added the Captain. "You said, but just now, that if you discovered this person, you would not permit him to leave this boat alive. That was an exaggeration, perhaps."
"Not in the least!" answered Pachmann, hoarsely. "I myself will kill him!"
"My condition, then, is," said the Captain, "that you renounce that project. I am willing that he should be detained and returned to Germany. Further than that I will not go."
Pachmann's fingers tapped the pocket of his coat.
"No," added Hausmann, "not even for that paper!"
Pachmann gazed at him a moment with distorted face. Then he nodded.
"Very well," he said; "I consent. But it is you who take the responsibility. I warn you that, if the man escapes, your career on the sea will be at an end—you will find all Germany closed against you."
"I will take the responsibility," said Hausmann, quietly. "You agree, then?"
"Yes, I agree," said Pachmann, and hurried away to get his breakfast.
And all that day, he sat beside the assistant purser, while the first-cabin passengers were called up, one by one, to make it clear that they were entitled to land in America. The questions are alwayssearching, for the immigration laws are very strict and there are many spaces to be filled in on the great blanks which the immigration bureau furnishes; but that day they were more searching than ever—so far, at least, as the male passengers were concerned. In the women, Pachmann did not interest himself, for he took it for granted that no woman could have struck Schroeder senseless with a single blow; but on every man he directed the severest scrutiny.
Even if the name had been checked by the Captain or purser on the list he held in his hand, he never failed to satisfy himself by a few questions; and the unfortunate possessors of the names before which a cross appeared had reason to remember that interrogation all their lives. With some three or four of them, the interrogation was continued in private and even extended to a search of their belongings and a scrutiny of every document in their possession; but, while some of them were forced to confess at last that they were adventurers, gamblers, with only such means of livelihood as their wits procured them, there was nothing to show that any of them was the agent of any government.
All day Saturday the examination was continued, and by dinner-time the first-class list was completed, much to the relief of the passengers, who came away from the interrogation with ruffled tempers and a feeling of humiliation. All sorts of rumours wereafloat among them. There was an absconder on board, a murderer, a political refugee, an eloping couple—the customs authorities had got wind of the fact that there was a celebrated smuggler on board, and every passenger was to be searched when he reached the pier—the rumours ran the gamut of all crimes and all scandals, and made every one extremely uncomfortable, but none of them touched the truth.
And Pachmann had to confess himself, thus far, defeated. There remained the second-class, and he determined to scrutinise it even more closely than he had the first. The thought that he might fail, after all, dismayed him. To fail meant disgrace—personal, irremediable disgrace; it meant the betrayal of his Emperor; worse than that, in his failure France would triumph! He trembled with anguish—not wholly for himself, for he was a brave man and a patriot—but for his Fatherland.
So Saturday evening came, and with it the hour of the second conference.
For the other personages of this story, those two days had been rather eventless ones. The weather continued fine and the great ship ploughed steadily westward. The passengers got to know each other; little cliques were formed, centring about mutual acquaintances; there were card-parties, dances, theinevitable concert, dinners in the café, the usual pools, the usual night-long games of poker, the usual excitements of passing ships and schools of dolphins—in a word, the usual procession of trivial incidents which make up life on a great liner.
But in this life, Ignace Vard and his daughter had no part. Their meals were served in their sitting-room, so that they missed that great acquaintance-maker, the dinner table. Kasia, remembering the warning she had received, kept aloof from every one; and Vard's ironical manner was enough to keep every one aloof from him. However he did not notice it, for he had discovered, among the books in the library, three novels by Mr. John Galsworthy, and they absorbed him. He had been looking through the books rather hopelessly, when the title, "The Island Pharisees," had caught his eye. He opened the book, read a page, took it to his room and finished it at a sitting. Its irony expressed him precisely, and over the letter of apology and adieu from the wandering Frenchman to the lady of the manor he fairly wept with joy. After that came "Fraternity" and "The Man of Property," so that for him the two days passed quickly. One thing about these books he could not understand—that they should have been written by an Englishman!
Kasia did not return to the rendezvous on the after boat-deck. Something held her back—anemotion of shyness new to her. But on Saturday afternoon, Dan ran the blockade of the after companion-way, penetrated brazenly to the first-class promenade, joined her where she stood leaning against the rail, and led her away resolutely to a seat on the upper deck.
"Is this the way to treat an old friend?" he demanded. "Are you aware that I sat for hours, last night...."
She laid a warning finger on his sleeve.
"We must not run any risk," she said, in a low tone. "No one must suspect that we know each other."
His face brightened. She had accepted the term "old friend," without appearing surprised by it.
"Was that the reason?"
She nodded.
"Youwantedto come?"
Another nod.
Dan breathed a long sigh of happiness.
"That makes it all right," he said. "I forgive you. And after you're ashore I may come to see you?"
"Certainly you may!"
"What is your address?"
"Two hundred and ten West Sixty-fourth Street."
He made a note of it.
"May I come the first evening?"
She laughed a delicious laugh—a laugh of pure joy. There was nothing of the coquette about Kasia. She was all woman.
"If you wish," she said.
"Thank you—Idowish. Besides, I shall have something to return to you."
"Hush!" she cautioned, with a frightened glance around. "Do not speak of it. And I must be going. We must not sit here so long together."
He sighed.
"I suppose you are right," he agreed. "But every evening I shall sit on a certain bench and think of you. And, remember, the first evening on land is mine."
"I shall remember."
"Good-bye till then," he said, and rose.
"Good-bye, my friend."
Her eyes were shining. He dared not trust himself to look at them a second time, but turned himself about, by main force, as it were, and marched himself off, straight along the deck, down the ladder, and up again to "a certain bench."
And there, presently, M. Chevrial joined him, but for once Dan found that witty Frenchman something of a bore.