To Kasia Vard the day had been one of manifold excitements. Like Dan, she had awakened to find the boat motionless, and had run to the window to gaze entranced at the green slopes of Sandy Hook. Home! Home! She fairly sang the words as she dressed and rushed on deck. From that instant, every moment was charged with emotion, culminating as she leaned against the rail and gazed with misty eyes at Bartholdi's masterpiece. She remembered how, ten years before, her father, with tears streaming down his cheeks, had lifted her in his arms for her first sight of the majestic Goddess, and had explained to her, in a voice broken by emotion, why this statue stood here, at the entrance of this great harbour, holding her torch high in the air.
The ship swept on, and Kasia, with a sigh of joy, turned her eyes forward for the first sight of New York.
It was at that moment her father joined her. One glance at his face, and she had placed her hand within his arm, walked back with him to their suite, entered and closed the door.
"Now tell me," she said. "What has happened?"
"I have just seen Pachmann," answered her father hoarsely. "He has arranged for the final conference as soon as we land. It will be at the consulate. There is yet one danger," and he dropped his voice. "Pachmann has discovered that there are spies on board—French spies. They suspect something—how much we do not know. But it is necessary for us to evade them. We will leave the pier as soon as we land with Pachmann and the Prince. Pachmann will have a car waiting—he has made all arrangements. Here is your landing-ticket."
Kasia took it and slipped it inside her glove.
"Very well," she said. "But the baggage?"
"We cannot wait for that—it would be too dangerous. I will return for it as soon as the conference is over." His eyes were burning with excitement, his lips twitching with nervousness. "I am glad that the hour is at hand," he added. "I feel that I could not endure a longer delay—these hours of suspense are dangerous for me."
Kasia laid a calming hand upon his arm.
"I know, father," she said. "You must not permit yourself to dwell upon it so. Let us go on deck again and watch the landing."
"No; we are to wait here," said her father."These last moments we must not be seen," and he sat gnawing feverishly at his fingers.
The long minutes drifted by. They could hear the rush of feet and chatter of voices on the deck outside, then excited cries of recognition and greeting, as the boat swung into the dock, and finally the clatter of the gangplank as it was run into place. Almost at once there came a tap at the door. Vard sprang to open it and found Pachmann and the Prince outside.
"You are ready?" asked the former.
"Yes," and Kasia and her father stepped out upon the deck.
"You have your landing-checks? Good. Then we will start."
They joined the long line moving down the gangplank.
"This way," said Pachmann, the instant they reached the pier, and led Vard hurriedly toward the entrance.
Kasia, left with the Prince, glanced into his moody and downcast face.
"So we are permitted to have another chat," she said, smiling at his woebegone appearance, and tucked her hand under his arm. "You look as though you needed some advice. What is wrong?"
He glanced at her, then looked away, and answered with a shake of the head.
Just beyond the entrance stood a handsome limousine, its motor throbbing. Pachmann hurried them all into it, stepped round for a word with the driver, then himself jumped in and slammed the door. The car started with a jerk, backed out of the pier-shed, and headed away northward through the streets of Hoboken. This way and that it turned and doubled, while Pachmann gazed anxiously through the little window in the back. No one spoke, but they all watched Pachmann's face. At last they were in the open country, with a smooth road ahead. The driver opened his throttle, pushed up his spark, and in a moment they were whirling along at forty miles an hour. Pachmann looked back for yet a moment; then he turned with a sigh of relief and sank back into his seat.
"We have evaded them," he said. "But we will take no chances."
On and on went the car, climbing to the top of the Palisades and threading the Jersey woods; mile after mile along woodland roads, past country estates, through little villages, on and on. At last, on a long stretch of lonely road, they stopped, and the chauffeur climbed down, detached the licence numbers at front and rear, and strapped on another set. Then onward again, back toward the river, and finally, at the Fort Lee ferry, down to the water's edge. The boat was about to start when the car ranon board; in another minute it was moving out into the stream. No one else had come on board, nor was there any sign of pursuers on the bank.
Leaving the ferry, on the other side, the car at once plunged into a tangle of by-streets, and Pachmann half drew the curtains. Then, turning southward along Riverside Drive, it joined the endless procession of cars there, in which it became at once only an indistinguishable unit. Finally it turned eastward along a quiet street, swung sharply around one corner and then around another, and stopped.
"Here we are," said Pachmann, threw open the door, and jumped out.
The Prince followed, and, without looking back, walked straight across the sidewalk and up the steps of the house opposite. Pachmann, with a smile on his lips, waited to assist Miss Vard to alight.
"But this is not the consulate!" she protested, looking first at the house and then up and down the street. She had never seen the consulate, but she knew it would not be in such a house nor in such a street. Besides, there was no flag above the door.
"No, it is not the consulate," said Pachmann smoothly, and turned to Vard. "I found, at the last moment, that there was a reception at the consulate to-day which would make our conference there impossible. I managed to procure this house, where one of our secretaries lives, and where we will besecure against interruption. But if you prefer the consulate, we can, of course, wait until to-morrow—"
"No, no," Vard broke in. "Let us get it finished at once—there has been too much delay."
"I agree with you," said Pachmann. "I, also, am anxious to get the affair settled," and he led the way into the house. "If you will wait here, Miss Vard," he added, and pulled aside the hangings before a door opening from the hall. "We will not be long."
Kasia stepped through the doorway, and the curtain dropped behind her. She heard the footsteps of her companions mounting the stair to the upper story; then all was still. She glanced about the room; it was a rather small one, furnished as a sitting-room, with furniture both cheap and scant. There were two windows, side by side, which opened upon a little court or area-way closed in by high walls, topped by an ugly and formidable iron chevaux-de-frise, which would be equally effective in preventing any one getting in or getting out.
She soon exhausted the interest of this limited prospect, and, turning back to the room, spent a long half-hour wandering about it, looking at this and that, endeavouring to keep her thoughts occupied. She was vaguely uneasy, a feeling of oppression weighed upon her, and from moment to moment shecaught herself listening for some sound, but the house was absolutely still. Finally she drew a chair to one of the windows, and sitting down, stared out again into the little court. It was dark and damp and well-like and apparently never swept, for its pavement was littered with rubbish. Again she caught herself listening, her head half-turned. But she heard no sound. It must be past the middle of the afternoon; she should be getting home to set their rooms in order, for to-night Dan was coming....
And again she was listening, rigid, breathless in her chair. There was no sound; but suddenly, with nerves a-quiver, she sprang to her feet, crossed the room and swept back the hangings at the door. She was surprised to find that the door itself had been closed. She turned the knob, but the door did not open; she shook it, but it held fast. And then she realised that it was locked.
It was a moment before she understood. Then, very quietly, she crossed the room to another door and tried it. She had expected it to be locked also, but to her surprise it opened. Beyond it was a bedroom, also with a window opening on the walled court, and beyond the bedroom was a windowless bathroom. There were no other doors.
She returned to the outer room and again tried the door, testing it cautiously but firmly with her whole strength. Yes; there could be no doubt ofit—she was locked in. She went to one of the windows, raised the sash and looked out. It was at least a twelve-foot drop to the flagged pavement of the court. That might be managed with the help of the bed-clothes, but there remained the high wall and the threatening iron spikes. Below her, she could see that a small door opened from the court into the basement of the house, but it had no other exit.
She found the fresh air welcome, and sat down, at last, before the open window. She was much calmer than she had been; now that she was face to face with danger, the feeling of oppression vanished and her courage rose. She was a Pole, she had been trained in a hard school, she was not afraid. No, she repeated passionately to herself, she was not afraid; and how she hated that smooth-tongued German, with the cold eyes and smiling lips! Treacherous! Treacherous!
"If you will come this way," said Pachmann, and Vard tramped after him up the stair to a room on the second floor.
The Prince was already there, standing at the window, hands in pockets, staring moodily out.
"Be seated, Mr. Vard," said Pachmann. "My dear Prince, will you not sit down?"
The Prince flung himself into a chair.
"And now, Mr. Vard," went on Pachmann, sitting down very deliberately face to face with the inventor, "our answer is ready for you."
"Very well; let me have it," snapped Vard, twitching with impatience.
"We refuse to accept your conditions."
For an instant there was silence, then Vard leaped to his feet, his face livid.
"So you have been playing with me!" he cried. "Well, I suspected it! And you shall pay! Oh, you shall pay!" and he turned blindly to the door.
"One moment!" called Pachmann, and his voice had in it a ring of command which Vard had never heard before. "Sit down. I have still something to say."
"I do not care to hear it."
"That is nothing to me. Youshallhear it!"
With a glance of contempt, Vard strode to the door and turned the knob; but it did not open. He wrenched at it madly, but it held fast. In two strides he confronted Pachmann.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"The meaning," replied the Admiral sternly, "is that you are a prisoner here until I choose to release you. Now will you sit down?"
Vard stood for a moment, his face deadly white, his hands clasping and unclasping convulsively,staring down into Pachmann's leering eyes; then he went slowly back to his chair.
"That is right," said the German. "It will be best to take this calmly. In the first place, I want you to realise that you are wholly in my power. Nothing that occurs in this house will ever be known to the outside world. If you should fail to reappear, there will be no one to trace you. You will remember that we have your daughter also. And I say to you in all seriousness, and as emphatically as I can, that neither your life nor your daughter's life will cause me to turn aside or even to hesitate. I would kill you with my own hands, and then your daughter—yes, and a thousand like you, if need be—rather than that this chance should be lost to Germany. I say to you, then, that either you will consent to my proposal, or both you and your daughter will suffer the utmost consequence."
Vard's eyes had never left the speaker's face, nor had any colour come back into his own. But at the last words he laughed contemptuously.
"It is useless," he sneered. "I am not one to be frightened."
"I am not trying to frighten you—I warn you."
"Your warning is useless. I reply to you in all seriousness that neither my life, nor my daughter's life—no, nor the lives of a thousand likeus!—would persuade me to put this power in your hands. But you dare not kill me. In this brain, and there alone, is the great secret."
"You forget," Pachmann reminded him, "that in your baggage is a complete machine. We do not really need you."
At the words, Vard burst into a shout of mad laughter. Pachmann watched him, and his face fell into haggard lines.
"So that is it!" jeered the inventor, when he had got his breath. "So that is the great plot! Well, Pachmann, to that I answer, 'Checkmate!' Go, get the baggage! You are welcome to all you find there!"
"You mean the machine is not there?" demanded Pachmann, thickly.
"Just that!"
"Where is it then?"
Gazing into his adversary's bloodshot eyes, Vard had another burst of strangling laughter.
"I have already told you," he said. "In this brain—there alone—there alone!" His face was red now, strangely red, and his words were queerly jumbled.
Pachmann sat looking at him for a moment, then he rose.
"We shall soon see if you are speaking the truth," he said. "Whether you are or not makes nodifference. If there is no machine in your baggage, you shall construct for us another."
"Oh, shall I!" screamed Vard, also springing to his feet. "Shall I! How good of you, that permission!"
"You shall construct another!" repeated Pachmann, between clenched teeth. "Oh, you will be glad to consent, once I turn the screw! Come, Prince."
He tapped at the door, and there came from outside the scrape of a sliding bolt. Then, standing aside for the Prince to pass, he looked once at Vard, and turned to cross the threshold.
It was a moment later that Kasia Vard, still sitting at the window staring out into the court, searching desperately through her brain for some plan of escape, was brought quivering to her feet by a shrill scream, followed by the sound of a terrible struggle on the floor above. There was a heavy tramping to and fro, the thud of falling furniture, a dull crash that shook the house—and then silence. It was over in a moment, but she stood rigid for a moment longer, her hands against her heart, then she flew to the door and wrenched at the knob.
The door did not yield. Panting with excitement, she snatched up a chair and drove it with all her strength against the lower panel. The chair flew to pieces in her hands, but the door held firm. And then, as she looked about for another weapon, she heard the sound of a sliding bolt, the door swung open, and Pachmann entered. He looked at her and at the broken chair, and smiled slightly.
"I come to reassure you, Miss Vard," he said, "since I suppose you must have heard the noise of our little combat. No one was injured; but yourfather, after a burst of rage at finding himself in our hands, during which we found it most difficult to control him, has had what appears to be an epileptic seizure. Is he subject to epilepsy?"
"I have known him to have two attacks," said Kasia, in a low voice, with a shuddering remembrance of the desperate crisis at which each had come.
"There is nothing to be done, I think, except to loosen his clothing and bathe his head and wrists?"
"No—that is all." Mechanically her hands were smoothing her disordered hair.
"And there is, of course, no danger. Nevertheless, you may wish to go to him."
"I do wish it."
"Then come with me," and he led the way up the stair. "Your father is in there," he said, pointing to an inner room. "I will bring some water."
Kasia, with white face, passed into the inner room. Her father had been placed on a bed, and lay on his back, his eyes rolled up, breathing heavily. His hands were tightly clenched, but already the spasm was passing and the muscles relaxing. Almost at once, Pachmann appeared at the door, handed her a basin of water and then withdrew.
Under her ministrations, the breathing of the unconscious man grew softer and softer, the hands unclosed, the eyelids drooped, and finally his head fell over on one side and he slept. Kasia, watching himfor a few moments, assured herself that all was well, then turned out the light, returned to the outer room and closed the door.
Pachmann was sitting at the window, staring idly out at the deepening shadows. He arose at once at the sound of her entrance.
"Miss Vard," he said, "there is something I wish to say to you. Will you not sit down?" and he placed a chair for her. "What I have to say is most serious, and whatever your feeling of ill-usage may be, I hope you will try to look at the matter also a little from my side. The situation is this: Your father, as you doubtless know, is the inventor of a mechanism which will make the nation possessing it mistress of the world. That nation must be Germany. Apart from my ambition for my country and my love of her, I believe that she is the nation best fitted to possess it. At any cost, it must be hers—no cost can be too great; a hundred lives, a thousand lives, millions of treasure—all these would be sacrificed gladly, without hesitation. You understand?"
"Yes," said Kasia. "I think I understand."
"It is your father's dream, as I suppose you also know," Pachmann continued, "to bring about a world-wide peace by causing all nations to strike hands together in a sort of universal brotherhood. He demands that, to enter this brotherhood, Germany relinquish her share of Poland and restore Elsass andLorraine to France. He requires, too, the virtual abdication of our ruling house. To such conditions Germany cannot consent. Rather than that, we should prefer a hundred times the present status. For Germany has nothing to fear from the future.
"Now, Miss Vard, let me say at once that I regard your father's dream as a dream and nothing more. It cannot be realised. There is only one way in which world-peace can be secured—let your father consent to place this power in our hands, and there will be no more war—or, at most, only one very short and decisive war. If your father is in earnest, if he is not mad, he will consent to this proposal. I need hardly add that, if he does consent, he has only to name his own reward—Germany will pay it gladly. Wealth, position, the suzerainty of a nation—all this Germany is prepared to grant."
"You have placed this before him?" Kasia asked.
"Yes; it was placed before him at much greater length at our second conference."
"And he refused?"
"He refused; but we cannot take that refusal."
"Why do you tell me all this?"
"I tell you this, Miss Vard," answered Pachmann earnestly, "because I wish you to understand that in what may seem to you treachery and persecution, I am but fighting for my country. For her, I hesitate at nothing. Then, too, I wish you to know what ourposition is. If you will think of it, I believe you will find it an honourable position, and one which will bring peace to the world, and quickly. I hope that, after full consideration, you will decide to speak to your father. Perhaps to you he might listen."
"No, he would not listen," said Kasia, calmly; "and I shall not speak; or, if I do, it will be to urge him to continue to defy you. Do you imagine that any threat, any torture, could compel him to place the world at the mercy of your Kaiser? You do not know him, Mr. Pachmann."
"That is your final answer?" Pachmann asked.
"Yes."
He rose.
"Then I shall have to request you to return to the room below."
"One moment, Mr. Pachmann," said Kasia. "I wonder if you realise how dangerous is this game you are playing? You are not in Germany; you cannot kidnap two people here in New York, even by the Emperor's order, without some inquiry being made."
"Who will make it? No one knows that you were on theOttilie; your room was empty, your names were not among the list of passengers; to all inquiries the reply will be made that you did not cross with the boat. No one knows that you are in New York."
"You are mistaken," retorted Kasia, her cheeks flushed. "One man knows. I am to meet him this evening."
"Ah! but when he finds you not at home, when he inquires of our company, he will conclude that you missed the boat."
"He will know better, because he crossed with us."
Pachmann stared at her, his brows contracted; then a slow smile broke across his lips.
"I remember now," he said. "I did, on one occasion, observe you talking to a young man. No doubt it is to him you refer."
"Yes—and he has a power at his disposal which even you may fear."
Pachmann chuckled.
"The power of the press, is it not?" he asked. "Be at rest, Miss Vard. He will not use it against us. He will walk into our net at seven o'clock this evening! You may be sure that now he will not be permitted to escape!"
In spite of herself, Kasia turned pale. Herself and her father she was prepared to sacrifice—they had played for a great stake and had been outwitted. But Dan! That he, too, should be drawn into the whirlpool and sucked down and destroyed! She turned faint at the thought. Then she pulled herself up sharply, for Pachmann's gimlet eyes were uponher, glittering with comprehension, reading her face, while on his own there was an expression of infernal triumph. She shivered as she looked at him.
"Have you anything else to say, Miss Vard?" he asked, with a leer.
"No," said Kasia, and turned to the door, anxious to hide her face, to escape from him, to be alone with her thoughts.
"Then please come with me."
She stepped first to the inner door and glanced at her father. He was sleeping peacefully. Then she followed Pachmann down the stair. At the door of her room he paused.
"By the way, Miss Vard," he said, still leering, "it is useless for you to fatigue yourself by endeavouring to break this door. It is strengthened on the outside by a sheet of steel—behold." He swung the door for her to see, then held it open for her. "I will have your dinner sent in to you," he added, and Kasia heard the bolts shot into place again.
Half an hour later, a bearded giant in livery brought in a tray containing a very appetizing meal, set it on the table, and retired. Kasia realised suddenly that she was very hungry, for she had had nothing to eat since breakfast. There was certainly nothing to be gained by starving herself—that, she told herself with a shiver, might come later!—so she washed hands and face at the basin in the bathroom,straightened her hair, and at last sat down to the meal with a calmness which surprised even herself. She ate deliberately and well, and when, at last, she pushed her cup away, it was with a sense of renewed strength and courage.
Once more she examined the room minutely, but there was no exit save by the steel-lined door. The windows remained, but they opened into that well-like court, with walls surmounted by bristling iron. Yet she was strong and agile; perhaps ... perhaps....
She snapped out the light, went to the open window and peered out. It was very dark in the shadow of those walls, but she remembered precisely how it looked; she remembered the door opening into the basement, just beneath the window. If it should, by any chance, be unlocked. But that was foolish to expect. Perhaps it would be possible to twist a rope from the bed-clothes and throw it up over the chevaux-de-frise; but even then there would be a long hand-over-hand climb to accomplish; and the barbed and pointed spikes had looked very formidable. In any event, she had the whole night before her; she must not act hastily; she must wait and watch; perhaps some other means would present itself; perhaps Dan....
And then the pain of recollection stabbed through her. Dan could do nothing; Dan was to be himselfentrapped; and yet, how could that be? Perhaps Pachmann was lying—and yet he had not seemed to be lying. He had spoken confidently, triumphantly, gloatingly.
She sat erect, listening, then stole to the door and placed one ear against it. There were steps in the hall outside, steps which passed, which mounted the stair....
Perhaps that was Dan; yes, it must be after seven o'clock....
She forced herself to sit again at the window, but her hands were trembling. She stared out into the shadows of the little court and tried to think. But thinking was so difficult; there was a dull ache at the back of her eyes, and her throat felt dry and swollen. One thought ran through her mind, over and over: Dan must not be sacrificed, Dan must not suffer; even if Germany must triumph....
Then, suddenly, from overhead, came the sound of a sharp scuffle and a heavy fall. She fancied she could hear voices raised in anger. The slam of a door echoed through the house. A moment later came a series of savage blows, of rending crashes, as though the house itself was being torn to pieces;—and then silence.
Kasia stood as though turned to stone, listening, listening. Was it Dan? Was it her father? What was happening in that room upstairs? Whatdid that sudden silence mean? Her imagination pictured frightful things....
And then, from overhead, she heard the pacing of swift feet, up and down, up and down; back and forth a hundred times, as though driven by some raging spirit, scourging, scourging. And then again silence.
Horrible as the sounds had been, the silence frightened her still more; it was filled with menace, it was charged with terror. Movement, sound—those meant life, at least; silence might mean anything—might mean death!
She could endure it no longer. She ran wildly into the other room and flung herself face-downward on the bed, covering her ears, burying her eyes in the pillow....
But the terror passed; and at last she rolled over and stared up into the darkness and tried again to think. She must, must, must escape! Once free, once in the street, she could summon aid, could raise the town, could storm the house! But to escape! She pressed her hands to her aching temples.
And then a sound from the outer room brought her upright; she listened with bated breath, pressing her hands against her breast to still the beating of her heart. There it was again, stealthy, scraping....
Slowly, cautiously, she stole to the door of the bedroom; the noise again; and the sound of heavybreathing. And then her heart leaped suffocatingly; for there against the grey light of the window was silhouetted the figure of a man. In frantic terror, she sprang for the switch, found it after an instant's frenzied groping, and turned on the lights. The sudden flare blinded her; then her straining eyes saw who stood there.
"Dan!" she cried. "Dan!"
He was standing on the window-sill, steadying himself by a knotted sheet secured somewhere overhead; and at the sound of her voice, he reeled and nearly fell. Then, with a face like ivory, he stooped and peered in under the raised sash, rubbed his eyes, looked a second time, and with a low cry, sprang into the room.
"Kasia!"
She was in his arms, close, oh! close to his heart.
"Oh, Dan, Dan!" she sobbed. "I'm so glad—so glad!"
And she kissed him with trembling lips.
It was nearly nine o'clock when Pachmann sat down to dinner that evening, but he did so in an exceedingly pleasant frame of mind. He felt that he had done a good day's work. In the first place, he had eluded the spies; in the second place, he had enticed all the flies into the web, where they were now securely entangled. There was just one way in which they could regain their freedom; and that they would, in the end, accept that way, the Admiral did not doubt.
Protests were natural, at first; inevitable, indeed, until their indignation at the trick played upon them had subsided somewhat; it was also inevitable that there should be some heroics, some talk of honour, self-sacrifice, and such tom-foolery. But these vapourings would soon come to an end; a few hours of sober reflection would work wonders in dissipating them. And if there was need, why, it would always be possible to apply the screw—the screw of hunger, the screw of solitary confinement, the screw of sleeplessness, of fear, of anxiety—and to turn it gently, gently. Oh, victory was certain now!
So Pachmann rubbed his hands together, mentally,at least, and enjoyed his dinner immensely. It was a good dinner, but it did not seem to appeal to Pachmann's table-companion. That was the Prince, summoned from his room where he had sulkily immured himself, and obeying from force of habit; but, strangely enough, his appetite, which was of a magnitude and reliability characteristic of the Hohenzollerns, had evidently failed him now. He trifled gloomily with the food, and drank more wine than was good for him without any perceptible resultant lightening of spirit.
Plainly something was seriously wrong, but if the Prince expected the Admiral to make any anxious inquiries about his health, or to express regret for the scene of an hour before, he was disappointed. Beyond cocking an amused eye at him, now and again, the Admiral took no notice of him. So it was the Prince who had to open the conversation, which he did as soon as the servants had withdrawn.
"Admiral Pachmann," he began, with heavy dignity, "I did not like the way in which this evening you spoke of me. It appeared to me almost insulting."
"Insulting, Your Highness!" protested the Admiral. "You astonish me. I imagined myself speaking most respectfully."
"It was insulting," repeated the Prince doggedly.
"Surely you misunderstood me!" said the Admiral, with deep concern. "Let me see—what was it I said? I do not remember the exact words, but it was to the effect, was it not, that your health was threatened by over-study and that the Emperor had instructed you to take a vacation?"
"There was more than that."
"I emphatically denied that there was any truth in that absurd rumour about the bar-maid."
"She was not a bar-maid."
The Admiral laughed.
"Was she not? Then I was misinformed. But that is a detail."
"In addition to which," pursued the Prince, rather red in the face with the knowledge that he was getting the worst of it, "I do not consider that you are behaving honourably in this matter."
"In what way?"
"You brought Miss Vard and her father here, promising to give them an answer."
"And I gave them an answer, did I not?"
"Yes—and then proceeded to imprison them."
"I have no recollection of having promised not to do so."
"But they trusted you."
"The more fools they!"
"They must be released," said the Prince, firmly. "I command it!"
Pachmann selected a cigar from the tray on the table with great care. Then he lighted it, took a slow puff or two, and looked at the Prince.
"Ah, you command it!" he said, thoughtfully.
"Yes," repeated the Prince, "I command it!"
"How I wish," sighed the Admiral, "that my heart was as young as yours, my Prince! I would give much to bring that about! But, alas, it has long since grown indifferent to red lips and bright eyes; this old heart of mine has been hardened by forty years of service; it is capable, now, of only one passion—but that is a fierce one."
"And what is that?" the Prince inquired.
"The passion for my country and for my King!" said the Admiral, and saluted. "My house is not a great one, as you have had occasion to remind me; but it is loyal! Its motto is, 'I love and I obey.' We are proud of that motto, and we have never been false to it. As for myself, I love my country as I have loved no woman; for her I would give my life, my honour, and rejoice to do it! For my King, as you have seen, I hesitate at nothing! Prince, sooner or later you must learn your lesson—and the longer you defer it the more bitter it will be."
"To what lesson do you refer?" asked the Prince, impressed in spite of himself, as he gazed at the glowing face opposite him.
"The lesson that never, never must red lips orbright eyes make you false to your country or to your house, even in thought. You command that I release these people at the moment when I touch success. And why? Because you have been impressed with a girl's face."
"It is a lie!" shouted the Prince, and started to his feet.
The Admiral did not stir, only looked at him; but there was in his eyes a frigid anger which turned the Prince cold.
"I beg your pardon, Admiral," he stammered. "It may be, in part at least, the truth. But it is not the whole truth. Putting the girl aside, I still think you should release them. One should not behave dishonourably, even to one's enemies."
"They are not my enemies, they are my country's," retorted the Admiral, quickly; "and I would point out to you that one can never behave dishonourably in serving one's country. In that service, there are no questions of right and wrong; there is only one question—our country's glory. Any good soldier could tell you that! But perhaps you consider it murder to kill a man in battle, or theft to take the enemy's supplies?"
"No," said the Prince, flushing at the mordant irony; "but that is different—that is war. In time of peace—"
"There is no time of peace," broke in theAdmiral, impatiently. "Only fools believe so. Every thinking man knows that it is war, war, every day of every week. We manœuvre for advantage, we build secret defences, we perfect plans of attack, we prepare night and day for the onset—just as we are preparing at this moment. For what purpose do you imagine that Germany maintains this house, with its grated windows and steel-lined doors and heavy bolts, as of a prison? For just such purposes as this! For the detention of her enemies. And it has been used many times—many, many times! And now," he added, in a voice as hard as steel, "as a reparation for your insult, I will ask you to return at once to the consulate, to go to your apartment there, and to remain in it until I see you in the morning. If you are wise, you will employ the night in pondering carefully what I have said to you."
White with humiliation, the Prince bowed, and stalked from the room. A moment later, the slam of the front door denoted that he had left the house. Pachmann sat for a moment longer, his lips curled in a sardonic smile. Then he touched a bell. A burly fellow in livery answered it.
"Arm yourself," said Pachmann, "and bring your comrade."
The man was back again in a moment, bringing another giant with him. Each had, strapped about his waist, an ammunition-belt from which dependedin its holster a heavy revolver. They saluted and stood at attention, while the Admiral looked them over.
"You will stand guard in the lower hall to-night," he said, at last; "turn and turn about, one sleeping on the floor at the stair-foot and with the hall fully lighted. Under no pretext, will you permit any one to enter the house or leave it. In case of any disturbance, of any suspicious circumstance, however slight, you will summon me at once. You have revolvers—do not hesitate to use them in case of need—even against a woman. You understand? Good! Has there some baggage come?"
"Two pieces, sir."
"Clear the table and bring them up to me." He leaned back and finished his cigar, while the men clumsily cleared the table and placed two battered suit-cases upon it.
"The servants who prepared the dinner have departed?" the Admiral asked.
"They departed some time ago, sir."
"You are sure that all doors and windows are secured?"
"We have just made the round, sir."
"And the young lady?"
"We have heard nothing from her, sir."
"The young man?"
"I glanced in at him, sir, some time ago. He waslying on his bed, with his eyes closed, but I do not think he slept."
"Did he have dinner?"
"We had no orders to that effect, sir."
"Good; let him go hungry. You will serve him no food until I order it. That is all."
They saluted and withdrew.
Pachmann turned to a leisurely examination of the suit-cases. They were unlocked, and he soon found the queer box with sides of glass lined with tin-foil. He snatched it up eagerly, but after a glance at it, his face fell.
"So he was telling the truth!" he muttered. "Well, so much the worse for him!"
Nevertheless he examined the box attentively, with minute concentration, noting the arrangement of the interior plates, the scheme of wiring—each detail. Then, with it in his hand, he left the room, saw that his men were on guard, mounted to the upper story, unbolted a door there and entered. Closing the door carefully behind him, he switched on the lights, placed the box on the table, and entered the room beyond. Here, too, he turned on the lights, and stood for a moment contemplating the occupant of the bed, who returned his gaze steadily, with glittering eyes.
"You are awake, then, my dear Vard?" said the Admiral, at last.
"As you see."
"You are feeling better, I trust?"
"I am quite well."
"You have had dinner?"
"I cared for none."
"I wish to talk with you for a few minutes."
"It would be a waste of time."
Pachmann paused to look again at the glittering eyes, and the thought flashed through his mind, as it had done more than once before, that he had to do with a madman. An inspired genius, perhaps, but mad, nevertheless. Pachmann knew that there was about madness a certain childishness, and he determined to humour it.
"For you, perhaps, it would be waste of time," he said, approaching the bed and sitting down; "but not for me. My life-work has been the study of electrical energy as applied to war, and I fancied myself fairly well informed, when, suddenly, you come and prove to me that I know nothing. That morning, ten days since, when I stood on the quay at Toulon and saw a great battleship reduced to a twisted wreck, I realised my ignorance, and my heart glowed with admiration for you, my master."
"Yes, I am your master," and Vard raised himself upon one elbow. "Even here, your prisoner, I am still your master."
"I admit it. And I have a proposal to make to you."
"I have no confidence in your proposals."
"Yet listen to this one. Place this power at the Emperor's service, and he will name you ruler of any nation you choose—of this one, if it pleases you—and leave you to govern it as seems best to you, without interference of any kind. Think, my friend, what a destiny—free to embody your own ideas in the government of what is in some ways the greatest nation on earth; free to make a paradise here, if you can. And if you succeed, your dream comes true, for all the other nations of the world will follow."
Vard gazed at the speaker with wistful eyes.
"Itcouldcome true," he said. "Itcouldcome true; it could not fail. But you are too blind, too selfish, too narrow. You are only a German."
"And you?"
"I am a Pole—that is to say a citizen of no country and of every country."
"But you love that country, even though it does not exist?"
"Aye—more than you love yours."
Pachmann was silent a moment, thinking deeply.
"Listen, my friend," he said, at last. "I desire to meet you; I will come along the road toward you as far as I am able."
"Yes?"
"I agree to reconstitute Poland. You shall havea country again, and shall be its ruler, if you choose."
The eyes of the inventor glowed for an instant, and then the glow faded and he shook his head.
"You have betrayed me once," he said; "you would betray me again. I will never place this power in the hands of your Emperor. He has already shown how he would use it."
"You refer toLa Liberté?"
"Yes."
"I alone am responsible forLa Liberté. It was I who chose that test—not the Emperor."
"You!" said Vard hoarsely, and a slow flush mounted to his cheeks. "You!"
"Yes, I!" and Pachmann cast at the other a mocking and triumphant look. "It was I who compelled your consent; it was I who arranged the details; it was I who assumed the whole burden. For I was determined that even the first test should be of benefit to Germany—and it was! However you may wish it, you cannot restoreLa Liberté!"
Vard was staring at the speaker with hollow eyes, his face convulsed.
"Did not the Kaiser know?" he questioned.
"No one knew but Von Tirpitz, and he was panic-stricken. He is old and timid—but I convinced him—I won him over—he could not resist me. Even then, his heart failed him at the last, and he tried to stop me. Luckily, his telegram wasdelayed—or I should have been compelled to disobey my superior officer. Oh, I admit that it was rash of me," Pachmann added, his face glowing; "I admit that I was risking everything—life, honour, everything; but success excuses rashness—and I succeeded!"
"Yes," agreed the inventor, slowly, "you succeeded!"
"After that," went on Pachmann, "it was too late to turn back, even had any one wished to do so. Now it is for me to finish this affair."
"How do you propose to finish it?"
Pachmann shrugged his shoulders.
"You are in my hands," he said, "you and your daughter. Heretofore I have been lenient with you, I have been good-natured; I hoped that we might reach some agreement, and I have tried to meet you half-way. But my good nature is at an end; I withdraw all my offers. I demand that you place your secret at Germany's disposal."
"And if I refuse?"
"I shall turn the screw!" answered Pachmann, and there was cold menace in his eyes and in his voice.
Vard had raised himself to a sitting posture. Now he swung his feet off the bed.
"I too have a demand to make," he said, his voicea mere whisper. "My patience also is at an end. I demand my freedom and that of my daughter."
"What do you offer in exchange?"
"I offer nothing in exchange!" said Vard, and rose slowly to his feet. "I intend to offer my services to France!"
Pachmann looked at him—at his bent and wasted figure, his shaking hands, his trembling knees—a mocking light in his eyes.
"My dear friend," he sneered, "you are mad—quite mad! I have suspected it from the first!"
"You arenotmad, M. Vard," said a pleasant voice at the threshold. "And you have your freedom. France accepts your services!"