CHAPTER VIIIHalkett looked curiously at this specimen of a poster which was already very familiar to him. The dead walls of northern and eastern France and Belgium had been plastered with such advertisements for the last year or two, extolling the Savon de Calypso. But what had recently interested Halkett in these soap advertisements was that posters, apparently exactly similar, appeared to differ considerably in detail when examined minutely.The picture in this advertisement represented, as always, the nymph, Calypso, seated upon the grass, looking out over the sea where the sun shone in a cloudless sky upon a fleet of Grecian ships which were sailing away across the blue waves of the Ægean.Where details varied was in the number of ships in the fleet, the number and grouping of sails, sea birds flying, of waves, and of clouds—when there were any of the latter—the number of little white or blue or pink blossoms in the grass, the height of the sun above the horizon line and the number and size of its rays.There was always at least one ship—never more than a dozen; he had counted twenty white blossoms on some posters; varying numbers on others, of white, of blue, or of pink, but never less than three of any one color. Sometimes there were no sea birds.As for the sun, sometimes it hung well above the ocean, often its yellow circle dipped into it, and then again only the rays spread fanlike above the horizon line.[image]Savon de Calypso posterAnd concerning the nymph, her pose and costume did not seem to vary at all in the various poster specimens which he had seen; the wind was always blowing her red hair and white, transparent scarf; she always sat gazing laughingly seaward, one hand resting on the grass, the other clutching a cake of soap to her bosom.Still examining the sheet of paper, he counted the white flowers scattered over the grass around the seated nymph. There weretenof them."Sister Eila," he said carelessly, "how many kilometers is it to the next town south of us? I mean by the military road.""To Rosières-sous-Bois?""Yes.""About ten kilometers by the military road."He nodded and counted the ships. There were three."Is there more than one road which runs to Rosières-sous-Bois?" he asked."Yes. One may go by this road, or cross the bridge by the quarries and go by the river road, or there is still a better and shorter highway which runs west of Saïs.""Then there arethreemain roads to Rosières-sous-Bois?""Yes. The road to the west is shorter. It is not more than seven miles that way."Halkett casually counted the sea gulls. Seven gulls were flying around one of the ships; thirteen around another."And the river road, Sister?" he inquired."By the quarry bridge? Oh, that is longer—perhaps twelve or thirteen kilometers.""I see.... Rosières-sous-Bois is not a garrison town?""No. There are only a few gendarmes there."Halkett examined the picture attentively. The sun appeared to be about three hours high above the horizon."The nearest military post must be about three hours' journey from here," he ventured.Sister Eila thought a moment, then nodded:"Yes, about three hours. You mean the fort above the Pass of the Falcons? That is the nearest."He counted the rays of the sun. There were three long ones and two short ones."I suppose there are three or four battalions garrisoned there," he remarked."Three, I think. And a company of engineers and one company of Alpine chasseurs."All the time, with a detached air, the young Englishman was examining the colored poster, searching it minutely for variations from other posters of the same sort which he had recently investigated.There remained in his mind little or no doubt that the number and position of the groups of pointed wavelets signified something important; that the number of sails set on the ships, which varied in every poster, contained further information; that the sky, cloudless in some posters, dotted with clouds in others, was destined to convey topographical particulars to somebody.These colored advertisements of a soap made in Cologne by Bauermann and Company, and plastered over the landscape of Northern and Eastern Belgium and France, concealed a wealth of secret information for anybody who possessed the key to the messages so clearly and craftily expressed in pictograph and cipher code.The sinister significance of the sheet in his hand was becoming more apparent every minute. He had made a study of these posters—was just beginning to find them interesting, when he had been ordered to America. Now, all his interest in them returned.Sister Eila had seated herself at her desk, and, while he was still examining the poster, she continued serenely to correct the pile of inky copybooks.He watched her for a while, where she bent above the scrawled pages, her pen poised, her lovely face framed in the snowy wimple under the pale shadow of her wide-winged coiffe."Sister Eila?"She turned her head tranquilly."You are English, you tell me?""Irish." She smiled."It's the same. Tell me, have you had enough experience in your world of duty and of unhappiness to know an honest man when you encounter him?"Sister Eila laid aside her pen and turned toward him."I don't think I understand," she said."I mean, could you make up your mind about—well—about such a man as I am—merely by inspecting me and hearing me speak?"Sister Eila laughed:"I think I could very easily.""Have you already done so?""Why, yes, I suppose so.""Do you think I am honest enough to be trusted?"Sister Eila laughed again, deliciously."Yes, I think so," she said.He remained silent and his face, already grave, grew more serious. Sister Eila's smile faded as she watched him. It was becoming very plain to her that here was a man in trouble.Silent there together in the cool stillness of the schoolroom, they heard the distant clatter of little feet, the vigorous voice of command from Sister Félicité; and a moment later a double file of chattering children passed in the sunshine outside the window, led toward their noonday playground by Sister Félicité accompanied by Warner."What is on your mind, Mr. Halkett?" asked Sister Eila, still watching him."If I tell you," he said, "will you ask me no more than I offer to tell you?"She flushed:"Naturally, Monsieur——""You don't quite understand, Sister. What I have to say I wish you to write down for me in the form of a letter of information to the French Government.""You wishmeto write it?""Please. And that is what I mean. Naturally, you might ask me why I do not write it myself.... Don't ask me, Sister.... If you really do trust me."He turned, met her gaze, saw two clear, sweet eyes unspoiled and unsaddened by the wisdom she had learned in dark and wretched places; saw in them only a little wonder, a faintly questioning surprise."What is your answer, Sister?" he asked."My answer is—I—Idotrust you.... What am I to write?"She took a few loose leaves of paper from the desk, and sat looking at him, pen lifted.He said:"Write to the chief of the general staff at the Ministry of War in Paris."And when she had properly addressed the personage in question, he dictated his letter very slowly in English; and Sister Eila, her expressionless young face bent above the letter paper, translated into French as he dictated, and wrote down the exact meaning of every word he uttered:"Information has come to me that the advertisements of Bauermann and Company, of Cologne, Prussia, which are posted everywhere throughout Belgium and Northern and Eastern France, conceal military and topographical details concerning the vicinity where these advertisements are displayed."Such information could be of use only to a prowling spy or an invading enemy."Therefore, acting upon the incomplete information offered me, I deem it my duty to bring this matter to the notice of the Government."It would appear that:"1st. Secret information is contained in the details of the picture which embellishes this advertisement, a sample of which I inclose herewith."2nd. These details vary in every poster. Presumably their number, color, groupings, and general distribution constitute a secret code which is calculated to convey information to the enemies of France."3rd. In the sample which is inclosed with this letter, the number of ships probably represents the number of highways leading from Saïs to Rosières-sous-Bois; the sea gulls flying above two of the ships give the distance in kilometers; the ten white flowers give the distance by the military road."The sun, in the picture, appears to be about three hours high above the horizon; and it isthree hours'journey from here to the nearest French fortified post, the Pass of the Falcons in the Vosges."The rays of the sun are five in number, three long ones and two short ones; and there arethree battalionsof the line guarding the fort at the pass, andtwo companies, one of engineers, one of Alpine infantry."My informant, who desires to remain anonymous, further declares it to be his belief that an exhaustive study of this and similar posters would reveal perfectly clear messages in every detail of color, drawing, and letter-press; and that it is his firm conviction that these posters, representing a German firm which manufactures soap, have been placed throughout Belgium and France for the convenience of an invading army."Immediate removal of these advertisements seems advisable in the opinion of my informant."(Signed), SISTER EILA,"Of the Daughters of St. Vincent de Paul at Saïs."When she had finished the letter and had unhesitatingly signed it, she lifted her clear eyes to him in silence. Her breath came a trifle unevenly; the tint of excitement grew and waned in her cheeks."At least," he said, "you will understand that I am a friend to France.""Yes, that is evident.""Will you direct and seal the packet and give it to the postman?""Yes.""And, Sister Eila, if they send gendarmes or other officials to question you?"She looked straight into his eyes, deeply, so that her gaze seemed to plunge into the depths of his very soul.Then, lifting the cross from the rosary at her girdle, she slipped out of her chair and knelt down beside her desk, her young head bent low over the crucifix which she held between the palms of her joined hands.Halkett, head also lowered, stood motionless.After a few moments she rose lightly from her knees."It is a vow, now," she said. "I have bound myself to silence concerning the source of my information—" her untroubled eyes rested again on his—"because I believe in you, Monsieur."He started to speak, but seemed to find no word to utter. A bright color mounted to his brow; he turned abruptly from the desk and stepped toward the open door.And the instant he appeared there, framed by the doorway, a shot rang out, knocking a cloud of stucco and plaster from the wall beside him.CHAPTER IXHe shrank back flat against the wall, edged along it, and slipped swiftly inside the house. A thick veil of lime dust hung across the open doorway, gilded by the sunlight. Crumbs of plaster and mortar still fell to the schoolroom floor.Through the heated silence of early afternoon he could hear the distant cries of the children from their playground; there was no other sound; nothing stirred; nobody came.If Warner had noticed the shot at all, no doubt he supposed it to be the premature report of some piece. To the gaunt, furtive Vosges poacher no close season exists. If it did exist, he would cease to.Halkett slowly turned his head and saw Sister Eila behind him. She had risen from her chair at the desk; now she came slowly forward, her deep, grey eyes fixed on him. But before she could take another step he laid his hand firmly on her wide, blue sleeve and forced her back into the room."Keep away from that door," he said quietly."Did somebody try to kill you?" she asked. Her voice was curious, but perfectly calm."I think so.... Don't show yourself near that door. They might not be able to distinguish their target at such a range.""They? Who are 'they'?""Whoever fired.... I must ask you again to please keep out of range of that doorway——""The shot came from the river willows across the fields, did it not?" she interrupted."I'm very sure of it. You need not feel any anxiety for the children, Sister; I am going. There'll be no more shots.""There is a door at the back by the kitchen yard, Mr. Halkett. They will not see you if you leave that way."He stood thinking for a while; then:"On your account, and on the children's, I'll have to show myself again when I leave the house, so that there'll be no mistake about my identity. Don't move until after I have gone some distance along the road. And please say to Mr. Warner that I've returned to the inn for luncheon——""There is a door in the rear! You must not show yourself——""Indeed, I must. Otherwise, they might mistake you or Sister Félicité or one of the children for me——""Mr. Halkett!" He had already started."Yes?" he replied, halting and glancing back; and found her already at his elbow."Why were you shot at?" she asked. "I desire to know."He looked her straight in the eyes:"I can't tell you why, Sister.""You say you are English, and that you are a friend to France. If that is true, then tell me who shot at you! Do you know?""In a general way, I suppose I do know.""Do you not trust a French Sister of Charity sufficiently to tell her?""What man would not trust a daughter of St. Vincent de Paul?" he said pleasantly."Then tell me. Perhaps I already guess. Has it to do with your knowledge of German advertisements?"He was silent."You are evidently a British agent." Her deep, grey eyes grew more earnest. "You aremore!" she said, clasping her hands with sudden conviction. "I suspected it the first time I saw you——""Please do not say to anybody what it is that you suspect——""You are a British officer!" she exclaimed."Sister Eila; you could do me much harm by mentioning to others this belief of yours, or anything concerning this affair. And—do you remember that you once said you trusted me?""I said it—yes.""Do you still have confidence in me?"Their eyes met steadily."Yes," she said. "I believe you to be a friend to France, and to me." A slight flush edged the snowy wimple which framed the lovely oval of her face."Iamyour friend; and I am a friend to France—I say as much as that to you. I say it because of what you are, and because—you areyou. But ask me no more, Sister. For men of my profession there are confessionals as secret and as absolute in authority as those which shrive the soul."He hesitated, his eyes shifted from her to the fresh flowers on the desk, which they had both gathered; he reached over and drew a white blossom from the glass."May I take it with me?"She bent her head in silence.Then he turned to go through the deadly doorway, carrying his flower in his hand; but, as he walked out into the sunshine, Sister Eila stepped swiftly in front of him, turned on the doorstep, screening him with extended arms."This is the best way," she said. "They ought to see quite clearly that I am a Sister of Charity, and they won't fire at me——"But he tried to push her aside and spring past her:"Stand clear of me, for God's sake!" he said."Wait——""Sister! Are you insane?""Youmust be, Mr. Halkett——""Keep away, I tell you——""Please don't be rough with me——"He tried to avoid her, but her strong, young hands had caught both his wrists."They won't shoot at a Sister of Charity!" she repeated. "—And I shall not permit them to murder you! Be reasonable! I am not afraid."She held on to his wrists, keeping always between him and the distant glimmer of the river:"I shall walk to the road with you this way; don't try to shake me off; I am strong, I warn you!" She was even laughing now. "Please do not wriggle! Only schoolboys wriggle. Do you suppose I amafraid? Since when, Monsieur, have Sisters of Charity taken cover from the enemies of France?""This is shameful for me——""You behave, as I have said, like a very bad schoolboy, Mr. Halkett——"He tried vainly to place himself between her and the river, but could not disengage her grasp without hurting her. Then, over his shoulder, he saw three men come out of the river willows."You shall not take this risk——" he insisted."Please listen——""I take no risk worth mentioning. It was you who would have walked out to face their fire—with that smile on your lips and a flower in your hand! Did you think that a Grey Sister would permit that? Soyez convenable, Monsieur. They will not fire while I am walking beside you." She looked over her shoulder. One of the men by the willows was raising a rifle.They reached the highway at the same moment, and the roadside bank sheltered them. Here she released his arm."I beg you to be a little reasonable," she said. "You must leave Saïs at once. Promise me, Mr. Halkett——""I cannot.""Why?""Sister, if I am really a soldier, as you suppose me to be, perhaps I have—orders—to remain at Saïs.""Have you?" she asked frankly.He turned and looked at her:"Yes, little comrade.""That is really serious.""It must not cause you any anxiety. I shall 'wriggle'—as you say—out of this mess when the time comes. I may start tonight.""For London? Do you wriggle as far as that?"He said gravely:"You know more about me now from my own lips than I would admit, even prompted by a firing squad. I trusted you even before you faced death for me on that doorstep a moment ago.Did you see that man come out of the willows and level his rifle at us?"She said tranquilly:"We daughters of St. Vincent de Paul never heed such things.""I know you don't; I know what are your traditions. Many a Sister of your Order has fallen under rifle and shell fire on the battlefields of the world; many have died of the pest in hospitals; many have succumbed to exposure. The history of modern war is the history of the Grey Sisters. What you have just done, as a matter of course, is already part of that history. And so—" he looked down at her crucifix and rosary—"and so, Sister, and comrade, I shall tell you what it would not be possible for me to admit to any other living soul in France. Yes; Iama British officer on special and secret duty. I left the United States two weeks ago. Trouble began in Holland. I am now on my way to London. Orders came today halting me at Saïs. Enemies of France are annoying me—people who are becoming more desperate and more determined as the hours pass and the moment approaches swiftly when they can no longer hope to interfere with me. That moment will come when war is declared. It will be declared. I shall be very glad to arrive in England. Now I have told you almost everything, Sister Eila. My honor is in your keeping; my devotion is for my own country, for France—and for you.""I have made one vow of silence," she said simply. "I shall make another—never to breathe one word of this.""You need not. Just say to me that you will not speak."Her lovely face became as solemn as a child's:"I shall not speak, Mr. Halkett.""That settles it," he said. "If it lay with me, I'd trust you with every secret in our War Office!" He checked himself, hesitated, then: "Sister Eila, if anything happens to me, go to Mr. Warner and ask him forthat envelope. There are sure to be British soldiers in France before very long. Give that envelope to some British officer."After a moment she laughed:"Englishmen are odd—odd! They are just boys. They are delightful. I shall do what you ask.... And there is your inn.... Am I tired?I? Vous plaisantez, Monsieur! But, Mr. Halkett, what would be the object in your walking back with me? I should only have to walk back here again with you! It would continuead infinitum."They both laughed."When trouble finally comes, and if I am hit, I pray I may lie in your ward," he said gayly.Her smile faded:"I shall pray so, too," she said."I'd feel like a little boy safe in his own nursery," he added, still smiling."I am—happy—to have you think of me in that way." Her smile glimmered anew in her eyes. "I should be a devoted nurse." She made him a friendly little signal of adieu and turned away.Hat in hand, he stood looking after the grey-blue figure under the snowy headdress.At the turn of the road she looked back, saw him, still standing there; and again, from the distance, she made him a pretty gesture of caution and of farewell. Then the grassy bank hid her from view.At the Inn of the Golden Peach, Warner's Harem was already lunching. Through the open windows of the dining-room came a discreet clatter of tableware and crockery, and a breezy, cheery tumult like the chatter in an aviary.Halkett, not fancying it, went around the house to the quiet garden. Here he wandered to and fro among the trees or stood about aimlessly, looking down at the flower beds where, kneeling beside Sister Eila, he had aided her to fill her ozier basket.Later Warner found him seated under the arbor with Ariadne on his knee; and a few moments afterward the maid, Linette, served their luncheon.Neither of the young men was very communicative, but after the dishes and cloth had been removed, and when Halkett, musing over his cigarette and coffee, still exhibited no initiative toward conversation, Warner broke the silence:"What about that shot?" he asked bluntly."What shot?""Don't you want to talk about it?"Halkett glanced up, amused:"Well, I suppose there was no hiding that bullet hole and the plaster dust from Sister Félicité.""Of course not. The bullet ripped out the lathing. Who was it fired at the school? Or was it at you they let go?""Didn't you ask Sister Eila?""I did. She absolutely refused to discuss it, and referred us both to you. It was no accident, was it?""No.""Somebody tried to getyou?""It rather looked that way.""Our friends in the grey car, of course!" concluded Warner."Not necessarily.Theyhave other friends who might be equally attentive to me. I don't know who shot at me. There were three of them over by the river.""Well, Halkett, don't you think you had better remain indoors for a while?""I'd better, I suppose." He laughed. "Honestly, I'm sick of being shot at. One of these days they'll hit me, if they're not very careful."But Warner did not smile."Do you promise to stay indoors?" he insisted."I'll see. Perhaps.""Don't you think it advisable for you to carry some sort of a firearm—one of my automatics, for example?""Thanks, old fellow. I think I'll do that, if you can spare a section of your artillery for a day or two."Warner promptly fished an automatic out of his hip pocket, and Halkett took it and examined it."So I'm to do the Wild West business after all," he said gayly. "Right you are, old chap. I know how it's done; I've read about it in your novels. You wait till your enemy takes a drop, then you get the drop!" He laughed at his British joke. And, having no hip pocket, he stowed away the lumpy bluish weapon in a side pocket of his coat."Now, don't let me interfere with your daily routine," he continued. "I shall do very well here in the arbor while you lead your Harem toward the Olympian heights.""Sometimes I feel like pushing 'em off those cliffs," muttered Warner. "All right; I fancy you'll be snug enough in the garden, here with Ariadne, till I return. We shall have the whole house to ourselves after dinner. The Harem migrates to Ausone for overnight to do street sketches tomorrow, and returns the next morning for a general criticism. So if you'll amuse yourself——""I shall be quite comfortable, thanks. If anybody climbs the wall to pot me, we'll turn loose on 'em, this time—won't we, old girl?"—caressing Ariadne, who had returned to his knee.Half an hour afterward Warner went away in the wake of the Harem; and at the end of the second hour he gave them a final criticism before they started for Ausone.Much good it did them; but they adored it; they even adored his sarcasms. For the Harem truly worshiped this young man—a fact of which he remained uncomfortably conscious, timidly aware that warier men than he had been landed by maidens less adept than they.So it was with his usual sense of deep relief that he saluted the Harem, picked up his own kit and canvases, and wandered at hazard through a little poplar grove and out of it on the other edge.A wild meadow, deep with tasseled grasses and field flowers, stretched away before him, where swallows sailed and soared and skimmed—where blue lupin,bouton d'or, meadowsweet, and slender, silvery stems crowned with queen's lace grew tall, and the heliotrope perfume of hidden hawkweed scented every fitful little wind.But what immediately fixed his attention was a distant figure wading waist-deep amid the grasses—a slim, brilliant shape, which became oddly familiar as it drew nearer, moving forward with light and boyish grace, stirring within him vaguely agreeable recollections.Then, in spite of her peasant's dress, he recognized her; and he walked swiftly forward to meet her. The figure out there in the sunshine saw him coming and lifted one arm in distant recognition and salute.They met in mid-meadow, Warner and the girl Philippa.Her short skirt and low peasant bodice had faded to a rose-geranium tint; her white chemisette, laced with black, was open wide below the throat. Black velvet straps crossed it on the shoulders and around the cuffs. Her hair was tied with a big black silk bow."How in the world did you come to be here?" he asked, not yet releasing the eager, warm little hands so frankly clasped between both of his.Philippa laughed with sheerest happiness:"Figurez-vous, Monsieur. I have been punting since early morning; and when I found myself so near to Saïs I was ready to drop with heat and fatigue: 'Mais, n'importe! Allons!' I said to myself. 'Courage, little one! Very soon you shall see Mr. Warner painting a noble picture by the river!' Et puis——" She tightened her clasp on his hands with an adorable laugh, "Nous voici enfin ensemble—tous les deux—vous et moi! Et je suis bien content et bien fatiguée.""But, Philippa—how in the world do you propose to get back to Ausone tonight?"She shrugged, looked up as though protesting to the very skies:"I have this instant arrived, and his first inquiry is concerning my departure! That is not a very friendly welcome.""Philippa, Iamglad to see you——""It is time you said so——""I thought you understood——"The girl laughed:"I understand how glad I am to seeyou!" She looked about her in the sunshine, and touched a tall blossom of queen's lace with outstretched fingers."How heavenly beautiful is this world of God!" she said with that charming lack of self-consciousness which the skies of France seem to germinate even in aliens. "I am very glad to see you," she repeated abruptly, "and I am awaiting the expression of your sentiments.""Of course I am glad to see you, Philippa——""That makes me quite happy." She smiled on him and then looked curiously at his painting kit. "If you will choose your picture," she added, "I shall sit beside you and watch you at your painting. It will be agreeable. We can converse."So he chose a ferny spot at the wood's edge, pitched his field easel and camp stool, and opened his color box; and Philippa seated herself cross-legged on the short grass beside him, gathering both slim ankles into her hands.While he was fussing with his canvas, she sang to herself blithely, radiantly contented, rocking herself to and fro to the rhythm of her song:"'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The sun has setAnd a voice is calling meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the May wind's breath—Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the voice of Death!'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The moon has setAnd a white shape beckons meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the night wind's breath—Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the shape of Death!'"Singing away with the serene unconsciousness of a bird, rocking her lithe young body, and watching his every movement out of wide grey eyes, Philippa assisted at the artistic preparations with great content, missing nothing."To squeeze color from tubes must be amusing," she remarked. "I like to squeeze out tooth paste.""I am very sure," said Warner, "that you accomplish more charming results with your tooth paste than I do with my colors."The girl laughed, showing her snowy teeth:"Do you find them pretty, Monsieur?""Quite perfect, and therefore in keeping with the remainder of you, Philippa.""He really seems to mean it," she said, addressing a grasshopper which had alighted on her knee. And to Warner: "Is my face sufficiently scrubbed to suit you?"He glanced down at her:"You have kept your word, haven't you?""Ma foi! My word is my word.... Listen; I came to Saïs to see you; and partly because I have something to show you. It concerns your friend, I think.""Mr. Halkett?""Yes. After the fight in our cabaret there was much excitement, but when you had disappeared, and before the agents de police and the gendarmes arrived, I found on the floor under the overturned table a portfolio. In that portfolio was part of an unfinished letter. It is written in German. I could not read it; but, studying it, I recognized Mr. Halkett's name written several times. So I said nothing to anybody, but I have brought it. Here it is."She drew from her bosom a small leather pocketbook."Before you examine it," she continued, "I ought to tell you what really happened at the cabaret. Those men who attacked Mr. Halkett were in the employment of Monsieur Wildresse.""What!" exclaimed Warner."It is true. I was furious when I noticed them creeping up behind him. I realized instantly what they meant to do, and I cried out—too late. You ought to be told about this. Therefore, I came here to tell you."And I desire to tell you more. The three men who were seated across the hall, and who attempted to pick a quarrel with Mr. Halkett, were 'provocative agents'—Germans."Thepatronknew them and interfered. Besides, he had his own ideas and his own ends to serve just then."But I saw those three German agents whisper to a fourth—a stranger. And that man came and seated himself with three other men directly behind Mr. Halkett, where he stood while you were talking to me——""Philippa," he interrupted with blunt impatience, "I don't understand all this that you are saying to me. Give me that letter if it concerns Mr. Halkett."The girl colored painfully."Please don't speak rudely to me," she said. "I am trying to behave honestly——""I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak roughly. Please continue.""Yes; it is better you should know what happened before you read this letter. Well, then, the men who attacked Mr. Halkett naturally got away; the patron attended to that. Naturally, also, he desired to have people believe that the German agents were responsible for the fight, and they were, therefore, detained by Monsieur Wildresse and were asked for an explanation. Then they declared that Mr. Halkett was a British spy, and that they were Belgian police agents with full authority to arrest him in France. Which was a lie, of course, but it served its purpose by increasing the tumult.""Did they say that they were Belgians?""Yes. I heard them. They lied. There was much confusion and shouting—everybody crowding around and disputing. The three Germans pushed their way toward the door; nobody knew whether or not to stop them." She shrugged. "They were gone before people could make up their minds. And, as usual, the police came in too late. Now you know all there is to tell about what happened after you left the cabaret."Warner laid aside his brushes, looked curiously at the portfolio which she held out to him, hesitated, then opened it and drew out three pages of a letter in German, but written in English script. Evidently it was an unfinished fragment of a letter. He translated it rather freely and without any great difficulty:
CHAPTER VIII
Halkett looked curiously at this specimen of a poster which was already very familiar to him. The dead walls of northern and eastern France and Belgium had been plastered with such advertisements for the last year or two, extolling the Savon de Calypso. But what had recently interested Halkett in these soap advertisements was that posters, apparently exactly similar, appeared to differ considerably in detail when examined minutely.
The picture in this advertisement represented, as always, the nymph, Calypso, seated upon the grass, looking out over the sea where the sun shone in a cloudless sky upon a fleet of Grecian ships which were sailing away across the blue waves of the Ægean.
Where details varied was in the number of ships in the fleet, the number and grouping of sails, sea birds flying, of waves, and of clouds—when there were any of the latter—the number of little white or blue or pink blossoms in the grass, the height of the sun above the horizon line and the number and size of its rays.
There was always at least one ship—never more than a dozen; he had counted twenty white blossoms on some posters; varying numbers on others, of white, of blue, or of pink, but never less than three of any one color. Sometimes there were no sea birds.
As for the sun, sometimes it hung well above the ocean, often its yellow circle dipped into it, and then again only the rays spread fanlike above the horizon line.
[image]Savon de Calypso poster
[image]
[image]
Savon de Calypso poster
And concerning the nymph, her pose and costume did not seem to vary at all in the various poster specimens which he had seen; the wind was always blowing her red hair and white, transparent scarf; she always sat gazing laughingly seaward, one hand resting on the grass, the other clutching a cake of soap to her bosom.
Still examining the sheet of paper, he counted the white flowers scattered over the grass around the seated nymph. There weretenof them.
"Sister Eila," he said carelessly, "how many kilometers is it to the next town south of us? I mean by the military road."
"To Rosières-sous-Bois?"
"Yes."
"About ten kilometers by the military road."
He nodded and counted the ships. There were three.
"Is there more than one road which runs to Rosières-sous-Bois?" he asked.
"Yes. One may go by this road, or cross the bridge by the quarries and go by the river road, or there is still a better and shorter highway which runs west of Saïs."
"Then there arethreemain roads to Rosières-sous-Bois?"
"Yes. The road to the west is shorter. It is not more than seven miles that way."
Halkett casually counted the sea gulls. Seven gulls were flying around one of the ships; thirteen around another.
"And the river road, Sister?" he inquired.
"By the quarry bridge? Oh, that is longer—perhaps twelve or thirteen kilometers."
"I see.... Rosières-sous-Bois is not a garrison town?"
"No. There are only a few gendarmes there."
Halkett examined the picture attentively. The sun appeared to be about three hours high above the horizon.
"The nearest military post must be about three hours' journey from here," he ventured.
Sister Eila thought a moment, then nodded:
"Yes, about three hours. You mean the fort above the Pass of the Falcons? That is the nearest."
He counted the rays of the sun. There were three long ones and two short ones.
"I suppose there are three or four battalions garrisoned there," he remarked.
"Three, I think. And a company of engineers and one company of Alpine chasseurs."
All the time, with a detached air, the young Englishman was examining the colored poster, searching it minutely for variations from other posters of the same sort which he had recently investigated.
There remained in his mind little or no doubt that the number and position of the groups of pointed wavelets signified something important; that the number of sails set on the ships, which varied in every poster, contained further information; that the sky, cloudless in some posters, dotted with clouds in others, was destined to convey topographical particulars to somebody.
These colored advertisements of a soap made in Cologne by Bauermann and Company, and plastered over the landscape of Northern and Eastern Belgium and France, concealed a wealth of secret information for anybody who possessed the key to the messages so clearly and craftily expressed in pictograph and cipher code.
The sinister significance of the sheet in his hand was becoming more apparent every minute. He had made a study of these posters—was just beginning to find them interesting, when he had been ordered to America. Now, all his interest in them returned.
Sister Eila had seated herself at her desk, and, while he was still examining the poster, she continued serenely to correct the pile of inky copybooks.
He watched her for a while, where she bent above the scrawled pages, her pen poised, her lovely face framed in the snowy wimple under the pale shadow of her wide-winged coiffe.
"Sister Eila?"
She turned her head tranquilly.
"You are English, you tell me?"
"Irish." She smiled.
"It's the same. Tell me, have you had enough experience in your world of duty and of unhappiness to know an honest man when you encounter him?"
Sister Eila laid aside her pen and turned toward him.
"I don't think I understand," she said.
"I mean, could you make up your mind about—well—about such a man as I am—merely by inspecting me and hearing me speak?"
Sister Eila laughed:
"I think I could very easily."
"Have you already done so?"
"Why, yes, I suppose so."
"Do you think I am honest enough to be trusted?"
Sister Eila laughed again, deliciously.
"Yes, I think so," she said.
He remained silent and his face, already grave, grew more serious. Sister Eila's smile faded as she watched him. It was becoming very plain to her that here was a man in trouble.
Silent there together in the cool stillness of the schoolroom, they heard the distant clatter of little feet, the vigorous voice of command from Sister Félicité; and a moment later a double file of chattering children passed in the sunshine outside the window, led toward their noonday playground by Sister Félicité accompanied by Warner.
"What is on your mind, Mr. Halkett?" asked Sister Eila, still watching him.
"If I tell you," he said, "will you ask me no more than I offer to tell you?"
She flushed:
"Naturally, Monsieur——"
"You don't quite understand, Sister. What I have to say I wish you to write down for me in the form of a letter of information to the French Government."
"You wishmeto write it?"
"Please. And that is what I mean. Naturally, you might ask me why I do not write it myself.... Don't ask me, Sister.... If you really do trust me."
He turned, met her gaze, saw two clear, sweet eyes unspoiled and unsaddened by the wisdom she had learned in dark and wretched places; saw in them only a little wonder, a faintly questioning surprise.
"What is your answer, Sister?" he asked.
"My answer is—I—Idotrust you.... What am I to write?"
She took a few loose leaves of paper from the desk, and sat looking at him, pen lifted.
He said:
"Write to the chief of the general staff at the Ministry of War in Paris."
And when she had properly addressed the personage in question, he dictated his letter very slowly in English; and Sister Eila, her expressionless young face bent above the letter paper, translated into French as he dictated, and wrote down the exact meaning of every word he uttered:
"Information has come to me that the advertisements of Bauermann and Company, of Cologne, Prussia, which are posted everywhere throughout Belgium and Northern and Eastern France, conceal military and topographical details concerning the vicinity where these advertisements are displayed.
"Such information could be of use only to a prowling spy or an invading enemy.
"Therefore, acting upon the incomplete information offered me, I deem it my duty to bring this matter to the notice of the Government.
"It would appear that:
"1st. Secret information is contained in the details of the picture which embellishes this advertisement, a sample of which I inclose herewith.
"2nd. These details vary in every poster. Presumably their number, color, groupings, and general distribution constitute a secret code which is calculated to convey information to the enemies of France.
"3rd. In the sample which is inclosed with this letter, the number of ships probably represents the number of highways leading from Saïs to Rosières-sous-Bois; the sea gulls flying above two of the ships give the distance in kilometers; the ten white flowers give the distance by the military road.
"The sun, in the picture, appears to be about three hours high above the horizon; and it isthree hours'journey from here to the nearest French fortified post, the Pass of the Falcons in the Vosges.
"The rays of the sun are five in number, three long ones and two short ones; and there arethree battalionsof the line guarding the fort at the pass, andtwo companies, one of engineers, one of Alpine infantry.
"My informant, who desires to remain anonymous, further declares it to be his belief that an exhaustive study of this and similar posters would reveal perfectly clear messages in every detail of color, drawing, and letter-press; and that it is his firm conviction that these posters, representing a German firm which manufactures soap, have been placed throughout Belgium and France for the convenience of an invading army.
"Immediate removal of these advertisements seems advisable in the opinion of my informant.
"(Signed), SISTER EILA,
"Of the Daughters of St. Vincent de Paul at Saïs."
When she had finished the letter and had unhesitatingly signed it, she lifted her clear eyes to him in silence. Her breath came a trifle unevenly; the tint of excitement grew and waned in her cheeks.
"At least," he said, "you will understand that I am a friend to France."
"Yes, that is evident."
"Will you direct and seal the packet and give it to the postman?"
"Yes."
"And, Sister Eila, if they send gendarmes or other officials to question you?"
She looked straight into his eyes, deeply, so that her gaze seemed to plunge into the depths of his very soul.
Then, lifting the cross from the rosary at her girdle, she slipped out of her chair and knelt down beside her desk, her young head bent low over the crucifix which she held between the palms of her joined hands.
Halkett, head also lowered, stood motionless.
After a few moments she rose lightly from her knees.
"It is a vow, now," she said. "I have bound myself to silence concerning the source of my information—" her untroubled eyes rested again on his—"because I believe in you, Monsieur."
He started to speak, but seemed to find no word to utter. A bright color mounted to his brow; he turned abruptly from the desk and stepped toward the open door.
And the instant he appeared there, framed by the doorway, a shot rang out, knocking a cloud of stucco and plaster from the wall beside him.
CHAPTER IX
He shrank back flat against the wall, edged along it, and slipped swiftly inside the house. A thick veil of lime dust hung across the open doorway, gilded by the sunlight. Crumbs of plaster and mortar still fell to the schoolroom floor.
Through the heated silence of early afternoon he could hear the distant cries of the children from their playground; there was no other sound; nothing stirred; nobody came.
If Warner had noticed the shot at all, no doubt he supposed it to be the premature report of some piece. To the gaunt, furtive Vosges poacher no close season exists. If it did exist, he would cease to.
Halkett slowly turned his head and saw Sister Eila behind him. She had risen from her chair at the desk; now she came slowly forward, her deep, grey eyes fixed on him. But before she could take another step he laid his hand firmly on her wide, blue sleeve and forced her back into the room.
"Keep away from that door," he said quietly.
"Did somebody try to kill you?" she asked. Her voice was curious, but perfectly calm.
"I think so.... Don't show yourself near that door. They might not be able to distinguish their target at such a range."
"They? Who are 'they'?"
"Whoever fired.... I must ask you again to please keep out of range of that doorway——"
"The shot came from the river willows across the fields, did it not?" she interrupted.
"I'm very sure of it. You need not feel any anxiety for the children, Sister; I am going. There'll be no more shots."
"There is a door at the back by the kitchen yard, Mr. Halkett. They will not see you if you leave that way."
He stood thinking for a while; then:
"On your account, and on the children's, I'll have to show myself again when I leave the house, so that there'll be no mistake about my identity. Don't move until after I have gone some distance along the road. And please say to Mr. Warner that I've returned to the inn for luncheon——"
"There is a door in the rear! You must not show yourself——"
"Indeed, I must. Otherwise, they might mistake you or Sister Félicité or one of the children for me——"
"Mr. Halkett!" He had already started.
"Yes?" he replied, halting and glancing back; and found her already at his elbow.
"Why were you shot at?" she asked. "I desire to know."
He looked her straight in the eyes:
"I can't tell you why, Sister."
"You say you are English, and that you are a friend to France. If that is true, then tell me who shot at you! Do you know?"
"In a general way, I suppose I do know."
"Do you not trust a French Sister of Charity sufficiently to tell her?"
"What man would not trust a daughter of St. Vincent de Paul?" he said pleasantly.
"Then tell me. Perhaps I already guess. Has it to do with your knowledge of German advertisements?"
He was silent.
"You are evidently a British agent." Her deep, grey eyes grew more earnest. "You aremore!" she said, clasping her hands with sudden conviction. "I suspected it the first time I saw you——"
"Please do not say to anybody what it is that you suspect——"
"You are a British officer!" she exclaimed.
"Sister Eila; you could do me much harm by mentioning to others this belief of yours, or anything concerning this affair. And—do you remember that you once said you trusted me?"
"I said it—yes."
"Do you still have confidence in me?"
Their eyes met steadily.
"Yes," she said. "I believe you to be a friend to France, and to me." A slight flush edged the snowy wimple which framed the lovely oval of her face.
"Iamyour friend; and I am a friend to France—I say as much as that to you. I say it because of what you are, and because—you areyou. But ask me no more, Sister. For men of my profession there are confessionals as secret and as absolute in authority as those which shrive the soul."
He hesitated, his eyes shifted from her to the fresh flowers on the desk, which they had both gathered; he reached over and drew a white blossom from the glass.
"May I take it with me?"
She bent her head in silence.
Then he turned to go through the deadly doorway, carrying his flower in his hand; but, as he walked out into the sunshine, Sister Eila stepped swiftly in front of him, turned on the doorstep, screening him with extended arms.
"This is the best way," she said. "They ought to see quite clearly that I am a Sister of Charity, and they won't fire at me——"
But he tried to push her aside and spring past her:
"Stand clear of me, for God's sake!" he said.
"Wait——"
"Sister! Are you insane?"
"Youmust be, Mr. Halkett——"
"Keep away, I tell you——"
"Please don't be rough with me——"
He tried to avoid her, but her strong, young hands had caught both his wrists.
"They won't shoot at a Sister of Charity!" she repeated. "—And I shall not permit them to murder you! Be reasonable! I am not afraid."
She held on to his wrists, keeping always between him and the distant glimmer of the river:
"I shall walk to the road with you this way; don't try to shake me off; I am strong, I warn you!" She was even laughing now. "Please do not wriggle! Only schoolboys wriggle. Do you suppose I amafraid? Since when, Monsieur, have Sisters of Charity taken cover from the enemies of France?"
"This is shameful for me——"
"You behave, as I have said, like a very bad schoolboy, Mr. Halkett——"
He tried vainly to place himself between her and the river, but could not disengage her grasp without hurting her. Then, over his shoulder, he saw three men come out of the river willows.
"You shall not take this risk——" he insisted.
"Please listen——"
"I take no risk worth mentioning. It was you who would have walked out to face their fire—with that smile on your lips and a flower in your hand! Did you think that a Grey Sister would permit that? Soyez convenable, Monsieur. They will not fire while I am walking beside you." She looked over her shoulder. One of the men by the willows was raising a rifle.
They reached the highway at the same moment, and the roadside bank sheltered them. Here she released his arm.
"I beg you to be a little reasonable," she said. "You must leave Saïs at once. Promise me, Mr. Halkett——"
"I cannot."
"Why?"
"Sister, if I am really a soldier, as you suppose me to be, perhaps I have—orders—to remain at Saïs."
"Have you?" she asked frankly.
He turned and looked at her:
"Yes, little comrade."
"That is really serious."
"It must not cause you any anxiety. I shall 'wriggle'—as you say—out of this mess when the time comes. I may start tonight."
"For London? Do you wriggle as far as that?"
He said gravely:
"You know more about me now from my own lips than I would admit, even prompted by a firing squad. I trusted you even before you faced death for me on that doorstep a moment ago.Did you see that man come out of the willows and level his rifle at us?"
She said tranquilly:
"We daughters of St. Vincent de Paul never heed such things."
"I know you don't; I know what are your traditions. Many a Sister of your Order has fallen under rifle and shell fire on the battlefields of the world; many have died of the pest in hospitals; many have succumbed to exposure. The history of modern war is the history of the Grey Sisters. What you have just done, as a matter of course, is already part of that history. And so—" he looked down at her crucifix and rosary—"and so, Sister, and comrade, I shall tell you what it would not be possible for me to admit to any other living soul in France. Yes; Iama British officer on special and secret duty. I left the United States two weeks ago. Trouble began in Holland. I am now on my way to London. Orders came today halting me at Saïs. Enemies of France are annoying me—people who are becoming more desperate and more determined as the hours pass and the moment approaches swiftly when they can no longer hope to interfere with me. That moment will come when war is declared. It will be declared. I shall be very glad to arrive in England. Now I have told you almost everything, Sister Eila. My honor is in your keeping; my devotion is for my own country, for France—and for you."
"I have made one vow of silence," she said simply. "I shall make another—never to breathe one word of this."
"You need not. Just say to me that you will not speak."
Her lovely face became as solemn as a child's:
"I shall not speak, Mr. Halkett."
"That settles it," he said. "If it lay with me, I'd trust you with every secret in our War Office!" He checked himself, hesitated, then: "Sister Eila, if anything happens to me, go to Mr. Warner and ask him forthat envelope. There are sure to be British soldiers in France before very long. Give that envelope to some British officer."
After a moment she laughed:
"Englishmen are odd—odd! They are just boys. They are delightful. I shall do what you ask.... And there is your inn.... Am I tired?I? Vous plaisantez, Monsieur! But, Mr. Halkett, what would be the object in your walking back with me? I should only have to walk back here again with you! It would continuead infinitum."
They both laughed.
"When trouble finally comes, and if I am hit, I pray I may lie in your ward," he said gayly.
Her smile faded:
"I shall pray so, too," she said.
"I'd feel like a little boy safe in his own nursery," he added, still smiling.
"I am—happy—to have you think of me in that way." Her smile glimmered anew in her eyes. "I should be a devoted nurse." She made him a friendly little signal of adieu and turned away.
Hat in hand, he stood looking after the grey-blue figure under the snowy headdress.
At the turn of the road she looked back, saw him, still standing there; and again, from the distance, she made him a pretty gesture of caution and of farewell. Then the grassy bank hid her from view.
At the Inn of the Golden Peach, Warner's Harem was already lunching. Through the open windows of the dining-room came a discreet clatter of tableware and crockery, and a breezy, cheery tumult like the chatter in an aviary.
Halkett, not fancying it, went around the house to the quiet garden. Here he wandered to and fro among the trees or stood about aimlessly, looking down at the flower beds where, kneeling beside Sister Eila, he had aided her to fill her ozier basket.
Later Warner found him seated under the arbor with Ariadne on his knee; and a few moments afterward the maid, Linette, served their luncheon.
Neither of the young men was very communicative, but after the dishes and cloth had been removed, and when Halkett, musing over his cigarette and coffee, still exhibited no initiative toward conversation, Warner broke the silence:
"What about that shot?" he asked bluntly.
"What shot?"
"Don't you want to talk about it?"
Halkett glanced up, amused:
"Well, I suppose there was no hiding that bullet hole and the plaster dust from Sister Félicité."
"Of course not. The bullet ripped out the lathing. Who was it fired at the school? Or was it at you they let go?"
"Didn't you ask Sister Eila?"
"I did. She absolutely refused to discuss it, and referred us both to you. It was no accident, was it?"
"No."
"Somebody tried to getyou?"
"It rather looked that way."
"Our friends in the grey car, of course!" concluded Warner.
"Not necessarily.Theyhave other friends who might be equally attentive to me. I don't know who shot at me. There were three of them over by the river."
"Well, Halkett, don't you think you had better remain indoors for a while?"
"I'd better, I suppose." He laughed. "Honestly, I'm sick of being shot at. One of these days they'll hit me, if they're not very careful."
But Warner did not smile.
"Do you promise to stay indoors?" he insisted.
"I'll see. Perhaps."
"Don't you think it advisable for you to carry some sort of a firearm—one of my automatics, for example?"
"Thanks, old fellow. I think I'll do that, if you can spare a section of your artillery for a day or two."
Warner promptly fished an automatic out of his hip pocket, and Halkett took it and examined it.
"So I'm to do the Wild West business after all," he said gayly. "Right you are, old chap. I know how it's done; I've read about it in your novels. You wait till your enemy takes a drop, then you get the drop!" He laughed at his British joke. And, having no hip pocket, he stowed away the lumpy bluish weapon in a side pocket of his coat.
"Now, don't let me interfere with your daily routine," he continued. "I shall do very well here in the arbor while you lead your Harem toward the Olympian heights."
"Sometimes I feel like pushing 'em off those cliffs," muttered Warner. "All right; I fancy you'll be snug enough in the garden, here with Ariadne, till I return. We shall have the whole house to ourselves after dinner. The Harem migrates to Ausone for overnight to do street sketches tomorrow, and returns the next morning for a general criticism. So if you'll amuse yourself——"
"I shall be quite comfortable, thanks. If anybody climbs the wall to pot me, we'll turn loose on 'em, this time—won't we, old girl?"—caressing Ariadne, who had returned to his knee.
Half an hour afterward Warner went away in the wake of the Harem; and at the end of the second hour he gave them a final criticism before they started for Ausone.
Much good it did them; but they adored it; they even adored his sarcasms. For the Harem truly worshiped this young man—a fact of which he remained uncomfortably conscious, timidly aware that warier men than he had been landed by maidens less adept than they.
So it was with his usual sense of deep relief that he saluted the Harem, picked up his own kit and canvases, and wandered at hazard through a little poplar grove and out of it on the other edge.
A wild meadow, deep with tasseled grasses and field flowers, stretched away before him, where swallows sailed and soared and skimmed—where blue lupin,bouton d'or, meadowsweet, and slender, silvery stems crowned with queen's lace grew tall, and the heliotrope perfume of hidden hawkweed scented every fitful little wind.
But what immediately fixed his attention was a distant figure wading waist-deep amid the grasses—a slim, brilliant shape, which became oddly familiar as it drew nearer, moving forward with light and boyish grace, stirring within him vaguely agreeable recollections.
Then, in spite of her peasant's dress, he recognized her; and he walked swiftly forward to meet her. The figure out there in the sunshine saw him coming and lifted one arm in distant recognition and salute.
They met in mid-meadow, Warner and the girl Philippa.
Her short skirt and low peasant bodice had faded to a rose-geranium tint; her white chemisette, laced with black, was open wide below the throat. Black velvet straps crossed it on the shoulders and around the cuffs. Her hair was tied with a big black silk bow.
"How in the world did you come to be here?" he asked, not yet releasing the eager, warm little hands so frankly clasped between both of his.
Philippa laughed with sheerest happiness:
"Figurez-vous, Monsieur. I have been punting since early morning; and when I found myself so near to Saïs I was ready to drop with heat and fatigue: 'Mais, n'importe! Allons!' I said to myself. 'Courage, little one! Very soon you shall see Mr. Warner painting a noble picture by the river!' Et puis——" She tightened her clasp on his hands with an adorable laugh, "Nous voici enfin ensemble—tous les deux—vous et moi! Et je suis bien content et bien fatiguée."
"But, Philippa—how in the world do you propose to get back to Ausone tonight?"
She shrugged, looked up as though protesting to the very skies:
"I have this instant arrived, and his first inquiry is concerning my departure! That is not a very friendly welcome."
"Philippa, Iamglad to see you——"
"It is time you said so——"
"I thought you understood——"
The girl laughed:
"I understand how glad I am to seeyou!" She looked about her in the sunshine, and touched a tall blossom of queen's lace with outstretched fingers.
"How heavenly beautiful is this world of God!" she said with that charming lack of self-consciousness which the skies of France seem to germinate even in aliens. "I am very glad to see you," she repeated abruptly, "and I am awaiting the expression of your sentiments."
"Of course I am glad to see you, Philippa——"
"That makes me quite happy." She smiled on him and then looked curiously at his painting kit. "If you will choose your picture," she added, "I shall sit beside you and watch you at your painting. It will be agreeable. We can converse."
So he chose a ferny spot at the wood's edge, pitched his field easel and camp stool, and opened his color box; and Philippa seated herself cross-legged on the short grass beside him, gathering both slim ankles into her hands.
While he was fussing with his canvas, she sang to herself blithely, radiantly contented, rocking herself to and fro to the rhythm of her song:
"'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The sun has setAnd a voice is calling meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the May wind's breath—Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the voice of Death!'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The moon has setAnd a white shape beckons meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the night wind's breath—Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the shape of Death!'"
"'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The sun has setAnd a voice is calling meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the May wind's breath—Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the voice of Death!
"'Hussar en vedette,
What do you see?
The sun has set
The sun has set
And a voice is calling me
Across the Récollette,
Where the scented rushes fret
In the May wind's breath—
Et garde à vous, Hussar!
Et garde à vous, Hussar!
'Tis the voice of Death!
'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The moon has setAnd a white shape beckons meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the night wind's breath—Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the shape of Death!'"
'Hussar en vedette,
'Hussar en vedette,
What do you see?
The moon has set
The moon has set
And a white shape beckons me
Across the Récollette,
Where the scented rushes fret
In the night wind's breath—
Et garde à vous, Hussar!
Et garde à vous, Hussar!
'Tis the shape of Death!'"
Singing away with the serene unconsciousness of a bird, rocking her lithe young body, and watching his every movement out of wide grey eyes, Philippa assisted at the artistic preparations with great content, missing nothing.
"To squeeze color from tubes must be amusing," she remarked. "I like to squeeze out tooth paste."
"I am very sure," said Warner, "that you accomplish more charming results with your tooth paste than I do with my colors."
The girl laughed, showing her snowy teeth:
"Do you find them pretty, Monsieur?"
"Quite perfect, and therefore in keeping with the remainder of you, Philippa."
"He really seems to mean it," she said, addressing a grasshopper which had alighted on her knee. And to Warner: "Is my face sufficiently scrubbed to suit you?"
He glanced down at her:
"You have kept your word, haven't you?"
"Ma foi! My word is my word.... Listen; I came to Saïs to see you; and partly because I have something to show you. It concerns your friend, I think."
"Mr. Halkett?"
"Yes. After the fight in our cabaret there was much excitement, but when you had disappeared, and before the agents de police and the gendarmes arrived, I found on the floor under the overturned table a portfolio. In that portfolio was part of an unfinished letter. It is written in German. I could not read it; but, studying it, I recognized Mr. Halkett's name written several times. So I said nothing to anybody, but I have brought it. Here it is."
She drew from her bosom a small leather pocketbook.
"Before you examine it," she continued, "I ought to tell you what really happened at the cabaret. Those men who attacked Mr. Halkett were in the employment of Monsieur Wildresse."
"What!" exclaimed Warner.
"It is true. I was furious when I noticed them creeping up behind him. I realized instantly what they meant to do, and I cried out—too late. You ought to be told about this. Therefore, I came here to tell you.
"And I desire to tell you more. The three men who were seated across the hall, and who attempted to pick a quarrel with Mr. Halkett, were 'provocative agents'—Germans.
"Thepatronknew them and interfered. Besides, he had his own ideas and his own ends to serve just then.
"But I saw those three German agents whisper to a fourth—a stranger. And that man came and seated himself with three other men directly behind Mr. Halkett, where he stood while you were talking to me——"
"Philippa," he interrupted with blunt impatience, "I don't understand all this that you are saying to me. Give me that letter if it concerns Mr. Halkett."
The girl colored painfully.
"Please don't speak rudely to me," she said. "I am trying to behave honestly——"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak roughly. Please continue."
"Yes; it is better you should know what happened before you read this letter. Well, then, the men who attacked Mr. Halkett naturally got away; the patron attended to that. Naturally, also, he desired to have people believe that the German agents were responsible for the fight, and they were, therefore, detained by Monsieur Wildresse and were asked for an explanation. Then they declared that Mr. Halkett was a British spy, and that they were Belgian police agents with full authority to arrest him in France. Which was a lie, of course, but it served its purpose by increasing the tumult."
"Did they say that they were Belgians?"
"Yes. I heard them. They lied. There was much confusion and shouting—everybody crowding around and disputing. The three Germans pushed their way toward the door; nobody knew whether or not to stop them." She shrugged. "They were gone before people could make up their minds. And, as usual, the police came in too late. Now you know all there is to tell about what happened after you left the cabaret."
Warner laid aside his brushes, looked curiously at the portfolio which she held out to him, hesitated, then opened it and drew out three pages of a letter in German, but written in English script. Evidently it was an unfinished fragment of a letter. He translated it rather freely and without any great difficulty: