"Your plan?"
"I haven't one. Everything will depend on circumstances; but I am convinced that I am on the right track."
In fact all his surmises were proving to be correct. In ten minutes they reached a space where another tunnel, also supplied with rails, branched off to the right.
"Second turning," said Paul. "Corvigny Road. It was down here that the Germans marched to the town and took our troops by surprise before they even had time to assemble; it was down here that the peasant-woman went who accosted you in the evening. The outlet must be at some distance from the town, perhaps in a farm belonging to the supposed peasant-woman."
"And the third turning?" said Bernard.
"Here it is."
"Another staircase?"
"Yes; and I have no doubt that it leads to the chapel. We may safely presume that, on the day when my father was murdered, the Emperor had come to examine the works which he had ordered and which were being executed under the supervision of the woman who accompanied him. The chapel, which at that time was not inside the walls of the park, is evidently one of the exits from the secret network of roads of which we are following the main thoroughfare."
Paul saw two more of these ramifications, which, judging from their position and direction, must issue near the frontier, thus completing a marvelous system of espionage and invasion.
"It's wonderful," said Bernard. "It's admirable. If this isn't Kultur, I should like to know what is. One can see that these people have the true sense of war. The idea of digging for twenty years at a tunnel intended for the possible bombardment of a tiny fortress would never have occurred to a Frenchman. It needs a degree of civilization to which we can't lay claim. Did you ever know such beggars!"
His enthusiasm increased still further when he observed that the roof of the tunnel was supplied with ventilating-shafts. But at last Paul enjoined him to keep silent or to speak in a whisper:
"You can imagine that, as they thought fit topreserve their lines of communication, they must have done something to make them unserviceable to the French. Èbrecourt is not far off. Perhaps there are listening-posts, sentries posted at the right places. These people leave nothing to chance."
One thing that lent weight to Paul's remark was the presence, between the rails, of those cast-iron slabs which covered the chambers of mines laid in advance, so that they could be exploded by electricity. The first was numbered five, the second four; and so on. Paul and Bernard avoided them carefully; and this delayed their progress, for they no longer dared switch on their lamps except at brief intervals.
At about seven o'clock they heard or rather they seemed to hear confused sounds of life and movement on the ground overhead. They felt deeply moved. The soil above them was German soil; and the echo brought the sounds of German life.
"It's curious, you know, that the tunnel isn't better watched and that we have been able to come so far without accident."
"We'll give them a bad mark for that," said Bernard. "Kultur has made a slip."
Meanwhile a brisker draught blew along the walls. The outside air entered in cool gusts; and they suddenly saw a distant light through the darkness. It was stationary. Everything around it seemed still, as though it were one of those fixed signals which are put up near a railway.
When they came closer, they perceived that it was the light of an electric arc-lamp, that it was burning inside a shed standing at the exit of the tunnel and its rays were cast upon great white cliffs and upon little mounds of sand and pebbles.
Paul whispered:
"Those are quarries. By placing the entrance to their tunnel there, they were able to continue their works in time of peace without attracting attention. You may be sure that those so-called quarries were worked very discreetly, in a compound to which the workmen were confined."
"What Kultur!" Bernard repeated.
He felt Paul's hand grip his arm. Something had passed in front of the light, like a shadow rising and falling immediately after.
With infinite caution they crawled up to the shed and raised themselves until their eyes were on a level with the windows. Inside were half a dozen soldiers, all lying down, or rather sprawling one across the other, among empty bottles, dirty plates, greasy paper wrappers and remnants of broken victuals. They were the men told off to guard the tunnel; and they were dead-drunk.
"More Kultur," said Bernard.
"We're in luck," said Paul, "and I now understand why the watch is so ill-kept: this is Sunday."
There was a telegraph-apparatus on a table and a telephone on the wall; and Paul saw under a glass case a switch-board with five brass handles, whichevidently corresponded by electric wires with the five mine-chambers in the tunnel.
When they passed on, Bernard and Paul continued to follow the rails along the bed of a narrow channel, hollowed out of the rock, which led them to an open space bright with many lights. A whole village lay before them, consisting of barracks inhabited by soldiers whom they saw moving to and fro. They went outside it. They then noticed the sound of a motor-car and the blinding rays of two head-lights; and, after climbing a fence and passing through a shrubbery, they saw a large villa lit up from top to bottom.
The car stopped in front of the doorstep, where some footmen were standing, as well as a guard of soldiers. Two officers and a lady wrapped in furs alighted. When the car turned, the lights revealed a large garden, contained within very high walls.
"It is just as I thought," said Paul. "This forms the counterpart of the Château d'Ornequin. At either end there are strong walls which allow work to be done unobserved by prying eyes. The terminus is in the open air here, instead of underground, as it is down there; but at least the quarries, the work-yards, the barracks, the garrison, the villa belonging to the staff, the garden, the stables, all this military organization is surrounded by walls and no doubt guarded on the outside by sentries. That explains why one is able to move about so freely inside."
At that moment, a second motor-car set down three officers and then joined the other in the coach-house.
"There's a dinner-party on," said Bernard.
They resolved to approach as near as they could, under cover of the thick clumps of shrubs planted along the carriage-drive which surrounded the house.
They waited for some time; and then, from the sound of voices and laughter that came from the ground-floor, at the back, they concluded that this must be the scene of the banquet and that the guests were sitting down to dinner. There were bursts of song, shouts of applause. Outside, nothing stirred. The garden was deserted.
"The place seems quiet," said Paul. "I shall ask you to give me a leg up and to keep hidden yourself."
"You want to climb to the ledge of one of the windows? What about the shutters?"
"I don't expect they're very close. You can see the light shining through the middle."
"Well, but why are you doing it? There is no reason to bother about this house more than any other."
"Yes, there is. You yourself told me that one of the wounded prisoners said Prince Conrad had taken up his quarters in a villa outside Èbrecourt. Now this one, standing in the middle of a sort of entrenched camp and at the entrance to the tunnel, seems to me marked out. . . ."
"Not to mention this really princely dinner-party," said Bernard, laughing. "You're right. Up you go."
They crossed the walk. With Bernard's assistance, Paul was easily able to grip the ledge above the basement floor and to hoist himself to the stone balcony.
"That's it," he said. "Go back to where we were and whistle in case of danger."
After bestriding the balustrade, he carefully loosened one of the shutters by passing first his fingers and then his hand through the intervening space; and he succeeded in unfastening the bolt. The curtains, being crossed inside, enabled him to move about unseen; but they were open at the top, leaving an inverted triangle through which he could see by climbing on to the balustrade.
He did so and then bent forward and looked.
The sight that met his eyes was such and gave him so horrible a blow that his legs began to shake beneath him. . . .
A table running parallel with the three windows of the room. An incredible collection of bottles, decanters and glasses, hardly leaving room for the dishes of cake and fruit. Ornamental side-dishes flanked by bottles of champagne. A basket of flowers surrounded by liqueur-bottles.
Twenty persons were seated at table, including half-a-dozen women in low-necked dresses. The others were officers, covered with gold lace and orders.
In the middle, facing the window, sat Prince Conrad, presiding over the banquet, with a lady on his right and another on his left. And it was the sight of these three, brought together in the most improbable defiance of the logic of things, that caused Paul to undergo a torture which was renewed from moment to moment.
That one of the two women should be there, on the prince's right, sitting stiff-backed in her plum-colored stuff gown, with a black-lace scarf half-hiding her short hair, was easy to understand. Butthe other woman, to whom Prince Conrad kept turning with a clumsy affectation of gallantry, that woman whom Paul contemplated with horror-struck eyes and whom he would have liked to strangle where she sat, what was she doing there? What was Élisabeth doing in the midst of those tipsy officers and dubious German women, beside Prince Conrad and beside the monstrous creature who was pursuing her with her hatred?
The Comtesse Hermine d'Andeville! Élisabeth d'Andeville! The mother and the daughter! There was no plausible argument that would allow Paul to apply any other description to the prince's two companions. And something happened to give this description its full value of hideous reality when, a moment later, Prince Conrad rose to his feet, with a glass of champagne in his hand, and shouted:
"Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!Here's to the health of our very wideawake friend!"
"Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!" shouted the band of guests. "The Comtesse Hermine!"
She took up a glass, emptied it at a draught and began to make a speech which Paul could not hear, while the others did their best to listen with a fervent attention which was all the more meritorious in view of their copious libations.
And Élisabeth also sat and listened. She was wearing a gray gown which Paul knew well, quite a simple frock, cut very high in the neck and with sleeves that came down to her wrists. But from herthroat a wonderful necklace, consisting of four rows of large pearls, hung over her bodice; and this necklace Paul did not know.
"The wretch! The wretch!" he spluttered.
She was smiling. Yes, he saw on the younger woman's lips a smile provoked by something that Prince Conrad said as he bent over her. And the prince gave such a boisterous laugh that the Comtesse Hermine, who was still speaking, called him to order by tapping him on the hand with her fan.
The whole scene was a horrible one for Paul; and he suffered such scorching anguish that his one idea was to get away, to see no more, to abandon the struggle and to drive this hateful wife of his out of his life and out of his memory.
"She is a true daughter of the Comtesse Hermine," he thought, in despair.
He was on the point of going, when a little incident held him back. Élisabeth raised to her eyes a handkerchief which she held crumpled in the hollow of her hand and furtively wiped away a tear that was ready to flow. At the same time he perceived that she was terribly pale, not with a factitious pallor, which until then he had attributed to the crudeness of the light, but with a real and deathly pallor. It was as though all the blood had fled from her poor face. And, after all, what a melancholy smile was that which had twisted her lips in response to the prince's jest!
"But then what is she doing here?" Paul askedhimself. "Am I not entitled to regard her as guilty and to suppose that her tears are due to remorse? She has become cowardly through fear, threats and the wish to live; and now she is crying."
He continued to insult her in his thoughts; but gradually he felt a great pity steal over him for the woman who had not had the strength to endure her intolerable trials.
Meanwhile, the Comtesse Hermine made an end of her speech. She drank again, swallowing bumper after bumper and each time flinging her glass behind her. The officers and their women followed her example. EnthusiasticHochswere raised from every side; and, in a drunken fit of patriotism, the prince got on his feet and struck up "Deutschland über Alles," the others joining in the chorus with a sort of frenzy.
Élisabeth had put her elbows on the table and her hands before her face, as though trying to isolate herself from her surroundings. But the prince, still standing and bawling, took her two arms and brutally forced them apart:
"None of your monkey-tricks, pretty one!"
She gave a movement of repulsion which threw him beside himself.
"What's all this? Sulking? And blubbering? A nice thing! And, bless my soul, what do I see? Madame's glass is full!"
He took the glass and, with a shaky hand, put it to Élisabeth's lips:
"Drink my health, child! The health of your lord and master! What's this? You refuse? . . . Ah, I see, you don't like champagne! Quite right! Down with champagne! What you want is hock, good Rhine wine, eh, baby? You're thinking of one of your country's songs: 'We held it once, your German Rhine! It babbled in our brimming glass!' Rhine wine, there!"
With one movement, the officers rose and started shouting:
Die Wacht am Rhein
"They shall not have our German Rhine,Tho' like a flock of hungry crowsThey shriek their lust . . ."
"They shall not have our German Rhine,Tho' like a flock of hungry crowsThey shriek their lust . . ."
"No, they shan't have it," rejoined the prince, angrily, "but you shall drink it, little one!"
Another glass had been filled. Once more he tried to force Élisabeth to lift it to her lips; and, when she pushed it away, he began to whisper in her ear, while the wine dribbled over her dress.
Everybody was silent, waiting to see what would happen. Élisabeth turned paler than ever, but did not move. The prince, leaning over her, showed the face of a brute who alternately threatens, pleads, commands and insults. It was a heart-rending sight. Paul would have given his life to see Élisabeth yield to a fit of disgust and stab her insulter. Instead of that, she threw back her head, closed her eyes andhalf-swooning, accepted the chalice and swallowed a few mouthfuls.
The prince gave a shout of triumph as he waved the glass on high; then he put his lips, avidly, to the place at which she had drunk and emptied it at a draught.
"Hoch! Hoch!" he roared. "Up, comrades! Every one on his chair, with one foot on the table! Up, conquerors of the world! Sing the strength of Germany! Sing German gallantry!
"'The Rhine, the free, the German RhineThey shall not have while gallant boysStill tell of love to slender maids. . . .'
"'The Rhine, the free, the German RhineThey shall not have while gallant boysStill tell of love to slender maids. . . .'
"Élisabeth, I have drunk Rhine wine from your glass. Élisabeth, I know what you are thinking. Her thoughts are of love, my comrades! I am the master! Oh, Parisienne! . . . You dear little Parisienne! . . . It's Paris we want! . . . Oh, Paris, Paris! . . ."
His foot slipped. The glass fell from his hand and smashed against the neck of a bottle. He dropped on his knees on the table, amid a crash of broken plates and glasses, seized a flask of liqueur and rolled to the floor, stammering:
"We want Paris. . . . Paris and Calais. . . . Papa said so. . . . The Arc de Triomphe! . . . The Café Anglais! . . . Acabinet particulierat the Café Anglais! . . ."
The uproar suddenly stopped. The Comtesse Hermine's imperious voice was raised in command:
"Go away, all of you! Go home! And be quick about it, gentlemen, if you please."
The officers and the ladies soon made themselves scarce. Outside, on the other side of the house, there was a great deal of whistling. The cars at once drove up from the garage. A general departure took place.
Meanwhile the Countess had beckoned to the servants and, pointing to Prince Conrad, said:
"Carry him to his room."
The prince was removed at once. Then the Comtesse Hermine went up to Élisabeth.
Not five minutes had elapsed since the prince rolled under the table; and, after the din of the banquet, a great silence reigned in the disorderly room where the two women were now by themselves. Élisabeth had once more hidden her head in her hands and was weeping violently with sobs that shook her shoulders. The Comtesse Hermine sat down beside her and gently touched her on the arm.
The two women looked at each other without a word. It was a strange glance that they exchanged, a glance laden with mutual hatred. Paul did not take his eyes from them. As he watched the two of them, he could not doubt that they had met before and that the words which they were about to speak were but the sequel and conclusion of some earlierdiscussion. But what discussion? And what did Élisabeth know of the Comtesse Hermine? Did she accept that woman, for whom she felt such loathing, as her mother?
Never were two human beings distinguished by a greater difference in physical appearance and above all by expressions of face denoting more opposite natures. And yet how powerful was the series of proofs that linked them together! These were no longer proofs, but rather the factors of so actual a reality that Paul did not even dream of discussing them. Besides, M. d'Andeville's confusion when confronted with the countess' photograph, a photograph taken in Berlin some years after her pretended death, showed that M. d'Andeville was an accessory to that pretended death and perhaps an accessory to many other things.
And Paul came back to the question provoked by the agonizing encounter between the mother and daughter: what did Élisabeth know of it all? What insight had she been able to obtain into the whole monstrous conglomeration of shame, infamy, treachery and crime? Was she accusing her mother? And, feeling herself crushed under the weight of the crimes, did she hold her responsible for her own lack of courage?
"Yes, of course she does," thought Paul. "But why so much hatred? There is a hatred between them which only death can quench. And the longing to kill is perhaps even more violent in the eyes ofÉlisabeth than in those of the woman who has come to kill her."
Paul felt this impression so keenly that he really expected one or the other to take some immediate action; and he began to cast about for a means of saving Élisabeth. But an utterly unforeseen thing happened. The Comtesse Hermine took from her pocket one of those large road-maps which motorists use, placed her finger at one spot, followed the red line of a road to another spot and, stopping, spoke a few words that seemed to drive Élisabeth mad with delight.
She seized the countess by the arm and began to talk to her feverishly, in words interrupted by alternate laughing and sobbing, while the countess nodded her head and seemed to be saying:
"That's all right. . . . We are agreed. . . . Everything shall be as you wish. . . ."
Paul thought that Élisabeth was actually going to kiss her enemy's hand, for she seemed overcome with joy and gratitude; and he was anxiously wondering into what new trap the poor thing had fallen, when the countess rose, walked to a door and opened it.
She beckoned to some one outside and then came back again.
A man entered, dressed in uniform. And Paul now understood. The man whom the Comtesse Hermine was admitting was Karl the spy, her confederate, the agent of her designs, the man whom shewas entrusting with the task of killing Élisabeth, whose last hour had struck.
Karl bowed. The Comtesse Hermine introduced the man to Élisabeth and then, pointing to the road and the two places on the map, explained what was expected of him. He took out his watch and made a gesture as though to say:
"It shall be done at such-and-such a time."
Thereupon, at the countess' suggestion, Élisabeth left the room.
Although Paul had not caught a single word of what was said, this brief scene was, for him, pregnant with the plainest and most terrifying significance. The countess, using her absolute power and taking advantage of the fact that Prince Conrad was asleep, was proposing a plan of escape to Élisabeth, doubtless a flight by motor-car, towards a spot in the neighboring district thought out in advance. Élisabeth was accepting this unhoped-for deliverance. And the flight would take place under the management and protection of Karl!
The trap was so well-laid and Élisabeth, driven mad with suffering, was rushing into it so confidently that the two accomplices, on being left alone, looked at each other and laughed. The trick was really too easy; and there was no merit in succeeding under such conditions.
There next took place between them, even before any explanation was entered into, a short pantomime: two movements, no more; but they were marked with diabolical cynicism. With his eyes fixed on the countess, Karl the spy opened his jacket and drew a dagger half-way out of its sheath. The countess made a sign of disapproval and handed the scoundrel a little bottle which he took with a shrug of the shoulders, apparently saying:
"As you please! It's all the same to me!"
Then, sitting side by side, they embarked on a lively conversation, the countess giving her instructions, while Karl expressed his approval or his dissent.
Paul had a feeling that, if he did not master his dismay, if he did not stop the disordered beating of his heart, Élisabeth was lost. To save her, he must keep his brain absolutely clear and take immediate resolutions, as circumstances demanded, without giving himself time to reflect or hesitate. And these resolutions he could only take at a venture and perhaps erroneously, because he did not really know the enemy's plans. Nevertheless he cocked his revolver.
He was at that moment presuming that, when Élisabeth was ready to start, she would return to the room and go away with the spy; but presently the countess struck a bell on the table and spoke a few words to the servant who appeared. The man went out. Paul heard two whistles, followed by the hum of an approaching motor.
Karl looked through the open door and down thepassage. Then he turned to the countess, as though to say:
"Here she is. . . . She's coming down the stairs. . . ."
Paul now understood that Élisabeth would go straight to the car and that Karl would join her there. If so, it was a case for immediate action.
For a second he remained undecided. Should he take advantage of the fact that Karl was still there, burst into the room and shoot both him and the countess dead? It would mean saving Élisabeth, because it was only those two miscreants who had designs upon her life. But he dreaded the failure of so daring an attempt and, jumping from the balcony, he called Bernard.
"Élisabeth is going off in a motor-car. Karl is with her and has been told to poison her. Get out your revolver and come with me."
"What do you intend to do?"
"We shall see."
They went round the villa, slipping through the bushes that bordered the drive. The whole place, moreover, was deserted.
"Listen," said Bernard, "there's a car going off."
Paul, at first greatly alarmed, protested:
"No, no, it's only the noise of the engine."
In fact, when they came within sight of the front of the house, they saw at the foot of the steps a closed car surrounded by a group of some dozensoldiers. Its head-lamps, while lighting up one part of the garden, left the spot where Paul and Bernard stood in darkness.
A woman came down the steps and disappeared inside the car.
"Élisabeth," said Paul. "And here comes Karl. . . ."
The spy stopped on the bottom step and gave his orders to the soldier who acted as chauffeur. Paul caught a syllable here and there.
Their departure was imminent. Another moment and, if Paul raised no obstacle, the car would carry off the assassin and his victim. It was a horrible minute, for Paul Delroze felt all the danger attending an interference which would not even possess the merit of being effective, since Karl's death would not prevent the Comtesse Hermine from pursuing her ends.
Bernard whispered:
"Surely you don't mean to carry away Élisabeth? There's a whole picket of sentries there."
"I mean to do only one thing, to do for Karl."
"And then?"
"Then they'll take us prisoners. We shall be questioned, cross-examined; there will be a scandal. Prince Conrad will take the matter up."
"And we shall be shot. I confess that your plan . . ."
"Can you propose a better one?"
He broke off. Karl the spy had flown into a rageand was storming at his chauffeur; and Paul heard him shout:
"You damned ass! You're always doing it! No petrol. . . . Where do you think we shall find petrol in the middle of the night? There's some in the garage, is there? Then run and fetch it, you fat-head! . . . And where's my fur-coat? You've forgotten it? Go and get it at once. I shall drive the car myself. I've no use for fools like you! . . ."
The soldier started running. And Paul at once observed that he himself would be able to reach the garage, of which he saw the lights, without having to leave the protecting darkness.
"Come," he said to Bernard. "I have an idea: you'll see what it is."
With the sound of their footsteps deadened by a grassy lawn, they made for that part of the out-houses containing the stables and motor-sheds, which they were able to enter unseen by those without. The soldier was in a back-room, the door of which was open. From their hiding-place they saw him take from a peg a great goat-skin coat, which he threw over his shoulder, and lay hold of four tins of petrol. Thus laden, he left the back-room and passed in front of Paul and Bernard.
The trick was soon done. Before he had time to cry out, he was knocked down, rendered motionless and gagged.
"That's that," said Paul. "Now give me hisgreat-coat and his cap. I would rather have avoided this disguise; but, if you want to be sure of a thing, you mustn't stick at the means."
"Then you're going to risk it?" asked Bernard. "Suppose Karl doesn't recognize his chauffeur?"
"He won't even think of looking at him."
"But if he speaks to you?"
"I shan't answer. Besides, once we are outside the grounds, I shall have nothing to fear from him."
"And what am I to do?"
"You? Bind your prisoner carefully and lock him up in some safe place. Then go back to the shrubbery beyond the window with the balcony. I hope to join you there with Élisabeth some time during the middle of the night; and we shall simply have to go back by the tunnel. If by accident you don't see me return . . ."
"Well?"
"Well, then go back alone before it gets light."
"But . . ."
Paul was already moving away. He was in the mood in which a man refuses to consider the actions which he has decided to perform. Moreover, the event seemed to prove that he was right. Karl received him with abusive language, but without paying the least attention to this supernumerary for whom he could not show enough contempt. The spy put on his fur-coat, sat down at the wheel and began tohandle the levers while Paul took his seat beside him.
The car was starting, when a voice from the doorstep called, in a tone of command:
"Karl! Stop!"
Paul felt a moment's anxiety. It was the Comtesse Hermine. She went up to the spy and, lowering her voice, said, in French:
"I want you, Karl, to be sure . . . But your driver doesn't know French, does he?"
"He hardly knows German,Excellenz. He's an idiot. You can speak freely."
"What I was going to say is, don't use more than ten drops out of the bottle, else. . . ."
"Very well,Excellenz. Anything more?"
"Write to me in a week's time if everything has gone off well. Write to our Paris address and not before: it would be useless."
"Then you're going back to France,Excellenz?"
"Yes, my plan is ripe."
"The same plan?"
"Yes. The weather is in our favor. It has been raining for days and the staff have told me that they mean to act on their side. So I shall be there to-morrow evening; and it will only need a touch of the thumb . . ."
"That's it, a touch of the thumb, no more. I've worked at it myself and everything's ready. But you spoke to me of another plan, to complete the first; and I confess that that one . . ."
"It's got to be done. Luck is turning against us. If I succeed, it will be the end of the run on the black."
"And have you the Kaiser's consent?"
"I didn't ask for it. It's one of those undertakings one doesn't talk about."
"But this one is terribly dangerous,Excellenz."
"Can't be helped."
"Sha'n't you want me over there,Excellenz?"
"No. Get rid of the chit for us. That will be enough for the present. Good-bye."
"Good-bye,Excellenz."
The spy released the brakes. The car started.
The drive which ran round the central lawn led to a lodge which stood beside the garden-gate and which served as a guard-room. The high walls surrounding the grounds rose on either side of it.
An officer came out of the lodge. Karl gave the pass-word, "Hohenstaufen." The gate was opened and the motor dashed down a high-road which first passed through the little town of Èbrecourt and next wound among low hills.
So Paul Delroze, at an hour before midnight, was alone in the open country, with Élisabeth and Karl the spy. If he succeeded in mastering the spy, as he did not doubt that he could, Élisabeth would be free. There would then remain nothing to do but to return to Prince Conrad's villa, with the aid of the pass-word, and pick up Bernard there. Once the adventure was completed in accordance withPaul's designs, the tunnel would bring back all the three of them to the Château d'Ornequin.
Paul therefore gave way to the delight that was stealing over him. Élisabeth was with him, under his protection: Élisabeth, whose courage, no doubt, had yielded under the weight of her trials, but who had a claim upon his indulgence because her misfortunes were due to his fault. He forgot, he wished to forget all the ugly phases in the tragedy, in order to think only of the end that was near at hand, his wife's triumph and deliverance.
He watched the road attentively, so as not to miss his way when returning, and planned out his attack, fixing it at the first stop which they would have to make. He resolved that he would not kill the spy, but that he would stun him with a blow of his fist and, after knocking him down and binding him, throw him into some wood by the road-side.
They came to a fair-sized market-town, then two villages and then a town where they had to stop and show the car's papers. It was past eleven.
Then once more they were driving along country lanes which ran through a series of little woods whose trees lit up as they passed.
At that moment, the light of the lamps began to fail. Karl slackened speed. He growled:
"You dolt, can't you even keep your lamps alight? Have you got any carbide?"
Paul did not reply. Karl went on cursing his luck. Suddenly, he put on the brakes, with an oath:
"You blasted idiot! One can't go on like this. . . . Here, stir your stumps and light up."
Paul sprang from his seat, while the car drew up by the road-side. The time had come to act.
He first attended to the lamps, keeping an eye upon the spy's movements and taking care to stand outside the rays. Karl got down, opened the door of the car, and started a conversation which Paul could not hear. Then he came back to where Paul was:
"Well, pudding-head, haven't you done yet?"
Paul had his back turned to him, attending to his work and waiting for the propitious moment when the spy, coming two steps nearer, would be within his reach.
A minute elapsed. He clenched his fists. He foresaw the exact movement which he would have to make and was on the point of making it, when suddenly he felt himself seized round the body from behind and brought to the ground without being able to offer the least resistance.
"Thunder and lightning!" cried the spy, holding him down with his knee. "So that's why you wouldn't answer? . . . It struck me somehow that you were behaving queerly. . . . And then I never gave it another thought. . . . It was the lamp, just now, that threw a light on your side-face. . . . But who is the fellow I've got hold of? Some dog of a Frenchman, may be?"
Paul had stiffened his muscles and believed for amoment that he would succeed in escaping from the other's grip. The enemy's strength was yielding; Paul gradually seemed to master him; and he exclaimed:
"Yes, a Frenchman, Paul Delroze, the one you used to try and kill, the husband of Élisabeth, your victim. . . . Yes, it's I; and I know who you are: you're Laschen, the sham Belgian; you're Karl the spy."
He stopped. The spy, who had only weakened his effort to draw a dagger from his belt, was now raising it against him:
"Ah, Paul Delroze! . . . God's truth, this'll be a lucky trip! . . . First the husband and then the wife. . . . Ah, so you came running into my clutches! . . . Here, take this, my lad! . . ."
Paul saw the gleam of a blade flashing above his face. He closed his eyes, uttering Élisabeth's name.
Another second; and three shots rang out in rapid succession. Some one was firing from behind the group formed by the two adversaries.
The spy swore a hideous oath. His grip became relaxed. The weapon in the hand trembled and he fell flat on the ground, moaning:
"Oh, the cursed woman! . . . That cursed woman! . . . I ought to have strangled her in the car. . . . I knew this would happen. . . ."
His voice failed him. He stammered:
"I've got it this time. . . . Oh, that cursed woman! . . . And the pain . . . !"
Then he was silent. A few convulsions, a dying gasp and that was all.
Paul had leapt to his feet. He ran to the woman who had saved his life and who was still holding her revolver in her hand:
"Élisabeth!" he cried, wild with delight.
But he stopped, with his arms outstretched. In the dark, the woman's figure did not seem to him to be Élisabeth's, but a taller and broader figure. He blurted out, in a tone of infinite anguish:
"Élisabeth . . . is it you? . . . Is it really you? . . ."
And at the same time he intuitively knew the answer which he was about to hear:
"No," said the woman, "Mme. Delroze started a little before us, in another motor. Karl and I were to join her."
Paul remembered that car, of which he and Bernard had thought that he heard the sound when going round the villa. As the two starts had taken place with an interval of a few minutes at most between them, he cried:
"Let us be quick then and lose no time. . . . By putting on speed, we shall be sure to catch them. . . ."
But the woman at once objected:
"It's impossible, because the two cars have taken different roads."
"What does that matter, if they lead to the same point. Where are they taking Mme. Delroze?"
"To a castle belonging to the Comtesse Hermine."
"And where is that castle?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? But this is terrible! At least, you know its name.
"No, I don't. Karl never told me."
In the terrible state of distress into which those last words threw him, Paul felt the need of some immediate action, even as he had done at the sight of the banquet given by Prince Conrad. Certainly, all hope was lost. His plan, which was to use the tunnel before the alarm was raised, his plan was shattered. Granting that he succeeded in finding Élisabeth and delivering her, a very unlikely contingency, at what moment would this take place? And how was he afterwards to escape the enemy and return to France?
No, henceforward space and time were both against him. His defeat was such that there was nothing for it but to resign himself and await the final blow.
And yet he did not flinch. He saw that any weakness would be irreparable. The impulse that had carried him so far must be continued unchecked and with more vigor than ever.
He walked up to the spy. The woman was stooping over the body and examining it by the light of one of the lamps which she had taken down.
"He's dead, isn't he?" asked Paul.
"Yes, he's dead. Two bullets hit him in the back." And she murmured, in a broken voice, "It's horrible, what I've done. I've killed him myself! But it's not a murder, sir, is it? And I had the right to, hadn't I? . . . But it's horrible all the same . . . I've killed Karl!"
Her face, which was young and still rather pretty, though common, was distorted. Her eyes seemed glued to the corpse.
"Who are you?" asked Paul.
She replied, sobbing:
"I was his sweetheart . . . and better than that . . . or rather worse. He had taken an oath that he would marry me. . . . But Karl's oath! He was such a liar, sir, such a coward! . . . Oh, the things I know of him! . . . I myself, simply through holding my tongue, gradually became his accomplice. He used to frighten me so! I no longer loved him, but I was afraid of him and obeyed him . . . with such loathing, at the end! . . . And he knew how I loathed him. He used often to say, 'You are quite capable of killing me some day or other.' No, sir, I did think of it, but I should never have had the courage. It was only just now, when I saw that he was going to stab you . . . and above all when I heard your name. . . ."
"My name? What has that to do with it?"
"You are Madame Delroze's husband."
"Well?"
"Well, I know her. Not for long, only since to-day. This morning, Karl, on his way from Belgium, passed through the town where I was and took me to Prince Conrad's. He told me I was to be lady's maid to a French lady whom we were going to take to a castle. I knew what that meant. I should once more have to be his accomplice, to inspire confidence. And then I saw that French lady, I saw her crying; and she was so gentle and kind that I felt sorry for her. I promised to rescue her . . . Only, I never thought that it would be in this way, by killing Karl. . . ."
She drew herself up suddenly and said, in a hard voice:
"But it had to be, sir. It was bound to happen, for I knew too much about him. It had to be he or I. . . . It was he . . . and I can't help it and I'm not sorry. . . . He was the wickedest wretch on earth; and, with people like him, one mustn't hesitate. No, I am not sorry."
Paul asked:
"He was devoted to the Comtesse Hermine, was he not?"
She shuddered and lowered her voice to reply:
"Oh, don't speak of her, please! She is more terrible still; and she is still alive. Ah, if she should ever suspect!"
"Who is the woman?"
"How can I tell? She comes and goes, she is the mistress wherever she may be. . . . People obey heras they do the Emperor. Everybody fears her . . . as they do her brother."
"Her brother?"
"Yes, Major Hermann."
"What's that? Do you mean to say that Major Hermann is her brother?"
"Why, of course! Besides, you have only to look at him. He is the very image of the Comtesse Hermine!"
"Have you ever seen them together?"
"Upon my word, I can't remember. Why do you ask?"
Time was too precious for Paul to insist. The woman's opinion of the Comtesse Hermine did not matter much. He asked:
"She is staying at the prince's?"
"For the present, yes. The prince is on the first floor, at the back; she is on the same floor, but in front."
"If I let her know that Karl has had an accident and that he has sent me, his chauffeur, to tell her, will she see me?"
"Certainly."
"Does she know Karl's chauffeur, whose place I took?"
"No. He was a soldier whom Karl brought with him from Belgium."
Paul thought for a moment and then said:
"Lend me a hand."
They pushed the body towards the ditch by theroad-side, rolled it in and covered it with dead branches.
"I shall go back to the villa," he said. "You walk on until you come to the first cluster of houses. Wake the people and tell them the story of how Karl was murdered by his chauffeur and how you ran away. The time which it will take to inform the police, to question you and to telephone to the villa is more than I need."
She took alarm:
"But the Comtesse Hermine?"
"Have no fear there. Granting that I do not deprive her of her power of doing mischief, how could she suspect you, when the police-investigations will hold me alone to account for everything? Besides, we have no choice."
And, without more words, he started the engine, took his seat at the wheel and, in spite of the woman's frightened entreaties, drove off.
He drove off with the same eagerness and decision as though he were fulfilling the conditions of some new plan of which he had fixed every detail beforehand and as though he felt sure of its success.
"I shall see the countess," he said to himself. "She will either be anxious as to Karl's fate and want me to take her to him at once or she will see me in one of the rooms in the villa. In either case I shall find a method of compelling her to reveal the name of the castle in which Élisabeth is a prisoner. I shalleven compel her to give me the means of delivering her and helping her to escape."
But how vague it all was! The obstacles in the way! The impossibilities! How could he expect circumstances to be so complaisant as first to blind the countess' eyes to the facts and next to deprive her of all assistance? A woman of her stamp was not likely to let herself be taken in by words or subdued by threats.
No matter, Paul would not entertain the thought of failure. Success lay at the end of his undertaking; and in order to achieve it more quickly he increased the pace, rushing his car like a whirlwind along the roads and hardly slackening speed as he passed through villages and towns.
"Hohenstaufen!" he cried to the sentry posted outside the wall.
The officer of the picket, after questioning him, sent him on to the sergeant in command of the post at the front-door. The sergeant was the only one who had free access to the villa; and he would inform the countess.
"Very well," said Paul. "I'll put up my car first."
In the garage, he turned off his lights; and, as he went towards the villa, he thought that it might be well, before going back to the sergeant, to look up Bernard and learn if his brother-in-law had succeeded in discovering anything.
He found him behind the villa, in the clumps of shrubs facing the window with the balcony.
"You're by yourself?" said Bernard, anxiously.
"Yes, the job failed. Élisabeth was in an earlier motor."
"What an awful thing!"
"Yes, but it can be put right. And you . . . what about the chauffeur?"
"He's safely hidden away. No one will see him . . . at least not before the morning, when other chauffeurs come to the garage."
"Very well. Anything else?"
"There was a patrol in the grounds an hour ago. I managed to keep out of sight."
"And then?"
"Then I made my way as far as the tunnel. The men were beginning to stir. Besides, there was something that made them jolly well pull themselves together!"
"What was that?"
"The sudden arrival of a certain person of our acquaintance, the woman I met at Corvigny, who is so remarkably like Major Hermann."
"Was she going the rounds?"
"No, she was leaving."
"Yes, I know, she means to leave."
"She has left."
"Oh, nonsense! I can't believe that. There was no immediate hurry about her departure for France."
"I saw her go, though."
"How? By what road?"
"The tunnel, of course! Do you imagine that the tunnel serves no further purpose? That was the road she took, before my eyes, under the most comfortable conditions, in an electric trolley driven by a brakesman. No doubt, since the object of her journey was, as you say, to get to France, they shunted her on to the Corvigny branch. That was two hours ago. I heard the trolley come back."
The disappearance of the Comtesse Hermine was a fresh blow to Paul. How was he now to find, how to deliver Élisabeth? What clue could he trust in this darkness, in which each of his efforts was ending in disaster?
He pulled himself together, made an act of will and resolved to persevere in the adventure until he attained his object. He asked Bernard if he had seen nothing more.
"No, nothing."
"Nobody going or coming in the garden?"
"No. The servants have gone to bed. The lights are out."
"All the lights?"
"All except one, there, over our heads."
The light was on the first floor, at a window situated above the window through which Paul had watched Prince Conrad's supper-party. He asked:
"Was that light put on while I was up on the balcony?"
"Yes, towards the end."
"From what I was told," Paul muttered, "thatmust be Prince Conrad's room. He's drunk and had to be carried upstairs."
"Yes, I saw some shadows at that time; and nothing has moved since."
"He's evidently sleeping off his champagne. Oh, if one could only see, if one could get into the room!"
"That's easily done," said Bernard.
"How?"
"Through the next room, which must be the dressing-room. They've left the window open, no doubt to give the prince a little air."
"But I should want a ladder . . ."
"There's one hanging on the wall of the coach-house. Shall I get it for you?"
"Yes, do," said Paul eagerly. "Be quick."
A whole new scheme was taking shape in his mind, similar in some respects to his first plan of campaign and likely, he thought, to lead to a successful issue.
He made certain that the approaches to the villa on either side were deserted and that none of the soldiers on guard had moved away from the front-door. Then, when Bernard was back, he placed the ladder in position and leant it against the wall. They went up.
The open window belonged, as they expected, to the dressing-room and the light from the bedroom showed through the open door. Not a sound came from that other room except a loud snoring. Paul put his head through the doorway.
Prince Conrad was lying fast asleep across his bed, like a loose-jointed doll, clad in his uniform, the front of which was covered with stains. He was sleeping so soundly that Paul was able to examine the room at his ease. There was a sort of little lobby between it and the passage, with a door at either end. He locked and bolted both doors, so that they were now alone with Prince Conrad, while it was impossible for them to be heard from the outside.
"Come on," said Paul, when they had apportioned the work to be done.
And he placed a twisted towel over the prince's face and tried to insert the ends into his mouth while Bernard bound his wrists and ankles with some more towels. All this was done in silence. The prince offered no resistance and uttered not a cry. He had opened his eyes and lay staring at his aggressors with the air of a man who does not understand what is happening to him, but is seized with increasing dread as he becomes aware of his danger.
"Not much pluck about William's son and heir," chuckled Bernard. "Lord, what a funk he's in! Hi, young-fellow-my-lad, pull yourself together! Where's your smelling-bottle?"
Paul had at last succeeded in cramming half the towel into his mouth. He lifted him up and said:
"Now let's be off."
"What do you propose to do?"
"Take him away."
"Where to?"
"To France."
"To France?"
"Well, of course. We've got him; he'll have to help us."
"They won't let him through."
"And the tunnel?"
"Out of the question. They're keeping too close a watch now."
"We shall see."
He took his revolver and pointed it at Prince Conrad:
"Listen to me," he said. "Your head is too muddled, I dare say, to take in any questions. But a revolver is easy to understand, isn't it? It talks a very plain language, even to a man who is drunk and shaking all over with fright. Well, if you don't come with me quietly, if you attempt to struggle or to make a noise, if my friend and I are in danger for a single moment, you're done for. You can feel the barrel of my revolver on your temple: Well, it's there to blow out your brains. Do you agree to my conditions?"
The prince nodded his head.
"Good," said Paul. "Bernard, undo his legs, but fasten his arms along his body. . . . That's it. . . . And now let's be off."
The descent of the ladder was easily accomplished and they walked through the shrubberies to the fence which separated the garden from the yard containing the barracks. Here they handed the prince across to each other, like a parcel, and then, taking the same road as when they came, they reached the quarries.
The night was bright enough to allow them to see their way; and, moreover, they had in front of them a diffused glow which seemed to rise from the guard-house at the entrance to the tunnel. And indeed all the lights there were burning; and the men were standing outside the shed, drinking coffee.
A soldier was pacing up and down in front of the tunnel, with his rifle on his shoulder.
"We are two," whispered Bernard. "There are six of them; and, at the first shot fired, they will be joined by some hundreds of Boches who are quartered five minutes away. It's a bit of an unequal struggle, what do you say?"
What increased the difficulty to the point of making it insuperable was that they were not really two but three and that their prisoner hampered them most terribly. With him it was impossible to hurry, impossible to run away. They would have to think of some stratagem to help them.
Slowly, cautiously, stealing along in such a way that not a stone rolled from under their footsteps or the prince's, they described a circle around the lighted space which brought them, after an hour, close to the tunnel, under the rocky slopes against which its first buttresses were built.
"Stay there," said Paul to Bernard, speaking very low, but just loud enough for the prince to hear. "Stay where you are and remember my instructions. First of all, take charge of the prince, with your revolver in your right hand and with your left hand on his collar. If he struggles, break his head. That will be a bad business for us, but just as bad for him. I shall go back to a certain distance from the shed and draw off the five men on guard. Then the man doing sentry down there will either join the rest, in which case you go on with the prince, or else he will obey orders and remain at his post, in which case you fire at him and wound him . . . and go on with the prince."
"Yes, I shall go on, but the Boches will come after me and catch us up."
"No, they won't."
"If you say so. . . ."
"Very well, that's understood. And you, sir," said Paul to the prince, "do you understand? Absolute submission; if not, the least carelessness, a mere mistake may cost you your life."
Bernard whispered in his brother-in-law's ear:
"I've picked up a rope; I shall fasten it round his neck; and, if he jibs, he'll feel a sharp tug to recall him to the true state of things. Only, Paul, I warn you that, if he takes it into his head to struggle, I am incapable of killing him just like that, in cold blood."
"Don't worry. He's too much afraid to struggle.He'll go with you like a lamb to the other end of the tunnel. When you get there, lock him up in some corner of the château, but don't tell any one who he is."
"And you, Paul?"
"Never mind about me."
"Still . . ."
"We both stand the same risk. We're going to play a terribly dangerous game and there's every chance of our losing it. But, if we win, it means Élisabeth's safety. So we must go for it boldly. Good-bye, Bernard, for the present. In ten minutes everything will be settled one way or the other."
They embraced and Paul walked away.
As he had said, this one last effort could succeed only through promptness and audacity; and it had to be made in the spirit in which a man makes a desperate move. Ten minutes more would see the end of the adventure. Ten minutes and he would be either victorious or a dead man.
Every action which he performed from that moment was as orderly and methodical as if he had had time to think it out carefully and to ensure its inevitable success, whereas in reality he was forming a series of separate decisions as he went along and as the tragic circumstances seemed to call for them.
Taking a roundabout way and keeping to the slopes of the mounds formed by the sand thrown up in the works, he reached the hollow communication-road between the quarries and the garrison-camp.On the last of these rounds, his foot struck a block of stone which gave way beneath him. On stooping and groping with his hands, he perceived that this block held quite a heap of sand and pebbles in position behind it.
"That's what I want," he said, without a moment's reflection.
And, giving the stone a mighty kick, he sent the heap shooting into the road with a roar like an avalanche.
Paul jumped down among the stones, lay flat on his chest and began to scream for help, as though he had met with an accident.
From where he lay, it was impossible, owing to the winding of the road, to hear him in the barracks; but the least cry was bound to carry as far as the shed at the mouth of the tunnel, which was only a hundred yards away at most. The soldiers on guard came running along at once.
He counted only five of them. In an almost unintelligible voice, he gave incoherent, gasping replies to the corporal's questions and conveyed the impression that he had been sent by Prince Conrad to bring back the Comtesse Hermine.
Paul was quite aware that his stratagem had no chance of succeeding beyond a very brief space of time; but every minute gained was of inestimable value, because Bernard would make use of it on his side to take action against the sixth man, the sentry outside the tunnel, and to make his escape withPrince Conrad. Perhaps that man would come as well. Or else perhaps Bernard would get rid of him without using his revolver and therefore without attracting attention.
And Paul, gradually raising his voice, was spluttering out vague explanations, which only irritated without enlightening the corporal, when a shot rang out, followed by two others.
For the moment the corporal hesitated, not knowing for certain where the sound came from. The men stood away from Paul and listened. Thereupon he passed through them and walked straight on, without their realizing, in the darkness, that it was he who was moving away. Then, at the first turn, he started running and reached the shed in a few strides.
Twenty yards in front of him, at the mouth of the tunnel, he saw Bernard struggling with Prince Conrad, who was trying to escape. Near them, the sentry was dragging himself along the ground and moaning.
Paul saw clearly what he had to do. To lend Bernard a hand and with him attempt to run the risk of flight would have been madness, because their enemies would inevitably have caught them up and in any case Prince Conrad would have been set free. No, the essential thing was to stop the rush of the five other men, whose shadows were already appearing at the bend in the road, and thus to enable Bernard to get away with the prince.
Half-hidden behind the shed, he aimed his revolver at them and cried:
"Halt!"
The corporal did not obey and ran on into the belt of light. Paul fired. The German fell, but only wounded, for he began to command in a savage tone:
"Forward! Go for him! Forward, can't you, you funks!"
The men did not stir a step. Paul seized a rifle from the stack which they had made of theirs near the shed and, while taking aim at them, was able to give a glance backwards and to see that Bernard had at last mastered Prince Conrad and was leading him well into the tunnel.
"It's only a question of holding out for five minutes," thought Paul, "so that Bernard may go as far as possible."
And he was so calm at this moment that he could have counted those minutes by the steady beating of his pulse.
"Forward! Rush at him! Forward!" the corporal kept clamoring, having doubtless seen the figures of the two fugitives, though without recognizing Prince Conrad.
Rising to his knees, he fired a revolver-shot at Paul, who replied by breaking his arm with a bullet. And yet the corporal went on shouting at the top of his voice:
"Forward! There are two of them making off through the tunnel! Forward! Here comes help!"
It was half-a-dozen soldiers from the barracks, who had run up at the sound of the shooting. Paul had now made his way into the shed. He broke a window-pane and fired three shots. The soldiers made for shelter; but others arrived, took their orders from the corporal and dispersed; and Paul saw them scrambling up the adjoining slopes in order to head him off. He fired his rifle a few more times; but what was the good? All hope of resistance had long since disappeared.
He persevered, however, killing his adversaries at intervals, firing incessantly and thus gaining all the time possible. But he saw that the enemy was maneuvering with the object of first circumventing him and then making for the tunnel and chasing the fugitives.
Paul set his teeth. He was really aware of each second that passed, of each of those inappreciable seconds which increased Bernard's distance.
Three men disappeared down the yawning mouth of the tunnel; then a fourth; then a fifth. Moreover, the bullets were now beginning to rain upon the shed.
Paul made a calculation:
"Bernard must be six or seven hundred yards away. The three men pursuing him have gone fifty yards . . . seventy-five yards now. That's all right."
A serried mass of Germans were coming towards the shed. It was evidently not believed that Paulwas alone, so quickly did he fire. This time there was nothing for it but to surrender.
"It's time," he thought. "Bernard is outside the danger-zone."
He suddenly rushed at the board containing the handles which corresponded with the mine-chambers in the tunnel, smashed the glass with the butt-end of his rifle and pulled down the first handle and the second.
The earth seemed to shake. A thunderous roar rolled under the tunnel and spread far and long, like a reverberating echo.
The way was blocked between Bernard d'Andeville and the eager pack that was trying to catch him. Bernard could take Prince Conrad quietly to France.
Then Paul walked out of the shed, raising his arms in the air and crying, in a cheerful voice:
"Kamerad! Kamerad!"
Ten men surrounded him in a moment; and the officer who commanded them shouted, in a frenzy of rage:
"Let him be shot! . . . At once . . . at once! . . . Let him be shot! . . ."