“Jasper, Jasper,” I cried, “I cannot sit still and let you talk in this way. No one could ever contend that the fault was yours. I do not even blame Odin. Odin is one of those fools that now and again do something to break the heart. They have no brains, but they are not idiotic, and so we use them for duties which do not require them to think. As such, they are very useful—Odin is an excellent cook. But now and again they do the unpredictable thing. Sometimes it does not matter; sometimes it does. But whether or no it matters, it is nobody’s fault—not even Odin’s, for that is the way he is made. So, my good friend, you must not blame yourself. I do not blame myself, though, if it was anyone’s fault, then it must have been mine; but I dared not stay with the wagon because of the police—as well as of some others whose brains are extremely quick. Once they knew me for your strong man, they would have guessed at once that hidden within the weights were the gems they sought. So I had to let the weights go and take a chance . . .
“Well, it didn’t come off, Jasper. Perhaps, I should have told you; but ignorance is the best armor in such a matter as this. Had I told you the truth, you would have cared for the weights, but when you came to the customs, your heart would have been in your mouth. And customs are trained to observe uneasiness. Still, I should have done better. And now I must return to repair my mistake.”
Jasper put his hands to his head.
“You trusted us,” he wailed, “and we have betrayed your trust. And now you are going back to the hornets’ nest you have roused. Had you not been leaving the country, you would not have broken the Boche. And now you are going back to a danger more lively and pressing than that from which you escaped.”
“Nevertheless, I must go.”
“Say rather ‘I shall go,’ sir, for few men would. The chestnuts are not yours—to pull out of the fire. But you belong to the class that will do for a friend what you would not do for yourself. And I hear you will go alone. I do not like that—I do not like it at all. Four eyes are better than two, in a matter of life and death. Then, again, you must rest a little between your moves; and, if there are two, one can always watch, while the other sleeps. Were I a younger man, I would go myself. Nothing on earth, sir, would stop me. But I am no longer young. Although you may not think it, I am near sixty-five, and I could not do the two journeys—that I know. And so I should hamper you. But I have found a young lad, who is very eager and willing to be your aide de camp. The idea of crossing the frontier appeals to him, and with my life I will answer for his entire devotion in this your enterprise.” Before I could protest, he went on. “I do not expect you to take him on what I may say. I have, of course, told him nothing about the gems. But he will meet you at sundown a mile from here. He can walk with you for a little toward the path you will take, and you can talk with him and see what you think. I have told him your decision is final—that if you decline his company, he must accept your ruling without demur. But I hope that you will take him—with all my heart. I mean that—with all my heart. For, if he is of some service, I shall have contributed something toward repairing the evil which Odin has done.”
I rose and put out my hand.
“You’re the best of good fellows, Jasper, and if I don’t take the lad, you must not think me ungracious or heedless of what you have done. But this will be a perilous business, and I am accustomed to danger, but he is not. The police are out to stop me—perhaps to arrest me now. And there are others, Jasper, desperate men, one of whom has done murder to help him to get these gems. More than once, already, I’ve spoiled their game, and if I should clash with them, it mayn’t be too good.”
“I will answer for his courage,” said Jasper.
“Of that, I am sure. But a man requires more than courage, to deal with people like that. Besides, if there is to be trouble, I cannot have him involved. Still, I might take him with me and leave him beside the path. Anyway, we will see. I’ll size him up, Jasper—I promise you that; and if I think he’ll help me, I’ll take him along.”
With my hand in his, Jasper looked me full in the eyes.
“I hope, sir, that you will take him—with all my heart.” Then he wished me good luck and said he should look for my coming and other things. Finally, he bowed himself out, and I called for Bell. And with his faithful help, I made ready to take a journey from which, if I am to be honest, I doubted that I should come back.
There was nothing at all in my favor, but much against the issue I so much desired. Could I have waited a week, the flurry would have died down, but neither the police nor Friar could be sure I was over the border, and so for the next two days they would be scouring the district with all their might. Once it was officially known, the police could not ignore the assault on the Boche; he had, of course, denounced me, and they would be bound to arrest me for that, if for nothing else. And Orris would by now have reported, and Friar would have the truth in his hands. Could I have waited, I say, police and Friar might well have gone empty away. But I could not afford to wait. Anyone finding the weights would see that they were of some value, although they might not know what purpose they served. A peasant, for instance, would certainly fetch his tumbril and take them away. A passing gypsy would heave them into his van. If Friar were to stumble upon them . . .
I looked at Bell.
“Miss Colette,” I said, “was going to put up some food.”
“It’s in the kit bag, sir, with the key and a change of socks. You won’t take anything else, sir?”
I shook my head.
“I must travel as light as I can. Where’s Miss Colette?”
“She’s gone on to talk to the lad, sir. She’ll wait with him till you come.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Mr. Jasper means very well, but I don’t fancy a pupil in this particular case.”
“I—wish you’d take me, sir.”
“I can’t, and you know it, Bell. I’ve got to leave you here in case I get stuck.”
“Then I hope you’ll take the lad, sir. Mr. Jasper wouldn’t recommend him, if he—”
“Mr. Jasper’s a man of peace. But we are accustomed to violence—to matters of life and death. Mr. Jasper has no idea of the way I may have to deal with the chances I’ve got to take.”
“The lad can watch while you rest, sir.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I’ll look him over, Bell; but he’ll have to be out of the ruck if he’s going with me.” I passed to the mouth of the tent and looked to the west. “I’d better be off now. The sun’s going down.”
In silence, Bell picked up the kit bag and walked with me to the stream which bordered our camp.
“Give me the doings,” I said, as we came to a little footbridge. “I’ll go on alone.”
In silence, Bell gave me the kit bag. Then he stood to one side and took off his hat.
“God keep you, sir,” he said quietly.
I put out my hand for his.
“I’ll come back, Bell,” I said. “Somehow I always do.”
“I know you will, sir,” said Bell, with his hand in mine. And again, as though in defiance, “I know you will.”
I smiled and nodded.
“Till Sunday morning, Bell.”
Then I passed on to the footbridge and up to the road beyond.
More than a mile had gone by, and I was beginning to hope that the lad had thought better of his bargain, when I saw a figure ahead, on a ridge by the side of the way. And as I drew nearer, I saw it was that of a youth. His back was turned toward me, and he was standing square, regarding the set of sun. I could not see Colette, but she might have been sitting below him, just out of sight. Be that as it might, I felt that this was the lad whom Jasper and Bell were so anxious that I should take. And then I was sure it was he, for he was clad in the Austrian national dress.
All of a sudden he turned, as though to look for me; and when he saw me coming, he flung up his arms—a pleasant, welcoming gesture, that argued an eager heart. So he stood for a moment against t
he red of the sky, and I remember thinking how striking a figure he cut. Then he came running toward me, and after a little, I saw that it was Colette.
At this, I stood still in my tracks; and when she was ten feet from me, she did the same. Then she put her hands on her hips and looked at me.
That she made a splendid picture, I must allow. Her feathered hat was cocked, and her snow-white shirt and handsome, sleeveless jacket became her perfectly; her shorts, her footless stockings and stout, black brogues, all fitted her very well, but the air with which she wore them, her eager and gallant demeanor, kindled the heart.
So for a short half minute. Then she swept off her hat and bowed, and her curls fell about her face.
“Will you take the lad, sir?” she said.
I remembered Bell’s insistence and how Jasper had begged me to do so “with all his heart.”
“I suppose I shall have to,” I said.
She pitched her hat over her shoulder and flung herself into my arms.
“Adam, Adam, you never thought it was me.”
“How should I, Colette? I take people at their word.”
“We arranged it together, Jasper and Bell and I. You see we were all agreed that you must not go alone. And Jasper was too old, and Bell you had ordered to stay, so that left me. And we had the dress—I have often worn it before. I did mean to cut off my hair, but Bell said you would not like that, so I let it be.” Here she recovered her hat and turned her back on me. “So now you must put it up. Just pile it up on my head, and I’ll put on the hat.”
Helplessly, I did as she said.
“And now we must be going.” She took my arm. “We can talk as we go. I will be very obedient—I promise you that. I will do all that you tell me—except that I will not leave you by day or night. And you will be glad of me. Think—I can take you straight to the spot where the weights were left. I can watch while you rest and can serve you in many ways. Bell has told and has taught me the things I can do. I know the touch that will wake you and how you always prefer to drink from a glass—I have one there, in my pouch that is lying by the side of the way. And a sponge to wipe your face. You would not take these things, because you were one; but, now we are two, you shall have your luxuries.”
“Colette,” I said, “I think you are out of your mind, and so are Jasper and Bell. But I am glad that you are, and I am very happy that you are coming with me.”
For a moment she made no answer.
Then—
“There is my pouch,” she said, and whipped a little ahead, to pluck it out of a bush.
As I came up with her, I saw that her color was high.
“I am glad you are glad,” she said. “It is out of all order, of course, but I think that Eve would approve. If she truly loves you, she, too, would be glad that you should have someone beside you these coming hours.”
“I tell you this, Colette, that Eve will never rest until she has seen and thanked you for what you have done.”
“I need no thanks,” said Colette. “I am pleasing myself. You see, I—like you, Adam; and when you—like a person you want to be with them and help them as best you can. I am very fond of you, Adam. Our lives are very different; mine does not lead me to meet—great gentlemen. And—”
“Colette, I beg you—”
“—now, by chance, I have met one. Oh, do not shake your head. I know what I know. Had we never met, and you had happened to lunch at The Vat of Melody yesterday afternoon, you would have smiled and thanked me and put a note in my plate . . . and then have gone out to your car and never have thought again of the girl with the strolling players who made the round of the guests. But, as it is, you have walked into my life. . . Very soon now, you will walk out of it again. And one day I shall marry—a nephew of Jasper’s, perhaps, on his mother’s side. He is a clerk in Venice. Or else, perhaps, the son of some innkeeper. Be sure I shall have my chances. But always I shall remember what we will never know—that once upon a time a great gentleman was my familiar friend and that I was his squire in a matter of life and death.”
“My sweet Colette,” I said, “for God’s sake, don’t dress this up. Nothing at all may happen, except a stolen march. There may be a sordid squabble in which, to save my own, I have to take a man’s life. Such things are not romantic. The lust for gold is always an ugly thing. And the things it breeds are hideous. The police are out for these gems, because the German wants them. They are not his, and he has no right to them, but he is a German, and Germans must have what they want. The others are out for the gems, because they covet the money the gems will bring. The gems are not theirs, and they have no right to them. But that does not matter to them, because they are thieves. Already they have done murder, to help them to their desires. Those are the people whom I am up against. The police will behave correctly—of that I am sure; but they are out to take me for what I have done and for what I am trying to do. The others will go all lengths; if they can kill me, they will. So in this adventure of ours will be no romance. Only fatigue and danger and, if it should come to a showdown, jungle law.”
Colette threw up her head.
“You cannot see the romance, for it is locked in my breast. It is more precious to me than the gems you are going to fetch. It is a cordial, my dear, and when I am old and tired, it will always warm my heart.”
“Colette,” I said, “you’re hopeless. I believe you could weave a romance about changing a wheel.”
“That would depend,” said Colette, “upon who was driving the car.”
We laughed together at that. Then we quickened our pace, for the shadows were closing in.
It goes without saying that I was more than uneasy about the arrangement to which I had now subscribed. I had not argued the point, for things had gone too far. All unknown to me, the plot had been hatched and measures had been taken to carry it out. Colette had approached Bell and Jasper, and they had approved her plan—and had led me up to the water which I was to drink. And now I had drunk it; Colette was coming with me, for all I knew, to battle and murder and sudden death. Had I ordered her back, I doubt if she would have gone; indeed, I am sure she would have followed—or, rather, have tried to follow, keeping out of my sight. But she was so eager and glowing, so insistent that I should take her that, as I have shown already, I threw in my hand and let her have her way. To withstand so handsome an instinct is very hard. Still, I was far from easy. Colette was the picture of health and was very strong; but the journey across the frontier was no child’s play. The crossing of the water alone was a most unpleasant ordeal. But, quite apart from that, the going was very hard, and she would be very tired when we came to the other side. Yet, to rest there was out of the question. It was my hope to reach the road by dawn and, before the world was stirring, to find the weights. Once their precious burden was in my bag, I could think about taking my rest. Then I should have to decide where I could best lie up until dusk came in. But, until I had found the weights and secured the gems, I dared not waste a moment—I could not rest. To carry this first objective was well within my power, but I am a very strong man and have learned to endure. Whether Colette could do it, I dared not think.
I declined to look beyond the recovery of the gems. That was the point for which I was going to ride. The future could care for itself. For, once they were in my bag, if I were taken, then I should be taken dead.
“How,” said Colette, as we left the road for a valley, “are you so sure of your way? When all is said and done, you have only taken it once. And then it was light.”
“It’s a matter of practice,” I said. “I wasn’t always so good. But this is very easy, for there is the line of the mountains against the sky. In five minutes we shall strike water, and that will lead us along for two or three miles.”
And so it did. But the going was very hard and we were moving uphill. Except here and there, we could not walk side by side, but Colette moved steadily behind me, keeping the pace I set.
After an hour we rested, but
not for long. I spread the slack of my bag for her to sit upon and then lay down beside her upon our ghost of a path. We did not speak, but I saw Colette look about her, slowly turning her head, now regarding the heaven, now listening, all the time drawing deep breaths. Then her hand stole into mine and held it tight. There was no need of words, for I knew how she felt.
I have seen many beautiful nights, but I cannot remember one when the senses were so much enriched. The sky was blue-black velvet, pricked with a glory of brilliants, to feast the eye. All about us the mountains were lifting their aged heads, to make of the sable horizon a very lovely erasement such as no herald on earth could ever devise. We might have been sitting in some theater, built for a race of giants, regarding a stage hung above us, on which a million worlds were playing their dazzling parts. Many waters made us music, and since, with the daylight, all other sound had died, a background of absolute silence rendered their dulcet notes. The gallantry of a torrent, the lisp of a baby brook, the steady rush of deep water, the gurgle of welling springs—all were there to be heard, and an ear accustomed to nature could pick the instruments out. And the air was fragrancy—fresh and clean and vital, rich with a bouquet no wine can ever deliver, the breath of hanging forests and the humor of mountain lawns.
A star fell, and Colette caught my hand to her heart.
We rested for just ten minutes. Then I got to my feet, and, putting paradise behind us, we took up a march which allowed no contemplation; for though the heaven was as lovely and the chorus of the waters as rich, all my powers were directed to picking and stealing my way, and I moved through the wonder about us oblivious to everything else.
Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante Page 44