The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 04

by Anthology

  "Is the President the good God, little daughter? All that man could do he has done — and more. But can he overcome the mad will of a besotted world? Nay, my child, the saints have grown weary of our overweening confidence and self-righteousness, and already our punishment is prepared."

  For a time she was silent, and in the deep stillness of the old house, the big clock in the hallway ticked with a harsh and warning sound as the few remaining minutes of the old year sped swiftly away. Suddenly the bell of the front door pealed loudly and, startled by its unexpected clamour, Corinne slipped hurriedly to the floor and hastened to answer the impatient summons. She returned quickly, her eyes shining with suppressed excitement and her momentous news trembling on her lips.

  "It is a message from China, dear father."

  "Is it Major Wilkie or—?"

  "No — some one I do not know — a native. His tidings are of the utmost importance, he says."

  "Admit him at once, my child. There is yet time —"

  He arose as Corinne ushered in a once dapper young Chinaman, dressed in clothes of European cut and fashion, but much travel-stained and disordered. He bowed to the Colonel and then stood impassive, waiting to be questioned.

  "You have news of our mission to Peking?"

  The Oriental inclined his body in assent.

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Li," the yellow man replied in faultless English. "I am an agent of the Secret Service, stationed in Peking."

  The Colonel drew a notebook from the inner pocket of his undress blouse and fluttered the pages rapidly.

  "Eh, yes," he muttered to himself as he found the place; "Li — native spy. And written in red ink 'Absolutely trustworthy.' What is your news?" he added, looking up quickly.

  For answer, the other fumbled for some seconds in his clothing and at length produced an object which he threw upon the table. In was a thin metal case, once highly polished but now deeply stained with a brown rust not made by water. With an eager exclamation the Colonel pounced upon it and tearing off the cover, snatched at the bundle of papers it contained. Quickly he ran them over with burning, feverish eyes and tossed them from him with a hoarse cry.

  "The papers!" he shouted, his voice breaking in his excitement. "Treaties and plans for mobilization! Look, my child!" — he pointed with a trembling finger. "Eh, my God! We are saved!" Suddenly he paused and shot a penetrating glance at the messenger. "And the others?" he asked harshly. "What has become of them?"

  The Chinaman shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in deprecation. But apparently the Colonel understood, for he motioned to a chair and pushing his cigarette case across the table, took up his stand before the fire while Corinne waited tensely, viewing them with anxious glances. The Chinaman gravely bowed his acknowledgments and, carefully lighting his cigarette, leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table.

  "You must know," he began in his crisp, clean-cut English, "that Major Wilkie bargained with Prince Wu for the papers you have just observed, offering in return to place him on the throne of China, which was rightfully his by inheritance."

  "Eh, yes," interrupted the Colonel impatiently. "That was in the last report we received from him."

  "That same night," went on the Chinaman, "Major Wilkie and Captain Gardiner went alone to the place where the Prince had told them that the papers were concealed. I knew the Prince was not to be trusted and so I followed against the orders of the Major, who suspected nothing."

  "And you did not warn him?"

  "Can truth prevail against the confidence born of smooth-tongued lies? The Major believed that greed and ambition would seal the lips of the Prince and even I, who knew that black-hearted race, was almost lulled into a feeling of security. But the Major trusted implicitly and went trusting to his death."

  "Yes, yes," the Colonel nodded with bright eyes; "it was an error of judgment. My God, yes! An error — It has led many men to their destruction and will lead them."

  "I followed them, I say," resumed the other, "to the old palace which is the headquarters of the secret society and saw them enter the pavilion where the papers were concealed. Then, as I hid myself in the shadows, armed men arose seemingly from the very earth itself, and I knew that all was lost. By what miracle I myself escaped detection, I do not know."

  The Colonel uttered a suppressed exclamation as his cigarette burned into his fingers, but quickly lighting another, signed for the spy to go on.

  "I waited perhaps half an hour — perhaps longer," the latter continued. "I cannot tell, for the time passed slowly. Meanwhile more members of the society had arrived and presently men emerged bearing the body of the Major, which they cast into the darkness almost at my feet. Then I saw indeed that the mission had failed, and though I stayed on until the paling shadows warned me that the day was coming, the doors of the pavilion remained shut and silent. I had chosen my house close by so that I could watch what went on in the old palace and thither I bore the Major's corpse, for I am a Christian and I desired to give it decent burial. Besides, he had been very kind to me."

  He paused, and Corinne drew a little sobbing breath of pity, but the Colonel leaned forward with feverish cheeks.

  "And the papers?" he asked impatiently. "Where did you find them?"

  The Oriental held up a restraining hand.

  "When I came to prepare the dead man for burial," he said slowly, "I found that the body had been cut open with a knife, and as I sought to close the wound, which gaped wide, my hand encountered — that!" With a rapid gesture he pointed to the blood-rusted case on the table. "Then I came here."

  The Colonel was breathing quickly and his eyes were two points of flame.

  "Yes, yes," he cried; "I see it all! My God, the brave Major! He sacrificed himself that the Federation might be saved. It is thus that the truly great make atonement for error — and it is thus that we lose those we can least spare. Eh, my child, do you understand? The age of heroes has come again and I, Pierre Villon, have lived to see it!"

  He paced the room rapidly in his exultation and gestured unrestrainedly, muttering to himself.

  "But there is yet work to do," he exclaimed suddenly, wheeling about. "The President must know of this and Signor di Conti. My daughter, be so good as to summon my car that we may go directly, for time presses. It is at the eleventh hour, is it not? Yes, that is it. At the eleventh hour the news has come and there is yet time!"

  And in startling confirmation of the figure of speech, the big clock in the hall rang its mellow note eleven times and was silent again. But when the bell of the street door sounded announcing that the car was waiting, Corinne came swiftly forward and laid a trembling hand on the arm of the spy as he was about to follow his chief.

  "You said nothing about Captain Gardiner," she reminded him in a low tone. "What happened to him?"

  A blank mask seemed to suddenly descend over the face of the Oriental and he shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands a second time.

  "I do not know," he replied and the girl, after a vain attempt to penetrate the impassive features of the other, turned away baffled with a sigh, and for long hours thereafter sat staring into the fire with unseeing eyes.

  But Colonel Villon was in high good humour as his car sped through the streets. Success was as the breath of his nostrils and his soul was great enough to rejoice generously in the success of the cause, even though his own carefully-laid plans would have failed but for an unforeseen accident, to bring about the desired end.

  The President was not at his town house. He had gone into the country for the holiday, they were told. The Colonel scratched his ear meditatively for a few moments and ended by telephoning to Signor di Conti and ordering his chauffeur to drive on.

  Their speed increased as they left the city behind them and soon they were boring through the night at sixty miles and hour or more. At times a constable on a motor-cycle would draw up beside them, his hand shifting from his handle-bar to his hip, only to fall back a
s he recognised the official slate-colour of the International Police car. Sometimes a slow-moving farm truck would flash into the glaring path of the brilliant headlights, pulling to one side at the warning blast of the police siren with a rattling of the steering gear and much complaint from tight-pressed springs; sometimes it was only a single dark figure tramping steadily forward and hardly looking up as the swift car roared past; sometimes a merry party of young people, bound on a New Year's frolic, scrambled to the side of the road with many little feminine shrieks and outcries. Once, as they shot through a small hamlet, a dog dashed into the road in front of them and they could feel the impact of his body as it smashed to pieces against the low-hung radiator. Once, as their headlights gleamed on the gaudy golden sign of a roadside tavern, a drunkard staggered out from the shadows and was only avoided by a wrenching swerve that nearly tore the car from the hard-packed highway. But she recovered and sped onward, while the drunkard stood in the middle of the road and cursed her retreating tail lights.

  At last, dizzy with the cold, rushing air and numbed by the tenseness of their great speed, they turned into a winding driveway, passed an old stone lodge where a sentinel saluted stiffly, and drew up before a great, rambling mansion, looming black and shapeless against the stars. Presently, in answer to repeated rings, a sleepy footman appeared and admitted them surlily. The President was tired and had gone to bed, leaving orders that he was not to be disturbed, but if they would come again in the morning —

  "Thousand devils!" roared the exasperated Colonel; "must the destiny of the world be halted by a numskull — a thick-head — an idiot wine-swiller — a half-witted, misbegotten —"

  But the now fully-awakened footman had fled in terror and soon returned saying that His Excellency would be down immediately. And as they waited, another car drove up to the door bringing Signor di Conti, who, in his joy and exultation, embraced the stout Colonel somewhat to the latter's embarrassment, for he had lived so long among the undemonstrative Anglo-Saxons that he had unconsciously adopted the point of view which assigns such forms of greeting to the exclusive use of the weaker sex. Then a slow step was heard on the stair and the three stood with respectfully bowed heads as the door opened and the grey President entered.

  He wore a grey dressing-gown over his night attire and it occurred to the Colonel, as he raised his eyes to his superior, that far from detracting from the old man's dignity, this costume even added to it, as if, by a curious sort of paradox, it called attention to the fact that though clad in unconventional manner, the personality of the man dimmed the mere incident of dress and caused it to fade from the consciousness of the beholder. As the artist is unaware of the nakedness of his model, being dominated by the beauty of her well-proportioned body, so this great, dominating soul wiped clean from the minds of the others the image of a disordered, elderly gentleman in an untidy dressing-gown and flowered slippers, and left with them only the consciousness that they were in the presence of the master spirit of the world.

  "You have news from China?" he inquired gravely of di Conti, as the one who had the undertaking in charge.

  "It is not I, Excellency," replied the Italian generously; "but our good Colonel Villon who has at the last moment snatched victory from defeat."

  But the big-hearted Colonel hastened in his turn to disclaim all credit for the unlooked-for success of the mission.

  "The honour is due, your Excellency," he said impressively, "to this gentleman, who is an agent of the Secret Service — a spy, if you will have it so — and to one who can never claim his just reward, because he gave his life that the Federation might live."

  In simple, straightforward language he told the story of the Major's death and the finding of the papers in his body, and the grim President nodded in appreciation of the gallant deed.

  "He will have his due" said the old man quietly when the Colonel had ended, "for his name will be honoured when yours and mine are forgotten. And you also," he added, turning to the Oriental, "have served the Federation well and will be recompensed as you deserve. But all in good time. We must think of the living before we can remember the dead."

  He touched a bell that stood on the table close to his hand and, when the servant he had summoned appeared, the President directed that his secretary be awakened and sent to him.

  "I will at once issue an order," he explained to di Conti and the Colonel, "countermanding the act reducing the strength of the International Police which went into effect to-day, and to-morrow the High Commission will be convened to make a formal declaration of war. You, Colonel Villon, will carry a despatch immediately to the General Staff in London and you, Signor, will remain here. I may require your assistance."

  "Your pardon, Excellency," said di Conti a little nervously, "but you will recall the decision of the Supreme Court of the High Commission in the Panama Canal case of the year '45. In this decision it was made an offence of high treason against the International Federation for any officer of the Federation, no matter how exalted his rank, to rescind an order issued by the High Commission under the authority of the nations, unless the approval of the Commission and the nations involved was first secured."

  "I had not forgotten," returned the President gravely; "but in the present emergency, I hold my duty to humanity to far outweigh my duty to the law, even though it be the law of the nations. The responsibility is mine alone and I assume it gladly, knowing that in transgressing the law I am acting for the greatest good of all mankind."

  And the keen-visioned Colonel muttered under his breath, "Eh, but he is a true leader — that man!"

  War!

  Over the western world the news spread like wildfire.

  It flashed from city to city on the humming wires that laced the continents, and the tall towers of the wireless stations caught the message and flung it broadcast. On the ships at sea, on the mighty dirigibles cleaving the air, the dread word ran among passengers and crews alike and was received with open rejoicings or white faces and trembling lips. It stared grimly from the newspapers upon quiet families gathered about the home table, and little children wondered to see their elders on a sudden so grave, and lisped the word with smiling lips, unconscious of its awful meaning. In the waste places of the earth, sweating couriers checked their reeking horses to cry the news at the doors of lonely hovels or in the streets of drunken mining camps, and strong men listened with brightening eyes and tugged their cartridge belts tighter. In the great centres of population, men of business left their offices and gathered in the streets with ominous shakings of the head and mutterings for peace at any price that would leave their complex industries undisturbed. And selfish hearts ignored the throes of civilisation in the contemplation of threatened wealth, amassed to perilous heights through the long untroubled years.

  War!

  The big police barracks in Paris weltered in a riot of sound. Bearded officers embraced with tears of happiness streaming down their cheeks, and private soldiers shouted joyous oaths down the ringing corridors. In London, smooth-cheeked subalterns cast regulations to the winds and as the bubbling champagne flowed down the long mess tables, hammered on the boards with their naked swords and cheered hoarsely, while their superiors smiled with sober delight and made no effort to restrain them. The cafes of Munich and Berlin swarmed with grey-green uniforms and the big men crashed their big steins on the wet tables and sang the savage songs that tradition had handed down to them from the red year of '15, for this was their day of rejoicing. To-morrow the iron grip of discipline would crush out license and freedom and so they made merry while there was yet time. Even the solitary Cossacks, ceaselessly patrolling the eastern frontier, yelled fiercely and shook their slender lances at the cold, glittering stars when their reliefs brought them word.

  And in the airship station at Chatham, Lieutenant Tommy Hooker cried "Hurray!" and smote his cadet between the shoulder blades, greatly to that budding officer's astonishment, and then straightway sat himself down to express his feelings mo
st inadequately in a six-page letter to Mabel Thornton.

  But in the long, low room at headquarters where General von Weber, the commander-in-chief of the army and Admiral Barrows, chief of the Naval Division, sat in council with the officers of the General Staff, there was an atmosphere of grave purpose. On the polished table lay plans for the mobilization of the forces and the invasion of China, drawn up years before by careful, painstaking staff officers, and replete with long details of transport and commissariat, and monotonous with diagrams of roads and mountain passes and maps bristling with the intricate signs and figures of the Topographical Department.

  There was little to discuss, for the pre-arrangements covered nearly everything, and besides, they had the enemy's plans before them. The allies had based their preparations on the belief that they could choose their own time for commencing the war, that is, in summer, when the northern ports on the Japan Sea would be free from ice and the roads of Manchuria passable for artillery; and that they would have to oppose them a first line army of only 400,000, or at the most, 500,000 men, and these widely scattered among the military districts of Europe and the Americas. The capture or isolation of Vladivostok and a strong demonstration along the line of the Trans-Siberian railway would compel the International Police to divide their slender forces. Then, before the Federation had time to organise a second line strong enough to withstand the invasion, two more allied armies, striking at the Caucasus mountains and the Balkan peninsula, would brush aside what feeble resistance could be offered and open the road to southern Europe.

  By taking the initiative and declaring war six months before the appointed time, the Federation had won the first trick. The northern coast of the Japan Sea was still ice-bound and the armies of the allies were unprepared. Before another day had dawned, the Manchurian frontier corps of the Police was on the march to attack Harbin and the long troop-trains, rolling eastward on the Siberian railway, were bringing the men of Russia and northern Europe to strengthen the fighting line.