The Dark Star

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XV

  THE LOCKED HOUSE

  From the road, just before he descended to cross the bridge intoBrookhollow, he caught a gleam of light straight ahead. For a momentit did not occur to him that there was anything strange in his seeinga light in the old Carew house. Then, suddenly, he realised that alight ought not to be burning behind the lowered shades of a housewhich was supposed to be empty and locked.

  His instant impulse was to put on his brakes then and there, but thenext moment he realised that his car must already have been heard andseen by whoever had lighted that shaded lamp. The car was already onthe old stone bridge; the Carew house stood directly behind thecrossroads ahead; and he swung to the right into the creek road andsped along it until he judged that neither his lights nor the sound ofhis motor could be distinguished by the unknown occupant of the Carewhouse.

  Then he ran his car out among the tall weeds close to the line ofscrub willows edging the creek; extinguished his lights, including thetail-lamp; left his engine running; stood listening a moment to thewhispering whirr of his motor; then, taking the flash light from hispocket, he climbed over the roadside wall and ran back across thepasture toward the house.

  As he approached the old house from the rear, no crack of light wasvisible, and he began to think he might have been mistaken--thatperhaps the dancing glare of his own acetylenes on the windows hadmade it seem as though they were illuminated from within.

  Cautiously he prowled along the rear under the kitchen windows, turnedthe corner, and went to the front porch.

  He had made no mistake; a glimmer was visible between the edge of thelowered shade and the window casing.

  Was it some impudent tramp who had preempted this lonely house for anight's lodging? Was it, possibly, a neighbour who had taken charge inreturn for a garden to cultivate and a place to sleep in? Yet, howcould it be the latter when he himself had the keys to the house?Moreover, such an arrangement could scarcely have been made by RueCarew without his being told of it.

  Then he remembered what the Princess Mistchenka had said in her cablemessage, that somebody might break into the house and steal theolive-wood box unless he hastened to Brookhollow and secured itimmediately.

  Was this what was being done now? Had somebody broken in for thatpurpose? And who might it be?

  A slight chill, not entirely agreeable, passed over Neeland. A ratherwarm sensation of irritation succeeded it; he mounted the steps,crossed the verandah, went to the door and tried the knob verycautiously. The door was locked; whoever might be inside eitherpossessed a key that fitted or else must have entered by forcing awindow.

  But Neeland had neither time nor inclination to prowl around andinvestigate; he had a duty to fulfil, a train to catch, and a steamerto connect with the next morning. Besides, he was getting madder everysecond.

  So he fitted his key to the door, careless of what noise he made,unlocked and pushed it open, and started to cross the threshold.

  Instantly the light in the adjoining room grew dim. At the same momenthis quick ear caught a sound as though somebody had blown out theturned-down flame; and he found himself facing total darkness.

  "Who the devil's in there!" he called, flashing his electric pocketlamp. "Come out, whoever you are. You've no business in this house,and you know it!" And he entered the silent room.

  His flash light revealed nothing except dining-room furniture indisorder, the doors of a cupboard standing open--one door still gentlyswinging on its hinges.

  The invisible hand that had moved it could not be far away. Neeland,throwing his light right and left, caught a glimpse of another doorclosing stealthily, ran forward and jerked it open. His lampilluminated an empty passageway; he hurried through it to the doorthat closed the farther end, tore it open, and deluged thesitting-room with his blinding light.

  Full in the glare, her face as white as the light itself, stood awoman. And just in time his eyes caught the glitter of a weapon in herstiffly extended hand; and he snapped off his light and ducked as thelevel pistol-flame darted through the darkness.

  The next second he had her in his grasp; held her writhing andtwisting; and, through the confused trample and heavy breathing, henoticed a curious crackling noise as though the clothing she wore weremade of paper.

  The struggle in pitch darkness was violent but brief; she managed tofire again as he caught her right arm and felt along it until hetouched the desperately clenched pistol. Then, still clutching herclosed fingers, he pulled the flash light from his side pocket andthrew its full radiance straight into her face.

  "Let go your pistol," he breathed.

  She strove doggedly to retain it, but her slender fingers slowlyrelaxed under his merciless grip; the pistol fell; and he kicked thepearl-handled, nickel-plated weapon across the dusty board floor.

  They both were panting; her right arm, rigid, still remained in hispowerful clutch. He released it presently, stepped back, and playedthe light over her from head to foot.

  She was deathly white. Under her smart straw hat, which had beenpushed awry, the contrast between her black hair and eyes and herchalky skin was startling.

  "What are you doing in this house?" he demanded, still breathingheavily from exertion and excitement.

  She made an effort:

  "Is it your house?" she gasped.

  "It isn't yours, is it?" he retorted.

  She made no answer.

  "Why did you shoot at me?"

  She lifted her black eyes and stared at him. Her breast rose and fellwith her rapid breathing, and she placed both hands over it as thoughto quiet it.

  "Come," he said, "I'm in a hurry. I want an explanation from you----"

  The words died on his lips as she whipped a knife out of her bosom andflew at him. Through the confusion of flash light and darkness theyreeled, locked together, but he caught her arm again, jerking it soviolently into the air that he lifted her off her feet.

  "That's about all for tonight," he panted, twisting the knife out ofher helpless hand and flinging it behind him. Without furtherceremony, he pulled out his handkerchief, caught her firmly, reachedfor her other arm, jerked it behind her back, and tied both wrists.Then he dragged a chair up and pushed her on it.

  Her hat had fallen off, and her hair sagged to her neck. The frailstuff of which her waist was made had been badly torn, too, and hungin rags from her right shoulder.

  "Who are you?" he demanded.

  As she made no reply, he went over and picked up the knife and thepistol. The knife was a silver-mounted Kurdish dagger; the engravedand inlaid blade appeared to be dull and rusty. He examined it for afew moments, glanced inquiringly at her where she sat, pale and muteon the chair, with both wrists tied behind her.

  "You seem to be a connoisseur of antiques," he said. "Your dagger iscertainly a collector's gem, and your revolver is equally out of date.I recommend an automatic the next time you contemplate doing murder."

  Walking up to her he looked curiously into her dark eyes, but he coulddetect no expression in them.

  "Why did you come here?" he demanded.

  No answer.

  "Did you come to get an olive-wood box bound with silver?"

  A slight colour tinted the ashy pallor under her eyes.

  He turned abruptly and swept the furniture with his searchlight, andsaw on a table her coat, gloves, wrist bag, and furled umbrella; andbeside them what appeared to be her suitcase, open. It had a canvasand leather cover: he walked over to the table, turned back the coverof the suitcase and revealed a polished box of olive wood, heavilybanded by some metal resembling silver.

  Inside the box were books, photographs, a bronze Chinese figure, whichhe recognised as the Yellow Devil, a pair of revolvers, a dagger verymuch like the one he had wrested from her. _But there were no militaryplans there._

  He turned to his prisoner:

  "Is everything here?" he asked sharply.

  "Yes."

  He picked up her wrist bag and opened it, but discovered
only somemoney, a handkerchief, a spool of thread and packet of needles.

  There was a glass lamp on the table. He managed to light it finally;turned off his flash light, and examined the contents of the box againthoroughly. Then he came back to where she was seated.

  "Get up," he said.

  She looked at him sullenly without moving.

  "I'm in a hurry," he repeated; "get up. I'm going to search you."

  At that she bounded to her feet.

  "What!" she exclaimed furiously.

  But he caught hold of her, held her, untied the handkerchief, freeingher wrists.

  "Now, pull out those papers you have concealed under your clothing,"he said impatiently. And, as she made no motion to comply: "If youdon't, I'll do it for you!"

  "You dare lay your hand on me!" she flamed.

  "You treacherous little cat, do you think I'll hesitate?" he retorted."Do you imagine I retain any respect for you or your person? Give methose papers!"

  "I have no papers!"

  "You are lying. Listen to me once for all; I've a train to catch and asteamer to catch, and I'm going to do both. And if you don't instantlyhand out those papers you've concealed I'll have no more compunctionin taking them by force than I'd have in stripping an ear of corn!Make up your mind and make it up quick!"

  "You mean you'd strip--_me_!" she stammered, scarlet to her hair.

  "That's what I mean, you lying little thief. That's just what I mean.Kick and squall as you like, I'll take those papers with me if I haveto take your clothing too!"

  Breathless, infuriated, she looked desperately around her, caughtsight of the Kurdish dagger, leaped at it; and for the third timefound herself struggling in his arms.

  "Don't!" she gasped. "Let me go! I--I'll give you what you want----"

  "Do you mean it?"

  "Yes."

  He released the dishevelled girl, who shrank away from him. But thedevil himself glowed in her black eyes.

  "Go out of the room," she said, "if I'm to get the papers for you!"

  "I can't trust you," he answered. "I'll turn my back." And he walkedover to the olive-wood box, where the weapons lay.

  Standing there he heard, presently, the rustle of crumpling papers,heard a half-smothered sob, waited, listening, alert for furthertreachery on her part.

  "Hurry!" he said.

  A board creaked.

  "Don't move again!" he cried. The floor boards creaked once more; andhe turned like a flash to find her in her stocking feet, alreadyhalfway to where he stood. In either hand she held out a bundle ofpapers; and, as they faced each other, she took another step towardhim.

  "Stand where you are," he warned her. "Throw those papers on thefloor!"

  "I----"

  "Do you hear!"

  Looking him straight in the eyes she opened both hands; the papersfell at her feet, and with them dropped the two dagger-like steel pinswhich had held her hat.

  "Now, go and put on your shoes," he said contemptuously, picking upthe papers and running over them. When he had counted them, he cameback to where she was standing.

  "Where are the others?"

  "What others?"

  "The remainder of the papers! You little devil, they're wrapped aroundyour body! Go into that pantry! Go quick! Undress and throw out everyrag you wear!"

  She drew a deep, quivering breath, turned, entered the pantry andclosed the door. Presently the door opened a little and her clothingdropped outside in a heap.

  There were papers in her stockings, papers stitched to her stays,basted inside her skirts. A roll of drawings traced on linen lay onthe floor, still retaining the warmth of her body around which theyhad been wrapped.

  He pulled the faded embroidered cover from the old piano and knockedat the pantry door.

  "Put that on," he said, "and come out."

  She emerged, swathed from ankle to chin, her flushed face shadowed byher fallen mass of dark hair. He turned his flash light on thecupboard, but discovered nothing more. Then he picked up her hat,clothes, and shoes, laid them on the pantry shelf, and curtly bade hergo back and dress.

  "May I have the lamp and that looking glass?"

  "If you like," he said, preoccupied with the papers.

  While she was dressing, he repacked the olive-wood box. She emergedpresently, carrying the lamp, and he took it from her hurriedly, notknowing whether she might elect to throw it at his head.

  While she was putting on her jacket he stood watching her withperplexed and sombre gaze.

  "I think," he remarked, "that I'll take you with me and drop you atthe Orangeville jail on my way to town. Be kind enough to start towardthe door."

  As she evinced no inclination to stir he passed one arm around her andlifted her along a few feet; and she turned on him, struggling, herface convulsed with fury.

  "Keep your insolent hands off me," she said. "Do you hear?"

  "Oh, yes, I hear." He nodded again toward the door. "Come," herepeated impatiently; "move on!"

  She hesitated; he picked up the olive-wood box, extinguished the lamp,opened his flash, and motioned with his head, significantly. Shewalked ahead of him, face lowered.

  Outside he closed and locked the door of the house.

  "This way," he said coldly. "If you refuse, I'll pick you up andcarry you under my arm. I think by this time you realise I can do it,too."

  Halfway across the dark pasture she stopped short in her tracks.

  "Have I _got_ to carry you?" he demanded sharply.

  "Don't have me locked up."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm not a--a thief."

  "Oh! Excuse me. What are you?"

  "You know. Don't humiliate me."

  "Answer my question! What are you if you're not a lady crook?"

  "I'm employed--as _you_ are! Play the game fairly." She halted in thedark pasture, but he motioned her to go forward.

  "If you don't keep on walking," he said, "I'll pick you up as I woulda pet cat and carry you. Now, then, once more, who are you workingfor? By whom are you employed, if you're not a plain thief?"

  "The--Turkish Embassy."

  "What!"

  "You knew it," she said in a low voice, walking through the darknessbeside him.

  "What is your name?" he insisted.

  "Dumont."

  "What else?"

  "Ilse Dumont."

  "That's French."

  "It's Alsatian German."

  "All right. Now, why did you break into that house?"

  "To take what you took."

  "To steal these papers for the Turkish Embassy?"

  "To _take_ them."

  "For the Turkish Ambassador!" he repeated incredulously.

  "No; for his military attache."

  "What are you, a spy?"

  "You knew it well enough. You are one, also. But you have treated meas though I were a thief. You'll be killed for it, I hope."

  "You think I'm a spy?" he asked, astonished.

  "What else are you?"

  "A spy?" he repeated. "Is _that_ what _you_ are? And you suppose me tobe one, too? That's funny. That's extremely----" He checked himself,looked around at her. "What are you about?" he demanded. "What's thatin your hand?"

  "A cigarette."

  They had arrived at the road. He got over the wall with the box; shevaulted it lightly.

  In the darkness he caught the low, steady throbbing of his engine, andpresently distinguished the car standing where he had left it.

  "Get in," he said briefly.

  "I am not a thief! Are you going to lay that charge against me?"

  "I don't know. Is it worse than charging you with three separateattempts to murder me?"

  "Are you going to take me to jail?"

  "I'll see. You'll go as far as Orangeville with me, anyhow."

  "I don't care to go."

  "I don't care whether you want to go or not. Get into the car!"

  She climbed to the seat beside the wheel; he tossed in the olive-woodbox, turned on h
is lamps, and took the wheel.

  "May I have a match for my cigarette?" she asked meekly.

  He found one, scratched it; she placed a very thick and long cigarettebetween her lips and he lighted it for her.

  Just as he threw in the clutch and the car started, the girl blew ashower of sparks from the end of her cigarette, rose in her seat, andflung the lighted cigarette high into the air. Instantly it burst intoa flare of crimson fire, hanging aloft as though it were a fireballoon, and lighting up road and creek and bushes and fields with abrilliant strontium glare.

  Then, far in the night, he heard a motor horn screech three times.

  "You young devil!" he said, increasing the speed. "I ought to haveremembered that every snake has its mate.... If you offer to touchme--if you move--if you as much as lift a finger, I'll throw you intothe creek!"

  The car was flying now, reeling over the dirt road like a drunkenthing. He hung grimly to the wheel, his strained gaze fixed on theshaft of light ahead, through which the road streamed like a torrent.

  A great wind roared in his ears; his cap was gone. The car hurleditself forward through an endless tunnel of darkness lined withsilver. Presently he began to slow down; the furious wind died away;the streaking darkness sped by less swiftly.

  "Have you gone mad?" she cried in his ear. "You'll kill us both!"

  "Wait," he shouted back; "I'll show you and your friends behind uswhat speed really is."

  The car was still slowing down as they passed over a wooden bridgewhere a narrow road, partly washed out, turned to the left and ranalong a hillside. Into this he steered.

  "Who is it chasing us?" he asked curiously, still incredulous that anyembassy whatever was involved in this amazing affair.

  "Friends."

  "More Turks?"

  She did not reply.

  He sat still, listening for a few moments, then hastily started hiscar down the hill.

  "Now," he said, "I'll show you what this car of mine really can do!Are you afraid?"

  She said between her teeth:

  "I'd be a fool if I were not. All I pray for is that you'll killyourself, too."

  "We'll chance it together, my murderous little friend."

  The wind began to roar again as they rushed downward over a hill thatseemed endless. She clung to her seat and he hung to his wheel likegrim death; and, for one terrible instant, she almost lostconsciousness.

  Then the terrific pace slackened; the car, running swiftly, was nowspeeding over a macadam road; and Neeland laughed and cried in herear:

  "Better light another of your hell's own cigarettes if you want yourfriends to follow us!"

  Slowing, he drove with one hand on the wheel.

  "Look up there!" he said, pointing high at a dark hillside. "See theirlights? They're on the worst road in the Gayfield hills. We cut offthree miles this way."

  Still driving with one hand, he looked at his watch, laughedcontentedly, and turned to her with the sudden and almost friendlytoleration born of success and a danger shared in common.

  "That was rather a reckless bit of driving," he admitted. "Were youfrightened?"

  "Ask yourself how you'd feel with a fool at the wheel."

  "We're all fools at times," he retorted, laughing. "You were when youshot at me. Suppose I'd been seized with panic. I might have turnedloose on you, too."

  For a while she remained silent, then she looked at him curiously:

  "Were you armed?"

  "I carry an automatic pistol in my portfolio pocket."

  She shrugged.

  "You were a fool to come into that house without carrying it in yourhand."

  "Where would you be now if I had done that?"

  "Dead, I suppose," she said carelessly.... "What _are_ you going to dowith me?"

  He was in excellent humour with himself; exhilaration and excitementstill possessed him, keyed him up.

  "Fancy," he said, "a foreign embassy being mixed up in a plain case ofgrand larceny!--robbing with attempt to murder! My dear butbloodthirsty young lady, I can hardly comprehend it."

  She remained silent, looking straight in front of her.

  "You know," he said, "I'm rather glad you're not a common thief.You've lots of pluck--plenty. You're as clever as a cobra. It isn'tevery poisonous snake that is clever," he added, laughing.

  "What do you intend to do with me?" she repeated coolly.

  "I don't know. You are certainly an interesting companion. Maybe I'lltake you to New York with me. You see I'm beginning to like you."

  She was silent.

  He said:

  "I never before met a real spy. I scarcely believed they existed intime of peace, except in novels. Really, I never imagined there wereany spies working for embassies, except in Europe. You are, to me,such a rare specimen," he added gaily, "that I rather dread partingwith you. Won't you come to Paris with me?"

  "Does what you say amuse you?"

  "What _you_ say does. Yes, I think I'll take you to New York, anyway.And as we journey toward that great metropolis together you shall tellme all about your delightful profession. You shall be a Scheherazadeto me! Is it a bargain?"

  She said in a pleasant, even voice:

  "I might as well tell you now that what you've been stupid enough todo tonight is going to cost you your life."

  "What!" he exclaimed laughingly. "More murder? Oh, Scheherazade! Shameon your naughty, naughty behaviour!"

  "Do you expect to reach Paris with those papers?"

  "I do, fair houri! I do, Rose of Stamboul!"

  "You never will."

  "No?"

  "No." She sat staring ahead of her for a few moments, then turned onhim with restrained impatience:

  "Listen to me, now! I don't know who you are. If you're employed byany government you are a novice----"

  "Or an artist!"

  "Or a consummate artist," she admitted, looking at him uncertainly.

  "I _am_ an artist," he said.

  "You have an excellent opinion of yourself."

  "No. I'm telling you the truth. My name is Neeland--James Neeland. Idraw little pictures for a living--nice little pictures for newspapersand magazines."

  His frankness evidently perplexed her.

  "If that is so," she said, "what interests you in the papers you tookfrom me?"

  "Nothing at all, my dear young lady! _I'm_ not interested in them. Butfriends of mine are."

  "Who?"

  He merely laughed at her.

  "_Are_ you an agent for any government?"

  "Not that I know of."

  She said very quietly:

  "You make a terrible mistake to involve yourself in this affair. Ifyou are not paid to do it--if you are not interested from patrioticmotives--you had better keep aloof."

  "But it's too late. I _am_ mixed up in it--whatever it may mean. Whynot tell me, Scheherazade?"

  His humorous badinage seemed only to make her more serious.

  "Mr. Neeland," she said quietly, "if you really are what you say youare, it is a dangerous and silly thing that you have done tonight."

  "Don't say that! Don't consider it so tragically. I'm enjoying it allimmensely."

  "Do you consider it a comedy when a woman tries to kill you?"

  "Maybe you are fond of murder, gentle lady."

  "Your sense of humour seems a trifle perverted. I am more serious thanI ever was in my life. And I tell you very solemnly that you'll bekilled if you try to take those papers to Paris. Listen!"--she laidone hand lightly on his arm--"Why should you involve yourself--you, anAmerican? This matter is no concern of yours----"

  "What matter?"

  "The matter concerning those papers. I tell you it does not concernyou; it is none of your business. Let me be frank with you: the papersare of importance to a foreign government--to the German Government.And in no way do they threaten your people or your country's welfare.Why, then, do you interfere? Why do you use violence toward an agentof a foreign and friendly government?"

 
"Why does a foreign and friendly government employ spies in a friendlycountry?"

  "All governments do."

  "Is that so?"

  "It is. America swarms with British and French agents."

  "How do you know?"

  "It's my business to know, Mr. Neeland."

  "Then that _is_ your profession! You really are a spy?"

  "Yes."

  "And you pursue this ennobling profession with an enthusiasm whichdoes not stop short of murder!"

  "I had no choice."

  "Hadn't you? Your business seems to be rather a deadly one, doesn'tit, Scheherazade?"

  "Yes, it might become so.... Mr. Neeland, I have no personal feelingof anger for you. You offered me violence; you behaved brutally,indecently. But I want you to understand that no petty personalfeeling incites me. The wrong you have done me is nothing; the injuryyou threaten to do my country is very grave. I ask you to believe thatI speak the truth. It is in the service of my country that I haveacted. Nothing matters to me except my country's welfare. Individualsare nothing; the Fatherland everything.... Will you give me back mypapers?"

  "No. I shall return them to their owner."

  "Is that final?"

  "It is."

  "I am sorry," she said.

  A moment later the lights of Orangeville came into distant view acrossthe dark and rolling country.