The Dark Star

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XXXII

  THE CERCLE EXTRANATIONALE

  The suite of rooms into which they were ushered appeared to befurnished in irreproachable taste. Except for the _salon_ at thefurther end of the suite, where play was in progress, the charmingapartment might have been a private one; and the homelike simplicityof the room, where books, flowers, and even a big, grey cat confirmedthe first agreeable impression, accented the lurking smile onSengoun's lips.

  Doc Curfoot, in evening dress, came forward to receive them, incompany with another man, young, nice-looking, very straight, and withthe high, square shoulders of a Prussian.

  "_Bong soire, mussoors_," said Curfoot genially. "_J'ai l'honnoor devous faire connaitre mong ami, Mussoor Weishelm._"

  They exchanged very serious bows with "Mussoor" Weishelm, and Curfootretired.

  In excellent French Weishelm inquired whether they desired supper; andlearning that they did not, bowed smilingly and bade them welcome:

  "You are at home, gentlemen; the house is yours. If it pleases you tosup, we offer you our hospitality; if you care to play, the _salon_ isat your disposal, or, if you prefer, a private room. Yonder is thebuffet; there are electric bells at your elbow. You are at home," herepeated, clicked his heels together, bowed, and took his leave.

  Sengoun dropped into a comfortable chair and sent a waiter for caviar,toast, and German champagne.

  Neeland lighted a cigarette, seated himself, and looked about himcuriously.

  Over in a corner on a sofa a rather pretty woman, a cigarette betweenher jewelled fingers, was reading an evening newspaper. Two others inthe adjoining room, young and attractive, their feet on the fireplacefender, conversed together over a sandwich, a glass of the widelyadvertised Dubonnet, and another of the equally advertised Bon LaitMaggi--as serenely and as comfortably as though they were by their ownfiresides.

  "Perhaps they are," remarked Sengoun, plastering an oblong of hottoast with caviar. "Birds of this kind nest easily anywhere."

  Neeland continued to gaze toward the _salon_ where play was inprogress. There did not seem to be many people there. At a small tablehe recognised Brandes and Stull playing what appeared to be bridgewhist with two men whom he had never before seen. There were no womenplaying.

  As he watched the round, expressionless face of Brandes, who waspuffing a long cigar screwed tightly into the corner of histhin-lipped mouth, it occurred to him somewhat tardily what Rue Carewhad said concerning personal danger to himself if any of these peoplebelieved him capable of reconstructing from memory any of the stolenplans.

  He had not thought about that specific contingency; instinct alone hadtroubled him a little when he first entered the Cafe des Bulgars.

  However, his unquiet eyes could discover nothing of either Kestner orBreslau; and, somehow, he did not even think of encountering IlseDumont in such a place. As for Brandes and Stull, they did notrecognise him at all.

  So, entirely reassured once more by the absence of Ali-Baba and GoldenBeard, and of Scheherazade whom he had no fear of meeting, Neeland atehis caviar with a relish and examined his surroundings.

  Of course it was perfectly possible that the stolen papers had beenbrought here. There were three other floors in the building, too, andhe wondered what they were used for.

  Sengoun's appetite for conflict waned as he ate and drank; and aviolent desire to gamble replaced it.

  "You poke about a bit," he said to Neeland. "Talk to that girl overthere and see what you can learn. As for me, I mean to start a littleflirtation with Mademoiselle Fortuna. Does that suit you?"

  If Sengoun wished to play it was none of Neeland's business.

  "Do you think it an honest game?" he asked, doubtfully.

  "With negligible stakes all first-class gamblers are honest."

  "If I were you, Sengoun, I wouldn't drink anything more."

  "Excellent advice, old fellow!" emptying his goblet with satisfaction.And, rising to his firm and graceful height, he strolled away towardthe _salon_ where play progressed amid the most decorous and edifyingof atmospheres.

  Neeland watched him disappear, then he glanced curiously at the girlon the sofa who was still preoccupied with her newspaper.

  So he rose, sauntered about the room examining the few pictures andbronzes, modern but excellent. The carpet under foot was thick andsoft, but, as he strolled past the girl who seemed to be so intentlyreading, she looked up over her paper and returned his civilrecognition of her presence with a slight smile.

  As he appeared inclined to linger, she said with pleasantself-possession:

  "These newspaper rumours, monsieur, are becoming too persistent toamuse us much longer. War talk is becoming _vieux jeu_."

  "Why read them?" inquired Neeland with a smile.

  "Why?" She made a slight gesture. "One reads what is printed, Isuppose."

  "Written and printed by people who know no more about the matter inquestion than you and I, mademoiselle," he remarked, still smiling.

  "That is perfectly true. Why is it worth while for anyone to searchfor truth in these days when everyone is paid to conceal it?"

  "Oh," he said, "not everyone."

  "No; some lie naturally and without pay," she admitted indifferently.

  "But there are still others. For example, mademoiselle, yourself."

  "I?" She laughed, not troubling to refute the suggestion of herpossible truthfulness.

  He said:

  "This--club--is furnished in excellent taste."

  "Yes; it is quite new."

  "Has it a name?"

  "I believe it is called the Cercle Extranationale. Would monsieur alsolike to know the name of the club cat?"

  They both laughed easily, but he could make nothing of her.

  "Thank you," he said; "and I fear I have interrupted yourreading----"

  "I have read enough lies; I am quite ready to tell you a few. ShallI?"

  "You are most amiable. I have been wondering what the other floors inthis building are used for."

  "Private apartments," she replied smiling, looking him straight in theeyes. "Now you don't know whether I've told you the truth or not; doyou?"

  "Of course I know."

  "Which, then?"

  "The truth."

  She laughed and indicated a chair; and he seated himself.

  "Who is the dark, nice-looking gentleman accompanying you?" sheenquired.

  "How could you see him at all through your newspaper?"

  "I poked a hole, of course."

  "To look at him or at me?"

  "Your mirror ought to reassure you. However, as an afterthought, whois he?"

  "Prince Erlik, of Mongolia," replied Neeland solemnly.

  "I supposed so. We of the infernal aristocracy belong together. I amthe Contessa Diabletta d'Enfer."

  He inclined gravely:

  "I'm afraid I don't belong here," he said. "I'm only a Yankee."

  "Hell is full of them," she said, smiling. "All Yankees belong wherePrince Erlik and I are at home.... Do you play?"

  "No. Do you?"

  "It depends on chance."

  "It would give me much pleasure----"

  "Thank you, not tonight." And in the same, level, pleasant voice:"Don't look immediately, but from where you sit you can see in themirror opposite two women seated in the next room."

  After a moment he nodded.

  "Are they watching us?"

  "Yes."

  "Mr. Neeland?"

  He reddened with surprise.

  "Get Captain Sengoun and leave," she said, still smiling. "Do itcarelessly, convincingly. Neither of you needs courage; both of youlack common sense. Get up, take leave of me nicely but regretfully, asthough I had denied you a rendezvous. You will be killed if you remainhere."

  For a moment Neeland hesitated, but curiosity won:

  "Who is likely to try anything of that sort?" he asked. And a tinglingsensation, not wholly unpleasant, passed over him.

  "Almost anyone here, if you are r
ecognised," she said, as gaily asthough she were imparting delightful information.

  "But _you_ recognise us. And I'm certainly not dead yet."

  "Which ought to tell you more about me than I am likely to tellanybody. Now, when I smile at you and shake my head, make your adieuxto me, find Captain Sengoun, and take your departure. Do youunderstand?"

  "Are you really serious?"

  "It is you who should be serious. Now, I give you your signal,Monsieur Neeland----"

  But the smile stiffened on her pretty face, and at the same moment hewas aware that somebody had entered the room and was standing directlybehind him.

  He turned on his chair and looked up into the face of Ilse Dumont.

  There was a second's hesitation, then he was on his feet, greeting hercordially, apparently entirely at ease and with nothing on his mindexcept the agreeable surprise of the encounter.

  "I had your note," he said. "It was charming of you to write, but veryneglectful of you not to include your address. Tell me, how have youbeen since I last saw you?"

  Ilse Dumont's red lips seemed to be dry, for she moistened themwithout speaking. In her eyes he saw peril--knowledge of somethingterrible--some instant menace.

  Then her eyes, charged with lightning, slowly turned from him to thegirl on the sofa who had not moved. But in her eyes, too, a littleflame began to flicker and play, and the fixed smile relaxed into anexpression of cool self-possession.

  Neeland's pleasant, careless voice broke the occult tension:

  "This is a pretty club," he said; "everything here is in suchexcellent taste. You might have told me about it," he added to Ilsewith smiling reproach; "but you never even mentioned it, and Idiscovered it quite by accident."

  Ilse Dumont seemed to find her voice with an effort:

  "May I have a word with you, Mr. Neeland?" she asked.

  "Always," he assured her promptly. "I am always more than happy tolisten to you----"

  "Please follow me!"

  He turned to the girl on the sofa and made his adieux withconventional ceremony and a reckless smile which said:

  "You were quite right, mademoiselle; I'm in trouble already."

  Then he followed Ilse Dumont into the adjoining room, which was linedwith filled bookcases and where the lounges and deep chairs werecovered with leather.

  Halting by the library table, Ilse Dumont turned to him--turned on hima look such as he never before had encountered in any living woman'seyes--a dead gaze, dreadful, glazed, as impersonal as the fixed regardof a corpse.

  She said:

  "I came.... They sent for me.... I did not believe they had the rightman.... I could not believe it, Neeland."

  A trifle shaken, he said in tones which sounded steady enough:

  "What frightens you so, Scheherazade?"

  "Why did you come? Are you absolutely mad?"

  "Mad? No, I don't think so," he replied with a forced smile. "Whatthreatens me here, Scheherazade?"--regarding her pallid faceattentively.

  "Death.... You must have known it when you came."

  "Death? No, I didn't know it."

  "Did you suppose that if they could get hold of you they'd let yougo?--A man who might carry in his memory the plans for which theytried to kill you? I wrote to you--I wrote to you to go back toAmerica! And--_this_ is what you have done instead!"

  "Well," he said in a pleasant but rather serious voice, "if youreally believe there is danger for me if I remain here, perhaps I'dbetter go."

  "You _can't_ go!"

  "You think I'll be stopped?"

  "Yes. Who is your crazy companion? I heard that he is AlakSengoun--the headlong fool--they call Prince Erlik. Is it true?"

  "Where did you hear all these things?" he demanded. "Where were youwhen you heard them?"

  "At the Turkish Embassy. Word came that they had caught you. I did notbelieve it; others present doubted it.... But as the rumour concerned_you_, I took no chances; I came instantly. I--I had rather be deadthan see you here----" Her voice became unsteady, but she controlledit at once:

  "Neeland! Neeland! Why did you come? Why have you undone all I triedto do for you----?"

  He looked intently at Ilse Dumont, then his gaze swept the handsomesuite of rooms. No one seemed to notice him; in perspective, men movedleisurely about the further _salon_, where play was going on; andthere seemed to be no one else in sight. And, as he stood there, free,in full pride and vigour of youth and strength, he became incredulousthat anything could threaten him which he could not take care of.

  A smile grew in his eyes, confident, humorous, a little hint oftenderness in it:

  "Scheherazade," he said, "you are a dear. You pulled me out of adreadful mess on the _Volhynia_. I offer you gratitude, respect, andthe very warm regard for you which I really cherish in my heart."

  He took her hands, kissed them, looked up half laughing, half inearnest.

  "If you're worried," he said, "I'll find Captain Sengoun and we'lldepart----"

  She retained his hands in a convulsive clasp:

  "Oh, Neeland! Neeland! There are men below who will never let youpass! And Breslau and Kestner are coming here later. And that devil,Damat Mahmud Bey!"

  "Golden Beard and Ali Baba and the whole Arabian Nights!" exclaimedNeeland. "Who is Damat Mahmud Bey, Scheherazade dear?"

  "The shadow of Abdul Hamid."

  "Yes, dear child, but Abdul the Damned is shut up tight in afortress!"

  "His shadow dogs the spurred heels of Enver Pasha," she said, strivingto maintain her composure. "Oh, Neeland!--A hundred thousand Armeniansare yet to die in that accursed shadow! And do you think Mahmud Damatwill hesitate in regard to _you_!"

  "Nonsense! Does a murderous Moslem go about Paris killing people hedoesn't happen to fancy? Those things aren't done----"

  "Have you and Sengoun any weapons at all?" she interrupteddesperately, "Anything!--A sword cane----?"

  "No. What the devil does all this business mean?" he broke outimpatiently. "What's all this menace of lawlessness--this impudentthreat of interference----"

  "It is _war_!"

  "War?" he repeated, not quite understanding her.

  She caught him by the arm:

  "War!" she whispered; "War! Do you understand? They don't care whatthey do now! They mean to kill you here in this place. They'll be outof France before anybody finds you."

  "Has war actually been declared?" he asked, astounded.

  "Tomorrow! It is known in certain circles!" She dropped his arm andclasped her hands and stood there twisting them, white, desperate,looking about her like a hunted thing.

  "Why did you do this?" she repeated in an agonised voice. "What can Ido? I'm no traitor!... But I'd give you a pistol if I had one----" Shechecked herself as the girl who had been reading an evening newspaperon a sofa, and to whom Neeland had been talking when Ilse Dumontentered, came sauntering into the room.

  The eyes of both women met; both turned a trifle paler. Then IlseDumont walked slowly up to the other:

  "I overheard your warning," she said with a deadly stare.

  "Really?"

  Ilse stretched out her bare arm, palm upward, and closed the fingerstightly:

  "I hold your life in my hand. I have only to speak. Do youunderstand?"

  "No."

  "You are lying. You _do_ understand. You take double wages; but it isnot France you betray! Nor Russia!"

  "Are you insane?"

  "Almost. _Where do you carry them?_"

  "What?"

  "Answer quickly. _Where?_ I tell you, I'll expose you in anothermoment if you don't answer me! Speak quickly!"

  The other woman had turned a ghastly white; for a second or two sheremained dumb, then, dry-lipped:

  "Above--the knee," she stammered; but there was scarcely a sound fromthe blanched lips that formed the words.

  "Pistols?"

  "Yes."

  "Loaded? Both of them?"

  "Yes."

  "Clips?"

  "No."

&n
bsp; "Unstrap them!"

  The woman turned, bent almost double, twisting her supple bodyentirely around; but Ilse Dumont was at her side like a flash andcaught her wrist as she withdrew her hand from the hem of her fluffyskirt.

  "Now--_take_ your life!" said Ilse Dumont between her teeth. "There'sthe door! Go out!"--following her with blazing eyes--"Stop! Standwhere you are until I come!"

  Then she came quickly to where Neeland stood, astonished; and thrusttwo automatic pistols into his hands.

  "Get Sengoun," she whispered. "Don't go _down_-stairs, for God's sake.Get to the roof, if you can. Try--oh, try, try, Neeland, my friend!"Her voice trembled; she looked into his eyes--gave him, in that swiftregard, all that a woman withholds until the right man asks.

  Her lips quivered; she turned sharply on her heel, went to the outerhallway, where the other woman stood motionless.

  "What am I to do with _you_?" demanded Ilse Dumont. "Do you think youare going out of here to summon the police? Mount those stairs!"

  The woman dropped her hand on the banisters, heavily, set foot on thefirst stair, then slowly mounted as though her little feet in theirdainty evening slippers were weighted with ball and chain.

  Ilse Dumont followed her, opened a door in the passage, motioned herto enter. It was a bedroom that the electric light revealed. The womanentered and stood by the bed as though stupefied.

  "I'll keep my word to you," said Ilse Dumont. "When it becomes toolate for you to do us any mischief, I'll return and let you go."

  And she stepped back across the threshold and locked the door on theoutside.

  As she did so, Neeland and Sengoun came swiftly up the stairs, and shebeckoned them to follow, gathered the skirts of her evening gown intoone hand, and ran up the stairs ahead of them to the fifth floor.

  In the dim light Neeland saw that the top floor was merely a vastattic full of debris from the cafe on the ground floor--iron tableswhich required mending or repainting, iron chairs, great jars ofartificial stone with dead baytrees standing in them, parts of rustystoves and kitchen ranges, broken cutlery in boxes, cracked tablechina and heavier kitchen crockery in tubs which once had heldflowers.

  The only windows gave on a court. Through their dirty panes alreadythe grey light of that early Sunday morning glimmered, revealing thecontents of the shadowy place, and the position of an iron ladderhooked to two rings under the scuttle overhead.

  Ilse Dumont laid her finger on her lips, conjuring silence, then,clutching her silken skirts, she started up the iron ladder, reachedthe top, and, exerting all her strength, lifted the hinged scuttleleading to the leads outside.

  Instantly somebody challenged her in a guttural voice. She stood therea few moments in whispered conversation, then, from outside, somebodylowered the scuttle cover; the girl locked it, descended the ironladder backwards, and came swiftly across to where Neeland and Sengounwere standing, pistols lifted.

  "They're guarding the roof," she whispered, "--two men. It ishopeless, that way."

  "The proper way," said Sengoun calmly, "is for us to shoot our way outof this!"

  The girl turned on him in a passion:

  "Do you suppose I care what happens to _you_?" she said. "If therewere no one else to consider you might do as you pleased, for all itconcerns me!"

  Sengoun reddened:

  "Be silent, you treacherous little cat!" he retorted. "Do you imagineyour riffraff are going to hold _me_ here when I'm ready to depart!_Me!_ A free Cossack! Bah!"

  "Don't talk that way, Sengoun," said Neeland sharply. "We owe thesepistols to her."

  "Oh," muttered Sengoun, shooting a menacing glance at her. "I didn'tunderstand that." Then his scowl softened and a sudden laugh clearedhis face.

  "I'm sorry, mademoiselle," he said. "You're quite welcome to your lowopinion of me. But if anyone should ask me, I'd say that I don'tunderstand what is happening to us. And after a while I'll becomeangry and go downstairs for information."

  "They know nothing about you in the _salle de jeu_," she said, "but onthe floor below they're waiting to kill you."

  Neeland, astonished, asked her whether the American gamblers in the_salon_ where Sengoun had been playing were ignorant of what was goingon in the house.

  "What Americans?" she demanded, incredulously. "Do you meanWeishelm?"

  "Didn't you know there were Americans employed in the _salle de jeu_?"asked Neeland, surprised.

  "No. I have not been in this house for a year until I came tonight.This place is maintained by the Turkish Government--" She flashed aglance at Sengoun--"_you're_ welcome to the information now," sheadded contemptuously. And then, to Neeland: "There was, I believe,some talk in New York about adding one or two Americans to thepersonnel, but I opposed it."

  "They're here," said Neeland drily.

  "Do you know who they are?"

  "Yes. There's a man called Doc Curfoot----"

  "_Who!!_"

  And suddenly, for the first time, Neeland remembered that she had beenthe wife of one of the men below.

  "Brandes and Stull are the others," he said mechanically.

  The girl stared at him as though she did not comprehend, and shepassed one hand slowly across her forehead and eyes.

  "Eddie Brandes? _Here?_ And Stull? Curfoot? _Here in this house!_"

  "In the _salon_ below."

  "They _can't_ be!" she protested in an odd, colourless voice. "Theywere bought soul and body by the British Secret Service!"

  All three stood staring at one another; the girl flushed, clenched herhand, then let it fall by her side as though utterly overcome.

  "All this espionage!" cried Sengoun, furiously. "--It makes me sick, Itell you! Where everybody betrays everybody is no place for a freeCossack!----"

  The terrible expression on the girl's face checked him; she said,slowly:

  "It is we others who have been betrayed, it seems. It is _we_ who aretrapped here. They've got us all--every one of us. Oh, my God!--everyone of us--at last!"

  She lifted her haggard face and stared at the increasing light whichwas turning the window panes a sickly yellow.

  "With sunrise comes war," she said in a stunned voice, as though toconvince herself. "We are caught here in this house. And Kestner andWeishelm and Breslau and I----" she trembled, framing her burning facein slim hands that were like ice. "Do you understand that Brandes andCurfoot, bought by England, have contracted to deliver us to a Frenchcourt martial?"

  The men looked at her in silence.

  "Kestner and Breslau knew they had been bought. One of our own peoplewitnessed that treachery. But we never dreamed that these traitorswould venture into this house tonight. We should have come hereourselves instead of going to the Turkish Embassy. That was MahmudDamat's meddling! His messenger insisted. God! What a mistake! What adeathly mistake for all of us!"

  She leaned for a moment against one of the iron pillars whichsupported the attic roof, and covered her face with her hands.

  After a moment, Neeland said:

  "I don't understand why you can't leave this house if you are indanger. You say that there are men downstairs who are waiting to killus--waiting only for Kestner and Breslau and Mahmud Damat to arrive."

  She said faintly:

  "I did not before understand Mahmud's delay. Now, I understand. He hasbeen warned. Breslau and Kestner will not come. Otherwise, you nowwould be barricaded behind that breastwork of rubbish, fighting foryour lives."

  "But you say there are men on the stairs below who are ready to killus if we try to leave the house."

  "They, too, are trapped without knowing it. War will come withsunrise. This house has been under surveillance since yesterdayafternoon. They have not closed in on us yet, because they are leavingthe trap open in hopes of catching us all. They are waiting forBreslau and Kestner and Mahmud Damat.... But they'll never come,now.... They are out of the city by this time.... I know them. Theyare running for their lives at this hour.... And we--we lesserones--caught here--trapped--reserved for a French
court martial and afiring squad in a barrack square!"

  She shuddered and pressed her hands over her temples.

  Neeland said:

  "I am going to stand by you. Captain Sengoun will do the same."

  She shook her head:

  "No use," she said with a shiver. "I am too well known. They have my_dossier_ almost complete. My _proces_ will be a brief one."

  "Can't you get away by the roof? There are two of your men upthere."

  "They themselves are caught, and do not even know it. They too willface a squad of execution before the sun rises tomorrow. And theynever dream of it up there----"

  She made a hopeless gesture:

  "What is the use! When I came here from the Turkish Embassy, hearingthat you were here but believing the information false, I discoveredyou conversing with a Russian spy--overheard her warn you to leavethis house.

  "And there, all the while, unknown to me, in the _salle de jeu_ wereCurfoot and that unspeakable scoundrel Brandes! Why, the place wasswarming with enemies--and I never dreamed it!... Yet--I might havefeared some such thing--I might have feared that the man, Brandes, whohad betrayed me once, would do it again if he ever had the chance....And he's done it."

  There was a long silence. Ilse stood staring at the melancholy greyishlight on the window panes.

  She said as though to herself:

  "I shall never see another daybreak."... After a moment she turned andbegan to pace the attic, a strange, terrible figure of haggard youthin the shadowy light. "How horribly still it is at daybreak!" shebreathed, halting before Neeland. "How deathly quiet----"

  The dry crack of a pistol cut her short. Then, instantly, in the dimdepths of the house, shot followed shot in bewildering succession,faster, faster, filling the place with a distracting tumult.

  Neeland jerked up his pistol as a nearer volley rattled out on thelanding directly underneath.

  Sengoun, exasperated, shouted:

  "Well, what the devil is all this!" and ran toward the head of thestairs, his pistol lifted for action.

  Then, in the garret doorway, Weishelm appeared, his handsome facestreaming blood. He staggered, turned mechanically toward the stairsagain with wavering revolver; but a shot drove him blindly backwardand another hurled him full length across the floor, where he lay withboth arms spread out, and the last tremors, running from his feet tohis twitching face.