Turning, as he was leaving, to thank the boyish operator, he found that youth’s shrewd eyes fixed on him intently.
“Look out, sir,” said the operator, in perfectly good English. “There’s a lot o’ talk about you on board.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wasn’t it you the Wyvern was wanting?”
“Yes.”
“You’re friendly to us, I take it?”
“Do you mean to England?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I fancied so. Be very careful aboard this boat, sir. Half the crew and most of the stewards are German.”
“Thanks,” said Guild smilingly.
But as he walked slowly away he realized rather uneasily what an object of interest he had become to the personnel of the ship since the Wyvern had honoured him by her wireless inquiries concerning him.
CHAPTER XII
IN THE RAIN
He went straight to the writing-room. Only one or two of his fellow-passengers were up, and he had the place to himself.
He wrote first:
W. A. Churchill, Esquire,
British Consulate,
Plantage Middenlaan 20,
Amsterdam,
Holland
Sir:
The following items of information should be immediately transmitted to your home Government. The importance of the matters in question admit of no delay.
1st. It has come to my knowledge that German spies in England have discovered the whereabouts of a British fleet — presumably the first line battle fleet — and have attempted to communicate the intelligence to Berlin. One document in cipher embodying this intelligence has been intercepted and translated. But other communications in cipher may get through.
2d. Another document of the same sort advises the Berlin Government to send from Cuxhaven a cruiser (parent ship) as convoy to three submarines for the purpose of attacking the British armoured ships.
The rendezvous of the British ships, as given in the cipher message, is Lough Swilly, North Irish coast.
The route suggested for the German cruiser and submarines is around the north coast of Scotland.
3d. Still a third document in cipher informs the German Government that the light cruiser, Schmetterling, at or off Valparaiso, is being pursued by the Japanese ship Geisha and the French gunboat Eventail.
4th. The fourth and last item of information to be transmitted to your Government concerns an actuality witnessed by myself and by the majority of the passengers of this steamer, now docking at Rotterdam.
Last night, somewhere between eleven o’clock and midnight, and somewhere off the Belgian coast, H. M. S. Wyvern was blown up, whether by mine or torpedo or by a bomb from some unseen air-craft I do not know. She was using her searchlight on the clouds at the time.
The ship was tilted out of the water at an odd angle when the red glare that suddenly enveloped her made her visible. It appears to me as though some submarine convulsion had heaved her up out of the sea.
There was one of her officers aboard our liner when the catastrophe occurred — Lieutenant Jamison. A boat’s crew lay alongside of us. With these exceptions it does not seem probable that anybody aboard the Wyvern could have escaped death, although other ships were in the vicinity and their searchlights played upon her, and I saw small boats on the way to her before she finally blew to pieces.
This is the information which both duty and inclination impel me to place at the disposal of the British Government.
Permit me to add that I am leaving in the hands of the United States consul, Henry H. Morgan, Esquire, a separate packet of papers containing full corroboration of the foregoing details.
The packet is addressed to you in his care, but he will be instructed to give you this letter, only, and not to deliver the packet to you until a week from today for reasons which I cannot explain.
The packet contains —
1st. Three pages of cipher and pictographs employed by the German spy system in London.
2d. A key to the cipher.
3d. A key to the pictographs.
4th. A full translation of the cipher.
5th. A translation of the pictographs.
6th. A map.
The German personage to whom the packet was originally addressed, the names and addresses of those who sent it from London, the circumstances under which it was intercepted, will be written out with what detail is necessary, and will be contained in the packet with the original cipher.
In one week from today the American Consul, Mr. Morgan, will deliver to you this packet, but under no circumstances is it to be delivered before a week from today.
I have the honour to be, sir, with great respect,
Your obt. serv’t,
Kervyn Guild
Union square, New York.
This letter he sealed, addressed, and laid aside.
He then wrote to the American Consulate, addressing the note to the Consul and Vice-Consul, saying that he committed to their care —
1st. A letter to be called for immediately by the British Consul in person, and so marked.
2d. A packet addressed to the British Consul, but not to be delivered until a week had expired.
3d. A letter to be sent to the United States Consul General in London with all speed.
4th. A telegram to be sent to Edmeston Automobile Agency in London.
5th. A letter to the same agency.
He then wrote out his telegram, wondering whether the United States Consul could put it through:
Edmeston Agency,
White Hood Lane,
London, E. C.
Business of instant importance requires you all to leave for Holland immediately. Lose no time.
Signed — Rider.
Holland Line S. S. Feyenoord.
The letter was directed to the Edmeston Agency:
Dear Sirs:
Grätz and Bush must leave at once if they wish to enjoy the fishing here. The pike are biting. Four have been caught. The shooting, also, is excellent. Eight birds were killed yesterday. If Grätz and Bush do not leave within a week business in London is likely to detain them indefinitely and they will miss their holiday with little chance for another.
Tell them to take the urgent advice of a sportsman and clear out while they have the chance.
Yours with good intentions,
D. Brown Satchell
While Guild was busy writing and consigning what he had written to separate envelopes, he was aware of considerable movement and noise outside on deck — the passing to and fro of many people, whistle blasts from other craft — in fact, all the various species of bustle and noise which, aboard any steamer, indicate its approach to port.
He raised his head and tried to see, but it was still raining and the air was dull with fog.
Passengers, stewards, and officers came and went, passing through the writing-room where he sat in a corner sorting and sealing his letters. Twice, glancing up over his shoulder, he noticed a steward cleaning up, dusting and arranging the pens, ink, and writing paper on the several tables near by — one of those too busy and officious functionaries whose zeal for tips usually defeats its own ends.
And so it happened this time, for, as Guild, intent on what he was writing, reached out absently for another envelope, a package of them was thrust into his hand with a bustling, obsequious— “Paper, sir! Yes, sir” — Beg pardon, sir! I’m sorry!” — For somehow the inkwell had been upset and the pile of letters scattered over the floor.
“Damn it!” said Guild savagely, springing back to avoid the streaming ink.
The steward appeared to be overwhelmed; down he flopped on his knees to collect the letters, hopping up at intervals to sop the flowing flood of ink from the desk.
Guild took the letters from him grimly, counted the sealed envelopes, then without a word went to the neighbouring desk, and, sitting down there, wrote on the last sealed envelope not yet addressed
— the envelope which contained the cipher code, translation, and the information concerning the Edmeston Company. When he had written on it: “To be delivered to the British Consul in a week,” he gathered all the letters, placed them in his breast pocket, buttoned his coat, and went out. For half an hour he walked to and fro under the shelter of the roofed deck, glancing absently across the rail where there was nothing to see except grey mist, grey water, and rain.
After he had enough of this he went below.
Karen was not in the cabin, but her luggage stood there beside his own.
He had plenty of time to make a decent toilet; he bathed, shaved, chose fresh linen, brushed his wrinkled tweeds as thoroughly as he could, then, leaving the luggage there he went away in search of Karen with a view to breakfast.
He found her on the starboard deck very comfortably established. The idiot deck steward who had upset his ink-well and scattered his letters was serving her obsequiously with marmalade.
As Guild approached Karen looked up at him coolly enough, though a bright colour surged into her face. The steward bustled away to find more coffee and rolls.
“Do you feel rested at all?” asked Guild pleasantly.
“Yes, thank you.”
“May I take the next chair and have breakfast with you?”
“Yes, please.”
He seated himself. She said nothing, ate nothing. Suddenly it occurred to him that in her quaint way she was waiting for his breakfast to appear before beginning her own.
“You are not waiting for me, are you?” he asked. “Don’t do that; everything will be cold.”
With an odd air of old-fashioned obedience, which always seemed to make her more youthful to him, she began her breakfast.
“We’ll be docking presently,” he remarked, glancing out into the fog and thinly falling rain.
“Yes.”
He lay back in his chair, not caring for her monosyllables, but good-humouredly receptive in case she encouraged conversation.
Neither the freshness of her clothes nor of her skin seemed to have suffered from the discomforts of the night; her hair was lustrous and crisply in order. From her hat-crown to the palms of her gloves rolled back over her wrists, she seemed to have just left the hands of a clever maid, so fresh, sweet, fragrant and immaculate she appeared to him, and he became uncomfortably conscious of his knickerbockers and badly wrinkled tweeds.
The same fool of a steward brought his coffee. And as Karen offered no encouragement to conversation he breakfasted beside her in silence.
Afterward he lighted a cigarette, and they both lay back on their steamer chairs watching the fog and the drizzle and the promenading passengers who all appeared to be excited at the approaching process of docking and over the terrible episode of the previous night.
In all languages it was being discussed; Guild could catch fragments of conversation as groups formed, passed, and repassed their chairs.
Another thing was plain to him; Karen had absolutely nothing to say to him, and apparently no further interest in him.
From time to time he looked at the pure profile which never turned in response. Self-possessed, serene, the girl gazed out into the fog as though she were quite alone on deck. Nor did there seem to be any effort in her detached interest from her environment. And Guild wondered in his depressed heart whether he had utterly and hopelessly killed in her the last faint glimmer of friendly interest in him.
The docking of the Feyenoord in the fog interested him very little; here and there a swaying mast or a black and red funnel loomed up in the fog, and the air was full of characteristic noises — that is all he saw or heard where he lay silent, brooding on fate and chance and on the ways of a woman in the pride of her youth.
The idiot steward reappeared and Guild sent him below for their luggage.
On the gang-plank they descended with the throng, shoulder to shoulder in silence. Inspection did not take long; then a porter who had been following took their luggage.
“Karen, do you speak Dutch?” asked Guild, mischievously.
“Yes — a little.”
“I supposed you did,” he said smilingly. “Please ask him the shortest way to the United States Consulate.”
She turned indifferently to the porter: “Wat is de Kortste weg naar — —”
She hesitated, then with a dainty malice indescribable—” — Naar the Yankee Consulate?” she added calmly.
Guild reddened and strolled a few steps forward, thoroughly incensed.
The porter smothered a smile: “Mejuffrouw—” he began, “ga recht uit links, en den de derde Straat rechts — —”
“Hoe ver is het?”
The porter glanced sideways and cunningly after Guild, then sank his voice: “Freule—” he began, but the girl’s haughty amazement silenced him. He touched his cap and muttered in English: “Madam is known to me. The chain is long from London to Trois Fontaines. I am only another link in that chain — at madam’s service.”
“I am served — sufficiently. Find a motor cab and tell the driver to take us to the United States Consulate.”
The porter’s visage expressed sullen curiosity: “Why,” he asked in German, “does the gracious, well-born young lady desire to visit the American Consulate when the German Consulate is possibly expecting her?”
At that she straightened up, staring at the man out of coldly insolent eyes.
“That is enough,” she said. “Take our luggage to a motor cab.”
“To the Yankee Consulate?”
“To the Consulate of the United States! Do you hear? Move, then!” she said crisply.
It was raining torrents; Guild held the sullen porter’s umbrella while Karen entered the cab; the luggage was stowed, the vehicle wheeled out into rain-shot obscurity.
Karen turned impulsively to the man beside her: “Forgive my rudeness; I am ashamed to have insulted your Consulate.”
He flushed, but his lips twitched humorously; “I am sure that the United States very freely forgives Fräulein Girard.”
“Do you?”
“Does it matter?” he asked lightly.
“Yes. Are my amends acceptable to you?”
“Of course. But what am I — Karen — —”
“You are — amiable. It was very common of me.”
“It might have been rather common in anybody else. You couldn’t be that. Somehow,” he added, smiling, “as we say in America, you seem to get away with it, Karen.”
“You are very — amiable,” she repeated stiffly.
And constraint fell between them once more, leaving him, however, faintly amused. She could be such a little girl at times. And she was adorable in the rôle, though she scarcely suspected it.
At the American Consulate the cab stopped and Guild turned up his coat collar and sprang out.
While he was absent the girl lay back in her corner, her eyes fixed on the rain-smeared pane. She had remained so motionless for some time when a tapping at the cabin window attracted her attention. A beggar had come to the street side of the cab and was standing there, the rain beating on his upturned face. And the girl hastily drew out her purse and let down the window.
Suddenly she became rigid; the beggar had said something to her under his breath. The English shilling fell from her fingers to the floor of the cab.
His hand still extended in supplication, the man went on in German:
“Your steamer swarmed with English spies. One of them was your stewardess.”
The girl’s lips parted, stiffly: “I don’t understand,” she said with an effort.
“The stewardess spied on the deck steward, Ridder. They were all watching each other on that ship. And everybody watched you and the American. Ridder told me to follow you to the American Consulate.”
“Who are you?”
“I served as one of the waiters in the saloon. Grätz knows me. If you are carrying any papers of value be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
�
�Ridder gave you some papers. The stewardess saw him. She came ashore and watched you while your luggage was being inspected. She knows you have driven to the American Consulate. Your porter told her — the fool! Do you know what she is up to?”
“I — I can — guess. I think you had better go — quick!” she added as the Consulate door opened and Guild came out. And she fumbled in her purse for a coin, thrust it hastily through the window, and turned in confusion to meet the young man’s sternly questioning eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asked bluntly.
“A man — begging.”
“For what, Karen? For money or information?”
The girl winced and avoided his gaze. The cab wheeled in a short circle and moved off through the rain again.
“Which was it he wanted, Karen?” repeated Guild quietly. “Was it money or — something else he wanted?”
“Does — it — concern you?” she stammered.
“Yes. Because I have just learned over the Consulate telephone that German agents are now attempting to do what you refrained from doing last night.”
“What?”
“Steal the papers I had of you.”
“Do you mean the papers you stole?”
“I mean the papers I took by highway robbery. There is a difference,” he added. “But both are robbery, and I thought you were above such things.”
“I am!” she said, flushing.
“No, you are not!” he retorted sternly. “What you were too fastidious to do for yourself last night — take the papers when you thought I was asleep — you had done for you this morning by a steward!”
“I did not!”
“Why do you deny it? What do you mean? Don’t you know that while I was busy in the writing-room a steward upset my ink, scattered my papers, stole the envelope containing the papers I took from you, and left me a sealed envelope full of tissue paper?”
“It isn’t true!”
“It is true.”
“How do you know?”
“Your stewardess told me over the telephone a few moments ago. Karen, you are untruthful!”
She caught her breath; the tears flushed in her eyes:
“I am not untruthful! It does look like it but I am not! I did not know that the deck steward had robbed you. He came to my door and gave me the papers, saying that he had picked them up in the corridor outside our — my — door! I did not engage anybody to steal them — if it is stealing to recover — my own — property — —”
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 760