If it belonged to the girl, had she let it fall on purpose, pinning a faint despairing hope to this frail, ay, frailest of messengers? I could not say, but hiding it in my hand I stepped back into the dancing room. I sought a comer not open to observation from the passage, and there turning my back on the room I examined my trouvaille.
It did convey a message, whether chance or purpose had abandoned it! For embroidered in white on one of the comers were the initials, N.M.
So the girl was Norma Mackay! That point was settled for me, settled once and for all. The girl was Norma Mackay, and not improbably she wished me to know it. It might be that from the depths of her unhappiness, from the deep waters of heaven knew what intolerable fate, she had released this fragile buoy, she had sent up this dumb, this pathetic appeal for aid and for rescue. It might be that, aware that I was the person who had asked for her at the hotel on the day before, she had let this go, in the hope, however forlorn, however desperate, that it might fall into my hands and inform me who she was.
And God knows her appeal could not have taken a more moving shape. That morsel of linen still damp with her tears and warm from her hand, and so fine and so flimsy that I could hide it in my grasp, spoke to my heart with such eloquence, it moved me to a passion of pity so hot that it was all that I could do to withhold myself from rash, from instant action! It was all that I could do to refrain from following the sinister trio into the next room and challenging them there and then with the facts.
However, prudence prevailed, and fortunately, for I began to see that I had become an object of interest to the clowns about me. The woman’s taunt, the word “Englishman,” had been overheard, and as I turned I met on all sides dark looks — I caught threatening whispers. I saw that in any contest in this milieu I should have public feeling and the odds against me.
To act in haste, therefore, would be both to court defeat and to put the enemy on their guard; and though I lost no time in leaving the dancing room and mingling with the more respectable crowd in the other apartment, I had no longer a mind to act rashly.
The less, as I was in time to surprise, amid the movement of the company now settling down to repose, a thing which gave me a shock. Karl and the girl were not to be seen, but at the farther end of the room, and near a second door, I espied the Waechters. They were talking to my friend of the barrier, and meantime were keeping, I could see, a sharp look-out for me, for I no sooner perceived them than the conference broke up. The Waechters melted away through the door behind them, while my humble friend made his way towards me, rubbing his hands and putting on a great show of anxious devotion.
“I have kept your place, honoured sir,” he said. “I have kept it.” He bowed me fussily towards it. “Your cloak too — all is safe. All! So! I had my eye on them. And at what hour will it please you, honoured sir, to have the horses?”
Icheckedhim. “Who are those people?” I asked. Then, seeing that he hesitated and apparently was about to prevaricate, “whom you were just talking to, my friend?”
“Those? Whom the Hofedelgeborener took up on the road?” He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. “Their name is Waechter, the postboy tells me. Herr and Frau Waechter, of Hamburg. Persons,” confidentially,” of no consequence, Excellency. Little people.”
“The lad is half-witted,” I said.
“Der Zwerg! Der Kobold! The Wohlgeborener is right. He should not be about. He is — unspeakable! But the rain has ceased and at what hour may I have the honour of ordering the horses for his Excellency?”
“At eight,” I said coldly.
“I will see that they are ready. Nothing shall be forgotten. It shall be done as said, mein Herr. To the minute. Your place, honoured sir, is here.”
I had my suspicions, but the man was useful — he had kept my place and it was about the best place in the room — and I contented myself for the present with dismissing him in such a manner as to show him that he was out of favour. This done I made myself as comfortable as I could, with my back against the wall and my feet upon a log within a few inches of the embers. The cook and her attendants had withdrawn, and the company were beginning to settle down for the night.
Most of the lights had been extinguished, the fire had been banked up, and under the tables and against the walls parties were littering down in little bivouacs of their own, some content with a rug and the bare floor, others ensconced behind improvised screens formed of their baggage. In a distant corner one table still bore lights, and at this three or four officers, the last party to arrive, were at supper, their table, in contrast with the obscurity about them, wearing the aspect of a scene on a stage.
I fancied that they were French, but though an occasional laugh, or the clink of a glass, reached me, they made little noise, and I got more annoyance from the heavy snoring of those who lay about me and who slept as raucously as they talked.
It was an odd scene, this camp of belated travellers, stayed by the waters and forced to shifts that had seemed more in place in a Turkish caravanserai. But I knew that it was no uncommon sight on the worst road in Prussia, and my thoughts soon passed from observation of it to consideration of the matters that pressed upon my mind; and in particular to reflection upon that one which had just now, and so deeply, engaged my interest.
The girl — the poor girl, whose moving message had reached me, she must be rescued! She must be rescued! On that I was fixed, and it seemed to me that I knew enough now to render the task easy. She could not be lawfully in the custody of the vulgar pair who accompanied her — that was plain. She could not be at once their daughter, Walburga, and Norma Mackay, the child of a colonel in the Danish service. She could not belong to them or their class, and be at the same time the Grand Duchess’s governess.
And this point settled by the initials on the handkerchief, my course seemed clear. I had only to go to the police and place the matter in their hands; and this I was determined to do before I left in the morning. The police would intervene, and once in their charge, and assured of protection, the girl would speak and the mystery which involved her and which it passed my ingenuity to solve, would be unriddled by a word.
Undoubtedly that was the obvious course, and I resolved that at seven in the morning I would go to the Town Office and dispatch the affair. It need not detain me long — I might still be on the road by eight. And even if it did detain me, even if I arrived a day late at Kyritz, I should still have time to push there, and at Perleberg, the inquiry which was my first business and which I had set out to make.
Whereas if I abandoned this girl, English by blood as she was, and the victim of some dark intrigue — if, knowing what I now knew, I left her in the hands of the loathsome gang who surrounded her, I felt that I should never, I could never, forgive myself. For she lived; she lived and suffered, while poor Perceval was gone. He was past help.
And though I had much wherewith to reproach myself on his account, though my honour and career depended on my success in detecting his assassins and recovering, were it possible, the missing despatches — though I dared not indeed waste one hour or remit one effort which might serve to that end, still the memory of the hapless girl’s face warred with my scruples, challenged my manhood, haunted to the last my waking moments.
A Don Quixote? No, no Don Quixote. But English, as she was English, and master of events. For had I not an all-powerful instrument, had I not Davout’s warrant in my pocket? How, thus armed, could I leave her? How could I abandon her defenceless to her fate, ay, defenceless and with no possible aid if I failed her? No, surely I was warranted, fully warranted in giving a day, were a day necessary, to her rescue.
I slept at last, and slept well, though my posture was not of the easiest. Yet I was warm. I had that advantage over many, though even for that I had to pay the price. For at some unknown hour of the night I was suddenly and rudely aroused by a man falling over my feet; and instinctively, though but half awake, I seized him. “What is it? What the devil are you doing?�
�� I cried.
“Putting wood on the fire, stupid,” he retorted. “Do you want us all to freeze?”
“Well, get off my cloak,” I grumbled peevishly, for the man was standing on one skirt of it, and my hasty movement had dragged it off my shoulders. “Lift your foot, do you hear?”
He muttered something, but complied, flung a couple of billets on the fire and retreated. It was too dark to see more than the outline of his figure, and after listening awhile to the heavy breathing that filled the room, I drew my cloak about me and five minutes later was again asleep.
I had done much in the last three days, and no doubt I was weary, for I slept not only well but long. The movements of those who were first on foot did not rouse me, and when I at last opened my eyes I found that the fire was ablaze, the cook and her maids were at work, knives and spoons were going briskly, and half the tables were filled. The grey light of morning was stealing in at the windows, and beginning to contest it with the smoky rays of the tallow dips; and alarmed I started up. I looked at my watch and uttered an execration. It was half-past seven!
Well, I had still time, though not too much time. I asked one of the servants if the road was open, learned that it was, and seizing my hat I went out to the front of the house. Here all the world was agog, running to and fro, carrying out bags and trunks and packing calashes; some bribing, some threatening, and all in haste to be gone and claiming the first horses, or contending for places in the Eilwagen.
I found my barrier friend, who seemed to be far from the hindmost in the fray, and I was about to tell him that he might postpone our start for an hour when the sight of a carriage which was leaving the door startled me. “Hallo!” I exclaimed. “Those people — the Waechters? They are not away yet?”
“They?” he replied. “Yes, honoured sir, this half hour past.”
I swore — who would not have? To be so jockeyed, and through my own remissness. “What, all four?” I cried.
“Yes, all four, honoured sir. For Kyritz, where they intend to breakfast.”
“Then why the devil didn’t you wake me?” I thundered unreasonably enough; but I was vexed, and there was no one else I could blame.
He stared. “ I did not know that the gnadiger Herr—”
“Well, get the horses out,” I ordered, cutting him short. “ Get them harnessed as quickly as you can. I am in haste. A cup of coffee and I shall be with you.”
I went in, fuming, got from the good-natured cook some coffee and a hunch of rye bread — the white had all been eaten — and in less than five minutes I was out again, valise in hand. The man had done his part, the horses were being put to. I flung in my valise, turned back to the inn, and paid the reckoning, not forgetting the cook, then returned to the carriage. Three or four men had gathered about it, and I was running my eye over them, my hand in my pocket, deciding whom I must fee, when they all wheeled and closed round me.
“Mein Herr,” the foremost announced bluntly, “I am from the Town Office, and I must ask you to come with me.”
“The devil!” I exclaimed, staring at the man. “Why? Who are you?”
“Police,” he replied bluntly. “Information has been laid that you are an alien, mein Herr, and the town offizier desires to see your papers.”
“I’ll soon settle that,” I retorted. And I thrust my hand into my pocket in search of the card which Justus Gruner had signed for me.
But the man raised his hand. “Not here,” he said stolidly. “I have no authority. You must see the Chief.” He was a typical German, fat, with a bristling flaxen moustache, his neck rippling over his coat collar.
I was about to remonstrate, but remembered myself. It would do no good, and, after all, this could only mean ten minutes’ delay. “Very well,” I said. “The sooner the better. How far is it?”
“Three minutes’ walk. This way, mein Herr.” He beckoned to one of the others to follow us, and I was moving off with him when I remembered that I had better leave Grussbaum — such I had learned was the barrier man’s name — in charge of the carriage. But I could not see him. He had vanished, and “If you are looking for your servant.” said the policeman, “he has been taken to the office.”
“Oh!” I said, no little annoyed. “Then will you be good enough to leave a man to look after my carriage?”
“We have taken charge.” he replied impassively. “This way.”
CHAPTER XVII
THE DUNGHILL COCK
THE summons was irritating, the delay a nuisance. But, apart from this, the affair caused me no uneasiness, for a dozen words and the production of my credentials should settle the matter, and I went with the man without further demur. The little town lay along the road beyond the inn, and between it and the river; to enter it we had to pass through one of those gatehouses of weathered brick, with a pair of pyramidal towers atop and a stone statue niched in the facade, which are common in the Ukermark.
A hundred yards of a narrow cobbled street brought us to a tiny market-place, scarcely larger than a big room, on the farther side of which, and raised on brick arches, stood a town-house of a size to match the square.
My conductor led me to a low-browed door under one of the arches, before and about which a knot of curious townsfolk had already mustered. He pushed me in before him, for the nearer we drew to the great man the less ceremony I noticed was used, and I mounted a narrow turning staircase lit only by an arrow-slit. At the head of this I blundered down a step into a low-browed vaulted room, and there found myself in the presence of five or six men.
The principal, whom I took to be the chief of police, sat behind a table, a pen in his hand — a meagre, bilious-looking man with small angry eyes. Beside him, perched on another table and swinging their feet, lounged a couple of French officers — two of those, unless I was mistaken, whom I had seen at supper the night before. The party was completed by Grussbaum, who seemed to be in custody, and a couple of policemen, who stood one on each side of him. The man behind the table and the two Frenchmen eyed me closely as I entered, but beyond that vouchsafed me no greeting.
Apparently they had begun to interrogate Grussbaum, for the chief’s shrewish eyes left me for him, and his voice, astonishing in volume considering his size, was making the roof ring. “You are the Englishman’s servant?” he stated, stabbing at the culprit with his pen. “It is useless to deny it! You are the Englishman’s servant?”
“Nein! Hein! It is not so,” Grusssbaum asseverated passionately. “Far from it, Herr Offizier, asking a thousand pardons. Far from it! I do not know him. The way of it was this.” And he began to explain the manner of his connection with me, the fix he had been in, his dying wife, his lack of money. But before he had stammered through half his tale —
“Don’t lie to me” the Chief roared, cutting him short with a truculence that filled me with indignation. “You are his servant! I say it is so! Where did he hire you?” The poor fellow appeared to be frightened out of his wits, and out of pity for him I interposed. “One moment, Herr Offizier,” I said politely. “Allow me to explain.
I can set all this right in a—”
“Silence! Silence!” the bully shouted, and slapped the table to enforce his order. “ Stop that man’s mouth if he speaks. Your turn will come presently, my man, and soon enough for you! Now do you,” to Grussbaum, “out with it! And the truth! Where did he hire you? What is he doing here? What is his business — though, Gott im Himmel, that is pretty clear! Make a clean breast, you dog, and at once! Or I shall know how to open your mouth!”
Simmering with indignation I tried again to interpose. “But, mein Herr,” I said, “the man is not my servant. He is a stranger to me. I know no more than his name. If you will permit me to explain or will listen to his story—”
“Stop his mouth! Choke him!” the Jack-in-office shouted, while the Frenchmen grinned and swung their feet in appreciation of the scene. “I’ll deal with you by and by! Your turn will come, and soon enough for you. Now, you!” fixing the tre
mbling Grussbaum with his angry ferrety eyes. “Speak, rogue, or I’ll scourge it out of you.” The poor fellow squirmed before him as helpless as a rabbit in the clutches of a stoat. “Oh, indeed, indeed, honourable sir,” he pleaded, “I am innocent. I am innocent as a babe unborn. It was this way. I had no money and my wife was dying at Hamburg—”
“To hell with your wife!” the man retorted. I think he was at pains to exalt his office in the Frenchmen’s presence, and knew no way but the way of brutality. “Once more, and, mark you, this is your last chance. You are the Englishman’s servant. Where did he hire you?”
“Nowhere! Nowhere!” the frightened man protested, passionately clasping his hands and holding them out before him in appeal. “Far be it from me! I am a stranger! I do not know him! I did not know that he was an Englander! I am a poor honest man. My wife is at Hamburg—”
“Enough! If you won’t say one way,” the bully thundered, “you shall another. The stick! The stick! That’ll loosen your tongue, I’ll warrant. Take him through! Take him through, and give him a dozen well laid on! And then bring him back and I’ll warrant he’ll tell another tale. Or he will have another dose. Out with him! Out with him!”
In a trice the two policemen seized the unhappy man and were already thrusting him through a low-browed door behind the Offizier’s table, when, unable to bear this, I thrust myself forward. If I had simmered before, I was boiling now. “You’ll do it at your peril!” I cried. “If you lay a hand on that man before you have heard me, you will repent it!”
But “Silence! Silence!” the bully shouted, amazed at my audacity. “Another word and I — pinch that man’s throat! Choke him if he speaks again before he is spoken to! And take that knave out and lay on six more for his spy of a master’s sake! Out with him; out with him, and don’t spare his hide, or your own shall smart! Mein Gott, am I to be bearded by this scum of an islander with his neck in a halter?”
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 696