CHAPTER XI
AT BRIGHTON
Madame Gilbert and Captain Rust travelled to Brighton on the Fridayevening in the Pullman train. They occupied different carriages. Theirhotel, one of those facing the sea which washed the far-off shores oftheir beloved, bleeding France, had been selected by Madame--"I desirea hotel, my friend, not a _caravanserai_!" Madame arrived ten minutesbefore Rust, and had disappeared within her own _appartement_ when hiscab drove up to the doors. Rust then booked his room, one upon thesecond floor. He took that which was offered, and did not observe thatMadame's room was also _au seconde_. But he did notice--he could nothelp it--that the imposing lady in charge of the hotel office wasFrench. "Ah, monsieur le capitaine," said she, beaming caresses uponhim, "with what joy do I perceive the _tenue de campagne_ of my ownArmy. I will gladly grant to you one of the rooms of the very best andat the price of the lowest. The patron, he also is French, and wouldbe furious if I did not give the most cordial welcome to an _officierfrancais_." Rust thanked the lady of the bureau, and heartily approvedMadame's choice of an hotel.
"One moment, if you please," said I to Madame, who supplied me withthese details. "I perceive that both the rooms, yours and Rust's, wereupon the second floor. Is it in this way, you shameless woman, thatyou preserved from reproach the honour of the late imaginary stoveman?"
Madame sighed, and turned upon me the look which, in my mind, I havelabelled "Innocence unjustly traduced." One of these days, with Germanthoroughness, I shall prepare a numbered and annotated catalogue ofMadame Gilbert's looks and tones. Though it cannot teach her sexanything which the youngest member does not already know, it will befull of valuable instruction and warning for the innocent male.
"Am I responsible," wailed Madame, "for the allotment of rooms by_hoteliers_?"
"Most certainly," I said severely. "I do not know your methods. It isnot given to man to penetrate the unfathomable duplicity of woman. ButI am convinced that had you wished it, you would have been placed _anpremier_, and Rust consigned to the uttermost cock-loft in the roof."
Madame and Rust dined that first evening at separate tables, butdiscovered in one another old friends when they accidentally metafterwards in the lounge.... "What happiness, can it indeed be leCapitaine Rouille, the friend closer than a brother of my poor slainhusband?" ... "Madame Guilbert! Can it be you whom I meet thusunexpectedly? You whom I have not seen since that dreadfulnever-to-be-forgotten day upon which I broke to you the news, theterrible news--" Rust's voice failed; even Madame, who thinks littleof his ability, admits that he performed on this occasion toadmiration. The rencontre was a most affecting one, conducted involuble French in the full blaze of publicity in a crowded hotellounge. The English audience was impressed and honestly sympathetic;our insular reserve has been melted in the fires of war. "It is aFrench lady, poor thing, who has lost her husband," they whispered,the one to another, "and that handsome fellow in ordinaryevening-dress is her man's brother officer, who was with him at thelast, and who brought the sad news to her. How sweet she looks, andhow tenderly sympathetic he is!" The eyes of the men had already beendrawn to Madame's royal beauty and those of the women to her dress, amasterpiece of Paquin. Now that she had met Rust the men weresorrowful, regretting a vanished opportunity of making heracquaintance, and the women were relieved. She was too formidable arival to be at large, alone and unattended, but now she would bemonopolised naturally and properly by her good-looking compatriot. Sowhen Madame and Rust slipped away to a corner of the lounge, kindlyeyes followed them, and the voices of the censorious had no excuse tobe raised. "You are a wonder, madame," whispered Rust. "And you, myfriend, did not so badly," replied Madame in frank approval.
They separated early that evening, for Madame, who knew not what itwas to feel really tired, shammed fatigue as a reason for retiringbetimes. To her came Marie, a little dark French _femme de chambre_ ofthe second floor, imploring to be allowed to assist at the nighttoilet of a desolate widow of France. While Marie brushed out thelong, rich, copper hair the two chattered unceasingly of France andthe Army of steel-hearted poilus which held the frontiers ofcivilisation away yonder in Picardy, Artois, Champagne, and theVosges. Marie herself had a man out there of whose welfare she hadheard nothing since the war began. She had received no letters, andthe French publish no casualty lists. "_Mon cher petit homme est mort,madame. C'est certain, mais j'espere toujours_." There are many, manyFrenchwomen to whom the death of their loved ones is certain, thoughthey hope always. "I felt rather a pig talking fibs to the poor girl,"confessed Madame.
Madame Gilbert had made her plans with thoughtful care, and proposedto carry them out with hardihood. She had determined to work soadroitly on the Saturday upon the curiosity and "poor strained heart"of Rust that he would be speeded up to run big risks. He did not knowthat, however judiciously frail her conduct might be, she was a verydragon of virtue in defence of her honour. "I gave my heart," said sheto me quite seriously, "to the Signor Guilberti, one far, fardifferent from _le mari imaginaire_ of le Grand Couronne. Until, ifever, I give my heart again no man shall possess me. I play, I kiss, Iphilander--as you call it--but what are these trifles? _Desbagatelles, rien de tout_!" He did not realise her serene indifferenceto the small change of love and her respect for its true gold. But Ido not think that Rust, when Madame consented to be his companion atBrighton, seriously misjudged her motives. He did not know, of course,or in the last degree suspect that she designed his capture as aprofessional victim.
Again and again she had told him that she was an agent of the Englishpolice, and again and again, as she intended, he had disbelieved her.She was so incomparably his intellectual superior that she could makehim believe or disbelieve precisely as she chose. She made him thinkthat she had come to Brighton for companionship, and as a proof of herkindly forgiveness of a grave indiscretion. He believed; for never wasRust, even Rust, so idiotic as to suppose that she had succumbedbefore his charms and had come to throw herself into his arms.
But for the machinations of Madame the visit would, I am sure, havepassed without incident. Rust would not have lost his turnip of ahead. He would, out of loyalty to his orders from Froissart, havetried to grab the despatch-case and ravish its secrets. But he wouldnot have done what he did, at the risk of compromising the bloom ofher so precious reputation, if she had not deliberately worked him upto do it. Therefore, while I acquit Rust of evil intention, myreproofs, my grave reproofs--at which she laughs and snaps herfingers--are reserved for that unscrupulous Madame.
At breakfast Madame Gilbert and Captain Rust found that a privatetable, a table of the best in a bay window facing the sea, had beenreserved for them by orders of the patron. The news of their pitifulrencontre in the lounge had sped to his ears; he had wept copiouslybefore his sympathetic staff, and declared that the bereaved widow andthe so gallant captain should lack for nothing in his hotel. "If itwere not that I feared to offend their delicacy I would refrain frompresenting to them _l'addition._ Make, I pray you, _mademoiselle dubureau_, their charges of the lowest." He was a most noble patron.
The path of the wicked was thus made smooth. By the English guests, bythe entire staff, it was considered inevitable, indeed highlybecoming, that Madame and Rust should devote themselves wholly to oneanother. Had they embraced in public, and wept many times a day uponone another's necks, the staff--half of which was French--would havedeemed the exhibition most seemly and fitting, and the English, thoughembarrassed, would not have been censorious. By so much has warbrought to us an understanding of the simple honest hearts of ourclosest Allies. In ceasing to be insular we are ceasing to worship ourwooden conventional gods.
Madame, who, as I have before remarked, says the most frightful thingsin her soft, musical voice, regarding one the while with frank, steadyeyes, commented thus upon the attitude of _le patron_ and hisassistants towards them. "They wrapped us about so thoroughly in theirtender sympathy that nothing which we had chosen to do in mutualconsolation could have shocked them."
&nb
sp; I do not propose to weary the reader by detailing at length theprogress of Madame's Saturday campaign. Her methods of offence will,by now, have become clear. To the "suffocating gas" of her smiles, andthe "liquid fire" of her eyes she had added the devastating"Tank"--her despatch-case. She worked its mysteries unceasingly. Whenit was not under her own hand it reposed--during meal times, forexample--in the steel safe of _le patron_. All except one paper, ofthe most thrilling importance, which never left her person. Thissmall, unobtrusive paper, upon which, according to Madame, thedestinies of nations depended, was hidden always--happy paper--in thebosom of her corset.
Did she not, inquired Rust, greatly daring, find it rather hard andscratchy? To him its resting-place seemed too delicate a spot to beused as a general store. Madame frowned at the allusion to so intimatea topic, and Rust, terrified, implored her pardon, which wasgraciously vouchsafed.
"You should not, _mon ami_, speak to me as if I were that which youonce thought me--a light woman." She reduced him nearly to tears, andthen, in kindly consolation, permitted him to hold her hand. Both as apretended French officer, and as an English agent of the SecretService, Rust was the most derisory of frauds.
During the day the pair of plotters were inseparable, and Madameplayed continually with unfailing deftness upon the two strings ofRust's poor heart and of his intense curiosity, which she clearlyperceived though she did not know it to be professional. When theheart swelled with stimulated emotion, and Rust began to showinconvenient fondness, Madame would frown reproof and lead thedespatch-box into action. Very often she would carry her hand to thatpleasant spot where nestled the paper of so great internationalimportance, and she would speak of it and of the terribleresponsibilities which rested upon her as a secret _agent de police_."When I carry a document such as this," she would say, "one _pourfaire les Boches se crever_, it never leaves my bosom all the day andrests under my pillow by night. Under my pillow, _mon ami_." She dweltupon that pillow, and raised in the mind of Rust a charming vision ofa white lace-edged surface upon which was spread out a lovely disorderof red copper hair. She so worked upon him that his emotions and hisduties became inextricably mixed. Somehow he must secure that paperand solve the baffling problem of the wonderful widow who appeared tobe French, and yet was not French. His brain by itself could not haveconceived of a means, but Madame assisted to stimulate its imaginationas she had done the beating of his heart. "It was wrong of you, _monami_" she said, in gentle reproof, "to select a room upon the samefloor as mine, it was a proceeding bold and not a little indelicate,which might have compromised my precious reputation had I not beensecure in the honour of my poor lost Captain Guilbert." Rust protestedthat he had left the choice of rooms entirely to the lady of thebureau, but Madame's smile showed that she was wholly sceptical. "Ispeak frankly to you," said she, "so that there may be no longer inyour mind any thought that I am a woman of light conduct. I have comehere, driven by your sad pleadings, to give you of my companionship,and my heart would be desolated if I thought that you still misjudgedme." The beautiful voice shook, and I do not doubt that the violeteyes, glistening with pumped-up tears, were raised to Rust's face. I,her friend, know that she can feel deeply, and I can distinguish thatwhich she simulates from that which moves her, but the poor creatureRust was in her hands the most helpless and deluded of victims.
So the day passed. They lunched together and dined together. In theintervals they walked upon the sunny front, for the weather wasperfect and the sun shone as it only shines at Brighton. Madame, I amquite sure, did not sit upon the sand. It appears also that theyvisited a succession of picture houses. Madame declares that she isfascinated by this form of entertainment; the variety and rapidmovement delight her--as I admit they do my dull self--and she deeplyenjoys the blatant crudity of cinematic drama. "It is so entirelyunlike life that it transports one to another world," says she. "Herein this strange visionary world of the pictures one lives in amaelstrom of emotions. Boys and girls meet, embrace, and marry allwithin the space of a few minutes upon the screen and of an hour ortwo of dramatic action. Children are conceived and born by somelightning process which it would be a happiness for the human kind tolearn. Heroes die while strong men bare their heads in grief, and tenminutes later the corpse is capering joyously in a new piece. Byattending three or four houses in one afternoon one sups upon emotionsand feeds without restraint upon rich, satisfying laughter. Yes, _monami_, I love the cinema. Rust did not, I think, greatly interesthimself in the pictures, but was happy in the darkness--holding myhand."
She laughed as I broke into growls. "Is it not, _mon cher_" she wenton, "that the cinemas will always be most popular--however dull may bethe pictures--so long as boys and girls, men and women, who love,desire to fondle one another's hands in the dark?"
"You and Rust did not love one another," I grunted.
"No. We were not the real thing, but we made ourselves into quite aplausible imitation."
Madame pursued her programme with indefatigable ardour and patience.She impressed again and again upon Rust's imagination a picture ofherself sleeping unprotected, in a room not far distant from his own,while beneath her pillow reposed a paper precious and mysteriousbeyond words to describe. She even hinted that a dread of fire, fromwhich she always suffered when sleeping at hotels, forbade the lockingof her door. "I am not afraid to die," said she, "for what have I tobind me to life now that I can never visit the spot where repose theshattered fragments of my beloved Capitaine Guilbert? But to beburned, helpless, while rescue was cut off from me by a locked door! Ishrink from so terrible a fate." Subtlety, she had discovered, wasthrown away upon the obtuseness of Rust. She was compelled to bebrutally plain, and so she drove into his thick head the tempting factthat nothing interposed during the hours of darkness between his eagerhands and the paper which she had taught him to covet. If she awokeand mistook his motives--if she thought that he had ventured into herroom with designs upon her honour--Rust felt sure that her kind heartwould forgive him, by breakfast-time, though she would certainlydismiss him from her bedside with the most haughty of reproaches. Ifhe could not find some other way before they separated for the night,he had almost decided to essay the venture. She slept very soundly,said Madame; she had not awakened in her _appartement_ in Paris uponone night when a bomb from a Prussian aeroplane had exploded withintwo hundred yards of her house. Another way was still possible, andRust, while he was dressing for dinner, determined to try it; it was away, too, which thrilled him with pleasurable anticipation.
At dinner Madame declined champagne, which she said was a poor, feebledrink. Let them for once share a bottle of sparkling Burgundy, a royalwine, the Wine of Courage. The patron brought them the bottle himself,and lamented that they would not indulge themselves in a second.Madame had no desire that Rust should, under its influence, become tooenterprising. The evening was warm, and afterwards they moved into thepleasant garden behind the hotel and sat together in a quiet corner.Other guests were in the garden, but it had become tacitly agreedamong them that Madame and Rust--the "dear French things"--should bepermitted to console one another in seclusion. No one could perceivethat the black-sleeved arm of Rust had found a happy resting-placearound Madame's black-covered waist, or that her glowing head was notfar from his shoulder. Her Paris evening frock was cut low, thoughnever by the fraction of an inch would Madame permit her _couturier_to exceed the limits of perfect taste. Looking down over her shoulderRust could see, protruding from the white lace below her bodice, thecorner of a paper. She talked little. It seemed to give her pleasureto lean against his shoulder and dreamily, half asleep, to rest therereposefully like a tired child. "But, _mon ami"_ said Madame to me inrelating these tender details with the greatest satisfaction, "I wasvery wide awake indeed."
Rust eyed that corner of paper and waited without speaking until hiscompanion should become almost unconscious of his movements. Thengently he moved his right arm from her waist and placed it over hershoulder. She moved slightly, but it was only to nestle mo
re closelyagainst him. His dangling fingers moved little by little towards theopening of her corsage, they descended, and with his thumb andforefinger he gripped the paper. Madame did not move her body nor, toRust, did she seem to suspect his intentions. But her right arm liftedslowly up, she gently grasped his hand in hers, pressed it kindly fora moment, and then, still holding it, removed his arm from hershoulder to her waist. "Your coat sleeve scratches my shoulder," shemurmured. Rust, who had instantly released the paper when Madame tookhis hand, never again got an opportunity of touching it, for she kepther arm pressed over his during the whole time that they sat together."I gave him the chance," explained Madame to me, "and it workedbeautifully. But once was enough. From that moment I became reallysuspicious of Rust. Before I had only been puzzled. What he was Icould not guess, but I was dead set on finding out before the nightwas over. Till then I had allowed only little freedoms, but when Irose to go into the hotel and he bent over me I let him kiss me on mylips. It was a severe disappointment, that kiss," added Madamecontemplatively.
"Spare me the loathsome details," said I crossly.
When at last Madame Gilbert went to her room she was smiling gaily andshowing no signs of fatigue at the tiresome exercises of the day.Though it was approaching midnight the faithful Marie was waiting toassist her toilet. "Ah, madame," sighed Marie in her frank Parisiennefashion, "le Capitaine is so beautiful and devoted. He regards you asone who would devour. I marvel that you have the heart to separatefrom him."
"Marie," said Madame, laughing, "you are a naughty girl, a corrupterof my youthful morals. I am afraid that _le bon Capitaine_ must gohungry. For--" and then she pranced off upon that wearisome old storyabout the blown-up Territorial bore of _le Grand Couronne_. Fidelityto the scattered corpse of a husband--_un mari assommant, mon Dieu,pas un amant joyeux_!--seemed to Marie the most wasted of emotions.She, in common with all the other Frenchmen and women in the hotel,was an ardent partisan of Captain Rouille.
"If my bell rings in the night, come quickly, Marie," said Madame, asshe dismissed the girl. "I shall need you _a la grande vitesse_."
Madame slipped the seductive paper and something else under herpillow, saw that the electric and the light switch were close to herhand upon the bedside table, and snuggled down contentedly. "The trapis set and baited," she murmured; "I hope that the bird will not keepme waiting."
An hour passed slowly. Rust has told me little of his feelings, butadmitted that he was in the "devil of a funk." He had determined tomake a daring shot at the paper and the solution of Madame's identity,but he shivered at the prospect of her wrath should she awake andcatch him in the act. "She would have thought the worst of me, and,like you, Copplestone, I cherish her beautiful friendship as the mostprecious of privileges. On my honour I was only after the paper."Madame found the waiting time very tedious, but I am sure that herpulse did not quicken by a beat. She has a wonderful nerve.
At one o'clock, when the hotel was very quiet, and the boot-cleanerhad made his round of collection, Madame heard the handle of her doormove and the door itself push slowly open. Through her partly closedeyes she saw the momentary flash of an electric torch with which Rusttook his bearings, and then she felt, rather than saw or heard, afigure draw gently towards her bed. Her right hand was under thepillow grasping that something, not the paper, which she had laidthere in readiness. Rust approached, bent over her, and his fingersfelt for the pillow. They touched her hair, and she knew that themoment for action had come. Out stretched her arm, holding the pistolwell clear of his body, for she was loath to hurt him, and a sharpreport within a couple of feet of his side frightened Rust morethoroughly than had the hottest of "crumps" in Flanders. He sprangaway, and darted for the door; but in an instant the lights went up,and a loud, commanding voice--utterly unlike Madame's soft musicalsocial tones--called to him to halt. "Halt!" cried Madame in English."Right about turn! 'Shun!" The familiar words of command brought himround in prompt obedience, and there before him he saw Madame Gilbertsitting up in her bed, pointing a most business-like automatic pistolstraight for his heart. Her hand held it true, without a quiver, andalong the sights glittered an eye remorseless as blue steel. This wasa woman wholly different from that kindly yielding creature whom hehad embraced and kissed a couple of hours earlier!
"You will please stand quite still," said Madame, speaking theslightly tinged Irish-English of her birth, "for if I shoot, leCapitaine Rouille will be no more. See! Upon my dressing-table behindyou is a small vase supporting a rose. I will cut off its stem," Shequickly moved the pistol, and fired. "You may turn round." He obeyed,and saw that the vase was unbroken, but that the rose, cut off at thestem, lay upon the dressing-table. Behind it appeared a bullet-hole inthe plaster of the wall.
Madame flicked the spent cartridge off her counterpane, where it hadfallen upon ejection, and resumed. "I have rung the bell, and in amoment there will be a most interested audience. You will then pleaseexplain what brings you to my bedroom."
He had faced round towards her again, and his poor mind was a blank.The situation was too big for him. He had fallen into a trap, but whyit had been set he could not guess. Who was this calmly capable,straight-shooting widow who, with the copper hair falling over hershoulders and streaming down the front of her dainty nightdress,appeared in action even more lovely than in repose?
The first to arrive was Marie, then followed another _femme dechambre_, then came the night porter, then the boot-collector, last,with eyes opened wide at the surprising spectacle of a beautiful youngwoman receiving her lover at the point of a pistol, appeared _monsieurle patron_ himself. They clustered in a group by the door. "I think,"said Madame serenely, "that we have enough. Marie, the house is full;shut the door and lock it." The order was obeyed. "Now," went on thecommanding voice from the bed, using French for the effective shuttingout of the English boot-cleaner and night porter, "if you men willturn your backs, and Marie will hand me my dressing-gown, I willprepare myself for the examination of Monsieur le Capitaine Rouille.It is not seemly that a court of inquiry should be conducted in anightdress."
The men turned round, or were pushed round. Marie--gasping with wonderat the whole incredible business, so unlike that which she hadsuggested--brought the silk dressing-gown and robed Madame, whoskipped out of bed for the purpose. Then the fair _juged'instruction,_ wrapped to the neck in blue silk, and looking prettierthan ever, propped herself upon the pillows and opened the court.
"Captain Rouille," ordered she in French, "please tell these otherswhy you came to my bedroom."
I regret to record that Marie and the other girl looked towards oneanother and sniggered. The patron lifted up his hands in amazement._Mon Dieu_, what a question! The two English servants did notunderstand French.
Rust said nothing. Madame, who had observed the excusablemisunderstanding of her French audience, condescended to explain. "Iam sure," she said, "that Captain Rouille will not suggest that hisvisit was designed to attack my honour."
"_Quelle dame extraordinaire_!" moaned the patron. "_C'estincroyable la sangfroid de celle-la."_
"Of course not," cried Rust, speaking for the first time. "Never wouldI have dared to think of such a thing. Madame Gilbert is a lady of thehighest virtue. It was not to compromise her that I entered her room."
"The man," groaned the patron, "is no less extraordinary than thewoman. Why in God's name this pistol, this scene so public! They arelovers, beyond doubt, yet they spring upon my hotel this scene of themost scandalous. It is not the way of France; I do not understand suchgoings on."
Madame drew a paper from her bed, and held it up. "Was it for thisthat you came?"
"Yes," said Rust, "for that and that only."
"_Un billet doux_" said the patron, playing without design the part ofa bewildered chorus, "Why should not madame have given it to him ifshe wished to write that which she was too modest to say?"
"Why did you want it?"
"What more natural," cried the patron, "than that the brave captainsho
uld be eager to read the sweet confession of your love?" Madamemissed not a word which dribbled from the lips of the poor, puzzledpatron, who contributed the comic sauce which titillated her humorouspalate. The patron to her was a sheer joy.
"Why did you want it?" repeated Madame sternly.
"Because," said Rust, "you said that it contained the most importantof secrets."
"What have you to do with secrets which concern the fate of nations atwar?"
"Nations! War!" muttered the patron. "What words are these to findupon the lips of lovers? By now they should, had they not both beenquite mad, have forgotten war in their mutual embraces."
Rust was silent, considering what he should say. He had not the wit toinvent a plausible story, and to such men there is only one saferule--when in doubt, tell the truth. He told the truth.
"I wanted that paper because I am a member of the Secret Service."
"Of Germany?" snapped Madame, flashing violet lightning from her eyes.Sensation! The two French women broke into screams of rage, dreadfulto hear; the patron raised his clenched hands, and roared like afurious beast. Rust, a brave man, shrank for a long, startled moment.His flesh quivered, as if it felt fierce French nails fasten into it.He saw the blood-lust flame in the eyes which searched his face. Hetrembled, but spoke up firmly.
"No. The Secret Service of England."
"Liar!" roared the patron. "_Menteur! Espion_! Foul seducer of adesolate _veuve de France_! Die, traitor! Madame, raise your pistol;shoot--shoot instantly for the honour of France!" The man, a fat,comfortable bourgeois, was transfigured with frightful, murderousrage. He had become a figure almost heroic.
But Madame did not shoot. In ten seconds her swift brain had recalledthe whole series of incidents during her commerce with Rust; shepenetrated to the heart of the mystery, and immediately becameconvinced that he spoke the truth.
"No," said she. "_Monsieur le patron_ and you, _mes demoiselles_,cease your cries. You do the brave Capitaine Rouille a very graveinjustice for which you must pray his forgiveness _sur le champ_. Heis a soldier of France, and of our noble Allies, the English. He is anofficer of the English Secret Service. The mistake was mine, forwhich, _mon capitaine_, I implore your pardon."
She lay back in her bed, and the laughter poured out of her in oneunbroken flood. She laughed until she became weak as a baby, for theidiotic comedy which they two had played--at the expense of theBritish Treasury--was beyond any other means of expression. Rust, whobegan to grasp something of the truth, also broke into a laugh, andthe amusement of the principals brought instant conviction to theaudience. The repentance of those who had thirsted for Rust's blood amoment since was very pleasant to witness. The women begged permissionto kiss his brave hands, which had slain the foul Boches, and thepatron cast his burly person upon Rust's pyjama-clad bosom and salutedhim on both cheeks. He had a stiff, hard beard!
"And now," cried the patron, "this scene, so deplorable andscandalous, is happily ended. Our beautiful Madame and the bravecaptain, their mistakes and misunderstandings removed, are againlovers of the fondest. Let us go, my friends, and leave them toforgive one another as they will desire to do in decent privacy._Allons, allons, vite_!"
He drove away the boot-collector and the night porter, who had notunderstood one word of the quick French which had been spoken. Theyexplained the scene satisfactorily to themselves by the one word,"French." The women would also have gone if Madame, who was stilllaughing, had not hastily recalled Marie.
"Marie," she whispered, spluttering with cheerful impropriety, "leadthat captain away and lock him into his room or my reputation is gonefor ever. Take Rouille away, and then leave me, for I want to laughand then to sleep."
But Rust, blushing deeply at the preposterous closing of the scene,had sneaked quietly out of the room.
* * * * *
They met at breakfast without embarrassment. At least Madame wasperfectly tranquil; I cannot answer so surely for Rust. In the eyes ofthe little world of the hotel nothing had been changed. They retainedtheir assumed characters as a Widow and Soldier of France, whoconsorted with the freedom of old friends.
"So," said Madame, when all had been explained, "you were put on byour dear, fiery Froissart, and I by the dear, secretive Dawson. Weblundered up against one another, and the rest followed naturally. Youwere such an one as I looked for, and I was of the kind pictured bythe imaginative Froissart. It has all been most amusing, especiallywhen one reflects that the English Government has paid for all ourdelightful lunches, teas, dinners, and motor runs. I doubt, though,whether we can with easy consciences send in the bill for thisweek-end."
"No. We will divide the cost between ourselves, for I am sure that youwill refuse to be my guest. All I ask is that you do not cut ourholiday the shorter on account of what has passed."
"Not by an hour," replied Madame heartily. "I like you, Captain Rust;we will enjoy ourselves to-day as colleagues _en vacance_, andto-morrow we will report at headquarters. We will leave Dawson andFroissart to sort out the responsibility for the whole comedy. It hasbeen a most pleasing experience. Never shall I forget that scene oflast night and the bewilderment of the poor patron. His comments werea delight, and the conclusion was so purely French in its artlessconception that I felt for your innocent blushes."
"The patron was the limit," muttered Rust, flushing deeply.
"He was. And yet no one could convince him that the reconciliation sodesired by him was not the most natural and decorous for us. I amstill sore with excessive laughter. Again and again in the night Iwoke up and simply bellowed."
The Sunday was again a very fine day, and Rust speaks of it still withenthusiasm. Madame revealed herself to him, no longer as the seductivesiren, but as a true-hearted colleague and helper. He saw her not onlyas a beautiful and most compelling fascinator, before whom he hadgrovelled, but as a big-brained and big-souled friend. "She is theonly woman whom I have ever met with whom I would go tiger-shooting,"said Rust to me. I will accept that one sentence as his consideredverdict; no greater tribute could be paid by a man to a woman.
At first he did not fully grasp that the Madame of that Sunday, thereal Madame, was wholly different from the one he had known before. Asthey sat together upon the cliffs towards Rottingdean, he slipped hisarm about her waist. Gently, but very decidedly, she removed it. "No,_mon ami_," said she. "All that has passed with the necessity for itsexercise. I do not play with my friends."
"Thank you," replied he--it was the brightest speech which Madame hasrecorded of him. There is hope that Rust will, with years andexperience, develop in intelligence.
When Madame returned to London on the Monday, she sought an audienceof Chief Inspector Dawson, and told the whole story. He was notpleased, but handsomely conceded that she had carried out her dutieswith skill and enterprise. "The farce was not your fault," said he;"it was entirely due to that French ass Froissart, who has no right toplay games of his own without consulting me. I will make a protest tothe Chief."
"Don't do that," urged Madame. "Froissart is rather a dear, and youknow that the fault was partly yours, for not taking him into yourconfidence. I have determined to cultivate Froissart, and shallendeavour to persuade him that your feminine assistants are not all ofmicroscopic intelligence and of repulsive appearance."
"You will succeed," said Dawson handsomely.
Froissart, to whom Rust reported, gleaned some consolation from thefailure of his agent. "This wonder of a woman, of whom I mustinstantly make the honourable acquaintance, has saved the detestedDawson from the deeps of humiliation. But we have scored off him mostsurely. He has shown himself to be a blundering, conceited Englishpig, and I will protest to the Chief that never again must he keep mein ignorance of his projects. I shall laugh at him; all our peoplehere will laugh. I shall be revenged. _Conspuez_ Dawson!"
"Don't be too hard on Dawson," urged Rust. "Madame Gilbert thinks alot of him, and would be pained if he suffered discredit through anyfault of hers."
"Fault!" shouted the gallant Froissart. "_La belle Madame_ is _sansfaute_, peerless, a prodigy of skill and discretion! She is superb. Ifshe implores me to spare the man Dawson, then I will consent, thoughmy heart is rent in fragments. As for you, _mon ami_, I fear that inher hands you were not a figure of admiration. She twisted you abouther pretty fingers like a skein of wool. I do not think that you are,what you call, cut out for the Secret Service."
"That is quite my own opinion," assented he gloomily.
PART III
_TO SEE IS TO BELIEVE_
The Lost Naval Papers Page 11