"It"s been a shock to me," the colonel sighed. "I thought she was fond of me. She couldn"t have written that book unless she hated me."
"Oh, I don"t believe that. I don"t think she"s capable of hatred."
"You"re not going to pretend that she loves me."
"No."
"Well, what does she feel for me?"
Harry Blane leaned back in his swivel chair and looked at George reflectively. "Indifference, I should say."
The colonel gave a little shudder and reddened.
"After all, you"re not in love with her, are you?"
George Peregrine did not answer directly.
"It"s been a great blow to me not to have any children, but I"ve never let her see that I think she"s let me down. I"ve always been kind to her. Within reasonable limits I"ve tried to do my duty by her."
The lawyer pa.s.sed a large hand over his mouth to conceal the smile that trembled on his lips.
"It"s been such an awful shock to me," Peregrine went on. "d.a.m.n it all, even ten years ago Evie was no chicken and G.o.d knows, she wasn"t much to look at. It"s so ugly." He sighed deeply. "What would you do in my place?"
"Nothing."
George Peregrine drew himself bolt upright in his chair and he looked at Harry with the stern set face that he must have worn when he inspected his regiment.
"I can"t overlook a thing like this. I"ve been made a laughing-stock. I can never hold up my head again."
"Nonsense," said the lawyer sharply, and then in a pleasant, kindly manner, "Listen, old boy: the man"s dead; it all happened a long while back. Forget it. Talk to people about Evie"s book, rave about it, tell "em how proud you are of her. Behave as though you had so much confidence in her, you knew she could never have been unfaithful to you. The world moves so quickly and people"s memories are so short. They"ll forget."
"I shan"t forget."
"You"re both middle-aged people. She probably does a great deal more for you than you think and you"d be awfully lonely without her. I don"t think it matters if you don"t forget. It"ll be all to the good if you can get it into that thick head of yours that there"s a lot more in Evie than you ever had the gumption to see."
"d.a.m.n it all, you talk as if I was to blame."
"No, I don"t think you were to blame, but I"m not so sure that Evie was either. I don"t suppose she wanted to fall in love with this boy. D"you remember those verses right at the end? The impression they gave me was that though she was shattered by his death, in a strange sort of way she welcomed it. All through she"d been aware of the fragility of the tie that bound them. He died in the full flush of his first love and had never known that love so seldom endures; he"d only known its bliss and beauty. In her own bitter grief she found solace in the thought that he"d been spared all sorrow"
"All that"s a bit above my head, old boy. I see more or less what you mean." George Peregrine stared unhappily at the inkstand on the desk. He was silent and the lawyer looked at him with curious, yet sympathetic, eyes.
"Do you realize what courage she must have had never by a sign to show how dreadfully unhappy she was?" he said gently.
Colonel Peregrine sighed.
"I"m broken, I suppose you"re right; it"s no good crying over spilt milk and it would only make things worse if I made a fuss."
"Well?"
George Peregrine gave a pitiful little smile.
"I"ll take your advice. I"ll do nothing. Let them think me a d.a.m.ned fool and to h.e.l.l with them. The truth is, I don"t know what I"d do without Evie. But I"ll tell you what, there"s one thing I shall never understand till my dying day: What in the name of heaven did the fellow ever see in her?"
MISS KING.
It was not till the beginning of September that Ashenden, a writer by profession, who had been abroad at the outbreak of the war, managed to get back to England. He chanced soon after his arrival to go to a party and was there introduced to a middle-aged colonel whose name he did not catch. He had some talk with him. As he was about to leave, this officer came up to him and asked: "I say, I wonder if you"d mind coming to see me. I"d rather like to have a chat with you."
"Certainly," said Ashenden. "Whenever you like."
"What about tomorrow at eleven?"
"All right."
I"ll just write down my address. Have you a card on you?"
Ashenden gave him one and on this the colonel scribbled in pencil the name of a street and the number of a house. When Ashenden walked along next morning to keep his appointment he found himself in a street of rather vulgar red-brick houses in a part of London that had once been fashionable, but was now fallen in the esteem of the house-hunter who wanted a good address. On the house at which Ashenden had been asked to call there was a board up to announce that it was for sale, the shutters were closed, and there was no sign that anyone lived in it. He rang the bell and the door was opened by a non-commissioned officer so promptly that he was startled. He was not asked his business, but led immediately into a long room at the back, once evidently a dining-room, the florid decoration of which looked oddly out of keeping with the office furniture, shabby and spa.r.s.e, that was in it. It gave Ashenden the impression of a room in which the brokers had taken possession. The colonel, who was known in the Intelligence Department, as Ashenden later discovered, by the letter R rose when he came in and shook hands with him. He was a man somewhat above the middle height, lean, with a yellow, deeply lined face, thin grey hair, and a toothbrush moustache. The thing immediately noticeable about him was the closeness with which his blue eyes were set. He only just escaped a squint. They were hard and cruel eyes, and very wary; and they gave him a cunning, shifty look. Here was a man that you could neither like nor trust at first sight. His manner was pleasant and cordial.
He asked Ashenden a good many questions and then, without further to-do, suggested that he had particular qualifications for the secret service. Ashenden was acquainted with several European languages and his profession was excellent cover; on the pretext that he was writing a book he could without attracting attention visit any neutral country. It was while they were discussing this point that R said: "You know, you ought to get material that would be very useful to you in your work."
"I shouldn"t mind that," said Ashenden.
"I"ll tell you an incident that occurred only the other day and I can vouch for its truth. I thought at the time it would make a d.a.m.ned good story. One of the French ministers went down to Nice to recover from a cold and he had some very important doc.u.ments with him that he kept in a dispatch-case. They were very important indeed. Well, a day or two after he arrived he picked up a yellow-haired lady at some restaurant or other where there was dancing, and he got friendly with her. To cut a long story short, he took her back to his hotel-of course it was a very imprudent thing to do-and when he came to himself in the morning the lady and the dispatch-case had disappeared. They had one or two drinks up in his room and his theory is that when his back was turned the woman slipped a drug into his gla.s.s."
R finished and looked at Ashenden with a gleam in his close-set eyes. "Dramatic, isn"t it?" he asked.
"Do you mean to say that happened the other day?"
"The week before last."
"Impossible," cried Ashenden. "Why, we"ve been putting that incident on the stage for sixty years, we"ve written it in a thousand novels. Do you mean to say that life has only just caught up with us?"
R was a trifle disconcerted.
"Well, if necessary, I could give you names and dates, and believe me, the Allies have been put to no end of trouble by the loss of the doc.u.ments that the dispatch-case contained."
"Well, sir, if you can"t do better than that in the secret service," sighed Ashenden, "I"m afraid that as a source of inspiration to the writer of fiction it"s a wash-out. We really can"t write that story much longer."
It did not take them long to settle things and when Ashenden rose to go he had already made careful note of his instructions. He was to start for Geneva next day. The last words that R said to him, with a casualness that made them impressive, were: "There"s just one thing I think you ought to know before you take on this job. And don"t forget it. If you do well you"ll get no thanks and if you get into trouble you"ll get no help. Does that suit you?"
"Perfectly"
"Then I"ll wish you good afternoon."
Ashenden was on his way back to Geneva. The night was stormy and the wind blew cold from the mountains, but the stodgy little steamer plodded st.u.r.dily through the choppy waters of the lake. A scudding rain, just turning into sleet, swept the deck in angry gusts, like a nagging woman who cannot leave a subject alone. Ashenden had been to France in order to write and dispatch a report. A day or two before, about five in the afternoon, an Indian agent of his had come to see him in his rooms; it was only by a lucky chance that he was in, for he had no appointment with him, and the agent"s instructions were to come to the hotel only in a case of urgent importance. He told Ashenden that a Bengali in the German service had recently come from Berlin with a black cane trunk in which were a number of doc.u.ments interesting to the British Government. At that time the Central Powers were doing their best to foment such an agitation in India as would make it necessary for Great Britain to keep her troops in the country and perhaps send others from France. It had been found possible to get the Bengali arrested in Berne on a charge that would keep him out of harm"s way for a while, but the black cane trunk could not be found. Ashenden"s agent was a very brave and very clever fellow and he mixed freely with such of his countrymen as were disaffected to the interests of Great Britain. He had just discovered that the Bengali before going to Berne had, for greater safety, left the trunk in the cloak-room at Zurich station, and now that he was in gaol, awaiting trial, was unable to get the bulletin by which it might be obtained into the hands of any of his confederates. It was a matter of great urgency for the German Intelligence Department to secure the contents of the trunk without delay, and since it was impossible for them to get hold of it by the ordinary official means, they had decided to break into the station that very night and steal it. It was a bold and ingenious scheme and Ashenden felt a pleasant exhilaration (for a great deal of his work was uncommonly dull) when he heard of it. He recognized the dashing and unscrupulous touch of the head of the German secret service at Berne. But the burglary was arranged for two o"clock on the following morning and there was not a moment to lose. He could trust neither the telegraph nor the telephone to communicate with the British officer at Berne, and since the Indian agent could not go (he was taking his life in his hands by coming to see Ashenden and if he were noticed leaving his room it might easily be that he would be found one day floating in the lake with a knife-thrust in his back), there was nothing for it but to go himself There was a train to Berne that he could just catch and he put on his hat and coat as he ran downstairs. He jumped into a cab. Four hours later he rang the bell of the headquarters of the Intelligence Department. His name was known there but to one person, and it was for him that Ashenden asked. A tall tired-looking man, whom he had not met before, came out and without a word led him into an office. Ashenden told him his errand. The tall man looked at his watch.
"It"s too late for us to do anything ourselves. We couldn"t possibly get to Zurich in time."
He reflected.
"We"ll put the Swiss authorities on the job. They can telephone, and when your friends attempt their little burglary, I have no doubt they"ll find the station well guarded. Anyhow, you had better get back to Geneva."
He shook hands with Ashenden and showed him out. Ashenden was well aware that he would never know what happened then. Being no more than a tiny rivet in a vast and complicated machine, he never had the advantage of seeing a completed action. He was concerned with the beginning or the end of it, perhaps, or with some incident in the middle, but what his own doings led to he had seldom a chance of discovering. It was as unsatisfactory as those modern novels that give you a number of unrelated episodes and expect you by piecing them together to construct in your mind a connected narrative.
Notwithstanding his fur coat and his m.u.f.fler, Ashenden was chilled to the bone. It was warm in the saloon and there were good lights to read by, but he thought it better not to sit there in case some habitual traveller, recognizing him, wondered why he made these constant journeys between Geneva in Switzerland and Thonon in France; and so, making the best of what shelter could be found, he pa.s.sed the tedious time in the darkness of the deck. He looked in the direction of Geneva, but could see no lights, and the sleet, turning into snow, prevented him from recognizing the landmarks. Lake Leman, on fine days so trim and pretty, artificial like a piece of water in a French garden, in this tempestuous weather was as secret and as menacing as the sea. He made up his mind that, on getting back to his hotel, he would have a fire lit in his sitting-room, a hot bath, and dinner comfortably by the fireside in pyjamas and a dressing-gown. The prospect of spending an evening by himself with his pipe and a book was so agreeable that it made the misery of that journey across the lake positively worth while. Two sailors tramped past him heavily, their heads bent down to save themselves from the sleet that blew in their faces, and one of them shouted to him: Nous arrivons; they went to the side and withdrew a bar to allow pa.s.sage for the gangway, and looking again Ashenden through the howling darkness saw mistily the lights of the quay. A welcome sight. In two or three minutes the steamer was made fast and Ashenden, m.u.f.fled to the eyes, joined himself to the little knot of pa.s.sengers that waited to step ash.o.r.e. Though he made the journey so often-it was his duty to cross the lake into France once a week to deliver his reports and to receive instructions-he had always a faint sense of trepidation when he stood among the crowd at the gangway and waited to land. There was nothing on his pa.s.sport to show that he had been in France; the steamer went round the lake touching French soil at two places, but going from Switzerland to Switzerland, so that his journey might have been to Vevey or to Lausanne; but he could never be sure that the secret police had not taken note of him, and if he had been followed and seen to land in France, the fact that there was no stamp on his pa.s.sport would be difficult to explain. Of course he had his story ready, but he well knew that it was not a very convincing one, and though it might be impossible for the Swiss authorities to prove that he was anything but a casual traveller, he might nevertheless spend two or three days in gaol, which would be uncomfortable, and then be firmly conducted to the frontier, which would be mortifying. The Swiss knew well that their country was the scene of all manner of intrigues; agents of the secret service, spies, revolutionaries, and agitators infested the hotels of the princ.i.p.al towns and, jealous of their neutrality, they were determined to prevent conduct that might embroil them with any of the belligerent powers.
There were as usual two police officers on the quay to watch the pa.s.sengers disembark and Ashenden, walking past them with as unconcerned an air as he could a.s.sume, was relieved when he had got safely by. The darkness swallowed him up and he stepped out briskly for his hotel. The wild weather with a scornful gesture had swept all the neatness from the trim promenade. The shops were closed and Ashenden pa.s.sed only an occasional pedestrian who sidled along, scrunched up, as though he fled from the blind wrath of the unknown. You had a feeling in that black and bitter night that civilization, ashamed of its artificiality, cowered before the fury of elemental things. It was hail now that blew in Ashenden"s face, and the pavement was wet and slippery so that he had to walk with caution. The hotel faced the lake. When he reached it and a page-boy opened the door for him, he entered the hall with a flurry of wind that sent the papers on the porter"s desk flying into the air. Ashenden was dazzled by the light. He stopped to ask the porter if there were letters for him. There was nothing, and he was about to get into the lift when the porter told him that two gentlemen were waiting in his room to see him. Ashenden had no friends in Geneva.
"Oh?" he answered, not a little surprised. "Who are they?"
He had taken care to get on friendly terms with the porter and his tips for trifling services had been generous. The porter gave a discreet smile. "There is no harm in telling you. I think they are members of the police."
"What do they want?" asked Ashenden.
"They did not say. They asked me where you were, and I told them you had gone for a walk. They said they would wait till you came back."
"How long have they been there?"
"An hour."
Ashenden"s heart sank, but he took care not to let his face betray his concern. "I"ll go up and see them," he said. The liftman stood aside to let him step into the lift, but Ashenden shook his head. "I"m so cold," he said, "I"ll walk up." He wished to give himself a moment to think, but as he ascended the three flights slowly his feet were like lead. There could be small doubt why two police officers were so bent upon seeing him. He felt on a sudden dreadfully tired. He did not feel he could cope with a mult.i.tude of questions. And if he were arrested as a secret agent he must spend at least the night in a cell. He longed more than ever for a hot bath and a pleasant dinner by his fireside. He had half a mind to turn tail and walk out of the hotel, leaving everything behind him; he had his pa.s.sport in his pocket and he knew by heart the hours at which trains started for the frontier: before the Swiss authorities had made up their minds what to do he would be in safety. But he continued to trudge upstairs. He did not like the notion of abandoning his job so easily; he had been sent to Geneva, knowing the risks, to do work of a certain kind, and it seemed to him that he had better go through with it. Of course it would not be very nice to spend two years in a Swiss prison, but the chance of this was, like a.s.sa.s.sination to kings, one of the inconveniences of his profession. He reached the landing of the third floor and walked to his room. Ashenden had in him, it seems, a strain of flippancy (on account of which, indeed, the critics had often reproached him) and as he stood for a moment outside the door his predicament appeared to him on a sudden rather droll. His spirits went up and he determined to brazen the thing out. It was with a genuine smile on his lips that he turned the handle and entering the room faced his visitors.
"Good evening, gentlemen," said he.
The room was brightly lit, for all the lights were on, and a fire burned in the hearth. The air was grey with smoke, since the strangers, finding it long to wait for him, had been smoking strong and inexpensive cigars. They sat in their greatcoats and bowler-hats as though they had only just that moment come in; but the ashes in the little tray on the table would alone have suggested that they had been long enough there to make themselves familiar with their surroundings. They were two powerful men, with black moustaches, on the stout side, heavily built, and they reminded Ashenden of Fafner and Fasolt, the giants inThe Rhinegold; their clumsy boots, the ma.s.sive way they sat in their chairs, and the ponderous alertness of their expression made it obvious that they were members of the detective force. Ashenden gave his room an enveloping glance. He was a neat creature and saw at once that his things, though not in disorder, were not as he had left them. He guessed that an examination had been made of his effects. That did not disturb him, for he kept in his room no doc.u.ment that would compromise him; his code he had learned by heart and destroyed before leaving England, and such communications as reached him from Germany were handed to him by third parties and transmitted without delay to the proper places. There was nothing he need fear in a search, but the impression that it had been made confirmed his suspicion that he had been denounced to the authorities as a secret agent.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked affably. "It"s warm in here, wouldn"t you like to take off your coats-and hats?"
It faintly irritated him that they should sit there with their hats on.
"We"re only staying a minute," said one of them. "We were pa.s.sing and as the concierge said you would be in at once, we thought we would wait."
He did not remove his hat. Ashenden unwrapped his scarf and disembarra.s.sed himself of his heavy coat.
"Won"t you have a cigar?" he asked, offering the box to the two detectives in turn.
"I don"t mind if I do," said the first, Fafner, taking one, upon which the second, Fasolt, helped himself without a word, even of thanks.
The name on the box appeared to have a singular effect on their manners, for both now took off their hats.
"You must have had a very disagreeable walk in this bad weather," said Fafner, as he bit half an inch off the end of his cigar and spat it in the fire-place.
Now it was Ashenden"s principle (a good one in life as well as in the Intelligence Department) always to tell as much of the truth as he conveniently could; so he answered as follows: "What do you take me for? I wouldn"t go out in such weather if I could help it. I had to go to Vevey today to see an invalid friend and I came back by boat It was bitter on the lake."
"We come from the police," said Fafner casually.
Ashenden thought they must consider him a perfect idiot if they imagined he had not guessed that, but it was not a piece of information to which it was discreet to reply with a pleasantry.
"Oh, really," he said.
"Have you your pa.s.sport on you?"
"Yes. In these war-times I think a foreigner is wise always to keep his pa.s.sport on him."
"Very wise."
Ashenden handed the man the nice new pa.s.sport, which gave no information about his movements other than that he had come from London three months before and had since then crossed no frontier. The detective looked at it carefully and pa.s.sed it on to his colleague.
"It appears to be all in order," he said.
Ashenden, standing in front of the fire to warm himself, a cigarette between his lips, made no reply. He watched the detectives warily, but with an expression, he flattered himself, of amiable unconcern. Fasolt handed back the pa.s.sport to Fafner, who tapped it reflectively with a thick forefinger.
"The chief of police told us to come here," he said, and Ashenden was conscious that both of them now looked at him with attention, "to make a few inquiries of you."
Ashenden knew that when you have nothing apposite to say it is better to hold your tongue; and when a man has made a remark that calls to his mind for an answer, he is apt to find silence a trifle disconcerting. Ashenden waited for the detective to proceed. He was not quite sure, but it seemed to him that he hesitated.
"It appears that there have been a good many complaints lately of the noise that people make when they come out of the Casino late at night. We wish to know if you personally have been troubled by the disturbance. It is evident that as your rooms look on the lake and the revellers pa.s.s your windows, if the noise is serious, you must have heard it."
For an instant Ashenden was dumbfounded. What balderdash was this the detective was talking to him (boom, boom, he heard the big drum as the giant lumbered on the scene), and why on earth should the chief of police send to him to find out if his beauty sleep had been disturbed by vociferous gamblers? It looked very like a trap. But nothing is so foolish as to ascribe profundity to what on the surface is merely inept; it is a pitfall into which many an ingenuous reviewer has fallen headlong. Ashenden had a confident belief in the stupidity of the human animal, which in the course of his life had stood him in good stead. It flashed across him that if the detective asked him such a question it was because he had no shadow of proof that he was engaged in any illegal practice. It was clear that he had been denounced, but no evidence had been offered, and the search of his rooms had been fruitless. But what a silly excuse was this to make for a visit and what a poverty of invention it showed! Ashenden immediately thought of three reasons the detectives might have given for seeking an interview with him and he wished that he were on terms sufficiently familiar with them to make the suggestions. This was really an insult to the intelligence. These men were even stupider than he thought; but Ashenden had always a soft corner in his heart for the stupid and now he looked upon them with a feeling of unexpected kindliness. He would have liked to pat them gently. But he answered the question with gravity.
"To tell you the truth, I am a very sound sleeper (the result doubtless of a pure heart and an easy conscience), and I have never heard a thing."
Ashenden looked at them for the faint smile that he thought his remark deserved, but their countenances remained stolid. Ashenden, as well as an agent of the British Government, was a humorist, and he stifled the beginnings of a sigh. He a.s.sumed a slightly imposing air and adopted a more serious tone.
"But even if I had been awakened by noisy people I should not dream of complaining. At a time when there is so much trouble, misery, and unhappiness in the world, I cannot but think it very wrong to disturb the amus.e.m.e.nt of persons who are lucky enough to be able to amuse themselves."
"En effet," said the detective. "But the fact remains that people have been disturbed and the chief of police thought the matter should be inquired into." His colleague, who had hitherto preserved a silence that was positively sphinx-like, now broke it.
"I noticed by your pa.s.sport that you are an author, monsieur," he said. Ashenden in reaction from his previous perturbation was feeling exceedingly debonair and he answered with good-humour: "It is true. It is a profession full of tribulation, but it has now and then its compensations."
"La gloire," said Fafner politely.
"Or shall we say notoriety?" hazarded Ashenden.
"And what are you doing in Geneva?"
The question was put so pleasantly that Ashenden felt it behoved him to be on his guard. A police officer amiable is more dangerous to the wise than a police officer aggressive.
"I am writing a play," said Ashenden.
He waved his hand to the papers on his table. Four eyes followed his gesture. A casual glance told him that the detectives had looked and taken note of his ma.n.u.scripts.