Into the salon of Maxendorf's suite at the Ritz Hotel, freed for a
moment from its constant stream of callers, came suddenly, without
announcement--from a place of hiding, indeed--Maraton. He stepped into
the room swiftly and closed the door. Maxendorf was standing with his
back to his visitor, bending over a map.
"Who's that?" he asked, without looking up "You, Franz? You, Beldeman?"
There was no reply. Maxendorf straightened his gaunt figure and turned
around. He stood there motionless, the palm of one hand covering the
map at which he had been gazing, the lamplight shining on his gaunt,
strangely freckled face.
"You!" he muttered.
Maraton remained still speechless. Maxendorf stretched out his hand for
the telephone, but before he could grasp it, his hand was struck into
the air. He wasted no time asking useless questions. His visitor's
face was enough.
"What have you to gain by this?" he demanded. "Even if you could take
my life, it will alter nothing."
Maraton caught him fiercely by the throat. Maxendorf, notwithstanding
his superior height, was powerless. He was forced slowly backwards
across the couch, on to the floor. Maraton knelt by his side. His
grasp was never for a second relaxed.
"I leave you to-night," Maraton whispered, "with a gasp or two of life
in you, but remember this. If I fail to undo your work, as sure as I
live, I will keep my word. My hand shall find your throat again--your
throat, do you hear?--and shall hold you there, tighter and tighter,
until the life slips out of your body, just as it is almost slipping
now!"
Maxendorf was unconscious. Maraton suddenly threw him away. Then he
left the room, rang for the lift and made his way once more out into the
street. Piccadilly was a shadowy wilderness. St. James's Street was
thronged with soldiers marching into the Park. Maraton pursued his way
steadily into Pall Mall and Downing Street. Even here there were very
few people, and the front of Mr. Foley's house was almost deserted,
save for one or two curious loiterers and a couple of policemen.
Maraton rang the bell and found no trouble in obtaining admittance. The
butler, however, shook his head when asked if Mr. Foley was at home.
"Mr. Foley is at the War Office, sir," he announced. "We cannot tell
what time to expect him."
"I shall wait," Maraton replied. "My business is of urgent importance."
The butler made no difficulty. He recognised Maraton as a guest of the
house and he showed him into the smaller library, which was generally
used as a waiting-room for more important visitors. It was the room in
which Maraton had had his first conversation with Mr. Foley. He looked
around him with faint, half painful curiosity. If was like a place
which he had known well in some other life. It seemed impossible to
believe that he was the same man, or that this was the same room. Yet
it was barely four months ago! Too restless to sit still, he walked up
and down the apartment with quick, unsteady footsteps. Then suddenly
the door opened. Elisabeth appeared. She recognised Maraton and
started. She looked at him with a fixed, incredulous stare.
"You?" she exclaimed. "You here? What do you want?"
"Your uncle," he answered. "How long will he be?"
She closed the door behind her with trembling fingers. Then she came
further into the room and confronted him.
"Why are you here?" she demanded. "To gloat over your work?"
"To undo it, if I can," he replied quickly,--"a part of it, at any
rate. I fell into a trap--Selingman and I. I've a way out, if there's
time. I want your uncle."
"You mean it?" she begged feverishly, her face lightening. "Oh, don't
raise our hopes again just to disappoint us!"
"I mean it," he reiterated. "I want your uncle. With his help, if he
has the courage, if he dare face the inevitable, I'll break the railway
strike to-night and the coal strike to-morrow."
She sat down suddenly. She, too, had changed during the last few
months. Her face was thinner; there were lines under her eyes. She had
lost something of the fresh, delicate splendour of youth which had made
her seem so dazzling.
"I can't believe that you are in earnest," she faltered.
"There isn't any doubt about it," he assured her. "Send round and hurry
your uncle."
She moved to the writing-table and wrote a few lines hastily. Then she
rang the bell and gave them to a servant. She was still without a
vestige of colour.
"I can't dare to feel hopeful," she observed gloomily, when the door had
been closed and they were once more alone. "We trusted you before, we
believed that everything would be well. You were brutal to us both--to
me as well as to my uncle."
"I made no promises," he reminded her. "I broke no ties. I was a
people's man; I still am. I took the course I thought best. I thought
I saw a way to real freedom."
"It was Maxendorf!" she exclaimed, under her breath.
He nodded.
"Maxendorf was too clever for me," he confessed. "Perhaps, just at this
moment, he is a little sorry for it."
"What do you mean?" she asked hastily.
Maraton shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, he's alive--only just, though! I shook the life nearly out of him.
He knows that if we fail within these next twenty-four hours, your uncle
and I, I am going to take what's left. I promised him that."
Her eyes glowed.
"You are a strange person," she declared. "How did you come to see
the truth--to know that you had been misled by Maxendorf?"
"It was Selingman who told me," he explained. "Selingman, too, was
deceived, but Selingman was nearer to him. He discovered the truth and
he came to me. It was a matter of two hours ago. I made my way first
to Maxendorf. I remembered my promise. I waited about in the corridors
outside his room until I saw an opportunity. Then I slipped in and took
him by the throat. Oh, he's alive, but not very much alive to-night!"
"Tell me about your wonderful journey north?" she begged.
He shook his head.
"Just at present it is like a nightmare," he replied. "We went from
place to place and I preached the new salvation. I told them to trust
in me and I would lead them to the light. I believed it. Though the way
I knew must be strewn with difficulties, though there were great risks
and much suffering, I believed it. I saw the dawn of the millennium. I
made them believe that I saw it. They placed their trust in me. I have
led them to the brink of God knows what!"
"You have led them to the brink of war," she said gravely. "We wait for
its declaration every hour, my uncle and I. They know our plight. They
are waiting for the exactly correct minute."
"They may wait a day too long," Maraton muttered. "For myself, I
believe that they have already waited a day too long. Maxendorf was too
certain. He never dreamed that I might learn the truth. Listen!"
A car stopped outside. They heard the sound of footsteps in the hall,
the door was quickly opened. Mr. Foley stood there. He was looking
very grave and white, but his eyes flashed at the sight of Maraton.
"You!" he exclaimed.
He gave his coat and hat to the servant; then he closed the door behind
him. He remained standing--he offered no form of greeting to his
unexpected visitor.
"What do you want?" he demanded. "Why have you come to me?"
"To give you your chance," Maraton replied, with swift emphasis. "You
are the only statesman I know who would have courage to accept it. Dare
you?"
Mr. Foley remained speechless. He stood perfectly still, with folded
arms.
"This isn't an hour for recriminations," Maraton continued. "I have
played into Maxendorf's hands--I admit it. There's time to checkmate
him. I'll free every railroad in the country to-morrow, and the
coal-pits next day, with your help."
"I have forced your delegates to come to me," Mr. Foley answered. "To
all my offers they have but one reply: they await your word; they are
not seeking for terms."
"Accept mine," Maraton begged, "and I swear to you that they shall
consent. Mind, it isn't a small thing, but it's salvation, and it's
the only salvation."
"Go on," Mr. Foley commanded.
"Pledge your word," Maraton proceeded deliberately, "pledge me your word
that next Session you will nationalise the railways on the basis of
three per cent for capital, a minimum wage of two pounds ten, a maximum
salary of eight hundred pounds, contracts to be pro rata if profits are
not earned. Pledge me that, and the railway strike is over."
"It's Socialism," Elisabeth gasped.
"It's common sense," Mr. Foley declared. "I accept. What about the
coal?"
"You don't need to ask me that," Maraton replied swiftly. "Our
coalfields are the blood and sinews of the country. They belong to the
Government more naturally even than the labour-made railways. Take
them. Pay your fair price and take them. Do away with the horde of
money-bloated parvenus, who fatten and decay on the immoral profits they
drag from Labour. We are at the parting of the ways. We wait for the
strong man. Raise your standard, and the battle is already won."
"And you?" Mr. Foley muttered.
"I am your man," Maraton answered.
Mr. Foley held out his hand.
"If you mean it," he said gravely, "we'll get through yet. But are you
sure about the others--Ernshaw and his Union men? We've tried all human
means, and Ernshaw is like a rock. Dale and Graveling and all the rest
have done what they could. Ernshaw remains outside. I thought that I
had won the Labour Party. It seems to me, when the trouble came, that
they represented nothing."
"They don't," Maraton agreed, "but Ernshaw represents the people, and I
represent Ernshaw. He was with me only a little time ago. There won't
be a Labour Party any longer. It will be a National Party, and you will
make it."
"I am an old man," Mr. Foley murmured slowly, but his eyes kindled as
he spoke.
They both laughed at him.
"Young enough to found a new Party," Maraton insisted, "young enough to
bring the country into safety once more."
The atmosphere seemed heavily charged with emotion. Elisabeth's eyes
were shining. She held out her hands to Maraton, and he kept them
reverently in his.
"To-night," he announced, "with Ernshaw's help I start for the north.
In a few hours we shall have freed the railway lines. I leave the Press
to you, Mr. Foley. I shall go on to the mines."
"And I?" Lady Elisabeth asked. "What is my share? Is there nothing I
can do?"
Their eyes met for one long moment.
"When I return," he said quietly, "I will tell you."