I AGREE TO MEET THE ENEMY
That night I dreamed of going down, down, down into the bowels of the
earth after buried treasure, and finding at the end of my hours of
travel the countess's mother sitting in bleak splendour on a chest of
gold with her feet drawn up and surrounded by an audience of spiders.
For an hour or more after leaving the enchanted rooms near the roof,
I lounged in my study, persistently attentive to the portrait of Ludwig
the Red, with my ears straining for sounds from the other side of the
secret panels. Alas! those panels were many cubits thick and as staunch
as the sides of a battleship. But there was a vast satisfaction in
knowing that she was there, asleep perhaps, with her brown head pillowed
close to the wall but little more than an arm's length from the crimson
waistcoat of Ludwig the Red,--for he sat rather low like a Chinese god
and supported his waistcoat with his knees. A gross, forbidding chap
was he! The story was told of him that he could quaff a flagon of ale
at a single gulp. Looking at his portrait, one could not help thinking
what a pitifully infinitesimal thing a flagon of ale is after all.
Morning came and with it a sullen determination to get down to work
on my long neglected novel. I went down to breakfast. Everything about
the place looked bleak and dreary and as grey as a granite tombstone.
Hawkes, who but twelve hours before had seemed the embodiment of life
in its most resilient form, now appeared as a drab nemesis with wooden
legs and a frozen leer. My coffee was bitter, the peaches were like
sponges, the bacon and rolls of uniform sogginess and the eggs of a
strange liverish hue. I sat there alone, gloomy and depressed,
contrasting the hateful sunshine with the soft, witching refulgence
of twenty-four candles and the light that lies in a woman's eyes.
"A fine morning, sir," said Hawkes in a voice that seemed to come from
the grave. It was the first time I had ever heard him speak so
dolorously of the morning. Ordinarily he was a pleasant voiced fellow.
"Is it?" said I, and my voice sounded gloomier than his. I was not
sure of it, but it seemed to me that he made a movement with his hand
as if about to put it to his lips. Seeing that I was regarding him
rather fixedly, he allowed it to remain suspended a little above his
hip, quite on a line with the other one. His elbows were crooked at
the proper angle I noticed, so I must have been doing him an injustice.
He couldn't have had anything disrespectful in mind.
"Send Mr. Poopendyke to me, Hawkes, immediately after I've finished
my breakfast."
"Very good, sir. Oh, I beg pardon, sir. I am forgetting, Mr. Poopendyke
is out. He asked me to tell you he wouldn't return before eleven."
"Out? What business has he to be out?"
"Well, sir, I mean to say, he's not precisely out, and he isn't just
what one would call in. He is up in the--ahem!--the east wing, sir,
taking down some correspondence for the--for the lady, sir."
I arose to the occasion. "Quite so, quite so. I had forgotten the
appointment."
"Yes, sir, I thought you had."
"Ahem! I daresay Britton will do quite as well. Tell him to--"
"Britton, sir, has gone over to the city for the newspapers. You forget
that he goes every morning as soon as he has had his--"
"Yes, yes! Certainly," I said hastily. "The papers. Ha, ha! Quite
right."
It was news to me, but it wouldn't do to let him know it. The countess
read the papers, I did not. I steadfastly persisted in ignoring the
Paris edition of the _New York Herald_ for fear that the delightful
mystery might disintegrate, so to speak, before my eyes, or become the
commonplace scandal that all the world was enjoying. As it stood now,
I had it all to myself--that is to say, the mystery. Mr. Poopendyke
reads aloud the baseball scores to me, and nothing else.
It was nearly twelve when my secretary reported to me on this particular
morning, and he seemed a trifle hazy as to the results of the games.
After he had mumbled something about rain or wet grounds, I coldly
enquired:
"Mr. Poopendyke, are you employed by me or by that woman upstairs?"
I would never have spoken of her as "that woman," believe me, if I had
not been in a state of irritation.
He looked positively stunned. "Sir?" he gasped.
I did not repeat the question, but managed to demand rather fiercely:
"Are you?"
"The countess had got dreadfully behind with her work, sir, and I
thought you wouldn't mind if I helped her out a bit," he explained
nervously.
"Work? What work?"
"Her diary, sir. She is keeping a diary."
"Indeed!"
"It is very interesting, Mr. Smart. Rather beats any novel I've read
lately. We--we've brought it quite up to date. I wrote at least three
pages about the dinner last night. If I am to believe what she puts
into her diary, it must have been a delightful occasion, as the
newspapers would say."
I was somewhat mollified. "What did she have to say about it, Fred?"
I asked. It always pleased him to be called Fred.
"That would be betraying a confidence," said he. "I will say this much,
however: I think I wrote your name fifty times or more in connection
with it."
"Rubbish!" said I.
"Not at all!" said he, with agreeable spirit.
A sudden chill came over me. "She isn't figuring on having it published,
is she?"
"I can't say as to that," was his disquieting reply. "It wasn't any
of my business, so I didn't ask."
"Oh," said I, "I see."
"I think it is safe to assume, however, that it is not meant for
publication," said he. "It strikes me as being a bit too personal.
There are parts of it that I don't believe she'd dare to put into
print, although she reeled them off to me without so much as a blush.
'Pon my soul, Mr. Smart, I never was so embarrassed in my life. She--"
"Never mind," I interrupted hastily. "Don't tell tales out of school."
He was silent for a moment, fingering his big eyeglasses nervously.
"It may please you to know that she thinks you are an exceedingly nice
man."
"No, it doesn't!" I roared irascibly. "I'm damned if I like being
called an exceedingly nice man."
"They were my words, sir, not hers," he explained desperately. "I was
merely putting two and two together--forming an opinion from her manner
not from her words. She is very particular to mention everything you
do for her, and thanks me if I call her attention to anything she may
have forgotten. She certainly appreciates your kindness to the baby."
"That is extremely gratifying," said I acidly.
He hesitated once more. "Of course, you understand that the divorce
itself is absolute. It's only the matter of the child that remains
unsettled. The--"
I fairly barked at him. "What the devil do you mean by that, sir? What
has the divorce got to do with it?"
"A great deal, I should say," said he, with the rare, almost superhuman
patience that has made him so valuable to me.
"Upon my soul!" was all that I could say.
Hawkes rapped on the door luckily at that instant.
"The men from the telephone company are here, sir, and the electricians.
Where are they to begin, sir?"
"Tell them to wait," said I. Then I hurried to the top of the east
wing to ask if she had the least objection to an extension 'phone being
placed in my study. She thought it would be very nice, so I returned
with instructions for the men to put in three instruments: one in her
room, one in mine, and one in the butler's pantry. It seemed a very
jolly arrangement all 'round. As for the electric bell system, it would
speak for itself.
Toward the middle of the afternoon when Mr. Poopendyke and I were hard
at work on my synopsis we were startled by a dull, mysterious pounding
on the wall hard by. We paused to listen. It was quite impossible to
locate the sound, which ceased almost immediately. Our first thought
was that the telephone men were drilling a hole through the wall into
my study. Then came the sharp rat-a-ta-tat once more. Even as we looked
about us in bewilderment, the portly facade of Ludwig the Red moved
out of alignment with a heart-rending squeak and a long thin streak
of black appeared at the inner edge of the frame, growing wider,--and
blacker if anything,--before our startled eyes.
"Are you at home?" inquired a voice that couldn't by any means have
emanated from the chest of Ludwig, even in his mellowest hours.
I leaped to my feet and started across the room with great strides.
My secretary's eyes were glued to the magic portrait. His fingers,
looking like claws, hung suspended over the keyboard of the typewriter.
"By the Lord Harry!" I cried. "Yes!"
The secret door swung quietly open, laying Ludwig's face to the wall,
and in the aperture stood my amazing neighbour, as lovely a portrait
as you'd see in a year's trip through all the galleries in the world.
She was smiling down upon us from the slightly elevated position, a
charming figure in the very latest Parisian hat and gown. Something
grey and black and exceedingly chic, I remember saying to Poopendyke
afterwards in response to a question of his.
"I am out making afternoon calls," said she. Her face was flushed with
excitement and self-consciousness. "Will you please put a chair here
so that I may hop down?"
For answer, I reached up a pair of valiant arms. She laughed, leaned
forward and placed her hands on my shoulders. My hands found her waist
and I lifted her gently, gracefully to the floor.
"How strong you are!" she said admiringly. "How do you do, Mr.
Poopendyke! Dear me! I am not a ghost, sir!"
His fingers dropped to the keyboard. "How do you do," he jerked out.
Then he felt of his heart. "My God! I don't believe it's going."
Together we inspected the secret doors, going so far as to enter the
room beyond, the Countess peering through after us from my study. To
my amazement the room was absolutely bare. Bed, trunks, garments,
chairs--everything in fact had vanished as if whisked away by an
all-powerful genie.
"What does this mean?" I cried, turning to her.
"I don't mind sleeping upstairs, now that I have a telephone," she
said serenely. "Max and Rudolph moved everything up this afternoon."
Poopendyke and I returned to the study. I, for one, was bitterly
disappointed.
"I'm sorry that I had the 'phone put in," I said.
"Please don't call it a 'phone!" she objected. "I hate the word 'phone."
"So do I," said Poopendyke recklessly.
I glared at _him_. What right had he to criticise my manner of speech?
He started to leave the room, after a perfunctory scramble to put his
papers in order, but she broke off in the middle of a sentence to urge
him to remain. She announced that she was calling on both of us.
"Please don't stop your work on my account," she said, and promptly
sat down at his typewriter and began pecking at the keys. "You must
teach me how to run a typewriter, Mr. Poopendyke. I shall be as poor
as a church mouse before long, and I know father won't help me. I may
have to become a stenographer."
He blushed abominably. I don't believe I've ever seen a more
unattractive fellow than Poopendyke.
"Oh, every cloud has its silver lining," said he awkwardly.
"But I am used to gold," said she. The bell on the machine tinkled.
"What do I do now?" He made the shift and the space for her.
"Go right ahead," said he. She scrambled the whole alphabet across his
neat sheet but he didn't seem to mind.
"Isn't it jolly, Mr. Smart? If Mr. Poopendyke should ever leave you,
I may be able to take his place as your secretary."
I bowed very low. "You may be quite sure, Countess, that I shall dismiss
Mr. Poopendyke the instant you apply for his job."
"And I shall most cheerfully abdicate," said he. Silly ass!
I couldn't help thinking how infinitely more attractive and perilous
she would be as a typist than the excellent young woman who had married
the jeweller's clerk, and what an improvement on Poopendyke!
"I came down to inquire when you would like to go exploring for buried
treasure, Mr. Smart," she said, after the cylinder had slipped back
with a bang that almost startled her out of her pretty boots and caused
her to give up typewriting then and there, forevermore.
"Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day," quoted I glibly.
She looked herself over. "If you knew how many times this gown had to
be put off till to-morrow, you wouldn't ask me to ruin it the second
time I've had it on my back."
"It is an uncommonly attractive gown," said I.
"Shall we set to-morrow for the treasure quest?"
"To-morrow is Sunday."
"Can you think of a better way to kill it?"
"Yes, you might have me down here for an old-fashioned midday dinner."
"Capital! Why not stay for supper, too?"
"It would be too much like spending a day with relatives," she said.
"We'll go treasure hunting on Monday. I haven't the faintest notion
where to look, but that shouldn't make any difference. No one else
ever had. By the way, Mr. Smart, I have a bone to pick with you. Have
you seen yesterday's papers? Well, in one of them, there is a long
account of my--of Mr. Pless's visit to your castle, and a lengthy
interview in which you are quoted as saying that he is one of your
dearest friends and a much maligned man who deserves the sympathy of
every law-abiding citizen in the land."
"An abominable lie!" I cried indignantly. "Confound the newspapers!"
"Another paper says that your fortune has been placed at his disposal
in the fight he is making against the criminally rich Americans. In
this particular article you are quoted as saying that I am a dreadful
person and not fit to have the custody of a child."
"Good Lord!" I gasped helplessly.
"You also expect to do everything in your power to interest the
administration at Washington in his behalf."
"Well, of all the--Oh, I say, Countess, you don't believe a word of
all this, do you?"
She regarded me pensively. "You have said some very mean, uncivil
things to me."
"If I thought you believed--" I began desperately, but her sudden smile
relieved me of the necessity of jumping into the river. "By Jove, I
shall write to these miserable sheets, denying every word they've
printed. And what's more, I'll bring an action for damages against all
of 'em. Why, it is positively atrocious! The whole world will think
I despise you and--" I stopped very abruptly in great confusion.
"And--you don't?" she queried, with real seriousness in her voice.
"You don't despise me?"
"Certainly _not!_" I cried vehemently. Turning to Poopendyke, I said:
"Mr. Poopendyke, will you at once prepare a complete and emphatic
denial of every da--of every word they have printed about me, and I'll
send it to all the American correspondents in Europe. We'll cable it
ourselves to the United States. I sha'n't rest until I am set straight
in the eyes of my fellow-countrymen. The whole world shall know,
Countess, that I am for you first, last and all the time. It shall
know--"
"But you don't know who I am, Mr. Smart," she broke in, her cheeks
very warm and rosy. "How can you publicly espouse the cause of one
whose name you refuse to have mentioned in your presence?"
I dismissed her question with a wave of the hand: "Poopendyke can
supply the name after I have signed the statement. I give him carte
blanche. The name has nothing to do with the case, so far as I am
concerned. Write it, Fred, and make it strong."
She came up to me and held out her hand. "I knew you would do it," she
said softly. "Thanks."
I bent low over the gloved little hand. "Don Quixote was a happy
gentleman, Countess, with all his idiosyncrasies, and so am I."
She not only came for dinner with us on Sunday, but made the dressing
for my alligator pear salad. We were besieged by the usual crowd of
Sunday sight-seers, who came clamouring at our staunch, reinforced
gates, and anathematised me soundly for refusing admission. One
bourgeoise party of fifteen refused to leave the plaza until their
return fares on the ferry barge were paid stoutly maintaining that
they had come over in good faith and wouldn't leave until I had
reimbursed them to the extent of fifty hellers apiece, ferry fare. I
sent Britton out with the money. He returned with the rather disquieting
news that he had recognised two of Mr. Pless's secret agents in the
mob.
"I wonder if he suspects that I am here," said the Countess paling
perceptibly when I mentioned the presence of the two men.
"It doesn't matter," said I. "He can't get into the castle while the
gates are locked, and, by Jove, I intend to keep them locked."
"What a delightful ogre you are, Mr. Smart," said she.
Nevertheless, I did not sleep well that night. The presence of the two
detectives outside my gates was not to be taken too lightly.
Unquestionably they had got wind of something that aroused suspicion
in their minds. I confidently expected them to reappear in the morning,
perhaps disguised as workmen. Nor were my fears wholly unjustified.
Shortly after nine o'clock a sly-faced man in overalls accosted me in
the hall.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Smart," he said in fairly good English, "may
I have a word with you? I have a message from Mr. Pless." I don't
believe he observed the look of concern that flitted across my face.
"From Mr. Pless?" I inquired, simulating surprise. Then I looked him
over so curiously that he laughed in a quiet, simple way.
"I am an agent of the secret service," he explained coolly. "Yesterday
I failed to gain admission as a visitor, to-day I come as a labourer.
We work in a mysterious way, sir."
"Is it necessary for Mr. Pless to resort to a subterfuge of this
character in order to get a message to me?" I demanded indignantly.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"It was not necessary yesterday, but it is to-day," said he. He leaned
closer and lowered his voice. "Our every movement is being watched by
the Countess's detectives. We are obliged to resort to trickery to
throw them off the scent. Mr. Pless has read what you had to say in
the newspapers and he is too grateful, sir, to subject you to
unnecessary annoyance at the hands of her agents. Your friendship is
sacred to him. He realises that it means a great deal to have the
support of one so powerful with the United States government. If we
are to work together, Mr. Smart, in bringing this woman to justice,
it must be managed with extreme skill or her family may--"
"What is this you are saying?" I broke in, scarcely able to believe
my ears.
"I speak English so badly," he apologised. "Perhaps I should do no
more than to give you his message. He would have you to meet him
secretly to-night at the Rempf Hotel across the river. It is most
important that you should do so, and that you should exercise great
caution. I am to take your reply back to him."
For an instant I was fairly stupefied. Then I experienced a feeling
of relief so vast that he must have seen the gleam of triumph in my
eyes. The trick was mine, after all.
"Come into my study," I said. He followed me upstairs and into the
room. Poopendyke was there. "This is my secretary, you may speak freely
before him." Turning to Poopendyke, I said: "You have not sent that
statement to the newspapers, have you? Well, let it rest for a day or
two. Mr. Pless has sent a representative to see me." I scowled at my
secretary, and he had the sense to hide his astonishment.
The fellow repeated what he had said before, and added a few
instructions which I was to follow with care if I would do Mr. Pless
the honour to wait upon him that evening at the Rempf Hotel.
"You may tell Mr. Pless that I shall be there at nine," said I. The
agent departed. When he was safely out of the room, I explained the
situation to Poopendyke, and then made my way through the secret panels
to the Countess's rooms.
She was ready for the subterranean journey in quest of treasure, attired
in a neat walking skirt, with her bonny hair encased in a swimming cap
as a guard against cobwebs.
"Then you don't intend to send out the statements?" she cried in
disappointment. "You are going to let every one think you are his
friend and not mine?"
I was greatly elated. Her very unreasonableness was a prize that I
could not fail to cherish.
"Only for the time being," I said eagerly. "Don't you see the advantage
we gain by fooling him? Why, it is splendid--positively splendid!"
She pouted. "I don't feel at all sure of you now, Mr. Smart," she said,
sitting down rather dejectedly in a chair near the fireplace. "I believe
you are ready to turn against me. You want to be rid of me. I am a
nuisance, a source of trouble to you. You will tell him that I am
here--"
I stood over her, trying my best to scowl. "You know better than that.
You know I--I am as loyal as--as can be. Hang it all," I burst out
impulsively, "do you suppose for a minute that I want to hand you over
to that infernal rascal, now that I've come to--that is to say, now
that we're such ripping good friends?"
She looked up at me very pathetically at first. Then her expression
changed swiftly to one of wonder and the most penetrating inquiry.
Slowly a flush crept into her cheeks and her eyes wavered.
"I--I think I can trust you to--to do the right thing by me," she said,
descending to a banality in her confusion.
I held out my hand. She laid hers in it rather timidly, almost as if
she was afraid of me. "I shall not fail you," said I without the
faintest intention to be heroic but immediately conscious of having
used an expression so trite that my cheek flamed with humiliation.
For some unaccountable reason she arose hastily from the chair and
walked to the window. A similar reason, no doubt, held me rooted rather
safely to the spot on which I stood. I have a vague recollection of
feeling dizzy and rather short of breath. My heart was acting queerly.
"Why do you suppose he wants to see you?" she asked, after a moment,
turning toward me again. She was as calm as a summer breeze. All trace
of nervousness had left her.
"I can't even supply a guess."
"You must be very, very tactful," she said uneasily. "I know him so
well. He is very cunning."
"I am accustomed to dealing with villains," said I. "They always come
to a bad end in my books, and virtue triumphs."
"But this isn't a book," she protested. "Besides virtue never triumphs
in an international marriage. You must come--to see me to-night after
you return from town. I won't sleep until I've heard everything."
"I may be very late," I said, contriving to hide my eagerness pretty
well, I thought.
"I shall wait for you, Mr. Smart," she said, very distinctly. I took
it as a command and bowed in submission. "There is no one here to
gossip, so we may be as careless as we please about appearances. You
will be hungry, too, when you come in. I shall have a nice supper ready
for you." She frowned faintly. "You must not, under any circumstance,
spoil everything by having supper with _him._"
"Again I repeat, you may trust me implicitly to do the right thing,"
said I beamingly. "And now, what do you say to our trip to the bottom
of the castle?"
She shook her head. "Not with the house full of spies, my dear friend.
We'll save that for another day. A rainy day perhaps. I feel like
having all the sunshine I can get to-day. To-night I shall be gloomy
and very lonely. I shall take Rosemary and Jinko out upon the top of
the tower and play all day in the sun."
I had an idea. "I am sure I should enjoy a little sunshine myself. May
I come too?"
She looked me straight in the eye. There was a touch of dignity in her
voice when she spoke.
"Not to-day, Mr. Smart."
A most unfathomable person!