THE EXPEDITION
Every room in every house has its mystery by day and by night. But at
night the mystery becomes more involved and a darker veil gathers round
the secret. Each inmate goes off to bed with a smiling good-night to
each other, and what could be more unlike than the hopes and plans and
schemes for the morrow which each in silence is forming? All this of
course is obvious and commonplace. But there would be a certain novelty
of illustration if we were to take the fall of night upon Seagate Hall
and try to make out what secrets it covered.
Ericson had found a means of letting Helena know by a few whispered
words that he had heard news which would probably cut short his visit to
Seagate Hall and hurry his departure from London. The girl had listened
with breath kept resolutely in and bosom throbbing, and she dared not
question further at such a moment. Only she said, 'You will tell me
all?' and he said, 'Yes, to-morrow'; and she subsided and was content to
wait and to take her secret to sleep with her, or rather take her secret
with her to keep her from sleeping. Mrs. Sarrasin had found means to
tell her husband what Dolores had told her--and Sarrasin agreed with his
wife in thinking that, although the discovery might appear trivial in
itself, it had possibilities in it the stretch of which it would be
madness to underrate. Ericson and Hamilton had common thoughts
concerning the expedition to Gloria; but Hamilton had not confided to
the Dictator any hint of what Mrs. Sarrasin had told him, and what
Dolores had told Mrs. Sarrasin. On the other hand, Ericson did not think
it at all necessary to communicate to Hamilton the feelings with which
the prospect of a speedy leaving of Seagate Hall had inspired him. Soame
Rivers, we may be sure, took no one into the secret of the cyphered
despatch which he had received, and which as yet he had kept in his own
exclusive possession. If the gifted Professor Flick and his devoted
friend Mr. Copping had secrets--as no doubt they had--they could hardly
be expected to proclaim them on the house-tops of Seagate Hall--a place
on the shores of a foreign country. The common feeling cannot be
described better than by saying that everybody wanted everybody else to
get to bed.
The ladies soon dispersed. But no sooner had Mrs. Sarrasin got into her
room than she hastily mounted a dressing-gown and sought out Dolores,
and the two settled down to low-toned earnest talk as though they were a
pair of conspirators--which for a noble purpose they were.
The gentlemen, as usual, went to the billiard-room for cigars and
whisky-and-soda. The two Americans soon professed themselves rather
tired, and took their candles and went off to bed. But even they would
seem not to be quite so sleepy and tired as they may have fancied; for
they both entered the room of Professor Flick and began to talk. It was
a very charming 'apartment' in the French sense. The Professor had a
sitting-room very tastefully furnished and strewn around with various
books on folk-lore; and he had a capacious bedroom. Copping flung
himself impatiently on the sofa.
'Look here,' Copping whispered, 'this business must be done to-night. Do
you hear?--this very night.'
'I know it,' the Professor said almost meekly.
'What have _you_ heard?' Copping asked fiercely. 'Do you know anything
more about Gloria than I know--than I got to know to-night?'
'Nothing more about Gloria, but I know that I am on the straight way to
being found out.' And the Professor drooped.
'Found out? What do you mean? Found out for what?'
'Well, found out for a South American professing to be a Yankee.'
'But who has found you out?'
'That Spanish-London girl--that she-devil--Miss Paulo. She suddenly
talked to me in Spanish--and I was thrown off my guard.'
'You fool!--and you answered her in Spanish?'
'No I didn't--I didn't say a word--but I saw by her look that she knew I
understood her--and you'll see if they don't suspect something.'
'Of course they will suspect something. South Americans passing off as
North Americans! here, here--with _him_ in the house! Why, the light
shines through it! Good heavens, what a fool you are! I never heard of
anything like it!'
'I am always a failure,' the downcast Professor admitted, 'where women
come into the work--or the play.'
The places of the two men appeared to have completely changed. The
Professor was no longer the leader but the led. The silent and devoted
Mr. Andrew J. Copping was now taking the place of leader.
'Well,' Copping said contemptuously, 'you have got your chance just as I
have. If you manage this successfully we shall get our pardon--and if we
don't we shan't.'
'If we fail,' the learned Professor said, 'I shan't return to Gloria.'
'No, I dare say not. The English police will take good care of that,
especially if Ericson should marry Sir Rupert's daughter. No--and do you
fancy that even if the police failed to find us, those that sent us out
would fail to find us? Do you think they would let us carry their
secrets about with us? Why, what a fool you are!'
'I suppose I am,' the distressed student of folk-lore murmured.
'Many days would not pass before there was a dagger in both our hearts.
It is of no use trying to avoid the danger now. Rally all your
nerves--get together all your courage and coolness. This thing must be
done to-night--we have no time to lose--and according to what you tell
me we are being already found out. Mind--if you show the least flinching
when I give you the word--I'll put a dagger into you! Hush--put your
light out--I'll come at the right time.'
'You are too impetuous,' the Professor murmured with a sort of groan,
and he took off his moony spectacles in a petulant way and put them on
the table. Behold what a change! Instead of a moon-like beneficence of
the spectacles, there was seen the quick shifting light of two dark,
fierce, cruel, treacherous, cowardly eyes. They were eyes that might
have looked out of the head of some ferocious and withal cowardly wild
beast in a jungle or a forest. One who saw the change would have
understood the axiom of a famous detective, 'No disguise for some men
half so effective as a pair of large spectacles.'
'Put on your spectacles,' Copping said sternly.
'What's the matter? We are here among friends.'
'But it is so stupid a trick! How can you tell the moment when someone
may come in?'
'Very good,' the Professor said, veiling his identity once again in the
moony spectacles; 'only I can tell you I am getting sick of the dulness
of all this, and I shall be glad of anything for a change.'
'You'll have a change soon enough,' Copping said contemptuously. 'I hope
you will be equal to it when it comes.'
'How long shall I have to wait?'
'Until I come for you.'
'With the dagger, perhaps?' Professor Flick said sarcastically.
'With the dagger certainly, but I hope with no occasion for using it.'
'I hope so too; you might cut your fingers with it.'
'Are you threatening me?' Copping asked fiercely, standing up. He spoke,
however, in the lowest of tones.
'I almost think I am. You see you have been threatening _me_--and I
don't like it. I never professed to have as much courage as you have--I
mean as you say you have; but I'm like a woman, when I'm driven into a
corner I don't much care what I do--ah! then I _am_ dangerous! It's not
courage, I know, it's fear; but a man afraid and driven to bay is an
ugly creature to deal with. And then it strikes me that I get all the
dullest and also the most dangerous part of the work put on me, and I
don't like _that_.'
Copping glanced for a moment at his colleague with eyes from which,
according to Carlyle's phrase, 'hell-fire flashed for an instant.'
Probably he would have very much liked to employ the dagger there and
then. But he knew that that was not exactly the time or place for a
quarrel, and he knew too that he had been talking too long with his
friend already, and that he might on coming out of Professor Flick's
room encounter some guest in the corridor. So by an effort he took off
from his face the fierce expression, as one might take off a mask.
'We can't quarrel now, we two,' he said. 'When we come safe out of this
business----'
'_If_ we come safe out of this business,' the Professor interposed, with
a punctuating emphasis on the 'if.'
Copping answered all unconsciously in the words of Lady Macbeth.
'Keep your courage up, and we shall do what we want to do.'
Then he left the room, and cautiously closed the door behind him, and
crept stealthily away.
Ericson, Hamilton, and Sarrasin remained with Sir Rupert after the
distinguished Americans had gone. There was an evident sense of relief
running through the company when these had gone. Sir Rupert could see
with half an eye that some news of importance had come.
'Well?' he asked; and that was all he asked.
'Well,' the Dictator replied, 'we have had some telegrams. At least
Hamilton and I have. Have you heard anything, Sarrasin?'
'Something merely personal, merely personal,' Sarrasin answered with a
somewhat constrained manner--the manner of one who means to convey the
idea that the tortures of the Inquisition should not wrench that secret
from him. Sarrasin was good at most things, but he was not happy at
concealing secrets from his friends. Even as it was he blinked his eyes
at Hamilton in a way that, if the others were observing him just then,
must have made it apparent that he was in possession of some portentous
communication which could be divulged to Hamilton alone. Sir Rupert,
however, was not thinking much of Sarrasin.
'I mustn't ask about your projects,' Sir Rupert said; 'in fact, I
suppose I had better know nothing about them. But, as a host, I may ask
whether you have to leave England soon. As a mere matter of social duty
I am entitled to ask that much. My daughter will be so sorry----'
'We shall have to leave for South America very soon, Sir Rupert,' the
Dictator said--'within a very few days. We must leave for London
to-morrow by the afternoon train at the latest.'
'How do you propose to enter Gloria?' Sir Rupert asked hesitatingly.
What he really would have liked to ask was--'What men, what armament,
have you got to back you when you land in your port?'
The Dictator divined the meaning.
'I go alone,' he said quietly.
'Alone!'
'Yes, except for the two or three personal friends who wish to accompany
me--as friends, and not as a body-guard. I dare say the boy there,' and
he nodded at Hamilton, 'will be wanting to step ashore with me.'
'Oh, yes, I shall step ashore at the same moment, or perhaps half a
second later,' Hamilton said joyously. 'I'm a great steppist.'
'Bear in mind that _I_ am going too,' Sarrasin interposed.
'We shall not go without you, Captain Sarrasin,' Ericson answered with a
smile. For he felt well assured that when Captain Sarrasin stepped
ashore, Mrs. Sarrasin would be in step with him.
'Do you go unarmed?' Sir Rupert asked.
'Absolutely unarmed. I am not a despot coming to recapture a rebel
kingdom--I am going to offer my people what help I can to save their
Republic for them. If they will have me, I believe I can save the
Republic; if they will not----' He threw out his hands with the air of
one who would say, 'Then, come what will, it is no fault of mine.'
'Suppose they actually turn against you?'
'I don't believe they will. But if they do, it will no less have been an
experiment well worth the trying, and it will only be a life lost.'
'Two lives lost,' Hamilton pleaded mildly.
'Excuse me, three lives lost, if you please,' Sarrasin interposed, 'or
perhaps four.' For he was thinking of his heroic wife, and of the
general understanding between them that it would be much more
satisfactory that they should die together than that one should remain
behind.
Sir Rupert smiled and sighed also. He was thinking of his romantic and
adventurous youth.
'By Jove!' he said, 'I almost envy you fellows your expedition and your
enthusiasm. There was a time--and not so very long ago--when I should
have loved nothing better than to go with you and take your risks. But
office-holding takes the enthusiasm out of us. One can never do anything
after he has been a Secretary of State.'
'But, look here,' Hamilton said, 'here is a man who has been a
Dictator----'
'Quite a different thing, my dear Hamilton,' Sir Rupert replied. 'A
Dictator is a heroic, informal, unconventional sort of creature. There
are no rules and precedents to bind him. He has no permanent officials.
No one knows what he might or might not turn out. But a Secretary of
State is pledged to respectability and conventionality. St. George might
have gone forth to slay the dragon even though he had several times been
a Dictator; never, never, if he had even once been Secretary of State.'
Captain Sarrasin took all this quite seriously, and promised himself in
his own mind that nothing on earth should ever induce him to accept the
office of Secretary of State. The Dictator quite understood Sir Rupert.
He had learned long since to recognise the fact that Sir Rupert had set
out in life full of glorious romantic dreams and with much good outfit
to carry him on his way--but not quite outfit enough for all he meant to
do. So, after much struggle to be a hero of romance, he had quietly
settled down in time to be a Secretary of State. But the Dictator
greatly admired him. He knew that Sir Rupert had just barely missed a
great career. There is a genuine truth contained in the Spanish proverb
quoted by Dr. Johnson, that if a man would bring home the wealth of the
Indies he must take out the wealth of the Indies with him. If you will
bring home a great career, you must take out with you the capacity to
find a great career.
'You see, I had better not ask you too much about your plans,' Sir
Rupert said hastily; 'although, of course it relieves me from all
responsibility to know that you are only making a peaceful landing.'
'Like any ordinary travellers,' Hamilton said.
'Ah, well, no--I don't quite see that, and I rather fancy Ericson would
not quite see it either. Of course you are going with a certain
political purpose--very natural and very noble and patriotic; but still
you are not like ordinary travellers--not like Cook's tourists, for
example.'
'No-o-o,' Captain Sarrasin almost roared. The idea of his being like a
Cook's tourist!
'Well, that's what I say. But what I was coming to is this. Your
purposes are absolutely peaceful, as you assure me--peaceful, I mean, as
regards the country on whose shores you are landing.'
'We shall land in Gloria,' the Dictator said, 'for the sake of Gloria,
for the love of Gloria.'
'Yes, I know that well. But men might do that in the sincerest belief
that for the sake of Gloria and for the love of Gloria they were bound
to overthrow by force of arms some bad Government. Now that I understand
distinctly is not your purpose.'
'That,' the Dictator said, 'is certainly not our primary purpose. We are
going out unarmed and unaccompanied. If the existing Government are
approved of by the people--well, then our lives are in their hands. But
if the people are with us----'
'Yes--and if the existing Government should refuse to recognise the
fact?'
'Then, of course, the people will put them aside.
'Ah! and so there may be civil war?'
'If I understand the situation rightly, the people will by the time we
land see through the whole thing, and will thrust aside anyone who
endeavours to prevent them from resisting the invader on the frontier. I
only hope that we may be there in time to prevent any act of violence.
What Gloria has to do now is to defend and to maintain her national
existence; we have no time for the trial or the punishment of worthless
or traitorous ministers and officials.'
'Well, well,' Sir Rupert said, 'I suppose I had better ask no questions
nor know too much of your plans. They are honourable and patriotic, I am
sure; and indeed it does not much become a part of our business here,
for we have never been in very cordial relations with the new Government
of Gloria, and I suppose now we shall never have any occasion to trouble
ourselves much about it. So I wish you from my heart all good-fortune;
but of course I wish it as the personal friend, and not as the Secretary
of State. That officer has no wish but that satisfactory relations may
be obtained with everybody under the sun.'
Ericson smiled, half sadly. He was thinking that there was even more of
an official fossilisation of Sir Rupert's earlier nature than Sir Rupert
himself had suspected or described. Hamilton assumed that it was all the
natural sort of thing--that everybody in office became like that in
time. Sarrasin again told himself that at no appeal less strong than
that of a personal and imploring request from her gracious Majesty
herself would he ever consent to become a Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs.
Sir Rupert had come to have a very strong feeling of friendship and even
of affection for the Dictator. He thought him far too good a man to be
thrown away on a pitiful South American Republic. But of late he
accepted the situation. He understood--at all events, he recognised--the
almost fanatical Quixotism that was at the base of Ericson's character,
and he admired it and was also provoked by it, for it made him see that
remonstrance was in vain.
Sir Rupert felt himself disappointed, although only in a vague sort of
way. Half-unconsciously he had lately been forming a wish for the future
of his daughter, and now he was dimly conscious that that wish was not
to be realised. He had been thinking that Helena was much drawn towards
the Dictator, and he did not see where he could have found a more
suitable husband. Ericson did not come of a great family, to be sure,
but Sir Rupert saw more and more every day that the old-fashioned social
distinctions were not merely crumbling but positively breaking down, and
he knew that any of the duchesses with whom he was acquainted would
gladly encourage her daughter to marry a millionaire from Oil City,
Pennsylvania. He had seen and he saw that Ericson was made welcome into
the best society of London, and, what with his fame and Helena's money,
he thought they might have a pleasant way in life together. Now that
dream had come to an end. Ericson, of course, would naturally desire to
recover his position in South America; but even if he were to succeed he
could hardly expect Helena to settle down to a life in an obscure and
foetid South American town. Sir Rupert took this for granted. He did
not argue it out. It came to his eyes as a certain, unarguable fact. He
knew that his daughter was unconventional, but he construed that only as
being unconventional within conventional limits. Some of her ways might
be unconventional; he did not believe it possible that her life could
be. It did not even occur to him to ask himself whether, if Helena
really wished to go to South America and settle there, he could be
expected to give his consent to such a project.