MY ARREST
I stepped out into the sunlight glad of the fresh air in contrast to
the dismal closeness of the room. I was quite willing to give Count
Gustav a few minutes in which to puzzle over the reasons for the trick
I had played him.
He would be quite sure that I had some deep purpose in it all. You can
always gamble on it that cunning people will credit you with cunning;
and I had said enough to him to cause him profound uneasiness.
It took him longer than I had expected to decide upon his next step;
for I had already anticipated what that step would be. He would go
through with the plan of having me arrested. I was certain of that;
because it was the only means, short of murdering me, by which he could
ensure my silence.
But the pretext for the arrest was now so flimsy that in making it he
would have many difficulties to face--especially when I brought General
von Erlanger on to the scene of action. But before I did that, I had
some very pointed things to say.
I was perfectly easy in mind now as to the result of the trouble. I
was going to win. I felt it. I could afford to be confident; and I
took great care that he should see this for himself.
I knew presently that he was watching me closely, so I began to sing
light-heartedly. I flitted about from bush to bush and gathered a
little bouquet of flowers; and spent some minutes in arranging them,
holding them at a distance and viewing them critically with my head on
one side--for all the world as though their arrangement were just the
one thing that fully engrossed my thoughts.
Then I carried them into the room and touched the bell, telling the
woman who answered it to bring me some water; and as I placed them in a
vase I said, as if to myself, and with a nonchalant laugh: "They will
brighten up my cell wonderfully."
The little prick of the words irritated him and he scowled.
"I am surprised people call you Gustav of the laughing eyes," I
bantered. "You are very handsome, of course, but I have never heard
you laugh really gaily."
He forgot sufficiently to swear; and I pretended to be greatly shocked.
"I hope you are not going to be violent; but I thought it just as well
you should know there is a woman in the house, and that she should see
you. Have you got over your disappointment yet--or do you think the
body is in the sofa pillow?"
It was aggravating of course; the truth, flippantly suggested,
frequently is; and he was in that mood when small jibes galled.
"You are right in the suggestion--I am thinking what may have been done
with my brother's body."
He thought this would scare and frighten me but I only laughed. "No
you are not. You are thinking only how you can connect me with what
didn't occur?"
"Where is my brother?"
"Didn't I tell you that Madame d'Artelle fled last night; and did I say
she went alone?"
"I don't believe you," he growled, sullenly.
"'Of the laughing eyes,' indeed," I cried, with a shrug. "Your
laughter seems to be dead, even if your brother is alive--perhaps it is
because of that."
He very nearly swore again; but he was recovering his wits, if not his
temper, and managed to sneer instead.
"The oath would have been more natural," I said, promptly. "But since
you are shaking off some of your chagrin, you may be ready to listen to
me. I have something to say--to propose."
"I ought not to listen to you."
"There is time--until the police come, at any rate. I will confess to
one crime--forgery. I wrote that letter to you in Madame d'Artelle's
name. I wished to bring you here at once; and I prepared, carefully,
this little stage effect for your benefit. Shall I tell you why?"
He waved his hand to imply indifference.
"No, you are not indifferent, Count Gustav. I wished you to understand
how really dangerous I am to you--as well as to witness your brotherly
grief at seeing Count Karl's dead body"--and I touched the sofa pillow.
He was able to smile now with less effort, and his lip curled
contemptuously.
"I am dangerous--although I can jest. Your brother is safe, quite
safe, where you will not think to look for him. I knew what you
purposed to do, and I alone prevented it. You don't believe me. I
will give you proofs. Two days ago when we were at Madame's house you
went to Colonel Katona to tell him I was too indisposed to see him, and
you came and told me you had said that. You did not say that. On the
contrary you told him I would send him the information he needed of the
identity of the man who had wronged Gareth."
"It is an easy tale," he said, with a shrug.
"Yes, easier than you frequently find it to tell the truth. You
yourself sent in my name the proofs which the Colonel needed--one of
the letters which Gareth--little, trusting Gareth,--had written to you,
believing you to be your brother--Karl, Count von Ostelen."
"It is false."
"I have the letter;" and I held it up before him.
I got right home with that blow, and all the malignant cruelty in him
was expressed in his eyes as he made a quick but futile attempt to
snatch it from me.
"It is only another of your forgeries," he said.
"Gareth will not deny it;" and at that he winced. "You did not name
your brother--that was too open a course for you--but you told Colonel
Katona that the man was going to run away with another woman; and you
named the hour and the place where he might be seen--last night in the
Radialstrasse at nine o'clock--and that they were coming to this
house--'Unter den Linden.' Do you still say it is false?"
He made no reply, but sat with a scowl tugging at his long fair
moustache.
"When you led your brother to the carriage last night, you looked about
you to make sure that the Colonel was there; and as the carriage
started, he spoke to you and asked if the man he had seen you put in
the carriage was indeed your brother Karl."
He shrugged his shoulders again. "You may as well go on."
"I am going on. Fearing lest, even at the last moment, the plan should
miscarry, you came here yourself; and yourself, finding your brother
lying nearly unconscious on the couch, opened the window so that the
watcher in the garden might see where his helpless victim lay; and
then--you left the window open to make his entrance easy and certain."
"You tell a story well," he said, when I paused. "I told you once
before you should write plays. You have admirable imagination." He
was quite himself again now. He spoke lightly, lit a cigar, and took a
couple of turns across the room.
"It appears to have interested you."
"Naturally. I suppose now I can pick up the rest from what you said
before?"
"Yes. The sofa pillow has done duty before."
"A very likely tale, of course--and your witnesses?"
"No one knows all this except myself."
"Very fortunate--for them, if not perhaps for you."
"There is nothing fortunate or unfortunate in it. It is the result of
my intention. I alone hold the secret, and can make terms with you for
keeping it."
"I had scarcely dared to hope that. What are your terms?" He put the
question in a bantering tone.
"Last time I mentioned three conditions. Two of them are pointless
now, because Madame d'Artelle has fled and your brother is aware of
your--shall I term it, policy?"
"I am not much concerned at your phrases," he snapped.
"These are no mere phrases. The third condition stands--you must make
Gareth your wife, legally."
"Well?"
"And the fresh condition is that the mystery of my father's ruin is
cleared at once, and justice done to his name."
"And if I refuse, I suppose you are going to bring all these trumped-up
charges against me. It is almost laughable."
"I do not think many people will see much humour in it."
"Possibly not--but then they may never have an opportunity of hearing
the story. You have been very clever--I pay you that compliment--but
you have also been very foolish. You should have made sure that there
was more than your word for all this."
I gave a little half-nervous start, as though I realized my mistake,
and then said, quickly: "I have evidence--this letter of Gareth's."
"You will not have it long, Miss von Dreschler. I could almost be
sorry for you; in fact I sympathize with you deeply. Your belief in
the imaginary story of your father's wrongs has, I fear, preyed upon
your nerves until they have broken down. He deserved his fate, as the
murderer of the young Count Stephen; and now you come here to threaten
first my brother and then myself. As the daughter of such a man, it
was perhaps to be expected; but it is quite sad."
"Are you not forgetting what you said when we last spoke of the
subject?"
"Oh, no, not in the least. I said then that I would do my utmost to
help you--knowing of course that no help in such a matter could be
given. The truth can only be the truth; but I hoped that time and
thought and kindness would lead you to see your delusion. I fear I was
wrong."
I would have laughed, had I not known that I had now to show signs of
nervousness.
"And Gareth?"
"You appear to have hidden that poor girl; but she will of course be
found and then she too must be convinced of your unfortunate delusions."
"And will no appeal to your chivalry avail to make you do justice to
her? You said you cared for her."
"I was anxious, and I think, rightly anxious, to soothe what I saw was
a cause of serious and therefore dangerous excitement in you. She also
has misled you; no doubt inadvertently; and your prejudices against my
family have warped your judgment until you are really incapable of
seeing anything but what is black in me. I am truly distressed for
you, believe me." His assumption of pity was almost too much for my
sense of humour.
"If by black you mean dishonour and cowardly treachery, I agree. I
think you are one of the vilest men that ever lived."
He smiled blandly and spread out his hands. "I am afraid you do; it is
very painful. Happily, others know me better."
I heard a carriage drive up rapidly, and understood that the crisis had
come with it. I glanced at the clock. It was a quarter past eleven.
I had timed matters aptly.
I rose, my hand on the inkstand which I had kept all the time in
readiness.
"So far as we are concerned now and here, Count Gustav, there is no
more to be said. I will take my story to those who will know how to
investigate it."
"I am deeply sorry, but you cannot be allowed to leave the house.
Those are the agents of the police."
Footsteps and men's voices were in the hall.
"They dare not keep me here!"
"While your delusions remain, I fear they will not let you go. But if
you give me that letter, I will do what I can for you."
"If I could believe you," I cried with agitation; and I took another
paper from my pocket.
"I should like to be your friend, and will," he said, hurriedly.
I gave him the false letter, and cried, "I can escape this way. Detain
them here."
I ran towards the window, tripped intentionally, and half-falling flung
the inkstand through the glass.
"Stop," cried Gustav, in a loud voice. "This is not what I want."
The crash of the glass brought the men into the room, and one of them
ran and placed himself between the window and me.
Glancing out, I saw James Perry pass the house, running at full speed.
My ruse had succeeded. The signal had been heard, although Gustav
suspected nothing, and all I had now to do was to waste a little time
while I waited for his Excellency.
I took advantage of my apparent fall to thrust Gareth's letter into my
bosom. Brutal as the police might be, they still had women searched by
women; and my one piece of tangible evidence was safe for the time.
I got up, holding my handkerchief to my hand, as though I had cut it in
falling, and sitting down breathed hard, as one does in pain or
agitation.
"This lady attempted to escape by the window, Lieutenant Varga, and has
apparently hurt herself in consequence," said Count Gustav, to the man
who was seemingly in charge of the party.
It was best for me of course to say nothing; so I just gripped my hand
and swayed backwards and forwards in imaginary pain.
"It is a case for us then, Excellency?" asked the man.
"Let your men see that this lady does not leave the room, and I will
explain the matter to you as we go over the house."
Nothing could have suited me better. The two left the room, and I
threw myself on the couch. I did not care thirty cents what story he
concocted.
They were absent a few minutes, and the official returned alone,
bringing my hat and cloak.
"I shall have to ask you to accompany us, madam," he said, with some
touch of pity in his tone. "I have no doubt all can be explained. But
you have a letter I must ask you to give me."
"I shall not give it you. And I shall not go with you."
"You will only make my duty more painful by refusing."
"I can't help that."
He signed to his men, and as they came and stood by the couch I heard
another carriage drive up to the door.
"On second thoughts, I will go with you," I said, and got up.
"I am obliged to you," was the reply, with a grave bow. He waited
while I put on my hat. I was really listening for General von
Erlanger's voice. I heard it at length.
"I am ready," I declared; and he opened the door, only to start back in
surprise and to draw himself up stiffly as his Excellency entered.
"What is this?"
"Ah, I am glad your Excellency has arrived in time to see me being
arrested as a lunatic," I said, sweetly, as I put my hand in his.
"Good-bye."
The General gave me first a grim smile, and then glanced round at the
police officials.
Count Gustav, not knowing who had arrived, came in then, and the
General turned to him slowly, but with instant appreciation of the
position.
It was indeed a very interesting situation; and Count Gustav looked
exceedingly uncomfortable.