‘Besides, what is it that you apprehend?’ he asked. ‘One cannot deal
with imaginary dangers.’
‘I am sure that these two persons are bent on some desperate
enterprise--that their presence in Havana bodes no good to the cause
of peace,’ was all I could find to say.
The ecclesiastic made a scornful gesture.
‘It appears to me that this is a matter which concerns the police,’
he said, in a tone which signified that the interview was at an end.
I returned to my quarters, realising to the full the difficulty
of any effective action. To go to the police would be merely to
invite a repetition of the snub which I had just received from the
ecclesiastical authority. I could only rely on my own resources.
I sent a wire to Stearine: ‘_War agent here as priest, accompanied
by nun_,’ and waited. It was just possible that Stearine might have
connections through which those who had power in the Church at Havana
might be influenced, in which case I had no doubt that Monsignor
X---- would very quickly become interested in the doings of ‘Father’
Kehler.
I can hardly tell what it was precisely that I expected to happen.
I had some idea of an assassination, possibly of the captain of the
_Maine_, or perhaps of the American Consul, by Sister Marie-Joseph.
Day by day I perceived the unhappy girl becoming more and more
wrought up to the pitch of enthusiasm necessary for the perpetration
of some hideous deed, like that of Charlotte Corday, or Judith.
Curiously enough, the poor Sister showed an inclination for my
society, perhaps because I was a familiar face. She would sit beside
me in the drawing-room of the hotel and talk about her convent, in
which she had been educated and passed most of her life.
[Illustration: “She would talk about her convent.”]
I learned that she was of a noble family, rendered poor by the
ravages committed in the course of the Cuban insurrection, a fact
which may have helped to exasperate her spirit. But I sought in vain
to draw her into any confidences on the subject of her mission to
Havana. The moment I touched on that topic she became dumb, and made
an excuse to leave me.
During the next few days I observed the intimacy between Kehler
and the American officers becoming closer. The German could speak
English fluently, and this circumstance naturally recommended him as
a companion in a place where Spanish and French are almost the only
languages known to the inhabitants. There was a young lieutenant,
or sub-lieutenant, in particular, who was constantly in Kehler’s
company, viewing the sights of the town, or smoking with him on the
hotel verandah. Suspecting that my man had some object in cultivating
this lieutenant, I endeavoured to make his acquaintance myself, only
to find my advances rebuffed in a manner which showed me plainly that
Kehler had been at work disparaging me beforehand.
One day as I was standing on the verandah I noticed the pair come out
of the hotel together, and turn in the direction of the harbour. I
followed at a discreet distance, and saw the officer conduct Kehler
into a boat, manned by sailors from the _Maine_, in which they pulled
off to the ship. I stood watching, and at the end of about an hour I
saw them coming back, the face of the false priest wearing a serious
expression.
I took advantage of my acquaintance with him to meet the pair as they
landed, and accost them carelessly.
‘You have been to have a look over the ship?’ I threw out.
Kehler tried to pass on with a careless nod, but the lieutenant, less
discreet, drew himself up with a severe glance at me.
‘Father Kehler has been good enough to visit a poor sailor who is
lying sick on board,’ he said, in a tone evidently meant to rebuke my
impertinence.
I bowed with assumed respect. But as they went on their way I
experienced a sensation of alarm. The pretext which had imposed on
the officer was transparent enough as far as I was concerned. I
realised that Kehler was steadily pursuing some well-thought-out
design, and that he had contrived this visit to the man-of-war with
some dark purpose which it was my business to discover.
I determined at length, since Kehler’s friend was so strongly
prejudiced, to seek out some other officer, preferably the commander,
and take him into my full confidence. Unhappily events marched too
swiftly for me. That very evening it was already too late.
[Illustration: “‘Father Kehler has been good enough to visit a poor
sailor who is lying sick on board,’ he said, in a tone evidently
meant to rebuke my impertinence.”]
Passing through the entrance hall on my way upstairs to dress for
dinner, I was struck by the sight of the basket-trunk belonging to
Sister Marie-Joseph standing strapped-up, ready to go away. At the
foot of the staircase I encountered the Sister herself, evidently
prepared for departure.
She appeared pleased to have the opportunity of bidding me farewell.
‘I shall not forget you where I am going,’ she said with a mournful
smile, as she extended her hand.
‘May one inquire where that will be?’ I ventured to ask.
She shook her head.
‘It is an affair of duty. I am going a very long way, and you will
never see me again.’
‘And Father Kehler,’ I forced myself to say, ‘does he accompany you?’
A momentary expression of repugnance, almost of loathing, flashed out
on her pale face.
‘No, no! The padre has done his part in conducting me so far, and
finding me the situation of which I was in search. I have parted with
him now, and we have nothing more to do with one another.’
This answer relieved my mind of a burden. I came hastily to the
conclusion that Kehler, finding himself able to carry out his
projects without assistance, had decided to dispense with an
embarrassing ally, and I was glad to think that this poor girl would
be delivered from his evil influence.
What blindness are we capable of towards those very things which seem
the clearest to our after-recollections!
I took the precaution to ascertain at the bureau that Kehler was
still staying on in the hotel, and I came down to dinner with a light
heart.
A number of the American officers were dining in the hotel that
night. There appeared to be a sort of entertainment going forward, in
which some Spanish officers from the garrison were fraternising with
them.
Kehler, deprived of the company of his lieutenant, sat at a small
table by himself, and I noticed that he was drinking heavily, while
his flushed face and inflamed eyes showed him to be labouring with an
excitement which I ascribed to the influence of the wine.
I sat down at another table, and busied myself with efforts to
disentangle the threads of the intrigue which was being woven around
me. I cast a thought or two after the poor girl, with whom I had been
so strangely associated.
Absorbed in these thoughts, I did not mark the evening advancing,
when I was gradually aroused by the breaking up of the military
party. The lieutenant, who had shown so strong a dislike for me,
rose from his seat and came my way, taking a Spanish officer by the
arm.
As they approached, I perceived from his gait that the American had
been affected by the healths he had been drinking. I saw him point me
out to his companion as they approached, and he muttered something in
the other’s ear, which caused the Spaniard to turn on me a glance of
grave disgust.
Stung by this insufferable insolence, I sprang to my feet, and placed
myself in front of the lieutenant.
‘Have you anything to say to me, sir?’ I said sternly.
‘Nothing. I do not talk with spies,’ was the coarse retort.
‘But you take them on board the ship it is your duty to guard,’ I
returned fiercely, carried out of myself.
The lieutenant drew back, amazed.
‘I have taken a worthy priest to console a dying man--one of his own
faith,’ he stammered out.
‘A German police agent, disguised as a priest, I suppose you mean.
The spy Kehler?’
He began to tremble violently. ‘But the Sister! The nurse!’
‘Sister Marie-Joseph! What do you mean?’
‘She is on board now, nursing O’Callaghan.’
It was my turn to utter an oath of consternation.
‘Come with me. Take me on board instantly, or take me to your
commander.’
‘We will go on board,’ said the sobered lieutenant.
Glancing round as I followed him out I saw that Kehler had
disappeared. Quickening our steps by a common instinct, the
lieutenant and I almost ran down to the water’s edge.
‘Thank God!’ burst from his lips as we came in sight of the majestic
vessel lying peacefully at her anchors in the calm waters of the bay,
her spars and turrets outlined against the clear, starlit sky, and
only a few twinkling lights betraying the presence of the two hundred
men who slept below her decks. The same instant there was a spout of
fire, a cloud of wreck and dust mounted to heaven, and a thunderous
boom stunned our ears, and sent the waters of the bay dashing up at
our feet.
The _Maine_ had broken like a bubble. I saw all in a flash--in some
dark way that will never now be revealed Sister Marie-Joseph had
blown up the _Maine_. Kehler had succeeded--I had failed.
It has not been easy for me to write the story of what I regard as
the greatest failure of my career. My mistake was the initial one
of refusing to purchase Kehler’s confidences, by the expedient of
pledging myself to assist his enterprise.
Immediately the intelligence of the disaster reached Europe Stearine
sent me a cable peremptorily enjoining silence. That injunction I
consider has now lost its force through three circumstances, the
lapse of time, the death in action of Lieutenant ----, and the living
suicide of the arch-criminal, haunted by the horror of his own deed,
in the deathlike cloisters of La Trappe.