ENTER, A CIGARETTE
Mr. Joseph Almer, proprietor of the Hotel Splendide, on Waterport
Street, was absorbed, heart and soul, in a curious task. He was
emptying the powder from two-grain quinine capsules on to a sheet of
white letter paper on his desk.
It was noon of Wednesday, the day following the arrival of Captain
Woodhouse. Almer was alone in the hotel's reception room and office
behind the dingy glass partially enclosing his desk. His
alpaca-covered shoulders were close to his ears; and his bald head,
with its stripes of plastered hair running like thick lines of latitude
on a polished globe, was held far forward so as to bring his eyes on
the work in hand. Like some plump magpie he appeared, turning over
bits of china in a treasure hole.
A round box of the gelatine cocoons lay at his left hand; it had just
been delivered by an Arab boy, quick to pick up the street commission
for a tuppence. Very methodically Almer picked the capsules from the
box one by one, opened them, and spilled the quinine in a little heap
under his nose. He grunted peevishly when the sixth shell had been
emptied. The seventh capsule brought an eager whistle to his lips.
When he had jerked the concentric halves apart, very little powder fell
out. Instead, the thin, folded edges of a pellet of rice paper
protruded from one of the containers. This Almer had extracted in an
instant. He spread it against the black back of a ledger and read the
very fine script written thereon. This was the message:
"Danger. An informer from Alexandria has denounced our two friends to
Crandall. You must warn; I can not."
The spy's heart was suddenly drained, and the wisp of paper in his hand
trembled so that it scattered the quinine about in a thin cloud. Once
more he read the note, then held a match to it and scuffed its feathery
ash with his feet into the rug beneath his stool. The fortitude which
had held Joseph Almer to the Rock in the never-failing hope that some
day would bring him the opportunity to do a great service for the
fatherland came near crumbling that minute. He groaned.
"Our friends," he whispered, "Woodhouse and Louisa--trapped!"
The warning in the note left nothing open to ambiguity for Almer; there
were but four of them--"friends" under the Wilhelmstrasse fellowship of
danger--there in Gibraltar: Louisa, the man who passed as Woodhouse,
and whose hand was to execute the great coup when the right moment
came, himself, and that other one whose place was in Government House
itself. From this latter the note of warning had come. How desperate
the necessity for it Almer could guess when he took into reckoning the
dangers that beset any attempt at communication on the writer's part.
So narrow the margin of safety for this "friend" that he must look at
each setting sun as being reasonably the last for him.
Almer did not attempt to go behind the note and guess who was the
informer that had lodged information with the governor-general. He had
forgotten, in fact, the incident of the night before, when the
blustering Capper called the newly arrived Woodhouse by name. The
flash of suspicion that attached responsibility to the American girl
named Gerson was dissipated as quickly as it came; she had arrived by
motor from Paris, not on the boat from Alexandria. His was now the
imperative duty to carry warning to the two suspected, not to waste
time in idle speculation as to the identity of the betrayer. There was
but one ray of hope in this sudden pall of gloom, and that Almer
grasped eagerly. He knew the character of General Crandall--the
phlegmatic conservatism of the man, which would not easily be jarred
out of an accustomed line of thought and action. The general would be
slow to leap at an accusation brought against one wearing the stripes
of service; and, though he might reasonably attempt to test Captain
Woodhouse, one such as Woodhouse, chosen by the Wilhelmstrasse to
accomplish so great a mission, would surely have the wit to parry
suspicion.
Yes, he must be put on his guard. As for Louisa--well, it would be too
bad if the girl should have to put her back against a wall; but she
could be spared; she was not essential. After he had succeeded in
getting word of his danger to Woodhouse, Almer would consider saving
Louisa from a firing squad. The nimble mind of Herr Almer shook itself
free from the incubus of dread and leaped to the exigency of the
moment. Calling his head waiter to keep warm the chair behind the
desk, Almer retired to his room, and there was exceedingly busy for
half an hour.
The hour of parade during war time on Gibraltar was one o'clock. At
that time, six days a week, the half of the garrison not actually in
fighting position behind the great guns of the defense marched to the
parade grounds down by the race track and there went through the
grilling regimen that meant perfection and the maintenance of a
hair-trigger state of efficiency. Down from the rocky eminences where
the barracks stood, marched this day block after block of olive-drab
fighting units--artillerymen for the most part, equipped with the rifle
and pack of infantrymen. No blare of brass music gave the measure to
their step; bandsmen in this time of reality paced two by two,
stretchers carried between them. All the curl and snap of silken
banners that made the parade a moving spectacle in ordinary times was
absent; flags do not figure in the grim modern business of warfare.
Just those solid blocks of men trained to kill, sweeping down on to the
level grounds and massing, rank on rank, for inspection and the
trip-hammer pound-pound-pound of evolutions to follow. Silent integers
of power, flexing their muscles for the supreme test that any morning's
sun might bring.
Mr. Henry J. Sherman stood with his wife, Kitty and Willy
Kimball--Kimball had developed a surprising interest in one of these
home folks, at least--under the shade of the row of plane trees
fringing the parade grounds. They tried to persuade themselves that
they were seeing something worth while. This pleasing fiction wore
thin with Mr. Sherman before fifteen minutes had passed.
"Shucks, mother! The boys at the national-guard encampment down to
Galesburg fair last year made a better showing than this." He pursed
out his lips and regarded a passing battalion with a critical eye.
"Looked more like soldiers, anyway," mother admitted. "Those floppy,
broad-brimmed hats our boys wear make them look more--more romantic,
I'd say."
"But, my dear Mrs. Sherman"--Willy Kimball flicked his handkerchief
from his cuff and fluttered it across his coat sleeve, where dust had
fallen--"the guards back in the States are play soldiers, you know;
these chaps, here--well, they are the real thing. They don't dress up
like picture-book soldiers and show off----"
"Play soldiers--huh!" Henry J. had fire in his eye, and the pearl
buttons on his white linen waistcoat creaked with the swelling of a
patriot's pride. "You've been a long time from home, Willy. Perhaps
you've forgotten that your own father was at Corinth. Guess you've
overlooked that soldiers' monument in Courthouse Square back in little
old Kewanee. They were 'play soldiers,' eh?--those boys who marched
away with your dad in sixty-one. Gimme a regiment of those old boys in
blue, and they could lick this whole bunch of----"
"Father!" Kitty had flipped her hand over her parent's mouth, her eyes
round with real fear. "You'll get arrested again, talking that way
here where everybody can hear you. Remember what that hotel man said
last night about careless remarks about military things on the Rock?
Be good, father."
"There, there!" Sherman removed the monitory hand and patted it
reassuringly. "I forgot. But when I get aboard the _Saxonia_ and well
out to sea, I'm going to just bust information about what I think of
things in general over here in this Europe place--their Bottycelly
pictures and their broken-down churches and--and---- Why, bless my
soul! The little store buyer and that Iowa girl who's married to the
governor here!"
The patriot stopped short in his review of the Continent's
delinquencies to wave his hat at Lady Crandall and Jane Gerson, who
were trundling down under the avenue of planes in a smart dog-cart.
Lady Crandall answered his hail with a flourish of her whip, turned her
horse off the road, and brought her conveyance to a stop by the group
of exiles. Hearty greetings passed around. The governor's wife showed
her unaffected pleasure at the meeting.
"I thought you wouldn't miss the parade," she called down from her high
seat. "Only thing that moves on the Rock--these daily reviews.
Brought Miss Gerson down here so when she gets back to New York she can
say she's seen the defenders of Gibraltar, if not in action, at least
doing their hard training for it."
"Well, I don't mind tellin' you," Sherman began defiantly, "I think the
national guard of Illynoy can run circles around these Englishmen when
it comes to puttin' up a show. Now, Kitty, don't you try to drive a
plug in your dad's sentiments again; Mrs. Crandall's all right--one of
us." A shocked look from his daughter. "Oh, there I go again,
forgettin'. Lady Crandall, I mean. Excuse me, ma'am."
"Don't you dare apologize," the governor's wife playfully threatened
Mr. Sherman with her whip. "I love the sound of good, old-fashioned
'Missis.' Just imagine--married five years, and nobody has called me
'Mrs. Crandall' until you did just now. 'Wedded, But Not a Missis';
wouldn't that be a perfectly gorgeous title for a Laura Jean novel?
Miss Gerson, let's hop out and join these home folks; they're my kind."
The burst of laughter that greeted Lady Crandall's sally was not over
before she had leaped nimbly from her high perch, Henry J. gallantly
assisting. Jane followed, and the coachman from his little bob seat in
the back drove the dog-cart over the road to wait his mistress'
pleasure. The scattered blocks of olive-gray on the field had
coalesced into a solid regiment now, and the long double rank of men
was sweeping forward like the cutting arm of a giant mower. The party
of Americans joined the sparse crowd of spectators at the edge of the
field, the better to see. Jane Gerson found herself chatting with
Willy Kimball and Kitty Sherman a little apart from the others. A
light touch fell on her elbow. She turned to find Almer, the hotel
keeper, smiling deferentially.
"Pardon--a thousand pardons for the intrusion, lady. I am Almer, of
the Hotel Splendide."
"You haven't remembered something more I owe you," Jane challenged
bruskly.
"Oh, no, lady!" Almer spread out his hands. "I happened to see you
here watching the parade, and I remembered a trivial duty I have which,
if I may be so bold as to ask, you may discharge much more quickly than
I--if you will."
"I discharge a duty--for you?" The girl did not conceal her
puzzlement. Almer's hand fumbled in a pocket of his flapping alpaca
coat and produced a plain silver cigarette case, unmonogrammed. She
looked at it wonderingly.
"Captain Woodhouse--you met him at my hotel last night, lady. He left
this lying on his dresser when he quit his room to go to barracks
to-day. For me it is difficult to send a messenger with it to the
barracks--war time, lady--many restrictions inside the lines. I came
here hoping perhaps to see the captain after the parade. But you----"
"You wish me to give this to Captain Woodhouse?" Jane finished, a
flicker of annoyance crossing her face. "Why me?"
"You are at Government House, lady. Captain Woodhouse comes to
tea--all newcomers to the garrison do that. If you would be so
good----"
Jane took the cigarette case from Almer's outstretched hand. Lady
Crandall had told her the captain would be in for tea that afternoon.
It was a small matter, this accommodation, as long as Almer did not
insinuate--as he had not done--any impertinence; imply any over
eagerness on her part to perform so minor a service for the officer.
Almer bowed his thanks and lost himself in the crowd. Jane turned
again to where Kitty and Kimball were chatting.
"A dun for extra service the landlord forgot last night, I'll wager,"
the youth greeted her.
"Oh, no, just a little present," Jane laughed back at him, holding up
the silver case. "With Almer's compliments to Captain Woodhouse, who
forgot it when he gave up his room to-day. I've promised to turn it
over to the captain and save the hotel man a lot of trouble and red
tape getting a messenger through to the captain's quarters."
"By Jove!" Kimball's tired eyes lighted up with a quick flash of
smoker's yearning. "A life-saver! Came away from my room without my
pet Egyptians--Mr. Sherman yelling at me to hurry or we'd miss this
slow show and all that. I'm going to play the panhandler and beg one
of your captain friend's smokes. He must be a good sort or you
wouldn't be doing little favors for him, Miss Gerson. Come, now; in
your capacity as temporary executrix will you invest one of the
captain's cigarettes in a demand of real charity?"
Keen desire was scarcely veiled under Kimball's fiction of light
patter. Smilingly the girl extended the case to him.
"Just to make it businesslike, the executrix demands your note
for--um--sixty days, say. 'For one cigarette received, I promise to
pay----'"
"Given!" He pulled a gold pencil from his pocket and made a pretense
of writing the form on his cuff. Then he lit his borrowed cigarette
and inhaled it gratefully.
"Your captain friend's straight from Egypt; I don't have to be told
that," Willy Kimball murmured, in polite ecstasy. "At Shepard's, in
Cairo, you'll get such a cigarette as this, and nowhere else in a
barren world. The breath of the acanthus blossom--if it really has a
breath--never heard."
"Back in Kewanee the Ladies' Aid Society will have you arrested," Kitty
put in mischievously. "They're terribly wrought up over
cigarettes--for minors."
Kimball cast her a glance of deep reproach. As he lifted the cigarette
to his lips for a second puff, Jane's eyes mechanically followed the
movement. Something caught and held them, wonder-filled.
On the side of the white paper cylinder nearest her a curious brown
streak appeared--by the merest freak of chance her glance fell on it.
As she looked, the thin stain grew darker nearest the fresh ash. The
farther end of the faint tracing moved--yes, moved, like a threadworm
groping its way along a stick.
"Now what are they all doing out there?" Kitty Sherman was asking.
"All those men running top speed with their guns carried up so high."
"Bayonet charge," Kimball answered. "Nothing like the real thing, of
course."
Jane Gerson was watching the twisting and writhing of that filament of
brown against the white. An invisible hand was writing in brown ink on
the side of the cigarette--writing backward and away from the burning
tip. It lengthened by seconds--"and Louisa to Crandall."
So the letters of silver nitrate formed themselves under her eyes.
Kimball took the cigarette from his lips and held it by his side for a
minute. He and Kitty were busy with each other's company for the time,
ignoring Jane. She burned with curiosity and with excitement mounting
like the fire of wine to her brain. Would he never put that cigarette
to his lips again, so she could follow the invisible pen! So fleeting,
so evanescent that worm track on the paper, wrought by fire and by fire
to be consumed. A mystery vanishing even as it was aborning! After
ages, the unconscious Kimball set the cigarette again in his lips.
"--nformer has denounced you and Louisa-t-
--play your game and he will be slow to----"
Again the cigarette came away in Kimball's hand. Acting on impulse she
did not stop to question, Jane struck it from the young man's
outstretched hand and set her foot on it as it fell in the dust.
"Oh, I'm clumsy!" She fell lightly against Kimball's shoulder and
caught herself in well-simulated confusion. "Standing tiptoe to see
what that man on a horse is going to do--lost my balance. And--and
your precious cigarette--gone!"
The anguish in Jane Gerson's voice was not play. It was real--terribly
real.