"The world is merciless to failures," I said. "Yet even a successful
spy is scarcely tolerated among the Philistines; a captured spy is a
horror for friends to forget and for enemies to destroy in righteous
indignation. Madame, I know, for I have served your country in Algiers
as a spy,... not from patriotism, for I am an alien, but because I was
fitted for it in my line of duty. Had I been caught I should have
looked for nothing but contempt from France; from the Kabyle, for
neither admiration nor mercy. I tell you this that you may understand
my respect for this woman, whose motives are worthy of it."
The Countess looked at me scornfully. "It is well," she said, "for
those who understand and tolerate treachery to condone it. It is well
that the accused be judged by their peers. We of Trécourt know only
one tongue. But that is the language of truth, monsieur. All else is
foreign."
"Where did the nobility learn this tongue--to our exclusion?" I
asked, bluntly.
"When our forefathers faced the tribunals!" she flashed out. "Did
you ever hear of a spy among us? Did you ever hear of a lie among
us?"
"You have been taught history by your peers, madame," I said, with a
bow; "I have been taught history by mine."
"The sorry romance!" she said, bitterly. "It has brought me to
this!"
"It has brought others to their senses," I said, sharply.
"To their knees, you mean!"
"Yes--to their knees at last."
"To the guillotine--yes!"
"No, madame, to pray for their native land--too late!"
"I think," she said, "that we are not fitted to understand each
other."
"It remains," I said, "for me to thank you for your kindness to us
all, and for your generosity to me in my time of need.... It is quite
useless for me to dream of repaying it.... I shall never forget it....
I ask leave to make my adieux, madame."
She flushed to her temples, but did not answer.
As I stood looking at her, a vivid flare of light flashed through the
window behind me, crimsoning the walls, playing over the ceiling with
an infernal radiance. At the same instant the gate outside crashed
open, a hubbub of voices swelled into a roar; then the outer doors
were flung back and a score of men sprang into the hallway, soldiers
with the red torch-light dancing on rifle-barrels and bayonets.
And before them, revolver swinging in his slender hand, strode
Buckhurst, a red sash tied across his breast, his colorless eyes like
diamonds.
Speed and Jacqueline came hurrying through the hall to where I stood;
Buckhurst's smile was awful as his eyes flashed from Speed to me.
Behind him, close to his shoulder, the torch-light fell on Mornac's
smooth, false face, stretched now into a ferocious grimace; behind him
crowded the soldiers of the commune, rifles slung, craning their
unshaven faces to catch a glimpse of us.
"Demi-battalion, halt!" shouted an officer, and flung up his naked
sabre.
"Halt," repeated Buckhurst, quietly.
Madame de Vassart's servants had come running from kitchen and stable
at the first alarm, and now stood huddled in the court-yard,
bewildered, cowed by the bayonets which had checked them.
"Buckhurst," I said, "what the devil do you mean by this foolery?"
and I started for him, shouldering my way among his grotesque escort.
For an instant I looked into his deadly eyes; then he silently
motioned me back; a dozen bayonets were levelled, forcing me to
retire, inch by inch, until I felt Speed's grip on my arm.
"That fellow means mischief," he whispered. "Have you a pistol?"
"I gave mine to Eyre," I said, under my breath. "If he means us
harm, don't resist or they may take revenge on the Countess. Speed,
keep her in the room there! Don't let her come out."
But the Countess de Vassart was already in the hall, facing Buckhurst
with perfect composure.
Twice she ordered him to leave; he looked up from his whispered
consultation with Mornac and coolly motioned her to be silent.
Once she spoke to Mornac, quietly demanding a reason for the outrage,
and Mornac silenced her with a brutal gesture.
"Madame," I said, "it is I they want. I beg you to retire."
"You are my guest," she said. "My place is here."
"Your place is where I please to put you!" broke in Mornac; and to
Buckhurst: "I tell you she's as guilty as the others. Let me attend
to this and make a clean sweep!"
"Citizen Mornac will endeavor to restrain his zeal," observed
Buckhurst, with a sneer. And then, as I looked at this slender, pallid
man, I understood who was the dominant power behind the curtain; and
so did Speed, for I felt him press my elbow significantly.
He turned and addressed us, suavely, bowing with a horrid, mock
deference to the Countess:
"In the name of the commune! The ci-devant Countess de Vassart is
accused of sheltering the individual Scarlett, late inspector of
Imperial Police; the individual Speed, ex-inspector of Imperial
Gendarmes; the individual Eyre, under general suspicion; the woman
called Sylvia Elven, a German spy. As war-delegate of the commune, I
am here to accuse!"
There was a silence, then a low, angry murmur from the soldiers, which
grew louder until Buckhurst turned on them. He did not utter a word,
but the sullen roar died out, a bayonet rattled, then all was still in
the dancing torch-light.
"I accuse," continued Buckhurst, in a passionless voice, "the
individual Scarlett of treachery to the commune; of using the
telegraph for treacherous ends; of hoisting signals with the purpose
of attracting government troops to destroy us. I accuse the individual
Speed of aiding his companion in using the telegraph to stop the
government train, thus depriving the commune of the funds which
rightfully belong to it--the treasures wrung from wretched peasants by
the aristocrats of an accursed monarchy and a thrice-accursed
empire!"
A roaring cheer burst from the excited soldiers, drowning the voice of
Buckhurst.
"Silence!" shouted Mornac, savagely. And as the angry voices were
stilled, one by one, above the banging of rifle-stocks and the rattle
of bayonets, Buckhurst's calm voice rose in a sinister monotone.
"I accuse the woman Sylvia Elven of communication with Prussian
agents; of attempted corruption of soldiers under my command. I accuse
the citoyenne Éline Trécourt, lately known as the Countess de Vassart,
of aiding, encouraging, and abetting these enemies of France!"
He waited until the short, fierce yell of approval had died away.
Then:
"Call the soldier Rolland!" he said.
My heart began to hammer in my throat. "I believe it's going hard
with us," I muttered to Speed.
"Listen," he motioned.
I listened to the wretched creature Rolland while he told what had
happened at the semaphore. In his eagerness he pushed close to where I
stood, menacing me with every gesture, cursing and lashing himself
into a rage, ignoring all pretence of respect and discipline for his
own superiors.
"What are you waiting for?" he shouted, insolently, turning on
Buckhurst. "I tell the truth; and if this man can afford to pay
hundreds of francs for a telegram, he must be rich enough to pluck, I
tell you!"
"You say he bribed you?" asked Buckhurst, gently.
"Yes; I've said it twenty times, haven't I?"
"And you took the bribes?"
"Parbleu!"
"And you thought if you admitted it and denounced the man who bribed
you that you would help divide a few millions with us, you rogue?"
suggested Buckhurst, admiringly.
The wretch laughed outright.
"And you believe that you deserve well of the commune?" smiled
Buckhurst.
The soldier grinned and opened his mouth to answer, and Buckhurst shot
him through the face; and, as he fell, shot him again, standing
wreathed in the smoke of his own weapon.
The deafening racket of the revolver, the smoke, the spectacle of the
dusty, inert thing on the floor over which Buckhurst stood and shot,
seemed to stun us all.
"I think," said Buckhurst, in a pleasantly persuasive voice, "that
there will be no more bribery in this battalion." He deliberately
opened the smoking weapon; the spent shells dropped one by one from
the cylinder, clinking on the stone floor.
"No--no more bribery," he mused, touching the dead man with the
carefully polished toe of his shoe. "Because," he added, reloading
his revolver, "I do not like it."
He turned quietly to Mornac and ordered the corpse to be buried, and
Mornac, plainly unnerved at the murderous act of his superior,
repeated the order, cursing his men to cover the quaver in his voice.
"As for you," observed Buckhurst, glancing up at us where we stood
speechless together, "you will be judged and sentenced when this
drum-head court decides. Go into that room!"
The Countess did not move.
Speed touched her arm; she looked up quietly, smiled, and stepped
across the threshold. Speed followed; Jacqueline slipped in beside
him, and then I turned on Buckhurst, who had just ordered his soldiers
to surround the house outside.
"As a matter of fact," I said, when the last armed ruffian had
departed, "I am the only person in this house who has interfered with
your affairs. The others have done nothing to harm you."
"The court will decide that," he replied, balancing his revolver in
his palm.
I eyed him for an instant. "Do you mean harm to this unfortunate
woman?" I asked.
"My friend," he replied, in a low voice, "you have very stupidly
upset plans that have cost me months to perfect. You have, by stopping
that train, robbed me of something less than twenty millions of
francs. I have my labor for my pains; I have this mob of fools on my
hands; I may lose my life through this whim of yours; and if I don't,
I have it all to begin again. And you ask me what I am going to do!"
His eyes glittered.
"If I strike her I strike you. Ask yourself whether or not I will
strike."
All the blood seemed to leave my heart; I straightened up with an
effort.
"There are some murders," I said, "that even you must recoil at."
"I don't think you appreciate me," he replied, with a deathly smile.
He motioned toward the door with levelled weapon. I turned and entered
the tea-room, and he locked the door from the outside.
The Countess, seated on the sofa, looked up as I appeared. She was
terribly pale, but she smiled as my heavy eyes met hers.
"Is it to be farce or tragedy, monsieur?" she asked, without a tremor
in her clear voice.
I could not have uttered a word to save my life. Speed, pacing the
room, turned to read my face; and I think he read it, for he stopped
short in his tracks. Jacqueline, watching him with blue, inscrutable
eyes, turned sharply toward the window and peered out into the
darkness.
Beyond the wall of the garden the fog, made luminous by the torches of
the insurgents, surrounded the house with a circle of bright, ruddy
vapor.
Speed came slowly across the room with me.
"Do they mean to shoot us?" he asked, bluntly.
"Messieurs," said the Countess, with a faint smile, "your whispers
are no compliment to my race. Pray honor me by plain speaking. Are we
to die?"
We stood absolutely speechless before her.
"Ah, Monsieur Scarlett," she said, gravely, "do you also fail me ...
at the end?... You, too--even you?... Must I tell you that we of
Trécourt fear nothing in this world?"
She made a little gesture, exquisitely imperious.