THE SNARE
AS the three men advanced to the table, Stewart saw that each of them
carried a heavy pistol in a holster at his belt.
“You speak German?” one of them asked, gruffly.
“A little. But I would prefer to speak English,” answered Stewart.
“We will speak German. What is your nationality?”
“I am an American.”
“Were you born in America?”
“Yes.”
“Have you a passport?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see it.”
Stewart was about to reach into his pocket and produce it, when he
remembered his companion’s suggestion. So he felt in one pocket after
another without result, while the Germans shifted impatiently from foot
to foot.
“It must be in my other coat,” he said, half to himself, enjoying the
situation immensely. “But no; I do not remember changing it. Ah, here
it is!” and he drew it forth and handed it to the officer.
The latter took it, unfolded it, and stepped out into the court where
the light was better. He read it through carefully, compared the
description point by point with Stewart’s appearance, and then came
back to the table.
“Who is this person?” he asked, and nodded toward the girl.
“She is my wife,” answered Stewart, with a readiness which astonished
himself.
“She did not arrive here with you.”
“No,” and he told the story of how he had left her at Spa to recuperate
from a slight nervous attack, while he himself went on to Vienna.
He omitted no detail--even added a few, indeed, in the fervor of
creation--and with his limited German, which his hearers regarded with
evident contempt, the story took some time to tell.
The police listened attentively to every word, without the slightest
sign of impatience, but long before it was ended, the lady in question
was twisting nervously in her seat.
“What is the matter, Tommy?” she demanded, petulantly. “Are you
relating to them the story of your life?”
“No,” he explained, blandly, venturing at last to look at her, “I was
just telling them how it was that you and I had arranged to meet at
this hotel.”
“Well--now tell them to go away. They are ugly and they annoy me.”
“What does she say?” asked the officer.
Stewart was certain that at least one of them knew English, so he
judged it best to translate literally.
“She wants to know what is the matter,” he answered. “She asks me to
tell you to go away--that you annoy her.”
The officer smiled grimly.
“She does not understand German?”
“Not a word,” lied Stewart, glibly.
“What is her name?”
“Mary.”
“Her maiden name?”
“Mary Agnes Fleming,” answered Stewart, repeating the first name that
occurred to him, and thanking his stars the next instant that the
officer could scarcely be acquainted with the lesser lights of English
fiction.
“Is that correct?” asked the officer, suddenly turning upon her.
Stewart’s heart gave a leap of fear; but after a stare at the officer,
she turned to her companion.
“Was he speaking to me, Tommy?” she asked; and it was only by a heroic
effort that Stewart choked back the sudden snort of laughter that rose
in his throat.
“Yes,” he managed to answer; “he wants to know your maiden name.”
“Why should he wish to know that?”
“I give it up; but you’d better tell him.”
“My maiden name was Mary Agnes Fleming,” she said, looking at the
officer with evident disapprobation. “Though what concern it is of
yours I cannot see.”
“What does she say?” demanded the officer, and again Stewart translated
literally.
The officer stood staring intently at both of them, till the lady, with
a flash of indignation, turned her back.
“Really, Tommy,” she said, over her shoulder, “if you do not at once
get rid of this brute, I shall never speak to you again!”
“He is a policeman, dear,” Stewart explained, “and imagines that he is
doing his duty. I suppose they _do_ have to be careful in war-time. We
must be patient.”
“I will look at her passport,” said the German, suddenly, and held out
his hand.
“My passport is for both of us,” Stewart explained. “Those words
‘accompanied by his wife,’ make it inclusive.”
The officer went out into the light again and examined the words with
minute attention.
“I find no description of her,” he said, coming back.
“There is none,” assented Stewart, impatiently; “but there is a
description of me, as you see. The passport adds that I am accompanied
by my wife. I tell you that this lady is my wife. That is sufficient.”
The officer glanced at his companions uncertainly. Then he slowly
folded up the passport and handed it back.
“When do you depart from Aachen?” he asked.
“By the first train for Brussels. I am told that it will arrive in
about half an hour.”
“Very well,” said the other. “I regret if I have seemed insistent, but
the fact that the lady did not arrive with you appeared to us singular.
I will report your explanation to my chief,” and he turned on his heel
and stalked away, followed by his men.
Stewart drew a deep breath.
“Well,” he began, when he was stopped by a sharp tap from his
companion’s foot.
“Such impudence!” she cried. “I was astonished at your patience, Tommy!
You, an American, letting a Prussian policeman intimidate you like
that! I am ashamed of you!”
Glancing around, Stewart saw the hang-dog Hans hovering in the doorway.
“He was a big policeman, my dear,” he explained, laughing. “I shouldn’t
have had much of a chance with him, to say nothing of his two men. If
we want to get to Brussels, the safest plan is to answer calmly all the
questions the German police can think of. But it is time for us to be
going. There will be no reserved seats on this train!”
“You are right,” agreed his companion; “I am quite ready.”
So he asked for the bill, paid it, sent Hans up for the luggage, and
presently they were walking toward the station, with Hans staggering
along behind.
Stewart, looking down at his companion, felt more and more elated over
the adventure. He had never passed a pleasanter evening--it had just
the touch of excitement needed to give it relish. Unfortunately, its
end was near; an hour or two in a crowded railway carriage, and--that
was all!
She glanced up at him and caught his eyes.
“What is it, my friend?” she asked. “You appear sad.”
“I was just thinking,” answered Stewart, “that I do not even know your
name!”
“Speak lower!” she said, quickly. “Or, better still, do not say such
things at all. Do not drop the mask for an instant until we are out of
Germany.”
“Very well,” Stewart promised. “But once we are across the border, I
warn you that I intend to throw the mask away, and that I shall have
certain very serious things to say to you.”
“And I promise to listen patiently,” she answered, smiling.
At the entrance to the station, they were stopped by a guard, who
demanded their tickets. Stewart was about to produce his, when his
companion touched him on the arm.
“Hasten and get them, Tommy,” she said. “I will wait here.”
And Stewart, as he hurried away, trembled to think how nearly he had
blundered. For how could he have explained to the authorities the fact
that he was traveling with a book of Cook’s circular tickets, while
his wife was buying her tickets from station to station?
There was a long line of people in front of the ticket-office, and
their progress was slow, for two police officers stood at the head of
the line and interrogated every applicant for a ticket before they
would permit it to be given him. Stewart, as he moved slowly forward,
saw two men jerked violently out of the line and placed under arrest;
he wondered uncomfortably if the officers had any instructions with
regard to him, but, when his turn came, he faced them as unconcernedly
as he was able. He explained that he and his wife were going to
Brussels, showed his passport, and finally hastened away triumphant
with the two precious bits of pasteboard. It seemed to him that the
last difficulty had been encountered and overcome, and it was only by
an effort that he kept himself from waving the tickets in the air as he
rejoined his companion. In another moment, they were past the barrier.
Hans was permitted to enter with them, and mounted guard over the
luggage.
The platform was thronged with a motley and excited crowd, among whom
were many officers in long gray coats and trailing swords, evidently on
their way to join their commands. They were stalking up and down, with
a lofty disregard for base civilians, talking loudly, gesticulating
fiercely, and stopping ever and anon to shake hands solemnly. Stewart
was watching them with an amusement somewhat too apparent, for his
companion suddenly passed her arm through his.
“I should like to walk a little,” she said. “I have been sitting too
long.” Then, in a lower tone, as they started along the platform, “It
would be more wise not to look at those idiots. They would seek a
quarrel with you in an instant if they suspected it was at them you
were smiling.”
“You are right,” Stewart agreed; “besides, there is someone else whom
I think much better worth looking at! The officers seem to share my
opinion,” he added, for more than one head was turned as they walked
slowly down the platform. “I shall be jealous in a moment!”
“Do not talk nonsense! Nothing is so absurd as for a man to make love
to his wife in public!”
Stewart would have liked to retort that he had, as yet, had mighty few
opportunities in private, but he judged it best to save that remark for
the other side of the frontier.
“Just the same,” she rattled on, “it was good of you to write so
regularly while you were at Vienna. I am sure your letters helped with
my cure. But you have not told me--have you secured our passage?”
“I will know when we get to Brussels. Cook is trying to get us an
outside room on the _Adriatic_.”
“Do we go back to England?”
“Not unless we wish to. We can sail from Cherbourg.”
They had reached the end of the platform, and, as they turned, Stewart
found himself face to face with a bearded German who had been close
behind them, and who shot a sharp glance at him and his companion
before stepping aside with a muttered apology. Not until they had
passed him did Stewart remember that he had seen the man before. It
was the surly passenger in the crowded compartment on the journey from
Cologne.
His companion had not seemed to notice the fellow, and went on talking
of the voyage home and how glad she would be to get there. Not until
they turned again at the farther end, and found the platform for a
moment clear around them, did she relax her guard.
“That man is a spy,” she whispered, quickly. “We are evidently still
suspected. What sort of railroad ticket have you?”
“A book of Cook’s coupons.”
“I feared as much. You must rid yourself of it--it is quite possible
that you will be searched at the frontier. No, no,” she added,
as Stewart put his hand to his pocket. “Not here! You would be
seen--everything would be lost. I will devise a way.”
Stewart reflected with satisfaction that only a few coupons were left
in the book. But why should he be searched? He had thought the danger
over; but he began uneasily to suspect that it was just beginning.
Well, it was too late to draw back, even had he wished to do so; and
most emphatically he did not. He was willing to risk a good deal for
another hour of this companionship--and then there was that explanation
at the end--his reward----
There was a sharp whistle down the line, and the train from Cologne
rolled slowly in.
“First class,” said Stewart to Hans, as the latter picked up the
luggage; and then he realized that they would be fortunate if they
got into the train at all. The first five carriages were crowded with
soldiers; then there were two carriages half-filled with officers,
upon whom no one ventured to intrude. The three rear carriages were
already crowded with a motley throng of excited civilians, and Stewart
had resigned himself to standing up, when Hans shouted, “This way, sir;
this way!” and started to run as fast as the heavy suit-cases would
permit.
Stewart, staring after him, saw that an additional carriage was being
pushed up to be attached to the train.
“That fellow has more brains than I gave him credit for,” he said.
“Come along!”
Before the car had stopped, Hans, with a disregard of the regulations
which proved how excited he was, had wrenched open the door of the
first compartment and clambered aboard. By the time they reached it,
he had the luggage in the rack and sprang down to the platform with a
smile of triumph.
“Good work!” said Stewart. “I didn’t think you had it in you!” and he
dropped a generous tip into the waiting hand. “Come, my dear,” and he
helped his companion aboard. Hans slammed the door shut after them,
touched his cap, and hurried away. “Well, that was luck!” Stewart
added, and dropped to the seat beside his companion. “But look out for
the deluge in another minute!”
She was looking out of the window at the excited mob sweeping along the
platform.
“The crowd is not coming this way,” she said, after a moment. “A line
of police is holding it back. I think this carriage is intended for the
officers.”
Stewart groaned.
“Then we shall have to get out! Take my advice and don’t wait to be
asked twice!”
“Perhaps they will not need this corner. In any case, we will stay
until they put us out. If you are wise, you will forget all the German
you know and flourish your passport frequently. Germans are always
impressed by a red seal!”
But, strangely enough, they were not disturbed. A number of officers
approached the carriage, and, after a glance at its inmates, passed on
to the other compartments. Stewart, putting his head out of the window,
saw that the line of police were still keeping back the crowd.
“Really,” he said, “this seems too good to be true. It looks as if we
were going to have this compartment to ourselves.”
He turned smilingly to glance at her, and the smile remained frozen on
his lips. For her face was deathly pale, her eyes were staring, and she
was pressing her hands tight against her heart.
“You’re not ill?” he asked, genuinely startled.
“Only very tired,” she answered, controlling her voice with evident
difficulty. “I think I shall try to rest a little,” and she settled
herself more comfortably in her corner. “The journey from Spa quite
exhausted me.” Then with her lips she formed the words “Be careful!”
“All right,” said Stewart. “Go to sleep if you can.”
She gave him a warning glance from under half-closed lids, then laid
her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes.
Stewart, after a last look along the platform, raised the window
half-way to protect his companion from the draft, then dropped into
the corner opposite her and got out a cigar and lighted it with
studied carelessness--though he was disgusted to see that his hand
was trembling. He was tingling all over with the sudden sense of
danger--tingling as a soldier tingles as he awaits the command to
charge.
But what danger could there be? And then he thrilled at a sudden
thought. Was this compartment intended as a trap? Had they been guided
to it and left alone here in the hope that, thrown off their guard,
they would in some way incriminate themselves? Was there an ear glued
to some hole in the partition--the ear of a spy crouching in the next
compartment?
Stewart pulled his hat forward over his eyes as though to shield them
from the light. Then he went carefully back over the sequence of events
which had led them to this compartment. It was Hans who had brought
them to it--and Hans was a spy. It was he who had selected it, who had
stood at the door so that they would go no farther. It was he who had
slammed the door.
Was the door locked? Stewart’s hand itched to try the handle; but
he did not dare. Someone was perhaps watching as well as listening.
But that they should be permitted to enter a carriage reserved for
officers--that, on a train so crowded, they should be undisturbed in
the possession of a whole compartment--yes, it was proof enough!
The station-master’s whistle echoed shrilly along the platform, and the
train glided slowly away.
Darkness had come, and as the train threaded the silent environs of the
town, Stewart wondered why the streets seemed so gloomy. Looking again,
he understood. Only a few of the street lights were burning. Already
the economies of war had begun.
The train entered a long tunnel, at whose entrance a file of soldiers
with fixed bayonets stood on guard. At regular intervals, the light
from the windows flashed upon an armed patrol. Farther on, a deep
valley was spanned by a great viaduct, and here again there was a heavy
guard. The valley widened, and suddenly as they swept around a curve,
Stewart saw a broad plain covered with flaring lights. They were the
lights of field-kitchens; and, looking at them, Stewart realized that
a mighty army lay encamped here, ready to be hurled against the French
frontier.
And then he remembered that this was not the French frontier, but the
frontier of Belgium. Could the landlady of the Kölner Hof have been
mistaken? To make sure, he got out his Baedeker and looked at the
map. No; the French frontier lay away to the south. There was no way
to reach it from this point save across Belgium. It was at Belgium,
then, that the first blow was aimed--Belgium whose neutrality and
independence had been guaranteed by all the Powers of Europe!
He put the book away and sat gazing thoughtfully out into the night. As
far as the eye could reach gleamed the fires of the mighty bivouac. The
army itself was invisible in the darkness, for the men had not thought
it worth while to put up their shelter tents on so fine a night; but
along the track, from time to time, passed a shadowy patrol; once,
as the train rolled above a road, Stewart saw that it was packed with
transport wagons.
Then, suddenly, the train groaned to a stop.
“The frontier!” said Stewart to himself, and glanced at his companion,
but she, to all appearance, was sleeping peacefully. “We shall be
delayed here,” he thought, “for the troops to detrain,” and he lowered
the window and put out his head to watch them do it.
The train had stopped beside a platform, and Stewart was astonished at
its length. It stretched away and away into the distance, seemingly
without end. And it was empty, save for a few guards.
The doors behind him were thrown open and the officers sprang out and
hurried forward. From the windows in front of him, Stewart could see
curious heads projecting; but the forward coaches gave no sign of life.
Not a door was opened; not a soldier appeared.
“Where are we? What has happened?” asked his companion’s voice, and he
turned to find her rubbing her eyes sleepily.
“We are at the frontier, I suppose,” he answered. “No doubt we shall go
on as soon as the troops detrain.”
“I hope they will not be long.”
“They haven’t started yet, but of course--by George!” he added, in
another tone, “they aren’t getting out! The guards are driving the
people out of the cars ahead of us!”
The tumult of voices raised in angry protest drew nearer. Stewart could
see that the carriages were being cleared, and in no gentle manner.
There was no pause for explanation or argument--just a terse order
which, if not instantly obeyed, was followed by action. Stewart could
not help smiling, for, in that Babel of tongues, he distinguished a lot
of unexpurgated American!
“There’s no use getting into a fight with them,” he said,
philosophically, as he turned back into the compartment and lifted down
his suit-cases. “We might as well get out before we’re put out,” and he
tried to open the door.
It was locked.
The certainty that they were trapped turned him a little giddy.
“Who the devil could have locked this door?” he demanded, shaking the
handle savagely.
“Seat yourself, Tommy,” his companion advised. “Do not excite
yourself--and have your passport ready. Perhaps they will not put us
off.”
And then a face, crowned by the ubiquitous spiked helmet, appeared at
the window.
“You will have to get out,” said the man in German, and tried to open
the door.
Stewart shook his head to show that he didn’t understand, and produced
his passport.
The man waved it impatiently away, and wrenched viciously at the door,
purple with rage at finding it locked. Then he shouted savagely at
someone farther up the platform.
“I have always been told that the Germans were a phlegmatic people,”
observed Stewart; “but as a matter of fact, they blow up quicker and
harder than anybody I ever saw. Look at that fellow, now----”
But at that moment a guard came running up, produced a key, and opened
the door.
“Come, get out!” said the man, with a gesture there was no mistaking,
and Stewart, picking up his bags, stepped out upon the platform and
helped his companion to alight.
“How long will we be detained here?” he asked in English; but the man,
with a contemptuous shrug, motioned him to stand back.
Looking along the platform, Stewart saw approaching the head of an
infantry column. In a moment, the soldiers were clambering into the
coaches, with the same mathematical precision he had seen before. But
there was something unfamiliar in their appearance; and, looking more
closely, Stewart saw that their spiked helmets were covered with gray
cloth, and that not a button or bit of gilt glittered anywhere on the
gray-green field uniforms. Wonderful forethought, he told himself.
By night these troops would be quite invisible; by day they would be
merged indistinguishably with the brown soil of the fields, the gray
trunks of trees, the green of hedges.
The train rolled slowly out of the station, and Stewart saw that on the
track beyond there was another, also loaded with troops. In a moment,
it started westward after the first; and beyond it a third train lay
revealed.
Stewart, glancing at his companion, was startled by the whiteness of
her face, the steely glitter of her eyes.
“It looks like a regular invasion,” he said. “But let us find out
what’s going to happen to us. We can’t stand here all night. Good
heavens--what is that?”
From the air above them came the sudden savage whirr of a powerful
engine, and, looking up, they saw a giant shape sweep across the sky.
It was gone in an instant.
“A Zeppelin!” said Stewart, and felt within himself a thrill of wonder
and exultation. Oh, this would be a great war! It would be like no
other ever seen upon this earth. It would be fought in the air, as well
as on the land; in the depths of the ocean, as well as on its surface.
At last all theories were to be put to the supreme test!
“You will come with me,” said the man in the helmet, and Stewart, with
a nod, picked up his grips again before he remembered that he was
supposed to be ignorant of German.
“Did you say there was another train?” he asked. “Shall we be able to
get away?”
The man shook his head and led the way along the platform, without
glancing to the right or left. As they passed the bare little
station, they saw that it was jammed to the doors with men and women
and children, mixed in an indiscriminate mass, and evidently most
uncomfortable. But their guide led them past it without stopping, and
Stewart breathed a sigh of relief. Anything would be better than to be
thrust into that crowd!
Again he had cause to wonder at the length of that interminable
platform; but at last, near its farther end, their guide stopped
before a small, square structure, whose use Stewart could not even
guess, and flung open the door.
“You will enter here,” he said.
“But look here,” Stewart protested, “we are American citizens. You have
no right----”
The man signed to them to hurry. There was something in the gesture
which stopped the words on Stewart’s lips.
“Oh, damn the fool!” he growled, swallowing hard. “Come along, my dear;
there’s no use to argue,” and, bending his head at the low door, he
stepped inside.
In an instant, the door was slammed shut, and the snap of a lock told
them that they were prisoners.