After a two months' tour of Switzerland and the Italian lakes, the
Fishers found themselves at the Hotel Splendide in Paris, surrounded
by people from the States. It was a relief to Fisher, after his
somewhat bewildering experience at Baden, followed by a surfeit of
stupendous and ghostly snow peaks, to be once more among those who
discriminated between a straight flush and a crooked straight, and
whose bosoms thrilled responsive to his own at the sight of the
star-spangled banner. It was particularly agreeable for him to find at
the Hotel Splendide, in a party of Easterners who had come over to see
the Exposition, Miss Bella Ward, of Portland, a pretty and bright
girl, affianced to his best friend in New York.
With much less pleasure, Fisher learned that the Baron Savitch was in
Paris, fresh from the Berlin Congress, and that he was the lion of the
hour with the select few who read between the written lines of
politics and knew the dummies of diplomacy from the real players in
the tremendous game. Dr. Rapperschwyll was not with the Baron. He was
detained in Switzerland, at the deathbed of his aged mother.
This last piece of information was welcome to Fisher. The more he
reflected upon the interview on the Mercuriusberg, the more strongly
he felt it to be his intellectual duty to persuade himself that the
whole affair was an illusion, not a reality. He would have been glad,
even at the sacrifice of his confidence in his own astuteness, to
believe that the Swiss doctor had been amusing himself at the expense
of his credulity. But the remembrance of the scene in the Baron's
bedroom at the Badischer Hof was too vivid to leave the slightest
ground for this theory. He was obliged to be content with the thought
that he should soon place the broad Atlantic between himself and a
creature so unnatural, so dangerous, so monstrously impossible as the
Baron Savitch.
Hardly a week had passed before he was thrown again into the society
of that impossible person.
The ladies of the American party met the Russian Baron at a ball in
the New Continental Hotel. They were charmed with his handsome face,
his refinement of manner, his intelligence and wit. They met him
again at the American Minister's, and, to Fisher's unspeakable
consternation, the acquaintance thus established began to make rapid
progress in the direction of intimacy. Baron Savitch became a frequent
visitor at the Hotel Splendide.
Fisher does not like to dwell upon this period. For a month his peace
of mind was rent alternately by apprehension and disgust. He is
compelled to admit that the Baron's demeanor toward himself was most
friendly, although no allusion was made on either side to the incident
at Baden. But the knowledge that no good could come to his friends
from this association with a being in whom the moral principle had no
doubt been supplanted by a system of cog-gear, kept him continually in
a state of distraction. He would gladly have explained to his American
friends the true character of the Russian, that he was not a man of
healthy mental organization, but merely a marvel of mechanical
ingenuity, constructed upon a principle subversive of all society as
at present constituted--in short, a monster whose very existence must
ever be revolting to right-minded persons with brains of honest gray
and white. But the solemn promise to Dr. Rapperschwyll sealed his
lips.
A trifling incident suddenly opened his eyes to the alarming character
of the situation, and filled his heart with a new horror.
One evening, a few days before the date designated for the departure
of the American party from Havre for home, Fisher happened to enter
the private parlor which was, by common consent, the headquarters of
his set. At first he thought that the room was unoccupied. Soon he
perceived, in the recess of a window, and partly obscured by the
drapery of the curtain, the forms of the Baron Savitch and Miss Ward
of Portland. They did not observe his entrance. Miss Ward's hand was
in the Baron's hand, and she was looking up into his handsome face
with an expression which Fisher could not misinterpret.
Fisher coughed, and going to another window, pretended to be
interested in affairs on the Boulevard. The couple emerged from the
recess. Miss Ward's face was ruddy with confusion, and she immediately
withdrew. Not a sign of embarrassment was visible on the Baron's
countenance. He greeted Fisher with perfect self-possession, and began
to talk of the great balloon in the Place du Carrousel.
Fisher pitied but could not blame the young lady. He believed her
still loyal at heart to her New York engagement. He knew that her
loyalty could not be shaken by the blandishments of any man on earth.
He recognized the fact that she was under the spell of a power more
than human. Yet what would be the outcome? He could not tell her all;
his promise bound him. It would be useless to appeal to the generosity
of the Baron; no human sentiments governed his exorable purposes. Must
the affair drift on while he stood tied and helpless? Must this
charming and innocent girl be sacrificed to the transient whim of an
automaton? Allowing that the Baron's intentions were of the most
honorable character, was the situation any less horrible? Marry a
Machine! His own loyalty to his friend in New York, his regard for
Miss Ward, alike loudly called on him to act with promptness.
And, apart from all private interest, did he not owe a plain duty to
society, to the liberties of the world? Was Savitch to be permitted
to proceed in the career laid out for him by his creator, Dr.
Rapperschwyll? He (Fisher) was the only man in the world in a position
to thwart the ambitious programme. Was there ever greater need of a
Brutus?
Between doubts and fears, the last days of Fisher's stay in Paris were
wretched beyond description. On the morning of the steamer day he had
almost made up his mind to act.
The train for Havre departed at noon, and at eleven o'clock the Baron
Savitch made his appearance at the Hotel Splendide to bid farewell to
his American friends. Fisher watched Miss Ward closely. There was a
constraint in her manner which fortified his resolution. The Baron
incidentally remarked that he should make it his duty and pleasure to
visit America within a very few months, and that he hoped then to
renew the acquaintances now interrupted. As Savitch spoke, Fisher
observed that his eyes met Miss Ward's, while the slightest possible
blush colored her cheeks. Fisher knew that the case was desperate, and
demanded a desperate remedy.
He now joined the ladies of the party in urging the Baron to join them
in the hasty lunch that was to precede the drive to the station.
Savitch gladly accepted the cordial invitation. Wine he politely but
firmly declined, pleading the absolute prohibition of his physician.
Fisher left the room for an instant, and returned with the black
bottle which had figured in the Baden episode.
"The Baron," he said, "has already expressed his approval of the
noblest of our American products, and he knows that this beverage has
good medical endorsement." So saying, he poured the remaining contents
of the Kentucky bottle into a glass, and presented it to the Russian.
Savitch hesitated. His previous experience with the nectar was at the
same time a temptation and a warning, yet he did not wish to seem
discourteous. A chance remark from Miss Ward decided him.
"The Baron," she said, with a smile, "will certainly not refuse to
wish us _bon voyage_ in the American fashion."
Savitch drained the glass and the conversation turned to other
matters. The carriages were already below. The parting compliments
were being made, when Savitch suddenly pressed his hands to his
forehead and clutched at the back of a chair. The ladies gathered
around him in alarm.
"It is nothing," he said faintly; "a temporary dizziness."
"There is no time to be lost," said Fisher, pressing forward. "The
train leaves in twenty minutes. Get ready at once, and I will
meanwhile attend to our friend."
Fisher hurriedly led the Baron to his own bedroom. Savitch fell back
upon the bed. The Baden symptoms repeated themselves. In two minutes
the Russian was unconscious.
Fisher looked at his watch. He had three minutes to spare. He turned
the key in the lock of the door and touched the knob of the electric
annunciator.
Then, gaining the mastery of his nerves by one supreme effort for
self-control, Fisher pulled the deceptive wig and the black skull cap
from the Baron's head. "Heaven forgive me if I am making a fearful
mistake!" he thought. "But I believe it to be best for ourselves and
for the world." Rapidly, but with a steady hand, he unscrewed the
silver dome. The Mechanism lay exposed before his eyes. The Baron
groaned. Ruthlessly Fisher tore out the wondrous machine. He had
no time and no inclination to examine it. He caught up a newspaper
and hastily enfolded it. He thrust the bundle into his open
travelling-bag. Then he screwed the silver top firmly upon the Baron's
head, and replaced the skull cap and the wig.
All this was done before the servant answered the bell. "The Baron
Savitch is ill," said Fisher to the attendant, when he came. "There is
no cause for alarm. Send at once to the Hotel de l'Athenee for his
valet, Auguste." In twenty seconds Fisher was in a cab, whirling
toward the Station St. Lazare.
When the steamship Pereire was well out at sea, with Ushant five
hundred miles in her wake, and countless fathoms of water beneath her
keel, Fisher took a newspaper parcel from his travelling-bag. His
teeth were firm set and his lips rigid. He carried the heavy parcel to
the side of the ship and dropped it into the Atlantic. It made a
little eddy in the smooth water, and sank out of sight. Fisher fancied
that he heard a wild, despairing cry, and put his hands to his ears to
shut out the sound. A gull came circling over the steamer--the cry may
have been the gull's.
Fisher felt a light touch upon his arm. He turned quickly around. Miss
Ward was standing at his side, close to the rail.
"Bless me, how white you are!" she said. "What in the world have you
been doing?"
"I have been preserving the liberties of two continents," slowly
replied Fisher, "and perhaps saving your own peace of mind."
"Indeed!" said she; "and how have you done that?"
"I have done it," was Fisher's grave answer, "by throwing overboard
the Baron Savitch."
Miss Ward burst into a ringing laugh. "You are sometimes too droll,
Mr. Fisher," she said.