|THE doctor arrived at eight. He could not afford to disregard the
summons of such a man as Davenport Carstairs. So he told his wife to go
on to the Opera without him; he would join her as soon as possible,--in
fact, it might be possible to get there before the overture was ended,
or, at the very latest, soon after the curtain went up. Make his
apologies, and all that. This was an urgent case.
Close on his heels came two men to see Mr. Carstairs....
Miss Hansbury was in a pitiable condition. For the better part of two
hours, Frieda Carstairs had been with her. Every one else, not excepting
her uncle, was denied admission to the room. From time to time, the
sound of voices came through the closed door,--one shrill and rising to
the pitch of frenzy, the other firm, gentle, soothing--one that seemed
to croon. A sharp-eared listener outside would have caught an occasional
sentence wailed in the despairing treble, but he would have made little
of it, for it dwindled away into a smothered, inarticulate jumble of
words. He might have distinguished the oft-repeated cry: “You know it
isn't true! You know it! You know it!”
Carstairs grasped the doctor's arm the instant he entered the apartment.
“For God's sake, Doctor, give her something to quiet her immediately.
I--I cannot endure it. We should have waited. I had no idea it would be
like this. Mrs. Carstairs hasn't left her for an instant. I can hear her
moaning and--”
“Is it this--ah--news about young Steele?” inquired the doctor blandly.
He rubbed his hands.
“Yes--yes! We thought it best to tell her before she got it from the
servants, or the papers, or--”
“Dreadful affair,--most shocking. I knew him very slightly, but he
seemed a most delightful chap. By Jove, it is really distressing, the
way the Germans have undermined our very--”
“She is in a most deplorable condition, Doctor. Don't delay an instant,
please,--and do not leave her until you are convinced there is no danger
of--” He broke off abruptly.
“Ahem! Yes, yes,--ah,--I'll remain as long as--ah,--I feel the least bit
uneasy about her.”
“All right, Doctor,--if there is the remotest danger of--”
“Oh, I fancy there isn't any real danger of _that_, Mr. Carstairs.
Compose yourself. We 'll have her sleeping like a baby in no time at
all. Had you an inkling that Steele was that sort of a--”
“And will you please send Mrs. Carstairs out of the room at once?”
“Yes, yes,--immediately. Leave it to me, leave it to me,” and off he
went, with a sprightliness that would have, surprised his dignity if he
had had the slightest notion at that moment that he still possessed such
a thing.
But Mrs. Carstairs refused to be sent out of the room. She remained
steadfast at the girl's side, holding and stroking her hand.
“I cannot,--I will not leave her, Doctor Browne,” she said, compressing
her lips.
The butler apologetically stuck his head into Mr. Carstairs' study a few
minutes after the doctor's arrival.
“Sorry, sir, but there's two gentlemen asking to see you.”
“I told you I was not at home to any one, Hollowell. Is it necessary for
me to repeat your instructions?”
“No, sir,--thank you, sir. But these gentlemen say they must see you,
sir. They are outside, sir,--in the hall. I asked--”
“Who are they? What is their business?”
“I asked both those questions, sir,” said the butler, in evident
distress.
“Yes, yes,--well, and what did they say?”
“They simply said 'Never mind,'” said Hollowell, with a great deal of
feeling.
Carstairs stopped suddenly in his tracks.
“I thought you said they were gentlemen.”
His brow darkened. He had sensed the truth. Secret service men.
“My mistake, sir,--my mistake,” mumbled Hollowell. “Ahem! I can
only add, Mr. Carstairs, that they seem to think you _are_ at home,
and--ah--”
“Conduct them to this room,” said Carstairs. A few minutes later: “Come
in, gentlemen, and be seated. I suppose you are here to ascertain if
I can throw any light on the Derrol Steele affair. It is no secret,
of course, that he was my niece's fiance, and that he was a constant
visitor here. I am afraid, however, that I can be of no assistance to
you. Captain Steele--”
“Pardon me, Mr. Carstairs,” said one of his visitors, a sharp-eyed,
clean-cut man of forty, “but, as a matter of fact, our business here is
really with Mrs. Carstairs. Will you be good enough to ask her to step
into this room?”
His companion had closed the door, and both remained standing.
“I assure you she knows as little as I do about this distressing affair.
My niece is very ill. She cannot leave her. You must allow me,--for the
present, at least,--to speak for Mrs. Carstairs.”
“Deeply as I regret it, Mr. Carstairs, I must insist that your wife--”
“You heard what I said, didn't you?” demanded Carstairs coldly. Two
vivid red blotches shot into his cheeks.
The two men looked at each other. Then the spokesman gave a significant
jerk of his head. His companion opened the door and stepped quickly
into the hall. As the door closed, the one who remained drew nearer to
Carstairs.
“In the first place, Mr. Carstairs, you cannot speak for your wife. I am
not here to make inquiries, sir, but to escort her to the offices of the
United States Attorney, who will--”
Carstairs started up from his chair. “What infernal nonsense is this?”
“I am afraid it isn't nonsense,” said the other quietly. “My
instructions,--my orders, I may say,--are to confront Mrs. Carstairs
with certain charges, in your presence, by the way,--and to remain in
this apartment until further orders. There is no alternative.”
“Charges?” gasped Davenport Carstairs, incredulously. “What do you mean?
What charges have been brought against _us?_”
“There is nothing against _you_, sir. I am instructed to exercise the
greatest consideration for you. A great deal, I may add, is left to
my discretion, after all. Your wife, I am compelled to inform you,
is charged with a very serious offence. In plain words, we have
indisputable proof that she is and has been for several years in direct
communication with the German Government through--”
“It is a damned, outrageous lie!” shouted Carstairs, furiously. “How
dare you come here--”
“Just a moment, please,” interrupted the other sharply. “My instructions
are to treat you with the utmost respect and consideration. I must ask
you to accord me the same treatment. Will you send for your wife, or
must I resort to the authority that--”
“For God's sake, man,--wait! Let me get this thing through my head.
I--I---will try to control myself. There has been some terrible mistake.
Let us discuss the matter calmly. I can explain everything. We must
spare her the mortification, the humiliation of being--Why, my dear sir,
it would--kill her. She would not survive the--”
The agent held up his hand. “There is no mistake. It may be possible
to spare her the disgrace, the ignominy of public exposure. That, sir,
rests with her--and with you. We recognize your position, Mr. Carstairs.
There is a disposition on the part of the authorities to protect you.
With that object in view, I am instructed to grant Mrs. Carstairs the
privilege of remaining in her own room until tomorrow morning. We are to
take no definite action tonight, unless, of course, you and she decide
that it is best for her to accompany me to the--er--to headquarters. It
is up to you and Mrs. Carstairs, sir.”
Davenport Carstairs was a strong, virile character. He possessed the
arrogance born of power and a confidence in himself that had never
been shaken. His home was his stronghold, his wife its treasure. In his
serene strength he could not conceive of discredit falling upon either.
Instead of faltering, now that the first shock had been weathered, he
drew himself up and faced the situation with a courage that excited the
wonder and admiration of the man who came with evil tidings.
“Be seated,” said he, indicating a chair. The man sat down. “You may be
partially if not entirely ignorant of the nature of these charges. Am I
right in assuming that you are not at liberty to discuss them with me?”
“On the contrary, Mr. Carstairs, I have been advised to do nothing until
I have talked the matter over with you. I am in possession of all the
facts.”
“Is the department content to allow me to pass judgment on my wife?”
inquired Carstairs, with a touch of irony. He maintained a calm
exterior,--at what cost no one but he will ever know. The secret service
man made no response. “In any case, I shall have to ask you to explain
everything to me before permitting you to approach my wife.”
The agent, who shall be called Jones, nodded his head, and then leaned
forward in his chair.
“A man named Hodges was in your employ as a butler up to a fortnight
ago. He had worked for you exactly seven weeks and one day. Do you know
where he came from and who he really was, Mr. Carstairs?”
“No. Mrs. Carstairs engages the servants here. Are you going to tell me
that he was a German spy?”
“Far from it, sir. 'He was a British secret service agent. His name was
Bridgeford. He was killed by an automobile, but not accidentally as you
have been led to believe. We have been looking for the driver of that
car for two weeks. Last night we got him. He has confessed. Since
six o'clock this evening three other men have been arrested,--all
subordinate figures in the game. Before morning we expect to land at
least one or two of the principal members of the shrewdest gang of spies
operating in the name and interest of the Kaiser.”
“Including my wife,” said Carstairs, lifting his eyebrows.
Jones allowed the remark to pass without comment.
“Bridgeford,--or Hodges, as you knew him,--was sent to this city from
London. For a long time he worked independently. A few days before his
death, we received instructions from Washington to get in touch with
him. That was the first we knew of him, I'll confess. The British
Foreign Office advised our department that he had finally got hold of
something big and tangible. But evidently the German Foreign Office also
was wise to him. He reported to us on the afternoon of the day he was
killed. He said that the time was not yet ripe to take positive steps,
but that he would soon have the goods on four or five prominent people.
He gave us the names of these people. Two of them he was sure about, the
others were in doubt. Believe me, they _were_ prominent. We were to hold
off till he said the word. That night he was killed. But they didn't
do it soon enough. We had all his data, incomplete as it was, and we've
followed it up. That's why I am here this evening.”
He paused; and Carstairs said, harshly: “Well, go on,--why do you
hesitate?”
“We know now, beyond all possible doubt, that information of the most
vital character has reached the German Admiralty and the Foreign Office
through Mrs. Carstairs,” said Jones deliberately.
“I may be pardoned if I repeat that it is a damned lie,” said Carstairs,
gripping the arms of his chair.
“You have said just what you were expected to say, Mr. Carstairs. Before
I have finished, however, you will realize that it is not a damned lie.
I am authorized to exhibit certain memoranda from the Department. You
will then agree with us that the information came from this house,--from
this apartment, in fact.”
“In the light of what happened last night, I may go so far as to concede
that such may have been the case. Permit me to remind you of the suicide
of Captain--”
He broke off abruptly, struck by the expression in the other's face.
Jones shook his head slowly. There was genuine distress in his voice
when he spoke.
“Captain Steele was murdered, Mr. Carstairs,” he said. “He did not kill
himself.” Carstairs sprang to his feet. For an instant a flash of joy
transfigured his face.
[Illustration: 0169]
“By 'gad, I knew it,--I knew it! I would have staked my soul on that
boy's honour. Murdered? My God! And for what hellish purpose is his name
blackened by the foul reports given to the press by your--”
“A very grave injustice has been done an honourable gentleman,”
interrupted Jones, with real feeling. “Captain Steele was murdered by
assassins in the employ of persons connected with the German Government.
When I have finished my story,--I shall make it brief,--you will
understand that, far from being a traitor to his country, Derrol Steele
was a patriot who would not have hesitated to denounce--” He withheld
the words that rose to his lips in vindication of the maligned officer.
“A careful search of his rooms today resulted in the discovery of a
document in his own handwriting, written after he left your apartment
last night, and put under lock and key some time prior to the arrival
of the assassins. I have a copy of it with me. You will observe that he
does not make definite accusations against any one, and that he employs
initials only in designating the persons involved. He goes no farther
than to express his own misgivings, his suspicions and certain
observations that prove how keenly alive he was to the--real situation.
Sit down, Mr. Carstairs, and look over these papers. Begin here,
sir,--with the data obtained by the man you knew as Hodges. I beg to
assure you, in advance, that my superiors entertain no thought that you
were at any time cognizant of what has been going on in your own home,
and there is the profoundest desire on their part to spare you--”
“Enough, sir! Let me see the papers.”
“Just a moment, please. There is one gap in the sequence of events
leading up to the death of Captain Steele. We are confident that the
leaders of this great conspiracy were warned late last night that
Captain Steele suspected a certain person, but we have been unable to
discover by what means, or through whom, this warning was delivered. The
men under arrest, with the exception of the chauffeur, absolutely refuse
to make a statement of any kind, and he, we are confident, does not know
who the go-between was. All he knows,--or thinks, at least,--is that
he and his pals were double-crossed last night by--well, by Mrs.
Carstairs.”
Davenport Carstairs read the papers placed in his hands by the Secret
Service man. One by one, they fell from his stiff, trembling fingers,
fluttering to the floor, each in its succeeding turn. At the end, he
looked not into Jones's eyes, but past them, and from his own the light
was gone.
“Will you ask your wife to come in now, Mr. Carstairs?” said Jones, a
trifle unsteadily.
Carstairs stared at him for a moment, unseeingly. Then he passed his
hand over his eyes as if to clear them of something revolting. The
moment was tense, spasmodic, prophetic of approaching collapse. The
strength and courage and confidence of the man had sustained a shock
that made ruin of them all. He wondered dumbly whether he would ever
have the power and the desire to lift his head again and look into the
eye of this man who sat there with him. The whole fabric of existence
was torn to shreds by the merciless revelations contained in the papers
he had read with the steel in his heart. They were complete, irrefutable
indictments. There was no such thing as going behind them. Steele's
blighting conjectures suddenly became truths of the most appalling
nature; the astonishing record of Hodges the butler laid bare a
multitude of secrets; the brief, almost laconic summing-up of facts
in the possession of the Department took the heart out of his body and
scorched it with conviction,--for he knew that the Secret Eye had looked
into the very soul of the woman he loved and cherished and trusted....
“If you do not object, I will speak with her--alone,” said he,
lifelessly. He struggled to his feet, and, by the mightiest effort of
the will, lifted his head and fixed his haggard eyes upon the face of
the man who had cast the bomb at his feet:--a far more potent agent of
destruction than any that Germany herself had ever hurled! It was to
destroy heaven and earth for him.
Jones, cleared his throat. “That is for you to decide, Mr. Carstairs,”
he said, and there was something significant in his voice and manner.
“Will you take these documents--”
“No. I do not wish her to see them. Be good enough to step into the
drawing-room,--and wait. This way--through this door. And please call
your companion. It is not necessary for him to stand guard over her. You
have my word that she shall not escape.”
“We are to respect your wishes in every particular, Mr. Carstairs. The
authorities appreciate your position. It is their desire to spare you,
if possible, the disgrace, the pain--” He stopped.
“I think I understand,” said Davenport Carstairs slowly. A moment later
he was alone.
Presently he unlocked and opened a small drawer in his desk. He took out
something that glittered, examined it carefully, and then stuck it into
his coat pocket. His jaws were set; in his eyes lay the hard, cold light
of steel.
He did not falter.
She had not been fair with him, but he would be fair with her. He would
stand by her to the end.... She should have her chance. He would see to
it that the newspapers,--and the world,--dealt kindly with her. He had
loved her.
If possible, he would see to it that he was the only one in all the
world to hate her.
He went to her room.