KAREN
The journey was the usual one through interminable London streets
alternately respectable and squalid; and straight ahead through equally
interminable suburbs with their endless "terraces," semi-detached and
detached villas, and here and there a fine old house behind neglected
garden walls, making its last forlorn stand against the all-destroying
inroad of the London jungle.
There had been a heavy haze in London, but no fog. In the country,
however, beyond the last outstretched suburban tentacle of the inky
octopus the morning sun glimmered low through a golden smother,
promising a glimpse of blue sky.
To Guild, one "heath" has always resembled another, and now, as they
passed through the country at high speed, there seemed to him very
little difference between the several named points which marked his
progress toward Westheath. Hedges alternated with ivy-covered walls on
either side of a wide, fine road; trees were splendid as usual, sheep
fat, cattle sleek. Here and there a common or heath glimmered
bewitchingly where sunlight fell among the whins; birds winged their
way, waters glimmered, and the clean, singing August wind of England
blew steadily in his face strangely reviving within him some ancient,
forgotten, pre-natal wistfulness. Maybe it came from his American
mother's English mother.
Near two villages and once on the open highway policemen leisurely
signalled the chauffeur to stop, and came sauntering around to the
tonneau to question Guild as to his origin, his business, and his
destination; quiet, dignified, civil, respectable men they seemed to be
in their night cloaks and their always smart and business-like helmets
and uniforms.
All seemed satisfied, but all politely suggested that passports were now
becoming fashionable in England. And Guild thanked them pleasantly and
drove on.
"Bush," he said to his chauffeur, "this spy scare was ridiculed by the
newspapers, but it looks to me as though it were being taken rather
seriously after all."
"It is, sir."
"I understand that about thirty thousand German and Austrian reservists
have been arrested in England since war began?"
"I hear so, sir."
"I suppose the country really is swarming with spies. The paper
yesterday said that there was still a great and serious leakage of
military information out of England. One paper, yesterday afternoon,
reported that a number of spies had already been shot in the Tower."
"I have heard so, sir," said the chauffeur smilingly.
He was a blond, good-looking young fellow. Always his lips seemed to
rest in pleasant curves as though his reveries were agreeable.
A few hideously modern detached villas were passed, then hedges, walls,
a wood, a modern bridge.
"How near are we to Westheath now?" asked Guild, leaning forward in his
seat.
"We are there, sir." And the smiling chauffeur slowed the car to a
standstill at a cross-roads where furze and broom grew rankly over the
heath and a few rather tawdry villas appeared among the trees beyond.
Guild looked at his watch. It was only a little after seven, an
unearthly hour for a call upon any young girl, not to mention one to
whom he was personally unknown.
A policeman still wearing his waterproof night cloak, came leisurely
across to learn what was wanted.
"I am looking for the villa of Miss Girard--Miss Karen Girard,"
explained Guild.
"Hyacinth Villa, Number 169. Take the road to the right. It is the only
house."
"Thank you."
The car moved forward, swung to the right. About a quarter of a mile
away stood a small, modern stucco dwelling behind its hedge of privet.
Beyond that there were woods again and dewy uplands glimmering with
furze and brake.
When they arrived they found the driveway closed by a gate.
"Never mind; I'll walk to the house," said Guild.
The smiling chauffeur leaned back and opened the tonneau door; Guild
descended, looked at the iron gate between its ugly stucco posts, peered
through it up the drive with its parallel rows of recently planted lime
trees. Everything about the place was recent if not brand new--ugly with
the ugliness of well-to-do bad taste. Red geraniums and yellow cannas
had been planted in fearsome juxtaposition, salvia flanked a red brick
terrace--a most unholy combination of colour. In the early morning the
sun exposed the place without mercy. It was lonesome and amazingly
depressing.
Glancing up at the gate again he discovered a nickel-plated label
riveted to one of the stucco posts. On it was the name of the place,
"Hyacinth Villa," and its number 169.
There was no lodge, no bell, but the wicket gate was not locked. So
Guild entered.
"Shall I drive up to the house, sir?" inquired the chauffeur.
"No; wait out here."
There seemed to be no sign of life about the house when at last he
arrived in front of it--nobody apparently stirring at that hour. He
hesitated; he still wore the same knickerbockers and cap which he had
worn in Belgium. His sack, which was now in the car, contained only
fresh linen; and he began to wonder what his reception might be in such
a costume and at such an hour. He doubted that the unconventionality of
the daughter of a Prussian aristocrat might extend far enough to accept
him, his rather shabby clothes, and his explanation of the visit.
It was all very well for this young girl to kick over the tradition, cut
home traces in the sacred cause of art, call herself Girard, and live in
an impossible villa for art's sake. Few well-born Fräuleins ever did
this sort of thing, but there had been instances. And anybody in Germany
will always add that they invariably went to the devil.
Guild rang. After he had waited long enough he rang again. After that he
resumed his ringing. Keeping his finger pressed on the electric button
and laying his ear to the door. The bell was doing its duty inside the
house; he could hear it.
Presently he heard a fumbling of chains and locks inside, the door
opened on a crack and a sleepy voice inquired: "Is it you, Anna?"
Guild hesitated: "I wish to see Miss Girard. Is she at home?"
"Who are you?" demanded the voice no longer sleepy.
"My name is Guild. I am sorry to disturb Miss Girard at such an hour,
but I cannot help it. Is Miss Girard in?"
"Yes; I am Miss Girard."
"Are you Miss Karen Girard?"
"Yes. Why do you wish to see me?"
"I can't tell you here. Are you dressed?"
There was a pause, then she said: "No."
"Please dress as quickly as you can. Dress for travel."
"What!"
"If you have a travelling dress put it on. You can pack your luggage
while I am talking to you. But dress as quickly as you can and then
return and let me in."
She said after a moment's silence: "I certainly shall not do any of
those things until I know more about you and about your errand here."
"I have a message for you from General Baron Kurt von Reiter."
"That is possible," she said quietly. "What is the message?"
"I was to say to you that the question which you were to decide on the
first of November must be decided sooner."
"I must have clearer proof that your message is genuine. I am sorry to
distrust you but I have been annoyed lately."
"Very well," he said. "Open the door a little more. Don't be afraid. I
merely wish you to look at a ring which I wear. I want you to draw it
from my finger and look at what is engraved inside."
There was another silence. Then the door crack slowly widened.
"Please extend your hand," she said.
There was just enough of space for him to slip his hand between door and
frame and he did so. There came a light, soft touch on his ring-finger.
The ring slipped off.
[Illustration: "There came a light, soft touch on his ring-finger"]
When she spoke again her voice was altered: "I shall dress immediately,"
she said. "I shall not keep you waiting long. You will find the door
open. Please come in when I have gone upstairs."
"Thank you."
He could hear her light, flying feet on the stairs; he waited a little
longer, then opened the door.
The hallway was dark, and he left the door open, then entered the room
to the left which seemed to be a library, music-room and living-room
combined. Books, piano, easy chairs and sofas loomed in the dim light of
drawn curtains. An easel on which stood a water-colour drawing occupied
the end of the room, and beside it was a table on which were porcelain
dishes, tubes of colour and scattered badger brushes.
It was evident that Miss Girard's talents were multiple, for he noticed
also a violin and music stand near the piano, and on the violin score as
well as on the score spread across the piano the same hand had written
"Karen Girard."
He stood by the table, mechanically picking up, one after another, the
books lying there. Some of the books were printed in French, some in
German, in Italian, in Danish, in Swedish, in English. Miss Girard's
name was written in all of them. Miss Girard appeared to be
accomplished.
In the dim light Guild began to saunter around the room encountering
various evidences of Miss Girard's taste and mode of living--one or two
Braun photographs of Velasquez, Boucher, and Gainsborough on the
walls--certainly a catholicism of taste entirely admirable;--one or two
graceful bits of ancient Chinese art--blue and gold marvels of Pekin
enamel; a mille-fleur tapestry panel, a bundle of golf clubs, a tennis
bat, and a pair of spurs.
He thought for himself that when a girl goes in for all of these
accomplishments it is because the gods have been otherwise unkind, and
that she has to.
At the same time he remembered the voice he had heard through the
scarcely opened door--the lovely voice of a young English girl--than
which in all the world there is nothing half so lovely.
And it suddenly occurred to him that there had not been in it the
faintest kind or trace of a German accent--that only its childish and
sleepy sweetness had struck him first, and then its purity and its
youthful and cultivated charm.
Yes, truly, the gods had been kind to this young German girl of
nineteen, but it would be a little too much to ask of these same gods
that they endow her with figure and features commensurate with her other
charms and talents.
Then he suddenly remembered her profession, and that she was studying
still for the dramatic profession. And he knew that this profession
naturally required exterior charm of any woman who desired to embrace
it.
While these ideas and speculations were occupying his mind he heard her
on the stairs, and he turned and came forward as she entered the room.
She was a slender, straight girl of medium height; and her face was one
of those fresh young faces which looked fragrant. And instantly the
thought occurred to him that she was the vivid, living incarnation of
her own voice, with her lilac-blue eyes and soft white neck, and the
full scarlet lips of one of those goddesses who was not very austere.
She wore a loosely-belted jacket of tan-coloured covert-cloth, and
narrow skirts of the same, and a wide golden-brown hat, and tan spats.
The gods had been very, very kind to Miss Girard, for she even adorned
her clothes, and that phenomenon is not usual in Great Britain or among
German Fräuleins however accomplished and however well born.
She said: "I beg your pardon for detaining you so long on the outside
door-step. Since the war began my maid and I have been annoyed by
strangers telephoning and even coming here to ask silly and impertinent
questions. I suppose," she added, disdainfully, "it is because there is
so much suspicion of foreigners in England."
"I quite understand," he said. "Being German, your neighbors gossip."
She shrugged her indifference.
"Shall we talk here?" she asked gravely, resting one very white hand on
the back of a chair. "You come from General Baron Kurt von Reiter. The
ring is a credential beyond dispute."
"We can talk anywhere you wish," he said, "but there is little time, and
somebody must pack a traveller's satchel for you. Have you a maid?"
"She went to London yesterday evening. She was to have returned on the
eleven o'clock train last night. I can't understand it."
"Are you alone in the house?"
"Yes. My cook sleeps out. She does not come until half-past nine. My
maid serves my breakfast."
"You haven't had any, then?"
"No."
"Can you fix something for yourself?"
"Yes, of course. Shall I do so now?"
"Yes. I'll go to the kitchen with you while you are doing it. There are
several things to say and the time is short."
She led the way; he opened the kitchen shutters and let in the sunshine,
then stood a moment watching her as she moved about the place with
graceful celerity, preparing cocoa over an alcohol lamp, buttering a
roll or two and fetching cup, plate, spoon and marmalade.
"Have you breakfasted?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.
"Yes--it is very good of you----"
"There will be plenty of cocoa and rolls--if you care for them. The
rolls are yesterday's and not fresh."
She poured the cocoa in two cups and looked at him again in grave
invitation.
"You are sure there is plenty?" he asked, smilingly.
"Plenty."
"Then--I do seem to be rather hungry."
He drew a chair for her; she seated herself and ate with a youthful
appetite. He drank his cocoa, ate his rolls, and tried not to look at
her too often.
"This is why I am here," he said. "I saw General Baron von Reiter four
days ago under somewhat extraordinary circumstances.
"He told me that since the war broke out he had not been able to
communicate directly with you or to get you out of England, and he asked
me to find you and bring you to his estate at Trois Fontaines in
Luxembourg."
"To Quellenheim?" she asked, surprised and disturbed. "Is he there?"
"No, he is with a field army, and he does not know where orders from
staff headquarters may send him."
"Still," she said, hesitating, "I should think that he might wish me to
go to Silesia----"
"Silesia is threatened by the Russian army."
"Silesia!" she repeated, incredulously. "Cossacks in Silesia?" She sat,
her cup of cocoa half raised to her lips, her surprised and disconcerted
eyes on his. Then she set the cup aside.
"He wishes me to go to Quellenheim? With _you_?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Travelling on the continent is precarious."
Her eyes rested on his; she said with a candour which he began to
understand was characteristic of her: "He seems to have confidence in
you. I never heard him speak of you. You are American?"
"Yes."
"That is odd. He never cared for Americans."
Guild said: "He could not send a German into England."
"That is true. Nor an Englishman either. No Englishman would be likely
to do anything to oblige a German."
She rose: "I don't understand why Anna, my maid, is still absent," she
added uneasily. "My maid often goes to London, but never before has she
remained over night. I don't know why she remained. She knew I was alone
in the house."
She lifted her serious blue eyes to Guild, then gazed out of the window,
evidently perplexed to the point of apprehension.
"I am worried," she said, "very much worried. But that doesn't help,
does it?"
"What was her errand in London?" asked Guild.
"She has a brother there. I suppose it's all right or she would have
telephoned me."
He said: "No doubt it is all right. And, may I ask you to hasten?"
She rose: "Where am I to go with you?"
"To London and then to the steamer."
"Today?"
"Today is Wednesday. No other Holland Line boat sails for Amsterdam
before Sunday, and I have yet our passage to secure and I must also go
to the War Office for a few moments. You see we have very little time."
"But I can't pack my boxes then?"
"You will have to leave them."
"You mean I may take only a satchel?"
"A suit-case and satchel if you wish. Leave a note for your maid
instructing her to send by express whatever else you wish sent after
you."
"Is this haste necessary, Mr. Guild?"
"Yes, it is. I want to get out of England. I am not sure that I can get
out if we wait until Sunday."
"Why not?"
"I may be detained. I may not be permitted to leave with you. All
foreigners are under more or less suspicion. I am rather sure that I
have been under surveillance already at the Berkeley Hotel."
They had moved out into the hall together while he was speaking, and
now, together, they went up the stairs.
"If you don't mind," she said, "my room is in disorder, but I'll have to
pack there and you will have to sit there if you wish to talk to me."
It was a white and chintz room in dainty disorder.
She went away and returned in a moment or two with a satchel and
suit-case. These she placed on the bed, opened, and then, dragging out
various drawers of chiffonier and chest, began to transfer her apparel
to the two bags.
"I am extremely sorry," he said, "to hurry you so inconveniently."
"I don't mind," she replied, busy with her packing. "You see I am an
actress and I have travelled with a company in the provinces. That _was_
an experience!" She turned her pretty head and looked at Guild. "I had
no maid then, except at the theatres where we played, and I had to share
her with three other girls. Really, Mr. Guild, it taught me how to pack
things rather rapidly."
Her white hands were flying as she folded and placed garment after
garment in the suit-case, serene, self-possessed, quite undisturbed by
his presence at the rather intimate display of her apparel.
The garments were bewilderingly frail to him; she tucked and packed them
into place; a faint fresh scent seemed to freshen the place.
He said: "I don't think we are going to have any trouble about leaving
England. But, if any trouble does arise, would you have sufficient
confidence in me to do what I say?"
She continued her packing for a few moments without replying, then
turned and looked at him.
And at the same moment the telephone on the table beside her bed
tinkled.
"There is Anna now!" she exclaimed with the emphasis of relief. "Will
you pardon me? No, I don't mean you are to leave the room----"
She lifted the receiver: "Yes, I am here.... Yes, this is Miss Girard.
Yes, Miss Karen Girard.... Mr. Louis Grätz? Oh, good morning!"
At the name of the man with whom she was speaking Guild turned around
surprised. At the same instant the girl's face flushed brightly as she
sat listening to what the distant Mr. Grätz was saying to her.
Guild watched her; perplexity, surprise, a deeper flush of
consternation, all were successively visible on her youthful face.
"Yes," she said to Mr. Grätz. "Yes, I will do whatever he wishes....
Yes, he is here--here in my room with me. We were talking while I
packed. Yes, I will do so." And, turning her head a little she said to
the young man behind her: "The Edmeston Agency desires to speak to you."
He rose and took the receiver from her hand and bent over beside her
listening.
"Are you there?" inquired a pleasant voice.
"Yes."
"I am Grätz of the Edmeston Agency. Get that young lady out of the house
at once. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Her maid is in trouble. This agency may be in trouble at any moment.
She must not wait to pack. Get her into the car and take her to the
wharf and on board at once. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Take her as your wife. Do you understand?"
"I understand what you say," he said, amazed.
"That is sufficient. Do as I tell you if you want to leave England."
"Very well. But I must first go to the War Office----"
"No!"
"I must!"
"No. It is useless; hopeless. It would have been the thing to do
yesterday. An explanation there would have given you credentials and
security. But not today. _She_ could not hope to leave. Do you
understand?"
"No, but I hear you."
"She could not expect permission to leave because her maid has been
arrested."
"What!"
"Yes! The charge is most serious."
"What is it?"
"Get into your car with the young lady and start at once. Don't go to
the steamship office in Fenchurch Street. Don't go to the War Office. Go
nowhere except to the wharf. Your passage has been secured as Mr. and
Mrs. Kervyn Guild of New York. The initials on the baggage will be K. G.
Your steamer tickets will be handed to you. You will pay no attention to
the man who hands them to you, no attention to anybody. You will go
aboard and go to your cabin until the ship is out at sea. Do you
understand?"
"Perfectly."
"Good-bye."