THE SATCHEL
It was only a short drive to Fresh Wharf by London Bridge. A marching
column of kilted Territorials checked them for a while and they looked
on while the advanced guard of civilians surged by, followed by pipers
and then by the long leaf-brown column at a smart swinging stride.
When the troops had passed the hansom moved on very slowly through the
human flotsam still eddying in the wake of the regiment; and after a few
more minutes it pulled up again and Guild sprang out, lifted the young
girl to the sidewalk, and handed the fare to the driver.
The latter leaned over and as he took the coins he thrust a parcel into
Guild's hands. "Your change, sir," he said genially, touched his top hat
and drove off, looking right and left for another fare.
Guild's surprised eyes fell on the packet. It contained two steamer
tickets strapped together by a rubber band.
Pushing through the throng where policemen, wharf officials and soldiers
in khaki were as numerous as civilians, Guild finally signalled a porter
to take the luggage aboard. Karen retained her satchel. A brief scrutiny
of his tickets detained them for a moment, then the porter led them up
the gang-plank and aboard and a steward directed them to their
stateroom. At the same moment a uniformed official stepped up to Guild.
"Sorry to trouble you, sir," he said politely, "but may I have your
name?"
"My name is Kervyn Guild."
The official glanced over the steamer list. "You have papers of
identification, Mr. Guild?"
Guild handed him his forged passports. The official took them, glanced
at Karen, at the luggage which the porter bore.
"Where do you go from Amsterdam, Mr. Guild?"
"Through Holland."
"Naturally. And then?"
"To the Grand Duchy."
"Luxembourg?"
"Yes."
"Where in Luxembourg?"
"I have been invited to visit friends."
"Where?"
"At Lesse Forest."
"Where is that?"
"Partly in the Duchy, partly in Belgium."
"Who are your friends?"
"Mrs. and Miss Courland of New York and a Mr. Darrel."
"Madam goes with you?"
"Yes."
The official began to unfold the passports, while he looked sideways at
the luggage. Holding the passports partly open in one hand he pointed to
Karen's satchel with the other.
"Please open that," he said, and began to examine the passports. A
deadly pallour came over the girl's face; she did not stir. Guild turned
to glance at her and was stricken dumb. But she found her speech.
"Dear," she said, with white lips, "would you mind stepping ashore and
getting me something at a chemist's?" And under her breath, pressing
close to him: "Go, for God's sake. I am afraid I shall be arrested." A
terrible fear struck through him.
"The satchel!" he motioned with his lips.
"Yes. Go while you can. Go--go--dear."
"I'll be back in a moment, Karen," he said, coolly took the satchel from
the porter, turned with it toward the gang-plank.
The official raised his eyes from the passport he was scanning.
"One moment, sir," he said.
"I'll be back directly," returned Guild, continuing on his way.
"Where are you going, Mr. Guild?"
"To a chemist's."
"Be kind enough to leave that satchel and remain here until I have
finished," said the official coldly. And to Karen: "Mrs. Guild, will you
kindly open that bag?"
"Certainly. I have the key somewhere"--searching in her reticule. And as
she searched she lifted her eyes to Guild. Her face was dead white.
"Dearest," she said in a steady voice, "will you go to the chemist's
while I am opening my bag. I _must_ have something for this headache."
Her agonized eyes said: "Save yourself while you can; I am caught!"
But Guild turned and came back to her, close, standing beside her.
"I'll open the luggage," he said quietly. "You had better step ashore
and get what you need." And, in a whisper: "Go straight to the American
Ambassador and tell him everything."
She whispered: "No; I beg of you go. I beg of you, Kervyn."
He shook his head and they stood there together; he grave and silent,
assailed by a terrible premonition; she white as death, mechanically
fumbling in her reticule with slim, childish fingers.
The official was deeply immersed in the passports and continued so even
when Karen's tremulous fingers held the key. "Give it to me," whispered
Guild.
"No--" She beckoned the porter, took the satchel, and at the same moment
the official looked up at her, then holding both passports, came over to
where they were standing.
"Your papers are in order, Mr. Guild," he said. "Now, Mrs. Guild, if you
will open your satchel----"
"I'll attend to that, Holden," broke in a careless voice, and the
satchel was taken out of Karen's hands by a short, dark young man in
uniform. "I want you to go forward and look at a gentleman for The Hague
who has no papers. He's listed as Begley. Do you mind?"
"Right," said Holden. "Here, Mitchell, these papers are satisfactory.
Look over Mr. Guild's luggage and come forward when you're finished.
What's his name? Begley?"
"Yes, American. I'll be with you in a moment."
Holden hastened forward; Mitchell looked after him for a moment, then
calmly handed back the unopened satchel to Karen and while she held it
he made a mark on it with a bit of chalk.
"I pass your luggage," he said in a low voice, stooping and marking the
suit-case and Guild's sack. "You have nothing to fear at Amsterdam, but
there are spies on this steamer. Best go to your cabin and stay there
until the boat docks."
The girl bent her little head in silence; the porter resumed the luggage
and piloted them aft through an ill-lighted corridor. When he came to
the door of their cabin he called a steward, took his tip from Guild,
touched his cap and went away.
The steward opened the stateroom door for them, set the luggage on the
lounge, asked if there was anything more he could do, was told that
there was not, and took himself off.
Guild locked the door after him, turned and looked down at the girl, who
had sunk trembling upon the lounge.
"What is there in that satchel?" he asked coldly.
"I don't know."
"_What!_" he said in a contemptuous voice.
"Kervyn--my friend--I do not know," she stammered.
"You _must_ know! You packed it!"
"Yes. But I do not know. Can't you believe me?"
"How can I? You know what you put into that satchel, don't you?"
"I--put in toilet articles--night clothes--money."
"What else? You put in something else, didn't you? Something that has
made you horribly afraid!"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"Kervyn--I don't _know_ what it is. I must not know. It is a matter of
honour."
"If you don't know what it is you carry in that satchel you evidently
suspect what it might prove to be."
"Yes."
"You have very strong suspicions?"
"Yes, I have."
"Why did you take such a thing?"
"I promised."
"Whom?"
"I can't tell you. It is a matter of honour. I--I didn't want to involve
you if things turned badly. I asked you to leave me.... Even at the last
moment I tried to give you a chance to go ashore and escape. Kervyn,
I've tried to be honourable and to be loyal to you at the same time.
I've tried--I've tried--" Her childish voice faltered, almost broke, and
she turned her head sharply away from him.
He dropped onto the lounge beside her, sick with anxiety, and laid his
hand over hers where it lay in her lap.
"I'm afraid that you have papers in that satchel which might mean the
end of the world for you," he said under his breath. "God alone knows
why you carry them if you suspect their contents.... Well, I won't ask
you anything more at present.... If your conscience acquits you, I do. I
do anyway. You have given me plenty of chances to escape. You have been
very plucky, very generous to me, Karen."
"I have tried to be," she said unsteadily. "You have been far too kind
to me, Kervyn.... I--I don't mean to tremble so. I think I am, feeling
the--the reaction."
"Lie down. I am afraid I'll have to stay here----"
"Yes; don't go out on deck. Don't take any more risks.... I'll lie down
if I may." She rose, looked around with eyes still darkly dilated by
fear:
"Oh!" she breathed--"if we were only out of British waters!"
He looked at his watch, and at the same moment a deep blast from the
steamer vibrated through the cabin.
"They've cast off," he said calmly.
The girl had flung herself on the bed and buried her face in the pillow.
Her brown velvet hat had fallen to the floor, her thick brown hair
clustered in glossy disorder over neck and cheek. One slim hand clutched
convulsively a tiny handkerchief crushed into a ball.
"We have every chance now," he said very gently, bending over the
pillow--"barring a wireless to some British guard-ship. Don't give way
yet, Karen." He laid a cool, firm hand over hers and tried to speak
jestingly. "Wait until there's no danger at all before you go all to
pieces," he whispered.
As he bent above her, he became conscious of the warm fragrance of
tears. But no sound came, not a quiver. And after a while he went over
to the sofa and sat down, staring at the locked satchel on the floor,
vaguely aware that the boat was in steady motion.
"Karen," he said after a moment.
"Yes--dear."
"You know," he said, forcing a laugh, "you needn't say it when we're
alone--except for practice."
"Yes, dear, I know."
"May I ask you something?"
"Yes, please."
"Did you know that official named Mitchell?"
"Yes."
"Who was he?"
"Mr. Grätz."