“Can’t you get me more certain information?”
“I will try.”
“How will you set about it?”
“There are some sailors’ taverns here, where I hope to get on the track.
But they are desperate fellows, and it is dangerous to meddle with
them.”
“If you will point out the taverns to me, I will have all the customers
arrested to-night.”
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t, Herr major! We should ruin everything by
that. These men would let themselves be cut to pieces rather than betray
anything to you. If anyone can get them to speak, it is myself.”
“Wouldn’t you be trusting them too much?”
“No, no. I know best how to deal with them, and I know many ways of
making them open their mouths.”
“Well, do what you can. The matter is important. I am very anxious to
find someone to obtain trustworthy information about the British fleet,
and you know we don’t spare money.”
Penurot was ready to attempt his difficult task at once, and took
leave of Heideck, promising to meet him soon after midnight at the same
tavern. Heideck left the restaurant soon after him, and walked along
the quay Van Dyck, to cool his heated brow. In time of war the town
presented a strangely altered appearance. There was a swarm of German
soldiers in the streets; the usual busy traffic at the harbour had
entirely ceased. There had been no trade since the German warships, like
floating citadels, had been lying in the Schelde. And yet it was almost
incomprehensible, how the change had come about so rapidly. Antwerp
was an almost impregnable fortress, if the flooding of the surrounding
country was undertaken in time. But the Belgian Government had not even
made an attempt at defence, when the vanguard of the seventh and
eighth army corps had appeared in the neighbourhood of the town. It had
surrendered the fortress at once, with all its strong outer forts,
to the German military commanders and had withdrawn its own army. The
Imperial Chancellor was certainly right in attaching such importance
to the possession of Antwerp by Germany. The population was almost
exclusively Flemish, and Antwerp was thus in nationality a German town.
From the general political situation Heideck’s thoughts returned to
Edith and her letter, and at last he decided to write to her that very
evening.
To carry out his intention, he went back to the restaurant where he
had met Penurot, and called for ink and paper. When he had finished his
letter, he looked over the words he had written, in which, contrary to
his usual practice, he had given utterance to his real feelings:--
“MY DEAR EDITH,--In the exercise of my duty, I accidentally came into
possession of your letter to Frau Amelungen. I was looking for something
quite different at the time, and you can imagine how great was my
surprise at the unexpected discovery.
“From the hour when we were obliged to separate and you, possibly not
without resentment and reproach, held out your hand at parting, I have
felt more and more how indispensable you are to me. I treasure every
word you have said to me, every look you have bestowed upon me, and
your image is before my mind, ever brighter, ever more beautiful. I have
never met a woman whose mind was so beautiful, so refined, so keen as
yours. I must confess that your ideas at first sometimes terrified me.
Your views are often so far removed from the commonplace, so far above
the ordinary, that it needs time to estimate them correctly. If I now
recall to mind what formerly seemed strange to me, it is only with
feelings of admiration. From day to day the impression you made upon
me at our first conversation has sunk deeper into my mind, and the
comforting certainty, that love for you will fill my entire life in the
future, grows more and more unshakable.
“Nevertheless, I may not regret that I had the strength to leave you
at Naples. The beautiful dream of our life together would have been
disturbed too soon by the rude reality. My duty calls me from one place
to another, and as long as this war lasts I am not my own master for an
hour. We must have patience, Edith. Even this campaign cannot last for
ever, and if Heaven has decreed that I shall come out of it alive, we
shall meet again, never more to part.
“You may not be able to answer this letter, for communication with
Frau Amelungen is interrupted. But I know you will answer me if it is
possible, and I am happy to think that, by letting you know I am alive,
I have given you a pleasure, soon, I hope, to be followed by the
still greater happiness of meeting again. Let us wait patiently and
confidently for that hour!”
He sealed the letter and put it in his pocket, in order to hand it over
to Brandelaar on the following day. He then waited for the reappearance
of Penurot, who had promised to be back at midnight. But although he
waited nearly an hour over the time in the tavern, he waited in vain.
The terms in which Herr Amelungen’s natural son had spoken of the people
he intended to look for that evening made the Major anxious about his
fate. Before returning to his quarters, he paid a visit to the town
police office, requesting that a search might be made in the less
reputable sailors’ taverns near the harbour for M. Camille Penurot, of
whose appearance he gave a careful description.
As there was no news of him on the following morning, Heideck felt
almost certain that the affair had turned out disastrously for Penurot.
However, for the moment, he could not stop to investigate the young
man’s whereabouts.
He was informed by the Lieutenant-Colonel that Brandelaar, whose vessel
actually lay off Ternenzen, had been arrested with his crew, examined,
and liberated during the course of the night, as had been agreed between
the two officers.
Heideck now set out for Ternenzen to give Brandelaar the information for
Admiral Hollway that had been collected at his office, together with the
private information that was of such importance to him.
At last, having paid Brandelaar a thousand francs on account, Heideck
also gave him the letter to Edith, with careful instructions as to
its delivery. The skipper, whose zeal for the cause of Germany was now
undoubtedly honourable, repeatedly promised to carry out his orders
conscientiously and to the best of his power.
On returning to Antwerp at noon, Heideck found a communication at his
office from the police to the effect that Camille Penurot’s body had
been found in one of the harbour basins, stabbed in several places in
the breast and neck. A search for the assassins had been immediately set
on foot, but up to the present no trace of them had been discovered.
XXIX
A WOMAN’S TREACHERY
According to the agreement with Heideck, Brandelaar, on his return
from Dover, was to put in at Flushing, and the Major had instructed the
guardships at the mouth of the West Schelde to allow the smack to pass
unmolested without detention. But he waited for the skipper from day
to day in vain. The weather could not have been the cause of his delay;
certainly it had not been too bad for a man of Brandelaar’s daring. A
moderate north wind had been blowing nearly the whole time, so that a
clever sailor could have easily made the passage from Dover to Flushing
in a day.
Consequently, other reasons must have kept him in England. Heideck began
to fear that either his knowledge of men, so often tried, had deceived
him on this occasion, or that Brandelaar had fallen a victim to some act
of imprudence in England.
A whole week having passed since Brandelaar had started, Heideck at
least hoped for his return to-day. The north wind had increased towards
evening; there was almost a storm, and the blast rattled violently at
the windows of the room in the hotel, in which Heideck sat still writing
at midnight.
A gentle knock at the door made him look up from his work. Who could
have come to see him at this late hour? It was certainly not an orderly
from his office, which was open day and night, for soldiers’ fingers as
a rule knocked harder.
“Come in!” he said. The door opened slowly, and Heideck saw, in the
dimly-lighted corridor, a slender form in a long oilskin cape and
a large sailor’s hat, the brim of which was pressed down over the
forehead.
A wild idea flashed through Heideck’s mind. He sprang up, and at the
same moment the pretended young man tore off his hat and held out his
arms with a cry of joy.
“My dear--my beloved friend!”
“Edith!”
At this moment all other thoughts and feelings were forgotten by Heideck
in the overpowering joy of seeing her again. He rushed to Edith and
drew her to his breast. For a long time they remained silent in a
long embrace, looking into each other’s eyes and laughing like merry
children.
At last, slowly freeing herself from his arms, Edith said--
“You are not angry with me, then, for coming to you, although you
forbade it? You will not send me away from you again?”
Her voice penetrated his ear like sweet, soothing music. What man could
have resisted that seductive voice?
“I should like to be angry with you, my dear, but I cannot--Heaven knows
I cannot!”
“I could not have lived any longer without you,” whispered the young
woman. “I was obliged to see you again, or I should have died of
longing.”
“My sweet, my only love! But what is the meaning of this disguise? And
how did you manage to cross the Channel?”
“I took the way you showed me. And is my disguise so very displeasing to
you?”
She had thrown off the ugly, disfiguring cape and stood before him in
a dark blue sailor’s dress. Even in her dress as an Indian rajah he had
not thought her more enchanting.
“The only thing that displeases me is that other eyes than mine have
been allowed to see you in it. But you still owe me an explanation how
you got here?”
“With your messenger of love, your postillon d’amour, who was certainly
rather uncouth and awkward for so delicate a mission.”
“What! did you come with Brandelaar?” cried Heideck, in surprise.
“Yes. The moment I received your letter from his clumsy sailor’s fist,
my mind was made up. I asked him whether he was returning to Flushing,
and when he said yes, I declared he must take me with him, cost what
it would. I would have paid him all I possessed, without hesitation, to
take me across. But the good fellow did it for much less.”
“You foolish girl!” said Heideck reprovingly. But pride in his
beautiful, fearless darling shone brightly from his eyes. “I shall have
to take Brandelaar seriously to task for playing so reckless a game. But
what made him so long in returning?”
“I believe he had all kinds of private business to see after. And he was
not the only one--I had my business too. I did not want to come to you
empty-handed, my friend.”
“Empty-handed? I don’t understand.”
“I puzzled my brains how I could please you, and appease your anger at
my sudden appearance--that terrible anger, of which I felt so afraid.
And as I heard from Brandelaar that it is your duty to discover military
secrets--”
“The worthy Brandelaar is a chatterer. It seems as if your beautiful
eyes have tempted him to open his whole heart to you.”
“And if it had been the case,” she asked, with a roguish smile, “would
you not have every reason to be grateful to him as well as myself? But
really--you don’t even know what I have brought for you. Aren’t you the
least curious?”
“No military secret, I suppose?”
He spoke jestingly, but she nodded seriously.
“Yes--a great secret. Chance helped me, or I should hardly have got hold
of it. There it is! But be sure I shall claim an adequate reward for
it.”
She handed him a sealed envelope, which she had kept concealed under her
dress. When Heideck, with growing excitement, spread out the paper it
contained, he recognised at the first glance the blue stamped paper of
the English Admiralty.
No sooner had he read the first lines than he started up in the most
violent excitement. His face had become dark red, a deep furrow showed
itself between his eyebrows.
“What is this?” he ejaculated. “For God’s sake, Edith, how did you come
by this paper?”
“How did I come by it? Oh, that’s quite a secondary consideration. The
chief thing is, whether it is of any value to you or not. But aren’t you
pleased with it?”
Heideck was still staring like one hypnotised at the paper covered with
the regularly formed writing of a practised clerk’s hand.
“Incomprehensible!” he murmured. Then, suddenly looking at Edith almost
threateningly, he repeated--
“How did you come by it?”
“You are questioning me like a magistrate. But you may know, for all
I care. The brother of the lady with whom I was staying in Dover is
private secretary to the Admiralty--a poor fellow, suffering from
disease of the lungs, whose one desire was to go to Egypt or Madeira, to
get relief from his sufferings. By finding him the means for this I
have done an act of philanthrophy. I asked him, in return for a further
present of money, to give me the copy of an important document connected
with his department.”
She suddenly broke off, and Heideck burst out into a short, sharp laugh
which filled her with surprise and alarm.
“An act of philanthrophy!” he repeated in a tone of unspeakable
bitterness. “Did you know what this man was selling to you?”
“He said it was the English fleet’s plan of attack, and I thought it
would interest you.”
“But surely you must have known how far-reaching would be the
consequences of your act? Had you no suspicion that irreparable harm
might overtake your country, if this plan came to the knowledge of its
enemies?”
His voice quivered with fearful anxiety, but Edith did not seem to
understand his excitement.
“I understand you less and less,” she said impatiently. “It can only be
one of two things. Either this paper is of importance to you, and then
you ought to feel the more grateful to me, the more important it is. Or
the secretary has deceived me as to its value. Then it isn’t worth the
trouble of saying any more about it.”
“Do you look at it in that light, Edith?” he said, mournfully. “Only in
that light? Did you only think of yourself and me, when you bribed an
unfortunate wretch to commit the most disgraceful of all crimes?”
“Oh, my dearest, what strong language! I was not prepared for such
reproaches. Certainly I was only thinking of you and me, and I am not
in the least ashamed to confess it, for there is nothing in the world of
more importance for me than our love.”
“And your country, Edith? is that of no account?”
“My country--what is it? A piece of earth with stones, trees, animals,
and men who are nothing to me, to whom I owe nothing and am indebted for
nothing. Why should I love them more than the inhabitants of any other
region, amongst whom there are just as many good and bad people as
amongst them? I am an Englishwoman: well, but I am also a Christian.
And who would have the right to condemn me, if the commandments of
Christianity were more sacred to me than all narrow-minded, national
considerations? If the possession of this paper really made you the
stronger--if it should bring defeat upon England, instead of the
hoped-for victory which would only endlessly prolong the war--what would
mankind lose thereby? Perhaps peace would be the sooner concluded, and,
justly proud of my act, I would then confess before all the world.”
Heideck had not interrupted her, but she saw that her words had not
convinced him. With gloomy countenance he stood before her, breathing
hard, like one whose heart is oppressed by a heavy burden.
“Forgive me, but I cannot follow your train of thought,” said he, with
a melancholy shake of the head. “There are things which cannot be
extenuated however we may try to palliate them.”
“Well, then, if you think what I have done so monstrous, what is there
to prevent us from undoing it? Give me back the paper; I will tear it
up. Then no one will be injured by my treachery.”
“It is too late for that. Now that I know what this paper contains,
my sense of duty as an officer commands me to make use of it. You have
involved me in a fearful struggle with myself.”
“Oh, is that your logic? Your sense of honour does not forbid you to
reap the fruits of my treachery, but you punish the traitress with the
full weight of your contempt.”
He avoided meeting her flaming eyes.
“I did not say I despised you, but--”
“Well, what else do you mean?”
“Once again--I do not despise you, but it terrifies me to find what you
are capable of.”
“Is not that the same thing in other words? A man cannot love a woman
if he is terrified at her conduct. Tell me straight out that you can no
longer love me.”
“It would be a lie if I said so, Edith. You have killed our happiness,
but not my love.”
She only heard the last words of his answer, and with brightening eyes
flung herself on his breast.
“Then scold me as you like, you martinet! I will put up with anything
patiently, if only I know that you still love me, and that you will be
mine, all mine, as soon as this terrible war no longer stands between us
like a frightful spectre.”
He did not return her caresses, and gently pushed her from him.
“Forgive me, if I must leave you now,” he said in a singularly depressed
voice, “but I must be in Antwerp by daybreak.”
“Is it really so urgent? May I not go with you?”
“No, that is impossible, for I shall have to travel on an engine.”
“And when will you return?”
Heideck turned away his face.
“I don’t know. Perhaps I shall be sent on further, so that I shall have
no opportunity of saying good-bye to you.”
“In other words, you don’t mean to see me again? You are silent. You
cannot have the heart to deceive me. Must I remind you that you have
sworn to belong to me, if you survive this war?”
“If I survive it--yes!”
The tone of his reply struck her like a blow. She had no need to look at
him again, to know what was passing in his mind. Now for the first
time she understood that there was no further hope for her. Heideck had
spoken the truth, when he said he still loved her, and the horror which
he felt at her conduct did not, according to his conscience, release him
from his word. But as he at the same time felt absolutely certain that
he could never make a traitress to her country his wife, his idea of
the honour of a man and officer drove him to the only course which could
extricate him from this fearful conflict of duties.
He had sworn to marry her, if he survived the war. And since he could no
more keep his oath than break it, he had at this moment decided to put
an end to the struggle by seeking death, which his calling made it so
easy for him to find. With the keen insight of a woman in love Edith
read his mind like an open book. She knew him so well that she never for
a moment cherished the illusion that she could alter his mind by prayers
or tears. She knew that this man was ready to sacrifice everything for
her--everything save honour. Her mind had never been fuller of humble
admiration than at the moment when the knowledge that she had lost him
for ever spread a dark veil over all her sunny hopes of the future.
She did not say a word; and when her silence caused him to turn his
face again towards her, she saw an expression of unutterable pain in
his features, usually so well controlled. Then she also felt the growing
power of a great and courageous resolution. Her mind rose from the low
level of selfish passion to the height of self-sacrificing renunciation.
But it had never been her way to do by halves what she had once
determined to carry out. What was to be done admitted no cowardly delay,
no tender leave-taking must allow Heideck to guess that a knowledge of
his intentions had decided her course of action.
With that heroic self-command of which, perhaps, only a woman is capable
in such circumstances, she forced herself to appear outwardly calm and
composed.
“Then I am no longer anxious about our future, my friend,” she said
after a long silence, smiling painfully. “I will not detain you any
longer now; for I know that your duties as a soldier must stand first. I
am happy that I have been permitted to see you again. Not to hinder your
doing your duty in this serious time of war, I give you your freedom.
Perhaps your love will some day bring you back to me of your own accord.
And now, farewell.”
Her sudden resolution and the calmness with which she resigned herself
to this second separation must have seemed almost incomprehensible to
Heideck after what had passed. But her beautiful face betrayed so little
of the desperate hopelessness she felt, that, after a brief hesitation,
he regarded this singular change in the same light as the numerous other
surprises to which her mysterious nature had already treated him. She
had spoken with such quiet firmness, that he could no longer look upon
her resolution as the suggestion of a perverse or angry whim.
“For God’s sake, Edith, what do you intend to do?”
“I shall try to return to Dover to-morrow. I should only be in your way
here.”
“In that case, we should not see each other again before you leave?”
“You said yourself that there was little chance of that.”
“I am not my own master, and this information--”
“No excuse is necessary; no regard for me should hinder you in the
performance of your official duties. Once again then, good-bye, my dear,
my beloved friend! May Heaven protect you!”
She flung herself on his breast and kissed him; but only for a few
seconds did her soft arm linger round his neck. She did not wish to give
way, and yet she felt that she would not be able to control herself
much longer. She hurriedly picked up her oilskin cape from the floor and
seized her fisherman’s hat. Heideck fervently desired to say something
affectionate and tender, but his throat seemed choked as it were by an
invisible hand; he could only utter, in a voice that sounded cold and
dry, the words, “Farewell, my love! farewell!”
When he heard the door close behind her, he started up impetuously, as
if he meant to rush after her and call her back. But after the first
step he stood still and pressed his clenched left hand upon his
violently beating heart. His face, as if turned to stone, wore an
expression of inflexible resolution, and the corners of his mouth were
marked by two deep, sharp lines, as if within this single hour he had
aged ten years.
XXX
EDITH’S LAST JOURNEY
Skipper Brandelaar had given Edith the name of the inn near the harbour,
where he expected a message from Heideck in the course of the night; for
he felt certain that the Major would be anxious to speak to him as soon
as possible.
But he was considerably surprised when, instead of the messenger he
expected, he saw his beautiful disguised passenger enter the low,
smoke-begrimed taproom. He went to meet Edith with a certain clumsy
gallantry, to shield her from the curiosity and importunities of the
men seated with him at the table, whose weatherbeaten faces inspired as
little confidence as their clothing, which smelt of tar and had suffered
badly from wind and weather.
Utterly surprised, he was going to question Edith, but she anticipated
him.
“I must get back to Dover to-night,” she said hurriedly, in a low tone.
“Will you take me across? I will pay you what you ask.”
The skipper shook his head slowly, but resolutely.
“Impossible. Even if I could leave again, it couldn’t be done in such
weather.”
“It must be done. The weather is not so bad, and I know you are not the
man to be afraid of a storm.”
“Afraid--no! Very likely I have weathered a worse storm than this with
my smack. But there is a difference between the danger a man has to go
through when he cannot escape it, and that to which he foolishly exposes
himself. When I am on a journey, then come what pleases God, but--”
“No more, Brandelaar,” interrupted Edith impatiently. “If you cannot, or
will not go yourself, surely one of your acquaintances here is brave and
smart enough to earn a couple of hundred pounds without any difficulty.”
The skipper’s little eyes twinkled.
“A couple of hundred pounds? Is it really so important for you to leave
Flushing to-day? We have hardly landed!”
“Yes, it is very important. And I have already told you that I don’t
care how much it costs.”
The skipper, who had evidently begun to waver, rubbed his chin
thoughtfully.
“H’m! Anyhow, I couldn’t do it myself. I have important information for
the Herr major, and he would have a right to blame me, if I went away
without even so much as speaking to him. But perhaps--perhaps I
might find out a skipper who would take the risk, provided that I got
something out of it for myself.”