THE TRAP
At ten o’clock on Thursday morning Karl Weiss presented himself at a
certain room in the War Office, as he had been requested by letter,
and there found a grave, gray-haired official awaiting him. As a
matter of fact it was Webster.
When Karl was seated the elder man, leaning back in his writing-chair,
said:
“I understand, Mr. Weiss, from our records here that you have already
been employed by us in certain confidential matters, and that you wish
to reënter our service?”
“That is so,” replied the young man, who looked every inch a German
officer.
“You are able to pass yourself off as a German, eh?”
“I have done it many times, in Berlin and other towns in Germany.”
“Then you could go to Russia with safety, I suppose?”
“With perfect safety. I have a Russian friend in Moscow. He was in
Berlin with me.”
“And you would be prepared to carry out a little confidential mission
for us in Russia?” asked the official seated at the table. “I am
instructed from a certain quarter to offer you a gratuity of one
thousand pounds a year and all traveling and hotel expenses, providing
that you place yourself entirely at the service of the department
engaging you.”
Karl’s heart leapt with joy. From unemployment with only Canada in
prospect, he was to drop into an easy and congenial post--a
confidential mission to Russia!
He accepted with eagerness.
“Very well,” said the gray-haired official. “We need not go over your
references. We have them all here. To-day is Thursday. Will you call
here at eleven o’clock on Monday morning, when an amount will be paid
to you in advance for expenses, and exact instructions given you as to
what information we desire?”
Karl Weiss went out into Whitehall treading on air, and took a taxi to
Edris’s club off Oxford Street, where she awaited him. Meanwhile, the
man who had interviewed the candidate for employment in the Secret
Service, crossed to the office in Trafalgar Square, and rang up
Darville at Stagsden.
When Seton took up the receiver he heard the familiar buzzing, and
knew that his office wished to speak.
“Amerton there?” asked a voice he recognized. The voice used
Darville’s code name.
“Yes. What report?” he asked quickly.
“All settled. He comes again for pay and instructions on Monday at
eleven.”
“Thanks. What report concerning the pair?”
“They dined at the Villa Villa after she met him, and afterwards sat
in the lounge of his hotel. He saw her to the Carlton, and left her at
twelve.”
“Good. Report again to-night at eight,” said Darville in those quick,
business-like tones he used when dealing with confidential matters.
And then he rang off.
When Karl met Edris in the lounge of her club he at once told her the
good news.
“You see your Government trusts me, or they would not give me such a
mission,” he said. “They know what I did for them in Berlin, and they
appreciate it. Now that I am in employment you need not hesitate to
tell old Darville of our engagement.”
“He already knows,” she said. “He has known everything all along, and
that accounts for his strangely suspicious behavior towards me.”
“Known it!” gasped the man. “How? You never betrayed our secret?” he
asked fiercely.
“No. But he has known, nevertheless, and has kept his knowledge of our
treachery to himself.”
Karl’s face clouded, and a hard, evil expression showed at the corners
of his mouth.
“He had better not interfere with my love for you, or he will repent
it,” he said threateningly, and he placed his hand upon his
hip-pocket, where he had his automatic pistol, in order to frighten
her.
To his surprise he saw that she was unmoved by his threats. She had
become quite used to them.
The pair were in ignorance that it was known to Darville that the
Swiss carried a revolver without a permit, and that he had given
orders for his arrest on arrival at Dover as an armed alien, and that
he should be sent back to Switzerland. He had taken that precaution in
order to prevent him coming to London at all, and it was only on the
day prior to his arrival that he had telegraphed and rescinded his
order.
The man who was at enmity with Seton Darville had indeed but little
chance when he chose to use the hidden and subtle power within his
hands.
After luncheon they spent the day walking and sitting in Hyde Park and
in Kensington Gardens, Karl being full of vituperation against Seton.
“I will show him now who will succeed,” he cried angrily, as they were
resting upon a seat in the Broad Walk. “I have a position with the
Government, and I will speak my mind. I will write to him, and defy
him to come between us!”
“You forget that I belonged to Seton before I met you,” she
remonstrated mildly.
“I do not care,” he swung round angrily. “You can never love an old
man like that! I have come into your life. I am young and strong, and
you love me. That you can’t deny, darling. You have told me so.”
For an hour he sat discussing the best way to give Seton Darville his
_congé_.
“You will never find a man who worships you as I do, Edris,” he said.
“You must get rid of him, and take me down to Stagsden before I go to
Russia. I demand to meet the General and your mother.”
There was silence for a few minutes, and then the girl said:
“I have never before had the experience of being loved by two men at
the same time,” and her beautiful eyes clouded. “Your word, demand,
is, however, rather out of place.”
“Forgive me,” the man said instantly, but frowning. “Sometimes I use
your words wrongly. English is, as you know, very difficult to speak
correctly.”
He had made a demand, but tried to evade the consequences of his _faux
pas_, for he saw she was annoyed.
Edris was a girl of spirit, and the little breach soon widened that
afternoon. Since his interview at the War Office he had become
arrogant and overbearing. He told her that he possessed her, and he
openly threatened Darville, if he dared to interfere. The truth was
that he knew from the first that she had money of her own, and was
quick to realize that, as she had fallen beneath his blandishments,
like so many other women had before her, she would be an easy prey.
Now that he held a Government appointment marriage would be easier.
He hated Darville--hated his high reputation, his fame as a traveler,
and his popularity everywhere; he hated to see his books displayed,
hence he jeered at them. In his own estimation, and in the estimation
of the women he fascinated, he was a perfect Adonis, a wonderful hero.
In his own egotism he believed that his appointment had, in itself,
proved his claim to distinction. Neither he nor Edris dreamed that the
hidden hand of the man whose friendship he had betrayed was now raised
against him, and was sending him to his doom. They never dreamed that
their every movement in London was being watched, unseen, by a pair of
alert eyes, and that all their doings were being reported to the
discarded man, who, pale and anxious, was wandering aimlessly in the
grounds at Stagsden with Edris’s great Dane as companion.
Darville, tricked, mortified, and now staggered by the amazing cunning
of the lovers, spoke many times to Lord Simba of his absent mistress,
while the splendid animal, walking grandly at his side, looked up at
him mutely, as though understanding his words. In the coppice he
patted his sleek coat, and said:
“Ah, Simba! To-morrow, old boy, I shall leave you, never to see you
again!”
And with difficulty he swallowed the lump which arose in his throat.
After luncheon he was putting on his coat prior to taking Lord Simba
for another walk when the maid called him to the telephone box in the
hall, and he found that Edris was speaking.
“Seti, could you come to town this evening? I particularly want to see
you. I’m at the Carlton. Can I reserve a room for you? Please don’t
refuse me this one request. I have something particular to say to
you.”
“I thought you did not want me in London while Karl was with you,” he
replied very coldly.
“To discuss matters over the ’phone is impossible, dear. I beg you to
come and see me to-night. Will you come, Seti--for my sake? Do come!”
He hesitated, and made no reply.
“Can you hear me?” she asked in desperation. And then she repeated her
urgent, despairing appeal.
“I really don’t see what object there is in our meeting,” he replied.
“Karl is with you.”
“Yes, but he is going to Russia, not to Canada, and----”
“Well, I will not intrude upon you,” Darville answered. “You will, no
doubt, spend a pleasant evening together.”
“Surely, Seti, you, who have always indulged me in my little whims,
and my wishes, will not forsake me now. I beg of you to come up at
once and see me. I want you. Do you understand those words?”
“Hardly,” he replied with a bitter laugh.
“Do come, Seti--for the sake of our old love,” she implored. “I must
see you to-night. If you catch the 4.40, you’ll be in time for a late
dinner in the grill-room. I’ll be in my room, 246, at ten o’clock,
awaiting you. Surely you will not refuse me this last favor that I ask
of you? I fear, in the circumstances, to ask it, but I--I ask it in
all penitence,” and he heard that her voice was faltering and broken.
For a few seconds he reflected.
“Very well, Edris,” he replied; “I will be with you at ten.”
He could hear the big sigh of relief she gave when he acceded to her
appeal. Then he rang off and went to pack his suit-case.
Punctually at ten o’clock he tapped at the door of room No. 246 in the
Carlton Hotel, and next second she opened it to admit him. She noticed
how hard-faced and austere he was as she closed the door.
She was wearing a wonderful flame-colored dance-frock trimmed with
silver. Womanlike, she held out her hand to him as though nothing had
happened. But he did not take it.
She rushed to him, clasped her arms about him, and kissed him with
tears in her eyes.
“It is so good of you to come, my dear heart. I--I feared that you
would refuse. But I want you--I want to tell you everything, and then
I’ll leave you to judge me as you will.”
“Karl Weiss is my enemy. I hate him,” he said, flashing into bitter
anger, as he stood near the dressing-table.
“Yes, you have just cause to do so,” she sobbed. “I want your
forgiveness, your sympathy--your great love.”
“You cannot want my love, Edris, when you are engaged to that man,” he
said, with a hard, serious expression.
“Oh, I know too well what you must think of me--how you must despise
me as callous and worthless. I have been. I admit it all. But there
have been extenuating circumstances in the crime I have committed--the
crime of so basely deceiving you--the man who loves me, and towards
whom I have been devoted.”
“Devoted!” he echoed jeeringly. “You have shown great devotion to me,
have you not?”
“I have been fascinated, deluded, and misled by the man you believed
was your friend. I had for him a fatal infatuation. Why, I cannot
tell,” she cried, clinging again to him. “From the first moment I met
him in Interlaken I felt some strange spell over me. But I swear that
I have never ceased to love you. I----”
“How can I believe that, in face of his letters to you concerning
myself? Do not forget your deception at Wengen, and the hours you
spent in his arms.” Darville’s face was hard.
“I know I have lied to you,” she went on, “but I have lied in
defense.”
“In defense of what?”
“In defense of him.”
He gazed with tragic fascination at the girl he had loved, worked for,
hoped for, and lost.
“Because you loved him,” he said quietly.
“No, it was not that--I swear it was not. I have never loved him. I
loved only you, Seti. He attracted me by some extraordinary evil power
of fascination he possesses. He fascinated and infatuated me, until I
was as clay in his hands. Whatever caused me to do what I have done, I
cannot tell. When I wrote those cruel letters I could not have been in
my senses. But now I have seen him here in my own country I have
become disillusioned, and I have realized that it is all a tragedy
which I brought upon you--that my infatuation for him is at an end. I
love only you, and, as far as he is concerned, he has now passed out
of my life for ever. Will you believe me?” she added in frantic
appeal. True to her pride and principles, she stood awaiting his
reply, prepared to abide by his decision. She was beaten, and knew it.
She looked up and met his eyes. They were kind, dark, still, and
clear. It was the crucial moment of both their lives.
“Then you have discarded him?” he asked with a sigh. He laughed a
little, with an impatient note.
Edris flushed, and then grew white; her eyes closed for a moment, and
then opened and looked at him. He never forgot them, nor their
expression. The old love-light was returning. It was that which
softened him.
He placed his hand lightly upon her dark, shingled head.
“Yes,” she said, with a catch in her voice, “I have discarded him,
Seti, and I have returned to you, if--if I dare face you again.”
And, again in tears, she fell upon her knees, and, clutching his
strong hand, covered it with hot, passionate kisses.