Before eleven o’clock the Daughters of Jael, accorded the place of honor
at every banquet hall, had succeeded in slipping from drunken soldiers
and sailors thousands of arms. Swift automobiles, commandeered by their
persuasive voices, or taken by direct attack from maudlin chauffeurs,
were speeding with these guns to the appointed places. More than two
hundred thousand soldiers of the Imperial Army have deserted to our
colors.
Ten thousand rough riders from the Western plains had been smuggled into
the suburban districts of New York since the embargo on horses had been
lifted. They were armed with lances and only awaited the advent of
revolvers to lead the attack.
Each soldier from the Far West had reached the Eastern seaboard as an
individual and reported secretly to his commander. They were in their
brown kahki suits tonight stripped for action, awaiting the signal to
strike.
Billy Holland, a captain of infantry, had been chosen by Vassar to lead
the assault on Waldron’s place. His sweetheart and sister were behind
the walls of the Governor-General’s magnificent house and the division
leader knew the boy’s mettle. That he would give a good account of
himself Vassar was absolutely sure.
As Waldron entered the grand ballroom, accompanied by Virginia, Marya,
Zonia and a group of young admiring officers, Billy led his men
cautiously through the underbrush toward the house.
On the signal of the toast to the Emperor, the Daughters of Jael had
agreed to join their lovers, extinguish the lights, strike down the
sentinels and the rest would be easy.
The men in the palace were joyously drunk before eleven. Only a few
officers survived the siren call of the cup urged by the charming girls
in their white and gold uniforms.
Waldron led the dancing with Virginia Holland. He moved with the easy
grace of a master, never missing for an instant the perfect rhythm of
her lithe, graceful body.
The surprise of the evening for the Governor-General had been the
appearance of every American woman wearing the shining helmet of the
soldier of the ranks in token of their full surrender to Imperial
authority.
“A beautiful idea--those helmets!” he whispered as they swept through
the throng.
“You are pleased?”
“I am more than pleased, I am happy tonight. I know that only your
brilliant imagination could have conceived so graceful a tribute to my
Imperial Master--”
He paused.
“You are closer to me tonight than ever before,” he said softly. “I feel
it, I know it.”
She turned her head and breathed her answer:
“Yes--”
The dancing ended at eleven-thirty. Waldron gave his arm to Virginia and
led the way to the banquet tables. A band of stringed instruments,
concealed in bowers of roses, filled the room with exquisite music. The
waiters moved with swift, noiseless tread.
The revelry steadily grew faster, the drinking deeper, the dancing more
exciting.
Billy’s men had dropped flat and were crawling toward the open space in
front of the palace when a light footfall was distinctly heard
approaching. Billy lifted his head and saw Zonia. She halted with quick
precision and gave the countersign.
In a moment she was in his arms.
“What on earth’s the matter, little girl?” he whispered excitedly.
“Virginia fears that Waldron suspects,” was the quick answer.
“Nonsense”--
“He has doubled the guard--Virginia says you’d better retreat until a
full division comes up--”
“I’ll not do it,” Billy broke in. “Four to one, or ten to one, I’m going
to take that house--”
“She’ll give the signal if I don’t return,” Zonia warned.
“All right--I’m ready,” was the firm response. In quick business fashion
Billy led Zonia back of his lines. “Wait here and report if I fail”--
The young Captain crept back to his place and watched for the flash from
the Madison Square tower and the signal of lights out from within.
On the stroke of twelve, Waldron rose, lifted his glass and gave the
toast--the exact form of which he had sent to every toastmaster in
America:
“To the Lord of War--master of the world--the Emperor!”
Virginia’s left hand clasped the glass, her right was lifted with
nervous intensity giving the sign of the Daughters of Jael to Marya
whose hand was on the electric switch. The searchlight on the Madison
Square tower flashed and every whistle in the city and harbor screamed
its tribute.
With a sudden click the lights went out. In total darkness again and
again the blows of the dagger found their mark on the sentinels at the
door. Over the curses, groans and shouts rang the shrill battle cry of
the Daughters of Jael:
“For _our_ God and country!”
Waldron’s keen eye caught the tremor of Virginia’s fingers as she gave
the sign to Marya. The uplifted glass came down with a crash and his
iron fist closed on her right hand.
“So!” he growled.
She fought with tigress strength to free her hand and reach the knife
concealed in her bodice.
Waldron shouted through the darkness, “Lights! Lights!”
His servants threw the switch in vain. The current had been cut.
With muttered curses he choked Virginia still, carried her in his arms
into his library, tore the knife from her bodice and flung her across
the room.
“Move a muscle now--damn you! and I’ll blow your brains out.” He had
found a pair of automatics in his table drawer.
He called from the doorway and two guards who had rushed in from the
lawn answered.
He pointed to Virginia.
“If she moves, shoot her dead in her tracks. Stay until I return.”
He sprang up the narrow steps to the wireless tower. His operator sat
lifeless in his chair.
He seized the keys and called central in the Woolworth tower.
“The Garrison to arms! At once--every man to his place and every ship’s
deck cleared!”
The tower answered O. K.
Vassar sprang to his feet trembling with alarm.
She had failed at the Palace. What did it mean? Her life was in peril.
There could be no doubt of it.
He called every wireless station of the enemy on the North Atlantic. Not
one answered.
“Good!” he muttered.
He summoned the nearest operator to his relief in the tower:
“Come, for God’s sake, quick,” he called to Brooklyn, “and bring me a
car--there’s trouble at the Palace--”
“Coming!” the answer sang.
In fifteen minutes an automobile dashed across the bridge and drew up on
the curb at the Woolworth building.
The new operator took his instructions and Vassar turned to the
chauffeur:
“Quick now--to the _Sixty-ninth_ Regiment Armory. We have men and guns
there.”
Angela had waited in the machine for her leader to leap from the Palace
and drive to the first cavalry rendezvous in Westchester. Her chauffeur
sat by her side, smiling, his belt and automatic about her waist.
She heard the shout of Waldron for the guards and knew that the complete
plan had failed. Billy’s men had been crushed by superior numbers and
driven to the foot of the hill. The great man’s servants were trained
soldiers. They would fight like devils inside.
With quick wit she threw in the clutch and the big touring-car shot down
the road and flew over the smooth open way of Riverside Drive. In
fifteen minutes she overtook the first division of horsemen on the
outskirts of the city galloping to their appointed rendezvous.
“To the Palace of the Governor-General! Quick!” she shouted to the
Captain. “Take my car--I can take your horse--quick! Quick! Our leader’s
a prisoner--or dead--they fight and fight. Quick!”
The Captain sprang from his horse, called to the chauffeur, leaped into
the car and gave his horse to Angela. She had learned horsemanship too
in these two years of training.
“You know the rendezvous?” the Captain called.
“Si, signor!” Angela answered. “I know. I have been to every spot. I was
to drive my leader there. I go! I tell them. You go to her quick--for
God’s sake--quick!”
Urged by her low, nervous voice the horse dashed down the roadway
through Yonkers and on to summon the men.
Waldron returned to the banquet hall--an automatic in each hand. He was
a man of dauntless courage. The lights were on again. His assistant
engineer had found the break and hastily repaired it.
The magnificent hall was deserted. Only the dead sentinels lay in pools
of blood on the slippery floor. The Daughters of Jael had done their
work and gone--their task to disarm the enemy and deliver the equipments
to our waiting men. Every sword and automatic had fallen into their
hands except those worn by the sleeping guard in their quarters and the
half-dozen men who were scattered over the lawn.
Waldron quickly brought order out of chaos, barred his doors and found
that he held his castle still with eighty faithful soldiers and a dozen
wounded servants.
He entered the library and took his place as the special guard of
Virginia.
He deliberately took her in his arms and kissed her lips. Her mind was
still stunned by the anguish of her failure. There was no longer
feeling in body or soul. Nothing mattered.
“You’re mine!” he cried fiercely. “I hold you Cossack fashion now!”
He paused in breathless rage, stepped close and struck her a stinging
blow with his open hand. She fell across a divan and he stood over the
prostrate body with clenched fists.
“To think,” he growled, “that I made this idiotic blunder to win your
smile! Well, it’s mine! I’ve won it--do you hear? You’ve failed! My men
are coming--do you hear?”
The slender, graceful form lay limp and still--the face chalk-white. She
had swooned at last. The blow was more than unconquered pride could
endure.
He gazed a moment with bloodshot eyes, dropped suddenly on his knees and
took her in his arms.
“I love you--I love you--and you’re all mine now--all--all mine, body
and soul! My Lucretia Borgia--eh? Well, you’ve found your master. And
you’re worth the fight!”