PACHMANN SCORES
Dan Webster never had any definite recollection of how he got to his
rooms. Somebody must have carried his bags to a cab and put them and him
inside it, and he must have given the cabby the number of the
apartment-house where his rooms were, for after a certain time he found
himself in a cab which had stopped in front of it, with Marshall, the
doorman, staring in at him.
"I think he's drunk, that's what I think," said the cabby, who had got
down, suspecting that his services would be needed. "He ought to be put
to bed and left to sleep it off."
"I don't understand it," said Marshall. "I never saw him like this
before. Paris must surely be an awful place!"
The cabby chuckled, and together they got Dan out and into the elevator;
but when the doorman had paid and dismissed the cabby, and tried to
follow his advice, he met with unexpected resistance.
"Go away, Marshall, and leave me alone," said Dan. "I heard what that
fellow said; but I'm not drunk--though no doubt I look it. Just go away
and shut the door. I'll thank you another time. There's a good fellow!"
And in the end, Marshall went doubtfully away.
Dan went to work at himself immediately with mechanical thoroughness. He
filled his tub with cold water, undressed and plunged into it, dipping
his head under half a dozen times. Then he rubbed down with the roughest
towel he could find, gave himself a vigorous massage from head to feet,
took a sharp turn with a pair of dumb-bells, got into fresh clothes, and
began to feel more like himself.
"There," he said; "that's better. Now let's see if this thing is real,
or only a nightmare."
He went to his coat, got out the pasteboard box, placed it on a table,
sat down before it, and carefully removed the lid.
No, it was not a nightmare. There was the cake of soap--pink, scented
soap--weighted with the nickel coins. Poising the box in his hand, he
understood why the coins had been added. Without them, the box would
have been too light. He pulled one of the coins out and looked at it. It
was a German piece of twenty pfennigs, such as any one on the ship might
have used. He put it carefully back, and lay down on his bed to reason
the thing out.
How had the substitution been made? How _could_ it have been made? Every
day the box had been in his pocket; every night it had been beneath his
pillow. There was only one explanation--the change must have been made
while he was asleep. Some one had entered the stateroom, slipped out the
other box with a cautious hand and substituted this one. Whoever it was
must have been familiar with the weight of the other box and with the
way it was wrapped and sealed. But how was that possible? No one could
have seen Miss Vard give it to him; no one could have known that he had
it.
And then Dan sat suddenly erect. Chevrial might have known. Chevrial
might have seen him slip it into his pocket as he dressed. Yes, Chevrial
might have done it. Who was Chevrial? How should a wine-merchant know so
much about spies and diplomacy and German princes? There had always been
about him an air of power, of reserve force. Yes, and an air of
mystery--the air of one who knows a great many things he does not choose
to tell.
Chevrial was undoubtedly a spy himself.
And, as he found this answer, Dan wondered that it had not occurred to
him long before. For it furnished the clue upon which Chevrial's words
and hints and looks and warnings were strung together as on a thread!
There could be no doubt about it: Chevrial was a spy, engaged in some
desperate plot--no ordinary plot, for a Prince and Admiral of the German
Empire were also engaged in it, and heaven alone knew how many others!
There was one thing to be done at once. He must go to Kasia Vard and
confess that he had been outwitted. And he trembled as he thought what
the loss of that little box would mean to her! Why had he been so dense,
why had he not suspected....
Telling himself that self-accusations would do no good, he finished
dressing hurriedly, let himself out, and ran downstairs without waiting
to call the elevator. At the front door he met Marshall, whose face
brightened at sight of him.
"So you're all right again, sir?" he said. "I'm glad of that!"
"Yes," and Dan slipped a bill into his hand. "I had a little shock that
sort of upset me. Many thanks for looking after me, Marshall. I'll not
forget it."
"That's all right, sir. Thank you, sir. Hope you had a good time?"
"Splendid. Come up and see me to-morrow. I brought a little memento for
you from that awful place called Paris!" and leaving Marshall staring,
he ran down the steps to the street, sought the nearest subway station,
and twenty minutes later mounted the steps of the house on West
Sixty-fourth Street, whose address Kasia had given him--a quiet house in
a quiet neighbourhood. His finger was trembling as he touched the bell.
How should he ever face her!
A negro boy answered the ring.
"I wish to see Miss Vard at once," said Dan, and produced a card.
"Miss Vard is not here, sir."
"Not here? Has she gone out?"
"No, sir; she's been to Europe and ain't got back yet."
Dan steadied himself against the wall, for he felt a little dizzy again.
"I know. But she must be back! Her boat docked three or four hours ago."
"We was expectin' her to-day, sir--her and her father; but they ain't
got here yet."
Dan looked at the boy for a moment; then he gave him a silver dollar.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; I'm sure," and Dan could see that he was telling the truth.
"Have you a 'phone?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"What's its number?"
The boy told him and Dan jotted it down.
"Will you give the card to Miss Vard as soon as she arrives?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, I'll do that."
Dan wrote a hasty line on the card, asking Kasia to call him at once,
and added his telephone number. Then he turned wearily away, and went
back to his rooms. There was nothing to do but wait. And he found
waiting most trying of all. The minutes dragged miserably, each of them
weighted with self-accusation, but the afternoon shadows began to
lengthen and still his telephone had not rung. Finally he called for
Kasia's number and asked for her. A voice which he recognised as that of
the negro boy answered that she had not yet returned.
"It's those Germans!" Dan muttered to himself. "It's those damned
Germans! They've got her into it, somehow!"
And then suddenly he remembered his appointment, and snatched out his
watch. It was nearly six o'clock.
"I'll drag it out of them!" he said. "I'll drag it out of them! And if
Chevrial's there...."
He stopped. Chevrial and the Germans could not be in collusion--such an
alliance was unthinkable. But how else to explain it....
Dan gave it up; but a good dinner at a near-by restaurant restored him
something of his self-confidence. After all, this was America. Europe
might be honeycombed with intrigue and over-run with spies, but they
would find their occupation gone on this side of the water! And he
himself would explode a bomb in the morning's _Record_ that would shake
them up a little! So it was a fairly confident and self-controlled young
man who mounted the steps of the German consulate at five minutes to
seven. A flunkey in livery opened the door to his ring.
"I have an appointment with Admiral Pachmann," said Dan, with a sudden
cold fear at his heart that he would be laughed at; but instead he was
shown at once into a little ante-chamber.
"Sit here a moment, sir," said the footman, and hastened away, closing
the door behind him. But it opened almost at once, and Pachmann himself
entered. Dan drew a deep breath of relief; it was all right then!
Pachmann fairly radiated good-humour. All his roughness of the morning
had disappeared, and he greeted Dan beamingly.
"I am most glad to see you," he said, in such a tone that Dan almost
believed him. "You are prompt--but that, I am given to understand, is an
American virtue. However, I am prompt, also. The car is waiting."
"The car?" Dan echoed.
"You will understand," Pachmann explained, "that, since the Prince is
incognito, it is impossible for him to remain at the consulate--that
would at once betray him. I was uncertain, this morning, as to our
arrangements, or I should have directed you to the proper address.
However, it is but a step," and he opened the door.
Dan followed him along a handsome hall to the carriage entrance, where,
at the foot of the steps, stood a limousine. As soon as they appeared,
the driver, who had been standing at the hood, bent and cranked his
motor and then sprang to the door and opened it.
"Enter, my dear sir," said Pachmann, and followed him into the car. The
door slammed, the driver sprang to his seat, and they were off. In the
semi-darkness, Dan fancied he heard a repressed chuckle, and a vague
uneasiness stole upon him. But he shook it off. What had he to fear?
"You will remember," said Pachmann finally, "that this interview is not
a thing which we desire, but to which we consent because we must. You
placed us, this morning, in a very awkward position. You newspaper men
of America have a method all your own. The manner in which you entrapped
the Prince compels my admiration. How did you know that it was he?"
"There was a book on the ship with a history and portraits of the royal
family," Dan explained. "I happened to be looking it over and recognised
the likeness at once."
"So?" said Pachmann, and there was a note of surprise in his voice,
which told Dan definitely that, whatever Chevrial's plot might be, this
German was not in it. "You have sharp eyes. But the likeness may have
been merely a chance one. It must have seemed most strange to you that a
Prince of the Empire should travel alone as a passenger of the second
class."
"It did. That was why I approached him as I did."
"It was most clever. We admit it. Ah, here we are."
The car had stopped, and Pachmann opened the door. As Dan alighted, he
glanced up and down the street, but did not recognise it. It was a
street of close-built apartment-houses and private dwellings like any
one of hundreds in New York. Pachmann crossed the pavement, mounted the
steps and touched the bell. The door was opened instantly by a tall
servant in livery.
If Dan had expected it to reveal a regal magnificence, he was
disappointed. The hall into which he stepped was simply, even meagrely
furnished. Without pausing, Pachmann mounted the stair, and led the way
into the front room on the upper floor. It was a large room, lighted
only by the glow of a wood fire. A man was sitting in front of it, and
sprang up at their entrance. Pachmann, at the door, switched on the
electrics.
"My dear Prince," he said, "I have brought the young gentleman for the
interview which we promised him."
And Dan, as he saw the other's face, breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, it
was the Prince. For a moment in the car, he had feared that he was being
tricked. Pachmann had undoubtedly chuckled!
The Prince bowed coldly. His face was very gloomy--in striking contrast
to Pachmann's, which was beaming more than ever with good-humour.
"I feel that an apology is due Your Highness," said Dan, "for the way in
which I sought to entrap you this morning. Please believe that I was
about to promise to do what I could to respect your incognito when this
gentleman intervened. In my article for to-morrow, I shall try to say
nothing that can offend you."
"I thank you," said the Prince gravely.
"All this is wasting time," broke in Pachmann, impatiently. "Proceed
with your questions, my young sir."
"What is the purpose of Your Highness's visit to America?" asked Dan.
The Prince hesitated and glanced at Pachmann.
"Perhaps it would be best for the explanation to come from me," said the
latter smoothly, but with a sardonic smile upon his face. "The Prince
travels in search of health. He is of a most studious disposition--sits
up with his books far into the night--becomes so absorbed in them that
he forgets to go to bed, even to eat. So the Emperor, in fear that he
would injure his health--you can see by looking at him he is most
delicate--decreed a trip around the world, made incognito in the
simplest fashion, during which he was not so much as to look inside a
book. This accounts for the fact that never once on the voyage over did
you see him with a book in his hand. That is the whole mystery, my young
sir."
Dan, glancing at the Prince, saw that he was red with anger; but he
could not repress a smile at the absurdity of Pachmann's explanation.
The Prince was evidently as strong as an ox, and had anything but the
appearance of a student.
"You may have heard some idle tales," went on Pachmann, rubbing his
hands with pleasure, "of a love affair--of a bar-maid, perhaps. Berlin
is always full of such gossip, and you American journalists hear it all.
But believe me, it is merely gossip; the truth is as I have told you."
The Prince had wheeled upon Pachmann, his eyes blazing.
"It is too much!" he cried, in German. "You insult me, and you shall
answer for it. I warn you!" and he strode to the door.
"Farewell, my Prince!" said Pachmann, and waited, with a sneer on his
lips, until the Prince's heavy footsteps died away down the hall. Then
he turned back to Dan. "Behold that Princes have rages just as other
men," he said.
"I don't blame him!" said Dan. "I wonder he didn't knock you down."
"So?" and Pachmann's eyes took an ugly gleam. "I fear the interview is
at an end."
"I have another question to ask," said Dan quietly. "Where are Mr. Vard
and his daughter?"
Pachmann's eyes narrowed to mere slits and his face became positively
venomous.
"I was expecting that question," he sneered. "What do you know of Vard
and his daughter?"
"They are friends of mine. I saw them leave the pier with you. They have
not yet reached their apartment. Where are they?"
"I cannot tell you."
"You mean you will not?"
"Put it that way, if it pleases you."
A storm of rage was hammering in Dan's brain.
"I would advise you to tell me," he said, tensely.
"You threaten?"
"Yes," and Dan took a step toward the Admiral. "I would advise you to
tell me."
Pachmann did not stir. He glanced with ironic eyes from Dan's white face
to his working fingers. Then he threw back his head and laughed.
"But this is better fortune than I deserve!" he mocked. "I did not
know, I did not suspect ... even when the girl told me!" Then his mood
changed, his lips curled, his eyes flashed fire. "What a fool!" he
sneered. "What a fool! You thrust yourself upon us--you walk into our
trap--you are wholly in our power--and yet you think to frighten me with
your grand air and your twitching hands! Bah! To me you are merely a
speck of dust, to be blown aside--so! Now, more than ever! As an
ignorant young fool, who knew no better, I might perhaps in time have
let you go. But now...."
The anger had ebbed from Dan's brain, although his attitude had not
relaxed. Staring into Pachmann's leering face, he realised that he must
think and act quickly. The first thing was to escape; with a deep breath
he braced himself and sprang for the door--to plunge straight into the
outstretched arms of a man on guard there.
There was a moment's struggle; then Dan felt his feet kicked from under
him, and fell with a crash that shook the house. In an instant two men
were sitting on him, holding him down.
Then Pachmann came and looked down at him, his lips twitching with
triumph.
"Young fool!" he sneered. "Young fool!" And then, in German, to the two
men, "Take him away! In yonder!" and he pointed toward a door at the
rear of the hall.