THE ADMIRAL BEGINS TO DOUBT
"What's this you're telling me, Flanagan?" said the admiral perturbed.
"Ask Holleran here, sir; he wus with me when th' waiter said Picard wus
a dook. I've suspicioned his han's this long while, sir."
"Yes, sir; Picard it was," averred Holleran.
"Bah! Mistaken identity."
"I'm sure, sir," insisted Holleran. "Picard has a whisker-mole on his
chin, sir, like these forriners grow, sir. Picard, sir, an' no
mistake."
"But what would a duke . . ."
"Ay, sir; that's the question," interrupted Flanagan; and added in a
whisper: "Y' c'n buy a dozen dooks for a couple o' million francs, sir.
Th' first-officer, Holleran here, an' me; nobody else knows what we're
after, sir; unless you gentlemen abaft, sir, talked careless. I say
'tis serious, Commodore. _He_ knows what we're lookin' fer."
Holleran nudged his chief. "Tell th' commodore what we saw on th' way
here."
"Picard hobnobbin' with Mr. Breitmann, sir."
Breitmann? The admiral's smile thinned and disappeared. There might
be something in this. Two million francs did not appeal to him, but he
realized that to others they stood for a great fortune, one worthy of
hazards. He would talk this over with Cathewe and Fitzgerald and learn
what they thought about the matter. If this fellow Picard was a duke
and had shipped as an ordinary hand foreward . . . Peace went out of
the admiral's jaw and Flanagan's heart beat high as he saw the old
war-knots gather. Oh, for a row like old times! For twenty years he
had fought nothing bigger than a drunken stevedore. Suppose this was
the beginning of a fine rumpus? He grinned, and the admiral, noting
the same, frowned. He wished he had left the women at Marseilles.
"Say nothing to any one," he warned. "But if this man Picard comes
aboard again, keep him there."
"Yessir."
"That'll be all."
"What d' y' think?" asked Holleran, on the return to the _Place des
Palmiers_, for the two were still hungry.
"Think? There's a fight, bucko!" jubilantly.
"These pleasure-boats sure become monotonous." Holleran rubbed his
dark hands. "When d' y' think it'll begin?"
"I wish ut wus t'day."
"I've seen y' do some fine work with th' peg."
They had really seen Picard and Breitmann talking together. The
acquaintanceship might have dated from the sailing of the _Laura_, and
again it mightn't. At least, M. Ferraud, who overheard the major part
of the conversation, later in the day, was convinced that Picard had
joined the crew of the _Laura_ for no other purpose than to be in touch
with Breitmann. There were some details, however, which would be
acceptable. He followed them to the Rue Fesch, to a _trattoria_, but
entered from the rear. M. Ferraud never assumed any disguises, but
depended solely upon his adroitness in occupying the smallest space
possible. So, while the two conspirators sat at a table on the
sidewalk, M. Ferraud chose his inside, under the grilled window which
was directly above them.
"Everything is in readiness," said Picard.
"Thanks to you, duke."
"To-night you and your old boatman Pietro will leave for Aïtone. The
admiral and his party will start early to-morrow morning. No matter
what may happen, he will find no drivers till morning. The drivers all
understand what they are to do on the way back from Evisa. I almost
came to blows with that man Flanagan. I wasn't expecting him ashore.
And I could not stand the grime and jeans a minute longer. Perhaps he
will believe it a case of mistaken identity. At any rate he will not
find out the truth till it's too late for him to make a disturbance.
We have had wonderful luck!"
A cart rumbled past, and the listener missed a few sentences. What did
the drivers understand? What was going to happen on the way back from
Evisa? Surely, Breitmann did not intend that the admiral should do the
work and then be held up later. The old American sailor wasn't afraid
of any one, and he would shoot to kill. No, no; Breitmann meant to
secure the gold alone. But the drivers worried M. Ferraud. He might
be forced to change his plans on their account. He wanted full
details, not puzzling components. Quiet prevailed once more.
"Women in affairs of this sort are always in the way," said Picard.
M. Ferraud did not hear what Breitmann replied.
"Take my word for it," pursued Picard, "this one will trip you; and you
can not afford to trip at this stage. We are all ready to strike, man.
All we want is the money. Every ten francs of it will buy a man. We
leave Marseilles in your care; the rest of us will carry the word on to
Lyons, Dijon and Paris. With this unrest in the government, the army
scandals, the dissatisfied employees, and the idle, we shall raise a
whirlwind greater than '50 or '71. We shall reach Paris with half a
million men."
Again Breitmann said something lowly. M. Ferraud would have liked to
see his face.
"But what are you going to do with the other woman?"
Two women: M. Ferraud saw the ripple widen and draw near. One woman he
could not understand, but two simplified everything. The drivers and
two women.
"The other?" said Breitmann. "She is of no importance."
M. Ferraud shook his head.
"Oh, well; this will be, your private affair. Captain Grasset will
arrive from Nice to-morrow night. Two nights later we all should be on
board and under way. Do you know, we have been very clever. Not a
suspicion anywhere of what we are about."
"Do you recollect M. Ferraud?" inquired Breitmann.
"That little fool of a butterfly-hunter?" the duke asked.
M. Ferraud smiled and gazed laughingly up at the grill.
"He is no fool," abruptly. "He is a secret agent, and not one move
have we made that is unknown to him."
"Impossible!"
M. Ferraud could not tell whether the consternation in Picard's voice
was real or assumed. He chose to believe the latter.
"And why hasn't he shown his hand?"
"He is waiting for us to show ours. But don't worry," went on
Breitmann. "I have arranged to suppress him neatly."
And the possible victim murmured: "I wonder how?"
"Then we must not meet again until you return; and then only at the
little house in the Rue St. Charles."
"Agreed. Now I must be off."
"Good luck!"
M. Ferraud heard the stir of a single chair and knew that the
great-grandson was leaving. The wall might have been transparent, so
sure was he of the smile upon Picard's face, a sinister speculating
smile. But his imagination did not pursue Breitmann, whose lips also
wore a smile, one of irony and bitterness. Neither did he hear Picard
murmur "Dupe!" nor Breitmann mutter "Fools!"
When Breitmann saw Hildegarde in the hotel gardens he did not avoid her
but stopped by her chair. She rose. She had been waiting all day for
this moment. She must speak out or suffocate with anxiety.
"Karl, what are you going to do?"
"Nothing," unsmilingly.
"You will let the admiral find and keep this money which is yours?"
Breitmann shrugged.
"You are killing me with suspense!"
"Nonsense!" briskly.
"You are contemplating violence of some order. I know it, I feel it!"
"Not so loud!" impatiently.
"You are!" she repeated, crushing her hands together.
"Well, all there remains to do is to tell the admiral. He will,
perhaps, divide with me."
"How can you be so cruel to me? It is your safety; that is all I wish
to be assured of. Oh, I am pitifully weak! I should despise you.
Take this chest of money; it is yours. Go to England, to America, and
be happy."
"Happy? Do you wish me to be happy?"
"God knows!"
"And you?" curiously.
"I have no time to ask you to consider me," with a clear pride. "I do
not wish to see you hurt. You are courting death, Karl, death."
"Who cares?"
"I care!" with a sob.
The bitterness in his face died for a space. "Hildegarde, I'm not
worth it. Forget me as some bad dream; for that is all I am or ever
shall be. Marry Cathewe; I'm not blind. He will make you happy. I
have made my bed, or rather certain statesmen have, and I must lie in
it. If I had known what I know now," with regret, "this would not have
been. But I distrusted every one, myself, too."
She understood. "Karl, had you told me all in the first place, I
should have given you that diagram without question, gladly."
"Well, I am sorry. I have been a beast. Have we not always been such,
from the first of us, down to me? Forget me!"
And with that he left her standing by the side of her chair and walked
swiftly toward the hotel. When next she realized or sensed anything
she was lying on her bed, her eyes dry and wide open. And she did not
go down to dinner, nor did she answer the various calls on her door.
Night rolled over the world, with a cool breeze driving under her
million planets. The lights in the hotel flickered out one by one, and
in the third corridor, where the adventurers were housed, only a wick,
floating in a tumbler of oil, burned dimly.
Fitzgerald had waited in the shadow for nearly an hour, and he was
growing restless and tired. All day long he had been obsessed with the
conviction that if Breitmann ever made a start it would be some time
that night. Distinctly he heard the light rattle of a carriage. It
stopped outside the gardens. He pressed closer against the wall. The
door to Breitmann's room opened gently and the man himself stepped out
cautiously.
"So," began Fitzgerald lightly, "your majesty goes forth to-night?"
But he overreached himself. Breitmann whirled, and all the hate in his
breast went into his arm as he struck. Fitzgerald threw up his guard,
but not soon enough. The blow hit him full on the side of the head and
toppled him over; and as the back of his head bumped the floor, the
world came to an end. When he regained his senses his head was
pillowed on a woman's knees and the scared white face of a woman bent
over his.
"What's happened?" he whispered. There were a thousand wicks where
there had been one and these went round and round in a circle.
Presently the effect wore away, and he recognized Laura. Then he
remembered. "By George!"
"What is it?" she cried, the bands of terror about her heart loosening.
"As a hero I'm a picture," he answered. "Why, I had an idea that
Breitmann was off to-night to dig up the treasure himself. Gone! And
only one blow struck, and I in front of it!"
"Breitmann?" exclaimed Laura. She caught her dressing-gown closer
about her throat.
"Yes. The temptation was too great. How did you get here?" He ought
to have struggled to his feet at once, but it was very comfortable to
feel her breath upon his forehead.
"I heard a fall and then some one running. Are you badly hurt?"
The anguish in her voice was as music to his ears.
"Dizzy, that's all. Better tell your father immediately. No, no; I
can get up alone. I'm all right. Fine rescuer of princesses, eh?"
with an unsteady laugh.
"You might have been killed!"
"Scarcely that. I tried to talk like they do in stories, with this
result. The maxim is, always strike first and question afterward. You
warn your father quietly while I hunt up Ferraud and Cathewe."
Seeing that he was really uninjured she turned and flew down the dark
corridor and knocked at her father's door.
Fitzgerald stumbled along toward M. Ferraud's room, murmuring: "All
right, Mr. Breitmann; all right. But hang me if I don't hand you back
that one with interest. Where the devil is that Frenchman?" as he
hammered on Ferraud's door and obtained no response. He tried the
knob. The door opened. The room was black, and he struck a match. M.
Ferraud, fully dressed, lay upon his bed. There was a handkerchief
over his mouth and his hands and feet were securely bound. His eyes
were open.