Waiting on the path of the second terrace for Westerling to come, Marta
realized the full meaning of her task. Day in and day out she was to
have suspense at her elbow and the horror of hypocrisy on her
conscience, the while keeping her wits nicely balanced. She must feel
her part and at the same time she must be sufficiently conscious that
she was placing a part not to let any impulse of aversion betray her.
The tea-table scene had been a rehearsal; coming was a _première_ before
the ghostly, still faces across the bent glare of the footlights. No
ready-made lines, hers She must create them. Every word must be the
right word and spoken in the right way, all for the deception of one
man.
When she saw Westerling appear on the veranda and start over the lawn
she felt dizzy and uncertain of her capabilities. In the gathering dusk
he seemed of giant stature, too masterful to be outwitted by any
trickery she might devise. She wondered if she would be able to
articulate a word; if she would not turn and flee.
"I have considered all that you said for my guidance and I have
decided," she began.
Marta heard her own voice with the relief of a singer in a début who,
with knees shaking, finds that her notes are true. She was looking
directly at Westerling in profound seriousness. Though knees shook, lips
and chin could aid eyes in revealing the painful fatigue of a battle
that had raged in the mind of a woman who went away for half an hour to
think for herself.
"I have concluded," she went on, "that it is an occasion for the
sacrifice of private ethics to a great purpose, the sooner to end the
slaughter."
"All true!" whispered an inner voice. Its tone was Lanny's, in the old
days of their comradeship. It gave her strength. All true!
"Yes, an end--a speedy end!" said Westerling with a fine, inflexible
emphasis. "That is your prayer and mine and the prayer of all lovers of
humanity."
"He is not thinking of humanity, but of individual victory!" whispered
another voice, which had the mellow tone of Hugo Mallin's deliberate
wisdom.
"It is little that I know, but such as it is you shall have it," she
began, conscious of his guarded scrutiny. When she told him of Bordir,
the weak point in the first line of the Browns' defence, she noted no
change in his steady look; but with the mention of Engadir in the main
line she detected a gleam in his eyes that had the merciless delight of
a cutting edge of steel. "I have made my sacrifice to some purpose? The
information is worth something to you?" she asked wistfully.
"Yes, yes! Yes, it promises that way," he replied thoughtfully.
Quietly he began a considerate catechism. Soon she was subtly
understanding that her answers lacked the convincing details that he
sought. She longed to avert her eyes from his for an instant, but she
knew that this would be fatal. She felt the force of him directed in
professional channels, free of all personal relations, beating as a
strong light on her bare statements. How could a woman ever have learned
two such vital secrets? How could it happen that two such critical
points as Bordir and Engadir should go undefended? No tactician, no
engineer but would have realized their strategic importance. Did she
know what she was saying? How did she get her knowledge? These, she
understood, were the real questions that underlay Westerling's polite
indirection.
"Invention! Quick, quick! How did you find out? Quick and naturally and
obviously--pure invention; no half-way business!" whispered still
another voice, the voice of that most facile of story-builders, Feller,
this time.
"But I have not told you the sources of my information! Isn't that like
a woman!" she exclaimed. "You see, it did not concern me at all at the
time I heard it. I didn't even realize its importance and I didn't hear
much," she proceeded, her introduction giving time for improvisation.
"You see, Partow was inspecting the premises with Colonel Lanstron. My
mother had known Partow in her younger days when my grandfather was
premier. We had them both to luncheon."
"Yes?" put in Westerling, betraying his eagerness. Partow and Lanstron!
Then her source was one of authority, not the gossip of subalterns!
"And it occurs to me now that, even while he was our guest," she
interjected in sudden indignation--"that even while he was our guest
Partow was planning to make our grounds a redoubt!"
"Bully! Very feminine and convincing!" whispered the voice of Feller.
"After luncheon I remember Partow saying, 'We are going to have a look
at the crops,' and they went for a walk out to the knoll where the
fighting began."
"Yes! When was this?" Westerling asked keenly.
"Only about six weeks ago," answered Marta.
"That's it! That's splendid! If you'd said a year ago there would have
been time enough in the meanwhile to fortify!" whispered the voice of
Feller encouragingly. "You're going fine! Keep it up!"
"Later, I came upon them unexpectedly after they had returned," Marta
went on. "They were sitting there on that seat concealed by the
shrubbery. I was on the terrace steps unobserved and I couldn't help
overhearing them. Their voices grew louder with the interest of their
discussion. I caught something about appropriations and aeroplanes and
Bordir and Engadir, and saw that Lanstron was pleading with his chief.
He wanted a sum appropriated for fortifications to be applied to
building planes and dirigibles. Finally, Partow consented, and I recall
his exact words: 'They're shockingly archaically defended, especially
Engadir,' he said, 'but they can wait until we get further
appropriations in the fall.'" She was so far under the spell of her own
invention that she believed the reality of her words, reflected in her
wide-open eyes which seemed to have nothing to hide.
"That is all," she exclaimed with a shudder--"all my eavesdropping, all
my breach of confidence! If--if it--" and her voice trembled with the
intensity of the one purpose that was shining with the light of truth
through the murk of her deception--"it will only help to end the
slaughter!" She held out her hand convulsively in parting as if she
would leave the rest with him.
"I think it will," he said soberly. "I think it will prove that you have
done a great service," he repeated as he caught both her hands, which
were cold from her ordeal. His own were warm with the strong beating of
his heart stirred by the promise of what he had just heard. But he did
not prolong the grasp. He was as eager to be away to his work as she to
be alone. "I think it will. You will know in the morning," he added.
His steps were sturdier than ever in the power of five against three as
he started back to the house. When he reached the veranda, Bouchard, the
saturnine chief of intelligence, appeared in the doorway of the
dining-room: or, rather, reappeared, for he had been standing there
throughout the interview of Westerling and Marta, whose heads were just
visible, above the terrace wall, to his hawk eyes.
"A little promenade in the open and my mind made up," said Westerling,
clapping Bouchard on the shoulder.
"Something about an attack to-night?" asked Bouchard.
"You guess right. Call the others."
Five minutes later he was seated at the head of the dining-room table
with his chiefs around him waiting for their chairman to speak. He asked
some categorical questions almost perfunctorily, and the answer to each
was, "Ready!" with, in some instances, a qualification--the
qualification made by regimental and brigade commanders that, though
they could take the position in front of them, the cost would be heavy.
Yes, all were willing and ready for the first general assault of the
war, but they wanted to state the costs as a matter of professional
self-defence.
Westerling could pose when it served his purpose. Now he rose and, going
to one of the wall maps, indicated a point with his forefinger.
"If we get that we have the most vital position, haven't we?"
Some uttered a word of assent; some only nodded. A glance or two of
curiosity was exchanged. Why should the chief of staff ask so elementary
a question? Westerling was not unconscious of the glances or of their
meaning. They gave dramatic value to his next remark.
"We are going to mass for our main attack in front at Bordir!"
"But," exclaimed four or five officers at once, "that is the heart of
the position! That is--"
"I believe it is weak--that it will fall, and to-night!"
"You have information, then, information that I have not?" asked
Bouchard.
"No more than you," replied Westerling. "Not as much if you have
anything new."
"Nothing!" admitted Bouchard wryly. He lowered his head under
Westerling's penetrating look in the consciousness of failure.
"I am going on a conviction--on putting two and two together!"
Westerling announced. "I am going on my experience as a soldier, as a
chief of staff. If I am wrong, I take the responsibility. If I am
right, Bordir will be ours before morning. It is settled!"
"If you are right, then," exclaimed Turcas--"well, then it's genius
or--" He did not finish the sentence. He had been about to say
coincidence; while Westerling knew that if he were right all the rising
scepticism in certain quarters, owing to the delay in his programme,
would be silenced. His prestige would be unassailable.