A dead silence of some moments' duration--during which hosts and
guests looked at each other as men might before the outburst of a
storm--then Victor Fargeau, after an exchange of glances with the
French admiral, said, in a voice which trembled with angry emotion:
"Milords, I think I am speaking for my comrades as well as myself if I
say that we have come too far to be frightened from the accomplishment
of our purpose. For my own part, I may say that nothing, not even the
fear of that annihilation which the viscount has just threatened,
would turn me from my purpose, because I have come to take back that
which is mine and France's. These works may be your property,
gentlemen, because you have built them with your money and your
labour, but the soul which animates them, which makes them a living
organism instead of a lifeless mass of brick and stone, the power
which you say has enabled you to paralyse the fleets and armies of
Europe, that is mine: for I am the son of the man who created it. He
left it to me as his last legacy. I have returned to my allegiance to
France after doing her what service I could elsewhere. Though France
at first rejected the fruit of my father's genius she has now accepted
it, and in our persons she and her ally are here to demand restitution
of that which has been stolen from her."
"I think you can hardly say stolen, Monsieur Fargeau," said Hardress,
without rising. "The French Ministry of War very foolishly refused to
have anything to do with your father's invention, and he may have
given you one set of specifications, but he also threw himself into
the sea with the other, and we picked him up. You can call it chance
or fate or anything you please, but it certainly wasn't theft. You
see, we got this land and built these works while the French
Government was thinking about it; and I must also remind you that they
are built on British soil, and held under lease from a British
Colonial Government.
"Russia, France, and Great Britain are at peace. The war in Europe is
over, and therefore you will excuse me if I remind you and your
colleagues that any attempt to attain your end by force would put you
outside the pale of civilisation. In other words despite your uniforms
and your commissions, you would simply be common pirates, with no
claim to any of the rights of regular belligerents."
"But," said Victor Fargeau, speaking with a distinct snarl in his
voice, "you forget, Monsieur le Vicomte, that we are in a position to
compel surrender, and that, once masters of the works, we shall be, as
you are, above the law. Granted all you say, it comes to this: Nothing
can justify our mission but success, and we shall succeed."
"In that case," said the president, in his somewhat halting French,
"it doesn't seem worth while to discuss the matter any further. We
won't surrender the works, and the last man left alive in them would
fire the mines and die in their ruins. These gentlemen think they can
take them. We think they can't. It's no use talking about a
proposition like that. It's got to be argued with guns and other
things. It seems to me that the only question we've got to ask is,
whether all these gentlemen are unanimous in their determination to
take the works by force, if they can?"
Admiral Dumont exchanged a whispered word with his Russian colleague,
and then he rose and said:
"Milords, I regret to say our orders leave us no other alternative,
and our duty to our countries will compel us to take that action, most
reluctantly as we shall do so. As Monsieur Fargeau has said, we
believe that the vital principle of this system belongs to him and to
France. We have been sent here to regain what was lost to us through
an unfortunate mistake, and we must do so. Yet we do not wish to be
precipitate. We will ask you to take until six o'clock to-morrow
morning, that is to say, eight hours from now, to reconsider your
decision as to surrender. And there is just one more point.
"You have certain guests, not entirely voluntary ones, in the works.
If it should, unhappily, come to a struggle between us, it would, of
course, be impossible for such chivalrous gentlemen to retain two
ladies and a Russian nobleman and ex-Minister. We request that, in the
unfortunate case of hostilities becoming inevitable, they shall be
permitted to come on board one of our ships."
As the French admiral sat down, Lord Orrel got up and said:
"Gentlemen, I am exceedingly sorry that matters have come to such a
pass as this. There can be no question of surrender, but our guests
will be free to join your squadrons when they please. Therefore, for
their convenience, and in order not to bring our little dinner to too
abrupt a close, we will accept the truce till six o'clock. Perhaps by
that time other and, I think, better counsels may have prevailed with
you.
"I sincerely hope that they will; for I can assure you that my son was
not speaking idly when he said that you would not only be destroyed,
but annihilated. We have here means of destruction which have never
yet been used in war. For your sakes, and for those of the brave men
under your command, I trust that they never will be. And now, as
further discussion would seem to be unprofitable, suppose we join the
ladies. We may be friends, at anyrate, till six o'clock."
In the reception-room the mystified guests of the Trust found coffee
and liqueurs, music and song and pleasant conversation, which touched
on every possible subject, save battle, murder, and sudden death. Then
came a stroll on the walls by the light of a brilliant _Aurora_, which
made the sun, which was just touching the southern horizon, look like
a pallid and exaggerated moon, and during this stroll Victor Fargeau
managed to pass a small Lebel revolver and some cartridges to Sophie
and the count in case of accidents. They had decided to go on board
the _Ivan the Terrible_ when the guests left the works, and Ma'm'selle
Felice and the count's servant were already putting their baggage
together. The train was to wait for them at midnight.
Meanwhile, Doctor Lamson, who had left the party immediately after
dinner, had been getting the defences of the works in order. The huge
engines, disconnected now from the absorbers and storage batteries,
from which the captured world-soul was now being released back into
the earth, were still purring softly, and working as mightily as ever,
but now their force was being used to a different end.
On each of the four towers at the corners of the quadrangle there
had been mounted an apparatus which looked something like a huge
searchlight, and underneath it were two real searchlights. On eight
platforms, one on each side of the towers, but hidden by a circular
wall of twelve-inch hardened steel, were mounted, on disappearing
carriages, the president's big guns, enlarged copies of the one he had
used so effectually on board the _Nadine_. Each would throw a shell
containing a hundred pounds of Vandelite to a distance of eight miles.
The great engines worked continuously, storing up liquid air in
chambers under the gun platforms, but they were also doing other and,
for the present, much more deadly work. The huge copper tubes above
the searchlights on the towers were turned above the harbour. They
made neither light nor sound, but all the while they were accumulating
destruction such as no mortal hand had yet dealt out to an enemy.
The evening passed, apparently in the most friendly and peaceful
fashion, and no one suddenly introduced into the reception-room would
have dreamt that the members of Lord Orrel's dinner-party were not on
the very best of terms with themselves and each other. Not even
Adelaide or Sophie, sitting there with their revolvers in the pockets
of their dinner dresses, and thoughts of murder in their souls, had
the remotest idea of how terribly it was destined to end.
Miss Chrysie had sung "The Old Folks at Home," and Adelaide one of the
old chansons which had delighted the Grand Monarque in the Trianon.
Then Sophie sat down at the piano, and the slow solemn strains of the
Russian National Hymn wailed up in majestic chords from the
instrument. There was something of defiance both in her touch and in
her voice, but international courtesies were respected, and everyone
in the room stood up. For Sophie Valdemar it was her swan-song--since
she was never to sing another--and she sang it splendidly, with her
whole soul in it. As the last line, "Give to us peace in our time, O
Lord," left her lips, Lord Orrel went to her side, and said:
"Thank you, countess. A splendid hymn splendidly sung!" And then he
turned to the French and Russian admirals, and said: "Gentlemen, is it
not possible for you to answer, as you could answer, that prayer for
peace? I can assure you, on my word of honour as an English gentleman,
that this building in which you are now is impregnable to all forms of
attack known to modern warfare. At a distance of five thousand miles
we have paralysed the fleets and armies of Europe. Your ships are less
than five miles from our walls: you are not courting defeat, you are
courting annihilation. Can you not leave us in peace?"
"I was under the impression, milord," said Admiral Nazanoff, "that
that subject was closed for the present. We have yet to be convinced
as to these terrible powers which you claim to possess: but our orders
are real, so too are our ships and guns; and since you have refused
the terms we have offered we have no alternative but to put these
boasted powers of yours to the test of war. I regret it most
exceedingly, as I am sure my colleague, Admiral Dumont, does also, but
that must be our last word."
The French admiral and Victor Fargeau both bowed assent as he spoke.
And Lord Orrel answered:
"Well, gentlemen, since you are resolved, so be it. We will not
discuss the matter further."
While he was speaking Lady Olive had gone to the piano, and, as he
ceased, the opening chords of "Auld Lang Syne," floated through the
room, and she began to sing the old Scotch song. The words had a
strangely satirical meaning for Count Valdemar and his daughter and
Adelaide, who had heard them several times at Orrel Court, and Lady
Olive put such expression into them that both Sophie and Adelaide felt
inclined to be a little ashamed of themselves. Then in the midst of
the song the clock began to chime twelve, and Lady Olive, with a frank
look of defiance in her eyes, switched off suddenly into "God Save the
King," and began to sing the opening lines. At the end of the first
verse she stopped and rose from the piano, and said to her father, who
had been looking a little uneasy, as though he thought it was hardly
good taste:
"I am very sorry, papa, if I have offended, but really I could not
help it; it seemed inevitable."
"And why not?" said Adelaide. "Was not the same song sung in honour of
the Grand Monarque by the ladies of Versailles? Well, now, Lady Olive,
I suppose it is good-night and good-bye. A thousand thanks for all
your kindness and hospitality."
"And a thousand thanks from me, too," said Sophie.
They held out their hands, but Lady Olive put hers behind her, and
drew back.
"Thank you," she said, frigidly. "You are quite welcome to any
kindness that I have been able to show you; but, really, I must ask
you to pardon me if I decline to shake hands with you after you have
definitely joined the enemies of my family."
"Perhaps you are right, Lady Olive," laughed Sophie. "Still, I hope
that, at no very distant time, we shall have an opportunity of
returning some, at least, of your kindness."
A few minutes later hosts and guests were standing outside the western
gate, beside which the electric engine and the saloon carriage were
waiting to take them to the harbour. The departing guests' luggage had
been put on a little truck at the back.
"Ah, well, this is the end, I suppose," said Adelaide to Sophie as
they stood in the dim twilight of the Northern midnight, exchanging
their last formal salutations. "To-night peace; to-morrow war."
"But why not war now?" whispered Sophie. "Look! what a chance! Shall
we ever have another like it? A la guerre; comme a la guerre!"
"Yes," whispered Adelaide in reply. "Ah, sacre! Look there!"
As she spoke, Chrysie left Lady Olive's side, went to Hardress, and
slipped her arm through his, and looked up at him with an expression
that there was no mistaking.
Then Adelaide de Conde's long pent-up passion broke loose, and the hot
blood of hate began to sing in her head and burn in her eyes.
Everything, so far, had failed. She had made herself a criminal, and
had been punished by a silent, but humiliating, pardon. She had
disgraced herself in the eyes of the man she would have sold her soul
to get, and now--well, what did it matter? To-morrow--nay, within six
hours, it would be war to the death, Why not begin now, as Sophie had
whispered?
For the moment she was mad, or she would not have done what she did.
But she was mad--mad with failure, hopeless love, and the hatred which
only the "woman scorned" can feel. She pulled Chrysie's revolver out
of her pocket, and snarled between her teeth:
"You have got him, but you shall not keep him!"
The revolver went up at the same moment, and she pulled the trigger.
Three shots cracked in quick succession. Hardress went down with a
broken thigh; Chrysie, in the act of drawing her own revolver,
received a bullet in her arm, which was intended for her heart; and
the third one went through the hood of her cloak, just touching the
skin above the ear.
She tried to get out the revolver with her left hand; but, before she
could do so, Sophie and Fargeau had opened fire, and at Sophie's first
shot, she clasped her hand to her side, and went down beside Hardress.
Lord Orrel had a bit of his left ear snipped off, and the president
got a flesh wound just below the left shoulder.
The two admirals, who had already taken their seats in the car, with
Madame de Bourbon and the Russian professor, sprang to their feet;
but, before they could leave the car, a strange and awful thing
happened. A blinding glare of light shone out from the southern tower,
where Doctor Lamson had been watching the departure through his
night-glasses. The thin ray wavered about until it fell on Sophie
Valdemar and Adelaide de Conde, still standing close together, with
Victor Fargeau just in front of them.
For a moment their faces showed white and ghastly in the blazing
radiance; and then, to the amazement and horror of those who saw the
strangest sight that human eye had ever gazed upon, down the ray of
light, invisible, but all-destroying, flowed the terrible energy of
the disintegrator on the top of the tower. Their hair crinkled up and
disappeared, the flesh melted from their faces and hands. For an
instant, two of the most beautiful countenances in Europe were
transformed into living skulls, which grinned out in unspeakable
hideousness. Then their clothing shrivelled up into tinder, and all
three dropped together in an indistinguishable heap of crumbling
bones.