Peggy Wade was an American--which is the same thing as saying that she
was possessed of considerable presence of mind. In the climax that now
took place, she might easily have lost her head, instead of which she
did all that was within her power to avert calamity.
She approached the cupboard door and opened it. Fortunately, the hinges
were towards the centre of the room, where the three men stood together.
Rosencrantz and his companions could neither see into the cupboard nor
observe the look of intense alarm that came into the girl's face, the
moment she found herself confronted by Jimmy Burke.
She mastered herself in an instant. As quick as thought, Jimmy thrust
the leather box into her hand; at which she turned quickly, and closed
the door. For the time being, at least, the situation was saved.
"You have not yet told me," said Rosencrantz, in the assured tones of an
inveterate bully, "why you dared to disobey my orders?"
Peggy's thoughts were still with Jimmy. Though she knew nothing of the
colossal plot which had just come to light, she trembled to think of
what the consequences would be, should the boy be discovered. She
answered timidly, in a voice so low as to be hardly audible.
"I have no excuse," she said.
Rosencrantz gave vent to a grunt.
"I should think not," said he, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. "And
where's that rascal of a boy?"
Peggy could not answer. For a moment, she thought it was best to tell a
deliberate lie, and have done with it; and then, she found she could
not. She just stood quite still and silent, unable to lift her eyes
from the floor--a very figure of guilt.
Rudolf Stork was a man upon whom little or nothing was lost. He had the
eyes of a lynx. He was one whose very liberty, perhaps, depended upon
his powers of observation, his memory and his wits. Without a word, he
turned upon his heel, in three strides crossed the room, and flung wide
open the cupboard door.
And there stood Jimmy Burke, his head half lowered, his face white as a
sheet. He took two slow steps forward towards the centre of the room
where the three men stood regarding him in amazement, and then stopped
dead, apparently afraid to look about him.
Rosencrantz drew in a deep breath, as a man does who is about to take a
plunge into ice-cold water. Von Essling let out an oath in his own
language, as he drummed with his fingers upon the silver knob of a stout
malacca cane. As for Stork, his hand went quickly to his hip-pocket,
and a small nickel-plated revolver glittered in the light.
"Eavesdropping!" cried Rosencrantz. "An eavesdropper--by all that's
wonderful!"
"Do you realize what this means?" exclaimed the Baron, gesticulating
wildly with a hand. "There's danger here! This boy must have overheard
every word we said. The result may be disastrous."
Stork crouched like a tiger. The expression upon the man's face was
terrible. Slowly, he raised his revolver at arm's length, directing the
muzzle straight at Jimmy's heart.
"There's only one way," said he. "It's not pleasant, but I'll do it."
Beyond doubt, he would have fired, had not the Baron seized his wrist.
"Do nothing foolish!" he exclaimed. "You forget the girl. There's a
witness--in the girl!"
Stork lowered his revolver, turned slowly, and stared hard at Peggy, who
quailed before the ferocity of those pale, cat-like eyes.
Rosencrantz, who was a coward at heart, had no desire to see murder done
on his own premises; he had never bargained for that. Since matters had
already gone too far, and seeing some explanation was necessary, he did
his best to laugh it off.
"Enough, my friend!" he cried. "That is enough. You desired to
frighten him, and have done so. See, the boy is trembling. It will
teach him a lesson to the very end of his life."
This was not true; but, still, it was good enough to pass, to act as a
shield for Rudolf Stork. Von Essling had not yet recovered his presence
of mind; indeed, he was still so put out he could not stand still, but,
tucking his malacca cane under his arm, set to pacing backwards and
forwards in the room.
"This is serious," he muttered; "terribly serious." Then he pulled up
suddenly in front of Jimmy, whom he regarded steadfastly, looking the
boy up and down, from head to foot.
"It may be all right," said he at last, with something that was not far
from a sigh of relief. "Fortunately the boy is young. And yet," he
added, "I cannot think why he hid himself. It is all a mystery."
"I think," said Rosencrantz, "I can explain. He was there by chance. He
did not know that I intended to return to the office, and having
deliberately disobeyed my orders, he had a natural desire to avoid me."
The Baron von Essling shrugged his shoulders. Rosencrantz turned
sharply upon Jimmy and the girl, who now stood side by side.
"You will both leave this place at once," said he, "and you will not
return. Understand, I never wish to see your faces again."
At that, he went to the door and threw it open, making a motion of the
hand for them to go.
They were about to leave, when Stork seized Jimmy roughly by a shoulder.
He was a strong man, as the boy could tell from the iron grip that held
him as if he were in a vice.
"Wait a bit," said he. "Easy now. We'd be blind fools to let you go
like that. Listen here, my boy, and let what I've got to say sink into
your memory. Breathe so much as a single word to any living soul of
what you've heard to-night, and I'll find it out. You may set your mind
at rest on that. I'm not a mild man, nor a plaster saint; some folk
might say that sometimes I'm a little quick of temper. At any rate, I
tell you this: I'll stick at nothing, if you neglect the advice I give
you gratis. So, just beware, take warning; mum's the word."
And at that, he sent Jimmy flying headlong through the doorway.
As the boy recovered his balance--and indeed, he only just saved himself
from stretching his length upon the floor--he found Peggy at his side,
with a white face and trembling lips, and her hands clasped together.
"Oh, come," she cried, "we must go away from here. Jimmy, I never knew
that I could be so frightened." Somehow she was breathless.
Very quickly, side by side, they ran down flight after flight of steps,
until, at last, they found themselves upon the sidewalk of the famous
street that traverses New York from end to end. A little after, they
stood together at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Broadway.
It was night, and the great city was alive. The people were thronging
to the theatres; the street-cars were crowded, their bells clanging
incessantly; news-boys raced across the street. Broadway was a blaze of
light; thousands of advertisements, brilliantly illumined with all the
colours of the rainbow, caught the eye in all directions. Peggy drew
near to Jimmy, and took his arm and pressed it.
"Whatever happened, Jimmy?" she asked. "I'm kind of dazed. I don't
really understand."
"I don't know that I do," said the boy. "Even now, I can't believe that
it wasn't all a dream."
For a little time, they walked along in silence. It was Peggy who spoke
again.
"You had better come back with me," she said. "I must tell Aunt Marion
I've been dismissed. Somehow I don't think we ought to leave each other
now."
There was another pause; and then Peggy gave a shudder.
"That man was terrible," she said. "I can see him now. Do you know,
Jimmy, he meant to kill you."
The boy laughed. Now that he was quit of the atmosphere of that room
wherein had been disclosed the terrible, almost overpowering plot that
was to shake to its very foundations the whole civilized world, it was
easy enough to laugh. For all that, his boyish confidence in himself
had not yet wholly returned. Quite apart from the fact that his life
had been threatened, he had received a shock from which he was not
likely to recover for some time to come.
It was quite late when they arrived at Peggy's home in Hoboken, where
they found Peggy's aunt, Miss Daintree, laying the table for supper.
In a few brief words, Peggy told her aunt as much as she knew of what
had happened; whereat Aunt Marion expressed neither surprise nor
disappointment. She listened with a sweet smile, and rewarded Peggy
with a kiss, saying that she was more glad than sorry, since the firm of
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had never been to her liking. Besides, as
she pointed out, Peggy was worth a great deal more than they paid her.
There were thousands of chances for a good stenographer in New York, so
after all Peggy had no cause to despair.
Jimmy stayed to supper; but, despite the fact that both he and Peggy had
been deprived of the illicit joys of a "picnic," he had neither any
appetite nor any wish to talk, but remained pensive and grave as a
judge.
Afterwards, seated before the fire with those two women, one on either
side, he told the whole truth, in defiance of Rudolf Stork. And that
was surely a strange audience to listen to a story of such world-wide
dimensions, fraught with such unheard-of possibilities. The one was a
woman who had already reached middle age, whose hair was touched with
grey, whose life had been spent for the most part in those simple,
sunlit joys which are God's gift to the really good. And the other was
a girl who might still have been at school.
They listened in still amazement, finding it all not easy to believe.
And when Jimmy had come to the end of his narrative, and his face was
flushed and his eyes bright, he looked to Aunt Marion, as the
eldest--and presumedly the wisest--for some practical advice. But that
kind-hearted, loving lady knew, perhaps, even less of the world than he.
She thought at first that it would be best to go at once to the police;
but, when Jimmy suggested that the New York police were notoriously
corrupt, she agreed that, perhaps, the British consul was a more
suitable person. Accordingly, after a long discussion, it was arranged
that Jimmy and Peggy should go together to that gentleman's office the
following day.
That night, the boy slept on a sofa; but Aunt Marion had made him
promise that he would remain with them, as their guest, until he had
obtained some new employment. There was a box-room which she could
easily convert into a bedroom. She knew Jimmy well, and loved the boy;
she even knew the story of "Swiftsure Burke." She knew that Jimmy was
quite penniless, and would have to make his own way in the world; and
she was anxious to do all she could to help him.
Jimmy spent the following morning bringing the few worldly goods he
possessed from his old lodgings in New York itself to the other side of
the harbour. He had enough money at home to pay the week's rent he
owed, and the cab fare and the ferry-boat. And when he had done that,
he found himself with nothing in the world--but "Swiftsure Burke's"
lucky, dented sixpence.
At about three o'clock in the afternoon, the boy and girl sallied forth
together, to interview the British consul. They had an exceedingly
vague notion of what they were going to say to that all-important
personage when they met him; they had not even a very exact idea as to
what the duties of a consul were. None the less, they were quite
convinced that he would explain the whole affair.
As it turned out, the consul was on a holiday--as his Britannic
Majesty's consuls frequently are. However, they were shown into the
presence of a certain Mr. Ridgeway, who introduced himself as the
consul's private secretary.
This Mr. Ridgeway listened to the boy's story with an expression of
mingled astonishment and disgust. At one moment, he was really alarmed;
at the next, he was perfectly convinced that the whole thing was a hoax.
But, towards the end, when Jimmy became very excited, and Peggy wrung
her hands, he could scarcely fail to see that the boy was terribly in
earnest. Moreover, he knew the Baron von Essling by reputation--which
reputation was certainly not of the best. Still, he could hardly bring
himself to believe either that such a cold-blooded, deliberate plot
really did exist, or that a military attache could so abuse a position
of the greatest trust.
He promised, however, to tell the whole story to the consul when he
returned, and pointed out that in due course, no doubt, the Foreign
Office would be informed. In the meantime, Jimmy was to keep his eyes
open and his mouth shut. On no account whatsoever was he to say a word
to any one of what he knew.
The boy was determined to remember this advice, which--strangely
enough--coincided with that of Rudolf Stork. As he came down the front
doorsteps of the consulate, though he was out of work and practically a
pauper, though he was conscious of the fact that he was living on the
charity of others who could not afford to support him and upon whom he
had no claim, he walked with a lighter tread than ever in his life
before. He could not but feel proud of the fact that, for some
mysterious reason, he was, indeed, a person of importance.
A man was leaning against the railings, both hands thrust deep in his
trousers pockets, a battered hat jammed over his eyes--one of the
inevitable loafers who are to be found in the streets of every city in
the world. As Jimmy reached the bottom step, this man looked at him
sharply from over his shoulder, and then slouched away.
The boy stood stock still, staring after the man with the battered hat,
with parted lips and widely opened eyes. He did not speak or move,
until Peggy suddenly touched his arm.
"Did you see that man?" he whispered.
"What is it?" Peggy exclaimed. "What's the matter, Jimmy?"
Jimmy pointed to the receding figure which just then disappeared quite
suddenly round a corner.
"That man," said he, "was Rudolf Stork. And he knows I saw him."