She came in swiftly, stirring the sultry stillness of the studio with
a little breeze from her gown, faintly fragrant.
"Garry, dear!--" She gave him both her hands and looked at him; and he
saw the pink tint of excitement in her cheeks and her dark eyes
brilliant.
"Thessa, this is charming of you----"
"No! I came----" She cast a swift glance around her, beheld Westmore,
gave him one hand as he came forward.
"How do you do?" she said, almost breathlessly, plainly controlling
some inward excitement.
But Westmore retained her hand and laid the other over it.
"You _said_ you'd come to the Ritz----"
"I'm sorry.... I have been--bothered--with matters--affairs----"
"You are bothered now," he said. "If you have something to say to
Garry, I'll go about my business.... Only I'm sorry it's not your
business, too."
He released her hand and reached for the door-knob: her dark eyes were
resting on him with a strained, intent expression. On impulse she
thrust out her arm and closed the door, which he had begun to open.
"Please--Mr. Westmore.... I do want to see you. I'm trying to think
clearly--" She turned and looked at Barres.
"Is it serious?" he said in a low voice.
"I--suppose so.... Garry, I wish to--to come here ... and stay."
"What!"
She nodded.
"Is it all right?"
"All right," he replied pleasantly, bewildered and almost inclined to
laugh.
She said in a low, tense voice.
"I'm really in trouble, Garry. I told you once that the word was not
in my vocabulary.... I've had to include it."
"I'm so sorry! Tell me all about----"
He checked himself: she turned to Westmore--a deeper flush came into
her cheeks--then she said gravely:
"I scarcely know Mr. Westmore, but if he is like you, Garry--your
sort--perhaps he----"
"He'd do anything for you, Thessa, if you'll let him. Have you
confidence in me?"
"You know I have."
"Then you can have the same confidence in Jim. I suggest it because I
have a hazy idea what your trouble is. And if you came to ask advice,
then I think that you'll get double value if you include Jim Westmore
in your confidence."
She stood silent and with heightened colour for a moment, then her
expression became humorous, and, partly turning, she put out her
gloved hand behind her and took hold of Westmore's sleeve. It was at
once an appeal and an impulsive admission of her confidence in this
young man whom she had liked from the beginning, and who must be
trustworthy because he was the friend of Garret Barres.
"I'm scared half to death," she remarked, without a quaver in her
voice, but her smile had now become forced, and a quick, uneven little
sigh escaped her as she passed her arms through Barres' and
Westmore's, and, moving across the carpet between them, suffered
herself to be installed among the Chinese cushions upon the lounge by
the open window.
In her distractingly pretty summer hat and gown, and with her white
gloves and gold-mesh purse in her lap--her fresh, engaging face and
daintily rounded figure--Thessalie Dunois seemed no more mature, no
more experienced in worldly wisdom, than the charming young girls one
passes on Fifth Avenue on a golden morning in early spring.
But Westmore, looking into her dark eyes, divined, perhaps, something
less inexperienced, less happy in their lovely, haunted depths. And,
troubled by he knew not what, he waited in silence for her to speak.
Barres said to her:
"You are being annoyed, Thessa, dear. I gather that much from what has
already happened. Can Jim and I do anything?"
"I don't know.... It's come to a point where I--I'm afraid--to be
alone."
Her gaze fell; she sat brooding for a few moments, then, with a quick
intake of breath:
"It humiliates me to come to you. Would you believe that of me, Garry,
that it has come to a point where I am actually afraid to be alone? I
thought I had plenty of what the world calls courage."
"You have!"
"I _had_. I don't know what's become of it--what has happened to
me.... I don't want to tell you more than I have to----"
"Tell us as much as you think necessary," said Barres, watching her.
"Thank you.... Well, then, some years ago I earned the enmity of a
man. And, through him, a European Government blacklisted me. It was a
terrible thing. I did not fully appreciate what it meant at the time."
She turned to Westmore in her pretty, impulsive way: "This European
Government, of which I speak, believes me to be the agent of another
foreign government--believes that I betrayed its interests. This man
whom I offended, to punish me and to cover his own treachery,
furnished evidence which would have convicted me of treachery and
espionage."
The excited colour began to dye her cheeks again; she stretched out
one arm in appeal to Westmore:
"Please believe me! I am no spy. I never was. I was too young, too
stupid, too innocent in such matters to know what this man was
about--that he had very cleverly implicated me in this abhorrent
matter. Do you believe me, Mr. Westmore?"
"Of course I do!" he said with a fervour not, perhaps, necessary. "If
you'll be kind enough to point out that gentleman----"
"Wait, Jim," interposed Barres, nodding to Thessalie to proceed.
She had been looking at Westmore, apparently much interested in his
ardour, but she came to herself when Barres interrupted, and sat
silent again as though searching her mind concerning what further she
might say. Slowly the forced smile curved her lips again. She said:
"I don't know just what that enraged European Government might have
done to me had I been arrested, because I ran away ... and came
here.... But the man whom I offended discovered where I was and never
for a day even have his agents ceased to watch me, annoy me----"
There was a quick break in her voice; she set her lips in silence
until the moment's emotion had passed, then, turning to Westmore with
winning dignity: "I am a dancer and singer--an entertainer of sorts,
by profession. I----"
"Tell Westmore a little more, Thessa," said Barres.
"If you think it necessary."
"I'll tell him. Miss Dunois was the most celebrated entertainer in
Europe when this happened. Since she came here the man she has
mentioned has, somehow, managed to interfere and spoil every business
arrangement which she has attempted." He looked at Thessa. "I don't
know whether, if Thessalie had cared to use the name under which she
was known all over Europe----"
"I didn't dare, Garry. I thought that, if some manager would only give
me a chance I could make a new name for myself. But wherever I went I
was dogged, and every arrangement was spoiled.... I had my jewels....
You remember some of them, Garry. I gave those away--I think I told
you why. _But_ I had other jewels--unset diamonds given to my mother
by Prince Haledine. Well, I sold them and invested the money.... And
my income is all I have--quite a tiny income, Mr. Westmore, but
enough. Only I could have done very well here, I think, if I had not
been interfered with."
"Thessa," said Barres, "why not tell us both a little more? We're
devoted to you."
The girl lifted her dark eyes, and unconsciously they were turned to
Westmore. And in that young man's vigorous, virile personality perhaps
she recognised something refreshing, subtlely compelling, for, still
looking at him, she began to speak quite naturally of things which
had long been locked within her lonely heart:
"I was scarcely more than a child when General Count Klingenkampf
killed my father. The Grand Duke Cyril hushed it up.
"I had several thousand roubles. I had--trouble with the Grand
Duke.... He annoyed me ... as some men annoy a woman.... And when I
put him in his place he insulted the memory of my mother because she
was a Georgian.... I slapped his face with a whip.... And then I had
to run away."
She drew a quick, uneven breath, smiling at Westmore from whose intent
gaze her own dark eyes never wandered.
"My father had been a French officer before he took service in
Russia," she said. "I was educated in Alsace and then in England. Then
my father sent for me and I returned to St. Peters--I mean Petrograd.
And because I loved dancing my father obtained permission for me to
study at the Imperial school. Also, I had it in me to sing, and I had
excellent instruction.
"And because I did such things in my own way, sometimes my father
permitted me to entertain at the gay gatherings patronised by the
Grand Duke Cyril."
She smiled in reminiscence, and her gaze became remote for a moment.
Then, coming back, she lifted her eyes once more to Westmore's:
"I ran away from Cyril and went to Constantinople, where Von-der-Goltz
Pasha and others whom I had met at the Grand Duke's parties, when
little more than a child, were stationed. I entertained at the German
Embassy, and at the Yildiz Palace.... I was successful. And my success
brought me opportunities--of the wrong kind. Do you understand?"
Westmore nodded.
"So," she continued, with a slight movement of disdain, "I didn't
quite see how I was to get to Paris all alone and begin a serious
career. And one evening I entertained at the German Embassy--tell me,
do you know Constantinople?"
"No."
"Well, it is nothing except a vast mass of gossip and intrigue. One
breakfasts on rumours, lunches on secrets, and dines on scandals. And
my maid told me enough that day to make certain matters quite clear to
me.
"And so I entertained at the Embassy.... Afterward it was no surprise
when his Excellency whispered to me that an honest career was assured
me if I chose, and that I might be honestly launched in Paris without
paying the price which I would not pay.
"Later I was not surprised, either, when Ferez Bey, a friend of my
father, and a man I had known since childhood, presented me
to--to----" She glanced at Barres; he nodded; she concluded to name
the man: "--the Count d'Eblis, a Senator of France, and owner of the
newspaper called _Le Mot d'Ordre_."
After a silence she stole another glance at Barres; a smile hovered on
her lips. He, also, smiled; for he, too, was thinking of that moonlit
way they travelled together on a night in June so long ago.
Her glance asked:
"Is it necessary to tell Mr. Westmore this?"
He shook his head very slightly.
"Well," she went on, her eyes reverting again to Westmore, "the Count
d'Eblis, it appeared, had fallen in love with me at first sight.... In
the beginning he misunderstood me.... When he realised that I would
endure no nonsense from any man he proved to be sufficiently
infatuated with me to offer me marriage."
She shrugged:
"At that age one man resembled another to me. Marriage was a
convention, a desirable business arrangement. The Count was in a
position to launch me into a career. Careers begin in Paris. And I
knew enough to realise that a girl has to pay in one way or another
for such an opportunity. So I said that I would marry him if I came to
care enough for him. Which merely meant that if he were ordinarily
polite and considerate and companionable I would ultimately become his
wife.
"That was the arrangement. And it caused much trouble. Because I was
a--" she smiled at Barres, "--a success from the first moment. And
d'Eblis immediately began to be abominably jealous and unreasonable.
Again and again he broke his promise and tried to interfere with my
career. He annoyed me constantly by coming to my hotel at inopportune
moments; he made silly scenes if I ventured to have any friends or if
I spoke twice to the same man; he distrusted me--he and Ferez Bey, who
had taken service with him. Together they humiliated me, made my life
miserable by their distrust.
"I warned d'Eblis that his absurd jealousy and unkindness would not
advance him in my interest. And for a while he seemed to become
more reasonable. In fact, he apparently became sane again, and I had
even consented to our betrothal, when, by accident, I discovered
that he and Ferez were having me followed everywhere I went. And
that very night was to have been a gay one--a party in honour of our
betrothal--the night I discovered what he and Ferez had been doing
to me.
"I was so hurt, so incensed, that--" She cast an involuntary glance at
Barres; he made a slight movement of negation, and she concluded her
sentence calmly: "--I quarrelled with d'Eblis.... There was a very
dreadful scene. And it transpired that he had sold a preponderating
interest in _Le Mot d'Ordre_ to Ferez Bey, who was operating the paper
in German interests through orders directly from Berlin. And d'Eblis
thought I knew this and that I meant to threaten him, perhaps
blackmail him, to shield some mythical lover with whom, he declared, I
had become involved, and who was betraying him to the British
Ambassador."
She drew a deep, long breath:
"Is it necessary for me to say that there was not a particle of truth
in his hysterical accusations?--that I was utterly astounded? But my
amazement became anger and then sheer terror when I learned from his
own lips that he had cunningly involved me in his transactions with
Ferez and with Berlin. So cunningly, so cleverly, so seriously had he
managed to compromise me as a German agent that he had a mass of
evidence against me sufficient to have had me court-martialled and
shot had it been in time of war.
"To me the situation seemed hopeless. I never would be believed by the
French Government. Horror of arrest overwhelmed me. In a panic I took
my unset jewels and fled to Belgium. And then I came here."
She paused, trembling a little at the memory of it all. Then:
"The agents of d'Eblis and Ferez discovered me and have given me no
peace. I do not appeal to the police because that would stir up secret
agents of the French Government. But it has come now to a place
where--where I don't know what to do.... And so--being afraid at
last--I am here to--to ask--advice----"
She waited to control her voice, then opened her gold-mesh bag and
drew from it a letter.
"Three weeks ago I received this," she said. "I ignored it. Two weeks
ago, as I opened the door of my room to go out, a shot was fired at
me, and I heard somebody running down stairs.... I was badly scared.
But I went out and did my shopping, and then I went to the writing
room of a hotel and wrote to Garry.... Somebody watching me must have
seen me write it, because an attempt was made to steal the letter. A
man wearing a handkerchief over his face tried to snatch it out of the
hands of Dulcie Soane. But he got only half of the letter.
"And when I got home that same evening I found that my room had been
ransacked.... That was why I did not go to meet you at the Ritz; I was
too upset. Besides, I was busy moving my quarters.... But it was no
use. Last night I was awakened by hearing somebody working at the lock
of my bedroom. And I sat up till morning with a pistol in my hand....
And--I don't think I had better live entirely alone--until it is
safer. Do you, Garry?"
"I should think not!" said Westmore, turning red with anger.
"Did you wish us to see that letter?" asked Barres.
She handed it to him. It was typewritten; and he read it aloud,
leisurely and very distinctly, pausing now and then to give full
weight to some particularly significant and sinister sentence:
"MADEMOISELLE:
"For two years and more it has been repeatedly intimated to you
that your presence in America is not desirable to certain people,
except under certain conditions, which conditions you refuse to
consider.
"You have impudently ignored these intimations.
"Now, you are beginning to meddle. Therefore, this warning is sent
to you: _Mind your business and cease your meddling!_
"Moreover, you are invited to leave the United States at your
early convenience.
"France, England, Russia, and Italy are closed to you. Without
doubt you understand that. Also, doubtless you have no desire to
venture into Germany, Austria, Bulgaria, or Turkey. Scandinavia
remains open to you, and practically no other country except
Spain, because we do not permit you to go to Mexico or to Central
or South America. Do you comprehend? _We_ do not permit it.
"Therefore, hold your tongue and control your _furor scribendi_
while in New York. And make arrangements to take the next Danish
steamer for Christiania.
"This is a friendly warning. For if you are still here in the
United States two weeks after you have received this letter, other
measures will be taken in your regard which will effectually
dispose of your troublesome presence.
"The necessity which forces us to radical action in this affair is
regrettable, but entirely your own fault.
"You have, from time to time during the last two years, received
from us overtures of an amicable nature. You have been approached
with discretion and have been offered every necessary guarantee to
cover an understanding with us.
"You have treated our advances with frivolity and contempt. And
what have you gained by your defiance?
"Our patience and good nature has reached its limits. We shall ask
nothing further of you; we deliver you our orders hereafter. And
our orders are to leave New York immediately.
"Yet, even now, at the eleventh hour, it may not be too late for
us to come to some understanding if you change your attitude
entirely and show a proper willingness to negotiate with us in all
good faith.
"But that must be accomplished within the two weeks' grace given
you before you depart.
"You know how to proceed. If you try to play us false you had
better not have been born. If you deal honestly with us your
troubles are over.
"This is final.
"THE WATCHER."