Refreshed by icy baths and clean linen, and now further fortified
against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune by a supper of
cold fowl and Moselle, Captain Renoux and Garret Barres sat in the
apartment of the former gentleman, gaily exchanging Latin Quarter
reminiscences through the floating haze of their cigars.
But the conversation soon switched back toward the far more serious
business which alone accounted for their being there together after
many years. For, as the French officer had remarked, a good deal
remained to be said between them. And Barres knew what he meant, and
was deeply concerned at the prospect.
But Renoux approached the matter with careless good humour and by a
leisurely, circuitous route, which polite pussy-footing was obviously
to prepare Barres for impending trouble.
He began by referring to his mission in America, admitting very
frankly that he was a modest link in the system of military and
political intelligence maintained by all European countries in the
domains of their neighbours.
"I might as well say so," he remarked, "because it's known to the
representatives of enemy governments here as well as to your own
Government, that some of us are here; and anybody can imagine why.
"And, in the course of my--studies," he said deliberately, while his
clear eyes twinkled, "it has come to my knowledge, and to the
knowledge of the French Ambassador, that there is, in New York, a
young woman who already has proven herself a dangerous enemy to my
country."
"That is interesting, if true," said Barres, reddening to the temples.
"But it is even more interesting if it is not true.... And it isn't!"
"You think not?"
"I don't think anything about it, Renoux; I _know_."
"I am afraid you have been misled, Barres. And it is natural enough."
"Why?"
"Because," said Renoux serenely, "she is very beautiful, very clever,
very young, very appealing.... Tell me, my friend, where did you meet
her?"
Barres looked him in the eyes:
"Where did you learn that I had ever met her?"
"Through the ordinary channels which, if you will pardon me, I am not
at liberty to discuss."
"All right. It is sufficient that you know I have met her. Now, where
did I meet her?"
"I don't know," said Renoux candidly.
"How long have I known her then?"
"Possibly a few weeks. Our information is that your acquaintance with
her is not of long duration."
"Wrong, my friend: I met her in France several years ago; I know her
intimately."
"Yes, the intimacy has been reported," said Renoux, blandly. "But it
doesn't take long, sometimes."
Barres reddened again and shook his head:
"You and your agents are all wrong, Renoux. So is your Government. Do
you know what it's doing--what you and your agents are doing? You're
playing a German game for Berlin!"
This time Renoux flushed and there was a slight quiver to his lips and
nostrils; but he said very pleasantly:
"That would be rather mortifying, mon ami, if it were true."
"It is true. Berlin, the traitor in Paris, the conspirator in America,
the German, Austrian, and Turkish diplomatic agents here ask nothing
better than that you manage, somehow, to eliminate the person in
question."
"Why?" demanded Renoux.
"Because more than one of your public men in Paris will face charges
of conspiracy and treason if the person in question ever has a fair
hearing and a chance to prove her innocence of the terrible
accusations that have been made against her."
"Naturally," said Renoux, "those accused bring counter charges. It is
always the history of such cases, mon ami."
"Your mind is already made up, then?"
"My mind is a real mind, Barres. Reason is what it seeks--the logical
evidence that leads to truth. If there is anything I don't know, then
I wish to know it, and will spare no pains, permit no prejudice to
warp my judgment."
"All right. Now, let's have the thing out between us, Renoux. We are
not fencing in the dark; we understand each other and are honest
enough to say so. Now, go on."
Renoux nodded and said very quietly and pleasantly:
"The reference in one of these papers to the celebrated Nihla Quellen
reminds me of the first time I ever saw her. I was quite bowled over,
Barres, as you may easily imagine. She sang one of those Asiatic
songs--and then the dance!--a miracle!--a delight--apparently entirely
unprepared, unpremeditated even--you know how she did it?--exquisite
perfection--something charmingly impulsive and spontaneous--a caprice
of the moment! Ah--there is a wonderful artiste, Nihla Quellen!"
Barres nodded, his level gaze fixed on the French officer.
"As for the document," continued Renoux, "it does not entirely explain
itself to me. You see, this Eurasian, Ferez Bey, was a very intimate
friend of Nihla Quellen."
"You are quite mistaken," interposed Barres. But the other merely
smiled with a slight gesture of deference to his friend's opinion, and
went on.
"This Ferez is one of those persistent, annoying flies which buzz
around chancelleries and stir up diplomats to pernicious activities.
You know there isn't much use in swatting, as you say, the fly. No.
Better find the manure heap which hatched him and burn that!"
He smiled and shrugged, relighted his cigar, and continued:
"So, mon ami, I am here in your charming and hospitable city to direct
the necessary sanitary measures, sub rosa, of course. You have been
more than kind. My Government and I have you to thank for this batch
of papers----" He tapped his breast pocket and made salutes which
Frenchmen alone know how to make.
"Renoux," said Barres bluntly, "you have learned somehow that Nihla
Quellen is under my protection. You conclude I am her lover."
The officer's face altered gravely, but he said nothing.
Barres leaned forward in his chair and laid a hand on his comrade's
shoulder:
"Renoux, do you trust me, personally?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Then I shall trust you. Because there is nothing you can
tell me about Nihla Quellen that I do not already know--nothing
concerning her _dossier_ in your secret archives, nothing in regard to
the evidence against her and the testimony of the Count d'Eblis. And
that clears the ground between you and me."
If Renoux was surprised he scarcely showed it.
Barres said:
"As long as you know that she is under my protection, I want you to
come to my place and talk to her. I don't ask you to accept my
judgment in regard to her; I merely wish you to listen to what she has
to say, and then come to your own conclusions. Will you do this?"
For a few moments Renoux sat quite still, his clear, intelligent eyes
fixed on the smoking tip of his cigar. Without raising them he said
slowly:
"As we understand it, Nihla Quellen has been a spy from the very
beginning. Our information is clear, concise, logical. We know her
history. She was the mistress of Prince Cyril, then of Ferez, then of
d'Eblis--perhaps of the American banker, Gerhardt, also. She came
directly from the German Embassy at Constantinople to Paris, on
Gerhardt's yacht, the _Mirage_, and under his protection and the
protection of Comte Alexandre d'Eblis.
"Ferez was of the party. And that companionship of conspirators never
was dissolved as long as Nihla Quellen remained in Europe."
"That Nihla Quellen has ever been the mistress of any man is
singularly untrue," said Barres coolly. "Your Government has to do
with a chaste woman; and it doesn't even know that much!"
Renoux regarded him curiously:
"You have seen her dance?" he enquired gravely.
"Often. And, Renoux, you are too much a man of the world to be
surprised at the unexpected. There _are_ white blackbirds."
"Yes, there are."
"Nihla Quellen is one."
"My friend, I desire to believe it if it would be agreeable to you."
"I know, Renoux; I believe in your good-will. Also, I believe in your
honesty and intelligence. And so I do not ask you to accept my word
for what I tell you. Only remember that I am absolutely certain
concerning my belief in Nihla Quellen.... I have no doubt that you
think I am in love with her.... I can't answer you. All Europe was in
love with her. Perhaps I am.... I don't know, Renoux. But this I do
know; she is clean and sweet and honest from the crown of her head to
the sole of her foot. In her heart there has never dwelt treachery.
Talk to her to-night. You're like the best of your compatriots, clear
minded, logical, intelligent, and full of that legitimate imagination
without which intellect is a machine. You know the world; you know
men; you don't know women and you know you don't. Therefore, you are
equipped to learn the truth--to divine it--from Nihla Quellen. Will
you come over to my place now?"
"Yes," said Renoux pleasantly.
* * * * *
The orchestra was playing as they passed through the hotel; supper
rooms, corridors, cafe and lobby were crowded with post-theatre
throngs in search of food and drink and dance music; and although few
theatres were open in July, Long Acre blazed under its myriad lights
and the sidewalks were packed with the audiences filtering out of the
various summer shows and into all-night cabarets.
They looked across at the distant war bulletins displayed on Times
Square, around which the usual gesticulating crowd had gathered, but
kept on across Long Acre, and west toward Sixth Avenue.
Midway in the block, Renoux touched his comrade silently on the arm,
and halted.
"A few minutes, mon ami, if you don't mind--time for you to smoke a
cigarette while waiting."
They had stopped before a brownstone house which had been converted
into a basement dwelling, and which was now recessed between two
modern shops constructed as far as the building line.
All the shades and curtains in the house were drawn and the place
appeared to be quite dark, but a ring at the bell brought a big,
powerfully built porter, who admitted them to a brightly lighted
reception room. Then the porter replaced the chains on the door of
bronze.
"Just a little while, if you will be amiable enough to have patience,"
said Renoux.
He went away toward the rear of the house and Barres seated himself.
And in a few moments the burly porter reappeared with a tray
containing a box of cigarettes and a tall glass of Moselle.
"Monsieur Renoux will not be long," he said, bringing a sheaf of
French illustrated periodicals to the little table at Barres' elbow;
and he retired with a bow and resumed his chair in the corridor by the
bronze door.
Through closed doors, somewhere from the rear of the silent house
came the distant click of a typewriter. At moments, too, looking over
the war pictures in the periodicals, Barres imagined that he heard a
confused murmur as of many voices.
Later it became evident that there were a number of people somewhere
in the house, because, now and then, the porter unlatched the door and
drew the chains to let out some swiftly walking man.
Once two men came out together. One carried a satchel; the other
halted in the hallway to slip a clip into an automatic pistol before
dropping it into the side pocket of his coat.
And after a while Renoux appeared, bland, debonaire, evidently much
pleased with whatever he had been doing.
Two other men appeared in the corridor behind him; he said something
to them in a low voice; Barres imagined he heard the words,
"Washington" and "Jusserand."
Then the two men went out, walking at a smart pace, and Renoux
sauntered into the tiny reception room.
"You don't know," he said, "what a very important service you have
rendered us by catching that fellow to-night and stripping him of his
papers."
Barres rose and they walked out together.
"This city," added Renoux, "is fairly verminous with disloyal Huns.
The streets are crawling with them; every German resort, saloon, beer
garden, keller, cafe, club, society--every German drug store,
delicatessen shop, music store, tobacconist, is lousy with the
treacherous swine.
"There are two great hotels where the boche gathers and plots; two
great banking firms are centres of German propaganda; three great
department stores, dozens of downtown commercial agencies; various
buildings and piers belonging to certain transatlantic steamship
lines, the offices of certain newspapers and periodicals.... Tell me,
Barres, did you know that the banker, Gerhardt, owns the building in
which you live?"
"Dragon Court!"
"You didn't know it, evidently. Yes, he owns it."
"Is he really involved in pro-German intrigue?" asked Barres.
"That is our information."
"I ask," continued Barres thoughtfully, "because his summer home is at
Northbrook, not far from my own home. And to me there is something
peculiarly contemptible about disloyalty in the wealthy who owe every
penny to the country they betray."
"His place is called Hohenlinden," remarked Renoux.
"Yes. Are you having it watched?"
Renoux smiled. Perhaps he was thinking about other places, also--the
German Embassy, for example, where, inside the Embassy itself, not
only France but also the United States Government was represented by a
secret agent among the personnel.
"We try to learn what goes on among the boches," he said carelessly.
"They try the same game. But, Barres, they are singularly stupid at
such things--not adroit, merely clumsy and brutal. The Hun cannot
camouflage his native ferocity. He reveals himself.
"And in that respect it is fortunate for civilisation that it is
dealing with barbarians. Their cunning is of the swinish sort. Their
stench ultimately discovers them. You are discovering it for
yourselves; you detected Dernberg; you already sniff Von Papen,
Boy-ed, Bernstorff. All over the world the nauseous effluvia from the
vast Teutonic hog-pen is being detected and recognised. And
civilisation is taking sanitary measures to abate the nuisance.... And
your country, too, will one day send out a sanitary brigade to help
clean up the world, just as you now supply our details with the
necessary chlorides and antiseptics."
Barres laughed:
"You are very picturesque," he said. "And I'll tell you one thing, if
we don't join the sanitary corps now operating, I shall go out with a
bottle of chloride myself."
They entered Dragon Court a few moments later. Nobody was at the desk,
it being late.
"To-morrow," said Barres, as they ascended the stairs, "my friends,
Miss Soane, Miss Dunois, and Mr. Westmore are to be our guests
at Foreland Farms. You didn't know that, did you?" he added
sarcastically.
"Oh, yes," replied Renoux, much amused. "Miss Dunois, as you call her,
sent her trunks away this evening."
Barres, surprised and annoyed, halted on the landing:
"Your people didn't interfere, I hope."
"No. There was nothing in them of interest to us," said Renoux
naively. "I sent a report when I sent on to Washington the papers
which you secured for us."
Barres paused before his studio door, key in hand. They could hear the
gramophone going inside. He said:
"I don't have to ask you to be fair, Renoux, because the man who is
unfair to others swindles himself, and you are too decent, too
intelligent to do that. I am going to present you to Thessalie Dunois,
which happens to be her real name, and I am going to tell her in your
presence who you are. Then I shall leave you alone with her."
He fitted his latchkey and opened the door.
Westmore was trying fancy dancing with Dulcie on one side, and
Thessalie on the other--the latter evidently directing operations.
"Garry!" exclaimed Thessalie.
"You're a fine one! Where have you been?" began Westmore. Then he
caught sight of Renoux and became silent.
Barres led his comrade forward and presented him:
"A fellow student of the Beaux Arts," he explained, "and we've had a
very jolly evening together. And, Thessa, there is something in
particular that I should like to have you explain to Monsieur Renoux,
if you don't mind...." He turned and looked at Dulcie: "If you will
pardon us a moment, Sweetness."
She nodded and smiled and took Westmore's arm again, and continued the
dance alone with him while Barres, drawing Thessalie's arm through
his, and passing his other arm through Renoux's, walked leisurely
through his studio, through the now open folding doors, past his
bedroom and Westmore's, and into the latter's studio beyond.
"Thessa, dear," he said very quietly, "I feel very certain that
the worst of your troubles are about to end----" He felt her
start slightly. "And," he continued, "I have brought my comrade,
Renoux, here to-night so that you and he can clear up a terrible
misunderstanding.
"And Monsieur Renoux, once a student of architecture at the Beaux
Arts, is now Captain Renoux of the Intelligence Department in the
French Army----"
Thessalie lost her colour and a tremor passed through the arm which
lay within his.
But he said calmly:
"It is the only way as well as the best way, Thessa. I know you are
absolutely innocent. I am confident that Captain Renoux is going to
believe it, too. If he does not, you are no worse off. Because it has
already become known to the French Government that you are here.
Renoux knew it."
They had halted; Barres led Thessalie to a seat. Renoux, straight,
deferential, correct, awaited her pleasure.
She looked up at him; his keen, intelligent eyes met hers.
"If you please, Captain Renoux, will you do me the honour to be
seated?" she said in a low voice.
Barres went to her, bent over her hand, touched it with his lips.
"Just tell him the truth, Thessa, dear," he said.
"Everything?" she smiled faintly, "including our first meeting?"
Barres flushed, then laughed:
"Yes, tell him about that, too. It was too charming for him not to
appreciate."
And with a half mischievous, half amused nod to Renoux he went back to
find the dancers, whom he could hear laughing far away in his own
studio.
* * * * *
It was nearly one o'clock when Dulcie, who had been sleeping with
Thessalie, whispered to Barres that she was ready to retire.
"Indeed, you had better," he said, releasing her as the dance music
ran down and ceased. "If you don't get some sleep you won't feel like
travelling to-morrow."
"Will you explain to Thessa?"
"Of course. Good-night, dear."
She gave him her hand in silence, turned and offered it to Westmore,
then went away toward her room.
Westmore, who had been fidgeting a lot since Thessalie had retired for
a tete-a-tete with a perfectly unknown and alarmingly good-looking
young man whom he never before had laid eyes on, finally turned short
in his restless pacing of the studio.
"What the deuce can be keeping Thessa?" he demanded. "And who the
devil is that black-eyed young sprig of France you brought home with
you?"
"Sit down and I'll tell you," said Barres crisply, instinctively
resenting his friend's uncalled for solicitude in Thessalie's behalf.
So Westmore seated himself and Barres told him all about the evening's
adventures. And he was still lingering unctuously over the details of
the battle at Grogan's, the recital of which, Westmore demanding, he
had begun again, when at the farther end of the studio Thessalie
appeared, coming toward them.
Renoux was beside her, very deferential and graceful in his
attendance, and with that niceness of attitude which confesses respect
in every movement.
Thessalie came forward; Barres advanced to meet her with the unspoken
question in his eyes, and she gave him both her hands with a tremulous
little smile of happiness.
"Is it all right?" he whispered.
"I think so."
Barres turned and grasped Renoux by one hand.
The latter said:
"There is not the slightest doubt in my mind, mon ami. You were
perfectly right. A frightful injustice has been done in this matter.
Of that I am absolutely convinced."
"You will do what you can to set things right?"
"Of course," said Renoux simply.
There was a moment's silence, then Renoux smiled:
"You know," he said lightly, "we French have a horror of any more
mistakes like the Dreyfus case. We are terribly sensitive. Be assured
that my Government will take up this affair instantly upon receiving
my report."
He turned to Barres:
"Would you, perhaps, offer me a day's hospitality at your home in the
country, if I should request it by telegram sometime this week or
next?"
"You bet," replied Barres cordially.
Then Renoux made his adieux, as only such a Frenchman can make them,
saying exactly the right thing to each, in exactly the right manner.
When he was gone, Barres took Thessalie's hands and pressed them:
"Pretty merle-blanc, your little friend Dulcie is already asleep. Tell
us to-morrow how you convinced him that you are what you are--the
dearest, sweetest girl in the world!"
She laughed demurely, then glanced apprehensively, sideways, at
Westmore.
And the mute but infuriated expression on that young man's countenance
seemed to cause her the loss of all self-possession, for she cast one
more look at him and fled with a hasty "good-night!"