MARUSA
1
I don’t know how it happened, but by some mutual impulse we found
ourselves in each other’s arms!
And when Marusa’s sweet lips met mine, it seemed the most natural
thing in the world. Perhaps the explanation may have been that it
_was_ the most natural thing in the world.
She snuggled her face against my shoulder; and:
“Have you forgotten,” I said, “that we are heard and seen?”
“We are _not_!” she replied. “The Master of our Destinies is
sleeping!”
The idea--although I had suspected it--struck me with all the charm of
novelty. Of course, even the superhuman dwarf must sleep sometimes.
Odd that I had never taken this into account!
“But even when Anubis is sleeping,” I said, “surely someone else is
watching?”
Marusa stood back from me and nodded slowly.
“The chief chemist takes charge,” she replied. “But the chief chemist
will not be watching; because, in the first place, the chief chemist
is my friend, and, in the second place, he has other duties
to-night.…”
I tried to hold her, but she slipped away and dropped into an
armchair. I stood watching her.
Women have told me of men whose glance seems to strip them. I am not
one of these, yet I believe that my glance now must have possessed
those properties. It was directed and fired by my imagination--and my
imagination held before me an image of Marusa as one of that infamous
Corps of Pages!
I seemed to see the golden turban tightly knotted about her shapely
head.… Suddenly, meeting my glance with one which held a challenge:
“What are you thinking?” she demanded.
“I am thinking of Anubis,” I replied.
“Anubis!”
She grasped my hand. “Do you mean you have seen him?”
“Certainly.”
“How wonderful! Do you know, I have been in this queer place for three
months, and I have never set eyes on him yet!”
“What!”
“Truly. He is a sort of nightmare to me. I can’t doubt his powers--who
could? There’s no room for doubt. But sometimes I picture him in one
way, and sometimes in another.”
Marusa went on talking. But her words came to me as through a mist,
dimly perceived.
She had never seen Anubis! Was this a condition imposed on all the
Corps of Pages? Had that master brain, knowing the hideousness of the
body in which it dwelled, achieved so remarkable a result?
“When you refer to the chief chemist,” I said, “do you mean Mme.
Yburg? Because, I know she is your friend. I’ve seen you with her.”
Marusa started.
“Have you? I didn’t know. But, after all, it’s no more than natural.
She is my mother.”
“What!”
“Does it seem queer? She has made this thing her life work, you see.
She has lots of degrees. She’s clever, far more clever than I shall
ever be. My father was killed in the last German attack on Ypres. Yes!
He was a Prussian officer. Do you hate me?”
“No. Why should I hate you? How _could_ I? It seems very odd, though,
that you should have been educated in England.”
“Yes, it does,” Marusa admitted. “But up to the time of the war it had
always been my father’s wish and his intention. Perhaps,” she added
simply, “he never had time to tell us that he’d changed his mind. I
can’t tell you--can I?--because I don’t know.”
Sometimes one is called upon to make such rapid mental readjustments
that they create a sort of gap in the consciousness. This was what
happened to me on learning that Mme. Yburg was Marusa’s mother. Then,
out of the gap, a great joy rose up--a recognition not only of my love
for the girl, but of the hideousness of my former suspicions.
Everything pointed to the fact that Mme. Yburg, next to Anubis, was
the most powerful figure in this strange movement, involving, I could
not doubt, every inhabitant of the globe. Marusa was her daughter!
Therefore, definitely, she was not one of the Corps of Pages; she was
not a laboratory product! She was _real_, as I had first conceived her
to be: strong, healthy, beautiful, clean-minded, approaching as nearly
as frail flesh can approach to that ideal which every lover builds, a
fragile monument, when first he recognizes his idol.
There was an interval which I might be able to recall but which I have
no desire to report. There are limits even to the zeal of the
professional copy hunter.…
From this phase the first recollection which emerges is an expression
of Marusa’s:
“If _you_ don’t want to stay, I can see no reason why _I_ should. I
have always enjoyed a certain amount of freedom, and now, after all, I
shall be twenty next birthday. I think I’m competent to choose my own
course.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mother says there’s no choice in the matter. Until you came, I never
doubted her, but Anubis, clever though he is, may nevertheless be
wrong.”
“Then you mean…?”
“I don’t think I’m entirely clear,” Marusa admitted, “as to what I
_do_ mean. But I had to see you again to-night, as I understand that
it’s critical, in some way.”
“You’re right. Certainly a psychological moment is approaching!”
“I know I’m right. Mother doesn’t quite realize that I’ve outgrown
childhood--have ideas of my own. I haven’t done anything definite--I’m
not clever enough to have thought of anything. But your friend Mr.
Lonergan is practically free of the place--and he’s _very_ clever,
isn’t he? You understand? Do you, or don’t you? I mean, I’ve done my
uttermost. If, after _all_, you’re determined to crash with the mob…”
“Yes?”
“Well… _I_ don’t particularly want to go on.”
2
The silence which followed Marusa’s departure bore down upon me with
what seemed almost physical pressure. I had learned so much, and even
now I knew so little. But my heart sang; for all those horrible doubts
of the past were swept away. At least she was human--real--lovable! I
had not, as once my dreadful imaginings had suggested, given my heart
to a shadow.
But I was a captive--a fly netted in the web! Always underlying my
reflections was the dread from moment to moment of the Voice.
At any instant it might intrude, ending all projects, terminating
every hope!
Anubis was sleeping! How soundly did he sleep and for how long? At any
time, I thought, he might awake. Secondly, what was the purpose of
Mme. Yburg? I understood at last what I had hitherto failed to
fathom--the critical interest which I had detected in the laboratory.
I knew now, or I thought I knew, why she had seemed to be weighing me
up.
I wondered if egoism spoke. I wondered if I might dare to believe that
she approved of my love for Marusa--that she countenanced it--was
prepared to further it. But how far? Under what conditions?
Always I had distrusted the elegant Mme. Yburg, but hitherto my
distrust had been based upon frankly childish superstitions. Now, it
had a firmer foundation. I knew her for what she was: chief officer of
the blackest menace which had ever threatened the world!
This, Marusa did not know--did not suspect! It was because of my
realization of her ignorance that I was so wildly happy.
Happy! Much had I to be happy about! What a fool I was--a vain fool--a
selfish fool! Myself, if I could believe the preposterous project of
Anubis, I was safe enough. Life and love were in my grasp. But my
charge, my duty--my sacred duty to the public--what of these? To what
extent was Lonergan’s freedom real?
That it had been secured with the consent of Mme. Yburg, the chief
chemist, I found myself unable to doubt. But was she merely humouring
Marusa? Was Lonergan actually under close surveillance--a mouse on a
wheel?
Above all, where _was_ he? I had left him with Herr Richter. He had
not rejoined me.… I looked at the little gold disk, resembling a very
flat dress watch, which Marusa had left with me. I recalled her
parting words.…
Excepting Marusa, I could trust no one, believe no one, in Felsenweir!
All was mirage--illusion--unreality!
I dropped into an armchair and sank my head. Lives hung in the
balance--mine, Lonergan’s, Max’s. Further, the world, or a great part
of it, was threatened by a more colossal criminal than society had
formerly visualized.
Yet my heart sang!
But my brain spoke urgently; raising queries--doubts--rebukes.
Where was Lonergan? To what extent could I count upon him?
Gaston Max lay in a crystal coffin. Myself, where did I stand?
“My God!”
I sprang up, fists clenched. They were buying me--_buying_ me! I,
Brian Woodville, was compromising with my conscience! I had a
commission to execute. This, frankly, I had forgotten! But, vastly
more important, I had a duty to the world. This--I despised myself--I
had been prepared to forget! For what? For a woman… meaning, for my
own selfish gratification!
Truly, the atmosphere of Felsenweir was unhealthy! It had already
sapped that pride of race which makes a man cling to a higher and
cleaner doctrine.
With my soul in torment, I paced up and down that narrow room. I
wrestled with my lower nature. And, thank heaven! I can say it with a
clean conscience--I conquered.
Facing facts, I realized I was helpless.
It was at the moment that this recognition forced me down again, so
that I sat, head clutched in hands, that I heard the whine of an
approaching elevator.
I stood up, watching.…
The panel opened.
Dr. Nestor stepped out!
The panel reclosed behind him.
Dr. Nestor bowed.
“I have been unduly nervous,” he declared. “My art is greater than my
courage.”
I clenched my hands--unclenched them; then:
“Max!” I whispered--“_Max!_”
“Quick!” His manner was urgent. “Bring me up to date. We are, I
believe, unobserved. Anubis is sleeping. You understand?”
“I _know_.”
“Ah! You _know_? Better still.”
He threw his arms about my shoulders and hugged me in Gallic fashion.
“Be brief,” he implored. “Condense your story. I, also, have much to
tell. We both have much to _do_.”
Conquering my amazement, I told him what I had to tell, nor did I
withhold one single fact. No sound disturbed my story. We were not
interrupted. But, at its conclusion:
“I am in a flat spin!” Gaston Max declared. “When I have explained,
you will understand. Then it must be up to the two of us to determine
upon some move. Because, my friend---- Well… you shall judge! I will
tell you what happened.”…