Halkett, not fancying it, went around the house to the quiet garden. Here he wandered to and fro among the trees or stood about aimlessly, looking down at the flower beds where, kneeling beside Sister Eila, he had aided her to fill her ozier basket.
Later Warner found him seated under the arbor with Ariadne on his knee; and a few moments afterward the maid, Linette, served their luncheon.
Neither of the young men was very communicative, but after the dishes and cloth had been removed, and when Halkett, musing over his cigarette and coffee, still exhibited no initiative toward conversation, Warner broke the silence:
"What about that shot?" he asked bluntly.
"What shot?"
"Don't you want to talk about it?"
Halkett glanced up, amused:
"Well, I suppose there was no hiding that bullet hole and the plaster dust from Sister Félicité."
"Of course not. The bullet ripped out the lathing. Who was it fired at the school? Or was it at you they let go?"
"Didn't you ask Sister Eila?"
"I did. She absolutely refused to discuss it, and referred us both to you. It was no accident, was it?"
"No."
"Somebody tried to get you?"
"It rather looked that way."
"Our friends in the grey car, of course!" concluded Warner.
"Not necessarily. They have other friends who might be equally attentive to me. I don't know who shot at me. There were three of them over by the river."
"Well, Halkett, don't you think you had better remain indoors for a while?"
"I'd better, I suppose." He laughed. "Honestly, I'm sick of being shot at. One of these days they'll hit me, if they're not very careful."
But Warner did not smile.
"Do you promise to stay indoors?" he insisted.
"I'll see. Perhaps."
"Don't you think it advisable for you to carry some sort of a firearm – one of my automatics, for example?"
"Thanks, old fellow. I think I'll do that, if you can spare a section of your artillery for a day or two."
Warner promptly fished an automatic out of his hip pocket, and Halkett took it and examined it.
"So I'm to do the Wild West business after all," he said gayly. "Right you are, old chap. I know how it's done; I've read about it in your novels. You wait till your enemy takes a drop, then you get the drop!" He laughed at his British joke. And, having no hip pocket, he stowed away the lumpy bluish weapon in a side pocket of his coat.
"Now, don't let me interfere with your daily routine," he continued. "I shall do very well here in the arbor while you lead your Harem toward the Olympian heights."
"Sometimes I feel like pushing 'em off those cliffs," muttered Warner. "All right; I fancy you'll be snug enough in the garden, here with Ariadne, till I return. We shall have the whole house to ourselves after dinner. The Harem migrates to Ausone for overnight to do street sketches tomorrow, and returns the next morning for a general criticism. So if you'll amuse yourself – "
"I shall be quite comfortable, thanks. If anybody climbs the wall to pot me, we'll turn loose on 'em, this time – won't we, old girl?" – caressing Ariadne, who had returned to his knee.
Half an hour afterward Warner went away in the wake of the Harem; and at the end of the second hour he gave them a final criticism before they started for Ausone.
Much good it did them; but they adored it; they even adored his sarcasms. For the Harem truly worshiped this young man – a fact of which he remained uncomfortably conscious, timidly aware that warier men than he had been landed by maidens less adept than they.
So it was with his usual sense of deep relief that he saluted the Harem, picked up his own kit and canvases, and wandered at hazard through a little poplar grove and out of it on the other edge.
A wild meadow, deep with tasseled grasses and field flowers, stretched away before him, where swallows sailed and soared and skimmed – where blue lupin, bouton d'or, meadowsweet, and slender, silvery stems crowned with queen's lace grew tall, and the heliotrope perfume of hidden hawkweed scented every fitful little wind.
But what immediately fixed his attention was a distant figure wading waist-deep amid the grasses – a slim, brilliant shape, which became oddly familiar as it drew nearer, moving forward with light and boyish grace, stirring within him vaguely agreeable recollections.
Then, in spite of her peasant's dress, he recognized her; and he walked swiftly forward to meet her. The figure out there in the sunshine saw him coming and lifted one arm in distant recognition and salute.
They met in mid-meadow, Warner and the girl Philippa.
Her short skirt and low peasant bodice had faded to a rose-geranium tint; her white chemisette, laced with black, was open wide below the throat. Black velvet straps crossed it on the shoulders and around the cuffs. Her hair was tied with a big black silk bow.
"How in the world did you come to be here?" he asked, not yet releasing the eager, warm little hands so frankly clasped between both of his.
Philippa laughed with sheerest happiness:
"Figurez-vous, Monsieur. I have been punting since early morning; and when I found myself so near to Saïs I was ready to drop with heat and fatigue: 'Mais, n'importe! Allons!' I said to myself. 'Courage, little one! Very soon you shall see Mr. Warner painting a noble picture by the river!' Et puis – " She tightened her clasp on his hands with an adorable laugh, "Nous voici enfin ensemble – tous les deux – vous et moi! Et je suis bien content et bien fatiguée."
"But, Philippa – how in the world do you propose to get back to Ausone tonight?"
She shrugged, looked up as though protesting to the very skies:
"I have this instant arrived, and his first inquiry is concerning my departure! That is not a very friendly welcome."
"Philippa, I am glad to see you – "
"It is time you said so – "
"I thought you understood – "
The girl laughed:
"I understand how glad I am to see you!" She looked about her in the sunshine, and touched a tall blossom of queen's lace with outstretched fingers.
"How heavenly beautiful is this world of God!" she said with that charming lack of self-consciousness which the skies of France seem to germinate even in aliens. "I am very glad to see you," she repeated abruptly, "and I am awaiting the expression of your sentiments."
"Of course I am glad to see you, Philippa – "
"That makes me quite happy." She smiled on him and then looked curiously at his painting kit. "If you will choose your picture," she added, "I shall sit beside you and watch you at your painting. It will be agreeable. We can converse."
So he chose a ferny spot at the wood's edge, pitched his field easel and camp stool, and opened his color box; and Philippa seated herself cross-legged on the short grass beside him, gathering both slim ankles into her hands.
While he was fussing with his canvas, she sang to herself blithely, radiantly contented, rocking herself to and fro to the rhythm of her song:
"'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The sun has setAnd a voice is calling meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the May wind's breath —Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the voice of Death!'Hussar en vedette,What do you see?The moon has setAnd a white shape beckons meAcross the Récollette,Where the scented rushes fretIn the night wind's breath —Et garde à vous, Hussar!'Tis the shape of Death!'"Singing away with the serene unconsciousness of a bird, rocking her lithe young body, and watching his every movement out of wide grey eyes, Philippa assisted at the artistic preparations with great content, missing nothing.
"To squeeze color from tubes must be amusing," she remarked. "I like to squeeze out tooth paste."
"I am very sure," said Warner, "that you accomplish more charming results with your tooth paste than I do with my colors."
The girl laughed, showing her snowy teeth:
"Do you find them pretty, Monsieur?"
"Quite perfect, and therefore in keeping with the remainder of you, Philippa."
"He really seems to mean it," she said, addressing a grasshopper which had alighted on her knee. And to Warner: "Is my face sufficiently scrubbed to suit you?"
He glanced down at her:
"You have kept your word, haven't you?"
"Ma foi! My word is my word… Listen; I came to Saïs to see you; and partly because I have something to show you. It concerns your friend, I think."
"Mr. Halkett?"
"Yes. After the fight in our cabaret there was much excitement, but when you had disappeared, and before the agents de police and the gendarmes arrived, I found on the floor under the overturned table a portfolio. In that portfolio was part of an unfinished letter. It is written in German. I could not read it; but, studying it, I recognized Mr. Halkett's name written several times. So I said nothing to anybody, but I have brought it. Here it is."
She drew from her bosom a small leather pocketbook.
"Before you examine it," she continued, "I ought to tell you what really happened at the cabaret. Those men who attacked Mr. Halkett were in the employment of Monsieur Wildresse."
"What!" exclaimed Warner.
"It is true. I was furious when I noticed them creeping up behind him. I realized instantly what they meant to do, and I cried out – too late. You ought to be told about this. Therefore, I came here to tell you.
"And I desire to tell you more. The three men who were seated across the hall, and who attempted to pick a quarrel with Mr. Halkett, were 'provocative agents' – Germans.
"The patron knew them and interfered. Besides, he had his own ideas and his own ends to serve just then.
"But I saw those three German agents whisper to a fourth – a stranger. And that man came and seated himself with three other men directly behind Mr. Halkett, where he stood while you were talking to me – "
"Philippa," he interrupted with blunt impatience, "I don't understand all this that you are saying to me. Give me that letter if it concerns Mr. Halkett."
The girl colored painfully.
"Please don't speak rudely to me," she said. "I am trying to behave honestly – "
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak roughly. Please continue."
"Yes; it is better you should know what happened before you read this letter. Well, then, the men who attacked Mr. Halkett naturally got away; the patron attended to that. Naturally, also, he desired to have people believe that the German agents were responsible for the fight, and they were, therefore, detained by Monsieur Wildresse and were asked for an explanation. Then they declared that Mr. Halkett was a British spy, and that they were Belgian police agents with full authority to arrest him in France. Which was a lie, of course, but it served its purpose by increasing the tumult."
"Did they say that they were Belgians?"
"Yes. I heard them. They lied. There was much confusion and shouting – everybody crowding around and disputing. The three Germans pushed their way toward the door; nobody knew whether or not to stop them." She shrugged. "They were gone before people could make up their minds. And, as usual, the police came in too late. Now you know all there is to tell about what happened after you left the cabaret."
Warner laid aside his brushes, looked curiously at the portfolio which she held out to him, hesitated, then opened it and drew out three pages of a letter in German, but written in English script. Evidently it was an unfinished fragment of a letter. He translated it rather freely and without any great difficulty:
– were followed from New York by this man, Halkett, and a companion of his named Gray. Disembarking at Antwerp and going immediately to room No. 23 in the Hôtel St. Antoine, according to instructions, we walked directly into a trap, prepared for us, no doubt, by a wireless message sent from the steamer by the individual, Halkett. Schmidt was knocked flat on his back and lay unconscious; me they hurled violently on the bed; my face was covered with a pillow, my legs and arms held as in a vise, while they ripped my clothing from me and then literally tore it to shreds in their search for the papers I carried.
In the lining of my vest they found the information and drawings which we had been at such pains and danger to secure from the Yankee War Department. And now the Yankee Government will find out who has been robbing it.
Unless we can overtake these individuals, Halkett and Gray, the loss to us must be irreparable, as we dared not study the plans and formula on board ship, nor even venture to trust in the security of our stateroom, believing that British agents might be on board and watching. God knows they were.
I regret deeply that we did not suspect Halkett and Gray.
Also, the ship's officers, crew, stewards, wireless operator – all evidently were our enemies and in willing collusion with these two Englishmen.
Gray, on his motor cycle, left Antwerp for Brussels. We shall watch him and prevent his meeting Halkett in France. We fear they have divided the papers between them.
Our orders are to use our own discretion. Therefore, I repeat that Gray shall not live to meet Halkett.
As for Halkett, he undoubtedly has some of the papers on his person. We missed him in Holland by accident; we unfortunately failed in the city of Luxembourg, because he was too crafty to cross the viaduct, but slept that night in a water mill under the walls in the lower city.
We traced him to Diekirch, but missed him again, twice, although Schmidt, who was posted further along on the narrow-gauge line, fired at him as a last resort. For, as you point out, it is better that France should come into possession of the Harkness shell than that the British Admiralty should control it. The very existence of our fleet is now at stake. France is slow to accept foreign inventions; but England is quick as lightning.
So, if necessary, we shall take extreme measures in regard to Halkett and Gray, and stand the chances that we may secure their papers and get back to Berlin before the French police interfere.
And if we fail to get away, well, at least England shall not profit by the Harkness shell.
Meier and Hoffman are following Gray; we are now leaving for Ausone, and hope to find Halkett somewhere in that vicinity.
I am writing this with difficulty, as the road is not what it ought to be, and the wind is disconcerting. Esser is acting as chauffeur —
And there the letter ended.
CHAPTER X
Philippa was plaiting grass stems when he finished his examination of the letter. And while she deftly braided boutons d'or among the green blades, she continued under her breath the song of the Vidette, casting an occasional side glance upward at him, where he sat on his camp stool studying the written fragments.
At length, seeing that he had finished, she tossed aside the flowering rope of grass, set her elbows on her knees, her rounded chin on her hands, and regarded him inquiringly, as though, for the moment, she had done with childish things.
"It is a letter which urgently concerns Mr. Halkett," he nodded coolly. "Shall I give it to him?"
"Please."
He pocketed the portfolio, hesitated, glanced at his watch, then, with an absent-minded air, began to pack up his painting kit. As he unhooked his toile he looked around at her.
"Philippa," he said, "if you are going to punt back to Ausone, isn't it nearly time you started?"
"Aren't you going to paint any more?" she asked, smiling.
"No. I think I had better find Mr. Halkett and show him this letter."
"But – I have come all the way from Ausone to pay you a visit!" explained the girl in hurt surprise. "Didn't you want to see me?"
"Certainly I want to see you," he replied smilingly. "But to punt up stream to Ausone this afternoon is going to take you quite a long while – "
"As for that," she remarked, "it need not concern us. I am not going back to Ausone."
"Not going back!"
"Listen, please. Monsieur Wildresse and I have had a disagreement – "
"Nonsense!"
"No, a serious disagreement. I am not going back to Ausone. Shall I tell you all about it?"
"Yes, but listen to me, Philippa. You can't run away from your home merely because you have had a disagreement with your Patron and guardian."
"Shall I tell you why we disagreed?"
"If you choose. But that doesn't justify you in running away from your home."
The girl shook her head:
"You don't yet understand. In our café the French Government compels us to spy on certain strangers and to report whatever we can discover. Always it disgusted me to do such a thing. Now I shall not be obliged to do it any more, because I am never going back to the Cabaret de Biribi."
"Do you mean to say that you and Monsieur Wildresse are in the secret service of your Government?" he asked, astonished.
"That is too dignified an explanation. I have been an informer since I was seventeen."
"A – a paid informer?"
"I don't know whether the Government pays Monsieur Wildresse."
"But he doesn't do such things for the pleasure of doing them."
"Pleasure? It is an abominable profession! It is unclean."
"Then why do you do it?" he demanded, amazed.
"I am not perfectly sure why. I know that the Patron is afraid of the Government. That, I suppose, is why we have been obliged to take orders from them."
"Afraid? Why?"
"It's partly on Jacques' account – his son's. If we do what they ask of us they say that they won't send him to New Caledonia. But I believe it is all blague." She looked up at Warner out of her troubled grey eyes. "Espionage – that has been my metier since I was taken out of school – to listen in the cabaret, to learn to keep my eyes open, to relate to the Patron whatever I saw or heard concerning any client the Government desired him to watch… Do you think that is a very pleasant life for a young girl?"
His face became expressionless.
"Not very," he said. "Go on."
She said thoughtfully:
"It is a horrible profession, Mr. Warner. Why should I continue it? Are there no police? Why should I, Philippa Wildresse, do their dirty work? Can you explain? Alors, I have asked myself that many, many times. Today, at last, I have answered my own question: I shall never again play the spy for anybody! C'est fini! Voilà!"
Warner remained silent.
"Why, it is revolting!" she exclaimed. "Figurez-vous, Monsieur! I was even signaled to spy upon you! Can you conceive such a thing?"
"On me?" he repeated, bewildered and angry.
"Certainly. That is why I danced with you. I am permitted to dance only with clients under observation."
Her unflattering candor sent a flush to his face. His latent vanity had been rather rudely surprised.
"Afterward," she continued, "I knew you could not be the man they wanted – "
"What man did they want?"
"Somebody who had stolen documents in America, I believe. But I was sure that you were honest."
"Why?"
Philippa lifted her grey eyes:
"Because you were honest with me."
"How, honest?"
"You did not make love to me. Dishonest men always regard women as a pastime. To make advances is the first thing I expect from them. I am never disappointed. All men are more or less dishonest – excepting you."
"This is a sorry school you have been brought up in," he said grimly.
"Do you mean that I have had my schooling by observing life?"
"Yes – a life in a cabaret full of rastaoqueres and cocottes– a rather limited and sordid outlook, Philippa. The world lies outside."
"Still – it is life. Even a cocotte is part of life."
"So is disease. But it isn't all there is in life."
"Nor is life in a cabaret all corruption. A cabaret is merely the world in miniature; all types pass in and out; they come and go as souls are born and go: the door opens and closes; one sees a new face, one loses it. It is much like birth and death."
She made an unconsciously graceful gesture toward the white clouds overhead.
"A cabaret," she went on seriously, "is a republic governed by the patron, audited by the caissière, policed by waiters. Everybody goes there – even you, Monsieur. All languages are spoken there, all questions discussed, all theories aired, all passions ventilated. Every trait of human nature is to be observed there; the germ of every comedy; the motive of every tragedy… Yet, as you say, it is a saddening school… Wisdom is too early acquired there. One learns too quickly and too completely in such a school. Such an education means precocity. It foreshadows the early death of youth, Monsieur… If I remain there, all that is still young in me will die, now, very quickly."
"You poor child!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Therefore," she said, "I am leaving. Now do you understand?"
He sat looking at her, wondering uneasily at her intelligence and her ability to express herself. Here was a maturity of mind unexpected in this girl. So far it had not visibly altered the youth of her, nor impaired her sweetness and honesty.
In spite of the appalling surroundings amid which she had matured, her mind and heart still remained young.
Biting a tasselled grass stem reflectively, she sat thinking for a few moments, then she reverted to the subject of Wildresse and his son.
"I am convinced that it is all blague," she repeated, " – this threat of Noumea. Unless Jacques misbehaves very seriously in Biribi, nobody can send him to La Nouvelle. Besides, if his father chooses to oblige the Government, what does it matter about me? No; I have had enough of degradation. An hour on the river with you was enough to settle it."
"But what do you intend to do, Philippa?" he inquired.
She looked up at him with her winning smile:
"I came to ask you that. Please tell me what I am to do."
"You must not ask me– "
"Of course. You are the first man who ever pleased me. You please me more and more. Why should I not come to you in my perplexity and say, 'What am I to do, my friend?'"
He reddened at that; found nothing to answer. The sudden and grotesque responsibility which this young girl was so lightly placing upon his shoulders might have amused if it had not disconcerted him. But it did not disconcert her.
"What am I to do, Mr. Warner?" she repeated with a smile of perfect confidence.
"Why, I don't know, Philippa. What can you do down here at Saïs?"
"Tell me!" she insisted with undisturbed serenity.
"You couldn't very well remain here. You will have to go back to Ausone and consider this matter more seriously – "
"Ah, ça – non! I shall not go back!"
"What do you propose to do?"
She bit her grass stem:
"I don't know. I have my trunk in the punt – "
"What!"
"Certainly, I brought my effects! I have some money – not very much. I shall go to the inn and remain there until you have decided what it is best for me to do."
The situation began to strike him as sufficiently ludicrous – the tragic mask is always on the verge of a grin – but he did not feel like smiling.
For a few minutes he occupied himself with collecting, strapping, and slinging his kit; and when he was ready to go, he looked down at the girl Philippa, where she was seated watching him out of her trustful grey eyes.
"I can employ you as a model," he said, "until Monsieur Wildresse sends for you. What do you think of the idea?"
"As a – a model, Monsieur?" she stammered.
"Yes. You could pose for me, if you like."
A delicate scarlet flush slowly mounted to her hair.
Perplexed, he watched her.
"Don't you like the idea?" And suddenly he divined what was troubling her. "Not that sort of model," he said, amused. "You shall wear your clothes, Philippa."
"Oh… Yes, I should like it, I think."
"It's about the only excuse which would enable you to remain at the inn until you have come to some conclusion regarding your future," he explained.
"A painter may always have his models? It is expected, is it not?"
"Oh, yes, that is always understood. But nobody would understand your coming to live at the Golden Peach merely because you and I happened to be good friends," he added laughingly.
