She hung up the receiver, turned, and mounted the stairs with flying feet, but at the top landing Halkett's quiet voice halted her.
"I was listening, Philippa. What that man says or does may cost me dear. What did he want of you?"
"Mr. Halkett," leaning swiftly toward him over the handrail above – "he is the most ignoble of creatures! And after five years I learned only yesterday that he sells his filthy secrets in two markets! – Three, perhaps; I don't know how many! And I no longer care! It ceases to interest me!"
"Wait! It interests me!"
"But I can't say any more to you than I have – "
"Why not?"
"I don't know. Can I? You know better than I. But I don't wish to betray anybody, even such a man as – as – "
"Wildresse?"
"Yes."
"Is he also betraying France?"
"I – I don't know. I suppose it is that. I haven't yet tried to comprehend it – "
"What was the paper you started to forward, then read, and finally burned?"
"It was a letter directed to a Mr. Esser. He is a German."
"The head of the Esser Cement Works?"
"Yes."
"What was in the letter?"
"A list of the guns in the Ausone Fort and a plan of the emplacements on tissue paper… Perhaps I am stupid, but I could guess what a German wanted with a plan of a French fort! It was enough for me! I took my punt and my effects and I departed!"
"You burnt the letter?"
"In my candle. Also, I wrote on a piece of paper, 'You damned traitor!' and I pinned it on his door. Then I went out by the garden door with my leather trunk on my head!"
"Come down when you are dressed," said Halkett, and walked back through the hallway to the garden.
"Warner," he said, "this old spider, Wildresse, is certainly a bad lot. I'd have him arrested by French gendarmes if I were certain that England is going in. But I dare not chance it until I'm sure. Perhaps I dare not chance it at all, because if he has had anything to do with Gray's disappearance, as I am beginning to suspect, it would not do to have the French authorities examine my papers."
"Why?"
"Because – if they have already seized Gray's papers, they will secure military information which perhaps my Government might not care to have even an ally possess. I don't know whether Gray is living or dead; I don't know who has Gray's papers at this instant. That's the trouble. And I'm hanged if I know what to do! I'm stumped, and that's the devilish truth!"
He took a few quick, uncertain steps along the flower beds, turned, came back to the arbor where Warner was seated:
"It's a mess!" he said. "Even if agents employed by Wildresse have robbed Gray – murdered him, perhaps, to do it – I don't know what Wildresse means to do with Gray's papers."
"What!"
Halkett nodded:
"Yes, he's that kind! Pleasant, isn't it? If he has Gray's papers, it may be France that will pay him for them; it may be that Germany has already bought and paid for them. In either case, carrying the papers I carry, I hesitate to ask for his arrest. Do you understand?"
"Very clearly. If there is any way you can think of to get hold of this scoundrel, I'll be glad to help. Shall we drive over to Ausone and try?"
"You're very kind, Warner. I don't know; I want to think it over – " He turned and walked back to the house, entered the hallway, unhooked the telephone, and finally was given a connection – not the one he had asked for.
A voice said curtly:
"During mobilization no private messages are transmitted." Click! And the connection was severed. Again and again he made the attempt; no further attention was paid to his ringing. Finally he hung up the receiver and started to go out through the front doorway.
As he crossed the threshold, a young man in tweeds rode up on a bicycle, stepped off, and, lifting his cap to Halkett, said politely:
"Monsieur Halkett, if you please? Is he still residing here at the Golden Peach?"
Halkett's right hand dropped carelessly into the side pocket of his coat. When he had cocked his automatic, he said pleasantly:
"I am Mr. Halkett."
The young man said smilingly, in perfect English:
"Do you expect a friend, Mr. Halkett?"
"Perhaps."
"Possibly you expect a Mr. Reginald Gray?"
"Possibly."
"He has been injured."
"Really?"
"Yes, rather seriously. He lost control of his motor cycle two nights ago. He was on his way to join you here."
"Indeed?"
"So he told me before he became unconscious."
"Is he still unconscious?"
"No, but he is too weak to move."
"Where is he?"
"At my house, in Bois d'Avril. I was motoring that evening, and I found him in the road, insensible. So I lifted him into my car, slung his motor cycle on behind, and went top speed for home. He's in my own house in Bois d'Avril. The physician thinks he will recover."
"What is your telephone number?" asked Halkett bluntly.
The young man gave it, adding that the transmission of private messages had, unfortunately, been suspended during mobilization. Which Halkett knew to be true.
"Very well," he said, "I shall go to Bois d'Avril at once – "
"It is not necessary; I have a message for you, and some papers from Mr. Gray."
"Really?"
The young man smiled, drew from his inner pocket a long, thin envelope, and handed it to Halkett. The latter held it in his hand, looking steadily into the stranger's pleasant face for a full minute, then he coolly opened the envelope.
Inside were the missing papers concerning the Harkness shell, complete.
There could be no doubt concerning their identity; he recognized them at a glance. A deep sigh of relief escaped him.
He said:
"There's no use trying to thank you – "
"It's quite all right," interrupted the young man smilingly. "If you don't mind offering me a drink – the road over was rather dusty – "
"Leave your wheel there and come in!" exclaimed Halkett cordially, stepping aside in the doorway.
The young man laid his bicycle against the steps, turned with a smile, and entered the doorway.
As he passed, he turned like lightning and struck Halkett full between the eyes with his clenched fist.
CHAPTER XIV
The terrific impact of the blow sent Halkett reeling across the threshold. Partly stunned, he caught at the banisters, groping instinctively for the pistol. And already he had contrived to drag it clear of his side pocket when another blow sent him staggering back against the stair rail; the pistol flew out of his hand and went spinning down the hallway over the polished floor.
As Halkett crashed into the banisters and fell full length, Philippa, in her red skirt and bodice, appeared on the stairs above.
The young man, who had dropped on his knees beside Halkett, and who had already torn open his coat, caught sight of the girl as she flew past him down the stairs; and he leaped to his feet to intercept her.
On the newel-post stood a tall, wrought-iron lamp. As he blocked her way she hesitated an instant, then threw all her weight against the heavy metal standard, pushing with both hands; and the iron lamp swayed forward and fell.
As the young man leaped clear of the falling fixture, Philippa vaulted the stair rail into the hallway below. He saw instantly what she was after; both sprang forward to snatch the pistol.
As she stooped for it and seized it, he caught her arm; and she twisted around on him, beating his head and breast with her free hand while he strove desperately to master the outstretched arm which still clutched Halkett's pistol.
To and fro they swayed over the slippery floor of the hallway, until he forced back her arm to the breaking point. Then the pistol clattered to the floor.
Instantly she kicked it under a tall secretary, where the register was kept. Holding her at arm's length with one hand, he managed to drag the heavy piece of furniture on its casters away from the wall far enough to uncover the pistol.
As he stooped for the weapon, she tore herself free, kicked it away from beneath his fingers, which already touched it, and, wrenching a framed engraving from the wall behind her, hurled it at him with both hands.
He leaped nimbly aside to avoid it, but another picture followed, and then a mantel clock and two vases went smashing against the secretary behind which he had taken shelter. And suddenly she seized the secretary itself, and with one supreme effort tipped it over toward him, driving him again from cover and from the vicinity of the weapon they both were fighting to secure.
As the big oak secretary fell, and the glass doors crashed into splinters, she stooped, snatched Halkett's pistol from the floor, and crept forward along the base of the staircase. But the young man had whipped out a revolver of his own, and was now standing astride of Halkett's body, panting, speechless, but menacing her with gesture and weapon.
She shrank aside and crouched low under the staircase, resting there, disheveled, bleeding, half naked, struggling for breath, but watching his every movement out of brilliant, implacable eyes.
Every time he ventured to bend down over Halkett, or make the slightest motion toward the fallen man's breast pockets, Philippa stopped his operations with leveled pistol, forcing him to spring to his feet again.
Suddenly, behind him in the doorway, appeared Magda and Linette, coming from the meadow across the road, carrying between them a basket of freshly washed linen. Like a flash he turned on them and drove them back and out of doors at the point of his weapon, then whirled about, aimed full at Philippa, slammed and bolted the front door behind him, and, covering her with his revolver, ran forward to the foot of the stairs, where his victim still lay unconscious. Catching the senseless man by the sleeve, he strove desperately to rip the coat from the inert body, while keeping his revolver pointed at Philippa's hiding place under the stairs.
As he stood there, tugging furiously at the fallen man's coat, into the rear of the hallway ran Warner, his automatic lifted. Both men fired at the same instant, and the intruder dropped Halkett's arm. Then he ran for the stairway. Up the stairs he leaped, shooting back at Warner as he mounted to the landing above; and the American sped after him, followed by Philippa, as far as the foot of the stairway.
Here Warner hesitated for a few moments, then he began cautiously to negotiate the stairway, creeping step by step with infinite precaution.
When at last he had disappeared on the landing above, Philippa, listening breathlessly below, heard Halkett stir and then groan.
As she turned, the Englishman lifted himself on one elbow, fumbled instinctively in his breast pockets, and drew out two envelopes.
"Take them to Sister Eila! – Hurry, Philippa – " He passed a shaking hand across his eyes, swayed to a sitting posture, caught at the stair rail, and dragged himself to his feet.
"Give me that pistol," he muttered. She handed it to him; he groped in his pockets for a few moments, found a clip, reloaded, and, reeling slightly, walked with her aid as far as the front door. Philippa opened it for him.
"Where is this man?" he asked vaguely.
"Mr. Warner followed him upstairs."
He pressed his hand over his battered head, nodded, extended the two envelopes to her.
"Sister Eila," he repeated.
Philippa took the papers; he straightened his shoulders with a visible effort; then, steadying himself by the handrail, he started to ascend the stairs.
The girl watched him mount slowly to the landing above, saw him disappear, stood listening a moment longer.
Magda and Linette came stealing into the hallway; Philippa pointed to the telephone.
"Call the gendarmes at Ausone!" she whispered. "I must go to – "
A shot from above cut her short. All three women stood gazing up at the landing in startled silence.
"Quick – the telephone! The gendarmerie!" cried Philippa.
Magda ran to the box; and at the same instant a man climbed over the stair well, dropped to the hallway below, swung around on Magda, pushed her violently from the telephone, and, seizing the receiver, ripped it out by the roots.
Philippa had already turned and slipped through the doorway, both envelopes tightly clutched in her hand. Directly in her path stood the intruder's bicycle; and she seized the handles, righted it, and leaped into the saddle before he could reach the front door.
He ran up the road behind her for a little distance, but she had already found her balance and was increasing her speed over the smooth, white highway. Then the young man halted, carefully leveled his revolver, steadied his aim with his left elbow, and, standing in mid-road, he deliberately directed a stream of lead after the crouching fugitive.
The last bullet from his magazine sent her veering widely from her path; the machine sheered in a half-circle, staggered, slid down into the grassy ditch, flinging the girl off sideways among the weeds.
Philippa got up slowly, as though dazed or hurt. The young man hurried forward, reloading his weapon as he ran, but a shot from behind warned him away from the trail of the limping girl, who was now trying to escape on foot.
Whirling in his tracks, he stood for a second glaring at Halkett and Warner, who were advancing, shooting as they came on; then, with a savage glance at Philippa, he fired at her once more, turned, mounted the roadside bank in a single leap, and ran swiftly along the hedge, evidently looking for an opening into the field beyond.
When he found one, he wriggled through and was off like a hare, across the fields and headed for the river, before Halkett and Warner could discover his avenue of escape. Checked for a few moments, they ranged the thorny hedge up and down, like baffled beagles. They had overrun the trail.
Warner was already within speaking distance of Philippa when the girl hailed him.
"Are you hurt?" he called across to her, where she stood knee-deep among the roadside weeds, trying to draw together the points of her torn bodice, to cover her throat and shoulders.
"The tire burst. I have a few scratches!"
"Did he get the papers?" shouted Halkett.
She drew both envelopes from her bosom, and shook them high with a gesture of defiance. Then, replacing them, she made a funnel of her hands and called out to them:
"He crawled under the hedge by that third telephone pole behind you! You have come too far this way! No – the other pole! Wait a moment, Mr. Warner – "
Still calling out her directions in her clear, calm voice, she started to limp down the road toward them; and Warner glanced back at her for a moment; then he suddenly flung up his arm and shouted:
"Philippa! Look out for that car behind you!"
The girl turned, saw the automobile coming, stepped aside into the ditch as a cloud of white dust obscured her.
Before she realized that the car had stopped, three men had jumped out into the ditch and caught hold of her.
Warner heard her cry out; started to run toward her; saw her flung struggling into the car; saw Wildresse rise and strike her with his great fist and knock her headlong across the back seat, where she lay, her disheveled head hanging down over the rear of the tonneau. Then the car started. As she hung there, blood dripping from her mouth, she reached blindly toward her breast, drew out the envelopes, and dropped them in the wake of the moving car.
They fluttered along behind it for a moment, drawn into the dusty suction, then they were whirled away right and left into the roadside ditches.
Evidently nobody in the car except Philippa knew what she had done, for the car, at top speed, dashed on toward the north.
Halkett ran up and found Warner gazing vacantly after the receding machine, pistol leveled, but not daring to shoot. Then they both saw Wildresse jerk the half senseless girl upright, saw him strike her again with the flat of his huge hand so heavily that she crumpled and dropped back into the corner of the seat.
"God!" whispered Halkett at Warner's elbow. "Did you see that?"
Warner, as white as death, made no reply. The ear had vanished, but he still stood there staring at the distant cloud of dust settling slowly in the highway. Presently Halkett walked forward, picked up the two envelopes, pocketed them, and returned swiftly to where the American still stood, his grim features set, the red stain from his bitten lip streaking his chin.
"Warner?"
"Yes?" he answered steadily.
"We'd better start after that man at once."
"Certainly."
Halkett said:
"Have your horse hooked up as soon as you can… I think – " His voice trembled, but he controlled it. "I am horribly afraid for that child… He would cut her throat if he dared."
Warner turned a ghastly visage to his companion:
"Why do you say that?"
"Because she knows enough about him to send him before a firing squad," said Halkett. "That's the trouble, Warner."
They turned and walked rapidly toward the inn.
Warner spoke presently in an altered voice, but with the mechanical precision of a man afraid of emotion and any wavering of self-control.
"I'm going to Ausone at once to find her… Wherever I find her I shall take her… It makes no difference to me who objects. She is going to have her chance in life… I shall see to that."
Halkett drew a deep breath:
"Did you ever hear of such a plucky battle as she gave that rascal after he got me? I never shall forget what she has done."
They entered the front door of the inn, almost running; Warner continued on toward the garden and the stable beyond; Halkett halted at the telephone, gazed grimly at the ruined instrument, realized that he was again isolated, and called impatiently to Linette who, with Magda, was gathering up and sweeping aside the debris of the wrecked furniture.
"Linette," he said, "would you do something to help me?"
"Willingly, Monsieur."
"Go to the school; say to Sister Eila that I am in real need of her. Ask her if she could come here at once, because I cannot go to her."
The girl nodded, turned, and went out rapidly by the front way. Halkett hastened upstairs to his room.
When again he returned, the dogcart had just driven up, and Warner sat waiting in silence, reins and whip in hand.
But Halkett had a letter to write before he could start; and it was slow work, because the letter must be written in a cipher, the key to which was the solar spectrum and the three metallic symbols.
He had scarcely completed his letter when Sister Eila and Linette entered the hallway together.
The Sister of Charity caught sight of him through the doorway as he rose from his seat in the empty dining-room; and she instantly went to him.
He thanked Linette, closed the door, and turned to Sister Eila.
"There's nobody else I can trust," he said. "Will you help me?"
"You know I will."
He drew the two envelopes from his breast pocket and handed them to her in silence. Then he laid on the table the letter which he had just, written.
"I am obliged to go to Ausone," he said. "It will take me several hours, I suppose, to go, attend to my business, and return. Could you remain here at the inn until I can get back?"
"Yes. Sister Félicité is with the children."
"Then this is what you must know and prepare for. If, while I am away, a man should come here and ask for me, you will show him this letter lying on the table, and you will say to him that I left it here for a man whom I have been expecting. You will stand here and watch him while he is reading this letter. If he really can read it, then he will ask for pen and ink, and he will change the punctuation of what I have written on the envelope: 'Ibis, redibis non, morieris in bello.' As I have punctuated it, it means: 'Thou shalt go, thou shalt not return, thou shalt die in battle.'
"So if he can read what is inside the envelope, he will erase the comma after the word non, and insert a comma after the word redibis. And the translation will then read: 'Thou shalt go, thou shalt return, thou shalt not die in battle.' Is all this quite clear to you, Sister?"
"Perfectly."
"Then, if a man comes here and asks for me, and if you see that he really has understood the letter which is written in cipher, then, after he has repunctuated what I have written, give him the other two envelopes which I have entrusted to you.
"Will you do this for – France, Sister Eila?"
"Yes" – she lifted her grave young eyes – "for France."
Through the open dining-room window Sister Eila watched his departure, smiling her adieux as the two men turned toward her and uncovered.
Then she seated herself by the window sill and rested her cheek on her palm, gazing out at the blue sky with vague, enraptured eyes that saw a vision of beatitude perhaps, perhaps the glimmering aura of an earthly martyrdom, in the summer sunshine.
And possibly a vision less holy invaded her tranquil trance, for she suddenly straightened her young shoulders, picked up the crucifix at her girdle, and gazed upon it rather fixedly.
The color slowly cooled in her cheeks till they were as white as the spotless wimple that framed them in its snowy oval.
After a while rosary and crucifix fell between her relaxing hands, and she looked up at the blue foothills of the Vosges with bluer eyes.
The next moment she sprang to her feet, startled. Over the sparkling hills came sailing through the summer sky a gigantic bird – the most enormous winged creature she had ever beheld. A moment later the high clatter of the aëroplane became audible.