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The Mischief Maker, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 2 - Chapter 18. The One Way Out |
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_ BOOK TWO CHAPTER XVIII. THE ONE WAY OUT Estermen started up from his chair. In the unlit room the figure of his master seemed to have assumed a portentous, almost a threatening shape. "Who's that?" he cried out. Falkenberg calmly turned on the electric light. "Still here, my friend?" he remarked significantly. Estermen began to tremble. "There is plenty of time," he faltered. "I am not sure about the man opposite. It may be some one else he is watching." Falkenberg walked to the window and stood there in the full glare of the light. The man opposite was still sipping his eternal coffee. He glanced casually at Falkenberg and back at his paper. "You fool!" the latter said to Estermen. "Can't you see that he is waiting only to draw the others in? Do you know that I--I, Von Falkenberg, Chancellor of Germany, have received what they are pleased to call a hint from the French Minister of Police that it would be advisable for me to leave Paris? This is your blundering, Estermen!" "Not mine only," the man muttered. "Do you know that there are those who wait for you in your rooms?" Falkenberg turned away. "Stay here till I return," he ordered. He turned the key of his own apartments and entered. His servant hurried up to him. "There waits for Your Highness," he announced, "the Baron von Neudheim." Falkenberg started. "Here?" he exclaimed. "In His Excellency's private apartment. There waits also--" Falkenberg had already departed. He opened the door of his room. His secretary rose hastily to his feet. "What do you here, Neudheim?" Falkenberg demanded. "What has happened?" "Excellency," the young man replied, "there is trouble. Within half an hour of your leaving, I had important news. I dared not telegraph. I have followed you. I took a special train from the frontier." "Go on," Falkenberg said calmly. "It is something serious?" "Indeed, yes, Your Excellency!" the Baron continued. "It is concerning the Agdar matter." Falkenberg's face lit up. "An ultimatum!" he exclaimed. "So much the better!" Baron von Neudheim shook his head. "For once, I am afraid," he said, "we have been trapped. His Excellency himself sent for me. The reply from Downing Street has been received." "Well?" Falkenberg interrupted impatiently. "Your Excellency, the reply to our note is exceedingly courteous. It states that the unrest referred to had already been reported to the British Government, and a warship which left Portsmouth under sealed orders some months ago was instructed to proceed to the port last week. The note goes on to state that no intimation was given to Germany, as the British Government was not aware that Germany had any interests, but it further contains an assurance that the welfare of all white men will receive equal attention." Falkenberg set his teeth. "What battleship was sent?" he asked. "The 'Aida,'" the young man replied slowly,--"a first-class cruiser, twenty-six thousand tons." Falkenberg was silent for a moment. His face had grown dark. "And ours," he muttered, "was a third-rate gunboat! Who in all Downing Street could have planned a coup like this?" "It was Sir Julien Portel--his last official action," the Baron answered. "The papers to-morrow will be full of this. The Press of Germany and England and France have the whole story." "Which is to say," Falkenberg exclaimed, "that we are to be the laughing-stock of Europe! Anything else?" "There is an imperial summons commanding your presence at Potsdam at once," Neudheim acknowledged reluctantly. "I start for the frontier in a quarter of an hour," Falkenberg decided. "I shall drive to Chalons and telegraph for a special train from there." "You will let me accompany you?" the young man begged. Falkenberg hesitated, then he shook his head. "No, it is my wish that you return by train. Take a day's holiday, if you will. You will be back in time." The young man's expression was clouded. He was obviously disappointed. "But, Excellency," he pleaded, "there is trouble in Berlin. It is best, indeed, that I should be by your side." Falkenberg held out his hand. "My dear Fritz," he replied, "you will obey my orders, as you always have done. It is my wish that you return by the ordinary train to-morrow night." "There is nothing I can do--no message--" "Nothing!" Falkenberg interrupted. "Look after yourself. Leave me now, if you please." The young man moved reluctantly towards the door. "Excellency," he protested, "I do not desire a day's holiday. Things in Berlin are bad. Let us talk together on our way north. You have never yet known defeat. We can plan our way through, or fight it. Don't tell me to leave you, dear master!" he wound up, with a sudden change of tone. "There are still ways." Falkenberg laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder. "Fritz," he said, "my orders, if you please! Remember that I never suffer them to be disputed. Goodbye!" The young man left the room. As he passed down the stairs he shivered. Falkenberg passed into an inner apartment. Already he had guessed who it was waiting for him. Mademoiselle rose to her feet with a little cry. "At last!" she exclaimed. "Dear maker of toys, how long you have been! How weary it has been to wait!" She came into his arms. He patted her head gently. "Dear little one!" "You are taking me to supper?" she begged. He shook his head. Her face fell, the big tears were already in her eyes. "But you are troubled!" she cried. "Oh, come and forget it all for a time! Isn't that what you told me once was my use in the world--that I could chatter to you, or sing, or lead you through the light paths, so that your brain could rest? Let me take you there, dear one. To-night, if ever, you have the look in your face. You need rest. Come to me!" He looked at her steadfastly, looked at her feeling as one far away gazing down upon some strange element in life. Then a thought came to him. "Little one," he whispered, "you are irresistible. Wait, then. It may be as you desire. Only, after supper I pass on." "And I with you?" she implored. He shook his head. "Wait here." Once more he returned to Estermen's apartments. Estermen was still there, smoking furiously. The room was blue with tobacco smoke. Falkenberg regarded him with distaste. "Make yourself presentable, man," he ordered. "We sup in the Montmartre and we leave in a few minutes." "What, I?" Estermen exclaimed, springing up. "You and I and mademoiselle," Falkenberg told him. "I have made plans. You may perhaps escape--who can tell?" Estermen, with a little sob of relief, hurried into his sleeping apartment. Soon they were all three in the big car, gliding through the busy streets. It was getting towards midnight and they took their place among the crowd of vehicles climbing the hill, only wherever the street was broad enough they passed always ahead. At the Rat Mort they came to a stand-still. Falkenberg led the way up the narrow stairs, greeted Albert with both hands, nodded amiably to the _chef d'orchestre_, the flower girl and the head waiter, who crowded around him. "For as many as choose to come!" he declared. "The round table! The best supper in France! It is a gala night, Albert. Serve us of your best. Mademoiselle will sing. We are here to taste the joys of life." Albert led the way. "Ah, monsieur," he said, "it is good, indeed, to hear your voice! There is no one who comes here who enters more splendidly into the spirit of the place. When you are here I know that it will be a joyful evening for all. They catch it, too, those others," he explained. "Sometimes they come here stolid, British. They look around them, they eat, they drink, they sit like stuffed animals. Then comes monsieur--dear monsieur! He talks gayly, he laughs, he waves salutes, he drinks wine, he makes friends. The thing spreads. It is the spirit--the real spirit. Behold! Even the dull, once they catch it, they enjoy." Falkenberg took the cushioned seat in the corner. Close to his side was mademoiselle, her hand already clasping his. Estermen, gaunt, red-eyed, still haggard with fear, sat a few feet away. "Wine!" Falkenberg ordered. "Pommery--bottles of it! Never mind if we cannot drink it. Let us look at it. Let us imagine the joys that come, added to those we feel." Already the wine was rushing into their glasses. Falkenberg raised his glass. "To our last supper, dear Marguerite!" he whispered. She shivered all over. She looked at him, her face was suddenly strained. "You jest!" "Jest? But is it not a night for jests!" he answered. "Why not? Ah, Marguerite, I take it back! To our first supper! Let us say to ourselves that to-night we stand upon the threshold of life. Let us say to ourselves that never before have I seen how blue your eyes shine, how sweet your mouth, how soft your fingers, how dear the thrill which passes from you to me. Close to me, Marguerite--close to me, little one! Our first evening!" "Dearest," she whispered, "first or last, there could never be another. It is you who make my life. It is you who, when you go, leave it desolate." He held her hand more tightly. "Ah, little friend," he murmured, "you spoil me with your sweet phrases! You set the music playing in my heart--the witch music, I think. Come, we must speak to Estermen," he continued, looking resolutely away from her. "We cannot have him sitting there glum, a death's-head at our feast. Estermen, drink, man! Is this a funeral party? Wake up. Mademoiselle who dances there looks towards you. Why not? You see, she waves her hand. You have waltzed with her before. Ask her to sit down with us. I have ordered supper. See, mademoiselle approaches, Estermen. More glasses, waiter. Open more wine. There is champagne here for everybody. Mademoiselle does us great honor. Permit me!" The little dancing girl obeyed his invitation. She sat by Estermen's side, but she cast a longing glance at Falkenberg. Their glasses were filled. Estermen drank quickly, all the time looking about him with the furtive air of a whipped dog. "To-night," Falkenberg cried, as he lifted his glass, "I have but one command--be joyful. Why not? To-night I have Marguerite by my side, and you--you can choose from the world of Marguerites. There is nothing in life like this--the hour of midnight, the music of the moment, the wine of the hour, the woman we love. Drink, Estermen, once more. Fix your thoughts upon the present. Mademoiselle looks around her. She finds you dull. She will seek for another admirer. Ah, mademoiselle!" he added, leaning across the table, "if the sweetest girl in Paris were not here already by my side, do you think that I would permit you to be for an instant the companion of a dumb admirer?" Mademoiselle laughed back into his eyes. "If monsieur's friend were but as gallant as monsieur himself!" "He is depressed," Falkenberg declared, "but it passes. Behold! Another glass like that, Estermen! Drink till you feel it bubbling in your veins. Look at him now!" Falkenberg leaned back in his place and pressed his companion's arm. Indeed, the wine was working its magic. The terror was passing from Estermen's face. Already he was becoming more natural. "Leave them alone," Falkenberg said softly. "He will have no relapse. The wine is in his blood. Ah, Marguerite! never did you seem so sweet to me as tonight, when my face is set for the cold north! Have you joy in remembering, little one? Have you sentiment enough for that?" "I have sentiment enough," she whispered, "to suffer every time you leave me. To-night I am afraid to let you go. Oh! dear--my dear--take me with you! I have begged you before, but to-night I beg you in a different manner. I am afraid to be left alone. I care not where or whatever the end of your journey may be. Take me with you, dear one. It is because I love that I ask this!" He looked at her for a moment and there were wonderful things in his eyes. "Ah, little girl," he murmured, "you teach one so much! One passes through life too often with one's eyes closed, one finds the great things in strange places, the rarest flowers even by the roadside. Drink your wine, press my fingers--like that. See, it is the _chef d'orchestre_ who approaches. You shall sing--sing to me, little one." He motioned to the musician, who with a smile of delight held up his hand to the orchestra. Mademoiselle hummed a few bars. The man who listened nodded his head. Then he raised his violin, he passed his bow across the strings. With the touch of his fingers he drew from them a little melody. Mademoiselle assented. Her head was back against the wall, her eyes half closed. Then she began to sing; sang so that in a few moments the passionate words which streamed from her lips held the room breathless. It was no ordinary music. It was the love prayer of a woman, starting in sadness, passing on to passion, ending in wild entreaty. As she finished she turned her head towards her companion. "You shall not go alone!" she cried, and her words might well have been the text of her song. Falkenberg shook his head. "Something gayer," he begged,--"something more like the wine which foams in our glasses." She obeyed him after only a moment's hesitation, yet in the first few bars her song came to an abrupt end, her voice choked. She leaned suddenly forward in her place, her face was hidden between her hands. They all gazed at her curiously. "Nerves!" one declared. "Hysterics!" another echoed. "It is the life they lead, these women," an American explained to a little party of guests. "They weep or they laugh always. Life with them quivers all the time. They pass from one emotion to another--they seldom know which. Look, it is over with her." It was over, indeed. She raised her head and sang, sang ravishingly, charmingly, a gay love-song. Falkenberg was the first to applaud her. "To-night, dear," he murmured, "you are wonderful. You sing from the heart, your voice has feeling, you bring to one the exquisite moments.... Behold, the supper arrives! Estermen has made friends now with his little _danseuse_. Sit closer to me, dear. These are the golden hours. Give me your hand, look into my eyes, drink with me.... How the minutes pass! There is magic in this place." Towards four o'clock Falkenberg and his companions came down the narrow stairs, out into the morning. A fine rain was falling, the pavements were already wet. Falkenberg was still gay, still laughing and talking. Behind, a little company--the _chef d'orchestre_, the chief _maitre d'hotel_, the flower girl--wondering at his generosity, stood at the head of the stairs to bid him godspeed. He gave a louis to the _commissionaire_ and called for a special carriage. He had almost to lift Marguerite inside. "Dear child," he said, holding her hands, "here we must part for a time--not for so long, perhaps. Who can tell? It is a comfortable carriage, this. Here is a handful of money for the fare. It is of no use to me." He emptied his pockets into her lap as she sat there. She made no effort to pick up the shower of gold and silver. "What do you mean--that it is of no use to you?" "We drive for home," he answered. "We shall need no money to take us there. Listen." He drew her face very close to his. "When you arrive at your apartment," he said, "you will find there a little packet from me. Be wise, dear. If chance will have it that we do not meet again very soon, may it help you to take all out of life that you can find. Only sometimes when the heart is joyous, when the wine flows and your feet are keeping time to the music of life, think for a moment--of one who dwells, alas! in a quieter country. Dear Marguerite!" He kissed her, first upon the lips and then lightly on the forehead. Then gently he thrust away the arms which she had wound around his neck. He waved to the coachman to drive off. With a little shrug of the shoulders he took his own place in the great touring car. Estermen, too, clambered into the tonneau. "You have supped well, I trust, Henri?" the Prince asked the chauffeur. "Without a doubt, Excellency," the man replied. "Then drive for the frontier," Falkenberg ordered. "We will stop you when we need a rest." They left Paris in the semi-darkness. They were away in the country before the faintest gleam of daylight broke through the eastern clouds. Even then the way was still obscured. It was a stormy morning, and banks of murky clouds were piled up where the sun should have risen. The rain still fell. Soon they commenced to ascend a range of hills. At the summit Falkenberg pulled the check-string. "Henri," he said, "come in behind here. I will drive for a time--it will amuse me." The man descended. Falkenberg took his place at the wheel. Estermen, obeying his gesture, scrambled into the seat by his side. "Go to the signpost," his master ordered the chauffeur. "Tell me exactly, how many miles to Rheims?" The man clambered up the bank. The gray morning twilight was breaking now through a sea of clouds. From where they were the vineyards sloped down to the bank. A thin, curving line of silver marked the course of the river. Here and there a little gleam of sunlight fell upon the country below them. Estermen closed his eyes. "It makes me giddy," he muttered. "I hope that you will drive slowly down the hill!" Falkenberg glanced to the left--the chauffeur was still peering at the milestone. He slipped in the clutch and the car glided off, gathering speed as though by magic. "You have left Henri!" Estermen cried. "He is running after us. Stop the car! Can't you stop it?" Falkenberg turned his head only once. The stone walls now on either side seemed flying past them. Estermen looked into his face and quaked with fear. "This ride is for you and me alone, my friend!" Falkenberg replied. "Sit tight and say your prayers, if it pleases you. This is better, after all, than poison, or the cold muzzle of a revolver at your forehead. Close your eyes if you are afraid; or open them, if you have the courage, and see the world spin by. We start on the great journey." Estermen shrieked. He half rose to his feet, but Falkenberg, holding the wheel with his right hand, struck him across the face with his left so that he fell back in his place. "If you try to leave the car," he said, "I swear that I will stop and come back. I will shoot you where you lie, like a dog. Be brave, man! Be thankful that you are going to your death in honorable company and in honorable fashion! It's better, this, than the guillotine, isn't it? Look at the country below, like patchwork, coming up to us. Listen to the wind rushing by. You see the trees, how they bend? You feel the rain stinging your cheeks? Sit still, man, and fix your thoughts where you will. Think of mademoiselle _la danseuse_, think of her kisses, think of the perfume of the violets at her bosom! You see, we arrive. Watch that corner of the viaduct." They were traveling now at a terrific speed, falling fast to the level country. Before them was a high bridge, crossing the river. On the left, a portion of it was being repaired and a few boards alone were up for protection. Falkenberg, recognizing the spot for which he had been looking, settled down in his seat. A grim smile parted his lips. "Jean Charles will never place his hand upon your shoulder now!" he cried. "Can you hear the wind sob, Estermen? Soon you'll hear the water in your ears! Hold fast. Don't spoil the end!" They were going at sixty miles an hour, and with the slightest swerve of the steering wheel they turned to the left on entering the bridge and struck the boards. Henri, in his account of the accident, declared that although the car turned over before it reached the river, Falkenberg never left his seat. Estermen, on the other hand, was thrown violently out, and struck the water head foremost. From the condition of his body it would seem that death was instantaneous. Falkenberg was found with his arms locked around the steering wheel, his head bent forward. He, too, seemed to have been drowned almost immediately. The steering wheel was jammed, the car wrecked.... The authorities, who had left only a temporary protection while they repaired the viaduct on the bridge, were severely censured. The makers of the car were subjected to a very searching cross-examination. The brakes and the uncertain light were blamed. Henri, who from the hillside a mile or more back had watched with ghastly face, was the only one who understood the accident, and he kept silent! _ |
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