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The Pawns Count, a fiction by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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CHAPTER XVI |
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_ An elderly New Yorker, a man of fashion, renowned for his social perceptions, pressed his companion's arm at the entrance to Central Park and pointed to Pamela. "There goes a typical New York girl," he said, "and the best-looking I've seen for many a long day. You can go all round Europe, Freddie, and not see a girl with a face and figure like that. She had that frank way, too, of looking you in the eyes." "I know," the other assented. "Gibson's girls all had it. Kind of look which seems to say--'I know you find me nice and I don't mind. I wonder whether you're nice, too.'" Pamela strolled along the park with Fischer by her side. She wore a tailor-made costume of black and white tweed, and a smart hat, in which yellow seemed the predominating colour. Her shoes, her gloves, the little tie about her throat, were all the last word in the simple elegance of suitability. Fischer walked by her side--a powerful, determined figure in a carefully-pressed blue serge suit and a brown Homburg hat. He wore a rose in his buttonhole, and he carried a cane--both unusual circumstances. After fifty years of strenuous living, Mr. Fischer seemed suddenly to have found a new thing in the world. "This is a pleasant idea of yours, Miss Van Teyl," he said. "I haven't disturbed your morning, I hope?" she asked. "I guess, if you have, it isn't the way you mean," he replied. "You've disturbed a good deal of my time and thoughts lately." "Well, you've had your own way now," she sighed, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. "I suppose you always get your own way in the end, don't you, Mr. Fischer?" "Generally," he admitted. "I tell you, though, Miss Van Teyl," he went on earnestly, "if you're alluding to last night's affair, I hated the whole business. It was my duty, and the opportunity was there, but with what I have I am satisfied. With reference to that little debt of your brother's--" "Please don't say a word, Mr. Fischer," she interrupted. "You will find that all put right as soon as you get down to Wall Street. Tell me, what have you done with your prize?" Mr. Fischer looked very humble. "Miss Van Teyl," he said, "for certain reasons I am going to tell you the truth. Perhaps it will be the best in the long run. We may even before long be working together. So I start by being honest with you. The pocketbook is by now on its way to Germany." "To Germany?" she exclaimed. "And after all your promises!" "Ah, but think, Miss Van Teyl," he pleaded. "I throw aside all subterfuge. In your heart you know well what I am and what I stand for. I deny it no longer. I am a German-American, working for Germany, simply because America does not need my help. If America were at war with any country in the world, my brains, my knowledge, my wealth would be hers. But now it is different. Germany is surrounded by many enemies, and she calls for her sons all over the world to remember the Fatherland. You can sympathise a little with my unfortunate country, Miss Van Teyl, and yet remain a good American. You are not angry with me?" "I suppose I ought to be, but I am not in the least," she assured him. "I never had any doubt as to the destination of that packet." "That," he admitted, "is a relief to me. Let us wipe the matter from our memories, Miss Van Teyl." "One word," she begged, "and that only of curiosity. Did you examine the contents of the pocketbook?" He turned his head and looked at her. For a moment he had lost the greater spontaneity of his new self. He was again the cold, calculating machine. "No," he answered, "except to take out and destroy what seemed to be a few private memoranda. There was a bill for flowers, a note from a young lady--some rubbish of that sort. The remaining papers were all calculations and figures, chemical formulae." "Are you a chemist, Mr. Fischer?" she inquired. "Not in the least," he acknowledged. "I recognised just enough of the formulae on the last page to realise that there were entirely new elements being dealt with." She nodded. "I only asked out of curiosity. I agree. Let us put it out of our thoughts. You see, I am generous. We have fought a battle, you and I, and I have lost. Yet we remain friends." "It is more than your friendship that I want, Miss Van Teyl," he pleaded, his voice shaking a little. "I am years older than you, I know, and, by your standards, I fear unattractive. But you love power, and I have it. I will take you into my schemes. I will show you how those live who stand behind the clouds and wield the thunders." She looked at him with genuine surprise. It was necessary to readjust some of her impressions of him. Oscar Fischer was, after all, a human being. "What you say is all very well so far as it goes," she told him. "I admit that a life of scheming and adventure attracts me. I love power. I can think of nothing more wonderful than to feel the machinery of the world--the political world--roar or die away, according to the touch of one's fingers. Oh, yes, we're alike so far as that is concerned! But there is a very vital difference. You are only an American by accident. I am one by descent. For me there doesn't exist any other country. For you Germany comes first." "But can't you realise," he went on eagerly, "that even this is for the best? America to-day is hypnotised by a maudlin, sentimental affection for England, a country from whom she never received anything but harm. We want to change that. We want to kill for ever the misunderstandings between the two greatest nations in the world. My creed of life could be yours, too, without a single lapse from your patriotism. Friendship, alliance, brotherhood, between Germany and America. That would be my text." "Shall I be perfectly frank?" Pamela asked. "Nothing else is worth while," was the instant answer. "Well, then," she continued, "I can quite see that Germany has everything to gain from America's friendship, but I cannot see the quid pro quo." "And yet it is so clear," Fischer insisted. "Your own cloud may not be very large just now, but it is growing, and, before you know it, it will be upon you. Can you not realise why Japan is keeping out of this war? She is conserving her strength. Millions flow into her coffers week by week. In a few years time, Japan, for the first time in her history, will know what it is to possess solid wealth. What does she want it for, do you think? She has no dreams of European aggression, or her soldiers would be fighting there now. China is hers for the taking, a rich prize ready to fall into her mouth at any moment. But the end and aim of all Japanese policy, the secret Mecca of her desires, is to repay with the sword the insults your country has heaped upon her. It is for that, believe me, that her arsenals are working night and day, her soldiers are training, her fleet is in reserve. While you haggle about a few volunteers, Japan is strengthening and perfecting a mighty army for one purpose and one purpose only. Unless you wake up, you will be in the position that Great Britain was in two years ago. Even now, work though you may, you will never wholly make up for lost time. The one chance for you is friendship with Germany." "Will Germany be in a position to help us after the war?" Pamela asked. "Never doubt it," Fischer replied vehemently. "Before peace is signed the sea power of England will be broken. Financially she will be ruined. She is a country without economic science, without foresight, without statesmen. The days of her golden opportunities have passed, frittered away. Unless we of our great pity bind up her wounds, England will bleed to death before the war is over." "That, you must remember," Pamela said practically, "is your point of view." "I could tell you things--" he began. "Don't," she begged. "I know what your outlook is now. Be definite. Leaving aside that other matter, what is your proposition to me?" Fischer walked for a while in silence. They had turned back some time since, and were once more nearing the Plaza. "You ask me to leave out what is most vital," he said at last. "I have never been married, Miss Van Teyl. I am wealthy. I am promised great honours at the end of this war. When that comes, I shall rest. If you will be my wife, you can choose your home, you can choose your title." She shook her head. "But I am not sure that I even like you, Mr. Fischer," she objected. "We have fought in opposite camps, and you have had the bad taste to be victorious. Besides which, you were perfectly brutal to James, and I am not at all sure that I don't resent your bargain with me. As a matter of fact, I am feeling very bitter towards you." "You should not," he remonstrated earnestly. "Remember that, after all, women are only dabblers in diplomacy. Their very physique prevents them from playing the final game. You have brains, of course, but there are other things--experience, courage, resource. You would be a wonderful helpmate, Miss Van Teyl, even if your individual and unaided efforts have not been entirely successful." She sighed. Pamela just then was a picture of engaging humility. "It is so hard for me," she murmured, "I do not want to marry yet. I do not wish to think of it. And so far as you are concerned, Mr. Fischer--well, I am simply furious when I think of your attitude last night. But I love adventures." "I will promise you all the adventures that can be crammed into your life," he urged. "But be more definite," she persisted. "Where should we start? You are over here now on some important mission. Tell me more about it?" "I cannot just yet," he answered. "All that I can promise you is that, if I am successful, it will stop the war just as surely as Captain Graham's new explosive." "I thought you were going to make a confidante of me," she complained. He suddenly gripped her arm. It was the first time he had touched her, and she felt a queer surging of the blood to her head, a sudden and almost uncontrollable repulsion. The touch of his long fingers was like flame; his eyes, behind their sheltering spectacles, glowed in a curious, disconcerting fashion. "To the woman who was my pledged wife," he said, "I would tell everything. From the woman who gave me her hand and became my ally I would have no secrets. Come, I have a message, more than a message, to the American people. I am taking it to Washington before many hours have passed. If it is your will, it should be you to whom I will deliver it." Pamela walked on with her head in the air. Fischer was leaning a little towards her. Every now and then his mouth twitched slightly. His eyes seemed to be seeking to reach the back of her brain. "Please go now," she begged. "I can't think clearly while you are here, and I want to make up my mind. I will send to you when I am ready." _ |
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