The Woman of Mystery

Élisabeth had put her elbows on the table and her hands before her face, as though trying to isolate herself from her surroundings. But the prince, still standing and bawling, took her two arms and brutally forced them apart:

"None of your monkey-tricks, pretty one!"

She gave a movement of repulsion which threw him beside himself.

"What's all this? Sulking? And blubbering? A nice thing! And, bless my soul, what do I see? Madame's glass is full!"

He took the glass and, with a shaky hand, put it to Élisabeth's lips:

"Drink my health, child! The health of your lord and master! What's this? You refuse?.. Ah, I see, you don't like champagne! Quite right! Down with champagne! What you want is hock, good Rhine wine, eh, baby? You're thinking of one of your country's songs: 'We held it once, your German Rhine! It babbled in our brimming glass!' Rhine wine, there!"

With one movement, the officers rose and started shouting:

Die Wacht am Rhein"They shall not have our German Rhine,Tho' like a flock of hungry crowsThey shriek their lust."

"No, they shan't have it," rejoined the prince, angrily, "but you shall drink it, little one!"

Another glass had been filled. Once more he tried to force Élisabeth to lift it to her lips; and, when she pushed it away, he began to whisper in her ear, while the wine dribbled over her dress.

Everybody was silent, waiting to see what would happen. Élisabeth turned paler than ever, but did not move. The prince, leaning over her, showed the face of a brute who alternately threatens, pleads, commands and insults. It was a heart-rending sight. Paul would have given his life to see Élisabeth yield to a fit of disgust and stab her insulter. Instead of that, she threw back her head, closed her eyes and half-swooning, accepted the chalice and swallowed a few mouthfuls.

The prince gave a shout of triumph as he waved the glass on high; then he put his lips, avidly, to the place at which she had drunk and emptied it at a draught.

"Hoch! Hoch!" he roared. "Up, comrades! Every one on his chair, with one foot on the table! Up, conquerors of the world! Sing the strength of Germany! Sing German gallantry!

"'The Rhine, the free, the German RhineThey shall not have while gallant boysStill tell of love to slender maids..'

"Élisabeth, I have drunk Rhine wine from your glass. Élisabeth, I know what you are thinking. Her thoughts are of love, my comrades! I am the master! Oh, Parisienne!.. You dear little Parisienne!.. It's Paris we want!.. Oh, Paris, Paris!."

His foot slipped. The glass fell from his hand and smashed against the neck of a bottle. He dropped on his knees on the table, amid a crash of broken plates and glasses, seized a flask of liqueur and rolled to the floor, stammering:

"We want Paris… Paris and Calais… Papa said so… The Arc de Triomphe!.. The Café Anglais!.. A cabinet particulier at the Café Anglais!."

The uproar suddenly stopped. The Comtesse Hermine's imperious voice was raised in command:

"Go away, all of you! Go home! And be quick about it, gentlemen, if you please."

The officers and the ladies soon made themselves scarce. Outside, on the other side of the house, there was a great deal of whistling. The cars at once drove up from the garage. A general departure took place.

Meanwhile the Countess had beckoned to the servants and, pointing to Prince Conrad, said:

"Carry him to his room."

The prince was removed at once. Then the Comtesse Hermine went up to Élisabeth.

Not five minutes had elapsed since the prince rolled under the table; and, after the din of the banquet, a great silence reigned in the disorderly room where the two women were now by themselves. Élisabeth had once more hidden her head in her hands and was weeping violently with sobs that shook her shoulders. The Comtesse Hermine sat down beside her and gently touched her on the arm.

The two women looked at each other without a word. It was a strange glance that they exchanged, a glance laden with mutual hatred. Paul did not take his eyes from them. As he watched the two of them, he could not doubt that they had met before and that the words which they were about to speak were but the sequel and conclusion of some earlier discussion. But what discussion? And what did Élisabeth know of the Comtesse Hermine? Did she accept that woman, for whom she felt such loathing, as her mother?

Never were two human beings distinguished by a greater difference in physical appearance and above all by expressions of face denoting more opposite natures. And yet how powerful was the series of proofs that linked them together! These were no longer proofs, but rather the factors of so actual a reality that Paul did not even dream of discussing them. Besides, M. d'Andeville's confusion when confronted with the countess' photograph, a photograph taken in Berlin some years after her pretended death, showed that M. d'Andeville was an accessory to that pretended death and perhaps an accessory to many other things.

And Paul came back to the question provoked by the agonizing encounter between the mother and daughter: what did Élisabeth know of it all? What insight had she been able to obtain into the whole monstrous conglomeration of shame, infamy, treachery and crime? Was she accusing her mother? And, feeling herself crushed under the weight of the crimes, did she hold her responsible for her own lack of courage?

"Yes, of course she does," thought Paul. "But why so much hatred? There is a hatred between them which only death can quench. And the longing to kill is perhaps even more violent in the eyes of Élisabeth than in those of the woman who has come to kill her."

Paul felt this impression so keenly that he really expected one or the other to take some immediate action; and he began to cast about for a means of saving Élisabeth. But an utterly unforeseen thing happened. The Comtesse Hermine took from her pocket one of those large road-maps which motorists use, placed her finger at one spot, followed the red line of a road to another spot and, stopping, spoke a few words that seemed to drive Élisabeth mad with delight.

She seized the countess by the arm and began to talk to her feverishly, in words interrupted by alternate laughing and sobbing, while the countess nodded her head and seemed to be saying:

"That's all right… We are agreed… Everything shall be as you wish.."

Paul thought that Élisabeth was actually going to kiss her enemy's hand, for she seemed overcome with joy and gratitude; and he was anxiously wondering into what new trap the poor thing had fallen, when the countess rose, walked to a door and opened it.

She beckoned to some one outside and then came back again.

A man entered, dressed in uniform. And Paul now understood. The man whom the Comtesse Hermine was admitting was Karl the spy, her confederate, the agent of her designs, the man whom she was entrusting with the task of killing Élisabeth, whose last hour had struck.

Karl bowed. The Comtesse Hermine introduced the man to Élisabeth and then, pointing to the road and the two places on the map, explained what was expected of him. He took out his watch and made a gesture as though to say:

"It shall be done at such-and-such a time."

Thereupon, at the countess' suggestion, Élisabeth left the room.

Although Paul had not caught a single word of what was said, this brief scene was, for him, pregnant with the plainest and most terrifying significance. The countess, using her absolute power and taking advantage of the fact that Prince Conrad was asleep, was proposing a plan of escape to Élisabeth, doubtless a flight by motor-car, towards a spot in the neighboring district thought out in advance. Élisabeth was accepting this unhoped-for deliverance. And the flight would take place under the management and protection of Karl!

The trap was so well-laid and Élisabeth, driven mad with suffering, was rushing into it so confidently that the two accomplices, on being left alone, looked at each other and laughed. The trick was really too easy; and there was no merit in succeeding under such conditions.

There next took place between them, even before any explanation was entered into, a short pantomime: two movements, no more; but they were marked with diabolical cynicism. With his eyes fixed on the countess, Karl the spy opened his jacket and drew a dagger half-way out of its sheath. The countess made a sign of disapproval and handed the scoundrel a little bottle which he took with a shrug of the shoulders, apparently saying:

"As you please! It's all the same to me!"

Then, sitting side by side, they embarked on a lively conversation, the countess giving her instructions, while Karl expressed his approval or his dissent.

Paul had a feeling that, if he did not master his dismay, if he did not stop the disordered beating of his heart, Élisabeth was lost. To save her, he must keep his brain absolutely clear and take immediate resolutions, as circumstances demanded, without giving himself time to reflect or hesitate. And these resolutions he could only take at a venture and perhaps erroneously, because he did not really know the enemy's plans. Nevertheless he cocked his revolver.

He was at that moment presuming that, when Élisabeth was ready to start, she would return to the room and go away with the spy; but presently the countess struck a bell on the table and spoke a few words to the servant who appeared. The man went out. Paul heard two whistles, followed by the hum of an approaching motor.

Karl looked through the open door and down the passage. Then he turned to the countess, as though to say:

"Here she is… She's coming down the stairs.."

Paul now understood that Élisabeth would go straight to the car and that Karl would join her there. If so, it was a case for immediate action.

For a second he remained undecided. Should he take advantage of the fact that Karl was still there, burst into the room and shoot both him and the countess dead? It would mean saving Élisabeth, because it was only those two miscreants who had designs upon her life. But he dreaded the failure of so daring an attempt and, jumping from the balcony, he called Bernard.

"Élisabeth is going off in a motor-car. Karl is with her and has been told to poison her. Get out your revolver and come with me."

"What do you intend to do?"

"We shall see."

They went round the villa, slipping through the bushes that bordered the drive. The whole place, moreover, was deserted.

"Listen," said Bernard, "there's a car going off."

Paul, at first greatly alarmed, protested:

"No, no, it's only the noise of the engine."

In fact, when they came within sight of the front of the house, they saw at the foot of the steps a closed car surrounded by a group of some dozen soldiers. Its head-lamps, while lighting up one part of the garden, left the spot where Paul and Bernard stood in darkness.

A woman came down the steps and disappeared inside the car.

"Élisabeth," said Paul. "And here comes Karl.."

The spy stopped on the bottom step and gave his orders to the soldier who acted as chauffeur. Paul caught a syllable here and there.

Their departure was imminent. Another moment and, if Paul raised no obstacle, the car would carry off the assassin and his victim. It was a horrible minute, for Paul Delroze felt all the danger attending an interference which would not even possess the merit of being effective, since Karl's death would not prevent the Comtesse Hermine from pursuing her ends.

Bernard whispered:

"Surely you don't mean to carry away Élisabeth? There's a whole picket of sentries there."

"I mean to do only one thing, to do for Karl."

"And then?"

"Then they'll take us prisoners. We shall be questioned, cross-examined; there will be a scandal. Prince Conrad will take the matter up."

"And we shall be shot. I confess that your plan."

"Can you propose a better one?"

He broke off. Karl the spy had flown into a rage and was storming at his chauffeur; and Paul heard him shout:

"You damned ass! You're always doing it! No petrol… Where do you think we shall find petrol in the middle of the night? There's some in the garage, is there? Then run and fetch it, you fat-head!.. And where's my fur-coat? You've forgotten it? Go and get it at once. I shall drive the car myself. I've no use for fools like you!."

The soldier started running. And Paul at once observed that he himself would be able to reach the garage, of which he saw the lights, without having to leave the protecting darkness.

"Come," he said to Bernard. "I have an idea: you'll see what it is."

With the sound of their footsteps deadened by a grassy lawn, they made for that part of the out-houses containing the stables and motor-sheds, which they were able to enter unseen by those without. The soldier was in a back-room, the door of which was open. From their hiding-place they saw him take from a peg a great goat-skin coat, which he threw over his shoulder, and lay hold of four tins of petrol. Thus laden, he left the back-room and passed in front of Paul and Bernard.

The trick was soon done. Before he had time to cry out, he was knocked down, rendered motionless and gagged.

"That's that," said Paul. "Now give me his great-coat and his cap. I would rather have avoided this disguise; but, if you want to be sure of a thing, you mustn't stick at the means."

"Then you're going to risk it?" asked Bernard. "Suppose Karl doesn't recognize his chauffeur?"

"He won't even think of looking at him."

"But if he speaks to you?"

"I shan't answer. Besides, once we are outside the grounds, I shall have nothing to fear from him."

"And what am I to do?"

"You? Bind your prisoner carefully and lock him up in some safe place. Then go back to the shrubbery beyond the window with the balcony. I hope to join you there with Élisabeth some time during the middle of the night; and we shall simply have to go back by the tunnel. If by accident you don't see me return."

"Well?"

"Well, then go back alone before it gets light."

"But."

Paul was already moving away. He was in the mood in which a man refuses to consider the actions which he has decided to perform. Moreover, the event seemed to prove that he was right. Karl received him with abusive language, but without paying the least attention to this supernumerary for whom he could not show enough contempt. The spy put on his fur-coat, sat down at the wheel and began to handle the levers while Paul took his seat beside him.

The car was starting, when a voice from the doorstep called, in a tone of command:

"Karl! Stop!"

Paul felt a moment's anxiety. It was the Comtesse Hermine. She went up to the spy and, lowering her voice, said, in French:

"I want you, Karl, to be sure.. But your driver doesn't know French, does he?"

"He hardly knows German, Excellenz. He's an idiot. You can speak freely."

"What I was going to say is, don't use more than ten drops out of the bottle, else.."

"Very well, Excellenz. Anything more?"

"Write to me in a week's time if everything has gone off well. Write to our Paris address and not before: it would be useless."

"Then you're going back to France, Excellenz?"

"Yes, my plan is ripe."

"The same plan?"

"Yes. The weather is in our favor. It has been raining for days and the staff have told me that they mean to act on their side. So I shall be there to-morrow evening; and it will only need a touch of the thumb."

"That's it, a touch of the thumb, no more. I've worked at it myself and everything's ready. But you spoke to me of another plan, to complete the first; and I confess that that one."

"It's got to be done. Luck is turning against us. If I succeed, it will be the end of the run on the black."

"And have you the Kaiser's consent?"

"I didn't ask for it. It's one of those undertakings one doesn't talk about."

"But this one is terribly dangerous, Excellenz."

"Can't be helped."

"Sha'n't you want me over there, Excellenz?"

"No. Get rid of the chit for us. That will be enough for the present. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Excellenz."

The spy released the brakes. The car started.

The drive which ran round the central lawn led to a lodge which stood beside the garden-gate and which served as a guard-room. The high walls surrounding the grounds rose on either side of it.

An officer came out of the lodge. Karl gave the pass-word, "Hohenstaufen." The gate was opened and the motor dashed down a high-road which first passed through the little town of Èbrecourt and next wound among low hills.

So Paul Delroze, at an hour before midnight, was alone in the open country, with Élisabeth and Karl the spy. If he succeeded in mastering the spy, as he did not doubt that he could, Élisabeth would be free. There would then remain nothing to do but to return to Prince Conrad's villa, with the aid of the pass-word, and pick up Bernard there. Once the adventure was completed in accordance with Paul's designs, the tunnel would bring back all the three of them to the Château d'Ornequin.

Paul therefore gave way to the delight that was stealing over him. Élisabeth was with him, under his protection: Élisabeth, whose courage, no doubt, had yielded under the weight of her trials, but who had a claim upon his indulgence because her misfortunes were due to his fault. He forgot, he wished to forget all the ugly phases in the tragedy, in order to think only of the end that was near at hand, his wife's triumph and deliverance.

He watched the road attentively, so as not to miss his way when returning, and planned out his attack, fixing it at the first stop which they would have to make. He resolved that he would not kill the spy, but that he would stun him with a blow of his fist and, after knocking him down and binding him, throw him into some wood by the road-side.

They came to a fair-sized market-town, then two villages and then a town where they had to stop and show the car's papers. It was past eleven.

Then once more they were driving along country lanes which ran through a series of little woods whose trees lit up as they passed.

At that moment, the light of the lamps began to fail. Karl slackened speed. He growled:

"You dolt, can't you even keep your lamps alight? Have you got any carbide?"

Paul did not reply. Karl went on cursing his luck. Suddenly, he put on the brakes, with an oath:

"You blasted idiot! One can't go on like this… Here, stir your stumps and light up."

Paul sprang from his seat, while the car drew up by the road-side. The time had come to act.

He first attended to the lamps, keeping an eye upon the spy's movements and taking care to stand outside the rays. Karl got down, opened the door of the car, and started a conversation which Paul could not hear. Then he came back to where Paul was:

"Well, pudding-head, haven't you done yet?"

Paul had his back turned to him, attending to his work and waiting for the propitious moment when the spy, coming two steps nearer, would be within his reach.

A minute elapsed. He clenched his fists. He foresaw the exact movement which he would have to make and was on the point of making it, when suddenly he felt himself seized round the body from behind and brought to the ground without being able to offer the least resistance.

"Thunder and lightning!" cried the spy, holding him down with his knee. "So that's why you wouldn't answer?.. It struck me somehow that you were behaving queerly… And then I never gave it another thought… It was the lamp, just now, that threw a light on your side-face… But who is the fellow I've got hold of? Some dog of a Frenchman, may be?"

Paul had stiffened his muscles and believed for a moment that he would succeed in escaping from the other's grip. The enemy's strength was yielding; Paul gradually seemed to master him; and he exclaimed:

"Yes, a Frenchman, Paul Delroze, the one you used to try and kill, the husband of Élisabeth, your victim… Yes, it's I; and I know who you are: you're Laschen, the sham Belgian; you're Karl the spy."

He stopped. The spy, who had only weakened his effort to draw a dagger from his belt, was now raising it against him:

"Ah, Paul Delroze!.. God's truth, this'll be a lucky trip!.. First the husband and then the wife… Ah, so you came running into my clutches!.. Here, take this, my lad!."

Paul saw the gleam of a blade flashing above his face. He closed his eyes, uttering Élisabeth's name.

Another second; and three shots rang out in rapid succession. Some one was firing from behind the group formed by the two adversaries.

The spy swore a hideous oath. His grip became relaxed. The weapon in the hand trembled and he fell flat on the ground, moaning:

"Oh, the cursed woman!.. That cursed woman!.. I ought to have strangled her in the car… I knew this would happen.."

His voice failed him. He stammered:

"I've got it this time… Oh, that cursed woman!.. And the pain.. !"

Then he was silent. A few convulsions, a dying gasp and that was all.

Paul had leapt to his feet. He ran to the woman who had saved his life and who was still holding her revolver in her hand:

"Élisabeth!" he cried, wild with delight.

But he stopped, with his arms outstretched. In the dark, the woman's figure did not seem to him to be Élisabeth's, but a taller and broader figure. He blurted out, in a tone of infinite anguish:

"Élisabeth.. is it you?.. Is it really you?."

And at the same time he intuitively knew the answer which he was about to hear:

"No," said the woman, "Mme. Delroze started a little before us, in another motor. Karl and I were to join her."

Paul remembered that car, of which he and Bernard had thought that he heard the sound when going round the villa. As the two starts had taken place with an interval of a few minutes at most between them, he cried:

"Let us be quick then and lose no time… By putting on speed, we shall be sure to catch them.."

But the woman at once objected:

"It's impossible, because the two cars have taken different roads."

"What does that matter, if they lead to the same point. Where are they taking Mme. Delroze?"

"To a castle belonging to the Comtesse Hermine."

"And where is that castle?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? But this is terrible! At least, you know its name.

"No, I don't. Karl never told me."

CHAPTER XVI

THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE

In the terrible state of distress into which those last words threw him, Paul felt the need of some immediate action, even as he had done at the sight of the banquet given by Prince Conrad. Certainly, all hope was lost. His plan, which was to use the tunnel before the alarm was raised, his plan was shattered. Granting that he succeeded in finding Élisabeth and delivering her, a very unlikely contingency, at what moment would this take place? And how was he afterwards to escape the enemy and return to France?

No, henceforward space and time were both against him. His defeat was such that there was nothing for it but to resign himself and await the final blow.

And yet he did not flinch. He saw that any weakness would be irreparable. The impulse that had carried him so far must be continued unchecked and with more vigor than ever.

He walked up to the spy. The woman was stooping over the body and examining it by the light of one of the lamps which she had taken down.

"He's dead, isn't he?" asked Paul.

"Yes, he's dead. Two bullets hit him in the back." And she murmured, in a broken voice, "It's horrible, what I've done. I've killed him myself! But it's not a murder, sir, is it? And I had the right to, hadn't I?.. But it's horrible all the same.. I've killed Karl!"

Her face, which was young and still rather pretty, though common, was distorted. Her eyes seemed glued to the corpse.

"Who are you?" asked Paul.

She replied, sobbing:

"I was his sweetheart.. and better than that.. or rather worse. He had taken an oath that he would marry me… But Karl's oath! He was such a liar, sir, such a coward!.. Oh, the things I know of him!.. I myself, simply through holding my tongue, gradually became his accomplice. He used to frighten me so! I no longer loved him, but I was afraid of him and obeyed him.. with such loathing, at the end!.. And he knew how I loathed him. He used often to say, 'You are quite capable of killing me some day or other.' No, sir, I did think of it, but I should never have had the courage. It was only just now, when I saw that he was going to stab you.. and above all when I heard your name.."