SECRETS OF STATE

Southern Cross, Volume 24, Issue 2, 22 April 1916, Page 13

SECRETS OF STATE

I • WILLIAM LE QUETJX. |

CHAPTER XIV. s. WHAT CONFESSION WOULD . ''/" '■ . '.-■''' .' ' A' silence had fallen between the rpair... Again Walter. Fetherston gllahced at her. She was an out-door girl', to the taps of her fingers. On • her shoot up near Crieff, she .went out with I the guns," not merely contenting herself, as did the other girls, to drive down with the luncheon for the men. She never got •dishevelled or untidy, and her trim tweed skirt, short to the ankles, and serviceable boots peeping beneath never made her look mannish or unrwoihanly. She was her dainty self out in . the country with the - men, as in the pretty drawing at Hill street, and her merry laugh evoked more ■•' smiles and witticisms than the'more studied attempts at wit of the' oth- , ' ers - But at that moment she had noticed the change in the man she had so gradually grown to love, and her heart was beating in" a wild tumult. He, on his part, was hating... himself for so foQli'shly allowing her to steal "into his heart. She had lied .jo him ■ there, Just as she had lied to him at Biarritz. And yet he had been " fool and had allowed himself ■■ to be ■ drawn back to her side. . Why?- he asked himself. There was a reason, a strong reason. He loved her, and the reason'he was at that moment at her side was to save her, to rescue her from a fate which he knew must sooner or later .befall her. ■ She made some i remark, but he only replied mechanically. His countenance had, she saw, changed and become paler. - His Hips were pressed together, and, taking a cigar from his case, he asked her permission to smoke, and viciously bit oft" its end. Something had annoyed him. Was it possible that he held any suspicion of the ghastly truth ? The real fact, however, was that he was calmly and deliberately contemplating tearing her r from his heart for ever as an object of suspicion and worthlessness. He, who had never yet fallen beneath a woman's thraldom, resolved not to enter blindly the "net she had spread for him. His thoughts were hard and bitter-M:he thoughts of a iiian - who had loved passionately, but whose idol 'had suddenly been shat- . tered. '."•■■." She spoke again, remarking that it-' was time she had turned back, for already they were at the oppos--~ite end. of the wood, with a beautiful panorama of valley and winding river before them. But'he only answered a trifle abruptly, and, acting upon her suggestion, turned and retraced his steps in silence. At last, as though suddenly rou» ' ing himself, he *arned to her and said in an apologetic tone. ,- N T fear, Miss Enid,. I've treated you rather—- . rather uncouthly. I apologise—l was thinking of something else —a some- \. ■■• t serious matter." ."I knew vou were," she laughed, affecting to treat the lightly.. _ "You scarcely replied to me."; '_" "Forgive me, won't you ?" he asked, smiling, again in his old way.. Of-course," she said. "But—but is the matter very serious. Does it con-. . cern yourself ?" ' "Yes, Enid, it does," he answered. And still she walked on, her eyes cast down, much puzzled". Two woodmen passed on their way home from work,and raised theircaps politely-i while Walter returned their greeting in French. . _ "I shall probably leave here to^ morrow," her companion said, ' asj they .walked back to the high road.

§ [ALL EIGHTS RESERVED.] O

g. Author of " The Invasion of England," " Fatal 8 g Fin j-ers", &c." & & [COPYRIGHT.] 8

"I am not yet certain—until I- receive, my letters, to-night." ."-"■You are now going back to your village inn, I suppose," she laughed cheerfully. "Yes," "My host is an interesting old countryman, and has told me quite a lot about,the war. j He was wounded over at Audun. He j has told me that he knows Captain Le Pontois, for, his son Jean is his servant." "Oh, Jean !" she exclaimed. "Is he the son of your innkeeper? He's quite a smart man." "Yes. I saw him sitting behind the trap when, madame drove you over to 'Gondrecourt yesterday, "he said. , . "Why, Mr Fetherston, you are'realhave'you been watching *"us like | this ?" '■...*• I "Merely because I wished to see you, as I've already explained," was his replj 7 . "I wanted to _ ask you those questions which I have put to you this afternoon." "About poor Harry?" she remarked in a hoarse, low, voice. "But you begged me to reply" to you in my own interests —why ?" "Because I wished to know the real truth." "Well, I've told"" you the truth," she said, with just the slightest tinge of defiance in her voice;. For a moment ; he;did not speak. He had halted, his grave eyes fixed upon hers. "Have you told me the whole truth—all that you know, Enid ?"' he asked, very quietly, a moment later. ''What more could I know ?" she protested after a second's hesitation. . ' ■ "How can I tell ?" He asked quickly. '''l only ask you to' place me in possession of the facts within your knowledge." "Why do you ask me this ?" she cried. "Is it out of mere idle curiosity ? Or is it because —because, knowing that Harry loved me, you wish to cause me; pain by .recalling those tragic circumstances?" "Neither," was his quiet, answer, in a low, sympathetic voice. . "I am your friend, ■ Miss i Orlebar. And if you wiil allow me I will assist you." She held' her breath. He spoke as' though Jie were aware of the truth — that she had not told him every--thing—that she was- still concealing certain important, and material facts. "I—l know you are" my, friend," she faltere'd. \ "I have felt that all along, ever since our first meeting. But —but forgive me, I beg of you. The very remembrainee of that might of the second is to me horrible —iiorrible." To him those very words of hers increased his suspicion. Was it any wonder that she was horrified when she.i recalled that gruesome episode of of the death- of as brave and honest man ? Her personal fascination had overwhelmed Harry BeUairs just as it had overwhelmed himself, j The devil sends some women into the hearts .of upright men to rend arid destroy them. . ' - - .*" Upon her cheeks had spread a deathly pallor, while in'' the centre,j of each showed a scarlet spot. Her heart was torn by a thousand emo- j tions, for the image of that man whom she had seen lying cold and dead in his room had arisen before her vision, blotting out everything, j The hideous remembrance' of that I fateful night took possession of her soul. ■'""" . j In silence they walked on for a considerable time. Now and then a rabbit scuttled from their path /-into the undergrowth "or the alarm cry pf a bird broke the evening until at last they came forth into

the wide highway, their faces cet towards the autumn sunset. Suddenly the man spoke. "Have you heard of the Doctor since you left »London ?" he asked. She held her breath—only for a single second. But her hesitation was sufficient to show him that she intended to conceal the truth. "No," was her reply. "He has not written to me." - *" .■ Again he was silent. There was a reason—a strong reason- why Weirmarsh should, not write, to her,"-he knew. But he had, by his question, afforded her an opportunity of telling him the trutlv—the truth that the mysterious Weirmarsh was there, in that. vicinity. That Enid ;was aware of that fact was certain to him. "I wish," she said at last, "I wipb. you would call at the chateau and allow me to introduce you to the Captain and his wife. They would be charmed to make your 'acquaintance." "Thank you," he replied a trifle coldly ; "I'd rather not know, them—in the present circumstances." '"Why, how strange you Mr F t etherston !" the girl exclaimed, looking up into his face, so dark and serious. "I don't see why -you should entertain such an aversion to being introduced to Paul. He's quite a dear fellow." / "Perhaps it is a foolish reluctance on my part," he laughed, uneasily. "But somehow I feel that to 1 remain away from the chateau is -best. Remember, your father and mother are in ignorance of —well, oi. the fact that we regard each other as as more than close friends. sfeFor the present, it is surely' best that I should not visit your relations. Relations are often very prompt to divine the real position of affairs. Parents may be blind," he laughed ; "but brothers-in-law never." "You are always so dreadfully philosophically !" the)girl cried, glad that at last that painful topic of conversation had been changed. "Paul Le Pontois wouldn't eat yoni !" "I don't suppose any French officer is given to cannibalistic diet," he answered, smiling. "But the fact is, 11 have my reason for not being introduced to the Le Pontois "family just now." The girl looked at him sharpy, surprised at the tone of his response. She tried to divine its meaning. But his countenance still wore that sphinx-like expression which so often caused his friends to entertain j vague suspicions. Few men could read character better than Walter Fetherston. To hi|m the minds of most men and women he met were as an open book. To a marvellous degree _had he cultivated his power of reading the inner working of the mind by the expression in the eyes and on the faces of. even those . hard-headed y diplomats and men of business whom, in his second character of Maltwood, he so frequently met. Few men or women could tell him a deliberate lie without its instant detection. Most shrewd, men possess l that power to a greater or less degree —a power that can be developed _by painstaking application and practice. Einid asked "her companion when they were to meet again. "At. least let me see you: before

you' go -from here," she said. " I know what a, rapid - traveller you "Yes," he. sighed. -"l'm often compelled", to make quick journeys from one part, of the continent to another. I am a"~ constant traveller—too constant, perhaps, for I've nowadays grown very world-weary and rest--I<?ss/" J ..- -ii "Well," she exclaimed, •"n you will not come to the chateau, where shall we meet -.?" "I will write to you," he replied. "At this moment/ my movements are most uncertain —they depend' entirely upon the movements of others. At any- moment I may be called -away. But a letter to Holies • Street will always'find me, you know." ... He seems unusually serious strangely preoccupied, she thought. She noticed, too, that he had flung away his half-consumed cigar in impatience, and that he had rubbed his chin' t -with his left-hand, . af. habit of his when .puzzled. At the cross-roads where the leafless poplars ran in straight lines towards the village of«-Fresnes, a big red motor-car passed them at a tearing pace, and in it Enid recognised General Molon. ." - Fetherston, although an ardent motorist himself, cursed the driver under his breath for besmattering them with mud. Then, with a word of apology to his neat little companion, he held her gloved hand for a moment in his. Their parting was not prolonged. The man's lips were thin and bard, for his resolve was firm. This girl whom he had grown to love—who was the very sunshine of his strange, -adventurous life —was, he had at last realised, unworthy. If he was to ' live,-if the future was to have hope and joy. for him he must tear her out of his life. Therefore he bade her adieu, refusing to give her any tryst for the morrow. . "It is all so» uncertain," he repeated. "You will write to me to London, if you do not hear from me, won't you-?" 'She nodded, but scarce'a word save a murmured farewell. escaped her dry lips. He was changed, sadly changed, she knew. She turned from him with overflowing heart, stifling her tears, but ! with a veritable volcano of emotion within her young breast. He had changed—changed entirely and utterly in that brief hour and a half they had walked together. What had she said ?. What had she done ? she asked herself. Forward she wenjt blindly with the blood-red light of" the glorious sunset full in her hard set face, the great' fortress-crowned hills looming up before her, a barrier between herself and the beyond ! They looked grey, dark, mysterious as. her own future. She glanced back, but he had turned upon his heel, and she now saw his retreating figure swinging along the straight, broad, highway. Why had he treated her thus ? Was it possible, she reflected, that, he had actually become aware of the ghastly truth ? Had he divined it ? ' "If he has," she cried aloud in.< an agony of soul, "then no wonder —ho wonder indeed that he has cast me from his life as a criminal —as a woman to be- avoided as the plague—that he has said good-bye to me for ever !" Her lips trembled, and the corners of her pretty mouth hardened." She turned ' again to watch the man's disappearing figure. ( "I would go back," she cried in despair, "back him, and beg his forgiveness upon my knees. I love him;—love him better than my life ! Y'et to crave forgiveness would be to confess. And I can't do that— : no, never ! God help me ! . I—l—l can't do that !" And. bursting into a flood of hot tears she stood rigid, her \ small hands clenched, , still watching him until he disappeared from her sight around the bend of the road. "No'," she*, murmured, in a low, hoarse voice, still speakling to herself, "confession would mean death. Rather than, admit the truth, I ■would take my own life. I would kill myself, yes, face death freely and willingly rather than he—the man I love so well—should learn", my disgraceful secret !"

CHAPTER XVV CONCERNS THREE STRANGERS. Gaston Darbour's comedy ("lie, Pyree" had been played to a large audience assembled in one of the bigger rooms of the long ..whitewashed artillery s barracks outside Ronvaux,

where General Molon had his official residence.

The hurnor,ous piece had been ap c > plauded to the echo—the audience consisting for the most part of tary officers in uniform, and their wives and daughters, with a sprinkling of the better-class civilians from the various chateaux in the neighbourhood, together with two or three aristocratic parties from' Lon. : guvon, Spincourt, and other places. . The honours of,the- evening 'had fallen to the young English girl who had played the amusing part of the demure < governess, Miss Smith—pronounced r by jthe others " Mees Smeeth." Enid was passionately fond of dramatic art, and belonged to an amateur club" in London. Among those present were the author of the piece himself, a dark; man . with smooth hair • parted in the centre, and wearing an- exaggerated black, cravat. ' When the curtain fell the audience rose to chatter and comment, and were a long time before they dispersed. Paul Le Pontois waited for Enid, Sir Hugh accompanying Blanche and little Ninette home in the hired brougham. As the party had a long distance to go, some twelve kilometres, General i Molon had lent Le Pontois his motor-car, which now stood awaiting him with glaring "head-lights in the"' barracksquare. As the hall emptied the captain glanced 'around him while waiting for Enid. On the walls ■ the French tricolour was everywhere, displayed in the revered drapeau under which he had ,so gallantly and nobly served. He presented a- spruce tin his smart uniform with/.the crimson ribbon and enamelled cross .of the Legion d'Honneur upon his breast, and to the ladies who wished them "bon soir" as they filed out he drew his heels together and bowed gallantly. Outside the night was cloudy, and overcast. In the long rows of the barrack windows lights shone.; and somewhere sounded a bugle, while in the shadows could be ' heard the measured tramp of sentries,- "the clank of spurs, or the click of rifles as they saluted their officers passing out. , The whole atmosphere was a military one, for. indeed, lttttle town of Ronvaux is scarcely more than a huge camp. For a 1 few minutes Le Pontois stood chatting to a group of brother officers at the door. They had invited him to come across, to their quarters, but he had explained that he was awaiting mademoiselle., So they raised their eyebrows, smiling mischievously, and bade him "bon soir." , Soldiers were already stacking up the chairs ready for the clearance of the gymnasium for, the morrow. Others were coming to water and sweep out the place. Therefore the captain remained outside in the square, waiting in patience. He was reflecting. That evening as he. had .sat with his wife watching the play he had been seized with a curious feeling of apprehension for which he entirely failed to account.Behind him there had sat , a man and ai woman, French without a doubt, but quite strangers. They must, of course, have known one or other of the officers in order to obtain ,an admission ticket. Nevertheless, they had spoken to no one, and on the fall of the curtain had entered a brougham in waiting, and driven off. . Paul had made no comment. By a sudden chance chance he had, during the entr'acte, risen and gazed round, when the face of the stranger had caught his eyes—a face which he felt was curiously familiar, yet he could not place it. The middle-aged' man was .dressed with quiet elegance, clean-shaven and keen-faced, apparently a prosperous civilian, while the lady with him was of ~ about the same age, and apparently his wife. She was dressed in a high-necked dress of black lace, and wore in her corsage a large circular ornament of diamonds and emeralds. Twice had the captain taken furtive 4 glances at the stranger, whose lined brow was so extraordinarily familiar. It was the face of a deep thinker, a man who had perhaps passed through much trouble. Was it possible, he wondered, that he* had seen that striking face in some photograph, or perhaps in some illustrated paper? He had racked his brain through thej whole performance, but could not decide in what drcumstances they had previously rnetv From time to time the stranger had joined ftvith the audience in their hearty laughter,, or < applauded as

vociferously as the , others, his companion being equally the quaint sayings of the demure ' "Mees Smeeth." . ~ ■■; And even as he stood m the shadows, near the General's car, awaiting Enid, he was still wondering who thejpair might be. At the fall of the curtain he had made several swift inquiries of brother officers,, but nobody could give him any inforrnation. They 1 were complete strangers—that was all. Even a search* among the cards of invitation had repealed nothing, and he. remained- mystified. • Enid came at last, flushed with, success, and apologetic because she shad kept him waiting. But he only congratulated her;"" and;., assisted herinto the car. It' was a big open one, therefore she wore a thick motor coat and veil .as protection against" the chill autumn night. A moment later the . soldier chauffetir modnted to his seat, and slowly they moved across the great square and out by the gates, where the sentries saluted. Then, turning to the. right, they • were quickly tearing along the highway, in the darkness. \Soon they overtook several j closed carriages, of the home-going visitors, and ascending the hill turned .from the main road down into the byroad leading through a wooded valley, which was a short cut to the chateau. - Part of their way led through the great. Foret d'Amblonv!i!le, and though Enid's gay chatter^was mostly of the play,: the defects in the acting, and the several amusing contretemji s which had occurred behind the scenes, her companion's thoughts were constantly of that stranger whose brow was so deeply lined with care. They expected to overtake Sir Hugh in the brougham, but so long had Enid been) changing her gown that they saw nothing of the others. Justj however, as they were within a hundred yards or ,so of the ga/te which gave them entrance to the chateau and were slowing down in order to swing into the drive, a man emerged from the darkness, calling upon the driver to stop and, placing himself before the car, held up his'hands. ; Next instant the figure of a second individual Enid, uttered a cry of alarm, but the second man, who wore a hard felt hat ■ and dark overcoat, reassured her by<saying in French : "IPray, do not distress yourself, mademoiselle. There is no cause for alarm. My friend and 1,-merely wish to speak for a moment with Captain Le Ponto'is—before he enters his house. For that reason '• we' have presiimed, to stop your car." ""But who are you ?" demanded the captain, angrily. "Who are you that you should hold us up like this ?" "Perhaps, m'sieur, it would be better if you descended and escorted mademoiselle as far as your gates. We wish to speak to you for a moment —upon a "little matter which is both urgent and private." "Well, cannot-you speak here, now —and let us proceed ?" "Not before mademoiselle," replied the man. "It is a confidential matter." Paul, much puzzled at the curious demeanour of the strangers, reluctantly handed Enid out, and . walked with her as far as his own gate, telling her to assure Blanche he would return in a few minutes, when he had heard I what the men w-anted. "Perhaps." he added, in a lower tone, "perhaps they have some-fron-tier information "to give to me. We receive w-ord of the progress of events on the German side in many devious ways.. So you need, not alarm Blanche by telling her of your fright whem we were stopped," he added. "Very'well," she laughed. "I'll say say nothing. You can tell her all when you come in." The girl passed through the gates and up the gravelled drive to the house, when Le Pontois, turning upon his heel. to return to the car, was met by the two men, who,, he found, had 'walked' closely behind him. "You are. Captain Paul Le Pontois ?" inquired the ' elder of the pair. - "Of course ! Why do you ask ?" "Because it is necessary," was his businesslike l-eply. Then he added: "I regret, m'sieur,, that you must consider yourself under arrest by order of his-i Excellency the Minister of WarV / V Arrest !" gasped the/ .„ unhappy man. "Are you mad, Messieurs ?" "No," replied the man who -had spoken. "We have merely our duty.

to perform, and have travelled from. Paris-to execute it.". ~„,, """With what offence am I charged? the captain demanded. "Of that we have no -knowledge.. As agents of secret police we are sent :; here to convey you for interrogation.'" , , The man under, arrest stood dumb-,,. founded. , "But at last you will allow.me to say farewell to iny wife and child—to make excuse to them for my abr sence ?" he urged. , - "I regret that is quite impossible, m'sieur. Our orders are to make the arrest and to afford you no' opportunity to communicate with anyone." _ "But this is cruel, inhuman ! His Excellency never meant that, I am quite sure —especially when lam quite innocent' of any crime, as far as I am aware." >t ' "We can only obey our orders,' Captain," replied the man in the dark overcoat. "Then may I not write a line to my wife, just one word of excuse ?" he pleaded. , The two police agents consulted. "Well," replied the elder of the pair, who was the one in authority, "if you wish to scribble a note, here are paper and pencil." And he tore a leaf, from his notebook and handed it to the prisoner. By the light of the head-lamps of the* car Paul scribbled a few hurried w-ords to Blanche : "I am detained on important duty," he wrote.'' "I will return tomorrow. My. love to you both. — Paul." •

The. detective read it, . folded it carefully, and handed it to his assistant," telling him to go up to the chateau and deliver it at the servants' entrance.

When he had gone, the detective, turning to the chaffeur, .said, I shall require you to take us to .Verdun." "This is not my car, m'sieur," replied Paul. "It belongs to 'General Molon."

"That does not matter. I will telephone to him'an explanation as soon as we arrive in Ver"dun. We may as well enter the car as stand here." Paul was about to protest, but what could he say ? The 'Minister' of War in Paris had apparently committed some grave error in thus ordering his arrest 6y the secret police, instead of by' his own regiment. No doubt there would be confusion, apologies, and laughter. So, wiith a light "heart at the knowledge that he had committed no offence, he got into the car and al: owed-the polite police agent to seat himself besi'de him.

The only chagrin he felt was that the chauffeur had overheard all t the conversation. And to him he said :

"Remember, Gallet, of this affair you' know nothing."

"I understand perfectly, mon capitaine," was the wondering soldier's reply. Then they sat in silence in the darkness until the hurrying policeagent returned, after which the car sped straight past the chateau on the highl road which led through that impregnable gateway to France, on to the fortress town of .Verdun.

As they passed the "chateau, Paul caught a gleam of his lighted windows, and sat wondering what Blanche would imagine. He pictured the pleasant supper party, and the surprise that would be expressed at his absence.

"How amusing ! What incongruity ! He was under arrest !

The car rushed on beneath the precipitous hill crowned by the great fortress of Haudioniont, through that narrow gorge which led from Germany to France. All three men, seated abreast, were silent, until at last the elder of the two police agents bent, and glanced at the clocjk on the dashboard, visible by the tiny glow-lamp. • "Half-past twelve," he remarked. "The express leaves Verdun at two-twenty-eight." "For where ?" asked the captain. "For Paris." "Paris !" he cried. "Are you taking me to Paris ?" "Those are our orders," was the detective's quiet response. (To be continued).