The Girl Philippa
waist-deep amid the grasses--a slim, brilliant shape, which became oddly
familiar as it drew nearer, moving forward with light and boyish grace,
stirring within him vaguely agreeable recollections.
Then, in spite of her peasant's dress, he recognized her; and he walked
swiftly forward to meet her. The figure out there in the sunshine saw
him coming and lifted one arm in distant recognition and salute.
They met in mid-meadow, Warner and the girl Philippa.
Her short skirt and low peasant bodice had faded to a rose-geranium
tint; her white chemisette, laced with black, was open wide below the
throat. Black velvet straps crossed it on the shoulders and around the
cuffs. Her hair was tied with a big black silk bow.
"How in the world did you come to be here?" he asked, not yet releasing
the eager, warm little hands so frankly clasped between both of his.
Philippa laughed with sheerest happiness:
"Figurez-vous, Monsieur. I have been punting since early morning; and
when I found myself so near to Sais I was ready to drop with heat and
fatigue: 'Mais, n'importe! Allons!' I said to myself. 'Courage, little
one! Very soon you shall see Mr. Warner painting a noble picture by the
river!' Et puis----" She tightened her clasp on his hands with an
adorable laugh, "Nous voici enfin ensemble--tous les deux--vous et moi!
Et je suis bien content et bien fatiguee."
"But, Philippa--how in the world do you propose to get back to Ausone
tonight?"
She shrugged, looked up as though protesting to the very skies:
"I have this instant arrived, and his first inquiry is concerning my
departure! That is not a very friendly welcome."
"Philippa, I _am_ glad to see you----"
"It is time you said so----"
"I thought you understood----"
The girl laughed:
"I understand how glad I am to see _you_!" She looked about her in the
sunshine, and touched a tall blossom of queen's lace with outstretched
fingers.
"How heavenly beautiful is this world of God!" she said with that
charming lack of self-consciousness which the skies of France seem to
germinate even in aliens. "I am very glad to see you," she repeated
abruptly, "and I am awaiting the expression of your sentiments."
"Of course I am glad to see you, Philippa----"
"That makes me quite happy." She smiled on him and then looked
curiously at his painting kit. "If you will choose your picture," she
added, "I shall sit beside you and watch you at your painting. It will
be agreeable. We can converse."
So he chose a ferny spot at the wood's edge, pitched his field easel and
camp stool, and opened his color box; and Philippa seated herself
cross-legged on the short grass beside him, gathering both slim ankles
into her hands.
While he was fussing with his canvas, she sang to herself blithely,
radiantly contented, rocking herself to and fro to the rhythm of her
song:
"'Hussar en vedette,
What do you see?
The sun has set
And a voice is calling me
Across the Recollette,
Where the scented rushes fret
In the May wind's breath--
Et garde a vous, Hussar!
'Tis the voice of Death!
'Hussar en vedette,
What do you see?
The moon has set
And a white shape beckons me
Across the Recollette,
Where the scented rushes fret
In the night wind's breath--
Et garde a vous, Hussar!
'Tis the shape of Death!'"
Singing away with the serene unconsciousness of a bird, rocking her
lithe young body, and watching his every movement out of wide grey eyes,
Philippa assisted at the artistic preparations with great content,
missing nothing.
"To squeeze color from tubes must be amusing," she remarked. "I like to
squeeze out tooth paste."
"I am very sure," said Warner, "that you accomplish more charming
results with your tooth paste than I do with my colors."
The girl laughed, showing her snowy teeth:
"Do you find them pretty, Monsieur?"
"Quite perfect, and therefore in keeping with the remainder of you,
Philippa."
"He really seems to mean it," she said, addressing a grasshopper which
had alighted on her knee. And to Warner: "Is my face sufficiently
scrubbed to suit you?"
He glanced down at her:
"You have kept your word, haven't you?"
"Ma foi! My word is my word.... Listen; I came to Sais to see you; and
partly because I have something to show you. It concerns your friend, I
think."
"Mr. Halkett?"
"Yes. After the fight in our cabaret there was much excitement, but
when you had disappeared, and before the agents de police and the
gendarmes arrived, I found on the floor under the overturned table a
portfolio. In that portfolio was part of an unfinished letter. It is
written in German. I could not read it; but, studying it, I recognized
Mr. Halkett's name written several times. So I said nothing to anybody,
but I have brought it. Here it is."
She drew from her bosom a small leather pocketbook.
"Before you examine it," she continued, "I ought to tell you what really
happened at the cabaret. Those men who attacked Mr. Halkett were in the
employment of Monsieur Wildresse."
"What!" exclaimed Warner.
"It is true. I was furious when I noticed them creeping up behind him.
I realized instantly what they meant to do, and I cried out--too late.
You ought to be told about this. Therefore, I came here to tell you.
"And I desire to tell you more. The three men who were seated across
the hall, and who attempted to pick a quarrel with Mr. Halkett, were
'provocative agents'--Germans.
"The _patron_ knew them and interfered. Besides, he had his own ideas
and his own ends to serve just then.
"But I saw those three German agents whisper to a fourth--a stranger.
And that man came and seated himself with three other men directly
behind Mr. Halkett, where he stood while you were talking to me----"
"Philippa," he interrupted with blunt impatience, "I don't understand
all this that you are saying to me. Give me that letter if it concerns
Mr. Halkett."
The girl colored painfully.
"Please don't speak rudely to me," she said. "I am trying to behave
honestly----"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to speak roughly. Please continue."
"Yes; it is better you should know what happened before you read this
letter. Well, then, the men who attacked Mr. Halkett naturally got
away; the patron attended to that. Naturally, also, he desired to have
people believe that the German agents were responsible for the fight,
and they were, therefore, detained by Monsieur Wildresse and were asked
for an explanation. Then they declared that Mr. Halkett was a British
spy, and that they were Belgian police agents with full authority to
arrest him in France. Which was a lie, of course, but it served its
purpose by increasing the tumult."
"Did they say that they were Belgians?"
"Yes. I heard them. They lied. There was much confusion and
shouting--everybody crowding around and disputing. The three Germans
pushed their way toward the door; nobody knew whether or not to stop
them." She shrugged. "They were gone before people could make up their
minds. And, as usual, the police came in too late. Now you know all
there is to tell about what happened after you left the cabaret."
Warner laid aside his brushes, looked curiously at the portfolio which
she held out to him, hesitated, then opened it and drew out three pages
of a letter in German, but written in English script. Evidently it was
an unfinished fragment of a letter. He translated it rather freely and
without any great difficulty:
--were followed from New York by this man, Halkett, and a companion of
his named Gray. Disembarking at Antwerp and going immediately to room
No. 23 in the Hotel St. Antoine, according to instructions, we walked
directly into a trap, prepared for us, no doubt, by a wireless message
sent from the steamer by the individual, Halkett. Schmidt was knocked
flat on his back and lay unconscious; me they hurled violently on the
bed; my face was covered with a pillow, my legs and arms held as in a
vise, while they ripped my clothing from me and then literally tore it
to shreds in their search for the papers I carried.
In the lining of my vest they found the information and drawings which
we had been at such pains and danger to secure from the Yankee War
Department. And now the Yankee Government will find out who has been
robbing it.
Unless we can overtake these individuals, Halkett and Gray, the loss to
us must be irreparable, as we dared not study the plans and formula on
board ship, nor even venture to trust in the security of our stateroom,
believing that British agents might be on board and watching. God knows
they were.
I regret deeply that we did not suspect Halkett and Gray.
Also, the ship's officers, crew, stewards, wireless operator--all
evidently were our enemies and in willing collusion with these two
Englishmen.
Gray, on his motor cycle, left Antwerp for Brussels. We shall watch him
and prevent his meeting Halkett in France. We fear they have divided
the papers between them.
Our orders are to use our own discretion. Therefore, I repeat that Gray
shall not live to meet Halkett.
As for Halkett, he undoubtedly has some of the papers on his person. We
missed him in Holland by accident; we unfortunately failed in the city
of Luxembourg, because he was too crafty to cross the viaduct, but slept
that night in a water mill under the walls in the lower city.
We traced him to Diekirch, but missed him again, twice, although
Schmidt, who was posted further along on the narrow-gauge line, fired at
him as a last resort. For, as you point out, it is better that France
should come into possession of the Harkness shell than that the British
Admiralty should control it. The very existence of our fleet is now at
stake. France is slow to accept foreign inventions; but England is
quick as lightning.
So, if necessary, we shall take extreme measures in regard to Halkett
and Gray, and stand the chances that we may secure their papers and get
back to Berlin before the French police interfere.
And if we fail to get away, well, at least England shall not profit by
the Harkness shell.
Meier and Hoffman are following Gray; we are now leaving for Ausone, and
hope to find Halkett somewhere in that vicinity.
I am writing this with difficulty, as the road is not what it ought to
be, and the wind is disconcerting. Esser is acting as chauffeur----
And there the letter ended.
*CHAPTER X*
Philippa was plaiting grass stems when he finished his examination of
the letter. And while she deftly braided _boutons d'or_ among the green
blades, she continued under her breath the song of the Vidette, casting
an occasional side glance upward at him, where he sat on his camp stool
studying the written fragments.
At length, seeing that he had finished, she tossed aside the flowering
rope of grass, set her elbows on her knees, her rounded chin on her
hands, and regarded him inquiringly, as though, for the moment, she had
done with childish things.
"It is a letter which urgently concerns Mr. Halkett," he nodded coolly.
"Shall I give it to him?"
"Please."
He pocketed the portfolio, hesitated, glanced at his watch, then, with
an absent-minded air, began to pack up his painting kit. As he unhooked
his _toile_ he looked around at her.
"Philippa," he said, "if you are going to punt back to Ausone, isn't it
nearly time you started?"
"Aren't you going to paint any more?" she asked, smiling.
"No. I think I had better find Mr. Halkett and show him this letter."
"But--I have come all the way from Ausone to pay you a visit!" explained
the girl in hurt surprise. "Didn't you want to see me?"