The Girl Philippa
scarcely knew how to act in his sudden isolation, and, though his
instructions held him at Sais until further orders, the decree for
general mobilization would have started him off for Paris except for one
thing. That was the continued absence of Gray and the possibility that
something alarming had happened to him.
He could not take his envelope and start for England until he had met
Gray or some authorized messenger from Gray. He had not explained this
to Warner.
But the truth was that what plans he carried were useless without the
interlocking plans carried by Gray. All the eggs had not been trusted to
a single basket. And, vice versa, the information carried by Gray was of
no practical account until supplemented by the contents of the long,
thin envelope.
Gray's papers and his, taken together, were of vital importance to
England or to any enemy of England; separate they could be of no use to
anybody, enemy or ally.
The determined attack on him the night before proved that others besides
himself understood this. And it also made him realize the more clearly
that since he had parted from Gray in Antwerp, the latter had been as
open to such attacks as had he. The question now was: had they caught
Gray? If so, it must have occurred within the last thirty-six hours,
because he had talked over the telephone to Gray the evening of his own
arrival at Sais.
But since that conversation, which ended with the understanding that
Gray should set out on his motor cycle for Sais, not a word had he heard
concerning his colleague, except that his cap had been found on the road
south of Sais, and that the condition of the roadside bank, and a few
drops of blood, gave evidence of an accident--if, indeed, it had been an
accident.
Nor had Halkett any idea who it was that had called him up on the
telephone to tell him this.
As he stood there, looking down the road, terribly perplexed and filled
with keenest apprehensions concerning his colleague, far away through
the vista of poplars and telephone poles something white glimmered in
the sunlit road.
It was the white cornette of a Sister of Charity; after a few minutes
Halkett recognized the advancing figure and walked forward to meet her.
The color of early morning freshened her youthful cheeks, framed by the
snowy wimple. She extended a friendly hand to him in salutation, as he
came up and uncovered.
"At such an hour, Monsieur, only birds and Sisters of Charity are
supposed to be on the wing. Is it curiosity that has awakened you to
see how the sun really looks when it rises?"
But as she spoke she detected the deep anxiety which his smile masked,
and her own face became responsively serious.
"Have you had bad news?" she asked gently.
"Worse--I have had no news at all. Are you going to the inn?"
"Yes."
"May I help you gather your flowers?" he asked.
"Thank you--if you care to."
They walked on in silence, skirted the garden wall westward, then north
to the bullet-splintered green door.
Immediately she noticed the scars of the fusillade, gazed at them
curiously for a moment, then laid a questioning forefinger across a
bullet hole.
And while she stood so, he told her in a few words what had occurred the
night before--told her everything, including the posting of the notice
ordering a general mobilization.
She listened, her finger still resting over the shot hole, her calm face
raised to his. And, when he ended:
"Then it is war already," she said quietly.
"War has not been declared.... Yes, it is virtually war. Why not say
so?"
She nodded; he pushed open the heavy little door, and Sister Eila bent
her white-coiffed head and stepped lightly into the garden.
For a while she moved slowly along the flower-bordered paths, as though
uncertain what to choose from among the perfumed thickets, then, setting
her ozier basket on the edge of the walk, she knelt down before the
white clove pinks; and Halkett dropped on his knees beside her.
They worked there together, exchanging scarcely a word, slowly filling
the basket which lay between them.
Ariadne came up with a cheery mew of greeting, and after marching around
and rubbing herself against Halkett, mounted to his shoulders and
settled down, purring like a teakettle beside his ear.
When the basket was filled, Sister Eila stood up and straightened her
shoulders, and Halkett rose too, the cat still perched on his shoulder.
He lifted the flower-heaped basket and set it in the shade of the arbor;
Sister Eila seated herself and Halkett sat down on the stone steps at
her feet.
After a silence, made resonant with Ariadne's loudly cadenced purring,
Sister Eila clasped her hands in her lap and looked steadily down at the
heap of flowers in the green ozier basket.
"What is going to happen?" she asked in a low voice. "If there is to be
a war, it will come here, I suppose."
"I am afraid so."
"Yes; Sais cannot escape."
"The Vosges are too near," he nodded. "So is Ausone. So is the Rhine,
for that matter." He glanced up at her from where he sat caressing
Ariadne. "Belgium also is too near, Sister Eila."
"You believe _they_ will arrive that way?"
"I feel very certain of it. And this means that England moves."
"Where?"
"To the firing line."
"With France?"
"Yes, Sister."
She said quietly:
"That is as it should be, Mr. Halkett. The two great wardens of
European liberty should stand together in its defense."
"They've got to stand for _each other_," he said, "--whatever else they
stand for."
"Alsace--Lorraine--I think this is to be a very holy war--for France,"
she murmured to herself.
He said nothing. He was not very clear concerning the exact amount of
holiness involved, but he knew that war had now become a necessity to
England, if she meant to retain the autocracy of the seas.
"We're bound to go in," he remarked, stroking Ariadne; "there's nothing
else left for us to do. And if they don't give us an excuse by invading
Belgium, we'll go in anyway. That's the meaning of all this! It has
only one real meaning. The 'Day' they've been drinking to so long
is--Today! This entire matter has got to be settled once and for all.
And that's the truth, Sister Eila."
He sat for a while silent, gazing out across the quiet garden. Then,
again:
"As for Sais, if there is an invasion of France, it must pass this way:
if the Vosges are to be defended, Sais will see war."
"That will be very sad for us," she said. "It seems as though there
were already enough violence and misery in the quarries--enough of
wretchedness and poverty. If the quarrymen are called to the colors
with their classes, and if the quarries and cement works close, I don't
know what is to become of our school."
"You said that it is a free school."
"Yes, but the children live elsewhere, and are clothed and fed
elsewhere. Except at noontime, we do not feed them. If we had money to
provide beds and food, the school is large enough to shelter the
children. However, I suppose we shall hear from the rue de Bac--the
mother house, you know?"
She rose, picked up her basket of flowers, and Halkett also stood up.
"Good-by," she said. "Thank you for helping.... I--I suppose you do not
remain very long in Sais?"
"I don't know how long."
She inclined her young head gravely.
They walked together to the green door in the wall, and again her eyes
became riveted on the bullet marks.
"Perhaps," she said, "you will have time to--to come to the school again
before you leave Sais? ... Unless you think it dangerous----"
He looked up, then away from her.
"I'll come--to the school."
"Then--it is au revoir, I hope."
He stood uncovered, holding open the door, and, as she passed in front
of him, he took from her basket a white clove pink. She saw what he
did, and halted instinctively to give him his choice. Suddenly, without
any reason, her cheeks flushed brightly; she bent her head and stepped
quickly through the archway, leaving him standing there with the dull
color deepening in his sun-tanned face.
Warner discovered him still standing where she had left him, the white
blossom hanging from his clenched fist.
"Well," he said, "how did you sleep after that villainous business of
last night?"
"Thanks, I slept," replied Halkett, rousing himself.
They went into the arbor together, and presently Linette came out of the
house carrying their coffee.
"Where is your little friend Philippa?" inquired the Englishman with an
effort.
"In bed, I fancy. Linette has just taken up her cafe-au-lait. I think
the child is feeling the reaction."
"No wonder. Plucky little thing!"
"Yes. But what on earth am I going to do with her, Halkett? Ought I to
wait until that old scoundrel Wildresse comes here or telephones? Ought
I to try to persuade her to go back to that cabaret? Ought I to
telephone that she is safe here?"
"The wires are cut."
"I know. Somebody will fix them, though. Do you think I'd better try
to persuade Philippa to let me drive her over to Ausone in the trap? If
I'm to keep her, I ought to have an interview with Wildresse, or she and
I will get into trouble."
"Oh, Lord!" said Halkett. "That's your affair. Listen, Warner, I'm so
worried about Gray I can't think of anything else. Something serious
certainly has happened to him. And until those wires are repaired, I
shan't know what to do. Is there any other way we can communicate with
Ausone?"
"None that I know of, unless somebody goes over to Ausone. I can do
that if you like. I can drive over in the trap. Of course the
telephone people already know that there's a break on the line, and no
doubt they're out now looking for it. We'll be in communication with
Ausone by noon, I expect."
For a little while they exchanged views concerning the attack of the
previous night, and Halkett was of the opinion that the order for
mobilization would now restrain any further violence on the part of
those who had been following him, if, indeed, it did not entirely clear
them out of France. And he expressed a desire for the envelope.
So Warner went into the house, lifted the partly hardened skin of white
lead from the canvas, disinterred the envelope, wiped it clean, and
brought it out to Halkett. The Englishman put it into his breast
pocket.
"It was perfectly safe where it was," remarked the other. "It's an
invitation to murder where it is now."
"Yes, but it's no good to anybody unless Gray turns up. I wish I knew
what had become of that man. I think I'll try the telephone again----"
He rose and walked swiftly toward the house, Ariadne trotting at his
heels. Even as he approached, he heard the telephone bell ringing, and
hastened his steps toward the house.
But as he entered, the girl Philippa stepped into the hallway, and he
caught a glimpse of a slim, barefooted figure, holding with one hand the
folds of a shabby chamber robe around her, and with the other the
receiver.
"What?" she cried in answer to a question. "Yes, I am Philippa.... Oh!
It's _you_. I thought so.... What do you desire of me?"
What Wildresse desired of the girl Philippa intimately concerned
Halkett. He coolly remained to listen.
"No!" she said in her clear, emotionless voice. "I shall not come back!
... Very well; if the Government agents want me, they can find me
here.... You may threaten me with arrest by the Government if you
choose, but I know that you are more afraid of the Government than I
am.... _Why_ shouldn't I say it! Yes, I know quite well that we are
going to have war.... You say that the Germans are already across the
Duchy? Skirmishing before Longwy? Very well; why don't you inform
_one_ of your Governments? ... No, I won't keep quiet! No, no, _no_!