The Girl Philippa
success of his undertaking--quite as fatal, in fact, as though he
himself were killed.
The main thing was to get that envelope and its contents to London.
His instructions were not to mail it, but to take it in person, or to
send it, if necessary, by another messenger through other channels.
One thing became more and more evident to him; the time had now arrived
when certain people unknown to him by sight had decided to kill him as
the only way out of the affair.
Would they actually go so far as to kill him in France, with the chance
of the French police seizing that envelope before they could seize it
and clear out with it to Berlin? Would they hazard the risk of France
obtaining cognizance of a matter which so vitally concerned Germany,
rather than permit that information to reach England?
Halkett lay on his back and smoked and did not know.
But he was slowly coming to the conclusion that one thing was now
imperative: the envelope must not be found upon his person if he were
killed.
But what on earth to do with it until it could be safely transferred to
the proper person he had not the slightest idea.
That evening, as he changed trains at the frontier, in the lamp-lit
dimness of the station platform he was fired at twice, and not hit.
A loud outcry naturally ensued; a stampede of passengers who tried to
escape, a rush of others who desired to see what had happened--much
hubbub and confusion, much shouting in several languages.
But nobody could be found who had fired two shots from a revolver, and
nobody admitted that they had been shot at.
And so, as nobody had been hit, the gendarmes, guards, and railway
officials were in a quandary.
And the train rolled out of the station with Halkett aboard, a prey to
deepest anxiety concerning his long thin envelope.
*CHAPTER I*
Somebody at Warner's elbow spoke to him in French. He turned his head
leisurely: a well-dressed young fellow, evidently an Englishman, was
striving to maintain a place beside him in the noisy, market day crowd.
"Pardon, Monsieur, are you English?"
"American," replied Warner briefly, and without enthusiasm.
"My name is Halkett," said the other, with a quick smile. "I'm English,
and I'm in trouble. Could you spare me a moment?"
To Warner the man did not look the typical British dead-beat, nor had he
any of the earmarks and mannerisms of the Continental beach-comber. Yet
he was, probably, some species or other of that wearisome and itinerant
genus.
"I'm listening," said the young American resignedly. "Continue your
story."
"There's such a row going on here--couldn't we find a quieter place?"
"I can hear you perfectly well, I tell you!"
Halkett said:
"If I try to talk to you here I'll be overheard, and that won't do. I'm
very sorry to inconvenience you, but really I'm in a fix. What a noise
these people are making! Do you mind coming somewhere else?"
"Say what you desire to say here," returned Warner bluntly. "And
perhaps it might save time if you begin with the last chapter; I think I
can guess the rest of the story."
The features of the American expressed boredom to the point of
unfriendly indifference. The Englishman looked at him, perplexed for a
moment, then his sun-bronzed face lighted up with another quick smile.
"You're quite mistaken," he said. "I don't expect the classic
remittance from England, and I don't require the celebrated twenty-franc
loan until it arrives. You take me for that sort, I see, but I'm not.
I don't need money. May I tell you what I do need--rather desperately?"
"Yes, if you choose."
"I need a friend."
"Money is easier to pick up," remarked Warner drily.
"I know that. May I ask my favor of you all the same?"
"Go ahead."
"Thanks, I will. But can't we get out of this crowd? What is going on
in this town anyway?"
"Market day. It's like this once a month in Ausone. Otherwise the town
is as dead as any other French provincial town."
Shoulder to shoulder they threaded their way through the crowded market
square, amid the clatter of sabots, the lowing of cattle, the incessant
bleating of sheep. Ducks quacked from crates in wagons, geese craned
white necks and hissed above the heads of the moving throngs; hogs
squealed and grunted; fowls hanging by their legs from the red fists of
sturdy peasant women squawked and flapped.
Cheap-Jack shows of all sorts encumbered the square and adjacent streets
and alleys--gingerbread booths, shooting ranges, photograph galleries,
moving-picture shows, theaters for ten sous. Through the lowing,
bleating, and cockcrowing, the drumming and squeaking of Punch and Judy,
and the brassy dissonance of half a dozen bands, mournful and incessant
strains from several merry-go-rounds continued audible.
But the steady clatter of sabots on stony pavements, and the ceaseless
undertone of voices, swelling, subsiding, dominated the uproar,
softening the complaint of kine and feathered fowl to a softly cheerful
harmony suggestive of summer breezes and green fields.
On the dusty Boulevard d'Athos--the typical solitary promenade of such
provincial towns--there were, as usual, very few people--the inevitable
nurses here and there, wheeling prams; a discouraged, red-trousered and
sou-less soldier or two sprawling on benches under the chestnut trees;
rarely a passing pedestrian, more often a prowling dog.
At the head of the Boulevard d'Athos, where the rue d'Auros crosses,
Warner halted under the shade of the chestnuts, for the July sun was
very hot. His unconvinced grey eyes now rested inquiringly on the young
Englishman who had called himself Halkett. He said:
"What species of trouble are you in?"
Halkett shook his head.
"I can't tell you what the trouble is; I may only ask you to help me a
bit--" The quick smile characteristic of him glimmered in his eyes
again--a winning smile, hinting of latent recklessness. "I have my
nerve with me, you see--as you Americans have it," he added. "You're
thinking something of that sort, I fancy."
Warner smiled too, rather faintly, but remained silent.
"This is what I want you to do," continued Halkett. "I've a long thin
envelope in my pocket. I'd like to have you take it from me and slip it
into your breast pocket and then button your coat. Is that too much to
ask?"
"_What!_"
"That's all I want you to do. Then if you wouldn't mind giving me your
name and address? And that is really all I ask."
Said the American, amused and surprised:
"That airy request of yours requires a trifle more explanation than you
seem inclined to offer."
"I know it does. I can't offer it. Only--you won't get into trouble if
you keep that envelope buttoned tightly under your coat until I come for
it again."
"But I'm not going to do that!"
"Why?"
"Why the devil should I? I don't propose to wander about France
carrying papers concerning which I know nothing--to oblige a young man
about whom I know even less."
"I quite see that," admitted Halkett seriously. "I shouldn't feel
inclined to do such a thing either."
"Can't you tell me what is the nature of these papers?--Or
something--some explanation----"
"I'm sorry."
"And why do you propose to trust me with them?" continued Warner,
curiously. "How do you know I am honest? How do you know I won't
examine your packet as soon as you clear out?"
Halkett looked up with his quick and winning smile:
"I'll take that risk."
"Why? You don't know me."
"I had a good look at you in the market square before I spoke to you."
"Oh. You think you are a psychologist?"
"Of sorts. It's a part of my business in life."
"Suppose," said Warner, smiling, "you explain a little more clearly to
me exactly what is your actual business in life."
"Very glad to. I write."
"Books?"
"No; just--stories."
"Fiction?"
"As one might say, facts rather than fiction."
"You are a realist?" suggested Warner with slight irony.
"I try to be. But do you know, there is more romance in realism than in
fairy tales?"
Warner, considerably diverted, nodded:
"I know. You belong to the modern school, I take it."
"Very modern. So modern, in fact, that my work concerns tomorrow rather
than today."
Warner nodded again:
"I see. You are a futurist--opportunist. There are a lot of clever men
working on those lines in England.... Still--" he glanced amusedly at
Halkett "--that scarcely explains your rather unusual request. Why
should I take charge of an envelope for _you_?"
"My dear fellow, I can't answer that.... Still--I may say this much;
I'm hard put to it--rather bewildered--had a rotten time of it in the
Grand Duchy and in Belgium--so to speak--"
"What do you mean by a rotten time?"
"Rows."
"I don't understand. You'll have to be more explicit."
"Well--it had to do with this envelope I carry. Some chaps of sorts
wanted to get it away from me. Do you see? ... I had a lively time, and
I rather expect to have another before I get home--if I ever get there."
Warner looked at him out of clear, sophisticated eyes:
"See here, my ingenuous British friend," he said, "play square with me,
if you play at all."
"I shan't play otherwise."
"Very well, then; why are you afraid to carry that envelope?"
"Because," said Halkett, coolly, "if I'm knocked on the head and that
envelope is found in my clothing and is stolen, the loss of my life
would be the lesser loss to my friends."
"Is anybody trying to _kill_ you?"
Halkett shrugged his shoulders; but there seemed to be neither swagger
nor bravado in his careless gesture of assent. He said:
"Listen; here's my case in brief. I saw you in the crowd yonder, and I
made up my mind concerning you. I have to think quickly sometimes; I
took a good look at you and--" He waved one hand. "You look like a
soldier. I don't know whether you are or not. But I am ready to trust
you. That's all."
"Do you mean to say that you are in any real personal danger?"
"Yes. But that doesn't count. I can look out for myself. What worries
me is this envelope. Couldn't you take charge of it? I'd be very
grateful."
"How long do you expect me to carry it about?"
"I don't know. I don't know whether anything is likely to happen to me
today in this town--or tomorrow on the train--or in Paris--I have no
means of knowing. I merely want to get to Paris, if I can, and send a
friend back here for that envelope."
"I thought you were to return for it yourself."
"Maybe. Maybe I'll send you a letter by a friend--just a line for him
to give you, saying it's all right."
"Mr. Halkett, you have rather a disconcerting way of expressing
unlimited confidence in me--"
"Yes, I trust you."
"But _why_?"
"You look right."
"That's no reason!"
"My dear chap, I'm in a corner, and instinct rules, not reason! You
see, I--I'm rather afraid they may get me before I can clear out."
"_Who'll_ get you?" demanded Warner impatiently.
"That's the worst of it; I don't know these fellows by sight. The same
chaps never try it on twice."
Warner said quietly:
"What is this very dramatic mess you're in? Can't you give me a hint?"
"I'm sorry."
"Shall I give _you_ a hint?"
"If you like."
"Are the _police_ after you?"
"No."
"You're sure of that?"
"Quite sure. I don't blame you for asking. It looks that way. But it
isn't."
"But you are being followed across Europe by people who want this
envelope of yours?"
"Oh, yes."
"You expect personal violence from them?"
Halkett nodded and gazed absently down the almost deserted boulevard.
"Then why don't you appeal to the police--if your conscience is clear?"
demanded Warner bluntly.
Halkett's quick smile broke out.