The Girl Philippa
family was living in Tours, poor as mice, proud as Lucifer of their
Principality of Marmora and Tenedos--realms which no Chatillon, of
course, had ever been permitted to occupy since the Crusades.
"The family is extinct--some tragedy, I believe, finished the last of
the Chatillons. I don't remember when, but it probably is all recorded
in that book over there."
"May I borrow it?"
"Certainly. But where in the world did that exceedingly soiled
pillowcase come from?"
"Don't have it washed just yet, Ethra. A man discovered it in a safe
which was the private property of that scoundrel, Constantine Wildresse.
"When your hair is done, will you please go into the sitting room on my
corridor? Philippa has something to show you."
The Countess looked at him curiously as he took his leave.
"Please hurry with my hair," she said to her maid.
*CHAPTER XXXVI*
As Warner returned to his own room, two thoughts persisted and dominated
all others: Philippa's parents were known to Wildresse; Wildresse must
be found.
Somehow or other he had already taken it for granted that Philippa's
father or mother, or perhaps both parents, had been engaged in some
capacity in the service of this family called De Chatillon. There was
no particular reason for him to believe this; her parents might have
been the friends of these people. But the idea of some business
association between the two families seemed to obsess him--he could not
explain why--and with this idea filling his mind he entered his room,
seated himself by the open window, and picked up the packages of
personal papers belonging to Wildresse and taken from his safe by
Asticot.
There were three packets of documents, each packet tied separately with
pink tape and sealed twice.
Running over the first packet like a pack of cards, he found that every
paper had been endorsed on the outside and dated, although the dates
were not arranged in proper sequence.
On the first document which he read without unsealing the packet was
written, "Affaire Schnaeble, 1887." On the next he read, when he parted
the papers, "Affaire de Clermont-Ferrand, 1888." The next, however,
bore the inscription, "Affaire Panitza" and bore an earlier date.
Beneath this caption was written: "Prince Ferdinand and the Oberanovitch
Dynasty. Dossier of Draga. The Jockey Club and King Milan. Queen
Natalie and her dossier. The Grand Duke Cyril."
He turned over document after document, all bearing endorsements, but
the majority of the captions meant nothing to him, such as "Abdul Hamid
and Marmora," "The Greco-Italian Proposition for an International
Gendarmerie," "Ali Pasha, Said Pasha, and the Archives of Tenedos," "The
Hohenzollern-Benedetti Affair."
There seemed to be nothing in this packet to justify his breaking the
seals before he turned over the documents to the military authorities.
Nor, in the next packet, could he discover anything among the motley
assortment of endorsements which seemed to justify his forestalling the
French authorities in their examination.
But in the third packet he found that, no matter what the endorsement
might be, under each caption was written, "The De Chatillon Affair."
This packet he locked in his desk until he should return; he gathered up
the other two, took his cap, buttoned and belted his Norfolk, and went
downstairs.
The man he sought had not yet left the Chateau; General Delisle was
seated at a table in the music room looking at a series of big linen
maps which had been hung up on the opposite wall.
A dozen officers were seated in a semicircle around him; an officer with
a pointer stood by the maps as demonstrator, another sat at a table near
by, under a portable switchboard. In the little room adjoining was
seated a military telegraph operator.
Through the open French windows cyclist messengers were constantly
mounting and descending the terrace steps; every few moments motor
cycles arrived and departed; now and then a cavalryman galloped up in an
old-style storm of dust, or a trooper vaulted into his saddle and
departed _ventre a terre_. The growling of the cannonade was perfectly
audible in the room.
At first General Delisle did not see Warner, but the Russian Military
Observer did, and he rose and came quietly over to shake hands and
inquire concerning the health of the ladies.
Several times his big, fish-blue eyes wandered curiously all over
Warner's face and figure, as though insolently appraising the American
and trying to come to some conclusion concerning the nature of the man
and of the packet of papers which he had stuffed into the pocket of his
Norfolk jacket.
A moment later Delisle caught sight of him, rose with pleasant courtesy,
and extended his hand, asking after the health of the ladies, and making
a similar inquiry concerning himself.
"General, could I see you for one moment alone?" said Warner.
The General moved out from the seated circle of officers, joined Warner,
and moved with unhurried step beside him through the house toward the
billiard room.
When they had reached the billiard room, Warner had told him all he knew
concerning Wildresse, concluding with the appearance of the man escorted
by Uhlans on Vineyard Hill.
Then he drew the papers from his pocket and gave them to the silent
officer, who stood quite motionless, looking him through and through.
It was evident that General Delisle had no hesitation about breaking the
big, sprawling seals of grey wax; he ripped both packets open so that
the documents fell all over the scarf covering the billiard table; then,
rapidly, he picked up, opened, scanned, and cast aside paper after
paper.
There was not the slightest change in the expression of his face when he
came to the "Schnaeble-Incident"; he scanned it, laid it aside, and said
quietly as he picked up the next paper:
"That document is sufficient to settle the affair of this man Wildresse.
If we catch him, ceremony will be superfluous.... The nearest wall or
tree, you understand--unless he cares to make a statement first.... I
always have time to listen to statements. Only one out of a hundred
proves to be of any value at all, Mr. Warner, but that one is worth all
the time I waste on the others----"
And all the while he was opening, scanning, and casting aside document
after document.
"Oh, almost any one of these is enough," remarked the General. "Here's
a villainous center of ramifications, leading God knows where----"
He checked himself abruptly; a dull color mounted to his bronzed
cheekbones. Warner glanced at the caption of the document. It read:
"Dossier of Count Cassilis and the Battenberg Affair."
The General read it, very slowly, for a few minutes. He could not have
gone much further than the first paragraph when he folded the paper
abruptly, shot a lightning glance at Warner that dazzled him like a
saber flash; and suddenly smiled.
"This seems to indicate a rather bad business, Mr. Warner," he said
pleasantly. "I count on your discretion, of course."
"You may, General."
"I mean even among my entourage. _Do you understand_?"
"Perfectly."
"Who has any knowledge of these papers excepting yourself and myself?"
"Nobody but Wildresse, as far as I know."
The General motioned to the sentry who stood guard by the three sky-guns
on the north terrace:
"Colonel Gerould; say to him I am waiting!"
A few moments later the big Colonel of Cuirassiers came clanking into
the billiard room. General Delisle handed him the papers, said a few
words in a low voice. As he spoke there was something quietly terrible
in the stare he turned on Colonel Gerould; and the latter turned visibly
white and glared blankly into space as the General laid his hand on his
arm and spoke low and rapidly into his ear.
The next moment the Cuirassier was gone and General Delisle had taken
Warner's arm with a quiet smile and was leisurely sauntering back toward
the music room.
"It was very friendly of you, Mr. Warner--may I add, very sagacious?
But that is like an American. We French feel very keenly the subtle
sympathy of--" he laughed--"neutral America."
"Are these papers of real importance, General?--Is it proper of me to
ask you such a question?"
"They are of--overwhelmingly vital importance, Mr. Warner."
"What!"
The General halted, looked him pleasantly in the eyes:
"The most vitally important information that I have ever received during
my entire military career," he said quietly. "Judge, then, of my
gratitude to you. I cannot express it. I can only offer you my
hand--with a heart--very full."
They exchanged a firm clasp. As they went into the music room, Count
Cassilis, who had seated himself at the piano, and who was running over
a few minor scales, turned and looked at them, rising slowly to his feet
with the other officers when the General entered. He had his monocle
screwed into his right eye.
The cannonade had now become noisy and jarring enough to interrupt
conversation, and it was plain to Warner that French batteries somewhere
along the Recollette had opened.
Out on the terrace he could see aeroplanes in the northeastern sky, no
doubt trying to find the range for the French batteries. They were very
high, and the clots of white appeared and dissolved far below them.
But now the steady tattoo of machine guns had become audible in the
direction of the Ausone Forest, and the racket swelled swiftly into a
roar of rifle fire and artillery--so rapidly, indeed, that every head in
the vicinity was turned to listen--hussars, cyclists, infantry, the
cannoniers lying beside their sky-guns, the military chauffeurs, the
sentries, all looked toward the northeast.
Two more French aeroplanes took the air over the plateau, rose rapidly,
and headed toward the Ausone Forest.
Down on the Sais highway the slowly moving file of motor lorries drew
out to the right-hand edge of the road, and past them galloped battery
after battery, through a whirling curtain of dust--guns, caissons,
mounted officers, flashing past in an interminable stream, burying the
baggage vans out of sight under the billowing clouds. Columns of
cavalry, also, appeared in the river meadows on both banks, trotting out
across the stubble and splashing through the reeds, all moving toward
the northeast.
The quarry road, too, was black with moving infantry; another column
tramped across the uplands beyond; horsemen were riding over Vineyard
Hill, horsemen crossed the Recollette by every ford, every
pontoon--everywhere the French riders were to be seen swarming over the
landscape, appearing, disappearing, in view again increased in numbers,
until there seemed to be no end to their coming.
The uproar of the fusillade grew deafening; the sharper crack of the
fieldpieces became dulled in the solid shocks from heavier calibers.
General Delisle came out on the terrace and stood looking across the
valley just as the British biplane soared up over the trees--the Bristol
machine, pointed high, racing toward the northeast.
Warner, looking up, realized that Halkett was up there. The roaring
racket of the aeroplane swept the echoes along forest and hillside;
higher, higher it pointed; smoke signals began to drop from it and
unroll against the sky.
Looking upward, Warner felt a light touch on his elbow; Sister Eila had
slipped her arm through his.
Gazing into the sky under her white coiffe, the Sister of Charity stood
silent, intent, her gaze concentrated on the receding aeroplane.
When the first snowy puff ball appeared below it, her arm closed
convulsively on Warner's, and remained so, rigid, while ball after ball
of fleece spotted the sky, spread a little, hung, and slowly dissolved
against the blue.