The Great Secret

E >> E. Phillips Oppenheim >> The Great Secret

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"It's a large order, Jim!"

"It's got to be," I answered. "You don't know what a relief it is,
Gilbert, to sit here and talk to you about these things. Guest and I
scarcely ever speak of them. And all the time the minutes slip by,
and we get nearer the time. Guest and I are playing a desperate game
after all--a single slip and we should be wiped out. And no one else
knows."

Gilbert looked up at me quickly, as though a new thing had come into his
mind.

"Jim," he said, "have you seen Miss Van Hoyt?"

"Not since I was at Lenox," I answered. "She must still believe that I
was the man who was murdered in the Rocky Mountains--and I dare not let
her know!"

"She certainly does believe it, Jim," my cousin answered gravely. "She
was here last week--she is coming to see me again to-day."

"In England!" I exclaimed. "Adele in England!"

"Not only that," my cousin continued, "but I believe that her coming was
on your account."

"Tell me exactly what you mean," I demanded.

Gilbert leaned a little towards me.

"Jim," he said, "has there been anything between you and Miss Van Hoyt?"

"This much," I answered, "that but for these confounded happenings, she
would have been my wife. If ever I do marry anybody, it will be she."

Gilbert nodded gravely.

"I thought so," he answered. "Well, I can tell you something that will
perhaps surprise you. Miss Van Hoyt is also--"

He broke off in his sentence. We both sprang to our feet. A woman's clear
musical voice was distinctly audible in the hall outside.

"It is she," he declared. "Do you want her to find you here, to know that
you are alive?"

"Good God! No!" I answered.

He pointed to the curtains which separated the apartment from the
dining-room. I stepped through them quickly, just as Groves knocked at
the door.

CHAPTER XXXIII

A REUNION OF HEARTS

I heard the man's announcement, I was almost conscious of his surprise as
he realized the fact that his master was alone. Then I heard Gilbert
direct him to show the lady in; and a moment later my heart seemed to
stand still. Adele had entered the room. She was within a few feet of me.
I heard the rustle of her gown, a faint perfume of violets reached me,
and then the sharp yap of Nagaski, as Gilbert tried to include him in his
welcome. Softly I stole a little closer to the curtain, and peered into
the room.

Now I was never an emotional person, but there was a mist gathering
before my eyes when at last I saw her. She was dressed in black, and her
cheeks had lost all their color. There was a difference even in her tone.
She spoke like a woman who has left the world of lighter things behind,
and who has vowed her life to a single purpose. The impulse to rush out
and take her into my arms was almost irresistible!

"I have come to see you, Sir Gilbert," she said, because I thought you
would like to know something--of what I am going to do! you and--your
cousin were great friends, were you not?"

"We were indeed," Gilbert answered.

"Then," she continued, "it may be some satisfaction for you to know that
his death will not be altogether unavenged. I know more about it and the
reason of it than you can know! I know that he was murdered, brutally
murdered, because he had stumbled into the knowledge of some very
extraordinary political secrets; and because, as an Englishman, he was
striving to do what he believed to be his duty. His enemies were too many
and too powerful! But what he began"--she leaned a little forward in her
chair--"I mean to finish."

My cousin looked at her gravely.

"But will you not be running the same risk?" he asked.

Her lips parted in quiet scorn.

"A woman does not count the risks, when she has lost, through treachery,
the man she cares for," she said quietly. "But for this, I should have
been neutral. I am not an Englishwoman myself--in fact, I think my
sympathies were with those who are working for her downfall. But
everything is changed now! I am going to Paris to-night, and to-morrow I
shall see the Minister of War and General Bertillet. One part of this
great plot, at any rate, shall go awry."

"Tell me," my cousin asked, "what is--the Great Plot?"

The old habit was powerful with her. She looked nervously about the room.

"I cannot tell you," she answered, "only this! It is a wonderfully
thought-out scheme, which, if it were carried out successfully, would
mean the downfall of your country. The part of it which I know anything
about is the part which secures the neutrality of France, and breaks up
the alliance. I mean to prevent that."

"Take me into your confidence, Miss Van Hoyt," Gilbert begged.

She shook her head.

"You are wiser not to ask that" she said. "It is one of those cases where
knowledge means death. But I can at least give you a hint. Have you any
influence at all with any member of your government?"

"A little" Gilbert admitted.

"Then persuade them not to send your fleet to Kiel!"

Gilbert rose to his feet, and stood on the hearth-rug looking down at
her.

"But, my dear young lady," he protested, "there are certain
international laws which every nation respects. The game of war has its
rules--unwritten, perhaps, but none the less binding. The visit of the
English fleet to German waters is an affair of courtesy--"

She interrupted him ruthlessly.

"Did you ever hear of a warship called the _Maine_?" she asked
scornfully. "Do you remember what happened to her? Can't you understand
that these things can be arranged? Your better understanding with Germany
hangs upon a thread. Germany knows exactly when to snap it. The English
fleet will be allowed to leave Kiel harbor without a doubt, but every
channel outside can be sown with mines in twenty-four hours. If I had
proofs of what I know is being planned, I would give them to you! But I
haven't. Go and do your best without them. The French ambassador may have
something to say to your ministers in a few days which should open their
eyes."

"I shall do my best," Gilbert said slowly, "but ours is an unsuspicious
nation. I am afraid I shall be told that for Admiral Fisher to abandon
his visit to Kiel now, without some very definite reason, would be
impossible."

Adele shrugged her shoulders.

"After all," she said, "it is your affair. England has no claims upon me.
I have never lived here, I never shall--now! My work lies in France.
Still, take my advice! Do what you can with your ministers."

She rose to her feet, and, in order to rearrange her scarf, which had
fallen a little on one side, she set Nagaski on the ground. Very slowly,
he made his way towards me, sniffing all the time. A few feet from the
curtain he stopped. His hair stiffened. His little, beady eyes were like
black diamonds. He barked angrily.

"Nagaski!" his mistress called.

He did not move. Neither dared I, for he was within a few feet of me.
Adele came across the room.

"Have you any secrets behind that curtain, Sir Gilbert?" she asked.

"A cat most likely," he answered nervously. "Let me pick him up for you."

Adele stooped down, but he eluded her. With a low growl he sprang through
the opening, and fastened his teeth in my trousers. Adele turned to my
cousin and her face was as pale as death.

"There was only one person in the world," she said, "to whom Nagaski used
to behave like that. Sir Gilbert! what is there behind that curtain? I
insist upon knowing. If there have been listeners to our conversation, it
will cost me my life."

I stepped out. It seemed to me that concealment was no longer possible.
She staged at me in bewilderment. I had forgotten my beard, my spectacles
and shabby clothes. She did not recognize me!

"Has this person been here all the time? Is this a trap?" she demanded,
turning to my cousin with flashing eyes.

I stepped forward.

"Adele," I said, "don't you know me?"

She started violently. She looked steadily at me for a moment in dumb
amazement. Her cheeks were ashen, her eyes dilated. And then recognition
came--recognition in which there was also an element of terror.

"Jim!" she cried. "Jim! Oh! God!"

Her hands went to her throat. Her eyes seemed as though they would devour
me. Yet she was not wholly sure! I took her into my arms!

"It was another man whom they shot, Adele," I murmured. "It is I indeed,
dearest."

But I spoke as one might speak to the dead. Adele had fainted in my arms!

CHAPTER XXXIV

RIFLE PRACTICE

Adele was herself in a very few minutes. My cousin considerately slipped
out of the room. Directly she opened her eyes and found me kneeling by
her side, her color became more natural.

"Jim," she murmured, "how did you do it? Tell me how it is that you are
alive."

"A very simple matter," I answered. "I learned at Lenox all that I came
to America to find out. I wanted to return to England without creating
suspicion, so I hired a substitute to continue my trip."

"And he was killed?" she exclaimed.

"Yes!" I answered. "I insured his life, and I presume he knew his risks.
In any case, the life of one man was a small thing compared with--you
know what."

She looked into my face, and there was wonder in her eyes.

"How you have changed, Jim," she whispered. "It is you, isn't it? I can
scarcely believe it. Can the months really write their lines so deeply?"

"Months!" I answered. "I have passed into a different generation, Adele.
It seems to me that my memory stops at a night a few months ago, at the
Hotel Francais. The things which happened before that seem to have
happened to a different man."

"Could you play cricket now--or shoot partridges?"

"God knows!" I answered. "This thing has swallowed me up. The only thing
that I do know is that I must go on to the end."

She sighed.

"And what is to become of me?" she asked.

I touched her lips with mine--and all the passion and joy of another sort
of life warmed my blood once more.

"Wait only a few months, dear," I answered confidently, "and I will teach
you."

Hope and incredulity struggled together in her face.

"You believe," she exclaimed, "that you will succeed?"

"Why not?" I answered. "I am counted dead. Could you yourself recognize
me?"

She shook her head doubtfully.

"Your face itself is so changed," she answered. "My poor Jim, you are a
very different person from the good-looking boy whose life seemed to
depend upon catching that ball at Lord's. I think that you must have
suffered a great deal."

"I have bought experience and the knowledge of life," I said grimly, "and
I suppose I have paid a pretty stiff price for it."

I hesitated.

"Are you strong enough, Adele," I asked, "for another shock?"

"I have lost the capacity for surprise," she answered. "Try me!"

"The real name of the man who is passing as my uncle--is Leslie Guest!"

She scarcely justified her last assertion, for her eyes were full of
wonder, and she drew a little away from me as though in fear.

"Leslie Guest! The man who died at Saxby!"

"He did not die," I answered. "It was a case of suspended animation. When
I read his letter to me, and when I saw you in the morning, I believed
him dead. So did all the others. It was in the middle of the next night
that the nurse discovered that he was alive! We sent for the doctor, and
by the next morning he was able to speak. It was then that we determined
to make use of what had happened."

"I see," she murmured. "That is why you changed the place of burial."

I nodded.

"Guest planned the whole thing himself," I said. "It was easily arranged.
The curious part of it all is that he seems to have got the poison out of
his system entirely now!"

She looked at me a little breathlessly.

"You are really wonderful people, both of you," she said.

"We have been very fortunate," I answered.

"And why," she asked, "are you dressed like a somewhat seedy-looking
foreigner?"

"I am the head-waiter at the Cafe Suisse," I answered.

"Where is that?"

"In Soho! Guest--my uncle--is the proprietor."

"Listen, Jim!" she said. "Do not tell me why you are there, or what you
are doing. I suppose I ought to be working on the other side--but I shall
not. What I was going to do for the sake of you dead, I shall do now for
the sake of you living. You and I are allies!"

"Pour la vie!" I answered, kissing her fingers; "you see even Nagaski is
becoming reconciled to me."

She smiled and patted his head.

"At any rate," she said, "but for him I should not have found you! I
wonder--"

I answered her unspoken question.

"I should not have come out," I told her. "To tell you the truth, Adele,
I am a different man now from what I was half an hour ago. I had
forgotten that I was still a live being, and that the world was, after
all, a beautiful place. I think I had forgotten that there was such a
person as Hardross Courage. The absorption of these days, when one has to
remember, even with every tick of the clock, that the slightest
carelessness, the slightest slip, means certain death--well, it lays hold
of you. No wonder the lines are there, dear!"

"Some day," she whispered, "I will smooth them all away for you! ..."

Gilbert came in a few minutes later.

"I am sorry to disturb you," he said, "but it is time I was off."

He glanced at Adele.

"We have no secrets," I declared quickly.

He smiled.

"Well," he said, "I have an appointment with the Foreign Secretary at
three o'clock this afternoon. Where can I see you afterwards?"

I hesitated. That was rather a difficult question to answer.

"I don't want to come here too often," I answered. "Do you mind sitting
up a little later than usual tonight?"

"Of course not," he answered gravely.

"Then let me come to your club about a quarter to one," I said. "You can
see me in the strangers' room."

Adele rose and gave me her hand.

"I too, must go," she said. "I may write to you here--if I do I shall
address the envelope to Sir Gilbert. Good-bye!"

I kissed her fingers, and she drew away from me a little shyly. My cousin
saw her to the door, and in less than half an hour I was in my shiny
dress coat, on duty for luncheon at the Cafe Suisse.

There were the usual crowd of people there, but no one whom I recognized
particularly, until the stout lady who had talked to me the night before
came in. I showed her to a table, and she talked to me graciously in
German. She had discarded her black sailor hat, and had the appearance of
being dressed in her best clothes.

"You see to-day I am alone," she remarked, drawing off her gloves and
revealing two large but well-shaped hands, the fingers of which were
laden with rings.

"You must take good care of me--so! And I am hungry--very hungry!"

It was a table d'hote luncheon for eighteen-pence, and she ate everything
that was set before her, and frequently demanded second helpings. All the
time she talked to me, sometimes in German, sometimes in broken English.
She seemed quite uneasy when I was not all the time by her side.

"My good man," she told me, "has gone away for two--three days. I am
lonely, so I eat more! Why do you smile, Herr Schmidt?"

I shook my head.

"I know what you think," she continued, her black eyes upraised to mine.
"You think that after all I am not so very lonely. Perhaps you are right.
My good man he is much older than I. Sometimes he is very tiresome."

I murmured my sympathy. Just at that moment, Guest entered and passed
through to the little office, all smiles and bows--the typical
restaurateur. Madame eyed him keenly.

"It is your uncle, the new proprietor, is it not?" she asked.

I nodded, and left her on the pretext of a summons from another table.
Something in Guest's look had told me that he wished to speak to me. He
was taking off his overcoat when I entered the office.

"Be careful of that woman," he whispered in my ear. "She is dangerous."

I nodded.

"She is Hirsch's wife," I remarked.

"She passes as such, I know," he answered. "I have come across her once
or twice in my time. She is cleverer than she seems, and she is
dangerous. Any news?"

"We have a fresh ally," I answered. "She goes to Paris this afternoon."

"Miss Van Hoyt?" he exclaimed.

"Yes!"

He glanced at a calendar.

"Good luck to her!" he answered. "We will talk later. Go back into the
restaurant."

I obeyed him, and almost immediately Madame called me to her side.

"I have a message for you," she whispered in my ear.

"You are to be at Max Sonneberg's rifle gallery at four o'clock this
afternoon."

"From your husband?" I asked.

"So! You will be there?"

"Certainly! Where is it?" I asked.

"18, Old Compton Street," she answered. "Afterwards--"

She hesitated. I stood before her in an attitude of respectful attention.

"You like to come and drink a glass of beer with me?" she asked. "I live
close there."

She was smiling at me with placid amicability. I was a little taken aback
and hesitated.

"You come," she whispered persuasively. "No. 36, over the tailor's shop.
You will find it easily. Afterwards I come here to dine! So?"

I was on the horns of a dilemma, for while my acceptance of her
invitation might land me in a somewhat embarrassing position, I was still
anxious to know exactly what her reasons were for asking me. She leaned
a little closer towards me. Her black eyes were very bright and
sparkling.

"I expect you," she declared. "So!"

I bowed.

"Thank you very much," I said, "I will come!"

She paid her bill and departed. I opened the door for her myself, and she
whispered something in my ear as she went out. Karl, who had been
watching us curiously, came up to me a few moments later.

"You know who she is?" he asked.

"Hirsch's wife," I answered, nodding.

"You had better be careful," he said slowly. "Hirsch is not a safe man to
play tricks with."

I told Guest what had passed. He agreed with me that it was an
embarrassing position, but he was insistent that I should go.

"One cannot tell," he remarked. "Even the cleverest women have their
interludes. I rather fancy, though, that this time the lady has something
more in her mind."

At four o'clock I presented myself at the door of an entry at the address
which had been given me. An untidy-looking girl pointed out to me some
stairs, over which was a hand pointing downwards, and a notice--

"MAX SONNEBERG'S RIFLE RANGE."

I descended the stairs, and found myself in a sort of cellar with two
tubelike arrangements, down one of which a young man was shooting. Mr.
Sonneberg rose slowly from a chair and came towards me.

"Paul Schmidt, is it not?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I was told to come here at four o'clock," I said.

"Quite right. Now tell me, what is this?" he asked, taking from a seat
near and placing in my hand a weapon, similar to the one with which the
boy was shooting.

I handled it curiously.

"It is a service rifle, reduced size," I remarked.

He nodded.

"Let me see you load it!" he directed, pointing to a box of cartridges.

I obeyed him without hesitation. He pointed to the unoccupied tube.

"Shoot!" he directed.

The tube was an unusually long one, and the bull's-eye rather small, but
I fired six shots, and each time the bell rang. Mr. Sonneberg made a note
in a book which he had taken from his pocket.

"Very good," he declared, "You have passed first class. You shall
have your rifle to-night, and cartridges. Keep them in a safe place,
and--remember!"

He pressed a cigar upon me, and patted me on the back.

"There are some who come here," he declared, "and I find it very hard to
believe that they have ever seen a rifle before. With you it is
different. You will shoot straight, my young friend. A life for every
cartridge, eh?"

"I was always fond of shooting!" I told him.

"Come again, my young friend," he said cordially, "and show some of these
others how a young German should shoot! You do not need practice, but it
does me good to see a man hold a rifle as you do! So!"

I left the shooting gallery with flying colors. I was not so sure of my
next appointment.

CHAPTER XXXV

"HIRSCH'S WIFE"

Madame received me with a beaming smile. I found her apartment furnished
in the typical German fashion. There were two heavy mirrors, a plush
tablecloth, and chairs covered with stamped velvet. A canary was singing
in a cage fashioned like a church, a model of a German village stood
proudly upon the sideboard. One end of the room was hung with thick
curtains. Madame herself had arranged her hair with a heavy black fringe,
and pinned an enormous blue bow at the back of her neck.

"We will sit together here," she said, indicating the sofa, "and we will
talk of England. But first you shall open the beer."

There were several bottles upon the sideboard, and a corkscrew. I poured
Madame out a glass and then one for myself. Madame was already making
room for me by her side, when an inspiration came to me.

"You will drink a health with me?" I asked.

She raised her glass. I assumed a profoundly sentimental air.

"It is to a little girl in Frankfort," I said sighing. "To meine liebe
Elsie! Soon I shall return to marry her!"

Madame raised her glass.

"To Elsie!" she repeated, and drank very nearly the whole of its
contents. Then she set the glass down and looked at it thoughtfully.

"So," she murmured, "you have in Frankfort a little girl?"

"Yes, Madame!" I answered.

My hostess became thoughtful for a few moments. I could not flatter
myself that it was disappointment which had furrowed her brow. She had,
however, the air of one who finds it necessary to readjust her plans.
It was during those few moments that I noticed the bulge in the curtains,
concerning which I was wise enough to hold my peace.

"You will marry her some day?" she inquired.

"As soon," I answered, "as I have saved enough money. My uncle offers me
the chance now. It is for that that I came back from America."

She nodded.

"Money," she remarked, "is not easily made. It takes time."

"It is true," I agreed.

"And you are very anxious to be married! She is pretty, this little one?"

"I wish I had her picture, Madame," I answered with enthusiasm, "that I
could show you. You would understand, then, that I am very anxious indeed
to be married."

"But to save money!" she said slowly, "it takes time that, eh?"

I could not see for the life of me what she was driving at, but I
assented sorrowfully. At any rate, I was holding my own.

"Herr Paul," she said, raising her black eyes to mine, "have you ever
looked about you for a way to make money more quickly?"

"I have thought of it often," I admitted, "but I have not succeeded. One
cannot do as these foolish English do--back horses in races they never
see. Stocks and shares I do not understand. I can only work; and my
uncle, though he promises much, pays little."

She nodded her head.

"And all this time," she murmured, "the poor little girl waits!"

"What can one do?" I murmured dejectedly. She motioned me to draw a
little nearer to her. "Herr Paul," she said, "I think that I could show
you a way to make money, a large sum of money quickly, if you had
courage!"

"Ah!"

I drew a little closer to her. She nodded again several times.

"You are not a fool, Herr Paul!" she remarked.

"I am not very clever," I answered sorrowfully; "but I do not think that
I am a fool!"

"You are a member of the No. 1 Branch of the Waiters' Union," she said
slowly.

"There is no money in that," I answered. "They even want me to pay
something for my own rifle!"

"And when the time comes," she said thoughtfully, "you will probably be
shot!"

"At least," I said hopefully, "I will shoot a few English first. But it
is true what you say, Madame."

She whispered in my ear.

"The English government," she said, "would give a great deal of money to
the person who told them about that No. 1 Branch. It would be easily
earned; eh?"

I would have risen to my feet, but she pulled me back.

"Do not be foolish, Herr Paul," she said. "What has your country done for
you? When you are older and wiser, you will understand that there is only
one hand worth playing for in the world, and that is your own. I hate all
this talk about patriotism and the Fatherland. They are all very well for
holiday times; but the first thing in the world, and the only thing, is
money. I want it and so do you! Let us earn it together."

I rose slowly to my feet.

"Madame," I said, "permit me to leave. I shall try to forget what you
have suggested. I love my little girl and I love money. But never that
way!"

I think that Madame was a little surprised. She tried to pull me down
again by her side, but I resisted.

"You are a very foolish young man," she said vigorously. "Sit still and
listen to me! What would your sweetheart say if she knew that you were
throwing away a chance of marrying her, perhaps next month? Who can
tell?"

"Madame," I said, "if you say more, you say it at your own risk. So far
as we have gone I will try to forget. But I would like you to understand
that I am not an informer."

Her face darkened.

"You are afraid of running a little risk," she muttered--"a very small
risk! Remember that it would be a fortune. With what I can tell you it
would be a fortune for both of us, and no one need know that it was us."

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