The Great Secret

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"I had forgotten," he said, "that I was speaking to one of the million.
To you, mine must seem a name to shudder at. Yet listen to me. My life is
finished. I have lied before now in great causes. No man in my position
could have avoided it. To-day, I speak the truth. You must believe me! Do
you hear?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I hear!"

"Death is my bedfellow," he continued. "Death is by my side like my own
shadow. In straits like mine, the uses of chicanery are past. I come of a
family of English gentlemen, even as you, Hardross Courage. We are of the
same order, and I speak to you man to man, with the dew of death upon my
lips. You will listen?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I will listen!"

"You will believe?"

"Yes!" I answered, "I will believe!"

He drew a breath of relief. A wonderful change lightened his face.

"Diplomacy demanded a victim," he said, "and I never flinched. Two men
knew the truth, and they are dead. My scheme was a bold one. If it had
succeeded, it would have meant an alliance with Germany, an absolute
incontrovertible alliance and an imperishable peace. France and Russia
would have been powerless--the balance of strength, of accessible
strength, must always have been with us. Every German statesman of note
was with me. The falsehood, the vilely egotistic ambition of one man,
chock-full to the lips with personal jealousy, a madman posing as a
genius, wrecked all my plans. My life's work went for nothing. We escaped
disaster by a miracle and my name is written in the pages of history as a
scheming spy--I who narrowly escaped the greatest diplomatic triumph of
all ages. That is the epitome of my career. You believe me?"

"I must," I answered.

"I was reported to have committed suicide," he continued. "Nothing was
ever farther from my thoughts."

I followed an ancient maxim. I sought safety in the shadow of the enemy.
I went to Berlin."

"The man who foiled you--" I said slowly.

"You know who it was," he interrupted. "The man who believes that he
hears voices from heaven, that by the side of his Divine wisdom his
ministers are fools and children, crying for they know not what! I may
not see it, but you most surely will see the pricking of the bubble of
his reputation. His name may stand for little more than mine, when the
book of fate is finally closed."

He was silent for a moment, and glanced towards the sideboard. I could
see the perspiration standing out in little white beads upon his
forehead; he had the air of a man utterly exhausted. I poured him out a
glass of wine, and brought it over. He drank it slowly, and reached out
his hand for a cigarette.

"Never mind these things," he said more quietly. "A man in my condition
should avoid talking of his enemies. I lived for two years quietly in
Berlin. I changed as much of my appearance as illness had left
recognizable; and during all that time I lived the ordinary life of a
German citizen of moderate means, without my identity being once
suspected. I frequented the cafes, I made friends with people in official
positions. At the end of that time, I commenced to shape my plans. You
can imagine of what nature they were. You can imagine what it was that I
desired. I wanted to catch my enemy tripping."

I looked across at him a little incredulously. This was a strange story
which he was telling me, and I knew very well, from the growing
excitement of his manner, that its culmination was to come.

"But how could you in Berlin, alone, hope to accomplish this?" I asked.

"I knew the ropes," he answered simply, "and I lived for nothing else. I
saw him drive amongst his people every day, and I bowed with the rest, I
who could have spat in his face, I who carried with me the secret of his
miserable perfidy, who knew alone why his ministers regarded him as a
spoilt and fretful child. But I waited. Gradually I wormed my way a
little into the fringe of the German Secret Service. I took them scraps
of information; but such scraps that they were always hungry for more. I
posed as a Dutch South African. They even chaffed me about my hatred for
England. All the time I progressed, until, by chance, I stumbled across
one of the threads which led--to the great Secret!"

There was a discreet knocking at the door. We both turned impatiently
around. A servant was just ushering in our village doctor.

"Dr. Rust, sir," he announced.

CHAPTER XI

A LEGACY OF DANGER

I was scarcely aware myself to what an extent my attention had been
riveted upon this strange story of my guest's, until the interruption
came. The entry of the cheerful little village doctor seemed to dissolve
an atmosphere thick with sensation. I drew a long breath as I rose to my
feet. There was a certain measure of relief in the escape from such high
tension.

"Glad to see you, doctor," I said mechanically. "My friend here, Mr.
Guest, Dr. Rust," I added, completing the introduction, "is a little run
down. I thought that I would like you to have a look at him."

The doctor sniffed the air disparagingly as he shook hands.

"Those beastly cigarettes," he remarked. "If you young men would only
take to pipes!"

"Our insides aren't strong enough for your sort of tobacco, doctor," I
answered. "I will leave you with Mr. Guest for a few minutes. You may
like to overhaul him a little."

I made my way into the gardens, and stood for a few minutes looking out
across the park. It was a still, hot evening; the scene was perhaps as
peaceful a one as a man could conceive. The tall elms stood out like
painted trees upon a painted sky, the only movement in the quiet pastoral
landscape was where a little string of farm laborers were trudging
homeward across the park, with their baskets over their shoulders.
Beyond, the land sloped into a pleasant tree-encompassed hollow, and I
could see the red-tiled roofs of the cottages, and the worn, grey spire
of the village church. There was scarcely a breath of wind. Everything
around me seemed to stand for peace. Many a night before I had stood
here, smoking my pipe and drinking it all in--absolutely content with
myself, my surroundings, and my life. And to-night I felt, with a certain
measure of sadness, that it could never be the same again. A few yards
behind me, in the room which I had just quitted, a man was looking death
in the face; a man, the passionate, half-told fragments of whose life had
kindled in me a whole world of new desires. These two, the man and the
girl, enemies perhaps, speaking from the opposite poles of life, had made
sad havoc with my well-ordered days. The excitement of his appeal was
perhaps more directly potent; yet there was something far more subtle,
far stranger, in my thoughts of her. She and her maid and her queer,
black-eyed poodle were creatures of flesh and blood without a doubt; yet
they had come into my life so strangely, and passed into so wonderful a
place there, that I thought of them with something of the awe which
belongs to things having in themselves some element of the mystic, if not
of the supernatural. The blue of her eyes was not more wonderful than the
flawless grace of her person and her environment. I could compare her
only with visions one has read and dreamed about in the unreal worlds of
poetry and romance. Her actual existence as a woman of the moment, a
possible adventuress, certainly a very material and actual person, was
hard indeed to realize.

I moved a little farther away into the gardens. The still air was full of
the perfume of sweet-smelling flowers, of honeysuckle and roses, climbing
about the maze of arches which sheltered the lower walks. To-night their
sweetness seemed to mean new things to me. The twilight was falling
rapidly; the shadows were blotting out the landscape. Out beyond there,
beyond the boundaries of my walled garden, I seemed to be looking into a
new and untravelled world. I knew very well that the old days were over.
Already the change had come.

I turned my head at the sound of a footstep upon the gravel path. The
doctor was standing beside me.

"Well," I asked, "what do you think of him?"

He answered me a little evasively. The cheerful optimism which had made
him a very popular practitioner seemed for the moment to have deserted
him.

"Your friend is in rather a curious state of health," he said slowly. "To
tell you the truth, I scarcely know how to account for certain of his
symptoms."

I smiled.

"He seems in a very weak state," I remarked supinely.

"Is he a very old friend?" the doctor asked.

"Why do you ask that?" I inquired curiously.

"Simply because I thought that you might know something of his
disposition," the doctor answered. "Whether, for instance, he is the sort
of man who would be likely to indulge in drugs."

I shook my head.

"I cannot tell," I said.

"There is something a little peculiar about his indifference," the doctor
continued. "He answers my questions and submits to my examination, and
all the time he has the air of a man who would say, 'I could tell you
more about myself, if I would, than you could ever discover.' He has had
a magnificent constitution in his time."

"Is he likely to die?" I asked.

"Not from any symptoms that I can discover," the doctor answered. "Yet,
as I told you before, there are certain things about his condition which
I do not understand. I should like to see him again in the morning!
I am giving him a tonic, more as a matter of form. I scarcely think his
system will respond to it!"

"It has not occurred to you, I suppose," I remarked, "that he might be
suffering from poisoning?"

The doctor shook his head.

"There are no traces of anything of the sort," he declared. "My own
impression is that he has been taking some sort of drug."

"Will you come in and have something?" I asked, as we neared the house.

The doctor shook his head.

"Not to-night," he answered; "I have another call to pay."

So I went back into the house alone, and found my guest waiting for me in
some impatience. He was lying upon a sofa, piled up with cushions, and
the extreme pallor of his face alarmed me.

"Give me some brandy and soda," he demanded. "Your village Aesculapius
has been prodding me about, till I scarcely know where I am."

I hastened to the sideboard and attended to his wants.

"Well, did he invent a new disease for me?" he asked.

"No!" I answered. "On the contrary, he admitted that he was puzzled."

"Honest man! What did he suggest?"

"He asked whether you were in the habit of taking drugs," I answered.

"Never touched such a thing in my life," he declared.

"Neither did I," I remarked grimly, "until last night." And then I told
him what had happened to me. He listened eagerly to my story.

"So there is a division in the camp," he murmured softly. "I imagined as
much. As usual, it is the woman who plays the whole game."

"I wonder," I said, "whether you would mind telling me what you know of
Miss Van Hoyt?"

He moved on the couch a little uneasily. The request, for some reason or
other, seemed to disquiet him. Nevertheless, he answered me.

"Miss Van Hoyt," he said, "is an American young lady of excellent family
and great fortune. She has lived for the last few years in Berlin and
other European capitals. She has intimate friends, I believe, attached to
the court at Berlin. She is a young person of an adventurous turn of
mind, and she has, I believe, no particular love for England and English
institutions."

"You number her," I remarked, "amongst your enemies?"

"And amongst yours," he answered dryly.

"Yet it was through her that I was able to bring you away," I remarked.

He turned his head towards me.

"You are not supposing, for one moment," he said, "that any measure of
kindness was included in her motive."

"I suppose not," I answered doubtfully.

"Listen!" he said, "I fell into a trap at the Universal. I have been in
danger too often not to recognize a hopeless position when I see one. I
knew that escape for me was impossible. It was not as though my task were
finished. I had months of work before me, and I was tracked down, so that
I could not have moved except on sufferance. Our genial friend, whom you
will remember in the grey tweed suit and glasses, and who has the knack
of sticking to any one in whom he is interested like a leech, thought
that my death, with as much dispatch as was wise, would be the simplest
and pleasantest way out of the difficulty. The young lady, however, plays
for the great stakes, She wanted to succeed where others have failed."

He paused for a moment, and drank from his tumbler. There were dark lines
under his eyes, and I felt that I ought to stop him talking.

"Tell me the rest in the morning," I suggested. "I am sure that you ought
to go to bed."

"You forget," he remarked grimly, "that for me there may be no morning. I
am drawing very near the end, or even she would not have dared to let me
come. Besides, you must understand, for it must be through you that she
hopes--to succeed. She expects that I shall tell you, that you will be
the legatee of this knowledge, which she would give so much to gain. And
I suppose--don't be offended--that she counts you amongst the fools whom
a woman's lips can tempt to any dishonor. You needn't glare at me like
that. Miss Van Hoyt is very young and very beautiful. She has not yet
learnt all the lessons of life--amongst which are her limitations. You
see I do not ask you for any pledge--for any promise. But I do ask you,
as an Englishman--and a man of honor--to take my burden from my back, and
carry it on--to the end!"

I came over to his side.

"What does it mean?" I asked quietly.

"Death, very likely," he answered. "Danger always. No more sport, no more
living in the easy places. But in the end glory--and afterwards peace. A
man can die but once, Courage!"

"I am not afraid," I answered slowly. "But am I the man, do you think,
for a task like this?"

"None better," he answered. "Listen, where do you sleep?"

"In the next room to yours," I answered.

"Good! Will you leave your door open, so that if I call in the night you
may hear?"

"Certainly! You can have a servant sleep on the couch in your room, if
you like."

He shook his head.

"I would rather not," he answered. "Just now I cannot talk any more. If
my time comes in the night, I shall wake you. If not--to-morrow!"

CHAPTER XII

OLD FRIENDS

A flavor of unreality hung about the events of the last few days. I felt
myself slowly waking as though from a nightmare. The dazzling sunshine
was everywhere around us; the whir of reaping machines, the slighter
humming of bees, and the song of birds, were in our ears; the perfume
of all manner of flowers, and of the new-mown hay, made the air
wonderfully sweet. My guest, in a cool grey flannel suit and a Panama
hat, was by my side, looking like a man who has taken a new lease of
life. He had patted my shire horses, and admired those of my hunters
which were on view. He had walked three times round my walled garden, and
amazed my head-gardener by his intimate acquaintance with the science of
pruning. We had talked country talk and nothing else. From the moment
when, somewhat to my surprise, he had appeared upon the terrace just as I
was finishing my after-breakfast pipe, no word of any more serious
subject had passed our lips. We had talked and passed the time very much
as any other host and guest the first morning in a quiet country house.
We were standing now upon a little knoll in the park, and I was pointing
out my deer. He looked beyond to where the turrets and chimneys of a
large, grey, stone house were half visible through the trees.

"Who is your neighbor?" he asked.

"Lord Dennisford," I answered. "A very decent fellow, too, although I
don't see much of him. He spends most of his time abroad."

"Lord Dennisford!"

I turned to look at my companion. He had repeated the name very softly,
yet with a peculiar intonation, which made me at once aware that the name
was of interest to him.

"Yes! Do you know him?" I asked inanely.

"Is his wife here?" he asked.

"Lady Dennisford is seldom away," I answered. "She entertains a good deal
down here. A very popular woman in the county."

He seemed to be measuring the distance across the park with his eyes.

"Let us go across and see her," he said.

I looked at him doubtfully.

"Can you walk as far?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Yes! I have my stick, and, if necessary, you can help me!"

So we set out across the park. I asked him no questions. He told me
nothing. But when we had crossed the road, and were on our way up the
avenue to Dennisford House, he clutched at my arm.

"I want to see her--alone," he muttered.

"I will see what I can do," I answered. "Lady Dennisford and I are old
friends."

We reached the great sweep in front of the house. I pointed to the
terrace, on which were several wicker chairs.

"The windows from the drawing-room, where I shall probably see Lady
Dennisford, open out there," I remarked. "If you could give me any
message which would interest her, perhaps--"

"Tell her," he muttered, "that you have a guest who walked with her once
under the orange trees at Seville, and who--in a few days--will walk no
more anywhere! She will come!"

He made his way along the terrace, leaning heavily upon his stick, and
sank with a little sigh of relief into one of the cushion-laden wicker
chairs. I watched him lean back with half-closed eyes; and I realized
then what an effort this walk must have been to him. Before me the great
front doors stood open, and with the familiarity of close neighborship, I
passed into the cool shaded hall, with its palms and flowers, its
billiard-table invitingly uncovered, its tiny fountain playing in its
marble basin. There was no one in sight; but, stretched upon a bright
crimson cushion, set back in the heart of a great easy-chair, was a small
Japanese spaniel.

Our recognition was mutual. The dog rose slowly to his haunches, and sat
there looking at me. His apple-green bow had wandered to the side of his
neck, and one ear was turned back. Yet notwithstanding the fact that his
appearance was so far grotesque, I felt no inclinations whatever towards
mirth. His coal-black eyes were fixed upon me steadfastly, his tiny
wrinkled face seemed like the shrivelled and age-worn caricature of some
Eastern magician. He showed no signs of pleasure or of welcome at my
coming, nor did he share any of the bewilderment with which I gazed at
him. But for the absurdity of the thing, I should have said that he had
been sitting there waiting for me.

While I stood there dumfounded, not so much in wonder at this meeting
with the dog, but amazed beyond measure at the things which his presence
there seemed to indicate, he descended carefully from his chair, and
crossing the smooth oak-laid floor, he made his way to the foot of the
great staircase, and after a premonitory yawn, he indulged in one sharp
penetrating bark. Almost immediately, the French maid came gliding down
the stairs, still gowned in the sombrest black, still as pale as a woman
could be. The dog looked at her and looked at me. Then, apparently
conceiving that his duty was finished, he returned to his chair and
curled himself up. I spoke to the maid.

"Is your mistress staying here?" I asked.

"But yes, monsieur!" she answered. "We arrived yesterday."

"Is she in now?" I asked. "Could I see her?"

"I will inquire," the maid answered. "Mademoiselle is in her room."

She turned and left me, and almost immediately the butler entered the
hall. He was one of the local cricket eleven, and had been in service in
the neighborhood all his life, so he knew me well, and greeted me at once
with respectful interest.

"Is her Ladyship in, Murray?" I asked.

"I believe so, sir," he answered. "Will you come into the drawing-room?"

I followed him into Lady Dennisford's presence. She was writing letters
in a small sanctum leading out of the drawing-room, and she looked round
and nodded a cheery greeting to me.

"In one moment, Hardross," she exclaimed. "I've just finished."

I had known Lady Dennisford all my life; but I found myself studying her
now with altogether a new interest. She was a slim, elegant woman, pale
and perhaps a little insipid looking at ordinary times, but a famous and
reckless rider to hounds, and an enthusiastic sportswoman. She was one of
the few women concerning whom I never heard a single breath of scandal,
notwithstanding her husband's long and frequent absences. She gave me
little time, however, to revise my impressions of her; for, with a little
spluttering of her pen, she finished her letter and came towards me.

"I hope you've come to lunch," she remarked; "I have the most delightful
young person staying with me. You'll be charmed with her."

"A young lady?" I remarked.

"Yes! An American girl who talks English--and doesn't enthuse. Seems to
know something about horses too!"

"Where did you discover this paragon?" I asked.

"My cousin sent her down. She knows everybody," Lady Dennisford answered.
"I met her at lunch last week, and she spoke of hunting with the Pytchley
next season. She's going to have a look at the country. Sorry the rain
spoilt your match."

I hesitated a moment.

"Lady Dennisford," I said, "I had a particular reason for coming to see
you this morning."

She raised her eyebrows.

"My dear Jim!"

"I, too, have a visitor," I told her; "rather a more mysterious person
than yours seems to be. He is very ill indeed; and he is almost a
stranger to me. But he was once, I believe, a friend of yours."

"A friend of mine!" she repeated. "How interesting! Do tell me his name!"

"I cannot do that," I answered, "because I do not know it--not his real
name. But in the park this morning, I happened to tell him who lived
here, and although he is very weak, he insisted upon paying you an
immediate visit."

She looked around the room.

"But where is he?" she asked.

"He is outside on the terrace," I answered.

"My dear Jim!" she exclaimed, "really, all this mystery isn't like you.
Aren't you overdoing it a little? Do call your friend in, and let me see
who he is!"

"Lady Dennisford," I said, "of course, my guest may have misled me; but
he seemed to think that an abrupt meeting might be undesirable. He wished
me to tell you that he used once to walk with you under the orange trees
of Seville, and to ask you to go out to him alone!"

Lady Dennisford sat quite still for several seconds. Her eyes were fixed
upon me; but I am quite certain that I had passed from within the orbit
of her vision. The things which she saw were of another world--somehow
it seemed sacrilege on my part to dream of peering even into the dimmest
corner of it. So I looked away, and I could never tell altogether what
effect my words had had upon her. For when I looked up, she was gone! ...

CHAPTER XIII

THE SHADOW DEEPENS

"Mr. Courage!"

I looked up quickly. She was within a few feet of me, although I had not
heard even the rustling of her gown. The dog, with his apple-green bow
now put to rights, was sitting upon her shoulder. By the side of his
uncanny features, it seemed to me that I had never sufficiently
appreciated the fresh girlishness, the almost ingenuous beauty of her own
face. She wore a plain, white, linen gown, and a magnificent blossom of
scarlet geraniums in her bosom.

"Miss Van Hoyt!" I exclaimed.

She nodded, but glanced warningly at the window.

"They must not hear," she said softly. "Remember your cousin introduced
you to me at Lord's--our only meeting."

My heart sank. I hated all this incomprehensible secrecy; a moment before
she had seemed so different.

"Come out into the other room," she said. "They cannot hear us from
there." We passed into the drawing-room. An uncomfortable thought struck
me.

"You were here all the time!" I exclaimed.

"Certainly! I wanted to hear you and Lady Dennisford converse!"

"Eavesdropping, in fact," I remarked savagely.

"Precisely!" she agreed.

We were silent for a moment. Her eyes were full of mild amusement.

"I thought," she said demurely, "that you would be glad to see me."

"Glad! of course I am glad," I answered. "I'm such a poor fool that I
can't help it. Why did you leave me in London without a word?"

"Why on earth not!" she exclaimed, smiling. "Besides, I knew that I
should see you here very soon. I had to act quickly too! They did not
want"--she glanced towards the terrace--"him to leave London."

"It was you, then," I remarked, "who had him sent down to my place?"

She nodded.

"It was not easy," she said. "If they had known that you were going to
have a doctor to visit him, it would have been impossible."

"He has been poisoned, I suppose?" I said calmly.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"He will die, and die very soon," she answered. "That is certain. But I
think you will find no doctor here who will have anything to say about
poison."

She moved a little nearer to me. The overhanging bunch of scarlet
geraniums from her waistband brushed against my coat; the beady black
eyes of the dog upon her shoulder were fixed steadily upon me.

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