Chambers Robert William
The Moonlit Way: A Novel

XX
GROGAN’S

The material attraction of Grogan’s was principally German beer; the æsthetic appeal of the place was also characteristically Teutonic and consisted of peculiarly offensive decorations, including much red cherry, much imitation stained glass, many sprawling brass fixtures, and many electric lights. Only former inmates of the Fatherland could have conceived and executed the embellishments of Grogan’s.

There was a palatial bar, behind which fat, white-jacketed Teutons served slopping steins of beer upon a perforated brass surface. There was a centre table, piled with those barbarous messes known to the undiscriminating Hun as “delicatessen” – raw fish, sour fish, smoked fish, flabby portions of defunct pig in various guises – all naturally nauseating to the white man’s olfactories and palate, and all equally relished by the beer-swilling boche.

A bartender with Pekinese and apoplectic eyes and the scorbutic facial symptoms of a Strassburg liver, took the order from Barres and set before him a frosty glass of Pilsner, incidentally drenching the bar at the same time with swipes, which he thriftily scraped through the perforated brass strainer into a slop-bucket underneath.

Being a stranger there, Barres was furtively scrutinised at first, but there seemed to be nothing particularly suspicious about a young man who stopped in for 266 a glass of Pilsner on a July night, and nobody paid him any further attention.

Besides, two United States Secret Service men had just gone out, followed, as usual, by one Johnny Klein; and the Germans at the tables at the bar, and behind the bar were still sneeringly commenting on the episode – now a familiar one and of nightly occurrence.

So only very casual attention was paid to Barres and his Pilsner and his rye-bread and sardine sandwich, which he took over to a vacant table to desiccate and discuss at his leisure.

People came and went; conversation in Hunnish gutturals became general; soiled evening newspapers were read, raw fish seized in fat red fingers and suckingly masticated; also, skat and pinochle were resumed with unwiped hands, and there was loud slapping of cards on polished table tops, and many porcine noises.

Barres finished his Pilsner, side-stepped the sandwich, rose, asked a bartender for the wash-room, and leisurely followed the direction given.

There was nobody in there. He had, for company, a mouse, a soiled towel on a roller, and the remains of some unattractive soap. He lighted a cigarette, surveyed himself in the looking glass, cast a friendly glance at the mouse, and stood waiting, flexing his biceps muscles with a smile of anticipated pleasure in renewing the use of them after such a very long period wasted in the peaceful pursuit of art.

For he was still a boy at heart. All creative minds retain something of those care-free, irresponsible years as long as the creative talent lasts. As it fails, worldly caution creeps in like a thief in the night, to steal the spontaneous pleasures of the past and leave in their places only the old galoshes of prudence and the finger-prints of dull routine.

Barres stood by the open door of the wash-room, listening. The corridor which passed it led on into another corridor running at right angles. This was the Family Entrance.

Now, as he waited there, he heard the street door open, and instantly the deadened shock of a rush and struggle.

As he started toward the Family Entrance, straining his ears for the expected summons, a man in flight turned the corner into his corridor so abruptly that he had him by the throat even before he recognised in him the man with the thick eye-glasses who had hit him between the eyes with a pistol – the “Watcher” of Dragon Court!

With a swift sigh of gratitude to Chance, Barres folded the fleeing Watcher to his bosom and began the business he had to transact with him – an account too long overdue.

The Watcher fought like a wildcat, but in silence – fought madly, using both fists, feet, baring his teeth, too, with frantic attempts to use them. But Barres gave him no opportunity to kick, bite, or to pull out any weapon; he battered the Watcher right and left, swinging on him like lightning, and his blows drummed on him like the tattoo of fists on a punching bag until one stinging crack sent the Watcher’s head snapping back with a jerk, and a terrific jolt knocked him as clean and as flat as a dead carp.

There were papers in his coat, also a knuckle-duster, a big clasp-knife, and an automatic pistol. And Barres took them all, stuffed them into his own pockets, and, dragging his still dormant but twitching victim by the collar, as a cat proudly lugs a heavy rat, he started for the Family Entrance, where Donnybrook had now broken loose.

But the silence of the terrific struggle in that narrow entry, the absence of all yelling, was significant. No Irish whoops, no Teutonic din of combat shattered the stillness of that dim corridor – only the deadened sounds of blows and shuffling of frantic feet. It was very evident that nobody involved desired to be interrupted by the police, or call attention to the location of the battle field.

Renoux, Souchez, and a third companion were in intimate and desperate conflict with half a dozen other men – dim, furious figures fighting there under the flickering gas jet from which the dirty globe had been knocked into fragments.

Into this dusty maelstrom of waving arms and legs went Barres – first dropping his now inert prey – and began to hit out enthusiastically right and left, at the nearest hostile countenance visible.

His was a flank attack and totally unexpected by the attackees; and the diversion gave Renoux time to seize a muscular, struggling opponent, hold him squirming while Souchez passed his handkerchief over his throat and the third man turned his pockets inside out.

Then Renoux called breathlessly to Barres:

“All right, mon vieux! Face to the rear front! March!”

For a moment they stiffened to face a battering rush from the stairs. Suddenly a pistol spoke, and an Irish voice burst out:

“Whist, ye domm fool! G’wan wid yer fishtin’ an’ can th’ goon-play!”

There came a splintering crash as the rickety banisters gave way and several Teutonic and Hibernian warriors fell in a furious heap, blocking the entry with an unpremeditated obstacle.

Instantly Souchez, Barres and the other man backed out into the street, followed nimbly by Renoux and his plunder.

Already a typical Third Avenue crowd was gathering, though the ominous glimmer of a policeman’s buttons had not yet caught the lamplight from the street corner.

Then the door of Grogan’s burst open and an embattled Irishman appeared. But at first glance the hopelessness of the situation presented itself to him; a taxi loaded with French and American franc-tireurs was already honking triumphantly away westward; an excited and rapidly increasing throng pressed around the Family Entrance; also, the distant glitter of a policeman’s shield and buttons now extinguished all hope of pursuit.

Soane glared at the crowd out of enraged and blood-shot eyes:

“G’wan home, ye bunch of bums!” he said thickly, and slammed the door to the Family Entrance of Grogan’s notorious café.

At 42d Street and Madison Avenue the taxi stopped and Souchez and Alost got out and went rapidly across the street toward the Grand Central depot. Then the taxi proceeded west, north again, then once more west.

Renoux, busy with a bleeding nose, remarked carelessly that Souchez and Alost were taking a train and were in a hurry, and that he himself was going back to the Astor.

“You do not mind coming with me, Barres?” he added. “In my rooms we can have a bite and a glass together, and then we can brush up. That was a nice little fight, was it not, mon ami?”

“Fine,” said Barres with satisfaction.

“Quite like the old and happy days,” mused Renoux, 270 surveying wilted collar and rumpled tie of his comrade. “You came off well; you have merely a bruised cheek.” His eyes began to sparkle and he laughed: “Do you remember that May evening when your very quarrelsome atelier barricaded the Café de la Source and forbade us to enter – and my atelier marched down the Boul’ Mich’ with its Kazoo band playing our atelier march, determined to take your café by assault? Oh, my! What a delightful fight that was!”

“Your crazy comrades stuffed me into the fountain among the goldfish. I thought I’d drown,” said Barres, laughing.

“I know, but your atelier gained a great victory that night, and you came over to Müller’s with your Kazoo band playing the Fireman’s March, and you carried away our palms and bay-trees in their green tubs, and you threw them over the Pont-au-Change into the Seine! – ”

They were laughing like a pair of schoolboys now, quite convulsed and holding to each other.

“Do you remember,” gasped Barres, “that girl who danced the Carmagnole on the Quay?”

“Yvonne Tête-de-Linotte!”

“And the British giant from Julien’s, who threw everybody out of the Café Montparnasse and invited the Quarter in to a free banquet?”

“McNeil!”

“What ever became of that pretty girl, Doucette de Valmy?”

“Oh, it was she who cheered on your atelier to the assault on Müllers! – ”

Laughter stifled them.

“What crazy creatures we all were,” said Renoux, staunching the last crimson drops oozing from his nose. Then, more soberly: “We French have a grimmer affair 271 over there than the joyous rows of the Latin Quarter. I’m sorry now that we didn’t throw every waiter in Müller’s after the bay-trees. There would have been so many fewer spies to betray France.”

The taxi stopped at the 44th Street entrance to the Astor. They descended, Renoux leading, walked through the corridor to Peacock Alley, turned to the right through the bar, then to the left into the lobby, and thence to the elevator.

In Renoux’s rooms they turned on the electric light, locked the door, closed the transom, then spread their plunder out on a table.

To Renoux’s disgust his own loot consisted of sealed envelopes full of clippings from German newspapers published in Chicago, Milwaukee, and New York.

“That animal, Lehr,” he said with a wry face, “has certainly played us a filthy turn. These clippings amount to nothing – ” His eyes fell on the packet of papers which Barres was now opening, and he leaned over his shoulder to look.

“Thank God!” he said, “here they are! Where on earth did you find these papers, Barres? They’re the documents we were after! They ought to have been in Lehr’s pockets!”

“He must have passed them to the fellow who bumped into me near the wash-room,” said Barres, enchanted at his luck. “What a fortunate chance that you sent me around there!”

Renoux, delighted, stood under the electric light unfolding document after document, and nodding his handsome, mischievous head with satisfaction.

“What luck, Barres! What did you do to the fellow?”

“Thumped him to sleep and turned out his pockets. Are these really what you want?”

“I should say so! This is precisely what we are looking for!”

“Do you mind if I read them, too?”

“No, I don’t. Why should I? You’re my loyal comrade and you understand discretion… What do you think of this!” displaying a typewritten document marked “Copy,” enclosing a sheaf of maps.

It contained plans of all the East River and Harlem bridges, a tracing showing the course of the new aqueduct and the Ashokan Dam, drawings of the Navy Yard, a map of Iona Island, and a plan of the Welland Canal.

The document was brief:

“Included in report by K17 to Diplomatic Agent controlling Section 7-4-11-B. Recommended that detail plan of DuPont works be made without delay.

“Skeel.”

Followed several sheets in cipher, evidently some intricate variation of those which are always ultimately solved by experts.

But the documents that were now unfolded by Captain Renoux proved readable and intensely interesting.

These were the papers which Renoux read and which Barres read over his shoulder:

“(Copy)

Berlin Military Telegraph Office Telegram

Berlin. Political Division of the General Staff

Nr. Pol. 6431

(SECRET)

8, Moltkestrasse,

Berlin, NW, 40

March 20, 1916

“Ferez Bey,

N. Y.

“Referring to your correspondence and conversations with Colonel Skeel, I most urgently request that the necessary funds be raised through the New York banker, Adolf Gerhardt; also that Bernstorff be immediately informed through Boy-Ed, so that plans of Head General Staff of Army on campaign may not be delayed.

“Begin instantly enlist and train men, secure and arm power-boat assemble equipment and explosives, Welland Canal Exp’d’n. War Office No. 159-16, Secret U. K.: – T, 3, P.”

“Foreign Office, Berlin,

“Dec. 28, 1914.

“Dear Sir Roger: – I have the honour to acknowledge receipt of your letter of the 23d inst., in which you submitted to his Imperial Majesty’s Government a proposal for the formation of an Irish brigade which would be pledged to fight only for the cause of Irish nationalism, and which is to be composed of any Irish prisoners of war willing to join such a regiment.

“In reply I have the honour to inform you that his Imperial Majesty’s Government agrees to your proposal and also to the conditions under which it might be possible to train an Irish brigade. These conditions are set out in the declaration enclosed in your letter of the 13th inst., and are given at foot. I have the honour to be, dear Roger, your obedient servant,

“(Signed) Zimmerman,

“Under Secretary of State for the Foreign Office.

“To His Honour, Sir Roger Casement,

“Eden Hotel, Kurfürstendamm, Berlin.”

“(SECRET)

“Colonel Murtagh Skeel,

“Flying Division, Irish Expeditionary Corps,

“New York.

“For your information I enclose Zimmerman’s letter to Sir Roger, and also the text of Articles 6 and 7, being part of our first agreement with Sir Roger Casement.

“You will note particularly the Article numbered 7.

“This paragraph, unfortunately, still postpones your suggested attempt to seize on the high seas a British or neutral steamer loaded with arms and munitions, and make a landing from her on the Irish Coast.

“But, in the meantime, is it not possible for you to seize one of the large ore steamers on the Great Lakes, transfer to her sufficient explosives, take her into the Welland Canal and blow up the locks?

“No more valuable service could be performed by Irishmen; no deadlier blow delivered at England.

“I am, my dear Skeel, your sincere friend and comrade,

“(Signed) Von Papen.

“P. S. – Herewith appended are Articles 6 and 7 included in the Casement convention:

“(SECRET)

“Text of Articles 6 and 7 of the convention concluded between Sir Roger Casement and the German Government:

“6. The German Imperial Government undertakes ‘under certain circumstances’ to lend the Irish Brigade adequate military support, and to send it to Ireland abundantly supplied with arms and ammunition, in order that once there it may equip any Irish who would like to join it in making an attempt to re-establish Ireland’s national liberty by force of arms.

“The ‘special circumstances’ stipulated above are as follows:

“In case of a German naval victory which would make it possible to reach the Irish coast, the German Imperial Government pledges itself to despatch the Irish Brigade and a German expeditionary corps commanded by German officers, in German troopships, to attempt a landing on the Irish coast.

“7. It will be impossible to contemplate a landing in Ireland unless the German Navy can gain such a victory as to make it really likely that an attempt to reach Ireland by sea would succeed. Should the German Navy not win such a victory, then a use will be found for the Irish Brigade in Germany or elsewhere. But in no case will 275 it be used except in such ways as Sir Roger Casement shall approve, as being completely in accordance with Article 2.

“In this case the Irish Brigade might be sent to Egypt to lend assistance in expelling the English and re-establishing Egyptian independence.

“Even if the Irish Brigade should not succeed in fighting for the liberation of Ireland from the English yoke, nevertheless a blow dealt at the British intruders in Egypt and intended to help the Egyptians to recover their freedom would be a blow struck for a cause closely related to that of Ireland.”

Another paper read as follows:

“Halbmondlager,

“Aug. 20th, 1915.

“(SECRET)”

“To Murtagh Skeel, Colonel,

“Irish Exp. Force,

“N. Y.

“REPORT

“On June 7, fifty Irishmen, with one German subaltern, were handed over to this camp, to be temporarily accommodated here. On June 16 five more Irishmen arrived, one of whom, having a broken leg, was sent to the camp hospital. There are, therefore, fifty-four Irishmen now here, one Sergeant Major, one Deputy Sergeant Major, three Sergeants, three Corporals, three Lance Corporals, and forty-three privates.

“They were accommodated as well as could be among the Indian battalion, an arrangement which gives rise to much trouble, which is inevitable, considering the tasks imposed upon Half Moon Camp.

“The Irish form an Irish brigade, which was constituted after negotiations between the Foreign Office and Sir Roger Casement, the champion of Irish independence.

“Enclosed is the Foreign Office communication of Dec. 28, 1914, confirming the conditions on which the Irish brigade was to be formed.

“The members of the Irish brigade are no longer German prisoners of war, but receive an Irish uniform; and, according to orders, instructions are to be issued to treat the Irish as comrades in arms.

“The Irish are under the command of a German officer, First Lieut. Boehm, the representative of the Grand General Staff (Political Division) which is in direct communication with the subaltern in charge of the Irish. This subaltern has been receiving money direct, which he expends in the interests of the Irish; 250 marks were given him through the Commandant’s office, Zossen, and 250 marks by First Lieut. Boehm.

“Promotions, also, are made known by being directly communicated to the subaltern in question. As will appear from the enclosed copy, dated July 20, these promotions were as follows: (1) Sergeant Major, (2) Deputy Sergeant Major, and (3) Sergeants.

“The uniforms arrived between the end of July and the beginning of August. Their coming was announced in a letter dated July 20 (copy enclosed), and their distribution was ordered. The box of uniforms was addressed to Zossen, whence it was brought here. The uniforms consist of a jacket, trousers, and cap in Irish style, and are of huntsman’s green cloth. Altogether, uniforms arrived for fifty men, and they have since been given out. Three non-commissioned officers brought their uniforms with them from Limburg on July 16. Two photographs of the Irish are annexed.

“A few Irish are in correspondence with Sir Roger Casement, who, in a letter from Munich, dated Aug. 16, says that he hears that the Irish are shortly to be transferred from here to another place. In a letter dated July 17 he complains of his want of success, only fifty men having sent in their names as wishing to join the brigade.

“Six weeks ago Sir Roger Casement was here with First Lieutenant Boehm. Since then, however, neither of these gentlemen has personally visited the Irish.

“Since the 18th of June the commandant’s office has allowed every penniless Irishman two marks a week – a sum which is now being paid out to fifty-three men.

“On Aug. 6 the subaltern in charge of the Irish brigade was given a German soldier to help him.

“In this camp every possible endeavour is made to 277 help to attain the important objects in view, but owing to the Irish being accommodated with coloured races within the precincts of a closed camp, it is inevitable that serious dissensions and acts of violence should take place. Moreover, a German subaltern is not suited for dealing independently with Irishmen.

“(Sgd.) Hauptmann, d. R. a. D.,

“(Retired Captain on the Reserve List).”

The last paper read as follows:

“(COPY)

“(Wireless via Mexico)

“Berlin (no date)

“Ferez,

“N. Y.

“Necessary close Nihla Quellen case immediately. Evidently useless expect her take service with us. Hold you responsible. Advise you take secret measures to end menace to our interests in Paris. D’Eblis urges instant action. Bolo under suspicion. Ex-minister also suspected. Only drastic and final action on your part can end danger. You know what to do. Do it.”

The telegram was signed with a string of letters and numerals.

Renoux glanced curiously at Barres, who had turned very red and was beginning to re-read the wireless.

When he finished, Renoux folded all the documents and placed them in the breast pocket of his coat.

“Mon ami, Barres,” he said pleasantly, “you and I have much yet to say to each other.”

“In the meanwhile, let us wash the stains of combat from our persons. What is the number of your collar?”

“Fifteen and a half.”

“I can fit you out. The bathroom is this way, old top!”