Gibbs George
The Yellow Dove
He bowed.
“I have given instructions that you shall be allowed to do as you please. Mrs. Madden will furnish you with all that you require both I think of linen and toilet articles. I shall not try to see you again until we land.”
She bowed her head and went down. Rizzio watched her until she disappeared and then walked over to the rail and peered out over the sea. It had taken some self-command to go through this interview as he had planned it, and in conquering himself he had succeeded in establishing a relation between them which made his presence at least bearable to her. The impersonal tone which he had used through the interview was the one most calculated to put her at her ease with him and the perfect frankness of his confession had made her understand at once that sentimentally at least she had nothing to fear from him. John Rizzio was wise in the ways of women and the particular woman now thrown upon his mercy, even though she was the one woman in the world he had thought the most desirable, was to be treated with the delicate consideration due to her unfortunate dependence upon him. A flash of sentiment, a breath of revelation of his ultimate purposes toward her, and the woman would be lost to him. Her misfortunes if anything had made her more desirable than ever, especially since he had been the cause of them. For one mad moment, he had thought this morning of turning the Sylph toward the waters of the South Atlantic, forgetting the quarrels of the nations in which he had become involved, and of seeking a new world where he could begin again, trusting to time and opportunity and his own patience and tact to bring a sentimental victory out of what had already been defeat. A mad moment but a tempting one. But the time was not yet. He must be patient. With Hammersley gone–
He straightened and slowly strolled forward to the wireless room. Toward evening he was given confirmation of the wisdom of his course, for as he was pacing the deck aft she came up from below and joined him. She was looking rather white, but she smiled at him brightly and matched her steps to his.
“I was lonely below,” she said. “You don’t mind?”
He had never thought her lovelier. Her face, if anything, had always needed just those shadows of pain to make it perfect.
“I hadn’t hoped for such a kindness. You are feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks. And since we must meet I am willing to try to be friendly.”
“I’m sure you’ll find that I’ll meet you more than halfway,” he said politely.
They talked far into the evening and at her request they dined together in the saloon. He was reserved but not cautious, and when the evening was over remembered hazily that she had succeeded in learning something from him of General von Stromberg, the head of the German Secret Service Department, of the aviation field at Windenberg and of the frequent flights of the Yellow Dove since the beginning of the winter.
The next morning passed quietly. Doris did not appear until noon. But just before luncheon a smudge of smoke appeared upon the horizon, which rapidly grew larger, and in a little while she made out the lines of a war vessel steaming in a direction which would intercept the yacht. The Sylph did not slow down until a solid shot from a gun in the forecastle of the destroyer went ricochetting across her bows, when the engine was stopped and John Rizzio made slowly aft to where she stood.
“Miss Mather,” he said briefly, “I must ask you to go below to your cabin at once.”
A glance at his face showed that her protests would have been useless and she went below to her own stateroom, the door of which was locked upon her. Through the heavy glass of her port-hole she saw the vessel approach until within hailing distance when a boat dropped from her side into which a boat’s crew and an officer clambered and rowed alongside. The vessel bore no flag, but the girl clearly heard the hail of the boarding officer and realized that the destroyer was an English vessel. Her hopes rose. Perhaps even now the Englishman would find something irregular in the yacht’s papers and would take charge, conveying her back to England. She waited for a long time and then heard the clatter of oars and saw the boat push off from the side of the yacht, while the officer, young, slender and windburned, stood up in the stern sheets of his boat.
“All right,” she heard him say, “sorry to have troubled you. Pleasant voyage. Good-by.”
Never had English sounded so good to her. But it was with a sigh of despair that she saw the boat reach the side of the war vessel and felt the steadily increasing rhythm of the engines of the yacht as she drove once more upon her way.
When the two vessels were at a distance from each other the key turned in the lock of the door and in reply to a knock, she found John Rizzio himself, standing hat in hand in the gangway.
“I seem to be in a continual state of apology. But of course you realize the necessity for my action.”
“I am in your power,” she said helplessly.
“I hope you will believe that I shall not abuse it.”
She shrugged her shoulders and followed him to luncheon, managing to preserve at table a cheerfulness which she was far from feeling. Throughout the morning she had been thinking hard. And the only course that was open to her if her courage did not fail was the one that she was following. If she was to be able in any way to help Cyril, she must try to learn what she could, accept the situation with good grace and perhaps by some turn of good fortune find a way to disarm John Rizzio and profit by an inadvertence or mistake. But as the second day wore on she found her task increasingly difficult. At luncheon Mr. Rizzio was more reserved and during the afternoon as they approached waters in which German warships were more likely to be found he spent much time in the wireless room, where a repetition of the crackling noises advised her that he was again in communication with the land of her enemies.
After dinner, at which Rizzio had been very quiet, he requested politely that she go at once to her cabin, which she did to hear the sound of the key again turned in the lock of her door. Despair came over her and at last she cried herself to sleep, awakening during the night at the glare of a searchlight which pierced her window port. She got up and looked out to see a dark bulk looming alongside, the flashing of lanterns, and heard the sound of voices speaking German. At last all was quiet again, and the steady hammer of the vessel’s propeller told her that the Sylph was again on her way.
She must have slept again, for the silver of dawn was already modifying the gloom of her cabin when there was a knock upon her door and she rose. The stewardess fully dressed was outside.
“Mr. Rizzio asks me to request you to please dress at once, as breakfast will be served in half an hour.”
She obeyed blindly aware that there was no motion to the deck of her cabin and that the Sylph was now riding on an even keel. She verified her guess at the nearness of their destination by a glance through the port-hole, which showed her that the vessel had reached the quieter waters of a bay or river in which she slipped smoothly onward. There were vessels at anchor, large and small, and beyond them she made out the lines of a shore, upon which at intervals buildings loomed.
Mrs. Madden, the stewardess, would not talk and it was not until she reached the breakfast table that Doris learned where they were.
“We shall reach Bremen shortly,” said Rizzio. “I do not know how you feel about the matter, but I would suggest that it would save you much trouble and anxiety to trust yourself entirely into my hands.”
“I know of nothing else,” she said quietly. “What are you going to do?”
“I shall confer with certain officials when we reach the city, which will be in a few moments. After that we will take the seven o’clock train for Windenberg.”
CHAPTER XIV
VON STROMBERG CATECHISES
To the girl the way from Bremen to Windenberg seemed interminable. She shared with John Rizzio a private compartment in the train. He was still ceremoniously polite and inclined to conversation, but now, thoroughly realizing the danger which faced her as well as Cyril, Doris had decided upon a policy of silence. She would wait until she learned what they required of her and then perhaps some instinct or inspiration would direct her. Of one thing she was certain, that nothing could make her speak if she did not think it wise to do so.
When Rizzio commented upon the beauty of the passing landscape she assented with a smile and then returned to her own thoughts. Cyril, she knew, would be at Windenberg, for it was to Windenberg that the Yellow Dove had made its flights. She had succeeded in eliciting that much information from her captor the other night at dinner when he was attempting by frankness and hospitality to minimize the brutality of his actions. She had many reasons to believe that he had already regretted that frankness for at every subsequent attempt of hers to get more information about von Stromberg, John Rizzio had turned the subject adroitly or had remained obstinately silent.
She tried to put together the scraps of information she possessed in order to understand just what Cyril’s position at Windenberg might be. He had answered the summons of the secret messenger willingly and at once. That much was in his favor. If they had suspected him before, this immediate obedience must have disarmed them. In the mind of General von Stromberg there could be no possible reason why Cyril should put himself at his mercy. General von Stromberg could not know as she knew that Cyril had another mission to perform. She looked up quickly to find John Rizzio’s dark eyes gazing at her. He frightened her at that moment, for it almost seemed from the expression of his face that he had succeeded in reading her thoughts—and in the light of his previous omniscience even that psychic feat seemed within the realm of possibility. But he merely smiled at her and looked out of the window.
That mission of Cyril’s! What was it? The obtaining of some information necessary to England? Some military secret such as the machinery of ordnance or the chemical mixture of explosive shells? Or was it something more personal, more sinister and dreadful—the death of some high official—perhaps the Emperor himself? She shuddered and shut her eyes, her mind painting unimaginable horrors. Not murder—even for Cyril she could not connive at that. But she must be prepared to do something for him, to help him, if she could by false testimony or if necessary, no matter what they did to her, by silence. If they suspected Cyril, of course he would be kept in ignorance of her arrival. Of all these things and others she thought with ever-growing doubt and timidity. And all the while in the back of her head was the idea of her possible appeal to the American Ambassador at Berlin.
But if she had any hopes that an opportunity would be given her to use the post, or even to be free from surveillance, their arrival at Windenberg speedily diminished them. For upon the platform of the small station a German officer met them and conducted them at once to a closed carriage which started off through the village immediately. The officer and Mr. Rizzio exchanged a few commonplaces which politely included her, but as to the real meaning of her visit and their possible intentions—nothing. So she sank back in her seat and looked out through a small window at the forest into which the road almost immediately passed, reaching their destination in apparent calmness, the high tension of her nerves resolutely schooled to obedience.
A farmhouse in the midst of meadows surrounded by forests, with a broad hospitable door in which they entered, seeing no one. The German officer who directed them showed her the way to a room upstairs and when she was in the room locked the door. She was in the dark, for the shutters of the windows were closed. Her first impulse at reaching a haven of privacy even though a prison was to seek the line of least resistance and give her nerves the relaxation they needed in tears. But she fought the weakness down, going to the windows and peering out through a crack in the shutters. When she tried to open them, she discovered that they were locked or nailed from the outside. She had been a prisoner she knew, upon the yacht, but the firmness with which the hard wood and iron resisted her efforts gave her for the first time the grim reality of her predicament. A prisoner in the heart of a German forest with no way to turn for help! Where was Cyril? Perhaps after all, her surmises had been incorrect. They had sent him away to Berlin. Or perhaps he had gone back in freedom to England. Grave fears assailed her as to Rizzio and his intentions. Once a friend, but after that an unsuccessful lover! What did she know of him or of these people into whose hands he was committing her? Germans! She was ready to believe anything of them after Belgium—the worst! Had Rizzio’s story about bringing her to the head of the Secret Service of Germany been a mere invention to serve other ends? He had told her at Kilmorack House that he would never give her up. Was this what he had meant? A blind terror seized her which seemed for the moment to deaden all her faculties for analysis. The room, though chill, seemed to stifle her, its walls and ceiling to be closing in to crush her. She stumbled to the bed upon which she fell and lay for a long while exhausted and at last the blessing of tears came to her and then, sleep.
How long Doris slept she did not know, but she realized that it could not have been long, for strange ugly figures came into her dreams and strange ugly events followed each other with lightning swiftness. But a knock upon the door brought her back to the terrors of her predicament and she answered it, wondering what was to happen. It was a tall man in the Jäger uniform bearing a tray of food—some toast, eggs and a cup of chocolate. He entered with a smile and a polite greeting in German, putting the tray upon the table and then forcing open the shutters a little so that a narrow bar of sunlight came into the room and lay upon the bright drugget upon the floor. By its light she examined the man. He was tall, grizzled at the temples and walked with a slight limp. He smiled at her again and she could not refrain from answering the smile in kind.
“I hope the Fräulein will enjoy her lunch,” he said. “The toast especially, for I have made it myself. I trust that the Fräulein prefers dry toast.”
“Thanks, anything will do. I am not hungry.”
“I am sorry,” said the Forester, bowing and then continuing in a lower tone: “The Fräulein will not forget that the toast is excellent and that I made it myself.”
She examined him curiously, wondering whether he were not perhaps a little demented. But at the door he bowed and disappeared and she heard the key turn in the lock. He was apparently not too demented to forget that she was a prisoner.
She was not hungry but she knew that she must eat something to keep up her strength for any ordeal that was in store for her, so she drew a chair to the table and sat, pouring out the chocolate in the cup and helping herself to the eggs.
All the while she thought of the strange behavior of her servitor. Why did he lay such stress upon the excellence of the dry toast? And why because it was dry? She raised a piece of it with her fingers and examined it, lifted the second piece, when a gasp of surprise escaped her. Above the third piece of toast, folded neatly, was a thin strip of paper. She glanced toward the door and window and then getting up from the table and going to a spot where observation of her actions was impossible, opened the slip of paper. It was in Cyril’s hand.
Don’t be frightened [she read]. You are to be questioned. Follow these instructions. I made copy of message in Heathcote library night of dinner while waiting for you to get wraps. I hid it in right sash of motor. Copy and original of message the same. You and I are enemies. Therefore ignore me. Rizzio acted for Scotland Yard. As to the rest tell truth exactly and no harm can come to me. I will find means later to communicate. Burn this immediately.
Her heart beating high, she read the paper through twice to familiarize herself with the instructions which she perfectly understood. Then she found a matchbox on the candlestick, put the paper in the hearth and burned it. After that she sat at the table and ate. It was there that Captain von Winden found her some moments later when he came to request her presence in the room on the ground floor.
During the time that Doris slept, in the living-room downstairs General von Stromberg sat with John Rizzio. A peaceful winter landscape looked in at the windows, the sun slanted in a yellow rhomboid upon the floor, a cheerful fire was burning upon the hearth and General von Stromberg, his left hand tapping gently upon the back of his right, was gravely listening to John Rizzio’s story. All of the pieces of the little game were upon the board. He was now about to move them skillfully from one square to another until only one piece remained, and that one piece, the victor in all such games, was—himself.
“And what was his manner,” went on von Stromberg, “when you showed your credentials?”
“He was surprised—very much surprised—and I think alarmed.”
“And what arguments did you use to make him give the packet up?”
“I threatened him with serious consequences.”
“Which meant me,” said von Stromberg grimly.
“Yes, Excellenz. But he refused without other grounds than his own judgment.”
“And then–”
“Excellenz, Fräulein Mather came in. She heard something from behind the curtain—but she gave no sign.”
“Oh! She is clever?”
“Exceptionally so. I have brought her here of my own volition and she will speak if properly approached, but I hope Excellenz will be pleased to make the interview as easy for her as possible. If any harm should come to her–”
“It is not the practice of my department to do hurt to women,” said the General quickly. Then he laughed. “I suspect, Herr Rizzio, that you have a tenderness in that quarter.”
“It is true. I hope, therefore, that you will be patient with her.”
Von Stromberg waved his hand impatiently.
“And what happened then?”
“Hammersley and Miss Mather went out. I remained in the smoking-room and then telephoned to Maxwell to send his men at once. They came. I met them outside the house before Hammersley emerged and gave them my instructions to follow Hammersley’s machine and get the papers.”
The older man started forward, his long acquisitive nose eagerly scenting a clue.
“And how long was it after they left the smoking-room for the machine?”
Rizzio pulled at his mustache a moment thoughtfully.
“I could not say exactly,” he said after a time. “A matter of half an hour perhaps.”
“Did you know what Herr Hammersley was doing in the meanwhile?”
“No. I could not say. I telephoned first and then went out. The guests were all in the drawing-room.”
“Did you go up to the library?”
Rizzio showed surprise. “No, Excellenz.”
“Are you sure that Herr Hammersley was in the drawing-room with the others when you went out?”
“Yes, Excellenz. I am sure of it. There was no reason for him to be anywhere else.”
“There was no chance of his going upstairs to the library for ten—fifteen minutes—without your seeing him?”
Rizzio straightened and pulled at his mustache. “Excellenz, I think I understand the object of your questions. It is not possible that Herr Hammersley could have made a copy of the papers at Lady Heathcote’s house.”
Von Stromberg paused a moment, then he asked:
“How long after you left the door of the house before he came out with the lady?”
“Scarcely more than ten minutes.”
The General’s fingers tapped more rapidly.
“Oh,” he growled, “I see.” And then, “Tell me how the matter was arranged that Captain Byfield should deliver those papers.”
“Maxwell managed it through a cipher. The War Office had grown suspicious and all the usual channels were closed. Byfield was frightened and refused to deliver further messages. So Maxwell hit upon the scheme of the cigarette papers to be delivered to Hammersley. I could not receive them from Byfield because of your instructions not to let my interests be known to anyone in England but Maxwell—you thought the time was not ripe for me to play my coup.”
“Yes,” said von Stromberg dryly, “but the time is ripe now and you are not there to play it.”
“But this affair was of such importance–”
“Yes, yes,” the general broke in quickly, “go on.”
“It was the day of an anniversary always celebrated for me by Lady Heathcote, whose house, as you know, is one of the most exclusive in England and above suspicion. I invited the guests and Maxwell communicated with Hammersley, arranging the manner of the exchange which was accomplished. My demand upon Hammersley was made in accordance with your orders. It was a test of his loyalty. He failed.”
“Do you think he had an opportunity to glance at the papers, I mean between the time he received them and the time of your demand of him?”
“Yes. He studied them for a moment behind the curtains of an alcove in the drawing-room. I was watching. I saw his shadow as he bent over to the light of the lamp.”
“By that you mean he had a hope that they might be spurious?”
“Yes, Excellenz. When it was discovered that there was a leak, false orders were issued to test the different departments of the War Office.”
“H—m. And then, Maxwell’s men followed him, and when he was on the point of capture he turned the papers over to the lady, who escaped through the hedge?”
“As I have said before, Excellenz, the lady is clever. She read the papers, but her loyalty to Hammersley kept her silent, though at that time she suspected that he was a German agent.”
“I see,” said von Stromberg, manifesting a sudden activity with his fingers. “The lady is interested in Herr Hammersley?”
“Yes, Excellenz.”
“More interested in him, perhaps, than she is in you?”
Rizzio bowed in silence.
“Gut,” said von Stromberg rising. “That perhaps makes matters more amusing for us—perhaps a little more amusing for Herr Hammersley.”
He paced the floor with long strides while Rizzio watched him until he stopped before the fire and spoke again.
“Herr Rizzio, you have told me about the events in Scotland when, as you say, Hammersley, acting as an Englishman, warned the lady against you as an agent of Germany. What I would like very much to know is why, when you were sure he was acting for England, you did not have him killed at once.”
“I tried, Excellenz, but he was too well prepared for me. My men shot at him on the road and wounded him slightly—but on the cliffs at Ben-a-Chielt he had a confederate who killed one of my men. The other, as I have related, fell over the cliffs.”
“But you”—put in the officer harshly—“what were you doing all the while?”
“I shot at him and missed.”
“That was unfortunate—from our point of view. It is not the custom of agents of my department to miss—at anything, Herr Rizzio. But since Hammersley is here, the damage, if damage there is, can be repaired. What did you do after that?”
“I had reason to suspect that Hammersley was the cause of the arrest of Captain Byfield. I had also reason to suspect that he had informed, or would inform, the War Office as to my connection with Germany. Accordingly I had made arrangements to have my boat within easy reaching distance of Ben-a-Chielt. With the help of two other men who had been set to watch the roads in case of surprises I kept watch on Hammersley. Miss Mather we lost in the darkness of the moor. This was unfortunate, as I had planned to take her, too. But we followed Hammersley on horses to Rudha Mor to be sure that he would obey your summons and fortune aided us, for Doris Mather had followed him, too, and we managed to take her without difficulty—and brought her aboard the yacht. Hammersley’s departure for Germany, of course, relieved me of all responsibility on his behalf.”
Von Stromberg paused before the fireplace, his brows puckering.
“On the whole, Herr Rizzio, you have done well. I shall not complain. But if your story is true, I should like you to tell me two things. The first is, why should Herr Hammersley return to Germany to face certain death at my hands?”
Rizzio shrugged his fine shoulders.
“Excellenz, I do not know. I did not think he would come when I sent you my request to summon him. The knowledge he possessed was dangerous to me and I had made every possible plan to kill him at Rudha Mor. Nothing that could have happened surprised me more than when I saw him fly out in obedience to your message. It has puzzled me. I do not know why he came unless it was to learn something in Germany and return to England.”
Von Stromberg gave a dry chuckle.
“The supposition does not flatter his intelligence or mine. Aside from the difficulties of his position at present, if he were seeking information as to the plans of the Empire, he would have about as much chance of getting away from here alive as you would have, Herr Rizzio, in the same circumstances.”
The old man towered to his full height and brought his huge fist down with a crash upon the table which startled Rizzio, who fingered his mustache, his face a shade paler.
“I am glad, Excellenz,” he said with a laugh, “that I am not in Hammersley’s shoes.”
Disregarding Rizzio’s comment, the old man paced the floor again, storming.
“The other question that I would like to ask you is, what has become of Herr Maxwell?”
Rizzio started up, now in genuine concern.
“Have you not heard from him, Excellenz?”
“No,” roared the other. “Why haven’t I? You should know.”
“I do not know. I saw him the day I left London for Scotland. He was fully informed of all that had happened. Could it be that–”
Rizzio paused with a deep frown.
“Where is he? Why has he not reported? Could anything have happened to him? What were you thinking?”
“That Hammersley perhaps—but that could hardly be—since he always moved under cover–”
“Du lieber Jesu! Speak out! Will you?”
“I thought that Hammersley might have been the cause of his arrest.”
“Oh, you think that? Why?”
“Because it was Hammersley who told the War Office of Byfield–”
“What proof have you of that?”
“No one knew of Byfield’s connection with us but Hammersley, Maxwell and myself.”
“Those were my orders. How do I know that they were obeyed?”
“One doesn’t disobey orders, Excellenz, with one’s head in a noose.”
“H—m. There are many necks in nooses at Windenberg. And one of the nooses will be tightened.”
He had stopped before Rizzio and was scowling at him with eyes that shot malevolence. Rizzio knew something of von Stromberg’s methods and was sure that he was merely trying to intimidate him, to reduce him to a consistency which would reveal hidden weaknesses in texture; yet, knowing this, Rizzio felt most uncomfortable. He twirled his mustache and looked out of the window, but his glance came back to von Stromberg’s eyes, which never wavered or changed in intensity, as though under the influence of some strange hypnotic attraction.
“You know, of course,” the old man’s harsh voice snapped at him, “what Herr Hammersley accuses you of?”
“I can imagine, Excellenz.”
“He says that you have been acting for the English Government.”
Rizzio started up in alarm.
“You do not for a moment believe–”
“Don’t get excited. I believe nothing—which I do not wish to believe. But he tells a very pretty story, Herr Rizzio.”
“He would,” said Rizzio easily. “I will do him the credit of saying that he is skillful. But a lie will discover itself in the end.”
“Exactly. I am glad you agree with me. What I now propose to do is to set the lie in motion. The easiest way to provoke a liar is to put him upon the defensive. You and Hammersley shall debate the matter. I shall be the judge of the debate. We shall see what we shall see.”
He strode to the table and was about to touch the bell when Rizzio broke in.
“One moment, Excellenz. I should like to know on what he bases his accusation.”
“Humph! Not weakening, Rizzio?”
“Hardly, Excellenz,” the other smiled. “It will not be difficult for me to verify my statements if Hammersley will only talk.”
“You need not fear. He will talk.”
“What I wanted to know, Excellenz, was the nature of the information received in the yellow packet. Would you permit–?”
“Not yet, Herr Rizzio, not yet. The contents of the message will come in time. For the present there is quite enough to occupy Herr Hammersley’s mind—and yours.”
Rizzio shrugged. “As you please. I would like to know, however, before you summon him, whether his accusation is based on my attempt upon his life.”
Von Stromberg chuckled. “Is not that enough to prejudice a man—if he were honest?”
“Yes, if he were honest,” said Rizzio. “Did he have any authority for his belief?”
“Yes, Herr Rizzio,” said the General, fixing Rizzio with his stare. “He told me that Maxwell had learned it from Byfield.”
“Byfield!” Rizzio started forward quickly. “Hammersley is a fool. Have I not told Excellenz that Byfield knew nothing whatever of my connection with the affair?”
Von Stromberg stretched his long arms impatiently.
“Herr Maxwell, unfortunately, is silent. Captain Byfield is in a position where the only questions that can be put to him will be those at the Gates of Heaven by his Maker.”
He gave the bell on the table a resounding blow and grinned mischievously at Rizzio.
“You say that Herr Hammersley is a fool. He asserts that you are one. I shall now smoke a cigar and decide for myself which of you is correct.”
And, as the soldier entered, “Tell Herr Hammersley that I wish to see him here at once.”
“I can only say, Excellenz,” said Rizzio, when the man went out, “that I am willing to abide by your verdict.”
“Even though it should be unfavorable to yourself?” growled von Stromberg.
“That, Excellenz, is quite impossible.”
“I have known stranger things to happen. The worst aspect of your case is that Herr Hammersley is here. There was no need for him to come. You yourself admit that. He had only to stay in England to devote his talents to a more congenial occupation.” Von Stromberg puffed on his cigar and leaned across the table. “Can you tell me why Herr Hammersley came to Germany? Answer me correctly, Rizzio, and I will give you every masterpiece in Belgium.”
