The Yellow Dove

“Willingly, Excellenz, if you will provide me with food and a bed. Failing those, you may have me shot at once.”

“Food you shall have, and a bed is prepared in your room upstairs. As for the shooting, perhaps we may as well postpone that until morning.”

He laughed jovially, showing a very fine set of teeth, and, touching a bell which was answered by Captain Wentz, directed that food and coffee be prepared at once.

“One word more,” he went on, when Wentz went out, “where did you put this copy after leaving Lady Heathcote’s in London?”

“I slipped it down the window sash in my automobile. They did not even search for it. I got away by a ruse.”

“No one saw it?”

“No one. The message is the same.”

“H—m! You have a good memory?”

“Excellent.”

“Are you sure that the War Office knew of your movements?”

“Positive. I know of no one who would try to kill me–”

“Rizzio?”

“Acting for England, yes.”

“And if he were acting for Germany?”

“Then he is a fool.”

Von Stromberg folded his long arms and gazed at the lamp.

“You do not feel that it would be possible to return at once?”

“Not unless I wished to be shot as a spy.”

“What will you do?”

“Take whatever service you will give me. Failing that I will volunteer for aviation.”

The General, without pursuing the subject further, motioned Hammersley to the door.

“You will find food ready. After eating you had better get to bed. I will talk with you further in the morning.”

As the door closed behind his visitor von Stromberg sank into the chair by the fire and lighted a third cigar, upon which he pulled steadily for some moments, rehearsing by question and reply almost every word of Hammersley’s story. By every rule of the game as he knew it Herr Hammersley should be a liar. And yet his story from first to last held water. There was not a flaw in its texture from beginning to end. If Hammersley had not told the truth he was the most skillful liar in Europe, a man who gave the appearance of truthfulness to the last hair of his head. And yet it was much more easy to lie if one knew that there was no man to oppose him. Hammersley did not know that Rizzio was on the way. Tomorrow they would meet. It would be interesting to watch that meeting. For, as to this thing, the mind of the General was clear. One of these men was false to Germany, the other true, but which? Both had come willingly, or was it by necessity? And Herr Maxwell! It was strange that Maxwell should have failed in his report at this crucial moment. And if Maxwell were dead—who had betrayed him? General von Stromberg’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and the entrance of the orderly.

“A telegram, Excellenz, by motorcycle from Windenberg.”

The General opened the paper. It was in code and he translated it rapidly.

Von Stromberg:

Withhold judgment until my arrival. Will be at Bremen tomorrow early with Miss Mather, who possesses valuable information.

Rizzio.

General von Stromberg sank deeper into his chair, the paper in his fingers, a smile broadening upon his features. The woman! It was almost too good to be true. Miss Doris Mather, the American girl, Hammersley’s fiancée, coming to Germany with Rizzio. And Hammersley obviously did not know it. Intrigue, mystery and now romance. Tomorrow–

The man still stood awaiting orders. Von Stromberg rose with a yawn.

“Is my room prepared?”

“Yes, Excellenz.”

“Which one?”

“The same as before—next to that of Herr Hammersley.”

“Well, move it into the wing. And when I go up you will set a watch upon my door—also one outside my windows.”

“Zu befehl, Excellenz.”

“In the meanwhile send Herr Hauptmann Wentz to me here.”

The man went out and Captain Wentz entered immediately closing the door behind him.

“What time does the northern express leave Bremen in the morning?”

“At seven.”

General von Stromberg sat and wrote out a message.

“Have this message sent at once.” And then, “That train reaches Windenberg at what hour?”

“Twelve.”

“Good. This mountain air is excellent for the nerves. I shall sleep late tomorrow and do not wish to be called. You will go personally to Windenberg at eleven o’clock with a closed carriage. You will meet Herr Rizzio, whom you will recognize by his tall, distinguished appearance and excellent clothing. He will be accompanied by a young lady. It is my wish that they be brought to this house and given separate rooms on the upper story and placed under guard until I summon them. No one must see them enter this house. To accomplish this purpose, Herr Hammersley must go to the hangar. The means I leave to you. Captain von Winden will be of service. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“For the present that is all. I shall go to my room. Good night.”

“Good night, Excellenz.”

Meanwhile, upstairs in his room, Hammersley, after having eaten, was preparing for bed. For a tired man he went about it in a very leisurely way, smoking a cigarette, and wandering about the room stretching his long limbs and yawning between whiles. Then, after a time, he took off his clothes and bathed. It was perhaps an hour before he blew out his candle, and even then he did not get immediately into bed. He sat on the edge of the couch for a while, listening and watching the cold moonlight outside his dormer window, or the dim line of light that came from beneath the door into the hall. Then, apparently satisfied that he was to be quite free from interruption, he straightened and stood up, waiting again. Still no sound. He reached for the table, where he had put his watch and the things from his pockets, and picked up a large pocket-knife, carefully opening the large blade. Then, with quick, noiseless footsteps, he crossed the room to the fireplace and felt with the fingers of one hand carefully along the edge of the chimney breast. His fingers reached a spot where there was an unevenness, and feeling carefully, thrust the knife-blade its full length beneath the paper, slowly withdrawing it. Something protruded which was quickly taken into the palm of his left hand. With great care he smoothed the broken wallpaper back into its place and noiselessly closing the knife got softly into bed.

He lay on his back for a while, his eyes wide open, watching the window and the door and then, pulling the heavy blankets up, slipped lower and lower under the covers until he disappeared from view. In the room all was dark, but under the blankets he read by the light of an electric pocket torch some writing in German upon a thin slip of paper.

Papers arrive tomorrow night, eleven—from Berlin—automobile—by Schöndorf road.

CHAPTER XIII

THE UNWILLING GUEST

After the light of dawn went out upon the cliffs of Rhuda Mor, Doris Mather hung for a long while upon the brink of an abyss, below her darkness, above her light. She strove upward, but in the dim moments of half-consciousness was aware of a force restraining her and a recurrence of the odor in which the darkness had first come. She had a sense of motion and of jolting, the feeling of arms about her, a descent, the sound of water and the rocking of a boat. Brief glimpses she had of sunlight, which revealed outlines dimly, like the glow of summer lightning upon familiar objects, making them curiously unfamiliar. John Rizzio’s face persisted in these visions, a fantastic Rizzio, much larger than the man she knew, deferential and punctilious as ever, and strangely grave. A stout man with a swarthy face in a cap and brass buttons, just above her, darkly outlined against white clouds which seemed to be whirling rapidly past him. Dully she found herself wondering where the clouds were going so rapidly and why they didn’t come back.... Later, darkness and peace, where there were no visions and the sky no longer whirled … a steady vibration which soothed her, and she blissfully slept.

When she awoke the visions were gone, and as her senses returned she started up, but her head swam and she sank back again. As she had risen a woman emerged from the shadows of the room and came forward. And then slowly, as full consciousness returned, the girl realized that she was on an ocean-going vessel in a cabin or stateroom very beautifully appointed. She started up in her bed and looked out of the port-hole to see the amber crests of waves leaping rapidly past. Then she heard the woman’s voice speaking.

“You are feeling better?”

Doris turned and looked at her, a woman of middle age, with a kindly face, dressed in white linen.

“What yacht is this?” she asked.

“The Sylph, miss—Mr. Rizzio’s,” she replied.

Doris thought for a moment. The last thing her waking consciousness remembered were the cliffs of Rhuda Mor.

“How did I come here?” she asked again.

The woman shook her head. “I don’t know, miss.”

Her manner was kind and most respectful but her tone was decisive. She was obeying instructions.

“Is Mr. Rizzio aboard?” Doris asked again.

“Yes, miss. And he asked me to tell you that when you felt sufficiently recovered he would be glad to wait upon you in the saloon.”

“Oh, I understand.”

When Doris rose and put her feet to the swaying deck, nausea overcame her. But the woman, who was prepared for this emergency, offered a glass filled with cloudy liquid.

“Drink this,” she said. “It will make you feel better.”

Doris looked into the woman’s face, and recognizing the aromatic odor, took the draught.

The nausea passed after a moment and she managed to get up and make her way to the bathroom. As she bathed her face, memory returned, full memory of the events of the previous night, the scene upon the cliffs, with Cyril, the destroyer, Rizzio, Stryker, Rudha Mor, the Yellow Dove and then unconsciousness. Chloroform! There were vestiges of it upon her clothing still. They had drugged her. When she took off her shirtwaist something fell to the floor. A paper. She picked it up and looked at it. It was Rizzio’s note to her at Kilmorack House asking her to come to Ben-a-Chielt—so that he might make her prisoner! She remembered now that she had thrust it into her waist when she went out. She folded the letter carefully and put it in her stays. After the other indignity she had suffered, it seemed strange that they had not searched her, too. She would keep the letter. Perhaps later she would find use for it.

John Rizzio! It was difficult for her mind to associate him with the villainy of abduction. And yet, as her brain grew clearer, she became quite sure that there was no other answer to the problem. Indeed, from the replies of the stewardess she knew that John Rizzio had chosen that she should know it was to be a problem no longer. The Sylph, that was his yacht. She had been on the boat before, two years ago, during the races in the Solent. Abduction! He had dared! She was not frightened yet. Fury at his temerity blinded her to all sense of danger. A phrase of Cyril’s came back to her, illuminating the chaos of her thoughts. “You know too much—too much for your own good—or mine.” Cyril’s cigarette papers! She was the only one beside Cyril who had read their contents! Rizzio had carried her off, had brought her to the Sylph, which was out of sight of land, speeding for—Germany! What was he going to do with her?

Fury passed and weakness followed. She did not know what time of day it was, but she was aware that it had been long since she had eaten. In the cabin she found a tray set with food and coffee which the stewardess insisted upon serving her. She sank into an armchair, refusing to eat, but the woman persisted and the odor of the coffee was tempting. It was luncheon, she found, and remembered that she had had no appetite for dinner at Lady Heathcote’s and that it must be quite twenty-four hours since she had broken bread. The coffee gave her courage, and in spite of herself she found that she was eating heartily with a genuine relish. She was a good sailor and the nausea, which she now knew was the effect of the drug, had passed. The stewardess stood beside her and to the other questions Doris put to her answered politely, but volunteered nothing further than she had already told. In spite of the woman’s care and attention the girl could not get rid of the idea that the stewardess had been sent as a guardian as well as a maid. She was a prisoner of John Rizzio, of Germany, whither he was bringing her as fast as the yacht could take them.

Finding at last that her attempts to extract information from her stolid servitress were fruitless, and feeling strengthened by the food she had taken, she got up and told the woman that she was going on deck, asking that Mr. Rizzio be informed that she would see him. As she emerged upon deck the crisp wintry air sent the color slowly into her pallid cheeks. The yacht was bowling along with the wind and sea quartering and the foam-crests leaped alongside, sending an occasional spurt of spray into the air, where the wind caught it and blew it across the decks in a feathery mist of rainbows. The sunlight glinted on polished wood and brasswork and at the stern caught in the cross of St. George where the flag of England flapped in the breeze. The flag of England sheltering John Rizzio! She scanned the horizon anxiously. Perhaps an English cruiser or destroyer might come to whom she might be able to tell the real character of the owner of the vessel. But there was no vessel in sight. A sailor passed her and touched his cap. The deference encouraged her. It reminded her that this was the same deck upon which she had stood when John Rizzio was suing for her hand, an honorable host when she had been an honored guest. A loud crackling came to her ears from the wireless room. He was there, already in communication with his employers in Germany. Even now, with Cyril’s words still ringing in her ears, she found it difficult to believe that John Rizzio was England’s enemy; and the price of his treachery a picture, “The Descent from the Cross”! What a mockery that a man who would stoop to such dishonor could make its price a picture which typified the conquest of sublime virtue even over death!

The wind was searching and the maid brought a heavy coat with brass buttons from below and put it on her with the word that Mr. Rizzio had sent it and would come to her in a few moments. She sat in a deckchair in the lee of the deckhouse, her lips firmly compressed, trying to think what his ulterior purpose might be, planning a defense which might make her invulnerable, an attack which might search his intentions and discover the true relation that was to exist between them.

He came toward her from forward, muffled in a greatcoat, and carrying a rug. He took off his cap with an air of deference, which answered at once some of her questions. She rose and faced him, her color high.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, trying to keep her lips from trembling.

He smiled and pulled at his mustache.

“First, I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain.”

“What?” she cried hotly. “What can you explain? Don’t you suppose I know what you are? A German spy, a traitor to England, and worse than that—a woman-baiter and a coward, Mr. Rizzio.”

He bent his head.

“I make no defense,” he said, “except necessity.” And then gravely indicating the chair from which she had risen. “Won’t you sit down? The voyage may be long.”

But she still stood.

“I am a prisoner, not a guest.”

“Then I command you to sit,” he said with a laugh. “Won’t you?”

A sound of exasperation came from her throat and she obeyed him, her gaze on the sea, while with some ostentation he covered her with a rug.

“What are you going to do with me in Germany?” she repeated dully.

He sank into the chair beside her. “As I have often told you, you are a woman of rare intelligence. In reply I can only say that, unfortunately, I do not know.”

“A coward who is also a—a liar,” she said bitterly.

“A coward is usually a liar, but a liar isn’t always a coward. I am a liar, Doris, if you will, but a courageous one.”

“My name is Mather,” she said distinctly.

He shrugged and turned his gaze on the sea.

“You hate me, of course. We are enemies. I am sorry. I warned you that you were entangled in an affair that was leading you into dangerous paths. I would have saved you, if I could, but you had learned too much.”

“And so you had me chloroformed. It was a pity that you didn’t complete your work.”

“I merely did what was required of me. Through a most unfortunate combination of circumstances you came into possession of a secret known to but one person in England; and you are the only person with English sympathies who knows my exact political status–”

“A spy!” contemptuously.

“What you will—a spy if you like—but a strong friend of Germany who resents an attempt by a nation jealous of her growing commercial supremacy to wipe her out of existence. I have lived in England long, and I have known many of the men who have made her what she is, but never in all those years has England ever given me one token of the high nobility she preaches. I have passed for many years as an Englishman. I am not English. I am cosmopolitan and to a cosmopolitan, residence is but an accident.”

“Pray spare me the details of your treachery.”

He laughed easily.

“I’m afraid you’re at my mercy. I shall try to be lenient. You are an American, I am an Italian. To call me a traitor to England because I happen to have a liking for Germany would be much like my calling you a traitor to Germany because you happen to have a liking for England.”

“I have never eaten the bread and salt of Germany, or wormed my way into the hearts of its people.”

“I’m sure you flatter me. The people of my set in London are agreeable, but–”

Doris had straightened in the act of rising.

“I did not come on deck to discuss your ideals or Germany’s. I hope that you will excuse–”

“You will not listen?”

“No. I care nothing for your political views. I am your prisoner. I want to know without further words the worst that I am to expect from you.”

“You have been upon the Sylph before. What was proper for you then is proper for you now. You are quite safe in my hands. I shall try to make you comfortable. Does that answer your question?”

“And after–”

“You are to be delivered to the head of the Secret Service Department of the German Empire.”

The girl paled and sank back into her chair.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you are in possession of information that he wants.”

“What information? It isn’t true. I know nothing.”

“I am sorry,” he apologized again. “The cigarette papers. You read them.”

“No—no.”

“You forget that you have already admitted that. You have also read the second message which was to take the place of the first.”

“You are dreaming. A second message? I know nothing of a second message.”

“Pardon me, if I remind you of it. You would have burned it in the drawing-room at Kilmorack House if Mr. Hammersley hadn’t taken it from your hand.”

She stared at him bewildered at his astounding omniscience, his devilish ingenuity. It frightened her, his cleverness and his pursuit of her. It seemed that she had never had a chance to get away from him. And yet his manner was so carefully studied, his attitude toward her so coldly impersonal that as a man once a lover she no longer feared him. If love of her had ever been in his heart, a greater passion had burned it out. She was grateful for this and prepared to measure her woman’s wit to his, thinking of Cyril. What would Cyril have her do?

“You mean that you will let them—the Germans—question me?”

“If they wish to do so.”

“But how will it benefit them, if the papers are already in their possession?”

“You will forgive me if I find it possible to doubt.”

She turned away from him and studied the lines of foam that streamed across the green troughs of the sea.

“I suppose that conversation between us two is superfluous. You distrust me and I–”

“I think perhaps,” he said gravely, “that it would be pleasanter for both of us not to hear your sentiments toward me. Since the night of Lady Heathcote’s dinner in London you ceased to be Miss Doris Mather and became merely an official document. It is my duty to preserve it and deliver it safely.”

“I hope you may succeed. Otherwise the American Ambassador in Berlin may–”

“Unfortunately,” he went on quietly, “the American Ambassador cannot be informed.”

She laughed with a greater confidence than she felt.

“You surely can’t believe that my absence from England will pass unnoticed. Do you think that my father—that Lady Heathcote–”

She paused bewildered.

“They will merely know that you rode late at night to Ben-a-Chielt and that your horse was found riderless on the moor.”

She buried her face in her hands and a sob broke from her throat. It was true. They would think her dead. For the first time she really was able to think of things in their true aspect.

“It’s cruel,” she gasped. “How could you!”

He was too wise to touch her or even by his manner to show too deep a sympathy.

“I am sorry,” he said coolly, “awfully sorry. As you know, I would have had things different. You may still doubt me when I say that what I have done is the hardest task that I ever undertook in my life. But that is true. You were the only person in England who jeopardized my existence there. I had to take you away. I regret the necessity of having to use force. I shall do what I can here upon the Sylph to counteract the unpleasant impression of my brutality. I am not a bully and a woman-baiter. I am a spoke in the wheel of destiny which you had clogged. By all the rules of the game you should have died. Reasons which I need not mention made your death at my hands an impossibility. So I merely removed you to a place of safety. No harm shall come to you, I pledge my honor.”

“Thanks,” she said dully, struggling up, her face away from him. And then dauntlessly, “Small a thing as it is, I must be content with that.” She had risen and turned, “And now, if you don’t mind, I will go below. I would prefer to be alone. If, as you protest, you would do me kindness, you will not ask to see me.”

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?”