Chapter 27

THE VOICE AT THE DOOR

It was nearly nine o'clock when Pachmann sat down to dinner that evening, but he did so in an exceedingly pleasant frame of mind. He felt that he had done a good day's work. In the first place, he had eluded the spies; in the second place, he had enticed all the flies into the web, where they were now securely entangled. There was just one way in which they could regain their freedom; and that they would, in the end, accept that way, the Admiral did not doubt.

Protests were natural, at first; inevitable, indeed, until their indignation at the trick played upon them had subsided somewhat; it was also inevitable that there should be some heroics, some talk of honour, self-sacrifice, and such tom-foolery. But these vapourings would soon come to an end; a few hours of sober reflection would work wonders in dissipating them. And if there was need, why, it would always be possible to apply the screw--the screw of hunger, the screw of solitary confinement, the screw of sleeplessness, of fear, of anxiety--and to turn it gently, gently. Oh, victory was certain now!

So Pachmann rubbed his hands together, mentally, at least, and enjoyed his dinner immensely. It was a good dinner, but it did not seem to appeal to Pachmann's table-companion. That was the Prince, summoned from his room where he had sulkily immured himself, and obeying from force of habit; but, strangely enough, his appetite, which was of a magnitude and reliability characteristic of the Hohenzollerns, had evidently failed him now. He trifled gloomily with the food, and drank more wine than was good for him without any perceptible resultant lightening of spirit.

Plainly something was seriously wrong, but if the Prince expected the Admiral to make any anxious inquiries about his health, or to express regret for the scene of an hour before, he was disappointed. Beyond cocking an amused eye at him, now and again, the Admiral took no notice of him. So it was the Prince who had to open the conversation, which he did as soon as the servants had withdrawn.

"Admiral Pachmann," he began, with heavy dignity, "I did not like the way in which this evening you spoke of me. It appeared to me almost insulting."

"Insulting, Your Highness!" protested the Admiral. "You astonish me. I imagined myself speaking most respectfully."

"It was insulting," repeated the Prince doggedly.

"Surely you misunderstood me!" said the Admiral, with deep concern. "Let me see--what was it I said? I do not remember the exact words, but it was to the effect, was it not, that your health was threatened by over-study and that the Emperor had instructed you to take a vacation?"

"There was more than that."

"I emphatically denied that there was any truth in that absurd rumour about the bar-maid."

"She was not a bar-maid."

The Admiral laughed.

"Was she not? Then I was misinformed. But that is a detail."

"In addition to which," pursued the Prince, rather red in the face with the knowledge that he was getting the worst of it, "I do not consider that you are behaving honourably in this matter."

"In what way?"

"You brought Miss Vard and her father here, promising to give them an answer."

"And I gave them an answer, did I not?"

"Yes--and then proceeded to imprison them."

"I have no recollection of having promised not to do so."

"But they trusted you."

"The more fools they!"

"They must be released," said the Prince, firmly. "I command it!"

Pachmann selected a cigar from the tray on the table with great care. Then he lighted it, took a slow puff or two, and looked at the Prince.

"Ah, you command it!" he said, thoughtfully.

"Yes," repeated the Prince, "I command it!"

"How I wish," sighed the Admiral, "that my heart was as young as yours, my Prince! I would give much to bring that about! But, alas, it has long since grown indifferent to red lips and bright eyes; this old heart of mine has been hardened by forty years of service; it is capable, now, of only one passion--but that is a fierce one."

"And what is that?" the Prince inquired.

"The passion for my country and for my King!" said the Admiral, and saluted. "My house is not a great one, as you have had occasion to remind me; but it is loyal! Its motto is, 'I love and I obey.' We are proud of that motto, and we have never been false to it. As for myself, I love my country as I have loved no woman; for her I would give my life, my honour, and rejoice to do it! For my King, as you have seen, I hesitate at nothing! Prince, sooner or later you must learn your lesson--and the longer you defer it the more bitter it will be."

"To what lesson do you refer?" asked the Prince, impressed in spite of himself, as he gazed at the glowing face opposite him.

"The lesson that never, never must red lips or bright eyes make you false to your country or to your house, even in thought. You command that I release these people at the moment when I touch success. And why? Because you have been impressed with a girl's face."

"It is a lie!" shouted the Prince, and started to his feet.

The Admiral did not stir, only looked at him; but there was in his eyes a frigid anger which turned the Prince cold.

"I beg your pardon, Admiral," he stammered. "It may be, in part at least, the truth. But it is not the whole truth. Putting the girl aside, I still think you should release them. One should not behave dishonourably, even to one's enemies."

"They are not my enemies, they are my country's," retorted the Admiral, quickly; "and I would point out to you that one can never behave dishonourably in serving one's country. In that service, there are no questions of right and wrong; there is only one question--our country's glory. Any good soldier could tell you that! But perhaps you consider it murder to kill a man in battle, or theft to take the enemy's supplies?"

"No," said the Prince, flushing at the mordant irony; "but that is different--that is war. In time of peace--"

"There is no time of peace," broke in the Admiral, impatiently. "Only fools believe so. Every thinking man knows that it is war, war, every day of every week. We manoeuvre for advantage, we build secret defences, we perfect plans of attack, we prepare night and day for the onset--just as we are preparing at this moment. For what purpose do you imagine that Germany maintains this house, with its grated windows and steel-lined doors and heavy bolts, as of a prison? For just such purposes as this! For the detention of her enemies. And it has been used many times--many, many times! And now," he added, in a voice as hard as steel, "as a reparation for your insult, I will ask you to return at once to the consulate, to go to your apartment there, and to remain in it until I see you in the morning. If you are wise, you will employ the night in pondering carefully what I have said to you."

White with humiliation, the Prince bowed, and stalked from the room. A moment later, the slam of the front door denoted that he had left the house. Pachmann sat for a moment longer, his lips curled in a sardonic smile. Then he touched a bell. A burly fellow in livery answered it.

"Arm yourself," said Pachmann, "and bring your comrade."

The man was back again in a moment, bringing another giant with him. Each had, strapped about his waist, an ammunition-belt from which depended in its holster a heavy revolver. They saluted and stood at attention, while the Admiral looked them over.

"You will stand guard in the lower hall to-night," he said, at last; "turn and turn about, one sleeping on the floor at the stair-foot and with the hall fully lighted. Under no pretext, will you permit any one to enter the house or leave it. In case of any disturbance, of any suspicious circumstance, however slight, you will summon me at once. You have revolvers--do not hesitate to use them in case of need--even against a woman. You understand? Good! Has there some baggage come?"

"Two pieces, sir."

"Clear the table and bring them up to me." He leaned back and finished his cigar, while the men clumsily cleared the table and placed two battered suit-cases upon it.

"The servants who prepared the dinner have departed?" the Admiral asked.

"They departed some time ago, sir."

"You are sure that all doors and windows are secured?"

"We have just made the round, sir."

"And the young lady?"

"We have heard nothing from her, sir."

"The young man?"

"I glanced in at him, sir, some time ago. He was lying on his bed, with his eyes closed, but I do not think he slept."

"Did he have dinner?"

"We had no orders to that effect, sir."

"Good; let him go hungry. You will serve him no food until I order it. That is all."

They saluted and withdrew.

Pachmann turned to a leisurely examination of the suit-cases. They were unlocked, and he soon found the queer box with sides of glass lined with tin-foil. He snatched it up eagerly, but after a glance at it, his face fell.

"So he was telling the truth!" he muttered. "Well, so much the worse for him!"

Nevertheless he examined the box attentively, with minute concentration, noting the arrangement of the interior plates, the scheme of wiring--each detail. Then, with it in his hand, he left the room, saw that his men were on guard, mounted to the upper story, unbolted a door there and entered. Closing the door carefully behind him, he switched on the lights, placed the box on the table, and entered the room beyond. Here, too, he turned on the lights, and stood for a moment contemplating the occupant of the bed, who returned his gaze steadily, with glittering eyes.

"You are awake, then, my dear Vard?" said the Admiral, at last.

"As you see."

"You are feeling better, I trust?"

"I am quite well."

"You have had dinner?"

"I cared for none."

"I wish to talk with you for a few minutes."

"It would be a waste of time."

Pachmann paused to look again at the glittering eyes, and the thought flashed through his mind, as it had done more than once before, that he had to do with a madman. An inspired genius, perhaps, but mad, nevertheless. Pachmann knew that there was about madness a certain childishness, and he determined to humour it.

"For you, perhaps, it would be waste of time," he said, approaching the bed and sitting down; "but not for me. My life-work has been the study of electrical energy as applied to war, and I fancied myself fairly well informed, when, suddenly, you come and prove to me that I know nothing. That morning, ten days since, when I stood on the quay at Toulon and saw a great battleship reduced to a twisted wreck, I realised my ignorance, and my heart glowed with admiration for you, my master."

"Yes, I am your master," and Vard raised himself upon one elbow. "Even here, your prisoner, I am still your master."

"I admit it. And I have a proposal to make to you."

"I have no confidence in your proposals."

"Yet listen to this one. Place this power at the Emperor's service, and he will name you ruler of any nation you choose--of this one, if it pleases you--and leave you to govern it as seems best to you, without interference of any kind. Think, my friend, what a destiny--free to embody your own ideas in the government of what is in some ways the greatest nation on earth; free to make a paradise here, if you can. And if you succeed, your dream comes true, for all the other nations of the world will follow."

Vard gazed at the speaker with wistful eyes.

"It _could_ come true," he said. "It _could_ come true; it could not fail. But you are too blind, too selfish, too narrow. You are only a German."

"And you?"

"I am a Pole--that is to say a citizen of no country and of every country."

"But you love that country, even though it does not exist?"

"Aye--more than you love yours."

Pachmann was silent a moment, thinking deeply.

"Listen, my friend," he said, at last. "I desire to meet you; I will come along the road toward you as far as I am able."

"Yes?"

"I agree to reconstitute Poland. You shall have a country again, and shall be its ruler, if you choose."

The eyes of the inventor glowed for an instant, and then the glow faded and he shook his head.

"You have betrayed me once," he said; "you would betray me again. I will never place this power in the hands of your Emperor. He has already shown how he would use it."

"You refer to _La Liberté_?"

"Yes."

"I alone am responsible for _La Liberté_. It was I who chose that test--not the Emperor."

"You!" said Vard hoarsely, and a slow flush mounted to his cheeks. "You!"

"Yes, I!" and Pachmann cast at the other a mocking and triumphant look. "It was I who compelled your consent; it was I who arranged the details; it was I who assumed the whole burden. For I was determined that even the first test should be of benefit to Germany--and it was! However you may wish it, you cannot restore _La Liberté_!"

Vard was staring at the speaker with hollow eyes, his face convulsed.

"Did not the Kaiser know?" he questioned.

"No one knew but Von Tirpitz, and he was panic-stricken. He is old and timid--but I convinced him--I won him over--he could not resist me. Even then, his heart failed him at the last, and he tried to stop me. Luckily, his telegram was delayed--or I should have been compelled to disobey my superior officer. Oh, I admit that it was rash of me," Pachmann added, his face glowing; "I admit that I was risking everything--life, honour, everything; but success excuses rashness--and I succeeded!"

"Yes," agreed the inventor, slowly, "you succeeded!"

"After that," went on Pachmann, "it was too late to turn back, even had any one wished to do so. Now it is for me to finish this affair."

"How do you propose to finish it?"

Pachmann shrugged his shoulders.

"You are in my hands," he said, "you and your daughter. Heretofore I have been lenient with you, I have been good-natured; I hoped that we might reach some agreement, and I have tried to meet you half-way. But my good nature is at an end; I withdraw all my offers. I demand that you place your secret at Germany's disposal."

"And if I refuse?"

"I shall turn the screw!" answered Pachmann, and there was cold menace in his eyes and in his voice.

Vard had raised himself to a sitting posture. Now he swung his feet off the bed.

"I too have a demand to make," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "My patience also is at an end. I demand my freedom and that of my daughter."

"What do you offer in exchange?"

"I offer nothing in exchange!" said Vard, and rose slowly to his feet. "I intend to offer my services to France!"

Pachmann looked at him--at his bent and wasted figure, his shaking hands, his trembling knees--a mocking light in his eyes.

"My dear friend," he sneered, "you are mad--quite mad! I have suspected it from the first!"

"You are _not_ mad, M. Vard," said a pleasant voice at the threshold. "And you have your freedom. France accepts your services!"