Rex Stout - Target Practice

I remember that even then I was conscious of a feeling of wonder that he could guess so accurately, for of course he had had no opportunity to measure anything, since he had not been alone for a second except in the gun room.

It was a long time before I could raise my eyes from the pad of paper. I felt as a man must feel when he reads his own death sentence. I knew that Théodore was looking at me, but I could not look at him.

Then his voice came:

“Bien?” He had always had a funny way of saying that. “Bien?” Like a child impatient and amused and angry all at once.

“Bon Dieu, Théodore!” I cried, half sobbing. “You — a traitor!”

At that he drew himself up. “I am no traitor,” he said proudly. “I am an officer of the German army.”

“You are a spy!” I exclaimed fiercely. “And you come here — you betray me, your brother — At least you try, for you have failed—”

Théodore crossed to my side and laid his hand on my arm.

“True, I have failed,” he said. His voice trembled a little. “But listen, Joseph. If anyone is a traitor it is you. No — wait — I do not say you are one, but neither am I. Were we not born in the German empire, subjects of the Emperor William? Do we not rightfully owe him our allegiance? You joined the French army merely because you happened to be in Paris and could find nothing better to do. If you had been in Berlin you would be in the German army instead.

“Listen, Joseph; I am an officer — a captain. Come with me, go to Strassburg with me, and I’ll have you made a lieutenant. Come, isn’t that better than this gunner business?”

I think, monsieur, if he had not said that it would have been different. But it made me angry to have him think I could be a traitor.

“Théodore,” I said, looking him in the eye, “I have made an oath to defend my country, and you are an enemy of France. You came here as a spy; you have tried to use me as a tool. I owe no allegiance to the emperor of Germany. I am here to perform my duty.”

Then he understood, for he drew back and changed color.

“Joseph—” he said, and stopped.

Then there was another silence, while we stood looking at each other.

I do not know how it was, monsieur; but there seemed to be no room for pity or affection in me. It was the war, I think, and rage at Théodore that he had tried to make a fool of me. Day after day we had heard nothing but France, France, France, until I believe everyone in the fort was crazy. May the good God forgive me, I had a feeling of pride that I was strong enough to do the thing I meant to do!

“Monsieur,” I said — I was theatrical, I called him monsieur — “ monsieur, I am a soldier of France, and I must perform my duty. By your own admission you are a spy of the German government. You will understand why I prefer not to arrest you myself. I shall lock you in this room and report your presence to the officer in command.”

I started to back away; and then suddenly I weakened, when Théodore smiled, just as he used to smile in the old days together, and he spoke calmly; there wasn’t a trace of anger or reproach in his voice.

“Joseph,” he said, “I am a soldier, too, and I would be the last to blame you for performing your duty. But this means death for me, you know; and, after all, I am a Bonnot — I am your brother. Here is the pad — you may search me, I have nothing else — and let me go.”

I shall never forget the way he smiled at me as he said that, monsieur. It went straight to my heart. I took a step away from the door.

“Théodore, my brother!” I cried, and opened my arms.

But as I did so the sound of voices reached my ears from without, rolling over the parapet and echoing throughout the fort. A hundred voices raised all at once.

It was my comrades singing as they marched to the barracks for noon mess:

We stood in silence while the song swelled to its climax. I felt my heart bursting within me. My arms dropped to my side.

When the last echo had died away I turned without a word — without a look, without a sign, monsieur — walked out of the gun room, locked the door behind me, my brother a prisoner, and started for the office of the officer in command.

I never saw Théodore again — but yes — wait—

Just as I reached the door of the office Captain Janvour appeared on the threshold. I fell back a step and saluted.

“What is it, Bonnot?” he asked pleasantly.

And then, monsieur, I realized that I couldn’t say it. “My brother is locked in the gun room. He is a German spy.” The words would not come out.

I hesitated, confused, feeling my face grow red while the captain looked at me.

“Nothing sir,” I ended by stammering.

“Nothing! What the devil did you come here for?”

“Why, sir — to ask — may my brother go to mess, sir?”

“Certainly! You know it wasn’t necessary to ask that.”

The captain gave me a queer look before he walked off in the direction of the officers’ quarters. When he had gone I sighed with thankfulness and relief, and tears came to my eyes.

Then the next instant I was cursing myself for a weak fool.

I tell you what, monsieur, this war has made us all crazy. Nobody is the same. The men at the fort eat like hogs, like wild beasts, and they yell around at night, and the officers smile and say it’s the fighting spirit.

I went to the mess room in the barracks, trying to think what to do. I sat down at the table and ate with the rest of them. Chanin asked me where my brother was, but I didn’t answer. They were all so noisy they didn’t notice my silence.

After the meal I went out to the yard and lit my pipe and walked around a long time — half an hour, maybe. I couldn’t decide what to do.

Then suddenly I thought of mother — somehow I hadn’t thought of her before — and then I turned and ran through the yard and barracks and over the traverse to the gun room. My fingers trembled so I could scarcely unlock the door, and I stumbled and nearly fell as I sprang inside.

Monsieur, the gun room was empty! Théodore was not there. I could not believe my eyes.

I called his name in a low tone, then louder, but there was no answer. I couldn’t understand it. Of course, he could not have left by the door, locked as it was, with the key in my pocket.

The only other way of escape was to climb the ladder to the parapet, walk along that till he came to another gun room, and then slide down. But I knew the doors of all the gun rooms were kept locked; so he couldn’t have got out.

I mounted the parapet and ran along the ledge, looking in each gun room as I passed. There was no sign of him, and all the doors were closed tight. In several of the rooms were gunners and privates getting ready for target practise, and they were surprised to see me on the parapet and asked what I was doing, but I paid no attention.

I ran on to the end, where the bastion face breaks off and the new orillons are placed. From the edge of the parapet to the first orillon there is a space about eighteen feet wide, and the trench is thirty feet deep. A sentry is supposed to be stationed there, but I couldn’t see him anywhere.

Had Théodore leaped the trench and escaped over the wall on the other side? It appeared to be impossible, but there was no other solution.