Роберт Чамберс - Who Goes There!

All she realized in that moment was that this friendship, so sudden, so vital, was already so strong in her, so real, that even in the terror of that instant she thought of the danger to him, and asked him to let her go on alone.

Perhaps they both were thinking of these things—she, curled up in her corner, looking thoughtfully at him; he, knees crossed, gazing restlessly from object to object in the unsteady stateroom, but his eyes always reverting to her.

Then the duet of silence ended for a while. He said: "You must not suppose that I am not keenly alive to the kindness, the fearless generosity you have shown me all through this affair. What you suffered is lodged forever in my mind—and in my heart."

"What you have done for me is in my—heart," she said in her sweetly modulated voice.

"I have done very little―"

"You would not leave me!"

"My own life was forfeit if I did―"

"No! You did not reason that way! Besides, had I managed to get through alone, you should have had your life back again to do with as you pleased. No; you did not reason that way. You stood by a friend in peril—at your own peril."

She drew a deep, tremulous breath. "More than that," she said, "you stood by me when you almost believed I had lied to you—lied shamefully."

"I had my plans ready—in that event," he said, forcing a laugh.

"You did doubt me?"

"Yes."

She bent her head, looked thoughtfully at her hands, which clasped one knee, then, lifting her eyes: "I forgive you," she said gravely.

He flushed: "I did not know you—did not realize—what you are―"

"You were slower than I."

"What?"

"I trusted you —from the first."

He was silent; she watched him for a few moments, then:

"When you concluded that I had lied to you, what plans had you ready?"

"I had rather not say―"

"Please do."

He bit his lip: "I had decided to take your satchel from you."

"Against my wishes?" she asked, amazed.

"Yes."

There was no resentment, only a childish surprise: "Why?"

"I told you that I am an enemy to your country."

"Yes, I know―"

"I told you that I would not knowingly permit you to take out of England anything which might be detrimental to England's interests. And I made up my mind that if you had deceived me—and although I stood by you—because you are only a young girl—and were in danger from those who make no allowance for youth and sex—nevertheless, as soon as you were in personal safety, I meant to take from you whatever you had concealed from me and which might have been of service to England's enemies."

"Would you have done that?"

"Yes, if you had been untruthful to me."

She bent her head, thoughtfully; then looking up at him: "Yes; that would have been just…. But I have not been untruthful."

His perplexed and slightly careworn eyes met hers.

"I can't doubt you," he said. "I know you have been truthful. But—what is in that satchel? Forgive me, I must ask you. Because there is evidently enough there to terrify you at the thought of British eyes inspecting it."

"Kervyn—can't you believe me when I tell you that I don't know what is in that satchel?"

"I do believe you. But tell me what you are afraid it might be."

"I can't—truly I can't tell you. Don't you understand? Don't you realize that I must have promised?"

"Promised?"

"Yes—not to unlock or open the satchel. I did promise."

"To whom did you make that promise?" And, as she did not reply: "Was the promise made to anybody I ever met?"

She looked at him in a distressed way, but his face darkened and his determination increased.

"Did you make that promise to a German? An officer? Did you make it to General von Reiter?"

"Yes."

"I see. And there are papers in that satchel!"

"Yes."

"Where did you get them?"

"From—Mr. Grätz."

"You were accustomed to receive papers from Mr. Grätz?"

"Sometimes."

"At certain intervals?"

"I don't know. Whenever Mr. Grätz telephoned, Anna, my maid, went to London and usually brought back the—the plans."

"Plans!"

"Yes. I understood that they were plans of a new automobile which was being designed by the Edmeston Agency for their Berlin branch. Mr. Grätz mentioned it as the Bauer–Schroeder car."

"To whom were these plans to go, ultimately?"

"I sent them to New York."

"To whom?"

"To Schimmel and Company, Broadway."

"Have you any idea where Schimmel and Company sent those plans?"

"Yes. I never thought much about it then, but today I realized that sooner or later the plans were sent to General von Reiter—in Berlin."

"You are sure?"

"Yes. I saw them when I was there last April. He said that those were the plans which I had sent to Schimmel and Company."

"You saw the plans?"

"Yes."

"Were they plans of an automobile?"

"I—thought so then. They were on very thin paper. I supposed them to be drawings of detached machinery in sections. They looked to me like fragments of something."

"And now—in the light of what happened today—what do you believe those drawings represented?"

"I have no idea—really I haven't. Only—" She hesitated, troubled, twisting her fingers on her knees.

"Only—" he prompted her.

She said, with a tremulous intake of breath: "I think I had better tell you, Kervyn. This is what frightened me—what the experience of today seemed to suddenly make plain to me—I mean your coming to Westheath, Mr. Grätz telephoning about obeying you, and informing me of the arrest of my maid—these things, and the war, and what I have read about German spies in England—all this flashed up in my mind at the same time when you turned from the telephone and asked me such terrible questions.

"It made clear to me, or seemed to, something else that I had not understood at the time—" She hesitated, her gaze concentrated as though in an effort to recollect and visualize some scene—

"It was last April, in Berlin…. General Baron von Reiter said something to me as I was waiting for his car to take me to the station—I was departing for England again—and he said—he said―"

"Yes, Karen?"

"He said something about war—the possibility of it. And he said that in case war ever came while I was in England, and if, when it came, I had in my possession any automobile plans from the Edmeston Agency—from Mr. Grätz—that I was to bring them with me to Germany—not to show them to anybody, not to send them by mail, but to bring them back and deliver them to him."

"Yes, Karen."

"I promised…. He made me promise again. He was very serious. He said that on my obedience in this matter might depend the lives of many people. I had no idea what he meant by that—until today…. And what I fear has happened is that Anna, who went yesterday to London because Mr. Grätz telephoned, was arrested while in possession of papers delivered to her by Mr. Grätz…. And that these papers were not what I had always supposed. And that is why I was suddenly afraid—afraid—Oh, Kervyn!—I cannot describe the fear that leaped up and seized me when you asked me those dreadful questions! Suddenly everything, every detail in the entire matter seemed to grow clear and terrible to me…. I—I went into my dressing–room—and steadied myself against the wall—feeling faint for a moment.

"Then I took from my dressing–table the papers which I had from Anna's last visit to Mr. Grätz. They had remained there in the drawer because I had been told not to mail them, and no word had come for me to go back to Berlin. So I had them on my hands. But until you came I gave them no thought—merely conscious that I had promised to take them back with me.