Роберт Чамберс - Who Goes There!

The girl blushed hotly: "The contemptible creature!" she exclaimed.

"A little sewing," repeated Guild, coolly. "And," he continued, "you sewed those papers to your clothing. The stewardess saw you do it."

"Very well! Suppose I did."

"You have them on you now."

"And then?"

"Why it was a silly thing to do, Karen."

"Silly? Why?"

"Because," he said calmly, "I must have them, and it makes it more awkward for us both than if you had merely put them back into your satchel."

"You—you intend—to―" Her amazement checked her, then flashed out into wrath.

"Do you know," she said, "that you are becoming impudent?"

"Karen," he retorted very quietly, "a man of my sort isn't impudent . But, possibly, he might be insolent —if he chooses. And perhaps I shall choose."

Checked, her lips still quivering, the girl, despite her anger, understood what he meant—knew that she was confronting a man of her own caste, where insolence indeed might happen, but nothing more plebeian.

"I—spoke to you as though you were an American," she said slowly. "I forgot―"

"I am answering you as an American!" he interrupted drily. "Make no mistake about that country; it breeds plenty of men who have every right to answer you as I do!"

She bit her lip; her eyes filled and she averted her face. Presently the cab stopped.

"We're at the station," he said briefly.

Whether Guild had paid for the entire compartment or whether it happened so she did not inquire, but they had the place to themselves, so far.

Guild paid no further attention to her except to lay a couple of Tauchnitz novels beside her on the seat. After that he opened a newspaper which he had brought away with him from the Consulate, and began to read it without troubling to ask her permission.

As the paper hid his perfectly expressionless face she ventured to glance at it from time to time. It was the New York Herald and on the sheet turned toward her she was perfectly able to read something that interested her and sent faint shivers creeping over her as she ended it:

PASSPORT REFORM STIRS AMERICANS

ABROAD AND DEALS HARD

BLOW TO SPIES

CITIZENS OF THE UNITED STATES RECOGNIZE NECESSITY

FOR NEW ORDER, BUT DEMAND TO

KNOW WHO WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR

ISSUANCE OF FRAUDULENT PAPERS

[Special Cable to the Herald]

Herald Bureau,

No. 130 Fleet Street,

London, Tuesday.

The United States Government's sweeping new order requiring every American travelling in Europe to go through a cross–examination before an American diplomatic or consular officer came as a bolt from the blue today. It caused widespread comment, though it is recognized that the measure is necessary to checkmate German spies impersonating American travellers.

There is no criticism of this drastic order, which it is recognized is probably issued to comply with Sir Edward Grey's communication concerning German secret agents posing as American citizens. But many Americans want to know who is responsible for the apparent wholesale issuance of fraudulent American passports to Germans. The result is that now an American passport is not worth the paper it is written on unless backed up by a photograph of the bearer, a description of where he is going, what he is going for, how long he is going to stay and so forth.

American embassies in European capitals today are circulating broadcast warnings to all Americans to consult the nearest diplomatic or consular officer before undertaking any voyage.

All Americans must understand that henceforth a passport does not mean permission to travel in Europe. They must have written and vouched for proof that they are not German spies before they can feel safe.

It is all the result of too free issuance of American passports at the outbreak of the war, coupled with German quickness to profit by American leniency in this respect.

Before the train started a commissionaire appeared, hurrying. He opened the door of their compartment, set a pretty basket inside, which was to be removed at the first station beyond.

The basket contained a very delicious luncheon, and Karen looked up shyly but gratefully as Guild set about unpacking the various dishes. There was salad, chicken, rolls and butter, a pâté, some very wonderful pastry, fruit, and a bottle of Moselle that looked like liquid sunshine.

There was one pasteboard box which Guild gave to her without opening it. She untied the violet ribbon, opened it, sat silent. He seemed to pay no attention to what she was doing.

After a moment she lifted out the cluster of violet–scented orchids, drew the long pin from them, and fastened them to her blouse.

"Thank you—very much," she said shyly.

"Do you care for orchids?"

"Yes … I am a little—surprised."

"Why?"

"That you should—think to offer them—to me ―"

He looked up, and his grey eyes seemed to be laughing, but his mouth—that perplexing, humorous, inscrutable mouth of his remained grave and determined.

"Karen," he said, "if you only understood how much I do like you, you wouldn't perhaps deal so mercilessly with me."

"I? Merciless?"

"You are. You made me use force with you when you should not have resisted. And now you have done something more merciless yet."

"W—what, Kervyn?"

"You know … I must have those papers."

"Kervyn!"

"Dear—look at me. No—in the eyes. Now look at me while I say, as seriously and as gently as I know how, that I am going to have those papers !…You know I mean what I say…. That is all—dear."

Her eyes fell and she looked at her orchids.

"Why do you speak that way to me—after giving me these?"

"What have orchids to do with a man's duty?"

"Why did you give them to me?"

"Why? Because we are friends, if you will let us be."

"I was willing—am still—in spite of—everything. You know I am. If I can forgive you what you did to me in our stateroom last night, surely, surely Kervyn, you won't take any more chances with my forgiveness—will you?"

He said: "I shall have to if you force me to it. Karen—I never liked any woman as much as I like you. We have known each other two days and a night. But in that time we both have lived a long, long time."

She nodded, thoughtfully.

"Then—you know me now as well as you ever will know me. Better than any other woman has ever known me. When my mind is made up that a certain thing is to be done, I always try to do it, Karen…. And I know that I ought to have those papers…. And that I am going to have them. Is that clear—Karen, dear?"

She remained silent, brushing her orchids with her finger–tips, absent–eyed, serene. After a moment he thought that the ghost of a smile was hovering on her lips, but he was not sure.

Presently she looked up:

"Shall we lunch?" she asked.

Three times they were obliged to change cars after passing through Utrecht. Night fell; the last compartment into which they had been crowded was filled with Dutch cavalry officers, big, talkative fellows in their field uniforms and jingling equipments, civil to Guild, courteous to Karen, and all intensely interested in the New York newspaper which Guild offered them and which they all appeared to be quite able to read.

They all got out at Maastricht, where the lantern–lit platform was thronged with soldiers; and, when the train started, the two were alone together once more.

They had been seated side by side when the officers were occupying the compartment; they remained so when the train rolled out of the station, neither offering to move, perhaps not thinking to move.