Роберт Чамберс: Who Goes There!

His forehead was broad and benevolent, but his eyes modified the humanity and his mouth almost denied it—a mouth firm without shrewdness, not bad, not cruel for the sake of cruelty, yet moulded in lines which promised no hope other than that iron justice which knows no mercy.

"Mr. Guild?"

"Yes, General."

General von Reiter folded his bony hands and rested them on the blotter.

"You say that you are American?"

"Yes."

"How came you to be among the Yslemont hostages?"

"I was stopping at the Hotel Poste when the Uhlans and cyclists suddenly appeared. The captain of Uhlans took the Burgomaster with whom I had been playing chess, myself, the notary, and other leading citizens."

"Did you tell him you are American?"

"Yes. But he paid no attention."

"Had you a passport?"

"Yes."

"Other papers to establish your identity?"

"A few business letters from New York. They read them, but told me they were of no use to me."

"Why did you not communicate with your nearest Consul or with the American Minister in Brussels?"

"They refused me the use of telephone and telegraph. They said that I am Belgian and properly liable to be taken as hostage for the good behaviour of Yslemont."

General von Reiter's hand was lifted meditatively to his mustache. He said: "What happened after you were refused permission to communicate with the American representatives?"

"We were all in the dining–room of the Hotel Poste under guard. At the Burgomaster's dictation I was writing out a proclamation warning the inhabitants of Yslemont not to commit any act of violence against the German soldiery and explaining that we were held as hostages for their good behaviour and that a shot fired at a German meant a dead wall and a squad of execution for us and the destruction of Yslemont for them—" He flushed, hesitated.

"Continue," said the general.

"While I was still writing the shots were fired. We all went to the window and we saw Uhlans galloping across the fields after some peasants who were running into the woods. Afterward two stretchers came by with Germans lying in them. After that an officer came and cursed us and the soldiers tied our hands behind our backs. We sat there in the dining–room until the Uhlans came riding into the street with their prisoners tied by ropes to their saddles. Then a major of infantry came into the dining–room and read our sentence to us. Then they marched us out into the fog."

The general crossed his spurred boots under the desk and lay back in his chair, looking at Guild all the while.

"So you are American, Mr. Guild?"

"Yes, General."

"In business in New York?"

"Yes."

"What business?"

"Real estate."

"Where?"

"Union Square, West."

"What is the name of the firm in which you are associated?"

"Guild and Darrel."

"Is that your partner's name?"

"Yes. Henry Darrel."

"Why are you here in Belgium?"

"I was making a foot tour in the Ardennes."

"Your business vacation?"

"Yes. I was to meet my partner in Luxembourg and return to New York with him."

"You and your partner are both absent from New York at the same time?"

"Yes."

"How is that?"

"Real estate in New York is quiet. There is practically no business now."

The general nodded. "Yes," he said, "much of what you tell me has been corroborated. In the Seegard Regiment of Infantry Number 569 you were recognized by several non–commissioned officers and men while you stood with the hostages awaiting—ah—justice," he added drily.

"Recognized?" repeated Guild.

"The soldiers who recognized you had served in New York hotels as clerks or waiters, I believe. The captain of that company, in consequence, very properly reported the matter to Colonel von Eschbach, who telephoned to me. And I am here to consider the matter."

Then, folding his arms and looking hard at Guild out of narrowing eyes that began to slant again:

"The hostages of Yslemont have justly forfeited their lives. Two of my officers have been murdered there in the streets. The law is plain. Is there any reason why these hostages should not pay the proper penalty?"

"The Burgomaster was in the act of dictating―"

"He should have dictated faster!"

"These gentlemen did not fire the shots―"

"But those over whom they exercised authority did!"

Guild fell silent and his features paled a little. The general watched him in silence for a moment and an inquiring expression came into his narrow eyes.

"Well?" he said at length.

Guild lifted his eyes.

"Well, sir," repeated the general. "I have said that there is no reason why the hostages taken at Yslemont should not be turned over to the squad of execution outside there in the hallway."

"I heard you say it."

The general looked at him curiously. "You have nothing to say?"

"No."

"Not for yourself?"

"No."

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Guild, what was your ultimate object in passing through Yslemont?"

"I have already told you that I had intended to make a foot tour through the Three Ardennes."

" Had intended?"

"Yes."

"Was that still your intention when you were made prisoner?"

After a moment's hesitation: "No," said Guild in a low voice.

"You altered your plan?"

"Yes."

"You decided to employ your vacation otherwise?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I decided to enlist," said Guild. He was very white, now.

"Enlist?"

"Yes."

"In the British army?"

"The Belgian."

"Oh! So now you do not remind me that, as an American, you claim exemption from the execution of the sentence?"

"I have said enough," replied Guild. A slight colour showed over his cheek–bones.

"If I shoot the Burgomaster and the notary and the others in there, ought I to let you go—on your own representations?"

"I have said enough," repeated Guild.

"Oh! So you refuse to plead any particular exemption on account of your nationality?"

No answer.

"And you, by your silence, permit yourself to be implicated in the responsibility of your fellow–hostages?"

No reply.

"Why?—Mr. Guild. Is it, perhaps, after all because you are not an American in the strictest sense of that often misused term?"

There was no response.

"You were born in America?"

"Yes."

"Your father, perhaps, was born there?"

"Yes."

"Oh! And his father?"

"No."

"Oh! You are, I see, quite candid, Mr. Guild."

"Yes, when necessary."

"I see. Very well, then. Where do you get your Christian name, Kervyn? Is it an American name?"

"No."

"The name, Guild—is that an American name?"

"Yes."

"But— is it your name?"

"Yes."

"Was it, by chance, ever spelled a little differently—in times gone by, Mr. Guild?"

"Yes."

"Oh! And how, in times gone by, was it spelled by your—grandfather?"

Guild looked him calmly in the eyes. "It was spelled Gueldres," he said.

"I see, I see. That is interesting. Gueldres, Kervyn Gueldres. Why, it sounds almost Belgian. Let me see—if I remember—there was such a family inscribed in the Book of Gold. There was even a Kervyn of Gueldres—a count, was he not?—Comte d'Yvoir—Count of Yvoir, Hastière, and Lesse. Was he not—this Kervyn of Gueldres, many, many years ago?"

"I congratulate General von Reiter on his memory for such unimportant history as that of Belgium," said Guild, reddening.

"Oh, we Germans are studious in our youth—and thorough. Nothing is too unimportant to ignore and"—he smiled grimly—"nothing is too vast for us to undertake—and accomplish."

He lifted his hand to his mustache again. "Mr. Guild," he said, "at the elections in America you—ah—vote of course?"