Роберт Чамберс - Who Goes There!

"Make no mistake," he said musingly. "America's turn will come…. For all the insolence she has offered in our time of need, surely, surely the time is coming for our reckoning with her. We have not forgotten von Diederichs; we shall not forget this crisis. All shall be arranged with method and order when we are ready…. Where is that American—or Belgian, as he seems to think his honour of the moment requires him to be?"

"Mr. Guild?"

"Yes."

"He did not come here when the others arrived from Lesse Forest."

"He's a fire–brand," said von Reiter coldly. "Our system of information informed us sufficiently. I should have had him extinguished at Yslemont had he not been the one man who stood any chance of getting into England and bringing you back."

"Also you trusted him," she said quietly.

"Yes, I did. He is a Gueldres of Yvoir. The Gueldres have never lied. When he said he'd return, that settled the matter." Von Reiter's eyes had an absent look as though following a detached idea, and his features became expressionless.

"When the war ends," he said, "and if that man ever comes to Berlin, it would afford me gratification to offer him my hand—or my card. Either extreme would suit me; he is not a man to leave one indifferent; it is either friendship or enmity—the hand or the card. And I do not know yet which I might prefer."

He looked up and around at her, his sombre, blond features hardening:

"I need not ask you whether his attitude toward you was respectful."

"It was—respectful."

"That question, of course, answered itself. The record of that family is part of Belgian history…. Do you know where he went after he kept his word and delivered you here?"

"He went to Lesse."

"And then?"

She remained silent.

"Do you know?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"Is there any reason why you should not tell me?"

She was mute.

"Karen," he said gently, "is there any reason why your confidence should be withheld from me? I have come here tonight for my answer. I have only an hour to stay. It was a long way to come for one single word from a young girl. But I would have travelled the world over for that word from you. Will you give me my answer, Karen?"

She looked up, dumb, her mouth tremulous, unable to control her emotion for the moment. His keen eyes searched hers; he waited, thin lips compressed.

"Kurt—I—do not love you," she whispered.

He took it in silence; not a muscle quivered.

"Will you marry me, Karen, and try?"

"I can not."

"Is it your profession? Is it your desire for liberty?"

"No."

"Is it— another man ?"

As he spoke he saw in her eyes that he had guessed the truth.

For a full minute he sat there like a statue, one arm extended on the table, the bony hand clenched. After a long while he lifted his head and turned upon her a visage terrifying in its pallour and rigidity.

"Is it—Guild?" he asked with an effort.

"Kurt!"

" Is it?" The heavy colour suddenly flooded his face; lie drew a deep, sharp breath. "Is he still in this neighbourhood? Is he, perhaps, coming here to see you? Is that why you are awake and dressed at this hour?"

"Kurt, you have no right―"

"I am at liberty to ask you these questions―"

"No! It is an impertinence―"

"Do you regard it that way? Karen! Is this what has happened—" He choked, turned his congested face, glaring about him at the four walls of the room. Suddenly some instinct of suspicion seized him, possessed him, brought him to his feet in one bound. And instantly the girl rose, too.

"I know why you are awake and dressed!" he said harshly. "You are expecting him! Are you?"

She could not answer; her breath had deserted her, and she merely stood there, one hand resting on the table, her frightened eyes fixed on the man confronting her.

But at his first step forward she sprang in front of him. She strove to speak; the infernal blaze in his eyes terrified her.

"Is this what you have done to me?" he said; and moved to pass her, but she caught his arm, and he halted.

"My God!" he said, "it would not surprise me to find him here in the house!…He is here—or you would never wear a face like that!… What do you mean to do, block my way in my own house?" as she confronted him.

"Kurt—" Her white lips merely formed the word.

" Is he here? Answer me!"

"I—he―"

"Answer me!"

Behind them a voice broke in quietly: "I'll answer for us all…. Don't touch that holster, General! I can kill you first…. Now, then, am I to pass that door without violence?…Because I'm going to pass it one way or another―"

He came forward, his naked sabre shining in the candle light, his grey eyes level, cool, and desperate.

Von Reiter stared at this tall young fellow in the gay uniform of the Guides. His hand, which had instantly moved toward his holster, remained suspended.

"I am going out of that door," repeated Guild.

"Will General Baron von Reiter be good enough to move aside?"

The German's eyes narrowed. "So," he said very quietly, "it is not to be the hand after all, but an exchange of cards. I am not sorry—" With a movement too swift for the eye to follow, his sword was out and glittering in his hand, and he sprang on Guild, beating at his guard, raining blows like lightning.

The girl had fallen against the table, one hand at her throat as though choking back the bursting cry of fright; her brain rang with the dissonance and metallic clamour; the flashing steel dazzled her. Two oak chairs fell crashing as Guild gave ground under the terrific onslaught; there was not a word spoken, not a sound except the infernal din of the sabres and the ceaseless shifting of armed heels on the floor.

Suddenly von Reiter went down heavily; the doormat slipping under foot had flung him to the floor with a crash across a fallen chair. After a second or two he groaned.

Guild looked down at him, bewildered, sword in hand—watched him as he struggled to his feet. The German was ghastly white. A fit of coughing shook him and he tried to disguise it with his hand.

"Pick up your sabre!" motioned Guild.

Von Reiter stooped, recovered his sword, adjusted the hilt to his hand. He coughed again, and there was a trace of blood on his lips, but his face was dead white. He looked very steadily at Guild.

"Acknowledgments to the Comte d'Yvoir," he said with an effort; and the shadow of a smile touched his thin, grim lips.

"Do I pass?" demanded Guild, as grimly.

Von Reiter started to speak, and suddenly his mouth was full of blood.

"Kurt," cried the girl in an agonized voice, "do you mean to kill him or that he is to kill you !— here —before my face?"

"I mean—just—that!"

He sprang at Guild again like a tiger, but Guild was on him first, and the impact hurled von Reiter against the table. His sabre fell clattering to the floor.

"The impact hurled von Reiter against the table"

For a moment, white as a corpse, he looked at his opponent with sick eyes, then, suddenly faint, he slid into the great leather chair. There was more blood on his lips; Guild, breathing heavily, bent over and looked at him, ignorant of what had happened.

Karen came and took his hand in hers. Then a slight groan escaped him and he opened his eyes.

"Are you badly hurt?" asked Guild.

"I'm a little sick, that's all. I think when I fell some ribs broke—or something―"

"I meant fairly by you," said Guild miserably.

"You played fair. It was bad luck—bad luck—that's all." He closed his pain–sickened eyes: "God, what luck," he mumbled—"really atrocious!"