IN SECRET

by

ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

AUTHOR OF "THE COMMON LAW, " "THE RECKONING, " "LORRAINE, " ETC. 

NEW YORK

DEDICATION

 A grateful nation's thanks are due To Arethusa and to you--- To her who dauntless at your side Pneumonia and Flue defied With phials of formaldehyde!

II

 Chief of Police were you, by gosh! Gol ding it! how you bumped the Boche! Handed 'em one with club and gun Until the Hun was on the run: And that's the way the war was won. 

III

 Easthampton's pride! My homage take For Fairest Philadelphia's sake. Retire in company with Bill; Rest by the Racquet's window sill And, undisturbed, consume your pill. 

ENVOI

 When Cousin Feenix started west And landed east, he did his best; And so I've done my prettiest To make this rhyme long overdue; For Arethusa and for you. 

R. W. C. 

IN SECRET

CHAPTER I

CUP AND LIP

The case in question concerned a letter in a yellow envelope, whichwas dumped along with other incoming mail upon one of the many longtables where hundreds of women and scores of men sat opening andreading thousands of letters for the Bureau of P. C. --whatever thatmay mean. 

In due course of routine a girl picked up and slit open the yellowenvelope, studied the enclosed letter for a few moments, returned itto its envelope, wrote a few words on a slip of paper, attached theslip to the yellow envelope, and passed it along to the D. A. C. --whoever he or she may be. 

The D. A. C. , in course of time, opened this letter for the secondtime, inspected it, returned it to the envelope, added a memorandum, and sent it on up to the A. C. --whatever A. C. May signify. 

Seated at his desk, the A. C. Perused the memoranda, glanced overthe letter and the attached memoranda, added his terse comment tothe other slips, pinned them to the envelope, and routed it throughcertain channels which ultimately carried the letter into a roomwhere six silent and preoccupied people sat busy at six separatetables. 

Fate had taken charge of that yellow envelope from the moment it wasmailed in Mexico; Chance now laid it on a yellow oak table before ayellow-haired girl; Destiny squinted over her shoulder as she drewthe letter from its triply violated envelope and spread it out onthe table before her. 

A rich, warm flush mounted to her cheeks as she examined thedocument. Her chance to distinguish herself had arrived at last. Shedivined it instantly. She did not doubt it. She was a remarkablegirl. 

The room remained very still. The five other cipher experts of theP. I. Service were huddled over their tables, pencil in hand, absorbed in their several ungodly complications and laboriouscalculations. But they possessed no Rosetta Stone to aid them indeciphering hieroglyphics; toad-like, they carried the preciousstone in their heads, M. D. !

No indiscreet sound interrupted their mental gymnastics, save onlythe stealthy scrape of a pen, the subdued rustle of writing paper, the flutter of a code-book's leaves thumbed furtively. 

The yellow-haired girl presently rose from her chair, carrying inher hand the yellow letter and its yellow envelope with yellow slipsattached; and this harmonious combination of colour passednoiselessly into a smaller adjoining office, where a solemn youngman sat biting an unlighted cigar and gazing with preternaturalsagacity at nothing at all. 

Possibly his pretty affianced was the object of his deep revery--hehad her photograph in his desk--perhaps official cogitation as D. C. Of the E. C. D. --if you understand what I mean?--may have beenresponsible for his owlish abstraction. 

Because he did not notice the advent of the yellow haired girl untilshe said in her soft, attractive voice:

"May I interrupt you a moment, Mr. Vaux?"

Then he glanced up. 

"Surely, surely, " he said. "Hum--hum!--please be seated, Miss Erith!Hum! Surely!"

She laid the sheets of the letter and the yellow envelope upon thedesk before him and seated herself in a chair at his elbow. She wasVERY pretty. But engaged men never notice such details. 

"I'm afraid we are in trouble, " she remarked. 

He read placidly the various memoranda written on the yellow slipsof paper, scrutinised! the cancelled stamps, postmarks, superscription. But when his gaze fell upon the body of the letterhis complacent expression altered to one of disgust!

"What's this, Miss Erith?"

"Code-cipher, I'm afraid. "

"The deuce!"

Miss Erith smiled. She was one of those girls who always look asthough they had not been long out of a bathtub. She had hazel eyes, a winsome smile, and hair like warm gold. Her figure was youthfullystraight and supple--But that would not interest an engaged man. 

The D. C. Glanced at her inquiringly. 

"Surely, surely, " he muttered, "hum--hum!--" and tried to fix hismind on the letter. 

In fact, she was one of those girls who unintentionally andinnocently render masculine minds uneasy through some delicate, indefinable attraction which defies analysis. 

"Surely, " murmured the D. C. , "surely! Hum--hum!"

A subtle freshness like the breath of spring in a young orchardseemed to linger about her. She was exquisitely fashioned to troublemen, but she didn't wish to do such a--

Vaux, who was in love with another girl, took another uneasy look ather, sideways, then picked up his unlighted cigar and browsed uponit. 

"Yes, " he said nervously, "this is one of those accursedcode-ciphers. They always route them through to me. Why don't theynotify the five--"

"Are you going to turn THIS over to the Postal Inspection Service?"

"What do you think about it, Miss Erith? You see it's one of thosehopeless arbitrary ciphers for which there is no earthly solutionexcept by discovering and securing the code book and working it outthat way. "7

She said calmly, but with heightened colour:

"A copy of that book is, presumably, in possession of the man towhom this letter is addressed. "

"Surely--surely. Hum--hum! What's his name, Miss Erith?"--glancingdown at the yellow envelope. "Oh, yes--Herman Lauffer--hum!"

He opened a big book containing the names of enemy aliens andperused it, frowinng. The name of Herman Lauffer was not listed. Heconsulted other volumes containing supplementary lists of suspectsand undesirables--lists furnished daily by certain servicesunnecessary to mention. 

"Here he is!" exclaimed Vaux; "--Herman Lauffer, picture-framer andgilder! That's his number on Madison Avenue!"--pointing to thetype-written paragraph. "You see he's probably already undersurveillance-one of the several services is doubtless keeping tabson him. I think I'd better call up the--"

"Please!--Mr. Vaux!" she pleaded. 

He had already touched the telephone receiver to unhook it. MissErith looked at him appealingly; her eyes were very, very hazel. 

"Couldn't we handle it?" she asked. 

"WE?"

"You and I!"

"But that's not our affair, Miss Erith--"

"Make it so! Oh, please do. Won't you?"

Vaux's arm fell to the desk top. He sat thinking for a few minutes. Then he picked up a pencil in an absent-minded manner and began totrace little circles, squares, and crosses on his pad, stringingthem along line after line as though at hazard and apparentlythinking of anything except what he was doing. 

The paper on which he seemed to be so idly employed lay on his deskdirectly under Miss Erith's eyes; and after a while the girl beganto laugh softly to herself. 

"Thank you, Mr. Vaux, " she said. "This is the opportunity I havelonged for. "

Vaux looked up at her as though he did not understand. But the girllaid one finger on the lines of circles, squares, dashes andcrosses, and, still laughing, read them off, translating what he hadwritten:

"You are a very clever girl. I've decided to turn this case over toyou. After all, your business is to decipher cipher, and you can'tdo it without the book. "

They both laughed. 

"I don't see how you ever solved that, " he said, delighted to teaseher. 

"How insulting!--when you know it is one of the oldest and mostfamiliar of codes--the 1-2-3 and _a-b-c_ combination!"

"Rather rude of you to read it over my shoulder, Miss Erith. Itisn't done--"

"You meant to see if I could! You know you did!"

"Did I?"

"Of course! That old 'Seal of Solomon' cipher is perfectlytransparent. "

"Really? But how about THIS!"--touching the sheets of the Laufferletter--"how are you going to read this sequence of Arabicnumerals?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, " said the girl, candidly. 

"But you request the job of trying to find the key?" he suggestedironically. 

"There is no key. You know it. "

"I mean the code book. "

"I would like to try to find it. "

"How are you going to go about it?"

"I don't know yet. "

Vaux smiled. "All right; go ahead, my dear Miss Erith. You'reofficially detailed for this delightful job. Do it your own way, butdo it--"

"Thank you so much!"

"--In twenty-four hours, " he added grimly. "Otherwise I'll turn itover to the P. I. "

"Oh! That IS brutal of you!"

"Sorry. But if you can't get the code-book in twenty-four hours I'llhave to call in the Service that can. "

The girl bit her lip and held out her hand for the letter. 

"I can't let it go out of my office, " he remarked. "You know that, Miss Erith. "

"I merely wish to copy it, " she said reproachfully. Her eyes werehazel. 

"I ought not to let you take a copy out of this office, " hemuttered. 

"But you will, won't you?"

"All right. Use that machine over there. Hum--hum!"

For twenty minutes the girl was busy typing before the copy wasfinally ready. Then, comparing it and finding her copy accurate, shereturned the original to Mr. Vaux, and rose with that disturbinggrace peculiar to her every movement. 

"Where may I telephone you when you're not here?" she inquireddiffidently, resting one slim, white hand on his desk. 

"At the Racquet Club. Are you going out?"

"Yes. "

"What! You abandon me without my permission?"

She nodded with one of those winsome smiles which incline young mento revery. Then she turned and walked toward the cloak room. 

The D. C. Was deeply in love with somebody else, yet he found ithard to concentrate his mind for a while, and he chewed hisunlighted cigar into a pulp. Alas! Men are that way. Not sometimes. Always. 

Finally he shoved aside the pile of letters which he had been tryingto read, unhooked the telephone receiver, called a number, got it, and inquired for a gentleman named Cassidy. 

To the voice that answered he gave the name, business and address ofHerman Lauffer, and added a request that undue liberties be takenwith any out going letters mailed and presumably composed andwritten by Mr. Lauffer's own fair hand. 

"Much obliged, Mr. Vaux, " cooed Cassidy, in a voice so suave thatVaux noticed its unusual blandness and asked if that particularService already had "anything on Lauffer. "

"Not soon but yet!" replied Mr. Cassidy facetiously, "thanksENTIRELY to your kind tip, Mr. Vaux. "

And Vaux, suspicious of such urbane pleasantries, rang off andresumed his mutilated cigar. 

"Now, what the devil does Cassidy know about Herman Lauffer, " hemused, "and why the devil hasn't his Bureau informed us?" After longpondering he found no answer. Besides, he kept thinking at momentsabout Miss Erith, which confused him and diverted his mind from thebusiness on hand. 

So, in his perplexity, he switched on the electric foot-warmer, spread his fur overcoat over his knees, uncorked a small bottle andswallowed a precautionary formaldehyde tablet, unlocked a drawer ofhis desk, fished out a photograph, and gazed intently upon it. 

It was the photograph of his Philadelphia affianced. Her first namewas Arethusa. To him there was a nameless fragrance about her name. And sweetly, subtly, gradually the lovely phantasm of Miss EvelynErith faded, vanished into the thin and frigid atmosphere of hisoffice. 

That was his antidote to Miss Erith--the intent inspection of hisfiancee's very beautiful features as inadequately reproduced by anexpensive and fashionable Philadelphia photographer. 

It did the business for Miss Erith every time. 

The evening was becoming one of the coldest ever recorded in NewYork. The thermometer had dropped to 8 degrees below zero and wasstill falling. Fifth Avenue glittered, sheathed in frost; trafficpolice on post stamped and swung their arms to keep from freezing;dry snow underfoot squeaked when trodden on; crossings were greasywith glare ice. 

It was, also, one of those meatless, wheatless, heatless nights whenthe privation which had hitherto amused New York suddenly became anugly menace. There was no coal to be had and only green wood. Thepoor quietly died, as usual; the well-to-do ventured a hod and astick or two in open grates, or sat huddled under rugs over oil orelectric stoves; or migrated to comfortable hotels. And bachelorstook to their clubs. That is where Clifford Vaux went from hischilly bachelor lodgings. He fled in a taxi, buried cheek-deep inhis fur collar, hating all cold, all coal companies, and allKaisers. 

In the Racquet Club he found many friends similarlyself-dispossessed, similarly obsessed by discomfort and hatred. Butthere seemed to be some steam heat there, and several open fires;and when the wheatless, meatless meal was ended and the usualcoteries drifted to their usual corners, Mr. Vaux found himselfseated at a table with a glass of something or other at his elbow, which steamed slightly and had a long spoon in it; and he presentlyheard himself saying to three other gentlemen: "Four hearts. "

His voice sounded agreeably in his own ears; the gentle glow of alignum-vitae wood fire smote his attenuated shins; he balanced hiscards in one hand, a long cigar in the other, exhaled a satisfactorywhiff of aromatic smoke, and smiled comfortably upon the table. 

"Four hearts, " he repeated affably. "Does anybody--"

The voice of Doom interrupted him:

"Mr. Vaux, sir--"

The young man turned in his easy-chair and beheld behind him a clubservant, all over silver buttons. 

"The telephone, Mr. Vaux, " continued that sepulchral voice. 

"All right, " said the young man. "Bill, will you take my cards?"--helaid his hand, face down, rose and left the pleasant warmth of thecard-room with a premonitory shiver. 

"Well?" he inquired, without cordiality, picking up the receiver. 

"Mr. Vaux?" came a distinct voice which he did not recognise. 

"Yes, " he snapped, "who is it?"

"Miss Erith. "

"Oh--er--surely--surely! GOOD-evening, Miss Erith!"

"Good-evening, Mr. Vaux. Are you, by any happy chance, quite freethis evening?"

"Well--I'm rather busy--unless it is important--hum--hum!--in lineof duty, you know--"

"You may judge. I'm going to try to secure that code-book to-night. "

"Oh! Have you called in the--"

"No!"

"Haven't you communicated with--"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because there's too much confusion already--too much pettyjealousy and working at cross-purposes. I have been thinking overthe entire problem. You yourself know how many people have escapedthrough jealous or over-zealous officers making premature arrests. We have six different secret-service agencies, each independent ofthe other and each responsible to its own independent chief, alloperating for the Government in New York City. You know what theseagencies are--the United States Secret Service, the Department ofJustice Bureau of Investigation, the Army Intelligence Service, Naval Intelligence Service, Neutrality Squads of the Customs, andthe Postal Inspection. Then there's the State Service and the policeand several other services. And there is no proper co-ordination, nosingle head for all these agencies. The result is a ghastlyconfusion and shameful inefficiency. 

"This affair which I am investigating is a delicate one, as youknow. Any blundering might lose us the key to what may be a verydangerous conspiracy. So I prefer to operate entirely within thejurisdiction of our own Service--"

"What you propose to do is OUTSIDE of our province!" he interrupted. 

"I'm not so sure. Are you?"

"Well--hum--hum!--what is it you propose to do to-night?"

"I should like to consult my Chief of Division. "

"Meaning me?"

"Of course. "

"When?"

"Now!"

"Where are you just now, Miss Erith?"

"At home. Could you come to me?"

Vaux shivered again. 

"Where d-do you live?" he asked, with chattering teeth. 

She gave him the number of a private house on 83d Street just offMadison Avenue. And as he listened he began to shiver all over inthe anticipated service of his country. 

"Very well, " he said, "I'll take a taxi. But this has Valley Forgestung to death, you know. "

She said:

"I took the liberty of sending my car to the Racquet Club for you. It should be there now. There's a foot-warmer in it. "

"Thank you so much, " he replied with a burst of shivers. "I'llb-b-be right up. "

As he left the telephone the doorman informed him that an automobilewas waiting for him. 

So, swearing under his frosty breath, he went to the cloak-room, gotinto his fur coat, walked back to the card-room and gazed wrathfullyupon the festivities. 

"What did my hand do, Bill?" he inquired glumly, when at last thescorer picked up his pad and the dealer politely shoved the packtoward his neighbour for cutting. 

"You ruined me with your four silly hearts, " replied the man who hadtaken his cards. "Did you think you were playing coon-can?"

"Sorry, Bill. Sit in for me, there's a good chap. I'm not likely tobe back to-night--hang it!"

Perfunctory regrets were offered by the others, already engrossed intheir new hands; Vaux glanced unhappily at the tall, steaming glass, which had been untouched when he left, but which was now merely halffull. Then, with another lingering look at the cheerful fire, hesighed, buttoned his fur coat, placed his hat firmly upon hiscarefully parted hair, and walked out to perish bravely for hisnative land. 

On the sidewalk a raccoon-furred chauffeur stepped up with all theabandon of a Kadiak bear:

"Mr. Vaux, sir?"

"Yes. "

"Miss Erith's car. "

"Thanks, " grunted Vaux, climbing into the pretty coupe and cuddlinghis shanks under a big mink robe, where, presently, he discovered afoot-warmer, and embraced it vigorously between his patent-leathershoes. 

It had now become the coldest night on record in New York City. Fortunately he didn't know that; he merely sat there and hated Fate. 

Up the street and into Fifth Avenue glided the car and spednorthward through the cold, silvery lustre of the arc-lights hanginglike globes of moonlit ice from their frozen stalks of bronze. 

The noble avenue was almost deserted; nobody cared to face suchterrible cold. Few motors were abroad, few omnibuses, and scarcely awayfarer. Every sound rang metallic in the black and bitter air; thewindows of the coupe clouded from his breath; the panels creaked. 

At the Plaza he peered fearfully out upon the deserted Circle, wherethe bronze lady of the fountain, who is supposed to representPlenty, loomed high in the electric glow, with her magic basketpiled high with icicles. 

"Yes, plenty of ice, " sneered Vaux. "I wish she'd bring us a hod ortwo of coal. "

The wintry landscape of the Park discouraged him profoundly. 

"A man's an ass to linger anywhere north of the equator, " hegrumbled. "Dickybirds have more sense. " And again he thought of thewood fire in the club and the partly empty but steaming glass, andthe aroma it had wafted toward him; and the temperature it must haveimparted to "Bill. "

He was immersed in arctic gloom when at length the car stopped. Abutler admitted him to a brown-stone house, the steps of which hadbeen thoughtfully strewn with furnace cinders. 

"Miss Erith?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Announce Mr. Vaux, partly frozen. "

"The library, if you please, sir, " murmured the butler, taking hatand coat. 

So Vaux went up stairs with the liveliness of a crippled spider, andMiss Erith came from a glowing fireside to welcome him, giving him afirm and slender hand. 

"You ARE cold, " she said. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you thisevening. "

He said:

"Hum--hum--very kind--m'sure--hum--hum!"

There were two deep armchairs before the blaze; Miss Erith took one, Vaux collapsed upon the other. 

She was disturbingly pretty in her evening gown. There werecigarettes on a little table at his elbow, and he lighted one at hersuggestion and puffed feebly. 

"Which?" she inquired smilingly. 

He understood: "Irish, please. "

"Hot?"

"Thank you, yes, "

When the butler had brought it, the young man began to regret theRacquet Club less violently. 

"It's horribly cold out, " he said. "There's scarcely a soul on thestreets. "

She nodded brightly:

"It's a wonderful night for what we have to do. And I don't mind thecold very much. "

"Are you proposing to go OUT?" he asked, alarmed. 

"Why, yes. You don't mind, do you?"

"Am _I_ to go, too?"

"Certainly. You gave me only twenty-four hours, and I can't do italone in that time. "

He said nothing, but his thoughts concentrated upon a singleunprintable word. 

"What have you done with the original Lauffer letter, Mr. Vaux?" sheinquired rather nervously. 

"The usual. No invisible ink had been used; nothing microscopic. There was nothing on the letter or envelope, either, except what wesaw. "

The girl nodded. On a large table behind her chair lay a portfolio. She turned, drew it toward her, and lifted it into her lap. 

"What have you discovered?" he inquired politely, basking in thegrateful warmth of the fire. 

"Nothing. The cipher is, as I feared, purely arbitrary. It'sexasperating, isn't it?"

He nodded, toasting his shins. 

"You see, " she continued, opening the portfolio, "here is my copy ofthis wretched cipher letter. I have transferred it to one sheet. It's nothing but a string of Arabic numbers interspersed withmeaningless words. These numbers most probably represent, in theorder in which they are written, first the number of the page ofsome book, then the line on which the word is to be found--say, thetenth line from the top, or maybe from the bottom--and then theposition of the word--second from the left or perhaps from theright. "

"It's utterly impossible to solve that unless you have the book, " heremarked; "therefore, why speculate, Miss Erith?"

"I'm going to try to find the book. "

"How?"

"By breaking into the shop of Herman Lauffer. "

"House-breaking? Robbery?"

"Yes. "

Vaux smiled incredulously:

"Granted that you get into Lauffer's shop without being arrested, what then?"

"I shall have this cipher with me. There are not likely to be manybooks in the shop of a gilder and maker of picture frames. I shall, by referring to this letter, search what books I find there for asingle coherent sentence. When I discover such a sentence I shallknow that I have the right book. "

The young man smoked reflectively and gazed into the burning coals. 

"So you propose to break into his shop to-night and steal the book?"

"There seems to be nothing else to do, Mr. Vaux. "

"Of course, " he remarked sarcastically, "we could turn this matterover to the proper authorities--"

"I WON'T! PLEASE don't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I have concluded that it IS part of our work. And I'vebegun already. I went to see Lauffer. I took a photograph to beframed. "

"What does he look like?"

"A mink--an otter--one of those sharp-muzzled little animals!--Twotiny eyes, rather close together, a long nose that wrinkles when hetalks, as though he were sniffing at you; a ragged, black moustache, like the furry muzzle-bristles of some wild thing--that is a sketchof Herman Lauffer. "

"A pretty man, " commented Vaux, much amused. 

"He's little and fat of abdomen, but he looks powerful. "

"Prettier and prettier!"

They both laughed. A pleasant steam arose from the tall glass at hiselbow. 

"Well, " she said, "I have to change my gown--"

"Good Lord! Are we going now?" he remonstrated. 

"Yes. I don't believe there will be a soul on the streets. "

"But I don't wish to go at all, " he explained. "I'm very happy here, discussing things. "

"I know it. But you wouldn't let me go all alone, would you, Mr. Vaux?"

"I don't want you to go anywhere. "

"But I'm GOING!"

"Here's where I perish, " groaned Vaux, rising as the girl passed himwith her pretty, humorous smile, moving lithely, swiftly as somegraceful wild thing passing confidently through its own domain. 

Vaux gazed meditatively upon the coals, glass in one hand, cigarettein the other. Patriotism is a tough career. 

"This is worse than inhuman, " he thought. "If I go out on such anerrand to-night I sure am doing my bitter bit. . .. Probably somepoliceman will shoot me--unless I freeze to death. This is a vastlyunpleasant affair. .. . Vastly!"

He was still caressing the fire with his regard when Miss Erith cameback. 

She wore a fur coat buttoned to the throat, a fur toque, fur gloves. As he rose she naively displayed a jimmy and two flashlights. 

"I see, " he said, "very nice, very handy! But we don't need these toconvict us. "

She laughed and handed him the instruments; and he pocketed them andfollowed her downstairs. 

Her car was waiting, engine running; she spoke to the Kadiakchauffeur, got in, and Vaux followed. 

"You know, " he said, pulling the mink robe over her and himself, "you're behaving very badly to your superior officer. "

"I'm so excited, so interested! I hope I'm not lacking in deferenceto my honoured Chief of Division. Am I, Mr. Vaux?"

"You certainly hustle me around some! This is a crazy thing we'redoing. "

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"You're an autocrat. You're a lady-Nero! Tell me, Miss Erith, wereyou ever afraid of anything on earth?"

"Yes. "

"What?"

"Lightning and caterpillars. "

"Those are probably the only really dangerous things I neverfeared, " he said. "You seem to be young and human and feminine. Areyou?"

"Oh, very. "

"Then why aren't you afraid of being shot for a burglar, and why doyou go so gaily about grand larceny?"

The girl's light laughter was friendly and fearless. 

"Do you live alone?" he inquired after a moment's silence. 

"Yes. My parents are not living. "

"You are rather an unusual girl, Miss Erith. "

"Why?"

"Well, girls of your sort are seldom as much in earnest about theirwar work as you seem to be, " he remarked with gentle irony. 

"How about the nurses and drivers in France?"

"Oh, of course. I mean nice girls, like yourself, who do near-warwork here in New York--"

"You ARE brutal!" she exclaimed. "I am mad to go to France! It is asacrifice--a renunciation for me to remain in New York. I understandnursing and I know how to drive a car; but I have stayed herebecause my knowledge of ciphers seemed to fit me for this work. "

"I was teasing you, " he said gently. 

"I know it. But there is SO much truth in what you say aboutnear-war work. I hate that sort of woman. .. . Why do you laugh?"

"Because you're just a child. But you are full of ability andpossibility, Miss Erith. "

"I wish my ability might land me in France!"

"Surely, surely, " he murmured. 

"Do you think it will, Mr. Vaux?"

"Maybe it will, " he said, not believing it. He added: "I think, however, your undoubted ability is going to land us both in jail. "

At which pessimistic prognosis they both began to laugh. She wasvery lovely when she laughed. 

"I hope they'll give us the same cell, " she said. "Don't you?"

"Surely, " he replied gaily. 

Once he remembered the photograph of Arethusa in his desk atheadquarters, and thought that perhaps he might need it before theevening was over. 

"Surely, surely, " he muttered to himself, "hum--hum!"

Her coupe stopped in Fifty-sixth Street near Madison Avenue. 

"The car will wait here, " remarked the girl, as Vaux helped her todescend. "Lauffer's shop is just around the corner. " She took hisarm to steady herself on the icy sidewalk. He liked it. 

In the bitter darkness there was not a soul to be seen on thestreet; no tramcars were approaching on Madison Avenue, although farup on the crest of Lenox Hill the receding lights of one were justvanishing. 

"Do you see any policemen?" she asked in a low voice. 

"Not one. They're all frozen to death, I suppose, as we will be in afew minutes. "

They turned into Madison Avenue past the Hotel Essex. There was nota soul to be seen. Even the silver-laced porter had retired from thefreezing vestibule. A few moments later Miss Erith paused before ashop on the ground floor of an old-fashioned brownstone residencewhich had been altered for business. 

Over the shop-window was a sign: "H. Lauffer, Frames and Gilding. "The curtains of the shop-windows were lowered. No light burnedinside. 

Over Lauffer's shop was the empty show-window of another shop--onthe second floor--the sort of place that milliners and tea-shopkeepers delight in--but inside the blank show-window was pasted thesign "To Let. "

Above this shop were three floors, evidently apartments. The windowswere not lighted. 

"Lauffer lives on the fourth floor, " said Miss Erith. "Will youplease give me the jimmy, Vaux?"

He fished it out of his overcoat pocket and looked uneasily up anddown the deserted avenue while the girl stepped calmly into the openentryway. There were two doors, a glass one opening on the stairsleading to the upper floors, and the shop door on the left. 

She stooped over for a rapid survey, then with incredible swiftnessjimmied the shop door. 

The noise of the illegal operations awoke the icy and silent avenuewith a loud, splitting crash! The door swung gently inward. 

"Quick!" she said. And he followed her guiltily inside. 

The shop was quite warm. A stove in the rear room still emitted heatand a dull red light. On the stove was a pot of glue, or some othersubstance used by gilders and frame makers. Steam curled languidlyfrom it; also a smell not quite as languid. 

Vaux handed her an electric torch, then flashed his own. The nextmoment she found a push button and switched on the lights in theshop. Then they extinguished their torches. 

Stacks of frames in raw wood, frames in "compo, " samples gilded andin natural finish littered the untidy place. A few process"mezzotints" hung on the walls. There was a counter on which laytwine, shears and wrapping paper, and a copy of the most recenttelephone directory. It was the only book in sight, and Miss Erithopened it and spread her copy of the cipher-letter beside it. Thenshe began to turn the pages according to the numbers written in hercopy of the cipher letter. 

Meanwhile, Vaux was prowling. There were no books in the rear room;of this he was presently assured. He came back into the front shopand began to rummage. A few trade catalogues rewarded him and hesolemnly laid them on the counter. 

"The telephone directory is NOT the key, " said Miss Erith, pushingit aside. A few moments were sufficient to convince them that thekey did not lie within any of the trade catalogues either. 

"Have you searched very carefully?" she asked. 

"There's not another book in the bally shop. "

"Well, then, Lauffer must have it in his apartment upstairs. "

"Which apartment is it?"

"The fourth floor. His name is under a bell on a brass plate in theentry. I noticed it when I came in. " She turned off the electriclight; they went to the door, reconnoitred cautiously, saw nobody onthe avenue. However, a tramcar was passing, and they waited; thenVaux flashed his torch on the bell-plate. 

Under the bell marked "Fourth Floor" was engraved Herman Lauffer'sname. 

"You know, " remonstrated Vaux, "we have no warrant for this sort ofthing, and it means serious trouble if we're caught. "

"I know it. But what other way is there?" she inquired naively. "Youallowed me only twenty-four hours, and I WON'T back out!"

"What procedure do you propose now?" he asked, grimly amused, andbeginning to feel rather reckless himself, and enjoying the feeling. "What do you wish to do?" he repeated. "I'm game. "

"I have an automatic pistol, " she remarked seriously, tapping herfur-coat pocket, "--and a pair of handcuffs--the sort that open andlock when you strike a man on the wrist with them. You know thekind?"

"Surely. You mean to commit assault and robbery in the first degreeupon the body of the aforesaid Herman?"

"I-is that it?" she faltered. 

"It is. "

She hesitated:

"That is rather dreadful, isn't it?"

"Somewhat. It involves almost anything short of life imprisonment. But _I_ don't mind. "

"We couldn't get a search-warrant, could we?"

"We have found nothing, so far, in that cipher letter to encourageus in applying for any such warrant, " he said cruelly. 

"Wouldn't the excuse that Lauffer is an enemy alien and notregistered aid us in securing a warrant?" she insisted. 

"He is not an alien. I investigated that after you left thisafternoon. His parents were German but he was born in Chicago. However, he is a Hun, all right--I don't doubt that. .. . What do youpropose to do now?"

She looked at him appealingly:

"Won't you allow me more than twenty-four hours?"

"I'm sorry. "

"Why won't you?"

"Because I can't dawdle over this affair. "

The girl smiled at him in her attractive, resolute way:

"Unless we find that book we can't decipher this letter. The lettercomes from Mexico, --from that German-infested Republic. It iswritten to a man of German parentage and it is written in cipher. The names of Luxburg, Caillaux, Bolo, Bernstorff are still fresh inour minds. Every day brings us word of some new attempt at sabotagein the United States. Isn't there ANY way, Mr. Vaux, for us tosecure the key to this cipher letter?"

"Not unless we go up and knock this man Lauffer on the head. Do youwant to try it?"

"Couldn't we knock rather gently on his head?"

Vaux stifled a laugh. The girl was so pretty, the risk sotremendous, the entire proceeding so utterly outrageous that adelightful sense of exhilaration possessed him. 

"Where's that gun?" he said. 

She drew it out and handed it to him. 

"Is it loaded?"

"Yes. "

"Where are the handcuffs?"

She fished out the nickel-plated bracelets and he pocketed historch. A pleasant thrill passed through the rather ethereal anatomyof Mr. Vaux. 

"All right, " he said briskly. "Here's hoping for adjoining cells!"

To jimmy the glass door was the swiftly cautious work of a moment ortwo. Then the dark stairs rose in front of them and Vaux took thelead. It was as cold as the pole in there, but Vaux's blood wasracing now. And alas! the photograph of Arethusa was in his desk atthe office!

On the third floor he flashed his torch through an empty corridorand played it smartly over every closed door. On the fourth floor hetook his torch in his left hand, his pistol in his right. 

"The door to the apartment is open!" she whispered. 

It was. A lamp on a table inside was still burning. They had aglimpse of a cheap carpet on the floor, cheap and gaudy furniture. Vaux extinguished and pocketed his torch, then, pistol lifted, hestepped noiselessly into the front room. 

It seemed to be a sort of sitting-room, and was in disorder;cushions from a lounge lay about the floor; several books werescattered near them; an upholstered chair had been ripped open anddisembowelled, and its excelsior stuffing strewn broadcast. 

"This place looks as though it had been robbed!" whispered Vaux. "What the deuce do you suppose has happened?"

They moved cautiously to the connecting-door of the room in therear. The lamplight partly illuminated it, revealing it as abedroom. 

Bedclothes trailed to the floor, which also was littered with dingymasculine apparel flung about at random. Pockets of trousers and ofcoats had been turned inside out, in what apparently had been ahasty and frantic search. 

The remainder of the room was in disorder, too; underwear had beenpulled from dresser and bureau; the built-in wardrobe doors swungajar and the clothing lay scattered about, every pocket turnedinside out. 

"For heaven's sake, " muttered Vaux, "what do you suppose thismeans?"

"Look!" she whispered, clutching his arm and pointing to thefireplace at their feet. 

On the white-tiled hearth in front of the unlighted gas-logs lay thestump of a cigar. 

From it curled a thin thread of smoke. 

They stared at the smoking stub on the hearth, gazed fearfullyaround the dimly lighted bedroom, and peered into the darkdining-room beyond. 

Suddenly Miss Erith's hand tightened on his sleeve. 

"Hark!" she motioned. 

He heard it, too--a scuffling noise of heavy feet behind a closeddoor somewhere beyond the darkened dining-room. 

"There's somebody in the kitchenette!" she whispered. 

Vaux produced his pistol; they stole forward into the dining-room;halted by the table. 

"Flash that door, " he said in a low voice. 

Her electric torch played over the closed kitchen door for aninstant, then, at a whispered word from him, she shut it off and thedining-room was plunged again into darkness. 

And then, before Vaux or Miss Erith had concluded what next was tobe done, the kitchen door opened; and, against the dangling lightedbulb within, loomed a burly figure wearing hat and overcoat and abig bass voice rumbled through the apartment:

"All right, all right, keep your shirt on and I'll get your coat andvest for you--"

Then Miss Erith flashed her torch full in the man's face, blindinghim. And Vaux covered him with levelled pistol. 

Even then the man made a swift motion toward his pocket, but atVaux's briskly cheerful warning he checked himself and sullenly andvery slowly raised both empty hands. 

"All right, all right, " he grumbled. "It's on me this time. Go on;what's the idea?"

"W-well, upon my word!" stammered Vaux, "it's Cassidy!"

"F'r the love o' God, " growled Cassidy, "is that YOU, Mr. Vaux!" Helowered his arms sheepishly, reached out and switched on the ceilinglight over the dining-room table. "Well, f'r--" he began; and, seeing Miss Erith, subsided. 

"What are you doing here?" demanded Vaux, disgusted with thisglaring example of interference from another service. 

"What am I doing?" repeated Cassidy with a sarcastic glance at MissErith. "Faith, I'm pinching a German gentleman we've been watchingthese three months and more. Is that what you're up to, too?"

"Herman Lauffer?"

"That's the lad, sir. He's in the kitchen yonder, dressing f'r totake a little walk. I gotta get his coat and vest. And what are youdoing here, sir?"

"How did YOU get in?" asked Miss Erith, flushed with chagrin anddisappointment. 

"With keys, ma'am. "

"Oh, Lord!" said Vaux, "we jimmied the door. What do you think ofthat, Cassidy?"

"Did you so?" grinned Cassidy, now secure in his triumphant priorityand inclined to become friendly. 

"I never dreamed that your division was watching Lauffer, " continuedVaux, still red with vexation. "It's a wonder we didn't spoil thewhole affair between us. "

"It is that!" agreed Cassidy with a wider grin. "And you can take itfrom me, Mr. Vaux, we never knew that the Postal Inspection was onto this fellow at all at all until you called me to stop outgoingletters. "

"What have you on him?" inquired Vaux. 

Cassidy laughed:

"Oh, listen then! Would you believe this fellow was tryin' the olddiagonal trick? Sure it was easy; I saw him mail a letter thisafternoon and I got it. I'd been waiting three months for him to dosomething like that. But he's a fox--he is that, Mr. Vaux! Do youwant to see the letter? I have it on me--"

He fished it out of his inside pocket and spread it on the diningtable under the light. 

"You know the game, " he remarked, laying a thick forefinger on thediagonal line bisecting the page. "All I had to do was to test theletter by drawing that line across it from corner to corner. Readthe words that the line cuts through. Can you beat it?"

Vaux and Miss Erith bent over the letter, read the apparentlyinnocent message it contained, then read the words through which thediagonal line had been drawn. 

Then Cassidy triumphantly read aloud the secret and treacherousinformation which the letter contained:

"SEVEN UNITED STATES TRANSPORTS TO-DAY NEW YORK (BY THE) NORTHERNROUTE. INFORM OUR U-BOATS. URGENCY REQUIRES INSTANT MEASURES. TENMORE ARE TO SAIL FROM HERE NEXT WEEK. "

"The dirty Boche!" added Cassidy. "Dugan has left for Mexico to lookup this brother of his and I'm lookin' up this snake, so I guessthere's no harm done so far. "

"New York. 

"January 3rd. 1916. 

"My dear Brother:

"For seven long weeks I have awaited a letter from you. TheUnited-States mails from Mexico seem to be interrupted. Imagine mytransports of joy when at last I hear from you today. You and I, dear brother, are the only ones left of our family--you in VeraCruz. I in New-York--you in a hot Southern climate, I in a Northern, amid snow and ice, where the tardy sun does not route me from my bedtill late in the morning. 

"However, I inform you with pleasure that I am well. I rejoice thatour good health is mutual. After all, the dear old U. S. Suits me. Of course railroads or boats could carry me to a warm climate, incase urgency required it. But I am quite well now, and my healthrequires merely prudence. However, if I am again ill at any instant, I shall leave for Florida, where all tho proper measures can betaken to combat my rheumatism, "Ten days ago I was in bed, and unable to do more than move my leftarm. But th« doctors are confident that my malady is not going toreturn. If it does threaten to return I shall sail for Jacksonvilleat once, and from there go to Miami, and not return here until thewarm and balmy weather of next spring has lasted at least a week. Affectionataly your brother. 

"Herman. "

He pocketed the letter and went into the bedroom to get a coat andvest for the prisoner. Miss Erith looked at Vaux. 

"Cassidy seems to know nothing about the code-cipher, " shewhispered. "I think he rummaged on general principles, not in searchof any code-book. "

She looked around the dining-room. The doors of the yellow oaksideboard were open, but no book was there among the plated knivesand forks and the cheap dishes. 

Cassidy came back with the garments he had been looking for--anovercoat, coat and vest--and he carried them into the kitchenette, whither presently Vaux followed him. 

Cassidy had just unlocked the handcuffs from the powerful wrists ofa dark, stocky, sullen man who stood in his shirt-sleeves near asmall deal table. 

"Lauffer?" inquired Vaux, dryly. 

"It sure is, ain't it, Herman?" replied Cassidy facetiously. "Now, then, me Dutch bucko, climb into your jeans, if YOU please--there'sa good little Boche!"

Vaux gazed curiously at the spy, who returned his inspection coollyenough while he wrinkled his nose at him, and his beady eyes roamedover him. 

When the prisoner had buttoned his vest and coat, Cassidy snapped onthe bracelets again, whistling cheerily under his breath. 

As they started to leave the kitchenette, Vaux, who brought up therear, caught sight of a large, thick book lying on the pantry shelf. It was labelled "Perfect Cook-Book, " but he picked it up, shoved itinto his overcoat pocket en passant, and followed Cassidy and hisprisoner into the dining-room. 

Here Cassidy turned humorously to him and to Miss Erith. 

"I've cleaned up the place, " he remarked, "but you're welcome tostay here and rummage if you want to. I'm sending one of our menback to take possession as soon as I lock up this bird. "

"All right. Good luck, " nodded Vaux. 

Cassidy tipped his derby to Miss Erith, bestowed a friendly grin onVaux. 

"Come along, old sport!" he said genially to Lauffer; and he walkedaway with his handcuffed prisoner, whistling "Garryowen. "

"Wait!" motioned Vaux to Miss Erith. He went to the stairs, listenedto the progress of agent and prey, heard the street-door clash, thenhastened back to the lighted dining-room, pulling the "PerfectCook-Book" from his pocket. 

"I found that in the kitchenette, " he remarked, laying it before heron the table. "Maybe that's the key?"

"A cook-book!" She smiled, opened it. "Why--why, it's aDICTIONARY!" she exclaimed excitedly. 

"A dictionary!"

"Yes! Look! Stormonth's English Dictionary!"

"By ginger!" he said. "I believe it's the code-book! Where is yourcipher letter, Miss Erith!"

The girl produced it with hands that trembled a trifle, spread itout under the light. Then she drew from her pocket a little pad anda pencil. 

"Quick, " she said, "look for page 17!"

"Yes, I have it!"

"First column!"

"Yes. "

"Now try the twentieth word from the top!"

He counted downward very carefully. 

"It is the word 'anagraph, '" he said; and she wrote it down. 

"Also, we had better try the twentieth word counting from the bottomof the page up, " she said. "It might possibly be that. "

"The twentieth word, counting from the bottom of the column upward, is the word 'an, '" he said. She wrote it. 

"Now, " she continued, "try page 15, second column, third word fromTOP!"

"'Ambrosia' is the word. "

"Try the third word from the BOTTOM. "

"'American. '"

She pointed to the four words which she had written. Counting fromthe TOP of the page downward the first two words were "Anagraphambrosia. " But counting from the BOTTOM upward the two words formedthe phrase: "AN AMERICAN. "

"Try page 730, first column, seventh word from the bottom, " shesaid, controlling her excitement with an effort. 

"The word is 'who. '"

"Page 212, second column, first word!"

"'For. '"

"Page 507, first column, seventh word!"

"'Reasons. '"

"We have the key!" she exclaimed. "Look at what I've written!--'AnAmerican who for reasons!' And here, in the cipher letter, it goeson--'of the most'--Do you see?"

"It certainly looks like the key, " he said. "But we'd better tryanother word or two. "

"Try page 717, first column, ninth word. "

"The word is 'vital. '"

"Page 274, second column, second word. "

"'Importance!'"

"It is the key! Here is what I have written: 'An American who forreasons, of the most vital importance!' Quick. We don't want aSecret Service man to find us here, Mr. Vaux! He'd object to ourremoving this book from Lauffer's apartment. Put it into your pocketand run!" And the pretty Miss Erith turned and took to her heelswith Vaux after her. 

Through the disordered apartment and down the stairs they sped, outinto the icy darkness and around the corner, where her car stood, engine running, and a blanket over the hood. 

As soon as the chauffeur espied them he whisked off the blanket;Miss Erith said: "Home!" and jumped in, and Vaux followed. 

Deep under the fur robe they burrowed, shivering more from sheerexcitement than from cold, and the car flew across to Fifth Avenueand then northward along deserted sidewalks and a wintry park, wherenaked trees and shrubs stood stark as iron in the lustre of thewhite electric lamps. 

"That time the Secret Service made a mess of it, " he said with anervous laugh. "Did you notice Cassidy's grin of triumph?"

"Poor Cassidy, " she said. 

"I don't know. He butted in. "

"All the services are working at cross-purposes. It's a pity. "

"Well, Cassidy got his man. That's practically all he came for. Evidently he never heard of a code-book in connection with Lauffer'sactivities. That diagonal cipher caught him. "

"What luck, " she murmured, "that you noticed that cook-book in thepantry! And what common sense you displayed in smuggling it!"

"I didn't suppose it was THE book; I just took a chance. "

"To take a chance is the best way to make good, isn't it?" she said, laughing. "Oh, I am so thrilled, Mr. Vaux! I shall sit up all nightover my darling cipher and my fascinating code-book-dictionary. "

"Will you be down in the morning?" he inquired. 

"Of course. Then to-morrow evening, if you will come to my house, Ishall expect to show you the entire letter neatly deciphered. "

"Fine!" he exclaimed as the car stopped before her door. 

She insisted on sending him home in her car, and he was verygrateful; so when he had seen her safely inside her house with thecook-book-dictionary clasped in her arms and a most enchanting smileon her pretty face, he made his adieux, descended the steps, and hercar whirled him swiftly homeward through the arctic night. 

CHAPTER II

THE SLIP

When Clifford Vaux arrived at a certain huge building now mostlydevoted to Government work connected with the war, he found upon hisdesk a dictionary camouflaged to represent a cook-book; and alsoMiss Erith's complete report. And he lost no time in opening andreading the latter document:

"CLIFFORD VAUX, ESQ. , "D. C. Of the E. C. D. , "P. I. Service. (Confidential)

"Sir:

"I home the honour to report that the matter with which you haveentrusted me is now entirely cleared up. 

"This short preliminary memorandum is merely to refresh your memoryconcerning the particular case herewith submitted in detail. 

"In re Herman Laufer:

"The code-book, as you recollect, is Stormonth's English Dictionary, XIII Edition, published by Wm. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh andLondon, MDCCCXCVI. This book I herewith return to you. 

"The entire cipher is, as we guessed, arbitrary and stupidlycapricious. Phonetic spelling is indulged in occasionally--I shouldalmost say humorously--were it not a Teuton mind which evolved thephonetic combinations which represent proper names not found in thatdictionary--names like Holzminden and New York, for example. 

"As for the symbols and numbers, they are not at all obscure. Reference to the dictionary makes the cipher perfectly clear. 

"In Stormonth's Dictionary you will notice that each page has twocolumns; each column a varying number of paragraphs; some of theparagraphs contain more than one word to be defined. 

"In the cipher letter the first number of any of the groups offigures which are connected by dashes (--) and separated by vertical(|) represents the page in Stormonth's Dictionary on which the wordis to be found. 

"The second number represents the column (1 or 2) in which the wordis to be found. 

"The third number indicates the position of the word, counting fromthe bottom of the page upward, in the proper column. 

"Roman numerals which sometimes follow, enclosed in a circle, givethe position of the word in the paragraph, if it does not, as usual, begin the paragraph. 

"The phonetic spelling of Holzminden is marked by an asterisk whenfirst employed. Afterward only the asterisk (*) is used, instead ofthe cumbersome phonetic symbol. 

"Minus and plus signs are namely used to subtract or to add lettersor to connect syllables. Reference to the code-book makes all thisclear enough. 

"In the description of the escaped prisoner, Roman numerals give hisage; Roman and Arabic his height in feet and inches. 

"Arabic numerals enclosed in circles represent capital letters asthey occur in the middle of a page in the dictionary--as S, forexample, is printed in the middle of the page; and all wordsbeginning with S follow in proper sequence. 

"With the code-book at your elbow the cipher will prove to beperfectly simple. Without the code it is impossible for any humanbeing to solve such a cipher, as you very well know. 

"I herewith append the cipher letter, the method of translation, andthe complete message. 

"Respectfully, "EVELYN ERITH: E. C. D. "

Complete Translation of Cipher Letter with Parenthetical Suggestionsby Miss Erith. 

To

B 60-02, An American, who for reasons of the most vital importance has beenheld as an English (civilian?) civic prisoner in the mixed civilian(concentration) camp at Holzminden, has escaped. It is now fearedthat he has made his way safely to New York. (Memo: Please note thevery ingenious use of phonetics to spell out New York. E. E. )

(His) name (is) Kay McKay and he has been known as Kay McKay ofIsla--a Scotch title--he having inherited from his grandfather (a)property in Scotland called Isla, which is but a poor domain(consisting of the river) Isla and the adjoining moors and a largewhite-washed manor (house) in very poor repair. 

After his escape from Holzminden it was at first believed that McKayhad been drowned in (the River) Weser. Later it was ascertained thathe sailed for an American port via a Scandinavian liner sometime(in) October. 

(This is his) description: Age 32; height 5 feet 8 l/2 inches; eyesbrown; hair brown; nose straight; mouth regular; face oval; teethwhite and even--no dental work; small light-brown moustache; nosuperficial identification marks. 

The bones in his left foot were broken many years ago, but have beenproperly set. Except for an hour or so every two or three months, hesuffers no lameness. 

He speaks German without accent; French with an English accent. 

Until incarcerated (in Holzminden camp) he had never beenintemperate. There, however, through orders from Berlin, he wastempted and encouraged in the use of intoxicants--other drink, indeed, being excluded from his allowance--so that after the secondyear he had become more or less addicted (to the use of alcohol). 

Unhappily, however, this policy, which had been so diligently and sothoroughly pursued in order to make him talkative and to surprisesecrets from him when intoxicated (failed to produce the so properlyexpected results and) only succeeded in making of the young man ahopeless drunkard. 

Sterner measures had been decided on, and, in fact, had already beenapplied, when the prisoner escaped by tunnelling. 

Now, it is most necessary to discover this McKay (man's whereaboutsand to have him destroyed by our agents in New York). Only his deathcan restore to the (Imperial German) Government its perfect sense ofsecurity and its certainty of (ultimate) victory. 

The necessity (for his destruction) lies in the unfortunate andterrifying fact that he is cognisant of the Great Secret! He shouldhave been executed at Holzminden within an hour (of hisincarceration). 

This was the urgent advice of Von Tirpitz. But unfortunately HighCommand intervened with the expectation (of securing from theprisoner) further information (concerning others who, like himself, might possibly have become possessed in some measure of a clue tothe Great Secret)? E. E. 

The result is bad. (That the prisoner has escaped without betrayinga single word of information useful to us. ) E. E. 

Therefore, find him and have him silenced without delay. Thesecurity of the Fatherland depends on this (man's immediate death). 

M 17. (Evidently the writer of the letter) E. E. 

For a long time Vaux sat studying cipher and translation. And atlast he murmured:

"Surely, surely. Fine--very fine. .. . Excellent work. But--WHAT isthe Great Secret?"

There was only one man in America who knew. 

And he had landed that morning from the Scandinavian steamer, PeerGynt, and, at that very moment, was standing by the bar of the HotelAstor, just sober enough to keep from telling everything he knew tothe bartenders, and just drunk enough to talk too much in a placewhere the enemy always listens. 

He said to the indifferent bartender who had just served him:

"'F you knew what I know 'bout Germany, you'd be won'ful man! I'Mwon'ful man. I know something! Going tell, too. Going see 'thoritiesthis afternoon. Going tell 'em great secret!. .. Grea' milt'rysecret! Tell 'em all 'bout it! Grea' secresh! Nobody knowsgrea'-sekresh 'cep m'self! Whaddya thinka that? Gimme l'ilHollanschnapps n'water onna side!"

Hours later he was, apparently, no drunker--as though he could notmanage to get beyond a certain stage of intoxication, no matter howrecklessly he drank. 

"'Nother Hollenschnapps, " he said hazily. "Goin' see 'thorities'bout grea' sekresh! Tell 'em all 'bout it. Anybody try stop me, knockem down. Thassa way. .. . N-n-nockem out!--stan' no nonsense! Ge'me?"

Later he sauntered off on slightly unsteady legs to promenadehimself in the lobby and Peacock Alley. 

Three men left the barroom when he left. They continued to keep himin view. 

Although he became no drunker, he grew politer after everydrink--also whiter in the face--and the bluish, bruised lookdeepened under his eyes. 

But he was a Chesterfield in manners; he did not stare at any of thelively young persons in Peacock Alley, who seemed inclined to lookpleasantly at him; he made room for them to pass, hat in hand. 

Several times he went to the telephone desk and courteouslyrequested various numbers; and always one of the three men who hadbeen keeping him in view stepped into the adjoining booth, but didnot use the instrument. 

Several times he strolled through the crowded lobby to the desk andinquired whether there were any messages or visitors for Mr. KayMcKay; and the quiet, penetrating glances of the clerks on dutyimmediately discovered his state of intoxication but nothing else, except his extreme politeness and the tense whiteness of his face. 

Two of the three men who were keeping him in view tried, at variousmoments, to scrape acquaintance with him in the lobby, and at thebar; and without any success. 

The last man, who had again stepped into an adjoining booth whileMcKay was telephoning, succeeded, by inquiring for McKay at the deskand waiting there while he was being paged. 

The card on which this third man of the trio had written bore thename Stanley Brown; and when McKay hailed the page and perused thewritten name of his visitor he walked carefully back to thelobby--not too fast, because he seemed to realise that his legs, atthat time, would not take kindly to speed. 

In the lobby the third man approached him:

"Mr. McKay?"

"Mr. Brown?"

"A. I. O. Agent, " said Brown in a low voice. "You telephoned toMajor Biddle, I believe. "

McKay inspected him with profound gravity:

"How do, " he said. "Ve' gla', m'sure. Ve' kind 'f'you come way uphere see me. But I gotta see Major Biddle. "

"I understand. Major Biddle has asked me to meet you and bring youto him. "

"Oh. Ve' kind, 'm'sure. Gotta see Major. Confidential. Can' tellanybody 'cep Major. "

"The Major will meet us at the Pizza, this evening, " explainedBrown. "Meanwhile, if you will do me the honour of dining withme--"

"Ve' kind. Pleasure, 'm'sure. Have li'l drink, Mr. Brown?"

"Not here, " murmured Brown. "I'm not in uniform, but I'm known. "

"Quite so. Unnerstan' perfec'ly. Won'do. No. "

"Had you thought of dressing for dinner?" inquired Mr. Browncarelessly. 

McKay nodded, went over to the desk and got his key. But when hereturned to Brown he only laughed and shoved the key into hispocket. 

"Forgot, " he explained. "Just came over. Haven't any clothes. Gotthese in Christiania. Ellis Island style. 'S'all I've got. Goodovercoat though. " He fumbled at his fur coat as he stood there, slightly swaying. 

"We'll get a drink where I'm not known, " said Brown. "I'll find ataxi. "

"Ve' kind, " murmured McKay, following him unsteadily to the swingingdoors that opened on Long Acre, now so dimly lighted that it wasscarcely recognisable. 

An icy blast greeted them from the darkness, refreshing McKay for amoment; but in the freezing taxi he sank back as though weary, pulling his beaver coat around him and closing his battered eyes. 

"Had a hard time, " he muttered. "Feel done in. . .. Prisoner. . . . Gottaway. . . . Three months making Dutch border. .. . Hell. TellMajor all 'bout it. Great secret. "

"What secret is that?" asked Brown, peering at him intently throughthe dim light, where he swayed in the corner with every jolt of thetaxi. 

"Sorry, m'dear fellow. Mussn' ask me that. Gotta tell Major n'no oneelse. "

"But I am the Major's confidential--"

"Sorry. You'll 'scuse me, 'm'sure. Can't talk Misser Brow!--'gret'ceedingly 'cessity reticence. Unnerstan'?"

The taxi stopped before a vaguely lighted saloon on Fifty-ninthStreet east of Fifth Avenue. McKay opened his eyes, looked aroundhim in the bitter darkness, stumbled out into the snow on Brown'sarm. 

"A quiet, cosy little cafe, " said Brown, "where I don't mind joiningyou in something hot before dinner. "

"Thasso? Fine! Hot Scotch we' good 'n'cold day. We'll havva l'ildrink keep us warm 'n'snug. "

A few respectable-looking men were drinking beer in the cafe as theyentered a little room beyond, where a waiter came to them and tookBrown's orders. 

Hours later McKay seemed to be no more intoxicated than he had been;no more loquacious or indiscreet. He had added nothing to what hehad already disclosed, boasted no more volubly about the "greatsecret, " as he called it. 

Now and then he recollected himself and inquired for the "Major, "but a drink always sidetracked him. 

It was evident, too, that Brown was becoming uneasy and impatient tothe verge of exasperation, and that he was finally coming to theconclusion that he could do nothing with the man McKay as far aspumping was concerned. 

Twice, on pretexts, he left McKay alone in the small room and wentinto the cafe, where his two companions of the Hotel Astor wereseated at a table, discussing sardine sandwiches and dark brew. 

"I can't get a damned thing out of him, " he said in a low voice. "Who the hell he is and where he comes from is past me. Had I betterfix him and take his key?"

"Yess, " nodded one of the other men, "it iss perhaps better that wesearch now his luggage in his room. "

"I guess that's all we can hope for from this guy. Say! He's a clam. And he may be only a jazzer at that. "

"He comes on the Peer Gynt this morning. We shall not forget thatalretty, nor how he iss calling at those telephones all afternoon. "

"He may be a nosey newspaper man--just a fresh souse, " said Brown. "All the same I think I'll fix him and we'll go see what he's got inhis room. "

The two men rose, paid their reckoning, and went out; Brown returnedto the small room, where McKay sat at the table with his curly brownhead buried in his arms. 

He did not look up immediately when Brown returned--time for thelatter to dose the steaming tumbler at the man's elbow, and slip thelittle bottle back into his pocket. 

Then, thinking McKay might be asleep, he nudged him, and the youngman lifted his marred and dissipated visage and extended one handfor his glass. 

They both drank. 

"Wheresa Major?" inquired McKay. "Gotta see him rightaway. Greatsecreksh--"

"Take a nap. You're tired. "

"Yess'm all in, " muttered the other. "Had a hardtime--prisoner--three--three months hiding--" His head fell on hisarms again. 

Brown rose from his chair, bent over him, remained poised above hisshoulder for a few moments. Then he coolly took the key from McKay'sovercoat pocket and very deftly continued the search, in spite ofthe drowsy restlessness of the other. 

But there were no papers, no keys, only a cheque-book and a walletpacked with new banknotes and some foreign gold and silver. Brownmerely read the name written in the new cheque-book but did not takeit or the money. 

Then, his business with McKay being finished, he went out, paid thereckoning, tipped the waiter generously, and said:

"My friend wants to sleep for half an hour. Let him alone until Icome back for him. "

Brown had been gone only a few moments when McKay lifted his headfrom his arms with a jerk, looked around him blindly, got to hisfeet and appeared in the cafe doorway, swaying on unsteady legs. 

"Gotta see the Major!" he said thickly. "'M'not qui' well. Gotta--"

The waiter attempted to quiet him, but McKay continued on toward thedoor, muttering that he had to find the Major and that he was notfeeling well. 

They let him go out into the freezing darkness. Between the saloonand the Plaza Circle he fell twice on the ice, but contrived to findhis feet again and lurch on through the deserted street and square. 

The black cold that held the city in its iron grip had driven menand vehicles from the streets. On Fifth Avenue scarcely a movinglight was to be seen; under the fuel-conservation order, club, hoteland private mansion were unlighted at that hour. The vast marblemass of the Plaza Hotel loomed enormous against the sky; the NewNetherlands, the Savoy, the Metropolitan Club, the great Vanderbiltmansion, were darkened. Only a few ice-dimmed lamps clustered aroundthe Plaza fountain, where the bronze goddess, with her basket ofice, made a graceful and shadowy figure under the stars. 

The young man was feeling very ill now. His fur overcoat had becomeunbuttoned and the bitter wind that blew across the Park seemed tobenumb his body and fetter his limbs so that he could barely keephis feet. 

He had managed to cross Fifth Avenue, somehow; but now he stumbledagainst the stone balustrade which surrounds the fountain, and herested there, striving to keep his feet. 

Blindness, then deafness possessed him. Stupefied, instinct stillaided him automatically in his customary habit of fighting; hestrove to beat back the mounting waves of lethargy; half-conscious, he still fought for consciousness. 

After a while his hat fell off. He was on his knees now, huddledunder his overcoat, his left shoulder resting against thebalustrade. Twice one arm moved as though seeking something. It wasthe mind's last protest against the betrayal of the body. Then thebody became still, although the soul still lingered within it. 

But now it had become a question of minutes--not many minutes. Fate had knocked him out; Destiny was counting him out--had nearlyfinished counting. Then Chance stepped into the squared circle ofLife. And Kay McKay was in a very bad way indeed when a coupe, speeding northward through the bitter night, suddenly veeredwestward, ran in to the curb, and stopped; and Miss Erith'schauffeur turned in his seat at the wheel to peer back through theglass at his mistress, whose signal he had just obeyed. 

Then he scrambled out of his seat and came around to the door, justas Miss Erith opened it and hurriedly descended. 

"Wayland, " she said, "there's somebody over there on the sidewalk. Can't you see?--there by the marble railing?--by the fountain!Whoever it is will freeze to death. Please go over and see what isthe matter. "

The heavily-furred chauffeur ran across the snowy oval. Miss Erithsaw him lean over the shadowy, prostrate figure, shake it; then shehurried over too, and saw a man, crouching, fallen forward on hisface beside the snowy balustrade. 

Down on her knees in the snow beside him dropped Miss Erith, callingon Wayland to light a match. 

"Is he dead, Miss?"

"No. Listen to him breathe! He's ill. Can't you hear the dreadfulsounds he makes? Try to lift him, if you can. He's freezing here!"

"I'm thinkin' he's just drunk an' snorin, ' Miss. "

"What of it? He's freezing, too. Carry him to the carl"

Wayland leaned down, put both big arms under the shoulders of theunconscious man, and dragged him, upright, holding him by mainstrength. 

"He's drunk, all right, Miss, " the chauffeur remarked with a sniffof disgust. 

That he had been drinking was evident enough to Miss Erith now. Shepicked up his hat; a straggling yellow light from the ice-boundlamps fell on McKay's battered features. 

"Get him into the car, " she said, "he'll die out here in this cold. "

The big chauffeur half-carried, half-dragged the inanimate man tothe car and lifted him in. Miss Erith followed. 

"The Samaritan Hospital--that's the nearest, " she said hastily. "Drive as fast as you can, Wayland. "

McKay had slid to the floor of the coupe; Miss Erith turned on theceiling light, drew the fur robe around him, and lifted his head toher knees, holding it there supported between her gloved hands. 

The light fell full on his bruised visage, on the crisp brown hairdusted with snow, which lay so lightly on his temples, making himseem very frail and boyish in his deathly pallor. 

His breathing grew heavier, more laboured; the coupe reeked with thestench of alcohol; and Miss Erith, feeling almost faint, opened thewindow a little way, then wrapped the young man's head in the skirtof her fur coat and covered his icy hands with her own. 

The ambulance entrance to the Samaritan Hospital was dimlyilluminated. Wayland, turning in from Park Avenue, sounded his horn, then scrambled down from the box as an orderly and a watchmanappeared under the vaulted doorway. And in a few moments theemergency case had passed out of Miss Erith's jurisdiction. 

But as her car turned homeward, upon her youthful mind was stampedthe image of a pale, bruised face--of a boyish head reversed uponher knees--of crisp, light-brown hair dusted with particles ofsnow. 

Within the girl's breast something deep was stirring--somethingunfamiliar--not pain--not pity--yet resembling both, perhaps. Shehad no other standard of comparison. 

After she reached home she called up the Samaritan Hospital forinformation, and learned that the man was suffering from the effectsof alcohol and chloral--the latter probably an overdoseself-administered--because he had not been robbed. Miss Erith alsolearned that there were five hundred dollars in new United Statesbanknotes in his pockets, some English sovereigns, a number of Dutchand Danish silver pieces, and a new cheque-book on the SchuylerNational Bank, in which was written what might be his name. 

"Will he live?" inquired Miss Erith, solicitous, as are peopleconcerning the fate of anything they have helped to rescue. 

"He seems to be in no danger, " came the answer. "Are you interestedin the patient, Miss Erith?"

"No--that is--yes. Yes, I am interested. "

"Shall we communicate with you in case any unfavourable symptomsappear?"

"Please do!"

"Are you a relative or friend?"

"N-no. I am very slightly interested--in his recovery. Nothingmore. "

"Very well. But we do not find his name in any directory. We haveattempted to communicate with his family, but nobody of that nameclaims him. You say you are personally interested in the young man?"

"Oh, no, " said Miss Erith, "except that I hope he is not going todie. .. . He seems so--young--f-friendless--"

"Then you have no personal knowledge of the patient?"

"None whatever. .. . What did you say his name is?"

"McKay. "

For a moment the name sounded oddly familiar but meaningless in herears. Then, with a thrill of sudden recollection, she asked againfor the man's name. 

"The name written in his cheque-book is McKay. "

"McKay!" she repeated incredulously. "What else?"

"Kay. "

"WHAT!!"

"That is the name in the cheque-book--Kay McKay. "

Dumb, astounded, she could not utter a word. 

"Do you know anything about him, Miss Erith?" inquired the distantvoice. 

"Yes--yes!. .. I don't know whether I do. .. . I have heard the--thatname--a similar name--" Her mind was in a tumult now. Could such athing happen? It was utterly impossible!

The voice on the wire continued:

"The police have been here but they are not interested in the case, as no robbery occurred. The young man is still unconscious, suffering from the chloral. If you are interested, Miss Erith, wouldyou kindly call at the hospital to-morrow?"

"Yes. .. . Did you say that there was FOREIGN money in his pockets?"

"Dutch and Danish silver and English gold. "

"Thank you. .. . I shall call to-morrow. Don't let him leave before Iarrive. "

"What?"

"I wish to see him. Please do not permit him to leave before I getthere. It--it is very important--vital--in case he is the man--theKay McKay in question. "

"Very well. Good-night. "

Miss Erith sank back in her armchair, shivering even in the warmglow from the hearth. 

"Such things can NOT happen!" she said aloud. "Such things do nothappen in life!"

And she told herself that even in stories no author would dare--noteven the veriest amateur scribbler--would presume to affrontintelligent readers by introducing such a coincidence as thisappeared to be. 

"Such things do NOT happen!" repeated Miss Erith firmly. 

Such things, however, DO occur. 

Was it possible that the Great Secret, of which the Lauffer cipherletter spoke, was locked within the breast of this young fellow whonow lay unconscious in the Samaritan Hospital?

Was this actually the escaped prisoner? Was this the man who, according to instructions in the cipher, was to be marked for deathat the hands of the German Government's secret agents in America?

And, if this truly were the same man, was he safe, at least for thepresent, now that the cipher letter had been intercepted before ithad reached Herman Lauffer?

Hour after hour, lying deep in her armchair before the fire, MissErith crouched a prey to excited conjectures, not one of which couldbe answered until the man in the Samaritan Hospital had recoveredconsciousness. 

Suppose he never recovered consciousness. Suppose he should die--

At the thought Miss Erith sprang from her chair and picked up thetelephone. 

With fast-beating heart she waited for the connection. Finally shegot it and asked the question. 

"The man is dying, " came the calm answer. A pause, then: "Iunderstand the patient has just died. "

Miss Erith strove to speak but her voice died in her throat. Trembling from head to foot, she placed the telephone on the table, turned uncertainly, fell into the armchair, huddled there, andcovered her face with both hands. 

For it was proving worse--a little worse than the loss of the GreatSecret--worse than the mere disappointment in losing it--worse eventhan a natural sorrow in the defeat of an effort to save life. 

For in all her own life Miss Erith had never until that eveningexperienced the slightest emotion when looking into the face of anyman. 

But from the moment when her brown eyes fell upon the pallid, dissipated, marred young face turned upward on her knees in thecar--in that instant she had known for the first time a new andindefinable emotion--vague in her mind, vaguer in her heart--yetdelicately apparent. 

But what this unfamiliar emotion might be, so faint, so vague, shehad made no effort to analyse. .. . It had been there; she hadexperienced it; that was all she knew. 

It was almost morning before she rose, stiff with cold, and movedslowly toward her bedroom. 

Among the whitening ashes on her hearth only a single coal remainedalive. 

CHAPTER III

TO A FINISH

The hospital called her on the telephone about eight o'clock in themorning:

"Miss Evelyn Erith, please?"

"Yes, " she said in a tired voice, "who is it?"

"Is this Miss Erith?"

"Yes. "

"This is the Superintendent's office, Samaritan, Hospital, MissDalton speaking. "

The girl's heart contracted with a pang of sheer pain. She closedher eyes and waited. The voice came over the wire again:

"A wreath of Easter lilies with your card came early--this morning. I'm very sure there is a mistake--"

"No, " she whispered, "the flowers are for a patient who died in thehospital last night--a young man whom I brought there in my car--KayMcKay. "

"I was afraid so--"

"What!"

"McKay isn't dead! It's another patient. I was sure somebody herehad made a mistake. "

Miss Erith swayed slightly, steadied herself with a desperate effortto comprehend what the voice was telling her. 

"There was a mistake made last night, " continued Miss Dalton. "Another patient died--a similar case. When I came on duty a fewmoments ago I learned what had occurred. The young man in whom youare interested is conscious this morning. Would you care to see himbefore he is discharged?"

Miss Erith said, unsteadily, that she would. 

She had recovered her self-command but her knees remained weak andher lips tremulous, and she rested her forehead on both hands whichhad fallen, tightly clasped, on the table in front of her. After afew moments she felt better and she rang up her D. C. , Mr. Vaux, andexplained that she expected to be late at the office. After that shegot the garage on the wire, ordered her car, and stood by the windowwatching the heavily falling snow until her butler announced thecar's arrival. 

The shock of the message informing her that this man was still alivenow rapidly absorbed itself in her reviving excitement at theprospect of an approaching interview with him. Her car rancautiously along Park Avenue through the driving snow, but thedistance was not far and in a few minutes the great red quadrangleof the Samaritan Hospital loomed up on her right. And even beforeshe was ready, before she quite had time to compose her mind inpreparation for the questions she had begun to formulate, she wasushered into a private room by a nurse on duty who detained her amoment at the door:

"The patient is ready to be discharged, " she whispered, "but we havedetained him at your request. We are so sorry about the mistake. "

"Is he quite conscious?"

"Entirely. He's somewhat shaken, that is all. Otherwise he shows noill effects. "

"Does he know how he came here?"

"Oh, yes. He questioned us this morning and we told him thecircumstances. "

"Does he know I have arrived?"

"Yes, I told him. "

"He did not object to seeing me?" inquired Miss Erith. A slightcolour dyed her face. 

"No, he made no objection. In fact, he seemed interested. He expectsyou. You may go in. "

Miss Erith stepped into the room. Perhaps the patient had heard thelow murmur of voices in the corridor, for he lay on his side in bedgazing attentively toward the door. Miss Erith walked straight tothe bedside; he looked up at her in silence. 

"I am so glad that you are better, " she said with an effort madedoubly difficult in the consciousness of the bright blush on hercheeks. Without moving he replied in what must have once been anagreeable voice: "Thank you. I suppose you are Miss Erith. "

"Yes. "

"Then--I am very grateful for what you have done. "

"It was so fortunate--"

"Would you be seated if you please?"

She took the chair beside his bed. 

"It was nice of you, " he said, almost sullenly. "Few women of yoursort would bother with a drunken man. "

They both flushed. She said calmly: "It is women of my sort who DOexactly that kind of thing. "

He gave her a dark and sulky look: "Not often, " he retorted: "thereare few of your sort from Samaria. "

There was a silence, then he went on in a hard voice:

"I'd been drinking a lot. .. As usual. .. . But it isn't an excuse whenI say that my beastly condition was not due to a drunken stupor. Itjust didn't happen to be that time. "

She shivered slightly. "It happened to be due to chloral, " he added, reddening painfully again. "I merely wished you to know. "

"Yes, they told me, " she murmured. 

After another silence, during which he had been watching heraskance, he said: "Did you think I had taken that chloralvoluntarily?"

She made no reply. She sat very still, conscious of vague painsomewhere in her breast, acquiescent in the consciousness, dumb, andnow incurious concerning further details of this man's tragedy. 

"Sometimes, " he said, "the poor devil who, in chloral, seeksa-refuge from intolerable pain becomes an addict to the drug. .. . Ido not happen to be an addict. I want you to understand that. "

The painful colour came and went in the girl's face; he was nowwatching her intently. 

"As a matter of fact, but probably of no interest to you, " hecontinued, "I did not voluntarily take that chloral. It wasadministered to me without my knowledge--when I was more or lessstupid with liquor. .. . It is what is known as knockout drops, and isemployed by crooks to stupefy men who are more or less intoxicatedso that they may be easily robbed. "

He spoke now so calmly and impersonally that the girl had turned tolook at him again as she listened. And now she said: "Were yourobbed?"

"They took my hotel key: nothing else. "

"Was that a serious matter, Mr. McKay?"

He studied her with narrowing brown eyes. 

"Oh, no, " he said. "I had nothing of value in my room at the Astorexcept a few necessaries in a steamer-trunk. .. . Thank you so muchfor all your kindness to me, Miss Erith, " he added, as thoughrelieving her of the initiative in terminating the interview. 

As he spoke he caught her eye and divined somehow that she did notmean to go just yet. Instantly he was on his guard, lying there withpartly closed lids, awaiting events, though not yet reallysuspicious. But at her next question he rose abruptly, supported onone elbow, his whole frame tense and alert under the bed-coveringsas though gathered for a spring. 

"What did you say?" he demanded. 

"I asked you how long ago you escaped from Holzminden camp?"repeated the girl, very pale. 

"Who told you I had ever been there?--wherever that is!"

"You were there as a prisoner, were you not, Mr. McKay?"

"Where is that place?"

"In Germany on the River Weser. You were detained there underpretence of being an Englishman before we declared war on Germany. After we declared war they held you as a matter of course. "

There was an ugly look in his eyes, now: "You seem to know a greatdeal about a drunkard you picked up in the snow near the Plazafountain last night. "

"Please don't speak so bitterly. "

Quite unconsciously her gloved hand crept up on her fur coat untilit rested over her heart, pressing slightly against her breast. Neither spoke for a few moments. Then:

"I do know something about you, Mr. McKay, " she said. "Among otherthings I know that--that if you have become--become intemperate--itis not your fault. .. . That was vile of them-unutterably wicked-to dowhat they did to you--"

"Who are you?" he burst out. "Where have you learned-heard suchthings? Did I babble all this?"

"You did not utter a sound!"

"Then--in God's name--"

"Oh, yes, yes!" she murmured, "in God's name. That is why you and Iare here together--in God's name and by His grace. Do you know Hewrought a miracle for you and me--here in New York, in these lasthours of this dreadful year that is dying very fast now?

"Do you know what that miracle is? Yes, it's partly the fact thatyou did not die last night out there on the street. Thirteen degreesbelow zero! . .. And you did not die. .. . And the other part of themiracle is that I of all people in the world should have foundyou!. .. That is our miracle. "

Somehow he divined that the girl did not mean the mere saving of hislife had been part of this miracle. But she had meant that, too, without realising she meant it. 

"Who are you?" he asked very quietly. 

"I'll tell you: I am Evelyn Erith, a volunteer in the C. E. D. Service of the United States. "

He drew a deep breath, sank down on his elbow, and rested his headon the pillow. 

"Still I don't see how you know, " he said. "I mean--the beastlydetails--"

"I'll tell you some time. I read the history of your case in anintercepted cipher letter. Before the German agent here had receivedand decoded it he was arrested by an agent of another Service. Ifthere is anything more to be learned from him it will be extracted. 

"But of all men on earth you are the one man I wanted to find. Thereis the miracle: I found you! Even now I can scarcely force myself tobelieve it is really you. "

The faintest flicker touched his eyes. 

"What did you want of me?" he inquired. 

"Help. "

"Help? From such a man as I? What sort of help do you expect from adrunkard?"

"Every sort. All you can give. All you can give. "

He looked at her wearily; his face had become pallid again; the darkhollows of dissipation showed like bruises. 

"I don't understand, " he said. "I'm no good, you know that. I'm donein, finished. I couldn't help you with your work if I wanted to. There's nothing left of me. I am not to be depended on. "

And suddenly, in his eyes of a boy, his self-hatred was revealed toher in one savage gleam. 

"No good, " he muttered feverishly, "not to be trusted--no will-powerleft. .. . It was in me, I suppose, to become the drunkard I am--"

"You are NOT!" cried the girl fiercely. "Don't say it!"

"Why not? I am!"

"You can fight your way free!" His laugh frightened her. 

"Fight? I've done that. They tried to pump me that way, too--triedto break me--break my brain to pieces--by stopping my liquor. .. . Isuppose they thought I might really go insane, as they gave it backafter a while--after a few centuries in hell--and tried to make metalk by other methods--

"Don't, please. " She turned her head swiftly, unable to control herquivering face. 

"Why not?"

"I can't bear it. "

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shock you. "

"I know. " She sat for a while with head averted; and presentlyspoke, sitting so:

"We'll fight it, anyway, " she said. 

"What do you mean?"

"If you'll let me--"

After a silence she turned and looked at him. He . Stammered, veryred:

"I don't quite know why you speak to me so. "

She herself was not entirely clear on that point, either. After all, her business with this man was to use him in the service of herGovernment. "

"What is THE GREAT SECRET?" she asked calmly. 

After a long while he said, lying there very still: "So you haveeven heard about that. "

"I have heard about it; that is all. "

"Do you know what it is?"

"All I know about it is that there is such a thing--something knownto certain Germans, and by them spoken of as THE GREAT SECRET. Iimagine, of course, that it is some vital military secret which theydesire to guard. "

"Is that all you know about it?"

"No, not all. " She looked at him gravely out of very clear, honesteyes:

"I know, also, that the Berlin Government has ordered its agents todiscover your whereabouts, and to'silence' you. "

He gazed at her quite blandly for a moment, then, to her amazement, he laughed--such a clear, untroubled, boyish laugh that herconstrained expression softened in sympathy. 

"Do you think that Berlin doesn't mean it?" she asked, brightening alittle. 

"Mean it? Oh, I'm jolly sure Berlin means it!"

"Then why--"

"Why do I laugh?"

"Well--yes. Why do you? It does not strike me as very humorous. "

At that he laughed again--laughed so whole-heartedly, sodelightfully, that the winning smile curved her own lips once more. 

"Would you tell me why you laugh?" she inquired. 

"I don't know. It seems so funny--those Huns, those Boches, alreadysmeared from hair to feet with blood--pausing in their wholesalebutchery to devise a plan to murder ME!"

His face altered; he raised himself on one elbow:

"The swine have turned all Europe into a bloody wallow. They'rebelly-deep in it--Kaiser and knecht! But that's only part of it. They're destroying souls by millions!. .. Mine is already damned. "

Miss Erith sprang to her feet: "I tell you not to say such a thing!"she cried, exasperated. "You're as young as I am! Besides, souls arenot slain by murder. If they perish it's suicide, ALWAYS!"

She began to pace the white room nervously, flinging open her furcoat as she turned and came straight back to his bed again. Standingthere and looking down at him she said:

"We've got to fight it out. The country needs you. It's your bit andyou've got to do it. There's a cure for alcoholism--Dr. Langford'scure. Are you afraid because you think it may hurt?"

He lay looking up at her with hell's own glimmer in his eyes again:

"You don't know what you're talking about, " he said. "You talk ofcures, and I tell you that I'm half dead for a drink right now! AndI'm going to get up and dress and get it!"

The expression of his features and his voice and words appalled her, left her dumb for an instant. Then she said breathlessly:

"You won't do that!"

"Yes I will. "

"No. "

"Why not?" he demanded excitedly. 

"You owe me something. "

"What I said was conventional. I'm NOT grateful to you for savingthe sort of life mine is!"

"I was not thinking of your life. "

After a moment he said more quietly: "I know what you mean. .. . Yes, I am grateful. Our Government ought to know. "

"Then tell me, now. "

"You know, " he said brutally, "I have only your word that you arewhat you say you are. "

She reddened but replied calmly: "That is true. Let me show you mycredentials. "

From her muff she drew a packet, opened it, and laid the contents onthe bedspread under his eyes. Then she walked to the window andstood there with her back turned looking out at the falling snow. 

After a few minutes he called her. She went back to the bedside, replaced the packet in her muff, and stood waiting in silence. 

He lay looking up at her very quietly and his bruised young featureshad lost their hard, sullen expression. 

"I'd better tell you all I know, " he said, "because there is reallyno hope of curing me. .. You don't understand. .. My will-power isgone. The trouble is with my mind itself. I don't want to becured. .. . I WANT what's killing me. I want it now, always, all thetime. So before anything happens to me I'd better tell you what Iknow so that our Government can make the proper investigation. Because what I shall tell you is partly a surmise. I leave it to youto judge--to our Government. "

She drew from her muff a little pad and a pencil and seated herselfon the chair beside him. 

"I'll speak slowly, " he began, but she shook her head, saying thatshe was an expert stenographer. So he went on:

"You know my name--Kay McKay. I was born here and educated at Yale. But my father was Scotch and he died in Scotland. My mother had beendead many years. They lived on a property called Isla which belongedto my grandfather. After my father's death my grandfather allowed mean income, and when I had graduated from Yale I continued heretaking various post-graduate courses. Finally I went to Cornell andstudied agriculture, game breeding and forestry--desiring some dayto have a place of my own. 

"In 1914 I went to Germany to study their system of forestry. InJuly of that year I went to Switzerland and roamed about in thevagabond way I like--once liked. " His visage altered and he cast aside glance at the girl beside him, but her eyes were fixed on herpad. 

He drew a deep breath, like a sigh:

"In that corner of Switzerland which is thrust westward betweenGermany and France there are a lot of hills and mountains which wereunfamiliar to me. The flora resembled that of the Vosges--so did thebird and insect life except on the higher mountains. 

"There is a mountain called Mount Terrible. I camped on it. Therewas some snow. You know what happens sometimes in summer on thehigher peaks. Well, it happened to me--the whole snow field slidwhen I was part way across it--and I thought it was all off--neverdreamed a man could live through that sort of thing--with the sheergneiss ledges below!

"It was not a big avalanche--not the terrific thunderingsort--rather an easy slipping, I fancy--but it was a devilish thingto lie aboard, and, of course, if there had been precipices where Islid--" He shrugged. 

The girl looked up from her shorthand manuscript; he seemed to bedreamily living over in his mind those moments on Mount Terrible. Presently he smiled slightly:

"I was horribly scared--smothered, choked, half-senseless. .. . Partof the snow and a lot of trees and boulders went over the edge ofsomething with a roar like Niagara. .. . I don't know how longafterward it was when I came to my senses. 

"I was in a very narrow, rocky valley, up to my neck in soft snow, and the sun beating on my face. . .. So I crawled out. .. I wasn'thurt; I was merely lost. 

"It took me a long while to place myself geographically. Butfinally, by map and compass, I concluded that I was in some one ofthe innumerable narrow valleys on the northern side of MountTerrible. Basle seemed to be the nearest proper objective, judgingfrom my map. .. . Can you form a mental picture of that particularcorner of Europe, Miss Erith?"

"No. "

"Well, the German frontier did not seem to be very far northward--atleast that was my idea. But there was no telling; the place where Ilanded was a savage and shaggy wilderness of firs and rocks withoutany sign of habitation or of roads. 

"The things that had been strapped on my back naturally remainedwith me--map, binoculars, compass, botanising paraphernalia, rationsfor two days--that sort of thing. So I was not worried. I prowledabout, experienced agreeable shivers by looking up at the mountainwhich had dumped me down into this valley, and finally, aftereating, I started northeast by compass. 

"It was a rough scramble. After I had been hiking along for severalhours I realised that I was on a shelf high above another valley, and after a long while I came out where I could look down over milesof country. My map indicated that what I beheld must be some part ofAlsace. Well, I lay flat on a vast shelf of rock and began to use myfield-glasses. "

He was silent so long that Miss Erith finally looked upquestioningly. McKay's face had become white and stern, and in hisfixed gaze there was something dreadful. 

"Please, " she faltered, "go on. "

He looked at her absently; the colour came back to his face; heshrugged his shoulders. 

"Oh, yes. What was I saying? Yes--about that vast ledge up thereunder the mountains. .. I stayed there three days. Partly because Icouldn't find any way down. There seemed to be none. 

"But I was not bored. Oh, no. Just anxious concerning my situation. Otherwise I had plenty to look at. "

She waited, pencil poised. 

"Plenty to look at, " he repeated absently. "Plenty of Huns to gazeat. Huns? They were like ants below me, there. They swarmed underthe mountain ledge as far as I could see--thousands of busyBoches--busy as ants. There were narrow-gauge railways, too, apparently running right into the mountain; and a deep broad cleft, deep as another valley, and all crawling with Huns. 

"A tunnel? Nobody alive ever dreamed of such a gigantic tunnel, ifit was one!. .. Well, I was up there three days. It was the first ofAugust--thereabouts--and I'd been afield for weeks. And, of course, I'd heard nothing of war--never dreamed of it. 

"If I had, perhaps what those thousands of Huns were doing along themountain wall might have been plainer to me. 

"As it was, I couldn't guess. There was no blasting--none that Icould hear. But trains were running and some gigantic enterprise wasbeing accomplished--some enterprise that apparently demanded speedand privacy--for not one civilian was to be seen, not one dwelling. But there were endless mazes of fortifications; and I saw guns beingmoved everywhere. 

"Well, I was becoming hungry up on that fir-clad battlement. Ididn't know how to get down into the valley. It began to look asthough I'd have to turn back; and that seemed a rather awfulprospect. 

"Anyway, what happened, eventually, was this: I started east throughthe forest along that pathless tableland, and on the afternoon ofthe next day, tired out and almost starved, I stepped across theSwiss boundary line--a wide, rocky, cleared space crossing amountain flank like a giant's road. 

"No guards were visible anywhere, no sentry-boxes, but, as I stoodhesitating in the middle of the frontier--and just why I hesitated Idon't know--I saw half a dozen jagers of a German mounted regimentride up on the German side of the boundary. 

"For a second the idea occurred to me that they had ridden parallelto the ledge to intercept me; but the idea seemed absurd, grantedeven that they had seen me upon the ledge from below, which I neverdreamed they had. So when they made me friendly gestures to comeacross the frontier I returned their cheery 'Gruss Gott!' andplodded thankfully across. . .. And their leader, leaning from hissaddle to take my offered hand, suddenly struck me in the face, andat the same moment a trooper behind me hit me on the head with thebutt of a pistol. "

The girl's flying pencil faltered; she lifted her brown eyes, waiting. 

"That's about all, " he said--"as far as facts are concerned. .. . Theytreated me rather badly. .. . I faced their firing-squads half-a-dozentimes. After that bluff wouldn't work they interned me as an Englishcivilian at Holzminden. .. . They hid me when, at last, an inspectiontook place. No chance for me to communicate with our Ambassador orwith any of the Commission. "

He turned to her in his boyish, frank way: "But do you know, MissErith, it took me quite a while to analyse the affair and to figureout why they arrested me, lied about me, and treated me sohellishly. 

"You see, I was kept in solitary confinement and never had a chanceto speak to any of the other civilians interned there at Holzminden. There was no way of suspecting why all this was happening to meexcept by the attitude of the Huns themselves and their endlessquestions and threats and cruelties. They were cruel. They hurt me alot. "

Miss Erith's eyes suddenly dimmed as she watched him, and shehastily bent her head over the pad. 

"Well, " he went on, "the rest, as I say, is pure surmise. This is myconclusion: I think that for the last forty years the Huns have beenbusy with an astounding military enterprise. Of course, since 1870, the Boche has expected war, and has been feverishly preparing forit. All the world now knows what they have done--not everything thatthey have done, however. 

"My conclusion is this: that, when Mount Terrible shrugged me offits northern flank, the snow slide carried me to an almostinaccessible spot of which even the Swiss hunters knew nothing. Or, if they did, they considered it impossible to reach from their ownterritory. 

"From Germany it could be reached, but it was Swiss territory. Atany rate I think I am the only civilian who has been there, and whohas viewed from there this enormous work in which the Huns areengaged. 

"And I belive that this mysterious, overwhelmingly enormous work isnothing less than the piercing--not of a mountain or a group ofmountains--but of that entire part of Switzerland which lies betweenGermany and France. 

"I believe that a vast military road, deep, deep, under the earth, is being carried by an enormous tunnel from far back on the Germanside of the frontier, under Mount Terrible, under all the mountains, hills, valleys, forests, rivers--under Switzerland, in fact--intoFrench territory. 

"I believe it has been building since 1871. I believe it is nearlyfinished, and that it will, on French territory, give egress to aHun army debouching from Alsace, under Switzerland, into Francebehind the French lines. That part of the Franco-Swiss frontier isunguarded, unfortified, uninhabited. From there a Hun army canstrike the French trenches from the rear--strike Toul, Nancy, Belfort, Verdun--why, the road is open to Paris that way--open toCalais, to England!"

"This is frightful!" cried the girl. "If such a dreadful--"

"Wait! I told you that it is merely a surmise. I don't know. Iguess. Why I guess it I have told you. .. . They were savage withme--those Huns. .. . They got nothing out of me. I lied steadily, evenwhen drunk. No, they got nothing out of me. I denied I had seenanything. I denied--and truly enough--that anybody had accompaniedme. No, they wrenched nothing out of me--not by starving me, not bywater torture, not by their firing-squads, not by blows, not even bymaking of me the drunkard I am. "

The pencil fell from Miss Erith's hand and the hand caught McKay's, held it, crushed it. 

"You're only a boy, " she murmured. "I'm not much more than a girl. We've both got years ahead of us--the best of our lives. "

"YOU have. "

"You also! Oh, don't, don't look at me that way. I'll help you. We've got work to do, you and I. Don't you see? Don't youunderstand? Work to do for our Government! Work to do for America!"

"It's too late for me to--"

"No. You've got to live. You've got to find yourself again. Thisdepends on you. Don't you see it does? Don't you see that you havegot to go back there and PROVE what you merely suspect?"

"I simply can't. "

"You shall! I'll make this right with you! I'll stick to you! I'llfight to give you back your will-power--your mind. We'll do thistogether, for our country. I'll give up everything else to make thisfight. "

He began to tremble. 

"I--if I could--"

"I tell you that you shall! We must do our bit, you and I!"

"You don't know--you don't know!" he cried in a bitter voice, thenfell trembling again with the sweat of agony on his face. 

"No, I don't know, " she whispered, clutching his hand to steady him. "But I shall learn. "

"You'll learn that a drunkard is a dirty beast!" he cried. "Do youknow what I'd do if anybody tried to keep me from drink?ANYBODY!--even you!"

"No, I don't know. " She shook her head sorrowfully: "A mindless manbecomes a demon, I suppose. . .. Would you--injure me?"

He was shaking all over now, and presently he sat up in bed andcovered his head with one desperate hand. 

"You poor boy!" she whispered. 

"Keep away from me, " he muttered, "I've told you all I know. I'm nofurther use. .. . Keep clear of me. .. . I'm sorry--to be--what I am. "

"When I leave what are you going to do?" she asked gently. 

"Do? I'll dress and go to the nearest bar. "

"Do you need it so much already?"

He nodded his bowed head covered by the hand that gripped his hair:"Yes, I need it--badly. "

She rose, loosened his clutch on her slender hand, picked up hermuff:

"I'll be waiting for you downstairs, " she said simply. 

His face expressed sullen defiance as he passed through thewaiting-room. Yet he seemed a little taken aback as well as relievedwhen Miss Erith did not appear among the considerable number ofpeople waiting there for discharged patients. He walked on, buttoning his fur coat with shaky fingers, passed the doorway andstepped out into the falling snow. At the same moment a chauffeurburied in coon-skins moved forward touching his cap:

"Miss Erith's car is here, sir; Miss Erith expects you. "

McKay hesitated, scowling now in his perplexity; passed hisquivering hand slowly across his face, then turned, and looked atthe waiting car drawn up at the gutter. Behind the frosty windowMiss Erith gave him a friendly smile. He walked over to the curb, the chauffeur opened the door, and McKay took off his hat. 

"Don't ask me, " he said in a low voice that trembled slightly like asick man's. 

"I DO ask you. "

"You know what's the matter with me, Miss Erith, " he insisted in thesame low, unsteady voice. 

"Please, " she said: and laid one small gloved hand lightly on hisarm. 

So he entered the car; the chauffeur drew the robe over them, andstood awaiting orders. 

"Home, " said Miss Erith faintly. 

If McKay was astonished he did not betray it. Neither said anythingmore for a while. The man rested an elbow on the sill, his troubled, haggard face on his hand; the girl kept her gaze steadily in frontof her with a partly resolute, partly scared expression. The carwent up Park Avenue and then turned westward. 

When it stopped the girl said: "You will give me a few moments in mylibrary with you, won't you?"

The visage he turned to her was one of physical anguish. They satconfronting each other in silence for an instant; then he rose witha visible effort and descended, and she followed. 

"Be at the garage at two, Wayland, " she said, and ascended the snowystoop beside McKay. 

The butler admitted them. "Luncheon for two, " she said, and mountedthe stairs without pausing. 

McKay remained in the hall until he had been separated from hat andcoat; then he slowly ascended the stairway. She was waiting on thelanding and she took him directly into the library where a wood firewas burning. 

"Just a moment, " she said, "to make myself as--as persuasive as Ican. "

"You are perfectly equipped, Miss Erith--"

"Oh, no, I must do better than I have done. This is the great momentof our careers, Mr. McKay. " Her smile, brightly forced, left hisgrim features unresponsive. The undertone in her voice warned him ofher determination to have her way. 

He took an involuntary step toward the door like a caged thing thatsees a loophole, halted as she barred his way, turned his marredyoung visage and glared at her. There was something terrible in hisintent gaze--a pale flare flickering in his eyes like the uncannylight in the orbs of a cornered beast. 

"You'll wait, won't you?" she asked, secretly frightened now. 

After a long interval, "Yes, " his lips motioned. 

"Thank you. Because it is the supreme moment of our lives. Itinvolves life or death. .. . Be patient with me. Will you?"

"But you must be brief, " he muttered restlessly. "You know what Ineed. I am sick, I tell you!"

So she went away--not to arrange her beauty more convincingly, butto fling coat and hat to her maid and drop down on the chair by herdesk and take up the telephone:

"Dr. Langford's Hospital?"

"Yes. "

"Miss Erith wishes to speak to Dr. Langford. . .. Is that you, Doctor?. .. Oh, yes, I'm perfectly well. .. . Tell me, how soon can youcure a man of--of dipsomania?. .. Of course. .. . It was a stupidquestion. But I'm so worried and unhappy. .. Yes. .. . Yes, it's a manI know. .. . It wasn't his fault, poor fellow. If I can only get himto you and persuade him to tell you the history of his case. .. Idon't know whether he'll go. I'm doing my best. He's here in mylibrary. .. . Oh, no, he isn't intoxicated now, but he was yesterday. And oh, Doctor! He is so shaky and he seems so ill--I mean in mindand spirit more than in body. .. . Yes, he says he needs something. .. . What?. .. Give him some whisky if he wants it?. .. Do you mean ahighball?. .. How many?. .. Oh. .. Yes. .. Yes, I understand . .. I'll domy very best. .. . Thank you. . .. At three o'clock?. .. Thank you somuch, Doctor Langford. Good-bye!"

She hung up the receiver, took a look at herself in thedressing-glass, and saw reflected there a yellow-haired hazel-eyedgirl who looked a trifle scared. But she forced a smile, made ahasty toilette and rang for the butler, gave her orders, and thenwalked leisurely into the library. McKay lifted his tragic face fromhis hands where he stood before the fire, his elbows resting on themantel. 

"Come, " she said in her pretty, resolute way, "you and I areperfectly human. Let's face this thing together and find out whatreally is in it. "

She took one armchair, he the other, and she noticed that all hisframe was quivering now--his hands always in restless, gropingmovement, as though with palsy. A moment later the butler came witha decanter, ice, mineral water and a tall glass. There was also abox of cigars on the silver tray. 

"You'll fix your own highball, " she said carelessly, noddingdismissal to the butler. But she looked only once at McKay, thenturned away--pretence of picking up her knitting--so terrible it wasto her to see in his eyes the very glimmer of hell itself as hepoured out what he "needed. "

Minute after minute she sat there by the fire knitting tranquilly, scarcely ever even lifting her calm young eyes to the man. Twiceagain he poured out what he "needed" for himself before the agony inhis sickened brain and body became endurable--before the torturednerves had been sufficiently drugged once more and the indescribabletorment had subsided. He looked at her once or twice where she satknitting and apparently quite oblivious to what he had been about, but his glance was no longer furtive; he unconsciously squared hisshoulders, and his head straightened up. 

Without lifting her eyes she said: "I thought we'd talk over ourplans when you feel better. "

He glanced sideways at the decanter: "I am all right, " he said. 

She had not yet lifted her eyes; she continued to knit whilespeaking:

"First of all, " she said, "I shall place your testimony and myreport in the hands of my superior, Mr. Vaux. Does that meet withyour approval?"

"Yes. "

She knitted in silence a few moments. He kept his eyes on her. Presently--and still without looking up--she said: "Are you withinthe draft age?"

"No. I am thirty-two. "

"Will you volunteer?"

"No. "

"Would you tell me why?"

"Yes, I'll tell you why. I shall not volunteer because of myhabits. "

"You mean your temporary infirmity, " she said calmly. But her cheeksreddened and she bent lower over her work. A dull colour stained hisface, too, but he merely shrugged his comment. 

She said in a low voice: "I want you to volunteer with me foroverseas service in the Army Intelligence Department. .. . You and I, together. .. . To prove what you have surmised concerning the Germanoperations beyond Mount Terrible. .. . And first I want you to go withme to Dr. Langford's hospital . .. . I want you to go this afternoonwith me. . .. And face the situation. And see it through. And comeout cured. " She lifted her head and looked at him. "Will you?" Andin his altering gaze she saw the flicker of half-senseless angerintensified suddenly to a flare of hatred. 

"Don't ask anything like that of me, " he said. She had grown quitewhite. 

"I do ask it. .. . Will you?"

"If I wanted to I couldn't, and I don't want to. I prefer this hellto the other. "

"Won't you make a fight for it?"

"No!" he said brutally. 

The girl bent her head again over her knitting. But her whitefingers remained idle. After a long while, staring at her intently, he saw her lip quiver. 

"Don't do that!" he broke out harshly. "What the devil do you care?"

Then she lifted her tragic white face. And he had his answer. 

"My God!" he faltered, springing to his feet. "What's the matterwith you? Why do you care? You can't care! What is it to you that adrunken beast slinks back into hell again? Do you think you areSamaritan enough to follow him and try to drag him out by theears?. .. A man whose very brain is already cracking with it all--aburnt-out thing with neither mind nor manhood left--"

She got to her feet, trembling and deathly white. 

"I can't let you go, " she whispered. 

Exasperation almost strangled him and set afire his unhinged brain. 

"For Christ's sake!" he cried. "What do you care?"

"I--I care, " she stammered--"for Christ's sake . .. And yours!"

Things went dark before her eyes. .. . She opened them after a whileon the sofa where he had carried her. He was standing looking downat her. . .. After a long while the ghost of a smile touched herlips. In his haunted gaze there was no response. But he said in analtered, unfamiliar voice: "I'll go if you say so. I'll do allthat's in me to do. . .. Will you be there--for the first day ortwo?"

"Yes. .. . All day long. .. . Every day if you want me. Do you?"

"Yes. .. . But God knows what I may do to you. .. . There'll be somebodyto--watch me--won't there?. .. I don't know what may happen to youor to myself. .. . I'm in a bad way, Miss Erith. .. I'm in a very badway. "

"I know, " she murmured. 

He said with an almost childish directness: "Do men always livethrough such cures?. .. I don't see how I can live through it. "

She rose from the sofa and stood beside him, feeling still dizzy, still tremulous and lacking strength. 

"Let us win through, " she said, not looking at him. "I think youwill suffer more than I shall. A little more. .. . Because I hadrather feel pain than give it--rather suffer than look on suffering. .. . It will be very hard for us both, I fear. "

Her butler announced luncheon. 

CHAPTER IV

WRECKAGE

The man had been desperately ill in soul and mind and body. And nowin some curious manner the ocean seemed to be making him physicallybetter but spiritually worse. Something, too, in the horizonwidewaste of waters was having a sinister effect on his brain. The greydaylight of early May, bitter as December--the utter desolation, themounting and raucous menace of the sea, were meddling with normalconvalescence. 

Dull animosity awoke in a battered mind not yet readjusted to theliving world. What had these people done to him anyway? The sullenresentment which invaded him groped stealthily for a vent. 

Was THIS, then, their cursed cure?--this foggy nightmare throughwhich he moved like a shade in the realm of phantoms? Little bylittle what had happened to him was becoming an obsession, as hebegan to remember in detail. Now he brooded on it and looked askanceat the girl who was primarily responsible--conscious in a confusedsort of way that he was a blackguard for his ingratitude. 

But his mind had been badly knocked about, and its limping machinerycreaked. 

"That meddling woman, " he thought, knowing all the time what he owedher, remembering her courage, her unselfishness, her loveliness. "Curse her!" he muttered, amid the shadows confusing his woundedmind. 

Then a meaningless anger grew with him: She had him, now! he wastrapped and caged. A girl who drags something floundering out ofhell is entitled to the thing if she wants it. He admitted that tohimself. 

But how about that "cure"?

Was THIS it--this terrible blankness--this misty unreality ofthings? Surcease from craving--yes. But what to take its place--whatto fill in, occupy mind and body? What sop to his restless soul?What had this young iconoclast offered him after her infernal era ofdestruction? A distorted world, a cloudy mind, the body-substance ofa ghost? And for the magic world she had destroyed she offered him avoid to live in--Curse her!

There were no lights showing aboard the transport; all portsremained screened. Arrows, painted on the decks in luminous paint, pointed out the way. Below decks, a blue globe here and thereemitted a feeble glimmer, marking corridors which pierced adepthless darkness. 

No noise was permitted on board, no smoking, no other lights incabin or saloon. There was scarcely a sound to be heard on the ship, save the throbbing of her engines, the long, splintering crash ofheavy seas, and the dull creak of her steel vertebrae tortured by amillion rivets. 

As for the accursed ocean, that to McKay was the enemy paramountwhich had awakened him to the stinging vagueness of things out ofhis stupid acquiescence in convalescence. 

He hated the sea. It was becoming a crawling horror to him in itsevery protean phase, whether flecked with ghastly lights in stormsor haunted by pallid shapes in colour--always, always it remainedrepugnant to him under its eternal curse of endless motion. 

He loathed it: he detested the livid skies by day against whichtossing waves showed black: he hated every wave at night and theirceaseless unseen motion. McKay had been "cured. " McKay was very, very ill. 

There came to him, at intervals, a girl who stole through theobscurity of the pitching corridors guiding him from one faint bluelight to the next--a girl who groped out the way with him at nightto the deck by following the painted arrows under foot. Alsosometimes she sat at his bedside through the unreal flight of time, her hand clasped over his. He knew that he had been brutal to herduring his "cure. "

He was still rough with her at moments of intense mentalpressure--somehow; realised it--made efforts towardself-command--toward reason again, mental control; sometimes feltthat he was on the way to acquiring mental mastery. 

But traces of injury to the mind still remained--sensitiveplaces--and there were swift seconds of agony--of blind anger, ofcrafty, unbalanced watching to do harm. Yet for all that he knew hewas convalescent--that alcohol was no longer a necessity to him;that whatever he did had now become a choice for him; that he hadthe power and the authority and the will, and was capable, oncemore, of choosing between depravity and decency. But what had beentaken out of his life seemed to leave a dreadful silence in hisbrain. And, at moments, this silence became dissonant with theclamour of unreason. 

On one of his worst days when his crippled soul was loneliest theicy seas became terrific. Cruisers and destroyers of the escortremained invisible, and none of the convoyed transports were to beseen. The watery, lowering daylight faded: the unseen sun set: thebrief day ended. And the wind went down with the sun. But throughthe thick darkness the turbulent wind appeared to grow luminous withtossing wraiths; and all the world seemed to dissolve into anebulous, hell-driven thing, unreal, dreadful, unendurable!

"Mr. McKay!"

He had already got into his wool dressing-robe and felt shoes, andhe sat now very still on the edge of his berth, listening stealthilywith the cunning of distorted purpose. 

Her tiny room was just across the corridor. She seemed to beeternally sleepless, always on the alert night and day, ready tointerfere with him. 

Finally he ventured to rise and move cautiously to his door, and hemade not the slightest sound in opening it, but her door openedinstantly, and she stood there confronting him, an ulster buttonedover her nightdress. 

"What is the matter?" she said gently. 

"Nothing. "

"Are you having a bad night?"

"I'm all right. I wish you wouldn't constitute yourself my nurse, servant, mentor, guardian, keeper, and personal factotum!" Suddenrage left him inarticulate, and he shot an ugly look at her. "Can'tyou let me alone?" he snarled. 

"You poor boy, " she said under her breath. 

"Don't talk like that! Damnation! I--I can't stand much more--Ican't stand it, I tell you!"

"Yes, you can, and you will. And I don't mind what you say to me. "His malignant expression altered. 

"Do you know, " he said, in a cool and evil voice, "that I may stopSAYING things and take to DOING them?"

"Would you hurt me physically? Are you really as sick as that?"

"Not yet. .. . How do I know?" Suddenly he felt tired and leanedagainst the doorway, covering his dulling eyes with his rightforearm. But his hand was now clenched convulsively. 

"Could you lie down? I'll talk to you, " she whispered. "I'll see youthrough. "

"I can't--endure--this tension, " he muttered. "For God's sake let mego!"

"Where?"

"You know. "

"Yes. .. . But it won't do. We must carry on, you and I. "

"If you--knew--"

"I do know! When these crises come try to fix your mind on what youhave become. "

"Yes. .. . A hell of a soldier. Do you really believe that my countryneeds a thing like me?" She stood looking at him in silence--knowingthat he was in a torment of some terrible sort. His eyes were stillcovered by his arm. On his boyish brow the blonde-brown hair hadbecome damp. 

She went across and passed her arm through his. His hand rested, fell to his side, but he suffered her to guide him through thecorridors toward a far bluish spark that seemed as distant as Venus, the star. 

They walked very slowly for a while on deck, encountering now andthen the shadowy forms of officers and crew. The personnel of theseveral hospital units in transit were long ago in bed below. 

Once he said: "You know, Miss Erith, it is not _I_ who behaves likea scoundrel to you. "

"I know, " she said with a dauntless smile. 

"Because, " he went on, searching painfully for thought as well aswords, "I'm not really a brute--was not always a blackguard--"

"Do you suppose for one moment that I blame a man who has beenirresponsible through no fault of his, and who has made the fightand has won back to sanity?"

"I--am not yet--well!"

"I understand. "

They paused beside the port rail for a few moments. 

"I suppose you know, " he muttered, "that I have thought--attimes--of ending things--down there. . .. You seem to know mostthings. Did you suspect that?"

"Yes. "

"Don't you ever sleep?"

"I wake easily. "

"I know you do. I can't stir in bed but I hear you move, too. .. . Ishould think you'd hate and loathe me--for all I've done--for allI've cost you. "

"Nurses don't loathe their patients, " she said lightly. 

"I should think they'd want to kill them. "

"Oh, Mr. McKay! On the contrary they--they grow to likethem--exceedingly. "

"You dare not say that about yourself and me. "

Miss Erith shrugged her pretty shoulders: "I don't have to sayanything, do I?"

He made no reply. After a long silence she said casually: "The seais calmer, I think. There's something resembling faint moonlight upamong those flying clouds. "

He lifted his tragic face and gazed up at the storm-wrack speedingoverhead. And there through the hurrying vapours behind flying ragsof cloud, a pallid lustre betrayed the smothered moon. 

There was just enough light, now, to reveal the forward gun underits jacket, and the shadowy gun-crew around it where the ship's bowlike a vast black, plough ripped the sea asunder in two deep, foaming furrows. 

"I wish I knew where we are at this moment, " mused the girl. Shecounted the days on her fingertips: "We may be off Bordeaux. .. . It'sbeen a long time, hasn't it?"

To him it had been a century of dread endured through half-awakenedconsciousness of the latest inferno within him. 

"It's been very long, " he said, sighing. 

A few minutes later they caught a glimpse of a strangled moonoverhead--a livid corpse of a moon, tarnished and battered almostout of recognition. 

"Clearing weather, " she said cheerfully, adding: "To-morrow we maybe in the danger zone. .. . Did you ever see a submarine?"

"Yes. Did you?"

"There were some up the Hudson. I saw them last summer whilemotoring along Riverside Drive. "

The spectral form of an officer appeared at her elbow, saidsomething in a low voice, and walked aft. 

She said: "Well, then, I think we'd better dress. . .. Do you feelbetter?"

He said that he did, but his sombre gaze into darkness belied him. So again she slipped her arm through his and he suffered himself tobe led away along the path of shinning arrows under foot. 

At his door she said cheerfully: "No more undressing for bed, youknow. No more luxury of night-clothes. You heard the orders aboutlifebelts?"

"Yes, " he replied listlessly. 

"Very well. I'll be waiting for you. "

She lingered a moment more watching him in his brooding revery wherehe stood leaning against the doorway. And after a while he raisedhis haunted eyes to hers. 

"I can't keep on, " he breathed. 

"Yes you can!"

"No. .. . The world is slipping away--under foot. It's going onwithout me--in spite of me. "

"It's you that are slipping, if anything is. Be fair to the world atleast--even if you mean to betray it--and me. "

"I don't want to betray anybody--anything. " He had begun to tremblewhen he stood leaning against his door. "I--don't know--what to do. "

"Stand by the world. Stand by me. And, through me, stand by your ownself. "

The young fellow's forehead was wet with the vague horror ofsomething. He made an effort to speak, to straighten up; gave her adreadful look of appeal which turned into a snarl. 

He whispered between writhing lips: "Can't you let me alone? Can't Iend it if I can't stand it--without your blocking me everytime--every time I stir a finger--"

"McKay! Wait! Don't touch me!--don't do that!"

But he had her in a sudden grip now--was looking right and left fora place to hurl her out of the way. 

"I've stood enough, by God!" he muttered between his teeth. "Now I'mthrough--"

"Please listen. You're out of your mind, " she said breathlessly, notstruggling to free herself, but striving to twist both her armsaround one of his. 

"You hurt me, " she whimpered. "Don't be brutal to me!"

"I've got to get you out of my way. " He tried to fling her acrossthe corridor into her own cabin, but she had fastened herself tohim. 

"Don't!" she panted. "Don't do anything to yourself--"

"Let go of me! Unclasp your arms!"

But she clung the more desperately and wound her limbs around his, almost tripping him. 

"I WON'T give you up!" she gasped. 

"What do you care?" he retorted hoarsely, striving to tear himselfloose. "I want to get some rest--somewhere!"

"You're hurting! You're breaking my arm! Kay! Kay! what are youdoing to me?" she wailed. 

Something--perhaps the sound of his own name falling from her lipsfor the first time--checked his mounting frenzy. She could feelevery muscle in his body become rigidly inert. 

"Kay!" she whispered, fastening herself to him convulsively. For afull minute she sustained his half-insane stare, then it altered, and her own eyes slowly closed, though her head remained upright onthe rigid marble of her neck. 

The crisis had been reached: the tide of frenzy was turning, hadturned, was already ebbing. She felt it, was conscious that he alsohad become aware of it. Then his grasp slackened, grew lax, loosened, and almost spent. She ventured to unwind her limbs fromhis, to relax her stiffened fingers, unclasp her arms. 

It was over. She could scarcely stand, felt blindly for support, rested so, and slowly unclosed her eyes. 

"I've had to fight very hard for you, " she whispered. "But I thinkI've won. "

He answered with difficulty. 

"Yes--if you want the dog you fought for. "

"It isn't what _I_ want, Kay. "

"All right, I guess I can face it through--after this. .. . But Idon't know why you did it. "

"I do. "

"Do you? Don't you know I'm not a man, but a beast? And there arehalf a hundred million real men to replace me--to do what you andthe country expect of real men. "

"What may be expected of them I expect of you. Kay, I've made a goodfight for you, haven't I?"

He turned his quenched eyes on her. "From gutter to hospital, fromhospital to sanitarium, from sanitarium to ship, " he said in acolourless voice. "Yes, it was--a--good--fight. "

"What a Calvary!" she murmured, looking at him out of clear, sorrowful eyes. "And on your knees, poor boy!"

"You ought to know. You have made every station with me--on yourtender bleeding knees of a girl!" He choked, turned his headswiftly; and she caught his hand. The break had come. 

"Oh, Kay! Kay!" she said, quivering all over, "I have done my bitand you are cured! You know it, don't you? Look at me, turn yourhead. " She laid her slim hand flat against his tense cheek but couldnot turn his face. But she did not care; the palm of her hand waswet. The break had come. She drew a deep, uneven breath, let go hishand. 

"Now, " she said, "we can understand each other at last--our mindsare rational; and whether in accord or conflict they are at least incontact; and mine isn't clashing with something disordered andforeign which it can't interpret, can't approach. "

He said, not turning toward her: "You are kind to put it thatway. .. . I think self-control has returned--will-power--all that. .. . I won't-betray you--Miss Erith. "

"YOU never would, Mr. McKay. But I--I've been in terror of what hasbeen masquerading as you. "

"I know. .. . But whatever you think of such a--a man--I'll do mybit, now. I'll carry on--until the end. "

"I will too! I promise you. "

He turned his head at that and a mirthless laugh touched his weteyes and drawn visage:

"As though you had to promise anybody that you'd stick! You! Youbeautiful, magnificent young thing--you superb kid--"

Her surprise and the swift blaze of colour in her face silenced him. 

After a moment, the painful red still staining his face, he mutteredsomething about dressing. 

He watched her turn and enter her room; saw that she had closed herdoor-something she had not dared do heretofore; then he went intohis own room and threw himself down on the bunk, shaking in everynerve. 

For a long while, preoccupied with the obsession forself-destruction, he lay there face downward, exhausted, trying tofight off the swimming sense of horror that was creeping over himagain. .. .. Little by little it mounted like a tide from hell. .. . Hestruggled to his feet with the unuttered cry of a dreamer tearinghis throat. An odd sense of fear seized him and he dressed andadjusted his clumsy life-suit. For the ship was in the danger zone, now, and orders had been given, and dawn was not far off. Perhaps itwas already day! he could not tell in his dim cabin. 

And after he was completely accoutred for the hazard of theHun-cursed seas he turned and looked down at his bunk with the oddidea that his body still lay there--that it was a thing apart fromhimself--something inert, unyielding, corpse-like, sprawling therein a stupor--something visible, tangible, taking actual proportionand shape there under his very eyes. 

He turned his back with a shudder and went on deck. To his surprisethe blue lights were extinguished, and corridor and saloon were allrosy with early sunlight. 

Blue sky, blue sea, silver spindrift flying and clouds of silverygulls--a glimmer of Heaven from the depths of the pit--a glimpse oflife through a crack in the casket--and land close on the starboardbow! Sheer cliffs, with the bonny green grass atop all furrowed bythe wind--and the yellow-flowered broom and the shimmering whinnsblowing. 

"Why, it's Scotland, " he said aloud, "it's Glenark Cliffs and theHead of Strathlone--my people's fine place in the Old World--wherewe took root--and--O my God! Yankee that I am, it looks like home!"

The cape of a white fleece cloak fluttered in his face, and heturned and saw Miss Erith at his elbow. 

Yellow-haired, a slender, charming thing in her white wind-blowncoat, she stood leaning on the spray-wet rail close to his shoulder. 

And with him it was suddenly as though he had known her foryears--as though he had always been aware of her beauty and herloveliness--as though his eyes had always framed her--his heart hadalways wished for her, and she had always been the sole andexquisite tenant of his mind. 

"I had no idea that we were off Scotland, " he said--"off StrathloneHead--and so close in. Why, I can see the cliff-flowers!"

She laid one hand lightly on his arm, listening; high and heavenlysweet above the rushing noises of the sea they heard the singing ofshoreward sky-larks above the grey cliff of Glenark. 

He began to tremble. "That nightmare through which I've struggled, "he began, but she interrupted:

"It is quite ended, Kay. You are awake. It is day and the world'sbefore you. " At that he caught her slim hand in both of his:

"Eve! Eve! You've brought me through death's shadow! You gave meback my mind!"

She let her hand rest between his. At first he could not make outwhat her slightly moving lips uttered, and bending nearer he heardher murmur: "Beside the still waters. " The sea had become as calm asa pond. 

And now the transport was losing headway, scarcely moving at all. Forward and aft the gun-crews, no longer alert, lounged lazily inthe sunshine watching a boat being loaded and swung outward from thedavits. 

"Is somebody going ashore?" asked McKay. 

"We are, " said the girl. 

"Just you and I, Eve?"

"Just you and I. "

Then he saw their luggage piled in the lifeboat. '

"This is wonderful, " he said. "I have a house a few miles inlandfrom Strathlone Head. "

"Will you take me there, Kay?"

Such a sense of delight possessed him that he could not speak. 

"That's where we must go to make our plans, " she said. "I didn'ttell you in those dark hours we have lived together, because ourminds were so far apart--and I was fighting so hard to hold you. "

"Have you forgiven me--you wonderful girl?"

His voice shook so that he could scarcely control it. Miss Erithlaughed. 

"You adorable boy!" she said. "Stand still while I unlace yourlife-belt. You can't travel in this. "

He felt her soft fingers at his throat and turned his face upward. All the blue air seemed glittering with the sun-tipped wings ofgulls. The skylark's song, piercingly sweet, seemed to penetrate hissoul. And, as his life-suit fell about him, so seemed to fall theheavy weight of dread like a shroud, dropping at his feet. And hestepped clear--took his first free step toward her--as thoughbetween them there were no questions, no barriers, nothing but thisliving, magic light--which bathed them both. 

There seemed to be no need of speech, either, only the sense ofheavenly contact as though the girl were melting into him, dissolving in his arms. 

"Kay!"

Her voice sounded as from an infinite distance. There came asmothered thudding like the soft sound of guns at sea; and then hervoice again, and a greyness as if a swift cloud had passed acrossthe sun. 

"Kay!"

A sharp, cold wind began to blow through the strange and suddendarkness. He heard her voice calling his name--felt his numbed bodyshaken, lifted his head from his arms and sat upright on his bunk inthe dim chill of his cabin. 

Miss Erith stood beside his bed, wearing her life-suit. 

"Kay! Are you awake?'

"Yes. "

"Then put on your life-suit. Our destroyers are firing at something. Quick, please, I'll help you!"

Dazed, shaken, still mazed by the magic of his dream, not yet clearof its beauty and its passion, he stumbled to his feet in theobscurity. And he felt her chilled hand aiding him. 

"Eve--I--thought--"

"What?"

"I thought your name--was Eve--" he stammered. "I'vebeen--dreaming. "

Then was a silence as he fumbled stupidly with his clothing andlife-suit. The sounds of the guns, rapid, distinct, echoed throughthe unsteady obscurity. 

She helped him as a nurse helps a convalescent, her swift, coldlittle fingers moving lightly and unerringly. And at last he wasequipped, and his mind had cleared darkly of the golden vision oflove and spring. 

Icy seas, monstrous and menacing, went smashing past the sealed andblinded port; but there was no wind and the thudding of the gunscame distinctly to their ears. 

A shape in uniform loomed at the cabin door for an instant and acalm, unhurried voice summoned them. 

Corridors were full of dark figures. The main saloon was thronged asthey climbed the companion-way. There appeared to be no panic, nohaste, no confusion. Voices were moderately low, the tone casuallyconversational. 

Miss Erith's arm remained linked in McKay's where they stoodtogether amid the crowd. 

"U-boats, I fancy, " she said. 

"Probably. "

After a moment: "What were you dreaming about, Mr. McKay?" she askedlightly. In the dull bluish dusk of the saloon his boyish face grewhot. 

"What was it you called me?" she insisted. "Was it Eve?"

At that his cheeks burnt crimson. 

"What do you mean?" he muttered. 

"Didn't you call me Eve?"

"I--when a man is dreaming--asleep--"

"My name is Evelyn, you know. Nobody ever called me Eve. .. . Yet--it's odd, isn't it, Mr. McKay? I've always wished that somebodywould call me Eve. .. . But perhaps you were not dreaming of me?"

"I--was. "

"Really. How interesting!" He remained silent. 

"And did you call me Eve--in that dream?. .. That is curious, isn'tit, after what I've just told you?. .. So I've had my wish--in adream. " She laughed a little. "In a dream--YOUR dream, " sherepeated. "We must have been good friends in your dream--that youcalled me Eve. "

But the faint thrill of the dream was in him again, and it troubledhim and made him shy, and he found no word to utter--no defence toher low-voiced banter. 

Then, not far away on the port quarter, a deck-gun spoke with asharper explosion, and intense stillness reigned in the saloon. 

"If there's any necessity, " he whispered, "you recollect your boat, don't you?"

"Yes. .. . I don't want to go--without you. " He said, in a pleasantfirm voice which was new to her: "I know what you mean. But you arenot to worry. I am absolutely well. "

The girl turned toward him, the echoes of the guns filling her ears, and strove to read his face in the ghastly, dreary light. 

"I'm really cured, Miss Erith, " he said. "If there's any emergencyI'll fight to live. Do you believe me?"

"If you tell me so. "

"I tell you so. "

The girl drew a deep, unsteady breath, and her arm tightened atrifle within his. 

"I am--so glad, " she said in a voice that sounded suddenly tired. 

There came an ear-splitting detonation from the after-deck, silencing every murmur. 

"Something is shelling us, " whispered McKay. "When orders come, goinstantly to your boat and your station. "

"I don't want to go alone. "

"The nurses of the unit to which you--"

The crash of a shell drowned his voice. Then came a deathly silence, then the sound of the deck-guns in action once more. 

Miss Erith was leaning rather heavily on his arm. He bent it, drawing her closer. 

"I don't want to leave you, " she said again. 

"I told you--"

"It isn't that. .. . Don't you understand that I have become--yourfriend?"

"Such a brute as I am?"

"I like you. "

In the silence he could hear his heart drumming between thedetonations of the deck-guns. He said: "It's because you are you. Noother woman on earth but would have loathed me. .. Beastly rotterthat I was--"

"Oh-h, don't, " she breathed. .. . "I don't know--we may be very closeto death. .. . I want to live. I'd like to. But I don't really minddeath. . .. But I can't bear to have things end for you just asyou've begun to live again--"

Crash! Something was badly smashed on deck that time, for the brazenjar of falling wreckage seemed continuous. 

Through the metallic echo she heard her voice:

"Kay! I'm afraid--a little. "

"I think it's all right so far. Listen, there go our guns again. It's quite all right, Eve dear. "

"I didn't know I was so cowardly. But of course I'll never show itwhen the time comes. "

"Of course you won't. Don't worry. Shells make a lot of noise whenthey explode on deck. All that tinpan effect we heard was probably aventilator collapsing--perhaps a smokestack. "

After a silence punctured by the flat bang of the deck-guns:

"You ARE cured, aren't you, Kay?"

"Yes. "

She repeated in a curiously exultant voice: "You ARE cured. All of asudden--after that black crisis, too, you wake up, well!"

"You woke me. "

"Of course, I did--with those guns frightening me!"

"You woke me, Eve, " he repeated coolly, "and my dream had alreadycured me. I am perfectly well. We'll get out of this mess shortly, you and I. And--and then--"He paused so long that she looked up athim in the bluish dusk:

"And what then?" she asked. 

He did not answer. She said: "Tell me, Kay. "

But as his lips unclosed to speak a terrific shock shook thesaloon--a shock that seemed to come from the depths of the ship, tilt up the cabin floor, and send everybody reeling about. 

Through the momentary confusion in the bluish obscurity the coolvoice of an officer sounded unalarmed, giving orders. There was nopanic. The hospital units formed and started for the deck. A youngofficer passing near exchanged a calm word with McKay, and passed onspeaking pleasantly to the women who were now moving forward. 

McKay said to Miss Erith: "It seems that we've been torpedoed. We'llgo on deck together. You know your boat and station?"

"Yes. "

"I'll see you safely there. You're not afraid any more, are you?"

"No. "

He gave a short dry laugh. "What a rotten deal, " he said. "My dreamwas--different. .. . There is your boat--THAT one!. .. I'll say goodluck. I'm assigned to a station on the port side. . .. Good luck. .. . And thank you, Eve. "

"Don't go--"

"Yes, I must. . We'll find each other--ashore--or somewhere. "

"Kay! The port boats can't be launched--"

"Take your place! you're next, Eve. ". .. Her hand, which had clung tohis, he suddenly twisted up, and touched the convulsively tighteningfingers with his lips. 

"Good luck, dear, " he said gaily. And watched her go and take herplace. Then he lifted his cap, as she turned and looked for him, andsauntered off to where his boat and station should have been had notthe U-boat shells annihilated boat and rail and deck. 

"What a devil of a mess!" he said to a petty officer near him. Ayoung doctor smoking a cigarette surveyed his own life-suit and theclumsy apparel of his neighbours with unfeigned curiosity!

"How long do these things keep one afloat?" he inquired. 

"Long enough to freeze solid, " replied an ambulance driver. 

"Did we get the Hun?" asked McKay of the petty officer. 

"Naw, " he replied in disgust, "but the destroyers ought to nail him. Look out, sir--you'll go sliding down that slippery toboggan!"

"How long'll she float?" asked the young ambulance driver. 

"This ship? SHE'S all right, " remarked the petty officer absently. 

She went down, nose first. Those in the starboard boats saw herstand on end for full five minutes, screws spinning, before amuffled detonation blew the bowels out of her and sucked her downlike a plunging arrow. 

Destroyers and launches from some of the cruisers were busy amid thewreckage where here, on a spar, some stunned form clung like alimpet, and there, a-bob in the curling seas, a swimmer in hislife-suit tossed under the wintry sky. 

There were men on rafts, too, and several clinging to hatches; therewas not much loss of life, considering. 

Toward midday a sea-plane which had been releasing depth-bombs andhovering eagerly above the wide iridescent and spreading stain, sheered shoreward and shot along the coast. 

There was a dead man afloat in a cave, rocking there ratherpeacefully in his life-suit--or at least they supposed him to bedead. 

But on a chance they signalled the discovery to a distant trawler, then soared upward for a general coup de l'oeil, turned there aloftlike a seahawk for a while, sheering in widening spirals, andfinally, high in the grey sky, set a steady course for partsunknown. 

Meanwhile a boat from the trawler fished out McKay, wrapped him inred-hot blankets, pried open his blue lips, and tried to fill himfull of boiling rum. Then he came to life. But those honestfishermen knew he had gone stark mad because he struck at thepannikin of steaming rum and cursed them vigorously for theirkindness. And only a madman could so conduct himself toward apannikin of steaming rum. They understood that perfectly. And, understanding it, they piled more hot blankets upon the strugglingform of Kay McKay and roped him to his bunk. 

Toward evening, becoming not only coherent but frightfully emphatic, they released McKay. 

"What's this damn place?" he shouted. 

"Strathlone Firth, " they said. 

"That's my country!" he raged. "I want to go ashore!"

They were quite ready to be rid of the cracked Yankee, and told himso. 

"And the boats? How about them?" he demanded. 

"All in the Firth, sir. "

"Any women lost?"

"None, sir. "

At that, struggling into his clothes, he began to shed goldsovereigns from his ripped money-belt all over the cabin. Weatherbeaten fingers groped to restore the money to him. But it wasquite evident that the young man was mad. He wouldn't take it. Andin his crazy way he seemed very happy, telling them what fine ladsthey were and that not only Scotland but the world ought to be proudof them, and that he was about to begin to live the most wonderfullife that any man had ever lived as soon as he got ashore. 

"Because, " he explained, as he swung off and dropped into the smallboat alongside, "I've taken a look into hell and I've had a glimpseof heaven, but the earth has got them both stung to death, and Ilike it and I'm going to settle down on it and live awhile. Youdon't get me, do you?" They did not. 

"It doesn't matter. You're a fine lot of lads. Good luck!"

And so they were rid of their Yankee lunatic. 

On the Firth Quay and along the docks all the inhabitants of Glenarkand Strathlone were gathered to watch the boats come in with living, with dead, or merely the news of the seafight off the grey head ofStrathlone. 

At the foot of the slippery waterstairs, green with slime, McKay, grasping the worn rail, lifted his head and looked up into the facesof the waiting crowd. And saw the face of her he was looking foramong them. 

He went up slowly. She pushed through the throng, descended thesteps, and placed one arm around him. 

"Thanks, Eve, " he said cheerfully. "Are you all right?"

"All right, Kay. Are you hurt?"

"No. .. . I know this place. There's an inn . .. If you'll give me yourarm--it's just across the street. "

They went very leisurely, her arm under his--and his face, suddenlycolourless, half-resting against her shoulder. 

CHAPTER V

ISLA WATER

Earlier in the evening there had been a young moon on Isla Water. Under it spectres of the mist floated in the pale lustre; a paintedmoorhen steered through ghostly pools leaving fan-shaped wakes ofcrinkled silver behind her; heavy fish splashed, swirling again todrown the ephemera. 

But there was no moonlight now; not a star; only fog on Isla Water, smothering ripples and long still reaches, bank and upland, wall andhouse. 

The last light had gone out in the stable; the windows of Isla weredarkened; there was a faint scent of heather in the night; a faintertaint of peat smoke. The world had grown very still by Isla Water. 

Toward midnight a dog-otter, swimming leisurely by the Bridge ofIsla, suddenly dived and sped away under water; and a stoat, prowling in the garden, also took fright and scurried through thewicket. Then in the dead of night the iron bell hanging inside thecourt began to clang. McKay heard it first in his restless sleep. Finally the clangour broke his sombre dream and he awoke and sat upin bed, listening. 

Neither of the two servants answered the alarm. He swung out of bedand into slippers and dressing-gown and picked up a service pistol. As he entered the stone corridor he heard Miss Erith's door creak onits ancient hinges. 

"Did the bell wake you?" he asked in a low voice. 

"Yes. What is it?"

"I haven't any idea. "

She opened her door a little wider. Her yellow hair covered hershoulders like a mantilla. "Who could it be at this hour?" sherepeated uneasily. 

McKay peered at the phosphorescent dial of his wrist-watch:

"I don't know, " he repeated. "I can't imagine who would come here atthis hour. "

"Don't strike a light!" she whispered. 

"No, I think I won't. " He continued on down the stone stairs, andMiss Erith ran to the rail and looked over. 

"Are you armed?" she called through the darkness. 

"Yes. "

He went on toward the rear of the silent house and through theservants' hall, then around by the kitchen garden, then felt his wayalong a hedge to a hutchlike lodge where a fixed iron bell hungquivering under the slow blows of the clapper. 

"What the devil's the matter?" demanded McKay in a calm voice. 

The bell still hummed with the melancholy vibrations, but theclapper now hung motionless. Through the brooding rumour of metallicsound came a voice out of the mist:

"The hours of life are numbered. Is it true?"

"It is, " said McKay coolly; "and the hairs of our head are numberedtoo!"

"So teach us to number our days, " rejoined the voice from the fog, "that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. "

"The days of our years are three-score years and ten, " said McKay. "Have you a name?"

"A number. "

"And what number will that be?"

"Sixty-seven. And yours?"

"You should know that, too. "

"It's the reverse; seventy-six. "

"It is that, " said McKay. "Come in. "

He made his way to the foggy gate, drew bolt and chain from the leftwicket. A young man stepped through. 

"Losh, mon, " he remarked with a Yankee accent, "it's a fearful nichtto be abroad. "

"Come on in, " said McKay, re-locking the wicket. "This way; followme. "

They went by the kitchen garden and servants' hall, and so throughto the staircase hall, where McKay struck a match and Sixty-seveninstantly blew it out. 

"Better not, " he said. "There are vermin about. "

McKay stood silent, probably surprised. Then he called softly in thedarkness:

"Seventy-seven!"

"Je suis la!" came her voice from the stairs. 

"It's all right, " he said, "it's one of our men. No use sittin' upif you're sleepy. " He listened but did not hear Miss Erith stir. 

"Better return to bed, " he said again, and guided Sixty-seven intothe room on the left. 

For a few moments he prowled around; a glass tinkled against adecanter. When he returned to the shadow-shape seated motionless bythe casement window he carried only one glass. 

"Don't you?" inquired Sixty-seven. "And you a Scot!"

"I'm a Yankee; and I'm through. "

"With the stuff?"

"Absolutely. "

"Oh, very well. But a Yankee laird--tiens c'est assez drole!" Hesmacked his lips over the smoky draught, set the half-empty glass onthe deep sill. Then he began breezily:

"Well, Seventy-six, what's all this I hear about your misfortunes?"

"What do you hear?" inquired McKay guilelessly. 

The other man laughed. 

"I hear that you and Seventy-seven have entered the Service; thatyou are detailed to Switzerland and for a certain object unknown tomyself; that your transport was torpedoed a week ago off the Head ofStrathlone, that you wired London from this house of yours calledIsla, and that you and Seventy-seven went to London last week toreplenish the wardrobe you had lost. "

"Is that all you heard?"

"It is. "

"Well, what more do you wish to hear?"

"I want to know whether anything has happened to worry you. And I'lltell you why. There was a Hun caught near Banff! Can you beat it?The beggar wore kilts!--and the McKay tartan--and, by jinks, if hisgillie wasn't rigged in shepherd's plaid!--and him with his Yankeepassport and his gillie with a bag of ready-made rods. Yellow trout, is it? Sea-trout, is it! Ho, me bucko, says I when I lamped what hedid with his first trout o' the burn this side the park--by Godfrey!thinks I to myself, you're no white man at all!--you're Boche. Andit was so, McKay. "

"Seventy-six, " corrected McKay gently. 

"That's better. It should become a habit. "

"Excuse me, Seventy-six; I'm Scotch-Irish way back. You're straightScotch--somewhere back. We Yankees don't use rods and flies and netand gaff as these Scotch people use 'em. But we're white, Seventy-six, and we use 'em RIGHT in our own fashion. " He moistenedhis throat, shoved aside the glass:

"But this kilted Boche! Oh, la-la! What he did with his rod andflies and his fish and himself! AND his gillie! Sure YOU'RE notwhite at all, thinks I. And at that I go after them. "

"You got them?"

"Certainly--at the inn--gobbling a trout, blaue gesotten--havinggone into the kitchen to show a decent Scotch lassie how to concoctthe Hunnish dish. I nailed them then and there--took the chance thatthe swine weren't right. And won out. "

"Good! But what has it to do with me?" asked McKay. 

"Well, I'll be telling you. I took the Boche to London and I've comeall the way back to tell you this, Seventy-six; the Huns are on toyou and what you're up to. That Boche laird called himself StanleyBrown, but his name is--or was--Schwartz. His gillie proved to be aSwede. "

"Have they been executed?"

"You bet. Tower style! We got another chum of theirs, too, who setup a holler like he saw a pan of hogwash. We're holding him. Andwhat we've learned is this: The Huns made a special set at yourtransport in order to get YOU and Seventy-seven!

"Now they know you are here and their orders are to get you beforeyou reach France. The hog that hollered put us next. He's aMilwaukee Boche; name Zimmerman. He's so scared that he tells all heknows and a lot that he doesn't. That's the trouble with a MilwaukeeBoche. Anyway, London sent me back to find you and warn you. Keepyour eye skinned. And when you're ready for France wire Edinburgh. You know where. There'll be a car and an escort for you andSeventy-seven. "

McKay laughed: "You know, " he said, "there's no chance of troublehere. Glenark is too small a village--"

"Didn't I land a brace of Boches at Banff?"

"That's true. Well, anyway, I'll be off, I expect, in a day or so. "He rose; "and now I'll show you a bed--"

"No; I've a dog-cart tied out yonder and a chaser lying at Glenark. By Godfrey, I'm not finished with these Boche-jocks yet!"

"You're going?"

"You bet. I've a date to keep with a suspicious character--on atrawler. Can you beat it? These vermin creep in everywhere. Yes, byGodfrey! They crawl aboard ship in sight of Strathlone Head! Here'shoping it may be a yard-arm jig he'll dance!"

He emptied his glass, refused more. McKay took him to the wicket andlet him loose. 

"Well, over the top, old scout!" said Sixty-seven cheerily, exchanging a quick handclasp with McKay. And so the fog took him. 

A week later they found his dead horse and wrecked dog-cart fivemiles this side of Glenark Burn, lying in a gully entirely concealedby whinn and broom. It was the noise the flies made that attractedattention. As for the man himself, he floated casually into theFirth one sunny day with five bullets in him and his throat cut veryhorridly. 

But, before that, other things happened on Isla Water--long beforeanybody missed No. 67. Besides, the horse and dog-cart had beenhired for a week; and nobody was anxious except the captain of thetrawler, held under mysterious orders to await the coming of a manwho never came. 

So McKay went back through the fog to his quaint, whitewashedinheritance--this legacy from a Scotch grandfather to a Yankeegrandson--and when he came into the dark waist of the house hecalled up very gently: "Are you awake, Miss Yellow-hair?"

"Yes. Is all well?"

"All's well, " he said, mounting the stairs. 

"Then--good night to you Kay of Isla!" she said. 

"Don't you want to hear--"

"To-morrow, please. "

"But--"

"As long as you say that all is well I refuse to lose any moresleep!"

"Are you sleepy, Yellow-hair?"

"I am. "

"Aren't you going to sit up and chat for a few--"

"I am not!"

"Have you no curiosity?" he demanded, laughingly. 

"Not a bit. You say everything is all right. Then it is allright--when Kay of Isla says so! Good night!"

What she had said seemed to thrill him with a novel and delicioussense of responsibility. He heard her door close; he stood there inthe stone corridor a moment before entering his room, experiencingan odd, indefinite pleasure in the words this girl haduttered--words which seemed to reinstate him among his kind, wordswhich no woman would utter except to a man in whom she believed. 

And yet this girl knew him--knew what he had been--had seen him inthe depths--had looked upon the wreck of him. 

Out of those depths she had dragged what remained of him--not forhis own sake perhaps--not for his beaux-yeux--but to save him forthe service which his country demanded of him. 

She had fought for him--endured, struggled spiritually, mentally, bodily to wrench him out of the coma where drink had left him with astunned brain and crippled will. 

And now, believing in her work, trusting, confident, she had justsaid to him that what he told her was sufficient security for her. And on his word that all was well she had calmly composed herselffor sleep as though all the dead chieftains of Isla stood on guardwith naked claymores! Nothing in all his life had ever so thrilledhim as this girl's confidence. 

And, as he entered his room, he knew that within him the accursedthing that had been, lay dead forever. 

He was standing in the walled garden switching a limber trout-rodwhen Miss Erith came upon him next morning, --a tall straight youngman in his kilts, supple and elegant as the lancewood rod he wastesting. 

Conscious of a presence behind him he turned, came toward her in thesunlight, the sun crisping his short hair. And in his pleasant leveleyes the girl saw what had happened--what she had wrought--thatthis young man had come into his own again--into his right mind andhis manhood--and that he had resumed his place among his fellow menand peers. 

He greeted her seriously, almost formally; and the girl, excited anda little upset by the sudden realisation of his victory and hers, laughed when he called her "Miss Erith. "

"You called me Yellow-hair last night, " she said. "I called you Kay. Don't you want it so?"

"Yes, " he said reddening, understanding that it was her finalrecognition of a man who had definitely "come back. "

Miss Erith was very lovely as she stood there in the garden whitherbreakfast was fetched immediately and laid out on a sturdy greengarden-table--porridge, coffee, scones, jam, and an egg. 

Chipping the latter she let her golden-hazel eyes rest at momentsupon the young fellow seated opposite. At other moments, sipping hercoffee or buttering a scone, she glanced about her at the new grassstarred with daisies, at the daffodils, the slim youngfruit-trees, --and up at the old white facade of the ancient abode ofthe Lairds of Isla. 

"Why the white flag up there, Kay?" she inquired, glancing aloft. 

He laughed, but flushed a little. "Yankee that I am, " he admitted, "I seem to be Scot enough to observe the prejudices and folk-ways ofmy forebears. "

"Is it your clan flag?"

"Bratach Bhan Chlaun Aoidh, " he said smilingly. "The White Banner ofthe McKays. "

"Good! And what may that be--that bunch of weed you wear in yourbutton-hole?" Again the young fellow laughed: "Seasgan or Cuilc--inGaelic--just reed-grass, Miss Yellow-hair. "

"Your clan badge?"

"I believe so. "

"You're a good Yankee, Kay. You couldn't be a good Yankee if youtreated Scotch custom with contempt. .. . This jam is delicious. Andoh, such scones!"

"When we go to Edinburgh we'll tea on Princess Street, " he remarked. "It's there you'll fall for the Scotch cakes, Yellow-hair. "

"I've already fallen for everything Scotch, " she remarked demurely. 

"Ah, wait! This Scotland is no strange land to good Americans. It'sa bonnie, sweet, clean bit of earth made by God out of the samebatch he used for our own world of the West. Oh, Yellow-hair, I mindthe first day I ever saw Scotland. 'Twas across PrincessStreet--across acres of Madonna lilies in that lovely forelandbehind which the Rock lifted skyward with Edinburgh Castle atop madeout of grey silver slag! It was a brave sight, Yellow-hair. I neverloved America more than at that moment when, in my heart, I marriedher to Scotland. "

"Kay, you're a poet!" she exclaimed. 

"We all are here, Yellow-hair. There's naught else in Scotland, " hesaid laughing. 

The man was absolutely transformed, utterly different. She had neverimagined that a "cure" meant the revelation of this unsuspectedpersonality--this alternation of pleasant gravity and boyish charm. 

Something of what preoccupied her he perhaps suspected, for thecolour came into his handsome lean features again and he picked uphis rod, rising as she rose. 

"Are there no instructions yet?" she inquired. 

As he stood there threading the silk line through the guides he toldher about the visit of No. 67. 

"I fancy instructions will come before long, " he remarked, casting aleaderless line out across the grass. After a moment he glancedrather gravely at her where she stood with hands linked behind her, watching the graceful loops which his line was making in the air. 

"You're not worried, are you, Yellow-hair?"

"About the Boche?"

"I meant that. "

"No, Kay, I'm not uneasy. "

And when the girl had said it she knew that she had meant a littlemore; she had meant that she felt secure with this particular manbeside her. 

It was a strange sort of peace that was invading her--an odd couragequite unfamiliar--an effortless pluck that had suddenly become themost natural thing in the world to this girl, who, until then, hadclutched her courage desperately in both hands, commended her soulto God, her body to her country's service. 

Frightened, she had set out to do this service, knowing perfectlywhat sort of fate awaited her if she fell among the Boche. 

Frightened but resolute she faced the consequences with thiscompanion about whom she knew nothing; in whom she had divined atrace of that true metal which had been so dreadfully tarnished andtransmuted. 

And now, here in this ancient garden--here in the sun of earliestsummer, she had beheld a transfiguration. And still under the spellof it, still thrilled by wonder, she had so utterly believed in it, so ardently accepted it, that she scarcely understood what thistransfiguration had also wrought in her. She only felt that she wasno longer captain of their fate; that he was now; and she resignedher invisible insignia of rank with an unconscious little sigh thatleft her pretty lips softly parted. 

At that instant he chanced to look up at her. She was the mostbeautiful thing he had ever seen in the world. And she had looked athim out of those golden eyes when he had been less than a mere brutebeast. .. . That was very hard to know and remember . .. . But it wasthe price he had to pay--that this fresh, sweet, clean young thinghad seen him as he once had been, and that he never could forgetwhat she had looked upon. 

"Kay!"

"Yes, Lady Yellow-hair. "

"What are you going to do with that rod?"

"Whip Isla for a yellow trout for you. "

"Isla?"

"Not our Loch, but the quick water yonder. "

"You know, " she said, "to a Yankee girl those moors appearrather--rather lonely. "

"Forbidding?"

"No; beautiful in their way. But I am in awe of Glenark moors. "

He smiled, lingering still to loop on a gossamer leader and a castof tiny flies. 

"Have you--" she began, and smiled nervously. 

"A gun?" he inquired coolly. "Yes, I have two strapped up under botharms. But you must come too, Yellow-hair. "

"You don't think it best to leave me alone even in your own house?"

"No, I don't think it best. "

"I wanted to go with you anyway, " she said, picking up a soft hatand pulling it over her golden head. 

On the way across Isla bridge and out along the sheep-path theychatted unconcernedly. A faint aromatic odour made the girl aware ofbroom and whinn and heath. 

As they sauntered on along the edge of Isla Water the lapwings roseinto flight ahead. Once or twice the feathery whirr of brown grousestartled her. And once, on the edge of cultivated land, a partridgeburst from the heather at her very feet--a "Frenchman" with his redlegs and gay feathers brilliant in the sun. 

Sun and shadow and white cloud, heath and moor and hedge andbroad-tilled field alternated as they passed together along the edgeof Isla Water and over the road to Isla--the enchantingriver--interested in each other's conversation and in the lovelinessof the sunny world about them. 

High in the blue sky plover called en passant; larks too were on thewing, and throstles and charming feathered things that hid inhedgerows and permitted glimpses of piquant heads and twitchingpainted tails. 

"It is adorable, this country!" Miss Erith confessed. "It stealsinto your very bones; doesn't it?"

"And the bones still remain Yankee bones, " he rejoined. "There's themiracle, Yellow-hair. "

"Entirely. You know what I think? The more we love the more loyal webecome to our own. I'm really quite serious. Take yourself forexample, Kay. You are most ornamental in your kilts andheather-spats, and you are a better Yankee for it. Aren't you?"

"Oh yes, a hopeless Yankee. But that drop of Scotch blood is singingtunes to-day, Yellow-hair. "

"Let it sing--God bless it!"

He turned, his youthful face reflecting the slight emotion in hergay voice. Then with a grave smile he set his face straight in frontof him and walked on beside her, the dark green pleats of the McKaytartan whipping his bared knees. Clan Morhguinn had no handsomerson; America no son more loyal. 

A dragon-fly glittered before them for an instant. Far across therolling country they caught the faint, silvery flash of Islahurrying to the sea. 

Evelyn Erith stood in the sunny breeze of Isla, her yellow hairdishevelled by the wind, her skirt's edge wet with the spray ofwaterfalls. The wild rose colour was in her cheeks and the tint ofcrimson roses on her lips and the glory of the Soleil d'or glimmeredon her loosened hair. A confused sense that the passing hour was thehappiest in her life possessed her: she looked down at the brace ofwet yellow trout on the bog-moss at her feet; she gazed out acrossthe crinkled pool where the Yankee Laird of Isla waded, casting abig tinselled fly for the accidental but inevitable sea-trout alwaysencountered in Isla during the season--always surprising andexciting the angler with emotion forever new. 

Over his shoulder he was saying to her: "Sea-trout and grilse don'tbelong to Isla, but they come occasionally, Lady Yellow-hair. "

"Like you and I, Kay--we don't belong here but we come. "

"Where the McKay is, the Key of the World lies hidden in hissporran, " he laughed back at her over his shoulder where the clanplaid fluttered above the cairngorm. 

"Oh, the modesty of this young man! Wherever he takes off his cap heis at home!" she cried. 

He only laughed, and she saw the slim line curl, glisten, loop andunroll in the long back cast, re-loop, and straighten out over Islalike a silver spider's floating strand. Then silver leaped to meetsilver as the "Doctor" touched water; one keen scream of the reelcut the sunny silence; the rod bent like a bow, staggered in hishand, swept to the surface in a deeper bow, quivered under thetremendous rush of the great fish. 

Miss Erith watched the battle from an angle not that of an angler. Her hazel eyes followed McKay where he manoeuvred in midstream withrod and gaff--happily aware of the grace in every unconsciousmovement of his handsome lean body--the steady, keen poise of headand shoulders, the deft and powerful play of his clean-cut, brownhands. 

It came into her mind that he'd look like that on the firing-linesome day when his Government was ready to release him from hisobscure and terrible mission--the Government that was sending himwhere such men as he usually perish unobserved, unhonoured, repudiated even by those who send them to accomplish what only themost brave and unselfish dare undertake. 

A little cloud cast a momentary shadow across Isla. The sea-troutdied then, a quivering limber, metallic shape glittering on theripples. 

In the intense stillness from far across the noon-day world sheheard the bells of Banff--a far, sweet reiteration stealing inlandon the wind. She had never been so happy in her life. 

Swinging back across the moor together, he with slanting rod andweighted creel, she with her wind-blown yellow hair and a bunch ofreed at her belt in his honour, both seemed to understand that theyhad had their hour, and that the hour was ending--almost ended now. 

They had remained rather silent. Perhaps grave thoughts of what laybefore them beyond the bright moor's edge--beyond the far bluehorizon--preoccupied their minds. And each seemed to feel that theirplay-day was finished--seemed already to feel physically theapproach of that increasing darkness shrouding the East--thathellish mist toward which they both were headed--the twilight of theHun. 

Nothing stained the sky above them; a snowy cloud or two drifted upthere, --a flight of lapwings now and then--a lone curlew. The long, squat white-washed house with its walled garden reflected in IslaWater glimmered before them in the hollow of the rolling hills. 

McKay was softly and thoughtfully whistling the "Lament forDonald"--the lament of CLAN AOIDH--his clan. 

"That's rather depressing, Kay--what you're whistling, " said EvelynErith. 

He glanced up from his abstraction, nodded, and strode on hummingthe "Over There" of that good bard George of Broadway. 

After a moment the girl said: "There seem to be some people by IslaWater. "

His quick glance appraised the distant group, their summer touristautomobile drawn up on the bank of Isla Water near the Bridge, thehampers on the grass. 

"Trespassers, " he said with a shrug. "But it's a pretty spot by IslaBridge and we never drive them away. "

She looked at them again as they crossed the very old bridge ofstone. Down by the water's edge stood their machine. Beside it onthe grass were picnicking three people--a very good-looking girl, avery common-looking stout young man in flashy outing clothes, and athin man of forty, well-dressed and of better appearance. 

The short, stout, flashy young man was eating sandwiches with onehand while with the other he held a fishing-rod out over the water. 

McKay noticed this bit of impudence with a shrug. "That won't do, "he murmured; and pausing at the parapet of the bridge he saidpleasantly: "I'm sorry to disturb you, but fishing isn't permittedin Isla Water. "

At that the flashy young man jumped up with unexpected nimbleness--apowerful frame on two very vulgar but powerful legs. 

"Say, sport, " he called out, "if this is your fish-pond we're readyto pay what's right. What's the damage for a dozen fish?"

"Americans--awful ones, " whispered Miss Erith. 

McKay rested his folded arms on the parapet and regarded the advanceof the flashy man up the grassy slope below. 

"I don't rent fishing privileges, " he said amiably. 

"That's all right. Name your price. No millionaire guy I ever heardof ever had enough money, " returned the flashy man jocosely. 

McKay, amused, shook his head. "Sorry, " he said, "but I couldn'tpermit you to fish. "

"Aw, come on, old scout! We heard you was American same as us. That's my sister down there and her feller. My name's JimMacniff--some Scotch somewhere. That there feller is Harry Skelton. Horses is our business--Spitalfields Mews--here's my card--"pulling it out--"I'll come up on the bridge--"

"Never mind. What are you in Scotland for anyway?" inquired McKay. 

"The Angus Dhu stables at Inverness--auction next Wednesday. Horsesis our line, so we made it a holiday--"

"A holiday in the Banff country?"

"Sure, I ain't never seen it before. Is that your house?"

McKay nodded and turned away, weary of the man and his vulgarity. "Very well, picnic and fish if you like, " he said; and fell intostep beside Miss Erith. 

They entered the house through the door in the garden. Later, whenMiss Erith came back from her toilet, but still wearing her outingskirt, McKay turned from the long window where he had been standingand watching the picnickers across Isla Bridge. The flashy man had abanjo now and was strumming it and leering at the girl. 

"What people to encounter in this corner of Paradise, " she saidlaughingly. And, as he did not smile: "You don't suppose there'sanything queer about them, do you, Kay?" At that he smiled: "Oh, no, nothing of that sort, Yellow-hair. Only--it's rather odd. But bagmenand their kind do come into the northland--why, Heaven knows--butone sees them playing about. "

"Of course those people are merely very ordinary Americans--nothingworse, " she said, seating herself at the table. 

"What could be worse?" he returned lightly. 

"Boche. "

They were seated sideways to the window and opposite each other, commanding a clear view of Isla Water and the shore where thepicnickers sprawled apparently enjoying the semi-comatose pleasureof repletion. 

"That other man--the thin one--has not exactly a prepossessingcountenance, " she remarked. 

"They can't travel without papers, " he said. 

For a little while luncheon progressed in silence. Presently MissErith reverted to the picnickers: "The young woman has a foreignface. Have you noticed?"

"She's rather dark. Rather handsome, too. And she appears rathernice. "

"Women of that class always appear superior to men of the sameclass, " observed Miss Erith. "I suppose really they are not superiorto the male of the species. "

"I've always thought they were, " he said. 

"Men might think so. "

He smiled: "Quite right, Yellow-hair; woman only is competent tosize up woman. The trouble is that no man really believes this. "

"Don't you?"

"I don't know. Tell me, what shall we do after luncheon?"

"Oh, the moors--please, Kay!"

"What!" he exclaimed laughingly; "you're already a victim to Glenarkmoors!"

"Kay, I adore them! . .. Are you tired? . .. Our time is short-our dayof sunshine. I want to drink in all of it I can . .. Before we--"

"Certainly. Shall we walk to Strathnaver, Lady Yellow-hair?"

"If it please my lord. "

"Now?"

"In the cool of the afternoon. Don't you want to be lazy with me inyour quaint old garden for an hour or two?"

"I'll send out two steamer-chairs, Yellow-hair. "

When they lay there in the shadow of a lawn umbrella, chair besidechair, the view across Isla Water was unpolluted by the picnickers, their hamper, and their car. 

"Stole away, the beggars, " drawled McKay lighting a cigarette. "Where the devil they got a permit for petrol is beyond me. "

The girl lay with deep golden eyes dreaming under her long darklashes. Sunlight crinkled Isla Water; a merle came and sang to herin a pear-tree until, in its bubbling melody, she seemed to hear theliquid laughter of Isla rippling to the sea. 

"Kay?"

"Yes, Yellow-hair. " Their voices were vague and dreamy. 

"Tell me something. "

"I'll tell you something. When a McKay of Isla is near his end he isalways warned. "

"How?"

"A cold hand touches his hand in the dark. "

"Kay!"

"It's so. It's called'the Cold Hand of Isla. ' We are all doomed tofeel it. "

"Absurd!"

"Not at all. That's a pretty story; isn't it? Now what more shall Itell you?"

"Anything you like, Kay. I'm in paradise--or would be if onlysomebody would tell me stories till I fall asleep. "

"Stories about what?"

"About YOU, Kay. "

"I'll not talk about myself. "

"Please!"

But he shook his head without smiling: "You know all there is, " hesaid--"and much that is--unspeakable. "

"Kay!"

"What?"

"Never, never speak that way again!"

He remained silent. 

"Because, " she continued in her low, pretty voice, "it is not true. I know about you only what I somehow seemed to divine the verymoment I first laid eyes on you. Something within me seemed to sayto me, 'This is a boy who also is a real man!' . .. And it was true, Kay. "

"You thought that when you knelt in the snow and looked down at thatbeastly drunken--"

"Yes! Don't use such words! You looked like a big schoolboy, asleep-that is what you resembled. But I knew you to be a real man. "

"You are merciful, but I know what you went through, " he saidmorosely. 

She paid no attention: "I liked you instantly. I thought to myself, 'Now when he wakes he'll be what he looks like. ' And you are!"

He stirred in his chair, sideways, and glanced at her. 

"You know what I think about you, don't you?"

"No. " She shouldn't have let their words drift thus far and she knewit. Also at this point she should have diverted the conversation. But she remained silent, aware of an indefinite pleasure in thevague excitement which had quickened her pulse a little. 

"Well, I shan't tell you, " he said quietly. 

"Why not?" And at that her heart added a beat or two. 

"Because, even if I were different, you wouldn't wish me to. "

"Why?"

"Because you and I are doomed to a rather intimate comradeship--acompanionship far beyond conventions, Yellow-hair. That is what isahead of us. And you will have enough to weary you without havinganother item to add to it. "

"What item?" At that she became very silent and badly scared. Whatdemon was prompting her to such provocation? Her own effronteryamazed and frightened her, but her words seemed to speak themselvesindependently of her own volition. 

"Yellow-hair, " he said, "I think you have guessed all I might havedared say to you were I not on eternal probation. "

"Probation?"

"Before a bitterly strict judge. "

"Who?"

"Myself, Yellow-hair. "

"Oh, Kay! You ARE a boy--nothing more than a boy--"

"Are you in love with me?"

"No, " she said, astonished. "I don't think so. What an amazing thingto say to a girl!"

"I thought I'd scare you, " he remarked grimly. 

"You didn't. I--I was scarcely prepared--such a nonsensical thing tosay! Why--why I might as well ask you if you are in--in--"

"In love with you? You wish to know, Yellow-hair?"

"No, I don't, " she replied hastily. "This is--stupid. I don'tunderstand how we came to discuss such--such--" But she did know andshe bit her lip and gazed across Isla Water in silent exasperation. 

What mischief was this that hid in the Scottish sunshine, whisperingin every heather-scented breeze--laughing at her from every littlewave on Isla Water?--counselling her to this new and delicateaudacity, imbuing her with a secret gaiety of heart, and her verysoul fluttering with a delicious laughter--an odd, perverse, illogical laughter, alternately tremulous and triumphant!

Was she in love, then, with this man? She remembered his unconscioushead on her knees in the limousine, and the snow clinging to hisbright hair--

She remembered the telephone, and the call to the hospital--and themessage. . .. And the white night and bitter dawn. . .. Love? No, notas she supposed it to be; merely the solicitude and friendship of awoman who once found something hurt by the war and who fought toprotect what was hers by right of discovery. That was not love. . .. Perhaps there may have been a touch of the maternal passion abouther feeling for this man. . .. Nothing else--nothing more than that, and the eternal indefinable charity for all boys which is inherentin all womanhood--the consciousness of the enchantment that a boyhas for all women. . .. Nothing more. . .. Except that--perhaps shehad wondered whether he liked her--as much as she liked him. .. . Orif, possibly, in his regard for her there were some slight depthsbetween shallows--a gratitude that is a trifle warmer than theconventional virtue--

When at length she ventured to turn her head and look at him heseemed to be asleep, lying there in the transformed shadow of thelawn umbrella. 

Something about the motionless relaxation of this man annoyed her. "Kay?"

He turned his head squarely toward her, and 'o her exasperation sheblushed. 

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, " she said coldly. 

"You didn't. I was awake. "

"Oh! I meant to say that I think I'll stroll out. Don't come if youfeel lazy. "

He swung himself up to a sitting posture. 

"I'm quite ready, " he said. . .. "You'll always find me ready, Yellow-hair--always waiting. "

"Waiting? For what?"

"For your commands. "

"You very nice boy!" she said gaily, springing to her feet. Then, the subtle demon of the sunlight prompting her: "You know, Kay, youdon't ever have to wait. Because I'm always ready to listen to anypro--any suggestions--from you. "

The man looked into the girl's eyes:

"You would care to hear what I might have to tell you?"

"I always care to hear what you say. Whatever you say interests me. "

"Would it interest you to know I am--in love?"

"Yes. . .. With wh--whom are--" But her breath failed her. 

"With you. . .. You knew it, Yellow-hair. . .. Does it interest you toknow it?"

"Yes. " But the exhilaration of the moment was interfering with herbreath again and she only stood there with the flushed and audaciouslittle smile stamped on her lips forcing her eyes to meet hiscurious, troubled, intent gaze. 

"You did know it?" he repeated. 

"No. "

"You suspected it. "

"I wanted to know what you--thought about me, Kay. "

"You know now. "

"Yes . .. But it doesn't seem real. . .. And I haven't anything to sayto you. I'm sorry--"

"I understand, Yellow-hair. "

"--Except-thank you. And-and I am interested. . .. You're such a boy. .. . I like you so much, Kay. .. . And I AM interested in what yousaid to me. "

"That means a lot for you to say, doesn't it?"

"I don't know. . .. It's partly what we have been through together, Isuppose; partly this lovely country, and the sun. Something isenchanting me. . .. And you are very nice to look at, Kay. " His smilewas grave, a little detached and weary. 

"I did not suppose you could ever really care for such a man as Iam, " he remarked without the slightest bitterness or appeal in hisvoice. "But I'm glad you let me tell you how it is with me. . .. Italways was that way, Yellow-hair, from the first moment you cameinto the hospital. I fell in love then. "

"Oh, you couldn't have--"

"Nevertheless, and after all I said and did to the contrary. . .. Idon't think any woman remains entirely displeased when a man tellsher he is in love with her. If he does love her he ought to tellher, I think. It always means that much tribute to her power. . .. And none is indifferent to power, Yellow-hair. "

"No. . .. I am not indifferent. I like what you said to me. It seemsunreal, though--but enchanting--part of this day's enchantment. . .. Shall we start, Kay?"

"Certainly. "

They went out together through the garden door into the open moor, swinging along in rhythmic stride, side by side, smiling faintly asdreamers smile when something imperceptible to the waking worldinvades their vision. 

Again the brown grouse whirred from the whinns; again the subtlefragrance of the moor sweetened her throat with its clean aroma;again the haunting complaint of the lapwings came across acres ofbog and furze; and, high in the afternoon sky, an invisible curlewsadly and monotonously repeated its name through the vast blue vaultof space. 

On the edge of evening with all the west ablaze they came out oncemore on Isla Water and looked across the glimmering flood at the oldhouse in the hollow, every distant window-pane a-glitter. 

Like that immemorial and dragon-guarded jewel of the East the sun, cradled in flaky gold, hung a hand's breadth above the horizon, andall the world had turned to a hazy plum-bloom tint threaded withpale fire. 

On Isla Water the yellow trout had not yet begun to jump; eveningstill lingered beyond the world's curved ruin; but the wild duckwere coming in from the sea in twos and threes and sheering downinto distant reaches of Isla Water. 

Then, into the divine stillness of the universe came the unspeakabletwang of a banjo; and a fat voice, slightly hoarse:

 "Rocks on the mountain, Fishes in the sea, A red-headed girl Raised hell with me. She come from Chicago, R. F. D. An' she ain't done a thing to a guy like me!"

The business was so grotesquely outrageous, so utterly anddisgustingly hopeless in its surprise and untimelines, that McKay'ssharp laugh rang out under the sky. 

There they were, the same trespassers of the morning, squatted onthe heather at the base of Isla Craig--a vast heap of rocks--theirmachine drawn up in the tall green brakes beside the road. 

The flashy, fat man, Macniff, had the banjo. The girl sat betweenhim and the thin man, Skelton. 

"Ah, there, old scout!" called out Macniff, flourishing one handtoward McKay. "Lovely evening, ain't it? Won't you and the wife joinus?"

There was absolutely nothing to reply to such an invitation. MissErith continued to gaze out steadily across Isla Water; McKay, deeply sensitive to the ludicrous, smiled under the grotesqueprovocation, his eyes mischievously fixed on Miss Erith. After along while: "They've spoiled it, " she said lightly. "Shall we go on, Kay? I can't endure that banjo. "

They walked on, McKay grinning. The picnickers were getting up fromthe crushed heather; Macniff with his banjo came toward them on hisincredibly thick legs, blocking their path. 

"Say, sport, " he began, "won't you and the lady join us?" But McKaycut him short:

"Do you know you are impudent?" he said very quietly. "Step out ofthe way there. "

"The hell you say!" and McKay's patience ended at the same instant. And something happened very quickly, for the man only staggeredunder the smashing blow and the other man's arm flew up and hispistol blazed in the gathering dusk, shattering the cairngorm onMcKay's shoulder. The young woman fired from where she sat on thegrass and the soft hat was jerked from Miss Erith's head. At thesame moment McKay clutched her arm and jerked her violently behind ajutting elbow of Isla Rock. When she recovered her balance she sawhe held two pistols. 

"Boche?" she gasped incredulously. 

"Yes. Keep your head down. Crouch among the ferns behind me!"

There was a ruddy streak of fire from the pistol in his right hand;shots answered, the bullets smacking the rock or whining above it. 

"Yellow-hair?"

"Yes, Kay. "

"You are not scared, are you?"

"Yes; but I'm all right. "

He said with quiet bitterness: "It's too late to say what a fool Iam. Their camouflage took me in; that's all--"

He fired again; a rattling volley came storming among the rocks. 

"We're all right here, " he said tersely. But in his heart he wasterrified, for he had only the cartridges in his clips. 

Presently he motioned her to bend over very low. Then, taking herhand, he guided her along an ascending gulley, knee-deep in fern andbrake and brier, to a sort of little rocky pulpit. 

The lake lay behind them, lapping the pulpit's base. There was a manin a boat out there. McKay fired at him and he plied both oars andfled out of range. 

"Lie down, " he whispered to Miss Erith. The girl mutely obeyed. 

Now, crouched up there in the deepening dusk, his pistol extended, resting on the rock in front of him, his keen eyes searchedrestlessly; his ears were strained for the minutest stirring on themoor in front of him; and his embittered mind was at workalternately cursing his own stupidity and searching for some chancefor this young girl whom his own incredible carelessness hadprobably done to death. 

Presently, between him and Isla Water, a shadow moved. He fired; andaround them the darkness spat flame from a dozen different angles. 

"Damnation!" he whispered to himself, realising now what the sunlitmoors had hidden--a dozen men all bent on murder. 

Once a voice hailed him from the thick darkness promising immunityif he surrendered. He hesitated. Who but he should know the Boche?Still he answered back: "If you let this woman go you can do whatyou like to me!" And knew while he was saying it that it wasuseless--that there was no truth, no honour in the Boche, onlyinfamy and murder. A hoarse voice promised what he asked; but MissErith caught McKay's arm. 

"No!"

"If I dared believe them--"

"No, Kay!"

He shrugged: "I'd be very glad to pay the price--only they can't betrusted. They can't be trusted, Yellow-hair. "

Somebody shouted from the impenetrable shadows:

"Come out of that now, McKay! If you don't we'll go in and cut herthroat before we do for you!"

He remained silent, quite motionless, watching the darkness. 

Suddenly his pistol flashed redly, rapidly; a heavy, soft bulk wenttumbling down the rocks; another reeled there, silhouetted againstIsla Water, then lurched forward, striking the earth with his face. And now from every angle slanting lines of blood-red fire streakedthe night; Isla Craig rang and echoed with pelting lead. 

"Next!" called out McKay with his ugly careless laugh. "Two down. Nouse to set 'em up again! Let dead wood lie. It's the law!"

"Can they hear the shooting at the house?" whispered Miss Erith. 

"Too far. A shot on the moors carries only a little way. "

"Could they see the pistol flashes, Kay?"

"They'd take them for fireflies or witch lights dancing on thebogs. "

After a long and immobile silence he dropped to his knees, remainedso listening, then crept across the Pulpit's ferny floor. Of asudden he sprang up and fired full into a man's face; and struck thedistorted visage with doubled fist, hurling it below, crashing downthrough the bracken. 

After a stunned interval Miss Erith saw him wiping that hand on theherbage. 

"Kay?"

"Yes, Yellow-hair. "

"Can you see your wrist-watch?"

"Yes. It's after midnight. "

The girl prayed silently for dawn. The man, grim, alert, awaitedevents, clutching his partly emptied pistols. He had not yet toldher that they were partly empty. He did not know whether to tellher. After a while he made up his mind. 

"Yellow-hair?"

"Yes, dear Kay. "

His lips went dry; he found difficulty in speaking: "I've--I'veundone you. I've bitten the hand that saved me, your slim whitehand, I'm afraid. I'm afraid I've destroyed you, Yellow-hair. "

"How, Kay?"

"My pistols are half empty. . .. Unless dawn comes quick--"

Again one of his pistols flashed its crimson streak across theblackness and a man began scrambling and thrashing and screamingdown there in the whinns. For a little while Miss Erith crouchedbeside McKay in silence. Then he felt her light touch on his arm:

"I've been thinking. ", "Aye. So have I. "

"Is there a chance to drop into the lake?"

He had not thought so. He had figured it out in every possible way. But there seemed little chance to swim that icy water--none atall--with that man in the boat yonder, and detection always imminentif they left the Pulpit. McKay shook his head slightly:

"He'd row us down and gralloch us like swimming deer. "

"But if one goes alone?"

"Oh, Yellow-hair! Yellow-hair! If you only could!"

"I can. "

"Swim it?"

"Yes. "

"It's cold water. Few can swim Isla Water. It's a long swim fromIsla Craig to the house. "

"I can do it, I think. "

After a terrible silence he said: "Yes, best try it, Yellow-hair. .. . I had meant to keep the last cartridge for you. .. "

"Dear Kay, " she breathed close to his cheek. 

Presently he was obliged to fire again, but remained uncertain as tohis luck in the raging storm of lead that followed. 

"I guess you better go, Yellow-hair, " he whispered. "My guns areabout all in. "

"Try to hold them off. I'll come back. Of course you understand I'mnot going for myself, Kay, I'm going for ammunition. "

"What!"

"What did you suppose?" she asked curtly. 

At that he blazed up: "If you can win through Isla Water you stay onthe other side and telephone Glenark! Do you hear? I'm all right. It's--it's none of your business how I end this--"

"Kay?"

"What?"

"Turn your back. I'm undressing. "

He heard her stripping, kneeling in the ferns behind him, --heard therip of delicate fabric and the rustle of silk-lined garmentsfalling. 

Presently she said: "Can I be noticed if I slip down through thebushes to the water?"

"O God, " he whispered, "be careful, Yellow-hair. . .. No, the man inthe boat is keeping his distance. He'll never see you. Don't splashwhen you take the water. Swim like an otter, under, until you'rewell out. . .. You're young and sturdy, slim as you are. You'll getthrough if the chill of Isla doesn't paralyse you. But you've got todo it, Yellow-hair; you've GOT to do it. "

"Yes. Hold them off, Kay. I'll be back. Hold them off, dear Kay. Will you?"

"I'll try, Yellow-hair. .. . Good luck! Don't try to come back!"

"Good luck, " she whispered close to his ear; and, for a second hefelt her slim young hands on his shoulders--lightly--the very ghostof contact. That was all. He waited a hundred years. Then another. Then, his weapons levelled, listening, he cast a quick glancebackward. At the foot of the Pulpit a dark ripple lapped the rock. Nothing there now; nothing in Isla Water save far in the stars'lustre the shadowy boat lying motionless. 

Toward dawn they tried to rush the Pulpit. He used a heavy fragmentof rock on the first man up, and as his quarry went smashingearthward, a fierce whine burst from the others: "Shot out! Alltogether now!" But his pistol spoke again and they recoiled, growling, disheartened, cursing the false hope that had re-nervedthem. 

It was his last shot, however. He had a heavy clasp-knife such assalmon-anglers carry. He laid his empty pistols on the rocky ledge. Very patiently he felt for frost-loosened masses of rock, detachedthem one by one and noiselessly piled them along the ledge. 

"It's odd, " he thought to himself: "I'm going to be killed and Idon't care. If Isla got HER, then I'll see her very soon now, Godwilling. But if she wins out--why it is going to be longer waiting. .. . And I've put my mark on the Boche--not as often as I wished--butI've marked some of them for what they've done to me--and to theworld--"

A sound caught his ear. He waited, listening. Had it been a fightingchance in Isla Water he'd have taken it. But the man in theboat!--and to have one's throat cut--like a deer! No! He'd kill allhe could first; he'd die fighting, not fleeing. 

He looked at his wrist-watch. Miss Erith had been gone two hours. That meant that her slender body lay deep, deep in icy Isla. 

Now, listening intently, he heard the bracken stirring and somethingscraping the gorse below. They were coming; they were among therocks! He straightened up and hurled a great slab of rock downthrough darkness; heard them scrambling upward still; seized slabafter slab and smashed them downward at the flashes as the red flareof their pistols lit up his figure against the sky. 

Then, as he hurled the last slab and clutched his short, broadknife, a gasping breath fell on his cheek and a wet and icy littlehand thrust a box of clips into his. And there and then The McKayalmost died, for it was as if the "Cold Hand of Isla" had touchedhim. And he stared ahead to see his own wraith. 

"Quick!" she panted. "We can hold them, Kay!"

"Yellow-hair! By God! You bet we can!" he cried with a terribleburst of laughter; and ripped the clips from the box and snappedthem in with lightning speed. 

Then his pistols vomited vermilion, clearing the rock of vermin; andwhen two fresh clips were snapped in, the man stood on the Pulpit'sedge, mad for blood, his fierce young eyes searching the blacknessabout him. 

"You dirty rats!" he cried, "come back! Are you leaving your dead inthe bracken then?"

There were distant sounds on the moor; nothing stirred nearer. 

"Are you coming back?" he shouted, "or must I go after you?"

Suddenly in the night their motor roared. At the same moment, faracross the lake, he saw the headlights of other motors glide overIsla Bridge like low-flying stars. 

"Yellow-hair!"

There was no sound behind him. He turned. 

The fainting girl lay amid her drenched yellow hair in the ferns, partly covered by the clothing which she had drawn over her with herlast conscious effort. 

It is a long way across Isla Water. And twice across is longer. And"The Cold Hand of Isla" summons the chief of Clan Morhguinn when histime has come to look upon his own wraith face to face. But The ColdHand of Isla had touched this girl in vain--MOLADH MAIRI!!

"Yellow-hair! Yellow-hair!" he whispered. The roar of rushing motorsfrom Glenark filled his ears. He picked up one of her little handsand chafed it. Then she opened her golden eyes, looked up at him, and a flood of rose dyed her body from brow to ankle. 

"It--it is a long way across Isla Water, " she stammered. "I'm verytired--Kay!"

"You below there!" shouted McKay. "Are there constables among you?"

"Aye, sir!" came the loud response amid the roar of running engines. 

"Then there'll be whiskey and blankets, I'm thinkin'!" cried McKay. 

"Aye, blankets for the dead if there be any!"

"Kick 'em into the whinns and bring what ye bring for the living!"said McKay in a loud, joyous voice. "And if you've petrol and speedtake the Banff road and be on your way, for the Boche are crawlingto cover, and it's fine running the night! Get on there, ye Glenarkbeagles! And leave a car behind for me and mine!"

A constable, shining his lantern, came clumping up the Pulpit. McKaysnatched the heavy blankets and with one mighty movement swept thegirl into them. 

Half-conscious she coughed and gasped at the whiskey, then lay verystill as McKay lifted her in his arms and strode out under thepaling stars of Isla. 

CHAPTER VI

MOUNT TERRIBLE

Toward the last of May a handsome young man wearing a smile and theuniform of an American Intelligence Officer arrived at Delle, aFrench village on the Franco-Swiss frontier. 

His credentials being satisfactory he was directed by the Major ofAlpinists commanding the place to a small stucco house on the mainstreet. 

Here he inquired for a gentleman named Number Seventy. Thegentleman's other name was John Recklow, and he received theIntelligence Officer, locked the door, and seated himself behind hisdesk with his back to the sunlit window, and one drawer of his deskpartly open. 

Credentials being requested, and the request complied withaccompanied by a dazzling smile, there ensued a silent interval ofsome length during which the young man wearing the uniform of anAmerican Intelligence Officer was not at all certain whether Recklowwas examining him or the papers of identification. 

After a while Recklow nodded: "You came through from Toul, Captain?"

"From Toul, sir, " with the quick smile revealing dazzling teeth. 

"Matters progress?"

"It is quiet there. "

"So I understand, " nodded Recklow. "There's blood on your uniform. "

"A scratch--a spill from my motor-cycle. "

Recklow eyed the cut on the officer's handsome face. One of theyoung officer's hands was bandaged, too. 

"You've been in action, Captain. "

"No, sir. "

"You wear German shoes. "

The officer's brilliant smile wrinkled his good-looking features:"There was some little loot: I'm wearing my share. "

Recklow nodded and let his cold eyes rest on the identificationpapers. 

Then, slowly, and without a word, he passed them back over the desk. 

The Intelligence Officer stuffed them carelessly into hisside-pocket. 

"I thought I'd come over instead of wiring or 'phoning. Our peoplehave not come through yet, have they?"

"Which people, sir?"

"McKay and Miss Erith. "

"No, not yet. "

The officer mused for a moment, then: "They wired me from Parisyesterday, so they're all right so far. You'll see to it personallythat they get through the Swiss wire, won't you?"

"Through or over, sir. "

The Intelligence Officer displayed his mirthful teeth:

"Thanks. I'm also sending three of my own people through the wire. They'll have their papers in order--here are the duplicates Iissued; they'll have their photographs on the originals. "

He fished out a batch of papers and laid them on Recklow's desk. 

"Who are these people?" demanded Recklow. 

"Mine, sir. "

"Oh. "

There fell a silence; but Recklow did not examine the papers; hemerely pocketed them. 

"I think that's all, " said the Intelligence Officer. "You know myname--Captain Herts. In case you wish to communicate just wire mydepartment at Toul. They'll forward anything if I'm away on duty. "

He saluted: Recklow followed him to the door, saw him mount hismotor-cycle--a battered American machine--stood there watching untilhe was out of sight. 

Hour after hour that afternoon Recklow sat in his quiet little housein Delle poring over the duplicate papers. 

About five o'clock he called up Toul by telephone and got the properdepartment. 

"Yes, " came the answer, "Captain Herts went to you this morning on aconfidential matter. .. . No, we don't know when he will return toToul. "

Recklow hung up, walked slowly out into his little garden and, seating himself on a green bench, took out the three packets ofduplicate papers left him by Captain Herts. Then he produced ajeweller's glass and screwed it into his right eye. 

Several days later three people--two men and a young woman--arrivedat Delle, were conveyed under military escort to the little house ofMr. Recklow, remained closeted with him until verification of theircredentials in duplicate had been accomplished, then they took theirdeparture and, that evening, they put up at the Inn. 

But by the next morning they had disappeared, presumably over theSwiss wire--that being their destination as revealed in theirpapers. But the English touring-car which brought them stillremained in the Inn garage. Recklow spent hours examining it. 

Also the arrival and the departure of these three people wastelephoned to Toul by Recklow, but Captain Herts still remainedabsent from Toul on duty and his department knew nothing about thedetails of the highly specialised and confidential business ofCaptain Herts. 

So John Recklow went back to his garden and waited, and smoked ashort, dirty clay pipe, and played with his family of cats. 

Once or twice he went down at night to the French wire. All thesentries were friends of his. 

"Anybody been through?" he inquired. 

The answer was always the same: Nobody had been through as far asthe patrol knew. 

"Where the hell, " muttered Recklow, "did those three guys go?"

A nightingale sang as he sauntered homeward. Possibly, being aFrench nightingale, she was trying to tell him that there were threepeople lying very still in the thicket near her. 

But men are stupid and nightingales are too busy to bother abouttrifles when there is courting to be done and nests to be plannedand all the anticipated excitement of the coming new moon topreoccupy a love-distracted bird. 

On a warm, sunny day early in June, toward three o'clock in theafternoon, a peloton of French cavalry en vidette from Delle stoppeda rather rickety touring-car several kilometres west of the Swissfrontier and examined the sheaf of papers offered for theirinspection by the young man who drove the car. 

A yellow-haired girl seated beside him leaned back in her placeindifferently to relax her limbs. 

From the time she and the young man had left Glenark in Scotlandtheir progress had been a series of similar interruptions. Everywhere on every road soldiers, constables, military policemen, and gentlemen in mufti had displayed, with varying degrees ofcivility, a persistent curiosity to inspect such papers as theycarried. 

On the Channel transport it was the same; the same from Dieppe toParis; from Paris to Belfort; and now, here within a pebble's tossof the Swiss frontier, military curiosity concerning their papersapparently remained unquenched. 

The sous-officier of dragoon-lancers sat his splendid horse andgravely inspected the papers, one by one. Behind him a handful oftroopers lolled in their saddles, their lances advanced, theirhorses swishing their tails at the murderous, green-eyed bremserswhich, like other bloodthirsty Teutonic vermin, had their origin inGermany, and raided both French and Swiss frontiers to the crueldiscomfort of horses and cattle. 

Meanwhile the blond, perplexed boy who was examining the papers ofthe two motorists, scratched his curly head and rubbed his deeplysunburned nose with a sunburned fist, a visible prey to indecision. Finally, at his slight gesture, his troopers trotted out and formedaround the touring-car. 

The boyish sous-officier looked pleasantly at the occupants of thecar: "Have the complaisance to follow me--rather slowly if youplease, " he said; wheeled his horse, and trotted eastward toward theroofs of a little hamlet visible among the trees of the green androlling countryside. 

The young man threw in his clutch and advanced slowly, the cavalrytrotting on either side with lances in stirrup-boots and slantingbackward from the arm-loops. 

There was a barrier beyond and some Alpine infantry on guard; and tothe left, a paved street and houses. Half-way down this silentlittle street they halted: the sous-officier dismounted and openedthe door of the tonneau, politely assisting the girl to alight. Hercompanion followed her, and the sous-officier conducted them into astucco house, the worn limestone step of which gave directly on thegrass-grown sidewalk. 

"If your papers are in order, as they appear to be, " said theyouthful sous-officier, "you are expected in Delle. And if it is youindeed whom we expect, then you will know how to answer properly thequestions of a gentleman in the adjoining room who is perhapsexpecting you. " And the young sous-officier opened a door, bowedthem into the room beyond, and closed the door behind them. As theyentered this room a civilian of fifty, ruddy, powerfully but trimlybuilt, and wearing his white hair clipped close, rose from a swivelchair behind a desk littered with maps and papers. 

"Good-afternoon, " he said in English. "Be seated if you please. Andif you will kindly let me have your papers--thank you. "

When the young man and the girl were seated, their suave and ruddyhost dropped back onto his swivel chair. For a long while he satthere absently caressing his trim, white moustache, studying theirpapers with unhurried and minute thoroughness. 

Presently he lifted his cold, greyish eyes but not his head, like aman looking up over eyeglasses:

"You are this Kay McKay described here?" he inquired pleasantly. Butin his very clear, very cold greyish eyes there was somethingsuggesting the terrifying fixity of a tiger's. 

"I am the person described, " said the young man quietly. 

"And you, " turning only his eyes on the young girl, "are Miss EvelynErith?"

"I am. "

"These, obviously, are your photographs?"

McKay smiled: "Obviously. "

"Certainly. And all these other documents appear to be in order"--helaid them carelessly on his desk--"IF, " he added, "Delle is yourultimate destination and terminal. "

"We go farther, " said McKay in a low voice. 

"Not unless you have something further to offer me in the way ofcredentials, " said the ruddy, white-haired Mr. Recklow, smiling histerrifying smile. 

"I might mention a number, " began McKay in a voice still lower, "ifyou are interested in the science of numbers!"

"Really. And what number do you think might interest me?"

"Seventy-six--for example. "

"Oh, " said the other; "in that case I shall mention the veryinteresting number, Seventy. And you, Miss Erith?" turning to theyellow-haired girl. "Have you any number to suggest that mightinterest me?"

"Seventy-seven, " she said composedly. Recklow nodded:

"Do you happen to believe, either of you, that, at birth, the hoursof our lives are already irrevocably numbered?"

Miss Erith said: "So teach us to number our days that we may applyour hearts unto wisdom. "

Recklow got up, made them a bow, and reseated himself. He touched ahandbell; the blond sous-officier entered. 

"Everything is in order; take care of the car; carry the luggage tothe two rooms above, " said Recklow. 

To McKay and Miss Erith he added: "My name is John Recklow. If youwant to rest before you wash up, your rooms are ready. You'll findme here or in the garden behind the house. "

Toward sunset they found Recklow in the little garden, seated alonethere on a bench looking up at the eastward mountains with thepiercing, detached stare of a bird of prey. When they had seatedthemselves on the faded-green bench on either side of him he said, still gazing toward the mountains: "It's April up there. Dresswarmly. "

"Which is Mount Terrible?" inquired Miss Erith. 

"Those are the lower ridges. The summit is not visible from where wesit, " replied Recklow. And, to McKay: "There's some snow therestill, I hear. "

McKay's upward-turned face was a grim study. Beyond those limestoneshouldering heights his terrible Calvary had begun--a progress thathad ended in the wreckage of mind and soul had it not been forChance and Evelyn Erith. After Mount Terrible, with its grim "GreatSecret, " had come the horrors of the prison camp at Holzminden andits nameless atrocities, his escape to New York, the Hun cipherorders to "silence him, " his miraculous rescue and redemption by thegirl at his side--and now their dual mission to probe the mystery ofMount Terrible. 

"McKay, " said Recklow, "I don't know what the particular mission maybe that brings you and Miss Erith to the Franco-Swiss frontier. Ihave been merely instructed to carry out your orders whenever youare in touch with me. And I am ready to do so. "

"How much do you know about us?" asked McKay, turning to him analtered face almost marred by hard features which once had been onlycareworn and stern. 

"I know you escaped from the Holzminden prison-camp in Germany; thatyou were inhumanly treated there by the Boche; that you entered theUnited States Intelligence Service; and that, whatever may be yourbusiness here, I am to help further it at your request. " He lookedat the girl: "As concerning Miss Erith, I know only that she is inthe same Government service as yourself and that I am to afford herany aid she requests. "

McKay said, slowly: "My orders are to trust you implicitly. On onesubject only am I to remain silent--I am not to confide to anybodythe particular object which brings us here. "

Recklow nodded: "I understood as much. Also I have been instructedthat the Boches are determined to discover your whereabouts and doyou in before your mission is accomplished. You, probably, are awareof that, McKay?"

"Yes, I am. "

"By the way--you know a Captain Herts?"

"Not personally. "

"You've been in communication with him?"

"Yes, for some time. "

"Did you wire him from Paris last Thursday?"

"Yes. "

"Where did you wire him?"

"At his apartment at Toul. "

"All right. He was here on Friday. .. . Somehow I feel uneasy. .. . Hehas a way of smiling too brilliantly. .. . I suppose, after theseexperiences I'll remain a suspicious grouch all my life--but hispapers were in order. .. I don't know just why I don't care for thattype of man. .. . You're bound for somewhere or other via MountTerrible, I understand?"

"Yes. "

"This Captain Herts sent three of his own people over the Swiss wirethe other evening. Did you know about it?"

McKay looked worried: "I'm sorry, " he said. "Captain Herts proposedsome such assistance but I declined. It wasn't necessary. Two onsuch a job are plenty; half-a-dozen endanger it. "

Recklow shrugged: "I can't judge, not knowing details. Tell me, ifyou don't mind; have you been bothered at all so far by Bocheagents?"

"Yes, " nodded Evelyn Erith. 

"You've already had some serious trouble?"

McKay said: "Our ship was torpedoed off Strathlone Head. In Scotlanda dozen camouflaged Boches caught me napping in spite of beingwarned. It was very humiliating, Recklow. "

"You can't trust a soul on this frontier either, " returned Recklowwith emphasis. "You cannot trust the Swiss on this border. Overninety per cent. Of them are German-Swiss, speak German exclusivelyalong the Alsatian border. They are, I think, loyal Swiss, but theirorigin, propinquity, customs and all their affiliations incline themtoward Germany rather than toward France. 

"I believe, in the event of a Hun deluge, the Swiss on this border, and in the cantons adjoining, would defend their passes to the lastman. They really are first of all good Swiss. But, " he shrugged, "don't trust their friendship for America or for France; that'sall. "

Miss Erith nodded. McKay said: "How about the frontier? I understandboth borders are wired now as well as patrolled. Are the wireselectrically charged?"

"No. There was some talk of doing it on both sides, but the Frenchhaven't and I don't think the Swiss ever intended to. You can getover almost anywhere with a short ladder or by digging under. " Hesmiled: "In fact, " he said, "I took the liberty of having a saplingladder made for you in case you mean to cross to-night. "

"Many thanks. Yes; we cross to-night. "

"You go by the summit path past the Crucifix on the peak?"

"No, by the neck of woods under the peak. "

"That might be wiser. .. . One never knows. . .. I'm not quite atease--Suppose I go as far as the Crucifix with you--"

"Thanks, no. I know the mountain and the neck of woods around thesummit. I shall travel no path to-night. "

There was a silence: Miss Erith's lovely face was turned tranquillytoward the flank of Mount Terrible. Both men looked sideways at heras though thinking the same thing. 

Finally Recklow said: "In the event of trouble--you understand--itmeans merely detention and internment while you are on Swissterritory. But--if you leave it and go north--" He did not say anymore. 

McKay's sombre eyes rested on his in grim comprehension of all thatRecklow had left unsaid. Swift and savage as would be the fate of aman caught within German frontiers on any such business as he wasnow engaged in, the fate of a woman would be unspeakable. 

If Miss Erith noticed or understood the silence between these twomen she gave no sign of comprehension. 

Soft, lovely lights lay across the mountains; higher rocks werestill ruddy in the rays of the declining sun. 

"Do the Boche planes ever come over?" asked McKay. 

"They did in 1914. But the Swiss stopped it. "

"Our planes--do they violate the frontier at all?"

"They never have, so far. Tell me, McKay, how about your maps?"

"Rather inaccurate--excepting one. I drew that myself from memory, and I believe it is fairly correct. "

Recklow unfolded a little map, marked a spot on it with his penciland passed it to McKay. 

"It's for you, " he said. "The sapling ladder lies under the filbertbushes in the gulley where I have marked the boundary. Wait till thepatrol passes. Then you have ten minutes. I'll come later and getthe ladder if the patrol does not discover it. "

A cat and her kittens came into the garden and Evelyn Erith seatedherself on the grass to play with them, an attention gratefullyappreciated by that feline family. 

The men watched her with sober faces. Perhaps both were susceptibleto her beauty, but there was also about this young American girl inall the freshness of her unmarred youth something that touched themdeeply under the circumstances. 

For this clean, wholesome girl was enlisted in a service the dangersof which were peculiarly horrible to her because of the bestialbarbarity of the Boche. From the Hun--if ever she fell into theirhands--the greatest mercy to be hoped for was a swift death unlessshe could forestall it with a swifter one from her own pistolcarried for that particular purpose. 

The death of youth is always shocking, yet that is an essential partof war. But this was no war within the meaning accepted bycivilisation--this crusade of light against darkness, of cleanlinessagainst corruption, this battle of normal minds against thediseased, perverted, and filthy ferocity of a people not merelyreverted to honest barbarism, but also mentally mutilated, and nowmorally imbecile and utterly incompetent to understand the basictruths of that civilisation from which they had relapsed, and fromwhich, God willing, they are to be ultimately and definitely kickedout forever. 

The old mother cat lay on the grass blinking pleasantly at thesetting sun; the kittens frisked and played with the grass-stem inEvelyn Erith's fingers, or chased their own ratty little tails in aperfect orgy of feline excitement. 

Long bluish shadows spread delicate traceries on wall and grass; thesweet, persistent whistle of a blackbird intensified the calm ofevening. It was hard to associate any thought of violence and ofdevastation with the blessed sunset calm and the clean fragrance ofthis land of misty mountains and quiet pasture so innocently alooffrom the strife and passion of a dusty, noisy and struggling world. 

Yet the red borders of that accursed land, the bloody altars ofwhich were served by the priests of Baal, lay but a few scantkilometres to the north and east. And their stealthy emissaries wereover the border and creeping like vermin among the uncontaminatedfields of France. 

"Even here, " Recklow was saying, in a voice made low and cautiousfrom habit, "the dirty Boche prowl among us under protean aspects. One can never tell, never trust anybody--what with one thing andanother and the Alsatian border so close--and thoseGerman-Swiss--always to be suspected and often impossible todistinguish--with their pig-eyes and bushy flat-backed heads--fromthe genuine Boche. . .. Would Miss Erith like to have our littledinner served out here in the garden?"

Miss Erith was delightfully sure she would. 

It was long after sunset, though still light, when the simple littlemeal ended; but they lingered over their coffee and cordial, exchanging ideas concerning preparations for their departure, whichwas now close at hand. 

The lilac bloom faded from mountain and woodland; already meadow andpasture lay veiled under the thickening dusk. The last day-bird hadpiped its sleepy "lights out"; bats were flying high. When the moonrose the first nightingale acclaimed the pallid lustre that fell insilver pools on walk and wall; and every flower sent forth itsscented greeting. 

Kay McKay and Evelyn Erith had been gone for nearly an hour; butRecklow still sat there at the little green table, an unlightedcigarette in his muscular fingers, his head slightly bent as thoughlistening. 

Once he rose as though on some impulse, went into the house, took aroll of fine wire, a small cowbell, a heavy pair of wire clippersand a pocket torch from his desk and pocketed them. A pair ofautomatic handcuffs he also took, and a dozen clips to fit the braceof pistols strapped under his armpits. 

Then he returned to the garden; and for a long while he sat there, unstirring, just where the wall's shadow lay clean-cut across thegrass, listening to the distant tinkle of cattle-bells on the unseenslope of Mount Terrible. 

No shots had come from the patrol along the Franco-Swiss frontier;there was no sound save the ecstatic tumult of the nightingale drunkwith moonlight, and, at intervals, the faint sound of a cowbell fromthose dark and distant pastures. 

To this silent, listening man it seemed certain that his two guestshad now safely crossed the boundary at the spot he had marked forMcKay on the detail map. Yet he remained profoundly uneasy. 

He waited a few moments longer; heard nothing to alarm him; and thenhe left the garden, going out by way of the house, and turned tolock the front door behind him. 

At that instant his telephone bell rang and he re-entered the housewith a sudden premonition--an odd, unreasonable, but dreadful sortof certainty concerning what he was about to hear. Picking up theinstrument he was thinking all the time: "It has to do with thatdamned Intelligence Officer! There was something wrong with him!"

There was. 

Clearly over the wire from Toul came the information: "CaptainHerts's naked body was discovered an hour ago in a thicket besidethe Delle highway. He has been dead two weeks. Therefore the man yousaw in Delle was impersonating him. Probably also he was CaptainHerts's murderer and was wearing his uniform, carrying his papers, and riding his motor-cycle. Do your best to get him!"

Recklow, deadly cold and calm, asked a few questions. Then he hungup the instrument, turned and went out, locking the door behind him. 

A few people were in the quiet street; here an Alpine soldierstrolling with his sweetheart, there an old cure on his way to hislittle stone chapel, yonder a peasant in blouse and sabots ploddingdoggedly along about some detail of belated work that never ends forsuch as he. A few lanterns set in iron cages projected over ancientdoorways, lighting the street but dimly where it lay partly in deepshadow, partly illuminated by the silvery radiance of the moon. 

Recklow turned into an alley smelling of stables, traversed it, andcame out behind into a bushy pasture with a cleared space beyond. The place was rather misty now in the moonlight from the vapours ofa cold little brook which ran foaming and clattering through itbetween banks thickset with fern. 

And now Recklow moved very swiftly but quietly, down through themisty, ferny valley to the filbert and hazel thicket just beyond;and went in among the bushes, treading cautiously upon the moistblack mould. 

There glimmered the French wires--merely a wide mesh and an ordinarybarbed barrier overhead; but the fence was deeply ditched on theSwiss side. A man could climb over it; and Recklow started to do so;and came face to face in the moonlight with the French patrol. Therecognition was mutual and noiseless:

"You passed my two people over?" whispered Recklow. 

"An hour ago, mon Capitaine. "

"You've seen nobody else?"

"Nobody. "

"Heard nothing?"

"Not a sound. They must have gone over the Swiss wire withoutinterference, mon Capitaine. "

"You sometimes talk across with the Swiss sentinels?"

"Oh, yes, if I'm in that humour. You know, mon Capitaine, thatthey're like the Boche, only tame. "

"Not all. "

"No, not all. But in a wolf-pack who can excuse sheepdogs? A Bocheis always a Boche. "

"All the same, when the Swiss sentry passes, speak to him and holdhim while I get my ladder. "

"At your orders, Captain. "

"Listen. I am going over. When I return I shall leave with you areel of wire and a cowbell. You comprehend? I do not wish anybodyelse to cross the French wire to-night. "

"C'est bien, mon Capitaine. "

Recklow went down into the bushy gulley. A few moments later thecareless Swiss patrol came clumping along, rifle slung, pipe glowingand humming a tune as he passed. Presently the French sentry hailedhim across the wire and the Swiss promptly halted for a bit ofgossip concerning the pretty girls of Delle. 

But, to Recklow's grim surprise, and before he could emerge from thebushes, no sooner were the two sentries engaged in lively gossipthan three dark figures crept out on hands and knees from the longgrass at the very base of the Swiss wire and were up the ladderwhich McKay had left and over it like monkeys before he could haveprevented it even if he had dared. 

Each in turn, reaching the top of the wire, set foot on the woodenpost and leaped off into darkness--each except the last, whoremained poised, then twisted around as though caught by the topbarbed strand. 

And Recklow saw the figure was a woman's, and that her short skirthad become entangled in the wire. 

In an instant he was after her; she saw him, strove desperately tofree herself, tore her skirt loose, and jumped. And Recklow jumpedafter her, landing among the wet ferns on his feet and seizing heras she tried to rise from where she had fallen. 

She struggled and fought him in silence, but his iron clutch was onher and he dragged her by main force through the woods parallel withthe Swiss wire until, breathless, powerless, impotent, she gave upthe battle and suffered him to force her along until they were farbeyond earshot of the patrol and of her two companions as well, incase they should return to the wire to look for her. 

For ten minutes, holding her by the arm, he pushed forward up thewooded slope. Then, when it was safe to do so, he halted, jerked heraround to face him, and flashed his pocket torch. And he saw ahandsome, perspiring, sullen girl, staring at him out of dark eyesdilated by terror or by fury--he was not quite sure which. 

She wore the costume of a peasant of the canton bordering the wire;and she looked like that type of German-Swiss--handsome, sensual, bad-tempered, but not stupid. 

"Well, " he said in French, "you can explain yourself now, mademoiselle. Allons! Who and what are you? Dites!"

"What are you? A robber?" she gasped, jerking her arm free. 

"If you thought so why didn't you call for help?"

"And be shot at? Do you take me for a fool? What are you--a Douanierthen? A smuggler?"

"You answer ME!" he retorted. "What were you doing--crossing thewire at night?"

"Can't a girl keep a rendezvous without the custom-agents treatingher so barbarously?" she panted, one hand flat on her tumultuousbosom. 

"Oh, that was it, was it?"

"I do not deny it. "

"Who is your lover--on the French side?"

"And if he happens to be an Alpinist?"--she shrugged, stillbreathing fast and irregularly, picking up the torn edge of her woolskirt and fingering the rent. 

"Really. An Alpinist? A rendezvous in Delle, eh? And who were yourtwo friends?"

"Boys from my canton. "

"Is that so?"

Her breast still rose and fell unevenly; she turned her pretty, insolent eyes on him:

"After all, what business is it of yours? Who are you, anyway? Ifyou are French you can do nothing. If you are Swiss take me to thenearest poste. "

"Who were those two men?" repeated Recklow. 

"Ask them. "

"No; I think I'll take you back to France. "

The girl became silent at that but her attitude defied him. Evenwhen he snapped an automatic handcuff over one wrist she smiledincredulously. 

But the jeering expression on her dark, handsome features alteredwhen they approached the Swiss wire. And when Recklow produced apair of heavy wire-cutters all defiance died out in her face. 

"Make a sound and I'll simply shoot you, " he whispered. 

"W-what is it you want with me?" she asked in a ghost of a voice. 

"The truth. "

"I told it. "

"You did not. You are German. "

"Believe what you like, but I am on neutral territory. Let me go. "

"You ARE German! For God's sake admit it or we'll be too late!"

"What?"

"Admit it, I say. Do you want those two Americans to get away?"

"What--Americans?" stammered the girl. "I d-don't know what youmean--"

Recklow laughed under his breath, unlocked the handcuffs. 

"Echt Deutsch, " he whispered in German--"and ZERO-TWO-SIX. A goodhint to you!"

"Waidman's Heil!" said the girl faintly. "O God! what a fright yougave me. .. . There's a man at Delle--we were warned--Seventy is hisnumber, Recklow--a devil Yankee--"

"A swine! a fathead, sleeping all day in his garden, too drunk toopen despatches!" sneered Recklow. 

"We were warned against him, " she insisted. Recklow laughed hiscontempt of Recklow and spat upon the dead leaves. 

"Stupid one, what then is closest to the Yankee heart? I was senthere to buy this terrible devil Yankee, Recklow. That is how onedeals with Yankees. With dollars. "

"Is that why you are here?"

"And to watch for McKay and the young woman with him!"

"The Erith woman!"

"That is her barbarous name, I believe. What is your number?"

"Four-two-four. Oh, what a fright you gave me. What is your name?"

"That is against regulations. "

"I know. What is it, all the same. .. . Mine is Helsa Kampf. "

"Mine is Johann Wolkcer. "

"Wolkcer? Is it Polish?"

"God knows where we Germans had our origin. . .. Who are yourcompanions, Fraulein?"

"An Irish-American. Jim Macniff, and a British revolutionist, HarrySkelton. Others await us on Mount Terrible--Germans in Swissuniforms. "

"You'd better keep an eye on Macniff and Skelton, " grumbled Recklow. 

"No; they're to be trusted. We nearly caught McKay and the Erithgirl in Scotland; they killed four of our people and hurt twoothers. .. . Listen, comrade Wolkcer, if a trodden path ascends MountTerrible, as Skelton pretended, you and I had better look for it. Can you find your way back to where we crossed the wire? The dry bedof the torrent was to have guided us. "

"I know a quicker way, " said Recklow. "Come on. "

The girl took his hand confidingly and walked beside him, holdingone arm before her face to shield her eyes from branches in thedarkness. 

They had gone, perhaps, a dozen paces when a man stepped from behinda great beech-tree, peered after them, then turned and hurried downthe slope to where the Swiss wire stretched glistening under thestars. He ran along this wire until he came to the dry bed of atorrent. 

Up this he stumbled under the forest patches of alternate moonlightand shadow until he came to a hard path crossing it on a masonryviaduct. 

"Harry!" he called in a husky, quavering voice, choking for breath. "Cripes, Harry--where in hell are you?"

"Here, you blighter! What's the bully row? Where's Helsa--"

"With Recklow!"

"What!!"

"Double-crossed us!" he whispered; "I seen her! I was huntin' alongthe fence when I come on them, thick as thieves. She's crossed us;she's hollered! Oh, Cripes, Harry, Helsa has went an' squealed!"

"HELSA!"

"Yes, Helsa--I wouldn't 'a' believed it! But I seen 'em. I seen 'emwhispering. I seen her take his hand an' lead him up through thetrees. She's squealed on us! She's bringing Recklow--"

"Recklow! Are you sure?"

"I got closte to 'em. There was enough moonlight to spot him by. Iknow the cut of him, don't I? That wuz him all right. " He wiped hisface on his sleeve. "Now what are we goin' to do?" he demandedbrokenly. "Where do we get off, Harry?"

Skelton appeared dazed:

"The slut, " he kept repeating without particular emphasis, "thelittle slut! I thought she'd fallen for me. I thought she was mygirl. And now to do that! And now to go for to do us in like that--"

"Well, we're all right, ain't we?" quavered Macniff. "We make ourgetaway all right, don't we? Don't we?"

"I can't understand--"

"Say, listen, Harry. To blazes with Helsa! She's hollered and thatends her. But can we make our getaway? And how about them Germanswaitin' for us by that there crucifix on top of this mountain? Wheredo they get off? Does this guy, Recklow, get them?"

"He can't get six men alone. "

"Well, can't he sic the Swiss onto 'em?"

A terrible doubt arose in Skelton's mind: "Recklow wouldn't comehere alone. He's got his men in these woods! That damn woman fixedall this. It's a plant! She's framed us! What do I care about theGermans on the mountain! To hell with them. I'm going!"

"Where?"

"Into Alsace. Where do you think?"

"You gotta cross the mountain, then--or go back into France. "

But neither man dared do that now. There was only one way out, andthat lay over Mount Terrible--either directly past the blackcrucifix towering from its limestone cairn on the windy peak, orjust below through a narrow belt of woods. 

"It ain't so bad, " muttered Macniff. "If the Germans up there catchMcKay and the girl they'll kill 'em and clear out. "

"Yes, but they don't know that the Americans have crossed the wire. The neck of woods is open!"

"McKay may go over the peak. "

"McKay knows this mountain, " grumbled Skelton. "He's a fox, too. Youdon't think he'd travel an open path, do you? And how can we catchhim now? We were to have warned the Germans that the two had crossedthe wire and then our only chance was to string out across that neckof woods between the peak and the cliffs. That's the way McKay willtravel, not on a path in full moonlight. Aw--I'm sick--what withHelsa doing that to me--I can't get over it!"

Macniff started nervously and began to run along the path, upward:

"Beat it, Harry, " he called back over his shoulder; "it's the onlyway out o' this now. "

"God, " whimpered Skelton, "if I ever get my hooks on Helsa!" Hisvoice ended in a snivel but his features were white and ferocious ashe started running to overtake Macniff. 

Recklow, breathing easily, his iron frame insensible to any fatiguefrom the swift climb, halted finally at the base of the abrupt slopewhich marked the beginning of the last ascent to the summit. 

The girl, Helsa, speechless from exertion, came reeling up among therocks and leaned gasping against a pine. 

"Now, " said Recklow, "you can wait here for your two friends. We'vecome by a short cut and they won't be here for more than half anhour. What's the matter? Are you ill?" for the girl, overcome by thespeed of the ascent, had dropped to the ground at the foot of thetree and sat there, her head resting against the trunk. Her eyeswere closed and she was breathing convulsively. 

"Are you ill?" he repeated, bending over her. 

She heard him, opened her eyes, then shook her head faintly. 

"All right. You're a brave girl. You'll get your breath in a fewminutes. There's no hurry. You can take your time. Your friends willbe along in half an hour or so. Wait here for them. I am going on towarn the Germans by the Crucifix that the two Americans are acrossthe Swiss wire. "

The girl, still speechless, wiped the blinding sweat from her eyesand tried to clear the dishevelled hair from her face. Then, with agreat effort she found her voice:

"But the--Americans--will pass--first!" she gasped. "I can't--stayhere alone. "

"If they do pass, what of it? They can't see you. Let them pass. Wehold the summit and the neck of the woods. Tell that to Macniff andSkelton when they come; that's what I want you here for. I want tocut off the Yankees' retreat. Do you understand?"

"I--understand, " she breathed. 

"You'll carry out my orders?"

She nodded, strove to straighten up, then with both hands on herbreast she sank back utterly exhausted. Recklow looked at her amoment in grim silence, then turned and walked away. 

After a few steps he crossed his arms with a quick, peculiarmovement and drew from under his armpits the pair of automaticpistols. 

Like all "forested" forests, the woods on that flank of MountTerrible were regular and open--big trees with no underbrush and asmooth carpet of needles and leaves under foot. And Recklow nowwalked on very fast in the dim light until he came to a thinningamong the trees where just ahead of him, stars shimmered level inthe vast sky-gulf above Alsace. 

Here was the precipice; here the narrow, wooded neck--the only wayacross the mountain except by the peak path and the Crucifix. 

Now Recklow took from his pockets his spool of very fine wire, attached it low down to a slim young pine, carried it across to theedge of the cliff, and attached the other end to a sapling on theedge of the ledge. On this wire he hung his cowbell and hooked thelittle clapper inside. 

Then, squatting down on the pine needles, he sat motionless as oneof the forest shadows, a pistol in either hand, and his cold greyeyes ablaze. 

So silvery the pools of light from the planets, so depthless theshadows, that the forest around him seemed but a vast mosaic inmother-of-pearl and ebony. 

There was no sound, no murmur of cattle-bells from mountain pasturesnow, nothing stirring through the magic aisles where the matchedcolumns of beech and pine towered in the perfect symmetry of allplanted forests. 

He had not been there very long; the luminous dial of hiswrist-watch told him that--when, although he had heard no sound onthe soft carpet of pine needles, something suddenly hit the wire andthe cowbell tinkled in the darkness. 

Recklow was on his feet in an instant and running south along thewire. It might have been a deer crossing to the eastern slope; itmight have been the enemy; he could not tell; he could see nothingstirring. And there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to takehis chances. 

"McKay!" he called in a low voice. 

Then, amid the checkered pools of light and shade among the trees ashadow moved. 

"McKay! It's Number Seventy. If it's you, call out your number, because I've got you over my sights and I shoot straight!"

"Seventy-six and Seventy-seven!" came McKay's cautious voice. "Goodheavens, Recklow, why have you come up here?"

"Don't touch the wire again, " Recklow warned him. "Drop flat both ofyou, and crawl under! Crawl toward my voice!"

As he spoke he came toward them; and they rose from their kneesamong the shadows, pistols drawn. 

"There's been some dirty business, " said Recklow briefly. "Threeenemy spies went over the Swiss wire about an hour after you leftDelle. There are half a dozen Boches on the peak by the Crucifix. And that's why I'm here, if you want to know. "

There was a silence. Recklow looked hard at McKay, then at EvelynErith, who was standing quietly beside him. 

"Can we get through this neck of woods?" asked McKay calmly. 

"We can hold our own here against a regiment, " said Recklow. "NoSwiss patrol is likely to cross the summit before daybreak. So ifour cowbell jingles again to-night after I have once called halt!--let the Boche have it. " To Evelyn he said: "Better step back herebehind this ledge. " And, when McKay had followed, he told themexactly what had happened. "I'm afraid it's not going to be veryeasy going for you, " he added. 

With the alarming knowledge that they had to do once more with theiruncanny enemies of Isla Water, McKay and Evelyn Erith looked at eachother rather grimly. Recklow produced his clay pipe, inspected it, but did not venture to light it. 

"I wonder, " he said carelessly, "what that she-Boche is doing overyonder by the summit path. .. . Her name is Helsa. .. . She's not badlooking, " he added in a musing voice--"that young she-Boche. . .. Iwonder what she's up to now? Her people ought to be along prettysoon if they've travelled by the summit path from Delle. "

They had indeed travelled by the summit path--not ON it, butparallel to it through woods, over rocks, made fearful by what theybelieved to be the treachery of the girl, Helsa. 

For this reason they dared not take the trodden way, dreadingambush. Yet they had to cross the peak; they dared not remain in aforest where they believed Recklow was hunting them with many menand their renegade comrade, Helsa, to guide them. 

As they toiled upward, Macniff heard Skelton fiercely mutteringsometimes, sometimes whining curses on this girl who had betrayedthem both--who had betrayed him in particular. Over and over againhe repeated his dreary litany: "No, by God, I didn't think she'd doit to me. All I want is to get my hooks on her; that's all Iwant--just that. "

Toward dawn they had reached the base of the cone where the lastrocky slope slanted high above them. 

"Cripes, " panted Macniff, "I can't make that over them rocks! Igotta take it by the path. Wot's the matter, Harry? Wot y' lookin'at?" he added, following Skelton's fascinated stare. Then: "Well, f'r Christ's sake!"

The girl, Helsa, was coming toward them through the trees. 

"Where have you been?" she demanded. "Have you seen the Americans?I've been waiting here beside the path. They haven't passed. I metone of our agents in the woods--there was a misunderstanding atfirst--"

She stopped, stepped nearer, peered into Skelton's shadowy face:"Harry! What's the matter? Wh-why do you look at me that way--whatare you doing! Let go of me--"

But Skelton had seized her by one arm and Macniff had her by theother. 

"Are you crazy?" she demanded, struggling between them. 

Skelton spoke first, but she scarcely recognised the voice for his:"Who was that man you were talking to down by the Swiss wire?"

"I've told you. He's one of us. His name is Wolkcer--"

"What!"

"Wolkcer! That is his name--"

"Spell it backward!" barked Skelton. "We know what you have done tous! You have sold us to Recklow! That's what you done!"

"W-what!" stammered the girl. But Skelton, inarticulate with rage, began striking her and jerking her about as though he were trying totear her to pieces. Only when the girl reeled sideways, limp anddeathly white under his fury, did he find his voice, or the hoarseunhuman rags of it:

"Damn you!" he gasped, "you'll sell me out, will you? I'll show you!I'll fix you, you dirty slut--"

Suddenly he started up the path to the summit dragging thehalf-conscious girl. Macniff ran along on the other side to help. 

"Wot y' goin' to do with her, Harry?" he panted. "I ain't got nostomach for scraggin' her. I ain't for no knifin'. W'y don't youshove her off the top?"

But Skelton strode on, half-dragging the girl, and muttering thatshe had sold him and that he knew how to "fix" a girl whodouble-crossed him. 

And now the gaunt, black Crucifix came into view, stark against thepaling eastern sky with its life-sized piteous figure hanging thereunder the crown of thorns. 

Macniff looked up at the carved wooden image, then, at a word fromSkelton, dropped the girl's limp arm. 

The girl opened her eyes and stood swaying there, dazed. 

Skelton began to laugh in an unearthly way: "Where the hell are youGermans?" he called out. "Come out of your holes, damn you. Here'sone of your own kind who's sold us all out to the Yankees!"

Twice the girl tried to speak but Skelton shook the voice out of herquivering lips as a shadowy figure rose from the scrubby growthbehind the Crucifix. Then another rose, another, and many otherslooming against the sky. 

Macniff had begun to speak in German as they drew around him. Presently Skelton broke in furiously:

"All right, then! That's the case. She sold us. She sold ME! Butshe's German. And it's your business. But if you Germans will listento me you'll shove her against that pile of rocks and shoot her. "

The girl had begun to cry now: "It's a lie! It's a lie!" she sobbed. "If it was Recklow who talked to me I didn't know it. I thought hewas one of us, Harry! Don't go away! For God's sake, don't leave mewith those men--"

Macniff sneered as he slouched by her: "They're Germans, ain't they?Wot are you squealin' for?"

"Harry! Harry!" she wailed--for her own countrymen had her now, heldher fast, thrust a dozen pig-eyed scowling visages close to hers, muttering, making animal sounds at her. 

Once she screamed. But Skelton seated himself on a rock, his backtoward her, his head buried in his hands. 

To his dull, throbbing ears came now only the heavy trample of bootsamong the rocks, guttural noises, a wrenching sound, then theclatter of rolling stones. 

Macniff, squatting beside him, muttered uneasily, speculating uponwhat was being done behind him. But with German justice upon aGerman he had no desire to interfere, and he had no stomach towitness it, either. 

"Why don't they shoot her and be done?" he murmured huskily. And, later: "I can't make out what they're doing. Can you, Harry?"

But Skelton neither answered nor stirred. After a while he rose, notlooking around, and strode off down the eastern slope, his handspressed convulsively over his ears. Macniff slouched after him, listening for the end. 

They had gone a mile, perhaps, when Skelton's agonised voice burstits barriers: "I couldn't--I couldn't stand it--to hear the shots!"

"I ain't heard no shots, " remarked Macniff. 

There had been no shots fired. .. . 

And now in the ghastly light of dawn the Germans on Mount Terriblecontinued methodically the course of German justice. 

Two of them, burly, huge-fisted, wrenched the Christ from theweather-beaten Crucifix which they had uprooted from the summit ofits ancient cairn of rocks, and pulled out the rusty spike-likenails. 

The girl was already half dead when they laid her on the Crucifixand nailed her there. After they had raised the cross and set it onthe summit she opened her eyes. 

Several of the Germans laughed, and one of them threw pebbles at heruntil she died. 

Just before sunrise they went down to explore the neck of woods, butfound nobody. The Americans had been gone for a long time. So theywent back to the cross where the dead girl hung naked against thesky and wrote on a bit of paper:

"Here hangs an enemy of Germany. "

And, the Swiss patrol being nearly due, they scattered, moving offsingly, through the forest toward the frontier of the great GermanEmpire. 

A little later the east turned gold and the first sunbeam touchedthe Crucifix on Mount Terrible. 

CHAPTER VII

THE FORBIDDEN FOREST

When the news of a Hun atrocity committed on Swiss territory wasflashed to Berne, the Federal Assembly instantly suppressed it andwent into secret session. Followed another session, in camera, ofthe Federal Council, whose seven members sat all night longenvisaging war with haggard faces. And something worse than war whenthey remembered the Forbidden Forest and the phantom Canton of LesErrues. 

For war between the Swiss Republic and the Hun seemed very, verynear during that ten days in Berne, and neither the National Councilnor the Council of the States in joint and in separate consultationcould see anything except a dreadful repetition of that eruption ofbarbarians which had overwhelmed the land in 400 A. D. Till everypass and valley vomited German savages. And even more than that theyfeared the terrible reckoning with the nation and with civilisationwhen war laid naked the heart-breaking secret of the ForbiddenForest of Les Errues. 

No! War could not be. A catastrophe more vital than war threatenedSwitzerland--the world--wide revelation of a secret which, exposed, would throw all civilisation into righteous fury and the SwissRepublic itself into revolution. 

And this sinister, hidden thing which must deter Switzerland fromdeclaring war against the Boche was a part of the Great Secret: anda man and a woman in the Secret Service of the United States, lyinghidden among the forests below the white shoulder of Mount Thusis, were beginning to guess more about that secret than either of themhad dared to imagine. 

There where they lay together side by side among Alpine roses infull bloom--there on the crag's edge, watching the Swiss soldierybelow combing the flanks of Mount Terrible for the perpetrators ofthat hellish murder at the shrine, these two people could see theVia Mala which had been the Via Crucis--the tragic Golgotha forthat poor girl Helsa Kampf. 

They could almost see the gaunt, black cross itself from which thebrutish Boches had kicked the carved and weather-beaten figure ofChrist in order to nail to the massive cross the living hands andfeet of that half-senseless girl whom they supposed had betrayedthem. 

The man lying there on the edge of the chasm was Kay McKay; the girlstretched on her stomach beside him was Evelyn Erith. 

All that day they watched the Swiss soldiers searching MountTerrible; saw a red fox steal from the lower thickets and boltbetween the legs of the beaters who swung their rifle-butts at thestreak of ruddy fur; saw little mountain birds scatter into flight, so closely and minutely the soldiers searched; saw even a bigauerhahn burst into thunderous flight from the ferns to a pine andfrom the pine out across the terrific depths of space below thewhite shoulder of Thusis. At night the Swiss camp-fires glimmered onthe rocks of Mount Terrible while, fireless, McKay and Miss Erithlay in their blankets under heaps of dead leaves on the knees ofThusis, cold as the moon that silvered their forest beds. 

But it was the last of the soldiery on Mount Terrible; for dawnrevealed their dead fire and a summit untenanted save by the starkand phantom crucifix looming through rising mists. 

Evelyn Erith still slept; McKay fed the three carrier-pigeons, washed himself at the snow-rill in the woods, then went over to thecrag's gritty edge under which for three days now the ghoulishclamour of a lammergeier had seldom ceased. And now, as McKay peereddown, two stein-adlers came flapping to the shelf on which hungsomething that seemed to flutter at times like a shred of clothstirred by the abyss winds. 

The lammergeier, huge and horrible with scarlet eyes ablaze, cameout on the shelf of rock and yelped at the great rock-eagles; but, if something indeed lay dead there, possibly it was enough forall--or perhaps the vulture-like bird was too heavily gorged tooffer battle. McKay saw the rock-eagles alight heavily on the shelf, then, squealing defiance, hulk forward, undeterred by the hobgoblintumult of the lammergeier. 

McKay leaned over the gulf as far as he dared. He could get down tothe shelf; he was now convinced of that. Only fear of being seen bythe soldiers on Mount Terrible had hitherto prevented him. 

Rope and steel-shod stick aided him. Sapling and shrub stood loyallyas his allies. The rock-eagles heard him coming and launchedthemselves overboard into the depthless sea of air; the lammergeier, a huge, foul mass of distended feathers, glared at him out ofblazing scarlet eyes; and all around was his vomit and casting in amass of bloody human bones and shreds of clothing. 

And it was in that nauseating place of peril, confronting the grislything that might have hurled him outward into space with onewing-blow had it not been clogged with human flesh and incapable, that McKay reached for the remnants of the dead Hun's clothing and, facing the feathered horror, searched for evidence and information. 

Never had he been so afraid; never had he so loathed a livingcreature as this unclean and spectral thing that sat gibbering andvoiding filth at him--the ghastly symbol of the Hunnish empireitself befouling the clean-picked bones of the planet it wasdismembering. 

He had his pistol but dared not fire, not knowing what ears acrossthe gorge might hear the shot, not knowing either whether thedeath-agonies of the enormous thing might hurl him a thousand feetto annihilation. 

So he took what he found in the rags of clothing and climbed back asslowly and stealthily as he had come. 

And found Miss Erith cross-legged on the dead leaves braiding heryellow hair in the first sun-rays. 

Tethered by long cords attached to anklets over one leg the threepigeons walked busily around under the trees gorging themselves onlast year's mast. 

That afternoon they dared light a fire and made soup from the beeftablets in their packs--the first warm food they had tasted in aweek. 

A declining sun painted the crags in raw splendour; valleys werealready dusky; a vast stretch of misty glory beyond the world ofmountains to the north was Alsace; southward there was no end to themyriad snowy summits, cloud-like, piled along the horizon. The briefmeal ended. 

McKay set a pannikin of water to boil and returned to hisyellow-haired comrade. Like some slim Swiss youth--some boymountaineer--and clothed like one, Miss Erith sat at the foot of atree in the ruddy sunlight studying once more the papers which McKayhad discovered that morning among the bloody debris on the shelf ofrock. 

As he came up he knew he had never seen anything as pretty in hislife, but he did not say so. Any hint of sentiment that might havebudded had been left behind when they crossed the Swiss wire beyondDelle. An enforced intimacy such as theirs tended to sober themboth; and if at times it preoccupied them, that was an added reasonnot only to ignore it but also to conceal any effort it might entailto take amiably but indifferently a situation foreseen, deliberatelyembraced, yet scarcely entirely discounted. 

The girl was so pretty in her youth's clothing; her delicate anklesand white knees bare between the conventional thigh-length of greenembossed leather breeches, rough green stockings, and fleece-linedhob-nailed shoes. And over the boy's shirt the mountaineer's friezejacket!--with staghorn buttons. And the rough wool cuff fell on thehands of a duchess!--pistols at either hip, and a murderousBavarian knife in front. 

Glancing up at him where he stood under the red pine beside her:"I'll do the dishes presently, " she said. 

"I'll do them, " he remarked, his eyes involuntarily seeking herhands. 

A pink flush grew on her weather-tanned face--or perhaps it was thereddening sunlight stealing through some velvet piny space in theforest barrier. If it was a slight blush in recognition of hisadmiration she wondered at her capacity for blushing. However, MarieAntoinette coloured from temple to throat on the scaffold. But thegirl knew that the poor Queen's fate was an enviable one compared towhat awaited her if she fell into the hands of the Hun. 

McKay seated himself near her. The sunny silence of the mountainswas intense. Over a mass of alpine wild flowers hanging heavy andfragrant between rocky clefts two very large and intensely whitebutterflies fought a fairy battle for the favours of a third--adainty, bewildering creature, clinging to an unopened bud, its snowywings a-quiver. 

The girl's golden eyes noted the pretty courtship, and her sideglance rested on the little bride to be with an odd, indefinitecuriosity, partly interrogative, partly disdainful. 

It seemed odd to the girl that in this Alpine solitude life shouldbe encountered at all. And as for life's emotions, the frail, frivolous, ephemeral fury of these white-winged ghosts of daylight, embattled and all tremulous with passion, seemed exquisitely amazingto her here between the chaste and icy immobility of white-veiledpeaks and the terrific twilight of the world's depths below. 

McKay, studying the papers, glanced up at Miss Erith. A bar of rosysunset light slanted almost level between them. 

"There seems to be, " he said slowly, "only one explanation for whatyou and I read here. The Boche has had his filthy fist on the throatof Switzerland for fifty years. "

"And what is 'Les Errues' to which these documents continuallyrefer?" asked the girl. 

"Les Errues is the twenty-seventh canton of Switzerland. It is thestrip of forest and crag which includes all the northeastern regionbelow Mount Terrible. It is a canton, a secret canton unrepresentedin the Federal Assembly--a region without human population--a secretslice of Swiss wilderness OWNED BY GERMANY!"

"Kay, do you believe that?"

"I am sure of it now. It is that wilderness into which I stumbled. It overlooks the terrain in Alsace where for fifty years the Hun hasbeen busy day and night with his sinister, occult operations. Itsentrance, if there be any save by the way of avalanches--the way Ientered--must be guarded by the Huns; its only exit into Hunland. That is Les Errues. That is the region which masks the Great Secretof the Hun. "

He dropped the papers and, clasping his knees in his arms, satstaring out into the infernal blaze of sunset. 

"The world, " he said slowly, "pays little attention to thatagglomeration of cantons called Switzerland. The few among us whoknow anything about its government might recollect that there aretwenty-six cantons--the list begins, Aargau, Appenzell, Ausser-Rhoden, Inner-Rhoden--you may remember--and ends with Valais, Vaud, Zug, and Zurich. And Les Errues is the twenty-seventh canton!"

"Yes, " said the girl in a low voice, "the evidence lies at yourfeet. "

"Surely, surely, " he muttered, his fixed gaze lost on the crimsoncelestial conflagration. She said, thinking aloud, and her cleareyes on him:

"Then, of the Great Secret, we have learned this much anyway--thatthere exists in Switzerland a secret canton called Les Errues; thatit is practically Hun territory; that it masks what they call theirGreat Secret; that their ownership or domination of Les Errues isprobably a price paid secretly by the Swiss government for itsnational freedom and that this arrangement is absolutely unknown toanybody in the world outside of the Imperial Hun government and thefew Swiss who have inherited, politically, a terrible knowledge ofthis bargain dating back, probably, from 1870. "

"That is the situation we are confronting, " admitted McKay calmly. 

She said with perfect simplicity: "Of course we must go into LesErrues. "

"Of course, comrade. How?"

He had no plan--could have none. She knew it. Her question wasmerely meant to convey to him a subtle confirmation of her loyaltyand courage. She scarcely expected to escape a dreadful fate on thisquest--did not quite see how either of them could really hope tocome out alive. But that they could discover the Great Secret of theHun, and convey to the world by means of their pigeons some detailsof the discovery, she felt reasonably certain. She had much faith inthe arrangements they had made to do this. 

"One thing worries me a lot, " remarked McKay pleasantly. 

"Food supply?"

He nodded. 

She said: "Now that the Boche have left Mount Terrible--except thatwretched creature whose bones lie on the shelf below--we mightventure to kill whatever game we can find. "

"I'm going to, " he said. "The Swiss troops have cleared out. I'vegot to risk it. Of course, down there in Les Errues, some Hunguarding some secret chamois trail into the forbidden wilderness mayhear our shots. "

"We shall have to take that chance, " she remarked. 

He said in the low, quiet voice which always thrilled her a little:"You poor child--you are hungry. "

"So are you, Kay. "

"Hungry? These rations act like cocktails: I could barbecue aroebuck and finish him with you at one sitting!"

"Monsieur et Madame Gargantua, " she mocked him with her enchantinglaughter. Then, wistful: "Kay, did you see that very fat and saucyauerhahn which the Swiss soldiers scared out of the pines downthere?"

"I did, " said McKay. "My mouth watered. "

"He was quite as big as a wild turkey, " sighed the girl. 

"They're devils to get, " said McKay, "and with only a pistol--well, anyway we'll try to-night. Did you mark that bird?"

"Mark him?"

"Yes; mark him down?"

She shook her pretty head. 

"Well, I did, " grinned McKay. "It's habit with a man who shoots. Besides, seeing him was like a bit of Scotland--their auerhahn iskin to the black-cock and capercailzie. So I marked him to theskirt of Thusis, yonder--in line with that needle across the gulfand, through it, to that bunch of pinkish-stemmed pines--therewhere the brook falls into silver dust above that gorge. He'll liethere. Just before daybreak he'll mount to the top of one of thosepines. We'll hear his yelping. That's our only chance at him. "

"Could you ever hit him in the dark of dawn, Kay?"

"With a pistol? And him atop a pine? No, not under ordinaryconditions. But I'm hungry, dear Yellow-hair, and that is not all:you are hungry--" He looked at her so intently that the colourtinted her face and the faint little thrill again possessed her. 

Her glance stole involuntarily toward the white butterflies. One haddisappeared. The two others, drunk with their courtship, clung to ascented blossom. 

Gravely Miss Erith lifted her young eyes to the eternal peaks--toThusis, icy, immaculate, chastely veiled before the stealthy adventof the night. 

Oddly, yet without fear, death seemed to her very near. And love, also--both in the air, both abroad and stirring, yet neither now ofvital consequence. Only service meant anything now to this young manso near her--to herself. And after that--afteraccomplishment--love?--death?--either might come to them then. Andfind them ready, perhaps. 

The awful, witch-like screaming of the lammergeier saluted thefalling darkness where he squatted, a huge huddle of unclean plumageamid the debris of decay and death. 

"I don't believe I could have faced that, " murmured the girl. "Youhave more courage than I have, Kay. "

"No! I was scared stiff. A bird like that could break a man's armwith a wing-blow. .. . That--that thing he'd been feeding on--it musthave been a Boche of high military rank to carry these papers. "

"You could not find out?"

"There were only the rags of his mufti there and these papers insidethem. Nothing to identify him personally--not a tag, not a shred ofanything. Unless the geier bolted it--"

She turned aside in disgust at the thought. 

"When do you suppose he happened to fall to his death there, Kay?"

"In the darkness when the Huns scattered after the crucifixion. Perhaps the horror of it came suddenly upon him--God knows whathappened when he stepped outward into depthless space and wentcrashing down to hell. "

They had stayed their hunger on the rations. It was bitter cold inthe leafy lap of Thusis, but they feared to light a fire that night. 

McKay fed and covered the pigeons in their light wicker box whichwas carried strapped to his mountain pack. 

Evelyn Erith fell asleep in her blanket under the dead leaves piledover her by McKay. After awhile he slept too; but before dawn heawoke, took a flash-light and his pistol and started down the slopefor the wood's edge. 

Her sweet, sleepy voice halted him: "Kay dear?"

"Yes, Yellow-hair. "

"May I go?"

"Don't you want to sleep?"

"No. "

She sat up under a tumbling shower of silvery dead leaves, shook outher hair, gathered it and twisted it around her brow like a turban. 

Then, flashing her own torch, she sprang to her feet and ran lightlydown to where the snow brook whirled in mossy pools below. 

When she came back he took her cold smooth little hand fresh fromicy ablutions: "We must beat it, " he said; "that auerhahn won't staylong in his pine-tree after dawn. Extinguish your torch. "

She obeyed and her warning fingers clasped his more closely astogether they descended the path of light traced out before them byhis electric torch. 

Down, down, down they went under hard-wood and evergreen, acrosslittle fissures full of fern, skirting great slabs of rock, makingdetours where tangles checked progress. 

Through tree-tops the sky glittered--one vast sheet of stars; and inthe forest was a pale lustre born of this celestial splendour--apallid dimness like that unreal day which reigns in the regions ofthe dead. 

"We might meet the shade of Helen here, " said the girl, "or ofEurydice. This is a realm of spirits. . .. We may be one with themvery soon--you and I. Do you suppose we shall wander here amongthese trees as long as time lasts?"

"It's all right if we're together, Yellow-hair. "

There was no accent from his fingers clasped in hers; none in herseither. 

"I hope we'll be together, then, " she said. 

"Will you search for me, Yellow-hair?"

"Yes. Will you, Kay?"

"Always. "

"And I--always--until I find you or you find me. " . .. Presently shelaughed gaily under her breath: "A solemn bargain, isn't it?"

"More solemn than marriage. "

"Yes, " said the girl faintly. 

Something went crashing off into the woods as they reached thehogback which linked them with the group of pines whither the biggame-bird had pitched into cover. Perhaps it was a roe deer; McKayflashed the direction in vain. 

"If it were a Boche?" she whispered. 

"No; it sounded like a four-legged beast. There are chamois and roedeer and big mountain hares along these heights. "

They went on until the hog-back of sheer rock loomed straight ahead, and beyond, against a paling sky, the clump of high pines towardwhich they were bound. 

McKay extinguished his torch and pocketed it. 

"The sun will lead us back, Yellow-hair, " he whispered. "Now holdvery tightly to my hand, for it's a slippery and narrow way we treadtogether. "

The rocks were glassy. But there were bushes and mosses; andpresently wild grass and soil on the other side. 

All around them, now, the tall pines loomed, faintly harmonious inthe rising morning breeze which, in fair weather, always blows DOWNfrom the upper peaks into the valleys. Into the shadows they passedtogether a little way; then halted. The girl rested one shoulderagainst a great pine, leaning there and facing him where he alsorested, listening. 

There reigned in the woods that intense stillness which precedesdawn--an almost painful tension resembling apprehension. Always thefirst faint bird-note breaks it; then silence ends like a deep sighexhaling and death seems very far away. 

Now above them the stars had grown very dim; and presently somefaded out. 

And after a little while a small mountain bird twittered sleepily. Then unseen by them, the east glimmered like a sheet of tarnishedsilver. And out over the dark world of mountains, high above thesolitude, rang the uncanny cry of an auerhahn. 

Again the big, unseen bird saluted the coming day. McKay stoleforward drawing his pistol and the girl followed. 

The weird outcry of the auerhahn guided them, sounding fromsomewhere above among the black crests of the pines, nearer at hand, now, clearer, closer, more weird, until McKay halted peering upward, his pistol poised. 

As yet the crests of the pines were merely soft blots above. Yet asthey stood straining their eyes upward, striving to discover thelocation of the great bird by its clamour, vaguely the branchesbegan to take shape against the greying sky. 

Clearer, more distinct they grew until feathery masses ofpine-needles stood clustered against the sky like the wondrousrendering in a Japanese print. And all the while, at intervals, theauerhahn's ghostly shrieking made a sinister tumult in the woods. 

Suddenly they saw him. Miss Erith touched McKay and pointedcautiously. There, on a partly naked tree-top, was a huge, crouchingmass--an enormous bird, pumping its head at every uttered cry andspreading a big fan-like tail and beating the air with stiff-curveddrooping wings. 

McKay whispered: "I'll try to shoot straight because you're hungry, Yellow-hair"; and all the while his pistol-arm slanted higher andhigner. For a second, it remained motionless; then a red streaksplit the darkness and the pistol-shot crashed in her ears. 

There came another sound, too--a thunderous flapping and thrashingin the tree-top, the furious battering, falling tumult of brokenbranches and blindly beating wings, drumming convulsively indescent. Then came a thud; a feathery tattoo on the ground; silencein the woods. 

"And so you shall not go hungry, Yellow-hair, " said McKay with hisnice smile. 

They had done a good deal by the middle of the afternoon; they hadbroiled the big bird, dined luxuriously, had stored the remainder intheir packs which they were preparing to carry with them into theforbidden forest of Les Errues. 

There was only one way and that lay over the white shoulder ofThusis--a cul-de-sac, according to all guide-books, and terminatingin a rest-hut near a cave glistening with icy stalagmites calledThusis's Hair. 

Beyond this there was nothing--no path, no progress possible--only adepthless gulf unabridged and the world of mountains beyond. 

There was no way; yet, the time before, McKay had passed over thewhite shoulder of Thusis and had penetrated the forbidden land--hadslid into it sideways, somewhere from Thusis's shoulder, on afragment of tiny avalanche. So there was a way!

"I don't know how it happened, Yellow-hair, " he was explaining as headjusted and buckled her pack for her, "and whether I slid north oreast I never exactly knew. But if there's a path into Les Erruesexcept through the Hun wire, it must lie somewhere below Thusis. Because, unless such a path exists, except for that guarded striplying between the Boche wire and the Swiss, only a winged thingcould reach Les Errues across these mountains. "

The girl said coolly: "Could you perhaps lower me into it?"

A slight flush stained his cheek-bones: "That would be my role, notyours. But there isn't rope enough in the Alps to reach Les Errues. "

He was strapping the pigeon-cage to his pack as he spoke. Now hehoisted and adjusted it, and stood looking across at the mountainsfor a moment. Miss Erith's gaze followed him. 

Thusis wore a delicate camouflage of mist. And there were other badsigns to corroborate her virgin warning: distant mountains hadturned dark blue and seemed pasted in silhouettes against thesilvery blue sky. Also the winds had become prophetic, blowing outof the valleys and UP the slopes. 

All that morning McKay's thermometer had been rising and hisbarometer had fallen steadily; haze had thickened on the mountains;and, it being the season for the Fohn to blow, McKay had expectedthat characteristic warm gale from the south to bring the violentrain which always is to be expected at that season. 

But the Fohn did not materialise; in the walnut and chestnut forestaround them not a leaf stirred; and gradually the mountains cleared, became inartistically distinct, and turned a beautiful butdisturbing dark-blue colour. And Thusis wore her vestal veil in thefull sun of noon. 

"You know, Yellow-hair, " he said, "all these signs are as plain asprinted notices. There's bad weather coming. The wind was south; nowit's west. I'll bet the mountain cattle are leaving the upperpastures. "

He adjusted his binoculars; south of Mount Terrible on anotherheight there were alms; and he could see the cattle descending. 

He saw something else, too, in the sky and level with his levelledlenses--something like a bird steering toward him through thewhitish blue sky. 

Still keeping it in his field of vision he spoke quietly: "There'san airplane headed this way. Step under cover, please. "

The girl moved up under the trees beside him and unslung herglasses. Presently she also picked up the oncomer. 

"Boche, Kay?"

"I don't know. A monoplane. A Boche chaser, I think. Yes. .. . Do yousee the cross? What insolence! What characteristic contempt for aweaker people! Look at his signal! Do you see? Look at thosesmoke-balls and ribbons! See him soaring there like a condor lookingfor a way among these precipices. "

The Hun hung low above them in mid-air, slowly wheeling over thegulf. Perhaps it was his shadow or the roar of his engines thatrouted out the lammergeier, for the unclean bird took the air onenormous pinions, beating his way upward till he towered yelpingabove the Boche, and their combined clamour came distinctly to thetwo watchers below. 

Suddenly the Boche fired at the other winged thing; the enraged andbewildered bird sheered away in flight and the Hun followed. 

"That's why he shot, " said McKay. "He's got a pilot, now. "

Eagle and plane swept by almost level with the forest where theystood staining with their shadows the white shoulder of Thusis. 

Down into the gorge the great geier twisted; after him sped theairplane, banking steeply in full chase. Both disappeared where theflawless elbow of Thusis turns. Then, all alone, up out of the gulfsoared the plane. 

"The Hun has discovered a landing-place in Les Errues, " said McKay. "Watch him. "

"There's another Hun somewhere along the shoulder of Thusis, " saidMcKay. "They're exchanging signals. See how the plane circles like apatient hawk. He's waiting for something. What's he waiting for, Iwonder?"

For ten minutes the airplane circled leisurely over Thusis. Thenwhatever the aviator was waiting for evidently happened, for he shutoff his engine; came down in graceful spirals; straightened out;glided through the canyon and reappeared no more to the watchers inthe forest of Thusis. 

"Now, " remarked McKay coolly, "we know where we ought to go. Are youready, Yellow-hair?"

They had been walking for ten minutes when Miss Erith spoke in anordinary tone of voice: "Kay? Do you think we're likely to come outof this?"

"No, " he said, not looking at her. 

"But we'll get our information, you think?"

"Yes. "

The girl fell a few paces behind him and looked up at the pigeonswhere they sat in their light lattice cage crowning his pack. 

"Please do your bit, little birds, " she murmured to herself. 

And, with a smile at them and a nod of confidence, she steppedforward again and fell into the rhythm of his stride. 

Very far away to the west they heard thunder stirring behind MountTerrible. 

It was late in the afternoon when he halted near the eastern edgesof Thusis's Forest. 

"Yellow-hair, " he said very quietly, "I've led you into a trap, I'mafraid. Look back. We've been followed!"

She turned. Through the trees, against an inky sky veined withlightning, three men came out upon the further edge of the hog-backwhich they had traversed a few minutes before, and seated themselvesthere In the shelter of the crag. All three carried shotguns. 

"Yellow-hair?"

"Yes, Kay. "

"You understand what that means?"

"Yes. "

"Slip off your pack. "

She disengaged her supple shoulders from the load and he alsoslipped off his pack and leaned it against a tree. 

"Now, " he said, "you have two pistols and plenty of ammunition. Iwant you to hold that hog-back. Not a man must cross. "

However, the three men betrayed no inclination to cross. They sathuddled in a row sheltered from the oncoming storm by a great ledgeof rock. But they held their shotguns poised and ready for action. 

The girl crept toward a big walnut tree and, lying flat on herstomach behind it, drew both pistols and looked around at McKay. Shewas smiling. 

His heart was in his throat as he nodded approval. He turned andwent rapidly eastward. Two minutes later he came running back, exchanged a signal of caution with Miss Erith, and looked intentlyat the three men under the ledge. It was now raining. 

He drew from his breast a little book and on the thin glazed paperof one leaf he wrote, with water-proof ink, the place and date. And began his message:

"United States Army Int. Dept No. 76 and No. 77 are trapped on thenorthwest edge of the wood of Les Errues which lies under the elbowof Mount Thusis. From this plateau we had hoped to overlook thatsection of the Hun frontier in which is taking place that occultoperation known as 'The Great Secret, ' and which we suspect is agigantic engineering project begun fifty years ago for the purposeof piercing Swiss territory with an enormous tunnel under MountTerrible, giving the Hun armies a road into France BEHIND the Frenchbattle-line and BEHIND Verdun. 

"Unfortunately we are now trapped and our retreat is cut off. It isunlikely that we shall be able to verify our suspicions concerningthe Great Secret. But we shall not be taken alive. 

"We have, however, already discovered certain elements intimatelyconnected with the Great Secret. 

"No. 1. Papers taken from a dead enemy show that the region calledLes Errues has been ceded to the Hun in a secret pact as the pricethat Switzerland pays for immunity from the Boche invasion. 

"2nd. The Swiss people are ignorant of this. 

"3rd. The Boche guards all approaches to Les Errues. Except by wayof the Boche frontier there appears to be only one entrance to LesErrues. We have just discovered it. The path is as follows: FromDelle over the Swiss wire to the Crucifix on Mount Terrible; fromthere east-by-north along the chestnut woods to the shoulder ofMount Thusis. From thence, north over hog-backs 1, 2, and 3 to theForest of Thusis where we are now trapped. 

"Northeast of the forest lies a level, treeless table-land half amile in diameter called The Garden of Thusis. A BOCHE AIRPLANELANDED THERE ABOUT THREE HOURS AGO. 

"To reach the Forbidden Forest the aviators, leaving their machinein the Garden of Thusis, walked southwest into the woods where wenow are. These woods end in a vast gulf to the north which separatesthem from the Forbidden Forest of Les Errues. 

"BUT A CABLE CROSSES!

"That is the way they went; a tiny car holding two is swung underthis cable and the passengers pull themselves to and fro across theenormous chasm. 

"At the west end of this cable is a hut; in the hut is themachinery--a drum which can be manipulated so that the cable can beloosened and permitted to sag. 

"The reason for dropping the cable is analogous to the reason forusing drawbridges over navigable streams; there is only onelanding-place for airplanes in this entire region and that is thelevel, grassy plateau northeast of Thusis Woods. It is so entirelyringed with snow-peaks that there is only one way to approach it fora landing, and that is through the canyon edging Thusis Woods. Nowthe wire cable blocks this canyon. An approaching airplane thereforehangs aloft and signals to the cable-guards, who lower the cableuntil it sags sufficiently to free the aerial passage-way betweenthe cliffs. Then the aviator planes down, sweeps through the canyon, and alights on the plateau called Thusis's Garden. But now he mustreturn; the cable must be lifted and stretched taut; and he mustembark across the gulf in the little car which runs on groovedwheels to Les Errues. 

"This is all we are likely to learn. Our retreat is cut off. Twocable-guards are in front of us; in front of them the chasm; andacross the chasm lies Les Errues whither the aviator has gone andwhere, I do not doubt, are plenty more of his kind. 

"This, and two carbons, I shall endeavour to send by pigeon. Inextremity we shall destroy all our papers and identification cardsand get what Huns we can, RESERVING FOR OUR OWN USES one cartridgeapiece. 

"(Signed) Nos. 76 AND 77. "

It was raining furiously, but the heavy foliage of chestnut andwalnut had kept his paper dry. Now in the storm-gloom of the woodslit up by the infernal glare of lightning he detached the longscroll of thin paper covered by microscopical writing and, takingoff the rubber bands which confined one of the homing pigeons, attached the paper cylinder securely. 

Then he crawled over with his bird and, lying flat alongside of MissErith, told her what he had discovered and what he had done aboutit. The roar of the rain almost obliterated his voice and he had toplace his lips close to her ear. 

For a long while they lay there waiting for the rain to slackenbefore he launched the bird. The men across the hog-back neverstirred. Nobody approached from the rear. At last, behind MountTerrible, the tall edges of the rain veil came sweeping out inragged majesty. Vapours were ascending in its wake; a distant peakgrew visible, and suddenly brightened, struck at the summit by ashaft of sunshine. 

"Now!" breathed McKay. The homing pigeon, released, walked nervouslyout over the wet leaves on the forest floor, and, at a slight motionfrom the girl, rose into flight. Then, as it appeared above thetrees, there came the cracking report of a shotgun, and they saw thebird collapse in mid-air and sheer downward across the hog-back. Butit did not land there; the marksman had not calculated on thoseerratic gales from the chasm; and the dead pigeon went whirling downinto the viewless gulf amid flying vapours mounting from unseendepths. 

Miss Erith and McKay lay very still. The Hunnish marksman across thehog-back remained erect for a few moments like a man at the trapsawaiting another bird. After awhile he coolly seated himself againunder the dripping ledge. 

"The swine!" said McKay calmly. He added: "Don't let them cross. "And he rose and walked swiftly back toward the northern edge of theforest. 

From behind a tree he could see two Hun cable-guards, made alert bythe shot, standing outside their hut where the cable-machinery washoused. 

Evidently the echoes of that shot, racketing and rebounding fromrock and ravine, had misled them, for they had their backs turnedand were gazing eastward, rifles pointed. 

Without time for thought or hesitation, McKay ran out toward themacross the deep, wet moss. One of them heard him too late andMcKay's impact hurled him into the gulf. Then McKay turned andsprang on the other, and for a minute it was a fight of tigers thereon the cable platform until the battered visage of the Boche splitwith a scream and a crashing blow from McKay's pistol-butt drove himover the platform's splintered edge. 

And now, panting, bloody, dishevelled, he strained his ears, listening for a shot from the hog-back. The woods were very silentin their new bath of sunshine. A little Alpine bird was singing; noother sound broke the silence save the mellow, dripping noise from amillion rain-drenched leaves. 

McKay cast a rapid, uneasy glance across the chasm. Then he wentinto the cable hut. 

There were six rifles there in a rack, six wooden bunks, andclothing on pegs--not military uniforms but the garments of Swissmountaineers. 

Like the three men across the hog-back, and the two whom he had soswiftly slain, the Hun cable-patrol evidently fought shy of theBoche uniform here on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

Two of the cable-guard lay smashed to a pulp thousands of feetbelow. Where was the remainder of the patrol? Were the men with theshotguns part of it?

McKay stood alone in the silent hut, still breathless from hisstruggle, striving to think what was now best to do. 

And, as he stood there, through the front window of the hut he sawan aviator and another man come down from the crest of Thusis to thechasm's edge, jump into the car which swung under the cable, andbegin to pull themselves across toward the hut where he wasstanding. 

The hut screened his retreat to the wood's edge. From there he sawthe aviator and his companion land on the platform; heard themshouting for the dead who never would answer from their Alpinedeeps; saw the airman at last go away toward the plateau where hehad left his machine; heard the clanking of machinery in the hut;saw the steel cable begin to sag into the canyon; AND REALISED THATTHE AVIATOR WAS GOING BACK OVER FRANCE TO THE BOCHE TRENCHES FROMWHENCE HE HAD ARRIVED. 

In a flash it came to McKay what he should try to do--what he MUSTdo for his country, for the life of the young girl, his comrade, forhis own life: The watchers at the hog-back must never signal to thatairman news of his presence in the Forbidden Forest!

The clanking of the cog-wheels made his steps inaudible to the manwho was manipulating the machinery in the hut as he entered and shothim dead. It was rather sickening, for the fellow pitched forwardinto the machinery and one arm became entangled there. 

But McKay, white of cheek and lip and fighting off a deathly nausea, checked the machinery and kicked the carrion clear. Then he set thedrum and threw on the lever which reversed the cog-wheels. Slowlythe sagging cable began to tighten up once more. 

He had been standing there for half an hour or more in an agony ofsuspense, listening for any shot from the forest behind him, straining eyes and ears for any sign of the airplane. 

And suddenly he heard it coming--a resonant rumour through thecanyon, nearer, louder, swelling to a roar as the monoplane dashedinto view and struck the cable with a terrific crash. 

For a second, like a giant wasp suddenly entangled in a spider'sstrand, it whirled around the cable with a deafening roar ofpropellers; then a sheet of fire enveloped it; both wings broke offand fell; other fragments dropped blazing; and then the thing itselflet go and shot headlong into awful depths!

Above it the taut cable vibrated and sang weirdly in the silence ofthe chasm. 

The girl was still lying flat under the walnut-tree when McKay cameback. 

Without speaking he knelt, levelled his pistol and fired across atthe man beyond the hog-back. 

Instantly her pistol flashed, too; one of the men fell and tried toget up in a blind sort of way, and his comrades caught him by thearms and dragged him back behind the ledge. 

"All right!" shouted one of the men from his cover, "we've plentlyof time to deal with you Yankee swine! Stay there and rot!"

"That was Skelton's voice, " whispered Miss Erith with an involuntaryshudder. 

"They'll never attempt that hog-back under our pistols now, " saidMcKay coolly. "Come, Yellow-hair; we're going forward. "

"How?" she asked, bewildered. 

"By cable, little comrade, " he said, with a shaky gaiety thatbetrayed the tension of his nerves. "So pack up and route-step oncemore!"

He turned and looked at her and his face twitched:

"You wonderful girl, " he said, "you beautiful, wonderful girl! We'lllive to fly our pigeons yet, Yellow-hair, under the very snout ofthe whole Hun empire!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE LATE SIR W. BLINT

That two spies, a man and a woman, had penetrated the forest of LesErrues was known in Berlin on the 13th. Within an hour the entiremachinery of the German Empire had been set in motion to entrap andannihilate these two people. 

The formula distributed to all operators in the IntelligenceDepartment throughout Hundom, and wherever Boche spies had filteredinto civilised lands, was this:

"Two enemy secret agents have succeeded in penetrating the forest ofLes Errues. One is a man, the other a woman. 

"Both are Americans. The man is that civilian prisoner, Kay McKay, who escaped from Holzminden, and of whom an exact description isavailable. 

"The woman is Evelyn Erith. Exact information concerning her is alsoavailable. 

"The situation is one of extremest delicacy and peril. Exposure ofthe secret understanding with a certain neutral Power which permitsus certain temporary rights within an integral portion of itsterritory would be disastrous, and would undoubtedly result in animmediate invasion of this neutral (sic) country by the enemy aswell as by our own forces. 

"This must not happen. Yet it is vitally imperative that these twoenemy agents should be discovered, seized, and destroyed. 

"Their presence in the forest of Les Errues is the most seriousmenace to the Fatherland that has yet confronted it. 

"Upon the apprehension and destruction of these two spies dependsthe safety of Germany and her allies. 

"The war can not be won, a victorious German peace can not beimposed upon our enemies, unless these two enemy agents are foundand their bodies absolutely destroyed upon the spot along with everyparticle of personal property discovered upon their persons. 

"More than that: the war will be lost, and with it the Fatherland, unless these two spies are seized and destroyed. 

"The Great Secret of Germany is in danger. 

"To possess themselves of it--for already they suspect itsnature--and to expose it not only to the United States Governmentbut to the entire world, is the mission of these two enemy agents. 

"If they succeed it would mean the end of the German Empire. 

"If our understanding with a certain neutral Power be made public, that also would spell disaster for Germany. 

"The situation hangs by a hair, the fate of the world is suspendedabove the forest of Les Errues. "

On the 14th the process of infiltration began. But the Hun invasionof Les Errues was not to be conducted in force, there must be nocommotion there, no stirring, no sound, only a silent, stealthy, death-hunt in that shadowy forest--a methodical, patient, thoroughpreparation to do murder; a swift, noiseless execution. 

Also, on the 14th, the northern sky beyond the Swiss wire swarmedwith Hun airplanes patrolling the border. 

Not that the Great Secret could be discovered from the air; thatdanger had been foreseen fifty years ago, and half a century'scamouflage screened the results of steady, calculating relentlessdiligence. 

But French or British planes might learn of the presence of theseenemy agents in the dark forest of Les Errues, and might hang likehawks above it exchanging signals with them. 

Therefore the northern sky swarmed with Boche aircraft--cautiouslypatrolling beyond the Swiss border, and only prepared to risk itsviolation if Allied planes first set them an example. 

But for a week nothing moved in the heavens above Les Errues exceptan eagle. And that appeared every day, sheering the blue void abovethe forest, hovering majestically in circles hour after hour andthen, at last, toward sundown, setting its sublime course westward, straight into the blinding disk of the declining sun. 

The Hun airmen patrolling the border noticed the eagle. After awhile, as no Allied plane appeared, time lagged with the Boche, andhe came to look for this lone eagle which arrived always at the samehour in the sky above Les Errues, soared there hour after hour, thendeparted, flapping slowly westward until lost in the flames ofsunset. 

"As though, " remarked one Boche pilot, "the bird were a phoenixwhich at the close of every day renews its life from its own ashesin the flames. "

Another airman said: "It is not a Lammergeier, is it?"

"It is a Stein-Adler, " said a third. 

But after a silence a fourth airman spoke, seated before the hangarand studying a wild flower, the petals of which he had beenexamining with the peculiar interest of a nature-student:

"For ten days I have had nothing more important to watch than thateagle which appears regularly every day above the forest of LesErrues. And I have concluded that the bird is neither a Lammergeiernor a Stein-Adler. "

"Surely, " said one young Hun, "it is a German eagle. "

"It must be, " laughed another, "because it is so methodical andexact. Those are German traits. "

The nature-student contemplated the wild blossom which he was nowidly twirling between his fingers by its stem. 

"It perplexes me, " he mused aloud. 

The others looked at him; one said: "What perplexes you, VonDresslin?"

"That bird. "

"The eagle?"

"The eagle which comes every day to circle above Les Errues. I, anamateur of ornithology am, perhaps, with all modesty, permitted tocall myself?"

"Certainly, " said several airmen at once. 

Another added: "We all know you to be a naturalist. "

"Pardon--a student only, gentlemen. Which is why, perhaps, I am bothinterested and perplexed by this eagle we see every day. "

"It is a rare species?"

"It is not a familiar one to the Alps. "

"This bird, then, is not a German eagle in your opinion, VonDresslin?"

"What is it? Asiatic? African? Chinese?" asked another. 

Von Dresslin's eyebrows became knitted. 

"That eagle which we all see every day in the sky above Les Errues, "he said slowly, "has a snow-white crest and tail. "

Several airmen nodded; one said: "I have noticed that, too, watchingthe bird through my binoculars. "

"I know, " continued Von Dresslin slowly, "of only one species ofeagle which resembles the bird we all see every day. .. It inhabitsNorth America, " he added thoughtfully. 

There was a silence, then a very young airman inquired whether VonDresslin knew of any authentic reports of an American eagle beingseen in Europe. 

"Authentic? That is somewhat difficult to answer, " replied VonDresslin, with the true caution of a real naturalist. "But I ventureto tell you that, once before--nearly a year ago now--I saw an eaglein this same region which had a white crest and tail and wasotherwise a shining bronze in colour. "

"Where did you see such a bird?"

"High in the air over Mount Terrible. " A deep and significantsilence fell over the little company. If Count von Dresslin had seensuch an eagle over the Swiss peak called Mount Terrible, and hadbeen near enough to notice the bird's colour, every man there knewwhat had been the occasion. 

For only once had that particular region of Switzerland beenviolated by their aircraft during the war. It had happened a yearago when Von Dresslin, patrolling the north Swiss border, haddiscovered a British flyer planing low over Swiss territory in theair-region between Mount Terrible and the forest of Les Errues. 

Instantly the Hun, too, crossed the line: and the air-battle wasjoined above the forest. 

Higher, higher, ever higher mounted the two fighting planes untilthe earth had fallen away two miles below them. 

Then, out of the icy void of the upper air-space, now roaring withtheir engines' clamour, the British plane shot earthward, down, down, rushing to destruction like a shooting-star, and crashed inthe forest of Les Errues. 

And where it had been, there in mid-air, hung an eagle with a crestas white as the snow on the shining peaks below. 

"He seemed suddenly to be there instead of the British plane, " saidVon Dresslin. "I saw him distinctly--might have shot him with mypistol as he sheered by me, his yellow eyes aflame, balanced onbroad wings. So near he swept that his bright fierce eyes flashedlevel with mine, and for an instant I thought he meant to attack me. 

"But he swept past in a single magnificent curve, screaming, thenbanked swiftly and plunged straight downward in the very path of theBritish plane. "

Nobody spoke. Von Dresslin twirled his flower and looked at it in anabsent-minded way. 

"From that glimpse, a year ago, I believe I had seen a species ofeagle the proper habitat of which is North America, " he said. 

An airman remarked grimly: "The Yankees are migrating to Europe. Perhaps their eagles are coming too. "

"To pick our bones, " added another. 

And another man said laughingly to Von Dresslin:

"Fritz, did you see in that downfall of the British enemy, and thedramatic appearance of a Yankee eagle in his place, anythingsignificant?"

"By gad, " cried another airman, "we had John Bull by his fat throat, and were choking him to death. And now--the Americans!"

"If I dared cross the border and shoot that Yankee eagle to-morrow, "began another airman; but they all knew it wouldn't do. 

One said: "Do you suppose, Von Dresslin, that the bird we see is theone you saw a year ago?"

"It is possible. "

"An American white-headed eagle?"

"I feel quite sure of it. "

"Their national bird, " said the same airman who had expressed adesire to shoot it. 

"How could an American eagle get here?" inquired another man. 

"By way of Asia, probably. "

"By gad! A long flight!"

Dresslin nodded: "An omen, perhaps, that we may also have to facethe Yankee on our Eastern front. "

"The swine!" growled several. 

Von Dresslin assented absently to the epithet. But his thoughts werebusy elsewhere, his mind preoccupied by a theory which, Hunlike, he, for the last ten days, had been slowly, doggedly, methodicallydeveloping. 

It was this: Assuming that the bird really was an American eagle, the problem presented itself very clearly--from where had it come?This answered itself; it came from America, its habitat. 

Which answer, of course, suggested a second problem; HOW did itarrive?

Several theories presented themselves:

1st. The eagle might have reached Asia from Alaska and so made itsway westward as far as the Alps of Switzerland. 

2nd. It may have escaped from some public European zoologicalcollection. 

3rd. It may have been owned privately and, on account of thescarcity of food in Europe, liberated by its owner. 

4th. It MIGHT have been owned by the Englishman whose plane VonDresslin had destroyed. 

And now Von Dresslin was patiently, diligently developing thistheory:

If it had been owned by the unknown Englishman whose plane hadcrashed a year ago in Les Errues forest, then the bird wasundoubtedly his mascot, carried with him in his flights, doubtless atame eagle. 

Probably when the plane fell the bird took wing, which accounted forits sudden appearance in mid-air. 

Probably, also, it had been taught to follow its master; and, indeed, had followed in one superb plunge earthward in the wake of adead man in a stricken plane. 

But--WAS this the same bird?

For argument, suppose it was. Then why did it still hang over LesErrues? Affection for a dead master? Only a dog could possibly showsuch devotion, such constancy. And besides, birds are incapable ofaffection. They only know where to go for kind treatment andsecurity. And tamed birds, even those species domesticated forcenturies, know only one impulse that draws them toward any humanprotector--the desire for food. 

Could this eagle remember for a whole year that the man who lay deadsomewhere in the dusky wilderness of Les Errues had once been kindto him and had fed him? And was that why the great bird stillhaunted the air-heights above the forest? Possibly. 

Or was it not more logical to believe that here, suddenly cast uponits own resources, and compelled to employ instincts hithertouncultivated or forgotten, to satisfy its hunger, this solitaryAmerican eagle had found the hunting good? Probably. And, knowing noother region, had remained there, and for the first time, or atleast after a long interval of captivity and dependence on man, ithad discovered what liberty was and with liberty the necessity tostruggle for existence. 

An airman, watching Dresslin's thoughtful features, said:

"You never found out who that Englishman was, did you?

"No. "

"Did our agents search Les Errues?"

"I suppose so. But I have never heard anything further about thataffair, " he shrugged; "and I don't believe we ever will until afterthe war, and until--"

"Until Switzerland belongs to us, " said an airman with a lightlaugh. 

Others, listening, looked at one another significantly, smiling thepatient, confident and brooding smile of the Hun. 

Knaus unwittingly wrote his character and his epitaph:

"Ich kann warten. "

The forest of Les Errues was deathly still. Hunters and hunted bothwere as silent as the wild things that belonged there in those dimwoods--as cautious, as stealthy. 

A dim greenish twilight veiled their movements, the damp carpet ofmoss dulled sounds. 

Yet the hunted knew that they were hunted, realised that pursuit andsearch were inevitable; and the hunters, no doubt, guessed thattheir quarry was alert. 

Now on the tenth day since their entrance into Les Errues those twoAmericans who were being hunted came to a little wooded valleythrough which a swift stream dashed amid rock and fern, flingingspray over every green leaf that bordered it, filling its clearpools with necklaces of floating bubbles. 

McKay slipped his pack from his shoulders and set it against a tree. One of the two carrier pigeons in their cage woke up and ruffled. Looking closely at the other he discovered it was dead. His heartsank, but he laid the stiff, dead bird behind a tree and saidnothing to his companion. 

Evelyn Erith now let go of her own pack and, flinging herself on themoss, set her lips to the surface of a brimming pool. 

"Careful of this Alpine water!" McKay warned her. But the girlsatisfied her thirst before she rose to her knees and looked aroundat him. 

"Are you tired, Yellow-hair?" he asked. 

"Yes. .. . Are you, Kay?"

He shook his head and cast a glance around him. 

It was beautiful, this little woodland vale with its stream dashingthrough and its slopes forested with beech and birch--splendid greattrees with foliage golden green in the sun. 

But it was not the beauty of the scene that preoccupied these two. Always, when ready to halt, their choice of any resting-placedepended upon several things more important than beauty. 

For one matter the place must afford concealment, and also a watersupply. Moreover it must be situated so as to be capable of defence. Also there must be an egress offering a secure line of retreat. 

So McKay began to roam about the place, prowling along the slopesand following the stream. Apparently the topography satisfied him;for after a little while he came back to where Miss Erith was lyingon the moss, one arm resting across her eyes. 

"You ARE tired, " he said. 

She removed her arm and looked up at him out of those wonderfulgolden eyes. 

"Is it all right for us to remain here, Kay?"

"Yes. You can see for yourself. Anybody coming into this valley mustbe visible on that ridge to the south. And there's an exit. Thisbrook dashes through it--two vast granite gates that will let usthrough into the outer forest, where they might as well hunt for twopins as for us. "

The girl smiled; her eyes closed. "I'm glad we can rest, " shemurmured. So McKay went about his duties. 

First he removed his pack and hers a hundred yards down stream, through the granite gateway, and placed them just beyond. 

Then he came back for Miss Erith. Scarcely awakened as he liftedher, she placed one arm around his neck with the sleepyunconsciousness of a tired child. They had long been on such terms;there was no escaping them in the intimacy of their common isolationand common danger. 

He laid her on the moss, well screened by the granite barrier, andbeyond range of the brook's rainbow spray. She was already asleepagain. 

He took off both her shoes, unwound the spiral puttees and gave herbruised little feet a chance to breathe. 

He made camp, tested the wind and found it safe to build a fire, setwater to simmer, and unpacked the tinned rations. Then he made thetwo beds side by side, laying down blankets and smoothing away thetwigs underneath. 

The surviving carrier pigeon was hungry. He fed it, lifted it stillbanded from its place, cleaned the cage and set it to dry in a patchof sunshine. 

The four automatic pistols he loaded and laid on a shelf in thegranite barricade; set ammunition and flashlight beside them. 

Then he went to his pack and got his papers and material, andunrolled the map upon which he had been at work since he and EvelynErith had entered the enemy's zone of operations. 

From time to time as he worked, drawing or making notes, he glancedat the sleeping girl beside him. 

Never but once had the word "love" been mentioned between these two. 

For a long while, now--almost from the very beginning--he had knownthat he was in love with this girl; but, after that one day in thegarden, he also knew that there was scarcely the remotest chancethat he should live to tell her so again, or that she could surviveto hear him. 

For when they had entered the enemy's zone below Mount Terrible theyboth realised that there was almost no chance of their returning. 

He had lighted his pipe; and now he sat working away at hisdrawings, making a map of his route as best he could withoutinstruments, and noting with rapid pencil all matters of interestfor those upon whose orders he and this girl beside him hadpenetrated the forbidden forest of Les Errues. This for the slimchance of getting back alive. But he had long believed that, if hispigeons failed him at the crisis, no report would ever be deliveredto those who sent him here, either concerning his discoveries or hisfate and the fate of the girl who lay asleep beside him. 

An hour later she awoke. He was still bent over his map, and shepresently extended one arm and let her hand rest on his knee. 

"Do you feel better, Yellow-hair?"

"Yes. Thank you for removing my shoes. "

"I suppose you are hungry, " he remarked. 

"Yes. Are you?"

He smiled: "As usual. I wish to heaven I could run across aroebuck. " They both craved something to satisfy the hunger made keenby the Alpine air, and which no concentrated rations could satisfy. McKay seldom ventured to kill any game--merely an auerhahn, a hareor two, a red squirrel--and sometimes he had caught trout in themountain brooks with his bare hands--the method called "tickling"and only too familiar to Old-World poachers. 

"Roebuck, " she repeated trying not to speak wistfully. 

He nodded: "One crossed the stream below. I saw the tracks in themoss, which was still stirring where the foot had pressed. "

"Dare you risk a shot in Les Errues, Kay?"

"I don't think I'd hesitate. "

After a silence: "Why don't you rest? You must be dead tired, " shesaid. And he felt a slight pressure of her fingers drawing him. 

So he laid aside his work, dropped upon his blanket, and turned onhis left side, looking at her. 

"You have not yet seen any sign of the place from which you oncelooked out across the frontier and saw thousands and thousands ofpeople as busy as a swarm of ants--have you, Kay?"

"I remember this stream and these woods. I can't seem to recollecthow far or in which direction I turned after passing this granitegorge. "

"Did you go far?"

"I can't recollect, " he said. "I'd give my right arm if I could. "His worn and anxious visage touched her. 

"Don't fret, Kay, dear, " she said soothingly. "We'll find it. We'llfind out what the Hun is doing. We'll discover what this GreatSecret really is. And our pigeons shall tell it to the world. "

And, as always, she smiled cheerfully, confidently. He had neverheard her whine, had never seen her falter save from sheer physicalweariness. 

"We'll win through, Yellow-hair, " he said, looking steadily into herclear brown-gold eyes. 

"Of course. You are so wonderful, Kay. "

"That is the most wonderful thing in the world, Evelyn--to hear youtell me such a thing!"

"Don't you know I think so?"

"I can't believe it--after what you know of me--"

"Kay!"

"I'm sorry--but a scar is a scar--"

"There is no scar! Do you hear me! No scar, no stain! Don't yousuppose a woman can judge? And I have my own opinion of you, Kay--and it is a perfectly good opinion and suits me. "

She smiled, closed her eyes as though closing the discussion, openedthem and smiled again at him. 

And now, as always, he wondered how this fair young girl could findcourage to smile in the very presence of the most dreadful death anyliving woman could suffer--death from the Hun. 

He lay looking at her and she at him, for a while. 

In the silence, a dry stick snapped and McKay was on his feet asthough it had been the crack of a pistol. 

Presently he stooped, and she lifted her pretty head and rested oneear close to his lips:

"It's that roebuck, I think, down stream. " Then something happened;her ear touched his mouth--or his lips, forming some word, came intocontact with her--so that it was as though he had kissed her and shehad responded. 

Both recoiled; her face was bright with mounting colour and heseemed scared. Yet both knew it was not a caress; but she feared hethought she had invited one, and he feared she believed he hadoffered one. 

He went about his affair with the theoretical roebuck in silence, picking up one of his pistols, loosening his knife in its sheath;then, without the usual smile or gesture for her, he started offnoiselessly over the moss. 

And the girl, supporting herself on one arm, her fingers buried inthe moss, looked after him while her flushed face cooled. 

McKay moved down stream with pistol lifted, scanning the hard-woodridges on either hand. For even the reddest of roe deer, in thewoods, seem to be amazingly invisible unless they move. 

The stream dashed through shadow and sun-spot, splashing a sparklingway straight into the wilderness of Les Errues; and along itsfern-fringed banks strode McKay with swift, light steps. His eyes, now sharpened by the fight for life--which life had begun to berevealed to him in all its protean aspects, searched the dappled, demi-light ahead, fiercely seeking to pierce any disguise thatprotective colouration might afford his quarry. 

Silver, russet, green and gold, and with the myriad fulvous nuancesthat the, forest undertones lend to its ensembles, these were thepatterned tints that met his eye on every side in the subduedgradations of woodland light. 

But nothing out of key, nothing either in tone, colour, or shape, betrayed the discreet and searched for discord in the vague andlovely harmony;--no spiked head tossed in sudden fright; nochestnut flank turned too redly in the dim ensemble, no delicatefeet in motion disturbed the solemn immobility of tree-trunk androck. Only the fern fronds quivered where spray rained across them;and the only sounds that stirred were the crystalline clash of icyrapids and the high whisper of the leaves in Les Errues. 

And, as he stood motionless, every sense and instinct on edge, hiseyes encountered something out of key with this lovely, sombremasterpiece of God. Instantly a still shock responded to themechanical signal sent to his eyes; the engine of the brain wasracing; he stood as immobile as a tree. 

Yes, there on the left something was amiss, --something indistinctin the dusk of heavy foliage--something, the shape of which was notin harmony with the suave design about him woven of its Creator. After a long while he walked slowly toward it. 

There was much more of it than he had seen. Its consequences, too, were visible above him where broken branches hung still tufted withbronze leaves which no new buds would ever push from their deadclasp of the sapless stems. And all around him yearling seedlingshad pushed up through the charred wreckage. Even where fire hadtried to obtain a foothold, and had been withstood by barriers ofgreen and living sap, in burnt spaces where bits of twisted metallay, tender shoots had pushed out in that eternal promise ofresurrection which becomes a fable only upon a printed page. 

McKay's business was with the dead. The weather-faded husk lay thereamid dry leaves promising some day to harmonise with the scheme ofthings. 

Mice had cleaned the bony cage under the uniform of a Britishaviator. Mice gnaw the shed antlers of deer. And other bones. 

The pockets were full of papers. McKay read some of them. Afterwardhe took from the bones of the hand two rings, a wrist-watch, awhistle which still hung by a short chain and a round objectattached to a metal ring like a sleigh-bell. 

There was a hollow just beyond, made once in time of flood by someancient mountain torrent long dry, and no longer to be feared. 

The human wreckage barely held together, but it was light; and McKaycovered it with a foot of deep green moss, and made a cairn above itout of glacial stones from the watercourse. And on the huge beechthat tented it he cut a cross with his trench-knife, making theincision deep, so that it glimmered like ivory against the silverybark of the great tree. Under this sacred symbol he carved:

"SIR W. BLINT, BART. "

Below this he cut a deep, white oblong in the bark, and with a coalfrom the burned airplane he wrote:

"THIS IS THE BEGINNING, NOT THE END. THIS ENGLISHMAN STILL CARRIESON!"

He stood at salute for a full minute. Then turned, dropped to hisknees, and began another thorough search among the debris and deadleaves. 

"Hello, Yellow-hair!"

She had been watching his approach from where she was seatedbalanced on the stream's edge, with both legs in the water to theknees. 

He came up and dropped down beside her on the moss. 

"A dead airman in Les Errues, " he said quietly, "a Britisher. I putaway what remained of him. The Huns may dig him up: some animals dosuch things. "

"Where did you find him, Kay?" she asked quietly. 

"A quarter of a mile down-stream. He lay on the west slope. He hadfallen clear, but there was not much left of his machine. "

"How long has he lain there in this forest?"

"A year--to judge. Also the last entry in his diary bears this out. They got him through the head, and his belt gave way or was notfastened. --Anyway he came down stone dead and quite clear of hismachine. His name was Blint--Sir W. Blint, Bart. .. . Lie back on themoss and let your bruised feet hang in the pool. .. . Here--this way--rest that yellow head of yours against my knees. . .. Are yousnug?"

"Yes. "

"Hold out your hands. These were his trinkets. "

The girl cupped her hands to receive the rings, watch, the goldwhistle in its little gem-set chains, and the sleigh-bell on itsbracelet. 

She examined them one by one in silence while McKay ran through thepages of the notebook--discoloured pages all warped and stained intheir leather binding but written in pencil with print-likedistinction. 

"Sir W. Blint, " murmured McKay, still busy with the notebook. "Can'tfind what W. Stood for. "

"That's all there is--just his name and military rank as an aviator:I left the disk where it hung. "

The girl placed the trinkets on the moss beside her and looked upinto McKay's face. 

Both knew they were thinking of the same thing. They wore no disks. Would anybody do for them what McKay had done for the late Sir W. Blint?

McKay bent a little closer over her and looked down into her face. That any living creature should touch this woman in death seemed tohim almost more terrible than her dying. It was terror of that whichsometimes haunted him; no other form of fear. 

What she read in his eyes is not clear--was not quite clear to her, perhaps. She said under her breath:

"You must not fear for me, Kay. .. . Nothing can really touch me now. "

He did not understand what she meant by this immunity--gatheringsome vague idea that she had spoken in the spiritual sense. And hewas only partly right. For when a girl is beginning to give her soulto a man, the process is not wholly spiritual. 

As he looked down at her in silence he saw her gaze shift and hereyes fix themselves on something above the tree-tops overhead. 

"There's that eagle again, " she said, "wheeling up there in theblue. "

He looked up; then he turned his sun-dazzled eyes on the pages ofthe little notebook which he held open in both hands. 

"It's amusing reading, " he said. "The late Sir W. Blint seems tohave been something of a naturalist. Wherever he was stationed thelives of the birds, animals, insects and plants interested him. . .. Everywhere one comes across his pencilled queries and commentsconcerning such things; here he discovers a moth unfamiliar to him, there a bird he does not recognise. He was a quaint chap--"

McKay's voice ceased but his eyes still followed the pencilled linesof the late Sir W. Blint. And Evelyn Erith, resting her yellow headagainst his knees, looked up at him. 

"For example, " resumed McKay, and read aloud from the diary:

"Five days' leave. Blighty. All top hole at home. Walked withConstance in the park. 

Pair of thrushes in the spinney. Rookery full. Usual butterflies inunusual numbers. Toward twilight several sphinx moths visited theprivet. No net at hand so did not identify any. Pheasants in badshape. Nobody to keep them down. Must arrange drives while I'm away. 

Late at night a barn owl in the chapel belfrey. Saw him and heardhim. Constance nervous; omens and that sort, I fancy; but no funk. Rotten deal for her. "

"Who was Constance?" asked Miss Erith. 

"Evidently his wife. .. . I wish we could get those trinkets to her. "His glance shifted back to the pencilled page and presently he readon, aloud:

France again. Headquarters. Same rumour that Fritz has something uphis sleeve. Conference. Letter from Constance. Wrote her also. 

10th inst. :

Conference. Interesting theory even if slightly incredible. WroteConstance. 

12th inst. :

Another conference. Sir D. Haig. Back to hangar. A nightingalesinging, clear and untroubled above the unceasing thunder of thecannonade. Very pretty moth, incognito, came and sat on my sleeve. One of the Noctuidae, I fancy, but don't know generic or specificnames. About eleven o'clock Sir D. Haig. Unexpected honour. Sir D. Serene and cheerful. Showed him about. He was much amused at myeagle. Explained how I had found him as an eaglet some twenty yearsago in America and how he sticks to me like a tame jackdaw. 

Told Sir D. That I had been taking him in my air flights everywhereand that he adored it, sitting quite solemnly out of harm's way and, if taking to the air for a bit of exercise, always keeping my planein view and following it to earth. 

Showed Sir D. H. All Manitou's tricks. The old chap did me proud. This was the programme:

I. --'Will you cheer for king and country, Manitou?'

Manitou (yelping)--'Houp--gloup--houp!'

I. --'Suppose you were a Hun eagle, Manitou--just a vulgar Bochebuzzard?'

Manitou (hanging his head)--'Houp--gloup--houp!'

I. -'But you're not! You're a Yankee eagle! Now give three cheers forUncle Sam!'

Manitou (head erect)--'Houp--gloup--houp!'

Sir D. Convulsed. Ordered a trench-rat for Manitou as usual. Whilehe was discussing it I told Sir D. H. How I could always sendManitou home merely by attaching to his ankle a big whistling-bellof silver. 

Explained that Manitou hated it and that I had taught him to flyhome when I attached it by arranging that nobody except my wifeshould ever relieve him of the bell. 

It took about two years to teach him where to go for relief. 

Sir D, much amused--reluctant to leave. Wrote to Connie later. Bed. 

13th inst. :

Summoned by Sir D. H. Conference. Most interesting. Packed up. Of at5 P. M. , taking my eagle, Manitou. Wrote Constance. 

14th inst. :

Paris. Yankees everywhere. Very ft. Have noticed no brag so far. Wrote Constance. 

20th inst. :

Paris. Yanks, Yanks, Yanks. And 'thanks' rimes. I said so to one of'em. 'No, ' said he, 'Tanks' is the proper rime--British Tanks!' Neatand modest. Wrote Connie. 

21st inst. :

Manitou and I are off. Most interesting quest I ever engaged in. Wrote to my wife. 

Delle. Manitou and I both very fit. Machine in waiting. Took the airfor a look about. Manitou left me a mile up. Evidently likes theAlps. Soared over Mount Terrible whither I dared not venture--yet!Saw no Huns. Back by sundown. Manitou dropped in to dinner--like athunderbolt from the zenith. Astonishment of Blue Devils on guard. Much curiosity. Manitou a hero. All see in him an omen of Americanvictory. Wrote Connie. 

30th inst. :

Shall try 'it' very soon now. 

If it's true--God help the Swiss! If not--profound apologies Isuppose. Anyway its got to be cleared up. Manitou enamoured ofmountains. Poor devil, it's in his blood I suppose. Takes the air, now, quite independent of me, but I fancy he gets uneasy if I delay, for he comes and circles over the hangar until my machine takes theair. And if it doesn't he comes down to find out why, mad andyelping at me like an irritated goblin. 

I saw an Alpine butterfly to-day--one of those Parnassians all whitewith wings veined a greenish black. Couldn't catch him. Wrote toConnie. Bed. 

31st inst. :

In an hour. All ready. It's hard to believe that the Hun has soterrorised the Swiss Government as to force it into such anoutrageous concession. Nous verrons. 

A perfect day. Everything arranged. Calm and confident. Think muchof Constance but no nerves. Early this morning Manitou, who had beenpersistently hulking at my heels and squealing invitations to takewing with him, became impatient and went up. 

I saw him in time and whistled him down; and I told the old chapvery plainly that he could come up with me when I was ready or notat all. 

He understood and sat on the table sulking, and cocking his silverhead at me while I talked to him. That's one thing about Manitou. Except for a wild Canada goose I never before saw a bird who seemedto have the slightest trace of brain. I know, of course, it's notaffection that causes him to trail me, answer his whistle, and obeywhen he doesn't wish to obey. It's training and habit. But I like topretend that the old chap is a little fond of me. 

I'm of in a few minutes. Manitou is aboard. Glorious visibility. Nowfor Fritz and his occult designs--if there are any. 

A little note to Connie--I scarcely know why. Not a nerve. Mosthappy. Noticed a small butterfly quite unfamiliar to me. No time nowto investigate. 

Engines! Manitou yelling with excitement. Symptoms of taking wing, but whistle checks insubordination. .. . All ready. Wish Connie werehere. 

McKay closed the little book, strapped and buckled the cover. 

"Exit Sir W. Blint, " he said, not flippantly. "I think I should liketo have known that man. "

The girl, lying there with the golden water swirling around herknees and her golden head on the moss, looked up through the foliagein silence. 

The eagle was soaring lower over the forest now. After a littlewhile she reached out and let her fingers touch McKay's hand whereit rested on the moss:

"Kay?"

"Yes, Yellow-hair. "

"It isn't possible, of course. .. . But are there any eagles in Europethat have white heads and tails?"

"No. "

"I know. .. . I wish you'd look up at that eagle. He is not veryhigh. "

McKay lifted his head. After a moment he rose to his feet, stilllooking intently skyward. The eagle was sailing very low now. 

"THAT'S AN AMERICAN EAGLE!"

The words shot out of McKay's lips. The girl sat upright, electrified. 

And now the sun struck full across the great bird as he sheered thetree-tops above. HEAD AND TAIL WERE A DAZZLING WHITE. 

"Could--could it be that dead man's eagle?" said the girl. "Oh, could it be Manitou? COULD it, Kay?"

McKay looked at her, and his eye fell on the gold whistle hangingfrom her wrist on its jewelled chain. 

"If it is, " he said, "he might notice that whistle. Try it!"

She nodded excitedly, set the whistle to her lips and blew a clear, silvery, penetrating blast upward. 

"Kay! Look!" she gasped. 

For the response had been instant. Down through the tree-topssheered the huge bird, the air shrilling through his pinions, andstruck the solid ground and set his yellow claws in it, grasping thesoil of the Old World with mighty talons. Then he turned his superbhead and looked fearlessly upon his two compatriots. 

"Manitou! Manitou!" whispered the girl. And crept toward him on herknees, nearer, nearer, until her slim outstretched hand rested onhis silver crest. 

"Good God!" said McKay in the low tones of reverence. 

McKay had drawn a duplicate of his route-map on thin glazed paper. 

Evelyn Erith had finished a duplicate copy of his notes and reports. 

Of these and the trinkets of the late Sir W. Blint they made twoflat packets, leaving one of them unsealed to receive the briefletter which McKay had begun:

"Dear Lady Blint--

It is not necessary to ask the wife of Sir W. Blint to have courage. 

He died as he had lived--a fine and fearless British sportsman. 

His death was painless. He lies in the forest of Les Errues. Ienclose a map for you. 

I and my comrade, Evelyn Erith, dare believe that his eagle, Manitou, has not forgotten the air-path to England and to you. WithGod's guidance he will carry this letter to you. And with it certainobjects belonging to your husband. And also certain papers which Ibeg you will have safely delivered to the American Ambassador. 

If, madam, we come out of this business alive, my comrade and I willdo ourselves the honour of waiting on you if, as we suppose, youwould care to hear from us how we discovered the body of the lateSir W. Blint. 

Madam, accept homage and deep respect from two Americans who are, before long, rather likely to join your gallant husband in the greatadventure"

"Yellow-hair?"

She came, signed the letter. Then McKay signed it, and it wasenclosed in one of the packets. 

Then McKay took the dead carrier pigeon from the cage and tossed iton the moss. And Manitou planted his terrible talons on the inertmass of feathers and tore it to shreds. 

Evelyn attached the anklet and whistling bell; then she unwound ayard of surgeon's plaster, and kneeling, spread the eagle's enormouspinions, hold-ing them horizontal while McKay placed the twopackets and bound them in place under the out-stretched wings. 

The big bird had bolted the pigeon. At first he submitted with sulkygrace, not liking what was happening, but offering no violence. 

And even now, as they backed away from him, he stood in dignifiedsubmission, patiently striving to adjust his closed wings to theseannoying though light burdens which seemed to have no place amonghis bronze feathers. 

Presently, irritated, the bird partially unclosed one wing as thoughto probe with his beak for the seat of his discomfort. At the sametime he moved his foot, and the bell rattled on his anklet. 

Instantly his aspect changed; stooping he inspected the bell, struckit lightly with his beak as though in recognition. 

WAS it the hated whistling bell? Again the curved beak touched it. And recognition was complete. 

Mad all through, disgust, indecision, gave rapid place to nervousalarm. Every quill rose in wrath; the snowy crest stood upright; theyellow eyes flashed fire. 

Then, suddenly, the eagle sprang into the air, yelping fierceprotest against such treatment: the shrilling of the bell swept likea thin gale through the forest, keener, louder, as the enraged birdclimbed the air, mounting, mounting into the dazzling blue aboveuntil the motionless watchers in the woods below saw him wheel. 

Which way would he turn? 'Round and round swept the eagle in widerand more splendid circles; in tensest suspense the two below watchedmotionless. 

Then the tension broke; and a dry sob escaped the girl. 

For the eagle had set his lofty course at last. Westward he borethrough pathless voids uncharted save by God alone--who has set Hissigns to mark those high blue lanes, lest the birds--His lesserchildren--should lose their way betwixt earth and moon. 

CHAPTER IX

THE BLINDER TRAIL

There was no escape that way. From the northern and eastern edges ofthe forest sheer cliffs fell away into bluish depths where forestslooked like lawns and the low uplands of the Alsatian borderresembled hillocks made by tunnelling moles. And yet it was fromsomewhere not far away that a man once had been, carried safely intoAlsace on a sudden snowslide. That man now lay among the trees onthe crag's edge looking down into the terrific chasm below. He andthe girl who crouched in the thicket of alpine roses behind himseemed a part of the light-flecked forest--so inconspicuous werethey among dead leaves and trees in their ragged and weather-fadedclothing. 

They were lean from physical effort and from limited nourishment. The skin on their faces and hands, once sanguine and deeply burnt byAlpine wind and sun and snow glare, now had become almostcolourless, so subtly the alchemy of the open operates on thosewhose only bed is last year's leaves and whose only shelter is thesky. Even the girl's yellow hair had lost its sunny brilliancy, sothat now it seemed merely a misty part of the lovely, subduedharmony of the woods. 

The man, still searching the depths below with straining, patientgaze, said across his shoulder:

"It was here somewhere--near here, Yellow-hair, that I went over, and found what I found. .. . But it's not difficult to guess what youand I should find if we try to go over now. "

"Death?" she motioned with serene lips. 

He had turned to look at her, and he read her lips. 

"And yet, " he said, "we must manage to get down there, somehow orother, alive. "

She nodded. Both knew that, once down there, they could not expectto come out alive. That was tacitly understood. All that could behoped was that they might reach those bluish depths alive, live longenough to learn what they had come to learn, release the pigeon withits message, then meet destiny in whatever guise it confronted them. 

For Fate was not far off. Fate already watched them--herself unseen. She had caught sight of them amid the dusk of the ancient trees--wasfollowing them, stealthily, murderously, through the dim aisles ofthis haunted forest of Les Errues. 

These two were the hunted ones, and their hunters were in theforest--nearer now than ever because the woodland was narrowingtoward the east. 

Also, for the first time since they had entered the ForbiddenForest, scarcely noticeable paths appeared flattening the carpet ofdead leaves--not trails made by game--but ways trodden at longintervals by man--trails unused perhaps for months--then renderedvaguely visible once more by the unseen, unheard feet of lightlytreading foes. 

Here for the first time they had come upon the startling spoor ofman--of men and enemies--men who were hunting them to slay them, andwho now, in these eastern woods, no longer cared for the concealmentthat might lull to a sense of false security the human quarry thatthey pursued. 

And yet the Hun-pack hunting them though the forbidden forest of LesErrues had, in their new indifference to their quarry's alarm, andin the ferocity of their growing boldness, offered the two fugitivesa new hope and a new reason for courage:--the grim courage of thosewho are about to die, and who know it, and still carry on. 

For this is what the Huns had done--not daring to use signalsvisible to the Swiss patrols on nearer mountain flanks. 

Nailed to a tree beside the scarcely visible trail of flattenedleaves--a trail more imagined and feared than actually visible--wasa sheet of white paper. And on it was written in the tongue of theHun, --and in that same barbarous script also--a message, the freetranslation of which was as follows:

"WARNING!"

The three Americans recently sent into Les Errues by the MilitaryIntelligence Department of the United States Army now fighting inFrance are still at large somewhere in this forest. Two of them areoperating together, the well-known escaped prisoner, Kay McKay, andthe woman secret-agent, Evelyn Erith. The third American, AlexanderGray, has been wounded in the left hand by one of our riflemen, butmanaged to escape, and is now believed to be attempting to find andjoin the agents McKay and Erith. 

This must be prevented. All German agents now operating in LesErrues are formally instructed to track down and destroy withouttraces these three spies whenever and wherever encountered accordingto plan. It is expressly forbidden to attempt to take any one or allof these spies alive. No prisoners! No traces! Germans, do yourduty! The Fatherland is in peril!

(Signed) "HOCHSTIM. "

McKay wriggled cautiously backward from the chasm's granite edge andcrawled into the thicket of alpine roses where Evelyn Erith lay. 

"No way out, Kay?" she asked under her breath. 

"No way THAT way, Yellow-hair. "

"Then?"

"I don't--know, " he said slowly. 

"You mean that we ought to turn back. "

"Yes, we ought to. The forest is narrowing very dangerously for us. It runs to a point five miles farther east, overlooking impassablegulfs. .. . We should be in a cul-de-sac, Yellow-hair. "

"I know. "

He mused for a few moments, cool, clear-eyed, apparently quiteundisturbed by their present peril and intent only on the missionwhich had brought them here, and how to execute it before theirunseen trackers executed them. 

"To turn now, and attempt to go back along this precipice, is toface every probability of meeting the men we have so far managed toavoid, " he said aloud in his pleasant voice, but as thoughpresenting the facts to himself alone. 

"Of course we shall account for some of the Huns; but that does nothelp us to win through. .. . Even an exchange of shots would no doubtbe disastrous to our plans. We MUST keep away from them. .. . Otherwise we could never hope to creep into the valley alive, . .. Tell me, Yellow-hair, have you thought of anything new?"

The girl shook her head. 

"No, Kay. .. . Except that chance of running across this new man ofwhom we never had heard before the stupid Boche advertised hispresence in Les Errues. "

"Alexander Gray, " nodded McKay, taking from his pocket the paperwhich the Huns had nailed to the great pine, and unfolding it again. 

The girl rested her chin on his shoulder to reread it--an apparentfamiliarity which he did not misunderstand. The dog that believes inyou does it--from perplexity sometimes, sometimes from loneliness. Or, even when afraid--not fearing with the baser emotion of thepoltroon, but afraid with that brave fear which is a wisdom too, andwhich feeds and brightens the steady flame of courage. 

"Alexander Gray, " repeated McKay. "I never supposed that we wouldsend another man in here--at least not until something had beenheard concerning our success or failure. .. . I had understood thatsuch a policy was not advisable. You know yourself, Yellow-hair, that the fewer people we have here the better the chance. And it wasso decided before we left New York. .. . And--I wonder what occurredto alter our policy. "

"Perhaps the Boches have spread reports of our capture by Swissauthorities, " she said simply. 

"That might be. Yes, and the Hun newspapers might even have printedit. I can see their scare-heads: 'Gross Violation of Neutral Soil!

"'Switzerland invaded by the Yankees! Their treacherous and impudentspies caught in the Alps!'--that sort of thing. Yes, it might bethat. .. And yet--"

"You think the Boche would not call attention to such an attempteven to trap others of our agents for the mere pleasure of murderingthem?"

"That's what I think, Eve. "

He called her "Eve" only when circumstances had become gravelythreatening. At other times it was usually "Yellow-hair!"

"Then you believe that this man, Gray, has been sent into Les Erruesto aid us to carry on independently the operation in which we haveso far failed?"

"I begin to think so. " The girl's golden eyes became lost inretrospection. 

"And yet, " she ventured after a few moments' thought, "he must havecome into Les Errues learning that we also had entered it; andapparently he has made no effort to find us. "

"We can't know that, Eve. "

"He must be a woodsman, " she argued, "and also he must suppose thatwe are more or less familiar with American woodcraft, and fairlywell versed in its signs. Yet--he has left no sign that we couldunderstand where a Hun could not. "

"Because we have discovered no sign we can not be certain that thisman Gray has made none for us to read, " said McKay. 

"No. .. . And yet he has left nothing that we have discovered--noblaze; no moss or leaf, no stone or cairn--not a broken twig, not apeeled stick, and no trail!"

"How do we know that the traces of a trail marked by flattenedleaves might not be his trail? Once, on that little sheet of sandleft by rain in the torrent's wake, you found the imprint of ahobnailed shoe such as the Hun hunters wear, " she reminded him. "Andthere we first saw the flattened trail of last year's leaves--ifindeed it be truly a trail. "

"But, Eve dear, never have we discovered in any dead and flattenedleaf the imprint of hobnails, --let alone the imprint of a humanfoot. "

"Suppose, whoever made that path, had pulled over his shoes a heavywoolen sock. " He nodded. 

"I feel, somehow, that the Hun flattened out those leaves, " she wenton. "I am sure that had an American made the trail he would alsohave contrived to let us know--given us some indication of hisidentity. "

The girl's low voice suddenly failed and her hand clutched McKay'sshoulder. 

They lay among the alpine roses like two stones, never stirring, thedappled sunlight falling over them as harmoniously and with no moreand no less accent than it spotted tree-trunk and rock and mossaround them. 

And, as they lay there, motionless, her head resting on his thigh, aman came out of the dimmer woods into the white sunshine thatflooded the verge of the granite chasm. 

The man was very much weather-beaten; his tweeds were torn; hecarried a rifle in his right hand. And his left was bound in bloodyrags. But what instantly arrested McKay's attention was the packstrapped to his back and supported by a "tump-line. "

Never before had McKay seen such a pack carried in such a mannerexcepting only in American forests. 

The man stood facing the sun. His visage was burnt brick colour, ahue which seemed to accentuate the intense blue of his eyes and makehis light-coloured hair seem almost white. 

He appeared to be a man of thirty, superbly built, with a light, springy step, despite his ragged and weary appearance. 

McKay's eyes were fastened desperately upon him, upon the strap ofthe Indian basket which crossed his sun-scorched forehead, upon hiscrystal-blue eyes of a hunter, upon his wounded left hand, upon thesinewy red fist that grasped a rifle, the make of which McKay shouldhave known, and did know. For it was a Winchester 45-70--no chancefor mistaking that typical American weapon. And McKay fella-trembling in every limb. 

Presently the man cautiously turned, scanned his back trail withthat slow-stirrng wariness of a woodsman who never moves abruptly orwithout good reason; then he went back a little way, making no soundon the forest floor. 

AND MCKAY SAW THAT HE WORE KNEE MOCCASINS. 

At the same time Evelyn Erith drew her little length noiselesslyalong his, and he felt her mouth warm against his ear:

"Gray?" He nodded. 

"I think so, too. His left hand is injured. He wears Americanmoccasins. But in God's name be careful, Kay. It may be a trap. "

He nodded almost imperceptibly, keeping his eyes on the figure whichnow stood within the shade of the trees in an attitude which mightsuggest listening, or perhaps merely a posture of alert repose. 

Evelyn's mouth still rested against his ear and her light breathfell warmly on him. Then presently her lips moved again:

"Kay! He LOOKS safe. "

McKay turned his head with infinite caution and she inclined hers tohis lips:

"I think it is Gray. But we've got to be certain, Eve. " She nodded. 

"He does look right, " whispered McKay. "No Boche cradles a rifle inthe hollow of his left arm so naturally. It is HABIT, because hedoes it in spite of a crippled left hand. "

She nodded again. 

"Also, " whispered McKay, "everything else about him isconvincing--the pack, tump-line, moccasins, Winchester: and hismanner of moving. .. . I know deer-stalkers in Scotland and in theAlps. I know the hunters of ibex and chamois, of roe-deer and redstag, of auerhahn and eagle. This man is DIFFERENT. He moves andbehaves like our own woodsmen--like one of our own hunters. "

She asked with dumb lips touching his ear: "Shall we chance it?"

"No. It must be a certainty. "

"Yes. We must not offer him a chance. "

"Not a ghost of a chance to do us harm, " nodded McKay. "Listenattentively, Eve; when he moves on, rise when I do; take the pigeonand the little sack because I want both hands free. Do youunderstand, dear?"

"Yes. "

"Because I shall have to kill him if the faintest hint of suspicionarises in my mind. It's got to be that way, Eve. "

"Yes, I know. "

"Not for our own safety, but for what our safety involves, " headded. 

She inclined her head in acquiescence. 

Very slowly and with infinite caution McKay drew from their holstersbeneath his armpits two automatic pistols. 

"Help me, Eve, " he whispered. 

So she aided him where he lay beside her to slip the pack strapsover his shoulders. Then she drew toward her the little osier cagein which their only remaining carrier-pigeon rested secured byelastic bands, grasped the smaller sack with the other hand, andwaited. 

They had waited an hour and more; and the figure of the stranger hadmoved only once--shifted merely to adjust itself against asupporting tree-trunk and slip the tump-line. 

But now the man was stirring again, cautiously resuming theforehead-straps. 

Ready, now, to proceed in whichever direction he might believe layhis destination, the strange man took the rifle into the hollow ofhis left arm once more, remained absolutely motionless for five fullminutes, then, stirring stealthily, his moccasins making no sound, he moved into the forest in a half-crouching attitude. 

And after him went McKay with Evelyn Erith at his elbow, hissinister pistols poised, his eyes fixed on the figure which passedlike a shadow through the dim forest light ahead. 

Toward mid-afternoon their opportunity approached; for here was thefirst water they had encountered--and the afternoon had becomeburning hot--and their own throats were cracking with that fiercethirst of high places where, even in the summer air, there is thatthirst-provoking hint of ice and snow. 

For a moment, however, McKay feared that the man meant to go on, leaving the thin, icy rivulet untasted among its rocks and mosses;for he crossed the course of the little stream at right angles, leaping lithely from one rock to the next and travelling upstream onthe farther bank. 

Then suddenly he stopped stock-still and looked back along histrail--nearly blind save for a few patches of flattened dead leaveswhich his moccasined tread had patted smooth in the shadierstretches where moisture lingered undried by the searching rays ofthe sun. 

For a few moments the unknown man searched his own back-trail, standing as motionless as the trunk of a lichened beech-tree. Then, very slowly, he knelt on the dead leaves, let go his pack, and, keeping his rifle in his right hand, stretched out his sinewy lengthabove the pool on the edge of which he had halted. 

Twice, before drinking, he lifted his head to sweep the woods aroundhim, his parched lips still dry. Then, with the abruptness--not ofman but of some wild thing--he plunged his sweating face into thepool. 

And McKay covered him where he lay, and spoke in a voice whichstiffened the drinking man to a statue prone on its face:

"I've got you right! Don't lift your head! You'll understand me ifyou're American!"

The man lay as though dead. McKay came nearer; Evelyn Erith was athis elbow. 

"Take his rifle, Eve. "

The girl walked over and coolly picked up the Winchester. 

"Now cover him!" continued McKay. "Find a good rest for your gun andkeep him covered, Eve. "

She laid the rifle level across a low branch, drew the stock snugand laid her cheek to it and her steady finger on the trigger. 

"When I say'squeeze, ' let him have it! Do you understand, Eve?"

"Perfectly. "

Then, with one pistol poised for a drop shot, McKay stepped forwardand jerked open the man's pack. And the man neither stirred norspoke. For a few minutes McKay remained busy with the pack, turningout packets of concentrated rations of American manufacture, bits ofpersonal apparel, a meagre company outfit, spare ammunition--thedozen-odd essentials to be always found in an American hunter'spack. 

Then McKay spoke again:

"Eve, keep him covered. Shoot when I say shoot. "

"Right, " she replied calmly. And to the recumbent and unstirringfigure McKay gave a brief order:

"Get up! Hands up!"

The man rose as though made of steel springs and lifted both hands. 

Water still ran from his chin and lips and sweating cheeks. ButMcKay, resting the muzzle of his pistol against the man's abdomen, looked into a face that twitched with laughter. 

"You think it's funny?" he snarled, but the blessed relief thatsurged through him made his voice a trifle unsteady. 

"Yes, " said the man, "it hits me that way. "

"Something else may hit you, " growled McKay, ready to embrace himwith sheer joy. 

"Not unless you're a Boche, " retorted the man coolly. "But I guessyou're Kay McKay--"

"Don't get so damned familiar with names!"

"That's right, too. I'll just call you Seventy-Six, and this younglady Seventy-Seven. .. . And I'm Two Hundred and Thirty. "

"What else?"

"My name?"

"Certainly. "

"It isn't expected--"

"It is in this case, " snapped McKay, wondering at himself for suchultra precaution. 

"Oh, if you insist then, I'm Gray. .. . Alec Gray of the States UnitedArmy Intelligence Serv___"

"All right. .. . Gad!. .. It's all right, Gray!"

He took the man's lifted right hand, jerked it down and crushed itin a convulsive grasp: "It's good to see you. .. . We're in ahole--deadlocked--no way out but back!" he laughed nervously. "Haveyou any dope for us?"

Gray's blue eyes travelled smilingly toward Evelyn and rested on themuzzle of the Winchester. And McKay laughed almost tremulously:

"All clear, Yellow-hair! This IS Gray--God be thanked!"

The girl, pale and quiet and smiling, lowered the rifle and cameforward offering her hand. 

"It's pleasant to see YOU, " she said quite steadily. "We were afraidof a Boche trick. "

"So I notice, " said Gray, intensely amused. 

Then the weather-tanned faces of all three sobered. 

"This is no place to talk things over, " said Gray shortly. 

"Do you know a better place?"

"Yes. If you'll follow me. "

He went to his pack, put it swiftly in order, hoisted it, resumedthe tump-line, and looked around at Evelyn for his rifle. 

But she had already slung it across her own shoulders and shepointed at his wounded hand and its blood-black bandage and motionedhim forward. 

The sun hung on the shoulder of a snow-capped alp when at last thesethree had had their brief understanding concerning one another'sidentity, credentials, and future policy. 

Gray's lair, in a bushy hollow between two immense jutting cakes ofgranite, lay on the very brink of the chasm. And there they sat, cross-legged in the warmth of the declining sun in gravestconference concerning the future. 

"Recklow insisted that I come, " repeated Gray. "I was in the 208thPioneers--in a sawmilll near La Roche Rouge--Vosges--when I got myorders. "

"And Recklow thinks we're caught and killed?"

"So does everybody in the Intelligence. The Mulhausen paper had itthat the Swiss caught you violating the frontier, which meant toRecklow that the Boche had done you in. "

"I see, " nodded McKay. 

"So he picked me. "

"And you say you guided in Maine?"

"Yes, when I was younger. After I was on my own I kept store atSouth Carry, Maine, and ran the guides there. "

"I noticed all the ear-marks, " nodded McKay. 

Gray smiled: "I guess they're there all right if a man knows 'emwhen he sees 'em. "

"Were you badly shot up?"

"Not so bad. They shoot a pea-rifle, single shot all over silver andswallowtail stock--"

"I know, " smiled McKay. 

"Well, you know them. It drills nasty with a soft bullet, cleanerwith a chilled one. My left hand's a wreck but I sha'n't lose it. "

"I had better dress it before night, " said Evelyn. 

"I dressed it at noon. I won't disturb it again to-day, " said Gray, thanking her with his eloquent blue eyes. 

McKay said: "So you found the place where I once slid off?"

"It's plain enough, windfall and general wreckage mark it. "

"You say it's a dozen miles west of here?"

"About. "

"That's odd, " said McKay thoughtfully. "I had believed I recognisedthis ravine. But these deep gulfs all look more or less alike. And Isaw it only once and then under hair-raising circumstances. "

Gray smiled, but Evelyn did not. McKay said:

"So that's where they winged you, was it?"

"Yes. I was about to negotiate the slide--you remember the V-shapedslate cleft?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I was just starting into that when the rifle cracked and Ijumped for a tree with a broken wing and a bad scare. "

"You saw the man?"

"I did later. He came over to look for dead game, and I ached to lethim go; but it was too risky with Les Errues swarming alive withBoches, and me with the stomach-sickness of a shot-up man. Figure itout, McKay, for yourself. "

"Of course, you did the wise thing and the right one. "

"I think so. I travelled until I fainted. " He turned and glancedaround. "Strangely enough I saw black right here!--fell into thishole by accident, and have made it my home since then. "

"It was a Godsend, " said the girl. 

"It was, Miss Erith, " said Gray, resting his eloquent eyes on her. 

"And you say, " continued McKay, "that the Boche are sitting up dayand night over that slide?"

"Day and night. The swine seem to know it's the only way out. I goevery day, every night. Always the way is blocked; always I discoverone or more of their riflemen there in ambush while the rest of thepack are ranging Les Errues. "

"And yet, " said McKay, "we've got to go that way, sooner or later. "

There was a silence: then Gray nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, "but it is a question of waiting. "

"There is a moon to-night, " observed Evelyn Erith. 

McKay lifted his head and looked at her gravely: Gray's blue eyesflashed his admiration of a young girl who quietly proposed to facean unknown precipice at night by moonlight under the rifles ofambushed men. 

"After all, " said McKay slowly, "is there ANY other way?"

In the silence which ensued Evelyn Erith, who had been lying betweenthem on her stomach, her chin propped up on both hands, suddenlyraised herself on one arm to a sitting posture. 

Instantly Gray shrank back, white as a sheet, lifting his mutilatedhand in its stiffened and bloody rags; and the girl gasped out heragonised apology:

"Oh--CAN you forgive me! It was unspeakable of me!"

"It--it's all right, " said Gray, the colour coming back to his face;but the girl in her excitement of self-reproach and contritionbegged to be allowed to dress the mutilated hand which her owncareless movement had almost crushed. 

"Oh, Kay-I set my hand on his wounded fingers and rested my fullweight! Oughtn't he to let us dress it again at once?"

But Gray's pluck was adamant, and he forced a laugh, dismissing thematter with another glance at Evelyn out of clear blue eyes thatsaid a little more than that no harm had been done--said, in onefrank and deep-flashing look, more than the girl perhaps cared tounderstand. 

The sun slipped behind the rocky flank of a great alp; a burst ofrosy glory spread fan-wise to the zenith. 

Against it, tall and straight and powerful, Gray rose and walkingslowly to the cliff's edge, looked down into the valley mist nowrolling like a vast sea of cloud below them. 

And, as he stood there, Evelyn's hand grasped McKay's arm:

"If he touches his rifle, shoot! Quick, Kay!"

McKay's right hand fell into his side-pocket--where one of hisautomatics lay. He levelled it as he grasped it, hidden within theside-pocket of his coat. 

"HIS HAND IS NOT WOUNDED, " breathed the girl. "If he touches hisrifle he is a Hun!"

McKay's head nodded almost imperceptibly. Gray's back was stillturned, but one hand was extended, carelessly reaching for the riflethat stood leaning against the cake of granite. 

"Don't touch it!" said McKay in a low but distinct voice: and thewords galvanised the extended arm and it shot out, grasping therifle, as the man himself dropped out of sight behind the rock. 

A terrible stillness fell upon the place; there was not a sound, nota movement. 

Suddenly the girl pointed at a shadow that moved between therocks--and the crash of McKay's pistol deafened them. 

Then, against the dazzling glory of the west a dark shape staggeredup, clutching a wavering rifle, reeling there against the rosy glarean instant; and the girl turned her sick eyes aside as McKay'spistol spoke again. 

Like a shadow cast by hell the black form swayed, quivered, sankaway outward into the blinding light that shone across the world. 

Presently a tinkling sound came up from the fog-shrouded depths--thefalling rifle striking ledge after ledge until the receding soundgrew fainter and more distant, and finally was heard no more. 

But that was the only sound they heard; for the man himself laystill on the chasm's brink, propped from the depths by a tuft ofalpine roses in full bloom, his blue eyes wide open, a blue holejust between them, and his bandaged hand freed from its camouflage, lying palm upward and quite uninjured on the grass!

CHAPTER X

THE GREATER LOVE

As the blinding lens of the sun glittered level and its first rayspoured over tree and rock, a man in the faded field-uniform of aSwiss officer of mountain artillery came out on the misty ledgeacross the chasm. 

"You over there!" he shouted in English. "Here is a Swiss officer tospeak with you! Show yourselves!"

Again, after waiting a few moments, he shouted: "Show yourselves oranswer. It is a matter of life or death for you both!"

There was no reply to the invitation, no sound from the forest, nomovement visible. Thin threads of vapour began to ascend from thetremendous depths of the precipice, steaming upward out ofmist-choked gorges where, under thick strata of fog, night still laydark over unseen Alpine valleys below. 

The Swiss officer advanced to the cliff's edge and looked down upona blank sea of cloud. Presently he turned east and walked cautiouslyalong the rim of the chasm for a hundred yards. Here the gulfnarrowed so that the cleft between the jutting crags was scarcely ahundred feet in width. And here he halted once more and calledacross in a resonant, penetrating voice:

"Attention, you, over there in the Forest of Les Errues! You hadbetter wake up and listen! Here is a Swiss officer come to speakwith you. Show yourselves or answer!"

There came no sound from within the illuminated edges of the woods. 

But outside, upon the chasm's sparkling edge, lay a dead man starkand transfigured and stiff as gold in the sun. 

And already the first jewelled death-flies zig-zagged over him, lacing the early sunshine with ominous green lightning. 

They who had killed this man might not be there behind the sunlitfoliage of the forest's edge; but the Swiss officer, after waiting afew moments, called again, loudly. Then he called a third time moreloudly still, because into his nostrils had stolen the faint taintof dry wood smoke. And he stood there in silhouette against therising sun listening, certain, at last, of the hidden presence ofthose he sought. 

Now there came no sound, no stirring behind the forest's sunny edge;but just inside it, in the lee of a huge rock, a young girl inragged boy's clothing, uncoiled her slender length from her blanketand straightened out flat on her stomach. Her yellow hair made aspot like a patch of sunlight on the dead leaves. Her clear goldeneyes were as brilliant as a lizard's. 

From his blanket at her side a man, gaunt and ragged and deeplybitten by sun and wind, was pulling an automatic pistol from itsholster. The girl set her lips to his ear:

"Don't trust him, for God's sake, Kay, " she breathed. 

He nodded, felt forward with cautious handgroping toward a damppatch of moss, and drew himself thither, making no sound among thedry leaves. 

"Watch the woods behind us, Yellow-hair, " he whispered. 

The girl fumbled in her tattered pocket and produced a pistol. Thenshe sat up cross-legged on her blanket, rested one elbow across herknee, and, cocking the poised weapon, swept the southern woods withcalm, bright eyes. 

Now the man in Swiss uniform called once more across the chasm:"Attention, Americans I I know you are there; I smell your fire. Also, what you have done is plain enough for me to see--that thinglying over there on the edge of the rocks with corpse-flies alreadywhirling over it! And you had better answer me, Kay McKay!"

Then the man in the forest who now was lying flat behind abirch-tree, answered calmly:

"You, in your Swiss uniform of artillery, over there, what do youwant of me?"

"So you are there!" cried the Swiss, striving to pierce the foliagewith eager eyes. "It is you, is it not, Kay McKay?"

"I've answered, have I not?"

"Are you indeed then that same Kay McKay of the IntelligenceService, United States Army?"

"You appear to think so. I am Kay McKay; that is answer enough foryou. "

"Your comrade is with you--Evelyn Erith?"

"None of your business, " returned McKay, coolly. 

"Very well; let it be so then. But that dead man there--why did youkill your American comrade?"

"He was a camouflaged Boche, " said McKay contemptously. "And I amvery sure that you're another--you there, in your foolish Swissuniform. So say what you have to say and clear out!"

The officer came close to the edge of the chasm: "I can not expectyou to believe me, " he said, "and yet I really am what I appear tobe, an officer of Swiss Mountain Artillery. If you think I amsomething else why do you not shoot me?"

McKay was silent. "Nobody would know, " said the other. "You can killme very easily. I should fall into the ravine--down through thatlake of cloud below. Nobody would ever find me. Why don't youshoot?"

"I'll shoot when I see fit, " retorted McKay in a sombre voice. Presently he added in tones that rang a little yet trembledtoo--perhaps from physical reasons--"What do you want of a huntedman like me?"

"I want you to leave Swiss territory!"

"Leave!" McKay's laugh was unpleasant. "You know damned well I can'tleave with Les Errues woods crawling alive with Huns. "

"Will you leave the canton of Les Ernies, McKay, if I show you asafe route out?"

And, as the other made no reply: "You have no right to be here onneutral territory, " he added, "and my Government desires you toleave at once!"

"I have as much right here as the Huns have, " said McKay in hispleasant voice. 

"Exactly. And these Germans have no right here either!"

"That also is true, " rejoined McKay gently, "so why has yourGovernment permitted the Hun to occupy the Canton of Les Errues? Oh, don't deny it, " he added wearily as the Swiss began to repudiate theaccusation; "you've made Les Errues a No-Man's Land, and it's freehunting now! If you're sick of your bargain, send in your mountaintroops and turn out the Huns. "

"And if I also send an escort and a free conduct for you and yourcomrade?"

"No. "

"You will not be harmed, not even interned. We set you across ourwire at Delle. Do you accept?"

"No. "

"With every guarantee--"

"You've made this forest a part of the world's battle-field. .. . No, I shall not leave Les Errues!"

"Listen to reason, you insane American! You can not escape those whoare closing in on you--those who are filtering the forest foryou--who are gradually driving you out into the eastern edges of LesErrues! And what then, when at last you are driven like wild game bya line of beaters to the brink of the eastern cliffs? There is nowater there. You will die of thirst. There is no food. What is thereleft for you to do with your back to the final precipice?"

McKay laughed a hard, unpleasant laugh: "I certainly shall not tellyou what I mean to do, " he said. "If this is all you have to say tome you may go!"

There ensued a silence. The Swiss began to pace the opposite cliff, his hands behind him. Finally he halted abruptly and looked acrossthe chasm. 

"Why did you come into Les Errues?" he demanded. 

"Ask your terrified authorities. Perhaps they'll tell you--if theirteeth stop chattering long enough--that I came here to find outwhat the Boche are doing on neutral territory. "

"Do you mean to say that you believe in that absurd rumour aboutsome secret and gigantic undertaking by the Germans which issupposed to be visible from the plateau below us?"

And, as McKay made no reply: "That is a silly fabrication. If yourGovernment, suspicious of the neutrality of mine, sent you here onany such errand, it was a ridiculous thing to do. Do you hear me, McKay?"

"I hear you. "

"Well, then! And let me add also that it is a physical impossibilityfor any man to reach the plateau below us from the forest of LesErrues!"

"That, " said McKay, coldly, "is a lie!"

"What! You offer a Swiss officer such an injury--"

"Yes; and I may add an insulting bullet to the injury in anotherminute. You've lied to me. I have already done what you say is animpossibility. I have reached the plateau below Les Errues by way ofthis forest. And I'm going there again, Swiss or no Swiss, Hun or noHun! And if the Boche do drive me out of this forest into the east, where you say there is no water to be found among the brush andbowlders, and where, at last, you say I shall stand with my back tothe last sheer precipice, then tell your observation post on thewhite shoulder of Thusis to turn their telescopes on me!"

"In God's name, for what purpose?"

"To take a lesson in how to die from the man your nation hasbetrayed!" drawled McKay. 

Then, lying flat, he levelled his pistol, supporting it across thepalm of his left hand. 

"Yellow-hair?"' he said in a guarded voice, not turning. 

"Yes, Kay. "

"Slip the pack over your shoulders. Take the pigeon and the rifle. Be quick, dear. "

"It is done, " she said softly. 

"Now get up and make no noise. Two men are lying in the scrub behindthat fellow across the chasm. I am afraid they have grenades. .. . Areyou ready, Yellow-hair?"

"Ready, dear. "

"Go eastward, swiftly, two hundred yards parallel with theprecipice. Make no sound, Yellow-hair. "

The girl cast a pallid, heart-breaking look at him, but he lay therewithout turning his head, his steady pistol levelled across thechasm. Then, bending a trifle forward, she stole eastward throughthe forest dusk, the pigeon in its wicker cage in one hand, and onher back the pack. 

And all the while, across the gulf out of which golden vapourscurled more thickly as the sun's burning searchlight spread outacross the world, the man in Swiss uniform stood on the chasm'sedge, as though awaiting some further word or movement from McKay. 

And, after awhile, the word came, clear, startling, snapped outacross the void:

"Unsling that haversack! Don't touch the flap! Take it off, quick!"

The Swiss seemed astounded. "Quick!" repeated McKay harshly, "or Ifire. "

"What!" burst out the man, "you offer violence to a Swiss officer onduty within Swiss territory?"

"I tell you I'll kill you where you stand if you don't take off thathaversack!"

Suddenly from the scrubby thicket behind the Swiss a man's left armshot up at an angle of forty degrees, and the right arm described anarc against the sun. Something round and black parted from it, lostagainst the glare of sunrise. 

Then in the woods behind McKay something fell heavily, the solidthud obliterated in the shattering roar which followed. 

The man in Swiss uniform tore at the flap of his haversack, and hemust have jerked loose the plug of a grenade in his desperate haste, for as McKay's bullet crashed through his face, the contents of hissack exploded with a deafening crash. 

At the same instant two more bombs fell among the trees behindMcKay, exploding instantly. Smoke and the thick golden steam fromthe ravine blotted from his sight the crag opposite. And now, bending double, McKay ran eastward while behind him the golden duskof the woods roared and flamed with exploding grenades. 

Evelyn Erith stood motionless and deathly white, awaiting him. 

"Are you all right, Kay?"

"All right, Yellow-hair. "

He went up to her, shifting his pistol to the other hand, and as helaid his right arm about her shoulders the blaze in his eyes almostdazzled her. 

"We trust no living thing on earth, you and I, Yellow-hair. .. . Ibelieved that man for awhile. But I tell you whatever is livingwithin this forest is our enemy--and if any man comes in the shapeof my dearest friend I shall kill him before he speaks!"

The man was shaking now; the girl caught his right hand and drew itclose around her body--that once warm and slender body now become sochill and thin under the ragged clothing of a boy. 

"Drop your face on my shoulder, " she said. 

His wasted cheek seemed feverish, burning against her breast. 

"Steady, Kay, " she whispered. 

"Right!. .. What got me was the thought of you--there when thegrenades fell. .. . They blew a black pit where your blanket lay!"

He lifted his head and she smiled into the fever-bright eyes set sodeeply now in his ravaged visage. There were words on her lips, trembling to be uttered. But she dared not believe they would add tohis strength if spoken. He loved her. She had long known that--hadlong understood that loving her had not hardened his capacity forthe dogged duty which lay before him. 

To win out was a task sufficiently desperate; to win out and bringher through alive was the double task that was slowly, visiblykilling this man whose burning, sunken eyes gazed into hers. Shedared not triple that task; the cry in her heart died unuttered, lest he ever waver in duty to his country when in some vital crisisthat sacred duty clashed with the obligations that fettered him to agirl who had confessed she loved him. 

No; the strength that he might derive from such a knowledge was notthat deathless energy and clear thinking necessary to blind, stern, unswerving devotion to the motherland. Love of woman, and her lovegiven, could only make the burden of decision triply heavy for thisman who stood staring at space beside her here in the foresttwilight where shreds of the night mist floated like ghosts and alost sunspot glowed and waned and glowed on last year's leaves. 

The girl pressed her waist with his arm, straightened her shouldersand stood erect; and with a quick gesture cleared her brow of itscloudy golden hair. 

"Now, " she said coolly, "we carry on, you and I, Kay, to the honourand glory of the land that trusts us in her hour of need. .. Are youare right again?"

"All right, Yellow-hair, " he said pleasantly. 

On the third day the drive had forced them from the hilly westernwoods, eastward and inexorably toward that level belt of shaggyforest, scrub growth, and arid, bowlder-strewn table-land wherethere was probably no water, nothing living to kill for food, andonly the terrific ravines beyond where cliffs fell downward to thedim green world lying somewhere below under its blanket of Alpinemist. 

On the fourth day, still crowded outward and toward the ragged edgeof the mountain world, they found, for the first time, no water tofill their bottles. Realising their plight, McKay turned desperatelywestward, facing pursuit, ranging the now narrow forest in hopes ofan opportunity to break through the closing line of beaters. 

But it proved to be a deadline that he and his half-starved comradefaced; shadowy figures, half seen, sometimes merely heard anddivined, flitted everywhere through the open woods beyond them. Andat night a necklace of fires--hundreds of them--barred the west tothem, curving outward like the blade of a flaming scimitar. 

On the fifth day McKay, lying in his blanket beside the girl, toldher that if they found no water that day they must let theircarrier-pigeon go. 

The girl sat up in her torn blanket and met his gaze very calmly. What he had just said to her meant the beginning of the end. Sheunderstood perfectly. But her voice was sweet and undisturbed as sheanswered him, and they quietly discussed the chances of discoveringwater in some sunken hole among the outer ledges and bowlderswhither they were being slowly and hopelessly forced. 

Noon found them still searching for some pocket of stale rain-water;but once only did they discover the slightest trace of moisture--acrust of slime in a rocky basin, and from it a blind lizard wasslowly creeping--a heavy, lustreless, crippled thing that toiledaimlessly and painfully up the rock, only to slide back into theslime again, leaving a trail of iridescent moisture where itssagging belly dragged. 

In a grove of saplings there were a few ferns; and here McKay dugwith his trench knife; but the soil proved to be very shallow;everywhere rock lay close to the surface; there was no water thereunder the black mould. 

To and fro they roamed, doggedly seeking for some sign of water. Andthe woods seemed damp, too; and there were long reaches of dewyferns. But wherever McKay dug, his knife soon touched the solid rockbelow. And they wandered on. 

In the afternoon, resting in the shade, he noticed her lips werebleeding--and turned away, sharply, unable to endure her torture. She seemed to understand his abrupt movement, for she leanedslightly against him where he sat amid the ferns with his back to atree--as a dog leans when his master is troubled. 

"I think, " she said with an effort, "we should release our pigeonnow. It seems to be very weak. "

He nodded. 

The bird appeared languid; hunger and thirst were now telling faston the little feathered messenger. 

Evelyn shook out the last dusty traces of corn; McKay removed thebands. But the bird merely pecked at the food once or twice and thensettled down with beak gaping and the film stealing over its eyes. 

McKay wrote on tissue the date and time of day; and a word more tosay that they had, now, scarcely any chance. He added, however, thatothers ought to try because there was no longer any doubt in hismind that the Boche were still occupied with some gigantic workalong the Swiss border in the neighbourhood of Mount Terrible; andthat the Swiss Government, if not abetting, at least was cognizantof the Hun activities. 

This message he rolled into a quill, fastened it, took the bird, andtossed it westward into the air. 

The pigeon beat the morning breeze feebly for a moment, thenfluttered down to the top of a rock. 

For five minutes that seemed five years they looked at the bird, which had settled down in the sun, its bright eyes alternatelydimmed by the film or slowly clearing. 

Then, as they watched, the pigeon stood up and stretched its neckskyward, peering hither and thither at the blue vault above. Andsuddenly it rose, painfully, higher, higher, seeming to acquirestrength in the upper air levels. The sun flashed on its wings as itwheeled; then the distant bird swept westward into a long straightcourse, flying steadily until it vanished like a mote in mid-air. 

McKay did not trust himself to speak. Presently he slipped his packover both shoulders and took the rifle from where it lay against arock. The girl, too, had picked up the empty wicker cage, butrecollected herself and let it fall on the dead leaves. 

Neither she nor McKay had spoken. The latter stood staring down atthe patch of ferns into which the cage had rolled. And it was sometime before his dulled eyes noticed that there was grass growingthere, too--swale grass, which he had not before seen in this arideastern region. 

When finally he realised what it might signify he stood staring; avague throb of hope stirred the thin blood in his sunken cheeks. Buthe dared not say that he hoped; he merely turned northward insilence and moved into the swale grass. And his slim comradefollowed. 

Half an hour later he waited for the girl to come up along side ofhim. "Yellow-hair, " he said, "this is swale or marsh-grass we arefollowing. And little wild creatures have made a runway throughit. .. As though there were--a drinking-place--somewhere--"

He forced himself to look up at her--at her dry, blood-blackenedlips:

"Lean on me, " he whispered, and threw his arm around her. 

And so, slowly, together, they came through the swale to a livingspring. 

A dead roe-deer lay there--stiffened into an indescribable attitudeof agony where it had fallen writhing in the swale; and its terribleconvulsions had torn up and flattened the grass and ferns around it. 

And, as they gazed at this pitiable dead thing, something elsestirred on the edge of the pool--a dark, slim bird, that strove tomove at the water's edge, struggled feebly, then fell over and lay acrumpled mound of feathers. 

"Oh God!" whispered the girl, "there are dead birds lying everywhereat the water's edge! And little furry creatures--dead--all dead atthe water's edge!"

There was a flicker of brown wings: a bird alighted at the pool, peered fearlessly right and left, drank, bent its head to drinkagain, fell forward twitching and lay there beating the grass withfeeble wings. 

After a moment only one wing quivered. Then the little bird laystill. 

Perhaps an ancient and tragic instinct possessed these two--for as awild thing, mortally hurt, wanders away through solitude to find aspot in which to die, so these two moved slowly away together intothe twilight of the trees, unconscious, perhaps, what they wereseeking, but driven into aimless motion toward that appointed place. 

And somehow it is given to the stricken to recognise the ghostlyspot when they draw near it and their appointed hour approaches. 

There was a fallen tree--not long fallen--which in its earthwardcrash had hit another smaller tree, partly uprooting the latter sothat it leaned at a perilous angle over a dry gully below. 

Here dead leaves had drifted deep. And here these two came, andcrept in among the withered branches and lay down among the fallenleaves. For a long while they lay motionless. Then she moved, turnedover, and slipped into his arms. 

Whether she slept or whether her lethargy was unconsciousness due toprivation he could not tell. Her parted lips were blackened, hermouth and tongue swollen. 

He held her for awhile, conscious that a creeping stupor threatenedhis senses--making no effort to save his mind from the ominousshadows that crept toward him like live things moving slowly, alwaysa little nearer. Then pain passed through him like a piercing threadof fire, and he struggled upright, and saw her head slide downacross his knees. And he realised that there were things for him todo yet--arrangements to make before the crawling shadows coveredhis body and stained his mind with the darkness of eternal night. 

And first, while she still lay across his knees, he filled hispistol. Because she must die quickly if the Hun came. For when theHun comes death is woman's only sanctuary. 

So he prepared a swift salvation for her. And, if the Hun came ordid not come, still this last refuge must be secured for her beforethe creeping shadows caught him and the light in his mind died out. 

With his loaded pistol lifted he sat a moment, staring into thewoods out of bloodshot eyes; then he summoned all his strength androse, letting his unconscious comrade slip from his knees to the bedof dead leaves. 

Now with his knife he tried the rocky forest floor again, feelingblindly for water. He tried slashing saplings for a drop of sap. 

The great tree that had fallen had broken off a foot above ground. The other tree slanted above a dry gully at such an angle that itseemed as though a touch would push it over, yet its foliage wasstill green and unwilted although the mesh of roots and earth wereall exposed. 

He noted this in a dull way, thinking always of water. Andpresently, scarcely knowing what he was doing, he placed both armsagainst the leaning trunk and began to push. And felt the leaningtree sway slowly earthward. 

Then into the pain and confusion of his clouding mind somethingflashed with a dazzling streak of light--the flare-up of dyingmemory; and he hurled himself against the leaning tree. And itslowly sank, lying level and uprooted. 

And in the black bed of the roots lay darkling a little pool ofwater. 

The girl's eyes unclosed on his. Her face and lips were drippingunder the sopping, icy sponge of green moss with which he wasbathing her and washing out her mouth and tongue. 

Into her throat he squeezed the water, drop by drop only. 

It was late in the afternoon before he dared let her drink. 

During the night she slept an hour or two, awoke to ask for water, then slept again, only to awake to the craving that he alwayssatisfied. 

Before sunrise he took his pack, took both her shoes from her feet, tore some rags from the lining of her skirt and from his own coat, and leaving her asleep, went out into the grey dusk of morning. 

When he again came to the poisoned spring he unslung his pack and, holding it by both straps, dragged it through marsh grass and fern, out through the fringe of saplings, out through low scrub and brakeand over moss and lichens to the edge of the precipice beyond. 

And here on a scrubby bush he left fragments of their garmentsentangled; and with his hobnailed heels he broke crumbling edges ofrock and smashed the moss and stunted growth and tore a path amongthe Alpine roses which clothed the chasm's treacherous edge, so thatit might seem as though a heavy object had plunged down into thegulf below. 

Such bowlders as he could stir from their beds and roll over hedislodged and pushed out, listening to them as they crasheddownward, tearing the cliff's grassy face until, striking some lowershelf, they bounded out into space. 

Now in this bruised path he stamped the imprints of her two roughshoes in moss and soil, and drove his own iron-shod feet whereverlichen or earth would retain the imprint. 

All the footprints pointed one way and ended at the chasm's edge. And there, also, he left the wicker cage; and one of his pistols, too--the last and most desperate effort to deceive--for, near it, heflung the cartridge belt with its ammunition intact--on the chancethat the Hun would believe the visible signs, because only a dyingman would abandon such things. 

For they must believe the evidence he had prepared for them--thiscrazed trail of two poisoned human creatures--driven by agony andmadness to their own destruction. 

And now, slinging on his pack, he made his way, walking backward, tothe poisoned spring. 

It was scarcely light, yet through the first ghostly grey ofdaybreak a few birds came; and he killed four with bits of rockbefore the little things could drink the sparkling, crystallinedeath that lay there silvered by the dawn. 

She was still asleep when he came once more to the bed of leavesbetween the fallen trees. And she had not awakened when he coveredhis dry fire and brought to her the broth made from the birds. 

There was, in his pack, a little food left. When he awakened her shesmiled and strove to rise, but he took her head on his knees and fedher, holding the pannikin to her lips. And after he too had eaten hewent to look into the hollow where the tree had stood; and found itbrimming with water. 

So he filled his bottles; then, with hands and knife, workingcautiously and noiselessly he began to enlarge the basin, drawingout stones, scooping out silt and fibre. 

All the morning he worked at his basin, which, fed by somedeep-seated and living spring, now overflowed and trickled down intothe dry gully below. 

By noon he had a pool as large and deep as a bathtub; and he cameand sat down beside her under the fallen mass of branches where shelay watching the water bubble up and clear itself of the cloudedsilt. 

"You are very wonderful, Kay, " she sighed, but her bruised lipssmiled at him and her scarred hand crept toward him and lay in his. Seated so, he told her what he had done in the grey of morning whileshe slept. 

And, even as he was speaking, a far voice cried through thewoods--distant, sinister as the harsh scream of a hawk that has madeits kill. 

Then another voice shouted, hoarse with triumph; others answered, near and far; the forest was full of the heavy, ominous sounds. Forthe Huns were gathering in eastward from the wooded western hills, and their sustained clamour filled the air like the unclean racketof vultures sighting abomination and eager to feed. 

McKay laid his loaded pistol beside him. 

"Dear Yellow-hair, " he whispered. 

She smiled up at him. "If they think we died there on the edge ofthe precipice, then you and I should live. .. . If they doubt it theywill come back through these woods. .. . And it isn't likely that weshall live very long. "

"I know, " she said. And laid her other hand in his--a gesture ofutter trust so exquisite that, for a moment, tears blinded him, andall the forest wavered grotesquely before his desperately fixedgaze. And presently, within the field of his vision, somethingmoved--a man going westward among the trees his rifle slung over hisshoulder. And there were others, too, plodding stolidly back towardthe western forests of Les Errues--forms half-seen between trees, none near, and only two who passed within hearing, the trample oftheir heavy feet loud among the fallen leaves, their guttural voicesdistinct. And, as they swung westward, rifles slung, pipes alight, and with the air of surly hunters homeward bound after a successfulkill, the hunted, lying close under their roof of branches, heardthem boasting of their work and of the death their quarry haddied--of their agony at the spring which drove them to that death inthe depths of the awful gulf beyond. 

"And that, " shouted one, stifling with laughter, "I should like tohave seen. It is all I have to regret of this jagd-that I did notsee the wilde die!"

The other Hun was less cheerful: "But what a pity to leave thatroe-deer lying there. Such good meat poisoned! Schade, immerschade!--to leave good meat like that in the forest of Les Errues!"

CHAPTER XI

VIA MALA

The girl sat bolt upright on her bed of dead leaves, still confusedby sleep, her ears ringing with the loud, hard voice which hadawakened her to consciousness of pain and hunger once again. 

Not ten feet from her, between where she lay under the branches of afallen tree, and the edge of the precipice beyond, full in themorning sunlight stood two men in the dress of Swiss mountaineers. 

One of them was reading aloud from a notebook in a slow, decisive, metallic voice; the other, swinging two dirty flags, signalled themessage out across the world of mountains as it was read to him inthat nasty, nasal Berlin dialect of a Prussian junker. 

"In the Staubbach valley no traces of the bodies have beendiscovered, " continued the tall, square-shouldered reader in hisdeliberate voice; "It is absolutely necessary that the bodies ofthese two American secret agents, Kay McKay and Evelyn Erith, bediscovered, and all their papers, personal property, and theclothing and accoutrements belonging to them be destroyed withoutthe slightest trace remaining. 

"It is ordered also that, when discovered, their bodies be burnedand the ashes reduced to powder and sown broadcast through theforest. "

The voice stopped; the signaller whipped his dirty tattered flags inthe sunlight for a few moments more, then ceased and stood stifflyat attention, his sun-dazzled gaze fixed on a far mountain slopewhere something glittered--perhaps a bit of mica, perhaps the mirrorof a helio. 

Presently, in the same disagreeable, distinct, nasal, and measuredvoice, the speaker resumed the message:

"Until last evening it has been taken for granted that the AmericanIntelligence Officer, McKay, and his companion, Miss Erith, madeinsane through suffering after having drunk at a spring the water ofwhich we had prepared for them according to plan, had either jumpedor fallen from the eastward cliffs of Les Errues into the gulfthrough which flows the Staubbach. 

"But, up to last night, my men, who descended by the Via Mala, havebeen unable to find the bodies of these two Americans, althoughthere is, on the cliffs above, every evidence that they plunged downthere to the valley of the brook below, which is now being searched. 

"If, therefore, my men fail to discover these bodies, the alarmingpresumption is forced upon us that these two Americans have oncemore tricked us; and that they may still be hiding in the ForbiddenForest of Les Errues. 

"In that event proper and drastic measures will be taken, theair-squadron on the northern frontier co-operating. "

The voice ceased: the flags whistled and snapped in the wind for alittle while longer, then the signaller came to stiffest attention. 

"Tell them we descend by the Via Mala, " added the nasal voice. 

The flags swung sharply into motion for a few moments more; then thePrussian officer pocketed his notebook; the signaller furled hisflags; and, as they turned and strode westward along the border ofthe forest, the girl rose to her knees on her bed of leaves andpeered after them. 

What to do she scarcely knew. Her comrade, McKay, had been gonesince dawn in quest of something to keep their souls and bodies enliaison--mountain hare, a squirrel perhaps, perhaps a songbird ortwo, or a pocketful of coral mushrooms--anything to keep them aliveon that heart-breaking trail of duty at the end of which sat old manDeath awaiting them, wearing a spiked helmet. 

And what to do in this emergency, and in the absence of McKay, perplexed and frightened her; for her comrade's strict injunctionwas to remain hidden until his return; and yet one of these men nowmoving westward there along the forest's sunny edges had spoken of away out and had called it the Via Mala. And that is what McKay hadbeen looking for--a way out of the Forbidden Forest of Les Errues tothe table-land below, where, through a cleft still more profound, rushed the black Staubbach under an endless mist of icy spray. 

She must make up her mind quickly; the two men were drawing awayfrom her--almost out of sight now. 

On her ragged knees among the leaves she groped for his coat wherehe had flung it, for the weather had turned oppressive in the forestof Les Errues-and fumbling, she found his notebook and pencil, andtore out a leaf:

"Kay dear, two Prussians in Swiss mountain dress have beensignalling across the knees of Thusis that our bodies have not beendiscovered in the ravine. They have started for the ravine by a wayevidently known to them and which they speak of as the Via Mala. Youtold me to stay here, but I dare not let this last chance go todiscover what we have been looking for--a path to the plateau below. I take my pistol and your trench-knife and I will try to leave signsfor you to follow. They have started west along the cliffs and theyare now nearly out of sight, so I must hurry. Yellow-hair. "

This bit of paper she left on her bed of leaves and pinned it to theground with a twig. Then she rose painfully, drew in her belt andlaced her tattered shoes, and, taking the trench-knife and pistol, limped out among the trees. 

The girl was half naked in her rags; her shirt scarcely hung to hershoulders, and she fastened the stag-horn buttons on her jacket. Herbreeches, which left both knees bare, were of leather and held outpretty well, but the heavy wool stockings gaped, and, had it notbeen for the hob-nails, the soles must have fallen from her hunter'sshoes. 

At first she moved painfully and stiffly, but as she hurried, limping forward over the forest moss, limbs and body grew moresupple and she felt less pain. 

And now, not far beyond, and still full in the morning sunshine, marched the men she was following. The presumed officer strode onahead, a high-shouldered frame of iron in his hunter's garb; thesignaller with furled flags tucked under his arm clumped stolidly athis heels with the peculiar peasant gait which comes from followinguneven furrows in the wake of a plow. 

For ten minutes, perhaps, the two men continued on, then haltedbefore a great mass of debris, uprooted trees, long dead, the vast, mangled roots and tops of which sprawled in every direction betweenmasses of rock, bowlders, and an indescribable confusion of brushand upheaved earth. 

Nearer and nearer crept the girl, until, lying flat behind abeech-tree, she rested within earshot--so close, indeed, that shecould smell the cigarette which the officer had lighted--smell, even, the rank stench of the sulphur match. 

Meanwhile the signaller had laid aside his flags and while theofficer looked on he picked up a heavy sapling from among the fallentrees. Using this as a lever he rolled aside a tree-trunk, thenanother, and finally a bowlder. 

"That will do, " remarked the officer. "Take your flags and goahead. "

Then Evelyn Erith, rising cautiously to her scarred knees, saw thesignaller gather up his flags and step into what apparently was thebed of the bowlder on the edge of the windfall. But it was deeperthan that, for he descended to his knees, to his waist, hisshoulders; and then his head disappeared into some hole which shecould not see. 

Now the officer who had remained, calmly smoking his cigarette, flung the remains of it over the cliff, turned, surveyed the forestbehind him with minute deliberation, then stepped into theexcavation down which the signaller had disappeared. 

Some instinct kept the girl motionless after the man's head hadvanished; minute after minute passed, and Evelyn Erith neverstirred. And suddenly the officer's head and shoulders popped upfrom the hole and he peered back at the forest like an alarmedmarmot. And the girl saw his hands resting on the edge of the hole;and the hands grasped two pistols. 

Presently, apparently reassured and convinced that nobody wasattempting to follow him, he slowly sank out of sight once more. 

The girl waited; and while waiting she cut a long white sliver fromthe beech-tree and carved an arrow pointing toward the heap ofdebris. Then, with the keen tip of her trench-knife she scratched onthe silvery bark:

"An underground way in the windfall. I have followed them. Yellow-hair. "

She crept stealthily out into the sunshine through the vast abatisof the fallen trees and came to the edge of the hole. Looking downfearfully she realised at once that this was the dry, rocky stairsof some subterranean watercourse through which, in springtime, greatfields of melting snow poured in torrents down the face of theprecipice below. 

There were no loose stones to be seen; the rocky escalier had beenswept clean unnumbered ages since; but the rocks were fearfullyslippery, shining with a vitreous polish where the torrents of manythousand years had worn them smooth. 

And this was what they called the Via Mala!--this unsuspected andsecret underground way that led, God knew how, into the terrificdepths below. 

There was another Via Mala: she had seen it from Mount Terrible; butit was a mountain path trodden not infrequently. This Via Mala, however, wormed its way downward into shadows. Where it led and bywhat perilous ways she could only imagine. And were these menperhaps, lying in ambush for her somewhere below--on the chance thatthey might have been seen and followed?

What would they do to her--shoot her? Push her outward from somerocky shelf into the misty gulf below? Or would they spring on herand take her alive? At the thought she chilled, knowing what a womanmight expect from the Hun. 

She threw a last look upward where they say God dwells somewherebehind the veil of blinding blue; then she stepped downward into theshadows. 

For a rod or two she could walk upright as long as she could retainher insecure footing on the glassy, uneven floor of rock; and avague demi-light reigned there making objects distinct enough forher to see the stalactites and stalagmites like discoloured teeth ina chevaux-de-frise. 

Between these gaping fangs she crept, listening, striving to set herfeet on the rocks without making any noise. But that seemed to beimpossible and the rocky tunnel echoed under her footsteps, slipping, sliding, hob-nails scraping in desperate efforts not tofall. 

Again and again she halted, listening fearfully, one hand crushedagainst her drumming heart; but she had heard no sound ahead; themen she followed must be some distance in advance; and she stoleforward again, afraid, desperately crushing out the thoughts--thatcrowded and surged in her brain--the terrible living swarm of fearsthat clamoured to her of the fate of white women if captured by thethings men called Boche and Hun. 

And now she was obliged to stoop as the roof of the tunnel dippedlower and she could scarcely see in the increasing darkness, clearlyenough to avoid the stalactites. 

However, from far ahead came a glimmer; and even when she wasobliged to drop to her knees and creep forward, she could still makeout the patch of light, and the Via Mala again became visible withits vitreous polished floor and its stalactites and water-bluntedstalagmites always threatening to trip her and transfix her. 

Now, very far ahead, something moved and partly obscured the distantglimmer; and she saw, at a great distance, the two men she followed, moving in silhouette across the light. When they had disappeared sheventured to move on again. And her knees were bleeding when shecrept out along a heavy shelf of rock set like a balcony on thesheer face of the cliff. 

Tufts of alpine roses grew on it, and slippery lichens, and a fewseedlings which next spring's torrent would wash away into thestill, misty depths below. 

But this shelf of rock was not all. The Via Mala could not end onthe chasm's brink. 

Cautiously she dragged herself out along the shadow of the cliff, listening, peering among the clefts now all abloom with alpen rosen;and saw nothing--no way forward; no steep path, hewn by man or bynature, along the face of that stupendous battlement of rock. 

She lay listening. But if there was a river roaring somewherethrough the gorge it was too far below her for her to hear it. 

Nothing stirred there; the distant bluish parapets of rock acrossthe ravine lay in full sunshine, but nothing moved there, neitherman nor beast nor bird; and the tremendous loneliness of it allbegan to frighten her anew. 

Yet she must go on; they had gone on; there was some hidden way. Where? Then, all in a moment, what she had noticed before, and hadtaken for a shadow cast by a slab of projecting rock, took the shapeof a cleft in the facade of the precipice itself--an opening thatled straight into the cliff. 

When she dragged herself up to it she saw it had been made by man. The ancient scars of drills still marked it. Masses of rock had beenblasted from it; but that must have been years ago because a deepgrowth of moss and lichen covered the scars and the tough stems ofcrag-shrubs masked every crack. 

Here, too, bloomed the livid, over-rated edelweiss, dear to themaudlin and sentimental side of an otherwise wolfish race, itsrather ghastly flowers starring the rocks. 

As at the entrance to a tomb the girl stood straining her frightenedeyes to pierce the darkness; then, feeling her way with outstretchedpistol-hand, she entered. 

The man-fashioned way was smooth. Or Hun or Swiss, whoever hadwrought this Via Mala out of the eternal rock, had wroughtaccurately and well. The grade was not steep; the corridor descendedby easy degrees, twisting abruptly to turn again on itself, butalways leading downward in thick darkness. 

No doubt that those accustomed to travel the Via Mala always carriedlights; the air was clean and dry and any lighted torch could havelived in such an atmosphere. But Evelyn Erith carried no lights--had thought of none in the haste of setting out. 

Years seemed to her to pass in the dreadful darkness of that descentas she felt her way downward, guided by the touch of her feet andthe contact of her hand along the unseen wall. 

Again and again she stopped to rest and to check the rush ofsheerest terror that threatened at moments her consciousness. 

There was no sound in the Via Mala. The thick darkness was like afabric clogging her movements, swathing her, brushing across her sothat she seemed actually to feel the horrible obscurity as someconcrete thing impeding her and resting upon her with an increasingweight that bent her slender figure. 

There was something grey ahead. .. . There was light--a sicklypin-point. It seemed to spread but grow duller. A pallid patchwidened, became lighter again. And from an infinite distance therecame a deadened roaring--the hollow menace of water rushing throughdepths unseen. 

She stood within the shadow zone inside the tunnel and looked outupon the gorge where, level with the huge bowlders all around her, an alpine river raged and dashed against cliff and stone, flingingtons of spray into the air until the whole gorge was a driving seaof mist. Here was the floor of the canon; here was the way they hadsearched for. Her task was done. And now, on bleeding little feet, she must retrace her steps; the Via Mala must become the ViaDolorosa, and she must turn and ascend that Calvary to the dreadfulcrest. 

She was very weak. Privation had sapped the young virility that hadheld out so long. She had not eaten for a long while--did not, indeed, crave food any longer. But her thirst raged, and she kneltat a little pool within the cavern walls and bent her bleeding mouthto the icy fillet of water. She drank little, rinsed her mouth andface and dried her lips on her sleeve. And, kneeling so, closed hereyes in utter exhaustion for a moment. 

And when she opened them she found herself looking up at two men. 

Before she could move one of the men kicked her pistol out of hernerveless hand, caught her by the shoulder and dragged thetrench-knife from her convulsive grasp. Then he said in English:

"Get up. " And the other, the signalman, struck her across her backwith the furled flags so that she lost her balance and fell forwardon her face. They got her to her feet and pushed her out among thebowlders, through the storming spray, and across the floor of theravine into the sunlight of a mossy place all set with trees. Andshe saw butterflies flitting there through green branches fleckedwith sunshine. 

The officer seated himself on a fallen tree and crossed his heavyfeet on a carpet of wild flowers. She stood erect, the signallerholding her right arm above the elbow. 

After the officer had leisurely lighted a cigarette he asked her whoshe was. She made no answer. 

"You are the Erith woman, are you not?" he demanded. 

She was silent. 

"You Yankee slut, " he added, nodding to himself and staring up intoher bloodless face. 

Her eyes wandered; she looked at, but scarcely saw the lovelywildflowers under foot, the butterflies flashing their burnishedwings among the sunbeams. 

"Drop her arm. " The signaller let go and stood at attention. 

"Take her knife and pistol and your flags and go across the streamto the hut. "

The signaller saluted, gathered the articles mentioned, and wentaway in that clumping, rocking gait of the land peasant of Hundom. 

"Now, " said the officer, "strip off your coat!"

She turned scarlet, but he sprang to his feet and tore her coat fromher. She fought off every touch; several times he struck her--onceso sharply that the blood gushed from her mouth and nose; but stillshe fought him; and when he had completed his search of her person, he was furious, streaked with sweat and all smeared with her blood. 

"Damned cat of a Yankee!" he panted, "stand there where you are orI'll blow your face off!"

But as he emptied the pockets of her coat she seized it and put iton, sobbing out her wrath and contempt of him and his threats as shecovered her nearly naked body with the belted jacket and buttoned itto her throat. 

He glanced at the papers she had carried, at the few poor articlesthat had fallen from her pockets, tossed them on the ground besidethe log and resumed his seat and cigarette. 

"Where's McKay?"

No answer. 

"So you tricked us, eh?" he sneered. "You didn't get your rat-poisonat the spring after all. The Yankees are foxes after all!" Helaughed his loud, nasal, nickering laugh--"Foxes are foxes but menare men. Do you understand that, you damned vixen?"

"Will you let me kill myself?" she asked in a low but steady voice. 

He seemed surprised, then realising why she had asked that mercy, showed all his teeth and smirked at her out of narrow-slitted eyes. 

"Where is McKay?" he repeated. 

She remained mute. 

"Will you tell me where he is to be found?"

"No!"

"Will you tell me if I let you go?"

"No. "

"Will you tell me if I give you back your trench-knife?"

The white agony in her face interested and amused him and he waitedher reply with curiosity. 

"No!" she whispered. 

"Will you tell me where McKay is to be found if I promise to shootyou before--"

"No!" she burst out with a strangling sob. 

He lighted another cigarette and, for a while, considered hermusingly as he sat smoking. After a while he said: "You are ratherdirty--all over blood. But you ought to be pretty after you'rewashed. " Then he laughed. 

The girl swayed where she stood, fighting to retain consciousness. 

"How did you discover the Via Mala?" he inquired with bluntcuriosity. 

"You showed it to me!"

"You slut!" he said between his teeth. Then, still brutishlycurious: "How did you know that spring had been poisoned? By thosedead birds and animals, I suppose. .. . And that's what I toldeverybody, too. The wild things are bound to come and drink. But youand your running-mate are foxes. You made us believe you had goneover the cliff. Yes, even I believed it. It was well done--a trueYankee trick. All the same, foxes are only foxes after all. And hereyou are. "

He got up; she shrank back, and he began to laugh at her. 

"Foxes are only foxes, my pretty, dirty one!--but men are men, and aPrussian is a super-man. You had forgotten that, hadn't you, littleYankee?"

He came nearer. She sprang aside and past him and ran for the river;but he caught her at the edge of a black pool that whirled and flungsticky chunks of foam over the bowlders. For a while they foughtthere in silence, then he said, breathing heavily, "A fox can'tdrown. Didn't you know that, little fool?"

Her strength was ebbing. He forced her back to the glade and stoodthere holding her, his inflamed face a sneering, leering mask forthe hot hell that her nearness and resistance had awakened in him. Suddenly, still holding her, he jerked his head aside and staredbehind him. Then he pushed her violently from him, clutched at hisholster, and started to run. And a pistol cracked and he pitchedforward across the log upon which he had sat, and lay so, drippingdark blood, and fouling the wild-flowers with the flow. 

"Kay!" she said in a weak voice. 

McKay, his pack strapped to his back, his blood-shot eyes brilliantin his haggard visage, ran forward and bent over the thing. Then heshot him again, behind the ear. 

The rage of the river drowned the sound of the shots; the man in thehut across the stream did not come to the door. But McKay caughtsight of the shack; his fierce eyes questioned the girl, and shenodded. 

He crossed the stream, leaping from bowlder to bowlder, and she sawhim run up to the door of the hut, level his weapon, then enter. Shecould not hear the shots; she waited, half-dead, until he came outagain, reloading his pistol. 

She struggled desperately to retain her senses--to fight off thedeadly faintness that assailed her. She could scarcely see him as hecame swiftly toward her--she put out her arms blindly, felt hisfierce clasp envelop her, passed so into blessed unconsciousness. 

A drop or two of almost scalding broth aroused her. He held her inhis arms and fed her--not much--and then let her stretch out on thesun-hot moss again. 

Before sunset he awakened her again, and he fed her--more this time. 

Afterward she lay on the moss with her golden-brown eyes partlyopen. And he had constructed a sponge of clean, velvety moss, andwith this he washed her swollen mouth and bruised cheek, and hereyes and throat and hands and feet. 

After the sun went down she slept again: and he stretched out besideher, one arm under her head and about her neck. 

Moonlight pierced the foliage, silvering everything and inlaying theearth with the delicate tracery of branch and leaf. 

Moonlight still silvered her face when she awoke. After a while theshadow slipped from his face, too. 

"Kay?" she whispered. 

"Yes, Yellow-hair. "

And, after a little while she turned her face to his and her lipsrested on his. 

Lying so, unstirring, she fell asleep once more. 

CHAPTER XII

THE GREAT SECRET

All that morning American infantry had been passing through Delleover the Belfort road. The sun of noon saw no end to them. 

The endless column of shadows, keeping pace with them, lengthenedwith the afternoon along their lengthening line. 

Now and then John Recklow opened the heavy wooden door in his gardenwall and watched them until duty called him to his telephone or tohis room where maps and papers littered the long table. But healways returned to the door in the garden wall when duty permittedand leaned at ease there, smoking his pipe, keen-eyed, impassive, gazing on the unbroken line of young men--men of his own race, sun-scorched, dusty, swinging along the Belfort road, their rightelbows brushing Switzerland, their high sun-reddened pillar of dustdrifting almost into Germany, and their heavy tread thunderingthrough that artery of France like the prophetic pulse of victory. 

A rich September sunset light streamed over them; like a movingshaft of divine fire the ruddy dust marched with them upon theirright hand; legions of avenging shadows led them forward where, fornearly half a century beyond the barriers of purple hills, naked andshackled, the martyr-daughters of the Motherland stoodwaiting--Alsace and Lorraine. 

"We are on our way!" laughed the Yankee bugles. 

The Fortress of Metz growled "Nein!"

Recklow went back to his telephone. For a long while he remainedthere very busy with Belfort and Verdun. When again he returned tothe green door in his garden wall, the Yankee infantry had passed;and of their passing there remained no trace save for thesmouldering pillar of fire towering now higher than the easternhorizon and leagthened to a wall that ran away into the north as faras the eye could see. 

His cats had come out into the garden for "the cats' hour"--thatmysterious compromise between day and evening when all things felineawake and stretch and wander or sit motionless, alert, listening tooccult things. And in the enchantment of that lovely liaison whichlinks day and night--when the gold and rose soften to mauve as thefirst star is born--John Recklow raised his quiet eyes and saw twodead souls come into his garden by the little door in the wall. 

"Is it you, Kay McKay?" he said at last. 

But the shock of the encounter still fettered him so that he walkedvery slowly to the woman who was now moving toward him across thegrass. 

"Evelyn Erith, " he said, taking her thin hands in his own, whichwere trembling now. 

"It's a year, " he complained unsteadily. 

"More than a year, " said McKay in his dead voice. 

With his left hand, then, John Recklow took McKay's gaunt hand, andstood so, mute, looking at him and at the girl beside him. 

"God!" he said blankly. Then, with no emphasis: "It's rather morethan a year!. .. They sent me two fire-charred skulls--the head of aman and the head of a woman. .. . That was a year ago. .. . After yourpigeon arrived. .. I found the scorched skulls wrapped in a Swissnewspaper-lying inside the garden wall--over there on the grass!. .. And the swine had written your names on the skulls. .. . "

Into Evelyn Erith's eyes there came a vague light--the spectre of asmile. And as Recklow looked at her he remembered the living gloryshe had once been; and wrath blazed wildly within him. "What havethey done to you?" he asked in an unsteady voice. But McKay laid hishand on Recklow's arm:

"Nothing. It is what they have not done--fed her. That's all sheneeds--and sleep. "

Recklow gazed heavily upon her. But if the young fail rapidly, theyalso respond quickly. 

"Come into the house, "

Perhaps it was the hot broth with wine in it that brought a slightcolour back into her ghastly face--the face once so youthfullylovely but now as delicate as the mask of death itself. 

Candles twinkled on the little table where the girl now lay backlistlessly in the depths of an armchair, her chin sunk on herbreast. 

Recklow sat opposite her, writing on a pad in shorthand. McKay, resting his ragged elbows on the cloth, his haggard face betweenboth hands, went on talking in a colourless, mechanical voice whichan iron will alone flogged into speech:

"Killed two of them and took their clothes and papers, " he continuedmonotonously; "that was last August--near the end of the month. .. . The Boche had tens of thousands working there. AND EVERY ONE OF THEMWAS INSANE. "

"What!"

"Yes, that is the way they were operating--the only way they daredoperate. I think all that enormous work has been done by the insaneduring the last forty years. You see, the Boche have nothing todread from the insane. Anyway the majority of them died in harness. Those who became useless--intractable or crippled--were merelyreturned to the asylums from which they had been drafted. And theHun government saw to it that nobody should have access to them. 

"Besides, who would believe a crazy man or woman if they babbledabout the Great Secret?"

He covered his visage with his bony hands and rested so for a fewmoments, then, forcing himself again:

"The Hun for forty years has drafted the insane from every asylum inthe Empire to do this gigantic work for him. Men, women, evenchildren, chained, guarded, have done the physical work. .. . ThePyramids were builded so, they say. .. . And in this manner is beingfinished that colossal engineering work which is never spoken ofamong the Huns except when necessary, and which is known among themas The Great Secret. .. . Recklow, it was conceived as a vastengineering project forty-eight years ago--in 1870 during theFranco-Prussian war. It was begun that same year. .. . And it ispractically finished. Except for one obstacle. "

Recklow's lifted eyes stared at him over his pad. 

"It is virtually finished, " repeated McKay in his toneless, unaccented voice which carried such terrible conviction to the otherman. "Forty-eight years ago the Hun planned a huge undergroundhighway carrying four lines of railroad tracks. It was to begin eastof the Rhine in the neighbourhood of Zell, slant into the bowels ofthe earth, pass deep under the Rhine, deep under the Swiss frontier, deep, deep under Mount Terrible and under the French frontier, andemerge in France BEHIND Belfort, Toul, Nancy, and Verdun. "

Recklow laid his pad on the table and looked intently at McKay. Thelatter said in his ghost of a voice: "You are beginning to suspectmy sanity. " He turned with an effort and fixed his hollow eyes onEvelyn Erith. 

"We are sane, " he said. "But I don't blame you, Recklow. We havelived among the mad for more than a year--among thousands andthousands and thousands of them--of men and women and even childrenin whose minds the light of reason had died out. .. . Thirty thousanddying minds in which only a dreadful twilight reigned!. .. I don'tknow how we endured it--and retained our reason. .. . Do you, Yellow-hair?"

The girl did not reply. He spoke to her again, then fell silent. Forthe girl slept, her delicate, deathly face dropped forward on herbreast. 

Presently McKay turned to Recklow once more; and Recklow picked uphis pad with a slight shudder. 

"Forty-eight years, " repeated McKay--"and the work of the Hun isnearly done--a wide highway under the earth's surface flanked byfour lines of rails--broad-gauge tracks--everything now working, allrolling-stock and electric engines moving smoothly and swiftly. .. . Two tracks carry troops; two carry ammunition and munitions. Ahighway a hundred feet wide runs between. 

"Ten miles from the Rhine, under the earth, there is a Hun city, with a garrison of sixty thousand men!. .. There are other citiesalong the line--"

"Deep down!"

"Deep under the earth. "

"There must be shafts!" said Recklow hoarsely. 

"None. "

"No shafts to the surface?"

"Not one. "

"No pipe? No communication with the outer air?"

Then McKay's sunken eyes glittered and he stiffened up, and hiswasted features seemed to shrink until the parting of his lipsshowed his teeth. It was a dreadful laughter--his manner, now, ofexpressing mirth. 

"Recklow, " he said, "in 1914 that vast enterprise was scheduled tobe finished according to plan. With the declaration of war in Augustthe Hun was to have blasted his way to the surface of French soilbehind the barrier forts! He was prepared to do it in half an hour'stime. 

"Do you understand? Do you see how it was planned? For forty-eightyears the Hun had been preparing to seize France and crush Europe. 

"When the Hun was ready he murdered the Austrian archduke--the mostconvenient solution of the problem for the Hun Kaiser, who presentedhimself with the pretext for war by getting rid of the only Austrianwith whom he couldn't do business. "

Again McKay laughed, silently, showing his discoloured teeth. 

"So the archduke died according to plan; and there waswar--according to plan. And then, Recklow, GOD'S HAND MOVED!--veryslightly--indolently--scarcely stirring at all. .. . A drop of icywater percolated the limestone on Mount Terrible; other dropsfollowed; linked by these drops a thin stream crept downward in theearth along the limestone fissures, washing away glacial sands thathad lodged there since time began. ". .. He leaned forward and hisbrilliant, sunken eyes peered into Recklow's:

"Since 1914, " he said, "the Staubbach has fallen into the bowels ofthe earth and the Hun has been fighting it miles under the earth'ssurface. 

"They can't operate from the glacier on the white Shoulder ofThusis; whenever they calk it and plug it and stop it with tons ofreinforced waterproof concrete--whenever on the surface of the worldthey dam it and turn it into new channels, it evades them. And in anew place its icy water bursts through--as though every stratum inthe Alps dipped toward their underground tunnel to carry the waterfrom the Glacier of Thusis into it!"

He clenched his wasted hands and struck the table without a sound:

"God blocks them, damn them!" he said in his ghost of a voice. "Godbars the Boche! They shall not pass!"

He leaned nearer, twisting his clenched fingers together: "We sawthem, Recklow. We saw the Staubbach fighting for right of way; wesaw the Hun fighting the Staubbach--Darkness battling withLight!--the Hun against the Most High!--miles under the earth'scrust, Recklow. .. . Do you believe in God?"

"Yes. "

"Yes. .. . We saw Him at work--that young girl asleep there, andI--month after month we watched Him check and dismay the modernPharaoh--we watched Him countermine the Nibelungen and mock theirfilthy Gott! And Recklow, we laughed, sometimes, where laughteramong clouded minds means nothing--nothing even to the Hun--norcauses suspicion nor brings punishment other than the accustomedkick and blow which the Hun reserves for all who are helpless. ". .. He bowed his head in his hands. "All who are weak and stricken, " hewhispered to himself. 

Recklow said: "Did they harm--HER?" And, McKay looked up at that, baring his teeth in a swift snarl:

"No--you see her clipped hair--and the thin body. .. . In her blouseshe passed for a boy, unquestioned, unnoticed. There were thousandsof us, you see. .. . Some of the insane women were badly treated--allof the younger ones. .. . But she and I were together. .. . And I had mypistol in reserve--for the crisis!--always in reserve--always readyfor her. " Recklow nodded. McKay went on:

"We fought the Staubbach in shifts. .. . And all through those monthsof autumn and winter there was no chance for us to get away. It isnot cold under ground. .. . It was like a dark, thick dream. We triedto realise that war was going on, over our heads, up above ussomewhere in daylight--where there was sun and where stars were. .. . It was like a thick dream, Recklow. The stars seemed very far. .. . "

"You had passed as inmates of some German asylum?"

"We had killed two landwehr on the Staubbach. That was a year agolast August--" He looked at the sleeping girl beside him: "Mylittle comrade and I undressed the swine and took their uniforms. .. . After a long while--privations had made us both light-headed Ithink--we saw a camp of the insane in the woods--a fresh relay fromMulhaus. We talked with their guards--being in Landwehr uniform itwas easy. The insane were clothed like miners. Late that night weexchanged clothes with two poor, demented creatures who retainedsufficient reason, however, to realise that our uniforms meantfreedom. .. . They crept away into the forest. We remained. .. . Andmarched at dawn--straight into the jaws of the Great Secret!"

Recklow had remained at the telephone until dawn. And now Belfortwas through with him and Verdun understood, and Paris had relayed toHeadquarters and Headquarters had instructed John Recklow. 

Before Recklow went to bed he parted his curtain and looked out atthe misty dawn. 

In the silvery dusk a cock-pheasant was crowing somewhere on awheat-field's edge. A barnyard chanticleer replied. Clear andtruculent rang out the challenge of the Gallic cock in the dawn, warning his wild neighbour to keep to the wilds. So the Frenchtrumpets challenge the shrill, barbaric fanfares of the Hun, warninghim back into the dull and shadowy wilderness from whence heventured. 

Recklow was awake, dressed, and had breakfasted by eight o'clock. 

McKay, in his little chamber on the right, still slept. EvelynErith, in the tiny room on the left, slept deeply. 

So Recklow went out into his garden, opened the wooden door in thewall, seated himself, lighted his pipe, and watched the Belfortroad. 

About ten o'clock two American electricians came buzzing up onmotor-cycles. Recklow got up and went to the door in the wall asthey dismounted. After a short, whispered consultation they guidedtheir machines into the garden, through a paved alley to a tiledshed. Then they went on duty, one taking the telephone in Recklow'sprivate office, the other busying himself with the clutter of mapsand papers. And Recklow went back to the door in the wall. Abouteleven an American motor ambulance drove up. A nurse carrying herluggage got out, and Recklow met her. 

After another whispered consultation he picked up the nurse'sluggage, led her into the house, and showed her all over it. 

"I don't know, " he said, "whether they are too badly done in totravel as far as Belfort. There'll be a Yankee regimental doctorhere to-day or to-morrow. He'll know. So let 'em sleep. And youcan give them the once-over when they wake, and then get busy in thekitchen. "

The girl laughed and nodded. 

"Be good to them, " added Recklow. "They'll get crosses and legionsenough but they've got to be well to enjoy them. So keep them in beduntil the doctor comes. There are bathrobes and things in my room. "

"I understand, sir. "

"Right, " said Recklow briefly. Then he went to his room, changed hisclothes to knickerbockers, his shoes for heavier ones, picked up arifle, a pair of field-glasses and a gas-mask, slung a satchelcontaining three days' rations over his powerful shoulders, and wentout into the street. 

Six Alpinists awaited him. They were peculiarly accoutred, everysoldier carrying, beside rifle, haversack and blanket, a flat tankstrapped on his back like a knapsack. 

Their sergeant saluted; he and Recklow exchanged a few words inwhispers. Then Recklow strode away down the Belfort road. And theoddly accoutred Alpinists followed him, their steel-shod solesringing on the pavement. 

Where the Swiss wire bars the frontier no sentinels paced that noon. This was odd. Stranger still, a gap had been cut in the wire. 

And into this gap strode Recklow, and behind him trotted the nimbleblue-devils, single file; and they and their leader took theascending path which leads to the Calvary on Mount Terrible. 

Standing that same afternoon on the rocks of that grim Calvary, withthe weatherbeaten figure of Christ towering on the black cross abovethem, Recklow and his men gazed out across the tumbled mountains towhere the White Shoulder of Thusis gleamed in the sun. 

Through their glasses they could sweep the glacier to its terminalmoraine. That was not very far away, and the "dust" from theStaubbach could be distinguished drifting out of the green ravinelike a windy cloud of steam. 

"Allons, " said Recklow briefly. 

They slept that night in their blankets so close to the Staubbachthat its wet, silvery dust powdered them, at times, like snow. 

At dawn they were afield, running everywhere over the rocks, searching hollows, probing chasms, creeping into ravines, and alwaysfollowing the torrent which dashed whitely through its limestonecanon. 

Perhaps the Alpine eagles saw them. But no Swiss patrol disturbedthem. Perhaps there was fear somewhere in the AlpineConfederation--fear in high places. 

Also it is possible that the bellowing bluster of the guns at Metzmay have allayed that fear in high places; and that terror of theHun was already becoming less deathly among the cantons of a racewhich had trembled under Boche blackmail for a hundred years. However, for whatever reason it might have been, no Swiss patrolsbothered the blue devils and Mr. Recklow. 

And they continued to swarm over the Alpine landscape at their ownconvenience; on the Calvary of Mount Terrible they erected a dwarfwireless station; a hundred men came from Delle with radio-impedimenta; six American airmen arrived; American planes circledover the northern border, driving off the squadrilla of Count vonDresslin. 

And on the second night Recklow's men built fires and campedcarelessly beside the brilliant warmth, while "mountain mutton"frizzled on pointed sticks and every blue-devil smacked his lips. 

On the early morning of the third day Recklow discovered what he hadbeen looking for. And an Alpinist signalled an airplane over MountTerrible from the White Shoulder of Thusis. Two hours later a fullbattalion of Alpinists crossed Mount Terrible by the Neck of Woodsand exchanged flag signals with Recklow's men. They had with them agreat number of cylinders, coils of wire, and other curious-lookingparaphernalia. 

When they came up to the ravine where Recklow and his men weregrouped they immediately became very busy with their cylinders, wires, hose-pipes, and other instruments. 

It had been a beautiful ravine where Recklow now stood--was still aspretty and picturesque as a dry water-course can be with thebowlders bleaching in the sun and green things beginning to grow inwhat had been the bed of a rushing stream. For, just above thisravine, the water ended: the Staubbach poured its full, icy volumedirectly downward into the bowels of the earth with a hollow, thundering sound; the bed of the stream was bone-dry beyond. And nowthe blue-devils were unreeling wire and plumbing this chasm intowhich the Staubbach thundered. On the end of the wire was anelectric bulb, lighted. Recklow watched the wire unreeling, footafter foot, rod after rod, plumbing the dark burrow of the Bochedeep down under the earth. 

And, when they were ready, guided by the wire, they lowered thecurious hose-pipe, down, down, ever down, attaching reel after reelto the lengthening tube until Recklow checked them and turned towatch the men who stood feeding the wire into the roaring chasm. 

Suddenly, as he watched, the flowing wire stopped, swayed violentlysideways, then was jerked out of the men's hands. 

"The Boche bites!" they shouted. Their officer, reading the measuredwire, turned to Recklow and gave him the depth; the hose-pipe ranout sixty yards; then Recklow checked it and put on his gasmask asthe whistle signal rang out along the mountain. 

Now, everywhere, masked figures swarmed over the place; cylinderswere laid, hose attached, other batteries of cylinders were rangedin line and connections laid ready for instant adjustment. 

Recklow raised his right arm, then struck it downward violently. Thegas from the first cylinder went whistling into the hose. 

At the same time an unmasked figure on the cliff above began talkingby American radiophone with three planes half a mile in the airabove him. He spoke naturally, easily, into a transmitter to whichno wires were attached. 

He was still talking when Recklow arrived at his side from theravine below, tore off his gas-mask, and put on a peculiar helmet. Then, taking the transmitter into his right hand: "Do you get them?"he demanded of his companion, an American lieutenant. 

"No trouble, sir. No need to raise one's voice. They hear quiteperfectly, and one hears them, sir. "

Then Recklow spoke to the three airplanes circling like hawks in thesky overhead; and one by one the observers in each machine repliedin English, their voices easily audible. 

"I want Zell watched from the air, " said Recklow. "The Boche have anunderground tunnel beginning near Zell, continuing under MountTerrible to the French frontier. 

"I want the Zell end of the tunnel kept under observation. 

"Send our planes in from Belfort, Toul, Nancy, and Verdun. 

"And keep me informed whether railroad trains, camions, or cavalrycome out. And whether indeed any living thing emerges from the endof the tunnel near Zell. 

"Because we are gassing the tunnel from this ravine. And I thinkwe've got the dirty vermin wholesale!"

At sundown a plane appeared overhead and talked to Recklow:

"One railroad train came out. But it was manned by dead men, Ithink, because it crashed into the rear masonry of the station andwas smashed. "

"Nothing else, living or dead, came out?"

"Nothing, sir. There is wild excitement at Zell. Troops at thetunnel's mouth wear gas-masks. We bombed them and raked them. TheBoche planes took the air but two crashed and the rest turned east. "

"You saw no living creature escape from the Zell end of the tunnel?"

"Not a soul, sir. "

Recklow turned to the group of officers around him:

"I guess they're done for, " he said. "That fumigation cleaned outthe vermin. But keep the tunnel pumped full of gas. .. . Au revoir, messieurs!"

On his way back across Mount Terrible he encountered a relay ofAlpinists bringing fresh gas. Tanks; and he laughed and salutedtheir officers. "This poor old world needs a de-lousing, " he said. "Foch will attend to it up here on top of the world. See that yougentlemen, purge her interior!"

The nurse opened the door and looked into the garden. Then sheclosed the door, gently, and went back into the house. 

For she had seen a slim girl with short yellow hair curling all overher head, and that head was resting on a young man's shoulder. 

It seemed unnecessary, too, because there were two steamer chairsunder the rose arbor, side by side, and pillows sufficient for each. 

And why a slim young girl should prefer to pillow her curly, yellowhead upon the shoulder of a rather gaunt young man--the shoulder, presumably, being bony and uncomfortable--she alone could explainperhaps. 

The young man did not appear to be inconvenienced. He caressed herhair while he spoke:

"From here to Belfort, " he was saying in his musing, agreeablevoice, "and from Belfort to Paris; and from Paris to London, andfrom London to Strathlone Head, and from Strathlone Head to GlenarkCliffs, and from Glenark Cliffs to Isla Water, and from IslaWater--to our home! Our home, Yellow-hair, " he repeated. "What do youthink of that?"

"I think you have forgotten the parson's house on the way. You areimmoral, Kay. "

"Can't a Yank sky-pilot in Paris--"

"Darling, I must have some clothing!"

"Can't you get things in Paris?"

"Yes, if you'll wait and not become impatient for Isla. And I warnyou, Kay, I simply won't marry you until I have some decent gownsand underwear. "

"You don't care for me as much as I do for you, " he murmured in lazyhappiness. 

"I care for you more. I've cared for you longer, too. "

"How long, Yellow-hair?"

"Ever--ever since your head lay on my knees in my car a year agolast winter! You know it, too, " she added. "You are a spoiled youngman. I shall not tell you again how much I care for you!"

"Say 'love', ' Yellow-hair, " he coaxed. 

"No!"

"Don't you?"

"Don't I what?"

"Love me?"

"Yes. "

"Then won't you say it?"

She laughed contentedly. Then her warm head moved a little on hisshoulder; he looked down; lightly their lips joined. 

"Kay--my dear--dear Kay, " she whispered. 

"There's somebody opening the garden door, " she said under herbreath, and sat bolt upright. 

McKay also sat up on his steamer chair. 

"Oh!" he cried gaily, "hello, Recklow! Where on earth have you beenfor three days?"

Recklow came into the rose arbour. The blossoms were gone from thevines but it was a fragrant, golden place into which the Septembersun filtered. He lifted Miss Erith's hand and kissed it gravely. "How are you?" he inquired. 

"Perfectly well, and ready for Paris!" she said smilingly. 

Recklow shook hands with McKay. 

"You'll want a furlough, too, " he remarked. "I'll fix it. How do youfeel, McKay?"

"All right. Has anything come out of our report on the GreatSecret?"

Recklow seated himself and they listened in strained silence to hiscareful report. Once Evelyn caught her breath and Recklow paused andturned to look at her. 

"There were thousands and thousands of insane down there under theearth, " she said pitifully. 

"Yes, " he nodded. 

"Did--did they all die?"

"Are the insane not better dead, Miss Erith?" he asked calmly. .. . And continued his recital. 

That evening there was a full moon over the garden. Recklow lingeredwith them after dinner for a while, discussing the beginning of theend of all things Hunnish. For Foch was striking at last; Pershingwas moving; Haig, Gouraud, Petain, all were marching toward thefield of Armageddon. They conversed for a while, the men smoking. Then Recklow went away across the dewy grass, followed by two friskyand factious cats. 

But when McKay took Miss Erith's head into his arms the girl's eyeswere wet. 

"The way they died down there--I can't help it, Kay, " she faltered. "Oh, Kay, Kay, you must love me enough to make me forget--forget--"

And she clasped his neck tightly in both her arms.