A People's Man Part 51

Ernshaw nodded.

"I came alone because the seven of us are as men with one heart. We are with you into h.e.l.l!"

"And the men," Maraton continued,--"I wonder how many of them realise what they may have to go through."

"You stirred something up in them," Ernshaw said slowly, "something they have never felt before. You made them feel that they have the right of nature to live a dignified life, and to enjoy a certain share of the profits of their labour, not as a grudgingly given wage but as a law-established right. There's a feeling born in them that's new--it's done them good already. I never heard so little grumbling at the pay.

I think it's in their heart that they're fighting for a principle this time, and not for an extra coin dragged from the unwilling pockets of men who have no human right to be the janitors of what their labour produces. They've got the proper feeling at last, sir. You've touched something which is as near the religious sense as anything a man can feel who has no call that way. It's something that will last, too!

Their womenkind have laid hold of it. When they start life again, they mean to start on a different plane."

"How are the accounts lasting out?" Maraton asked.

Ernshaw produced some books from his pocket and they sat down at the table.

"We're not so badly off for money," he declared. "It's the purchasing power of it that's making things difficult. I have spread the people out as much as I can. It's the best chance, but next week will be a black one."

They pored over the figures for a time. Outside, the streets were almost as silent as death. Suddenly the door was thrown open, and they both looked up hastily. Selingman stood there, but Selingman transformed. All the colour seemed to have left his cheeks; his eyes were burning with a steely fire. He closed the door behind him and he shivered where he stood. Maraton sprang to his feet.

"What, in G.o.d's name, has happened, man?" he cried. "Quick!"

Selingman came a little further into the room. He raised his hands above his head; his voice was thick with horror.

"I have betrayed you!" he moaned. "I have betrayed the people!"

He stood there, still trembling. Maraton poured him out wine, but he swept it away.

"No more of those things for me!" he continued. "Listen to my tale. If there is a G.o.d, may he hear me! By every line I have written, by every world of fancy into which I have been led, by every particle of what nations have called my genius, I swear that I speak the truth!"

"I believe you," Maraton said. "Go on. Tell me quickly."

"I trusted Maxendorf," Selingman proceeded, his voice shaking, "trusted and loved him as a brother. I have been his tool and his dupe!"

Maraton felt himself suddenly at the edge of the world. He leaned over and looked into the abyss called h.e.l.l. For a moment he shivered; then he set his teeth.

"Go on," he repeated.

"Maxendorf and I have spoken many times of the future of this country.

The dream which he outlined for you, he has spoken of to me with glittering eyes, with heaving chest, with trembling voice. It was his scheme that I should take you to him. You, too, believed as I did.

To-night I visited him. I stepped in upon the one weak moment of his life. He needed a confidant. He was bursting with joy and triumph. He showed me his heart; he showed me the great and terrible hatred which burns there for England and everything English. The people's man, he calls himself! He is for the people of his own country and his own country only! You and I have been the tools of his crafty schemes.

This country, if he possesses it, he will occupy as a conqueror. He will set his heel upon it. He will demand the greatest indemnity of all times. And every penny of it will flow into his beloved land. We thought that the dawn had come, we poor, miserable and deluded victims of his craft. We are dooming the people of this country to generations of slavery!"

Maraton for a moment sat quite still. When he spoke, his tone was singularly matter-of-fact.

"Where is Maxendorf?" he asked.

"Still at the hotel. The Emba.s.sy was not ready, and he has made excuses. He is more his own master there."

Maraton turned to Ernshaw.

"Ernshaw," he begged, "wait here for me. Wait."

He took up his hat and left the room. Selingman stood almost as though he were praying.

"Now," he muttered, "is the time for the strong man!"

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

Into the salon of Maxendorf's suite at the Ritz Hotel, freed for a moment from its constant stream of callers, came suddenly, without announcement--from a place of hiding, indeed--Maraton. He stepped into the room swiftly and closed the door. Maxendorf was standing with his back to his visitor, bending over a map.

"Who's that?" he asked, without looking up "You, Franz? You, Beldeman?"

There was no reply. Maxendorf straightened his gaunt figure and turned around. He stood there motionless, the palm of one hand covering the map at which he had been gazing, the lamplight shining on his gaunt, strangely freckled face.

"You!" he muttered.

Maraton remained still speechless. Maxendorf stretched out his hand for the telephone, but before he could grasp it, his hand was struck into the air. He wasted no time asking useless questions. His visitor's face was enough.

"What have you to gain by this?" he demanded. "Even if you could take my life, it will alter nothing."

Maraton caught him fiercely by the throat. Maxendorf, notwithstanding his superior height, was powerless. He was forced slowly backwards across the couch, on to the floor. Maraton knelt by his side. His grasp was never for a second relaxed.

"I leave you to-night," Maraton whispered, "with a gasp or two of life in you, but remember this. If I fail to undo your work, as sure as I live, I will keep my word. My hand shall find your throat again--your throat, do you hear?--and shall hold you there, tighter and tighter, until the life slips out of your body, just as it is almost slipping now!"

Maxendorf was unconscious. Maraton suddenly threw him away. Then he left the room, rang for the lift and made his way once more out into the street. Piccadilly was a shadowy wilderness. St. James's Street was thronged with soldiers marching into the Park. Maraton pursued his way steadily into Pall Mall and Downing Street. Even here there were very few people, and the front of Mr. Foley's house was almost deserted, save for one or two curious loiterers and a couple of policemen.

Maraton rang the bell and found no trouble in obtaining admittance. The butler, however, shook his head when asked if Mr. Foley was at home.

"Mr. Foley is at the War Office, sir," he announced. "We cannot tell what time to expect him."

"I shall wait," Maraton replied. "My business is of urgent importance."

The butler made no difficulty. He recognised Maraton as a guest of the house and he showed him into the smaller library, which was generally used as a waiting-room for more important visitors. It was the room in which Maraton had had his first conversation with Mr. Foley. He looked around him with faint, half painful curiosity. If was like a place which he had known well in some other life. It seemed impossible to believe that he was the same man, or that this was the same room. Yet it was barely four months ago! Too restless to sit still, he walked up and down the apartment with quick, unsteady footsteps. Then suddenly the door opened. Elisabeth appeared. She recognised Maraton and started. She looked at him with a fixed, incredulous stare.

"You?" she exclaimed. "You here? What do you want?"

"Your uncle," he answered. "How long will he be?"

She closed the door behind her with trembling fingers. Then she came further into the room and confronted him.

"Why are you here?" she demanded. "To gloat over your work?"

"To undo it, if I can," he replied quickly,--"a part of it, at any rate. I fell into a trap--Selingman and I. I've a way out, if there's time. I want your uncle."

"You mean it?" she begged feverishly, her face lightening. "Oh, don't raise our hopes again just to disappoint us!"

"I mean it," he reiterated. "I want your uncle. With his help, if he has the courage, if he dare face the inevitable, I'll break the railway strike to-night and the coal strike to-morrow."

She sat down suddenly. She, too, had changed during the last few months. Her face was thinner; there were lines under her eyes. She had lost something of the fresh, delicate splendour of youth which had made her seem so dazzling.