The Girl from Alsace Part 41

Stewart dropped upon a bench and looked about him. There were a few women in the room--and he wondered at their presence there--but most of its occupants were men, some in uniform, others in civilian dress of the most diverse kinds, of all grades of society. Stewart was struck at once by the fact that they were all silent, exchanging not a word, not even a glance. Each kept his eyes to himself as if it were a point of honor so to do.

Suddenly Stewart understood. These were agents of the secret service, waiting to report to their chief or to be a.s.signed to some difficult and dangerous task. One by one they were summoned, disappeared through the door, and did not return.

At last it was to Stewart the messenger came.

"This way, sir," he said.

Stewart followed him out into the hall, through a door guarded by two sentries, and into a little room beyond a deep ante-chamber, where a white-haired man sat before a great table covered with papers. The messenger stood aside for Stewart to pa.s.s, then went swiftly out and closed the door.

The man at the table examined his visitor with a long and penetrating glance, his face cold, impa.s.sive, expressionless.

"You are not one of ours," he said, at last, in English.

"No, I am an American."

"So I perceived. And yet you have a message?"

"Yes."

"How came you by it?"

"It was intrusted to me by one of your agents who joined me at Aix-la-Chapelle."

A sudden flame of excitement blazed into the cold eyes.

"May I ask your name?"

"Bradford Stewart."

The man s.n.a.t.c.hed up a memorandum from the desk and glanced at it. Then he sprang to his feet.

"Your pardon, Mr. Stewart," he said. "I did not catch your name--or, if I did, my brain did not supply the connection, as it should have done.

My only excuse is that I have so many things to think of. Pray sit down," and he drew up a chair. "Where is the person who joined you at Aix?"

"I fear that she is dead," answered Stewart, in a low voice.

"Dead!" echoed the other, visibly and deeply moved. "Dead! But no, that cannot be!" He pa.s.sed his hand feverishly before his eyes. "I will hear your story presently--first, the message. It is a written one?"

"Yes, in the form of two letters."

"May I see them?"

Stewart hesitated.

"I promised to deliver them only to General Joffre," he explained.

"I understand. But the general is very busy. I must see the letters for a moment before I ask him for an audience."

Without a word, Stewart pa.s.sed them over. He saw the flush of excitement with which the other looked at them; he saw how his hand trembled as he drew out the sheets, glanced at them, thrust them hastily back, and touched a b.u.t.ton on his desk.

Instantly the door opened and the messenger appeared.

"Inquire of General Joffre if he can see me for a moment on a matter of the first importance," said the man. The messenger bowed and withdrew.

"Yes, of the first importance," he added, turning to Stewart, with shining eyes. "Here are the letters--I will not deprive you, sir, of the pleasure of yourself placing them in our general's hands. And it is to him you shall tell your story."

The door opened and the messenger appeared.

"The general will be pleased to receive Monsieur at once," he said, and stood aside for them to pa.s.s.

At the end of the hall was a large room crowded with officers. Beyond this was a smaller room where six men, each with his secretary, sat around a long table. At its head sat a plump little man, with white hair and bristling white mustache, which contrasted strongly with a face darkened and reddened by exposure to wind and rain, and lighted by a pair of eyes incredibly bright.

He was busy with a memorandum, but looked up as Stewart and his companion entered.

"Well, Fernande?" he said; but Stewart did not know till afterward that the man at his side was the famous head of the French Intelligence Department, the eyes and ears of the French army--captain of an army of his own, every member of which went daily in peril of a dreadful death.

"General," said Fernande, in a voice whose trembling earnestness caused every man present suddenly to raise his head, "I have the pleasure of introducing to you an American, Mr. Bradford Stewart, who, at great peril to himself, has brought you a message which I believe to be of the first importance."

General Joffre bowed.

"I am pleased to meet Mr. Stewart," he said. "What is this message?"

"It is in these letters, sir," said Stewart, and placed the envelopes in his hand.

The general glanced at them, then slowly drew out the enclosures.

"We shall need a candle," said Fernande; "also a flat dish of water."

One of the secretaries hastened away to get them. He was back in a moment, and Fernande, having lighted the candle, took from his waistcoat pocket a tiny phial of blue liquid, and dropped three drops into the dish.

"Now we are ready, gentlemen," he said. "You are about to witness a most interesting experiment."

He picked up one of the sheets, dipped it into the water, then held it close to the flame of the candle.

Stewart, watching curiously, saw a mult.i.tude of red lines leap out upon the sheet--lines which zigzagged this way and that, apparently without meaning.

But to the others in the room they seemed anything but meaningless. As sheet followed sheet, the whole staff crowded around the head of the table, s.n.a.t.c.hing them up, holding them to the light, bending close to decipher minute writing. Their eyes were shining with excitement, their hands were trembling; they spoke in broken words, in bits of sentences.

"The enceinte----"

"Oh, a new bastion here at the left----"

"I thought so----"

"Three emplacements----"

"But this wall is simply a mask--it would present no difficulties----"

"This position could be flanked----"