The Cup of Fury Part 27

"No, of course not, but--"

"It says there that I was their daughter."

"Well, we'll not quibble. Legally you may have been, but actually you were their adopted child."

"Yis?" said Marie Louise. "And where did they find me? Had you heard?"

"Since you force me to it, I must say that it is generally believed that you were the natural daughter of Sir Joseph."

Marie Louise was tremendously relieved by having something that she could deny. She laughed with a genuineness that swung the credulity all her way. She asked:

"And who was my mother--my natural mother, could you tell me? I really ought to know."

"She is believed to have been a--a native of Australia."

"Good Heavens! You don't mean a kangaroo?"

"An actress playing in Vienna."

"Oh, I am relieved! And Sir Joseph was my father--yes. Do go on."

"Whether Sir Joseph was your father or not, he was born in Germany and so was his wife, and they took a false oath of allegiance to his Majesty. All the while they were loyal only to the Kaiser. They worked for him, spied for him. It is said that the Kaiser had promised to make Sir Joseph one of the rulers over England when he captured the island. Sir Joseph was to have any castle he wanted and untold wealth."

"What was I to have?" Marie Louise was able to mock her. "Wasn't I to have at least Westminster Abbey to live in? And one of the crown princes for a husband?"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt lost her temper and her bearings.

"Heaven knows what you were promised, but you did your best to earn it, whatever it was."

Mrs. Prothero lost patience. "Really, my dear Lady Clifton-Wyatt, this is all getting beyond me."

Lady Clifton-Wyatt grew scarlet, too. She spoke with the wrath of a Tisiphone whipping herself to a frenzy. "I will bring you proofs. This creature was a paid secret agent, a go-between for Sir Joseph and the Wilhelmstra.s.se. She carried messages. She went into the slums of Whitechapel disguised as a beggar to meet the conspirators. She carried them lists of s.h.i.+ps with their cargoes, dates of sailing, destinations. She carried great sums of money. She was the paymaster of the spies. Her hands are red with the blood of British sailors and women and children. She grew so bold that at last she attracted the attention of even Scotland Yard. She was followed, traced to Sir Joseph's home. It was found that she lived at his house.

"One of the spies, named Easling or Oesten, was her lover. He was caught and met his deserts before a firing-squad in the Tower. His confession implicated Sir Joseph. The police raided his place. A terrific fight ensued. He resisted arrest. He tried to shoot one of our police. The bullet went wild and killed his wife. Before he could fire again he was shot down by one of our men."

The astonis.h.i.+ng transformations the story had undergone in its transit from gossip to gossip stunned Marie Louise. The memory of the reality saddened her beyond laughter. Her distress was real, but she had self-control enough to focus it on Lady Clifton-Wyatt and murmur:

"Poor thing, she is quite mad!"

There is nothing that so nearly drives one insane as to be accused of insanity.

The prosecutrix almost strangled on her indignation at Marie Louise's calm.

"The effrontery of this woman is unendurable, Mrs. Prothero. If you believe her, you must permit me to leave. I know what I am saying. I have had what I tell you from the best authority. Of course, it may sound insane, but wait until you learn what the German secret agents have been doing in America for years and what they are doing now."

There had been publication enough of the sickening duplicity of amba.s.sadors and attaches to lead the Americans to believe that Teutonism meant anything revolting. Mrs. Prothero was befuddled at this explosion in her quiet home. She asked:

"But surely all this has never been published, has it? I think we should have heard of it here."

"Of course not," said Lady Clifton-Wyatt. "We don't publish the accounts of the submarines we sink, do we? No more do we tell the Germans what spies of theirs we have captured. And, since Sir Joseph and his wife were dead, there would have been no profit in publis.h.i.+ng broadcast the story of the battle. So they agreed to let it be known that they died peacefully or rather painfully in their beds, of ptomaine poisoning."

"That's true," said Mrs. Prothero. "That's what I read. That's what I've always understood."

Now, curiously, as often happens in court, the discovery that a witness has stumbled on one truth in a pack of lies renders all he has said authentic and s.h.i.+fts the guilt to the other side. Marie Louise could feel the frost of suspicion against her forming in the air.

Polly made one more onset: "But, tell me, Lady Clifton-Wyatt, where was Marie Louise during all this Wild West End pistol-play?"

"In her room with her lover," snarled Lady Clifton-Wyatt. "The servants saw her there."

This threw a more odious light on Marie Louise. She was not merely a nice clean spy, but a wanton.

Polly groaned: "Tell that to Scotland Yard! I'd never believe it."

"Scotland Yard knows it without my telling," said Lady Clifton-Wyatt.

"But how did Marie Louise come to escape and get to America?"

"Because England did not want to shoot a woman, especially not a young woman of a certain prettiness. So they let her go, when she swore that she would never return to England. But they did not trust her. She is under observation now! Your home is watched, my dear Mrs.

Widdicombe, and I dare say there is a man on guard outside now, my dear Mrs. Prothero."

This sent a chill along every spine. Marie Louise was frightened out of her own brief bravado.

There was a lull in the trial while everybody reveled in horror. Then Mrs. Prothero spoke in a judicial tone.

"And now, Miss Webling, please tell us your side of all this. What have you to say in your own behalf?"

Marie Louise's mouth suddenly turned dry as bark; her tongue was like a dead leaf. She was inarticulate with remembrance of her oath to Verrinder. She just managed to whisper:

"Nothing!"

It sounded like an autumn leaf rasping across a stone. Polly cried out in agony:

"Marie Louise!"

Marie Louise shook her head and could neither think nor speak. There was a hush of waiting. It was broken by the voices of the men strolling in together. They were utterly unwelcome. They stopped and stared at the women all staring at Marie Louise.

Seeing Davidge about to ask what the tableau stood for, she found voice to say:

"Mr. Davidge, would you be so good as to take me home--to Mrs.

Widdicombe's, that is. I--I am a little faint."

"Delighted! I mean--I'm sorry--I'd be glad," he stammered, eager to be at her service, yet embarra.s.sed by the sudden appeal.

"You'll pardon me, Mrs. Prothero, for running away!"

"Of course," said Mrs. Prothero, still dazed.

He bowed to her, and all round. Marie Louise nodded and whispered, "Good night!" and moved toward the door waveringly. Davidge's heart leaped with pity for her.