The Frontier Part 33

Philippe lowered his head and, with half-closed eyes, whispered:

"Through my father!"

"That's not true!" shouted old Morestal, purple with rage. "That's not true! I prepare ... I!..."

"Here is the paper which I found in Private Baufeld's pocket," said Philippe, handing a sheet of note-paper to Le Corbier. "It gives a sort of plan of escape, the road which the fugitive is to follow, the exact spot at which he is to cross the frontier so as to avoid the watchers."

"What are you saying? What are you daring to say? A correspondence between me and that wretch!"

"The two words, 'Albern Path,' are in your hand-writing, father, and it was through the Albern Path that the deserter entered France. The sheet is a sheet of your own note-paper."

Morestal gave a bound:

"And you took it from the waste-paper basket, where it lay torn and crumpled! You did a thing like that, you, my son! You had the infamy ..."

"Oh, father!"

"Then what? Answer!"

"Private Baufeld gave it me before his death."

Morestal was standing opposite Philippe, with his arms crossed over his chest, and, so far from defending himself against his son's accusations, seemed rather to be addressing a culprit.

And Philippe looked at him with eyes of anguish. At each blow that he struck, at each sentence that he uttered, he detected the mark of a wound on his father's face. A vein swelling on the old man's temples distressed him beyond measure. He was terrified to see streaks of blood mingle with the whites of his eyes. And he feared, at every moment, that his father would fall like a tree which the axe has struck to the heart.

The under-secretary, after examining the sheet of paper which Philippe had given him, resumed:

"In any case, M. Morestal, these lines were written by you?"

"Yes, monsieur le ministre. I have already stated what the man Dourlowski tried to get out of me and the answer which I gave him."

"Was it the first time that the fellow made the attempt?..."

"The first time," said Morestal, after an imperceptible hesitation.

"Then this paper?... These lines?..."

"Those lines were written by me in the course of the conversation. Upon reflection, I threw away the paper. I see now that Dourlowski must have picked it up behind my back and used it in order to carry out his plan.

If the police had discovered it on the deserter, it would have been a proof of my guilt. At least, they would have interpreted it in that way ... as my son does. I hope, monsieur le ministre, that that interpretation is not yours."

Le Corbier sat thinking for a moment or two, consulted the doc.u.ments and said:

"The two governments have agreed to leave outside the discussion all that concerns Private Baufeld's desertion, the part played by the man Dourlowski and the accusation of complicity made against the French commissary and against yourself, M. Morestal. These are legal questions which concern the German courts. The only purpose for which I have been delegated is to ascertain whether or not the arrest took place on French territory. My instructions are extremely limited. I cannot go beyond them. I will ask you, therefore, M. Philippe Morestal, to tell me, or rather to confirm to me, what you know on this subject."

"I know nothing."

A moment of stupefaction followed. Morestal, utterly bewildered, did not even think of protesting. He evidently looked upon his son as mad.

"You know nothing?" said the under-secretary, who did not yet clearly see Philippe's object. "All the same, you have declared that you heard M. Jorance's exclamation, 'We are in France!... They are arresting the French commissary!...'"

"I did not hear it."

"What! What! But you were not two hundred yards away...."

"I was nowhere near. I left my father at the Carrefour du Grand-Chene and I neither saw nor heard what happened after we had parted."

"Then why did you state the contrary, monsieur?"

"I repeat, monsieur le ministre, when my father returned, I at once understood the importance of the first words which we should speak in the presence of the examining-magistrate. I thought that, by supporting my father's story, I should be helping to prevent trouble. To-day, in the face of the inexorable facts, I am reverting to the pure and simple truth."

His replies were clear and unhesitating. There was no doubt that he was following a line of conduct which he had marked out in advance and from which nothing would make him swerve.

Morestal and Jorance listened to him in dismay.

Marthe sat silent and motionless, with her eyes glued to her husband's.

Le Corbier concluded:

"You mean to say that you will not accept your share of the responsibility?"

"I accept the responsibility for all that I have done."

"But you withdraw from the case?"

"In so far as I am concerned, yes."

"Then I must cancel your evidence and rely upon the unshaken testimony of M. Morestal: is that it?"

Philippe was silent.

"Eh, what?" cried Morestal. "You don't answer?"

There was a sort of entreaty in the old man's voice, a desperate appeal to Philippe's better feelings. His anger almost fell, so great was his unhappiness at seeing his son, his boy, a prey to this madness.

"You mean that, don't you?" he resumed, gently. "You mean that monsieur le ministre can and must abide by my declarations?"

"No," said Philippe, stubbornly.

Morestal started:

"No? But why? What reason have you for answering like that? Why should you?"

"Because, father, though the nature of your declarations has not varied, your att.i.tude, during the last three days, proves that you are experiencing a certain reticence, a certain hesitation."

"What makes you say that?" asked Morestal, trembling all over, but as yet retaining his self-control.

"Your certainty is not absolute."