The Maids of Paradise Part 9

"You are not aware that John Buckhurst is the soul and centre of the Belleville Reds?"

"It is--it is false!" she stammered.

"No, madame, it is true. He wears a smug mask here; he has deceived you all."

She stood there, breathing rapidly, her head high.

"John Buckhurst will answer for himself," she said, steadily.

"When, madame?"

For answer she stepped across the hall and laid one hand against the blank stone wall. Then, reaching upward, she drew from between the ponderous blocks little strips of steel, colored like mortar, dropping them to the stone floor, where they rang out. When she had flung away the last one, she stepped back and set her frail shoulder to the wall; instantly a ma.s.s of stone swung silently on an unseen pivot, a yellow light streamed out, and there was a tiny chamber, illuminated by a lamp, and a man just rising from his chair.

IV

PRISONERS

Instantly I recognized in him the insolent priest who had confronted me on my way to La Trappe that morning. I knew him, although now he was wearing neither robe nor shovel-hat, nor those square shoes too large to buckle closely over his flat insteps.

And he knew me.

He appeared admirably cool and composed, glancing at the Countess for an instant with an interrogative expression; then he acknowledged my presence by bowing almost humorously.

"This is Monsieur Scarlett, of the Imperial Military Police," said the Countess, in a clear voice, ending with that slightly rising inflection which demands an answer.

"Mr. Buckhurst," I said, "I am an Inspector of Military Police, and I cannot begin to tell you what a pleasure this meeting is to me."

"I have no doubt of that, monsieur," said Buckhurst, in his smooth, almost caressing tones. "It, however, inconveniences me a great deal to cross the frontier to-day, even in your company, otherwise I should have surrendered with my confreres."

"But there is no question of _your_ crossing the frontier, Mr.

Buckhurst," I said.

His colorless eyes sought mine, then dropped. They were almost stone white in the lamp-light--white as his delicately chiselled face and hands.

"Are we not to be exiled?" he asked.

"_You_ are not," I said.

"Am I not under arrest?"

I stepped forward and placed him formally under arrest, touching him slightly on the shoulder. He did not move a muscle, yet, beneath the thin cloth of his coat I could divine a frame of iron.

"Your creed is one of non-resistance to violence," I said--"is it not?"

"Yes," he replied. I saw that gray ring around the pale pupil of his eyes contracting, little by little.

"You have not asked me why I arrest you," I suggested, "and, monsieur, I must ask you to step back from that table--quick!--don't move!--not one finger!"

For a second he looked into the barrel of my pistol with concentrated composure, then glanced at the table-drawer which he had jerked open.

A revolver lay s.h.i.+ning among the litter of gla.s.s tubes and papers in the drawer.

The Countess, too, saw the revolver and turned an astonished face to my prisoner.

"Who brought you here?" asked Buckhurst, quietly of me.

"I did," said the Countess, her voice almost breaking. "Tell this man and his government that you are ready to face every charge against your honor! There is a dreadful mistake; they--they think you are--"

"A thief," I interposed, with a smile. "The government only asks you to prove that you are not."

Slowly Buckhurst turned his eyes on the Countess; the faintest glimmer of white teeth showed for an instant between the gray lines that were his lips.

"So _you_ brought this man here?" he said. "Oh, I am glad to know it."

"Then you cannot be that same John Buckhurst who stands in the tribune of the Chateau Rouge and promises all Paris to his chosen people," I remarked, smiling.

"No," he said, slowly, "I cannot be that man, nor can I--"

"Stop! Stand back from that table!" I cried.

"I beg your pardon," he said, coolly.

"Madame," said I, without taking my eyes from him, "in a community dedicated to peace, a revolver is an anachronism. So I think--if you move I will shoot you, Mr. Buckhurst!--so I think I had better take it, table-drawer and all--"

"Stop!" said Buckhurst.

"Oh no, I can't stop now," said I, cheerfully, "and if you attempt to upset that lamp you will make a sad mistake. Now walk to the door!

Turn your back! Go slowly!--halt!"

With the table-drawer under one arm and my pistol-hand swinging, I followed Buckhurst out into the hall.

Daylight dazzled me; it must have affected Buckhurst, too, for he reached out to the stone bal.u.s.trade and guided himself down the steps, five paces in front of me.

Under the trees on the lawn, beside the driveway, I saw Dr. Delmont standing, big, bushy head bent thoughtfully, hands clasped behind his back.

Near him, Tavernier and Bazard were lifting a few boxes into a farm-wagon. The carriage from Trois-Feuilles was also there, a stumpy Alsatian peasant on the box. But there were yet no signs of the escort of gendarmes which had been promised me.

As Buckhurst appeared, walking all alone ahead of me, Dr. Delmont looked up with a bitter laugh. "So they found you, too? Well, Buckhurst, this is too bad. They might have given you one more day on your experiments."

"What experiments?" I asked, glancing at the bottles and retorts in the table-drawer.

"Nitrogen for exhausted soil," said the Countess, quietly.

I set the table-drawer on the gra.s.s, rested my pistol on my hip, and looked around at my prisoners, who now were looking intently at me.