The Door of Dread/Chapter 3

by Arthur Stringer

 

CHAPTER THREE

THE second evening following the printed announcements of the arrival of Lieutenant Keays at the Coast a number of his younger fellow-officers tendered him a quite informal dinner. This dinner, which was served in one of the upper rooms opening off the dancing-floor, was sufficiently convivial in character to attract the attention of casual couples tired of waltzing and fox-trotting to the strains of an orchestra.

It had been the source of much disappointment to the young stranger from the Brooklyn Navy Yard that Lieutenant-Colonel Diehms had failed to attend this dinner. Yet Wilsnach, keeping his wits about him, did not betray his feelings. For before the evening was over he had the satisfaction of seeing Diehms step into the room where he sat. The last notes of Nights of Gladness had just died away, and to the young Lieutenant-Colonel's arm clung one of the loveliest women that the man from the Paris office had ever had the dubious good luck to behold.

Wilsnach, for all the byplay with those about him, studied her closely, but not so closely as he studied the face of the man with her.

"I call that an uncommonly beautiful woman," ventured the light-hearted Wilsnach to the officer on his right as he glanced toward the small table to which a silver cooler filled with chopped ice had just been brought. "Who is she?"

"That's Madame Garnier," answered the man on Wilsnach's right.

"Then not an American?"

"No; she's merely spending the winter here."

"But why here?" blithely persisted Wilsnach.

"She's rather interested in aviation. They say her husband is Garnier, the French inventor who's getting out that gyroscopic stabilizer for air-craft. She's going to look after the government trials for him."

Yet as the talk at Wilsnach's crowded table grew louder, and the laughter more convivial, the shadowy-eyed woman with the orange opera-cloak looked more than once in the direction of the newly arrived Lieutenant Keays. From under her dark lashes, from time to time, she might even have been detected studying his well-tailored figure with a not altogether impersonal interest. Her companion, it might also have been observed, lapsed more and more into periods of gloomy silence. And if Madame Garnier occasionally spoke at greater length to the young French waiter who attended her table than might seem necessary, and if this waiter showed any undue interest in the neighboring table and its noisy officers, no one outside of the alert-eyed Wilsnach seemed to take notice of the matter.

When the technicalities of a wordy argument among his confrères warranted Lieutenant Keays in producing certain papers and specifications from his pocket, and he allowed these to pass from hand to hand about the table, a close observer might also have noticed the minutest tightening of Madame Garnier's languorous lips. And when these papers were duly restored to the young lieutenant's possession, and later to his pocket, the woman with the ivory-white skin might have been seen whispering certain information to the gloomy-eyed officer beside her. Then as the glasses were refilled and the noisy talk resumed, Madame Garnier and Diehms left the room.

When, an hour later, the last toast had been drunk and Keays' last companion had bidden him good night, he wandered disconsolately but warily about those suddenly quieted upper regions off the dancing-floor. He wandered erratically yet alertly on, with his heart in his boots, for the sudden fear possessed him that Madame Gamier had retired for the night. Then quite as suddenly he felt his heart come back from his boots to his throat. For as he stepped out of the deserted ballroom he felt his body brushed by the perilous fringes of a golden-orange opera-cloak trimmed with sable. At the same moment a little Watteau-like fan of ivory dropped to the floor.

He stood staring down at it stupidly. He heard a small coo of startled laughter and an even softer apologetic murmur of regret. He leaned forward unsteadily and groped about on the polished floor, trying, with what appeared to be the ineffectual struggles of inebriacy, to recover the fan.

The woman at his side laughed a second time, laughed softly and mysteriously, as she stooped and caught it up. Then she crossed the room and passed out through the door into the shadowy darkness of the wide loggia swept by the balmy night sea-breeze.

Wilsnach, with studiously unsteady steps, made his way toward that same door and stepped out upon the same shadowy loggia. There, finding the wide spaces of that balmy-aired veranda unoccupied, he groped his way to a huge rustic chair beside the railing, and after swayingly communing with nature and essaying several fruitless efforts to reform his dangling tie-ends, subsided into a sleep that seemed as untroubled as it was profound.

Out of the shadowy doorway behind the sleeper stole, a few moments later, the equally shadowy figure of a woman in a golden-orange opera-cloak trimmed with sable. She advanced slowly and noiselessly to the railing, close beside the rustic chair. She turned toward the chair, stood motionless and murmured an almost inaudible sentence or two.

Her words, however, brought no answer from the recumbent figure with the straggling tie-ends. So the woman looked quietly about, stepped closer to the sleeping man and stooped over him.

A tingling of nerves needled through Wilsnach's cramped body as he felt the touch of that white hand. The fingers slipped like a snake in under his coat, but he neither moved nor lifted an eyelid. He was conscious of the fact that the woman's breath was fanning warmly at his face, that he lay within the aura of some soft and voluptuous aroma, that there was something perversely appealing about the very nearness of that perfumed body, no matter what mission had brought it so close to his own. He could still feel the slender fingers feeling exploringly about under his coat.

He could hear her quiet little gasp of relief as they closed on the packet of papers which he carried there. And he was conscious of her complete suspension of breath as the hand, still holding his papers, was slowly and stealthily withdrawn.

The next moment she was standing at the rail again, as quiet as a statue, staring dreamily out over the moonlit water. Then she turned and with a quickening murmur of drapery passed out of the circle of Wilsnach's hearing and observation.

He waited there, however, for what seemed a reasonable length of time to reckon at the margin of safety.

Yet the tired limbs remained as cramped as before. For at the very moment he had decided to gather himself together he heard the sound of a stealthy step behind him. A man stood at his side, stooped close over his face and then once more peered cautiously about the darkness. For the second time a tingle of nerves swept through Wilsnach's tired body. And for a second time a hand insinuated itself under his coat, padded quietly about and then proceeded to explore his lower pockets.

But the search proved fruitless. The man swung about, crossed the loggia and hurried in through the open door. As he did so Wilsnach twisted quickly about In the rustic chair, and peered after him.

A second later the disappearing figure had passed from Wilsnach's line of vision. His glimpse of the man was a brief one; and the light had been uncertain. But it both angered and amazed him to realize that his second visitor had been an agent so menial; had been, in fact, one of the hotel waiters.

He was still half-kneeling on the chair, with a head craned about its back, when a quicker step sounded beside him and a hand was clamped on his shoulder. The next moment he saw It was Kestner.

"Who was that man?"

"Never mind who he is. You get down to the carriage entrance and head off Diehms if he tries to climb Into an automobile. I'll get to the main door and stop him there, If he goes that way. If there's no sign of Diehms at your end of the house put a man on guard and get back into Madame Garnier's rooms with this pass-key. For if Diehms and that woman ever get out of this hotel, it's good-by!"

"But what can they do?"

"God only knows! But I've a feeling, Wilsnach, that we'll never see them alive again!"

Wilsnach did not linger to talk this over. He made his way down through the hotel and inspected the neighborhood of the porte-cocheère. He found there, however, no trace of Diehms. So, having slipped a bill into the hand of a sleepy-eyed "starter," he explained what was expected of that attendant and quickly swung back through the all but deserted hotel corridors.

He hesitated for several seconds before the door which he knew to be Madame Garnier's, for he was still uncertain as to what was demanded of him. Then he took a deep breath, fitted the key to the lock, listened intently and stepped inside.

On his right, he could see, stood a partly opened door, and he felt convinced of the fact that it led to a bedroom. This discovery left him a little uneasy and a little uncertain as to how to advance.

Then all thought on the matter suddenly vanished, for a quick sound smote on his startled ear, a sound like that of a window-sash being savagely pried open.

This was followed by a rustle of drapery and the quick sharp scream of a woman. Then came a silence, followed by the sound of a woman's voice, slightly tremulous with terror. "Who are you?"

It was a man's voice that answered, menacing, deliberate and not altogether pleasant to hear. "Never mind who I am. But I want those Navy plans you took off that Easterner, and I want them quick!"

"You will never get those papers," was the woman's deliberately defiant reply.

"I think I will!"

"Those papers belong to the Navy Department and they will go back to the Navy Department, no matter what Keudell or any of his spies may do!"

The man, apparently, had advanced farther into the room.

"Keep back!"

"Not this—"

The sentence was never finished. The next moment a shot rang out, followed by the sound of an uncertain step or two, and then the dull thud of a falling body.

Wilsnach, with his heart in his mouth, ran across the room and darted in through the half-open door.

In the center of the bedroom he saw an ivory-skinned woman in an evening-gown, with a smoking revolver in her hand. Stretched out on the floor lay the figure of a man. Beside him, on the polished hardwood floor, glistened a small pool of blood. And Wilsnach's first glance told him this was the same man who had stooped over him as he lay in his loggia chair.

The next moment Wilsnach was at the telephone. "Send the house doctor to Madame Garnier's rooms at once. At once, please, for it's an emergency case."

Then he called over the wire: "Give me room four hundred and twenty-seven." Frantically as Wilsnach called room four hundred and twenty-seven, he could get no response there from Kestner. And now, of all times, he wanted the guidance and help of his older colleague. For he was in the midst of a tangle that he could not quite comprehend.

"If this is known," still sobbed the woman, "everything will be lost."

Wilsnach stood regarding the tumbled mass of her dusky hair. He stared at it a little vacantly, as though it were no easy thing for him to digest his discovery.

"What shall I do?" cried the white-shouldered woman, as she looked up at him with distracted eyes.

"What do you want to do?" asked the somewhat bewildered Wilsnach.

Instead of answering that question, she stared at him with what seemed to be a sudden reproof.

"Can't you see what has happened here?" she asked, in little more than a whisper.

"I can see that we both seem to be working for the same Service, without quite—"

"Then what are we to do?" she cut in. "For no one must dream I'm in that Service——and every moment means danger!"

"There are several things we can do. The first is to let in that house doctor. But remember, no one else. Then wait for me here until I get back!"

He was off, the next moment, scouring the midnight hotel for some trace of Kestner. It was not until he reached the loggia itself that he caught sight of his older colleague's figure. And Wilsnach hesitated for a moment to approach that older colleague, for he saw Kestner was already accosting a trim-shouldered officer with a military cloak thrown over his arm.

"Lieutenant Diehms?" Wllsnach could hear his fellow-operative say. He could also see the officer's curt head-movement of assent.

"There's a matter I'd like to talk to you about," announced Kestner.

"Why?"

"Because in this hotel, not an hour ago, Madame Garnier stole a number of Navy secrets from an officer named Keays."

The two men confronted each other. Their stares seemed to meet and lock, like the antlers of embattled stags.

"Who are you?"

"I'm from the Secret Service at Washington, and I am here investigating Navy leaks—Navy leaks in which you are involved."

"In which I am involved?" repeater the officer.

"Do you know who Madame Garnier is, and where she comes from?"

"She is a confidential agent of our own government," was the officer's reply. "And she comes from Washington for the same work that you pretend to be doing."

Kestner stood for a moment studying the other man. But his vague look of pity did not desert him.

"I'm sorry for you, Diehms! Truly sorry! Because you've been made a tool of—more than a tool of!"

Diehms swung suddenly about. He caught the other man in a grip as fixed and frantic as the last grip of the drowning.

"By God, you'll not say that!" was his passionate cry.

Kestner had no chance to reply to that cry, for Wilsnach, reluctant to wait longer, stepped quickly up to him.

"Something's happened," announced the newcomer, at a loss as to how he should proceed.

"I know it," quietly acknowledged Kestner.

"But I must speak to you alone!"

"On the contrary. Lieutenant Diehms will be equally interested in the occurrence," coolly declared the older man. "So you needn't hesitate to speak out."

But still Wilsnach hesitated.

"Then I'll do it for you," explained the calm-eyed Kestner. "You were about to announce that Madame Garnier, to protect certain invaluable Navy secrets, has just shot a man who attempted to force those secrets from her. Is that not true?"

"Yes!" gasped Wilsnach.

"And is it not equally true that he was shot in the leg?"

"Yes."

"And yet, Wilsnach, entirely for our benefit! Listen to me, both of you. An hour ago Madame Garnier found she was under observation, when she stole certain papers I've already mentioned. She is a quick-witted woman. She proved this by the promptness with which she pretended she'd taken those papers to forestall their theft by quite another spy. But that spy is her own colleague, once known as Soldier-Ben. For the last three weeks, I find, he has been gay-catting for her here in this hotel as a waiter."

"Preposterous!" was the one word that came from Diehms' lips.

"Yet equally true," continued Kestner. "But that is not all. Madame Garnier had other evidence, to-night, that her position had become a dangerous one. She realized things had suddenly come to a final issue. She made several discoveries, yet one of them was not the fact that during the last three days a dictaphone had been placed in her room—as my duly transcribed shorthand will later show. She knew she was near her last ditch. She had courage, and she had cleverness, so she engineered this particular shooting-scene, promptly and deliberately engineered it with that poor dupe of hers, for the purpose of throwing us off the track, if only for half an hour. During that half-hour, as you very well know, Lieutenant Diehms, you and she would be out of this hotel and in a motor-car headed for the Mexican border."

Diehms stood with unseeing eyes.

"What," finally asked the young officer, "what will this mean—for her?"

"From twelve to twenty years in federal prison at Atlanta," was Kestner's answer.

A visible muscular twinge ran through the man's rigid body. "And for me?" he added.

"Only one thing—court-martial."

The young officer with the premature gray about the temples folded his arms. He stood for several moments staring heavily ahead of him.

"I'd prefer . . . ending things . . . in the other way," he slowly announced.

"l'm sorry," said Kestner, as he looked out over the midnight Bay, twinkling with its countless lights. "But it seems the only way out!"

"It's the only way," echoed the officer at his side.

"But even then there are certain things to be remembered," Kestner reminded him.

"I have not forgotten them."

"Then we can arrange those details in my room, if you'll be so good as to wait for me a moment or two."

Kestner, as the officer walked to the end of the loggia, turned to his colleague, wiping his forehead as he did so. "Wilsnach, the side-show's over, and they've sent word for you to catch the first train for New York. Are you ready to start?"

"Yes, I'm ready," the younger man replied. "But what are you going to do about this poor devil Diehms?"

Kestner stared out over the water.

"You'll find the answer to that waiting for you when you report at Sadie Wimpel's rooms. And then you'll understand why I've been saying that Service work can't always be clean work!"