A Maker of History
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A MAKER OF HISTORY
by
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Author of
"The Kingdom of the Blind," "The Hillman,"
"The Double Traitor," Etc.
With Frontispiece
[Illustration: "'Guard this for me,' she whispered." (page 148)
_Frontispiece_]
[Illustration]
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Little, Brown & Company
Copyright, 1905, 1906,
by Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
BOOK I
I. AN ACCIDENTAL SPY 1
II. AT THE CAFE MONTMARTRE 11
III. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE 18
IV. THE FALLING OF THE HANDKERCHIEF 26
V. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT 33
VI. THE VANISHING LADY 40
VII. THE DECOY-HOUSE OF EUROPE 48
VIII. "DUNCOMBE'S HOLD-UP" 55
IX. THE STORY OF A CALL 64
X. SPENCER'S SURPRISE 72
XI. A WORD OF WARNING 80
XII. THE SHADOWING OF DUNCOMBE 87
XIII. "HER VOICE" 93
XIV. LAUGHTER OF WOMEN 101
XV. MISS FIELDING FROM AMERICA 107
XVI. MISS FIELDING ASKS A QUESTION 115
XVII. GEORGE DUNCOMBE'S LIE 121
XVIII. "WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?" 129
XIX. A HILLSIDE ENCOUNTER 137
XX. MR. FIELDING IN A NEW ROLE 143
XXI. A WOMAN'S CRY 151
XXII. LORD RUNTON IS SUSPICIOUS 160
XXIII. HER FIRST KISS 171
XXIV. THE EMPTY ROOM 179
BOOK II
I. GUY POYNTON AGAIN 185
II. AN OLD STORY 192
III. A BODY FROM THE SEINE 200
IV. THE INSOLENCE OF MADAME LA MARQUISE 208
V. THE INTERVIEWING OF PHYLLIS 217
VI. THE BLUNDERING OF ANDREW 225
VII. SPENCER GETS HIS CHANCE 234
VIII. A POLITICAL INTERLUDE 243
IX. ARRESTED! 251
X. THE CHECKMATING OF MONSIEUR LOUIS 259
XI. THE MAKING OF HISTORY 267
XII. AN OLD FRIEND 276
XIII. A NEWSPAPER SENSATION 285
XIV. THE MAN WHO SAVED HIS COUNTRY 294
XV. A MERRY MEETING 301
A MAKER OF HISTORY
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
AN ACCIDENTAL SPY
The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was stiff, footsore, and a little
chilly. There was no man-servant arranging his bath and clothes, no
pleasant smell of coffee--none of the small luxuries to which he was
accustomed. On the contrary, he had slept all night upon a bed of
bracken, with no other covering than the stiff pine needles from the
tall black trees, whose rustling music had lulled him to sleep.
He sat up, and remembered suddenly where he was and how he had come
there. He yawned, and was on the point of struggling to his feet when he
became aware of certain changed conditions in his surroundings. Some
instinct, of simple curiosity perhaps, but of far-reaching effect, led
him to crawl back into his hiding-place and watch.
Last night, after many hours of painful walking, two things alone had
impressed themselves upon his consciousness: the dark illimitable forest
and the double line of rails, which with the absolute straightness of
exact science had stretched behind and in front till the tree-tops in
the far distance seemed to touch, and the rails themselves to vanish
into the black heart of the close-growing pines. For miles he had
limped along the painfully rough track without seeing the slightest sign
of any break in the woods, or any human being. At last the desire for
sleep had overtaken him. He was a hardy young Englishman, and a night
out of doors in the middle of June under these odorous pines presented
itself merely as a not disagreeable adventure. Five minutes after the
idea had occurred to him he was asleep.
And now in the gray morning he looked out upon a different scene.
Scarcely a dozen yards from him stood a single travelling-coach of dark
green, drawn by a heavy engine. At intervals of scarcely twenty paces up
and down the line, as far as he could see, soldiers were stationed like
sentries. They were looking sharply about in all directions, and he
could even hear the footsteps of others crashing through the wood. From
the train three or four men in long cloaks had already descended. They
were standing in the track talking together.
The young man behind the bracken felt himself in somewhat of a dilemma.
There was a delightful smell of fresh coffee from the waiting coach, and
there seemed to be not the slightest reason why he should not emerge
from his hiding-place and claim the hospitality of these people. He was
a quite harmless person, with proper credentials, and an adequate
explanation of his presence there. On the other hand, the spirit of
adventure natural to his years strongly prompted him to remain where he
was and watch. He felt certain that something was going to happen.
Besides, those soldiers had exactly the air of looking for somebody to
shoot!
Whilst he was hesitating, something did happen. There was a shrill
whistle, a puff of white smoke in the distance, and another train
approached from the opposite direction.
It drew up within a few feet of the one which was already waiting.
Almost immediately half a dozen men, who were already standing upon the
platform of the car, descended. One of these approached rapidly, and
saluted the central figure of those who had been talking together in the
track. After a few moments' conversation these two, followed by one
other man only who was carrying a writing portfolio, ascended the
platform of the train which had arrived first and disappeared inside.
The young man who was watching these proceedings yawned.
"No duel, then!" he muttered to himself. "I've half a mind to go out."
Then he caught sight of a particularly fierce-looking soldier with his
finger already upon the trigger of his gun, and he decided to remain
where he was.
In about half an hour the two men reappeared on the platform of the car.
Simultaneously the window of the carriage in which they had been sitting
was opened, and the third man was visible, standing before a small table
and arranging some papers. Suddenly he was called from outside. He
thrust his hat upon the papers, and hastened to obey the summons.
A little gust of breeze from the opening and closing of the door
detached one of the sheets of paper from the restraining weight of the
hat. It fluttered out of the window and lay for a moment upon the side
of the track. No one noticed it, and in a second or two it fluttered
underneath the clump of bracken behind which the young Englishman was
hiding. He thrust out his hand and calmly secured it.
In less than five minutes the place was deserted. Amidst many hasty
farewells, wholly unintelligible to the watcher, the two groups of men
separated and climbed into their respective trains. As soon as every one
was out of sight the Englishman rose with a little grunt of satisfaction
and stretched himself.
He glanced first at the sheet of paper, and finding it written in German
thrust it into his pocket. Then he commenced an anxious search for
smoking materials, and eventually produced a pipe, a crumpled packet of
tobacco, and two matches.
"Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed, lighting up. "And now for a tramp."
He plodded steadily along the track for an hour or more. All the time he
was in the heart of the forest. Pheasants and rabbits and squirrels
continually crossed in front of him. Once a train passed, and an excited
guard shouted threats and warnings, to which he replied in fluent but
ineffective English.
"Johnnies seem to think I'm trespassing!" he remarked to himself in an
aggrieved tone. "I can't help being on their beastly line!"
Tall, smooth-faced, and fair, he walked with the long step and lightsome
grace of the athletic young Englishman of his day. He was well dressed
in tweed clothes, cut by a good tailor, a little creased by his night
out of doors, but otherwise immaculate. He hummed a popular air to
himself, and held his head high. If only he were not so hungry.
Then he came to a station. It was little more than a few rows of planks,
with a chalet at one end--but a very welcome sight confronted him. A
little pile of luggage, with his initials, G. P., was on the end of the
platform nearest to him.
"That conductor was a sensible chap," he exclaimed. "Glad I tipped him.
Hullo!"
The station-master, in uniform, came hurrying out. The young Englishman
took off his hat, and produced a phrase book from his pocket. He ignored
the stream of words which the station-master, with many gesticulations,
was already pouring out.
"My luggage," he said firmly, laying one hand upon the pile, and waving
the phrase book.
The station-master acquiesced heartily. He waxed eloquent again, but the
Englishman was busy with the phrase book.
"Hungry! Hotel?" he attempted.
The station-master pointed to where the smoke was curling upwards from a
score or so of houses about half a mile distant. The Englishman was
getting pleased with himself. Outside was a weird-looking carriage, and
on the box seat, fast asleep, was a very fat man in a shiny hat,
ornamented by a bunch of feathers. He pointed to the luggage, then to
the cab, and finally to the village.
"Luggage, hotel, carriage!" he suggested.
The station-master beamed all over. With a shout, which must have
reached the village, he awakened the sleeping man. In less than five
minutes the Englishman and his luggage were stored away in the carriage.
His ticket had been examined by the station-master, and smilingly
accepted. There were more bows and salutes, and the carriage drove off.
Mr. Guy Poynton leaned back amongst the mouldy leather upholstery, and
smiled complacently.
"Easiest thing in the world to get on in a foreign country with a phrase
book and your wits," he remarked to himself. "Jove, I am hungry!"
He drove into a village of half a dozen houses or so, which reminded him
of the pictured abodes of Noah and his brethren. An astonished
innkeeper, whose morning attire apparently consisted of trousers, shirt,
and spectacles, ushered him into a bare room with a trestle table. Guy
produced his phrase book.
"Hungry!" he said vociferously. "Want to eat! Coffee!"
The man appeared to understand, but in case there should have been any
mistake Guy followed him into the kitchen. The driver, who had lost no
time, was already there, with a long glass of beer before him. Guy
produced a mark, laid it on the table, touched himself, the innkeeper,
and the driver, and pointed to the beer. The innkeeper understood, and
the beer was good.
The driver, who had been of course ludicrously over-paid, settled down
in his corner, and announced his intention of seeing through to the end
this most extraordinary and Heaven-directed occurrence. The innkeeper
and his wife busied themselves with the breakfast, and Guy made remarks
every now and then from his phrase book, which were usually
incomprehensible, except when they concerned a further supply of beer.
With a brave acceptance of the courtesies of the country he had accepted
a cigar from the driver, and was already contemplating the awful moment
when he would have to light it. Just then an interruption came.
It was something very official, but whether military or of the police
Guy could not tell. It strode into the room with clanking of spurs, and
the driver and innkeeper alike stood up in respect. It saluted Guy. Guy
took off his hat. Then there came words, but Guy was busy with his
phrase book.
"I cannot a word of German speak!" he announced at last.
A deadlock ensued. The innkeeper and the driver rushed into the breach.
Conversation became furious. Guy took advantage of the moment to slip
the cigar into his pocket, and to light a cigarette. Finally, the
officer swung himself round, and departed abruptly.
"Dolmetscher," the driver announced to him triumphantly.
"Dolmetscher," the innkeeper repeated.
Guy turned it up in his phrase book, and found that it meant
interpreter. He devoted himself then to stimulating the preparations for
breakfast.
The meal was ready at last. There were eggs and ham and veal,
dark-colored bread, and coffee, sufficient for about a dozen people. The
driver constituted himself host, and Guy, with a shout of laughter, sat
down where he was, and ate. In the midst of the meal the officer
reappeared, ushering in a small wizened-faced individual of unmistakably
English appearance. Guy turned round in his chair, and the newcomer
touched his forelock.
"Hullo!" Guy exclaimed. "You're English!"
"Yes, sir!" the man answered. "Came over to train polo ponies for the
Prince of Haepsburg. Not in any trouble, I hope, sir?"
"Not I," Guy answered cheerily. "Don't mind my going on with my
breakfast, do you? What's it all about? Who's the gentleman with the
fireman's helmet on, and what's he worrying about?"
"He is an officer of the police, sir, on special service," the man
answered. "You have been reported for trespassing on the State railway
this morning."
"Trespassing be blowed!" Guy answered. "I've got my ticket for the
frontier. We were blocked by signal about half a dozen miles off this
place, and I got down to stretch my legs. I understood them to say that
we could not go on for half an hour or so. They never tried to stop my
getting down, and then off they went without any warning, and left me
there."
"I will translate to the officer, sir," the man said.
"Right!" Guy declared. "Go ahead."
There was a brisk colloquy between the two. Then the little man began
again.
"He says that your train passed here at midnight, and that you did not
arrive until past six."
"Quite right!" Guy admitted. "I went to sleep. I didn't know how far it
was to the station, and I was dead tired."
"The officer wishes to know whether many trains passed you in the
night?"
"Can't say," Guy answered. "I sleep very soundly, and I never opened my
eyes after the first few minutes."
"The officer wishes to know whether you saw anything unusual upon the
line?" the little man asked.
"Nothing at all," Guy answered coolly. "Bit inquisitive, isn't he?"
The little man came closer to the table.
"He wishes to see your passport, sir," he announced.
Guy handed it to him, also a letter of credit and several other
documents.
"He wants to know why you were going to the frontier, sir!"
"Sort of fancy to say that I'd been in Russia, that's all!" Guy
answered. "You tell him I'm a perfectly harmless individual. Never been
abroad before."
The officer listened, and took notes in his pocketbook of the passport
and letter of credit. Then he departed with a formal salute, and they
heard his horse's hoofs ring upon the road outside as he galloped away.
The little man came close up to the table.
"You'll excuse me, sir," he said, "but you seem to have upset the
officials very much by being upon the line last night. There have been
some rumors going about--but perhaps you're best not to know that. May I
give you a word of advice, sir?"
"Let me give you one," Guy declared. "Try this beer!"
"I thank you, sir," the man answered. "I will do so with pleasure. But
if you are really an ordinary tourist, sir,--as I have no doubt you
are,--let this man drive you to Streuen, and take the train for the
Austrian frontier. You may save yourself a good deal of unpleasantness."
"I'll do it!" Guy declared. "Vienna was the next place I was going to,
anyhow. You tell the fellow where to take me, will you?"
The man spoke rapidly to the driver.
"I think that you will be followed, sir," he added, turning to Guy, "but
very likely they won't interfere with you. The railway last night for
twenty miles back was held up for State purposes. We none of us know
why, and it doesn't do to be too curious over here, but they have an
idea that you are either a journalist or a spy."
"_Civis Britannicus sum!_" the boy answered, with a laugh.
"It doesn't quite mean what it used to, sir," the man answered quietly.
CHAPTER II
AT THE CAFE MONTMARTRE
Exactly a week later, at five minutes after midnight, Guy Poynton, in
evening dress, entered the Cafe Montmartre, in Paris. He made his way
through the heterogeneous little crowd of men and women who were
drinking at the bar, past the scarlet-coated orchestra, into the inner
room, where the tables were laid for supper. Monsieur Albert, satisfied
with the appearance of his new client, led him at once to a small table,
submitted the wine card, and summoned a waiter. With some difficulty, as
his French was very little better than his German, he ordered supper,
and then lighting a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and looked
around to see if he could discover any English or Americans.
The room was only moderately full, for the hour was a little early for
this quarter of Paris. Nevertheless, he was quick to appreciate a
certain spirit of Bohemianism which pleased him. Every one talked to his
neighbor. An American from the further end of the room raised his glass
and drank his health. A pretty fair-haired girl leaned over from her
table and smiled at him.
"Monsieur like talk with me, eh?"
"English?" he asked.
"No. De Wien!"
He shook his head smilingly.
"We shouldn't get on," he declared. "Can't speak the language."
She raised her eyebrows with a protesting gesture, but he looked away
and opened an illustrated paper by his side. He turned over the pages
idly enough at first, but suddenly paused. He whistled softly to himself
and stared at the two photographs which filled the sheet.
"By Jove!" he said softly to himself.
There was the rustling of skirts close to his table. An unmistakably
English voice addressed him.
"Is it anything very interesting? Do show me!"
He looked up. Mademoiselle Flossie, pleased with his appearance, had
paused on her way down the room.
"Come and sit down, and I'll show it you!" he said, rising. "You're
English, aren't you?"
Mademoiselle Flossie waved a temporary adieu to her friends and accepted
the invitation. He poured her out a glass of wine.
"Stay and have supper with me," he begged. "I must be off soon, but I'm
tired of being alone. This is my last night, thank goodness."
"All right!" she answered gayly. "I must go back to my friends directly
afterwards."
"Order what you like," he begged. "I can't make these chaps understand
me."
She laughed, and called the waiter.
"And now show me what you were looking at in that paper," she insisted.
He pointed to the two photographs.
"I saw those two together only a week ago," he said. "Want to hear about
it?"
She looked startled for a moment, and a little incredulous.
"Yes, go on!" she said.
He told her the story. She listened with an interest which surprised
him. Once or twice when he looked up he fancied that the lady from
Vienna was also doing her best to listen. When he had finished their
supper had arrived.
"I think," she said, as she helped herself to _hors d'oeuvre_, "that
you were very fortunate to get away."
He laughed carelessly.
"The joke of it is," he said, "I've been followed all the way here. One
fellow, who pretended he got in at Strasburg, was trying to talk to me
all the time, but I saw him sneak in at Vienna, and I wasn't having any.
I say, do you come here every evening?"
"Very often," she answered. "I dance at the Comique, and then we
generally go to Maxim's to supper, and up here afterwards. I'll
introduce you to my friends afterwards, if you like, and we'll all sit
together. If you're very good I'll dance to you!"
"Delighted," he answered, "if they speak English. I'm sick of trying to
make people understand my rotten French."
She nodded.
"They speak English all right. I wish that horrid Viennese girl wouldn't
try to listen to every word we say."
He smiled.
"She wanted me to sit at her table," he remarked.
Mademoiselle Flossie looked at him warningly, and dropped her voice.
"Better be careful!" she whispered. "They say she's a spy!"
"On my track very likely," he declared with a grin.
She threw herself back in her seat and laughed.
"Conceited! Why should any one want to be on your track? Come and see me
dance at the Comique to-morrow night."
"Can't," he declared. "My sister's coming over from England."
"Stupid!"
"Oh, I'll come one night," he declared. "Order some coffee, won't
you--and what liqueurs?"
"I'll go and fetch my friends," she declared, rising. "We'll all have
coffee together."
"Who are they?" he asked.
She pointed to a little group down the room--two men and a woman. The
men were French, one middle-aged and one young, dark, immaculate, and
with the slightly bored air affected by young Frenchmen of fashion; the
woman was strikingly handsome and magnificently dressed. They were quite
the most distinguished-looking people in the room.
"If you think they'll come," he remarked doubtfully. "Aren't we rather
comfortable as we are?"
She made her way between the tables.
"Oh, they'll come," she declared. "They're pals!"
She floated down the room with a cigarette in her mouth, very graceful
in her airy muslin skirts and large hat. Guy followed her admiringly
with his eyes. The Viennese lady suddenly tore off a corner of her menu
and scribbled something quickly. She passed it over to Guy.
"Read!" she said imperatively.
He nodded, and opened it.
"_Prenez garde!_" he said slowly. Then he looked at her and shook his
head. She was making signs to him to destroy her message, and he at once
did so.
"Don't understand!" he said. "Sorry!"
Mademoiselle Flossie was laughing and talking with her friends.
Presently they rose, and came across the room with her. Guy stood up and
bowed. The introductions were informal, but he felt his insular
prejudices a little shattered by the delightful ease with which these
two Frenchmen accepted the situation. Their breeding was as obvious as
their _bonhomie_. The table was speedily rearranged to find places for
them all.
"Your friends will take coffee with me, Mademoiselle," Guy said. "Do be
hostess, please. My attempts at French will only amuse everybody."
The elder of the two Frenchmen, whom the waiter addressed as Monsieur le
Baron, and every one else as Louis, held up his hand.
"With pleasure!" he declared, "later on. Just now it is too early. We
will celebrate _l'entente cordiale_. _Garcon_, a magnum of Pommery, _un
neu frappe_! I know you will forgive the liberty," he said, smiling at
Guy. "This bottle is vowed. Flossie has smiled for the first time for
three evenings."
She threw a paper fan at him, and sat down again by Guy.
"Do tell him the story you told me," she whispered in his ear. "Louis,
listen!"
Guy retold his story. Monsieur le Baron listened intently. So did the
lady who had accompanied him. Guy felt that he told it very well, but
for the second time he omitted all mention of that missing sheet of
paper which had come into his possession. Monsieur le Baron was
obviously much interested.
"You are quite sure--of the two men?" he asked quietly.
"Quite!" Guy answered confidently. "One was----"
Madame--Flossie's friend--dropped a wineglass. Monsieur le Baron raised
his hand.
"No names," he said. "It is better not. We understand. A most
interesting adventure, Monsieur Poynton, and--to your health!"
The wine was good, and the fun of the place itself went almost to the
head. Always there were newcomers who passed down the room amidst a
chorus of greetings, always the gayest of music. Then amidst cheers
Flossie and another friend whom she called from a distant table danced a
cake-walk--danced very gracefully, and with a marvellous display of
rainbow skirts. She came back breathless, and threw herself down by
Guy's side.
"Give me some more wine!" she panted. "How close the place is!"
The younger Frenchman, who had scarcely spoken, leaned over.
"An idea!" he exclaimed. "My automobile is outside. I will drive you all
round the city. Monsieur Poynton shall see Paris undressed. Afterwards
we will go to Louis' rooms and make his man cook us a _dejeuner
Anglais_."
Flossie stood up and laughed.
"Who'll lend me a coat?" she cried. "I've nothing but a lace mantle."
"Plenty of Frenchmen in the car," the young Frenchman cried. "Are we
all agreed? Good! _Garcon, l'addition!_"
"And mine," Guy ordered.
The women departed for their wraps. Guy and the two Frenchmen filled
their pockets with cigarettes. When the bills came Guy found that his
own was a trifle, and Monsieur Louis waved aside all protest.