The Girl from Alsace Part 10

Stewart felt his heart skip a beat.

"You will make me conceited, if you don't take care, old lady!" he protested. "And surely I've got enough cause for conceit already, with the most beautiful woman in the world sitting across from me, telling me she loves me. Don't blame me if I lose my head a little!"

The ardor in his tone brought the color into her cheeks.

"You must not look at me like that!" she reproved. "People will think we are on our moon of--our honeymoon," she corrected, hastily.

"Instead of having been married four years! I wonder how John and Sallie are getting along? Aren't you just crazy to see the kids!"

She choked over her soup, but managed to nod mutely. Then, as Hans removed the plates and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, he added in a lower tone, "You must allow me the children. I find I can't be happy without them!"

"Very well," she agreed, the dimple sparkling. "You have been so kind that it is impossible for me to refuse you anything!"

"There is one thing I can't understand. Your English astonishes me.

Where did you learn to speak it so perfectly?"

"Ah, that is a long story! Perhaps I shall one day tell it to you--if we ever meet again."

"We must! I demand that as my reward!"

She held up a warning finger as steps sounded along the pa.s.sage; but it was only the landlady bringing the wine. That good woman was exuberant--a trifle too exuberant, as Stewart's companion told her with a quick glance.

The dinner proceeded from course to course. Stewart had never enjoyed a meal more thoroughly. What meal, he asked himself, could possibly be commonplace, shared by such a woman?

The landlady presently dispatched Hans to the station to inquire about the train, while she herself did the serving, and the two women ventured to exchange a few words concerning their instructions. Stewart, listening, caught a glimpse of an intricate system of espionage extending to the very heart of Germany. But he asked no questions; indeed, some instinct held him back from wis.h.i.+ng to know more. "Spy" is not a pretty word, nor is a spy's work pretty work; he refused to think of it in connection with the lovely girl opposite him.

"We shall have the police with us soon," said the landlady, in a low tone. "Hans will run at once to tell them of Madame's arrival."

"Why do you keep him?" Stewart asked.

"It is by keeping him that I avert suspicion. If there was anything wrong here, the police tell themselves, this spy of theirs would discover it. Knowing him to be a spy, I am on my guard. Besides, he is very stupid. But there--I will leave you. He may be back at any moment."

He came back just in time to serve the coffee, with the information that their train would not arrive until seven-thirty; then he stood watching them and listening to their talk of home and friends and plans for the future.

Stewart began to be proud of his facility of invention, and of his abilities as an actor. But he had to admit that he was the merest bungler compared with his companion. Her mental quickness dazzled him, her high spirits were far more exhilarating than the wine. He ended by forgetting that he was playing a part. This woman was really his wife, they were going on together----

Suddenly Hans stirred in his corner. Heavy steps were coming toward the court along the sanded floor of the corridor. In a moment three men in spiked helmets stepped out into the fading light of the evening.

"The police to speak to you, sir," said Hans, and Stewart, turning, found himself looking into three faces, in which hostility and suspicion were only too apparent.

CHAPTER VI

THE SNARE

As the three men advanced to the table, Stewart saw that each of them carried a heavy pistol in a holster at his belt.

"You speak German?" one of them asked, gruffly.

"A little. But I would prefer to speak English," answered Stewart.

"We will speak German. What is your nationality?"

"I am an American."

"Were you born in America?"

"Yes."

"Have you a pa.s.sport?"

"Yes."

"Let me see it."

Stewart was about to reach into his pocket and produce it, when he remembered his companion's suggestion. So he felt in one pocket after another without result, while the Germans s.h.i.+fted impatiently from foot to foot.

"It must be in my other coat," he said, half to himself, enjoying the situation immensely. "But no; I do not remember changing it. Ah, here it is!" and he drew it forth and handed it to the officer.

The latter took it, unfolded it, and stepped out into the court where the light was better. He read it through carefully, compared the description point by point with Stewart's appearance, and then came back to the table.

"Who is this person?" he asked, and nodded toward the girl.

"She is my wife," answered Stewart, with a readiness which astonished himself.

"She did not arrive here with you."

"No," and he told the story of how he had left her at Spa to recuperate from a slight nervous attack, while he himself went on to Vienna. He omitted no detail--even added a few, indeed, in the fervor of creation--and with his limited German, which his hearers regarded with evident contempt, the story took some time to tell.

The police listened attentively to every word, without the slightest sign of impatience, but long before it was ended, the lady in question was twisting nervously in her seat.

"What is the matter, Tommy?" she demanded, petulantly. "Are you relating to them the story of your life?"

"No," he explained, blandly, venturing at last to look at her, "I was just telling them how it was that you and I had arranged to meet at this hotel."

"Well--now tell them to go away. They are ugly and they annoy me."

"What does she say?" asked the officer.

Stewart was certain that at least one of them knew English, so he judged it best to translate literally.

"She wants to know what is the matter," he answered. "She asks me to tell you to go away--that you annoy her."

The officer smiled grimly.

"She does not understand German?"