Mr. Standfast - John Buchan (autobiographies to read TXT) 📗

thought of what I should say my heart sank, for I knew I would make a fool of myself. You can’t live my kind of life for forty years wholly among men and be of any use at pretty speeches to women. I knew I should stutter and blunder, and I used despairingly to invent impossible situations where I might make my love plain to her without words by some piece of melodramatic sacrifice.

But the kind Fates had saved me the trouble. Without a syllable save Christian names stammered in that eerie darkness we had come to complete understanding. The fairies had been at work unseen, and the thoughts of each of us had been moving towards the other, till love had germinated like a seed in the dark. As I held her in my arms I stroked her hair and murmured things which seemed to spring out of some ancestral memory. Certainly my tongue had never used them before, nor my mind imagined them⁠ ⁠… By and by she slipped her arms round my neck and with a half sob strained towards me. She was still trembling.

“Dick,” she said, and to hear that name on her lips was the sweetest thing I had ever known. “Dick, is it really you? Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“It’s me, sure enough, Mary dear. And now I have found you I will never let you go again. But, my precious child, how on earth did you get here?”

She disengaged herself and let her little electric torch wander over my rough habiliments.

“You look a tremendous warrior, Dick. I have never seen you like this before. I was in Doubting Castle and very much afraid of Giant Despair, till you came.”

“I think I call it the Interpreter’s House,” I said.

“It’s the house of somebody we both know,” she went on. “He calls himself Bommaerts here. That was one of the two names, you remember. I have seen him since in Paris. Oh, it is a long story and you shall hear it all soon. I knew he came here sometimes, so I came here too. I have been nursing for the last fortnight at the Douvecourt Hospital only four miles away.”

“But what brought you alone at night?”

“Madness, I think. Vanity, too. You see I had found out a good deal, and I wanted to find out the one vital thing which had puzzled Mr. Blenkiron. I told myself it was foolish, but I couldn’t keep away. And then my courage broke down, and before you came I would have screamed at the sound of a mouse. If I hadn’t whistled I would have cried.”

“But why alone and at this hour?”

“I couldn’t get off in the day. And it was safest to come alone. You see he is in love with me, and when he heard I was coming to Douvecourt forgot his caution and proposed to meet me here. He said he was going on a long journey and wanted to say goodbye. If he had found me alone⁠—well, he would have said goodbye. If there had been anyone with me, he would have suspected, and he mustn’t suspect me. Mr. Blenkiron says that would be fatal to his great plan. He believes I am like my aunts, and that I think him an apostle of peace working by his own methods against the stupidity and wickedness of all the Governments. He talks more bitterly about Germany than about England. He had told me how he had to disguise himself and play many parts on his mission, and of course I have applauded him. Oh, I have had a difficult autumn.”

“Mary,” I cried, “tell me you hate him.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I do not hate him. I am keeping that for later. I fear him desperately. Some day when we have broken him utterly I will hate him, and drive all likeness of him out of my memory like an unclean thing. But till then I won’t waste energy on hate. We want to hoard every atom of our strength for the work of beating him.”

She had won back her composure, and I turned on my light to look at her. She was in nurses’ outdoor uniform, and I thought her eyes seemed tired. The priceless gift that had suddenly come to me had driven out all recollection of my own errand. I thought of Ivery only as a would-be lover of Mary, and forgot the manufacturer from Lille who had rented his house for the partridge-shooting. “And you, Dick,” she asked; “is it part of a general’s duties to pay visits at night to empty houses?”

“I came to look for traces of M. Bommaerts. I, too, got on his track from another angle, but that story must wait.”

“You observe that he has been here today?”

She pointed to some cigarette ash spilled on the table edge, and a space on its surface cleared from dust. “In a place like this the dust would settle again in a few hours, and that is quite clean. I should say he has been here just after luncheon.”

“Great Scott!” I cried, “what a close shave! I’m in the mood at this moment to shoot him at sight. You say you saw him in Paris and knew his lair. Surely you had a good enough case to have him collared.”

She shook her head. “Mr. Blenkiron⁠—he’s in Paris too⁠—wouldn’t hear of it. He hasn’t just figured the thing out yet, he says. We’ve identified one of your names, but we’re still in doubt about Chelius.”

“Ah, Chelius! Yes, I see. We must get the whole business complete before we strike. Has old Blenkiron had any luck?”

“Your guess about the ‘Deep-breathing’ advertisement was very clever, Dick. It was true, and it may give us Chelius. I must leave Mr. Blenkiron to tell you how. But the trouble is this. We know something of the doings of someone who may be Chelius, but we can’t link them with Ivery. We know that Ivery is Bommaerts, and our hope is