CHAPTER II

THE MAN WITH THE BEARD

On the following morning the streets of Fasilica bore mute evidence of the havoc wrought by the looting soldiers the night before. Well it was that the commanding officer of the Turkish forces had halted his victorious troops in their career of plunder with sternness and resolution, or the little city would have been leveled to the ground.

Everywhere doors and windows hung in splinters; the streets were strewn with rubbish and articles of clothing or household goods which the soldiers had thrown away in their haste to escape the punishment of their general; great brownish splotches appeared here and there on the pavement, a testimonial to the misfortune or unhappy resistance of some citizen; and in the business section of the town many of the buildings had been destroyed or damaged by fire.

One of these latter was the convent, which had been totally denuded of all its contents. What remained was a mere skeleton of stone, with its empty gloominess accentuated by the rays of the morning sun.

But the sight appeared to strike Richard Stetton as a joyful one rather than a sorrowful. He stood at the corner of the narrow street at the side, exactly opposite the barred window through which he had entered and escaped the night before.

Half an hour previous he had left Aline Solini and Vivi Janvour in the house where they had found refuge from the soldiers, with the object of ascertaining if the convent was in a condition to admit of their return. Obviously, it was not; hence Stetton’s smile of satisfaction. His adventure, he was telling himself, was not to end with the excitement of the night.

On his way back to the house, he tried to find something to take to his companions for breakfast, but no shops were open; besides, the soldiers had appropriated nearly everything edible for their own use.

Aline met him at the door of the room in which she said Vivi had slept.

In a few words Stetton told her of the destruction of the convent and of the impossibility of their finding shelter there. She received the news quite calmly, giving him her hand with a smile and inviting him within the room. Vivi, who had been sitting in a chair by the window, rose with a timid nod of greeting as he entered.

“The convent is gone,” said Aline, turning to her. “We cannot return there.”

“Gone!” cried the girl, her face turning pale. “But what—are you sure?”

“I have been there,” said Stetton. “It is nothing but an empty ruin.”

“Then what are we to do?” faltered Vivi, looking at Aline. “Where can I go? I have no friends, no home—nothing.”

“You have me.”

Stetton tried, with a sidelong glance, to include Aline in this offer, but felt that the attempt was somehow a failure. She had crossed to the girl and put her arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t be alarmed, Vivi,” she said. “I shall take care of you.”

“And you—have you a home?” asked Stetton.

“I? None.” The tone was hard.

“Nor friends?”

“I have never had any.”

“Then—if you will permit me—I would be only too happy—”

“Wait a moment.” Aline had taken her arm from Vivi’s shoulder and crossed halfway to Stetton’s side. “You are about to offer us your protection, monsieur?”

“I am,” Stetton nodded.

“Then before you continue I have something to say. Vivi, leave the room!”

The girl looked up in astonishment, then, as her eyes met those of the speaker, she crossed to the door without a word and disappeared in the hall outside, closing the door behind her. Stetton, left alone with Aline, sat waiting for her to speak.

For a moment the young woman was silent, regarding Stetton with a gaze of speculation, then she said abruptly, “I thought it best we should be alone.”

“But why?” he stammered, frankly puzzled. “What I have to say—”

“I know what you would say, but you think something very different. Let us be frank.”

“I have no reason to be otherwise.”

“Well, then—what would you say?”

“Merely this, that I place myself at your disposal. You are alone, without friends, with no place to go. I could be of service to you. I will do whatever you say.”

“And why?”

“Need I give a reason?” Stetton began to be a little exasperated. “You are a woman and in trouble. I am a man.”

Aline, smiling, came closer to him.

“Do not be angry with me. If I ask questions, it is because my experience has taught me that they are necessary. You are, then, completely disinterested?”

“Yes, I assure you—”

Aline Solini came closer, still smiling. Her eyes looked full into Stetton’s, filled, as on the night before, with something that might have been either an invitation or a challenge. There was something in their depths that frightened the young man and made him want to look away from them, but he could not.

The woman stood close beside him as she murmured, “Quite disinterested?”

“No!” Stetton exploded suddenly, and he grasped her hand in his own and held it firmly. “No!”

“Ah! You have spirit, then. I had begun to doubt it. Perhaps, after all—But what do you expect?”

“What you will give,” replied Stetton, emboldened by her tone. He still held her hand.

“I do not give,” said Aline, still smiling. “I pay—always.”

She was quite close to him now; he could almost feel her breath on his face. Her lips were parted in a smile, but the beautiful eyes were cold, and Stetton was conscious of an overmastering desire to see them filled with warm surrender. At the same time, he felt a vague uneasiness; there was something terrifying about that unwavering gaze that seemed to be weighing him in some secret scale.

“You may believe it,” he said in answer to her question, while his voice trembled, “for it is so.”

He raised her hand to his lips.

She drew away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Well—we can talk of that later, when you have earned the right. I have something to say to you, Mr. Stetton.”

There was a pause. Presently she continued.

“When you offer me your protection, monsieur, you invite danger. You found me in a convent. I had gone there not to escape the world, but a man. No matter why, he is my enemy—and I am his.”

The gray-blue eyes flashed, brilliant and merciless.

“If you help me, he will be yours as well, and he is not one to be despised. For more than a year he has been searching for me, and though I fancied myself securely hidden in the convent, I was wrong. In some way he has traced me to Fasilica; two weeks ago, as I looked through the window of my room, I saw him pass below in the street. That is why I am willing to accept your aid; I must leave Fasilica at once. If he finds me he will kill me, unless—”

She stopped, looking at the young man significantly.

“But who is this man?” asked Stetton with dry lips. This was rather more than he had bargained for.

“As for that, I cannot tell you. Is it not enough that I hate him?” Aline eyed him narrowly. “If it is not, that is well, you may leave me.”

“But who is he?” repeated Stetton, who, like all men except heroes of romance, detested mystery. Besides, his caution was pulling at his coattails. “If he finds us—”

The gray-blue eyes flashed scornfully. “What, monsieur? But there, I thought you brave. It was a mistake, then?”

Stetton looked at her and his caution vanished.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

She smiled.

“You will help me?”

“Yes.”

“It is dangerous.”

“I accept the danger.”

“Oh,” Aline cried, suddenly, springing to her feet, “if you kill him, Stetton, I will love you! But yet—wait—let us understand each other. I must know what you expect.”

“My eyes should tell you that.”

“They do—but they say too little.”

“It is love that is in them.”

“That is not enough.”

These words had passed rapidly, and Stetton did not understand them—or would not, had it not been for Aline’s significant tone and glance. It was the meaning of these that made him hesitate and bring himself up sharply.

At his decision you will wonder; but not more so than he did himself.

To hear Aline Solini’s words—their bluntness, their sharp precision—and to hear and see nothing else, was to lose all the charm of her, which lay in her electric glance, her soft velvety tones, her little movements of arms and shoulders, provocative, alluring, calculated to fire the blood of any man beyond any thought of caution or price.

It was not with words that Cleopatra persuaded Antony to throw away an empire to remain at her side. Words are never the weapon of a beautiful woman, nor should be. Aline Solini understood this—she knew full well the power she held and its source.

Richard Stetton looked at her. Young, vain, impressionable, he met her glance of fire and was lost. It has been said that her meaning was clear to him, and for a moment, creditable to his caution, he hesitated.

But some few things there are which appear to us, even at a first glance, to be so transcendently priceless that whatever the value set upon them they seem to be cheap indeed; and thus it was with Stetton. Besides, he did not take the time to consider consequences—a habit begun in the cradle.

“It is not enough that I love you?” he said.

“Not—No.” This with a smile.

“Not—with all it means?”

“That is what I do not know.” Aline raised a hand toward him, then let it fall again. “There can be no double meaning here, monsieur. You think I have offered myself to you? Perhaps; but first I must know what you ask.”

Stetton looked at her, and thought of nothing but what he saw. He burst forth impetuously, “I am asking you to marry me, mademoiselle.”

“Ahh!”

This cry, Russian in accent, tender and provocative in tone, was all that was needed to complete the young man’s madness. He grasped her hand, standing in front of her, close, and looking into her eyes. Their glances melted into each other like a passionate embrace.

He whispered, “Say yes—I ask you to marry me—say yes. Anything—anything! Ah! Speak to me!”

“Yes—yes—yes!”

It was a caress and a promise at once, tender and yielding. Sudden tears came to Stetton’s eyes as he folded her gently in his arms and held her so for a long time. To look at her was music; to touch her a song of love.

He could not speak; for two minutes he remained silent, feeling himself overwhelmed by a rush of emotion, strange and sweet, but somehow—not satisfying. He moved a little back from her.

“When?” he demanded.

Aline’s lips were parted in a little smile at this display of eagerness.

“You must wait,” she said.

“Wait?”

“Yes. Have I not said I have an enemy? You have said you love me; you have asked me to marry you; well, we cannot do everything at once. You must realize that I am in danger, that I must first escape—”

“Your fortunes are mine.”

Aline flashed a glance at him.

“Thank you for that. Then—we are in danger. But you must make no mistake. I have not said I love you—though—perhaps in time—You have offered me your protection; I have agreed to marry you; that is all—it is a bargain. It must wait; we must first consider our safety.”

“Well—” Stetton released her, stepping back a pace. “What are we to do?”

“We must leave Fasilica.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere—say—” Aline stopped and appeared to reflect. “To Warsaw. Yes, Warsaw. That is best.”

“But how are we to get there?” objected Stetton. “The whole country beyond here is nothing but a battlefield—indeed”—the young man interrupted himself, struck by a sudden thought—”it is most likely that you will not be allowed to leave Fasilica.”

“Why should they detain us?”

“The policy of the Turk. Anyone who once falls under his authority remains there. But, of course, with the Allies—and yes, by Heaven, that is it! I shall see General Nirzann. He is in command of the Frasars who combined with the Turks in the siege. He will get me passports—I am sure of it.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes—that is, slightly. I came in, you know, with the army.”

“Ah! You are a soldier?”

“No.”

“A journalist?”

“No. I am merely a curiosity-seeker. I looked for excitement, and I found you. Aline! You will let me call you that?”

“As you please,” said the young woman indifferently. “But what of General Nirzann? When will you see him?”

“Today—now—at once.”

“That is well. Vivi and I shall wait here.”

Stetton turned quickly.

“Ah, I had forgotten her! Who is she? Is she to go with us?”

“She is an orphan. Her parents were French—Janvour was a minor diplomat, I believe, who died somewhere in the Balkans and left Vivi to be cared for by the Church. I met her in the convent. She loves me; we shall take her with us. And now, go.”

“Yes.”

Stetton hesitated a moment, then bent over Aline to kiss her. But she held him back, saying, “Not yet, you must wait,” in so cold a tone that he drew away from her half in anger.

Then, looking into her wonderful eyes and thinking of the future, so rich in promise, he turned without another word and left the room to go in search of General Nirzann. As he passed Vivi in the hall, he heard Aline’s voice calling to her to return.

On his way to the street Stetton stopped for a moment in the front of the house to look for the man with the beard, their strange host, but he was not to be found.

Once outside, he turned his steps rapidly toward the center of the town, which was gradually resuming its normal appearance as the citizens, reassured by a proclamation of the Turkish commander, came forth to clear away the debris of the night of pillage.

At the first corner, where he turned, Stetton approached a soldier standing on guard and obtained directions to the headquarters of General Nirzann.

As he walked down the narrow sunlit street, his mind was working rapidly, revolving the incidents of the night’s adventure and their probable consequences to himself.

He did not know what to think of Aline Solini. What was the truth about this enemy whom she seemed to fear so greatly? Was she an adventuress? A political refugee? Perhaps, even, a fugitive from justice?

He did not know. What he did know was that he was afraid of her. Those eyes, whose beauty was eclipsed by the cold light of some implacable hatred of secret design, were not the eyes of innocence in distress.

“I would do well to be rid of her,” muttered Stetton as he turned into the main street. Nevertheless, he continued to follow the route given by the soldier.

Having looked into Aline Solini’s face and felt the quick pressure of her velvety fingers, he was held by them in spite of his native caution that amounted at times to cowardice.

“I would do well to be rid of her,” he muttered again. Then he remembered the intoxicating promise of her lips and eyes as she had said: “You must wait.”

As for time, he had plenty of it for any adventure. His father—a manufacturer of food products, with a plant in Cincinnati and offices in New York—was wealthy and somewhat of a fool, both of which facts were evidenced by his having furnished the necessary funds for a two years’ tour of the world by his unpromising son, Richard.

Richard had been sojourning à lá Soudaine at Budapest, when, on hearing that the mountains to the east were being invaded by the Turks and Frasars, he had betaken himself thither in search of sensation.

At Marisi he had introduced himself into the camp of the Frasars with letters of introduction from Paris and Vienna, and had followed them through their filibustering campaign till they had joined the Turks in the taking of Fasilica.

Then the entry into the town and the adventure of the night before. He was telling himself that he had found the sensation he sought, and, by dint of dwelling on the face and figure of Aline Solini, he became filled with a resolve that amounted almost to heroism.

He would take her away from Fasilica—away from the mysterious enemy whom she so evidently feared, to Moscow, or Berlin, or perhaps even St. Petersburg.

He went up the steps of a large stone building surrounded by a guard of soldiers for the protection and dignity of the general whose temporary headquarters were within.

In the first room off the hall on the right, Stetton found General Nirzann seated before a large wooden table on which were spread maps and papers in apparent confusion. Near a window at the farther end stood a small group of young officers, with swords at their sides, conversing together in low tones.

In the rear of the room a telegraph instrument clicked noisily at intervals. The orderly who had conducted Stetton into the room stood at attention, waiting for the general to look up from his papers.

General Nirzann sat with lowered head, evidently lost in thought. He was a medium-sized man of about forty-two or three years. Beneath his bristling brows a long, thin nose extended in a straight line, and under that, in turn, appeared a dark brown mustache, turned up at the ends after the manner of Berlin.

His dark, rather small eyes, as he raised them to address the orderly, were filled with impatience and irritation. At his nod the orderly turned and left the room.

“What can I do for you?” said the general, looking sharply at Stetton.

The young man approached a step nearer the table.

“I have come to ask a favor, sir.”

“A little more and you would have been too late. What is it?”

Stetton, who did not understand the remark, but thought he observed a grin on the face of one of the young officers who had approached, began to tell in as few words as possible of having found the young woman and the girl in the convent, without, however, mentioning the encounter with the soldiers.

The general waited in silence till he had finished; then he said, “But what do you want of me?”

“Passports, sir, to leave the city.”

“Who are these women—residents?”

“No, sir; that is, they were in the convent; one is French, the other, I think, Polish. They wish to go to Warsaw.”

For a moment the general was silent, dropping his eyes on the papers before him; then he looked up at Stetton.

“You know, this is none of your affair, monsieur. Because you had letters from friends of the prince, you were allowed to accompany us, but only on condition that you would stand on your own responsibility and cause us no trouble. You have annoyed me on several occasions; you are annoying me now. Besides, I do not know that my protection would be of any use; I leave Fasilica tonight. You say you intend to accompany these women to Warsaw. I am sorry for that. I should prefer that you remain here to torment my successor.”

“I am sorry, sir—” Stetton began, but the general interrupted him.

“I know, I know; that will do. You shall have your passports. What are their names?”

“Aline Solini and Vivi Janvour,” said Stetton.

General Nirzann had picked up a pen and begun to write on a pad of paper, but suddenly threw the pen down.

“After all, that will not do,” he said. “I shall have to see these women and question them. Confound it, Stetton, you are more trouble than a dozen armies! Can you bring them here at once?”

The young man hesitated, thinking rapidly. Aline had said her enemy was in Fasilica; would it not be dangerous for her to appear on the streets in the daytime? But the passports must be obtained; it was necessary to take the risk.

“Yes, sir; I can bring them,” Stetton answered.

“Very well, do so.” And the general turned again to his papers, indicating that the interview was ended.

On his way out of the building Stetton, meeting a young lieutenant whom he knew, stopped him to ask why General Nirzann was leaving Fasilica.

“You haven’t heard?” said the officer, smiling. “The prince has recalled him to Marisi and sent old Norbert in his place. He’s in for a picking.”

“Well,” thought Stetton, “that means that we must get our passports as soon as possible,” and he set out down the street at a rapid walk.

He found Aline and Vivi, especially the latter, in a fever of impatience and anxiety. As soon as he told them that it would be necessary for them to go with him to General Nirzann for their passports, this gave way to genuine alarm, in spite of his assurances that no harm would come to them.

“I do not like it,” said Aline, frowning. “Besides—you know—it is scarcely safe for me to appear in the streets.”

“But what are we to do?” demanded Stetton.

“Are the passports necessary?”

“Positively. Every road out of the city is guarded.”

“Then we must make the best of it.” The young woman turned to Stetton suddenly: “It is well you returned when you did; Vivi was frightened. Someone has been tramping up and down in the room in front as though he would tear the house down. Where are we? Who was it that let us in last night? I did not see him.”

“Russian, he said he was,” replied Stetton. “By the way, we must thank him before we leave. I have not seen him this morning. We owe him our lives, perhaps.”

They made ready to depart. Vivi was clinging to Aline’s arm, evidently completely dazed at her sudden contact with the whirl of life, for she had spent most of her years in the convent. As they passed into the hall and toward the front of the house, she kept muttering a prayer to herself under her breath.

At the end of the hall, Stetton, who was in front, stopped and knocked on a door leading to a room on the left. After a moment’s wait a gruff voice sounded.

“Come in.”

Stetton looked at Aline. She nodded, and all three of them passed inside.

The man with the beard was seated in a chair by the window, holding in his hand what appeared to be a photograph. As the newcomers entered and he caught sight of the women he rose to his feet and bowed.

“We stopped to give you our thanks and to say goodbye,” said Stetton. “I assure you, sir—”

“You! Mon Dieu!”

The cry came from Aline.

At the same moment that it reached his ears Stetton saw the face of the man with the beard grow livid with violent emotion, and his eyes flashed fire. The next instant, before Stetton had time to move, the man with the beard had leaped past him to the door, which he locked, putting the key in his pocket.

Aline had at first started for the door, but, intercepted in that attempt, had retreated to the other side of the room, where she stood behind a heavy table at a safe distance; and when the man with the beard turned after locking the door he found himself looking straight into the muzzle of a revolver, held firmly in her small, white hand.

Stetton and Vivi stood speechless with astonishment, unable to speak or move.

“Stand where you are, Vasili.” It was Aline’s voice, calm and terrible. “If you move, I shall shoot!”

“Bah!” said the man with the beard, with supreme contempt. Nevertheless, he stood still. “You may shoot if you like; you will not hit me, and you will not escape me. Fate will see to that. It has sent you to me, daughter of hell that you are! I am coming; you know my strength, Marie; I am going to choke the life out of your lying throat with these fingers.”

As he moved a step forward, he extended his hands in a terrible gesture of menace and hate.

“Look out, Vasili—not a step!”

Disregarding the warning, he leaped forward with incredible agility for his ponderous frame.

As he did so the report of the revolver sounded loud and deafening in the small room, and the man with the beard, halted midway in his leap for vengeance, dropped to the floor with a bullet in his side.

Aline stood motionless, with the smoking barrel leveled at the prostrate form. “See if he is dead, Stetton,” she said calmly.

The young man jerked himself forward, crying. “Good Heavens! Aline, what have you done?”

“Fool!” she exclaimed, “does the sound of a pistol frighten you?” Then, moving round the table and looking at the form on the floor: “And so, Vasili, you found me. So much the worse for you.”

Suddenly the form moved and, muttering a dreadful curse, the man tried to rise to his knees, but sank back helpless.

“So? You are not dead?” said Aline in a tone indescribable.

She raised the revolver and pointed it at the head of the wounded man. But Stetton sprang across and, snatching the revolver from her hand, threw it out of the window before she could pull the trigger. Then he shrank back before Aline’s furious glance.

“Aline! Aline!” Vivi was crying. “Aline!”

“Silence, Vivi!” The young woman turned to Stetton. “We are ready now to go.”

“But he may be dying! We cannot leave him—”

“Let us hope so. But for you I would have finished him. Take us to General Nirzann’s.”

Stetton, completely subdued by the tone of her voice and the imperious look of her eyes, opened the door, taking the key from the pocket of the man with the beard, not without a shudder, and let them pass out before him.

Aline had her arm around the shoulder of Vivi, whose face was deadly pale.

Stetton followed, after a last hasty glance at the prostrate form on the floor, and a moment later they were making their way down the street toward the headquarters of the general.