The Dark Star

If you find yourself embarrassed financially, cable me just one word, “Black,” and I shall arrange matters through a New York bank.

If you feel that you do not care to do me this favour, cable the single word, “White.”

If you have sufficient funds, and are willing to bring the box to me yourself, cable the word, “Blue.”

In case that you undertake this business for me, be careful of the contents of the box. Let nobody see it open. Be certain that the contents are absolutely secure. I dare not tell you how vitally important to civilisation these papers already are – how much they may mean to the world; what powers of evil they might encourage if in any way they fall into other hands than the right ones.

Jim, I have seldom taken a very serious tone with you since we have known each other. I am very serious now. And if our friendship means anything to you, prove it!

    Yours,
    Naïa.

As he sat there in his studio, perplexed, amazed, annoyed, yet curious, trying to think out what he ought to do – what, in fact, must be done somehow or other – there came a ring at his door bell. A messenger with a cable despatch stood there; Neeland signed, tore open the envelope, and read:

Please go at once to Brookhollow and secure an olive-wood box bound with silver, containing military maps, plans, photographs, and papers written in German, property of Ruhannah Carew. Lose no time, I implore you, as an attempt to rob the house and steal the papers is likely. Beware of anybody resembling a German. Have written, but beg you not to wait for letter.

    Naïa.

Twice he reread the cablegram. Then, with a half-bewildered, half-disgusted glance around at his studio, his belongings, the unfinished work on his easel, he went to the telephone.

It being July he had little difficulty in reserving a good stateroom on the Cunarder Volhynia, sailing the following day. Then, summoning the janitor, he packed a steamer trunk and gave order to have it taken aboard that evening.

On his way downtown to his bank he stopped at a telegraph and cable office and sent a cable message to the Princess Mistchenka. The text consisted of only one word: “Blue.”

He departed for Gayfield on the five o’clock afternoon train, carrying with him a suitcase and an automatic pistol in his breast pocket.

CHAPTER XIV

A JOURNEY BEGINS

It was a five-hour trip. He dined aboard the train with little desire for food, the July evening being oppressive, and a thunder storm brewing over the Hudson. It burst in the vicinity of Fishkill with a lively display of lightning, deluging the Catskills with rain. And when he changed to a train on the Mohawk division the cooler air was agreeably noticeable.

He changed trains again at Orangeville, and here the night breeze was delightful and the scent of rain-soaked meadows came through the open car window.

It was nearly ten o’clock and already, ahead, he caught sight of the lights of Neeland’s Mills. Always the homecoming was a keen delight to him; and now, as he stepped off the train, the old familiar odours were in his nostrils – the unique composite perfume of the native place which never can be duplicated elsewhere.

All the sweet and aromatic and homely smells of earth and land and water came to him with his first deep-drawn breath. The rank growth of wild flowers and weeds were part of it – the flat atmosphere of the mill pond, always redolent of water weed and lily pads, tinctured it; distant fields of buckwheat added heavier perfume.

Neither in the quaint brick feed mill nor in the lumber mill were there any lights, but in his own home, almost buried among tall trees and vines, the light streamed from the sitting-room windows.

From the dark yard two or three dogs barked at him, then barked again in a different key, voicing an excited welcome; and he opened the picket gate and went up the path surrounded by demonstrative setters and pointers, leaping and wagging about him and making a vast amount of noise on the vine-covered verandah as he opened the door, let himself into the house, and shut them out.

“Hello, dad!” he said, crossing swiftly to where his father sat by the reading lamp.

Their powerful grip lingered. Old Dick Neeland, ruddy, white-haired, straight as a pine, stood up in his old slippers and quilted smoking coat, his brier pipe poised in his left hand.

“Splendid, Jim. I’ve been thinking about you this evening.” He might have added that there were few moments when his son was not in his thoughts.

“Are you all right, dad?”

“Absolutely. You are, too, I see.”

They seated themselves.

“Hungry, Jim?”

“No; I dined aboard.”

“You didn’t telegraph me.”

“No; I came at short notice.”

“Can’t you stay?”

“Dad, I have a drawing-room reserved for the midnight tonight, and I am sailing on the Volhynia tomorrow at nine in the morning!”

“God bless me! Why, Jim?”

“Dad, I’ll tell you all I know about it.”

His father sat with brier pipe suspended and keen blue eyes fixed on his son, while the son told everything he knew about the reason for his flying trip to Paris.

“You see how it is, don’t you, dad?” he ended. “The Princess has been a good and loyal friend to me. She has used her influence; I have met, through her, the people I ought to know, and they have given me work to do. I’m in her debt; I’m under real obligation to her. And I’ve got to go, that’s all.”

Old Dick Neeland’s clear eyes of a sportsman continued to study his son’s face.

“Yes, you’ve got to go,” he said. He smoked for a few moments, then: “What the devil does it mean, anyway? Have you any notion, Jim?”

“No, I haven’t. There seems to be some military papers in this box that is mentioned. Evidently they are of value to somebody. Evidently other people have got wind of that fact and desire to obtain them for themselves. It almost seems as though something is brewing over there – trouble of some sort between Germany and some other nation. But I haven’t heard of anything.”

His father continued to smoke for a while, then:

“There is something brewing over there, Jim.”

“I hadn’t heard,” repeated the young man.

“I haven’t either, directly. But in my business some unusual orders have come through – from abroad. Both France and Germany have been making inquiries through agents in regard to shipments of grain and feed and lumber. I’ve heard of several very heavy rush orders.”

“What on earth could cause war?”

“I can’t see, Jim. Of course Austria’s attitude toward Servia is very sullen. But outside of that I can see no trouble threatening.

“And yet, the Gayfield woollen mill has just received an enormous order for socks and underwear from the French Government. They’re running all night now. And another thing struck me: there has been a man in this section buying horses for the British Government. Of course it’s done now and then, but, taking this incident with the others which have come to my personal knowledge, it would seem as though something were brewing over in Europe.”

Jim’s perplexed eyes rested on his father; he shook his youthful head slightly:

“I can’t see why,” he said. “But if it’s to be France and Germany again, why my sympathy is entirely for France.”