Читать книгу The Saving Clause - Herman Cyril McNeile - Страница 7

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Do you know that game called "Are you there?" You may find it being played in mess on guest night after dinner, and you will assuredly find it included in any sports that may be held on an ocean-going liner. Its rules are simple: its charm immense--to the onlookers. You lie down on the deck facing your opponent grasping his left hand with your own. Each of you in his right hand holds a rolled-up copy of an illustrated weekly, or some similar weapon. A pillow cover is then placed over each of your heads to blindfold you. At the word go, one of you says: "Are you there?" The other answers "Yes," at the same time moving his head into a position of safety. Any position may be chosen so long as his left elbow remains on the deck, and his left hand remains in yours. You then lift your right hand and aim a heavy blow with the weapon it contains at the place where you imagine his head to be. If you hit it you count one, and then it's his turn. You go on till one or other of you is stunned. In fact, a great game--for the onlookers.

And my reason for this brief dissertation on one pastime of the idle rich, is that it was directly responsible for my hearing a very strange yarn. I am aware that when a teller of stories prefaces one of them with the remark that it is true, the sophisticated reader prepares himself resignedly for a worse lie than usual. And so I won't say that this is true, but merely that it was told me by an American who claims to be a direct descendant of George Washington.

The game was over: the corpses had been laid out on the deck to cool. Personally I had not competed: nor had the American. On the subject of being butchered for a Roman holiday our ideas coincided remarkably. On other points too, there seemed no great divergence in our opinions.

"I've some fruit syrup in my cabin," he remarked, thoughtfully watching one of the corpses arise and stagger aft to die. "Also some vermouth."

"I can supply gin and a shaker," I put in hopefully.

"Good," he said. "Are we there? Yes."

He mixed two of the best, and then he pulled out his cabin trunk and started rummaging through the contents.

"See that?" he said. "What do you think of it?"

It was a piece of black india-rubber about fifteen inches long, an inch wide and half an inch thick.

"A rather good weapon for 'Are you there,' I answered."

"I thought you'd say that," he grinned. "And used for just one blow at a time it would be. Used another way. . . . See here. Put your leg up on that bunk."

I did so, and he raised the rubber thong in his hand.

"I'm not going to hit you hard," he said. "But just see how long you can stand it."

He started above my knee, and worked gradually up my thigh: then back again. And he didn't hit hard. He hit no harder than the smack you would give a naughty child, and a small child at that. Tap; tap; tap--that rubber thong wound itself round my leg in a different place each time. No one blow could even be said to hurt, and yet I only stood twenty-five of them. There's no good suffering agony for nothing. After about the tenth hit every single muscle and sinew in my leg started shrieking at the same moment: after the twenty-fifth I should have begun to shriek myself if I hadn't given in.

He smiled and mixed me another cocktail.

"A souvenir," he said, "of a very strange affair. That game this afternoon put me in mind of it."

"Having half-killed me," I said, "the talking is on you. Fire ahead."

"It took place in Paris after the war," he began. "Everything, including discipline, was a bit lax--same as it was in England. But the war was over and nobody minded very much as long as things were kept within reasonable bounds. I'd been in our Intelligence myself, and when my division went back overseas I got leave to stop on in France for a while.

"I was sitting in my hotel one morning, when in walked a man I knew fairly intimately. His name was John Thripley, and he was in charge of one of our big military stores. Not ordnance, but commissariat: tobacco, ham, tinned beef, all that sort of stuff. I'd been over it once while the fighting was on, and there was enough there to have fed all the belligerent armies for a year.

"I gave him a hail, and he came over and sat down.

"'Morning, John,' I said. 'You look worried. Mice been at the cheese?'

"'In a manner of speaking,' he answered. 'Only they're damned large mice. I'm floored, Bill, and that's straight: and it's a pretty serious business.'

"'What's up,' I said. 'Can I help?'

"He shook his head doubtfully.

"'I'll tell you what it is, but I don't want it to go any further. You know I'm in charge of 'A' dump, don't you? Well about two months ago a bunch of indents were presented in the ordinary way for stuff. I think there were about half-a-million cigarettes, and some boots and two or three hundredweights of ham. Everything was perfectly in order--I've examined the vouchers myself--and so the stuff was loaded on to the lorry that had come for it, and the lorry was driven away.

"'Naturally I thought no more about it, until the next morning produced another batch of similar indents from the same people. The storekeeper brought it to me--by mere luck it happened to be the same man who had handled the vouchers the previous day--and asked me what he was to do. Well, there was only one thing to be done. I got on the telephone to the people who wanted the stuff, and asked 'em what under the sun they wanted with two such big demands on consecutive days.

"'The guy at the other end of the wire began to splutter and asked me what the devil I was talking about. He hadn't sent in two indents: he'd only sent in one. A lorry had left that morning for the stuff, driven by a man named Wilson. And sure enough Wilson was there right enough cursing good and strong at the delay. So there was nothing for it but to load up the lorry and let him go. Whatever mistake had occurred was nothing to do with him.

"'Back I went to the office and hauled out yesterday's indents. Not a flaw to be found in 'em: they were, on the face of things, absolutely genuine. So then I got on the telephone all the way round. I rang up everyone I could think of, and asked them the same question. Had a lorry--and I gave 'em the type of bus it was--turned up for them with the following stores on board--and I gave 'em a detailed list of the stores. No--it hadn't: same answer everywhere. But in case it did arrive they'd ring me up.

"'Well--I never got deafened with that telephone bell. Not only the stores but the whole blamed lorry were never heard of again. About seventy-five thousand dollars' worth of stuff completely vanished.

There was always the possibility of accident, of course, and so I promptly reported the matter to the police. But as the days went by and no news came in, I had to come to the conclusion that we'd been had all right, and that a bare-faced robbery had been committed right under our noses.'

"'Just a moment, John' I put in. 'Did no one recognize the driver?'

"'I thought of that,' he answered, 'but it's a blank. The driver and his mate had on goggles, and the other fellow who helped to load was just an ordinary sort of bloke--quite inconspicuous. My storeman says he might remember him, but he wouldn't swear to it. Don't forget Dick, we get 'em in by the score daily, and if a bunch are out on a game like that they're not going to employ a man with a wooden leg and a strawberry mark on his face.

"'Now that was the beginning of it. Four days later, Anston who runs 'C' store loaded up two thousand pairs of boots, two thousand cardigans, and two thousand suits of underclothes on another lorry. And, damn it, that disappeared into the blue also. Over I went as soon as I heard of it to see Anston, and we compared those indents. Not a trace of resemblance in the writing--not a clue. His, to all appearances, were just as genuine as mine, and there we were stung again good and hard. It was obvious what had happened: it was obvious that the stolen stuff had been sold to the French, or was being kept in some secret place for disposal to them in due course. It was also obvious that we were up against a thoroughly daring gang, of whom at any rate some must be our own people.

"'So that very morning we called a general meeting of all the fellows who were running stores to discuss what was to be done. They'd done it twice now with success, and we felt pretty sure they wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of trying it again. The point was how to catch 'em. They weren't fools, and they must know that the loss had been discovered. Recognition was well-nigh impossible. We had six big depots lying some distance apart, and granted that they only tried one robbery at each they'd be fairly safe in using the same men each time. But since it was more than likely that there was a biggish gang of them, there was nothing to prevent 'em changing round. So at last we decided that the only thing to do, in the event of a big indent coming in, was to ring up the formation making the demand and get it confirmed before issue.

"'By Jove! Dick. We got some pretty blasphemous confirmation down the telephone. What the hell, etc., etc.? Wasn't the indent there staring us in the face? Were we trying to be funny? You see we weren't over communicative as to why we were doing it? No one likes to admit he's been soaked properly.

"'For a fortnight nothing happened. Then in comes Payton one morning to see me, gibbering at the mouth with rage.

"'They've stung me, Bill. Three days ago. Jam, ham, tinned beef--every darned thing you can think of. Best part of fifty thousand dollars' worth. My telephone was out of action that morning, and I was infernally busy. The indent was signed by Jack Cooper: I'd swear to his signature in a thousand. If I've seen it once, I've seen it a hundred times. It was a forgery.'

"'He lit a cigarette, and ramped up and down the office.'

"'I took it out to him, and damn it! it even deceived him. It wasn't until we found there was no carbon duplicate in his office that he was quite sure he hadn't signed it himself and forgotten about it.

"'Well that made three of us who had taken it in the neck and we were getting sorer than Hell. Cartwright of "D" store, and the other two, Mason and Digby, who hadn't been caught were kind of tolerant about it--the implication being that we'd better come along to them and learn our job. At least that was the idea until Cartwright loaded up a lorry with a hundred thousand dollars' worth of stuff which was wanted urgently. He verified everything: had the driver brought into his office to have his photograph taken from about forty different angles, and generally read the riot act all round. That lorry broke down thirty miles out of Paris. The men had stopped at an inn to have their lunch, and no power on earth would start the engine after. I'm no motorist but I gather something had gone in the magneto.

"'Well luckily another lorry--an empty one--passed shortly after going the same way. So they changed the stuff over, and that was that. Cartwright swelled our numbers to four, though he swears it wasn't his fault. Anyway none of the stuff was ever seen again.

"'And that left Mason and Digby. Mason started the ball rolling in fine style. It seems one morning that he got suspicious of a driver who turned up, and there being no flies on Jake Mason he was hit with a brilliant idea. So he got himself nailed up in a packing case reputed to contain tinned meat, and was loaded up with the rest of the stuff. As far as I can make out he was put in upside down and had a sixty mile drive, so he must have had a real fine morning. Still he didn't care so long as he could run them to ground. He'd got two guns with him, and he wasn't going to hesitate about using them.

"'Of course, as I said to him, it might have been a darned good show if the lorry hadn't been a perfectly genuine one. But when they unpacked Jake, the scene was a trying one. They first of all thought he was trying to be funny: then they insisted he was mad. And when poor old Jake tried to explain it wasn't a success. They had indented for tinned meat, and Jake as a substitute left them cold. However, he pacified them after a while, and went back to Paris by train, to find the line in his office darned near fused with the blasphemy coming over it from another quarter. What had happened to the lorry that had started off that morning for Beauvais?

"'At the time Jake had been packed up in his box, so he sent for his quarter-master. Yes--perfectly true. A lorry had started right enough, and the quarter-master had not only rung up to find out that it was all right, but in addition he knew the driver personally. They came from the same town in the States.

"'And here, Bill, the matter becomes even more serious than before. Up-to-date there had been no violence: this time there was. The driver was found more dead than alive in a ditch: his mate is still in hospital unconscious, and the lorry has never been seen again.'

"John Thripley lit a cigarette, and intimated that he was thirsty.

"'That's a very strange story, John,' I remarked. 'For five lorries to disappear like that beats cock-fighting.'

"'Five lorries worth a quarter of a million dollars at a conservative estimate,' he grunted. 'But it's not the money I mind so much--it's not mine. What gets my goat is being stung like that. And the point is, Bill, there is still the sixth lorry to go. Your criminal, and mark you this is no ordinary man, is a darned conceited fellow. And I'm open to a bet that he won't be happy till he's done in Digby. There's another thing too: he's getting to the end of his tether or he wouldn't have taken to violence. Highway robbery in broad daylight on a main road is a pretty dangerous operation.'

"'They probably stopped the lorry and asked for a lift,' I said. 'And then laid out the driver and his mate at a suitable opportunity. Have you got no suspicions at all?'

"'Not the faintest vestige,' he answered. 'And the police seem as floored as we are. They take up the line, and I hardly blame 'em for it, that the criminals are our own people, and that we ought to be able to look after our own affairs. Of course they don't actually say that--but they imply it.'

"The door swung open at that moment, and an officer came in. I didn't know him but John Thripley did, and I heard him whistle under his breath.

"'It's Digby,' he said. 'And something has happened.'

"Just then the newcomer saw John, and came over to our table.

"'By God! Thripley,' he said grimly, 'I don't rest until I've caught those swine. Have you heard what happened last night? It's murder--cold-blooded murder this time.'

"'The devil it is,' said John. 'You can speak out: I've just been telling my friend here all about it.'

"'I was sitting in my office the night before last about five o'clock,' said Digby, 'when one of my sergeants came in.'

"'Look here, Captain,' he said to me, 'I reckon I've got a line on those crooks.'

"'Good man,' I cried. 'Who are they?'

"'I'd sooner not say, sir,' he said, 'for I may be wrong.'

"'How did you get the line,' I asked him.

"'Well,' he said with a bit of a grin, 'there's a little cabaret called the Petit Souris where I go sometimes to have a drink and a dance. And there's a girl there--Marie is her name, who seems to like dancing with me. I was sitting at a table with her last night, and I found I'd run out of cigarettes. So she pulls out a paper packet of Fatimas and offers it to me.

"'Hullo! Marie,' I said, 'Where did you get these from? You're becoming a proper little American.'

"'She laughed and told me that all the girls had them now as they were so easy to get.

"'Is that so,' I answered. 'I didn't know you found it any easier to get 'em now than before. Do the boys give 'em to you?'

"'She shook her head, and then suddenly she sat up in her chair and laid her hand on my arm.

"'Do you see that man who has just come in?'

"'I looked over at the door, and saw an American soldier standing there with a girl on each arm. He'd got the face of a Chicago tough, but in about ten seconds you couldn't see him for girls. They were round him like bees round honey.

"'He seems popular,' I said.

"'Because he gives away so many presents,' said Marie. 'Cigarettes, and jam, and meat, and a pair of boots to Lisette's father, and . . .'

"'But I guess I wasn't listening, Captain: I was just staring at her and then at him.

"'Where does he get them from, Marie?' I said.

"'She shrugged her shoulders: she wasn't interested in that.

"'But I don't like him,' she went on. 'He is a cochon.'

"Digby chewed savagely at his cigar.

"'There's no good my repeating the whole conversation,' he went on. 'All that matters is that my sergeant was pretty well convinced in his own mind that this fellow knew a good deal more than was healthy about these robberies. I don't know whether he gave himself away or not--he must have: but the fact remains that I've just been to the mortuary to identify his dead body. He'd been plugged through the heart at close range. You could see the mark of the scorch on his coat.'

"'When did it happen?' I asked.

"'Some time last night,' he answered. 'And I don't quit Paris till I've caught the guy who did it.'

"Which was a very fine sentiment, but easier to say than to carry out. The sergeant had not mentioned the man's name: in fact Digby couldn't say if he even knew it. All that we had to go on was that he looked like a Chicago tough, and had been in this cabaret place two nights previously. Also--and in this, so it seemed to me, lay our trump card--that he was well-known and popular with the little ladies of the quarter.

"Quite obviously the Petit Souris was our jumping-off ground, but at once there cropped up a difficulty. If this man was the man or one of the men we wanted, he was pretty well certain to know both Digby and Thripley by sight. And the instant he saw them in such an unexpected haunt he'd be bound to smell a rat. Now we hadn't an atom of proof to go on, and the one essential thing was not to scare our bird if we were to have a hope of bringing it home to him.

"'There's only one thing to do,' I said. 'Let me go to this place alone. I've got plain clothes here, and he won't know me. I'll get in touch with this girl Marie if I can, and if I see this fellow I'll remember his face and that will put us a step forward anyway. Once he's known, it oughtn't to be difficult to get enough proof to convict him.'

"So that evening I went off to the Petit Souris. I got there about nine, and found it the usual sort of place. There were some twenty girls there, a few Frenchmen and two or three Britishers. But there was no sign of any American soldier.

"'Tell me,' I said to the waiter who brought my drink, 'is there any girl here of the name of Marie?'

"'Mon Dieu, m'sieur,' he cried, 'half-a-dozen at least.'

"'I guessed that,' I answered. 'But throw your memory back, my lad, three nights ago. Do you remember an American sous officier who was in here sitting at a table with one of those six Maries?'

"He gave me a quick look of suspicion, and I knew I'd started one hare. His face assumed a look of bovine imbecility and he shook his head. So many people came in that he had completely forgotten the incident. He regretted it deeply, but he couldn't assist me.

"'You may keep the change,' I remarked, showing him a twenty franc note, 'if your memory improves. But it must be the right Marie.'

"He hesitated: cupidity struggling with fear. Then suddenly he leant forward on the pretence of drying the table with a napkin.

"'This is not a good place for Americans, sir,' he whispered. 'I would go if I was you.'

"'Well you're not me,' I said. 'And I'm not going. Now then--has your memory come back?'

"He shrugged his shoulders.

"'As M'sieur wishes. The girl you want is the one in green sitting by herself three tables away.'

"'Good for you,' I said. 'There's the note.'

"He bustled away, and after a moment or two I glanced casually at the girl. She was a pretty little thing, and I noticed she kept looking at the door as if she was expecting someone. And very soon I noticed another thing, too. All the other girls--at least all those who hadn't got men with them--were looking at her surreptitiously and whispering amongst themselves. Evidently there was some secret which concerned her, and of which, so it struck me, she was in ignorance.

"Further it seemed to me that I was the object of a considerable amount of interest. At first I thought it was simply because I was a stranger, but after a while I began to realize that it was something more than that. It's hard to explain exactly what I mean, but it struck me that in some way my presence was being connected with this girl Marie. It wasn't the waiter because I'd noticed it before I spoke to him. It couldn't be me personally for I'd never been to the place before, and no one there knew me. So it boiled down to the fact that it must be because I was an American.

"Well there was no good wasting time. I was there to see Marie, and get what I could out of her. So when I'd finished my drink I got up and strolled over to her table, conscious that every girl in the room was watching me.

"'Will you give me the pleasure of a dance, mam'selle,' I asked.

"She stared at me for a while without speaking.

"'I am not dancing to-night,' she said quietly.

"'Too bad,' I answered, sitting down beside her. 'I've been watching you, and it seems to me you're waiting for somebody. I wonder if I can guess who it is.'

"'Are you an American officer?' she asked.

"'I am,' I said. 'Why do you ask?'

"'Then, M'sieur--go away. This place is not safe for you. It is not safe for any American. Mon Dieu! if I only knew what had happened . . .'

"She broke off, and sat there twisting her handkerchief between her fingers.

"'Happened to whom,' I asked her.

"'M'sieur--do you know a Sergeant Franklin?'

"Now that was the name of Digby's murdered sergeant: I'd asked him.

"'What do you know of Sergeant Franklin,' I said cautiously.

"'Listen, m'sieur--he was my friend. He promised that he would be here last night--but he never came. And I must see him. I must warn him.'

"I took the bull by both horns.

"'Marie,' I said: 'Sergeant Franklin was murdered last night.'

"For a moment I thought she was going to faint. Her face turned the colour of the tablecloth, and her breath came in little gasps.

"'Take a pull at yourself, my dear,' I went on. 'It's because of that that I'm sitting here talking to you. Do you know who it was who killed him?'

"But she hardly seemed to hear the question.

"'So that's what all the mystery is,' she whispered savagely. 'They knew--these pigs.'

"She sat up suddenly and stared at the door.

"'Mon Dieu! he is early to-night. M'sieur, don't look round. For God's sake don't look round. Do you want me to help you to find the man who murdered Sergeant Franklin?'

"'Sure thing, Marie,' I said. 'But will you be all right. I don't want to get you into trouble.'

"She laughed a little harshly.

"'What does it matter about me,' she cried impatiently. 'Don't you understand that I loved him. And that brute--that devil killed him. Because of what I said. Do you suppose I mind--now--if they kill me. As they will.'

"She added those last three words under her breath.

"'Will you promise to do exactly what I say?'

"'I promise.' I saw there was no time for argument.

"'First--give me your address.'

"I told her the name of my hotel.

"'Good. To-morrow morning I will ring you up there. Then come to the address I shall give you, and bring with you some friends. But now to-night there is not much time. In a few seconds a man will come up to this table. He will insult you: I, too, shall seem to agree with him. Say nothing: answer nothing--just go.'

"She sat back in her chair laughing, and snapped her fingers in my face. It was done so suddenly: her change of expression was so abrupt that for a moment I was nonplussed. Then as a coarse voice spoke from behind my shoulder, I understood.

"'And who under the sun may you be?'

I turned round to find an American private regarding me offensively, and for a moment my temper almost got the better of me. I'd forgotten that I was in plain clothes and that he couldn't know I was an officer. He was a villainous looking swine--one of the type it's better to avoid unless you're asking for trouble--and I guessed at once that this was the Chicago tough of whom Sergeant Franklin had spoken to Digby.

"'Get out,' he snarled. 'Beat it while the going's good, or you may find yourself leaving feet first.'

"The girl laughed as I rose to my feet, and got rid of a choice bit of Parisian argot at my expense. And then for an instant the man turned away to shout to the waiter and her eyes rested on his back. By Jove! I've never seen such a depth of concentrated hatred on anyone's face before or since. It was diabolical--devilish. But when I got to the door he was sitting beside her with his arm round her waist, and she was pointing a derisive finger at me. Evidently the game had commenced. The point that worried the others was whether it was genuine--or not.

"They were all round in my hotel early the next morning, to say nothing of the Provost Marshal, and we discussed it while we waited. Personally I felt sure that the girl was on our side, but they weren't so certain. They hadn't seen that look in her eyes, and were sceptical about the whole thing.

"'On her own showing,' as Digby said, 'this fellow has been giving things away lavishly. Granted that it's the same man, didn't she tell that poor devil Franklin so? So is she likely to split on him?'

"And at that very moment the telephone bell rang. I picked up the receiver and from the other end came her voice.

"'Come at once to 15, Rue de St. Gare!'

"It was tense, that voice of hers--tense and quivering with excitement, and her mood communicated itself to me.

"'Come on, you fellows,' I cried. 'The Kid has done what she said.'

"We tumbled into a couple of taxis, each of us with a gun in his pocket. There was always the possibility of a trap, and we were taking no chances. And in ten minutes we arrived at her house. She came down to meet us at the door, and her face was white with dark rings under her eyes.

"'Good morning, Marie,' I said, holding out my hand. 'What has happened?'

"'Come and see,' she answered briefly, and led the way upstairs.

"We crowded into the room after her to find a strange sight confronting us. Lashed hand and foot to a chair was the man I had met the night before, and he was unconscious.

"'You want the truth,' she said quietly. 'All right: you're going to have it. Go in there.'

"'Look here, Marie,' I said nervously. 'What are you going to do?'

"With a girl of that type you never can tell, and I had visions of vitriol and other choice devices.

"'Don't be afraid,' she said contemptuously. 'I'll leave the brute for you just as he is.'

"It was her bedroom we went into, and it was behind the chair where the man sat bound so that he couldn't see us though we could see him.

"'Don't make a sound,' she said to us. 'I'm going to wake him.'

"She picked up a jug of cold water and flung it in his face, and after a moment or two he gave a spluttering cough and his head moved.

"'What the hell has happened,' he muttered stupidly.

"Then he stared at the girl who was facing him across the table.

"'I'll kill you for this,' he snarled, and she laughed and picked up that india-rubber strap.

"'What are you going to do with that,' he shouted and there was terror in his voice.

"'Get the truth, you devil,' she answered.

"You could see the man's great muscles heaving and straining at the ropes that held him, but she'd lashed him in too well, had Marie.

"'What's the good of the truth,' he screamed. 'I'll deny it after, and there will be no proof.'

"'I'll chance that,' she said quietly, and started in on him with the strap.

"Up one leg--down the other; up one arm--down the other; again and again and again, while we watched, fascinated. At the beginning of the third circuit he gave an awful groan and she paused.

"'Who killed Sergeant Franklin,' she asked.

"A flood of abuse was the only answer.

"At the beginning of the fifth she repeated the question, and by this time the sweat had come clean through his clothes, and he was dripping like a sponge. But he still stuck it.

"At the beginning of the seventh he gave in.

"'I did,' he croaked.

"'Why did you kill him,' she demanded.

"'Because he knew too much,' he muttered.

"'About you stealing the lorries,' she went on.

"'Of course,' he cried. 'What else? Let me get up, you devil; let me get up.'

"'Not yet. I want the names of the men who have been helping you.'

"He gave 'em--half-a-dozen in all, and six men in the back-room jotted down those names as he said them.

"'Now let me up, you she-cat,' he snarled. 'And may God help you when I get my hands on you.'

"But Marie had slipped suddenly to the floor, and when we got to her we found she'd fainted."

The American paused, fingering the rubber strap thoughtfully.

"What was the end?" I asked.

"The chair in America for him," he answered grimly. "Our methods of examination are a little more drastic than yours, and we got the truth pretty effectively out of his confederates. They were deserters--the lot of 'em, and O'Brien, the leader, was an expert forger to boot. Moreover he was wanted for murder on our side as well: so, as there was a prejudice against killing an American in France they did the good deed in America."

"And Marie?" I asked.

"They got her all right, though I don't know how. Someone gave her away I suppose. Personally I never saw her again. But once--just before I left Paris I was walking through the cemetery where Franklin was buried. And there was a little bunch of cheap flowers on his grave. They were old and faded, and I turned to an attendant near by:

"'Who put these here?' I asked.

"He shrugged his shoulders.

"'A girl, m'sieur,' he answered. 'And I have let them remain. They are dead--but then so is she.'

"'What's that?' I cried. 'Marie dead.'

"'M'sieur knew her,' he said indifferently. 'But yes--she is dead. She was stabbed in the heart not a hundred yards from the cemetery gates the same evening that she put those flowers on the grave. Who by? M'sieur, who knows?C'est la guerre, n'est-ce-pas--or very nearly.."