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Page 48
Without a word the girl turned round to the room she had just left. She
beckoned to me, then knocked and went in. I followed her. It was a big,
pleasant bedroom, elegantly furnished with a soft carpet and silk
hangings, and I know not what, with shaded lights and flowers in
profusion. Sitting up in bed was a stout, placid-looking woman in a pink
silk kimono with her hair coquettishly braided in two short pigtails
which hung down on either side of her face.
Monica closed the door softly behind her.
"Why, Monica!" she exclaimed in horror--and her speech was that of the
United States--"what on earth ...?"
"Not a word, Mary, but let me explain...."
"But for land's sake, Monica...."
"Mary, I want you to help...."
"But say, child, a man ... in my bedroom ... at this time o' night...."
"Oh, shucks, Mary! let me talk."
The distress of the woman in bed was so comic that I could scarcely help
laughing. She had dragged the bed-clothes up till only her eyes could be
seen. Her pigtails bobbed about in her emotion.
"Now, Mary dear, listen here. You're a friend of mine. This is Desmond
Okewood, another, a very old and dear friend of mine too. Well, you
know, Mary, this isn't a healthy country these times for an English
officer. That's what Desmond here is. I didn't know he was in Germany. I
don't know a thing about him except what he's told me and that's that
he's in danger and wants me to help him. I met him outside and brought
him right in here, as I know you would want me to, wouldn't you, dear?"
The lady poked her nose over the top of the bed-clothes.
"Present the gentleman properly, Monica!" she said severely.
"Captain Okewood ... Miss Mary Prendergast," said Monica.
The lady's head, pigtails and all, now appeared. She appeared to be
somewhat mollified.
"I can't say I approve of your way of doing things, Monica," she
observed, but less severely than before, "and I can't think what an
English officer wants in my bedroom at ten minutes of two in the
morning, but if those Deutschers want to find him, perhaps I can
understand!"
Here she smiled affectionately on the beautiful girl at my side.
"Ah! Mary, you're a dear," replied Monica.
"I knew you'd help us. Why, a British officer in Germany ... isn't it
too thrilling?"
She turned to me.
"But, Des," she said, "what do you want me to do?"
I knew I could trust Monica and I resolved I would trust her friend
too... she looked a white woman all right. And if she was a friend of
Monica's, her heart would be in the right place. Francis and I had known
Monica all our lives almost. Her father had lived for years ... indeed
to the day of his death ... in London as the principal European
representative of a big American financial house. They had lived next
door to us in London and Francis and I had known Monica from the days
when she was a pretty kid in short skirts until she had made her debut
and the American ambassadress had presented her at Buckingham Palace. At
various stages of our lives, both Francis and I had been in love with
her, I believe, but my life in the army had kept me much abroad, so
Francis had seen most of her and had been the hardest hit.
Then the father died and Monica went travelling abroad in great state,
as befits a young heiress, with a prodigiously respectable American
chaperon and a retinue of retainers. I never knew the rights of the case
between her and Francis, but at one of the German embassies abroad--I
think in Vienna--she met the young Count Rachwitz, head of one of the
great Silesian noble houses, and married him.
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