Graham Greene (25 page)

“Never!” said Birch, speaking out. “Was it for money that I did all this?”

“If not for money, what then?”

“What has brought your Excellency into the field? For what
do you daily and hourly expose your precious life to battle and the halter? What is there about me to mourn, when such men as your Excellency risk their all for our country? No—no—no—not a dollar of your gold will I touch; poor America has need of it all!”

The bag dropped from the hand of the officer, and fell at the feet of the pedlar, where it lay neglected during the remainder of their interview. The officer looked steadily at the face of his companion, and continued:

“There are many motives which might govern me, that to you are unknown. Our situations are different; I am known as the leader of armies—but you must descend into the grave with the reputation of a foe to your native land. Remember, that the veil which conceals your true character cannot be raised in years—perhaps never.”

Birch again lowered his face, but there was no yielding of the soul betrayed in the movement.

“You will soon be old; the prime of your days is already past; what have you to subsist on?”

“These!” said the pedlar, stretching forth his hands, that were already embrowned with toil.

“But those may fail you; take enough to secure a support to your age. Remember your risks and cares. I have told you, that the characters of men, who are much esteemed in life, depend upon your secrecy; what pledge can I give them of your fidelity?”

“Tell them,” said Birch, advancing and unconsciously resting one foot on the bag, “tell them that I would not take the gold.”

The composed features of the officer relaxed into a fine smile of benevolence, and he grasped the hand of the pedlar firmly.

“Now, indeed, I know you; and although the same reasons which have hitherto compelled me to expose your valuable life will still exist, and prevent my openly asserting your character,
in private I can always be your friend—fail not to apply to me when in want or suffering, and so long as God giveth to me, so long will I freely share with a man who feels so nobly, and acts so well. If sickness or want should ever assail you, and peace once more smiles upon our efforts, seek the gate of him whom you have often met as Harper, and he will not blush to acknowledge you in his true character.”

“It is little that I need in this life,” said Harvey, the glow still mantling over his features. “So long as God gives me health and honest industry, I can never want in this happy country—but to know that your Excellency is my friend, is a blessing that I prize more than all the gold of England's treasury.”

The officer stood for a few moments in the attitude of intense thought. He then drew to him the desk, and wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, and gave it to the pedlar as he addressed him:

“That Providence destines this country to some great and glorious fate I must believe, while I witness the patriotism that pervades the bosoms of her lowest citizens. It must be dreadful to a mind like yours to descend into the grave, branded as a foe to liberty; but you already know the lives that would be sacrificed should your real character be revealed. It is impossible to do you justice now, but I fearlessly entrust you with this certificate—should we never meet again, it may be serviceable to your children.”

“Children!” exclaimed the pedlar. “Can I give to a family the infamy of my name?”

The officer gazed at the strong emotion he exhibited with painful amazement, and made a slight movement towards the gold; but it was arrested by the proud expression of his companion's face. Harvey saw the intention, and shook his head, as he continued more mildly, and with an air of deep respect:

“It is indeed a treasure that your Excellency gives me—it is
safe too. There are those living who could say that my life was nothing to me, compared to your secrets. The paper that I told you was lost, I swallowed when taken last by the Virginians. It was the only time I ever deceived your Excellency, and it shall be the last—yes, this is, indeed, a treasure to me—perhaps,” he continued with a melancholy smile, “it may be known after my death who was my friend, and if it should not, there are none to grieve for me.”

“Remember,” said the officer with strong emotion, “that in me you will always have a secret friend: but openly I cannot know you.”

“I know it—I know it,” said Birch; “I knew it when I took the service. ‘Tis probably the last time that I shall ever see your Excellency. May God pour down his choicest blessings on your head!” He paused, and moved towards the door. The officer followed him with eyes that expressed powerful interest. Once more the pedlar turned, and seemed to gaze on the placid, but commanding features of the General, with regret and reverence, and then, bowing low, he withdrew.

FENIMORE COOPER

he books I read during my three weeks in the Kremlin included: Thucydides, Renan's
Souvenirs d'Enfance et de Jeunesse,
Ranke's
History of the Popes,
Schiller's
Wallenstein,
Rostand's
L'Aiglon,
Archenholtz's
History of the Seven Years War,
Beltzke's
History of the War in Russia in 1812,
Sudermann's
Rosen,
Macaulay's
Life and Letters,
Stevenson's
Travels with a Donkey,
Kipling's
Captains Courageous,
Wells's
The Island of Doctor Moreau,
Holland Rose's
Life of Napoleon,
Carlyle's
French Revolution
and Lenin and Zinovieff's
Against the Current.
I was a serious young man in those days.

R. H. BRUCE LOCKHART

SPARE-TIME ACTIVITIES

Tea in the great hall, over which Lady Jocelyn presided, proved the usual irresponsible function.

WILLIAM LE QUEUX

he Colonel arrived, bursting with apologies, twenty minutes late, and hurried his guest straight into the restaurant. “We must have a whisky-soda immediately,” he said and called loudly for a bottle of “Johnnie.”

During most of the meal he talked about the detective stories he had read, his reactions to them, his opinions of the characters and his preference for murderers who shot their victims. At last, with an almost empty bottle of whisky at his elbow and a strawberry ice in front of him, he leaned forward across the table.

“I think, Mr Latimer,” he said again, “that I can help you.”

For one wild moment Latimer wondered if he were going to be offered a job in the Turkish Secret Service; but he said: “That's very kind of you.”

“It was my ambition,” continued Colonel Haki, “to write a good
roman policier
of my own. I have often thought that I could do so if I had the time. That is the trouble—the time. I have found that out. But …” He paused impressively.

Latimer waited. He was always meeting people who felt that they could write detective stories if they had the time.

“But,” repeated the Colonel, “I have the plot prepared; I would like to make you a present of it.”

Latimer said that it was very good indeed of him.

The Colonel waved away his thanks. “Your books have given me so much pleasure, Mr Latimer. I am glad to make you a present of an idea for a new one. I have not the time to use it myself, and, in any case,” he added magnanimously, “you would make better use of it than I should.”

Latimer mumbled incoherently.

“The scene of the story,” pursued his host, his grey eyes fixed on Latimer's, “is an English country house belonging to the rich Lord Robinson. There is a party for the English week-end. In the middle of the party, Lord Robinson is discovered in the library sitting at his desk—shot through the temple. The wound is singed. A pool of blood has formed on the desk and it has soaked into a paper. The paper is a new will which the Lord was about to sign. The old will divided his money equally between six persons, his relations, who are at the party. The new will, which he has been prevented from signing by the murderer's bullet, leaves all to one of those relations. Therefore”—he pointed his ice-cream spoon accusingly—“one of the five other relations is the guilty one. That is logical, is it not?”

Latimer opened his mouth, then shut it again and nodded.

Colonel Haki grinned triumphantly. “That is the trick.”

“The trick?”

“The Lord was murdered by none of the suspects, but by the butler, whose wife had been seduced by this Lord! What do you think of that, eh?”

“Very ingenious.”

His host leaned back contentedly and smoothed out his tunic. “It is only a trick, but I am glad you like it. Of course, I have the whole plot worked out in detail. The
flic
is a High Commissioner of Scotland Yard. He seduces one of the suspects, a very pretty woman, and it is for her sake that he solves the mystery. It is quite artistic. But, as I say, I have the whole thing written out.”

ERIC AMBLER

have been taken prisoner by the Americans, and stript of everything except the picture of Honora, which I concealed in my mouth. Preserving that, I yet think myself fortunate.

LETTER FROM MAJOR ANDRÉ TO ONE OF HIS FRIENDS

ondon is full of pigeons—wood pigeons in the parks, blue rocks about the churches and public buildings—and a number of amiable people take pleasure in feeding them. In September 1914, when this phase was at its height, it was positively dangerous to be seen in conversation with a pigeon; it was not always safe to be seen in its vicinity. A foreigner walking in one of the parks was actually arrested and sentenced to imprisonment because a pigeon was seen to fly from the place where he was standing and it was supposed that he had liberated it.