"You rang, Lady Gardiner," said Dr. Grayle, "to ask for a telegraph form, just as you might in a civilized place, didn't you? But this isn't a civilized place, and the methods are not all civilized. Now, here is the servant you rang for. If you persist in carrying out your intention I shall lock you in this room, take the key, and tell the landlord that you are a harmless lunatic, under my medical supervision. I think I shall not in that case lack for a.s.sistance in keeping you within bounds."

Kate glared at him, panting, for a moment. Then, controlling her voice, she asked the servant in French for some hot water. Having done this, she slammed the door in the little man's face, which was the only satisfaction she got out of the incident. She was inclined to remain sulking in the bedroom, but though the spirit was willing the flesh was weak, and the pangs of hunger drove her forth. Dr. Grayle was awaiting her in the corridor, a watchdog, patient and placid.

The missing three did no more aimless sauntering after they had slipped round a corner and eluded Kate Gardiner's curious eyes. Had their business not been of life-and-death importance, they would have felt like children escaped from school; since the least imprudence might lose them the stake for which they played, and Kate's presence had been a check and cause of delay. Fortunately, it was not yet the hour of _dejeuner_, even in Noumea, and they made up for lost time by hastening to the Governor's offices, which were in a white-painted, two-story building of wood, with a verandah facing the almost deserted street.

It was Sir Roger Broom who had used his influence in obtaining a special letter from the Minister of Colonies to the Governor of New Caledonia, and he now sent it in with his card, and those of his friends, by a clerk. For a few moments they waited, soldiers in gay uniforms, gendarmes and convict messengers pa.s.sing in and out on various errands, all gazing with surprised, if furtive, interest at the extraordinarily beautiful girl in white. Presently the Governor was ready to receive his guests, and his turn came to be astonished by Virginia. She was the first lady who had ever come to Noumea, he said, on a journey of pleasure. Ah, the American young ladies, they were wonderful, amazing! He asked a few questions about the yacht, the trip they had had, and his old friend the Minister of Colonies, then countersigned the credentials for the party, and dashed off a letter to the Director of the Penitentiary Administration.

It was upon the latter official that everything depended. So far all was satisfactory; but if the Director (who was supreme in authority over the prison, not answerable even to the Governor) chose to be ungracious, they might go back whence they had come without even attempting that bold stroke in the hope of which they had paid this visit. They had dared, however, show no signs of their consuming anxiety. With smiling thanks they bade good-bye to the Governor and went on, in the fitful silence of suspense, to the Direction.

Again the letters and cards were borne away by a clerk. There was more waiting; and when they were ushered into a large, cool, dusky room, strangely still behind its heavy double doors, Virginia was glad of the gloom, lest her pallor should excite suspicion.

Afterward Roger and George said to each other that if it had not been for Virginia they believed the Director would have politely, but firmly, refused to grant the special privileges they craved. Others had received ordinary permits to "view" the penitentiary establishment, yet very few, indeed (save those who went because they must), had been suffered by the authorities to pa.s.s the prison gates. But what Frenchman could refuse any favour in his power to the all-conquering Virginia? The Director would have been well within his rights, and could not have been accused of discourtesy, if he had allowed a certain short, concise sentence at the left-hand corner of the official sheet of paper which he signed, to remain. But instead he scratched it out with two quick strokes of the pen; and the doors of the prison and its cells were practically thrown open.

He, too, asked questions, and seemed wistfully loth to part with these interesting visitors from a far-away world, whose echoes he seldom heard.

He smiled indulgently when Virginia fluently told the story prepared beforehand: the book she and her brother had been commissioned to write by a prominent American publishing firm; how it was to be all about this yachting trip, with Noumea as the _piece de resistance_ of the story.

They expected, George Trent chimed in by saying, to stop on board their yacht in the harbour for a day or two perhaps, but (and he made the most of his engaging Southern accent) what they particularly wanted was to "do" the Ile Nou, which all the books said was so "mighty" interesting.

The Director obligingly scrawled a letter to the Commandant of the prison in New Caledonia, explained to his guests what they must do, and cordially invited them to lunch with him. The thought of eating was repulsive to Virginia; but Roger telegraphed her a warning look, and she knew that she must accept. It would not be wise to let it be seen that they were in a hurry; they were eccentric pleasure-seekers, sea-tourists; to be in haste was to throw aside disguise.

After _dejeuner_, which seemed interminable, they were allowed to depart.

So to a group of white, gray-roofed buildings set in brilliant little squares of garden--the offices of the executive police. Pa.s.sing on, they reached a small wooden quay, belonging to the penitential administration.

Men in ugly gray clothing, their faces shaded with broad, ribbonless straw hats, were working at loading a boat with large boxes, which they carried to the quay from a truck on a miniature local railway line. These men were directed in their labour by other men in white; and Virginia shivered all over, for this was her first sight of the convicts. What if Maxime Dalahaide were among these forlorn wretches who toiled and sweated in the blazing sun, with no encouragement save the rough exhortations of the white-clad surveillants with revolvers on their hips? If he were here, did any voice whisper to him of hope?

The _canot_ for the Ile Nou was to start almost immediately. The credentials of the party were examined at the _douanerie_, and they were permitted to go on board. Twelve convicts were the rowers. They sat under an awning which protected them as well as the pa.s.sengers from the sun, but Virginia, glancing almost fearfully at their faces, saw that their skins were tanned to the colour of mahogany by exposure. Their features were, without one exception, marked with the indefinable yet not-to-be-mistaken stamp of criminality, and she breathed more freely when she had a.s.sured herself that the man they sought was not one of them.

All they had to go upon was the vague information derived from Madeleine Dalahaide, that her brother was supposed to be on the Ile Nou. The time had not come yet to ask the questions that burnt their tongues; but it was coming nearer now with each wide sweep of the convicts' oars.

The Director had been thoughtful enough to telegraph to the Ile Nou of the visitors' arrival, and as the _canot_ approached the quay of the strange little settlement, an officer of the prison, who had the appearance of a superior warder, stepped forward, touching his white hat.

Virginia felt, with a thickly beating heart, that the long preface was finished, the first chapter of the book about to begin. She looked at this island of exile and punishment with an emotion that was not curiosity, but which could be cla.s.sified by no other word. The Ile Nou was not to the eye the terrible place of which she had so often dreamt.

There were more low, white houses, cl.u.s.tering cosily together or separated by thick, dark trees, and there were shaded streets and more blazing _flamboyant_ flowers making patches of red in the deep green. But beyond the town rose a hill, and there the great prison buildings stood out grimly against the cloudless blue of the tropical sky.

They landed. The warder begged them with French politeness to give themselves the trouble of accompanying him to the quarters of the Commandant, who expected their visit.

The programme of conspiracy was all planned; each one's part had been carefully mapped out, and a thousand times Virginia had gone through the ordeal of this day in her mind. Yet now the beating in her temples confused her thoughts. She was afraid that she should forget, that she should make some irretrievable blunder, and that everything would be ruined by her fault. But much might depend now upon a look or a gesture, and she held herself in a vice of self-control, fearing that her smile on greeting the courteous old Commandant was suspiciously forced, her voice unnatural, or the look in her eyes a betrayal of desperate anxiety.

But the gallant Frenchman saw only the most entrancing vision of a girl his eyes had ever looked upon. Within the bounds of reason--which meant in honour and within the regulations of the establishment--he would have done anything to win one of those distracting smiles which brought into play two little round dimples. He ordered his own carriage to take his guests to the grim hill behind the town; he sat by Virginia as they were driven up the white, winding road; and when at last the convict coachman drew up the horses at a great door of black iron in the blank side of a high white wall, it was he who helped her to alight.

"You will be the only lady, not the wife or daughter of an official of the place, who has ever entered at this gate, mademoiselle," he remarked as the key of the surveillant grated in the lock.

The door opened, and Virginia pa.s.sed through, trembling, the Commandant at her side. They were in a long, oddly-shaped courtyard. "The place of execution," said her guide. "In the early morning, at sunrise, a condemned man is brought here to die by the guillotine. Through that door yonder he comes, the priest walking by his side. To-morrow there will be such an execution. But I suppose you would scarcely care to see that, mademoiselle?"

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Virginia, shuddering. "I would die myself, sooner. What has he done--this unfortunate one--that he must suffer death?"

"He attempted to escape----"

"What--you kill them for that, if--they are retaken?"

"No; but wait, mademoiselle. I will tell you the story. It may be of use as an anecdote for the book you will write. This man who is to die to-morrow morning, and who will not know that his time has come until the knock at the door of his cell when the hour strikes--this man and another, who were imprisoned at the Isle of Pines, stole a small open fishing-boat, and with the branch of a tree for a mast and a shirt for a sail, started out in the desperate hope of eventually reaching Australia.

But the alarm was soon given, and they were pursued by such a _canot_ as that in which you came here, mademoiselle, from Noumea. One of the fugitives was mad enough to jump from the boat, scarcely knowing what he did. In a moment he had ceased to live."

"He was shot?"

"Ah, no, mademoiselle. The waters here are literally alive with sharks.

Bathing even near sh.o.r.e is dangerous. A little farther out--but I will say no more. You grow pale."

"That is nothing. And the other man--what of him?"

"He was captured; but he is a young, athletic fellow, and in his fury at being retaken he s.n.a.t.c.hed a surveillant's revolver and shot him dead. He was tried, condemned to death, and to-morrow at sunrise, as I said, will expiate his crime and folly."

Virginia was very white now--almost as white as the frock which she had chosen from her prettiest for the subjugation of these men in authority.

"What is the man's name?" she ventured to ask, her voice sounding strange and metallic in her own ears, her lips dry.

CHAPTER VIII

NUMBER 1280

"The man is without a name," said the Commandant. "He is a number. But once he was known as Jean Fourneau."

Virginia breathed again. "And the one who was with him?"

"The man eaten by the sharks? He was called, in the world, Pierre Duval."

The girl could hardly restrain a murmur of the infinite relief she felt.

But she dared show no emotion. "I suppose you have all sorts and conditions of men here?" she asked.

"From the highest to the lowest."

"Then there must be many interesting cases--quite romances. Do tell us something about a few of the best."

"That is difficult. There are many cases which might interest you; but they would shock you as well."

"I would trust you to choose. Have you any young men of good family who, perhaps, committed their crimes for love?"

The Commandant smiled. "We have many such. There is the man who is called the New Caledonian Dreyfus--Chatelain--who sold his country to please the woman he loved. He is at Ducos. But perhaps the most notable example of the type you desire is a young scion of French and English aristocracy whom we have here, on the Ile Nou. He is now known as Number 1280; but a few years ago he figured brilliantly in the great world as Maxime Dalahaide. You may have heard of him, mademoiselle."

The words rang strangely in the girl's ears. She "might have heard of him"! But her presence of mind had not left her, as a few moments ago she had feared it might, when it should be needed most.

She was simply carrying out her part of the programme, and she knew that Roger and George were watching her from behind half-closed lids. If they could help her they would; but the time had not come for their help yet.

"I left America only a year ago," she answered, "and one forgets things of this sort when they happen very far away."