A bell rang; Lehr sprang to his feet and hastened out through the iron door, drawing his black-jack from his hip pocket as he went.

He returned in a few moments, followed by a very good-looking but pallid man in rather careless evening dress, who had the dark eyes of a dreamer and the delicate features of a youthful acolyte.

He saluted the company with a peculiarly graceful gesture, which recognition even the gross creatures at the skat table returned with visible respect.

Soane, always deeply impressed by the presence of Murtagh Skeel, offered his chair and drew another one to the table.

Skeel accepted with a gently preoccupied smile, and seated himself gracefully. All that is chivalrous, romantic, courteous, and brave in an Irishman seemed to be visibly embodied in this pale man.

"I have just come," he said, "from a dinner at Sherry's. A common hatred of England brought together the dozen odd men with whom I have been in conference. Ferez Bey was there, the military attaches of the German, Austrian, and Turkish emba.s.sies, one or two bankers, officials of certain steamship lines, and a United States senator."

He sipped a gla.s.s of plain water which Lehr had brought him, thanked him, then turning from Soane to Lehr:

"To get arms and munitions into Ireland in substantial quant.i.ties requires something besides the U-boats which Germany seems willing to offer.

"That was fully discussed to-night. Not that I have any doubt at all that Sir Roger will do his part skilfully and fearlessly----"

"He will that!" exclaimed Soane, "G.o.d bless him!"

"Amen, Soane," said Murtagh Skeel, with a wistful and involuntary upward glance from his dark eyes. Then he laid his hand of an aristocrat on Soane's shoulder. "What I came here to tell you is this: I want a ship's crew."

"Sorr?"

"I want a crew ready to mutiny at a signal from me and take over their own ship on the high seas."

"Their own ship, sorr?"

"Their own ship. That is what has been decided. The ship to be selected will be a fast steamer loaded with arms and munitions for the British Government. The Sinn Fein and the Clan-na-Gael, between them, are to a.s.semble the crew. I shall be one of that crew. Through powerful friends, enemies to England, it will be made possible to sign such a crew and put it aboard the steamer to be seized.

"Her officers will, of course, be British. And I am afraid there may be a gun crew aboard. But that is nothing. We shall take her over when the time comes--probably off the Irish coast at night. Now, Soane, and you, Lehr, I want you to help recruit a picked crew, all Irish, all Sinn Feiners or members of the Clan-na-Gael.

"You know the sort. Absolutely reliable, fearless, and skilled men devoted soul and body to the cause for which we all would so cheerfully die.... Will you do it?"

There was a silence. Soane moistened his lips reflectively. Lehr, intelligent, profoundly interested, kept his keen, pleasant eyes on Murtagh Skeel. Only the droning electric fans, the rattle of a newspaper, the slap of greasy cards at the skat table, the s...o...b..ring gulp of some Teuton, guzzling beer, interrupted the sweltering quiet of the room.

"Misther Murtagh, sorr," said Soane with a light, careless laugh, "I've wan recruit f'r to bring ye."

"Who is he?"

"Sure, it's meself, sorr--av ye'll sign the likes o' me."

"Thanks; of course," said Skeel, with one of his rare smiles, and taking Soane's hand in comradeship.

"I'll go," said Lehr, coolly; "but my name won't do. Call me Grogan, if you like, and I'll sign with you, Mr. Skeel."

Skeel pressed the offered hand:

"A splendid beginning," he said. "I wanted you both. Now, see what you can do in the Sinn Fein and Clan-na-Gael for a crew which, please G.o.d, we shall require very soon!"

XIII

A MIDNIGHT TeTE-a-TeTE

When Dulcie had entered the studio that evening, her white face smeared with blood and a torn letter clutched in her hand, the gramophone was playing a lively two-step, and Barres and Thessalie Dunois were dancing there in the big, brilliantly lighted studio, all by themselves.

Thessalie caught sight of Dulcie over Barres's shoulder, hastily slipped out of his arms, and hurried across the polished floor.

"What is the matter?" she asked breathlessly, a fearful intuition already enlightening her as her startled glance travelled from the blood on Dulcie's face to the torn fragments of paper in her rigidly doubled fingers.

Barres, coming up at the same moment, slipped a firm arm around Dulcie's shoulders.

"Are you badly hurt, dear? What has happened?" he asked very quietly.

She looked up at him, mute, her bruised mouth quivering, and held out the remains of the letter. And Thessalie Dunois caught her breath sharply as her eyes fell on the bits of paper covered with her own handwriting.

"There was a man hiding in the court," said Dulcie. "He wore a white cloth over his face and he came up behind me and tried to s.n.a.t.c.h your letter out of my hand; but I held fast and he only tore it in two."

Barres stared at the sheaf of torn paper, lying crumpled up in his open hand, then his amazed gaze rested on Thessalie:

"Is this the letter you wrote to me?" he inquired.

"Yes. May I have the remains of my letter?" she asked calmly.

He handed over the bits of paper without a word, and she opened her gold-mesh bag and dropped them in.

There was a moment's silence, then Barres said:

"Did he strike you, Dulcie?"

"Yes, when he thought he couldn't get away from me."

"You hung on to him?"

"I tried to."

Thessalie stepped closer, impulsively, and framed Dulcie's pallid, blood-smeared face in both of her cool, white hands.

"He has cut your lower lip inside," she said. And, to Barres: "Could you get something to bathe it?"

Barres went away to his own room. When he returned with a finger-bowl full of warm water, some powdered boric acid, cotton, and a soft towel, Dulcie was lying deep in an armchair, her lids closed; and Thessalie sat beside her on one of the padded arms, smoothing the ruddy, curly hair from her forehead.

She opened her eyes when Barres appeared, giving him a clear but inscrutable look. Thessalie gently washed the traces of battle from her face, then rinsed her lacerated mouth very tenderly.

"It is just a little cut," she said. "Your lip is a trifle swelled."