The Cabaret de Biribi will remain closed until further notice. For the convenience of the public, the Cafe Biribi, adjoining, will remain open between the hours of seven A.M. and nine P.M. until further notice.
The cafe, separated from the cabaret by a clipped privet hedge, formed the southeastern angle of the square.
Under its orange and white awning the tables on the terrace were crowded with people lingering over after-luncheon coffee and cognac--quiet, serious, solid citizens, accustomed to their dejeuner at that time and place, whose habits of long standing had not so far been altered in the sudden and general upheaval in the accustomed order of things.
Waiters came and went as usual; men consulted the files of provincial and Paris papers; one or two were playing dominoes inside the cafe.
Warner, pausing at the entrance to the terrace, summoned a waiter.
"The cabaret is closed, then?" he asked.
"Since last night, Monsieur."
"By the police?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Why?"
The waiter said respectfully:
"It is usual in time of war to close places of amusement. Besides, music and dancing are in questionable taste at such a time as this."
"Certainly. Where is Monsieur Wildresse?"
"The Patron is absent."
"Where can I find him?"
The waiter shrugged:
"The Patron went away this morning. I do not know where. He has not yet returned."
"Are you quite certain?"
"Perhaps Monsieur had better ask the caissiere. Maybe the Patron has returned."
So Warner entered the cafe. In the cool, subdued light of the interior, he saw the cashier behind her counter--a fresh-faced, plump, dark-eyed country girl, who returned his salute with a smile that showed her white teeth.
"Monsieur Wildresse?" he inquired. "May I see him for a moment?"
"The Patron is absent, Monsieur."
"When do you expect him to return?"
"We do not know. Sometimes he goes to Paris and remains a week or two."
"Do you suppose he has gone to Paris?"
"We do not know. He never tells us where he is going."
Warner thought hard for a moment, then:
"It seems that the cabaret is closed," he said.
"Locked up, Monsieur."
"I wonder if you could tell me where I might find the caissiere of the cabaret--Mademoiselle Philippa?"
The girl shook her head:
"I think she went to Paris."
"When?"
"The other day. We understood that she had gone to Paris."
"No," said Warner, "she did not go to Paris. Has she not returned to Ausone?"
The caissiere rapped with her pencil and a waiter hastened to the desk.
"Pierre, didn't you say something about Mademoiselle Philippa this morning?"
"I said that I thought I saw her. It was somebody who resembled her, no doubt."
Warner wheeled around:
"When?"
"It was before noon, some time----"
"Where?"
"Monsieur, they were putting up and locking the shutters of the cabaret, and on the top floor somebody inside was lowering the lateen shades and drawing the blue curtains.
"I thought I saw Mademoiselle Philippa--I thought I saw her face for a moment behind one of the windows in the Patron's apartment."
"And what do you think about it now?"
"Ma foi, Monsieur, if Mademoiselle Philippa has gone to Paris, I could not have seen her at the window."
"But you saw somebody there?"
"I thought I did."
"Could we go to the cabaret and inquire?"
"It is locked up. There is nobody now within."
"How do you know?"
"They locked and padlocked it from the outside. They even removed the geraniums and the three cats. The place is empty, Monsieur. I know, because I helped remove the cats and the potted plants. Everybody and everything was transferred last night to the cafe. And at noon today the police put seals on the doors."
Warner forced a smile:
"That, of course, settles it. I'm sorry. I wanted to see the Patron and Mademoiselle Philippa. Another time will do."
He thanked the waiter, lifted his hat to the caissiere, turned, and walked over to a table by the opposite wall, where he ordered coffee and cognac and a newspaper, as though he had just lunched.
When his coffee was brought, he opened the paper and leaned back against the padded leather seat, pretending to read, but studying the room and everybody in it.
It was a cafe typical of almost any half dead provincial town in France--large, rather dimly lighted, shabbily furnished with marble-topped tables ranged around the walls and two ancient billiard tables occupying the center of the room.
In the corner near the door was the cashier's cage and desk; on the same side of the room, in the further corner, a swinging leather door, much battered, gave exit and entrance to the waiters as they went to or arrived from kitchen and cellar.
And one thing occurred to him immediately: the same kitchen, and perhaps the same cellar, had supplied both cabaret and cafe. Therefore, there must still be some passage of communication between the cabaret--which had been locked and sealed by the authorities--and the cafe which the police had decreed must remain open for the convenience of the public.
Deeply perturbed by what the waiter had said concerning the glimpse he had caught of somebody resembling Philippa, and made doubly anxious by Halkett's sinister remark in regard to the girl's knowledge of secrets which might send Wildresse before a platoon of execution, he studied the gloomy room from behind his newspaper, trying to come to some conclusion.
He did not believe that Wildresse and his companions had dared drive into Ausone by daylight with Philippa in the tonneau, either unconscious or resisting them.
If they had brought her to Ausone at all, they must have carried her by boat, landed at the foot of the cabaret garden, and smuggled the child into the house through the rear door giving on the river garden.
If they had brought her to Ausone at all, then, she must be at that moment somewhere within the walls of the double building forming the Cafe and Cabaret de Biribi. Otherwise, the grey touring car had never entered Ausone.
To make certain on that point he presently paid his reckoning, bowed to the cashier, and went leisurely out into the deserted square.
First of all he sauntered back to the town entrance, where the red-legged soldiers had taken over his cart and horse. Having been obliged to give particulars concerning himself, the soldiers were perfectly friendly. Inquiry they readily answered; such a touring car as he described had been halted and requisitioned by the guard about two hours before his own horse was stopped and appropriated. There were only two people in the car, both men.
"Friends of yours, Monsieur?" inquired the polite lieutenant in charge.
"Business acquaintances----"
Warner hesitated, then asked for the names of the two men and their addresses. The officer on duty very obligingly looked up the information in his leather-covered book. It appeared that the men were Adolf Meier and Josef Hoffman, commis voyageurs, of Paris, and that they had gone for lodging to the Boule d'Argent in Ausone.
Warner thanked the boyish officer; the officer was happy to have been of service to an American and an artist.
But when Warner turned back into the town, he went directly to the railroad station instead of to the hotel. There he presently discovered and consulted the chef de gare and the ticket agent; and he learned definitely that Monsieur Wildresse, who was perfectly well known to both of them by sight, had not taken any train there.
Travelers who board trains at provincial railway stations cannot escape official observation. Therefore, what the station master and ticket agent told him was sufficient for him.
He went slowly back along the river quay, crossed diagonally in front of the deserted cabaret, entered the Impasse d'Alcyon, and traversed it to the river bank, where Halkett sat under the big willow tree, smoking his pipe and letting the rowboat float by the chain which he held in his hands.
"Halkett," he said, "they're in Ausone or near it. I'm convinced of that. Their car came in with only two men in it. The military confiscated it. The men's names are Adolf Meier and Josef Hoffman, and they inscribed themselves as commercial travelers from Paris. Do you happen to know them?"
"Perfectly."
"What are they; spies?"
"They are--clumsy ones."
"By any chance are they any of the gentlemen who have been following you?"
"Exactly. Both have had several shots at me."
"That is interesting. The address they left with the military authorities is the Boule d'Argent.
"What I have found out is this: the Cabaret de Biribi has been closed and sealed up by the police; the cafe remains open. A waiter in the cafe thought he saw Philippa at the window of her apartment over the cabaret just before noon today.
"But Wildresse, they all say, went away this morning and has not returned. And they have no idea when to expect him.
"Now, my theory is this: Wildresse and his ruffians, realizing that their own necks are in danger, went to Sais to see Philippa, either to bully her into silence or persuade her to return to duty. When they saw her by the roadside they changed their plans and took a chance. I don't believe they saw us. We were on our knees in the grass under the shadow of the hedge. After they caught her they never looked around. I don't believe any of them noticed us at all. Before the car reached Ausone they must have stopped in some deserted place, found a boat somewhere, sent the car on ahead to Ausone with only two men in it, and then Wildresse and the other two men must have dragged or carried Philippa across the fields to the river and forced her into the boat. That was the only way they could have ventured to enter Ausone. They must have gone by boat to the garden behind the cabaret, where nobody could see what was going on, and there they probably let themselves into the house by the rear entrance.
"That's my theory, Halkett. I believe Philippa is there. I believe Wildresse is there. And I feel very sure that those two choice scoundrels of his at the Boule d'Argent will join him wherever he is. So I think we had better tie up our boat and go to the Boule d'Argent and find these fellows, Meier and Hoffman, and never let them out of our sight."
"I think so, too," said Halkett quietly.
He knelt down on the grass, passed the boat chain around the base of the willow tree, linked and padlocked it, sprang to his feet, and walked quickly after Warner, who had already started to enter the Impasse d'Alcyon.
"You're a little flustered, old chap," he said, as he rejoined Warner in the narrow alley. "Don't walk so fast; we ought not to attract attention."
"I'm horribly nervous," admitted the other, slackening his pace.
"We'll have to keep pretty cool about this affair. It won't do to scare those scoundrels."
"Why?"
"Because if they really have her locked up in that cabaret. I'm afraid to guess what they might do to her if they thought their own skins were in danger."
"I know it," said Warner hoarsely. "I'm worried sick, I tell you! Wildresse has the worst face I ever looked at. There is only one word to characterize that countenance of his--bestial!"
"He's a bad lot and he looks it. The military authorities would make short work of him if Philippa should ever hint at what she has found out about his rather complicated business affairs. That's what I am afraid of--that he may take some terrible precaution in order to anticipate any danger from her----"
"What?"
"He is capable of doing anything to prevent her from speaking. Keeping her locked up is the precaution that I dread least. What I'm afraid of is that he may kill her."
Warner turned a bloodless visage to his comrade:
"That's what I'm afraid of, too," he said steadily enough. "I think we had better notify the police at once----"
"It won't do, old chap!"
"Why? On your account?"
"No, no! My papers are safe enough now. But I tell you, Warner, French temper is on a hair trigger, in spite of all this gravity and silence. The very word 'spy' would be the match to the magazine."
"But what of it?"
"Suppose Wildresse denies his treachery and makes a counter-accusation against Philippa?"
"What? How can he?"
"Suppose he declares that she betrayed him? Suppose already he has arranged documents to prove it? Suppose he had long ago taken such a precaution against any chance of her denouncing him? He is an old rat, grown grey in the business. He must have been perfectly aware that Philippa is honest--that it even went against her to do the dirty work that her own Government required of her. He must have known that if she ever discovered his double treachery, she would at least desert him, perhaps denounce him. No, no, Warner; that crafty old sewer rat left nothing to chance.
"If that girl now has an opportunity and the desire to denounce him, you can be absolutely certain that long ago he has foreseen and prepared himself for just such an event!"
"Do you believe that?"
Halkett smiled:
"I am certain of it."
"Why?"
"What does a young girl know about treachery? How many papers has Philippa ignorantly and innocently signed which might exculpate Wildresse and send her before a peloton of execution in the first caserne available? That's the way such rats as he protect themselves!
"No, Warner. It's a filthy business at best, and I admit, sadly enough, that I know more about it than you ever could know.
"Listen, old chap! It's no good stirring up the police until Philippa is outside French territory. Then, and then only, may we dare to let loose the police on this nest of rats in Ausone!"
"Very well," said Warner quietly. "I'll act as you think best, only I'll----" He stopped to regain control of himself. And when he had himself in hand again: "Only--it will be a--a bad mistake if Wildresse--if--if any harm comes to that child."
"Oh, in that event," said Halkett quietly, "we need not scruple to kill him where we find him."
Warner said unsteadily:
"I shall not hesitate a second----" But Halkett suddenly checked him with a touch on his elbow, and drew him back behind the wall of the Impasse d'Alcyon, from which alley they were on the point of emerging into the town.
Two men were crossing the almost empty market square toward the Cafe Biribi, moving without haste over the sunny pavement.
"Hoffman and Meier," whispered Halkett. "There go our promising young rodents straight toward the old rat's nest! It won't do for them to catch sight of me.... Wait a moment! There they go--into the Cafe Biribi! Follow them--they don't know you. Keep your eye on them.
"I'll stroll over to the quay and dangle my legs on the river wall. If you need me, come out on the cafe terrace and beckon."
"Would it do to hand over that pair to the police? They are German spies, are they not?"