Edgar Wallace

“ It was not usual to distinguish the rank of the dead. That was all. It stood for life and humor and courage, and God knows what hope. It stood also for an enemy, but that was incidental and meant nothing to Nigel Porter, sitting there on the edge of the crater, with his fur collar pulled up about his ears. ”

“ A man who owns farmlands in British Columbia views the barrier of the Rockies which keeps in check the shriveling winds that roar down from the frozen north, with the same satisfaction that a man, snuggled by a log fire, a pipe between his teeth and a book on his knee, might regard the frosted windows and the stout walls of the house that keeps from him the howling gale without. ”

“ Where are you staying?”
“I am not going to Paris,” said Nigel, with a little smile.
Again that look of suspicion and doubt appeared in her eyes, but she made no further inquiries. He saw her through the Customs, and then made his way in a crazy taxicab to the town, where, if his cabled instructions had been carried out, the car would be waiting. He found it—an ancient French machine, but suitable for his purpose. His temptation was to stay the night in Cherbourg, but the time at his disposal was short. ”

“ Broken and jagged barbed wire, red with rust, trailed in tangled lengths by the roadside, and here and there he saw the drunken outlines of block-houses where men had lived horribly and had died in fear. ”

“ We both pulled our guns, and by the most extraordinary coincidence we both missed fire. It looked as if it might be a real caveman's scrap, when the German chuckled and threw down his pistol.
“'I think, my friend,' he said, 'we had better both go home again. It would be stupid for us to batter one another with our fists, for that would probably mean that we should both be killed in attempting to get back to our lines in a condition of exhaustion.'
“The logic of it struck me, and we just sat down and talked. We not only talked, but we exchanged confidences of a highly compromising character. ”

“ A trunk which was under the bed had been pulled out, and a brief examination of its contents told him that it had been subjected to a hurried, but thorough search. His passport, which he kept with other confidential papers under his pillow, was lying open on the bed. He rang the bell and presently the steward came.
“No, sir,” said the man in surprise, “I've seen nobody in your cabin. I've been on this deck all morning. Are you sure?”
“Of course I'm sure,” said Nigel irritably. “Look at this trunk. And that—I haven't opened that passport since I left New York.” ”

“ Christmas Day came, but still there was practically no reduction of the fire? I afterward discovered that this was the preliminary bombardment to an attack which the French commander had planned, and which he hoped would bring the forest into his hands. Poor soul! He never lived to know what a hell trap that forest was!
“Later in the morning the fire seemed to die down just a little, and I crawled to the edge of the shell hole to take observation. What happened I don't know. I woke up to find my head on the German's knee, and he was draining the last dregs of my whisky flask down my throat. ”

“ Again Nigel nodded.
“It was lucky your being here. Luckier still that I remembered you were here, Burns,” he said, and then: “I'll tell you the story. It happened on Christmas Eve of 1917. As a matter of fact, it happened on the twenty-third of December. I was attached to the French corps that was holding the southeastern edge of Houthulst Forest. I was working in connection with the Canadian Intelligence, and my instructions were to go over to discover the exact composition of the force that was holding the Belgian front. ”

“ Her cabin is two alleyways farther along.”
Nigel scratched his chin in perplexity.
“Of course, it couldn't have been Miss Steyne,” he said, and the steward, who was happy to agree that it could not have been anybody at all, nodded his relief at Nigel's words.
“It has been a clean trip,” he said. “There are none of the gangs on board that usually work the line, and yours is the first complaint we've had. ”

“ How hideous war is!”
They had nearly reached the sunken road where the stranger's car was waiting, when Nigel remembered that he had some responsibility in the matter of transportation.
“You can go back for it. I want to introduce you to my sister. By the way, my name is Steyne.”
And there Nigel found the girl.
It was after dinner in the barracks-like dining room of the Hotel d'Ypres that Nigel Porter heard and understood.
“No, I'm not a German,” said Mr. Charles Steyne, pulling gently at his cigar. “I am an American. I was in the war from the very first month.”
“On the German side?” ”

“ I suppose that, having lived in the midst of so much madness these past years, one takes a generous view of human sanity. Joseph”—he beckoned the waiter—“coffee. I can give you half an hour,” he said to his vis-à-vis. ”