New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Spy stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- United States -- Fiction
“Pardon me, Mr. Carstairs,” said one of his visitors, a sharp-eyed,
clean-cut man of forty, “but, as a matter of fact, our business here is
really with Mrs. Carstairs. Will you be good enough to ask her to step
into this room?”
His companion had closed the door, and both remained standing.
“I assure you she knows as little as I do about this distressing affair.
My niece is very ill. She cannot leave her. You must allow me,--for the
present, at least,--to speak for Mrs. Carstairs.”
“Deeply as I regret it, Mr. Carstairs, I must insist that your wife--”
“You heard what I said, didn't you?” demanded Carstairs coldly. Two
vivid red blotches shot into his cheeks.
The two men looked at each other. Then the spokesman gave a significant
jerk of his head. His companion opened the door and stepped quickly
into the hall. As the door closed, the one who remained drew nearer to
Carstairs.
“In the first place, Mr. Carstairs, you cannot speak for your wife. I am
not here to make inquiries, sir, but to escort her to the offices of the
United States Attorney, who will--”
Carstairs started up from his chair. “What infernal nonsense is this?”
“I am afraid it isn't nonsense,” said the other quietly. “My
instructions,--my orders, I may say,--are to confront Mrs. Carstairs
with certain charges, in your presence, by the way,--and to remain in
this apartment until further orders. There is no alternative.”
“Charges?” gasped Davenport Carstairs, incredulously. “What do you mean?
What charges have been brought against _us?_”
“There is nothing against _you_, sir. I am instructed to exercise the
greatest consideration for you. A great deal, I may add, is left to
my discretion, after all. Your wife, I am compelled to inform you,
is charged with a very serious offence. In plain words, we have
indisputable proof that she is and has been for several years in direct
communication with the German Government through--”
“It is a damned, outrageous lie!” shouted Carstairs, furiously. “How
dare you come here--”
“Just a moment, please,” interrupted the other sharply. “My instructions
are to treat you with the utmost respect and consideration. I must ask
you to accord me the same treatment. Will you send for your wife, or
must I resort to the authority that--”
“For God's sake, man,--wait! Let me get this thing through my head.
I--I---will try to control myself. There has been some terrible mistake.
Let us discuss the matter calmly. I can explain everything. We must
spare her the mortification, the humiliation of being--Why, my dear sir,
it would--kill her. She would not survive the--”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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