CHAPTER 24 Certainly Miss Pym could not have found Merkel-Strasse without a guide, when he stopped at the entrance of a narrow street, appearing the narrower for the loftiness of the buildings. Miss Pym thanked the old Jew and put the mark in his hand. He took the money and disappeared instantly. As there was nothing more to be got, he felt no more interest in Miss Pym. He had no curiosity about anything which did not pay. Miss Pym could see no numbers. Open doors showed steep flights going up, or steps leading down into dark pits. The street was perfectly quiet, and what was rather alarming to Miss Pym? There was no one in sight. Define yourself alone in a foreign street with an evil name on a dark night is decidedly unnerving. Miss Pym tried to reassure herself. This was exactly where she wished to be, and surely it was better to find herself in a quiet street than in a place crowded by rowdy characters. She walked along steadily till she heard the flop-flop of water, and knew she had reached the end of the street. She crossed over and walked back on the other side. The tap-tap of her footsteps echoed, so that she repeatedly turned, thinking herself followed. When she reached the entrance of Merkel-Strasse, Miss Pym felt a strong desire to fly anywhere away from this street with an evil name. Might not someone be following her at that very moment, crouching in the shadows, ready to leap out and stab? Her body could so easily be dropped in the sluggish river. Once more I will walk to the spree and back, said Miss Pym, and if I see no one to ask, I will give it up. I cannot. I dare not enter one of those awful houses to inquire.  He swung her round and said, I have been watching you, now clear out of the street, and never dare to show yourself here again. You have been walking up and down some time. We have a short way with spies. Miss Pym's nervousness quite disappeared. I am so glad to see someone, she said quite simply. I was so afraid that after finding Merkel-Strasse with great difficulty, I should have to give it up. I mean, give up finding number eight. I dared not inquire, and German houses are so oddly numbered. What do you want at number eight? asked the man suspiciously. Miss Pym thought of mentioning quite sick's name, but hesitated lest she be giving him away. The man saw her hesitate. You clear out. No more talk. Clear out of this street. I hesitated only because it is dangerous to trust anybody these days, she answered. I came here because I was told by a friend that I should find safety at number eight. How runs the song? asked the man carelessly, looking towards the spree and pretending to be perfectly indifferent. The flaming dawn is breaking. How many have died to see? said Miss Pym, looking the other way, and unsuccessfully trying to appear indifferent. The man veered round. How terribly imprudent you are, then, hanging about in this way. Quick, follow me. And grabbing Pertita Pym by the sleeve, he ran her into a house, tore up three steep flights of stone stairs, and hauled her into a large, neat room, a typical German room of the well-to-do lower class, with solid, highly polished furniture, polished painted floor, dull, varnished wallpaper, clean muslin curtains, a Puritan's parlor. Miss Pym, breathless, shaking in every limb, sank down on a hard, stiff-backed chair. You are safe here for a time, said the man gravely. But I am not here on my own account, said Miss Pym in a low voice. The man turned on her menacingly. You said that you sought safety. I ought to have said, the safety of a friend. I have discovered a plot to kill Professor Koitsick. I know every detail of the plot, and I came here tonight to warn him. He it was who told me of this sanctuary in case of danger. So I hoped either to find him here, or else to get some friend of his to convey to him a warning of his imminent danger. The German looked at her fixedly, still doubting. Oh, I know you think I am sent here to discover his whereabouts to betray him to the police. How can I convince you that I am Koitsick's friend? Who is Koitsick's friend? Said a mocking voice, and Miss Pym's heart really leapt when she saw him standing in the doorway, leading from and in a room. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Miss Barton, he cried, striding towards her, dragging his leg. Oh, we'll take care of you, and smuggle you out of the country in safety. My goodness, you should thank Himmel and Koitsick that you got here. But she has not come here for herself. It is to warn you, Johann, said the German affectionately, putting his hand on Koitsick's shoulder. Is that so? Said Koitsick, grinning, and looking at her with his restless melancholy eyes. Then there is nothing urgent, nothing to bother ourselves about. Tell Cati we have a lady guest, and see here, Hartburg, get us something extra for supper. Turning to Miss Pym, we are growing greedier and greedier every day. I am sure all Berlin dreams at night of succulent dishes, and peace to most of us means a full belly. Now sit down on the least uncomfortable chair, which is this one, and Koitsick pulled out a very stiff-backed armchair. You can see how high our principles are, by the order, cleanliness, and discomfort all around. Herr Koitsick began Miss Pym. Now you have to call me Koitsick, too core, or brother Koitsick, as they do in socialist circles. How do you like me for a brother?  Koitsick, said Miss Pym, I am troubled and anxious on your account. Now do sit down quietly and listen to me. I have heard, as an absolutely certain and settled thing, that you are to be arrested the day after tomorrow at a big revolutionary meeting. You are then to have a week's training or so at the machine-gun, and be sent to the western front, put in the frontmost line of trenches, chained to your gun, and, in that way, they will get rid of me. I have always made as much noise as I possibly could, and it isn't altogether an inappropriate end, to be blown up in a deafening roar of guns. But you will defeat this plot, pleaded Miss Pym. You know that you are of more use, alive than dead. Just so, said Koitsick, with a whimsical smile. Still I might be useful as St. Koitsick, wearing the Oriole of Saints and Martyrs. You know, socialists have a remarkable calendar of saints. That meeting you allude to is in commemoration of LaSalle, though in confidence I may assure you that he was much more interesting dead than alive. Koitsick, do let us talk seriously, said Miss Pym, very earnestly. Promise me that you will not go to this meeting. Indeed, I want you to do more. I want you to leave Germany. I will help you to escape. I have maps, compasses. I can always obtain food and shelter. You can hide in woods and outhouses, and we could walk at night. It is easier than you think. And then you shall come to England. I can explain your presence, and make it safe for you. Or if you prefer it, you can go to Sweden and work out your ideas there. There need be no difficulty about money. Brother Koitsick. He sat looking at her with a very kindly smile. How nicely you arrange it all. Like a very kind, very silly little girl. But you lack intuition. That's certain. So you really think I would leave my country and my people at such a crisis? You think I do not love Germany, that I am not German through and through? And you picture me living by police permission in England? Or else making futile speeches at Stockholm? Miss Pym looked crestfallen. There, there. You meant it all kindly and beautifully, and I am ungrateful to resent the proposal. No, I do not resent it. I just set it aside. You see, unfortunately, I resemble the all-highest in one respect. We both have a withered limb, but I have not, like him, a withered soul. I would much prefer being chained to a machine-gun to escaping, say, to England or Sweden. But by warning me about this plot to kill me, you have done me a great service. I am not at all anxious to have my career cut short, just when dawn, maybe, is breaking. I am convinced that the old order of things is passing. I am so certain of this that I think meetings and speeches are hardly necessary. When the saucepan is on a roaring fire, it is hardly necessary to add a lighted match. The boiling over is sure to come. I do not as a rule care much for paradox, but what I am about to say, though it appears paradoxical, is really a great truth.  Our only chance of victory lies in defeat, complete and not partial defeat, just as surely as the only chance of the allies is incomplete and not partial victory. We must lose to win. The flaming dawn is breaking. How many have died to see? No German boy has died in vain if only we are beaten. Germany must lose her body to save her soul. War is damnable, but who knows? The all-highest by some awful irony is destined to liberate Germany. From Kaiserdom, if the allies falter or fail, we are lost. Shades of the prison house envelop us once more. The allies must not meet German emissaries of the Kaiser, masquerading as labor or socialists. They only seek to deceive, and to win by fraud what they cannot win by force of arms. I am convinced that the uplifting of Germany can only come after her down-throw. I do not therefore look on the allies as enemies. You are, in reality, our allies. My prayer to England and France would be, do not fail us. The rot in Russia is the work of German imperialism. Let that be a warning to fools and visionaries in the West. Bismarck liberated France. France will liberate Germany. Tell them this in England. As for me, for my fate, it is exceedingly unimportant. Of course, I hope to see the new birthday of Germany, and though I shall not be able to dance, I shall hop with the Marriest and drink good Rhine wine to celebrate the arrival of Dertog. And now, my sister, how about yourself? I cannot in the least understand how you come to be walking about free in Berlin.   But after we parted at Cologne, did you, by any chance, marry a German, and since become widowed? I asked because of this, and he lifted up Miss Pim's long-craped veil, heard it a-blushed. I did it for safety, to look more German. Alas, you wear the livery of Europe today, sighed Koitschek. But here come Cotty and Hartburg with refreshment. You will not mind supping with us, and then Hartburg will accompany you to your hotel. By the way, where are you hiding yourself? When Miss Pim told him she was staying at the Adlon, he gave a low whistle. The Adlon? Well, perhaps the greatest daring means the greatest wisdom. The police won't be looking for you there. Still, I don't understand how you registered, how you got the permit, and without a passport. But here's the evening meal. Questions can wait. Miss Pim sat down at the polished table between Koitschek and Hartburg. Cotty, a calm, solemn German woman dressed in black, waited upon them. The meal consisted of sardines, one egg for Miss Pim, and some very nice Homburg rusts, fine black grapes and three ripe figs. The wine amber-colored was very fine and sweet enough to please Miss Pim. Koitschek skillfully filled her glass whenever she turned to talk to Hartburg. Whether it was the wine or the kindness and sympathy, Miss Pim warmed and expanded and ended by telling that which she had not meant to tell. I spent yesterday at Potsdam, she began, and as this in no way surprised her audience, she added, Ah, but you will never guess where I slept and whom I saw. Give it up, said Koitschek, slipping a fig onto her plate. I saw the Kaiser, and I slept at the new palace, and I breakfasted there.  You did not, said Hartburg roughly. How did you, said Koitschek gently? I got into the palace at dark. I slipped in and hid myself. I evaded the guards. Hartburg was going to speak, but Koitschek stayed him with uplifted hand. I got into the Kaiser's room unseen. He was talking to a big, heavy man he called Anton. Yes, yes, cried Hartburg, wildly excited. Yes, that's Count Anton von Ortmann. Hush, let Miss Barton speak, uninterrupted, said Koitschek. The Kaiser was in bed, very dolerous about his feelings and his dislike of going to the front, because he hated seeing dead or suffering men. He spoke with dread of the cold on the Russian front. He pitied himself a lot. He would, interjected Hartburg. He also complained bitterly that Mikaelus was thrust upon him as Chancellor by the Crown Prince. He had just had a violent scene with the Crown Prince, and this Anton soothed him like an old nurse. After a while the Count, what do you call him, Ortmann, asked the Kaiser to spare the life of an English girl, condemned to death at Liege. For helping her lover to escape, she was to be shot this morning, and the stout man called Anton had motored over to try and get a reprieve. But because the girl was English, the Kaiser would not hear of it. He became so furious that the man left. And then I came out and told the Kaiser he was a wicked devil, and I fired off a pistol at him, a pistol I had taken from an officer. I pulled the trigger six times, but all in vain. It was not loaded. I had never thought of examining the pistol.   No, we don't want a Kaiser to slip out of his difficulties. The results of his crimes and mistakes in that way. It is in the great plan of things that he should suffer and pay. With the Crown Princess Kaiser, things would be just as bad. But even if he were an improvement on his father, it is not the individuals we have to pick off. It is the whole system we have to uproot. So allow me to congratulate you on failing to execute the all highest. I believe you are right, said Miss Pym. I acted on impulse, thinking I would rid the world of a monster of cruelty, when I heard him refuse so brutally to reprieve that poor girl. I could not contain myself. Oh, I understand your feeling, and share your indignation. But tell me, how did you escape? I rushed out by a farther room, dodged along corridors, and hid myself in one of many unoccupied apartments. A very surprising adventure. So you were the guest of the all highest after all. Does this end your ambitious program? It is time I returned to England, replied Miss Pym, though I should like to see Hindenburg. I suppose you want him to sign an autograph book, said Khoitsik, with a smile.  Hindenburg, I can assure you, is not an agreeable person to meet. But you are hardly likely to do so. He is now on his way to Flanders, and will probably visit headquarters near Turquann, and you, of course, will try and escape by Holland. But I cannot for the life of me see how you will do it. You came here at great risk to yourself to warn me. I wish I could make some return and save you. If you could lie Hinden, I might work out a plan. I have friends. But I have plans of my own which will safeguard me. So you need not be troubled about me in the least, said Miss Pym earnestly. I wish I could let you know when I am safe home again. You might advertise in your Times newspaper. At a definite date, say, this day, month, and on three consecutive days, English newspapers are obtainable here, you know. And now we must part, said Miss Pym, rising. Do you know, Khoitsik, it has made a great difference to me, meeting you. You have shown me a glimpse of a chastened purified Germany, where I saw nothing but a welter of savagery and treachery. I believe in your tog. But remember, our defeat is the condition, replied Khoitsik. Germany cannot conquer herself. She must be conquered. We can only rise reborn from the flaming pyre. The phoenix could not nestle peaceably. The fiery furnace was her cradle. Hartborg, you will see Miss Pym to the Linden, and now make sure the coast is clear. Hartborg went ahead, and Perta to Pym followed slowly with Khoitsik. On the second floor she paused under a gas jet. We must wait here a moment, he said. Miss Pym suddenly felt a strange pang, a premonition that Khoitsik would soon behold his great day. But not on this earth. I shall see you again, she murmured. He answered her thought. How curious it is. You all seem to think dying the most dreadful thing, and the end of everything. To me it is beautiful, and to be deserved. And the best kiss is that tender, desired, last embrace of our great mother, the earth. Merkelstrasse is quite clear-set Hartborg, panting up the steps. As she descended, Miss Pym looked back at Khoitsik, and she saw that his face had become beautiful. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Miss Pym's Journey to Flanders was so trying that she could never think of it without a shutter. From Berlin to Cologne it took over twenty hours. She dared not get a ticket and go as an ordinary passenger. She stood for many hours in a corridor. But at Stendl she crawled into a luggage van, where she lay on a crate in darkness and stifling heat, afraid to sleep had sleep been possible. Indeed she became afraid of unconsciousness descending on her, and her fear was mainly on account of her precious rucksack. For a visibility returned to her unawares, all her belongings might be torn from her before she could disappear. At Cologne she went straight to a hotel near the station and found an unoccupied room, where she was fortunate enough to sleep undisturbed. The next day she traveled more easily to Aachen, but suffered great discomfort on her journey to Brussels. She was too bruised and exhausted to take the interest she otherwise would have in this greatly tried capital of unhappy Belgium. She rested there quietly till she felt sufficient energy to get to Courtray, where she was told the headquarters of the German Army of the Northwest was established under General Sixt von Arnhem. At Brussels she heard of a Prince Chemnitz belonging to the staff. He occupied the fine house of a Belgian banker near Courtray, and was married to a very beautiful American, Miss Sadie Bung, who had an immense fortune. Perted to Pim was so tired of hotels, where she heard nothing of any value, that she determined to stay uninvited at the house of Princess Chemnitz. Arrived at Courtray, she went first to a hotel where according to her custom, she commandeered the best room and locking herself in. She carefully looked round, pulled down the blinds, and dragged a table to the wardrobe, cautiously mounting the table, holding her canvas bundle. She tumbled it on to the top of the wardrobe, where it lay in a hollow, quite out of sight. In the town of Courtray, Miss Pim, after making a few needful purchases, asked the address of Prince and Princess Chemnitz, half an hour's walk beyond the tramway, in a pretty park, with a much neglected flower garden, stood a so-called chateau, rather in the style of a showy villa. Miss Pim, now invisible, of course, searched high and low for a room, and decided to wait till night, when she could alight on any unoccupied room. The Princess was out, but a beautiful little boy of two-and-a-half, the only child of the Prince and Princess, gave her a great fright. She was standing in the room, where he was playing with his German nurse. Miss Pim was admiring his golden curls and exquisite coloring, when the child looked up at her, smiled and held out his arms. As Miss Pim drew back much alarmed, the little fellow toddled across the room to her. She knelt down and kissed him gently, but she was very careful to keep away from him, lest, by touching her, he too should disappear. Miss Pim realized that, though invisible to herself and others, she was visible to the little child. This might prove very awkward, since the child wanted to come to her. Might he not, by his insistence, somehow betray her presence? She managed to make her escape, and wandered down to the rather gaudy salon, opening on to a large conservatory. Miss Pim sat in a corner of the room, and, as she put it to herself, awaited developments. These quickly came, in the persons of the Prince and his American wife, the most lovely creature Miss Pim had ever set eyes on—tall, fair, faultless in feature and figure, but restless in thought and movement. She threw herself on a sofa, then jumped up and sat on the arm of the couch, swinging her feet. Then she walked up and down the room, her husband, a tall, handsome young German in uniform, watching her, with adoring eyes. You say I should invite von Hindenburg to stay here? She said pouting, and his shadow, his spokesman, Ludendorff, that it is a great honour for us. Well, Otto, I don't count it an honour at all. Oh, I know Krieg is Krieg, and I must meet and entertain horrid officers, and they're still horrider wives.  But, Sadie, my angel, you are a German now, said Prince Chemnitz plaintively. I, a German, no Suri. I'm no German, and I guess Otto Bung Chemnitz, Junior, is no German either. I want to get back with him to Montana, where you can join us after the war, and raise sheep or cattle. You said yourself that after this war, Germany would be an impossible country to live in. You may bet your bottom dollar that after this war, I get. Otto, my dear boy, don't ask me to invite von Hindenburg here. You say he is coming this afternoon to talk over plans with you. Why should I see him at all? He despises women. On the contrary, he is a good husband and father. His daughters are charming.  And the pretty creature came behind her husband's chair and put her arms round his neck. Let us escape to Holland, and then you could join our boys at the front, and fight on the other side.  I don't believe a real downright American could ever feel German, not since the Americans came into the war. Why every bit of Germanness fell from me. The day the Lusitania was sunk. Sadie, your talk is terrible. I tremble lest anyone hear you and report you to headquarters.  She says you will bring disgrace and ruin on the family, and she wishes to educate Autolin herself. She shall never, never have my boy. My boy is myself, and I guess no living being, no hun hag, no Bosch witch is going to take him from me. Are you speaking of my honoured mother, said Prince Chemnitz, rising and turning pale? No words are too strong for anyone who would dare to attempt, I say attempt, to separate an American woman from her child. The princess stood up facing him, her eyes blazing. Her cheeks aflame, and her golden hair, loosened by her passionate movements, hanging low on her white neck. Fortunately the scene was cut short by the arrival of Master Otto. His mother snatched him from his nurse and kissed him so violently that he set up a howl. Then catching sight of Miss Pym, he put out his arms to her, crying, Schöne Dama, Schöne Dama, what does he mean, said his mother, putting him down. He straightway crawled to Miss Pym, who edged away. Round the room he followed her, crying, pretty lady, at intervals. His father picked him up and, pointing to the princess, said in German, there is the pretty lady. But Master Otto was as determined as his mother.  As she slipped out, she heard him say with assurance, pretty lady gone. Fahndenburg was to be there that very afternoon. Miss Pym's heart beat quite jumpily at the prospect of the meeting. She would be present at that important council. What might she not learn there? Unseen she joined the family at lunch, taking what she required, and sitting in a corner of the dining-room, her plate on her lap. At first it was very disconcerting, when the princeling kept on nodding at her and pointing with his spoon in her direction. But after staring round, no one took any notice of the child's vagaries. Lunch was rather gloomy, but conversation was kept up for appearance's sake. When the servants had left, and Master Otto had been carried off, the prince and his wife sat together over coffee and cigarettes.  It is awfully important, said the prince gravely. Fahndenburg is to settle the line of retreat. According to plan, said his wife, looking quite innocent. Yes, said the prince. I needn't tell you that the outlook is really hopeless. So Fahndenburg has come just to try his hand at prolonging the agony, said his wife, trying to blow smoke rings. There is no way of shortening it, said the prince simply. Accepting by surrender, she retorted. Do you see Germans surrendering, he replied angrily? Oh, I guess Germans will have to do exactly the same as any other conquered people. When they are beaten, they will give in. You are always saying, War is war. I now say, Defeat is defeat. The prince looked sulky, and rising, he said, Ah, well, since this is the biggest room in this beastly little hole, we shall have the conference here. Though we had better give instructions accordingly, I must see to the wine and cigars. The princess then moved into the salon adjacent. Miss Pym followed, and enjoyed listening to her hostess, singing coon songs in a low voice. This sweet, undisciplined American attracted her. It was a delight to look on such loveliness, such freshness, in her company the cruelty and horror of this German-made war could be forgotten for a little space. Suddenly the princess ran to the door and peeped out. Harsh gutterls and clinking of spurs could be heard. Miss Pym, in a fever to get out, had to wait whilst the princess watched, holding the door. But prolonged patience becomes wild impatience. Miss Pym wrenched the door open and rushed out. Miss Pym, in the council room, as the officers were settling themselves round the table, Miss Pym stared. Was it possible? Could that man be von Hindenburg, the commander-in-chief, the man who held in his hands the destinies of Germany? Miss Pym looked and looked, and a gasp of relief, with something like a sob of grief and fear almost choked her. He looked so horrible and deadly, and yet at the same time so inadequate. She compared Sir Hugh Douglas, Sir Hector Russell, Sir Robert Williamson, Petan, Kadorna, Pershing with this big German brute. His face had such an awful fascination for her that she could not move her eyes away. Miss Pym felt that he was brutal, forceful, contemptuous, and vain. His eyes, small and observant, had puffed under lids.  It was like the mouth of some dreadful flatfish of the depths. Utterly cruel. Hindenburg repelled because he looked inhuman. He seemed to Miss Pym the very spirit of evil, made man. His uniform was much creased by his stout body, folds being ruckled up from under the arms round to the front. He sat absent-minded, staring about, whilst Ludendorff talked, a typical German officer well set up, and having the military style of good looks common to many. Ludendorff constantly turned to von Hindenburg, as though he sought his agreement or his approval. But Hindenburg sat impassive, though occasionally he frowned. His nostrils distended, and he looked about suspiciously, like an animal nosing danger. Miss Pym began to have a very uneasy feeling. Now and then his small animal eyes seemed to rest on her, and she positively trembled. But this feeling passed when Ludendorff produced maps, and began explaining Hindenburg's plan. The English here, at this point, are convinced that we shall hold this line, and that possibly we shall withdraw in this direction, said Ludendorff, running his finger along a line on the map, spread out on the table. The officers all came round and stared at the map. But Hindenburg took no notice of whatever. Pardon me, said a grey-haired colonel in spectacles, but the enemy surely will be right. We must hold this line. Hindenburg beckoned to Prince Chemnitz, and whispered something. The Prince nodded and went out, and Hindenburg resumed his utter impassivity. If we abandon this position, continued the colonel, we give up a most important point. We lose the support of this line of railways. To me it looks like, like running away. It would be too terrible. Surely, surely the Commander-in-Chief is not seriously contemplating such a course. And he looked at Hindenburg, who sat swinging his foot, and looking, as it seemed, straight at Miss Pym. There was a strained silence broken by the return of the Prince, carrying bottles. He put a quart tumbler before Hindenburg, who laughed heartily, and made some joke to the Prince. The glass was then half filled with beer, the general measuring off the amount with his finger. To this was added champagne, till the foam ran over the side. And then Hindenburg drank without breathing. Everyone waited. When he had replaced the empty tumbler, the wicked half-failed smile he resumed his attitude of an indifferent spectator. If we fall back, cried an eager young officer, what becomes of these divisions? And he pointed to another portion of the map. Miss Pym longed to come round and look at the map. They were all so eagerly examining. Then she saw Hindenburg draw up to the table, take a sheet of paper, and commenced drawing lines, with a remarkably steady hand. Miss Pym cautiously moved round the table, and coming behind Hindenburg attentively watched him. When she moved, Hindenburg again threw back his head, like a buffalo sensing danger. Hindenburg then drew the line of the Rhine, and writing the names of French and Belgian towns, he drew double lines of trenches and isolated forts marked by crosses, and wrote dates on them. He also indicated divisions by squares, with their numbers, then threw down the plans, saying with finality, it is all there, just as Ludendorff tells you, just as you can see it on the map. Yes, we are to abandon those lines. I am glad Colonel Winkler thinks it impossible, because that is what I want the British to think. If we hold the line, we are finished. It is as clear as, as noonday. Oh, not at once. But Ludendorff will by and by explain why. We are crumbling, gentlemen. We must become mobile. We must facilitate the retreat of our guns and men in Belgium. I mark here where we shall special on our forces. This plan is the only plan, and it is for the conservation of energy. Its value depends on secrecy and celerity. The sheet of paper passed from hand to hand. Hindenburg now pointed out his ideas on the map. Then, leaning back, he turned to Chemnitz and nodded at his glass, which was again filled. Ludendorff will now develop the idea we have. The officers sat down again. Miss Pym was left standing, alone at the table, near Hindenburg. She saw the map and the plan, there, almost under her hand. But a numbing fear held her back. Her heart beat like a winged thing, caged behind her ribs. She could not follow what Ludendorff said. She could only struggle against a strange inhibitory feeling, as though you shall not. Met you must in her brain.  Had those drinks made him a seer by any chance? She could feel the heat radiating from his big body, and still she shivered.  There is someone here in the room, a spy. I feel it. Hold the door. Search! Vinkler walked to the door. The others gazed at Hindenburg, who turned about, putting out his arms, groping for someone. As in blind man's buff, Miss Pym made a tremendous effort to self-control. Moving out of reach of Hindenburg, she took up the map, folded it roughly, and stuck it in her belt. The small plan she rolled up into a ball in her nervousness, and ran it into her bodice with trembling fingers. Hindenburg kept on bellowing. There is someone here. Feel round for him. You'll get him. Do as I do. Feel round. The officers shocked at what they considered Hindenburg's drunken fit. Drew together at the window, even Colonel Vinkler left the door. Ludendorff went up soothingly to Hindenburg, whose face and throat positively swelled and pulsated with excitement. Miss Pym tried to dart past him to the door, but he shot out his hand and caught her by the throat. She gave the agonized squeal of a hair caught by dogs, and to the horror of herself. In every one present, she reappeared. Even her captor relaxed his hold from amazement, and Miss Pym darted to the door and shot down the corridor into the drawing-room. Save me! Hide me! she cried to Princess Chemnitz, who with extraordinary presence of mind pushed her behind the sofa where she was sitting. And going to the piano, she began singing softly.  The officers in full cry after Miss Pym had been diverted for a few seconds by an open door, leading into the Princess Boudoir. Satisfied that she was not there, they now came full tilt into the salon. The Princess looked round and said, Is the meeting over, gentlemen? Have you seen a woman? A spy? Rush in here? cried her husband. A spy? How exciting! cried Princess Sadie, clasping her hands. She would not come here. Surely the Prince looked at her suspiciously, noting her pallor. Yes, here she is, right enough, cried Ludendor, dragging Miss Pym up by the arm. The Germans crowded round her. Hindenburg now quite calm.  Stood looking at her. The English woman is caught. And if I mistake not, she has our map in her belt. Ludendor snatched it with an exclamation of horror. Hindenburg, with an affectation of indifferent, said, felt someone was there in that room all the time. However, no harm is done. We have the map and the woman. Vinkler, go outside and bring in my four men, also the sentinel, and your orderly Chemnitz. Then take her out and shoot her. And now, Princess, said Hindenburg, truculently, how comes it you are concealing an English, or maybe an American spy in the house of a German staff officer? Prince Chemnitz walked up and stood beside his wife. General, I will undertake to swear that my wife knows no more about this woman than you do yourself. Sadie, speak, tell General Hindenburg that you know nothing about her. I never saw the woman before, and she is very likely a German, said the young princess, looking defiantly at Hindenburg. But Hindenburg was not susceptible to female charm, and he had taken enough champagne to excite him. He looked at her with intense hatred. You belong to a nation at war with us, a nation of hypocrites and liars. I do not take the word of an American. Prince Chemnitz, as pale as his beautiful wife, advanced one step nearer to Hindenburg. Do you dare, General, to insult my wife, to insult me, here, in my own home? It will not be your home any longer, Prince. You will leave tomorrow for Riga. As for your American wife, she will go, by my orders, to your rocky schloss, and consider herself under arrest there, where she will remain till this war ends. You have children? The prince and princess were silent. General Ludendorff answered for them.  He will be entrusted to the care of his grandmother, Princess Elizabeth Chemnitz, who will bring him up to be a good German. I know the old lady. She will do her duty. You would take my baby from me? cried the young princess. My own little baby? You shall not. Oh, you butcher! Oh, you vile! Before she could finish the sentence, the lovely free-born American woman suddenly felt the room spin round. Darkness seemed to envelop her, and she collapsed where she stood, into complete unconsciousness. The tramp of feet made Miss Pym look round. Seven German soldiers stood in the doorway, take that woman to the parade plots, put her against the drill hall, and shoot her dead, at once, and stay. Have all the new recruits present. It's good to blood their young snouts. Colonel Winkler interposed. Would it not be as well to get some confession, some signed deposition from the prisoner? Is it not desirable to go through some formality, however rapid, some formality of a trial? All that can be done after the execution, said Hindenburg savagely. What a mockery to talk of a trial, or a confession. As for the woman's name, spy is enough. Take her away, and report her death at headquarters. Now, order my car. You, Chemnitz, had better come round this evening. Colonel Boyce will give you your orders, and some dispatches. Miss Pym was dragged out and marched along the dusty road to Quartré. In vain she strove to disappear, once she stopped, in her agony of mind. Thinking that the motion of walking impeded the process of disappearing, but the sharp agony of a bayonet thrust in her left arm obliged her to go on, the warm blood trickling down, and dropping through her fingers. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Miss Pym as she walked to Quartré, though suffering acutely in body and in mind, felt no anger at her fate. Her life had been the forfeit. She had played at last. She must now pay. But she did grieve at the end of her life. Her life had been the forfeit. She had played at last. She must now pay. But she did grieve over the failure to help her country. She had obtained most valuable information, which her death made it impossible to pass on. No one would know what had become of her. Sir Hugh Douglas's staff might guess, but nothing would ever be said. Leslie would only hear that Auntie Peur was missing. Such thoughts alternated with sharp spasms of pain in her arm and an increasing sensation of weakness. Miss Pym tried to brace herself and to prepare her mind for death. She knew that physical collapse would appear to be abject fear, and yet Miss Pym was surprised to feel no fear. In Hindenburg's clutch she had felt the terror of some small animal in the grip of a monster, but now walking to Quartré with these dull, dull, and German soldiers, all fear of her impending fate had departed. Only the longing remained to die with dignity, as the worthy descendant of the Pym's should die, to be English to the end. Koitsack had thought death gentle and desirable. He had seen nothing dreadful in dying. But Miss Pym could not bring herself to feel this. She was a happy woman and loved life, but it was difficult to her to die calmly, so by the time she entered the parade plots Miss Pym was able to walk towards a building which she knew must be the drill-hall and standing there to await her fate. She was kept there some little time whilst the recruits were being fetched. Three officers came to her, and one offered her a chair. He spoke English and asked her whether she had anything to say. Miss Pym shook her head, but she begged for a glass of water. The officer sent a soldier for water, and again advised her to die sitting. Miss Pym assured him that she would be able to stand, and begged as a last favour that her eyes be not bandaged nor her hands tied. Then the water came and, as she drank, new life crept into her veins. It was as though she drank some potent elixir. She handed the mug to the soldier with a smile. Life was good and unending. Death was only an episode. She saw crowds of soldiers marching on to the plots. All those men coming to see an English woman die, she said to the officer who had given her the water. It is very good of them to turn out thus, to do me honour. The officer frowned. You must now stand here. Straight up against this wall, he said. When I drop this handkerchief, the men will shoot. Miss Pym saw twenty men advance. The officers moved aside, and Miss Pym faced twenty rifles. I must die game. I must hold up my head for England. She straightened herself, and, like a flash, came to her the thought, one more try for invisibility. She felt the thrill as she threw back her head. Then, seeing the officer drop the handkerchief, she flung herself down, quite flat, invisible. A volley was fired, and Miss Pym wriggled aside, only standing up when out of range. The scene was indescribable. Short, sharp barks of command. Soldiers tearing up at the double, the officers examining the dust, where Miss Pym had dragged herself. Men were sent running all over the parade plots. Soldiers were marched up to surround it. Miss Pym did not attempt to leave. She would pass out with the officers. When it was clear to them that Miss Pym had really disappeared, they left, walking slowly, in deepest gloom. They knew themselves broken men. Hindenburg might even take their lives in exchange for Miss Pym's. And Miss Pym was free in the streets of Cortres. Before repairing to the hotel where she had left all her papers, she visited several pharmacies, hoping to find iodine and bandages to dress her wounded arm. But she could only obtain a little boracic lint. In a draper's shop, however, she carried off a cambrick undergarment, which torn in strips made a serviceable bandage. Dressing her aching and inflamed arm as well as she could in the hotel bedroom, she now found that tossing her canvas bundle onto the wardrobe was easier than getting it down, which necessitated the careful balancing of a chair on a table and herself on the chair. With a mutilated arm, this was no easy feat. But Miss Pym, with infinite caution, succeeded in lowering herself and her precious bundle to the floor. Her one thought was to fly from Cortres. She had a superstitious dread of meeting Hindenburg again. If by any dreadful accident her visibility again returned at Cortres, she would be shot at sight, better to sleep in the woods or in barns on her way to British lines. Feeling miserably ill and tearful, Miss Pym slowly made her way out of Cortres by compass. She had supplied herself with the necessary food from the hotel kitchen. The straps over her shoulders caused much pain in the wounded arm. Outside the town, she advanced towards the setting sun with teeth set. After all, she asked herself, What is this to the pain many of our boys are enduring without a murmur? Then the remembrance of Hindenburg's plan flashed on her brain. That plan screwed up into a ball, which she had thrust inside her dress. The official map had been taken from her. But this sketch map, this plan which might succeed with secrecy and celerity, she carried it on her. What a treasure to give Sir Hugh Douglas. Here was something of immense importance to the Commander-in-Chief. She must cross over to the British lines as quickly as possible. Miss Pym stood on a little wooded eminence. Away to the northwest ran the railway, and the sinking sun shone red upon the lines from Cortres, and made them appear two thin streams of blood. She decided to follow those lines until they brought her to some station where she might entrain. Along the track she walked, doggedly determined to keep on until she reached the station of Eula, which was crowded with reserves going to the front. There she heard of a great battle. Men like demented creatures were pouring into fuel. The wounded and the dead were said to be beyond computation, and whole divisions were said to be prisoners. The fresh troops from Cortres going to the front were in trucks, unending chains of trucks, reaching to the far distance in both directions. Carriages were being joined together with a crashing jar. Carriages were being uncoupled, trainloads of wounded returning, the troops going out from Cortres hailing their broken comrades, who replied with groans and curses. It was a fearful sight in the pale lights of the station to see those German faces like the faces of maniacs. The confusion was indescribable, as wild as a debacle, the shouts and yells of the non-coms, hurting the men, the roar of human voices, the tangle of convoy teams, the darkness of the locomotives, and all this while the blue of night was deepening till the armies became merged into dark mobile walls of humanity, losing individuality. Lights swung about, some high up in the air, others tremulously running a few feet from the ground. Miss Pym kept moving with a tide of men, first one way then another, till she lost all notion of direction, but she kept her face instinctively turned westward, where a livid band of light yet lingered in the sky. At last she saw the men, swarming into trucks and vans. One truck was being crammed with officers. All she could do was to climb on to the footboard and cling desperately to an iron post till they reached Morsala. Then she ran down the line, mounted the cab of the locomotive, and sank down on the coal heat. The battle had been raging throughout the day, and a counter-attack by the Germans would soon be attempted, for the British had advanced along a front of many miles, capturing strong German positions. As the train progressed, the rending explosion of guns and mortars made Miss Pym feel that crossing over to the British lines would be difficult for all her invisibility. What must this day's firing have been if this is a lull, she thought, when the engine driver called over his shoulder to the firemen that the guns of the English devils were quieting down. The train had now reached its terminus, and Miss Pym was thankful to get out and stretch herself. She had walked the length of the station when the crash of an explosion sent everyone down flat, like Noah's Ark figures when you shake the table. The four part of the train had been wrecked, crowds of soldiers had been saved the trouble of dying on the battlefield. The engine, the driver, and Stoker had been scattered in the air and come down in fragments, and overhead was the throb of one of the British airplanes, winging westward in the light of a waning moon, hastening to report at headquarters some damage to a German troop train. After the wounded and the dead had been removed, the men remaining lay down everywhere along the platform, the railway embankment. All down the road some began eating, others looked to their weapons. Many drew off their boots and inspected soldiers. Sargents marched up and down, shouting orders. So far as Miss Pym could make out, they were waiting to be joined by further drafts, and all the night wounded men were being brought in by the thousand, and literally piled into open trucks and sent back to portray and beyond. It was a terrible sight, made more terrible by the cruel and callous treatment of the wounded, the quality shown to their own dying men. Miss Pym could only steady her mind by repeating to herself, almost mechanically, over and over again, I have to finish my job, I must finish my job, none of all this must weaken me for my task. Steady, Perdita, keep your British nerve, do not let yourself fail now, when everything may depend on your carrying, a high heart. She sat near a shed, crowded with men trying to keep dry, for towards dawn a dismal downpour commenced and notwithstanding the immense discomfort she must have been dozing when a bugle sounded and the steady tramp of multitudes roused her. Stiff and aching she sat up and low men were moving rhythmically along, as far as the eye could reach. The march to the front had commenced. Would it be a long march? Where was the front? Could Miss Pym keep up with the men? She asked herself these questions anxiously. Every lorry, every gun-carriage was crowded with officers. There was no chance whatever of a lift along the muddy road. And Miss Pym went forward with the sullen, hungry men who had no stomach for fighting, and hoped they might be made prisoners. Not a man among them believed in victory. They advanced mechanically, because they must. Not only were they under the discipline of years, but also the discipline which came by inheritance. These men believed they were going to their death, but they went, not from love of fatherland, nor for liberty, not even for German couture, but because they must. They heeded not the harsh words and humiliating blows of their officers. After all, what were these? To the awful voice of the British guns. Slowly they tramped along in the rain and mud. But even so, the pace appeared too fast for Perdita. The pack on her shoulder became leaden. Her thin cashmere dress, trimmed with crepe, soon became saturated and clung to her, impeding her movements. But Miss Pym was not town bread, long country tramps, and laterally hard work in the garden had trained her muscles. This, and the strong desire to win through, sustained her and enabled her to keep up with the men. When they were halted, she took out her rations and forced herself to eat. Some hours they were kept in a poor village waiting for machine guns, the officers walking up and down, using the most frightful language. Miss Pym longed to reveal herself to some poor French peasants hidden in a quarry. She could have given them words of hope and comfort, and they could have directed her. But she was now afraid of being unable to resume invisibility. The power had failed her so recently. She dared not risk losing it, just in sight of the goal. The rain has ceased, and Miss Pym, somewhat rested, decided to venture forward alone. If she entered the battle zone with the soldiers, the chances were she would fall with them. So she left the village and the masses of troops behind her and followed the long, muddy highway, meeting groups of Germans carrying or supporting wounded comrades. Miss Pym frequently stopped, her senses bewildered by the thunder of guns, the screams of flying shells, the awful explosions, and the terrible concussions of the air. All around her, everywhere, the country seemed to be falling to pieces, and she felt that irresolution, that helplessness experienced in earthquakes. At last she reached a barren desolation, without landmark of any kind, men with machine guns crouched in cemented holes, or behind shattered walls, and then in one mad instant Miss Pym was banged down upon the ground, and lay there some time completely stupefied. When she recovered, the noise and concussion was so terrific, she convinced that it would mean instant death to move. The whole world seemed to be crashing to its dissolution, and there was no reason for thinking one spot safer than another. And yet Miss Pym clung to the little heap of stones behind which she lay, and dared not stir hand or foot, simply because she had so far escaped injury there where she crouched. Gazing at the fearful waist she tried to imagine herself crossing it. I am now passing along that bit of upright wall. I pause by that tree stump and low as she looked. Mud and rock shot up, and the tree and the wall had disappeared. In such an inferno invisibility was no protection. The fates had gone mad and were dancing with the furies. Man stands for nothing, thought Miss Pym. This is elemental and everlasting. Time and order have disappeared forever. Then suddenly the guns ceased, and the silence was more dreadful than the noise, because it meant something new. Miss Pym raised her head, and far away in the formless desert she saw small specks moving forward, singly and in groups, leisurely as it seemed to her. Our men, she gasped, and as they drew nearer she saw the groups straighten into lines with plan and intention, and at the same time out of the earth sprang German soldiers. Some ran forward with uplifted hands towards the English. Others fled like madmen towards Miss Pym, but were stayed by a rain of fire, and Miss Pym lay on her face and tasted death, for well she knew if that barrage advanced everything living would disappear. When she dared to look up again there were no men running, only a flutter of rags here and there. After another pause Miss Pym saw in the distance on her left English soldiers running and crouching, and again running, till they came to a heap of debris and disappeared behind the ruins of what had been a church. And then Miss Pym remembered the great masses of Germans already forming up to counter-attack. Soon they would be trotting up like packs of wolves, running with short pants and lawling tongues like wild beasts. In a few minutes those daring British boys would be surrounded and obliterated. She ran as one runs in dreams with winged feet. The bursting shells no longer terrified her. She knew that she would reach her countrymen, those splendid fellows who had ventured too far ahead and were now in an untenable position. Only a few yards more and she would be able to tell them of the great counter-attack in time for their retreat. But even as she ran she became aware that the German divisions were advancing. She climbed over barricades formed by collapsed buildings and saw the enemy rolling forward in masses. As she stood there clear against the skyline some sniper's bullet grazed her at the back of the neck. Another bullet sped through her bonnet. She flung herself down, then crawling and creeping she reached the roofless little church where she found her people hidden. Twenty soldiers with two machine guns, which they were fitting up to receive the advancing Germans. A young second lieutenant stared at her and she then realized that her invisibility had gone. Good heavens a woman and no escape for her now he exclaimed. We are cornered here. We advanced too far. And then we thought we would take this village of Filnicht, he explained. Now I fancy it is all U.P. Our Colonel is dying. We could hold the place with small reinforcements and we want ammunition and grenades. But the Germans are on you. See that advancing mass? Oh, they have no guns, replied the lieutenant. We could hold out if we had sufficient ammunition. Awful hard luck that our people don't know. Don't realize we are here. It's too late now to send men back. Besides, we need every rifle. Miss Pym turned and moved towards a man lying on a pile of soldiers' coats near the altar of the shattered church. She stooped to view his space and recognized Colonel Merkott. He gazed up at her, too far gone for surprise, which is only a surface feeling. Ah, he exclaimed, you have come back. We, we must save you. He tried to struggle up, but Miss Pym knelt beside him and made him drink from her flask. Colonel, give me your orders. I will take them to our lines. He shook his head. Impossible. The Germans, the guns. No one could. But I can become invisible. I will go at once. I will get help. It is doubtful whether the Colonel heard or understood. He smiled faintly and murmured, You dear. Miss Pym hurried back to the young lieutenant. See here. I am going to fetch help. Write me a pencil note quickly. What? Send a woman? Well, not quite. Let me try, said Miss Pym earnestly. If I fail, you can try later. What is your regiment? West Kent's, replied the lieutenant. But it is not to be heard of. I am in command here, so please go and do what you can for the Colonel. Miss Pym saw it was useless talking, and she was only in the way. Every moment was precious. The Germans were advancing in solid failings. To the west, behind the church, stretched a great grey plain, gleaming at intervals with livid streaks of light and balls of white or black smoke. Little bits of masonry stood up here and there, beside heaps of rubble, with the ribs of roofs sticking up, and Miss Pym knew that she must pass through that fire, that there was no way but through that field of death, and she also knew that her power had departed, and she must go forward visible. End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 At the back of the church, through a great rent, where the west window had been, Perdita Pym scrambled out, tripping over wire, falling over graves, and keeping what shelter she could, she made for the British lines, or at any rate, in the direction where she thought they would be. But the protection of ruined houses soon ceased, and she had now before her that sinister open country, broken up by hideous pools and lakes, the shell craters after the night of rain, and the terrible litter of a battlefield, she thought that she ran, but it was only a jog trot hastening. As she went she tried to save and regulate her breathing, so that her very thoughts came panting. I am here to do it, to save those dear, dear Englishmen. It is my job, oh, that I may do it, not die, till I have done it, just to save them. Their faces are so beautiful, so English. Deliberate bullets sped past her, some caught her streaming veil, three bullets went through her eddying skirts, bullets whizzed past her head, but in such universal frenzy, when the cry of approaching shells, and the crash of their coming, seemed to disrupt and churn up the whole country, when the very air seemed rent in fragments. Miss Pym lost all sense of personal existence. She may have been afraid, but she did not know it. She went on because she had started going. She continued advancing from initial impulse, as a top continues revolving. She passed many quiet men, lying on the wet clay. They had finished their work, they were at rest, but she lived to help the living. Then it seemed to Miss Pym that she was wandering in chaos. There was no indication of British lines, no goal to make for, nothing but mud, and destroyed things. There was no longer any meaning to anything. The shameful treatment of all things, from a strand of barbed wire to human lives, took possession of her mind. She felt faith, hope, and that strength which gives you strength, all ebbing away from her. She no longer believed in herself, and nothing was worth trying for. Tears and prayers were mere foolishness, and high endeavor all make believe. A great weakness and weariness came over her. The compelling inertia of a drug seemed to clog her brain and wait her limbs. She dragged herself towards some upheaved earth, some wreckage of planks. She was so tired, too tired to go on. She was beginning to forget why she was out here in this infamous region. Perhaps if she could get behind those mounds, were they graves? She might rest and recover her judgment. Surely her mind wanted rest. It was out of control. Why did she hear voices? Clearly she heard voices behind those graves. And there was laughter.  This was England, and she had done her job, and all was well. A joy, the like of which she had never known, irradiated her, as sunshine let into a shuttered room, dispells cold in darkness. She never quite knew how she got over that embankment. She kept on calling out. I come from Colonel Murcott. I bring a message. Ready hands outstretched to help her down into the British trenches. Right you are, madam. Though what you might be doing in this here scrap passes me, said one of the men. I bring a message from the village of Villeneacht. Some twenty of our west kents under Colonel Murcott are holding it. The Colonel is badly wounded. If you send men and ammunition at once, they may be saved. They have two machine guns, but want for ammunition. A second lieutenant took the message down, and it was telegraphed to the rear. A few minutes later Miss Pym had the satisfaction of knowing that substantial relief would be sent to Colonel Murcott and his men. But it was not thought likely we should hold the village. It was not desirable to get ahead of the general line, because that is country which we might have to barrage have counterattacking developed. But no great difficulty was anticipated in getting the men away, as the Germans had been removing their big guns for some time, according to plan no doubt. So Miss Pym, now easy in her mind, allowed herself to be conducted to the rear, but she was more exhausted than she knew. The prolonged bodily and mental strain and loss of blood now took effect. In vain she struggled against the overwhelming sense of weakness. She felt herself gradually sinking into an abyss of darkness. She stumbled and fell unconscious at the feet of the dismayed soldier. When Miss Pym recovered she found herself on a chuckle-bed in the poor room of peasants, her neck and arm firmly bandaged, an aged French woman sat knitting by the door. When she saw that Miss Pym wanted to speak, she shook her head and presented her with a cup of some liquid, murmuring, Le Metsan command. Miss Pym drank obediently, feeling too weak to refuse, and immediately after fell into a deep sleep. It was the dawn of a new day. From where she lay Miss Pym could see bands of pink and gold in a grey sky, and as the shadows of night rolled away she felt all the pain and exhaustion had passed, leaving a delicious langer. It was difficult to remember where she was and what had happened, but she was content to drowse and drift off again into unconsciousness. When she awoke the sun was high and Miss Pym knew that life was good and she was ready for work. The old peasant woman was quite agitated when Miss Pym fully dressed, greeted her cheerfully. The black clothes had been dried and brushed, and Miss Pym had pulled the bonnet into shape again. Her precious knapsack was at her side. The only thing she now wanted was the coffee, real coffee, and the bread, almost white, which the French woman put down before her. That blessed meal would she ever forget it. Miss Pym was sunning herself on a bench outside the cottage, watching little French children at play when a group of young officers came up and congratulated her on her fine adventure. We were just in time to save the Colonel, began one of them. The doctor thinks he has a good chance of recovery, and we arrived in the nick of time to take or rather hold the village thanks to you. We routed the Bosch. They simply could not stand our fire. We made quite a good bag of prisoners, too. It was awfully lucky for you that you got through in a lull, put in another officer. Was that a lull? exclaimed Miss Pym. Why, it seemed to me a most fearful battle. Oh, that was nothing. You ought to see a proper fight. Though, of course, to a lady, I suppose it was pretty bad. Do tell us how you escaped from the Germans, asked a very eager young subaltern. Yes, yes, do tell us, chimed in the others eagerly. Miss Pym smiled at them, but she felt rather embarrassed. Could you send a telegraphic or telephonic message to the Commander in Chief for me? she asked. You see, he expects to hear from me. As soon as I reached the British lines I was to send word to him. I have quite special information for him. I should rather think you had, they muttered in chorus. Does the Chief expect you at a certain date? You interjected one of them? Well, he couldn't be sure when I would get through if I ever did, exclaimed Miss Pym, with a twinkle in her eyes. Have you been in Germany since the war began? inquired the eager young subaltern? No, not so long as that, replied Miss Pym evasively. What an adventure! What an experience! sighed an officer, whose best friend was a war correspondent, hungry for copy. Miss Pym in self-defense felt obliged to say, Sir Hugh Douglas expects me to tell him everything before I talk to others. So you will understand and forgive my being so uncommunicative. I really have no choice. Oh, of course, of course. Obviously you cannot give away the show till you have seen the Chief, they cried. For all that, they were much disappointed. English ladies do not come at the double over no man's land every day, but they left Miss Pym in peace. Do you think she asked doubtfully of the surgeon who came to dress her arm and neck that evening, that I could nurse Colonel Murcott? Oh, he's at Boulogne by now, and will probably cross over to Blighty this evening. He has all possible care, and he may recover, though of course he's in rather a bad way, pronounced the surgeon, fastening the bandage. Miss Pym was much relieved. Nursing had never been her strong point.  Of course, if Colonel Murcott had been in the village, she would have done her share of nursing, but she would not greatly have contributed to the Colonel's recovery. Now, however, she was in skilled hands. Miss Pym felt cheerful and free from responsibility and anxiety on his account. End of Chapter 28 Chapter 29 of Miss Pym's camouflage This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Miss Pym's camouflage by Lady Dorothy Stanley. Chapter 29 The next morning a very restless Miss Pym strolled about, talking to the soldiers and children. She could not altogether dispel a sense of failure. What had she done with her miraculous power? She had just made a trip into Germany. She had not killed the Kaiser or Hindenburg. She had done little more than any Swiss or Swedish woman might have done, without invisibility. And now she must face the Commander-in-Chief. Tell her inadequate story and steal back to Froghurst to become once more a reasonable marrow. Leslie was right. Auntie Purr was not capable of high adventure. The throb of a motor broke upon her sad reverie. The Commander-in-Chief has sent his car for Miss Pym with a brief note. Congratulations on safe return. I send car to bring you to headquarters, if you feel well enough for the run. Hugh Douglas. Seeing the surgeon enter the cottage, Miss Pym showed me. I must go now, doctor. Thank you for your care. Will you explain to the Colonel why I took French leave? But I have not passed you as fit," said the surgeon smiling. Sir Hugh Douglas expressly says, if you are well enough for the run. No, retorted, Miss Pym. He does not say if you are well enough, but if you feel well enough, and I feel quite well enough, thanks to you. You see, he has sent his car. The fresh air and the air will complete my cure, and do away with his restlessness. Miss Pym really felt better the moment she was off. She sank down in the seat, amid cushions and rugs provided by someone's forethought, and wished she might journey thus for days and days instead of a few short hours. The afternoon was still golden hazy when the big car swung round a corner, and to Miss Pym's surprise she found herself once more at the door of the mairie, where not so many days ago she had first met Sir Hugh Douglas and his staff. A lieutenant received her at the door, and it once conducted her to the big council chamber overlooking the plass, where she found Sir Hugh Douglas. Her welcome was extremely cordial. They all seemed glad and relieved, to see her back safe. No one cried, but what did you do?  A shorthand writer sat at a small table, and Sir Hugh and his staff took chairs round Miss Pym, and listened with parted lips like eager children, as she related her curious experiences. When she had finished Sir Hugh Douglas rose abruptly and in a voice from which she eliminated altogether a sharp note of excitement said, That plan of Hindenburgs, you have it here? And Miss Pym trembling turned out all the papers she had brought from Germany onto a large table. Here was the correspondence of the Kaiser. Sir Hugh Douglas set it aside saying, History. Here was the plan of the new submarine, and a list of submarine bases. Sir Hugh put these apart, saying, Navy, but when he saw the crumpled paper, Hindenburg's own plan, his space, Sean, the army, now we shall know the German intentions. And he made Miss Pym repeat again and again what Hindenburg had said, how this was in his opinion the only course to take, that they would begin at once, cloaking their plan by feigned attacks and the movement of troops in other directions. Of course it seemed possible they might attempt this, but I dismissed it as unlikely. The sacrifice seemed too great for them. Yet I see now that if they could have carried it through, unbeknown to us, it would have been the best thing for them. And now, what a coup for us! How we'll counter them appearing to be deceived. Why this is tremendous. This is worth all the rest. Miss Pym, this paper is priceless. We've got them. They forgot this plan, and having taken the map from you, they won't imagine that you can give them away. Besides Hindenburg, you say, was set on this plan. He is no doubt fixing it all up now. We must start moving the troops tonight. When Miss Pym has left us we will figure it all out. And you saved Murkott's life and the lives of those men with him. Miss Pym, I shall recommend for the Victoria Cross. Really, the value of your work is beyond telling. The result is incalculable. The Admiralty will want to thank you. The papers and plans you took from von Schlange are of great importance to us. They are signed by General von Losberg, Chief of the Staff of von Arnhem, and the Master Brain of German Defense in the West. And these letters from von Bettmann Holweg and von Jagau doubtless give away the whole German plot. Miss Pym, I never dreamt you would do such wonderful things in Germany. Miss Pym's eyes were filled with tears. She looked steadily out on the plos, unwinking lest the tears run down her cheeks. You are wounded, they tell me, continued Sir Hugh. Miss Pym made a little gesture of dissent. Oh, so little. That's enough, though, to destroy my power to disappear.  And Miss Pym again lashed with joy. Joy that after all she had done something worthwhile. And now I will visit Mayor Dupont, as you will have plenty to do if you are going to counter Hindenburg, she said. It is such a relief all those papers are in your hands. I never felt they were safe in Germany. I was in constant dread lest by some accident they should fall into German hands. It would, indeed, have been a calamity, for the certainty we now have that Hindenburg has decided on this course puts us in a splendid position. It will save the lives of thousands of our men. Mayor Dupont expected my cher enfant. She gravely kissed her on both cheeks and led her to the salon bedroom. Miss Pym had quite a feeling of coming home as she sank down in the frontier by the window. Madame, you should thank the bone dew that you got back safe out of the hands of those terrible people, said Mayor Dupont, standing calm and abyss like before Miss Pym.  They are suffering, but they are not beaten. They are not hopeless. Ah, well, that is because they do not realize what is going on, said Madame with calm assurance. Food is very scarce and very bad, continued Miss Pym. The people are doing without those things indispensable to health and the most elementary comfort, actual necessities are failing, such as light, heat, food, and hot water, and yet they hold on. But suddenly they will let go, declared Madame, solemnly raising her hand. Oh, their debauch is preparing. My only fear is lest they give up before we enter their country. It is necessary that we cross their frontiers as destroyers as well as victors. Madame, do not doubt this. Doubt in purpose. I am an old woman. I was twenty when the Germans first attacked France. Their success in seventy prepared this war. If we do not break them this time, they will continue through the centuries, either preparing war or waging war, and the nations of the earth will know neither peace nor rest.  Once we enter Germany, they will crumple up, we will destroy everything. We French people have vowed that their homes shall be reduced to ruin, because it is the only way to teach the Bosch. The French people will not leave a single factory nor a single machine standing, and this is the meaning of the war, dear Madame. We can only release the world by fighting, so we give our all, our best, our dearest, our sons, our husbands to save not France alone, but Le Monde entier. Madame my boy died in Bois-Le-Pret in 1915. My grandson died at Verdun in 1916. With them died all which life happy or beautiful for me, but I gave ungrudgingly for a great purpose, and I demand the fulfillment of that purpose. No politicians, no pacifists shall take from us what our sons died to win. Madame space shone with a spiritual light as she spoke. Miss Pym jumped up and took both the French woman's hands. The women of England with those of France, dear Madame. Even in Germany there are men who recognize that Germany's only way of salvation is through defeat. That defeat is inevitable. Germany's manpower is failing. Soon you will see her totter and fall as a man falls from loss of blood. But in France and in your country, said Madame severely, there are dangerous people who would negotiate with the enemy and make concessions and weak sentimental people, especially in England, who would spare Germany and greedy prophet-loving people who under the pretense of loving their enemies and forgiving their crimes hope to trade with them again and make fortunes. Yes, there is always that danger, assented Miss Pym. But I believe the great majority is sane and righteous. In France too it will be the same. Nations which have made such tremendous sacrifices are not going to submit tamely to sentimentalists and allow Germany to recover, pick herself up again and make ready for another war. Do you believe wars in future can be stopped by a police force of nations, asked Madame anxiously? Force can be met and put down only by greater force, declared Miss Pym. If the police are armed and united, and more numerous than the brigands, they can overcome them. And, she added with conviction, you can take it from me. Germany is beaten, and her commander in chief, her staff and her generals know it. I heard this morning of your safe return, explained Madame. One of my officers came round and told me to make ready, and here I am talking instead of seeing to your supper. Will you have it up here or in the salamange? Miss Pym came down and feasted, and then strolled into the untidy little kitchen garden, and round the orchard, where she was joined by young officers eager for news.  It is also injurious to health. Hunger is toning down their ferocity, and making them think, and even making them question themselves and their government. Of course, the soldiers are disciplined and better fed than the civilians, but all are fighting for a cause which they know is lost. They do not believe in victory. They may pretend to when they are prisoners, but they talk among themselves in quite a different tone. Despondent is not the word. They are hopeless. Many are resentful. They do not think their artillery supports them at all adequately, and far too many of the German soldiers are looking forward to the chance of becoming prisoners, especially the very young soldiers. Thus Miss Pym talked with the officers, all sitting along the low archered wall in the scented darkness, the perfume of apples and wet grass, making the air fragrant, and all the time the guns kept up their shout, no peace before victory. Before leaving France began an officer, Captain Boyd of the Northumberland fusilliers, would you care to see a French chateau lately vacated by the Huns? We arrived too late to save the inmates. There was a Countess, her son and grandchildren. The son, an officer in the French Army, in the flying corps got leave in disguising himself as a French peasant. He managed to fly over the German lines by night and to reach his chateau. The Bosch discovered him. They shot him on the terrace of the house. The grandmother or wife threatened the Brutes, though of course they were quite helpless, but enough for the infuriated Germans who shot the two women. After that they ran a muck and killed the little children. We have no actual witness of the murders, but the bodies were found in a heap. One woman in the house fled after the Count was shot. She heard the old Countess calling out that she would shoot the brigands, and if she failed the English were approaching and would see justice done. The chateau is not so very far from here. Miss Pym hesitated. It is a very painful sight, she said, and I ought to be going back. Still you should see for yourself to what depths the German can descend. You ought to let it be known in England where too many people appear to be under the illusion that we are fighting a decent enemy. Were these unfortunate people by any chance called Rockford lost Miss Pym? Why yes, it is the chateau de Rockford, and it was the Count and his whole family who were murdered. I suppose Mare du Pont told you about it. Then Miss Pym recounted her adventure in the railway truck from Valenciennes, how she opened a large hamper filled with clothes, et cetera, and read the letter of a German to his wife in which he described the butchery at a chateau by order of General Wiesmann, who carried off all the jewelry, the other officers taking the pictures, plate, and even lace and clothes. I hope now you will come to Rockford, said Captain Boyd, and see the village notary. The French government is taking down on oath the evidence of all witnesses, of atrocities, pillage, theft, et cetera. You can prove that all the valuables of the castle were carried off and by whom Miss Pym could no longer refuse, and so it was arranged that she should visit the chateau the next morning. End of Chapter 29


Okay, so if our true being is the totality of our relationships and includes everything in the cosmos, if we are truly maybe a holographic mirror of all that is, then when we cut ourselves off from any aspect of nature, other people, we create a wound, we create a cut-off, and this is painful, and we yearn to recover our wholeness. However, due to ideology, due to the economic system that we're immersed in, due to cultural factors, due to many, many, many reasons, the reunion that we long for is unavailable to us. That is good for business, because it drives consumerism, it drives acquisitiveness, it drives greed, it drives all kinds of neurotic behaviors that seek to compensate for the missing relationships. It drives overeating, for example, that give people a momentary feeling of connection or a momentary feeling of being here. One of the ways that the wound shows up is you could say a crisis in being, an existential crisis, because if we are social beings, if we are inter-beings, then in isolation, we do not feel as if we really exist all the way. People in indigenous societies, in tribal societies, or in agrarian villages, they were enmeshed in a matrix of relationship that gave them a strong identity. Everybody who they saw on a daily basis knew them really well. There was no stranger. Everybody knew you better than almost any modern person knows their neighbors, because we're immersed in stories from the internet and from television and from the outside. We don't know the stories of our neighbors, but in a traditional setting, everybody knew your story. Everybody knew your parent's story, your grandparents' story, and we also were in intimate connection with the land. We knew every plant, we knew every animal, every bird, we knew its song, and when it sang, and what bugs it ate, and where those bugs lived, and what the soil smells like where the bugs live, and what plants grow there, and what medicine the plants are used for. We were in this web of interbeing. We were deeply known, therefore, we knew ourselves. We felt as if we were at home in the universe. That is missing in our current society. We're surrounded by a sea of strangers, people that we know only very superficially, if at all, and the same is true of the trees around us. Oh, that's a tree. We don't maybe even know what the name of that tree, and we certainly don't know all of the details and all of the stories that a land-based, place-based person, an indigenous person would know, so we don't feel like we're really at home. And that insecurity drives all kinds of destructive behavior. And you find that when that need is met, when you are in community, when you're in maybe, might even be, you know, some kind of weekend workshop or some kind of gathering somewhere where you're in nature, if you're in having a deep experience in nature, like your neuroses and addictions, they don't even operate anymore. You don't want to go shopping at that moment. You don't want to have a drink at that moment because you're fulfilled, you're met, you're held. So often we don't recognize that in this society, and we go to war against the symptom of the wound of separation. We go to war against the addiction, against the bad habits and the neuroses and the destructive behavior. But we don't go to war against the cause, because the cause isn't one thing. The cause is everything. And that doesn't fit in well with war-making mentality, which seeks to find the enemy and then attack that enemy. When we're in a situation where the formula of war-making doesn't work, where we can't find an enemy, or we know that the enemy isn't the real enemy, then we don't know what to do. So we avoid that understanding. America is doing that right now. We see a problem like terrorism, and we find the enemy, terrorists, and we bomb them and drone them, try to lock them out, lock them up. But we don't ask, well, what's causing terrorism? Is it just these bad people? Or could it have something to do with previous wars or austerity policies that have driven millions of Syrian farmers off the land? Like, what are the deep reasons? When we go to those, not only can we not identify a single enemy, but we also realize that we're part of the problem. And then we don't know what to do. And that's good. It's good to not know what to do. That's an improvement over thinking you know what to do, but actually not knowing what to do. From not knowing what to do, which is called, or not knowing how things are, not knowing why it's happening, that's called humility, then there's space for real understanding to come in.


America is a technocracy, not a democracy, by Ryan McMakin, an audio-mesis wire narrated by Million Quinteros. Perhaps never before in American history have the unelected technocrats played such an enormous role in shaping public policy in America. In recent weeks, members of Congress have been missing in action. Late last month, the House of Representatives passed the biggest spending bill in history while most members were absent. Other votes were not recorded and the legislation was passed with a voice vote, which required only a tiny handful of members. Weeks later, the Senate refuses to even meet and may finally get around to debating some legislative matters in May. As with the House, a handful of members assembled earlier to approve another enormous stimulus bill. Many senators stayed home. This is representative government in modern America. But if you thought this lack of congressional action meant not much is happening in Washington in terms of policymaking, you would be very wrong. It's just that the democratically elected institutions have now become a largely irrelevant sideshow. The real policymaking takes place among unelected experts, who decide for themselves with minimal oversight or control from actual elected officials. What will happen in terms of public policy? The people who really run the country are these experts and bureaucrats at the central banks, at public health agencies, spy agencies and an expanding network of boards and commissions. The Rise of Technocracy This is not a new trend. Over the past several decades and especially since the New Deal, official experts in government have gradually replaced elected representatives as the primary decision makers in government. Public debate has been abandoned in favor of meeting among small handfuls of unelected technocrats. Politics has been replaced by science, whether social science or physical science. These powerful and largely unaccountable decision makers are today most noticeable in federal courts, in intelligence agencies, at the Federal Reserve, and long ignored until now in government public health agencies. Democracy as a style of governing has been around at least since the Progressive Era, although it has often been restrained by traditional legislative and elected political actors and institutions. Globally, it has gained prominence in a variety of times and places, for example in Mexico during the 1980s and 1990s. But the technocracy's power has long been growing in the United States as well. This may seem odd in a world where we're told democracy is among the highest political values. But technocrats have nonetheless managed to justify themselves through myths asserting that technocrats make scientific decisions guided only by the data. These technocrats we are told care nothing of politics and only make sound decisions based on where the science leads. Although that may all sound more reasonable or logical to some, the truth is that there is nothing non-political, scientific, or even-handed about government by technocrat. Technocrats like everyone else have their own ideologies, their own agendas, and their own interests. Often their interests are greatly at odds with those of the general public that pays the technocrat salaries and is subject to the technocracy's edicts. The rise of technocracy has only meant that the means of influencing policy is now limited to a much smaller number of people, namely those who are already influential and powerful in the halls of government. Technocracy seems less political because the political wrangling is limited to what used to be called smoke-filled rooms. That is, technocracy is really a sort of oligarchy, although not limited to the financially wealthy. It is limited to people who went to the right schools or control powerful corporations such as Google or Facebook, or work for influential media organizations. It's branded non-political because ordinary voters and taxpayers are excluded from even knowing who is involved or what policies are being proposed. In other words, technocracy is government by a small exclusive club. And you ain't in it. So how does technocracy survive in a system that claims to base its legitimacy on democratic institutions? After all, technocracy is by its very nature designed to be anti-democratic. Indeed, as the left has soured on democracy, leftists have taken to demanding that more technocratic methods be implemented to do an end-run around democratic institutions. In a much quoted 2011 article for The New Republic, influential banker and economist Peter Orzok complains that democratic institutions such as Congress aren't implementing enough of his preferred policies. Therefore, he insists that it's time to jettison the civics 101 fairytale about pure representative democracy and instead begin to build a new set of rules and institutions. He once ruled by technocrat through a system of commissions staffed by independent experts. This is the new model of efficient government. But in many areas, this is already how the United States is governed. There is no shortage of boards, panels, courts and agencies that are controlled by experts who function largely without any oversight from the voters, taxpayers or elected officials. We can point to several institutions in which the spirit of technocracy is both well established and highly influential. One, the US Supreme Court. This tendency toward technocracy first manifested itself in the form of the US Supreme Court. The court, of course, had long been considered to be a body of legal experts of sorts. They were supposed to consider technical legal issues apart from the vicissitudes of electoral politics. But this expertise did not come without limitations. The court was expected to limit its own power or risk charges of attempting to meddle in the workings of democracy. By the mid 20th century, however, these limitations had been largely abandoned. During the 1950s and 1960s, the Supreme Court created a wide variety of new rights that Congress had never shown any willingness to create. Roe vs. Wade, for example, created a new federal legal right to abortion based purely on the desires of a handful of judges and regardless of the fact, it had always been assumed by virtually everyone that abortion was a matter for state legislatures. Prior to this period, any changes of such magnitude would have required a constitutional amendment. That is, prior to the rise of the modern supercharged SCOTUS, it was assumed that major changes to the Constitution required a long public debate and the involvement of many voters and legislators. But with the rise of the Supreme Court as expert creators of new law, it became the norm for the judges to dispense with public debate and electoral decision making. Instead, the experts would discover what the Constitution really means and create their own new laws based on legal expertise. 2. The Federal Reserve A second building block of the technocracy has been the Federal Reserve. Since its creation in 1935, the Federal Reserve Board of Governors has increasingly acted as a policy making board of technocrats who function outside the legislative process, yet enact regulations and policies that have enormously large effects on banking systems. The financial sector and even fiscal policy. The Fed policy makers are quintessential technocrats in that they allegedly make decisions based only on the data and unbent by political concerns. The sacrosanct nature of these technocrats decision has been buttressed by years of implausible claims about the Fed's independence from political pressure from the White House or Congress. In reality, of course, the Fed has never been an apolitical institution, and this has been shown by a variety of scholars, many of them political scientists. Fed boards have always been influenced by presidents and others. Most economists are too willfully naive to understand the political dimensions of the Fed. Nowadays, it has become painfully obvious that the Fed exists to prop up the regime and the financial sector through whatever means necessary. The idea this process is guided by a dispassionate consideration of the data should be regarded as reasonable. Three, a new addition to the growing ranks of the technocrats in America is the legion of medical experts at all levels of government who have attempted to dictate policy during the COVID-19 panic of 2020. Led nationally by lifelong government bureaucrats such as Anthony Fauci and Deborah Birx, the public health experts have taken on the typical persona of the technocrat. They are guided only by the science they insist, and it is claimed that only these experts have the ability to correctly implement and dictate public policies that will address the risks posed by various diseases. As with the Federal Reserve and the Supreme Court, those who oppose the medical experts are said to be sacrificing a political objectivity, a virtue enjoyed only by the technocrats and their supporters on the altar of gaining political advantage. Four, the intelligence agencies. Since 1945, the United States government has built up an increasingly large network of intelligence agencies, composed of more than a dozen agencies staffed by career military officers. As we have seen in recent years through a variety of scandals at the CIA, NSA, and the FBI, these technocrats have no qualms about attempting to undermine the elected civilian government in order to assert their own agenda in its place. These bureaucrats at the so-called deep state in many cases regard themselves as unanswerable to the elected government and even seek to override foreign policy decisions it has made. Why elected politicians empower technocrats? In all of these cases, elected officials could intervene to limit the power of the technocrats, yet they choose not to. In the case of Supreme Court, Congress could limit the jurisdiction of the appellate courts, and thus the jurisdiction of the Supreme Court itself, simply through changes in legislation. Similarly, Congress could abolish or heavily limit the powers of the Federal Reserve. Again, Congress chooses not to. And of course, Congress and the state legislatures could easily intervene to roll back not only the powers of medical technocrats, but the emergency powers of the executive branch itself. Yet this has not happened. The reason is because politicians like to outsource policymaking to unelected technocrats. This makes it easier for elected officials to later claim that they were not responsible for unpopular measures implemented by technocratic institutions. By putting more power in the hands of technocrats, elected politicians can also later claim that they were respecting the apolitical nature of these institutions, and that they sought to respect the expertise. Don't blame me, the politician will later claim. I was only trying to respect the science, or the data, or the law. Empowering the technocracy is a useful way to spread blame around in Washington. And it's also a way to, as Orzok suggests, get around legislative institutions that do what they're supposed to do, prevent government actions when there aren't enough votes. But with technocracy, a lack of votes in Congress isn't a problem. Just hand everything over to a dozen technocrats who will decide what to do. It can then all be done outside the public eye, and with the added advantage of being the decision of nonpolitical experts. Unfortunately, this scheme has worked. Voters are inclined to trust the experts, and polls often show that the public trusts unelected experts more than they trust Congress. This is a great victory for the bureaucrats, and for those who push for an ever more powerful state. For more content like this, visit Mises.org.